The Book of the Blue House

[ChrisGibson]

Well, now all the pieces of the puzzle are coming as we meet all the new people, so I think its going to go well, Matt.

 

[ChrisGibson]

CAL CONTINUES TO REMEMBER THE DAY OF HIS INITIATION INTO THE BLUE TEMPLE


Calon Everidon admitted that he was sort of a liar, for as nine o’ clock approached, he could no longer stay in bed, and Gabriel was already stirring. These days, Gabriel spent most of his time in the classrooms, and little in the blue rooms. It was certain that one day he would probably be a chief priest and perhaps even the new Hyrum of this house, or of another, probably toward the north. They laughed, opening the door off Cal’s room to enter the main bath of the room where other Blues were walking in, equally naked, but many of them yawning as if this was time for bed and not the beginning of the day. Gabriel and Cal cleaned themselves and washed their mouths, and then went back to bed and made love quickly after closing the door. Cal seldom closed the door into the kitchen and the rest of the suite of rooms, but this morning he felt like this was for him and Gabriel, and he was conscious of Derek and Conn, conscious somehow not of their listening, but of their new peace being interrupted.
He and Gabriel were done quickly, and when you had someone coming back to your bed every night, you could afford to be done quickly, afford to finish exhausted and laughing and then lie back in bed and catch your breath. They both went back to the bathrooms again, but they bathed alone, for Cal had taken salt with him and a ewer full of water from the river that he kept by the bed. This morning, in the entourage of the Abbot, he should be purified. He was remembering his ordination as priest three, almost four years ago, the change from Cal the boy on the streets into Calon the priest.
His novitiate had lasted half a year, and when it was done, his ordination was scheduled for May Day. On the eight points of the year there could be ordinations. and so most of the time there was only one boy at a time, and it was his special day. Cal’s year there had been no one during the Spiringtide and Derek had bene ordained at Candlemas. The morning of his ordination, Cal rose far earlier than it was now, and made the preparations he knew to make in readying himself for a man. He dressed in the pale blue hoodless robe of a novice, and then waited for first years to come to his door. It was strange how terrifed he was as he heard them singing:

I come to the garden alone while the dew
is still on the roses,
And the voice I hear falling on my ear,
And the Lord Adaon discloses…

It is still early in the year and barely light, and they are there with their candles in glasses, grinning at him. There are Derek and big tall Lorne who is a year above him, whose beds he has shared often. And Jylis is here and Rearis and Tomlin who would leave. A procession of eight first years, and they flank him, singing as they move toward the sanctuary whose lights are dimmed from the end of the first morning service, the place still smelling of incense. But the red doors are locked, for though the temple never closes, the morning of an initiation is bried exception.

I stay in the garden with Him,
Though the night around me is falling.
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

They lead him to the sanctuary to revere Adaon and make an incense offering, to sing to him, and then they lead him past the altar with its great image, to the dimness down the hall beside the altar and then turning to another hall which must be behind the image, and to a door on his left side. There they leave him, reverent, even in their smiles, and the other priests return to the sanctuary to chant while Cal opens the door to the dark room. He does not know the Blue who is waiting for him, and neither do those who brought him down here, and whoever it is will never tell. Now this one is the One. The priest he lays with is Adaon to him, the God himself consecrating his beloved. In the years since, Cal had been Adaon to every man who comes to the consecration rooms, including the novices on the morning of their initiations. They are always boys he does not know well, who will not know his touch, or his gestures. On occasion they have been boys he does not even like, but it did not matter, because he was God to them and in God’s place.
In the room of consecration, where usually devotees offer themselves to Blues, Cal, who has by now been with many Blues, experiences this one in the dark. What he would do what he would not, what would make him uncomfortable or frightened is already known. When they are done, when they have recovered, there is no speech, and out the other door they go into the garden that is in the very center of the first part of the Temple. Cal had been here many times since, and there are windows all looking down into the garden, and a great sky light, but all night before, Blues brought the great covering down over this place so that Cal and his lover only know the garden by feel, Cal must hold onto the man’s hand, and the hand is tender. It guides him into the pool, washing sweat and saliva and semen from his body, washing him in the soap crystals until he rises, and the man dries him in the darkness, and then in the room pulls a robe over him, and departs silently back into the garden with only a kiss on both cheeks. When Cal has left the room he blinks in the dimness of the hall light, and comes out into the sanctuary where his brothers are waiting for him, for he is now cloaked in the hooded robe of deep, smoky blue.
They gather around Cal and sing, clapping him on the hsoudlers and embracing him


Adaon save our blessed priest,
Long live our beloved priest,
Lord save our child;
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
True to live e’er us,
Adaon bless this priest!

The song is many versed and they march him through the temple, up the Great Stairway, seven stories to the great chapel. He is breathless when they reach the top. In the great chapel the others have heard the young men coming, and the whole of the high chapel is filled with singing to meet theirs.
There he is brought in to them robed in blue, and brought to the altar where the Abbot kneels and anoints his feet in oil and then his palms and reaches quickly into his robe to anoint his hip and touches his lips and his brow saying “Here God kisses you, and here God kisses you and here God kisses you,” and then, at last, handing him a bag of coins.
“And what is the bag of coins?” The Abbot asks
“The price of my prostitution.”
“And what will you do with it?”
Cal opens the bag and spills it contemptuously on the ground. The gold and silver coins gleam.
“I am a spouse, no whore, a lover and no prostiture. I am the bodyservant of the God of Love, and I cannot be bought.”
They all bend their head and murmur ths sacred word of assent, and then the Abbot kisses him on the cheeks and says, “You are duly consecreated and duly made a Priest of Adaon,” and Cal is led from the hall while the high morning service begins.
That service is a long one. It must be. For the first bathing concecrated him as a whore devoted to the pleasure of men and took him from his common life, but this bath concecrates him as a bride and bridge groom. He is watered and scrubbed and gently washed, his arms, pits, his sex, even between his butccoks, Derek runs a cloth across him as gently as if he were a baby, for he is a baby, being born again, and in the next chamber the priests still sing. Now the cold river water is poured on him, over his sex, over his ass, over his nipples and his head as he shudders, and the salt is sprnklied on him and the water again, and he remembers what was told him.
“This was done for you when you were but a child, and it will never be done for you again until you are dead. These are the brothers who will do that last service.”
Since then, Cal has done it himslelf, gently washing the bodies of his brothers, his uncles, his other fathers, and preparing them to, at last, join the Lord Adaon forever. He feared this death once, but now there is no fear, only beauty. He is completely safe here. He remembers it was red headed, sparkling eyed Gabriel who tenderly massaged him with oil and combed his copper hair and slipped on the close fitting drawers of Blue Priests and then the under garment and now a snow white hooded robe, the robes worn only at these special times and that most people never saw. Cal remembers wanting to cry that day for he could always look seductive, always be sexy, but here he looks like something else altogether, and even he can barely look at the beauty.
He is led into the hall with rose petals strewn before him, and now they are all in white. Now the Abbot declares, “You are the Beloved of the Beloved. You are the priest of the High Priests, you are the apple of His eye and though all touch you none shall touch you. You are a virgin forever, belonging only to God. You are a virgin forever belonging only to your brothers. You are a virgin forever beonging only to yourself.”
The Abbot slips the silver open palm over Cal’s head, and the weight of it is cool on Cal’s chest.
This morning as he performs the rituals himself, and the silver hand touches his breast again, he remembers again who he is and the dignity of a Blue Priest who is the beloved, forever, of Adaon and who can be bought by none other.

MORE TOMORROW NIGHT

 

[CharmedFan28]

Cal's initiation is very interesting to read indeed! This world is very different but I like it. I look forward to whatever comes next! Great writing! Sorry I don't have more to say, it has been a fun but busy day and yeah, this is all I have to say.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, I'm glad you enjoyed and I'm really glad you had a good party

 

[ChrisGibson]

Abbot Hyrum was in his chapel room finishing morning prayers, and he came up off of his knees not as gracefully as he once did as Cal entered, and wrapped his beads around his brown hand.
“You came all the way up here?” Hyrum said, making the sign of reverence across his chest and shoulders and face to end his prayers, “when we are on our way down.”
Cal nodded. “I thought it was right to come to you. And, besides, I never come up here.”
“You can come up here anytime yo wish, Calon,” the saintly man said. “You know this.”
The chapel room and all the rooms of the Abbot’s apartments were low ceilinged and wide, and the morning sun slanted through them as Abbot Hyrum took his mantle and the staff of his office and left the room ahead of Cal saying, “Don’t forget to shut the door.”
Even as Cal did so, the Abbot shrugged.
“I don’t suppose it matters.”
They came out to the great airy lobby of the seventh floor that lead to the top of the long wide and winding staircase that went through the rest of the building. To their right were the doors to the great chapel, and to the left of them was the railing from which they could look out and down to the sanctuary.
Hyrum yawned.
“It was unwise of me to wake so early. Prior Robinton reminded me of that. On any other day I would just go back to sleep a little, but we must sit before the King and before the other orders, one of the less savory parts of this office.”
The Abbot went before the King four times a year, but Cal had never accompanied him. They took the lift down to the lobby of the White Door where they meet Brigham and Peter, Kryse and Sian and Lorand, the other Blues who would be traveling to the palace with the Abbot.
In those first months when Cal was being trained in posture and composure, it was Kryse who had told him, “To those in the world who need our love, we must appear as brothers, but to those who would harm other men and who would loathe us, we must appear as hard as stone and as icy as virgins.”
The Abbot traveled in a great litter, and to Cal’s surprise, since he had never made this trip, he traveled in the litter with the Abott. The others rode on great horses on either side of him. Through the curtains of the jostling sedan, Cal occasionally looked at the towers and great houses of the city, the opening markets, the broad stone streets filled with hawkers and herders, the Marnen bringing in their flocks of goats and cattle as if the city streets were village roads pastures. The whores in red low cut voluminous dresses, slowly sweeping the stoops of their brothels, the omnibuses trundling down the street. The Blue procession moved slowly to the great Linden Street with its banks and shops and townhouses bordering the broad River Annlyn, and crossed over on Anthelin Bridge into the broad houses, gardens, parks and evident wealth of King’s Garth. Rising over all of this wealth were the great red walls and rose colored towers of the Kingsboro.
The Kingsboro was the oldest part of the new city. Before it was Kingsboro it held another name, but when the Sendic Kings came. They built the great rose walls over the rose stones of the ancient palace, and a boro, unlike most castles, was open to people, a fortified town in itself, and so the procession continuedthrough the People’s Gate in the part of the castle that was always public, and through that they were carried up to the Athel Court where the littler was lowered, and across the court, as Cal rounded the litter to assist the Abbot’s exit, they saw the Bishop Herulian coming out of his palanquin and bowing to have his acolytes put the great ovular miter of his office on. Here, also, the Abbot of Purplekirk was dismounting from his horse accompanied by his attendant monks.
“It appears.” the Abbot of Purplekirk said to Abbot Hyrum, we are the slowpokes, brother and everyone else had entered the hall already.”
“How you can call that man brother,” the Archbishop grumbled.
Cal felt a heat rise in him toward the priest, but the old Abbot said, “How you cannot call every man brother already displays too much of your true nature, Herulian.”
Cal liked the Abbot of Purplekirk then, but did not look to Hyrum to see his own Abbot’s expression. Purplekirk and the Archbishop had a long history, for Purplekirk was, by all agreement, the highest minster in the New Faith, and the most important kirk in Westrial, and though the Archbishop used it for his services and was himself a White Priest, it was understood that the chief of Purplekirk was the White Abbot, and that the White Abbot was, in some ways, the Abbot over the Bishop. What was more, because of this, the Bishop’s palace was south of them on Varayan Hill, and the newer and less important Kirk of Varayan was his church. Cal was not a part of the New Faith, but he knew those who practiced it stood in factions between Purplekirk and New Kirk and he knew, like it or not, that it was this faith that was the chief one of Westrial, and its priests and bishops who had the ears of the lords, princes and, ultimately, of the King. It was not the Blue Priests who put a crown on the head of a prince and made him a monarch. It was the Archbishop of New Kirk.
Honored as he was to accompany the Abbot, Cal had forgotten the possibility of meeting the King. He told himself now that it hardly mattered. He would not actually meet the King. He would accompany the man who was meeting the King and he do it silently and unknown.
When King Anthal came in, accompanied by Prince Cedd, Cal noted a stooped and ancient man who must have been taller and imposing in his youth and still bore signs of this in his age. He was accompanied by a handsome but arrogant black haired son who had no love for the Blue Priesthood or need for any of the Orders outside of the New Faith. When they entered the small, sunlight hall, all bowed bowed their heads, but none rose, indicating the dignity of the priests and the holy orders.
“All are here,” Prince Caedmon said.
“All are not here, your grace” The Abbot of Purplekirk corrected the Prince, and a frown flashed across Caedmon’s face, but he smiled.
“Let us say, venerable one, that all are here that matter.”
It was the White Monks who had brought the New Faith to Westrial a century and a half before the coming of the Sendics, when only the Royan people and the Tribes had lived here, and it was with the help of the White Monks and later the White Priests, that the Sendics had been accepted as kings and peace had been made between the warring people of the land that would become Westrial, so ever was the role of the White Abbot in esteem.
“But how can we say that?” the White Abbot continued, “I am her,e the Archbishop Herulian is here. Great Brother Antony of the Brown Order is here, and General Benedict of the Black, but where are the Women of the Crystal Ilse, or the Ladies of the Grey Islands?”
“Witches?” Prince Caedmon raised an eyebrow.
“Or the men of the White Tower?”
“Pagan sorcerers.”
“Or Ekkrebeth himself.”
“Ekkrebeth,” Cademon said, his voice changing, “is not welcome in this council.”
“Surely your father the King may speak for himself,” the White Abbot said.
“Ekkrebeth is still abroad in the eastern Kingdoms—”
“And there he can stay,” Bishop Herulian said, “He and all of his witchcrafts.”
The Abbot ignored this and said, “All that we have left to us of the ancient orders, and this is merely because they are housed in this city, is Abbot Hyrum of the The Blue Temples.”
“Yes,” the Archbishop noted, his face flat, “the chief pimp of all the blue whores.”
At this, quick as lighting, with the rage that so often filled him by surprise, Cal leapt up and seized Herulian by the throat, taking his dagger out and pointing it at the Bishop’s neck. While the old man’s eyes bulged, and he licked his lips, none of his attendants came forward, and Pricne Caedmon cried, “This is unseemly!”
“Cal,” Hyrum said in a flat voice as if he were a little boy fidgeting too much in his seat. “Calon, put the knife down.”
“Apologize?” Cal demanded of the Archbishop.
Hryum said nothing this time, nor did the King, and Cal said to the Archbishop again, “Apologize. Or I will kill you.”
“F…forgive me,” Tha Archbishop whispered, and Cal released him, the red fading from his eyes, his body almsot dizzy with spent rage. He felt himself heating with shame now at his loss of control, but Hyrum merely held out his hand for Cal to come sit by him.
The rest of the meeting was lost on Cal. No one, not even the King, seemed bothered by the fact that a Blue Priest had threatened to murder the Archbishop, and the White Abbot even seemed mildly amused. Cal thought it was a shame he wasn’t the fly on the wall he should have been, for now he was hearing about all sorts of things, the wherabouts of Prince Anson the younger son of King Anthal, how the people of the southeast wanted him for king after his father died, even though Caedmon was the oldest, how the Southern Daumons looked as if they were preparing for war even though Prince Anson had defeated them at the Battle of Polliae, and he learned of how up North, in the Ancient Wood, the bandits were stirring.
“Your prior down there at Kirklees? Is he still involved with them?” the King had asked Brother Antony.
“He never was, and we never were,” the Brown Monk protested.
“This is not what I heard,” Archbishop Heruilain said “My Bishop in Hereford notes that your monks have once again given quarter to the Bandits of the Green Wood and….”
Now Cal understood why no one had minded him putting a knife to Herulian.
On their way out, Cal felt his hand grasped warmly, and was surprised to see it was the saintly old Abbot who had done it with a wink in his eyes. And when he returned to the outer court where the other Blues were waiting with the litter, and he climbed into the litter next to the silent Hyrum, he instantly began”
“Master, I am so sorry. I ws so foolish. It’s just that I couldn’t bear to hear him speak ill of you.”
Hyrum said nothing as the litter was lifted, and Cal did not have the heart to look out of the curtains at the towers and walls of the Kingsboro.
“I was just.. Sometimes the rage comes up in me, and I behave like a fool and I dishonored you. I dishonored us, and fell beneath my station and the breeding you have-”
But just then he saw Hyrum’s face moving, and he wondered, was his master weeping? Was his master disappointed at his poor conduct? And then, suddenly, Hyrum threw back his head and laughed.
Calon looked at him in shock.
“If you could have… if you could have seen those tiresome white priests! If you could have seen Herulian’s face! Oh, that pompous son of a bitch! If only you could have…”
Hryum chortled and shook his head, smiling. Now he turned and embraced Cal, kissing him on both cheeks. He looked on Cal lovingly and smoothed his hair.
“Oh, Calon, Oh, my dear son, and only son I’m ever likely to have.”
He sat back after patting him on the knee.
“Still,” Hyrum said, “I wonder if your rage was not as much for your wounded honor as mine. I know the anger still flies up in you. I know men did horrible things to you before you came to us, but I am so afraid for you when your anger comes, and not for my sake but for yours. I don’t ever want it to master you or put you in the hands of dangerous men. Do you understand me, my son?”
Cal nodded, releived that he had not angered his abbot but ashamed of his own anger.
“Yes, Father.”
They were riding out into the great street, and Cal had recovered himself. If men could see him he would be the haughty, copper haired beauty of the Blue Temple, and a far off look was in his narrowed hazel eyes.
“Part of me wishes I had killed him, though.”
“Yes,” the abbot nodded. “Part of me does too.”


MORE THURSDAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

I am enjoying so much Cal content. His relationship with Hyrum is especially fascinating. I look forward to more of them and more of this story on a whole. Great writing!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I love Cal. Glad you enjoyed a new perspective.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TODAY CONN GOES FROM BEING GUEST TO WELCOMER AND BECOMES MORE A PART OF THE BLUE TEMPLE FAMILY

The sun was rising high in the pale winter blue sky, and Cal imagined it must be some time after twelve by now as they arrived back at the Temple. He still had duties to perform, and he was already on his way to the west part of the temple on the second floor, seeking out Matteo when he heard laughter coming from the young man’s room. There were whispers and then more merry laughter, and Cal thought that Matteo was the least merry creature he’d ever seen, and wondered what could be the cause for such mirth. Indeed he was coming to invite him to lunch in case no one else had, and when he reached the room he saw that it was Conn sitting there with Matteo and the harsh faced young man with his heavy brow looked transformed, clapping his hands at a story the golden skinned boy was finishing.
“Cal!” Conn said.
“Good morning, Conn. Or good afternoon. I came to check on you,” he said to Matt.
“Conn’s been keeping me company,” Matt said, shaking his new friend’s shoulders. “I was stuck in my thoughts when all of a sudden there was a knock at the door and there he was with a donut and orange jucie and he just started talking, telling me about back home in the north. And,” Matt shrugged. “here we are.”
Cal was smiling, and he looked on Conn with affection.
“I didn’t even know if lunch had happened yet,” Cal said.
Matt wouldn’t have known and Conn said, “I guess on the top floor it’s happening for all of you, and I think some folks are up in our—well, your rooms—but I’ve been here with Matt, and I think we got lost in talking though… I think I could eat. Could you eat, Matt?”
Matt, who seemed like he wasn’t shy about many things, was shy about jovial conversation, and he went as red as a girl then said, “I could eat.
“We should go.”
Cal nodded, surprised by the whole turn of this day and surprised by Conn’s sudden take over of Matt. Cal wondered what would become of the golden boy. Some had the gift and were drawn to the Temple, never intending to be Blues, but they had such a force and goodness about them, and leaders were like that too, for Conn seemed to be one.
“We should check on Brian,” Conn decided, and stuck his head in the empty room next door.
“I hear him in the next room,” Matt tried to whisper, stooping to Conn’s ear.
“Quinton’s?” Conn said, and Cal wondered how he had remembered everyone so quickly.
They all stopped in the next room and Brian and Quinton were both on the floor doing whatever assignments the proctors had set them to when they looked up and Cal explained that Conn thought they should all have lunch. With boylike excitement their faces lit at the simple prospect of food, and after Brian helped Quinton rise on his good leg, they set out for the lift, not walking so fast that Quinton, lurching, would be worn out.
But Cal remained at the back of them and he said, “Conn, can I talk to you?”
Conn nodded and left Matteo’s side.
“I know,” Conn said, “I’m over forceful and I take over and—”
“You’re wonderful!” Cal said, seriously. “I wish more people were like you.”
Conn blinked at him.
“I was so worried Matt would have a hard time here, and you just went and found him and made him laugh. I see why Derek feels about you the way he does. You’re a good man and I just wanted to tell you that.”
Conn shrugged, embarrassed and said, “Cal, I’m really not.”
“You are,” Cal said, looking so serious Conn didn’t dare contradict the Blue priest. “And what’s more, our rooms are your rooms. This is your home. All of it. You are our family. You belong here.”


They had one of their late nights because everyone wasn’t present for lunch. Sara had given herself to kitchen work that day and Nialla had gone to Purplekirk to be with Jon. Lorne had worked in the Blue Rooms all morning until three in the afternoon when he came back and slept before bathing, and Derek had been attending down in the sanctuary and then studying with Gabriel. That night, the teacher Polycarin had come to the Temple and they had all gathered in one of the great hearing rooms to listen to him. He had talked about the teaching to the great Ifandell Modet and the coming of the Age of Love and while he talked, Derek, interested as he was, yawned and thought about what Cal had told him of this morning’s meeting at the palace.
Conn said, as much to not hear anymore about Polycarin, as for actual curiosity, “Gabriel, you told us the story of why the Red Door is the Red Door, but what of the Black and the White?”
Gabriel looked utterly surprised to be addressed by Conn and blinked through his glasses in surprise and pleasure. Conn though Gabriel high and beautiful and lofty and had no idea that Gabriel thought the same of him and had never expected the tawny haired and carmel skinned young man to directly speak to him.
“The story of the White Door, yes,” Cal said, sitting up and ruining whatever was about to come from Gabriel’s mouth.
“Will you tell it, Gabriel?” Nialla begged, clasping Conn’s hands. “He is the most marvelous storyteller.”
“Gabriel is a Shonekae,” Derek said, precisely, and Conn had no idea what that was until he continued, “He tells the holy stories in the formal and sacred ways. Will you tell this one truly, as it is supposed to be told and not just a paraphrase.”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! I am glad people are getting on well and finding their place in The Blue House. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Tomorrow, Gabriel will speak and we'll know him a little bit better. And know the world a little bit better too.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT GABRIEL TELLS A STORY

Gabriel cleared his throat. Priests they always were, but he had wanted a conversation with Conn, to talk to him for once, and now they were all looking at him and Quinton was saying, “Oh, yes, the Old Stories, in the old way,” and folding his good leg under the crippled one while, beside Matteo, he sat up properly.
So there was nothing for it, and Gabriel began.

“Now let us praise the Lord of Love,” Gabriel began, raising a hand and lifting his eyes, “And let us praise the holy families of the High Gods. Blessed be the Anyar and the Vanyar, and Blessed be the Mahran. And praised be the Avayan, the avatars of the Holy Gods who come into the world, and blessed, blessed, blessed be Amanyar, the Seven Great Avatars of the Gods.
“Praised also be the Nassisti in Heaven, and bless we all the Nayavaran on the Earth, those mighty and divine spirits, and blessed be their first children, the spirits of the mountains, and the waters and the forest and most blessed be their last children, older than the race of men, called the Elves, the Fair Folk, the Erl and the Shidhe. Of their race have come the Gods as well, and from them in time was born the Holy Aengus.”


Before ever the foot of man touched this land, it was reserved for the children of the children of the Gods, who are the Fair Folk, and it was called Ancharan, the Fairest Heart, from whence came, in time, the name of Ynkarando.
There was a famous king of Ancharan of the race of the Tuatha De, Eochaid Olathair his name. Elcmar of the Brug had a wife whose name was Eithne and another name for her was the River Boand. The Ollam desired to lie with her. The woman would have yielded to the Ollam had it not been for fear of Elcmar, so great was his power. Thereupon the Ollam sent Elcmar away on a journey and the Ollam worked great spells upon Elcmar as he set out, that he might not returns early, and he dispelled the darkness of night for him, and he kept hunger and thirst from him. He sent him on long errands, so that nine months went by as one day, for he had said that he would return home again between day and night. Meanwhile the Ollam went in upon Elcmar's wife, and she bore him a son, even Aengus, and when Elcmar returned and he perceived not her offense, that is, that she had lain with the Ollam. When Boand the River Maid knew she must part with her son, she wore white nine days and nine nights, and her attending ladies were the trees of the River Boand, and until then had they been deep and dark with leaves green as summer, but they felt the sorrow of their lady, and put on white, even their leaves remaining white, and they never did change, thus was born the wonder of the White Forest, and in time came Goram from the Far West, and took a tree from this forest and planted it, and in time its branches were so great they could be the floors of houses. From one of these pure white branches he fashioned a great door, and now it is the door of innocence in all Blue Houses, and all of us have passed through it, for any White Door is born trom the daughters of those woods.
The Ollam meanwhile brought his son to Vidar's house in Tethba, to be fostered. There Aengus was reared for the space of nine years. Vidar had a great playing-field in Bri Leith. Thrice fifty lads of the young nobles of Ancharan were there and thrice fifty maidens of the land of Ancharan. Aengus was the leader of them all, because of Vidar's great love for him, and the beauty of his form and the nobility of his race. He was also called in Mac Oac, the Young Son, for his mother said: "Young is the son who was begotten at the break of day and born betwixt it and evening."
Now Aengus quarreled with Triath son of Febal of the Fir Bolg, who was one of the two leaders in the game, and a fosterling of Vidar. It was no matter of pride with Aengus that Triath should speak to him, and he said: "It irks me that the son of a serf should hold speech with me," for Aengus had believed until then that Vidar was his father, and the kingship of Bri Leith his heritage, and he knew not of his kinship with the Ollam.
Triath made answer and said: "I take it no less ill that a hireling whose mother and father are unknown should hold speech with me." Thereupon Aengus went to Vidar weeping and sorrowful at having been put to shame by Triath.
"What is this?" said Vidar. "Triath has defamed me and cast in my face that I have neither mother nor father."
"Tis false," said Vidar.
"Who is my mother, from whence is my father?"
"No hard matter. Thy father is Eochaid Ollathair," said Vidar, "and Eithne, wife of Elcmar of the Brug, is thy mother. It is I that have reared thee unknown to Elcmar, lest it should cause him pain that thou wast begotten in his despite."
"Come thou with me," said Aengus, "that my father may acknowledge me, and that I may no longer be kept hidden away under the insults of the Fir Bolg."
Then Vidar set out with his fosterling to have speech with Eochaid, and they came to Uisnech of Meath in the center of Ancharan, for 'tis there that was Eochaid's house, Ancharan stretching equally far from on every side, south and north, to east and west. "Before them in the assembly they found Eochaid. Vidar called the King aside to have speech with the lad.
"What does he desire, this youth who has not come until now?"
"His desire is to be acknowledged by his father, and for land to be given to him," said Vidar, "for it is not meet that thy son should be landless while thou art king of Ancharan."
"He is welcome," said the Eochaid, "he is my son. But the land I wish him to have is not yet vacant."
"What land is that?" said Vidar.
"The Brug, to the north of the Boand," said Eochaid.
"Who is there?" said Vidar.
"Elcmar," said Eochaid, "is the man who is there I have no wish to annoy him further."
"Pray, what counsel dost thou give this lad?" said Vidar.
"I have this for him," said Eochaid. "On the day of Year’s End let him go into the Brug, and let him go armed. That is a day of peace and amity among the men of Ancharan, on which none is at enmity with his fellow. And Elcmar will be in Cair Sidhe unarmed save for a fork of white hazel in his hand, his cloak folded around him and a gold brooch in his cloak, and three fifties playing before him in the playing-field; and let Aengus go to him and threaten to kill him. But it is meet that he slay him not, provided he promise him his will. And let this be the will of Aengus, that he be king for a day and a night in the Brug; and see that thou not yield the land to Elcmar till he submit himself to my decision; and when he comes let Aengus plea be that the land has fallen to him, and that he in fee simple for sparing Elcmar and not slaying him, and that what he had asked for is kingship of day and night, and" said he, "it is in days and nights that the world is spent."
Then Vidar sets out for his land, and his foster-son along with him, and on Year’s End following, Aengus having armed himself came into the Brug and made a feint at Elcmar, so that he promised him in return for his life kingship of day and night in his land. The Mac Oac straightway abode there that day and night as king of the land, Elcmar's household being subject to him. On the morrow Elcmar came to claim his land from the Mac Oc, and therewith threatened him mightily. The Mac Oc said that he would not yield up his land until he should put it to the decision of the Ollam in the presence of the men of Ancharan.
Then they appealed to the Ollam, who adjudged each man's contract in accordance with his undertaking.
"So then this land accordingly belongs henceforth to this youth," said Elcmar.
"It is fitting," said the Ollam. "Thou was taken unawares on a day of peace and amity. Thou gavest thy land for mercy shown thee, for thy life was dearer to thee than thy land, yet thou shalt have land from me that will be no less profitable to thee than the Brug."
After a year, Mider came to visit his fosterling, and he found the Mac Oc on the mound of Shidhe in Broga on the day of Year’s End, with two companies of youth at play before him in the Brug, and Elcmar on the mound of Cleitech to the south, watching them. A quarrel broke out among the youths in the Brug. "Do not stir," said Vidar to the Mac Oc, "because of Elcmar, lest he come down to the plain. I will go myself to make peace between them."
Thereupon Vidar went, and it was not easy for him to part them. A split of holly was thrown at Vidar as he was intervening, and it knocked one of his eyes out. Vidar came to the Mac Oc with his eye in his hand and said to him: "Would that I had not come on a visit to thee, to be put to shame, for with this blemish I cannot behold the land I have come to, and the land I have left, I cannot return to it now.
"It shall in no wise be so," said the Mac Oc. "I shall heal you of your wound and you shall return to the land you have left. Thus shall you abide with me a time.”
“I will not stay," said Vidar, "unless I have a reward therefore." "What reward?" said the Mac Oc.
"A chariot worth seven cumals,"said Vidar, "and a mantle befitting me, and the fairest maiden in Ancharan."
"I have," said the Mac Oc, "the chariot, and the mantle befitting thee."
"There is moreover," said Vidar, "the maiden that surpasses all the maidens in Ancharan in form."
"Where is she?" said the Mac Oc.
"She is in Ulster," said Vidar, "Ailill"s daughter Etain Echraide daughter of the king of the north-eastern part of Ancharan. She is the dearest and gentlest and loveliest in Ancharan."

Though Conn held his jaw from yawning, he was eager to learn what came next, but Gabriel concluded:
“And that is the tale of the White Tree, and Aengus the Lord of Love had many more adventures, but this one, for now, is done.”

Late evening, at the approach of midnight, Derek took Conn aside into a corner of the hallway before their rooms.
“Yes?” Conn said.
Derek smiled down at him, scooped up his face and kissed him deeply.
“What are you doing tomorrow? You’ve been gone from me all day.”
“It is you who have been gone from me.”
“Stay with me tomorrow. I’m not doing anything. Let’s stay together all day and I swear I won’t ask you to do laundry.”
Conn laughed, but said, “I should be doing something, like going to the kitchens or making beds or… something. Gods know I didn’t do anything today.”
“I heard that’s not true at all. I heard you spent all morning being a friend to Matteo, and then half the afternoon listening to Cal.”
“That is just… being a friend.”
“Well, in this house being a friend actually is doing something,” Derek said. “It’s earning you keep and,” Derek said holding Conn by the waist, “seeing as I am a Blue Preist of the second class in sore need of companionship all day tomorrow, that would be doing something too.”
Conn laughed and nodded and Derek pulled him forward and kissed his head.
“If you’d like, you can even list yourself as my attendant.”
“I’ll attend to you all right.”
Derek pressed himself against Conn in the hall while Brian and two other first years passed, grinning.
“I wish you’d attend to me now. I don’t think I’ll be able to wait till bedtime.”
“I’d think,” Conn said, dragging him to the main room, “that after attending in the sanctuary all day you’d have been sated.”
“I was for the most part only attending and not participating,” Derek said. “And besides. Whatever I do when I’m not with you, I’m not with you. And you are who I want to be with,” Derek whispered into his neck, biting it, and growled, “all night.”

 

[CharmedFan28]

Gabriel's story was cool to read. Looks like Conn and Derek are going to have a fun night together. I am really liking this story! Its very different and very enjoyable. Great writing and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, something does definitely seem to be about to happen tonight, and Gabriel has begun to tell his tale.

 

[ChrisGibson]

….his Contemplation, which absolves the second part of our Admonition, is Celestial, and to be understood with Spiritual Reason; for the circumstances and depth of every thing cannot be perceived any other way, then by the Spiritual Cogitation of Man: and this Contemplation is twofold. One is called possible, the other impossible...


They were listening to a lecture from earlier that day on the dollspeaker and though it seemed like Gabriel was engrossed in it as he sipped his rich cup of sweet coffee, Nialla was lying between John’s knees like he was a sthrone, and sewing while he gentle held her, and Sara was sketching in a notebook while Brian and Quinton, who was staying with them that night, were quietly talking and Matt was dozing next to Cal.

As if any one should endeavour to comprehend the Eternity of the Most High, which is vain and impossible, yea a Sin against the Holy Spirit, so arrogantly to pry itno the Divinity itself, which is Immense, Infinite, and Eternal; and to subject the incomprehensive Counsel of the Secrets of GOD, to humane Inquisition. The other part of Contemplation, which is possible, is called the Theory. This contemplates that, which is perceived by Touch and Sight, and hath a formed Nature in time: this considers, how that nature may be helped and perfected by Resolution of it self; how every body may give forth from it self, the good or evil, Venome or Medicine latent in it; how Destruction and Confraction are to be handled, whereby under a just Title, without Sophistical deceits, the pure may be severed and seperated from the impure. This Seperation is instituted and made by divers manual operations, and various ways; Some of which are vulgarly known by experience, others remote from vulgar experience. These are, Calcination, Sublimation, Reverberation, Circulation...

“Does someone need to go to bed?” Cal asked.
“We all need to go to bed,” Lorne, who was actually splayed on the bed said, “But none of us is.”
“Do you really think there’ll be a war?” Quinton said, suddenly.
“What?” Conn began. He was lost in trying to understand the lecture that apparently was something like what his friends heard all the time in the halls below.

Next to the Theory, which researcheth out the inmost properties of things, follows Preparation, which is performed by Operations of the hands, that some real work may be produced. From Preparation ariseth Knowledge, viz. Such, as opens all the fundamentals of Medicine. Operation of the Hands requires a diligent application of it self, but the praise of Science consists in experience, but the difference of these Anatomy distinquisheth, *Operation shews how all things may be brought to light, and exposed to sight visibly:

“They’ve been talking about one coming with Daumany,” Jon said, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter, but adding, “even the White Brothers discuss it at chapel.”
“But will there be one?” Conn said.
“No,” Cal laughed this off, but Derek said, “I don’t know.”
“There isn’t going to be a war,” Cal said, his voice gentle, but insistent.
“We don’t know that,” Derek said, simply, “and not wishing for one doesn’t make it so.”
“Everything we’ve heard is just a matter of powerful men talking,” Cal said.
“It is powerful men who make wars,” Derek said. “When the talking is done.”
“Derek—”
“Quinton asked,” Derek said, “and I answered. “We don’t know what’s coming. All we can do is wait and prepare.”


...but knowledge shews the practice; and that, whence the true Practitioner is, and is no other then confirmation: because the operation of the hands manifests something that is good, and draws the latent and hidden nature outwards, and brings it to light for good. For, as in Spirituals, the way of the Lord is to be prepared; so also in these things, the way is to be opened and prepared; so also in these things, the way is to be opened and prepared, that no errour be from the right path, and the Process may be made, without devious errours, in the direct way to health.

“There hasn’t been a war in our lifetime,” Cal said.
“There are always wars, Cal,” Lorne corrected. “Just not in Westrial and just not touching us. And we have had our arguments with Daumany and occasional skirmishes for years.”
“Well,” it was Matt who spoke, “as long as the wars stay outside of Westrial, as long as we take the war to them. As long as it stays out of Kingsboro.”
“War will not come to Kingsboro,” Cal said. “we are the capital. We are a strongly guarded city well in the interior of the country with allies at our backs. And war has never come here.”
“Of course it has,” Derek said.
Cal looked a little irritated with his friend.
“Our ancestors brought war here. We are Sendics, Cal. Every white man in this room and to some degree most brown, is descended from invaders who left the north on longships and came here.”


“I am afraid,” Cal said, simply.
Derek softened, and the arm that was not laced with Conn’s he used to hold Cal’s hand.
“I am too, brother. But if we stand side by side we can look things in the face and know what to do should the worst come.”
“And the worst hasn’t come,” Sara said, finally.
“That’s right,” Nialla reminded them all, putting her needle work down while she propped herself up on John’s knee.
“So far what has come is nothing but us sitting here talking about what we cannot change.”


THE END OF PART ONE

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great end to part one. I am liking where the characters are at the moment and can't wait to read what happens next! I don't have much to say other then I am really enjoying this different story and I look forward to more soon!

 

[ChrisGibson]

I'm glad you enjoyed. I should have said that I will start posting more from this story in a couple of days.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Book Two



Six



matteo
​

The Blue Priesthood shares a kinship with the Blue Mages of the White Tower for, long ago, the two were the same, and one branched off into magical order while the other branched into the primarily sexual, though each has always considered the other part of the same tree.

- Notes on the Ancient Orders, Marataton Revarum, 789





Matteo stayed until he knew this was beyond him. He had hoped that, at last, he was so used to being in Hyrum House he would loosen up and at last participate in what he’d seen his new friends going off to do, heard in the rooms when the doors were closed or passed when the doors were pen, not even able to look in. He had been sure that, after four weeks he would be ready, and when Brian came into the room with Quinton and then later Cal followed, Matteo thought that, he who was no stranger to sex, who had been given to a stranger when he was nine years old to pay for his father’s drinking bill, could easily withstand this. But he felt himself becoming shy and feeling strange and he had excused himself from their company.
“Was I not to his liking?” the man who had come to them asked.
“That isn’t it at all,” Cal said, “Matteo is new. He thought, I believe, that this would be the night he won his novice’s robe.
Cal did not blame Matteo for anything. When he had come to the Blue house, it had been almost a year before he’d given up the celibacy he’d never been able to have. He hadn’t been curious about or desirous for anything, So much had been thrust upon him so quickly. The work in the Blue House usually performed at least a double duty. This night would fulfill this man’s fantasies, and it would also be more experience for Brian as he moved from being a novice to his ordination on the twelfth day of Wheelturn, and for Cal and Quinton it was their religious duty as well as their pleasure.
As winter set in, and Wheelturn approached, the Temple was filled with more men than usual and open to their visits for longer hours as well. Always the Black Door was lit by torches to indicate it was open, and always one could coome to the Black door and expect to meet a priest. The White Door was lit as well to welcome strangers who needed a roof over their heads, a place to sleep and a meal, but at this time of year the Red Door of the main entrance to the sanctuary was lit as well, for more devotees came to practice the Rite of Communion and twice as many priests as usual stood on duty.
The usual lunch gatherings in their apartments were a less frequent in December, and Conn saw less of Derek too. Conn wasn’t jealous but he also wasn’t foolish. He didn’t ask for descriptions or more knowledge of what Derek was doing when he was gone and so for him, Derek wasn’t really doing it, or at least, to him what Derek did was more like school work, or the chores he had done around the farm back home.
Matteo wound his way up to the fourth floor where Conn was staying with Sara and Nialla, Obala and John, and Conn, looking up from the book he was reading said, “I thought you were—”
“Not ready.” was all Matteo said. “Not quite ready, not quite yet.”

Downbelow, Quinton’s heart had given a little and surprising lurch when Matteo had left. He was ready to be with him, ready to introduce him into everything. For Quinton sex had been a revelation. It was a relief from the pain and frailty, the looks of pity he had known. The time of sex was when he felt beautiful. He felt worshiped now as this strange man, the client to their temple knelt before him, slurping on his cock, pulling his mouth expertly up and down on Quinton and licking him, murmuring in almost stupid worship, “Yes, It’s so big. It’s such a big cock. its just what I needed,” his words slurred because his mouth was filled with it. Sometimes this was what men needed to just get down on their knees and worship a cock, or just worship a whole body. There were evenings or mornings when Quinton had just lain in bed and felt himself getting bigger and harder under the wet ministrations of a man’s mouth, a man who had only wanted to do this, who had only dreamt of having a cock in his mouth, of slavering over balls and holding them. He lifted Quinton’s legs up, and thrust his tongue into his asshole.
“What a pretty ass. What a beautiful ass.” he was saying, as he ate Quinton and Quinton, moaning on the bed, accepted his worship.
What the man wanted he could have in the Blue Hosue for free, though a contribution was expected, and though one had to come humbly to ask for this from concecrated priests. In a brothel it would have costs hundreds of crowns and who knew what diseases you’d walk away with? While the man’s tongue was darting inside of Quinton and Quinton’s eyes were closed at the pleasure, feeling his tongue slurp back up, take in his balls and then began to suck away on his cock again. The man was moaning while Brian rhythmically fucked him from behind.
“So amazing, so amazing” the man umrumred and Brian, kissing the back of his neck while he steadily fucked him told him, “It is a amazing.”
Cal had said that the best part of an orgy was you didn’t have to be king of it, you didn’t have to be in every element, you could watch, and they had all known of this man, and Cal hadn’t shaved for three days, was looking scraggly and sexy, and his copper hair, unwashed, was a little darker now. Quinton thought how he might crawl into Cal’s bed along with Gabriel tonight. Cal had the most lovely, lightly muscled milky body, and the largest penis, like an arc, fleshy and long that he was stroking now, his green eyes a little dimmed with lust. Cal crossed the room and milked himself and now, with a staggering breath, he began to come, his semen arcing up across the room lit by the lamps, drizzling Quinton’s belly and chest, running into his neck and dribbling down the sheets of the pillow.
“Oh, God!” the man exclaimed, and now he pushed Quintou up and Quinton felt the pressure blunt and sharp at turns, and then fulfilling, of the man entering him. Of his cock sliding inside of him and the man giving him the rhthymic fucking he was receiving from Brian. They moved together, a three part engine, but at that moment Brian made a startled noise and Quinton saw over his man’s shoulder, Brian’s face change as he came.
“Come inside of me,” Quinton growled in a voice that almost shocked him.
“Your loads feel so good inside of me,” the man was saying while Brian braced against him, staggered by his coming, and this stranger fucked Quinton faster and Quinton watched Brian’s face slackening, his breath catching as he kept coming, as the orgasm ended, as he was still in the man, his cock still fucking as the man was still fucking Quinton.
It wasn’t long before he came and Quinton felt the slick burst of seed inside of him, felt the man and the semen slipping out of him, was surprised by how hard he still was, was surprised when Cal came and gently, as if he was taking a throne, sat down on Quinton, engulfing his cock, and rode him him until Quinton’s body staggered as he felt his balls lurching, his body seizing, himself shooting inside of Cal, until they were all collapsed and quiet, naked and content, slick with sweat and other things in the room that was filled with the smell of sex and smoking incense from the bronze pot on the old table.

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great start to this new section! I am glad Matteo is starting to find his place. The sex was very hot in the last part of this portion! Excellent writing and I look forward to more soon when I can get to it. Its almost Christmas here so Merry Christmas! I hope you have a good one!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, things did go to someplace, and of course, this is the work of the Blue House. Now that we're in part two things will become more intense. Here we are settling into Chriatmas Eve and Lessons and Carols just went off. I hope you're having a great holiday.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT THE WINTER CELEBRATION IN KINGSBORO

It did not start to snow in earnest until Wheelturn, and everyone who lived in the city knew that the snow would not last. For the last two days the sky had been a dark grey that made the short days shorter, but at the the streets were filled with lights and the vendors remained open longer in defiance of the approaching winter, the lights of house sparkled with the life within. In the first week of December, the tree sellers had arrived from the forest, trundling in great firs and spruces to be set up in houses, and the minsters were all hung in purple for the coming of Annatide. Even the increasing news of war did not keep spirits down, or did not keep them down much, and then tonight, on the first of the three nights of Wheelturn, the great streets were filled with lights of floating lanterns against the pewter grey night, and the great grinning floats of the spirits meant to keep away the demons of winter, and the elaborately painted, many horned wide eyed demons themselves, that, like the dancers in red and yellow and green beneath them, seemed to dance to the noice of blowing trumpets and childrens’ noisemakers.
Rubbing their hands together, dressed in woolen caps, jackets and gloves fingerless and otherwise, Derek and Cal led their companions through the streets, darting between crowds to get a better view of things.
“What ho! Wait, move please. Thank you kindly!” they heard Lorne as he came with a carousel of food and drinks and was followed by Gabriel who began passing them around. At the solemn parts of the night parades, there would be Blue Priests marching, but none of them was old enough to be counted in the solemn processions, and tonight they could be boys with their skull caps pulled over their ears against the cold, for, as Conn noted to his sister, no matter what theye say, it does indeed get cold in Kingsboro.
Lorn passed Conn a cone of hot beans and Conn passed one to Jon and to his sister.
“Where’s Sara. Ah Sara! Cal said, “You’re no fun! Aren’t you watching?”
There were tables lined up on the streets for the more sensible, and Sara was with her brothers and sisters, sitting on a bench at one of these tucking away into a chicken wrap and eating her beans.
“I don’t stand to eat,” she said, “and I can see just fine.”
To demonstrate, she pointed in front of her, and Cal decided to take her on faith.
The time of the Turning, when many of the Marnen made their long trip back to Marnen Ro and a new group arrived, had taken place a few weeks ago, and Sara’s parents had left, but her siblings had remained along with some cousins who had made a life in the city. Theo was pointing at the float of Vana and Wayan, and his pet goose flapped its wings and squawked.
Cal sat down with them for a bit and stuck his hand in Theo’s chicken basket, pulling up a fry. In a tight dot of dark Royans, they saw Obala and her sister, niece and nephews.
“Out of the way folks, out of the way!” they heard a a rough but somewhat merry voice, and Sara was surprised to see it was young Matteo with a great smile on his plain face, looking silly under a floppy cap with its flapping ears and great peak and he was at the head of Brian and Quinton laughed as he limped along.
But already, through the noise and the trumpets and the drums they heard a solemn chanting, and soon it revealed a great dais, every terrace of it lit with burning tapers, and some made the sign of reverenc, but some even fell to their faces as the Brotherhood of the Virgin marched with the great canopied image of the Mother of Sorrows, the Lady Aiuryn, crowned, her hands extended in blessing, and they chanted

O perissótero,
perissótero glykiá Panagía!
Mitéra agápi kai áfovos,

Even Sara stopped her eating and Jon and Nialla unlinked hands. Derek was seized with emotion and took off his hat and bowed as slowly the glowing dais born by black robed men processed into the night, filling it with golden light while its bearers sang:

Parigoreíte kai katafýgete Panagía,
Auría.
Ó, ti elpízoume, empistéveste.
prosefchitheíte, prosefchitheíte gia mas.
Idoú oi adýnamoi, eínai exairetiká gia
tous lypiménous.

Voithíste mas, Auíri!
Párte tous pónous mas,
therapéfste tis thlípseis mas.
Prosefchitheíte,
prosefchitheíte gia mas.

In the morning of the world, when Tethys had given bith to Amana the Mother of the Earth, her sister Aiuryn had remained in the places beyond the boundaries of the universe alone and pleased to be so. But in later times, when she heard the sighs and aorrows of women and men, she put her light in heaven so that all who were lonely could find her, and she was called Lahn, The Weeping One and she wept to all sad souls and was the final recourse to those who called to her, so now, in the winter night, all called to her and all bowed their heads who remembered when they had called to her, and when she had answered.
When her great dais had passed there was a long space of silence before the next dancers came, and the next float and on this came the King of Merriment. There would be no float of Annar until near the end of the month. Nialla saw a vender with fried cheese curds and thought that she didn’t need any, then thought better of it and called him for some.
“Oh me too,” Conn said.
Tonight he thought of home, of their borthers and sisters, of Mother and Father in that little house. He had written home twice, not telling very much, but as much as he could. But perhaps his letters got the same treatment as his sisters, for he heard nothing from his family, so he put them out of his mind best as he could and enjoyed this night.
Westrial, as Westrial, was over a thousand years old. But before that it had been a part of the Sinercian Empire and even before that it had been the land, or part of the land of Ynkurando, as old as Chyr and Solea and Rheged to the southwest and Assendath in the Far South. While in the far north the Hale who had come as raiders eventually created the kingdoms of North Hale, South Hale and Englad, here their cousins the Sendics could only share what had once been Royan land and the Royans shared it with the Tribes. Far in the north, the Royan Gods were unknown and there was only the One Faith, but it could never be so in Westrial. This was the land of Annar, Uleve, Maia and Belmarine, Amana, Tethys, Nessle, Wehlan and Aiuryn and all the High Lords and Ladies of the Anyar and the Vanyar.
When the One Faith had come form Sinercia, though it brought one God, it was understood in Westrial that that One God was but another form of Varayan, the All Encompassing One, he who was called Annar and Adaon, the mischeivous Lover of the Blue Priests, Annar the Lord of Magics of the old sorcerer priests. And though the Sinercians said that this God dwelt in three, a Triune divinity, even in Purplekirk and even in Newkirk where Archbishop Herulain prayed, rather than the triangle with the open eye that stood over altars to the east, here it was the image of Annar flanked by his sisters, Amana and Maia, or by one of his sisters and his Mother, Uleve.
In a halo about the head of Adaon in the Blue Temple were the words:

God sees all
God knows all
God loves all
God accepts all
God embraces all
God is all

But those who had learned to read Old Royan knew there was no word for God in that language. There were three great familis of Gods, and the Gods and Goddesses were refereed to as HE and SHE, their pronouns fully capitalized.
In Westrial it was well known and well taught that there was no one way of God, but all together made the perfect Wheel, and even the old Royna religion had no one orthodoxy, hence the length and variety of parades and why Wheelturn was also Annatide, was also Calatanae, and in this part of the year, as people yawned and bellies were full, the streets were brighter at night than in the day.
Stamping the cold from their feet and laughing like children, the friends returned to the warmth of the Blue House and prepared for bed. The White Door was always lit and attended and tonight Lorne would stand as doorkeeper or Janitor. But the Red Door was closed and so was the Black, and their janitors were off duty, and everyone was heading to their rooms if not to sleep at least to bed.
It was a rowdy goodnight greeting the folk of Derek’s apartment gave to Matteo and Quinton and Brian and the denizens of the first floor, which Matteo reflected, was actually the second floor, and the greeting was by no means final, for Conn had made it very clear that as much as he wanted to lay his head down and sleep, he would be up in an hour and drinking coffee. Brian went to the bathrooms at the end of the hall and when Quinton decided it was time for sleep, Matteo followed.
Down in his rooms, seeing the pain in Quinton’s foot, knowing he had used his leg overmuch, Matteo said, “Do you need help with your boots?”
Brian had helped earlier, but now Quinton said, “No, I’ve got…”
Then he said, “Yes, Matt, I do.”
In Quinton’s room, Matt sat his little friend in a chair, and then Quinton held out his leg and Matt unlaced the first boot and then the other, pulling them away.
“And now for your leg brace.”
“I can do that,” Quinton said, but Matt said, “You could, I’m sure. But I’m right down here, and he began to unlace the heavy metal brace, and as he did, Quinton sighed. Matteo pulled it off slowly and Quinton said, “If you would, just… under the bed. Thank you, Matt.”
Quinton pushed himself up on his strong arms, and Matt saw the hard little biceps of the short man bunch, but as he landed on his wonded leg his eyes shut tight and Matt said, “You shouldn’t stand on it right now.”
“I stand on it all the time” Quinton sounded angry or wounded, Matt wasn’t sure.”
“And does it always hurt like it does now? And please sit down,” Matt said.
Quinton was visibily trembling with the pain and he took a breath as he lowered himself into the chair.
“I’ve been standing on it too long.”
But Matteo had never stopped kneeling and now he took Quinton’s twisted foot and began to massage it and he watched the pain move across the boy’s beautiful face.
“My Gran had bad legs,” Matteo said, “and she would say, Teo, rub me legs and I would,” Matteo said. “So I got good at stuff like that. Tell me when I should stop.”
Quinton’s eyes squinted and his face looked pained.
“You don’t have to do this Matt.”
“No, I don’t guess I do,” he said rubbing the ball of Quinton’s foot and pulling out the cramped toes.
“Oh, God it hurts,” he said. “It hurts, but the thing is this hurt is the hurt it needs. The other hurt… That hurts all the time.”
Matt sat, massaging Quinton’s foot and rubbing his ankle, knowing how to press down and how to make the blood flow, He took the young man’s leg in his strong hands and pressed the life back into it, watching Quinton’s face change.
“Thank you,’ Matteo,” he sighed.
“I just want you to feel better.”
“I do feel better,” Quinton said.
“I want you to not hurt.”
Quinton laughed and Matt said, “What?”
“You know what the good thing is about everyone in this house?”
Matt waited for Quinton to answer.
“We all want each other not to hurt, and we are all hurting just a little bit all the time.”
Quinton smiled and shook his head, and Matt noticed the redness of his lips.
“It always, always hurts and I just learn to live with it.”
Matt did not ask and Quint wasn’t going to make him, so he said, “When I was a little boy my leg was run over by a trolley and the healers at the temple of Amana made it so I could walk again, but sometimes I wonder if the damn thing shouldn’t have just come off.
“No,” Quinton shook his head. “I don’t mean that. And I don’t even hate my pain. But sometimes I dont do what I should . I want to prove to everyone that I’m just as strong as they are and so, I overexert.”
“You are strong,” Matt said. “You’re the strongest person I know. Physically for one thing, and then your face. You look like someone who is strong, whose dealt with things and can get through them. I…” Matt continued while he massaged Quinton’s ankle, “I… you were one of the first people I saw when you came here. You looked so perfect.”
“A perfect cripple.”
“I didn’t care about all that,” Matt said, and added, “and if you think I did or you want to put those words in my mouth, then you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”
“Ouch,” Quinton said, then, “I’m sorry.”
They were both quiet while Matt’s fingers moved back to Quinton’s foot.
“It’s only in the bedroom, as a priest, being a Blue that most men think anything of me.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” Matt said, looking at the floor while he stopped rubbing.
“I’ll get you some new socks, and that’s not true at all.”
“I don’t want socks,” Quinton said, “and why won’t you look at me?”
Matt did.
“I… the other night,” Quinton began, “when we were with that man, and you left the room I got a little sad. I wanted you to stay, I…. part of me keeps thinking maybe you’ll come to me… When you’re ready.”
Matt’s mouth opened, and then closed.
“Me. With a voice like a foghorn and this funny face. I…”
“Me with my crippled leg, and short to boot.”
“Don’t say that,” Matt said, seriously. “I think you’re beautiful. I don’t know why you’d… I think you’re beautiful.”
Quinton looked at the floor, nad his dark eyes were hidden by his thick lashes. The lamplight shone on the copper highlights in the waves of his dark hiar, on his red lips and delicate, long fingers.
“I’m just going to have to ask you, Matteo.”
“Yes,” Matteo sounded almost clueless.
“Will you stay with me tonight?”
Matteo’s opened his mouth and was surprised by the dryness in his throat. He needed to start all over again.
“Yes,” He said. “I will. Yes.”

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