The Hunt

The full moon practically blazed in a velvet sky pierced through with a multitude of stars, soft white light bathing the ground in the clearings between the trees, dappled on the ground beneath those trees. No other lights could be seen, save for the glow of a single fire, perhaps a half a mile away across the open grasslands where the woods tapered away. And it was toward that fire that she ran.

Bursting from under the boughs of the last trees into the open, she poured on the speed, knowing there was no hiding now, no dodging to and fro. Her pursuers were too close for her liking, and their howling took on a joyful tenor as the moonlight turned her pale skin and blond hair to a shining silver. Fear that had given her legs swiftness grew in her chest, though she was too well-trained to let it swell into panic. Still, she knew this race might be the last. The pack behind her was clearly in it for keeps.

She stretched her stride, feeling an exhilaration of sorts. Odd, she thought, but without any real surprise. Her body had been honed for such activity, and at just 19 years of age, she was nearly perfectly formed, a worthy Daughter of the Huntress. This chase was giving her a chance to put all that training to use.

A rustling behind her quenched any desire for lax thinking, though, as she knew without turning that the pack had left the trees as well, loping in pursuit. A slight rise in the ground to her right sent her angling to the left; she couldn't hope to stay ahead of them up any kind of hill. If she could make it to the fire, she could deny them their prey...

A small dry wash circled the hill, and she followed it, risking a stumble on unseen stones, but trading that for a mostly smooth and solid path to run on. Unfortunately, two of the pack had taken advantage of her course change to drive over the small hill in an attempt to get ahead of her. From the corner of her eye, she saw their movement, and stole a glance although she knew what she would see.

The moonlight was nearly as bright as day, causing the two to be as silver-limed as she was herself. One was shorter than the other, but powerfully built. His companion was the younger, though taller and slimmer. And she recognized both men, even though they wore the ceremonial paints that were part of this ritual.

The Hunter's Sons. There were eight of them at any given time, no more. Dedicated to providing the village with meat, protecting it from other predators, both two- and four-legged, they were an order of the priesthood. A very small order, with no congregation, but with great purpose and stature in the community. They also performed one function no one else wanted: they ran the Trials.

She drove on, trying to outdistance the six Sons behind her, and get back on course to the fire ahead of the two now angling to intercept her. With dismay, she realized that she was going to have to leave the wash to evade them, even though that would force her further to the left, further off course. The alternative, however, was to be caught, and in this Trial, to be caught was to die.

They had made that perfectly clear at the temple. This Trial, to determine if she was worthy to leave the ranks of the Daughters of the Huntress, to one day take the mantle of the Huntress herself, and become the Dzurga, the physical embodiment of the Goddess to whom the Hunter was Consort. If she succeeded, it was a sign of Her favor, and when the current Dzurga stepped down, she would would take on that role, becoming the leader of the Hunter's Sons. If she succeeded...

Charging out of wash, she half stumbled on the loose stones of what would be the bank in the wet season, but managed to keep her feet. A flash of satisfaction warmed her as she heard at least two of the pursuing Sons fail to repeat her performance, the sound of frustrated and pained growling following the clatter of stones. A fleeting feeling, however, as the more feral sound of the eldest Son came over her shoulder from a shockingly close range. The fear this time blossomed to panic instantly.

The threat of death wasn't a joke. The bones of prospective Sons who had failed their Trials graced the Hunter's altar in the village. Hanging on the wall behind the altar was a skull that she had been told belonged to one Daughter who ran this very Trial and failed. The penalty for failure was that the Sons would consider the captured one their prey. And act accordingly. Some of the bones on the altar appeared to have been scored by human teeth.

She reached deep within to her reserves of strength, ignoring the burning in her chest and thighs. Where's that damned fire?! There -- to her right, and she turned to head straight for it. The impact from the Sons' leader, as he correctly anticipated her movement and slammed bodily into her, sent her tumbling into the tall grass. Shock erased her thoughts, made the bruising tumble to the ground a distant pain, but the panic was still there. She tried to get up, but was no longer sure which was up might be. And with that second of confusion, they were on her.

She screamed in fear as they swarmed her, carried her from her feet in a tangle, hands gripping her none too gently. Three at first held her aloft, but the others joined in seconds, hoisting her skyward, face up to the moon as she shrieked again, caught. And the howling deafened her as the pack celebrated. As swiftly as she had gone, now they pulled her down, pressing her to the eath, pinning her limbs. She carried no weapons, her strength was spent, but she fought anyway, to no avail.

Their hands were all over her, and their heads bent down, breathing heavily from the chase. And she could see their teeth, gleaming dully in the moonlight reflected off her skin. They bent closer, and she whimpered, fear too powerful to permit another scream. Their mouths were on her...

And she was lingerly kissed by seven mouths. She gasped, waiting for the tearing bites but they never came. Her eyes, screwed shut against her impending death, blinked open to find the eldest Son, kneeling just abover head where he could pin her down with his grip in her hair. His eyes were black in the night, unreadable, but he alone di not bend to kiss her... or lick her as the rest were now doing. She had no idea what to make of this, what weird ritual this must be before they dined on her flesh. Their hands began to move on her, though they kept her pinned. Someone's fingers lightly stroked up her right thigh, and she shivered.

"What...?" she croaked, trying to ask what was going on, by the eldest's hand closed over her mouth, silencing her, though rather gently. He shook his head but spoke not a word. He did not let go, preventing her from looking down at where the increasing passionate kisses were being applied to her. She felt a heat in her belly, the beginnings of arousal, and angry at herself for feeling it, she struggled again. And failed again. The Sons ignored her movements, except to insure that she didn't escape. She felt her clothing being pulled at, removed. A set of lips closed on her right nipple, pressing firmly a moment, before the tongue behind those lips flicked the captured flesh, teasing. She felt it harden, further incensed by her body's betrayal. It was clearly out to have a good time, never mind her enraged thoughts. Her other nipple was treated to the same attention, albeit from a different mouth.

Kisses started to touch her skin like hot brands, tongues licking trails that were hot, then cool as a breeze played over her skin. One of them was kissing her feet, sending chills of pleasure into her; it was a weak spot, and it was working like it usually did. Her body relaxed. Her mind was calculating the best time to break for it, but even that ability was being lulled. She kept justifying not fighting "for just another moment", telling herself she was waiting for a better opportunity.

Some detached part of her worried about the rape that was going to come. A gang-rape, of course. Eight men. And then she would likely die. For some reason, she couldn't muster up the desire to fight any harder, probably owing to the fact that they weren't letting her move effectively. And the pleasure, well... Fingers trailed across her mons, and she tensed, fearful again. Whoever it was traced designs on her flesh with his fingertips, making her skin tingle. Someone's mouth plced kisses against the inside of her right knee, then moved up an inch. And another.

The eldest's hand slid away from her mouth, but before she would speak, lips pressed to hers, kissing and she responded without thinking. There was another mouth, kissing the side of her neck wetly, licking to the front of her throat. She blinked, trying to make out the features of the man she was exchanges kisses with, but unable to. The mouth at her throat opened... closed around her windpipe gently. She nearly panicked again, but she was still pinned. The man at her throat... hummed. The vibration moved through his lips to her larynx, a sensation she'd never experienced. That mouth on her thigh was getting dangerously close to her vulva.

It was surreal. One moment, she was running for her life. In a second, caught and made helpless. And now this insistent pleasuring. She was not being given any real choice, and that caused a cold knot of anger, but it was a small knot. As yet, none of the Sons had made a move to mount her. The eldest hadn't made any move at all, just gripping her hair firmly, holding it to the ground. Grudging, she admitted to herself that she liked that feeling.

Her thighs were urged apart. Not forced... more like caressed and guided apart. She hesitated several times, tensing, but the Sons were patient as they were insistent. One of them... a bearded one, obviously... placed a kiss directly onto her vulva. The kisses on the rest of her continued, though they were if anything more passionate. More than once teeth grazed her flesh, once trapping one of her nipples with an exquisite pressure that just bordered on pain. Every now and then, she managed to struggle... sort of. It was almost like she couldn't convince her body of the urgency of the situation. The "struggle" manifested as a weak-limbed flailing that the Sons neutralized not by gripping her more tightly, but simply guiding her limbs to places where she wasn't able to get any grip, or traction. She'd never felt more vulnerable, and yet this pleasure just rolled on.

A tongue flicked over her clitoris and she gasped, tensing. There was a pause: all the Sons, for a second, were motionless, letting her feel exactly how much thrumming she felt in her body. She was deeply aroused. Then they moved on her again. Another flick of that tongue and her hips bucked slightly. Another... and another, more quickly. The tease! she thought. Maybe they weren't going to kill her. She'd never been treated like this before, almost as if they wanted no pleasures of their own. Confused now, she was leaving the fear behind, and that relaxed her more. Which raised her ability to become aroused further.

Sometime after that, she had no idea how long, that glorious tongue was rubbing constantly on her clitoris, two fingers pressed into her vagina rubbing in a way she had never felt, hands and mouths everywhere, when she started to feel herself pushed over the edge. The climax was as long and strong as it was loud: she screamed in delight, hearing her voice mesh with the joyful howl of the Sons.

* * *

She sat gingerly on the stone table as though it was a chair, although she knew it was an altar, and wondered at the kneeling forms of seven of the Sons as they waited respectfully at her feet.

The Sons had lifted her spent body to their shoulders and brought her to the fire as though she were a captured animal, albeit she was not bound. They were exceedingly gentle with her. They had brought her to this place, and the Dzurga had risen from this very spot, smiling, gesturing to the Sons to place their "prey" where she now sat.

"I don't understand," she said to the Dzurga.

"What confuses you, Daughter?" The Dzurga stepped to altar again, turning to lean against it casually.

"The Trial... I failed. Why am I not...?"

"Dead?" asked the Dzurga, a smile playing at her mouth. "Well, this Trial is something more of a ceremony. No one ever makes it to the fire during the Hunt. It is an opportunity to run your old self 'to death' as it were, so that you can be brought to your new life. Here, as Dzurga."

"Every woman who attempts this, actually succeeds?" she asked, shocked at the deception.

"You've got it backwards: all who make the attempt are chosen. What happened to you tonight was decided upon."

"By who?"

"By me," the Dzurga said grinning. "And by the Sons. Now enough: hear me. As Dzurga, your role is to embody the Huntress so that the blessings upon our people will continue. Also, without the Huntress, the Hunter will fade, and with Him, the Sons." She gestured to take in the kneeling forms. "You may take any of the seven as you wish. Such is the prerogative of the Dzurga."

The Daughter glanced behind the Dzurga, where the eldest Son stood in the shadows, his compact form appearing more elemental than human. "Seven? Aren't there eight?"

The Dzurga laughed softly. "Yes. But the eighth is... well, let's say he and I are bound more deeply. For as I am the embodiment of the Huntress, so is he the embodiment of the Hunter." The older woman shrugged. "Such it has always been."

The Daughter nodded, and opened her mouth to ask more. So much more, but was stopped by the Dzurga's gesture. "No more. This night you are no longer one of the Daughters... you are The Daughter. Tonight, you are the Goddess for these seven." She stepped away, toward the eldest Son, her eyes on him, amused. Over her shoulder, she gave the Daughter one last instruction for the night.

"Let them worship you...again."