The First Tribe

by Candace Smith

  The First Tribe

  by Candace Smith

  Copyright 2011 Candace Smith

  Published by Strict Publishing International

  Prelude

  Zapathia was a minor planet in the Quayall galaxy, formed long after other worlds’ seas had drawn back and life began to spring forth on dry land. Many planets were already sending explorations into space, searching out other life in vast universe. Zapathia would not be one of these discoveries. It was so far from any other solar system that the distance would be impossible to achieve.

  The primitive people on the small planet sought shelter in caves or formed isolated nomadic tribes, traveling with fur skin tarps to keep them dry from the elements. The temperature on Zapathia varied, with the three suns heating the southern hemisphere to a constant, mild climate. In the north, the third sun was never visible and harsh winters froze the ground. Snow covered the forest floor and mountains through more than two seasons of the year.

  Eventually, evolution worked its magic. A people evolved with imagination and strength, though lesser-developed tribes continued to populate areas in small, cloistered groups. They were fearful and distrustful of the new natives, and tried to hide from them.

  The First Tribe, those born with superior faculties, considered themselves to be the true Zapathians. They continued strides in mental and physical advancements and made tools, domesticated and trained animals… and eventually turned to the lesser tribes to provide the labor for distasteful chores.

  The latter development did not rest well with some of the members of the First Tribe. There were a few who became more interested in following a more spiritual, ritualistic path, and they spent their days seeking knowledge. The majority of the tribe regaled strength, and bred for brawn and superior physical traits.

  A fissure of discontent flowed and ebbed within the First Tribe. The philosophical faction did not agree with the concept of enslaving people from the other tribes. There were heated discussions and tribunals of dissension between the two groups, as the spiritualists continued to spend their time in musings and beliefs as to how they felt their world should be.

  Their other brothers and sisters worked to stretch their physical limits, increasing their muscle and size. They rarely considered the hows and whys of their existence, and they preferred to inherently accept that they were to be the superior people. Along with obvious enhancements to their appearance, a mental change was also forming. These giants of the tribe who had once taken captives only when they needed work done, began to crave the domineering, sadistic pleasure they experienced when they conquered and mastered a less advanced tribe.

  “It makes no sense for us to be distracted with mundane chores when there are so many capable hands to do this work.” Sapan glared down at the table of philosophers. It was yet another futile tribunal called against slavery. “It is easy for you to think this way. Any heavy lifting and labor would be left to us.” Sapan waved his hand towards the table of strong men sitting behind him.

  Fipal squirmed uncomfortably. The man was right. The believers did not have the strength to carry packs across the desert, nor could their women spend hours in the sun tanning skins. Still, they held the knowledge and rituals, so they had something to offer their tribe in return. “It is wrong to force other tribes to do our work,” he insisted.

  Sapan stared at the small man. As far as he was concerned… and he was not alone in the thought… the philosophers’ wishes should not be considered. Except for some harvesting of strange herbs and plants to spend years dissecting for food or medicinal value, they did no labor to support the tribe.

  Sapan’s eyes scanned the table of delicate men, and his lip curled in distaste. “You have let yourselves and your followers become weak, Fipal. You think your value to the tribe lies in your thoughts? Bah. Years of wandering through the trees… and what have you discovered? You have invented spirits and rituals to explain what you do not understand. Will your spirits do your fair share of work for the tribe?”

  “They will provide for us,” Fipal replied.

  “We will have to provide for you,” Sapan roared. “And why should we support a faction of philosophers when the slaves are more than willing to work with the encouragement of a whip.”

  The heated discussion lasted for hours, and once more the spiritual believers lost the support of the tribe. Their numbers were not great enough to convince them to abolish slavery. Fipal did not give up. He held three more tribunals considering the distasteful issue before the final breaking catalyst between the two factions that happened in fourth season.

  The tribe was in their southern settlement, and Fipal watched Sapan lead a troop of his giants towards the desert. Slaves pulled wheeled cages behind them, and Fipal shook his head in dismay. They were leaving to capture the last of the Fistas that had managed to hide from them.

  “Fipal is watching us leave,” Nilan noted. He swung up into the saddle of his banta, gripping the reins of the tamed beast in one strong hand. “He will demand another tribunal.”

  Sapan turned to see the meek man twisting his hands. “Let him,” he spat. “The tribe will not volunteer to set the captives free. Why should they want to, when it would only mean more work for themselves? With all the time Fipal spends thinking, how can he not see this? The tribunals are a waste of time.”

  Sapan and his group walked their bantas towards the desert. He knew the Fista who remained free had followed their procession across the sand. They were fearful of nearing the settlement, and they crouched behind the sparse foliage at the edge of the dry sea. This made the capture quick, and Sapan turned his men back to the tribe while the major sun had just passed the noon position. The Fista cowered in their cages, and Sapan felt his passion rising with their fear. It was an exhilarating feeling he shared with his brothers.

  When they had returned to the First Tribe with their seven captives, their women crowded around the cages. Sapan walked up to his wife. “What is this about?” he demanded. His woman was almost as tall as he was, with strong legs and arms from strenuous exercise. The women of their faction could hunt and attack almost as well as their men, and this ensured strong offspring. Indeed, the babies weighed a full pound more at birth than those of the weaker philosophers.

  “We wish to train the slaves,” Vishon answered. Her dark eyes stared directly into his, and Sapan realized she was willing to fight him for the right.

  “The men train, Vishon. It has always been so.” Sapan watched her fingers edge towards her knife. He turned and walked to his troop. “They are willing to challenge,” he informed them in a low voice. None of the men liked fighting their women, but by no means was this a chivalrous consideration. It was due to their wives’ strength and competitive nature. The women had no qualms about causing them real pain.

  “We could argue that we captured them,” suggested Nilan. “Tell them to get their own.”

  Sapan glanced at Vishon’s challenging gaze while she waited for their decision. He turned back to Nilan. “Do you wish to make that suggestion to Elan?”

  Nilan looked over at his wife. She had her short club in one fist and was tapping it against her open palm. This was her weapon of choice, and it had knotted his head more than once. “Let them have them,” he agreed.

  The women strode off, with the slaves pulling the cages of frightened captives behind them. As it turned out, they were very thorough with their training, much more thorough than they were with their attention to their husbands.

  As the women had strengthened, they had become domineering. Somewhere in the mix, affection and the desire for sex had been derailed. Counter to this evolution, the physically superior men had voracious sexual appetites. When they tried to force themselves on their women,
several of the men had experienced their wives’ talents with clubs and knives.

  Sapan watched Vishon whipping a man-beast for dropping a load of wood. His cock thickened at the sheen of sweat glistening across her shoulders. When she drew her arm back, her long, lean legs tightened with her movements. It had been more than a week since those legs had been wrapped around his hips while he thrust into her. It was a rare encounter, and he adjusted his seat to accommodate his stiffening shaft.

  A Fista woman returned with his water, and he stared at her naked, pendulous breasts. They were the most closely evolved to First Tribe, but had remained bent over, with thick claws and fur down their spines. Still, everything else seemed to be in place. Sapan stood and grabbed her arm, and he dragged her into the trees.

  The Fista stared at him with frightened eyes. He unlaced his breeches and used the strip of leather to bind her wrist cuffs together behind her back. Her claws stroked nervously through her pelt as she considered what the master would want from her.

  “I don’t need you ripping through my skin,” Sapan muttered. He bent her over the branch of a fallen shifon tree and kicked her ankles apart. The Fista was forced to look at the ground, and she squealed when his cock plunged into her. Sapan gripped her hips and brought her to a quick rocking motion.

  “Ah, yes. Yes, this is much better,” Sapan hissed. To think, all this time, the answer to the men’s tortured need for release was already captured and trained to obey them. Why had the philosophers, with all their precious time thinking, not considered this advantage?

  Sapan withdrew from her dripping hole, and he spun the creature around. He pushed her to her knees and grabbed her hair. “I will rip out your fangs if I feel a single tooth,” he threatened. The black eyes widened when he fed his cock into her mouth. Sapan pushed and ground into her, thrusting down her throat. He closed his eyes, enjoying the forbidden experience. Vishon had only conceded to the pleasure once. Now, he could enjoy the sensation whenever he desired to.

  “Ah… ah…” He felt his hot seed rising. “Aaaah,” he gritted out. As he expelled his load deep into her mouth, he opened his eyes and they fixed across the small clearing… directly into Fipal’s horrified stare.

  Sapan gathered the men and told them of his actions. At the risk of being beaten, they met with their wives. The women quickly decided that their men could use the slaves for sexual gratification. They were tired of being pestered for service. Most of them found the act demeaning and subservient, and it was against their dominant nature.

  With the women in agreement, Sapan was ready for the tribunal. Fipal had run back to his puny group of philosophers and the meeting was demanded before sunset. The spiritualists could not turn their backs on the abhorrent development.

  Fipal began his litany, describing the scene in the woods in the believers’ delicate, mundane way. Their women stood behind them for support, and the spiritualists paled at the description of the act. The big men, seated at the table across from them, smirked. Fipal turned to Vishon. Surely, Sapan’s wife would finally understand that the slaves must be released. This act risked the corruption of the entire First Tribe. Vishon’s eyes were cold and expressionless, and lacked the shock and disgust Fipal had expected to see. He turned back to Sapan. “Do you deny what I witnessed?”

  Sapan stood, and he replied in a casual tone, “Of course not. First Tribe has already voted and condoned the use of slaves to handle any chores we do not wish to do.”

  “But… but…” Fipal was too flustered to answer. He had expected denial or anger. Instead, the big man answered the charge as though it was of no importance at all.

  Sapan turned to his wife. “Did you wish to mate with me this afternoon?”

  Vishon sneered. “I’d rather skin a pera.” Several of the wives laughed. “I was busy this day, training a Jueger to carry wood.”

  Sapan smiled at Fipal’s shocked face. “See? I merely had a slave handle a chore for me while my wife was preoccupied.”

  “Sex is not a chore,” Fipal blurted out. “It is the union of two spirits with the…”

  “Shut up about your spirits.” Sapan looked around the room. “I call for the vote.” Enthusiastic thumbs rose into the air and the measure was passed. The big men looked pleased, and their wives’ faces expressed relief.

  This was too much. “Kirabi,” Fipal seethed. “You are all, Kirabi.” He stormed out of the meeting with the other spiritualists close behind him. From that day forth, First Tribe remained together but no more tribunals were held. Word spread quickly through the small faction of believers, and the brutish enslavers of the tribe were called the Kirabi… the beast riders.

  Though it was meant as an insult, the strong men carried the title, Kirabi, with pride. They ignored the insinuation that the spiritualists were referring to their perverse pleasures with lesser tribe slaves. Instead, they perceived the name as an honor to their accomplishments and strength. No others had ever been able to tame the wild banta and train it to actually submit to be ridden.

  As a counter measure, it was not long before the Kirabi decided upon a name for their weakling brothers and sisters. The philosophers had wasted generations with most of their time spent studying the stars and nature instead of full days building muscle and stamina. The Kirabi now stood more than a foot taller than them. They scorned their weaker faction, and named the passive spiritualists Vastara… the little people.

  At the end of second season, when the First Tribe traveled north to harvest the plants that grew on the meadow, Fipal, along with a few followers and their wives, crossed the field and wandered deep into the northern woods. They did not return to the meadow for the trek south when winter set in. Through the cold winters, while they spent weeks in the shelter of the caves, the philosophers discussed the First Tribe.

  New generations were born with a few Vastara remaining in the north rather than subjecting themselves to watching the cruelty of their Kirabi brothers and sisters. It was not uncommon for the beast riders to grab a slave in the open, even in front of his wife, and force the poor captive into sexual service. The acts were becoming perverse, with challenges held between the men.

  While the Vastara remained petite, the Kirabi were changing and becoming more passionate in their desire to dominate. Besides their height and bulk, their features were also altering. The change in their appearance was mentioned to the Vastara who had abandoned the tribe and remained in the north. They reflected and discussed the information, and finally decreed it was a sign from the Mother of Life. Full generations of Kirabi were born with midnight black hair and eyes. The color had left the beast riders.

  Hushed talk at night among the Vastara who had chosen to remain with the First Tribe had the thoughtful people shivering at the vision of how cruel and brutish the domineering Kirabi had become. They whispered nervously that they feared it would not be long before they would have to submit to the fierce group.

  When their apprehensive thoughts were relayed to the northern philosophers, a fantastic scheme was devised. The Vastara began to prepare for the mass exodus and split from the First Tribe. Due to the fierceness and size of the Kirabi, this took a decade of planning. With the spiritualists’ methodical ways and beliefs, riddled with discussion and indecision, the mass departure might never have happened… if a beast rider had not committed a fateful act.

  It was during a harvesting trek north, when a Kirabi man grew tired of spending his passion on a subservient tribal female. His eyes wandered towards a lovely, petite Vastara woman, picking flowers while she reflected on her strange beliefs. He strode over and grabbed her arm, and he claimed her as his own. The cruel man broke her spirit until she could no longer recite her rituals. She was forced to wear a collar, and she was kept leashed or bound to keep her from escaping. There was nothing the Vastara could do to save her… so they ran.

  As they spent most of their time in the forests, the Vastara were agile among the trees and rocks. They could not fight off wild animals w
hile they wandered in thought, so they had become adept at fleeting escape. The sheer size of the Kirabi hindered their progress through the forests. The bantas were useless in the thick brush, even though their forearms’ claws dug frantically at the branches. The beast riders finally withdrew to the meadow, grumbling angry curses at being outmaneuvered.

  Chapter I

  As years passed and new generations were born, the Kirabi became even larger and stronger. The Vastara remained concealed within their northern forest and caves, content with their passive world of enlightenment. Any strategy the philosophers had witnessed from the Kirabi concerning fierce battle and weapons was long ago forgotten. It was useless information for their rituals.

  Stories around campfires grew to exaggerated tales. The legends of the Kirabi’s vicious, cruel nature kept the Vastara content from a desire to leave their cold land. Tales were also spoken around the beast riders’ fires. One legend that kept the men enthralled was of an ancient people hidden in the north forests that possessed ethereal beauty. Their own women, though quite stunning, were almost as tall and muscular as the Kirabi men. The thought of a petite female… fragile and submissively passive… became a mythical obsession for the beast riders.

  To own such a creature, Dasheen thought. He stared up at the small second moon while a Fisba slave sucked his cock. The female was encouraged by his swollen organ and she was pleased that her ministrations were so well received. Dasheen looked down at her. The pathetic creature still bore a shiny black pelt down her back and the beast rider’s hand gripped her fur, keeping her in place.

  It was the beginning of third season, and the Kirabi would be traveling south again, soon. The cool winds already chilled through the tents at night. Dasheen’s mind always wandered to the Vastara when his tribe made the journey north to gather vegetables and herbs. He peered across the waving grass towards the forests and mountains on the other side of the fertile meadow. There were no lights from fires or any indication that the Vastara still existed. Indeed, it had been suggested years ago that with their small stature and lacking the physical skills of the Kirabi, Vastara had been extinct for generations. They simply could not have survived the brutal winters of the north.