The Kingdom of Ecstasy

by S. R. Laubrea

  A Kyusoakin society without a Tsamiiq and Schyiqar was a Pryuuit, and not a Kyisaar. Whereas a Kyisaar was an organized society, replete with the appropriate hierarchy, the Pryuuit was more akin to an anarchist camp ran by nefarious teenagers experimenting with too many hallucinogens and aphrodisiacs.

  Yet Ashenzsi had other thoughts on his mind than the state of social decay prevalent within Ashui-hilo. He lay in his ysi, tightly curled in the fetal position. A glacial sensation scraped at his stomach, as he huddled against the wall, sorely entertaining the dejection in his heart:

  My brother, how far you've gone. As if there is no end to the hungry rift — this gaping chasm wrought between us —you don't even bother to confide in me anymore.

  I remember when we left Ma'oin. How in those days you were more of a kinsman to me, my dearest one, the sole male closest to my heart. Though not a koja, you were my brother; and though human, you captured my respect.

  There was a certain word for the endearment I had towards you. It was a word you knew well: Ma'auk. It precedes the suffix of what you are: Ja — the adult male.

  And yet, as the nights drag on, I wonder: what am I to you? Who have I really been, that you discard me as if of no consequence?

  Do you think I don't see? Are you so thick that you don't sense me there? I know your mate the same as you do. When she lays beside you, that wanton fever in her eyes. Do you think I don't smell it?

  Rollond.

  Why should I keep following you?

  … In the lonesome vacuum of my mind, I find no comfort from my brother. Just this cold envy that stabs me with venomous stingers every time I stop to peer through the mental window that connects my existence to his.

  I almost hate looking through that window. When he returns home to the arms of Sanci, there is also the beaming face of Lucein. How much that boy loves Rollond, like he's a bottomless pit of affection. The same can't be said for Gnyovante, but there is a shard of respect that seems to grow as he and Rollond connect.

  Meanwhile I am alone in the Uutalaysi, that is the breeding ysi. From the other room emanates the purwl of solicited services. My netroa-mate, Rah'ii, breeds relentlessly. True, his heart is bent on Ielase. I bet he imagines her with every thrust of his tether. But the reality of we uutaijens is that we are bred to breed.

  Except for those of us who aren't.

  I can't say I've found any pleasure in my caste. Though inaugurated when I was 28, not once have I liberally exercised my right. I find it ironic, though. That in every way, what I've always dreamt of obtaining, Rollond possesses: children, die-hard friends, love, and the passion that comes with it.

  Soon enough the purwling ceases, the same as the ecstatic moaning of humans once the act has reached its resolution. She — a tyiha desperate for children — is allowed to lay in his uutalaysi. It is big enough to fit several of our kind.

  As soon as he withdraws from her, she licks him clean. Within a matter of minutes he's ready for the next. Instead the steady, soft sound of his palms becomes pitter-patter in my ears.

  "Ma'aukjen, you are sick," he says.

  "Su'u." I don't muster the strength to say much else beyond the verbal apologetic gesture. Not that I'm sorry. I just want him to go away.

  He doesn't grant me the kind of solace I want: "If there was a Tsamiiq, I'd tell you to go see her. Maybe she could heal your heart with her wisdom."

  Maybe I don't want to be healed. "I want my brother back."

  "Tsche? Who?"

  "The white-haired man."

  "Ah, oh…"

  I catch him bobbing his head, as if pursuing alternative paths in his mind.

  "I think I know what a Tsamiiq could say." He pauses for a response that isn't coming. Then he continues: "There comes a time when going hand-in-hand is no longer viable, because the diverging paths narrow the farther we walk. Though we may go with our dear ones, our steps must become our own. Ashenzsi, what if Rollond let go of your hand and went down a different road?"

  "Then it's time to do what makes me happy."

  "And what makes you happy?"

  I want to renounce my caste. I never wanted to be an Uutaijen. Yet I'm not a virgin, and I don't want to become the property of a repurchaser. It's nigh impossible for me to be included among the kojae. I'm doomed to remain a Jen — a boy — forever.

  Unless…

  He flicks his ear. "Well?"

  "I rescind the sex of my birth." I can't restrain a satisfied grin, while Rah'ii's eyes widen with realization and his face contorts with worry.

  I only wish he could know the bubbling joy in my gut.

  He shakes his head. "I hope you know what you're getting into," he says. I expected him to return to his tyihai, the ones listening with their ears perked.

  "You have some idea what'll happen?"

  "Of course not." He puts on his saadyl, the male pants, and robe, then descends the alternating rungs of the pole ladder to the first floor. "But I've heard stories."

  The Schyiqar is unique. His caste commands authority and respect, all the more cemented by the sanctioning of his mate, the Tsamiiq. Yet joining the Schyiqarae is not something easily done. It all begins with renouncing maleness.

  Only an Uutaijen can get away unscathed with casting off his sex. If a Nareaija, that is, one of the deft male-guardians of a kyisaar, was to renounce his being male, at once the kojae would emasculate him. They'd rape him relentlessly, because he chose to become nothing.

  Yet Rah'ii and I both know that there's no guarantee that they won't turn on me. Unease stumbles within me by the time I descend to the first floor. What if they do turn on me? I can't help but imagine it: gnarly, muscular tethers, drawn taut like steel rods, plunging into sensitive parts of me; one after the other, squealing and laughing, howling until they've wrought destruction all over.

  "We've all heard stories." I force calmness into my voice. Though when he parts the entrance drapes, I'm shaking.

  He nods, and motions for us to leave.

  The heat of noon bears down on Ashui-hilo, amplified by the humidity. The shaking ceases by that time. The only thing left within me is the concoction of anticipation, excitement, and the opaque presence of the unknown. Around us are the other uutaijen, and the older kojae and tyihai who come from a miscellany of castes. We sit in the center of an assembly, Rah'ii and me.

  When the last of them take their place, the eldest of the kojae stands. "Why this assembly?" he says, casting his aged, wisely gaze at the two of us.

  Rah'ii flattens his ears. "My companion has forfeited his right to maleness."

  "Is this true?"

  "Tsche," I nod, "it is."

  "What compels you to become nothing?"

  "My own contempt for my caste. I've loathed what I am since the moment of my inauguration, and now I want to chase after the winds of liberation."

  Whispers circulate among our audience. A tyiha beckons to the standing koja. She says something to him in a low tone, and he rubs his chin, thought lighting his eyes.

  "It is that you should be thrown to the animals, now that you are nothing. Unless you can cross the threshold and become something else."

  Wind fills my lungs, and I prepare to express my thoughts. But at the lift of the standing koja's hand, my voice is silenced before I have a chance to begin.

  "You have until this evening to decide whether you will pursue the air, return to what you were, or remain as you now are. Go." He waves us away.

  We flatten our palms to the ground and bow until our foreheads touch the dirt. Then we rise and leave.

  Something dreary highlights Rah'ii's features. He stops at the mouth of our netroa and gives me a saddened look.

  "What?"

  "They're going to rape you," he says, his voice weak. "Ashenzsi, I don't want you to be bottom-fodder."

  "You assume I'd rather remain as I now am." His concern is something I do appreciate, yet at the same time I wish he would leave me to my will.

  His ears perk. "Do you ha
ve any idea what you're doing?"

  To be certain, no, I don't in the slightest. Part of me doesn't want to know what it really takes to join the Schyiqarae, because I've heard the tales out of the mouths of many of them. Sick and disgusting stories not worth retelling.

  I return to the solace of my room. There is no purwling this time, just quiet. Rah'ii stands in the archway, and I imagine him casting pity upon me along with discarded sympathies.

  His sentiments don't matter.

  By that evening, I can't say that I'm prepared. Still, I draw up from my ysi and head for the gathering place. This time when I arrive, I take my position in the center of the surrounding audience, alone.

  One of the elder tyihai rises. "Where is your companion?" she asks, her tone sharp.

  "Breeding, as uutaijen do. We have separated."

  "Then who will watch over you should something go wrong?"

  "I will stand guard by myself."

  She cants her head, her eyes narrow, and her look cuts right through me. She stretches out her arm, and one of the elder kojae brings her a sleeved pouch. She reaches in and withdraws from it the writhing, ghastly-white body of a Taalwumete, called the Leige-wrym among uunani.

  "Submit and learn the secret of the Schyiqarae, what it is that no male may experience otherwise. True, you will never know what it is to give birth. But that does not mean you can't learn a thing like it." She holds out the taalwumete. It smells of wet, leathery flesh and slips among her fingers effortlessly. "Now is the time to turn back."

  Already I'm stripping away the uutaijen's robe. "Nai'ii," I say, sliding my saadyl off. "I will take the taalwumete." I lean back and stretch my body. I'm not at all ready, and I know it.

  She pulls one more from the sleeve and drops them at my navel. The body of the taalwumete is soft and smooth, fat and long, like a soil worm. Except that it is the length of two shoelaces, and gets as thick as a man's little finger.

  Already, nausea rocks my stomach.

  They tumble aimlessly over one another, extending their narrowed heads, feeling out where they are. Then she takes a mixture of nectar and oil and draws a line from my navel down to the head of my tether. Soon enough the taalwumetes turn their attention to the trail and…

  And —

  I can't watch.

  There's just this slow, creeping feel as they move. My claws dig into my hands. I curl my toes, biting back the urge to swat these things off my belly. And then — then — it is the most indescribably unpleasant and undesirale sensation I've ever experienced in my life. The first one enters into sensitive things that ought not be entered. Then after what seems like an eternity of this disgusting, urgent and tingling feeling, the second one goes.

  It must've taken all of a minute for them to slip down into the dark depths, because when I finally can't stand it anymore, and I open my eyes, ready to kill those damnable things, they're gone. I'm left gasping and arcing, feeling what I can't see.

  The eyes of the tyiha are no different. She regards me like a helpless sap. Without a word, she turns to the audience, pauses, then leaves. With that, the audience departs, some shaking their heads, others stopping to stand over me. Their fleeting presence only lasts a moment.

  Their pity is palpable.

  Late into the night, I finally come crawling up to the mouth of the netroa. A light flickers, and on a heap of old cloths lays Rah'ii. He's fast asleep. I take care not to disturb him and return to my room on the third floor.

  Something like regret pushes at me from the inside. Or maybe it's the taalwumetes, I can't be sure. Though I can't sleep. Their constant movement keeps me awake — I lay in my ysi, staring at the wall, my eyes stinging. I can only wonder what they're doing.

  This is only temporary. Before long it'll be over, and I'll be that much closer to joining the Schyiqarae.

  Eyinvas, the 6th day in the month of Nesvyn.

  The creatures within me spare me no rest. The dissonant race of my thoughts center around whether or not this is the right thing to do. Did I really want to start down this path? How will this affect my future, my life? What will my brother… will it really matter what he thinks?

  I know that I could reach out to him and probably find out quicker than I would if I went looking for his presence. But as far as that goes, I wonder: just how has he been?

  It's only half-way through the second day, and already I must take care with putting on my saadyl. The area between my stomach and my hips is swollen. An unusual heat emanates from there, along with the occasional, faint and slick glide of the creatures movement. Needless to say, I'm sore.

  "Rah'ii?" I poke my head down the hole that leads to the second floor, then descend the ladder pole. The second floor is silent. The rooms are empty. Both of the utalaysis have been moved. The only conclusion there is to draw is that we have finally, truly separated.

  I return to the third floor. Because if that is the case —

  "You're awake!" Rah'ii's voice is filled with gaiety.

  "Are you moving?" His things still dominate the spacious room he occupied.

  "Me? Nai'ii. Just relocating business."

  Have I become such an abomination that the dealings of my fellow uutaijen can't continue in the comfort of our mutual netroa? "Oh."

  "And you, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

  I shrug. "I'm going to go see how that ma'aukja of mine is doing." He seems to know that after so long I'm inclined to search for Rollond. Sometimes I think he likens it to an addiction. I can't imagine why. It's not like I've my lips wrapped around my brother's —

  "Tsche, be safe." He flops on his ysi.

  "Wouldn't you want to come and see Allondt and Ielase?"

  He's quick to shake his head. For good reason: although Ashui-hilo and Prisbeald grew up together, they weren't fond of one another. Ashui's kyusoakin collectively blame Prisbeald's government for the absence of their Tsamiiq and Schyiqar.

  Who am I to say for sure what happened, or whether or not the uunani were capable of it? Certainly they were capable of many things. It would be too naive not to put it past them.

  "If you're not back by nightfall, I'll assume one of our uunani friends have put you up. Check in with me at least by noon tomorrow. If I don't see you, I'll assume the worst."

  "Tsche." I nod, and get on my way.

  To my knowledge, there are very few uunani whom reside at the junction between the two cities. Our Makers are the ones that dominate the area. Although I'm on my palms when I set foot beyond the crumbled fringes of the pavement, the visages of the ones passing by, that is, the looks of the Makers are kind towards me.

  The voice of one of them is a triple-toned harmonic, electric in its sound. Theirs is a language I don't speak, but the second the sound sighs forth from them, I recognize it the same as I do Tswaa'ii: 'Stand up.'

  Their words — their sound — compels me upright.

  'There are humans here,' sings another. 'Do not show your insecurity.'

  "But I know that the uunani —"

  A third one raises a long, narrowed finger tip to their pursed lips. 'Be on your way.'

  Arriving at the transit, I imagine most people would be deterred by its appearance. The station is an unkempt tangle of overgrowth, metal and glass. Thin vines creep along the sides of the rails, though the top is kept spotless by the passing of the vehicle. There's no one in there but me.

  The cars sit unattended, as if waiting for some life form to enter. I do, and I sit down.

  I can't say that in all my travels I've seen a single glance of acceptance from any general uunani population. My arrival at the main station does elicit odd, curious stares and the pointing fingers of children. I would think, given that Prisbeald has grown beside what was once a kyisaar for over 4000 years, these people would be more accustomed to encounters with us.

  Their defensive reactions tell me otherwise.

  Perhaps they think I don't notice. It's not like I bother to turn my gaze from the directory to
observe them directly. Just out of the corner of my eyes I can't help but notice.

  A woman's voice echoes through the station, and Rail 32 arrives.

  I almost prefer the run-down emptiness of the cars that go to the junction. It is a more peaceful setting compared to the 32nd rail. Bodies are nearly packed from one wall to the next. Nearly all the seats are occupied, and the moment I approach the one that isn't, an uunan takes it before me.

  They give me this dismissive look, and I have half a mind to show them I have taalwumetes in my tether. That'd clear them all out.

  I'd move towards a standing group. Yet when I finally take my place near them, they move away from me.

  Regardless, the cars lift from the rail, hover a moment, and then blaze down the track.

  From my understanding, Niquang Heights is one of those upscale, gated communities, and I'm standing at the gate not sure what buttons to push. It's a mixture of numbers and letters, and I still don't quite read Gyuton.

  In effect, after pushing a number of them, I manage 'Omsgd Tpstd' — because why not?

  "Hello." Finally, the operator's voice sounds across the intercom. It is a woman's voice. "May I help you?"

  "Tsche au. I am looking for a Rollond…" What is his surname? "Alexander?"

  There's a moment of hesitation. "Alexander? What kind of name is… do you mean A'lek-san-tier?" She pronounces it phonetically, as the letters come across the screen of the intercom: Alekzandyr.

  "I think so, tsche. Tall man, stocky build, white hair, black-rimmed eyes?"

  "Yeah, that'd be Mr. Alekzandyr. If you want I can patch you through to his paercoulett."

  First of all, what is a paercoulett? "Tsche, I'd like that."

  "One moment please."

  The intercom rings. Seconds later, a very familiar voice sounds from the speakers: "Tsche au?"

  "Sanci?"

  "Tsche?"

  "It's Ashenzsi. Do you think you could let me in? I'm at the gate."

  "Absolutely. Just follow the road down to Rollond's house, the lights will guide you." The intercom clicks when she hangs up. Then the gate makes a soft chime and slides open.

  My immediate thoughts of the uunani dwelling communities is that they must feel insecure about themselves. Their netroas all look alike, from design to color, and their fences seem uniform. It reminds me of the defense mechanism belonging to certain herd beasts. How, when they all look the same, they can confuse predators.

  Maybe the uunani are their own worst predators, and that's why they prefer living quarters that are difficult to tell apart. Maybe it's to confuse. I can't see the benefit of a netroa that looks like all other netroas otherwise.

  The lights take me to the far end of the main road, and then a turn to my right. At the far end of the street there is a netroa that features hand prints on the porch columns. Blue, yellow, magenta, and dark red. They are the little hands belonging to my nephews.

  As soon as I step to the porch, Sanci opens the door.

  "Tsche, Ashenzsi!" She reaches out and embraces me. I return her gesture. "Come in, please.~"

  "Fa'ahmetiidha." It is a title meaning: 'Oh my mother's mother'. Like Maeha, which means: 'Mother of us all'. Only, I really am the son of her direct daughter. I can say Fa'ahmetiidha to her. "What is a paercoulett?"

  "It is a word the unnani have made to define something like what I am to Rollond. They think I am like a house-servant to him. That is how we are able to stay together. If they were to know the truth, well, there are laws that must be satisfied."

  "Laws?"

  She nods. "Sex between he and I is counted the same as an act of bestiality on his part."

  "Though we're not animals."

  "We know that. But the uunani are stubborn. If they knew the truth they'd put him to death."

  "Mm." My thoughts roll under my tongue. So what about Lucein and Gnyovante?

  "So what brings you here?"

  "Actually I w-wanted… to…" They move, a twisted whirl through the most sensitive part of me — a tight band of nerves at the foundation of my tether, what lies just beyond the flesh of my slit. It is the most awfully pleasurable place in a koja's body, when manipulated by the deft tendrils of a tyiha's sex. But in this very moment, I'm flooded with goodness and piercing hurt.

  I take hold of the first thing I can reach to keep from tumbling face-first into the floor. And she looks at me with widened eyes filled with shock. She beckons my brother, though I can't hear over the ringing in my ears.

  He comes out from one of the rooms, and as soon as he catches a glimpse of me, jumps the guard rail of the loft. It only takes a moment. My trembling legs are no longer able to support my weight, and just as I'm about to crash to the floor, he snatches me. His strength is overpowering when he wrenches me off my feet.

  And then —

  Shenzsi.

  … Four curious faces stare down at me. They are blurred and like silhouettes in the soft overhead light. I'm not sure where I am.

  Shenzsi.

  For a moment there is calm. Then the taalwumetes shift. Sometimes it's like a sensual hand gliding along soft, smooth flesh from within, until they reach a certain point, and then all I can do is arch my back and groan.

  Shenzsi.

  Gradually his face comes into focus, and the realization of what happened falls on me. "R… Rollond." Had he been calling my name this entire time? I sit up and feel the sheets. An uunani bed is a strange thing. Flat and rigid, without the comfort of skirts, square and barely aesthetic. I wonder how they tolerate these stiff things.

  "Shenzsi, is there something you need to tell me?"

  "Tell you…?"

  He looks me over. I'm stark naked, it's nothing new, but then my eyes drift along the length of my form and —

  "Shenzsi, what are these things?"

  One of them had slipped out.

  He reaches for it, to pull it the rest of the way. "Why do you have leige-wryms coming out of your —"

  I swat his hand away. "Nai'ii, don't!"

  "Really, what is this!?"

  "It's part of becoming a Schyiqar, Rollond. That's what it is." It slips back the way it came.

  He sits on the edge of the bed and gives Sanci a look. She motions to the boys. Immediately the two run out the door, and she shuts it behind them.

  "You need to get to a hospital," my brother says.

  "Hospital?"

  He nods. "Where they can remove these things from you."

  "Don't take me there. I can't go there —"

  "If you don't want them to do it, I will."

  "Nai'ii, Rollond, please!"

  "Then tell me why, Shenzsi, why. For what reason would you stuff wryms down your tether!? It's not natural —"

  "I did it because I envy you."

  He almost reels backwards off the bed, his eyes widening. Yet he has no words.

  "I envy you, I miss you, I almost hate you." The acknowledgment alone makes my eyes sting. "I've wanted what you have — what you've always had — the recognition, the freedom, the price, a mate, a family, prominence, even the favor of the Alyi. And what was done to me? I don't want to be a Sex-boy for the rest of my life. I saw no other option. It was either continue as I was, renounce my sex and become rape-fodder, or renounce my sex and start down the path to join the Schyiqarae."

  "Let me get this right: you allowed wryms down your dick because of how you felt about me." Skepticism marked his words.

  Actually, it does sound fairly stupid. "I did it because I wanted to."

  He gets up and paces between the bed and the door. Finally, he stops. "Look, I'm sorry you've come to feel that way. I thought you were fine, I didn't know… why didn't you tell me you were suffering?"

  Because when I come to you, it's as if… "You no longer have room for me." I sometimes resent my fa'ahmetiidha. And there are times I wish I couldn't. I see it in his face, this solemn expression. He can't say that he does have room, because the truth is that he doesn't. We've gone too far a
part from one another. Thing about it is I wasn't ready, nor did I ask for it.

  "But why this?" he asks. "What kind of sick tradition —"

  His mate cuts him off: "It stems from my youngest son who wanted to be equal to his sisters," Sanci says. "He didn't feel that the inferiority he inherited from Tsuboha, his father, was his to own. So, they devised a way to test him using taalwumetes. What they've done to Ashenzsi is the same that they did to Kuaariin.

  "He and the parasites survived, and when the taalwumetes finally exited his body, he was left with insights beyond the threshold of what his sex entailed. In effect it made him perfect. They acknowledged him and changed his name to Schyimaliiq. Thus he became the first Schyiqar. It is a test not every male can endure, or survive. But those that do are like my son, perfect, fit for the authority they are to bear."

  She turns to Rollond, and that sharp, mixed pain bursts along my stomach. His face doesn't reflect his thoughts. There isn't an emotion to be detected on him, just this distant, observant stare while I arch my back and rock helplessly.

  "Maybe I'm glad I'm not a kyusoa," he says.

  I shut my eyes and lay back. There is only the sound of footsteps along the carpet, and the door shutting behind them. Exhaustion overwhelms every inch of my form. Though I lay there, weak, the creatures within me seem tireless.

  For how long must I play host to them?

  They move along the inside of my flesh. This time both of them push against the most tender ring. It's strange how, now that I'm tired, it stops being pain. They push, and it tingles. One slips through, and before long, what I thought was the most invasive and undesirable sensation I've ever experienced in my life turns out to be…

  He gasped, the foreign sensation teasing at him in a way he'd never experienced before. A strange mix of elation and confusion flooded every fiber of Ashenzsi's being. All the more so when something powerful like an orgasm tore through him.

  He panted. Nothing came out. Not a single viscous drop.

  Nature.

  Eyinvas, the 6th day in the month of Korec;

  Concerning a peculiar instinct at work;

  Spring of the 697th year of the Second Epoch of Dyjian.