Scorpion

by Aleksandr Voinov

  In the officer’s bedroom that he sometimes even used, the man turned to him. “While I own you, this is not what you’ll do, unless you have the same need as Selvan.”

  “No.”

  “No, you didn’t strike me as the type. You’re more likely to give Selvan more of what he craves than join him on your knees.” The officer smiled. “You’re very nearly healed, so I will put you to training. If you become a good soldier, you’ll receive your freedom and the scorpions. If you become a fair soldier, you’ll only receive your freedom to seek your own master and destiny. If you end up a bad soldier, we’ll sell you on and fate will have you. It’s better than being dead, I understand.”

  Kendras swallowed. It seemed like the fairest offer he’d received in his life. And so far, nobody here had treated him badly, but there was no doubt that this could change from one heartbeat to the next and without warning, either. “I will repay you the silver.”

  “That is not why I bought you. We’re under strength; you’ll soon replace a man we’re missing. Silver does not guard your shoulder against the enemy.” Kendras noted that the officer never spoke of “an” enemy, but always of “the” enemy, but he didn’t have much time to think about it.

  His training began the next morning. Over the weeks, his weaknesses were slowly chipped away as he trained with the others, who at the beginning held back for his benefit but soon ran him ragged. It felt like he was fighting for his life all the time. He ended up in the dust a lot, coughing and spitting out blood. But always he got up, took a mouthful of water, and returned for more pain, as he’d done all his life.

  In the night, the Scorpions paired off; some had a favorite, others used Selvan for sport and pleasure. Kendras received what he thought were offers—glances, lingering touches on his shoulder—but even though he was painfully hard when he watched the men fuck, he shied away from those kinds of games. Despite the fascination, the executioner’s treatment would last him a lifetime.

  One night, though, Selvan crawled into his bed and sucked him to hardness, then climbed on top, fucking himself on him, and Kendras learned how to hold back his own orgasm when Selvan pressed the root of his cock. He also learned how to topple a man and hold him down, the blond slave a more than willing prisoner as Kendras fucked him.

  Selvan then sucked him back to life, and they repeated the game until the slave was sore and begging to receive his reward. Kendras removed the cup and stroked him to completion, Selvan kissing his free hand with the adoration of a faithful dog all the while. It was strange to master a man like that, but intoxicating.

  He realized that the others felt a strange tenderness for the man who chose to be a slave and endure their pleasure every night. He didn’t understand it, but Selvan never protested; instead he cooked and washed whenever he didn’t have a cock up his ass, ran errands, and otherwise made sure that the many small tasks were taken care of better than if they had employed two or three servants.

  Throughout, the officer watched him, and nothing escaped the man’s gaze. While by then Kendras knew all of the men by name and temperament, he never grew close to anyone or struck up a friendship. Most nights he was too tired anyway, and the carousing taxed his stamina further.

  “We’ll make you one of ours,” the officer said one day as Kendras appeared before him, still covered in dust, chest heaving. “I release you. You’re your own man now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “To make you ours and us yours, there’s a detail missing,” the officer said. “For three days each, you will serve each of your comrades. Not as a slave, but as one comrade to the other. You will learn more about them, and each one about you. You will have to trust them to fight at their side, truly one.”

  Kendras stared at him. “At night too?”

  “Do nothing you wouldn’t do for a friend. They won’t do anything they wouldn’t ask of a fellow Scorpion.”

  “No.”

  “Kendras.” The officer stepped closer and touched his face, getting him to look at him. “Many just share a life story and warmth. Others will do nothing at all. You’re not Selvan, and you’re not a whore. If anybody forces you, he’ll meet my justice if you can’t fight him off yourself. And I reckon you could. It’s a lot harder to rape a free man than a tied-up prisoner.”

  Kendras felt his breath catch at the lingering touch. An invitation? An offer? “What about you?”

  “I’ll be the last one.” The officer smiled, but there was something more than humor in his dark eyes. “Believe me. It’ll be hard enough to wait.”

  Kendras felt a sudden surge of desire at those words. He’d never seen the officer take his pleasure with another Scorpion beyond a few times when Selvan had used his clever mouth on him. The man briefly touched his lips to Kendras’s. “Trust is hard currency between soldiers.”

  “I….”

  “You’ll have to trust the others. They will guard your flank and you theirs. The only man in the Seventeenth who is by himself is me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe one day you’ll command your own outfit. Then you will.” The officer turned to leave. “Begin with the medic today.”

  A man who was doing this last test was referred to as “betrothed”, and with their own sense of irony, the other Scorpions gave the chosen couple time and space together, which was embarrassing. He was to train with his chosen partner, not fighting as a single man, but as a pair against three chosen by the officer.

  Kendras learned to anticipate the medic’s responses, which erred always on the side of caution, but the man wielded a vicious sword and wasn’t any less of a fighter than the other Scorpions. When he counterattacked, he invariably found the weakness and exploited it for full effect. Kendras learned that the opposite held true too—a man taught to heal the body knew how to kill it.

  After the training, the medic taught him how to clean and bandage a wound he’d sliced into a leg of lamb, except that the herbs he used were spices and the bandages fat, streaky bacon. After his vivid description, Kendras hesitated for a moment when their patient was served with root vegetables and a lot of fresh bread to mop up the juice.

  “And I thought he’d recover,” Kendras said solemnly, which made the medic choke with laughter.

  When it came time to retire, they moved their bedding into one of the separate rooms, sharing the bed frame. The medic undressed and washed, showing off a fine, muscular body, and Kendras remembered well how he’d treated Selvan.

  He stripped, washed with the remaining water, and watched the other man slide into bed. Just talk, the officer had said, but Kendras wasn’t so sure that was what would happen.

  He joined the medic, saying nothing until after the lamp was extinguished, and then he lay there, just breathing, aware that they were both wide awake.

  “I was the last betrothed,” the medic suddenly said. “Wandering quack, selling herbs, then beset by bandits. I sold my skin dearly, killed one and crippled two others, but I was left for dead in the end. One of the Scorpions found me while scouting ahead. I’ve never looked back since.”

  “No family?”

  “I was too young to marry, and my parents know what I do now. I’m earning more money, too, but that’s not the reason.”

  “What is the reason?”

  “You’ll know when it happens.” The medic turned to face him in the darkness, reaching out to touch his chest.

  Kendras learned that night what “soldier position” meant—cocks together, rubbing against bellies, thrusting against each other. He enjoyed holding a man in the harsh movements of pleasure, liked giving relief and taking it on the same terms. This wasn’t difficult or painful, and he relaxed enough to be able to sleep with another man in the same bed.

  At the end of the three days, he genuinely liked the medic and wouldn’t have minded to stay like this, learn from him and fight with him and hold him at night. It was the same with the other Scorpions. Given the opportunity, all of them opted for sex, us
ually a hand or soldier style or even a variation thereof—fucking a man’s thighs.

  Kendras was a willing student once the first strangeness passed, shared heated kisses and even endearments with men who’d be never more than just comrades, but he understood that “comrade” was a magical word, as close to “family” and “kin” as he’d ever call anybody. Some he liked more than others, but three days was long enough to understand just about anybody.

  And those that knew him—and that he knew—treated him just like one of the others during the day. One man at a time, he was becoming one of them, no longer a stranger in their midst.

  At the end of the period, the officer approached him, and Kendras wondered what secrets the man would share with him in that room. Instead, the officer ordered him to pack some clothes and food.

  The next morning, they left the city on horseback, heading along the mountains through pastures and fruit and olive orchards as far as the eye could see. Then they climbed up the mountain along a stony, winding path, eventually arriving at a shepherd’s shelter, housing bags of wool and a simple cot.

  The officer showed him how to care for his horse, and then they let the animals graze. The longer they spent together, the more acute the desire rose in Kendras, but he assumed all that would happen at night.

  “The Seventeenth was one of the great legions of Shara,” the officer said. “Have you heard of Shara?”

  “No.”

  “An empire that encompassed all the cities you know. Dalman, Fetin, Vededrin, and the others further inland and across the ocean. It is the reason we all speak the same language, but it broke apart in civil war three hundred years ago. The Legions bore the brunt, as soldiers always do, until barely anybody was left to take up arms. In return for their services to one of the factions, the Seventeenth, or “Scorpions,” negotiated their independence. By the time peace was finally brokered, only a small group of men was left. We resolved that we would be independent and set our own price, but also devote ourselves utterly to the art of war. Scorpions are under arms all year, from the moment they are betrothed to the day when their officer releases them to life or death.”

  “You sound like you were around then.”

  “I’ve read the notes of my predecessors. We are the only mercenary outfit with a memory. We’re the only men in the world who know what really happened, who backstabbed whom, who reneged on his promises, who broke which treaty.” A gleam shone in the officer’s eyes. “We use this knowledge to understand the game between the cities and decide which side to take and which to leave well alone, however much gold they’re paying.”

  The officer glanced up at the mountains, where the sun reflected off rocks littered about, then began to climb, telling Kendras of the Seventeenth and which battles it had fought in, speaking levelly, while Kendras, following him, had barely enough breath to nod.

  The officer halted him with a touch against his chest then crouched. Kendras saw movement on the rocks—flecks of black and yellow moved about. Scorpions. His hackles rose, and he looked down at his legs, expecting a poisonous tail lashing toward him any moment.

  “Just don’t move,” the officer said, then pointed at a small yellow scorpion. “These here are their young. The poison is no stronger than that of a wasp, but it’s a lot more painful. The blacks are adults.” He reached for one of the large adult insects, catching it with a bare hand by the tail. The scorpion writhed in outrage, but the officer just lifted it up and held it in front of Kendras’s eyes.

  “They never stop fighting. That is how I choose the men. There are some men who will fight rather than die, and for you or me, that may seem strange, but most people prefer dying. I’ve heard it said that death is easy and sure, while combat is hard and unsure. It seems that is why many just go to their deaths without raising a weapon.”

  “I’d stopped fighting when you found me.”

  “Yes, and that worried me. I’d seen you, but I was busy on an errand, so I didn’t act on my instinct, which said you’d be one of ours. But I didn’t forget what I’d seen, and then learned you’d been condemned to die. For what?”

  “Fighting the guard. I’ve done worse, but they only cared about their own.”

  “Some fighting men are dogs.” The officer gave him a grim smile. “Those will fear you and bite out of fear, but they’ll never be your match.”

  The scorpion still squirmed, even though it must have realized that whatever gods-like force held its tail would not release it.

  The officer began walking down the mountain, choosing carefully where he stepped lest he crush one of the animals.

  Down again near the hut, he ordered Kendras to start a fire, which he watched while holding the dangling scorpion in his hand. After a few moments, he pulled his curved dagger and placed it flat on the ground.

  “Come here.”

  Kendras stood, wondering what the blade was for. After struggling so long, would the scorpion simply be killed? What would be the lesson in that?

  The officer changed his grip on the tail, holding it lower, drawing Kendras’s gaze to the sting and poison bulbs near it. The officer smiled slightly to himself when he squeezed the tip of the tail, coaxing a drop of clear liquid from the curved needle tip.

  Kendras’s guts tightened at the expression in the officer’s eyes, the clever fingers that he would like to feel doing the same—or something very similar—to him, and he knew that the officer knew.

  Carefully, the officer gathered the drop of poison up and left most of it on the blade, then stood again. “Take off my leathers.”

  Kendras stepped behind him and loosened the straps and buckles holding the heavy leather top, which was darkened with use and sweat and likely cured in the man’s blood in more than one place.

  The body he bared sped up his pulse. He understood that this was some strange kind of gift, because the officer never showed himself naked in front of his men, and now he understood why. The man’s front bore the scorpion that all the men had on the backs of their hands, but it covered his entire front, pincers reaching the small dark nipples on his chest; the lines of the scorpion’s armor plates mirrored, artfully, the lines of his stomach.

  Kendras’s fingers itched to take off the man’s trousers and bare the rest of the tattoo, the rest of his body, but the officer shook his head. “Stand opposite me.”

  Scorpion still in hand, the officer closed the distance between them so that Kendras felt the heat emanating from the man’s body. Seen like this, the lesson was clear. The officer was a scorpion. The Scorpion. The very heart and symbol, not unlike a foreign god or barbarian chieftain, master over them all. Kendras wondered if the man would still sleep with him; it all suddenly seemed too enormous to be real.

  The officer gave him a wry smile, then opened his lips and licked off the drop of poison before he took Kendras’s neck with both hands to share a deep kiss and the taste of the poison, which immediately numbed the insides of his mouth.

  He tasted nothing, but the touch of the man’s lips dazed him until he realized, with a start, that the officer wasn’t holding the insect anymore. He jerked away, glancing around, then out of the corner of his eye saw the black thing sitting on his shoulder, tail raised.

  Before he could lift a hand to try and wipe it off, the tail flicked forward, and he felt a painful sting at the side of his neck. The shock had no time to fully flare in his mind. He went down like lightning had struck him, suddenly breathing in small, labored gasps while his veins, from the largest to the smallest, caught on fire.

  “The last test,” the officer said, a blurred, shadowy presence that, in the low light from the setting sun, looked a lot like a scorpion on two legs, but Kendras knew he was imagining things.

  He struggled to breathe. Every moment of consciousness was a supreme effort, but he realized if he gave up, he would simply stop breathing and die.

  That is how I choose the men. Those that never stop fighting.

  He gathered his wits about him enoug
h to watch the officer prepare something he didn’t understand. The officer took the scorpion poison and other ingredients and boiled them into a thick paste over the fire. Then he stripped Kendras bare and rolled him onto one side of a large woolen blanket.

  Kendras just breathed, teetering on the edge of panic because he couldn’t move. The officer took Kendras’s hands and tied them onto his belly, holding them in place with broad leather straps. When he brought out the needles, Kendras understood.

  The tattoos took all night. The officer worked by the light from the fire and the full moon, which cast silver and golden shadows over Kendras’s skin. Near midnight, the paralysis wore off enough that Kendras could see more clearly, breathe more easily, and watch the scorpions take shape.

  It felt like his hands were being flayed, but maybe the poison made it all bearable—he couldn’t have said.

  Once both hands were done, the officer cut his wrists free and bandaged one hand. He completed the tattoo on the inside wrist with a bold “17”, and then he bandaged the other. “It will feel strange while it weeps, but don’t touch it.”

  Kendras made an affirmative sound and pulled his hands close, huddling as much as he could.

  The officer draped the rest of the blanket over him. “You can sleep now.” The permission to stop fighting came as a huge relief, and Kendras sank gratefully into the dark.

  The following day, the officer changed the bandages on his hands. The tattoos had scabbed over and itched like hell. Kendras’s muscles felt at once loose and too tight. He hadn’t hurt like this in a long time, but when he tried to move too much, the strength and coordination eluded him. Paired with an almighty headache, he preferred just lying there and recovering from the poison, while the officer talked about their history. He spoke of “us” and Kendras now understood that he was part of that “us.”

  On the evening of the second day, the paralysis wore off enough for Kendras to move and talk without biting his tongue.

  “How many die during this test?” he asked.