by Bryn Colvin
“But I don’t want to!”
The voice was petulant and shrilled with distress.
“You are too old, you will sleep in a tent with the women I have appointed to you.”
“No.”
The pleading child was Liss, the man unmistakably Math. Sena froze, realising what was afoot; that Math’s beloved daughter was finally being forced to live separately from him.
“When we stop, I will have Han make you a separate compartment within my tent.”
“No, I won’t.”
She heard the sharp slap of flesh on flesh, but the girl did not cry out.
“That is my final word on the matter. It will be so and I will hear no more grumbling from you, do you understand me?”
“Yes, father.”
Sena waited in the shadows, not wanting to meet the man while his blood was still up. After he had gone, she made her way into his enclosure, conscious that eyes followed her wherever she went. Pallan, Gift and Linna, along with several other former conquests whose names she did not yet know, were a challenging force to meet at the best of times. United in the bitterness at having been cast off, they vented their spleen on her whenever they could, able to retreat into the protective shadows of more recently won warrior lovers who would hear no word said against them. They were so many and she so few. She supposed that if Math did cast her off then they would welcome her as a sister, but she could not imagine ever trusting such vindictive creatures. Better to take a forest liesel for a companion than one of them—at least you could see its teeth and claws plainly enough.
“And who have you been seeing I wonder?” Linna asked.
Sena kept walking, clenching her fists.
“I have been visiting my sisters, although, I think that’s got nothing to do with you.”
“Have you, now?”
Sena bit her tongue and kept silent, only too aware that the slender blond was trying to provoke her again.
Math had a small tent for his personal use, when travelling—far smaller than the grand affair he used when they settled, but enough to protect them from the elements. She could see the makeshift construction next to it that was to be Liss’s home and wondered who had been designated to keep company with her—probably Almi and Wren, both of whom were older and without men folk. She still had no idea if they were servants, mistresses or something else entirely, but they had been grudgingly kind to her so far, which was worth something. There was rain in the air and no one would be sitting out by the fires on such a night, unless they had guard duty. She slipped into the gloom of the tent, wondering what the night held in store.
“Sena.”
His voice was low and soft, like a caress and she felt her skin prickle at the sound of it.
“Math?”
The small tent was in total darkness, the fire dish unlit. He pulled her close, covering her mouth and cheeks with kisses, until she felt chafed from the roughness of his stubble.
“Why is it dark?” she whispered.
“I have not long returned, but the dish is laid, shall we light it?”
“If you would.”
Math stepped away from her. He always had the tent laid out in the same way and, save for the absence of Liss’s bed, he knew exactly where anything would be. It was a precaution that made him harder to attack in darkness and a relic from the time when night might bring the sharp blade of an assassin. She saw the spark as he struck a flint and within seconds the dry tinder had caught, filling the tent with warm light. As her eyes accustomed to the sudden brilliance of the small fire, Sena saw then that Math’s torso was bare, his muscles catching the light and drawing her attention. He was hardly young but not yet old and well worth looking at. His skin was warm when she touched it and he smelled, still, of the horses he loved to work with.
“Would you like me to rub you down with oils?”
“That would be good.”
Opening one of the wooden chests, she retrieved a stoppered jug of scented oil, taken in a raid some months previously and jealously guarded. It had proved unpalatable, but its sweet smell was pleasant on the skin and provided a good alternative to bathing in chill water. Math loosed his trousers and slipped off his boots, exposing the rest of his body.
“I’ve had little time for you of late,” he said, “but that’s the curse of travelling.”
Sena said nothing, as she began to work the oil into his back, pushing her hands down hard to massage his muscles.
“I am almost afraid you will start to doubt my virility.”
“I’ve had proof enough of that,” she said, smiling to herself. She had very carefully managed to satisfy his lusts without entirely surrendering herself to him. Thus far it had kept him interested, but she did not know how much longer she could continue with the ploy without risking that he might get bored.
“Have you lain with a man?” he asked bluntly.
“No. I have done everything short of that, I’ll confess.”
She pressed her hands into the firm curves of his bottom. She squeezed his flesh and eased the tension out of his taut muscles before starting to work on the backs of his thighs. After a while, she worked a finger between his cheeks and slid it down, tracing along the crack to find his balls. She heard him groan and continued to let her hand play there.
“Not tonight,” he said, rolling suddenly such that he nearly broke her wrist.
The shock of pain overwhelmed her briefly and she pressed the aching limb to her chest, until the discomfort subsided. He allowed her a little while to recover from the hurt, watching her all the while with a predatory smile on his lips. When she let her arm fall into her lap, Math reached forward, grasping her left breast between his strong fingers and seeking out her nipple through the layers of her clothing. She gasped at the sensation and soon his other hand was also at play. Working around him, she shrugged off her garments, not wanting to play the coy virgin.
Math aroused her mind and body with practised skill. He had found over the years that most women liked much the same things and that relatively little creativity was required to make them pliable and willing. Sex was recreation for him, a release for his body and a distraction from the challenges of ruling a nomadic community. He had lost all interest in forming emotional bonds after Annis. As no woman had ever really been able to hold a candle to that dark haired temptress, it was a very long time since he had been stirred to more than lust. The only living being he loved was his daughter and he had no plans to change that. Sena was pleasant and he meant to use her kindly, but he did not think of her as a prospective lover, just as another girl whose body he could make use of for a time.
She slithered her way up the bed, hips wriggling and expression playful. Math rolled her onto her back and began to stimulate her in earnest, using his mouth on her succulent nipples and applying his fingers to the secretive place between her thighs. Even if she was telling the truth about having not been taken this way before, Math knew from previous encounters that she had not come to his bed an innocent. Her hymen was long gone. He tended to prefer women who knew what they were doing and what they liked. Virgins could prove troublesome and he normally avoided them. She kissed him hungrily, parting her thighs to give him better access. He rolled onto her and guided himself in. For a few moments her eyes widened and then he felt her relax beneath him.
The girl was a good lay, Math concluded as he rocked against her, pushing himself deeper into her tight cunt. She had been tense and uncertain at first, but from the way she was grinding her hips against his, it was obvious that she was keen enough now.
Sena gave her lover everything she could, but there was a part of her that could not fully let go and surrender to the experience of being loved. If she did not pay attention, her body would release an egg, responding to the stimulation of her sexual organs with a rush of fertility. She would draw his seed deep into herself, with a high probability that pregnancy would ensue. She had been told you could tell when it happened and prevent it, but she
also understood that not every young woman got the knack the first time and an inexperienced girl was very likely to find herself carrying a child. Her sisters had both grasped the trick of it and enjoyed the sexual freedom it granted them. Sena could only hope it would be as easy for her.
The sensations within her were growing stronger, unfurling like some darkly exotic flower. She gripped Math’s back, digging her fingers into his muscles. The flower was growing—its petals spreading out through her whole body, its colours tainting her thoughts. She could hear him grunting just as he did before he spent his juices in her mouth and the flower waited, poised, offering up its fertile core. Using all of the willpower she could muster, Sena forced it back, closing the petals and hiding her fecundity from Math’s gush of seed. Accepting his pleasure with joy, she found her own body responding sweetly to the sensation.
As Math lay heavily in her arms, recovering his breath, Sena knew that she had managed not to conceive. It was a small triumph, but at least it meant she had some control over her fate. His shoulder-length hair brushed against her stomach as he turned his head, planting warm kisses across the mounds of her breasts and Sena could only hope that Math would not tire of her too quickly.
Part Two: Taking Arms
Chapter One
The tent was so dark that Liss could see nothing at all. From the heavy gloom came the soft sound of innumerable women breathing in the thick fug of steam. She clenched her fists nervously, as sweat dripped down her skin. Two days ago she had finished her first bleeding and now she was officially of age. What happened next, she knew little about—only that she had to present herself here, naked and barefoot. Liss had never been self conscious, but to come unclad into such a mysterious place made her acutely aware of her vulnerability. She supposed that was probably the point and kept her hands resolutely at her side, resisting the inclination to wrap them defensively about her body.
She had confessed her bleed to Wren, having neither a mother to share this proof of her womanhood with nor sisters old enough to understand the significance of it. Wren had nodded sagely and said nothing more. Over the following days she had learned how to make rag pads to take the flow and had felt herself remarkably unchanged for the experience. Word spread of her coming of age and female friends came to her, bringing small gifts, wild flowers for her hair and kind words. The preparations she would need to make had been revealed to her in secretive whispers. Some of them she had known before, having watched her closest friend take the same strange journey only a little while before her. The form the rite would take she could not guess at. Only those of age could attend and Rina had steadfastly refused to share most of the details with her, to Liss’s ongoing annoyance.
Someone moved and as Liss’s eyes grew used to what little light filled the vast tent, she found she could make out the soft glow of hot coals somewhere in the tent’s centre, between the two supporting poles.
“Who comes?” a voice cried out.
“Liss, daughter of Math.”
It was traditional that a girl should name her mother and a boy his father in these rites, but Liss had never been told who her mother was. There had been vague references but never a name that she could voice. Everyone knew and she was certain no one could object. Concessions, she gathered from Rina, were always made for those who had lost a parent and who could not utter the dead one’s name.
“Who speaks for this girl? Who claims her as she enters into her womanhood?” another voice intoned in the gloom.
This should have been her mother’s part and Liss felt her heart race. No one had spoken to her of this and she tensed anxiously, not knowing if anyone would speak up or what would happen if no one did.
“I speak for this girl. I am Sena, daughter of Petal.”
Hearing Sena’s familiar tones so close to her, Liss sighed with relief. Sena had never sought to mother her or tell her what to do, unlike some of Math’s other women. That the woman had offered herself in lieu of her absent mother made Liss tight with a choking affection for her father’s mate.
“Bring her to the centre.”
With a light touch on her arm, Sena lead her through the crowd towards the warm coals. She saw hands scatter water droplets on the hot stones, sending up clouds of fresh steam. A voice cut through the veil of vapour.
“Liss, what name do you take in your adult life?”
It was a question she had pondered for some time. Some young people took their parent’s names but, much as Liss loved her father, she was unwilling to do that. His name seemed too strong for her. A name shaped your fate and gave something of your soul to those you chose to share it with: It was not a thing to choose lightly. The name she found she wanted was laden with dark associations of ill fortune, but no other had spoken to her. Once she voiced it, it would be hers; no one could take it from her, come what may. Taking a deep breath, she committed herself to this expression of her true self and the future it would shape for her.
“I am Liss Crowfeather.”
She heard the collective intake of breath—the ripples of shock and amazement that passed around the assembled company. The crow was their symbol of death and decay and was known to bring the worst sort of luck. To take it as a name was unheard of, but Liss had found no other. She could not explain why this name had called to her above all else, but whenever she had sat in contemplation, searching for the name that would be hers, a vision of the crow woman came fluttering through her mind and would not be denied.
“So may it be,” a voice intoned.
At first the chanting was so low and subtle that her ears did not discern it, but, as new voices joined the sound, it grew in power, rising from a whispered hum through slow degrees until it went crashing through the great tent with the force of a gale. Words that she could not fully make out filled the air, cloaking her with the warmth of their sound. Countless female voices were raised in recognition of her womanhood and pride fired Liss’s heart to know that she was now one of them. Her life was her own and she would eventually go forth from this place as a fully-fledged member of their community, free to find her own way within their society. She could fight, as she had been training to do. She would have duties, one way or another. As an adult it was her right to take a lover, should she so desire, her right to hunt and to scavenge not for her household, but for herself, if she chose. That the long night in the tent would shape her future was something Liss understood, but the details of it she had not begun to guess at.
Women crowded around her, the poor light and dancing ribbons of steam making them all seem unfamiliar. Hands touched her skin, leaving cool traces of ointments and potions in mysterious patterns. The humid air around her grew thick and pungent, laced with something she had never tasted before. The scent of it made her dizzy, yet at the same time, her awareness seemed to grow sharper. She could distinguish familiar faces now: Rina who had passed her own night only a month previously; Sena, with her gentle smile; Pallan and Gift, less hostile on this day; Wren with her face full of wrinkles. There were women from her father’s immediate retinue, the mothers and sisters of her friends and others she knew by sight. They clustered tightly around her, their movements so fluid that she wondered if it had all been rehearsed. The tent was emptying of those who did not know her personally and the chanting melting away into silence once more. The women remaining were enough to indicate to Liss that some final ritual lay before her. She looked at them with warmth, honouring the bonds of love and friendship they shared.
“We are the ones who have offered to stay and keep watch for you,” Wren explained, her voice creaky with age.
Liss moved to face each in turn, bowing slightly to express her gratitude. When the silent acknowledgement was done, Sena placed a bowl of steaming liquor in her hands.
“This is the brew our ancestors drank. Horse milk and horse blood, mixed with certain herbs and barks. Drink this and rest yourself before the fire. Let your dreams be free and show you your true path.”
Liss did a
s she was told, although the concoction seared her lips and made her stagger. It was bitter indeed and she thought her mouth would collapse under the foulness of its taste. She could feel the heat of it passing into her guts and swimming out through her veins, so that even her bones seemed touched by it. The drinking vessel was taken from her hands and she sank to her knees, unable to stand or think. The fire beside her glowed—a blend of turf and wood that would last for many hours. The tiny dancing flames seemed more fascinating than she could have ever thought they would be. Drawing her concentration and making her forget where she was and what she was supposed to be doing. The young woman closed her eyes and surrendered to the powers of the potion she had imbibed.
~*~
The sky raced above her, the clouds closer than they should have been. The stone around her was too perfect to have been fashioned by nature. Liss struggled to comprehend what she saw, so alien and incomprehensible was it. A great stone circle, surrounded by stone figures, was all that she could see and beyond it lay the sky. Moving cautiously, Liss made her way to the edge, where a high wall reached up to the height of her shoulder. It was something like the walls that the settled people made, but far more finely wrought, with the fines between the blocks of stone barely visible. Looking over the wall, she could see a vast swathe of forest stretching out beneath her. The ground was an alarmingly long way down. The sight of it made her stomach lurch and instinctively, she grabbed at the nearby rock, seeking stability and certainty. Liss had never been higher than the branches of a tree and at least then she knew the way. Here, she was raised up above the foliage and she could not tell what kept her perched in the sky.
Turning, Liss pressed her back against the wall so that she could not see the dreadful fall. She turned her attention to the figures. There were twelve in all, she counted. Three were crudely cut, so that you could not even tell their age or gender. Two were barely any better, you could see that one was a man and the other a woman, but there was no more than that really. One, of a young man with an angry face, was partially finished, as though the workman had left it. Liss supposed someone must have carved these figures for decoration. Whittling away the stone as some of her father’s men liked to work little figures and toys out of wood. Of the others, one was a young girl with a longbow, and two were strange looking men in peculiar garb and one an old woman, with a younger gentle-looking woman at her side. The final figure seemed only partly human, with feathers at her head and claws where her hands should have been. This statue drew Liss’s eyes and the more she gazed upon it, the more compelled she felt to approach.
