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From: "David da Silva" <david_n_da_silva@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} REV Midsummer Fires 01 {Davo da Silva} {mf mm sm viol nc hist}
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Date: Wed,  9 Jun 2004 09:10:03 -0400
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"... and run between the fires on a warm midsummer night."

by David Nunes da Silva

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, vast 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, everything, all the old assumptions, 
were 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.

This is the first story of a trilogy. These links go to web postings of each 
story; the web postings contain a few illustrations, music I wrote for the 
songs, etc.  Click on yellow notes for the tunes..

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} REV Midsummer Fires 01 {Davo da Silva} {mf mm sm viol 
nc hist}
   this posting is the first half of the first story ]

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

Arkwan slowly lifted his head above the mud of the pit.   There was no one 
in sight.  Moving so slowly that it took heartbeats 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 to see 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; no one was 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 sunset.   The village was crowded with nomads 
celebrating their victory; he began to shoot.  The nomads panicked, they 
pushed and tripped, and Arkwan shot very 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 shit-eye, 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 raped little girls to death, or when they 
couldn't rape any more, burnt 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.   The boys were learning what it is to 
be slaves.   Only the older boys had been raped, Arkwan thought.  The nomads 
were killing little girls but not little 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 was 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 from the 
drunken, singing nomads.   The naked body of a woman provided a bit of 
cover, made a bit of shadow.   The body 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 heaps of looted clothing outside the houses, probably dropped by 
the nomads when he had 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 found his mother a cloak 
among the looted clothing, and handed her the baby.  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 see them as being all 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, while 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 then one day she was standing naked 
in front of him.   Without a word she removed his loincloth.  He was 
awkward, as it was his first time, not counting the ewes; but 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 Elder.   Elder Kranas will die this winter, or next, and Father will 
be chosen Elder 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 she had promised to fuck 
someday soon.   But he could never keep Sujasa, if he was also fucking 
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, and he whipped her all over.  She 
wriggled her body as he whipped her.   Arkwan could only take so much.   He 
lifted her hips and thrust into her from behind, 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 
fuck 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 fuck another man.  The weals on Arkwan's own body 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 clothes.   He 
was ashamed.   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, watching them gape.

When he got back to his father's 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.   If they spent the night together, under the 
roof, they would be married.    Arkwan had no idea of their getting married 
so soon.   His family was important; so was hers.  Their marriage feast 
should have been the largest ever - the King and Queen would have come.    
It just wasn't done to marry like this - not for people like them.   
Arkwan's father was so angry he wasn't shouting.   But he hadn't taken down 
his whip to drive her out.

Sujasa had been clever.   And brave.  No one could object to their marriage: 
it was an excellent match for both families.   But they would not have 
married for years, in the normal way.  Of course, if they kept laying 
together they would have a baby; many marriages happened that way.   But 
then Sujasa would have to stand naked 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.   He had claimed her as his own - 
he had whipped her for just talking about fucking another man, and the 
village knew it.  If, after that, they drove  her out, with the whole 
village watching, then she would find it hard to marry anyone else.   Arkwan 
would lose honor for that.  It would be like driving out a new bride who had 
done nothing wrong.  Arkwan's father was a proud man - if his son and heir 
lost honor, that stained the doorposts of his house.   Sujasa's father would 
be a bad enemy, and the village would side with him.

Arkwan wanted nothing more than to marry Sujasa, but he didn't like being 
tricked.   And he would feel his father's rage soon enough, and so would 
she.   At least he was used to it.  But there was nothing else he could do.  
  Arkwan asked Sindjas to look after his sheep until the next day, and he 
spent the day with her by his side, making visits to each family in the 
village, and he spent the night the night with her, 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 daughter of the widow Karipas, 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 watch you get a whipping."   
"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, we liked watching you fuck," Tanyata said, 
"it made me tingle inside.  But you caught us.   Will it be a long 
whipping?"

"Long enough," Arkwan answered.

"Well, I am ready," Tanyata said.

Arkwan whipped Tanyata and Hu, as he and Sujasa 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, being whipped 
together, showing courage for each other. Such courage deserves to be 
tested, and he gave them a long hard 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 a whipping."

"There is no need for that," Arkwan had said.  "I am not the village arrow 
master."

Tanyata was furious.  "I am as good as any of the boys!   And I am NOT 
afraid!"

Arkwan still didn't want to, but Sujasa had said, "The boys used to pick on 
me, too.   They didn't like it that I was the best at shooting.    And 
you're not as good as you should be, husband.    You two should have a 
contest.   And when you miss I'll whip you myself."    Arkwan had agreed, 
but he moved his target back, and left Tanyata's where it was.

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 who got the whipping.  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.  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 whipped.   
For a few days Arkwan lost every day, and the whippings really hurt.   But 
then Tanyata said, "winning is too easy.  I want to move my target back."   
Then as the autumn moons 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 he felt a sort of 
anger - and the whipping didn't hurt enough.    He didn't think Sujasa liked 
to whip him so hard, but he liked it to hurt, and Tanyata surely liked to 
watch.   And when Tanyata missed, she would shout "I get a whipping," and 
come running over.  He liked making her bottom hurt.  "Whip hard, Arkwan" 
she would say "it'll be you tomorrow!"   When it was over she would say 
"That didn't hurt!" and she would run across the pasture, jumping in the air 
and rubbing her red bottom, the puppies yapping at her heels.  The dew 
sparkled, and the sheep baa'd in deep, echoing tones, on those bright summer 
mornings in the high pasture, when he and Tanyata drew their bowstrings 
together.   One of them would shout in triumph, and watch a bottom turn red, 
while the other felt the sting of defeat and the brisk clean smack of the 
wood.   Every day, she got a little more skilled.

But Arkwan hated whipping Hu.   Sujasa told Hu to shoot a hand of arrows 
every morning.    For every miss, Hu insisted that he should be whipped.  He 
was not a good archer.    He didn't 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.   And he wasn't getting better.  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, a bard ruled that by offering to foster an 
orphan boy, Arkwan had in fact adopted him.  The orphan boy Hu was now heir 
to the house of Annuas.  Sujasa's baby would not be the eldest heir.   Hu 
was sorry, but he could do nothing - he could not make himself not the heir, 
by wishing.  Arkwan's father had been too angry to eat.   Since he now had a 
son who could draw a bow, Arkwan had to join the village council, and his 
word was often different than his father's.   A faction formed around him.   
He was the Prince's sworn friend; some even whispered he was the next Elder, 
and he soon had more followers than his father did.   But the fights with 
his father tore out his guts. Arkwan became so miserable he couldn't get out 
of bed.  One secret thought, a secret hope, he relied on like a center-post 
- this must not interfere with Hu and Tanyata's marriage - she would come as 
a bride to the house of Annuas.  In his eyes, he saw already the dancing at 
the wedding.

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 I want 
it to hurt.  I want it to hurt and hurt and hurt."  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.   The tears trembled on her eyelashes. "It hurts less to 
be whipped than to lose," she said.

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 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, a few men were naked, striped with welts, and most of 
the villagers had whips, with bits of goat hair still on them.  So it was 
the day of the purging.  Arkwan, who had so many dead to remember, had let 
the day of the skulls pass by.  The villagers were gathered around a pit, 
where a 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.

The villagers had, for some reason, stopped the purging to put up their huge 
post, and now they started again.   A man stripped and ran between houses, 
carrying his whip.   He ran into houses, out of windows, through sheep-pens, 
trying to make the circle of the village, as others whipped him.  But he 
went only part way before he stopped, his back, bottom, and legs covered 
with stripes.   Another took up the run, then another, but no one made the 
circle.   Then the touch of the God of the Dead could be felt, and in a 
sudden wild frenzy, every man was running, stopping only to whip those who 
ran past.    Woman  stripped to feel  the lashes on their bodies, singing 
and laughing in God-drenched frenzy.  Children stood in the runners' path, 
turning their backs to the whips.  Dogs ran barking with the runners, then 
howled and scampered away when they were whipped.  But even the dogs felt 
the Frenzy - they could not stay away.  They ran with the running men, 
yelping when they were lashed.  The men guarding Arkwan felt the excitement. 
   They stripped Arkwan and let him go - he ran, whipped anywhere he went, 
whipped on every part of his body.  He didn't feel any frenzy; the whips 
hurt.  But he could feel the growing excitement of his tormentors, and he 
expected to be killed, like a whipped dog.  He ran into a hole in the side 
of the hill.   The hole was deep, and Arkwan was whipped 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, by many men, in the dark.  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.  The old man hammered them after they came 
out of the molds, and then Arkwan had to sharpen them on whetstones.  The 
old man was called Wvaksa; he had a son and daughter, and an apprentice.   
The son, a young man called Kafassios, did no work at all.   The daughter, 
Szhasthar, did some cooking and spinning, very badly.   One day Arkwan 
scoured her pots, as they were filthy and he had nothing else to do, and was 
rewarded with a kiss and 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.     Wvaksa 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.   He had no one to talk with.

Szhasthar cuffed him when she gave an order, as if hitting him would make 
him understand their speech, and Wvaksa kicked him to wake him up in the 
morning.  When the old man was not making bronze, Arkwan was given other 
tasks, but these were easy, and he was not punished if he did them badly.   
They seemed to expect it.   Even when he didn't do the work at all, the 
coiled whip was rarely taken down from its peg - that would be too much 
trouble.   Arkwan tried to keep the house clean, but he found it hard to do 
the work, day in and day out, when no one was making him do it.   Living 
with his father, if a pot was dirty, or the floor had a speck of dust, it 
was: "Bend across the altar!"

He wished he had work that would make his body ache - and someone to drive 
him to do it.   Pushing up and down on the leather bags, he had time to 
think.  And he didn't want to.  When he had traveled through the snow, 
trying to get his mother and the baby to safety, he had slept well without 
dreams, but now 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.  One nomad was the leader, a headman of nomads, and he 
had a huge penis.   And then somehow it was he, Arkwan, who was the nomad, 
raping Sujasa, and his huge penis ripped her open.  She hit him with her 
fists, and then the blows were Kros's kicks, waking him up.    Another day 
as a slave.  The early morning was the best time; he went to the stream for 
water, and 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 Wvaksa."

"You no name here, Arkwan child, and you go slave Kros bronze kraeghan.  You 
hear Kros zu, so might be so.  That Kahnikos that go mean dog, all slave go 
dog here.  That Wvaksa that go mean lord."

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

"Bronze dagg 'said to be his work' all they," Pataka said, "only best do 
Kros kraegh.   You own bronze dagg Kros kraegh, you fall far, now you go 
slave.   You Nute peddler go know, so might be so.  Nute there.   He go skin 
water zu fill they."

"I greet you, Nute.  I am Arkwan son of Eos."

"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.  Prince 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 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 peddler.  May you 
fare safely until you reach your home."

"My home is nowhere, or everywhere; I am a peddler.   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.  He'd heard of 
them in stories.  When the oxen pulled, he grew dizzy, watching the strange 
twisting motion - the turning shields that the cart used for legs.  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 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 that she was a simpleton; now she talked 
with him, hour after hour and day after day, saying nothing.   Sometimes she 
thought she was the Queen.   Sometimes she thought Arkwan was her husband.   
  So far, she had not tried to lie with him, in his sooty corner by the 
fire.   Arkwan was not going to crawl onto her bearskin.   But some nights 
he thought about it.

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 all had tattoos on their 
penises, but their chests were bare.  Arkwan thought: this must be something 
to do with the midsummer fires; perhaps tonight is midsummer night.   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 that 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 around 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 suckled 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.   Arkwan hid his cloak under a rock.   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, and didn't want them to notice his bulging cloth. 
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, dressed in their 
finest.   The Gods who dance on human feet were there, whom Arkwan had heard 
about but never seen.  These were ancient wooden heads, where the Gods 
dwelt.   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, long-haired, smeared 
with shit and 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 came 
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 a red bard began 
to play on the harp, slow and stately.    The naked men, who had worked hard 
all day, except Kafassios, began to dance, slowly, the sweet notes plucking 
on their weary calves and punished ankles.   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's, 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.  Now 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.   The path between the fires was 
toward the setting sun; it was blinding, so boys had to run without seeing 
their way through.   To the boy Arkwan, it had seemed as if he came out onto 
a different Earth, and was a different boy.   And then he was not a boy.   
He had gotten his man's tattoos that midsummer night, although his father 
had forbidden it.  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 their breasts and then 
their backs faced the roasting heat, and with an intricate step they dodged 
the women pushing them inwards.   One 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 dark of the moon.   A 
priestess gelded a dog, and then slit his howling throat, and tossed him 
into the flames.

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 at him, 
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 Arkwan 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 of his piss-beard 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, so Arkwan thought Kros would get him a cloth of some kind.  
Arkwan took a jar to the stream for water.   When he climbed back through 
the village he was grabbed by two priests; he dropped the jar and it 
shattered.   The priests 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 dance naked on midsummer night, there is no rape,
and neither can she be punished or reproved for fucking with anyone."
Kros said: "Women, and men too, dance naked to feel the Frenzy, the strong 
desire, and to be fucked roughly by 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."   Kros examined him 
carefully.  "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 
peddler.  "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, peddler 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 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 peddler wishes you 
safety, and your heart's desire."

"As to that, the kohiyossa will be safe with me until you come again, Arkwan 
peddler," 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 from 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.   All 
shot before a tossed stone hit the ground.

"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.  The fledging of the arrows touched.   "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 peddler.  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 peddler's 
gifts."

"Different lands, different customs," Nute said.

This was worse than watching the shields 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.  See the shape of 
the handle?  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 a word of it.   He was still trying to understand buy, 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 peddler?

Arkwan cut a switch with the bronze dagger.  "Whip me," he 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 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.   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.   The 
stone for Trika had a little cleft - he remembered how Trika had liked it 
when he fucked her.  Then he picked up one stone for every ewe in the flock 
he had guarded last summer.   He looked at all his stones and at Nute's 
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 he had to squat down.  He threw up.  "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 had a handle just 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 girl."

Arkwan was wakened by a stinging stroke across his side.   "You fell asleep 
again," Nute said.  "I don't have a 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, on 
his back and legs but not his bottom, where the burn was.  Wagga, Nute's 
bitch, whimpered.  There was no sweetness in this whipping, no feeling of 
pain being lifted.  It was too late to do any good.   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, peddler.  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 that took time too.   The day had started to get warm before the 
cart rolled.   Arkwan had no belt, so he put the dagger 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 peddler 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 shields 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, Ark, Ark", Arkwan stammered.

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

Nute whipped hard, and the strokes across his back lifted the ache from 
Arkwan's shoulders and the prickling irritation from the heat, as well as 
untwisting his tongue.

"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?   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 
peddler; you can count, and you talk of buying and selling like a peddler 
born.   Perhaps a hand of strokes will turn me into a bard."

Arkwan brought the switch.  "A whipping will feel good," he said.   "Drop 
your loincloth.   You can bend over this log.  Try to sing."

"Hold, Arkwan.   It will take more than green wood to drive barding into my 
peddler 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.

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

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 pool in the 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 ate meat with the King, 
more honored than the Prince or any hero.   My wife ate with 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 harder questions.  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.   The twigs felt good on his burned bottom, which had begun to itch.  
  And the light sting made his cramped muscles loosen - he would sleep well 
tonight.    But to uncramp his foolish tongue - for that the thin twigs 
didn't sting 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.   Nute hit him a pair of hard strokes across the back.   Then Arkwan 
brought the oxen in from their grazing, put their necks in the yoke, 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.   One was the law-singer.  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 debates; 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 peddlers," 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."

"But I loved Grios like a father," Arkwan said.  "He would dry my tears, and 
we would sacrifice together to the Sky-Father.  I wanted to be a priest, but 
a priest needs to watch the skies.  I could never learn that.  My son Hu 
could; Nakien said he could even be 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 you till 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, in its beaded leather sheath.   He 
slung the quiver of arrows off his hip, then put on the fur-trimmed cloak, 
and then hung the bow from the copper hook on the baldric.    Then, dressed 
and weaponed more richly than King Kahul, he returned to his job of prodding 
a pair of oxen along a hot, 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, Wvaksa.   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, Wvaksa?" 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 Wvaksa 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, dagger, and 
cloth 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 her 
cunt.   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, 
and licked blood.

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 Frenzy, by the Strong Desire that 
some call a Goddess.   Arkwan had felt Her at midsummer, he knew Her touch.  
  But this was a different hand that he felt  -  Pleasure, 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. Arkwan could see nothing but her eyes.  "I, that is I, thank 
you," he said.

"You do not need to thank me, Wvaksa," the woman said.  "When a fine peddler 
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.   Arkwan caught a whiff of the stench.  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 peddler, no "Wvaksa."    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 
thought 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 Wvaksa 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 held his 
gaze.  The teats were bruised from his biting and suckling.  She watched him 
looking at her, and glanced at his bulging cloth.

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 hid her mouth with her hand, but 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, Wvaksa," she said.   She led him to 
where a sheep was roasting, and many villagers were gathered, waiting for a 
feast.   Red-hot stones had been put into the sheep's body.   A pit, lined 
with the hide of a cow, was filled with water, barley, carrots, onions, 
mushrooms, lentils and the meat of small animals, and had been heated with 
more hot stones.  Bread was cooked on the 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, peddler," 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 of yellow 
wool. 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, Wvaksa?"

"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 Wvaksa Penis," 
Danha said, "since you call me Kunera.  And I shall never forget how you 
promised to have no woman but kunera."  Danha looked solemn.   But her mouth 
began to twitch.   And then she laughed out loud.

"That is a promise even a peddler 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, it will be even worse that 
I took the cut of honor, than that I fucked 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 did not take a choice cut, but a modest piece 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, peddler?" Nohas said to Nute, in a loud voice, after the 
commotion of the mutton-passing had died down.   "What lands have you seen"

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 peddler, you do know something about wool," Gur said.   "But I could 
teach you a thing or two about yellow dye.  It's not saffron just because 
it's yellow, you know."

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 at that 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.   The murmuring grew 
louder, and Nohas had to ask him to say more.  He 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 woman.  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, peddler, 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 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. "Fucking here would be like fucking 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.  Her bottom was 
striped, but it had been no more than warmed.   Two little girls peeked 
around a curtain, giggling.   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, "Wvaksa 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."    Nohas noticed the white drops 
around Danha's mouth.    She said: "Come with me, Danha, we have something 
to finish."

Nute and Arkwan went to the cart.  Someone had yoked 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 off his clothes 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 and cloth.  
  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, 
peddlers," Tektu said.

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

"Are you being whipped to gain endurance, Wvaksa?" Tektu asked.   "You bear 
it like a true warrior."

"I am no Wvaksa, and no peddler, and no warrior.  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, Wvak - 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 peddler since your 
grandfather's time.   And no one harms a peddler."

"Taucon, the priest, talked against you at the feast.  He says your story is 
a peddler'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 fucked 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 fucked 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 defying my mother, and saying I would follow you."  Danha proudly lifted 
her tunic, to show a bottom and legs bruised and bloody from a terrible 
beating.

"It is I who did this to you," Arkwan said.  "I let you think I was a 
peddler, 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.   They have no weapons."

"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 peddler 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 peddler 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 peddlers, 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.  His son Hu could 
remember every word of every song he heard, and they had spent summer days 
recalling 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 
peddler? 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 
peddler."

"My heart is sad for your loss, Arkwan.   But I have news: King Taslan has 
given 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 of 
the priests.  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 the midsummer dance would be, in your village?"

"Grios the priest," Arkwan answered.  "He watched the stars.  He put little 
stones in a gold cup, and said: 'take out one stone for each sunrise, and 
the last stone will be for 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, just an end.  And it was surely no pleasure to her.

"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.   Her 
sleeping face had a look of bliss, of secret joy.  Arkwan wept.  He put his 
hand around hers, around his penis, and thought of home; 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 peddler, 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 fuck 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.   Your penis is very fine - a 
man's penis.   And you know the proverb:

When your fine son can't keep hand off his rod -
prick him and 'cloth him and give to the God.
Tektu looked down at his rod which was, he found, in his hand.   He blushed 
and squirmed and covered his face.   But he looked up and said: "I wanted to 
get pricked 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.  Your sister's bottom is cut to ribbons, and she 
has welts and bruises all over, even on her breasts.   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, for your pricking or mine, 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 peddler, 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 peddler I gave good bronze, and he gave me nothing.   So 
it is with peddlers.  Andros will repay me another time.  And I gave salt to 
Heyos bard 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 in many songs, but Arkwan had never understood it.   Arkwan could 
only think about one new word at a time.  "Are you giving everything to the 
captain of the boat?" he asked Nute, "are you buying something from him?"

"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.  Not the fine 
cloaks.  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.
Two sticks shall be his doorposts and,
    His ridgepole is, the Milky Way.
Three days shall they travel, three nights do they 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 is 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 peddlers."

"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."

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

The two boys and Arkwan drew lots, and Arkwan drew the white stone, and was 
first.   Nakien insisted that he be tied, so they tied him to the side of 
the cart, kneeling, with the ox-yoke between his legs.   Nakien tied a 
string around the end of his penis, and pulled it tight, and tied it to a 
yoke-peg.   Then he wedged sticks under Arkwan's penis, making it even 
tighter.   The pain of the string cutting into his penis, and his penis 
being, it felt like, pulled out by the roots, was so great that Arkwan 
strained at the ropes; his need to get the string off his penis was stronger 
than his will to endure the pain.   Then Nakien used the needle, and made 
many jabs in a line.  Arkwan groaned.   "Do you want to do this, Arkwan?" 
Nakien asked.   "If you are doing it for Danha, she may not even care.   
Now, shall I let you go?"  And Nakien gave an extra tug on the string.  
"Yes!"  Arkwan shrieked.   But then as Nakien moved to remove the wedges he 
said "No!"    Nakien stopped, and waited.   The pain was horrible.  Arkwan 
gasped, "It is not ... just for Danha ... anyone who sees  ... thinks I'm a 
boy ... that I couldn't ... bear the pain ... if I don't ... do this ... 
they'll be right."  Nakien removed the wedges, and the pain eased.   "Very 
well," Nakien said, "we will complete the tattoo."

Nakien smeared on charcoal paste, drawing a part of the design.   Then he 
stuck in the wedges to pull the penis tight, and made more pricks, driving 
the black soot under the skin.   He removed the wedges again, and rubbed 
more charcoal.   And did this over and over, twisting the penis to do the 
sides and bottom.  As more and more of his penis was covered with lines, the 
pain got worse.   Arkwan tried desperately to endure the pain.   He tried 
not to pull on the ropes.  He tried not to whimper and sob.  He tried not to 
beg.   But the pain was everything.   The birds sang, but he did not hear 
them; a soft wind blew, carrying the scents of pine and meadow, of river mud 
and rain, but he did not smell them.   He was trying to endure the pain.  
But he failed.  For all his will to endure the pain and complete the tattoo, 
he begged Nakien to stop.   He just could not endure it.

Nakien did not stop.    Arkwan strained on the ropes and shrieked, begged 
and sobbed.   But it didn't matter.   The torment would continue to the end 
whatever Arkwan could do.  He saw a hawk, circling on the other side of the 
river, make a sudden dive.   The day was turning very hot indeed, and the 
sun beat down on him.   But on the muddy river bank his knees were cool, 
pressed into the grass.   Danha was holding one of his hands.    Then Nakien 
asked Danha to hold Arkwan's penis while he did the head, under the 
foreskin, and the foreskin itself.

But that was the end, except for some final cleaning, which actually hurt 
quite a lot.   Nakien untied him, and Danha held him in his arms, and he 
sobbed.  Nakien told him not to touch his penis, and Nute watched to make 
sure he did not.  Arkwan was so ashamed that he had cried and screamed so 
much, that he covered his face with his arms.

"I will bear it as well as you did, Arkwan," Tektu said, and he marched over 
to the cart, and held out his arms to be tied.

As Tektu was tied, Fiya took Arkwan's hands.   "We shall be three brothers," 
Fiya said.  "And if ever I can serve you, get me word.   I will do what I 
can, for Hu's sake."

"A slave can do little," Arkwan answered.  "But what I can, I will, for Hu's 
friend, and my brother."

Tektu's penis hardened when Nakien tied on the string, so Nakien untied it, 
and rubbed it with his hand until the seed shot out, and then tied the 
string again.   Tektu did not scream or struggle as his penis was pulled 
tight, and he gazed far away as the needle jabbed.  Only a few tears dripped 
from his eyes.   He did not yell until Nakien pricked under his foreskin.   
Wagga, who was shaking in terror, answered his howls with great ululating 
wails.   But then it was over.    Arkwan said: "No warrior could have done 
better, Tektu."

Tektu blushed.  "But I ..." and he pointed to his penis.

"I will have to tell you what it is like in a battle," Arkwan said.

Fiya's courage lasted until he was astride the ox-yoke, then he broke.   
Nute and Nakien had to hold him as they tied his arms, and they had to tie 
his legs as well.  His shit and piss came out.   He shouted "No! No! No!"   
Arkwan tried to comfort him, but Fiya bit his hand.   When the jabbing 
started he blubbered and sobbed, in choking, strangled sobs.   Nakien 
started to cry, and had to stop.   But after a while he picked up the 
needle, and finished the design.   When Fiya was untied, he sat sobbing, and 
Arkwan went to comfort him again, watching out for his teeth.   Fiya sunk 
his head on Arkwan's chest, and Arkwan held him in his arms, twisting to 
avoid any touching of either of their penises.   Wagga came over and shyly 
licked Fiya's side.   Fiya sobbed for a long time.

But the captain said it was time to go.   Fiya was helped and carried onto 
the boat.   "Whip him, Nute," Nakien shouted, as the crew dipped oars. "He 
can be a bard, but he is lazy.  I didn't whip him enough.  Whip him when he 
daydreams.  Make him work, and whip him.  If you can't make him a hard 
worker, he will never be a bard."

"Fare well Nute," Arkwan shouted as loud as he could.  "Safety and your 
heart's desire!"

A faint echo came over the water as the boat passed out of sight. "Fare 
well."

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

[ end of the first half of first story of the Midsummer Fires trilogy ]

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