DargonZine

Rite of Seeing

By Jim Owens

gymfuzz@yahoo.com

Seber 27, 1018

“Bless the Lady Eternal, Oh my life!”

*Chop*

“Bless the Great Goddess wrapped in endless light!”

*Chop*

“Bless the Lady Eternal, Oh my heart!”

*Chop*

“Bless the Laaaaaaa … ”

Rapinoe’s rhythm faltered as he struggled to separate the latest piece of kindling wood into two pieces. He dropped the axe beside the old tree stump and used both hands to finish what the stroke of the blade had left undone. He then tossed the two recently cleft bits of kindling onto the smallish pile he had accumulated. This done, he picked up the next piece to cleave and set it in place, then paused, trying to recall where in the sacred chant he had left off.

The morning was not quite warm yet, but it was not cold, and the vigorous work had left just the faintest hint of sweat on the young man’s neck. He had not bothered to don a shirt before leaving the house, and after a few minutes of swinging the axe he had taken off his pants and tossed them on top of the stacked wood, trusting in the exertion to warm him, and sparing the garment from any risk of soil or snagging. Now, pausing to retrace the verses of the song, he could feel the heat of the late summer sun on his skin, and he knew he would not be needing any clothing to stay warm that day; his labor and the love of the Goddess would warm him. Standing there in the sunlight reminded him of the Goddess, her glory radiant and pure. Rapinoe loved singing the chants and hymns of the cult, and others would often compliment him about his voice. He usually felt more comfortable singing when he was alone at work, but he did occasionally get a small thrill when he was selected to sing for the gathered body of worshipers on cult holidays. Rapinoe muttered a silent prayer of thanks to the Goddess, then remembered where he had left off in the song. He picked up the ax, and started back with his music and his chopping.

Rapinoe enjoyed chopping wood. It was possible to see the results of your labor, as the pile of kindling would grow before your very eyes. It was good mindless work, not too hard or dangerous. It required just enough attention to prevent you from thinking too hard, but left enough time in your head to sing a good song or remember a good time. He paused a moment after fetching the next piece of wood and looked around. The shrine would be needing more kindling than usual. A recent round of disasters had wracked the city, leaving many homeless and injured. The shrine was hosting two locals who were temporarily crippled, waiting for broken bones to heal, and serving a number of others who were visiting regularly to take advantage of the shrine’s healing hot water bath. Being around the ill and injured was probably his least favorite duty at the shrine … that brought back too many unpleasant memories … but he knew his duty to provide, and manual labor did not bother him. His pile of chopped wood would need to be much larger. He lifted his axe and continued swinging.

He had just finished setting up another round of wood and was lifting the axe when something dark against his skin caught his eye. He paused during the stroke, startled. For a quick moment it looked like his veins had suddenly turned black. He dropped the axe and jumped back, brushing violently at the sudden blemish. It quickly and easily wiped off, dropping to the ground. To his chagrin and relief he realized it was just an old uprooted weed root, stuck to the round at first, and then to the inside of his wrist. It was harmless. His heart had skipped a beat, but now he saw that it was harmless. A quick visual inventory of his upper body reassured him that nothing else was amiss. He looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen his sudden spasm, but he was still alone. A flood of memories raced through his brain, but he pushed them aside. He checked again to be sure that his wrist was truly unblemished, then resumed his work. Once again the rhythm of work claimed him, and time marched on.

Rapinoe did not even notice Sister Carlotta standing at the door of the shrine until he stopped his chopping to stretch. She stood on the stoop, the bell in her hand. He was sure he had not heard the bell ring, and yet there she was. He waved at her in acknowledgement, and she turned and went inside. Rapinoe quickly restacked the wood, stowed the axe, retrieved his pants, and went inside. Just inside the door he found the priestess waiting. Unlike the young novice, the priestess was dressed, her plain bleached robe wrapped loosely around her matronly figure.

“Goddess be with,” he said reverently, ducking his head. She bowed slightly in return.

“Goddess be with,” she replied. “I need your help inside the shrine, Rapinoe.” He listened carefully, wanting to be a good servant to the cult. “We have a guest here,” she continued, gesturing behind her at the wall that separated the small antechamber from the main hall of ceremony, “who is requesting a rite, and Sister Serenity has already left with the girls for the market.” Sister Carlotta looked a bit agitated, as if this visitor did not fit into her plans for the day. She continued, almost as if talking to herself rather than Rapinoe. “Brother Jod is teaching the boy’s class, and Brother Kep … “ she paused, her eyes drifting to the light coming in through the oilskin window, searching for the right words, “ … Kep is not suited for this ritual.”

Rapinoe nodded silently, frowning. He had been an acolyte of the Goddess for a while now, and firmly believed in Her love for all people and the joy that could come from serving her, but he was still much more comfortable swinging an axe or pushing a shovel than with participating in the various rites and rituals of the Goddess of Love and Fertility. He knew, of course, that when duty called, he would answer, so he stood fast and waited. Sister Carlotta turned her eyes back to him now, focusing. Her gaze swept over his naked body.

“You will do just fine for this rite.” He nodded, a small nervous tremor drifting up his spine. She nodded back. “I need you to bathe, quickly, and scent yourself, and put on a white robe,” she took hold of her own and gave it a shake, to reinforce for him which one to select, “and meet us just outside the inner chamber.” When he nodded she turned to go, then looked back at him. “There is no need to be nervous, Rapinoe. They are merely requesting the Rite of Seeing. This one will be easy.” Relieved, he nodded, then realized that the woman was still staring at his body and frowning. “Perhaps,” she wondered aloud, “perhaps a sigil or two … no, no time. Just go bathe.” She nodded, and then they both went their separate ways, Rapinoe happy to not have that additional requirement placed on him.

The shrine had a dedicated bathing area for the various rites that required immersion or general wetness. There was the large ritual tub, and a small stone patio, with some short stone walls to hold things. The patio was not much larger than a large ox cart, but it had a small hearth where a fire could be lit to warm the tub. Often a pot of water would be left there and refilled, so that warm water would always be available for bathing. From the water still draining off the stone floor, however, someone had recently used the bath, and a quick dip of a finger let Rapinoe know that the water in the bowl was recent, and therefore cold. Rapinoe used this cold water now, quickly rinsing away the morning’s grime. There was a communal towel which he also utilized. Once dried, he rummaged through the assortment of bottles and crocks scattered around the bathing area. Left there by both patrons and staff, these contained the remains of various perfumes and scented oils. Rapinoe settled on one that smelled fairly decent, very reminiscent of the typical odors he had smelled during the various rites and ceremonies at the shrine. This done, he left his shirt and pants on a shelf in the bath for later retrieval and walked back into the shrine. Once in the shrine he immediately encountered Sister Carlotta.

“Have you bathed?” she immediately asked. Not waiting for his response, she sniffed the air, and then sniffed him. “What do you have on?”

“I found it in the bathhouse,” he replied. “It smelled like the ritual incense.”

Carlotta shook her head. “It smells like the balm for the Rite of Cahleyna’s Mourning”. Rapinoe immediately ducked his head, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. That was a balm used by the women and girls in the cult for pain during their monthly period. Carlotta shook her head. She went to a nearby cupboard and selected a small phial. She poured a small amount of oil from it, then rubbed it over his head and his bare shoulders. It smelled strongly of cedar. She put the phial back, then sniffed him again. She shook her head. “Can’t be helped. Come on.” Together the two went to the wardrobe, where Rapinoe donned a simple bleached robe like Carlotta was wearing. He then followed her into the sanctuary.

Waiting atop the stage at the apex of the sanctuary was a woman. Her body swathed in the same bleached linen Rapinoe and Carlotta were wearing. Her expression was pleasant enough, though it looked as if it was wearing ever so slightly thin. As they approached her, she gave a quick bow, and Carlotta responded with a much lower bow, which Rapinoe echoed. He did not recognize this woman, but it was obvious Carlotta did.

“Goddess be with,” Carlotta said, somewhat breathlessly. Again, Rapinoe took this as his queue and said the same.

“Goddess bless you both,” the woman said graciously with a smile that had just a bit more than a hint of warmness in it. From her benediction, Rapinoe immediately knew the woman probably outranked most everyone he had ever met in the cult, and he determined to remain as silent as possible during this ritual.

“We thank you for blessing our shrine with this opportunity to serve,” Carlotta replied, probably just a bit too fast. “What do you seek?”

“I seek the Rite of Seeing,” replied the woman, again with a gentle smile. Rapinoe was fairly sure it was genuine.

“Please, this way,” Carlotta gestured, indicating a nearby door. The three of them headed for the door, Carlotta snagging a small lantern from the altar. Rapinoe made sure he reached the door first and held it for the two women. Once they were all inside the room Rapinoe closed the door behind them. Rapinoe had participated in a number of Rites of Seeing, but typically as one of several supplicants. He had never led one. His mind raced as he followed the two women to the circle laid out in inlaid wood in the center of the tiny room, trying to remember what the words were (if any) that he was expected to say.

“I see you,” Carlotta said the moment they reached their positions around the circle. Rapinoe took a deep breath, preparing to respond in kind, but the other woman beat him to it.

“I see you,” she said, then looked at Rapinoe.

“I see you,” he repeated, grateful to be led into the rite.

“I see you as a soul, I see you as a life, I see you as a mind, making your way in the world,” Carlotta continued.

“I see you as a soul, I see you as a life, I see you as a mind, making your way in the world,” the woman replied. Again, she turned to Rapinoe, who echoed the words. For a moment he felt just a bit useless, extra. He knew, of course, of the Council of Multiples, the idea that many rites should not be practiced just between two people. As the third in this rite, he served both as a third person, and as a second gender, which was also important in many rites the cult practiced.

Carlotta took the hem of her robe and lifted it off herself, allowing it to flutter to the floor behind her. “I, like you,” she said, spreading her arms wide and turning in place, “am a person of flesh and blood, who hungers and thirsts, who gets tired and cold.” The room was not terribly well-lit, but Rapinoe had no need of light to see Carlotta. He had seen her just as naked thousands of times before, around the shrine and in other places they had made pilgrimage to. He had bathed with her, he had practiced this rite and others for years. The dim light showed him the same person now that he had seen so often before, and that was comforting.

“I see you,” the other woman said, “as a person of flesh and blood, who hungers and thirsts, who gets tired and cold.”

“I see you,” Rapinoe repeated, “as a person of flesh and blood, who hungers and thirsts, who gets tired and cold.” He had, actually, seen Carlotta in all those states, and many more, in the years he had lived in the shrine. Carlotta was a forceful woman when she needed to be, but she also had moments of softness, of gentleness, and even weakness. He appreciated this rite, as it was a good way to acknowledge the wholeness of broken people.

Now it was the other woman’s turn. She also took the hem of her robe and lifted it off herself, dropping it behind her. “I, like you,” she said, also spreading her arms wide and turning in place, “am a person of flesh and blood, who hungers and thirsts, who gets tired and cold.” Rapinoe got a good look at her, and he was impressed. Where Carlotta was a bit older and definitely a bit softer, this woman looked like she was a laborer, not a bureaucrat. She was taller than Carlotta, and therefore much taller than Rapinoe. He expected that the woman’s natural stature and good looks were at least part of the reason she had risen to the rank she held. In addition, as was very common for the faithful of the Goddess, her naked body was decorated with painted on words and symbols that spoke of the love and goodness of the Goddess, drawn in exquisite and precise detail not just with black ink, but with red and blue and green and orange and even a hint of gold. She was a work of art. She was so impressive he almost missed his cue.

“I see you,” Rapinoe chanted, “as a person of flesh and blood, who hungers and thirsts, who gets tired and cold.” He actually had a bit of a problem seeing this impressive woman as having to endure much privation in her life, but those were the words of the ritual and he spoke them faithfully. Once he was done, Carlotta repeated the phrase. Now it was Rapinoe’s turn. He mimicked their act of disrobing, allowing the bleached fabric to collapse behind him as he turned and spoke the ritual words. He felt ever so slightly self-conscious as he did so. His body was not the type that was seen as often in Dargon.

Rapinoe had been a very small boy when his mother brought him to the shrine, but he had not been as young as his smallness implied. His mother often told him the famous fable of the gold locket in the field and how even small things could be precious, but there was no disguising the fact that being as short as he was would be a real disadvantage in the rough and tumble world he was born into. When he reached the age where most everyone else was apprenticed to a craftsman or tradesman, his mother instead took him to the shrine, even though none of their family was particularly devout. Indeed, Rapinoe himself had only been in the shrine twice before, and he only remembered one of those visits. Sister Carlotta had understood the need, however, to provide a safe haven for someone whose usefulness would not come from a towering stature, and from that tender age Rapinoe learned to love the cult, to love the shrine, and above all to love the Goddess.

That love for the Goddess had been tested early, however. His mother fell ill only months after dropping him off for the last time. It had been Carlotta herself who brought him back home to tend to his own mother as he had tended to the sick at the shrine. His aid was mundane, with none of the miracles he had been taught of, and he watched her waste away, her veins darkening steadily as her life drained out of her. He had sewn her shroud with Carlotta, numb with grief, and had returned to the shrine immediately after the funeral. Once the ritual runes of mourning faded off his skin, he began to neglect that ritual, leaving his own skin unmarked whenever possible. Suddenly he recalled Carlotta’s comment earlier about sigils, and a sudden unusual feeling came over him: the feeling of being naked.

As he returned back to his starting posture, he noted the expression of interest on the woman’s face. Her gaze was intense, with an appraising air. Her eyes scanned him as a buyer would scan a box of apples, or an ox at auction, or an opponent in a ring. She quickly returned her gaze to Carlotta, however.

“Seeing another does not change the other,” Carlotta continued. “Seeing others changes us, allowing the light of the Goddess to fill our minds, and allowing the love of the Goddess to fill our hearts, and allowing the labor of the Goddess to fill our lives.”

“Blessed be the Goddess,” intoned both Rapinoe and the other woman together.

“Being seen does not change us,” Carlotta continued. She again raised her arms and turned. “Being seen by others allows us to accept who we are in the eyes of the Goddess, who alone decides what we are worth.”

“Blessed be the Goddess,” chorused Rapinoe and the woman, and they both raised their arms and turned. As he returned back to face the center, Rapinoe again caught the woman appraising him. He felt a sudden need to cover himself, to pick up his robe and hide. Even in the shrine his short stature was occasionally a cause for concern, an issue to work around. He even had a stool with his name carved into it, provided early on by Carlotta to aid the smaller male when shelves were too high. Rapinoe had a sudden urge to be where that woman could not see him.

The rite was not yet over, however. Carlotta had set the lantern in the center of the circle. She now stepped forward and lifted it. The other woman and Rapinoe also stepped forward.

“May the light of the Goddess illuminate our entire lives,” Carlotta intoned. “I am Carlotta, daughter of Carlet and Jofina, sister of Abroxa, Joat, Marle and Jeffrey.  I stand for what is right, and to aid those less fortunate. I am beloved of the Goddess.” She affixed the woman with her gaze. “Who are you?”

“I am Sharonala, daughter of Biloz and Delmalta, sister of Francet and Porfone. I stand for what is right, and to aid those less fortunate. I am beloved of the Goddess.”

The two women looked at Rapinoe, who repeated the mantra, watching the eyes of the other two women, one familiar, one not. This time they both held his gaze. Once he finished, Carlotta held the lantern up high. “Let us all see each other,” chanted Carlotta, “as the Goddess sees us.”

The formal portion of the rite was now over, and each person bowed to the others. Carlotta and the other woman greeted each other with an embrace, which surprised Rapinoe a bit, as Carlotta had never talked of being close with anyone who fit the woman’s description. The tall woman then turned to him, her arms open. He politely returned her embrace, noting how firm her grip was.

“Please,” the woman said, gesturing to the robes on the floor, “let us sit.” This was unexpected, and not typically part of the rite. That unexpected feeling of being exposed came back, and he wondered if either woman would object if he scooped up the robe and threw it back on. Carlotta promptly plopped herself down, however, and so he also sat down on his robe, facing the two women.

“Sister Sharonala,” Carlotta asked, “may I get the wine and bread, so we can finish the ceremony?” Rapinoe smiled just a bit at that. He also enjoyed the traditional snack after the rite. He hoped the other sister … Sharonala? … did as well.

“Yes, of course,” Sharonala smiled, nodding. Rapinoe felt a small glow of warmth inside to see her expression. Carlotta walked over to the cupboard where the traditional snacks were typically held. Sharonala arranged herself on the robe, and Rapinoe followed suit, crossing his legs and arranging himself. The small ceremonial room was typically one of the warmest rooms in the shrine, as many of the rites performed there were done skyclad. The room was built as a hypocaust, piggybacking off the daily cooking fire, and he could feel the pleasant heat of the stone underfloor radiating through the thin robe into his otherwise chilled backside. Once he was arranged, he gave Sharonala a quick once-over with his gaze, and noticed she was doing the same. He met her eyes, and they exchanged a polite smile.

“May I ask your name?” Sharonala began. Rapinoe was pleased at the offering of dignity and equality. No one of her rank needed to ask permission for his name, and it felt good to be recognized as a person.

“Rapinoe,” he replied. At that moment Sister Carlotta arrived with a platter with a simple earthenware pitcher, three simple ceramic cups, and a tiny plate stacked with small baked cakes. She bent and offered the platter to Sharonala, who thanked her with a nod and carefully poured some wine into a cup, then took it along with a cake. Carlotta turned to Rapinoe.

“Be a dear,” she asked quietly, extending the tray to him, “and help me down.” He nodded and took the tray, watching while she slowly lowered herself down onto her robe. He then extended the tray to her, allowing her to serve herself. He then laid the tray aside, pouring a drink for himself and taking a cake. He turned back to the two women, who were waiting for him, cakes and cups poised.

“Goddess be with,” he said. The two women echoed the sentiment, and then they all ate the cake and sipped the wine. Rapinoe appreciated the sweetness in the wine and the cake. Prepared for guests, it was just a bit more fine than the daily fare the shrine could afford to provide the staff and students.

Sharonala then turned to look him directly in the eyes.

“You are Rapinoe,” she said. He nodded. “Are you an acolyte?”

“Yes, Sister Sharonala,” he replied.

She said something to him in one of the ritual languages. He recognized it from one of the monthly liturgies. He gave her the expected callback. She nodded, then pointed at a section of script that was painted on her belly just below her breasts, then looked up at him expectantly. He stared at the words. He recognized the pattern of the lines, but could not actually read them. He had seen them many times before, though, carved under the little statue of the Goddess where pilgrims would light votive candles.

“Goddess be with,” he replied, taking a chance. It worked. After a pause, Sharonala smiled and nodded affirmatively. She then looked down at his chest and frowned.

“You don’t seem to be wearing any script, Brother Rapinoe,” she said. “Am I missing some?”

The question froze Rapinoe’s heart in his chest. Suddenly he was small again, watching the veins in his mother’s arms slowly turn black. He was helpless, and lost, and ashamed. He was an acolyte of the Goddess of healing, and he had no blessing of healing for his own mother, or even for himself. His arm twitched with the sudden memory of the black roots plastered on his wrist, and he had to force it to still. He started to open his mouth in protest, in apology, in shame. Before he could, Carlotta spoke.

“Rapinoe does a lot of work in our yard,” Sister Carlotta chimed in. “His letters wear off rather quickly.”

Sharonala continued frowning. Before she could say anything, Rapinoe spoke, his voice trembling. “I had one of the sisters paint something on me recently, on my back.” He aimed a thumb up over his shoulder. “I … I don’t know if it is still there, but I could show you.”

“Please,” Sharonala replied. Rapinoe both regretted his outburst, and felt a tiny bit of relief at a possible way away from the awkward question. He stood and turned slowly around, completely unaware of what the two women would see. He glanced back over his shoulder, and could see both women studying the place on his back where he remembered the sister working. After a moment, Sharonala’s gaze started to wander.

“Rapinoe, would you mind turning around for me?”

He did, turning to face her scrutiny. Carlotta made a surreptitious twirling gesture, and Rapinoe took the hint, continuing his turn, turning a few times in front of the two. He came to a stop facing them both.

“When I first saw you,” Sharonala said, “I took you for a mere lad. I see now, though, that you are just … different.”

“Smaller,” he said, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach.

“Rapinoe serves the Goddess well, Sharonala,” Carlotta said, a firmness in her voice that Rapinoe had not expected the older woman to use with a superior. He suspected there was more to the relationship than was quickly visible. “He works hard and he is very productive. He has earned our respect and our love.” Carlotta smiled and nodded at Rapinoe, for which he was grateful.

Sharonala stood and approached Rapinoe. Looking down at him, her gaze was unabashed and  open. “May I touch you?” she asked. He hesitated, then nodded. “Lift your arms,” she said, and Rapinoe did. “Don’t let me push them down,” she said, and laid one hand on each of his elbows. Sharonala pressed down on his arms, and he resisted her. She nodded, then walked slowly around him, pressing on his back here, there, testing him. She came back to his front. “Show me your teeth.” He smiled wide, and she nodded. She pressed her fingers into his shoulders and chest and belly. “May I?” she asked, pointing between his legs. He nodded nervously, his insides tightening. She lifted his parts and rolled them in her hand. To Rapinoe’s relief she did nothing else, but quickly released them, satisfied as to their soundness, and then moved on, pressing on his thighs. She then straightened, returned to her robe and sat back down. “Please, sit.” She gestured at his robe, and he folded himself on down.

(Con’t)