Born of Fire
by Kinto Mythostian
 

The sun rises over the equine city of Pyrippes on the final day of the great festival. All week long the nights have been filled with joyous feasts, raucous music, and vibrant dancing, while the days have been filled with sacred singing and holy sacrifices. Every year for hundreds of years the equines of Pyrippes have devoted this week to the worship of the Maremother, the great goddess who gives life and warmth to the world. Today the most important sacrifice of all will be offered: a gift of fertility to replenish the goddess and ensure prosperity for another year.

The crowd gathers in the great square outside the holy temple, garbed in their best robes, exultantly praising the glory of their goddess. Practically everyone in the city is present, from the gray-muzzled old nags to the young colts and fillies who have reached puberty only in the past year. For them, this will be their first time witnessing this sacred ceremony; foals who have not yet reached puberty are forbidden from attending.

At midday the temple doors open and the massed crowd lets out a joyous cheer. The day's sacrifice stands in the noonday sun, a petite palomino mare blinking in the harsh sunlight like a newborn foal seeing the world for the first time. Ever since she was chosen for this honor on the first day of the festival, she has been living in isolation in the temple, sequestered away in quiet, private chambers where no luxury was denied. For the past week, she has been peacefully sleeping on soft cushions and eating her fill of all the rich, delicious food they brought to her, with eunuch servants tending to her every need. The temple priests regularly gave her a strong potion to drink that would mentally prepare her for her sacrifice to the Maremother; a potion that would clear away all sin and impurity from her body and wipe away the pains and distractions of her life to make her as innocent as a yearling again.

Her name is Periphae, and though her breasts are full and round and she began menstruating last autumn, she is hardly more than a filly in age; she has never lain with a stallion. Had she not been chosen for this honor she doubtless would have had no trouble finding a mate within the next year. Now she stands in the temple doorway robed in a sleeveless white dress and ornamented with a wealth of golden earrings, bracelets, anklets, and necklaces. Her face is young, pure, and innocent, and a week of the temple's rich food has given her belly a modest paunch of infant-like fat. There is an old scar on her right shoulder; a traditional brand taken by every citizen of Pyrippes identifying them as people of the fire. Periphae's long blonde tail swishes idly as she looks out over the crowd with her wide brown eyes, staring at them in awe as though she has never seen another equine before.

On either side of Periphae stands a stallion priest dressed in rich red and orange robes and wearing jeweled golden headdresses. They each take one of Periphae's hands and begin to lead her forward. As they descend the steps before the temple doors, the crowd in the square parts to let them pass, opening an aisle across the plaza to where the Maremother waits on the far side.

As they walk, Periphae continually looks from side to side in amazement, taking in everything. She has grown up in this city and she knows in the back of her mind that all of this should be perfectly familiar, yet it feels like she is seeing everything for the past time. It is as though she was born in the temple less than a week ago. She looks right into the eyes of a couple of older equines who she vaguely thinks might possibly be her parents, but she can't remember who they are. As the crowd parts in front of her, Periphae looks ahead and sees her: the Maremother, a larger-than-life polished bronze statue of a feral mare standing on a raised stone dais. Her she recognizes; she is her mother, the true mother from whom she was born and to whom she will now return. Periphae smiles broadly.

The two priests still gently holding Periphae's hands, the trio climbs the steps up to the dais. The priests release Periphae and she walks forward to the statue of the Maremother. She wraps her arms around her brazen neck and stands up as tall and straight as she can to tenderly kiss her mother's nose. The Maremother is warm in the sun, but Periphae does not mind. They are the people of the fire, the equines of Pyrippes, and it is natural for their goddess to be warm.

"Periphae," one of the priests speak and she realizes that that is her name; she had almost forgotten. The palomino mare turns to face the priests again and the crowd beyond them; every eye in the square is focused on her. 

Periphae stands perfectly still as the priests approach her. Deliberately and with great ceremony they begin to strip the mare of her jewelry. The heavy gold bracelets are removed from her wrists and ankles and cast to the ground. She raises her snout and her necklaces are lifted from her neck to join the pile on the stone platform. Her many earrings and ornaments are removed and Periphae flicks her newly unencumbered ears, enjoying how light and free they suddenly feel. The priests undo the clasps and ties that hold her white dress in place and it falls down around her hooves.

Periphae looks down and marvels at her beautiful palomino body. She stands in the warm sun, as naked as the day she was born all those years ago - or was it only last week? The mare curiously explores her unfamiliar mature body, fondling her own breasts and genitals, admiring her own youth and vitality, the potential for life contained within herself that will soon be returned to her mother to be shared with the whole city. Periphae smiles and stands straight with pride, knowing that it is her fertility that will sustain her mother and goddess when they become one in just a little while.

The priests approach again and begin to rub Periphae's body with scented oil. The blissful scent of the perfume is exotic and wonderful. Periphae knickers contentedly as the priests' dexterous fingers work the oils into her golden hair and blonde mane and tail, massaging her skin and touching her in pleasing ways. When they are finished, Periphae practically glistens in the sun, her body infused with a sheen of sacred incense.

The priests set down the oil jars and pick up bowls of a special red paste made primarily from the blood of sacrificed animals and the ash of sacred fires. They each dip fingers into the paste and paint it onto Periphae's body, tracing her contours in graceful lines and spirals, the dark red color bold against her palomino hair. Periphae giggles delightfully as one priest traces a line across her ticklish belly and around her nipples. She sighs in pleasure as the other priest runs his finger down the ridge of her spine, leaving a crimson trail from her mane to her tail. The priests step back to let Periphae and the crowd see their handiwork; her oiled body is adorned with a network of thin red lines in complex patterns and sigils that will protect her soul and bind Periphae to the Maremother upon the death of her body.

One priest approaches Periphae with a goblet containing a final drink of the sacred potion that is reserved for those honored mares who will be sacrificed to the Maremother. It is a powerful mixture of the placental blood of a newborn foal, the milk of a nursing mare, the sweat of a mating stallion, the menstrual blood of a virgin mare, and the semen of an unmated stallion. All this is mixed together with certain sacred mushrooms and herbs; the exact recipe is a closely guarded secret known only by a few priests and orally handed down through the generations for centuries. 

Periphae gladly accepts the goblet from the priest and drains it, drinking deeply of the holy elixir. It stings her lips and makes her feel dizzy, but Periphae dutifully drinks every last drop she has been given because it is an honor and a privilege to be allowed to do so; to fail to drink it would be an insult to the Maremother and would nullify the intended goal of her impending sacrifice. Periphae's vision goes blurry for a moment and the young mare closes her eyes as the potion works its way through her body. Periphae soon feels herself being warmed from the inside, her nipples and vulva hardening and swelling as the potion chases the last remaining impurities from her body and enhances her fertility. Innocent and unembarrassed, Periphae lets loose a stream of urine onto the stage. The powerful pheromones of her heat waft out over the watching crowd; throughout the audience desirous stallions' penises swell and erect.  

Periphae opens her eyes and turns back to face the Maremother, the great bronze statue shining in the sun. Again, she embraces her mother's neck and kisses her. Periphae drops to her knees and nuzzles the statue's chest with her velvety pink nose. She crawls forward on her hands and knees between the statue's forelegs, nuzzling as she goes until her questing nose finds the Maremother's swollen bronze nipples. Periphae begins to suckle at the metal teats; though they give no milk the palomino mare can nonetheless sense the sweet taste of her mother's hot milk on her tongue and flowing down her throat, nurturing her body and satisfying her hunger. Periphae loves her mother, and nurses at her belly until she is filled.

Periphae crawls forward between the statue's hindlegs and looks up. The Maremother's tail is sculpted in a raised position, her vulva exposed. Periphae stands and nuzzles her mother's brazen folds; she begins to lick and slurp at the feral mare's metal genitals, the taste of the hot bronze sharp on her lips. Periphae knows without a doubt that this is where she came from, and this is where she must return to. The palomino mare wants nothing more than to be back inside the Maremother, for the bronze folds to open up and welcome her back in, to pull her back to where she belongs. Periphae moans in quiet desperation, "Please, mother, let me in."

On that cue, the two priests, who had been patiently standing on either side of Periphae, insert a pair of metal keys into cleverly hidden holes and open a set of doors on the Maremother's rear end. The bronze idol is hollow inside; joyfully and without hesitation Periphae clambers up into the cavity without any help from the priests. It's a tight fit but her oiled body slides smoothly through the small opening and into the dark space beyond. With a flick of her long blonde tail and a last kick from her hooves, Periphae disappears fully into the Maremother's body. The priests close and lock the doors again. 

Confined inside the warm darkness of the Maremother's metal body, Periphae contentedly curls up into a ball, her knees tucked against her chest, her long equine nose resting against her legs. She smiles and sighs happily; there is no place in the world she would rather be. She knows that soon the Maremother will reabsorb Periphae into herself and the palomino mare's fertility will become the Maremother's own fertility; they will be one forever. Without thinking about it, Periphae begins to suck her thumb, completely relaxed in the utter safety of her mother's womb.

Outside on the dais the crowd watches as the priests begin to pile logs and faggots of kindling under the Maremother's body and between her metal legs, building up a heaping pyre beneath the bronze idol's belly. The priests douse the pile with oil and then each fetch a burning torch from a corner of the dais. Holding their torches, they each take up a position on either side of the Maremother. Simultaneously they cast their torches down onto the accumulated wood.

Whoomph. The pyre catches alight instantly. Flames rapidly crawl across the wood and the fires of the two torches quickly join together under the center of the Maremother's belly to form a single conflagration. Tongues of flame rise from the firewood and caress the sides of the bronze statue, warming the Maremother's flanks as smoke spirals into the air.

Within the darkness of the Maremother's womb, Periphae does not see the priests light the sacred fire that will bind her to her goddess. For a while, she does not even notice any change at all. However, as the unseen flames outside grow higher Periphae slowly realizes that the space inside is hotter than it was when the Maremother welcomed her in. She sighs contentedly, the sound echoing against the bronze surrounding her. It is happening; the Maremother is taking Periphae into herself. The curled-up palomino mare gently rubs her hips together, stimulating her aroused genitals; the warmth feels so good. She begins to sweat, her musky perspiration combining with the aromatic incense coating her body and keeping it liquid. She shifts position, her fur sliding smoothly against the rapidly heating bronze. 

Outside, embers rise into the cloudless sky and the logs crackle and pop as the fire grows in intensity. The priests keep up a steady flow of fresh fuel for the fire, continually tossing fresh bundles of sticks onto the flames, encouraging the blaze to grow as hot and as high as possible.

Periphae moans quietly as the temperature grows; the heat is gradually escalating from stimulating into uncomfortable but her throbbing arousal remains painfully strong. Her caretakers at the temple had warned the palomino mare that her reunion with the Maremother would hurt. Foaling is a painful process, and the reverse process is as well. Periphae understands that her pain is necessary, that she has to suffer greatly to achieve oneness with her beloved mother. Periphae curls up tighter, weeping softly; she had not realized just how unpleasant it would really be. Wherever her body is in contact with the Maremother's metal sides, the pain is incredible. The scent of her musky sweat and the cloying incense is choking her. The space around her is growing smaller, tighter, and more unbearable.

She cries out.

Periphae's scream of agony echoes up through the Maremother's throat; it reverberates and shifts and emerges from the statue's open mouth as a blissful whinny. 

The priests pause for a moment at the sound of their goddess's exclamation. The Maremother has expressed pleasure with their offering. With joy in their hearts they return to their work, redoubling their efforts and piling still more kindling on the roaring flames. The brazen statue is practically incandescent now, the metal glowing with a light that is more than just the reflected sun. Faint wisps of pale steam rise from the Maremother's nostrils, practically invisible in the glare of the flames.

The space inside the Maremother's womb is hot beyond comprehension. Periphae's golden hair burns away wherever her body comes into direct contact with the metal; her blonde mane and tail are smoldering and dissolving. Her exposed flesh begins to sizzle painfully, a torturous prickling as her skin is roasted. The incense has all but completely boiled away now and Periphae's sweat and tears sublimate as soon as they contact the heated air; the space is filled with oppressive steam. 

The mare writhes uncomfortably in the confined space, trying to find a position that will lessen the agony she is feeling, but there is no relief to be found. Every new position only brings new pain. Despite the torture, a persistent ecstatic itch throbs in the back of Periphae's mind; the hot craving in her loins is above and beyond anything she has ever known before. Her heart is pounding insanely hard in her chest. She will explode if she doesn't obtain release soon; it does not matter if it's release from the pain or the pleasure. Periphae cries out again and again the Maremother whinnies happily.  

The crowd cheers as their goddess expresses satisfaction with their gift. The sacrifice of Periphae's fertility will sustain the Maremother and the Maremother will sustain the city of Pyrippes for another year. One life is a small price to pay in return for such a potent blessing.

Periphae knows she must remain strong. The pain is intense, as though searing knives have been driven into every part, every cell of her body. The heat is like a solid object, pressing against her from every side; breathing requires an immense amount of effort for almost no reward. The throbbing in her vagina is extreme, but she seems no closer to climax than when she started; she knows she must be as close to the edge as possible, but nothing seems to be about to push her over the edge.

The Maremother bellows louder than ever, her brazen neigh echoing across the plaza.

Periphae screams from the depths of her seared lungs when the agony suddenly and sharply increases. The pain rapidly begins to fade from some parts, from her legs and her arms and her back, but it is increasing in others, in her chest and her head and her genitals. Her desperately heaving lungs are on the verge of collapse. Her frantically pounding heart will explode at any moment. Her overheated loins blaze in a mix of agony and ecstasy.

Abruptly, Periphae's breath catches in her parched throat. Her lungs stop fighting and she feels her heart stop beating. The cold spreading from her chest meets the heat rising from her genitals. A blast of pure sensation, of neither pleasure nor pain, explodes through the palomino mare's roasted, dying body. 

Periphae's mind goes white as the orgasmic flame of her life subsumes completely into the Maremother's blazing heat surrounding her. Her charred body falls away, collapsing into ash and bone. But that was all her body had ever been, the Maremother comfortingly whispers as she lovingly hugs her daughter close to her tender bosom, welcoming her home.

 






Author's notes:
First draft began May 29, 2010. First draft completed June 2, 2010. Editing completed June 3, 2010.