scents and sights of the Mint City Forum, to see the straight-backed bureaucrats and officials who—
~Tang, you are summoned.
Father lowered his head.
~I respond, Councillors.
They entered the so-called Sphere Chamber, in fact a hemispherical space decorated in a melange of colours and scents, an overpowering design. Here - in the white marble chair that rose like a throne in the centre - was where Father would prove his worth, demonstrating the maturity of his professional and intellectual life, to finally become a first-class citizen.
Sunlight made the marble chair glow.
In the encircling gloom, only a handful of Council Elders sat, though the circular bench-seats could contain up to two hundred councillors if necessary. Two of the Elders appeared to be asleep, chins on chests and their white-edged antlers drooping.
An attendant made a gesture, and Sharp stood still while Father continued along a soft blue strip of carpet. At the white chair he turned to the Elders and waited.
Meanwhile, another attendant led Sharp to the public gallery where he could sit. A silver-furred maiden at the bench’s far end looked at him, amber eyes widening. Then she pulled up her veil and tugged her robe’s cowl forward.
Sharp’s hearts gave synchronized thumps.
A tall male entered the chamber, his sleeveless robes and brocaded headgear imposing, his antlers broad and lined with age, his long arms patterned with whorls of heavy scarring. This was the Chief Librarian; he was trailed by four acolytes who bore silk-wrapped instruments in their gloved hands.
Father took his place on the marble chair. His big chest rose and fell, his breathing controlled, holding in all scent.
Addressing the Elders and Father, the Chief Librarian delivered a soft common-language sermon that powerfully evoked racial memories of life on the pre-civilized plains, followed by the painful evolution of culture and intelligence. Sharp’s eyelids drooped. Then he forced himself to inhale and sit up, before checking the cowled maiden.
Her attention was on Father, not on him, but never mind. Father’s success would extend to cover his family, and today was going to be spectacular - Sharp was sure of it.
Many times he had watched as Architects and Engineers created intricate clay models from Father’s designs, etched in solidified sand. At night, Father used the larger sandpit behind the house to track the movement of stars. The neighbours considered him brilliant, ignoring the darkness of his fur that proclaimed him an immigrant, child of a northern tribe.
Among the villagers, Father was the first immigrant of his generation invited by the Council to Share his knowledge here in Mint City. Sometimes Sharp dreamed of years to come, when he himself was adult and Father was a City Elder. Perhaps it might happen for real.
Bronze glinted.
The lead acolyte took care unwrapping his sickle, then used both hands to pass it to the Chief Librarian, who bowed before accepting the sacred instrument.
Father’s face was clenched in stone-like, impassive hardness, as the shining blade swept high—
This was it!
—before the Chief Librarian sliced downward, separating a sliver of flesh from Father’s shoulder. Did the Librarian wince? Then the other acolytes were there, one using tongs to transfer the sliced flesh to his partner’s bronze platter, while the last acolyte used his unwrapped goblet to capture some of Father’s thick, dark blood.
Not the slightest scent of pain hung in the air.
Sharp was incandescent with pride as he watched the Chief Librarian lead the acolytes, with their wonderful offering, to the waiting City Elders. First, they stopped before the Prime Elder, who picked up the fleshy sliver between the thumbs of his right hand, raised it to his mouth, hesitated, then popped it in—
Truly, this was the pinnacle of Sharp’s life.
—before
~Tang, you are summoned.
Father lowered his head.
~I respond, Councillors.
They entered the so-called Sphere Chamber, in fact a hemispherical space decorated in a melange of colours and scents, an overpowering design. Here - in the white marble chair that rose like a throne in the centre - was where Father would prove his worth, demonstrating the maturity of his professional and intellectual life, to finally become a first-class citizen.
Sunlight made the marble chair glow.
In the encircling gloom, only a handful of Council Elders sat, though the circular bench-seats could contain up to two hundred councillors if necessary. Two of the Elders appeared to be asleep, chins on chests and their white-edged antlers drooping.
An attendant made a gesture, and Sharp stood still while Father continued along a soft blue strip of carpet. At the white chair he turned to the Elders and waited.
Meanwhile, another attendant led Sharp to the public gallery where he could sit. A silver-furred maiden at the bench’s far end looked at him, amber eyes widening. Then she pulled up her veil and tugged her robe’s cowl forward.
Sharp’s hearts gave synchronized thumps.
A tall male entered the chamber, his sleeveless robes and brocaded headgear imposing, his antlers broad and lined with age, his long arms patterned with whorls of heavy scarring. This was the Chief Librarian; he was trailed by four acolytes who bore silk-wrapped instruments in their gloved hands.
Father took his place on the marble chair. His big chest rose and fell, his breathing controlled, holding in all scent.
Addressing the Elders and Father, the Chief Librarian delivered a soft common-language sermon that powerfully evoked racial memories of life on the pre-civilized plains, followed by the painful evolution of culture and intelligence. Sharp’s eyelids drooped. Then he forced himself to inhale and sit up, before checking the cowled maiden.
Her attention was on Father, not on him, but never mind. Father’s success would extend to cover his family, and today was going to be spectacular - Sharp was sure of it.
Many times he had watched as Architects and Engineers created intricate clay models from Father’s designs, etched in solidified sand. At night, Father used the larger sandpit behind the house to track the movement of stars. The neighbours considered him brilliant, ignoring the darkness of his fur that proclaimed him an immigrant, child of a northern tribe.
Among the villagers, Father was the first immigrant of his generation invited by the Council to Share his knowledge here in Mint City. Sometimes Sharp dreamed of years to come, when he himself was adult and Father was a City Elder. Perhaps it might happen for real.
Bronze glinted.
The lead acolyte took care unwrapping his sickle, then used both hands to pass it to the Chief Librarian, who bowed before accepting the sacred instrument.
Father’s face was clenched in stone-like, impassive hardness, as the shining blade swept high—
This was it!
—before the Chief Librarian sliced downward, separating a sliver of flesh from Father’s shoulder. Did the Librarian wince? Then the other acolytes were there, one using tongs to transfer the sliced flesh to his partner’s bronze platter, while the last acolyte used his unwrapped goblet to capture some of Father’s thick, dark blood.
Not the slightest scent of pain hung in the air.
Sharp was incandescent with pride as he watched the Chief Librarian lead the acolytes, with their wonderful offering, to the waiting City Elders. First, they stopped before the Prime Elder, who picked up the fleshy sliver between the thumbs of his right hand, raised it to his mouth, hesitated, then popped it in—
Truly, this was the pinnacle of Sharp’s life.
—before
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