by J. Thorn
“You are truly a woman now,” Acatel managed to moan as his manhood stood upright, pulsing in the air.
“I am finally yours, Lord Major. Command me.” Gishwan got down on the floor. She pushed up on her knees, raising her bare flesh to Acatel once more. “Take me everywhere,” she said to him.
Acatel took his member with his right hand and guided its head above her flower, to her other orifice. He pushed with an even and steady motion, and felt her open and accept him in the most primitive way. As soon as the tip breached, she pulled away, leaving him dangling in the air once again. Acatel could take no more. He cared about nothing but releasing the tremendous pressure that built from within.
Gishwan spun around and laid on her back, looking up at Acatel. “Come to me,” she said. “Give me your seed.”
He straddled her chest, aiming at her inviting lips. As he got closer, he felt her take it in her hands. He looked up at the water-stained ceiling of the filthy room. When he looked down again, Gishwan was not there. He rubbed his eyes, thinking that he must be on the verge of a hallucinogenic orgasm. He felt her arms wrap around him from behind, her hair falling on his shoulders and her hot breath teasing his neck.
“I cannot control myself for much longer,” he said to her between heavy gasps.
“You can surrender now,” she said. “I have waited for this moment for so long. So many nights I dreamt of you. I saw you and your men slaughtering my village, raping the women, burning it to the ground. I knew that someday I would need to avenge them, but I never guessed I’d get the chance so soon.”
Acatel froze, and his breath lodged in his chest like a heavy stone. Her hands turned cool to the touch.
“I can make you suffer for much longer than you thought possible,” she said.
Before Acatel could move, Gishwan sunk her teeth into his neck. His hands flailed in the direction of her face, but found nothing but air. Gishwan bit down harder, forcing her elongated teeth deeper into his neck. She sucked hard and drained his body of blood while his eyes searched the room for hope. Acatel’s pupils dilated, and the rising of his chest came to a stop.
Gishwan faced Ri and the Serpent King, who were standing in the doorway. She smelled of musky sex and blood. Passion dribbled down her leg and blood dripped from her chin to her nipple, landing on the wooden floorboards. She reached for Ri and unfastened her robe, and both women stood facing each other, eyes lit with lust and fire. The Serpent King dragged the body of Acatel to the far wall and propped him up. He wanted to be certain that the lord major could witness in death what he was denied in life.
Chapter 50
Wind raced down from the mountains and across the barren plains. The Rain God only visited this forsaken land in times of extreme need, and desperate shrubs and scant grass dotted the rocky flats like harmless whitecaps on a vast sea. The land of the Slavinoch yielded few crops, and the hard, brown, and weather-beaten people known as the Slavis fought for their existence. The loose confederation of tribes consisted of nomads and primitive hunters and gatherers. Situated far from the capital and the Great Sea, affairs of the Empire meant little to the tribal leaders.
Zona checked the pot to make sure it did not boil. He walked towards the pile of meager firewood and tossed another dead branch under the tripod. The wood, parched and bleached by the power of the Sun God, reminded him of bones. He had led his hunting party back from a three-day expedition, and most of his friends ran to their tents and took their wives. A cry from a predatory bird overhead broke the spell the fire had on Zona, and his eyes scanned the horizon, always protecting the sanctity of his village.
Men of the Slavis did not survive as long as those in the urban centers of the One World, living brutal, harsh, and violent lives. However, the Slavis avoided the vices of the civilized. Zona’s fingers felt the bone in his nose as he spun it around in a circle. The battle with the wildcat flashed through his memory, a ceremony of leadership from a lost time. He reached to feel for his bow and placed another hand on the shaft of an arrow.
The horizon met Zona’s gaze and returned only the deserted plain. No man would dare venture this far out without good reason, and no invading force would be foolish enough to fight for this land. He reached for the water bladder on his belt when a flash of movement caught his eye. Zona stopped and faced the anomaly of the night. Rising from the south, like a puff from a pipe, grew a dust cloud. He thought of his grandfather’s story, the tale of the messenger who traveled from the heart of the Empire to deliver news. Zona’s father had not seen it in his time.
Other men saw the movement, as well. They stumbled from their tents as faces of satisfaction gave way to concern and fear. Zona walked to the edge of the camp and rested upon his long spear. His village would expect him to make contact, which was what he prepared to do.
The messenger and his horse grew in stature as they approached the village. Women shoved children inside the tents, and the men grabbed their hunting weapons, standing shoulder to shoulder behind Zona. After what felt like hours, the messenger pulled the steed into a moderate gallop. The dust of the plains covered man and horse, and both attempted to dispel it from their lungs. The rider bore the crest of Risenachen on his helmet, but Zona could not remember which tribe lived there.
“Are you the chief?” asked the messenger. He dismounted from his horse and patted the animal on the neck. He brought a dented flask from the saddlebag and poured water into the palm of his hand. The horse licked it clean.
“I am Zona, chief of the village of the people of the Slavinoch.”
“Can one of your men tend to my horse? If he dies, I will be forced to join your tribe.”
One man choked on a smile before it turned the corners of his mouth, while the rest glared at the foreigner. Zona motioned to a man on his left, who took the reins from the messenger and led the horse away to a makeshift stable.
“Why are you here?” asked Zona.
“I am here to deliver news and to ask for your allegiance.”
“We belong to the Empire. On the rare occasion that they request tribute to nourish the Sun God, we provide it. What news do you deliver that would be of interest to us?”
“Can we talk this out in a pub over a mug of ale?”
Zona’s men looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders at the words of the messenger. He shook his head and shoved the next question at Zona.
“Has news of the coalition reached you?”
“No.”
“The proclamation?”
“No.”
The messenger could not be bothered with the fine details of the most recent events. He did not think it would be necessary to explain the intricacies of the recent conflict to a man with a bone through his nose. “Stand tall and listen, for I shall not be staying long enough to repeat the communiqué. The Council of Elders in the capital has issued a proclamation freeing all subjugated tribes from their tributes.”
A murmur boiled up like the hot water hanging over the fire.
“Wait, there is more. The people of the One World desire retribution. Think of the sacrifices you made. A coalition force has gathered in the city of Risenachen on the edge of the Great Sea. Lord majors of many tribes have been discussing battle plans for the march on the capital.”
Zona interrupted the messenger. “Why take revenge on the Empire if they have freed us from the bonds of tribute?”
The messenger rolled his eyes and stomped his foot in the dusty soil. “Are you comfortable hiding behind the proclamation when the next chief elder of the capital reinstates the tribute?”
Zona nodded his head in understanding. “What do you ask of us? We live a simple life off the plain, as our forefathers did.”
“The distant thunderheads will eventually come and strike your lands.”
“It has been a long time since the Empire requested a tribute from us.”
“Maybe so. But what would you do if the request came again? How would you explain the tribe’s obligation to yo
ur friend, your villager, or your wife?”
“What do you ask of us?”
“The coalition asks nothing more than that you bear your fair share of the burden. When the regiments march towards the capital, we ask you to send as many warriors as you can to fight the People of the Sun. Do not cripple your tribe and subject your women to starvation, but help us fight the Empire, to make sure our children never live in fear of them again.”
“If we refuse to fight?”
“Then you will suffer the same fate as the defeated. You march with us, or you stand against us.”
“That is not much of an offer.”
“It is all you have.”
Zona looked to the sky and across the dark faces of his people. “I must consult with the men of the tribe. It is they who will risk their lives.”
“Do what you must. I leave with the next birth of the Sun God, and I will take your answer with me.”
The messenger walked towards the hitch and untied his horse. They climbed up a slight hill to a jumbled collection of rocks, leaving the men of the tribe to decide their fate without interference.
Zona summoned the men who had not come out to greet the stranger. His wife tended to the pot. Each man filled his pipe with herb, and when smoke from the pipes joined the smoke from the fire, Zona opened the discussion.
“Men of the Slavinoch, we have a momentous decision before us.” He spoke in their native tongue rather than the language of the Empire. He did not want the messenger to be privy to the discussion.
“As you have heard, a coalition marches on the capital. Their intent is to destroy it and prevent the People of the Sun from ever reestablishing their grip on the One World.”
“Is the message valid?” asked one man.
Zona let out a sharp whistle as he thought about that question. “I guess we don’t know. We can assume that if regiments march through our territory, they have joined the coalition.”
“What is to stop the coalition from creating the same system of subjugation used by the Empire?” asked another man.
The comments and questions came to Zona without malice. The men of the tribe attacked all corners while the chief did his best to defend all attacks. Generations of the Slavis had used the decision-making process with continued success.
“To my ears, the coalition sounds like a collection of tribes with the common goal of eliminating the Empire. I think their aspirations and desires vary too much for one governing body to emerge.”
“Who stays and who goes?”
Zona winced. He thought of his sons. “All of age,” he replied, forcing the lump in his throat back down.
Silence descended on the men. They refilled pipes and relit the herb.
“I am in favor and recommend Zona take our reply to the messenger,” said one man.
“Yes, as am I.”
“Agreed.”
“We shall join the coalition.”
Each man gave his affirmation to Zona. None remained silent.
“With the rise of the Sun God, I shall provide the messenger with our response. Go to your families with the news. We won’t have long before the regiments of the coalition march across the plain with us in their ranks.”
Zona took his own advice and entered the tent, where his wife feigned sleep. He knew she had listened to the meeting. Zona’s sons slept in another tent nearby.
“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?” he asked her.
“My love, do we ever?”
He crawled under the animal skins and felt the comfort and security of her body heat. The blustery nights on the great plain forced the two together. For a fleeting moment, Zona thought of the messenger and his ignorance of the ways of the plain. A smile crossed his face when he pictured the man snuggling up to his horse.
“What is so funny?” his wife asked.
“Nothing. When do you think the regiments will arrive?”
“Soon, I’m sure. You’re going to have to lead the boys into war.”
“That is not something I look forward to, but it is something required by the Book of Horoscopes. We do this so that our children’s children will remain free of the whims of the Empire.”
“You do not have to justify anything to me. I stand beside you.”
“What if we do not return?”
Zona’s wife shifted and turned to look into her husband’s eyes. “Then you do not return. That is not something I will contemplate unless the gods force it upon me.”
“We must leave some men to hunt and protect the children. Maybe I can assign our sons this duty?”
“Zona, you know you cannot do that. You swore to lead the tribe. You must lead in good times and in bad.”
“No one has yet asked the most important question of them all.”
“What is that, my love?”
“Can the coalition win the war? If the Empire is as strong as generations of us have been led to believe, nothing short of the will of the gods can defeat them.”
“Does any soldier have guarantees before heading into battle?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Why do you think you would?”
“What can a puny hunting party of Slavis do in this conflict? How much of a difference can we make?”
“As much as you can when multiplied by hundreds, or maybe even thousands. If the coalition sends messengers to all corners of the Empire, all scattered tribes of the One World, the invading force will be powerful.”
Zona stared into his wife’s eyes while taking her hand in his. She squeezed it hard and pulled herself closer to him.
“Enough talk of war. There will be plenty of time to deal with that tomorrow.”
Zona embraced his wife and took her with great deliberation. The feel of her skin on his was something he intended to keep vivid in his mind.
***
“That doesn’t make sense. In all of our childhood lessons, you instilled values of loyalty and obedience to authority. How can you vote to join the coalition?”
“It is not a difficult choice to make, without options.”
“Why can’t you say no?”
“Turning our backs on the coalition means we become their enemy. They would march through our territory, destroying our village and everyone in it.”
“You’re a coward.” Those last words struck Zona across the face like a blow from a warrior.
“I don’t expect you to understand now. When you get older, you will have an appreciation for my decision.”
“I doubt that. You taint our name. I will not fight. You can’t make me.”
“True. But if you turn your back on your people, you will be dead to us.”
“It is you who has turned your back on your people. You prostrate yourself before a coalition bent on tasting revenge for past wrongs, done by a distant people to the ancestors of other distant people. How is the Empire a danger to us?”
“The Empire and its ways have drained the One World for generations. They take and return nothing to the Earth Goddess. While it’s true that they have left us alone, their material lifestyle dooms us all.”
“I just don’t see it, Father. How?”
“We exist in the Fifth Sun. The People of the Sun came back; they ignored the final warning of the Macu-Vulture.”
“Is this the end of the Fifth Sun?”
“Prophets interpreted omens in line with the legend of the Macus, correct?”
“If that is the case, why join the coalition?”
“In the eyes of the gods, destroying the People of the Sun may not save the One World, but it may give all of us our own paths to redemption and peace beyond the Region of the Dead.”
Zona’s son sat still. The anger and feeling of betrayal dissipated into the cool night air. “When do we march?”
“When the coalition arrives,” replied Zona.
“Do you think we will die, Father?”
Zona’s heart melted when the question reached his ears.
“We mu
st all go beyond the Region of the Dead, kings and beggars alike. Nevertheless, child, the circumstances of your passing weigh on my heart. The gods value your death more than your life. The Book of Horoscopes controls our destinies in life, and we control our paths in death. There is no nobler passing for a man than to die in battle. If our Books say it, then so be it.”
Zona’s son came around the fire and sat next to his father. Zona embraced his eldest, realizing it might be the last time he could do so on this plane.
The fire continued its eternal dance, heating the bodies and spirits of the men of the Slavinoch.
Chapter 51
Grief and despair descended upon Risenachen as news of the murder of Lord Major Tepan sprang from the lips of the citizens. The suicide note had complicated the ambiguous circumstances of the situation, but officials had no time to investigate the murder and suicide beyond a cursory report. The coalition accepted its orders and marched with the next journey of the Sun God. Pubs and taverns pulsed with life as soldiers from all over the One World remembered Tepan and celebrated their final night of freedom. Tenders ran short on ale, and madams ran short on human pleasures.
Before the Sun God woke, the Serpent King inspected the coalition’s forces. Shane of Gisanti and Lellan took charge of various regiments, including Lord Major Tepan’s unit, and the coalition leaders now addressed them as Lord Major Shane and Lord Major Lellan.
Soldiers lined the streets, which spread out like spokes on a wheel from the coliseum. Inns, private residences, and houses of sin could not hold the thousands of warriors swelling the city. Many camped on the main streets in anticipation of the march to the capital. Inside, regiments of the most powerful lord majors claimed their valuable piece of the floor. Men fanned fire, painted their bodies with war paint, and talked in boisterous tones as the time of departure neared. Roasted fowl sizzled over flame fueled by construction materials. Streams of pungent human waste raced for the lowest point in the floor. The slapping sound of wrestling men preceded the clink of coins exchanged by the gamblers. When the first rays of the Sun God pierced the eastern sky, the Serpent King occupied the throne on the platform, Shane standing to his right and Lellan to his left. Some of the other lord majors supervised their troops on the floor of the coliseum, and some milled about on the platform in hushed anticipation. Many wondered what approach the Serpent King would take with the troops.