Sacrilege
"Last day." Drizzt breathed in relief as he donned his ceremonial robes. If the first six months of this final year, learning the subtleties of magic in Sorcere, had been the most enjoyable, these last six in the school of Lolth had been the least. Every day, Drizzt and his classmates had been subjected to endless eulogies to the Spider Queen, tales and prophecies of her power and of the rewards she bestowed upon loyal servants.
"Slaves" would have been a better word, Drizzt had come to realize, for nowhere in all this grand school to the drow deity had he heard anything synonymous with, or even hinting at, the word love. His people worshiped Lolth, the females of Menzoberranzan gave over their entire existence in her servitude. Their giving was wholly wrought of selfishness, though a cleric of the Spider Queen aspired to the position of high priestess solely for the personal power that accompanied the title.
It all seemed so very wrong in Drizzt’s heart.
Drizzt had drifted through the six months of Arach-Tinilith with his customary stoicism, keeping his eyes low and his mouth shut. Now, finally, he had come to the last day, the Ceremony of Graduation, an event most holy to the drow, and wherein, Vierna had promised him, he would come to understand the true glory of Lolth.
With tentative steps, Drizzt moved out from the shelter of his tiny, unadorned room. He worried that this ceremony had become his personal trial. Up to now, very little about the society around Drizzt had made any sense to him, and he wondered, despite his sister’s assurances, whether the events of this day would allow him to see the world as his kin saw it. Drizzt’s fears had taken a spiral twist, one rolling out from the other to surround him in a predicament he could not escape.
Perhaps, he worried, he truly feared that the day’s events would fulfill Vierna’s promise.
Drizzt shielded his eyes as he entered the circular ceremonial hall of Arach-Tinilith. A fire burned in the center of the room, in an eight-legged brazier that resembled, as everything in this place seemed to resemble, a spider. The headmistress of all the Academy, the matron mistress, and the other twelve high priestesses serving as instructors of Arach-Tinilith, including Drizzt’s sister, sat cross-legged in a circle around the brazier. Drizzt and his classmates from the school of fighters stood along the wall behind them.
"Ma ku!" the matron mistress commanded, and all was silent save the crackle of the brazier’s flames. The door to the room opened again, and a young cleric entered. She was to be the first graduate of Arach-Tinilith this year, Drizzt had been told, the finest student in the school of Lolth. Thus, she had been awarded the highest honors in this ceremony. She shrugged off her robes and walked naked through the ring of sitting priestesses to stand before the flames, her back to the matron mistress.
Drizzt bit his lip, embarrassed and a little excited. He had never seen a female in such a light before, and he suspected that the sweat on his brow was from more than the brazier’s heat. A quick glance around the room told him that his classmates entertained similar ideas.
"Raego si’n’ee calamay." the matron mistress whispered, and red smoke poured from the brazier, coloring the room in a hazy glow. It carried an aroma with it, rich and sickly sweet. As Drizzt breathed the scented air, he felt himself grow lighter and wondered if he soon would be floating off the floor!
The flames in the brazier suddenly roared higher, causing Drizzt to squint against the brightness and turn away. The clerics began a ritual chant, though the words were unfamiliar to Drizzt. He hardly paid them any heed, though, for he was too intent on holding his own thoughts in the overpowering swoon of the inebriating haze.
"Glabrezu." the matron mistress moaned, and Drizzt recognized the tone as a summons, the name of a denizen of the lower planes. He looked back to the events at hand and saw the matron mistress holding a singletongued snake whip.
"Where did she get that?" Drizzt mumbled, then he realized that he had spoken aloud and hoped he hadn’t disturbed the ceremony. He was comforted when he glanced around, for many of his classmates were mumbling to themselves, and some seemed hardly able to hold their balance.
"Call to it." the matron mistress instructed the naked student.
Tentatively, the young cleric spread her arms out wide and whispered, "Glabrezu."
The flames danced about the rim of the brazier. The smoke wafted into Drizzt’s face, compelling him to inhale it. His legs tingled on the edge of numbness, yet they somehow felt more sensitive, more alive, than they ever had before.
"Glabrezu." he heard the student say again louder, and Drizzt heard, too, the roar of the flames. Brightness assaulted him, but somehow he didn’t seem to care. His gaze roamed about the room, unable to find a focus, unable to place the strange, dancing sights in accord with the ritual’s sounds.
He heard the high priestesses gasping and coaxing the student on, knowing the conjuring to be at hand. He heard the snap of the snake whip―another incentive?―and cries of "Glabrezu!" from the student. So primal, so powerful, were these screams that they cut through Drizzt and the other males in the room with an intensity they never would have believed possible.
The flames heard the call. They roared higher and higher and began to take shape. One sight caught the vision of all in the room now, caught it and held it fully. A giant head, a goat-horned dog, appeared within the flames, apparently studying this alluring young drow student who had dared to utter its name.
Somewhere beyond the other planar form, the snake whip cracked again, and the female student repeated her call, her cry beckoning, praying.
The giant denizen of the lower planes stepped through the flames. The sheer unholy power of the creature stunned Drizzt. Glabrezu towered nine feet and seemed much more, with muscled arms ending in giant pincers instead of hands and a second set of smaller arms, normal arms, protruding from the front of its chest.
Drizzt’s instincts told him to attack the monster and rescue the female student, but when he looked around for support, he found the matron mistress and the other teachers of the school back in their ritualistic chanting, this time with an excited edge permeating their every word.
Through all the haze and the daze, the tantalizing, dizzying aroma of the smoky red incense continued its assault on reality. Drizzt trembled, teetered on a narrow ledge of control, his gathering rage fighting the scented smoke’s confusing allure. Instinctively, his hands went to the hilts of the scimitars on his belt.
Then a hand brushed against his leg.
He looked down to see a mistress, reclined and asking him to join her―a scene that had suddenly become general around the chamber.
The smoke continued its assault on him.
The mistress beckoned to him, her fingernails lightly scraping the skin of his leg.
Drizzt ran his fingers through his thick hair, trying to find some focal point in the dizziness. He did not like this loss of control, this mental numbness that stole the fine edge of his reflexes and alertness.
He liked even less the scene unfolding before him. The sheer wrongness of it assaulted his soul. He pulled away from the mistress’s hopeful grasp and stumbled across the room, tripping over numerous entwined forms too engaged to take note of him. He made the exit as quickly as his wobbly legs could carry him, and he rushed out of the room, pointedly closing the door behind him.
Only the screams of the female student followed him. No stone or mental barricade could block them out.
Drizzt leaned heavily against the cool stone wall, grasping at his stomach. He hadn’t even paused to consider the implications of his actions, he knew only that he had to get out of that foul room.
Vierna then was beside him, her robe opened casually in the front. Drizzt, his head clearing, began to wonder about the price of his actions. The look on his sister’s face, he noted with still more confusion, was not one of scorn.