Blood of the Goddess

By William Schindler

Lestat and Louis move over! This homoerotic adventure set in India and America takes the vampire genre to a new level of passion and inspiration. A young Dutch sailor lands in India in 1636 and gets swept away by the power and masculine magnetism of a mysterious stranger who claims he is the young mans lover and teacher from a former life. They trek together into the Himalayas to find a secret shrine of the Goddess where the young man may be made immortal like his teacher. Although aided by supernatural beings, they face a foe of terrifying power who seems bent on obstructing their purpose. They meet many colorful characters and witness miracles both beautiful and bizarre. Reincarnation and destiny reunite old friends, lovers, and enemies over six centuries, and the suspenseful conclusion unravels a mystery that none but the ancient immortal Kedar Baba suspected.

[e-mail] says: "A very unusual find. This book contains an amazing amount of information about the Hindu spirituality. If you are a gay vampire fan and interested in Eastern mythology, this book is highly recommended. . . I recommend this book (and find it refreshing) because of its unique take on the vampire mythos."

Steven LaVigne says in the White Crane Journal:"Schindler has joined Stoker, Rice, and others with his mesmerizing novel. . . However, Schindlers tome goes several steps further. . . .Blood of the Goddess explores in effectively hallucinatory passages the gay side of Krishna and the dwarf as a magical, mythic being. He probes religious aspects on penis worship as he utilizes his yogic training and learning on Indias culture to draw us into a deeply philosophical novel.. . . Blood of the Goddess is a terrific achievement in the realm of the vampire novel."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 10, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462811670

William Schindler

William Schindler obtained a B.A. in Sanskrit from UC Berkeley (1975), where he also studied Bengali and Hindi, and a Master’s degree in clinical psychology from Antioch University (1986). He lived in India for two-and-a-half years from 1972-1977 first as a pilgrim, then as a student at Banaras Hindu University, and finally as a monk of the Ramakrishna Order. He has written novels, short stories, and numerous essays on gay spirituality. His non-fiction book, GAY TANTRA (Xlibris, 2000), is the definitive work on the topic of traditional Hindu Tantra adapted to the spiritual needs and aptitudes of gay-identified persons. He currently lives in Los Angeles, California, where he offers spiritual instruction and counseling for gay men.

Book preview

BLOOD OF

THE

GODDESS

William Schindler

Copyright © 2000 by William Schindler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-7-XLIBRIS

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Let me tell you how it starts, this urge I feel to take a particular human life. It starts very much the way I remember romantic infatuation starts. A man comes into my field of attention and makes a mark there. My mind returns again and again to the the memory of that man, and, as the ancient formula in the Bhagavad-Gita predicts, my mind gets attached to that which it thinks upon again and again. This attachment leads to the desire to possess the man. Unconsciously, at first, then consciously, perhaps even stealthily, I begin to seek the man, to see him again and again from afar, or unbeknownst to him, from very near.

Coming near is always a crucial step. I may linger near a victim for hours or days. It is not a matter of self-control or crucial timing or any hesitation about the act itself. It is merely pleasurable to linger near the one one loves. As much as possible I avoid detection by the loved one, because he might then be equally attracted to me; he might want to speak with me, to touch my hand or face, or to take me with him to his private place and tell me his secrets. Although these can provide great joy, no doubt, they only speed the inevitable, the time when I will take his life like the devouring flame that I have become, and in destroying everything that man ever was, I become him and know him as perhaps even he had not been able to know himself. So, you see I miss nothing in postponing our union. I only prolong the experience.

My primary motive, it would seem, is pleasure, albeit pleasure of a deadly, and to many, an abhorrent kind. But to label me a hedonist would not be quite right either. There is much more to what happens when I take a man’s life than I can possibly hope to explain in a few pages, even to a sympathetic reader. That I should bother to try to explain at all might seem the greatest absurdity. I do not seek to be known. I cherish my quiet, anonymous existence, and I have no need for money or goods from any human being. Why am I telling you any of this, then?

I think of Hamlet returning to his skeptical friends after his life-transforming encounter with the ghost of his departed father on the bleak and bitter castle wall. He told Horatio simply that there exists more in heaven and in earth than was thought of in his philosophy. By itself this is not a particularly remarkable fact. Science shows us wonder upon wonder in our ever-expanding universe, and after a while science merges seamlessly with science- fiction, and we are not satisfied unless we are already exploring the distant galaxies in ships that surely most humans living now will never see in their lifetimes. To imagine it in this day of special effects and mass media is to create it in some real sense, and our bodies need not travel light years for our minds to do so. There is no miracle Christ performed in his short life that almost any two- bit magician could not do now for countless millions in front of a camera. The miraculous has to come much closer now, if it is to work its magic as in the past. We must be part of the miracle, or no miracle has happened.

But I digress, because before all else I want to take you with me inside the living miracle. I want to baptize you in the horror and fury of revelation that will strip away forever your comfortable illusions about yourself, your fellows, and even about religion or soul. You see, the man who attracts me tonight has only just taken a fateful turn down a dark alley, possibly to relieve himself from excessive beer imbibed at the local bar. I am right behind him, but he seems not to notice or not to care. He is drunk, but it doesn’t matter to me. He pauses and faces a stinking corner of the alley, unzipping his pants and letting his pent up urine stream down the wall. He throws back his head with a deep sigh, and one can feel the great relief he feels. He is so beautiful in this act, I linger just a bit longer. But as soon as he begins shaking off the last droplets of urine, my hyper- acute senses ignite, and I feel the sweat dripping down his face, I am engulfed by the warm, slightly acid scent of his body and the sour stench of the alley, I can see tiny veins branching from bulging bigger veins, and I can hear the pump and the rush of blood throughout his body; I am upon him in an instant.

Mine is the physical strength of ten ordinary men, so when I seize him and hold him still, his pathetic struggles are as ineffectual as those of a tiny baby to a grown man. He does not cry out, for I cut his throat neatly and deeply with a small, sharp blade. I clamp my mouth to the artery that feeds his brain, and the man’s life is spent quickly. I am vaguely aware of a wash of feeling from him, confusion mostly, perhaps a little fear. He really has no time to realize fully what is happening to him, because he has never imagined that what is happening could ever happen to anyone. In the end there is always rapture and bliss as the soul breaks through the encrustations of millennia of self-deception and blindness. It is a birthing process I facilitate, full of pain, fear, and blood, but culminating in unbounded joy.

I live for this joy. It is the joy of Being itself. It is the unending laughter at the core of the universe that, try as it might, cannot fully conceal itself from the experience of men.

The dead man’s body falls noiselessly in a urine-soaked alley. I zip up my pants and walk quietly away from the scene. Lifetimes of memories flood us together now like images in a film collage. The fresh blood is full of voices, stories, memories, an unbroken chain of experiences stretching far beyond this current lifetime. Kindnesses committed, atrocities attempted, ever questioning, ever moving toward greater solitude and the fearlessness of absolute conviction. God is there, in various guises, if you want him or her or it or them, however your current mind and culture create the cosmic set. This is a freedom from religion more than anything else. It comes closest to what Buddha called being snuffed out like a candle, nirvana, not some psychedelic mandala in the sky, but a painfully simple stepping out of self-delusions. Life is suffering. Life ceases, truly ceases, and suffering ceases as well. only bliss remains.

As I walk the damp walkways along the cliffs overlooking the moonlit ocean, a thousand other lives stir within me, and each radiates a bit of its own revelation, its own salvation, its own oneness with the Goddess. I say life ceases but my life goes on and on, or seems to. In fact, every life that has become part of me goes on and on within me, each face remembered, each heart sharing its treasures again and again. In truth I have no separate existence from any of those with whom I have become one. I am like a little piece of the infinite Goddess Herself, nurturing the children of this cosmic cycle’s creation and destruction. She gathers her children unto her bosom and cradles them with infinite kindness and then slays them with perfect cruelty. Kindness and cruelty are the same to her. Her curse is a blessing, and her laughter shatters galaxies whirling in trackless darkness. Some speak of the Goddess as horrible and shrink from her frightful vision with her bloodied sword held high and the severed limbs swinging freely from her waist. If only they could let their gaze pause a moment in contemplation of her serene face, eyes shining with the ultimate wisdom, they might feel her peace. They might recognize something precious and absolutely incontrovertible. She truly is the Mother of all. To come to her is to come home at last.

To the casual observer I appear in my mid-twenties, about six feet tall, with short, dark, wavy hair, deep blue eyes, and fair skin, almost white, like in some of those 17th Century paintings of country gentlemen with their frilly collars and ruddy cheeks. I was born in the Netherlands in 1612, and I have inhabited this human body ever since. I was among the first Europeans to arrive in India by ship, and it was in India that I learned what I have learned and become what I have become. Although many of the events I will describe occurred over three hundred years ago, they are as fresh and living today as if they had only just happened. In fact this story I am about to relate has a life of its own, and it clamors within me insistently, such that I no longer have a choice about whether or not to tell it.

CHAPTER 1

When our ship pulled into the port of Madras, I leaned over the side of the ship to watch the bizarre and exotic tableau that unfolded before me. After our usual docking routine I had no duties to perform, so a couple of other sailors and I left the ship out of curiosity and the restless need to walk in one direction for more than the few dozen yards the ship allowed. We told no one where we were going. I didn’t plan to be gone long. I planned merely to walk, look around, and return to the ship in an hour or so. Our group split up shortly after disembarking. Each of us was pulled in different directions by the utterly alien activities that surrounded us.

I was appalled and fascinated by what I saw in the streets during that first walk. Hideous, deformed beggars groped next to gorgeous, dark women in saris of dazzling hues and half naked, chocolate-colored men in draped white cloth all bustling about conducting the mysterious affairs of their lives. Their language sounded like the gibbering of monkeys to me then, and my head reeled from the onslaught of sounds, sights and smells. The smell of incense mingled with that of rotten garbage, sweet curry, and acrid urine. Animals, wild and domestic, pigs, dogs, donkeys, cows, rats, and mongooses, paraded through the narrow, muddy lanes, apparently oblivious to the humans all around them.

I watched in amazement as a tiny woman in a mud brown sari squatted repeatedly in the road to scoop up cow droppings and place them in a basket which she then carried on her head. She meticulously scraped every morsel of the piquant prize from the cobblestone pavement. Later I saw another woman with a similar basket piled high with cow droppings standing next to a wall where she formed the excrement into little round balls and then pasted them with a smack of her hand all over the wall. Each little pie was marked with her tiny hand print. I couldn’t at first imagine why anyone would wish to decorate a wall in this manner. Later I noticed as I walked among food vendors that the dried pies were used as fuel for innumerable charcoal stoves. They emitted a distinctive smelling smoke that was earthy and not unpleasant.

I wandered through exotic bazaars, rows upon rows of burnished brass utensils gleaming like gold next to the shops of brightly painted wooden toys. I paused to inhale the fragrance of mountains of spices, bright yellow turmeric, earth brown coriander and brick brown cinnamon, reddish nutmeg, black cloves, creamy seeds of cardamom, and yellow-brown cumin, sweaty in smell, like hardworking men below deck on ship. I observed the silk merchants haggling over bolts of exquisitely embroidered cloth in rainbows of intense colors never seen in western countries. They mumbled orders to their servants through betel-stained red lips and teeth, tobacco juice oozing from the corners of their mouths painting jagged red lines to their chins. The servants scurried to pour endless cups of tea for the nonchalant customers who reclined against soft cushions on hand-woven carpets. The tea was served in sun- dried clay cups that would be discarded on piles of garbage just beyond the door of the shop.

I passed the vendor of scents who displayed his pale colored oils and essences of jasmine, rose, musk, patchouli, and sandal- wood in glittering rows of crystal decanters. I thought I would like to purchase some of his wares to take back to my mother, but I had no idea what kind of currency I would need. I thought I could come back later.

I turned a corner in a narrow street and came face to face with a startling statue of an orange elephant with four human arms, a fat human body, and two chubby human legs. The statue reclined in a relaxed posture against a wall, its enormous white eyes and black pupils staring intently at all who passed. That this outrageous figure was an object of devotion was immediately evident because piles of flowers were scattered at its feet, garlands of marigolds and jasmine encircled its neck, and bundles of pungent incense emitted wafts of sweet smoke from niches in the wall all around. A painfully thin old woman in a white sari, skin brown and wrinkled like leather, bent down before the statue, touching its feet with her hand. Some of the orange color came off on her fingers, and she smeared the color on her forehead, muttering what I could only figure was some kind of prayer. I couldn’t imagine what she asked of what I considered then an absurd idol.

I was drawn to the entrance of an ornately carved temple with silver doors and what appeared to be solid gold domes! Devotees struck brash brass bells as they approached the idols. They moaned their incomprehensible hymns with fervor, some with eyes closed as if in deep concentration, and others with eyes staring unfocused into space. Half naked priests waved smoking camphor lamps and fanned the images with white yak tail fans. Some of the idols were strikingly beautiful, some horrific, and some were rather mysterious and vaguely pornographic. All were endlessly fascinating, and not a little scandalous. Although I had been raised Christian, I was not much of a believer. Still, I found all this heathen devotion somewhat shocking.

Everywhere I went people stared shamelessly at my western garb, my strange white skin, and even stranger blue eyes. I dared not pause too long in any one place because a crowd would quickly gather uncomfortably close around me, grown men and children peering directly in my face and pointing at my eyes, skin, and clothes, some suspicious, some amused, some obviously fascinated. Some tried to talk with me, but it was quickly apparent to them and to me that verbal communication was impossible.

I ducked into an empty alley to escape the staring crowds for a few moments. It was there I encountered a tall, well-built man with medium-length, wavy black hair, sparkling black eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a large, bushy mustache under a hawk-like nose. He seemed about forty, but he could have been ten years younger or older. I started to turn away, but something about his appearance made me look back. He was naked from the waist up and wore the typical folds of white cotton around his lower body. His skin was almost as fair as mine except for a golden tint, which was quite unusual as far as I could tell from my limited observations of the local population, but his chest, stomach, arms, shoulders, and back were covered with thick, curly black hair that created the illusion that he was fully dressed. There was something appealingly animal-like about him, yet at the same time he seemed rather ethereal, as if he did not quite exist fully on this earth. I don’t know what gave me this impression, exactly, but it had something to do with his eyes that seemed to see more than I could ever comprehend.

He smiled at me, revealing amazingly white, perfect teeth. He did not speak to me, but turned and motioned for me to follow him. I had a curious urge to run away from him, but I dismissed this urge as ridiculous. I thought maybe this man thought I was lost and was offering to lead me back to the dock to my ship. I thought he might be some kind of merchant hoping to sell me something, but there was an extraordinary dignity about him that refuted this speculation. At any rate, I was curious, and also I was glad to escape the crush and curiosity of the crowds in the main street. I followed him, admiring the hair pattern on his shapely back.

The man led me through a maze of alleys that grew narrower and narrower. occasionally we passed another person, but no one seemed to notice either him or me, which now strikes me as odd, given the amount of attention I had attracted in the bazaar. At length we reached a dead end alley deeply shaded by an enormous tree. He motioned for me to follow him through a tiny opening in the high, featureless wall. I had to step up and duck simultaneously to get through the opening, and I found myself in a dark chamber with a similar small opening in the opposite wall through which light streamed ahead of me. For a moment I thought I saw something move in the chamber out of the corner of my eye. I strained to see into the dark, listening intently, but saw and heard nothing. I shuddered involuntarily, wrinkling my nose at an unfamiliar, unpleasant odor. I watched the man continue out of the chamber through the opening opposite, and I hurried after him, glad to get out of that dark place.

As I remember back now, I know the man must have touched my mind to remove most of my fear and doubts. otherwise, why would I have followed him so easily? Of course, he was quite handsome, too, and that was undoubtedly a factor as well. What could he possibly want with me? I wondered.

Beyond the opening we entered an enclosed courtyard, surrounded by buildings on three sides, and the wall on the fourth. He led me across the courtyard to another chamber where there were two straw mats on the bare earthen floor. He seated me on one of the mats, and sat beside me on the other. In a moment, a young girl, perhaps twelve, emerged from a room behind a screen carrying a banana leaf heaped with steaming, spiced rice and curries. She placed this in front of me, and quietly disappeared with a slight bow. obviously I was supposed to eat, but I couldn’t imagine how without utensils. Seeing me hesitate, the man cupped his right hand and mimed lifting the food to his mouth. I realized he meant me to eat with my hand. I was skeptical and a little repulsed, but I felt pretty hungry, and I overcame my squeamishness to taste the exotic fare.

I had never tasted anything so wonderful before. The spices filled my mouth and nose with a rich, complex aroma something like mountain flowers sprouting from rich, fragrant earth. I ate greedily, and each time I looked up at the man he nodded at me approvingly. The food warmed me inside, and I felt myself relaxing a bit. When I had cleared the leaf plate of every last morsel of the curry, the servant girl returned with a platter of small cakes of some kind. I tasted one that was round and white and found it sweet and creamy, quite delicious. I tried another, a brown ball that gushed rose-scented syrup in my mouth when I bit into it. I ate until I was quite full.

After eating I began to think I should be getting back to my ship, although to tell the truth, I was feeling rather pleasantly lethargic and would have preferred to stay a while to let my food digest. I knew my shipmates would miss me, however, and I thanked the man as best I could with gestures and bows and started for the door in the courtyard. The man smiled broadly, displaying again those amazingly white teeth. I was arrested by his smile and found myself smiling back and looking frankly into those shining black eyes, like bottomless pools of swirling, liquid coal. He seemed to look into my thoughts, and I felt myself wanting to open my soul to him, wanting to be known by him.

From that moment, I have a hard time remembering exactly what happened. I don’t know, even now, how much of my memory records what actually happened, and how much is the memory of a dream or a hallucination.

one moment he was standing opposite me, and the next thing I knew he was holding me in his arms, his face close to mine with an expression of keen interest. I was not paralyzed, exactly, but I had no inclination to move away. I felt myself relax into his embrace, and he supported my weight effortlessly, as if I were a tiny child. I could feel the thick, curly hair of his chest against my cheek. The scent of his body enfolded me, manly and warm, tinged with the woodsy sweetness of sandalwood. I felt completely safe, vaguely happy, and a little drowsy. It occurred to me that my food might have been drugged, but I felt completely detached from the whole scene as if all this were happening to someone else. I even felt a bit amused at the thought and laughed.

The man held me under my arms, supporting my head with his chest. I had my head turned gazing up into his face, but then I felt someone grab my feet and lift me off the ground. I turned my face toward my feet and saw a grotesque, black dwarf holding my feet on his shoulders, carrying me across the courtyard toward another door way. I closed my eyes a moment and shook my head to clear my perceptions, but when I opened them again, the hideous black dwarf was still there, holding my feet with his stubby, clawed hands. I don’t know how I was feeling then, but I knew I should be alarmed. Nothing seemed at all real any more, and I let myself be carried along with the experience just as one flows unresisting through a bizarre dream.

The two of them carried me through the doorway into a room that was bare except for a crude cot over which was spread a thin cotton mat. They laid me gently on the mat. I still felt not the slightest alarm nor any inclination to move. I watched impassively as the dwarf approached my face. It was hard to believe that such a distorted figure could belong to a living being. His enormous eyes protruded from their sockets. He had a huge, bulbous nose with giant nostrils, puffy cheeks, and his thick lips parted to reveal jagged teeth more like the fangs of an animal. His skin was absolutely black. The skin on his face was blistered and rough, but the rest of his body was totally smooth and shiny, except for some short, bristly stubble on his head. He had powerful short arms and bowed legs, sticking out from a short torso with a bloated, round belly, and his stubby fingers and toes ended in sharp, black claws. I watched as he moved one of his claws toward my eye.

I heard the man speak sharply to the dwarf, who pulled back his hand as if burned by a flame and scuttled quickly out of sight. The man then knelt beside me, speaking to me in his strong, deep voice, full of tenderness. I couldn’t understand his words at all, but I felt his meaning as clearly as if he had spoken in my own language. Sleep now, he was saying to me in the privacy of my inner thoughts. Sleep, my love…

CHAPTER 2

When I awoke from my deep sleep, I remained lying on the cot with my eyes closed recalling the dream I had just had. A man whose face I could not see had gone to a river to draw water. As he reached the river’s edge, the waters parted and an enormous serpent raised its hood before him. Terrified, certain he would perish, the man dropped his water jug and started to run from the place. The serpent called to him in a pleasant, kind voice, Stop, dear man. Don’t run. I have something to give you. Still afraid, but intrigued by the talking serpent, the man stopped and began walking back toward the river. As the man approached, the serpent bowed his head reverently before the man and said, Behold my gift. At that, the serpent began to vomit venom …

I awoke from this dream with a start, wondering what its message might be. I heard someone moving in the room, but I kept my eyes closed pretending to be asleep. A sound close to my ear startled me, and I opened my eyes to find my host staring closely at me. Again I was struck by the depth of his eyes and his handsome features. Then I remembered the dwarf, and I looked quickly around the room. We were alone together.

My ship! I thought, and sat up on the cot. It was light out, and I had no idea how long I had been asleep. I guessed it must be morning, and that I must have passed the night in this place. I knew my shipmates would assume the worst. They would certainly organize a search party. They might even make trouble with the locals if I didn’t return immediately. I had to get back. I started to get up to go, but the man placed his hand lightly on my shoulder and held me down. I was amazed at his strength. I was 27 years old, a strong man myself, but I could no more escape his hold than if I had been a mosquito. I looked into his face with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

The man shook his head, and I could feel his message in my mind. Don’t worry. Your friends have already given up looking for you. You will stay here now.

I refused to believe this. I had to get back to my ship, to my people, to my life. This man must be crazy, I thought. I can’t stay here. No! I cried out loud, panic rising in me like a great wave, and I struggled frantically to break free of his hold. I grabbed his arm to push it away from me.

He just stood there unmoving like a stone statue. His arm was hard and immovable as stone. only his expression changed subtly revealing a touch of sadness. He held me until I ceased struggling, exhausted.

At length I sat quietly on the edge of the cot, and he lifted his hand from my shoulder. I looked at him defiantly, thinking I would find an opportunity to escape from this place sooner or later. For now I would play along. I didn’t think he wanted to do me any harm; he had had ample opportunity for that while I slept. I really couldn’t figure out, though, what he could want with me. I couldn’t imagine what his life might be like. I didn’t even know what he did for a living. From the size of his house I would have guessed he was relatively wealthy, but even this was in question. I really didn’t know anything about him at all.

No, I couldn’t believe he wanted to harm me. His expression even now displayed nothing but concern for my well-being. And what was it he called me just before I went to sleep? Was it possible he wanted me for his lover?

My reverie was abruptly interrupted by the inner voice I had come to understand was the man’s way of communicating with me. It was unbelievably strange to perceive this inner voice, yet its source and intent were absolutely clear and undeniable.

You will stay with me now, my love. I will teach you, and I will give you what you never could have hoped to possess. Your life as you have known it is over. You will never see your friends or family again.

You cannot escape me even if you wanted to. You will find you do not want to. You have always loved me, Mukul, just as I have always loved you. Someday soon you will remember.

Remember? I feared this man must be crazy even though everything about him bespoke profound sanity. He called me Mukul. What could that mean? My name was Than. Than Verloren. I began to doubt my own sanity. My world had, indeed, vanished in just a few short hours, and I found myself immersed in a place and among people I doubted I could ever understand. I wanted to cry for what was lost, but I also felt a secret thrill at what he had promised me. I was sure I had never met this man before, but he said that I had always loved him and he me. I could love him, I thought, given the time and the opportunity to get to know him. I would have been pleased to meet him somewhere else under different circumstances. He seemed a man of good breeding and education. I could not deny the physical attraction between us. Even now I felt an urge to reach out and feel the firm muscles of his chest under the blanket of thick, black hair.

All in good time, Mukul. All your questions will be answered and your desires fulfilled. You have forgotten everything, and you must remember before our love can be restored. Ours is not the mundane love of ordinary men. You are the merest infant now, but I shall be pleased to make you a man, even more than a man. Trust me, beloved.

The man started for the door, gesturing for me to follow him. He led me back to the room where I had eaten the day before and ordered the servant girl, whom he called Gita, to feed me. I was quite hungry by this time and grateful for the nourishment. Trust him, he said. What choice did I have? As before he sat and watched as I ate. I guessed he must have eaten already. Little did I know.

CHAPTER 3

After the meal the man showed me where I could bathe and relieve myself. When we returned to the room where I had slept, I found fresh clothes spread out on the cot for me. He gestured for me to undress. I could feel his eyes upon me as I stripped naked and stood before him. I looked up into his face and smiled. He came up to me and gently touched my chin with his fingers, then touched his fingers to his lips. I felt my face grow hot and my heart pound. He reached around me and picked up the clothing from the cot.

The clothing consisted of a cotton loin cloth and two simple lengths of white cotton cloth with a thin red border. He showed me how to put on the loin cloth and how to wrap the larger cloth around my waist tucking the ends between my legs to form a kind of loose pair of trousers. The second cloth he merely wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl. I gathered from the way the man dressed that the upper garment was optional. Outdoors it could be carried folded over one’s shoulder or wrapped around one’s head to be used if needed to shield one from chill or sun. Indoors it could be omitted altogether. These light cotton clothes suited the hot, humid climate perfectly. I rather enjoyed the feeling of the soft, flowing cotton on my skin. For shoes I found wooden sandals with a peg that fit between the big and second toes. It took some practice to walk with these; my feet kept sliding off at first. But I was glad to have something to protect my feet from pebbles and the hot ground.

When I was dressed, the man nodded his approval. He called out to someone outside, and a dark-skinned man servant entered the room, saluting us with folded hands. My host said something, and the man gathered up my dirty clothes and carried them away.

I remembered the dwarf again and wondered uneasily if he would be appearing suddenly.

You will meet Bhairava when the time is right. First there is someone else you must meet, someone very important.

He led me from the room to a flight of stairs that descended into the ground. I followed him down the stairs into the cool earth until we reached a massive door with a huge iron lock. I expected him to produce a key, but he merely touched the lock and, to my astonishment, it fell open, and the door swung slowly inward.

Beyond the door he took a torch from a holder and proceeded down a long passage carved from living rock. The big door swung closed behind us with a boom that made me jump, and I felt my heart pounding. We came to the end of the passage and turned left down an identical passage. I followed close behind as we passed other dark passages. I began to feel quite lost, and I hoped the man would not lose me in that maze.

At last the passage opened into a chamber from which a faint light glowed. We removed our shoes and entered the chamber. The

Reviews for Blood of the Goddess

[Brandon wilson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Book is good. . . . . . . .