The First Tribe (4 page)

At last, he stood in front of the fire siren, basking in her fear. “Raise your eyes, girl,” he demanded.

Sabra jerked back a step, pushing into the muscled chest of the man holding her. She squeezed her eyes closed and trembled. A finger pressed under her chin, tilting her head up. Sabra squeezed her eyes closed tighter, tears leaking out from the corners of them. She squealed when lips pressed against her ear, and the deep voice whispered, “Raise your eyes to me, siren.”

Sabra slowly opened her eyes, and stared into a pitch black gaze of unfathomable depth. There was a fierce passion in the beast rider’s gaze, and a frightened whimper escaped from deep within her soul. If she could have found her voice she might have pleaded. Her throat was so tight… so raw with her fear… that only quiet cries would come out.

Her quivering was as persistent as the wind waving the grass. The man’s huge arms were as thick as her thighs, and he reached out to caress down her sides. His hands pulled together to cup her breasts, and Sabra let out a sob. All the terrifying legends strobed through her mind and Sabra knew that the stories had all been true.

“You have decided, Dasheen?” an impatient voice called out.

“I have decided,” Dasheen announced. He smiled down at the frightened green eyes when she let out a sob.

The man behind her released her so abruptly that Sabra fell forward a step. The beast rider in front of her gripped her arm and began to pull her away from her friends. Sabra heard Anali cry out. “Stop. Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

Several more gatherers began wailing, and there were the sounds of thrashing kicks and twisting from behind Sabra. She was still mute with terror and only capable of making pitiful whimpers and mewling cries. The man pulled her towards a banta, and Sabra gulped down a sob. She realized that she was to be a sacrifice. Perhaps this was how the Kirabi were able to tame the ferocious creatures.

Dasheen felt the girl’s skin turn cold, and he stared down at her. Her face had gone white. It was several shades paler than her naturally wan complexion from living in the shadows. “Take care to keep them covered in the sun. They will burn and peel and lose the soft texture,” Dasheen called out. This was something his mother had suggested before they left on the early expedition. She would be so proud to have a Vastara slave in their possession.

They were a few feet from the banta when Sabra dropped to her knees. She laid her head on his boots and finally found her voice. “Please,” she begged. “Please, Kirabi, don’t let your beast tear me.” Sabra could practically feel the sharp claws and jagged teeth ripping her apart. Despair melded with her fear, as she knew that she was too terrified to offer herself in sacrifice.

Dasheen looked down and arched an eyebrow in amusement. He had heard the Vastara were compulsively wasteful with their rituals. “You do not wish the honor of being a sacrifice to our victory?” he teased. The thought of spending half a year to convince the leaders to let him make the questionable journey, only to allow a banta to destroy his captive, was ludicrous. Dasheen knew his slave had no knowledge of coercive strategy, and he decided this might make a good bargaining ploy. He might be able to gain some ground on her training.

Sabra cried and rubbed her tearful face on his laces. “Please, beast rider,” she begged. Sabra was certain their rituals must be as vicious as their nature.

“Stand,” Dasheen ordered. He watched the terrified girl rise on her shaking legs. She was quite beautiful, with her flowing mane of fire hair, frightened green eyes, and a voluptuous figure for one so small. Dasheen remembered the weight of her breasts in his hands. He studied her shapely legs. They had slightly rounded calves and thighs, and he could not detect the chorded muscles beneath her pale skin. From the chase, he knew that beneath her fragile soft appearance, the young woman was strong.

Sabra watched the banta in nervous apprehension. It was slicing the veran off its short stalks with one claw. The creature sensed her stare, and it lifted its head. She jumped towards the beast rider when the animal’s golden slitted gaze narrowed on her. “Please,” she whispered, tears sliding down her cheeks.

Dasheen wrapped a fist in her flaming waves and tilted her head up towards him. “Then you will do as I say,” he declared.

Sabra nodded. “I will, beast rider. Please.” The time for begging for release had long since passed. It would be a futile attempt that could land her in the banta’s claws.

“Shiru,” the Kirabi called out, and Sabra watched the banta stand from its feeding and walk towards them. She buried her face in his vest and shook. His fingers lightened their hold on her head, and he said, “I am Dasheen. What is your name?”

“Sssabra,” she quivered. “I am Sabra of the Vastara tribe.” The last pronouncement might not be necessary, she thought, but perhaps they held a belief that the tribe was a useless, weak lot.

Dasheen laughed. “And now you are Sabra, a Kirabi slave.” Without warning, he lifted her by her arms and threw her over the banta’s saddle.

“Oh… Oh, Mother of Life,” Sabra cried.

Dasheen swung up behind her and readjusted her position so she was lying over his massive thighs. “Your Mother of Life has been left in your dark jungle and rocks,” he said, not bothering to hide his contempt. The tribe of beautiful slaves had been denied to them because of their ignorant belief in fantasy and spirits.

Sabra felt the hand not gripping the reins rest on her bottom. Her fur skirt had risen up, exposing her pale globes to the sun. Dasheen caressed the smooth skin, staring with building passion at her round cheeks. Mindful of the sun’s burning effect on the girl, he called out, “Mount up, Kirabi. Let’s get our captives into the shadows.”

Sabra stared at the grass moving aside as the banta kept to a slow steady walk. There was a slap of leather against the creature’s neck, and soon it was gliding in a blinding run. She was grateful the beast rider kept his hand on her bottom, occasionally gripping the hem of her dress to steady her. The banta had a smooth gait, and she found herself rocking against the man. The soft leather of his breeches and his thick thighs kept her somewhat comfortable.

Soon, she was seeing small rocks and brush, and Sabra realized that they were approaching the far forest on the other side of the meadow. She turned her head and could barely make out the land of the Vastara on the horizon. “Be well, Chabil. Be happy,” she whispered.

Chapter II

Sabra heard raspy, guttural voices, and she turned towards the sound of strange accents. It was not the deep resonance of the Kirabi nor the lilting roll of the Vastara. She had an awkward, sideways glance at strangely built people who were quickly and efficiently preparing a campsite for the beast riders’ return.

At last, the banta slowed to a walk, and then it stopped before a small crowd of the sturdy workers. The man pushed her forward onto the saddle while he dismounted. He gripped her arms again, sliding her off the banta. Sabra was grateful to feel the dirt under her feet. She stood still in the man’s grip while he used his other hand to unsaddle the beast and remove its headgear and reins. “Feed,” he ordered, and the banta glided off at a run, back towards the meadow.

“You have really tamed a banta,” Sabra said, not able to hide her awe at the discovery.

“As you will be tamed,” Dasheen chuckled.

One of the hunched-over workers picked up the gear and walked off with it. Sabra stared around the campsite where other beast riders were dismounting. She was dismayed to see that none of the first or second season gatherers had escaped capture. Most were standing much as she, in shocked silence. A few were still crying. Sabra found her thoughts not so much preoccupied on her own predicament as that of the Vastara who would have to forego the first season harvest. The tribe would be hungry in fourth season with only the nuts and fruits of the forests to assuage their appetites.

She wondered if the beast rider would have her gather food for the Kirabi. As a commoner, it was her only skill, so it seemed to make sense to her. Sabra looked at the pelted, hunched people that were arranging the campsite, and she watched the stacks they had unpacked. There was an abundance of vegetables from what she could see, far more than her tribe’s gatherers collected for the year.

Sabra studied a sliver of light piercing through leaves overhead. It was almost dark and she was rested. Sabra was certain she could accomplish the long run across the meadow. Without his banta to ride and chase after her…
the banta. He sent it to the field.

Dasheen noticed her longing gaze towards home. “The bantas act as sentries at night, and mine has scented you. He will use his hooves to kick and beat you back to me,” Dasheen warned. He was rewarded with her gasp.

Sabra longed to ask why he had captured her. It was obvious they had plenty of slaves to gather food. An uneasy feeling came over her, and she looked around at the faces of the beast riders. Their eyes shined with some unknown desire while they looked at their captives. It seemed as though her head moved in slow motion as it made the arc until she was facing Dasheen. The look in his eyes was dangerous… predatory and victorious, all at the same time.

Something deep inside her quivered with the need to escape. It was a primitive premonition that caused panic to rise. Without thinking, or the carefully conscious reflective process she was used to among her tribe, Sabra jerked free from the beast rider’s grip and dashed across the glade towards the meadow. With a quick glance, she made a mental note that she was not the only captive who made this unlikely choice. Anali and two others had joined in the run.

“Split up,” Palla screamed. As the quickest of the girls, she was determined to go on alone.

“What about the bantas?” Anali called out.

“They’re eating. I don’t believe they will follow us,” Palla answered.

She was wrong. The Kirabi merely stood watching from the edge of the trees. It was not long before horrible squealing screams caused Sabra to stumble in fear. To the side of her, a familiar slitted gaze was gliding on quick legs directly into her path. Instinctively, her eyes were drawn to the beast’s hooves. They were huge, with thick armored covering that looked like sharpened rocks. At the very least they would bruise and batter her. At the worst, they could easily break bones and kill.

Sabra stopped in her tracks. The beast slowed to a walk and stared at her, pawing the ground. When Sabra stepped forward, it lifted its leg and prepared to strike. Somewhere in front of her, Palla screamed in pain. Sabra turned back towards the glade, and she heard the beast step closer behind her. She was being herded back to the Kirabi camp.

Anali was walking beside her. Palla came lurching by, limping on a favored leg that was already bruising. The banta behind her pushed against her shoulder with its head. Sabra and Anali cringed at the sight of how close its jaws were to Palla’s neck.

All four girls were guided back to the camp. Dasheen grabbed Sabra’s hair and yanked her across the clearing. There were five carts with wooden cages set on the plank bed. One stood with an open door, and Dasheen grabbed Sabra’s wrists. Still holding her hair, he swung her inside, and Sabra scrambled to the opposite corner.

Anali, Palla, and Seela were all tossed in next to her. The door was closed and a heavy metal clip sealed together, locking it shut. Sabra saw the anger in Dasheen’s face, but at least he had walked away.

After the girls calmed enough to speak, Sabra said, “We can’t escape. The bantas will catch us.”

“Did anyone manage to hide their knife?” Palla asked.

All of them shook their heads. Seela whispered, “They’ve taken us for sexual perversion and rituals, Palla, haven’t they?”

For a time, Palla had wanted to study to be a daughter for the Mother of Life. The quiet solitude became unbearable, and she rejoined the gatherers. Palla still knew the rituals and legends better than the rest of them. There were secrets the daughters were not supposed to divulge… secrets that were too horrendous for the gentle tribe to listen to over the fires at night. She was silent for a long time, asking Mother for a sign that it was all right to speak of it. Palla wished she did not know these other pleasures of the Kirabi. Now, she did not want to be alone in her fear.

There was a distant roll of thunder from the Vastara mountains, and Palla sighed with relief. Mother had spoken. “Yes, Seela. They will not waste us as gatherers or laborers. Their other captives are much larger and stronger, and more capable of doing the work.”

“But… but, the mating ritual,” Seela cried. “I have been joined with Tarsa, and Sabra and Anali are still pure.”

“They don’t believe in our rituals, Seela. They are not bound by our spiritual laws. They will take their pleasure in painful measure. It is their way. All that you have heard is true, and much more.” Palla shivered. “They will fix bands around our necks and ankles. They have already banded our wrists. We will become trained beasts like the bantas, and be forced to bend to their will.” Palla stared into their shocked faces. “If a banta can not escape this destiny, neither can we.”

The girls were silent after that. Anali and Sabra huddled together, comforting each other as the major sun left the sky and their world was lit by the gray shadowed light of the smaller moon. Jocular revelry from across the camp made them angry and fearful. The Kirabi celebrated long into the night. Sabra and Anali fell asleep, gripping the wooden bars behind them.

At dawn, they woke to a bang against the cage door. One of the hunched creatures had struck the wooden bars with a big stick. She pushed a bowl of fruit through the slats and stared at Sabra. The creature had slitted eyes that gleamed dangerously. She was naked, and Sabra stared at the bulbous, melon-sized breasts swinging below her.

Dasheen’s Fista studied the new female.
With a twist of my hand, I could snap your neck.
It made no sense for the beast rider to collect such a weak animal, yet the man seemed pleased. After his hunt, his passion should have been heightened. The Fista expected to be ordered to satisfy his craving, but instead he had waved her away.

The creature turned to return to her chore of feeding the caged animals. She turned once more to stare at the small animal crouched in the corner. It had taken much time to become Dasheen’s favorite, and a primal seething jealousy began to build inside her primitive mind.

The creature’s gaze made Sabra nervous. It seemed angry with her, yet she did not understand. It was not her choice to be captured. As the decision of her mate was made when she was born, there was no jealousy within the Vastara tribe. The leaders had decided that it was an unnecessary, wasteful distraction from learning. This was the reason that the prearranged marriages had become ritual, eons ago.

The sun had risen fully by the time the Kirabi left their tents. Sabra followed Dasheen’s movement around the camp. He had ordered the creatures to pack, and the tents were quickly tied into large square bundles and strapped to the bent backs. She watched as he made sure the supplies were secured and he spoke with other beast riders.

Dasheen was taller than many of the other men. His black hair shined down his back in a long tail, secured with a leather strip. There was a fine brush of dark whiskers across his chin and upper lip. The Vastara men had no facial hair, and Sabra thought it made Dasheen look even more ominous. The imagination of her youth had fallen short of just how vicious the men appeared in life. As if he sensed her watching him, he turned and walked towards her.

Sabra scrambled away from him until her back pushed against the bars. He reached through the slats and gripped her ankle, sliding her bottom across the floor of the cage while he pulled her towards him. Sabra sobbed and tried to kick him. Dasheen ignored her struggle and grabbed the collar of her dress. Her breasts mashed against the bars while his other hand reached behind her and he unlashed her wrists. The bands were left on, but now she could move her arms.

Without a word, he walked away. Dasheen thought it curious that the women had not released the securing lashes during the night. Several of the beast riders commented on the fact that they all remained in the cages with their arms tied behind them.

“Do you think I’m supposed to free your hands?” Sabra asked.

Palla shook her head. “We had better wait for the beast riders to do it. We have already angered them by running.”

It was another hour before Masan made his way to the cage to unlash Anali’s wrists, and another half hour before Palla and Seela’s hands were freed. Shortly after that, one of the hunched male creatures slipped his hands through the straps on the cart’s guiding poles. The girls were thrown towards the back when he tilted the cart and pulled it behind a file of workers.

The kilara horn sounded, and a few moments later the bantas came thundering into the glade. The beast riders saddled them, and the procession began to march south. On Dasheen’s order they stayed in the shadows. The trek through short brush and low rocks was more difficult, but he wanted to keep the captives out of the sun. They would use the tarps later, when they crossed the desert.

One of the female creatures… not the one who seemed to dislike Sabra… brought them water throughout the day. At the noon stop, the girls were allowed out of the cages to relieve themselves. They sat on the grass and ate the fruit that was brought to them. They were silent, each left to their frightened thoughts as realization of the permanency of their position began to set in. They climbed back into the cages and the procession moved on.

In the evening, the workers began assembling their campsite. The Vastara traveled between a spring and winter home, but they were still more permanent settlements. Sabra was fascinated by the continual rebuilding and dismantling of the Kirabi’s nighttime lodging.

Just before sunset, Dasheen walked over to the cage. He unclipped the door and ordered her out. Sabra stared at him, but her legs would not move. When he reached for her, she screamed. With her hands freed, she slapped and batted at his arms.

“Stop that,” he demanded. When the girl did not relent in her struggles, he twisted her ankle and flipped her over.

Sabra kicked and tried to crawl her way back to her friends who were crouched in terror across from her. She heard a loud crack and felt a pressure on her bottom. A moment later, a hot stinging burn assaulted her cheeks and she shrieked. Dasheen spanked her again, and his eyes narrowed on how easily his captive marked. The clear pink outline of his fingers was now on her bottom. “Stop that, Sabra. Come.”

Sabra sagged onto the floor for a moment. She was afraid he would strike her again, and she backed slowly towards the door. Dasheen could see her shoulders shaking with her silent sobs while she stared at the ground. He tugged at her arm. “Come.”

Sabra was pulled into his tent. She looked around, studying the small skin enclosure. Dasheen led her to a small chest and he released her arm. She stood, staring around the hut while he dug through the contents. There were sleeping furs to one side, and a small fire pit had been assembled in the middle, surrounded by rocks. Sabra had never seen a fire under a canopy before. She considered the stinging tears and stifling heat, and her eyes traveled towards the roof. There was an opening for the smoke.

Her attention was diverted when Dasheen began tossing leather straps onto the sleeping furs. He stood again, and her eyes widened and dropped to the ground when he began removing his leather vest. Dasheen sat on the closed lid of the chest. “Remove my boots.”

Sabra knelt, and her trembling fingers searched the laces. It was confusing. Her tribe only wore footgear in the snow, and they simply pulled the pouch shaped sacks onto their feet. She tugged at the little X’s, but they would not come free. Sabra fought to remove the boot, pulling at the heel and toe. Her eyes were filling with tears at the thought of being punished for not following his simple request.

Dasheen sensed her frustration and rising panic. “Pull the loose ends of the string at the top.”

Her shaking fingers found the ends of the leather and she tugged. The little loops pulled free, and she worked her fingers under the laces, loosening them down the front of his shin. At last, she could work the boot off his foot.

Dasheen studied her, smiling at her concentration. He watched her tight expression slowly soften as she succeeded with the task. So little was known about the Vastara. It was becoming apparent that without the shared knowledge of other tribes, they had continued to keep with the older, primitive ways.