No one believed him at first. It was too unlikely. Irisi was not even vaguely furry… and Sebi was considered a bit of a dope. But… sometimes stories stick and fester over time. It took two weeks before the first rumblings started.
* * *
“Djal?”
The voice startled Djal as he stood contemplating his irrigation system.
“Manu, greetings,” he replied, “How are your crops?”
Manu replied vaguely, a strange look in his eye.
Djal figured he’d head off the niceties and get to the point. “What is it, my friend?”
“Your daughter.”
“Irisi?”
“She’s your only one.”
Djal frowned. Manu was rarely this chilly.
“Yes, she is. What do you want with her?”
“She been interfering with things she shouldn’t?”
Djal thought of the rumors moving about town. About Sebi and the lions. And the jackal creature.
“No more than any girl her age, Manu. Are you talking about Sebi and the lion attack?”
“Yes, I am. That boy claims your daughter turned into an animal beast. Like maybe… a devil.”
Djal shook his head. “What you’re describing could be any teenager, my friend. She’s never been involved with anything weirder than berry makeup or pillow fighting. Don’t tell me the weird stories are getting in your head, too.”
Manu grunted. “They’re not so weird. My wife told me in her village a bandit once got caught pinching some gold from a house. When a man and his brother cornered the thief, he turned into a beast and ripped their heads clean off.”
Djal pointed up. “Sometimes the gods come down and walk with us. Perhaps they had a hand in it.”
“In thievery and murder?”
“Perhaps the men had stolen the gold themselves.”
Manu shook his head. “They were just normal townfolk, Djal. That wasn’t no god. That was a monster. Like maybe the thing that killed the lions. Like maybe a girl could be, secretly. Like a – ”
“That’s enough, Manu. I won’t let you drag my daughter into your devil talk. I enjoy being friend with you – but leave off on my family.”
Manu spit on the ground and studied the drying spot he left. Quietly, he nodded, then looked back at Djal.
“I’m not the only one, Djal. People are a bit worried. There have been other stories of killing and beast-men and such. Just watch your back. Your daughter may be fine… but don’t count on everyone being easy to convince.”
Djal clapped his hand on Manu’s shoulder. “I won’t. You’re a good man. Head it off. You know me… you know my daughter. We have no enemies and don’t intend to start now. I’ll offer extra sacrifices and pray that any evil stays away.”
Manu turned to leave, then stopped and looked back. “Better pray hard.”
Djal watched him leave, then looked back at his suddenly less-interesting irrigation trenches.
He and Irisi needed to talk.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. III)
The subject of her scorn was clueless. They were walking together at the edge of Djal’s field, idly plucking unripe heads off the yellowing wheat. Sebi had been showing off a bit, picking up a large rock and throwing it as far as he could. His skill at throwing was good… but his skill with impressing the ladies left something to be desired.
“I can also win a butting contest with a goat, Irisi! You should see me!”
Irisi didn’t want to.
“This one time, I was having a butting contest and got hit in the head so hard by our he-goat that I saw visions. But I didn’t fall over. And I grabbed his beard and bit him on the leg and he ran off.”
Irisi didn’t care.
“Dad beat me that night, ‘cause he said I shouldn’t be biting his good animals. But the goat started it. I was just in there next to him, you know, rearing up and stamping the ground at him.”
Irisi wished Sebi would shut his mouth.
“We were gonna castrate him but he’s too perfect a he-goat, so Dad’s gonna make him the sacrifice. That’s why he was mad. Doesn’t want any marks.”
Irisi didn’t really know anything about castration but wished it on Sebi.
The two of them had played together since they were little. Yet as Irisi had gotten older, her intellect had passed that of her playmate – and now, at age thirteen, she was significantly smarter than Sebi and found his company rather tedious.
Besides, today she was wearing her very first wig and he hadn’t even mentioned it.
Unpardonable!
Mom said she was a woman now – and soon she probably shouldn’t be playing with Sebi at all. Everyone told horror stories about boys, of course – and most of them were surely true – but Irisi wasn’t worried.
As they walked she was lost in her thoughts. After a few moments, she realized Sebi was no longer chattering or showing off. She felt a tingle up her spine as she turned and saw the look on his face. He was frozen in the path a few yards behind her, staring into the scrub. Following his gaze, she saw its focus.
A lion!?!
It was a female, crouched amidst the brush. As they both stared in terror – another one appeared in the path ahead! A massive male, mane wild, eyes fierce. It roared horrifyingly, shaking the ground beneath them. Sebi found his voice, screamed and turned his back on both the lions, hauling off in a run as fast as his legs would carry him. In a snap, the female took chase – and was quickly joined by another on the other side!
Time slowed down as a strange new sensation swept through Irisi’s body. A thrill of adrenaline and a surge of some god-power! Her arms and legs felt different… stronger. Her lips curled back over powerful jaws. And her clothing was suddenly awkward on her newly furry and muscled form.
Before she knew what happened, she had caught up to the lionesses just as they reached Sebi. One bit into his leg as Irisi tore at its back, trying to find purchase. The other batted at her, cutting a gash in her arm. She bit off its paw with a snap, causing it to half-limp and half-run to cover... then she sunk her fangs into the throat of the other female. The gush of blood startled and delighted her.
Sebi lay on the ground, and as she guzzled the red liquor from the neck of the now-still lioness, she realized with puzzlement that he was screaming at the top of his lungs.
At her.
His leg was bloody but likely savable, she thought. She’d have to carry him back home. Somehow, becoming whatever she’d become didn’t feel strange. It felt… right. She licked her lips and waved to Sebi. He fainted.
With interest, Irisi looked at her limbs. Long hairy limbs, sinewed and powerful. Claws like acacia thorns. Somehow, she still felt feminine – but the power was incredible! Marvelous! Intoxicating!
She went over to Sebi and picked him up easily. What had happened to her? Who knew – but she bet she could now out-chuck him in a rock-throwing contest!
She heard a little whimper behind her. A scrap dog was inspecting the dead lioness and looking at her expectantly.
“Go ahead – eat it!”
The dog stood still, waiting. She realized it was observing some sort of protocol. With sudden insight, she gently set down Sebi’s limp form and went back to the carcass. As the dog watched, she took a large bite, chewed, swallowed, rubbed her stomach as if full, then repeated “Go ahead… eat!” (She had to admit – it WAS delicious, but there was no time now!) Picking up Sebi, she saw that the dog was now eating.
Funny, that. Like when they got around her in a circle that day…
As she got closer to home, Sebi suddenly woke and realized he was being carried. This time he seemed to have his wits about him a bit more. At least he wasn't screaming. He cocked his head around and looked in her eyes, puzzled, half-scared, and as stupid as always.
“Irisi?”
She grinned broadly… and one look at her fangs put him back under.
“I can also win a butting contest with a goat, Irisi! You should see me!”
Irisi didn’t want to.
“This one time, I was having a butting contest and got hit in the head so hard by our he-goat that I saw visions. But I didn’t fall over. And I grabbed his beard and bit him on the leg and he ran off.”
Irisi didn’t care.
“Dad beat me that night, ‘cause he said I shouldn’t be biting his good animals. But the goat started it. I was just in there next to him, you know, rearing up and stamping the ground at him.”
Irisi wished Sebi would shut his mouth.
“We were gonna castrate him but he’s too perfect a he-goat, so Dad’s gonna make him the sacrifice. That’s why he was mad. Doesn’t want any marks.”
Irisi didn’t really know anything about castration but wished it on Sebi.
The two of them had played together since they were little. Yet as Irisi had gotten older, her intellect had passed that of her playmate – and now, at age thirteen, she was significantly smarter than Sebi and found his company rather tedious.
Besides, today she was wearing her very first wig and he hadn’t even mentioned it.
Unpardonable!
Mom said she was a woman now – and soon she probably shouldn’t be playing with Sebi at all. Everyone told horror stories about boys, of course – and most of them were surely true – but Irisi wasn’t worried.
As they walked she was lost in her thoughts. After a few moments, she realized Sebi was no longer chattering or showing off. She felt a tingle up her spine as she turned and saw the look on his face. He was frozen in the path a few yards behind her, staring into the scrub. Following his gaze, she saw its focus.
A lion!?!
It was a female, crouched amidst the brush. As they both stared in terror – another one appeared in the path ahead! A massive male, mane wild, eyes fierce. It roared horrifyingly, shaking the ground beneath them. Sebi found his voice, screamed and turned his back on both the lions, hauling off in a run as fast as his legs would carry him. In a snap, the female took chase – and was quickly joined by another on the other side!
Time slowed down as a strange new sensation swept through Irisi’s body. A thrill of adrenaline and a surge of some god-power! Her arms and legs felt different… stronger. Her lips curled back over powerful jaws. And her clothing was suddenly awkward on her newly furry and muscled form.
Before she knew what happened, she had caught up to the lionesses just as they reached Sebi. One bit into his leg as Irisi tore at its back, trying to find purchase. The other batted at her, cutting a gash in her arm. She bit off its paw with a snap, causing it to half-limp and half-run to cover... then she sunk her fangs into the throat of the other female. The gush of blood startled and delighted her.
Sebi lay on the ground, and as she guzzled the red liquor from the neck of the now-still lioness, she realized with puzzlement that he was screaming at the top of his lungs.
At her.
His leg was bloody but likely savable, she thought. She’d have to carry him back home. Somehow, becoming whatever she’d become didn’t feel strange. It felt… right. She licked her lips and waved to Sebi. He fainted.
With interest, Irisi looked at her limbs. Long hairy limbs, sinewed and powerful. Claws like acacia thorns. Somehow, she still felt feminine – but the power was incredible! Marvelous! Intoxicating!
She went over to Sebi and picked him up easily. What had happened to her? Who knew – but she bet she could now out-chuck him in a rock-throwing contest!
She heard a little whimper behind her. A scrap dog was inspecting the dead lioness and looking at her expectantly.
“Go ahead – eat it!”
The dog stood still, waiting. She realized it was observing some sort of protocol. With sudden insight, she gently set down Sebi’s limp form and went back to the carcass. As the dog watched, she took a large bite, chewed, swallowed, rubbed her stomach as if full, then repeated “Go ahead… eat!” (She had to admit – it WAS delicious, but there was no time now!) Picking up Sebi, she saw that the dog was now eating.
Funny, that. Like when they got around her in a circle that day…
As she got closer to home, Sebi suddenly woke and realized he was being carried. This time he seemed to have his wits about him a bit more. At least he wasn't screaming. He cocked his head around and looked in her eyes, puzzled, half-scared, and as stupid as always.
“Irisi?”
She grinned broadly… and one look at her fangs put him back under.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. II)
“He” had been a “she.” The little warrior was instead a little princess… though an edgy little dart of energy she was. Akana loved her to death. At last, in a house of boys, she had an ally. Of course… she hadn’t been an ally at first. She’d just been a normal little suckling of an infant, needing care and regular changing.
But now, at six summers, Irisi was everywhere. Taking care of chickens, weaving, sweeping the hard-packed clay of the floor, and occasionally participating in quick and vicious wrestling matches with her older brothers.
It was uncanny how many she won.
Akana could see the strangeness in her eyes, however, and wondered if Djal would notice. If he did, he said nothing. He was a hard-working man, a good man, and, in a time where all infrastructure had been destroyed, a life saver.
As far as they knew, there were only two other families left in the land - those saved by the hands of Ra. They had banded tightly together, forming exploratory parties and sharing their limited resources – but as of yet, they seemed very much alone. Ra rose and Ra set, every day without fail; yet the world of the glorious past was gone forever.
Akana sat weaving and humming to herself, loose threads in her mouth. She missed the fine, dyed stuff she used to own and wished they’d have been able to pack more in the salvation machine.
The smell of bread filled their mud house. Food, shelter, clothing… all the important needs were met.
Suddenly, Irisi crashed through the door.
Akana grinned. “How’s my little woman?”
“Fine.”
“Fine? Are your brothers still with Papa?”
Irisi nodded.
“But you didn’t want to help?”
Irisi shrugged. Akana noticed her hair was getting long. Deep brown curls rolled down her bare sun-browned back. “Are they almost done?”
Irisi shrugged again. She was often like this… so quiet as to be a bit irritating. “Why don’t you talk to your mama, daughter?”
“I don’t have anything to say, mama.”
Akana realized with irritation that she’d cross-threaded a portion of her weaving. She started tugging it right and then noticed something strange.
“Irisi?”
The girl looked up at her from where she sat on the bare floor.
“What’s that mark on your arm?”
Irisi feigned ignorance. “What mark?”
“That one, darling. It looks like… a bite?”
The girl cocked her arm at an angle and studied the small red and purple imprint. She looked at her mom and shrugged yet again.
“Irisi… what happened? Tell me or you’ll not get dinner!”
The girl sighed, crossing her legs under her and putting her head in her hands.
Akana sat silently, waiting for the explanation. Finally, the girl talked, looking out the door as if in another world.
“It was a dog, mama.”
“A dog?”
“One of the yellow ones that Papa chases away from the pens. Scrap dog.”
Akana looked at her with concern. “It just bit you?”
Irisi shook her head. “No, not at first. At first they came close.”
“They?”
“A… flock of them.”
“Pack of them,” Akana corrected, then kicked herself for interrupting. If there really were dangerous dogs about, Djal needed to know. And they needed to keep a much closer eye on the children. Usually the “scrap dogs,” as the children called them, were the furthest thing from aggressive. And wait…
“So – more than one? A group of dogs?”
Irisi continued her tale. “Yes, mama. A flo… a… pack of them came to me when I was picking flowers. By the little pond outside the wheat field.”
Akana had quit her weaving and focused her attention completely on her daughter.
“What happened?”
Irisi looked at her intently. “I think... they came to worship me.”
“Worship???”
“That’s what it looked like. They came in a bunch and made a circle, then came up and were sort of kneeling on their front legs, like we do at the altars. One even put a little animal bone at my feet. It was like a little dog party or something. I was their goddess. It was fun! But then when the mean falcons came, the dogs got upset.”
“What? Falcons? And how did they get upset?”
“They were trying to keep the falcons away from my hair. They kept diving and diving at me. I lost my flowers. The dogs tried to bite the falcons and then they went away. But one bit my arm.”
“A falcon?”
“No, a scrap dog. But it was a mistake. It was trying to get a falcon. That’s when I dropped my flowers in the pond.”
Akana was completely bemused. As far as she knew, falcons didn’t attack people and dogs didn’t worship little girls. But, then again, much in the world had changed. The animals no longer communicated like before the waters of chaos… and there was no longer any energy bubbles to keep the harsher elements of Geb at bay.
Akana pondered the story for a long time, and often asked Irisi if she’d had more contact with dogs or falcons… but the answer was always no.
That is, until Irisi turned thirteen.
But now, at six summers, Irisi was everywhere. Taking care of chickens, weaving, sweeping the hard-packed clay of the floor, and occasionally participating in quick and vicious wrestling matches with her older brothers.
It was uncanny how many she won.
Akana could see the strangeness in her eyes, however, and wondered if Djal would notice. If he did, he said nothing. He was a hard-working man, a good man, and, in a time where all infrastructure had been destroyed, a life saver.
As far as they knew, there were only two other families left in the land - those saved by the hands of Ra. They had banded tightly together, forming exploratory parties and sharing their limited resources – but as of yet, they seemed very much alone. Ra rose and Ra set, every day without fail; yet the world of the glorious past was gone forever.
Akana sat weaving and humming to herself, loose threads in her mouth. She missed the fine, dyed stuff she used to own and wished they’d have been able to pack more in the salvation machine.
The smell of bread filled their mud house. Food, shelter, clothing… all the important needs were met.
Suddenly, Irisi crashed through the door.
Akana grinned. “How’s my little woman?”
“Fine.”
“Fine? Are your brothers still with Papa?”
Irisi nodded.
“But you didn’t want to help?”
Irisi shrugged. Akana noticed her hair was getting long. Deep brown curls rolled down her bare sun-browned back. “Are they almost done?”
Irisi shrugged again. She was often like this… so quiet as to be a bit irritating. “Why don’t you talk to your mama, daughter?”
“I don’t have anything to say, mama.”
Akana realized with irritation that she’d cross-threaded a portion of her weaving. She started tugging it right and then noticed something strange.
“Irisi?”
The girl looked up at her from where she sat on the bare floor.
“What’s that mark on your arm?”
Irisi feigned ignorance. “What mark?”
“That one, darling. It looks like… a bite?”
The girl cocked her arm at an angle and studied the small red and purple imprint. She looked at her mom and shrugged yet again.
“Irisi… what happened? Tell me or you’ll not get dinner!”
The girl sighed, crossing her legs under her and putting her head in her hands.
Akana sat silently, waiting for the explanation. Finally, the girl talked, looking out the door as if in another world.
“It was a dog, mama.”
“A dog?”
“One of the yellow ones that Papa chases away from the pens. Scrap dog.”
Akana looked at her with concern. “It just bit you?”
Irisi shook her head. “No, not at first. At first they came close.”
“They?”
“A… flock of them.”
“Pack of them,” Akana corrected, then kicked herself for interrupting. If there really were dangerous dogs about, Djal needed to know. And they needed to keep a much closer eye on the children. Usually the “scrap dogs,” as the children called them, were the furthest thing from aggressive. And wait…
“So – more than one? A group of dogs?”
Irisi continued her tale. “Yes, mama. A flo… a… pack of them came to me when I was picking flowers. By the little pond outside the wheat field.”
Akana had quit her weaving and focused her attention completely on her daughter.
“What happened?”
Irisi looked at her intently. “I think... they came to worship me.”
“Worship???”
“That’s what it looked like. They came in a bunch and made a circle, then came up and were sort of kneeling on their front legs, like we do at the altars. One even put a little animal bone at my feet. It was like a little dog party or something. I was their goddess. It was fun! But then when the mean falcons came, the dogs got upset.”
“What? Falcons? And how did they get upset?”
“They were trying to keep the falcons away from my hair. They kept diving and diving at me. I lost my flowers. The dogs tried to bite the falcons and then they went away. But one bit my arm.”
“A falcon?”
“No, a scrap dog. But it was a mistake. It was trying to get a falcon. That’s when I dropped my flowers in the pond.”
Akana was completely bemused. As far as she knew, falcons didn’t attack people and dogs didn’t worship little girls. But, then again, much in the world had changed. The animals no longer communicated like before the waters of chaos… and there was no longer any energy bubbles to keep the harsher elements of Geb at bay.
Akana pondered the story for a long time, and often asked Irisi if she’d had more contact with dogs or falcons… but the answer was always no.
That is, until Irisi turned thirteen.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. I)
“In those days the gods still walked the earth,” Nomti said, taking a bite out his loaf and washing it back with a slug of beer. His tanned and grizzled features contrasted strangely with the brilliant white of his garment.
“They hadn’t been contained yet. As a matter of record, it took a millennia and a great cataclysm to contain them when the battles were fought before. Some of the gods had committed the unspeakable. And bore offspring.”
Nanu nodded her head as her grandfather spoke. “The great ones!”
“Yes. Great warriors. Evil ones, however. Not… pure. Not of the gods, and not of man… too dangerous. So Atum and Nun raised the waters of chaos, conspiring against the very gods themselves, to destroy the seed of the gods before all was ruined. Yet a few men were gathered up and saved to begin anew.”
Nanu frowned. “Those who built the great tombs?”
“No, those are remnants from before the time of the cleansing. Only recently did they become the tombs of great kings. Those that survived the waters were hidden in the hand of Ra until chaos receded. Yet even in their midst, some of the god blood had been preserved…”
* * *
The sun beat down on Akana as she picked out stems, leaves and rotten fruit from the grape harvest. She didn’t mind – she felt fine and sang as she sorted through baskets of warm grapes, singing, and enjoying the goodness of life.
And some of that life stirred within her. Her breasts lay bare and tan over the fullness of her belly as she poured out the now suitable fruit into the new winepress her husband had completed shortly after the waters receded. It would be soon.... soon.
A movement inside brought her hand to her middle. A knee? A bottom? She smiled and gently pushed back at the child. In return, it moved back harder, sharply kicking at the new pressure. She pressed again – and the baby responded with a kick that felt as if it could break a rib. “Gods have mercy! What a little warrior you are,” she said to her stomach. “What a tough little man I shall bring into the world! That will teach me to push you around, sweet one.”
As she tread the essence from the grapes her thoughts went to the time before. The battles, the citadels, the incredible powers of the gods… all done and gone. She would never see the crystal towers again… nor the shimmering balloons high above the peaks… or the great interlocking blocks of stone carved to knife-edged precision and put into place with concentrated waves of sound. Vanished. Far off as they drifted in the seas over what had been cities and patch-work farmed plains, she had seen the triangular peak of a building or two, but she doubted that much could remain. The tempest had been incredible in its fury.
The baby kicked again, hard enough to knock her breath away. “Child, be at peace!” she groaned. This one could not come soon enough. He would be of use to his older brothers in a few years, gathering grain they had grown painfully with primitive plows and harvested with pitiful hand tools. Nothing like the way it was before. Before… back when the gods had walked the earth…
The gods. A cloud drifted across the sun just as her thoughts went back to that night… just one night of great failing… the night her child had been conceived. She couldn’t know it for sure… but the feeling wouldn’t leave her.
Her husband wouldn’t understand it… but that awful visitor had possessed a strange power she’d never felt before. Djal had left with the boys, visiting his brother inside the great city. She was home alone, running a newly combed batch of flax through the linen spooler when the knock came.
He was the biggest man she’d ever seen. She wasn’t about to let him in, but he pressed his huge and hairy hand in the gap of the door and pushed her aside like a papyrus doll.
“Beer,” he demanded, “and meat.”
Because hospitality required it, she served him both. She considered running away to the neighbors but something kept her riveted to the floor. His eyes burned with an intoxicating madness; his features had something of the divine and something of the animal within them. He finished his meal, then eyed her. Something in his look enslaved her. She knew it was wrong… she knew it was mad… but she found herself serving him drink after drink, and partaking of it herself, and at some point, delivering her body into his arms. There wasn’t much to remember… except the strange canine smell of his breath… and the hairiness of his back… and dreams… endless dreams that night of hunts and the smell of blood… lying among jackals in a cave…
When she had awakened the next day, he was gone. And only a week later, her family were among the few that had been gathered away from the waters of chaos.
Even then, the little one had been in her womb… riding on the waves… up above the peaks.
There for the landing, and the re-dedications, and the libations to the gods. There, growing inside...
Another kick came - and with it a clenching pain.
Djal was in the field and heard her cry. Racing back, he carried her inside. This birth would be without the help of the physicians, he thought grimly. No liniments to ward off the tiny destroyers… no measuring the beating of the hearts. Just nature running its course.
He prayed that course would not kill his wife or child. Though if he’d known what was to come, he might have prayed for both.
“They hadn’t been contained yet. As a matter of record, it took a millennia and a great cataclysm to contain them when the battles were fought before. Some of the gods had committed the unspeakable. And bore offspring.”
Nanu nodded her head as her grandfather spoke. “The great ones!”
“Yes. Great warriors. Evil ones, however. Not… pure. Not of the gods, and not of man… too dangerous. So Atum and Nun raised the waters of chaos, conspiring against the very gods themselves, to destroy the seed of the gods before all was ruined. Yet a few men were gathered up and saved to begin anew.”
Nanu frowned. “Those who built the great tombs?”
“No, those are remnants from before the time of the cleansing. Only recently did they become the tombs of great kings. Those that survived the waters were hidden in the hand of Ra until chaos receded. Yet even in their midst, some of the god blood had been preserved…”
* * *
The sun beat down on Akana as she picked out stems, leaves and rotten fruit from the grape harvest. She didn’t mind – she felt fine and sang as she sorted through baskets of warm grapes, singing, and enjoying the goodness of life.
And some of that life stirred within her. Her breasts lay bare and tan over the fullness of her belly as she poured out the now suitable fruit into the new winepress her husband had completed shortly after the waters receded. It would be soon.... soon.
A movement inside brought her hand to her middle. A knee? A bottom? She smiled and gently pushed back at the child. In return, it moved back harder, sharply kicking at the new pressure. She pressed again – and the baby responded with a kick that felt as if it could break a rib. “Gods have mercy! What a little warrior you are,” she said to her stomach. “What a tough little man I shall bring into the world! That will teach me to push you around, sweet one.”
As she tread the essence from the grapes her thoughts went to the time before. The battles, the citadels, the incredible powers of the gods… all done and gone. She would never see the crystal towers again… nor the shimmering balloons high above the peaks… or the great interlocking blocks of stone carved to knife-edged precision and put into place with concentrated waves of sound. Vanished. Far off as they drifted in the seas over what had been cities and patch-work farmed plains, she had seen the triangular peak of a building or two, but she doubted that much could remain. The tempest had been incredible in its fury.
The baby kicked again, hard enough to knock her breath away. “Child, be at peace!” she groaned. This one could not come soon enough. He would be of use to his older brothers in a few years, gathering grain they had grown painfully with primitive plows and harvested with pitiful hand tools. Nothing like the way it was before. Before… back when the gods had walked the earth…
The gods. A cloud drifted across the sun just as her thoughts went back to that night… just one night of great failing… the night her child had been conceived. She couldn’t know it for sure… but the feeling wouldn’t leave her.
Her husband wouldn’t understand it… but that awful visitor had possessed a strange power she’d never felt before. Djal had left with the boys, visiting his brother inside the great city. She was home alone, running a newly combed batch of flax through the linen spooler when the knock came.
He was the biggest man she’d ever seen. She wasn’t about to let him in, but he pressed his huge and hairy hand in the gap of the door and pushed her aside like a papyrus doll.
“Beer,” he demanded, “and meat.”
Because hospitality required it, she served him both. She considered running away to the neighbors but something kept her riveted to the floor. His eyes burned with an intoxicating madness; his features had something of the divine and something of the animal within them. He finished his meal, then eyed her. Something in his look enslaved her. She knew it was wrong… she knew it was mad… but she found herself serving him drink after drink, and partaking of it herself, and at some point, delivering her body into his arms. There wasn’t much to remember… except the strange canine smell of his breath… and the hairiness of his back… and dreams… endless dreams that night of hunts and the smell of blood… lying among jackals in a cave…
When she had awakened the next day, he was gone. And only a week later, her family were among the few that had been gathered away from the waters of chaos.
Even then, the little one had been in her womb… riding on the waves… up above the peaks.
There for the landing, and the re-dedications, and the libations to the gods. There, growing inside...
Another kick came - and with it a clenching pain.
Djal was in the field and heard her cry. Racing back, he carried her inside. This birth would be without the help of the physicians, he thought grimly. No liniments to ward off the tiny destroyers… no measuring the beating of the hearts. Just nature running its course.
He prayed that course would not kill his wife or child. Though if he’d known what was to come, he might have prayed for both.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. V)
They couldn’t be far, Qatil kept telling himself. He hurriedly explained his fears to Tikka, and for once, she was sober. Or at least wearing her “professional” face. Either way, maybe there might still be hope for her…
It was the morning after the attack, and Qatil’s heightened senses had led them to the edge of the long desert. They were following its edge, not committed to jumping into the wastes without a clear sign. Somewhere out there in the packed clay and sand were the remaining bandits. For what wasn’t the first time, Qatil cursed his lack of preparation. No bows and arrows… improper clothing… no salves or liniments… the list was too long. He reminded himself to pack next time he left his life’s calling.
“Why do you hate women?” Tikka’s voice took him by surprise.
Qatil turned. “What? What do you mean?”
“Women.”
Qatil shrugged. “I don’t hate women.”
Tikka frowned at him, shaking a delicate finger in his face. “Oh yes you do. You joined the men of Anubis and forever swore off us! AND, you treat me like I’m a tree!”
“A tree?”
“A tree.” She huffed at him.
Qatil liked trees. He tried to gain the high ground. “But… I rescued you. If I’d hated women you’d still be getting beaten by that priest. And getting ravished by travelers and pilgrims.”
She spit on the ground in a rather unladylike fashion. “And that is somehow worse than being stuck in the desert, unloved, surviving on low rations, and being captured by bandits then rescued by a monster who’s now taking me BACK to the bandits he took me from?”
Qatil was silent. She did have some valid points. After rescuing her, he’d realized she wasn’t the girl he thought she was… and his feelings for her had shifted. At first he’d thought her noble… he’d thought her abused… taken from her family… used; but then, once he had her in person, he’d been horrified by her crassness… her scatological bent… her silly and stupid ways. He’d wanted her to be a lady… but she’d never learned how… and he was judging her for it.
Of course… he’d never really learned to be a man, either. Raised from when he was young by grandparents, then committed to the god… slept with a prostitute… once… never learned to work the ground, or –
“I see footprints, animal-boy!”
She was right. They’d been following the edge of the brush and in a break to their left, the clear indentations of sandals leading off into the barrenness.
“Are we going out there?” she asked, a note of disbelief in her voice. “We’ll dry up or maybe walk right into Duat!”
Qatil nodded. “We have to. I gave them the blood on accident. But I wouldn’t worry about us ending up in the house of the dead… they’re the ones that’ll be going there.” The thought of a fight tickled through his veins, stimulating something primal and canine. “We have to get them.”
“Or else what?”
Qatil looked her in the face grimly. “Or else the god blood becomes part of man forever… and the rulers will come down from heaven to destroy us.”
She laughed. “Think they’ll need whores?”
Qatil almost rebuked her… then remembered his recent thoughts and repented.
“I need one, Tikka.”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “You do?”
“Yes – you.”
She grinned and swooshed her skirts about. “Right now? Right here?”
“No! Not like that!” Qatil groaned. “Look… you already found the footprints for me. Now we need to figure out how to get the bandits without any getting away. With two of us, and with my powers, we should be able to get them all. I just can’t risk having one flee.”
Tikka smiled. “Your powers? By the gods… I’ll use my powers! It’ll be easy. Just get us close!”
Qatil didn’t think it would be easy… but together, the two of them trudged into the wilderness. The bandits couldn’t be far.
* * *
They’d been walking for about an hour and the dusk was gathering when they first glanced a figure up ahead, surmounting some rocky crags before disappearing down over the edge. Along the way, Tikka had gathered up a few buzzard feathers and a white animal skull she’d found in the sand. Qatil didn’t know his animal skulls, but Tikka claimed it was from a goat-sucker. He was skeptical.
When they spotted the figure, Tikka snickered.
“What is it,” asked Qatil, curious. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’m going to have a ridiculously great idea. I can feel it.” she responded.
“An idea?”
She nodded like a bird. “Mmmhmm. Get us over to those rocks – quick! Carry me!”
Qatil willed the transformation and felt the rush of power. Filled with new vitality, he set Tikka on his shoulders and raced on quiet feet to the edge of the rocks. They were further than they appeared and the night wrapped around them quickly.
There, below in the gloom, the group of bandits had already lit a small fire. Its yellow tongues sent licking light across the crags above them. Qatil and Tikka lay on their bellies and listened in to the conversation.
“Craziest thing, that animal,” said a bandit in dull red wool, “like a man-jackal.”
“Yep,” said another from across the fire, “He took that woman away and ripped out Awi’s guts. Awi still owed me 20 pieces, too.”
A laugh echoed up to them. A bandit in a dark-striped shawl threw a stick into the fire and took a swig from a clay jar. “He’s in pieces. Why didn’t ya take some?”
They all laughed.
“My arm’s still killing me,” said the bandit in red. “See the bite?” He showed it, a black gash on a brown arm in the orange firelight. “I feel like I’m getting a fever, too. Chills, like.”
The man in stripes laughed again. “You want chills? Lemme tell you all a story…”
The men leaned closer as the man lowered his voice. It was obviously a tale of the supernatural… and the men were obviously enjoying being both scared and fascinated at the same time.
“…from heaven into hell… grabbed the child… no head… blood like a pig… she ne’r saw it… babies always getting… blinded a man…”
Qatil looked over at Tikka. She was GONE!
“Tikka?” he whispered. “Tikka…?”
Down in the camp there was a movement outside the firelight… and a howl!
“Aaaaarrrrrriiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaiiiiiieeeeee!”
Qatil shivered all over and the men jumped up in fright. An apparition!
“Meeeeeeeen of theeeeeeeee blooooooody swoooooooords!” came a horrible female voice. “I haaaaaaave coooooooome!!!”
Qatil saw it coming closer, suddenly knowing it must be Tikka. The men clutched each other in fear, superstitious like most bandits and barbarians.
She stepped up to the edge of the light. A shining white skull covered her face, and a necklace of feathers lay over her bared chest. She looked like a goddess of lust and death. Qatil hesitated. The men were all looking her way… could he get down behind them?
“Yooooooooouuuuur bloooooood iiiiiiiiissssss miiiiiiiiiiiiine!” she wailed, then screamed at Qatil. “Jump, you sissy!”
Qatil did – right on top of the nearest bandit, quickly dispatching him before he could yell. The others were still transfixed by the half-nude demon goddess.
“Thaaaaaat’ssss riiiiiiiiiiiight,” she wailed, “looooooook at my seeeeeeeexiiiiiiiiineeeeeeeees!”
Two down, three, four… the last turned around too late and met Qatil’s flashing claws and razor teeth. He stood over the dead, panting… a pile of human wreckage illuminated at the borders in flickering copper.
Tikka threw down the skull and laughed. “See? Hilarious!”
Her hips and warmly-lit breasts were suddenly too much for him. The jackal blood leapt.
“Be my woman!” he yelped at her.
“Your woman? Not your whore?”
“Woman! Lady!”
She pressed up next to him. “What about… wife, meanie-head?”
“Wife!” he yelled, lust gripping him.
She laughed, spit on the corpses, and pulled him down to the ground on a pile of blankets prepared for the night by the now-dead bandits.
At some point in the midst of their wild lovemaking, Qatil remembered something important… and then forgot it.
When he remembered the next day… he hoped against hope that it wouldn’t become a problem.
But it was too late.
It was the morning after the attack, and Qatil’s heightened senses had led them to the edge of the long desert. They were following its edge, not committed to jumping into the wastes without a clear sign. Somewhere out there in the packed clay and sand were the remaining bandits. For what wasn’t the first time, Qatil cursed his lack of preparation. No bows and arrows… improper clothing… no salves or liniments… the list was too long. He reminded himself to pack next time he left his life’s calling.
“Why do you hate women?” Tikka’s voice took him by surprise.
Qatil turned. “What? What do you mean?”
“Women.”
Qatil shrugged. “I don’t hate women.”
Tikka frowned at him, shaking a delicate finger in his face. “Oh yes you do. You joined the men of Anubis and forever swore off us! AND, you treat me like I’m a tree!”
“A tree?”
“A tree.” She huffed at him.
Qatil liked trees. He tried to gain the high ground. “But… I rescued you. If I’d hated women you’d still be getting beaten by that priest. And getting ravished by travelers and pilgrims.”
She spit on the ground in a rather unladylike fashion. “And that is somehow worse than being stuck in the desert, unloved, surviving on low rations, and being captured by bandits then rescued by a monster who’s now taking me BACK to the bandits he took me from?”
Qatil was silent. She did have some valid points. After rescuing her, he’d realized she wasn’t the girl he thought she was… and his feelings for her had shifted. At first he’d thought her noble… he’d thought her abused… taken from her family… used; but then, once he had her in person, he’d been horrified by her crassness… her scatological bent… her silly and stupid ways. He’d wanted her to be a lady… but she’d never learned how… and he was judging her for it.
Of course… he’d never really learned to be a man, either. Raised from when he was young by grandparents, then committed to the god… slept with a prostitute… once… never learned to work the ground, or –
“I see footprints, animal-boy!”
She was right. They’d been following the edge of the brush and in a break to their left, the clear indentations of sandals leading off into the barrenness.
“Are we going out there?” she asked, a note of disbelief in her voice. “We’ll dry up or maybe walk right into Duat!”
Qatil nodded. “We have to. I gave them the blood on accident. But I wouldn’t worry about us ending up in the house of the dead… they’re the ones that’ll be going there.” The thought of a fight tickled through his veins, stimulating something primal and canine. “We have to get them.”
“Or else what?”
Qatil looked her in the face grimly. “Or else the god blood becomes part of man forever… and the rulers will come down from heaven to destroy us.”
She laughed. “Think they’ll need whores?”
Qatil almost rebuked her… then remembered his recent thoughts and repented.
“I need one, Tikka.”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “You do?”
“Yes – you.”
She grinned and swooshed her skirts about. “Right now? Right here?”
“No! Not like that!” Qatil groaned. “Look… you already found the footprints for me. Now we need to figure out how to get the bandits without any getting away. With two of us, and with my powers, we should be able to get them all. I just can’t risk having one flee.”
Tikka smiled. “Your powers? By the gods… I’ll use my powers! It’ll be easy. Just get us close!”
Qatil didn’t think it would be easy… but together, the two of them trudged into the wilderness. The bandits couldn’t be far.
* * *
They’d been walking for about an hour and the dusk was gathering when they first glanced a figure up ahead, surmounting some rocky crags before disappearing down over the edge. Along the way, Tikka had gathered up a few buzzard feathers and a white animal skull she’d found in the sand. Qatil didn’t know his animal skulls, but Tikka claimed it was from a goat-sucker. He was skeptical.
When they spotted the figure, Tikka snickered.
“What is it,” asked Qatil, curious. “Why are you laughing?”
“I’m going to have a ridiculously great idea. I can feel it.” she responded.
“An idea?”
She nodded like a bird. “Mmmhmm. Get us over to those rocks – quick! Carry me!”
Qatil willed the transformation and felt the rush of power. Filled with new vitality, he set Tikka on his shoulders and raced on quiet feet to the edge of the rocks. They were further than they appeared and the night wrapped around them quickly.
There, below in the gloom, the group of bandits had already lit a small fire. Its yellow tongues sent licking light across the crags above them. Qatil and Tikka lay on their bellies and listened in to the conversation.
“Craziest thing, that animal,” said a bandit in dull red wool, “like a man-jackal.”
“Yep,” said another from across the fire, “He took that woman away and ripped out Awi’s guts. Awi still owed me 20 pieces, too.”
A laugh echoed up to them. A bandit in a dark-striped shawl threw a stick into the fire and took a swig from a clay jar. “He’s in pieces. Why didn’t ya take some?”
They all laughed.
“My arm’s still killing me,” said the bandit in red. “See the bite?” He showed it, a black gash on a brown arm in the orange firelight. “I feel like I’m getting a fever, too. Chills, like.”
The man in stripes laughed again. “You want chills? Lemme tell you all a story…”
The men leaned closer as the man lowered his voice. It was obviously a tale of the supernatural… and the men were obviously enjoying being both scared and fascinated at the same time.
“…from heaven into hell… grabbed the child… no head… blood like a pig… she ne’r saw it… babies always getting… blinded a man…”
Qatil looked over at Tikka. She was GONE!
“Tikka?” he whispered. “Tikka…?”
Down in the camp there was a movement outside the firelight… and a howl!
“Aaaaarrrrrriiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaiiiiiieeeeee!”
Qatil shivered all over and the men jumped up in fright. An apparition!
“Meeeeeeeen of theeeeeeeee blooooooody swoooooooords!” came a horrible female voice. “I haaaaaaave coooooooome!!!”
Qatil saw it coming closer, suddenly knowing it must be Tikka. The men clutched each other in fear, superstitious like most bandits and barbarians.
She stepped up to the edge of the light. A shining white skull covered her face, and a necklace of feathers lay over her bared chest. She looked like a goddess of lust and death. Qatil hesitated. The men were all looking her way… could he get down behind them?
“Yooooooooouuuuur bloooooood iiiiiiiiissssss miiiiiiiiiiiiine!” she wailed, then screamed at Qatil. “Jump, you sissy!”
Qatil did – right on top of the nearest bandit, quickly dispatching him before he could yell. The others were still transfixed by the half-nude demon goddess.
“Thaaaaaat’ssss riiiiiiiiiiiight,” she wailed, “looooooook at my seeeeeeeexiiiiiiiiineeeeeeeees!”
Two down, three, four… the last turned around too late and met Qatil’s flashing claws and razor teeth. He stood over the dead, panting… a pile of human wreckage illuminated at the borders in flickering copper.
Tikka threw down the skull and laughed. “See? Hilarious!”
Her hips and warmly-lit breasts were suddenly too much for him. The jackal blood leapt.
“Be my woman!” he yelped at her.
“Your woman? Not your whore?”
“Woman! Lady!”
She pressed up next to him. “What about… wife, meanie-head?”
“Wife!” he yelled, lust gripping him.
She laughed, spit on the corpses, and pulled him down to the ground on a pile of blankets prepared for the night by the now-dead bandits.
At some point in the midst of their wild lovemaking, Qatil remembered something important… and then forgot it.
When he remembered the next day… he hoped against hope that it wouldn’t become a problem.
But it was too late.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. IV)
Before they were together, Qatil had dreamed of rescuing and running off with his very own, very first temple prostitute. Of course… what young man didn’t dream the same?
But now that he knew Tikka better, and had been forced to “enjoy” her company at close range, his dreams were shattered. He’d given up stability, power, respectability and a life of service to the Pharaoh for a… well… twit.
“Don’t look! I’m going wee-wee!”
Qatil rolled his eyes and looked away. She was always like this.
“You can look if you really want to!”
He yelled back in the negative, and added an oath.
“Fine then, Mr. Anubis. Be that way!”
She stalked over the tree where he was sitting. “I don’t even think you LIKE me anymore, you big meanie-head.”
Qatil frowned. “I don’t. You have the grace of a monkey and similar sexual habits.”
She stuck out her tongue at him and went off to pout.
It was a gorgeous day. The Nile was off in the distance and they were in a patch of woods bordering the more arid scrublands of the wilderness.
They had been living there for over a month, slowly moving South and away from everything they’d ever known. Fortunately, the Nile had fish… the riverbanks were teeming with birds… and snagging heads of grain from the edges of fields was easy. Qatil no longer enjoyed grain as he had before his initiation. Compared to the salty tang of warm blood, it was unpleasantly bland. He’d been cooking his meat in front of Tikka… though if he caught something out of her line of sight, sometimes Anubis would take over and he’d wolf it.
Qatil had no idea where they were going, other than away from those who were likely to sacrifice him for his insolence towards the powers of heaven. He wished he could’ve rescued someone that was better company, though.
“Look, Qatil! I can bite my own toenails!”
Qatil heard Tikka yell at him from over fifty yards away. By the gods she was loud! Squinting against the sun, he could make her out at the base of a tree… and she was indeed biting her toenails. And so intent upon her task that she didn’t see…
RAIDERS!
“Tikka! Behind you!”
But it was too late. Two men had her pinned and another three were rooting through their meager possessions at the campsite. Qatil hesitated… and for a moment, considered leaving her.
CRACK! Something hit him in the back of the head. He spun around… three men were behind him – and one was brandishing a staff. In a flash, he transformed.
The raider with the staff took another swing as he did – and almost lost it as he realized the monster he was now facing! Qatil dodged the blow and grabbed the weapon in his mouth, snapping it like a chicken bone. The other two men were already running away. Staff man took a look at the foot-long section of hardwood remaining in his hands and turned to run. Too late! Qatil was on him and crushed his spine in a heartbeat.
He raced back to the campsite. Tikka was gone – and so were the bandits! The small baskets of grain they’d gathered had been stolen, as had his knife.
The couldn’t have gone far. He sniffed the wind. The adrenaline rush was holding – his senses were strong. On all fours, he threw himself into the woods on their trail. Sure enough, he could hear Tikka’s complaining through the woods.
“My boyfriend is gonna get you! He eats people for dinner! He’s also got a huge man organ! Bigger than yours!”
Qatil was shaking his head as he crept up on the main body of the bandits, who had now stopped, thinking themselves safe. The two who had witnessed his transformation were nowhere to be seen. His body was strong… poised… a coiled spring of mahogany fur. Closer… closer…
“BEWARE! MONSTER!”
He swung around – the other two were back behind him, crashing through the undergrowth towards the main body of bandits… sweet god of death - they’d alerted the camp! Qatil cursed his poor strategic ability and decided to go straight for the girl… he could see her between two guards, who were craning their necks towards their incoming partners.
With a shriek of demon rage, he tore into the midst of them, slashing… tearing… biting. The surprised bandits were overcome with terror as they witnessed his bloody maw and flashing eyes – their criminal exploits had never prepared them to face a full-on were-beast. All fled screaming as he slashed at their retreating forms.
After looting the half-dozen dead and finding little of value, Qatil snatched up Tikka, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.
She was unharmed, sadly, and chattered at him as he carried her out of the woods.
“I wasn’t scared, you know. I figured they would rape me, but I was used to it. I told them you’d kill them. And you did! You killed them!”
“Not all, Tikka. Some got away.”
He could feel the god power leaving him. Suddenly, the girl was getting heavier. He set her down, not sure why he’d been carrying her to begin with, other than it just seemed like something grand to do when one was out rescuing.
“You could’ve killed them all if you didn’t stay with me. You stayed with me! That’s sooooo romantic! I should sleep with you!”
“No thanks.” Now he was almost back to himself again… regular, short little Qatil. Not the terrifying visage of Anubis. The blood of the god had calmed.
The… blood…
Suddenly, it hit him. He looked at Tikka.
“How many do you think got away?”
She giggled. “I dunno. Maybe like, eight?”
He remembered biting and slashing more than the few on the ground. Some had escaped… wounded… with the blood… his bites… he had SHARED the sacred blood! Unwittingly, in his rage… he had released what the Temple had kept safe for generations.
Somewhere, off in the woods, the blood of Anubis was coursing through new veins. Men not disciplined nor contained by rites. Men who now had the strength of the gods… without their divinity. Qatil grabbed his head in his hands and fell to the ground, weeping in rage and shame.
And far off, there was heard the echoing cry of a jackal.
But now that he knew Tikka better, and had been forced to “enjoy” her company at close range, his dreams were shattered. He’d given up stability, power, respectability and a life of service to the Pharaoh for a… well… twit.
“Don’t look! I’m going wee-wee!”
Qatil rolled his eyes and looked away. She was always like this.
“You can look if you really want to!”
He yelled back in the negative, and added an oath.
“Fine then, Mr. Anubis. Be that way!”
She stalked over the tree where he was sitting. “I don’t even think you LIKE me anymore, you big meanie-head.”
Qatil frowned. “I don’t. You have the grace of a monkey and similar sexual habits.”
She stuck out her tongue at him and went off to pout.
It was a gorgeous day. The Nile was off in the distance and they were in a patch of woods bordering the more arid scrublands of the wilderness.
They had been living there for over a month, slowly moving South and away from everything they’d ever known. Fortunately, the Nile had fish… the riverbanks were teeming with birds… and snagging heads of grain from the edges of fields was easy. Qatil no longer enjoyed grain as he had before his initiation. Compared to the salty tang of warm blood, it was unpleasantly bland. He’d been cooking his meat in front of Tikka… though if he caught something out of her line of sight, sometimes Anubis would take over and he’d wolf it.
Qatil had no idea where they were going, other than away from those who were likely to sacrifice him for his insolence towards the powers of heaven. He wished he could’ve rescued someone that was better company, though.
“Look, Qatil! I can bite my own toenails!”
Qatil heard Tikka yell at him from over fifty yards away. By the gods she was loud! Squinting against the sun, he could make her out at the base of a tree… and she was indeed biting her toenails. And so intent upon her task that she didn’t see…
RAIDERS!
“Tikka! Behind you!”
But it was too late. Two men had her pinned and another three were rooting through their meager possessions at the campsite. Qatil hesitated… and for a moment, considered leaving her.
CRACK! Something hit him in the back of the head. He spun around… three men were behind him – and one was brandishing a staff. In a flash, he transformed.
The raider with the staff took another swing as he did – and almost lost it as he realized the monster he was now facing! Qatil dodged the blow and grabbed the weapon in his mouth, snapping it like a chicken bone. The other two men were already running away. Staff man took a look at the foot-long section of hardwood remaining in his hands and turned to run. Too late! Qatil was on him and crushed his spine in a heartbeat.
He raced back to the campsite. Tikka was gone – and so were the bandits! The small baskets of grain they’d gathered had been stolen, as had his knife.
The couldn’t have gone far. He sniffed the wind. The adrenaline rush was holding – his senses were strong. On all fours, he threw himself into the woods on their trail. Sure enough, he could hear Tikka’s complaining through the woods.
“My boyfriend is gonna get you! He eats people for dinner! He’s also got a huge man organ! Bigger than yours!”
Qatil was shaking his head as he crept up on the main body of the bandits, who had now stopped, thinking themselves safe. The two who had witnessed his transformation were nowhere to be seen. His body was strong… poised… a coiled spring of mahogany fur. Closer… closer…
“BEWARE! MONSTER!”
He swung around – the other two were back behind him, crashing through the undergrowth towards the main body of bandits… sweet god of death - they’d alerted the camp! Qatil cursed his poor strategic ability and decided to go straight for the girl… he could see her between two guards, who were craning their necks towards their incoming partners.
With a shriek of demon rage, he tore into the midst of them, slashing… tearing… biting. The surprised bandits were overcome with terror as they witnessed his bloody maw and flashing eyes – their criminal exploits had never prepared them to face a full-on were-beast. All fled screaming as he slashed at their retreating forms.
After looting the half-dozen dead and finding little of value, Qatil snatched up Tikka, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.
She was unharmed, sadly, and chattered at him as he carried her out of the woods.
“I wasn’t scared, you know. I figured they would rape me, but I was used to it. I told them you’d kill them. And you did! You killed them!”
“Not all, Tikka. Some got away.”
He could feel the god power leaving him. Suddenly, the girl was getting heavier. He set her down, not sure why he’d been carrying her to begin with, other than it just seemed like something grand to do when one was out rescuing.
“You could’ve killed them all if you didn’t stay with me. You stayed with me! That’s sooooo romantic! I should sleep with you!”
“No thanks.” Now he was almost back to himself again… regular, short little Qatil. Not the terrifying visage of Anubis. The blood of the god had calmed.
The… blood…
Suddenly, it hit him. He looked at Tikka.
“How many do you think got away?”
She giggled. “I dunno. Maybe like, eight?”
He remembered biting and slashing more than the few on the ground. Some had escaped… wounded… with the blood… his bites… he had SHARED the sacred blood! Unwittingly, in his rage… he had released what the Temple had kept safe for generations.
Somewhere, off in the woods, the blood of Anubis was coursing through new veins. Men not disciplined nor contained by rites. Men who now had the strength of the gods… without their divinity. Qatil grabbed his head in his hands and fell to the ground, weeping in rage and shame.
And far off, there was heard the echoing cry of a jackal.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. III)
The transformation that took place that first night had been terrifying. He had thrashed in bed, sweating, eaten with chills. The rotten blood from the well had been the day’s only sustenance. He lay on a bed of burlap and straw in the transformation chamber. It was more of a cell than a bedroom; thick doors, barred windows.
Outside he saw the globe of the moon, staring in, flaunting her freedom. His jaw hurt, his bones ached. And then it happened. His hands turned into claws, his teeth grew out, his body covered with hair. He started howling in terror, but soon, he was howling for the sheer joy of it. Trumpeting animal bellows leapt unbidden from his newly muscled throat. He shrieked at the moon, gnawed at the burlap covering and tore gaping scratches into the clay walls. He’d never felt so strange – or so alive!
That first time had been incredible. He now knew why he’d been locked up. The power of Anubis was not to be trifled with. Indeed, the daily meditations of the priests were more about learning to control the demon in their veins than they were an act of piety...
* * *
Two years after his initiation, he was itching to see the outside world again. The brotherhood rarely let any of the priests travel – particularly not those who had recently become members. Their jobs were to advise the Pharoah (may the god-man be blessed forever!) in matters of spiritual significance – and regularly tend the well. Most of all, they lived to carry the blood of Anubis and keep it from being spilled into the world – or poured into the hands of their enemies.
One chill spring afternoon, Qatil decided it was time for some fresh air. Most of the brotherhood were planting the grain used to feed the huge flock of goats required for the feeding of the 40. He had feigned deep meditation when asked to join them. Feeling it would be better to let him commune with the deity, they had passed on without molesting him.
Qatil often remembered the young prostitute from his initiation – though her temple was a few blocks away and kept vigorously separated from that of Anubis.
But… it could be reached, if one was clever. Qatil was young, lonely, and bored. Seeking out a friend seemed like a good idea. Even if the penalty for discovery was death. Seeing the passive nature of most of the priests, he could hardly believe they’d want to slay him. Brother Jatot had even broken the vow of silence during the Days of Ra without receiving more than a passing rebuke.
He slipped out of the tanned skins that were the garb of his order and put on his old civilian clothing. Better not to draw attention.
Quietly, he made his way up the stairs that led to the roof. There was a ladder there for the lighting of the great torch. He snagged it, and casually walked down the street, taking it to the outer wall which overlooked the women’s courtyard. There they waited for travelers, collecting “donations” for the temple. He climbed cautiously and looked down into the courtyard, not daring to simply walk in as the travelers did. Too much chance of being recognized. One fat and lazy whore fanned herself and lay against the fountain. A couple other women were emerging from one of the “service” booths with a rich-looking merchant.
Then he heard a woman cry out. "Stop it! Stop it!” The other prostitutes looked uncomfortable but didn’t help. Could it be the one he’d spent the night with before his transformation? The girl was obviously begrieved. In an instant, he was down in the square. The cries came from a booth at the end of the row. He hesitated, questioning himself. Then another cry pulled him forward. He burst in, finding a half nude woman trying to shield herself against the blows of a lean-faced man with a riding crop. He took another slash at her. “Submit, slave!”
It was the woman he knew!
Suddenly, her assailant realized he wasn’t the only man in the tent. He turned on Qatil. With sick horror, Qatil saw the man bore the belt of the priesthood – he was the girl’s owner!
“Have a problem with my property management skills?” the man snarled, “Or are you having a hard time waiting your turn?”
Qatil didn’t answer. Assaulting another priest was forbidden.
The man struck him with the crop. “Answer, fool!”
The pain snapped something inside him. The beast blood rose. He transformed. The priest cried out in horror as the girl cowered further back against the wall.
“Anubis!”
With a lunge, Qatil tore out his ribcage and feasted on his still-beating heart. The woman, horrified, tried to run past him. He caught her in his iron grip and clapped a paw over her young features. “Silence, woman! Tonight you are free!”
She nodded, fear still flashing through her eyes. Qatil knew how horrifying a transformation could be. Especially when it was accompanied by eviscerations. He threw her over his shoulder and bounded out into the courtyard. The fat whore came alive and screamed as he approached. Ignoring her, he charged for the gate. In the confusion, he was able to tear off past the market and into the vast fields of grain. When he was sure they hadn’t been followed, he finally paused. The adrenaline was wearing off. Soon he’d just be plain old Qatil again.
The girl now seemed more curious than scared. Though not certain of her safety, she was at least not in his stomach as of yet – and for a girl that had spent her life in a state of near-constant abuse, that was good enough.
He looked at his hands – there were paws no longer. Claws were now just fingernails. He looked up. The girl had noticed.
“You’re no longer a beast.”
He grinned, hoping his incisors had also retracted. “Yeah. Just plain old Qatil now.”
She looked at him, a question in her eyes. “You look familiar.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. You once told me I was a better ride than your camel. Two humps, remember?"
He shook his head. “That couldn’t have been me.”
“Hmm… wait. I know! You’re the one with the mole shaped like a diamond. Right here.” She pointed at her left buttock.
“No.”
“You have a twin, though, right?”
“No. I was an only child.”
Her eyes looked upwards, towards the sky. She seemed lost in thought. “Who and where… who and where. I’ll get it. Just give me a moment.”
With a snap of her fingers, she tried again. “You eat lots of oysters?”
“No.”
“By Ra, I give up then!”
He was a bit hurt. Maybe she’d remember if he brought up that night. “We were together once.”
“I knew it! You bit me right on the –“
“No! NO NO NO! Listen, I was going to be a priest, and you were mine for the last night before my vow. I told you that you weren’t just a whore, you were a person. And you thanked me for being gentle and sweet!”
Her laugh was unexpected. She rocked back to the grass, holding her gut. “HA!”
“What?”
“I tell that to ALL the guys!”
Qatil was not amused. The reality of what he’d done was sinking in. He had left the brotherhood, killed a priest, and freed a temple prostitute.
Though he didn’t know it, soon he would do something much worse.
Outside he saw the globe of the moon, staring in, flaunting her freedom. His jaw hurt, his bones ached. And then it happened. His hands turned into claws, his teeth grew out, his body covered with hair. He started howling in terror, but soon, he was howling for the sheer joy of it. Trumpeting animal bellows leapt unbidden from his newly muscled throat. He shrieked at the moon, gnawed at the burlap covering and tore gaping scratches into the clay walls. He’d never felt so strange – or so alive!
That first time had been incredible. He now knew why he’d been locked up. The power of Anubis was not to be trifled with. Indeed, the daily meditations of the priests were more about learning to control the demon in their veins than they were an act of piety...
* * *
Two years after his initiation, he was itching to see the outside world again. The brotherhood rarely let any of the priests travel – particularly not those who had recently become members. Their jobs were to advise the Pharoah (may the god-man be blessed forever!) in matters of spiritual significance – and regularly tend the well. Most of all, they lived to carry the blood of Anubis and keep it from being spilled into the world – or poured into the hands of their enemies.
One chill spring afternoon, Qatil decided it was time for some fresh air. Most of the brotherhood were planting the grain used to feed the huge flock of goats required for the feeding of the 40. He had feigned deep meditation when asked to join them. Feeling it would be better to let him commune with the deity, they had passed on without molesting him.
Qatil often remembered the young prostitute from his initiation – though her temple was a few blocks away and kept vigorously separated from that of Anubis.
But… it could be reached, if one was clever. Qatil was young, lonely, and bored. Seeking out a friend seemed like a good idea. Even if the penalty for discovery was death. Seeing the passive nature of most of the priests, he could hardly believe they’d want to slay him. Brother Jatot had even broken the vow of silence during the Days of Ra without receiving more than a passing rebuke.
He slipped out of the tanned skins that were the garb of his order and put on his old civilian clothing. Better not to draw attention.
Quietly, he made his way up the stairs that led to the roof. There was a ladder there for the lighting of the great torch. He snagged it, and casually walked down the street, taking it to the outer wall which overlooked the women’s courtyard. There they waited for travelers, collecting “donations” for the temple. He climbed cautiously and looked down into the courtyard, not daring to simply walk in as the travelers did. Too much chance of being recognized. One fat and lazy whore fanned herself and lay against the fountain. A couple other women were emerging from one of the “service” booths with a rich-looking merchant.
Then he heard a woman cry out. "Stop it! Stop it!” The other prostitutes looked uncomfortable but didn’t help. Could it be the one he’d spent the night with before his transformation? The girl was obviously begrieved. In an instant, he was down in the square. The cries came from a booth at the end of the row. He hesitated, questioning himself. Then another cry pulled him forward. He burst in, finding a half nude woman trying to shield herself against the blows of a lean-faced man with a riding crop. He took another slash at her. “Submit, slave!”
It was the woman he knew!
Suddenly, her assailant realized he wasn’t the only man in the tent. He turned on Qatil. With sick horror, Qatil saw the man bore the belt of the priesthood – he was the girl’s owner!
“Have a problem with my property management skills?” the man snarled, “Or are you having a hard time waiting your turn?”
Qatil didn’t answer. Assaulting another priest was forbidden.
The man struck him with the crop. “Answer, fool!”
The pain snapped something inside him. The beast blood rose. He transformed. The priest cried out in horror as the girl cowered further back against the wall.
“Anubis!”
With a lunge, Qatil tore out his ribcage and feasted on his still-beating heart. The woman, horrified, tried to run past him. He caught her in his iron grip and clapped a paw over her young features. “Silence, woman! Tonight you are free!”
She nodded, fear still flashing through her eyes. Qatil knew how horrifying a transformation could be. Especially when it was accompanied by eviscerations. He threw her over his shoulder and bounded out into the courtyard. The fat whore came alive and screamed as he approached. Ignoring her, he charged for the gate. In the confusion, he was able to tear off past the market and into the vast fields of grain. When he was sure they hadn’t been followed, he finally paused. The adrenaline was wearing off. Soon he’d just be plain old Qatil again.
The girl now seemed more curious than scared. Though not certain of her safety, she was at least not in his stomach as of yet – and for a girl that had spent her life in a state of near-constant abuse, that was good enough.
He looked at his hands – there were paws no longer. Claws were now just fingernails. He looked up. The girl had noticed.
“You’re no longer a beast.”
He grinned, hoping his incisors had also retracted. “Yeah. Just plain old Qatil now.”
She looked at him, a question in her eyes. “You look familiar.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. You once told me I was a better ride than your camel. Two humps, remember?"
He shook his head. “That couldn’t have been me.”
“Hmm… wait. I know! You’re the one with the mole shaped like a diamond. Right here.” She pointed at her left buttock.
“No.”
“You have a twin, though, right?”
“No. I was an only child.”
Her eyes looked upwards, towards the sky. She seemed lost in thought. “Who and where… who and where. I’ll get it. Just give me a moment.”
With a snap of her fingers, she tried again. “You eat lots of oysters?”
“No.”
“By Ra, I give up then!”
He was a bit hurt. Maybe she’d remember if he brought up that night. “We were together once.”
“I knew it! You bit me right on the –“
“No! NO NO NO! Listen, I was going to be a priest, and you were mine for the last night before my vow. I told you that you weren’t just a whore, you were a person. And you thanked me for being gentle and sweet!”
Her laugh was unexpected. She rocked back to the grass, holding her gut. “HA!”
“What?”
“I tell that to ALL the guys!”
Qatil was not amused. The reality of what he’d done was sinking in. He had left the brotherhood, killed a priest, and freed a temple prostitute.
Though he didn’t know it, soon he would do something much worse.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. II)
The next day, Qatil awoke early in the morning. A faraway trumpet announced the opening of the town market. Chickens clucked in the courtyard of the temple. A few priests were already repeating their morning chants as they crouched in the dust.
Beside him lay the temple prostitute he had been given after last night’s ceremony. After this night, he was to have no more contact with women.
The time they had shared had been awkward. He was inexperienced – and she had been bored. Lying with men had long-since ceased to be a pleasure for her and had instead become a chore. No doubt her family had sold her into prostitution in order to pay off some debt to the state. He wished her no ill – though he did wish he had been able to avoid the entire embarrassing episode altogether. The sunlight lit upon her face. She couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.
Unaware, he had put out his hand to stroke her hair. The girl awoke, startled.
“I apologize, sacred consort. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She half-smiled and stretched. “I don’t mind. I am sorry that you’ll be joining the priesthood.”
Surprised, he started. “Why?”
“You're gentle and sweet.”
He blushed, not sure what to say. It was a simple religious rite… yet it felt like it should have been deeper. A communion unshared with others. But this girl would never get a chance to become someone’s one and only woman. More likely, when she got older, she would end up a sacrifice or a slave.
“Thank you. You are… also... a very nice woman.”
She laughed, a tinkle of glass. “I am a whore.”
He winced. “You’re still a person… a… a…”
“I’m just a whore. But you’re very sweet.”
She kissed him. “I almost wish we’d met under different circumstances,” she stated bluntly. Then she stood, wrapped her gown around her slender form, and walked away into the already-warming air.
He sat there for a while, wishing he could do something for her. But then, with a sick thud, he remembered his initiation. It was today! He girded his loins and stepped out of his goatskin Initiate’s tent. He repeated the words of his oath again, making sure he had them all memorized.
He stood before the entrance of the temple. For good luck, he drew a charm in the dust with his foot. Then he knocked on the huge brass door. The words boomed back from inside.
“Who seeks to crawl in the dust before Anubis?”
Trying to sound brave, he yelled back. “I, Qatil the Initiate.”
“And why should we let you inside his sacred home?”
“I am the one who makes 40, the sacred number. I am the one who sacrifices my will for his. I am the one who was chosen by his priest. And I am the one who seeks to mingle blood!”
The door swung open. There, he was embraced by High Priest Kalut and kissed on the forehead. The other priests bowed before him. He was dressed in the sacred robe and brought into the room that last night had been a place of death. Anubis stared forwards over his head, impassive.
Qatil prostrated himself before the image. The High Priest recited the rules of the order and the great myth of Anubis, the jackal-headed god. Then came the culmination. The well was uncapped right in front of Qatil, releasing a stench of rotting corpuscles. The sacred bowl was lowered in a woven net, down into the blackness. Then it returned, filled with filthy liquid.
Repeating the oath, Qatil brought it to his lips and drank. The priests lifted their voices in exaltation, welcoming a new servant of the god.
Later that night, he was visited by Anubis himself.
Beside him lay the temple prostitute he had been given after last night’s ceremony. After this night, he was to have no more contact with women.
The time they had shared had been awkward. He was inexperienced – and she had been bored. Lying with men had long-since ceased to be a pleasure for her and had instead become a chore. No doubt her family had sold her into prostitution in order to pay off some debt to the state. He wished her no ill – though he did wish he had been able to avoid the entire embarrassing episode altogether. The sunlight lit upon her face. She couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.
Unaware, he had put out his hand to stroke her hair. The girl awoke, startled.
“I apologize, sacred consort. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
She half-smiled and stretched. “I don’t mind. I am sorry that you’ll be joining the priesthood.”
Surprised, he started. “Why?”
“You're gentle and sweet.”
He blushed, not sure what to say. It was a simple religious rite… yet it felt like it should have been deeper. A communion unshared with others. But this girl would never get a chance to become someone’s one and only woman. More likely, when she got older, she would end up a sacrifice or a slave.
“Thank you. You are… also... a very nice woman.”
She laughed, a tinkle of glass. “I am a whore.”
He winced. “You’re still a person… a… a…”
“I’m just a whore. But you’re very sweet.”
She kissed him. “I almost wish we’d met under different circumstances,” she stated bluntly. Then she stood, wrapped her gown around her slender form, and walked away into the already-warming air.
He sat there for a while, wishing he could do something for her. But then, with a sick thud, he remembered his initiation. It was today! He girded his loins and stepped out of his goatskin Initiate’s tent. He repeated the words of his oath again, making sure he had them all memorized.
He stood before the entrance of the temple. For good luck, he drew a charm in the dust with his foot. Then he knocked on the huge brass door. The words boomed back from inside.
“Who seeks to crawl in the dust before Anubis?”
Trying to sound brave, he yelled back. “I, Qatil the Initiate.”
“And why should we let you inside his sacred home?”
“I am the one who makes 40, the sacred number. I am the one who sacrifices my will for his. I am the one who was chosen by his priest. And I am the one who seeks to mingle blood!”
The door swung open. There, he was embraced by High Priest Kalut and kissed on the forehead. The other priests bowed before him. He was dressed in the sacred robe and brought into the room that last night had been a place of death. Anubis stared forwards over his head, impassive.
Qatil prostrated himself before the image. The High Priest recited the rules of the order and the great myth of Anubis, the jackal-headed god. Then came the culmination. The well was uncapped right in front of Qatil, releasing a stench of rotting corpuscles. The sacred bowl was lowered in a woven net, down into the blackness. Then it returned, filled with filthy liquid.
Repeating the oath, Qatil brought it to his lips and drank. The priests lifted their voices in exaltation, welcoming a new servant of the god.
Later that night, he was visited by Anubis himself.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. I)
“Bring the sacred bowl!”
Qatil did, trembling hands betraying his Initiate status. The priests were gathered tonight to send one of their own on his journey to the beyond.
The object of their ministrations was an emaciated and ancient figure, bare-chested and remarkably hairy. Stretched out on a stone slab before the great image of Anubis, the dying man clutched a large golden ankh in his hands, eyes shut, breathing heavy.
“Arkases has served his god throughout life – and now will continue to serve him in death. Let us mingle his blood now with the blood of Anubis in divine communion!”
The speaker was the high priest. Carefully, he removed a silver dagger from its sheath. Arkases opened his eyes and put forth his hand. High Priest Kalut handed him the dagger. Arkases kissed its blade, clutched it to his heart for a moment, and handed it back to Kalut. Then he shut his eyes and collapsed back onto the slab. His time was near.
A young slave brought a muzzled jackal into the chamber. Two priests grabbed it as Kalut pronounced the sacrificial words. Six more priests uncapped the marble well before the feet of Anubis as Kalut suspended the jackal above its blackness and let the blood flow into its maw.
The priests chanted and wailed. All forty of their number were gathered tonight to watch the transition of Arkases. His breathing grew more labored, ragged gasps replacing even breaths. His form shifted, at once like a man, and then like a wolf, and back again. A priest lay a cool rag on his sweating forehead as he mumbled incantations of peace.
Finally, it happened… with a final rough intake of air, the man breathed his last. Kalut started the chant of infinity – the song of Anubis and the netherworld. Kalut then transformed into a magnificent black were-jackal, and howled a final piercing goodbye to the company’s fallen brother.
Quickly, they then pulled Arkases’s corpse up on the table and carefully slit his throat, allowing the hot blood to gush forth into the bowl. They eased his body down slowly and raised the tilt of the platform, letting the sacred crimson fill the receptacle almost to its rim.
After an eternity, the final drops fell. With a last chanting of blessing and sanctification, the priests removed the body of Arkases to the embalming chamber.
“Join, join and mingle! For now, faithful priest, you become one with your god!
The blood of Arkases was poured into the well. The thirty-nine remaining priests bowed before Anubis as Kalut returned the golden ankh to his hand.
Qatil did, trembling hands betraying his Initiate status. The priests were gathered tonight to send one of their own on his journey to the beyond.
The object of their ministrations was an emaciated and ancient figure, bare-chested and remarkably hairy. Stretched out on a stone slab before the great image of Anubis, the dying man clutched a large golden ankh in his hands, eyes shut, breathing heavy.
“Arkases has served his god throughout life – and now will continue to serve him in death. Let us mingle his blood now with the blood of Anubis in divine communion!”
The speaker was the high priest. Carefully, he removed a silver dagger from its sheath. Arkases opened his eyes and put forth his hand. High Priest Kalut handed him the dagger. Arkases kissed its blade, clutched it to his heart for a moment, and handed it back to Kalut. Then he shut his eyes and collapsed back onto the slab. His time was near.
A young slave brought a muzzled jackal into the chamber. Two priests grabbed it as Kalut pronounced the sacrificial words. Six more priests uncapped the marble well before the feet of Anubis as Kalut suspended the jackal above its blackness and let the blood flow into its maw.
The priests chanted and wailed. All forty of their number were gathered tonight to watch the transition of Arkases. His breathing grew more labored, ragged gasps replacing even breaths. His form shifted, at once like a man, and then like a wolf, and back again. A priest lay a cool rag on his sweating forehead as he mumbled incantations of peace.
Finally, it happened… with a final rough intake of air, the man breathed his last. Kalut started the chant of infinity – the song of Anubis and the netherworld. Kalut then transformed into a magnificent black were-jackal, and howled a final piercing goodbye to the company’s fallen brother.
Quickly, they then pulled Arkases’s corpse up on the table and carefully slit his throat, allowing the hot blood to gush forth into the bowl. They eased his body down slowly and raised the tilt of the platform, letting the sacred crimson fill the receptacle almost to its rim.
After an eternity, the final drops fell. With a last chanting of blessing and sanctification, the priests removed the body of Arkases to the embalming chamber.
“Join, join and mingle! For now, faithful priest, you become one with your god!
The blood of Arkases was poured into the well. The thirty-nine remaining priests bowed before Anubis as Kalut returned the golden ankh to his hand.
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