Sharon Green - The Crystals of Mida

Shortly did we leave the road for the forest, for we were not far distant from the current camp. It is Mida’s fortune that we had not been on the hunt nor in the midst of battle when her Crystal had been taken, else would it have been long before the loss could be reclaimed.

The captive breathed heavily as he ran, looking as though he would have enjoyed much warrior blood upon his hands. He spoke no word, to conserve the breath within him, yet did I feel his pace might be increased. I therefore took a leather strip, flicked it sharply across his shoulders, and called, “Run for the war leader Jalav, sthuvad, run as quickly as you may! Should your movement please me, I will have you brought to my sleeping leather! Run nicely for Jalav!”

I touched him many times with the leather, light touches which caused very little pain, yet which boiled the fury high in him. My warriors laughed, seeing the leather applied so gently to his back and legs, and even higher did he rage at the laughter, though all save running was beyond him. The leather strips were tight to the straining of the cords in his throat, and he had to run to keep from being dragged.

Shortly we came to the outskirts of the camp, the black and green of our clan tents showing clearly through the trees. The sentries that we passed gazed upon the captive with delight, for it had been long since one deemed worthy had been taken. Despite the loss of the Crystal, there would be merrymaking in the tents of the Hosta. We drew rein before the largest tent, that of the war leader, mine. The captive pounded to a halt, much of the fight taken out of him, a tall, heaving, quieter male, fit for the use of warriors. I left him and my gando to be seen to by others, and entered my tent.

“Mida’s blessing, Jalav,” said Fideran, placing himself swiftly upon his knees. “I am pleased to see that you have returned so quickly. Is all to be well now?”

“All shall be well, Fideran,” I assured him, gazing upon his fair and lovely face. Fideran had been taken as sthuvad, yet had refused release when it had been offered him, choosing instead to remain in my tent, and serve my needs upon his knees. Though he disliked being given to those of my warriors who desired him, he heeded my word upon such occasions rather than go his way back to his own people. He had long since professed love for me, a feeling which I, as a warrior, understood naught of. I kept him for my pleasure alone, yet was I faced with a dilemma. Fond as I was of him, it was impossible to take him to the north with me. I would have to leave him with another, one whose arms would soothe his loneliness and pain. That would be a kindness to be smiled upon by Mida.

“Brew a pot of daru, Fideran,” I said as I removed my swordbelt, “and see that it is kept fresh against the visit of the Keeper. She shall arrive soon to speak with me of grave matters, and shall likely feel the need for daru.”

“At once, Jalav,” said he, asking naught of the reason for the Keeper’s visit. Well he knew that the matter was one for warriors, and not to be discussed with him.

I settled to the leather of the floor of my tent, and thoughtfully began filling my pipe. It would be to the greater honor of the Hosta should we alone retrieve the Crystal, yet would it be wiser for all Midanna to prepare for the necessity of war. The clans of the Midanna rarely rode as one, yet the retrieval of the Crystal should unite us all. We would ride against the northmen in the rightness of our quest, and bring their dwellings down upon them, should the Crystal not be yielded up. The Crystal was ours to guard with our lives, not a bauble to be handed to the first male a warrior would see smile.

“By Sigurr’s claws, have a care!” snarled the captive, he being brought within my tent to be tied to the ground post by the leather about his neck. Playfully had a warrior poked at him with the point of her spear, merely to keep him moving without harming him, yet had she misjudged her aim and come perilously close to an integral part of him. Were such an integral part to be damaged, he would be fit only for the pleasure of my warriors, for offspring would then be impossible; however, despite the near catastrophe, I could not help but smile.

“Smirk as you will, girl,” he said to me, his chest still rising with the shortness of breath, “yet shall I see the time when I may smirk at the sight of you. That is what I shall live for.”

“A worthy life purpose for a city warrior,” I laughed, amused by his distress. Fideran, too, had spoken in such a manner when first made captive, yet had not gone his way when given the opportunity. Males are strange creatures indeed, far beyond the understanding of warriors, beyond reason even for Mida.

The captive scowled, then sat upon the black leather of the floor, normal color slowly returning to his face. His scowl deepened when his eyes fell upon Fideran, who sat beside my sleeping leather as he waited for the daru to brew itself to the proper point. Fideran scowled as well, disliking the manner in which the captive’s eyes swept the brief clan covering—without clan colors—which he was permitted to wear. There had not been a captive since Fideran had been taken, and Fideran did not seem to care for the clan’s newest acquisition.

“This tent is stark indeed,” said the captive. “Have you no frills to liven your life, girl?”

“I do not take the meaning of frills,” I said, regarding him with some curiosity. He seemed to know less of warriors than had Fideran, who had known little indeed.

“Frills,” repeated the captive impatiently. “Such as lightcolored silks to brighten this dismal dark leather, sparkling jewels to hang about your throat in place of that bit of wood, tempting scents to make you pleasing to a man and to cover the stink of that burning bit of kan held in your hand. Those are frills.”

“For what reason would I desire such?” asked I in amusement. “Other colored silks would betoken other clans, all of which are less than the Hosta. Sparkling stones are to be given to males, to comfort their upset when they are taken, and should be of little use in battle. My life sign guards my soul, so that it may not slip away to naught should the edge of the enemy reach me. As for scents, males must please me, not I them, and strong would be the laughter of all should the war leader of the Hosta appear for battle bedecked with scents. The thought is truly amusing.”

“For a wench to know naught of frills is saddening,” said the captive in a lowered voice. “Yet more disturbing still is the thought that she wishes to know naught of them. Your life is a cruel one, girl, touched heavily by the twisted hand of Sigurr. That should not be.”

“All is as Mida wishes it,” I informed him gently. “Do not despair in your lack of understanding, for one without a soul is unable to understand the workings of Mida. You may accept my assurance that all is as it should be.”

“Without a soul?” he echoed blankly, and then became angry once again. “You believe I have no soul and therefore pity me? By Sigurr’s rotting teeth, I shall not be pitied by a half-naked savage of a girl! Remove these bindings at once!”

Again he struggled against the leather which bound him, and I smiled as I accepted the small pot of daru which Fideran carried to me. The leather of the Hosta of the Midanna is not so poor that it may easily be parted, as the captive was beginning to know. Soon there would be other things for him to know.

His blazing eyes returned to me once more, and his teeth clenched tightly at the sight of the steaming pot of daru which I had brought to my lips. The hearty aroma of daru filled the tent, and made one anxious for the taste of it.

“Am I to be starved and tortured as well as bound?” the captive demanded. “I have had neither food nor drink since I was set upon by those females of yours!”