Children of Chaos

'Did Horoldson hurt you much?'

'Him? Naw, he's one of those men who like to think they're hard and cruel. If I cry and squirm that excites them.'

'You know him well?' Benard asked glumly.

'A few times. He thinks he's good, but he's very clumsy and obvious. Here we are!'

They had arrived at a flight of steps, the entrance to a large building clad in painted tiles. Wall lamps cast a flickering light on a welcoming image, one Benard both knew and detested, a life-size nude combining female breasts and vulva with male beard and phallus. That was Eriander, androgynous divinity of coitus and madness, and the ugliest image Benard could imagine, an offense against all laws of beauty.

He stopped dead. 'No! I can't go in there, Hiddi!' An initiate of the Hands of Anziel could not worship Eriander in Her temple.

Hiddi laughed as if she'd met such scruples before and knew exactly what to do about them. 'Darling, you're sweating like a stallion. What's that bulge, Benard, mm?' Her wrap dropped around her ankles, leaving her wearing sandals and a quizzical expression.

There should have been smoke rising from Benard's smock, but his thumping animal lust suddenly lost out to another form of excitement. In the soft lamplight she was as close to feminine perfection as he could recall ever seeing, a typical Vigaelian with cream-pale skin and almost invisible golden fuzz at groin and armpits; her limbs were straight and slender, belly barely curved, hips wide but well shaped, breasts high and firm. Her hair was a foam of golden curls. How much of that was real and how much illusion, a gift granted by her goddess?

'You come along with me, Benard!' She held out a hand to lead him, and the whole world seemed to tilt toward her.

The beer fog had lifted. He hardly heard her. 'No!' he muttered. 'I cannot. Not in there.'

'Is chastity your corban?' She smiled in disbelief.

'No, but I can't... can't go in there.'

'Married? Most men can pee across that ditch.'

'Not married.'

'But you want me very much. Very much! And I want you! Don't you ever hammer on something softer than nasty old rock sometimes?'

'Turn around.'

Amused, Hiddi undulated in a slow turn. There was not a mole or freckle on her anywhere. She was very young and quite beautiful enough to have suitors by the score. The Nymphs of Eriander claimed to be a holy mystery and were often spoken of as dangerous. Benard suspected they were merely a prostitutes' guild, with no more ability to turn men into slobbering idiots than all women had. He had never availed himself of their services—not because he feared their supposed god-given powers to enslave, but because he found other women quite alluring enough and frequently available.

'Stand up there,' he said, and Hiddi obediently went up two steps. 'Don't wiggle. Put that hand on your hip, hold the other one like this. Tip your head.' He gazed in rapture at the miraculous breasts, the pink softness around the nipples.

'Benard! Most men do more than look. Much more. You're not going to kiss me again?' She fluttered kohl- darkened lashes at him.

'No,' he said hoarsely. 'I must not. But listen. I am carving statues of the Bright Ones for the Pantheon. It is my first big hire, a very big one ... I needed a model for holy Anziel Herself, my lady of beauty. She sent me to you. I will use you as the model and carve a statue that looks just like you.'

Hiddi frowned, suspecting mockery. 'Doing what?' She must meet many strange men in her trade, but perhaps none stranger than this.

'Just standing. I will preserve your beauty in marble forever. Your great-grandchildren will see your likeness and marvel at how beautiful you were.'

With a sudden switch to laughter, she ran down the steps and tried to embrace him. 'Do that tomorrow! Tonight is for fun!' She struggled to kiss him. 'You talk pretty, Benard! Show me what you can do! I want you! I want you to enjoy me.'

He pushed her away and held her at arm's length. 'Your goddess will not mind you being a model, will She?'

Hiddi pouted. Unable to reach anything else, she began stroking his arms again, and even that sent tremors of excitement through him. 'Why should He mind? He gives joy to everyone.'

'Then come and see me in daylight. I live... work... in a shed in the yard behind the Pantheon. I will make a few models. In clay. I need to see you in daylight, but mostly I work from memory.' He was never going to forget her as she was now.

'But I owe you—'

'Nothing. Thank you, Hiddi. Now I have seen the perfect woman, which is reward enough. Twelve blessings on you.'

'You spurn me? You treat me like trash!'

She sounded close to tears. To a careful eye, though, she did not quite look it. His resolution wavered. Then the careful eye came to his rescue.

'No bruises! None anywhere? You're not hurt!' No red fingermarks where Cutrath had gripped her arm; no signs where she had been squeezed or pinched or slapped. 'So it's true what they say? You did use a blessing on him! And on me!' He pushed her away so hard that she staggered.

'True what who say?' She came for him again and he struck down her hands in sudden anger.