Altar of Anubis

by Vremont, Ann

  He pressed his forehead against hers, ran his hands down her breasts. Cupping and lifting them, he teased the nipples with hard pinches, as if he wanted to punish her. “All these years I have carried your memory with me, surviving on the promise you would return.”

  Too real, the pain in his voice. She could taste his anger, feel his anguish twisting in her chest. What dream did that?

  “Im-e-ut.” She choked on his name, trying not to cry. “Who am I supposed to be?”

  “My wife, my love.” Voice flat, he dropped his hands to his side. “No other immortal could have passed through that portal. I built them all for you and no one else.”

  * * * *

  Immortal? The word bounced around inside Rene’s head as Imeut pressed a cold wet cloth against her forehead.

  “This falling to the ground as if you were sleeping…” He let the question trail off and chewed at his bottom lip.

  “It happens.” She cracked a nervous smile at the idea that her healer -- her husband if she were to believe him -- no longer had a word to describe fainting. How could a man who had conjured the wet cloth out of thin air forget what fainting was?

  “It does not happen here.” He held her face still, forcing Rene to look at him or drop her gaze. “Not here,” he repeated.

  “Then maybe I’m not the person you think I am.” The words came hard. The hurt that welled up as she spoke them surprised her like a sharp slap across the face. Did she want this to be real? Hadn’t she been living in the shadow of this dream world since childhood? She remembered the Sphinx costume she’d demanded at the tender age of four and other Halloweens spent as Cleopatra or Nefertiti before all the hours in the library had taken their toll on her body. She thought of the hot summers in Egypt interning for no money and prostituting out her expertise to film companies to fund more trips.

  Imeut tossed the cloth behind him, the material vanishing before it could hit the chair. “I told you, I built the portals for you.”

  His tone was prideful, almost arrogant. He was proud of his skills, but did he have the right to be? Or maybe he held the same fear as Reymas, Reynar’s father. “Maybe you just won’t allow yourself to be disappointed?”

  “No, if I thought you were not Reynar…” He folded his arms across his chest, his stance weary but stubborn. “Well, I would wait another four millennia and four more after that. As long as it took.” He leaned forward, as if his sheer will could convince her. “But you are Reynar.”

  She stood, walked around the bedroom and into the sitting room. Light filled the rooms but from no discernible source. Furniture was minimal, and the accessories of modern life were nonexistent -- nothing equivalent to books, music players, TVs, no small pieces of art or paintings. Did they summon what they wanted when they needed it?

  “What bothers you?” He stood behind her, the heat of his body warming her back.

  Rene twisted enough to look at him over her shoulder, and she responded with a frown and a snort. From what he had told her, she had an enemy who could shape matter and wanted nothing more than her death. She had a would-be lover who had to share her on holy days -- the men outnumbered the women by more than ten to one -- and just about every goddamn day in this “Plane of Immortals,” as Imeut called it, was a holy day.

  He cleared his throat, some of the intensity smoothing from his face. “I meant what occupies your mind right now?”

  She gestured around the room. “It’s so barren, no music --”

  He ran his lips along the outer ridge of her ear. “Make love to me and you will hear music.”

  Giving over. He had described the concept to her as he dabbed at her forehead with the wet cloth. Every symphony that would ever be created, every statue or painting, every epic written, it was all there waiting for her when she became one with the group. That was, if she opened her mind and heart and offered her flesh.

  She looked to the bed. Dream or no dream, she wanted him.

  “No, not there. Will you run from it as Selesma has?”

  “Selesma doesn’t… But you said she can shape matter?”

  “Yes, these are separate things --”

  She cut him off, tried to distance herself from his warmth, from the way it curled around her body and seduced her. But he was blocking the archway, preventing her from retreating back into the bedroom. Her only option was to move closer to the corridor beyond the sitting room. “This is all so wrong, so preposterous.”

  “This is what you have shown to us, your teachings from the time before.” He moved toward her, slowly but inexorably, his arms out as if he intended to embrace her.

  “You mean what Reynar taught you.” She watched his approach. His steps were as measured as his words, the swaying hips hitting left, then right, with a hypnotic rhythm.

  “That is what I said… Reynar.” He grabbed her shoulders, not leaning in like she wanted him to, not taking her in his arms, touching, teasing. He cocked his head to one side, staring beyond her into the empty corridor. “Already Selesma is spreading unease among the others. You will come with me, Reynar. Now.”

  The force and determination of his voice was as intoxicating as his walk and his hands upon her. But she knew it was an act. Not that he wasn’t commanding -- his presence filled the room, licked at her nipples and thighs. But he had told her too much about their ways, their oh-so-complicated rules, for her to believe that he would force her into coming with him.

  But she’d be damned if she was going to…

  Imeut stepped away from her and into the corridor. The blue linen kilt with its tight weave faded to the same transparent pale cream of her gown. Through it she could see the dark nest of pubic hair and --

  He turned and she took her first halting steps after him. The hard muscles of his ass and thighs rippled visibly beneath the linen. His back was straight and strong, the shoulders squared as if he dared her not to watch him move.

  He belonged on a catwalk or an underwear ad.

  And he wanted her.

  Part 2

  And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music. --Friedrich Nietzsche

  Imeut led her to a great hall, the ambient light slowly dimming as if some sunset were occurring on the other side of the alabaster walls. On their way, they passed lesser rooms. Nowhere were there doors. The sounds of lovemaking trailed after them, greeted them at each corner turned. Nor was it just the sounds of sex that traveled with them. Even with her attention glued to the perfect, confident flow of Imeut’s body, the sight of entangled flesh teased the periphery of Rene’s vision.

  By the time they reached the hall, she was shaking. She saw one woman, a man at each hole. Limbs blended, became indistinguishable. The smell of sex and sweat tinted the air. Bodies separated, new partners were welcomed.

  He wanted her to partake in this?

  Her chest constricted, the muscles locked up tight so that she couldn’t draw breath. She would never dream this up -- or, if she did, she would have dreamt a better body to go with it. In his arms, in his eyes, she felt desirable. But stripped bare in front of so many eyes?

  She could feel her mouth quivering, felt fresh tears on her cheeks.

  Gently, he put a hand on her arm. “Reynar, our future -- your very life -- depends on your acceptance. And if you die here…”

  He looked away, but Rene didn’t need him to finish. He already had explained it to her when they were in the bedroom. Here she would die a true death, extinguishing her soul and damning that of her murderer. Responsible for her own soul and that of her enemy’s, Reynar had refused to cross over.

  She stared back into the room, saw that some people were watching, their gazes fixed on her even as they continued moving to the thrusts and caresses of their lovers.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “No one on my plane… not like this.”

  “Shhh…” He grabbed her hand but, instead of pulling her into the room as she feared, he led her further down the hall.


  Before them, Rene could see pools set in the alabaster floors. Candles lit the room, but Imeut raised his free hand, spoke one word and a wind raced through the corridor to blow out the flames.

  She twisted her hand free of his as he entered the water.

  He undid his kilt, let it float for a few seconds before it disappeared into nothingness. Holding his arms out, he challenged her, “You wanted to be alone.”

  The room held a faint glow of light from the corridor and the far end of the pool. She shook her head. “But we’re not.”

  “What do you see, Reynar?”

  Heart racing, she looked at the walls, peered into the corners. “Shadows, shifting…”

  “Have you ever seen a shadow that remained still?” Moving through the water to reclaim her, Imeut laughed.

  She watched his lower body emerge from the water, her breath catching at the first full view of his cock. It was erect, the tip stretching up to a point just below his navel. Water dripped down the dark skin, glistened along the thick black patch of hair. She licked her lips then closed her eyes against the display of hunger.

  “Look at me, Reynar.”

  She heard the wet slap of his foot against the floor, the sound followed by his hands closing around her wrists. Opening her eyes, she let him coax her into the pool. The water was cool against her skin, causing her to gasp as it filtered past her labia to chill her clit. Releasing her wrists, Imeut ran his hands down her hips, pulling her closer as he eased the shift up to her waist. He could have let it disappear, but he let the fabric drink up the water. Holding the cloth up around the bottom of her breasts, he dipped his head, sucking at one nipple and then the other through the thin fabric. He pushed the shift higher, and she raised her arms.

  He tossed the garment behind him, then kissed her neck. Down her body he went, submerging himself. He pushed her legs apart, separated her lower lips with his tongue. She looked down, saw another shadow swimming through the water. As Imeut came up for air, another mouth replaced his between her legs.

  Imeut slid behind her, his chest against her back. “Relax, my love.” He sucked along her neck, his strong hands kneading her breasts, pulling the nipples taut in a rhythm that matched the teasing below.

  She heard the soft splash of more bodies entering the water; more hands touched her, lifted her until she was floating on her back. She turned her head, searching for Imeut’s mouth. A stranger stared back at her, kissed her. They were steering her body toward a shelf in the water where Imeut waited. He was sitting on the shelf, his back against the pool’s ledge.

  “You left me,” she whispered when he pulled her onto his lap.

  “Only so we can be together always.” He put a hand between her thighs, thumbing her clit until she threw her head back and let the soft pressure of another man’s hands separate her legs. “They are so hungry to taste you, my love, to be tasted by you. Try to take the pleasure we offer.”

  The constant stroke of his hand along her pussy smothered her protest with her own moans. She squirmed, tried to tell him she wanted him, only him. A foreign mouth closed around her breast, the man’s tongue holding her nipple firm against his upper palate as he sucked at her flesh.

  “Imeut…”

  “Let me fill you, Reynar,” he whispered against her ear.

  “Yes.” Urgently she lifted and then settled on his shaft in one hard stroke. The others were shadows. This -- Imeut filling her -- was real.

  Imeut ran his fingers down her arms, guided her hands onto the cocks of the men around them. She lost count of how many men there were. She felt a mouth at each breast, another between her labia, the head lifting and sinking as she stroked Imeut’s cock with her cunt.

  Imeut, kissing her cheek, her mouth, encouraged her to listen. “Can you hear it?”

  She closed her eyes, felt the first wave of an orgasm roll through her as sound burst into the room. She froze at the top of her stroke, her hands gripping the men tightly as her thighs and cunt squeezed at Imeut. She heard singing, dark and primal, like the room, their bodies. The rhythm matched the fucking as if it played for them.

  Imeut grabbed her hips, lifted his ass and pulled her sharply down onto his cock one last time. “It does play for us -- for you.”

  She felt him tremble inside her, felt the seizing muscles of the other men as they came. They slipped from her hands, melting back into the water, leaving her alone with Imeut.

  “Do you see now?” he asked, wrapping her in his embrace.

  “Only flashes.” Images of the past fell around her like raindrops, and she grabbed his arms. “Hold me tighter.”

  * * * *

  Two days later, Rene was still fighting to control the visions. If she survived Selesma’s challenge, she would have as much of eternity as she wished to remember what had gone before. Right now she needed to sort through the memories and find the one that would end the war Selesma, motivated by lust and greed, had declared against her so many millennia ago.

  Shifting in her seat, Rene lifted her gaze to where Imeut stood in front of a black altar. It was a twin to the one she had encountered at the studio. Only this one was in use. A male, deceptively young in appearance, was stretched out on it, his lithe body wrapped in scented linen. At the foot of the dais, several more figures knelt, one openly crying.

  She looked away, saddened by the ceremony and the knowledge that, with her arrival, some of the immortals had chosen to leave this plane -- to pass over to what Imeut referred to as the godhead. She felt a hot lick of anger, realized it was her own and pushed it back down. Despite the tears, the passing over ceremony was meant to be a time of rejoicing, a time when one of the immortals left behind the facsimile of communion this plane offered to become part of the godhead, The Eternal One.

  She was still having a hard time accepting this new world even though she no longer questioned its reality. Even harder to grasp was its philosophy. She had the power to defeat Selesma, always had. But if she destroyed Selesma, Rene would be bound to this plane, never capable of passing over. She could have passed over millennia ago, but Imeut had been bound to this plane and his duties as high priest until another was ready to come into his talents. And that would have left Selesma next in line to Lord Reymas’s throne.

  Rene glanced at Imeut, a wave of guilt washing over her. If Imeut was right, Selesma had no desire to pass over. She would challenge Rene and Rene would be presented with the same choices she had fled from before. Over five thousand years he had suffered without her and she still had no answer. She had failed him.

  The pitch in the room changed, dropped low and spread to a thin hum. She looked at the people around her, unnerved by their stillness. They were living statues, vibrating to a single note. She felt it in her toes, felt it spread up her legs, into her gut, to possess her chest. Her head dropped back, vision blurring as she stared at the smooth alabaster ceiling.

  The whole room sighed, one collective release of anticipation, and then a golden glow shimmered in the air around them. A heartbeat later it was over, and the body on the altar was gone.

  * * * *

  Imeut found her in their rooms an hour later. He brushed the tears from her cheeks, kissed her as he pulled her into his arms.

  “Is it always like that?”

  “Always,” he answered. “You told us it would be so, do you remember?”

  She sifted through the thousands upon thousands of memories her mind now held. She saw herself dressed in black, standing in front of a coffin and surrounded by thin gray men. A thick layer of soot covered the walls. Women cried. She dug deeper, past more births and deaths. She found Imeut, buried far down in the layers of her memory, begging her to come with him to this plane. The anguish on his face threatened to wipe away that moment of perfect peace she’d felt at the end of today’s ceremony.

  She shook her head, snuggled deeper into his embrace.

  He nipped her earlobe. “Do not make yourself too comfortable.”

  It
was a holy day, the first since that night in the pool.

  “Stop worrying,” he went on. “It will come to you now that you are starting to remember.”

  She glanced up at him, wrinkled her nose. “The solution or the sharing?”

  He grinned at her. “Maybe they are the same?”

  “Lord Reymas…” She faltered on the question she wanted to ask.

  “He stays away because you need him to stay away.”

  “From the great hall, yes…”

  “And if he seeks you out otherwise, it will only provoke Selesma.”

  She shrugged and then placed her head against his chest. “You’ll be with me?” He had denied her since the pool, sharing the same bed with her, kissing and holding her, but never more than that.

  “Yes.” He rolled her onto her back, his lower body forcing her legs apart as his lips traced her collarbone. Her shift disappeared and he pulled her breast into his mouth, rolling her nipple with his tongue.

  “What are you doing?” She arched against him, ran her hands down his back.

  “Preparing you.” He slid lower, leaving a wet trail with his tongue.

  She put her hands on his shoulders, bent her legs. “I hope that means what I think.”

  “Not entirely.” Imeut smiled again, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he slid his hands beneath her bottom and began to slowly work his thumbs inside her pussy. With short licks, he tasted her, first along the line of her labia, then deeper as she began to twist against him. Up and down her clit, around its swollen head, he ran his tongue, his thumbs thick and slowly pumping inside her.

  “This is a tease, isn’t it?” Her question came in gasps, her hands squeezing at her breasts.

  He pulled his thumbs from her, spread her labia and ran his tongue around the tight rim of her cunt. She contracted at his touch, her fingers finding and rubbing at her clit. He grabbed her hands, held them against the mattress. With long licks and shallow thrusts of his tongue he teased her, bringing her to the brink of climax and then slowly easing off.