“Fish gotta swim,
Birds gotta fly,
I’m gonna love
One man ‘til I die.
Can’t help lovin’ that daddy of yours….”
Carrie sat cross-legged in the tent rigged for her amidst the Nubian camp, crooning a modified version of a popular tune to the week old baby drowsing in the cradle made from the red cloth of her borrowed skirt. One week old, she marveled, and each day he changed so much. It was almost as if each day was a new birthday, filled with new things to learn about her little man, her Jabrail.
One wonderful surprise had happened the day before, when he had steadfastly refused to nurse from the Nubian woman who came to feed him. No matter how she tempted him with her sepia-toned nipple, he would have none of it, mewling with infantile fury at her attempts. His cries caused an odd sensation in Carrie’s own breasts, a soft tingly-squeezy sort of thing, and she realized with a start that the front of her shirt was suddenly soaked. For the first time in days, milk flowed from her nipples and she could feed her son.
She couldn’t wait to share this with Ardeth, who, she thought with a deep sigh, wasn’t there, of course. He was out hunting down the refugees from the Cybeline temple, and apparently, there were more survivors than anyone expected. What was supposed to have been a one-day patrol had turned into a longer affair. Just how long, no one could say, although Etosha, who had returned after the second day to attend to matters within her own tribe, thought it would not be more than a day or two.
Carrie stroked the baby soft skin of Jabrail’s cheek. He was fairer than she expected, his skin more her pink than Ardeth’s olive, but, having delivered several babies in the village, she knew that most Medjai babies were born light. His features were strikingly those of his father, translated into the round curves of a newborn, and Carrie again thought of her husband. “Your daddy is making it safe for us, darlin’ boy, I just miss him, the big lug.”
Tears formed for a flash of a second as she let herself dwell on Ardeth, and Carrie blinked them away. She knew her hormones were fluctuating as she adjusted to postpartum life, and her emotions had spiked right along with them. At home, in the privacy of her own tent, she would have let them flow, but here, amidst these fierce warrior women, she instinctively knew to show her bravest face.
As she looked up, she realized Etosha was walking towards her. The Nubian queen had been kind, but there was an intrinsic regal quality about the woman that was unavoidable. The last person Carrie wanted to be weepy around was Etosha. She watched as the tall, ebony-hued woman strode towards her, the Nubians she passed all dipping their heads in respect. Etosha was a different sort of leader of her people than Ardeth was of his, Carrie observed. Ardeth was a modern chieftain from a family of ancient warriors. Etosha was a royal daughter from a line that had ruled these people for as long as mud huts had dotted the Sudanese highlands.
Ardeth applied the law of his people.
Etosha WAS the law.
Etosha was also secure in her position, and did not demand that Carrie follow strict Nubian customs. She enjoyed demonstrating her ease with the white woman, knowing that a number of her soldiers, including those who might consider challenging her, let old superstitions cloud their actions. For centuries, the Nubians warned of pale skinned witches who came from the North and stole the souls of those who looked into their blue eyes. Etosha did not believe these things, but knew how to use these superstitions to strengthen her position. Every time she was seen sitting with the white woman, it increased the power she held over those with such beliefs. Besides, she rather liked Ardeth’s wife, finding her a fascinating diversion from her responsibilities as queen.
“Good morning,” Etosha called in Arabic, a wide smile dancing on her face as she settled onto the mat next to Carrie. “How is the Medjai child?”
Carrie, a quick study when it came to tribal customs, dipped her head in respect and answered in the dialect of Arabic she had learned in the Khere Aba village. “He is well, and I am able to ….” She forgot the word for nurse and gestured towards her breast.
“Suckle,” Etosha offered. “So I was told. It is good he gets the milk from his mother, although I think the Nubian milk will make him grow strong.”
“I am sure it will,” Carrie agreed with a smile.
“Perhaps it will also darken his skin, hmmm? It will keep him from burning in the sun. He is a pink little creature, like a skinned rabbit.” Etosha laughed out loud at her joke.
Carrie joined in the laughter. “I don’t think he’ll stay that way, though. I bet he’s as tanned as his father in a few years. Honestly, I don’t see much of me in him.”
“All children favor their sires when they are tiny, have you not noticed? It keeps the fathers from killing them.” It was a blunt statement, but a logical one given tribal life. Etosha changed the subject, as she had news on the hunting party. “Your man will return today, according to my scouts. He has fought well, as have the other Medjai with him. Tell me, Carrie, why is it you do not ride into the battle with Ardeth? Do you not wish to?”
“Oh, I doubt if I would be much help. I can shoot a rifle pretty well, and I have…” she paused as she opened her shirt to let Jabrail nurse. “I have tried to become better with a sword, but I wasn’t raised with it. Jehan has tried to teach me, but it just …well… in battle, I think I’d cause Ardeth more worry than anything else. I’m not much of a warrior, I’m afraid. Jehan is the Amazon in our family.”
“She is a fine warrior, good enough to ride among my people.”
“I am certain she would be honored by that.”
Etosha nodded firmly. “Perhaps she would like to stay here. There are many things we could teach her, and she us. Good. I shall think upon this.” The decision was made with regal certainty. “I leave you to your skinned rabbit, Carrie, as I have a duty that requires my attentions.” She gestured towards where two tall, dark-hued young men stood a few yards away, arms akimbo, waiting patiently for their queen. Carrie estimated they were around eighteen and were obviously twins. Etosha noted Carrie’s appraising gaze and added, “They are comely, no?”
Bare to the waist, their muscular chests softly glistening in the sun, they were handsome indeed. “Oh, most certainly. Are they two of your consorts?” Carrie asked as she shifted Jabrail to her other breast.
Etosha’s eyes trailed across the two youths. Without looking away, she drawled, “Not yet. They are visiting from another tribe, sent to me so that I could train them. In our world, if a man has spent time in a queen’s bedchambers, it raises his stature. I like these two, and may keep them. We shall see.” Etosha looked back at Carrie, flashed a broad smile and finished, “It is good, among my people, to be born a royal female.”
“So I see.”
Etosha stood easily, coming to her feet as gracefully as a panther rises from the savannah. “I like you, Carrie. I would make a gift of one of my males to you, but Ardeth would not appreciate this. It is a pity, as a consort could keep you pleasured while he is away, but it is not the Medjai way.”
“No, it definitely is not,” Carrie agreed with a quick shake of her head. “But I thank you for thinking about me. It is very generous.
Inclining her head in acknowledgement, Etosha then turned and walked past the two men without looking at them. Raising one hand, she signaled they were to follow, and they did, like two perfectly matched, totally obedient pets. Shaking her head again, this time more slowly, Carrie whistled softly and murmured, “Nope, definitely not the Medjai way,” to the babe who had finished nursing. He rested half asleep in her arm, one fist curled against her still-bare breast while his eyes fluttered at half-mast. “Sleepy little boy,” she purred. “Your daddy would not at all be pleased if I took a man home as a souvenir of my trip to the sunny
**************************************
Tariq purposely rode at the rear position in the long line of camels that stretched across the plain. He wished solitude in which to consider all the things Ardeth had told him, and he wished to watch his wife from afar.
He had always liked to observe her undetected, and had often done so when he was still certain she was the daughter of his sworn enemy. Even then, even when his heart burned with hatred for everything that was part of the house of Bay, he had admired her. How could he not? Svelte and lithe, with a body that promised pleasure in bed and prowess in battle, she had captivated his carnal imaginings until those dreams turned to love.
Jehan was an amazing woman. She fought like a soldier, and cursed like one, her tongue quick and sharp. Yet how loving she was, how vulnerable and tender when she wished to be. He had felt uniquely blessed to be the man to whom she gave her gentleness. There was a special softness in her eyes that shone only for him, and he treasured it.
Despite all this, however, he did not see how he could become intimate with her again so soon. “Bah,” he cursed, kicking his camel into an ambling pace. He argued the point with himself, using his past life as an example. How many women had he bedded whom he had not loved? He could not even count. Did he search for softness in their eyes? Did they even have eyes? He laughed bitterly, no, he had not even noticed, for all that had mattered had been their slit and his release into it.
It had been pure biological need. What made this matter of mating with Jehan any different?
It was simple, he answered himself, so very simple. He loved Jehan as he had never imagined he could ever love a woman.
He forced this realization from his mind and concentrated on the reality of their situation. Ardeth was correct; if Jehan were to become pregnant, it would protect her from a harsh sentence. He had never been one to hide behind ancient laws, but he was glad for this one, as the thought of losing Jehan made his heart clench. He needed her in his life, needed who he had become to be worthy of her, and would do whatever was necessary to keep her on this Earth.
In a blinding moment of clarity, he saw that this matter of impregnating his wife was indeed one of love. It was also an issue of her survival. Holding firmly to this thought, Tariq decided to take control of the matter and urged his camel forward, intent on protecting Jehan.
He caught up to her just as a small oasis appeared in the distance. It would obviously be their resting place before making the final approach to the camp. She was in a cluster of Nubians, their banter a strange mixture of womanly sounds with soldier’s words. They quieted as he joined them, several of the Nubians looking at him with wariness, while others held unshielded carnal interest. Tariq was well aware that the Nubian women looked boldly at himself and the other Medjai men. They were haughty, wore far less than any decent woman should, and he did not want Jehan to adopt their ways. He was, without realizing it, jealous of the time she spent with these women.
“A word with you, wife, now, away from these … others,” he barked, his annoyance with the unseemly behavior of the Nubians obvious.
Low murmuring erupted from the Nubians, and Tariq caught snippets of outrage with his impertinence, but Jehan quieted them as she pulled her camel around to face Tariq’s. “It is our way, and he outranks me. Ride ahead of me, my sisters.”
She did not speak again until they were out of earshot, and then with heat on her tongue. “You insulted me in front of them.”
“You insult yourself, wife, to act as they do, staring at men as if we were cattle. I saw you back in the camp, looking at their males as if you had a right to do so.” His vehemence surprised even him, but he let it spew forth, vitriolic as acid.
Snapping back, she snarled like a cornered lioness. “Staring at them the way Medjai men stare at the Nubian women, you mean, HUSBAND. Do you not think I have missed your eyes feasting on their bareness? Did you catch a sight of breast? Of a belly? Of a crotch?” She smirked cruelly as she stared at his groin, her voice poisoned with sarcasm. “Did it make you hard?”
Tariq’s hand reached across, grabbing her forearm, nearly pulling her from the saddle. “Do you care, bitch?” His face was near hers, near enough to see the fire in her eyes, but also, the softness there, the love he knew they had between them despite whatever might else exist. He was too far into his fury to let love slow his words, however. “Would you care if I split one right now, spilling my seed into her willing body?” She squirmed, pulling hard, but he held fast, and all his frustration boiled forward. “Would you like to watch, Jehan, as I take another woman, one who would not strike me down afterwards? Even a diseased caravan whore would not betray her lover thus!”
She spat into his face, the spittle clinging to his scarf and beard. “Fucking son of a pig.” As she swung her other arm to strike him, she lost her balance, falling from the camel. Her momentum pulled Tariq over as well, and the two landed hard in the sand, with Jehan on top of Tariq, her hand already drawing a wickedly curved knife from her belt.
“I could kill you….” She couldn’t finish as Tariq had already flipped her onto her back, pinning her arms above her head.
Now it was his turn to snarl, his face contorted with anger and confusion. “You should have killed me, Jehan. You should have finished me that night when you hit me. It would have been better than to having to live with your betrayal.”
“I love you, you polluted ass. Why can you not understand that I did what I did because I love you?”
“You did what you did because you did not trust me.”
“No! No…” He felt her stop fighting for just a second as a slight smile played on her lips. “It was because I did not trust myself.” Her eyes, dark like night and yet glowing with their own luminous light, shimmered with emotion.
In that tiniest of moments, he relaxed his grip on her, losing himself in those wonderful eyes, and, taking advantage of that, Jehan brought the dagger to his chest, pressing it against his sternum with both palms.
Tariq froze, holding his hands in midair and looked down at the knife. Noting the location, Tariq cocked an eyebrow upwards. “You are on the bone. Move it to the left, beloved, if you wish to take my life. It will then drive through my heart.”
Through gritted teeth, she hissed, “I know where the blade rests. I do not wish to kill you. If I did, you would be already dead.” Despite the bite in her words, her eyes were still soft, a glistening with unshed tears.
His voice was soft, quiet, almost a caress. “What do you wish, Jehan?”
“I wish for you to understand me and to not hate me as you do.”
“I could not, in a thousand years, hate you.” He tried to move, but she pushed against the dagger’s hilt. It was not a fatal location, but he was well aware of how quickly it could become one.
“Do not move or my hand may slip.”
Tariq glanced down as if for the first time noticing that he straddled her. “What an interesting predicament we are in. I am astride you as if we were making love, and you hold a blade to my heart as if we are in battle. Lower the knife and the puzzle is solved for I will roll away and we will be locked together neither as lovers nor enemies.”
Without skipping a beat, Jehan asked, her own voice becoming gentle, “What if I do not wish you to go?”
“Changed your mind? Perhaps the weight of my body is not so unpleasant?” He rubbed his hips against hers slightly, reminding her of how wonderfully they fit together. By Allah, he did indeed grow hard, almost painfully so, and he groaned deeply.
“Perhaps not,” Jehan agreed but the knife still pressed into his chest. She pushed her pelvis against his, and the issue was now decidedly more one of pleasure than confrontation. Slowly, she lowered the knife and Tariq bent down, letting his lips find hers. Her arms came around his neck, pulling him down even more as her mouth opened to allow his tongue entry.
It was good to kiss him again, she thought as his body nestled between her legs, just as it was good to let herself sink into the passion that burned in her soul for her husband. “Tariq…Tariq…” she whispered as his kisses strayed to her neck, her eyes closed to shut out everything but the moment’s pleasure.
A distinct sound of a throat being cleared caused her eyes to pop open. Tariq, too, heard this and rolled to one side, his hand reaching automatically for the blade at his waist. As soon as he recognized the intruder, however, his manner became that of contrition. “Liege,” he said, coming to his feet, his hand reaching towards Jehan’s as she also stood.
Ibrahim Bay, silhouetted by the sun, stared down at them from the vantage of a camel. His eyes, barely visible over his scarf, showed no sign of amusement. “Your mounts arrived at the water hole without you. I became concerned.” A heavy beat passed as he stared down at them. Jehan’s disarrayed tunic left little doubt as to the cause of their delay. Ibrahim’s heart was far more romantic than most people would ever know, but he was also the consummate soldier, and he was not amused. “Tonight, you will brush, until clean, every camel in the Nubian camp.” With that, he turned his camel towards the oasis and urged it forward, leaving Jehan and Tariq behind to contemplate their misdeeds during the long, hot walk to the oasis.
**************************
Ardeth was waiting, his temper held in patient control, as Ibrahim returned. Tariq and Jehan were but dark specks in the distance as they walked in the dusty camel tracks. As his brother came to his side, Ardeth offered him a water skin and asked, “Were they fighting or mating?”
Ibrahim pulled his scarf from his face, pulled a long drink from the skin, wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and answered, “Who can tell, with those two?”
Ardeth snorted softly at this. “If there is only a small amount of blood, then they are mating.”
“They had not the time. Both were fully clad and I saw no blood.”
Ardeth sighed, “Alas. Perhaps you should have left them alone for a few minutes more.” At Ibrahim’s sharp look, he confided, “I told Tariq that he needs to get Jehan with child so the laws governing a pregnant woman will apply if she is found guilty.”
“Did you clarify that he was to do this impregnating when they were not on patrol?”
“No, no I was not so… specific.”
Ibrahim put his hand on his elder brother’s shoulder and, with a brief flash of a smile, advised, “Then the fault is yours, brother, and not theirs, for Tariq was only doing as ordered. Did you not teach me that a command must be clear and without room for interpretation? You should help them with their punishment. I am certain you still know how to scour camels.” His smile widened into a laugh that he shared with his brother.
**************************************
Ay’il had remained in the Nubian camp, staying with the boys tasked with herding the small flock that traveled with the warriors. He resented not going with the Medjai, as he felt he belonged with them, not with the Nubians. He had been raised to distrust those from the
It was great hope, then, that Ay’il saw a cloud of dust moving towards the camp, for it meant Bay had returned, and with him, the boy’s chance to move out of the herders’ tent. As soon as he discerned camels within the dust, he ran, his legs pumping like pistons, to the tent of Bay’s wife. “He returns. The chieftain returns!”
Carrie’s heart beat faster at these words, and she quickly gathered Jabrail into her arms. Following Ay’il, she hurried to the trail just as the rider’s identities were obvious. There, at the front, as he always was, rode Ardeth, his tall frame unmistakable. She blushed suddenly, feeling like a new bride, and laughed at her own silliness. Still, there was something about that man that made her feel giddy, particularly when they had been apart for any length of time. He had teased her about it once, gently, saying that it made his homecomings particularly sweet.
Sweet and hot, she thought with an evil grin, remembering how amorous Ardeth was after returning from a patrol. She had teased HIM about that, remarking that he was so eager for sex that she was amazed he could sit in the saddle for the last few miles into the village. “What would my men think if I rode standing due to the stiffness in my member?” he had asked, smiling broadly, fully appreciating his wife’s lusty nature.
“You would have to post; rise up and down in the saddle like the English,” she had offered, laughing, and he had replied that the only thing he wished to post upon was her, and, in short order, he had done just that, laying her back on their bed and.. oh, dear God, she thought with embarrassment. Her shirt was wet again as thinking about making love to Ardeth had caused her breasts to leak.
Her cheeks colored a deep red as she tried to conceal the growing stain with the sling in which Jabrail rested. “Dang it, baby boy, I seem to have become a fountain,” she grumbled, tugging at her clothing. It wasn’t terribly obvious, she decided, and looked back up to see the man who had caused it all not more than a few yards away, running towards her.
Ardeth could not, at first, believe his eyes as the hunting party neared the encampment. It could not be that Caroline was among those waiting, standing, for them. In his mind, he imagined she was still confined to their tent, her leg unable to hold her, and her body weak from the ordeal. Yet it was her, and she cradled his son in her arms. At the sight of his little family, those for whom the last few days of killing had been necessary, incredible concern filled him. Without hesitating, he pulled the scarf from his face, leapt from the camel and rushed forwards. Stopping just before he reached them, as if he feared they might shimmer and vanish like a mirage, he called, “Caroline….you are … up.”
“That I am, cowboy,” She giggled at the amazement on his dirt-streaked face.
Coming quickly to her side, he embraced her, one hand resting on her lower back, while the other caressed her cheek. “Should you be on that leg?”
“Not for long. It’s pretty wobbly, but I’ve been walking on it as much as I can. The more exercise I get, the faster my tissues will heal. There’s something else, too. Something good, at least your son things so.”
“What is that, little one?”
“My titties are open for business again.” To demonstrate, she tugged at her soaked shirt. “See? He won’t nurse from anyone else. He was quite demanding about it.”
“He knows what is his.” Ardeth’s finger stroked the baby’s delicate cheek. “You are safe, Jabrail.”
“Is he? Did you….find the Cybeline?” Find and kill them, she finished silently.
Ardeth’s eyes, weary from death, met Carrie’s. “They are all dead, as many as we could find.” He would tell her later of it, as he always did, gaining peace from her tenderness. Sighing, he put his arm around her waist, noted she leaned upon him more than she would normally have, and started towards their small tent. “It is time to go home,” he said in a voice scratchy from the dust.
“We’ve been away too long,” Carrie agreed, knowing that he didn’t mean just back to the place of refuge the Nubians had made for them, but back to their village, and to their lives that had been interrupted by the cult of the Cybeline.
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The Cult of the Cybeline – Chapter 36