========
Newsgroups: alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: The Dark Lover
From: mercutio@europa.com (Mercutio)
Date: Wed, 05 Jun 1996 00:46:02 GMT

As you may have guessed, given that this is being posted here, it's a Q
story.  However, it isn't a Star Trek story, even though I've borrowed the
character of Q for it. 


The Dark Lover by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)


It was the night of the Dark Lover, a moonless night in late
autumn, when the weather had grown cold, long after the harvest had
already been brought in.

Many years went by without it being *the* night -- the night itself
came only once in a generation, and each of the sacrifices so
chosen bore the marks of it on their soul forever after.  None of
them spoke of the night in other than hints and generalities, but
it was an event rich in myth and folklore, and everyone in the tiny
village knew everything there was to know about the Dark Lover, how
he came, his mysterious and evil appearance, and how he must have
a fitting sacrifice each time or the village would have disaster.

That there would be disaster was not doubted.  The village lay in
between mountains, a route calculated to bring invaders through the
sleepy hamlet, not to wall off visitors.  And yet, they had lived
peaceful and untroubled for almost three centuries, all because of
the Dark Lover.

Ritual and feasting had crowned this year's harvest, all the
village much aware that this was one of the years in which the Dark
Lover would come, a year of great significance, although only one
of them would see him, only one.

****

He stepped into the clearing.  *Why am I doing this?  This is the
most ridiculous ritual I have ever agreed to participate in.  If it
weren't for that silly promise I made to look in on these people
every so often, I wouldn't come back here at all.  And to have to
put up with _this_.*  He shook his head and struck a pose.  Now was
the time when they invariably started to cower.  As soon as they
saw him, almost every one of the pathetic peasants had fallen on
the ground, usually begging him not to hurt them.  Which was better
than the opposite, the adoration and the way some of them were
completely convinced that the only reason he was here was to ravish
them.  How utterly ludicrous.

The girl sitting under the tree looked up.  She had a piece of
embroidery in her hands.  It was too dark to work on it, but it
kept her from thinking too much about the significance of what was
happening here.

He saw her look at him, and waited.  She did nothing, just met his
gaze steadily.

"Well met, my lord," she said in a low voice.  There was no
question in her mind who he was.

He walked over to her, dragging the night with him like a cloak. 
"Are you the best they could do?"

Surprising him, she laughed.  "You would do well to seek elsewhere
for beauty or charm, my lord.  We are a very small village, and not
well gifted with fine lords and ladies."

He scowled at her.  "You're not like the others."

She nodded.  She only knew one of the sacrifices who had gone
before, but Lyra was nothing like that useless, self-important
woman.  Not yet at any rate.  Wizened old Sharani had taken her
aside after her choosing and explained to her what her duties would
be in pleasing the Dark Lover, and what he might expect from her. 
Lyra had had difficulty not laughing.  Sharani would not, of
course, speak of what had actually happened when *she* had been the
sacrifice, many, many years before, which Lyra considered to be a
disappointment.  *That* might have been an interesting story.  But
no, as the previous sacrifice, it was Sharani's job to educate the
newest one in her responsibilities, even though all of those were
carefully set out in tradition, and all deadly dull and well-known
to even the smallest of children.  Sharani would *hint* at other
things, but Lyra didn't believe those.  If the woman was attractive
enough to entice a god, then where was that god now, hmm?

Standing in the grove of trees, bending over Lyra instead.

"Well..." he knelt down.  There didn't seem to be much point in
maintaining an intimidating height when it wasn't doing any good,
and he couldn't see her face very well like that anyway.  "Explain
to me how intelligence has suddenly taken a gigantic leap here in
the last half century."

"No such thing has occurred," Lyra said.  "Only that there were so
few people worthy of being sacrificed that somehow I was chosen." 
She glanced directly into his face, then back down again.  It was
difficult to meet his eyes, as penetrating as they were.  "More
people have chosen to leave our village than to stay.  While we
have abundant crops to support the remainder, we lack the richer
land which could entice people from leaving.  Perhaps it is all for
the best though, my lord, since we are left in peace, untroubled by
any who might want our lands."

When she stole a quick look up at him, he was scowling again. 
"Very, very clever.  Don't think I don't realize you just worked
your own agenda into that response.  You can't fool me."

"I don't understand, my lord," she said demurely, a small smile on
her face.  "Have I displeased you in some way?"

His frown got deeper.  "Oh, all right."  He snapped his fingers. 
"I suppose I should've done something about this before, but no one
said anything the last time I came through and everything looked
fine.  Pigs rooting in the mud, people playing in the dirt...
everything just like before."  His voice trailed off.  He *did*
have a responsibility to this village, although only a very small
one.  He could very well have conveniently forgotten about it --
after all, while 300 years was nothing to him, it meant that the
original person who had extracted that promise was long dead and
gone.  There was no reason for him to care.  No reason, but that
sometimes things got interesting.  Like now.  "You'll have fruit
trees growing over there, and as long as you don't try to abuse it,
adequate rain and as much agricultural bounty as your little hearts
could wish."

"Thank you, my lord."

"I don't know why I bother," he muttered.

His face was downcast now, and Lyra found that she could study his
profile without the same kind of fear and awe that looking at him
directly brought on.  His countenance was neither ill-formed nor
extremely handsome -- it was only the force of his presence that
overwhelmed her.  "You are a kind and benevolent god," she said,
without doubt.  "How could you not care?"

He looked up at her, expression mocking.  "Kind and benevolent? 
You don't even believe that.  You expected me to rape you.  As
though I'd want anything of the sort from a mortal."

"And this makes you cruel?  To refuse to hurt me?"

"Oh, *very* clever.  You are a bright one."  He leaned down over
her suddenly, tilting her chin up so that he could look directly at
her.

Lyra didn't flinch, even though it was almost impossible to hold
that gaze.  He looked at her for a very long moment, and she felt
as though he were measuring the depths of her soul.

"You don't belong here, you know," he said, letting go of her.  "If
you stay here, you'll marry some farmboy and spend the rest of your
life raising chickens and children, and doing nothing of any
importance at all."

Lyra drew in a breath.  She could almost believe he was making her
an offer of some kind.  But then... the stories were full of what
happened to those who were foolish enough to fall in love with the
gods.  And Sharani served as a living example of how unseemly it was
to look above one's own place.  She had dedicated the rest of her
life to a god who had not once mentioned her name, who was even now
propositioning someone else, and Lyra knew far better than to
believe in this dark, dangerous stranger.

"There is life even in that, my lord," Lyra said quietly.  "It is
not so grand an existence as that of the gods, but there is purpose
in every form of living, and I look forward to fulfilling my
destiny, however lowly."

"Unambitious twit."

"Seductive liar."

He scowled at her.  "Did I just hear an insult from you?"

She widened her eyes.  "From me?  I would never dare do such a
thing, my lord."

"That's what I thought."

****

The night wore on towards the dawn, the Dark Lover not leaving her
side, tempting her with many possibilities and speaking with her of
things she did not understand.  But finally, when she knew that the
night would soon be over and he would be gone forever from her ken,
Lyra said, "Are you not going to take me, my lord?"

"Not that again," he said impatiently.  "I thought we went over
that.  No taking, no deflowering of virgins, no breathless sexual
encounters and most especially, *no swans*."

"But the stories... Sharani swore that she and you..." Lyra
blushed.  She couldn't say it.  She didn't quite believe it either,
not when Sharani had said it, but the Dark Lover was every bit as
attractive as the stories told it, if not more so, and Lyra found
herself more than willing to play sacrifice for him.

He seemed to know what she was thinking.  "Lies, all trumped up
lies.  I gave them each a pretty little speech and left."  He
hesitated a moment.  "You're the first person I've stayed to speak
with."

"Thank you, my lord."  She edged closer to him and laid her hand on
his.

"Excuse me?  I thought I told you..."

"There's something you should know.  I'm not a virgin."

He muttered something about the declining quality of sacrifices,
even as she was looping her arms around his neck and pulling his
head down so she could kiss him.

****

In the morning, the villagers found Lyra asleep under the tree, her
embroidery clasped in one hand -- and a cloak as black as the night
itself spread over her, covering her from neck to foot.


-the end-


---mercutio@europa.com---
"There is no such thing as a moral or an immoral book.
Books are well written, or badly written."
--Oscar Wilde, "The Picture of Dorian Gray"