Treasure the Light, treasure the Darkness
by Iago (iago_72@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer:
- This story is copyrighted by Iago © 2002
- This story contains mind control and erotic/sexual situations. Please refrain from reading if you are offended by this, and/or under legal age in your area.
Author’s note: This one’s a tad experimental, and more style than substance, methinks (but hey, when the Muse knocks at your door, you don’t send her away, right?).
1.
She was pure gold, twelve inches tall, finely sculpted, resting on a round narrow base of polished blackstone. Her kneeling shape captured a feeling of infinite adoration, her hands raised and open to the sky, her back arched, her shoulders straight, her head bowed forward, lost in divine contemplation. Twin serpents, celestial guardians according to one noted archeologist, sprung from beneath her, coiling around her naked form in a protective embrace.
The attention to detail was striking, her firm breasts and round hips proportionate despite the obvious Mother/Goddess motif. Her lithe shape was rendered in lifelike quality, which was incongruous with other finds of the period. Even the night-blue sapphires and flaming rubies encrusted in its base defied explanation, leaving many experts with a new appreciation of ancient Sumerian craftsmanship as they stared in speechless awe at the glittering sight of their chiseled, scientific perfection.
She’d remained obediently still for nearly seven thousand years.
“So that’s what you flew all the way to London for? Lawd, Ah’d have hit malls instead.”
Colleen wrinkled her nose as she eyed the statuette closely, her South Carolina drawl full of mock irreverence. Molly ignored the quip, knowing it was just her assistant’s way of voicing concerns that she was pushing herself too hard again. She left the relic on her desk next to its protective case and nudged some boxes aside with her foot so she could hang her coat in the cramped closet behind her office door.
“So I decided to use a little vacation time to conduct business for the Museum. No big deal.”
Colleen growled. “That slavemaster Feldon left you a message didn’t he? Told you to come to the office straight from the airport?”
“Charles? Please,” Molly scoffed, amused by the mere suggestion of the Museum’s officious director having anything to do with her decision.
“The paperwork can wait, boss. Go home. Get some rest.”
“Don’t be so fussy, Colleen. I’m still on London time. I wouldn’t catch a wink of sleep if I tried.”
Colleen wasn’t budging. “Even so, what’s wrong with lettin’ the Museum pay for the flaght, pray tell? Ah bet you spent a whole five days at Christie’s without so much as a break for sightseein’.” Colleen crossed her arms in a reproachful stance, like a mother catching her underage daughter coming home late.
Molly unrolled the long scarf she kept around her neck and threw it over her coat. She took a careful step back, negotiating her way between the piles of unopened boxes across the floor, keeping her elbows close to avoid knocking shelves filled with an eclectic mix of dusty artifacts.
“It was Sotheby’s actually. They have a keen eye for the more obscure artworks. And for your information, London’s too foggy to play tourist this time of year.”
Colleen tsked tsked her anyway. “Snakewoman won’t be much of a hit with the visitors. Ah can’t see where we can fit her anyway, what with the Egyptian wing being remodeled and all.”
The Museum curator couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Colleen’s habit of playing dumb was a well rehearsed act, but Molly couldn’t help thinking her skilled and capable assistant was short-changing herself in the eyes of other museum employees, who never quite knew if she was kidding or not.
“Say it with me, Colleen. Su-me-ri-an. You only catalogued the whole of next year’s planned exhibit last August.”
Colleen held up her hands, dropping all pretense if not attitude. “Doesn’t much look like anythin’ from the period, you’ll grant? Did it come with a free travel case because you called the hotline in the first five minutes?”
Molly went to her desk, turned on the small lamp next to her computer and fell in her executive chair with a sigh. The gems on the statuette gleamed in the harsh halogen light, coloring the walls of the square office with multicolored swirls.
“Don’t worry. I checked it for Taiwanese markings before buying it.”
Colleen glared at it like some fly-market oddity. “She doesn’t look much like Ninhursag, even with that snake thang she’s got going. Ah’m all out of guesses.”
“You aren’t the only one, believe me. Ninhursag was ruled out early on-there’s a dual element to the representation, as if the figure embodies a ruling and subservient entity at the same time. Everyone I’ve talked to has a different opinion.
“Hell,” she added with a grin, “I even talked to one creepy old cook who went on about the statuette being actual evidence of some kind of Cthulhu Mythos.”
“Ku-tul-who?”
“Cthulhu. Lovecraftian demon-god. Squid head. Bat wings. It’s a loose expression synonymous with dark cultlike—”
She broke off. Colleen was giving her a really queer look.
“Never mind. The man was fit for the insane asylum. Practically begged me to destroy the thing.”
“He maght’ve been on to somethin’. Can’t believe the director sent you off to purchase this.”
Molly smiled tensely at her assistant. “Uh... how about you don’t mention this purchase to anyone. Let’s keep it our little secret.”
Colleen was about to step out into her office next door. She stopped on a dime and swiveled around, hands on her hips. Oh really?
“Ah know you’ve better taste when it comes to interior daycore so Ah’ll bite. If this was a private purchase, who’d you get it for?”
‘Private Client’ seemed too elusive an answer for a trusted assistant like Colleen, but Ruth Walsh’s instructions had been very specific, and Molly was wary of jeopardizing the trust of the museum’s most generous patron. Cloak and dagger attitudes were de rigueur when Ms. Walsh sent her on such errands, a task Molly was more than happy to undertake in the light of the woman’s many altruistic contributions.
That her appraisal and negotiation skills were so prized by such an esteemed collector was rather flattering, and personal compensations for such services were always generous; howerver, Molly had jumped through quite a few hoops while in London, authenticating and purchasing the statuette with a minimum of fuss and attention, and this particular assignment seemed more important than the others. She’d known as much the moment she’d been personally entrusted with access to a private Swiss Bank account in order to secure perfectly anonymous transactions; the practice was well established in art circles, but Ruth Walsh’s firm insistence on securing the ownership of this artifact was reflected in the account’s balance, which had been enough to cover even the most obscene of expenses.
Colleen sensed Molly’s hesitation and winked.
“Ruth called earlier today to ask how your return flaght was. Damn nice of her if you ask me. Don’t worry, mah lips are sealed.”
She perked up as she spoke the name-Colleen’s privileged upbringing had given her a taste for ante-bellum opulence, which translated into great admiration for the esteemed and affluent Ms Walsh-and strolled off with a bounce in her step. Molly hid a smile as she watched her go, wondering if Colleen had clued in to all the nuances of her casual conversations with the suave philanthropist whenever she stopped by Molly’s office.
A naive Southern Belle she ain’t, Molly though, but downright blind in some ways. Ruth’s flirtatious innuendoes with Colleen were utterly harmless, but there was enough longing in Ruth’s hidden stares to convince Molly that there was a deeper subtext to them.
Funny. Molly had dined a number of times with Ruth-late night, candlelit affairs which had become their usual way to celebrate a new acquisition for the Walsh private collection. Never so much as a wink, let alone a pass... it was enough for Molly to wonder if hitting the gym three times a week to keep her figure was worth it.
She caught herself and chuckled. Jealous, are we? What would Harold think?
She fired up her desktop and sent her on/off boyfriend a voice mail, before fetching some papers from her attaché case. Colleen would be in until nine o’clock tonight, which left her more than enough time to file some additional paperwork for Ruth.
With any luck, Harold would be up for a late night drink afterwards.
The statuette could stay in the museum safe until the morning.
2.
The girls working the evening shift ordered Chinese for dinner. Colleen peeked into Molly’s office and asked if she was interested in chipping in. She repeated the question twice before her boss snapped out of her daze to nod in the affirmative.
She settled back into her chair the moment Colleen ran off, forgetting the interruption as she scrolled through a list of digitized cuneiform tablets displayed on her screen. Thick reference volumes on Sumerian writing and theology were piled across her desk, dozens of pages marked off with tiny post-it notes.
She had to stop reading after a while. She rubbed her eyes, feeling the fatigue catching up at last. She did her best to ignore it, convinced she was close to an answer.
What began as an inquiry of secondary importance had turned into a sudden obsession. The mystery of the statuette’s true role and significance had bothered her on some level... ever since the perturbing encounter back in London, in fact. She remembered the chill coursing through her as she faced the crazed stare of the elderly gentleman resting a frail hand on her shoulder, his struggle with words born out of naked, abject fear.
Khashagh... Khashagh must not be awakened... you are dealing with forces that you cannot comprehend...
Khashagh. The reference had been obscure, enough for her not to recognize it at all. She’d been unnerved regardless, trying to make sense of what he’d said even as security guards from the auction house escorted the man out. All experts she’d talked to had assured her that this ‘Khashagh’ nonsense was the assumptions of a few amateurs offered up without a shred of credible evidence; since the archeological record was silent on the matter of underground cults devoted to the worship of Dark Goddesses, Molly had been inclined to agree.
Jet-lag had a way of changing of one’s mind, it seemed.
She’d logged on to a few databases to dig up a reference or two, something of interest she could hand over to Ruth along with the paperwork. The search had provided her with a few other avenues, and before long she’d been engrossed in the hunt for clues. Archeologists-a dogmatic breed if she ever there was one-had a way of ignoring everything that did not fit perfectly into their own personal world view, and although most of the scientific community shared the opinion of the people she’d spoken to, a number of others were quite convincing in their unconventional interpretation of key finds.
It wasn’t a very cohesive group to be sure, bickering over specifics with the same energy they expended in denying the accepted views of the community at large. Some of the papers Molly had uncovered argued a radical offshoot of mainstream Ninhursag-ki worship, born out of a need to further feminize certain aspects of Sumerian myth. Others went as far as to suggest the independent nature of the Khashagh cult, claiming the existence of a highly ritualized tradition that included a form of ceremonial resignation.
Molly sighed and turned her weary eyes to the statuette on her desk.
Makes an odd kind of sense, she figured. The article spoke of an egalitarian thread woven within the cult. Abnegation of all other traditions would be the natural response to an established religion, and there was a sense of the divine serving the mortal community within Khashagh worship.
The kneeling figure before her was not merely the representation of divine will and power... it also embodied the notion of mortal expectations.
Mmm... a kneeling Goddess at your beck and call. That must be nice.
Molly sat still. She felt a light buzz and turned her eyes at the statue almost immediately. The weight of fatigue seemed to vanish, forgotten along with her current train of thought. The artifact stood before her in silent glory; for days she had studied it as a scholar would, her critical eye recognizing it as a masterpiece without daring to admire its stark beauty, perhaps afraid that an emotional appreciation might cloud her judgment. For the first time her gaze fell upon it in silent fascination; she left the shackles of scientific exactitude behind for a moment, dazzled at last by the artifact’s splendor and magnificence.
...beck and call?
A brief shudder of worry broke the spell. Molly frowned, slightly alarmed by the thought she’d just had. The gentle euphoria that had washed over her receded, but it left a deep, empty feeling inside her.
She shivered. Confusion endured in her mind. She tried to look away, but her eyes remained trained on the statuette. She didn’t sense any worry, any coercive spell immobilizing her in place; instead, she tried to follow the thought she’d had to its logical conclusion, but it writhed away from her grip.
She grew dimly aware of pain in her fingers and realized was gripping the armrests of her seat tightly. She was leaning over her desk, keeping herself from falling over. Blood pounded in her ears; she was dizzy and out of breath, though she’d been sitting comfortably for hours.
Her legs began to twitch.
Kneeling.
Goddess.
A teasing spark wove its way between Molly’s legs. The strange feeling of arousal took her by surprise, but she welcomed it with a gasp. Before she could stop her hand from moving, it was already slipping down, pressing between her closed legs.
Theory and fact spiraled in Molly’s mind, shaping thoughts that made her drunk with desire. She tried to steady her breath, but she couldn’t quite manage. Elation filled her breast as pieces of the puzzle began to fit together. She giggled at her own silliness, wondering how she could have been so thick-headed. She’d been blind to the raw sensuality of the Goddess’ act of surrender, but now she had gleaned new and sudden meaning from the artifact.
Of course she had. She was a woman after all, wasn’t she? Despite the gulf of time separating her from the long dead priestesses of Khashagh, she still shared a vital link with them. What possible chance would modern archeologists have to uncover them? What kind of understanding could they bring, trapped as they were in their own patriarchal views?
Yes. She was a woman. Aggrieved, perhaps, by generations of senseless traditions which had denied her her true heritage, but blind no longer. Something was happening. She could feel it in her mind. The veil was slowly being pulled from her eyes.
Molly squirmed in her seat. Pleasure danced along her nerves, fizzling through the tip of her fingers and straight into her clit. She grunted and thrust her hips forward, excited by her shameless lack of control. The rush of euphoria brought joy and knowledge, seeping deep inside her mind. Her body shook in excitement as cornerstones of her life experience eroded in mere moments. A bitter taste filled her mouth as memories of her previous relationships took on a darker, more sinister meaning. She gagged at the mere thought of Harold, appalled at the very idea that she had hoped to meet him for drinks. What had possessed her so? What kind of disgusting impulse was she hoping to satisfy? What senseless expectations did she think to nurture?
The turmoil did not last for long. Instinctively, she concentrated on the statuette once again, knowing it it would bring her bliss, love and well-being. Her faith in Khashagh was not misplaced, and her nausea vanished at once. The relief was tremendous, her mind empty and clear, free of distress, the darkness in her mind exposed to the light of this Ancient Goddess.
An astonishing change was taking place, but Molly couldn’t resist... didn’t want to resist.
It quickened with every thought, with every breath she took. She nearly slipped off the chair as spasms of pleasure pulsed through her mind, consuming nearly all awareness, leaving her imbued with vital truths that felt right, so perfectly right.
She rubbed her knees together, feeling the heat, the wetness seeping between her legs, elation cresting like a wave as she experienced the same lust which had consumed willing disciples so long ago.
Rays of light began to filter in all directions, ethereal threads rising forth, circling all around in a spectacle of ghostly splendor. Molly could only gape in wonder, dazzled by the lofty, swinging patterns. The artifact, now bathed in a throbbing aura, eclipsed the tiny desklamp.
Her heart thundered. A miracle was taking place.
Warm tears fell down Molly’s cheeks, shuddering under the onslaught of emotion, thankful beyond words, beyond her ability to express heartfelt gratitude. She flinched, nearly blinded as the artifact radiated hues of burning gold. It flared like a desert sun, throwing sharp, distinct shadows on the walls all around.
Pain filled her eyes as she stared on, like molten fire pouring inside her irises, but it was nothing compared to the sweeping ecstasy that followed when she obeyed an irresistible impulse to slip her quivering hand underneath the waistband of her slacks and panties.
She teased the outer lips of her pussy, every flick, every caress imbued with ritualistic passion. Aching desire was tempered with an even deeper need for obedience. A sense of divine inspiration guided her hand now, instilling purpose even as the ever-increasing pleasure flared inside her. Her body was a mere vessel; her will was the true gift, the one thing that would please Khashagh and lead her to salvation.
Molly searched out her clit, thumbing it slowly, making soft cries as her other fingers slipped deep inside her cleft. Her very sanity strained under the intense need to give in, overwhelmed, crumbling as she sought to quench her mind from everything but the pure joy of serving her Goddess.
A searing wind blew across her skin, like a wave of heat from a thick bushfire. The sizzling sensation intensified, and she was dimly aware of a burning stench filling the air. She was crying out now, her ears deaf to all but the sacred name of her Goddess, shouted over and over from her quivering lips. Her body jerked as she tipped over the edge, swallowed up by the light, drowning in boundless rapture, vanquishing the woman she been and leaving a vessel of perfect obedience in its place.
White-hot flames surged spontaneously all around her, rising up in a fierce blaze, dancing all over her. Fire-tongues lapped up at her legs and torso, torching the soft fabrics and materials she wore, leaving her pale, glowing skin intact. In mere seconds, her expensive clothes were wholly incinerated; scorched remnants feathered down in smoking embers to the floor, piling around the blackened imprints of her naked feet.
She rose from her charred seat, standing tall and still in divine majesty. Her hair, black as ash, fell freely around her shoulders.
She turned her glowing eyes to the office door, blank and featureless pools of smooth, metallic gold without discernible intent or meaning. Nothing in her alien expression suggested a hint of humanity had survived the frighteningly swift transformation.
Her inscrutable stare endured for a long moment, until it was joined by a smile of dark, lustful purpose.