“I cannot tell whether it is night or day,” Mehta declared, and Ethan said, “It is night. The evening is just coming.”
“I can feel that,” Theone agreed.
“But how?” Mehta wondered.
“I imagine it comes of such a long time they both spent in darkness,” Soren said. “For the feeling is upon me.”
“Then we will settle down and cook,” Ohean said, “and all new things will come in the morning.”
“Look,” Conn said as he assisted Ohean in building a fire, “we’ve got a good place. Light is not far off, nor drinking and bathing water. There is much space. If we had to be beneath the ground then we could fair far worse.”
Ethan came to join them, sweeping his thick red hair from his face.
“I could use a scissors,” he said.
“From what I remember you were always one for long hair,” Ohean said.
“That was in the time of my choosing. This and this beard as well, come from prison, and I could be well done with all memories of it.”
Anson, who himself felt the need of a shave though he only bore a day’s amount of beard nodded to this.
“But why do I feel so strange?” Ethan said, while the fire came to being and Conn was on his way to fetch water for what would be the soup.
“It is… not the strange one would feel in dark places, but the feeling of… I feel like the story of the Goddess Tanquare leaving the Underworld after she had stayed beneath it half the year.”
“It is the night of the Alcot,” Conn said simply.
“Is it?” Ethan frowned. “It’s been such a time since I was in the homeland that I have lost the memory of holy days.”
“I have not,” Conn said. “I will make the soup, and we will eat the meal.”
He looked on Ohean and Anson, on Ethan. “Is there anyone else amongst us who observes the Alcot?”
“Not Austin,” Anson said. “And Theone has never left these lands. I have only seen a few Alcots.”
“And yet they are part of you,” Conn said gravely. “Well, then, I will make a second soup. One with herbs given by the Goddess Ossain in ancient times. And those of you who would observe the Alcot, observe it with me.”
Anson sang them many ballads while they ate, and when he was done, then it was Conn, in his blue hooded robe who said, “And now comes a tale to send most to sleep, but it holy and old, the story of how Tanquare Queen of the Dead and Mother of Spring discovered one realm and found another. And, also, it is the tale of her immortal lover, dying and rising, whom some call Adaon, the Blue Lord.
Tanquare was the sister of Ossain, and the daughter of Amana, Goddess of the Earth. One day she heard a song from below, and so some said was lured by the God Ostos to walk among the lower worlds and be made Queen of the Dead. Only when Amana and Elladyl and Maia went searching for her did she return to the land of the living.
Archízo na tragoudó gia ti Dímitra, tin agía theá
me ta ómorfa malliá.
To Tanquare epísis.
Aftós me tous leptoús astragálous, ton opoío o Hadês
kataschéthikan. Tin chárise o Días,
o vronterós, aftós pou vlépei makriá kai makriá.
Se aftó den symmeteíche i Dímitra,
aftí tou chrysoú diploú tsekoúri, aftí pou doxázei sto therismó.
Pernoúse kalá, mazí me tis kóres
tou Okeanoú, pou foroúsan chamilá tis zonés tous.
Some, however told another tale the world below was always the realm of Tanquare, that jealous gods had seized Adaon and murdered him and when his sould came into her realm, she made him King of Death. In the world below they were glad, but when they learned the earth suffered for lack of them, they underwent a long journey to return to the world and user in spring. The night of the Alcot celebrated—most said—the longed for return.
Anson had sung, and Conn had mixed the herbs he always carried along with those borne by Ohean, and what was found in the caves. He had boiled them into tea and now, as he sang, he offered it to Anson, and then to Ohean. When Austin made for it, Conn shook his head, and Austin, respecting him, obeyed. The others were on their way to sleep, and Yarrow and Essily had gone. When Rendan looked on eagerly, as did Dahlan, Anson simply said, “Neither of you knows anything of the Alcot, which is this night, and if you drink of this, you may not return to life the same.”
“I do not want my life to be the same,” Rendan said, and he drank deeply, but Conn forbade Dahlahn and sent him off with Austin and the other Zahem. Arvad drank and so did Kenneth. As Kenneth set down the pot, Anson worried, but Conn sang on unconcerned.
Sti thlípsi tis, oúte élouse to dérma tis sto neró.
Allá ótan i dékati foteiní avgí írthe epáno tis,
I Ekáti írthe kontá tis, kratóntas
sta chéria tis mia elafriá flóga.
Írthe me éna mínyma kai mílise légontás tis:
Lady Tanquare, pou férnei to hôrai,
dínei ypérocha dóra,
When Ethan reached for the pot, Anson said, “Brother, you know what is in there.”
Ethan shook his head.
“The Alcot is the time of relief,” Ethan insisted, “and I have needed relief so long.”
Kánte amésos ti sodeiá na megalósei,
aftó pou férnei zoí gia tous anthrópous».
Mílise loipón, kai i Dímitra,
aftí me tis ómorfes girlántes sta malliá,
den parákouse.
Amésos ésteile ti sodeiá apó ti gi me
ta ploúsia smíni tis.
Kai óli i platiá gi me fýlla kai ánthi
Though Conn was no expert in the ancient language, the last two lines resonated with him as the drugs hummed in his brain.
— to ieró teletourgikó, to opoío den eínai kathólou dynató na agnoitheí, na máthei,
í na milísei. To megálo déos ton theón empodízei káthe omilía.
—the holy ritual, which it is not at all possible to ignore, to find out about,
or to speak out.
The great awe of the gods holds back any speaking out.
Derek was here. Calon was here. Master Fero was here as well. It was as if he could see through these walls directly to Kingsboro and only magic was presen. Power was here. Relief from sadness. The herbs were in the tea and the tea was passing around and around and around, round without weariness or sickness. Heat filled him. There was Derek, rising from the sleeping bodies on the floor, walking under the strangely impassive and inappropriate for this night image of Adaon. There was Matteo, splayed like a starfish in ecstasy while some young acolyte sucked on him and, out in the White Lobby now, there was Master Fero. It was a few hours toward morning, still dark, and by the open door of the temple, free of the dignity of a fifty year old abbot, Master Fero took Derek like a dog, and Derek on his hands and knees cried out to the night.
Stiff with desire, Conn stood up. His eyes took on this room. Ohean, Anson, Rendan the prince and Ethan as well. This boy Arvad and this solemn face man, Kenneth, who certainly had a dark past. How in the world had Soren gotten here? He only planned for Ohean and Anson. Ethan maybe. Could the rest of them withstand this? But on the night of the Alcot, even the God had no thought for the future, only for this now.
Conn raised his hands like a great priest, no like a high priest, for he was now the high priest and ever would be, and he lifted his robe so that in the light of the fire, and in the subtle light of the blue priest, all of him glowed golden, neither young, nor old, perfect in form, and then he turned and walked down toward the darkness where water splashed, and his voice lifted as he sang a wordless tune. It filled the caverns like a lullaby, but never hit the walls, and Ohean knew it too. He followed Conn in procession, and next came Kenneth, as if somehow he understood this, as if the dark magic to which he’d been apprenticed was cousin to this.
But when Anson stood up, he ceremoniously put down his sword and sword belt, and then folded his cloak. He undid his tunic and patiently he stripped until he stood there, the Lion of Ondres, nude and cocoa skinned with the scars of battle on his biceps and his back, his penis rising like an attentive soldier from the his bronze bush. As he strode now, Conn and the others were voices in the darkness, singing their direction. Suddenly, in a great fury, Ethan and Rendan tore off their clothes like men on fire, and the dark haired and red haired prince ran after the procession to join themselves to the celebration of the Alcot.
Derek woke on his side, blinking in the silent sanctuary under blue and red lights which no longer revolved. He lay for a long time, feeling the cool stone floor through the fabric he lay on, feeling his hands, his feet, his anus, the dryness in his mouth. His eyes took in the patterns of limbs and fabrics all around before he rose up, blinking, and looked about the sanctuary. All around, men, black and white and brown, long and short, round, stocky, all forms, many half dressed, some not dressed at all, lay drowsing or half high, huddled together or splayed out, and as he stepped through them, Derek thought of grabbing his sarong, but abandoned it. This was a night to be naked. The dancers and drummers were collapsed in the midst of their work like the folk from the story of the princess who slept for a hundred years, and while they lay in a daze, like the Gyre Players, they were half frozen in the midst of fellatio, passed out in sleep in the midst of mounting one another.
The room was not in total silence. As Derek passed, an old man was crying out, it almost seemed for help, his eyes wide and glazed as he licked his lips, kneeling naked, his red hair purple in this light, and Gabriel Rokamont was fucking him. There would be no help tonight. As Derek walked up the steps toward one of the three exits, he passed Matteo whose rough beautiful face was thrown back in drugged ecstasy. Naked and soft and young, Paul was splayed out between his legs, sucking on him hungrily. In the lobby to the white hall and near the open White Door, some, still half high, were sitting on the ground or on stoops, staring into nothing, many smoking cigarettes or something else.
Mennes, whom Derek hadn’t seen in some time and who was naked, holding a pack of cigarettes, held one out to Derek, and Derek thanked him as he lit it. The smoke was good in his lungs and he felt more sober, and then as he inhaled, the world was plastic again, and he liked it.
cMaster Fero was at the White Door, looking no less noble for being naked and half drugged while he sat on the floor.
“Master,” Derek began, coming to him and sitting down.
Fero held out his hand and it took Derek a moment to understand he wanted the cigarette. As Fero inhaled, the cigarette glowed bright orange and he handed it back.
“Master, I dreamed. I saw Conn… And Ohean. Anson. And others. They were… they were under the earth. And Conn was saying, ‘It is the Alcot.’”
There was more he had seen, but Fero was grinning at him, half high, but also half indifferent.
“Derek,” Fero said, slowly. “This is the Alcot.”
Derek blinked at him.
“This is the Alcot,” he said. “And you did not come here to tell me that.”
Yes, I get it, Derek thought. What a strange unlikely candidate he was for the Blue Priesthood, so often living in his head. This was the Alcot. The Alcot was not the night or the set of days surrounding it, to discuss visions and dreams and serious things. The Alcot was not cerebral. They were doing everything to leave thinking behind. The Alcot was utterly visceral.
Fero took out a very different cigarette and lit it. As the smoke left the older man’s nostrils, Derek smelled its pungency and Fero gave it to Derek.
“Take… several puffs,” Fero advised him, clutching his shoulder.
Abbot Fero rubbed his shoulder while Derek smoked, becoming higher again, coughing as his nostrils expanded.
When Fero tapped him, without any thought, Derek put the cigarette aside, and turned over on his hands and knees. He felt an oily finger enter him, felt Fero’s hands pulling on his cock, massaging his balls, felt Fero’s tongue in him. All of the Blue House was the sanctuary, and titles were nothing, being self conscious was nothing. The self as nothing, that was the whole vocation of the Blue House. Nothing was too shocking or forbidden on this night, not even in the lobby by the open White Door when Derek knelt, his ass in the air and closed his eyes and inhaled as Fero pressed himself inside of Derek, and began to fuck him.
