The Acolyte
Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
Chapter 9
What a peculiar and delightful moon this is.
Only four days awake, yet already such an unexpected bounty.
* * *
Last moon was average until the eighteenth night, when the Woman crossed his path and aroused his curiosity.
When he first caught the Woman's mouthwatering scent - a simmering fury curling in afternoon heat, he chased her down as usual. Instead of the horror his attentions invariably provoked, she rebelled, fought back without hesitation. She offered little fear to pinpoint the source of the delicious aroma, and unexpectedly, delightfully, parried his attack.
Touché
He was unable to forget that smell, though, wasn't made to pass up a gourmet meal when it presented itself during his short feeding moon, even if it was hard to get.
The hunger... the hunger was everything
It was a simple matter to disable her vehicle and delay her journey. All he had to do was wait for her to sleep in order to inspect her more closely. Not a surprise when even in the dark, she continued to chase. When he finally got hold of her, she even got a couple of bites in with her weapon. It was so unexpected he dropped her.
She got a good look, saw what she was facing, yet pursued him still. Did she have a death-wish? Her fearless aggression was intriguing; a distant echo of memory hinted that she might be more than food.
Inside his favorite lair, she strolled around, all anger gone and undisturbed by his grisly hobby. Hidden among his mounted trophies, he watched.
A human in her prime, healthy, heartbeat slowing from the chase through the woods, pink flush of exertion showing through her olive skin. Long dark hair caught up in a hasty tail at the nape of her neck. The ease of her bearing made a strange marriage to her hunter's avarice - she wanted to find him, she was looking for him... but not to kill.
Some had come after him before, their rage and grief blinding all sense of self-preservation. They were merely an annoyance, easily swatted away so that he could continue his feeding unhindered. This one, not angry, but... hungry, and for something even she didn't understand. Having scented something she wanted, she couldn't help herself but to pursue until she had it. As he did. He felt a strange attraction that was not hunger, though he could put no name to it.
When she uncovered the fresh young human lying on the floor, a pang of jealousy made him grind his teeth. Mine! For a moment he was confused, wondered if that's what she was after. Maybe she had smelled that tasty morsel, somehow, ...but no, she had followed him in here, and was already moving on to peruse the bizarre decor again. She smelled so damn delicious, so superbly edible, but she was like a fantastic wedding cake, a work of magic too intricate to eat. He was torn.
Not until she touched his flesh, touched it with a questing, fascinated hand, did he remember.
Once in a great while there was food that didn't act like food, and responded strangely. Greater pleasure was to be gotten from these than even from eating. Such things happen occasionally, though rarely enough that he could recall only a bare handful.
It didn't take long to remember how. Her reactions were intoxicating. There could be no question of eating her now, no matter how succulent she smelled; a treat like this was too rare and too entertaining to waste.
Drawing out the heavenly smells by licking her was wonderful, but she desired more. He knew what she wanted.
He had learned the trick of it long ago. A suitable phallus, though these days he rarely bothered to renew it, pleased her far beyond mere stimulation. Using the borrowed organ, however pleasurable, also caused him grating pains. It was worth the trouble, and pain was little hindrance in anything he pursued.
It was no surprise that she seemed inclined to stay, and he resolved to make her happy so she wouldn't change her mind. There wasn't much chance of that, though; she was as drawn to him as he to her. He could smell her blood heat up every time she looked at him, even stood nearby. The only habit he disapproved of was the cooking, a ruination of perfectly good food. It was easy enough to indulge her whims, though - and fun to have such an agreeable companion, who remained in spite of the danger.
Many times he almost succumbed to his instinct to devour her, but caught himself in time to tease the bewitching fragrance from her body, which cleared his mind of the ever-present temptation. Actually, he wasn't sure if it was the pain or the scent which cleared his mind.
The strangeness of living with and playing with food faded rapidly, lost amid a few days of travel, hunt, and indulgence in his hobbies. If he was capable of regret, he would be sorry they had so little time. He wasn't able to take her to some of his other, more interesting haunts. Sometimes it took days to remember them, much less where they were. Other times they were simply inaccessible due to human proximity.
The Woman was unique, to be sure. He'd wondered for a time if her eyesight was very poor - the sight of him usually sent people into a panic.
From the beginning, she saw him as an equal to herself. Not out of overblown self-importance, just from finally finding one with whom she could relate. Like him, when she saw what she wanted, her attentions were riveted until she got it, heedless of the consequences. She didn't act like his company was unusual or shocking, more as if... she had been expecting him. Waiting.
Hoping.
It was odd - she had none of the unease which even the most hardened of his few human playmates struggled to conceal. And she wasn't even a barbarian! Though she wasn't superstitious like the barbarians - well, even the civilized ones, now - tended to be, maybe that was the difference that freed her of terror.
Only when she asked his age, and he answered, did she become disconcerted. He hadn't wanted to tell the Woman his suspicion, that he was infinitely older than that. It wasn't a lie - he did tell her 'at least 400 generations', because beyond that his memories became so muddled that he couldn't be sure of the span.
Besides, humans were rather elitist about age, and tended to take long age as a sign of superiority. They considered themselves to be superior to all other creatures, and hated being reminded otherwise. True, they could be very clever, but were so proud of their little accomplishments that he couldn't help but make fun of them sometimes. For a race as prolific as they were, they could be quite ignorant.
To him, their lives were like the brief passing of mayflies, gone in the blink of an eye. Why else go to all the trouble of preserving them, so he could enjoy the pretty ones at his leisure?
* * *
To find her still living this moon - living and vibrant, that is a treat. Her scrumptious young kinswoman, a gift, is almost a surprise... almost. The Girl smells delectable like the Woman, and has an enthusiasm for the hunt that is most satisfying. The young one fears him; her veiled dread glows like an ember, sometimes flaring to fuel her savage nature.
It is all too easy to scent what he wants from her; he will have to be careful to keep her face at a safe distance.
She must know, she averts her eyes now, so as not to be mesmerized, like a bird by a cobra. Also, she still remembered the other night, when he had frightened her. He became a little... overenthusiastic, after so many efforts, and smelling her climax rolling in, had shrieked at her with head-spines spread as though to paralyze his prey with terror. It was what he always did, when the object of his obsession was finally in his grasp after a long chase.
Orgasm and hysterics seized her at the same moment. The combined burst of terror and pleasure that flooded his nostrils was savory beyond words. She screamed until she hyperventilated, then uncontrollable giggling set in. The exertions took their toll; her body would offer nothing more that night. It was enough, though - that last one was quite good. Probably not so good for her health - and she's a little skittish now, ...but he will try it again sometime if the opportunity arose. She is resiliant enough.
They are so charming!
Both follow him about, heedless of his vicious hunger; they emulate his hobbies and habits so eagerly. And they have a sense of humor. Outcasts from their own kind, they have a wry perspective of the situation that to most humans would be madness. Few find his style of wit enjoyable... in fact, most of their kind find it abhorrent, but these two - they make him laugh.
Long ago he had observed a human falconer; the man had cosseted the little predators, stroked and whispered to them, before sending them off to slay smaller birds and rabbits. He likes to pretend these women are his falcons; actually useful, unlike the crows that follow his trail of carrion.
Keeping them both alive, however, is a struggle.
If they smelled only as good as any normal food - which is to say, irresistible - having them in close proximity would be titillating. Some humans smell better than others, though, and these two... he can practically taste them. That rich, savory temptation would be unbearable, if not for the exquisite delights of their orgasms.
How interesting, to be so fascinated by flesh - living, willing flesh. He had always been drawn to human flesh, as food and as amusing decoration; it was pliable, had many different colors and forms. But flesh that he left alive, that he kept alive... Flesh that he could play, like the music the Woman had found. It was hypnotic. They were a bad influence...
They could almost make him forget to eat.
He roars with laughter at the thought.
* * * * *
He casts into his memory, dredging up other times such humans have crossed his path. They don't always smell so appetizing, but neither are they always so amusing. He thinks he remembers one going insane and casting herself off a high cliff in terrified confusion. He had to pick through the ruined remains for his dinner.
Another was of a nomadic tribe, and she was ostracized from her society. He found her bones in a tiny hovel the next moon; she had remained behind to await his return. The tribe avoided his territory afterwards; he never caught sight nor scent of them again.
Ahh, yes - it begins to surface in his memory.
A race of warriors, a clan of fierce and joyous demeanor. They were - like others that passed across the land - hardy, practical, and brave, but this race was also clever. They employed strategy, were even subtle. Obviously bent on more than mere survival, they flourished. They shone.
Most important, they had found the horses.
He had been surprised to see the horses again, after they had been gone for... so very long. And the beasts were somewhat larger, more powerful now. Taming those strong, skittish beasts had catalyzed the humans. They became more than their foot-bound neighbors, more than wandering scavengers. A refined culture had germinated, and the people reveled in their newfound glory.
Strong women held high positions in the clan, and he discovered one who would be something other than prey.
He had hunted from their ranks for generations before the encounter. He surprised a small hunting party, two men and a young woman. She was only just ripe, but her aloof posture, her easy authority over the men, the fine horse she rode as though it were an extension of her own body - all spoke of a familiarity with command in battle.
Her long black hair was intricately braided, interlaced with bright red cords to form a headdress. It was a functional vanity, meant to keep the hair away from the face during battle, as well as display her rank. Blue-black designs played across the brown skin of her bared torso - mythical creatures; honored predators and prey; abstract symbols of protection. Fresher stains covered each fingertip, from the first joint down, giving them the appearance of being coated in dried blood. He could smell otherwise, though - it was a vegetable stain.
Well-stitched leather breeches covered her legs, and a light cloak fell down her back. A small armory of knives hung from her waist, across her shoulders was slung a quiver of fine arrows for the bow she grasped at the ready. Nothing that could hinder him in the least. Alert as they were for their quarry, they never even saw him coming.
After watching him tear apart and devour her companions, she fell to her knees in a rapture of terror. He smelled her thoroughly, but she had nothing that piqued his tastebuds, and so he left, his wingbeats swirling her little cry, muffling the pounding of her heart.
Two days later, she tracked him down in his lair. Her eyes glowed fiercely as she approached him, shaking like a young aspen. He had been sitting on the floor, carving bones, when she entered. A little perturbed at the unusual intrusion, his wings spread as he stood and stalked up to her, his lips pulled back in a snarl anticipating satisfaction.
What happened next made him stop in his tracks, mouth hanging open with uncertainty. The young woman stood resolute, looking him in the face, and shed her cloak. The trousers and weaponry were gone.
An inviting gesture if there ever was one.
He was enveloped in the scent of her bare body. Some fear, but much more potent, something else. Excitement. Exultation. Desire. Captivated by the palette of aromas, he nosed her flesh intimately as she remained still, unflinching, her pulse pounding a drumbeat in her neck.
It was so odd. Either they were food or not food... that was all he usually needed to know. This one was not food, but smelled... alluring. More so every minute, as he sought out the source of the bewildering aroma. Something he wanted, but not food?
The more he prodded and pawed at her, the richer the fragrance became, the more maddening. He almost wanted to tear her body apart to get at the source, but intuited that the smell would cease if he did so; it wasn't to be gotten at that way. Learning little by little, he incited the woman's dusty, musky flesh to give up its secrets.
He pulled her to the bone-strewn floor, absorbed in this food/not food. His investigations had a curious effect; every time he grasped her in such a way, nudged her brown skin in this place or that, she would sigh, her muscles tensed or relaxed, the fragrance became sweeter, more pungent.
The woman's legs were askew. She seemed to anticipate something. When he pressed his nose to the sweaty crevice, she cried out like a little bird. She was moist... in heat.
He began to understand. She wanted to mate. He suppressed a howl of laughter at the idea.
The luscious scent might be stronger if he satisfied her need. But with what? He had no phallus at the moment, couldn't remember whether it was part of his usual form or not. A brief glance around the floor turned up a smooth bone of suitable size. He held it up in front of his face for a moment, then pushed it into the woman's slick orifice. She protested angrily, but he held her down easily, continued his experiment. Soon enough she ceased to resist, and became a groaning, panting puddle.
As he worked her, an idea began forming. Whenever he needed to replace a part of his own body, he had only to find it and eat it. A phallus would be a seemingly useless part of his anatomy, but... it couldn't do any harm to try. He abandoned the bone immediately and stomped over to one of his fresher kills, left the young woman gasping in dismay at his abrupt absence.
Hmm. It didn't exactly smell like something to eat, but he devoured it in a single mouthful anyway. To his delight, it grew out from his body, began twitching and responding according to its nature. The woman's eyes grew wide in wonder, then greed. The organ filled him with a new hunger.
He was so pleased that it worked, but not without some discomfort; it ached, as if protesting the unnatural use. The pain was hardly worth his attention in comparison to the feast he could now enjoy. He mated with her as he had seen animals do, released her orgasm, the essence he had been craving. What a curious sport! What a splendid delicacy! It hurt like hell, but was worth every excruciating moment.
To his surprise, the stolen phallus was not absorbed by his body. What else to do but use it again?
She returned next day; two bound men, strung on a horsehair rope, followed behind. She pulled them forward, indicated with her eyes that they were his. An offering. Whether by chance or instinct, both were suitable food, and he ate with delight.
The young woman, pleased that her gift was well received, looked on, proud and calm. A new dignity shone in her bearing; having been accepted as a mate by a god, she had been proclaimed 'Consort of Death' by her tribe. It was a position only rivaled by the healer. She was now their conduit to the powers of the underworld.
She came often, bringing other gifts from her people.
So many sacrifices were offered that he didn't need to hunt much, could spend a lot of time with his new plaything. Her language was easy enough to pick up, but hard to use. She told him her name was Ageathatli. After his first disastrous attempt to pronounce it, she insisted he call her Agea.
He indicated through brief words and gestures that he would sleep again soon. Good thing, too, he thought, grinning inwardly, ...or there won't be many of you left. He wouldn't return for three and a score years, the time it took one of them to ripen. Agea already knew, their clan had included him in their lore for ages.
"One who lures by seeming to be an old man wrapped in a cloak, pursues and devours those who he chooses." A few spoke of dreams during those 'old man death' moons - his hunting time. That was how they knew when he would return to eat his fill. They had another name for him, too - "the Crow King" - after the hunched, hidden-faced birds which inevitably followed his wake of destruction, whose presence foretold imminent doom.
"Crows have always accompanied us into battle, to feed on the chosen. They strike fear into the hearts of the weak. They eat the eyes and the choicest morsels of flesh, and carry them up to be stars in the night sky, to live forever. We have long known it was you who taught them this sacred way."
Her fanciful beliefs were too quaint to refute, so he patiently bore the tales. He was just hungry. Crows were just crows. What did it matter, if their imaginations led them to feed their own predator?
* * *
When he awakened the next moon, the tribe was waiting.
Agea had risen to become a great queen. He was received with uproarious celebration, and a veritable smorgasbord of food. She brought scores of sacrifices; her clan had learned to take prisoners from other tribes using his hunting techniques, decoy and ambush. He was their totem now, the living god that gave them strength in life and ferocity in battle.
She also brought her daughters for his pleasure.
Ah, her daughters. Some of them smelled like Agea - sweet but inedible, but the twin eldest were a conundrum. They were blatantly food, no escaping the aroma. His experience had told him that humans tended to become irrational and vengeful when he killed their offspring, even if they were capable of producing more. But as Agea and the other elders persisted in offering the two girls, he was hardly able to refuse.
His shrugged assent was met with relief. Agea's dynasty would be strengthened, one way or another.
One came early, her pride and impetuous spirit driving her into the arms of her destiny. This girl was ruthless, hard-faced, had been tempered by trials of blood and courage since she could walk. A long, rough scar across her face was borne with honor; it was the proof of her ferocity, of having leapt to the front of a skirmish. She reeked of terror and excitement, had been anticipating this day of her marriage to the god her whole life. If she was accepted as her mother had been, their line would be secure; no one would dare to oppose the next chosen Consort.
Her two sacrifices driven before her, she kicked them down and slew them before him. She watched with wide eyes as he fed, then turned his ravenous attentions on her.
The scent of her was too much.
In the throes of mating he succumbed to his craving and bit through the young woman's skull, killing her instantly. She was delicious. No point in wasting the rest, he devoured her with great relish.
As he was finishing his meal the second girl arrived, flustered at her tardiness. She was stunned motionless by the sight of her twin disappearing in great ragged chunks into the god's maw. Only the twitching of a muscle under her eye betrayed her horror.
This one was night to her sister's day, subtle and sensitive; though more careful in battle, she was just as deadly. He would have expected her to flee, after all, he could smell the dread oozing from her. He could see her swallowing convulsively, holding in the vomit, the scream. She stood her ground, though, savored her own imminent death as though it were a long lost friend.
The obsidian chips of her eyes glittered, never broke their stare as he approached her slowly, not wanting to spook her, stepping over the bloody heap that was her twin. She's just like her mother, he thought with a wide grin, and grabbed her greedily. So afraid, yet faces her fear head on. The same irresistable smell curled in his nostrils; he had already eaten the identical brain, and knew he didn't need another yet, still... it had been so very delicious. But he was more careful with this one.
The combination of her appetizing and sensual appeals attracted and confounded him at the same time. He couldn't get enough, and only lost his concentration once, accidentally biting through her ear, while his claws raked a long gash across her face. She bore the injuries with grim satisfaction; she had been marked, but not fatally. He cleaned her up, noting her increasing resemblance to her sister's scarred visage.
The girl limped gingerly back to her tribe a few days later, and they interpreted the events in their own unique manner. The twins had been one being in two bodies, and half had been consumed, worthy of being both mate and food to the god, while the other had become the living vessel of her honored sister's soul. For she was changed; she answered to her sister's name as well as her own now, sometimes could be heard conversing with her dead twin.
The return of his hunting moon found her ruling her tribe, Agea long dead in battle.
For many generations the tribe continued to celebrate his return, bringing many prisoners from their raids on other tribes. He didn't bother to refrain from taking his pick from their own, and they didn't discourage him, rather considered it an honor.
Eventually though, they faded and dwindled away, as all things do. Only a bare few remembered his existence, came to greet him and offer their own brief lives for his approval or hunger. In the end, the remains of the once-great clan were absorbed into the other horse cultures that sprang up, and he was lost to the murk of whispered ghost tales.
* * * * *
He thinks about the Woman, and wonders if he will be able to resist eating her.
One time had he gotten a decent taste, the first time they mated. Such a rare treat, and in his enthusiasm, he had bitten into her. A sly sneer crawls over his face at the recollection. Oh yes, she tasted quite as good as she smelled.
He was becoming accustomed to the alluring scent of her flesh, but it is now mingled with a new scent, one that he finds incredibly enticing. She ignores the ache from her deteriorating leg-bone, but the pain is like the cry of a wounded rabbit to a fox. It would be such a shame to lose her in a moment of distraction. But for that one weakness, her body is still in its prime, strong and ripe.
Earlier this evening, an idea occurred to him.
Hearts make him feel stronger, more invulnerable. He had noticed that humans, though capable of surviving on vegetable matter like the cattle and horses, were enthusiastic meat-eaters. They appeared to do it for the same reasons as he ate so much muscle tissue - to feel stronger. The strength of the muscles flowed right into his own aged body. Of course, humans aren't nourished in the same way as he, but it couldn't hurt to try. He didn't think he'd ever attempted such an experiment before.
She was reluctant to eat it; he nearly had to force-feed her. A wry regret ghosted past him as she chewed the mouthfuls, obviously not finding it as delicious as he did. Even more disappointing, no improvement came of it. Ah well, humans age and weaken, there is truly no help for it.
He came so close, too close tonight. He had been patient while the game played itself out, but when the smell of two meals overwhelmed him, he couldn't resist. She knew, she saw her death hovering and still did not run from it. He caught himself in time, did the only thing he could do. Such pleasures as hers could make him forget even hunger.
She knows the danger. She must know, she and her kinswoman. Both have observed how his appetite rules him. Yet they stay.
How darling! Tame humans...
It is strange, that he desires so much to keep one of these ephemeral creatures alive, against all instinct. But didn't even they sometimes develop an irrational fondness for their own domesticated beasts?
End of Chapter 9
A/N: The moral of this chapter: Play with your food >:-)
- or, 'Never Get Perconal With A Chicken' (sic), which is a book of anecdotes by children.
For insights into the mindset of my monster, I recalled butterfly collections and silkworm husbandry. If you've ever seen a butterfly collection, you might see something familiar; dead butterflies impaled with pins, hung on a wall as 'art' - a bit morbid, don't you think? Yet not so different from what the monster does. In silkworm husbandry, the caterpillars are pampered and cosseted, given the greatest respect and care - but all for the prized silk they produce, after which the pupae are usually stir-fried.
The Acolyte and illustrations Copyright 2007 by Mary Harris [aka redplanetes]
~plagarists will be flayed alive~
redplanet@trinidadusa.net
