by Katy Winter
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saracen's eyes rolled. He struggled mutely, then went limp. As soon as he did the hand was removed and he found himself swung round to face a stranger. In a way Saracen couldn't fathom this man was most like Quon, though his deeply lined face was quite different. He was clearly very, very old. He was built in Sapphire's mould, but the similarity to Quon was striking. Saracen thought it was the expression that was so like.
The stranger was stooped, gnarled like the bole of an ancient tree and his wiry body was oddly dressed. Flowing robes were belted about the waist with an ornate and broad girdle that drew Saracen's startled gaze. The sleeveless cloak he wore carelessly draped was covered with woven and embroidered sigils incomprehensible to Saracen. He wore sandals and carried a curious staff. Saracen's gaze transferred from the girdle to the staff.
“Quon has a staff like yours. So has Marin.”
Such an inconsequential comment at such a time made the old man start laughing.
“You're a Groundling true enough,” he observed. “What's your name, little man?”
“Saracen.” Saracen lifted his head and his chin jutted pugnaciously. “And who are you?”
“I answer to Wind Dancer, little man.” The stranger turned his head to look down into the valley. “You know what those creatures are, don't you? You're well taught if you do.”
“Yes,” nodded Saracen expressionlessly. “I know them. And yes, we're taught the old ways - as I suspect you know, old one.” He, too, peered down to the valley floor. “They're mimoses. Why couldn't the others see?”
“Knellen, Javen and the boy couldn't see through the illusion, of course,” answered Wind Dancer absently, unaware his familiarity with names made Saracen start and stare hard at him again.
“How do you know their names?” he shot at the old man. “Why theirs and not mine?” He got a smile. “You knew my name!”
“Little man, the boy! Can you sight him at all?”
“No,” answered Saracen with a worried frown, “but then again, Wind Dancer, Grohols don't have good eyesight above ground.”
“True,” acknowledged Wind Dancer with another smile. “Well, my brave fellow, it looks as if it's you and me to the rescue, doesn't it?”
Saracen glanced sceptically at him, then burst out,
“With respect, Wind Dancer, you're very old.”
“Indeed I am,” agreed Wind Dancer, with another burst of hastily repressed laughter, “but I can do something to help.” He stared intently to the valley. “Now where do you think Quon and Sapphire are?”
“Sapphire?” questioned Saracen suspiciously. He saw the mirth in searching and enormously intelligent clear eyes. He had to grin in response. “You mean Marin, don't you?”
“Him, yes. Where could they be? I can't see them either, but if they aren't active they've fallen for a very old ruse, more fool them.” He peered again, a hand up to shade his eyes. He groaned. “Yes, I can see them. They're with a mimose a bit beyond Knellen and Javen. Why did those two have to be so precipitate?” he muttered, then added, “And there's the boy too. Oh the demons!”
“Is he hurt?” demanded Saracen anxiously.
“Not yet,” came the ambiguous reply.
“Is what they say of mimoses true?” asked Saracen nervously.
“Oh yes, no doubt of that. They're a thoroughly wild, debauched lot so the education they'll give that boy of yours will be quite unforgettable, believe me. Make no mistake that his maturity will be brought forward a syn or two, if it hasn't already.” Wind Dancer was pensive, his eyes still on Jepaul. “And the reason they attracted you all in the first place was to get that boy. Above all, they value youth and innocence in a boy or girl. It adds piquancy to the - er - occasion.”
“How did they disguise themselves?”
“Mimoses can create and dispel images, little man. That's why they're so dangerous. And they can manipulate thought, too, from quite some distance. I suspect they spied you out weeks ago and drew you north. Quon must have known.”
“No,” frowned Saracen. “He just said we had to turn northeast so we can cross the continent without too deeply penetrating the forests.”
“Preoccupied,” said Wind Dancer fatalistically. He shaded his eyes again. “The devils, little man, there are five mimose males and two or three females.”
“Only a few of them,” remarked Saracen cheerfully. “Not many more in total than us. That won't endanger Jepaul as much as I thought.”
Wind Dancer regarded him with a sapient eye.
“Little man, if Knellen and Javen are treated in the way I suspect, they'll be little use to us. If the boy is in the same condition he'll provide much entertainment and pleasure for the few mimoses, be assured of that, but will likewise be of little use to us.” He added meditatively, “One untouched boy will be considered wondrous sport.”
Saracen eyed the old man uneasily.
“Would they hurt him?'
Wind Dancer snapped, “Think, Saracen, think! One boy and several mimoses? Have you no imagination at all? “He watched Saracen gulp. “They drink and take a drug to create the right setting for mimose frenzy, and once it all begins it doesn't end until all mimoses are sated or the object of their desires is sometimes torn to shreds through passion. Either way, your boy is in danger.”
“They'd kill him?” gasped Saracen.
“In the state mimoses get into they wouldn't know they did,” said the old man bluntly. He leaned forward. “I think,” he observed, with a coldness to his voice, “that your two friends are each with a mimose. I thought the boy would be first but maybe they only begin to drink now and the ritual is barely begun. That's good.”
“Quon and Marin then?”
“Doubtful they'll be of any use,” muttered the old man again. “They'll be neutralised in some way. Yes, as I said. They're being most ungently hoisted into trees where they're being tied. Can you see?” Saracen shook his head. “Quon's fighting of course, but Sapphire seems strangely resigned. Now let me think.”
“Jepaul,” whispered Saracen urgently.
“Let me think,” reiterated Wind Dancer. He stared into the distance again. “Knellen and Javen are -,” he paused, then hurried on. “Yes, well.”
“I don't want to know,” uttered Saracen queasily.
“No, you don't.” The old man continued to stare. “Ah yes, as I thought, they're all settling with their casks of jul. Knellen and Javen both have cups at their mouths right now. That gives them some time but maybe, judging by what I'm seeing, not a lot.”
“How long?”
“Until the mimoses are properly drunk. They drink vast amounts very fast. The jul is highly intoxicating and acts rapidly on the brain. They take fal as well. It's a sort of toxic herb that encourages hallucinations and also acts as a frighteningly effective aphrodisiac. Take enough of that and you'd be a stud for weeks.” He paused. “If you have all that speeding around inside you, little man, you're not thinking of anything other than the wishes dictated by your desires. Where, oh where, is that boy now?”
Wind Dancer stared for so long without speaking that Saracen got edgy, then he got a signal to bring him forward. Their progress was stealthy and very, very slow. Closer to the valley, both men had their first proper sight of Jepaul.
He was clasped by strong arms. He rested between the front legs of a resting stallion mimose who crooned over him and displayed playful and intimate affection that made Saracen blink. The stallion's head was bent low over the boy's that was uplifted to his by a huge hairy hand that held the young head still. Another hand made Jepaul respond. A stallion beside them, who also shared in the intimacy, every so often coaxed the boy to drink from a cornucopia that the old man guessed was filled to the brim with jul. To judge by Jepaul's partly glazed expression and state of half-clad dishevelment this wasn't his first horn either.
“I'm surprised the boy is where he is,” said the old man softly to Saracen. “Frenzy hasn't yet begun, although I think, by the look of the t
wo mimoses with Jepaul, it won't be too long. They merely play with him. They seem to be remarkably and unaccountably gentle and forbearing with the boy. Odd.”
“The jewellery,” murmured Saracen, without thinking. “It protects him in strange ways.”
“Of course. Stupid of me.” The old man gave a low laugh. “But it should glow when he's in danger, shouldn't it?”
“Normally, yes, but with Jepaul, no. He reacts as none have done before, as if to protect him the jewellery only glows briefly to warn of danger then fades so none knows he has such protection. It actually becomes invisible.”
“So it doesn't protect him then?”
“Yes, but no one can see what he wears,” explained Saracen patiently. “It's inexplicable really. I can't understand it.”
“Can you see it on him now?”
“No,” whispered Saracen in some agitation. “When we met the slavers the jewellery flared but stayed visible. Now it's not. What's that mimose doing with his mouth?” He added worriedly, “See how Jepaul pushes the horn and hands away?”
“Yes, I see,” said the old man testily.
He watched the mimose, who held Jepaul in such a seemingly careless clasp, gather the boy's hands in one of his and hold them in such a way that Jepaul was quite helpless. The other mimose calmly tilted the horn at the boy's mouth until he swallowed. Jepaul, confused and disoriented with the jul coursing through him, gave a giggle, obligingly opened his mouth again and swallowed.
He finished the liquid from the horn and was immediately plied with another. Saracen decided the boy was so drunk he'd no idea what his fate was to be, and he certainly had no ability to repulse the mimoses' increasingly pointed and intimate overtures, huge hairy hands busy in ways that made Saracen stare disbelievingly. Saracen sensed the mimoses could even devour their victims after sexual satiation, an image that rested uncomfortably with what he saw.
He and Wind Dancer now saw Jepaul given fal. The leaf was first chewed by the mimose who held the boy, then it was transferred to the second mimose who placed it in Jepaul's mouth, far back on his tongue so he had no option but to swallow, something he was sensuously encouraged to do. This was done five times. And the filled horn was repeatedly raised to the boy's lips. He drank steadily. The boy was increasingly and helplessly responsive with each horn of jul or fal leaf he swallowed.
The fal also had him obediently turn up his head, when clearly bidden, to the shaggy one bent to his. The mimose’s mouth was wide open as he languidly and sensually stretched Jepaul so the boy sprawled fully across him, his head now touching the boy's, the other stallion's likewise. When Jepaul smiled hazily up at the mimoses, both stallions, their heads briefly lifting, uttered guttural noises of encouragement. The boy was lifted and eased into another position so he could be more easily responsive to both. Jepaul was limp. Saracen glanced at Wind Dancer who suddenly frowned.
The twosome crept closer. They could see Quon thrashing in the trees. Sapphire was quiet and still. The scene with Jepaul was surreal. He was now utterly relaxed. The mimoses no longer needed to restrain him as he lay with his arms beside him and his head lolled to one side, his body every so often arching to hands he couldn't push away. His wide opened eyes showed little sense. The pupils were dark, his mouth was slack and some of the jul he still drank dribbled from his lips.
His companions had an air of excited anticipation about them, their heads moving in delight at the sight of Jepaul who lay between huge thighs, his head rested against the lead mimose’s chest while the other mimose opened the slack mouth to tip more jul down his unresisting throat. More fal followed. The fal and jul ensured compliance. When Jepaul, unaware, could do nothing other than respond in whatever way was demanded, the lead stallion began to sway. He made noises in his throat and pulled Jepaul closer, grasping the boy hard as he downed more jul and chewed on fal. The other stallion moved Jepaul into a new position that enabled the lead stallion to curl his legs about the boy to firmly secure him. Even had he wanted to, Jepaul couldn't have moved.
Javen and Knellen were now brought closer by the females who'd enjoyed some sport at their expense. They were handed to two male mimoses who rushed the two men and took them eagerly with rough hands, the two men quite incapable of self-defence and looking both helpless, battered and unwillingly obliging whichever mimose played happily with them. The females began to croon over Jepaul who now moaned and called out, his words slurred. This aroused the mimoses even more.
Both Javen and Knellen had been force-fed jul and some fal because their faces were stained with the juices, their faces were scratched and their lips were torn. They looked a mess. Their clothes were in ribbons. Neither could walk upright. They staggered. When they tried to crawl away they were hauled back and forcibly fed more jul, neither man able to stop being coerced to swallow more fal. Saracen couldn't watch as he saw two other mimoses converge on them at the same instant. He turned resolutely away.
He found himself watching Jepaul again. Jepaul was now passed from male mimose to male mimose, each forcing him to swallow yet more fal before he rested back with the stallion who appeared to be the dominant one of the group. Again the boy was stretched between his thighs so he could wind his legs round Jepaul's again. The boy appeared unconscious of what went on either to him or around him, something Wind Dancer was grateful for.
He thought, grimly, that the eroticism and sensuality he witnessed was something neither men nor boy would forget provided they were rescued very soon. It was now clear that the jul and fal were felt by the mimoses because they began to utter more frequent guttural cries and high-pitched whistles and moans. Arousal was increasingly obvious. Full arousal wasn't far away.
“We must act soon,” whispered Wind Dancer. “We can't help Knellen and Javen until Quon and Sapphire are free, but the boy is very close to his time.”
He glared against the sun, saw movement in the trees, then more movement, before he saw Quon stretch himself. The old man then lay back on his branch unmoving. Sapphire moved next then was still.
“Soon, little man, soon.”
“Demons!” gasped Saracen. “Knellen and Javen? Can you see what - ?”
“Don't look,” advised the old man wisely. “Concentrate on Jepaul. Listen to me.”
Saracen listened, his eyes on Jepaul. The boy was the sole object of the mimose's attention now. Jepaul was possessively held in an embrace that threatened to suffocate him, the shaggy head over a boy who helplessly leaned back his head and opened his mouth to the insistent and increasingly rough attentions. The gentleness was now giving way to very real and pointedly aggressive and rough physical handling. Again, Saracen had to look away.
Wind Dancer held Saracen back, just as Sapphire held back Quon. It was when the mimoses were so involved with their prey that the four simultaneously attacked. They caught the mimoses completely unaware. They surged forward. Wind Dancer was busy with his staff which he used to devastating effect, while Saracen, small and unobtrusive among such huge creatures, was able to frantically hop about and stab and slash with his knife.
He got to the mimose with Jepaul. The mimose, head brought about by the noise behind him, roared angrily, but still clung to the boy. Saracen tried to make him fall back but to no avail. The mimose still lay sprawled. Saracen attacked again. This time the mimose, in one quick gesture, uncurled his legs, swung the boy in his arms, got clumsily to his feet because he, too, was disoriented, and kicked out with powerful hind legs. He'd no intention of being interrupted again.
Saracen had to be very wary. His advantage lay in the mimose having to turn his bulk this way and that, his shaggy head twisting as he tried to sight where the small man was. Saracen didn't help him. He darted from side to side and stabbed whenever he could. The mimose became maddened. He was profoundly intoxicated, the aphrodisiac had him in its grip and he knew not only that he held the object of his desire in his hands, but that he hadn't finished with it. He wouldn't relinquish it. He kicked out again then swung roun
d and broke into a canter, Jepaul clasped to his chest. Saracen took a flying dive, caught the mimose's flying tail and clung. The little man was almost jolted to death as the mimose careered through the trees.
Wind Dancer was now reinforced by the Doms who clambered down from their perches in the tree, Sapphire with agility and Quon in a more dignified fashion. Their immediate priority was to distract the mimoses whom they well knew they'd never defeat, so Knellen and Javen could be got away once they were unbound.
Both men were prostrate and shocked. From fuddled depths they recognised that it was Quon who stood over them and urged them to make some effort to help themselves. Obligingly, their heads swimming, they managed to crawl, not far, but far enough not to be trampled under flailing hooves. Quon thrust a leaf at each man's mouth.
“Chew on it,” he ordered sharply. “It should help to cope with some of the worst side effects of the jul and fal and also deaden the pain.”
The taste was pungent and unpleasant, but it cleared the men's heads and steadied trembling limbs so they could stagger to their feet and look around. They became aware of their dishevelled state and dragged at clothes to make themselves less embarrassed.
“Demons!” uttered Knellen thickly, hands to his head.
They saw that Quon regarded them in gentle mockery.
“Horses, eh? Let that be a lesson to you both not to be so hasty,” he observed, a smile creeping into his eyes at the chagrin he saw on the two faces. “Get staves from that stack of wood behind you and help repel the mimoses. Sapphire and Wind Dancer need assistance.”
“Who?” asked Javen, rather befuddled.
He firmly tucked in his flapping shirt, buckled his belt and gritted his teeth, well aware this latest experience would stay with him for a very long time. The effect of fal on both men was still painfully apparent.
“Friends in need,” answered Quon curtly. “Now go, but remember to keep backing off. You can never actively defeat a mimose especially a violently aroused one, so just help keep them busy and see if you can encourage them to turn on each other. I have to find Jepaul.”
Quon was gone. Knellen and Javen took deep breaths, avoided each other's looks and joined the fray. They had a score to settle. They found Sapphire deliberately taunting and harassing the mimoses, with Wind Dancer hopping about with remarkable agility for his age. His robes swirled. The staff moved with precision and dexterity. He appeared quite unconcerned by what went on around him. Indeed, he had a faint smile.
Saracen finally fell from the mimose and landed heavily on the ground, just out of range of those menacing hooves. He was winded. He swore as he tried to get to his feet and felt slightly dizzy from all the bouncing. Fortunately the mimose felt it was safe enough to slow. Then he stopped, crooning deeply at Jepaul whom he placed between his legs as he went down to the ground. Saracen saw how pliant the boy now was, Jepaul afloat with fal and jul and quite untroubled by huge hands. The Grohol could see the mimose was now fully aroused and gasped at the sight. He knew time for Jepaul ran out. The mimose swung the boy purposefully and accurately against him, his legs curled round Jepaul’s.
Saracen flung himself at the mimose and clambered onto his massive shoulders. The mimose, distracted and annoyed, tried to brush him off. Saracen clung stubbornly. He found the mimose's ear and, without thought, began biting it, very hard. The result wasn't what Saracen either expected or wanted. The mimose gave a roar of sheer exultant pleasure.
Jepaul was immediately lifted up and back and brought hard down, the huge hands holding him like a puppet as the mimose bent forward. The boy was lifted again and the gesture repeated. A cry was wrung from Jepaul. Saracen fell to the ground, rolled clear and just as the mimose bent for a third time, the little man thrust his arm forward. His knife caught the mimose in a most vulnerable part just as he managed to get Jepaul settled, the boy now held tightly in a fierce grip of anticipation. Fal and jul ran wild in the stallion. He was ready. So was his object of pleasure. The mimose flung up his head to roar out his readiness to the other stallions who would soon gather.
Instead, at Saracen’s attack the little man was well-nigh deafened by the howl of anguish and fury as the mimose swung away, this time Jepaul flung about above his head. The boy was then clasped, this time without gentleness, and mimose teeth closed hard on his lip in a bite that made Jepaul's eyes open. He moaned. This time the teeth transferred to the boy's ear, then to his neck, the bites increasingly hurtful before the mimose again became aware of the little man. He bent his head, this time to snap at Saracen. He now held Jepaul in only one hand, the other at the boy's throat.
Saracen, knocked by the mimose, scrambled to his feet and dancing from side to side began to stab with the knife. Enraged, the mimose grasped Jepaul painfully, bit him again, then dropped the boy behind him while he went on the attack. Jepaul was left where he fell, involuntarily curled up because the mimose's last hold, that went from throat to groin, was a cruel one. Despite the fal and jul, that savage grip sent shock waves of pain through a boy not yet mature.
Quon, spellbound by the little man's courage and resilience, crept round behind the combatants, praying the mimose wouldn't see him and turn to defend his prize. Quon managed to drag Jepaul, heavy with drugs, into a small clearing. There, he tried to rouse the boy from the induced stupor. Quon's relief at the sight of Sapphire made the taller Dom's rather grim countenance relax and brought a smile of appreciation.
“I'd no idea Groundlings were so savage,” he remarked in a drawl.
“Nor I,” agreed Quon, still panting from the exertion of dragging Jepaul.
“Were we in time for that boy?”
“Just,” muttered Quon, “though without Saracen I wouldn't have given much for his chances. Another few minutes and we'd find a quite different scene.”
“I see.” Sapphire turned to look at the little man and the mimose for a long minute, laughed in his inimitable way and carefully lifted the limp Jepaul.
“I'll take Jepaul back over the ridge, Earth. You and Saracen come as you will. The mimoses will sober up soon enough and they'll be after us. Jepaul's a prize that lead stallion intends to have, so the sooner we can put even a bit of distance between them and us the better.”
“Knellen and Javen?”
“As you'd expect, Quon,” answered the Dom, with an irrepressible twinkle. “They learned considerably more of the mimoses than this lad here - luckily. Their knots were damnably complicated, too, or we're getting old.” He eyed Quon still kneeling. The smaller man raised his head.
“Is Wind Dancer still with you?”
“Yes.” Sapphire glanced curiously down at Quon. “Did you know he was so close?”
“No.” Quon got heavily to his feet. “I begin to think I lose my grip, Sapphire. I should have seen through the mimoses’ illusion much sooner than I did and why didn't I sense Wind Dancer?”
“Same reason as me, old friend,” answered Sapphire gently. “We have much on our minds, but should now be more alert. There are strange happenings all over Shalah that should act as a warning. The natural order of things is upset, but more of this later. We all seem to be on the move about Shalah, don't we? Salaphon will be deserted!” On that note, Sapphire swung on his heel and was gone.
Once back over the ridge the small group reassembled. Saracen, quiet now but inordinately pleased with his success, sat beside the inanimate Jepaul. Quon had poured several cups full of liquid down the boy's throat but there was no sign Jepaul came out of the stupor. Sometimes his eyes opened and rolled back in his head and twice his tongue crossed dry lips.
“We'll make a litter for him,” suggested Javen.
“Make it snappy,” advised Quon. “I want to move further south again. Where there's one lot of mimoses you can expect others. They travel in small colonies.”
“Will there be lasting effects on the boy?” asked Knellen, with a worried frown down at Jepaul.
“How can I know?” growled Quon. Sapphire caught Knellen's l
ook and slightly shook his head in Quon's direction.
