The Sand Ghosts Part II, Red Haze

This story is a continuation of ‘The Sand Ghosts’.

Another one of Luna’s stories of dreams and remembered lives.

WARNING:  this text contains adult content.

The Sand Ghosts- Red Haze:

Night after night they swayed their hips and entranced the warriors. They prepared the food the warriors ate, cleaned their shirts and laced their lives with their sweet elixirs. They fulfilled their duties as pleasure slaves. The thirteen owned and inhabited their bodies fully, they had all been trained in the sexual pleasures. They knew to sway their hips from the inside out, they knew how to open and close their flower around the warriors’ manhood. They took the warriors inside of their bodies, and wove their magic around them. Every night in the dinner tent, they danced and seduced the warriors. They took them into their embrace together in the tent, as they sang and provided the beat of life and brought them all to ecstasy together. The Persian brothers grew in power and might as the women of the sand infused them with their sexual energy night after night.

Luna was strong and men were too weak for her, she bit their necks and sucked off the life out of them. She couldn’t help it, it was her nature. She knew no pleasure as she could not surrender to the weak shadows that called themselves men. She would lay with men and kill them after for they were too weak for her. None could deny her, all wanted her, and all died for it. It was the nature of her gift to commune with death and the dead. She would whisper and whistle over every battle field, so that the souls of the dead would continue on their road. She often helped a few half-dead out of their life as well. The shadow-men, as she came to think of all men around her, could feel her closeness to death with some remnant of their drowned instinctive selves, and were intimidated by it. And she knew that they were all half-dead, being close to the dead as she was, she could see that they were all pale imitations of life. Entranced by common pleasures, hypnotized by choice, absent to their own minds, absent to their own bodies, absent to their lives. So she rode with the sand ghosts thirsting for blood to satisfy her own lust, killing those that were already dead, and hoping they would find better life after the crossing. She was mighty and had no mercy for the half-living, only compassion for the truly dead. Her stride was feminine and seductive, her two curved long swords were part of her death dance. She could kill with just a look, but she enjoyed feeling her body move around her swords as the blood of the half-deads that she dispatched built a red haze around her. Blood always knew power, even when it was quenched by unconsciousness. Blood called to blood, and her blood was boiling, seething with the power of the grateful dead.

And so the queens they took the seed of the warriors, and became stronger and stronger with their blood thirsty energy. And so they whispered their wishes as they pleasured the warriors. They whispered names of towns, and names of peoples that must be conquered. They whispered battle strategies and trophies that must be won. Slowly they counseled the warlord; they seduced him into many victories. The warlord was clueless that his ideas were not his own, and his strategies were the ingenuity of his thirteen goddesses. The sand ghosts willed it so, it served them, for a while. They bid their time, they strengthened their warriors, so that their death would be all the sweeter once they had conquered and unified the nations.

He came to her in the night, after all were asleep and the camp was quiet. In those hours when the silence strengthens the cries of spirits. He came to seduce her with his barely controlled rage. Loved by everyone, he hadn’t found one that could take his hot and strong love. His energy was too much for him to handle, he spilled it about in every way he could. In battle he was fearless, he felt alive when he slashed meat with his sword and tasted blood on his tongue. In friendship he was present, a brother to his fellow warriors, a father to the children of others, a bright to support to his own father the warlord. All loved him, all wanted him, and he gave his energy to all he could. And still he had too much energy, and it burned him from inside out. It burned all who would try to take it. He intoxicated himself with fermented water, and grassy roots, and still the fire burned inside him. No woman had been able to take his fire before, he grew bitter and the rage increased. Women were worn out by his force, burned on his desire, hurt by his vigor, victims of his violence. He denied the power of the insane wilderness inside him, tried to soften his stride to be able to fit in. Until Luna seduced him and took her pleasure from him without his knowing it. She seduced him without knowing it herself, her primal nature called to him, she seduced him simply by being.

So, he came to her in the night, in those hours when the dream magic is strong. It was forbidden to lay with the sand ghosts without the presence of the other warriors. They were known to be dangerous. It made it all the more alluring when he came to her tent to seduce her instead. And seduce her he did. This one, this warrior, was alive. Truly alive.

His fierce kisses were the kindling to the fire that would follow. She met his violent thrusts with her hips and challenged him for more. She opened up her flower to him and surrendered to the pleasure he would give her. And pleasure her he did. Luna drank his energy and gave him the nectar of her flower. She reveled in the smell of his sweat, she reveled in the sweet taste of his seed, she took his rage and warmed her cold heart with it, she drank his violence like water in the desert sun. She passionately bathed in his rage, the fire of a life that she knew she would have to take when the time came.

Night after night he came to her in the quiet of the dark. And the spirits around Luna cocooned the midnight lovers and silenced to the world their cries of pleasure so none would know about their forbidden passion. Soon Luna found that the power of death was one and the same with the sensual, sexual power that harbors the possibility of life. It should have been obvious, she thought, once she discovered it. Through the rage of her strong warrior she remembered long lost sexual magics, and these she started practicing with him, without knowing what she was doing.

She took him inside of her and spun his rage inside their joined bodies. He raged all the more for it, his thrusts became more violent, he pulled her hair and bit her thighs. Her own death fueled rage reared its head, finally accepted, finally acknowledged, finally challenged. She met his fire with her own blood power, she tried to hurt him, she tried to kill him as she had done with all her previous lovers. And she would have killed him through their passion, had he not been strong enough to face the death he saw in her eyes. He had danced with death before, and was fearless, he continued his forceful thrusting and held on to her hips. And so they embraced in the border between life and death, for this is where her spirit lived. Her hips were his life, and the more he held her hips the more he held on to life. She called him to his death, and in the face of his own mortality his fire grew. The more violent he became, the more she grew in power and surrender, and the closer they grew together. She learned to surrender to the power that held her hips. And so she spun his rage inside her blood, and put it back inside him changed and stronger. She kindled her own fire with his heat, she opened her flower to him and gave him the water that would bring him relief. She opened the paths of the river of fire that would bond them together. She fully surrendered to his relief, and they knew the pleasure of joined souls.

Once almost all the nations of the desert had been conquered and unified, the thirteen goddesses decided that it was time to send the warriors on to their next task. The Ghosts had grown fond of their warriors, and their warriors had grown strong with the presence of the fierce women. Nevertheless, the warriors were needed in the Nether, and only death would send them there. One more battle and the warriors would have to be killed. Luna had always known that the day would come when she would have to take the decision to kill her Persian man of fire. Perhaps they could escape together, she knew her spirits would silence their footsteps.

One night, knowing that the date of the uprising of the Sand Ghosts was near, Luna awaited her midnight lover. She was oiled and ready to receive him, the oil was hardly necessary, she thought, since just the idea of him made her lake bloom. She had a gift ready for him, she had a token of gold in her hand. This time, as they danced the dance of life and death in their fiery passion, she used the fire they created to melt the gold token. As he was about to release his seed inside of her she pressed the burning gold to his ear and used the power of her blood, and her grateful dead, in order to fashion a gold earring for him. He cried out in pain and shock as she branded the earring into his flesh and his soul. She tightened her flower around him to avoid the release of seed, and pushed the energy of his pleasure inside of himself instead. The dry pleasure drove him nearly to madness, and as his wrath rose inside of him he shared it with her, and they became one flesh. They were one now, as she branded him, he branded her with his ire. The day after she also wore a golden earring, they had ringed each other.

The night after the last battle was won the tribe celebrated their triumph. The thirteen women of the sand were called to the tent to dance their pleasure. Luna danced with her Persian prince this night. The women created a more pressing rhythm than usual, they danced harder and stronger as they took the warriors’ weapons. The thirteen danced the dance of swords that night. It was not common that slaves, for they were still chained slaves, would be allowed weapons. The men were enthralled by their beauty and skill and couldn’t hold a clear thought. The women continued their dance of swords and hips. They swayed the swords in rhythm with their hips, they created music with the blades. They were still dancing the dance of swords as they took the men inside of themselves. They twirled blades in both hands above their heads, and as the men spilled their seed they women yelled the battle scream that would herald death.

Luna looked at her Persian prince in the eyes, and he saw his death once more. He saw his goddess riding him with lust and fire, artfully spinning his two swords above their heads. As he had done every night that he had lain with her, he stared right back into her soul as she tried to drag him into death. The second right before the scream of death was uttered they looked at the depths of each other’s eyes and whispered a wordless pledge of love to each other. The guttural scream of the Sand Ghosts broke the desert night with soul fear. The tent was filled with a red haze as the heads of the warlords rolled into the ground. Luna kept looking into his eyes as she yelled and brought both swords down upon his neck and his head rolled off his shoulders. His earring was fashioned with the help of the dead, and it would help him cross over into the death that he knew was coming. She screamed with wrath as he died, and tasted his blood as the last of his seed and her water joined inside her and ran down her thighs.

The beautiful ones

I wrote about the embrace of opposites a few months ago, and didn’t want to publish it. This one is explained- sort of- through one of Luna’s stories:

And so it was that the wind whispered a name to her. She could hear the name in all its glory and transformations in hear head, but was unable to repeat it in speech. For that, she would have had to repeat many sounds and words at the same time. How do you capture in a word the passing of time, the rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze, the rage of a storm and the smell of rain. The beautiful ones have had many names through the history of their expressions.
The wind requested to speak to her, that she may listen and tell the story.
‘Brush me with your love’, she asked, ‘so that I may know your true self’
‘Alas, my Lady, what you ask we cannot do, for we have been cut off from the source of our beings’.
‘What is it then that you wish to tell me?’ the lady asked, wearily but not unkindly.
‘This is the story of who we are, and how we came to being’- the whisper in the night echoed.
And so it began:
‘ In a place before time, from where all that is and was and will be can be observed, we existed without knowing it. We could not know of ourselves for we were perfect balance. It was the era of the void, of neutrality. The nothing was all that existed, would exist, and had existed. There was only the grey. Immovable, unchanging, containing all the possibilities and always reverting back to the nothing. There was nothing outside, or inside, or before or after the grey. I know the concept of nothing is difficult to grasp now, but I beseech you try to ponder it. The grey big nothing. Infinitely big, and infinitely small at the same time and place. It was nothing and it was grey, and we existed without existing until one piece of greyness accelerated and then slowed enough to ask itself the question: is it possible to separate the grey?
So it was that it divided light into dark, and separated night and day. That, my lady, is a day we all woe. For we would have all been light, but balance had to be maintained. And in the process of separation we split into a thousand, thousand billion pieces. And the utterer of the wish of separation called itself the creator. And so in this separation, we gained individuality, we got to know the ‘I’ and the ‘you’, we forever lost the perfect balance of nothingness from which we are all made of. We all wanted to be light, but we were destroying ourselves if we denied the night that brought balance. So it was, that a handful of us, willingly chose night and separation in order to preserve the balance. The one who had made himself the creator, chose one of us to be his opposite, and promised that one day we will once again join up.
We adopted our new identity, we were cut off from each other, and we harbored all the fallout from the separation. All who didn’t know how to live in the midnight sun came to us. We grew crooked, and raw, the separation from light is forever painful. We are cut off from feeling and loving, though our hearts yearn for it. The creator, being all light, was hurt that we should suffer like this, and offered to merge once more. And yet, to merge once more would mean to give up our concept of self. We grew attached to the ‘I’, it is all we had now that we had lost the light. We retained some of our former glory, and a mimic of the beauty of the light ones. Being cut off from the nothing, and from the light, we forgot our souls and focused on the ‘I’. We became a harbor for all those others who missed the grey, or who wanted to be ‘I’.
It is true, what they say about us, we grew to embody not just the restful night, but the true evil. Since we could no longer remember what it was to be light, we filled the void with anything else that could come.
The creator was hurt by our suffering, and seeing how warped we became, he gave us a chance. The creator took some darkness into his day, and put some light into our dark sphere. That we may remember what it is to be light, and choose one day to come back and merge. And so the creator uttered a word and the word became some shells, and in them he infused what grey he could gather. And the shells were confused, and didn’t know what they were, for they had no souls. It was then we realized that we could also inhabit the shells, and limiting as they were, they held some of the long lost nothingness. They held the possibility for light, but not light itself, as that would have made it impossible for us to inhabit them. It was a clever move, for to inhabit a shell we had to give up our glory, at least until we could remember it. Those of us who wanted to were allowed to inhabit the grey shells. Not all could go, still many of us had to remain to maintain the dark. There would be no rest without the calming night. Those that inhabit the shells have the possibility to remember their true souls, light and dark included, and to ascend. It is a long hard road, often as not they end up right where they started, or even worst. Hope exists, and the road begins without having to give up our precious ‘I’, it is all we have.
All shells have one light and one dark one to guide their path. Both serve a purpose, for in order to ascend and remember, a soul must know both.
The light ones, though they fare better, grow frayed in their light. They cannot know rest in the ever shining brightness; and yet they reject the dark. They feel joy, and they also feel our pain. They know ‘I’, but they also know union with light. They too, can choose to inhabit a shell in order to experience the grey nothingness once more. Sometimes they do it to help other souls along. The shells have a lot of potential, they are ingrained in the heavy solid dimensions, but they can attune themselves to any vibration they choose. If they know how. And so, many of the beautiful ones became human. And many others remain to guide them, in both light and darkness.

Luna’s Castles of the Soul

Another one of Luna’s stories:

I had a dream about the house of Luna, one of them anyway. It was in the dream city I see so often in my mind travels. I’m writing about it before I forget.

It was the house of Luna, the city house. It was part of a large renaissance style building in one of our modern cities, same and yet different. It had a large garden with a hill and grass, open to air and storm even at elevation in the building. The large windows showed the busy street outside. She was quite satisfied to be the keeper of the house.
It had been a temple to old gods, and later a temple to new gods, reconstructed and refitted many times. It’s location had changed throughout the ages, and now it was in a city, unknown to city dwellers. Many were asking for refuge, in the city and yet away from it. A group of monks and disciples, and a misguided young lady from the same place as Luna. And she was the keeper of the house. The storm of the passing of time raged outside in the hilled garden of the house of Luna. The interior remained a safe house.
Luna reluctantly agreed to house those who asked for refuge, the house would now be a safe haven for those who knew where to find it. She had seen the portent brought by black feathered wings and agreed to open her castle.

Luna’s Stories 2: Facing the Screamer

Aias grew increasingly worried as he observed the transformation in Luna. He knew she was seeking awareness of herself before stepping into the water, he  saw the red haze around her pulsing as if it were a heart,  pumping slower and slower each time. From the stories he had heard about the wild people he suspected that it meant her consciousness was slipping from this layer into another one with a lower vibration.  It meant she was seeking the demon inside her, for the heart of demons resided in lower layers of existence, and could only be killed in their own plane. Depending on how powerful the demon was he would exist on a deeper level than others. Aias was concerned because he felt Luna slip into lower and lower layers, until he didn’t dare to follow with his awareness for fear of not being able to return. And yet he saw how the red haze he had seen around her before slowly turned darker until Luna was shrouded by a black mist that came and went in slow pulses. He had watched several of his fellow warriors go into the waterfall, but he had never seen or felt anything extraordinary. He was as startled by the situation as by what he was sensing. Aias knew that he alone among the warriors could sense all this, he had always known he was different, but he heeded his dead father’s advice and kept what he saw of other planes to himself. If other’s knew he would not only be expelled from the warriors, he would be marked on the face with a hot iron, and he would be cast out of the Eivn to fend for himself in the wild. It was a death sentence; no other Eivn would take him in.  Dzhik wielders like Luna had to learn their craft from childhood, and an untrained un-dzhiked person who could sense the planes was a danger to everyone. Or so people said, Aias had always been able to lead a normal life.

Entering the water felt like staring directly at the sun without being able to close her eyes,  only the sun was in her mind and it violently took up all her thoughts until she felt she was being smitten by the brightness.  Luna was in a lower plane than she had hoped she would be, entering the water this low might be her demise, never mind the demon. As she steeled herself against the mental onslaught, she couldn’t help to draw on the dark energy that was now at her disposal. A black river of power rose in her only to clash violently against the bright sun that was the waterfall in her mind. The struggle of the two forces made her feel as though she would burst out of her skin. Enough, she thought, she must let the brightness consume her and the demon, she had to stop fighting it. This was time to shift things under control,  she had to face the demon sooner or later and she might as well do it sooner and in her terms.  She opened her mind to the brightness, and felt it burn a path inside her, until the demon was expelled from her and into this lower plane of existence. It was the demon’s home plane. When she looked around all the warriors were gone, still standing in their proper plane she supposed. The place was the same, except the waterfall was dark tar instead of clear water. In front of her she saw what had to be the demon wearing it’s true form. Right away she knew she was even in more trouble than she thought, for what stood in front of her was a Screamer. She had never actually seen one, even if she had heard their screams in the lower dimensions, blood curling screams that inspired the deepest fear in the listener, hoping their prey would run and get tangled in the web of screams. Luna should have suspected that a screamer had to be an arachnid demon, since it wove webs of screams, but she had never stopped to contemplate it. The Screamer stood about two heads taller than she was, as it was standing on its two hind legs. It was humanoid in appearance, all eight legs looked like emaciated human legs, except the ends weren’t feet, they were hands, it’s face was wrinkled and as emaciated as all it’s legs. The thing’s mouth was grotesquely held open by some sort of rope made out of her own tangled hair, clamping the sides of her lips in a perpetual scream.  As if hearing her thoughts the screamer let out a wild shriek that seemed to pierce Luna’s core. In this lower realm Luna could actually see the cords of energy that would create the screamer’s web if she allowed this to go on. Enough, Luna thought, and with that she gathered what power she could and forced both her dzhik to pool into her hands and form blades and started hacking at the screamer’s web. All the time the screamer kept on shrieking and moving about weaving death with each step. Luna couldn’t allow it to build a proper web or it would be her end. So she kept hacking methodically making a circle around around herself  to prevent the tendrils of red darkness from ensnaring her. But the screamer was faster at screaming than she was at hacking the tendrils, and where one of them touched her it would pool its numbing poison into her. Luna was inching forward, trying to approach the screamer, each time with more difficulty. But she kept swinging her dark knives in front and behind her, and with each hack the screamer grew more desperate, as if the web were a part of herself. Luna noticed this and was encouraged to keep hacking, but for each tendril she caught 10 more sprung to life. Despair started trickling into her mind,  she didn’t think she could even get to the screamer much less subdue and bind it. She already felt the numbness of the screamer’s poison grabbing at the edges of her consciousness, trying to bring her down and plunge her into the abyss. The ground split in front of her and for the first -and yet not the last- time in her life Luna stared into the abyss, a never-ending  funnel of darkness. The darkness was calling her, telling her to surrender to the numbness, all the pain and grief would be over then.  She knew the abyss was in her mind, but then in the lower dimensions the mind was powerful.

Luna’s Stories 1: The Waterfall

The junction of the Geas and running water is a powerful place, meant to cleanse mind and body so you will be prepared to face power without submitting to the panic that drives unexpectant souls to the Edge of the Abyss. However, be forewarned, inside the waterfall you will face your own mind, and you must master the First Mountain,  fear. You must also be sure of who you are, for the force of the water will drag anything that doesn’t belong along with it and plunge it into darkness, if you are not master of yourself the geas will take your soul and drag you away.’

Luna, however, seemed to take no notice of her surroundings as she stared without really looking at the waterfall now in front of her. She knew that as soon as she stepped into the water the real battle for her mind, body, magic and soul would begin. Taking that shadow into herself had been the only way to keep it from killing her, or worst, enslaving her. She didn’t want to do it but she was forced to by those stupid boy hunters who didn’t know what they were meddling with.  She distantly noticed Valac biting into her leg. She hoped the snake would be strong enough to keep it’s word if things went wrong. And things seemed to be going wrong very quickly. Enough mind chatter, she thought to herself, she knew she didn’t have much time yet she had to still her mind before entering the waterfall. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and tried to really look at the waterfall instead of at the mirage of gory scenes playing in her mind. She kept drawing deep slow breaths until her heart rhythm slowed along with her breath, and she sought awareness of all her body parts. She had to be sure to know what was hers before the battle began.  Struggling to keep her breathing even she sought connection to Valac, as she felt his reassuring pressure against her leg. Valac’s consciousness slithered up and around the edges of her thoughts, tangling himself in her consciousness, becoming one with her own awareness, and yet separate, an anchor to all things made of stone. His familiar presence felt different, stronger than any other time before.  Luna took comfort in the strength of rock,  the smell of wet rock around her, the quiet perseverance of the rocks lining the pool and the resilience of the rocks supporting the roof around the courtyard. With this Luna was satisfied that the connection was complete, so she moved on to seek awareness of the dzhik. Through her dzhik she felt the connection to the wild magic that was also a part of her, forever lurking around the corners of perception, a surge of power leaped at her as if trying to fry away the edges of her mind. The surge was immediately contained and subdued by the snakelike bracelets around her arms. Now came the hard part, she had to acknowledge the shadow as part of her consciousness as she would go in the water with him in her;  she knew that if she didn’t recognize it the water would wash him away along with her mind as he was irrevocably tangled in her thoughts now. And so, she sought awareness of the darkness in her, finally letting loose all thoughts of destruction. She reveled in thoughts of battle lust, the intense concentration required for battling and slaying, the satisfaction of cutting through flesh with her knives. Yes, even the satisfaction of seeing blood gush from wounds she inflicted. The power she could have if she would form an alliance with dark creatures. It was oddly exciting, thinking of herself as creator of fear, seeking gore for the lure of gore. And of course, then came lust so wild and dark surging at the prospect of gore, and bringing with it a promise of fulfillment, of satisfaction. She caught a glimpse of what she could have: power in darkness, power in blood, power in lust.  Luna didn’t know anymore which of these thoughts were hers initially and which were being planted by the shadow.  And yet, she acknowledged all of them as part of herself now. With that acceptance she felt an even stronger connection to energy, all the magic the shadow could channel was now hers too, darker than she had ever known before. The dzhik thrashed wildly as they slithered up and down her arms in imitation of Valac, attempting to control so much raw power. The assault on her senses was intense, she could now feel the full force of the demon coercing her to give in to his alluring promises. Yet, Luna knew if she gave in she would be his slave forever inside her own body.  ‘I will die before I become a slave’ she thought to herself, or maybe she said it out loud, she couldn’t tell.  So it was that with the dzhik still thrashing wildly and Valac tightening his grip on her leg she stepped into the waterfall.