The Lust of Horns

EROH VI

I reached a point where the tune spiked my ears. My head filled with a sudden blissful rush that came and passed as quickly as a gust of wind. The music stopped. I was no longer afraid. I welcomed the darkness around me like I'd bathed in it.

On my right, a flame ignited. Orangish-red light danced across leathered flesh, black eyes, black hair, and snake-shaped horns. My heart skipped, looking upon the wretched creature. It was unlike any beast I'd ever seen.

"Do you vow to stay true to the Hortz even when in doubt?" The creature spoke. How I understood it stayed a mystery only until I realized I'd seen the man within the beast before. It was the lesser elder, Rahdyarr Doombah.

I nodded and said in a stunned tone, "I vow it to the horns!" The flame curled, and darkness swallowed the creature.

Behind him, another torch blazed. This time a rounded, thick, leathered-faced creature watched him. Curled bone extended beneath the round slitted flesh between his cheeks. A deep, harsh rumble bellowed from his lips. "And do you vow to guard all whom are born of hoofs?"

I delayed my tongue as my eyes traced the short, curved horns extending from the creature's flaky, bald head. I swallowed and nodded. "I vow it to the horns!"

Darkness drew the creature away.

To my left, I felt the heat before I'd found the flame. I peered upon a skinny, long-faced creature with black eyes, and a rack of antlers worthy of a mature cervitaur. His tone was sharp and wise, "Do you vow to respect the ways of the horns, and the skin you'll be bound to?"

"I vow it to the horns!"

The last face appeared with a flash of flames. His voice boomed. "And do you vow to give your life to the Hortz?"

I trembled, gazing into soulless, black eyes. Ones that witnessed many ceremonies and many deaths. The horns protruding from his head were aged, yellow and cracked. The thick gray hairs around his face, coarse. His flesh wrinkled and rigged as burnt leather. He was the only elder that brought the fear of a boy back into my heart. And it stayed there as long as I watched him. There was no mistaking who he was; Kahavian Dubhak; the grand elder.

My nods were slow and understanding. I'd heard the tales of his wrath, as well as, his greatness. If I were to be Chief one day, I would need to earn his respect before the long sleep overtook him. I took a breath, drawing in courage. I then stood straight and pushed out my chest, showing the wise beastly man how I'd grown. With my chin raised high, I projected my voice clearly and powerfully. "I vow it to the horns--"

A great fire raged to life at the back of the Temple. The flames hot, dancing like an angered spirit. I squinted into the brightness. Bowed beams extended from the ground, meeting tips at the vaulted ceiling above. Two black trunks stood on the eastern and western grounds, with limbs hidden by the planked ceiling above. From the roof, giant fixtures of twisted wood, wearing leather horned helms, hung and twirled on ropes. Each one resembling the souls of their long-lost ancestors; their valiant tales told to hooflings around campfires.

Three dozen meaty, hairy, beastly bodies stood hunched. Their pale chests exposed, rocking back and forth, chanting a dreary, dark chant. Woogah! Woogah! Woogah! Their voices rang. My heart found their rhythm. They were the elders. They did not wear the leather horn helms that the other tribesmen wore, though their faces were stretched and wrinkled as leather. Eyes a solid black. And the horns that protruded from their heads were as firm and attached as teeth. But it was their bodies that made my eyes rise to moons and face twist into curious horror. Flesh, hair, and hide covered their masculine nakedness. Their chests were a solid mountain of muscles while their legs were thick, hairy slabs of meat that narrowed down into two hardened hooves.

I had been on several hunts with my father and his hunting parties. I'd seen fierce minotaur's, wild cervitaurs, and even an angry boartaur once. But they were beasts, only provoked when threatened. And their calls were the drawn calls of a herd, not the words of man. Even their muscles and bones were covered in a hide thick enough to be used as clothing. The elders were still men: grotesque, beastly, beautiful men. Who were now as powerful as the beasts they hunted.

Maybe my perception had gone. Smoke had brought a haze to the temple, created by the long, wooden pipe that was being passed from elder to elder. A puff and a pass, then to the next one until it found my palms. My head was already high from the orange cinnamon essence in the air. It didn't stop me from partaking, placing my lips around the stem, and drawing in a smooth cloud of illusion. It tasted like the cinnamon-orange I began to crave.

After it burned my throat and settled in my lungs, I expelled it back through my lip. A second high, much stronger than the last, bubbled to my head. Suddenly I was uncertain if I was floating or falling, only to find that my feet never left the ground. I chuckled and passed the pipe, nodding my head to the sound of drums and woogahs!

A silhouette appeared in front of the flames. The drums silenced. The elders held their hunched poses while the smoke withdrew from the room. The silhouette shifted and twitched, then moved forward. Hoofs beat against the wooden floor. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. The song of an unknown terror.

The courage inside me left with the smoke. My head felt heavy. Eyes now burned. Was this it? Had I already began to shape? Was it in the smoke I inhaled? The only certain thought I had was the one to run away from the unknown shadow marching toward me. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. The noise rattled my eardrums.

The closer the shadow got, the more the firelight revealed. It looked to be an ancient, powerful beast of a man. It's two massive, thick hairy legs and paled, mountainous chest defining with each step away from the shadows. His massive, rounded arms hung at his side, swaying. Shoulders rounded as boulders, connected to the girth of his veiny neck. The face that drew from the shadows was broad and sharp, covered in coarse black hair; a mane around the head. Two black eyes looked beyond the leathered face, watching me. But the two horns that were sharpened, yellowed, and extended the length of his forearm, were what I feared most.

I blinked several times, and with each blink, my eyes focused on the details of the man-beast. My jaw dropped, face muscles twisting, and eyelids stretched. I knew this man; a man who was already large and masculine even without the advantages of Skin Armour. He stopped and peered down at me. Each breath a snarling gasp. I did not fully understand what it meant to shape. But now, looking upon the man that had raised me up from a hoofling, the chief of our tribe, my Lord Father, I realized its meaning.

Enoch waved a hand. The high elder glided over, carrying a large clay pot. Father eased his burden, then held the pot in front of his chest while his eyes traced my robe. I didn't have to be told to remove it, and did so, leaving my skinny flesh bare for all the eyes of the elders to look upon. My courage waned long ago. I knew I couldn't stand afraid. Not now. Not when I stood in the presence of my father.

My father raised the pot over my head.

I pushed out my chest, pulled my shoulders back, raised my chin, and welcomed the white, thick ooze that showered me new.