Free Mica by Kate Hill Page B

table. Chanting resumed as five more figures, four dressed in red leading one in white, ascended a staircase and approached the table. The figure in white stopped while the others undressed him. Beneath the robes he was naked, except for a cloth tied loosely around his waist.
    In spite of the half-naked man’s stoic expression his hands trembled at his sides. He lay on the table while the four red-robed figures locked his wrists and ankles into the shackles. The chanting was almost deafening now and Sun finally understood the reason for the noise. The silk was lifted from the small table, revealing an array of gleaming silver instruments similar to the ones Knights and Dames used while stitching wounds or performing surgery. Sun almost dove through the window when the tallest figure chose a blade and approached the man who was tied down.
    Before Sun could lunge inside to prevent the attack Mica grasped her arms.
    She struggled. “They’re going to kill him.”
    “No. It’s a sacred ritual. You cannot interfere.”
    “But—”
    But it was too late. Sun detected the sound of agonized screaming above the chanting. She stared in horror, watching the robed figures completing the castration.

“Are they insane? Let me go.” Her teeth clenched, she tugged hard against his hold.
    Mica’s grip loosened. He swallowed hard, seemingly unable to look away from the spectacle inside. “They’re not insane, Dame Sun. He’s just endured the initiation. He’s now a Priest.”
    Stunned, she couldn’t speak for several seconds. Finally she asked, “What?”
    Mica tugged her away from the temple. “That was not meant for our eyes. Such a ritual is private.”
    “What kind of religion demands that a man be mutilated?” Of all the places she’d traveled, she had never known any religion to demand such a horrible act.
    “No one demands. He volunteers to give up part of himself to become more like the Goddess.”
    “By having his balls cut off? What kind of a sick, barbaric—”
    “Sick and barbaric is when children used to be recruited and made into eunuchs without choice,” Mica explained patiently. “Now the religion states a man must be fully grown and wish to offer such an important part of himself to the Goddess.”
    Sun’s eyes widened. “You’re a Priest in Waiting. You’re going to allow yourself to be castrated?”
    Mica drew a deep breath. “It is my decision.”
    “You are crazy.” Sun tossed up her hands.
    “Shall we go, Dame Sun? Or has this business affected your appetite?”
    “I’m accustomed to such things.” She held his gaze. “Except, of course, the people I’ve ministered to haven’t willingly harmed themselves. This is absolute madness.”
    “It’s an offering to our Goddess.”
    Sun shook her head, her gut twisted with fury and disgust. No man who looked at her like he did could possibly want to lose his virility.
    Casting a look over her shoulder at the temple, Sun followed Mica down the street.
    After several turns they approached the door of a tall, narrow building. The scent of spices and incense wafted through the dozens of windows riddling the white walls.
    Strains of flute and drum music drifted from inside. Sun tilted her head upward, noting several people seated around tables on the rooftop.
    Mica pointed to symbols painted in black just above the doorway. “House of Marta.”
    Sun followed him inside. Low tables, a lantern in the middle of each, filled the room. People sat on pillows around the tables, enjoying a variety of foods—thick, golden slices of bread, soup, fruit, goat cheese, chicken and nuts.
    To Sun’s right a narrow staircase wound its way to the upper floors. An arched entrance across the room led to the kitchen where Sun noticed men and women chopping, stirring and cooking while servants carried orders in and out.
    “Mica,” called a cheerful voice. A robust woman flounced down the steps, a

wooden tray dangling from her hand. Her thick black and gray