Tsydon

The Sun On The Horizon

Four

Eshmun Night

Warnings: adult themes 

Non graphic sexual scenes 

The awakening of Adonis by John William Waterhouse

A beautiful face, framed by curling reddish blonde hair, kind, knowing eyes stared back, humour and affection sparkling in the reflection of the mirror. She looked at him, sleeping, the pleasant buzz of lovemaking wrapping a smile on his still features. It was dark out, very early morning. She returned to the bed, eager to rediscover once again the ecstasy found in his embrace. Standing over him, drinking in the smooth, brown skin, the long limbs that spoke of grace and strength, she remembered again why this species had brought so much pleasure to her kind. Her eyes flashed hotly white as she bent, anticipation curving her lips….

 Daniel came awake with a jolting gasp that had him sitting up and half off the bed before his eyes had opened. Dream and waking wove confusingly together for long moments until he could focus on the room around him, bright daylight shining in through curtains hanging still in the hot morning air. Completely thrown by the images of his dream, he looked around the room, almost convinced that Osiris would be there. He wasn’t. Daniel sucked in a deep breath and hung his head. It was just a dream – past history mingled with a dreadful knowledge that Sarah had to have already been carrying Osiris when he’d arrived at Doctor Jordan’s funeral, fuelled by Ba'al’s banquet the previous night and all those eyes glowing in the dark.

He pushed himself off the bed and staggered into the commode to relieve himself. That time in Chicago, even though it had been months ago, had scarred him like nothing else had since the loss of Sha’re. They’d had one night, he and Sarah, sitting in her apartment talking till the wee hours about old friends, old regrets, and old hopes. He’d told her about his wife, as much as he could – that they’d met in Abydos, Egypt, instead of on Abydos, that they had had a year of bliss cruelly cut short by her abduction and murder. Sarah had been horrified for him, her compassion filling a hole in his heart that had only deepened with the loss of Doctor Jordan. She had taken him into her bed and for a short while he had known some peace. Then, the next morning he’d gone looking for the missing amulet….

He bathed and dressed in the silent presence of Elsh, then sat on the balcony drinking a cocktail of fruit juices and studying the activity of the palace’s inhabitants. From where he sat he could see people on other balconies, moving around the gardens below, a constant stream in and out of the main gates. How many of them were Goa'uld? He didn’t know and the uncertainty unnerved him.  Ba'al’s revealed intention to become the next overlord of the Goa'uld – supposedly with a peace treaty with Earth thrown in – didn’t fill him with confidence either. Wonder what Teal’c would say? The Jaffa will still be in thrall to the Goa'uld and their spawn. Benevolent enslavement was still enslavement. We’ll have to make some kind of codicil in the treaty to ensure their eventual release….

Daniel sighed heavily. He doubted very much that the authorities on Earth would hold off signing for peace just to ensure the freedom of another race. For all the moralistic ideals humans liked to spout about freedom for all, when it came to the crunch, politicians would look out for themselves first, their constituents second and conveniently forgo the rights of others if they were ‘foreign or alien’. That was assuming the peace treaty would ever come to pass. The jury was still out on that one.

A hot breeze brushed his face, laden with salt from the sea and underscored by scents of cool vegetation from inland. He stood and paced to the end of the balcony, some fifty feet in length. It wrapped around the corner of what must be his bath room, giving a spectacular view of the sea and the coastline stretching away into a heat-hazed distance. A pang of homesickness swept over him. Wonder what the guys are doing? Still searching for me, I guess. God, I hope so. He hated to think of the anxiety and confusion and downright inconvenience his disappearance must have caused. Every security code on the base would have been changed, even ones he didn’t need to use. Missions would be rescheduled. There was a stack of cataloguing waiting to be done from three other team’s very productive missions, conducted while SG-1 was having fun on the Nandi homeworld. All three had visited planets heavily steeped in Egyptian-based culture; SG-10 had even found a thriving peaceful population, long abandoned by the Goa'uld pretending to be Tawaret. They’d brought back an astonishing amount of gifts from the people there – statues, scrolls, jewellery and everyday items that required the talents of the SGC’s premier – and only – Egyptologist. To say nothing of translations from a dozen other sites being scouted for future missions, mission reports to follow up, and overseeing the mountain of work being done by his staff of archaeologists, paleoarchaeologists, linguists, etcetera in his department. You’d think Ba'al would have the common curtesy to make an appointment.

In response, he heard his host calling his name from the suite. Steeling himself, Daniel turned his back on the sea and ambled inside.

“Fair morn, Daniel. We trust you slept peacefully?” Ba'al was full of bonhomie, beaming at Daniel as he made himself comfortable on a settee.

Daniel propped himself against the frame of one of the windows, crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow at Ba'al. “Morning,” he said shortly.

“We trust Our banquet gave you great enjoyment, Daniel?”

“Well, it was certainly interesting. Yes.” The aura of unreality from the opulence of the evening and the outlandish company he had found himself in still hung like a fog in his head, coupled with that dream….

Ba'al studied him with amiable calculation. “We are most fortunate to have your company at this particular time, Daniel. Our people are about to partake in the most important observance of the year. They will welcome your participation, as will We.”

“Another ceremony? Ba'al, I’m flattered, really, but can we please just get on with discussing this treaty? I have a life I’d like to get back to.” Daniel felt annoyance rising and clenched his arms a little tighter around his chest. “Surely we can contact some of your intended allies, discuss proposals for disarmament, align territorial boundaries… something? I really don’t see how sitting through another Goa'uld ceremony is going to impress upon me how much you want to be friends with us.”

“Ah, but this celebration is not held for Us, Daniel. It is Our people, Our human people who prepare even now with such anticipation for this evening, this one time in all the year where they honour one who holds great meaning for them. Would you deny them this, merely so you can be closeted with Us in negotiations that will surely bore each of us rigid by lunchtime?”

“Well, no, of course not, but I’ve been on Tsydon three days already and I’m yet to see any sign of this peace treaty you say you’ve brought me here for.”

“We beg your patience, for one more day, Daniel. Our preparations proceed on schedule and soon We will be so mired in the minute details of Our plan, you will wish to be wandering the shady lanes of Our city with no such demands upon you.” Ba'al stood and gestured toward the door. “So, come, let me show you Our private gardens. They truly are a wonder to behold.”

Daniel bit back a snippy comment and let himself be ushered out the door. His guard was there, as usual, falling into step as Ba'al led him down endless hallways and staircases. If this celebration really was a religious one, then he would allow the delay, but if Ba'al continued to stall then he was going to have to start helping himself and find a communication relay, someone he could bribe perhaps to smuggle him into a cargo ship… something to get him home again.

The gardens were as impressive as promised; enclosed by the high walls they ran the length of the palace, rising three levels in solid sandstone tiers.  A waterfall tinkled from the highest level, dropping into pools and streams that irrigated the plantings of fruit trees, flowering shrubs, herb and vegetable patches and riotous beds of flowers that had Daniel sneezing badly until the head gardener had approached with a spray of leaves from another plant and encouraged him to hold it under his nose. The sneezing thankfully abated and Ba'al left him in the gardener – Hiribi’s – care. For an hour or more Hiribi conducted him around the grounds through warm, sun-filled plots and cool, shady nooks, enthusing about each and every carefully tended plant, their medicinal, ornamental or edible qualities. Daniel’s interest was peaked, despite his impatience with Ba'al and he made note of several plants that could definitely be of interest back home.

He returned to his suite with the guard pacing silently behind him. Luncheon had been set for him on his terrace. Daniel hungrily attacked the food, the fresh air and exercise had driven away the seediness that once again lay over him in the morning. Fed and consequently sleepy, he settled in the soft cushioned lounge, instantly slipping off to sleep in the sun’s warmth.

He awoke to find Kosharta bending over him, blotting out the sun which had slid down the sky toward late afternoon.

“Adon, you must bathe and dress now.”

“Oh.” He straightened up, blinking at her. Must have been more tired than I realised.

“It is well you are rested, Adon. The night festival is long.”

“Really? How long is long? And why are you calling me Adon, now?”

“You keep insisting you are not a guest of our Lord, so I merely pander to your vanities and use the sobriquet that the city people are using for you. You are becoming quite a celebrity among the humans. You know how they like to gossip. Between those addle-witted priests chattering about the unfortunate circumstances of your arrival and the festival, they can talk of nothing else.”

“What exactly is this festival, Kosharta?”

She shrugged enigmatically and pulled him to his feet. “One of great meaning for all who dwell in Tsydon and revere those who are our gods. From the setting sun to its return at dawn, we have the opportunity to express that which always resides in our hearts. Our Lord will explain all to you.”

“That’ll be a first,” he muttered. He followed her inside, absently shucking clothes and stepped down into the warm, invigorating depths of the spa. The effervescent mineral waters moved gloriously over his skin - utterly decadent and bringing his senses to tingling awareness.

Eventually Kosharta returned to chivvy him out. Dry from the blowers, he padded back to his room, once again testing her patience with his nakedness. Yet another new outfit awaited him on the bed.

“This evening is very special,” she said as his eyebrows rose. “You must be dressed as befits a… guest of your rank, Adon.”

For a moment Daniel considered refusing to go, but it could be an opportunity to gather intelligence. The longer he stayed in this palace, the less certain he was becoming. Nothing was as he expected it, not the Goa'uld nor the human population. He wanted, wanted to believe Ba'al’s story, but every time he found some evidence that supported what the Goa'uld proposed, some other nagging doubt or conundrum would surface, planting tendrils of doubt in his mind that were taking root…. Still, petulance would gain him nothing. He slid an angry glare at Kosharta and picked up the trousers.

The fabric was gorgeous: a seductive softness somewhere between kid suede and velvet, dyed a deep midnight black. A half-smile twitched his lips as he slid them on. They felt like… well… slipping into chocolate was the immediate analogy. They clung to his body like a second skin, defining muscles and the length of his legs – and everything else, too.

Eyebrows climbing, he picked up the blousy shirt. It floated over his shoulders, settling like a butterfly’s kiss, white transparent gossamer that fell over his hips and thankfully gave some impression of modesty. A black vest, heavily embroidered with what looked to be real silver followed, clasped at the waist. Whisper fine socks and the softest boots he’d ever worn completed the outfit. Daniel slid his glasses on and faced the mirror-wall. He blinked a couple of times and let out a wheezy cough. He looked like someone out of a Disney cartoon – the x-rated version.

“Huh….”

Kosharta nodded a scowl of approval and moved behind him to flatten his hair into submission. “Good. For once, you look respectable.”

Daniel didn’t respond, caught up marvelling at how a simple set of clothes could feel so… wow. Despite the pants’ clinging nature he could barely feel them. Combined with the shirt, he felt as if he were practically naked. It was disturbing, and somewhat liberating.

Kosharta harrumphed with exasperation and steered him toward the door. They joined a throng of what he quickly realised was male-only courtiers, officials and members of the household, streaming out of every corridor in the castle to congregate and mill in the grand entrance hall. Minutes later Ba’al entered, one of Astarte’s priestesses at his heels. He smiled broadly and made a beeline for Daniel.

“Ah, the talents of Our tailors have worked their magic once again. You look quite ravishing, my dear Daniel.”

Daniel halted Ba’al with a frown. “Maybe you can tell me what’s going on now?”

“Certainly, certainly. We are so pleased you hare here to share this night with Us. But, to begin, Our Lady has sent a gift for you.”

The priestess stepped forward and dropped elegantly to her knees in front of Daniel. She presented an ebony case to him. “My Goddess hopes you will honour her this night and wear her favour, Adon.”

She touched a small catch and the lid popped open, revealing an inch-wide band of platinum set with what seemed to be at least hundreds of champagne-coloured diamonds. The light from the atrium ceiling was caught by the gems’ facets and fired back in a dazzling rainbow.

“Whoa….” Entranced, he lifted it up. It weighed less than he expected and he turned it in his hands, fascinated by the exquisite craftsmanship. Small diamonds carved into bell shapes dangled freely along one edge. “It’s magnificent.”

His commonsense was screaming at him to not accept any kind of ‘gift’ from a Goa'uld, but this might just be a way of getting closer to Astarte, and perhaps securing some measure of assistance. He glanced at Ba’al and was struck by the look of concern on his face.

Daniel nodded at the priestess. “Please give my thanks to Astarte.” He paused, wondering how it was supposed to be worn.

“If Adon permits, this one will attach it for you.” She cautiously extended a hand and Daniel passed the bracelet over. Remaining on her knees, she leaned closer to him and wrapped the band around his left leg, just under the knee. She secured the clasp and settled it in place, held up by the swell of his calf muscle.

“Uh, thank you.” Daniel made to help her to her feet, but she scuttled backwards, bowing, then turned and trotted swiftly away.

“Our thanks.” Ba’al’s voice was soft with an emotion Daniel could not read. “Come – join our celebration.”

Daniel took one step forward and stopped, arrested by the clear bell-like chime that rose from the charms on the diamond band. Face heating, he glanced up at Ba’al, a sharp protest about being branded like a prize goat dying on his lips as he saw neither the expected amusement or possessiveness, rather a fleeting sadness that quickly became impatience.

“Come, Daniel.’ Ba’al turned and led the way through the mighty doorway. The gathered men bunched up behind Daniel, but none would pass him. Grimacing, he followed Ba’al, trying to move gently, but managed only a hobbling limp that made the bells chime loudly. He scowled and succumbed, striding in Ba’al’s wake with the delicate chimes floating in the air around him.

Across the forecourt and out under the massive main gates, Ba'al led the way to the causeway. Down along the causeway they moved, all the men of the citadel, from cooks and valets to the soldiers of Resheph’s guard and the Companions of Ba'al’s court. Resheph herself, and indeed, every female member of the guard and the court were nowhere to be seen. Human and Goa'uld mingled freely and with single purpose, speaking with hushed but excited tones. They reached the shoreline and took the stone steps up to the battlements surrounding the barracks.

The light was fading now as the sun dove quickly below the horizon, its final red streaks scoring sea and sky alike. As the night thickened around them, torches were lit all along the battlements. The causeway and citadel were also picked out in warm flickering glows. The men spread themselves along the township side, quietly facing up into the hills where the city and temples lay concealed in night. No one spoke. All eyes gazed up at the darkened city.

Daniel stood next to Ba’al, resisting the instinct to pull away as the Goa'uld sidled closer, one arm sliding around Daniel’s back, pulling him in close.

“See there, Daniel.” Ba’al tugged him slightly to the right and pointed up at the vanished city. “The women come.”

High up, even to the height of the temples, lights began to appear, indistinct, disappearing and reappearing as if being carried along the tree-lined paths. Gradually, as they moved down the hill, more lights joined them, a snaking line bobbing and lengthening. Daniel could envisage people leaving the whitewashed homes along the road and joining the procession. He edged forward, loosening Ba’al’s grip on him. Pressed against the stonework, he found small baskets filled with flowers, ears of corn and small sheaths of ripened wheat, dotted all along the parapets.

In the eerie silence around him, distant sounds floated down from the hill – voices rising and falling, indistinct in words but joined in chorus. Slowly the lights came nearer, their number growing with every turn in the road, closer they came until the voices could be heard raised together in a sombre chant, sadness and grief evident in tone if not word. Daniel wondered if some revered person had passed away. A glance at Ba’al’s face provided no clue.

A final bend in the road and the procession emerged on the white sands of the beach, passing under the battlements. Daniel craned forward, found himself astonished at the sight of the city’s women: young, old, babe, maid and matron alike. All were bare-breasted, hair cast loose over their shoulders, long red skirts trailed bare feet. Their chants soared and filled the torch-lit night. Hands rose, imploring the stars above, fell to rake hair and breast. Grief filled the air, reaching out to envelope the silent men guarding their way.

Daniel could make out Astarte in the lead, Resheph to one side, beautiful breasts gleaming as did the sword flashing amongst her skirts. Kosharta was there too, wizened and flat-chested, eyes streaming tears. Mingling with the women and girls of the city, he recognised S,umul and Nikkal, Ba'al’s Companions, and Arsay, ‘daughter’ of Ba'al. All were weeping with genuine grief.

Six women behind Astarte bore a bier, decked in flowers and grasses in the midst of which lay a full-sized effigy of a man. As it passed beneath them, Daniel could see it was beautifully carved from a timber that glowed a gorgeous honey sheen, so lifelike in its repose, every muscle, sinew, genitals, graceful hands and slumbering face made it – him – appear real.

Flowers and wheat and corn showered down from the men around him to lay in the bier’s path. Ba’al took Daniel’s hand, pressed a posy of red flowers into his grip. Unable to let go, Ba’al guided Daniel’s hand to fling the posy out, where it fluttered down to land by the effigy’s face. Ba’al leaned close along Daniel’s back, whispering to him over the wails of grief.

“Is it not a precious sight, Daniel? Such love, such care for our long-dead Eshmun?”

Daniel nodded, the strength of the grief below him filling his own senses, mingling with the heat and scent of Ba’al’s body. He longed to push him away but, enthralled, leant further over the stonework, drinking in the scene unfolding below.

The women reached the waterline and spread out along either side of the bier. The wailing rose up louder still. Daniel winced as he watched hands slap at breasts, fingernails scoring tender flesh. The bier was raised high and borne into the water, the women’s red skirts flowing around them like spilt blood. They stopped when the water lapped their shoulders. Slowly, reverently, they lowered the bier to the water and with gentle shoves, sent it into the embrace of the receding tide. Burning torches at each end of the bier marked the passage of the Eshmun figure, slowly taken by the sea out into the unknown of the night.

An air of unreality wrapped around Daniel. The night and its ceremony seemed timeless, he felt timeless, as if somehow he had journeyed thousands of years back to an Earth of the Phoenicians at the height of their empire’s power, witnessing a ritual for one of the revered rising and dying gods that had passed unchanged down the centuries to this new planet, far removed yet so unchanged from its origins.

As the inky blackness of the night time sea swallowed the bier the mood of the mourning women seemed to lift, chants dying as grief turned to sorrow, sorrow turned to fond remembrance. The women turned away from the sea and reached out to embrace their men as they flowed down the road and off the battlements to join them.

“Come, Daniel.” Ba’al’s voice was soft in his ear and tinged with sadness. “This night we celebrate the bounty of our world – Eshmun’s final gift to us.”

Ba’al’s grip on his forearm was light but firm. Daniel let himself be tugged into the stream of men moving to the steps and down off the causeway. They mingled closely with the others around them, no one shifting aside to give them right of way. Daniel watched Ba’al with interest, seeing only a tempered look of anticipation on that strong face. Ba’al threaded their path through the crowd as they met the women, the two groups coming together, the women’s cries turning now to happier tones. Calls of greeting as families and friends reunited joined laughter and snatches of song to rise up into the night air, tangling with the sweet chiming from Daniel’s diamond adornment.

The crowd flowed one way and suddenly Astarte was in front of them, her eyes wild with emotion, hair fluttering around her shoulders in a wild tangle, the skin of her arms, breast and torso gleaming in the flickering torchlight. Ba’al finally released Daniel and swept her into a heartfelt embrace, his mouth closing over hers in a deep, passionate kiss. All around them, others were hugging and kissing. Daniel moved back a step, caught a glimpse of Prize through the swirl of bodies. He stood alone, untouched, touching no one, his solitude unbreached even in this joyous confusion. Daniel grimaced in sympathy, then Resheph, caught in an enthusiastic clinch with a tall warrior wearing the uniform of the Fleet Guard, blocked his view.

Daniel turned and found Astarte staring at him, still locked in Ba’al’s kiss. She broke off, slipping from Ba’al’s arms and threw herself at Daniel. Unable to dodge her, he froze as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. For long, awful moments that dragged into minutes, all he could feel was her warm hips against his, her tongue stroking his mouth, her naked breasts pressed against his chest, hard nipples like focal points through the whisper thin shirt he wore. And all he could think of was the parasite curled within the woman – no more than a few inches from his unprotected mouth.

Eventually she withdrew, peppering his face with intimate nuzzles, her hands feathering possessive touches over his chest. “Come, my Adon. This night we feast our bodies and souls with the bounty of our dearest Eshmun.” She gazed into his eyes, seeming to lose herself, then Ba’al was there, catching her up in one arm, grabbing Daniel’s hand and pulling them both into the crowd.

The throng flowed past the garrison and into the town, the women’s sorrow dissipating completely as music and song swept out of the houses, windows and doors thrown wide, cheery warm light spilling into the streets illuminating the tables set before each that groaned under mounds of food. Devine aromas wrapped around Daniel. His stomach growled hollowly, reminding him of how little he had really eaten since his arrival on this planet.

Astarte let out a girlish squeal and fluttered to one of the tables. She tore off a chunk of warm bread, dipped it in an earthen pot of thick stew and, dividing it in half, popped one piece into Ba’al’s mouth and pressed the other against Daniel’s lips. Not feeling churlish enough to refuse, he opened his mouth and accepted the food. It tasted wonderful and he swallowed hungrily. Astarte smiled tenderly at him and darted off to gather more delights. Ba’al nodded at him in gratitude and slid his arm around Daniel’s shoulders.

“Eshmun Night is most special to Astarte. We are pleased you accept her gifts, Daniel.” He drew Daniel close and guided them through the crowd.

“Is this a regular celebration?” Daniel asked. Despite his situation, he couldn’t suppress the curiosity and desire for knowledge of a culture that was proving to be completely unlike his expectations. This was not a society ground down under an oppressive military reign. The people were thriving, celebrating their culture and beliefs and accepting their Goa'uld rulers in their midst as if they were the next-door neighbours.

“Once each year, on the rise of the first summer full moon, the death of Eshmun is mourned and the gift of the bounty his passing blessed us with is indulged most joyously.” Over the rising volume of music and singing Ba’al leaned in to speak in Daniel’s ear, his hand snug around his hip. “Eshmun’s final death, many centuries ago, saw this land permanently blessed with full crops, plentiful rains and a generous sun for Our people to thrive under. We are most blessed.”

Daniel quirked a sceptical eye at him and subtly, unsuccessfully, tried to pull away. Before he could retort, Astarte bounded up and insisted on hand feeding them both. Daniel ate and drank, following Astarte’s wandering path from household to household: pies, buns, meat stews, piles of vegetables, pots of spicy legumes – cups of cider, beer, spiced wine, chilled water and sweet honey mead washed it down. All around them the townspeople ate, sang, danced. Torches and bonfires were dotted along the winding pathways and the whole crowd slowly meandered through the town and up toward the temple pathways. Other scents floated upon the air, underlying food and wine were mingled threads of perfume, body scents, sweat and sex. Over it all a heady incense gradually soaked into the pores, making Daniel’s breath tight, his senses hyper-aware.

Ba’al’s hand on his hip was a focus he couldn’t shake his mind from, the heat from the Goa'uld’s body along his right side an incongruent, needy irritant. He wanted to push him away, yet he stayed, tucked into Ba’al’s embrace as if needing the protection. All around, people were pairing up, threesomes and more even. As the progressive party moved higher up the cliff path, more bare flesh was revealed. Skirts drifted to the ground, men discarded shoes, shirts, pants. Naked bodies, partners of all and any age, entwined in the alcoves, on the benches, and in the grass.

Daniel found himself staring at Helel, Anath, Arsay and another woman, twining rapturously on the grass. Discomfited, he turned his head and found Astarte plundering Ba’al’s mouth. Barely stopping for breath, she broke off, leant over and kissed Daniel hard. Ba’al moved his hand on Daniel’s hip, a covetous, caressing gesture and brought the three of them into an embrace. Astarte was all but naked now, clad only in a few wispy scarves.

Daniel didn’t know where to put his hands. Bare flesh pressed at him from both sides and he realised muzzily that Ba’al had discarded his shirt somewhere. Dimly trying to raise a protest, he felt Astarte’s hands loosen his vest, release the ties on his shirt, then they were questing over his chest, rubbing his already hard nipples and sending shocks of arousal through him.

The secret key by Victor Haddad 

“No.”

It was a barely heard whisper. He took a deep breath, but it was filled with something that made the blood roar in his temples. His mouth opened again… and was covered by another, different from the first, power tempered by gentleness but all encompassing and undeniable. Other lips sucked and nibbled at his neck, trailing lower to tease his pulse, collarbone and down to latch onto his left nipple. Blood surged in his veins and he felt himself rise, aroused and desperately needy. Yet, at the same time he wanted to deny this, to get away from here and recover what dignity he could.

“N… please,” he gasped into that strong mouth.

In response, elegant, powerful hands closed over his buttocks, pulling his groin against another, equally aroused and demanding. Astarte’s small hands moved lower, teasing until Daniel felt he would explode.

“No.”

He slithered out of their grip and the first breath of cool air in what seemed an eternity brought some desperately needed clarity. “No.”

They merely looked at him, these most power of Goa'uld, neither angry nor displeased. Ba’al took Astarte’s hand and led her off up the grassy path.

Daniel staggered and fetched up against a colonnade, watching them disappear into the lust-filled night.

Something brushed his foot and he looked down. Two men, fully nude, were vigorously making love in the grass. Daniel blinked and backed away. Swept up by the press of people moving along the path, he kept his head down and tried to fight the arousal in his body. Time and again, someone would drift near and with a caress, a word or a direct grope, offer themselves to him: men, women, old, young, Goa'uld or human, any age or combination. He kept shaking them off and they would accept the refusal with an amicable nod or murmured ‘Adon’.

The night seemed to stretch on forever. Daniel found some respite in a shadowy corner, but was eventually driven out by a group of eight or more, cavorting enthusiastically together. Each time he attempted to go back down the path he ran into the amorous arms of another group. He found anonymity in going with the flow, lurking on the side of the path or under trees until driven on and ever upward. All around, the incense drifted, making it impossible to clear his head and fight off the undiminished arousal.

Daniel rounded a bend in the path and straight into a writhing clutch of five people, actively having sex as they stood under a bower of jasmine. Delighted to find another partner they gathered him up, hands everywhere as they relieved him of his vest and shirt.

“No, thanks, but I don’t…”

A mouth pressed over his, cutting off air and protest. He tried to push them off but his coordination was shot, jumbled as his thoughts. He tripped and fell back, bringing the lot down with him. Hands yanked at his pants, edging them past his hips.

“Leave me be!” His cry was plaintive as he tried to twist out from under them. So far gone in their own lust, none of the group stopped.

“Adon!”

Daniel looked up, saw a familiar blurry outline of someone standing over him. “Help….”

“The Adon wishes another partner,” Prize said loudly. He bent and pulled at one naked body, then another. He grabbed Daniel’s arms and hauled him upright. Snatching up Daniel’s clothes he led him away. The group barely paused before they continued on.

“They mean no harm, Adon.”

“Thank you. I… thanks.” Daniel grimaced and fumbled his arms into the shirt. “Is this ever going to end?” he blurted.

“With the dawn, Adon. The rising sun will bring the renewal of Eshmun’s blessing and then we may return home.” Prize was rather dishabilled himself. “I will stay with you, dissuade any suitors you do not want, Adon.”

“I don’t want any of them,” he said sharply. He sighed. “Thank you, I appreciate your help.”

Daniel followed Prize, skirting coupling revellers as they followed the winding cliff path that led up to the temples. Time stood still, the night poised forever at the moment of deepest darkness, never to tip over into day. As Prize fended off amorous advances, Daniel found his thoughts tangling images of Sarah, that night spent with her in Chicago mixing with older memories of their time as a couple, and those overlain with flashes of his dearest Sha’re, her beautiful, enthusiastic loving which he so desperately, painfully longed for. As everyone around him shared their bodies and their love, he felt as lonely and adrift as the effigy on its voyage. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself in a nameless, blameless rut.

Finally, they crested a rise and found themselves staring out at the sea, a faint lightening of the sky now outlining the horizon.

“Eshmun-morn comes, Daniel.” Prize slipped his hand into Daniel’s and led him out onto the open meadow in front of Eshmun’s tomb. The altar in front of Eshmun’s statue was wreathed in clouds of burning incense. People were spreading out all over the grass, standing, sitting, talking or making love once again. Numb, Daniel followed Prize to a slightly secluded clump of shrubs, near the gleaming altar. They sank to their knees and he sighed, grateful for the respite. Prize brushed his hand along his shoulder and Daniel bent his neck under the welcome touch, much of the past hours’ tension bleeding away and leaving him drifting and unfocused.

A sudden hush brought his head up. People were turning and he followed their gaze to see Astarte and Ba’al walk to the altar. Both were nude, the moonlight giving them an unearthly aura. Ba’al scooped Astarte up and tenderly laid her on the altar. He climbed up and knelt over her, body hard and magnificent to behold. With the first rays of dawn light spreading across their bodies, he lowered himself and in one powerful thrust, entered her.

Astarte’s gleeful moan seemed to herald the resumption of congress for the onlookers. All around them, bodies began to thrust and shudder. A heady scent of sex underlined by the damnable incense swept over Daniel and he groaned out loud as his arousal returned. Unable to tear his eyes from Ba’al’s pounding body, he gasped as both Astarte and Ba’al met his gaze. 

Dawn broke. Daniel tore his eyes from the living and stared, desperately, fervently, at the frozen image of a dead human, made a god by pretenders to that same title.

Eshmun stared out over the writhing sea of human bodies, sightless eyes encompassing far horizons and truths buried in the passage of time. For a moment, Daniel felt the statue’s eyes upon him and the paths of two lost travellers inextricably merged into one.

On to chapter five - Picking Up The Pieces

~Tsydon~ Home page

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Temple of Love, The Kiss by Victor Haddad