Chapter 9: Revelry of the Seirim

Ryan made his way between the dense trees, dead leaves and dried twigs cracking underfoot as he trekked through the forest. The moon was high in a cloudless sky, and even through what was left of the autumn canopy, he could see well enough that he didn’t need his flashlight.

The forest was deserted. He hadn’t come across anybody, even on the more accessible trails. That wasn’t to say that it was still or quiet. Despite the late season, there was fresh growth everywhere, and the air was full of insects. Clouds of drifting fireflies floated between the trunks of the birch trees, blinking their ghostly lights, each a little nebula in its own right. Bats screeched in the sky above him, and beautiful moths fluttered about on the breeze, their fuzzy bodies as colorful and as ornate as any butterfly. Flowering vines were starting to choke some of the trees, already beginning to bloom in shades of red, pink, and yellow. It was as if the presence of the Seirim and their master had invigorated the forest, injecting new life into it.

He jumped as he heard a twig snap some distance away, stopping in his tracks as he tried to penetrate the gloom. He caught the shadow of what looked like a deer, the animal darting away into the undergrowth on its slender legs. Despite the impending winter, even large animals were out and about, as if they were being drawn to the same place that he was.

Ryan continued on his way, hopping over exposed roots and rocky outcrops, wading through waist-high shrubs as he searched for the clearing. He had a pretty good sense of direction, and it wasn’t too far of a walk. He should start coming across the sigils that he had carved into the trees before long.

As he leaned against one of the trunks to rest for a moment, he noticed one such carving beneath his hand, reassuring him that he was on the right track.

He continued towards the clearing, and as he neared, he saw a glow in the distance. The orange blaze of what must have been one of their lauded bonfires was illuminating the forest. To be seen at such a distance, it must have been massive, yet there was no plume of smoke that rose above the trees to betray its location. Magick fire, maybe? Who knew with these demons. He could also make out the faint sound of music, as if a band was playing. There was the twang of stringed instruments, the pulsing beat of drums, and the whistle of woodwind that might have come from pipes or flutes. It reminded him of the music that he had heard in his head when he had made love to Nahash. The style was jarring and obviously ancient, songs that had been written thousands of years before his birth.

What he had originally assumed to be the flickering of the flames was revealed to be a dozen figures dancing around the periphery of the bonfire, their dark silhouettes framed against the glow, their bodies gyrating and twisting in a frenzy. They all looked like Nahash, all female, but their height and body type varied a little from what he could make out at that distance. Off to one side, Azazel was sat on the ground, his long arms draped over his knees. His black fur was lit by the fire, casting him in an eerie glow, his three red eyes burning like molten metal as he watched the Seirim cavort. Even sitting, he was so much taller and more massive than a human, like an ogre with spiraling horns.

The licking flames must have been fifteen feet high, the bonfire at least eight or nine feet across, burning in the center of the summoning circle. It was piled with heavy logs that would have been beyond human capacity to lift, and it was ringed by the stones that Ryan had placed around it when he had first drawn the sigils.

As he lurked at the tree line, unsure of whether he should announce himself or not, the music petered out. Azazel’s monstrous head turned in his direction to stare at him with his trio of red eyes. The Seirim stopped their dancing to follow suit, turning their horned heads to watch him, a dozen pairs of yellow eyes shining in the night.

“It seems that our guest of honor has arrived,” Azazel boomed, his baritone voice carrying over the trees and echoing through the forest. “You are welcome here, Ryan Cutter. You need not hide in the shadows. Come, join us.”

Even when Azazel was being polite, it came off sinister and threatening. Ryan crept out from between the trunks and started to walk across the clearing. Something about Azazel was just off, as if there was some primal instinct deep inside him that was trying to warn him away from the beast. The creature’s stare sent chills crawling down his spine and made the hair on his arms stand on end.

All of his doubts melted away when he saw one of the Seirim step forward, the reflective glint of her amber eyes somehow familiar, the comely shape of her figure framed by the bonfire behind her. His pace increased to a jog, Nahash advancing to meet him on her digitigrade legs, and he flung himself into her outstretched arms. She wrapped them around him, pressing his face into the soft wool above her ample chest, Ryan breathing in a lungful of her sweet scent as he squeezed her tight. His fingers only just met around her waist, but he did his best to return her embrace. Her smooth skin was so warm and inviting, the downy fur that lined her neck and shoulders comforting him as he rubbed his cheek against it. The plan had worked. Nahash was here, she was manifest, and he could finally reach out and touch her again. Azazel and his band of Seirim must have energy enough to spare.

He glanced up at her, prying himself away from the warmth of her woolly chest, her golden eyes peering down at him as her lips curled into a vibrant smile.

“I once called you a novice, but you have proven yourself to be an admirable exorcist,” she chuckled.

“A strange specimen indeed,” Azazel’s voice rumbled, the creature apparently able to hear them even from so far away. “You have ensnared a rare prize here, Nahash. This mortal covets more than just your flesh, and he has proven himself a worthy ally. I have dwelt amongst his kind since the time of the fall, and I have never before seen his like.”

Nahash fawned over him, running her clawed fingers through his hair, holding him tightly as if guarding him from the jealous eyes of her sisters.

“You know what he covets,” Azazel continued, rising slowly to his feet and plodding around the circumference of the bonfire on hooves the size of hubcaps. He stood nearly as tall as the flames, the light casting ominous shadows across his shaggy fur, his white teeth flashing as he spoke. “What is it that you desire, my daughter? I have offered this child of Adam a payment for his services, a reward. But your heart is wild, and it is not mine to give.”

It seemed that the Seirim were not merely Azazel’s creations as Ryan had initially assumed, but his literal offspring. Judging by how much more bestial their father was, had he conceived them with human women? Were the Seirim hybrids of some kind, and could that be the origin of their softer and more human features? That aligned with what some of the ancient texts told of the rebellious Watchers – that their taking of human wives had angered their God, and it was for that reason that they had been cast out. There were so many burning questions that Ryan longed to ask, but now wasn’t the right time.

Nahash turned her head to look up at Azazel, clinging to Ryan possessively.

“I want him, father. He is kind and charitable, his love for me is pure.”

The furry monster grinned widely, then turned that trio of smoldering eyes on Ryan.

“And this is your desire also, Ryan Cutter?”

“Yes,” he replied adamantly. Azazel laughed uproariously, lifting his heavy head to the sky and braying at the full moon, his powerful voice shaking Ryan’s bones.

“Then I shall bind her to you, a marriage between spirit and mortal,” Azazel bellowed. He turned to the sky again and bleated like a goat, an oddly unnerving sound coming from such a massive creature. “This, the creator abhors above all things,” he explained. “An unholy union between man and demon, his creation corrupted, and his law betrayed. My kin and I were cast out of paradise for the very same transgression. On top of all that you have risked thus far, you will break this sacred covenant too?”

Ryan considered for a moment. Was he really about to go against some holy imperative? There seemed to be a God, and he was about to offend him gravely if he had not done so already. Oh, what did it matter? He had been in over his head from the very moment that he had chalked the summoning circle on the floor of his apartment.

“Well,” he replied, considering for a moment. “What’s he done for me lately?”

Azazel clapped his massive hands together, a sound like thunder ringing out across the forest, more braying laughter joining it. He seemed to take great pleasure in the fact that Ryan was about to commit a grave sin. Azazel was the original rebel, after all. Perhaps he would take any opportunity to spite his heavenly foe.

“A spirit can be bound to an object, serving to anchor it to this material plane,” Azazel elaborated. “It will forever be a beacon, drawing that spirit to it, calling it home across the gulfs of time and space.”

Nahash took a step away from Ryan, lifting her hand into the air, turning her palm towards her father. Through his maniacal laughter, Azazel waved a gigantic arm, Ryan watching in awe as a ring of black smoke began to form around one of her digits. The vapors coalesced, becoming a solid object, forming a wedding band around her clawed finger that was as black as obsidian. Nahash turned to glance at Ryan, her golden eyes reflecting the glow of the fire, and he felt something in his own hand.

Ryan looked down, watching the dark vapors circle his ring finger, becoming tighter as they manifested a matching band. It was surprisingly heavy, made from some kind of dense metal, circled with almost imperceptible runes and sigils that were etched into its shiny surface.

These were wedding rings. Perhaps in an attempt to further pervert the laws that had seen him banished from heaven, Azazel had given the object of binding this shape. Ryan couldn’t be sure if this was a parody of marriage designed only to offend, or if the fallen angel was showing signs of sentiment, but it nevertheless filled Ryan’s heart with love for his betrothed. This binding ritual was even more permanent and lasting than a marriage. Nahash’s spirit would be drawn to his now, like a moth to a lantern in a dark forest.

“It is done...” Azazel announced as the pair admired their new adornments. “Her spirit is bound to that ring, like a Djinn to its bottle, a cursed item. Because of your actions, mortal, we are gorged on energy. She will be able to manifest whenever and wherever you wish, and as long as you carry that ring, you will have no need of circles or wards. This is my gift to you.”

As long as Ryan wore this ring, Nahash would be able to home in on him wherever he might be, appearing at his side as if he had gone through all of the motions and steps necessary to summon a demon? No need for nine-foot wide, intricately detailed summoning circles, no need for incantations and wards. It was perfect.

“Thank you,” Ryan said, not sure how else to express his gratitude to the creature. Azazel chuckled, turning away and lumbering back over to his place beside the bonfire. He sat heavily, the ground shaking beneath Ryan’s feet, and directed his three ruby eyes towards him.

“The debt has been repaid. Now, we celebrate!”

The flames exploded as though someone had poured gasoline on them, burning brighter and more violently, roaring into the night sky as the bonfire spat sparks and glowing embers into the air. The music resumed, although nobody seemed to be playing any of the instruments that Ryan could so distinctly hear, the Seirim continuing their hypnotic dancing as they circled the blaze.

Their movements were graceful and fluid, unearthly, moving in ways that no human dancer could have approximated. There was a sexual energy to their dance, the thrusting of their wide hips distinctly sensuous, their undulating motions drawing attention to their womanly figures. They pranced on their long, goat-like legs, leaping and spinning as though they weighed nothing at all. They drew shapes in the air with their balletic arm movements, tossing their horned heads, an infinite variety of complex and textured movements syncing with the beat of the unseen drums.

Nahash turned, taking Ryan by the hand, leading him towards the circle of dancing figures. He could feel the heat on his face as they got closer, her tall frame casting a flickering shadow over him as he followed behind her. He hoped that she wasn’t intending for them to dance together. Even with a fellow human, he wouldn’t have fared too well, and keeping up with the Seirim would be physically impossible.

“You need not dance,” she laughed, obviously sensing his apprehension. “I’m so glad to look upon you again, Ryan, to hear your voice in waves of sound rather than in memory. I was trapped in the immaterium for a time, so I could not return to your side. After you completed your contract with Orobas, he had no more use of me, so I was stowed away in that soup of thought and emotion until Azazel came for me.”

She stopped and turned to face him, the fire raging not three feet behind her. Despite its proximity, her delicate wool did not singe, and she did not seem uncomfortable in the least. She took his hands in hers, her skin cool and soft, and gazed down at him with those amber eyes.

“I had a lot of time to think, to ponder my situation, and to miss my corporeal form. I pined for sensations, touch and taste, warmth and pleasure. But more than that, I found that I missed you terribly. You are the only mortal and the only entity outside of my tribe who has ever considered what I might have wanted. You didn’t think about what I could do for you, what purpose I might serve, or what there was to be gained through me. Rather, you treated me as a person, a fellow being with thoughts and feelings of their own. You freed me from bondage with no expectation of a reward.”

She hooked her arms around him and pulled him close, her clawed fingers delving into his hair, pushing his face into the feathery wool of her chest. He breathed in her earthy aroma, hearing her heart beating beneath her skin, his hands finding their place around her hips.

“I am your reward,” she whispered, a pleasant shiver running down his spine as she breathed warm air on his ear. “This time, it is my choice. I will decide to whom I am bound, and I have chosen you.”

She turned his chin up with her finger, pressing her full lips against his, her dexterous tongue winding its way into his mouth to deliver a slow and powerful kiss that made him weak at the knees. He leaned into her, his hands roaming across her glass-smooth skin, his fingers sinking into her yielding flesh. How he had missed her – her taste and scent, the feeling of her inviting body beneath his hands...

He glanced over at Azazel, the giant beast watching them with a toothy grin, then slowed his pace and broke away from Nahash’s embrace.

“Maybe we should, uh ... isn’t he, like ... your father or something?”

Nahash put a hand to her mouth and chuckled daintily, batting her long eyelashes at him.

“It was he who taught man to sin. I was made for this, you need not worry about offending Azazel.”

“Come,” Azazel bellowed. “Join us in our revelry.”

He waved his long arm, and suddenly, Ryan noticed a ring of tables that circled the fire between the dancing Seirim and the stones that served as its border. Had those been there before? No, he hadn’t seen them, or at least he hadn’t noticed them before Azazel had drawn his attention to them. They were carved from wood that had been polished to a sheen, their legs hewn into elaborate sculptures of animal feet, their surfaces decorated with inlaid geometric patterns. There was a dozen of them, each one with a subtle curve so that once joined together, they formed a perfect ten-foot ring.

The dancing figures stepped back from them, and Azazel waved his massive hand again, claws the size of meat hooks extending from his furry fingers. Before Ryan’s eyes, a smorgasbord of food materialized, popping into reality from thin air. The effect might have been almost comical had he not been in the presence of the demons, their inhuman faces lit by the crackling flames.

There were bowls filled to the brim with ripe fruits, wicker baskets packed with berries and grapes, goblets of sparkling wine, and roasted meats glazed with honey that looked as if they had left the oven only moments ago. Had Azazel conjured all of this himself? Was he so powerful that he could will anything that he liked into existence? Ryan had seen Nahash influence his senses in order to create convincing illusions, but they were just that – illusions.

He walked towards the fire, the Seirim parting to grant him access, each as tall and as impressively endowed as Nahash was. They stood to either side of him on their long legs, peering down at him with their reflective eyes, each with a slightly different assortment of twisted horns. Ryan reached across the nearest table and picked up a shiny, red apple from one of the bowls, its skin coated in droplets of dew. It was the most appetizing fruit that he had ever seen, but he hesitated, looking back towards Nahash for reassurance. She nodded in encouragement, so he sank his teeth into its firm flesh, its sweet juices flowing across his tongue. He chewed contentedly, savoring the taste as it lingered in his mouth. It was delicious, as if all of the qualities of an apple had been concentrated and refined, giving it the perfect taste and texture. If it was an illusion, and his hand was empty in reality, then it was a convincing one.

“Eat, drink!” Azazel laughed as he flung his arms into the air. The Seirim crowded around the tables, Nahash sidling up next to Ryan as he helped himself to the huge variety of food, the ever-present music changing tempo to become placating and relaxing. The Seirim were ravenous, putting their new bodies through their paces, red wine escaping from their lips to stain their white wool as they drank heartily. They tore strips of glazed turkey and pork from the bone, popping fat grapes between their teeth, washing it all down with tankards of frothing ale.

Ryan lived in a developed country where food was never scarce, but even to him, these delicacies were a rare treat. What might a wandering tribesman have thought of such a display five thousand years ago?

Some of the Seirim resumed their mesmerizing dancing as the others watched, clapping in time with the slow rhythm, cheering their sisters on. Azazel was apparently unwilling to participate but seemed to find amusement in the performance nonetheless.

Nahash was eating a loaf of bread that looked as if it had been baked in an ancient or foreign style, spread with cheese and butter, taking bites of a plump fig as she went. These were earthly spirits – they reveled in the simplest of sensations, desiring nothing more than to explore the limits of their senses. Encouraged, Ryan followed suit, pulling away a strip of roasted chicken with his fingers and taking a bite of the succulent meat. It was cooked and seasoned to perfection, the white meat moist and warm, the skin peeling away with a satisfying crunch. It was like a taste of heaven, and he resolved to try a little of everything. Nahash draped an arm around his neck, gulping down a goblet of pink liquid.

“Drink,” she commanded, thrusting the cup into his hands enthusiastically. He took it and raised it to his lips, a sweet nectar filling his mouth, his cheeks beginning to burn as its flavor brought back a flood of sordid memories. It tasted exactly like Nahash had the night they had made love, when she had used her powers to influence his perception, making her loins taste like the juices of a dozen fruits and berries. She leaned in to nibble his ear gently, nuzzling the nape of his neck with her flat nose, fawning over him as she took back the cup and downed the last of the drink.

“What do you desire?” she asked. “Ales? Wines? Perhaps you wish to lay your head upon my lap while I feed you grapes?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Ryan laughed, leaning into her as her warm lips kissed his neck.

“What would revelry be without drunken fumblings?”

She had become so uninhibited. The contrast between now and when she had been bound to Orobas was stark. This was the personality that Ryan had glimpsed in her rare moments of passion. She was a lush, flirting with him as if they had only just met. Ryan had rarely been on the receiving end of such advances, and it made his heart flutter.

“Our last encounter was so heated,” she said as she leaned over his shoulder to pluck a peach from one of the decorative bowls, the wobbling meat of her bosom pressing against his back. She bit into the soft flesh, letting the juice drip from her lips conspicuously, droplets of it landing on her bust. “To be given but a taste of carnal delight after so many centuries was like taking the merest sip of water after millennia of thirst. Not enough to sate me, only enough to remind me of how much I was missing.”

“The merest sip?” Ryan repeated. He turned to face her, lowering his voice in embarrassment as she smiled down at him, taking another wet bite of her peach. “We did it to exhaustion.”

“I have a lot of lost time to make up for,” she replied, licking the fruit juice from her lips with her prehensile tongue. “And now that I am bound to you, I need not fear the scorn of Orobas. I can do as I please.”

She raised the peach above his head and crushed it between her fingers, letting the juice drip on his neck, trickling down his shoulder. After discarding the squashed fruit on the ground, she pulled open his jacket along with the shirt that he wore beneath it, exposing him to the cool night air. She leaned down to run her warm tongue across his skin, lapping up the sticky juice, mouthing gently as she went. Her sinuous organ licked up the fluid that had pooled in his clavicle, the chuckling Seirim biting his shoulder softly as she moved higher, her smooth tongue grazing his throat as he tried his hardest not to loose a gasp that might draw the attention of her sisters.

The other Seirim were already observing them, chewing on their respective choices of food as they watched with covetous eyes that shone like gold in the firelight. They could sense his emotions just as Nahash could – they didn’t need to hear him to know that he was aroused and embarrassed, nor did they need to see him to know that his erection was straining against his jeans.

Nahash noticed that he was glancing at them, his cheeks burning almost as hot as the licking flames, and she turned her head to smirk at them.

“My sisters are seething with jealousy,” she said, her voice low and breathy. “The scent of a mortal man is on the air, yet they cannot have him. They must suppress their nature. Azazel has hidden this clearing from outsiders tonight, and so they cannot lure a mate of their own to sate their lust.” She giggled salaciously, nipping his ear in her teeth as she whispered to him. “I had considered sharing you with them. Would you have enjoyed that? I have endured the same drought that they have, and I sympathize with their plight. They are my siblings, after all. But now that I am bound to you, you are mine alone to enjoy.”

She pulled away and thrust a foaming tankard of ale into his hands, sucking her fingers clean of peach juice.

“Drink, relax,” she insisted. “You are among friends. These are your people now.”

The other Seirim were dancing again, and the tempo of the music was rising, becoming jovial and festive. Nahash was right – what did he have to fear? He was an exorcist now, the guest of honor. It was safe to let his guard down and chill out for a little while. He took a draw from the tankard, Nahash patting his shoulder in encouragement, laughing at his froth-mustache as he wiped it away with his sleeve.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Let’s party like it’s three-thousand BC.”

The festivities continued late into the night, Ryan and his new Seirim friends growing drunker and rowdier as the full moon slowly sailed across the starry sky, the food and alcohol replenishing itself almost the moment that it was consumed. As Ryan grew tipsy, his inhibitions slowly left him. He even dared to attempt a dance with Nahash that ended in laughter all around when he was woefully unable to keep up with her graceful and inhumanly flexible moves.

More than once, a curious Seirim had to be shooed away by Nahash when they got too close to her prize. Her sisters would sneak an arm around him and try to draw him away from the group, or tempt him with some new morsel of food that he had not yet tasted. They were accustomed to seducing mortals, and like teasing a hungry dog with a bone, Ryan’s proximity seemed to ignite their more predatory instincts.

Nahash didn’t seem overly concerned, treating it more as an annoyance than a problem. Although Ryan had no interest in anyone besides her, he had to admit that the female attention was a welcome boost to his confidence, even if it was more a result of their nature than his charms. Ryan had never been much of a partygoer. He always found that the loud music in clubs prohibited conversation, but the atmosphere at the Seirim bonfire was laid back, and their interactions were refreshingly uncomplicated.

Even Azazel joined in on the conversation, so much less intimidating when he was laughing at a joke or recounting a humorous story. Ryan finally had the opportunity to quiz the demons about ancient history and magick, and they probed him for details about the modern era in turn. They were greatly amused when he pulled out his cellphone and attempted to explain the internet to them using the immaterium as a metaphor, a place where thoughts and ideas could be instantly transmitted between people.

He learned of life in the ancient world, from Sumeria and the fertile Indus valley, to the arid plains and mountains of what were now Syria and Israel. The Seirim had been all over the planet, called to wherever belief in them was strongest, feeding on that energy to sustain their corporeal forms. They had journeyed to the lush forests of central Europe and to the shores of the Mediterranean, where the primitive Pagan tribes had worshiped them as spirits of the wilds, giving them the name of Satyr. They seemed to have gotten on particularly well with the ancient Greeks, talking fondly of wild feasts and orgies. The Hellenic attitude towards sex and revelry had been very compatible with the needs of the Seirim.

Ryan had attempted to ask Azazel more about the fall and the deluge, but the Watcher was evasive, and so he had dropped the subject fairly quickly. He still wasn’t sure what the creature was, an evil devil who had tempted humanity into sin or merely a romantic whose punishment had far exceeded the severity of his crimes. Ryan could sympathize with the latter, as he now found himself bound to a spirit whom he loved dearly, apparently at odds with the laws of that same deity.

Azazel was not burning in a lake of fire as the religious texts that Ryan had studied had claimed, however. He was here, throwing parties with his offspring and sharing stories around a bonfire as they clustered about his feet to listen.

Ryan had been an agnostic for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in a deity, merely that his life had been too hectic to afford him much time for contemplation. His entire life from the moment he had hit puberty had been consumed by study and work, leaving little room for much else, including spiritual pursuits. Now, the existence of such a God was confirmed, and it made sense from a logical standpoint. These demons and spirits drew their power from worship and faith, and as the object of worship of several major religions, this Abrahamic God must be awash with power. Ryan had seen far lesser entities perform feats of prescience and read the hearts of men, amongst other things, so it was not unreasonable to assume that such a being might be near omnipotent.

Did this entity judge, and if it did, did it judge based on actions or intent? Was it the only one of its kind? Did it care about the lives of mortals at all? Was it even remotely similar to what was described in the religious lore that surrounded it? Perhaps, as Nahash had advised, it was better not to think about such things. He should simply live his life and let the cards fall where they may. Death was inevitable, and his questions would all be answered eventually, one way or another.

And so, Ryan lost himself in the revelry for a while, dancing and feasting with ancient spirits and fallen angels until even the roaring bonfire seemed to ebb and wilt as the night dragged on. Though the food replenished itself as if by magick and the wine flowed as if sourced from some bottomless ocean, even the Seirim slowed their gorging and drinking as they grew tired. Most were hopelessly drunk, but they were all happy and satisfied, splitting off into groups of three or four and collapsing onto furry pelts that were spaced around the fire at irregular intervals. Ryan was fairly certain that those had not been there before, but he couldn’t be sure. It was as if his memories of the things that Azazel conjured had somehow been tampered with, creating an odd feeling of déja-vu.