As related by His Royal Highness Patrick Fitzroy, Prince Consort of Sideria
« I wish that Ross was here, » says Constantine. « I know that he has a lot of paperwork to do and everything…»
« It’s fine, » I say, putting my arm around him. Maybe it’s better that Ross isn’t here. »
« Oh no, » says Constantine. « Ross isn’t the jealous type, not at all. It’s just that without him, I feel so…exposed…»
« That’s part of your charm, » I reply, running my hand down the spot on the left side of his torso where I’d left my mark, a double-horned grenstag leaping through a forest. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of my fingers, and I know he wants it. Constantine always wants it.
« Tonight they claim you, all the new ones: Solomon, Darius, Briscoe, Rainier, Tannon, Vassali, and Benbow. Aren’t you excited? »
Constantine shivers a little. Oh yes, he’s excited.
« Someday, I’ll put in a cross-pollination request for you, » I tell him.
« I’m surprised you haven’t already, given your reputation. »
« Ross and Cillian have your schedule locked up. Really, we need more fokkerflies. They reproduce painfully slowly and require a lot of engine maintenance. »
« If we had more fokkerflies, you’d put in a cross-pollination request for everyone, » says Constantine, feigning hurt.
« Probably, but so would you. »
Since Ross is outside, I have been given the task of soothing Constantine’s frazzled nerves while the final preparations for the celebration are being made. Tarlach has gathered the new emanations, and he is with them in the CCPR offices, giving them one final briefing before the big event. The most important thing, of course, is that Tara will be coming inside of the pleroma for the party, so everything has to be perfect.
This will be the biggest event since the orgy at Suibhne’s. I got painfully little interaction with Tara that night, and I’m determined that tonight will be different. But I fully realize that I’ll have stiff competition from the new guys. Very stiff.
Well, if one of us wins, we all win. I’ve gotten quite a bit of mileage out of that party by reliving Evan’s branch memories.
Just for this occasion, we’re opening up the Gold Lounge to everyone. The Gold Lounge is the most exclusive club in the pleroma, available only to emanations whose trading cards are embossed with gilt. That happens when Tara falls in love. Right now, there are seventeen of us, the golden boys of the harem. Generally, you can only pass through the door if you’re a member. Tonight is different; when we realized that the amphitheater didn’t have the right mood for the celebration, suddenly the Gold Lounge door opened. Perhaps it happened because I and I wants the new recruits to see the standards they’re expected to reach.
I feel the warmth of sudden energy coursing through my branch. It’s Tarlach, trying to get my attention. I reciprocate, finding the memory he left for twisted into wood a few seconds ago, informing me that everything is prepared. We’ve learned how to communicate this way, individually or in groups, ever since we discovered that the pleroma was bigger than just Daniel’s apartment.
I put my arm around Constantine’s shoulder. « Ready? » He’s breathing hard, already aroused, and I’m tempted to take advantage of that here in the hallway. He’d let me, too. Constantine loves to be used. But that wouldn’t be fair to the new branches, and I’m certain that Tara would object to it.
Tara is fascinated by watching the sexual intrigues between us. That’s probably a big reason why they exist – I know of no other Cu’enashti who carries on the way we do. Of course, there’s no other Cu’enashti who has six trees and so many emanations. Also, if others did such things, would they really admit to it publicly? I’m pretty sure that Tarlach is right in his claim that pollination play takes place to a certain extent in all Cu’enashti trees. I’m also pretty sure that the Atlas Grove is the biggest locus of smut in all of Cu’enashti civilization. It’s led some people to question whether we’re a bit too involved with ourselves.
Here’s what I would tell them: You can’t argue with success. We’ve raised Tara to the throne of the Matriarch of Skarsia, assured her position as Humanity’s Nuncio to the Combine of Sentients, established a colony in another galaxy and outposts in two more, and reclaimed the Earth as a protectorate of the Domha’vei. So if she wants us to engage in a little branch-on-branch action, who are you to tell her no?
OK, a lot of branch-on-branch action.
We enter the Gold Lounge. A couch in the center of the main room has been prepared for Constantine. I nod at him, and he begins to undress. He’s beautiful, a fine muscular body covered with tattoos, marks which all of us have left on him. Marks of ownership. He went to each of us individually, asking us to draw on his body; the encounters often went much further. This celebration is new, a way of inducting the new branches into the harem. Claiming Constantine is now an initiation rite.
Tara comes in with Tommy. Instantly, all eyes are upon her. She goes over to Constantine and puts her hand upon his chest, the unicorn, the mark that she left there – the first mark. « Are you ready to welcome all the new boys? » she asks teasingly. « Are you going to make them feel very welcome? » Constantine looks like he’s lost his power to speak.
All the guests have arrived, except for Tarlach and the new branches. Everyone grabs a drink and a seat, everyone, that is, except for Ailann, who has sworn off drinking, and who is serving as the master of ceremonies. He is wearing his impressive robes of office, white silk trimmed with blue and embroidered with fine gold wire. Tara goes to his side.
Tarlach enters, leading the initiates. Seven of them – we’ve never had so many new branches at once. Benbow is hyped, like he’s setting off on some grand adventure. Darius has a distracted air, but he’s like that; his beauty is moody, vague, a half-remembered memory. I’d make a play for him, but it’s obvious Ailann is interested, and I don’t want to cross my Archon. Following behind Darius is a twitchy Rainier, Solomon and Briscoe whispering words of encouragement to each other, and Vassali, as always, awkward, out-of-place. Tannon grins at me inappropriately. He’s very very handsome, but the effect is perpetually ruined by his odd mannerisms. Chalk it up to being a conifer. He spots Suibhne and sticks his tongue out.
Constantine lays flat on the couch, exposing the expanse of his naked skin. The new branches are going in order of seniority with Solomon first: he draws a rectangle, then a golden spiral swirling in perfect proportion, positioning it in the center of the solar plexus between Suibhne’s tall ship and Tara’s unicorn. Quennel had put a filler design in the empty places between the drawings, but the pattern vanishes as the new design is applied. Solomon’s hand is incredibly sure, and his lines are perfectly straight, perfectly symmetrical, even when it’s clear that Constantine is trembling as he breathes.
Solomon looks to Tara for a signal. « Business first, play later, » she says. He nods and moves away, but not until he places his lips against the spot that he has marked.
Darius is next. He colors over the background pattern under the unicorn so that it appears to be sitting in a field of stained-glass lillifers. Constantine’s eyes mist, and his lips part slightly, and for a moment it seems like a dream is opening up on the inside of his body. « Darius is so beautiful, » Hurley murmurs, which is followed by a little smirk from Driscoll.
« He’d be a perfect artist’s model, » Driscoll replies.
Briscoe and Rainier follow, each leaving his mark. By the time Tannon reaches him, Constantine is completely debauched. A good opportunity for Tannon, who has always fancied Constantine. Unhesitatingly, he takes the marker and draws on Constantine’s most private place, turning it into an approximation of a fir cone. At first everybody laughs, but then they begin whooping in excitement, urging Tannon on. Constantine thrusts his hips upward in frustrated desire. Apparently, Tannon lacks Solomon’s sure hand. « You’re not making this easy, » he mutters.
Tannon finally finishes. There are two more to go; at this rate, I’m not sure Constantine is going to hold out. Fortunately the remaining designs are simple: Vassali’s is a lance, and Benbow makes life easy by drawing a Jolly Roger flag flying from Suibhne’s ship. Suibhne seems delighted.
I have to admit that I’ve been eying Darius the whole time, so I notice when he looks up sharply. It’s jarring because his every movement is languid; he almost seems like a frightened deer sniffing something on the wind.
Through the door runs a penguin kitted out in a suit of armor. At first, I think it must be one of Suibhne’s tricks, but Suibhne seems as startled as everybody else. The penguin jumps atop Constantine; the door slams shut, and the room darkens. Letters of flaming blue appear above the head of the penguin. “Seven Archons for the seven heavens.”
A murmur rises from the gathering. There are six trees: Canopus and Ophion have no Archons. And a seventh? Ailann steps forward, joined by Aran, Tielo and Balin. « There are only four of us, » says Ailann.
« Five, » Suibhne adds sullenly.
« Undertake the Quest of the Chevalier’s Arbor, » the penguin says. « The mystery of the pleroma shall be revealed. » Then it leaps into the air, soaring upward miraculously before vanishing through the ceiling.
« Well, that was an Arthurian moment to insert into an orgy, » says Tara.
I told you that the quest was coming, says Jamey, but I didn’t know the details.
« Jamey mentioned the quest in relation to the idea of exploring the pleroma, » says Tarlach. « I’d guess that’s what we’ll have to do in order to find the answer. »
« It’s second on your to-do list, » says Tara. « Right after Constantine. » Tara has a way of focusing attention on the important things. Of course, the objects of Tara’s attention are, by definition, the important things, so that isn’t too hard. Everyone’s eyes turn back to Constantine. He looks feverish, flushed with desire.
« But before we get to the good part, I have a gift for Constantine, » she continues. She holds out her hand, and a gilt box marked “32” appears.
This is yet another mystery of the pleroma – a set of boxes which appeared for sale in the gift shop at Suibhne’s palace. Tara bought them all, and gives them out at her discretion. Each contains a special gift for a particular emanation. Whether the gift is predetermined, or arises from the need of the occasion, I suppose we’ll never know.
Tara opens the box, and a blue moth flutters out, weaving erratically through the air between her and Constantine. It lands on his tongue.
« What’s the gift? » asks Cüinn.
Constantine’s eyes widen, and he smiles beatifically. « It’s a secret, » he says.
« In addition, » says Tara, « I have a decree to make which isn’t secret at all. Any emanation who has his mark on Constantine has a dispensation to fuck him. »
Constantine looks stunned, like he can’t entirely grasp the meaning of the words. Then he throws himself back on the couch and shouts « Take me! »
There’s a sudden rush towards the couch. Ailann raises his hands, trying to re-establish order. « The initiates first, » he declares.
« After that, the golden boys, » says Tara, smirking. « In order of seniority. »
It’s going to be a long night.