“Losing My Religion”
“It’s just a chemical, you dumb bitch.”
Jocasta wasn’t sure why the words had suddenly popped into her head. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard them, or when. She couldn’t place the voice that had said them to her, even though she could hear it perfectly in her mind. He’d been angry, she could tell that much, but there was also something else in his voice. An element of pleading? Resignation?
She forced the unbidden memory from her mind, hoping none of the other High Priestesses had noticed. They had already taken up their positions, two rows of three forming a human passage for Elspeth to walk through on her way to the Ritual of Investment, but Jocasta had yet to take her place. She blinked a few times to clear her head, then moved to stand at the center of the chamber. “It is time,” she intoned, her voice echoing around the stone walls. “Let the circle once more be unbroken. Let the mortal once more touch the immortal world. Let she who would serve the Goddess come forth to prove her devotion to the Sacred Mysteries of Life Eternal. Let Elspeth, Priestess of the Second Circle, be brought unto us.”
On cue, the outer door to the ritual chamber boomed with a loud knocking sound. Outside, Jocasta knew, the other four High Priestesses waited with Elspeth. “We bring to you a supplicant to the Goddess!” High Priestess Alayna cried out from the other side of the door. “May she enter?”
Jocasta responded, “Only if her words have been devoted to the Goddess for seven times seven hours.” She knew they had; they had all taken their turns watching Elspeth in the Room of Mirrors, as she chanted the mantra of the Goddess. She had been allowed food and water—a supplicant must not enter the presence of the Goddess weak or hungry—but other than that, her every waking moment had been devoted to the chant of, “All life flows from the Goddess, all devotion flows to the Goddess.”
Between that and the lack of sleep, Jocasta mused cynically, the words were probably etched so deep in Elspeth’s brain that she’d hear them even after she’d stopped saying them.
“She has spoken nothing but the sacred words for seven times seven hours, oh Highest Priestess,” High Priestess Bathsheba replied. “May she enter?”
“Only...if her eyes have gazed into the Fires of Purification for seven times seven hours.” Jocasta almost forgot to respond, she was so shocked by her own thoughts. The Ritual of Supplication purified the thoughts of the prospective High Priestess and prepared her for a lifetime of devotion and service to the Goddess. It was a test of their will and their faith.
She remembered her own investment, chanting the words and staring into the endless mirrors, seeing herself reflected into infinity as though she was floating in a sea of versions of herself that already understood the divinity of the Goddess and were just waiting for this last tiny bit of her to see the light. The room had echoed with her chant, reflecting it back the same way the mirrors reflected the light until it seemed like a chorus of voices was telling her the same thing she told herself. All life flows from the Goddess, all devotion flows to the Goddess. She’d chanted and watched and breathed the sacred incense until she’d truly understood those words, deep in her soul. It had been a profound and mystical experience. Remembering that experience steadied her, allowing her to center herself within the Goddess once more.
“She has seen nothing but the fires lit by the Goddess for seven times seven hours, oh Highest Priestess,” High Priestess Sybilla responded. “May she enter?”
“Only if her breath has been purified by the Sacred Wind of the Goddess for seven times seven hours,” Jocasta replied. The smell of the incense still seemed to cling in her own nostrils from her time spent preparing it, but Jocasta knew it was just her imagination. The scent was very strong, though. Jocasta almost wished that someone else could prepare it—she always got light-headed, making the incense—but only the Highest Priestess was entrusted by the Goddess with the secret of making Her preparations.
“It’s just a fucking chemical, it’s not love.”
Jocasta almost looked around for the source of the voice, before realizing it was in her head. Outside the chamber, High Priestess Ophelia was calling out, “She has breathed only the Sacred Wind of the Goddess for seven times seven hours, oh Highest Priestess. May she enter?” Her words sounded no more real than the choking, angry voice Jocasta had just heard, but Jocasta knew the other voice to be only a phantom of memory. No men were allowed in the Ritual Chamber, not even those who had pledged service to the Goddess. The Goddess was most pleased by women’s forms and women’s taste, and had shaped Her Church around that. Jocasta knew of other Churches that allowed men and women to serve their gods and goddesses directly, and even those that had exclusively male priesthoods, but she had no interest in the matter.
Trying to shake off the memory of the voice, Jocasta let the routine of the Ritual guide her and calm her. “She may enter, then, as a supplicant to the Goddess.” The door swung wide, admitting Elspeth and the four High Priestesses that flanked her.
But Jocasta still couldn’t stop wondering about those sharp, strange bursts of memory. Was that what he’d been referring to, whoever he had been? The incense? She already knew that it wasn’t love. She knew exactly what the incense did and what it contained, just like all the other concoctions that the Goddess taught her how to make. It was a simple enough recipe, nothing more than a mild euphoric and an extremely mild sedative. Just enough to make Elspeth groggy, light-headed, and dull her thoughts to the point where she would accept the truth of the Goddess that much easier.
Jocasta suddenly realized where her own thoughts had been leading her, and she let out a tiny gasp at her own blasphemy. She was the Highest Priestess! How could she see Elspeth—Elspeth who was to be her sister in the Inner Circle—as a victim to be brainwashed? The physical aspects of the Ritual merely assisted the supplicant in coming to terms with the greater glory of the Goddess, allowing them to adjust quickly once they received the Sacred Truth. The Goddess was love, and Her love needed no tricks to enfold Her priestesses. Elspeth would see that, soon enough.
Jocasta refocused her thoughts on the Goddess and the Ritual as Elspeth slowly approached. This was one of the most sacred moments in service to the Goddess. She needed to think only of that. Worrying about the crude mechanics of the process diminished the sanctity of the Ritual.
As Elspeth came up to the first tier of High Priestesses, they flung their hands out to bar her approach. “Halt!” they cried in unison. “You come as a supplicant, yet you wear the robes of a priestess. Divest yourself of your prideful garments before you continue your journey.”
Elspeth disrobed slowly and mechanically, her eyes glassy with lack of sleep. Her breasts were smaller than Meredith, the priestess she was replacing, but her legs were longer and sleeker. Jocasta looked forward to running her hands along those legs later, after Elspeth had joined the Inner Circle and they were bound by blood.
Poor Meredith. Jocasta understood that the Goddess was the Goddess, and accidents happened, but she would miss Meredith. The girl had always been so sweet and understanding, with a warmth that made all the other sisters of the Inner Circle feel protective of her despite their supposed equal status. She was like a little sister to them all, and it seemed somehow unfair that she should—
But it was fair, Jocasta told herself, clamping down that line of thought quickly as Elspeth approached the second tier of priestesses. It was fair because the Goddess was the Goddess, and if the Goddess demanded all of Meredith’s gifts, then Meredith’s duty was to serve. All devotion flowed to the Goddess. All life flowed from the Goddess. All devotion flowed to the Goddess. All life flowed from the Goddess.
Jocasta gritted her teeth as the second tier of priestesses flung out their hands and cried “Halt! You come as a supplicant, yet you stand proud and tall as a priestess. Kneel in supplication before you continue your journey.” She wished they would get to her portion of the Ritual soon. She didn’t like just standing here and waiting, not when she was feeling so tense.
Elspeth crawled forward on her hands and knees, her eyes cast towards the floor. This close, Jocasta could spot the tell-tale signs of Elspeth’s arousal, and she privately congratulated herself at making a good choice from the priestesses of the Second Circle. It was sometimes difficult to tell who would be able to handle receiving the Sacred Truth of the Goddess—all of the priestesses who had made it to the Second Circle were lesbians or at least bisexual, and all of them had proved their devotion to the Church, but it took a special eye to see which of them served out of ambition and which of them served because they loved to serve. Elspeth needed to submit herself to others. That was important; even though the High Priestesses ruled the other Circles, they in turn submitted completely to the Goddess.
“Halt!” the final tier of priestesses cried, flinging their hands out in front of Elspeth yet again. “You seek the highest honor of the priesthood, so you must be the lowest of the low. Abase yourself before you continue your journey.”
Elspeth knew what to do, of course. Jocasta had helped her rehearse for many weeks. She fell down onto her belly and crawled forward, past the final tier of priestesses and across the muddy floor of the ritual chamber. Normally, the stone was scrubbed clean on a daily basis by the acolytes, but they’d spent the last few weeks reversing their normal course of action and tracking in extra dirt just for this moment. Elspeth needed to show that she was willing to abase herself completely to the will of the Goddess.
Jocasta looked down at her, all her doubts subsumed in the flood of ritual. “Do you, Elspeth, wish to devote yourself fully to the Goddess?”
“I do,” Elspeth replied. She looked up at Jocasta, her eyes shining with the light of fervent belief.
Jocasta favored her with a tiny smile. “Do you, Elspeth, wish to commit yourself now and for all time to a life of service to the Goddess?”
“I do,” Elspeth replied. There was never any doubt she would say otherwise, not after the years of service she had given to the Church. Jocasta had never heard a supplicant back out, not in her years as High Priestess or Highest Priestess. Every time she had performed the ritual, the call and response had been the same.
Every time... “Do you, Elspeth, believe in the eternal and incorruptible nature of the Goddess, she who does not yield to death or decay, and who will someday bring us all into eternal life?” How many times had she invested a new High Priestess? A dozen? Two dozen? The Goddess was the Goddess, and accidents happened, but...now, as she thought about it, that seemed like a lot of accidents. It made the Goddess seem a bit careless. Jocasta furiously castigated herself for the thought, but it refused to leave her mind.
“I do,” Elspeth said, her voice bright with belief. Jocasta suddenly wondered how her voice would sound if she was asked to answer the Tests of Devotion. She realized that she didn’t want to know.
“Rise, Elspeth,” Jocasta said, forcing down her questions into the patterns of ritual, “and prepare to prove your devotion.” Her hands trembled as she took the cup from the stand behind her. “This is the Cup of Death,” she pronounced. “To sip from it is to drink a poison none can withstand, not man nor woman nor beast nor bird. In this cup is death made liquid, a fatal draught that needs must slay you upon the instant. Do you understand, Elspeth?”
“I do,” Elspeth said. Jocasta saw that it was true—for all that it was ritual, Elspeth was so lost in the moment that she truly believed the cup contained poison as Jocasta handed it to her. The endless rehearsals, the attempts to stave off fits of giggles as she drank mulled wine and tried to pretend it was deadly poison, all those were lost in the totality of the ceremony. Elspeth truly believed. Jocasta felt suddenly and inexplicably guilty for lying to her.
She didn’t let it show, though. “Then prove that your devotion to the Goddess encompasses your life, Elspeth. Drink deep of the Cup of Death. Should the Goddess accept your sacrifice, She will protect you with Her life eternal.”
Elspeth drained the cup with a single swallow. She stood there, terror and ecstasy mingling on her face as the priestesses chanted, “All life flows from the Goddess, all devotion flows to the Goddess, all life flows from the Goddess, all devotion flows to the Goddess...” After a moment, Elspeth reflexively joined in the chant herself.
With every moment, the astonishment on Elspeth’s face grew. Jocasta remembered thinking the same thoughts Elspeth must be thinking now—she had drunk deep of the Cup of Death, but the Goddess had saved her and spared her. Jocasta remembered the joy rising within her soul every second, the wild exhilaration of knowing she was loved and protected by the Goddess. She wondered if the Highest Priestess who had inducted her was just mechanically counting the seconds until the euphoric drug in the cup took effect, too.
She saw that Elspeth’s pupils had dilated fully, and raised her hand for silence. Elspeth swayed slightly, still mouthing the words of the chant as the drug flowed through her veins. Jocasta felt like a card sharp performing her tricks before a particularly gullible mark—Elspeth just accepted anything Jocasta told her, now. The drug almost seemed unnecessary. But Jocasta knew better. The drug was vital to the ritual. The Goddess had created it to have a very specific effect, reacting with the olfactory nerves to produce surges of euphoria in the presence of strong odors. And She had designed the ritual around that drug.
A few short hours ago, that just seemed like evidence of the divine wisdom of the Goddess. Now it seemed almost like cheating.
“Now, Elspeth,” she said, “you have proved that you are willing to entrust your life to the Goddess. But yet She must have greater proof of your devotion.” Ophelia and Sybilla stepped in front of Elspeth, holding between them a pet carrier. It seemed oddly incongruous in the ritual chamber.
They opened the carrier and took out a rabbit. Jocasta felt an unexpected surge of sadness. Her familiar had been a rabbit, too. She’d chosen it with great ceremony, the day she had been invested as a Priestess of the First Circle. It had looked up at her with soulful brown eyes and twitched its nose at her, and she had felt a deep and mystical connection to it in that very instant. She had taken care of it all through her time in the First Circle, and after her advancement to the Second Circle.
“You must be willing to do anything for the Goddess, Elspeth,” Jocasta said as Alayna brought forth the bronze knife. “Do you understand?” Jocasta realized with a pang of loss that she’d forgotten her familiar’s name. Had she really been a sister of the Inner Circle for that long?
Elspeth looked surprised—this was a part of the ritual they hadn’t told her about—but she took the knife in one hand, and held the rabbit by the ears with the other. It didn’t struggle. They’d sedated it, after they took it from Elspeth’s room. This wasn’t about cruelty. (Not to the rabbit, said a furious voice inside her head. It’s cruel to Elspeth, it was cruel to you, but Heaven forfend we let the rabbit feel any pain!)
Jocasta blinked away tears. She still couldn’t remember the name—was it Donald? That name rung a bell...she struggled to remember, even as she watched Elspeth’s face carefully. Some supplicants struggled with this moment. Some even failed, unable to go through with it. Meredith had struggled mightily. Her eyes had been wide and sorrowful, and she’d hesitated for a long moment, but she’d done it. Jocasta had been relieved. Meredith had shown too much promise to fail, and Jocasta had already loved her too much to dispose of her as a failure. (Poor Meredith.)
Elspeth didn’t hesitate, though. Her eyes gleamed with the fires of devotion, and she brought the knife across in a single swift gesture. Suddenly, the air was thick with the hot smell of iron, and Elspeth shuddered in pleasure. She wouldn’t know why, of course. She wouldn’t understand that the drug had done it, that Jocasta had done it by drugging her. She’d only know she obeyed and it felt good. But Jocasta knew. It was her fault.
Bert. She’d named her rabbit Bert. Not bursting into tears was the hardest thing Jocasta had ever done as a priestess.
After a long moment, she found her voice. “You have proven your devotion in all ways, and in all things,” she said. “Now, it is time for you to learn the Sacred Truth of the Goddess, the innermost secret of the Inner Circle. You have shown yourself to be worthy, Elspeth. To you we entrust our greatest truth.”
Elspeth’s eyes widened, and she listened intently. “The Goddess is not a metaphor, Elspeth. She is not an idea, or a symbol. The Goddess we serve is real. She does not yield to death or decay; She is truly eternal and incorruptible.” Jocasta gestured to the inner door of the ritual chamber. “She waits for you beyond that door. She waits to receive your gift. You will have many duties as a High Priestess of the Inner Circle. Some you know about already. Some you will learn about in days to come. But your true duty is to bring the gift of life to the Goddess.”
Looking at the vacant joy on Elspeth’s face as she held the knife, her body red with spatters of blood, Jocasta knew that Elspeth would find some of the duties of the Inner Circle very easy indeed. She felt a strange surge of relief at that. Somehow, those duties seemed to weigh heavier on her now than ever before. At the time, they’d always seemed easy, almost unimportant when set against the love of the Goddess, but—
“Love is buying someone chocolates and flowers, not gutting some poor bastard like a fish because he knows too much.”
The voice again. It sounded more familiar than ever. Jocasta wanted nothing more than to stop the ritual, find someplace quiet and try to remember where she’d heard it. But her devotion to the Goddess prevented her. Her devotion to the Goddess was like a weight in her mind, dragging her back to it no matter how hard she tried to get away.
Why would she try to get away? She loved the Goddess. She served the Goddess. She loved to serve the Goddess. Where were these thoughts coming from?
Jocasta became aware that the other priestesses were staring at her. She cleared her throat and continued, trying to pretend she didn’t feel the tears streaking her cheeks. “And as—as we are all sisters in the Inner Circle, we all bring our gifts of life to the Goddess in turn. Understand that as your gift to the Goddess is the gift of life, our gift to you is patience. We all wish to give our gifts to the Goddess, but we have allowed you to do so today. Now, Elspeth, honor the gift your sisters have given you.”
Elspeth turned and bowed to the other priestesses. “Thank you, sisters, for granting me the opportunity to serve the Goddess directly. I hope to be so gracious when it is your turn to serve.”
Jocasta undid the sash on her robes, letting them fall open and then shrugging them off completely. “Now, Elspeth, look upon me. See the Mark of the Goddess upon me.” As close as Elspeth was, she probably couldn’t miss the twin scars on Jocasta’s inner thigh. “Soon, you will have a Mark of your own. This is our gift to you, Elspeth. We wait for our next chance to serve the Goddess, so that you might serve all the sooner. Now, shower your gratitude on me, knowing that through me, you show your gratitude to all the sisters of the Inner Circle.”
Elspeth fell to her knees once again, this time directly in front of Jocasta. She leaned forward and inhaled deeply, shuddering once again as the drug sent another surge of pleasure through her brain. Jocasta normally reveled in this part of the ritual above all others, loving the discoveries of just how a new priestess could pleasure her in new ways, but all Elspeth’s tongue made her think about was just how much she would miss Meredith.
Poor Meredith. Why hadn’t Jocasta cried, when she buried Meredith’s body in an unmarked grave? Why did she want to cry now, when all she could think about then was how good it was that Meredith had given so much of herself to the Goddess? Why did it seem so unfair now that Meredith was gone forever while the Goddess stayed young and undiminished? The Goddess was the Goddess and accidents happened. That had comforted her then, why didn’t it comfort her now?
All devotion flowed to the Goddess. Jocasta clung to that thought. If the Goddess demanded all of Meredith’s gifts, then Meredith’s duty was to serve. All devotion flowed to the Goddess.
But all life didn’t flow from the Goddess, her traitor thoughts spat back. Not to Meredith, it didn’t.
Jocasta cried out with a passion she didn’t feel, pretending release simply to stop Elspeth from bringing these memories to the fore. The other sisters took Elspeth into their arms, then, washing her body with soft cloths and warm water to clear away all the mud and blood from her body. Elspeth shook and trembled as they washed every inch of her, but all Jocasta could think about was that this part of the ritual served nothing but the sensitive nose of the Goddess. She hated having animal blood tracked into Her chambers.
Finally, Elspeth was washed and cleaned and stood before her, mewling slightly with pleasure. Between the drugs and the hands all over her body, Jocasta suspected she’d come at least once. “It is time, Elspeth,” Jocasta said, taking a heavy iron key on a chain from the stand. “You and I will journey together to meet the Goddess. I will bring you into Her presence for your true investment, to begin your true service to her.” She hung the chain around Elspeth’s neck. “You are not a High Priestess yet, Elspeth. But by the time your sisters look upon you again, you will be.” She took Elspeth by the hand and led her to the inner door.
She unlocked it with her own key—Elspeth would use her key in future journeys to meet the Goddess, but this first time, it was Jocasta’s duty to lead her. Like a cow to the slaughterhouse, she thought, no longer even surprised by her own blasphemies. She felt no joy this time, no passion. She felt nothing but shame and sorrow as she closed the door behind them.
They walked in silence down the dimly-lit passage, with only a few widely spaced torches to guide them. Jocasta felt like every step took an eternity. She couldn’t explain it; all she wanted to do was turn around and run back through the door, back to the brighter lights of the ritual chamber and from there out to daylight. But why would she fear the Goddess? She loved the Goddess. She always loved the Goddess. She couldn’t not love the Goddess.
“It’s just a chemical, you dumb bitch.”
The same words again, the same voice. This time, without distractions, it seemed even clearer in her mind. She could almost see him, standing there in the rain, the blood on his hand mingling with the trickles of water. Had he known he was going to die, then? He must have. She could still hear it in his voice, years later.
She had killed him, then. She must have. She wished she could remember why. In the broader sense, of course, it was because he had displeased the Goddess, but—
Jocasta suddenly felt her gorge rise at the realization that she had killed people simply because they displeased the Goddess. She looked down at her hands as if seeing them for the first time. She’d known, she’d always known, but this was the first time she’d really thought about it and it sickened her. The Goddess had made her a murderer. She’d killed Bert, she’d killed Donald—
“Why didn’t you run?” she whispered under her breath.
She didn’t even realize she’d said it out loud until Elspeth said, in confused tones, “Priestess?”
Jocasta blinked in the dim light. She’d forgotten Elspeth was even there. “Nothing, nothing,” she muttered irritably.
But it wasn’t nothing. She knew why Donald hadn’t run. He’d wanted to save her. He’d known damn well just how many accidents there were, just how careless the Goddess was, and he wasn’t going to run away without trying to take her with him. So he’d told her his plans, and she’d stabbed him in the shoulder with a bronze knife.
“Oh God, Jo, snap out of it,” he’d said, knowing full well that she wouldn’t. “It’s just a chemical, you dumb bitch. She bites you, it gets into your bloodstream through her saliva, and suddenly you can’t think of anything but how happy she makes you. But it’s not real, not like what we’ve got. It’s just a fucking chemical, it isn’t love. Love is buying someone chocolates and flowers, not gutting some poor bastard like a fish because he knows too much. She’s not a goddess, Jo. She’s a parasite—”
Jocasta hadn’t given him the chance to say anything else.
She stopped. They were inside the Inner Sanctum now, past the final set of doors that the Goddess had left open for them and into Her private chambers. She’d walked right in without thinking about it, and even now the years of habit and ritual were telling her to bring Elspeth to the altar to await the Goddess, and to douse the torches, and to let Her—oh, God, she was about to let it drink Elspeth’s blood—
“Run,” she whispered.
“Wh-what?” Elspeth said, bewildered by the sudden change of events.
“Run,” Jocasta said louder, more urgently. “Run now, before it gets here, oh God, we’ve both of us got to run—”
The torches went out. The doors slammed shut with a boom. Jocasta heard as much as felt the breeze whip past her as the Goddess came into the room.
“Darling Jocasta,” whispered the voice in the darkness, “what’s wrong? It’s not like you to forget the ritual.” The voice was honey-sweet in her ears, but Jocasta knew that it had heard every word she’d said. She felt fear, chilling her down to the marrow.
“I—I know what you are,” she cried out wildly into the shadows. But the word wouldn’t come out. Her throat closed up with terror and she could only think it over and over in a panicky chant in her mind. vampire vampire vampire vampire
“Oh, Jocasta,” it said. “This is my fault, my love, my pet, my own.” She couldn’t see it, but she knew it could see her as bright as day in the pitch darkness. “I’ve been neglecting you. You have been away too long, Jocasta. I’ve given you so many duties and tasks and errands that you’ve forgotten me.” Jocasta heard a brief sliver of a scream that broke off into a long, low moan of pleasure, and she knew that it must have found Elspeth. Jocasta wasn’t sure whether she hoped the girl survived or not. Would death be better than the life she had been brought into?
“Please,” Jocasta whimpered, “I’m begging you, I...I promise I won’t tell anyone.” The words sounded foolish in her ears. She knew that she should be begging for a quick and merciful death, but she’d never wanted to live so bad.
“Oh, I know, sweetest girl, sweetest pet...I know you won’t.” The voice was terrifyingly close now, but Jocasta couldn’t move. Fear rooted her to the spot. “I’m so sorry, dearest. This is my fault...but I’m hungry enough to fix it easily.”
For an instant, there was pain. Jocasta felt the fangs sink into her thigh, and it hurt for just the barest moment before she felt the lips sucking away at the tiny wound, the wound so close to her...her cunt. Jocasta bucked forward with pleasure, all her nerves alive with sudden and languorous bliss as she felt the Goddess suckling at her body. It felt so good, like an orgasm that never stopped, like a dream she never had to wake from, and her fear melted away in that glorious eternal instant.
That was the best part. She’d been so frightened, she couldn’t remember what she was afraid of but the Goddess took all the fear away and Jocasta was so grateful that she wanted nothing more than to fall to her knees and worship this wonderful, eternal being that had taken all her cares and worries away. She would do anything for Her to keep feeling this way forever, free of all doubt and fear and uncertainty. She felt an utter devotion spreading through her body to the blessed creature that had held her and made her safe, and she wished she could worship Her forever as a supplicant, as a priestess...
Then Jocasta remembered that she was Her priestess, and She came again and again at the thought.
Afterwards, Jocasta lay there for a long moment, cuddled up to her Goddess’ stolen warmth. Elspeth lay on the other side of them, recovering from her own gift—Jocasta was more used to service, but the Goddess had drunk deeper of her than She had from Elspeth. Neither one of them felt like moving, and the Goddess sighed happily as She curled up to them.
“I love You,” Jocasta whispered.
“It’s not love,” a voice seemed to whisper in her hear. But Jocasta ignored it.