Brain Games Ch. 11

Interlude

From the limestone portico, Kreta looked out across the luminous teal sea. Storm clouds had formed on the horizon and the fisherfolk raced to port ahead of the stacks of bruise-purple clouds crackling with lighting.

Still, the sun was warm on her skin, and the sea appeared tranquil.

She had called this storm, and she would use it.

She snapped her fingers, and without turning, said: "Bring me two champions. They should have dulled blades only."

Kreta heard the whisper of an attendant's footsteps fade into the temple complex.

The port below bustled with all the activity of merchants shuttering their carts and shopkeepers pulling their wares indoors. Men lashed down crates and threw extra ropes to moored boats. Men and women ran through the city in their final preparations for the coming storm.

Kreta rested her hands on the railing. The wood was smooth to her touch, masterfully cut and painted bone white.

She signaled to her attendants in realms only see she could see. "Soon," she promised. "Soon."

* * *

The champions were young and strong and eager to serve their priestess.

She took her time admiring each in turn. One had squared his beard and inked his shoulder with marks for each of his victories. The other was clean shaven and seemed to have the build of a runner or a horseman, rather than a fighter. But his jaw was sharp and his eyes sharper.

If this had been a game, she would have gambled on the quickness of the clean-shaven one.

But this was not a game, and she took each of their blunted blades from them, casting them to the corner of the hall. She mounted the stairs to the Summer Altar. She drank in the scent of the fresh heliotrope, thick as jasmine but with all the menace of its poison. She poured from the dark wine and added a drop of water.

"My champions," she said. "The storm comes. Which of you will meet the storm with me?"

They made the fist and pledged their hearts, kneeling.

"But I only require one, and he must be victorious this day."

They held their pledge and nodded respectfully to each other. They knew what was required of them. They were warriors in service to the land, and to their Priestess, and to their Goddess. And she also was in service to the land, and to the Goddess.

From the altar she took two long daggers, sharp as surgeon's tools.

First with one, then with the other, she scored her forearm to draw a line of blood, a cut so fine the blood beaded and no more. She smeared each blade with her own blood.

Descending, she handed one to each.

"Bring me a heart."

She stood back as the champions felt the balance of their new blades and bowed to each other.

It was over quickly. The powerful champion knew his danger, and closed quickly, grappling and pinning his lithe opponent. But even so, the slender one made a crafty twist to break the hold and before his mighty adversary could regain control, there was a shower of blood, a grunt, and the stronger man collapsed. The quick young man knew his way to the heart also, carving up from the belly and with quick work and red arms he brought forth a heart, no longer beating but still draining blood and still filled with the heat of life.

He brought this to the priestess, kneeling and holding up his offering.

"Dactys has offered a great sacrifice this day," she said, taking the heart and squeezing the living blood into her mouth. She gestured for the dagger, and the young man held it to her, hilt for her hand.

She sliced into the heart, which quivered at the cut. She handed one piece to her champion and took one for herself.

"We honor this sacrifice and give it to the storm."

They ate.

"Prepare him," she called to her attendants. Four exquisitely beautiful young women, fully initiated oblates, novitiate priestesses themselves, stepped forward, and guided him out of the room.

Kreta placed the messy remains of the heart on the altar. "For you, my Goddess."

* * *

The oblates brought her champion into the bedchamber. He was naked, and fully erect, and somewhat flushed. The girls had done their job well.

Kreta unclasped her robe and stepped naked to meet him.

To her attendants: "You are witnesses to our ritual. Watch well and learn."

To the man: "Come, lie on this bed."

He did so, and the rumble of thunder shook the temple around them.

She mounted him, easing him into the holy entrance, and they were one.

As thunder rocked the island and shook the stones of the temple; as rain lashed the hills and the walls and the temple rooves; as lightning cracked hard against the temple, striking over and over, Kreta rode her champion, taking everything into herself.

For a time, they were the center of the universe. Kreta and her champion and Dactys whom they had consumed became one infinite, but temporary, God.

The energy built with the motion of their bodies and the union of their energies.

Kreta felt the heat and the hardness of her champion stirring within her, and he felt her lifting and sliding, taking all of him into her deepest places. He knew the survival of their land relied upon him holding his release until her signal, and he was well trained to do so. A champion in the Temple was trained in many arts.

The storm intensified, as if throwing everything it had against the Temple, and through the complex they could hear shouts as the wind tore away sections of roof, as water poured into unexpected places.

Kreta rode her champion, churning her hips against his, spreading all the pleasure and all the power between them, as their breath quickened, as her sweat dripped onto him, as he thrust himself up to meet her.

She began to feed her attendants. Taking the energy of the storm into the center of her being and multiplying it with the divine energies of her union to the champion.

The priestesses gasped and cried out as the energies filled the bedchamber, their rapture coming upon them suddenly.

The other ones, the ones only Kreta could see, drank deeply of the powers that she offered, their dimmed outlines brightening. She slaked their thirst, and fed their hunger, and they, in turn, would serve her faithfully and well. Where one or two needed to be corrected in their wayward longings, she brought them back with pleasure and with pain.

The storm came to its strongest point, the wind too strong now even for lightning. The storm howled through the Temple; the sea rose and filled the town; lightning crackled onward against the mountains behind the Temple. Kreta felt the awesome powers above her, and the great fires of the Earth deep below. She felt the brilliant light of her union coming to its strongest perfect pinnacle.

She took her champion's right hand and placed it between her breasts and placed her own on his. She bent, holding him in stillness within her and bringing her lips to his.

"Breathe from me," she whispered, and their lips formed a seal, and they breathed together.

It was far larger than either of them, and it overtook them both, and Kreta's attendants, and others trained in the arts of attunement throughout the Temple felt it as well. For those open to the flow of life, it was as though the earth shuddered in a deep place, and the stones of the temple settled into a new form.

For a time, there was nothing. Kreta no longer existed, nor her champion, nor even the Temple. There was only storm.

But then she rolled off him, laughing with pure delight.

He, too, found himself laughing, whispering, "I am a God; I am a God."

"Does my God have a name?" Kreta asked leaning back against him.

"Minos," he said.

"Ah, such a fine name," Kreta sighed.

She stood, and her attendants scrambled to get to their feet as well, their faces flushed, their breath shallow and quick.

"Did you enjoy yourself, ladies," Kreta asked, fully relaxed now.

Their blushes spoke for themselves.

"Come with me, there is work to be done."

She first returned to the Hall of the Summer Temple. She took the gashed and bloody heart from the altar and walked to fallen Dactys. She reached inside him, replacing his heart, and gave it a few encouraging squeezes. As she withdrew her hand, she pulled all the disorder from his body and bent to kiss him above that squared beard, still wet with blood and spittle.

He coughed and rolled onto his side.

"'Twas nobly done, Dactys. You will never make war again, and I advise against making love with too much vigor either. The temple will honor you for the rest of your days."

If the past were anything to go by, it would not be a long life for Dactys, but she could ensure it was a pleasant one.

She returned to the rail. Parts of the roof had fallen against the Temple walls, but there was a place she could stand. The city below was a bedraggled mess. Many of the boats had been driven into the city, as far even as the market square. It would take some days to fully restore order.

But they would have help, so much help, and all was put in order for at least a few years.

Minos joined her, naked and powerful. He had taken on stature, she observed, and strength as well. And his manhood, that had grown in power as well she noted.

"I feel as strong as bull," he said.

"That's nice, my champion," Kreta said, asserting her authority. "Now go help clean this place up, won't you?"

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