Nineteen
The holy leader turned out to be someone of very advanced life-cycles. His face was a map of wrinkles and sun spots, hair no more than a few white tufts on top, but his eyes were bright, his stance strong and sure. He looked to be at peace in a way I’d rarely seen from a sol. They were always striving to be more, better, stronger. To be noticed by the gods.
But this holy man did not appear even slightly awed by us; instead he regarded us in the same way he did everyone he passed.
When he stopped before us, he looked between the eight of us. “Who here wants to be joined in marriage?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble.
All of us lifted our hands.
He blinked a few times before regaining his composure. With a wave of his hand, he gestured for us to step forward. “The first to be joined,” he added, when we all started to move.
Cyrus didn’t wait for the rest of us; he half-lifted Emmy and deposited her right before the holy leader. “Do you come before me of your own free will,” the old sol immediately asked Emmy, ignoring the glare from the Neutral God who could kill him with one thought.
“I do come of my own free will,” Emmy told him, reaching out to clasp the hand he had offered her. “I choose to join my life in every way to Cyrus.”
“Mine,” Cyrus added. “Emmanuelle is mine always.”
The holy man blinked again before he looked between the pair, probably trying to figure out what he was seeing here. “Gods do not normally wed,” he told them. “I’m not sure what vows you want me to say?”
“The normal ones,” Cyrus told him. “We want the normal ones.”
The holy man opened his thin arms, the long robes he wore hanging off them. He reached into a pocket of his robe, pulling free a slender book. The cover was blue with gilded edges, and I saw Emmy’s eyes light up as she eyed it. It was fitting that they’d be married by a holy man holding a book.
He flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted, then he held it before him as he spoke. “We are gathered here this sun-cycle to join Cyrus and Emmanuelle in a bond that will stand above all others. Marriage. These two will live and work together, share their burdens and revel in their joys. From this sun-cycle forth, no other will stand between them.” He turned to Emmy then. “Emmanuelle, do you promise to love and cherish Cyrus from this sun-cycle forth, forsaking all others.”
Emmy’s smile was breathtaking. “I do.”
“And do you promise to support Cyrus in sickness and health, through good and bad times, for all of your sun-cycles.”
Emmy was staring at Cyrus now, her face luminous. “I do.”
The holy man repeated the questions for Cyrus, and he answered without taking his eyes from Emmy.
“I bless this union,” the holy leader finished. “With the gods in our presence as witnesses, then you are married.”
Cyrus and Emmy kissed, and it was hot and fierce and sweet. I let out a little sigh, my happiness reaching almost peak level then. My sister was so in love, and despite his flaws, I couldn’t imagine anyone better suited to her than Cyrus.
The holy leader then turned to us, and I realised that we were attracting a lot of attention now. Sols and dwellers had stopped trying to get through the gates and instead were gawking, stunned by the fact that gods were in the midst of a ceremony usually only dwellers performed. Sols thought they were too good to be tied to one being, and their first love was the gods, so there was always someone coming between them.
Marriage was a dweller thing.
The man settled his gaze on me. “To which man are you entering into this ceremony with?”
I pointed to Coen. “Him.” Just as a little breath of relief fled the man, I shifted my finger to Rome, Aros, Yael, and Siret. “And him, and him, and him, and him.”
Cyrus snorted and Emmy’s face turned suddenly red from the effort to not laugh. I ignored them, because it was hard enough to keep my own expression in check.
“And do you … do you … do you come before me of you own free will?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Then we are gathered here to join this woman with … these men … in a bond that will stand above all others. They will live and work together, share their burdens and revel in their joys. From this sun-cycle forth, no other will stand between them.” Taking a deep breath, as though afraid he would be stripped of his holy duties if he performed our ceremony, he turned to me. “Do you promise to love and cherish these men, forsaking all others? And do you all promise to support them in sickness and in health, through good and bad times, for all of your sun-cycles?”
“Yep,” I answered. Siret nudged me. “Yes,” I amended, emulating Emmy’s formal tone. “I do.”
He took another deep breath. I could see a little bead of sweat on his forehead. “And you …” He flicked his attention from Siret, to Rome, to Coen, Aros, and then Yael. “Do you all promise to love and cherish this woman, forsaking all others? And do you all promise to support her in sickness and in health, through good and bad times, for all of your sun-cycles?”
“I do,” they all answered in unison, as Rome and Siret captured my hands.
