The First Tribe

by Candace Smith

  “The gilan is a plant. That’s different.”

  “And the bantas? You saw Shiru chase down that pera.”

  “They are animals, Dasheen. It is their nature to eat meat.”

  “We are animals, Sabra. Why should the beasts get nourishment we are denied?”

  “You’re trying to confuse me.”

  “I’m trying to enlighten you, like those spirit guides you follow.”

  Sabra was quiet, and she watched the stips continue their perilous feeding. “It still disgusts me.”

  “And you can still eat your soft diet of fruit and vegetables,” Dasheen conceded. He stood and brushed off his breeches. “Come. We have a long day of traveling tomorrow to reach the edge of the desert.”

  Dasheen held her hand while they walked back to the tent. His own mind was in turmoil. He had never spent so much time speaking to a captive. Of course, the other tribes did not question and offer such intriguing conversation. Dasheen was certain to be in for an uncomfortable night. With Sabra curled by his feet, he could still see the shine of her hair. The Fistas were all sleeping soundly, after the arduous travel across the desert.

  They spent another day covered in the cart while Sabra described the desert life to her relieved friends. Palla was especially moved with the knowledge that Mother brought life to such a desolate landscape. Sabra was careful not to mention that Dasheen had eaten a stip.

  In the afternoon, Anali said quietly, “Masan held me last night.”

  Seela gasped. “He molested you?”

  “No,” Anali replied quickly. “I was crying, and so upset that even Mother had deserted me. He pulled me up beside him and wrapped his arm around me. He stroked my hand until I fell asleep.”

  “And you are certain he did not molest you?” Seela persisted.

  “Why do you insist on thinking those thoughts, Seela?” Palla had noticed she always referred to the Kiraba’s sexual perversions, though to their knowledge, as yet, none of the gatherers had been compromised. “Has your beast rider molested you?”

  “Certainly not,” her shocked voice snapped. “And I fully intend to sacrifice myself to Mother of Life before he gets the chance.”

  This opened a whole new world of silent musings for the rest of the day. A Vastara of honor would certainly sacrifice herself before submitting to the beast riders. The Kirabi were a people of no faith. Dasheen had told Sabra as much. She had chances with her knife, as they all did, but no one made the sacrifice. Sabra had a second chance with the banta, and she begged to be spared. Now, it had been many days since she considered performing the ultimate ritual to escape her captor.

  Anali whispered, “I don’t want to sacrifice myself, Sabra. Does this mean the Kirabi have already corrupted me?”

  “I don’t think so. None of us took advantage of our blade while we still had them. Even Seela, for all her righteous declarations, allowed herself to be captured.” Sabra sighed. “I don’t know what this means.”

  “Sabra, when Masan held me last night… I felt safe. Really safe. You know with our tribe. The hunters’ rituals help, but still three years ago a marapel killed Tupan and maimed Sharnell. I don’t think a marapel could get near me with Masan to protect me.”

  “The beast riders are very strong, and fierce hunters,” Sabra agreed. She was lost in a daydream again, thinking of Dasheen thundering to her rescue on the back of Shiru and saving her from the two-headed marapel snake.

  From outside the tarp, Sabra heard cheers and excited chatter. From their limited viewport they could see only sand. It was two hours before shadows traveled across the skin roof and Sabra finally saw trunks of the towering, branchless trees. “We’ve crossed the desert to the other side. Dasheen says the land is even greener than our forests.”

  The procession stopped and the girls were freed. Sabra could see the sands between the scattered trees, but they had traveled a distance from the desert to a well-used clearing with tables and a large stone fire pit. A heavy metal pot sat on a tripod over the ashes. The Fista began dropping chunks of meat into it, and Sabra turned with her hand covering her mouth. She heard a deep laugh and looked over to see Dasheen watching her.

  “I’ll never get used to this,” Sabra exclaimed.

  Anali was bent over with her hands on her knees. “Me neither. Mother of Life, how can they eat that stuff?”

  The girls wandered along the edge of the clearing, enjoying the colorful variety of flowering bushes. There was a bright red blossom with blue stamens, and Sabra reached out to pick one. A strong hand with strands of hair on the knuckles gripped her wrist and pulled her back. Sabra found herself staring into the eyes of the Fista woman who disliked her. The Fista shook her head, causing her whipping black strands to snap against Sabra’s arm. She finally released her grip, and she bent to pick up a twig.

  Sabra watched the woman near the blossom, and she brushed a blue stamen with the stick. The blossom spewed a cloud of pollen and the woman drew back the wood and held it up. The blue dust began eating away at the bark, and she dropped it. She pointed to the flower and looked up at Sabra, shaking her head again.

  Sabra began to tremble. “Thank you. Oh… oh, Anali.”

  The Fista walked in front of them and turned to beckon them to follow her. “I thought she didn’t like you,” Anali whispered.

  “So did I.” Sabra glanced back at the dangerously beautiful flower. She looked down at the twig, and saw that it had almost disappeared. “Thank goodness she got over whatever was bothering her.” She followed the Fista around the clearing. The woman held plants, teaching them which ones were safe. There were two more in the ‘do not touch’ category.

  At the edge of the clearing there stood one of the branchless trees. The Fista grinned, and in her hoarse voice she said, “Wait.”

  Anali and Sabra watched in amazement, as the woman gripped the trunk with her thick arms. Her clawed feet dug into the bark and she began to climb. She was quick about it, too. When she got to the broad leaves at the top, she climbed up and disappeared. A moment later, her legs reappeared and she scuttled back to the ground. She had a large purple fruit in her mouth, held by her fangs. “Good. Taste good,” she grinned.

  The Fista banged it on a rock and the skin burst open. She held out a bite for Sabra. It had a delicious flavor that seemed to be a blend of many different fruits, and it alternated between sweet and a bit tart. “This is wonderful,” she smiled.

  The Fista handed Anali a bite, and then took one herself. “Bilap,” she announced. She pointed at the fruit. “Bilap.”

  “It’s delicious,” Sabra said. She stared at the top of the tree. “I don’t imagine I’ll get to try it too often.”

  The words no sooner left her lips than the Fista was climbing again. She returned with two smaller fruits and handed one to each of them. Sabra thanked her again, and asked, “You aren’t mad at me any more?”

  The Fista gave a mysterious smile. “Dasheen come to me many times this week.” With that, she turned and shuffled back towards the other workers.

  “What do you suppose she meant by that?” Sabra asked.

  Anali shrugged and looked up at the fronds of the tree, thirty feet over their heads. “I don’t know, but keep on her good side. We’ll never be able to climb one of these trees.”

  Evening meal was held around the central fire. Most of the captives were already seated when Sabra heard Dasheen call out to her. She sat by his side and looked around the circle at her friends. There was a resigned look on their faces, with the exception of Seela. Dasheen had already lifted the pera skin to cover her eyes when she reached out and stilled his hand. At first, Dasheen thought she was going to try to eat without it, but then he followed her stare.

  Seela was kneeling with her back very straight. Even from across the fire Sabra could see her lips moving as she recited ritual words. She glanced at Palla who had a slight look of disgust on her face. Anali had the same uneasy, astonished expression Sabra wore. When the Kirabi held the b
lindfold out, Seela leaned forward as if she were sacrificing her eyesight to permanent blindness instead of merely having them covered in order to be able to eat. Sabra had not realized what a fanatic the girl had become.

  After dinner, Anali and Sabra sought Palla. “Why didn’t she join the daughters of the Mother of Life?” Anali asked.

  Palla replied, “Even the daughters would not put on such a display. After so many times of wearing the pera skin, she has built it into some ridiculous ritual. I think she is trying to atone for not sacrificing herself before she was captured.” Palla looked over at Anali who was still waiting for an answer to her question. “Seela could not join the daughters because she let Tarsa touch her before they were joined. I think that’s why she refers to the Kirabi’s lusts so often. She is as enthralled with sex as she is with sacrifice.”

  Palla glanced over to where Seela remained kneeling with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast. “I can’t imagine the ritual she will build when the beast rider takes her. To her, it will be a sacrifice paramount to death.”

  “Then, you do believe this is why they captured us?” Sabra asked nervously. “Dasheen has made no inappropriate advances.”

  “Masan told me that I don’t belong to him until the leaders condone his possession. They aren’t allowed to use us that way,” Anali informed her friends.

  Though Anali found comfort in the Kirabi’s words, Sabra was nervous. While she curled up on her furs that night, she wondered if this also meant that the leaders could choose to give her to someone else. It was not that she had a true affection for her beast rider, but he had not been overtly cruel to her.

  The caravan moved out in the morning, and Sabra and her friends studied the landscape they passed. It was green and lush, with an abundance of fruit trees and strange, warm climate vegetation they had never seen before. Four more days they traveled a path, with the beast riders in the front letting their bantas clear the way of any plants that had encroached on the trail since they had traveled north. Sabra was becoming used to the swishing sounds of their slicing claws.

  The end to the jungle was abrupt, and the caravan rolled into a sunlit space with many Kirabi and even more unusual creatures wandering about. Sabra stared at ancestors of the tribes from the Vastara legends. So far, none of the tales had been false, though they were a little inaccurate. Some information had been left out as too gruesome to pass down through the tribe. Much more was not told, because the Vastara had split from the First Tribe before the atrocities had gone so far.

  As soon as the procession was spotted… as soon as the fragile, colorful women were noticed… beast riders ran to the cages, gripping the bars and trying to reach the captivating women. Sabra screamed, though the sound was lost among a chorus of frightened cries, mixing with cheers and excited curses from the Kirabi.

  Sabra joined Anali and Palla in the center of their cage, and they clutched each other tightly in fear. Seela remained close to the bars, kneeling with her straight back and chanting rituals while the beast riders reached through the bars and pawed her. Sabra finally closed her eyes, begging the Mother of Life… or Dasheen… to rescue her.

  Chapter IV

  The returning Kirabi were proud of their accomplishment, and they dismounted their banta to make sure their brothers did not injure their slaves in their excitement. Masan pushed his way close to the cage and he pointed to Anali. “That one, the one with the sunlight hair. She is mine,” he boasted.

  Sefine was standing next to him, and continued to reach out and try to grab Anali’s long golden braid. Masan gripped his forearm. “She is mine, Sefine,” he repeated, not understanding why his brother would try to grasp his property.

  “No, Masan. The leaders held tribunal, and they have declared any Vastara that might be captured were too rare a find. They will decide who will possess them.”

  Masan’s mouth twitched at one corner, and he looked up to see Dasheen’s murderous glare aimed at the back of Sefine’s head. “Who has declared this ruling? We have captured the slaves, and our laws state that they are our possession.”

  Sefine turned to look at him, and when he saw the angry black gaze, he moved aside. “No, Dasheen. We have just always allowed that, because we had plenty of the other slaves to distribute. The law states that the leaders declare ownership.” A worried look crossed his face. “You have not compromised them on the trip down?”

  “Of course not,” Dasheen muttered. “Masan, watch our slaves while I seek answers.” He strode towards his mother’s tent, turning once to see the crowd of loud beast riders. His troop was having to fight and push to keep them from rocking the cages. It was no wonder, if they thought they would have a chance to take possession of one of the captives.

  Sabra was terrified, and she followed Anali’s pleading eyes while she stared at Masan. Eventually, there was a ring of Kirabi she recognized from their travels, surrounding their cage with their arms folded across their chests while they kept the crowd at bay.

  Dasheen did not have to go far. His mother, joined by other women trainers, was leaving the meeting tent and walking swiftly towards the commotion. “Mother.”

  “Dasheen,” she responded without looking at him or slowing her step.

  “What is this I have heard? After traveling north in the early chill, harvesting for the tribe, and a successful capture, we are to be denied our possessions?”

  Marel did not slow down, and she answered her son in a dispassionate tone. “All possessions belong to the tribe, Dasheen. It is up to the leaders to disburse them.” Marel had anticipated her son’s anger. She, herself, would have been outraged to have a hard fought prize removed from her grasp.

  “This is not how it has been done,” Dasheen argued.

  Marel was approaching the cages with her friends. She was as curious as the other women to see the Vastara captives. “Call for a tribunal,” she suggested over her shoulder, ending the conversation. Marel clapped her hands and the women gripped their weapons while the raucous Kirabi men silenced. “Move it,” she demanded. “The captives belong to us until the leaders decide their placement.”

  The men moved slowly away, deciding on the chances of overpowering the women. More Kirabi females were approaching the wagons, all armed and dressed in their leathers. The pera skin vests barely concealed their breasts, and large nipples, taut with excitement, were clearly outlined. Their tight breaches were slung low on their hips and exposed flat stomachs and the rippled muscles of their torsos. It was only their appearance that was seductive, and they dressed in this fashion because they knew the distraction to the men would be an advantage for them. It was not for the alluring promise of sex.

  Dasheen had walked around her, and she watched closely to see which was the captive he had chosen. By the frightened woman’s pleading gaze at her son, she quickly discovered it was the flaming hair. Wide green eyes stared fearfully up at her son, and Marel narrowed her eyes on him. “She has not been compromised, Dasheen?”

  He spun around and glared at her. “No, she has not been compromised. We have upheld the Kirabi laws.” The insinuation was clear in his tone. He was indeed outraged at the leaders decision, and considered that they were not upholding their end of the bargain. He would never learn the role that his mother played in the turn of events. Dasheen turned back to Sabra. If he had known there would be the possibility that he would lose his prize, he might not have denied himself.

  Although he intended to seek out his father before calling a tribunal, for now it seemed the best he could do would be to follow this unfair turn of events. He did not want to lose his chance to claim his siren back by falling into disfavor by rash actions.

  Marel met the eyes of the other women, and they carefully noted which woman their son had chosen. To further the men’s anger, they had decided to personally train the slave their son desired. The men were so distraught and angry with their held passion that it was several days before the first beast rider noticed that the Vastara beau
ty he had chosen was selected by his mother to prepare. It was Jarung who figured it out, by a tragic turn of events.

  Marel waved at the Fisba to follow her, and the lumbering beast towed the cart behind her and the three other women. Sabra gripped the back bars of the cage, staring through tear-filled eyes in fearful bewilderment at Dasheen who was standing beside Masan, Jarung and Ranal in the middle of the street. His jaw was set with determination, but he offered her no comfort.

  Vison had no intention of being cornered by his son to discuss the unpleasant situation. Bentil, cagey and strategic in matters of duplicity, spread a rumor that a tribunal was called at sunset. None of the returning Kirabi admitted to demanding the meeting, but all of them were certain it had to be an angered beast rider who had pushed for the meeting.

  When Dasheen was out of sight, Sabra and the other girls turned to look at the women who were leading them away. They were as large as the men, and somehow the young women thought they were much more frightening. Something dropped on the floor beside Sabra, and she looked down to find a piece of bilap. The Fisba stared at Sabra, trying to offer her strength.

  The leader of the women, the one Dasheen seemed to know well, broke rank with her friends. The cart came to a halt, and before Sabra’s mind could wrap around the Kirabi’s action, a whip was in her hand lashing out at the creature. Expert aim was taken at the Fisba’s bottom and the very nipples of her hanging breasts. Although the Fisba’s eyes filled with tears, she did not make a sound or move away from her punishment.

  “I did not order her fed,” Marel said in an icy tone. She turned to the cart and glared at Sabra, holding out her hand. “Give it to me,” she demanded.

  Sabra was too frightened to move. Her eyes dropped to the leather whip the woman was recoiling and securing to a strip attached to the side of her breeches. Her strong arm reached between the slats of the cage and her hand wrapped around Sabra’s wrist. Mother of Life, the woman’s grip was strong. She squeezed until Sabra’s fingers opened and hovered over the fruit. “Give it to me,” she demanded again.