The temple to Sarlene was by no means the largest in the district; the minarets of the temple of the Sun God cast their shadows over it during the morning. But it was one of the more beautiful, at least if you preferred graceful lines over austere majesty. Green vines ran across the outer walls, twining between the bas-relief carvings. The carvings were not, as in some other parts of the world, openly erotic; they showed scenes of marriage and demure affection, all of which were, of course, well within the goddess's purview.
It was not the common reputation that the temple had, of course. Many assumed that it was a place of debauchery, at least when regular marriage services were not being conducted there. But that view was mistaken, for while Sarlene was, among other things, a goddess of passionate sexuality, such things were not a part of her regular worship services. Impromptu, private, worship services, though... well, that was a different matter.
It was the last free day before the exploratory mission into the subterranean caverns beneath the city. Tomorrow, the adventurers would make their final plans, have a good night's rest, and then, perhaps, finally learn what was really going on under their feet. Dolrim and Vardala were staying at the villa, while Calleslyn paid a visit to her friend Messandra – Almandar wondered how many of the others had worked out the truth of their relationship, but had no intention of talking about it himself.
Lady Tarissa, who, out of all of them, would have had the most difficulty understanding such things, had instead chosen to spend the evening praying at the temple of Pardror, god of paladins. There was nothing unusual in that, for she always did so before any of the party's expeditions. But it had given Almandar the idea of paying a visit to the temple of his own preferred deity, the goddess of love.
The truth was, he was not a regular worshipper at the temple itself, although the goddess' free-wheeling nature meant that that was also true of many of her other devotees. But, he reflected, Sarlene had been very good to him since he had returned from the last expedition, and where better to say his thanks than in her own home?
As he stepped through the stone archway into the cool interior, he reflected on some of the goddess' recent gifts. He remembered Helsa's smile, and the feel of her breasts, Lyrette's sensuous lips sliding over the shaft of his cock, and his hands caressing Ashabi's mahogany skin. He thought of the taste of Ansreal's wet pussy, and the expression on Ostrid's face as she had cried out in the throws of her passion. Oh, yes, he had much to be thankful for.
Inside the temple was a long hall, evening sunlight shining down from the windows up above and catching on the rippling water of five fountains. Alcoves led off to the side, and devotional artwork decorated the walls and the altar at the far end. The artwork here was a little more risqué than that on the exterior, but not by much; the people depicted were scantily clad, but not exposing themselves. A huge tapestry image of the goddess herself hung behind the altar, an image of idealised beauty clad in diaphanous rose-coloured robes, smiling and opening her arms in welcome.
There was only one other person visible at the moment, the priestesses evidently about their business elsewhere. Almandar had seen her before, although he was uncertain how regular a worshipper she was. She was a short woman, perhaps a couple of inches over five feet tall, with long sandy hair that fell to her mid-back. She was turned away from him, sitting down by one of the pools, but even so, he could admire the tightness of her lavender-coloured dress, and the shapely curves of one partially exposed leg.
He searched his memory, and recalled that her name was Ravette. They had spoken before, a couple of times, but had never been more intimate than that. This was, he reflected, something of a pity, for she had magnificent breasts, their large size belying her short stature. Nonetheless, she was obviously busy, lost in her own reverie, and now was not the time to interrupt her. Besides, he had business of his own to attend to.
He knelt down beside another of the fountain pools, resting his knees on the soft and coloured cushions that lay around them. In the centre of the pool stood a statue of a naked couple entwined, pressed against each other to hide any indecent details. He looked down into the water, admiring the way the evening light caught its surface, a sunbeam shining down from up above.
Reaching into a small bag he gently removed some flowers that he had bought that afternoon, carefully resting them on the surface of the water, watching them bob about and move with the cycling of the fountain water. He held out his arms above them, mimicking the welcoming gesture of the goddess on the tapestry – not for Sarlene the closed hands of prayer favoured by some other deities.
He chanted the familiar words of the prayer of thanks. They were hundreds of years old, and still spoken in an archaic dialect of Common, yet they had changed enough down the years to remain perfectly understandable. Sarlene was free with her gifts, understanding and openness key parts of her theology.
As the flowers swirled in the water, curling filigrees of silver mist began to rise from the surface, twining around them. For Almandar, the rest of the world floated away, his senses now focused solely on the pool before him. The sounds of the outside world ceased, and instead he could hear, just at the edge of perception, achingly beautiful music. The tune was elusive, never quite clear enough to recall or reproduce, yet always somehow familiar.
The mist enclosed the flowers, like miniature vortices in the air, wafting their fragrance to his nostrils. It was sparkling now, a strange internal light, steadily brightening to shield the blossoms themselves from view. A sense of peace and harmony enveloped him, a momentary communion with the all-embracing love of the goddess. Then, with one final burst of light, the mist and the flowers were gone, and he was back in the real world, the blooms transported elsewhere, left with the memory of Sarlene's presence.
As always when he used these magical pools to offer sacrifices to the goddess, he was unsure of how much time had passed. But at some point during the experience, a woman had come over to kneel close to him, a quarter of the way around the fountain's circumference. He did not recognise her.
"I hope you don't mind," she said, her voice quiet, yet rich in timbre, "I saw you sitting here, and became entranced by the flowers... they have joined the goddess?"
He nodded, reflecting that she could not be a regular worshipper. But people, of course, came to the temple all the time, out of curiosity or from a genuine need for the gift of love. She was slender, in a dark green dress, and aged, he thought, in her mid twenties. Her hair and eyes were dark, the latter wide and giving her an air of vulnerability. Her skin looked soft and unblemished, her lips pale and thin, her cheekbones high.
"I am new here..." she said, "to the temple, I mean. But I needed to pray to the goddess... I suppose I shouldn't trouble you with it, but the pool looked so serene, and the flowers, and..." she stumbled over the words, glancing down at the water instead of looking straight at him, "and I think I may need a little guidance. You obviously know the prayers... if you wouldn't mind?"
"Of course," he said, holding out a hand, "I'm Almandar."
"Jiranda," she said, taking the hand and squeezing it in greeting. "And thank you."
"So, let's begin. You hold your hands like this," he demonstrated the gesture, "and keep your eyes on something that shows beauty – the water, the statue, the tapestry, whatever makes you feel most comfortable. The petition itself can be spoken out loud, but it is just as common to say it silently. But there are some prayers that we commonly use. They don't have to be word-perfect; Sarlene is a forgiving goddess. But let me teach you some of them..."
They remained there for a little while, he reciting some of the shorter prayers of petition, she repeating them, stumbling over the words a couple of times at first, but picking them up quickly. She chose to look, he saw, at the statue, with the lovers entwined, but he also noticed a couple of glances in his direction, to which he responded with an encouraging smile. The goddess of love was not jealous, and he knew committed partners who prayed facing each other.
When they had finished, she put her arms down by her sides, and turned to face him directly. "Thank you," she said, simply.
"I hope you find what you asked for," he said. She had chosen to do that part in silence, so he had no idea what it was, and would not enquire.
"Yes," she said, "I need a change in my life, something to take me away from... well, let me just say from past mistakes. Hopefully this is a beginning in that direction."
"The goddess welcomes people at any time."
"She seems a very free goddess," said Jiranda, "not one to get held up on rules. She doesn't seem to mind what you do."
"So long as you do it in the right frame of mind, and with the right intentions," agreed Almandar, "obviously, she frowns on acts of evil, or intentional ugliness – anything that takes love away from the world."
"You hear, though..." Jiranda paused, as if looking for the right words, "that there are other ways of worshipping her. Apart from the temple."
Almandar knew, of course, exactly what she referred to. And, given her glances earlier, he felt he could be open about the possibilities, if he phrased things right, and got through her uncertainty.
"Private means of worship, you mean," he said, watching her face intently for her reaction, "commune with the goddess through physical expression of affection."
Jiranda nodded, "if you do not mind me asking... how does that work?"
"Any time you make love," said Almandar, "you approach the goddess, whether with intent or not. You can say prayers of thanks – they can even be silent – if you want to show your gratitude for her gift, but otherwise, it is the act of love herself that pleases her, and your knowledge of where it comes from."
"But it is not communion in the way that your flowers in the pool were?"
"It is not a sacrifice, but it is a communion, albeit of a different kind. Worshippers believe that the moment of, shall we say, the peak, is a contact with the eternal power of love, the touch of the goddess. Obviously, as a goddess of love, she prefers two people to reach that point of communion together."
Jiranda nodded, then blushed slightly, opening her mouth as if to speak, before falling silent again.
"If you are free tonight," said Almandar, grasping the opportunity, "I would be willing to show you that form of worship as well. If you wish it."
She reached out and patted his hand, then took a deep breath, nodding decisively. "Yes, I think I would like that. I think it may be just what I need to start afresh. I shall thank the goddess again tonight," she added, with a knowing smile.
"After the communion," he said.
