Thorn Boy and Other Dreams of Dark Desire (4 page)

The shrine’s
portal was hung with a tunnel of grey, swaying voile, which seemed
to lift of its own volition as I stepped into it. Presently, I was
surrounded by the whispering fabric, guided forward only by the
gaps that appeared in the rearing veils. I was never sure whether I
would find pleasure or pain beyond the grey, whether I would give
or receive benediction. Eventually, the veils disgorged me with a
final flutter into a small, dimly-lit chamber that was thick with
the smoke of benzoin resin. A voluptuous priestess sat cross-legged
on a stone bench by the wall, fanning herself with a palm frond,
not to keep cool, I thought, so much as to enable her to breathe.
She appeared slightly bored, clad in diaphanous trousers of
voluminous black muslin, her round belly encrusted with jewels. The
nipples of her heavy breasts were pierced by rings of gold and she
wore a golden bone through her nose.

I knelt before
her, and touched my forehead to the cool flag-stones beneath her
seat. ‘Sister, I come to make an offering.’

The priestess
tapped me with her palm frond. ‘Rise, supplicant.’

I looked up at
her and got to my feet. She took a sugared pastille from a dish on
her left side and held it out to me. Bowing my head, I accepted it
and placed it upon my tongue. The priestess nodded once, and
pointed with her palm to a stone seat on the opposite side of room.
Then she produced an hourglass from among the folds of her
trousers, turned it over and set it upon the floor. I went to the
slab and sat down. In silence, we watched the sands glitter through
the waist of glass, and the pastille dissolved inside my mouth, the
sugary taste subsiding to bitterness. The priestess sighed
occasionally, and continued to fan herself with the frond. I felt
the room grow larger around me, and heard the deep echoes
reverberating throughout the vast temple complex. I heard cries and
moans, ululations of delight and the softest whimpers of terror.
The incense smoke began to take on forms before my eyes; twisting
phantoms with yawning faces, spectral fingers raised to their
silent mouths. My heart was beating fast, and I shifted on the
stone. I could hear the hiss of the sand in the hourglass now.

As the last
grains sifted through, the priestess gestured for me to rise. I was
unsteady on my feet, unsure whether to laugh or scream and run from
the chamber.

‘
Give
yourself in entirety,’ murmured the priestess.

I bowed
uncertainly, nearly slumping to the floor and the doors to the
inner chamber swung open with a sound of grinding metal. It was too
late to turn back.

Beyond the
portal, all was in near darkness. I stumbled inside and the doors
ground shut behind me. For a while, I sat on the floor, trying to
clear my head, but the secrets of the pastille had occluded my
senses. We took the drug to rid ourselves of earthly inhibition, to
enable ourselves to make the sacred offerings without restraint. I
could hear the low, urgent throb of drums in a chamber nearby and
the wail of dancers as they made their spiralling devotions.
Perhaps it was a troupe of lithe warriors, spinning round,
pleasuring themselves for Challis Hespereth with quick fingers, so
that their seed would fall upon her revered altars. My sex grew hot
and thick at the thought of this image.

There seemed
to be no-one with me in the room. In that case, I would have to
wait. Sometimes, if many had come to make an offering, the act of
worship would take place here. But no feet approached me through
the smoke. After a while, I got up and wandered further into the
darkness, feeling with my hands for the yielding touch of flesh.
Instead, my fingers encountered stone, and the incense smoke parted
with my breath to reveal the wicked smile of Challis Hespereth in
her wildest aspect. Here was no patrician goddess clad in acres of
robes. She sat naked upon a plinth, gesturing for her worshippers
to come to her, to learn the arcana of her hidden knowledge. She
was fashioned of gleaming, dark green stone, her breasts nibbed
with gold leaf. Her hair was a Medusan coil between them. I pressed
my lips to her outstretched fingers, which were tipped with scarlet
lacquer. In my befuddled state, it seemed she blinked and nodded in
approval, gestured for me to pass on to the deepest chambers.

I entered a
narrow passage-way, and here the light was orange, the ceiling low.
The sounds of the drums had faded. I ducked into the first of many
oval doorways, and found the chamber beyond it empty. To advertise
my presence, I unfastened the brocaded curtain that was hooked to
the wall inside the door. An oil lamp flickered on the floor, and I
went to sit beside it, upon a heap of cushions that smelled of musk
and sweat and sweet resin. A statue of Challis Hespereth, with
gleaming rubies for eyes, reclined upon a pedestal nearby. There
was quiet hunger in her carved expression. I sat beside her with a
straight back, the soles of my feet pressed together, my hands
gripping my ankles. I was conscious of the idol’s patient stare,
then my spine and the heavy pressure of my hair upon my back
through the fabric of my silk shirt. Who would the goddess bring to
me?

There were
foot-steps in the corridor beyond the curtain, furtive and
cautious. Just the sound of them struck desire in my loins, and I
felt my blood raise the spear of manhood towards my belly. I heard
the scape of a soft shoe and then the curtain was lifted by a
single hand. I saw the long slim arm and the dark shape of the
body, a tumble of loose hair that fell around him like a frayed
cloak. He brought a breeze with him that worried the flame of the
lamp, and sent shadows of laughter across the face of the goddess.
If I looked hard at her now, would her stone body sit up to pay
attention? He let the curtain fall and stood before me in the room,
golden in the light of the lamp. I felt my blood chill in my veins,
freezing my engorged prick to ice. What illusion was this? He
looked too much like Akaten, dressed in the tunic and leggings I
had last seen him in, his hair unbound over his chest. I knew the
effects of the pastille, and how it could warp the senses, but this
flagrant manifestation of my desires was too much to bear. I must
have made a sound, scrambled to my feet, but then his hand was upon
my arm, and it seemed the lamp-light illumined only his eyes, which
were golden brown.

‘
Peace,’
he said, and the single word contained all the stillness of the
world.

Despite what
my eyes told me, this could not be Akaten. He was too calm and
confident, and in his demeanour seemed so much older. Also, no
hysterical foreigner with tear-stained cheeks would ever pass into
this shrine.

‘
Forgive
me,’ I said. ‘You seemed familiar.’ I should not have spoken, for
the words of the mundane world did not belong in this place. Also,
it was impertinent to refer to the fact we might have met beyond
the temple. What happened here was secret and must be forgotten
once a worshipper left the shrine.

He put a
single, straight finger to his lips and smiled. I closed my eyes
and leaned into his embrace. I felt as if this stranger knew me
intimately. He was no earthly creature, but a son of Challis
Hespereth herself, old with the wisdom of gods. He pushed me gently
back onto the cushions and as I fell, I heard the sibilant slide of
panels being opened in the walls, where priestesses would observe
our devotions. He did not want to hurt me, nor me him. It was
pleasure alone we sought, and we ventured along its many avenues.
My body became nothing more than a delirious nerve of erotic
energy. We were one creature, vibrating with the force of creation.
Beyond the walls, the priestesses chanted in time to our rhythm,
until the room was filled with a spinning cone of sexual power. Our
congress was violent, but I was beyond feeling pain. I wanted to
leave my seed inside him, his mouth or his body, but I orgasmed as
he speared me, a jet of liquid pearl streaming from my body across
the floor. Then he withdrew and pulled my head to his groin. I
could smell myself upon him. He was slimed with mucus, unguent and
traces of blood. Challis Hespereth demanded great sacrifice, but I
am naturally fastidious and felt this was giving too much. In vain,
I tried to free myself. He was too strong, his fingers were
entangled in my damp hair, and he forced himself between my lips. I
was almost swooning, half sickened, half eager, and sucked the salt
bitterness of our mingled essences, until he filled my mouth with
his seed. It seemed to last an eternity and I was afraid I would
choke. But then he took my face in his hands, and freed himself.
Kneeling before him, I pressed my head against his stomach, gulping
for breath, inhaling the strong, musky scent of his flesh and our
communion. I felt I had passed beyond some threshold of
understanding and experience. We had taken the right path and he
had wholly intuited the way to it.

I had my hands
curled around his buttocks, my fingers digging deeply into his
muscles. His whole body was shaking. I heard him mutter beneath his
breath and he pushed me away, but not with cruelty. I sensed he
regretted that final act of our devotion, and felt he’d abused me.
Shame for his abandoned behaviour had come upon him. It happened
often, and was part of the penance. He stumbled blindly towards the
doorway, gathering up his discarded garments. I wanted to call him
back, speak to him, even though it was forbidden. In my eyes, he
was still Akaten. I needed to tell him he had not offended me or
hurt me, but even though I dared to whisper, ‘Don’t leave!’ he did
not pause. When the curtain fell, I knelt upon the floor of the
shrine, my clothes spread about me, my hands plunged between my
knees. My vision was blurred by gritty light. My whole body
throbbed in memory of his heart-beat.

This visit to
the shrine had not purged me at all, but quite the opposite. I had
lived my desire and it had, in my heart, turned to aching,
unquenchable need.

How I managed
to maintain a cool mien when I returned to the palace I cannot
explain. The walk from the gardens and through the lower floors was
a nightmare. People stopped me to chat idly, and their voices were
claws across my mind. It seemed to take an age to reach my
quarters.

As I had
anticipated, Porfarryah had been worried by my absence, then
suffused with curiosity when I returned. She sought me out in my
chamber. ‘Are you ill, Darien? You look feverish? Shall I order a
sherbet for you?’

I felt so
nauseous and peculiar, I just wanted her, my dearest friend, to
leave me alone. When she clucked around me in concern, tears welled
in my eyes.

‘
What
has happened, Darien? What’s wrong? Where have you been all
day?’

I clung to her
and wept, not just for release, but to stem her questions.

She stroked my
hair for a while, then said softly, ‘Are you worried about the
Khan’s boy?’

My heart
seemed to convulse in my breast. Was the cause of my suffering so
evident? I made a muffled sound against her hair.

‘
There’s
nothing to worry about,’ she said. ‘Alofel has had his pleasure.
Now he will lose interest.’

My panic
subsided. I pulled away a little. ‘Have you seen him, the Khan’s
boy?’

She looked
down at me tenderly, stroked my face. ‘No, but one of the king’s
servants spoke to me briefly. The foreigner did not sleep with the
king, and near dawn asked to be escorted to the temple to worship.
He has yet to return.’

‘
What?’

Porfarryah’s
eyes widened at the wildness in my voice. ‘It’s not that unusual.
The Mewts worship Ma-ten-waya, Lady of the Rivers, and she is an
aspect of Challis Hespereth.’

‘
No,
no!’ I cried. ‘It can’t be! It’s impossible!’

Porfarryah
looked frightened by my hysterical outburst. ‘What is it, Darien?
What’s impossible?’

‘
I went
to the temple as well,’ I blurted. ‘To the inner chambers...’ I
wanted to confess to her so badly, if only so that she could
assuage my fears. But I knew I could not divulge the religious
secrets of men to a woman. I would have to bear the consequences of
her revelation alone. It couldn’t have been Akaten in the shrine. I
was filled with a weird mixture of gratitude and
revulsion.

Porfarryah
shook her head in confusion. ‘So, what happened there?’

‘
I
thought I saw Akaten,’ I gabbled. ‘I thought Alofel had... already
bestowed privileges. If the foreigner has been allowed into the
inner shrines, it might mean that Alofel intends to grant him
status within the household.’

Porfarryah
smiled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’re imagining things, Darien. This
boy is not a threat to you. He would only be allowed access to the
outer chambers. You should know that. If you thought you saw
someone that looked like him, it was because the idea of him
ousting you was playing on your mind.’

‘
Yes,
you’re right,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Porfarryah
shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen you like this. Regain control,
Darien. It’s not like you to be afraid or weak.’

Afraid and
weak. That was exactly how I felt, and it was an alien experience
for me.

Alofel did not
call for my presence, and that night, I writhed sleeplessly on my
damp, hot bed, with the taste of the shrine visitor in my mouth,
the scent of him on my skin. I wanted to believe he had been a
complete stranger, yet at the same time I yearned for him to have
been Akaten. I wanted the Khan’s boy to appear in my chamber, tell
me he had been thinking about me. I wanted to demand his head on a
bed of lilies. Hate and love: were they the same thing? Had anyone
else ever felt this way?

The following
morning I came across one of the king’s body-servants, Lazuel, as
he carried Alofel’s dirty linen to the laundry. Naturally, I
stopped him to ask for information, offering my own snippet
beforehand to enhance his mood for gossip.