Deja Vu AscendancyChapter 50 The Ceremony
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The Ceremony Chapter II: The Naming free porn video
(Note: if you haven't read "The Ceremony" yet, it is suggested you do
so, as this is a sequel, of sorts. Carry on. KML)
"The bowl and the spade are one," intoned the elder, her eyes closed as
she repeated the old childhood rhyme, her voice low and soft. She was a
handsome woman, tall and gracefully built, the purple robe (identifying
her as a full Dagas priestess) enfolding her form nicely. Long waves of
crimson hair fell down her shoulders like a cascade of flame, catching
the firelight of the room. "For one is only the other. One and one are
one, and whole, and broken asunder by none." She opened her eyes, and
looked down at the young woman kneeling before her. "We all learn that
when we are children, yes? But I do not think we understand it." She
chuckled a little to herself. "So. How do you feel, child? Your new
form suiting you, I trust?"
The girl looked up. She was young, perhaps twenty, and slightly built,
clad in the simple white robe and tunic of an acolyte. She knelt before
the elder, listening attentively. When she spoke, it was with an airy,
hesitant voice; she spoke and moved as someone who was not yet
comfortable with themselves. "Well... I feel all right, Ladyship. But I
noticed... well..." she flushed, looking down again, unable to finish.
The elder tcht'ed. "None of that, child. You shall speak your mind.
That is your right and your duty here. Now speak."
She gulped. "Well... it's just that... I was looking at myself earlier,
you see, and I still have my... my yon...."
The elder smiled, patting the girl on the shoulder. "Of course you do,
my dear. You didn't realize? We all carry the blade and bowl with us,
together. It is what gives us our magic, makes us a bridge between the
two, as well as... well, certain other things. You know that only a
Dagas can give birth to a king? Well, how did you think that happens?"
"I... I hadn't thought about it."
"Well, now you know." The elder strode back to her chair, and sat.
"Now. From this day it will be my duty to school you, teach you our
history and our ways. It generally takes a year, but sometimes longer.
Do not be afraid if it does, for you cannot fail, except that you give
up altogether. There are rules and punishments if you break them, but
if you stay at your studies, then you shall be raised to a full Dagas
before you know it." She leaned forward, a smile on her lips. "I
understand you passed the trial first time. Bright child like you
shouldn't have any trouble at all." She lay a hand on the girl's
shoulder. "You may call me Rhone."
The girl nodded. "My name is--"
Rhone touched her fingers gently to the girl's lips, silencing her.
"Stop. That is not your name any more. You left it behind along with
the rest of that who you once were. This evening there will be a naming
ceremony, and you will take your true name then. In the meantime," she
offered the girl her hand, "I shall be delighted to show you about the
place. We are but a small outpost--the Great City has a conclave with
over a thousand acolytes at any one time--but I think you will find
that there is no shortage of things to see and do. Breakfast, for
example, would be an excellent start. Come; I'll lead you to the dining
hall."
---
The day went by quickly, as Rhone took her around and showed her
everything. The enclave was a village within a village, blondwood
buildings spiraling out from a central courtyard with an alabaster wall
stretching all the way round. Entrance to the village proper was via a
wooden door built into the wall, before which always stood two guards
at the ready (guards for the Dagas enclaves were always culled from the
King's Own). The dining hall had been their first stop; she'd seen a
few dozen other students passing through, some in clusters, some alone,
most somewhat older than she was, though there did seem to be a few
younger ones.
Next had been the study rooms, magic rooms, and the library. She had
fallen in love with the library. Back home, a rich man might have half
a dozen books of his own; here, there had to be hundreds, maybe even a
thousand. She had stood in the middle of the room in stunned silence,
drinking in the sight of loaded bookshelves lining the walls. Half of
the room had additional shelving, with the other half dedicated to
study tables and the like. She had never imagined there could be so
many books in the world. "Some you will use for your studies," Rhone
had told her, "But they are all at your disposal, my child. I recommend
you make use of them whenever you are able."
That had been hours ago. Now she stood in the middle of a darkened
room, the only light coming from the lanterns hanging round the walls.
The room was small, with seats for three elders facing into the mosaic
circle at the center of which the girl now stood. She had shed her
tunic earlier, and was now wearing only her robe, as instructed. She
looked up at Rhone, who gave her a quick, reassuring smile.
"Welcome, child." The words came from the center chair, the voice a
rustle of old parchment. She recognized the speaker as the one who had
asked her the questions the night before. She must be the high
priestess, she thought. "Last night you chose to join us, to take the
way of the bowl and follow the path of the Dagas. Tonight you will seal
yourself to us, and shall earn your new name, for you are born anew,
and must leave the vestiges of the old behind. Are you prepared?"
The girl hesitated, just a little. Rhone wouldn't tell her what was
going to happen, only vague hints throughout the day which had done
little to temper her anxiety. For a brief moment she wondered if she
could go back, step back into the column of light and be her old self
again, but she quickly dismissed the thought. The time for turning back
had been and gone. There was only forward. "Yes, m'ladyship. I am
prepared."
The high priestess gestured to the woman beside her. "Bring forth the
bowl and the blade." The woman produced a bundle wrapped in velvet,
which she unwrapped to reveal a golden bowl, and likewise a dagger,
both covered over with ornate symbols. These she lay before the old
woman, who grunted satisfaction. "Right. Now, child, remove your robe;
your tutor shall take it for you."
She blushed, but did as she was told, unfastening the clasp and letting
the garment fall away from her. She picked it up quickly, busying
herself with folding it neatly so she wouldn't have to think about the
fact that she was now quite naked. Rhone stepped into the circle, and
took it from her. "Just do as you're bid," she whispered, "You'll be
fine."
The high priestess stood, leaning on her assistant for support. "Child,
listen, and know. At the start of our days, when the world was young,
there were only men and women, who wandered the land and hunted where
they could. There were no priestesses, there were no kings. There was
no guidance, no design. Only survival.
"There were heroes then, as now, and in that time the greatest of them
was m'Gar, who led his tribe through the wastelands, who defeated the
armies of Ur and Kalibesh with naught but his cunning and a pile of
stones, who discovered the secret for bringing forth nourishment from
the ground. He was blade and bowl, and his people flourished.
"One day m'Gar went hunting, and tracked a roe into a cave. He went in
after it, but instead of finding it, found a Gaiwell, a locus of earth-
energy, a mighty column of pure energy from the veins of the Great
Mother herself. And into it he stepped, just as you did. And when he
came out, he was m'Gar no more, but was the first priestess, and took
the name Dagas, which name we now take for ourselves. She came back to
her people, and ruled with wisdom and grace, and started the elders and
the tests, and in time she gave birth to Lanoel, the first king. And we
have been the priestesses and seers, and the sires of kings ever since
that day."
The girl listened in rapt attention, nearly unable to believe what she
was hearing. Of course the legends of m'Gar were many and truly
fantastic, but she had never imagined them to be more than fire-tales.
And as for him?her?becoming the first of the Dagas, well... that was
certainly news. She glanced at Rhone, who only smiled. She had her
folded robe in one hand, and was rubbing the dagger back and forth in
its folds ("to warm it," she explained later. "Trust me, you wouldn't
want it cold."). The high priestess sat down again, and gestured to
Rhone. "Prepare the bowl."
Rhone stepped forward, dropping on one knee before the girl. "Part your
legs a little more, dear," she said, showing her where to stand. She
moved her feet so they were just over shoulder width apart, with the
bowl in between. "Good," said the old woman, "Now prepare the dagger."
Rhone took the ceremonial dagger and placed it into her young charge's
hand. "It's not a real dagger." she whispered quickly, "The blade is
quite dull." She took the girls hand, and guided it down, aiming the
tip of the dagger upwards a bit, until it lay against her cleft. With
expert fingers, Rhone positioned the tip of the blade against the
girl's maidenhead. "Now," she said, "Just hold it right there, okay?"
The girl nodded, and looked down at Rhone, seeking reassurance in her
eyes. They had spent the better part of the day together, and she
already found herself quite comfortable with her tutor. She looked down
into Rhone's eyes, and reassured herself she could trust this woman,
even as she positioned the tip of the blade. The high priestess spoke.
"Now, my dear. You bear inside you the secret of your name. To bring it
forth, you must break the seal. You carry with you a great magic, but
to use it you must unlock it. This is your first magic, child. This is
where you join us, a sister among sisters. This is the road to the
Dagas. Take the blade, and break the seal. It is time."
She gulped, and trembled a little bit as she realized what she had to
do. She pressed the dagger upwards, gingerly, but stopped when she felt
the pressure against her tender wall. Rhone squeezed her free hand.
"Take your time, dear. There is no rush." She slid her other hand over
the girl's, twining fingers with her round the handle of the blade.
"I'll go with you, yes? Look into my eyes." The girl did as she was
told, and looked down at her tutor. Rhone's eyes shone with warmth and
wisdom, and a certain tenderness that caught her quite by surprise. She
felt her anxieties drain away, the room and other inhabitants melting
out of her consciousness. There were only the two of them. And the
bowl. And the blade. Her fingers slid gingerly across Rhone's, and as
one they pushed--
She yelped a little as her maidenhead was run through, snapping out of
the trance immediately. She looked down, watching a tickle of blood
escape from her into the bowl below. Rhone squeezed her hand until the
tickle stopped, then gently removed the dagger and patted her cleft
with a damp cloth, cleaning it off. She then took the bowl and
presented it to the high priestess, who swirled the blood round in the
bowl slowly, peering intently at it.
"Step over here, child," she said. The girl quickly collected herself,
and stepped out of the circle. The old woman pointed into the bowl.
"What do you see?"
She looked. It was her virgin blood, of course, that she had expected.
But as she watched, a shape emerged from the crimson pool, resolving
itself before her eyes into a word. A name. "It says... 'Anata'."
The priestess smiled, and nodded. "Anata, then. By this name you shall
evermore be known. Wear it proudly, and give much credit to it and to
your sisters. Now, then. I believe you can give the girl back her robe
now, Rhone dear. I rather expect she needs it."
Later that night, Anata lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling and
thinking over the events of the day. She still ached a little... down
there... but it was all right. She slipped out of bed, and stepped over
to the silver glass, having another look at herself. She turned this
way and that, the moonlight doing strange and wonderful things to her
body. She smiled a little to herself as she saw her yon hanging limply
between her legs, and reached down to lift it away. Just behind it she
could see the opening folds of her cleft, her Ying, the gate to her
womanhood finally opened.
She twirled before the mirror once, catching her eye in the reflection
and smiling. Anata. Yes. That would do very well indeed.
Fawn
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