Sermon 4

The performance bored the veiled king.

"Blessed wife," he said. "You should begin your journey while light remains."

And Kundali, who possessed a grain of disillusionment replied, "Beloved husband, if I birth upon the road, my child cannot claim the Purple."

The king cursed into his veil, and Ayem shuddered at his rancour.

"I shall send with you my catamite, who is wise in the ways of the earth bones. He will brew a potion which will delay the birth, till your pilgrimage is done and you return to my arms."

And the catamite bowed, dazzling Kundali with reflected light, and she said no more.

The king clapped his hands. "Prepare her caravan. She leaves at once."

Turning on his heel, the king exited the Purple Chamber, sparing his least-favourite concubine not another glance. His courtiers trailed after him, bleating their emptiness.

The eunuchs gathered about Kundali, lifting her onto a palanquin. They marvelled at her lightness, for she carried the weight of annihilation, which is no weight.

Kundali waved at her false-sisters, smiled. The false-sisters smiled back, waved. And Kundali savoured this moment, for she thought it a victory.

"False-Mother," said Ayem's egg-image. "Do you not see the thorns on their thinned lips?"

"You are too talkative for one unborn," replied Kundali.

"I have been born a million times before on a thousand different worlds. I am familiar with my lines."

"Then why do you trouble me? Can I not enjoy this moment of triumph?"

And Ayem swallowed her soul, saying no more. For there is mercy in withholding knowledge from the ignorant.

The eunuchs carried Kundali to her waiting caravan, and there was noise and joy. The jealous concubines watched from the thousand-faceted Sphere of Revelation. They pressed their envy-etched faces to the veined glass, pounded perfumed hands against it till the Sphere shivered. Kundali saw none of this, her sight focused solely on herself.

A great horn sounded, announcing the caravan's departure. The gates of the jade-petaled palace swung wide, and a great cheer went up.

Kundali was placed upon a painted guar, neck garlanded with sacred lotuses. Behind her rode the catamite, worms eating his heart. All the castes of Veloth anon Almalexia had gathered to witness the royal caravan. They clapped and danced, some in silks, some in rags, united in love. Barren women wept and stretched trembling hands towards Kundali's belly, the proof of life.

And Kundali exulted in this desperate worship of her being. But Ayem pitied the women, and so granted their prayers. All would bear triplets, forms beautiful as the wind.

The caravan pushed through the seething crowd, emerging from the city. Parasol-bearing eunuchs and chitin-clad warriors surrounded Kundali. Smooth-limbed boys ran ahead, prayer flags flapping, beseeching heaven for spiritual sustenance.

Ayem looked on this, smiling. "Ah, it is wonderful in its transience. I understand."

But Kundali did not see this, for she was blind to reminders of her mortality.

And Ayem said no more, for she is Mother of Mercy, and knows the pain of revelation.

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.