Nymph of Derketo: The Path of the Nymph

The Path of the Nymph

Aneksi was a beautiful child from a dignified Stygian family and like most young girls of her time, at the age of fifteen-summers, were sent to serve in the temples of Derketo. Many young virgins from all of Stygia are expected to attend, serve their term, learn the arts of sexual divinity and transmute into womanhood. It is tradition and still practice today among the most orgiastic of Stygian noble families.

Upon her arrival she was escorted pass the temple's open court and lead up spiraling carpeted stairs, through the ornamental halls of the temple's second level, and into a luxurious living quarters.

The servant diligently ignited the snake candelabras along the walls. The girl could see the furnishings of the room more clearly now, the square chair with high-curved-back and draped with colorful cloths and cushions, the tables - the corners of which flared upwards; carved to look like animal legs, and richly decorated with gold leafs. There were several boxes filled with small alabaster jars of imported perfume oils, mirrors, kohl containers and make-up items, combs, and rare jewelry.

The most elaborate furniture was the oversize round-shape-bed surrounded by four large columns, inlaid with colored stones and ebony and ivory carved into lotus flowers and snakes, the symbols of eroticism and fertility.

A gentle breeze ran trough her as the servant parted the curtains. She slowly walked across the room towards the open balcony. For a long time she stood there against the luminous, moon light and shadowy backdrop of the grand city of New Zembabwei.

Zembabwei is the hybrid empire of the southernmost regions. Its sovereign are the twin Kings, Nemballah and Zemballah, its people are the ebony giants of the River Styx. Their allies are the neighboring Punts, and their enemies are the Keshans.

The City beds on the end of the River Styx, rich with anglers and traders navigating freights to and from as far as Nemidia. Zembabweians boast its thriving souk is four times bigger than that of Khemi. It is the main marketplace for various goods and livestock, such as lions and alligators, as well as gold, ebony, jewels and enchanted talismans. Its gladiator tournaments are the passions of the populace, so much so that a grand Coliseum was build, no more impressive than the Citadel of the Pontifical Council, which red-stone colonnades were decorated with gold. A great street cuts southward from the port's open souk, which constitute the main thoroughfare of the city, crossing to the merger of crossed-routes that open to small tribes enclosed by thick jungles, savannas and swamps, which forewarn outsiders of the weary trail to The Forbidden City - Old Zembabwei.

It had been a long journey to Zembabwei from Khemi but Aneksi was not tired. Instead she felt an unusual sense of liberation. Brought up like any Stygian girl in such a noble household, extremely protected, and never allowed outside its walls, the two-week journey had been frankly enthralling. She wanted to be out of the house. Her real mother was dead and she did not care for her stepmother. Aneksi craved for her self something more motivating than what she had had at home.

Several High Priestesses of Derketo enter the room. Their bodies bare of any garments yet dressed in gilded sandals and gold jewels; serpentine bangles fastened to their limbs, symbolic rings, splendid necklaces, and on their heads elaborate gold crowns ornamented with diamonds. Their bodies shimmer in soft hues.

Derketo's Priestess, are woman of wiliness, full of witchcraft, full of payment to their goddess, and all involve in the exchange of human passion. No man of flesh and bone can resist them.

“Ah, but you are not ready!” It was a young woman's voice, jovial, and full of merriment.

“If he is as endowed as you claim, it is he who will need mercy from Me.” said another matter-of-factly. Their laughter filled the room.

The oldest amongst them, the High Priestess Aset, looked at Aneksi. “There you are,” she said smiling, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Come, child, let's prepare,” and she open her arms to greet Aneksi into her soft bosom. And the others merrily gather around them.

The hall was immense. The overhang on which they stood ran all around, and below was scarcely a foot of bare marble, so rich was the hangings of gold and lavender. The fierce fire light rose to flood the high-groined arches of the roof. The long table below hosted a string of men of considerable power, authority, or influence over others, all in the requisite austerity. And before them laid on the wood table, the bare bodies of woman from which men pick exotic servings, but all were content, as they chattered, the dancers who cover the great floor, danced enticing as if they liked the thick carpet beneath their bare feet. There were so many interlocking circles of feminine figures moving to the throb and beat of the music that they made a series of intricate and often symmetrical design.

Aneksi observed the celebration and marvel at its eccentric grandeur. Her body thus far unmated, slender yet voluptuous, was dressed in a gold breast-plate set with concentric circles of small gems, golden sandals, and a short white silken skirt upheld by a jeweled girdle, a grand crimson jewel gleamed against the black silk-streaks of her hair.

Aset sat to her left preaching and instructing her of the ritual meanings behind the dance, the serving of food, and the names of powerful men whom she would later come to know intimately.

“Woman are born to rule over man, child, we are the life givers, the keepers of the bloodlines. We are the makers of war and the reward of victory,” she said.

“Let all who takes temple in our womb know: We are a realm of females, dedicated to the Law of Derketo, and to the sacred ecstasy which is our right. By the granted knowledge from the souls of sisters past, bestowed with the power of womanhood, we multiply and conquer the souls of the weak. No longer can Men rule alone, for womanhood stands above their aggression. We are the Convent Brood of Derketa, the givers of passion, symbols of eroticism, and the bearer of the Sacred Brood of Damballah.”

How loving and bold she spoke, past all description in offerings and grace. She was a poised, imperial figure of an elder yet sensual Stygian woman, her thick bulky black hair falling in carefully combed locks on her shoulders.

“In time you will learn with the movement of your hip to tame the fiercest of men. Those you see below are here to worship you, and for that privilege, they must pay. There is no shame in our lifestyle. We are not the obscene sect some perceive us to be. We are a sisterhood through which tradition is revered.

“Those who judge us lack knowledge, they have no respect for the Goddess, they believe in nothing, reverence nothing, they are worthless. Yet I see their faces fill this very room night after night seeking to mitigate their desires.

“Some are barbaric by their very nature, men with no morals or will to live, living by edge of their swords, corrupted, the likes of which you will come to hate or love. And it is their souls we sacrifice for our own protection.

“Others are true worshipers of our traditions, our loyal clients, who lavish us with gifts and fount our temples with these glorious gold curlicues and serpentine adornments. There is something to be gain from the inspired soul which you will come to recognize in time.”

Aneksi sat there benevolent and completely calm, listening to Aset's wisdom like a loyal pupil, absorbing every word for their symbolic meaning.

“You are here to complete the transition from child to woman. It is a time of self discovery and independence were only you are the master, the soul bearer of your most valuable asset, your virginity.

“You are a powerful seductress, Aneksi. The most desired woman in this room. I can see in those innocent amber eyes of yours, you will conquer many hearts, child,” she gazed lovingly down at Aneksi. “I was young like you. Oh, yes, and so determined. Even in your silence I can see so much of me in you…”

From the assemblage below came a sudden muted roll of drums, ominous and slow. At once there followed a lovely weaving song, a plaintive and imploring polyphony, pouring forth into the long central hall and echoing offs the marble. Aneksi sat, staring, rapt at the distance progression that alone left no eyes for other things. The figure of a veiled woman sat on the back of a golden lion statue, and carried on the shoulders of a string of naked manly figures.  They slowly march to the center of the great floor, where the woman then was lowered, the long scarlet veil which cover her body removed, and with perfect synchronization the drums stop.

Once again her voice filled the nave, a melody so sad that tears spring to Aneksi's eyes.

The best slave does not need to be beaten.

She beats her self.

For who can hate her half so-well-as she hates herself?

And who can match the finesses of her self abuse?

Years of training are required for this.

Twenty years of subtle self-indulgence, self-denial;

Until the subject thinks herself a Queen.

She must doubt herself in everything but love.

By Erica Jong.

The naked men resting on one knee formed a circle around her. The fierce high pitch timbre of the flautist twined with her voice, and then follows the branching drums beneath the white columns. All eyes were on her, captivated by the beauty of her naked and virginal frame, enchanted by the flawless voice that claimed their souls like a witch's web, spectacles to the ritual they beheld. And when she stopped, the silent was so sudden everyone seemed to hear it.

The woman was carried out of the room. There was a great clamor, with men clapping their hands, and rising to their feet, and Aset stood up and applauded. A rush of pleasure passed through Aneksi as she listened to the merriment. She had a dawning sense of how much delight awaited her.

It was a transcendent enterprise the temple of the Convent Brood of Derketa.

The High Priestess Aset could easily surmise which teacher had been successful, and which had not wrought the effect she desired, and saw which of the girls possessed the greater talent, who should be sent off as learned woman and who should be schooled as a priestess or mark to serve as an Emblematic Nymph of the convent. Of failure there were none. Aset would chose and mark these girls by means of descent and pedigree, and what she offered them in these months, which sometimes stretched into years, was sometimes corruptive, molding them without prejudice beyond the erotic world that is hidden, and which is sometimes horrifically revealed.

Aneksi gather up the scrolls and put them aside, her fingers struggled to make a neat stockpile of stacked scrolls, gild-books, and heaps of rolled papyri that looked too fragile as they lay on the dust-cover tables. The few selected records of the Shemite deities Ishtar, Ashtoreth, Adonis, and Derketo which she been order to read.

They included the romances of the Sable Queen, who as Anuket, daughter of Satet, had mated with Set the Old Serpent, who as wife of Khenemu fertile the mighty Styx, who as concubine of Dagon - God of the underworld, leads the spirits of the dead through the sky on midnight wings. And Aneksi ogled over the illustrations of these naked gods frolicking with Derketo in a garden of luscious delight, which had become for her a sort of guide.

She would sit and read these now for hours, these ancient scriptures written in the old language of pictures and symbols, the accounts of priestess and scholars, that endured the passage of time, and which Aneksi had only dimly begun to understand.

The sound of Aset's voice startled her. It was as if she had forgotten where she was. “You're daydreaming, child!” said Aset, “You must learn to stay awake before dreams consume you.” Her sparkly figure was standing by the bare entryway. She was the very height of decorous sophistication.

Aneksi stood up, her expression of surprise softening and said, “No! I was reviewing my homework, Priestess.”

They had developed an easy intimacy which Aset had never allowed herself before and it drew from Aneksi the most complete devotion. During their private sessions, as they sat closely, Aneksi would wrap her warm arms around Aset's waist and lay her face on her shoulders while Aset read out loud from the sacred scrolls.

Aset recognized Aneksi as the daughter she never had, and decided that She would be a child of her power, an apprentice of all she knew, and resolute to educate her in all the mysteries of the convent. Never before had she wanted such a student, to educate and to groom her expertly that she might be the finest choice.

“I've noticed the avid devotion in which you excel,” she confessed. “Most young girls come here to learn the divinity of the goddess, serve their term, and leave as learned woman. Rarely there's one that stands out. You possess an eager mind for knowledge, and a glorious beauty over the others.” Aset walked over to the table and, leaning forward, said gently, confidently “I've been waiting for you,” her yielding eyes searching Aneksi's flawless face. Her face was tense with a mixture of confusion and increasing wonder.

“You will be my equal; I'll yield to you the wayward techniques of eroticism and ancient sacred secrets practiced by the Convent. As well as how to exercise unimaginable magic that will make of you a formidable Priestess of Derketo. Men will acquiesce to you the most complete fidelity, bewitched by your beauty, pure fools seduced by sorcery and carnal pleasures.”

“I'm honored, mistress,” said Aneksi, humbly.

“Be forewarned, this will be a most demanding and laborious training, encompassing all aspects of wits, physical, and character. I required that you apply yourself as never before, and having done that, the rewards are endless.”

Her face became even kinder than before. She spoke softly.

“Do you want what I propose? I'll not offer it again.”

“Priestess, I want nothing less,” she answered. “What has Zembabwei been to me in all its revelation but a prelude to the Convent? You don't pull me heartlessly, for you fulfilled my hearts desired.”

Aset laughed, for a moment contemplating Aneksi's beauty and seeming innocence, drawing in the evanescent adolescence that would soon be lost forever. Her face was unblemished, her curios eyes gleaming, her mouth red. She was blushing with the virginal aura she still possessed. And the seriousness of her expression gave a raw sharpness to all her features and to the strong line of her lips.

“Are you ready then to embody Derketo, Aneksi?”

Aneksi thought about it before she answered and then she nodded and said yes, she thought that she was.

“Good!” Aneksi was the child she wanted. Aneksi was the precious beauty whose fate was sealed.

And then they were walking, the teacher and the student, down a long stone stairway deep beneath the temple, Aset ahead of Aneksi, their naked shadows long against the wall. Aneksi's candle flickered against the cool air as they move through the secret corridors. They stopped in front of a large marble door deeply etched in beautifully gilded hieroglyphics.

Aneksi listened in immense excitement and tender confusion as the High Priestess began to read aloud:

“`Raiders be warned. No thief can step here. Look away from this hallowed ground lest you be damned in eternal flames. Alpharius the gatekeeper lurks here, Demon of the Gangland - guardian of the sacred sepulchers of The Brood of Derketa through time. Enter the Emblematic Nymphs freely. Bestowed to anoint men with carnal pleasures and revive the sacred seed of Damballah. For unto them there be glory and dominion for ever and ever.'”

Aneksi bared the amazed expression of an innocent girl, she dare not speak or move, confounded by the spoken words.

The bolted doors open as if by magic, as if some strange force from inside will them open. And a sweet aroma pervaded her lungs, an endless source-less perfume, it was inviting, empowering.

They entered a cavernous room, carved high and deep out of the earth, were rows of hanging lamps burned intensely sharp and clear. All around, on every wall and columns, were painted hieroglyphics written in splendid style and precision. A magnificent sarcophagus lay serenely in the center of the room, decorated thickly with gold and silver and rubies and emeralds, enclosed with the guarded scrolls, potions, and hidden treasures of the dead. Aneksi had never seen such a sight and gazed over these things, powerfully attracted by it, its rich combination of rudiments and wealth.

Aneksi looked down at the sarcophagus. Her fingers touched various encrusted pearls, and then she drew back, shaking her head. Her thoughts became all a brew. There came to her the vivid image of an ebony woman sitting on a gild throne, in her bejeweled carnal beauty, immobile and in perpetual gloom. Again she shook her head.

Aset spoke as if she was quoting an ancient scripture, in a small hard voice, as though the confidential manner of it would make her words all the more important:

“Our ancestors were an ancient race, elitist, powerful, and merciless, favored amongst the elder gods of earth's infancy, a symbolic bloodline, a people of serpent-priests, a people of the Law of Damballah, a people of great Kings. Long was the rein of the Golden Serpent, supreme ruler over all the beastly beings that walk the earth. But the ape-man, awaken, envious, hungry for power, unable to comprehend our wisdom and mysticism, joined the flying dragon to seek the destruction of our forefathers, and having driven them back into the wastelands of the old world were left to live like snakes in secrecy.”

Aset's eyes beam as if she wanted, to a great extent, to speak of many things.

“After the centuries erased the memory of that great war of the dragon and the serpent, after volcanoes and earthquakes destroyed mighty cities, when oceanic fury swallowed the lands of Atlantis and Lemuria, men had no choice but to migrate to the wastelands, there enslave in brutal servitude, by then having lost faith in the old religion and worships, a new tribe surfaced -The Emblematic Nymphs- and man bow again to the serpent god in a new form. Through the ages, remnants of the Old Race were hidden throughout the wastelands by those who consorted with them. Ancient traditions of the lore of Damballah, the practice of black magic, diabolic invocations, sacred rituals, and powerful relics were surrender to their descendents, the covenant children of the pantheon. Some opt to live in secret, veiled from mortal eyes, in sacred temples and mausoleums were no common men dare enter. Others were worshiped, even long after their seeming ruined, throughout the southernmost regions, along the shores of the River Styx, and other forgotten parts.

“Do you understand?” asked Aset.

Aneksi's mouth was open before the sound came out. She was nodding. Then she said, yes.

“From the covenant children derived countless tribes of the far south, and while the prominent brood remained in Stygia a high-up collective made Zembabwei their sanctuary.”

The priestess stopped collectively before she continued.

“Here rests Derketa, twin sister and consort of Derketo, source of the Emblematic bloodline, and Mother of the Sisterhood…”

A cold shudder ran through Aneksi. She looked into Aset's bright eyes as she spoke:

“…The legacy of the Convent Brood of Derketa, the sisterhood, can be traced through the bloodlines of the emblematic woman, an elite class of scholars, oracles, witches, and sorcerers whose noble insignia and pedigree has made them sole bearers of the covenant children of the pantheon, and heirs of the Temples of Derketo.” She spoke now warningly.

“Only those initiated as Emblematic Nymphs-never more than eight, never less than five-are revealed the hidden truth. No woman outside the order has ever seen Derketa and no men have been given the privilege and lived. It is certain death to reveal the source of the Convent Brood of Derketa to outsiders.”

Aset walked toward the sarcophagus and removed a small blade cleverly hidden in its décor. She turned toward the far wall and pushed the block which symbols read -The Path of the Nymph- and instantly the wall slide to reveal a hidden passage.

“Come here, child,” said Aset, and placed the jeweled-blade in Aneksi's hand. “Enter this door and acquiesce to the Mother mind and flesh, and drink the cycles of her blood as it is your emblematic right. It is through the sacred blood that you will bond and embody the essence of the Goddess.”

When she said these words to Aneksi, her eyes were filled with some strange look that Aneksi could not understand. It seemed followed by her silence.

Aneksi could not help the feeling of trepidation that suddenly crept over her. The dark path was numinous with an ominous hum. She had a strange paralyzing sensation come over her-it was fear, fear of the unknown, fear of what was hidden beyond.

She pondered on the tale, the history of her culture, and the risks they entail, the risks that truthfully revealed their origin and purpose, for the answer carried an incalculable price, the price of an implacable race. It struck her suddenly, enclosed by these sacred walls; it was not the harsh traditions of religious convictions she perceived, but theoretical basis of a fathomless dark and powerful bloodline, of something cosseted and precious.

The obscure path was but a shapeless outline. Then somewhere along the passageway an impression took shape; stems and broad leaves emerged, dark blossoms that infused the palpable scent of the black lotus. The flowers turned and follow her steps consciously in some inexplicable way. Her senses struggled with the drugging aroma and shivering iota of mere awareness. Suddenly, there came myriad images of a conscious entity. It stood in a gloomy dais, surrounded by floating shadows which assaulted her mind with obtuse vocabulary.

Her gaze fixed itself on the dais, were a tangible body sat, motionless and slightly illuminated by a light which is not a light, the radiance of a sorceress by which magic is persistently infinite, like the endless venom that flows through the fangs of a serpent. She faintly recognized the etched figure against the dimness, the very image of the ebony woman whose vision had come to her earlier. She appeared carved of solid ebony into the gilded marble dais. Her long black frame embellished with precious gems, rubies and mother-of pearl, masking her bare figure. Her hands gracefully resting on her lap like the effigies of the goddess painted in hieroglyphics. There was a magnificent gold serpentine-crown upon her head. Her face was tranquil, placid, flawlessly beautiful, and her eyes were serenely close.

There came a soft whisper to her ear, a murmur so low she could barely hear it. Still, it was coherent. Who dares to walk the Path of the Nymph? The tone was affluent and echoing, like the smooth reverberation of a temple bell.

Aneksi stare at the figure in genuine fright, it remained so much like a statue lifeless and immobile. “Your servant…comes for instruction,” she said, hesitant.

“Obscured and secluded are the Nymphs from any man whose symbol is the dragon,” came the soft voice again cryptically. “Carnal blossoms blooming in the unnamed garden of ecstasy and delight, steeped in the art of pleasure, summoned to seduce with feminine wiles the golden serpent.”

“Who are you?” asked Aneksi.

“I am the Mother! Consort of woman, vessel of wiliness, and temple of blood and sacrifice.”

Aneksi stood in sullen silence. This was Derketa, supreme mother of the convent, a goddess of the old religions, the twin sister and consort of Derketo.

The right hand of the mother reached out, it turned ever so gracefully, and made a beckoning gesture to Aneksi, yet there was no other obvious vitality, no subtlety of expression, only the still statue of a dark beautiful woman.

“The path of the Nymph comes with heavy price,” said the Mother, her voice now clear and idiosyncratic. “For one-thousand days your body will be a temple of sacred rituals, were The Brotherhood of Damballah will come to worship. The Emblematic Nymphs of Derketo are the wellspring from which the sacred seed of Damballah multiplies upon the earth like a living flame.”

Aneksi knew little about the Brotherhood of Damballah, the association of sorcerers of Zembabwei. The King and these brotherly tribes, whose sacred bloodlines have remained pure, today, are the leadership of Zembabwei.The inter-breeding rituals performed by the Emblematic Nymphs are old age customs that fostered the pure and sacred brood of Damballah.

“Use the dagger and cut my wrist, receive the sacred blood. Drink and nourish for no other child has pressed their lips upon my skin in eight-thousand years.”

How she cut the goddess, that moment she could not remember. All she kept in mind was the moment when the bitter gush filled her mouth, and there came a rapid energy, a conscious bliss, and the un-quenching lustful thirst for more blood. Her skin tingled from the consumption that flowed within, and she felt herself falling into a mesh of confusion and calm which she could not contain.

Aneksifell back. She was full, her mouth and chin were stain with blood. The room had become a blur. She felt the tiredness, the vulnerability which weariness at last imposes, when both mind and body can't endure conciseness and the sweet point of sleep offers relief.

Like any other pupil, Aneksi yielded to the doctrine of her teachers and tutors. She was lectured rigorously the erotic rights to womanhood, the sacred dances and songs of the convent, and she took on her education with a passion, neglecting all else.

Each evening, after sunset, Aneksi fully dressed with the requisite symbols on her skin, joined the priestesses and the many teachers and tutors in the splendid banquet, where as usual the conversations would be long, complex, and full of wonderful revelations.

Aneksi was not surprised to see they were all listening to Aset. High Priestess Rehina was there, as always, standing not too far from the high priestess, also Thalibasha, and Isidora, they too had beenchosen by Aset.

Thalibasha smile when she saw Aneksi and gesture for her to sit at her side as the High Priestess went on talking. She was an ebony giant native of Zembabwei. Unlike the others, her beauty was stamp already on the face. It was all wrought up with her fine bones, the set of her lips, and her wild black tresses.

 Aset was in the middle of her narrative; she spoke in a solemn voice, almost sermonizing. She loved nothing more than to have the girls around her to listen to be the teacher:

“…In Khemi, now, exists a great dedicated group of the brood, so large a group that one must doubt that even Khemi can hold them. They are possessed of a surprising zeal, believing themselves to serve Damballah Himself under the leadership of a young Prophet. Many are the tales of priests, rulers, and warlords of She who guides this mysterious, ruthless, and devoted band of Disciples.”

“Is she a human satellite of Bat the goddess of divinations?” asked Isidora, her round and large eyes full of curiosity. Her face was small, oval, and as close to perfection itself. She was no more than an exquisite baby of a woman, a girl perhaps younger than Aneksi, a girl with black hair parted in the middle and streaming down her shoulders.

“Nkosi remains a mystery, child,” answered Aset. “She's much cleaver, seldom taking audience outside her sect, but from time to time she appears in the royal courts of certain kingdoms. It is whisper that she takes some delight in danger. She has proven to be a leader of immeasurable strength. Even the most benign or clever approach toward this woman is followed by certain death as some have learnt for themselves when seeking to penetrate her mystery.”

“It's the judgment of some among us,” said one of the Teachers. “Those who listened to these tales from the loose tongues of our patrons, that her disciples have received a small portion of the power so generously enjoyed by their mistress, thus binding them irrevocably to Nkosi.”

“And from this principal a considerable number of rules must follow,” said Rehina, her auburn hair in long thick braids. “It's the system of the pantheon, of the Law of Damballah.”

Aneksi and Thalibasha both smiled indulgently at her, though her look was grave and disapproving. No one dared question her supremacy. She seemed fearless, either out of simple confidence or out of remarkable bravery.

But Aneksi observed her; there was something about Rehina, something subtle and dreadful. Aneksi understood that this girl possessed a majestic darkness, chosen for a dark and specific purpose, as well as her beauty and cleverness.

“Yes! Yes,” continued Aset. “This cult is by far the most exocentric and zealous acolytes of Damballah. They are clear in their lineage. I'll support their petition.”

“I'll make the arrangements, mistress,” said a priestly assistant.

Aset nodded.

A teacher spoke up from the back of the assembly. “Whoever is ruler of Punt, King Zemballah is the judge to whom we can appeal. This overlord will rule as long as our treaty is upheld.”

There was much nodding and approval of that.

 Aneksi did not understand and turned to Thalibasha for answers.

“What's going on?” she asked.

“The drums of war have been heard at our borders,” whispered Thalibasha. “It seems Punt, has selected a new Overlord -Cleopas- and he's claimed himself an allied of Keshan. He had his men block our trading routs, and looted and burned our ships stationed at their ports. And now comes the word that these disciples of Damballah, if that is what they are, are on the River Styx bound for our ports. They profess to bring a message from Nkosi, the Prophet, and request lodgings in our temple and an audience with the Pontifical Council. I don't think any care to listen but Aset has agreed to house them…”

A priestly assistant enter the room and delivered a private message to Aset. She quickly looked it over.

“Pardon my abrupt exit for I am needed elsewhere,” announced Aset. “Now enjoy the grand banquet like spoiled princesses. This night is for you my loyal assistants.” And with Aset's blessing, the food was served and the wine was being poured.

Rehina quickly followed Aset. The voices of the teachers and tutors filled the room; they were talking of the King, and the Disciples of Damballah. It seemed no one, in the gathering, could help attach a particular gist or premonition.

Aneksi turned to Thalibasha. “I wonder where they are going; do you think Aset is meeting with the Disciples of Damballah now?”

“Maybe,” answered Thalibasha.

“No,” said Isidora. She squeezed her small frame between them and sat. “I was with Aset earlier, when news first came of the secret meeting, and I overheard them speaking. Aset will send Rehina as an envoy of the convent to represent her upon their arrival tonight. Aset is mandated, as HighPriestess of Derketo and member of the Pontifical Council, to attend the meeting summoned by King Zemballah.” She spoke softly now. “That's not all, no! I've heard of this Cleopas, he is ruthless, a man, given to rages, murdered his own children. They said he rides at the head of his troops in every battle. Crushing the skulls of his enemies with his dragon-head-scepter, and when he returns to his tent, his arms are drenched with the blood of his victims.”

“A man that kills his own kinfolk should be impaled publicly and be suspended where all can see,” said Aneksi, her voice getting louder.

“He is a barbarian, Aneksi. Godless men like Cleopas only value wealth and power,” said Isidora.

“Even a man spoiled by wealth can love their children. Children are sacred, they are our greatest asset.”

“Enough talk of this ruler,” said Thalibasha. “These political matters are for the King to mind.” She paused before she announced her ascend, “Not a concern of a Priestess of Derketo.”

“NO?! Congratulations!” clamored Aneksi.

“Yes, and Isidora too,” said Thalibasha. “We leave for the South in three days to take part in the progressions during the eclipse.”

“The south, to the Forbidden City?” asked Aneksi.

“Yes!” They both answered.

Aneksi asked more questions, she listened, and she learned The Forbidden City (Old Zembabwei) was a spectacular and mythical place shaped by the influences of the Sacred Brood of the Pantheon, an old Stygian bloodline of which Thalibasha and her family is descendent. They are the High Priests of the temples, and they are rich in the Law of Damballah and from the hides of the sacrifices, which are theirs by right. And yes, there are many who institutionalized heinous and demonic acts keen on a public peremptory, and they have to. Nevertheless, at the very top, those who protect the temples, those who perform their duties, those who do not forfeit their traditions are men and woman whom others fear and respect.

The Forbidden City is the city of allegory and sorcery border by an immensely thick wall of forty feet high. It is a city of old and splendid pyramids, a city of great temples and sacrificial centers, and soaring towers. Many were the wars lived by this symbolic city. It was from its very beginnings a city of great quarrels and wars, and the power of temporal authorities, the Sacred Brood of the Pantheon, wooed the populace and made them part of itself in the hope of resolving through sheer force its many disputes.

Aneksi learned Isidora and her family were from Shem, they were once slaves own by Stygians that migrated to Zembabwei in its early century, and they are mostly architects on whom backs build the “Forbidden City” of the South. After serving their term as slaves, they left to give rise to New Zembabwei. Her bloodline is one of the wealthiest in Zembabwei.

Aneksi stayed for hours in the banquet. There was talk. There was singing. Then came talk again, talk about the Law, about the King, and even arguments with the teachers raising their voices. After a while, some left, others came, but nothing change the rustling of jovial laughter and exchange of glances throughout the room.