Familial Rites

Awkward silence. Ka’lana towered over Lore and for the first time since their arrival was giving them her full attention. She crossed the room in a blink, the whole time staring at the filthy human with their hand entwined with her daughters. Lore’s outburst had muted the room only to be reversed by Ka’lana’s quiet tittering.
“So the human still has a spine.” She smiled to Lore. “Tell me of your family for they will soon be ours too.” She was trying her hardest to sound accommodating but her word choices and tone made her sound like a maniac. She was trying.
“The Guild was the only family I ever knew, I was taken from my parents at birth. All I know about my birth is its date.” Lore looked to their Breacher. “Eighth of November, two thousand and three. England. The Guild didn’t keep records of parentage.”
“You never told me.” Char tightened her grip. She looked to her mother who in turn looked to her husband. The three nodded.
“As much as I dislike what you represent, I respect what you have done for my people both during the war and by returning us to life.” She was gagging on her words as if her soul was rejecting them. “You may perform the rite. I, however, will not be in attendance.”
Ka’lana swiftly retreated. From their seats in the living room they could only just hear the expletive ridden rant that had begun to spew from her mouth.
“At least she pretended to want you in the family.” Char hugged Lore. “Don’t worry, she was the same when she found out about dad.”
“You’re not Quatarrian?”
“I am. I, like Char was born on the Eastern continent. As the first civil war came to a head my teacher Shieek warned us that history would repeat itself if the East didn’t change. I defected to the west to avoid getting caught up in any more conflict. When your mother found out I was a part of the protests for peace…” He raised his sleeve and lifted his arm, displaying the back of his shoulder. There sat a metal triangle embedded in a mess of scar tissue. The name Aramund’Zeyah embossed along one of its sides.
Lore blinked in disbelief. “But what about your Quatarrian healing abilities?”
“ID Tags are made of a resistant material. If it’s embedded in us then the only way to heal it is removal and your mother won’t let that happen.” He paused and covered his shoulder once more. “But that’s not why you’re here. Lore, after a Quatarrian gets married to a non-Quatarrian it is tradition for the partner to undergo the Umareldio vo Detus or the Rite of familial embrace.”
“Ok…” Lore was beginning to get worried. Their head twitched. Char smiled reassuringly.
“In the olden days it was a bit more gory but we’ve made it easier to stomach. Originally the father, mother and Quatarrian partner would bleed into a drinking vessel which would be given to the non-Quatarrian to drink. The blood combined with the site of the rite imbued the drinker with a portion of what we Quatarrians take for granted. It extended the lifespan from one hundred and fifty to somewhere close to three hundred and ten but should they leave their partner then the family had the right to execute them.”
“They wouldn’t do that would you?” Char looked deadly serious for a moment.
“How could I? I forgot everything and still you were the only person I dreamt of.” Char swooned at Lore’s honesty to their confusion.
“Nowadays the rite is conducted with a genetic separator and the results are a bit better. Instead of adding time to your life, it gives you a portion of our abilities. The partner is functionally immortal until they are killed, the same as us. But where we can come back an infinite number of times, the partner may only return nine.”
“Like a cat then?” Lore waved their hand like a paw, further confusing Char and her father.
“I suppose?” He led them down a set of uneven stone stairs and into the house’s cellar. “I think I’ve got what we need here.” He rummaged around in the mess and pulled out three rusted needles and a centrifuge of sorts. “Sorry, must have forgotten to sterilise the needles after last time. Doesn’t matter, the rite will clear up the infection before it can begin anyway.”
Ke’van distributed the needles. He took Lore’s back from them after remembering that he still needed to fill it. Char took a sample from her father and in return, he took one from her. The blooded syringes were loaded into the centrifuge along with Lore’s empty one. After a few minutes spinning, the centrifuge began to glow.
“There’s an interesting fact, Quatarrian blood plasma is bioluminescent and glows gold when exposed to extreme pressure. That’s why the early Quatarrians who were developing space travel glowed before they rejuvenated themselves.”
“So we’re glowsticks!” The whirring of the centrifuge seemed to grow louder. “An old human toy where flexing a plastic rod would allow chemicals to come together and glow.” Char jokingly bent her finger. Lore tapped her shoulder.
The device began to beep and Lore’s syringe appeared from its peak. Ke’van removed the syringe and pointed it between Lore’s arms. They tapped their organic arm and braced. He plunged the syringe directly into their chest, aiming roughly for the heart. He depressed the plunger and the glowing fluid began its journey. At first it was unremarkable, like most needle jabs they had experienced but as the plasma made its way to their arm, it began to burn. The first sign was an inadequate warning of the pain to come. Tearing and burning came from the site of Lore’s victorious loss as if allowing them to relive the moment. Lore’s arm dropped from its socket and onto the floor below. They writhed in pain beside it. Char attempted to jump to their aid but her father held her back. He simply shook his head as he let go of her collar. She was forced to watch as Lore balled up on the floor, clutching at their shoulder. Seconds passed into minutes and after nearly fifteen had elapsed, Lore’s pain subsided. Not completely but enough to stand. To ensure the rite was complete, Ke’van removed a small blade and slit along Lore’s index finger tip. The wound briefly bled but was soon engulfed in a golden glow. While not completely healed, it was no longer at risk of infection or reopening.
“Welcome to our family. Willkoeso Plentynder.” He smiled at his new family member. Char looked as though she was about to talk. “I know that face. Go. Have fun, enjoy your honeymoon. Bring me back something nice.”
The white light engulfed them. What had been the intended ending of their honeymoon became it’s beginning but it just felt right to them. The air had a burnt tinge to it and the gravity was slightly heavier. Then the rain came. Future studies.