SOLSTICE GIFT
by
Wendy Rathbone
Solstice Gift Copyright © Dec. 2019 by Wendy Rathbone and Eye Scry Publications.
A publication by:
Eye Scry Publications
http://www.eyescrypublications.com
ISBN:
TITLE: Solstice Gift
Author: Wendy Rathbone
Cover by: Wendy Rathbone
(This story was previously published in 2016 in the out-of-print anthology This Wish Tonight under the title Eve of the Great Frost.)
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Piracy ruins lives.
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For Della
as always
CHAPTER ONE
Not so long ago, we all desired to be chosen.
It wasn't like it is now on Niobe, with the wars against old traditions and the humiliation of having been associated with the alien king.
Back then, we trained hard, honing our bodies toward pleasing physiques, and learned the arts of pleasure with focus and enthusiasm.
I was male, lean-muscled, and dark-haired. One of the lucky. For we had heard through whispered gossip that the new king from the stars preferred those characteristics.
I was not too young at twenty-three and a long way from old, so I had some hope. To be the king's gift at the Eve of the Great Frost was considered a high honor. It was part of our tradition in the hope to pave the way for spring.
We had not had a new spring in one hundred years.
I grasped my ruby-jeweled cloak about me, and with eleven other trainees, filed out of the building and into the cold. I looked up. Flying carriages rose and fell from the sky like gold flame, a sight none of us had ever seen until a few years ago. They made low, humming sounds on the air. Pink streaks crossed the horizon above the white mountains in the distance.
All around us the world of Niobe was ice. The snow had been plowed to the sides of the pathway, falling into itself like rippled satin. I could smell the smoky-sweet colognes of my brothers-in-training mixing upon the icy air: rose hip, spice gum, attar of Autumn. The winter burned our tender skins—we were naked under the cloaks—and froze the tears in our eyes. Luckily, we were allowed fur boots. Our feet were well protected.
We walked single file from the sanctuary to the castle's wide entrance, less than a five-minute excursion but enough to almost freeze us. Ritual demanded this procession. We were not allowed mechanical conveyance.
Citizens of the local city came out to watch. Some threw black or red hothouse flowers in our path, like blots of ink and blood against the white page of the landscape. Some disapproved, but most admired. We were the chosen elite, equal to the warrior caste, fit only to partner with princes and kings.
The political climate was still peaceful back then. The young king, who one year ago had conquered our world at the age of thirty-four, brought knowledge, wealth, and peace from an alien star. He'd come in a giant sun-ship shaped like the white avian dragons who lived in the ice henges of Niobe's north pole. He called himself an Earthman. I didn't know of Earth; had never heard of it. There were thousands of inhabited planets in the galaxy. But I knew he was human enough, just like us.
Most of the people loved him. That was before the anti-colonialist uprisings.
He'd brought cures for poverty and illness with his technology and rules to appease our war-mongering culture. He let us keep our old rituals, our stony churches, our ice-sculptured graves. I thought we must seem like barbarians to him. But it seemed he loved us in return.
Against the season's whiteness, the castle loomed with its white marble pillars, pale-blue battlements of crystal brick, and windows of silver glass lit in bright alabaster from within. The lights made the structure glow. The entire palace looked carved from the land itself, ice and diamond, a glacier with many rooms.
This would be the first time I had ever laid eyes on the king. I had heard of his extreme charisma and intelligence. But rumors tended to the extreme. All kings demanded their followers see them as attractive, powerful, and wise, even if they weren't.
We came up the icy path, salted so heavily you could not see the brown dirt of it. We were the final twelve to be presented as this holiday's most special gifts.
The king would be allowed to choose one of us or all. It would be up to him.
When he presented himself to the public, he was always masked. No king was immune to death threats, and facial anonymity protected him. He went only by the name of Shin.
The courtyard was draped with electric lights made to look like old-fashioned, four-walled lanterns. Newly arriving courtiers stood aside to let us by, all clad in long furs against the cold. Ice sculptures of dragons and bears and giants loomed tall beyond them. More people congregated inside the wide entrance to the castle where the interior light was like liquid gold, a furnace of warmth awaiting. They wore gowns and suits of all colors, and their arms and hair glittered with spangles.
Stars sparkled in the sky. Decadence sparkled in the great hall. This was the biggest event of its kind all year.
An elite trainee behind me, a young man named Kole, whispered, "I can smell the elegance."
I smiled beneath my hood but remained silent. My stomach murmured. I had not eaten since dawn.
Small flying carriages came and went, delivering more partygoers. In one year we had come from a dark ice age to this more overt richness. I believed in the reform. The old ways were not as romantic as some proclaimed them to be. I remembered my earlier life as a war child. I remembered when the snows ran red, and nobody had enough to eat, and many people froze to death in the cold. The illegality of all the changes, of the new peace and technology, was not of concern to me—how the star people came and conquered us, how the king took over. I didn't realize then—or care—that he had broken too many noninterference laws to count. I just knew that things had gotten better.
Even now that I know that what King Shin did was against interstellar law, I am telling this story as it unfolded that night. I felt only revelry, honor, and excitement.
We were led from the courtyard through a great doorway of marble columns twelve paces high, rimmed with thousands of tiny red and green winking jewels. I had never been inside the castle. But now, one of the twelve hoping to be the king's choice, hoping for his benediction at the very least, I found myself proud but trembling.
Everywhere I looked I saw marvel after marvel: floating star and crescent moon lanterns; people draped in silver and gold; masked jugglers; dancers spinning on tables made of ice; musicians; holograms of starships; and flaming bouquets at tables and along the walls. The fires gave off warmth but did not burn.
Fake cone-shaped trees were decorated with colorful balls and chains.
Drinks were served on floating trays or carried to and fro by robots with rainbow eyes.
Scents of pine, mint, coffee, and wine wove t
hemselves into my lungs. Buffets encircled the vast hall, overflowing with fruits, meats, breads, and cakes.
People shouted, laughed. There was a play going on in one corner that looked both humorous and erotic. More guests lounged on velvet couches or on great fur rugs. Some sat at tables eating, talking, watching. The display was endless. The hall held two hundred or more celebrants.
The crowd parted for our lineup led by the pleasure master. We came to the center of the great chamber to a low, empty stage decorated with flame bouquets and more black and red flowers like the ones that had been thrown on our snowy path. The stage looked made of pure gold. It was round. We were led upon it and made to create a circle, facing outward.
I searched the crowds, especially any masked faces, looking for anyone who might hold the bearing of a king, but I did not see him. Maybe he had not made his appearance yet? Except the party had been going on for hours.
I stood quiet and still as instructed, my hands clasped behind my back, my head slightly bowed. The red jewels on my sleeves caught the light, winking. All twelve of us glimmered in rubies.
We waited.
The pleasure master was a short, portly man with gray-silver hair tied tightly back. His black shirt was trimmed in white fur. He held a traditional leather whip, black as onyx, that he gestured with the way a conductor of an orchestra might use his baton. Since the new ways and laws came into effect, whips were for ornament only, never used for punishment.
Some said the new young king wanted to do away with slavery for good. I did not know. If it were true, why were we here tonight, clad in the Cloaks of Erotic Promise? Was it for the ritual and nothing more?
My stomach lurched at the thought. I wanted more than ritual. I wanted this night to prove to myself I had something to give. I'd trained hard and with great dedication. I longed to belong to another in pleasure, in surrender. Decadence, sensual ardor, red passion's heat—these were things I craved. To be worthy. To be wanted. I would not have sold myself otherwise. I knew my family would be taken care of if I were chosen, but honestly, I was doing this for myself.
I stood on that gold stage, worried, nervous, excited. My fingers clenched to fists, something we were told not to do. The sounds of revelry began to diminish, the volume softening across the ocean of dancing, moving bodies until only the voices from the guests outside could be heard wafting on the cool breeze.
Heads turned. The celebrants looked in the direction behind me. I was not allowed to move. I could not see what was happening, but I could feel it: the electricity of his approach; the change in air pressure.
The king had made his entrance.
The air seemed to flutter about me. Light and flame, gilt and tinsel—everything glowed. The great hall seemed too small to contain it all.
I could feel his presence looming closer, a psychic weight, a change in the dimensions of reality both subtle and dramatic. Everything blurred, all heat and distant ringing of stemware and held breaths mixing with raised pulse rates, the inner hum of awe, the rustle of silks as people realized they now occupied the same space as a legend.
Every part of my being wished to break formation, to turn and look upon the origin of this catalyst of change and upheaval, this man who'd brought an end to our suffering ways.
Only my vow of discipline kept me in my place.
The pleasure master said from somewhere behind me in a voice of wavering bass tones, "Welcome, Your Highness, Emperor of Niobe, Greatest of Venerables, King Shin. I have the honor of presenting to you on this glorious evening the revered and most exotic gifts of our land, the finest and most beautiful physical representatives of our male citizens, trained in the esteemed art of exquisite gratification."
An enthralling voice replied, "The honor is mine."
Those weren't the traditional scripted words the king spoke, but I liked them.
"Shall we begin?" the master asked.
"On this most lovely eve of the anniversary of the Great Frost of Niobe,” said the king, “with respect to tradition and custom that Niobe may once again flourish in new spring, my hall is yours." His accent lingered on the vowels as if our language were a song meant to hold on certain notes.
I heard the footsteps of the master cross the stage. He stopped at my brother-in-training directly opposite me and behind my back.
The introductions began.
The voice of our master rang low and firm, listing my training brother's accomplishments. "This is Chel of the House of Chel. At age twenty-one he is educated in three languages, a level twelve mathematician, and holds highest honors at Castle Sanctuary Erotica, where he has trained for one year." He droned on. When he stopped, I heard the rustle of cloth and knew Chel had pushed his cloak back and away. I heard it fall and hit the stage in a click and shush of gemstones and wool.
In my peripheral vision, I saw many guests' eyes widen. Mouths opened in unchecked admiration. Chel was indeed beautiful, one of my fiercest competitors at the sanctuary.
I heard the king say, soft but still audible, "An honor, Chel." His voice came out pure, calm. I could not tell if Chel, in his now-naked state, failed to impress, or if the king was simply a man of fastidious control.
Around the circle the master went, introducing the other men to the king. I was the seventh in line from where they'd started. Even when they reached Leto, the man closest to my left, the king stood beside the master in such a way that he was hidden from my view, blocked by the master's bulk.
The wait was maddening.
I heard the sixth cloak fall to the floor, the jewels on it clattering like spilled gravel. The king said his usual words. "An honor, Leto."
Finally, my moment arrived. My breath caught in my lungs. For a few seconds I could not breathe as, head down, my eyes still followed the movement of my master until they rested on the king.
Not two paces beyond my master, the king was flanked by four guards wearing shining blue suits. Their shoulder holsters held fine curved silver blasters. At their waists were leather scabbards housing ion swords.
The king wore a flared gold crown with spikes of emeralds at its tips. His robes were violet sparked with silver stars. Clad also in fur boots and gloves, his physique was difficult to determine. Upon his face rested a shining black mask tapered at each side to a sharp point. The holes for the eyes were mere slits. The nose curved downward, an elegant but large beak. Altogether, the mask was frightening in its sharpness, its exaggerated nose, and hollowed cheeks. All I could see of the real man beneath it was a shaved, tan chin, full pink lips, and part of a firm, curving jawline. His neck was narrow, disappearing into his robes.
I wasn't surprised that I could not see the king's true face. No one ever had except private servants and close confidants. Rumors were that he was damaged. Some said laser burn scars. Others presumed knife wounds or perhaps a deformity at birth. But none of that rang true. He came from an advanced technology that could fix all those ailments. No, he wore the mask because he was hiding. From enemies. Galactic authorities. I wasn't sure. But it was private wealth that supplied his sun-ship, his men, his defenders. He was a rogue, one who now had the protection of nearly an entire warrior world that revered him.
At last, the master made my introduction. "This is Remi of the House of Remirian. He speaks the language of the eastern provinces and has recently learned Galactic Standard to prepare for this one night. He is educated in the fine arts with a focus on painting and poetry. He is twenty-three and holds one of the top two most-esteemed honors from the Castle Sanctuary Erotica."
Despite such high marks in my training, my heart faltered. An inner tremble began in my knees and worked its way through my entire body. As a war child, I had suffered from anxiety, but never as an adult, so why now, in this moment?
The master gestured with the handle of his whip. My throat began to close. I saw lights flashing out the corners of my eyes. Still, I managed to raise my hands to my cloak's round gold clasp. The rubies on my sleeves flickered, making me di
zzy. I fumbled with the clasp once, twice. Nothing happened. It would not open.
The king and the master stood motionless, faces raised to me.
I tried the clasp again, this time yanking hard. Part of the material tore, but the cloak stayed in place. I felt heat rush to my cheeks and eyes. Before all eyes on the most important night of the year, I was miserably failing at a simple task. My hands shook until I could not make them cooperate.
What was wrong with me?
Silence spelled the room. In that moment, all I wanted was to run away, hide, lean into my folded arms and weep. Everything was becoming a ruin around me, everything I'd worked so hard for, and all for want of a malfunctioning clasp. It was ridiculous, actually.
The master opened his mouth to say something. But the king immediately held up his hand for silence. Masked and foreboding, he approached the stage. Light as a bird, he leaped upon it and faced me. "Remi," he said, staring straight into my eyes, "it would be an honor if you would allow me."
His eyes through the slits of the mask were the hue of blue ice in lightening sky at winter daybreak. But his voice flowed over me in a warm, melting tide. There was a scent of amber. Golden curls pressed outward along the edges of the mask and crown. Slowly he removed his furred gloves and dropped them to the floor without glancing at them. His bared hands were elegant, golden-skinned, the nails pink and perfectly groomed. He lifted them to my chest, and I could not breathe.
Slowly he worked at the clasp. No one in the room, including the master, dared to make a sound. During the half minute it took him to unravel the problem, the whole world remained frozen, timeless, unmoving. A fitting tribute to the Great Frost which kept our natural world at a standstill, perhaps, but I did not think it at the time.
I was still trembling, unable to regain my control by the time he had the fastening fixed. My eyes were hot. The objects and people in the hall split into jagged pieces, the colors running together through the haze of tears in my eyes.
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