That Drakon was a trick of my mind triggered by fear. The logical Voice in his brain tried to reassure him.
Only a `trick of the mind’? But WHOSE Mind?
The footsteps and voices of the priests drifted away. High above pulsating drums accompanied by a death chant signaled the sacrifice ritual had begun.
Sava kept a hand close to Zlatna’s nostrils. If the sacrificial horses screamed, the stallion might instinctively neigh in response.
The nomad’s mind writhed in morbid anticipation. Why was I not born a cow content to graze in the sunshine and know nothing?
Chapter 36 – Dance of Origins
According to the account which
The Skythians themselves give
They are the youngest of all nations -
Herodotus – The Histories
As Sargis dismounted before the massive wooden doors of the Dark House, a devastating sense of betrayal almost buckled his knees. He was a Black Cloak warrior, trained from childhood to kill or be killed. Conditioned to face fear. But not this.
He struggled to submit to his fate. To overcome the instinct to battle for self preservation. Tremors of cold terror shuddered through his body. Eyes flicking, he desperately scanned the barren earth for a hole big enough to dive into.
DO something – RUN – FIGHT! Before it’s too late! His nerves shrieked.
But there was nowhere to run. He was drugged. Unarmed. Outnumbered. And at bottom was his heavily conditioned, passive fatalism. From childhood he had been trained always to do his duty.
To be Chosen is a mark of great honor. A true warrior would never defy the will of his king or of the gods.
Flanked by armed guards, Sargis and Mattahn were herded into the Dark House. The Gorgon heads on the doors with hair of writhing serpents and protruding tongues leered at him. Another fool given into our clutches.
Stunned by the putrid stink permeating the air, Sargis strained to see through the heavy gloom of the Great Hall. The other mourners filed in. A heavy boom sounded as the great doors shut. Flickering darkness subsumed them.
Drums took up a throbbing, hypnotic beat. A black-robed ennarei wearing a tall conical hat emblazoned with gold and silver emblems of moon, sun and stars, gestured for Sargis and Mattahn to sit in front, before the wide flat altar stone.
In guttural voices the priests began the death chant. Seated cross-legged before the altar, the mourners chimed in, heads nodding to the beat –
Ah - Gin!
Ah - Gin!
Ah – Gin!
Nothing is ours
All is Yours!
Ahhh - Inhaling, lifting shoulders, rocking the head back.
GIN! – Exhaling in a burst, necks snapping forward in unison.
Ahhh - Gin! Ahhh - Gin! Ahhh - GIN!
Nothing is ours,
ALL is Yours!
Led by masked ennarei, the ancient chant of sacrifice, along with liberal amounts of drugged koumiss were working the mourners into a primitive, atavistic state.
Sargis chanted dutifully along with the rest. However behind the Herakles mask his mind was a frantic, caged animal, blindly seeking a way out. But there was no way out. He was drugged, trapped and surrounded by armed guards.
He fought to hold down the panic, to control his disintegrating control.
This cannot be real. Tomorrow I will wake in my own bed, ready to greet the rising sun.
The drums picked up, hammering out a hip rocking tempo. The head-rocking death chant steadily gaining hypnotic momentum.
Ahhh-Gin! Ahhh-Gin! Ahhh-GIN!
Nothing is ours,
All is Yours!
The ennerei threw powerful mind-altering drugs on the fire. The musky intoxicating scents of poppy and hemp buds wafted, permeating the enclosed atmosphere.
The drugs created a hazy trance state where nothing seemed real. Where anything could happen.
The tempo of the pounding, compelling drums increased. The chanting louder, more frenetic -
Ahhh – GIN, Ahhh – GIN, Ahhh - GIN!
Nothing is ours
ALL is YOURS!
Chanting nonstop, three black-robed priestesses crouched on all fours next to the altar. Their heads swirling round and round, long black hair spinning in never-ending circles. The effect was like staring into a spinning black mandala.
The women’s eyes were turned up in their heads, showing only the whites. Their expressions blank. Mindless. Insensate. Controlled by an alien entity.
The blood froze in Sargis’ veins at the sight. More than anything else, these priestesses and their relentless, ceaselessly whirling heads gutted him. He knew then, a blood-sucking vampir stalked the Dark House. Soon IT would possess them all. Render them insensate. Own them completely.
The overwhelming anticipation of what was to come paralyzed all rational thought.
Sargis’ vision blurred. The chanting ever louder, more manic. Heads bobbing frenetically.
The chief ennerei’s face was hidden by a fanged viper mask but Sargis knew him – Koldun `Throat Slasher’. It was rumored he enjoyed his work. Koldun waved a hand and two young priestesses mounted the altar.
The priestesses wore long black robes sewn with tiny golden discs and bells that made every movement sparkle and tinkle. Their waist-length hair, one black, the other ash blonde, was held back from high cheekbones with golden combs and rippled down sinuous backs.
Thick golden serpent bracelets entwined the girls’ sensuously waving arms. On their heads were tall golden tree crowns with a bird sitting on top, wings outspread – symbol of the departing soul.
Kneeling, the priestesses raised their palms in veneration to the presiding gods. Ah-Gin, God of Fire, Sword and War. Velesh, Black Serpent of the Under World.
Lifting the golden crowns from their heads, the priestesses set them aside and reverently pressed foreheads to the stone altar. The Dance of Origins was about to begin.
Hoarse, gutteral chanting and neck-snapping intensified:
Ah-Gin! Ah-Gin! Ah-Gin!
Nothing is ours
All is Yours!
More intoxicating drugs were tossed on the blazing hearth. Sparks and smoke swirled, partially hiding the women from view.
Sargis’ mind spun. He could not think logically but the freezing numbness had passed. He felt alive now. Exhilarated. His body craved to move. To dance to the pulsating, irresistible drumming, clapping and chanting.
Exuding mystery, the priestesses stepped gracefully through swirling tendrils of smoke. Their lithe supple movements rhythmic, seductive. This was why the ennarei were called `Those Who Walk in Smoke.’
And so began the Dance of Origins –
***
In the Beginning the demigod Herakles, son of Zeus, was driving the red cattle of Geryon through Skythia. As night fell, he pulled his lion skin over himself and went to sleep. But upon awakening Herakles found that his prize chariot mares were missing.
He searched high and low, through mountains and valleys. Finally in a deep dark cave he found Mata Drakaina, half human, half serpent, Queen of Skythia.
***
The dancing priestesses let their black robes fall to the floor, revealing bodies painted as nude, fecund serpents.
“Ahhh! Ai da! Ai da!” The devotees clapped in appreciation at such primordial, sensuous nudity.
Thick golden necklets nestled in the valley between the dancers’ voluptuous breasts, the nipples painted erotic red. Their slinky torsos, hips and legs were painted gold with black diamond patterns, like the scales of a python.
As they danced, the priestesses’ movements appeared more sinuous, supple, seductive. Sargis knew he would soon be asked to join with them. His loins tightened, swelling with lust even as a faint voice in his head said: Don’t fall for it.
As if he had heard Sargis’ cautionary thought, the ennarei sitting next to him passed him a cup of koumiss.
“Drink.”
The brew tasted intolerably bitter. Sargis realized it m
ust be heavily drugged. He gulped it down anyway, desperate to be drunk and drugged out of his mind.
Anything to block out the frantic vipers boiling his entrails. The gut-wrenching dread of the pain to come. I have been Chosen. I must do my duty.
After wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Sargis glanced at the cup. It was made from a human skull and covered in gold. Will they drink from MY skull next time?
The two Drakaina priestesses slithered across the floor, backs undulating, arching. Lithe scale-painted bodies flexing rhythmically to pulsating drums. A transformation was taking place before Sargis’ very eyes. The dancers’ sinuous bodies seemed to be melting, merging into ancient serpent deities.
Clapping rhythmically the mourners uttered trilling ululations. A lion-masked ennarei gestured to Sargis and Mattahn to mount the stone slab. They would portray Herakles consummating the union with Mata Drakaina to create a new race. A strong people destined to rule.
Queen Skythia slithered up to Herakles, then coiled up on her long thick sybaritic tail. Sensuous body swaying rhythmically, hypnotically, she hissed:
`I have your horsesss My Lord Heraklesss. And I will return them to you. But only if you join with me. Your magnificent body pulsesss with erotic power. You have arousssed my desssire. Come, ravisssh me My Hero. For I desssire to have ssstrong sonsss by you. Ssstrong sssonsss for a ssstrong people to rule the Sssea of Grasss. Forever.
***
The sensuous body and beckoning arms of one dancer called to Sargis. Ruzanna.
He had often noticed Ruzanna as she strolled through camp, sinuous hips swaying. Now the deeply compelling, sensuous beat of the drums drew him to her.
The ennerei had set the ritual sacrifice stage well. The beautiful nude dancing women, the music, chanting and drugs repressed the sharp tentacles of fear that had nearly broken his rigid self control moments ago.
If I have to go down, at least let me have this pleasure. Raw primal lust enflamed his loins. Sargis’ beast surged, roaring for release. His mind sublimated into the persona of the great hero.
I am become Herakles, son of the Most High God. Invincible. Virile. Sire of a new race.
***
And so Herakles stayed with Queen Skythia for three years. They enjoyed many passionate nights together and she bore him three sons: Agathyrsus, Gelonus and Skyles. From these three strong handsome sons all Skythians are descended.
Before Herakles left her forever, Queen Skythia asked: `Sssire, how will I decide which of our three sonsss ssshould rule my people?’
Herakles answered: ‘Here is my great bow. Let the one who can draw this bow become king.’
It was the youngest son, Skyles, who proved to be the wisest and strongest. Only Skyles was strong enough to draw Herakles’ great bow.
Thus it is from Skyles that all the kings of Royal Skythia are descended. And because they are renowned for wisdom, in times of great peril all Skythian tribes look to Royal Skythia for leadership.
***
The intoxicating, drugged haze, the drumming, manic chanting and the lure of female sensuality did their work. Sargis’ was enthralled, transported beyond rational thought.
There was only this, the pimordial Dance of Origins to sanctify the creation of a new people.
Chapter 37 – Mata Drakaina
Herakles found in a cave a being
Who was half young woman and half viper.
From the buttocks upward she was a woman
But her lower half was serpentine -
Herodotus, The Histories
Caressing golden thighs painted with black diamond scales, Yeva danced as the serpent queen Mata Drakaina. Primeval seductress. Mother of a new race.
Arching, undulating her serpentine form to slow, pounding drums, Yeva’s hands slid enticingly along her naked body. Slender fingers molding her breasts, she pressed the soft, enticing globes together in sacred offering.
Rolling head and shoulders to the rhythmic beat, she snapped her neck, flashing kohl-lined eyes.
Ah – Gin! Ah-Gin! AH-GIN!
Nothing is ours
All is Yours!
Graceful arms waving obeisance to the gods, Yeva and Ruzanna danced the erotic seduction of Herakles, son of the Most High God.
The drumbeat deepened, becoming more resonant. The intense rhythm compelled, nay commanded the body to move. Demanded the sublimation of mind to release the eros chained within.
The serpent queens’ sensuous movements danced a timeless, primeval invitation –
Come, join with me. Melt into me…
Two lithe young warriors wearing black cloaks and leggings over lean hips leapt bare-footed onto the wide altar slab. Broad shoulders rolling, hips thrusting with virile anticipation, the men circled the serpent queens.
Both men wore Herakles masks covering half their faces. But Yeva knew them. One was her cousin Sargis, the other his friend, Mattahn. Both had been close friends of the dead prince. Especially Mattahn who was Kanxa’s blood brother.
Ahh... Noble Mattahn. Yeva had always admired him. From afar. As a priestess of the Black Serpent,Velesh, she was forbidden to marry. But that did not stop her from dreaming.
In Yeva’s eyes Mattahn and Sargis were the epitome of Black Cloak warriors – tall, dark haired, superb physique, light golden skin, aquiline profile. Strong. Fearless.
In the evenings she liked to watch Mattahn as the warriors strode through camp. Lithe predators. Denizens of another world. A world she could never enter.
Sargis too held special status in Yeva’s eyes. As children, he had never taunted her about her riveting Kako Mati eyes. Yeva’s eyes were a pale sea blue with amber centers radiating from slightly elliptical pupils, reminiscent of a viper’s slitted eyes.
Oft times as she passed through camp carrying the satchel containing her pharmakopia, Yeva glimpsed suspicious fingers flashing the bull horns against her gaze. Her eyes were both a power and a curse.
Even her own family shunned her. Due to her cursed eyes, Yeva’s parents had given her away as a babe to her aunt Gorya, high priestess to the Black Serpent.
As she danced, sharp apprehension rose in Yeva’s gut, twisting her entrails. This was her first funeral ritual in the Dark House. She had not been told all that would happen. But she knew there would be pain.
Ah-Gin, God of Fire, Sword and War and the Black Serpent, Velesh demanded pain as the price for their favor. Blood sacrifice insured the prince’s soul would be welcomed into the Other World.
The death of Crown Prince Kanxa during that ill-starred raid into Sauromatia had come as a stunning blow. The war band had returned with several spectacular Sauromatian horses, a few trophy scalps and two Melanchaeni warriors slung over their horses. One of those bodies was Prince Kanxa.
King Vartan and the Queen Mother were grief-stricken. Now Kanxa’s spirit needed loyal friends to keep him company so that he would not be heartsick in the Other World.
A dark suspicion lurked in Yeva’s mind. Have I been Chosen to serve as Kanxa’s concubine?
That she had never served the prince intimately in life was irrelevant. She was handsome and had been given in service to the gods. Thus she was disposable. A quick sidelong glance at Ruzanna dancing next to her, revealed the other priestess’ veiled tension.
As Yeva danced, a vehement plea erupted from the very depths of her soul – Goddess, I beg thee – Have mercy. Spare us from the sacrificial blade!
***
Having drunk deep of the drugged koumiss and inhaled the mystic smoke, Sargis and Mattahn threw themselves into the Dance of Origins as if unaware of the grim fate hovering over them. Muscular, bare-chested bodies rippling, the men danced to the sensuous, hip-rocking beat.
Radiating male magnetism, Mattahn coiled his arms around Yeva’s waist. Pressed his warm vibrant body to hers. Palming and squeezing her ass cheeks, he ground his bulge against her mound.
Ah-hh… Scintillating sparks shot through his veins.
Supple loins thrusting t
o the drums, Mattahn pulled back. His hand went to his bulging crotch and squeezed. UH.
“You want this?” His voice a commanding growl. Hips rolling suggestively he fingered the thongs securing his leggings.
Putting her fear aside, Yeva’s strange kako mati eyes shimmered with intensity. Her gaze turned hot.
Ai da! Ai da! The enraptured mourners exhorted the dancers.
Hips rolling, thrusting to the pounding drums, Mattahn methodically unlaced his leggings. Pulled them down. Kicked them aside.
His bobbing cock sprang out. Proud, hard, eager.
Ai da! Ai da! The crowd screamed in rapt appreciation.
Head thrown back, the young Herakles palmed and squeezed his tumescent shaft. Seductive. Salacious. Irresistible.
Yeva danced close, almost touching him. Hips writhing, she mirrored the warrior’s rhythmic abandon.
Shoulders rolling, lush breasts bouncing, the serpent queen sank to her knees before the godlike hero.
With ardent fingers she grasped his hot cock. Kissed and licked the mushroom head. Her soft lips, closed around his phallus and sucked fervently, head bobbing.
Ai da! Ai da!
Releasing Mattahn’s swollen arousal from her lips with a juicy smack, the serpent queen sank into a kneeling backbend. Spine undulating, she dropped backward until her head and shoulders touched the hard altar stone, her dark golden hair spread in a halo around her face.
The pungent haze of mystic smoke drifted over Yeva’s body as Mattahn crouched between her legs. His hungry eyes stared in lustful reverence at the plump, inviting lips of her slick yoni. Warm callused hands pushed her thighs wider.
Grasping his hot hard cock he nosed the broad head over the slick lips of her yoni. Goddess - If this is to be my last act in this life – Let me enjoy and please her well.
Hips rolling to the drums he rubbed her throbbing pearl with his erection, sliding the broad head up and down her dripping slit.
He leaned over on one arm, warm lips brushing her ear. “Do you want me My Queen?”
Releasing a sensual moan in divine affirmation, Yeva let her eyes fall slowly closed. Then opened them to gaze into Mattahn’s naked, shimmering soul. A sense of profound veneration shot from his eyes, filling her heart with light.
Serpent Goddess: The Horse Lords Book 1 Page 17
