The Festival of the Return of Queen Persephone
By Ivy Rangee

Jiguzagu Estate
Tsukiyaburenai Mountain
Kuramasu Island

Feast of Lord Dionysus
12Aprilis 3027

For three days the residents of Kuramasu Island worked diligently to clean up the damage caused by Typhoon Ai. Grueling as this was, no one grumbled; all were enthusiastic, because, when their tasks were completed the nine day Festival of the Return of Queen Persephone could commence. The most important and holiest of Kuramasu Island's festivals, anticipation rose in proportion to the progress of preparations. Technically, the celebration should have begun a week earlier, but the priestess' augury bode well for even a late start. Alexander Row, though he had no heart for it, found himself in the thick of things as his great-grandmother assigned him so many duties he worked from dawn well into the night. He should have been exhausted when his endeavors ended for the day, but, he was not. Instead, he felt an ever increasing restlessness that allowed for little sleep.

Euris had dumped him even though he'd tried to put things right. She said she had no interest in listening to his explanation because she did not care about him. He had known her for most of his life, but he'd never seen her so contemptuous. She laughed at his new found status as Yokujin scion and his apparent engagement to Princess Pe-le. Her friends among the visiting academy cadets were delighted, mocking him, and reveling in the knowledge that they had been right about members of Squad H generally and House Row in particular. Alex did not care what Squad A said about him, but he found Euris' words and actions unfathomable. Hadn't he rescued her? Taken her place and almost died as result? Didn't she owe him some consideration after all they had shared? Their romance had seemed genuine to him. She'd said she loved him. Was she really that duplicitous? Had he simply been a pawn in one of her schemes?

His comrades from Squad H gossiped, speculating endlessly and arriving at all sorts of unfounded conclusions, though they all took Alex' side. Some claimed that Euris had duped him just to prove she could snag him, having planned all along to return to Vincent Alzey once she had made plain the superiority of her feminine wiles to all the other cadets chasing Alex. They called her an idiot, a bitch, a slut and much worse, because after all, as the hero that saved the academy and the scion of the Yokujin, whatever that was, Alexander Row was a real catch.

To complicate matters Alex' fiancée, Princess Pe-le had proven to be difficult, a complete wild woman in fact. Truth be told, Alex liked her; she made him laugh. He admired her, and an intense attraction flowed between them, though Alex fought it. An accomplished athlete, she also excelled at music and poetry. However, in dance she was a virtuoso, moving with such subtle grace to the music he played that he could not help but admire her deeply. The problem lay with her extreme volatility which hid just beneath her seemingly placid surface. It was especially apparent when she was thwarted; then it was best to scatter for she'd erupt like a volcano, leaving nothing and no one unscathed. Unfortunately for Alex, she directed most of her animosity at him, as she expected far more from him than he could ever give. Too evenly matched, their battles over his aloofness and her desire for attention never reached resolution.

Things were not all bad though, the plans for manufacturing his military vanship moved ahead rapidly; surprisingly, Pelletier and Whelan made a good team. Further, Alex' great-grandmother had wheedled an order for fifty prototypes from the Prime Minister. With Pelletier financing the venture using Dionysia's dowry, Whelan had gained his family's agreement to retool one of their smaller manufacturing locations to produce heavy duty vanships equipped with weapons. Alex, Pelletier and Whelan had spent the last week finalizing the vanship's design, working late into the night. Alex had designed three types of military vanships, but in the end he'd been forced to pick one to simplify the manufacturing process. With some effort, Whelan had convinced him that this was the sensible move, explaining that once they successfully produced effective vanships and made a profit, they could expand the line.

Then there was Kiore - the Yokujin-Selkie scion. Alex and he quickly established a friendship so close they could finish each other's sentences. At first this had been a source of conflict with Pe-le. But, because Kiore was a musician and poet like his two cousins, the three had been able to overcome her jealousy, working on projects together. In fact their interaction was always productive; Pe-le was wild and dangerous like the earth in upheaval. Kiore was subtler, more like water though he could rage on equal footing with Pe-le. The three together could produce, for Kiore claimed Alex was like the air, bringing inspiration. All they needed was a little fire, Alex thought, something Yukino might have provided had she been there. He missed her; none of this would have happened had she agreed to marry him.

On this particular sacred night toward the end of Queen Persephone's feast, Alexander Row lay in bed, his notebook open upon his chest, his pencil behind his ear. Beside him dozed Dionysia Petros and next to her slept her fiancé, Edouard Pelletier, now two of his closest friends. Across the room at the art table Julian Whelan slept, having passed out where he sat. Though Alex felt grateful for their loyal company, he was even more thankful for the silence rendered by their sleep; he wanted to write. The intrusion of pressing matters had left him without a moment to put his thoughts on paper.

As Alex wrote, Dionysia stirred, cuddling closer to him, Pelletier followed, snuggling closer to her. Alex smiled. What an odd bond these two lovers shared. Unfaithful as they both were they were devoted to each other. That loyalty extended to him, and he believed these two would be his friends no matter what he did. Grateful, he let his mind go. How did he feel? Should he go along with Kiore's plan? He couldn't do it without talking to his great-grandmother; he owed her too much, though right now her attitude pissed him off.

It would serve her right if he took Kiore's offer. Polli dismissed the whole matter of Euris, taking it entirely too lightly as she insisted that everything would work out for the best. How could she speak in platitudes given the seriousness of the situation? She did not seem to understand the depth of his feelings. He'd been ready to become affianced to Euris, and Polli had been all for it, until out if nowhere came the Selkie-Yokujin claim on his freedom. Now Polli reconsidered.

Alex jotted disconnected notes, drawing diagrams, trying to express the complexity of the situation. He wrote down names and circled them, some once, some six or seven times; then he drew lines of attachment between them. He kept coming back to Euris. She had slipped back into his life, and now he felt her absence keenly. It was only after he'd been forced into service as her poetry tutor that he'd emerged from the gloom that was his life at the academy. He'd been able to write and play music once more. Since she'd rejected him inspiration once again fled; even the gods had disappeared from his life. Foolishly, he had believed her when she said she loved him. In retrospect, he realized how unlikely that was. His status would only drag her down; though Lady Hippolyta had extracted concessions from the empire, House Row had been declared an abandoned house. As to House Yokujin, while extremely wealthy, it conducted business in the shadows, engaging in subterfuge and duplicity in order to advance its aims and those of the people that paid for their services. No, he would never be a suitable match for someone like Euris Bassianus; he'd known this all along, but had fallen for her anyway. He really was not capable of casual sex. But why had she toyed with him?

Dionysia murmured in her sleep and turned on her side, taking Pelletier into her arms as she did so. Alex took the opportunity to slip out of bed; shirtless, he pulled on his green linen, pleated fustan-kilt and embroidered gray felt slippers. These were mandatory wear for the celebration, along with an embroidered vest, but he decided against that; it was simply too hot. Restless, Alex made for the door, but he thought better of it; instead, he went to Whelan and shook his fellow cadet until he woke. They'd all had too much to drink and Whelan with bleary eyes, glanced at Alex and passed out again, upon which Alex lifted the skinny cadet over his shoulder and lugged him to his room where he dumped his sleeping friend on a bed. Whalen bunked with Packard and Karpov who appeared to be unconscious. Tonight, the seventh day of the nine day festival, was the Feast of Lord Dionysus. Except for the traditional draught, the preparations for this part of the celebration had been handled by the Selkie-Yokujin who really knew how to throw a party.

Soundlessly sliding the door shut, Alex walked back to his bedroom grabbed a couple of notebooks, drawing and writing implements and made to leave again, but before he reached the door his attention was drawn to laughter from the courtyard below. Curious, he stepped onto the narrow balcony of his bedroom. Though unseasonably warm, glittering fires marked the landscape like stars. Bonfires were integral to the rites that honored Lord Dionysus' holy day. This was a feast within a feast; Lord Dionysus was, after all, Queen Persephone's only son and at Jiguzagu Estate every detail of the festival was observed. According to Lady Hippolyte, Kuramasu Island was the only place in Anatoray that still observed the complete ritual.

The Feast of Dionysus was a study in contrasts. While by far the wildest day of the festival, it always began soberly with a theatrical competition. Each playwright entered a tragedy in three parts, along with one comedy, called a satyr play named after Lord Dionysus' attendants. Collaborations were allowed, so this year Alex, Kiore and Pe-le wrote trilogy about a goddess so in love with a military leader that she captures him, holding him prisoner, while tempting him with power and immortality. Moody and sullen, the man rejects her as he gradually falls victim to soldier's heart, reliving scenes of battle and death from his past. She eventually heals him and sets him free, abandoning herself to loneliness. The satyr play was about twins, with one a cross-dresser and the other a very conservative noble. It consisted of a series of vignettes where each is mistaken for the other under the most embarrassing circumstances. The plays did well enough to take second prize. First went to a strange, dark story prepared by a heretofore unknown author whose vision frightened everyone, even Alex; it struck such a dark cord. The theatrical competition was followed by a night of uninhibited partying sustained by a ancient draught prepared only once a year for this sacred feast.

From the balcony, Alex watched people dancing around the fires, and he could hear their shouts and laughter as well as their moans. On this night, like Beltane, one might exercise one's desires without repercussions. An ocean breeze touched Alex' skin and sent a shiver up his spine as he felt the pull of the sea and stars as well as desire. But for the fires, the night was deeply dark as the moon had not yet risen. The clear dome of the sky rose above him with its millions of stars. So many stars it was difficult to make out constellations. The air, permeated by the scent of jasmine which had blossomed en masse in the wake of Typhoon Ai, felt alive with ardor.

The starry sight engulfed him for a time, wiping away all his concerns. When he returned again to the finite, the oppressive attachment to Euris had loosened somewhat. He'd gotten along without her before. If what she said was true, she had meant to wound him. He could not trust Euris, that was clear; she had used him for her own amusement and that of her well-born friends. Perhaps his great-grandmother had been right; this was for the best. His cousins' presence was a blessing, revealing the hopelessness of a bond between the fallen House Row and the ascendant House Bassianus.

Bored and restless, he headed to the music room. Sitting at the piano might yield some solace; it would at least pass the time. He'd try to write something; even if nothing came to him he could always play. Riding on the crest of his hips, his kilt swished softly as he crossed the bedroom and slipped outside. Standing in the small courtyard, he could hear Tia and Wolf's laughter, and he thought about breaking it up, but decided against it. He'd been told he'd gotten pretty wild during the festivities. Tia would call him out on his hypocrisy, and he was not ready to hear the litany of his sins, especially the ones he couldn't remember.

The cool expansive night carried the scent of pine from the tree he and Tia had planted as a sapling in the center of the courtyard when as children they had come to live on Kuramasu Island. The odor filled him with nostalgia for those simpler days. Climbing on a bench, he broke a pine cone from the end of a high branch; he'd make a thyrsus in honor of Lord Dionysus. Perhaps the god would have mercy on him. In a corner of the garden was a stand of giant fennel. From this he took a stalk and tied the pine cone to it with strands of ivy which he tore from the trellis over head. Armed with the scepter of the god of wine, he made his way down the candlelit hallway from the family's private quarters to the marble staircase that led to the public areas of the Yokujin mansion. From the top of the staircase, he could see the wide entryway where candles flickered eerily in honor of this holy night. In the shadows he could see the silhouettes of the god's initiates honoring him.

Making his way down the steps, he slipped through the entry to the music room. Amazingly it was empty, and, though he slid closed the double doors to insure his privacy, he left the French doors to the adjoining terrace open. A salty sea breeze ruffled the gauzy curtains as he sat down at the piano. This was the first time since he had been initiated into the deeper mysteries of his clan's sacred beliefs that he felt unable to celebrate. Each year until this one, Yukino had been there; she was the antidote to his dour personality. Through her, he could melt away to become a celebrant, all self consciousness disappearing. Would he have been able to do that with Euris? He would never know, though from what he had seen earlier she certainly seemed to be enjoying herself with the other Squad A idiots. They had laughed at him when he tried to talk to her; that's when she'd given him the letter. She'd laughed too, saying "What did you think, Row? That I actually wanted the likes of you?"

He put his hand to his fustan-kilt pocket; the letter crinkled at his touch. She'd informed him that he should find an alternate navi. What a euphemism. Her words cut him; they had been a great deal more than pilot and navi. He was not inexperienced in the art of love; he thought he knew genuine emotion when he witnessed it. Obviously, he had been naïve. His fingers ran over the piano keys as with a mind of their own they played a song that sounded like storm clouds gathering and the hurtling over the rough seas. It reached a fierce crescendo as he pounded the keys.

"I hate you," he shouted, standing and bring his fist down on the keyboard. "Fucking bitch!"

Getting to his feet, he tore Euris' letter from his pocket, stormed through the French doors, down the granite steps of the balcony, making his way to the nearest bonfire where he committed the missive to a fiery grave. "Fuck you," he whispered under his breath. "And anyway, you suck as a navi! You're careless. Everyone says so."

The deed complete he made his way through the revelers, who sang and danced around the bonfires. They chanted in an eerie harmony that seemed to cause the air to waver and vibrate. The effect was so startling he stopped to absorb it, and, as he did so, some of the dancers grabbed his arms and pulled him into the leaping, spinning athletic display before the flames. He tried to pull away, but the celebrants would not let go. They were intoxicated on a secret mixture of herbs and wine made only for Lord Dionysus' feast day, but on this day, for reasons unexplained, it had had little effect on Alex. In spite of this, Alex forced himself to dance; they all knew he was the Yokujin heir. He had to participate; it was a duty.

As they danced, a man carrying an ancient krater decorated with mythological figures that seemed to dance in the fire light entered the circle followed by a woman holding a ladle-shaped kyathos. Alex recognized them; they were from one of the oldest families on Kuramasu Island, members of the ancient house Kerai. This clan prepared the kykeon, the sacred infusion drunk for this holy day. Only the Kerai clan knew the correct ingredients and proper portions of each. Should the house die out the secret of Lord Dionysus' kykeon would be lost. When the woman dipped the kyathos into the dark, gleaming liquid that filled the bowl of the krater, Alex turned to leave. But she stopped him.

"This time it will work," she whispered. "Take it for the sake of us all."

Alex could not refuse as Lady Hippolyte's heir and a direct descendent of Yokujin Tamon, the founder of these rites, he must participate, though he had failed to achieve the equanimity necessary to join in the ritual.

"Lord Dionysus, forgive me. Burdens weigh upon me; my heart is not prepared to receive your bounty," he whispered.

The chorus took up their song again and Alex listened as he danced. Though they sang a cappella the sound they produced was deep and complex. It moved him as he swayed in unison with other dancers. When the time came to leap the fire he had become so entranced by the weaving voices, that it seemed as if he were flying over the flames, a winged creature. Landing on the other side he somersaulted to his feet and leaped again without thought. He felt like a child; he simply participated joyfully without expectation.

He walked to the chorus of singers and joined in. The tradition was an old one; to begin with they sang old festival fare, but as the kykeon took hold inspiration was encouraged, indeed sought. All the singer had to do was take up the thyrsus and the others would listen and then repeat what had been sung in an endless series of variations. A young, dark-haired woman held the thyrsus now.

"Maddening Lord of Vine

to your singers be kind.

Without your sacred song

Our memories are lost."

Her voice was full and mellow, and as she sang the others took up the chant, harmonizing with her. Their modulated chorus continued until another woman took the thyrsus and sang:

"Thither. He comes.
I feel his hot breath.

Lush, dark hair wreathed

With an ivy crown.

Cloak of royal purple

Flows as he strides.

His body strong and supple

Shimmers."

The group took up the new song. The sound they made fascinated Alex, and he joined in the ever changing repetition until a new song revealed itself to him. He had to sing it; that inspiration must be shared was the only rule of the day, not doing so risked a curse. In what seemed like slow motion he walked to the woman and took the thyrsus from her.

"Roaming,

Wandering ceaselessly,

Streaming through deep forests

Surging over mountain meadows

Ivy winds, flowering vines entwine,

Swiftly they trail in his wake,

Flourishing, twisting, writhing.

Deep and fecund

Our Lord of Mysteries comes.

Now he is here."

When Alex pronounced these words the fire flared and sparks filled the dark air. The crowd hushed and faded as time slowed. A chill ran up Alex' spine; he had felt this presence before. What had he conjured? He became aware of a drumbeat. Was it his heart?

"You should do it," said a tantalizingly familiar voice.

Alex turned to find Lord Dionysus behind him; this time the god of wine came in the form of a beautiful blond young man; his long, braided hair fell over the gold collar of a purple cloak which hung diagonally over one shoulder and tied at the waist, otherwise he seemed to be completely naked except for the red marking tattooed on his face and body. The god stood beside the fire holding a long stick; the end of which just penetrated the fire. At first Alex thought it might be a thyrsus, the god's scepter, but on closer examination, Alex saw a fiery white blob at the tip.

Shaken by the god's greeting, Alex knelt. "Do what, Lord Dionysus?"

"You may stand before me. And you know of what I speak. To help things along, I shall give you my blessing since tonight you have composed an acceptable hymn. Too you have taken such great care of my dear acolyte Dionysia." The androgynous god pulled the stick from the fire and blew on the white blobby thing at the tip. It was on fire.

"Thank you, Lord of Ivy." Alex stood, but he felt dizzy. His voice sounded muffled and unfamiliar as if it came from another.

"Though before you do it you must be sure my followers can repeat the hymn. And you must write it down for posterity. But this does not mean that you are free of your debt."

"Yes, Lord Zagreus, the Korybantes ritual."

"Excellent, you know all my epithets." The god took the gooey blob from the tip of the rod, threw back his head and dropped it in his mouth.

"I try, Lord."

"Will there come a day when you turn against me?"

"Never, Good-Spirit."

"So few remember me now; I shall reward you." Lord Dionysus licked the sticky residue of the white substance from his lips and fingers. From his cape he took a white spongy cylinder, approximately three centimeters in diameter and three centimeters in height. He punched the end of the stick through the cylinder, and placed it in the fire. It left a residue of white powder on his long elegant fingers and he made an almost obscene show of cleaning them with his long pink tongue.

Alex remained silent.

"What is it, human?" asked the god with a radiant smile.

"Lord, I …"

"Flew into a terrible rage which you regret?"

"No! That is not what I was going to say." Alex turned boldly away from the god; he had assiduously been avoiding thinking about this particular event.

"Nevertheless …"

"I was provoked," replied Alex. He'd wanted to sound angry or deeply wounded, but, instead, his voice was weak and petulant like a whining child's.

"Never make excuses; if you are going to rage, own it."

"But …"

"It was not your finest moment. And you gave your enemies the ammunition they so desperately sought. I would admonish you to learn control, but I am hardly one to talk. In our own ways we are both deeply unstable."

"I was only trying to explain, but it all went wrong. I screwed up."

"As you may have noticed, I love screw ups," interrupted the god, taking the stick from the fire. He stared at the white blob, shook his head and returned it to the fire. "Do not fret over this trifle. Let it go. When all is fulfilled what truly is yours will come freely to you. This is a human's highest destiny. On the other hand you should not have lost control the way you did. It lacked flare."

"Flare would have made my actions acceptable, my lord?"

"Maybe. It depends on whether you have effectively conveyed a lesson that leaves an indelible memory."

"So losing control with flare is somewhat calculated?" asked Alex, with a touch of sarcasm.

"Not exactly, it is more like following a thread. Perhaps if you go along with your cousin's plan you will come to understand."

"My Lord, if I do, as you advise, I'll have no chance of recovering what I most desire."

"Clinging does not become you; however, I promised a boon so I shall say this in the way of a hint. Going will lead to return. Fear not; what you find will mend all that tears at your heart."

"Lord," answered Alex, purposely vague; this god asked too much of him.

Once again Lord Dionysus removed the stick from the fire. This time it appeared to be properly cooked for he took a piece of the burning substance and placed it in his mouth. Smiling he held a bit out for Alex, who felt he could not refuse the god's offer. The gooey substance was hot and sweet. It burned his tongue, but it was heavenly.

"What is that, Lord? Not ambrosia?"

"No, I cannot feed you ambrosia without the consensus of the rest of my family or your permission, but it is a component."

"Where does it come from?"

"Another place, another time," sighed the god.

"It is delightful, Lord."

"Do as I advise, Alexander. Teach the song to my worshippers. Speak to whomever you must. Say your blah, blah blahs. Then enter that place where you make music; your companions await you. When dawn arrives the sea awaits."

Alex said nothing. He considered what the god required of him. He sucked at goodbyes; however, Lord Dionysus stood before him pronouncing this very course. Could the Ivy Bearer be false?

"I cannot make you," the god continued. "But in the way of persuasion I promise I shall do my utmost to aid you on your journey."

"I made a promise to my great-grandmother."

"Yes, yes, the beloved founder of this feast. Go to her, most likely she will see it your way. But no matter, this is something you must do."

Alex looked the god over. He'd pushed another white blob on the end of the stick and placed it in the fire. Lord Dionysus was an elemental with a cruel streak, but he only purposely harmed those who either refused to acknowledge him or had betrayed him. At least that's what the old texts said. Unfortunately, he was not above using his followers to gain revenge.

Lord Dionysus regarded Alex; his gaze was penetrating and Alex felt exposed. "My only purpose is to aid the one who will write the Korybantes ritual in my honor. You have my word that I speak truth." The god offered Alex more of the sweet substance.

"Lord." With this Alex acquiesced, licking the gooey confection from the god's outstretched finger.

"You will not be sorry," whispered the god as with an impish grin he faded.

Freed from this waking dream, Alex found he had not moved. As before he stood surrounded by the impromptu chorus who had continued to chant the song he had just composed. Following the god's order, Alex turned to face the group, leading them in the song, correcting their errors until they finally knew the melody and lyrics without his interference. Their singing had drawn a crowd, and as Alex turned to leave he saw Euris with her Squad A friends among the bystanders. Staring at Alex, she leaned against Vincent Alzey, who held her in his arms. Alex could see the hostility in her face as she pointed at him and made some comment which caused the others to laugh. Smiling, Alzey bent to kiss her.

Last time this had happened Alex had grabbed Vincent by the collar and pummeled him. A serious fight had ensued and Vincent had the bumps and bruises to prove it. Alex remained unharmed as his opponent did not have the speed to keep up with him. In spite of his victory, Alex felt defeated by his conduct. He did not know what disciplinary action the academy under Commander Moody would take, but it was unlikely that it would be expulsion given his recent exploits. However, that did not matter, he'd made a pledge to control his behavior and he'd failed.

Though he tried to suppress his emotions, anger and jealousy arose within Alex as he watched his ex-almost fiancé and that moron Vincent Alzey share a passionate kiss. But the god's words came back to Alex. Indeed, he was clinging to Euris, and it was useless to do so. She did not want him; his only value to her was amusement. However, what she had given him, she could not take back. It was his, time to move on. When Euris and Vincent finally separated, they looked at Alex expectantly. He did not react to their provocation; he continued to sing. He was, however, surrounded by women and when one of them put her arms around his waist he did not refuse her as he had been doing. He let her kiss him while he glared at the frowning face of Euris Bassianus. Then he took the woman's hand and leapt the fire with her afterward sauntering off into the dark, thick oak grove. Everyone would assume he meant to make love to the woman; that was what was expected when a couple crossed the fire.

The god followed them; Alex could hear Lord Dionysus' laughter as he pondered how to remove himself from the situation without hurting his partner's feelings.

"You must not turn your back on this woman," murmured the god in Alex' ear. "It would be an affront to my rites."

As Lord Dionysus said these words the woman leaned against the thick trunk of an ancient oak tree and pulled Alex against her. She licked his sweaty skin, gaining his undivided attention. He recognized her; she looked very different in a flowing dress with flowers braided into her long, dark hair. She was an operative for his great grandmother, a few years older than him. Her work required that she maintain top physical condition, and, as he pressed against her, he could feel she had succeeded. Still she was sultry and exceedingly full figured in all the right places. He found her difficult to resist as he slid his leg between her thighs.

"After the frenzy, Alexander, you know what you must do," reminded the god.

"Yes, yes, Lord, but for now some privacy."

"What did you say?" asked the woman.

"You look lovely tonight, Chloe." Leaning down, he ran his tongue over her lips. She responded with an intense kiss.

"Thank you, Alexander-sama, for choosing me."

"Alexander-sama? Since when?"

"You are scion of the Kuramasu Yokujin. This is no longer an empty title, for you have accomplished much. Now show me why those girls from the academy follow you around like little puppy dogs."

"You exaggerate."

"Do not be modest. Your reputation precedes you."

"Does it? Then I guess I had better do my best to live up to it." He smiled as he said this, running his hand up her thigh.

"Mmmm, that is a good start," she whispered, her voice husky with expectation.