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The Voyage of the Silken Siren (The Corsair and Xanaphia)

Yusuf Held the bottle absently, sipping intermittently as Aurelia told her story. “Seems to me,” he said as she fell bushes, “that a whole lot more of them would be dead now if they hadn’t listened to you. Maybe all of them.” He took another swig, then offered her the bottle back. “From what I’ve seen, slaves that get whored out don’t live long. Especially the pretty ones, like your crew. Like you said, better to die in your feet than on your back.”

Sighing, he stared out to sea. “To be honest, I’m not sure how I should feel about this. Muhyaddeen was, well, a monster. And I say that as the highly mercenaryleader of a band of cutthroats and killers who treat piracy and assassination as viable options to unemployment.” He shook his head. “First time we met, my crew was breaking him out of prison. He was scheduled to be disemboweled, drawn, and quartered for killing the family of the Amir of Taliphon with explosives, and we needed someone with his know how for a job. Son of a bitch enjoyed killing, and enjoyed hurting people even more, and I had to keep him on a short leash most of the time.”

He took the bottle back, and took a long pull. “But then, just when you’d think you had him all figured out - think you had him pegged as a murderous sadist - he’d go and do something like give a sack of gold to an orphanage. Which I saw him do, once.” Frowning, he stared at the reflection of the moon dancing in the water. “He looked embarrassed that I’d seen him, and mumbled something about them ‘deserving better’, and threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone before he stomped off.”

Drained by the bottle, he pitched it into the sea. “Rapist. Psychopath. Arsonist. Philanthropist. Scholar. He was a complicated man, Aurelia. I’m not glad he’s been killed, but I’m not sorry he’s dead.”
 
Aurelia leaned her head against Yusef’s shoulder, rubbing his back with one hand while the other reached across her body to him his. He talked tough, but she could sense the underlying emotion in tone. So she silently supported him, offering her presence. After a few moments filled with the swaying of waves, she spoke again.

Just before we got together, I slept with him,” She admitted, brushing a strand of windswept hair back behind her ear. She laughed lightly, a little embarrassed, shaking her head, “It didn’t mean anything, just a drunken distraction to move past the feelings for you I didn’t want to deal with. But he got a little rough, and I don’t think he appreciated when I turned the tables on him.” She shrugged, thinking back on the night for the first time since the affair.

With a deep sigh, it was back to business. “Have you put any thoughts into burial? We are still close to Isshou, and I had planned to head there anyways. The temple has been a place of healing and comfort for many of us former slaves, and I think it would be best for Delinda, so she can recover from this. If you want, we could have Muhyaddeen buried there as well.”
 
Yusef lifted an eye at Aurelia's confession. "I feel like I should be terribly jealous," he stated, a touch of amusement in his voice. Turning, he leaned against the rail and looked her over. "In fact, maybe I should throw you over my shoulder, carry you back to bed, and spend a few hours reminding you that you're mine now..?" But then she sighed and asked about funeral arrangements.

"Isshou?" He shrugged. "Muhyaddeen didn't have much truck with Gods of any stripe. He always claimed that the faithful were fools, and said that any God who'd accept him as a worshiper would have to be deranged. How much of that was bluster, and how much of it was a genuine opinion, I don't know. But, Isshou sounds fine with me. Delinda could certainly use it, and burying him there sounds better than pitching him overboard. Besides..." He hesitated, uncertain what he wanted to say next. "Maybe his spirit will haunt the island. The acolytes could certainly do worse than having a homicidal ghost hanging around, just in case any pirates get a damn stupid idea."

Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "I can't stop thinking, though," he murmured, lips pressed against her hair. "That could have been you and me, instead. One simple decision, something done a little different, and..." He shuddered and held her tight, unable to finish the thought. "I don't... don't mind sharing you. But... damnit, Aurelia. I'm not going to lose you. Not again." Something welled up in him, words that he couldn't quite explain. "I looked for you for so long, my Queen. You were lost to me once. Not again. Never again."
 
Embraced by Yusef’s warmed, Aurelia felt so safe and protected, and that was at odds with the fear in his voice. “You won’t lose me,” she whispered, her own arms tightening around his neck, “We aren’t going to lose anyone else. I refuse.” There were several quiet moments in his arms, seeking and offering comfort and solace and love, unspoken promises in each breath.

“Now, if you still feel like throwing me over shoulder, I wouldn’t mind so much,” Aurelia laughed, nuzzling his nose with her own. Despite the playful invitation, exhaustion caught up as they lied together. Head nestled in the crook of his arm, Aurelia found a few hours of peace before she had to be captain again.

Once the morning’s chores finished, Aurelia made her way to the midlevel cabins, to check in on Delinda. A pile of bloody bandages rested on the ground beside her, While Senzang examined her injuries in the daylight.

“How are you holding up?” Aurelia asked Delinda, stroking her hair while Senzang worked on her back. It had been a mess of flayed flesh the night before. It scabbed over, nasty long marks though would likely leave scars.

“The Goddess saved me,’ she whispered, listless. Dark eyes looked past Aurelia.

“I know hun,” Aurelia murmured, hoping the thought might comfort her.

“Why?” The word was filled with pain, the same pain that filled her eyes with tears. “Why spare me? Muhyaddeen died; why did I live?”

“I don’t know,” Aurelia answered. Senzang applied medicine to her wounds and Delinda tensed and cried softly.

“It’s my fault he died,” she sobbed, shaking now. Aurelia helped Senzang in holding her still, but she couldn’t help wondering if that made it worse.

“No ohkt, not your fault,” Aurelia insisted, “That solely rests at the feet of the Tenumoyos. And we repaid their hospitality with death.”

“I asked him to come, I brought him with me, I distracted him and now he’s…” Delinda’s word were hysterical and half incoherent, pouring form her bruised lips like a torrrent. Reminding Aurelia of Yusef’s word the last night, about how it could have easily been them. Without a better idea, Aurelia found herself singing. A wordless melody at first, until the lyrics came back without thought.

“She calls to me
Across the turning sea
I can feel her in my bones
Calling me home.”

Delinda quieted herself, still sniffling and humming along. Remembering the sole source of comfort then they had been enslaved. Two verses later, she had dozed off again. Aurelia wiped the tears from her own eyes with a sigh. None of them had really unrun their own trauma, had they?
 
“How’s she holding up?” Esmeralda asked, hefting her practice blade - a real sword, with the edge blunted.

“About as well as you could hope,” Faye replied, raising her own practice sword to the guard position. “Given what happened.”

“Yeah.” Esmeralda shuddered, the simple words recalling the horrors of her own past. “She got off easy, really. At least it wasn’t demons.”

“Maybe not,” Faye pointed out. “”She can’t even pretend that men are different, you know?”

The rest of the crew, those that weren’t busy with shipboard tasks, watched the two women spar with interest. Bets were made and silver changed hands based on the number of parties, or first touch, or other arcane points of swordplay. When she’d first joined them, nobody would have put so much as a single brass bit on Esmeralda - not that she was bad, precisely, but her brawling, hacking style of cutlass work would have been no match for the hard-eyed mercenary. But now...

“Three enubis on Esme getting the first touch,” Igama said. “And then...”

“Are you serious?” Oliviero replied, an incredulous tone in his voice.

“Yep,” Igama replied, watching the newcomer parry Faye’s onslaught. “She’s getting better, and fast. So three days she gets the first touch, and five more days that Faye spanks her for that.”

“I’ll take that,” Oliviero decided. “Because I’d pay to see that happen.”

Igama watched the foppish-looking man watch Faye, then scooped up the coins and laughed. “Wasting your time there, buddy. You know how some folk will walk through both doors?” Seeing Olivetti’s baffled expressions n, he tried again. “Like men and women both?”

“Yes..?” Oliviero said, grasping the meaning.

“Faye locked that door, threw the key out the window, and plans to stab anyone who tries the window out.”

Oliviero watched Faye step backwards quickly, favoring her left leg. Esmeralda had scored the first hit. “Well then,” he mused. “I always did enjoy a challenge.”



“Fair wind,” Yusef commented, watching Aurelia adjust the wheel two points to starboard. Gods, the way her back stretched and her arms worked... she made navigation erotic. Well, she made anything and everything erotic. Briefly entertaining the thought of pressing her into the wheel and fucking her, he was slow to shift his eyes from her rear to the navigational charts. “Should be in sight of Isshou soon. I don’t remember: do they have a healer there? For Delinda?”

There was a ragged cheer from amidships. He rose, taking the opportunity to stand close behind Aurelia as he looked over her shoulder. Faye held the point of her practice sword to Esmeralda’s throat, and the newcomer’s blade lay on the deck by Itoku. “She won,” he remarked, not the least surprised. “Again.”

His attention turned back to Aurelia. “As far as the funeral goes, what are their rites like?” He let his hands rest on her hips. “Because I think we could use a dip in the hot springs while we’re there.”
 
“Should be in sight of Isshou soon. I don’t remember: do they have a healer there? For Delinda?”

Aurelia hummed into her closed mouth as Yusef drew closer, his firm figure brushing against hers, “They have a few priests trained in divine theurgy. Should be sufficient to tend to her.”

“As far as the funeral goes, what are their rites like?”

“A pyre, to burn the body and cleanse the sins from the soul. Not sure I really believe the symbolism of it, but it’s practical none the less. Then, as a comfort to the mourning, they host a Celebration of the deceased’s life. Feasting for all, and lovemaking for the brazen. Supposedly it’s the same rituals they practice in the Northlands, in the Order of Afodisia. For ‘holy warriors,’ they do seem to use any and every excuse to engage in orgies,” Aurelia laughed, briefly imagining having Yusef before the rest of their crews. Thoughts that were fed by his hands on her hips.

And he seemed to be reading her thoughts, or perhaps just have similar ones himself based on his words, “I think we could use a dip in the hot springs while we’re there.”

Aurelia teased him further, grinding her ass against him, “Mmhmm, especially after spending all evening getting filthy together.”



Sunset painted the island gold and pink, casting a particularly lovely glow over Kiyone as she waited at the docks to greet the Siren once more. “When I said to return soon, I don’t think you’d actually take me up on it.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances,” Aurelia sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Who did you piss off this time?”

“The Tenumoyo.”

Kiyone winced, but before she could ask or Aurelia could elaborate, Delinda emerged from below the deck, assisted by Fayette and Senzang. Her face had swollen since her rescue, and the dark bruises were stark on her fair skin. Brief horror flashed in Kiyone’s eyes before she regained control, managing a comforting smile as Delinda moved past her. Once she was out of earshot, Kiyone shook her head, “Clearly they deserved whatever hell you visited upon them.”

“Deserved it and then some,” Aurelia agreed, “They killed one of our men too. After torturing him alongside Delinda. We were hoping to lay him to rest here.”

“Of course. We can have the preparations complete for tomorrow evening.”
 
“Godsdamn, this thing’s heavy,” Igama complained, shifting his grip on his corner of the box. They’d left Muhyaddeen’s corpse in it, for lack of anything better to do with it, and the sickly sweet stench of decay wafted from it.

“It’s not heavy,” Itoku countered with a laugh. “You’re just getting soft.”

“Yeah?” Igama fired back. “That’s not what your mother said.”

“No, you’re right about that.” Itoku shifted his grip, maneuvering a little so he could step onto the gangplank. “She was too busy talking about how disappointed she was, and...”

“And might we concentrate, gentlemen?” Senzang this nterrupted. “This is awkward enough without listening to the two of you prattle on.” Yusef grunted agreement from his corner, carefully setting foot on the gangplank and making his way down.

“Why... why isn’ She helping?” Igama complained, gesturing over his shoulder with his chin.

“Because,” Faye remarked deadpan, “I’m a delicate fucking flower, a genuine fucking lady. And don’t you fucking forget it.” Everyone laughed, even Esmeralda - despite the limp she was walking with and the bruise under one eye, souvenirs of the sparring match.

Carefully, the mercenaries descended to the dock and set the box down. Senzang stretched, while Itoku and Igama wriggled their fingers in an attempt to restore circulation to their hands. Yusef, for his part, rolled his shoulders and joined Kiyone and Aurelia. “Is there somewhere we should put him?” he asked. “And, is there a cart we could use to get him there? You forget just how heavy a dead body is, until you have to move one.”
 
Kiyone nodded at Yusef’s request and headed off to retrieve a cart. “Oh, it’s not the first time we’ve had to get rid of a body,” Aurelia remarked, half smirking. It was how they finally got together, eventually. Jokes might not have been entirely appropriate, but she recognized it as a rather human reaction to death, a small comfort to avoid the harsh reality of mortality. With a sigh, she reached up to rub Yusef’s shoulders, “But I suppose it’s a bit more challenging when you take care not to disrespect it.”

Two priests returned with a cart, and Kiyone followed close behind. “We will take him from here, and prepare his body for the journey form this life to the next.” With Igama and Itoku’s help, the two priests loaded the crate onto the cart. Kiyone made a sour face as the odor from the body reached her nose.

“You didn’t make any attempts to preserve his body?”

Aurelia shrugged, “I don’t tend to keep that sort of stuff on board the ship. We are always more concerned with keeping our own alive.”

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Kiyone nodded, watching as the men carted the body away. “Come along, you all must be hungry.”


Once night fell, it was cool on Isshou, but not too cold to sit on the beach. Several of the Cluanai’s crew watched the tide come in, seeking distractions from the darkness of the last few days.

“A celebration of life marked with feasting and lovemaking?” Amira asked raising an eyebrow, “So, it’s an orgy?”

Gwynn laughed, “Not exactly but…yeah. It’s supposed to allow the mourners a chance to reconnect with the energies of life.” She motioned awkwardly with her hands before laughing again, and snuggled up to Kaarim, “But I suppose it makes a sort of sense. It’s hard to be sad when you have good food, and good drink and good pleasure.” She turned to Karim then and captured his lips, lingering and gentle, Aware of their audience, it didn’t go much further than that.

“So, are you two attending?” Nariko asked, not hiding the way her eyes drank in Kaarim’s figure.

Gwynn smirked over at Kaarim before returning her gaze to Nariko, “Sure. Why not? We often share lovers, and he still comes back to my bed at the end of the night.”

Lita rested her head on her knee, gazing out over the sea. “Who is going to play the role of the Goddess? The ritual is supposed to strengthen the connection to divine too, after all, with one woman serving as the Goddess so anyone can have a chance to enter the divine within her.”

Everyone was quiet for awhile. Finally Amira spoke, “Well, there is an obvious choice…”

“Yeah, but…” Nariko wrapped her arms around herself, “Clearly Faye isn’t going to be up for that, the poor thing.”

“I feel so bad for her,” Lita admitted, closing her eyes. Remembering her own past, and how hard it was to open herself up again. “What must have happened to her, to close herself off for so long?”

Gwynn sunk into Kaairm’s arms, letting herself be small for a little while. She had really tried to be hard. Strong, the same way Aurelia always had been. But after what had happened to Delinda, the knowledge that it could have easily been her and Kaarim had weighed on her. She pushed the thought away with a sigh, “We all recover in our own way. Maybe she is content.”

“Maybe,” Amira allowed, trailing fingers through the sand, “After what happened to us, we all had each other, ya know? Maybe if she had someone too, she could move past things.”

“If she wants that,” Gwynn said, “but even still, that will be a slow process. Kiyone will likely play the Goddess tomorrow.”
 
“So. You going to participate in this celebration thing?” Esmeralda asked, plopping down in a chair.

Fayette looked up from her blade, hand still mechanically sc aping the whetstone along it’s length. “No.”

“Why not?” Esmeralda asked, then held up a warding hand. “I mean, you told me a little about the demon that captured you. But, that was years ago. And, well...” she looked away. “I’d go. And, well, I served the Evening Star.” She shuddered. “I... kind of think I know what happened to you.”

Faye sighed. “It’s... not just that,” she said. “It’s...”

“Yes?”

Faye sighed again. “I’ve never really been interested in... in sex. It always seemed, I don’t know, messy. Gross. I...”. Grimacing, she sheathed her sword and stared at the ceiling by. “I started my imitation because it was required, and that was... all right. I guess. Master Corrin and Lady Margaret had dealt with people like me. They didn’t push, and...”. She trailed away again. “And when I was little, I guess I figured I’d fall in love someday. And that I’d be all right with it, to make my lover happy.”

For a moment a wistful smile lit her face, softening the hard line nes. Then it passed. “Matthias, the Traitor. He took it all away. The girlish dreams of love. The illusion that there’d ever be anything pleasurable about sex. My faith. All of it. The son of a bitch raped and bled me for weeks, gave me to the Ravenous when he was bored with me.” She shuddered, temembering the way the brutish monsters had ripped and torn her. Then her expression twisted and hardened, and she went back to work on her sword. “Not again. Never again.”


“The Celebration of Afodisia is a bad joke, of course,” Senzang declared, pouring himself a foaming pitcher of ale.

“I thought it was an orgy?” Igama asked, making himself sound disappointed.

The older man laughed. “Oh, it is. The faithful of the War-Whore and her sister-daughter like to play it up as something more. They claim it’s an opportunity to enter into communion with their Goddess, to receive Her blessings.”

“But...”. Igama scratched his head, thinking through the statement. “If that’s what they’re done by it for, then isn’t that the purpose?”

“No.” Senzang gestured around. “It’s feeding their goddess. Binding themselves to Her, making slaves of themselves for the crumbs of power She offers them in return.”

Despite himself, Igama was starting to get curious. “You’re a priest, though. Isn’t what you do the same thing? Well, other than the orgies.”

Senzang shook his head. “Baaltecer doesn’t ask for worship, doesn’t demand ritual or sacrifice. He stole knowledge from the other Gods and gave it to men because it pleases him to do so. He demands only that we use that gift, and offers only the freedom to do so.”
 
Kiyone hadn’t intended to eavesdrop on Senzang and Igama. She spent hours purifying Muhhyaddeen’s body and wanted to eat to regain her strength. But the body had been in horrific shape, not hiding the torments he lived through in his last moments. Remembering the sight of mutilated flesh and flayed skin made all the food prepared otherwise unappealing. Everything smelled of decay and violation.

Sighing, she took the pitcher of ale and poured herself a substantial serving. Maybe she’d be able to eat after a drink settle stomach. But she scoffed at Senzang’s assertion.

“Slaves, really?” she repeated, shaking her head. “You do realize this island is a refuge for former slaves, right? That everyone who calls this place home escaped actually slavery. I invite you to bring your assertion to any of them and ask if serving the Goddess is akin to slavery. Actually, I do you one even better: Aurelia has disavowed the gods, so why don’t you take your criticism to her and see if she agrees with you.”

Igama turned towards Kiyone, “Perhaps ‘slavery’ is too strong a term, but doesn’t the goddess require your service and obedience?”

Kiyone held up a finger as she took a long swig of ale, before waving off his statement. “We don’t worship her because she requires it of us, or so that she will grant us power. Worship is freely chosen, because of her grace. Even when her blessings don’t touch us directly, we find comfort and peace in our faith. “ She took another drink, before adding, “Besides, it’s not as if she punishes those who decline veneration.”

“Wait, but then what’s the point of hell then, if not to punish those who rebel against the Gods?” Igama pointed out, drawn into the discussion despite himself.

“Not for those who rebelled the Gods, but specifically those who rebelled against Thanades. That is until the heavens alike turned on him, and cast him out,” Kiyone elaborated, finishing her drink and pouring a second.
 
“Slavery is still slavery,” Senzang replied with a little smirk. “Whether the slaves wear chains of iron or gold. And service to a god - any god - is just bowing the knee and placing the chains on your own wrists.”

“I still don’t follow,” Igama replied. “I mean, you’re bending the knee...”

“Not in the slightest,” Senzang assured him, puffing his pipe alight and ignoring Kiyone’s own amused smirk. “Baaltecer is a symbol, a rallying point. He is an inspiration for those who seek to master the secrets of the universe, not a master for those unable to stand upon their own feet.”

Igama turned his questions to Kiyone, leaving the mercenary physician to prop his feet up and practice blowing smoke rings. The conversation flowed over him gently, the priestess' words like liquid honey and the mercenary's speech bubbling and musical - a side effect of his native tonal language. Senzang listened absently, sending a large smoke ring aloft and shooting two smaller ones through it.

“Wait, but then what’s the point of hell then, if not to punish those who rebel against the Gods?” Igama questioned.

“Not for those who rebelled the Gods, but specifically those who rebelled against Thanades. That is until the heavens alike turned on him, and cast him out,” Kiyone elaborated, finishing her drink and pouring a second.

Senzang snorted. "The gods say it's 'for our own good'," he interrupted. "They swear they don't punish mortals for their sins, that the mortals choose a hell by their own actions." Drawing on his pipe, he let the aromatic smoke curl out of his nostrils. "Of course, they don't talk about the fact that they're the ones that set up those hells in the first place. Or about the psychopomps, the angels sent to ensure that the soul arrives in the hell they claim was chosen."
 
Kiyone wanted to belabor the point about slavery, offense rising in her blood and leaving her feisty, but Igama asked his questions and the conversation shifted away. And she was always in a mood to educate, especially in the face of a cynic like Senzang.

“Seeing as so few find penance on earth, I appreciate the idea of them facing justice in the next life. I certainly trust the gods to dispense judgment far more than I trust any mortal.” Kiyone shifted, elbows on the table, “Despite what some might think, those who end up in hell do deserve it, for the choices they made in life.”

“You killed your slavers, didn’t you?” Igama asked, tentative. “I haven’t heard the full story, just bits and pieces from the others.”

“We killed them, yes,” Kiyone admitted, voice hard. Her ever-present serenity dropping some. “In exchange for years of enslavement, our slavers got quick deaths that we never would have been afforded had we failed.”

“So, they deserve eternal damnation?” Igama asked “Not that you didn’t suffer but...”

“No, eternal damnation for finite acts is not justice,” she agreed, waving her hand. “What he is failing to tell you is that souls do not remain in hell until the end of time. Thanades kept the souls imprisoned perpetually, but once he was defeated, movement between heavens and hell became accessible. Repenting and embracing the divine will release damned souls to rapture. Even demons can be redeemed. In theory, at least.”
 
"In theory," Senzang agreed. "But, what is redemption? Embracing the will of the gods? Bowing the knee before them once more, and accepting unending servitude? Thanides attempted to compel the obedience of Baaltecer through those very hells, and he showed us another eternal truth." The old physician blew a smoke ring. "The hells, the heavens, they are just places. Hell can be a heaven, and heaven a hell, and we control that." He gestured at Kiyone with the stem of his pipe. "You, and Captain Aurelia, and the others. You proved that very thing yourselves. You could have chosen to remain where you were, content in the belief that you were being tried by the gods and begging them for aid. Instead, you took it upon yourselves to act. You liberated yourselves. No divine intervention required."

Igama scratched his head. "I think I've lost the thread, here. Killing slavers... proves that hell isn't real?"

Senzang sighed. "No. It proves that we control our destinies. And not just here, in the mortal world. The demons are another example. They can be 'redeemed', whatever that means, but many of them will never do so. They have created a place for themselves, a place suited to their needs and their desires. Can you say they dwell in a hell, then, when they dwell where they wish?" He shook his head. "But the gods want us to fear the next life. To cower away from that freedom, and cling to them to be saved from what we should truly become."

After considering that a moment, Igama rose. "This is getting too thick and deep for me," he declared. "So I'll tell you what my needs and desires are." He hefted his tankard. "Another ale. Anyone else want one, while I'm up?"

Shaking his head and laughing, Senzang handed over his own tankard. "You," he declared, "lack an appreciation for intellectual pursuits."

"Yeah," Igama agreed. "But that just means I don't waste a lot of drinking time arguing theology."
 
“Oh, but my favorite discussions are thick and deep,” Kiyone joked, hoping her words might incite reaction. Arguing, much like fighting, made the blood pump and the heart pound, and she found herself with renewed energy. Not to mention a few ideas about how to expend that energy. “But yeah, I could use another drink. Maybe then Senzang’s arguments will finally make sense.”

Leaning forward in her chair, she challenged Senzang. “So, given your disdain for our dependence upon the gods,” Kiyone prodded, not hiding her mocking tone, “does that mean you will not attend the Celebration tomorrow evening?”

“Well, I can’t speak for Senzang,” Igama laughed, passing Kiyone her own tankard, “But I am not missing it. I might not follow your beliefs, but I am willing to explore tenets. Maybe you can make a believer out of me.”

Kiyone chuckled into her drink. Igama was hot, all firm muscle and soulful eyes, and she hadn’t missed the ways his gaze lingered over her. Despite all that, it wasn’t aesthetic appreciation that inspired her desire, in the moment, and Senzang’s arrogant intellect lit a fire in her. Glancing towards him, she held the elder mercenary’s gaze. “I’ve been known to make even non-believers call their praise to the goddess.”
 
Senzang offered a small, smug smile. “Attend the Celebration? Are you certain you’d want me to attend? Priests of Baaltecer aren’t known for our respect of the faith of others, after all. Wouldn’t it be construed as solemn mockery before your gods to have me there?”

Kiyone chuckled in response, then met his gaze with a frank and open challenge. “I’ve been known to make even non-believers call their praise to the goddess,” she replied, leaning towards him a little.

“Have you now?” Senzang answered, his basso voice rumbling like the purr of a great cat. He hadn’t missed the looks the priestess had given Igama, or himself for that matter. “There’s a challenge there, I wager. I’ve been known to make the faithful utter blasphemies, from time to time.” He sipped his beer. “Of course, such a thing takes time. One can’t simply enter in and thrust straight to the core of deeply-held beliefs. Challenging faith takes time. Hours spent probing deeply into the tenets of the faith, exploring them from different angles and applying different techniques to lay them bare. One must become intimately familiar with every expression, trying them thoroughly. Only then may one enter into the debate fully, bringing the argument to a climax.”

He met Kiyone’s gaze. “A priest of Baaltecer can rise to the challenge. Could a priestess of Edana?”
 
Kiyone's fair skin flushed pink, excitement and arousal and perhaps a touch tipsy. She hadn't gotten around to eating anything after all. Still, Senzang's words pooled in the pit of her stomach, warm and welcome.

"A priestess of Edana is always open to such challenges, taking on all comers. I should warn you, however, that once you've been embraced by the divine, it consumes you. Further, you will want to be consumed, chasing nirvana beyond logic or sanity. It is a sweet surrender.”

Kiyone leaned back in her chair, lean figure stretched and on display. Head thrown back, she swallowed great gulps of her ale, draining the tankard and basking in the pleasant lightheadedness that followed. Foam stuck to her lips and chin, and instead of wiping it with her hand, her licked it off, slow and thoroughly. “But perhaps we should retire to a comfortable arena, for this prolonged exchange of ideas?”

Without waiting for him to respond, Kiyone took off, walking with an exaggerated sway that was only slightly informed by how much she drank. Late as it was, many had already retired to bed, (thought not necessarily to sleep), she headed for the library.

The room was large, and loosely organized. Books lined the walls, sorted by language and topic, stuffed in every space, making the mid-sized room feel small. The center of the room was dominated by an informal sitting arrangement, pillows and cushions on the ground surrounding small, low tables.

Turning, Kiyone didn’t hide her smirk upon hiding Senzang behind her. She gestured about the room, “Baaltecer is not the only god who honors knowledge.”
 
"I surrender to nothing," Senzang countered, blowing a smoke ring. "I seek out the mysteries, lay them bare, and explore their hidden depths. Surrender is for those unable to rise to the challenge, or to keep up their argument for as long as is necessary to utterly exhaust the topic."

Kiyone made an artful production of swallowing the last of her ale, and then of slowly licking the foam from her lips. “But perhaps we should retire to a comfortable arena, for this prolonged exchange of ideas?” she suggested, rising and deliberately swaying out the door. Senzang and Igama both watched her sway, appreciating artistry when they saw it.

"Perhaps we should," Senzang suggested, rising.

"Oh, I don't know," Igama replied, his eyes belying the disinterest in his tone. "I've never had much interest in theology."

"Suit yourself," Senzang told him. "But, much as I hold no reverence for the gods, they have often served as the muse of artists." He nodded towards the door. "Perhaps you will find your own artistic talents stimulated by the discussion, even if you fail to understand the finer points?"

"Well," Igama said, trying to sound as if he were bored by the performance. "I suppose it may be instructive. I'll try to retain some interest."

The two men followed the scent of Kiyone's perfume down the narrow hall and into a room that could have been a pleasure chamber or a library. The walls were full of shelves of books, while the floor was a thick carpet of rough silk. There was a smirk on Kiyone's face as she saw them, and she gestured grandly around the room. “Baaltecer is not the only god who honors knowledge.”

"Is that so?" Senzang replied, glancing over the shelves. The contents were impressive - there were works of erotic fiction and poetry, yes, but also texts on herbalism and anatomy and astronomy. And that was just the shelf he could make out easily. He had no doubt that the others were equally diverse. "And yet, I find I never once claimed otherwise." He glided slowly towards her, his steps deliberate on the carpet. "It is not the love of wisdom and learning that sets Baaltecer apart, but the desire for freedom. To be liberated from all chains."

He stopped, so close he could nearly feel her body through the narrow gap that separated them. Leaning closer, he brought his face close to hers. "But perhaps," he whispered, stroking the back of his hand over her cheek, "you have an argument I have not considered? You seek to surrender to the embrace of the divine, while I desire freedom to act as I wish." The same hand traced her neck and shoulder, then lower still, still not touching. Still so close that the air stirred against her skin. Suddenly, he was gripping the silk of her robe, fingers warm on her breasts as he held the fabric taut. "Should I lay your arguments bare, and consider them one by one?"

"Oh, I don't know," Igama said, brushing her hair aside and skimming his lips over the back of her neck. "As a man ignorant of philosophy, I'm in favor of exploring both sides of the discussion."
 
Kiyone hadn’t expected Igama to join in the conversation, but the twinkle in her eyes assured him she didn’t mind this outcome. Not even as both men surrounded her. Her robe shrugged down her shoulders, exposing fair skin and seemed even fairer against the two dark skinned men against her.

“You speak of freedom, as though it were the opposite of surrender. But there is freedom in surrender, too. Only one who is truly free can surrender themselves to caress of the divine,” Kiyone moaned, melting into boht men’s touch. “Without freedom, any surrender is incomplete, held back by chains of fear.” She wasn’t sure her argument was making any sense now, or becoming a logical mess of circular distortion. It didn’t matter; words would only get in the way now.

One arm went back, up and around Igama’s neck, offering him more of her slender neck and soft skin. The other reached for Senzang, brushing against stubble rough skin and trailing over his lips. She knew what he was doing to her, trying to drive her mad with lust, make her want him so bad she succumbed to passion, and she didn’t resist. She move to the rhythm of pleasure guided by the beating of her heart and the pulsing of her blood. “I encourage your exploration,” she invited Igama, her silk covered ass pressing back into his hardening erection, “And I offer myself, open to your questions until you find satisfaction. My body of knowledge is at your perusal.”

The outer robes of her kimonos spilled onto the floor, leaving her draped in sheer gown that did little to conceal her figure. Lissome, with delicate curves and mostly smooth skin, save a few marks from wretched days past. Eyes like chips of topaz glittered in the low light of the library, issuing challenge to Senzang, “Would you expose the vulnerabilities of my arguments? Or will you submit your claim claims for close scrutiny?”
 
Igama’s hands explored Kiyone’s body, easing her outer robes off and tossing them to the ground. “I don’t know much about philosophical arguments,” he murmured, grinding his rock-hard cock into her ass as she pressed herself into Senzang. One hand rested on her silk-sheathed hip, holding her in place as his other swept her silken hair aside so he could bite at the back of her neck. “My debates tend to be more physical.”

Sensang’s hand gripped her other hip, molding her lissome body to his own hard frame as she kissed him. He replied enthusiastically, sampling her mouth with his tongue. “Such arguments take the form of syllogisms,” he lectured with a twinkle in his eye. “Three statements, describing the relations between a major, a minor, and a middle object.” His free hand lightly cupped Kiyone’s breast for a moment, then began slowly tugging her inner robe down over her shoulder.

Igama’s free hand began tugging the other side of her inner robe down. “I’ve never heard of that,” he said, his callusesld palm slowly caressing the increasingly exposed skin of her back. He knows seed her spirit be. “How do s it work?”

Senzang released her hip, using both hands to peel her robe downwards as Igama devoted himself to caressing and exploring her bare back. “One explores the interactions of the major and minor classes with the middle class,” he said, slowly going to his knees as he pulled the gown slowly over her hips. His lips traced her belly, stubble rough in her skin. “In order to determine where the major an middle classes are united, and the minor and middle classes.” Skilled fingers stroked hermound, exploring the damp folds he found.

Igama shifted backwards a step, letting her gown pool around her ankles as he undid his trousers. “Any particular rules to the investigation?” he asked as he closed the gap between their bodies again. A sigh of pleasure escaped him at the feeling of her bare ass pressing against the length of his shaft. “I mean,” he added as he slipped his arms around her to cup her breasts, “I don’t want to ruin your debate.”

Senzang’s middle finger probed her folds before slowly pushing deep into her cunt. “The interactions of each must be carefully examined, “ he said, stroking her gently knee and all’s, “to see if there is any contradiction between proposition and conclusion. Only then can the validity of the syllogism be established.” A second finger pushed into her slit, and then his lips were too busy on her clit to slow speech.

“Hm,” Igama remarked, trying to stay calm. His right hand slid up Kiyone’s chest and up her throat, pulling her back against his broad chest. “What sort of interaction should I test with you, I wonder?” His cock throbbed between her cheeks and again net her back, smearing her spine with precum.
 
Kiyone followed Senzang’s explanation for a time, but logic began to fall away as his fingers teased her slit. Aching for him, for them both, eagerly swallowing his finger. At that point, pleasure became the goal, the destination, the only conclusion that could possibly be reached. Ecstasy was truth and every motion strengthened that claim.

Soon, Igama was all that held her upright, pulled down by the weight of her bliss. He lent her his strength, groping at her breasts in reward. Added to her rapture, prolonging the moment –the pressure – until she was as taut as a bowstring pulled back and…

“Edana!” The word broke through the tension, reverberating along trembling muscles. Sinking into euphoria, into sweet surrender. Neither man granted her any respite, two thick fingers still prodding her depths, stretching her clenching folds with the promise or more. So much more.

At some point, even Igama’s strength was not enough to hold her up. Not with legs like jelly, echoing the sensations of climax. So, Kiyone dropped to her knees, face to face with Senzang and the musky scent of her lust clinging to his lips. One hand went beind his head, pulling him closer, until rock hard nipples pressed into his chest. Hunger took over then, sucking her taste from his lips and tongue.

Igama’s cock brushed her cheek, slick with his own need. Pulling away from Senzang, her other hand reached to stroke Igama. Sezgang took the opportunity to disrobe, so Kiyone shifted her full attention to Igama. Silken fingers sliding up and down his shaft, bring the head to her lips and outstretched tongue. Trailing that tongue along his shaft, tracing the veins and savoring his twitching response and moans. On her hands and knees, ass presented to Senzang, she sucked Igama off. Hips moving in time with the bobbing of her head, until her throat bulged over his head.
 
"Oh, fuck," Igama gasped, eyes rolling back in his head as Kiyone swallowed his aching cock. "Oh.. oh fuck..." He gasped as she made a sound of lustful contentment and stroked her tongue over him as she sucked, taking him deeper into h er throat. "Fuck," he moaned, his fingers tangling in her hair and his hips pushing forward, "fuck... you're... you're good..."

"Careful," Senzang remonstrated, caressing the smooth milky skin of her ass. "Don't lose sight of our objective - a thorough examination of the claims of the Priestess of Edana."

"I... I don't fucking care..." Igama growled, feeling his dick harden further in her throat. "I... I think... I think she's made... her point..." He groaned aloud as she slowed her rhythm in response to his words, dragging out the erotic agony of a delayed orgasm. "I just... oh... oh fuck me..."

Shaking his head sadly, Senzang gripped his own shaft in one scarred fist and stroked the velvety head against her dripping slit. "You must learn discipline, Igama," he remonstrated, squeezing a firm buttock with his free hand. "Scholarship is an exacting endeavor, requiring firm and rigorous standards." Shifting a little he pushed his cock into her, allowing his fist to keep anything more than his head from penetrating. "You must approach your subject slowly, exploring the breadth of knowledge available before pursuing deeper inquiries."

"You... you're fucking weird...." Igama gasped, watching Kiyone's crimson lips swallow his dark shaft. "Oh... oh fuck..." His cock pulsed uncontrollably and his fingers tightened in her hair. Cum flooded her mouth and throat as he shouted the wordless pleasure of her orgasm. His hips thrust uncontrollably against her face, his balls slapping against her chin as he emptied himself into her.

Senzang sighed, covering the genuine lust he felt at Kiyone's juices coating his meat and fist with a dramatic sorrow for Igama's haste. "And what does that prove?" he wondered aloud. Then, with a single thrust, he buried his length in the sultry heat of Kiyone's slit. Strong hands, one slick with her lust, gripped her hips and held her fast. Muscles bulged in his arms and back as he kept her from pushing back, taking him deeper into her, but the tightening of her walls around his meat still tore a gasp from his throat. "What will you do, Priestess?" he growled, straining against her taut body. "How long... can you present... your position?"
 
Hips and ass swayed in rhythm as Kiyone bobbed up and down Igama’s length. Some of it resulted from her motion, some of it was to tempt Senzang with pleasures Igama was not afraid to indulge in. Most of it was her own arousal, turned on by Igama’s repetitive moans, his word stolen by her skilled tongue. Her goal was reduce Senzang to the same level of pleasure induced senselessness.

Senzang, however, was more adept than his younger counterpart. To be expected, of course, given the benefit of his experience. Experience he put to good use as he stroked his thick cock against her lips, still trembling and sensitive after her climax. Damn, she wanted it in her already, wanting it more as he teased her with it. All she could do was turn that frustration and need on Igama, dragging out his bliss with long, deep swallows of his meat.

A breathy cry burst form Kiyone’s lips as Senzang’s cock parted her. Fingers weathered with age held her still, nearly bruising as she struggled to take more of Senzang. Wanting to lose herself in passion, wanting to fuck herself on this thick cock. But his words, his taunting words, ignited the fire within her. And his pleased gasp encouraged her.

Still clenching Senzang, Kiyone licked cum from Igama’s half limp shaft. “My position…is secure, skeptic. Test it against…your counter claim, if…if you are so certain.” Hungry for more cock, she swallowed Igama’s length, easier now that he wasn’t fully erect. Anything to focus on other than the need feed by Senzang’s teasing. “Dis…disprove me…if…if you can…” She moaned, breath hot against Igama as he grew hard once more. Slippery folds squeezed around his thick cock again, Kiyone determined to break his resolve, as her own slipped away. “Or, if you will not…Step aside…and let someone…else… present their argument.”
 
“Step aside?” Senzang echoed, still straining to hold Kiyone in place. “But I haven’t finished my penetration of your arguments yet.” Despite his teasing tone, sweat poured down his bald scalp and he hit his lip with the strain of not climaxing. Every thrust into her slowly comes heat made his dick ache for release, and the way she was licking Igama’s thick cock clean of cum wasn’t making it any easier. Then inspiration struck him. “Besides,” he purred, “there’s always room to present another little be of reasoning.” He pulled out with a grunt, the air chill on his meat after the wet heat of her cunt.

Igama watched in surprise as the older man pulled Kiyone to her feet and spun her around, his hands dark on her porcelain skin. Senzang missed her hungrily, sucking Itama’s taste from m her lips and tongue, then gripped her ass and lifted her. Long legs wrapped around his waist, and both of them cried out as he impaled her on his length once more. Muscles bulged in dark arms as he moved her up and down his length. “Well, Igama?” he grunted. “Have you... readied... your... arguments?”

Igama Mover forward d, his lean body hard and hot against Kiyone’s back. “I think so,” he said, squeezing and spreading her buttocks. His head, slick with her slit, pressed against the puckered ring of her ass and slowly pushed in. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s any god, though,” he added as his iron length followed, and he groaned as her weight buried his full length in her. “I don’t know that I have Senzang’s skill in presentation, after all.”
 
“Oh…fuck…” Kiyone moaned, losing sight of the game between them. Senzang had already felt so good, filling her with his thick meat. Then Igama’s cock pushed into her, pushing out the clever quips and flirty taunting from her mind. Now she just needed them, needed both of them to fuck her.

“You’ll have to tell me if it’s any good, though,” he added as his iron length followed, and he groaned as her weight buried his full length in her. “I don’t know that I have Senzang’s skill in presentation, after all.”

“Edana…” she called out her pleasure in praise to the goddess, sincere in her moans. “Truly she has…blessed you. Blessed you both…blessed me in this moment…” Bliss tore through her arguments as it strengthened them, squeezing her thighs around Senzang each time he drove into her core. Small, firm breasts rubbed his chest as Igama squeezed her between both men, as her own body squeezed them both in turn.

“Prove this isn’t…isn’t…isn’t communion with the divine,” Kiyone gasped, eyes rolling back as both men fucked her in time. Whatever point she intended to make was lost upon Senzang’s lips, Kiyone capturing his in a hungry kiss. The next time both men were hilted within her, she lost control, rippling along swollen shafts and trembling between strong bodies.
 
"I'll... I'll admit..." Senzang gasped, shoving her back into Igama as he fucked into her, then groaning as Igama's thrust pushed her deeper on to him, "that... you almost... almost... convince me..." His next few words were lost to her skilled mouth as she captured him in a hungry kiss. "But this... is no gift... of the gods..." His teeth nipped at her throat, a sharp sting to accentuate the pleasure of his dick in her sultry depths. "It's... the skill... of..."

His eyes widened as he felt her cum on his meat. Igama caught her lips, drinking down her cries of ecstacy as he kissed her and fucked himself hard into her ass. The rippling, squeezing sensation was too much, and Senzang's nails dug into her thighs as his cock pulsed and he filled the air and her cunt with the proof of his ecstasy. Gasping for breath and pleasure, he pounded himself into her until he was utterly spent.

When Senzang's softening cock slid from her depths, Igama pushed her forward. Strong hands and a hard dick in her ass helped keep her upright until he pressed her into the bookcases. "A man can go for a while," he whispered into her ear as he fucked into her, pressing her flesh against shelves and tomes, "if he's already cum once." Another thurst, and his strong hands slid down her arms. "And you got me off once with that fucking hot mouth of yours." He raised her hands by her wrists, encouraging her to grip the top shelf. When his hips rocked back, one hand filled the gap between flesh and books, and a finger invaded her cum-slick cunt as he pounded back into her ass once more. "I don't care about the gods, not really," he grunted. "I just want to hear you beg me." His cock pistoned into her ass again. "Beg me to fill this sweet ass with cum, priestess. Beg me to fill it with a thick load of hot cum while Senzang watches. And then, when I'm done, I'll bet he'll be ready for another go at you."
 
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