The Chieftain’s Daughter

by Leia Rice

  Mechan looked over at the elder branch, ignoring Zari, and his lips pressed together. In a way, she was right, and he hated to acknowledge it. But poison ran through her veins, he could feel it. Intuitively, he put off any future marriage with the woman less because of his yearning for his deceased wife, but more because he could not imagine himself with such a creature. He would put her away forever, just like Ishara, if he had a reason. But she hadn’t done anything.

  “You may leave now. And you can take back to the tribe that I have recovered from the food poisoning that has kept me inside for the past night and morning.” He watched Zari smirk before she turned to leave.

  His eyes flickered back to the branch, the one Zari held no regard or respect for. Ishara at least found some honor in it. But she was a slave—the daughter of a chieftain, but still a slave none-the-less.

  Mechan sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. “Forgive me, my wife.”

  * * *

  Zari threw her hands up in the air. “He is utterly impossible.”

  Aloran watched her from the comfort of a pile of soft bear furs. He found it amusing that Zari would waste her breath on his old man. Amusing and pitiful. “You know, Zari, if you spent as much time with your mouth around my cock that you do blabbering about how my father won’t marry you, at least one of us would accomplish something.”

  She glared at him. “And what would I accomplish with that?”

  “I didn’t say you’d accomplish something, did I?” Aloran plucked a fat grape from the wooden bowl next to the furs. Popping it into his mouth, he surveyed Zari’s sleek form. “You are wearing that dress that I adore.”

  Immediately, Zari’s frown disappeared and she pressed her hands down over the curves of her hips. “I thought it might sway your father.”

  “Tsk.” The young warrior clucked before sliding another grape into his mouth. With it half full, he continued to speak, “You know damn well my father does not care about what dress you wrap yourself in.”

  Zari pouted. “You do not know that.”

  “He has not had a woman since my mother died.”

  “He’s had that rotten, little Oolani bitch.” Zari’s teeth ground together as the words left her mouth. This apparently bothered the woman more than Aloran thought.

  Leaning forward, he placed the bowl aside and held out his arms in a pathetic and completely fake gesture for Zari to join him. “Come, my dear, and let me tell you about how men can lie just as well as women do.”

  Zari slipped into Aloran’s lap and wrapped her hands around his neck. “You don’t think he’s taken her yet?”

  “No, Zari. I do not think it. I know it. That little, disobedient flower locked up in that cage is as untouched as freshly-fallen snow.” Aloran ran his finger down the line of Zari’s jaw and slipped his finger past her lips and into her mouth. She suckled the tip of it greedily, and his balls tightened beneath his lengthening cock. “Which is all for the better, because when you help my slave to escape into the woods, I am going to catch her…and then she will rightfully be mine.”

  She withdrew his finger, and her eyes dimmed once more. “What?”

  “You heard me. You are going to help her to escape. Let her think she is running back home. Do her the favor, Zari.” Aloran hooked his thumb around into her mouth and tugged her head so he could put his lips to hers. He kissed her passionately, his tongue roaming through her mouth, then broke it with a whisper. “And when I catch her, I will fuck her and make her mine.”

  Zari braced both hands against his chest and shoved out of Aloran’s lap.

  “What, my dear? You cannot expect to have both me and my father, can you?”

  “You are using me!”

  “Of course I am. In the end, you can have my father and go live together somewhere out of my way, and I will take his tribe and people and make them mine. I think it is fair. Don’t you?”

  Zari spun around and pointed a slender finger down at Aloran. “What good is your father to me if he is not chieftain anymore?”

  Aloran sighed, tapping a finger against his bottom lip in mock concern. “I suppose that isn’t my issue, is it?” He reached up and grabbed her wrist, yanking her back down into his lap. “Come, Zari. You know that just as soon as my old man is dead, I’ll take you as mine. But these things come in their own time. And if you ever want to be the mistress of this tribe, you will have to play with me…not against me.”

  She fell back into Aloran’s lap with a huff, and he could hear the growl that started low in her throat. With another kiss, the rumbling tapered off, and soon she returned the kiss with a fiery gusto. Aloran smiled after pulling his mouth away from hers, and then patted the curve of her ass. “That’s my girl. Now. Think of a plausible escape plan that the slave girl will believe. She is smart, remember, so if it seems thrown together, she will not trust it. Or you.”

  “Very well. I’ll come up with a plan, and that little whore better believe it because I have little patience for the web she’s trapped Mechan in.”

  Chapter Six

  Days passed Ishara by as she sat, naked and alone in her slave pen. Another woman from the tribe delivered her the dregs of someone’s dinner served in the same, dirty bowl at the same time every night. She only got one meal a day, and as soon as it came, Ishara devoured it quickly, afraid that someone would steal it away from her.

  She was becoming an animal. A frightened, penned up, helpless animal. She hardly took her eyes off Mechan’s tent, and every time he would slip out to attend to business, she would fill with hope that today would be the day he would release her. Sometimes, if she was lucky, he’d stop by her cage to drop off a warm, dry blanket. She always wished he’d hopefully let her out, but it never happened. If he did let her out, she planned on apologizing over and over again and begging for his forgiveness. Part of her was sickened by this evolution, but she hurt Mechan, and the other part of her wanted to fix the mistake she made.

  But he never did look at her. He walked by, his hardened feet squishing in the mud, and not once did he acknowledge that she was even alive any more. It stung Ishara, and she did not know how much longer she could take being caged.

  The morning sun peeked over the horizon, painting the skies in pinks and purples. Fingering the ivory bead in her hair, Ishara hummed softly to herself and thought about her father. Where could he be? Why hadn’t he come for her yet? She feared that perhaps her father died as a result of the camp raid. Maybe that damned Aloran killed him when no one else was looking.

  Ishara looked down to her feet as a beetle ran over her toes. She plucked the bug from her skin and popped it into her mouth. Crunching on the small snack, she watched a group of women carry baskets on their hips and heads. Most of the baskets were filled with clothing, but some were filled with small children, sleepy from the previous night. They were going to the river to bathe, and as each woman passed Mechan’s slave pen, they looked on Ishara with contempt darkening their gazes.

  Some of the women carried spears, their baskets empty. They must be the huntresses of the group, as they were younger and more fit, built for running. Stalking. Killing. They too watched Ishara through hardened glares. Despite this, she did not take her eyes off any one of them. She might have hurt Mechan, but to the rest of the tribe, she could not appear to be weak.

  Eventually, the group passed and began their conversations again, and the forest seemed to envelop them. From behind her, someone tapped on the bars of her pen. Ishara jumped and reeled back to the opposite corner.

  A small girl stood with an arm extended. In her hand, she held the end piece of a crusted loaf of bread. The child looked nervous, her eyes darting here and there, watching to make sure that no one caught her act of kindness.

  “You should not have done this.”

  The shy girl blushed and let go of the bread, dropping it into the cage. “I do not like to see my chieftain sad.”

  Ishara picked the bread up out of the mud and brushed it off against her
thigh. “And what does bread have to do with your chieftain being sad?”

  “You made him happy.” The girl faintly smiled, but at the call of her mother, she looked off toward the trees and ran in that direction.

  Pulling the bread apart into smaller pieces, Ishara greedily inhaled the portions, and when there was no more to eat, she immediately regretted not saving some for the middle of the day. Her stomach churned, and she was sure that others could probably hear it from inside their warm tents.

  “Happy? How could I make him happy?” Ishara spoke the words to herself, all the while watching for Mechan to come out. He had to leave his tent soon, after all. He hasn’t been to the river in the days since he put her out.

  “You could leave.”

  Ishara looked to the towering woman who loomed above her pen. “Who are you?”

  “Zari.”

  The way the woman spoke her name reminded her of a hiss, and it made the hair on her arms bristle in warning.

  “If he wanted me to leave, I think he would have turned me out to the forest days ago.” Though, Ishara didn’t understand this logic either. Mechan obviously did not want her to be around him, so why did he bother to hold on to her?

  “Ah. But, girl, you are his prize. You are a chieftain’s daughter.” Zari didn’t stoop or try to make amends for the gap between her and Ishara. She continued to hover ominously over her as she spoke, both hands on her hips. She had to be at least two decades older than Ishara. The sun left damaged spots across her skin. Small wrinkles formed in the creases of the woman’s eyes. She might have been just a few years younger than Mechan. “Men do not give up their prizes so easily.”

  Ishara remained silent. This made some sense. Maybe he really did want her gone. Maybe she would be making it up to him if she disappeared one night, and he would no longer have the burden of keeping a prize that broke his heart.

  “And how am I supposed to get out of here, even if I wanted to?” Ishara put a hand to the necklace that Mechan had yet to take back. The mountain cat’s tooth.

  Zari laughed, and when she did, her teeth gleamed in the sunlight, like that of a hungry mountain cat. She tossed in a suede dress. “What do you mean you do not want to? You are telling me you much rather spend your time out in this…this pen, like some dirty, pack wolf?” The woman finally kneeled down to imposingly bring herself to the same level as Ishara. “Come now. We both know better. You would rather be back with your tribe, and I would rather you get out of my way.”

  Ishara quickly pulled the dress over her naked form. “Out of your way?”

  “Yes. Out of my way. You are causing Mechan to brood and become quite intolerable, and if we are to marry soon and mate, the last thing I want is for the cause of all of this to be lingering about outside in a pen.” Zari looked to the necklace that Ishara held, her eyes lingering for a long moment. “What a dirty thing. Your tribe truly is savage, with your knotty hair and the junk you’ve woven through it.”

  “They are not junk. They are memory beads. They mark important times in our lives that we wish not to forget.” Ishara let go of the necklace and lifted her chin.

  “Junk.” Zari echoed the word with a roll of her eyes. “In either case, I am willing to help you, if you want. If I let you out of this pen, I want you to run and never come back this way. Go find your tribe, your father…I do not care what you do with yourself. Just leave the Manahotchi.” She nodded in the direction of the forest. “There is a path off west that you can take out to the dry lands. It is rough to travel, but you will pass by fruit trees and a fresh spring before you have to cross.”

  “And then what?”

  “I can’t tell you everything, girl. Go find your tribe. I’m sure they’re out there somewhere.” Zari pulled a key out from between her breasts, which were tightly bound in a suede dress. With a click, she unlocked the pen, and the cage door swung open.

  Ishara glanced between the door and Mechan’s tent. Her heart beat faster with the hesitancy of leaving the chieftain behind. She could hear the little girl’s words echo through her mind. At the same time, she wanted to be home with her father. She wanted to be free, and if Mechan truly didn’t want to see her any more, then it would be for the best. At least, she hoped it would be the best for him. She has hurt him enough, and a good part of her didn’t want to hurt him any more.

  After ducking out of the pen, Ishara rose to her full height, her bones cracking from being cooped up in such a small place for many days. She turned to regard Zari, who managed to stand much taller than her, and Ishara nodded her head. Without another word, she bounded off west to find the path to the dry lands. She did not know where she would go or end up, but she did know she had to leave the Manahotchi and get back home. Hopefully, Mechan would be okay without her.

  Ishara sliced through the pelt from the rabbit’s still-warm body. She slid the crude, stone dagger she had spent half the day sharpening into the flesh of the creature and smelled the fresh blood as it welled to the surface. She wouldn’t have time to cook it, not if she wanted to avoid the other creatures out in the desert land. After carving away a piece of meat, she popped it into her mouth and chewed on it. It was tough, and the blood tasted coppery, masking any flavor that the rabbit might have had. Her stomach churned and grumbled, and she wished more than ever she could light a fire and cook her kill, but she would have to deal with what she had.

  It didn’t take long before she heard the howling—the fierce, primal calling of the canines that roamed the acrid plains in search for anything to eat. Anything, including herself.

  Crouched above her rabbit corpse, Ishara squinted her green eyes in an effort to discern the creatures from the rest of her tan and brown surroundings. Their fur was much the same color, camouflaging them against the monotony of sand against sand.

  In just one moment, one fleeting glimpse, she spotted the pack as they started to run at full speed toward her. She could hear their teeth gnashing together as they barked and growled, ready to fight.

  Ishara left the rabbit corpse behind to clamor up a purple fruit tree as the bark cut at her skin, leaving small, bleeding scratches. Below her, the pack of wild dogs yelped and barked, and one even tried to jump and climb up after her. Most of them were busy devouring the dead rabbit, which didn’t last long and was soon a pile of bones. Ishara hissed at the pack, tore a branch off the tree, and speared it down at what appeared to be the alpha male.

  The branch hit the dirty canine and it whimpered, snarled, and then started its retreat in the direction of the dry lands. The rest of the pack followed after him. Ishara knew the dangers of walking across the arid earth alone, and she heard of the desert dogs that roamed in packs and viciously killed anything that they could eat, but she never expected to have to actually deal with them. Not by herself, at least, and definitely not when she had much farther to go before she even reached the edge of the dry lands.

  Now stranded in a tree, Ishara climbed up farther to see if she could scout out a reasonable route to the springs and fruit trees. The sun heated her skin, and it quickly dried up the forest ground from the previous days of rain. She gathered her dreadlocks off her neck and held them in her hand as she peered across the treetops. “I will never make it home.”

  Convinced that the dogs were gone, Ishara carefully climbed back down the tree until her toes met the ground. She brushed the blood off her shins from the climb up, and turned to set out on her way back home.

  The sounds of forest birds echoed through the trees. Ishara watched above her and caught flashes of rainbow-colored parrot wings as they flew back and forth from tree-to-tree. She put a hand to her necklace and a pang of guilt radiated through her body. She thought of Mechan back at his tent and saw him stepping out to go to the river, only to find the slave pen empty—abandoned. Would he even care?

  “Stubborn old man. He should have known that a chieftain’s daughter isn’t someone’s pet anyway.” Ishara navigated her way over an old, fallen tree. She stepped away
from the tree, and when she looked over her shoulder to study it, she realized it was an elder tree. Like so many of the elder trees, this one had fallen, marking the end of its life. Still, its branches were strong and sturdy, not yet permeated with the dampness of the forest ground.

  “Stupid old man and your stupid dress…and your stupid elder tree.” Ishara yanked on a branch until it snapped off the trunk. Her fingers traced the lines of the bark, which reminded her of facial wrinkles on an old man. She smiled and decided to use the branch to aid her walk through the forest.

  The snap of a twig behind her stopped her pace. Ishara spun on a heel, holding the branch in one hand, and her stone dagger in the other. With prey-like instinct, she backed up toward a tree, keeping her back safe. She could see everything in front of her. Ishara scanned the brush for any movement. Only the wind rustled the leaves on the trees. Another parrot screeched by overhead, its long tail a blur of reds and blues. It only took a second to look up at it, but in that second, an arrow whizzed by her ear and stuck in the wood behind her head.

  “By the Spirits!” Ishara rolled around to the back of the tree, seeking cover. By the angle of the arrow, she knew someone shot it from above. She scanned the trees again, but all she could see were the hundreds of multi-colored birds, all strangely quiet and staring.

  Another arrow hit the trunk, digging itself into the bark. This time, Ishara caught movement in a tall tree to her left. Ishara stepped beside her cover and into a beam of light peeking through the treetops. Ishara did not fear her predator, for she knew she was not prey. At least, she wasn’t going to be made prey anytime soon.

  “Show yourself!” She yelled up into the trees, only to receive a hundred parrot calls in response. The calls gave way to social chattering, the noise almost deafening.

  Barely heard over the parrots, a voice called back in reply, “Tell me who you are, first.”