Sabra’s numb fingers picked up the fruit, and she was dragged over to the side of the cage. Her arm was pulled through the bars and not released until the fruit was settled in the woman’s other hand. She jerked Sabra’s arm until she raised her eyes. Sabra saw a malicious pleasure in their black depths. “This treat is not for a slave,” she announced, and she popped the slice of bilap into her mouth. Marel returned to the front, and while the procession moved ahead Sabra turned to see the Fisba being comforted by her friends.
The Kirabi woman’s message was very clear. She had no qualms about inflicting swift punishment, there would be no way to overpower her; and she considered Sabra as no more important, nor would she be treated differently, than the Fisba. Palla, Anali and Sabra continued to clutch each other in the middle of the cage. Seela had her arms raised, gripping the bars overhead and chanting whatever sacrifice or ritual she had invented for the situation.
“I have a fanatic,” Wilan spat. How could Jarung have chosen a zealot?
“They tame the same as the rest,” Marel replied. Although the chanting girl was quite pretty, she was nothing compared to the fire haired beauty Dasheen had selected. Marel was quite proud of her son.
The women were very well aware of the legend concerning the only other Vastara who had ever been forced to service the Kirabi. They would have to carefully work to coach Jarung’s father so as not to allow the girl’s mind to unravel. They had decided it had to be the subservience to a man that had distressed the slave, and so the women did not feel their training would have an affect on the girl. Still, her chanting was tedious.
The cart stopped before a large tarp supported by tied beams. This was a much stronger enclosure than the tents that were constructed for the nighttime stops on the way to the settlement. The cage was opened, and Marel stood by the door. She stared at Sabra, pointed to the ground, and clapped her hands once. “Out.”
Sabra continued to clutch her friends, and silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Fear had frozen her limbs again, though she was not sure she could willingly crawl to the terrifying woman anyway. In a flash… Mother of Life, the woman was quick for her size… Marel reached in and grasped Sabra’s collar.
Sabra half-dragged Anali and Palla to the door with her, whimpering in fear as she slid over the edge of the cart and landed on her knees in the dirt. The woman pulled at the band, choking her and blocking her airway while she pulled Sabra steadily to her feet. When Sabra squeezed her eyes closed, the woman twisted the collar until she could not drag in the smallest breath. “Open your eyes, girl.”
She had no choice. She would be strangled where she stood if she did not do as she was instructed. The black gaze continued to shine a strange passionate pleasure when she stared at her. “What is your name?”
“Sabra,” she trembled. “I am of the Vastara tribe to the…”
The collar was twisted again, cutting off her words. “Silence. I’m sure my son has told you by now, your heritage is of no importance. You are a Kirabi slave, and you better accept that.”
Her son? Dasheen is her son? Why didn’t he tell her that she belonged to him? It was an unconscious decision that Sabra had made. No matter how nervous the beast rider had made her, this cruel woman was much more terrifying.
Sabra was dragged inside the tent, followed by her friends and their escorts. The large space had been divided into four separate areas, each containing a table, a square shaped frame with leather straps hanging from it, and a small cage. There was also a Fisba woman… an older creature… standing in each corner. The woman pulled her towards the table.
“You have brought the concoction?” Marel asked the Fisba in their quarter.
“Yes, Marel,” the guttural voice replied. Even through the hoarse sound, Sabra thought she detected a note of disgust.
The giant woman finally released Sabra’s collar. She stood trembling and quietly crying, leaning against the table for support. The woman reached out and began stroking her sides. When she reached for Sabra’s breasts, Sabra pulled back. With her lightening reflexes, Marel slapped her across the face. “Be still, slave.”
Sabra whimpered from the harsh blow, and she shook harder while the woman stroked over her breasts. Her fingers pinched at Sabra’s nipples beneath the thin material of her pera tunic. There was a pleased expression on Marel’s face that was frightening. Sabra panicked when the woman’s hand reached lower, beneath the hem of her short skirt, and finally cupped her naked sex. There was a shriek from across the tent, and everyone’s eyes flew in the direction.
Seela stared up at Wilan, whose hand was buried in her crotch. Seela then gazed up at the ceiling as if she were looking at the clouds. “Mother of Life, protect me. Your daughter’s sacrifice is for your service.”
What the other Vastara girls noticed, which the Kirabi women did not, was that Seela’s eyes were dry. While the rest of them had tears wetting their faces, but Seela’s face held a stoic, determined gaze of some far away dream. Along with that, there was an edge of passionate desire that Sabra had seen in Zifan’s face when he discussed their upcoming vows. Palla had already told Anali and Sabra that Seela’s mind had unraveled. It had happened before they even crossed the desert. Where the Kirabi thought she was merely chanting her rituals for comfort, after secluded time in the cage with her, Palla realized that Seela had left to the spirit world, seeking redemption from Mother of Life.
Marel shook her head in distaste. At least her slave did not bother them with the spiritual nonsense. She refocused her attention to her training. The women had been meeting for days, discussing their plan. With the larger creatures, it was more a matter of breaking them with brute force. They had never considered training a slave to give pleasure to a man. They really had no particular interest in how the beast riders would benefit from this. It was the intrigue of a different method of training… anything other than the routine of working with the Fisbas, Juegers and such… that made this so interesting.
The thought that their granddaughters would have an exciting new breed of slave to train that committed them to the process. Although much smaller than the other creatures, Marel was pleased to find the girl’s parts had not evolved to such a point as to make them inaccessible. There were soft curls springing from the girl’s sex lips and the hole was tight. Marel only let the tip of her finger explore the opening.
The slave was shuddering, which was an unusual reaction. The Fisbas and others enjoyed sexual stroking. One of the most difficult things to break them of was their incessant rutting of any available partner when they were not busy with an ordered task. When Marel had whipped the truth out of a Fisba, the creature admitted the use of an oil released from the petals of a lavender herb. When rubbed on their sexual parts, the oil caused a sensitivity that made them want to be touched. It took their minds off the cruel demands of the Kirabi and made the perverse unions with the men more bearable.
“Strip,” Marel ordered when she stopped stroking the girl.
“Mother of Life,” Sabra gasped. She had heard Palla’s tale that the Kirabi might demand sexual compromise… but, the women? Sabra had assumed it would be the men she would have to appease. This must be the perversion Palla had alluded to. Her hands remained clasping and opening by her sides.
Marel raised her hand to slap her again, and Sabra quivered and cried. “Please. We are Vastara…”
Marel’s hand swiped across the wet cheeks. “You are a Kirabi slave. Strip as your master has ordered.”
Sabra shivered at the angry passion on Marel’s face, and her trembling fingers reached for the hem of her dress. She pulled it slowly over her head, and as the furred edge rose up her torso Marel’s eyes narrowed. The girl was perfection, in a miniature form. Her lines were not tightly muscled like Kirabi females, but soft and supple, begging to be caressed… or whipped. The pale skin would mark beautifully.
The pale sex lips were covered with the same shining, deep red hair that hung down the girl’s back. Marel thought tha
t at least this might be black, as presumably sunlight never washed beneath the slave’s tunic. Her hand reached out towards a large, puffed nipple, dusky red in color like the blossom of the poisonous fillinia bush. The nipple responded immediately, tightening, with the nub becoming darker and protruding nicely. It would be easy to pierce.
Sabra stood shivering, though obviously not from the chill of this warm climate. She held her dress in front of her, trying to cover her body from the woman’s gaze, and pressing the Kirabi’s fingers against her breast. They were trapped between Sabra’s flesh and the skin of her pera tunic. Marel swept the garment out of her hands, and tossed it against the skin wall. “Our slaves wear no covering. Unlike that frozen tundra you have been hiding in, our climate stays constant and quite pleasant.”
Sabra said nothing, though she continued to shiver and Marel had to forcibly lift her onto the table. Sabra sat with her hands gripping the edge of the wooden plank. Marel clapped her hands once and the Fisba approached with a new set of sturdier bands. Marel was amused by the distress in the slave’s eyes when the girl followed the path of every discarded leather strap as it was tossed aside. Sabra cried while she focused on Dasheen’s red emblem dyed into the removed bindings.
Marel lifted her hand and wrapped the newer thick band around it. The Fisba handed her a metal ring. Marel measured the leather so that it wound tight around the girl’s small arm, and she pierced the band with the sharp end of the ring and threaded it through the other side. The Fisba handed her a burning twig with the end wrapped in banta hide and soaked in an oil that made the flame burn hotter. “Be still,” she warned. Marel did not want to burn the girl, and that is why she started with a wrist cuff instead of the collar. Working with simple-minded creatures, she knew it eased them to have an idea of what was happening.
The Fisba held Sabra’s arm out and Marel let the flame heat the pointed end of the ring. Within moments, it melted and dripped to the floor. Marel squeezed the ring together and fused the edges. While she worked the other wrist and Sabra’s ankles, she noticed the girl studying the ring.
They did not work with metal in her tribe, and Sabra was curious about the shining rock. A tug proved how strong the ring was, and Sabra realized the cuff would not be removed with the simple pull of a lace. Her hair was pulled across her shoulder while the woman welded the ring on the collar. All the bindings were much tighter than Dasheen’s bands had been.
So far, much of what was being done were things Palla had told them about, other than that the strange rituals were being performed by women. This still made Sabra extremely uncomfortable. The Fisba handed her a nayello skin, and Sabra raised it to her lips. The hot air of the place had made her very thirsty, and she gulped the water until the bag was empty.
Within moments Sabra felt tired, and dizzy thoughts went through her mind. She barely realized Marel’s arm was behind her shoulders, nor did she feel her pressing against her chest as she laid her on the table. Sabra’s eyes were closed before the first leather strap had lashed her spread on the table.
“They look so fragile,” Vison commented. When the girls were drugged and sleeping soundly, Marel and the other women fetched the leaders they would be working with. It was an unusual situation to have to depend on the men, but the situation warranted their cooperation.
“They are quite healthy,” Marel assured him. She leaned against the square frame with her arms folded over her chest while she watched Vison explore the new slave. “Only Wilan’s slave has been compromised, and we think it was from a man of her own tribe. Perhaps she was mated.” Marel shrugged. Poor Wilan was becoming more distressed with Jarung’s choice.
When Marel was certain Vison was enthralled with the slave… enthralled enough to stand his ground against Dasheen, at least… she reminded the group they were expected at the tribunal. The Fisbas were left with instructions to feed the sleeping slaves a small amount of the drug to keep them napping.
As soon as the Kirabi entered the meeting tent, other Fisba women ran to the training quarters. The Kirabi had no idea, because they had no interest, that the Fisba were no longer the simple-minded creatures that had been captured so long ago. They pretended to be feeble minded. It kept them from more difficult tasks, and the Kirabi paid no mind to what they discussed in front of the servants. The Fisba women were appalled at the Kirabi’s scheme to breed a new tribe to capture, and from their own blood, no less. They held their own secret meetings… and they also had a plan.
The Fisba was distracted, running her three padded fingers down Sabra’s chest and resting her hand over her womb. The dark haired one, Palla, had begun telling her of their Mother of Life. She would teach their captive tribe of this wonderful spirit. “Dasheen is beside himself with worry.”
“There is no way we can stop the training,” the older Fisba answered. “Perhaps it is best that they are allowing us to use the oil. It might make it easier on the poor creatures.”
The Fisba stared at the opening to the tent when they heard the raised voices from the meeting hall. The older women pushed their younger friends out of the quarters before they were all caught.
“This is never how it has been done,” Dasheen seethed. The Kirabi women sat on one side while the leaders were on the other. Dasheen and the beast riders were left standing and vulnerable in the center. The situation was becoming dire. The Kirabi men who had not attended the capture were ringed around the space, hoping to be chosen.
Bentil stood. “Silence, Dasheen. Our laws of First Tribe have always been the standard. See for yourself the dissention your rash decision to go north has caused. If you did not want this outcome, you should have captured enough slaves for your brothers.”
Brilliant, Marel thought. He has put Dasheen in a defensive position he cannot argue with.
Vison looked at the anxious faces of the young Kirabi men, hoping to usurp the returning beast riders’ claim on the slave. “Vote,” he bellowed. “Do we accept tribal law and allow the leaders to choose who takes possession of the slaves?”
Predictably, all but the angry beast riders held their thumbs up. Dasheen and his men were crushed, but they could not fight their entire tribe. They stood silently seething in the center of the meeting hall. “And how will you choose the new masters?” he asked. He still held hope for a challenge, of sorts. He was a skilled hunter and fighter.
“It has already been decided,” Bentil replied. By the cold winds of Flagar, this was enjoyable. He watched the discomfort on Dasheen’s proud face. You have raised a fine son, Marel. He was becoming more convinced, that the women’s plan would work.
This last bit of news made the young Kirabi’s waiting in the wings very nervous. They had not even heard of their brothers’ success until two days ago. They had no time to push favor with the leaders for position.
Dasheen felt a lump in his throat. His father had been a good teacher but they had never been close. He pictured his flame haired slave kneeling beside another man, in the arms of another, in the bed…
Vison watched the emotion on his son’s face and felt a measure of pity for him. Not enough to renounce his right to taking the fire siren from him, but still some slight remorse. Vison had taken one look at the beauty and he had decided the women’s plan was flawed. He would not be giving the Vastara slave back to his son. There was no question the other leaders desired to keep the women. Why should they suffer without them so grandsons would benefit? And with the tribunal voting them as the possessors, another meeting could not be called for when they reneged on the plan with the women.
Bentil, still enjoying himself immensely, dropped the bombshell. “To defray further distracting disruption among First Tribe, the leaders will take possession of the Vastara captives.”
The beast riders were stunned. “What?” Dasheen exploded.
Before he could expound further, Bentil called out, “Vote.” Predictably, all the young Kirabi men turned their thumbs down. Just as predictably, all of the leaders… and more imp
ortantly, all the women… gave the measure a thumbs up. With all of the women backing the vote, it was a sweeping victory.
Dasheen pointed at the leaders, glaring. “You manipulated this. You have schemed this from the beginning.”
Masan and Jarung joined his anger, railing arguments and curses. “You have allowed us to do the work for you, even gathering the harvest. Are you so old that you can no longer capture your own slaves?” Dasheen’s insult stilled the room.
Bentil glared at him. “No, Dasheen. We are just wise enough leaders to let the young pups bring our treasure back to us.”
In a feeble attempt to deflate the tension, Vison added, “Was not the chase and capture worth your quest? It is something none of us have enjoyed for a long time.”
Dasheen’s fists were clenched at his sides, and Masan could see he was ready to attack. He nudged Jarung, and they each grabbed one of his massive biceps and led him out of the meeting tent. The other beast riders followed, dividing into groups and declaring with curses how they had been tricked.
When the tent was empty save for the women and the leaders, Bentil chuckled. “Well, the youngsters are all together again, though they are not pleased with their leaders.” He smiled at Marel. “Your plan was thought out well, Marel. You have even managed to maintain your son’s favor while we take the blame.”
“They will think back to the vote, Bentil. They will realize it was their mothers and sisters who locked their defeat.” Marel could not care less. The women were using this scheme for other purposes. It was becoming quite apparent that the wrong sex held leadership over the Kirabi. She stood and looked down the table of women. “Come, we have work to do.” The women filed out without looking back.
Marel had made it but a few steps into the darkness when her son loomed in front of her. “How could you, mother?”
“Feel calmed that it is Vison who will master your flame slave.”
The First Tribe Page 7
