Free Recognition by Ann Herendeen

readiness to Lord Zichmni.
Here it comes
, I thought,
the reason Dominic hadn’t
wanted me to be tested
. The communion and the physical testing
had been straightforward enough. It was these personal inquiries
that would offend my sensibilities, Dominic had warned.
Remember
, he had said,
we all go through it. Everyone
knows everyone else’s history
.
    The first question was an anticlimax. “How
old are you?” The clerk’s pen made faint scratching noises and fell
silent.
    “Thirty-five. And a half,” I added as I
sensed incredulity around me, heard muttering, a combination of
grumbling thoughts and low-voiced discussion. Understanding
penetrated slowly. Eclipsians are legally adults at sixteen,
considered middle-aged in their thirties. I had been taken to be
younger than my real age, not for any flattering assessment of my
appearance, but merely because I was being tested for my gift, a
ritual of adolescence. Hearing the truth, no matter that they may
already have seen it for themselves, people felt like the victims
of a calculated deception.
    Lord Zichmni called for silence and continued
his questioning. “Are you now, or have you ever been married?” When
I answered negatively he followed up, “Betrothed?”
    What a quaint notion
. “No,” I
answered, smiling but otherwise restraining myself from showing
what was almost disappointment at how overblown my fears had been.
My relief was premature.
    The Viceroy cleared his throat. “Young
mistress,” he began, discomfort audible in his voice at the
incongruous honorific the language required, “I must ask you now to
answer honestly, as you have answered the other questions, no
matter if you find it offensive or distasteful.”
    Again I nodded, seeing the question in his
mind before he spoke, hating to have to stand there waiting for the
words to emerge and be copied down by the clerk.
    “Have you ever had carnal relations with a
man?” he asked.
    “Yes,” I said. My voice shook and I felt
myself blushing. There was no reason to be ashamed, yet it seemed
barbaric to be announcing this in front of a roomful of people.
    Lord Zichmni nodded in satisfaction at my
answer. He stared doubtfully at my waistline, clearly defined in
the stretch fabric of my suit. “Well then,” he said, “how many
children do you have, born of your body?” That was exactly how he
phrased it: “Born of your body.” There was silence as everyone
awaited my answer to this question.
    “None,” I answered, delighted to have reached
the end of this bizarre interrogation.
    The audience erupted with noise at my answer.
“How many times?” a man shouted, and nobody shushed him. “How many
men?” another asked, and was backed up by a third. The almost
all-male Assembly seemed to have become a bloodthirsty mob out for
some kind of revenge, for a crime I didn’t understand or know I had
committed.
    Lord Zichmni rose to his feet, shouting for
order. The clerk was not writing any of this down, as he was
restricted to recording only the Viceroy’s questions and my
responses. He stared straight ahead, laying his pen down beside the
paper.
    Gradually the room quieted as Lord Zichmni
continued to stand. When he could be heard without straining, he
smiled grimly at me. “Well, young mistress,” he said, “the others
have taken the words out of my mouth, but I must ask you formally.
With how many men have you been intimate?”
    I literally gaped at him, my jaw dropping
until I almost choked from the mouth-breathing dryness.
    “Take your time,” he said, “but you must tell
us the truth, you know, if you wish to continue with this
test.”
    I looked out over the heads of the audience
that seemed to hate me so. They were all a blur, tears of
humiliation obscuring my vision.
Why am I doing this?
I
wondered.
Why subject myself to this shit? Why don’t I just
turn around and leave?
    Beloved
, Dominic’s voice was in my
mind.
It is not what you think. Speak the truth and get it over
with.