Tale of a Nocturnal Sojourn- Chapter 2

Predicament of a Demi-God

Under the cold countenance of the lord of hell,
lurks the infernal blood of the passionate devil.

He reigned supreme over the infinite riches of the underworld. His was the magnificent empire of magical gems and august stones. It was an endless crypt of all the riches that delude the eye, but beckon man from the abysmal depths of the earth; of treasures that are fiercely sought and for which wars are waged and fought.

He was the master of the powerful gems that conjoined the dark underworld to the intriguing paths of the celestial stars. His stones had mystic powers over every possible scheme that the mind could contrive and every feeling that the heart could conjure. But woe! The lord himself had not the luxury of yielding to the impulses of emotion. A tired god, he battled every moment. Blood of the demon, lurking deep under his own skin, threatened to bludgeon his god-like aloofness into an unrestrained run of passion. However, in the end, the superior god would always bridle the flailing demon into tame obedience.

But visions of those distant times, when the fragile water nymph had lain under him, continued to haunt his stony resolve. He spent many sleepless hours, stirring upon his opulent bed of exquisitely carved black opal. Opal, the stone of cupid, the kind that was found in the wild southern fringes of the earth; it would help him to beget an heir for the diamond throne, so the maven had assured. The luxurious bedclothes of smooth satin only heightened his agony, for it reminisced him of the silken softness of that pearly skin which he so pleasured to touch. He had acceded to partake in the ritual of begetting an heir with the same passiveness as that of the flowers that were strewn on the sacred altar, as offerings to the Gods. The maven had meticulously designed the site and hour of the ritual. Siring the heir of Darkness was an onus that his crown laid on him. But a helpless, passionate inebriation had surged over his will, as the water nymph, the living personification of the divine feminine, was presented to him as the goddess of his fulfillment.

She was his for just once. He had never tasted the sweet mead of a woman’s touch. She hadn’t spoken a word to him. Heaven knew what tongue she spoke, but her mesmerizing eyes had robbed every drop of sanity from his fervently impassioned mind. She had appeared on the altar before which he sat meditating, like an enchanted, magical being. A pearly glow oozed from her skin, a mist of fragrant air enveloped her as she stood of the altar. Naked.

Never had he seen nor imagined of such beauty. Her eyes were cast down as she appeared out of thin air. He looked up at her, spellbound. Her soft, dark lashed eyes rose slowly. And that gaze! He felt faint. And before he could resist the carnal propensities running amok in his veins, the demon in his blood took over. He stood up to his tall stature and lifted the Goddess from her altar. She was like a dream to touch. Gasping at his bold advance, she melted in his arms. Her heart beat wildly against the broad chest of the Lord, her taut limbs betraying her roused urges. The long-lashed eyes remained cast down and a coy smile played on her lips; she knew, the Lord had his crazed eyes riveted on her.

He laid her on the bed of black opal, the one that the maven had recommended for this sacred consummation. It was set under the open sky, amidst the wild shrubs on the palace gardens. In the land of Eternal Darkness, night reigned the skies forever. The air was reeling with the intoxicating fragrance of the Queen of night blooms. A crescent moon hung at the far end of the western sky as the lone witness of the carousal that was to ensue.

The nymph lay trembling, sprawled on the opulent bedclothes, like an exquisite jewel, tucked in the lavish satins, gauze and velvet. Her enchanting aroma spun him out of his teetering senses as did her enticing form invite him to ravage her. The eunuchs appeared out of the dark shadows of the trees around the garden, to pour honey and petals of crimson roses on her body. They vanished back into the darkness as silently as they had appeared.

The golden honey dripped from the curves of her fair body in painfully slow trickles. The crimson petals gathered on the pools of honey, logged into the gentle dimples of her voluptuous flesh. She was irresistible! He could not have enough of her as he descended on her lithe body. The craving in his guts- insatible!

She said nothing, but moaned sensuously at the assertion of his virile manhood. He was breathless. Her burning sighs heightened his passions to frenzy as he thrust himself on her. It felt as though he was waging a war against his own will. Passion is not something a god gives in to. But his hazed mind could think of nothing but the tearing desire to conquer her. Her supple body heaved under his vigorous incursions and bent over like a bow as they erupted in ecstasy over and over again. Never had his body spun out of restraint like this. Passion ruled supreme. She was a Goddess indeed!

Often would he stroll past her chamber for a stolen glimpse of her enticing form. A lingering whiff of her fragrant hair persisted in the air around the chamber. He took deep breaths of the fragrance as though they gave him life. He remained distracted and distanced from all else. Haunting strains of her silver lute plucked at the taut strings of his heart and left him more unfulfilled each time she crooned the enchanted song of her river. A surge of hot blood scalded his heart when the maven touched her to ascertain her well being as his own seed grew within her womb. The nine months of her confinement in his secret royal retreat had indeed presented some of the most cherished moments of his desolate life. But now they returned to torment him with as much anguish as they had once delighted his heart.

He had secretly devised many cures for his nagging affliction. Ever since he tore her away from himself, he had availed all devises that held a promise to relieve him of her haunting thoughts. Braziers laced heavily with sage and cinnamon dust burnt around the palace, for his troubled soul to regain the spiritual peace and wisdom that was lost over her. The royal drinks were spiked with chamomile and valerian in order for his lordship to receive peaceful slumber; undisturbed by lustful dreams of her bewitching presence. He had abandoned his amour-inducing bed of black opal for another, carved out of mystic amethyst of the oriental land. The great powers of the august stone were sought to heal him of the intoxication of her nubile charms. The black opal-induced love had served its purpose. The heiress was here. It was thus time for the nymph to return to her river and for him to recede into his austere life of stolid soleness, abandoning all the emotions that she had stirred in his stern heart.

The lord of Darkness had perhaps secretly rejoiced the advent of the heiress. An overwhelming mirth did strain to gush over his muted emotions, but was quickly subdued into a stern passiveness within the closed doors of his desolate heart.

She had shaken him into something that came close to a longing. The heiress frightened him. It was perhaps just as well that he remained unfeeling and the heiress learnt to remain sole. He had long known that loneliness never became a habit. The loner of a thousand years is just as lonely the next day. It was an endless agony, which had to be endured each day in the different manners it chose to present itself. It would be a small favour indeed, if the dear little soul could be saved the pain, he himself knew so well.