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The year’s Tifari offering was a boy of Ray’s age. Perhaps it was for that reason, or perhaps because Ray had shown a meticulous dedication to his job, that he was then appointed to be the Offering’s attendant.
The task was simple enough. Ray was to cater to the Offering’s needs until his departure time on tomorrow’s ceremony. Bathing him, preparing his dinner (spoonfed him, if he was asked to), keeping watch as he slept, dressing him up in the morning with the intricate Offering attire. And then after everything was finished, Ray only needed to go to the staff manager to claim his plentiful bonus, a week-long day off included. No wonder it was such a desired opportunity among the palace’s attendant staffs.
Ray however was eager for the task for a whole different reason. Not a lot people knew how much he took pride on his work. Though this was his first time with an Offering, he had been tending to the palace’s most honored guests and no one ever talked about his service except with flattering praises. It brought him satisfaction—not the praise itself, but the knowledge that he was capable of doing things perfectly. The task with the Offering leveled up the challenge, but Ray was determined to finish it just as flawless.
After the opening ceremony, where the Offering was paraded around the town on a cocoon-shaped golden chariot all day long, Ray went to his chamber in a separated Offering estate. The Offering might be a bit grouchy at this time, Ray remembered his mother’s advice, a senior attendant who’ve been dealing with Offerings since her teenage years, he is exhausted and have a big day ahead of him. Be patient no matter what, and be gentle always—
—for you are the last human he meets before he embarks on his journey to God’s Great Hall.
Ray cleared his throat. “Good evening, Honored One,” he bowed, right hand on his chest in a respectful manner. “I am Ray, your attendant for the evening. It is my pleasure to serve you.”
The Offering rose from his lounging chair and Ray was captivated by his grace. It was known that the Offerings were the best human of all aspects, but seeing them up close gave Ray some kind of a drunken sensation, like a violent jolt in the stomach when one accidentally found a diamond ring in a deserted street. The flow of his white garments. The pale moon of his skin. The crooks above his collarbones, the peach-pink blush of his elbows.
So this is how it feels to gaze at God’s chosen one, Ray thought, as the Offering smiled and shook his hand. The Offering’s hand was cool, his slender fingers enveloped Ray’s like dove’s wings.
“Good evening, Ray,” he greeted, his tone well-bred with a slight northern lilt. Grace Field, Ray recognized the accent. “Thank you for coming, I will be in your care now.”
He did not offer his name.
An Offering didn’t have a name.
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God was lonely in His Great Hall of eternal night and day, so He invited Julius the king of man to accompany Him.
“O my Lord, my most dreadful, merciful Lord; how shall my people continue to live should I abandoned them so?”
“Do not fear, for I shall give them a ruler, powerful and just. Their blood is made of my blood, their flesh is made of your flesh. For your benevolence I shall grant your people peace, to which their descendants too shall be blessed upon, should their children answer to my invitation.”
And so Julius lives at the feet of God’s throne; basking in bliss together with the flocks of the chosen ones, their ankles jingling with merry bells, their laughter echoed in the once empty Hall for all eternity.
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“The bath is ready, Honored One.”
Ray led the Offering to the bath chamber at the other end of the corridor. The bracelet on the Offering’s ankle jingled as he walked, producing an easy rhythm not unlike a children song.
“It sounds nice,” Ray complimented, glancing at the Offering’s thin ankle. “Do they teach it at the House of Cultivation?”
“What, this?” The Offering tapped his foot in quick, springy manner, the little bells jingling along with his laughter. “No, it’s just a tune I came up with. Do you like it?”
Ray smiled. He remembered faintly his mother’s fingers, picking mandolin during her free time. “Yes. It reminds me of childhood.”
The Offering laughed again and Ray decided he really liked it too. “Oh, good. Glad to know my effort doesn’t go to waste.”
“Pardon?”
“I thought it up so I can make an impression on you. So you’ll remember this day,” the Offering peered at him from under white eyelashes, thick and soft upon the crystalline blue. He walked up to Ray, leaned in so close that Ray could see the translucence of his soft-shell ear. “So you’ll remember me.”
Ray’s breath hitched. He took a step back, ordering his face with all might not to blush. “O—of course, Honored One,” he stuttered, “I will never forget.”
“I am glad,” the Offering smiled a sweet, lovely smile, but Ray didn’t fail to catch the mischievous glint in his eyes.
Ah.
So he wasn’t as innocent as he brought himself up to be, after all.
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The bath chamber was a vast marble room with an oval pool in the middle. The Offering eased into its warm water like a nymph coming back to its realm, while Ray busied himself with soaps and fragrance oils.
“Ray,” the Offering called out, lying his head on his arms at the edge of the pool. “Please join me.”
“I—can’t, Honored One,” Ray averted his gaze, wishing the frantic beat of his heart would just slow down already. “I’m not allowed.”
“Oh? Is there anyone supervising us?” The Offering made a show of glancing around the room as if expecting the empty eyes of the water bearing statues to spy on him. “I thought the Offering’s evening is a private affair.”
Ray flushed at the connotation. It was true—since the Offering was God’s honored guest, only a handful of people was allowed to see him. The royals, his attendant, and the guard who escorted him in and out of the estate. Even the coachman who drove his chariot did not see his face.
“Well, I don’t think there is,” Ray shrugged helplessly, twisting the fragrance-soaked towel in his hand. The Offering smiled.
“Then I see no trouble. Come, the water feels great.”
There was no room divider so Ray had to undress in front of the Offering. It's only fair. You undressed him too, was Ray's self conviction to crush the bothersome embarrassment creeping up to his face. The Offering, on the other hand, didn't look fazed, he waited patiently as if he was used to this kind of affair.
True to the Offering's word, the water felt great--as expected from the estate's standard. As soon as Ray sank into the rich warm liquid his taut muscle immediately relaxed. He couldn’t help letting out a small groan of satisfaction, which seemed highly entertaining for the Offering. He chuckled and splattered water to Ray’s face.
“Hey!”
“See if you can catch me!” The Offering exclaimed before diving under.
Is an Offering supposed to be this childish? Ray wondered, rolling his eyes. But maybe God did look for a lively soul, to magnify the echoes of happiness in His vast unending Hall. Ray took a deep breath and dived.
The Offering was lying bare on the bottom of the pool, at the center of the celestial pisces-patterned floor made of smooth gleaming stones. The russet light of dusk penetrated the water, drenching red fire to his unblemished skin. Time slowed as Ray watched this strange otherworldly creature, his long limbs subdued and silver hair turned molten gold; as if he was Eurydice lying at the pit of Hell waiting to be saved.
Come, the Offering mouthed, arms reaching out. Take me. The bubbles traveled up from his mouth to Ray’s face, dispersing into myriads of nothingness. Ray blinked, swimming sluggishly closer, eyes never leaving the Offering's face as if enchanted. Looming on top of his charge, Ray let the Offering caressed his cheeks and played with his floating hair, his gurgling laughter echoed in this world made for the two of them.
But then the Offering coughed, his lungs ran out of air. The spell broke. Ray gathered him into his embrace and rocketed up to the surface like a frantic bird.
The water breached along with Ray's scolding. “That was dangerous! You should have warned me when you're running out of air!”
The Offering laughed, out of breath and coughed; yet looking as gleeful as ever. “But that was fun!”
Ray scoffed and swam to the edge, the Offering still clung tightly onto him.
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“Ray, tell me about yourself.”
Ray, rubbing the Offering’s arm with a soapy cloth, glanced up. “Myself, Honored One?”
“Yes. Tell me anything about you. Your childhood, your family. How long have you been here?”
“Ah, nothing special about me,” Ray answered sheepishly, pouring water to cleanse the soaped arm and moved to the other one. “I was born and raised in the palace complex. My mother is a senior attendant here, so was my grandmother and grandmother’s mother. I think our family would be attendant for generations to come.”
“Hmm,” the Offering tilted his head in such manner that reminded Ray of a contemplative wise owl. “But it’s good, isn’t it? Being able to spend your whole life together with your family.”
“I guess so,” Ray smiled thinly, massaging back and forth the Offering’s shoulder and his upper arm. “How about you? If you don’t mind me asking.”
He had always been curious of the House of Cultivation. There was only so much he could learn from the books and oral stories, for the houses were supposed to be sacred, secluded temples where Offering candidates were prepared. He knew they lived a prosper life in those houses, better than most people. Only the best for God's favorites. But there were also rumors, terribly ugly ones, which the parents usually used to taunt their naughty children with.
“Well, I lived in a House of Cultivation, so my siblings always changes,” the Offering started, looking up to the chamber’s high ceiling windows as if recalling a past long gone. “There’re eighteen of us, and when the eldest is sent out to the Offering Selection, a new infant will fill in their place. But we all still love each other dearly. Do you know that we give each other names?”
Ray’s massages faltered. “I don't.”
“Now you do. It’s like a welcoming present for our new sibling. When a new baby came, we spent days arguing and discussing and taking votes on which name suited best for them,” the Offering chuckled, “Oh dear. Those were some eventful times.”
“I can imagine,” Ray doused the Offering another batch of warm water then went to fetch the fluffy towels on the rack. When he came back the Offering already stood at the edge of the pool, arms raised in expectation. Ray tried not to blush again as he proceeded to towel him—it was just so hard to see him bare like this.
“Ray?”
“Yes, Honored One?” He focused on dabbing the water off, careful not to hurt the polished skin.
“Do you want to know my name?”
Am I even allowed to hear it? Are you even allowed have it? You’re supposed to be an Offering. A pure human, freed from the banality of human life such as identity and personal mark—
“If you allowed me to, Honored One.”
“My name is Norman,” he spilled it out to the air jubilantly, had been aching for this moment for long, had been leading Ray up to this path where he couldn’t turn back. Ray knew what was his next request would be, mouthing it as Norman said it out loud,
“Would you please call me that for the rest of the evening?”
Offerings don’t have names.
“Of course. Norman.”
Norman beamed and Ray thought, ah, rules be damned.
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…. At the edge of the golden pond grows the white Vidar plant, the gateway (to God’s realm). As it blooms red their soul be welcomed into the Hall, and the body shall know no pain.
Be at peace; for they, surely, do not suffer.
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When Ray arrived with the dinner tray, Norman was standing in the balcony overlooking the palace’s courtyard where the night festival was held. His silver white profile by the moonlight, the sheer curtain waving lazily as if breathing for him, cast a stark contrast against the honest yellow merriment of the people below.
A foreign, suffocating feeling filled Ray all at once, making it hard to breathe.
“Norman, dinner’s here.”
“Alright.” Norman cast him the same soft smile he had all evening, but now Ray saw how it didn’t reach his eyes.
The dinner was bland. They talked about small things of irrelevance but there was an impenetrable barrier between them. Who erected it Ray didn’t know. Maybe it was Norman, struck by the melancholy of his last night. Maybe it was Ray, who didn’t know what to say to make Norman feel better. Maybe it was the two of them, working together to set themselves apart.
“Are you scared?”
Someone uttered the question and Ray jerked in surprise realizing that it was him. There wasn’t supposed to be that kind of question. Offerings shouldn’t couldn’t be scared. They were invited by God to live an eternal youth at the feet of His throne. What a greater honor could there be? Anybody should be—must be—glad to be chosen. Ray must take back his invalid question. They must pretend it didn’t exist, because it couldn’t have existed, because no Offering mourned their fortunate fate.
And yet ….
And yet.
Norman put down his utensils and Ray waited. Outside, the palace guards lit up the fireworks, their rainbow blasts accompanied by people's cheers.
“Do you know what happens to the Offering candidates who don’t make the cut?” Norman asked, his voice crisp like the breeze, the northern accent tethered like distant memories.
A rhetorical question. They all knew those children were what the royal feast were made of. It had always been that way, and always will be. That was the rule.
“And where do they go, after? Not to the Great Hall, I suppose, it’s only for the Offerings, isn’t it? Their body will fuse with the royals, but where do their souls wander to? And how about the others—the ones in the farms, raised like mere cattle to be eaten by the commoners. Where do they end up in?” Norman smiled. “Do you ever ask yourself these questions, Ray?”
“I do.” All the time, when he carried the royal guest’s meal to their chamber, when he prepared the Tifari table, when he went to the market and saw human limbs in the butcher’s tanks.
“And how do you answer them?”
“I don’t know.”
You were not supposed to ask questions about God’s workings.
Norman leaned back in his chair. There was a statue of God in His dragon form at the end of the table, a high art made of platinum gold with eyes of jade, and Norman continued as if talking to it.
“It’s not that I’m not ready to die. The cultivated children—we are raised to believe that our blood be spilled for peace, that we are fortunate to be granted the opportunity. If we become the Offering we’ll be living in the Great Hall for all eternity, if we don’t, we’ll be the flesh of our rulers. Either way it’s an honorable death, so most of us are eager to meet our fate.” He smiled at the idol, a spiteful brazen smile. “But some others wonder, sometimes, why it has to be us who are chosen.”
Why not the lot of you? Why must it be a Norman, why can’t it be a Ray? Why were they born humans, but only one of them allowed to live together with the very kind who ate their fellows? Why do God had to make those human-eating kinds the ruler of men, why must they be granted the blood of God, but still needed the flesh of man?
Norman and Ray stared into each other's eyes and in an instant shared the same shameful bitterness they never dared to acknowledge. The cruelty of it all. The unfairness of it all. A terrible bitterness that had been staying deep in hearts of humans who had learned, for generations, to suppress, to lie to themselves and accept this gross violation of rights as a mere unavoidable fate.
For peace. For God. For survival.
Some of us just have to be eaten, so that the others could continue to live.
Ray clenched his fork until it hurts but he almost couldn’t feel it.
“Ah, but we shouldn’t be having this kind of conversation over dinner,” Norman concluded gently, touching Ray’s hand to unravel it. Ray took a deep breath, put his fork down and took Norman's hand, intertwining their fingers like a game. Rubbing the folds of Norman's knuckles with his thumb, Ray smiled.
Norman smiled back. A smile as fake as Ray’s, but in this world built on lies and self-deception, no such things mattered anymore.
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“Ray, are you awake?”
Ray turned around in his chair and closed his book. Norman was looking at him from the bed, his beautiful pallid complexion somehow wan in the dim light of midnight.
“I’m here, Norman. What is it?” He crossed the distance between them, kneeling next to Norman and stroked his cheek. He was still cool to the touch even under those blankets, as if half of his soul already embarked on the journey it was supposed to have in the morning.
Norman leaned to the touch; his eyelids fluttered like a dying butterfly. “Can you sleep with me?” he whispered, I had a bad dream, the words hang unsaid between them, heavy to the air.
“Of course.”
How strange. Ray was sure Norman was a good inch taller than him, but he fitted in Ray’s arms like a lonesome child. Ray rubbed his arm, trying to give him some warmth, kissed the top of his hair as Norman snuggled closer. Norman’s breathing was soft against Ray’s chest, quivering slightly with each exhale.
You lied. You are not ready at all.
But against the lonely God and the ancient old royals, what choice do we ever have?
“Ray?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me a story.”
Ray tightened up his hold. “What kind of story?”
“I don’t know. Your favorite pastime. The townspeople. The routes you take on your daily errands. Your dreams, your adventures. Tell me.”
Tell me of the life I’ve never had and never will be, so I can carry them into my one last dream.
Ray closed his eyes. He had promised himself to do this task perfectly, so he would not cry. He stroked Norman’s hair like running his hand on a vast wheat field, he shushed gently as Norman began to sob, ever so quietly.
“When I have a great deal of time in my hands, I like to go to the town’s library. It’s a big, antique building at the southern end of the plaza ….”
In the dim light of midnight, even the hardest mask melted and waned.
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“There, all done.”
Norman let his arms down. The silky wide sleeves fell smooth to the floor, complimenting the long gown pooling at his feet. The attire of the Offering made its wearer more graceful indeed.
Norman raised his chin, assuming a gentle countenance. “Well, how do I look?” The thin silver crown twinkling in the sunlight, the gleam of a riverbed at noon.
“Perfect, Honored One.”
It was morning. Time to be back on business.
A soft knock on the door. Ray peeked out to find the guard stood in front of him, a three-eyed masked guy, three meters tall. “Attendant. It’s time,” he uttered curtly, clawed hand on his chest in a show of respect. Ray returned the gesture and escorted Norman out.
“Blessed be you, Honored One,” Ray bowed for the last time, as Norman took his place beside the guard. His time with Ray had ended at last. “It was an honor to service you. May your journey—” Ray’s voice tightened. He cleared his throat. “May your journey to the Great Hall be of peace and comfort. My prayers with you, always.”
For a second Norman looked as though he was about to touch Ray’s cheek. He raised his hand, but then faltered and squeezed both of them in front of his chest instead.
“Thank you, Ray. I too am grateful for your attendance. Thank you, for everything.” He studied Ray’s face for one last time, and smiled. “Goodbye.”
The bell on the South Tower tolled. Norman and the guard walked to the main entrance, toward the royal hall where the Ceremony would be held.
The yellow sunlight basked the windowless corridor. Norman’s ankle bracelet jingled, an easy rhythm of a childish song. Particles of dust danced in spotlight. Music, joyful and merry, echoed in the air from the festival outside the palace.
You are the last human he meets before he embarks on his journey to God’s Great Hall.
Now as he watched Norman’s retreating back it dawned on Ray, really dawned on him, the implication of that statement.
That this, too, was the last time he would ever see Norman.