Chapter 3

Later that evening, under the quiet light of a lamp, barefoot, and in her pajamas, the Virgin wrote in her journal with a pink pompom pen.

"Dear diary,

Hello again! Today has been a good but very busy day- I went to classes this morning only to find out that the homework for my French film class is due next week, not two weeks! I love this class, but I swear, I never seem to have enough time to watch all of the required films- and who wants to cramwatch Le Corbeau at 1am? Not this girl...

After class, I had lunch with Amelia- you know, Matt's girlfriend, the one with the red hair? She told me that James had something planned for my 23rd birthday next month. I wonder what it could be?! I love that he does that kind of stuff for me- remember last month, he got me flowers and gave them to me at work? He is such a caring and considerate guy. I really do love him a whole lot."

She paused a moment and set the pen down, took a bite of her low fat vanilla frozen yogurt, and readjusted the volume of her mp3. And then, continuing,

"Work today was ok, I guess- McKenzie told me that Mr. Dunkirk was going to retire soon, and that just opened up a whole bunch of office politics. And, of course, I will be the first to admit that I caved and participated in said office gossip- not my proudest moment to be sure, but I'm getting better. 

The highlight of my night, though, was my date with James. He was the sweetest man ever! He picked me up outside my place (oh, I wore my new skirt tonight for the date- I gotta say, I was lookin' pretty dang sexy in my skirt and sandals! And yes i know that sandals aren't the best for cold weather but it wasn't snowing, and I'm a tough girl), and we drove up the canyon to look at the lights they put up on the big houses. We got sandwiches and later hot chocolate as we walked around the Christmas Village. We sat on the bench and cuddled- it was perfect. This is what love feels like!

When he walked me to my apartment door, he asked if he could come in, to have sex. I told him no, for the umpteenth time- I want to save it for marriage. Of course, that turned into a philosophical discussion, again!!!! He asked if I loved him and I said yes of course, we've been dating for about half a year now. He then asked if I knew that I was saving myself for 'the one' then why didn't i open myself to him. I told him that it was complicated, that yes i do love him but it was a complicated mess of my beliefs and my promise to my mom. He told me he respected that but he wanted to show his love completely to me. I mean, that makes sense, but he's got to respect my boundaries- which, to his credit, he does. 

Don't get me wrong, I would love to go all the way with him, but i just want to feel ready, you know? And that just doesn't feel right until I'm married, to him or someone otherwise. Am I a bad person for this?" 

The Virgin set down the pen and took the last few bites of her froyo. She took the bowl back to her kitchen, rinsed it out, and set it to dry, halfheartedly convincing herself she'd put it away tomorrow.

She then drank a glass of water, brushed her teeth, had another glass of water, went to the bathroom, then came back to her journal.

"But all in all, it was a good day. Except, I add with some trepidation, I maintained my 163 pounds this week. >:( I swear, I'm trying to hard to lose my tummy! Ugh!

Good night!"

And then, as an afterthought, 

"Ps: I saw a weird looking bug today in the bathroom. I should talk to the super about bug spraying when I talk to him about the socket. Seriously, that's the 4th time it burnt out this month!"

Satisfied with her entry, the Virgin closed her diary, yawned a great yawn, and slipped under the many warm blankets on feather bed. She fiddled with her phone for a second, setting the alarm and finding a suitable soundtrack to sleep to. She decided on a mix of finger style acoustic guitar and a warbling Celtic woman. 

She then turned out the lamp light and, thoughts of her James running through her mind, fell asleep.

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That same night, an ecstasy of pleasure and song had fallen over the tribe. Sigdar was being praised as a hero for finding the proof that the Virgin they had sought after, the black-haired Titan, that had murdered poor Ureat and Zdua, was a pure and choice vessel for their ritual. She would be sacrificed, the priestess declared, entranced by the hallucinogenics she had taken earlier, her eyes glazed over. 

"She communeth with our gods!" They cried, some under the influence of those same hallucinogens. Some couples, in their religion, took to mating right there on the ground. Thrusting and grinding to the harps and psalters, fucking their brains out, screaming in their pleasure.  

"The time hath come," the priestess crooned, lowering from the air, put there by her sacrament, "to make mine children whole once more. Thy gods hath spoken, mine children, to the hurt and joy of mine own heart, that this sacrament, the Virgin's ruin and death, wilt be mine last, for I am old." Some cries. Mostly just chanting and fucking, came the reply. "But our sacrifice is not without understanding," she continued, licking her dry lips, "for behold, we art in want for an similitude."

The crowd grew duller, especially the younger women. Some of the men made motion to pull their women on the ground, whipping out their cocks and starting to mate with them, out of sight, to shield them from what was next.

"Who then, among ye, shalt be the one to make the pre-sacrament? Who will be sacrificed to yon Virgin goddess?"

Silence, except for the thrusting. No one really took the time to look around or even look at the priestess, who would make the selection. It wasn't really a volunteering gig.

Even Sigdaw, now under a man who was much older than her, but whose short and stubby penis still could hold a point, fell silent. Finally, one woman, who, in a haste to not be selected, neglected to slow her breathing, could be heard above the crowd. 

The priestess looked at her, and then pointed.

"Thou!"

All around the young woman, secretly delighted, turned to face her. Her eyes, pretty brown, which complimented her blonde hair, widened in panic. As the crowd around her started to chant and lift her into the air, she started to weep. 

"Behold, she sheddeth tears as one joyous," someone lied. The hands that held her pushed her forward, towards the priestess and the erected altar, an ancient and worn assortment of stones, lain flat as a table. 

Jawm, far off to the side in the shadows made by the fire, looked on in passive disgust. The day's events, most especially with Zdua and his seeing the Virgin, had weighed on his mind as of late. He had... Ideas. Ideas that ran contrary to his tribes beliefs. And here he was, about to witness a poor young girl (a childhood friend of his- his second woman that he joined with, in fact) be touched and poked and prodded. He knew that she would be stripped, rubbed in ash, her feet washed, her womanhood thoroughly inspected, and fed the sweetest fruits they had. He also knew that they would give her no sedation, no blessed relief, something to dull her mind to the fact that tomorrow she would be killed and eaten. She would live with that, tonight, tomorrow, all way until death. 

He hated it. He hated it so much, in fact, that he found himself walking towards the altar, righteous indignation filling his heart. Before someone could stop him, he leaped up on to the altar of stone, evoking the gasps of many a folk. The priestess had closed her eyes and pursed her lips tightly. Then woman he once enjoined with looked up at him, almost hopefully- but she dare not cry out.

Jawm took an icy look at his people before him. All he knew, all his world entire. He saw this mother, the man he thought his father, his brother. His grandmother, there with her lips pursed at him. 

"Be hold, mine people- hear thou words I doth speak unto thee. I have not the gift of mine mothers mother to aid mine plight and vision, but be hold, I havest mine thoughts, the ones that give me utterance."

The crowd listened with rapt attention. He continued, satisfied he had an audience.

"Thou sayest that this woman here would give up her spirit and ghost own to the Virgin, and ye sayest that the Virgin shalt give us life and light. Behold, I sayest that thou art wrong. Wherefore, I did see yon Virgin, coming out from the box of glass, the water still on her flesh. Behold, I saw no goddess, I saw no savior- I saw only woman, much like unto the one we art to give to the Virgin and our bellies."

A confused set of looks. A cry of 'blasphemy' from the back. 

To shed this one and the blood of the Virgin is to no more shed the blood of little children. Recall ye the days of our ancestors, they strode like unto giants among the Virgin's kind- they lived without the Ritual, without the blood. I say unto you, mine brethren and sisters, that our ways must need change."

A furious uproar from the crowd. Some screamed very loudly at him, and Sigdar, rock in hand, chucked it hard at Jawm. It smacked him square in the chest, breaking skin. More cries of 'blasphemy' and 'heresy.' 

"Hear mine words, mine people- heed not the prophetess, and change-" Jawm was unceremoniously dragged down from the altar by the angry mob, screaming for his blood. They slapped him (the ceremoniously prescribed method of punishment), many times, and brought him before the priestess, cheeks as red and hot as coals in fire. 

The priestess, his matron, glared down at him hard. A lifetime of disappointment went into that stare- Jawm himself had been groomed as successor for the priesthood, but lacked the religionist fire that his grandmother had. Reluctantly, the priestess allowed him to be a scout.

"Thou knowest, young Jawm," she began, venomously, quiet as death, "that I hath awaited for this present day for many years. I shalt enjoy this."

She smiled, and then, turning to the crowd, said, "this one hath committed a great crime, mine children. Mine brother Jawm, mine own child, hath committed the treason of heresy!"

An outcry of anger, absolute and red. 

"What shall the punishment be that we shalt inflict upon him?" She tempted, casting a sidelong glance at Jawm. "Shall we flayeth him, burn him to his bones, scatter his ashes?

Shalt we throw him from our high places?"

Cries of consent were sporadic. No hard consensus.

"Or," she tried, grinning, "shalt we maketh him a meal for yon Virgin?"

Some laughed, but all cried out in favor. "Eat him," became the common chant. 

The priestess held her hands out, asking, no, demanding for silence. 

"Very well, mine children, very well." She turned to Jawm, walked around him, and spat on his head. "Jawm, son of Jawna, daughter of even I, thy priestess Jarwna, hereby call upon mine gods and sentence thee to death."

A cry, and the priestess spat once more on his head. 

"Thy sins have been weighted, measured, and thou hast been found wanting. With this debt, thou shalt be punished, and thy bones shalt be again in the earth. With this last spit, water of my soul, I sentence thee, in the name of mine Virgin Goddess, even..." The priestess uttered the name of her Goddess, too holy and sanctified to write here, for it is a great sin, "... That thou shalt die, and the manner of they death shall be in the mouth of the Virgin sacrifice!"

She spat, once more, on his head, sealing the pact. The universe echoed.

The priestess laughed aloud, and slapped Jawm on the face. 

"Go then, guards, take this beast away, and give him to the Virgin- we wouldn't want her to go hungry now, would we?"

Jawm was stripped away of his sack, his knife, and his clothes. One burly guard and, to his surprise, Sigdar, came and grabbed him by the arms and dragged him away, off to the walls of the Virgin's apartment, to near the kitchen, where they would wait for an opportunity to dispose of Jawm. 

The priestess watched with relish her grandson being taken away, but soon after turned her thoughts to the young girl they had chosen. She rubbed her skin softly, caressing the flesh. Her fingers soon found their way to the young woman's neck, so soft, white, and precious. So easy to cut, she knew. The young woman looked up at her, tears in her eyes.

"Hush, hush, mine child," the priestess said, not unkindly, "thou shalt soon feel no pain, none at all." She sat next to the girl, still caressing. "Take heart, my dear," and, kissing her on the forehead, "thou shalt be the most magnificent of blood sacrifice to our tribe, and they supple flesh will fill our bellies well."

Satisfied with the young girls renewed crying, the priestess arose and spoke to her people.

"Ready thy victuals, ready thy magic seals, ready thy souls- on the morrow night, we shall be in communion once more!"