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Description
It's still October, so this one's spookier - and a little naughtier - than usual.

Leopards stalked soundlessly through the tall foliage, their eyes glittering cold in the starry night. The beasts were almost invisible, wild creatures blending completely with their surroundings, but for the glittering collars they wore around their necks. These were adorned with jewels that sparkled and blazed even in the dimness, casting telltale signs of their sinuous movements as they crept through the dense dark sward.

The predators continued their slow advance, sniffing at the air, eyes as slits of suspicion. Then, finally, one of them pounced forwards, sinking jaws and claws into something on the ground. The other soon followed, hunks of raw meat torn from a rich tender steak. It had been bought at a butcher's market for a pittance, and as bait, it had now served its purpose. An unseen figure in the tree branches smiled. With agility that rivaled the leopards in grace, she slunk from the vantage point and rolled over the ground, sweeping past the feeding beasts and forward through the underbrush, keeping a low profile. For a moment, she vanished altogether, unseen but for the rustling of the tall foliage. Then, a moment later, the lithe figure emerged on the edge of a small pool. A hand came out, five dainty fingers touching to the water's surface. Little ripples spread quietly, distorting the starlit sky.

The figure rose to its full height. Had anyone been present aside the lizards by the pool-side, only now would they have known it for a woman, short and fine-limbed, olive-skinned and apple-breasted. Her eyes blazed black like coals in a brazier, betraying a dangerous heat. Long midnight hair fell over her shoulders, tied back with a simple scarf, and her profile struck a curious sight against the midnight gloom, small up-nose, full lips, thin brows. She cautiously she put her fingers to her mouth, tasting the water. It was sweet and fresh.

With quick yet silent steps, she made her way around the pond, listening carefully for the leopards. They were feeding still, oblivious to her presence. She fell to a squat, touched the ground, searching the ground until she found a set of footprints and followed them. Not far away the sward cleared to a path, winding its way up a nearby hill. Rocks and ruins obscured her vision, strange cyclopean remnants of some ancient race, but the crown jewel of their fallen city still held life: Atop the hill, two fires burned in cryptic braziers like light-houses, despite the fact that they were miles away from sea. They had been burning every night for centuries, their purpose unknown.

The path led straight up the hill. She thought back to the hapless fools in Aegilus's wine-den, and she smiled at how they'd given the secret away so easily, a secret they didn't even know to be there. Of course, she reflected, not every thief and lowlife in the wine-den had been a master of the craft, and only one of them had been Cornelia, selfsame master procurer, a thief of extraordinary caliber. Perhaps it was true that the priestess of Burning Mounds was a sorceress; perhaps even true that she consorted with queer devils. But even a sorceress must drink, and the ancient temple didn't have a source of water. Couldn't, as the hill it lay atop was bedrock, unmoved by centuries of earthquake and upheaval. Here was were she fetched her water.

Before her lay the acropolis, never conquered by generals, never penetrated by thieves. Cornelia loosened a dagger from her belt, not drawing it yet but keeping it ready. She adjusted her loose breeches, tucked them carefully into her boots, and began creeping up the footpath, cautious not to come upon the water-hole's visitor too soon. She knew not the lay of the land, and had no spotter to help warn her. The thief's sometime companion, Helga the Geat, was at swordplay with the Hemmites seeking vengeance for some slight, and she trusted no other with a treasure such as this. Especially not in a foreign land, far to the south and beneath an unknown sky. Twas true that Aguileria had established here an outpost; but it was a wild land not theirs, and women of Cornelia's breed were not welcomed. A queer and superstitious folk lived in the Zanj, and the priestess was tantamount to divine.

Cornelia almost lost her way amongst the boulders. Even with this secret route from behind the temple's back, the approach was not easy, the ancient crumbling ruins like a labyrinth. She considered turning back to find the prints again ere she heard a pebble tumble over stone, and sharpened her ears. She picked up her pace, dropped down behind the stones so that she almost crawled, her lithe and supple body as graceful as a monkey's as she clambered up the incline toward the source of the disturbance. Endlessly careful, she lifted herself up above the summit of a rock. The sight baffled her.

It was a girl of perhaps twenty, alabaster white. Cornelia blinked and rubbed her eyes, thinking her disguised or somehow painted, but if so the illusion was near perfectly complete. The girl was all but nude, her ivory-white skin stark against the crumbling slate, dressed only in a loincloth that was slung about her hips. This garment was bejewelled like the collars of the leopards, and glittered with riches around slender swaying hips. It artfully concealed her rump and treasure, but not much more. She was tall and slim, with equally white hair wrapped in a thick bun on her head atop which balanced an amphora. Silvery strands fell away from it, trailing around her form like mist in the midnight breeze. Cornelia stifled a gasp, staring in bewilderment at the beautiful girl.

The ghost-girl stopped, turned, peered into the dark. Cornelia held still. For the briefest moment she could admire the specter's face, equally pale and elfin strange, with a slim nose and slimmer lips, eyes that seemed strangely colorless in the dark. Her breasts, completely uncovered, were like droplets of milk crowned by dusty pink nipples, the only feature that seemed to interrupt her pale-white skin. If this was indeed a ghost, it was sure to perceive her; but the woman blinked unknowing, and turned back towards the path.

”By the gods-” Cornelia whispered, but stopped herself from finishing the thought. Apparition or no, the woman hadn't seen her. This was no time for superstition. Heart racing and nerves on edge, Cornelia crept like a cat, stalking after the peculiar white rabbit. Time and again she lost her behind some ancient leaning pillar, but she was easy to spot against the charcoal-blackened stone. The path towards the temple was truly not easy, and the girl, Cornelia noted, walked it barefoot, with the certain step of someone who had gone a hundred times.

After a long climb, they finally reached the base. Cornelia settled in behind a crumbling caryatid, hoping to spy the woman climb a ladder or a rope. Neither happened. Instead, the woman simply walked up to the featureless temple and vanished – quite plainly – through a wall.

Cornelia silently swore. Fingers clenched around her dagger, eyes darting ready for some chill wind, some evil sorcery, but nothing happened. And if it did, what good would steel do against the dead? Except... the vase on her head had looked solid enough. Cornelia considered, took a few steps towards the path, and then rolled her shoulders, steeling herself. With her heart in her throat, she crept slowly forward to the place where the strange woman had vanished. She was feet from the spot ere she noticed the deception.

Cornelia brought her hand against the supposed stone wall, and brushed aside a thick and heavy curtain without trouble. Twas the same black color as the mountain, and hung in the shade under a parapet; even in daylight, it would always be unseen. The front of the temple was always strongly guarded. Back here, it seemed, the architects favored deception and the confusing maze-like layout of the ancient crumbling town. She had just penetrated two of its defenses, three if you counted the beasts. With a self-satisfied smirk, Cornelia opened the curtain and slipped subtly into the sorceresses' sanctum.

The inside wasn't lit. Any illumination might leak outside and give away the secret entrance. In here, there wasn't even starlight to guide her. Cornelia fumbled, feeling for something to guide her way. The architects had apparently thought of that, for a handrail led her up a set of stairs towards a door. It was recently locked, but that had never stopped Cornelia. Reaching inside the cleavage of her light white linen shirt, she found the leather package she kept strapped under her arm, and pulled it out. Her tools made short work of the lock, its secrets revelealed to her sensitive fingers.

Cautiously pushing the door open to a crack, she blinked against torchlight. The ghost-woman was still there, placing a few cloth rags in the jug full of water. It seemed perhaps she was cleaning.

In the torchlight, Cornelia could admire her far better. There wasn't hint of a blemish or a mark on her skin, just smooth milky flesh and graceful, playing muscles – for here in the light, it was evident the woman was quite fit. Her feet and hands were fine and pale, but they bore evidence of hard work and so did her trim stomach, her slender thighs, her biceps that hewed and flexed as she lifted an amphora. So distracted was Cornelia that it wasn't until the woman turned that she spotted the keys on her hip – a jingling handful, hanging from her garment.

The ghost-woman strode away, but her wet feet left imprints on the floor and they were easy to follow in the well-lit hall. More torches were hung intermittently, probably to ease the waterbearer's task. Cornelia crept out from her hiding-place, gazing down the hall where the woman had vanished. It seemed to lead only deeper into the bowels of the ageless temple. The thief's eyes swept the walls and their queer bas-reliefs of women worshiping demons, or at least that's what she imagined them for, servants portrayed naked and prostrate. Many carried offerings, and the artist had spared no detail in the carving of their buttocks, or their breasts pressed to the floor. Nowhere was the object of their worship depicted – the women all faced down the hall, stone eyes unmoving, no glyph or rune to indicate a name. Cornelia inadvertently shuddered. Her eyes could afford to linger on the walls no longer – the wet footprints of the woman grew too indistinct. Cornelia turned up a stairway, huddling down when she reached the open arch at its top. The room was well lit, and she dared only peek around the corner, a strand of black hair brushing over the ancient slate floor.

The room was full of statues. Heavy, squat figures that resembled men and women, they were ebon-black like volcanic stone, but their eyes blazed with ice-cool diamonds. There was a peculiar, sinister sheen to those gemstones, though greed overcame Cornelia at the sight of them. The figures sat kneeling holding bowls full of gold, and Cornelia had to stifle a gasp at the sight of their riches, blazing brightly in the braziers at the center of the room. What manner of gods were they?

The pale-skinned girl was walking down the aisle between the staring statues, balancing the jug against her hip. Cornelia crept after her, resisting the temptation at robbing the gods of their bowls – curiosity had overcome her, and greed for whatever prizeless treasure lay at the end of the girls' approach. It seemed she was striding towards one of the pitch-black statues whose bowl appeared empty. The lifeless diamond eyes were on her as she walked, stopping just before the grinning monolith in nothing but her pitiable loincloth, leaning down to set her jug upon the ground. A little too hastily – the jug tipped, and a good deal of water sloshed out onto the floor. The woman righted the vessel instantly, then darted backwards – cried out in sudden pain, her voice echoing between grinning statues.

The loincloth on her hips waved with sudden motion, and she stumbled forward. Without pause, the garment fell to her feet as if pulled on a rope. She straightened herself, took another step forward, and made no move to retrieve it – her alabaster bottom now completely bared, the glittering garment discarded at her feet. As if this weren't impossible enough, her bottom was reddening. A pink mark showed over her tender right buttock, growing steadily more blush. The girl paid it no mind. Apparently accepting her fate, she leaned forwards, retrieved a rag from the amphora, and began washing the statue of dust in the nude.

The fallen loincloth was worth a fortune alone. Aside from the key-ring which still glittered at its belt, it was set with numerous precious stones that weighed down the supple cloth. Perhaps it was this weight which had cause it to fall – but why the cry of pain? Cornelia steeled herself, not knowing what manner of sorcery was afoot. The keys were too precious a treasure to ignore. On soundless feet she padded forward behind the woman, whose slender beautiful bottom was right in her field of vision. The nude girl leaned over, cautiously washing the hands of the lewdly grinning stone; it was almost as it could actually see her, scrubbing its immovable fingers with fresh water from outside.

Cornelia flexed her own fingers, very much movable. She needed to make certain the keys didn't rustle, or the slave girl would call the guards – or worse, the sorceress herself, the mistress of this place. On gentle feet, she approached the fallen fabric, and her hands closed on the keyring without a hint of sound. She smiled – the hard part was over. The master thief carefully lifted the jeweled underwear off the ground – and immediately felt a pull on her own.

Cornelia gasped out loud at the sudden sharp tug between her legs, and the keyring clattered to the floor. The servant girl turned, bewildered at Cornelia mere inches behind her. She wouldn't stay there, though – the thief was dragged backwards by her own undergarments, stumbling to keep her footing before some unseen hideous force lifted her into the air. A sensation as of a torrent of hands swept over her then, as were she carried aloft by some torch-wielding mob, groping and grasping at her everywhere, her chest, her face, her thighs. She flew through the air carried by the spectral assailants until she landed, rear-first, in a bowl of gold coins, scattering everywhere. Cornelia scantly had time to catch her breath, flailing in the air against limbs without flesh. Her dagger was drawn, but for naught against the disembodied horrors. The servant girl, for her part, watched in some horrible fascination, eyes wide open but her countenance calm.

A hand seized the cloth between Cornelia's breasts. A moment later, she watched her shirt tear itself open, exposing her from neck to navel. She moved her arms for cover but found that she could not, held back against the statue by a hundred grasping hands. A sound between a moan and a cry escaped her as a sharp slap rang out across her breast. It jiggled pleasantly, a rosy nipple bouncing to the side on a rapidly reddening bosom. Another slap, then another, the thief squirming helpless in the abomination's iron grasp.

Suddenly, as soon as it had appeared, it was gone. Cornelia lurched forwards, catching her breath, eyes tearing with stinging pain and humiliation. A hand over her shirt to close it, she struggled to climb out of the gigantic bowl, gold coins in her belt, her boots, her breeches. With a loud crash as the bowl tipped over and scattered its treasure, she rolled down on the floor and broke into a run.

Three more statues swept past before she tripped and fell helplessly forward, breeches at her knees. She was caught before she impacted the stone-tile floor, once more held aloft by some evil arcane force she could scantly understand. Kicking against her captor was in vain – it was pulling off her breeches and her boots, leaving her barefoot and in nothing but a knotted rag between the loins. Her lithe, muscular legs pumped against nothing, swimming in the air. Abruptly, she dropped to the floor on all fours. A stifled yell escaped her; she was lifted up by her loincloth. She struggled to escape it, but her legs, extended, found no traction on the floor.

”Don't fight it.” came a voice, quite serene, from behind her. It was in the tongue of the Zanj, and it was high and pleasant, tinkling like crystal. ”You'll only make it worse.”

Cornelia braced herself to push away, but too late. Another sharp slap rang out, this one on her bottom. Her buttocks were exposed by the skimpy undergarment, and it offered no protection – merely more discomfort as it dug between her legs, pressing against her and rubbing her intensely. She cried out in pain and fear and discomfort, but it was stifled by yet another slap. And another. And another. Rhythmical like the beat of some ancient drum, the hands rang down on her rear with merciless force, each impact making her jolt and squirm where she hung. The slaps not relenting, she felt more of the hands grasping at her tunic ere they ripped it clean off her, tearing it in half. Even the scarf on her head they did not leave her, pulled down and off her head, black locks coming free in wild curls around her shoulders.

Finally, the devils let go. Cornelia slumped to the floor in nothing but a loincloth, body trembling, buttocks sore. She rolled over to the side with a scoundrel's determination, made it to a crawl before a force on her back pressed her down into the ground, breasts against the cold stone floor. She was prostrate, like the women in the carvings. Like them, it would seem, the beast wouldn't leave her with a single scrap of modesty. She felt the loincloth move between her legs, but this time down, down to her knees where it stayed. Her ass was in the air, naked, facing the woman who still hadn't moved.

Everything fell quiet. All Cornelia heard was her own pulse, her breathing against the force on her back, and the echoes of a thousand sensations on her skin. She scowled, helpless on the ground.

Only now did the servant girl approach her. She stepped calmly over to her own jewelled garment and donned it once more, before striding up behind her captive and grasped the loincloth at the thief's knees, carefully forcing it off her altogether.

”You shouldn't have done that.” she said.

Cornelia said nothing. Terror and shame and feelings she dared not name forbade it.

With steady movements, the servant unrolled the loincloth and reached for Cornelia's hands. From her awkward position she couldn't fight it, face pressed down into the floor. Her arms were pulled behind her back, tied together at the wrist with the sweaty wet remnants of her underwear. Finally the slave girl pulled her to her feet, as easily as if the pressing force on her back hadn't been there.

At her full height, the thief was a lithe, graceful woman. Her breasts, red from shame and their unkind treatment, pointed apart, apple-sized and pear-shaped, each with a delightful dark nipple on top. Dark curls formed a shapely triangle between her tender thighs, which were near as tender as her glowing-red bottom. Her cheeks glowed quite as crimson, though, from anger and embarrassment. The ghost girl let go, stepping back to observe her.

”There. Don't move. It'll happen again.”

”What will?” Cornelia spat. ”Your mistresses' sorcery?”

”My mistress?”

Cornelia glanced over her shoulder, disheveled hair sticking to her sweating cheeks. ”The one who runs this place. The priestess. Amlophe”

The servant-girl smiled in surprise, a strange serene glitter appearing in her colorless eyes. ”Oh! That's me.”

”You're Amlophe? The high priestess? But you- you-”

Cornelia turned, mindful of her own shame but baffled at Amlophe's. She was still wearing nothing but a luxurious loincloth, her breasts completely bare, her body almost naked and fit like a warrior's, not plump like a woman who ruled a whole city.

”-you're dressed like a slave!”

”I am a slave,” Amlophe replied, bowing her head. ”To the gods. That's what priestess means, no?”

”But your- your immense wealth! Your vast power! You're supposed to- to rule the city!”

Amlophe shook her head. ”I haven't even seen the city since I became a woman. Although sometimes people come here for advice, and of course they must take it.”

”Advice?” Cornelia stared, so bewildered by the woman she'd almost forgotten her humiliation.

”In truth it's from the gods. But most can't hear them.” The girl paused for a moment, looking Cornelia up and down. ”Can you?”

Cornelia sharpened her ears. No sound came but for the steady dripping of water from the girl's abandoned amphora.

”They're discussing what to do with you. They say you have nice firm breasts but your bottom is really your best asset. It's trim but still full, and very lovely to spank.”

Cornelia shrank, a full-body blush overcoming her as she squirmed, trying in vain to hide herself from... what? The diamond eyes of the staring statues? At once they seemed eerily alive, the leering faces grinning as they watched her, saw her from every angle, and she felt, suddenly, how utterly exposed she was. Cornelia turned this way and that trying to hide, but everywhere another statue, male or female, grinning, pouting, licking its lips. Every inch of her body was exposed before them, and she couldn't even cover herself with her hands!

”They are amused at the bush between your legs. They say perhaps I should pluck the hairs from there, one by one.”

”Don't!” Cornelia cried, her cheeks flushing redder.

”Or that I should tickle it with feathers til you scream. They're still debating.”

Cornelia's eyes darted, her mind racing. She could still run, but with her hands bound she'd most likely fall – and if the invisible grasping hands blocked her path, she wouldn't even know it before it was too late. She settled, finally, on squatting down, huddling in abject humiliation with only her knees for cover. The peculiar priestess still listened at voices unheard. Finally, she suddenly sighed, a wistful sound that cut through the dead-quiet hall.

”I thank you for your guidance.”

”G- guidance?” Cornelia asked. ”What- what did they say?”

”They said either to hand you to the law, and if so you should be paraded naked through Zanj from one end to the other, and honey and treats should be served off your bare body for anyone who wished it. And moreover that you should be bathed afterwards in public with a single sponge used by seven volunteers.”

Cornelia's ears burned, her heart beating faster. She bit her lip. ”I heard you say either, priestess. Name the other option.”

”I can't tell you.”

Cornelia awkwardly shifted from squatting to a kneel. She inhaled sharply, pressing down the unbearable shame that surged through her body as she once more leaned forwards, pressing her breasts against the ground. She didn't like it, but she had no choice.

”Please don't hand me over to the law,” she begged, ”O mighty Amlophe.”

The girl solemnly nodded. ”Very well. You'll stay here, then.”

”Stay... here?”

Cornelia found herself pulled up to her knees again by the dreadful unseen force, her whole body exposed once more, stains of sand from the floor over her two blushing breasts. She watched her damaged and discarded clothing lift from the floor. One by one they moved uncannily by some force of their own over the hallway floor, until they sailed, without exception, straight into the braziers. Even her pack of lockpicks met the same dire fate, the metal warped by the burning coals. Eyes staring in horror at the destruction of her clothes, she scantly paid attention anymore to the marvelous treasures in the room. Presently, Amlophe had turned her attention to one of the bowls, withdrawing from it a golden chain. A small rectangular pendant hung on the end, glittering gold, about a hand's width. She approached the naked thief with the chain in hand, fastening it about Cornelia's hips. Only after this did she finally untie her, to cast the ruined loincloth with a final farewell into the fire.

”You'll be my helper.” Amlophe explained. ”The gods even permitted you wear this garment, as long as you behave.”

Cornelia looked down at herself. The golden pendant hung right between her legs, concealing the barest minimum. Her breasts, like Amlophe's, were still bared, but unlike the priestesses' loincloth her garment covered nothing of her stinging, rosy rear. She was almost worse than nude, the golden pendant calling all attention to between her legs, even as it artfully concealed her private parts.

”How kind of them.” the thief managed between gritted teeth, concealing her displeasure as barely as the garment concealed her. Yet she knew better than to lash out – the eyes of the stone gods were still upon her, and here, in their sanctum, there was little she could do. Amlophe looked her up and down with a satisfied smile, and spoke.

”It is well!” she said. ”You'll continue with the washing, and I shall fetch more water.”

Saying so, Amlophe turned on her heel and sashayed down the long corridor, the unblinking diamond eyes of the gods watching her go. Cornelia was left standing, almost nude, before the leering audience, shyly folding her arms before her breast and breathing in deeply, her heart still pounding. Could she run? The priestess wasn't here, and the hall stood seeming empty – granted she had no clothes but for the little shameful pendant, but perhaps-

Her train of thought was interrupted by a ringing crack over her rear. She leapt instinctually, spinning around for any sign of the assailant, but of course there was none. Once more she felt the invisible force, now pinching her exposed and increasingly rosy rump. She got the message.

Humiliated, the once-dashing rogue leaned for the wash-cloth, adjusting her single golden garment to conceal her best she could, and dipped cloth in water, bringing it to a stone god's foot. She waited breathlessly, seeing if something would happen, but the temple was still – the horrors unmoving. Cautiously she scrubbed the icy apparition, its face twisted into a mocking grin. Shame burned on her cheeks as she realized they could see her, whatever they were, these unseen beasts, see her bending down on her naked knees to continue the work. Water ran in rivulets down her forearms, dripping from her elbows and onto her bare thighs. She wanted, desperately, to escape them – but how could she flee from such invisible horrors? If even Amlophe herself was naught but their slave, what chance for someone who didn't know a thing about the horrors of the temple?

Cornelia gritted her teeth. Slavery ill suited her, but there was little she could do. Water dripped down her torso, glimmered like gems in the pathetic golden chain about her waist. It was long before Amlophe returned, two statues already polished top to toe, the would-be thief working on a third.

”Oh!” Amlophe cried, ”So fast! A helper truly makes a difference – we'll retire early! That is to say, if we can avoid more mistakes...”

Cornelia said nothing, merely gritted her teeth and averted her eyes. She could feel the priestess glancing at her rear.

Yet no more horrors accosted her, no spectral hands to punish her further. The work went on in silence, the cleaning soon finished between Amlophe and herself. The girl had brought more water and a second piece of cloth, so they were rarely near each other, each separetely working on a grimly grinning god. Before long, Cornelia had reached the far end of the cruel hall, seeing there an archway adorned with blocks of jade. Even distracted and distraught she made note of it, for the temple truly did seem to hold great many treasures, though they were little more than pittance next to glowing bowls of gold.

Amlophe soon joined her. Stepping up uncomfortably close behind, Cornelia could feel the presence of the woman's near-nude skin, radiating like a heat even in the well-warmed room. It was clear she was no ghost, at least.

”Come!” the girl said cheerily, ”The gods are pleased. It's time to retire.”

Cornelia saw little choice, and so as Amlophe brushed past her, she walked behind the taller girl like a faithful serving maid – which, she supposed, the stone gods had now made her. The trip was short, through luxuriant corridors to a little doorway arch, before which hung beaded silken curtains. These Amlophe parted, revealing a bedroom little more than a cell. A mahogany chest stood at the foot end of a mattress lain directly on the floor, thick and comfortable but clearly sized for one. Braziers provided all the warmth and light; there was no sunlight, no window, just a few small square-shaped vents cut directly into stone. It was a cage, Cornelia thought, and it wasn't even gilded.

Amlophe, for her part, sat cross-legged on the floor and loosened up her girdle. Cornelia watched in something between horror and fascination as the loincloth slipped loose, and the girl opened up the little coffer – it was empty. Slipping her only garment from her hips, Amlophe pooled it in her hands and let it slip into the container, mouthing a whispered prayer.

”You- ah, why are you-”

”We sleep naked.” Amlophe explained, as if it were the clearest thing in the world. She crawled backwards onto the mattress and spread out in all her glory, her body unabashedly completely on display. Between her legs wasn't a hair – she was creamy smooth, as her skin all over, two pale milky lips with the merest hint of rosy petal between them. Eyes playfully watched Cornelia, a half-smile playing on her mouth.

”We?” Cornelia wondered. Amlophe giggled.

”Well there's only one priestess. But her helper surely follows the same rules.”

The girl looked expectant, her eyes falling to the little golden pendant that was all Cornelia wore. Would even this scant mockery of clothing be denied her? The thief hesitated, stalled for a moment. Could the gods see in here? Did their horrid invisible hands extend even to the priestesses' private sanctum? She shuddered at the thought of their punishment. The curtain to the little cell was drawn, but what obstacle was a curtain to the gods? Then again, she supposed, what obstacle were clothing?

She blushed, helpless in the hold of these eldritch wicked things. Deft hands fell to her hips and unhooked the golden chain, its links running limply twixt her fingers. She covered herself with a hand, hesitating ere she let the golden treasure slip into the coffer. Finally her eyes went to the bed, fit for but one woman and covered in silk.

Amlophe's naked skin was warm, far warmer than Cornelia expected of a woman so pale. She smelled peculiar, of dense stone corridors but also of woman, warm gentle musk with a hint of milk and almond. Her long, limber limbs brushed against the thief's bare rear, then wrapped around her slowly to lie faint on her hip. The braziers burned low, warm orange embers in the pitch black of their cell. Cornelia breathed in, felt the scent of her companion... or her mistress, she supposed. The hand slipped lower on her thigh.

”Do you know,” Amlophe breathed, ”what always helps me sleep?”

Cornelia knew.

But as the embers eventually died into darkness and Amlophe slipped into sleep, the thief remained half awake, counting the hours as they passed. It was an unprecedented predicament, to be caught thus in the grasp of lascivious gods; but she was still Cornelia, naked or no. She wished and dreamed that Helga were with her, the Geatish hero who feared naught, not even sorcery. What would she have done? Something decisive, no doubt – decisive and fearless.

In the mist of half-sleep, her mind centered on the keyring at Amlophe's hip and she was suddenly awake. They had passed no locked doors or chambers since the entrance, but the priestess carried not one key, but many. There must be more doors, perhaps more exits, doors that weren't past the grim statues. The opportunity stirred her. She slipped to her feet above the sleeping woman and cautiously opened the container where their pitiful garments were held. In there, Amlophe had also slipped the keys, and now nothing stopped Cornelia's fingers from closing around them. Hesitating a moment, she withdrew also the golden little belt, if only to be able to carry the keys with more ease. She hung it to conceal her sex, and slipped from the room unheard while the girl slept.

Fires still burned in the long hallway, but Cornelia dared not enter it anyway lest she incur the horrors therein. The way back was impossible. Instead, her fingers searched the bas-reliefs of the walls, finding there more depictions of women in the nude. They pointed towards the gods, which meant Cornelia could follow them backwards, wandering aimlessly for what seemed a very long time. The golden pendant cold between her thighs, she felt her way uncertainly along the dark walls until finally she came upon a door and, testing a key, slipped it open. Behind it was a staircase leading up – the wrong direction, but the door had been locked. Something of importance must be there. Step by step, Cornelia found her way to the roof of the old temple, and as she emerged from the staircase, she was greeted by a wave of heat.

From afar, the two braziers atop the temple had seemed like candle-flames, but up close they were hefty, the size of a man. Crackling fires, fed by coal and stray wood she guessed Amlophe would gather from the surroundings. A painstaking effort – trees were scant in the Zanj.

Why were they here? Why go through all the trouble? There must be an inordinate amount of work to keep the braziers fueled.

Then, as Cornelia watched, she heard some sound on the wind. Ducking behind a brazier, she watched in horror as shapes formed in the smoke above her, oblivious to her presence, dancing, cavorting spirits, their forms outlined by the fire. She could not hear them, but she saw their beckoning movement. Twisting and twirling in the embers, they seemed to be calling out to some dark thing in the heavens. Shadows blocked out the stars, like clouds come alive. Winds flew around her, shapes making their way towards the braziers and disappearing without trace. They seemed frightened, hurried, as they wound their way towards the fires and vanished into ashes and smoke. A few howls, as if pained, from the east. She looked that way, and saw the dawn.

With a great rush of air, the last of the spirits vanished into the flame. The air became quiet once more. For a long time she dared not move, but when it seemed no other demons would join the silent horde, she stepped forth and glanced down from the roof. Sheer, impossible to climb. She'd find no escape here, not unless she could fly. There was no recourse but return down the winding stairs. Cornelia frowned, but what she had seen disturbed her almost more deeply than the statues – whatever horrors lived here, they were utterly free of bodily forms. The idols, she guessed, were merely for their habitation.

She slipped down the stairs into the darkness. Whatever other exits there were, she could not find them; groping her way through the dark yielded no clue how the worshipers entered or left. She could easily have missed some doorway or hall, and her searches grew more frantic, pace increased as she made her way through the dark until her hand settled on something now eerily familiar.

A statue.

Jeweled eyes flashing in the dark informed her it was very much inhabited.

Stifling a scream, the thief turned to run. Then the scream escaped her lips unbidden as a slap rang out against her rear, and she stumbled, falling down on all fours. Ghostly fingers clamped around her wrists and more spirits joined, maybe drawn by some ghastly alarm. She dreaded what was coming but was helpless to escape it, her legs forced apart, her nipples tickled by some unknown force and then another slap rang down across her rear. Between her legs, the golden pendant danced with every smack, and she rocked forwards whining against the pain. Another slap, and then another, and another. Cornelia squirmed against the terrifying powers as the invisible hands touched her unashamed, making her breasts dance and her cheeks flush red. Fingers slipped over her mouth as she whined, touched her everywhere, massaged her and punished her in equal measure. The humiliating treatment continued until a lamp lit up the room.

It was Amlophe. The punishment ceased, but she was still held down. In the light of the lantern, Cornelia could make out a grand entrance, two statues flanking a great door of filigreed bronze. The front door down to the city, evidently warded by the gods.

”The gods are not pleased,” Amlophe frowned.

”Y- you don't say.” Cornelia replied. ”Please, for the love of star and moon, make them release me.”

Another sharp slap rang out across her rear, and she whined as her breasts skipped and her back arched.

”You tried to escape. They'll have to punish you now. You'll do all the work tomorrow yourself. With me as supervision.”

”F-fine.”

”And we're adjusting your wardrobe.”

Amlophe approached the helpless thief and released the skimpy little pendant from around her waist. Instead, she coiled the golden chain into a loop and placed it over Cornelia's head, collaring her. The pendant, her only meager cover, clattered to the floor. Led on all fours like a dog, Amlophe took her back into the coils of the temple, crawling across the cold stone. If her previous role had been humiliating, this was even worse. To ensure she didn't escape, Amlophe slept with one end of the chain coiled around her wrist. Cornelia slept fitfully naked at her feet, thoughts of escape put completely out of her mind.

Yet if the thief had accepted her fate for now, thoughts of escape grew only stronger. Rising from bed and eating breakfast with her captor, Cornelia was put to work cleaning everything in the temple meticulously with a rag. She crawled along the floors, climbed to reach cornices, and for a particularly humiliating section she must clean the idols themselves with her tongue. All of it was done completely in the nude, under the watchful eyes of the sinister gods, and every mistake was swiftly punished as Amlophe's had been, her sore bare bottom fondled or pinched. As for the priestess herself she merely supervised, ensured that Cornelia kept up the work, and attended to duties beside cleaning. This included, it seemed, a visit to the roof.

Brief stops for meals aside, there seemed to be no interruptions. There were no visitors from the village, or rituals to be done – merely the tedium of pampering the gods with their sponge baths. When they finally were done, late in the small hours of the night, Cornelia was embarrassed and exhausted, wishing nothing more than to crawl up under a blanket. Perhaps, she reflected, she should just accept her fate.

”We must sleep now,” Amlophe said brightly. ”You did good today. The gods are pleased. When they come back tomorrow morning, perhaps they'll punish you milder.”

”I would like that.” Cornelia admitted.

”First though, I must wash you.”

And Amlophe dipped a cloth in a small bucket. A single piece was all she was afforded, and the ice-cold water chilled Cornelia to the core as the priestess, slowly, meticulously, cleaned her naked form before they went to bed.

To Amlophe, Cornelia seemed utterly defeated. And perhaps she had been, if not for something the girl had said. Even exhausted and humiliated, the thought kept her awake. Every part of her screamed not to make more trouble for herself, not to endure more humiliating reprimands. But she was not born to be a priestess nor a slave, and so, as Amlophe slept peacefully (for Cornelia had made sure of that), the golden chain was slowly slipped from around Amlophe's wrist, the deeply sleeping girl not alarmed. There was no time for thievery or dressing now, and Cornelia stole from the bedroom with her bottom still aching and her knees dark with dirt. She had not even the pretense of clothing now, but for the first time since coming to the temple, she had what amounted to a plan.

It was a desperate plan, admittedly, but she was no stranger to desperation.

Stark naked with a gold chain about her neck, she briskly swept through the dark corridors, her mind not failing her; even with all that had happened, she remembered the way. If she were right, she could perhaps escape unharmed, but she would not have mere escape – her mind was afire with greater madness. Up, up, to the roof of the building, to the dark and cold winds beneath the starlit sky. Naked feet slapped across the ancient stair-steps until the winds of night, and the scent of the braziers, washed over her body.

The warmth of the braziers was welcome. Still conscious of her nudity, she glanced towards the distant stars and cursed them out beneath her breath. She was defenseless, unclad, beaten and belittled, but she was still Cornelia and she'd be damned before she let any kings or princes push her around. Even if they were made of magic.

”Helga,” she prayed, ”a little of your strength, please. Let's hope this works.”

And she hurled herself against the side of the great brazier. The metal hot beneath her hands, thews strengthened like springs across her bare body, powerful thighs flexing, her abdomen taut, her biceps swelling. Once – twice – thrice-

The brazier fell. Hot coals spilled over the side of the temple, disappearing to be dashed down on the barren rocks. Nothing near the temple could burn. Sweaty and with coal-dust on her face, she turned her attention to the other. These fires always burned atop the temple of the Zanj, had done so for generations, until tonight. The woman roared with strength and fury unchained, and the second brazier fell, tumbling whole like a gong down from the roof and with great clamor bouncing down the rock face to disappear below.

The fires were out. The roof was dark. Turning towards the heaven, Cornelia stood unclad and unprotected, seizing the chain from off her neck and snapping it, raising its remnants in one defiant fist.

”You thought to bind me, demons?”

Below, the city was stirring. Cornelia hoped against hope that her plan had worked. Horns of alarm blared in the distance; the whole city's guardforce had seen the lights go out. But above her, she saw what she had hoped for – dark shapes blowing this way and that before the stars. They were deliberate last night, but now, they were aimless. Ships lost at an endless sea. How vast, she thought, the expanse of space – how empty, how endless. Demons though they may be, they were specks against the endless midnight sky.

”I know nothing of your magic!” she shouted at the heavens. ”But my father was a sailor, and the sea is vaster than you! The sky more still! Damn you, night-sailors, you'll never find this port again!”

Cornelia waited, with bated breath. Perhaps the horrors would return. Perhaps they navigated by some means unknown to man altogether. Nothing stirred near the roof; merely the dazed dance of the black shapes against starlight, wispy clouds on a sky without end.

Down the stairs she hurried, as the rays of sun touched the top of the temple. She dearly hoped that all the dark creatures went together on their midnight journey, for else the plan might be for naught. No time for hesitation; she burst into Amlophe's chambers with her heart in her throat, rousing the priestess.

”Wake up! Your people are coming!”

”What?”

The alabaster girl looked up, drunk on sleep, and gasped in shock at the sight of Cornelia, covered in ash and coal dust, wild-eyed and nude.

”They're not supposed to come, they-”

”Well they are, and you with me. I can't have them knowing who I am.”

With that, she seized the pale girl by her alabaster locks and pulled her to her feet, her other holding the golden chain. They staggered into the hall to Amlophe's protests, and then towards the great chamber of the gods.

”Ow!” the priestess shouted, ”punish her! Punish her, she's trying to flee!”

The gods stood silent. Amlophe stared in disbelief as Cornelia wrapped the gold chain around her wrist and approached one of the bowls, seizing whatever shiny baubles she could find.

”Heresy!” Amlophe moaned, ”Sabotage! Theft! Help me!”

”Your gods,” Cornelia managed, ”are but travelers, and now they're lost at sea forever. Now come, lest you want to answer to your people for that.”

”Lies!”

The demure girl grabbed a fistful of coins, and threw them at Cornelia. Gold rained down over her naked breasts and she let go to shield herself, freeing the priestess. For a moment, the two women stood facing each other between the row of dead statues, each dirty and nude, each poised for a fight.

”I wrecked the beacons on the roof, Amlophe. Your gods won't find their way back.”

”It's impossible!” Amlophe spat. ”This temple has stood for hundreds of years!”

”It stands no more.”

”Fiend!”

”You're the one that pleaded to keep me.” Cornelia smiled bitterly. ”You invited a devil to your master's temple, it seems. Now come with me, or-”

Cornelia heard the sound of horns, and the barking of soldiers. The citizens were almost at the door. She rushed at Amlophe but was greeted with another handful of scattered coins, swore, turned, and fled. Down past the stone-dead gods, through the stairs, and into Amlophe's basement with the gathered water. The door was still unlocked since Cornelia's arrival, and she kicked over the amphoras on sheer spite as she burst through the door, out into dawn, into fresh air, into the wild and vast swards behind the temple. She was unarmed, exhausted, naked, and afraid.

But she was free, and in her hands was glittering gold. A broad smile greeted the rising sun as she slipped from the barren hills into the grasslands. From here, but to outmaneuver the leopards, the soldiers, the search parties, and to make it back to friendly territory... without a scrap of clothing but a little golden chain. Fastening it around her elbow, Cornelia gritted her teeth.

She really hoped she could make it back unseen.

~*~

Weeks passed since the commotion in the temple of the Zanj, and yet strangers sometimes poured into Aegilus's tavern, looking for news or opportunities for thievery. It was said the temple had been ransacked, or perhaps defiled; or maybe the priestess had cast some curse on it. Aegilus cared not; he was a simple man, motivated by simple things.

Simple like the golden pendant that clattered down on his table.

”Are you Aegilus?”

He rubbed his eyes. The woman who faced him was in a gray cloak, pulled artfully around her nearly-nude body. Hints of her snow-white cleavage shone under the jeweled brooch, but her face was even stranger, milk white like a ghost's. Curls of ivory hair fell around pearlescent cheeks, even her lips pale, her eyes strangely colorless and grey.

”I'm looking for someone. A woman.”

”I'm listening.” Aegilus said breathlessly, seizing the pendant and holding it to the light. It was solid gold.

”A thief, of your people. Black-haired, short, lithe. Probably came here naked.”

Aegilus nodded, a chuckle escaping him. ”Ah, yes. Cornelia,” he said, betraying her name without another thought. This was quite a bit of gold. ”Came in naked, covered in soot and swearing. We all had a good laugh at her, but- er- she paid in gold for new clothes. Like a gentleman, I provided them...” he grinned, ”after she waited in the tavern for an hour or five. Delivery boys can be slow. She's a very beautiful woman, but she ain't here now.”

”Where.”

”Hemma, I believe. The great plains. Gone to join up with one Helga the Geat, her friend.”

”Very good. Keep the change.”

The woman strode out of the tavern without another word. It was curious, Aegilus thought as he pocketed the gold. She'd been carrying a little idol, almost like a doll – like the statues of the Zanj gods, only smaller, with jeweled eyes.

And Aegilus could have sworn he had seen the eyes glow.

Description
It's still October, so this one's spookier - and a little naughtier - than usual.

Leopards stalked soundlessly through the tall foliage, their eyes glittering cold in the starry night. The beasts were almost invisible, wild creatures blending completely with their surroundings, but for the glittering collars they wore around their necks. These were adorned with jewels that sparkled and blazed even in the dimness, casting telltale signs of their sinuous movements as they crept through the dense dark sward.

The predators continued their slow advance, sniffing at the air, eyes as slits of suspicion. Then, finally, one of them pounced forwards, sinking jaws and claws into something on the ground. The other soon followed, hunks of raw meat torn from a rich tender steak. It had been bought at a butcher's market for a pittance, and as bait, it had now served its purpose. An unseen figure in the tree branches smiled. With agility that rivaled the leopards in grace, she slunk from the vantage point and rolled over the ground, sweeping past the feeding beasts and forward through the underbrush, keeping a low profile. For a moment, she vanished altogether, unseen but for the rustling of the tall foliage. Then, a moment later, the lithe figure emerged on the edge of a small pool. A hand came out, five dainty fingers touching to the water's surface. Little ripples spread quietly, distorting the starlit sky.

The figure rose to its full height. Had anyone been present aside the lizards by the pool-side, only now would they have known it for a woman, short and fine-limbed, olive-skinned and apple-breasted. Her eyes blazed black like coals in a brazier, betraying a dangerous heat. Long midnight hair fell over her shoulders, tied back with a simple scarf, and her profile struck a curious sight against the midnight gloom, small up-nose, full lips, thin brows. She cautiously she put her fingers to her mouth, tasting the water. It was sweet and fresh.

With quick yet silent steps, she made her way around the pond, listening carefully for the leopards. They were feeding still, oblivious to her presence. She fell to a squat, touched the ground, searching the ground until she found a set of footprints and followed them. Not far away the sward cleared to a path, winding its way up a nearby hill. Rocks and ruins obscured her vision, strange cyclopean remnants of some ancient race, but the crown jewel of their fallen city still held life: Atop the hill, two fires burned in cryptic braziers like light-houses, despite the fact that they were miles away from sea. They had been burning every night for centuries, their purpose unknown.

The path led straight up the hill. She thought back to the hapless fools in Aegilus's wine-den, and she smiled at how they'd given the secret away so easily, a secret they didn't even know to be there. Of course, she reflected, not every thief and lowlife in the wine-den had been a master of the craft, and only one of them had been Cornelia, selfsame master procurer, a thief of extraordinary caliber. Perhaps it was true that the priestess of Burning Mounds was a sorceress; perhaps even true that she consorted with queer devils. But even a sorceress must drink, and the ancient temple didn't have a source of water. Couldn't, as the hill it lay atop was bedrock, unmoved by centuries of earthquake and upheaval. Here was were she fetched her water.

Before her lay the acropolis, never conquered by generals, never penetrated by thieves. Cornelia loosened a dagger from her belt, not drawing it yet but keeping it ready. She adjusted her loose breeches, tucked them carefully into her boots, and began creeping up the footpath, cautious not to come upon the water-hole's visitor too soon. She knew not the lay of the land, and had no spotter to help warn her. The thief's sometime companion, Helga the Geat, was at swordplay with the Hemmites seeking vengeance for some slight, and she trusted no other with a treasure such as this. Especially not in a foreign land, far to the south and beneath an unknown sky. Twas true that Aguileria had established here an outpost; but it was a wild land not theirs, and women of Cornelia's breed were not welcomed. A queer and superstitious folk lived in the Zanj, and the priestess was tantamount to divine.

Cornelia almost lost her way amongst the boulders. Even with this secret route from behind the temple's back, the approach was not easy, the ancient crumbling ruins like a labyrinth. She considered turning back to find the prints again ere she heard a pebble tumble over stone, and sharpened her ears. She picked up her pace, dropped down behind the stones so that she almost crawled, her lithe and supple body as graceful as a monkey's as she clambered up the incline toward the source of the disturbance. Endlessly careful, she lifted herself up above the summit of a rock. The sight baffled her.

It was a girl of perhaps twenty, alabaster white. Cornelia blinked and rubbed her eyes, thinking her disguised or somehow painted, but if so the illusion was near perfectly complete. The girl was all but nude, her ivory-white skin stark against the crumbling slate, dressed only in a loincloth that was slung about her hips. This garment was bejewelled like the collars of the leopards, and glittered with riches around slender swaying hips. It artfully concealed her rump and treasure, but not much more. She was tall and slim, with equally white hair wrapped in a thick bun on her head atop which balanced an amphora. Silvery strands fell away from it, trailing around her form like mist in the midnight breeze. Cornelia stifled a gasp, staring in bewilderment at the beautiful girl.

The ghost-girl stopped, turned, peered into the dark. Cornelia held still. For the briefest moment she could admire the specter's face, equally pale and elfin strange, with a slim nose and slimmer lips, eyes that seemed strangely colorless in the dark. Her breasts, completely uncovered, were like droplets of milk crowned by dusty pink nipples, the only feature that seemed to interrupt her pale-white skin. If this was indeed a ghost, it was sure to perceive her; but the woman blinked unknowing, and turned back towards the path.

”By the gods-” Cornelia whispered, but stopped herself from finishing the thought. Apparition or no, the woman hadn't seen her. This was no time for superstition. Heart racing and nerves on edge, Cornelia crept like a cat, stalking after the peculiar white rabbit. Time and again she lost her behind some ancient leaning pillar, but she was easy to spot against the charcoal-blackened stone. The path towards the temple was truly not easy, and the girl, Cornelia noted, walked it barefoot, with the certain step of someone who had gone a hundred times.

After a long climb, they finally reached the base. Cornelia settled in behind a crumbling caryatid, hoping to spy the woman climb a ladder or a rope. Neither happened. Instead, the woman simply walked up to the featureless temple and vanished – quite plainly – through a wall.

Cornelia silently swore. Fingers clenched around her dagger, eyes darting ready for some chill wind, some evil sorcery, but nothing happened. And if it did, what good would steel do against the dead? Except... the vase on her head had looked solid enough. Cornelia considered, took a few steps towards the path, and then rolled her shoulders, steeling herself. With her heart in her throat, she crept slowly forward to the place where the strange woman had vanished. She was feet from the spot ere she noticed the deception.

Cornelia brought her hand against the supposed stone wall, and brushed aside a thick and heavy curtain without trouble. Twas the same black color as the mountain, and hung in the shade under a parapet; even in daylight, it would always be unseen. The front of the temple was always strongly guarded. Back here, it seemed, the architects favored deception and the confusing maze-like layout of the ancient crumbling town. She had just penetrated two of its defenses, three if you counted the beasts. With a self-satisfied smirk, Cornelia opened the curtain and slipped subtly into the sorceresses' sanctum.

The inside wasn't lit. Any illumination might leak outside and give away the secret entrance. In here, there wasn't even starlight to guide her. Cornelia fumbled, feeling for something to guide her way. The architects had apparently thought of that, for a handrail led her up a set of stairs towards a door. It was recently locked, but that had never stopped Cornelia. Reaching inside the cleavage of her light white linen shirt, she found the leather package she kept strapped under her arm, and pulled it out. Her tools made short work of the lock, its secrets revelealed to her sensitive fingers.

Cautiously pushing the door open to a crack, she blinked against torchlight. The ghost-woman was still there, placing a few cloth rags in the jug full of water. It seemed perhaps she was cleaning.

In the torchlight, Cornelia could admire her far better. There wasn't hint of a blemish or a mark on her skin, just smooth milky flesh and graceful, playing muscles – for here in the light, it was evident the woman was quite fit. Her feet and hands were fine and pale, but they bore evidence of hard work and so did her trim stomach, her slender thighs, her biceps that hewed and flexed as she lifted an amphora. So distracted was Cornelia that it wasn't until the woman turned that she spotted the keys on her hip – a jingling handful, hanging from her garment.

The ghost-woman strode away, but her wet feet left imprints on the floor and they were easy to follow in the well-lit hall. More torches were hung intermittently, probably to ease the waterbearer's task. Cornelia crept out from her hiding-place, gazing down the hall where the woman had vanished. It seemed to lead only deeper into the bowels of the ageless temple. The thief's eyes swept the walls and their queer bas-reliefs of women worshiping demons, or at least that's what she imagined them for, servants portrayed naked and prostrate. Many carried offerings, and the artist had spared no detail in the carving of their buttocks, or their breasts pressed to the floor. Nowhere was the object of their worship depicted – the women all faced down the hall, stone eyes unmoving, no glyph or rune to indicate a name. Cornelia inadvertently shuddered. Her eyes could afford to linger on the walls no longer – the wet footprints of the woman grew too indistinct. Cornelia turned up a stairway, huddling down when she reached the open arch at its top. The room was well lit, and she dared only peek around the corner, a strand of black hair brushing over the ancient slate floor.

The room was full of statues. Heavy, squat figures that resembled men and women, they were ebon-black like volcanic stone, but their eyes blazed with ice-cool diamonds. There was a peculiar, sinister sheen to those gemstones, though greed overcame Cornelia at the sight of them. The figures sat kneeling holding bowls full of gold, and Cornelia had to stifle a gasp at the sight of their riches, blazing brightly in the braziers at the center of the room. What manner of gods were they?

The pale-skinned girl was walking down the aisle between the staring statues, balancing the jug against her hip. Cornelia crept after her, resisting the temptation at robbing the gods of their bowls – curiosity had overcome her, and greed for whatever prizeless treasure lay at the end of the girls' approach. It seemed she was striding towards one of the pitch-black statues whose bowl appeared empty. The lifeless diamond eyes were on her as she walked, stopping just before the grinning monolith in nothing but her pitiable loincloth, leaning down to set her jug upon the ground. A little too hastily – the jug tipped, and a good deal of water sloshed out onto the floor. The woman righted the vessel instantly, then darted backwards – cried out in sudden pain, her voice echoing between grinning statues.

The loincloth on her hips waved with sudden motion, and she stumbled forward. Without pause, the garment fell to her feet as if pulled on a rope. She straightened herself, took another step forward, and made no move to retrieve it – her alabaster bottom now completely bared, the glittering garment discarded at her feet. As if this weren't impossible enough, her bottom was reddening. A pink mark showed over her tender right buttock, growing steadily more blush. The girl paid it no mind. Apparently accepting her fate, she leaned forwards, retrieved a rag from the amphora, and began washing the statue of dust in the nude.

The fallen loincloth was worth a fortune alone. Aside from the key-ring which still glittered at its belt, it was set with numerous precious stones that weighed down the supple cloth. Perhaps it was this weight which had cause it to fall – but why the cry of pain? Cornelia steeled herself, not knowing what manner of sorcery was afoot. The keys were too precious a treasure to ignore. On soundless feet she padded forward behind the woman, whose slender beautiful bottom was right in her field of vision. The nude girl leaned over, cautiously washing the hands of the lewdly grinning stone; it was almost as it could actually see her, scrubbing its immovable fingers with fresh water from outside.

Cornelia flexed her own fingers, very much movable. She needed to make certain the keys didn't rustle, or the slave girl would call the guards – or worse, the sorceress herself, the mistress of this place. On gentle feet, she approached the fallen fabric, and her hands closed on the keyring without a hint of sound. She smiled – the hard part was over. The master thief carefully lifted the jeweled underwear off the ground – and immediately felt a pull on her own.

Cornelia gasped out loud at the sudden sharp tug between her legs, and the keyring clattered to the floor. The servant girl turned, bewildered at Cornelia mere inches behind her. She wouldn't stay there, though – the thief was dragged backwards by her own undergarments, stumbling to keep her footing before some unseen hideous force lifted her into the air. A sensation as of a torrent of hands swept over her then, as were she carried aloft by some torch-wielding mob, groping and grasping at her everywhere, her chest, her face, her thighs. She flew through the air carried by the spectral assailants until she landed, rear-first, in a bowl of gold coins, scattering everywhere. Cornelia scantly had time to catch her breath, flailing in the air against limbs without flesh. Her dagger was drawn, but for naught against the disembodied horrors. The servant girl, for her part, watched in some horrible fascination, eyes wide open but her countenance calm.

A hand seized the cloth between Cornelia's breasts. A moment later, she watched her shirt tear itself open, exposing her from neck to navel. She moved her arms for cover but found that she could not, held back against the statue by a hundred grasping hands. A sound between a moan and a cry escaped her as a sharp slap rang out across her breast. It jiggled pleasantly, a rosy nipple bouncing to the side on a rapidly reddening bosom. Another slap, then another, the thief squirming helpless in the abomination's iron grasp.

Suddenly, as soon as it had appeared, it was gone. Cornelia lurched forwards, catching her breath, eyes tearing with stinging pain and humiliation. A hand over her shirt to close it, she struggled to climb out of the gigantic bowl, gold coins in her belt, her boots, her breeches. With a loud crash as the bowl tipped over and scattered its treasure, she rolled down on the floor and broke into a run.

Three more statues swept past before she tripped and fell helplessly forward, breeches at her knees. She was caught before she impacted the stone-tile floor, once more held aloft by some evil arcane force she could scantly understand. Kicking against her captor was in vain – it was pulling off her breeches and her boots, leaving her barefoot and in nothing but a knotted rag between the loins. Her lithe, muscular legs pumped against nothing, swimming in the air. Abruptly, she dropped to the floor on all fours. A stifled yell escaped her; she was lifted up by her loincloth. She struggled to escape it, but her legs, extended, found no traction on the floor.

”Don't fight it.” came a voice, quite serene, from behind her. It was in the tongue of the Zanj, and it was high and pleasant, tinkling like crystal. ”You'll only make it worse.”

Cornelia braced herself to push away, but too late. Another sharp slap rang out, this one on her bottom. Her buttocks were exposed by the skimpy undergarment, and it offered no protection – merely more discomfort as it dug between her legs, pressing against her and rubbing her intensely. She cried out in pain and fear and discomfort, but it was stifled by yet another slap. And another. And another. Rhythmical like the beat of some ancient drum, the hands rang down on her rear with merciless force, each impact making her jolt and squirm where she hung. The slaps not relenting, she felt more of the hands grasping at her tunic ere they ripped it clean off her, tearing it in half. Even the scarf on her head they did not leave her, pulled down and off her head, black locks coming free in wild curls around her shoulders.

Finally, the devils let go. Cornelia slumped to the floor in nothing but a loincloth, body trembling, buttocks sore. She rolled over to the side with a scoundrel's determination, made it to a crawl before a force on her back pressed her down into the ground, breasts against the cold stone floor. She was prostrate, like the women in the carvings. Like them, it would seem, the beast wouldn't leave her with a single scrap of modesty. She felt the loincloth move between her legs, but this time down, down to her knees where it stayed. Her ass was in the air, naked, facing the woman who still hadn't moved.

Everything fell quiet. All Cornelia heard was her own pulse, her breathing against the force on her back, and the echoes of a thousand sensations on her skin. She scowled, helpless on the ground.

Only now did the servant girl approach her. She stepped calmly over to her own jewelled garment and donned it once more, before striding up behind her captive and grasped the loincloth at the thief's knees, carefully forcing it off her altogether.

”You shouldn't have done that.” she said.

Cornelia said nothing. Terror and shame and feelings she dared not name forbade it.

With steady movements, the servant unrolled the loincloth and reached for Cornelia's hands. From her awkward position she couldn't fight it, face pressed down into the floor. Her arms were pulled behind her back, tied together at the wrist with the sweaty wet remnants of her underwear. Finally the slave girl pulled her to her feet, as easily as if the pressing force on her back hadn't been there.

At her full height, the thief was a lithe, graceful woman. Her breasts, red from shame and their unkind treatment, pointed apart, apple-sized and pear-shaped, each with a delightful dark nipple on top. Dark curls formed a shapely triangle between her tender thighs, which were near as tender as her glowing-red bottom. Her cheeks glowed quite as crimson, though, from anger and embarrassment. The ghost girl let go, stepping back to observe her.

”There. Don't move. It'll happen again.”

”What will?” Cornelia spat. ”Your mistresses' sorcery?”

”My mistress?”

Cornelia glanced over her shoulder, disheveled hair sticking to her sweating cheeks. ”The one who runs this place. The priestess. Amlophe”

The servant-girl smiled in surprise, a strange serene glitter appearing in her colorless eyes. ”Oh! That's me.”

”You're Amlophe? The high priestess? But you- you-”

Cornelia turned, mindful of her own shame but baffled at Amlophe's. She was still wearing nothing but a luxurious loincloth, her breasts completely bare, her body almost naked and fit like a warrior's, not plump like a woman who ruled a whole city.

”-you're dressed like a slave!”

”I am a slave,” Amlophe replied, bowing her head. ”To the gods. That's what priestess means, no?”

”But your- your immense wealth! Your vast power! You're supposed to- to rule the city!”

Amlophe shook her head. ”I haven't even seen the city since I became a woman. Although sometimes people come here for advice, and of course they must take it.”

”Advice?” Cornelia stared, so bewildered by the woman she'd almost forgotten her humiliation.

”In truth it's from the gods. But most can't hear them.” The girl paused for a moment, looking Cornelia up and down. ”Can you?”

Cornelia sharpened her ears. No sound came but for the steady dripping of water from the girl's abandoned amphora.

”They're discussing what to do with you. They say you have nice firm breasts but your bottom is really your best asset. It's trim but still full, and very lovely to spank.”

Cornelia shrank, a full-body blush overcoming her as she squirmed, trying in vain to hide herself from... what? The diamond eyes of the staring statues? At once they seemed eerily alive, the leering faces grinning as they watched her, saw her from every angle, and she felt, suddenly, how utterly exposed she was. Cornelia turned this way and that trying to hide, but everywhere another statue, male or female, grinning, pouting, licking its lips. Every inch of her body was exposed before them, and she couldn't even cover herself with her hands!

”They are amused at the bush between your legs. They say perhaps I should pluck the hairs from there, one by one.”

”Don't!” Cornelia cried, her cheeks flushing redder.

”Or that I should tickle it with feathers til you scream. They're still debating.”

Cornelia's eyes darted, her mind racing. She could still run, but with her hands bound she'd most likely fall – and if the invisible grasping hands blocked her path, she wouldn't even know it before it was too late. She settled, finally, on squatting down, huddling in abject humiliation with only her knees for cover. The peculiar priestess still listened at voices unheard. Finally, she suddenly sighed, a wistful sound that cut through the dead-quiet hall.

”I thank you for your guidance.”

”G- guidance?” Cornelia asked. ”What- what did they say?”

”They said either to hand you to the law, and if so you should be paraded naked through Zanj from one end to the other, and honey and treats should be served off your bare body for anyone who wished it. And moreover that you should be bathed afterwards in public with a single sponge used by seven volunteers.”

Cornelia's ears burned, her heart beating faster. She bit her lip. ”I heard you say either, priestess. Name the other option.”

”I can't tell you.”

Cornelia awkwardly shifted from squatting to a kneel. She inhaled sharply, pressing down the unbearable shame that surged through her body as she once more leaned forwards, pressing her breasts against the ground. She didn't like it, but she had no choice.

”Please don't hand me over to the law,” she begged, ”O mighty Amlophe.”

The girl solemnly nodded. ”Very well. You'll stay here, then.”

”Stay... here?”

Cornelia found herself pulled up to her knees again by the dreadful unseen force, her whole body exposed once more, stains of sand from the floor over her two blushing breasts. She watched her damaged and discarded clothing lift from the floor. One by one they moved uncannily by some force of their own over the hallway floor, until they sailed, without exception, straight into the braziers. Even her pack of lockpicks met the same dire fate, the metal warped by the burning coals. Eyes staring in horror at the destruction of her clothes, she scantly paid attention anymore to the marvelous treasures in the room. Presently, Amlophe had turned her attention to one of the bowls, withdrawing from it a golden chain. A small rectangular pendant hung on the end, glittering gold, about a hand's width. She approached the naked thief with the chain in hand, fastening it about Cornelia's hips. Only after this did she finally untie her, to cast the ruined loincloth with a final farewell into the fire.

”You'll be my helper.” Amlophe explained. ”The gods even permitted you wear this garment, as long as you behave.”

Cornelia looked down at herself. The golden pendant hung right between her legs, concealing the barest minimum. Her breasts, like Amlophe's, were still bared, but unlike the priestesses' loincloth her garment covered nothing of her stinging, rosy rear. She was almost worse than nude, the golden pendant calling all attention to between her legs, even as it artfully concealed her private parts.

”How kind of them.” the thief managed between gritted teeth, concealing her displeasure as barely as the garment concealed her. Yet she knew better than to lash out – the eyes of the stone gods were still upon her, and here, in their sanctum, there was little she could do. Amlophe looked her up and down with a satisfied smile, and spoke.

”It is well!” she said. ”You'll continue with the washing, and I shall fetch more water.”

Saying so, Amlophe turned on her heel and sashayed down the long corridor, the unblinking diamond eyes of the gods watching her go. Cornelia was left standing, almost nude, before the leering audience, shyly folding her arms before her breast and breathing in deeply, her heart still pounding. Could she run? The priestess wasn't here, and the hall stood seeming empty – granted she had no clothes but for the little shameful pendant, but perhaps-

Her train of thought was interrupted by a ringing crack over her rear. She leapt instinctually, spinning around for any sign of the assailant, but of course there was none. Once more she felt the invisible force, now pinching her exposed and increasingly rosy rump. She got the message.

Humiliated, the once-dashing rogue leaned for the wash-cloth, adjusting her single golden garment to conceal her best she could, and dipped cloth in water, bringing it to a stone god's foot. She waited breathlessly, seeing if something would happen, but the temple was still – the horrors unmoving. Cautiously she scrubbed the icy apparition, its face twisted into a mocking grin. Shame burned on her cheeks as she realized they could see her, whatever they were, these unseen beasts, see her bending down on her naked knees to continue the work. Water ran in rivulets down her forearms, dripping from her elbows and onto her bare thighs. She wanted, desperately, to escape them – but how could she flee from such invisible horrors? If even Amlophe herself was naught but their slave, what chance for someone who didn't know a thing about the horrors of the temple?

Cornelia gritted her teeth. Slavery ill suited her, but there was little she could do. Water dripped down her torso, glimmered like gems in the pathetic golden chain about her waist. It was long before Amlophe returned, two statues already polished top to toe, the would-be thief working on a third.

”Oh!” Amlophe cried, ”So fast! A helper truly makes a difference – we'll retire early! That is to say, if we can avoid more mistakes...”

Cornelia said nothing, merely gritted her teeth and averted her eyes. She could feel the priestess glancing at her rear.

Yet no more horrors accosted her, no spectral hands to punish her further. The work went on in silence, the cleaning soon finished between Amlophe and herself. The girl had brought more water and a second piece of cloth, so they were rarely near each other, each separetely working on a grimly grinning god. Before long, Cornelia had reached the far end of the cruel hall, seeing there an archway adorned with blocks of jade. Even distracted and distraught she made note of it, for the temple truly did seem to hold great many treasures, though they were little more than pittance next to glowing bowls of gold.

Amlophe soon joined her. Stepping up uncomfortably close behind, Cornelia could feel the presence of the woman's near-nude skin, radiating like a heat even in the well-warmed room. It was clear she was no ghost, at least.

”Come!” the girl said cheerily, ”The gods are pleased. It's time to retire.”

Cornelia saw little choice, and so as Amlophe brushed past her, she walked behind the taller girl like a faithful serving maid – which, she supposed, the stone gods had now made her. The trip was short, through luxuriant corridors to a little doorway arch, before which hung beaded silken curtains. These Amlophe parted, revealing a bedroom little more than a cell. A mahogany chest stood at the foot end of a mattress lain directly on the floor, thick and comfortable but clearly sized for one. Braziers provided all the warmth and light; there was no sunlight, no window, just a few small square-shaped vents cut directly into stone. It was a cage, Cornelia thought, and it wasn't even gilded.

Amlophe, for her part, sat cross-legged on the floor and loosened up her girdle. Cornelia watched in something between horror and fascination as the loincloth slipped loose, and the girl opened up the little coffer – it was empty. Slipping her only garment from her hips, Amlophe pooled it in her hands and let it slip into the container, mouthing a whispered prayer.

”You- ah, why are you-”

”We sleep naked.” Amlophe explained, as if it were the clearest thing in the world. She crawled backwards onto the mattress and spread out in all her glory, her body unabashedly completely on display. Between her legs wasn't a hair – she was creamy smooth, as her skin all over, two pale milky lips with the merest hint of rosy petal between them. Eyes playfully watched Cornelia, a half-smile playing on her mouth.

”We?” Cornelia wondered. Amlophe giggled.

”Well there's only one priestess. But her helper surely follows the same rules.”

The girl looked expectant, her eyes falling to the little golden pendant that was all Cornelia wore. Would even this scant mockery of clothing be denied her? The thief hesitated, stalled for a moment. Could the gods see in here? Did their horrid invisible hands extend even to the priestesses' private sanctum? She shuddered at the thought of their punishment. The curtain to the little cell was drawn, but what obstacle was a curtain to the gods? Then again, she supposed, what obstacle were clothing?

She blushed, helpless in the hold of these eldritch wicked things. Deft hands fell to her hips and unhooked the golden chain, its links running limply twixt her fingers. She covered herself with a hand, hesitating ere she let the golden treasure slip into the coffer. Finally her eyes went to the bed, fit for but one woman and covered in silk.

Amlophe's naked skin was warm, far warmer than Cornelia expected of a woman so pale. She smelled peculiar, of dense stone corridors but also of woman, warm gentle musk with a hint of milk and almond. Her long, limber limbs brushed against the thief's bare rear, then wrapped around her slowly to lie faint on her hip. The braziers burned low, warm orange embers in the pitch black of their cell. Cornelia breathed in, felt the scent of her companion... or her mistress, she supposed. The hand slipped lower on her thigh.

”Do you know,” Amlophe breathed, ”what always helps me sleep?”

Cornelia knew.

But as the embers eventually died into darkness and Amlophe slipped into sleep, the thief remained half awake, counting the hours as they passed. It was an unprecedented predicament, to be caught thus in the grasp of lascivious gods; but she was still Cornelia, naked or no. She wished and dreamed that Helga were with her, the Geatish hero who feared naught, not even sorcery. What would she have done? Something decisive, no doubt – decisive and fearless.

In the mist of half-sleep, her mind centered on the keyring at Amlophe's hip and she was suddenly awake. They had passed no locked doors or chambers since the entrance, but the priestess carried not one key, but many. There must be more doors, perhaps more exits, doors that weren't past the grim statues. The opportunity stirred her. She slipped to her feet above the sleeping woman and cautiously opened the container where their pitiful garments were held. In there, Amlophe had also slipped the keys, and now nothing stopped Cornelia's fingers from closing around them. Hesitating a moment, she withdrew also the golden little belt, if only to be able to carry the keys with more ease. She hung it to conceal her sex, and slipped from the room unheard while the girl slept.

Fires still burned in the long hallway, but Cornelia dared not enter it anyway lest she incur the horrors therein. The way back was impossible. Instead, her fingers searched the bas-reliefs of the walls, finding there more depictions of women in the nude. They pointed towards the gods, which meant Cornelia could follow them backwards, wandering aimlessly for what seemed a very long time. The golden pendant cold between her thighs, she felt her way uncertainly along the dark walls until finally she came upon a door and, testing a key, slipped it open. Behind it was a staircase leading up – the wrong direction, but the door had been locked. Something of importance must be there. Step by step, Cornelia found her way to the roof of the old temple, and as she emerged from the staircase, she was greeted by a wave of heat.

From afar, the two braziers atop the temple had seemed like candle-flames, but up close they were hefty, the size of a man. Crackling fires, fed by coal and stray wood she guessed Amlophe would gather from the surroundings. A painstaking effort – trees were scant in the Zanj.

Why were they here? Why go through all the trouble? There must be an inordinate amount of work to keep the braziers fueled.

Then, as Cornelia watched, she heard some sound on the wind. Ducking behind a brazier, she watched in horror as shapes formed in the smoke above her, oblivious to her presence, dancing, cavorting spirits, their forms outlined by the fire. She could not hear them, but she saw their beckoning movement. Twisting and twirling in the embers, they seemed to be calling out to some dark thing in the heavens. Shadows blocked out the stars, like clouds come alive. Winds flew around her, shapes making their way towards the braziers and disappearing without trace. They seemed frightened, hurried, as they wound their way towards the fires and vanished into ashes and smoke. A few howls, as if pained, from the east. She looked that way, and saw the dawn.

With a great rush of air, the last of the spirits vanished into the flame. The air became quiet once more. For a long time she dared not move, but when it seemed no other demons would join the silent horde, she stepped forth and glanced down from the roof. Sheer, impossible to climb. She'd find no escape here, not unless she could fly. There was no recourse but return down the winding stairs. Cornelia frowned, but what she had seen disturbed her almost more deeply than the statues – whatever horrors lived here, they were utterly free of bodily forms. The idols, she guessed, were merely for their habitation.

She slipped down the stairs into the darkness. Whatever other exits there were, she could not find them; groping her way through the dark yielded no clue how the worshipers entered or left. She could easily have missed some doorway or hall, and her searches grew more frantic, pace increased as she made her way through the dark until her hand settled on something now eerily familiar.

A statue.

Jeweled eyes flashing in the dark informed her it was very much inhabited.

Stifling a scream, the thief turned to run. Then the scream escaped her lips unbidden as a slap rang out against her rear, and she stumbled, falling down on all fours. Ghostly fingers clamped around her wrists and more spirits joined, maybe drawn by some ghastly alarm. She dreaded what was coming but was helpless to escape it, her legs forced apart, her nipples tickled by some unknown force and then another slap rang down across her rear. Between her legs, the golden pendant danced with every smack, and she rocked forwards whining against the pain. Another slap, and then another, and another. Cornelia squirmed against the terrifying powers as the invisible hands touched her unashamed, making her breasts dance and her cheeks flush red. Fingers slipped over her mouth as she whined, touched her everywhere, massaged her and punished her in equal measure. The humiliating treatment continued until a lamp lit up the room.

It was Amlophe. The punishment ceased, but she was still held down. In the light of the lantern, Cornelia could make out a grand entrance, two statues flanking a great door of filigreed bronze. The front door down to the city, evidently warded by the gods.

”The gods are not pleased,” Amlophe frowned.

”Y- you don't say.” Cornelia replied. ”Please, for the love of star and moon, make them release me.”

Another sharp slap rang out across her rear, and she whined as her breasts skipped and her back arched.

”You tried to escape. They'll have to punish you now. You'll do all the work tomorrow yourself. With me as supervision.”

”F-fine.”

”And we're adjusting your wardrobe.”

Amlophe approached the helpless thief and released the skimpy little pendant from around her waist. Instead, she coiled the golden chain into a loop and placed it over Cornelia's head, collaring her. The pendant, her only meager cover, clattered to the floor. Led on all fours like a dog, Amlophe took her back into the coils of the temple, crawling across the cold stone. If her previous role had been humiliating, this was even worse. To ensure she didn't escape, Amlophe slept with one end of the chain coiled around her wrist. Cornelia slept fitfully naked at her feet, thoughts of escape put completely out of her mind.

Yet if the thief had accepted her fate for now, thoughts of escape grew only stronger. Rising from bed and eating breakfast with her captor, Cornelia was put to work cleaning everything in the temple meticulously with a rag. She crawled along the floors, climbed to reach cornices, and for a particularly humiliating section she must clean the idols themselves with her tongue. All of it was done completely in the nude, under the watchful eyes of the sinister gods, and every mistake was swiftly punished as Amlophe's had been, her sore bare bottom fondled or pinched. As for the priestess herself she merely supervised, ensured that Cornelia kept up the work, and attended to duties beside cleaning. This included, it seemed, a visit to the roof.

Brief stops for meals aside, there seemed to be no interruptions. There were no visitors from the village, or rituals to be done – merely the tedium of pampering the gods with their sponge baths. When they finally were done, late in the small hours of the night, Cornelia was embarrassed and exhausted, wishing nothing more than to crawl up under a blanket. Perhaps, she reflected, she should just accept her fate.

”We must sleep now,” Amlophe said brightly. ”You did good today. The gods are pleased. When they come back tomorrow morning, perhaps they'll punish you milder.”

”I would like that.” Cornelia admitted.

”First though, I must wash you.”

And Amlophe dipped a cloth in a small bucket. A single piece was all she was afforded, and the ice-cold water chilled Cornelia to the core as the priestess, slowly, meticulously, cleaned her naked form before they went to bed.

To Amlophe, Cornelia seemed utterly defeated. And perhaps she had been, if not for something the girl had said. Even exhausted and humiliated, the thought kept her awake. Every part of her screamed not to make more trouble for herself, not to endure more humiliating reprimands. But she was not born to be a priestess nor a slave, and so, as Amlophe slept peacefully (for Cornelia had made sure of that), the golden chain was slowly slipped from around Amlophe's wrist, the deeply sleeping girl not alarmed. There was no time for thievery or dressing now, and Cornelia stole from the bedroom with her bottom still aching and her knees dark with dirt. She had not even the pretense of clothing now, but for the first time since coming to the temple, she had what amounted to a plan.

It was a desperate plan, admittedly, but she was no stranger to desperation.

Stark naked with a gold chain about her neck, she briskly swept through the dark corridors, her mind not failing her; even with all that had happened, she remembered the way. If she were right, she could perhaps escape unharmed, but she would not have mere escape – her mind was afire with greater madness. Up, up, to the roof of the building, to the dark and cold winds beneath the starlit sky. Naked feet slapped across the ancient stair-steps until the winds of night, and the scent of the braziers, washed over her body.

The warmth of the braziers was welcome. Still conscious of her nudity, she glanced towards the distant stars and cursed them out beneath her breath. She was defenseless, unclad, beaten and belittled, but she was still Cornelia and she'd be damned before she let any kings or princes push her around. Even if they were made of magic.

”Helga,” she prayed, ”a little of your strength, please. Let's hope this works.”

And she hurled herself against the side of the great brazier. The metal hot beneath her hands, thews strengthened like springs across her bare body, powerful thighs flexing, her abdomen taut, her biceps swelling. Once – twice – thrice-

The brazier fell. Hot coals spilled over the side of the temple, disappearing to be dashed down on the barren rocks. Nothing near the temple could burn. Sweaty and with coal-dust on her face, she turned her attention to the other. These fires always burned atop the temple of the Zanj, had done so for generations, until tonight. The woman roared with strength and fury unchained, and the second brazier fell, tumbling whole like a gong down from the roof and with great clamor bouncing down the rock face to disappear below.

The fires were out. The roof was dark. Turning towards the heaven, Cornelia stood unclad and unprotected, seizing the chain from off her neck and snapping it, raising its remnants in one defiant fist.

”You thought to bind me, demons?”

Below, the city was stirring. Cornelia hoped against hope that her plan had worked. Horns of alarm blared in the distance; the whole city's guardforce had seen the lights go out. But above her, she saw what she had hoped for – dark shapes blowing this way and that before the stars. They were deliberate last night, but now, they were aimless. Ships lost at an endless sea. How vast, she thought, the expanse of space – how empty, how endless. Demons though they may be, they were specks against the endless midnight sky.

”I know nothing of your magic!” she shouted at the heavens. ”But my father was a sailor, and the sea is vaster than you! The sky more still! Damn you, night-sailors, you'll never find this port again!”

Cornelia waited, with bated breath. Perhaps the horrors would return. Perhaps they navigated by some means unknown to man altogether. Nothing stirred near the roof; merely the dazed dance of the black shapes against starlight, wispy clouds on a sky without end.

Down the stairs she hurried, as the rays of sun touched the top of the temple. She dearly hoped that all the dark creatures went together on their midnight journey, for else the plan might be for naught. No time for hesitation; she burst into Amlophe's chambers with her heart in her throat, rousing the priestess.

”Wake up! Your people are coming!”

”What?”

The alabaster girl looked up, drunk on sleep, and gasped in shock at the sight of Cornelia, covered in ash and coal dust, wild-eyed and nude.

”They're not supposed to come, they-”

”Well they are, and you with me. I can't have them knowing who I am.”

With that, she seized the pale girl by her alabaster locks and pulled her to her feet, her other holding the golden chain. They staggered into the hall to Amlophe's protests, and then towards the great chamber of the gods.

”Ow!” the priestess shouted, ”punish her! Punish her, she's trying to flee!”

The gods stood silent. Amlophe stared in disbelief as Cornelia wrapped the gold chain around her wrist and approached one of the bowls, seizing whatever shiny baubles she could find.

”Heresy!” Amlophe moaned, ”Sabotage! Theft! Help me!”

”Your gods,” Cornelia managed, ”are but travelers, and now they're lost at sea forever. Now come, lest you want to answer to your people for that.”

”Lies!”

The demure girl grabbed a fistful of coins, and threw them at Cornelia. Gold rained down over her naked breasts and she let go to shield herself, freeing the priestess. For a moment, the two women stood facing each other between the row of dead statues, each dirty and nude, each poised for a fight.

”I wrecked the beacons on the roof, Amlophe. Your gods won't find their way back.”

”It's impossible!” Amlophe spat. ”This temple has stood for hundreds of years!”

”It stands no more.”

”Fiend!”

”You're the one that pleaded to keep me.” Cornelia smiled bitterly. ”You invited a devil to your master's temple, it seems. Now come with me, or-”

Cornelia heard the sound of horns, and the barking of soldiers. The citizens were almost at the door. She rushed at Amlophe but was greeted with another handful of scattered coins, swore, turned, and fled. Down past the stone-dead gods, through the stairs, and into Amlophe's basement with the gathered water. The door was still unlocked since Cornelia's arrival, and she kicked over the amphoras on sheer spite as she burst through the door, out into dawn, into fresh air, into the wild and vast swards behind the temple. She was unarmed, exhausted, naked, and afraid.

But she was free, and in her hands was glittering gold. A broad smile greeted the rising sun as she slipped from the barren hills into the grasslands. From here, but to outmaneuver the leopards, the soldiers, the search parties, and to make it back to friendly territory... without a scrap of clothing but a little golden chain. Fastening it around her elbow, Cornelia gritted her teeth.

She really hoped she could make it back unseen.

~*~

Weeks passed since the commotion in the temple of the Zanj, and yet strangers sometimes poured into Aegilus's tavern, looking for news or opportunities for thievery. It was said the temple had been ransacked, or perhaps defiled; or maybe the priestess had cast some curse on it. Aegilus cared not; he was a simple man, motivated by simple things.

Simple like the golden pendant that clattered down on his table.

”Are you Aegilus?”

He rubbed his eyes. The woman who faced him was in a gray cloak, pulled artfully around her nearly-nude body. Hints of her snow-white cleavage shone under the jeweled brooch, but her face was even stranger, milk white like a ghost's. Curls of ivory hair fell around pearlescent cheeks, even her lips pale, her eyes strangely colorless and grey.

”I'm looking for someone. A woman.”

”I'm listening.” Aegilus said breathlessly, seizing the pendant and holding it to the light. It was solid gold.

”A thief, of your people. Black-haired, short, lithe. Probably came here naked.”

Aegilus nodded, a chuckle escaping him. ”Ah, yes. Cornelia,” he said, betraying her name without another thought. This was quite a bit of gold. ”Came in naked, covered in soot and swearing. We all had a good laugh at her, but- er- she paid in gold for new clothes. Like a gentleman, I provided them...” he grinned, ”after she waited in the tavern for an hour or five. Delivery boys can be slow. She's a very beautiful woman, but she ain't here now.”

”Where.”

”Hemma, I believe. The great plains. Gone to join up with one Helga the Geat, her friend.”

”Very good. Keep the change.”

The woman strode out of the tavern without another word. It was curious, Aegilus thought as he pocketed the gold. She'd been carrying a little idol, almost like a doll – like the statues of the Zanj gods, only smaller, with jeweled eyes.

And Aegilus could have sworn he had seen the eyes glow.