Joanna Wylde - Dancing With Dionysus

"Faster," the nymph told Kalliara coldly. "You need to spinfaster, and more finely, or we'll give you to the Maenads. It's your choice."

Kalliara felt as though a ball of fire was burning in her stomach. It took every bit of her strength just to hold her composure. She gripped her spindle tightly, and looked up into the nymph's eyes. The creature was beautiful, with pale green skin and darker, riotous green hair that hung down in waves to below her waist. Her shimmering gown was created from woven thread so perfect that not even a spider's silk could rival it.Never in a thousand years will I be able to spin thread that delicate , Kalliara thought in desperation.

She was going to die here. She knew it.

"Gracious Lady," she whispered, fighting back her tears. She kept her words formal, hoping to appeal to the nymph's vanity. "I cannot do as you ask. No mere mortal will ever be able to spin thread such as that produced by you and your sisters."

The nymph's beautiful features twisted into a sneer. Around them, Kalliara could hear the other nymphs laughing, like the sound of a thousand tiny silver bells. How could beings so beautiful be so cruel? They knew her task was impossible. They were simply playing with her before they killed her…

"Mortals are so foolish," the nymph said, shrugging. "You really should have considered that before you boasted of your skills. By challenging us, you sealed your own fate."

"I didn't challenge you," Kalliara whispered. She could feel the tears welling up again, and she bit her lip sharply. The salty taste of her own blood filled her mouth, and the sharp pain of the bite distracted her. She took a deep breath and continued. "I have never claimed to spin better than any of Dionysus' children. I don't know where you heard that I had, but I assure you it never happened."

"Well, some human said something about it," the nymph said, waving a hand languidly. "I can't be bothered to try and tell you apart. Once we heard such a thing, we could hardly let it stand, could we? Now spin for us, little human. Prove your skills or pay our price. And spin quickly. The waiting grows tedious."

Kalliara ducked her head, and started spinning again. Steadily she wound the coarse wool between her fingers, trying to make the thread as smooth as possible. As the spindle slowly dropped toward the floor and the length of thread grew, she couldn't help but feel some pride in her work. The thread was lovely, without lumps, strong and smooth. But it would never rival the thread spun by the nymphs of Dionysus. She was definitely going to die.

Soon they would give her to the Maenads, crazed women who would rip her apart with their bare hands. This was Dionysus' island, and tonight was his festival. The god of birth and death would show her no pity, she knew that already. She had never been one of his children.

She tried not to listen to the low, tinkling murmur of the nymphs and dryads around her. Even as they tormented her, they prepared themselves to celebrate the god's festival. Soon revelry would overtake the island. They would drink and dance with the satyrs, while the Maenads raged around them, drunk on the god's power. Wise humans kept themselves locked in their stone houses on nights like these, praying for mercy. But Kalliara's home was miles away, on the other side of the small speck of land that Dionysus had claimed as his own. Few humans lived on Naxos by choice, and those who did had learned to be cautious—

One of the nymphs gave a shriek, a combination of surprise and fear.

Kalliara's head jerked up. All around her, satyrs were pouring into the wooded clearing where the nymphs held her prisoner. Enormous, standing taller than any man in the village, the satyrs terrified her. Their bodies rippled with muscle, dark and tanned from the sun. They swept in, laughing and leaping, grabbing up the nymphs. Their hair flew in all directions, and many had bushy beards. Wild creatures, completely uncivilized, their upper halves resembled those of men, but their legs were those of goats.Aroused goats, she realized with a shudder.

Their penises were large and erect. Right before her eyes, one of the satyrs grabbed the cruel nymph who had tormented her. He threw her to the ground, ripping at her clothing and thrust himself between her legs. The nymph screamed, but her legs wrapped around his waist and she held him tightly as he rode her. Bile rose in Kalliara's throat.

She suddenly realized that for the first time since they'd taken her, the nymphs weren't paying attention to their captive. This was her chance to get away, if she moved quickly enough. She pulled the length of her shawl up and over her head, and ducked down. For once she was grateful that she'd never been able to afford expensive dyes for her clothing. The dun-colored wool would serve her well as camouflage while she made her way across the island at night.

She raised her spindle to her mouth, biting through the thread to free it.

The silliness of her actions startled her—of all the things to worry about at a time like this, keeping her spindle should be a very low priority indeed.

But in the time it took her to think it, the spindle was free and tucked in the cloth pouch that dangled from her belt. She scuttled across the clearing, ducking between satyrs and nymphs, trying not to take in what was happening around her. They were coupling wildly, gripped by the ecstasy and violence that only the god could induce. It sickened her.

At last she was on the outskirts of the clearing, scrambling through the brush. She paused to catch her breath when a new sound filled her ears. It was the high, keening shriek of the Maenads. They were near, and if they found her she would die at their hands. She had to keep moving.

She pulled herself to her feet, desperately clutching the folds of her shawl around her head.

Time to go.

There was something different in the air, Sabiniano thought, setting down the scroll he was reading. It was the eve of the mid-winter festival, and all around him his people were starting their revels. He could sense their every movement, smell their lust. Already they were drunk. The Maenads roved through the forests, looking for their victims and dancing in praise of the god. All of that was as it should be. But there was something else.

Slowly he walked through the temple of Dionysus, passing through the broad pillars and out onto the porch. The temple stood on the highest point on the island, and from his vantage point he could see across the wooded hills all the way to the ocean. The moon was full, casting silvery light across his domain. He sniffed the air, closing his eyes to focus on the scents around him. There was a group of satyrs and nymphs, fucking wildly. Nothing of interest. He could smell the Maenads, too. They had found a deer, and were cornering it. Soon they would rip it apart with their bare hands, drinking the blood. Once again, nothing of interest to him. There were many ways to worship the god. Sabiniano knew all too well how the smell of blood pleased Dionysus.

He turned, extending his senses further. He could feel the fear radiating from the humans who lived at the small port. They, too, existed to serve the god, providing his people with what little they desired from the outside world. The humans were locked in their small stone houses, calling on Dionysus to keep them safe. Sabiniano snorted in amusement. He knew how little Dionysus cared for these souls under his protection. The humans would live tonight, but only because they served a purpose. He had long forbidden his people to enter their village during the festival. When the god touched them with his madness, the temptation to rape and kill was too strong. Dionysus was many things, but never gentle.