Moonwater Perfume/Written soon after the Knighting Ceremony

Act One is complete.

The great drama was held in the Worship Hall of Remembrance over the course of three hours. The grand delusion began with the opening blessing by the High Prelate, which took up twenty minutes by itself, including the silly hand gestures that come with the ancient words of the Convocation Blessing. Making three concentric circles in the air, then the Twin Stars, and finally, after a jumble of other various arcane signs, the Sign of Peace. Then it was on to the first speech, given by the Prestat, giving the congregation an historical summary of the knighthood's origins. It was also the sanitized version, as there was no mention of the Force at all. Two more orations followed, and I can't say those were memorable, as they went into my ears and right out again.

But the condition of the sky and what is contained within the embrace of the night is something to be recorded for posterity. This occasion took place under the patient gaze of Najahal, which is auspicious and a harbinger of great fortune...no matter what Josym thinks.

My mind wandered, and I entered into a reverie brief enough to keep me awake until the star of the spectacle made his entrance. I began to consider the matter of what's going to take place tomorrow evening after his birthday gala. Just like any other ritual, there is a great deal of official nonsense that comes with the loss of virginity for any of the young rich boys.

It starts as a "men only" gathering in the smoking room, with the traditional three shots of irugara, our quirky variety of whiskey. Then the lucky heir is ceremoniously escorted to the courtesan's bedchamber, accompanied by a riot of singing and a phalanx of candles carried by his male relatives. It's akin to a bridegroom being led to the nuptial bed. Once the party arrives at the chamber door, the Prestat knocks four times, and then he calls out, "Prepare, prepare, for the moment is nigh!" Then the door is opened, and the Prestat leads the way towards the bed, followed by his son. The uncles, brothers, and cousins stay outside while the cortigia must stand at the center of the room, alone, clad in a pure white nightgown and robe. The Prestat brings his son to her, holding the boy by his elbow. "This is my treasured one. Teach him well, instruct him deeply in your arts so that he may learn what is necessary for the future." Of course, what the Lord of the Manor really meant was, "Teach my boy just enough about sex so that twin sons might be conceived on his wedding night."

The event is concluded when a holy man, whether the High Prelate or one of his assistants, comes in and sprinkles some of the “acquine spiriato” onto the bedcovers, and murmurs a few words. After this, the party of men adjourns back to the smoking room, leaving the boy and his instructor alone, together.

The two of us, surrounded only by walls and silk-covered furniture, for an entire night. Only one matter shall occupy us...for the first time in my life, I will actually enjoy the act.

It was lucky Josym appeared at the back of the chapel, because I couldn't continue thinking about tomorrow night and hope to focus on the remainder of the service.

Ah, the sight of him, dressed in the robes and tunic of the child-turning-paladin! To say that a man is beautiful might sound peculiar, but how else could I describe Josym in his gold and white brocades? Under the torches, he was, quite honestly, celestial. Blue eyes shimmering, blond and light red highlights glinting, and with a smile he tried to suppress, but only partially succeeded in doing so as he proceeded up the nave. Maybe it’s better to say he was like a naughty divinity rather than a pure vessel of creation.

This young man...is glorious.

But he is not carved from marble, or perfect and untouchable. As he proved when he grinned after recognizing me, even though I was tucked behind his family and among the other cortigiara, though this had something to do with my indigo dress and puffy hairdo. But Josym was the star, and he could break the serious routine and take notice of his second favorite female, if his heart desired to do so.

After his "lone journey in a funny costume" (as Josym described what it felt like heading down the aisle towards the altar) was finally complete, he knelt before the High Prelate, and bowed his head in the appropriate fashion as the rite was started with the customary words: "We are children of the Old World. The voices of all our ancestors emanate from our hearts, and every fragment of their personalities is locked within our souls. We have been brought together by the intentions of those progenitors to proclaim elevation of this cherished scion into the Most Holy and Ancient Order of the Chatos Knighthood."

And there was more palaver such as this to follow throughout the rest of the solemn and tedious event. So many words with no meaning behind them. Which isn't to say they never held meaning. Once upon a long time ago, these words were interspersed with phrases that invoked the munificence of the Force upon the head of the young paladin. A first-born son could never become a Jedi in the old days, unlike their younger brothers. But the Force still played a large role in the knighting ceremony.

Now, of course, there is no connection at all, at least under the aegis of our present culture and the galactic administration.

But the Force is still with us, no matter those who choose to deny its existence right now. From the days of the Old World, through the time of the Deluge, into the present, there is a hidden current pushing us along, wrapped around the universe like the arms of a mother. It is still present, and it will always be present, so long as life exists.

Part XIII