Sharon Green - The Crystals of Mida

“A drink shall soon be brought you,” I assured him. “We have no desire to see you suffer from lack of sustenance.”

“They’d best be quick about it,” muttered the captive, somewhat mollified, for he did not see the quiet smile of Fideran. Fideran knew what drink was to be brought, yet he spoke not a word in warning to his fellow male, but stood straight with arms folded firmly across his chest. He had not stood so since he had been taken.

I had sipped only twice at the pot of daru, when Larid and another warrior entered with a pot. No steam arose from this pot which they brought, and the captive looked upon it with interest.

“Fetch it here, girl,” directed the male easily. “The dust of that run lies heavy within my throat.”

Larid smiled and approached him with the pot, holding it carefully so that its contents did not spill. The captive sniffed cautiously, found its odor inoffensive, then he sipped at it with Larid’s aid. The sip pleased him considerably, and he drained the pot with a great deal of gusto. Larid and my other warrior exchanged satisfied glances, then they looked toward me. I nodded with a smile, and my two warriors left with purpose.

“Unusually refreshing,” the captive observed, smacking his lips over the lingering taste. “I wager the taverns of the cities would pay much in coin to receive shipments of that. How is it called?”

“It is called, a man’s downfall,“ ‘ Fideran laughed before I was able to reply. “I believe you will find it too refreshing before long.”

“Of what does your pet male babble?” asked the captive of me, his broad face creased in a frown. “Have his wits gone away with his manhood?”

“When you are unbound, we shall speak of manhood!” said Fideran, approaching the captive to stand above him. “I have not forgotten the use of a sword!”

“Fideran,” I said gently to my male, “he has no understanding as yet. In time shall his words be withdrawn.”

“Perhaps,” Fideran replied rather tightly, much disturbed beneath his unsmiling face. I did not wish to see him disturbed, yet was unable to fathom his distress. Males, as I have said, are beyond a warrior’s understanding.

My daru was nearly gone when the captive began to move uncomfortably by the ground post. Fideran had returned to his place beside my sleeping leather, yet his eyes had not left the form of the captive. My eyes, too, studied the captive closely, and the captive reddened beneath the double examination.

“At what do you two goggle?” he demanded quite heatedly, attempting to hold himself still at the post. His attempts were in vain, of course, as the appearance of his garment spoke eloquently of his condition.

“We gaze upon a man who has been refreshed,” Fideran replied, glancing at the evidence of this statement. “Know that you shall remain refreshed for many hind to come, and shall not require freshening again until the dark.”

“You speak without meaning!” snarled the captive, looking away from a grimly pleased Fideran. “I require naught from savages and slaves!”

“You require naught?” asked Fideran softly. “Look you upon Talav. You have no need of the softness of her breasts, the comfort of her belly, the heat of her thighs? You have no wish to feel her midnight hair upon your face, her lips upon your body, her hands at your loins? You wish none of the fire burning in her large, dark eyes? You....”

The captive snarled again, but this time as a child of the wild as he looked upon me. Had he been unbound, he would have been upon me, the lust born of the drug in his drink firing his blood to the point of madness. He roared and fought his bonds, fought to free himself yet not to escape, but to reach me, and I smiled in satisfaction.

“He responds quickly and well,” said I to Fideran, who came to kneel behind me. “We shall have much use from him. Larid!” Larid and a hand of other warriors entered at my summons, gazing eagerly upon the struggling captive. “You may now remove him to the use tent,” said I, “yet have a care that he is not damaged through overuse. He is larger than many, though he is still only male.”

“We hear, Jalav,” Larid murmured, unable to remove her eyes from the captive. The captive, though, continued to strain toward me, his wildness increasing when Fideran’s hands circled my waist to rest at last upon my breasts. Happily I moved at the touch, and the captive was beside himself, causing my warriors to use their spears to remove him from my tent. When they had gone, I turned to a Fideran who also seemed to have partaken of the drug. He held me to him fiercely, his lips hot upon my throat, and nearly did he forget himself to such an extent that he began to press me flat to the leather of the floor. I regretted the need to put my dagger to his throat, yet there was no help for it. A war leader may not receive from a male, but must take whatever he offers. Fideran withdrew reluctantly, then placed himself so that I might use him. I did so with much pleasure, yet was his response not as it normally was. His need was strong, yet he seemed to receive little of the satisfaction he craved.

When the heat had gone from both of us, Fideran sat himself facing toward the rear wall of my tent in silence. He seemed to be studying my shield and spear, which had come to me when I won the place of war leader. A long, clean oval was the shield of the Hosta war leader, and many a war leader had carried it proudly, never having shamed it in battle through retreat. A war leader stood to the last, never showing her enemy her back, choosing, instead, the glory of death. Many times had the spear and shield been retrieved from a battleground, but never had they been shamed.

“You must not use him,” Fideran spoke suddenly, surprising me. He had not turned, but sat in his colorless clan covering, his back rounded at the shoulders.

“Of what do you speak?” I asked, intent upon adjusting the leg bands which held my dagger.

“You must not use the new male!” said he, turning to me with blazing eyes. “Think you I remain here in this tent, clothingless and without pride, serving you as a slave, merely to share you with another? He shall not have you!”

“No,” said I, rising to my feet. “He shall not have me. I shall have him. Has his presence disturbed you so deeply that you have forgotten?”

“The point is the same,” he insisted, rising also, so that our eyes were level. “It matters not who does the having, only that another shall possess what is mine! You may not use him!”

“May not?” said I very quietly. “Indeed Fideran forgets himself. I belong only to the Hosta of the Midanna, never to a male. You may take your earlier possessions and return to your people.”

I began to turn away, yet Fideran fell to his knees, throwing his arms about my legs and pressing his face to my body. “No!” he cried, the depth of his voice muffled against me. “Do not send me away, Jalav! The stranger desires you, and I have seen his like before! Should he come to know the bliss of your arms, he shall not release you again! I love you, Jalav, and wish to live only for you! Do not send me away!”

I sighed deeply at his pain, and stroked his hair with a gentle hand. His dark hair was not of a length with the captive’s red-gold glory, yet it was of a pleasing length, as he had allowed it to go unshorn in the time he had been with me.

“Fideran, hear my words,” said I. “Your happiness is a sometime thing among the Midanna, and it would be wise of you to return to your people. I am pleased that you find love for me within you, yet saddened too, that I cannot return your love. Never will it be possible for me to do so.”

“Allow me to remain!” he begged, pressing himself yet closer to me. “Perhaps one fey I may be able to give you a child as I have done with others. Then, Jalav, then shall you feel love for me!”