Embrace of the Goddess Ch. 09

Chapter 9: Dreams & Prisons

Orilana

You walk through your mother's garden. Each tulip and primrose are in bloom. The scent is thick in the air, like the summer heat of a muggy swamp. It wraps around you, caressing your skin, sliding up and down your back, your neck, your legs.

You walk for hours, lured be some strange yet familiar scent. It is sickly sweet, like an overripe strawberry. It's the wrong season, and you go deeper and deeper into the garden, looking for it.

As you go, the walls of the garden crumble. There are vines and flowers. Animals roam. The flowers don't lose their beauty for the savagery. The wildlife revel in your sight, in the sound of your steps in their wilderness, in the taste of your scent mingling with theirs.

You spot the source of the smell: a carpet of jasmine flowers that cover a ruined throne. The smell is right, but the rot is wrong. The flowers are in bloom. Your timing is perfect. You reach out and pluck one, then hiss from the sting of the thornless plant.

Blood swells on your fingertips. You bring them to your lips and suck, but it is not the iron you've known your whole life. It is the pungent and sticky scent that haunts the shattered garden. You pull the finger away, but the blood returns quickly. You suck at it again, and the same taste washes over you like lover's hands. You sigh into it, but when you pull the finger away, it's still bleeding.

So you keep feeding.

***

Orilana took another bath when she woke up. Water was in short supply in the corner of the Abbey where the paladins were hiding, but she couldn't lead her people drenched in sweat and reeking of lust. There was a rebellion to put down -- an incursion by the worst foe of their goddess -- and she could barely keep her mind focused on the task at hand.

This would have been a lot easier if Iriel had never kissed her. Fighting Maloth was going to be hard enough, but trying to fight off her best friend crushed her. Add the kiss and --

"Captain?" asked Harza.

"Hm?" Orilana looked at the small council of paladins that she was meeting with. They all stared at her. Two of them were covered in dirt and gore from a night of patrolling and fighting off demons and nymphs.

"We're running out of cells for the... afflicted," said Harza. The half-orc sergeant's bravery and reliability made her an easy choice for second-in-command. She was lithe and muscular, with the sides of her hair shaved, and the hair on top spiky and dark when it wasn't matted down by a helmet or sweat. Her dark green skin and tusks made her the target of rumors and speculation from other paladins -- Orcs were often a wild and dangerous foe -- but there was none gentler in the Abbey than Harza.

"Ah, right. How many from last night's raid?"

"We just said --"

"I know," sighed Orilana. "I apologize. I'm not getting much sleep."

Eyes darted around the room at each other. That could be interpreted several ways, but the conclusion was the same: maybe Orilana wasn't fit to lead them.

"Three," said one of the elven paladins.

Orilana shook her head. "Pierced, charmed, or worse?"

The woman's eyes narrowed. "We cut down anyone beyond ch--"

"That's enough," said Harza softly. "Just answer the Captain's question."

"Three charmed," said the elf with a bite. "Two were put down."

Orilana ran her hands through her hair. On one hand, Maloth didn't want to kill any of the paladins. She seduced and corrupted them, but the demon goddess was never the one doing the ripping and slaying. The paladins had to cut down their own sisters that were pierced or forced into the pools. Anyone simply charmed was forced to sit in a cell until they detoxed or the charm could be dispelled.

But they were running out of cells in this shabby cave.

"We can't keep this up forever," said a human woman still wrapped in bandages. Kivyet had ripped the piercings out of her nipples before their power took effect. She was still recovering but refused to abandon her role as guard or councilor.

"I know," said Orilana.

"No," said Harza softly. "We don't mean a few more weeks or months. We may be talking days before we're too small to defend this place."

"Exactly," said Kivyet.

"But we have the Staff of Eclipse," said Orilana.

"And have you any breakthroughs in using it?" asked a pale half-elf with bright red hair.

"No," said Orilana. She had been forced to stay with the Staff of Eclipse night after night, trying to make sense of its power. Perhaps it could cure those afflicted. It may even save Iriel. But paladins were trained in the combat magic and only the most basic of healing and casting. They weren't skilled enough to do much with it.

"If you can't maintain the stamina to defeat a stronger opponent, what do you do?" Serra, an Aasimar that was usually silent during these meetings, said.

"Run," said Orilana.

"And when you can't?" The angelic woman turned her pale white eyes on her. Serra had always been more angel than woman. It made most of the paladins distrust her, though Orilana thought it should always have done the opposite.

"End it quick, probably at a high cost."

"How can we end it?" asked Kivyet. "We're outnumbered."

"We need information," said the elven woman.

"I agree," said Harza. "We need to know what Iriel wants and what she can or can't do."

Orilana nodded. "If Maloth had really returned, she could have blasted us out of this cave."

"So she must need something."

"The staff," said Serra.

"For what?"

"That," said Serra as she stood. "Is what we need to find out."

The few paladins with a mind for the intricacies of magic had looked at the piercings they'd taken from a few women. They didn't know how they worked beyond controlling those that were pierced. The paladins were cut off from the library and anything else more reliable. They were fighting blind.

"Send a team," said Orilana. "A stealth operation."

"Who wants to go?"

They all raised their hands.

"Kivyet, you're hurt," said Orilana.

"I don't plan to do much fighting," said the woman. "Besides, I don't need nipples to sneak."

The half-elf woman flinched at the thought of having damaged nipples. Some said Kivyet had none, but that wasn't true.

"I need some here to help me watch over this."

"I'll stay," said Harza. "But I'm willing to go if that will be better."

"You stay," said Orilana. "The rest?" she looked at the wounded and tired women and the impassive and almost immortal eyes of Serra. "Rest up. Gather whatever you need. You get the best. If we're not going to last long, there's no point in saving it for a rainy day. This is it."

The women nodded in agreement. "Agreed," said Serra. They all stood up, feeling the ending of the meeting.

"Dismissed," said Orilana.

***

You run through the smoke of the burning building. From deep inside, you hear the cries of a woman, panicked and afraid. You call out to her and calm her. But the smoke drowns out your voice. It drowns out vision and smell. Your body awakens and burns. It lusts for oxygen, but only drinks in smoke upon smoke.

The walls crumble around you, and the way is shut behind you. You follow the voice, the only hope of life in this abandoned place. It's high and desperate. It's almost a shriek. You want to tell her to conserve air.

You find her in the bedroom, but the woman there is charred to a husk. There is a silhouette of shadow and smoke lying beside her. The shadow's legs are spread, and one hand is between them. The shrieking comes from the smoke, and now it sounds like moaning.

Behind you, the building collapses until there is nothing but this room and the smoke. The ash of the corpse flutters away. There is only the smoke and the flame. There is only the heat and the moans. There is only the fire. There is only the smoke as it floats towards you and presses against you.

When the moans wrap around you, you don't know where they come from anymore.

***

"I'm not convinced it's wrong," said Harza over breakfast.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Still not getting sleep?"

Orilana rubbed her eyes. "No."

"Maybe you should take less baths."

The Captain lifted her head to stare down the half-orc. Harza looked appropriately ashamed and turned away. "Guess not," she muttered.

"The cold baths keep me awake," said Orilana. "That's how --"

"You don't need to explain it to me," said Harza. "I apologize, Captain. I overstepped."

Orilana finished the last of her dried apple. Her stomach grumbled for more, but that wasn't going to happen. She refused to lose because they were starved out. She'd conserve, for now.

"Do you have siblings, Sergeant?"

Harza shook her head. "Just a tribe, but I don't -- for obvious reasons, I don't --"

"I understand." Orilana knew that Harza came from a brutal people. They had asked her to butcher some slaves to make a point. She couldn't do it. They claimed it was her human side and sent her away. Even during her interview to join the Abbey, getting her to talk about it was like pulling her tusks.

"I have six sisters," said Orilana. "And the more time we spend cramped in this tiny cave, the more I'm starting to feel like a girl in my mother's house."

"How so?"

"Too many eyes. Too much pressure. Too much..." Orilana waved her hands as she struggled to find the word.

"No privacy," said Harza.

"Yeah."

"It was the same in the tribe, though some of the things fancy elves want privacy for are a bit silly to Orcs."

"Such as?"

"Well no Orc blinks when they hear rutting from the tent nearby, but I imagine it'd be the scandal of the Abbey."

"Oh," Orilana blushed and looked away.

"Though that'd be debauchery here, I guess," said Harza.

"Not exactly."

"But I thought with our battle against Maloth and --"

"Azora isn't against love making between consensual adults. What Maloth is suggesting is different."

"What about two women?" asked Harza.

"I don't think Azora frowns on that."

"Then what are we --"

"Maloth is a predatory creature," said Orilana. "Azora is a goddess of love and respect. Nothing that happens between the worshippers of Maloth is built on that. They celebrate lust and hunger and carnality and taking. They have perverted Azora's gifts."

"Among the Orcs, I have seen some horrible things that I know Azora would condemn. I have also seen beautiful things that I think Azora would condemn."

Orilana sighed. "I wish I could leave theology to the theologians."

Harza smirked. It twisted the pale silver scar on one cheek. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I'm not fighting Maloth's theology. Nor am I proselytizing for Azora. I'll leave that for the clerics if we can save them."

"But what about --"

"We're fighting Maloth. A demon goddess. She possesses people and takes them against their will. She hurts them for fun, for pleasure. She turns them into monsters. I don't care who's right and who's wrong when it comes to sex. Maloth is wrongness herself."

Harza shrugs. "Makes sense to me."

They fell into a silence, but the questions still lingered with Orilana. If she weren't a member of the Abbey, if she weren't a paladin, would she want to have these experiences with other people? Other women? It seemed strange to think that her role as a paladin -- that being in service to Azora -- would disqualify her from ever making love. Though it was technically her vow, why would Azora keep her servants from the thing she blessed and encouraged among her followers? Azora was a goddess of love. Why shouldn't Orilana be allowed to make love to a man or a woman if she wanted?

Who was she kidding? She was thinking about Iriel.

Slaying Maloth was an obvious good. It was Iriel that muddled the water. Her friend was listening to darkness incarnate.

Not her friend, not quite. Iriel had -- no.

It didn't matter. Perhaps the information her team gathered could tell her what Maloth wanted. But maybe -- if they were lucky -- it could tell her how to reverse the change. It wasn't just for Iriel's sake. Or at least, it wasn't entirely for Iriel's sake. If Orilana could undo the hurt Maloth had done to her sisterhood and the Abbey, then they could start to rebuild. As it stood, there was no perfect fix for this. Even if they won, the Abbey would be crippled for generations. They would battle and sweat only to be crippled at the end. Sometimes Orilana wondered if it would be better to give in, to run into the burning building instead of away from --

"What's that?" Harza jerked her head around and several other paladins stood up. There was some commotion from the entrance to the cave. Orilana stood up and moved to the front of the crowd gathering. There she saw the team she'd sent down into the Abbey. Kivyet and Serra were dragging a lanky and bony demon with brown skin down to the prisons they had. The crowd parted for Orilana, and the captain followed her two paladins down to the side cavern where they kept prisoners.

"Where are --"

"Didn't make it," said Harza from behind her.

Orilana stifle the urge to curse.

The demon howled and lunged to one side, pushing Kivyet away from her and freeing one arm. But Serra grabbed the free wrist like a viper. Her hands glowed white, and the demon's skin crackled and peeled away as the stench of burning flesh and rotten meat filled the passageway. The demon shrieked and bucked, but Serra was unyielding. Smoke rose from the skin, and eventually the demon sagged and gave up.

"What is it?" asked Harza.

Kivyet turned and looked at her.

"You mean you don't recognize Farryn?"

Orilana gasped. Farryn, the red-haired wonder and apprentice to Fella. She had been one of the greatest minds of the Abbey, and one of the most promising wielders of magic. Now she was nothing more than tight skin and bones that stuck out and looked like armor over a wraith. Her once beautiful and fiery hair was now wiry and dull. She had long claws and -- no. She was nothing like Farryn. There was nothing of the former acolyte left in that body.

"Lock her up," said Orilana. "Our best guards if we have to."

"I'll watch her," said Serra. "I don't have to sleep as much as --"

"You should sleep," said Harza. "You don't want to --"

"I'll watch her." Serra's voice was cold and hollow. "For the sake of my two sisters, I'll find the strength."

The rest of the paladins were silent as Serra and Kivyet took Farryn to a cell. The two women looked battered and weary. Orilana dreaded the report they would give her. Every time she tried to imagine what Maloth would do to one of her paladins, the dark goddess did something worse.

"I can't believe that's Farryn," whispered Harza next to Orilana.

"Neither can I. But there's one bit of good news."

"What's that?"

"She'll have answers for us."

***

You wander through a maze of mirrors. You're reflected in a dozen lights and shapes. The sight of your pale ashen skin and dark hair anchor you. The lines of your muscles remind you that you can smash your way out. You're not trapped here.

And yet you keep walking.

As you go, the reflections twist into nightmares. You see yourself at a thousand wicked angles. You are a succubus with wings and a flaming whip. You are a pale shadow with fangs glistening red. You are hoofed and clawed. You are horned and dark. You are pale and twisted. You are tall and bony. You are curvy and seductive. You are large and muscular. You are hunched and crooked. You are beautiful and horrible. You are everything you feared.

And yet you keep walking.

The maze leads to a dark chamber lit by torches on the wall. In the center is a pentagram drawn on onyx stone in red salt or chalk or blood. It stains the floor and captures the light of it. Laying in the center, naked and waiting for you, is a demon. Her hair is black and cascades down her back. She has horns, claws, hooves, and a tail flicking. Her skin is a pale lavender, and smoke billows out of her like breath in the cold. Her eyes are solid black and glitter like obsidian.

She smiles and purrs at the sight of you.

One clawed hand reaches down and begins to idly tease the demon's pussy. She moans, and you burn with lust and shame. It is then that you remember your nudity. In each reflection of the twisted halls, you were bare. You are bare. There is no armor to defend yourself, no sword to cut the demon down. There is no hiding.

The demon whispers your name, and with her free hand beckons you to come closer. You recognize her voice though her body is twisted: Iriel. She's inviting you into the pentagram, to join her dark ritual. The hand at her pussy moves faster, and she moans your name this time. You want to flee, to strike, to lash out.

And yet you keep walking.

Walking towards your lover.

***

Farryn's cackling filled the prisons. No matter what they did to her, there was no breaking the demon. They were running out of time. Two days of interrogating, and the demon only mocked them. Some of the paladins reported Farryn appearing in their nightmares. Some said they couldn't sleep through the sound of her high pitched and cruel laughter.

No matter how much time Orilana spent with Farryn, she could never get over the demon's body. The twisted lines and cruel protrusions. It looked as though it hurt for the creature to move, to breathe, to be. And yet there was a terrible feline grace to each of Farryn's movements. The power in the beast was undeniable. It seemed to enjoy what it had become. Orilana wondered if Iriel felt the same.

Somebody said something.

The captain flexed her hands and looked down at her fingers. They were calloused and scarred from hundreds of fights. She kept her nails short, but they were perpetually dirty with sweat and dirt. They weren't what she thought of as feminine, but at least they weren't the crooked claws of Farryn.

Or the crooked claws of Iriel.

Iriel.

Orilana had assumed her best friend was in agony as she was transformed into a monstrosity. But perhaps that's not it. Perhaps she's loving it as much as Farryn. Perhaps she's powerful and feels complete. What would it be like to trade fingertips for claws? What kind of lover could Iriel make with claws? Would it be pleasure or pain? Could it be both?

"Captain," snapped Harza.

"Huh?" Orilana looked up. Harza and Serra were both looking at her. On the ground, in chains, Farryn was laughing at the captain.

"What do you think?" said the half-orc. Harza was haggard and worn out. Even Serra had lost her luster and intimidating presence over the last two days.

"About?"

Serra sighed. "She's not getting sleep," said Harza to the half-angel. "It's okay."

"None of us are getting sleep," said Serra. "If she can't focus, she should go get some sleep."

Sleep. Where more dreams would haunt Orilana. "No," said the captain quickly. "I'm fine. Just catch me up. I apologize."

"I've asked permission to... encourage it to talk," said Serra. Her hands glowed white.

"Torture?"

"My thoughts exactly," said Harza. "We're better than that. We don't need to --"

"This is a war," snapped Serra. "We don't have time to --"

"If we sink to their level, then we're no better than --"

"It's a demon. Why on earth are you protecting a demon that --"

"She's our sister. Perhaps there's a way to change her back and --"

"Enough!" roared Orilana. She stood up, and her two sergeants looked at her. Her head throbbed with pain. Orilana turned to Farryn and approached the demon. It smiled wide, revealing teeth that were sharpened to points. "Is there a way to turn you back?"