I just got to see the long version of the great documentary, Breaking the Maya Code. It's a fabulous film about an amazing story, how researchers and artists, archeologists, linguists and gifted amateurs managed to reconstruct a writing system lost for hundreds of years, and learned to read the history of a great empire.
I'm a big fan of Mayan archeology and culture, something my wonderful husband got me hooked on years ago. His enthusiasm for the subject is very contagious. When I read the stories of the dynasties or the vivid love poetry painted on vases or in scroll, I began to see a whole world of possibilities, a hundred thousand stories just waiting to be told, just as vivid and real as tales of ancient Roman or the court of King Henry VIII. And where there are stories, there's most definitely romance.
So, take a mysterious Queen of Naranjo, and an equally mysterious artist of the same kingdom. She is to rule for years, and her son even longer, restarting the royal blood line of a proud city that had been reduced to ashes. But the hieroglyphs available never say who is this Queen's husband, the father of her royal child. My own answer is in my book, Lady Six Sky, an erotic historical set in the height of the Mayan kingdoms Classic period:
Excerpt:
One of the men held up a wide, shallow bowl of a milky balche honey wine. Balche was said to be the drink of the gods and to imbibe it would be to see the world in the altered state with which the gods observed mere mortals. He drank the sweet liquor, the undertones of wood and earth combined with the rich scent of a dozen secret herbs. He felt his strength return with this invigorating draught. He was no longer tired, or hungry, or thirsty but was filled with a kind of barely suppressed energy that made his heart beat a little faster. The edges of his vision blurred slightly and he moved forward under the guidance of the two old shamans, until he was at the mouth of the cave, with a dozen men crowding around him and lifting him into a shallow reed boat.
As the men began a low, thrumming chant, T’ul felt distant from the proceedings. An honor guard surrounded him, lifting the raft up out of the cave and then across the wide expanse of a formal courtyard, illuminated by the bright light of the moon. Before his eyes, one of the immense pyramids dotted throughout the city became crystal clear as his eyes adjusted from the darkness of the cave to the comparative brightness of the full moon. The men surrounding him began a low chant, which hummed through his body, making every nerve spark with awareness too bright and sharp to be normal. The boat rose slowly, as the procession made its way up the steep sides of the pyramid, grunting with the effort of keeping the boat stable in its journey to the earthly embodiment of First Goddess, Moon Goddess, Na Ix Chel.
T’ul looked up to see the full moon caress the very top of the temple. Then it hit him, hard. He was going to the girl who’d run in and out of his thoughts constantly for a week. To be truthful, he’d found her oddly appealing when she was but a child but had pushed such thoughts aside. But he had looked for partners with the same shape of face, the same casual grace all the years since. The gods had planted the seed of his desire all those years ago and now he was finally going to be with her. She would belong to him, with him, certainly until an heir was produced. At least as much as such a woman could belong to any man.
The chant grew louder and longing filled him and raw need followed on his heels. His blood pulsed with it, his ears rang and he felt as though he had completely lost control. That he could not move, or think or breathe until he could see her, be with her. The loss of control frightened him and angered him immensely. He fought against it, realizing that something else was at work here, not just his own closely guarded emotions but something in that damned drink. He was not in control of his own body, his own mind.
They reached the top of the steps and the boat lowered. He stood, naked but for the paint and the jeweled adornments and walked forward but it was not him controlling the actions of his body. He raged inside, fighting against whatever it was occupying his body, his mind. The men did not follow and he walked under the lintel and into a room glowing with soft red light. The top room of the Temple of the Moon, one of the most holy places of Saal.
Another chant took the place of the low hum of the men, this time of women keening low and deep. His eyes adjusted yet again and his breath caught. Chanil…no she was truly queen now…Ix Wac Chanil, Lady Six Sky, was arrayed on a padded couch, alone on the raised dais in the center of the room. There were eight chanting women arrayed around the edges of the room, each holding a red-glazed pottery lantern that combined to fill the room with a dark red glow. Their gaze was intent on her, as though funneling into her the intensity of their prayers. And it showed. She seemed to glow with it. Her skin, covered with painted images as his was, shone as though lit from within, giving a strange life to the spirals and curves that twined sinuously along her limbs, black and red against a white background.
She wore a fortune in jade, from huge ornate ear spools to thick encrusted anklets but most of her was shockingly bare. A painted black circle encompassed her upper torso and the top of her breasts and the phases of the moon glowed white amongst the black and rabbits crouched as though about to leap from her shoulders. Her breasts were almost bare except for the paint, the alluring cacao-brown tips embedded within an intricate thin spiral design. He felt his arousal build at the sight of her, her long legs splayed open, inviting, awaiting him, with nothing between them but the beaded apron of diamond shapes that was the symbol of Na, the first goddess.
Well, nothing but that apron and the eight other people in the room. And the fact that she might be a virgin. And the fact that he had just skewered his privates and should not be thinking about sex right now without flinching in pain. And the fact that something or someone else seemed to be possessing his body.
The other world seemed to possess her as well. The warm brown eyes that he had dreamed of had been replaced by orbs shimmering in silver, otherworldly in their brilliance. He felt drawn in by them, unable to resist the combination of whatever force battled him for control of his limbs and the power evident in her eyes. Then she spoke, a deep, resonant sound, full of knowledge and passion and immense age.
“Come.”
He strode forward, crossing the hard stone floor and kneeling before her among the cushions she reclined on. Those eyes, so silver and piercing, inhuman and all-knowing, spoke of promises of unending pleasure, limitless knowledge and most of all, of unparalleled power.
He ceased fighting the primal urges of his body and the entity within him seeking to take control, whether the avatar of a god or simply his own darker nature. Disregarding the eight watchers and the low hum they continued to chant, he dived forward, gripping the full hips of the woman before him and ripping off the apron that was held by the thinnest of strings at her waist. They were both gloriously naked and her sex was glistening and wet and he was blinded in a fog of lust, forgetting her innocence, the audience—everything but the most basic of calls. He plunged into her, breaking the thin barrier of her hymen with brutal force.
She flinched. It was the tiniest movement, in marked contrast to the raw lust on her face and contained in the silver of her eyes but it reminded him for the briefest instant that Chanil, the sweet and shy young girl from long ago was somewhere in there, within the goddess that surrounded his pulsing flesh. A part of him was horrified, agonized that he had caused this woman he cherished pain. And another part of him was filled with power, reveling in the dominance. All of that was eclipsed by whatever was controlling his body and he drove into her again, pounding into her tight wet heat, the slap of flesh beating a counterpoint to the escalating ululation of the witnesses and power flared behind her eyes, eyes that stared into his own, pinning him as though capturing his soul.
It was not gentle, or brutal, it was primal. The act of sex at its most basic level. The luscious body underneath him clutched at him and she shook ever so slightly and he reached his peak, spending himself within her and collapsing forward, barely catching his weight on his arms before crushing her. He swallowed, his mouth dry, and gasped for air. He felt control of his body and mind flood back to him.
He held at bay the injured pride and anger that flooded him, knowing that it would wait until after the damn ceremony was completed. He looked up into her face but those glowing eyes were closed. He had no guidance but his own instincts that she must be completely overwhelmed. He spared a contemptuous look for the chanting women who were still staring at the two of them still intimately joined.
He pulled away and he felt her flinch at the burn of their parting. Surprised at the weakness of his muscles he cursed their lax response. His visceral reaction to Chanil and his loss of control had drained his body to its limits. But he knew she deserved so much more. He rose to his feet and towered over the kneeling women, glaring at each of the old biddies and taking full advantage of his costume as a conquering god.
“Begone. Your damned ceremony is done. Leave me with my wife.”
Thanks for reading!
Elaine Lowe
Come visit me and my erotic historical and scifi books at www.elainelowenovels.com
or at Ellora's Cave
Posts
0 comments:
Post a Comment