Rebels of Vulvar (Vulvarian Saga Book 2)

by J. K. Spenser

“Cooke has declared himself Dabar,” Phaerl said.

  “Military administrator?” I said.

  Phaerl nodded. “I’m surprised you know the term. It was a male term not spoken on Vulvar since the time of males ended over six-hundred years ago.”

  “I had a thorough teacher,” I said.

  Phaerl continued the story, explaining the Goddess Queens had refused to intervene directly. Through the Chief Priestess, they communicated it was the responsibility of mortals to tend to their affairs, to crush the rebellion, and to restore order.

  “What!” I said. “My teacher told me the Goddess Queens could remotely destroy whole cities if they wish.”

  “Yes, it is supposed to be so,” Phaerl said. “But, for reasons known only to the Goddess Queens, they declined to oppose Cooke and his rebels directly.”

  Phaerl finished her story, telling me the part I found most distressing last.

  “Our spies that remain in Nisa have sent word that Cooke has set his sights on Thiva,” she said. “He plans to attack and subjugate Thiva next.”

  “Preposterous,” I said. “Does not Thiva have the largest garrison of warriors in the region. Such a plan could not succeed.”

  “It might,” Phaerl said. “At the urging of the Chief Priestess, the council sent a detachment of our warriors to Nisa to put down the rebellion, to arrest Cooke, and to restore the city leaders. The attempt failed.”

  “Failed?”

  “The size of the rebel force was underestimated. A superior number of rebels came out of the city against our warriors, ready to give battle. The rebels slew in battle many of the warriors of Thiva. Then they killed or captured our wounded.”

  “What is the plan now?” I said.

  “Your mother has sent out a call to other cities to send reinforcements, but it will take time for more warriors to arrive. Each council must vote and approve the request for aid. Many cities are distant, and the march is long. If Cooke moves soon, the reinforcements may arrive too late.”

  “It sounds like a difficult situation,” I said. “Yet, I see no reason the Goddess Queens sent you to tell me all this.”

  “The Goddess Queens again require your service.”

  “My service?” I said bitterly. “I can imagine nothing I might do to affect the circumstances you’ve described. Besides, what is it to me? It’s a Vulvarian problem.”

  Phaerl seemed saddened by my harsh words.

  “Are you no longer one of us, Tobias Hart? You once saved my life. And, I helped save your life in the caverns of Saba.”

  “Phaerl, we have faced death together,” I said. “I remain loyal to you, my friend. And, to others of your world. However, I feel no allegiance to your Goddess Queens who used me and then discarded me.”

  Neither of us spoke for a time. The silence grew awkward.

  “With great difficulty, I have rebuilt my life here,” I said. “I no longer feel an interest in returning to Vulvar.”

  “It is your decision,” Phaerl said. “The Goddess Queens granted you freedom. They will not drag you back against your will.”

  “Good,” I snarled. “I regret you have wasted your time coming here. But, I decline to serve the Goddess Queens again.”

  Phaerl nodded, disappointment etched on her face.

  “What of Idril?” I said. “You promised to speak of her, yet you have not.”

  “Yes, I will now tell you of Idril. She commanded the warriors the council sent to restore Nisa. Idril fell wounded in the battle, and the rebels took her captive.”

  I leaned forward in my chair, holding my head in my hands. After gaining control of my emotions once again, I slumped back in the chair in resignation. Everyone I cared for on Vulvar was at grave risk, the woman I loved with all my heart held prisoner.”

  “What is it the Goddess Queens wish me to do?” I said with a sigh.

  Phaerl smiled and then explained the mission.

  4

  Back on Vulvar

  Once again, I found myself on Vulvar. I awakened naked in a field of wind-swept spelta. Spelta is a kind of grass whose fruit is a head of edible seeds. The plants have long slender leaves, stems that are hollow, and tops of multi-colored flowers. When fertilized, the flowers produce the edible seeds. The Vulvarians grind the seeds to make millet. They use the millet for the staple crusty brown bread and to make the hearty but tasteless gruel often served at breakfast.

  I rose slowly to my feet. I stood for some minutes to let my muscles and senses grow accustomed to the environment. I was aware again of the higher gravity of the planet. But, I expected my body would soon acclimate to it since I’d experienced it before.

  Late at night, in some remote park lands near the Mohawk River, north of my home, I had again entered that silver disk, which was the ship of the Goddess Queens used for the missions of acquisition. The Vulvarian sun had not yet reached its midpoint in the sky. It was late morning.

  To the east, I saw the bluish shadows of mountains in the distance. I guessed them to be the Emigas Mountains east of Nisa. From the position of the mountains, I gathered my bearings and knew the direction I must take to walk to the city.

  Looking down, I saw the familiar shiny silver tube once again in place on my genitals. The tube is a device comprising two parts, a cylindrical metal tube that encases the phallus, and a metal ring that encircles the base of the phallus and the testes. In terms of Earth, it is a chastity device. Once a medical technician places the ring on a male and attaches the cylindrical tube to it with a magnetic locking device, the male cannot remove the device as it requires a unique unlocking tool kept by his owner. Vulvarians lock the tube onto all males used for breeding. It prevents self-pleasuring and makes copulation with a female impossible.

  Touching my neck, I felt the familiar steel ring, the collar of a slave. As an agent of the Goddess Queens, I would remain a free male during this sojourn on Vulvar. It was then not a legal requirement that I wore either the tube or collar. But, Phaerl had warned me, wearing them would be necessary to lend credibility to the claim that I was an escaped slave from Thiva. That was my cover story.

  The mission given me by the Goddess Queens was simple, at least in their estimation. I was to travel to Nisa, join Cooke’s rebels, and infiltrate their organization. When the opportunity presented itself, I was to capture Russell Cooke, self-proclaimed Dabar of Nisa, and then turn him over to the warriors of Thiva. While the plan sounded simple enough on the surface, I expected the actual execution of it would prove far more complicated, not to mention dangerous.

  At the essence of the plan was that I was a male. The Goddess Queens knew Cooke would not expect the Vulvarians to send a male against him. He had long been on Vulvar and understood the culture. No male was free on the world ruled by females and where they kept all males as slaves. If I could gain Cooke’s trust, the Goddess Queens believed I’d find an opportunity to get him alone and take him prisoner. The fact we were both of Earth, the deities believed, would facilitate the development of the trust. Though I viewed the plan as far from immune to failure, I was committed to trying to accomplish it to save Idril. Phaerl had told me the spies inside Nisa had revealed Cooke intended to execute all the captured warriors of Thiva he held prisoner before his forces moved against that city.

  Standing with the sun of Vulvar upon me, I raised my arms in the traditional Vulvarian gesture used to acknowledge the divinity of the Goddess Queens, those mysterious denizens of Mount Voln. They had once again brought me from Earth to their world. I felt no affection or respect for those heartless beings, whoever or whatever they might be. It was they who had removed me from Vulvar when they had finished with me, and who had taken my mother, my friends, and the woman I loved, the scarlet-haired beautiful Idril, from me. But now there was gratitude in my heart to them.

  I well knew the strange deities had not returned me to Vulvar out of any spontaneous gesture of benevolence, or any interest in giving me long-delayed justice. Yet the Goddess Queens had allowed me the
opportunity to seek once more the woman I loved. For that, I was grateful, though I knew they were again using me as one might use a pawn in a game of chess. When the pawn had fulfilled its role, the players might discard it, or perhaps, in my case, remove me from the board until it pleased the Goddess Queens to play another game.

  On the ground, a few feet from me, I noticed a folded tan tunic, belt, and a worn pair of sandals. On Vulvar, the tan colored garment signified a house slave. I knelt and picked up the tunic. Standing up, I slipped it on over my head. I then retrieved the woven belt of the same color from beside the sandals and belted the simple garment. After slipping on the footwear, I wore once again the usual garb of a Vulvarian slave.

  I had hoped to find a weapon left at my disposal. But there was no sword or bow. Neither was there any food or a water flask. For that reason alone, I hoped that Nisa was close by, though I saw no sign of it the direction I knew I must walk.

  Knowing Nisa lay southwest of the distant mountains, I walked across the field in the direction of the city. Despite the danger I expected to face, my heart was light, and my step determined. I was back where my love waited for me, where I’d met my mother after more than thirty years of separation, where I had met and learned much from my old friend, Amanuensis, my former teacher. I had returned to Vulvar. I was home.

  5

  Haela

  I had walked overland for some hours toward Nisa when I came upon a paved road, or viae as they say it in Vulvarian, to the city. The builders had constructed the road like most Vulvarian roads. After excavating a roadbed, the builders fill the trench with rubble, gravel, or broken stone. Over the rubble, they lay in a stretcher pattern tightly fitted cut square pavers. They finish with kerb stones put along the sides to hold in the pavers and to make a channel for water to run off. The chief aim of those who build the roads is that they not require frequent repair. It is said that they design Vulvarian roads to last for two hundred Vulvarian years or more.

  The builders aim for directional straightness, keeping curves to a minimum. This emphasis often results in steep grades. The builders divide the roads into numbered legas with legastones. One lega is one-thousand paces, which amounts to about 1,480 meters. A legastone is a circular column on a solid rectangular base. At the base, the road builders inscribe the number of the lega relative to the distance to the town or city the road leads.

  It was late afternoon. Judging by the legastones, I was still some hours from Nisa. I assumed the Goddess Queens had left me a far distance from the city so that their ship’s landing went unobserved. I wondered if it was practical to continue my journey. The sun would soon set. I assumed the Vulvarian night was not without its dangers for an unarmed slave traveling alone.

  Having not so much as a blanket, I dreaded spending the night in the open. Vulvarian nights are often cold. I also lacked food and water. Now that I was thinking of discontinuing my journey, I was both hungry and thirsty.

  Just as I was about to leave the road to seek a sheltered place to pass the night, in the distance, I saw a gardo or wagon approaching from the south. The gardo is a veovark-drawn conveyance used by farm people, primarily to haul grain. Veovarks are oxen-like animals used on Vulvar to tow all means of wheeled conveyances.

  The design of the gardo includes four large wheels set outside the wagon box and sides that slope outward considerably as they rise toward the bow top. The covering of the bow top, when present, is tightly stretched canvas. The farm people may use the wagon as an open-top, or with the canvas bow top in place when hauling grain during inclement weather.

  As the gardo drew closer, I stepped from the road to allow it to pass. Vulvarian law requires pedestrians to yield the right-of-way to vehicles upon all paved roads. A short distance before the gardo reached me, the driver hauled on the reins and brought the vehicle to a halt. The driver, a tall Vulvarian female with a lean frame, greasy brown hair, and a long face, looked down at me through hooded brown eyes.

  “Hail, mistress,” I said with a respectful bow.

  The woman was not, of course, my mistress, but I had addressed her in the manner that Vulvarian custom required a slave to greet a free female under the circumstances.

  The driver did not reply immediately to my greeting. Instead, she stared at me with suspicion.

  “I mean you no harm, mistress,” I said. “I am not an outlaw.”

  The woman’s expression made it clear she did not believe me.

  At last, she spoke. “Tell me, slave, where is your master?” she said. “Why are you here on the public road alone and unattended?”

  Too late, it occurred to me that traveling on the road rather than keeping to the fields had not been a wise decision. I realized I needed to invent a plausible story and fast. A free female finding a slave walking alone about the countryside would assume him a runaway. The government offered a bounty to any female who captured and returned a runaway slave to his city.

  “While traveling with my mistress to Thiva on this road, outlaws set upon our party,” I said. “The outlaws seized my mistress, her companion, and their goods. I ran away in fear.”

  “Outlaws, you say?”

  “Yes, mistress, a band of armed males.”

  “Where did this occur, slave?”

  “Some distance north of here, mistress, late last evening where we had made camp for the night.”

  “I see,” the woman said dubiously. “What is your mistress’ city, slave?”

  “Nisa,” I said. “That is where I’m bound. My mistress and her companion were traveling to Thiva to escape the disorder that has overtaken Nisa.”

  “Yet, you are returning there?”

  “I knew not where else to go, mistress,” I said. “I am hungry and thirsty. I have had no food or water for many hours.”

  “Perhaps you are lying, slave,” the woman said in an accusing tone. “Maybe you are a runaway, fleeing to Nisa to join with the other mutinous slaves there.”

  “No, mistress, I am not,” I said. “My mistress has well treated me for the past many years. I have no desire to abandon her service.”

  “Yet, you admit you abandoned her in time of danger if your fantastic tale is to be believed.”

  I held up my empty hands in surrender. “What could I have done, mistress?” I said. “The outlaws were many, and as you see, I am unarmed.”

  The woman seemed unimpressed by my fabricated story. She wound the reins around the brake lever. After bending down to retrieve something from beneath the wagon seat, she climbed down and approached me.

  “I believe you are a liar,” the woman spat. “I believe you are a runaway. Submit.”

  The female’s right hand was on the hilt of a large knife in a sheath that hung from her wide belt. In her left hand was the article she had retrieved from beneath the seat, a length of cord. Her command “submit” meant she expected me to kneel and to raise my crossed wrists above my head that she might easily bind them.

  My mind raced along with my heart. I did not wish this meddlesome female to delay me. Should I obey and submit? Or should I run? Would she abandon the gardo and her belongings on the road to pursue me?

  “I commanded you to submit,” the woman said with menace as she drew and brandished the knife. “If you refuse, the law permits me to slay you.”

  The woman appeared healthy and fit with long legs. My body was still adjusting to the higher gravity of Vulvar. I might not escape her. She was armed and had spoken the truth. Vulvarian law permits a free woman to kill a slave who resists her command to submit. I had little doubt this woman would do so if I attempted to flee, and she overtook me.

  “I submit, mistress,” I said, dropping to my knees and raising my crossed wrists above my head as the custom required.

  The woman sheathed the knife, then, in an expert manner, bound my wrists with swiftness.

  Grabbing my arm, she hauled me to my feet. “Come, slave,” she said.

  Escorting me to the rear of the gardo, she reached over
the tailgate and withdrew a coil of rope. One end of the rope she secured to my bound wrists. The other she tied to the back of the gardo. Next, standing before me, she reached out a hand and grasped the hem of my tunic. She lifted it to expose the tube between my legs. The woman smiled.

  “A breeder,” she chuckled. “You will fetch a handsome bounty.”

  I did not reply. I felt sick over the female capturing me and delaying my arrival in Nisa.

  The woman walked to the side of the gardo. She removed the lid from a wooden barrel lashed to the side of the conveyance. Taking down a dried gourd that hung from a strap, she dipped it into the barrel. She returned to me and put the gourd into my hands. Seeing it held water, I lifted the gourd to my lips and drank greedily.

  “What is your name, slave?” the woman asked.

  That seemed a curious question coming from a free woman. On Vulvar, they consider slaves nameless.

  “I am a slave, mistress,” I said, handing the gourd back to her. “I have no name.”

  The woman smiled.

  “I see that you are of Earth,” the woman said. “How were you called there before the Goddess Queens brought you to this world?”

  Phaerl had warned me not to use my actual name in the event I encountered someone from Thiva who might recognize it. The name Tobias Hart had become well known at the time of the expedition to Saba I had been part of for the Goddess Queens. Phaerl had given me an alias to use, Tom Gray. I was to use the alias when contacting a spy outside the walls of Nisa, a female who would serve as an intermediary between me and the authorities in Thiva.

  “Tom Gray, mistress,” I said. “On Earth, the name of this slave was Tom Gray.”

  The woman’s smile grew wider.

  “My name is Haela,” she said.

  Haela, I thought? Could this be the same Haela, the spy Phaerl had told me to contact on a farm outside Nisa? Phaerl said the woman would give her name without being asked as an identifying sign. And, she had given me an innocuous phrase to repeat in reply as a countersign. My mood brightened.