Taboo: Chapter 2: Stubborn Rebellion (Part 1)
Title: Taboo
Author: Winged Dreamer
Rating: PG for now, probably R later for sexual content and possible violence
Word Count: 4,077 for this part - word count for entire chapter still undetermined
Warnings/Spoilers: Slash, fem-slash, mentions of sex, possibly mentions of violence, pesky gods who like to stick their noses where they don't belong
Story Summary: In a world where status is determined by breed, two young men - one low born, one high - work together to tear down the walls placed between them by society. Asher masquerades as a brothel slave to gather information for an upcoming rebellion against the suffocating oppression of his class, desperate to create a world where his siblings can live without fear. Jornen is a Noble about to come into his majority, and the last thing he wants is the fate his father has planned for him. Only together can they shake things up - hopefully for the better - and only together will they find out that love truly is blind.
Chapter Summary: All Jornen wants is one night of true freedom - but he has to escape his parents' New Year's Eve party first.
Frost gathered around His broad feet as He softly padded through His sister's retreat among the flowers, killing the vibrant grass and blooms He stepped among. In His wake, new grass and buds stubbornly sprang from the ground to replace what His presence had destroyed. This glen was Losa's territory, and Panu had little power here. His frigid breath creating a mist in the warm air, the God of Death approached His twin with the quiet of the snow He commanded. Under the boughs of a great willow was where He found Her, lounging as one of Her servants groomed Her bronze and gold fur. "Greetings, Sister. How does the morning find You?" the Snow Leopard whispered, breath smelling of crisp autumn leaves.
The Goddess of Life rolled to Her feet and motioned for Her servant to leave Them. "The morning finds Me well, thank you, Brother. And You?" the Clouded Leopard purred, breath rich with the scent of heather.
Panu bowed His pale head. "Well, Sister. I have come to pass the world back into Your care. I have grown bored with it once again, and I will take My leave."
"The Children will be pleased to welcome the spring. Will You take a moment to lie with Your sister, or must You return to Your domain?" asked Losa as She gracefully fell into Her bed of woven grasses.
"My thanks for the invitation, but I find Myself weary and in need of retiring. Another day, perhaps. Good day to You, Sister. May the Children delight in Your renewed presence." With another bow of His pale head, Panu left Losa's life-filled glen for His quiet den of ice and snow.
Chapter Two: Stubborn Rebellion
As the sun began to set, Mage lights around the room automatically lit up to chase away the evening darkness before it could begin to take hold. Jornen Rendel Tieranth took that as his sign to leave the New Year's Eve party. Everyone in the ballroom was slowly making their way to the main parlor, and it would be easy to get lost in the movement. Casually, the young Noble set his wine glass on a passing slave's tray as he strode with the crowd towards the main parlor, walking just a little bit faster when he spotted his father out of the corner of his eye. The Spring Equinox parties in the Commoner's District would be starting soon, and Jornen didn't want to miss a moment - he knew, without a doubt, that they would be more fun than this snore of a function. Thanking the Gods that this year was his family's turn to host the Equinox party for those approaching their Choosing, Jornen left the crowd for a nearby bathroom and its large frosted window.
"Jornen!" The warning voice carried easily over the polite chatter, and the young male suppressed a frustrated groan as he stopped. Grudgingly, he turned around to face the hard, frowning glare of High Marquis Rosten Tieranth, head advisor to the Grand Duke himself.
"Yes, Father?" asked Jornen, careful to keep his voice politely neutral.
The old Jaguar's frown deepened; apparently Jornen's tone had been too neutral. "Your mother is expecting you in the main parlor," he stated, gold eyes threatening punishment.
The threat was a familiar one, and Jornen carefully kept his expression bland. "I will join her in a moment. If you will excuse me, I have need of the convenience."
Rosten was not convinced. Stepping closer to his son, he lowered his voice in a show of concern, obviously false to no one save Jornen. "You made use of it just a short time ago. Does the food not agree with you?"
"Forgive me, Father, but I fear the sweetmeats were a tad too rich for me. I will try to be just a moment," Jornen smoothly lied.
"And I will watch the door to make sure you are not disturbed." Rosten's face appeared as if carved from stone. He would not be moved from his resolve, and his son well recognized a losing battle.
Jornen bowed his head in false appreciation. "Thank you, Father." As he closed the door of the bathroom behind him, the young Noble could hear Rosten taking up the position of guard in front of the door. Swallowing the frustrated groan he knew his father's sharp ears would hear, Jornen cast a longing look at the vanity and the bundle he had hidden in the back of the bottom cabinet. It would just have to wait another hour or so. Taking his time, Jornen approached the convenience and pulled his trousers down to sit. After a good fifteen minutes of loud grunting and gasping as if he truly were constipated, he figured he had milked the lie as much as he safely could. Still moving as slowly as possible, Jornen flushed the convenience, did up his trousers, and thoroughly washed his hands, taking an extra moment to carefully clean his claws.
Leaving the water running, Jornen leaned in close to the mirror above the sink to examine his complexion. The very delicate layer of powder that he had applied a half hour ago was still in place, adding to his story of food-related discomfort by paling his skin just enough to be noticeable. Now, to add to the illusion, he wet his fingertips and delicately dripped a few drops into each eye to wet them as if he had been holding back tears. Jornen blinked rapidly as he leaned towards the mirror again to inspect the effect. Satisfied, he straightened and was caught by the entirety of his reflection.
In just four short months, it would be a completely different person looking back at him from the mirror. Gone would be the blue eyes he shared with all Nobles under the age of twenty, changed to gold or green or grey or whatever color his soon-to-be-patron God preferred. His auburn hair and unmarked dusky skin would be replaced by the colors and markings of the God that Chose him. Most nineteen-year-old Nobles eagerly awaited the day of their twentieth birthday and their Choosing, anxious to discover which God would shape the rest of their life. Jornen was anything but eager. On one hand, he dreaded his Choosing, not wanting to be claimed by whatever God just happened to like him. He liked his youthful blue eyes, which, when looked at closely, were truly a rich, vivid cerulean. The auburn of his hair and fur was the same shade as polished walnut wood, deep and glossy with health, a color very unique among unChosen Nobles - most were just a flat brown, grey, black, orange, or tan. It was that uniqueness that Jornen wanted to keep, even if it meant giving up his birthright of bonding with a deity.
On the other hand, Jornen wanted tomorrow to be his twentieth birthday and his fateful Choosing ceremony. All his life, he had been groomed for one fate - to be the next Grand Duke, the sole mortal representative of Pardus, the great Golden Leopard, consort to the Ebony Pardis, Mother of All. Every moment of every day since the moment he could speak his first words, his father prepared him to be leader of all Fellius. And that was the last thing Jornen wanted for himself. He almost wanted for his Choosing to be right now, as he stared at himself in the mirror, and for a God - any God save Pardus - to come to him and mark him. To prove to Rosten that all his proud efforts had been for nothing, that in fact he could not control his son's life as he had so desperately tried to for nineteen long, painful years.
Some noise outside the window brought Jornen back to himself, and he realized he was shaking. Swallowing the strange lump in his throat, he splashed a handful of cold water on his face without a care for the powder so carefully applied earlier and turned the water off.
Rosten turned hard eyes on his son when he finally emerged from the bathroom, radiating displeasure. "All better, I see. I will talk to Cook about making sure the sweetmeats are not too rich in the future. Now come. The Great Story has already begun, and your mother will be upset if we miss any more."
Maybe, if he was lucky, Jornen could milk this just a little more. "I am afraid I still do not feel quite well, Father," he apologized with hunched shoulders, grimacing slightly as he pressed one hand to his lower abdomen. "With your permission, I will retire to my room for the night."
The old Jaguar's gaze narrowed dangerously. "You can wait until the end of the Great Story to retire. Come."
"Father, I have heard the Story every Equinox since my seventh year. Surely I can miss it this once?"
"Absolutely not. This is your nineteenth year, and you must hear the Great Story when so close to your Choosing. It is custom, and as my son, you will observe it." Fingers like iron clasped around Jornen's upper arm as his father leaned close to hiss angrily, "The Gods do not visit those who defy tradition, Jornen. I will not see you become an unChosen. Inside the parlor. Now."
Jornen highly doubted the Gods would truly care if one out of almost two-hundred nineteen-year-old Nobles missed out on the Great Story. But Rosten's grip on his arm was going to leave a painful bruise if it was not removed soon, and Jornen knew well when to graciously give up a fight. "Yes, Father." Letting out a silent sigh of relief when Rosten's fingers loosened, Jornen allowed himself to be dragged into the main parlor and to the couch where his mother sat, waiting for them.
Leianna quickly made room for her son and husband, pulling Jornen down beside her with a much softer hand than Rosten could ever possess. "Jory, darling, are you alright?" the elegant Oncilla asked in a hushed whisper, genuinely concerned.
For his mother, Jornen always had a smile, even if he did have to sit with his father at his other side. "Just a bout of poor digestion, Mother. I'm sure it will pass soon," he whispered in return.
Long, gentle fingers brushed against his forehead to check for a fever. "Should I call for a Healer?"
"Leianna, hush," hissed Rosten, frown still firmly in place. "The Great Story."
"Ask me again once the Story is over, Mother," Jornen quickly whispered before she snapped at his father to begin yet another argument about his health. Appeased, Leianna nodded and returned her attention to the bishop who had specially invited to be this year's Storyteller.
Crisis averted, Jornen reluctantly gave his attention to the ancient tale, glad to find that his stunt in the bathroom had allowed him to miss the entire beginning.
"In time, the Gods decided to create new beings to entertain them. In their pride, they created cats in their images, smaller in size and finite in life," droned the bishop, trying to sound regal. "Generations passed, and together with the Gods, the mortal cats built a marvelous city on the Great Delta to house their growing population and flourishing culture, and named it Catam. In the center of it all…"
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…they built a great palace of gold and ivory that reached the sky, from where the Gods could watch over their kingdom, with the Leopards in the rooms at the very top. It was a golden age of peace and prosperity, of Gods and mortal cats walking side by side, Vela's children serving always the Gods and those made in their images.
But the peace was not destined to last.
Vela's children grew tired of serving, though many of them no longer served but flourished in a culture all their own alongside that of the god-kind. "Why should we serve, when there are more of us than of them?" asked one cat of another in the darkness of an alley. "We may be smaller and weaker, but we are quick as any Cheetah, clever as any Ocelot, and fierce as any Lion. In our numbers alone we could overtake the god-kind and walk alongside the Gods as equals, no longer servants."
"The god-kind are not special," said one cat to another in the corner of a tavern. "They were merely made to look like the Gods. We are unique, all created different by our Mother Vela. Why must we serve when we are the special ones? And why must Mother Vela be considered a mere god, when she created so much more than even the Her Majesty, the ebony Pardis? Mother Vela should be queen!"
Disturbed by the thoughts of her children, Vela urged them to be at peace. She was content with her place, and asked her children to be content as well. "The great Pardis was first born," she told them, "and it was the great Pardis who gave birth to the world as we know it. She has created much more than I ever could, and is the proper queen." Still the smallest cats would not be placated, and in secret they planned a great rebellion.
Their attack came at night, and came swift. Many on both sides had died before the Gods put an end to the fighting with a chorus of roars that shook every stone. To punish the small cats for their hubris, Pardus stripped them of their luxurious pelts to take away their pride and doomed them to multiply until they were as common as sand in the desert, no longer making them special. Only their ears and tails remained furred, their patterns branded to their naked skin to mark breed. Pardis watched on as her husband-son meted out punishment, calmly licking the blood from her ebony fur.
"Never again will you wear a god-like form," Pardus declared. "Never again will you walk on four legs. Rise, traitors, and walk out of this city on two weak, naked legs, Common ones."
"My Lord and King," said the leader of the god-kind, his rich pelt stained with the blood of enemy and ally alike. "Would it not be better to keep them here, to always watch them? Weak they may be now, but with numbers comes foolish pride, and they may try to rise up again."
"And who was it that allowed them to rise up at all?" demanded Pardus. "Why did you not foresee this and prevent it? You god-kind are at fault, just as the Common ones are."
"Let us repent for our mistake. Let us watch over the Common ones, and prevent them from ever challenging your great authority again."
Pardus turned to Pardis, and she nodded her dark head. "Very well." And god-kind too were stripped of their pelts, leaving only ears and tails furred and their patterns branded to their naked skin to mark breed. Pardus left only those in Vela's image still in their fur. "You will watch over the Common ones, keep them from rising up once more, and in exchange for your service, you will be free to join us in our palace after you have died."
To keep the god-kind from growing too proud as the Common ones had, the Gods divided them in two - Nobles were stripped of their magic and were to be born a plain, featureless cat, given the pattern and ear of the God they had pleased most when they reached twenty years of age. Only those destined to be leaders would be given a Leopard pattern and the right to speak with the Great Leopards, to know the true will of the Gods. Mages were allowed to keep their magic and original patterns, but were now forever denied the ability to speak directly with the Gods. Thus power was balanced, and neither group could rise above the other.
That very night, the Gods lifted their gold and ivory palace into the sky, taking with them all the Wild Cats to serve them in place of the Common ones. Where the Gods' palace had stood, the now furless cats built a new palace for their new leaders and began to learn the new ways of their world.
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"And that, sisters and brothers, is how our world came to be." The bishop bowed his head, and all in the room followed suit. After a moment of silent prayer, a low chatter filled the room as the guests began to slowly filter back to the ballroom for dinner and dancing.
Leianna rose to her feet and pressed her hand to Jornen's forehead again. "Do you still feel unwell, darling? Do you need for me to call the Healer?"
"No, thank you, Mother. I do not think this to be serious enough to call the Healer away from her own festivities. However, I would like to retire to my suite, at least for a little while."
"Of course, Jory. Take as long as you need. I will make sure Cook saves some boiled eggs for you." With a loving smile, Leianna gently pushed Jornen towards the hallway. Nodding in thanks for his mother's generosity, Jornen slowly shuffled out of the parlor as if he were trying to hide some great discomfort, tail and ears twitching with the want to escape.
"Leianna, rest is not the thing he needs right now," he heard his father argue.
"You really expect him to play host when he is not feeling well, Rosten?"
"You know just as well as I why he needs to spend this evening with his age-mates!"
Ah, tradition. A pox on tradition, thought Jornen, making his way to the hopefully empty downstairs bathroom the moment he was out of his parents' line of sight. Ever since Jornen had been old enough to speak, Rosten had gone out of his way to make sure his only son went to every party, every function, every gathering where there was at least one queen from Jornen's birth year. The young Noble knew every single one of his female age-mates almost as well as he knew himself, and there were very few of them he could even begin to want to spend tonight with. And it was the queens who Rosten wanted him to mingle with, to find that one female who was destined to be his mate and partner. Because if Jornen could find a queen who he liked well enough to call at least bosom friend among his age-mates, the gods might, might consider him for the position of Grand Duke. After all, the Grand Duchess and Grand Duke had to get along very well if they were to rule together. At least, such was his father's logic.
Luck was on Jornen's side tonight; the downstairs bathroom was still empty, and no one looked at him twice as he disappeared inside it. Also, now that his mother believed him to be ill and resting, no one would be allowed to go looking for him in his rooms until the party was winding down. Leaving the bathroom door unlocked behind him, Jornen grabbed the hidden bundle from the cabinet under the sink and quickly, silently pushed the frosted window open. The bundle landed on the grass with a quiet rustle, followed by the young Noble. Just as he closed the window with a soft click, Jornen heard the bathroom door open to admit two young queens, giggling from wine and sighing with passion. Tempted though he was to stay and listen, Jornen had more interesting places to be. He tiptoed away, bundle in hand, to the nearest row of hedges and began to strip out of his New Year finery.
"An interesting way to treat constipation, that," an amused voice murmured from a nearby shadow.
Jornen yelped and yanked his trousers back up, spinning to glare at the familiar smiling intruder, ears flat against his head. "Gods, Saul. Are you trying to kill me?"
"Of course not, milord. You are the only master worth anything in his household," stated the Havana Brown slave, the smirk curling at the corner of his mouth adding a note of teasing to his words.
Snorting, Jornen let his silk trousers fall to the grass and stepped out of them as he reached for a simpler pair of cotton trousers from his bundle. "Flattery will get you nowhere, old friend."
"It is only flattery if untrue, sir." Still smirking, Saul approached his master to help him change into a set of casual clothing more appropriate for a secret trip to the Commoner's District.
"You are so very lucky that I like you," said Jornen with an affectionate shake of his head. Had his parents or any of his older siblings heard his manservant's words, Saul would have been struck down before his next breath. Leianna did not take kindly to being insulted, especially from anyone lower than her, and Rosten tolerated nothing less than absolute, mindless obedience from the household slaves, who he considered equal to expensive cattle. Their other children possessed similar mindsets. Jornen, however, not only enjoyed the company of his family's slaves, but preferred them over his kin and Noble companions, Saul especially. The Havana Brown had been assigned to Jornen at his birth to act as his caretaker, becoming his manservant when Jornen was no longer in need of a constant nanny. Jornen thought of Saul as an uncle and trusted friend, and often forgot that the Commoner was not kin. Of course, it helped that Jornen's birth color of auburn was very similar to the rich red-brown fur of the household staff, made up completely of Havana Browns, one of the rarest breeds among the Commoners and thus the most valuable; as a small kitten, the young Noble had often been confused as to who his real family was, much to the dismay of his parents and secret amusement of the staff.
Now dressed in an outfit of cotton and leather rather than silk and brocade, Jornen carefully folded his finery and tucked them into the bundle before pulling out a pair of heavy leather money belts. "Happy New Year, Saul. Pardis bless," he said with a grin as he handed one of the belts to his manservant, its hidden pockets filled with copper and silver coins.
With a deep bow of his head, Saul accepted the belt with honest gratitude. "May Vela always hold and keep you, milord."
Jornen smiled at the Commoner's blessing, honored to receive it. "Put it on, Saul. We're going out and having fun tonight," he cheerfully stated as he put on the second money belt, tucking it under his shirt.
"I figured as much, so I took the liberty of bringing this." Slinging the belt over his shoulder, Saul carefully pulled a golden vest out of the bush where he had been hiding. It was identical to the one he wore in cut and design, down to the Tieranth family crest on the left breast, except that where Saul's vest was made of coarse dyed wool, the vest he held was made of the finest linen interspersed with threads of real gold.
The young Noble eyed the vest with disappointment. "You couldn't have brought a pair of cloaks instead? It would be better to take the high route to the Third Wall."
Saul nodded. "Perhaps, but it would be slower. Wear your vest and walk openly, milord, and you will reach the Commoner's District much sooner."
Jornen raised a questioning brow. "People will see, and they will talk."
"Yes, but could you not use their talk to your advantage?"
Forehead furrowed in thought, one ear flicking, Jornen simply gazed at the vest for a moment, before a crafty idea blossomed in his mind. "I like the way you think," he said with a wide grin. Turning around, he let Saul slip the vest onto his shoulders and fasten the row of gilt buttons along the front. "We'll use the shadows for the first few streets, then use the main way to the Second Wall."
"Of course, milord." Finished with Jornen's buttons, Saul fastened the money belt beneath his shirt, then stood at patient attention.
"Relax, Saul. It's New Year's Eve, and we're about to go have some real fun." Grinning, Jornen clapped Saul on the shoulder and led the way through the shadows off the property.
On to Part 2...
For those who are interested, here is a complete list of Fellius' gods. Other world information, including social classes and ranks, can be found here.
Author: Winged Dreamer
Rating: PG for now, probably R later for sexual content and possible violence
Word Count: 4,077 for this part - word count for entire chapter still undetermined
Warnings/Spoilers: Slash, fem-slash, mentions of sex, possibly mentions of violence, pesky gods who like to stick their noses where they don't belong
Story Summary: In a world where status is determined by breed, two young men - one low born, one high - work together to tear down the walls placed between them by society. Asher masquerades as a brothel slave to gather information for an upcoming rebellion against the suffocating oppression of his class, desperate to create a world where his siblings can live without fear. Jornen is a Noble about to come into his majority, and the last thing he wants is the fate his father has planned for him. Only together can they shake things up - hopefully for the better - and only together will they find out that love truly is blind.
Chapter Summary: All Jornen wants is one night of true freedom - but he has to escape his parents' New Year's Eve party first.
Frost gathered around His broad feet as He softly padded through His sister's retreat among the flowers, killing the vibrant grass and blooms He stepped among. In His wake, new grass and buds stubbornly sprang from the ground to replace what His presence had destroyed. This glen was Losa's territory, and Panu had little power here. His frigid breath creating a mist in the warm air, the God of Death approached His twin with the quiet of the snow He commanded. Under the boughs of a great willow was where He found Her, lounging as one of Her servants groomed Her bronze and gold fur. "Greetings, Sister. How does the morning find You?" the Snow Leopard whispered, breath smelling of crisp autumn leaves.
The Goddess of Life rolled to Her feet and motioned for Her servant to leave Them. "The morning finds Me well, thank you, Brother. And You?" the Clouded Leopard purred, breath rich with the scent of heather.
Panu bowed His pale head. "Well, Sister. I have come to pass the world back into Your care. I have grown bored with it once again, and I will take My leave."
"The Children will be pleased to welcome the spring. Will You take a moment to lie with Your sister, or must You return to Your domain?" asked Losa as She gracefully fell into Her bed of woven grasses.
"My thanks for the invitation, but I find Myself weary and in need of retiring. Another day, perhaps. Good day to You, Sister. May the Children delight in Your renewed presence." With another bow of His pale head, Panu left Losa's life-filled glen for His quiet den of ice and snow.
Chapter Two: Stubborn Rebellion
As the sun began to set, Mage lights around the room automatically lit up to chase away the evening darkness before it could begin to take hold. Jornen Rendel Tieranth took that as his sign to leave the New Year's Eve party. Everyone in the ballroom was slowly making their way to the main parlor, and it would be easy to get lost in the movement. Casually, the young Noble set his wine glass on a passing slave's tray as he strode with the crowd towards the main parlor, walking just a little bit faster when he spotted his father out of the corner of his eye. The Spring Equinox parties in the Commoner's District would be starting soon, and Jornen didn't want to miss a moment - he knew, without a doubt, that they would be more fun than this snore of a function. Thanking the Gods that this year was his family's turn to host the Equinox party for those approaching their Choosing, Jornen left the crowd for a nearby bathroom and its large frosted window.
"Jornen!" The warning voice carried easily over the polite chatter, and the young male suppressed a frustrated groan as he stopped. Grudgingly, he turned around to face the hard, frowning glare of High Marquis Rosten Tieranth, head advisor to the Grand Duke himself.
"Yes, Father?" asked Jornen, careful to keep his voice politely neutral.
The old Jaguar's frown deepened; apparently Jornen's tone had been too neutral. "Your mother is expecting you in the main parlor," he stated, gold eyes threatening punishment.
The threat was a familiar one, and Jornen carefully kept his expression bland. "I will join her in a moment. If you will excuse me, I have need of the convenience."
Rosten was not convinced. Stepping closer to his son, he lowered his voice in a show of concern, obviously false to no one save Jornen. "You made use of it just a short time ago. Does the food not agree with you?"
"Forgive me, Father, but I fear the sweetmeats were a tad too rich for me. I will try to be just a moment," Jornen smoothly lied.
"And I will watch the door to make sure you are not disturbed." Rosten's face appeared as if carved from stone. He would not be moved from his resolve, and his son well recognized a losing battle.
Jornen bowed his head in false appreciation. "Thank you, Father." As he closed the door of the bathroom behind him, the young Noble could hear Rosten taking up the position of guard in front of the door. Swallowing the frustrated groan he knew his father's sharp ears would hear, Jornen cast a longing look at the vanity and the bundle he had hidden in the back of the bottom cabinet. It would just have to wait another hour or so. Taking his time, Jornen approached the convenience and pulled his trousers down to sit. After a good fifteen minutes of loud grunting and gasping as if he truly were constipated, he figured he had milked the lie as much as he safely could. Still moving as slowly as possible, Jornen flushed the convenience, did up his trousers, and thoroughly washed his hands, taking an extra moment to carefully clean his claws.
Leaving the water running, Jornen leaned in close to the mirror above the sink to examine his complexion. The very delicate layer of powder that he had applied a half hour ago was still in place, adding to his story of food-related discomfort by paling his skin just enough to be noticeable. Now, to add to the illusion, he wet his fingertips and delicately dripped a few drops into each eye to wet them as if he had been holding back tears. Jornen blinked rapidly as he leaned towards the mirror again to inspect the effect. Satisfied, he straightened and was caught by the entirety of his reflection.
In just four short months, it would be a completely different person looking back at him from the mirror. Gone would be the blue eyes he shared with all Nobles under the age of twenty, changed to gold or green or grey or whatever color his soon-to-be-patron God preferred. His auburn hair and unmarked dusky skin would be replaced by the colors and markings of the God that Chose him. Most nineteen-year-old Nobles eagerly awaited the day of their twentieth birthday and their Choosing, anxious to discover which God would shape the rest of their life. Jornen was anything but eager. On one hand, he dreaded his Choosing, not wanting to be claimed by whatever God just happened to like him. He liked his youthful blue eyes, which, when looked at closely, were truly a rich, vivid cerulean. The auburn of his hair and fur was the same shade as polished walnut wood, deep and glossy with health, a color very unique among unChosen Nobles - most were just a flat brown, grey, black, orange, or tan. It was that uniqueness that Jornen wanted to keep, even if it meant giving up his birthright of bonding with a deity.
On the other hand, Jornen wanted tomorrow to be his twentieth birthday and his fateful Choosing ceremony. All his life, he had been groomed for one fate - to be the next Grand Duke, the sole mortal representative of Pardus, the great Golden Leopard, consort to the Ebony Pardis, Mother of All. Every moment of every day since the moment he could speak his first words, his father prepared him to be leader of all Fellius. And that was the last thing Jornen wanted for himself. He almost wanted for his Choosing to be right now, as he stared at himself in the mirror, and for a God - any God save Pardus - to come to him and mark him. To prove to Rosten that all his proud efforts had been for nothing, that in fact he could not control his son's life as he had so desperately tried to for nineteen long, painful years.
Some noise outside the window brought Jornen back to himself, and he realized he was shaking. Swallowing the strange lump in his throat, he splashed a handful of cold water on his face without a care for the powder so carefully applied earlier and turned the water off.
Rosten turned hard eyes on his son when he finally emerged from the bathroom, radiating displeasure. "All better, I see. I will talk to Cook about making sure the sweetmeats are not too rich in the future. Now come. The Great Story has already begun, and your mother will be upset if we miss any more."
Maybe, if he was lucky, Jornen could milk this just a little more. "I am afraid I still do not feel quite well, Father," he apologized with hunched shoulders, grimacing slightly as he pressed one hand to his lower abdomen. "With your permission, I will retire to my room for the night."
The old Jaguar's gaze narrowed dangerously. "You can wait until the end of the Great Story to retire. Come."
"Father, I have heard the Story every Equinox since my seventh year. Surely I can miss it this once?"
"Absolutely not. This is your nineteenth year, and you must hear the Great Story when so close to your Choosing. It is custom, and as my son, you will observe it." Fingers like iron clasped around Jornen's upper arm as his father leaned close to hiss angrily, "The Gods do not visit those who defy tradition, Jornen. I will not see you become an unChosen. Inside the parlor. Now."
Jornen highly doubted the Gods would truly care if one out of almost two-hundred nineteen-year-old Nobles missed out on the Great Story. But Rosten's grip on his arm was going to leave a painful bruise if it was not removed soon, and Jornen knew well when to graciously give up a fight. "Yes, Father." Letting out a silent sigh of relief when Rosten's fingers loosened, Jornen allowed himself to be dragged into the main parlor and to the couch where his mother sat, waiting for them.
Leianna quickly made room for her son and husband, pulling Jornen down beside her with a much softer hand than Rosten could ever possess. "Jory, darling, are you alright?" the elegant Oncilla asked in a hushed whisper, genuinely concerned.
For his mother, Jornen always had a smile, even if he did have to sit with his father at his other side. "Just a bout of poor digestion, Mother. I'm sure it will pass soon," he whispered in return.
Long, gentle fingers brushed against his forehead to check for a fever. "Should I call for a Healer?"
"Leianna, hush," hissed Rosten, frown still firmly in place. "The Great Story."
"Ask me again once the Story is over, Mother," Jornen quickly whispered before she snapped at his father to begin yet another argument about his health. Appeased, Leianna nodded and returned her attention to the bishop who had specially invited to be this year's Storyteller.
Crisis averted, Jornen reluctantly gave his attention to the ancient tale, glad to find that his stunt in the bathroom had allowed him to miss the entire beginning.
"In time, the Gods decided to create new beings to entertain them. In their pride, they created cats in their images, smaller in size and finite in life," droned the bishop, trying to sound regal. "Generations passed, and together with the Gods, the mortal cats built a marvelous city on the Great Delta to house their growing population and flourishing culture, and named it Catam. In the center of it all…"
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…they built a great palace of gold and ivory that reached the sky, from where the Gods could watch over their kingdom, with the Leopards in the rooms at the very top. It was a golden age of peace and prosperity, of Gods and mortal cats walking side by side, Vela's children serving always the Gods and those made in their images.
But the peace was not destined to last.
Vela's children grew tired of serving, though many of them no longer served but flourished in a culture all their own alongside that of the god-kind. "Why should we serve, when there are more of us than of them?" asked one cat of another in the darkness of an alley. "We may be smaller and weaker, but we are quick as any Cheetah, clever as any Ocelot, and fierce as any Lion. In our numbers alone we could overtake the god-kind and walk alongside the Gods as equals, no longer servants."
"The god-kind are not special," said one cat to another in the corner of a tavern. "They were merely made to look like the Gods. We are unique, all created different by our Mother Vela. Why must we serve when we are the special ones? And why must Mother Vela be considered a mere god, when she created so much more than even the Her Majesty, the ebony Pardis? Mother Vela should be queen!"
Disturbed by the thoughts of her children, Vela urged them to be at peace. She was content with her place, and asked her children to be content as well. "The great Pardis was first born," she told them, "and it was the great Pardis who gave birth to the world as we know it. She has created much more than I ever could, and is the proper queen." Still the smallest cats would not be placated, and in secret they planned a great rebellion.
Their attack came at night, and came swift. Many on both sides had died before the Gods put an end to the fighting with a chorus of roars that shook every stone. To punish the small cats for their hubris, Pardus stripped them of their luxurious pelts to take away their pride and doomed them to multiply until they were as common as sand in the desert, no longer making them special. Only their ears and tails remained furred, their patterns branded to their naked skin to mark breed. Pardis watched on as her husband-son meted out punishment, calmly licking the blood from her ebony fur.
"Never again will you wear a god-like form," Pardus declared. "Never again will you walk on four legs. Rise, traitors, and walk out of this city on two weak, naked legs, Common ones."
"My Lord and King," said the leader of the god-kind, his rich pelt stained with the blood of enemy and ally alike. "Would it not be better to keep them here, to always watch them? Weak they may be now, but with numbers comes foolish pride, and they may try to rise up again."
"And who was it that allowed them to rise up at all?" demanded Pardus. "Why did you not foresee this and prevent it? You god-kind are at fault, just as the Common ones are."
"Let us repent for our mistake. Let us watch over the Common ones, and prevent them from ever challenging your great authority again."
Pardus turned to Pardis, and she nodded her dark head. "Very well." And god-kind too were stripped of their pelts, leaving only ears and tails furred and their patterns branded to their naked skin to mark breed. Pardus left only those in Vela's image still in their fur. "You will watch over the Common ones, keep them from rising up once more, and in exchange for your service, you will be free to join us in our palace after you have died."
To keep the god-kind from growing too proud as the Common ones had, the Gods divided them in two - Nobles were stripped of their magic and were to be born a plain, featureless cat, given the pattern and ear of the God they had pleased most when they reached twenty years of age. Only those destined to be leaders would be given a Leopard pattern and the right to speak with the Great Leopards, to know the true will of the Gods. Mages were allowed to keep their magic and original patterns, but were now forever denied the ability to speak directly with the Gods. Thus power was balanced, and neither group could rise above the other.
That very night, the Gods lifted their gold and ivory palace into the sky, taking with them all the Wild Cats to serve them in place of the Common ones. Where the Gods' palace had stood, the now furless cats built a new palace for their new leaders and began to learn the new ways of their world.
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"And that, sisters and brothers, is how our world came to be." The bishop bowed his head, and all in the room followed suit. After a moment of silent prayer, a low chatter filled the room as the guests began to slowly filter back to the ballroom for dinner and dancing.
Leianna rose to her feet and pressed her hand to Jornen's forehead again. "Do you still feel unwell, darling? Do you need for me to call the Healer?"
"No, thank you, Mother. I do not think this to be serious enough to call the Healer away from her own festivities. However, I would like to retire to my suite, at least for a little while."
"Of course, Jory. Take as long as you need. I will make sure Cook saves some boiled eggs for you." With a loving smile, Leianna gently pushed Jornen towards the hallway. Nodding in thanks for his mother's generosity, Jornen slowly shuffled out of the parlor as if he were trying to hide some great discomfort, tail and ears twitching with the want to escape.
"Leianna, rest is not the thing he needs right now," he heard his father argue.
"You really expect him to play host when he is not feeling well, Rosten?"
"You know just as well as I why he needs to spend this evening with his age-mates!"
Ah, tradition. A pox on tradition, thought Jornen, making his way to the hopefully empty downstairs bathroom the moment he was out of his parents' line of sight. Ever since Jornen had been old enough to speak, Rosten had gone out of his way to make sure his only son went to every party, every function, every gathering where there was at least one queen from Jornen's birth year. The young Noble knew every single one of his female age-mates almost as well as he knew himself, and there were very few of them he could even begin to want to spend tonight with. And it was the queens who Rosten wanted him to mingle with, to find that one female who was destined to be his mate and partner. Because if Jornen could find a queen who he liked well enough to call at least bosom friend among his age-mates, the gods might, might consider him for the position of Grand Duke. After all, the Grand Duchess and Grand Duke had to get along very well if they were to rule together. At least, such was his father's logic.
Luck was on Jornen's side tonight; the downstairs bathroom was still empty, and no one looked at him twice as he disappeared inside it. Also, now that his mother believed him to be ill and resting, no one would be allowed to go looking for him in his rooms until the party was winding down. Leaving the bathroom door unlocked behind him, Jornen grabbed the hidden bundle from the cabinet under the sink and quickly, silently pushed the frosted window open. The bundle landed on the grass with a quiet rustle, followed by the young Noble. Just as he closed the window with a soft click, Jornen heard the bathroom door open to admit two young queens, giggling from wine and sighing with passion. Tempted though he was to stay and listen, Jornen had more interesting places to be. He tiptoed away, bundle in hand, to the nearest row of hedges and began to strip out of his New Year finery.
"An interesting way to treat constipation, that," an amused voice murmured from a nearby shadow.
Jornen yelped and yanked his trousers back up, spinning to glare at the familiar smiling intruder, ears flat against his head. "Gods, Saul. Are you trying to kill me?"
"Of course not, milord. You are the only master worth anything in his household," stated the Havana Brown slave, the smirk curling at the corner of his mouth adding a note of teasing to his words.
Snorting, Jornen let his silk trousers fall to the grass and stepped out of them as he reached for a simpler pair of cotton trousers from his bundle. "Flattery will get you nowhere, old friend."
"It is only flattery if untrue, sir." Still smirking, Saul approached his master to help him change into a set of casual clothing more appropriate for a secret trip to the Commoner's District.
"You are so very lucky that I like you," said Jornen with an affectionate shake of his head. Had his parents or any of his older siblings heard his manservant's words, Saul would have been struck down before his next breath. Leianna did not take kindly to being insulted, especially from anyone lower than her, and Rosten tolerated nothing less than absolute, mindless obedience from the household slaves, who he considered equal to expensive cattle. Their other children possessed similar mindsets. Jornen, however, not only enjoyed the company of his family's slaves, but preferred them over his kin and Noble companions, Saul especially. The Havana Brown had been assigned to Jornen at his birth to act as his caretaker, becoming his manservant when Jornen was no longer in need of a constant nanny. Jornen thought of Saul as an uncle and trusted friend, and often forgot that the Commoner was not kin. Of course, it helped that Jornen's birth color of auburn was very similar to the rich red-brown fur of the household staff, made up completely of Havana Browns, one of the rarest breeds among the Commoners and thus the most valuable; as a small kitten, the young Noble had often been confused as to who his real family was, much to the dismay of his parents and secret amusement of the staff.
Now dressed in an outfit of cotton and leather rather than silk and brocade, Jornen carefully folded his finery and tucked them into the bundle before pulling out a pair of heavy leather money belts. "Happy New Year, Saul. Pardis bless," he said with a grin as he handed one of the belts to his manservant, its hidden pockets filled with copper and silver coins.
With a deep bow of his head, Saul accepted the belt with honest gratitude. "May Vela always hold and keep you, milord."
Jornen smiled at the Commoner's blessing, honored to receive it. "Put it on, Saul. We're going out and having fun tonight," he cheerfully stated as he put on the second money belt, tucking it under his shirt.
"I figured as much, so I took the liberty of bringing this." Slinging the belt over his shoulder, Saul carefully pulled a golden vest out of the bush where he had been hiding. It was identical to the one he wore in cut and design, down to the Tieranth family crest on the left breast, except that where Saul's vest was made of coarse dyed wool, the vest he held was made of the finest linen interspersed with threads of real gold.
The young Noble eyed the vest with disappointment. "You couldn't have brought a pair of cloaks instead? It would be better to take the high route to the Third Wall."
Saul nodded. "Perhaps, but it would be slower. Wear your vest and walk openly, milord, and you will reach the Commoner's District much sooner."
Jornen raised a questioning brow. "People will see, and they will talk."
"Yes, but could you not use their talk to your advantage?"
Forehead furrowed in thought, one ear flicking, Jornen simply gazed at the vest for a moment, before a crafty idea blossomed in his mind. "I like the way you think," he said with a wide grin. Turning around, he let Saul slip the vest onto his shoulders and fasten the row of gilt buttons along the front. "We'll use the shadows for the first few streets, then use the main way to the Second Wall."
"Of course, milord." Finished with Jornen's buttons, Saul fastened the money belt beneath his shirt, then stood at patient attention.
"Relax, Saul. It's New Year's Eve, and we're about to go have some real fun." Grinning, Jornen clapped Saul on the shoulder and led the way through the shadows off the property.
On to Part 2...
For those who are interested, here is a complete list of Fellius' gods. Other world information, including social classes and ranks, can be found here.