The Verse of Sibilant Shadows: A set of tales from the Irrational Worlds

by JM Guillen

  The Rand who had been was dead. This Rand would be in love with me, addicted to me, for the rest of his life. He would serve me unfailingly.

  “I know you will, Rand. Serve me well, and we’ll see if we can forget about tonight.”

  He started to blubber. “Thank you, Mistress. Thank you fer lettin’ me make it all better.”

  I made sure my dress was as secure as it could be, though it took all of my willpower not to rip it off altogether and throw myself atop Rand. The sigils were a demanding burden, though my anger helped clear my mind for a time.

  “Show me where you left Brys.”

  Rand led the way through the city streets.

  5

  Over two hours later I finally made my way back to the softly lit, sumptuous halls of the House of Pleasure. My body burned with passion, and I trembled from the unreleased power in my sigils.

  Still, I had unfinished business.

  “I will find the gentleman a room near yours for the evening, Handmaiden.” Brys spoke as I clutched his arm, leaning on him more than I wished to after such an exhausting night.

  “Thank you, Brys.” I smiled at him and stroked his arm, uncertain how long I had been doing that. “I’ll handle the rest in the morning. I’m sorry for the difficulties this evening.” I snuggled into his chest, nuzzling at him before I realized what I was doing. I wrenched myself away. “I apologize, Brys. I didn’t mean….”

  “Not at all, Handmaiden. Your pleasure is mine.”

  I practically raved for release. The sigils continually called to me, burning into my body with whispers of passion. If I did not focus, they would constantly pull at me with memories of my Sire, wisps of what we had been doing to awaken their power.

  Constantly holding Rydia’s Passion at bay had grown tiring. Every little thing made me… eager.

  I needed Sire Mattias.

  I knew what to expect. He would be harsh, almost cruel with me. He would need to burn the traces of our Lady’s Flame from my body. He would be relentless, pushing me to emotional highs and lows through pleasure and pain. He would be forceful enough to master my body in every way possible, gentling my power as one might break a wild stallion.

  It was for my own good. It was what I needed.

  When he opened his heavy, mahogany door, his lips drew to a thin line.

  His voice was strong like sweet, dark rum, and I trembled as he said, “You’re late, Handmaiden.”

  My eyes dropped of their own accord. Still trembling, I flushed under his gaze. “It wasn’t my fault, Sire. I was—”

  He reached forward and grasped my hair tightly at the root. He squeezed, and I gasped. He pulled my face close to his.

  “I sat here, worrying. You could have sent a runner. I thought—” He bit his words off.

  I trembled like a child in his grip. The kohl around my eyes ran with my tears, and I gazed up at my teacher.

  “Yes, Sire.” I bit my lip. “May I come in, Sire? I need ease.”

  “What you need is to be bound in the lower hall for a few days. You need to hang there so the other Handmaidens may watch what happens to a spoiled child who does not obey her Sire.”

  “No.” I began to cry in earnest. “Please. I need you.” I wanted to debase myself before him, to fall to my knees and do whatever he wished, but he would be unmoved.

  “Did you find what we were looking for? Is Devariis guilty?”

  “Yes, Sire. He is a sorcerer.”

  “Truly? You saw this?”

  I nodded. “He is also selling girls. He has a ship, and they load them in the night.”

  “Slave girls? That he is shipping north?”

  I nodded. “Both human and human-kin.”

  “It’s good that I sent you then.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  He considered me for a long while. “You also found trouble. You burned Orin’s cottage and fought in an alleyway.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Was there truly no other way for you to deal with these situations?”

  I had scribbled the briefest overview of my night while in the carriage. I knew I would be less than useless while awaiting my ease after reaching the temple. Brys must have given my report to Sire Mattias so that he would know what to expect of me.

  “I did my best, Sire, with what I had available.” I nuzzled his face. “I went and found out what we needed to know. It was out of my control that I’m late.”

  He caressed my hair. “The sigils are blossoming, aren’t they? I can feel them burning in you.”

  “Yes, Sire.” My voice came as a bladed whisper. Ever trembling, I used every scrap of will to keep from hurling myself upon him.

  “I’ll have to gentle you, Handmaiden. You know I will.”

  “Please, Sire.”

  He caressed the side of my face. “Poor little one.” He spun his hand in my hair and grasped it tightly. I gasped as he pulled. Then, he kissed me.

  Oh! There was nothing like his kiss. Sire Mattias’ kiss burned like molten silver.

  He chuckled darkly and a smile spread into his midnight eyes. “Come along, Handmaiden. Let’s see to your ease.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  I followed him, both eager and afraid.

  6

  The Sires of Rydia trained to be perfect men. Most failed. Following their own rigorous path, those men become our Devoted, such as Brys. The men who succeeded trained as fiercely sexual creatures, both physically imposing and every bit as strong of will. Immune to the Fervor of our Lady, they learned secret gifts denied even to the Handmaidens. Each Sire tended seven Handmaidens, performing his sacred duty to quench their fire once they had called upon it. This training required such discipline and devotion that only one out of every ten successfully traversed the Goddess’ path.

  Older than me by several years, Sire Mattias had earned his rank as one of the strongest of our order with his stern demeanor and consummate skill. He kept his dark hair cropped short to his head and almost always wore the silk and satin dress of his office.

  Now, as I meekly walked after him, I inhaled the sweet balsam and myrrh of his room. Just the smell calmed me, soothing the wild thoughts in my head with memories of past promises kept. So many times, in this very room, I had screamed myself senseless while he gifted me with the Lady’s flame.

  He had pushed to the outer limits of what I had thought possible. Here, we would seek the Lady.

  “Your collar, Handmaiden.” Prepared for this moment, he retrieved it from his nightstand and held it toward me.

  I drew in a swift breath, though I’d expected no less. The collar was a tool only available to Handmaiden’s who reached the most sacred heights of worship. It would keep me from hurting myself or my partners by accident. It taught me about control while at the same time allowing me to be utterly free.

  Not everyone understood the collar’s purpose. Many times parishioners were horrified when learning of it, thinking it a humiliation that made the wearer less than human. They did not understand the freedom it brought. They did not know how to surrender.

  I leaned in, keeping my eyes on his face as he fastened the leather collar firmly around my neck.

  Once he had it buckled, he locked his eyes to mine.

  “Whose body is this, Handmaiden?”

  I trembled. “It is the Lady Rydia’s, Sire.”

  “I am Her rod, Handmaiden. I am Her lash and Her tongue of fire. Do you submit to me?”

  My eyes drifted closed. “Yes, Sire, I do. My body is nothing but a tool, a tool for your hand.”

  His voice rumbled with pleasure. “It is so, Handmaiden.” He kissed my lips, the barest brush of softness.

  Just the ritual litany made me eager, made my breath catch.

  I let the remnants of my dress fall from my shoulders and pool around my feet. I kept my eyes on his only with difficulty.

  Sire Mattias’ gaze traveled across my body, scourging like a whip on my skin. He looped a finger through the silver ring on my collar and pulled
me behind him.

  I stumbled at first but then caught up as he walked me toward his balcony doors. He pushed them open and led me out. The balcony overlooked a small, open-air courtyard that he shared with his Handmaidens in our adjacent rooms.

  He walked me over to the wooden Tower, a post he kept erected there to service his charges. “The fire burns too strongly in you.”

  My body trembled. “I know, Sire.” I paused, my voice shuddering. “I knew when I came to you.” My tears turned to a flood.

  As much as I wanted, no, needed this blessing, I also feared the fire of his anointment.

  “Good.” He attached the ring to a large clasp on the Tower. It wasn’t built to hold my hands, only the ring of my collar. With a length of thick but fine-spun rope, he tied my hands and began deftly weaving the long ends toward my elbows, securing my arms tightly, almost painfully, behind my back.

  The sigils pulsed softly as I meditated upon my sacred helplessness.

  “Such a good girl.” His fingers traced their way around my side. With the barest of touches, he caressed me.

  “Yes, Sire, thank you.” My voice trembled with my body.

  I knew what would come next. Before pleasure, I required pain to quench the white-hot desire running through my body. Only after could my Sire attend to my need. Even with his training, the full force of my Lady’s sigils would sunder our minds.

  Such dangerous passions would leave us mad, broken disciples unfit to serve Rydia.

  He took up his tawse. At first, he let the leather ghost gently along my flesh, and I gasped.

  The Goddess’ Passion rose up in me, a red haze of pleasure and flame that licked at my body.

  He flicked his wrist, and I felt the warm sting. The first strike was light, but soon those vicious little tongues nipped at me.

  “Please, Sire.” I didn’t even know what I begged for. I knew nothing beyond the longing that ached deep in my mortal coil. There would be no mercy, no mercy until I opened for him, screaming, and the arms of the Goddess engulfed me.

  He flicked his wrist, and his tawse bit again.

  I sobbed loudly.

  Then he truly began.

  My Sire walked from one side to the next striking my flanks with an ever-increasing ferocity. He started slow but soon claimed my body with strips of razor-flame. I screamed, my begging echoing over the courtyard for the ears of any of my sisters who happened to stir.

  With each strike, the sigils answered, a pulse of pleasure burning away the pain.

  Karas.

  Ouigiin.

  Doch.

  The outlines of the swooping, delicate whorls stung and burned, the flaming sensations flickering with each strike, hot and hotter.

  Karas surged to a bright brand, white and steady between my shoulder blades. With an insistent will, it urged me to break my bonds and turn on Sire Mattias.

  I let it burn.

  Doch sizzled, looping around my ribs, roiling over them with the red-hot, bubbling touch of a bright orange ember drawn across my flesh. Once free of all these binding restrictions, it wailed of all I might do with my Sire’s delicious body even as he tormented me.

  I let it burn.

  Ouigiin smouldered on my low back in a dark, sputtering flame that flared up unpredictably. When it did, I could feel the heat of it spread down my thighs, warming them. It yearned, pulling me from my bonds toward that pillar of Rydia’s strength, Sire Mattias. It was hungry; so hungry. If I would let it, it would consume him and all his power would fill me.

  I let it burn.

  Then the tawse struck me fully, no more holding back. I screamed and let the sigils burn. They flared as one, pouring heat down my agonized back in a rush like scalding water to cleanse me of any lesser sensation. What was the pain of Sire Mattias’s tawse compared their heat, their passion. They flared with desire so deep, so wide, their torrent filled me until I could hold no more, yet they still raged. More and more and more, until Her fire poured out of me.

  My screams crested, pulling from me the pain and pleasure and flame and desire and wanting and yearning and NEEDING.

  Overwrought, they became wordless, my entire world reduced to strips of white fire.

  As tears ran freely down my face, I clung to one hope. In a moment of dispirit weakness, my scream formed that one word: “STOP!”

  “Stop? You know better, Handmaiden.” He did stop, for the moment, and caressed me. His fingers were deft, cunning.

  I exhaled my relief, a whimper pulling at my throat as his hands wandered my body.

  Oh, Goddess, I prayed even as I reveled in my Sire’s touch.

  “I cannot stop yet. Not until you surrender.” He caressed my stinging flanks. “Why are we doing this, Handmaiden? What is this for?”

  I took a ragged breath. “It is Her purifying flame, Sire.”

  “It is. This is Her Crucible. Pain is where you learn your strength.” He swung again.

  I bit my lip, stifling another scream.

  I tasted blood.

  “Here is where you learn that you are stronger than desire, stronger than pain. Here is where you remember that which is true.”

  A flurry of strikes followed, one red tongue of flame after another, biting, burning. I know I screamed, crying out, rambling and senseless. Yet within, I grew silent, almost serene. At the core of me blossomed everything my Sire had taught me: strength, and courage, and resolution.

  The sigils slowly waned, their dancing lights dwindling in the face of the strength Rydia granted me.

  Ouigiin died down first, a slow simmer of desire that melted to a liquid core within me.

  “Yes, Sire.” I couldn’t help but sob, but my words held steel. “This is Her Crucible, and I am Hers to shape.”

  Doch became a soft caress, a silken touch by a trusted lover as it slid down to add its desire to my own.

  Sensing our preparation neared completion, my Sire recited, “I am Her rod, Handmaiden. I am Her lash and Her tongue of fire. Do you submit to me?”

  “Yes, Sire.” My tears cooled on my cheeks. “Yes. Always.”

  Karas dissolved, a gentle bubbling froth that simply boiled away, eliciting a tender ardor in the very center of my being.

  I couldn’t see him of course but sensed the movement as he disrobed.

  Sire Mattias walked around my bound body, his lean muscle silhouetted in the moonlight.

  “All my strength comes from Her, Handmaiden. I submit to Her, and you to me.”

  “Yes.” I writhed in my need.

  “I decide when you breathe. I decide what you eat, who you bed, what you do.” He bent his face close to mine, all angles and darkness.

  In the night, I could only faintly see his eyes.

  “If I send you into the city to do the Lady’s work, you return when I say.” His voice came ragged and soft.

  He was worried. The idea sank like a thorn into my mind. He was afraid.

  Just the thought unleashed fresh tears. “Yes, Sire Mattias. I’m sorry, Sire Mattias.”

  “Good.” He walked around behind me. “Let me take you to my chambers, Handmaiden. I will give you ease.”

  “Thank you,” I breathed, tranquil in anticipation of my relief.

  Gently, Sire Mattias unbound my arms. They fell limply to my sides. He unfastened my collar, and I slumped onto him. He cradled me, as he would a child.

  I couldn’t move.

  “There’s my girl.” He wrapped his arms beneath me and lifted, a simple motion requiring no strain for Sire Mattias. Smoothly he carried me to his feather bed and then lowered himself over me, kissing my expiated flesh.

  Chaste through my mortification, Sire Mattias claimed me for our Lady.

  His rhythm rose and fell like a storm at night, like the wind scouring the desert.

  My voice returned in rambling, senseless cries as he communed with me. As one weak with new rebirth, I could only cry out and clutch to him, wordlessly begging with the passion of my body, the one language that all wom
en knew, and I spoke it well.

  Claiming me for our Lady Rydia, I was his in every way.

  He sated me beyond the skills any other man, even any other Sire for I had no bond to another. His fierceness tore into me, breaking down walls around my heart that I hadn’t even known existed. The man was like the tide, smashing against my shores, over and over, with no hope, no chance of ever stopping. He carried me, crashing over my edge and then building me back to the crest, over and over.

  I wanted to hurl him across the room. I wanted to claw and bite and scream. I wanted to exhaust him, to drain every drop of vitality from his powerful body. Even as he took me, I wailed a litany of curses, crying and moaning, again and again, sanctifying him with the Lady’s Water.

  The power in the sigils still coursed through me, like the sun’s breath. Red washed over the world. The world was nothing more than blood and nectar, pain and pleasure.

  Everything was his.

  Everything was mine.

  United in our service to Rydia, we became as one.

  Borne on the endless waves of my keening wails and his masterful touch, time lost all meaning. The last fragile thread of my control snapped.

  Unlike typical love with a typical man, I wasn’t simply going to blossom and be spent. No, this was the Lady’s Pleasure, bearing its way through my body, into my body, from my body. Comparing Her power to mere pleasure is like comparing a drop of water to an ocean.

  This ritual created a conduit for my Goddess Rydia’s power. Without the daily devotions Sire Mattias dedicated to Her, the sensations Rydia now provided him through me ran the risk of dementia. The sensations She provided through me now would unbalance even new initiates, showing them a psychotic, irrational world.

  I whispered my dedication, consecrating our actions, beseeching Her blessing.

  She answered.

  I screamed.

  As if I would never stop screaming, my body shook and trembled of its own accord as waves cascaded through my flesh. Rydia’s power blossomed and thundered, eradicating all rational thought. I babbled, whispering things I would never remember later, and laughing, laughing. Terror and joy and passion, all exploded through me, as if I were nothing but a vessel, a momentary container encompassing something greater than I could ever be.