Ark(20)

“Ah, so quick to renounce your god, are you? It won’t be that easy. No indeed.” The priest tossed the pendant aside and then leaned over Japheth. Slowly he dragged the tip of the dagger through the meat of Japheth’s chest. Then, casually, he lifted the blade to his lips and licked the blood away with relish. “Where is your One God now? Can your petty Elohim save you now, little worm? No indeed.” The blade flicked out and the tip of Japheth’s ear lobe dropped to the floor. The priest picked it up and ate it, chewing slowly and watching Japheth’s reaction all the while.

“What do you want from me?” Japheth stared hard at the priest, refusing to betray pain or disgust.

The priest didn’t answer, but instead left the little room and spoke to the Nephilim guards outside. One of them stamped his spear-butt against the floor in a salute and left at a run. Minutes passed slowly, and Japheth felt pain radiating throughout his whole body. He ear throbbed, and he began to feel the strain of being chained as he was, arms stretched so far apart that he had to hold himself up off the chair to ease the pain in his shoulders.

At length, the guard returned, dragging with him a young human girl, a temple prostitute, by the look of her.

She was sobbing and begging, “Please, please—tell me what you want! I’ll give it you, I promise. You can have me for free! Please, let me go!”

The guard didn’t respond, only laughed cruelly, and thrust the girl into the room with Japheth. The girl shrank into a corner, sobbing hysterically. She obviously knew the priest, and feared him; Japheth was beginning to understand why.

She was young, barely more than a child, clad in only a sheer linen shift, which revealed more than it clothed. Her black hair was intricately braided and her eyes were heavily painted with kohl.

The priest left the room, only to return immediately, a mortar and pestle in his hands. He ground up whatever herbs or seeds the bowl contained, grinding in smooth, practiced movements until he was satisfied with the consistency. He then reached into a pocket in his robe and produced a small clay jar stoppered with a cork. He worked the cork loose and dribbled a small measure of the clear liquid into the bowl, and mixed the contents with the pestle again. Finished, he approached Japheth.

Grasping his jaws in a pincer grip, he forced his mouth open. The old priest’s hands were strong enough that Japheth knew if he resisted, the priest would merely break his jaws apart. Giving in with a mental curse, Japheth allowed the priest to place the contents of the bowl upon his tongue. Leaves, mixed with some oil . . . the taste was bitter and potent. He swallowed, feeling no immediate effects.

The priest seemed content to wait in silence, as if he knew exactly what the herbs would do, and how long it would take before the effects could be felt.

And indeed, within a quarter of an hour, by Japheth’s mental estimation, he began to feel a stirring between his legs, a rush of blood to his manhood, feeling the organ hardening, a feeling he could not stop, no matter how hard he tried.

The effect of the herbs visibly apparent, the priest nodded, pleased with himself.

He turned to the girl who was huddled in a corner of the room, shivering and shuddering.

“You know who I am, girl?” the priest asked.

“Y-yes, you are Mesh-te, High Priest of Ereshkigal.”

“And why are you afraid, girl?”

“They—they say that you . . .” She stopped, afraid to say anything else.

Mesh-te tested the edge of his dagger and gestured for her to continue. “Yes? They say what? You will be punished for disobedience if you do not speak.”

The words came out in a rush: “They say you take delight in evil things. They say you watch people lie together and kill them afterward. They say you drink human blood and eat human flesh. Oh, Inanna, save me! They say such awful things, your grace. But I do not believe them! A priest would not be so evil, surely.”

“Oh girl, if only you knew.” Mesh-te laughed, knelt down beside her, dagger at her chin. “Yes, girl, much of what the rabble says about me is true, and more besides. So . . . you will do as I tell you, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes, your grace! Please, tell me what you wish me to do!” She was shaking, poor thing. Blood was trickling down her throat from where the knife-tip pressed against her flesh.

Mesh-te gestured at Japheth. “He is a worshipper of The One God. He needs to be shown how to worship our gods, the real gods. You understand? I wish you to perform your duties as an acolyte of Inanna.”

The girl paled, whimpered. “But, your grace, I am not an acolyte, only a humble temple prostitute.”

“All the better! He wishes to worship Inanna, and you, whore, will help him.” The girl didn’t move, and Mesh-te leaned in close, hissing in his serpent’s rasp. “The longer you wait, the more harshly I will treat you.”

Japheth understood what Mesh-te was demanding, and it sickened him. “There’s no need for this,” he said. “Let the girl go. Torture me if you wish.”

“I told you it wouldn’t be that easy. If you cause trouble, I will punish the girl.” He stood up, lashed out with a fist and struck the girl on the face, knocking her to the ground, glancing at Japheth as the girl dabbed at the blood trickling from her nose. “That was for questioning me. Do you have any more to say?”

Japheth shook his head, and the girl stifled a sob as the priest hauled her to her feet and shoved her toward Japheth. With a swift slice of his dagger, the priest cut open Japheth’s tunic from neck to hem, the razor sharp edge parting the thick leather of his belt easily. The garment fell open, revealing Japheth’s arousal, which he was still fighting against, futilely.