Date: Wed, 3 Sep 2008 19:30:42 -0700
From: The Oaken Satyr <the.satyr@gmail.com>
Subject: Stag God Chronicles - The Archon, Chapter Three

Hello. This is the third chapter of "The Archon," in the Stag God
Chronicles. Thank you! Please include everything from the line down:

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Hey, everyone.

This continues new series, a continuation of the Stag God Chronicles
in the form of a new trilogy I'm calling "Light in the Forest." This
first story in the trilogy is called "The Archon."

I'd also like to invite everyone interested in joining our chat list
about the Stag God Chronicles at:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stag-god-cycle/

Also, if you'd like, feel free to IM me on Yahoo!, under
"the_oaken_satyr".

As usual, involves adult situations, with all that entails. You've
been warned.

+++++++++++++++++++
This story is (c) The Oaken Satyr, 2008

+++++++++++++++++++

Chapter Three: Invocation
The rites of purification had never been this agonizing.

Every other time he'd undergone them, the ritemasters -- the severe,
masked priests of the High Church tasked with seeing to the spiritual
purity of other priests -- had always seen to his sins efficiently and
severely. The rite of purification was a frightening one, surely.
Being strapped down naked to a hot, mirrored surface called the Sun's
Face while under the heat of the noon sun was uncomfortable, to say
the least.

The ritemaster and his acolytes surrounded the penitent, chanting the
litany of purity, invoking the power of the Lord of Light to cleanse
his faithful. As they did so, he'd always felt a rising sense of shame
and guilt, knotting his insides and it was a relief when they'd
demanded to know his sins, striking him with the braids of sungrass, a
harsh, prickly plant whose touch was a little like nettles and a
little like being burned. When he told them, there was always a brief
flash of heat, as though it was becoming too difficult to remain
outside in the sun, and then a flush of relief as the sin left him.

Not this time, though. This time, three ritemasters had been present
for the ritual, and the Holy Illuminate himself overwatched it. In the
past Mathis had always been so ashamed of being naked before the
ritemaster and the underpriests, but he barely noticed it this time.
When he realized his wantonness, he flushed red with shame.
Nonetheless, he couldn't help sprouting an erection, hard against his
naked belly, as the strongly built priests strapped him to the Sun's
Face. He glanced over and saw that the Holy Illuminate was scowling.

The ritual was agonizing.

Which made sense, of course. His sins were a good deal greater now
than they'd ever been. He knew that it was worse because of his own
depraved nature. He knew that if he'd been purer, he would have
endured the wicked rituals of the Stag-God cult with a clean heart,
offering up his body in service of the Lord of Light so that other men
might be saved while resisting corruption himself.

But he wasn't that sort of saint. He'd enjoyed his martyrdom; he'd
allowed himself to genuinely take pleasure in the depraved rites of
those men, and he'd found comfort -- actual comfort and a sense of
belonging -- in their arms. He'd permitted himself a kind of spiritual
contentment that was false and profane, for that contentment could
only come from the Lord of Light. He's used the strength and virility
of his body for his own pleasure, rather than service to the Lord of
Light, and for that, he must be purified.

The Sun's Face seemed terribly agonizing when he lay upon it, and it
simply became hotter as the rite progressed. Each strike of sungrass
braid was terribly painful, like being lashed with brambles set afire.
He'd gasped and wept from their touch, and the ritemasters simply
looked at one another knowingly. This one was clearly tainted, and had
much to repent for.

The litany of his sins continued for an hour. He struggled to describe
each violation, each thrust of a cock into his body that brought him
pleasure, each spurt of semen from his own body. With each memory, he
begged for forgiveness. As he told each such wickedness, a great heat
built up in his body, and when he was forgiven by strike of sungrass,
the heat escaped him. By the end of the ritual, the heat wasn't just a
sensation -- strange gold-white ephemeral flames, somehow not as "real"
as true fire, but seeming like the soul of flame, escaped his body,
bringing terrible burning agony as they did so.

His skin...no, not his flesh. His soul, somehow, seemed as though it had
been horribly burned and charred, and each movement brought him
terrible agony. By the time it was over, he could only lie there and
groan. He remembered wishing he were dead. He knew that he'd lost
consciousness at one point, and when he awoke, he was back in his cell.

"Awake, then?" Mathis raised his head quickly, and regretted it
immediately as raw pain coursed through his head, down his neck and
across his shoulders like a line of oil set alight by flame. The Holy
Illuminate sat at the foot of his bed, watching over him. He quickly
struggled to rise, that he might bow, but the holiest of holies raised
a single hand, forbidding him from moving.

"Do not. It is well that you rest now," the Holy Illuminate said, his
voice stern but betraying concern and kindness. Those amber eyes
watched Mathis' face closely, locking eyes with him for long,
uncomfortable minutes.

"You endured the purifications bravely. When you first returned to us,
I sensed such a deep, terrible corruption within you, I feared that
you might be lost to us forever, Mathis. Those with such corruption
deep in them may die on the Sun's Face. But your endurance is
admirable, and your dedication doubly so."

"Thank you...holy one," Mathis managed. The Holy Illuminate smiled.

"When you took your orders, you joined the monkhood. Though none would
doubt their dedication and purpose within the eyes of the Lord of
Light, I have a question for you -- have you thought about taking the
Vows of Light and becoming one of the priesthood?"

Mathis opened his eyes -- truly, he didn't remember having closed them
-- and stared at the Holy Illuminate incredulously.

"I'm quite serious," he said. Something somewhere deep in Mathis'
chest couldn't help but notice how handsome the Holy Illuminate was
when he smiled, but Mathis smothered it with his pain. "Your bravery
and strength, to endure such? Only the priesthood is taught the
Mysteries of Light, the techniques of reaching into the deepest
heavens and acting as a channel for the Lord of Light's power. It
takes strength of body and strength of spirit to act as the conduit
for such holiness, as well you know. I think you have both."

"I...thank you, holiness," Mathis stuttered. "Thank you. I haven't ever
thought about it, no. I...don't know that I'm fit..."

"Humility is proper and befitting the monks, Mathis. In this, you are
well-suited. But you must learn to be honest about your capabilities.
But false humility is a kind of pride, as well. Lying to yourself is
still a lie. It is clear that you have been tested by this ordeal. And
you are stronger for it."

Mathis had to admit, he did feel stronger. Perhaps not in the ways the
Holy Illuminate meant, though. His body felt...more fit. Tougher, and
though he ached from his exertions, he was also exhilarated by them.

"It has been decided. You will be going back to them."

It took a moment for Mathis to understand what the Holy Illuminate was
saying. Back to them? To them.

The cult of the Stag-God.

His stomach flip-flopped and his mouth was suddenly dry. He looked
away from the Holy Illuminate, not wishing to show him the conflict
there. On one hand, he desperately wanted to return, with a deep
passion. On the other, the depth of that passion terrified him -- how
could they have such a hold on him that way? How was that possible? He
was also terrified. He feared...what exactly? But even as he asked that
question of himself, he knew the answer.

He feared losing himself.

For all his life, he'd aspired to the service of the Lord of Light.
Who else was so revered for their sacrifices? Service to the Lord of
Light meant discipline, strength and faith, a solidifying of the self.
For so much of his life, Mathis felt that he was...ill-defined. No one,
really, but the Lord of Light is not served by nobodies.

But the cult of the Stag-God did not demand that he strengthen
himself, that he forge of himself a weapon of light using only the
tools of discipline, rigor and his own sweat and willpower. They did
not demand a life of service and denial.

All they wanted was that he simply let himself go, to give in to the
urges he felt, and to help others do likewise. They demanded nothing
of him -- not restraint, not shame, not discipline. Only freedom and a
willingness to find holy his own body...nothing more.

Such a creed...was too much. Such a theology depended on a belief that
one's own wishes, desires and loves are somehow good. It depended on
an intrinsic belief that one is good enough, just as one was born, and
that life was a place in which to find joy, rather than a place in
which one went through ordeals meant to purify a filthy soul in
preparation for the afterlife.

Following such a faith required only that one be content with oneself.

It was terrifying in its implications, in its suggested liberation.
And that unnerved him. From the time he was a small child, Mathis had
known that he was unworthy and foul. Everyone had -- it was taught to
everyone. Those who denied it were simply wallowing in sin, deceiving
themselves because they were lazy and wicked.

But the creed of the Stag-God was so seductive, because it simply
required one to be oneself. It made no demands towards perfection,
told no one that they were not good enough. Olusku had taught him that
life is change, certainly, and that strong men often decide the
measure of their change, but the Stag-God did not require it of anyone.

He looked up at the Holy Illuminate, who regarded him coolly.

"Please...do not make me return there, holy one," he whispered, though
he knew it was forbidden for anyone who had taken the vows to deny the
Holy Illuminate anything, in deed, word or thought. Instead, the Holy
Illuminate smiled, a warm, gentle look that showed both pity and
understanding.

"Do not fear, Mathis. We will not send you in there unprepared. When
you go among them once more, you will be a great weapon of the Lord of
Light, and you shall rain purity on their tainted heads." He turned to
go, and then glanced back at the young man in his cot. "Attend to your
prayers. I will have food brought to you -- rest for today, and
meditate. I shall come for you at dawn, in order to prepare you."

* * *

True to his word, the Holy Illuminate sent a servant to wake Mathis an
hour before dawn. The servant, a handsome young man perhaps a year or
two younger than his own nineteen years, called his name from the foot
of his bed. Mathis sat up, groaning slightly from the phantom pains
that yet ached him from his purification the day before.

"The holiest of holies has sent me to you," the young man said. He
placed a large bowl of still-steaming water down on the table at the
foot of the bed, and a cloth next to it. "He has bidden you to wash
and then don your robes. I will help you should you need it."

Mathis rose from bed, intent on not showing any weakness or ill
effects from the day before. Unfortunately, as he moved, he found
himself in fair pain now and again, and he couldn't help but wince.

The young man seemed eager -- too eager, perhaps -- to help him. He
stepped forward as Mathis winced trying to wash his leg, and took the
warm, wet cloth from him.

"Here," he said. "Let me help you." The young man knelt in front of
Mathis, and began to wash at his skin. Mathis looked down and willed
his cock not to stir. What was it about the sight of another man
kneeling in front of oneself? Was it just a primal urge to slip the
cock into any accommodating place, or was there something more to it?
Was it the desire to conquer, to dominate, to master another, to prove
oneself strong and irresistible, and thus lord over another? Even as
he thought such things, his cock hardened down the length of his leg.
The acolyte kneeling in front of him couldn't help but notice, and
chuckled, glancing up at him.

"What is your name?" Mathis asked gruffly, intent on distracting
himself and hopefully this young man from his shame somehow.

"Volryn," the young man replied, doing his best to ignore Mathis' half-
hard cock, now thickening and hanging heavily from his groin. He
scooted around so that he was facing Mathis' profile and scrubbed the
back of his legs, where Mathis certainly had no chance of reaching in
his condition.

The young man applied the rough cloth gently, and then gingerly
touched the leg, tracing a line that stung slightly even with the
lightest of contact. Mathis tried to glance behind him to see what
Volryn was doing. The young man snatched his hand away, suddenly
realizing that the line would take his hand over Mathis' right buttock.

"Sorry, I'm...that is," he stammered, clearly embarrassed. "That is, I
wasn't going to...well, you know. It's just I've never seen those kinds
of scars on someone as young as you, nor seen them as fresh as these
are. Are they...are they from the purification?"

Mathis reached behind him and found the spot on his buttock; a thin
line stung terribly when he touched it, and he traced it by sensation
alone down his leg and up over his ass and up his back. He glared at
Volryn.

"What do you know of my purification?"

"Oh, nothing!" Volryn rushed to reassure him, quickly dipping the
cloth back into the basin of warm water and wringing it out. "I mean,
nothing of why you performed it, or what was said, of course. Only
that there were actual flames as it was performed. Soulflame, they
said it was. Everyone is talking about it; the other monks say that
you are blessed and perhaps fit for the priesthood. Is that true?"

Mathis stared down at him, and then looked closely down at his body.
The backs of his arms, his lower back, the backs of his legs -- all the
areas on his body that were in contact with the Sun's Face had small,
spiraling, branching white scars, brilliant and white like cloth left
out in the sun too long. The smaller ones were already fading away,
but here and there were scars thick enough that he knew would last him
the whole of his life.

"It is, about the flames. I don't know about the rest," he said
simply, and then let the young man finish bathing him. He knew how the
basics of the purification ritual worked; it had been part of his
theological training, of course.

The Sun's Face pulls sin into itself, the way mirrors pull light to
them.

Sometimes, though, when that sin is truly terrible and monstrous, the
sin strikes the mirror beneath the penitent, and the gold of the
mirror, awash in sunlight, burns away that sin in a flash of white
holy fire, singeing the penitent. It is a mark of both shame and
honor: shame for having such grievous sins in the first place, but
honor for having the moral strength to excise them so completely.

Mathis concentration broke entirely when a warm, wet mouth completely
engulfed his half-hard cock. The young acolyte groaned, and buried his
fingers in the short hair of his fellator, and then with a slight
snarl, pulled the young man away from his groin. The sudden unexpected
movement elicited a yelp from Volryn, and his teeth scraped the top of
Mathis' cock.

"What the hells do you think you're doing?" Mathis growled at him,
shoving him away. The young man scrambled away from Mathis, and put
his back to the bedframe.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he babbled, at the verge of tears. "Please, I...
you just seemed like you were enjoying it, and I thought...I mean, you
were getting hard, and so I know it's forbidden, but I also know that
sometimes..."

Mathis quickly put his robes on, swirling them around him as he
watched the young man's face swim with shame and fear. He shushed him
and crossed the distance between them, kneeling beside him.

"Listen," Mathis said, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "I
know what they say about the monkhood. I do; I heard it all, too. Yes,
many men become monks because of their lustful urges, and because they
know that proper society cannot allow them such license. The Church
offers sanctuary to such men, offering a life of prayer and seclusion."

"They...they also say that sometimes, those men find one another in the
Church, and they...and we sometimes..." The young acolyte spoke nearly in
a whisper, but Mathis cut him off immediately.

"I know they say that. But that's wrong. The Church opens its arms to
such men that they may escape the damage to their souls such acts
inflicts, not to give them a place in which to perform such acts."

"I'm sorry, I truly am," the young man begged, eyes shining from tears
he was on the verge of shedding. "Please, don't tell anyone. It's just
that Brother Poltrin has told me stories about you and he, how the two
of you have..."

"Brother Poltrin!" Mathis spat, and hauled the young man to his feet.
"Let me tell you something about Brother Poltrin. He abuses his
charges; I knew nothing about such acts between men when I came here
as a boy, but he gave me first-hand knowledge of such things, whether
I wanted it or not. He is no friend to you or I."

"I'm sorry, you're right," Volryn said, wiping his eyes. Mathis
finished donning his robe, tightening the belt around his waist while
the younger man watched him. He looked like he wanted to ask a
question, but dared not.

"What is it?" Mathis prompted him, making sure his voice was calm.

"Is it true that you went to the cult of the Stag-God?"

Mathis turned and stared at him. There was no way he could have known
that. No one knew that!

"Who said that?" Mathis said, his voice breaking slightly, visions of
monks and acolytes whispering about the debauches he was forced to
endure, making mockery of his sacrifice. The idea filled him with a
gut-wrenching dread.

"So, it's true?" the young acolyte asked him, his eyes wide. When
Mathis took a step closer to him, his fist clenched, the young man
held up his hands placatingly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please -- it's
just...I mentioned Poltrin and his...sins against you to Gerel, in the
deep levels of the Sanctuary, and that you'd disappeared recently. He...
he said that they'd probably sent you to the cult, to find out about
them."

Mathis leaned against the wall, confused. How was this possible? Who
knew of such things?

"Who is this Gerel?" he asked, almost on the verge of tears. Volryn
quickly crossed to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"He is a prisoner," Volryn said, hesitantly. "Do not worry, though. No
one would believe him, Brother Mathis. I did not believe him. Who
would? He is tainted."

Mathis looked at the young man then, questioningly. Volryn nodded and
continued.

"Tainted, according to Brother Poltrin. He used to be the Patriarch of
the Hall of Glory, the Church in Bavintyr. He and his Keepers captured
not only an orc preaching about the demonic Stag-God, but they also
the discovered the first of the human cults, and were preparing to
execute them. Then, they say that the Stag-God himself came there, and
killed many men, including the Lord Keeper of the Hall of Glory.

"Brother Poltrin says that Gerel failed to banish the demon because
his heart was taken by sin, and the Lord of Light turned his face from
him, and the demon ravished him terribly. That night, they caught
Gerel attempting to flee the gates of Bavintyr, but caught him. He is
now imprisoned on the deepest levels beneath the Sanctuary. I only
know this because I am the one who brings him his evening meals."

Mathis looked stricken. A priest of the Lord of Light who had faced
down the Stag-God himself? Why hadn't he heard of this? Why had no
one? Doubt gnawed at his belly as he laid a hand on Volryn's shoulder.

"Let's just forget this happened, all right? I will say this -- avoid
Poltrin. You and I may be men whose base natures get the best of us
sometimes, but he takes no shame in what he does. He only fears
getting caught. He will come up with a hundred reasons to be alone
with you, to use you as he sees fit, but you must avoid him." Volryn
nodded, biting his lower lip. Mathis turned and opened the door.

"I must go."

* * *

The chamber to which he was guided sat in the depths of the Eternal
Sanctuary, in the vaults that belonged solely to the Holy Illuminate.
Only those monks who were assigned to serve the holiest of holies
directly were permitted in these places, and even then, it was only to
maintain them, or prepare them for use.

Unlike most places in the High Church, this chamber was not well-lit.
Sacred candles burnt in sconces set in front of golden mirrors,
multiplying the pinpoints of flame a thousandfold in the chamber. The
simple candlelight provided enough illumination to light the white
marble chamber, however.

At the center of the chamber was a pool of deep, dark water, some ten
feet across. Its surface reflected the motes of candlelight above it,
making it look like the night sky. At the head of the pool stood a
statue, crafted of gold, silver and white stone, of one of the
hiraldir, a great robed, angelic figure with impossibly perfect, fine
features, wielding one of the thin, razor-like blades given to the
Auric Keepers. Great wings rose over its head from its back, and a
great circle of gold behind it held well over a dozen candles,
creating a halo around it.

The effect was breathtaking and awe-inspiring. Mathis felt a coldness
deep in his gut, however, and felt like his bowels had turned to ice.
It wasn't fear, so much as...in truth, he didn't have a good word for
it, really. It was strange and unnerving, not having any idea what to
expect.

"It is nearly dawn," said a voice in the darkness, and Mathis jumped
slightly, startled. The Holy Illuminate was standing there, watching
him. His long white-gold braids draped down his back and over his
shoulders, their golden highlights flickering like sparks in the
candlelight. His amber eyes...they almost seem to glow, somehow, in the
darkness, and he was clad in a simple white silk robe.

He walked to the edge of the pool as the monks behind Mathis shut the
great chamber doors. Silkenly, the Holy Illuminate let drop his robe --
Mathis cursed himself for thinking it, but the movement was utterly
sensuous. Practically seductive. Mathis tried to look away, but his
gaze betrayed him, and he watched as the spectacularly muscled form of
the head of the High Church entered the pool. He stepped one foot into
the water and then the other, and Mathis couldn't help but notice the
man's broad chest, tightly muscled stomach, the severe lines that ran
from his hips, pointing downwards to his groin. His cock was thick and
looked...somewhat plump, really, as though it might be stirring to
hardness. His balls hung fatly beneath his member, tight against his
body, but clearly heavy.

Then, the Holy Illuminate descended the set of stairs, and the dark
water swallowed his beautiful body until he stood with the waters
lapping at his navel. He extended a hand, inviting Mathis in without a
word.

He hesitated, and looked down at his garments.

"Leave them," the holiest of holies said. "They will only be in the
way." Mathis nodded obediently and he unclasped his belt, and shrugged
out of his robes. He did his best to hide the fact that he was on the
verge of a full erection from the holy man before him, clutching his
robes to him as he crossed the chamber to the edge of the pool, and
letting them drop beside it only as he stepped in with one foot.

The water was tremendously chill, and he silently thanked the Lord of
Light for it. It certainly staunched any desire he might be feeling as
his genitals deflated somewhat at the touch of the cold water. By the
time he'd submerged himself in the water, he was on the verge of
trembling with the cold, but refused to allow such a show of weakness
before the Holy Illuminate.

His foot scraped up against something smooth and metal inset into the
stone of the pool, and Mathis glanced down. Squinting, he thought he
could make out strange sigils, crafted of gold and inset into the
bottom of the pool. They covered the bottom of the pool, flickering in
the candle light.

Mathis jumped slightly as the Holy Illuminate touched the center of
his chest. He looked up, shamefacedly. He was so very close to this
man whose attractiveness seemed otherworldly: his beauty seemed less
like it was something to do with his features, and more like a light
that he emanated. It was stunning to be this close to him, and Mathis
felt his cock spring back to life, just below the surface of the
water. He was painfully aware of how close he was to the Holy
Illuminate, and wanted to do nothing more than reach out and run his
hands down the sculpted muscles of his chest.

"Do so," the Holy Illuminate said, and Mathis simply stared at him in
shock. He wasn't sure what was more unnerving -- that he had read his
mind, or that he was giving him permission to touch him so...intimately.

"It is part of the rite, Mathis. Embrace me." The Holy Illuminate ran
his hand from the center of Mathis' chest and up to his shoulder,
reaching out with his other hand so that he was grasping Mathis by the
shoulders and pulled him toward him.

Suddenly his arms were wrapped around the holiest of holies. His skin
was cool, and his body was...solid, yet soft. Like silk covering steel,
in truth. The Holy Illuminate pulled Mathis near and embraced him, his
thick, muscled arms crushing in their insistence. Mathis winced as the
head of his cock brushed up against the lower leg of the Holy
Illuminate; the beautiful golden man shifted, and actually trapped
Mathis' cock between his legs. Mathis' meat felt like it was on fire
as it nestled into the warmth just beneath and to the side of the Holy
Illuminate's balls.

He blinked and started to pull away slightly, muttering an apology,
but the Holy Illuminate continued to hold him. Mathis became aware of
the holy man's own cock -- now rock hard, and pointing upward. The
man's meat was resting against Mathis' pubic mound and lower belly,
reaching easily up to his navel. The Holy Illuminate's hand came up
and cupped the back of Mathis' neck and bent his head so that his face
was buried in the crook of the great priest's neck.

Mathis quivered slightly, and simply held on. He'd never been so
terrified and so aroused before in his life. He fair quivered with it,
and a thousand questions roiled in his mind.

"Hush," said the Holy Illuminate. "Feel no shame at your body's
reaction, nor confusion at mine. We are human, Mathis -- these are
things that happen to the bodies of living men. True strength comes
not from denying your body, but from mastering it, from owning it,
from acknowledging it as merely a vessel. Do not fear your body;
simply never allow it to control you."

Mathis inhaled deeply, and then exhaled, allowing the familiar ritual
to calm him. In spite of it all, though, he could smell the scent of
the Holy Illuminate's naked flesh next to him, and his cock throbbed a
little between the legs of the holiest priest of the High Church.

"Let us begin," he said, and wrapped his arms around Mathis once more.
The man began to chant, ancient words in the ritual language of the
High Church, which none but the priests initiated into the Mysteries
of Light were taught. He loved the fluid cadences of the tongue,
however, and the Holy Illuminate was tremendously skilled in the
language.

As the Holy Illuminate chanted, Mathis noticed that his skin began to
heat up. It started first at his center -- specifically, Mathis noticed
the warm, wet space between the holy man's legs begin to heat up. His
cock reacted to the change in temperature by lengthening out and
thickening up more, and Mathis was sure that his cockhead had begun to
leak precum, smearing it in the private recesses of the Holy
Illuminate's body.

He had no time to contemplate this, however, as the heat spread
quickly. The front of Mathis' body, pressed up against the well-
muscled form of the high priest, felt it, and then it spread to the
man's back, which Mathis felt through his arms, wrapped securely
around the person of the priest. Mathis glanced up and found the Holy
Illuminate had thrown his head back, and was continuing to chant,
continuing to clutch Mathis close in his arms.

Suddenly, Mathis saw it -- one of the candles snuffed out, though there
was no wind. Then another quickly died, followed by another, and a
fourth, fifth and soon, sweeping through the chamber, the lights
burning at the end of each of the sacred candles died as though
extinguished by a divine breath.

Moreover, he noticed that a subtle glow had begun beneath his feet.
Glancing down, he found the golden sigils lining the bottom of the
pool in which they stood beginning to glow with an inner fire. As a
candle snuffed out, one of the sigils began to glow, spurred on by the
power in the Holy Illuminate's voice.

Then, one by one, the last candles in the room -- those that formed the
halo of the hiraldir that overlooked the pool -- extinguished. The
light in the pool grew, rising up from the depths of the water beneath
them. The temperature of the water rose steadily and rapidly. Mathis
began to sweat, and fear knit his brows.

Steady, he thought to himself, and the Holy Illuminate clasped his
shoulder supportively. The pitch and speed of his chanting changed,
becoming more strident and pleading. The water had literally begun to
steam now, and the light beneath it shifted and roiled like a caged
animal.

Suddenly the Holy Illuminate threw wide his arms, pulling them out to
his sides. Sparks of white-hot light glowed at the tips of his index
and middle fingers, looking like nothing so much as a branding iron
that had been placed in a fire to redden, and has just been pulled
from the heat. Mathis started to release his grip on the Holy
Illuminate, not wanting to disturb the man's actions, when suddenly
the high priest's arms darted back around him.

Rather than clasping him in an embrace again, however, the tips of the
man's fingers drove like hot iron pokers into the flesh just above
Mathis' shoulder blades, with an audible hiss. The smell of burnt
flesh filled Mathis' nostrils, and then his entire body was
overwhelmed by agony and searing pain.

He screamed and instinctively tried to pull away, but the Holy
Illuminate clutched him tight, digging his fingers deeper into Mathis'
flesh. Mathis' knees buckled from the agony, but the holiest of holies
held him tightly. As the young acolyte took a breath to continue
screaming, the Holy Illuminate began to pull his fingers downward,
keeping them imbedded in Mathis' back, scoring a track through his
flesh like pulling a sharp stick through wet sand.

Mathis nearly vomited from the pain then, and with a final pull, the
Holy Illuminate finished scoring the two lines down his back. Boiling
blood sizzled as it hit the surface of the water, and then the Holy
Illuminate snatched him up before he could fall into the water.
Clasping him beneath his arms, the man's mighty arms tensed, and he
lifted the young acolyte up as high as he could and cried aloud in the
ritual language. Then, just before his muscles gave out and Mathis
plummeted back into the now-roiling, almost boiling water, he shouted:

"I name thee, Iliquael!"

Then, with that, he stepped forward, and allowed gravity to pull
Mathis to the water. Unable to anticipate the action, Mathis didn't
have time to take a breath before he was plunged beneath the surface
of the steaming, boiling water. He struck the bottom of the pool, but
before he could rise again, the strong hands of the Holy Illuminate
pushed down on him, forcing him to the bottom of the pool. The sigils
there, now glowing white-hot and burning to the touch, rushed up
toward him until he was pressed against them.

He struggled, first feebly, and then more fervently, trying to
resurface. He thrashed and fought for his life, but the Holy
Illuminate held him down firmly. Vaguely, somewhere at the edge of his
hearing, Mathis could hear the man chanting at the top of his lungs in
the ancient tongue. Then, his lungs burning and a strange lassitude
beginning to settle in, Mathis resolved himself to his death, and
deeply inhaled the burning white-hot water around them.

Something happened then, and blackness claimed him.

When he awoke, he was lying on the bottom of the pool. The chamber was
dark, though there was enough ambient light from the fading sigils to
see that the pool was almost entirely empty of water, and the chamber
filled with steam. Mathis gasped for breath and expected to cough up
water, but there was none. In fact, his lungs burned, as though he'd
breathed the air too close to a forge, and it had seared his internals.

Mathis scrambled up, until his back made contact with the edge of the
pool, and he hissed in agony. The twin furrows the Holy Illuminate had
scored down his back still ached terribly, though they were not open
wounds as far as he could feel.

Then, bright, harsh light flooded the chamber as the doors were thrown
open and monks of the Weeping Sun scrambled in, with towels and robes
in their arms. Mathis glanced up and saw, lying almost unconscious in
the middle of the pool, the form of the Holy Illuminate. Steam rose
from him and curled about him, and one of the monks cried out in
distress.

"Your Eminence!" He leapt into the pool, but the Holy Illuminate
thrust up his hand, palm outward, halting the man in his tracks. He
lifted his head and looked through a veil of white hair -- all of which
had come loose from his braids, somehow -- at Mathis. There was concern
in his eyes.

"Are..." his voice was hoarse and he coughed, and spat blood. "Are you
well?"

Mathis leaned forward, testing his movement. Other than the burning
pain down his back, and the adrenaline rushing through his body, he
was. He stood, then, waving away the monk who offered to help him, and
the Holy Illuminate smiled. The look he gave Mathis told him that they
shared something now, and there was pride, admiration and brotherhood
in that gaze.

The Holy Illuminate pushed himself up from the ground and struggled to
his feet as well, though not half as adroitly as Mathis had managed.
He took the robe from the monk and wrapped it around himself as the
young acolyte did likewise. As the monk guided the Holy Illuminate
out, the holy man clasped Mathis' shoulder and leaned in to whisper to
him.

"What a weapon you shall make," he said hoarsely. "Return to them,
when you are ready to travel. Gain an audience with this Stag-God.
Keep hot your purity in your heart, Mathis, though your body must be
sullied once more."

Then, he left, and Mathis forced himself to walk without help back to
his chambers.




Regards,
~The Satyr
the.satyr@gmail.com
Y!IM: the_oaken_satyr