Sex, Drugs, and Oblivion
Chapter 1/20: Tribute
Adrift in guilt and self-destructive coping mechanisms, Lucifer discovers a talent for fulfilling sexual desires that the Lilim eagerly exploit in exchange for money, drugs, and perhaps his soul.
The wind pounded the door flap as the howling torrents raced between domes outside. They should both be sleeping, but Lucifer couldn't settle.
Everything was the same and yet different now that he understood what this place was doing to him. He hadn't successfully left the ground since his brief experience before calming the storm. The returned strength he'd felt, that he'd reveled in, was gone. This place drew on his power, and he couldn't un-feel it. Every waking moment—he was aware of the creeping sensation of his essence being drained. Used. Manipulated.
And then there was Maze.
She sat by the hearth working on carving intricate patterns into a bone handle and she hadn't looked his way at all. The tension in the air felt stifling.
"Sit with me." It was the first she'd spoken to him since she returned to the dome late in the ashfall.
Her expression said this wasn't a fun invitation into her space. He sat, back straight, fortifying himself against whatever bad news was to come.
Instead, she untied her talisman pouch from her belt and held it reverently in her hands.
Elaborate workmanship decorated the hide, metal beads were woven into the detailed stitching picking out the shape of a fearsome set of fangs.
"On my next hunt, I will make you a pouch like this to store your trophies in." She untied the knot at the top and shook the contents onto the floor before them. It wasn't the first time she'd shown him the contents. There were small bones, teeth, a curl of tied hair, a glittering scale, and things Lucifer didn't know how to categorize.
"I heard about your exploits with Fraq and the others, when she stole the pouch off the gatherers the ashfall of the festival. It was a valuable take for a whelp like her, but you should know what it means. For a Lilim, our talisman or trophy pouches are more than just a mere possession." She poked at the assortment and picked one. A fang, black with age. "They contain our legacies. This is the oldest talisman I have. The beast it belonged to was loyal and hunted at my side for many years."
"What kind of beast?"
"A warg. A creature of the sulfur planes, bigger than a Lilim, and walking on four legs. They can tear their prey apart with one snap of their powerful jaws."
"I thought Lilim didn't consort with beasts." Bitterness coated his words, thinking how often the Lilim attributed that word, beast, to him.
"She wasn't like the others of her kind," was all Maze answered.
"What happened to her?"
"She died." She scooped up her treasures and dropped them back into her pouch.
Why was she telling him this story? What significance did it hold?
"Lucifer, Anilith has summoned me to the Spire."
The dread settled leaden in his stomach. "For what?"
"I don't have a choice, Lucifer. Anilith is calling for tribute. Every vowed warrior must pay." Her eyes were intense as she stared at him, as if beseeching him to understand. "I am vowed to her. I can not refuse. She has demanded that you appear with me."
Lucifer rolled his shoulders and banished his wings. "No! Maze. You said—you said—" He stopped and concentrated. As fluent as he now was in Lilim, her language was still foreign on his tongue, especially in moments like these. If only Maze understood Enochian, he could express himself with the ease and elegance he was used to. Lucifer cleared his throat and focused on the guttural tones of the Lilim. "Am I to be your tribute? Are you planning on putting a piece of me in that pouch with your warg fang? I won't go back to being Anilith's captive, Maze."
"You won't. I won't let that happen. My Talisman Pouch is to be her tribute. It is my most valuable possession."
"What does she want with me?" Memories assailed him of being tied with that foul cord. Starving, thirsty. That Lilim in the spire...circling him as he was bound and weak, unable to struggle, his wings stretched, the metal tongs they used to—
"Lucifer!" Maze's voice sounded distant, but it cut through the memories, led him back to her dome. "Anilith can't touch you, can't order you to be touched, can't order me to take anything from you. You need to trust me."
"You know I do." How could she doubt that? "But she can order you to bring me to her." The chill settled deeper into his bones. He forced himself to sit up straight, copying Maze's pose, even as his joints throbbed with remembered pain.
"She wants to see you."
"Inspect me, you mean. Like a beast on display,"
"Yes. She will try to provoke you into responding. She will try to provoke us into making a mistake, but we won't." Maze patted the mat beside her. "Sleep. We will both need to be sharp."
He lay down at her side, but sleep was impossible. Maze rolled towards him and placed a hand on his chest. Her touch didn't comfort him the way he knew she intended it to. She was worried; the tension in her body was hard to ignore.
He wished for an extra-long wind cycle. Sometimes the cycles of ashfalls and winds were not consistent. Candles were much better at measuring time. How often did Maze growl impatiently, trapped inside until the air stilled enough to venture outside safely?
Luck was not on his side. If anything, the wind calmed early. Lucifer rose and tended to the hearth, setting a pot of water to boil and making porridge. He chose scalding ooze fungus. It was one of the sweeter tasting fungi for porridge. It was the first food he'd ever tasted in this realm, and he was still fond of it.
Mazikeen didn't complain when he handed her the bowl. He knew the mixture wasn't popular among the Lilim, but he couldn't fathom why.
"It's time to get ready."
Lucifer stood and reached for the shoulder drape wrap, but Maze stilled his hand. "Today is formal." She reached instead for his new tunic and thicker leggings, spending extra time to make sure everything was placed as it should be. It was.
The rest of the time before they left, they practiced the formal protocol expected in the Spire. Lucifer tolerated it, knowing it was better to be prepared. But he despised the idea of being judged and put on display like a trophy animal.
"Head down," Mazikeen instructed, and lightly tapped the back of his head. He tilted forward, staring at the ground. "Don't look anyone in the eye. Especially Anilith. Don't talk."
"I know," he grumbled. Did she think he didn't remember? That he could forget their hatred of his speech? At least he had a semblance of his true form back now.
If only he could discard the hides Maze kept insisting he cover himself with and stand confident in his own skin. As fancy as the tunic and leggings were, nothing came close to the impressiveness of his angelic form.
They left the security of Maze's dome. Lucifer clenched his jaw against the humiliation to come. He stayed a pace behind Maze, his eyes lowered, mouth pressed tightly closed. He hid his wings away. The visceral revulsion at the thought of anyone in the Spire examining them was so strong he feared he might not be able to unfurl them when necessary.
The spire loomed over the collective. Its presence was sinister on a good day, but today it was the maw of a malevolent beast ready to devour him. Maze's instructions chased through his mind, looping and repeating: He was to be silent. He was not to raise his eyes from the floor. He was to stand and show his wings and keep still and not let his fists clench or his wings flay them for daring to disrespect him.
Maze, his proud and mighty Maze, demurely asked the guard to show them to the Soverain's audience chamber, and Lucifer's hands itched to curl into fists. She walked with her limbs loose and her eyes down. He knew he was the cause. Though Maze had never stated it directly, she had traded her freedom for his salvation from that chamber. The Soverain owned her because she saved him. The enormity of it threatened to swallow his soul. Maze stopped, and lost in his thoughts as he was, he bumped into her.
The reaction was swift and unexpected. Maze grabbed the front of his tunic and shoved him up against the wall. She pressed her face close to his and growled, but her voice was soft. "Pay attention. We can do this."
She released him with a shake and he bowed his head, eyes fixed on the floor, the very image of a cowed prisoner. A Lilim ordered them into the Soverain's chamber. He'd been there before. The memory of it haunted his nightmares.
His back itched at the memory; his hidden wings ached from it. This was the last room he had seen before being imprisoned underground into the dark...
They'd dragged him in, bound and gagged. The flesh of his wings was raw from the constant extraction of the sensitive, developing, quills. He hadn't understood why. Only a few words had stood out to him in the rapid exchanges between the Lilim guards. He understood the word "feather." They talked and talked of feathers, and yet every time they started to regrow…
Maze grabbed his sleeve and tugged him forward, reconnecting him to the present.
Anilith sat on her raised throne, her presence dominating his attention despite not being allowed to look upon her.
His skin prickled when Anilith spoke, her voice grating on his nerves like screeching metal.
This time he understood every word the Soverain said. "Mazikeen, my warrior, you have come to pay your tribute?"
He was vaguely aware of Maze bowing. She untied the talisman pouch from her belt. "My personal tokens, my Soverain."
A sharp breath behind them alerted Lucifer to the presence of another Lilim. He let his eyes dart to the side, stealing a glance without moving his head. Traz. He remembered her. Remembered the gleam in her eye as she'd… She swaggered up to Maze and took the pouch to Anilith, her footsteps echoing through the chamber.
A tense silence followed. Both he and Maze remained frozen.
The silence made the sudden torrent of sound worse. "Insult!" Anilith shouted. She threw the precious bag to the floor, landing at Maze's feet. "You dare taunt me with this paltry offering?"
There was no response from Maze, but Anilith was on her feet. Lucifer raised his head enough to see her decorated sandals descend the stairs from the raised platform. Precious stones under her soles clicked against the stone floor as she circled them.
"I expected more from a true daughter of Lilith," Anilith drawled. There was no disappointment in her tone, only glee. "So, this is what our living-angel has become."
Her scrutiny shifting onto him made his skin crawl.
"The wings. Where do they go? I've seen their size, they do not fit into its back, do they?"
"I do not understand the workings of magic and divinity," Maze said. Her voice held none of her usual fire.
Anilith made a contemptuous noise. "Bring them out."
He waited for Maze's signal, knowing it was important to show he listened to Mazikeen, not to the Soverain.
"Do it."
Lucifer took a breath. He rolled his shoulders. The wings emerged with a violent gust of displaced air and he snapped them open to full extension. The impossible to clean ash trapped between his feathers dusted the air.
He couldn't help the grin of defiance from turning his lips as the Soverain stifled a cough. This wasn't like before. Those other times, he'd stood before Anilith, plucked raw, skin ruined and burned. But that was not who he was now. He had his divinity again; his wings were restored to their former splendor. Maze was mistaken. He should not be acting like a tamed beast, he needed to show Anilith exactly what kind of angel she was dealing with.
He would not cower—
"You know the penalty for a vowed warrior who does not offer a proper tribute," Anilith purred to Maze.
Penalty?
Lucifer's head snapped up. Anilith stood in front of Maze, a false smile pulling at her lips. A tall, elegant Lilim, Anilith highlighted her ebony skin with vivid red and yellow streaked above her eyes and painted onto her lips. She wore wide brilliantly colored rings around her neck, hanging down, combining with the gauzy white garment she wore to accentuate her bosom. Horns, painted gold and decorated with precious stones rose from the center of her head and swept backwards. Her eyes flicked over to Lucifer. The danger here wasn't to himself; it was to Maze. He ducked his head, but not before Anilith's smile turned genuine, reaching her eyes.
"Mazikeen, control your beast," Anilith purred.
Anilith walked a slow circle around him. He flexed his wings in, folding them against his back.
"Order the beast to keep its wings spread. It's easier to count the feathers this way."
"Keep them spread," Maze echoed, her tone flat.
He did. The strength he'd felt before the storm was all but gone, the brief moment of confidence and wanting to show Anilith all he was turned back to dread.
Anilith walked around him slowly, taking her time.
He hadn't yet built up the strength to hold his wings up in extension like this for prolonged periods of time.
"These big ones carry the most divinity. I can sense it. Ten on each side." Anilith didn't touch, but she didn't have to. He felt her gaze felt like a physical sensation crawling over and through him.
His shoulders and back ached fiercely from the unnatural posture.
"How do you propose to assuage your lack of tribute to me, Mazikeen?"
"I will find a fitting beast to slaughter and return with appropriate trophies."
"Not good enough. You know what I want." Her gaze remained fixed on his feathers. The large primaries she had counted.
Lucifer's muscles shook from exertion. Never had he felt the land's draw on his essence as strongly as now, as though magnified by Anilith's presence. He strained to keep his limbs stretched out. Anilith stared at him. What was she seeing?
Anilith had stood over him while he'd been bound, her handler pulling on his wing, inspecting the new growth, leaning in with pincers to grasp and extract—
The memory sent a shock of real pain licking through his back. Lucifer's right wing gave way, falling limp to the floor, and he stumbled down to one knee before regaining his balance and footing. He straightened his back and forced them into full extension again.
Anilith's laugh sent fresh waves of pain alighting along each nerve. "I thought you were a beast trainer, Mazikeen? Your living-angel isn't very obedient, is it? Hardly worth all this fuss. We could perhaps forgo tribute...if you returned the beast."
Involuntary shivers ran through his wings, rustling his feathers. He trusted Maze. But her greatest treasures, her honor, lay rejected on the floor. What else did she have to give, but him?
Maze's voice was hard. "The angel is not to be touched. Take it out of my flesh, if you must," she said and removed her tunic.
Lucifer reached for her, but she slapped his hand away, and marched to the chains at the end of the room. Across the chamber, Traz picked up a whip. She sauntered toward Maze, a flick of her wrist and the end of the whip cracked the air. Memories of those chains, those sounds, threatened to overwhelm him.
He couldn't let them do this. Not if it was in his power to stop it. He flexed his wing forward and grabbed one of the large primaries with his opposite hand and yanked. His breath caught at the searing pain shooting from the plume he gripped, heard it tear as it came free. Blood coated the end of the quill and dripped to the floor from the damaged follicle.
He lowered himself to his knees, his head bowed, the feather laid across his outstretched palms. He held it out, offering. Let this be enough, don't hurt Maze. Anilith's attention made his skin crawl, but she didn't react. Traz cracked the whip again, this time near Maze's head. In desperation, Lucifer spoke, "Your tribute. Take it."
Traz placed the whip on the ground and hurried up to him. She gingerly took the feather he offered into her hand and brought it to Anilith. Anilith accepted the gift, running her fingers along the soft barbs.
"I can see you need a better way to demonstrate your service to me, Mazikeen. You will join my guard at the wall. I'm sure my guards will be eager to learn from a true warrior like you." She strolled toward the door, calling back to Traz. "Ten lashes for not controlling her beast. Add an extra ten if it dares speak or move without her command."
"Yes, Soverain," Traz replied.
Lucifer swayed in place, not daring to move. Maze would protest. This wouldn't happen. It couldn't. He gave Anilith the feather!
But Maze gripped the chains dangling from the wall, arms up and spread out.
He wanted to look away, close his eyes, scream. Anything. But he watched. Every time Traz snapped the whip across Maze's back, he flinched. He deserved to have the image of his failure burned into his mind.
He didn't turn away.
Maze made no sound. Blood trickled down her back, but she remained steadfast and silent. After the tenth lash she retrieved her tunic, pulled it on and walked over to Lucifer, her head high.
"Follow me."
He did. But he snatched her talisman bag from the floor as he stood and hid it in the folds of his clothes. She walked straight to her dome, with no outward sign of discomfort. But he knew her. He saw the stiffness in her step, the shallowness of her breath. Remembered pain ghosted across his own back. He knew exactly how those chains felt. They didn't speak. He knew of no words in the Lilim language that could translate what he wanted to say.
Back in the dome, Maze pulled off her tunic and sighed.
"Maze—"
"We aren't talking about this." She said and passed him the jar of healing salve.
And he tended to her and did not speak of it.
