Forgotten Fates

by S J Doran

  The ritual honoring the fertility goddess coincided with the spring equinox upon mortal realm, when Ostara was at her most powerful. Mortals in their own funny little ways had never completely forgotten about Ostara, nor the awakening of life she represented. This made the goddess a deity of power, and festival was their best chance at gaining her favor.

  With the exception of the boy Maleficus, no children had been born of warlock parentage over the last three hundred years. Ever since the primordial energy which breathed life into Asurim had become dangerously close to being depleted, wombs had remained barren, and seed failed to plant life.

  No matter how much divine energy Amara harvested, no matter the amount of favor she bargained amongst the gods, she never managed to rekindle its power. Their magic was waning and the realm wasn’t healing, she was barely able to sustain its demands. So they sought out Ostara, invoking the goddess into their temples, beseeching her to bless the lands and people of Asurim.

  Through the celebration the halls of the nine temples were filled with revelry, feasts and depravity. Pleasures of the flesh playing a central role through trysts and orgies, for those who partook in the celebration grew lost to their instinctual need to mate, to ignite that spark of life. That surrender of control to passion they referred to as Ostara’s touch. In the past, most of the participants who experienced it had soon after found themselves blessed carrying life. Except for the warlocks.

  This time would be different. The boy Maleficus stood proof that it was possible still for a warlock to conceive. As such, Amara had spared no effort or expense in the preparations for the festival this year, hoping this time the goddess would bestow her favor upon those who sought it most.

  The pinnacle of the celebration was currently taking place in the Ninth temple, where only those invited by Amara herself were granted entry.

  The stone floors of the hall lay littered with warm furs and writhing bodies. The evening air which flowed through opened terraces carried upon it the scent of opium and musk, and the throaty moans of those already lost to Ostara’s touch.

  “Praise be you Ostara, place your blessings upon those who honor you this night.”

  The ceremonial mask covering her face felt stifling, the lilac silks and golden chains covering her bound too tight against her body. Mercifully her feet remained bared, she insisted on that. Each of the nine temples of Asurim were constructed from different crystal stones, yet all were designed to conduct and amplify energy during rituals. Amara would not participate this night, or any other, but with her feet bared she could at least feel the power of Ostara’s divine power flow through the onyx stone beneath her feet. Calling to her like a siren’s song.

  Acolytes moved gracefully amongst the revelers with crystal decanters of rich wine, diligent to not a single goblet go empty. Others carried silver trays with offerings of ripened fruits harvested with care from Asurim soil.

  Firelight flickered in the breeze from the torches and lanterns lining the walls, casting a dance of light and shadows through the main hall. And around her, deep cries and breathless sighs rose up into the ether like primal prayers, the ancient rhythm of thrusting flesh a constant background symphony.

  Plumes of Incense and opium billowed up from golden thuribles which hung suspended with colorful ribbons from the banisters, upon which spectators would linger, observing the celebration below until tempted to partake.

  The altar stood ready as it was every year, draped in silks and furs, awaiting her offering. As high priestess it was she who was expected to take place upon it, surrendering herself to Ostara’s touch and thereby invoking the goddess. It was the one offering she could not make. The touch of unfamiliar hands upon her body made her ill, the memory of her forced submission to their entry, their cruelty, the pain, the blood...

  Another life, a different girl…

  It had taken Gwynn years to coax her to trust. In the beginning he had simply wrapped his arms around her, shielding them both as her magic lashed out around them, volatile with the torment she felt at simply being held. Eventually her magic had calmed, and slowly her body had learned to accept the Huntsman’s touch.

  And then there was the sin-eater, whose touch she had craved instinctively from the very moment he had set foot back inside her cell in the Malsheem. It was twisted and wrong. Her mind acutely aware of who her Cassius had been and what the sin- eater was, yet her body stubbornly refused to acknowledge the two as separate beings.

  Her gaze moved over the altar, lost to her own thoughts until she felt the weight of eyes on her, drawing her gaze to a set of eyes dark as coal staring back at her. The sin-eater.

  Not everyone who joined the festivities did so in the hopes of being blessed by the goddess. The demon attended simply to gorge himself on the lust and depravity which flooded the temple during the ceremony. He enjoyed his freedom too much, and his rule too little to accept the responsibilities of parenthood. At his request she regularly provided him with a poison that served to kill his seed, ensuring the demon would sire no heirs by lovers he took.

  She found him sprawled upon the steps of her altar, an unspoken challenge reflecting in his dark expression. When his hand moved, her gaze followed, his fingers languidly trailing down the inner thigh of the beautiful female riding him. When his fingers dipped between her legs to cup her sex, she was suddenly grateful for the concealment of her mask, uncertain her expression wouldn’t reveal her own idiotic jealousy. Bad enough he would be able to sense it if he were paying attention.

  She sucked in a breath when another female joined him, kneeling beside his head, their gazes interrupted when the female Fae bent down to press her breast against his lips in offering. Her final glimpse of the demon revealed his sinful grin right before his mouth closed around a rosy peak.

  “Blessed be Ostara, for you are worshipped well.”

  Hopefully the goddess would be pleased enough with the reverence already bestowed to overlook her absence, for her feet had already turned of their own accord, moving her towards the safety and solitude of her private chambers. She had nearly made her escape when a sense of foreboding sent a chill down her spine, freezing her in place as unfamiliar fingers closed around her upper arm.

  “Sarratum, you are going the wrong direction, it is this way your altar awaits.”

  It took a few moments before memory cooperated enough to place a name to that overbearing voice; Grimorum, chieftain to the to the Gargoyle isles. He and her Dominae had clashed frequently when it came to equal rights for the warlocks and gargoyles who called Asurim home.

  Built like a descendant of the goliath, he towered over her. Light grey hair bound in braids, his features angular, body as if carved out of stone.

  “It would do you well to release your hold on me En-Grimorum, the only reason you yet live is due to my refusal to cause a scene and risk disturbing the ceremony.” She had killed for less offense then a touch.

  As the chieftain’s hand released its grip on her, Amara’s senses grew alert to that familiar power imprint which had first made her stop in her tracks, its essence fusing with the energy within the ninth temple. One that was unwelcome here, and promised misfortune upon this blessed event.

  Her eyes scanned through the hall, no longer finding the sin-eater upon the steps of the altar. Instead her gaze found Namtar roaming her halls, his rotting form wrapped in bandages, his brown burial robe floating around him as he moved amongst the bodies of the worshippers and revelry, invisible to all but to those who could gaze into the ether. His presence a mockery to this celebration, bringing the pall of death to a festival meant to produce life.

  His attendance would surely give offense to Ostara. Why would the Sumerian death god risk the wrath of a more powerful deity than himself by coming here?

  Too distracted by Namtar’s sudden appearance and the risk he posed upon the success of the event, she failed to registered the chieftain’s swift movement until too late.

  “Unhand me this instant!” />
  The words came out in a snarl as his hand roughly cupped her breast, his grip bruising her flesh beneath tearing silk.

  “I have come to the temple to claim you, warlock queen.” Grimorum’s possessive gaze traveled her body with far too much familiarity. “If I recall it was by your decree that Warlocks and Gargoyles live under the Asurian banner as equals.”

  His thumb flicked across her exposed flesh, causing a shudder of revulsion to slither through her. Still debating whether killing him was worth risking Ostara’s ire.

  “What would could make us more equal than you giving birth to my son? I shall fill your fruitless belly with my seed and place my bloodline upon the Asurian throne, only then will gargoyles and warlocks be true equals.”

  Pain turned to blinding rage, the tempest of dark magic she tried to reign in slipping from her control. Summoned by her distress darkness sprang from her like vines, grabbing hold of the hulking creature, forcing him to release his grip as thick tendrils of energy crushed stone and cut off his circulation.

  Can’t kill during Ostara...

  The next instant his massive figure was flung across the hall as a burst of power expelled him from her presence. Her heart thundered in her ears, her gaze finding Namtar’s eerie stare fixed on her from beneath his own mask before her attention returned to Grimorum’s crumpled body amidst a pile of broken tables.

  “Just stay down you big dumb fuck…” She mumbled.

  She couldn’t risk the ceremony, already most of the worshippers had been released from the thrall of Ostara’s touch and were fleeing for to the safety of the banisters, clearing the floor of the hall. This left only her and the death god standing tall as the gargoyle chieftain rose back onto his feet, rivulets of black blood trailing down the too harsh lines of his cheekbones. Blood spilled during a celebration of life, may Ostara forgive me…

  The next moment, he lunged for her. “Ah, shit...”

  Her magic swirled, ready to attack, eager to kill.

  -CRUNCH-

  He never reached her.

  Before her magic had time to latch, Grimorum’s massive body collapsed, the sound of horrified shrieks and jubilant cheers rising up from the crows upon the bannisters as Grimorum’s head slipped free from his neck to thud upon the black stone floor. From behind the slain chieftain’s body, Cassius’s bloodied form appeared.

  The expression within the sin-eater’s gaze was wild as he stared down at his blood coated hands. “Sin…?”

  As soon as her words reached him, he moved for her, his stained fingers reaching out for the torn fabric of her robe, covering her exposed breast.

  “A life sacrificed in honor of Ostara, may the Goddess find his death worthier than his life.”

  His tone was calm and commanding, leaving no one to guess the anguish hidden within that whiskey and honey voice. Amara well knew what nightmares lay hidden within the ruins of his mind, and what memories could be triggered by this.

  “Demon look at me, I am okay…. you didn’t let him harm me.”

  As she reached for him a rush of divine energy flooded the room, it’s power coursing through the stone beneath her feet. The imprint familiar, but never before sensed this strongly. The temple was immersed in the energy of life, Ostara’s touch permeating the hall, flowing through crystal and revelers alike who hurried to claim a space upon the floors.

  “She heard you…Sin, she accepted your tribute.”

  All around them worshippers were overcome by the influx of sexual energy, its power so compelling even Amara’s protections were rendered useless by it, while its intensity nearly brought the sin-eater to his knees.

  “Holy hells…”

  Lust spread through her, flowing from his sigil upon her palm into her bloodstream, filling her with need, making her burn. From behind the sin-eater she spotted the dark silhouette of the death god amongst the crowd, watching them intently.

  “Sin, this is bad…”

  Her body grew hot— too hot, the scraps of silk covering her skin scraping like sandpaper, her legs shaking as the dull ache of need built between her thighs. Panic setting in as she grew wet.

  “Listen to me, you need to go, it isn’t safe here...”

  His lips moved against her ear, his lean body towering over hers. “I’ll keep you safe, I will tear the head off anyone who thinks to touch you again.” His hot breath trailed down her neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake, “don’t reject me Mara, I can scent your need, feel your lust. It perfectly matches my own.”

  His hand moved to gently cup her breast, his warm touch easing the discomfort of bruised flesh. Sensation assailed her, her back arching ever so slightly to press deeper into his touch. Her own knees buckling when his mouth claimed her breast, his tongue lapping at the stiffened peak between his lips.

  “Dark gods, mercy...”

  She had her limits, and they had been reached. Her body trembled with fear, confusion and worry, but neither the emotions nor the presence of the death god managed to override the claim of Ostara’s touch and the pleasure of feeling the sin-eater’s body pressed against her own.

  Her surrender came as he knelt before her, his fingers unclasping the golden chains, pushing aside her silk coverings as he pressed his cheek between her thighs, coaxing her to part for him.

  “Can I have you Mara?”

  He was whispering against her skin, placing open mouthed kisses along every inch of bared flesh, up her inner thigh, his hot breath causing small quakes in her core.

  “You don't understand the consequences of what you ask.” Her voice was not more substantial than a sigh, and she wasn’t sure he heard. “I will be your destruction...”

  She bit her bottom lip to stop herself from crying out his name when his fingers dug into her inner thighs. Her fingers moved to tangle through the thick length of his dark hair.

  “Then destroy me priestess. I’m ravenous, and you are a feast.”

  A wicked smile curled his full lips as he guided her foot and braced it up on his thigh, opening her to him. The heat of his breath flowed over the wet silk clinging to her sex, before his fingers brushed aside the fabric as his mouth closed over her center.

  “Cass…”

  “Am I going to like what you’ll do to me?”

  “I will make sure you enjoy everything I do to you Assat Sa, I will teach you.”

  An influx of malicious energy intruded upon her euphoria, disrupting the bliss of feeling the demon’s mouth upon her. Again, she could sense eyes on her, the energy imprint she sensed not enthralling her like the sin-eater’s had, this one only served to deeply unease her.

  Namtar. She could still feel his presence, knew he was watching them. And by allowing this she was placing the sin-eater in peril, for even though he was not her husband, the demon remained her weakness.

  Namtar…

  “Cass... please.” Her hands dug into his hair, tugging at him. Dark gods, his tongue was so hot.

  He must have mistaken her urgency, for rather than releasing her, the demon let out a harsh groan, then speared his tongue inside of her. The world burned away around them, leaving nothing behind save her and the demon within her arms. A heaven made for two.

  “You are exposing your weakness, Amara. The death god will not hesitate to take him from you, he will use him to force the surrender of your soul.” A dark and sensual voice whispered from behind her back, tone quiet enough that only she would hear.

  “Gwynn...” Why was he here? The Fae King had always refused to attend these celebrations before, she had always asked.

  Her eyes never left Cassius, holding his gaze as he stared up at her, first in confusion, expression turning hostile as he noticed Gwynn behind her.

  “She is mine Huntsman,” Cass growled, baring his teeth, “Mara has always been mine.”

  Long fingers clutched her nape, forcing her to step back from Cass’s hold. “You have no idea the forces you play against demon. It is my bed she occupies, and there she will stay. She is
not for you, Demon King… let go.”

  The fingers on her thighs gripped tighter. “I can protect her…”

  Again that singular, painful squeeze gripped her chest. Her fingers moved to unclench his hair, brushing through its soft length instead. Her Cassius had spoken those same words, and had been made to pay the ultimate price for choosing her. Not again.

  Ignoring the Fae King’s reach for her, she lowered her lips to the sin-eater’s, claiming his mouth, tasting her own lust upon his tongue. But the kiss she gave him was not an exchange of lust, need or pleasure. But a confession of the soul.

  Since his had been taken from him, the demon would not be able to translate the unspoken words she placed within that kiss. Still, that did not stop her from weaving every hope, every sorrow, and every truth into her reverence of his lips. It carried the weight of dreams she had failed to protect, of promises broken, and a true love lost. For the first time since her wedding vows, her kiss was true.

  “I am not sure I can bear the idea of you hating me demon, but I know I couldn’t survive losing you again,” her fingers moved to cup his cheek as her lips slowly parted from his, her spirit breaking at the sight of the hurt and betrayal within those coal-dark eyes.

  “Again...? Mara, what are you telling me? I don’t understand…”

  Gwynn pulled her to her feet before shoving her behind his back. “And you should pray you never will come to understand, Demon King. Stay away, for both your sakes, and that of the realms.”

  Amara’s gaze broke free from the sin-eater’s eyes to follow the direction Gwynn was staring at, and found the death god standing upon the steps of her altar, luminous eyes peering out from beneath that ominous mask, their gaze fixed upon the sin-eater.

  “I’m not leaving, and I am not surrendering her to you.” Cass’s jaw set at an obstinate angle as he brushed his tongue gently across his lip, greedily claiming her taste as he glared at the Dark King. “Did you tell her, Fae? That she has no future with you? That you belong to another?”