Rassa had been standing in the ceremonial room’s dismal storage space for two hours, and her legs felt it. She emerged into the plush inner room and blinked her eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness. Her family whooped, quietly, from seats to one side. Rassa smiled; with their sound, she oriented herself. Rassa made her way to the pillow at the front of the congregation. The old man beside her waited as she knelt and inclined her head. She jumped at the sensation of his fingers on her tendrils, but she squared herself at his murmured admonishment.
The old, gnarled fingers worked along the skin, almost too soft and too fast at once. He pushed aside one of the main tails, almost snagged his nails in the webbing between the tendrils, and murmuring all the while. He—perhaps it was just the different touch, but Rassa thought he caressed in his touches, fondling while he sought for meaning in the size, number, and placement of her head tendrils.
“Ah, Rassa,” he finally sighed. She felt the audience lean forward, her peers with their readings past among them. “Oh, Rassa, you will bring such honor and acclaim to us all. In this callous, endarkened time, you’ll give life to a great warrior, a power that will, well—: ” She felt his gaze turn to the gray-suited officers at the back of the room. “Give it but time... time, my dear.”
Another caress, and then he let Rassa rise. She walked from the sacred room—aware of the officer following her, but who cared—and then she ran, ran until she made it to the baths. She burst wordlessly past the attendant, running her own water so that she could plunge her befouled tendrils into it as though she could wash off the elder’s touch and her destiny with it. Her tendrils seethed like angry snakes, but she was angrier still.
None of the other children played with Rassa anymore, after the ceremony. They had their own destinies now, and had to prepare for travel or apprenticeship. Even children of other congregations avoided Rassa. Perhaps they simply didn’t have time to invite her to their games—she was so often in lessons with the elder, learning the facts that would form their warrior. After all, knowledge passes from mother to child.
Or maybe it was the Imperial officer who scared off the other Mikkian children, the one who trailed Rassa along the beach and through the woods and to the waterfalls. As she grew older and Rassa’s steps led her further afield, he stayed with her as a gray shadow. She ran him ragged at first—climbing trees, plunging through the blissfully pure waters, finding her way to the plains she sped across with the Mikkians and Togruta who lived there. Through it all, he stayed with her.
Comments
Post a Comment