Foundation's Mistress

2. The Rite

I desire them to know what is good, what is right, what is beneficial. Which is to say I can tell them nothing of the past.

- Excerpt: The First Annals of The Mother, Book One. Date Unknown.

Adya shivered against the chill. She had chosen to wear her favourite formal chiton, the one that had been designed to make her look like the purest, whitest flower of the wastelands. The fabric was thin, however, and offered little insulation. The stone deck of the barge was of no comfort under the soles of her bare feet. She stood with her back to the prow, looking across the deck as it hovered on its thick blanket of air, drifting across the vacant landscape.

Jehu, her youngest consort, had seen her shiver. Raising his eyebrows in concern, he broke ranks with the other men, and strode forward, lifting up her fur cloak.

She refused him, subtly shaking her head.

The Last Subcreator could not show weakness. Not at this time, just moments before the Rite, and in the presence of the granted estate and the many guests of that household - all of them women, and all of them dignitaries and representatives of other estates.

The lad was considerate by nature and could not be expected to understand.

Her consorts had less clothing on than she did, all of them wearing tight leather breeches and stripped to the waist, well-muscled and delectable. Jehu, bless him, was still struggling to realise that she had, in fact, refused the cloak. He remained in front of her, continuing to offer it. Adya politely ignored him. She had shaken her head, and that was enough. She had a Rite to prepare for. Household issues would have to wait.

It was a splendid occasion. Around them women in all manner of resplendent finery gathered and chatted, keeping a respectful distance from Adya and her servants. The granted estate had catered well, offering the finest selection of foods and drinks. Waiters milled amongst the honoured guests, ensuring that they wanted for nothing. At the far end of the barge some musicians were performing the songs of old Arcadia.

Vashti, the foremost of her acolytes, approached Jehu from behind his left shoulder, giving him a gentle pat on the behind. She whispered quietly to the young man, who listened intently, then nodded with the realisation of a renewed understanding. He respectfully bowed to Adya, then strode back to the centre of the deck, taking the cloak with him. Conrad watched the exchange between Jehu and Vashti with a quiet smile.

Adya fiddled with her Focal, testing the strength of its attachment to her hand. As she had noticed the last twelve times that she had checked it, the ring remained well-settled on her middle finger, the bracelet tightly attached to her wrist, and the interlocking fretwork rested secure.

The Fissure loomed overhead in the sky. It shed a darkness over her thoughts. They had been travelling on the barge for some hours, and Adya had failed to discipline her mind as she should have. Of late, the tear in the sky had featured amongst her chief fears.

I must not allow it to pull at me so, she thought.

She was shaken from her reverie as a beautiful, impeccably-dressed woman strode down the length of the barge, her young heir in tow. She was shorter in stature than most of the women around her, but had an air of command, a woman who was in the habit of being obeyed. 'Eminence,' she exclaimed, 'it appears we are at the centre.'

The woman's breasts were disproportionate to her small figure. Adya considered that they not significantly different in shape from the large air-ballast tanks at either side of the barge.

'Ah, Lady Jocasta,' Adya acknowledged. 'Indeed. We have finally arrived.' Jocasta's estate had been bestowed with the grant of unformed land that was to receive the rite. The grant consisted of an area as far as the eye could see in each direction, a perfect hexagon of the cold, oblate wasteland below them.