Sermon 23

For this was the noon of Resdaynia, when Chimer and Dwemer lived under the wise and benevolent rule of ALMSIVI and Her champion, the Hortator. And Ayem would ever guide the Hortator, closer to him then his jugular vein. Thus did Ayem lead Nerevar through the Forsaken Lands, in search of sunrise.

67 days less one passed, and teacher and student came to a circle of bones. Piled high, ash pouring from sockets and wounds, retched from broken jaws. Ayem looked on this scar and sighed.

"Here is the testament of one who walks a smaller spiral."

"Is it not a road to heaven?" asked Nerevar.

"No, but belief might change this."

And Ayem read the bones, withdrew Kalabhaksa. She laid it down, and from its empty centre rose Molag Bal, six-armed and terrible in his beauty.

"I thought I should sleep beneath the earth for a thousand years. Your sister-brother's love is cruel."

"As is all love," said Ayem.

And Molag Bal laughed, for he remembered her creation, as he remembered his own.

"What boon do I offer, for my freedom's return?"

Ayem retrieved Kalabhaksa, balanced it upon a finger. "My student comes seeking wisdom."

Nerevar bowed to the King of Rape. "I wish you to carve God's name upon my heart."

"You already know Her name," replied Molag Bal.

"No, a different name, I swim in possibility," said Ayem.

Molag Bal bowed to her. "You have recalled much, sister-who-birthed-me."

"I ask that you teach my disciple what he will not learn from me, brother-of-my-womb."

And Molag Bal bowed to the five directions, sealing this fate.

"Come then, fortunate one." Molag Bal stretched out his arms. "I have been roughly used, and my love made momentarily gentle."

And Ayem did watch as Nerevar-named-Hortator went into the King of Rape. He traced the shape of their symmetry, marvelling at their contours.

"Open to me, beloved." Molag Bal presented his spear. "I shall carve the key."

Their spears slid together, friction fierce and fire-hot.

Nerevar bit Molag Bal's lip, pomegranate red. "This is a transgression."

"There lies its power."

And the tiger-touch of their bodies summoned the spirits of those who'd died condemned by love's arbitrators. They lapped up the shared sweat, revelling in the taste of polymorphous perversity.

"Is this the colour of shame?" said Nerevar, touching the place where he met Molag Bal's spear.

"No, this is passion's hue."

Yet Nerevar's mind was disquieted, convinced he rutted on his father's grave. To comfort him, the King of Rape whispered these words:

What seems unnatural is also natural; diversity is the end of life.

So discover your own difference in the love of husband or of wife.

This couplet has since become the only scripture to stem from Molag Bal.

And Ayem blessed this passion play, this dominance of flesh. For in this way is masculine pride overcome, and mercy made possible.

Nerevar carved rivulets into Molag Bal's back, the King of Rape bit false things into Nerevar's neck. Howling his fury, Molag Bal thrust his spear into Nerevar's Second Aperture, laying him low.

Gasping, he writhed in the ash, Molag Bal enveloping him.

"I shall not surrender myself a second time," he said. Kissing Nerevar's spear tip, he sucked out victory's seed, and vanished in shimmering smoke.

Ayem let Nerevar lie till the sky darkened and his ardour cooled.

"Reclaim your armour, Hortator," she said. "The spirits of love shall soon return, and you will not survive another performance."

And Nerevar wiped down his golden limbs, painted in mingled lust.

"He was too great an opponent," he said. "Yet I could have defeated him."

"He is the shape of betrayal," said Ayem. "Through your violation is he strengthened."

"I cannot let this stand. I will have his secret."

And Ayem, mother of Mercy, wrapped her cloak about him.

"Come, we should not speak of such under the ever-watchful stars. You will give the King of Rape the bounty of his sowing under a different sun."

The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.