by Chris Bunch
No, Numantia was not free, and sooner or later there must be a fight.
But that must no longer matter to me.
• • •
The village, unlike some others, was neat, and smoke curled from some chimneys. Its fields were plowed, fat cows grazed in them, and I saw women tending a fishpond on its outskirts.
I’d just happened to spot the settlement, about a sixth of a league from the road, almost hidden behind a rise, and, tired of my own cooking, decided to ask for a night’s shelter for a day’s work.
The track to the village was somewhat overgrown, as if few travelers came. Then I saw the village had been skillfully fenced with bamboo stakes, and the path was closed off with a log spiked with bamboo spears.
“Halloo the village,” I hailed, and two women trotted out of a building. One carried a bow and quiver, the other a spear.
“Stand where you are.”
I obeyed, knowing what would come next — they’d see my sword and the remnants of my uniform, and order me away, fearing me as a marauder.
A third woman came from another hut as the two stood to either side of the log, weapons ready. She was a bit older than I, slender, and carried herself like a noblewoman.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“A traveler,” I said. “Call me … Nurri. I would like a meal and will work for it.”
She stared hard, and I felt her gaze pierce as the emperor’s had and knew her to be a seer of some power.
The other two women waited for her decision.
“He means no harm,” she said. “Let him enter.”
Without argument, they uncoiled ropes, dragged the log out of the way.
“Thank you …”
“I am Gunett,” she said. “I have been chosen village elder.”
“Thank you, Gunett. What jobs do you have?”
“We could do with some wood hewed,” she said.
“Gladly.”
“And after that … there might be other tasks.”
She smiled mysteriously, and one woman giggled.
• • •
I enjoy a simple chore like cutting wood, although when you’ve been away from the woodpile for years, it’s not quite as simple as it appears. But each time the ax comes down, you remember a bit of your old skills, and in time you’re able to put the blade precisely where you want it, with exactly the right amount of force — and not cut off your foot.
There was a lot of wood, but what of it? I stripped to the waist, shut off my mind, and became mechanical. I prided myself that I seldom needed the maul to split a log, and, as time passed, remembered the knack of splitting a log with a single blow.
Near the end of the pile, I became aware I had an audience. Two girls in their late teens were watching. I now had a duty to perform well and sent the last piece of wood spinning high to land atop the pile of chopped wood.
I bowed, they laughed, and one tossed me a clean towel.
“I’m Steffi,” she said, “and I was sent to tell you it’s almost time to eat. My friend here is Mala.” Steffi had long black hair tied in a queue, very red lips, and eyes matching her hair. She wore a homespun frock, decorated with sewn flowers and sandals and was very cute. Her friend, Mala, was a little heavy-set, but with a flashing smile and an easy blush.
I wiped sweat and asked if there was a place I might clean up. The two girls escorted me to a small cottage that was the village washhouse. Wine casks had been cut in two and filled with water, and there was a great cauldron of heated water over a low fire. I dipped hot water into a cask until it was warm enough, found lye soap, stripped and washed thoroughly standing outside, then climbed into the cask to soak for a time.
I wished I had clean clothing to change into, but both sets were filthy. I washed them both in a bucket, hung one to dry on my pack, and put the other set on, after thoroughly wringing it out.
I saw a mirror on one wall and considered myself, grimacing as I noted the roots of my blond hair had grown out, and I was beginning to look a bit strange. But there was nothing I could do about that.
There was a table nearby, with various potions and perfumes. I found a tiny razor, such as a woman might use to shave her privates if she fancied, stropped the blade on my belt, lathered myself and shaved, while I considered that table.
Everything appeared to be for women’s use. Was this village without men?
• • •
It was not, as I discovered at the meal. But there were only six of them, and only one, something of a dullard if handsome, well-muscled, and friendly, was under forty. The long cookhall swarmed with children — I counted a dozen and a half, half boys, half girls, all less than ten years old.
There were twenty-six women in the village, Gunett told me, and some weren’t at the meal, but standing watch outside.
“We’ve had bandits try our strength,” she said. “And, Jacini and Panoan be blessed, we drove them off.”
“I think,” said one of the older men, a scholarly-looking sort who looked like a refugee from a lycee, whose name was Edirne, “we hurt them badly enough so they’ll not return. Scoundrels prefer easy targets.”
“But we’ll take no chances,” Gunett said, “and keep our guards posted.”
“Good,” I said. “It’s cheaper to waste hours staring at nothing than lives.”
“You talk … and dress … like a soldier.”
“I was one, once,” I admitted, and changed the subject. “If I may ask — there’s few men here. Did the war account for this?”
“Just so,” Edirne said.
“We were hit particularly hard,” Gunett said, bitterness in her voice, “because many of us came away from the cities during the Tovieti years to find a safer, happier life for ourselves and our children. Knowing how easy it is to become isolated, we made sure we kept abreast of everything that was happening.”
“Since we were loyal subjects of the emperor,” Edirne said, “of course, when the call to the colors came, we responded vigorously, and enough of our men joined to provide half a company, so they were able to remain together.”
I waited.
“Not one came back,” a woman sitting down the long table said, almost in a whisper. “We don’t know what happened, where they died, or even if they died. But Gunett has made castings and says she’s almost sure none live.” She dabbed at the corner of her eye, turned away for a moment.
I swallowed hard. A whole town’s life, wiped out, probably at some nameless Maisirian crossroads …
“But we refused to let ourselves be destroyed,” Gunett said. “We’ll carry on and prosper, even if the gods turned away for a time.
“But this is hardly something to talk about over a meal,” she said firmly. “Troubles, or talking about them, do not improve digestion.”
I agreed, and we concentrated on the meal. It was a good one — hot, spiced hard-boiled eggs, some sort of river fish cooked in a fiery sauce, new potatoes with mint drenched in butter, and hard-smoked pork with a mustardy sauce.
Gunett sat on one side of me, and a small redheaded woman in her early twenties was on the other. Her name was Marminill, and she wore her hair cut short, and freckles sprinkled across her nose. She had green eyes, pert breasts, and wore a frilly shirt that had to come from a city and a short skirt that buttoned up the side.
She asked if I’d come from a city, and like a fool I said yes, Nicias.
She then wanted to know what people were wearing, what they were talking about, what sort of music was being played in the capital.
I didn’t think it would be appropriate to say what little I saw of Nicias was through the slit of a prisoner’s carriage or running through the streets with a sword in my hand and am afraid I told some fairly outrageous lies, digging up what I remembered of styles from before the war. But she seemed content with my fabrications. The others talked of their work, of the planting and cultivation, and I listened happily, for this was the talk I’d grown up with in Cimabue, and the o
nly talk of killing was whether or not the village should butcher a milk cow that was no longer producing.
We finished, and some of the younger women cleared our plates. Steffi and her friend Mala were among them, and as Steffi took my plate, she winked and grinned, as if we shared some secret.
Dessert was winter melons and a pomegranate tart.
“I preserved the fruit from last harvest,” Gunett said with some pride, “with a spell I devised from remembering more experienced seers’ work. I was only beginning my apprenticeship when we … when I … came here.”
Both dishes were excellent.
“We have some brandy,” she went on, “that we traded for during the war. We’ve got grapes planted from cuttings, but as yet, we haven’t been able to produce wine. But if you’d care to try the brandy?”
“No, thank you,” I said. “I don’t drink at all.”
“Good,” Marminill said.
“You disapprove of spirits?” I asked.
“Not hardly,” she said. “But it shortens the evening.”
I didn’t understand but didn’t press the matter.
When we finished, Gunett said, “We may choose a somewhat communal life here, but we’re not ones who sit around singing and tale telling after we eat.”
“Especially,” Edirne said with a yawn, “when those damned chickens start cackling at dawn for feed.”
The villagers wandered away toward their huts, and Marminill and I walked to the edge of the village.
The country was quiet, the only sounds a yapping of a fox somewhere in a distant copse, then the low hunting cry of an owl. “You did right,” I said, “leaving the city.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Marminill said. “For I was only five years old when my parents brought me here from Cicognara.” She looked at the setting sun, then said, a little wistfully, “Probably you’re right. But it’d be nice to know something about the rest of the world.”
“These days,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound like a pompous fool, “I think it’s better to have your own world and let the bigger one roll by. It’s safer.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But sometimes that other world comes to you, whether you want it or not.”
I started to reply, decided to stay silent.
“Do you want to know where you’ll be sleeping?” she asked.
I got my pack and still-wet clothes from the washhouse, and she led me to a small hut on the edge of the village. There was a single window, with a lattice blind, and the door was closed with a double lattice that unrolled from above. There was little furniture, beyond a surprisingly large bed and two long wooden chests that served as low tables. Marminill lit a candle; then there was a somewhat uncomfortable silence. I stretched and felt shoulder muscles creak from their unaccustomed work. I rubbed my neck with one hand.
“Do you want me to do that?” Marminill said. I looked at her curiously. “I’m very good at relaxing muscles,” she said.
She was very pretty in the candlelight and the dim light from the window.
“Please.”
“Lie down, then,” she ordered. “On your stomach.”
I obeyed, and she straddled my back, and her hands began kneading me. It felt good, very good.
“Would you … take off your shirt?” she said, her voice lower, a bit throaty. She slid off me, and I stripped, lay back down. I heard the rustle of cloth, and she bestrode me once more. But this time, instead of cloth, I felt silken flesh, a bit of wetness, the tickle of hair, and her massage was more a series of caresses than a real rubdown. Her breathing … and mine … came faster.
“This isn’t exactly relaxing my muscles,” I said. “At least, not one of them.”
“No?” she whispered. “Perhaps you might turn over, and we could see what the problem is.”
She got off me, and I obeyed. She stood beside me, naked, and her nipples were firm. She unbuttoned my pants, and I lifted my hips and she slid me out of them. My cock stood hard.
“Oh my,” she said. “You’re very big. Maybe you could do something with that muscle to relax it?”
I took her in my arms, rolled her across my body, and slid my tongue into her mouth. Her tongue met mine, worked against it, and her arms were around me, close-cut fingernails pulling at me, and we kissed for a long time, our hands sliding over each others’ bodies.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Now. Do it to me now.”
“Not yet,” I said, and teased her nipples with my teeth, nibbled on her stomach, then ran my tongue in and out of her wet sex, stroked her hard clitoris with it.
“Please!” she demanded, legs far apart, lifting into the air. “Now, please now.”
I moved over her, slid my cock all the way into her tightness with a single motion, and she gasped. I did it three more times, was about to withdraw and caress her, but my body betrayed me, and I jerked and felt myself spurt. An instant later, she came as well, legs pulling me into her.
The world swam, came back, and I was still in her, still firm.
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s been … too long.”
“For me as well,” Marminill whispered. “And not many times at that.”
I was curious about how the village managed love, with the imbalance of sexes, but was a little too bashful to ask. Besides, her body was still warm and wet about me, and I began moving, slowly, and her legs went higher, clasping me just under my shoulders, and I took her ankles in each hand, held them far apart, and drove hard, and she gasped, then screamed, so loudly I thought I’d have the sentries on me.
• • •
I slept, and then awoke, feeling soft fingers caressing my balls, my cock, and stiffened once more. The candle was out, but the blind was still rolled up, although the night sky gave little illumination to the room. I fumbled down, felt warm buttocks, and legs parted to welcome me.
I got to my knees, moved half-asleep between her legs, and entered her. She moaned, wriggled against me, and I began slowly moving in her, coming almost out with each stroke.
Her moaning grew louder, and her buttocks rose, fell with me, and her head came back. I dropped across her, reached under her, took large, small-nippled breasts in both hands, my head buried in curling hair and realized the woman I was making love to was not Marminill, but someone else, and she was moving with me, and thought vanished and I spun into the earth and cried out as she jolted against me.
I took myself out of her, moved aside, and she quickly got up and went to the door.
“Thank you,” she whispered, pulled the lattice aside, and was gone.
Shocked fully awake, I sat up, looked around the hut. There was no one else in it. I wondered what the hells was going on, where Marminill was, but there was no one to ask. I found a pitcher of water, drank deeply, used the small brass pot I’d seen to one side of the room, lay back down.
Very strange … but I felt no threat, no danger, plus I’d cut a lot of wood … and done other things, so my eyes closed, and I was asleep.
• • •
I came awake, feeling lips move around my cock, teeth teasing its head. Two candles were lit, and I saw long black hair covering my midsection, wondered who it was this time, but weak flesh refused to let me stop my lover, and so my hands went to her head, curled in her soft hair, caressed her as she moved a little faster, taking all of me in her, and I contorted, gushing into her mouth, then sagging back.
My breathing slowed, but the woman kept kissing me, tongue moving on my balls and groin before her head lifted.
It was Steffi, very naked. I managed, I hope, not to show my surprise.
“I’ve never done that,” she said. “Just read about it in Gunett’s books. I guess I did all right.”
She smiled, licked her lips. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she whispered.
I didn’t need to offend any local customs, and thoughts of ceremonial castration for the sin of bedding a woman the village thought too young ran through my head.
“Why not?” I was whisp
ering, too.
Steffi rested her head on my thigh, and gently began caressing my cock with a forefinger.
“Because it’s not my time.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Marminill and Kima … this is the time when they’ll most likely conceive. Have a child of yours. That’s why Gunett sent them to you.”
“Oh.” Of course. That was the other task Gunett had spoken of, and why the woman had giggled. It made sense. How else was the village to repopulate itself safely and quickly, except by using acceptable wanderers, so the next generation wouldn’t be intermarrying pin-heads?
“But I didn’t care,” Steffi said. “Edirne finishes in an instant, then wants to talk about it, and Jalak’s too dumb to talk to. And,” she said, her voice going low, “I wanted to fuck somebody new.
“I just wish I could have been first.” She looked away. “Or maybe the only one.” Steffi forced brightness. “But that’s not the way it is for us, so I’ll take whatever I can.
“I wanted Mala to come with me, but she thought you’d think that was too strange, and throw us both out.”
I thought everything was a little strange, but didn’t say anything.
“You were sleeping so well, I almost didn’t want to wake you up.”
“You managed to do a good job of it.”
“Maybe too good a job,” she said, running a finger down the base of my cock. “It’s still not doing what it’s supposed to. Oh wait. It is alive. Stand up now, like you’re supposed to. Gunett’s spell is working.”
“She cast a spell on me?” I asked, a bit stupidly, but still having a bit of fear of magic being applied to me, especially that part of me.
“Of course,” Steffi said. “We wanted to make sure you would work for your supper.” She giggled. “Do you like me?”
“Of course.”
“Then fuck me, please now. And do something special, something I’ll remember when you’re gone.”
I considered, noted the chest.
“Come up here,” I said. “First, I want to kiss you.”
“Whatever you wish,” and she slid on top of me, and we kissed for long moments, caressing each other. I kissed the length of her body, moved fingers and tongue in and out of her until she was writhing. I picked up her dress from the floor, put it on the chest, and laid Steffi atop it on her back, her buttocks just at the edge, feet on the floor. I knelt between them.
