Guin2

On my sixteenth birthday Mother summoned me to the Summit.
An awesome place, the Summit.  From there all the lands of the world are visible, laid out beneath you like a map on the floor unless Mother has wrapped the mountaintop in cloud for privacy as she had that day.
She was sitting on one of the stone benches that surround the tiny peak with the thick cloud swirling around her, looking every inch the Goddess she is.  She was dressed simply for it was a private meeting between us, yet the likeness of  the Founder hung at her neck, indicating that this was family business.  She smiled, the ruby of her lips the only bright colour in the scene.
“Welcome.  Are you well?”
“I am well,” I acknowledged, wondering.  My mother had not had much to do with me since bearing me all those years before but I knew my sixteenth birthday was important for some reason, and I guessed that reason was about to be disclosed.
“That is good,” she said.  “For today you must get me with child.”
“Ah,” I said.
I knew about getting women with child.  For two years Inga my nurse had been stroking my prick two or three times a day until the white seed squirted – training the oak, she called it – and Geria her pretty daughter had lain naked on the table with her legs spread wide so that Inga could show me the pink, slippery passage in a woman into which the prick and the white seed went.  When I had wanted to put my prick and seed into Geria, though, Inga had said with great seriousness that my seed was meant for somewhere else.  Now, it seemed, I knew where.
“It is the Word and Will of the Founder,”  Mother said,  “Only to be imparted on the sixteenth birthday of  each of his descendants dwelling beneath the Summit.  Today, or as soon after today as we can manage,” she added with another smile,  “You will get me with child and I will bear you a sister.  In sixteen years time you will get your sister with child and she will bear a son.  In sixteen years after that her son will get her with child and she will bear him a sister and so the wheel will turn through the ages carrying the Blood of the Founder and keeping it pure.”
“Oh,”  I said.
Getting my mother with child was not going to be difficult, I speculated – on my part at least.  Just looking at her sitting regally on the stone bench had made my prick swell into Inga’s oak.  She was only thirty-two, of course, because sixteen years before her father/brother had made her pregnant with me, I now realised.  
She had the blue-tinged skin of the Royal blue-blood, as did I and which was so unlike the creamy pink skin of Inga and Geria.  She also had the long, white flowing hair which contrasted with the black, rather coarse locks of Geria although Inga’s had started to pale, although with age rather than Royal blood.
Mother, though, had breasts just like Inga’s,  small, round protuberances on her chest with little nipples poking up under the thin earth-brown silk of her dress and each nipple seemed to be linked by a gold thread to that secret place between her legs where I was to place my prick and my seed.  Significantly a third golden thread ran up her dress from her passage and between her breasts towards her throat as though linking both with the Founder whose sigilatus hung at her neck and whose blood still ran pure in our veins.
I lifted my tunic so that mother could see how ready I was.  Her gaze rested on my oak and she nodded again, clearly pleased.
“I, and your sister in due course, are the only women you must ever know,” she said, “For the Founder’s blood must not be mixed with that of any mere mortal.  Yet once I have born your sister you may, if you wish, know me merely for the pleasure of it for I will bear no more children.  And once your sister has born your son you and I will walk the Path of Elysium together, for the Blood of the Founder will be secured here in the World.”
So that was what had happened to her, and my, father and her mother, my grandmother.  I had sometimes idly wondered, but Inga had clearly not wanted to talk about it so I had not insisted.  In time the fate of the Blood in the world would rest entirely with my sister/daughter and her father/brother, which seemed somewhat precarious, and presumably that was why we lived all our lives here in this mountaintop palace and saw nothing of the world we ruled over except as a map spread out at our feet.  For a moment I wondered if the wheel of  son begetting sister on mother to become wife and mother to her son could roll on through time for ever,  but then I saw my mother reach behind her to unfasten the clasps of her dress and the clouds around the mountaintop gathered even more thickly about us.
“It has been a long time since my brother and our mother walked the Path of Elysium,” she said with a chuckle,  “And as a woman I have longed for my son’s sixteenth birthday.”
She stood and the heavy gold decoration around the top of her dress slid down her body, pulling the silk with it to gather discarded around her feet and leave her naked apart from the sigil of the Founder around her neck.  My oak throbbed eagerly at the sight.
“Let the Wheel turn,” my mother cried, and opened her arms to me.

© Rex Antioch
Written for ASSTR’s 2003 anniversary celebration and, personally, to celebrate the awesome talent of Jonathon Earl Bowser. One of the objectives of the celebration is to acknowledge those who make a donation to ASSTR. ASSTR relies on your donations to keep doing its great work. Please make a donation if you can. You can find details on how to donate at http://www.asstr.org/donations.html . 
“Guin2” can be found at  http://www.jonathonart.com/drawing1.html