Talla's Temple Ch. 08

There was an image, burned in to his eyes just last night in this very location: Talla, straddling him; her head was thrown back; her chest thrust out; her flesh glowing blue for no apparent reason ...

"Yeah, exactly," Kurran agreed knowingly as the two of them watched the girls jog around a corner and out of sight. "First un's always a shock."

He poked Zhair'lo in his nearest kidney with the scroll.

"You gonna open this?"

"Yeah, yeah."

It was much like the one they had brought him a few days ago. The green seal broke away just as easily and he unrolled it.

Like the first scroll, it listed a date and a time -- they were giving a whole day of advance notice this time -- and his name. The rest of the parchment was more of that maddeningly elusive Temple Script.

Kurran tapped the last word of curving script on the bottom of the parchment.

"Upgrade," he said.

Zhair'lo's heart skipped a beat. They wanted him to do another one? After what had happened with Talla? That didn't seem like a brilliant idea. Three days ago he hadn't a clue or a care about things like this. Then he had met Talla and ejaculated on her. If someone had told him then about the Rite of Upgrade, he'd have been ecstatic about participating. What boy his age wouldn't be?

But he'd felt his body burning and he'd seen Talla screaming in pain.

There was a grain of something like fear in him. It was somewhere between performance anxiety and sheer cowardice. There was a sharp desire to shirk this duty.

But he couldn't do that. The dorm mothers had drilled it in to him until the age of six. Then the Preceptors had joined in the drilling until the day he was ready for apprenticeship.

A man does his duty. Period.

Do your work. Serve the Temple. Rewards will come.

Even Harzen had been clear on that the day the first message had arrived. A "Summons" from the Temple wasn't a request. It was a work order just like any other. He had to do as he was told. Anything else was unforgivable. There was no question on this matter.

He just wasn't sure he would be able.

-----==================----

Cutting through Sweetness had saved a lot of time, especially given the way that particular Triangle had been laid out. It was nothing like the circuitous alleys of Endowment. Sweetness had direct lines between the gate through which Talla entered Sweetness and the two gates by which Sweetness devotees could leave the Temple. In fact there was a partially disassembled wall along both of the routes that was made of the oldest, most worn stones Talla had ever seen.

Workmen had been taking stones off that wall, presumably to be reshaped and used elsewhere. There was a lot of stone to harvest: that half dissected wall was thicker than any interior wall she had seen anywhere in the Temple.

The important thing was that the straight road had made her passage brief. Dormitory three was just up the hill from the gate. Children, then. That was better than babies.

She was still a bit shaken when she arrived. Dormitory three, it turned out, housed children of ages six through twelve, with the genders mixed together. There were fields up above the city where the children could play games for exercise. They also received en masse instruction from teachers. Many of the lessons were shared between the genders, but the girls were more focused on mathematics and literacy while the boys were developing their motor skills.

Teaching wasn't Talla's job, which was fine by her. It seemed that the actual teaching part was reserved for the senior devotees of Sweetness. The rest of the girls and women on hand were given the less glorious tasks. Her assignment was food preparation and clean up. This wasn't just a school, after all, it was a place where half a thousand children lived. They played, learned, ate and slept here. As efficient as it could be made, it still required staff, even after dark. A select few women took it in rotations to stay behind and watch over the children through the night.

They had just finished serving lunch when someone called out to her.

"Talla?"

She turned to see a girl she had met when she arrived.

"M'lis," she said.

"I'm heading back to the Offices," she said. "Do you want me to check assignments for you?"

Busy as they were feeding and cleaning up after five hundred kids, there wasn't necessarily time for everyone to run back to the Temple to see who had what night time duties. M'lis was a Neophyte in Point, which made her the highest ranked Endowment woman on hand. She took it as her responsibility to make the run for everyone else.

"Sure, thanks," Talla replied.

"No trouble."

And she was off. Talla returned to her labour.

-----==================----

Kurran had explained to him, quite clearly, how things worked. A man never quite knew, on any particular night, if he would be Served. The general rule was that the women went out from the Temple at seventh bell. They weren't particularly punctual, though, so if you were in town you waited until about half past. Out in the farms, the mines and down the river, you waited a bit longer -- maybe until eighth bell.

If no one showed up for you, you went about whatever you felt like doing. Mostly that meant the sorts of peg and dice games that you played as a boy.

It was considered extremely inappropriate for a man to fail to be present when a woman came to Serve him. Sanctions were implied but never stated.

"Sometimes they'll warn ya 'bout 'the extreme displeasure of the Temple'," Kurran had said, quoting something he had heard long before. "They might as well just say 'or else ...' for all that could mean."

So he sat with the other men in the common room that night, his heart pounding one instant, cold chills running through him the next. He tried to be coy about it, tried not let on, but the other men weren't stupid. They could see how poorly he played.

"Oughtn'ta put your queen there," Tilgan remarked as he slipped a minor piece in next to it, trapping it.

Zhair'lo nodded in agreement. It had been a stupid move.

The seventh bell had rung long ago. Would the eighth bell ring soon? That's when Talla had shown up the night before. Anything to end the waiting. How did the other men tolerate it? How could they sit here, wondering every night whether someone would come for them? He couldn't pay attention to anything else and all the while everyone around him was complacent.

They took their turns in the game, going around the table. He might be able to salvage something if he gave up on his threatened queen and protected the other queen. Keep it close to the goddess, but not too close ...

"Do the same women sometimes come back?" he asked, pretending it to be an idle question.

This was amusing for some reason. A knowing laugh went through the other players.

"Can't get her outta your head?" Tilgan laughed.

Zhair'lo made a noncommittal humming noise and hid his embarrassment by furrowing his brow in pretended concentration.

"Not right away," Kurran said. He smiled, too, but his tone wasn't as cruel as the others. "You'll eventually make it back around to her, though. There are only so many your age."

That was a thought. How big was the town? If his sexual partners were limited by age, how many were there in his age group? Would he have sex with all of them?

Daunting, that was. More so than the impending upgrade.

He just wanted Talla to come back, but that seemed out of the question. He let out a disappointed sigh. He might have sex with hundreds of other girls before she ever came around to him.

And just when he had stopped thinking about the coming of the eighth bell and all the unpredictability it implied, the large, exterior door swung open. Zhair'lo's heart stopped and all the air left his lungs. His gaze and attention were locked on that door.

-----==================----

The card that M'lis had picked up for her had had only two words on it: "History, Shanata." Below those words was the symbol that the Temple used for Endowment Hall.

Night time assignments were supposed to be sexual. What was "History", as she understood the word, doing on such a card?

She would find out soon enough. She had made sure to be in the common room at seventh bell, when women traditionally left for their Service in town. It was only a few minutes before she spotted Shanata, the unmistakeably striking figure of her former -- and continuing? - teacher striding towards her.

"Talla," the older woman addressed her.

"Mistress," she replied with a polite bow.

"Time for a lesson, then," Shanata said sternly.

Talla's eyes went to Shanata's waistband. This elicited a laugh from her superior.

"No," she said softly as she waved a hand to indicate where they should walk. "No whip. I'm going to assume you'll pay attention."

"Yes, Mistress," she replied. "Pay attention to what?"

"Virgin's History," Shanata replied. "This happens on the rare occasion of a double upgrade. Women end up missing the group lessons they should have taken because they skipped a rank. Someone has to fill them in."

"So I won't attend classes?"

From the age of six to twelve, she had taken a lot of schooling -- the sorts of things they didn't bother teaching boys. She could name the last fifty Goddesses without even thinking and do mathematics and all sorts of things. But history? History was a monotonous list of names and dates. History was memorization. History was a pointless chore.

History was boring.

"No," Shanata confirmed. "We don't believe in mixing ranks in classes. You shouldn't have that mini-skirt if you're in a Virgin class. My job is to catch you up."

Talla nodded.

She found herself in a small study off the side of the common room. What possible purpose it could serve besides this one, she had no idea.

"Sit," Shanata said and the two of them took chairs on opposite sides of a small table with a thick book on it.

"What do you know of the time before the Temple?" Shanata asked.

"Before?"

"How long has this Temple stood?"

"Since the year one hundred twenty two," Talla replied, knowing this off by heart. "It's been eight hundred sixty three years."

"Good," Shanata said. "What happened at year zero?"

"That's when the gods came," Talla said, still quoting school lessons, "and brought us peace and made the first Goddess."

"Good," Shanata said again. "What was it like before that?"

Talla stopped a moment. Her eyes scanned around the room as she searched her memory for an answer. What lesson had ever covered that? History started at year zero. The gods had arrived, created the first Goddess, sanctified the first Temple. They had brought peace to the people of the world. What had come before? A time of without peace, she supposed.

"I, uh -- I don't know."

"That's because no one told you," Shanata confirmed

This stunned her. There was a whole history hiding in the place before the history she had been taught? Why hadn't she ever thought about it before?

"It is important, as a servant of this Temple, that you understand the importance of your Service," Shanata said. "As such, you must understand what it would be like without your Service."

Talla nodded.

"We can not pretend that our pre-Temple records are perfect," Shanata said. "It was a hard time, protecting that first Temple. The women of nine centuries ago were rarely literate and the peace the gods brought through the Goddess was only so powerful. There was fighting. A lot of it. And that made record keeping difficult."

"We do know that the violence and cruelty that plagued mankind nearly destroyed us. At one time, we had such a penchant for killing each other that we were barely surviving. Those who wanted peace were killed. No one was safe."

It was hard to imagine such a time. The solid walls of Endowment Hall were around her. Beyond those, the thicker outer walls of the Temple were better protection. When had anyone ever attacked a Temple? When had anyone ever attacked anyone at all? She knew the word "fighting" but it was something children did with each other and were subsequently punished.

"Your thoughts?"

Talla stammered a moment.

"Why was this allowed?" she demanded in horror. "Why would women do that to each other? Why wouldn't they stick together?"

"Women weren't in charge, Talla," Shanata said, her eyes cold and dark. "Men were."

That sent a shock through her that left her eyes wide and her mouth open.

"Men?"

"Men ruled over women once," Shanata explained. "They called their women 'wives' and treated them like property. They forced child after child from them. Then they went off to fight and left their illiterate women behind to fend for themselves."

Their picture of history wasn't perfect. Shanata acknowledged that. But what was unfolded to Talla was stark and frightening. A woman of those times had no one upon which she could rely. She was barely regarded as a person. It was no wonder that the world was in a shambles, if that was the case. What would men do, without women to guide them, to keep peace and to organize what needed doing?

-----==================----

Zhair'lo watched as a tall, slim woman stepped in to the room while unseen others continued to push the door open. That first woman wore a skimpy orange outfit embroidered with gold flower patterns. More women came in, filling the foyer, wearing various unusual yellow costumes. Some were showing a lot of hip. Others displayed cleavage. All had soft, eager looks on their faces.

Could any of these be for him? There were all older. Not by much, but still older. It felt a bit intimidating. There were at least a dozen of them now, gathered at the entrance, posing provocatively. Provocatively? Well, really, they were just standing there. It was more what they meant that was provocative. Zhair'lo saw a sea of yellow clothing, with just two women now in orange. The predominant colour, regardless, was that of flesh in all its pinks, browns and tanned bronzes.

Zhair'lo simply stared, stupefied. Here was so much possibility in front of him -- of a kind he hadn't known existed a day ago. The thought of rotating through hundreds of such women -- not these ones, of course, but others his age -- set his mind spinning.

It also made him nervous. Would one of these imposing women come to him? Surely not. His mind split in two as he tried to decide what he wished for. He hoped none of them were for him. He also hoped that one of them would drag him up to his room. It was just the sort of heart-pounding, cold-chill feeling he'd been having all night, multiplied a hundred times now by the sense of immediacy. Talla had caught him by surprise, the night before, conjured out of the night air from beyond his dreams. He hadn't had time to be anxious.

At last they were all in the house. There had to be enough of them to Serve at least half of the farm hands. Some of the men turned around to look. Others, oddly enough, ignored the women. Were they so certain that no one was coming for them? Or were they just excessively casual about it?

The ones in yellow waited calmly while the two in orange, foremost in the group, glanced at each other. One made an invitational wave of her hand towards the other, who then spoke.

"Master Harzen", she said. "I come for you."

It was one of the sweetest voices Zhair'lo had ever heard. It entranced him for a moment with it's softness. For a moment, his anxiety was gone.

By the time he was paying attention again, Harzen had come out of his study in the back of the common room to meet the woman who had called his name. He jovially took her by the hand and the two disappeared up one of the stairways.

"Kurran", the second woman in orange called out.

"Guess we'll finish the game tomorrow", Kurran said with a smirk as he rose from the table.

They went on like that, calling out names and pairing off. The women in yellow were less formal, calling out for their men before the previous couples had even cleared the room.

Zhair'lo's heart continued to beat in his throat as the crowd dwindled and those at the back came in to view. Men came from other rooms, from the kitchen and from upstairs as their names were called.

As one of the yellow clad women stepped aside, he caught a glimpse of a small girl, dressed in a long white skirt. He swallowed nervously. Was there anyone else at the farm as young as he was? As young as this girl?

He couldn't see her face until another woman stepped out of the way. The young girl's eyes came in to view as she peeked around the shoulder of one of her fellows. Her eyes searched around the room and locked on to his.

Natta.

No question, then, that she was here for him. Her eyes told that story, even if her age hadn't made it abundantly clear. Zhair'lo gulped, unable to tear his eyes away from her. For her part, she pulled off a stunned smile.

Oh, gods. Oh, gods.

One of the women in yellow -- actually, the last woman in yellow. Where had they all gone? - nudged Natta with her elbow.

Shaken out the mutual reverie, Natta spoke quite suddenly.

"Zhair'lo," she said, as if it weren't obvious.

It only seemed like all the men left in the room were staring at him. He supposed it could be worse. They could have made her call him first and he would have had to walk across the room in front of everyone. At least this way half of the room had cleared.

He rose, only a little unsteady, and carefully circumnavigated the game board.

"Not my night, I guess," Tilgan said with a dramatic sigh. "Take it easy, kid."

It was a kind enough remark. Zhair'lo relaxed a little as the older man turned his back to the door and put his feet up on the table next to the game board. There was only Natta now, waiting for him with her left hand extended.

"Hi," he said as he took her hand.

"Hi," she said, keeping things simple on her side, too. Her hand was small and soft. It felt strange and foreign in his grasp. Her eyes glowing, she squeezed his hand tightly.

"Um, where ...?" she asked.

"Oh, uh, up here," he said, nodding to the stairway on his right.

As she was unwilling to release his hand, he had to lead her up stairs. It felt so odd, bringing a girl up these stairs. He had lived among men for so many years that having a female inside his place struck him as ill-fitting. But that only added to the trembling in his chest.

They reached his door. He turned to face her to tell her so, and found her lips upon his. It wasn't what he expected; wasn't like Talla. It was different, and that was it's own kind of thrilling. He might have wondered if every one would be different, but his mind was far from wondering. His thoughts, the bare minimum of brain that he still had, was busy contemplating the warm, thin body pressed up against his. He was busy feeling the way she kissed, the way it was different, the way her tongue felt as it darted so quickly across his lips.

She pulled away, panting, her eyes unfocused as she blearily looked up in to his eyes. There was a smile on her lips.

He took a breath, wondering if he ought to speak.

"Whoa," was the only word he could muster. More of an exhalation than a real attempt at communication.

She looked down at his chest, seeming a bit flush and embarrassed.

"That's just how I say hello," she replied.

He pushed his bedroom door open and ushered her in to the tiny cube that was his private space. It was grey and drab in the waning twilight. He could fix that.

There was an unlit candle on the dresser. As he'd done every night he'd lived here, he took the candle and lit it from a wall torch in the hallway. The candle changed the room from cold blues and greys to warm, flickering oranges. That was better. It was the also limit of his willpower.

Natta was waiting for him, leaning against his bed, candlelight dancing in her eyes. It was a small room. She was only a step away. When he approached, she stood up to meet him. He wrapped his arms around her tiny waist. Her hands went in to his hair to pull his head closer. They were kissing again, just like before. She liked to use her tongue. If that was what people did, then he could do it, too.