Sensation was all that mattered. And in the face of it, thought and memory were reduced to wild tatters of images, dreams, fantasies. Iora dug pearlescent-tipped talons into the meat of his upper arms. Her body became a vise around his, tightening until it exerted deadly pressure upon the shaft he could no longer claim entirely as his own.

Now it was he who surrendered. He who gave way absolutely to her whims, her machinations. Her body tightened endlessly around him as the universe continued its heaving and shuddering. Her body tightened with a new, and in no small way, frightening purpose.

The marble slab upon which they lay, cleared of almost all trace of the eons of sand deposited and swirled there in the long ages since the Destruction, shifted violently. The sea floor beneath it threatened, or perhaps promised, to buckle at any moment with some new cataclysm that would put all old, all previous cataclysms to shame.

"Iora." Suddenly, Rynom feared. As he had never known how to fear before. "What is this? What is happening?" Too late, he tried to shove away from her.

She would not go. Tightening more, with inhuman ferocity that terrified as well as it excited with its demands for his full partic.i.p.ation, she t.i.tillated him. Thrilled him. Lifted her legs again, still higher, to surround him and engulf him. "You have joined yourself with me," she murmured, brushing the heavy barrier of her adornment against the startled lobe of his ear.

A charge leapt between them. As electrical as the magical charges with which The One and The Numens had once lighted their world and made it glow in golden splendor by day and by night, a charge leapt from pearl-crusted metal into flesh it stunned with its merest touch.

"Once that happened, once absolute purity met and became one with its exact opposite, once the circle was completed and the two halves were joined..."

Stunned and fully succ.u.mbed, stunned and reveling in the new state he had found, Rynom shook his head.

The Prophecy.

New purpose.

He could not move beyond them. Could not, still, understand them, or what import they held for him. Though he sensed it was very great import, very lasting and time-altering import.

Iora moved her body upon his. Seeming to delight in the movement and find untold delicious release in the movement, she entwined herself around him with inexplicable urgency. Ultimate urgency, the scorching rush and flow of her secret nacre releasing in ever greater quant.i.ties as she tightened yet again.

"We must remain partnered." She seemed actually to twist upon him. In a long and utterly paused instant between cataclysms and heavings, she clutched his shoulders with manic ferocity that only made him want more. Only made him powerless to resist more.

"F-forever?"

"Until the new life begins."

New life? Within her? Or was it something else? Something he had already begun to feel, though he had resisted understanding what he was feeling?

Akrotiri. The Azure City. The Eight Circles of The Spirit.

They were gaining life. Beneath him and around him, they were gaining strength with every new and growing cataclysm that shook to the core all that they had once been. All that they could be again, and would be?

Rynom trembled. In his partnering with Iora, he found himself awe-struck.

Now the sea floor rose. Quivering, quaking, it urged him...no, forced him...to thrust into her.

He became a creature of wanton instinct. A wild thing ruled by violence barely concealed beneath a civilized surface, he thrust and thrust repeatedly into her shimmering depths. As if becoming one with the vanished wild beasts of Akrotiri's fields and magical forests, he pounded and pummeled at her. Serving her as the demanding mistress she would always be, attempting to fill her when all instinct warned filling was not possible. Would never be possible. And yet his thrusts grew deeper as she matched him one for one.

Iora revealed a never expected duality in the perfection of her nature as she met each and every one of his thrusts with a supple uplifting of her hips. Ramming herself onto him as he took her and the world shook with the taking, she stroked herself along him with increasingly mindless abandon. Obviously absorbed in and enjoying the pleasure she gave herself. With each whip-like flexing of her body, she made it clear that she wanted more. Expected more. Would settle for no less than more.

When the sea floor rolled with new and true violence beneath him, Rynom wanted to clutch at it. He desperately wanted to seize handfuls of unreliable sand in search of the stability it had never possessed to begin with. In the futile, foolish hope that he might right his world. Might set it back to the way it should be before it was too late.

"We have partnered," Iora whispered, pressing the lambent, scorching wrath of her medallion against his ear. She favored him with a single last burst of her inner fire, then she dropped back. Away from his shaft and away from him.

She fell to pristine sea-shaded and shadowed marble with her legs still spread in the traditional position of prostrate submission to one greater than herself. One more powerful and more dominant than herself.

Her hair had broken free of its tightly restrained knot. It floated in a gleaming dull-gold wave around a face lighted by increasingly brilliant light. Her hair was a shimmery cloud that encompa.s.sed them and made of them one being in ways Rynom had never managed to make them with his body.

The sea floor shook as violently as it had not since the searing flames and swollen clouds of Destruction had rained poison down upon their world. It rumbled with the deep and low-throated roar of another beast set free. Another murmur of ruination about to happen, and unstoppable.

A clenching seized him. Deep and tight, from the inside. He had not found release. Had not come close. Though now, with it lurking very, agonizingly near the surface, he knew he must.

Finding Iora, Rynom shoved his full length into her. With every muscle atremble, he shoved hard as marble swayed, lighted blindingly and infused with bubbles reminiscent of the sacred champagne with which the Teachers had once allured and intoxicated their chosen ones before ultimately enslaving them.

The world grew increasingly unsteady. He grew increasingly unsteady.

"I have protected myself." Iora was lost. In a trance. "I have fought against the Prophecy. I have fought the inevitability that I would be taken."

Bracing his hands hard against sleek and slippery marble, Rynom shoved with rising strength, incalculable strength, pressing her down. Holding her to the shimmering aqua-lit white of her marble bed as he gazed down at her. Wanting her. Wanting to claim her in some way he had not yet. Wanting release from the sudden energy that wracked his body, yet dreading the moment when it would flow from him into her. Dreading the sudden blaze of light that seemed to be overtaking him, scoring the flesh of his back and shoulders with heat of a kind he had forgotten. Heat of a kind he had once despaired ever knowing again.

Heat. From inside. And from outside. Heat from the woman he had taken to partner, and from some incalculable source outside of them and far, incredibly far above them.

Heat.

"The Red One shall be absolved of sin within me."

Iora's words, a last drifting of the sacred teachings of The Pearl, scarcely had meaning. They were nothing but glistening syllables issued into waters fraught with the dizzying champagne of soaring bubbles. They were all but lost before the cloud that rose within her...the cloud of celestial nacre that met the sudden heated outflowing of Rynom's own immortal essence.

Hot, heavy, their essences joined. Their essences partnered exactly as did the bodies that produced them. And in the joining, they swelled up to fill the hidden depths and soothing corners of her. Rynom infiltrated her. He brought her to a roiling boil beneath him. As did the waters of the tortured sea, they churned together.

Crying out, Iora sounded terrified. Lost. "I did not understand!" she cried. Her arms dropped to her sides, as widespread as her legs upon pristine marble grown pale and aquamarine, gold-shot as the tremoring of all existence reached a terrible level.

The sea seemed no longer to harbor them. It seemed eager to surrender them.

Lost inside Iora, encircled by legs grown taut as she flowed in endless streams for him, Rynom clung to her. He must.

It was the Prophecy.

When he moved, she moved. When, hard-knotted with the strain of releasing everything he possessed into her, he backed away, she moved forward. She moved more onto him, rising with him when he moved to tug himself free, only to inevitably fall back when he relaxed.

"We have taken each other," she proclaimed, her face lit with the golden, bursting light that threatened soon to swarm over them. "We have fulfilled the Prophecy."

Rynom's body hardened again. Unstoppable, new pressure built instantly inside and he struggled again. Working his shaft into her and out of her without end, or hope of end.

"I am You," Iora whispered, her eyes slipping shut. "And You are Me." Lifting her arms to surround him, she pulled him close.

Her touch tried to soothe, but he would not be soothed. Would never again be soothed.

"We are One."

His outpouring was sudden. Endless and inevitable. His shaft wanted to collapse in upon itself. But could not.

Always and always, Iora demanded more. Endlessly more, ever more.

Sinking onto her, into her, Rynom shuddered. Realizing...knowing...he could do nothing else. He was hard. Still. Drained, yet harder than ever.

"We have partnered." Her whisper verged on ecstasy. And her sweetness continued to flow. Continued to claim him. "And now there will be a new day." She held him closer as he poured impossible quant.i.ties of himself into her. "And the old ways are gone."

It had the sound of finality...the sound of a proclamation issued by The One himself. And as she spoke the words, a beam of light struck her face. The sea floor gave one last groaning rumble and ceased to be the sea floor.

Bursting into the light and the air and the wide firmament that had long ago given it its name, The Azure City was free. All of creation once lost to the Destruction burst upward into clear serenity of sky, air and existence it had not known in eons.

Still inextricably melded with her, Rynom gazed into a vault of searing, flawless blue drifted with a gentle floating of wispy clouds. He saw pouring light and felt the weight of it warming bones long grown cold beneath the weight of punishing seas and weary with the strain of existence grown hopeless.

He blinked once, twice, filling his lungs with the delight of air, scent, life. And gazing at her, the woman fate had created expressly for him and no other, he understood. With the sheen of fresh sunlight caressing pearlescent curves of flesh and hair already drying into platinum fluff beneath caressing fingers of a soft breeze, he understood everything.

They had fulfilled the Prophecy. And been granted a new beginning.

A promised day.

THE MOON DANCER.

Alexis Anthony Altra swirled around. She skillfully deployed the gauzy, billowing, translucent fabric of her veils to conceal her voluptuous nude body in mystery, showing just enough to arouse the men. She performed the Moon Dance as she had done it many times before. She was the Selene. The Moon Dancer.

She smiled as she gazed out over the men surrounding the altar on which she performed. They were entranced, as always. They would go home to their wives and make love to them, while thinking of the Moon Dancer. The women would be happy for the attention. The men wouldn't tell them they looked old, or fat or ugly.

Altra performed on the evening of every full Moon. She always had a large crowd surrounding her as she danced. They would cast their offerings onto the altar after her dance and the acolytes and priestesses would collect the gold coins.

Altra had been selected to be the Selene when she was a little girl. She had been taken to the temple and schooled by the priestesses. Her pale, flawless complexion, her piercing green eyes, and her fiery red tresses made her the favorite. The other dancers only danced occasionally, for special celebrations, but Altra had her date in the open, outdoor temple every twenty-eight days. It had been her performance to command for a long time. Her beauty was timeless and seemed to grow more compelling as the years pa.s.sed. In her forties, she was more skilled, more voluptuous, and yes, more beautiful than she had been in her teens and early twenties.

As she twirled around in the cool, bright moonlight, she thought about her ch.o.r.eography. The dance never changed. It had been done in the same way for hundreds of years, by generations of dancers. Always the same. The dance of the Selene. A glimpse of leg, a hint of breast, a quick exposure of her bare back, all to the soft music of the lute and the lyre.

She reveled in her work. She loved what she did. She could almost feel the l.u.s.t of the men watching her. They stared at her, hoping to see her body. They drooled, their hands in their crotches, surrept.i.tiously fondling their hard, stiff instruments of love.

But they were not the only ones aroused by the dance. Altra reveled in her ability to bring them to the brink and then send them home. But sometimes she needed release, too. She was not allowed to leave the temple, of course. And self-stimulation only went so far. The other dancers stimulated each other, but Altra didn't always find that way satisfactory either.

She swirled around in front of the men. She went a little bit farther than usual, flashing her smooth, perfectly rounded backside. Then she almost went too far as the center of her feminine mystique flashed briefly in a fiery red blur of pubic hair. Thank the G.o.ds, the men were not allowed to imbibe while she performed for them. She had never been touched, but sometimes, when she went too far, one of the men would rise up in l.u.s.t and try to reach her. The other men always stopped anyone foolish enough to try, but it ruined the moment. Thankfully, this time, they just stayed there, totally under her sensual spell.

She swirled around for the last time and dropped to the surface, raising her arms up in homage to the Moon. The men joined her in her gaze skyward. She dropped her head, her long fiery hair flowing out over her shoulders and torso. The performance was over. The coins jingled as the men pitched their offerings onto the altar around her. Her acolytes rushed to collect the money and to cover the Selene with her robes.

Slowly, the men left. They would go home and make their wives happy. Hopefully, the women would be fertile and conceive.

As the last of them left the temple, Altra unwound her long limbs. She gazed up at the Moon. Her body trembled. She was terribly aroused. She smiled. The Moon was telling her what to do. She must see Abojer, the priest.

Abojer was the only priest allowed to consort with the dancers.

Altra stood up, hefting her robes and the gauzy fabric of the dance. She strode purposefully off the altar and to the rear of the temple. She entered her private chamber and dropped the clothes. She stood there in the glow from the skylight in the center of the ceiling and looked at herself in the mirrors wondering, not for the first time, why she had been blessed with such a flawless body. How she was able to keep it so perfect was a mystery, too.

She was supposed to remain aloof. Most of the men believed she was a maiden, never touched or violated. But even those closest to the G.o.ds needed release sometimes. This was one of those times.

"Talaxa."

"Yes, Ma'am?"

"I wish to send a message to Abojer."

Talaxa giggled. "Yes, Ma'am."

"At his earliest convenience."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Altra looked at the young acolyte. "I need him now."

"Yes, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am." Talaxa grinned at her mistress, then scurried out of the chamber.

Altra looked around at the walls. They were covered with mirrors, as was the ceiling and the floor. Everywhere, her voluptuous body was reflected back at her from different angles, seemingly, each more s.e.xy than the others.

She touched herself. Her body trembled. She crossed to her little marble vanity and picked up a small vial of liquid. She opened it. Ah, the aroma of flowers wafted out at her. She placed small droplets at strategic places around her body. She checked her face. She needed no makeup. But she reddened her lips with a substance that tasted a little like a sweet raspberry.

She stood in the center of the chamber, waiting.

She knew he wouldn't be long. He was always prompt. After all, this was his whole purpose in life, to satisfy the needs of the dancers.

She waited, standing there, naked and vulnerable. Trembling in antic.i.p.ation.

She heard him coming. His gait was unmistakable. He strode purposely through the door. He bowed at the waist and spread his hands out toward her, palms up.

He straightened up and smiled. "You have need of me, my lady? It's been a long time."

He had a deep, raspy, thoroughly masculine voice.

"I know it has, Abojer, but I am in need tonight."

"Very well," he said. He looked at her wonderful body and beautiful face. She was the most gorgeous creature he had ever known, far more beautiful than any of the other dancers. He began to disrobe.

As beautiful as Altra was, Abojer was the complete opposite. He was the most repulsive, ugly man Altra had ever seen. His tall misshapen body was pock marked with craters from acne and some sort of pox that he had been fortunate to survive. His receding gray hair revealed skin that was two tone. He had dark pigment in his skin, but it was a pasty white in some places. He also had blotches of redness scattered here and there across his body. One leg was shorter than the other and he had a club foot on the short one which made his gait unmistakable, but he strode through the temples as if he was a G.o.d.

He had a large pointy nose matched by a protruding chin, and his eyes peered over high prominent cheekbones that made him look like a cadaver. But that gaze would wither lesser men. He had an att.i.tude about him that announced unmistakably that he was not to be challenged. He was in charge. He was strong, that was for sure. His muscles bulged under his firm callous skin.

He looked at Altra as he dropped the last of his garments and his mighty c.o.c.k sprang upward. He licked his lips.

Altra stared at him. His tongue looked almost as long as that gigantic c.o.c.k. That c.o.c.k was special, too. Long and thick, with bulging purple veins criss-crossing its length. A large sack hung down beneath it containing his large mighty b.a.l.l.s. His c.o.c.k was covered with b.u.mps all the way to the tip where the glans peeked out at her.

He slid the foreskin back with his fingers. "What's your pleasure, my lady?"

"Oh, Abojer, it's been so long. Come here."

She dropped to her knees as he approached her. His c.o.c.k pointed straight out at her.

"I must warn you, my lady, I haven't had s.e.x for several days. I should be very potent tonight."

She moaned as she reached out to caress those tender b.a.l.l.s and her lips sought the tip of his shaft. "Mmmmm," she murmured.

Her tongue swirled around the tip of it. It was so thick that it was almost too big to get her lips around, but she managed. She pushed her lips forward, sucking him deep into her mouth. His hips began to move rhythmically to match her movements. Deeper and deeper, she swallowed him down her throat. He thrust into her as she reached behind him and grabbed his a.s.s, pulling him deeper into her.