--- Allene Corser the Younger POV

“Well, I have been wondering myself.” She wiggles and prods her finger between her baby’s lips and breasts. “Here.” With a pop, her baby unlatches to reveal a firm, red, milk-dripping teat topping more than two handfuls of a fleshy breast. I blame the never-before-seen sight for my inattention. When I awake, I am holding one of the sleeping babies in my arms, and she is skipping around her bed with the other, pausing to place the milk-dazed, bloated sleeping baby in a small wagon of some sort. She holds out her eager hands to me. I blink. Her hands pulse out at me, and I realise what she means and hand her the babe in my arms. Both of her breasts still leak milk, and yet she seems oblivious. Has she caught some sort of second wind? The second babe joins the first.

She throws off a thin coat of some sort, which floats gently to the floor like a whisp in the wind. The light blue fabric catches the air and my wonder. Then I hear a cupboard door opening. What? Is she going to them now?

I step closer to her. My eyes scan the curves and outline of her body. Her after-pregnancy tummy is a slim cushion, not bulbous like I have noticed on other mothers, regardless of the layers of material. Her body was once rumoured to be perfect. I can confirm it is that way once again if I am any judge. Her motherly breasts are fuller and yet more perfect. Chubby cheeks with a rosy glow correct her one and only previous flaw. A dour countenance. She has got to be the happiest creature on the island, if not the world.

“Can you tie these flaps for me, please?” She tugs on two pieces of material with shiny throngs at the ends. Each piece folds over her breasts, and I see a loop on each shoulder. As I grasp one, I work out the task. I tie the shiny strips through the shoulder loops and decide on a flourish, knotting them so the throngs form a flower-like bow.

She finishes fussing and tying her shirt. “Oh, they are pretty. Perhaps you should always attend me, just to tie them.” Her radiant smile blinds me. “Can I ask you to tie them tighter?” She pulls the material to one side, and her breast flops out. I giggle. A deep-down true burst of joy. Embarrassment. Wonder. Pleasure. Happiness. Where are these feelings growing from? Why?

Her warm hands caress and nurse my cheeks. My heart flutters. Is this genuine motherly affection? “You are a delight. I hope my children are so honest about their feelings and cherish their mother like I am certain you do, and her love runs as deep as yours.”

She withdraws her hands; without thought, my hands dart up and return hers to my cheeks. I feel her thumbs wipe under my eyes. “I hope they are tears of happiness now. You deserve no less,” she says.

Crying? Am I crying? Does the sight of a mother leaking milk reduce me to an ordinary child of my age? I bite the inside of my cheek. I am Allene Corser, and I am planning to secure my future, and none will stand in my way. I feel my cheeks warm.

“No need to be embarrassed, dear. Showing your feelings is important. I feel extra special since you feel comfortable enough to do so in my presence.”

She drags me into a long warm embrace, the side of her head resting on the top of mine. My nose nudges her teat, and the intense aroma of her milk overwhelms my sense of smell. I don’t remember this smell as a toddler, and ever after, I recall the smell of goat’s milk. My mother did her duty to ensure advancement. Affectionate motherhood was not her strong point and, in fact, entirely unnecessary in her opinion. A fact she shared with me often when I grew old enough to listen. Did Sanfrid’s mothering of me make him the indecisive wimp he is today?

“Oh my, I think I may still need your help.” She lovingly pushes us apart. “All this sweet emotion has played tricks on my breasts, and I have no babies to suckle them. Would you help? I can’t walk outside with them leaking now, can I.”

My first thought is an absolute no. My second thought a heartbeat after is an unequivocal yes.

---

We stroll outside on a bright sunny day together, one babe in her arms, the other in mine. I sneak a glance at her every few steps. We haven’t spoken since she wiped a dribble of milk from my chin while calling me a cute little piggy. Speechless, in a daze from then until now. My mother is and will always be my mother, yet this woman is the epitome of mothering. My mind swirls about, contemplating this unexpected awakening. What is this realisation I force myself to consider? The brief answer is usually the best, unabashed love and heartfelt care. I feel like a drowning person finding dry land. My feet find themselves for the first time. Can I rest? Is an adult looking out for the child in me?

A wall of greenery greets us, a narrow dark tunnel, the sole clearway, beckoning.

“You must not venture from the village, Lady Salina,” calls a gruff voice.

Lady Salina stamps her right foot and swivels. “I know you mean well, but no. Let your shadow run and tell my husband while you if you must, follow and protect me.”

My eyes dart about. I count only one. His large nose is a standout on an otherwise bland face. His sword hand, though, reveals his story. Sun touched olive skin on one side and calluses on the underside. His weather-beaten soft leather jerkin is his only piece of body armour over a billowing shirt of white linen and pants to match. Oddly he has a round metal helm on his head under a broad dry grass woven hat. The brim of the hat shades his eyes, thankfully. I am confident they have seen much death, personally dispatched.

He chews over her words and then flicks his hand behind him. I peer around his athletic body, none the wiser.

“If I command you for you and your babies’ protection, you will heed me instantly?”

She pouts. A beautiful glowing and warm pout, yet still a pout. “I will.” Is she sulking?

“Lead on, Lady. I doubt any lay in ambush, so we must only concern ourselves with any following.” His right-hand balances on the pommel of his sheathed sword, while his left invites her to take another step.

Apart from insect buzz, bird call and the occasional unknown growl, we made steady progress as the trail rose before us. I didn’t miss his total disregard for me except as a porter of Lady Salina’s babe.

The bright sunlight at the end of the dark is a relief. Lady Salina and I rush forward. His throat clears, and we share a quiet giggle and slow. Before us is a shining black bowl. Rising from the middle is an enormous basalt bust, only the back of a bald head for us to appreciate. We skirt around and suck in a breath as the high cheekbones, full lips and pert nose combine into the most glorious feminine face I have ever seen. Lady Salina releases a breath which prompts me to do likewise.

“Who is she?” asks Lady Salina, absent of expectation.

“By Captain Cutthroat Dyneley’s black heart, who is that meant to be?” His rumbling voice is almost breathless, yet all thoughts of the wonder before me fade from my mind. His words confirm who he sailed with before retiring. My knees go weak, and I need to focus on securing the babe in my arms while edging away from death incarnate. He draws himself forward, neatly fitting in the gap between Lady Salina and I due to my fear. I hear him draw in a breath and know failure.

“Why do two adults, a youth and two babes visit the future site of the Temple of Aphrodite?”

The hissing in between her words prepares me as I turn on a heel like him and Lady Salina to greet Cardinal Pex. Her drab grey snakeskin is always a distraction, allowing me at least to avoid gawking at her semi-concealed teeth.

After flashing a bright, carefree smile, Lady Salina answers, “I have with me Allene Corser, who I am certain needs to discuss family business, the trading of family land to be exact, with the Prophet Allene Corser. Would she be available?”

I steel myself. She may appear to be a baby-brain female, yet she has succinctly covered my grievance and done so like ripping off a blood-dried bandage. The Snake Kin, as she calls herself, rests back on her coils of snake tail, revealing several teeth. Is that amusement? Or contemplation?

“The Prophet can’t be disturbed.” A long-forked tongue lashes out, curls and withdraws. “She is the artist responsible for the creation you are all in awe of, and you must understand the Prophet has a special bond with the Goddess and being so far from anywhere, this is tenuous.”

She begins to turn and slither away when our bodyguard scrambles to run an intercept course brandishing his cutlass. She crosses her arms and draws her lips back, yet I am sure this is in amusement instead of fear. She doesn’t know of him or his reputation. Should I say something?

“You have a burning question?” she asks. “If so, please sheath your weapon, but know if you choose violence, the magic of my Goddess protects me, and if necessary, call on, to obliterate you, body, soul and spirit.”

The slick of metal into leather sounds, and then the hardened killer drops to one knee while his pleading eyes rise. I catch our island Queen sucking in a breath.

“Who is she? What is she? What does being a Goddess truly mean? I have sailed the two oceans of the world and never found such a creation.”

She strokes her neck and then crosses her arms once again. “In simple terms, a Goddess or God personifies and exemplifies specific realms of passion, knowledge, or elements. These can be anything but, in fact, aren’t because they must generate veneration. The Goddess Aphrodite, Ruler of her Pantheon, embodies the realms of Fertility, which your Queen benefitted from recently, Truth and Death. There is also a fourth, Disorder, which the Goddess, for the time being, withholds from her faithful for a reason known only to her.”

He licks his lips. “Death?”

Her hand reaches down and cups his cheek. They lock eyes. “Not only death but also Truth. The realms influence each other and further refine their mutual purpose. When the Goddess Aphrodite or her most ardent, loyal, and faithful worshippers wield the Death and Truth realm in her name, the result is, as I said, utter destruction.”

Tears run down his cheeks—free-flowing, unabashed. “I remember their faces. They haunt my dreams… If I kill for the Goddess Aphrodite, would she vanquish those who still haunt me in the future?”

Unfurling her snake tail, she lowers her body until they are eye to eye. “She takes care of her own and welcomes all to her motherly bosom.”

She draws his head into her chest, between her breasts. I want to scream at her; he is a ferocious killer. His tears dampen the simple linen shirt she wears. His cutlass has drunk the blood of many; I want to add. Her eyes flash golden for a heartbeat. “I see your burden, and as proof of her power, I will remove one which haunts you.”

Somehow his head cranes up, and as plain as plain, his eyes plead, no beg her words are truthful and no idle promise. I want to slap him across his murdering face! Aphrodite personifies Truth, you stupid killer. As a Cardinal of Aphrodite, of course, she speaks the Truth. I take in a calming breath while observing his sickening response. A broad smile of relief crosses his face, and adoration fills his eyes. I furrow my brow as I watch her fingers. They play. I can’t see anything, like a coin rolling between them, but they seem to be manipulating something between them…

“Who is Eamon Bottan?”

Withdrawing from the embrace of her breasts as if burnt, his body stiffens. I feel a warm shaking hand grab mine. The Island Queen had sidled up to me, and I didn’t realise. We stand like opposites, one babe in the crook of her right arm, her other babe in the crook of my left arm. Two innocents, hopefully too newborn, to be witnesses.

“The older brother of Governor Purdon Bottan,” he says in a monotone voice like the naughty boy he is!

She nods and smiles warmly. His face is a vision of childish pleasing. “The Goddess values truth.” Her grey eyelids flicker at him. If they weren’t dead grey and if she was human, I would suspect she was attempting to flirt with him. I close my open mouth. Does her dull grey snakeskin lack of colour represent a living idol of death to him? Is that her appeal? I glance sideways. The Island Queen’s jaw has dropped, her eyes bulging.

“Why did the Chief Governor wish him dead?”

Lady Salina’s hand tightens around mine. This Snake Kin has guessed right. Not only is this swordsman our bodyguard, but he is also an agent of the Chief Governor.

“He doesn’t explain the why to me, just the method.” She tilts her head, and he bobs his. “Assassination, accident or spectacle.”

Though a single word whispers, both the killer and the Cardinal turn their heads as Lady Samina says, “Accident.”

Our bodyguard chuckles. “Yes, Chief Governor Lamot or as I know him, Captain Cutthroat Dyneley, wanted an accidental death for your paramour, dear Lady.”

She stamps a foot. “There was nothing between us! Nothing. We talked about gardens and growing. He had a vision to grow a native to this island food crop to sustain us instead of sugar and coffee in exchange for food.”

His eyes met hers. “The Captain thought different.”

“The drunken brawl, not an accident, connivance, where the drunken you, beaten to the floor by him, manages to swing the remains of the broken rum flagon, landing low, scrapping his leg. A nothing wound as you fell back unconscious.”

“Yes, I would ordinarily take a bow for my performance.”

“I was there. I remember his triumphant smile, the many who slapped his back and the cheer. Then his stumble, and the blood.” Her eyes focus. “You murderer!” she screams. The babe on her arm cries out while I turn my back on her and shield the other.

“I do as your husband bids, Lady.”

“Why? Why are you, his killer? I never understood your devotion when all others left his side.”

He climbs to his feet, resuming his familiar, confident stance, one hand resting on the pommel of his cutlass, the other grabbing at his leather vest.

“They didn’t leave his side, Lady. They continue to kill, plunder, and take. The Captain decided he had another calling. I, well, the faces of the dead kept me from sleep. He took me in, offered me an upright position where there would be killing but only, if necessary, he said. And here we are.”

She bends over and shifts a breast covering to one side, allowing her crying child to suckle. Straightening, she says, “He meets with them still. They are the mysterious merchant who runs the sugar and coffee to the continent. The only ones he can trust, he says.”

“Wooden ships and iron men, Lady. The Brotherhood of Pirates adds blood to bond us.”

A harsh hiss interrupts the pirate confessional. I realise I have backpedalled a reasonable distance, yet where can I run to? There is no escape. The secret I have overheard means my death. My plans? My mother’s plans for me? All our effort and sacrifice are worth nothing. My tearing eyes study the innocent face of the babe in my arm, and I can’t help but hitch my chest and await my fate.

“If this helps, know that the spirit of Eamon Bottan burns with lust for you, Lady still, regardless of what he said and did in life.”

“How do I know you aren’t making this up,” Salina spits back at the Cardinal.

The Snake Kin draws herself up until she towers over the pirate and throws back her head in a burst of hissing laughter. Silence. Her head lowers to face the Island Queen. “I care little of your petty concerns. My Goddess’s realms include the Truth Realm, and I know that spirits, over time, lose their memories from life if they remain attached to us and only the strong passions last. At the end, when all else is forgotten, they seek possession of the living and revenge. They don’t know why. Eamon Bottan is recent, yet all he has left is lust for you and revenge for his killer.”

“His death was two years ago.” Her words are frail. She is in shock. “He was a friend, nothing more than a friend. We talked. He knew.” She slowly shakes her head.

The Chief Governor’s assassin stares up over his shoulder. “What of the others?”

“You need to stop killing. The spirits of those you slaughter have few choices, but the ones who cling to you now for revenge can combine and influence the fresh kills. That is why you have added to your haunting company occasionally instead of every time. Some spirits want release, revenge secondary or perhaps the manner of their death they considered fair or their fate.”

“Will the Goddess release the rest? I will deal death in her name if she protects me from any spirits in the future.”

I need to step in. An expert killer he is, a negotiator he isn’t. I offload the babe to his mother, assisting in placing his cupid lips on her generous breast. I hope to keep her busy with two to feed, thereby excluding her comments.

“Excuse me, Cardinal, I would humbly submit that Aaby Worts, the son of a vegetable farmer, needs my council.”

His face flushes red instantly, and he towers over me a heartbeat later. His spital splashes on my face. “Any who say my name die, a girl child is no exception!”

I squeeze my loins to hold my water, knowing he would react this way. I reply with a false calmness. “The Cardinal said you can kill no more. If you kill me, I will ensure with all my might to stay to haunt you.”

His face drains of colour. I don’t believe I can haunt him as a spirit, but he does, and that is all that matters. Plus, I have achieved what I wanted. It is challenging to represent someone if they aren’t by your side, a tacit admission by standing together; we are one, however weak to begin with. He draws himself up and studies my face. I wave a hand, inviting him to stand beside me. My father revealed this murder’s true name by accident when a co-conspirator of his was found with a single thrust through the heart. This was the night before he deserted my mother and I. The day after, the Corser seat on the Council was declared vacant.

Mr Worts accepts my invitation and stands beside me, much to the amusement of the Cardinal.

“You would acknowledge and accept that the pirate, more widely known as Bloody Cutlass has a unique skill set, which a Goddess who aligns with the Death Realm could find common sympathy?”

The Cardinal blinks her grey eyelids while she flashes her sharp teeth. “The Goddess doesn’t advocate Death, young Allene Corser.”

“Exactly.” I raise a finger. “Bloody Cutlass has never slain unless ordered to do so for the one he is sworn to serve. Your Goddess would be assured that he will not wantonly kill in her service, but if required to, he will be certain in his duty. What is that worth, I ask?”

I notice Aaby Worts shuffle into a relaxing, familiar position. His silence is reassuring. Lady Salina strides forward and opens her mouth to speak. One of her babies howls—the lips of the poor thing hunt for his mother’s milk-covered nipple.

The Cardinal taps her lips. “Maybe a lot, maybe a little.”

Then I realise I have a card to play. “Who protects you while Ottar is … renewing himself and playing nice with the Prophet of Zeus?”

“The Goddess protects us as always.”

“Didn’t you say she was distant, her Prophet’s link thin and any interruption would be, shall we say, inconvenient?”

The Snake Kin slithers, paces? I glance at Lady Salina and nudge the Bloody Cutlass. He swaps to my right-hand side, and she closes her mouth. A mean glare? A threatening smile? Whatever, she remains silent.

“Possibly.”

Grrr, she gives nothing away. “I would suggest the Bloody Cutlass’ true worth is his reputation. His presence would prevent any confrontation, nipping any unpleasantness in the bud as it were.”

My last argument prompts her to study my client, her eyes wandering from his head to boot. While older than prime, his sinewy body can’t be denied. There is no lazy potbelly. His beard is full except where a cheek scar runs, which makes him appear all the fiercer. The piercings through his eyebrows and earlobes an unusual adornment for land-bound men and as good a sign as any, he sailed.

“I will invite Aaby Worts, the Bloody Cutlass, into Aphrodite’s bosom as a Lay Member. If after a year of loyal service, he may then pray to the Goddess to be accepted as an Initiate.”

I glance at Aaby, and he doesn’t react to his true name being called out. I release a breath because I didn’t think he would link the Truth Realm to his name. Whatever the reason, his true name is Aaby Worts. But she recognises his power, and therefore his worth is held by his pirate name and adds that.

“Given his value, would the Goddess permit you to remove a maligned spirit from him once a month? This would ease his burden and improve his disposition if not his effectiveness as a full night’s sleep is beyond value to a warrior, I am told.” I call him warrior as a gesture. His possible future after his killer reputation fades.

“Yes. Although there is one condition.”

Always a condition with negotiations, I muse. “Yes?”

“You also accept Lay Membership and display loyal service.”

This is a trap of some kind. Why does the awful grey thing want me in her game? A shadow falls across me, and I don’t need to check the owner. Trapped. Refusing the invitation will result in my death. After all, I am a witness to at least one confession of an unsavoury deed and the original reason I interceded on my potential murderer’s behalf. Accept, and I need to observe whatever rituals and perform the obligations for this Goddess. Pretending for twelve months is an option, yet I suspect religions have a way of knowing the difference.

“Mm…” I reply.

“You can’t do this! I protest. I will ask the Chief Governor to intercede!” Shuffling forward, the Island Queen, a babe on each breast, speaks. “You can’t enlist my bodyguard and dupe an innocent girl into your religion.”

Is the Snake Kin grimacing or celebrating? If I am forced to save my life with this Lay Membership, one thing I will do is learn her mannerism and tells, the reading of people is valuable to discern their true needs and wants, and this Snake Kin would be no different.

Facing Lady Salina, the Snake Kin lowers her head slightly. “I apologise for my oversight. The Queen should always be the first of any people to be invited…”

Lady Salina shakes her head slowly and then more rapidly. She stops and says, “You misunderstand. I don’t wish to join.”

The head of the Snake Kin tilts to one side and then straightens. “Your babes would be Lay Members from birth and when they turn sixteen have the choice to be accepted as Initiates or leave as is their choice. No greater gift can a mother offer their child, especially those so recently saved from certain death like their mother.”

This is a double ambush, no triple ambush if the babes are included. Not only does the Goddess harvest a killer, but also a Queen and two potential Governors. Protecting this religion now and into the future.

“There… there was no agreement. You interceded because you wanted to.” She hugs her babies tighter.

The Snake Kin flings her hands out wide. “You misunderstand. This invitation isn’t a trade. The Goddess Aphrodite requires all to suckle at her bosom of their own free will. This invitation is a reward for you to accept or not.”

“A reward?”

“Yes, my Island Queen. You have received the Goddess’ magic and know the benefits firsthand, so the invitation is open and freely offered. Your bodyguard must prove his worth and negotiate. You see the difference?”

Lady Salina studies the faces of her sons, the heirs of Chief Governor Dyce Lamot or Captain Cutthroat Dyneley, depending on your point of view. I snicker and then cough to cover my slip up. The cause, the delicious thought that one son would be the heir of the Chief Governor, upright citizen, the other the heir of Captain Cutthroat Dyneley, pirate scourge yet utterly loyal to each other. They would continue the family business.

“What is required of a Lay Member?”

“You must attend Holy Day and High Holy Day ceremonies. Demonstrate the Truth Realm aspect of Aphrodite in everyday dealings and activities with other worshippers,” says Cardinal Pex by rote.

“What if the truth is… hurtful?”

“Then say nothing is the easiest course.”

“Say nothing? How does that work in practice? Sometimes, those asking the questions insist on an answer, especially if the question is asked in a public meeting.”

The question and answer back and forth is quick, and both the Island Queen and the Snake Kin Cardinal advance toward each other. Their performance is more like a dual in many respects. They stop when an arm’s length apart.

The Snake Kin’s eyes bore down on the Island Queen. “In that case, don’t act in an indefensible way in the first place.”

“Important people must make important decisions for the greater good all the time. The truth, all the time will complicate things.”

“Truth breeds trust.”

“Excuse me,” I say. Both ignore me as they stare at each other.

“You need to shout, girl. Two females locked in erm, debate, are deaf to others,” says the Blood Cutlass in a semi-whisper.

“Excuse me,” I shout. Their heads reluctantly turn. “The Truth Realm aspect is between worshippers.”

“Yes,” says Cardinal Pex. “Of course.”

The Island Queen coughs and then chuckles. “We have different viewpoints, dear Cardinal. Mine is the inhabitants of this island, worshippers and non-worshippers of Aphrodite. By way of comparison, the Governor of the Isles holds a common truth between them that isn’t always shared with others.”

The Snake Kin quirks her head. “I assumed. This misunderstanding will not happen again, I assure you.”

“Good. By my reckoning, you have a mother, two babes, a warrior, and youth to welcome in as Lat Members of the Goddess Aphrodite.”

P.S. If you have read this chapter on any website except Royal Road, my story has been copied without my permission.