In Bonds of Sacrifice
by Wheldrake
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Wheldrake
Published by Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author
Acknowledgement:
I would like to thank Dilo Keith for her very helpful comments on a draft of this story.
Wheldrake
Chapter One – Enlid’s Initiation
“Now tell me the names of the four Vigilances.”
“Eothil, Merilyx, Candator and Venla, Mother,” the kneeling girl replied instantly, correctly naming the panthers that were said to guard the throne of the Goddess at all times. The older woman, Semildra, studied the girl carefully from her place behind the screen. She was a rare beauty from the western hill country, tall and graceful with flaxen hair and striking dark green eyes. The coarse brown robes of the novitiate had been designed to be anything but flattering, but the girl looked as good in them as anyone Semildra had ever seen. It was easy to underestimate the pretty ones, to assume that they would have relied on their beauty all their lives and avoided cultivating themselves in other ways, but so far this Enlid had answered Semildra’s questions accurately and with little hesitation. Time to push her just a little harder.
“Tell me of the collars of the Vigilances, and their meanings.”
“Eothil wears a collar of silver, Mother, to show that she is incorruptible. Merilyx’s collar is of leather, in token of his humility. Candator wears an iron collar, because he is the strongest of the Vigilances. And Venla wears a collar of gold because she is the wisest, and wisdom is golden.”
“What else?” Semildra asked at once.
“I suppose I should have spoken of the Vigilances in a different order, Mother,” said Enlid hastily, suddenly looking even younger than her twenty-two years. She shifted her weight, which was hardly surprising given that she had been kneeling on the bare stone floor of the Examination Hall for a good twenty minutes now, and glanced up nervously towards the painted wooden screen before apparently remembering that she was expected to keep her eyes on the floor.
“Go on,” said Semildra, not particularly displeased by this small display of uncertainty. Confidence was considered a virtue in a novice as advanced in her training as Enlid, but boundless self-assurance was another matter entirely.
“The Vigilances symbolize the four castes of mortals who serve the Goddess, Mother. To take Merilyx first, he represents the Dedicated servants of the Order, both men and women. Candator represents the male Myrmidons, and Eothil the female ones. Venla, of course, is symbolic of the Priestesses, and perhaps even of mere novices like myself.”
Semildra smiled grudgingly, and realised that she was beginning to like Enlid. She allowed a note of approval to enter her voice as she continued the examination.
“You have been paying sufficient attention to your lessons to have learned some facts, it seems. Now we must address your powers of judgement.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Suppose a farmer came to you requesting a penance for having stolen some chickens, say. Now suppose you suspected that he was simply one of those men who likes the idea of being beaten a little by a nubile young Priestess of our Eternal Mother. What would you do?”
“I would send him to a Priestess, Mother, being only a novice myself.”
Semildra chuckled. “We are assuming, of course, that you have already passed this examination and are a Priestess in your own right.”
“I would assign a penance that did not involve beating,” said Enlid decisively. “I might tell him to go without meat and eggs for a month, and of course to pay for the chickens.”
“Rather appropriate,” Semildra acknowledged. “And if he had done something more severe? Burned down another man’s barn, for instance? Corporal chastisement could hardly be avoided in that case.”
Enlid frowned. “I would see to it that the beating was administered by one of the Myrmidons, Mother. Preferably a male.”
“If you were the Priestess of a small village, with no Myrmidon available?”
“I would strip him, bind him and beat him,” Enlid declared. “Hard enough that he would shudder at the idea of nubile young Priestesses for the rest of his life.” She smiled wryly, and added, “Not that I’m claiming to be particularly nubile, Mother.”
“You think this examination is an occasion for cheap levity, do you?” asked Semildra severely, smiling behind the screen.
Enlid looked appropriately flustered. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she gasped. “I only thought… Well, I’m sorry. Are you going to hold me back for this?” She was genuinely distraught, Semildra realised, at the prospect of having to spend another year as a novice. It was understandable, really. Semildra remembered her own novitiate as an endless string of chores, punishments, and petty indignities, punctuated by lessons and ceremonies and very rare moments of genuine pleasure and tranquility.
“Do you think I should, Enlid?” Semildra demanded aloud.
“That is for you to say, Mother.”
Semildra decided not to prolong the girl’s agony. “I am not going to hold you back,” she announced, and smiled at Enlid’s immediate expression of relief. “In fact, I am very pleased with you, and I think you may someday be a credit to the Order. However, I mentioned small villages for a reason. Would you care to become the resident Priestess of a place called East Elving, on the upper reaches of the River Cless?”
Her face lit up. “Oh, yes, Mother, if the Goddess wills it.”
“I believe She does. East Elving has been without a Priestess for nearly a year, and the folk require guidance. We can spare a Myrmidon to guard your journey, and one of the female Dedicated to help you settle in, but once you are established there you will be on your own. It will not be easy, and of course you will be responsible for the welfare of the village as well as your own conduct.”
Enlid frowned again, in her pretty, thoroughly ingenuous way. “The alternative, I suppose, is to extend my novitiate and be examined again in a year, with one black mark against me.”
“Precisely, my dear. And there is no guarantee of an easier posting should you succeed again.”
“Then I accept, of course, Mother. In truth, I welcome the responsibility. I believe I am ready.”
“Then bare yourself to the Goddess, and prepare to become a Priestess. Like all births, this one will not be devoid of pain.”
Enlid peeled off her robe and the loincloth beneath with an admirable lack of hesitation. Novices, of course, were accustomed to undressing on command, not least when they had earned themselves a dose of the strap or the cane. Enlid turned out to be slender and long-limbed without quite crossing the line into awkward coltishness, and her small, firm breasts were very girlish indeed. She knelt quietly, almost meekly, as she awaited further instructions. Nudity, in Semildra’s experience, had a way of subduing even the brashest novices.
The three other Priestesses who had been chosen to assist in Enlid’s initiation filed out from behind the screen at Semildra’s signal, carrying their implements and with the hoods of their black robes pulled up to conceal their faces. To Enlid they would be forbidding figures, if not terrifying, and indeed the girl licked her lips nervously and glanced up at the screen as if seeking reassurance.
“Should I assume the position, Mother?” she asked aloud. She would be used to bending over to have her bottom thrashed, of course.
“Stay as you are for the moment,” Semildra replied firmly. “Lift your hair and hold it on top of your head.” She obeyed with an air of trepidation as the three Priestesses took up their positions behind her.
“The willow is the most supple of trees,” the first Priestess intoned. “Her kiss reminds you that it is sometimes necessary to bend, to adapt, in order to avoid being shattered.” Without further warning she raised the willow switch she was carrying and lashed Enlid hard across the shoulders. The branch she had cut was light and whippy, not really stiff enough to be called a cane, but Semildra knew it would have a wicked sting to it. Enlid gave a harsh gasp and jerked in place when the blow landed, then seemed to brace herself in case another might follow. The Willow Mother, as she would be called for the duration of the ceremony, was only too happy to fulfill the girl’s expectations. The switch descended on Enlid’s shoulders and upper back in a measured, unflagging rhythm. Enlid whimpered with every kiss of the willow and began a kind of dance, her torso twisting, bucking and rocking as she did her best to process the pain without dropping her hair or abandoning her kneeling posture. It was fascinating to see her breasts bounce and her pretty face contort itself into grimaces, and her eyes were glistening with unshed tears by the time the Willow Mother lowered her wand and stepped back. Enlid had taken twenty blows, perhaps.
“The birch is slender and graceful,” announced the second Priestess, ironically a rather heavily built woman herself. Semildra knew that the Birch Mother was a jovial brunette called Lyssa, equally enthusiastic when kneeling in a devotional chant to the Goddess or exchanging tall stories over mugs of ale, but at the moment her booming voice was stern. “Her kiss,” she continued, “reminds you to execute even the smallest of your duties to the Goddess with the grace that becomes a member of the Order.”
Lyssa moved round to Enlid’s front, with her birch rod at the ready. Enlid seemed to realise what Lyssa was about to do only at the last minute, and by then it was too late for her to prepare herself. The rod caught her full across the breasts, not with anything like Lyssa’s full strength but still hard enough to leave a crisp red line. Enlid wailed and burst into tears, but did not plead for mercy or break her position. Lyssa, inscrutable beneath her cowl, hit her a second time and then a third. She stopped only when there were six neat stripes across Enlid’s little breasts, one above the other, and the girl was sobbing and seemingly almost hysterical with pain. In Semildra’s experience the birch’s kiss was the one that initiates usually found the most difficult to endure, and she had sometimes wondered why it was not administered last. The ways of the Goddess, however, were not to be questioned.
“Now assume the position, girl,” she told Enlid firmly as Lyssa resumed her place.
“Yes, Mother,” Enlid blubbered through her tears, and lowered herself onto her hands and knees. Now her long blonde hair hung down on either side of her face, and her reddened breasts dangled like apples. Her buttocks faced the three cowled Priestesses, ready to endure the final chastisement.
“The oak is firm and steadfast,” recited the third Priestess, a tall woman whose wiry strength was the perfect counterpoint to Lyssa’s solidity. “Her kiss reminds you to be strong when you must, and to discipline your spirit to the service of the Goddess.”
The oaken implement was a paddle of long and narrow proportions, almost a thin plank with a handle. The Oak Mother measured her swing and slammed the paddle into Enlid’s buttocks, making the girl groan in pain and shift her weight instinctively forwards as if to put as much distance as possible between herself and the paddle without actually breaking position. The Oak Mother followed relentlessly and landed two sharp, quick blows that made Semildra wince behind her screen. The woman had obviously decided to be severe with Enlid, which of course was her prerogative. The girl’s screams seemed almost to blur into one long note of agony as the strokes of the paddle fell fast and hard, finally beating her down onto her belly. The Oak Mother continued without giving her victim a moment’s respite, but after a few more blows she nodded towards the screen with an air of satisfaction and lowered her paddle. For a few seconds Enlid’s moaning was the only sound in the room. Her poor buttocks had taken on a deep red colour as if she was blushing at the wrong end, except of course where the flesh was black and blue.
“Take her,” said Semildra, after the Oak Mother had quietly set down the paddle alongside the other implements and appeared to have caught her breath. The three Priestesses had been anticipating the order, of course, and they closed in on Enlid immediately. Lyssa grabbed the girl’s blonde hair from behind, first dragging her up to her knees and then making her topple backwards as she yelled in pain and surprise. For just an instant Semildra found herself looking straight at Enlid’s welted breasts and fear-twisted face, and she felt a pang of intense sympathy as she recalled the awful moment many years ago when she herself had been seized and hauled off balance by a Priestess every bit as big and strong as Lyssa. Although there was no Law of the Goddess requiring that at least one hulking brute of a Priestess be present at every Initiation, this was generally deemed a sensible practice. Lyssa had probably manhandled more new Priestesses than she cared to count.
Lyssa took hold of Enlid under the arms and lifted her bodily, while the Oak and Willow Mothers each seized one of the girl’s legs. The three of them carried Enlid towards the double doors at one side of the Examination Hall, which Semildra hurried out from behind her screen to open. Her lined face and greying hair were exposed to Enlid’s gaze for the first time, but the girl seemed more worried about what might be awaiting her beyond the doors. To her credit, she was not trying to struggle with Lyssa and the others, but she was stammering pleas and questions as she hung naked between them.
“Please, Mothers, just give me a moment! What are you doing? Did I fail the Examination? Please at least tell me what you’re going to do to me!”
She was crying, of course, like every other girl Semildra had ever seen go through this part of the ceremony. Her captors, if that was what they were, ignored both her tears and her questions and rushed her out onto the stone balcony outside the Examination Hall. Then, without warning, they flung her nude body over the low barrier and into empty space.
* * * * *
Enlid was going to die. Apparently not content with beating her half-senseless, the three crazed bitches had just thrown her off a Goddess-cursed balcony. Considering the number of stairs she had had to climb to reach the Examination Hall, she was going to fall a good thirty feet, if not more. What on Earth had she done to deserve this? She had thought her examination had gone fairly well, despite that awkward moment near the end when she had been reprimanded for making a little joke, and in any case she had never heard of a novice being killed after disappointing the Presiding Mother. Everyone knew that girls who failed simply remained novices, and could try the examination again a year later. Even after a third failure, which was almost unheard of, you were supposed to end up as a lifelong Dedicated rather than as carrion. Yet there Enlid was, plummeting like a naked, battered, blubbering rag doll. Perhaps, if she could contrive to land feet-first, she might stand some chance of surviving with nothing worse than a pair of badly broken…
Enlid’s body hit the cold water with a mighty splash and a bruising impact that knocked the wind right out of her. Apparently there was a pool or something below the balcony, which simply meant that the crazed bitches had settled on drowning as their preferred method of execution in order to prolong her agony. Of course she could not swim – in a landlocked country like Averrain, who the hell could? – and she was already deep under water with her lungs more or less empty. She kicked her legs and thrashed her arms in every direction, fighting desperately against the overwhelming urge to inhale, but found only water. She could see a sheet of light that obviously represented the surface, but it gave the impression of being an impossible, unreachable distance overhead. Seized by a horrible panic, she tried to climb and kick towards that distant light, but seemed to be getting nowhere quickly. She was going to drown any second, she really was, and the worst part was that she honestly had no idea why the Mothers were doing this to her. Self-pity and indignation swelled inside her even as her mouth finally opened and the clean, fatal coolness rushed in.
My daughter.
Enlid was amazed. She seemed to have gone from being suspended in the water to being suspended in nothing at all, unable to move or see or hear. She supposed she was still naked, but she could not feel anything against her skin, not even warmth or coolness. For that matter, she could not even feel the presence of her own body, and the lingering pain in her shoulders and breasts and buttocks was suddenly nowhere to be found.
My daughter.
It seemed, then, that the voice had been no mere figment of her imagination. She was not hearing it, exactly, but like herself the voice was simply There. Enlid thought back to her lessons and realised that she was obviously dead. Death was a long communion with the Goddess, even for plants and animals, and for humans who had never given a thought to the Goddess in their lives, and it ended only with rebirth in a new shape. This, it seemed, what was it was like to be communed with.
What happened to me, Eternal Mother? Enlid demanded, though the demand was only a kind of focused thought. Did you tell them to kill me?
A laugh filled her.
Do you think I would throw away so valuable a tool as a young, capable woman pledged to serve Me and advance My purposes in the world? No, daughter, I am not nearly finished with you yet. You are going to fulfill the promises you made three years ago when you first entered the novitiate and vowed to work My will. As a Priestess, you will guide My people, uphold My ideals, and work tirelessly to build the temporal power of the Order. Remember that you are My instrument, body and soul.
Relief flooded into Enlid, just as the water had flooded into her lungs only moments ago. She was not dead, and the Goddess wanted her and needed her. She had never felt so valuable, so important, in her life.
Thank you, Eternal Mother, was the only reply that seemed possible.
You will not always thank Me, daughter, the Goddess answered warningly. The path you have chosen will not be easy. Your labours in My service will be long and hard. Your sex is consecrated to Me, and you will live your days in disgrace as a Dedicated servant if you permit it to be penetrated even with a straw. At times you will rail against the rules I impose and the obedience I demand.
Enlid had known all this for years, of course, but to hear it from the Goddess herself was like having golden shackles riveted around her wrists and a jewelled chastity belt locked around her loins. It seemed that she was becoming a Priestess, and this meant she was ascending to great power. Myrmidons and Dedicated would leap to obey her, and she would command respect and deference from the common people and even from the haughty lords and ladies of the realm. However, Enlid was well aware that she would also remain a kind of slave, eternally chaste and obedient to the will of the Goddess.
I will do my best, Eternal Mother, she cried in her heart, overwhelmed with the sense of simultaneous triumph and surrender.
You will, daughter.
Suddenly, incredibly, Enlid was seeing something – or at least, a kind of picture formed in her mind’s eye, unclear and remote but definitely present. Though it was like looking through murky water or a veil of fine silk, she could see before her the figure of a tall woman in bright and queenly robes. Enlid could not quite make out the woman’s features, and yet she seemed almost to radiate beauty, majesty and power. Enlid realised in awe that she was looking at the Goddess Herself, but in the very moment of realisation the image began to shift and change. Enlid saw a raven, a she-wolf with bared teeth and blazing eyes, a dancing girl so beautiful that Enlid wanted to weep, a crone whose snarling face and upraised scourge made her quake with fear.
Go forth and serve Me, said the voices of the crone and the girl and the robed woman, somehow in unison with the howl of the wolf and the croak of the raven, and suddenly Enlid was coughing and spluttering at the surface of a deep, cool pond with April sunlight streaming down all around her. The pool was in the middle of a courtyard at the heart of the temple of Aelis Brethil, and the balcony of the Examination Hall loomed perhaps ten feet overhead.
Enlid realised abruptly that she was sinking again, and shouted in alarm and flailed her bare limbs. Strong hands grabbed both her arms and hauled her out of the water with little apparent difficulty, and a moment later she stood naked and dripping on the flagstones of the courtyard with the four Priestesses who had seen to her initiation clustered round like matrons fussing over a child. The elegant grey-haired one who had been asking the questions from behind the screen was rubbing her vigorously with a towel.
“Thank you, Mothers,” was all she could think of to say. To her surprise, all four of them laughed. The grey-haired one chuckled gently, but the burly brown-haired Priestess who had caned Enlid’s breasts threw back her head and roared. Enlid looked at them in puzzlement for a moment, then realised what had amused them.
“Although, I suppose I’m no longer a novice,” she added almost ruefully. “I’m sure it will take me a bit of time to get used to this. Am I really a Priestess now?”
“Indeed you are,” said the oldest one seriously. “From this moment forward you are a full initiate. You are a woman of considerable importance now, and considerable power. Just remember that it comes with responsibility, and never mistake it for freedom. You belong to the Goddess as much as ever, and you are still expected to obey your elders.” Her grey-blue eyes met Enlid’s for just an instant, and there seemed to be hint of sternness in her gaze even though she was smiling.
“Of course, Moth- Of course,” said Enlid more firmly. “I understand. What do my elders require of me at the moment?”
“We have a black robe waiting for you inside,” said a slender, serious-looking woman who had probably been the one with the willow switch. “And a hot pastry and a cup of mulled wine to warm you after your dip in the Goddess’ pool.”
“That does sound appealing,” Enlid confessed. They all began to drift, slowly, towards a massive wooden door that led out of the courtyard and back into the building. “And after that? I mean, when am I to go to East Elving?”
“You may have a day or two to rest and prepare, if you need it,” said the oldest Priestess coolly. “And to pray, of course. But the people of East Elving have gone for long enough without the firm discipline and enlightened guidance a Priestess can provide.”
Only yesterday, quite literally, Enlid had been dividing her time between scrubbing pots in the temple kitchen and poring over dry books of protocol and ritual in preparation for her examination. Now, in some sense as a result of having been stripped, beaten and thrown into a pond, she had become a source of firm discipline and enlightened guidance. She smiled in disbelief as she stepped naked across the threshold and into the temple, but she also felt radiant with confidence and eagerness to begin her sacred task. The men and women of East Elving would learn to bow to her commands and occasionally bare themselves to her rod, in the Goddess’ name, and in the end would be the better for it.
Chapter Two – The Voice of the Goddess
They still called her the New Mother, although she had been in East Elving for almost two years now. She lived in a small room in the eastern wing of the shrine of the Mother, the true Eternal Mother who had sculpted the mountains with her hands and fertilised the plains and forests with her menstrual blood. Regen, who at nineteen had long since begun to question the stories he had always been told about such things, was not sure whether or not he believed in those legendary acts of creation. However, he certainly believed in Enlid, Mother of East Elving, and the thought of her quickened his steps on the broad path that led away from town and up to the shrine. Like most men of the village, he rarely prayed and never went to the shrine to offer sacrifice, but he considered it an obligation to at least drop by and thank the Mother for what she had done that morning. The fact that the Mother happened to be a beautiful and self-assured woman not so many years older than himself, with hair like flax and eyes like emeralds, of course had absolutely nothing to do with his resolve.
Regen scrubbed his hand through his own hair, which was an unruly mess of light brown curls. He suddenly wished that he had something more elegant to wear than a woollen tunic, and a better gift to offer than the half-dozen apples he had bought from Madam Renald earlier that afternoon. He was not exactly hoping to impress Mother Enlid, which was probably out of the question, but he did not want her to think that he was approaching in a mood of disrespect. He paused on the narrow dirt track, looking down hesitantly at the cloth bag that held the apples, but finally shrugged and walked the last quarter-mile to the shrine with brisk, truculent steps. Neither woman nor Goddess could ask that he do more than his best.
Only at the front gate of the shrine did his resolve begin to falter. The shrine was a low wooden building surrounded by a rickety fence that a child could have climbed with little difficulty, with a wide open gap rather than a gate to allow access from the road. The fact that no one in the village would dare to steal from the Goddess made protective measures wholly unnecessary. In theory, anyone could enter the shrine at any time, to pray to the Goddess or seek the Mother’s counsel. Regen had never been here before in his life, and it took a surprising effort of will to pass through the fence and approach the shrine proper.
The wide double doors of the shrine were ajar, and Regen slowly stepped across the threshold into the dim, incense-scented interior. He found himself standing in a low-roofed, surprisingly intimate hall of worship, facing an oaken sculpture of the Goddess in Her naked, fecund glory. The sculptor had depicted Her as a huge woman with long, flowing hair, Her lips parted and Her muscular arms uplifted as if in joy. Carved vines and flowers sprouted from all over Her body: in Her hair, under Her arms, between Her breasts, and above all between Her legs. Regen stared, fascinated and even a little aroused by the statue’s painstakingly sculpted contours. It was hard to remember that those powerful thighs and full, ripe breasts were nothing more than lifeless wood carved into a particular shape.
“Is She not beautiful?” asked a woman’s voice, and Regen whirled around to see Mother Enlid standing in the entrance to what appeared to be a hallway opening off the main chamber. She was wearing her plain black robe, as always, but she had unbound her blonde hair so that it fell in a curtain down her back.
“I was pleased to find such a perfect image of our Eternal Mother when I arrived here,” Enlid continued. “Even the temple at Aelis Brethil, where I spent my novitiate, had no better likeness rendered in wood. I’m glad you seem to find it impressive as well, Regen.”
He was surprised and a little flattered that she seemed to know his name. “I’ve never actually seen it before,” he admitted, feeling a slight blush suffuse his cheeks. “On my honour, I keep the Goddess in my thoughts, but I don’t come here to pray to Her.”
“And are you here to pray now, my child?” Enlid asked mildly. “I can show you how, if you wish.”
Regen ignored the incongruity of being called “my child” by a woman who might be twenty-five years old at the most, to his nineteen. “No, Mother!” he exclaimed, perhaps a little more vehemently than he intended. “I wanted to thank you for deciding in favour of my mother, I mean my flesh-mother, this morning. My family and Jered Cranston have been arguing over that corner of the field for years now, and the civil magistrate never seems to have time to settle things like that when he comes to East Elving. I’m glad you agreed to give us a judgement, and I’m glad it wasn’t my mother who had to give up the land and be punished.” He remembered the apples and held the bag out to her, awkwardly. “I’ve brought you a gift, Mother, to show my appreciation. It’s not much, but it’s all I could afford.”
She made no move to take the bag from him. “You mustn’t try to reward me for deciding as you had hoped,” she said firmly. “I applied the laws of the Goddess impartially, as is the duty of a Priestess when people request her judgement and agree to be bound by it. The land had been in your family for generations, and Master Cranston had no right to begin planting his own crops there.”
“If I can’t reward you for deciding as I’d hoped, Mother, perhaps I can present this gift as a token of appreciation for the impartial justice you provide.” She blinked as if surprised, and indeed he was slightly taken aback by his own momentary eloquence. He was not usually very clever with words. Enlid reached out slowly and accepted the bag, then opened it with an obvious curiosity that made her look less venerable than ever.
“Apples!” she said after a surprisingly long delay. “Thank you, Regen. I receive food from the village, of course, but they never seem to bring me quite enough fruit.” She paused, and drew herself up a little. “But while you are here, you should offer your thanks to the Eternal Mother as well. It is time you learned to kneel before Her in gratitude or supplication, as I’m sure even your father does occasionally. Are you willing?”
In truth, he was a little nervous about the idea. To kneel before the Goddess, to pray to Her, was to invite Her attention. Of course, that attention was generally benevolent, from all that he had heard, but Regen also remembered stories in which the Eternal Mother inflicted punishments or demanded sacrifices. Would She be angry that he was offering thanks to Her for the first time only now, at the hardly tender age of nineteen? On the other hand, that problem would only worsen with time, and he was bound to need to call on the Goddess sooner or later. Life was hard, and no one could hope to avoid the hand of fate forever.
“I am willing, Mother,” he said aloud. “But do you think She will punish me for never having come before?”
“That is up to Her, my son,” Enlid replied with a shrug. “But remember that She is merciful, and you are hardly the only man to forget the devotion you owe Her. She may be pleased to see you on your knees at last. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Then come.” She set down the apples carefully, then actually took his arm and guided him towards the statue until he was no more than a stride away. Up close, the wooden figure of the Goddess seemed more alluring than ever, and imbued with a magnificence that had not been so apparent from the opposite side of the room. He felt simultaneously excited, humbled, and a little frightened.
“On your knees,” Enlid prompted a little impatiently, and he knelt gingerly on the bare wooden floor. “Now fold your hands at the waist, and bow your head. That’s right, Regen. Close your eyes. Surrender yourself to the incomparable power and wisdom of our Eternal Mother. Open your heart to Her.”
“Please, Mother, I don’t know what that means.”
“Neither do I, exactly, but I know what it feels like. If you are still and quiet and subservient, and if you concentrate your mind on the Goddess, it will happen by itself.”
He knelt there, doing his best. He could feel the hardness of the floor and hear his own breathing, and he felt an unsettling twinge of lust when he realised that he could hear Mother Enlid’s as well. She had placed her hand on his head, as if somehow presenting him to the Goddess. He tried to concentrate as she had told him, but he hardly knew what to concentrate on. The sad fact of the matter was that he knew almost nothing about the Goddess, beyond scraps of mythology and a vague sense of a female power that watched over all things and guided them to their destinies. People swore at the Goddess when they hurt themselves by accident, tried to remember to thank Her when they found a coin in the dust of the road, and sometimes cried out to Her in heartache or terror. Women, far more than men, had been known to come to the shrine to kneel before the Eternal Mother as Regen was doing now. What exactly did they say, or think, or feel?
Nothing was happening. He considered trying to speak to the Goddess, either out loud or simply by formulating the words in his mind, but Mother Enlid had told him to remain quiet and passive. With his eyes still closed, he thought of the voluptuous and verdant nakedness of the statue, and of his gratitude for the Goddess’ gift of justice. It was not exactly his fault, he told himself, that the image of the carved wooden breasts and thighs made it harder than ever to ignore the whisper of Mother Enlid’s breath and the gentle weight of her hand on his scalp. The growing discomfort in his knees was a less welcome distraction. How long, exactly, was he supposed to stay like this? Was Mother Enlid going to tell him when he had been there long enough, or was she expecting him to…
Serve me, said a voice, and Regen’s eyes flew open. The statue was standing before him, silent and unchanged, but suddenly the presence of the Goddess seemed imminent and almost tangible. Without thinking, Regen bent at the waist until his forehead touched the wooden floor at the foot of the low pedestal on which the statue stood. He knew that he was prepared to serve the Goddess in any way She commanded.
Slowly but unmistakably, the sense of divine manifestation faded away. Mother Enlid leaned forward and gently tapped his shoulder.
“I think you had better get up now,” she said decisively. “If I may ask, what made you decide to bow down like that?”
“I heard Her voice,” Regen replied simply as he rose slowly to his feet. “It was… it was inside me, in a way. She told me to serve Her, and I wanted to bow down to show that I was willing.” He could hear the astonishment in his own words, verging on bafflement, but he did not doubt for a moment that the Goddess truly had spoken to him.
He had thought Mother Enlid might be sceptical, but she smiled almost wistfully. “I know what it is like to hear that voice in the depths of one’s soul. She only said to serve Her? Nothing else?”
“Nothing else,” he replied firmly. “The voice said ‘serve me’, and that was all.” Regen sighed, and shifted his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I want to obey, Mother, but I honestly don’t know how. I’m a peasant boy from a little village in the south of Averrain. What could I possibly do for…” He left the thought unfinished.
“You will serve the Goddess well enough if you live your life with justice, compassion and steadfastness,” she told him firmly. “But were you hoping for something more definite? Something that might, perhaps, require time, devotion and the sweat of your brow?”
It occurred to Regen to wonder where this might be leading, but he nodded slowly. “If there is something I can do, Mother, please tell me what it is.”
“To serve a Priestess of the Goddess is to serve the Goddess Herself,” Enlid told him. “I have no Dedicated servant here, and the village folk are not always as attentive to my needs or to the upkeep of the shrine as might be wished. I understand that your mother needs you to work on her farm, at least until you are married, but if you can find a few spare hours each week I will certainly have tasks for you.”
“If it pleases the Goddess, Mother,” Regen replied instantly. Within, he could feel his emotions intertwining like serpents. Of course he wanted to obey the will of the Goddess, but the thought of being close to Enlid and toiling each week to enhance her comfort and win her approval was hardly unappealing in itself.
“I believe it will please Her greatly,” Mother Enlid replied. “Come back here when you are ready to begin. If you do not change your mind, of course.” There was just a hint of challenge in her smile.
“I won’t be needed on the farm until suppertime, Mother,” he answered. “Can you find a use for me today?”
She gave an abrupt laugh, almost a snort. “It’s not a matter of finding – I hardly need to look. For one thing, Havren always brings my supply of firewood in huge pieces, and I need to split them up before I can warm myself or cook. I can swing an axe if I have to, but I’m honestly not much good at it. How would you like to use those strong arms to chop some wood for me, Regen?”
That was easy enough. Regen nodded eagerly, with the sense that he was establishing a connection to something mysterious and wonderful.
“Then come with me,” Enlid said crisply. He followed her out to where the firewood lay in small, untidy heaps behind the shrine, with an axe and chopping block nearby.
“I don’t go through it very quickly,” Enlid informed him. “If you can split up one of those little piles for me, I’ll be fine for several days.” She eyed him, considering. “Can I expect you back next Sunday? Or is this idea of serving the Goddess only a passing fancy?”
“I will be back, Mother.”
To his surprise, she reached out and stroked his cheek with the tip of one finger, drawing it across the coarse stubble. He rarely shaved more than once or twice in a week. “I think you will,” she said with an enigmatic smile. “Split up that pile there, stack the wood neatly by the door of the shrine, and then come inside to take your leave of me and our Eternal Mother. After that, you may go home to your parents.”
“Yes, Mother.” He did not ordinarily take kindly to being spoken to in such a perfunctory tone, not even by his real mother, but coming from Enlid it was somehow different. She was barely more than a girl, but she had a presence that made it easy and almost exciting to obey her. It had something to do with her erect carriage and firm, precise way of speaking, with the directness of her gaze and the obvious intelligence in her large emerald eyes. It also helped that she was tall, and that she had a pale, high browed, almost regal beauty that would have been captivating in any woman. Nevertheless, it seemed to Regen that none of those things was quite sufficient an explanation for why he felt almost feverishly compelled to do as Enlid wished and try his best to please her. Only the fact that she was a servant of the Goddess, as the severe black robe that draped her body reminded him whenever he looked at her, could possibly account for that immense natural authority. She was a woman of flesh and blood, of course, but she was linked to a vast power that could be forbidding and benevolent in equal measure.
He watched the gleam of the afternoon sun in her golden hair until she rounded the corner of the shrine and passed out of sight, then shook his head ruefully and took hold of the first of the cedar logs that Havren the woodcutter had left with Mother Enlid. In his mind’s eye he imagined the log as a soldier of Sarvania, a land that had been none too friendly with Averrain of late, and brought the axe down with a vengeance. He knew he would be sweaty and a little sore in the arms and shoulders by the time he had finished the task Enlid had set him, but an hour or so of chopping wood in the fresh spring air was just the sort of thing he always enjoyed. Only when he was nearly finished with the first of the logs did it occur to Regen to wonder why someone else in the village had not already volunteered his or her services to Mother Enlid as he himself was doing now. Any number of people, especially women, had visited the shrine in the two years or so since Mother Enlid had arrived in East Elving, and some of the village women were brawny enough to swing an axe with considerably more force than Enlid looked capable of producing. Had that terse instruction, serve me, been vouchsafed only to him of all the villagers who must have knelt before that nude wooden figure in the shrine? Or was he merely the one who had seen fit to take the command in its most literal sense, and practically invite Mother Enlid to put him to work? Was there a part of him that actively wanted to obey, to sweat and toil, even to suffer?
Regen hoisted the second log onto the chopping block, brought the axe down as hard as he could, and immediately struck a stubborn knot. He was already hot, despite the hint of winter chill that still lingered in the air, and he was breathing hard even though he was used to physical labour on his mother’s farm. He told himself to slow down a little, and paused to take off his tunic and stretch his bare arms. Then, eyeing the log with a murderous intensity, he picked up the axe again.
* * * * *
I caned a man today, Enlid wrote, and paused with the quill in her hand as the scene replayed itself in her mind’s eye. Jered Cranston had glared at her for a long moment after she had pronounced his sentence before the assembly, then stripped off his clothes without a word and strode stiffly to the whipping post to await her ministrations. Enlid had found it difficult not to admire the rugged beauty of his body, which was still lean and hard although he was surely well past his fortieth year, and her gaze had come to rest between his legs for just a moment when he had peeled off his loincloth, making no attempt to hide his manhood from her or from the men and women who had come to witness the judgement. His cock had been large, and just a little stiff, as if the act of undressing to be beaten by a Priestess before a crowd of his fellow villagers had excited him. Enlid had done her best to ignore this as she had shackled him firmly to the whipping post in the village square and taken up her wooden rod to begin the punishment.
Of course, he was not the only person I have beaten since I arrived in East Elving. I have granted voluntary corporal penances to a few petitioners, mostly women, and in a judgement last year I sentenced an unfaithful husband to receive six strokes from me in private. But Master Cranston, the man I caned this morning, had practically stolen a piece of excellent land from a neighbouring family and cultivated it himself for years.
Enlid frowned at the parchment in front of her, wondering if she really needed to bother explaining the facts of the case. After a moment, she shrugged and decided to continue. She had always found that these weekly reports helped her put her thoughts in order, and they were probably as useful to her as they were to Mother Mirys.
He actually sneered at me when he agreed to the neighbouring family’s petition that I pass judgement and settle the case, as if he thought I would not dare to punish him. In the end, I made him pay ten silver shillings and take twelve strokes of the heavy rod, in front of almost every grown man and woman in East Elving. By the time I finished he was screaming and crying for mercy, and I daresay he deserved every instant of agony I made him endure. I do not think I was unduly harsh, let alone cruel. But it is a fact that I felt a tremendous sense of power over him when I cuffed his wrists to the whipping post and laid the first stroke across his buttocks, even though he only grunted. I found the power enjoyable, perhaps even exciting, and I had to restrain myself from striking him harder than was necessary.
Nevertheless, she had done her duty as befitted a Priestess of the Eternal Mother, if she did say so herself. She had not struck harder than necessary, but just hard enough, and Jered had been left in a state of abject humility and submission to her authority. She did not think he was exactly contrite about his past behaviour, but she very much doubted that he would dare to give the Estrem family any more trouble regarding the disputed land. She took pride in that, and in the fact that she had executed her duty calmly, firmly and skilfully. Her pleasure in the way Jered Cranston had moaned and leaned his head against the whipping post, in the way each of the last few strokes of her rod had elicited a cry of pain and a spasmodic movement of a nude, tormented male body, was entirely beside the point.
The other family involved in the dispute were the Estrems, she wrote, now that their name had come to mind. The eldest son, Regen Estrem, came to the Shrine to thank me and give me a half-dozen apples. I did not quite have the heart to tell him that they are one of my least favourite fruits. I said to him that he really ought to thank the Goddess for the gift of justice, and I was a little surprised when he agreed almost instantly to kneel in prayer to Her.
She could as easily have written “surprised and gratified”. Even after nearly two years of residence in East Elving, she had still not quite become used to the idea that people took her very seriously and generally did what she asked or even suggested. She felt that she was growing into the authority of a Priestess, but only by slow degrees.
He told me afterwards that the Goddess had spoken two words to him: “serve me”. I told him that if he really wanted to serve I could put him to work. I meant it almost as a jest, but again he surprised me with his almost eager agreement. Perhaps it was partly because he finds me beautiful, a reaction of his that is obvious, endearing, and I suppose just slightly flattering. At the moment he is out behind the shrine, splitting wood for me. He seems to be doing a good job, and he is certainly saving me a great deal of trouble.
Enlid allowed her eyes to drift back to the window, where they had rested for several minutes before she had started to write. She could see Regen clearly, as he laboured apparently oblivious to her scrutiny. She had seen him around the village, and she had always known in a vague way who he was: the son of Metrill and Anward Estrem, a dependable lad who would probably marry and farm his wife’s land, a country peasant just crossing the threshold of manhood. At the moment he was bare to the waist and covered in sweat, and his work with the axe was beginning to slow up a little. Enlid rather enjoyed seeing men in that state; there was something about the signs of physical exhaustion that accentuated their maleness and at the same time hinted at a certain vulnerability.
Though becoming a Priestess had entailed forswearing marriage and the pleasure of engulfing lovers with her vagina, she could still appreciate the beauty of a nicely sculpted male body, and she eyed Regen as though he were a work of art. He was neither tall nor especially broad-shouldered, which in her opinion made his efforts with the axe all the more impressive, and his arms and torso were perhaps a little soft but certainly not unappealing. The sight of his tousled brown hair made her want to take a comb to him, if not a pair of scissors, but otherwise he was handsome enough. She rather liked his narrow, pointed chin, which she thought gave his face an intelligent look, and for all his deference and alacrity she thought she detected a spark of mischief in his light blue eyes. Rough stubble covered his cheeks and chin, which led to further thoughts of grooming the boy, but his chest and belly were almost hairless. A fine prize for some woman, Enlid could not help thinking, and in fact a little training might suffice to give him the kind of slender, smoothly muscled physique that was considered ideal in a man permanently Dedicated to the Goddess.
She smiled and sighed, ruefully amused with herself. Regen was a steady village lad who was cutting some wood for her out of gratitude and a sense of devotion that would probably prove to be very short-lived indeed. It would not do to begin thinking of him as a living sacrifice ready to be chained and marched to Aelis Brethel for his Dedication to the service of the Goddess.
Regen raised his head, as if suddenly conscious of her gaze, and looked at the window with an expression of uncertainty. He reminded her of a little boy who had just realised that an adult was watching him, and who wondered if he had inadvertently been doing something wrong. Enlid simply looked back at him, with an assurance that would not have come easily to her even six months ago. She was a Priestess of the Goddess, and he was performing manual labour in accordance with her instructions. She could watch him if she wanted to. After a moment Regen gave a little shrug, and returned to his task. Consciously or not, he accepted her scrutiny, and she felt a surprising, heady sense of power as she allowed herself the luxury of gazing at his rippling arms and shoulders for just a moment longer.
I can hear your voice, Mirys, urging me to remain humble before the Goddess and to avoid getting too carried away with either my attachment to young Regen or a sense of my own importance here in East Elving. Believe me, I will kneel naked tonight before the image of the Goddess and remind myself that I am nothing more than Her humble servant. When you next visit, my Mentor, I promise that you will find me attentive and respectful as always. In the meantime, however, I hope you will not think it amiss if I take just a little pride in how I put Jered Cranston in his place, or allow myself to wonder whether Regen might someday be brought to the Goddess.
Chapter Three – Servitude and Penance
Over the next few weeks, Regen settled into a routine of spending a few hours at the shrine each Sunday afternoon, and occasionally on other days as well. At Enlid’s insistence, he began and ended each visit on his knees before the statue of the Goddess, his eyes closed and his head bowed. He dutifully slowed his breathing and tried to empty his mind and “open himself”, as Enlid put it, but the Goddess never spoke to him again. Apparently those two initial words, “serve me”, were all She had to say to him. Nevertheless, there were times when he seemed to experience something, a vague but unmistakable sense of connection. It was like the feeling of being watched by someone he could not see, combined with a conviction that the watcher was determined to care for him, protect him, and yet in some way make use of him. He was also deeply aware of the watcher’s femininity. To be the object of that form of attention was reassuring and disconcerting, calming and terrifying. It was also, coming from a woman or at least a female entity, sexually arousing. Did Enlid guess that his cock was stiff inside his leather trousers, as he knelt there on the unforgiving floorboards of the shrine?
The feeling of the Goddess’ presence, if that was what it was, never lasted long. Within a minute or two, Regen invariably found himself kneeling in the shrine with his cock growing soft and a sense of something like abandonment rising in his soul. At that point he would open his eyes, rise to his feet, and tell Enlid that he was ready to be put to work. She always obliged, issuing polite but very clear instructions to fix a leak in the roof, or weed the small garden outside the Shrine, or perhaps cut wood as he had on that first day. There always seemed to be an endless list of small, menial tasks that required attention, just as there was on his mother’s farm. Not all of those tasks could be described as essential, but all of them contributed to the upkeep of the shrine.
Mother Enlid was scrupulous about thanking him and praising him when he did well, although she was never effusive. When he fell short of her expectations, as happened one day when she asked him to repair the fence that separated the shrine from the road and came out later to find scrap wood and tools left scattered in the nearby grass, she insisted in her quietly authoritative way that he fix the mistake and then move on. When she spotted the mess by the fence she frowned and compressed her lips in a way that made Regen wonder nervously if she was going to punish him somehow, which he had always supposed would be entirely within her authority as Mother of East Elving.
In the end, however, she only sighed and turned towards him with that formidable frown. “Please clean this up, Regen,” she said coolly. “I hope I won’t have to tell you next time.” At first he was relieved, as he scrambled to gather the unused staves of wood, but a few minutes later it occurred to him to wonder exactly what being punished by Mother Enlid might feel like. Would she strip him naked and hit him with a leather strap, or even a rod like the one she had used on Jered Cranston? Everyone had seen how stiff Master Cranston’s cock had been at the beginning of his punishment, and in a way Regen had thought he understood. There was something perversely thrilling about the idea of being naked and vulnerable in front of a stern, beautiful woman like Mother Enlid.
Nevertheless, she thanked him far more often than she found cause to reprimand him. Regen took pride in this, and in the way folk in East Elving were beginning to say that the shrine looked better than it had for years. Even hard-bitten men who would never dream of bowing their heads to the Goddess seemed to think that a well-maintained shrine and a Priestess who could at least enjoy the services of a voluntary part-time servant were fine things for the village to have. Regen’s parents had been a little wary of his visits to Mother Enlid at first, as if they had feared the Priestess or the Goddess Herself might have sinister plans for him, but they had rather quickly got over their reservations and begun to smile when friends and neighbours congratulated them on their son’s piety.