A Tale of Four Mistresses Pt. 01: Kenna

Wandering through the stark halls of her ancestral castle, Kenna felt the silken robes of her station sliding against her bare skin. She felt the familiar pang of worried anticipation for the task she was required to do, a slithering anxiety niggling within her consciousness. Barely eighteen years of age, the Matriarch of her house had transitioned into the next world. The Grandmother of the House of Ravens had passed into the Abyss.

Coming to a large set of double doors, Kenna stopped and shut her eyes tightly against what she knew she would find beyond the threshold. The robes shifted again as she inhaled deeply, brushing against the taught breasts that threatened to escape their silken confines. Exhaling the stale air, she gently pushed the barrier that separated her from her fate and stepped through to the courtyard.

Surveying the scene through her darkly shaded periwinkle eyes, she caught sight of the members of her court. Priests in dark linens lined the outskirts of the funeral procession, the center of which was the pyre that held The Matriarch's humanly remains. Her eyes wandered aimlessly, taking in the servants, warriors, and nobles in attendance. All were standing aloof and holding the customary silence of respect due to one of her station.

With effort, Kenna created the illusion of having control of her emotions as many years of training dictated she do in moments such as these. She displayed nothing outwardly that would betray the roiling tempest that threatened to consume her. The sound of her slippers hitting the cobble rang through the silence as her feet carried her unbidden to the head of the funeral pyre. Tipping her head backwards, her beaded ceremonial headdress made a soft tinkling sound as the strands fell against her face. She stared into the great blue beyond. "Goodbye, Grandmother." her naturally pouting lips breathed upwards in the old tongue. "May your journey be swift into the next realm."

Reaching for the torch that was held by the priest in charge of the ceremonial flame, she touched it to the stacked wood and watched as the pyre began to light up. She turned, straightening her shoulders and wrestled with herself not to look back at the fires consuming the dry timber. To do so would call The Matriarchs spirit back from her journey, and bring destruction upon her House.

"What is gone has forever been taken. What is ahead is yet to be seen." a priest intoned to the crowd, deep base voice a shock against the silence of the people. "We stand here, naked, in this moment a product of the Abyss, seers of the Ravens, House of Wings." Kenna took little notice of the words, simply allowing them to wash over her and mingle with her grief.

Stepping away from the fire now consuming the dry timber, she began to sing.

*********************

"Fifteen days is too short of a time to do her justice!"

Kenna fumed in her chambers, voice tight with burning rage as she confronted her mother. Her shocking blue eyes flashed as she whirled, ebony hair spraying out around her lithely naked body. Shanna, her handmaiden, recoiled from the force of her mistresses emotion. Kenna's temper was legendary, even among the servants. The flaxen haired girl had never been known for her courage, but her loyalty to the house was unquestioned.

From across the room, Kenna's mother shot her a long suffering look. Lady Merith was a slight woman, not great of stature and carrying the grace of a dancer even many years beyond her prime. She visibly attempted to summon her patience, squaring on the younger woman. Calmly assuming a matronly voice, she queried her headstrong daughter; "My dear girl, must not the traditions be observed? The solstice awaits in fifteen days time, should you not be prepared to face it?" Merith sighed heavily and slumped, the strain of her mothers death showed heavily in her countenance for only a moment before she straightened to her full height once again. Kenna felt a pang of guilt. "Kenna, my darling girl, to denounce the traditions in these moments would be to unleash chaos upon the realm. It would be the harbinger of despair, giving the people leave to grieve your Grandmothers death for longer than the edicts allow. You are the heir to our legacy, the legacy of women stretching for thousands of years. A proud legacy of Matriarchs long dead, your Grandmother now amongst them. You must live up to your responsibilities to both the people and the traditions, for they are one and the same. You cannot not allow the realm to fall into chaos."

Kenna closed her eyes in frustration, digging her sharp nails into her palms in an effort to contain her emotions. She visibly wavered on her feet, smooth legs shifting beneath her weight, struggling to maintain the same calm that her mother had mastered in her long years as Priestess. A myriad of emotions sought to consume her once again, washing up from her midsection to enflame her in their tempest. Her lips thinned in her olive face, then released into her natural pout. She forced her fingers to relax their grip, and allowed them to drop to her sides where they rested against the curve of her hips.

"So be it. The Matriarch has spoken." She murmured through her full lips. It would have to do, for it was all she was capable of in that moment. Lady Merith nodded, a small smile curving her mouth upward.

A sharp rap sounded against the entrance to her chambers. The thick oaken doors scraped against the stone floors of the outer hall as a servant answered to admit the House of Raven's skin-artist into the room. The doors of the Priestesses chambers were designed not to be silent, in case of an assassination attempt against the family. She shuddered gently, knowing that soon she would hold the traditional station that these rooms implied. Fifteen days. There was only fifteen days until the weight of her responsibility came crushing down upon her, trapping her within this station and forever tying her to the fate she was unable to escape since birth.

Her mother had spent the last eighteen years cultivating and guiding her, preparing the Lady Kenna McErmont for the inevitable moment in which she would step up into the role of the Priestess. Eighteen years, and with sudden and inescapable certainty only fifteen days stood between the culmination of those teachings and the young woman who so yearned for freedom. Those fifteen days loomed above the horizon for Kenna like a storm cloud, threatening perfect destruction of her fragile dreams. Fifteen days until the moment that everything changed.

The house skin-artist stood patiently, gazing with eyes averted from the naked Priestess-in-Waiting while he waited to be admitted into the inner chamber. Today was her marking day, her moment of essential branding that would mark her as a possession of the realm. The tattoo she bore from today until the end of days wold mark her station, irrevocably, upon her olive skin. Kenna glanced down at the still cowering handmaiden and gestured for her to continue with her duties. Hesitantly, the servant reached up for the glass bottle that contained the sacred oils used to rub into the Priestesses skin. It would soften the pain of the tattooing, containing a healing concoction that kept the skin moist. Kenna heaved a hefty breath, watching as Shanna worked to make her body glisten in the flickering lights of the candles.

"You may come in", the voice of her mother broke into her reverie. A quick glance up garnered her a view of the skin-artist ascending into her chambers, surrounded by five of the ladies of the court. No man was allowed within those walls without an escort of ladies to accompany him, and the skin-artist was no exception. Her dignity of station dictated that no man could pursue her until after the ceremony.

Fifteen days.

As Shanna finished, Kenna again closed her eyes, desperate to find a way to block out the moments of pain she was about to endure. The skin artist spread out his tools on the table next to the chaise lounge that had been laid out for his use. Kenna walked over to it and situated herself along the soft lounger, curling up on her right side to give him access to her low back and left hip. With an audible pop, the skin-artist removed the lid to the container carrying the thick ink that was to be used for the tattoo. Kenna flinched, eyes widening and breath coming with increasing speed as she worked to contain the panic that tried to consume her. Seeing her wild eyed look, a gentle expression crossed his face. "The oil will help, M'Lady, with the pain. That pain... it's only temporary. This too shall pass." he murmured in soothing tones, as if trying to console an abused horse.

Kenna nodded. "We do what we must, Master Artist. Always what we must."

He picked up his knife, turning to her mother, who still stood at the bedside. "We must begin, Blessed Mother" he sighed as if this were a greater inconvenience to him than anyone else involved. Kenna closed her eyes, laying her head down on the pillow, and waited for pain.

*********************

Stepping timidly through the dank passage, Kenna's acute hearing pinpointed individual drops of condensation dropping from the cave walls. Burning sconces sent shivering, deformed shadows to play and dance in the crevices of the stone. The summer night air shimmered with heat even in the damp of the caves. Her robes stuck to her skin, damp perspiration beading along her face and body and plastering the silken cloth to her. Sucking in the thick air, she listened to the pattering of her slippered feet carrying her to the ceremony grounds. Her heart pounded, and she felt the deep thud of the drums matching its beat before she could see into the chamber of ceremonies.

Her ceremonial headdress tinkled as she pulled back the black silk hood, beads shimmering in the light of the wall sconces and casting small dancing orbs along her seductive face. Her raven hair divided over both shoulders, dripping down the front of her robes to a cascade that reached her hips.

Walking down the aisle formed of the denizens of her sect, Kenna stepped up to the natural granite rise that acted as a stage at the back of the cavern. She turned toward the conglomeration of humans from all levels of society who stood before her; her people of the realm. Spreading her arms wide, she worked to maintain a serene countenance, knowing that all who were in attendance were watching her actions in this moment and gauging her worthiness to ascend to power. Two servants in gauzy white robes scurried to either side of her, silently removing her cloth draping with their deft fingers. Standing naked save her oils and the sacred headdress of the Priestess, the onlookers and lesser priests began to chant in the old tongue, the thick words washed over her body to the beat of that sacred drum which still danced within her blood. The servants in charge of her robes withdrew, carrying with them the only barrier she had against the onslaught of her responsibilities.

The Matriarch stepped forward from the back of the stone stage, proffering a golden chalice of sweet smelling herbal wine to Kenna. As she took it, Kenna found herself reflecting on minute details; the grace of her mothers hands when she held objects, the smell of incense burning in the pots that lined either side of the stage, the weight of the beaded jewels that adorned her head. Her mind zeroed in and clung desperately to anything save the moments which lay ahead of her. Kenna focused on not catching her mother's eyes as the anxiety sang to the sultry beat of the drum; she knew that to do so would be to shame her house. Her teachings had been thorough, especially on these points.

"The Goddess of Light and Life surrounds us, and brings to us today a Daughter!" Merith's words rang sharply from so small a frame, reverberating against he stone walls of the cavern and echoing amidst the chanting voices of the sect. The old tongue flourished and then abruptly stopped, a peregrination of voices. Kenna raised the chalice to her lips, drinking deeply of the sweet nectar within. It brought a warm blush to her cheeks.

"The God of Fertility consumes, and brings to us today a Virgin!" Merith's voice rang out once more amidst the silence and wandered aimlessly among the rocks and the stone-like people who stood amidst them. Kenna again drew from the chalice, the herbal wines warmth spreading deeper into her belly and providing a comely blush to her skin. The heat crept from her midsection to her outer extremities; her vision shifted slightly. A small change in the dancing colors of the candlelight? she wondered. A more honed awareness of the details of the room, the small crevices in the walls, the fine threads of the priests robes. Everything came in sharp relief as the herbs began to do their work within her. Kenna tempered her breathing, once again feeling the anxiety of unknown circumstance bearing before her, and fought to steel herself against it.

"The Great God and Goddess of Love provides, and brings to us today and all days a Mother!" The final intonation rang true to the last, and the candles flickered with the force of those words. Kenna drained the cup, tasting for the last time the sweet liquid that dripped warmth into her marrow and her womb. Colors moved amongst the people; shapes indescribable to the naked eye danced with marvelous abandon. She blinked, attempting to clear the visions from her eyes. Her eyelids drooped, heavy though she did not feel sleepy. A small smile slipped to her lips as the pagan warriors and priests began their deep chant again. The old tongue sang inside of her.

Seven women danced up the aisle, wearing nothing but bells fashioned to cloth belts around their hips and in their long hair. Each carried a ceremonial athame pressed to her breast by her right hand. The enchanting dancers swayed their hips to the beat of the drum, undulating in erotic promise. Their skin shone in the light, having been anointed with the same oil that covered Kenna's lithe body.

The heat from the herbal wine spread to Kennas groin, igniting a liquid fire within her nether region which she had never before experienced. Her spirit shifted, breaking free of the confines of her body and joined the dancing maids in their sultry, promiscuous dance. The world around her wavered again, seeming to warp as if seen through waves of heat that was born within her. The chanting increased in tempo and the dancers followed suit, a furious orgy of carnal lust born in every movement. Hips undulating and grinding mercilessly, fingertips tracing each others oiled skin. Kenna panted slightly, as if physically exerting herself within the dance, though she stood rooted to that spot on the stage. Moisture dripped down her legs, unnoticed.

Not unnoticed by her were the three large men sauntering down the aisle. They were naked, wearing nothing but the glistening light of the cavern on their damp skin, each had his long hair in the customary braids to either side of his face. Their hair fell over thick rippling muscles in their chest.

The first stood easily half again as tall as Kenna, with a barrel chest that heaved with his hefty breaths. A chiseled face stared stony-eyed from behind the braids, watching with disinterest the seven heaving women and the Priestess who stood in wait. He was a giant of a man, standing with a dully bored expression on his face, broad shouldered and thick rippling of muscles creating a most intimidating countenance. He appeared to be a hard man who had known a hard life with little gentility. The man who followed was not so large in stature, but similarly roped with muscle and held an air about him as if he was ready to spring, much as a horse who is coiled and ready to launch into a jump. The stallions hair fell in golden braids, reaching nearly to his waist over his rippling abdominal muscles. Kenna allowed herself a brief glance at his whole body, and nearly gasped in shock at the thick member hanging between each of their legs.

The third stood quietly behind the first two, an average sized man with hair of chestnut, his braids only reaching mid-chest. He carried a bearing of immeasurable self assurance as if knowing that the world was his for the taking; he had an arrogant air about him. He eyed the Priestess openly, taking in her olive skin and naturally seductive stance, his smirk suggesting he has put her on a scale and found her wanting. Kenna bristled at the impertinence of the man, suddenly unmindful of the crowd who still watched in anticipation and judgment. Locking eyes with the disrespectful servant, her chin rose in a dominant stance. The mans eyes dropped in assumed deference to her station, though she caught the flash of humor in them before he did so.

As they reached the stage, each dropped simultaneously to prostrate themselves before the alter, head to the floor and arms splayed wide. The dancers halted their movements, dividing into groups of two, one on either side of each man. The head of their order deferred in service to the Matriarch alone, and headed to stand beside her. Unable to turn her eyes away, Kenna watched in awe as a silver goblet was handed to each of the dancers in service to the men. As they lay face down in front of the alter the dancing women carved bloody symbols of ownership into their arms and collected the blood that spilled. These men were gifts to the Priestess who they would wear scars depicting the sign of her house. With a critically dispassionate eye, Kenna surveyed the work and found it lacking the talent of the skin-artist who adorned her with the flying ravens that now healed across her low back and hip. These men would not carry the ink of her station. They were gifts of her office, as a Priestess or Matriarch was never to marry. Instead she takes for herself three gifts of men to service her carnal desires and provide her with children to continue her line. The next Priestess will be chosen amongst those children to take on the succession at the age of eighteen. She will be raised with the teachings of pagan arts, as Kenna herself was.

Kenna gauged the men before her, feeling a tight knot of anticipation gripping her heart. One of these men, if not all, would provide the seed of her womb in the years she had ahead of her. One of those children would succeed her at the age of eighteen, and she would assume the position of Matriarch as her own mother transitioned into the next realm by her own hand.

Servants moved silently in their gauzy robes behind the Priestess and Matriarch, tending to a large fire and placing a small cauldron over the flames. In fascination, Kenna watched as the blood that was collected was given to the dancer in service to the Matriarch to be poured into the heavy cauldron. The Matriarch busied herself with placing herbs into the concoction, stirring it gently and mixing it with wine. The Blessed Mother chanted in tune with the sect, occasionally speaking the words of binding into the bubbling pot. As the first three dancers finished their grizzly task of blood-letting, they surrounded the Priestess and bid her to lay upon a bed of flowers and herbs that had been fashioned for the ceremony.

Murmuring words gently into her skin, the first of then knelt beside Kenna and placed a reverent kiss upon the healing tattoo of ravens that adorned her left hip. As she stood, the second and third followed suit in an act of fealty to the Priestess and the sect.

Smiling down upon her, the first dancer knelt against her midsection and leaned over to gaze deeply into her eyes. She murmured indiscernibly amidst the chanting, stroking Kennas soft hair. The lass was flaxen haired, Kenna noted, much as her own servant Shanna was, and she found herself gazing back with curiosity as her face descended slowly upon her. Lips brushed hers in the softest of nuzzles, an almost imperceptible kiss. Kenna inhaled sharply, unsure of her own response. The girl smiled a slow and luxurious smile that lit up her sky blue eyes and took Kennas chin in hand, softly turning her face to the side in order to afford her access to Kennas long, graceful neck. She planted soft kisses and nibbles along the length of her throat as the second dancers lips descended upon hers in a crashing passion.