The First Tribe (7 page)

“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 that 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 importantly, 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.”

“I do not feel calmed that my father is stealing my property,” he seethed.

“Dasheen,” Marel said softly. “Think, son, of the disruption within the tribe if it had not gone this way. If any brothers took the slaves, there would be nothing but dissention and challenges until there were but a handful of males left. The leaders are the only men who cannot be challenged. We did this to keep peace within the tribe.”

This was not entirely true. The women had thought about letting their sons keep the women, until the challenges had killed off enough voting males to ensure their leadership. In the end, it was the thought of a new race of slaves that had swayed their decision. With the sons leaving the tribe, it would tighten the vote anyway. It would only take a few beast riders, still angry with the leadership’s ruse, to secure their victory.

Dasheen could see he would get nowhere with his mother. He wandered into the darkness with his friends. They sat at the edge of the clearing, silent and sullen and trying to absorb their defeat.

“Dasheen,” a low voice rasped.

“Not now, Fista,” he retorted in anger.

“I have seen your Vastara,” she said.

His eyes rose to her face. “And?”

“She pines for you. She cried so when Marel removed your bands.” The Fista held out the leather as proof. The Fistas needed the men to reclaim the women as soon as possible, before irrefutable damage was done to them. “She placed the bands of your father on your flame beauty,” she added.

Dasheen thought of his father’s blue emblem marring his slave. Just before the anger caused him to issue curses, a thought occurred to him. “The bands have already been replaced?”

“Oh yes, Dasheen. It was the first thing Marel did after she stripped the sobbing girl,” the Fista answered.

Masan and a few others were now focused on the conversation. Dasheen asked, “And this was
before
the tribunal?” The Fista nodded. Dasheen jumped to his feet. “By the cold winds of Flagar, this was planned all along.”

Masan said, “Bentil hinted as much.”

“This is treachery. They never intended for the vote to be fair.”

“Calm down, Dasheen. It does not change our predicament.”

Dasheen sat in silence for a moment, and then he whispered, “On that you are mistaken, Masan. It changes the situation, a great deal.” Soon after, the deceived beast riders began meeting, and planning a way to steal their slaves back. It would mean a split from First Tribe, but it was obvious the Kirabi had become riddled with corrupt political manipulation.

Chapter V

The Juegers were intrigued with the happenings in the Kirabi village. They met, occasionally, with the Fista, when a joined meeting was whispered between laborious tasks. It was interesting to watch the women meet, then the men, and then both together, with the beast riders planning their own excursion and the slaves planning a more permanent solution.

The Kirabi were so distracted with their scheming that slaves had taken to pretending to be busy, as few of the tribe were paying enough attention to order them. Fistas laughed quietly while they took prepared fruit and transferred it back to a gathering basket, and pretended to slice and cut the same food over and over. Meanwhile, their slave spies continued to listen and relay the appropriate information to the correct faction of Kirabi.

Sabra woke in a haze, unable to wipe sleep out of her eyes. It took a moment for her to realize that she had been bound in a most immodest position to the table. Her eyes slowly focused, and she saw Marel staring down at her. Beside her was an older beast rider with silver shooting through his black hair at the temples. Marel had lost the argument to train the slaves in private.

Sabra whimpered and struggled to close her legs. As humiliating as it was to be naked before the woman, it was nothing compared to her embarrassment at the man’s lecherous gaze. Seela’s incessant chanting began, and Sabra almost envied her ability to vanish from this place.

“If you must watch, stand over there out of my way,” Marel demanded. She waited for Vison to move to the frame. “Bring the tray,” she ordered.

The Fista shuffled over with a small wood table and glanced at the slave’s green eyes. They were widened in terror, and the creature felt sorry for her. At least she had been born to this captivity.

Marel picked up a thin strip of leather. She reached out and gently squeezed one of Sabra’s breasts, and the slave glanced up at the man and then looked down at the mauling. She began to sob quietly.
Mother of Life, protect me. What is she doing?
Seela’s keening wail split the silence, and then her chanting began again in earnest.

Marel added a stroke across the girl’s nipple to her gentle ministrations. Soon, the bud was tight and deep red. She tied the leather strip into a noose, slipped it over the hard, protruding nub, and tightened the slack.

“Oh,” Sabra cried. The painful thread made her nipple throb. Palla had not discussed these tortures. Sabra had no way of knowing that Palla was unaware of the perversions the Kirabi discovered after the Vastara had split from First Tribe.

Marel did the same to her other breast, and then she walked to the foot of the table. “Vison, strap her waist. She is moving around too much.” Even this was carefully planned. Marel knew how alluring the slave would appear fighting her binds.

Vison’s eyes were piercing the slave, and a light sheen of sweat was beading his forehead. After he tied a thick belt around the girl and latched it over her belly, he returned to his position by the frame.
Why had our ancestors agreed to let the women take over the training?

“Bring me the oil,” Marel ordered.

The Fista returned with a small cup of the potion on the tray. Her sisters had made sure it was strong, much stronger than the light aphrodisiac they applied to themselves. Her black eyes widened when she saw the liberal amount Marel used to coat the hair on the girl’s sex lips to keep them secured from her cleft. She held back a groan. She had warned Marel that only a drop was necessary.

Sabra began to feel a warm sensation on her labia, and she squirmed her hips against the table. There was a tickling feeling she did not recognize that was causing a gripping roll in her stomach. It was not her stomach, she realized, but further down. In a panic, she realized the uncomfortable spasms were centered in her womb, the Mother of Life’s place within her. The Kirabi woman was manipulating the feeling in her soul. “No,” she moaned in terror. Seela’s chanting, now in a rising pitch, was a terrifying song of death.

“Silence,” Marel hissed. She picked up a stick, branched at the end to a fork. The two tines had strips of leather lashed to them, forming small loops. Marel began squeezing the slave’s sex lips into the loops, attaching them to the twig tines, and spreading her so her slit was open and accessible.

“No,” Sabra moaned again. A glance at the man staring at her exposed sex, made her sob.

Marel placed a finger over the girl’s hole. She could feel her pulsing response, and even now, with the oil merely coating her labia, a warm wetness was being expelled. She heard Vison’s deep inhale as he scented the slave’s arousal.
Such horny beasts.
She fought to keep the contempt from her expression.

The slave’s pleasure bead, something that had all but disappeared from Kirabi women, thank Flagar, began to swell like her nipples. To Marel, this was proof that the Vastara were no more than a Fista or Jueger, and compelled by sexual urges.

Sabra felt the woman touch her center of light, stroking a pleasure that was supposed to be reserved for her husband. She finally had to close her eyes to shut out the sight of the woman’s excited gaze.
Dasheen, save me.
Sabra tried to picture the handsome, virile man, riding Shiru to her rescue. She moaned and sobbed while the woman stroked and pinched her clit.

There was a scream from across the room, and Sabra thought it was Anali. A few seconds later, Palla and Sabra chorused the shriek when their clits were tied off with a noose. Sabra tried to buck against the table in her panic, but the waist belt held her securely.

“Just why, again, are you piercing her?” Vison asked. “You are certain it will not inhibit her sexual response to me? If she is to be a pleasure slave, I presume it would help if she achieved enjoyment from the act.”

“Don’t you dare question my methods, Vison,” Marel warned. “Initially, I will be able to coat the open wounds with the fistal oil. After that, the rings can be coated and turned.” She looked up in annoyance. He was still staring at the girl’s purpling clit. “Think of her passion, Vison. The aphrodisiac will caress her very nerves.”

Marel picked up a strong, thin tine from a peluvia cactus. Thicker needles from the plant were used to sew leather, so she was not afraid of it breaking off in the girl’s flesh.

Sabra opened her eyes and saw a sadistic cruelness in Marel’s stare as she looked at a long spike. She squeezed her eyes closed again and quivered.
Oh, Mother
, she sobbed in her mind. She was too frightened to speak out loud and risk causing the woman to torture her further. Only Seela had not been demanded into silence. Wilan decided it would be a futile effort to get her to stop her tedious ranting.

Sabra shrieked when a sharp pain burned her nipple. Her eyes flew open in time to see Marel pushing the spike through her engorged, trapped tip. “Oh, Mother,” she wailed loudly.

“Silence,” Marel spat.

“Oh, Mother of Life, protect me.”

Marel realized the girl’s pain was too great to obey her. She let her cry her words to her stupid spirits, and concentrated on her work. She picked up a polished stip shell that had been sanded to a smooth blue ring. Marel had to squeeze the tight nub to fit it through the small opening, and she was certain that in the girl’s infrequent unaroused state it would remain seated. She pierced the other nipple while the girl sobbed and pleaded with her spirit.

Sabra felt Marel’s fingers on her clit and she strained against her bindings. “No. Oh, Mother of Life. Oh, no,” Sabra screamed.

Marel ordered Vison to hold down the girl’s hips and Sabra felt his weight crushing her into the table. Marel glanced at his breeches, and was satisfied to see the bulge of his cock. Sabra felt the quill push slowly through her center of light, and she fainted.

She awoke to the dimly lit room, curled on the floor of a cage. Fingers were stroking her brow and she looked up to see the Fista sitting on the floor and reaching through the bars.

“Here,” her raspy voice said softly. “Drink some of this, and it will help you rest.”

Sabra’s nipples and sex were aching, and she looked down at the little shells inserted into her bruised tips and began to cry.

“Drink, Sabra. Just a little, and you will feel better.”

“I want Dasheen,” she wailed quietly. “Why doesn’t he come get me?”

“He cannot. The tribunal voted you to be owned by his father.” The Fisbas decided not to tell the slaves of the plan for escape. They might shout their knowledge in a fit of passion.

Sabra took a small sip of the potion, which had been flavored with juice. The Fista smiled. “I was told you like the fruit of the bilap tree. I will try to make sure you enjoy it, though it will have to be disguised in your water. The Kirabi do not let slaves have it.”

Sabra lay down again with her head close to the bars. The Fista continued stroking her hair and Sabra did feel herself calming. The woman asked, “Tell me of your spirit… your Mother of Life.” It was the first of many such talks they would have as the Fista learned the Vastara beliefs and passed the comforting knowledge to the other slaves.

It was just before dawn when there was a squealing scream from the other side of the quarters. Sabra got to her knees, gripping her bars as the old Fista attending her shuttled quickly towards Seela’s cage.

“Run, Aucht,” a Fista ordered.

“They will catch me,” the woman sobbed.

A Fista said in a softer tone, “No, Aucht. Run to the fillinia bush.” Her meaning was clear. If Aucht ate a blossom, her death would be swift. The poison would eat at her organs within minutes.

Aucht asked, “Do you think it would be all right, if I make my death a sacrifice to their Mother of Life?”

The Fista hugged her and murmured, “I think that is fitting, as that is what your charge has done.”

They waited until sunrise to give Aucht time to get to the plant. The other slaves were still clutching the bars of their cages, trying to look around the hunched women and see what had happened to Seela. The old Fisba turned her head and called over her shoulder, “Turn around, slaves.” When the three Fista were sure their request was followed, they walked back to their charges, blocking their view from Seela’s cage.

Sabra could see the weariness in the Fista’s eyes and a sadness that brought tears to her eyes. “What has happened?” Sabra asked.

The Fista reached through the bars, stroking the girl’s hair and trying to force a smile. “Your friend has gone to your Mother of Life, Sabra. Aucht will join her to care for her. Seela is at peace now.” She continued to brush her thick fingers through the girl’s hair while she cried. “I must go and tell Marel. If this is not reported, we will be punished.”

When the Fisba walked away, Sabra strained to see across the room. There was an immense pool of blood still dripping over the edge of Seela’s cage. She was curled on her side with one arm trailing through the bars onto the floor and one resting on the slats, in a final risen position of sacrifice.

A few minutes later, Marel and the other three Kirabi women stormed into the tent. Sabra bolted against the back bars of the cage and trembled.

“Her mind unraveled?” Wilan hissed.

“I think her mind was unraveled before she ever arrived here,” Marel replied.

“And you said nothing?”

“It was apparent to all of us, Wilan,” Marel answered. “We hoped you could calm her again.” It was Marel’s way to always trap people in a defenseless position of blame. That was how she ensured her leadership among the women…
and soon, the tribe.
Marel had no conscience concerning her ambition.

Wilan said, “I will demand a tribunal for a replacement.”

“On what grounds?” Marel asked, in a bored tone.

“Jarung was third command for the quest. Surely he merits a captive.”

“And how do you expect to get the votes, Wilan? The inferior slave was your son’s choice, and now, with her sacrificing and wasting herself to her nonsense spirits, your training will come into question.” Marel increased her threat. “Why, the women may vote you out of the training quarters completely.”

“By the cold winds of Flagar,” Wilan gasped.

“I suggest you find the Fisba who neglected your order and allowed this to happen. It was Aucht, wasn’t it?” Marel asked. “I believe she is also one that you trained. You did mention you would not allow another to watch over the slave.”

Wilan stormed out of the tent. Twice, in as many minutes, Marel had questioned her training abilities. She strode through the settlement demanding to know where Aucht was hiding. She would pierce every inch of her thick hide with thick peluvia needles.

Wilan’s search was in vain. It was a Kirabi hunter who found the old Fisba woman the next morning, curled at the base of the fillinia bush. She had tried to straighten her hunched back and raise her arms in sacrifice, as she had watched her small charge do. There was a smile on her wrinkled face.

Aucht had not even told her friends how she had watched through the night as the girl murmured her prayers while she ripped the rings out. She had even offered the slave a sip of the tipila tainted water, to calm her and ease her pain. Seela had used the edge of the stip ring to slice through the veins in her arms. Aucht had been mesmerized with her peaceful expression as she raised her bleeding arms over her head and chanted her beautiful song to her Mother of Life.

In the end, Aucht saw a bright light through the pain. In her delirium, she saw Seela in the clouds holding her hands down to help Aucht come to her. The Mother of Life had accepted the old Fisba woman’s sacrifice.