earth in her very bones.
Ninia drew a deep breath, spreading her arms for the garlands to be twined around them.
It will be a good year , she told herself. I will see to it. It will be a good year.
She held that certainty to her as the room brightened, as the bells finally tolled to call her and the priestesses tending her outside. She faltered at the doorway, again aware of her nakedness as the early morning sun traced golden rays over her curves, her high breasts and full hips. Out here, her skin gleamed with the oils they had rubbed into her, as if the sun was offering her the first preview of the godhood that awaited.
Four strong men stood at the corner of the cushioned litter that awaited her, each representing one of the professions that fed and clothed the people. A farmer, of course, at the front, with a forester beside him; the ones that tilled the fields, and the ones who collected the natural bounty offered by the land. At the rear corners, a fisherman and a weaver. The men respectfully did not look at her, but she shivered at the idea they could, reminded that soon the entire city would have seen her bared flesh.
And why not? she asked herself, squaring her shoulders and stepping forward at the urgings of the priestesses behind her. I am to be the bride of a god. What god hides himself away? What god knows shame before the sight of a mortal?
Behind her, she heard the low voice of a priestess, her words clearly meant for other ears than Ninia's. "This is a good one, this is. Ripe for Him. Feel it in my bones. She's got the marks of a bride already, before He's even touched her."
Emboldened by the overheard whisper, Ninia stepped onto the litter. The central platform was slightly raised to allow her to recline comfortably and still be visible to the people they passed, but it also had a rail at the front, which she could grasp to assist her balance if she chose to stand.
Ninia stood, proud, head high, only her tight grip on the rail betraying the remains of her anxiety. She had thought on this even less than on what the god would do to her. She was a virgin, but also a farm girl, raised among the breeding of livestock. She knew - on however basic a level - what would be expected of her when the Earth King took her in their earthen bed. She had not known, nor wanted to consider, how it would feel to have eyes other than her mother's or sisters' on her bare flesh. Being nude before the priestesses, feeling their hands on her, had been hard enough; she had feared that if she thought too hard on the procession, she would not be able to go through with the sacrifice at all.
This morning was different, or perhaps she was different. The litter rose smoothly to the shoulders of the men, and they began to walk; they must have practiced long for this honor, for the litter barely swayed beneath her feet. The motion was soothing, nearly hypnotic, and Ninia's hands slowly relaxed on the polished wood of the rail as they approached the great gate that led from the church grounds into the city.
The sheer number of people, packed to the sides of the road, waiting to see her, shocked her. More than in her entire village; more even than when her village and its neighbors gathered into a great mass to celebrate the end of the harvest. Too many for her to see them as individuals, as eyes to concern her. Instead, they were a force, pressure against her skin, warming her. She reveled in their disembodied touch, felt it pour heat through her, winding under her skin and pulsing through her core.
Without realizing it, Ninia raised her arms, the carefully arranged garlands, falling in graceful streamers around her. In welcome, in exultation, she revealed herself to the watching crowd. I am the bride, her body proclaimed, and heard joyous cries in answer. The force of the watchers built within her, a power in itself, a power she drank in deeply and held in trust to be shared with her god, her king.
Her husband, for this season if
Ninia drew a deep breath, spreading her arms for the garlands to be twined around them.
It will be a good year , she told herself. I will see to it. It will be a good year.
She held that certainty to her as the room brightened, as the bells finally tolled to call her and the priestesses tending her outside. She faltered at the doorway, again aware of her nakedness as the early morning sun traced golden rays over her curves, her high breasts and full hips. Out here, her skin gleamed with the oils they had rubbed into her, as if the sun was offering her the first preview of the godhood that awaited.
Four strong men stood at the corner of the cushioned litter that awaited her, each representing one of the professions that fed and clothed the people. A farmer, of course, at the front, with a forester beside him; the ones that tilled the fields, and the ones who collected the natural bounty offered by the land. At the rear corners, a fisherman and a weaver. The men respectfully did not look at her, but she shivered at the idea they could, reminded that soon the entire city would have seen her bared flesh.
And why not? she asked herself, squaring her shoulders and stepping forward at the urgings of the priestesses behind her. I am to be the bride of a god. What god hides himself away? What god knows shame before the sight of a mortal?
Behind her, she heard the low voice of a priestess, her words clearly meant for other ears than Ninia's. "This is a good one, this is. Ripe for Him. Feel it in my bones. She's got the marks of a bride already, before He's even touched her."
Emboldened by the overheard whisper, Ninia stepped onto the litter. The central platform was slightly raised to allow her to recline comfortably and still be visible to the people they passed, but it also had a rail at the front, which she could grasp to assist her balance if she chose to stand.
Ninia stood, proud, head high, only her tight grip on the rail betraying the remains of her anxiety. She had thought on this even less than on what the god would do to her. She was a virgin, but also a farm girl, raised among the breeding of livestock. She knew - on however basic a level - what would be expected of her when the Earth King took her in their earthen bed. She had not known, nor wanted to consider, how it would feel to have eyes other than her mother's or sisters' on her bare flesh. Being nude before the priestesses, feeling their hands on her, had been hard enough; she had feared that if she thought too hard on the procession, she would not be able to go through with the sacrifice at all.
This morning was different, or perhaps she was different. The litter rose smoothly to the shoulders of the men, and they began to walk; they must have practiced long for this honor, for the litter barely swayed beneath her feet. The motion was soothing, nearly hypnotic, and Ninia's hands slowly relaxed on the polished wood of the rail as they approached the great gate that led from the church grounds into the city.
The sheer number of people, packed to the sides of the road, waiting to see her, shocked her. More than in her entire village; more even than when her village and its neighbors gathered into a great mass to celebrate the end of the harvest. Too many for her to see them as individuals, as eyes to concern her. Instead, they were a force, pressure against her skin, warming her. She reveled in their disembodied touch, felt it pour heat through her, winding under her skin and pulsing through her core.
Without realizing it, Ninia raised her arms, the carefully arranged garlands, falling in graceful streamers around her. In welcome, in exultation, she revealed herself to the watching crowd. I am the bride, her body proclaimed, and heard joyous cries in answer. The force of the watchers built within her, a power in itself, a power she drank in deeply and held in trust to be shared with her god, her king.
Her husband, for this season if
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