Chapter 20
Onora was borne aloft, lifted by many hands. There were whoops of excitement, laughter, and the accompaniment of cymbals and drum. Her body did not feel connected to her mind, nor her mind connected to much at all.
Above her were the stars, filling her vision on all sides, then the world tilted and she had the sensation of descending.
Down, down, into the Underworld, to the place where sinners go, and if your heart is heavy, you’ll be eaten by the demon Ammut.
Is that what I deserve?
She was so confused; she didn’t know whether her heart was good or wicked anymore.
For a moment the stars were blotted out, then they appeared again. The rocking motion of being carried was making her sleepy, despite the hullabaloo of those surrounding her.
She might have closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, there was no sky at all. They were inside somewhere, and the voices now echoed. It was almost entirely dark, but she made out the shape of a column, rising tall above her.
And then it went very quiet.
She imagined she was in Christ Church Cathedral, back in Oxford, and the Sanctus bell was being rung from the altar.
No, that can’t be right, for wasn’t I in the garden not long ago?
She was passing beneath an archway, into what felt like a smaller space, where the air was denser, cloyingly scented.
Smoked wood and cinnamon…and amber?
The voices rose and fell in unison: “Hail to thee, Qadesh. We are your servants. Hail, mighty Qadesh. We answer your call.”
Over and over, the chant continued, punctuated by the rhythmic beat of a drum.
Mine at last!
The triumphant words threaded through Onora’s mind, and she knew from where they hailed—not her own consciousness, but that of the statue, of the goddess herself.
Mine to command. Your place to serve.
The hands beneath her departed and cold, unyielding stone met her back. There were faces all around, strange yet familiar.
Seton was near and one of the women was moving before him, passing a blade high across his chest. A dark trickle ran down.
Blood?
Her own beat fast in her veins.
The woman pressed her lips there, licking, leaving a smear of red across her mouth. She drew her finger through the crimson, then marked a shape upon Seton’s forehead.
The scarab again!
Once more, the woman ran her finger where she’d made her cut, then turned towards Onora.
It was none other than Madame Auvray wielding the dagger. Onora tried to scream, to move her limbs, to lash out; neither her body nor voice responded.
Give yourself to me, without question.
Bracing herself for the sting of the blade, Onora squeezed shut her eyes, but there was no slicing pain; only the warmth of the woman’s body above hers, and the press of a finger to her brow.
Onora’s pulse pounded, even as she felt Madame Auvray withdraw. As the chanting grew louder and the beat of the drum faster, she made herself look. Over and again, the Frenchwoman repeated the ritual, smearing Seton’s blood upon each person’s forehead, forming the shape of the scarab.
All at once, with a great flourish, Seton turned towards the terrible looming statue, and raised his arms. His shout rang out.
“Divine Qadesh, hear me! True embodiment of the ecstatic and enraged, you summoned us. We are your acolytes, your willing servants. Accept the offering of our bodies and fill us with the force of your sacred ecstasy.”
To Onora’s disbelief, Seton threw off the wrap about his waist. He stood utterly naked, his phallus jutting.
This can’t be happening. It can’t!
Onora blinked, trying to compel herself awake.
The women clustered around, pressing their lips to his skin, kissing him in every intimate place, moving their hands across his body. It was both repugnant and fascinating. Two of the women were behind and, she would swear, were intruding between his buttocks.
It was impossible to reconcile what she was seeing with what she knew. One of the women took Seton fully into her mouth, while he placed a hand upon her head, encouraging with a guttural groan.
See what can be yours! The flesh is transient, but ecstasy is divine!
I don’t want this!
Onora’s protest rung loudly in her head, but she knew it was hopeless.
The men stood aside, continuing the beat of the drum, and their endless chanting, hailing the goddess.
“I am ready!” Seton’s shout rang out. “Ready to honor the goddess!” He raised up the women. “Handmaidens, you have the honor of anointing our high priestess. Prepare her for initiation!”
Onora fought again to move, terrified of what was in store for her. Her limbs were heavy, though she was coming back to herself, little by little, her fingers and toes starting to respond.
Seton stood by her feet, while Madame Auvray and Maria placed themselves either side of her head.
To her mortification, the women slipped the gown from her shoulders, baring her to the waist. They passed a pot between them filled with some sweet-smelling oil, and then their hands were upon her—caressing with the slippery substance, kneading the soft flesh of her breasts.
Onora looked pleadingly at Seton, but he did nothing to intervene.
Rather, his face was filled with lust. Every eye was upon her, watching her humiliation.
Worst of all, as the women drew scissored fingers back and forth across her nipples, the peaks engorged, making it plain for all to see that her body was responding.
Seton raised the hem of her gown, his hands gathering the flimsy fabric as he exposed her calves.
No! I can’t bear it!
Onora squirmed, resisting, but as he reached her inner thigh, she was overtaken by a rush of desire. Whatever drug he’d forced upon her, it was surely altering her mind, making her yearn to submit.
Give yourself, as you know you wish. Destroy all that binds you.
The intrusive voice filled her thoughts, and Onora moaned as Seton brushed the hair at the crux of her body.
She parted her thighs, hating herself as she welcomed his finger where she was wet. He found her most sensitive part, rubbing lightly there with the pad of his thumb. She whimpered pitifully, distraught at this public display, yet at the mercy of her need.
All the while, the women continued to touch her.
One—Maria, surely—bent low, and Onora caught a glimpse of the marking upon her breast. There could be no doubt; it was a scarab, like that inked upon the skin of Madame Auvray, of the Reverend’s wife and Seton.
“He’s going to take you while everyone watches, but you can be sure, I shall have him next!” She gave Onora’s nipple a callous tweak. “You want to please him, don’t you? Whatever he asks, he’ll expect you to obey, High Priestess or not!”
The words struck home.
Maria was cruel, but she spoke the truth. Seton was a sadist, and she would be the one to suffer.
What had she become? Some slave to Seton’s depravity? Or was this terrible fate somehow of her own doing?
Fleetingly she thought of Jack, and how appalled he’d be. Would she really submit to anything, with the voice in her mind urging her on, possessing her so that her will was not her own?
If there was a part of her that remained virtuous, she hoped Jack would remember her that way.
Seton threw his arms wide. His phallus bobbed before him, the head swollen dark and glistening. “Brothers and sisters, servants of the goddess of light and dark, with this worship, we make ourselves hers. May the ecstasy begin!”
“May the ecstasy begin!” Shouts from all around filled the sanctuary, and a whirl began, of clothing cast off, of men grabbing women and women wrapping themselves about men, couples entwined, some standing and others bent. A tangle of nakedness and animal thrusting surrounded her.
Like the frieze upon the wall.
All along, the signs had been here, and she’d been oblivious.
Roughly, Seton pulled her toward him, grasping beneath her knees and dragging her across the stone. She kicked with her feet, but her legs were still weak.
The firelight of the sconces shone back from his eyes, and there was no mercy in them.