Little bit of history – part 5

“Let’s talk, Calina.”

She moved with ease and grace.  She spoke wisdom.  Dressed in a simple sari, it belied her influence – not only on her students but among the Core worlds and beyond.  High Priestess Kimaya was as divine as her name (which means “divine” in Sanskrit).  Her red hair was braided and pinned back.  Flowers tucked in.

“About what?” I could not bear to look at her in the state I was in.

“You are not happy here.  It is clear – to even the most uneducated person.  You have tried to mask your pain but as time passes, it is more and more obvious.  The cracks are starting to grow and the weight is growing heavy.”

I did not respond.  My shoulders drooped a little more as she spoke.  Apparently I was not as graceful as I thought.  Who was I kidding?

“Your father and I spoke prior to your arrival.  This was not a life you intended to live.  Neither of the choices presented to you were something you ever dreamed of for your life.  They were the consequence of your actions.  First, I want you to understand something about your father…”

“No.  I don’t want to understand anything about them!” I yelled at her.  I kept yelling, all of pent up frustration and feelings erupted in a flood of expletives, curses, and questions.

Kimaya raised her hand, not in violence or anger but to signal ‘stop.’

That was all that it took.  My rambling angry words stopped and I sat back down.

“This was not easy for him… for your parents.  Sending a child off to be a Companion is never easy for the family, particularly one as devout to old Christian traditions as yours.  That you would be offering different and intimate services to a variety of people upset them.  However, they also knew that you would have the kind of life that you were accustomed to — with people, parties, and in time perhaps find a love to settle down with.  That is  somewhat rare for a Companion but it does happen…”  She paused and re-crossed her legs.  The silence pounded in my ears.  “Your father has never contracted with a Companion.”

“Never?”

“No.  He has only been with your mother.  I find that an admirable… if quaint… quality.  He is loyal and loving.  Your mother has met with a Companion.”

I could not breathe.  I slumped over and my chin hit my knees.  My mother… with a Companion?!

“Do not be so hysterical,” she muttered.  “Not every contract that a Companion accepts is one for a sexual relationship.  Think about the position that your mother is in.  Your world is very insulated.  There is a tremendous amount of pressure, particularly for her.  She keeps your father’s secrets.  She loves and supports him.  While he does the same for her, there are times when she needed more.  She needed someone to speak without pretense, expectations, or judgment.  Someone who would accept her- fears, doubts – and encourage her in her gifts and abilities.  Not a therapist or psychologist because she knew she did not need that kind of clinical help.”

“How do you know this?  I thought Companions did not share their client relationships.”  I was so confused and hurt.  None of this made sense.  At all.

“Your mother called me.  She was my client.  She is the reason that you were allowed to come here and that you are not in a convent on Greenleaf right now.  Anya called and asked if we would accept you as an acolyte.  Out of love for your mother, I agreed.  She knew that you would shrivel to a shell if locked away.  She knew that here there would be a chance for a life, for happiness.  I spoke to your father, assuring him that you would be well cared for, continuing in your education.  I am not privy as to how your mother convinced him to give you the options, but she did.  I am telling you this now because she knows that I am.  You need to understand some history and that the world is not against you.”

“What?”

“The world is not against you.  The other acolytes do not hate you.  Yes, you came here under some very special circumstances and some of the girls were jealous.  There is more love and support here than you realize.  We will start with you spending more time with your jie jie and not alone in the dance studio.  Your jie jie is one of my senior students.  She is from Osiris.  Her father also worked with Courts so you may already know each other or have more in common than you think.  I believe it will be a good match.  You need someone that you can lean on.  We all do.  That is one of the principle roles of being a Companion.”

The High Priestess sat on the ground next to me.  She held my face in her hands, brushing away tears.

“You are entering a wonderful sisterhood,” Kimaya whispered before kissing my forehead.  “I believe you will find happiness here if you give yourself a  chance.  Be open to the possibilities.”

A little bit of history – Part 4

The first weeks and months were very difficult on me.  The acolytes lived a life I never expected.  Morning and evening prayers were led by the High Priestess.  I did not grow  up Buddhist.  I did not think this would involve a change of religion, too.  My family was one of the few remaining Russian Orthodox adherents.  Not surprising.  The ornate cathedrals and regalia of the priests fit our little corner of Londinium.

After prayers, we went to our academic classes – mathematics, philosophy, history, sciences.  Physical education, which included self-defense, was in the afternoon.  Only those near the end of their training began studying the intimate arts.

Music and dance classes developed mental and physical discipline.

I was already an accomplished dancer so these classes came very easy for me, even if it was a different style.  So long as a dancer is willing to set aside her previously learned techniques, it is easy to adapt to a new movement pattern.  The dance studio was my one refuge.

The other girls resented me.  While they were mostly polite and never said anything to me directly, I felt the stares, the occasional whisper.  They were put through a rigorous exam and application process when they were much younger to enter Madrassa.  My father sent a few waves and here I was.

It hurt when my birthday came and went with no one to celebrate it.  My parents did not send a wave.  I mentioned it to the other girls in the dorm.  No one responded with even a greeting.

I should have been at home.  There would have been cakes, guests, friends, presents, singing and dancing.  My mother would have made sure that my favorite singers were there to perform.  Instead, I wandered from from class to class, hurt and lonely.

So I hid.

Others spent the out of class time in the gardens or library.  Older students would venture to the nearby towns for shopping.  I spent it in the dance studios.  It was the one place in the entire school where I felt like I was myself.  I could vent my frustration and anger through my dancing.  I would abandon all of the technique and fling myself wildly across the room.  Sometimes, I would collapse in a heap, crying.

“Little one, pick yourself up off the ground,” the soft voice came from the doorway.  Without looking, I knew it was the High Priestess.  I pushed up to my knees, wiping the sweat and tears from my face.  My hair was a mess.  I was exhausted – physically and emotionally.  The recent months had worn on me.

“Let’s talk, Calina.”