Captive

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Indeed?’ Sulitea asked.

  At a sudden impulse Aisla threw back the hood of her burnoose and shook her hair out. Sulitea followed suit and the riders immediately slowed and dropped their weapons to their sides. Trotting forward, they quickly reached the girls.

  ‘Warriors of Opina,’ Sulitea called out. ‘We greet you.’

  Both the men smiled, immediately showing a trace of condescension.

  ‘Pretty barbarians,’ one answered in mockery of Sulitea’s tone, ‘we too greet you. We also wonder what brings you alone to the Ara Khum.’

  ‘We became separated from our caravan,’ Sulitea answered.

  The man’s eyebrows rose in disbelief and he glanced around the horizon, apparently searching the sill of the valley.

  ‘If you are part of a band, then you have an unpleasant shock coming,’ he said confidently, ‘otherwise, you are welcome to join us. I dare say Babalyn n’Jukolana will welcome some female company, barbarian or not. Come.’

  ‘We are not barbarians,’ Sulitea answered, but the man merely laughed and wheeled his camel.

  They followed, riding down the line to the centre and the tallest and most ornate wain. As they drew level a head emerged from the cover, a girl, with jet black skin and a great mass of crinkly black hair showing where she had left the hood of her burnouse down.

  ‘Some company for you,’ the man called, making a sweeping gesture towards Aisla and Sulitea, ‘either lost waifs or bait from some hopeful band of cut-throats. In either case look after them, they can go in cuffs until we are sure the land is clear.’

  ‘What?’ Aisla demanded.

  ‘Be calm,’ the man answered. ‘Do you think we are fools, to let you join us without at least checking? I only ask that you surrender that vicious looking axe to the guard wagon and have your ankles chained to the wain until we are sure of you. We are Aprinians, you will find no barbarous behaviour here, nor will you be taken as slaves, as you would in most lands. Either that or you may go back to the desert, unmolested.’

  Aisla and Sulitea exchanged uncertain looks, only for the girl in the wain to call over, demanding their presence.

  ‘Barbarian girls, how wonderful!’ she called out as they drew nearer. ‘Come to me, both of, we’ll have fun. N’Garu is such a bore, with his talk of cut-throats and chains. He thinks of nothing but security, although no bandit exists fool enough to attack an Aprinian caravan.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sulitea answered her. ‘Clearly you are a high-born lady and recognise another.’

  ‘This is my father’s caravan,’ the girl answered, sounding somewhat puzzled, ‘and certainly I am a lady. But you are wonderful, such pale skin, and doubtless you have strange and terrifying customs. Give your camel reins to a driver and come up, we shall drink banana spirit and talk. I am Babalyn n’Jukolana, of Blue Zoria, and you?’

  Aisla found herself smiling at the girl’s happy chatter, which was impossible to resent or resist.

  ‘This is Sulitea Mund, high-demoiselle,’ she responded, ‘I am Aisla.’

  Babalyn clapped her hands and reached out, unselfconsciously touching a stray piece of Aisla’s hair as they drew parallel.

  ‘Red, like copper!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have never seen such hair, even among the Hai.’

  ‘It is normal in Mund,’ Sulitea put in and pushed back her hood, revealing her tumble of short pale blonde curls.

  ‘Beautiful!’ Babalyn exclaimed. ‘And so strange! Come on, let me help you.’

  They climbed to the wain, the driver taking their camel’s reins.

  ‘Chain their feet, n’Jukolana,’ N’Garu insisted.

  ‘Chain you own, silly little man,’ Babalyn answered. ‘Now come on girls, I have so many questions.’

  ‘You father…’ N’Garu began.

  ‘Oh if you must,’ Babalyn snapped, ‘but it hardly the way to greet strangers. Do you want them to think us no better than them?’

  ‘It is a simple precaution,’ he insisted and pulled himself onto the wain.

  Sulitea and Aisla allowed their ankles to be chained to rings in the floor of the wain, all the while with Babalyn apologising and chiding N’Garu. Reluctantly Aisla surrendered the birdswing axe, and was only partly reassured when N’Garu gave her a piece of charta marked with its description in return.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Babalyn assured her. ‘It won’t get mixed up. We have nothing like it, that is certain.’

  Again Aisla relaxed at the sheer ease of Babalyn’s manner. The girl’s confidence seem extraordinary, both in her safety and superiority, an attitude Aisla found it impossible to resent. N’Garu had the same attitude for all his concern with safety, leading Aisla to ask why they were so confident in their ability to defend themselves with only four guards.

  ‘Another six sit in the last wain, four in the first,’ Babalyn answered. ‘Each carries two rifles…’

  ‘The tubes that project iron balls by magic?’

  Babalyn laughed and slapped her thigh, then abruptly began to dig among the cases and bundles that filled half the wain. Quickly she found fine Hai glasses and a tall bottle of clear spirit, of which she poured lavish helpings. Aisla took a swallow and found herself choking as it burnt a trail down her throat.

  ‘Banana spirit,’ Babalyn declared happily. ‘Not so fine as wine but a lot better for getting drunk. I’ve been so bored. I haven’t spoken to another woman since we left Zihai. Do you know that there is a war happening?’

  ‘We know,’ Sulitea said.

  ‘We passed the King’s army on the way,’ Babalyn continued happily. ‘There were tents and banners and men in armour with the most ancient weapons! And at one town we passed through a girl had been fixed to a sort of frame and was being whipped! Quite naked! I suppose all that sort of thing is normal to you though?’

  ‘Fairly,’ Aisla admitted, ‘but what made you go with so much danger around?’

  ‘Oh we have passes from their King,’ she answered casually. ‘Not that they’d dare touch us anyway, but still, when I saw that girl I couldn’t help but think how she must have felt!’

  Babalyn gave a shiver, expressing both anticipation and fright, then downed the contents of her glass in a single swallow.

  ‘We are quite the richest family in Blue Zoria,’ she went on after barely a moment’s pause. ‘Father controls close to half the output of the turquoise mines and is also an important merchant. Our villa is not merely roofed with turquoise tiles, but also faced, and picked out in beaten gold. It is the envy of the coast from the border to Opina itself.’

  ‘Magnificent,’ Aisla stated vaguely as she tried to imagine the effect.

  ‘The Hai are greedy for our goods,’ Babalyn continued. ‘On the journey north we carried slabs of turquoise, peacock feathers, silk from Vendjome, a great iron machine, certain dyes and mordants the making of which is beyond the skill of the Hai dyers, black especially. Now we have Hai wine, which is nonpareil, and glassware, also emeralds and orange isochrase, wrought copper and silver in the most wonderfully barbaric designs! See.’

  Without the slightest trace of self-consciousness, Babalyn stood and pulled off her burnoose. Beneath she was nude, her lustrous black skin gleaming in the brilliant light, wide hips, plump, soft pubic mound, gently rounded belly, large, heavy breasts, all bare without thought for who might be looking. Aisla felt a quick rush of blood to her cheeks at Babalyn’s casual display, only for her embarrassment to be immediately displaced by surprise. Despite having known that Aprinian girls wore ornaments in their nipples, the reality took her by surprise. Not only that, but metal also showed in Babalyn’s belly button and between the lips of her sex. These were swirling, twisting shapes of intertwined copper and silver wire, their design unmistakably Mundic although they had never been intended for such a use.

  ‘Aren’t they pret
ty?’ Babalyn demanded.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Aisla answered, suppressing a giggle at the sight of what were obviously bent links from a dismantled purity girdle.

  ‘I used to wear those,’ Sulitea said wistfully, ‘lots of them.’

  ‘May I see?’ Babalyn demanded.

  ‘Not now,’ Sulitea admitted. ‘They were… taken away.’

  ‘A story, a scandalous one, I know it!’ Babalyn exclaimed. ‘Tell me, you must!’

  Sulitea blushed furiously, but to Aisla’s surprise began to tell how she had given herself to the dung-gatherer and how he had broken her purity girdle and taken her virginity. Babalyn listened with horrified delight, frequently putting her hand to her mouth and demanding all the rudest details. By the end Sulitea’s cheeks were crimson and she was looking at the floor, while Aisla was feeling distinctly damp between her thighs. Babalyn had not bothered to put her burnouse back on, and with each burst of laughter or shiver of excited horror her big brown breasts would quiver and the little ornaments wobble, adding to Aisla’s arousal.

  ‘Nothing so awful could ever happen in Blue Zoria,’ Babalyn stated when Sulitea had finished, ‘nor so romantic and exciting!’

  ‘What would happen to a girl who behaved so rudely?’ Sulitea asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Babalyn answered with a shrug. ‘It is considered a little indelicate to fuck in the street, during the day at least, but it is not that unusual and is not proscribed.’

  ‘Does Aprinia welcome strangers?’ Sulitea asked.

  ‘Certainly we do,’ Babalyn answered. ‘So long as they are worthy citizens and able contribute to the state.’

  ‘What of us?’ Sulitea continued.

  ‘I would suppose so,’ Babalyn said, rather more cautiously. ‘The Boards of Regulation might be a bit concerned at having barbarians among us. My father is President in Blue Zoria, and I’m sure I could persuade him if you show yourselves willing. I could get you work as drudgewomen or maybe seamstresses.’

  ‘I am a high-demoiselle!’ Sulitea cut in. ‘My father is an earl, and brother to the king himself! I can not scrub floors and sew garments!’

  Aisla opened her mouth to protest Sulitea’s sudden resumption of rank, then shut it abruptly, settling in the Aprinia States being no part of her plans. Instead she took a swallow of the banana spirit.

  ‘What can you do then?’ Babalyn asked.

  ‘I have considerable scholarship,’ Sulitea answered, ‘and knowledge of most of the high arts. I am particularly well versed in heraldry and honour codes, duelling protocol, and feudal law, both of Mund, Aegmund and the Glass Coast, which you call Hai.’

  ‘That’s not very practical,’ Babalyn answered.

  ‘Practicality is for peasants and artisans,’ Sulitea responded. ‘As a high-born lady only government, military concerns and fine arts are of concern to me.’

  ‘You might be of use at the great collegiat in Opina,’ Babalyn said dubiously. ‘There is a department of barbarian studies who might welcome your knowledge.’

  ‘Ideal,’ Sulitea declared.

  ‘It would bring me great prestige,’ Babalyn went on, suddenly brighter. ‘With your yellow hair and white skin you could not fail to be noticed. It’s only a shame you don’t look like a woman of rank.’

  ‘I do,’ Sulitea answered. ‘I carry myself with refinement, my hair is the palest blonde, and if somewhat short, it will soon grow out.’

  ‘I mean in decorative terms,’ Babalyn said.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘If you wish to be accepted as a lady you must be adorned as a lady,’ Babalyn pointed out. ‘It will be hard enough to be accepted in polite circles with your white skin, but with neither jewellery nor tattoos you could never be more than a guttersnipe.’

  ‘I have tattoos,’ Sulitea admitted.

  ‘You do?’ Babalyn answered. ‘Why didn’t you say? Show me!’

  ‘She certainly does!’ Aisla laughed. ‘Go on, Sulitea, show her. She knows nothing of Kavas-Arion and would doubtless think the concept barbaric.’

  ‘The concept is barbaric,’ Sulitea answered. ‘I begin to appreciate this. In Opina my refinement will be appreciated.’

  ‘We had best have your titties on show then,’ Aisla teased. ‘A fine lady of Opina would not think twice about their display.’

  Her head was beginning to spin with the banana spirit, while Sulitea’s mixture of haughteur and embarrassment was both amusing and exciting. Babalyn was looking expectantly at Sulitea, who gave ashamed grimace and then exposed her breasts.

  ‘Oh how beautiful!’ Babalyn exclaimed immediately. ‘How wild! How barbaric!’

  Sulitea smiled despite herself and cupped her breasts, holding them up for inspection.

  ‘Superb!’ Babalyn went on. ‘I adore barbarian art, it is so free, so expressive! But you must have them pierced, you must! We have pretties like mine, to match the patterns, or some little bells in silver we found in Zihai. Yes, you shall have bells on your nipples, it will be just the thing.’

  Babalyn once more dived in among the goods, leaving Sulitea bashfully holding up her breasts. Aisla took the chance to admire the patterns, of which Sulitea was still ashamed, despite them being meaningless to both the Hai and Babalyn. The pattern was intricate, consisting of interlocking red and blue swirls that covered most of Sulitea’s breast flesh. They were undoubtedly beautiful, but carried so strong a sting of shame in Mund that she could understand Sulitea’s reluctance to come back. A shamed girl was shamed for ever, and the tattoos marked her shamed, at least in Mund, in the Aprina states it seemed they would be a positive asset while the reasons for Sulitea’s shaming would not even be understood.

  All that was visible of Babalyn was her bottom and legs as she dug in among the cases at the rear of the wagon. With one leg cocked up to steady herself her tuppenny was open, with the pink centre on clear display, an act of blatant exposure that would have had any Mundic girl scarlet with blushes. Babalyn was indifferent, continuing to chat way. Aisla saw how the piercing’s in Babalyn’s sex had been made, with a silver rings put through each of her inner sex lips and the ornaments hung from it. Babalyn’s clitoris and lips were larger than her own and Sulitea’s, and a richer pink. As she moved her bottom hole was briefly on show, a jet black dimple with an area of brilliant pink at the centre. She was clearly aroused too, with her vagina puffy and wet, a sight that put a fresh tingle in Aisla’s own sex.

  ‘Here we are, I knew we had them in this wain,’ Babalyn said, tipping herself back onto her feet.

  Opening her hand she displayed five tiny silver bells which tinkled as she rolled them in her palm. Sulitea’s jaw was trembling but Babalyn took no notice, swallowing some more banana spirit and then sitting down cross-legged.

  ‘Tease yourself, make them pop out,’ Babalyn instructed.

  Sulitea blushed crimson but began to stroke her nipples, making them bulge and swell until each stood proud.

  ‘Good girl,’ Babalyn said, ‘now a little oil of opium and it won’t hurt at all. Aisla, sweet, pass me that vial, the green.’

  Aisla passed Babalyn the vial and sat back, watching in fascination. Sulitea continued to stroke her breasts, keeping the nipples hard as Babalyn dabbed a thick green oil onto a scrap of cloth. Touching the rag to each breast, she rubbed the oil in with deft, circular motions. Aisla giggled as Sulitea gave an involuntary sigh.

  ‘Now, now, I’m not trying to work you up,’ Babalyn laughed, ‘maybe later, when you look like a proper lady. Now close you eyes and hold your titties up for me.’

  Sulitea obeyed, her jaw trembling as she cupped her breasts. Babalyn reached into her bag and drew out a long needle of some bright metal, the tip glinting in the light. She put it to a flame, pulling it back and forth, blowing on it and then dipping it into one of the cups of banana spirit.

&nbs
p; ‘I’m going to have a little feel,’ Babalyn announced, ‘just to get them really poking up. You do have lovely titties, Sulitea, sweetness, come, let me have one.’

  Sulitea relinquished her right breast to Babalyn, who began to fondle it in one hand, tweaked the hard nipple between forefinger and thumb and then abruptly thrust the needle through the taut bud of flesh. Sulitea gave a little squeak, then groaned and opened her eyes, looking down at the thin metal rod that had been pinned through her nipple.

  The nipple of her left breast needed no stimulation. It was achingly hard, trembling with Sulitea’s fear and excitement. Babalyn took it, squeezed the bud and punctured it, all the while with Sulitea staring in fascination. Sulitea was left, a needle sticking clean through each nipple, as Babalyn quickly prepared the bells. Each needle was threaded, Sulitea squeaking and mumbling to herself as the needle shafts moved in her flesh.

  Babalyn made quick work of putting the bells in Sulitea’s nipples, threading each bell, drawing the needle quickly through each nipple and closing off the bell wires. Sulitea stayed frozen, holding up her breasts, a tiny silver bell hanging from the nipple of each. Her expression was a mixture of fear and bliss, and she was staring at her nipple bells as if in disbelief. Aisla was also transfixed, amazed by how sexual Sulitea’s breasts seemed.

  ‘Cunt lips next!’ Babalyn declared happily.

  ‘My tuppenny?’ Sulitea answered.

  ‘What a quaint name for a cunt,’ Babalyn laughed. ‘Of course you must have some bells in your cunt lips. Cunt rings are quite the thing! All the clever girls have them, it’s ever so chic! And one in your tummy button! Come on, strip off.’

  Slowly, hesitantly, Sulitea pulled up her burnouse up, then off, leaving herself nude. She opened her thighs, keeping her eyes tight shut as she showed off her tuppenny to Babalyn.

  ‘What a pretty cunt!’ Babalyn exclaimed cheerfully. ‘You have such sweet little lips!’

  Sulitea’s face and chest were flushed crimson with blood and Aisla giggled at her friend’s discomfort. Babalyn, who seemed to have no concept of embarrassment, reached out and tickled Sulitea’s clitoris with a nail, evoking a sharp squeak.