Iain Banks - Whit

'Isis! We don't have to take any notice of the Unsaved's stupid rules! We're marked out, we're special, we can do what we want and what God decrees! What have their stupid rules and regulations got to do with our Holy Purpose?'

I was still wrestling with his hand as it tried to push down to my groin; his bearded face was panting and sweating above me; he kissed my lips for a moment but I twisted my head away.

'But I don't want to do this!' I wailed.

' Want ?' he laughed bitterly. 'What has what either of us want got to do with this? We do what God tells us to do! We both have to submit to Their will, Isis! We both have to submit! We both have to trust; trust and believe! You promised to trust; you promised to trust and believe, remember?'

'But not this!'

'Is your love of God conditional then, Isis?' he asked breathlessly, still trying to work his sweat-slicked hand between my legs. His breathing was very quick and urgent now and his face was bright red. 'Do you only do what God insists you do when it suits you? Is that it? Is it?'

'No!' I spluttered, my own breathing becoming difficult as his weight bore down on me. 'But this must be a false signal! God would not demand this!'

'What? An act of love? What is that to demand? Did Buddha hesitate to renounce all his worldly goods? Did Mohammed hesitate to take up arms and make war? Did Abraham not take his son to the mountain to kill him, because God demanded it? Would he not have done so if God had not stopped him? All They demand here is an act of love, Isis; an act of love, to prove we are both true! We both must submit !' He gave a grunt and twisted his hand free of mine; it dived between my tightly clenched legs, trying to finger my sex; I heaved and wriggled out from underneath him, rolling away over the bed; he grabbed at me, catching my ankle as I tried to stand, bringing me down on all fours. 'Submit, Isis, submit! Prove your love for God!' He tried to mount me from behind but I wrestled him off.

'This is not you!' I shouted, and scuttled away, grabbing up my clothes as I stood on the bed's unsteady surface. 'God could not ask this!'

My Grandfather kneeled on the bed, his engorged manhood poking up at the underside of his belly like a supporting strut. His face set into an expression I had never seen before: a look of furious, seething loathing that produced a terrible feeling of emptiness and sickness in me.

'You would deny God then, Isis?' he said thickly. I backed into a closed door; it was the one to the bathroom, not the exit to the sitting room; he was between me and it. He spread his arms wide. 'You would deny the sacrament that is the holy joy of souls' communion.''

I leaned back against the door and pulled on one leg of my trousers. 'If God wanted this They would have spoken to me as well,' I said.

'They spoke to me !' he roared, thumping himself on his chest with one fist. He lunged at me as I stood on one leg to put my other leg in the trousers. I'd half expected he would, and so was ready for him. I jumped to one side and escaped him but dropped my jacket and socks onto the bed. I hopped across the bed, dragging on the trousers and pulling them up, my shirt wedged under one armpit. I had a clear run at the door to the outside now. I stood there, breathing hard and looking at him as he stood up by the bathroom door, a pale shadow in the flickering candlelight; his chest and belly heaved with every breath. His penis had gone limp now. He wiped his face with one hand.

'You Judas,' he breathed.

'Grandfather, please-' I began, pulling on my shirt.

'You heathen !' he rasped, a tiny fleck of spittle arcing through the air caught in the candlelight. 'Apostate! Infidel! Misbeliever! You Unsaved wretch !'

'This is not fair, Grandfather,' I said, my voice almost breaking. I tucked in my shirt tails. 'You are-'

'Fair?' he said, grimacing, loading the word with sarcasm. 'What is fair ? God does not deal in fairness ; God commands . You have no right to deny Them.'

'I do not believe I am,' I said, trying not to cry.

'You do not believe me ,' he whispered.

'I believe you have been… misled,' I said, biting my lip.

'Oh, you do, do you? You're barely more than a child; what do you know of God's Word?'

'Enough to know They would not ask this, not without telling me as well as you.'

'You vain child, Isis. You have sinned against God and against your own Faith.' He shook his head and padded across the bed to where his robe lay. While he slipped it on over his head I retrieved my socks, knickers and jacket.

'I think we ought to forget this, Grandfather,' I said, putting on my socks. He looked about, then picked up the glass he had thrown across the bed. He poured himself another whisky.

'I can't forget this,' he said. 'God can't, either. I don't know if this can ever be forgiven or forgotten.'

I put on my jacket. 'Well, I think it would be for the best if we both forgot what's happened here.'

'You are a thief and a misbeliever, child,' he said calmly, not looking at me but studying his whisky glass critically. 'It is not in my power to forgive you.'

'I am not a thief; I am not a misbeliever,' I said, and then, despite myself, started to weep. The tears stung my eyes and flowed down my hot, flushed cheeks. I was furious at myself for behaving so girlishly. ' You are the one in the wrong; not me,' I said angrily, speaking through my sobs. 'I have done nothing ; nothing wrong. I am falsely accused and all you can do is try to… to have your way with your own grand-daughter!'

He gave a single scoffing laugh.

'You are the one who needs forgiveness, not me,' I told him, sniffing back my tears and wiping my cheeks with my knickers.

He waved one hand dismissively, still not looking at me. 'You stupid, selfish… foolish child,' he said, shaking his head. 'Get out of my sight. When I look on you again it will be to accept your confession and apology.'

I sucked in my breath. 'Grandfather!' I cried, despairing. 'What is wrong with you? What has changed you? Why are you being like this?'

'Isis, child, if you can accept your guilt and answer it in front of me, before the Festival, you may yet be able to take your proper part in that celebration,' he said, still studying his glass. He finished his whisky and then walked across the bed to the bathroom door; he opened it - golden lamp-light spilled from the open door - and closed it behind him. I stood there for a moment, then wept a little more. I stuffed the knickers in my pocket and left the room.

The sitting room beyond was unoccupied; one lamp shone on a desk by the drinks cabinet. I took my boots and ran out, sitting to do up my laces on the top step of the stairs, by the light of a wall candle. Sniffing and blinking, I walked down the stairs and out of the silent mansion house.

The sky over the courtyard was deep, deep blue, scattered with the brighter stars and enthroning a near-full moon. The monthly Service to mark the full moon would be only a few days away now.

Voices came from the lit windows of the farmhouse and the sound of muffled hammering from the workshop by the forge. Woodsmoke and cooking smells tugged at my attention, comforting and banal. I walked across the courtyard cobbles in a daze. My steps led to the archway facing the path that led to the river and the bridge. I stood beneath the archway, with the Community around and above and behind me, gazing out across the lawn and the curving path that sloped down towards the trees that marked the line of the river. Moonlight cast a faint shadow of the orchard wall across the path and reflected off the glass of the greenhouse on the other side. I looked up at the dark swell of the hills to the south, piled against the indigo of the sky like a huge wave.