Serpents

Priests are allowed to make love. They may be dedicated to their priestly profession, but they are allowed to make love. Especially if they were as handsome as him. He wore golden curls on his head and had a bronzed body that was reminiscent of the Sun God. Lust inundated the very foundations of her mind when she glimpsed him for the first time. And the second time. And the third. And every time hence. 

So they made love everywhere, whenever he was free from his priestly duties. He performed his sacred rites when the time arose, and then exited the temple and came to her. His cock was always hard and always seeking the dripping tunnel between her thighs. They always reached their climax together, while playing with each other's bodies in fantastic new ways each day. 

One day, however, the deluge of lust stormed those last foundations of mental reasoning, and there was both sex and trouble at hand. She ran into his temple, when he was preparing for his ritual, and entreated him to take her then and there. He wouldn’t hear of it at first, but she begged him and told him how she would die if she didn’t enjoy union with him just then.

Then as he stormed her sanctum sanctorum with his penis, a pure form that radiated energy and wisdom stormed the sanctum sanctorum of the temple where they were making love. The being of pure energy who was the Goddess expected her priest to be worshiping her, but he was making love to a woman inside the holiest of holies. 

It was then that the terrible words came upon the lips of the Goddess. They heard a thunderclap when she spoke, and she pointed at her priest and converted him into a creature that could be compared to Leviathans from the deepest recesses of the netherworld. She pointed at her and converted her into a being whose serpentine form would inspire terror for all eternity. 

Then, as quick as a beam of light, the Goddess vanished, and their entreaties for forgiveness rang through empty air in harsh tongues that sounded more like tempestuous roars than their erstwhile human voices. 

 

Hypatia

Hypatia saw something hidden within her brother’s robes that he had secreted away in his quarters. This was her house after all, and as his elder sister, it was her duty to keep him out of trouble. So she checked his quarters. 

It was parchment. It was ancient parchment written in a tongue that she did not understand. It wasn’t alone, however. He had nearly a hundred such parchments with different designs and images on them. She didn’t know what to make of it. 

There were images of fire-breathing serpents and red-skinned beings with horns and tridents. What caught her attention, however, was a striking image of a being that was a woman until her waist, and a serpent below. 

Farmer’s girl

The sheer splendor of the palace hall blew all sensations of grime and hunger away from the farmer and his daughter’s minds. The dazzling field of orichalcum, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, gold, silver and bronze that assaulted their eyes was surely a creation of the Gods. Their awe of their Sultan and Sultana increased at the sight, and they wondered what sort of reward they could expect. 

She was called Aya, and he was called Nuska, and they were named for ancient Gods. For the young Aya, it meant that the fields she traipsed in would no longer be green; they would be emerald colored. The bright red hibiscus she adorned her hair with on occasion would no longer be red; it would be ruby red. The sky would no longer be blue; it would be the color of an aquamarine.

For Nuska is meant that he may not have to farm once his daughter reported her findings. It was going to be something that would gain them the favor of the royal family for this lifetime. It meant an end to backbreaking labors under the merciless Arabian sun. 

They had been barred entry until the girl said that they had deciphered a message from the snakes and she would tell the Sultana alone. Nuska was doubly proud of his daughter for holding her ground against the giant guards who tried to get her to spill her news to them. She simply repeated ten times, in succession, that her words were meant for the Sultana’s ears alone. The guards were forced to be content with her answer and gave in to the determination of a child. Her determination had earned them entry into the grand hall, where all their cares were momentarily forgotten. 

They waited in the hall for a good half hour before the Sultana found time for them and entered the royal hall. They had heard so much about her and about how she had magic powers and was more powerful than a dozen wizards combined. Seeing her mien confirmed this to them. The air of dominance in her presence was remarkable. 

She asked her attendants to bring them some Sherbet, which was something they hadn’t expected from a queen, no less a Sultana. It tasted far sweeter than water they were used to and seemed to nourish their tongues, throats and indeed every fiber within them as they consumed it. 

“You are from the east,” she said. 

“Yes, your highness,” Nuska replied. 

“And you are a farmer from the east,” she said.

“Yes, your highness,” Nuska said, nodding happily, as the Sherbet brought his sallow and bristly cheeks to life. 

“I am very fond of farmers, and of eastern farmers in particular,” the Sultana said, giving Aya a warm smile that just seemed to melt inside her heart. Aya was in love with her queen; she is so much more than mother, she said to herself. If only she was my mother. 

Eastern farmers harvested the best bounties in their kingdom and indeed provided grain for all the kingdom to sup on. So the Sultana’s statement was transparent to Nuska, and even to bright little Aya.

“What is your name, darling?” the Sultana asked her. 

“Aya, your highness,” she said and bowed again before her monarch. 

“You’ve bowed ten times already, girl,” the Sultana said, laughing. “Now tell me what is this secret you can tell only me.”

Younos

Little Younos was practicing magic of the darkest kind. This was the only conclusion that Hypatia could draw from the sea of ancient scrolls that greeted her in his room. She understood now why he was short of money. She knew that procuring such scrolls was an expensive endeavor, and was indulged in by only those quirky and mysterious individuals who were rich and who had a stomach for the supernatural.

If Younos had been able to gather these many scrolls, it meant he was doing perfectly okay financially. He had earned enough money through whatever odd jobs he deigned to perform to get him all these. And he had spent every last pie of it on these scrolls of magic. Now, living under her roof, he had to answer her. 

It was late at night, and Younos wasn’t back yet. She wondered if he was out collecting scrolls. She heard a gentle patter of rain outside. Rain was rare, so she stepped out under the awning outside her front door to see it fall. She saw a form slinking through the shadows coming at her. She worried for a moment that she was vulnerable and that it was someone who wished her harm. Then she heaved a sigh of relief, seeing her brother emerging from the shadows, dripping wet. 

“Where have you been, Adolphos?” she said, trying to make him feel welcome, tired as he must be from his labors. 

She led him indoors. He looked tired and happy, and very wet.

“Sister,” he said, “I have found favor with the Sultana, and now with her daughter.”

Younos was beaming, and genuinely above board and honest in his words this once. She smiled at him, handing him a towel to dry himself. 

“Her daughter? Which daughter, and what sort of favor?” she said.

Younos told her about how he had chanced upon princess Mediha being strangled by an assassin and had saved her life. 

“Where was this?” she asked.

“In the palace,” he said, meeting her gaze.

She smiled. He appeared to be telling her the truth at least this time. 

“Go on,” she said. 

“The assassin was female as well,” he said, “and had a hold on her throat, and had immersed her in water.”

“Water?” she said. 

“A pool in the palace,” he said, keeping an entirely straight face, as he started rubbing the towel on his head vigorously. 

“What was the princess doing in a pool?” she said. 

“How should I know?” he said, “It was lucky I was within hearing distance and heard their struggle.”

Hypatia understood from her brother’s eyes exactly what had happened. He had been hiding and trying to get an eyeful of the princess while she was bathing, which had opportunely for him, been precisely when an attack on her life had happened. She asked him to go on, telling herself that he was mostly a good boy, even if he went around sneaking looks at naked girls. 

“The assassin had a hold of her and was holding her under the water as they floated with the assassin on top,” he said, “and I leaped in the water on the assassin, so that my feet struck her back, and had to let go of the princess. It was frightening, Adelphe!”

Hypatia knew that his account of his struggle was true. He wasn’t this good an actor.

“I lost my balance also, but the princess was free,” he said, tossing the towel aside, and giving a vague glance towards her kitchen. “The assassin tried attacking me, while the princess floated in the water. I was worried she had died, but I tried to counter the assassin’s attack.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Ouranos and Gaea are watching over me,” he said. “The assassin lost her balance again, and I pulled the princess out of the water. I even had a moment to pump her chest to rid her of water.”

“You must have enjoyed that,” Hypatia said dryly. 

Younos turned red and then went on.

“So, the assassin attacked before I could get the princess entirely back, and she tried to break my back!”

“Oh!” Hypatia said. “You’re a great fighter as well? You fought her off?”

“That I did,” Younos said, “I pivoted in a manner even I don’t remember and poked her in the eyes, so she had to let go of me.”

Hypatia noted the cheeky look again on his face. Some sort of embellishment was going on here, but she had to live with it. 

“What happened next?” she asked.

“Well, the assassin got away, but I gained the princess’ favor when she regained consciousness,” he said, “and to reward me, she gave me some delicious dates and sweet wine for dessert.”

She laughed and lead him into the kitchen.

Imi

Holy Nut didn’t seem to hear her prayers just yet. Imi saw a girl with porcelain skin and red hair stagger out of prince Rustum’s room. Her prince Rustum’s room. The girl was walking like she had a few days back, and appeared sore from too many carnal delights. Dark rings stood guard around her eyes and her hair was disheveled. Her gait suggested a soreness in her loins, and she held her jaw as if she had overworked it. Her azure linen gown was in disarray so that one of her bright pink nipples was drinking in the sunlight, and she didn’t even bother to adjust it.

Imi felt disgust in her stomach. Disgust not for the girl, but for the fact that she had shared delights that only she ought to have with her angel. She still wanted the Farishta for herself, but she wondered if she could reform him. If the mother of the Gods didn’t hear her prayers, what would she do?

She thought she would make herself available to the prince again, and wondered whether her honor was completely lost in doing so. She turned her head upward and sent up a mute prayer once more. The mother of the Gods was surely kinder than this. 

Mediha

Princess Mediha stood with arms akimbo, looking at herself in the mirror. She glared at herself. Her lovely dark brown eyes flashed fire at herself, in an attempt to stoke what was already a raging fire. She brushed her long raven hair that glistened with almond oil back so that she could view her earrings again. She wore rubies that were set in ornate silver casings on her ears now as a symbol of her mission. The ruby necklace that adorned her slender yet voluptuous neck had smaller rubies playing soldiers with a central fiery red queen who was perched where her breasts formed a deep-set cleavage line that so many lusted after, but only Rawer had access to. 

The fires in the earthen and metal braziers in her room burned a crimson red, after the addition of specially procured salts for the purpose*. The fiery glow was the color of the blood she sought to spill, and she had taken every measure to remind herself every moment of her purpose.

It was a personal vendetta. Someone tries to kill you, and you go after them with every last iota of your power. The princess was in love and was making plans for moving to another country with her dear Rawer, but an attack on her life could not be left unanswered. 

She had sworn her guards to secrecy. She didn’t want her mother involved. The moment her mother learned of such a thing, she would turn over every last stone in the palace to find and destroy the assassin. The princess didn’t want that. She wanted to strangle the assassin personally, and she planned for it. 

She met with Rawer another time in the month, and they decided on plans to elope. Two crawls through that sewer were two crawls too many, so she was waiting for the time when she would end this charade once for all. It would be at the end of the month that she would fly from the home of her ancestors with alacrity that was fueled by a rare passion. They would be riding for nearly four days and would have to make several stops. To go by themselves would invite less prying eyes, but it would also make them ready targets for bandits and robbers. A party of two is a pleasure to attack, regardless of Rawer and her own battle prowess. They would have to deal with plenty of skirmishes. 

What they needed instead was a large party that would make good time. This was where she was convinced that Rawer and her were watched by both Arabian and Nubian Gods. Rawer had secured the friendship of a horse trader who had to deliver Arabians to the Kushite capital. This was unexpected good fortune, but in retrospect, it seemed altogether too mundane an occurrence. Arabians were prized for their stamina and steady nature and were in high demand all over the world. That the Kushites wanted plenty of them was not very surprising.

She had personally attended at the forge when the added rubies to her scimitar’s hilt. She had laid it on a crimson pillow next to her mirror, ready to spill blood at a moment’s notice. A caramel Nubian woman’s face haunted her thoughts, and she wouldn’t rest until she plunged her scimitar into those caramel breasts.

Nadia

Nadia shivered again. The general had been at it for twelve hours. There was less smoke now, but she feared that she would die from inhaling all these foul exudations from the fire pit. It was a price she was willing to pay, but only if the general went with her. 

Dozens of goat hearts had been consigned to the flames as she watched. Two horse hearts had been consigned to the flames, and their terrible ends had scared her witless. The general was physically far more powerful than she thought. He had carved those hearts out of those Arabian stallions while avoiding their frantic and lethal kicks as they spun around this enclosure where his bloody and devilish rites were conducted. She would take revenge for Nadira, but also for these poor beasts that were slaughtered for some unholy reason. 

As he sliced his own hand along its length and allowed his own blood to trickle down into the fire pit, a blackness that was surely of the deepest, most primal abyss swallowed the center of the fire pit, and then grew until it had covered the entire fire pit. A voice that caused her eardrums to tremble violently and reminded her of desert tornadoes shattered the silence. 

The velvet blackness of the abyss flowed like a river of darkness, and moved one way and then another, and then crept towards the toes of the general. It paused as though some intelligence was deciding its movement, and then started enveloping the general. His movements stopped, and he became still as stone. 

Nadia stopped breathing. She knew that she had to act. The time for vengeance was nigh. She trembled, and crept towards the general, steeling her resolve. He looked formidable, even though he appeared to be catatonic. She knew that this was her best chance at vengeance, when some other higher force was consuming his attention. She also knew that if this process that he had started here was completed, all chances for vengeance may be lost. 

She leaped down from the rafters that had given her her vantage point and raced around the general. The velvet abyss was behind her, and her skin crawled from the cool breath of the abyss. She saw the liquid blackness take his feet, and creep up to his knees. Her time was severely limited. 

The cold ivory blade that she had stolen from the general himself had been hidden in her ragged gown all these hours. It was in her right hand now, and she reached up and plunged the blade into the general’s chest. His skin was tough like leather from a field ox at the prime of his muscular life. Nonetheless, the blade plunged in and got stuck there. The general stayed catatonic for a minute, while Nadia struggled to move the blade within his chest. 

Then his eyes snapped open, the whites of his eyes red from all the hours of exposure to unholy fumes of smoke. He glared at her, and his stony grip nearly broke her wrist. She yelped in pain and felt him lifting her using her broken wrist. The pain was beyond description, and the tiniest thread of will power stitched together all the vast patches of pain that comprised her field of experience. Her left arm flailed around wildly, with a will of its own, searching for some weapon. She was now fighting for her life, as she knew that the general aimed to toss her into the abyss.