Andromeda's Womb

By Rose Nichols

The Sacrifice

The Oracle’s eyes were a cloudy white, seeing not here and now, but places unknown to normal human understanding. They reflected the flickering flames of the candles Cepheus and Cassiopeia held as they stood in reverence of the being before them.

“The Leviathan is a punishment from Poseidon,” it pronounced, inhaling the bitter smoke that rose from braziers on either side. “The Deep One is offended by the beauty of the princess, for she outshines his sea nymphs.”

Cepheus’s haggard face twisted into a look of frustration. “Great Oracle, I care not why the monster is laying waste to my kingdom, I only seek the knowledge to destroy it! The lives of my finest soldiers have proved that not even the sharpest iron will pierce its slippery hide.”

“You cannot destroy it.” The Oracle replied, ignoring the King’s disrespect. “Poseidon must be appeased. He requires a sacrifice of blood.”

Queen Cassiopeia spoke up. “Our people have already paid in blood and tears from the monster’s attacks. How much more is needed?“

“Not how much, but whose.” It replied. “The blood of the offender must be paid.”

Confusion was painted on the queen’s face, which quickly changed to shock as the Oracle’s meaning dawned on her. “You mean Andromeda! She has committed no crime!”

“She possesses the beauty that so affronted the god,” said the Oracle with a dark serenity. “You, Queen, boasted of it until even the ocean seethed with envy. Now the reckoning is upon you.”

Tears filled Cassiopeia’s eyes. “Then it is my offense! I should be sacrificed! I cannot kill my own child!”

King Cepheus’ face was a mask of grim pain. “Great Oracle, you must help us. Is there no other way to appease The Deep One?”

The Oracle’s expression did not betray any hint of sympathy. Many men before had asked for knowledge, and many men before were unable to bear the weight of what was given to them.

“There is not.”

The solemn ambiance of the temple was broken by a wretched sob. A candle dropped to the floor of the temple and was extinguished as Cassiopeia held her head in her hands. Then, with a gasping, strangled noise, she turned and staggered out of the alcove, her footsteps echoing wildly against the marble columns. The heavy doors slammed behind the queen, leaving her husband alone with the Oracle, surrounded by bitter smoke.

For a long while, neither spoke. Hot wax dripped from the candle onto Cepheus’ fingers, but he barely registered the pain. He watched the shadows from the flame cast dancing shadows across the Oracle’s face, and contemplated the horrible task before him. He knew it was selfish to put the life of his daughter above the rest of his kingdom, but what father could live with himself after doing such a thing to his own child? He hated himself for his own cowardice. He hated the gods for putting him into this situation. Most of all, he hated what he must do. Looking up, Cepheus stared into the Oracle’s cloudy and unblinking eyes.

“Tell me how it should be done.”

Andromeda had always loved the sun, the way its bright beams bounced across her room from the open balcony, how it seemed to find her wherever she walked, even in the labyrinthine hallways of the palace. In childhood, she invented games to chase its patterns as they crawled across the marble floors, leaping from light to light as if each patch were an island in the sea. But it was the mornings she loved most, when the sun poured through the balcony doors and pooled on her shoulders, soaking her in it’s loving embrace. It’s warmth and tranquility brought a peace to the beginning of her day, especially on a busy one such as this.

She faced the polished oval mirror where she sat, and looked at Cassiopeia through its reflection with concern. Her mother’s hands lingered in Andromeda’s hair, braiding and re-braiding with absent repetition. The queen had dismissed the handmaidens, telling Andromeda that she wanted to help with her daughter’s hair and makeup herself.

“Am I to be wed, then?” Andromeda finally asked, her voice small and bright. She thought it was the reasonable conclusion for all this fuss, with her mother draping her in the ceremonial shift, her father’s stern conferences in the throne room, and the doubled guards along the palace walls.

Cassiopeia’s hands froze, a faint quiver passing through her arms, and a few fine hairs slipped loose from the braid to trail along the nape of Andromeda’s neck. “No, my heart. I would tell you if it were so.” Her voice was tight, and Andromeda, studying her mother’s face, was startled by how defeated and haggard it looked in the morning light.

“Then why am I getting dressed up, Mama? Another funeral to attend? Did the monster attack again?”

The questions only caused her mother’s brow to furrow. “No, Andromeda. There will be a ceremony by the sea that you and your father will attend at noon.”

Andromeda was confused. “Won’t you be coming?” She asked hopefully. Her mother always attended ceremonies, however unimportant.

Cassiopeia covered her mouth with the back of her hand and shook her head. Her entire body seemed to fold in on itself, as if the knowledge she bore was so heavy that it pressed out the air from her lungs. A single tear broke free from its prison and ran down her cheek. “Not this time, my darling.” Her voice cracked and broke, a whisper barely audible over the wind from the balcony.

Andromeda could tell that something was bothering her mother. She reached for her hand to comfort her, but the queen pulled away, smoothing some wrinkles from her daughter’s dress. “There we are,” she sniffed, trying to pull herself together. “You look so beau—” Her face went white. “—lovely. You look lovely.”

“Mama, what is the matter? You seem sad.” Andromeda was becoming more worried by the minute; something strange was going on.

Cassiopeia cursed herself in silence, berating her fool tongue and the vanity that had brought ruin upon their house. She blotted a tear with her thumb, shifting the gleaming circlet on Andromeda’s brow with extra care, lingering as long as she could before letting her hand drift to her lap.

“There are matters of the kingdom you will soon come to understand,” Cassiopeia said, not meeting her daughter’s inquiring gaze. “I know you are clever enough, and kind enough, to see what must be done and why.” Each word stuck in her throat. “I am so, so sorry.”

Before Andromeda could question her mother’s strange apology, the door to her room opened and Andromeda’s bodyguards walked in. The captain looked at the queen with a flat grimace.

“It’s time to go.”

Cassiopeia suddenly hugged her daughter fiercely. The sudden affection surprised Andromeda, who patted her mother on the back, doing her best to comfort her. “It’s alright, Mama. I’ll return right after the ceremony, and then we can spend more time together.”

Cassiopeia tried to smile through her tears. “I look forward to it, my love.”

The guards escorted Andromeda through the palace in silence, the only sound emitted by sandals on marble. The procession wound through the city, and Andromeda was surprised to see that the streets were empty and quiet as well.

“Lukos, where is everyone?” She asked the captain.

Lukos had been guarding Andromeda since she could walk, and he swallowed the lump in his throat as he answered, “The whole city is gathered at the cliffs for the ceremony, my lady.”

“Is it not dangerous, having a ceremony so close to the shore?” Andromeda continued, never one to run out of questions. “The monster always comes from that direction when it attacks.”

“We have reason to believe that the monster will not attack today,” he explained. ”If it does, the city guards are stationed by the cliffs as well.”

Andromeda accepted the explanation and didn’t press him further, and Lukos thanked the gods that she seemed satisfied by his vague answers. The continued through the main gates of the city, and out onto the windswept grasslands. After a long walk, they eventually arrived at the cliffs by the sea.

As they crested a small hill, Andromeda’s breath caught as the crowd came into view. She had never seen so many people in one place without music or laughter; the air was thick with an unfamiliar hush, and even the birds seemed to have stopped their song. The only movement was the endless shudder of salt spray blown up from the rocks below.

At the center of this wordless congregation loomed a rectangular dais, newly hewn and stacked from pale boulders. It was too large for mourning, too rough for a wedding. Two wooden posts anchored the corners of the platform, each taller than a man and thicker than a ship’s mast.

At the base of the platform, King Cepheus stood, his crown crooked on his graying hair. He looked older than ever, as though he had aged a decade in only the past few days. He swept his eyes over the crowd and met Andromeda’s eyes, but quickly turned away before she could wave to him. The guards settled Andromeda at the edge of the crowd, near the king.

Cepheus raised his hand, and the throng went quiet.

“People of Aethiopia,” he intoned, his voice trembling on the wind, “You have suffered, and so has your king. The Leviathan’s fury is a punishment that affects us all. I have sought the wisdom of the Oracle, and received instruction on what must be done. Only with a human sacrifice may our city be spared, and Poseidon’s anger quenched. Thus the Oracle has spoken.”

A murmur of dread passed through the crowd. Andromeda was shocked. She turned to Lukos in anger, “My father cannot do such a thing! We are not savages who kill their own people!” The captain looked ahead with a gaunt stare and said nothing as Cepheus continued with his speech.

“I will not force any of my subjects to give up their lives for the sake of our kingdom, however. And so it pains me greatly to offer the life of my only child for this purpose. May Poseidon have mercy on us.”

Andromeda blinked. Her father’s only child was… herself. Was this some kind of joke? Confused, she looked up a Lukos again, hoping an explanation that would make sense of this madness. He turned to her, squeezed her arm tightly, and answered her unspoken question. “I’m sorry, my lady. We must all make sacrifices for the sake of the kingdom.”

She couldn’t believe what Lukos was saying. Outraged and offended, Andromeda tried to yank her arm away, but the captain held her tight.

“Lukos, let me go!” Then she understood that he was deadly serious. “I order you to unhand me, captain!”

Lukos ignored her, and instead gave a sign with his free hand to the other guards, who descended on her without hesitation. As her people watched in silence, Andromeda kicked and screamed, bare heels scraping the packed earth, but it was no use. Her guards had dealt with much more difficult tasks than carrying the princess’ slender form.

They hoisted her bodily up the steps of the dais, her ceremonial shift flapping around her knees, her hair coming undone in blonde ropes. A murmur went through the crowd, a sound of horror, fascination, and sick relief that it was not their own daughter on the altar.

Lukos and two of his men forced Andromeda upright, pinning her wrists against the rough posts at the edge of the platform. She fought, wriggling and twisting with a ferocity the captain didn’t expect, but the guards worked with brutal efficiency, lashing her wrists above her head, then binding her ankles to the base. She was left spread eagle, stretched and trembling in the salty wind, arms and legs forming a pale X between the pillars.

Andromeda pleaded, “Father, please! I am your daughter! You cannot do this to me!” Her voice was ragged with disbelief, but Cepheus would not look at her. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, jaw clenched so tightly that it seemed like his teeth would shatter. When the guards had finished binding his daughter to the posts, he lifted a hand and made a gesture to the priests by the altar.

They came forward solemnly, their faces painted with the blue colors of Poseidon. Each step was as measured as a heartbeat, as if they could keep the world from unraveling so long as they moved with perfect ritual. Several priests held burning incense, and one brought an earthen jar of anointing oil.

The priests then untied the sash at Andromeda’s waist, slipping her thin dress off her shoulders so it drooped to her elbows, then yanked it hard, baring her naked body completely to the wind, the sky, the crowd. She gasped as the sun’s warmth vanished and the cold air raised goosebumps across her skin.

She could not remember the last time she’d been naked outdoors, not since she was a child and the world had not yet taught her shame. She was no child anymore, and the eyes of the city raked her body in a silent tide.

Lukos had witnessed Andromeda’s growth from a wailing infant into the living embodiment of the city’s spirit. He had seen her dance joyfully at solstice festivals and gallop bareback across the dunes, laughter spilling from her lips like sunlight. But nothing could have prepared him for the haunting vision before him now. Her skin glimmered under the harsh light, bare and stretched tight with a mixture of terror and the chill of the sea breeze. Her small, high breasts stood proudly, pink nipples taut against the cold air. The gentle curve of her belly flowed like a sculptor's idealization of fertility and grace, accentuated by the dimples of Venus that adorned her lower back, drawing the eye like a secret promise. Every inch of her was a work of beauty, and every gaze in the crowd feasted upon her with a mix of hunger and reverence, even as they whispered prayers to the gods for forgiveness.

The priests, moved around her like a solemn dance, their hands methodical and impersonal. They poured the oil into their palms, and with steady, practiced strokes began to anoint Andromeda from neck to heel. The substance was cool at first, shocking against her skin, but quickly grew warm as their hands smoothed it over her arms, her breasts, her stomach, the inside of her thighs.

Andromeda whimpered at the sensation, her eyes darting from the impassive faces of the priests, to the mass of onlookers below, to the averted eyes of her father. Shame and disbelief writhed within her; she had been paraded through the city as a child of pride, but now she was nothing but a trembling offering, her dignity stripped along with her dress.

Every touch was magnified by the cold wind and her own fear. The oil was sticky, heavy, seeping into every pore and crevice. Fingers slid over her hips, the curve of her backside, then dipped along the shadowed cleft between the cheeks of her ass, and lower, to the soft, hidden folds beneath her belly. The abrupt press of oil-slicked fingertips against the tight, forbidden place between her legs made Andromeda jerk in her bonds, a hoarse breath escaping her. The priests did not pause; their routine was as inevitable as the tide. They parted the lips of her virgin sex, working the thick oil between them with an unhurried thoroughness.

She fought to keep her knees from buckling under the touch, refusing the humiliation of collapse, but the bindings and the leering silence below ensured her defeat. Tears welled in her eyes, hot and blurring the world, and for a moment she could see only the wavering, quivering outline of the horizon. She felt numb to the world, her mind adrift on a tide of horror and desperate, childlike hope that this was all some terrible mistake and her father would call off the ritual, or that she would suddenly wake in her own bed and laugh about it with her mother at breakfast.

But it was not to be. The priests stepped back, their ritual complete. The crowd shifted uneasily, not knowing what would happen next. Then a horn sounded a low, mournful note, and the city’s priests retreated in unison, leaving Andromeda alone atop the pale altar. She burned with utter exposure, unable to hide from the thousand eyes fixed upon her. A second blow of the horn followed, and a flurry of motion swept through the crowd; mothers clutching children, men clutching wives. All faces were pinched and drawn, as if awaiting not a deliverance but a doom.

From the churning blue beneath the cliffs, the water began to roil with bubbles. Then an immense dark shape began to grow below the surface of the water. The Leviathan was here.

Andromeda started screaming in terror.

“Father! Please, do something! Help me! Save me, Papa!” She craned her neck back towards the crowd, looking for Cepheus. But the king’s head was bowed, his whole body shaking as though the weight of the crown had become unbearable.

“Mama!” she screamed, the word torn from her throat by a primal fear. “Mama, please, I don’t want to die!” But Cassiopeia was nowhere near; she had not come to watch her daughter’s demise.

Suddenly, the first tentacle breached the foaming water, and the screams caught in Andromeda’s throat. She was petrified, in the way a small rabbit remains very still in the presence of a wolf. She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. The tentacle was as thick as a tree trunk, and the color of obsidian with a tinge of seaweed green. As it rose, seawater sloughed off it’s surface, leaving behind a layer of dripping slime. More tentacles followed. First two, then three, and soon a forest of writhing, knotted limbs had breached the surface, circling the cliffs like a living siege weapon.

Andromeda barely heard the screams of the crowd as they scattered in panic at the sight of the monster. The priests prayed to Poseidon to spare them, and the soldiers tried to stand their ground in case it attacked. But the tentacles had only one target.

The nearest one slapped wetly onto the platform. It pulsed and fanned out, feeling across the stone until it collided with Andromeda’s bare heel. She shrieked. The limb recoiled, then snaked back with greater urgency, wrapping itself around her calf and squeezing until the pale flesh bulged. The tentacle’s grip was unyielding; with incremental tightening, it tested the tensile limits of Andromeda’s trembling leg. Every muscle in her thigh twitched. Her body’s animal fear set her heart pounding and her lungs pumping air so desperately that she began to hyperventilate.

A second tentacle, even thicker than the first, coiled around Andromeda’s bare midriff in a vice of slick muscle coated in mucus. She barely noticed the strange tingling that the slime left where it touched her. More tentacles shot out and encircled her, and then suddenly they all moved in unison to pull her towards the water. The sound of splintering wood filled the air as the tentacles ripped her away from the wooden posts on the altar.

For a moment, Andromeda was lifted high in the air, screaming in terror, and then the remainder of the onlookers watched in horror as she was abruptly pulled down, below the crashing waves, into the black depths of Poseidon’s kingdom.