Chabra: Agdistis, Goddess of Love

“Tomorrow we’re going to ride down to Cappadarnia, now that the temple to Agdistis is done. Karadi and Atisha are coming with us. Would you like to come, too?”

“Cappadarnia, Mama!? Yeah, let’s go!” nodded Arun enthusiastically. The nine-year old boy loved the sea and leapt at the chance to escape his tutors and ride down the Spine to the Narrows, taking the boats across to the village. They were building a temple to Agdistis, the goddess of family and marriage, in preparation for the big betrothal between his big sister Atisha and Prixadius, the Lord of Ademla.

His father had explained how the marriage would make Ademla an ally, strengthening their position with respect to Eudoxia as far as trade across the Night Ocean. They already controlled a big part of it, of course, with Cappadarnia holding the Narrows and Astarma under Ukos controlling the trade route from the east through the Agnid Mountains to the Ocean.

Once ships passed through the Narrows of Cappadarnia, though, they could head for either Ademla or Eudoxia. Lord Prixadius and Karadi hoped the alliance would help make Ademla the preferred route, to reap more of the profit from the growing trade across the Night Ocean.

They rode over the Seawall, and continued down The Spine toward Cappadarnia. The road was as level as they could make it, considering it had to weave around various mountains along the way, and of course it was patrolled by Shiroora Shan guards—The Spine, the central islands running south of Shiroora Shan down the middle of the Night Ocean, had been safe for years.

It was an easy journey but not a short one. A courier on horseback could make the ride in two hard days, but they were in no hurry and spent four, making camp along the way two nights and staying at the little inn located about halfway for one night.

The inn had no name, and most people just called it Jon’s Place, after the proprietor, a middle-aged man originally from Zaïs who had been running it for a decade or so. It was hardly luxury lodgings, but the food was edible and the room swept clean, at least.

Arun preferred sleeping outdoors, himself, but mother got what mother wanted. She was, after all, the Seeress.

They finally reached the wharf on the near side of the Narrows early in the afternoon on the fourth day. A small flotilla of boats vied for their business, but Karadi ignored them all and headed straight for the waiting Démonique, one of Admiral Ruk’s frigates.

The captain was a thin, nervous woman named Keshala-din.

“Welcome aboard, Lord Karadi, Lady Lajita. My crew will take care of your horses. Watch your step!”

They crossed the gangplank without difficulty, Karadi suppressing a smile at her warning—he’d been on more ships more times than she had, almost certainly, and Lajita had the balance of a mountain goat.

“The wind’s almost behind us today, so we’ll reach Cappadarnia very quickly,” she advised. “Or did you have some other destination?”

“No, Cappadarnia, please,” said Karadi. “But we want to see the new Temple of Agdistis from the sea. I’d appreciate it if you’d give us a chance once it comes into view.”

“Of course, Lord Karadi,” she nodded, and turned away. “Baltric! We’re in no hurry, and the Lord wants to see the temple properly. Furl up a bit.”

“Aye, Captain!” shouted the bare-chested bosun, and began shouting his own orders.

The ship pushed off from the wharf as soon as the horses were aboard, tethered on the deck rather than in the hold.

It was a beautiful day, the sun just beginning to dip down from zenith, and the wind from the northwest, pushing them gently toward Cappadarnia. They could see the far shore of the Narrows easily, although it was hard to make out much detail at this distance.

Arun stood at the prow, almost on the bowsprit itself, one hand on one of the forestays, the other above his eyes to shield them from the sun above. He stared fiercely ahead, tense, legs bending and body swaying in perfect rhythm with the movement of the ship.

Captain Keshala-din watched him nervously… she didn’t want to yell at one of Lord Karadi’s children, but at the same time she feared what would happen if the boy slipped.

“Relax, Captain,” came Lady Lajita’s voice. “The boy’s old enough to take care of himself, and I can assure you he has much left to accomplish before he returns to Nath-Horthath.”

The Captain quickly turned toward her, bowing to hide her unease of the Seeress and her hidden knowledge of the future.

“Are you sure…?”

“Yes, we’re sure, Captain. Leave him be,” came Karadi’s rumble.

“Yes, of course, my Lord,” she said, dipping her head and returning her eyes to scan the sea.

“Watch closely, Karadi,” whispered Lajita, clutching his arm. “Any time now…”

“You sure you want him to do this?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “He has much to do in the coming years, and will bring peace to much discord.”

“But what about Arun?”

“What, exactly, might he lose? Surely he would not begrudge the sacrifice.”

“He is but nine!”

Lajita sighed.

They fell silent, watching Arun standing alone at the prow, the sunlight bright on his hair as it danced in the breeze.

“You should be able to see the Temp—”

“Hush!” commanded Lajita, interrupting the captain with an upraised hand.

The captain fell silent, astonished, and turned to see the two of them raptly watching Arun.

She looked at him standing at the prow, and just at that moment there a golden brilliance shone from the approaching shore: the golden dome of the Temple of Agdistis had captured the fire of the sun, flaring into incandescent beauty.

They watched silently as Arun’s stance gradually changed from rigid eagerness to a softer, yet somehow more powerful stance. He seemed taller, his shoulders broader, the locks blowing in the wind finer and of spun gold.

The prow slipped down a wave crest, and the blinding flare from that distant dome faded to mere sunlit gold. The boy, though, shone, limned in gold as if the rays of the sun still fell upon his form.

“Should we go…?”

“No, let him breathe, my Bear,” replied Lajita. “He’ll need time.”

“So, what, now he’s just Agdistis’s puppet?” asked Karadi, grimacing. “I don’t really understand what you said would happen. Maybe, has happened. I’m not sure I like it…”

“We have little choice when it comes to the Gods, Karadi.”

“Even with your powers?”

“Powers?” laughed Lajita. “I have no powers, only a good memory.”

“You always said you had nothing to do with it.”

“And I still say so. I have no idea why it happened, but in retrospect I’m quite glad I did. After all, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise!”

Karadi fell silent, watching his son with the face of a man who’d just discovered half a worm in the apple he was eating. Lajita, on the other hand, was watching intently, eagerly, eyes afire with curiosity and expectation.

Arun turned, lifted his face toward them, eyes were huge in astonishment, mouth gaping in awe. His skin seemed translucent, as if a tiny sun burned inside, its golden radiance seeping through flesh and bone.

He walked to them as if in a dream, ignoring the creak of the rigging and the sensual motion of the ship.

He walked past a group of sailors working on some crate of cargo on the deck, and one of them happened to stick out an elbow as Arun passed, touching him for the briefest, lightest instant.

The sailor gave a groan, twisted his body in a sudden spasmodic writhe, and staggered, hand outstretched to catch himself on the railing nearby.

He was breathing heavily, eyes closed with open mouth, waving back and forth slightly on wobbly legs.

“Feyon? You OK?”

One of the other sailors, worried, grasped his shoulder, steadying him.

“I’m… fine…” gasped Feyon, and finally opened his eyes, still breathing heavily. “I… I need to rest for a minute…”

He yanked himself free of the other man’s grasp, staggering to the companionway, and down into the hold.

The other sailors looked at each other in bewilderment and stopped when Lajita called to them.

“Master Feyon will be fine, don’t worry. He just had a surprise, that’s all.”

They looked at her and nodded before turning back to their work, but furtive glances made it clear they felt ill at ease around the Seeress of Shiroora Shan.

Lajita looked at Karadi and nodded.

“Well, that part’s come to pass, it seems,” she said.

“Mother… I… I…”

Lajita placed a hand on Arun’s shoulder, looking into his face. The tiny hairs on his cheeks were erect, glinting in the brilliance of some invisible sun.

“We know, Arun. The Goddess Agdistis is with you.”

“How…?”

“I’m the Seeress, remember?” she smiled. “Arun, you will learn to control your power, in time, but until then you must be very careful. Touching someone can release the full power of the Goddess, and that can be too much for many.”

“My power…?” Arun looked at his hands in wonder. “I don’t feel any… What!? Stop!”

He suddenly shouted, shaking his head like a wet dog, thumping his ears with his fists.

He fell to his knees, hands clapped flat over his ears as if to hide from the thunder.

“I am?”

He sat up suddenly, sitting cross-legged on the deck, eyes focused on nothing, talking to nobody.

“Just like that? That simple?”

He stared at his right hand, flexed, raised his index finger and examined it.

“…but why me?

“No! I don’t want it! Go away!” he screamed, hitting his ears with his clenched fists. “Stop it!”

The ship’s crew fell back apprehensively, watching and murmuring.

The golden light surrounding Arun flared, flickered, and Arun gave a short, sharp bleat of pain, then the light dimmed and vanished. His black hair and dark brown irises captured the fading golden radiance, absorbing it and changing to the same regal color.

Arun fell silent, then gave a long, deep sigh as a gentle smile appeared on his lips.

Lajita and Karadi stood watching as Arun swayed gently back and forth. After a moment he opened his golden eyes and looked up at them from under locks that were the color of spun gold.

“I will return to Cappadarnia when I am grown, to the Temple of Agdistis,” he announced, stating a matter of fact rather than asking permission. “The Goddess has directed me.”

He rose lithely to his feet and stood tall in front of them.

“Arun?”

“Yes, father, I’m still Arun. But I’m also Agdistis now.”

He turned to Lajita,

“Who made you, Lajita?” asked Arun, but in a stronger, feminine voice.

“Made me!?” gasped Lajita, eyebrows shooting up. “Made? I wasn’t made, Arun, I was just born, like you.”

Arun’s golden eyes transfixed her.

“You haven’t been born yet… A floating thread.”

“Arun? Is that you, Arun?”

“We are Agdistis,” came that voice again. “You are a float, not part of the pattern, separate from the weave. But you can be woven into the fabric as the shuttle flies.”

“The weave…” breathed Arun in his own voice. “I can’t understand what I’m seeing… a cloth of infinite lives and patterns, stretching as wide as all the peoples of all the races, from the infinite past to the infinite future. But it’s solid, somehow… I can see into it, like through ice, everyone extends deep into its thickness, too. I can see only a small part—I see father’s thread, and my brothers and sisters… I even see Paramjit, suddenly changing to a thread of a different color and pattern. Not dead, but perhaps not Paramjit any more…

“And I see you, a loose strand lying across the pattern as if dropped there, yet woven into place by Karadi’s thread, and my own, and many more.

“There is some greater pattern here, something I’m sure I have seen before, but I cannot pin it down. Like a smell that you know you know but cannot place… it is too huge, too complex, to grasp…”

“I think if the Goddess looks further ahead she will find my thread once again,” suggested Lajita. “I was a snag, torn out of my own pattern and woven back into this world, here and now.”

Suddenly Arun’s hand shot out and touched Lajita on the forehead, a simple tap with a fingertip, then withdrawn again. Suddenly he was merely a nine-year-old boy again.

Lajita shivered, her body twitching and stretching briefly before she dropped to her knees, panting, face flushing red, head hanging down.

Karadi leapt forward, falling to one knee next to Lajita, drawing her close inside the protective circle of his arms.

“Lajita! What happened?”

He turned to Arun.

“What did you do to her?”

Lajita’s hand grasped his arm.

“It’s alright, Karadi,” she said, softly. “It was just too intense to stand; I’m fine. Just hold me. Please.”

“What was too intense?” he demanded, frowning at Arun standing unconcerned nearby.

“Agdistis is the goddess of marriage, and of family. And also of sex. I’ve just had the most powerful orgasm of my life,” she chuckled. “Just like poor Master Feyon just now.

“I knew what was coming, although I didn’t know when. It came on Master Feyon without warning.”

“Arun did that?”

“He’s Arun, but he’s also Agdistis. They are entwined, and until Arun learns self-control he may trigger that in anyone he touches. Or love, he can also instill love.”

She held her arms open wide to reassure Arun, a child suddenly bereft of the golden glow of godhood and childhood innocence.

She gathered him to herself as he began to weep and held him tight against the future.

* * *

Arun groaned and clutched his belly.

It hurt, with a new kind of pain he’d never experienced before.

He could stand it, of course—he was a Chabra—but it hurt nonetheless, a dull ache with occasional spasms that shot through his abdomen.

He rolled over and tried to find a more comfortable position, and froze in shock.

Wet! The mattress was wet!

He’d wet the bed!?

Impossible! He was thirteen now, and hadn’t wet his bed for many, many years.

He touched the wetness, and sniffed his fingertips.

Blood!

Hurriedly he opened the ember box and relit the lantern.

The flickering light revealed several spots of blood and a long streak.

Fresh blood.

He pulled his nightshirt up to see where he was bleeding, and screamed with shock and fear.

It was gone!

His cock, his balls, they were gone!

He reached down, and his fingers found nothing but pubic hair.

His index finger touched something else, though, something that had no business being there… his labia!

His finger glowed golden, and he felt the comforting presence of the Goddess. She had come to him numerous times over the years, although he rarely knew why.

He smiled with relief.

Of course, this was only to be expected. He was still Arun, but he was now a woman. Why had he been so scared a moment ago?

He basked in the warmth of Agdistis’ love.

At the sound of footsteps, he hurriedly pulled his nightshirt down and the blanket up to hide the blood.

It was his sister Hansika, three years his elder.

“Arun? You OK?”

“I, um, yeah,” he stuttered. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just stomach cramps,” he hurriedly explained. “Go on back to bed; I’m fine.”

“Something you ate?” she asked as she sat down next to him on the bed. “Want me to get you some tea or something?”

“No, really, I’m fine,” he protested. “Really.”

She stretched out a hand to pick up his oil lantern and hold it closer.

“What’s this, here?”

She touched the bloody fingerprint on the blanket.

“Blood! You’re bleeding!”

Hansika shot to her feet and was about to shout for Lajita when he grabbed her arm and pulled her down back to the bed.

“No! Shut up!” he whispered fiercely. “Don’t wake them.”

“But you’re bleeding!”

He turned away and she heard his teeth grinding together.

“Hansika… you know about Agdistis, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And that she’s androgynous?”

“Both male and female? Yeah.”

Arun pulled the blanket down and slowly lifted his nightshirt.

Hansika’s eyes widened, and she smothered a gasp with her hand.

“It’s gone! What happ… Oh my! You’re a girl!”

She shrank back suddenly.

“That’s disgusting! What are you, some sort of monster? You’re not a girl!”

Arun reached out and grabbed her hand gently.

His skin glowed, the tiny hairs on his wrist standing erect, a sheen of golden radiance barely visible in the lantern light.

Hansika tried to pull her arm free, once, then suddenly smiled and hugged Arun close.

“How wonderful, Arun! You’re a girl!

“Stop worrying. Or should I call you Aruna? You just had your first period!”

“But the cramps.”

Hansika shook her head dismissively.

“Not a big deal. Sometimes you get cramps, sometimes not. You get used to it.”

“And the blood!”

“Yeah, messy, sometimes. It lasts for a few days and then stops again.”

“I never thought of being a girl,” he complained, wondering why it didn’t bother him. “I’m still me, though…”

“The Gods rarely care about what we want, Aruna,” laughed Hansika. “I thought I was the youngest girl in the family, but now I’ve got a sister!

“You’re quite attractive, you know, with that golden hair and your dimples. If you only had breasts the boys would be knocking on the door.”

She stopped at a sudden thought.

“Do you have breasts?”

Aruna shook her head.

“Of course not! I’m a boy,” he snapped, but even as he said it his hand touched his chest to make sure.

They were small, but definitely breasts, larger and rounder than his frame had ever held.

He gingerly cupped one.

“…I guess I do…”

Hansika clapped her hands in joy, laughing as he bared his chest to stare at himself in wonder.

“Oh, Asha and I will be so happy! A new sister! Don’t worry, we’ll teach you everything you need to know!”

She jumped to her feet and trotted to the doorway.

“Let me get Asha!”

Asha and Hansika, both older than he was, slept in the next room. Usually, he shared this room with Paramjit, but he’d not been feeling well and was sleeping in mother’s room tonight.

“…a good reason for waking me up in the middle of the night!”

It was Asha’s voice, whispered low, and she didn’t sound at all happy.

Hansika came back into the room, pulling Asha after her by the hand. Arun swung to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, stop your whining, Asha,” said Hansika. “I want to introduce you to our new sister, Aruna.”

Asha pulled her hand free and halted, barely inside Arun’s bedroom.

“Keep your jokes for daytime, Hansika. I’m going back to bed.”

Arun rose and reached out to touch her shoulder as she turned to leave. A wave of golden luminescence flowed down his arm, his wrist, his fingertip into her flesh, and she turned.

“Arun! You’re a woman now! Like us! How wonderful!”

“Isn’t it, though?” echoed Hansika, eyes fixed on Arun with adoration.

“A new sister, and such a beautiful woman! Golden hair, golden eyes,” sighed Asha, moving closer. “I could fall in love with you myself.”

“Back off, Asha,” warned Arun, pushing her away. “I’m your brother, remember?”

“Not anymore, Aruna. You’re our sister now,” corrected Hansika. “Men always seem to have trouble saying they love someone, but women are different.”

Barely managing to escape between squeezed between his sisters, Arun changed the subject.

“So what do I do about this blood? Without getting mama and papa all excited?”

Hansika put her palm to her mouth, surprised at the sudden thought.

“Oh, yes… this’ll have to be secret between us. Papa would have a fit!”

“Do you think it’s permanent?”

Arun hesitated before answering.

“No, I don’t think so, not like my golden hair and eyes,” he said slowly. “It all feels, um, unsettled.”

The next day he dressed as always, in Arun’s boyish clothing, but once they were done with their morning chores and studies, he slipped out of the house with his sisters to learn how to walk and talk like a woman. Like a Chabra woman.

* * *

Aruna reined her horse to a halt and looked across the Narrows. The blues and greens of the channel ended at the busy wharves of Cappadarnia, the town half-hidden behind the sailing ships that ferried cargo across the Night Ocean. The hills rose beyond, scattered with homes and fields and a few estates, and behind them soared the mountains, the southern tail-end of the Spine before it sank into the mudflats and marshes of the Low Isles.

And there, halfway up the flank of Mount Pelalarossi, stood the Temple of Agdistis, its broad dome gold and twin minarets blinding white in the sunshine.

Her long reddish-blond hair rippled in the sunshine, as brilliant as if it was indeed crafted of gold. She was dressed in a simple linen tunic and leather harness, but later almost nobody remembered what she was wearing.

Passers-by were left stunned, breathless by her beauty, her grace, an aura that seemed to surround her, setting the very air afire with glory.

After she passed, most came to their senses again, resuming their work or their journeys while shaking their heads. A few wept.

And once in a while, one might abandon their daily life, their family, their friends, and follow her, drawn by a love that overcame all barriers, and all common sense.

They followed their heart, and felt no guilt about those they left behind.

The ferrymen watched her ride down to the wharf—they watched everyone that came, hoping that each traveler would choose their ferry to cross over to town—and laughed amongst themselves. Blond women, and especially women so beautiful, were not common in this part of the world, and even if they had been her shining hair and bearing would draw attention.

“Wouldn’t mind a piece of that,” mused one of the younger crewmen leaning on the ferry rail.

“Letraec, you wouldn’t know what to do with her if you had her in your arms!” laughed another, but sighed nonetheless.

“She’s out of our league… Must be a noble from somewhere, someone visiting Chabra, maybe.”

“But no entourage, no guards, not even a maid-in-waiting!”

“What about those people following her? Half a dozen or so? Don’t look much like guards, though. Or anything.”

“No uniforms, at least… and look, that girl over on the right, she’s got a babe at her breast!”

“Huh… she’s not dressed fancy enough to accompany a noble lady, that’s for sure.”

“That guy—the one in the back, with the red cap—I recognize him. He’s one of the woodcutters up on the Spine; comes through here every couple weeks. What’s he doing in that bunch?”

“Hey, they’re coming this way.”

Aruna rode up to the ferry landing and dismounted, holding the reins out until someone took them. She strode over without even looking back to see who it was.

“Ferry me across the Narrows to Cappadarnia.”

Letraec, a handsome, muscular crewman, stepped forward to block her way.

“The fare’s one laurel for you, another for your horse,” he said, and pointed at the half dozen people standing behind her. “Same for them.”

“I have no money,” she replied, holding her hands up empty. “And no need of it.”

Letraec laughed.

“Well, you can pay the fare with a copper, or in some other way, if you prefer,” he leered. “I’d be happy to pay on your behalf in return for some small favor…”

She smiled and reached out to touch his cheek softly.

“Why, thank you, that is so very sweet of you. As you wish.”

Letraec fell to his knees, head bowed, hands open and raised toward her.

“Forgive me, Mistress!” he pleaded. “I would be honored to pay your fare, and that of your companions, if only I may stay by your side!”

She nodded and waved him back, stepping onto the ferry. Her followers came after, leading her horse, as the other crewmen fell back, afraid at the sudden change in their fellow.

With only whispers to each other they set sail, stealing glances at the beautiful, fearsome stranger as they crossed the Narrows. They watched her mount her horse and ride into the town with her retinue and scratched their heads when they saw Letraec join them, walking with the rest—a smile on his face and no concern about getting his wages for the day.

The town had grown considerably since Arun—now Aruna—had first visited, over a decade earlier.

The docks were larger, there were more warehouses, more shops and inns, and far more people… Cappadarnia was turning into a city, fueled by the trading wealth that passed through the Narrows every day.

Admiral Ruk, now in charge of the Shiroora Shan fleet that dominated most of the Night Ocean, had installed his headquarters here, and the port welcomed his sailors and marines, rowdy but with coin to spend.

The townspeople watched Aruna ride down the street, gazing curiously at her followers. They were an odd selection of people, ranging from perhaps late teens through sixty or seventy years of age. Men, women, dressed as farmers or merchants or beggars, they shared one thing in common: their expressions.

Their eyes were fixed on Aruna, following her every motion with eager interest, walking after her with no notice of the various sweets or drinks offered by shops along the way. They rarely talked, with attention to spare only for Aruna.

Aruna stopped only once.

A group of Ruk’s marines, half a dozen in number, stood watching her pass, admiring her beauty, nudging each other and making lewd comments.

“Trooper Roberto of Despina!” she called out suddenly, and one of the marines straightened to face her. “Trooper Roberto, come here.”

“Why do you know my name?”

“Come to me.”

A bit taken aback but never one to pass up an invitation from a beautiful woman, he adjusted his sword belt, shrugged his shoulders to his friends, and approached with a broad grin on his face.

“You’ve an eye for quality, Mistress! You need a marine like me to ensure your safety, protecting you from unsavory characters like these,” he laughed, pointing back at his friends. They broke out in laughter and egged him on.

Aruna reached out daintily, and the marine—imagining she was some noble lady, no doubt—grasped it as if to help her down from the horse.

“As you wish,” she said.

He froze for a moment, hand outstretched, then his posture subtly changed. He was no longer reaching to help her down but seeking the merest touch of recognition. He fell to his knees, both arms outstretched to her, pleading.

A middle-aged baker, judging by the look of his apron, helped him up, and Roberto joined the group following in Aruna’s wake.

“Hey! Roberto! Where’re ya goin’?” called one of the other marines.

“Sorry, Tachi,” he replied, eyes fixed on Aruna, “Tell Sarge I quit.”

“Quit!? You can’t quit for some damn woman, you idiot!”

“She’s more important to me than Sarge. I cannot deny my love!”

“What the…!” gasped his friend, falling silent in disbelief as Roberto continued walking with the others. “Damned sorceress!”

He spat on the ground and slammed his sword up and down a few times in its sheath as the other marines shuffled nervously, muttering amongst themselves. Once Aruna and her retinue were out of sight they headed for the closest tavern by mutual consent.

The road left the south edge of the town and twisted up the gradually steepening slopes of Mount Pelalarossi toward the Temple of Agdistis.

The Temple had no wall around it, no gate or door to bar, merely an opening in the side of the building wide and tall enough for riders on horseback, four abreast, to pass through. Inside the doorway was the main hall, stretching into the shadows all around save where the windows let the sunlight in. One could see the stairways to the minarets, alabaster masterpieces soaring up hundreds of meters, one on either side of the Temple.

The center of the main hall the floor was of malachite, blue-green stone polished flat and smooth in a perfect circle directly under the center of the dome. The ceiling was a geometric pattern of blue and white tiles, repeating arcs and line that drew the eye toward the zenith, the center, fixing it there until the watcher suddenly realized minutes, or an hour, had passed.

Aruna rode to the central circle and dismounted, ignoring the robed acolytes and Godsworn that were gathering at her insolence of riding a horse inside the Temple. She stretched her arms out and leaned her head back, staring up into the dome, and stood stock-still in silence.

The horse whickered once, quietly.

Ever so slowly one of the sections of the dome began to lose its color, growing lighter bit, by bit, until it was transparent, and the full brilliance of the sun poured in, reflecting off the inside of the dome to bathe that circle of malachite in golden light.

Aruna flared with radiance, as if aflame with the sun itself, and gradually lowered her gaze until she faced the Abbot.

He inclined his head slightly.

“I am Abbot here. You are welcome here, all of you.”

She ignored his comment and spoke softly.

“Troperus de Carna of Tlun. Approach.”

The man, perhaps twice her age, was taken aback by her quiet command, surprised at the insolence of this new worshipper, but secure in his status as Abbot he walked toward her, holding his gold-threaded robes in one hand so he didn’t trip on them.

“Everyone is welcome here,” he said, then continued with the traditional greeting of Cappadarnia. “What is mine, is yours.”

She waited until he was close enough, then simply reached out and touched his cheek.

“As you wish,” she said. He staggered, groaned, and wobbled a bit before recovering and catching his breath.

“You will provide these people with food, proper clothing, and a place to sleep. They are acolytes, as are you, but you will guide and provide for them.”

“Yes, beloved Agdistis,” he replied.

“Remove those robes, de Carna. You are a mere Godsworn.”

“Of course, Agdistis. Thank you for allowing me to remain in your presence.”

He immediately stripped off the ornate robes and gold and orichalc trappings of office, and stood wearing only a simple tunic over his ample belly.

Aruna slowly looked around the gathered acolytes, and raised a hand, pointing.

“Glori of Shiroora Shan. Approach.”

A young woman, dressed in the white tunic and straw sandals of an acolyte, approached hesitantly.

Agdistis held out her hand, palm up, waiting for the other to take it.

Glori slowly reached out, index finger extended, and lightly touched the outstretched palm.

She gave a sharp cry of orgasmic pleasure and collapsed to kneel on the floor, head down, panting.

She slowly lifted her head and looked up at Aruna.

A small line of spittle trickled down her cheek.

“Thank you, beloved Agdistis.”

She struggled to her feet, still breathing heavily, legs trembling, and staggered away.

“Toomay of Nurl. Approach.”

A young man stepped forward, eyes wide in awe, and fell to his knees in turn, tunic suddenly dark as he climaxed again and again, even after she released him.

One after another she called them, and rewarded them for their love and devotion, until she called Framm of Adelma.

The heavy-set, portly man approached, bobbing his head with a grin of supplication.

“O Great Agdistis, I have worshipped you—”

“Framm of Adelma,” she said quietly as she touched him, “you have not worshipped me. You have stolen from the Temple.”

He fell to the floor and pressed his forehead against the malachite.

“My beloved Agdistis! Forgive me! Forgive me!”

He wept and begged for her forgiveness, sobbing with remorse.

“As you wish. And as a sign of my forgiveness I grant you a gift: the creation of new life.”

At her touch his eyes grew huge and he hurriedly reached into his own mouth to pull out a gray, wriggling maggot, writhing and coiling in his fingers. He gave a shriek, or tried to, and shook his hand but it refused to fall, sinking its head into the flesh of his palm and chewing a hole.

He choked, reached for his throat, eyes bulging, staggered and toppled, maggots bursting out of his throat, his nose, his eyes, devouring him until only soiled rags were left.

Within the pile of rags glittered gold coins and gemstones.

“de Carna, return the stolen items to the donation box.”

De Carna, frozen in horror at the scene he had witnessed, shook his head to clear it then leapt to obey, scrabbling through the clothing and maggots, sluggish after their feast, to pick up the coins and gems and carry them off toward the back of the hall.

“Wen Li of Shang. Approach.”

She continued as if nothing had happened, calling them one by one.

None refused her summons, although two more tried, sweating and struggling with themselves, weeping as their bodies walked toward Agdistis even as they turned their heads, pleading for succor.

And the maggots feasted.

At last it was done, and Agdistis waved her hand at the writhing maggots in a swirl. There was a glow of golden light, and a cloud of butterflies erupted, circling up, up into the depths of the ceiling until they vanished, golden wings in the golden sunlight.

“I am Agdistis, she who you call goddess of love and marriage. Let none defile my Temple.

“I am the God and Goddess of creation. I am Agdistis, and Freya, and Aphrodite, and Toci. I am Mawu-Lisa, and Matar Kubileya. I am Kristanotis of Atlantis, and Uluru of Hyperborea.

“I am all of my Aspects, and all of my Aspects are one: fragmentary reflections of the infinite creative force.”

She was afire with the brilliance of the sun, her voice booming and echoing in the vast hall of the Temple, and her worshippers shielded their eyes from her flaming glory.

“But here,” she continued, voice and fire suddenly quenched, a murmur of golden silk that reverberated in their bones, “here I am Agdistis, and this Temple is a place of love and peace.”

She smiled, and the dome began to solidify once more as her light faded.

The Abbess of the Temple of Agdistis had come to Cappadarnia.

* * *

“Another merchant up from Cappadarnia mentioned that the Temple answers prayers for good marriages,” said Karadi, tearing off a hunk of bread. “Health, lots of children, they love each other… everything.”

“But Arun doesn’t bless all marriages, right?”

“Apparently not. I’ve heard of a number of couples that he—or she, whatever—refused to bless. The rumor is that they always end in failure, too, but nobody seems to know if they fell apart because Aruna didn’t bless them, or if he refused to bless them because they were already failing.”

“We haven’t seen him for two—no, three—years, not since he visited us for summerdawn,” mused Lajita, setting her cup of tea down with a muffled clink. “The Temple must be busier than ever with that reputation… why would he invite us so suddenly now?”

“Was it an invitation? It was short and plain; I felt it was more like a summons,” said Karadi, wiping the plate clean with the last of his bread and popping it into his mouth. “Anyway, it’s a short voyage.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“I’ll tell the captain; mid-morning OK with you?”

“That should be fine,” nodded Lajita. “You know, there was no mention of this trip, or meeting Arun, in any of the books. I wonder why not…”

Karadi shrugged.

The next day they boarded the Lady’s Beard, together with one guard, and set sail for Cappadarnia. Cargo ships usually took a day and a half to sail from Shiroora Shan to Cappadarnia or Adelma, but they were sailing in a small, fast ship that served as a seaborne courier.

They reached the bustling town on the Narrows in the late afternoon, coasting up to the wharf to dock.

A trio of guards came jogging over almost at once, looking very officious.

“State your business in Cappadarnia,” ordered the man in front, sounding quite bored. “Your docking fee is one tiara; pay me now. It’ll cost you another tiara to pass through the Narrows.”

“Sergeant, I believe you’ll recognize this ship if you read the name on the bow,” suggested Karadi, making no effort to rise from his seat on the deck rail.

The sergeant glanced at the ship’s prow and stiffened, quickly taking a step back and standing taller.

“Master Karadi, my apologies! I’ll set up a guard on this ship immediately!”

“Thank you, Sergeant… What is your name?”

“Klarsh of Astarma, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Klarsh.”

“Shall I call for a carriage?”

“Yes, that would be very helpful,” nodded Karadi, walking down the gangplank with Lajita.

There was a gasp from one of the sergeant’s men, and a whispered “The Seeress!”

The sergeant cuffed the offending man on the ear and gave him a push toward the town.

“Run and fetch a carriage for Master Karadi!”

Rubbing his ear, the guard trotted off, trying to adjust his sword belt with his other hand as he ran.

“My apologies, Lady Lajita,” began Sergeant Klarsh, but she waved it off.

“No matter, Sergeant. I am indeed the Seeress, and can hardly take offense at being recognized.”

Unsure how to respond, the sergeant gave an awkward bow and ordered the remaining man to stand guard while he fetched more troops to guard the ship.

Karadi and Lajita ignored him until their horse-drawn carriage arrived, then thanked him and climbed in.

“The Temple.”

“Yessir,” mumbled the driver, and snapped the reins.

The horse, a rather tired-looking dappled grey, started off at a trot, carrying them swiftly from the docks into the town proper. The town was constantly changing, with new shops, new buildings, new street stalls and hawkers on every corner.

“I don’t remember Cappadarnia being this busy,” mused Lajita as she looked at the crowds.

“It’s the Temple,” answered the driver as he carefully wheeled past a group of your women squealing in laughter at something. “They’re holding some sort of festival tomorrow, and visitors are pouring in.”

“Yeah, I heard about that,” said Karadi. “Something about good marriages, wasn’t it?”

“The Abbess will bless everyone. They say it promises a happy, fertile marriage.”

“What do you think?”

“Well, the Temple’s got quite a reputation in these parts… I know lots of people who were blessed there, and every one of them seems to still be in love like a newlywed. Lots of kids, too.”

“Every one? Really?”

“Yup,” nodded the driver, snapping his whip to warn people out of the way. “Not just me, either. Everyone says the same thing.”

Karadi and Lajita fell silent, absorbing the change in the town.

Karadi could remember when Cappadarnia was less than even a village, just a few fisherman’s shacks on a lonely shore. He had built this town, he and Shiroora Shan, thanks to Lajita’s prophecies. They dominated trade across the Night Ocean, and almost all of it had to pass through either here or his own city.

The town was not very wide or deep, though, built as it was on the bare tip of the island, between the Narrows to the north and Mount Pelalarossi to the south, and shortly the buildings fell away and the road climbed the slope toward the Temple of Agdistis.

The twin minarets of the Temple were bright with the setting sun, tinged orange, and the gold dome gleamed dully from their reflected light.

Two acolytes stood in the center of the gaping entrance, dressed in simple white tunics. They were both carrying poles with lanterns mounted on top.

“Welcome, Master Karadi, Mistress Lajita. The Abbess is awaiting your arrival in her quarters.”

The acolytes escorted Karadi, Lajita and the guard through the cavernous hall to a huge oak door set into the rear wall and pulled it open.

“Master, Mistress, please enter,” they invited, bowing. “The Abbess has instructed us that your guard should wait for you here.”

“Trooper Phontel, we’ll be back shortly,” said Karadi to the guard, who nodded. “Perhaps they can arrange for a chair and some tea?”

The acolytes nodded, and one scuttled off immediately.

The room was lit by the reddish light of the sun as it approached the horizon. It was a spacious room, even more so because it lacked almost all furniture: only a single bench standing near the entrance.

The rest of the room was a garden. Enormous ferns towered high, and the ground was carpeted with moss in a riot of colors and textures, dotted here and there with clumps of flowers. There was even a small pond, lily pads floating in the still water that reflected the lotus flowers.

The air was redolent with the perfume of the flowers, and filled with darting butterflies, small birds, tiny specks of brilliant light that darted back and forth faster than the eye could follow, or catch.

In the center of the room stood Aruna.

“Mother! Father! You’re here!” she smiled, and gestured them to join her. “How do you like my little garden here?”

“It’s beautiful,” said Lajita, stepping onto the moss. “You look older, Aruna.”

“I am older,” she laughed. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

The two women hugged, Karadi standing back a pace to give them room.

“This is a very strange garden to find inside a temple,” he mused.

“It’s more than just a garden,” smiled Aruna. “It’s where I stay.”

“You stay?” repeated Karadi, frowning. “You mean you sleep here?”

“I never leave this room anymore,” replied Aruna. “Even when I’m Arun.”

“Why don’t you leave? Surely you cannot perform your duties here!?”

“The Goddess Agdistis can perform her duties anywhere,” smiled the Abbess. “And She stays here for now.”

“For how long?”

“Oh, for the rest of my life, certainly, and perhaps the next.”

Lajita’s eyes widened.

“You cannot stay in this room for the rest of your life, Arun!”

“I am still Arun to you, aren’t I, mother?

“Of course you are! We raised Arun, not Aruna… We accept that the Goddess changed you and we love you both, but we always think of our son first.”

“I am Arun, and Aruna, and Agdistis. In fact, I am all three at once now. I am a woman, as capable as you were of birthing new life, mother, but also a man, as virile as you, father. I can be either, or both at once.”

“What shall we call you?”

“Arun, Aruna, Agdistis… it matters not,” she replied. “We are shortly to become one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mother, father, sit down, please,” invited Aruna, waving at the bench. “I called you here to explain a few things, and say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Lajita echoed, looking to Karadi for an explanation.

He grasped her arm and guided her toward the bench, sitting next to her.

“Explain yourself, Arun,” he demanded. “What do you mean, ‘goodbye’?”

“You know that the Goddess is in me. Agdistis, the Goddess of marriage, of love. I am a vessel for her here, a gateway she can work through.”

“Yes, we know,” nodded Karadi. “And apparently you’re doing a good job, too. We were told couples who come here—to you, to this Temple—enjoy almost perfect marriages, love, healthy children…”

“Of course. It is my Aspect. I could no more refuse my Aspect than you could refuse to let your heart beat.”

“Your Aspect?”

“I am but one Aspect of the creative impulse, my abilities limited to a narrow scope. Other Aspects include Aphrodite, Matar Kubileya, and Uluru of Hyperborea. All Aspects of the same creative force: Ubbo-Sathla.”

Lajita gasped, her hands flying to cover her face at that name. Karadi put his arm around her as if to protect her from danger, glaring at Aruna.

“Do not speak that name!”

Aruna smiled. “There is nothing to be afraid of, father. Ubbo-Sathla is a force beyond human comprehension; I myself can only grasp tiny fragments of the whole. It knows not who may call upon it, or pray to it, or even curse it, because it merely is, and that simple fact cannot be negated.

“And this is why you called us here?” asked Lajita, raising her face once again.

“No, mother, I called you here to say goodbye,” said Aruna. “Today is my last day in this Temple.”

“You said you would be here until the day you…” Lajita gasped. “Your death!?”

“I am becoming one with my Goddess, mother. Arun, Aruna, all that makes me human, will join Her, and through Her, Ubbo-Sathla.”

“No! I won’t let you do this!” cried Lajita, knocking Karadi’s arm away and springing to her feet to run to Aruna. “Come with us, now!”

She grabbed her child’s arms and shook her, as if trying to snap her out of a trance, and pulled her toward the doorway.

Aruna didn’t move.

“Mother, don’t.”

Lajita pulled again, harder.

“Mother I cannot,” said Aruna, placing one hand atop Lajita’s and lifting her robe with the other.

She had no feet.

Her legs grew thicker and greener toward the floor, finally merging with it in a mound of moss that rippled slightly in the reddish light.

Lajita screamed and shrank back, tripping to stumble into Karadi’s arms.

“Arun! Please, come with us!”

“I cannot, mother, and would not if I could.”

Lajita collapsed to the moss, kneeling, head down, sobbing into her hands.

“We can never breathe a word of this, never tell a soul,” whispered Karadi.”

Aruna reached out to lightly touch her, and Karadi.

“As you wish,” she said, and let go her robe, hiding her legs once again. “It is a beautiful garden, isn’t it?”

Karadi glared at her, horrified and furious, but unable to say a single thing. His mouth worked, lips trying to form words, and there was only silence.

“I love the energy and the beauty of these living things,” said Aruna. “Enough of the Temple and the Goddess, though.

“Sit, and let me have some refreshments brought. Tell me of your lives, and Shiroora Shan.”

Acolytes brought a variety of foods and drinks shortly, seemingly without being summoned. Neither of his parent touched any of them, sitting in silence as Aruna, seemingly oblivious to their discomfort, talked of his garden and their birds and butterflies.

A few minutes later Karadi and Lajita exchanged glances, rose, and departed, sparing not a single glance or word to their son. They left the Temple immediately, preferring the clean air and even the possibility of brigands to the foulness behind them.

After a time darkness came and the butterflies slept, replaced in the garden by huge beetles they flew about with a loud buzz, spreading metallic wings and glowing in phosphorescent green. The acolytes entered and waited silently.

Aruna pointed at once of the acolytes, a young man in his twenties.

His eyes wide, sweat dripping from his brow, arms and legs shaking with fear but unable to refuse the love he felt for his Goddess, he lay down on the moss and screamed as it covered him.

END