Devil's Fire (11 page)

Brother Christy gestured towards the vineyard, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. I gazed at him, blinking, still slightly dazed.

‘I…I don’t know what to say,’ I murmured. Was he judging me? Finding me weak and wanton for falling prey to my newly discovered sensuality?

He smiled, adjusting his spectacles in that scholarly way he had. ‘Sometimes words are inadequate, Mary Grace. The moment we lose control is often the time we reach a sublime understanding — an acceptance of things that confused or eluded us before. May it be that way for you, sweet lamb.’

I nodded, feeling he’d given a sort of benediction.

‘Shall we proceed to the vineyard? Ahmad is quite eager to meet you.’

W
hen I saw him, I realised why Ahmad’s name sounded familiar: he’d been the one to find Hyde’s carriage parked in the orchard. He stood out because he was the only man of colour, and as Brother Christy and I approached him, other attributes set him apart, as well.

Besides a name that conjured up turbaned sages from far-away lands, Ahmad had a tangible presence — an aura of Eastern mysticism mixed with an earthy, rebellious demeanour. His height alone intimidated me, for he stood head and shoulders above everyone else. His smooth, coal-coloured skin contrasted sharply with his teeth and the whites of his eyes, and gave no hint of his age. His close-cropped curls fitted his head like a cap, yet didn’t detract from his ethereal beauty. A ruby sparkled on one side of his nose.

When he took my hand during Brother Christy’s introduction, a jolt of awareness shot up my arm: this man exuded a power every bit as potent as Father Luc’s, but of a different essence. Ahmad impressed me as a deeply spiritual man, a seer attuned to the mysteries of the universe who made no effort to disguise his blatant sexuality. His erection protruded from the folds of his Indian-style loincloth, like another hand awaiting my grasp.

‘Ah, Mary Grace,’ he pronounced in an accented whisper. ‘You have doubts about leaving Hyde to live among us, but let me assure you, my precious primrose — I knew of your coming long ago, and your arrival is but a fulfilment of prophecy. You have a purpose here, a place among us, like a much-loved guest for whom we’ve set a plate at the table. Be at peace within yourself.’

I tried not to stare at the coffee-coloured eye of his cock, which seemed to be watching me closely. Had it hurt when that little gold ring pierced his tip? ‘I — thank you,’ I murmured. ‘Although Heaven’s Gate is nothing like I expected.’

Ahmad focused his chocolate eyes on mine until I wondered if he were mesmerising me. ‘How so?’ he mused aloud. ‘How are we different from what Mr Fortune led you to believe?’

I sensed I should answer carefully while within Brother Christy’s hearing, because the rotund little monk seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare. I couldn’t tell them about the warning I received from that spectre at Mount Calvary, either, or both men would think me insane. ‘Oh, Hyde spoke quite highly of the people here,’ I assured them with a smile. ‘I suppose I just didn’t know much about monastic life. About your rituals, and such.’

‘You didn’t expect to find us fertilising the trees as a means of spiritual enlightenment?’

‘That was a shock, yes.’ I chuckled, recalling those naked men dancing in a circle.

Ahmad took my hand again, looking steadily into my face. ‘I shall tell you then, Mary Grace, that Heaven’s Gate will hold many surprises, some not as pleasant as others. But as your time with us passes, I hope you’ll ponder not only the unexpected realities around you, but the ones you find inside yourself, as well.’

He paused, including Brother Christy in his mystical gaze. ‘You won’t be the same woman when you leave here, my perceptive peach. You will have embarked upon an inner journey, where you encounter facets of your soul you never knew existed. It’s a wise woman who accepts the changes within herself as new truths, rather than doubting herself — or doubting the new path she’s chosen.’

Again I recalled that wraith hovering near my bed, warning me that I’d be lost if I came here. The old crone had spoken with such urgency I still couldn’t write her off as a figment of my imagination, and she was right: things at this monastery were not as they appeared. Yet as Ahmad stroked my hand with his long, pliant fingers, imploring me to understand the meanings hidden beneath this life’s surface — beneath my own inexperience — I felt reassured. I had the impression that neither man standing with me now would allow events or personalities at Heaven’s Gate to overwhelm me.

As if to reconfirm this, Brother Christy grinned. ‘You realise, I hope, that if I allowed anything vile to happen to you, Hyde would never forgive me? And where would we be if he refused to distribute our products? Of all the new residents we’ve received here, you, Mary Grace, embody the most responsibility. The most risk.’

Before I could grasp this, or ask why anyone here should be associated with risk, Ahmad rested his hand at the base of my neck to continue our tour. ‘So you see, my pleasant periwinkle, Christy and I consider you a sacred vessel entrusted to our care. No harm shall befall you. You should prepare yourself to see things in a different light, however — much as we expect the life after this one to present us new challenges, and mysteries we couldn’t comprehend while here on this earth.’

I would have to ponder these things later, when I was alone with my sewing. Flanked by my two self-pro-claimed protectors, I strolled towards parallel rows of vines that lined the terrain like the spokes of a wheel. Even from this distance I saw bunches of plump red grapes glistening in the dew, and noted occasional brown-clad figures filling oblong baskets with the harvest.

‘To our left, where the trees bearing our apples, pears and cherries give way to the grapevines, you’ll see our apiary,’ Ahmad remarked, gesturing elegantly towards rows of stacked white boxes. ‘The bees, of course, play an important part in our production. Not only do they pollinate our fruit blossoms, but they provide honey for our cakes and table use, and wax for our candles.’

In the sunlight, tiny flying specks drifted to and from the hives. Insects with stingers weren’t my favourite creatures, so I was hoping our stroll didn’t take us much closer to them. Beside me, Ahmad chuckled.

‘You stiffen,’ he said in that foreign voice. ‘And you’re wise to behave cautiously in their presence, for they’re easily aroused by those they perceive as intruders.’

‘Most beekeepers wear mesh around their heads, and heavy gloves, while carrying a smoking rag to sedate the bees,’ Brother Christy added. ‘But Ahmad is so attuned to them, and they to him, that he gathers their combs of honey without wearing any protective gear at all.’

‘Without wearing anything,’ the darker man amended.

Despite their reassurances, the image of Ahmad working these hives naked made me shudder. I turned my attention to the vineyard again, hoping to direct us to a tamer, more pleasant subject; trying not to picture bees buzzing around the ringed erection that still stuck out of this man’s thigh-length wrap-around pants, or around the nipples that glistened like pink beads on his brown chest.

It occurred to me that Ahmad and Brother Christy might expect something in return for keeping me, their sacred vessel, out of harm’s way — just as Father Luc, Mrs Goodin and Sybil demanded their due. But I hesitated to raise this subject. I had seen and heard enough this morning to keep me pondering my discoveries for quite some time. Just as I was wondering about repayment, however, the shaman-like man beside me cocked his head, as though listening closely to my unspoken thoughts.

‘You are thinking my guidance comes with a price,’ he said in that faraway whisper. He continued to walk me around the shade-dappled grounds, back to a grove of apple trees encircled by an outcropping of rocks. It resembled some sort of ceremonial area, because the trees grew in a semicircle around a grassy clearing.

Ahmad plucked a huge red apple from the nearest tree, polished it against his hip, and handed it to me. ‘You recall, of course, the story of Eve and the apple? The debt she incurred for eating of the Tree of Knowledge?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I murmured, almost afraid of what this apple might symbolise. It was the largest, most perfectly beautiful fruit I’d ever seen, and I had an undeniable urge to bite into it. ‘Mankind has borne the burden of her sin ever since. She and Adam were suddenly aware they were naked, and that they had reason to hide and feel shame.’

He closed his eyes, his ruby twinkling as he bowed to my reply. ‘Their knowledge required repayment, just as everyone’s choices have consequences. Here at Heaven’s Gate, things are no different. We acknowledge that we all fall short of our intended glory — but without our sins, we wouldn’t require redemption, would we? Since grace is ours for the asking, we believe in sinning boldly, and we trust a fitting afterlife will be ours, as well.’

I could see my widened eyes reflected in the apple’s shine. Ahmad’s theology struck me as quite radical, compared to my father’s, yet I could argue with nothing the enigmatic man said. I looked up at him, swallowing hard. ‘What are you saying? What should this mean to me?’

He and Brother Christy smiled indulgently and ushered me towards the distant monastery. ‘The sooner you accept our ways, Mary Grace, the sooner you will find your peace. From that self-acknowledgement will come your willingness to give back to our little community, to repay those who have helped you become the woman you were created to be.’

‘It will feel quite natural to you, once you attain that spiritual state Ahmad speaks of,’ Brother Christy continued. ‘From what I’ve observed, you’re a lover of beauty and a seeker of truth. Giving and compassionate by nature. We will all rejoice in your inner epiphany. We await it…quite eagerly.’

Something in the monk’s voice belied a darker message I couldn’t yet decipher. In my confusion, I clutched the apple. We were approaching the grounds around the abbey, which meant I would soon face Father Luc again. An unpleasant prospect, after the morning I’d spent enjoying the outdoors while witnessing so much that piqued my curiosity.

Again, Ahmad sensed my mood. Pulling me gently into an embrace, he murmured, ‘We will meet again soon, Mary Grace, for it is my calling to instruct you. To enlighten you.’

How should I respond? This man’s cock was prodding my midsection while his hand wandered down my backside to tease the crease between its cheeks. Brother Christy looked on benignly, and then glanced towards the abbey.

‘I’ll find you a chair,’ he said, ‘and I’ll tell Father Luc to expect you back after the noon meal. This will allow you about half an hour with Ahmad, to further explore the morning’s revelations.’

The monk dismissed himself with an amiable smile, leaving me to wonder what might happen next. On the one hand I feared Father Luc’s reprisal for staying away from my work so long, and on the other I allowed that as a newcomer, I had every right to become acquainted with the grounds and the people I’d be living among for the next few months. Ahmad had taken my face between his hands and was compelling me to listen, to open myself to the mysteries behind those arresting umber eyes.

‘Come, let us kneel together,’ he whispered, guiding me towards what looked like an altar — a large, smooth rock surrounded by tall bushes that flowered in magenta and pink. ‘It is good to humble ourselves, to separate from others as we ponder the opportunities afforded us in this abundant life.’

We entered the enclosure, and when he fell to his knees facing the boulder, I followed his example. Ahmad took the apple from me, placing it above us, on the stone. ‘A thank offering,’ he explained. ‘A worthy return from the harvest, as we offer ourselves, as well.’

I couldn’t dispute this offering, or my need for meditation. I sensed this exotic man would instruct me further, and followed his example of bending low over my legs so my palms pressed the grass and my forehead rested on my hands. The rustling of the flowers and an occasional bird call were the only sounds around us, while the breeze riffled my tunic. I hadn’t felt this quiet, this peaceful, since I’d arrived at the monastery.

‘Be still, and accept the knowledge that is mine to impart,’ Ahmad’s voice lulled me. ‘This position of humility opens us to many wonderful possibilities.’

My tunic was eased up over my back, by hands that then followed the curve of my spine to fondle my bottom. As Ahmad’s fingers grazed the crevice there and then slid forward to stroke my bush, I sucked in my breath.

‘Let go of your doubts, my prized pupil,’ the man behind me intoned. ‘Let your body respond to my teaching, for to reject such a gift would be not only selfish but foolish, in light of all I have to offer you.’

I was being given the chance to thank Ahmad for his kindness, yet I balked. The erection I’d been trying not to stare at was now stroking me like a thick finger, inching down to rub against a hole I didn’t intend to open for anyone. ‘I — I’ve promised myself to Hyde!’ I protested. ‘I assured him of my love and faithfulness, yet everywhere I turn people mock my intentions.’

‘All the better reason to learn from Ahmad, who will enhance your present understanding of pleasure while honouring your promise to a fine man.’

His fingers found the cleft of my sex, making me gasp with the intense sensation — and making me immediately wet. It was embarrassing how quickly I responded to the touch of this charismatic man, yet I’d been drawn in since the moment he took my hand in greeting.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ he crooned. ‘I shall prepare you for what I sense is a new experience, Mary Grace. Be still, and accept the sincere giving of my gift.’

He was leaving me no room to refuse without appearing ungrateful. I nipped my lip as his purposeful fingers circled my clit and then dipped again into the cream that pooled beneath it. As I expected, his fingers slipped back to anoint the puckery portal that tightened instinctively against his intrusion.

Ahmad chuckled and continued spreading my moisture until the entire crevice between my legs was dripping. He then gripped the halves of my bottom and kneaded them in a hypnotic rhythm, letting the head of his cock tease forward and then back in my moisture. Sensations reeled within me when his ring rubbed my privates, yet part of me knew — and rebelled against — the penetration he sought.

‘Please, Ahmad,’ I whimpered, ‘please don’t ram yourself up my backside! I can’t even think about the pain!’

He responded by lifting my hips so quickly I couldn’t anticipate the wet tip of his tongue, which briefly licked behind my pussy and then circled the rim of my tightest hole. He plunged it into me, wiggling its length against inner walls that spasmed in surprise. I cried out, but it only inspired him to insert his tongue further than I believed possible. The passageway felt full and curiously pressured, and when I realised he wasn’t hurting me, I relaxed.