A mysterious ritual

“Come to me,” the voice said, a mere whisper in the dark.

Diocles opened his eyes. He found himself standing before the Heraion, in the middle of the night, the sky filled with the stars. He looked about, trying to remember how he got here.

“Diocles, come to me,” the voice said again, stronger now. It seemed feminine and familiar. And it definitely came from inside the temple.

Diocles cautiously stepped towards the steps leading into the temple. He assessed himself quickly, searching if was carrying any weapons. He was clothed only his chiton, with as chlamys wrapped around him.

As he neared the entrance to the temple, Diocles could see the flickering lights of fires from within. As he stepped through the portal, he paused to allow his eyes to a adjust.

The temple consisted of a central nave, flanked by a several doric columns. These columns formed a colonnade on both of the long sides of the rectangular temple. Braziers were set up in the colonnades; their fires providing the only light to the room, but casting ominous shadows from the columns throughout.

As Diocles scanned the room, his eyes fell on the standing statue of the goddess who called the temple her home. In the daytime and with more light, the statue of Hera had a gentle and comforting face, welcoming her supplicants within. But in the severe shadows, with only a few braziers lit, her countenance seemed severe and threatening.

“Come, Diocles!”

Diocles jumped at the sound, feeling the hairs on his arms raise and his pulse quicken. Is the statue speaking? Though louder and more insistent, the voice was like that of his mother’s, especially when he a gotten into trouble as a child. Maybe it was his mother. She was the priestess. Perhaps she was here.

“Mother?”

Diocles saw movement in the light near the base of the statue, where the small altar was located for supplicants to offer their votives to the goddess. However, the shadows were too heavy to make out any details.

“Come, my child,” the voice said, seemingly pleased at his recognition.

Diocles stepped forward more assuredly, watching the light and shadow dance near the altar, hoping to make out what was happening. Every step seemed to brighten the scene before him. Once he had crossed half the distance, Diocles a had a clearer picture of what was before him.

A woman was standing before the altar, facing towards the altar. Diocles watched the light of the braziers dance with the brown hues of her hair. His eyes followed the flowing curls like a waterfall down her back. Diocles gasped when he saw the skin of her back, realizing the woman was nude.

He looked down at her ass. It was pleasantly round, and fairly well toned, though sagging enough to hint the woman was aging beyond her prime. Still Diocles felt his blood begin to flow to his penis bulging the front of his chiton.

Diocles gasped as he saw something flash in the light of the fires. The woman held a long knife in her right hand. At that moment the rest of the scene became clear to Diocles, and he felt his blood return to his heart in alarm.

The altar before the woman was usually full of small statues of the goddess, or little crafts or sometimes food, all gifts to the goddess. Now, Diocles saw a man lying facedown on the altar, tied down by ropes, with his ankles and wrists tied behind him. His head hung off the edge, but Diocles could not see the features of his face as they were hidden in shadow.

“Come, bear witness, Diocles!” the voice said again. The voice rang out above Diocles’ head. It still sounded like his mother’s voice, but this time he was sure it came from the statue of Hera. He looked up at her. At this angle and in greater light, she seemed less severe. Her usual gentle smile had returned, but there was a hardness in her eyes, a determination to watch the sacrifice before her.

The realization that he was witnessing a sacrifice filled Diocles with dread, yet he found that he couldn’t make himself move. Nor could he look away, as the naked woman began to walk around the altar to stand facing toward him between. As she stepped to the altar, Diocles looked to see her face, but it was hidden in shadow.

The flickering light danced across the woman’s breasts. Despite the dread he felt at the scene before him, the sight of this woman’s breast sent a jolt of lust through Diocles’ body. Diocles licked his lips as the woman’s nipples hardened under his gaze. She raised her arms, causing her breast to bounce. She began to chant, and Diocles was reminded of her intentions.

She spoke a language that Diocles did not recognize, but was clearly meant as a prayer, offering the man on the altar to the goddess. Diocles looked to the knife now brandished high above the man. Diocles realized he did not want to see this, he urged himself to move forward, to stop this. But his body seemed frozen to the spot.

The woman finished her prayer. She placed her left hand on the victim’s head, pulling his hair to raise his neck. As she brought the knife to cut, Diocles finally seemed to break through whatever was holding him back, he stepped forward, raising an arm urging her to stop. He saw the muscles in her arms tense to inflict the final blow.

“Noooooo!,” Diocles screamed as he awoke in his bed, covered in a cold sweat. He exhaled and shivered against the cold night air as he realized it was a dream.