Here is the first chapter of a story about another world, farther from the one most of us live in. I hope you feel welcome in it, and that you come back next week for the second installment.
House of Refuge
1 Brightsong
"Today, you are a man,"
my father Arrowshot said, in a voice that carried through the whole Longhouse.
He was bearing witness of it to nearly every man in the town, from the seventeen-year-olds
who'd had their ceremony the year before, up to men older than my
great-grandfather. I thought of my twin sister in the women's Roundhouse,
hearing her Coming-of-Age declaration from our mother Bracken the afternoon
before. My father's left hand rested on my shoulder, his right hand on my
heart. His voice began to break as he spoke. My older brother stood in the
inner circle of the assembly, along with the fathers and brothers of the year's
other boys.I remember my surprise at how short and simple the ceremony seemed for all the preparations of the previous year that went into it. Our fathers leading us by the hand, clockwise seven times around the Lingam on the dais above the Longhouse floor. Then, after I'd undone my lunghi to join the adult men in their nakedness, the officiant bowing to me, smudging me with smoke from the bowl of camphor he carried in his left hand, then with the fourth finger of his right daubing the vermillion powder on my forehead, heart, and the head of my cock, then bowing to me again before my father came forward to make his declaration. Afterwards, the whole assembly crowding in around the fifteen of us who'd come of age, arms around one other's shoulders as we all began to tone--the one detail of the ritual that fathers and elder brothers hadn't explained to us in advance. A column of purer and purer sound rose above us, as though its solid mass could pierce the roof. I saw mirrored in the faces of some of the men crowded around us the unfamiliar sense of peace that stole over me as our voices died away. Here and there, heads rested on shoulders. Across the circle,my grandfather stood with his cheek pressed against my uncle Yarrow's.
I hadn't seen Yarrow for nearly six weeks, when he'd last come down from the House of Refuge in the hills beyond the river, staying with us overnight after he'd completed the House's business in the high street. Now he and the others had all arrived together for the Coming-of-Age, the only time in the year when the men of every family assembled, townsmen and Refugetakers together, and the community was one. So too, in the Roundhouse, amidst a ritual whose secret the women kept as closely from us as we our secret from them.
Again tonight as last night, women and men, dwellers in the hills and dwellers by the river, would all feast together. Tomorrow or the day after, our kin who'd gone up country would return to the lives they'd chosen, sending down to us the fruit they grew, the wine they made, the timber they cut, taking up with them grain and cheese and meat, wool and flax to spin and weave. My heart leapt to think that now I was of age, I could join my father on the visit he'd pay my uncle in a few weeks, as he did at nearly every Full Moon. I still felt the pang of regret for the boyhood summer when I'd spent long, bright days with Yarrow downriver, fishing, gathering wild berries to take back at dusk to the family, learning to swim. That summer Solstice, he'd already declared that he'd go up country at the following autumn Equinox. I'd wept myself to sleep night after night when he left, just before my twelfth birthday.
Seeing him across the circle gathered around us, I felt a sweet ache in my heart to remember him wading into the river, inviting me to lean back into the water, promising to hold me up, and I felt his flat, firm chest against my ribs and his arm beneath my shoulders, then later beneath my chest when he asked me to try floating face down. At the thought, my cock begin to swell again--like many of us, I'd been hard when the officiant blessed me but had gone limp as the whole community gathered into itself to tone. The sweetness of the moment vanished into embarassment at the thought someone would see, or feel it pressing against him. Then my father whispered into my ear with a squeeze of my shoulder, "It's alright, Brightsong. Just take a deep breath, and remember it's how men are."
The great knot of men gathered around us began slowly to undo itself. Neighbours came up to congratulate me and my father, and to greet Yarrow, whom my grandfather finally released from his embrace. We all spilled out into the light of a bright May afternoon. A shout went up from mothers and sisters and wives, three hundred girls and women clapping rhythmically, five against seven, seven against five, to welcome us, as we'd all done for them the day before when they'd emerged from the Roundhouse.
My sister Rush jumped up and down in excitement, but I knew it wasn't for me as much as it was for Bloodroot, who walked just ahead of me. He waved, then dashed forward to hug her. They'd been talking about sleeping together for weeks. Bloodroot asked his mother to settle it with our mother a week before the ceremonies. He would come to our house a few days just after her next time of the month and stay with us three nights, then go back home. We all looked forward to his coming. Everyone loved Bloodroot. "He's a sweet young man," our mother told Rush. "I couldn't be happier he's going to be your first." If their affection continued, he'd visit again the next month, staying a day or two later. So it would go until they decided there were others they wanted to be with--or else until they eventually made a child.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see Yarrow smiling down at me.
"Here you are," he said. "Strong and handsome and all grown up."
I could feel myself blush. I smiled stupidly and couldn't think of anything to say to him. He must have sensed my embarrassment, because he pushed on to ease the awkward silence. "Every time I've come down from the Refuge, I keep asking myself, this can't be the boy I remember, can he? I'm really proud of you, Brightsong. We all are."
"I'm glad you're proud of me," I managed to stammer. "Are you going to stay past tomorrow?
"I have to get back," he said. "We've got seedlings to put in all this week." He smiled. "Did you want me to stay longer?"
"I always want you to stay longer," I blurted out. He was so handsome. His blue eyes shone below the long copper hair that fell across his forehead. He hadn't shaved for three or four days, and the rusty stubble showed thick on his chin.
"You can visit me now," he said. "Your father can bring you this month, if you want to come up." He turned toward me and stopped where we stood in the street, halfway between the Longhouse and the banquet hall on the square. "You know why we have a House of Refuge, don't you? Firesong explained it to you when you were preparing for today?"
My tongue went numb in my mouth again. I lowered my eyes and nodded. He went on looking into my face until I met his gaze. "Men come up to visit friends and kin," he said. "Or because they need the Refuge themselves, just for a little while, to put their life down here back in balance. We welcome them all and then bid them farewell. The men who take Refuge become our own kin as surely as the families we've left."
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