The Lamb and the Gray Battle

September 17, 1990

Mary wore a phoenix crown and pulled down the red veil. Everything before Knox was a red haze. The way Ren doted on her, she could hardly refuse him. And he was in her bed every night and there were flowers on her vanity every day and she was given cream and cakes and poached pears and candied dates.

Ren was striking in red. The gold Tang Dynasty-style crown was on his head, his hair long on his shoulders, only the sides combed back. The red robe came up to his throat and the skirt brushed his red shoes.

The host arrived as soon as he was called this time. The congregation included BoBo, Laoshi, Sutekh and Djehuty, as well as several generals and notable members of the militia.

Ren put out his paw to help Mary kneel. The pair had rehearsed this day as children, bowing to the heavens, bowing to the ancestors, then bowing to each other.

Then Diyiren lifted a knife, cut a lock of his hair from his head, a bit of blood making a seam. Then the hair growing back instantly. This wasn't the first time he'd done this.

Mary had been just a girl and she was awed that Dear Ren would slash into his own living flesh, cut off a fistful of his hair. Less happily, he cut off a piece of her hair and tucked it into his pocket.

"That hurt!" she said.

"Now we'll always be able to find each other."

But Mary lost the tress shortly after he chopped it off. She wondered briefly if it had blown into the wind.

This time, he shaped the strands of hair into a ring, fused them into a metallic black band and slipped it over his bride's finger. This wasn't a Chinese ritual, but a European one.

Mary whispered, "You're not cutting off a bit of my hair?"

He produced a braid of red hair. Only a flash, then tucked it away again.

The evil words hissed in her head, you always had the power to find me, but you didn't. But Mary was pacified by a handful of candy in red wrappers.