The Maidens of the Temple Ch. 01

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. It should not be considered a work of anthropology, theology, psychology, high art, realism, or a behavioral guide. No political, social, or religious conclusions should be drawn from this story. It should not inform anyone of how to think of or treat human beings in real life.

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The storm clouds rolled in across the sea like a billow of smoke, darkening the sky. The water seemed endless, and the waves were tossing in the wind. At the center of it was Jack. He was soaked in salt water with his legs braced to the bottom of his fishing boat, each hand grasped around an oar. The fish he had caught were still flopping in the net, dragging alongside him.

The storm had caught him off guard, taking him out further than he had anticipated. The winds picked up speed, whipping the large brown sail above him back and forth as the small vessel crashed against the gaining waves. The rain had not yet started, but Jack knew it wasn't far behind the blanket of clouds. He pushed the oars against the waves, his thick, strong arms bidding his boat to head in a straight direction. In the mist ahead of him he saw a miracle. A small slip of green against the gray. Land.

With all his strength he steered through the lurching waves, pulling himself closer to the rocky shore. The water splashed over the sides of the boat, pooling around his leather shoes and spraying against his face, mixing in with his sweat. It was just as the thunder started to rumble through the sky that he noticed two men making their way down the grassy bank to the rocks.

"Praise the gods!" he shouted out as he neared the land. One of the men threw a thick rope toward him, and he quickly released his oars to grab it. Slowly, but surely, they pulled him, his boat, and his fish onto the land, just as the rain began to pummel down atop them.

"Up there!" one of the men shouted, pointing up the small hill just north of the shore. At the top of it stood a small fisherman's bothy with smoke already coming out of its chimney. The men clasped their wet hands around a side of his boat, and together they carried it up the hill.

Only a few minutes later Jack tumbled into the warmth of the bothy, and he could feel himself coming back to his senses. He pushed his long, brown wet hair away from his eyes and looked around. It was apparent that the men had been taking shelter there for some time. Rows of fish were leaned against the hot brick around the roaring fire to smoke and dry out, lengths of net and wire sat coiled in the corner, and the tallow lamps on the wooden table were already lit and flickering. He sank down on the ground right next to the fireplace, shivering.

"I don't know how I could ever repay you," he said to the men as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. "I can't thank you enough. I thought those were my last moments in this life."

"I didn't believe him when he told me there was someone out there," said the man who had taken a seat on the wooden planks that were propped up to create a makeshift bed. He was a thin, older man, with a graying beard; Jack supposed that he was about the age of his own father.

"I went out for a piss and saw you," said the other man, who had taken a seat on a thick blanket on the ground. He was much younger and seemed closer in age to Jack. "What were you doing out there with a storm like that coming in?"

Jack felt embarrassed. "I had taken a gamble," he said, taking off his soaking wet shirt and shoes to hang to dry by the fire. "A stupid idea, I know. I took myself out far, looking for more trout. Once the mist came, I couldn't tell where I was. Went in the wrong direction, I suppose. And then the storm started..." His voice trailed off with the sudden realization that he wasn't actually quite sure where he was.

"You won't find trout off of these shores over here," said the old man, taking off his own wet shoes. "I'm sure you could find some off of the mainland, but of course, it would be too far to go out there by myself."

Jack's mind began to spin in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked. "We are on the mainland."

Both men, slowly shook their heads, sharing in the confusion.

"No," said the younger man. "Were you thinking that it was?"

"Yes," said Jack, slowly. "I'm from the mainland. I'm from the Turs. That's where I set off from."

The men looked at him, wide-eyed, then, much to Jack's bewilderment, burst into laughter.

"You've come all the way from the Turs? It is by the graces of the gods that you made it in one piece!"

Jack stared at them, incredulous. "Where am I?"

"This is Oileán Carraig," said the older man.

"The western shore, to be exact," said the younger.

Jack stood in silent shock, his mouth agape. How long had he been on the water? Oilean Carraig was a day's trip away on a longboat for the traders. It would have been a reckless, stupid idea to try and travel across it by himself on his little fishing boat. Yet here he was.

"Only the traders have longships," said the older man, pulling out a carafe of mead and pieces of wrapped cake with salted eggs. "And they left yesterday. They'll be back in a half-month's time."

Jack felt the pit at the center of his stomach deepening. He thought of his parents, who would be worried sick that he hadn't come home yet. And now, there was no telling when he would see him again. He looked at his small pile of flopping fish in the corner. Would it be enough to last two weeks?

"Let's go to the market tomorrow," said the younger man, noticing his gaze. "You can trade that fish for provisions."

The men spent the rest of the night peppering him with questions about his unexpected voyage. Jack borrowed one of their knives and began to prepare the fish he had caught. Outside the storm raged on. Rain battered down on the roof and winds blew against the brick walls, and by the time it was over, all three men had fallen asleep next to the warmth of the fire.

Jack woke up the next morning in a daze. Light filtered through the opening of the window and his eyes groggily opened to greet the day. Everything was just as it was last night. His surroundings still smelled like fish and salt, and the men still lay on the wooden planks, both of them snoring. Yet, as he came to, he noticed an eerie sound vibrating against the walls. The sound had a strange melody and it was unlike anything he had ever heard before. With the palm of his hand, he rubbed his eyes and propped his head up. What was that sound?

He pushed himself up carefully, surveying the room. The sound was coming from just outside the window. He crawled quietly a few paces across the floor towards the window and stood up, straining his eyes through the dust. Outside, the only remnant of a storm last night was the soft mist that swirled through the green hills. All was still and empty, except for three figures that were moving in tandem across the knoll.

They were three women, all dressed in long, translucent white robes with nothing underneath, and long, curled hair flowing behind them with every step. It was from them that the sound emitted, as each of them was singing. Each woman was walking with a different object in their hand. The first, held a harp in one hand while the other plucked at the strings. The second held a chalice firmly up to her chest. The third carried a basket filled with some sort of greenery.

An intense feeling of yearning stirred through Jack's body. He tiptoed towards the smolders of the fire to pull his clothes off the drying line. He was in the middle of hastily throwing on his pants when the old man's deep voice croaked from the other side of the room.

"I hope you think twice before continuing, young lad."

Jack turned, mid-trouser buckle, to face the old man behind him, who was now sitting up on the wooden planks.

"What d'ya mean?" said Jack sheepishly, turning back to his pants.

"You know exactly what I mean," said the man, moving his legs over the side of the makeshift bed and placing his feet on the cold, dirt floor. "Those women hold the delicate balance of our island in their hands. Any disruption in their routine would result in the demise of us all. They are walking to the altar, and cannot be disturbed."

"Oh, so they're temple women, then?" asked Jack, turning back towards the window and craning his head to see the trio again as they walked farther and farther away. His village had plenty of women that had chosen to dedicate their lives to the happiness of the gods, but none of them were as beautiful or performed in such a manner.

"Temple women?" This voice came from the floor next to where Jack stood, the other fisherman who had woken up. "Those are more than just simple temple women."

"These are the Maidens of Taranis," said the older fisherman. "They do so much more than mind the temple. They were sacrificed to it. They were picked five years ago, after their first bleed and began their duties when they reached the age of eighteen. Since then, they are not to be in any contact with a man. Not even a single touch. They will spend the rest of their lives praying to the mighty Taranis, so that he will spare our small island when he brings the heavy thunderstorms. Every day they will walk through the island, singing songs of thanks and prayer, and then spend their night sleeping by the altars."

Jack raised his eyebrows at this story and pulled himself away from the window, turning back towards the dimly lit hut. Virgins for the gods? He thought. How strange. "No one's been able to convince them to spend the night with them, then?" he said with a small laugh.

The older fisherman narrowed his eyes and stood up to walk towards Jack, wagging his bony finger in warning. "They have an important job. Our island has sacrificed three virgins to the gods for the past three hundred years. And in those hundred years, our island has survived every storm. Don't you go playing games, mainlander. It's best to watch and admire them from a distance."

"They're so beautiful," said Jack. "How is it that no man has attempted to touch any of them?"

"It's not worth the wrath of the gods," said the younger fisherman. He had started to pull down the baskets that were hanging on the wall.

"Exactly!" said the older fisherman who sat down to begin filling the baskets with fish. "Best to keep your mind off of the sacred women."

Jack nodded solemnly, helping the men fill the baskets and load them onto the cart outside. He didn't bring up the virgins again as they made their journey to the town. The older man led the way, carrying two baskets, while Jack and the younger man pulled the cart behind him. They walked up the hill on a well-worn path through the grass. Jack found himself searching the landscape, hoping to catch another glimpse of the beautiful singing women, imagining what he would do if he saw them again.

The village homes were nestled in between the hills with the market at the center. It was bustling with activity. Everyone was out and about, excited that no casualties had happened after such an intense storm, proving once again that their devotion to the gods had been worthwhile. The young fisherman was introducing Jack as further proof that the gods had made sure to keep everyone on the island safe. Jack only needed to stand behind him with his strange mainland clothes to draw a crowd, and soon he found himself retelling the details of how he had ended up so far away from home. He tried to keep his wits about him as he traded his catch for provisions, and found that thankfully, the villagers were sympathetic to his plight and generous with their trades.

Suddenly, the bustling crowd hushed, and Jack looked up. There she was. One of the temple virgins that he had seen crossing the knoll, the one that held the harp. The people in front of the fisherman parted to let her pass. She was even more beautiful up close. Her eyes were wide and bright blue, and her lips and cheeks both had a slight pink tint. Dark mahogany hair decorated with primroses fell loose around her shoulders. A robe was draped loosely around her, and the sheer fabric gave Jack a wonderful view of the sweet curves of her hips and breast. Suddenly, Jack realized that she was looking straight at him and walking closer. Within seconds she was right in front of him, her eyes on his.

"Is it true?" she asked, directing her soft, crisp voice to Jack. "That you bravely sailed across the sea from the mainland?"

"It is," said Jack, letting out a slow breath. "Was it you that saved me from harm with your prayers?"

A murmur went through the crowd as everyone took on the scene in front of them. Jack could see a small smile appear across the maiden's face before she regained her composure. "My temple sisters were sitting around the hearth, singing all through the night as the storm passed through," she said. "It is evident that our prayers were heard. Taranis has spared you. I hope that you will come to the temple to present your offering and prayer of thanks to him."

She re-hoisted her harp on her hip, and in doing so, her hair fell across her shoulder, exposing the outline of her pink nipple. Jack felt it again, the feeling of intense yearning flowing through his body.

Everyone stared at Jack, waiting for his response.

"I will," he said, trying to seem as serious as possible while shuffling his legs to conceal the hardness growing in his pants. She gave him a small nod and then turned to continue her singing walk through the island. When she turned, her robe swept around her plump backside. The crowd followed her, calling out thanks for her worship.

"Yet another stroke of luck," said the older fisherman, raising his eyebrows at him. "In all my years I've hardly ever heard of them initiating any conversation with us."

"Really?"

"Really. You must be sure to keep your promise." The fisherman pointed at the last two fish he had left to trade. "Make haste, and take these to the temple to make your offering. We'll take your provisions to the bothy for you."

It wasn't hard to find the temple although it wasn't exactly close by. Many people followed the harpist straight there, creating a small crowd around the circular stone building. Jack didn't go in right away to give up his offering, however. He stepped aside and waited from a distance until the last of the villagers had left. It was nearing the late afternoon now, and he knew the fisherman by the shore would be wondering where he went. He had to act quickly. The temple was large and ornate, an impressive build made up of slabs of stone. Through the opening, Jack could see the glow from a fire burning. He walked up to the entrance, fish in hand, and saw the virgin, sitting by the flames, her harp sitting by her side. She heard his footsteps and turned, recognizing him.

"I have brought an offering," he said.

The woman stood up, her robe rustling. He stepped towards her, but she put up a hand, stopping him from continuing. "Kneel," she said, "Declare your intention."

He obeyed, sinking down to his knees and holding the fish out in front of him. "I have come to humbly give thanks to the mighty Taranis, who protected me and helped me find my way safely to this island."

The virgin nodded in approval then moved forward to take the fish out of Jack's hands, her robes flowing around her like water. His eyes were transfixed on the spot in between her legs. He could barely make out the exquisite V-shaped line of her womanhood, a spot that he knew no man had borne witness to before. She put her hands underneath his and he dropped the fish into it.

"Thank you for your gift," she said softly.

Jack felt his belly go tight with lust. "Could you tell me your name?" he blurted out, standing up before she had a chance to turn around.

He saw her pause, calculating a response. It was clear that no one had ever asked her this before. "You are from the Turs," she said. "You do not know the custom of our land. I have no name. It was taken away when I became a guardian of this island."

"Well, what did it use to be?" he pressed. "Surely the gods won't mind if you tell me what it was before."

He saw her face blooming with a deep blush.

"What harm can it cause?" Jack pressed a bit further. "Is it against the creed to tell me your name?"

"I suppose not," she said softly.

He smiled, taking yet another step towards her. "Let's hear it, then." They were barely a foot apart now.

"I was called Aurnia," she said, in a low whisper.

"Aurnia," he repeated. "It's beautiful. Just like you." With those words, he saw her blush deepen, and the same smile that he had seen at the market appeared again. She didn't respond, however, casting her eyes downwards. His eyes focused on her lips and he felt the heat rise inside of him, imagining what those lips would feel like against his.

"Haven't you ever been called beautiful before?" he asked.

Aurnia shook her head, pressing the offering of fish to her chest.

"In my land," said Jack, getting so close to her that his breath blew against her forehead. "The custom is that the temples are tended to by widows, and the beautiful maidens are to be taken as wives by the men." He reached out his hand and placed it on her cheek to lift up her head, the simple touch sending a jolt through him. Their eyes locked and they stood there like that for a fraction of a second before Aurnia pulled away. A look of panic passed across her face.

"I thank you for your compliments and your offering," she said quickly. "I do not wish to see harm befall you. You should leave this temple before my sisters arrive at sundown."

"You want me to leave?" he asked with a small smirk. "I see a different story." He could see the mounds of her breasts under her robe and they were peaked with nipples that were now firmer than they were a few moments ago. He desperately wanted to uncover them and grab them.

"It doesn't matter what I want," she said. "It is the will of the gods."

"Oh, the gods," said Jack, smirking again. "Who really knows what the gods want? What do you want, sweet Aurnia?"

Instead of answering, she let him pull her face closer and closer until his lips fell on hers. Jack held her there, not letting her pull away. Slowly, he used his tongue to carefully pry her mouth open, causing her to let out a small moan. He twisted his tongue across hers before sucking on her bottom lip. Jack's manhood grew larger and thicker in his trousers and he gently took Aurnia's free hand and placed it on his member. As if she had touched something on fire, she yanked her hand away and drew herself back from in, breaking the kiss, her eyes widening.

"I can't do this," she said. "This goes against my duties."

"I can feel your curiosity," said Jack, grabbing her hand again. "Don't fight it. Don't you want to know how it feels?"

"I am to stay a virgin for the rest of my life," she said, her face still flushed. "I have to protect my island." Yet, when he placed her hand back on his throbbing penis, she did not let go. She curled her fingers around it under Jack's hand, letting him guide her wrist back and forth. Jack lifted his other hand back to her face. He caressed her cheek, then slowly slid it down her neck to push her long hair out of the way of her chest. He ran his fingers down the collar of the thin fabric of her robe towards her breasts. She didn't stop him as he gently cupped one, squeezing it gently. He felt her nipple hardening even more against his palm.

Aurnia's eyes closed, and she tilted her head back, and he could tell that her body was brimming with pleasure. She dropped the offering that she had kept so tightly in her hand, and it landed on the dirt floor with a thud. Jack took his arm and wrapped it around her waist and pulling her against him, their bodies pressing against each other. He could hardly believe that such a woman existed. He covered her in kisses, pressing his lips from the top of her collarbone to the bottom of her jaw. Her skin was soft and she smelled like fresh flowers