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From: "David da Silva" <david_n_da_silva@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} Midsummer Fires 04 {Davo da Silva} {mf mm sm viol nc hist} 
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Date: Wed,  9 Jun 2004 08:10:04 -0400
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Brothers of the Ox-Yoke

    by David Nunes da Silva

2435 B.C.E.    The Julian Alps.

This is the second half of the second story of a trilogy.    If you read the 
second without the first, you won't know what is going on.   You may not 
anyway.

Home Page   ( http://www.angelfire.com/indie/dnds/index.htm )

I. "... and run between the fires on a warm midsummer night."
       (   http://www.angelfire.com/indie/dnds/Arkwan.htm )
II. Brothers of the Ox-Yoke
       (   http://www.angelfire.com/indie/dnds/tektu.htm  )
III.  The Song of Kala Khoam
       (   http://www.angelfire.com/indie/dnds/kalakhoam.htm  )

[ subject line {ASS} Midsummer Fires 04 {Davo da Silva} {mf mm sm viol nc 
hist}  ]

* * * * * * * * * *

"The sun is rising on Little Penises day.   But we have been whipped 
already."

It was King Taslan.   He had been asleep when Nakien and the others had 
arrived, after sunset.  Nakien had gone a short way from camp to offer a 
sacrifice to the sunrise, and the King had come to look for him.   Nakien's 
spot had a good view of the eastern sky, and was convenient to the well-used 
camp, so he was placing bardic stones.  Danha was helping him.

"Well met, King," the bard said, moving a stone out of the shadow of a tree. 
   "It is not Little Penises day.   There was no moon.   I expected it, and 
am rarely wrong.   But the western sky was clear - there was no moon last 
night.  The Great Sacrifice is not over."

"Nakien, we are beaten men.   We made no sacrifice.   No one will come to us 
for weapon training.   What do we care what day it is?"

"King, what did you mean, you have been whipped already?"

"Bard - we have been.   We crossed the mountains and found the nomads.  Or 
they found us.   I lost men - too many.   We were lucky to slip back across 
the mountains at all.  I had to leave the wounded men.   I had to ask if 
they wanted their throats cut.   But they both took their chances with the 
nomads.   Those were my men."

"So the nomads had the victory?"

"And they will be bolder now.   They will cross the mountains and raid, not 
just the high valleys, but deep into my kingdom.    My people will be 
slaughtered, or they will flee.  The land will be empty.   The nomads will 
graze their cattle and pitch their tents, where the doorposts of my house 
now stand."

"Nomads in this land graze sheep - this is not cattle country.   And they 
live in houses, not tents, in villages near their lowland pastures."

"Is this prophecy?  How can you know what will be - in the dark land of what 
is to come?"

"I do not speak of what is to come, but of what has been.  A sunny land, to 
those who keep the songs.   Did you not know?   Has King Taslan never 
learned of Taslan?"

"Taslan?"

"A boy, naked in midwinter, walked into the camp of a nomad king.   He was 
set to tend the king's cattle, as a slave.   Prince Annuas the king's son 
became his friend, as boys, and in time he married Princess Sunyas, the 
king's daughter.   So it is among the nomads, and so it is among your people 
today - to be a slave is no disgrace.  You do not call them dogs, as people 
do in the southlands."

The warriors by the fire heard the measured voice of a bard telling a story, 
and climbed the hill, and squeezed together on the little ledge above the 
camp, where Nakien had marked the sunrise.   They sat before Nakien and the 
King, looking up at the snow-dusted mountains.    The King said: "This naked 
herd-boy, who was he?"

"His name was Taslan.    And he was your grandfather.  When the nomad king 
died, Annuas and Taslan led the nomads over these mountains, and took these 
lands.  Taslan was a hero at fighting on a horse, and won battles for his 
friend's sake.  But Prince Annuas could not perform the king-making, as he 
had no wife, and he refused to marry the Elder's daughter who was chosen for 
him.   Prince Annuas wanted Taslan to be king instead.   Among the nomads, 
the daughter's husband of a dead king is sometimes chosen.   Taslan refused; 
he challenged the Prince to a fight with dagger and shield.   What Taslan 
hoped to gain, I do not know - perhaps he planned to be killed.    They 
fought.  Fought as men who fight to the death, and no one could stop them; 
not the wise men of the kingdom who begged them to stop, not even Annuas's 
mother the old Queen.  But then Sunyas, Taslan's wife, sister to Prince 
Annuas, thrust her naked body between them; between the daggers that thrust 
and slashed.   She was wounded.  And the two friends stopped fighting, and 
agreed that she would be Queen.   The ceremony was performed, she was made 
Queen, but Taslan was never called king, but only Elder.   Kahul your father 
was their son.   Annuas also took the title of elder - Elder of the mountain 
valleys."

An archer spoke: "Even in the south lands, we remember Queen Sunyas, of the 
house of Annuas."

"Her kingdom was strong - she held lands north of the mountains as well - 
and she formed alliances across the green Earth.   King, your mother Queen 
Mea - she was a princess from the island in the northern sea.   And your 
aunt Bohala married the King West of the Mountains - as his second wife."

King Taslan said: "I remember Nana Sunyas, a little.   And I knew Mother's 
story.   But not about Grandfather's young days.  If we had such heroes 
today, we could defeat the nomads.    But heroes like Annuas and Taslan are 
only in the past - there are no such men today."

"You are all the hero your grandfather was."

"Bards should not lie, Nakien.   But even if we had a hero from the house of 
Taslan, the house of Annuas is no more.   I had a message that Arkwan was 
alive, but that is impossible - and when we sent to learn more, nothing came 
of it.   His adopted son lives, but Hu is no warrior."

"Hu is dead, King.    But a great hero of the house of Annuas is alive - he 
is my traveling companion.  You would call me a liar again, if I told you of 
him - and again, if I told you of his skill.   But you shall see.    As soon 
as I can wake him up.   May I use your whip?"

"I would not call the revered Nakien a liar.    Not thrice.   You are 
traveling with a man who does not exist.  This wvaksa  is a hero for his 
weapon-skill, and you wake him up with a whip.    No one would call these 
lies."

"It's a long story.   What is impossible, you are about to see.   But save 
your wonder until you see him shoot."

* * * * * * * * * *

Only a few of King Taslan's warriors, had ever heard of the house of Annuas. 
   But they all knew of Nakien.   Those who had heard Nakien's words, woke 
their companions, with stories of a hero returned from the dead, to come to 
their aid.     So the entire company was there to watch Taslan's face, when 
Nakien led his stumbling slave into the camp.     Then Nakien casually 
tossed a bit of firewood over his shoulder, while telling Taslan about 
Arkwan's sale to peddler Nute.   Nakien said nothing about the pair of 
arrows that sprouted from the log before it touched the ground.    No one 
had seen clearly what Arkwan was doing, so it took a while for the warriors 
to understand what had happened.

Nakien told the story of Arkwan at the midsummer dance, to the King.   He 
spoke loudly so the warriors could hear.  But they did not listen well.   
They spoke to each other about an archer who could shoot so quickly, and so 
accurately.   They repeated bits of what Nakien was saying.  They loudly 
told each other to be quiet and listen.  They went on talking to each other 
for a long time after Nakien finished.

The king looked at the bard, and the bard said nothing.   It was Danha who 
spoke.   "Those are not beaten men," she said.

Nakien's eyes flashed a reproof for this failure of courtesy.   Danha glared 
back - and Nakien remembered that he hadn't told the King who she was.    
But the King just stared at Danha.

"Back over the mountains.   House of Annuas and house of Taslan.  Arkwan and 
me.  This is madness.   A bard's tale."

"King, this is Danha dau..." Nakien started to say.   But Danha spoke 
louder.   "Honor, King - look at the men.   Courage, King.   Honor and 
glory.   Look at them.  You must tell them something - cross the mountains, 
or give them hope in some other way.   They are not beaten men.   Are you?"

"We were beaten.  And if we go over the mountains, our fear will return.   
And we have not done anything for the Great Sacrifice; the Lady will be 
angry."

Nakien said: "You have not done anything - yet.    You have till sunset."

Danha looked at the King's horse.  She was a mare.   There was one stallion 
who was smaller than the others.   The King saw where she was looking.  "Not 
Demon!" he shouted.   "Even the mares are afraid of him.   Dokefalo is 
gentle."    Then the King said - "what am I saying?  You can't be fucked by 
a horse!   A ram is bad enough, but not a stallion!   Have you seen a 
stallion's rod?"

"King, if a baby can come out, a stallion's penis can go in.   And I don't 
care if the one hurts as much as the other."

Arkwan was looking at nothing in particular.    Nakien said: "But since a 
baby is to come out, you can't risk a horse-fucking.   Arkwan would whip you 
if he heard of such a thing."

"My hus... - he - never whips.   He just yells.   He might shoot you.  But 
we won't find a ram by sunset.   And if my baby can survive Arkwan's 
fucking, he can survive anything."

The King looked at Arkwan.   "Is he gone deaf?" he asked.

Danha said: "He's fallen asleep.  In fact, I doubt he ever woke up.   You 
should see how well he shoots when he's awake."

Nakien said:  "We do not need a ram.   Arkwan can do it.   We'll tie dog's 
balls to him, and cut those off."

"Not my dog's," the King said.

"Not Lumpkha's either.  Or Arkwan really would shoot us."

The King said: "But we can't do the sacrifice anyway - we didn't do the 
invocation."

Nakien pronounced: "The invocation can be on the same day as the sacrifice 
of seed.   Our Praises to The Lady says nothing against it."

"So before sunset tonight, Arkwan fucks his wife for the invocation, and 
then fucks her again for the sacrifice of seed.    I hope you allow him a 
little time - or the Lady won't get much."

Danha and Nakien spoke together.   "I am not his wife," Danha said.    "Look 
King," Nakien said.  "I'd rather take two nights, and I'd rather use a ram.  
  But this will do.   The Lady may even be pleased.  And using the husband's 
seed is the way the High Queen ... - what did you say, Danha?"

"I am not his wife."

"Well, you will be.  If we do this."

"What do you mean?"

"If you dance Sasoyhan's Rides you will be married."

"You mean it counts as one marriage night?"

"I mean it counts as marriage."   Nakien began to sing the legal argument:  
"It was the Lady, who made the Law that a woman leaves her father's 
doorposts, and goes to the door that her sons will guard.     That is why a 
marriage dance - Sasoyhan's Rides or another - is used in her honor. To be 
married is to act married, to acknowledge marriage - openly.   Sasoyhan's 
Rides is always danced by a married couple.  So to dance it is to act 
married - and thus to be married."

The white bard raised his hand high - a judgment.  He turned his hand to 
point to Danha, and pronounced: "It is marriage, openly and known."

So if we do Sasoyhan's Rides we are married?"

"Any bard would say so."

"Then I guess someone will be getting a surprise."

* * * * * * * * * *

"We go to face the nomads who defeated us before.   They will be braver, we 
more tired.   We are stronger only by a single man, however well he shoots.  
But I think you face the greater danger, Bard.    The High Queen,  they say, 
chooses the words the King's mouth speaks.   She is devoted to the priests, 
and will hate your tale of the God using the legs and penis of a man."

"My wish for your safety, King, and your men's.    I am in no danger, least 
of all from the devout Queen.   We bards quarrel with the priests, but we 
wish them no harm.  The Law, and the Gods, are clear: bards, and priests, 
must not be harmed.   And this Queen will not break the Law by so much as a 
single grain of barley.   But for your danger - Arkwan can teach some of his 
skill to the others.  For a moon, Arkwan traveled with Danha's brother, a 
boy named Tektu.   A man, I mean - I tattooed him myself.   He practiced 
with Arkwan, morning and evening.   And Tektu gained such skill as, compared 
to anyone but Arkwan, you would say he was a hero for his skill.   If I were 
not a foolish vain old man, I would have ordered my slave to whip me, and 
gained such skill myself."

"So Arkwan trained Tektu, whipped him?"

"Never.   But when Tektu's arrow missed, he felt such misery I almost wept 
to see him.   He begged for whipping, and perhaps it would have been a 
kindness, for it could not have caused him more pain than he felt.  When my 
arrow missed, I felt nothing - not in my heart and not on my skin.    And in 
my foolish pride I thought I could gain in skill without pain.   But a life 
of shooting badly is not so easy to overcome.   If I had been afraid of the 
pain, I would not feel such a fool - but it was not that - I would hardly be 
afraid of a few strokes with a greenwood.   I did not want to bend for them. 
   I was too proud to bend and bare my bottom - to be whipped by a slave - 
that is all.  And so I lost a chance to get a skill worth more than any 
wealth.  I would not take a student who was such a fool."

"I will make Arkwan my arrow master.   But he must whip the men - they are 
not boys with tattoo pricks still sore."

"Make him master - and let him teach in his own way.   But take Danha as a 
spearwoman, not an archer - don't make the man whip his wife.   He doesn't 
like to, for some reason."

"Is she a spearwoman?"

"King, I don't know.   She's not that bad of an archer."

"Take her with you, Bard."

"Let the man have his wife - the Lady would approve."

"Bard, you find things in the Law very conveniently, sometimes.   But I will 
take her.  As something.  I need all the warriors I can get.   The men will 
like having her, I think.   Watching the dance - watching them give seed for 
the Lady - gave the men confidence.   And today we shall have Little 
Penises."

"King, what do you mean?  There are no children here."

"The men know that Arkwan is good at shooting.  And that he fucks pretty 
well, too.   But the men know that one good archer will not win a battle.  
It happened in the Song of Kala Khoam, but on the green Earth a hero doesn't 
win a battle by himself.  I need to make the men think that they will be 
good too - that they can learn well enough, and fast enough, that we have a 
chance at not being killed.   I'm going to tell them that it is Little 
Penises all over again.  They must obey Arkwan as if they were boys, and 
they must prove their courage to him."

"Are they all going to challenge Arkwan?"

"Half the men are mine, with snakes, and half are the High King's, with 
tattooed penises.   They call my men bare-penis boys.  They say we are 
afraid of the pain, or we'd get real men's tattoos.   So I will let them 
challenge us - us bare-penis boys.  The challenges will show who is a boy.  
And who's afraid of pain."

"And the best archer challenges Arkwan?"

"I'm going to challenge Arkwan.    And then stand on that rock for a 
whipping with my little penis - my bare penis - thrust out.   I will tell 
the men that I'll challenge Arkwan every day - and don't plan to always 
lose."

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

"Have you man know what ankle name Khuntkawanut?"

"No.   Two score, a ... fuck in the fire!"

"Khuntkawanut peddlah.   Heah Khuntkawanut ankle.   At boat say they."

"Friend met on the road, you talk like a man with a spear up him.   And you 
have the manners of a whore.   But not the face for it.   Do you remember if 
I said 'two score, a trio, and a hand?' or was it only 'two score, a pair, 
and a hand'?"

"Fwend-met-on-the-woad - Khuntkawanut.  You him know?   You kah jinnah?  He 
peddlah ankle."

"Nute?   Do you mean peddler Nute?"

"Khuntkawanut."

Fiya, for it was he, pointed.  In this strange, huge village on an island in 
the sea, there were many strangers, but this lanky young man, with a shaven 
head, was the strangest yet.   Clothing that would make a cow laugh.   Even 
his face was shaved - a boy's hairless face on a man's bald head.   And he 
kept saying  ikeh - ankle - instead of ikheh - is.  The stranger, before 
Fiya could react, stole a handful of the beads Fiya had already counted.   
Wagga growled.  But as Fiya reached for his dagger, the stranger put the 
handful down on the cloth.   "Score" he said.   He pronounced it "scoah."   
Then he picked up another handful, looked at it, put one back, and made 
another pile.  "Scoah" he said again.   "Seven left.   Beads of Kafftiaw.   
Low quality.   Pale color.   Too small.    You give captain two coppa 
sickles foah all these.    He will take - not worth moah."

With that, the strange young man went in the direction Fiya had pointed, and 
met Nute coming out the door of the beer-house.   They did not recognize 
each other.   But Nute spoke to the strangely dressed man in some babble 
Fiya had never heard, and they both began to babble.   They seemed to have a 
lot to say.   Fiya returned to counting the blue beads.   Each of the piles 
the stranger had made, was indeed just a score of beads.   Fiya arranged all 
the beads into piles of a score each.   There were just a hand of piles, 
with no beads left over.

Nute and the stranger came over.   Nute said: "I told my student we would go 
to the Little Penises.   Let us go - there will be feasting.   We can talk 
more."

Fiya said: "Honor, Friend met on the road.   I am Fiya the son of Aher."

"It for the God, this have small penis, like the Sookara?" the stranger 
asked Nute, not returning Fiya's polite address.

Nute answered, "For the Goddess was the Great Sacrifice - that was 
yesterday.   This - it is like a new year.   On this day, boys and girls of 
seven or eight summers begin to practice with the village teacher.   We will 
see their first contests, and judge their skill and bravery.    It is called 
Little Penises because the boys are so proud, but the girls practice too.   
It is different than in Ekoopt."

"Ekoopt!" Fiya exclaimed.

"Yes, Fiya, don't you see his muscles?   He is Imhuotpa son of Imhuotpa, and 
he builds mountains!"

Fiya laughed.  But only a little.  Nute was making fun of him again.

"Your teacher, he makes laugh at you Fiya ab'Aher," the stranger said.   
"But we pay back he.   I makes laugh at he.   My father not he who ankle 
name Imhuotpa.   My father he who ankle name Khuntkawanut."

"'My father is named Khuntkawanut - not 'he who ankle name'," Nute said, 
absently.    Then he unloosed a torrent of the stranger's babble speech, 
excited or angry - it was hard to tell with Nute.

"We make laugh at Nute very good, Fiya.   Ankle good.   My father is named 
Nute.   My mother is named Nofariptuc, then Queen ankle.  Queen is.   Queen 
was."

The spear master spoke loudly, and the talking ceased.  The red bards put 
down their flutes and lyres.   "Challenge with the spear!  Zykit son of Ty 
challenges Pua daughter of Hegnrus!"

Zykit, who looked more of five or six summers than seven, stood on a 
platform.   The crowd shouted and the bards clanked their gongs and beat 
their drums.  A young couple stood - his parents.  This must be their first 
son to have his Little Penises.    From today, Ty could say "I, and my son, 
guard the doorposts of my house."    And Zykit's mother would from today be 
considered the ruler of the house, and whatever honor Zykit won, would be 
hers.   She would get the right to speak in council before her 
mother-in-law, if he did well.  First Zykit proved his courage with a 
challenge: "I will win, daughter of Hegnrus!   You're no good.  You will be 
sorry you fought me!   You will weep!"    They climbed down.   The contest 
was short.   Zykit's shield work was not bad, for a child, but Pua was a 
young woman, and it was not a real contest.   She easily got within his 
guard with her headless spear; only taking care not to hit too hard.    But 
Zykit fearlessly attacked, ignoring the bruises on his body, intent on 
getting one jab past the woman's shield.  The crowd went wild.  The spear 
master stopped the match with his stick, and the crowed sighed with 
disappointment.

Then Zykit climbed on to the platform and stood with his little penis thrust 
out, and the crowd cheered.    Losing at a spear-fighting challenge means 
bruises, so if a boy chooses archery instead, he might be called afraid of 
the pain.   So to prove his courage, a boy who challenges at archery gives 
an insulting challenge - if he loses, the other boy can inflict any 
punishment he wants.   The challenger doesn't know what the punishment will 
be, and sometimes it is truly terrible.  To shoot coolly when there is a lot 
at stake - that is the quality men look for in those who will be beside them 
in battle.   That is the quality boys try to show they have.   But Zykit had 
challenged at spear-fighting, not archery.    There had been no need for him 
to insult Pua when he challenged her.  Zykit had simply chosen to.

Little boys are frightened into obedience with stories of whippings on 
Little Penises day.   Fiya had shitted with fear.  But Zykit smiled, 
accepting the cheers of the crowd.  A bard struck the drum.   It was a big 
switch for such a little bottom, and Pua whipped hard with it.   It almost 
knocked him over.  But there was no fear, no sign of pain even.   If 
anything Zykit's face glowed with excitement.   His little penis jiggled 
with each stroke - Fiya couldn't take his eyes off it.  A hand of strokes, 
and it was over.   Then Zykit raised his hand with fingers spread - another 
hand.  The drum sounded, and Pua whipped.   The crowd began to chant.   The 
little hand raised high; the bard strikes the drum.   Then again.   The 
little body was flinching from the strokes; the boy was struggling to keep 
standing, to hold his bottom still when the wood came down.   And his little 
penis showed his flinching, showed his bronze determination.  With tears 
running down his face, the little warrior raised his fist.   Slowly he 
spread his fingers.   There was a cheer.  Ty stood, proud, but Zykit's 
mother made her way to the platform.   Pua, who looked kind, held off with 
the switch, although Zykit frantically signed for more strokes.   "No! No!" 
he shouted as his mother reached up for him.  .  He started to cry and 
scream with frustration and anger.    His little friends crowded around, 
pointing to his bottom and laughing as he cried in his mother's arms.  How 
mean, Fiya thought.  I bet she gives him long whippings all the time.   But 
she wouldn't let him have one, the one time that the whole village was 
cheering him.  She shamed him in front of everyone.   Fiya felt a fist in 
his chest, as he watched Zykit bawling and squirming in his mother's arms, 
beating her face with his little fists.   Fiya's mother had died when he was 
born.

Ty held up the cloak Zykit would be given, and other relatives stood and 
showed off their gifts of child's weapons, toys, and clothing, for the young 
warrior.   Fiya hoped Zykit would recover from his tantrum in time for the 
feast.    If he showed the same courage in making his speech to the village 
council, as he had in facing the spear and the switch, he would bring great 
honor to his ridgepole.   As much honor as Fiya had brought shame.    Then 
someone yelled "Zykit!" and they all shouted together, over and over again.  
   It was clear people thought Zykit would be leading pirate raids in a few 
years time.   And coming leaders always get more honor paid to them, than 
past ones.    Poor Zykit, Fiya thought, he is too little for this.   I hope 
he finds ...   And then Nakien's face was in Fiya's eyes as clearly as if 
the old bard were standing there, watching the cheering crowd.

The spear master spoke again: "A contest with the javelin!   Agiwa, the 
famous hero, spearwoman, will judge the match.  Luck and fame for the loser 
with the strokes from her hands!  And healthy sons, born without pain!   
Snara-iyel daughter ..."

But Nute, who looked as if his veins would burst, took them away from the 
crowd, babbling at Imhuotpa.   Imhuotpa glanced at Fiya, and answered in 
Fiya's tongue - or something like it.

"The King, he choose judge - not judge - looker.   Looker of gwain stoah 
house.  A man should he not judge to death slave - King make he ankle judge 
of Queen.   He is judge of Queen.   Great judges - judges of the black land 
- of Ekoopt - they would say to King - you is wrrong.   They to the God say 
- you ankle God but you ankle wong - is wrrong.   They say, you think she 
love man, for this not she put to death.   It not ankle Mu'gya.   He is king 
- he kill those judges he wants - but he fearrr they looks.   He choose 
looker of gwain house - man he thinks not dare say King is wrrong.  This 
judge, this looker at gwain, do what no judge in Ekoopt dare do.   He tell 
King, it take time.   This not ready; that not ready.   Beaten reeds not 
ready.   Signs from great judge not ready.   Maker of signs eaten by water 
dragon.   He say any thing.   He say, I ankle looker at gwain house, I not 
know how judge to death, I do my best.   He say - soon vehy soon, but it not 
soon.  He take time.   So much time she have baby."

"Nakien told me she was dead!   That she was dead before I left Ekoopt!"

"Father, man who ankle like my father - Imhuotpa - say that King find you, 
King kill you and her.   Looker not save Queen - not save me."

Nute said: "Nofariptuc?"

"She ankle dead.   Staked in sun by King's fwiend, Chief of desert rrangers. 
   Looker at gwain house, he made looker at scowpions in south land.   Not 
live long."

Fiya said: "Nute, is this true?   Is he your son?"

Nute did not speak for a while.   A woman was selling beer; Nute bought a 
bowl.    There was a lot of dust in this village.

"There were four of us, cousins." Nute began.  "Raised in the house of the 
King.   Koo'wi, Nofariptuc, and me.   And Prince Sa'arua, who would be the 
king.   We were wild, and we ran about the city - that's a big village, 
Fiya.  A king of the old days - a king with a mountain of stone for his 
mound - was our great-grandfather.   His mountain glistened in the sun like 
a dog's tooth, tipped with gold.   We four would slip out of the royal 
house, and roll in stinking mud, and Nofariptuc - girls don't go bare in 
Ekoopt, even poor ones - she stole a peasant's smock.   We played with 
peasant boys - we told them we were the children of a jar-cutter.   My best 
friend was a sandal-braider's son; he wished to marry a baker's daughter, 
but she had no dowry, so his father would not allow it.   And in Ekoopt, he 
would not have been able to marry her by getting her with a baby.  We shared 
a poor supper at her house.  Her father prayed - and it was to us!   He 
prayed to the King and to the other Gods, and when he praised the King, he 
mentioned the God's children at the royal house.  He promised to sacrifice 
loaves and beer, if he could only get a dowry for his daughter.    
Nofariptuc dropped a golden pendant where the girl would find it.    I 
carried no gold, since I was supposed to be the son of a jar-cutter, and I 
was naked; Nofariptuc had the pendant hidden under her smock.   She was 
royal on her mother's side, but her father was not rich, and she was whipped 
for losing the pendant.  She gave it for my sake, for my friend's sake.  But 
the baker never sacrificed the loaves and beer he had promised!   So we 
stole bread from the ovens, and beer, and Sa'arua was caught and got a 
smacking.   The Falcon of the two Ladies smacked by a baker's wife!    With 
the board she used to pull bread from the oven!"

"But then Prince Sa'arua went to the judgment of Mu'gya, and the King had no 
other sons by Queens.   So it was nephew Koo'wi who was the golden Falcon; 
he could take Nofariptuc, if he wanted.  He took her.   Her father was not a 
wvaksa - he was a hairdresser - so she was not a wife, was never a Queen, 
just one of Koo'wi's women.  His many women.   But of all his wives and 
women, he loved one.   She loved me."

Nute drank beer.  "I went often to the house of  Imhuotpa, looker of the old 
kings' grave-mounds.   He had many scrolls - I'll explain what they are 
later, Fiya - of the old times.   A man named Nakien, a smelly man from 
across the great green sea, lived with him.   Nakien was learning to write 
signs - and singing to Imhuotpa the laws of the wild men.   He had more 
wiles than an antelope, this Nakien, when it came to women.   He found a way 
for us to be together.   The king never knew.   Only that Nofariptuc no 
longer wept.   But this was enough.   She told the King she was happy, 
because she had come to love him - but he could not believe her.  He could 
have had a slave strangle her - could have done it himself.  But he wanted 
her judged - so her heart would go to Mu'gya's judgment already sealed with 
guilt.   And he could say before Mu'gya, my heart is light of her death."

"And Nakien told me she was judged.   He told me she was condemned.  He told 
me she was dead.   Dead already.   Or I would never have left her."

After a bit, Nute continued: "Nakien and I, we hid with my friends the 
sandal-braider and his wife,  from the King's bludgeon-men.  Then we escaped 
on a boat - smuggled cargo for the land of cedars.  My friends too, and 
their baby girl - it would have been risky for them to stay.  A boat 
followed us, but ours was faster.   That was all I knew.    I do not see my 
face in this man - but nor do I see the King's - Koo'wi's - face.   I see 
only Nofariptuc.   But that is enough.  Son he is to me, and all I am, or 
have, is his.   If what an exile has, is any value to a man of Ekoopt."

Imhuotpa said: "The king know Nofariptuc was have baby.  He guess she is 
have baby.  He not know what happened to baby.   He not know I, Imhuotpa 
looker his own grave mound, ankle that baby.  I leave Ekoopt no permission - 
he go suspect.   I ankle exile now.    I go leave Ekoopt anyway.  This what 
my father ankle - is."

But Fiya, who had not had a father since his Little Penises day, did not 
think there was much love between this son and this father.  And if the son 
had the face of Nofariptuc, she must have been as ugly as a marsh bird.

A boy, Gilku son of Ulabasja, came to say he would have his challenge soon.  
Ulabasja was one of Nute's customers, and Nute had promised to judge the 
match.    Nute said, "Run to the inn, Fiya, and bring a cloak, one of the 
good ones from the village of Nohas.   And cut a switch somewhere.  Or 
borrow a whip."

Gilku spoke aside to Fiya: "My uncle is giving me a cloak - do you have any 
blankets?   And I'm not afraid, but I'd rather have a switch than a whip."

Fiya recognized Gilku as one of the boys who had laughed when Zykit had 
cried in his mother's arms.  He grinned at the boy:  "Are you as brave as 
your friend Zykit?   You laughed at him for crying, so you'll have to ask 
for more strokes than he did.   The switch my teacher used this morning has 
plenty of snap in it, and it's a nice long one, with knobs.  You are very 
brave to ask for it, and not just a whip.  Feel my bottom: it is like tanned 
leather, but even I could hardly bear the pain of this switch, Nute whips so 
hard."      Fiya pinched Gilku's bottom.   "Your bottom is soft - even a 
pinch hurts.  For you, it's going to hurt so much you'll wish you were born 
a rabbit - the only baby animal who is never punished.  You babies don't 
know what whipping is, until you start weapon training.    We do have some 
excellent blankets."    Fiya gave Gilku a grin and a little tug on his 
penis, to let him know he was only teasing.  But the boy was in tears.

"Gilku, a greenwood switch doesn't really hurt, not like a real whipping.   
I'm sure you've had it worse from your Mommy.   It stings a bit.   It keeps 
you from getting careless - keeps your eye on the target.   But if you don't 
want to be switched in training, just say so - they'll call you 'Bunny,' but 
that's all.   Don't worry about Nute - you'll hardly feel it.   I was only 
teasing you, to pay you back for laughing at Zykit.   What you do have to do 
is to shoot calmly  - as if you would go on shooting, even if someone was 
shooting at you.   If they judge you a coward at your Little Penises, you 
can do many brave things and they will still call you a coward."     Gilku 
could not stop crying.

Fiya ran to the inn.

* * * * * * * * * *

Nute was acting like a bitch in whelp.     He kept talking to himself in the 
babble of Ekoopt.    Gilku lost at archery, but did not choose to prove his 
courage by climbing on the platform.    His mother threatened to whip him 
hard for days, at home, if he didn't get up there, but little Gilku just lay 
on the ground and bawled.  Nute was judge, and let the boy be.  Once the 
blanket had been shown, they were free until the feast.    Nute hurried to 
the harbor.

"Wind-luck, sea-master Scansarra," he said to a captain.    Does any boat go 
north?

"I do, peddler.   Before sunrise.   I am full enough.    Ibir-Danik is empty 
- he will go north, south, or across dry land, if you pay him.   Dragnric 
goes to the mainland with cumin and the flint he brought from Doleinth, any 
he can't sell here, then will return here with wine - after that I know 
not."

"Can you carry us three, and some cargo - what a hand of men might carry?   
And the dog?"

Scansarra said he could, and Nute said they would bring cargo during the 
night.   Then they headed toward the peddler quarter.

"Teacher, what about the oil?"  Fiya asked.  "We have more than a score of 
jars, still.  And the beads we bought from Dragnric; we never agreed on a 
price.    There are five score. Imhuotpa says they are bad.   He says they 
are worth only two copper sickles."

"Go to Dragnric captain, then.   Set a price."

"Teacher, how much may I offer."

"As little as you can, Fiya.   But buy the beads.   It is the greenwood for 
you if you do not agree on some price.   We will be at the inn."

When Fiya returned to the harbor, he shouted across the water to Dragnric's 
boat, but there was no answer.   No one on shore knew if Dragnric was on 
board.    Fiya pulled his loincloth from his belt and swam out, after tying 
his dagger safely in place.   It was harder to climb on to a boat from the 
water than he had expected.   After slipping back, he looked up to see 
Dragnric's face looking down from the strake.

"Storm-luck, Dragnric sea-captain, he shouted up, the waves bobbing him up 
and down.   I am Fiya the student of Nute peddler."

"I know you, boy.   What would you?"

"The blue beads.  We had not agreed on a price."

"And you swam out?   Did you not think I would come to the feast?   What do 
you offer for these beads you want to buy so urgently."

"Two copper sickles."

"I can't hear you, you're under water.   Swim around and grab the steering 
oar."

Fiya swam around.   "Captain, we will give a pair of copper sickles for the 
beads."

"I have no need of copper.   But for my fine beads I will take a hand of 
sickles, if copper is all you have."

A wave dashed water in Fiya's face.  "We will bring you your beads tonight," 
he shouted up.  "Sail well, with wind and free from storms, Dragnric of the 
green Sea."

"If you must have the beads I could take three sickles, and Nute shall do me 
a good favor at some other time," Dragnric said.   It was hard for Fiya to 
hear him above the slosh of the waves on the boat side.

"At the feast tonight, when I bring a pair of sickles, you will like a cloak 
to keep away this island breeze." Fiya shouted.

Dragnric said nothing, and Fiya let go of the oar.   "Hold on boy!" the 
captain shouted.   "I'll go with you."    The captain tossed a reed mat into 
the water, and jumped in, loincloth and all.    He let Fiya use the mat.   
He swam much faster than Fiya could, and twice he waited, staying still in 
the water, for Fiya to catch up.   Fiya was glad of the mat - swimming made 
him tired.   But he wished the captain would not call him "boy."   It was a 
reminder that his tattoo was so simple - some would say it was unfinished.   
When they got to the beach Fiya's loincloth was gone.    The captain wrung 
his out.  Fiya tried not to stare.  It was hard even to see Fiya's tattoo, 
his penis was so shriveled by the cold swim.   Without a loincloth, there 
was nothing to mark him as a man.   They walked together to the inn.   The 
captain was a man who liked to talk.   Fiya thought the captain would deal 
with Nute about the price of the beads, but he just collected his cumin and 
some exquisite flint he had stored at the inn, and headed to the practice 
ground for the Little Penises.   Across the inn courtyard, Fiya could hear 
Nute and Imhuotpa shouting in their Ekoopti babble.   When he walked into 
the walled space that was theirs at the inn, they both shouted at him.   
Nute was louder.

"You shall have strokes for walking about with your penis in the wind, 
student," Nute shouted.   "A peddler should walk around like a wvaksa.  We 
are going to Little Penises.  Dress in your best and spend some of your hand 
copper."

"Nute north go; Nakien kill he wants!" Imhuotpa squeaked.   "I say him: 
Nakien his life save!"

"I could have saved her!   I would not have left her.   She died staked on 
the sand."

"You could not save.  Only the King save.  Looker of grain house he gived 
time.      Time for the King remember loved more than hate.   Ankle her best 
amtat.    Me was Nakien by saved.   The King find you, the King is angry.   
You he kill, my mother he kill his own hands.    Imhuotpa says this to me."

"I will hear what Nakien says, before I slit his lying throat!"

"Nakien, he was learn make signs.   Look at old scrolls Ekoopt law.   Sing 
his songs of law.   Imhuotpa want hear Nakien law.   Make signs on scroll.   
All this they give, you be with woman my mother.   Nakien give for you, my 
Father.   I look signs scroll Imhuotpa make, scroll of law Nakien sing.   
Ankle thoughts no judge in Ekoopt has."

Fiya never mentioned a promised whipping - Nute usually forgot about them.   
But the beads would have to be returned.  "Teacher," he said, "do you want 
to whip me before I put on my cloth?   I did not buy the beads from Dragnric 
captain."

"Why not?"

He said he would take a trio of sickles, and that you should do him a good 
favor.   I offered a pair, and a cloak to seal the deal.   I swam away, 
thinking he would call out with a better price.   He didn't."

"You haven't failed to buy the beads yet, fool.  Bring the cloak and the 
sickles - just the pair.   If you think a pair is right, don't give a trio.  
  Don't be afraid to promise a favor.  The man you owe a favor to, remembers 
you - and to be in others' thoughts is the wealth of a peddler.  But don't 
say to him - I've brought a pair of sickles and a cloak, take it or leave 
it."

Nute borrowed the help of a pair of the inn's porters, and they made a 
procession to the practice ground, with a hand of the tall jars.   Nute sat 
with the oil, and Imhuotpa and Fiya wandered about, looking at the cloth and 
grain, dried fish, mead and honey.  Even tree trunks for roof beams, brought 
from the mainland. There were some fine antler combs and spoons, and larger 
amber beads than any Tektu had seen.  The sheep were poor and small, and 
they wanted a lot of copper for them.   Dragnric was there with his cumin 
and flint, and he had some color for tattooing in little bone tubes - blue 
color.   Dragnric had gotten his penis design extended in blue; octopus 
tendrils under his crotch and back to his bottom.   The lines had been 
raised as scars as well as colored, and there were burns as well.   Girls 
examined him carefully, feeling the raised lines, and begged their fathers 
to buy the new color.  But one boy said: "I wouldn't want a wife with blue 
all over her cunt.  Black's good enough for me."

The were offered a taste of honey, a dab of scented oil, a taste of milk 
mead.   Imhuotpa thought the mead was vile.  But it was Imhuotpa's turn to 
laugh when Fiya trembled with fear at the sight of an animal, even though 
she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.    Imhuotpa stopped him 
from buying her.   "Next year so many you pay have driven away.   And, they 
scwatch."   But Fiya did pull out his hand copper, and he gave tweezers for 
a sheath for his little Kros dagger.   It had a flap, which would hold the 
dagger in place, but could be folded behind, if he expected to need to draw 
quickly.  As Nute had taught him, he asked the leather-worker's name, and 
about his children, and where he bought his hides, and if they were 
expensive.

They talked to the red bards, and Fiya sang.   His voice was not what it had 
been before he got his piss-beard, but many  gathered to listen, and the 
young people started a circle dance.   The arrow master stood to announce a 
challenge, but no one paid any attention, and the two contestants decided to 
wait.    Between songs, Imhuotpa said "I go get whore.   For dance.   And 
fuck."    After another song, Fiya joined the dance; the pipes sang and the 
lyre skipped, while the drum walked the measure.    Imhuotpa came back, and 
started dancing; his long limbs flailing about - his dancing was as clumsy 
as his face was ugly.   There was a pretty young woman dancing; shy, with 
her red hair unbraided and over her face.  She left her hand in Fiya's a 
little too long, each time, as the circles wove in and out.  Stretching 
their arms out before letting go.  He tried to get a glimpse of her face, 
but she turned away, not looking at him, him especially, among all the men 
at the dance.   There was something about her that was hauntingly, achingly 
familiar, as if they had been waiting all their lives to meet at this dance, 
as if they had danced at some Little Penises in another age of the world.    
As if, when they had danced long ago, they had been naked.   He could not 
take his eyes off her dancing body.  It seemed as if he could see her 
nakedness now; as if he was naked to her.    She wore a sleeveless tunic, 
which on this strange island both girls and women wore.  Was she a woman, or 
a bare-cunt girl, forbidden to his tattooed penis by the Sky-Father?    Fiya 
imagined his penis, with its two simple lines, sliding in and out of a cunt 
that dazzled with with swirling patterns.   She would ask him why his tattoo 
was so simple, and he would be so ashamed, that he would shrivel and wilt 
like a dead plant.

Fiya had a mad desire to challenge some champion at archery, just to lose 
and stand naked on the platform with this red-haired girl to watch.   Watch 
him endure whipping to the blood, without showing any pain or fear on his 
face.    But it was madness. He was the same Fiya who could not endure the 
pain of the tattoo. He sang instead, a song of brave deeds, the deeds he 
wished he had the courage to do for her sake.  The red bards had something 
new - horns, horns like rams horns, but made of bronze!    They were very 
loud.   Loud enough to use in battle to frighten the enemy.   The children 
ran away when they began to play.    Fiya sang of Rhonan at the battle of 
Kala Khoam, turning the battle when he arrived alone, clinging to the mane 
of a wild horse.    With the horns blowing around him, and the red haired 
girl peeking between her hands, Fiya felt the Frenzy of battle, as if he 
were Rhonan indeed.

A woman in a richly embroidered tunic came up to him, and gave him a fine 
amber bead as a gift for his singing.  "If you need any oil," he told her, 
"we are hoping to sell, and will give a good price.  Over there, in the 
shade of the olive."   Fiya led her to Nute, who had sold the oil except for 
the jar he was using for tastes.   But she agreed to buy a jar.   Nute sent 
Fiya back to the inn for more oil.    Fiya stopped by the dancing, and 
signed to Imhuotpa.   "I'm going to the inn," he said, when Imhuotpa had 
freed himself from the dance.   "Do you want to come, with your whore?"    
Imhuotpa answered: "She fuck is for you I both.  I buy her."

Imhuotpa's whore turned out to be the red-haired girl Fiya had traded 
touches with at the dance.   He didn't want to look at her - her tantalizing 
pretended shyness had just been a whore's trick.  Well, she fuck is for you 
I both, and he'd fuck her.  It didn't matter what she thought of his penis 
now.   They headed for the inn, but as they passed between two houses, two 
men with drawn daggers blocked their way, and another came behind them.  The 
whore screamed.  Fiya cursed the flap on his new sheath.   But even so, he 
thought he could draw and throw.   He might remove the man behind them.   
Then he would be weaponless.  But their chances if he kept his weapon were 
not good, either.  He did not know if the Ekoopti could fight.    He threw.  
  But it was slow, because of the flap.   The bandit dodged and the dagger 
hit his shoulder.   He pulled it out, not even disabled in that arm.   Fiya 
ran toward him, for no better reason than to do the unexpected.  The bandit 
hesitated.   And Dragnric came around the corner and felled him to the 
ground with a blow of his fist.

The whore and Imhuotpa were getting the worst of it.    The whore had a 
dagger - she must hide one under her tunic - but was cut badly.   So was one 
of the bandits.  Imhuotpa's  pouch had been cut, gold spilled on the ground. 
    The bandits fled when Dragnric and Fiya came running, after grabbing a 
bit of gold from the ground.  Dragnric took off the whore's tunic to look at 
her wound; her tattoo was all Fiya had imagined, and she had the breast 
tattoos of the nomads as well - she must have been tattooed twice, like 
Arkwan.   The whore saw his stare, and in spite of her wound, did her 
whore's work; she reached a hand inside Fiya's cloth, and with the other 
hand brought his face down to her teats.    His seed flowed inside his good 
embroidered linen loincloth - like Nakien, he always wore it loose.

The bandit was still breathing.   They took his cloak, belt, cloth, and 
dagger, though only the dagger was worth anything.   Fiya raised the knife.  
   "If you geld him, he will seek revenge," Dragnric said, "and if you kill 
him, his companions will."

"Can we do nothing?" Fiya asked.

Dragnric made a cut across the bandit's bottom with the man's own dagger.   
The man groaned, without waking.    Dragnric said: "Make the cuts where the 
scars will be covered by his cloth.    It will shame him, and hurt for days, 
but if you scar his face, he will likely try to kill you even if he gives 
his life for it."     Fiya made more cuts, and flayed a strip of skin from 
the bandit's bottom.   The rest of the bottom he cut in a zigzag pattern, 
like on a Doleinth oil jar. They dragged the man away from the main path, 
and he groaned satisfactorily as they pulled his bottom over rocks; he was 
beginning to wake.   They tore up his cloak and tied his arms and legs, 
gagged him, and bound his eyes.   He was awake now.   Dragnric made some 
more cuts, and gave him a kick in the balls.   Fiya tied the strip of flayed 
skin to his belt - bits of leather are always useful.

* * * * * * * * * *

Imhuotpa had gathered his gold.    Fiya had thought the Ekoopti's pouch was 
filled with hand copper, but it was all pendants and earrings and other 
jewelry - precious stones and heavy gold.   They went to the inn.   Imhuotpa 
was too upset to fuck.   The whore pouted, but she reached inside Dragnric's 
cloth - he managed to get his cloth, which he wore tight, off in time.

"Wvaksa of the sea, you shall have a hand of sickles for your beads; all you 
desire," Fiya said, thinking, let Nute whip me all he wants.

"Two sickles and a cloak are a fine price - I meant to tell you.    And I 
hear you mean to go north with Scansarra, even though he has no room for 
your cargo.   Why not go with me?"

Fiya said: "We will go on your ship, Dragnric of the wide waters."   He was 
thinking, Nute will whip me for days, and what is worse, he may not keep my 
word to Dragnric.   But what else can I do?  He saved my life.

Imhuotpa was recovering, so they left him with his whore, and went back to 
the practice ground, with a pair of jars and a brace of porters laden down 
with blocks of flint.   When they came to Nute's spot under the olive, Fiya 
said in a loud voice: "I have told Dragnric, captain of the wide waters, 
that we will go north on his ship, and no other."

Nute hesitated, then decided.   "We will go north on your ship, Dragnric 
sea-lore teacher.  Honor and your heart's desire.   Scansarra captain will 
be disappointed, but we are old friends."    Nute thought: Fiya is not a 
fool; the trouble with Fiya, usually, is that he will not make a choice, 
when there is a chance he'll get whipped for choosing wrong.   Fiya would 
not have done this without a very strong reason indeed.   Nute hoped for 
Fiya's sake it was a good reason.   Well.  A gift to Scansarra captain, and 
a promise of future business.   Now I have a ship to fill.    And when we 
reach the north?   Use the cart?   And Great Goddess Cunt what do I do with 
an Ekoopti scribe in the mountains!   Well, this Ekoopti scribe has done 
well in those mountains.   Perhaps my son will manage.   But I have not done 
so well that I can afford to pay for a ship to sail empty.   Wine.   That is 
the only thing.  And that means a stop on the mainland.

Nute sent Fiya to take a jar of oil, to the woman he had met at the dancing. 
   "We will go to the mainland, Dragnric, then to the north.    We will load 
here my oil, and some light cargo.   Then on the mainland I will buy wine to 
fill the hold, and sell it in the northern waters.  I will not be sailing 
back again at once.  I will sell wine for promises to pay salt and dried 
fish, and head north by land without cargo."

"Honor and service, Wvaksa.    I will not sell my flint and cumin here, for 
I will get the best price in the northern lands.   When you sell your wine, 
I will fill my hold with fish and cloth.   And copper - some of it borrowed. 
   Your word and honor shall serve me well in the exchange.   For the 
shipping of your wine, you shall pay me nothing.   But we should leave soon. 
   Fiya and I were attacked by bandits.  We hurt one quite a bit, and they 
may seek revenge.   If there is no reason to stay, we could be away from 
this island tonight."

"Wagga, guard," Nute commanded, and ran in the direction he had sent Fiya.   
Dragnric followed, hoping the tail-wagging bitch would provide some 
protection for his flint.   Fiya was unharmed, still carrying the heavy jar. 
    "We can't be off this island too soon," Nute said, "but I must attend 
the feast.   I frightened a boy to into fits today, with just the bundle of 
twigs we use for relaxing in the bath.   I must make amends as best I can, 
and send him to bed with a new blanket.   And I must speak to many, before 
we leave the island.  Fiya, go with the captain, and see the oil on the boat 
- you will miss the feast.  But go nowhere alone.  Make your own count of 
the jars.   Seek me at the headman's doorposts; later at the feast."

* * * * * * * * * *

Fiya had wondered how Imhuotpa had hired a whore, with nothing in his pouch 
less valuable than gold.  But that was made clear.  The Ekoopti had not 
hired her, he had bought her.   She was part of his cargo, along with a 
number of heavy sealed jars.  Imhuotpa collected cargo from Scansarra 
captain, and from the inn, and handed over a few small packages, to be taken 
to merchant houses in Kafftiaw on the next ship to sail there.  Dragnric 
didn't want to spend copper to hire a small boat, so the oil went out to his 
ship on his own raft, two jars at a time.   Dragnric pulled the raft 
swimming, with a rope in his teeth.  Dragnric's slave lifted the jars from 
the raft and stowed them, with Fiya's help, lashing them down with straw 
between them.   There was another man with a bit of his own cargo; he also 
worked, and rowed, as Fiya and even Nute and Imhuotpa would have to do.  
Other than the one slave, there was no crew; everyone on board would work.  
No doubt the whore would work as well.   But perhaps not with an oar.

When they finished loading all the cargo, water, and provisions, Nute had 
still not come from the feast.   Fiya slapped the whore's face.  "Bitch, 
suck me," he said.

"Make me," the whore said, removing her torn sleeveless tunic and taking 
position for a whipping.   Fiya whipped a few strokes with a bit of rope, 
then she said: "that hurts too much.  You have such strong arms.   I'll have 
to do what you say."   She licked a bit, then stopped, then a bit more, then 
stopped, until Fiya's need overcame his wish for longer pleasure, and he 
pushed her on her back.   But she flipped over, and raised her bottom.  "You 
must punish me," she said. "I have been disobedient."    Fiya whipped for a 
while.   She panted, and wriggled her bottom, and waved her cunt as he 
whipped.   She said: "that makes me hungry for your penis" - as if a whore 
could be hungry for a penis.   He started to fuck her from behind.   But his 
penis softened.  And nothing Nakien had taught him would bring it up again.  
"Bitch," he said.  "Go fuck the captain."

Fiya leaned back between the masts, against the tightener of the hogging 
ropes, and thought about a red-haired island girl, who shyly touched his 
hand, and would not show her face.   A girl who blushed, and buried her face 
in her arms, when he had tried to speak with her.   A bare-cunt girl, not 
yet a woman, who had touched the hand of a man at a dance.   A girl who 
never existed, who was only a trick of that leg-o-mutton whore.   But he had 
seen her so clearly, seen her so clearly, dancing naked, cunt as bare of 
tattoo as the day she was born.   That dance so achingly familiar.   Their 
naked bodies dancing in light not of the green Earth, their bodies touched 
by light that made them impossibly beautiful, a warm light, red as sunset.   
Fiya slept, feeling frighteningly happy, a world of beauty open and 
welcoming him in.   Beauty that could swallow a man.   Beauty that would 
take him down like a dolphin, circling deeper and deeper into the dark 
waters.

He was roused by salt spray.   His cloak and a blanket had been tucked about 
him as he slept; they were damp; his face was wet and tasted of the sea.  
Wagga had her head on his lap.  The sea was choppy, the wind freshening as 
the sun broke above the waves, abeam of the port strake.   Imhuotpa was 
arguing with the whore, shouting over the sound of the wind, as it thrummed 
and whistled on tight sinew ropes; and drummed on the stiff billowing linen.

"I not want bitch to you call," he shouted.

"Honor, master.  You shall call me what you wish."

"But how what is you named?"

"Bitch."

"She is right, Imhuotpa," Fiya said.  "Bitch is the word in our tongue.   
But if you want to know her name, I can tell you.   Who should know it but 
me?   I know her well.  She is the wife of a man I call brother.  Who calls 
me brother.    Her name is Sujasa."

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

- November 2003 -
by David Nunes da Silva

[ end of the second half of the second story of the Midsummer Fires trilogy. 
    Further notes on the archaelogical and historical background are at the 
web sites. ]

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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