Robert Adams - The Witch Goddess

“Nonetheless…” Her hard hand, which had been pressed against his scarred chest, began to slide over the length of his belly with its ridges of hard muscle. “This particular servant of the Goddess is so very glad that you are not a woman, not on this night.”

Although, with her elevation in status, Kahndoot might have been afforded accommodations in the more comfortable hall, she had chosen to remain lodged in the huge, lofty old tower-keep where lodged the bulk of Bill’s force, along with the Kleesahks and the two prairiecats, Whitetip and Stealth. When she returned there after the conclusion of the feast, it was to find all of the former Maidens of the Moon Goddess gathered together in a third-level armory—standing, leaning, sitting or squatting amid or upon the racks of spare weapons and armor, and being addressed in their own secret language by another of their number, Meeree.

“… must do is invent an excuse to all stay behind on a day when most of the men ride out against these Ganiks again. Then we can seize the gate and the watchtowers, with the one closed and barred and some good dartwomen occupying the others. I doubt me there be enough force in all of this New Kuhmbuhluhn to successfully storm and take this place.

“Now, true, we are but few, here; but remember, there are other women living now in this place. We can free them from their thralldom to the men, train the younger, stronger ones to arms. Those men who are biddable we will keep here to do the labor. Those who are not we will kill or blind or otherwise maim that they may not dispute our rule, our establishment of a new Hold of Maidens, the perpetuation of our Holy Race and the continuation of our ancient customs.”

Flushed with her efforts, the wiry young woman turned to the tall, muscular officer. “What says our famous Kahndoot?”

Kahndoot looked at her levelly. “I say that you are a fool and a blasphemer, Meeree, and any poor, deluded woman who listens for long to your demented ravings risks becoming as demented and fanatically irreligious as are you!”

Fire flashed from the wiry woman’s eyes and her hands felt, sought without conscious direction the hilts of the weapons she customarily wore. It was not such an answer as she had expected. She snarled, “Who are you to talk of blasphemy, sow? You have not yet taken up with a man!”

The bigger woman only shrugged. “No, I have not yet found a man to satisfy my tastes. But, in Her Own time, I believe that the Silver Lady will lead me to such a one. You see, Meeree, I still am faithful to Her, still abide by Her Will, Her sacred Will, expressed through Her hereditary priestess, the Brahbehrnuh , Rahksahnah.

“Can you say the same? Of course you can’t, not without becoming a liar, as well. Do you think that you are the only woman here whom Her dictates deprived of a well-loved lover? Your selfishness has already led you into blasphemy and the agitation of treachery. Do not allow that immature selfishness to be the very death of you. Repent, bow your head to the Will of Her in all ways. The hold is gone. We all mourn it and its ways and the dear folk whom we never will see again. But the Goddess has lit for us a new and different path to ride, and, do we honor Her as did all our foremothers, we can but proceed along that new, strange way.”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement around and about the room, but Meeree was not to be so easily mollified. She sneered, then said, “And just how do you know that the Brahbehrnuh truly spoke for Her, eh? How do any of us know that she did not simply develop an itch in her parts for this huge, strutting, hairless chunk of overproud manflesh, this Dook Bili? How do we all know that this perverse desire did not lead her to delude us who trusted her? How do we know that her tale of a new and evil way of life for us Moon Maidens was not a fabrication out of the whole cloth, out of her lust-crazed mind?”

Meeree was now almost shouting. Her face was purplish and her eyes gleamed with a feral light of rage and soul-deep hate. “And if it were true, if this perverted woman, who forsook her own, true lover to go and live with a damned man, told the truth, then I think that we had best seek us out another deity. Even the gods of these Ganiks are, at least, consistent in their demands and prohibitions.

“We all knew, as I earlier said, that we had lost out Brahbehrnuh to her unfathomable lust for this ugly, hulking man-warrior, Dook Bili. Now, after tonight, it is become clear that we have lost Kahndoot, as well. It is passing strange. I never thought that the day would dawn when the mighty and most valorous Kahndoot, pride of the hold, would publicly become a lick spittle of a mere maaaaagh !”

Despite her muscular bulk, Kahndoot could move like a bolt of lightning… and she did. The back of her hard-swung hand splatted into Meeree’s sneering lips and the force of the blow hurled her backward, frantically striving to keep her feet beneath her, until she stumbled over a pile of horse armor and fell back against the shield-hung wall.

Kahndoot stood, legs spread, her eyes fixed on Meeree. The bigger woman absently rubbed at the back of the hand—on which a bluish gouge inflicted by one of Meeree’s teeth was beginning to sullenly ooze dark blood—but her broad, square-jawed face was calm; Kahndoot never fought out of rage, but used her quick mind to plan her aggressions and defenses.

Every woman in the room had risen to her feet. They all stood in silence, awaiting the outcome, for both Kahndoot and Meeree were noted warriors.

Meeree just lay there for a long minute, her eyes open but unfocused, then she slowly sat up and drew herself to where she could sit leaning against an old iron-mounted target. She drew the back of one trembling hand across her split, mashed lips and looked dully for a moment at the smear of blood. After working her tongue about inside her mouth, she turned her head to the side and spit blood in which glinted a white bit of broken tooth.

Coldly, she looked up at Kahndoot, and just as coldly, although in a tone somewhat slurred, she spoke the ritual words: “Shishter, you have drawn a shishter’s blood.”

Above the deep sigh which went around the room rose the deep contralto of Kahndoot: “And that same sister has drawn blood of her sister, as well.” She held the back of her hand where Meeree and most of the others could see the red trail starting to creep from the deep toothmark. Then she asked, “Shall it be blood for blood, then, sister mine?”

Meeree spat out another glob of blood, then shook her head. She believed that without Kahndoot to oppose her, she could soon win over her other sisters to her plan to seize Sandee’s Cot, make of it a new hold and thus regain Rahksahnah for her own.

Kahndoot nodded. “As you wish, Meeree. I do not fear you, so I will be fair. My preferred weapon is, as you know, the crescent axe, but while you are good at throwing them, you lack either the frame or the development for close-in work with one; therefore, I would say sabers and targets, but I will meet you with any other weapon, as well. Shortswords? Dirks? Mountain knives? Stabbing spears?”

“Shabersh,” said Meeree, pulling herself slowly erect. “Shabersh and targetsh.”

Kahndoot shrugged. “Again, as you wish. When? I suggest that we meet two days hence, when the patrol is returned.”

“No!” Meeree snapped. “I want no Ganiksh doing my killing for me. Tonight! Now!”

Biliand Rahksahnah were young—he not yet nineteen, she a few months younger than he. They had been lovers for less than ten days, and so, responding to the driving needs of their bodies, despite the weariness from the week of riding and fighting, they had loved long and hard before sinking into a deep, delightfully exhausted slumber, still locked in each other’s arms.