Dramoin leaned against a low wall that overlooked this part of the city, which reminded him of home: the many steep slopes and small plateaus around the northern part of the Gartem Mountains. The south was better known as it was home to the Temple of a Thousand Pillars, but the northern ocean shoreline was called the Steps. Little plateaus rising up from the ocean to the top of the mountains for the ancient giants who once used to visit from deep in the sea.

The rest of Trobonne below, however, did not look much like home; most houses were built from timber or stone from the mountain along a gradual slope, rather than into the mountains, and they looked like those in the foothills of the southern part of Gartem. From their ancestral village, his family had traveled south then across the Gnahi basin until they turned north again to here; the whole way the buildings all seemed separate from the land rather than a part of it.

He turned to look away from the city further up the mountain, where the trees had stopped growing. He wondered if the trial his fiancee was going through was similar to his own, the Wind Walk. He nearly lost his balance twice, the wind had chilled his bare skin, the roughness of rocks hurt his feet, he had taken the longest of the other kaisesh. His second slip was a place without protection below and where no one could see him, he pressed up to the wall trying to merge into the stone, tears making it difficult to see where he had to step to next. Here they did what they called the Cave Trial, surviving two nights up in the mountain peaks. He knew even in summer they would be cold and dangerous.

Dramoin yawned as he pushed off the wall and stretched, it was going to be a long day. He had to be prepared for the wedding, this rite was the same here as at home, which meant he would have to lay around all day while he was marked with henna. Then he would have to perform rituals with the priest to ensure his spirit was pure of any corruption. He remembered how much his brother had complained about getting ready for his wedding.

He came into the small tent that had been set up in the back corner of the courtyard, hidden away from where others were setting up a temporary platform and altar for the ceremony. Some cushions were placed on the floor and a kai acolyte threw a sheet across them. Another one was in the back of the tent with the priest, standing over a table with some jars and bowls.

“See, yes, the one you mixed did not have enough water in it, it is too thick, set it aside then add more later. It’s a good thing I brought extra.” The priest turned around, “ah, the groom, Dramoin was it?”

He nodded.

“Your father was here a moment ago, he left to go into Trobonne with the bride’s father.” He waved a hand down towards the sheeted cushions. “Take your things off and lay down there, we will begin with your backside, make sure to get into a comfortable position, you will have to lay there for most of the morning.”

“Will there be a break?” Dramoin asked, taking off his robe and handing it to one of the acolytes.

“No, no. Once it has set on your back, we will do the front. The kais will help you eat and drink if you need, but it’s better to fast, for your spirit, to be ready for the marriage rites.” He pointed at the other acolyte, “get the pillows ready. Yes, but fasting is practical as well, you will not be allowed to go relieve yourself.”

Dramoin had already taken off his breechcloth and laid down while the priest talked. The acolytes brought pillows for them to sit at then brought their bowls and sticks over. They started at different sides, stenciling the paste on with little jabs. It felt cool and the fragrance reminded him of a sage from home. The process reminded him a bit of when he received his aseshand tattoo, but thankfully not as painful. 

“No, no,” the priest stood up from his stool and came and knelt next to him. Dramoin felt a cold cloth against his back, then fingers poke into him. “It has to go from here, down to here, but pass through all three of these meridians. He is getting married, not going to meet his ancestors. By the Tribune, you need to study better.”

He felt a dry cloth rub against him then the stenciling resume. A few times the priest would get up and comment on the progress. Once they were done, they stood up and took their things away. The priest knelt beside him and prayed, at the end he laid his hand on Dramoin’s back and he felt a warm wave run through him.

“Well, the kais will let me know when it has set, I will go see that the family is preparing the rest correctly.” He stood up. “Don’t let him move, get him whatever he needs.”

He left the tent and the one acolyte closed the curtain behind him. He came and laid down in front of Dramoin so they could see each other’s faces.

“Praise the Tribune,” he said, smiling. “Are you happy to be married?”

“Their blessing upon you. I am not married yet.”

“But you will be, I saw your bride before she left to go do her trial, she is pretty. I would be happy to be married.”

“You’re an acolyte, are you going to give that up then?”

He thought, looking away, then said, “no, I think it would be nice to be married that’s all. You get to go home to a pretty woman, she cooks for you and cleans up for you.”

“That’s not why men get married.”

The kai sighed, rolling over on his back, and said, “I know, the priest always says, ‘yes, yes, marriage is sacred, a bond between man and woman, to continue the lineage of their kin, being filial to their parents and their ancestors. Joined by Devedas, blessed by Zacsoth, seen by Eredaugus.’ Praise the Tribune.”

“Praise the Tribune.” Dramoin echoed, smirking at the kai’s impression of the priest.

He turned back to face him and said, “it would be nice to not have to cook and do chores.”

“I will still cook and do chores, being married does not free you of this work.”

He sighed again.

“I need your help,” the other acolyte said.

The kai looked up at him then back to Dramoin and said, “call if you need anything.”

He got up and walked to the back of the tent. Dramoin sighed and closed his eyes. He should have brought a book, but he probably would not have been allowed to read it.

“This is why he always gets mad at you,” he heard the one say, then they began bickering. 

It did not seem like he would be able to nap either. Dramoin thought about what the acolyte had said, that his fiancee was pretty. Would he think the same? He thought most girls seemed pretty, though never in the ways his brothers and cousins talked about. Mostly he wondered what she would be like, so far he had met her father and mother, but it was hard to tell how they were. Everyone borrows a mask from Dezelder when they first meet someone new, it takes a long time to get a peak underneath.

—

The light drew across the front of the tent to over top as the morning progressed. He must have fallen asleep for a little bit as he felt someone rubbing a spot on his back.

“This is good, yes,” it was the priest speaking, “dust it all off then we’ll do the other side.”

The acolytes brushed the paste off and he was able to stand up and stretch for a moment while they shook and flipped the sheet. He took the moment to peek at the back of his legs to inspect the patterns of the stain.

“Alright, alright, you’ll have time to look later, lay down.” The priest ushered him before sitting down on his stool again to watch.

Dramoin laid down again, facing up, the acolytes grabbed their bowls and sticks again and started on opposite sides again. This time the priest was watching closer and giving guidance so they would not make any mistakes. It felt a little weird when they were doing his face and some other parts. He tried one time to look down at them working but the priest quickly put a hand on his head to stop him.

After they finished the front, the priest again knelt next to him and prayed, he felt the Grace run through him. This time after he left, both came over and knelt next to him. He could see they had smeared some of the henna on their faces.

“Thank you,” Dramoin said. “Is this the first time you’ve prepared for a wedding?”

The same one shook his head, “no, but the first time he let us try to do things on our own.”

“Just so he could point out everything we need to study more.” The other one said. “Why are here from Gartem? It seems a long way to find a wife.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Said the one who had laid next to him earlier.

“I’m not saying anything, I’m just curious.”

“It’s fine,” Dramoin said, to keep them from bickering further, “our fathers arranged the marriage to bring our clans together.”

“It just seems odd, to travel such a distance.”

“Are you hungry?” The first one asked.

“No.” He said. 

Dramoin did feel like he could eat, but also knew there would be a large meal tonight. He didn’t want to seem disrespectful by not eating enough. The acolytes got up and started to tidy up. Dramoin closed his eyes and thought about home.

The next time the priest came back, the acolytes helped brush off the paste and get him dressed. He walked out into the courtyard, where they had made much progress. It felt great to be able to walk around again, he wanted to explore around more, but he saw two older asesh, one of which waved, coming over to him. He waved back.

“Praise the Tribune,” they both said, as they got closer.

“Their blessing upon you.”

“And upon you,” the one said, looking up and down at him, “from head to toe.”

“Yes, it was a long day.”

“Long enough I hope, for you to consider the vows you’ll be taking tomorrow.” The other said.

“You seem to know me, may I ask who you are?” Dramoin asked, feeling odd from these two.

“I am Gaumin Pio,” the first said, raising his hand up. 

Dramoin followed, “pleased to meet you.”

“And I, Hochir Dramoin, am Tser Armid,” the second said, raising his hands up, “soon to be your brother bound by Devedas.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Dramoin said, “I have only met your father so far.”

“Well, you’ll meet everyone tonight, except my sister,” he said, taking a step around him, “see you at dinner.”

The other waved and passed by him as well. Dramoin only waved back, trying to smile. They did not seem like him. He sighed to himself, he would only be here for another two days, he could make it through. He whispered a prayer to Dezelder to help keep up the mask until then.

His father told him this was important. Hochir had just become recognized as a lesser house by House Paesja and the Tser were a minor house here in Tulate, it would help solidify their position and prevent any descendants from taking Hochir back down to a petty clan. He wandered back to the side room they had given him and picked up a book he had been reading until someone came to get him for dinner. He changed into some nicer looking robes with a ring and necklace that his father had given him to wear.

Dramoin was led to the dining hall, small tables and pillows had been set up around the central hearth. His father had seemed to be already drunk as did the Tser patriarch, Vissrach; they sat together, chatting and laughing to themselves, his wife sat alone. Dramoin was sat across from Armid, who was at least smiling now, a drink in his hand. Dramoin looked around to the other tables, more faces he did not recognize.

Food was brought promptly for which Dramoin was grateful, he was famished. Everyone had waited until Vissrach stopped talking to his father and stood up, resting an arm on his father and waving his hand to everyone. The other’s began eating, but Dramoin waited until he had sat down again and taken a bit of food. His father looked over at him and nodded. A few mouthfuls later, a tarwan man he did not recognize rose. He held up his cup to the head table.

“Tser, blessings of the Tribune on you and our clan,” he began, a low echo of the room praising of the Tribune, “Hochir are not well known to us here in Trobonne, many of us are unsure of this marriage, what could they offer us from the Gartem Mountains that are not here already in the Tulate Mountains?”

Several people looked at this man with expressions of shock, others looked to Vissrach Tser with looks of concern, so Dramoin thought. Vissrach had stopped eating and looked at this man, staying silent while there was a small murmur building.

“Let the extensions of the clan be assured,” he said, slowly standing up and then approaching the man before he continued, “did I not marry my eldest daughter to another prestigious clan so we could access the rare gems from deep mines of the north?”

“Yes, indeed, a bountiful decision.” He said, taking a step back as Vissrach approached. Who came toward and grabbed at the necklace he was wearing.

“It seems you even reaped from this bounty,” he pulled on it to bring the other’s face closer, “do you not think that I, head of the clan, would lead us any other way?”

“No.” He said, trying to move away.

“Ah then,” he released the necklace, “let not your ignorance of the other regions serve as a means of judgement.”

Vissrach looked over at Dramoin and smiled slightly. 

“Hochir Dramoin, soon to be my son bound by Devedas, to head your own household. How would a Gartem patriarch deal with a doubtful challenge by a clan member?”

“I did not mean to chall-”

“Silence. Let my new son pass judgement on you.”

Everyone was looking at Dramoin, he wanted to look to his father, but he knew he couldn’t take his eyes off of the patriarch. He could see on the other side Armid smirking. Dramoin knew the answer, it was the same everywhere: a challenge to the patriarch so out in the open with the extended family gathered meant punishment if the head family did not get usurped. Witness help him remember what he read about the region. 

He stood up, though he would have preferred to remain behind the table. A memory of a small shrine in the main house made him think of something.

“Tser Vissrach, my second father to-be, I think the wisdom to yield to should be the same of all who are pious. Eunomas says the best punishment is for one that will benefit all parties involved.”

Vissrach nodded for him to continue, the clan member looked at him.

“Since it was his arrogance of Gartem that gave rise to this misunderstanding, he should accompany us on the journey back to our home, so he can serve as a correspondent to the rest of the clan what he learns.”

Vissrach leaned in to the clansman and wispered to him. He then stood back and laughed.

 “A wise decision for an aseshand! I am most grateful my daughter will have a fair husband.”

He returned to where he was sitting before. The clansman raised his hands and bowed slightly to Dramoin before skulking back to his seat. 

Dramoin’s looked quickly to his father but couldn’t read his expression as Vissrach passed in front. After he sat, some entertainers were called for who danced and recited stories. About halfway through the dinner, Vissrach’s wife excused herself. After that, the toasts started and Dramoin would not be able to recall the rest of the night.

—

“Good morning, son.”

His father sat down next to him and patted him on the head.

“I’m surprised you made it as long as you did.”

“What do you mean?” Dramoin said, but even his own ears didn’t quite understand him.

“After nearly everyone left, Armid and you kept toasting each other. Vissrach and I had a good show.”

“Did I win?”

“No,” he laughed loudly, Dramoin’s head felt like it was splitting. “Worry not, though, the Vissrach was impressed that you dealt with the situation as you did. But you know it was the wrong answer.”

“It would not have been auspicious just before my wedding to condemn an extended member of my family-to-be to death.”

“He put you in a bind. Personally I would have suggested stripping his branch from the main clan.” He leaned in close to Dramoin and spoke low, “do you know what you should do if it happened to you?”

“Have him killed.”

“Not just that, you have to make a show of it, flogged in front of others you suspect may be sympathetic or part of a conspiracy and then have him strung up.”

“Father, I’m your fourth son, I’m going to create a branch, not head the main line.”

“You can’t think that way, your leniency in decisions like this may get you killed one day.”

“Can we talk about something else, I have to prepare for the purification soon and the ceremony tomorrow, I don’t want these thoughts on my mind.”

“You’re right, we’ll have plenty of time to discuss this on the way back. I’ll fetch you some breakfast and the priest.”

He groaned. “I don’t think I can eat.”

His father laughed again as he left. The day progressed pretty much as his brothers had discussed with him. The priest was pleased that he skipped breakfast. His acolytes were much more focused today and didn’t bicker. By the end of the day, he was clean and pure enough to serve the high priests communing with the Tribune. He fell asleep as soon as he was alone.

—

In the morning, his father helped him get ready, he was already dressed in his finest and had the clan’s sash on. They put Dramoin’s hair into a high knot, held with the same clasp his other brothers had used at their weddings. The robe was all red, but his father had it made with their yellow in the pleats so it would show when he walked. His father seemed quite pleased.

The acolytes came to get him, one taking his father away and the other took him to wear he needed to wait. When it was the right time, the acolyte nudged him out into the courtyard. It was full of faces from the dinner and those who accompanied them on the journey here. His father and father to-be were up at the alter with the priest and her.

She looked the same height as him, her dark hair was held with a beautiful pin and her short sleeveless robe showed off the henna markings. She turned and looked at him, her brown eyes seemed to glitter in the light. He felt himself smile as he walked forward.