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Between Darkness and Dawning
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
From uwm.edu!wuarchive!kuhub.cc.ukans.edu!maverick.ksu.ksu.edu!umriscc!mcs213k.cs.umr.edu!asparrow W May 22 23:02:02 CDT 1991
Between Darkness and Dawning
The young man listened to the chanted Prayer Before Evening
Meal as the rest of the students marched past his door. On the
fourth stanza, he sighed and got up from the edge of the bed to
kneel in the center of the room. As the fifth stanza finished,
Immaculate Androzius looked in on him.
"Still praying, lad?" he asked.
"Yes, Immaculate. I only hope to be worthy of our Blessed
Goddess, and be cleansed tonight." The words stuck in his
throat, but apparently convinced the superior. As he left, the
youth's stomach reminded him noisily that he had not eaten since
dinner the night before. A fast was always required for
purification, and he consoled himself with the thought that five
priests had been fasting too.
All for you, my sister, he thought, wondering if he should
curse her for the ordeal he was facing. Then remembering that
both of them were being punished, he sighed and remembered their
last day together.
The only sound was the wind in the trees and the faint
whicker of their horses. Somewhere a bird called. The forest
glade was awash with sunlight that turned Zara's black hair a
rich cinnamon color. She was pale under the green robes, despite
their many meetings here. At fourteen, she had lost the coltish
look of a child, but did not yet have the rich curves of a woman.
Her breasts were but half-formed and her moon-blood had not yet
begun to flow. At fourteen, he was lean and bronzed from much
exercise in the sun, and strong from his training.
They had spread their cloaks and neither had risen a virgin.
It was awkward, but sweet, until the invaders came. Mikel, Vand
and Jeran, out hunting, had stumbled onto the twins' glade. She
had been lying beneath him with a look of bliss on her face when
he had looked up at the three shadows.
"So this is how you act when no one watches twin born."
Vand made the word into a curse. "Mikel found you and brought us
here. We will take you back to face Father. The midwife should
have strangled the slut at birth. Now you have no more decency
than to rut with your own sister, like an animal. Don't dress,
just your cloaks." The point was moot since Mikel had gathered
all of their clothing into a bundle.
Then it was a blur. Standing unrepentant before their
father, the king, and his brother-in-law the advisor. Hearing a
death sentence, which was mitigated by their mother's
intervention. It had been changed to banishment and
life-imprisonment in this Destroyer-forsaken monastery.
The memory of Zara, and the still burning coals of his anger
would sustain him through the night. Using his Power, he
prepared to awaken two hours before midnight, and went to sleep.
Upon awakening, he resumed the kneeling position, noticing
that the knees of his robe were getting dusty, although he had
swept his cell that morning. He pondered what he would be saying
that night.
An hour and a half before midnight, two priests came for
him. They escorted him to the bathhouse and assisted him in the
ritual bath. He donned the robe of pure white linen, which he
had made himself, according to custom, under the direction of
Purified Liniosh, who had charge of the looms. He had not once
complained about the three months of woman's work involved in
weaving and sewing the garment. He knew all skill were useful,
and could see potential for learning to sew.
As they escorted him to the Chapel of Purification, three
others joined them. Five priests, the holiest number of Vanada,
and one unrepentant student, soon to embark on a new life.
The Eldest stepped before the altar and genuflected. The
other priests and the prince did likewise. The blue star with
the gold sword on it seemed to glow in the torchlight. The
others knelt.
"Everpure Vanada, Innocent and Holy, we, Your servants, beg
Your Mercy for our transgressions. But we know, that by Your
Laws, there is no forgiveness without the shedding of blood.
With us stands one who has erred most grievously, and yet is
desirous of Your Mercy. Everpure One, the crimes he has
committed have turned him red as blood. We ask, that with the
shedding of his blood, they would be shed away. For the sake of
Law and Goodness."
The prince rose and went to kneel before the altar. He
kissed the symbol of Vanada that hung around his neck before
removing it to lay it on the altar. He held out his arms and two
of the priests slit the seams it had taken him hours of labor and
many pricked fingers to sew. It fell to the knotted cord at his
waist. He knew the entire garment must be soaked through with
his blood before they would pronounce him shriven.
The Eldest took up the Rod of Scourging, and tossed Incense
of Purification into the brazier. The smell was like flowers
dipped in blood. The other four began to pray quietly. The
penitent began the prayer of confession.
"Blessed Vanada, Holy Everpure One, I kneel before Your
altar in atonement..." the rod cracked across his back, drawing
blood. It hurt but he did not falter, "...confessing my filth to
Your Light. I expose myself to You, Holy One, trusting Your
Mercy and Justice. There can be no forgiveness without the
shedding of blood. For such a crime as mine, there is no
sacrifice I can make, save my own blood. I ask that this would
be sufficient to appease Your Wrath at my transgression. I
confess to violating Your Laws of The Body, of unlawful sensual
experience, of defiling myself and my sister in Your Sight." He
picked up the symbol and clutched it to him, its sharp
points digging into his chest and creating a secondary pain
source. A few drops of blood fell on the front of the robe and
he could feel his back was awash.
From behind him a priest intoned, "What is the First Law of
The Body?"
"Be pure in action and sickness shall depart from you," came
the response.
"How have you violated this Law?" asked the second.
"I have committed impure actions."
"What Law have you violated by your actions?" asked the
third.
"I have violated the Fourth Law of The Body. I have
experienced unlawful sensuality. I lay with my sister, defiling
us both. I beg the mercy of Vanada for this crime."
The Eldest had tired and, giving the rod to the next highest
rank, began the Litany of Sin. The youth before the altar made
the correct responses to accompanying blows.
The ceremony continued through the night. Torches were
replaced as they burned away, and the five priests alternated the
beating with questions about the Law and his sin.
The white robe that had cost him so much labor was soaked
through with his blood. He knew it was to be a symbol of how the
best deeds are obscured by sin. Once or twice he had come near
fainting, but called to mind Zara's face and his anger. The fact
that this was all for show made it no easier to bear.
He comforted himself with the images of those who had
condemned him dead. He saw Mikel, the tale-bearer, the sneak,
dead in a hundred ways; sometimes by Zara's hand, sometimes by
the combined might of the twins, but most often by his own, long
and slow. His father, the pompous patriarch, so self-righteous,
as if he had never done anything unlawful, he killed in a
multitude of fashions. He would be avenged for every stripe laid
on his back this night, and for every sickening platitude he was
being forced to mouth for the benefit of these pious simpletons
who could not see through his act.
Dawn came at last. All six were bone-weary, and the prince
knew he would never get off of his knees without help.
"Most Holy Vanada," rasped the Eldest, in a voice harsh from
long chanting, "accept the sacrifice of the penitent and grant
him Your Blessing as he takes Your holy robes as his vocation."
"Blessed Vanada, make me worthy to serve You. Let the sins
flow from my soul, even as the blood flows from my body before
You. Until the end of the span You grant me, let me serve Your
Holy Will. For the sake of Goodness and Law."
Each of the priests laid a hand on his ravaged back and
pressed it to the altar, one at each corner and the Eldest in the
center, in token of his sacrifice.
Two priests helped him up onto legs that would no longer
support him. They half-carried, half-dragged him to the
bathhouse and washed away the blood. Ointments were applied and
his back was bandaged, although he would carry the scars to his
grave. The blood-stained robe was folded up and set aside, and
he was helped into a soft grey acolyte's robe.
One last walk to the Chapel of Purification completed the
ritual. He carried the bloody robe to the altar and covered it
with coals from the brazier.
"With this, I burn my pride, my sin and myself. I am Yours,
Everpure One, to do with as You will." The robe burned slowly.
Outside he could hear the bell for morning services. When the
last of the robe was burned, two priests accompanied him back to
his quarters.
"Sleep, little brother," one told him. "Tomorrow, you will
leave your secular studies and begin your journey. The Goddess
had taken you back to Herself."
As the door closed and the footsteps faded, the young man
lay on his stomach and smiled despite the pain. It had all
worked beautifully.
"All for you, my dearest Zara," he whispered. "For you and
for revenge!" He reached out to his twin across the miles that
separated them. He had suffered and it seemed only right she
take some of that pain. But her guards were up and she was
asleep behind them. His sister, the sorceress. One day, they
would rule the world. Buoyed by this thought he drifted off to
sleep.
In the city of Shargat, on the banks of Lake Vadnais, a
young woman had awakened in the middle of the night, calling her
twin brother's name. Her back was afire and her mind filled with
prayers to a goddess she had rejected two years before.
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Well, there it is, the one complete short story. The novel
will be sent week after next. Thank you all for the
support. (Elf, I'd love to hear your commentary on these.)
Slave of Matth
Formerly Angel the Succubus
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