by R. Lee Smith
“Apparently, there’s a room just off the commons where the victor gets to claim his prize.”
“Get out of town!” Liz exclaimed, and then shook her head in bemused contempt. “Forget pissing contests, they should have dick-fights.”
“Whoever can break a brick first, wins,” Olivia agreed.
Liz started laughing, then stopped, hissing. “Basin, basin!”
Crugunn leapt up, seized the shallow metal basin that was used as a bed pan, and slid it expertly underneath the human’s hips. After a second, she nonchalantly withdrew the pan and took it away to be emptied.
“Sorry,” Liz said uncomfortably. “Little guy tends to object to being jiggled by stomping on my bladder.” She was silent for some time, then added in a low voice, “I guess Cheyenne’s going to be using one for a while, huh?”
“Probably.”
“Did Vorgullum really cut her legs off?”
The question took her aback. “No, but he came pretty close. He…do you know what hamstringing is?”
Liz nodded and closed her eyes. “Both legs?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus.” She had too many gullan hands massaging her to tense up, but Liz shuddered. “You know,” she said uncomfortably. “Gormuck and I got off to such a rocky start…I used to hit him and rip his fur out whenever he came at me when I was in season. Not that it stopped him; I don’t think anything short of bolt of lightning can affect them much when you’re in season, and even that would probably only slow them down. But we used to fight. Or rather, I used to fight, and he used to stand there and take it.”
Rubbing her leathery hands expertly against Liz’s thighs, Rumm remarked, “He’s never mentioned this.”
Since it had been made very clear that males generally did not have lengthy discussions with unmated females, certainly not those of an intimate nature, Olivia and Liz both turned as one to stare at Rumm.
The female continued massaging, looked up only after the silence had time to sink in, then uttered a gulla’s deep laugh. “My brother,” she explained. “I am thirty years his junior, but we are close. He speaks often of you, his mate.”
“Happily?” Liz asked suspiciously.
“With resignation.” Rumm shrugged. “He wishes you would be more…” The gulla lifted one hand and moved it in suggestive circles.
Liz dropped her head back onto her arms, grumbling, “We can’t all be Olivia.”
“Hey!” But she was laughing, not really offended. To Rumm, she said, “Your brother actually talks to you about sex with humans?”
“He was curious.” Rumm shrugged her wings. “I am curious, for all that this matters. I know I will never have a mate. Vorgullum would not be so foolish as to bring human males among us.”
“Okay,” Liz said in a clipped voice. “Tell me what he says about me.”
Rumm regarded her curiously. “Are you angry?”
“Not yet.”
Rumm reached for a ladle and poured a dipperful of some kind of mildly soap-scented oil over Liz’s back in trickles. She began to rub again. “He says you were virgin when he took you,” she said after a moment. “And it made him feel monstrous.”
The other females working Liz over murmured in low sympathy.
Rumm said, “And one day—forgive me, Olivia—one day Vorgullum was telling the hunters of human pleasures, and how a human screams and thrashes with her mate in passion. And Kurlun agreed and told of the postures in which humans like to couple—”
“Postures?” Liz interrupted, startled.
“She puts her ankles on his shoulders,” Crugunn explained.
“Oh my God,” the humans said together.
“That is not customary?” Rumm asked, pausing in her ministrations.
“Does it sound customary?” Liz gasped.
“Not for me, but Kurlun seemed not to think it extraordinary.”
Crugunn added pensively, “Which rather makes me wonder what he would find extraordinary.”
“Okay, we’re all very impressed with Amy. Get back to Gormuck,” Liz commanded.
“Well,” Rumm said. “Wurlgunn said that his Beth comes freely to his pit and loves him, holds him. Gormuck began to see that you did not. And when he came to you that night and put his hand upon you, when you lay still as death beneath him, he began to understand that he was despised by you.”
“I didn’t despise him,” Liz whispered.
“But after some moons had come and gone, he returned from the hunt and you praised him, and he was so pleased that he called you to his pit and you went with him. He tried to give you pleasure. And then you held him.” Rumm shrugged her wings. “That is what my brother speaks of, when we speak of you. He knows he is not the mate you wanted, but you hold him. He cares for you. It… It saddens him that you do not want to bear his child.”
Liz winced. “I regret those words,” she said softly. “I could tell you that humans are emotional and not terribly reasonable when they’re pregnant—”
“It would even be the truth,” Olivia put in.
“—but it doesn’t excuse my behavior. God, I wish he was here right now. I wish I could tell him I was sorry. I hate to think I might actually have this baby while he’s away.” She was quiet for a little while. “But I probably will. Olivia?”
“Hm?”
“Do you think…Oh, this is going to sound so stupid. Do you think anyone out there is going to want me when I leave the women’s tunnels?”
It was Crugunn who answered, first with laughter, and then with, “I think, with a new life in your arms, there will be several suitors to pick among. That is what I think. Especially this child, which might so easily have been lost.”
“That’s…actually a little comforting.” Liz hesitated. “I just don’t particularly relish the idea of a pack of them beating each other up over me.”
The three gullan sighed. “Blood challenge,” Rumm murmured.
“Who do you suppose will be next to challenge the metal-maker?” Crugunn asked in her light, gossip-is-good voice. “There were eyes on Olivia like stars in the sky at this gathering.”
Olivia frowned.
“It will be Thugg,” said Rumm. “He’s made no secret of his desire.”
“I have half a bottle of thumperjuice that says it will be Vorast.” Thurga said this last with a hint of challenge.
Liz caught Olivia’s eye and started laughing.
“Thumperjuice, hm? I have a lantern, with fuel. It will be Thugg, and it will be blood challenge.”
“Blood challenge, yes, but not Thugg.” Crugunn tossed her hornless head as if the very idea of Thugg in physical combat were ludicrous. “Who was it that prodded Vorung into challenge, hm? Logarr was watching, and Logarr is watching still.”
“Logarr,” Thurga mused, and then shook her head. “He knows nothing would ever come of it. He’s not even tribe, not really.”
“Who would stop him? Vorgullum is gone. Olivia’s kind heart would have brought him in to a hunter’s feast once,” Crugunn said, her eyes gleaming as she smiled at Olivia. “Now, perhaps he thinks it will bring him in to her pit.”
“Logarr told Vorung to challenge?” Thurga asked, still skeptical.
“It didn’t take much encouragement, I think. Rumor has it Vorung has quite a taste for frog-skin.” Crugunn waggled her hips and laughed. “And as long as he wants a human, why not take the best of them?”
Liz rolled her eyes at Olivia, who covered her face with a muted groan.
“Vorung should have known better than to blindly challenge Sudjummar. Left to his own, he might have fought later, and fought better. But there stood Logarr, whispering to him as Olivia stood upon the rock. No, mark me, Logarr sent Vorung against him so that he could see for himself how Sudjummar would fight, and he means to draw blood of his own.”
CHAPTER FOUR
POWER
1
It seemed safer to spend the next few days in the women’s tunnels, away from what Horumn called
‘the stag-heads’ and the struggle with the Great Spirit’s spark that too often flared up around them. Olivia tried to use her time well, teaching Tina more of Murgull’s potions and helping in the clinic, and seeing what she could of Sudjummar when he brought Somurg to nurse. She even went to see Cheyenne as time wore on, only to find the other woman had finally gotten her wish and been given her own lair.
Cheyenne lay naked in a pit on her back. Chains ran from pitons in the wall to each arm and each leg. Her long red-and-brown hair had been pulled back into a single rope and wrapped through an iron loop that hung suspended by a chain from the wall. Her eyes were closed and stayed closed even when Olivia approached.
“She lunges,” said Yawa when Olivia had been staring at that loop for some time. “She bites if she is able.” Yawa watched Olivia examine Cheyenne’s red welts where her skin met iron, and then returned her attention to a stack of ancient Sports Illustrated magazines.
Olivia knelt at Cheyenne’s side. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
Cheyenne sighed without opening her eyes. “What do you think?”
“Can you roll over a little?”
For answer, Cheyenne seized the right-hand chain and pulled on it to heave herself on her side. Her back was spotted with tender red marks, but no open sores. Not yet. The backs of her knees were heavily bandaged. Olivia unbound one of these and ran the tip of her finger across a puckered scab—the lasting mark of Vorgullum’s rage.
“Can you move your legs at all?”
“A little bit.” The toes of her left foot twitched. The right foot curled inward slightly. “Not much. It gets a little better each day, but I’m not planning any walking holidays.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“So am I, sister.” Cheyenne returned to her back. Still she had not opened her eyes. “I tried to go on a hunger strike. That big bitch sat on my chest, chewed my food and spat it down my throat.”
“So eat,” grunted Yawa without looking up from her magazine.
“Kodjunn said they’re going to take my babies.” Cheyenne’s lip curled, but without heat. “He said I can see them, if I behave myself and act like a good little slave. You know, I used to help women get away from situations that weren’t even close to this bad. Now here I am. This is so fucking unfair.”
Olivia took a fold of canvas tent and covered her with it. Cheyenne shuddered when the material touched her, and then lay still.
“I’m never getting out of here, am I?” she asked dully.
“No. None of us are.”
Cheyenne finally opened her eyes. They were bloodshot and slightly yellowed. “Why do you keep coming to see me?” she asked.
Because no one else will. “Something to do.” Olivia tried on a smile. It felt too tight. “I have way too much spare time these days.”
“You need to find a healthier way to fill it.” Cheyenne’s eyes slid shut again. “Not enough you’re calling yourself the fucking Messiah, now you’ve gone and sent Carla out to be a bat-whore. How did that feel?” she continued, sounding sincerely interested. “When you got home and had one of those furries grunting in your face and humping between your legs, did you think, ‘Right now, Carla’s getting gang-jumped because I said it was okay?’”
Olivia touched her hand to Cheyenne’s forehead, found it cool and dry. “See that she gets lots of milk and other liquids,” she said.
“I try, Olivia,” said Yawa, rolling her eyes.
“Who’s next? I’m curious. You see, what I find so fascinating about you is your total willingness to play the part of Christ Our Savior. You fly out in the night to get medicine for Liz, but you drop Carla off in the Red-Light District of the bat-cave. You killed Maria and you got Beth pregnant. Olivia giveth and Olivia taketh away. This would be funny if it wasn’t so sick.”
Olivia stood up and turned away from the pit. “Massage her. Ask Horumn how if you don’t know. Treat those sores on her back twice a day, and try to encourage her to roll onto her sides as much as she can stand it. And I want some softer bedding in this pit the next time I see her.”
“And who is going to give fine bedding to this beast out of love for her? Or me?” Yawa sighed, but nodded. “As you command, Olivia.”
“As you command,” Cheyenne echoed, and laughed. “If I had it to do all over, I’d have killed you when I had the chance.”
Olivia left without speaking.
She supposed she ought to stop by Horumn’s residence and check on Victoria and Carla, but the thought depressed her. She walked past the Eldest’s lairs without stopping and left the women’s tunnels behind her. The thought of a bath was tempting, but she didn’t want to deal with people—the males would come onto her, the females would be jealous of her, the humans might be annoyed by her notoriety, and the gullan would be surprised by her discomfort.
Giving up on the entire night, Olivia resolutely made her way towards the forge. If Sudjummar wasn’t in too much pain, she would welcome the chance to cry on his shoulder and listen to his familiar voice explain the way of things in his mellow good humor.
The forge was bright, but the hammer wasn’t striking. She thought Sudjummar had stepped out, but then heard Somurg’s piercing giggles and realized Sudjummar was probably feeding him again, in spite of her wishes to the contrary. It was her own fault for sequestering herself and she knew it, but still! He knew he was supposed to bring him to her! Olivia broke into a run.
Sudjummar was perched on his anvil, talons digging comfortably into the sides, his wings curving sharply towards the ground, one of them edged in a hard clay cast. His back was to her, but she could see his arms moving as he presumably tickled at the baby that squealed and smacked back at him.
“Sudjummar,” she said, making an effort not to sound accusatory. “You promised you—”
The gulla turned.
His eyes were blazing with molten gold.
The Great Spirit stood Sudjummar’s body on the anvil, gathered Somurg to his breast and glared at her as steam from the forge floated up around his powerful body.
“You have not summoned me,” he said. He made no effort at all not to sound accusatory.
“Please don’t—” she began, rushing forward.
The Great Spirit’s hands flexed slightly on Somurg’s back, his expression darkening like the sky before a storm. A faint tremor ran through the stone beneath her feet. “You think I mean to harm my son?” His voice was a thunder of quiet menace.
“No,” she said, stopping with one hand still outstretched. “No, I think you’re going to harm Sudjummar.”
The god glanced down as though considering the integrity of the body he wore. “Hm. I cannot manifest in the same space with one of my own save that I inhabit him.” He looked up again. “What do you propose?”
“Let me go someplace private. I’ll call you. That way, you won’t have to possess anybody.” Her eyes pleaded.
“Acceptable.” The Great Spirit leapt from the anvil and leveled a claw at her sternly. “But do so swiftly. I have been patient long enough.”
Olivia turned and fled.
She raced through the dark passages by touch, stumbling into uneven walls and scraping her knuckles badly in the process. When she was sure she had found a true cavern and not just a wide tunnel, she put her back against the wall and called for him.
Light flared from dozens of points along the wall where ancient candles stood forgotten. The Great Spirit appeared before her, exploding into existence, even larger and more imposing than he had on the mountainside. Even lacking wings, he gave an impression of vast size and seething power; his crest of horns gleamed gold in the candlelight, like the aura medieval scribes drew around saints. Or demons, given the appearance of the Great Spirit. “Did I not impress you with the dangers that await you?” he demanded. “Did you think you could ignore my warnings? Ignore my commands?”
“I haven’t been back that long,” she protested, and he immediately looked annoyed with her. “And my mate lef
t, and…I’ve had other concerns!”
“Indeed.” His eyes narrowed. He advanced on her.
She backed up, struck the wall.
He glared at her. “I will not strike you,” he said crossly, and thrust his hand under her skirt. “Unless necessary.”
Olivia’s arms and legs went immediately rigid as marble; she dug her fingernails into her shoulders, turned her face away and squeezed her eyes shut. The Great Spirit found and cupped her sex in his palm and pushed one finger inside her as though testing for warmth.
“Hm.” He ran his eyes across her hands, digging bloody crescents into her own skin. “Is something the matter?”
“No.”
“You have succeeded in mastering the power I have given you.” He withdrew his hand. “Now I will strengthen it. You may lie down, if you wish.”
Olivia sank slowly to the floor, shivering, and rolled onto her back.
He knelt between her knees, put one hand on her thigh and looked at her intently. After a short silence, he said, “You are causing yourself to bleed.”
She forced her hands to unlock and waited.
He did not move. “Look at me.”
She shuddered, her stomach tightening. “Why?”
“Because I wish it.”
Olivia opened her eyes, took several hard breaths, and faced him. His molten eyes regarded her beneath a furrowed brow. His erection swelled out over her belly; small drops of clear oil glistened on the head of the thick shaft. She felt faint pain as two fingernails broke against the stone and she forced her hands flat again.
He said, “Do you wish to sleep?”
An image rose in her mind of herself flopping beneath him while he fucked at her for six or seven hours. She shook her head.
He seemed satisfied with that. He took her hips in both his hands and brought her up against his glans, his eyes drilling into her unblinkingly. A gush of thick heat poured out across her thighs and he bore down on her. “When you are immortal this may become easier,” he remarked, pumping another jet of cum to grease his entry. His hard stomach came flat against hers; growling pleasure, he moved one hand beside her head, toyed with her hair idly, and then just looked at her, wedged hot and deep and hurtful. “You are crying,” he said.