The Betrothed
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 7
Darrick’s parents caught up with him on the gangway leading into the airport from the plane. Neither of them spoke, but his mother’s look was clear: Be on your best behavior. Remember what I’ve taught you. Earlier she had told them that they were going to be met at the airport by one of her people, though she didn’t know which one; whoever it was, though, there would be a ceremonial greeting in which he would have to take part, and his mother had drilled him on it repeatedly. Obviously, first impressions were important. More importantly, from here on out he was no longer Darrick Knight, ordinary college student, but rather Darrick, son of Cynthia, Atlantean prince. Too bad I feel more like the pauper.
The older, white-haired man met them just outside of baggage claim. Darrick was surprised at his own sense of vague disappointment at the man’s attire of boring suit and tie; he realized that he had been half-expecting some fantastic figure in robes and capes. No normal suited-up businessman would have done what this figure did next, however. As soon as Darrick and his parents came within speaking distance, the man crossed his arms over his chest and bowed from the waist; he remained bent as Cynthia placed her right hand on the top of his head.
“My lady,” he intoned, his voice deep and solemn. “I welcome you back to your realm and your people. Your absence has left us poorer, and your arrival returns the life to our land. Let the gods bear witness to our plea: may we never be parted again.”
Darrick had been drilled on this ceremony more times than he wished to count, and had quietly found it ridiculous; seeing it in person, however, there was a dignity and a pathos to it that his lessons had somehow lost. His mother’s time outside of Atlantean society was being treated as though she had left on a long journey, and for Atlantean nobility, time away from their people was treated as a great hardship, and their return a great joy. Darrick had assumed that the ceremony was just that – a ceremony, a formality, with no real feeling behind it. But he heard loss in the old man’s voice, and true happiness when speaking of his mother’s return. Two sentences from this man brought Atlantis closer to him than an entire week of his mother’s lessons.
“My journey has been long and arduous,” Cynthia replied, her hand still on the old man’s bowed head, “but it is now at an end. I have returned to serve and guide my people, to protect and heal the land. May we never be parted again.” Darrick had never heard his mother sound so -- regal, dignified, and yet loving. For the first time since learning of his mother’s past, he found himself doubting not her, but himself. Can I be this? This is what they expect of me? Not just marriage, but leadership? Nobility? It seems almost like divinity. I’m just . . . just . . . me! But there was no time for this line of thought to progress further, for the old man straightened and turned to him, then bowed as he had to his mother.
“My lord,” he said, his voice as solemn as before, “I welcome you into your inheritance. Your people await your unveiling. May the gods grant you wisdom and strength as you take your place as a servant of all.” That was the traditional greeting for an Atlantean noble-born greeting his subjects for the first time, an occasion that usually occurred on a young aristocrat’s tenth birthday. His mother, in conference with the other Houses, had decided that it was the ritual most suited to the occasion. He rested his right hand on the old man’s brittle hair in a mirror of his mother’s motion.
“I am prepared to take my place in the hall of my father,” he responded, his voice shaking a bit. Oh, god, what kind of a lie is that? “My life is to serve.” But I don’t want that life! For the first time, Darrick felt a twinge of guilt as he thought those words, but he pushed it down. It’s my life. I can choose my responsibilities and my future. Just a little bit longer before I can stop all of this.
The man stood as Darrick removed his hand. Immediately, his formal demeanor dropped and he smiled, an expression his mother returned. Darrick blinked in surprise at the change in tone.
“Your Reverence,” she said warmly, “I never thought it would be you to meet us here. It’s good to see you again.” She reached back and pulled Darrick up to stand beside her. “I want you to meet my son, Darrick. Darrick, this is our priest, Richard Dawson.” Dawson reached out his hand and took Darrick’s in a handshake, a gesture bizarrely normal after what they had just gone through. “Our priest not only leads our religious life, but also preserves all the ancient Atlantean knowledge. Without him, so much of what we are would be lost forever.” Darrick was still taken aback by the rapid shift away from formality, but remembering all that his mother had taught him over the past week, he realized that it made sense. They’re trying to keep an entire culture going with just a handful of people, right under the nose of everyone else. The formalities are necessary to maintain the illusion of an entire social structure, but everyone still knows each other like family or childhood friends.
“Your mother is far too kind,” Dawson said. “Sadly, I’m not near the priest I should be; I can only recite about half of what my predecessor could. Fortunately, my son looks to be doing much better than I ever did. You look to be turning into a fine young man as well, Darrick. You look a great deal like your grandfather, may the gods hold his spirit tight.” He let go of Darrick’s hand, and turned towards his father. “And you must be John Knight. It is a pleasure to meet you. From everything I have heard, you have raised a fine son. You have the thanks of our people.” He and John shook hands, Richard with a smile, John’s expression carefully neutral.
“I didn’t do it for you,” John said, “but thanks for the acknowledgment. It’s more than I usually get from you people.” Richard nodded in reply.
“Yes, I know that some of us can be a bit . . . abrupt in our dealings with the outside world. You have my apologies. I never meant to imply that your son was exclusively ours.” He glanced at Cynthia, to include her in his next statement. “I know that your son has a hard life ahead of him, having to find a life between two worlds. I trust that both of you will always be there to give him the guidance and the example he needs.” John jerked his head up and down once, but Cynthia averted her gaze, and her mouth tightened. “But that’s for the future, eh?” Richard continued, grinning. “For now, let’s just focus on the happy nuptials, why don’t we? The Martins are already waiting anxiously for all of you. We have a long drive ahead of us, and a lot of work to get done for the Presentation tonight.” He waved at a couple of men behind him, who came forward to pick up their luggage. “The Martins have hired a limo to take you up in style. Of course, I’ll have to erase the driver’s memory later, but it was still a thoughtful gesture, don’t you think?”
Wipe his memory? Is that something their magic can do? God! The calm, matter-of-fact tone with which this kindly old man had suggested tampering with the mind of the hired driver sent a chill up Darrick’s spine. Can’t they see how warped that is? He felt another chill as he realized that his own mind had already been tampered with, possibly by this very man. What else have they done to me? Can I trust anything of who I am, what I remember? As much as she got on his nerves, he couldn’t think of his mother – or by extension, her entire race – as evil, but he couldn’t accept the morality of this kind of casual meddling with people’s minds either.
“Wait just a second,” Darrick said as the others all began to make their way towards the exit. “You’re just going to erase a man’s mind, just so he won’t know the location of your precious hideout? That’s horrible! Who are you to do that?!” They all turned to look at him, but each of their reactions were very different. His mother was annoyed, an expression familiar to him from childhood; she looked as though she was ready to pull him into another room and lecture him in embarrassing her in front of company. His father smirked, pleased to see his son strike a blow against his mother’s world. Richard simply considered him with a patient gaze, and stepped back to talk to him.
“I understand your concern, Darrick,” he said. “A man’s mind is sacred, and it should not be tampered with on a whim. But believe me when I say that I will do him no harm. I will simply blur his recollections. He will remember that he had a job today and a rough idea of where he went, but details of exactly who and where will be just a bit beyond his recall. In the end, he will probably be no different than he would have been anyway; in a week’s time, do you think the man will remember the details of every job he has had today? All I am doing is taking precautions, just in case this one trip would be the one he would remember. Darrick, we are a secret people for a reason. Our history has shown us that we cannot let outsiders know of our existence; those who do not want to kill us want to study us, and those who do not want to study us want to revere us and never let us alone. Trust the wisdom of millennia. I will do what I must to keep us secret, but don’t be afraid, I will always be as ethical as I can when doing so. Do you understand?”
Darrick nodded. The situation still bothered him, but it did sound as though this priest was doing all he could to keep his actions as harmless as possible. There will be enough of an uproar later; save your energy for that. He had only taken a few steps outside when a truly horrid thought struck him. What if he was pulling one of those magic tricks on me? He could have been manipulating my mind right there, and I would never know it! God, the circle never ends! No, no, I can’t do this! I just have to keep going and stop second-guessing myself. It will all be over after tonight. Turn this wedding down and I can go back to the sane world again. I just have to hold up until then.
He followed the others out the door to the waiting car.
for National Novel Writing Month
Day 7
Darrick’s parents caught up with him on the gangway leading into the airport from the plane. Neither of them spoke, but his mother’s look was clear: Be on your best behavior. Remember what I’ve taught you. Earlier she had told them that they were going to be met at the airport by one of her people, though she didn’t know which one; whoever it was, though, there would be a ceremonial greeting in which he would have to take part, and his mother had drilled him on it repeatedly. Obviously, first impressions were important. More importantly, from here on out he was no longer Darrick Knight, ordinary college student, but rather Darrick, son of Cynthia, Atlantean prince. Too bad I feel more like the pauper.
The older, white-haired man met them just outside of baggage claim. Darrick was surprised at his own sense of vague disappointment at the man’s attire of boring suit and tie; he realized that he had been half-expecting some fantastic figure in robes and capes. No normal suited-up businessman would have done what this figure did next, however. As soon as Darrick and his parents came within speaking distance, the man crossed his arms over his chest and bowed from the waist; he remained bent as Cynthia placed her right hand on the top of his head.
“My lady,” he intoned, his voice deep and solemn. “I welcome you back to your realm and your people. Your absence has left us poorer, and your arrival returns the life to our land. Let the gods bear witness to our plea: may we never be parted again.”
Darrick had been drilled on this ceremony more times than he wished to count, and had quietly found it ridiculous; seeing it in person, however, there was a dignity and a pathos to it that his lessons had somehow lost. His mother’s time outside of Atlantean society was being treated as though she had left on a long journey, and for Atlantean nobility, time away from their people was treated as a great hardship, and their return a great joy. Darrick had assumed that the ceremony was just that – a ceremony, a formality, with no real feeling behind it. But he heard loss in the old man’s voice, and true happiness when speaking of his mother’s return. Two sentences from this man brought Atlantis closer to him than an entire week of his mother’s lessons.
“My journey has been long and arduous,” Cynthia replied, her hand still on the old man’s bowed head, “but it is now at an end. I have returned to serve and guide my people, to protect and heal the land. May we never be parted again.” Darrick had never heard his mother sound so -- regal, dignified, and yet loving. For the first time since learning of his mother’s past, he found himself doubting not her, but himself. Can I be this? This is what they expect of me? Not just marriage, but leadership? Nobility? It seems almost like divinity. I’m just . . . just . . . me! But there was no time for this line of thought to progress further, for the old man straightened and turned to him, then bowed as he had to his mother.
“My lord,” he said, his voice as solemn as before, “I welcome you into your inheritance. Your people await your unveiling. May the gods grant you wisdom and strength as you take your place as a servant of all.” That was the traditional greeting for an Atlantean noble-born greeting his subjects for the first time, an occasion that usually occurred on a young aristocrat’s tenth birthday. His mother, in conference with the other Houses, had decided that it was the ritual most suited to the occasion. He rested his right hand on the old man’s brittle hair in a mirror of his mother’s motion.
“I am prepared to take my place in the hall of my father,” he responded, his voice shaking a bit. Oh, god, what kind of a lie is that? “My life is to serve.” But I don’t want that life! For the first time, Darrick felt a twinge of guilt as he thought those words, but he pushed it down. It’s my life. I can choose my responsibilities and my future. Just a little bit longer before I can stop all of this.
The man stood as Darrick removed his hand. Immediately, his formal demeanor dropped and he smiled, an expression his mother returned. Darrick blinked in surprise at the change in tone.
“Your Reverence,” she said warmly, “I never thought it would be you to meet us here. It’s good to see you again.” She reached back and pulled Darrick up to stand beside her. “I want you to meet my son, Darrick. Darrick, this is our priest, Richard Dawson.” Dawson reached out his hand and took Darrick’s in a handshake, a gesture bizarrely normal after what they had just gone through. “Our priest not only leads our religious life, but also preserves all the ancient Atlantean knowledge. Without him, so much of what we are would be lost forever.” Darrick was still taken aback by the rapid shift away from formality, but remembering all that his mother had taught him over the past week, he realized that it made sense. They’re trying to keep an entire culture going with just a handful of people, right under the nose of everyone else. The formalities are necessary to maintain the illusion of an entire social structure, but everyone still knows each other like family or childhood friends.
“Your mother is far too kind,” Dawson said. “Sadly, I’m not near the priest I should be; I can only recite about half of what my predecessor could. Fortunately, my son looks to be doing much better than I ever did. You look to be turning into a fine young man as well, Darrick. You look a great deal like your grandfather, may the gods hold his spirit tight.” He let go of Darrick’s hand, and turned towards his father. “And you must be John Knight. It is a pleasure to meet you. From everything I have heard, you have raised a fine son. You have the thanks of our people.” He and John shook hands, Richard with a smile, John’s expression carefully neutral.
“I didn’t do it for you,” John said, “but thanks for the acknowledgment. It’s more than I usually get from you people.” Richard nodded in reply.
“Yes, I know that some of us can be a bit . . . abrupt in our dealings with the outside world. You have my apologies. I never meant to imply that your son was exclusively ours.” He glanced at Cynthia, to include her in his next statement. “I know that your son has a hard life ahead of him, having to find a life between two worlds. I trust that both of you will always be there to give him the guidance and the example he needs.” John jerked his head up and down once, but Cynthia averted her gaze, and her mouth tightened. “But that’s for the future, eh?” Richard continued, grinning. “For now, let’s just focus on the happy nuptials, why don’t we? The Martins are already waiting anxiously for all of you. We have a long drive ahead of us, and a lot of work to get done for the Presentation tonight.” He waved at a couple of men behind him, who came forward to pick up their luggage. “The Martins have hired a limo to take you up in style. Of course, I’ll have to erase the driver’s memory later, but it was still a thoughtful gesture, don’t you think?”
Wipe his memory? Is that something their magic can do? God! The calm, matter-of-fact tone with which this kindly old man had suggested tampering with the mind of the hired driver sent a chill up Darrick’s spine. Can’t they see how warped that is? He felt another chill as he realized that his own mind had already been tampered with, possibly by this very man. What else have they done to me? Can I trust anything of who I am, what I remember? As much as she got on his nerves, he couldn’t think of his mother – or by extension, her entire race – as evil, but he couldn’t accept the morality of this kind of casual meddling with people’s minds either.
“Wait just a second,” Darrick said as the others all began to make their way towards the exit. “You’re just going to erase a man’s mind, just so he won’t know the location of your precious hideout? That’s horrible! Who are you to do that?!” They all turned to look at him, but each of their reactions were very different. His mother was annoyed, an expression familiar to him from childhood; she looked as though she was ready to pull him into another room and lecture him in embarrassing her in front of company. His father smirked, pleased to see his son strike a blow against his mother’s world. Richard simply considered him with a patient gaze, and stepped back to talk to him.
“I understand your concern, Darrick,” he said. “A man’s mind is sacred, and it should not be tampered with on a whim. But believe me when I say that I will do him no harm. I will simply blur his recollections. He will remember that he had a job today and a rough idea of where he went, but details of exactly who and where will be just a bit beyond his recall. In the end, he will probably be no different than he would have been anyway; in a week’s time, do you think the man will remember the details of every job he has had today? All I am doing is taking precautions, just in case this one trip would be the one he would remember. Darrick, we are a secret people for a reason. Our history has shown us that we cannot let outsiders know of our existence; those who do not want to kill us want to study us, and those who do not want to study us want to revere us and never let us alone. Trust the wisdom of millennia. I will do what I must to keep us secret, but don’t be afraid, I will always be as ethical as I can when doing so. Do you understand?”
Darrick nodded. The situation still bothered him, but it did sound as though this priest was doing all he could to keep his actions as harmless as possible. There will be enough of an uproar later; save your energy for that. He had only taken a few steps outside when a truly horrid thought struck him. What if he was pulling one of those magic tricks on me? He could have been manipulating my mind right there, and I would never know it! God, the circle never ends! No, no, I can’t do this! I just have to keep going and stop second-guessing myself. It will all be over after tonight. Turn this wedding down and I can go back to the sane world again. I just have to hold up until then.
He followed the others out the door to the waiting car.
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