DREAM #3

The two monks were large men with arms strengthened to steel by years of labor and perhaps more insidious causes. She struggled hopelessly against their grip, pined to the cold flat stone. By the size of her belly, this girl would soon be a mother. These men had deprived her of any modesty as her simple peasant garments were carelessly discarded. A small girl, likely no more than 16, with curly hair the color of straw, she could have been pretty. Her eyes were red from tears and stark with terror. A thick leather strap was gagging her and her lungs labored with the effort of this ordeal.

The priest wore the long flowing blue robes of an archbishop. He had a narrow pitched nose that ended in a sharp point and his hair was black like pitch. His eyes were all together too close together and slightly tapered. Long fingers with well manicured nails curled around the hilt of a kris dagger.

The priest carefully drew back his sleeve away from the dagger, exposing his rather thin frail forearm. As the flesh was struck by the light of day, as hideous scar appeared, almost as if the light burned him. The nasty, puffed, and bloated mark took the form of a nude woman with a narrow waist, long hair, gripping the severed head of some animal.

Turning to his left he dipped the blade of the kris into a stone bowl filled with disgorged animal eyes floating in a think murky liquid. The agitation of the dagger caused the liquid to swirl about and the eyes appeared to look around. He withdrew the blade and raised it above the swollen belly of his terrorized prisoner. Droplets of the ichor ran down the curved blade and fell onto her stomach. Where they landed they darkened the flesh and caused grievous wounds to open up, like she was being burned by acid. The girl renewed her struggles as she felt the pain of her wounds.

With a practiced hand strengthened by Satan himself, the priest plunged the Moorish kris into the young girl. The tip of the blade entered her body at the base of her sternum and the curved nature of the kris made a wide ghastly wound. The priest then turned the knife 90 degrees and pulled it down through her stomach and out through her sex. His action spilled the girl like so much overturned crockery. The movement caused the body of the girl to nearly split in two as if it had exploded. The fluids from deep within were suddenly forced unnaturally free.

The life-water of the womb ran out of the dying girl. Her fluids flowed along the stone much like soup spilled upon a table. The monks bent low, bring their heads close to the table. They sipped of the ruptured womanhood, lapping at the moist stone with long forked tongues. They were filled with carnal excitement.

The priest cast away the blade and plunged his bare hand into the stomach of the dying girl. Grasping the child within, he quickly yanked the mutilated fetus from the flaps of its womb and cast it to the ground. The lost life did not fight or flail as fully 1/3 of its head was severed by the knife. As the priest returned to the grizzly scene before him, the fetus shivered for a moment and then fell still.

With more precise and cautious movements the priest re-inserted his hand into the girl’s body. Her last movements having left her, his search for the object of his attention resumed. Finding what he was searching for the priest grabbed at her liver, but the slippery organ was difficult to hold. After several failed attempts to clasp the organ, he resigned himself to embracing the gore and placed his other hand within the empty womb. With both hands he lifted the liver from her and drew it to his lips.

His pale narrow lips stretched thin and drew back off his gray teeth in a perverted smile. He opened his mouth and bit deeply into the warm dripping organ, taking in a large piece; the taste of which was reflected in a twinge of disgust on his face, but was quickly overshadowed by the jovial sparkle of emotion centered in dark power.

The monks tossed the lifeless corpse of the blond girl to the earth and returned their attention to the priest. The priest placed the remaining liver onto the flat stone in place of the whole body, then bent a knee to prey. The monks followed suit.

As the rays of full sunlight stretched through the chill morning air they struck the shinny organ, and it began to react. At first it appeared to be nothing more that a rapid drying, but the light soon desiccated the dark flesh into a dry lump. As it continued to beat down, the husk started to degenerate and collapse to dust.

The priest, rising again, withdrew a small crystal vial from his robes. The vial contained a milky white liquid. He removed the narrow glass stopper and dumped the contents onto the dry crumbled husk.

The priest spoke in a powerful projective voice and directed his words to the air, “I speak to the forgotten Sorority of Wyrms. I call to the lost Gods. May my voice resound to the faded temples, so my pleas are carried to the immortals. I am the servant of the Elder Goddess. My life is meaning in her divine will. Ereshkigal Goddess of Irkalla, I give you the life of this bearer, as tribute to your triumph over Ishtar and Tammuz. I willingly offer you my seed to symbolize the devotion of my life and the lives of my progeny, for all time.” He cast aside the vial and again fell to his knees. “Oh, most powerful one, please visit upon me the power to do your will and vanquish my enemies.”

The disgusting pile of dried and crumbled organ meat coated in body fluids then began to smoke. Wisps of blue smoke formed thin plumes and rose into the air, twisting in the chill morning air. The bizarre offering then began to burn. Flames sprouted from the liver and began to consume the fluids. Black smoke began to emanate from the reaction. The plumes of smoke did not rise into the sky and float away on the breeze, like any fire would, but rather the vapors coalesced and gathered. As the liver burned it formed a swirling snake of black smoke.

“I Izabolt Sinister command you. I, the servant of the Goddess of Irkalla, am your authority. You are bound to my will and this vital force is yours to taint, and I am eternal. I bind you to carry my will, spurred by my motives. Ereshkigal’s victory over the vile Ishtar shall be by my hand. We travel into darkness.” At those words the black swirling entity wrapped itself around the priest and vanished.