Chapter 4
four
. . .
Thessia
The Seven Commandments of the Daughters of the Covenant:
Love God and marry thyself to His just will.
I race across the shattered bridge, hopping stone to stone, each slick with water.
I clutch the hem of my tunic high to keep it from dipping into the stream.
Water trickles quiet as a hymn below, separating the mainland from the shadowed forest. When I leap onto the grass at last, I glance back, heart drumming.
It always pounds when I stray this far from town.
At first, the terror came from fear of being caught.
Punished. Bent over Sacred Mother’s knee as I confess that I’m a disobedient mutt.
She would make me beg for more punishment, set me in front of the Savior on my knees, make me praise him at his feet until he says I’m forgiven.
But when no chastising came from slipping away, and my lies grew taller with each excuse of my absence, the thrumming of my heart switched from terror to excitement.
My little secret. Lying bare before my Goddess. Confessing my sins to a golden mouth of full lips and breasts swollen just for me.
Sacred Mother preaches our duty: hearts bound only to the Covenant, our love reserved for Him alone.
We are not to ache for anything but His will.
Yet my body aches for release. The tug yanks me from my bed, pulling me through the Sanctuary's corridors while others sleep. The guards hardly glance at us at night, because they know we are obedient daughters. We know our place. Their blind faith is my veil. For a year, I’ve slipped out under moonlight.
The trees cry leaves on barren soil so my feet can skip softly through the night.
My heart beats for the hidden temple. Marry God? Never. Marry my Goddess …
I blush, already loosening my belt. Thinking of all the ways I’ll praise her.
Be obedient for thy God is all-knowing. He knows what is best.
What if this temple is what’s best? What if He led me here? What if I were born to carry this place back to my people?
I pause.
Muffled voices drift from the giant red cedars. My chest seizes. I’m sure no one followed me. I dive into the bushes, breath laboring. My veil is thin enough to see through. The moon spills light over bone-shaped ridges in the distance. The voices are coming not from behind me, but in front of me.
I think, if God did place this path at my feet, then why do I hide like a church mouse? Why do I gag myself whenever I speak to Sacred Mother? Why do I swallow questions about this land until my tongue feels split in two?
Remove thyself from sin. If thy eye is corrupted, pluck it out. If thy voice betrays, slice thy tongue. If thy heart wanders, revoke it from thy chest.
Two soldiers shoot out of the cedars. My heart leaps to my throat. For a moment, I think the t’ku’nuks have rammed through the second wall protecting the village. They’ve done it before, until stone replaced wood. But no, these soldiers aren’t running from — but with each other.
Shirts untucked, belts loose, I know their faces.
Xexes, soot-dyed hair, wide, big, brown eyes.
Kwell, dark skin, shaved head, bushy black beard.
Both men have been kind to the Daughters.
Shielding us from the wandering eyes of the other soldiers.
They’re the only ones Sacred Mother trusts within the Sanctuary when our Savior leaves for war.
Tonight, however, they should be at the wall.
Every hand was called. The bombs have quieted, the night exhales into silence.
Yet, their laughter pulls me in as I crouch behind bushes.
Tithe all that thou hast. Time, mind, body, spirit, and worldly possessions do not belong to the natural man. You are nothing without God.
Xexes shoves Kwell against a tree, his lips eagerly lapping Kwell’s neck. Kwell moans, fisting Xexes’ hair. Kwell's head falls back onto Xexes’ shoulder. Kwell then bites into Xexes’ pale flesh. They grind against each other, leaving trails of bruises.
Their passion looks like fighting, and I want someone to fight over my body. Choke my neck, bite my ear, pin me in place, touch me. Touch me. Touch me.
They pant like thirsty dogs in the heat of summer.
Xexes takes Kwell’s body and presses him against bark, tugging down his pants.
Xexes yanks out his manhood, and slides it slowly, up and down, up and down, in long strokes against Kwell’s butt.
Then he adjusts, his thighs bending into the perfect placement, sliding inside of Kwell.
Kwell’s body vibrates. Flesh slaps against flesh, loud grunts cause nearby mo'kures to scatter from branches.
I twist the hem of my dress into a fist, pulling it taut. Sweat drips from my nose as the heat coils within me. Many nights, I imagine—
No, no. I shouldn’t. I squeeze my eyes shut, listening to heavy breathing, licking, devouring. Skin, body, sex colliding. Colliding, thunder, reviving.
Breathing, breathing, heavy breathing. I force my eyes to look at the ground because I can’t keep them closed. The grass grows from dirt patches. Blooming, blooming, blooming around my feet. That is what love does, I think, bring things once dead to life.
Follow our Savior, the mouthpiece of God. Take heed to Sacred Mother, his servant, the Savior, who shields us from sin.
This is forbidden by the Savior. The soldiers are bound to the same vows as we are. Even more so, because they must keep our borders safe, serve God, the Savior, and the Daughters, too.
Yes, a few soldiers' eyes have lingered on me a little too long. Sacred Mother once said, even beneath my tunic, which hangs on me like a sack, my curves were devilish, lustful. She stitched me into heavy fabric that drowned me, but still, men’s eyes raked over my body.
With stolen material I took from the storage closet, I fashioned myself an even bigger tunic.
The Savior decreed that no soldier may take a wife until his twenty-fifth year.
A wife, he claimed, was a distraction. A hindrance.
God Himself frowned upon it. The Savior wished all men could be like him, married to God alone, but even he admitted the flesh was weak.
One day, he would choose a Daughter to birth the next Savior, for no man escapes the command of being fruitful and multiplying.
Remain chaste. Your sex belongs to God.
Kwell strokes himself. I can’t look away. Raw, sweat-sleek skin. My thighs tremble. I want what they have. Need what they have. Mourn for what they have. Just hours ago, I fell onto Penelope’s lap. Her arms wrapped around my body, crushing me between her legs.
My sin began long before that.
One day, there was a mix-up in bathing schedules.
I slipped into the baths unaware she was already there.
I undressed, releasing my curls from their bind, the ruby ringlets brightening my brown skin.
In the baths, we are meant to be alone. Each Daughter has her own time to bare herself only to God, or to the Savior, if he should demand it.
I had dipped my toe into steaming water.
A shutter, like a deep sigh, came from the far corners of the misted pool.
Hazel eyes met mine. Penelope. I knew those eyes well; they were the only part of her face I could see clearly behind the veil.
I dreamed of those eyes. Dreamed of them burning down at me as I spread my legs wide, craving a gaze that was not God, not the Savior, but hers.
I wanted her to see me naked and be not ashamed.
Penelope rose from the pool. Her long, silky black hair trailed behind her like ink. Her breasts hung full, her body slim, her thighs shielding her sacred sex beneath a darker patch of hair. I hardly noticed the water spilling from her skin.
I was drowning in her, and I swore she briefly glowed gold.
She passed me. I didn’t move. Breathing in, her pinky lightly brushed against mine. A feathery touch. Once my mind defrosted, I attempted to apologize and ask for her forgiveness.
We belonged to God. We could be flogged for our misconduct.
But when I turned around, I lusted. Her backside jiggled, and it, along with her back thighs, was covered with the sacred mark.
Standing there, watching her disappear into the dressing room, my fingers found the split of my folds.
My thumb swirled around the button. I stroked myself, warm juices wet my thighs.
Come back, I thought to myself. Touch me, touch me, touch me. Ravish me in the pools of your love. I could keep a secret. Lock it in the chambers of my heart, bury the key where no one would find it.
I didn’t bathe. I wanted to stew in the remembrance of her body and the essence of how it made me feel.
I was sixteen then, twenty-four now, my twenty-fifth birthday is a month away, and I want more than ever for someone to take me out in the open, before my God, before the mo’kures, the t’ku’nuks, the azizas, and every other living creature.
The sun, the moon, the skies above, lay me on full display, touch me, touch me, touch me until I explode in ecstasy just as Kwell does in his hand, some of his seed spilling on the tree.
Xexes, bent down, spreading Kwell’s cheeks, and licked him clean.
And the last and greatest commandment of them all: Touch me not, for I am a Daughter of the Sacred Covenant. To gaze upon a speck of skin, a wisp of hair, or the curve of lips would lead to man's downfall. Remain covered at all times, lest you drag a generation into outer darkness.
Am I sin? Not just sinning, but sin itself?
It feels so good to be touched, even when it’s my hand only.
Am I a plant delivered to the Daughters of the Covenant to grow seeds of doubt and temptation?
Must my heart crave for the forbidden, must I hunger for it like a starved newborn desperate to suck?
Am I going mad like the Fallen Ones?