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From: David Nunes da Silva <WEQGRIQIHSOT@spammotel.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "... and run between the fires on a warm midsummer night." (1/2)
Date: Sun,  7 Sep 2003 16:10:03 -0400
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"... and run between the fires on a warm midsummer night."

[ This is part one of two : complete at:
http://home.alamedanet.net/files/Authors/sandy/wwwhodges/Arkwan.htm  ]

2435 B.C.E.    The Julian Alps.

We often say that we live in a time of rapid change, and suppose that in
the past, change was imperceptible.   But consider this partial list of
the innovations that were changing lives in 2435 : the wheel, writing,
metal, sheep with wool, the saw, mathematics, plowing with draft
animals, ocean-going ships made of wooden planks.   Subsistence changed
from small fields tilled with a hoe, to the whole countryside stripped
of forests and used as pasture land.   Long houses that held a whole
village, gave way to scattered single-family houses; chamber tombs to
individual burials.   There were also, as far as we can tell by
archaeology, revolutionary changes in religion, and in ways of thinking.

So forget the picture of the unchanging past, and imaging living in a
time when, from one generation to the next, all the old thinking was
cast aside.   Imagine upheaval and violence, compared to which our own
times are boring, routine, and safe.    It is in this era that I have
set my tale.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Arkwan slowly lifted his head above the mud of the pit.   There was no
one in sight.  Moving so slowly that it took a heartbeat to travel a
hand's width, he crawled toward the courtyard, where he could still hear
a few of the nomads, drunkenly singing.    He reached the burnt remains
of the house wall, and slowly lifted his head enough to see over into
the courtyard.   By the starlight, and the embers of their dying fires,
he could see that most of the nomads were asleep.   The ones still
carousing were drunk; he saw was no one on watch.    If he was to escape
the village, he should go now.  I will have to crawl within a spear's
length of them, in full view, he thought, but there is no other way.
Tomorrow night, they might sleep somewhere else, but there is no way I
can hide through the day.   They will search this house for any gold or
bronze that could have survived the fire.   They will even search the
pit.  And it is too cold to go back in there anyway.

Arkwan found the jar he had buried near the pit; with his clothes in
it.   He rubbed the mud off his body with them, so they would be black
as he crawled across the courtyard, then he put them on.   After half
the night spent naked in the freezing cold, part of it in the mud of the
pit, he at last began to get warm again.    It no longer seemed
impossible to escape the village alive.   He looked over the wall again
to plan his route; he could go part of the way behind the pile of the
dead bodies of the villagers.

He could not recognize the bodies in the dim light, but he knew Sujasa
was one of them.   He had heard her scream as they raped and tortured
her.  But her screams had not lasted long,  and he had heard a nomad
scream as well.   "Get her," the nomad shouted.  Then something about a
knife.   The nomad speech was different, but some words were the same.
After that there were no more screams from Sujasa; she must have forced
them to kill her.

Arkwan had left the battle early; he could see there was no hope, and he
had run back to his father's house, and completed his plans.    He
scooped all the mead into the cesspit in the stable, and all the beer.
He added all the ox dung, and mixed it into a soup.  He placed burning
lamps near piles of dried rushes, and broke jars of tallow nearby.  Then
he had put his clothes, and his bronze dagger, into a jar and buried it,
and then he had climbed up to the rafters, with his bow and all of the
arrows in the house.   Pulling out some thatch, he could look down on
most of the village.  His father's house had one room top of the other.
It was the only house in the village with a room on top of another.  The
only one on the green earth, probably, Arkwan thought.

Arkwan waited until the village was crowded with nomads celebrating
their victory, and then he began to shoot.  The nomads panicked, they
pushed and tripped, and Arkwan shot fast.  Arrow after arrow into one
perfect target after another.   Only one nomad realized that the safest
place was in the house from which the arrows came, but Arkwan felled him
before he could reach it.  The sheep got loose, and got in the nomads'
way.   Finally the nomads rallied, and charged the house.  Arkwan had
time to kill only one of them.   Then he dropped from the rafters to the
floor of the upper room, kicked over the lamp, dropped through the hole
to the ground level, kicked over the other lamp, and dived into the
pit.   By the time the charging nomads broke through the barred door of
the house, they found no one.  Just bellowing oxen.  The house was
engulfed in flames.

There was a ditch to drain the pit, and Arkwan's father had put flat
rocks across it.   The heat and smoke of the fire had been intense, but
with his body under the mud, mud heaped over his head, and his face
pressed to the mouth of the ditch, Arkwan had lived.  After the fire the
nomads searched the blackened remains.  Once again the covered ditch had
saved him; without it, his face would have been above the mud to
breathe, and the nomads would have seen him.

In the cold of winter the mud in the cesspit was too cold for Arkwan to
stay in for long.   So he had spent most of the night by the side of the
pit, ready to slip into the mud if a nomad came back to poke through the
ruins.   He spent the night listening to the screams of the villagers as
the nomads raped and tortured them.  Arkwan wondered if they always did
this, or if they were especially angry because of the men, women, and
children Arkwan had shot.   He had been able to shoot some fat
well-dressed nomads, who must have been the leaders.  And he had shot
some well-dressed women and children.  Most of the nomads were just skin
and bones, wearing tattered rags.   So this long night of torture was
revenge for some leader killed, or some leader's woman or child.
Perhaps that girl in the embroidered cloak, with her little bow and
arrows.  Arkwan's mother had screamed the longest.   "Fuck the rikssco,"
Arkwan had heard a nomad command.   He supposed Fuck was the same in any
speech.   Maybe rikssco meant priestess or village headwoman.  Her
screams had lasted until moonset, then they stopped.   His father's
second wife had only screamed a short time.

"Don't fuck my ass, you'll kill me," his friend Patkha had pleaded; then
he had howled. And then, Arkwan thought, they had killed him.  A slave
who won't take rape and whipping quietly, is usually considered to be
too much trouble.  "I could be a valuable slave, I'm strong," Arkwan had
heard his uncle Bohina say.   But Bohina had been wounded in the battle;
the nomads wanted slaves they could march away.   The screams of the
girls had been the worst.  The nomads were raping little girls to death,
or when they couldn't rape any more, burning them alive.   The sound of
whipstrokes landing on flesh had gone on and on.  One boy had begged
them to stop; they killed him.  The others hadn't made a sound.   They
were learning what it is to be a slave.   Only the older boys had been
raped, Arkwan thought.  The nomads were killing girls but not boys, so
it had to be revenge.

Arkwan knew he had only a slim chance to escape the village without
being seen, and when he was captured the nomads would guess he had been
the archer who had rained death from above.   Then the leader who had
ordered a whole village of girls tortured to death, to revenge his
little girl, would have the killer himself.  Arkwan had his dagger, he
could kill himself now.   But he had always been lucky; he would risk
capture and torture, and try to stay alive.   He would have to cross the
courtyard, in full view of the nomads in the starlight, but he would
just hope they didn't see him.

He first crossed the smaller gap, to reach the pile of villagers'
corpses.  He crawled silently and slowly, but not too slowly.   Not so
fast that movement would be seen out of the corner of some nomad's eye,
but not too slowly either; his only hope was that no nomad happened to
look in his direction while he was in full view.    Some of the girls in
the pile of corpses were still alive, burnt all over.    There was
nothing Arkwan could do for them.   He reached the furthest point where
he was screened by a corpse from view of the drunken, singing  nomads.
The naked body, a woman, was still warm.    Now he had the large gap to
cross.   He realized the body next to him was still breathing.  It was
his mother.

She was facing him, but did not seem aware of him.   Arkwan had little
enough chance of escaping as it was, almost none of rescuing her.
There were nomads all around, close.  They had only to look.   He would
have to try.   He took out his dagger; there would be time to kill
himself, if he was quick.   He touched her shoulder, but there was no
response.   He pricked her arm with his dagger.   If she made a noise,
they would die, but if he could not bring her to some awareness, he
could not save her.   There seemed to be some flicker of recognition.
He had done what he could.    He began to crawl across the courtyard, in
full view of nomads on either side of him.   He could hear her crawling
after him.   She was making too much noise.   He nerved himself to drop
onto his dagger, and kept crawling.  He passed between two sleeping
nomads so close he could have reached out and touched them.   He kept
crawling.   He reached the shadow of a house; then crawled behind it.
His mother was still behind him.   Now they had only to slip between the
houses and escape the village.

There were bundles of looted clothing outside the houses, probably
drooped by the nomads when he started shooting.  There were bodies of
nomads he had shot from above, and a village woman.   Arkwan heard a
noise and went to look.   There might be other villagers still alive.
But the woman was cold and dead, it was the widow Karipas, Tanyata's
mother, with an arrow through her throat; the noise was a baby boy.
Arkwan handed the baby to his mother, and found her a cloak among the
looted clothing.  They made their way out of the village.   Only when
they had reached the safety of the trees did he speak for the first
time.

"We can use the food we hid in the hills," he said.   "I want to go to
the King, and tell him the nomads have come.   You can be safe with the
King, and I want to become one of his warriors, and fight the
nomads."     But his mother did not speak.

Arkwan tried to make a plan.   His mother might recover, given time,
food, sleep, and warmth.   He had only his dagger and his clothes; he
had not brought any flint or tinder.   He decided to go to the high
sheep pasture, where there was a little hut.   There would be flint and
tinder.   But first, they would go to the place his father had hidden
food.   They set out through the forest, climbing the trail.  Arkwan had
climbed it many times before, and often at night.   But that was in the
summer, and he had Lumpkha and Niri with him.  His arrows and the two
big dogs were a match for any wolves.   But now he had no bow, and
Lumpkha and Niri were dead, or captured by the nomads, along with every
person Arkwan had ever known, except his mother.   They followed the
trail to the little hut among the sheepfolds.   There were no wolves
that night.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Arkwan lit a fire in the little hut, and his mother slept.   And the
baby slept also.    Arkwan thought of all the relatives and friends he
had heard scream and die.   He couldn't imagine them all being dead.
Sujasa couldn't be dead, dead and cold like Karipas.    He couldn't
think of Sujasa as dead, especially not here, in the high pasture.    It
was here, where he watched his father's sheep, that Sujasa had come to
lie with him last summer.   He had begged and pleaded for so long, and
one day she had stepped from behind a tree, naked, and without a word
removed his loincloth.  He was awkward, as it was his first time; she
seemed to know what to do, which made him a little suspicious.   Nothing
can be hidden in a village, and all the children liked to spy, although
they got their bottoms blistered when they were caught.  So Arkwan and
Sujasa had seen men couple with women often enough.  But watching was
one thing, doing another.

Afterwards, he had talked of his plans.   "When we are married, in two
years or three, I think I will be made headman," he had said.    "Father
will become village elder.   We need an elder, now that Kranas has died,
and Father will be chosen for certain.   People like to have the headman
the son of the elder, so with your family's support, I think we have a
good chance.   Won't you like to be headwoman of the village?"

"I haven't said I will marry you, Arkwan," she had said.

"Who will you marry? Sindjas?  Patkha?" Arkwan had shouted at her.
"Have you been lying with every boy in the village?"

"Sindjas is in my clan, fool.   Patkha is like a little boy.   I want a
real hero for a husband.   Someone like your uncle Bohina, only
younger.  Some day one of the King's warriors will come to the village,
a hero.  He will take me and enter my body.  We will be married and I
will go with him."

Arkwan had run away.   He didn't want her to see him crying.   But
Sujasa had found him, and given him a kiss, and dried his tears.    "Of
course I will marry you, Arkwan.   You will be a hero some day.   It was
only that you did not ask me."

They were still naked, and Arkwan was ready to enter Sujasa's body
again.   He did not feel awkward any more.   But Sujasa had said,
"Wait.  I have been disobedient.  You must punish me, now I am your
woman."   And she had taken Arkwan's bronze dagger and cut a switch from
a tree.    "If I am your woman," Sujasa said, "you must hit me when I am
disobedient."

"But I don't want to hit you," Arkwan had said.

"Don't you care?  I talked about a King's warrior entering my body.
Don't you want me for yours alone?"

Arkwan had said: "I do care.  You shouldn't have said that."   Sujasa
lay on the ground, but after two or three of his light strokes across
her bottom, she jumped up, grabbed the switch, and gave him a vicious
blow across the face.   She ran away toward the trees.   He had chased
her, but she was quicker at dodging among the trees than he was.   She
managed to hit him several more times with the switch.   But then she
had run across the pasture, and he was faster in a straight chase, and
had caught her.   He was stronger, too, and he took the switch from her
and wrestled her into a position where he could apply the switch to her
bottom, although she scratched and bit and hit him.   He applied the
switch with all his strength.

After a hand of blows she stopped struggling, and Arkwan stopped
hitting.   Then she hit him in a very painful place.   Well, he would
whip her long and hard.      But then he thought about Rohigga.  He did
want to marry Sujasa, some day, but Rohigga was nice to kiss, too, and
he wanted to enter her body.   But he could never keep Sujasa as his
alone, if he was also coupling with Rohigga; he knew Sujasa too well to
hope for that.   He had to choose.  "Sujasa," he said, "you are mine
alone.  Lie on the ground.   I'm going to whip you for saying you would
marry a king's hero.   You will marry me.    And you will be whipped if
you kiss anyone else."   And she had obeyed.

Standing above her, he could strike hard.  She wriggled her body as he
whipped her.   Arkwan could only take so much.   He turned her over and
thrust into her body, slamming his body into hers.   The wave of
pleasure that engulfed him was staggering.  It was much stronger than
the first time.  Some time later, when he had regained his wits, he
wondered: is that what it is like?   Have all the men I've watched
couple with women, felt that?

They lay cuddled together on the grass, in the warm sun.   Niri came and
squeezed between them, and licked his penis clean, and then the dogs,
without any need for orders, brought the sheep.   The lovers lay half
dozing as the summer breeze licked their naked bodies, and the smells of
grass, and sheep, and dog, and sex swirled around them.   They slept.
Sujasa woke first, and poked Arkwan in the chest.

"Maybe I will lie with your uncle Bohina," she said   "He's a real
hero.  And he's not too old."

Arkwan was irritated.  She's insatiable, he thought.   He refused to be
provoked.   She hit him with the switch.  She landed hard strokes on his
arms, his side, and his legs before he got the switch away from her.
"Sujasa," he said, "on your belly."

That time, Arkwan gave her a real whipping, as hard and long as the
whippings he got from his father.   He was always cranky when he was
woken up.   But when he entered her,  no wave of pleasure came.  After a
long time of thrusting, his penis softened, and he had to stop.

Then they talked.    Arkwan had plans for the village.  His father would
not listen to him.   Sujasa had never thought about such things before,
but she had good ideas.  They talked past sunset, talked as they brought
the sheep into the fold for the night.   Although he often spent the
night, Arkwan wanted to return to the village.   The sheep would be safe
in the fold with the dogs to guard them.   But still Sujasa was not
satisfied.   She hit him with the switch again, across his face, and
danced away in the moonlight, not even running.   Arkwan did not want to
whip her any more.

"Sujasa," he shouted after her.   "I am your man.   If you want to hit
me, here I am."

He took off his cloak and his loincloth.  "I am on my belly, Sujasa," he
shouted into the trees.   "I shouldn't have accused you of lying with
Sindjas and Patkha.  If I am your man, whip me."

He lay on his belly for a while, and eventually Sujasa came out of the
trees.    Arkwan didn't have that sick feeling he got while waiting for
a whipping from his father.   This is going to hurt, he thought.  Why am
I so excited?

Afterwards, when he entered her body, he felt a pleasure that seemed to
last as long as he wanted.   Sujasa seemed to be feeling it as well.
The final peak was only the end.   Not so violent as before, but more
satisfying.  He felt very happy and very, very tired.   It was quite
late indeed when they got into the village.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Arkwan never found out how, but by morning Sujasa's bottom had been seen
by half the village.   And everyone knew he had whipped her for saying
she would marry someone else.  The weals on Arkwan's own face and legs
could not be hidden.   Patkha and a few boys came to see him.   "We are
going to bathe in the stream," they said, "would you like to come?"
Arkwan knew they just wanted to see him naked, to see what more weals
there were under his loincloth.   He was ashamed of the weals on his
bottom.   He wouldn't be the only man in the village to be whipped by
his woman.   Even Uncle Bohina was.   But he was ashamed all the same.
But he couldn't keep his bottom covered all summer.   He walked with his
friends to the stream, and he took of his cloak and loincloth with a
show of unconcern.   It was fun, actually, seeing the expressions on
their faces.

When he got back to his parents' house, Sujasa was there, with a tanned
sheepskin and a bag of clothing, which she put next to his things in the
corner of the upper room.   She lay down, and he lay beside her.   If
they spent the night together, they would be married.    Arkwan's father
did not look exactly pleased, but he did not throw her out.

Sujasa had been clever.   No one could object to their marriage: it was
an excellent match for both families.   But they would not have been
allowed to marry so soon: that was how it was in leading families.  Of
course, if they kept laying together they would have a baby; many
marriages happened that way.   But then Sujasa would have to stand
outside the door and shout, "Let me in, I have in my belly a child of
this house."   To be married first and have her belly swell afterwards
was best.   She was openly his woman, since he had whipped her, and half
the village had seen the marks.  That made it awkward for Arkwan's
father to throw her out, and Arkwan's father was a proud man..   Arkwan
asked Sindjas to look after his sheep until the next day, and they spent
the day in the village and the night together under his father's roof.
And so, without a feast, without embroidered penises on her bridal
dress, but nonetheless beyond any question, they were married.

But that night, he had not entered her body; Arkwan's young
half-brothers were watching them.  Early in the morning, Arkwan and
Sujasa had climbed up to the high pasture, sang with Lumpkha and Niri,
and thanked Sindjas.   When they were little, Arkwan and Sujasa had been
the most active of spies, so they knew that a newly married couple would
be a tempting target.     Arkwan set out the dogs, and kept his ears and
his eyes open, while Sujasa licked his balls.   How did she know so much
about pleasure?

Lumpkha caught the scent, and sang.   Arkwan and Sujasa came running,
naked.  They soon caught the spies: Tanyata, who was the widow Karipas'
daughter, and the orphan boy Hu.  Arkwan was reminded of Sujasa and
himself when they went spying together.   "Did you come to spy on us?"
he asked them.   "We came to spy on you," Hu said to Arkwan.   "We
wanted to see you get a whipping from Sujasa."   "What did you think
would happen if you were caught?" Arkwan asked.   "We'd get a whipping
instead," Tanyata said.  "That's right," Arkwan said.   "Did you know
that Sujasa and I used to go spying when we were your age?  We went
spying together, and now we are married."

"Were you ever caught?" Hu asked.   "A few times," Sujasa said, "and
then we were whipped.  I hated that part."    "But the spying was fun,"
Arkwan said, "because of the danger.   So when we were caught we didn't
really mind."    "I don't really mind either," Hu said, "it will not be
so bad.  I am ready."   Hu was being brave for Tanyata, as Arkwan had
tried to be for Sujasa.   But life for the orphan Hu would not be so
easy as it had been for Arkwan, the headman's son.  "It was fun,"
Tanyata said, "more fun because of the danger.  But you caught us.
Will it be a long whipping?"

"Long enough," Arkwan answered.

"Well, I am ready," Tanyata said.

Arkwan enjoyed whipping Hu and Tanyata.   He whipped them, as Sujasa and
he had once been whipped, side by side, with a long switch across both
bottoms.   They held hands and looked into each other's faces.  Each
tried to be brave for the other.  This was something Arkwan understood;
taking a risk together, paying the penalty together, showing courage for
each other.  Such courage deserves to be tested, and he gave them a long
whipping.  He liked to remember the whippings he had shared with
Sujasa.   So why did he feel so bad when his father whipped him?

Sujasa brought the children into the hut to recover after the whipping,
and gave them some food.  They ate kneeling.

"Hu, would you like to be our foster son?" Arkwan asked.

Hu was confused.  "He would," Tanyata said.  "Wouldn't you, Hu."

"Yes," Hu said.

But it wasn't until that night, as he lay down to sleep beside his new
parents in the little hut by the sheepfolds, that Hu really understood.

And so began that wonderful summer.  Honey mead and sheep cheese.
Coupling in the sunshine, on the grass.   Hu and Tanyata playing.
Dancing all night around the fires at midsummer.   Teaching Hu to be a
shepherd boy.   Training Niri's puppies.   Dining with the King and
Queen when they came to eat and drink their tribute.  Hunting with
Prince Taslan.  Feeling the new life grow in Sujasa's belly.

Tanyata came every day, and joined Hu for his training.  Arkwan taught
them fighting with spear and shield, as well as sheep-tending, and
Sujasa, who was the best archer, set out targets for each of them.

"Move my target back," Tanyata demanded, "and if I miss I want Arkwan to
whip me.  But I won't miss."

"Move my target back, too" Arkwan said.

"I shall move the targets when you can hit these," Sujasa said.  "But
you two may have a contest, if you like.  The first to miss each day
will get a hand of strokes.  But if Arkwan loses, I want to whip him
myself."

Every morning, when Arkwan woke, Tanyata was waiting.  She knew better
than to wake him up.  "Don't bother with your loincloth," she would say,
"I shall win today, and you'll only have to take it off again, when
Sujasa whips you."  At first, day after day, it was Tanyata's bottom
that was whipped..  But however much she was whipped, whether for
archery or any other training, she always wanted a harder challenge, a
further target, a heavier spear.  And she wanted a whipping when she
failed.  Sometimes she cried a little, but she was never unhappy after a
whipping.  As the summer wore on, she grew in skill, and at last she
won.  She danced, and she sang, "I am the best, I am the best, Arkwan's
bottom will be red."   So Arkwan said: "whip me as hard as you can,
Sujasa.  Use a thick switch."   And Tanyata shrieked in triumph to see
Arkwan's bottom whipped.   For a few days Arkwan lost every day.   But
then Tanyata said, "winning is too easy.  I want to move my target back
again."   Then as the autumn moon waxed and waned again, she was whipped
every day; she could barely hit the further target.   But she never
wanted it to be easy.   "That switch is too thin," she would say, "when
I lose, I want it to hurt."

When Arkwan missed, he knew the arrow would miss even before it left his
bow.  His eyes felt twisted, his shoulders tight.   And when he felt
like this he too wanted the stinging hurt of the switch.  When Tanyata
missed, he liked making her bottom hurt.  Children don't wear clothes in
the summer, of course, and he liked to watch her run about with her red
bottom, the puppies yapping at her heels.  And he liked seeing her get a
little more skilled every day.

But Arkwan hated whipping Hu.   Sujasa told Hu to shoot a hand of arrows
every morning, and Hu wanted a hand of strokes if even one of them
missed.   He did not cry, but after a whipping he would just sit,
wrapped up in the cloak his new parents had given him, and Tanyata
couldn't get him to play.   Arkwan remembered the misery of his own
training, and he told the children that Hu would not be whipped any
more.  "You must try your best without whipping," he said.

"I don't mind being whipped when I miss," Hu said, "I just don't like it
when Tanyata is whipped.  I want to have her strokes as well as my own."

"It is not fair to him," Sujasa said.  "And you are not fair to me,
either.  I want to be whipped when I miss, too."

"But you never miss," Arkwan said.

"For archery, and foot races, it shall be as I have said," Arkwan
decided, "Hu will not be whipped."   "But from today," he said to the
children, "as part of your training, you must spy on Sujasa and me when
we couple together.   If we catch you, Hu may take Tanyata's strokes."

"You will never catch us," Tanyata said, "we have been spying on you all
along.  Yesterday, your penis got soft when you were inside, and Sujasa
had to suck on it to make it hard again."

"You were above us, and the grass is short there.   Be more careful,
unless you want to watch Hu get a whipping.  He doesn't like it the way
you and I do.  You should also watch that no other children come to
spy."

Two moons after the marriage, Arkwan's father whipped him for adopting
Hu without permission, and Arkwan was so miserable he couldn't get out
of bed.  Tanyata stayed with him, and talked with him, and challenged
him to a foot-race.   His legs felt heavy, and he felt tired.  He lost,
and he let Tanyata whip him herself.   "It is not just that I lost to
you, Tanyata," he said.  "I feel like I do when I lose, but much worse;
and right now it will feel good that it hurts.  It will feel good if it
hurts and hurts and hurts."  Her stinging strokes, and her shouts of joy
and triumph with every stroke, lifted the pain of his father's words
from him.   He raced her again, winning easily.  "But I won't whip you,"
he said.   She said: "It hurts less to be whipped than to lose."

But now Tanyata was dead.   Raped by some nomad till she was split open,
then tossed on a bonfire.  Arkwan could still hear her screams.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the morning, Arkwan's mother still stared vacantly, and would not
speak.  They would have to reach a friendly village, although it would
be hard to travel in winter.   If the weather held, they would make
it.   At least they had enough food.   Arkwan filled bags with dried
meat, cheese, nuts, dried fruit, and hard bread.   It was fortunate that
his father believed in hiding food in the hills rather than keeping it
in the village.   If only they had had more warning, the whole village
could have deserted their houses to the nomads, and hidden in the
forest.

Laden with food, with his mother carrying the baby, they started to walk
through the forest, heading south.   The nearest village was to the
north, but it must have been overrun by the nomads.    And that village
was as far from home as Arkwan had ever been.   He knew that south,
somewhere, was the King.   Arkwan mixed sheep's cheese, water, and his
own blood, and smeared it on his paps to let the baby suck it off.  He
had no idea they bit so when they suckled.

The weather did not hold.   Arkwan found an overhanging rock, and was
able to light a fire.   They survived the storm huddled together,
keeping warm with rocks heated on the fire.   After the storm walking
was harder, because of the snow, but not impossible.   They walked for
many days.  In places they had to scramble up or down cliffs.  There
were no other villages.  The food would not last much longer.  The baby
was sick.  Arkwan's mother never spoke.  Arkwan had no idea what to do,
and perhaps this made him careless.   He was not straining his ears for
every sound, but just plodding along, when they found themselves
surrounded by archers.

They were marched to a large village.   Arkwan did not understand their
tongue, but he recognized it.   It was his mother's tongue, and the
people were dark haired, like his mother, not red haired like the nomads
and the people of his own village.   Arkwan's mother had sung him the
songs of her own people, and he recognized that tongue now, soft and
hissing.   When they reached the village, all the men were naked, and
they had whips in their hands, with bits of wolf hair still on them.  So
it was the day of the purging.  Everyone was gathered around a pit,
where a the huge tree-trunk was balanced, ready to slide in.   The baby
was pulled from Arkwan's mother's arms, and tossed into the pit.   Men
began to lift the back of the log, bringing it closer to the point of
tipping over.

Arkwan's mother pulled herself from the men holding her, and jumped into
the pit.   The log began to slide forward.  Just as it came crashing
into the pit the baby was tossed out, and landed some distance away,
hurt but still alive.   The villagers gasped.  The log completed its
journey and came to rest, and was pulled with ropes and pushed with
poles until it was upright.  Boys brought stones to wedge it into
place.   It looked like the center post of a house, but a bigger house
than any on the green earth.  The villagers began to murmur, "kohiyossa,
kohiyossa."   A woman, perhaps a priestess, picked up the howling baby.

Arkwan was stripped and pushed into a hole in the side of the hill.
The hole was deep, and Arkwan was pushed along until it was completely
dark.   Then he was hit from all sides with lashes.  He tried to fight
back, but he couldn't find anyone to fight with.   Eventually he sank to
the ground, curled up, and just endured the whipstrokes that rained down
on him.   Then he was fucked in his shit-eye.  His life as a slave had
begun.

He was led out of the hole, handed a bundle, which was his own clothes,
and led to a large house in the center of the village.   It was filthy,
and it stank.  Outside, there was a very large fire, with leather bags
of some kind near it.    An old man showed Arkwan how to push up and
down on these bags.   And push up and down on those bags he did, day
after day, as the moon swelled and died and winter slowly gave way to
spring.

The work was easy, and he could watch the old man melt bronze and mold
it into axes, chisels, and knives.  He hammered them after they came out
of the molds, and then Arkwan had to sharpen them on whetstones.  When
the old man was not working, Arkwan was given other tasks, but these
were also easy, and he was not punished if he did them badly.   They
seemed to expect it.  The old man was called Waksa, and there was a
younger man and a woman, perhaps his children.  Also there was an
apprentice boy.   The man, called Kafassios, did no work at all.   The
woman, Szhasthar, did some cooking and spinning, rather badly.   One day
Arkwan scoured her pots, as they were filthy and he had nothing else to
do, and was rewarded with some food that she seemed to think a delicacy,
but Arkwan thought was disgusting, like all the food here.   But he was
given enough to eat.  Waksa kicked him hard to wake him up in the
morning, and Szhasthar cuffed him when she gave an order, as if hitting
him would make him understand their speech.  A whip was kept handy, and
he was given a lash or two from time to time.   But even if he simply
didn't do some task he was told to do, he didn't get a real whipping.
Waksa fucked him a few times, but usually the old man coupled with his
eager apprentice boy, who was called Iossos.  Arkwan himself, they
called Kahnikos.  No one talked to him.

When he had traveled through the snow, trying to get his mother and the
baby to safety, he had slept well without dreams, but here his nights
were full of the screams of the tortured villagers.  Night after night
he watched Sujasa, a captive of the nomads, raped by many men.  The best
time of the day was when he was sent to the stream for water, as he
often met other slaves.  One day he saw a slave with red hair like the
people of his village, or like a nomad.   "I greet you, friend," Arkwan
said, "can you understand my speech?"

"I go slave bronze kraeghuen zu, many years, but not drupped my tongue,"
the red-haired slave answered, in the speech of the nomads.  "You speak
bad.   My name go Pataka, slave Tlossos zu."

"I greet you, Pataka.  My name is Arkwan, but here I am called
Kahnikos.  I am the slave of a man named Waksa."

"You no name here, Arkwan child, and you go slave Kros bronze kraeghan.
You hear Kros zu, perhaps.  Kahnikos he mean dog, all slaves dogs here.
Waksa he mean sir."

"Yes, we had heard of Kros bronze maker in our village.  I owned a
dagger said to be his work."

"Bronze daggers 'said to be his work' all them," Pataka said, "only best
do Kros kraegh.   You own bronze dagger Kros kraegh, you fall far, now
you go slave.   You know Nute merchant, perhaps.  Nute there, go skin
water zu fill skin."

"I greet you, Nute.  I am Arkwan."

"I greet you, Arkwan, and I know your speech.   Did you live in the
lands of King Taslan, before you became a slave?"

"I was the man of King Kahul.  Taslan is his son."

"Kahul is killed, fighting for his kingdom.  Taslan is king."

"Tell King Taslan, if you travel to his kingdom, that Arkwan of the
house of Annuas greets him, and hopes the dogs Kaia and Fura have been
worthy.  If he should wish more pups of their dam, tell him that may not
be, for dam and sire are dead or are captured by the nomads.   Also
killed or captured is Sujasa, who showed him her skill with the bow, and
Hu, and every other person of the village.    Tell him that Arkwan
wishes he could fight by his side, but he is at present a slave of Kros
bronze maker, and can send only his good wishes for the King's health
and safety."

"I will not be in Taslan's kingdom this summer, nor next winter, but I
may be able to send your message by another.  But he is very busy with
the fighting, and may not be able to buy your freedom, even if he
wishes."

"If he fights well, I am content.   Be in health, Nute merchant.  May
you fare safely until you reach your home."

"My home is nowhere, or everywhere; I am a merchant.   Be in health,
Arkwan of Annuas.   Go health zu, Pataka child."   They helped him carry
his water skins to his cart.   Arkwan had never seen a cart before.
When the oxen pulled he grew dizzy watching the strange motion of the
disks it rested on.  It was a very frightening thing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Pataka helped Arkwan learn the speech of the bronze makers, and as the
moons of spring waxed and died Arkwan came to understand most of what
was said.  He was punished less, and could talk to other slaves.   It
was not as dull watching Kros and Iossos work, now he could understand
what they said to each other.   It made Arkwan shudder that Kros coupled
with a boy, a boy who went naked and had no tattoos, but it also made
him lonely to listen to their loving words in the night, now that he
could understand them.    And it was painful to talk with Szhasthar.  He
had known already she was a simpleton; now she talked with him, hour
after hour and day after day, saying nothing.

One summer morning, before daybreak, Arkwan was wakened by Kafassios.
"Follow me, but do not speak," Kafassios said, and they went out of the
village and climbed the hills to a small grove of trees near the top of
a ridge.   Here there were other young men of the village, who were
naked, and some boys.  Kafassios stripped as well.    The men had
tattoos on their penises.  Arkwan thought: this must be something to do
with the midsummer fires; perhaps today is midsummer day.   Except for
Kafassios, all the men were beautiful and strong, such as might be
chosen to lead the dancing.   Kafassios was neither beautiful nor
strong, but Arkwan supposed the son of Kros was too important not to
choose.   There were more than a hand of men.    The men began to work
cutting down trees with bronze axes, and Arkwan worked too.   No one
spoke.  Kafassios sat on a log and watched them.   Arkwan took off his
cloak, since it was hot, but he did not go naked, since he was only a
slave, not one of the chosen dancers.

After a while three priestesses in long gray robes climbed to the grove,
carrying sheep's bladders on their shoulders.   The youngest priestess
stripped, and knelt before the men.  She had tattoos on her breasts and
on her cunt.   The men, one after another, knelt and suckled from her
breasts.   Looking closely, Arkwan realized that a strip or tube led
down from the bladder on her shoulders, and the men, as well as sucking
on her teats, were sucking and swallowing from the tube.   When all the
men had drunk, Arkwan decided to try and drink as well.  He knelt before
the priestess, and she did not pull away, so he reached with his mouth
for the tube, but she turned to put her teat in his mouth instead.
Only when he had sucked on both teats, which gave no milk, did she allow
him to suck milk from the tube.  Arkwan felt his penis beginning to
swell.  The milk had a bitter taste, but it was drink, and the day would
be hot.   Arkwan drank deeply.

They spent the morning felling trees.  After a sleep, they drank more
milk from the middle priestess, who was older.  Then they carried other
logs, which Arkwan supposed had been cut the year before, to a pass at
the top of the ridge, and made two piles, ready to be lit.   This must
be where the dancing would be.   The men embraced the boys, and kissed
them, and the men's' penises swelled and they fucked the boys between
the legs.  Arkwan turned away, as he supposed they wouldn't want a slave
watching.  He hid his cloak under a rock.  Then the oldest priestess
stripped and knelt before them, an old woman.   In the bladder on her
shoulders, there was not milk but strong honey mead.   Arkwan's head
began to feel quite light.

Men and women came from the village in a procession, all clothed.   The
Gods who dance on human feet were there, whom Arkwan had heard about but
never seen.  These were ancient wooden heads, which the Gods touched.
The heads were mounted on wicker frames, carried on a man's shoulders.
Long hooded robes reached to near the ground, covering the frames, so it
did indeed seem as if the Gods walked among them.   During the dance,
each God would come; and the God's own face would be seen instead of the
carved wood.  They would speak, and if you were very brave you could
look into their eyes.    And the God would use the legs of the man, and
make the man walk where the God wanted to go.

Arkwan's village had Gods, of course, but they did not dance, and their
faces remained wood.  Arkwan had never seen a God's real face, and he
was very frightened. Everyone knew the stories of the God whose name was
not spoken, whom people called the Young God.  The Young God was fond of
of village dances, and wherever he went his followers, the Smashers,
came with him.   The Smashers were men, not Gods: naked, filthy, covered
with ashes, with huge penises.   All women offered themselves to the
God, but the Smashers took what they wanted; tore clothing, shattered
pots, lit fires, and beat men who tried to protect their wives.   It was
the Young God who had stolen all the clothing in a village, so on
midsummer night all the woman as well as the men had to dance naked.
The God come and danced, and every woman, even the oldest crone, had
felt the God's penis inside of her before the night was over.  Only one
woman, the headwoman of the village, hid her nakedness in her house, and
she was found dead in the morning, and everything in the house had been
smashed and broken.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Two priests, wearing tall pointed hats, lit the fires, and the naked
men, who had already worked hard all day, except Kafassios, began to
dance.   Arkwan rested.  A procession of cows was led between the fires,
followed by a few bulls, then mares, then stallions.   The horses were
as fine as Kapi, Prince Taslan's black mare.  King Taslan, he meant.
The fires grew so hot that anyone who walked slowly between them would
be roasted.   The woman danced in a large circle around both fires, the
naked men danced inside their circle.  The bravest boys ran, as fast as
they could, between the fires.   They came out red all over from the
heat, and then they danced with the men.  Soon it was too hot for anyone
to pass between the fires, even running.   The boys who had not yet
passed between the fires, remained outside the woman's circle, and
watched; they did not join the dance.  Arkwan had run between the fires
when he was a boy, and danced with the men, and he had gotten his man's
tattoos that midsummer night.  He was glad his man's tattoos had not
been on his penis.  The woman sang a song of praise to the Gods   The
Gods on human feet danced this way and that.

Arkwan watched the dance.  The feeling that his head was floating above
his body became stronger.  The woman danced around one way.  The naked
men, inside their circle, danced around the other way.  Only one woman
was naked.   The women drew their circle in, and the men were pushed
close to the fire.   The men turned as they danced so that first one
side and then another faced the roasting heat, and with an intricate
step they dodged the women pushing them inwards.   A man tried to
embrace the naked woman, got out of step, and a shove from a woman's hip
tripped him into the coals.  He jumped up, his hair on fire, but he beat
it out and continued to dance.   The sun of the longest day set behind
the distant hills.   Midsummer night had begun.  The woman started a new
song, to the Queen of the Wombs.   For this midsummer night was also the
night of the new moon.   A priestess castrated a dog, and then killed
him.

Arkwan felt a touch on his shoulder, but there was no one there.   Then
he was pushed, again by no one.  Then he was kicked.   He was being
pushed in the direction of the fires.  Then his legs began to run,
although he did not want to go.    His legs took him through the circle
of women, and he joined the men.      Arkwan's legs knew the dance, they
twirled and jumped and dodged as he circled around.  Neither his legs
nor his hands would do what Arkwan wanted.  He was looking out of his
own eyes, and feeling the pain of his roasting skin, but some one else
owned his body.  He came to the passage between the fires, and began to
run between them.   Flames licked at his skin.  His loincloth caught
fire.  And then one pile shifted, and burning logs crashed down, and the
fire fell on top of him.

Arkwan could see a chance of escape, by climbing a flaming log.   He
could move his body, but slowly.  A heartbeat passed after deciding to
jump onto the burning log, before his legs made the jump.  He ran up the
slanting log, and it collapsed under him.  But instead of falling into
the fire he was struck from behind, across the bottom, by something, and
he fell forward to a clear patch of ground.   He hit hard, and rolled.
There was no longer fire all around him, he could see a passage to
safety, but the fire roasted his skin.  The pain was terrible.  He
wanted to stand up and run, but his body did not move.  After a bit, his
body stood and moved by itself, coming out from between the fires, and
joining the dance.   The men nearby were startled to see anyone come out
of the fire, but when they looked in his direction, they sank to their
knees.  Some lay on their bellies, faces pressed into the ground.  Other
men looked at Arkwan's face, shielding their eyes with their hands as a
man does when he looks into the sun.

Arkwan danced around the circle.   Where he came, men sank to the
ground.  The song for the Lady of the Wombs, stopped.   The women began
a new song, a song of praise to the Young God.   A woman stripped and
lay down with her knees spread, and Arkwan dropped on top of her.   She
flinched at the touch of his body, and he entered her.  She screamed.

His body was not his own, but there was some pleasure, as his penis slid
in and out.  It was strange.  His penis was painfully hard.   There was
no peak of pleasure, and after a while his body got up and began to
dance again, his penis still stiff and sore.   Other women pulled off
their clothes, shouting rather than singing the song for the Young
God.   Another naked woman lay on the ground, but he passed her by.
Many naked women were dancing, but most of the men lay with their faces
pressed to the ground.  Some of the chosen dancers, their penises
swollen to enormous size, began to follow him as he danced around the
fires.

Arkwan began to feel as if he was floating above his body.   He watched
from above as his body coupled with a woman as they danced.  Graceful
motions as he slid in and out to the rhythm of the song.   His followers
ripped the clothing off a woman who resisted them.   All around the
circle, ash-streaked men were coupling with women as they danced,
penises sliding in and out.   The Gods on human feet danced by, their
faces still wood.   Arkwan felt raised to a great height, and he looked
down on the fires and the circling dancers as if he were a bird.  The
bird flew higher and higher into the sky.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Arkwan woke up.  It was morning, he was cold and naked, and a rock was
pressing into his back.    He was thirsty.  A man who had been watching
him gave a shout, and sank to his knees.   But then the man called out,
"It is only the slave.  The God has left us."   After that, no one paid
Arkwan any mind.  There was a burning pain across his bottom, but except
for that, he didn't feel or see any burns.   From what he could remember
of the fires, he should have burns all over.  He should be dead,
really.   He remembered terrible pain.  His loincloth had caught fire;
his penis should be burned off.   But it was unharmed; not a hair
singed.   The pain was yesterday, and today he was alive, and not in
much pain.   He would try to stay alive if he could.   He wanted
something to drink.  He went to look for his cloak where he had hidden
it, but it was gone.

The three priestesses had baskets of good bread, and some bland cheese,
and the villagers ate.   Arkwan was the only one who was naked.  The
bread made him even more thirsty, and he knelt down, as a slave should,
before he asked a man if there was any water.   The man did not hit him
or call him a dog, but went with him, politely, to a nearby spring.

Then Arkwan went back to the house of Kros.  There was no one there.
He swept the floor, scrubbed the pots.   Kros would work today, he
thought, and for many moons Arkwan would push the leather bags up and
down, day after day.  He would work naked, he decided, until Kros
decided to give him a new cloak and a new loincloth.  Slaves didn't ask
for things.  He might be punished for losing his cloak.   Perhaps Kros
might not care whether his slave was naked or not, but there were no
naked slaves in the village, except children.  Arkwan took a jar to the
stream for water.   When he climbed back through the village he was
grabbed by two priests.   They held him while a boy was sent for Kros.
A few villagers gathered.

Kros came and sat on a stone.  The older priest pointed at Arkwan.
"This slave raped a woman at the dance.  He must die in the pit."

Kros asked, "Rape?  At midsummer?   Was she naked?"

"I don't know, I mean, yes she was.  This dog of a slave took her," the
priest said.

Kros said: "You know the law of midsummer:

    If he and she both danced naked on midsummer night, there is no
rape,
    and neither can she be punished or reproved for coupling with
anyone.

Kros said: "Women, and men too, dance naked to feel the frenzy, the
strong desire, and to couple roughly with others who feel it.  If she
wanted to be entered tamely, by some man but not by this one, she should
have just taken the man she wanted into the woods.   The woods were full
last night, I could hardly find a place.  Is the woman here?  Does she
claim that her clothes were ripped off by force?"

"Many saw the rape," the priest said, "it was Frah the wife of Tlossos."

"I am Frah," a woman said.  "There was no rape.  It was the God, and not
this dog, who entered my body.  I saw his face; it was not the face of
this slave.  It was the God.  Many saw him."

"It cannot have been the God," the priest shouted.

"It was I who entered this woman," Arkwan said.  "I and no other."

"It was the God," the woman insisted.  "But God or not there was no
rape.   I took him eagerly into my body, although he burned me.   No
slave dog has a penis that burns like fire.   Other woman, clothed
women, were raped, by men of this village, but I make no cry of rape
against God nor slave."

"If it was no God who entered this woman, did no God come to our dance
this year?" Kros asked the priest.

"The Gods came," the priest insisted.  "I saw them.   Many saw them."

"That is not what I hear," Kros said.  "I hear that in spite of all your
chants, in spite of all the smoke you make us breathe and the Hema you
make us drink, the Gods you serve are made of wood."

"Look, the woman said, pointing to Arkwan, "the mark of the God."

"Come here dog," Kros commanded.  "Show me your back."   "This slave has
a burn," Kros announced, "as many men do today.   His burn is across his
bottom in the shape of a giant hand."

The entire village had by now come to watch, and villagers began to talk
among themselves.   Arkwan heard the word "kohiyossa."   He wished he
knew what it meant.

"He must die in the pit!" the priest screamed.   "He raped many woman."

"Perhaps I can help," came a voice from the edge of the crowd.  It was
Nute merchant.  "I will buy this slave, if you will give a good price.
Then he will be gone from the village, and you will not have to kill a
man for rape when no woman cries rape against him."

"What gift can you give us, merchant Nute?" Kros asked.

"All I brought I have already traded for your good bronze, so I can only
return bronze that is in my cart.   Here it is."

Nute began to toss daggers, chisels, and axes to the ground behind him,
not looking how they fell.   Then, without looking at the pile of
bronze, he walked over and took Arkwan by the wrist.

"Stop!" Kros commanded.   "It is not enough."

Arkwan gasped.   Nute had made a pile of bronze.    How could Kros
reject such a kingly gift?

"I will give more," Nute said.   And he began to take daggers out of his
cart and carefully add them to the pile.   When he had placed a hand of
them, Kros said "enough!"

Then Nute handed Arkwan the ox goad, and climbed into the cart.  Arkwan
prodded the oxen and the cart began to move.  Arkwan was the slave of a
new master.

A slave has no friends, makes no farewells.   Arkwan looked for his
friend Pataka as he left the village, but he saw no face he knew, except
the man who had shown him the spring that morning.   This man walked
beside side the oxen, limping a little.  He said to Arkwan, "Tlossos
bronze maker wishes you health and safety, friend, though I do not know
your name.  Fare well."

"Be in health, friend Tlossos.   Arkwan slave of Nute merchant wishes
you safety, and your heart's desire."

"As to that, the kohiyossa will be safe with me until you come again,
Arkwan merchant," Tlossos said.   But with that he turned back to the
village, and although Arkwan shouted more than a slave should, he did
not turn again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The land they entered was different than the pine-covered mountains of
Arkwan's homeland.   There were rounded hills, and many great oaks.
There was much grass, but not lush mountain meadows; here there were
wide valleys with deer and wild cattle.   Even the stones were
different.  Arkwan had thought all parts of the green earth were like
his own mountains; this strange country was like a land of song.   You
might meet a God walking along the track, or a hero from an ancient
tale.

That night, Arkwan made the fire and tended the oxen and the dogs.   He
had walked naked all day.

Nute said: "You will want a cloak for the night.   Here is an old one.
And here is a dagger.   Do you know how to fight?"

The "old" cloak that Nute tossed him was as fine as the one Queen Mea
had worn, and even more richly embroidered.    Arkwan answered: "I
killed a pair of men with a dagger, but I used my shield as well.   I
trained with shield and spear.   But I am best of all with a bow."

"I don't have a spear, but I have many spear points.  No shield,
though.   Let me see what you can do with these," Nute said, handing him
a bow and a quiver..   "Can you hit that tree?"

"Toss a stone in the air," Arkwan said, "and I'll show you what I can
do."

Arkwan's hands moved too quickly for Nute to see what he was doing, and
for a moment he thought Arkwan had shot a single arrow and missed.   But
then he saw that a nearby tree had a trio of arrows in it, in a tight
cluster.

"That must be useful in a battle," Nute said.

"Some," Arkwan said, shooting another trio of arrows into a tree behind
him, without looking at it.   "But for a battle I use a lot of arrows."

Nute said: "Tomorrow, we will travel south.  It is the only path for a
cart.   There may be thieves.  In the lands to the south they make good
cloth, and I will buy some with bronze if I can get a good price."

"We will go to a village?" Arkwan said, trying to understand.  "They
will give you a feast, for you are a merchant.  And you will give bronze
to the headman.   What is 'buy'?"

"Things are different in your mountain villages, Arkwan," Nute said.
"There will be no feast.   We may get a meal, if you can sing better
than I can.   I will show a dagger, and the headwoman will throw some
blankets on the ground.   They will not be the best blankets.  I will
say, 'it is not enough.'   Then the headwoman will add more blankets
until I say 'enough.'  Or she will not, and I will put my dagger back in
my cart."

"That is what you did with me," Arkwan said.  "I did not understand it.
In our village we were proud when we could give much, in return for a
merchant's gifts."

"Different lands, different customs," Nute said.

This was worse than watching the disks that the cart used as legs.
Arkwan held up the dagger Nute had given him to use.   "Would it take
many blankets to buy this dagger?" he asked.

"That dagger," Nute said, "is very good.  Tlossos made it.  This close
to the village of Kros though, it is only worth a score of ewes.   If we
reach the sea before winter, I could sell it for twice as much."

Nute had used the speech of Arkwan's own village, but Arkwan had not
understood any of it.   He was still trying to understand buying, and
Nute had hit him with too many words, too fast.   He felt sick.  Asking
Nute for more words, was like asking to be beaten over the head.   But
he had to understand.

"What is 'score'?" he asked.

"A score is four hands," Nute answered.

Arkwan had heard of four.   When he whipped Hu a hand of strokes, Hu
would sometimes say, "That is only four.  You need to whip me one
more."   Arkwan didn't see what good one more stroke would do.  When you
were whipped a hand of strokes, it hurt.   And sometimes Hu would say,
"Stop, you have whipped Tanyata a stroke and a hand of strokes
already."    Tanyata hadn't fussed about such things; she just wanted
her bottom to hurt when she lost.   Arkwan looked at his hand.  That was
a hand of fingers, of course.   And if you covered the thick finger, Hu
had told him, it was four.   He covered the thick finger.   He didn't
understand.   He picked up a hand of little stones.   He looked at them
in his hand.  He picked up a stone, just one stone, and put it with the
others.  Then he put that stone back.   He thought hard.   This hand of
stones is four.   No, that's not it.   This is not a hand of stones, it
is four stones.  Pick up this stone and it is a hand of stones.   Pick
up another stone.  What had Hu said? "You have whipped Tanyata a stroke
and a hand of strokes."   This is a stone and a hand of stones.  Put one
down.   A hand of stones.  Four stones.  A trio of stones.  A pair of
stones.  One stone.   Why did he have to be the slave of a merchant?

"Give me a whipping," Arkwan said.

Nute laughed.   "Merchants don't whip slaves when we buy them.   We whip
them to sell, to show the customer."

Arkwan wasn't going to ask what a customer was.   He just wanted the
hurt of strokes on his bottom to take away the pain of all this
thinking.

But he had to understand.  Arkwan handed Nute a hand of stones.  "Show
me score," he asked.   And he waited for another beating with words.

Nute made piles of stones, a hand of piles.  No, he made four piles.
Arkwan looked at Nute's piles and did not understand.   How could Nute
show him a score of ewes, when there weren't any sheep here?   Arkwan
thought hard.   A hand of strokes.  A hand of stones.  A hand of ewes.
Trika and Suka and Suka's lamb would be a trio of ewes.   Arkwan picked
up a stone that looked a bit like Suka and found another for Trika and a
little one for the lamb.  Of course she was grown now, if the nomads
hadn't eaten her.   He picked up one stone for every ewe in the flock he
had guarded last summer.   He looked at all his stones and at Nutes
stones.   He remembered a word Hu had tried to teach him.

"These are my father's sheep," he said, pointing to his stones, and to
his penis, which he was using for Tukaba the ram.   "That is your score
of ewes.   So your score of ewes is half."

"More like two-fifths," Nute said, glancing.   But when he saw Arkwan's
face he said, "divide your sheep into piles, piles that are the same.
A hand of piles, and a score would be a pair of those piles."

Arkwan felt so dizzy that he had to squat down.  "I need a whipping," he
begged.

But Nute said nothing, and Arkwan had to think again.

After a while he picked up the dagger.   "My father was named Eos," he
said.  "When we trained for fighting, if I was not the best of all the
village boys, I was whipped.   'This boy is not my son.' he would say,
and he would give me a long hard whipping in front of all the
children.   It made me cry, and I was ashamed.  I had to be best at
running and at every kind of fighting, and he whipped me and whipped me
until I was.  He also gave me a dagger.   He didn't have any sort of
bronze for his own.   The dagger he gave me was very like this one.   I
did not know that to buy it took half of everything he had."

Nute put his hand on Arkwan's shoulder.  "I think it is time for sleep."

That night, Arkwan was chased by his penis, which had Tukaba's horns.
A score of stone ewes blocked his path, bleating like the creaking of
the cartwheels.  They circled round and round, and the birds looked down
from above.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Arkwan, wake up."   It was Nute, shaking him.  "Get up now.  You went
back to sleep before."

"I'll get up."

"Arkwan, wake up.  You fell asleep again.  Before you go back to sleep,
is there any way to get you up?"

"Kros used to kick me.   Before that I used to whip a little girl."

Arkwan was wakened up by a stinging stroke across his side.   "You fell
asleep again," Nute said..  "I don't have a little girl handy.   Is one
stroke enough or should I whip you more?"

"It might help," Arkwan said.   He folded the beautiful cloak Nute had
given him, and lay on his belly.   Nute whipped him hard, a hand of
strokes, and his bottom was still tender from the burn.  Wagga, Nute's
bitch, whimpered.  There was no sweetness in this whipping, no feeling
of pain being lifted.   If only he'd been whipped last night, he
thought, he wouldn't have had such terrible dreams.

"Why do you want to be whipped?" Nute asked.

"You shoot words fast, merchant.  They hurt.   The whipping is like a
poultice for my wounds."

"I will shoot in another direction, then.   Tonight you will see me in
battle."

"I'll put the switch in the cart.  But I do not wish to avoid your
words.   They hurt, but only like a blow from a wooden spear in
training."

Nute wanted to roll the cart, but it took some time for Arkwan to pull
the arrows out of the trees he had shot them into.  He knew nothing of
oxen or carts, so the day had started to get warm before the cart
rolled.   Arkwan had no belt, so he put the sword Nute had given him in
the cart, where he could reach it quickly.  The bow and quiver he
carried over his shoulder.

Arkwan's feet were much more sore than his bottom.   As they plodded
along he thought over Nute's words.  Arkwan might not know about "score"
or "four," but he had a good memory.   He could remember everything Nute
had said.  "If we reach the sea before winter," Nute had said.   The
sea.   Merchants had come to  Arkwan's village, and bards, and wandering
priestesses, and they all told tales.   Arkwan believed them all, of
course.   But there were things you could have in a song, and then there
were the things in his own green world, and they weren't the same.  The
sea was just something in a story.  But Nute was not like a story.   If
Nute said they were walking to the sea, then they were.  Arkwan was
walking to the sea.   In this green world, and not in a story, Arkwan
was walking to the sea.

Nute did not pull out any food until they stopped to rest during the
hottest part of the day.   "A merchant learns not to speak ill of
another man's clothing," Nute said.  "But it may be somewhat awkward
when you walk into the village.   Do you go naked so you can be whipped
more easily?"

What did Nute want him to say?   And why couldn't he talk like other
people?   Arkwan puzzled.   Finally he said, "I do not have a
loincloth."

"I have many.  Don't you want one."

"A slave doesn't ask for things."

"The ones I have known, did nothing but ask, except when they were
sleeping.   Different customs in different lands.   Anyway, here is a
belt.   And your feet are bloody because you didn't want to ask for
shoes, no doubt.   Here is a loincloth.   You may use my shoes, since I
will be riding in the cart."

Arkwan took the belt, which had a baldric and a place to tie the dagger
sheath.  Prince Taslan's had not been so fine.  The loincloth too, was
finer than any he had seen.   It was not something to wrap a slave's
penis in.   He folded the cloth carefully, rolled the belt, and put them
in the cart with the cloak Nute had given him.   He put on the shoes,
and prodded the oxen.   As they walked along, he recited over and over
again: "one stone, a pair of stones, a trio of stones, four stones, a
hand of stones."

The track grew worse.   The disks the cart walked on sank into holes,
and the oxen strained to pull them out.   Nute got out and walked, so
Arkwan gave him back his shoes.  They hadn't stopped his feet from
hurting, anyway.   At the worst holes he had to lift on the cart, while
Nute prodded the oxen.   After a while Nute took off his belt, and
showed Arkwan his loincloth.  It was so dusty the fine dark red color
could not be seen.   Nute tossed loincloth and belt into the cart and
walked along naked beside his slave.

"A hand of stones," Nute said.  "One stone and a hand of stones.  A pair
of stones and a hand of stones.  A trio of stones and a hand of stones.
Four stones and a hand of stones.   Ten stones."

Arkwan tried.  He could hear Nute's words in his memory, but he was
nervous.  "One stone." he said.  "A pair of stones.  Four stones.  A
stone and, and, a stone."

Arkwan reached into the cart for the switch and handed it to Nute.
"Just try again," Nute said.

"One stone and, and.  One stone.   I can't."

"Arkwan, what is your name?"  Nute asked.

"My name is, is, Ark, Arkwan", Arkwan stammered.

"Well I suppose you know best.   Here it comes."

Nute whipped hard, and the pain in his bottom lifted the ache from
Arkwan's shoulders and the prickling irritation from the heat, as well
as untwisting his tongue.  He wished Nute hadn't stopped.

"How many strokes was that?" Nute asked.

"Four strokes."

Nute reached down as they walked and handed Arkwan a hand of little
stones.  No, it was a pair of stones and a hand of stones.   "How many
stones is that?"   "A pair and a hand."

"Why did you make me whip you? Say with me: one stone, a pair of stones,
..."

"a trio of stones, four stones, a hand of stones, one stone and a hand,
a pair and a hand, a trio and a hand, four stones and a hand, ten
stones," Arkwan finished.

"Now back.  Ten stones, ..."

"Four stones and a hand, ..." Arkwan continued, and made it back to one
stone without a mistake.

"We may as well stop," Nute said.  "We will not make it to the village
tonight, anyway.   And I have a strong desire to get into that lake.  I
want to be in it before you can count to ten.   Bring the switch.   You
count faster that way."

"We will be too far from the cart."  Arkwan said.  "I should stay to
guard it."

Nute sighed.  "Perhaps there will be a better spot further along," he
said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"We have a score of arrows, a pair, and ten," Arkwan announced.   They
had stopped for the night by a spring, and Arkwan, after washing Nute's
loincloth and braiding himself a pair of sandals, was looking over their
weapons.  "That is not many if there is a fight.   I can make arrows,
but I have seen no peelbark, and no greenarrow.   And no flint.  And we
have no straightener.  Perhaps we can buy some shafts.   I can cut a
spear for this point."

"Bring the switch, Arkwan son of Eos.   Four strokes have made you a
merchant; you can count, and you talk of buying and selling like a
merchant born.   Perhaps a hand of strokes will turn me into a bard."

Arkwan brought the switch.  "A whipping will feel good," he said.   "Do
you want to try to sing?   You need to be on your belly."

"Hold, Arkwan.   It will take more than green wood to drive barding into
my merchant bottom.   I don't suppose you know how to sing?"

"I am no bard."

"Sing, or get a whipping."

"A whipping then," Arkwan said.   "I would like one."

"Never buy a slave.  Did not the bards come to your village?   Did you
not sing the songs they brought?  Do you remember any of them?"

Arkwan sang.

    Rhonan the horseman rode to the battle; rode in the night to reach
his king's side.
     A woman was naked there by the water; willow in moonlight waiting
her lover.
   Will you not ride to the battle she asked him; to the king's heroes
will you not ride?

      He rode to the battle; he rode to the battle;
          he rode to the battle to reach his king's side.

    Only a moment with you will I linger; only to drink of this pool of
clear water.
      Only to kiss your sweet lips have I time for; only to suckle your
breasts will I stay.
    I must go soon to my King in his danger; standing beside him
swordplay and slaughter,
     But for a moment I want to embrace you; only a moment and then ride
away.

    In an embrace I will pull on your penis; using my fingers and
reaching inside
     Won't you be naked here by the water; oak in the moonlight penis
uncover
   Will you not push it inside me she asked him; then on your stallion
you naked can ride?

    Off with my cloak and my belt and my clothing; naked I go to
swordplay and slaughter
     Away from your willow in moonlight I take you; whipping my horse on
faster we ride
   No other warrior must get there before me; no time to couple here by
the water
    So naked on stallion I want to embrace you; ride to the battle my
penis inside.

      He rode to the battle; he rode to the battle;
         he rode to the battle his penis inside.

"That's good enough for a supper," Nute said.  "and you have a nice
voice.  Are there any more verses?"

"You mean sing in a village? Like a bard?  I couldn't do that."

"We'll see.   Whippings seem to loosen your tongue, even if you do keep
asking for them.   Perhaps I should try one, after all."

Nute cut many thin twigs, a score of twigs perhaps, and tied them
together with a bit of cord, and told Arkwan to whip his back, legs, and
bottom.   The twigs were as thin as a switch for a baby's bottom.
After many strokes he told Arkwan to fetch a skin of water, and to pour
it over him.  Arkwan didn't think a whipping with such small twigs would
hurt.

Nute put on his belt and fresh loincloth, and found a comfortable spot
under a tree.  "Get some food, Arkwan," he said.

As Arkwan skinned and cleaned a hare he had shot, Nute asked him, "Was
it Nakien, who sang that song, about Rhonan riding with his penis
inside?"

"Yes, Nakien came to our village, before midsummer," Arkwan answered.
King Kahul gave him a fine cloak.  At midsummer feast, he was given the
first cut of meat, after the King, before the Prince or any hero.   My
wife ate next after the Prince; she won at archery."

"Arkwan, did people in your village ask Nakien to judge their disputes,
or the King?   Or did they want your village priest to judge?  Or do
they ask your, what do you call him, your elder?""

"Many came to the feast, but they asked for Nakien's judgment.
Disputes that were old, which they had not wanted to bring to the
priest, they wanted Nakien to judge.  He did not have time to judge them
all."

"So it is, always.   Bards know the law, and men wish to hear the law,
when their disputes are judged.  What are the three kinds of bard,
Arkwan?"

Arkwan wished Nute would ask a harder question.  He was hoping to be
whipped with the thin switches tied together.   But he knew the answer:
"red, white, and black."

"Right.   And Nakien is a white bard.   He knows the law well; a white
bard judges more than he sings.   Although Nakien, I think, spends even
more time lying with village women."

"Some women were sorry to see him leave, but all the men were glad; with
Nakien every night is midsummer."

"And your priest was glad to see his back as well, I think," Nute said.

"Old Grios said we were fools to bring disputes to a walking penis,"
Arkwan said.  "But only after Nakien had left.   We all knew Nakien
could make Grios look the fool, if they had a fight with words."

"Do you know how a priest becomes a priest or a bard becomes a bard,
Arkwan?"

Arkwan thought hard.   He had heard stories about famous bards, but he
hadn't really thought about them.   He thought he knew the answer but,
when he tried to say what it was, he didn't know.    He handed the bound
twigs to Nute.   Nute ignored them.

"Are you going to do something with that rabbit?" Nute asked.  "I am
hungry."

Arkwan set the hare to roast over the fire.

"Perhaps a bard learns from his father?" Arkwan guessed.

Nute sighed.   After a bit, Arkwan groaned.    He went down on his hands
and knees, so Nute could reach his bottom without having to stand up.
The twigs did hurt a bit.   But they didn't hurt enough.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, Arkwan was wakened by a stinging blow across his
thigh.  Nute had pulled back Arkwan's cloak, and was raising the switch,
the good switch and not the twigs, looking for a spot to hit.    Arkwan
turned on his belly so Nute could whip his bottom if he wanted to.
Nute hit him a pair of hard strokes.   Then Arkwan stood up and went to
bring the oxen in from their grazing, harnessed them, and the cart began
to roll.   The sun was just touching the tops of the trees.

"I do not know of any white bard who learned from his father." Arkwan
said.  Nute was walking beside him.  Arkwan continued, "Nakien himself
learned from a hand of teachers, I mean four teachers.   And Nakien had
a student with him, a boy.  He and my son Hu became friends.  So it must
be that when a child wishes to become a bard, he serves first one bard
and then another as a student.   All this I know well.  I don't know why
I said a bard learns from his father.  It was like when I miss a target
I should have hit easily."

"But now you have hit it.   What do the students do in the winter?" Nute
asked.

"The bard must stay in one village for the winter, so the student must
stay with him."

"Anything else?" Nute asked.

"No.   Wait.   Nakien said he had spent the winter with Sugga the
law-singer."

"Good.   Sugga is blind, and now she is deaf as well, but her students
worship her; many former students will gather in her village this
winter, and other white bards also; a gathering of teachers of the
law.   It is in winter that students learn the law; singing the law
songs together, a score or more students together.   There will be
disputes; new laws will be agreed, and cast into song.   That is, if
Sugga lives to the start of winter.   And they will discuss the
priests.   They will say how the priests judge according to the will of
the Gods, tossing a stick in the air to see how it lands.   People like
to be judged according to the law, but the priests are many and the
bards few, and people fear to go against the Gods.   So what you saw was
not just a dispute between white bard Nakien and priest Grios; bards and
priests struggle in many lands.  It is like a battle between two great
kingdoms."

"And what of the merchants," Arkwan asked.

"If the law is on my side, I like the law; if not, then certainly a
tossed stick shows the will of the Gods," Nute answered. "In your case,
I seem to recall someone shouting 'he must die in the pit.'   And it
wasn't a bard."

A short time later, Nute said. "I hate to bring this up again, but," and
then he shouted, "Put on your fucking loincloth!"    Then in his normal
voice he continued, "Or I'll whip your bottom until the switch wears
out.   Or perhaps in your case I should just threaten not to whip you."

Arkwan stopped the oxen.   He put on belt and loincloth, and tied the
bronze dagger Nute had given him to the belt.   He put the quiver of
arrows over his shoulder, then the cloak, then the bow, and then put a
hand of arrows in his belt for quick shooting.    Then, dressed and
weaponed more richly than King Kahul, he returned to his job of prodding
a pair of oxen along a dusty track.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was not far.   They passed pastures with flocks of fine sheep, and
saw the village on a hilltop.  No village could be as beautiful as his
own, but this one was very fine.   Many houses had a room on top of a
room, and all were painted with designs of brown, red, and white.   The
thatch glistened in the sun.  Rams' horns decorated the ends of the
ridgepoles.  Vines grew on some of the houses, with unripe clusters of
green berries.   Even the pottery beehives were painted in many colors.
Women in bright tunics were spinning, and men weaving, in the shade of
trees that grew among the houses.   A grey-haired woman came out to
greet them, in the same speech as the village of the bronze makers.
"I welcome you, Waksa.   I welcome you, Nute.   Stay in safety.  Sit and
rest from your journey."

"Be in safety, headwoman Nohas, and health," Nute answered.   "This, is
Arkwan the son of Eos."

"Be well, Arkwan Eos.  Stay in safety."

"Be well, Mother Nohas headwoman, and may your children be."

A young woman, about Arkwan's age, gave them each a jar.   The drink in
the jar was red, and it was heady as mead or beer.   Arkwan thought it
was very good.

"Would you like a smoke to rest after your journey, Waksa?" the young
woman asked him.

"The kindness of the welcome makes the journey short." Arkwan said.  It
was something Queen Mea had said to his father.  Arkwan had no idea what
a smoke was.

The young woman led him to a small tent.   "The Waksa and I will take a
smoke, Tektu," she said to a boy, who was sitting by a fire in front of
the tent.   The woman lifted off Arkwan's cloak and handed it the boy,
and then took off her tunic.  Arkwan undid his belt and passed belt and
dagger to the boy.   It seemed a smoke was a kind of bath.  When both of
them were naked, he followed her into the little tent.  Tektu, using
forked sticks, placed glowing hot stones in a pile in the center of the
tent, and then closed the tent door, so the tent was dark except for the
glow of the hot stones.   The young woman threw some sort of grain onto
the stones, and then sprinkled them with water.   Clouds of steam with a
pungent, nose-twisting smell rose from the stones.  The smoke and steam
clouded Arkwan's eyes.   The intense heat made him sweat heavily.   He
was struck across the shoulders, and tried to defend himself, but then
he realized that the blows were just flicks with a leafy branch.  The
woman was flicking him all over.

Arkwan began to see a little.  There was another branch, so he picked it
up and began to flick the woman.  She gave sighs of pleasure.  Then she
shifted position, kneeling facing the tent wall, to let him strike her
back and bottom, and he whipped as hard as he could, although of course
it did not hurt.  He was finding it a little hard to think clearly.  The
smell of her sweating body made him want to grab her, to kiss her
breasts, and to lick sweat from her cunt.  His penis began to rise.  He
turned away, and knelt facing the tent wall, so that she could whip his
back, and also to hide his penis.   She flicked his bottom, but then
reached between him and the tent wall and whipped downward on his penis,
and then whipped upward, catching his penis from below.   He turned and
tried to strike her cunt.  They dueled on their knees, tottering over
the glowing stones.   Then he dropped his branch and grasped her,
burying his face between her breasts and licking the sweat.  His eyes
stinging with sweat, he felt for a teat with his mouth, and began to
suck.  There was no milk, but Arkwan suckled hard.    He felt again in
memory the chewing and biting on his paps, as he had tried to feed the
baby, day after day on that journey through the snow.   Then she pulled
backwards, pulling him on top of her.  She took his penis in her hand,
and guided it between her knees, and she began to move her legs back and
forth, squeezing and pinching his penis between them.

Arkwan backed up, around the curve of the tent, to bring his mouth to
the entrance to her belly.   For a moment, the frenzy of desire lifted.
He tried to think, but found it hard.  Nute.  That was it, he needed to
think about Nute.   Nute wanted.  What did Nute want?  Arkwan wanted to
press his lips against these lips.   He pushed his tongue into her
passage, and licked the salt.   He gnawed and chewed and licked deep,
straining his tongue.  The desire to push his penis in, deeper into this
passage, pushed him forward, and his face slid up her belly.   But then
she pulled back, and flipped over, with her belly to the ground.
Arkwan tried to turn her over again, but in the tight space of the tent,
he couldn't lift her.   He buried his face into her bottom, and bit
her.  She squirmed and wiggled.  He bit her bottom again.

It seemed she had chosen not to let him enter her belly.    Arkwan
backed up, around the curve of the tent.  But then she turned over
again, and slid forward under him, and grabbed his penis, and pulled on
it roughly, sinking her nails into the tender skin behind his balls.
Ignoring the pain, he embraced her and kissed her.  She guided his penis
to the passage to her belly, and he slid slowly in and out.   He gasped
for breath; the pleasure had been so strong he had forgotten to
breathe.   The woman shrieked as women do at midsummer, when taken by
the strong desire, which some call a Goddess.   Arkwan did not feel
seized by strong desire, only that the pleasure was too strong to bear.
Arkwan longed for the peak, not because it could be more pleasure than
this, but because it would be the end.   He began to thrust more quickly
and violently, and the peak came; seed shooting out more like milk from
an ewe's teat than seed from a man's penis. He lay gasping for breath in
the smoky steaming air.

Arkwan wanted to stay where he was, with his head between the woman's
breasts, enjoying the feeling of contentment and tiredness.  But the
woman got up from under him, so he got up on his knees as well.  She was
looking at his face.   "I, that is I, thank you," he said.

"You do not need to thank me, Waksa," the woman said.  "When a fine
merchant comes, many wish to lie with him.   And you are young, and
beautiful, like the Prince in an old tale.  You will have your choice.
But I do not choose to watch you with some woman more beautiful than I.
You will not see me again."

"I wish to couple with you again," Arkwan said.  "And only with you.   I
will couple with no other woman of this village, even if I never see you
again.   But I do not know your name."

"You may call me Kunera.   You should be able to remember that."

"Be well, Kunera."

"Be well, Arkwan penis, I mean Eos," she said.

When they came out of the tent, Kunera went down on her hands and knees,
and Tektu poured water over her.  Arkwan did the same.   Tektu used a
leafy branch, not to flick or whip them, but scrubbing it back and forth
as he poured the water.   Arkwan sat on a stone, so Tektu could wash his
front side.  Tektu stared at Arkwan's penis.  Kunera put on a necklace,
and a girdle of gold and amber beads instead of a loincloth.  Then she
put on a short tunic, which covered girdle and necklace, but was of a
cloth like a net, so that glints of gold, and other things, could be
seen through it.  Arkwan put on his belt and loincloth.  Then Kunera led
him to a spot under a tree, and they lay down.  Kunera cuddled against
him.   Wagga came over and licked his hand, and found a shady patch of
dirt.  Tektu brought a jug, and then left.

Arkwan was not sleepy.   The sun was still in the morning sky, so it was
early for a sleep at midday.   It was very pleasant lying under the
tree, watching the women spin.  He watched a girl pull water from a hole
in the ground.   What a strange place for a spring to be.   Arkwan was
hungry, but he didn't want to ask for food, and he felt too contented to
walk over to Nute's cart.  So he sat and watched.  Some men dyed skeins
of wool; their hands and arms blue.   Some girls ground grain.  Arkwan
sipped from the jug, which held more of the heady red drink.   He wanted
water instead, but not enough to fetch it.

Arkwan was contented.   Then, as the morning wore on, he became
thoughtful, and at last a cold misery settled in his belly.   It had
been a mistake to couple with Kunera.   He was no fine merchant, no
"Waksa."    He was a slave.   Kunera must be the daughter of the
headwoman, they were so alike.  Kunera dozed inside his arm, with her
head on his chest, and one leg thrown over one of his.  Her hand was
inside his loincloth, her fingers around his balls.  His penis stiffened
against the cloth.  Her short tunic barely covered her bottom when she
was standing; now, it covered nothing.    Arkwan imagined that all the
spinning women and all the weaving men were chatting about his teeth
marks in her bottom.   Midday, Tektu brought a basket with cheese, hard
bread, figs, mushrooms, and a bit of honeycomb, and also a jug which, as
Arkwan was glad to find, held water.   Kunera put a fig in his mouth,
but Arkwan thought he had played the Waksa long enough, so he tried to
feed her, instead.  Kunera tried to keep her mouth closed, but laughed,
and he slipped a bit of cheese in.   Then he got honey all over her
face, trying to feed her the honeycomb.   He licked it off, then told
her to lie down, poured a little water, and licked again.   The glints
of gold through her tunic of netting kept catching his eye, the glimpses
of breasts and teats held his gaze.  The teats were bruised from his
biting and sucking.  She watched him looking at her, and glanced at his
bulging loincloth.

Kunera laughed, and tugged at Arkwan's hand, trying to get him to stand
up and follow her.  But instead he pulled her toward him, back to where
she had been, between his chest and his arm.   She pulled away, and
stood up.  "I wish to couple with you again, Kunera," he said, "but not
now.  But by the Goddess of strong desire, I will have no other woman of
this village but Kunera."   Kunera sat down, not quite touching him,
facing the other direction.

The spinning woman moved with their spindles out of the sun, then fell
asleep.   The men left their looms, and found places to sleep under the
trees.   Soon, everything was still.   After a while, Arkwan said, "no
other but Kunera."   Kunera said nothing.  Hawks circled above the
pasture, as they had above the high pasture of his home.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A man woke up, and then another, and soon the village was alive again,
and busy.   Arkwan waited.  Kunera wouldn't look at him.

Nohas came.   "We have prepared a meal, Waksa," she said.   She led him
to where a sheep was roasting, and many villagers were gathered, waiting
for a feast.   Red-hot stones were put into the sheep's body.   A pit,
lined with the hide of a cow, was filled with water, carrots, onions,
lentils and the meat of small animals, and was heated with more hot
stones.  Bread was cooked on the hot stones of the fire.

Nute was there, sitting on a log.   "Come with me, Danha," Nohas said to
Kunera.   Arkwan sat on the ground, near some men with blue-dyed arms.
"Be well, dyer," Arkwan said to one of them: "I watched your boiling.
Your blue is very strong and dark."  "Be well, merchant," the dyer
answered.  "I am Gur.  See that you pay as well as you praise."  But he
was pleased.  He stood up to give Arkwan his seat.    Baskets were
passed, with bread and figs, and cheese, and more jugs of the red drink.

Nohas returned, with Kunera, who was now wearing a long tunic. From
Kunera's face, and her walk, Arkwan thought she had been whipped.
Nohas sat with Nute, but Kunera came over to sit with Arkwan.  Another
dyer sat on the ground, to give Kunera a seat on the log.   She sat
carefully.

"Be well, Kunera," Arkwan said.    The dyers looked startled.   Arkwan
continued: "Why did your mother call you Danha?   Nohas is your mother,
isn't she?"

"I am Danha daughter of Nohas," Kunera said.   "I thought you could
remember the other word.    Have you truly never heard the word before,
Waksa?"

"I do not know your speech well," Arkwan answered.  "I had not heard the
word.  But in your speech, 'kune ra' would mean 'woman's thing.'    Oh."

Danha and the dyers burst into laughter.   "I shall call you Waksa
Penis," Danha said, "since you call me Kunera.  And I shall never forget
how you promised to have no woman but kunera."

"That is a promise even a merchant will keep," Gur said.

The roasted ram was lifted from the fire, and placed on a pair of
logs.   Nohas expertly cut out a pair of ribs, and then handed the flint
knife to Tektu, who presented it to Arkwan.

When they find out I am a slave, Arkwan thought, I shall be punished
even more for taking the cut of honor, than for coupling with the
headwoman's daughter.   But how can I refuse, unless I shout "I am a
slave."   Does Nohas already know I am a slave?   Is that why she
whipped Kun - I mean Danha?

Arkwan cut from the haunch, and returned to his place.   With his
dagger, he cut meat from his piece and gave some to Gur, and some to
Danha.   Nute cut next, and then the cooks divided the meat and passed
it around in baskets.    Tektu brought an honor cup, and Nohas filled it
with the red drink, and Tektu presented it to Arkwan.

"Be in health, Arkwan son of Eos," Tektu said.

"Health to all," Arkwan answered, and drank it all as quickly as he
could.

"What news, merchant?" Nohas said to Nute, in a loud voice, after the
commotion of the mutton-passing had died down.   "Where have you come
from?"

Nute stood near the fire.   "Peace and health to all.  Your hospitality
honors us.   I am Nute.    I have been at the village of Kros
bronze-maker.  Here are bronze weapons that I give you."   Nute held up
a bronze spear point.

Nohas said, "I give gifts to our guests."

Arkwan went over to her.  She had a pile of cloths, and she handed him
one.   It would be a good blanket for a cold night, but nothing a woman
would wear at a feast.  "This color is very strong, and the cloth
thick," he said, trying to be as polite as he could.   Nohas handed him
another.   "This weave is good for a blanket," he said, "warm, and it
makes a pattern."   The next piece of cloth was outstanding.   "A queen
would wear this," Arkwan said.    For a pair of spearpoints and a hand
of axes, they were given enough cloth to fill the cart, and some of it
was very good indeed.   There was also some food, including a lot of
dried smoked mutton, two jars of honey, and some arrows, two score at
least, with flint points.   Neither Nohas nor Nute said "It is not
enough." so Arkwan carried the cloth to the cart.   Gur helped.

"For a merchant, you do know something about wool," Gur said.   "But I
could teach you a thing or two about yellow dye."

Nute was declaiming again.   "We were at the village of Kros, and we
danced at midsummer," he said.   The crowd became quiet.   "Things
happened there that will long be told.   They have Gods there, Gods that
dance on human feet.   I have seen the Gods come to the dance, seen the
faces of the Gods.   But this year no God came to the heads that the
priests worship; those faces remained of wood.   But a God did come to
the dance.    Many saw the face of the God, but not in a wooden face.
A man danced, but then walked into the fire, where he must surely die.
But out of the fire came a God.   All fell before him, for his face was
as a God, terrible.   All woman submitted to him, and he entered them
all, his body burning them like fire.   After him, out of the fire,
naked men came, their bodies of soot and ashes, their penises huge and
long.   These men smashed what they would, tore clothing, raped women,
beat men."

Nute stopped, and sat down, as if he was finished.   He ate stew out of
a cup, and drank from a jug, as if he had not noticed the sensation he
had caused.   The villagers began to whisper to each other.   Nute stood
up again, and spoke loudly: "When the God grew tired of the dance, he
went away, leaving the man whose body he had used, as if dead.   But the
man was not dead, he lived.   He is here.  He has the mark of the God on
him.   There he is!"   And Nute pointed at Arkwan.

Arkwan stood up.   He did not know what Nute wanted him to do.   Danha
looked disgusted.  "I danced at midsummer, at the village of Kros bronze
maker," Arkwan said.   "I coupled with a women.  It was midsummer, and
we were naked.   I coupled with other women after that, I think.  It was
the frenzy.   I did not see any Gods."

"Show us the mark of the God, merchant, if you really have one." a woman
said. "Take your clothes off."

"I was burned at the fires," Arkwan said.  "The burn is in the shape of
a hand.   I do not say it is the hand of a God.   And I will not go
naked here."

"You are right to refuse," Gur said.  "But I do not yet see your game."

Nute looked as if he was very angry.  Arkwan sat down.  Someone, not a
bard obviously, began to sing.   "Can we slip away?" he whispered to
Danha, "I have had enough of this feast."   Danha led him behind a
house, but a crowd of children, and some women too, followed them.  "We
might as well go back," Danha said. "Coupling here would be like
coupling at the feast, with your friend Nute pointing out the mark of
the God as you entered me."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nohas showed Nute and Arkwan a place to sleep in her house.   "You honor
us, headwoman," Arkwan said, although he would rather have been outdoors
on the ground, without so many bugs.  When they were alone, Nute said:
"Once we are out of the village, I will give you a whipping I don't
think you will like."

"What did you want me to do, Nute, when you told the villagers I had
been a God?" Arkwan asked.  But Nute said nothing.

Arkwan felt the misery settle on him, as bad as waiting for a whipping
from his father.   Danha came over, and began to undress.  Arkwan was
naked already.   A girl peeked around a curtain.   Nute looked the other
way.   Danha used her tongue and her fingers, but could not get Arkwan's
penis to stiffen.  "You do not deserve your name," she said, "Waksa
No-penis is who you are."   With a sigh, she snuggled into her place
inside his arm, idly fingering his soft penis until she slept.   Arkwan
did not fall asleep so easily.

When he woke, his penis was tight and hard.  Danha had her mouth around
it, and was using her tongue.  "That's nice," he said.  Then he fell
asleep again.

Arkwan woke from a dream of Sujasa being raped, by a nomad with a huge
penis, except that he was that nomad.  When he woke his seed had spilled
down his penis, and Danha had some on her mouth.   "You're awake," she
said.   Arkwan's head felt as if Kros was pounding on it with a hammer.

Nohas came out from behind a curtain.  "The sun shines on on your visit,
guests," she said.

"Your hospitality honors us, hostess," Nute answered, "but today we
shall depart."

"You shall have gifts for your journey.   Come with me, Danha, we have
something to finish."

Nute and Arkwan went to the cart.  Someone had harnessed the oxen, so
Arkwan got them started, and the cart rolled out of the village.  Many
villagers silently watched.

"You did well buying the cloth, Arkwan.  Craftsmen like to sell to a
buyer who knows good work.  I doubt if Nohas intended to offer so much."

But Arkwan did not answer.   His belly felt sick as well as his head.
He hardly had strength to walk.   After a while, Nute stopped the cart
under a tree, and got out the switch.   Arkwan took his clothes off and
put them in the cart, carefully folded.   He thought about escaping.
For just a moment, he thought of sending an arrow through Nute's throat,
and becoming both a free man and the owner of a cart and a treasure in
bronze.   But it was only for a moment.   He lay across a log, not a
murderer but just a slave about to get a long whipping.   Nute began.

Nute whipped for a long time, until the switch began to fall apart.
Nute tossed the switch into the trees, as far as he could throw it.
Arkwan looked up from the ground.   Tektu was watching them, moving his
hand slowly back and forth on his hard penis.    "The sun shines on your
journey, merchants," Tektu said.

"Health, Tektu, and your heart's desire." Arkwan answered.

"Are you being whipped for pleasure, Waksa?" Tektu asked.

"I am no Waksa, and no merchant, and I find this no pleasure.  I am
being whipped because I am a slave."

"If you are a slave, you should not have drained the cup of honor.   The
more so as you have no head for wine.   I'm sure your song was funny,
but none of us knew your tongue.  And your dance was worse; we couldn't
tell if you were trying to show a man fucking, or a man riding a horse."

"The cup was an honor I would willingly have done without.   But how do
you come to be here, Tektu?"

"In the cart," Tektu answered, pointing under the blankets.   "Danha
planned to come, but Mother stopped her, so I came instead.   You should
have told Danha you were a slave.   She means to come after you,  I
think, even if she must walk alone, following your tracks."

Nute said: "Nohas will be furious about this."

"She should be," Arkwan said.  "Does Danha know how to shoot, Tektu?
Will she carry a bow?   Will she bring dogs?  What if night falls and
the wolves come?  Nute, I think we must return to the village, and look
for Danha.   You can finish whipping me later."

"I was finished." Nute said..  "I don't know why I bother, anyway."

Arkwan got up from the log.   "Well I hope someone will whip Danha, and
whip her well, if she has been wandering about alone," he said..   "And
whip this boy, too, for not stopping her."

"A warrior is not afraid of pain," Tektu said.  "You may whip me as much
as you like.  I will bear it as well as you did, Wak - I mean, slave.
But it may not be safe for Nute to return to the village."

"Not safe?" Nute said.  "I have been coming as a merchant since your
grandfather's time."

"Taucon, the priest, talked against you at the feast.  He says your
story is a merchant's lie, about the Young God coming to the dance of
the bronze makers.  Some believe you, some follow the priest."

"My story was not a lie," Nute said, "and many will tell of that dance."

Arkwan turned the oxen, and they began to roll back toward the village.

"You are not a man, slave," Tektu said, "yet you coupled with my
sister.   That is worse than drinking the cup of honor.   She must not
have seen your boy's penis in the smoke tent.   I should hate you for
that."

"I coupled with your sister without telling her I was a slave," Arkwan
answered.  "Hate me for that.   But I am a man.  My people do not get
tattoos on the penis.  I got these the night I became a man."   Arkwan
pointed to the knotted snakes on his chest.  "And as for the cup of
honor, being made a slave has not changed my blood.  Annuas my grandsire
has a cup, and we heaped a mound over him.  My grandmother was a royal
princess."

"All the same, I don't think my sister is going to want your boy's bare
penis sliding into her kunera," Tektu said.  "It doesn't seem right.
And why do you walk naked, if you are not a boy?"

"Watch the oxen; I will get my belt and loincloth. I only put them aside
to be whipped."

Arkwan reached into the jolting cart for his clothes.  Tektu cried out,
"look, someone ahead."   The figure was alone.

Arkwan ran.   He ran as hard as he had ever run, to win a race and
escape his father's whipping.  It was Danha, and she carried no weapons,
had no dogs.   "Kunera!" he shouted.   Then he embraced her, and kissed
her.   "You should be whipped, Kunera.  It is not safe, without any
weapons."

"You shall whip me as you wish, Penis.  But see what I have already
borne, for wanting to come after you."  Danha proudly lifted her tunic,
to show a bottom bruised and bloody from a terrible beating.

"It is I who did this to you," Arkwan said.  "I let you think I was a
merchant, but I am not.  I am a slave."

"You are not a slave, Penis," Danha insisted.

"I am a slave.  See, I have been beaten today as well.  Beaten as a
slave."

Danha said nothing.

"Nute will see that you get back safely to the village, I think," Arkwan
said.   He turned and walked back to the cart.  Danha followed.

Arkwan was crying when they got back to the cart.   "I have told her I
am a slave," he said.  He asked Nute: "Shall we return to the village?
It will not be safe for them to go alone."

"If the villagers are angry, it will be better if I do not show my
face," Nute answered.   "If we go on, we are sure to meet some merchant
or bard who goes in that direction, and can take them."

Tektu asked his sister: "Are we going home?" but Danha didn't answer.
"A warrior is not afraid of pain," he said, rubbing his bottom.   "But
I'm definitely afraid of Mother."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After midday, they met a merchant who was moving a flock of fat sheep
along the track, with his wife and daughters.  But they were not headed
for Danha's village.

Near dusk, the track descended into a valley, and came to the edge of a
river.   There was a chill breeze, a reminder that summer would not last
forever.   A boat was moored midstream, and men and women sat around a
large fire on the river bank.   Many wore good cloaks, and Arkwan
supposed some were merchants, and some bards; others had tattered
cloaks, or none: slaves, or the boat's crew.  There was a smell of roast
onions, and fish, and someone was singing, and playing a lyre.  The boat
was the first one Arkwan had seen, but he knew every part and piece of
her.  He had memorized every song that had anything to do with boats.

The singing stopped   "Nute! You villain.  Has no one stuck a dagger in
you yet?   Have some beer."   It was Nakien.  "Tektu!   Have you become
a merchant?   I thought you wanted to be a warrior.   And your sister,
your sister, um, . . ."

"Danha,"  Tektu supplied.

"Danha.   Of course.  I remember you very well.   Very well.   But who
is this?   Your husband, it must be.  And you've been having a fight.
You won't look at each other.   Take it from an old bachelor, let her
have her own way.  But I know you, you're. . ."    Nakien stopped
talking, and dropped his eyes.

"Be well, Nakien.   Yes, I am Arkwan son of Eos.  I am now the slave of
Nute merchant."

"My heart is sad for your loss, Arkwan.   But I have news: King Taslan
has paid tribute to the High King."

"The High King's warriors can defeat the nomads.   But I am sad for
Taslan."

Nute said, "I sent him your message, Arkwan.    But if he wants to buy
you, he will seek you with the bronze makers."

Nakien said.  "He will need warriors, and I know he will remember your
skill."     "Why did you buy him, Nute?" Nakien asked.   "You never buy
slaves except to sell again.   There are always boys like Tektu ready to
leave their villages and go with you on the road."

"I bought him because a priest was about to kill him, and because the
God chose him."  And Nute told Nakien the story of the midsummer dance.

"I can couple with a woman at midsummer without any help from a God,"
Arkwan protested.

"I whipped him for that," Nute said to Nakien, "but you can see what
good it did.  Do you have any more of that medicine?   My shoulder feels
like the High King's warriors are all sticking their daggers into it."

"The medicine makes you crazy, Nute.  I will make you a sling.  If you
can hold off whipping Arkwan for a few days, the pain will grow less."

Nute said, "I will take the medicine.  At least I will be able to
sleep."   Nakien took dried herbs from his pack, and Fiya, Nakien's
student, fetched water in a cooking skin and dropped in the herbs, and
added red-hot stones.   He put in Nute's loincloth, and his own.   Fiya
had a line of fresh tattoo on his penis.  While they waited for the
medicine to cook, Nakien massaged Nute's shoulder.

Nakien said, "This story of the Young God will spread, Nute. The priests
will not like it."

"I have been spreading it," Nute said, "Taucon priest of the weavers
wishes to kill me already."

"Why are the priests angry?" Arkwan asked.   "They honor the God we do
not name, as well as other Gods."

"In your village, Arkwan," Nakien said, "before we danced we had milk
mead and honey mead.  We felt the strong desire, the frenzy, but we did
not see a God.   But in the village of the bronze makers, the
priestesses provide Hema at midsummer: it is like milk mead, but with a
bitter taste.   It is made from seeds of hemp, mare's milk, poppies, and
other things.   The priests make prayers and sacrifices, asking the Gods
to come, and many times a God does come."

"So why are they angry?" Arkwan asked again.

"Because the God used the body of a man, and not one of the wooden Gods
to whom the priests sacrifice.  Because the God did what He wanted and
not what the priests had prayed for him to do.  Because no one will make
gifts to priests, if the Gods ignore their prayers and sacrifices.
Tell me this, Arkwan, who decided when your midsummer dance would be."

"Grios the priest," Arkwan answered.  "He watched the stars.  He put
little stones in a gold cup, and said to take out one stone at each
sunrise, and when they were gone it would be midsummer day.  Only he had
such skill."

"I have the skill, Arkwan.  I showed your son Hu how to do it.  Grios
got it wrong; your village danced, but not at midsummer.   They danced
one night before every other village on the green Earth.  When a child
can watch the stars better than a priest, who will honor the priest?"

Nakien lifted one of the loincloths from the boiling water with a stick,
and dropped it on Nute's shoulder.  Nute screamed and pulled the cloth
off.  Nakien put it back in the boiling water, and put the other cloth
on Nute's shoulder.  Nute screamed again.   Fiya and Arkwan looked away,
but Tektu stared, and his hand slipped down to his penis.

"Your son Hu, was he killed?" Fiya asked Arkwan.

"I do not know, Fiya.   Before the battle, when we saw how many nomads
there were, we promised each other that if we were captured we would
endure the whippings and the rapes, and try to stay alive, hoping for
rescue.   But Tanyata was raped and killed, her screams were horrible.
Hu may not have wanted to stay alive, after that."

Fiya burst into tears, and Arkwan embraced him.   "I should be happy
that he might be still alive," Fiya sobbed.

Danha put her arms around them both.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The last glimmer of twilight was still in the sky, and the tormenting
bugs swarmed in clouds.    Bards were still singing.  Nute had fallen
asleep.   Arkwan lay beside him, and tried to think about Nakien's
words.  Nakien didn't like priests; that was clear.

Danha came over, removed her cloak and tunic, and slipped naked under
Arkwan's cloak, spreading her cloak on top of his.  She snuggled against
his bottom, and reached over awkwardly for his penis, pinching it
hard.   At first he thought she was punishing him, and he submitted.
His penis remained soft, despite her hard pinching.   She climbed over
him, and rubbed his face with her breasts; that stiffened his penis more
than the pinching had.   She tried to get her mouth around his penis,
but he clasped his knees.  She licked his ears, fondled his paps.   He
tried to ignore her.  His penis was tight and hard.   Finally he shoved
her on her back, and roughly entered her; just a few hard, banging
thrusts.   She stifled screams as his powerful thrusts scraped her
bruised bottom along the ground.   The end was not a pleasure, but a
release from something unbearable.

"I have done you harm, Danha, by not saying I was a slave from the
start," Arkwan said.

Danha said nothing, only looked into Arkwan's eyes.   He turned away,
and she snuggled into his bottom, his penis in her hand, and fell
asleep.   Arkwan put his hand around hers, and thought of sheep grazing
in the high summer pasture, and Niri and Lumpkha running out to bring
them into the fold.

Arkwan woke up.   The sun was bright, and no one had woken him.   For
just a moment, he thought it was Sujasa beside him, and that Tanyata was
waiting for him, bow on her shoulder and a new-cut switch in her hand.
But Tanyata was dead, and it was Danha beside him, sewing a tear in
Fiya's cloak.    The day would be hot, and Arkwan went to the river with
a cooking skin, and poured water over his body before putting on his
belt and loincloth.   The belt had a strap for the shoulder, and was
finished with embroidery: a weapon belt for a hero or a prince, not a
slave.   He had walked into Danha's village as a fine merchant,
indeed.   Now she knew he was a slave, she still wanted to couple with
him, but he had done her enough harm already.   He had not wanted to
enter her last night, but he had.   And I will again, he thought, if she
comes to me.   She needs to forget about me and return to her village.

Tektu came down to the river with Nute's water skins.   "That is a fine
belt, Arkwan, are you going to put it on, or just talk to it?"

"On a hot day I wish I could walk with my penis free, like a boy,"
Arkwan answered.  "You will learn that next summer.  You must be getting
your man's tattoos soon, you are more than old enough."

"I wanted to get them at midsummer.   I ran between the fires, and
danced.   I coupled with another boy who danced; I entered his
shit-eye.  But my mother said she'd whip me bloody, law or no law, if I
got tattoos.  She shouldn't have done that."

"My father was the same," Arkwan said, pointing to his chest, "but I got
these anyway, and got a sore bottom for it.    Your mother whips much
harder than my father ever did.  Danha's bottom was cut to ribbons.
She got that for wanting to follow me, because I didn't tell her I was a
slave.  You and Danha must go home, and I guess you will both get a
whipping.    Your mother may whip you even more, if you come home with
man's tattoos.   But she can't make you a boy again."

"I will bear Mother's whipping like a warrior, once I am a man." Tektu
said.   "But tattoos?  How could I get any?  What about the feast?  What
about the sacrifices?  Would I really be a man?"

"Fiya has a line of fresh tattoo on his penis.  I guess Nakien is
pricking him; and Nakien is a white bard."

"If Nakien says I will really be a man, I will ask him for pricking."

"If Nute allows, I will be pricked with you.  I wish to be a man by the
customs of this country.   We can do it today, if we can bear the pain."

Tektu said: "I will bear the pain that makes me a man.   But if there
can't be a feast, at least I must give gifts.   I want you to have my
ivory wrist-guard."

"You shame me," Arkwan said.   "I am a slave, and have nothing of my own
to give."

"I think Danha will always get what she wants.   And to whom should I
give a gift, if not my sister's husband?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Arkwan found Nute, with his arm in a sling, talking with a bard.   The
bard gave Nute a fine cloak, and a necklace.   Nute gave several axes
and chisels, and some awls, to another merchant, who had no cart, only a
bag on his back.

"Nakien will be going north, Arkwan," Nute said, "and can take Danha and
Tektu home.  If Danha will go."

"Why did you give nothing to that bard, Nute?" Arkwan asked, "He gave
you fine gifts."

"Yes, and to Andros merchant I gave good bronze, and he gave me
nothing.   So it is with merchants.  Andros will repay me another time.
And I gave salt to Heyos when I last saw him, and now he repays me."

"Repay" was a new word.  Arkwan would think about it carefully.  He
didn't understand it yet, but it didn't make him feel tight and twisted.

Nute said, "We must carry everything from the cart to the boat today,
Arkwan.   Can you swim?"

"Swim" was another new word.   Arkwan could only think about one new
word at a time.  "Are you giving everything to the captain of the boat?"
he asked Nute.

"No, we shall take the boat from here, down to the sea.   The cart and
oxen will stay at a village near here.   Then we sail to the islands.
They will give a good price for bronze, and for warm wool blankets.  My
customers are not queens, just fisherfolk.   They pay in salt, and dried
fish.   If we are lucky, a boat will have come from across the sea, and
the fisherfolk will have faience to sell, or scented oils, or slaves, or
even horses.  Although I may give up buying slaves.  Horses are less
trouble."

Nute's words had come too fast again.   The green earth lurched and
twisted under him, and Arkwan fell down.  One phrase rang and echoed in
his ears.  Then we sail to the islands.   To the islands.  Sail to the
islands.  Sail across the sea.  To the islands.

"Are you ill, Arkwan?"

"I'm fine.   Well, I need a whipping.  But your shoulder.   Just don't
hit me with any more words."

Nute helped Arkwan up, silently.   Nakien was ready to leave, with Fiya
and Tektu.   Danha was kneeling on the ground.   "We are going, Danha,"
Nakien said, "are you coming?"

Danha nodded, and stood up.  She was weeping.

Suddenly Tektu said, "Danha, wait!   He wants you to stay. I know he
does.  He thinks it is better for you, to go home, because he is a
slave.  But he wants you.   I told him you wouldn't like his penis, bare
like a boy's, and he is going to get tattoos on it.   I have to endure
the pain, to become a man, but he will endure it, just to make his penis
the way you would like it."

Danha said, "I will stay with Arkwan."

Arkwan still felt groggy.  He tried to speak.  "Nothing for you, for you
here," he said.

Nute said, "We are going from here by water.   The captain will not let
me take my slave, my slave's woman, and my slave's woman's little
brother."

"Then I will walk along the bank," Danha said.

Arkwan was roused.  "You will not!  You should be whipped, Kunera!  And
dragged home!"

"Whip me, Arkwan," Danha said.    "And then I shall call you husband."

"That is not the law," Nakien said.  "Whipping does not make any
marriage."

"He is a slave, and I am the daughter of a headwoman. How can he whip
me, if there is not marriage?"

"The law is:" Nakien said,

     A bard can marry, though he has no house,
          or any other man, who lives from place to place.
      Sticks shall be his doorposts; his ridgepole the Milky Way.
      Three days shall they travel, three nights rest;
         husband is he then to her, and his wife she.

"So I rule that Nute must put sticks in the ground, and call them his
doorposts, and you must pass between them and spend the night with
Arkwan.   And this must happen three times in three different places.
And all this must be done openly and known to many.  Only then are you
married."

"If I willingly submit, and he whips me, is that not as good as stepping
between two sticks?"

"If Arkwan whips you on his own account, that signifies nothing.   But
if you submit to being whipped by Nute's order, at Nute's cart, you are
as if under Nute's roof.   Nute's roof, not Arkwan's.  But it must still
happen three times in three different places, followed by three nights
spent with Arkwan."

"This can be the first, then," Danha said, and she lifted her tunic of
netting and bent, rather awkwardly, across the cart tongue.  Her bottom
was still bruised, scabbed, and swollen from her mother's whipping; even
to touch it would hurt.   Arkwan looked at Nute.  The plants along the
river were thin, but perhaps a thin switch would do.

"I will not order Arkwan to whip you, Danha," Nute said.   "But you
can't walk along the bank.   You really should go home."

"I will not."

Nakien sat down.   "Nute," he said, "I need some of your merchandise, as
one trader to another.   I will repay."

Nute sat down facing the bard.  "We keep no reckoning, friend.   All I
have would not repay you, ever.   But I have only bronze and cloth,
brought from the north.  Do you want to carry these back north again?"

"I was not thinking of bronze nor blankets."

"But that is all I have.   What do you want?"

"Arkwan."

Nute was silent.   At last he spoke: "All I have would not repay you,
Nakien.  I have said it.   But Arkwan?   Do you mean to sell him?"

"I may sell him to King Taslan," Nakien said.  "For now I want him as my
own slave.   He will be useful, I think.   He can shoot four arrows
faster than I can shoot one."

"Well, he is yours.   I will miss him, though.   And I will need help.
I will have to find some fisher boy who wants to travel."

"Perhaps you won't need to.   Fiya, I say, Fiya!"

"Yes, Teacher?"

"Do you want to go with Nute?   He goes by boat, to the sea, and over
it."

"Go with Arkwan?"

"Arkwan is going with me, Fiya.   You were daydreaming again."

"Do you think I am not fit to become a bard, Teacher?   Is that why you
are sending me away?"

"Fiya, Fiya!   I am not sending you away!  You will join me with Sugga
in the winter.   For now, learn the ways of merchants."

"If you think I should go, I will go.   Only . . ."  Fiya paused.

"Only what?" Nakien asked.

Fiya said: "I could not bear the pain of the pricking.  Now I am neither
boy nor man.   So I must bear it.   And it must be now, if I am to go
with Nute."

"Get the needle, then," Nakien said, "and prepare the charcoal.   Best
to get it over quickly, since it must be done."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

[ This is part one of two : complete at:
http://home.alamedanet.net/files/Authors/sandy/wwwhodges/Arkwan.htm ]

August 2003

------- -- ---- - --- -- --------- -----
David Nunes da Silva
WEQGRIQIHSOT [AT] spammotel [DOT] com

-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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