I’m not sure what exact feelings come—indeed, I’ve gone through so many up-and-down feelings in the last few days that I no longer trust my own judgment in that regard—but something profound and elemental rises from a deep place inside me. With a burst of fierce energy, I lift the Grail above my head, look up at the audience, and then at the Imperial balcony where Aeson watches me, and where the Imperator watches me.
And I laugh.
The audience screams to acknowledge me, and I hear them once again chanting “Gwen Lark! Im-pe-ra-tris!”
The Priest of the Grail raises his hands for silence and pronounces: “Attention! The Top Ten will now be Ranked!”
The roar of the crowd falls into silence.
I lower my Yellow Grail to the level of my chest, same as the other two Stage Grail holders, and clutch it with my fingers, as I wait with intense wonder for the Rank results. At this point I have no idea where my own Rank will place me, all things considered.
“In Tenth Place,” the Priest of the Grail says, “with 3,394 points, in the Scientist Category—Rea Bunit!”
The audience responds with a swell of sound. Meanwhile the scoreboards all around the Khemetareon now display ten blank slots in giant script, and then the bottom slot is filled in with Rea Bunit’s name and score.
At once, one of the Games staff attired in blue, holding a small metallic Blue Grail with the gilded vine rim design leaves his spot in the circles below the dais, and runs up the stairs. He hands the Blue Grail to Rea Bunit, bows and retreats down the stairs, to the shouts of the audience. Rea receives the Grail and lifts it overhead to receive her adulations.
“In Ninth Place, with 3,428 points, in the Athlete Category—Ukou Dwetat!”
This time a worker dressed in red runs up the dais and hands a small metallic Red Grail to Ukou.
Another swell of audience approval, and Ukou Dwetat’s name and score populates the penultimate slot on the bottom.
“In Eighth Place, with 3,605 points, in the Technician Category—Mineb Inei!”
The process repeats, this time with another blue worker and Blue Grail.
So far, not too surprising, and I expect my own name to be called just about now.
“In Seventh Place, with 3,821 points, in the Entrepreneur Category—Gabriella Walton!”
Okay, now that’s a little surprising. Brie scored lower than me? I must’ve really racked up some points with my Yellow Grail and Race win. . . . I stare as Brie receives a White Grail, and her name and score go up on the scoreboards while she brandishes her trophy before the crowds with an insolent, toothy grin.
“In Sixth Place, with 3,972 points, in the Vocalist Category—Gwenevere Lark!”
I exhale a held breath. There I go, okay, yes. . . . Sixth place, holy crap, I made it as high as sixth place! And so many points—how the hell did I get so many points?
The crowds roar as my Games worker approaches and hands me a little White Grail trophy, so that now I am holding two grails, one in each hand—the large Yellow Grail of Stage Four and the small White one of a Category Champion. I lift the White Grail and smile, while my gaze sweeps the stadium and pauses on the distant Imperial balcony where I see my beloved Aeson standing up and clapping. . . . Next to him the Imperator remains seated, but barely inclines his head in acknowledgement of me.
“In Fifth Place, with 4,107 points, in the Artist Category—Rurim Kiv!”
I turn to see the Artist receive the small Yellow Grail in addition to the Blue Grail of Stage Two, so that he too has both his hands occupied.
“In Fourth Place, with 5,804 points, in the Animal Handler Category—Leetana Chipuo!”
The scoreboard is now more than halfway full with names and scores. We’ve entered the upper portion with the big players. Leetana accepts her Green Grail and waves proudly.
Meanwhile I’m amazed that two of my teammates still remain, which means they must’ve scored extremely well!
“In Third Place, with 6,137 points, in the Inventor Category—Kateb Nuletat!”
I cannot help smiling as I see Kateb straighten, lift his head, and take his Yellow Grail trophy while his eyes glisten with sudden tears. . . . With a surge of emotion at the sight of his achievement, I think of his wife and her inability to sing, and his invention to help her overcome her shortcoming. It will now become a reality. . . .
And now, only two Champions remain. I bet Kokayi is up next.
“In Second Place, with 46,291 points, in the Warrior Category—Hedj Kukkait!”
Hedj’s expression does not change, but I suspect he is slightly surprised. However, he is controlled enough that he does not show any emotion even now, as he accepts his Red Grail with cool dignity and lifts it up for all to see, then inclines his head to the audience. His points score total is staggering, miles ahead of the rest of us, and I understand now that those of us in the lower Rank spots didn’t even come close to this megastar level, that of the big leagues. It’s hard to imagine the obscene number of kills behind it. And yet. . . .
Holy crap! The White Bird got second place, not first! Which means. . . .
“In First Place, with 60,479 points, in the Entertainer Category—Kokayi Jeet!”
Kokayi won! He won the top spot, the highest honors! My teammate won the crowning achievement in the Games! And his total score—no doubt because he’s inherited all of Thalassa’s immense score—is unbelievable!
I laugh and watch Kokayi react in complete opposite to Hedj Kukkait’s unemotional, controlled reaction. First, Kokayi’s jaw drops. Then he puts one hand over his mouth and bends over at the waist, clutching the large Green Grail of Stage Three to his abdomen, then gesticulates and fans himself with the free hand, grabs the back of his own head and rocks back and forth. Holding the large Green Grail of Stage Three he accepts his small Green Grail of a Category Champion, and raises it on high, shaking it like crazy, leaping and dancing in a circle in place, his body sleek and elegant even now in its fluid, acrobatic motions. . . . He then screams at the audience, raises both grails, laughs and yells, “Ai, ai, ai, mamai! Hahaha!”
The audience screams back at him, loving his wildly emotional display. And then they start chanting his name—indeed, all of our names.
In the general roar the individual chants mingle together, as the sound becomes one great human chord of triumphant joy and thunder.
“Congratulations, our glorious new Champions!” the Priest of the Grail exclaims, his amplified voice cutting through the roar. “Prepare to be acknowledged as Citizens of our proud nation, Imperial Atlantida!”
At once, the Games workers break out of their places in the circles below and run up the dais, bearing ribbons and wreaths sculpted of vine leaves. They joyfully accost each one of us, and place the metallic wreaths on our heads, then tie many colorful ribbons to our appendages, starting with our wrists on both hands, and going all the way up our arms. I count ten ribbons on each of my arms—one for each Category color—streaming like large tassels. But that part is nothing—with a surge of emotion, I feel the light weight of the citizen wreath and all the meaning that’s attached to it, crowning me. . . .
When they are done, the workers retreat below the dais and then scatter across the arena, disappearing into the distant entrance.
Only we, the ten Champions and the seated judges, remain on stage.
“Wixameret to your hard-earned new rank! Stand proudly!” the Priest of the Grail pronounces. “The Imperial Sovereign himself, the Archaeon Imperator Romhutat Kassiopei, will now recognize you in your elevated status.”
My pulse pounds in my head as I turn to look again at the Imperial Balcony.
The Imperator sits straight-backed, watching us, and now all the smart boards display a closeup of his face, frozen in the haughty public mask of the great dragon. He then nods at us slowly and raises his hand, palm outward, splaying his fingers apart then bringing them together in a kind of benediction.
And then the Imperial Kassiopei dragon speaks, his
deep, haunting voice carrying with force across the stadium.
“Champions! I bestow upon you the honor of Citizenship, from this moment and forever. You now have the full rights and privileges of the Citizens of Imperial Atlantida, and you are acknowledged as equals to all who came before you unto thousands of generations! And now—swear to give your loyalty, soul, and spirit, to Atlantida!”
“Hear and repeat the Oath of Loyalty!” the Priest of the Grail intones.
Suddenly, I’m short of breath. . . .
Not sure why, but it’s never occurred to me that I would need to swear an actual oath in order to become a Citizen. . . . Really, Gwen? What a numbskull idiot you are . . . what did you think people do under such circumstances? Even back on Earth, people swore oaths when they became citizens of one country or another.
And here I am, about to swear an oath to a nation on a whole different planet.
Oh, my God.
The realization of the magnitude of all this, slams into me, hard.
I feel numb, breathless and wild, and suddenly desperate. Because, by swearing loyalty to Atlantis, I am inadvertently renouncing loyalty to Earth. Or am I?
But—that’s impossible. How can I? I cannot!
Earth is my home. Is there such a thing as dual planetary citizenship?
Why is it that I’m so stupidly unprepared for any of this?
As my thoughts spin wildly, Miramis Opu, the Priest of the Grail lifts his right hand in an Atlantean salute—pressing palm to forehead then sliding it down so that his thumb touches his lips while his fingertips touch his forehead, and his head dips slightly in a bow—and we echo his familiar gesture. Then he begins reading the antique ceremonial words of the oath, and we repeat them, one phrase at a time.
I find that I utter each sentence with difficulty. This one, in particular, causes me deep inner turmoil:
“. . . I hereby renounce any and all allegiances to any other state or nation . . .”
. . . or world, I add in my mind.
And yet, I must speak it.
Furthermore, I must mean it, with all my heart.
“. . . I offer all my courage and strength on behalf of Imperial Atlantida, against all enemies and adversaries, in all conflicts, as it is demanded of me by national law. . .”
What if there’s a conflict between Earth and Atlantis? A shocking thought comes to me. What will I do then, without becoming a traitor or a hypocrite? But that’s impossible and crazy, so what exactly is expected of me?
The other Champions taking the oath are already Atlantean, and most, if not all, are natives or residents of Imperial Atlantida. It’s different for them. Not necessarily easier, but different. But for me, this is monumental.
Wait! Not just me—what about Brie? Brie Walton is an Earth Union operative, a true Earth loyalist. What the hell is going on inside that girl’s head right now?
No, stop, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter about Brie, or about the others. That’s their own business, between them and their conscience. Right now, it’s about you.
You will make it work because it’s what you do—you resolve impossibilities.
Face it: deep in your heart your true oath covers more than just one nation—it covers a whole new world. It’s the human thing to do—the right thing to do. Not just for Earth or for Atlantis, but for everyone. Earth gave you life and your origins, but Atlantis saved you, honed your spirit into its truest shape, and gave you the hope for a future.
You owe so much to both. . . . Time to acknowledge it.
Indeed, as someone born on Earth, a natural citizen, I never had to “acknowledge” Earth. I never had to make a conscious choice on Earth’s behalf, not even when “participating” in the process of Qualification for rescue. . . . That was strictly for myself, for my family.
It was personal desperation, the assertion of my will to live past an apocalypse—semi-conscious, raw, instinctive. In many ways that decision was made on my behalf—by my parents, my community, the society around me. Even the Earth governments working alongside the Atlanteans had more say in the direction of my fate than I did. We, the teens given this opportunity, merely went through the paces set for us by the adults, followed instructions, all the while trying not to think too closely of the grim reality. . . .
This is different. This is an active, rational decision, an assumption of responsibility.
A true choice.
You, Gwen—you now take personal responsibility for Atlantis, and you bear it willingly. Not just Imperial Atlantida but Atlantis itself, the planet and the people on it.
Therefore—adjust and widen your focus.
And never forget that when you raised the Grail, you broke something, so now you are obligated to fix it.
I submerge myself into this new self-clarity and repeat the final words, clearly and succinctly, hearing them ring and echo in my mind.
“. . . I swear in all truth and sincerity to honor and serve Imperial Atlantida, to the best of my ability, now and always, for as long as I live.”
It is done; the Oath is concluded.
Saying it—even though I’ve just prepared myself—I’m stunned. Just like that, the magnitude of the promise I’ve made overwhelms me. I am torn inside out and remade again as a new human being, a slightly more mature human being—all in the blink of an eye.
While the audience crowds roar approval, I acknowledge to myself that I’ve just made a commitment. Not merely to one person, my beloved Aeson (how is it that I thought that marriage was going to be my first such obligation?). Not even to a group, or even a whole country. But really, to a whole planet of people.
The first formal commitment of my life.
And my greater, deeper, secret personal oath, more than covers it.
Chapter 19
Now that we’ve sworn the Oath of Loyalty to Atlantida and are Citizens, the choir sings a hymn that I’ve never heard before, and the language seems to be Classical Atlanteo. This could be the National Anthem. Do they even have such things in this culture?
Yes, they do.
I see everyone in the audience rise from their seats, the Category judges on stage with us also rise, and perfect silence falls as the hymn echoes in grand harmony over the Khemetareon.
“Amrevet-Ra, Impero Atlantida! Eos, dea, niktos, im saret-i-xerera!”
If I understand correctly, this translates as:
“Love Divine! Imperial Atlantida! Morning, day, night, my wisdom and glory!”
Even the Imperator stands, with Aeson alongside him, listening in solemnity. Somehow, I sense Aeson’s gaze upon me, caressing me across the expanse. I can just imagine his thoughts: You did it, Gwen, im amrevu. It’s almost over, hang in there.
Glancing at the other Champions standing on both sides of me, I see their faces full of emotion. Even the most secretive, stoic ones, like Hedj Kukkait. . . . Kokayi and Kateb have tears in their eyes. Brie looks shell-shocked. No one salutes or makes any other gesture. They merely stare ahead, straight-backed and proud like soldiers.
When it is over, the crowd roars again, and everyone sits down.
Only we, Champions who are now Citizens, remain standing.
Miramis Opu, the Priest of the Grail, now speaks: “Champions! The Common Earnings Grail holds a very generous sum for you this year! The divided winnings, to be deposited in your personal credit accounts tonight, are over ten million iretar for each of the Top Ten! You may spend every single iret in any manner you desire, at any institution or venue. No doors will ever be closed to you!”
The audience roars in excitement.
“Furthermore,” the priest continues, “as always, your personal needs, wishes, and desires—within the realm of possibility—will be accommodated, as soon as you make your requests through the official Games channels.”
More thunderous noise.
“In conclusion—you have achieved the highest honors, earned your glory and your rest! Now you may depart the arena, Champions of the eternal Games of t
he Atlantis Grail! There is no beginning and there will be no end! However, only a Ghost remains of this year’s Games, until next Green Season! The Games are Forever!”
“The Games are Forever!” the audience responds.
Moments later, we descend the dais, waving to the screaming crowds, while triumphant music plays, and follow the Priest of the Grail across the arena toward the exit.
Aeson meets me in the crowded outer lobby where I stand with my teammates and other Champions, all of us holding our Grail trophies, as we wait for our friends and loved ones, members of our entourages, or rides home.
I’m still stunned, still disbelieving. Nothing seems real, only a clamor of strange events piling on top of each other. “Where are Chihar and Lolu?” I keep mumbling, even as Kateb and Brie and Kokayi laugh and exchange joyful banter.
“Relax, Lark!” Brie nudges me on the arm. “There he is, your Royal Loverboy. And talking about loverboys—” she waves to the tall, sharply-dressed figure of Logan Sangre, whose familiar handsome face and super-black hair I recognize at once from across the lobby as he makes his way toward us.
But I forget him the very next instant because I hear Aeson’s beloved voice calling my name.
“Gwen!” My Imperial Bridegroom nears me, followed by his personal guards and mine, and at once I rush into his arms, burying my face against his chest, and closing my eyes.
My hands continue to clutch my two Grails awkwardly, even as I reach around his back—until I feel someone, probably one of the guards, take my triumphant burdens from me before I drop them.
I surrender the Grails without a second thought. . . .
In that moment, everything else recedes.
I am safe.
It is over, he is with me, and I am safe.
Aeson holds me to him, crushing me in his embrace, and we meld together, his hands on me, my hands on him. . . . “Gwen, oh Gwen,” he whispers over and over. At some point he presses my face between his hands and then his mouth comes down hard against my lips. I lose all sense of self, lose my breath, gasping in desperate emotional relief as tears well up, and I am sobbing against his cheeks. My fingers travel over his jaw, his cheeks, his throat, and I hold on to him, wild and disbelieving.
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