the V I R G I N ' S S H A D O W

Lon T. Ryden

Lycius climbed the stone cork-screw stairway of the tower in the dark, going
quietly on his toes and leaning forward on the tips of his fingers, searching out a solid
place for each step before he took it. Occasionally, there would be a sound, small or
imagined, and he would think of the king's guards. If they found him here, now, on his
way to Chessidea's room, there would be no story to tell them, no excuse to offer, and
he knew they would have to put him to death. They were the king's orders. Not just
for Lycius had those orders been given; for any male visitor to Chessidea's room. It
was just that Lycius was the one the king knew was most likely to attempt it.

And so here he was.

Ahead now, looming at the top of the stairs, was the flickering warm orange glow
of torchlight; the landing, and the door to Chessidea's room. A few more steps brought
Lycius up to the level where he could see the guard at the door. Asleep and snoring;
he was sunk down, back against the wall, with his legs splayed in front of him, and his
head shrunk down between his armor plates like that of a turtle tucked into its shell.
The grip of his hand, on the smooth wooden shaft of his spear, was loose, and the tip of
it was leaning against the far wall.

Lycius crossed the guard, breath held. Stepped lightly over the recumbent form...
and he was there. Right at the threshold of the forbidden; before Chessidea's door.

He slipped a folded piece of parchment from his belt, grimacing at the sound of the
paper, rasping against the leather, his eyes intent on the guard, watching for some sign
that he had been heard. But there was none. To Lycius' ears, the paper, coming free
of his belt, sounded like a horse, chuffing lips and nostrils against the breath at the end
of a long gallop, but it was only because he was listening so hard, and so focused on
silence.

He laid the paper down on the stone floor, and slid it through the crack beneath the
door, and it made another sound, but quieter this time, like wind whispering to the
grass.

Lycius crossed back over the guard; leaping, feather-footed. Slipped past him and
went back down the first few steps, seeking cover among the fringe shadows at the
edge of the torchlight's range. There he crouched, making himself small against the
stairs, and watched Chessidea's door, hoping and praying that she had seen his note.

And she had.

Lycius heard the iron bar behind the door being drawn back, metal sighing on
wood; the noise making a breath sputter in the guard's throat. And the guard half-
stirred: eyes fluttering, lips smacking and opening in a yawn. He even lifted himself up
half an inch, tightened his grip on his spear, and repositioned his legs... but then sat
back again; resuming his snoring without pause.

Then the door began to ease open. At first it was impossible to detect it was
moving at all. Despite Lycius' vigilant observation, it appeared to be still and solid and
unchanged, but then he saw the first crack of the gap between the heavy oaken planks
and their frame, and was able to watch that, and see the slow progress of it. Chessidea
was opening the door very carefully, very slowly, in an effort to mute the sound of the
hinges, lest they rustily protest the movement. Finally, when a good two feet had been
opened between the door and frame, Chessidea's face appeared in the gap -- and her
right hand: a hooked finger, beckoning him to come.

So Lycius approached the guard one more time. Held his breath again, and
hopped softly across the breadth of the inert form.

Even before he had crossed the threshold to Chessidea's room he could smell it.
Coming from the open door: an air of violets and roses. A warm perfume of summer
flowers, like wine for the nostrils. Lycius inhaled deeply, drinking it in, with his eyes for
a moment closed, savoring it. Then he stepped, quick and light, into her room.

*

Aside from the walls and the flowers, every last thing in Chessidea's room was light;
white, if the materials could be had. And not even the yellow glow of the oil lamp on
her bed-table could disguise the purity of the color. The furniture was all made from
ghost-pale wood that had been bleached with special mineral tonics. The rugs were
white. The bed was skirted with, and veiled from the four posts, by sheets of
immaculate white. The vases that held all the bounty of flowers that gave the room its
fragrance were all bone china, and gleaming in their whiteness like sun-reflecting snow.
One of the vases was a sculpture in the shape of a swan, carrying his burden of roses
like a saddle on his back. Lycius saw the mirror on the wall was framed with ivory,
intricately carved to resemble a border of lace, and the brush and comb on top of the
dresser had handles of ivory. Next to them, the jewelry box was inlaid with ivory, and
everything it contained was gold and ivory and pearls, and white stones that seemed to
have faceted bits of rainbow suspended in them.

Then too, Chessidea, easing the door shut behind him, sliding the bar-lock back
into place, was all in white. Wearing a sleeping gown of white silk, tied about her waist
with a white sash, and there were white fleece slippers on her feet. Against that
background, her skin looked so very pink and soft, and her hair: light, sun-streaked
brown, was almost dark.

Just standing there, Lycius felt dirty; in such stark contrast to the purity.

She whispered, "You shouldn't have come. It is too risky." But even speaking
sternly; scolding him for his disobedience to the king, she was moving in close to him,
and he was gathering her into his arms; crushing her into his breast, feeling the fine
shape of her, yielding to him, like she was trying to melt into him. She had a yellow
flower behind her ear, and now, so close, it was tickling his nose as he held her.

"Nothing could keep me away," he said. And truthfully. What could someone
threaten more than death? Yet he was here. He backed away from the tightness of
their embrace, but only for a moment, so he could re-close that distance between them
with their lips together.

They parted and he said, "Are you mine? Now, faithfully and forever?"

She said, "You know I am."

"Will you marry me?"

"If my consent were the only that you needed," she said. "But my father and the
king have their agreement. And so long as it stands, you know the consummation of
our love is impossible."

"No," he said. "Not impossible." And having said that, he reached into the pocket
of his tunic and withdrew a golden key on a chain. What it was... was the key to the
locks on Chessidea's chastity belt. "I sneaked into the queen's chambers," he said,
explaining.

*

Chessidea's father was a priest. It was believed that Chessidea was a prophetess.
And indeed, she had seen many things in dreams and visions that had served as omens,
indicators and predictions, so her title was not bestowed without merit.

Her father said she communed directly with the spirit world; a feat which was
possible only by a person who had attained true purity of body, mind and soul. A claim
he made proudly, and which, over time, commanded the attention of the king. The king
offered the priest a fortune in return for the services of his daughter, predicting the
future of his reign and the scope of his kingdom; and it was simply too much incentive
for the priest to ignore. The priest from then on said to others that his daughter was in
the employ of the king, but she was not so much a servant as she was a slave. Her
father had sold her.

And because her powers were credited to her unique condition of purity, the king
had taken great care in preventing her exposure to such things that could be considered
unclean. Virtually no one was allowed to speak with her, and she was allowed to do
almost nothing. She could not come in contact with animals, or food before it had been
properly prepared; she was not to become distracted with domestic labors or chores.
She was not taught how to read or write, because such things were thought to taint a
woman's soul, and no one under any circumstances was to tell her about events outside
the circle of the castle walls: politics and society and pointless gossip were known to
taint a woman's mind -- it had wrecked so many women's usefulness as wives. Purity
of body was an easier thing to insure: only the king's wife and daughter were allowed to
touch Chessidea, and any man who did so was locked in the dungeon.

Lycius had, at one time, been a member of the king's guard. But he had over-
stepped his bounds and spoken with Chessidea on the matter of raising horses, which
was what his father did in the king's stables. He had further, in front of an eyewitness,
promised her he would take her riding some day. As a punishment for his disservice to
the king, he had been removed from duty, and forbidden to ever so much as look at
Chessidea again.

But in his time guarding her, Lycius had developed something more than a respect
and devotion for her. And he was not about to let anyone -- even a king -- stand
between himself and his one, true love.

He had written as much in the note he had just slipped under her door. And the
fact of that door having been opened to him was evidence that those feelings were
reciprocated.

*

He untied and unbuttoned her sleeping gown. He slid it down off her shoulders and
let it fall around her feet, and then she was bare... except for the shining gold plate,
molded exactly to her shape, and encasing her from just below the navel to the regions
nethermost, and the gold chains that encircled her legs and waist and kept that plate in
place. Gold: Because it was thought to be pure. Iron could not be used, because it
had a tendency to rust, and not silver because it had a tendency to tarnish. Chessidea
must be kept pure from not only the corrupting touch of men, but earthy metals too...

"What are you going to do?" asked Chessidea. She sounded anxious, and Lycius
couldn't tell if the reason for it was excitement or fright, but she was making no move to
hinder him.

"I'm going to spoil you Chessidea." And fright more evident on her face then.

"I'm going to make you impure. Then you will be unable to perform your services
of prophesy for the king. And then he will return you to your father. And then we can
be married."

The locks were at the top of the plate, near her hips, holding the chain around her
waist tightly in place, and insuring that the belt could be neither lowered, nor raised.
Kneeling before her, Lycius fit the key into first one lock, and then the other, turning
them, and seeing the mechanical tension on the belt go slack each time.

"But what are you going to do?" The question from a trembling lip as he slipped the
chain off from around her, and lowered the golden plate to the floor, revealing the dark
tangle of hair around her sex.

He kissed her, once, on the smooth flat skin of her belly, just below her navel.
Cold pleasure; a little shiver ran through her, and her skin pebbled. "Nothing more nor
less than what any man would do with the woman he loves," he said.

He rose then, lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the bed. Swept the veiling
curtains of white aside with a brush of his hand, and laid her out on the downy softness.
Then began to get undressed himself.

"I have not seen a man that way before," she said.

He smiled at her innocence.

"Are they all that way?"

"Not always," he said. With mounting pleasure he climbed onto the bed. He said,
"Spread your legs, here." And moved them the way he wanted them to be with his
hands, giving himself room.

"Is this going to hurt?" she asked.

"It may at first," he said. "But remember: we must be very quiet. Very, very quiet."

And then there was contact between them... there. Just the first gentle touch. And
he saw her mouth part in a little gasp that he didn't hear, but saw in her eyes, like
sparks struck up from an anvil with a hammer. He moved slowly; easy and careful,
seeking penetration...

And then the world before Lycius' eyes seemed to explode. Black-red flashes, like
from the mouths of cannons, erupted, obscuring the sight of Chessidea's face. Then he
was screaming from pain, and a moment later, his voice was joined by hers: screaming
in fright.

Lycius rolled off of her, rolled off the side of the bed, his body curdled around the
hot knot of pain in his groin, his scream going flat from lack of air. He looked down, to
where he had his hands, cupped around his genitals, shielding them, and he saw blood
leaking from between his fingers... And it was a horrible thing to see, but not the most
horrible thing to see.

Something worse was happening on the bed.

Some... thing... was climbing out from under Chessidea's thigh. Clawing at the
sheets in the wedge-shaped space between her legs. Long, bone-colored claws,
dripping rich red blood, on small hands colored red-brown like rust, on heavily muscled
little arms that had spines growing along them, forearm to elbow.

Chessidea lay there, looking paralyzed, until the head appeared, and from her
vantage point it appeared she had just given birth to an infant devil: Satan himself. A
horned and bony head, with a jutting jaw, and an open mouth, gaping like the interior of
an iron maiden, and a two-pointed tongue, licking out and tasting the salty sweet flesh
along the inside of her leg.

She screamed again then, and jumped out of her bed; ran, bare feet slapping on the
stone floor, desperate to put as much space as possible between herself and that thing.
But her flight was in vain...

The thing went with her.

It had managed to climb only half way out of her shadow, so it was dragged where
her dark reflection went, never more than a pace behind her.

The guard in the hall was awake now. He was pounding on the door, yelling,
"Lady Chessidea, open the door! Open the door!" Sounding every bit the mirror of
her own terror. He knew his well-being depended on hers when it was his shift to
watch.

Backed into the corner of the room, fingers hooked futilely, trying to find purchase
in the stone walls, Chessidea watched in wide-eyed horror as the thing at her feet
continued; trying to climb free of the confines of her shadow, as though the dark
silhouette were a wormhole between its world and her's. The devil had wings now, like
a bat, spanning three or four feet, and a waist where the gargoyle upper half of it
seemed to meld with a hairy underbody.

At first, seeing the thing, and seeing its unlikely origin, Lycius had been thinking only
of the safety of Chessidea, trying to muster enough courage and determination to
counteract the pain. While she ran, in panicked flight around the circuit of the room, he
was regaining his feet. But now that she was backed into the corner, and had nowhere
left to seek cover from it, Lycius had time to realize the demon was not after her.
Pulling and struggling, clawing at the floor as it was dragged along in her wake, the thing
was always trying for the same direction: away from Chessidea, toward Lycius.

With a last mighty heave, and a bellow to rival all manner of earthly beasts, the thing
pulled itself entirely free from the shadow. Legs like a goat, but one of them ending in a
horny, clawed talon, like a bird's foot; and a tail, long, and tapered to a point like an
arrowhead. But altogether the demon was no taller than Lycius' waist.

The guard outside pounded on the door, kept yelling, "Lady Chessidea, unbar the
door! Let me in!" He was yelling himself hoarse.

The diminutive size of the devil was what made Lycius think he had hope...

When he did not.

The thing flew at him, shrieking. Lycius heard the wings, tearing the air as they
flapped. Heard the tail, whistle and snap like a rawhide whip. Heard the air sizzling
around the slashing fury of its claws. Felt the sour-hot, sulfur breath of it strike him in
the face.

Lycius fought. But he was doomed. He could not hope to wrestle with the devil
and win. The devil was too strong.

And a sadist too: it did not allow Lycius the mercy of death until he had been
dismembered fully. Until every bit of him was severed from his trunk by those razor
claws and dagger teeth, and lastly his head. Lycius was at least, spared the sight of the
inside of the devil's mouth, as it crouched over him, and, applying teeth, plucked out his
eyes in order to have at the delicate soul they shielded...

*

The devil, done with Lycius, turned back to Chessidea; charged her.

She whispered, "Please, God..." but the rest of her prayer expired in her mouth,
before air could carry it past her lips.

She closed her eyes against its coming...

But opened them just a second later, realizing the moment of the devil's contact --
when its claws would have pierced her -- was late. She was in time to see a glimpse of
tail, swirling and then vanished, back into the depths of the shadow at her feet.

*

In the king's quarters, far removed from the carnage of the upstairs chamber, the
king's daughter reapplied the belt to Chessidea, the king himself fearful his touch would
corrupt her, or that it would lead to his being consumed with lust for her tender, young
body. He stood in the corner of the room, eyes away from her nakedness.

When it was done, he commanded his daughter to leave. And only after she had
gone, and he was alone with Chessidea did he turn to face her. He was dressed only in
his night gown and slippers. Removed from his royal trappings -- crown and scepter:
his constant symbols of power and authority -- he was reduced to confronting
Chessidea with only a disapproving look and sternly crossed arms.

And Chessidea stood straight and proud before him; not afraid at all. She knew
the king would sooner kill himself than harm her in any way. She was his window to
the future.

"Chessidea," he said. "Why would you allow a man entrance to your chamber?
Why would you listen to his words, knowing as you did, how full of seductive evil they
were? It was a very foolish thing to do, what you did. Thank goodness my wise man's
enchantment protected you."

"It protected me even from myself," she said, sorrow tainting the tone of her voice.

He said, "Child, you speak so softly I could not hear you."

So louder: "My King, I do not want my gift any more."

"Don't be ridiculous. What man or woman would give up the ability to see the
future?"

"What man or woman would want to see the lives and times of the future, knowing,
in return, they would be sacrificing their own future, My King? For that is the price
your service demands I pay: I can see the future, but am condemned to never have a
part in it. That is why I listened to Lycius. He thought he could release me from my
service to you, and so I was willing to let him try."

"There will be no breaking of your service to me until I say, Chessidea."

And he was going to order her away, but before he could get the words out of his
mouth, he noticed a far away look cross her face. A look he recognized: the look of
the seer, seeing. It always filled him with apprehension to see her so.

"What is it?" he asked. "What do you see?"

Dreamy, she said, "I see you... corrupting me yourself, my King."

"I would never do such a thing."

"I see you, taking me, in a moment of depravity -- of lust. Spilling your seed in me.
And me -- released from your service." And then a smile began to pull upwards on the
corners of her mouth. It was a wicked smile.

The king did not much like the look of it. He said, "I do not even carry the key to
your belt, Chessidea. Put this foolish vision out of your mind."

She crossed over to him. He was nervous: sweat standing out in beads along his
brow. She pressed herself against him.

"What are you doing? Stand back!"

But she didn't. "Why?" she asked. "Don't you like me that way?"

He stammered, trying to formulate a response. This was exactly the reason he
chose not to view the care his wife and daughter provided for Chessidea. The reason
he had decided it wise not to carry the key himself. Chessidea was beautiful. She was
an enchantress.

He was a king, but he was powerless, looking into those amber-gold eyes.

"I don't think that belt of mine is so much of an obstacle, my King."

"What are you talking about?"

"Where there's a will, there's a way."

She reached through the overlap in his robe, grabbed him by his manhood. Felt it
thicken in response to her touch almost immediately.

He said, "What are you doing? Stop that." But not with much conviction.

With her other hand, she traced up his back, making little circles with her fingers.
She grabbed him by the neck and pulled his lips down to hers. He was not so much
taller, and not so much opposed to the idea of being seduced as his words seemed to
suggest.

She kissed him. Stroked the back of his neck. Massaged him down below.

"I know you have mistresses," she said. "I've had visions of them, and the futures
of all your illegitimate children."

"It's a privilege of nobility," he said. Not an excuse, not trying to justify himself.
Just stating a fact. He was worried, but excited too.

She said, "Have any of them ever done this?"

And before he could think of the consequences, she had dropped down on her
knees before him, and spread the folds of his robe and taken his rigid cock into her
mouth. Deep. He felt her tongue on him, like a warm velvet caress. And he heard his
own voice, saying, "Oh, God." Gasping.

She leaned back a second, so her lips were away from him; said, "Do you think the
wise man's enchantment will save me from myself this time?"

Realization dawned on him then; made his eyes go big and start to shake.

He tried to back away, but she had already bent herself back to her task; sucking
hard, with his balls held tightly in her left hand.

The king heard the devil start its shrieking... then saw the claws, reaching out of the
shadow at her feet...