A Friend in Need: Salted Wounds
Cere returned to Xiuhquetzal as a queen in 2946NG. Greeted with a massive celebration welcoming their native daughter, the new queen, home from her multi-year nuptials on Teotachetlan Isle. She had been an afterthought; a gift to assuage a meek showing. The King, in his great wisdom, had whisked her away to his harem, and the traditional month of sexualized celebrations.
The truth of the King's carnal desires were not something she was willing to share. With anyone. 'The scars will fade,' thought she to herself, managing to not scratch at the healing wounds on her back, thighs, and breasts. Her new sister, Aglethal, had given her an unguent with which to minimize the scarring. Cere was certain it contained aloe; a local succulent with a syrupy sap that did wonders for the skin. Of course, the healing wounds had been caused by Aglethal, in the first place. So, perhaps she felt some sense of regret...
Cere stopped that thought, short. Aglethal would have no care for Cere, barring what Cere could do for Aglethal. Cere had vowed, at the very latest striping, to never be useless to her sister Aglethal. Oh her husband thought the idea of the tortuous floggings was his own, but Cere knew the truth. It was her sister Aglethal's idea. In fact, Aglethal had invented the scourge they had been using, called the nine tailed panther. One would think Aglethal outranked Cere; as new of a wife as Cere was, Aglethal was newest and, according to the King, the last. Cere smiled. Aglethal was the last if the snivelling kingling knew what was good for him. She hid a wince as one of the healing scars pulled, instead smiling and waving to the assembled crowd.
Every last islander had come out to the little jetty that was currently being dwarfed by Cere's royal river raft; an opulent affair, gilded from stem to stern and apparently christened the Lady Aglethal. Cere noted the joyfulness of her crowd. Adequate. She mounted her litter and closed the bug shades. Carried by eight hulking men, the litter itself was a masterwork of rattan and macrame, quite capable of supporting Cere's small frame more than adequately with only two bearers. Instead, she had two per corner.
Per Aglethal's order, of course. Cere was a queen, not some noble simpleton from Ahuatl! Her litter bearers arose as one, gliding forward in perfect harmony. They had better. Cere had already had two of them blinded so that they could better pay attention to the nearly subliminal clicking of the syncopation castinets her handler used at the front of the small procession. Preceded by hand picked guards who had Cere's safety topmost on their mind, her way became clear with hardly any head trauma. She peered through the sheer insect shades that draped her luxuriant divan litter, allowing her lip a little curl of disgust.
The people cheered wildly as she passed, shrouded in transluscent cloth. The bug shades were a recent invention, allowing the rider to see out without all the pesky hoi poloi gawping at them the entire time. To Cere, it was a greater need filled than any magical potion or pendant could readily address, and even then, only if one had great wealth to spare. It was, of course, illegal to cover oneself up with it in the presence of the royal family, as tradition dictated, but seeing as how she was the royal family, she reveled in the anonymity. It afforded even more than taking on the mantle of queen, for here it was whispered in every corner tavern and street side cafe that Little Cere Sootface was now the king's next-youngest queen! 'Imagine,' they all said to one another behind closed doors, 'that little street rat, a queen!' It was enough to boggle the mind, according to many who had known her. She had been a beggar, a child street person, the very last of her wiped out family of war prisoners. She had been, at first, considered too weak and puny to make a fitting sacrifice, so she had been "spared", and thrown to the proverbial wolves so very commonly found preying upon the dregs of society. "Behave, children, or we will throw you away like Cere!"
Cere blinked, and the sunlight returned. It had gotten very dark there, for her, for a moment. Her eyes had clouded over. She dashed the backs of her hands across her eyes. These damn bug shades could not keep out the fine dust of the island's streets. It was filling her nose and eyes with snot and tears. The dust was, not the memories. Finally arriving at the teocalli, she was assisted to her feet, and she began to climb the three hundred and thirty six steps leading to the top, and to the altar that had been prepared by acolytes and was awaiting her ministry. She shed her clothing on the ascent, at the three hundredth step, all the better to be closer to the gods. She deposited the thin linen robe she had been wearing into a lit brazier; the garment would be worn only once. Naked but for gold and turquoise jewelry, Cere arrived breathlessly at the summit, accepting a flint knife from an acolyte wearing nothing but a shell amulet on a braided strand tied loosely around his neck. She took note of him for later. One of her bearers was adequately built, as well. She would be enjoying both of them later tonight...the rituals always enflamed her carnal desires.
The mindless cheering below swelled to a crescendo and fell silent as one. Cere stepped forward into the silence, all eyes upon her. All thoughts upon her. She could feel their confusion, their impotent anger. She could sense their libido, and it made Cere smile cruelly. She knew that their shame drove them to cheer for her. Their communal shame at the sexualization of such a young person. And now, their shame was leading them to remain silent at her will. They were each hoping that the queen had forgotten them, individually. Or, at the least, remembered someone else with more vehemence. Cere knew this, also. The stripes from Aglethal's scourge highlighted her shapely body like the stripes of a comely feline, accentuating the curve of her hips, and the swell of her breasts. All things Cere was well aware of.
It had been two years ago, today. Two entire years since these selfsame people had offered her up as a sacrifice to the King. A whore to be used and then thrown upon a burning pyre for "the gods". Cere knew the truth of that now, too. The "gods" these people had wished to foist her upon had been avarice, fire, and naked lust. Cere was aware of it all. Had planned it all just so, right down to the minute, in fact. She turned languidly, every eye caressing her haunches like she was a prized alpaca hembra. She paused a moment to let them take in the entirety of the scene. The message she was sending to her old village was clear as the wellspring running under the Taking three steps forward, she turned to the left, walked six steps to the other side of the stone altar, turned to the right, and took a single pace forward to take up her place in the ceremony. The altar had been cleaned, the runoff channells scrubbed, and the surreptitious drain that she had caused to be installed when this teocalli had been built was clear of debris and coagulated purulence. Clear to accept the true offering.
The offering that these fools knew nothing about. For Cere was also well aware of something else, entirely. That the whole dog and pony show was nothing but religious theater. What they needed was the blood; the blood of the consecrated victims. All of their blood. The table, what these morons had been forced to call an 'altar', was nothing but a glorified embalming table. Only, it had been engineered specifically to channel fluids to into a reservoir. A reservoir that would release the stored blood in a thin and steady stream, to fall and spatter over a quartz bottle about a cubit in length. Inside that bottle, an imprisoned couatl screamed as its soul was slowly torn to shreds within its earthly vessel. The once noble creature, an erstwhile champion of light and life, would become defiled and twisted into an evil being of chaos and wonton destruction.
All in all there were seventy sacrifices that day on the island of Xiuhquetzal. Many of them, perhaps unsurprisingly, had been remembered by the Queen just fine. In fact, before the queen returned to her royal barge, she made a point of promising the people that she would return regularly, in order to properly "honor the gods." Their ashen faces and stricken silence as she sailed away was worth every single stripe Aglethal had given her with that nine tailed panther. With that nine pronged whip, more like! Salted leather was salted leather. She had her boudoir readied and three of the six men she had chosen for the night washed and prepared for her. None of them would see the morning whole, but these three she had special plans for. With that, Cere gained control of the biggest salt producer in the archipelago.
Summary
Queen Cere returned to the island home that had rejected her as a person all of her life. There, unbeknownst to the populace, the
teocalli she had had built was actually a couatl trap™.
Historical Basis
This myth is written as if the author believes every single word.
Spread
It is quite localized, only known to very few overly educated people.
Variations & Mutation
In some stories, it is Aglethal that goes to Xiuhquetzal. In others, Cere is a siren of The Warmwind Sea.
Cere by H Ogni
Date of First Recording
3000NG
Date of Setting
2946NG
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