Well amused was he, this male who spoke of besting a war leader without sword in hand, he who sought vows when others sought pleasure. I moved my wrists within his hand, seeking to regain use of my fingers, recalling the time I had thought myself bested by him. Mida had appeared to me then, in a dream, and had assured me that the strength of males might never best a warrior. Only upon the point of a blade might a warrior be bested, her lifeblood sole proof of her loss of position. I had often questioned my ability to raise sword to Ceralt for the male affected me strangely, yet now, with the possibility of an eternity of solitude before me, I saw that the thing must be done.
“Jalav has never been bested,” said I, foolishly seeking to hold my head high. How might a warrior hold her head high beneath the immobilizing bulk of a Mida-forsaken male? Abandoning the attempt, I merely met Ceralt’s gaze. “Jalav has considered the matter,” I continued, “and agrees to meet the male Ceralt with swords. Should the male overcome her, she shall then be bested. Let the matter be done now.”
“So you would agree to meet me with swords,” he mused. “And from whom would you receive permission to touch a sword?”
My mouth opened to reply, yet no reply came forth. I had been about to say that a warrior needed no permission to defend her honor, yet he had not released me from my vows, and his feelings upon weapons and myself were well known to me. That his permission was necessary before I might face him with a blade was infuriating, and I writhed in frustration beneath him as he laughed.
“I see you understand the point,” he grinned, his hand moving to pat the top of my head. “Jalav must now be an obedient wench, asking Ceralt for his leave before she undertakes an action. Should Jalav truly wish a thing, she must ask politely.”
Fury rose up to tangle my tongue in its curling, blazing vapors, yet I forced myself to hiss, “Indeed, I shall ask for that which I wish! I wish to see your blood upon my blade, Ceralt! I wish to send you to Mida’s chains and an eternity of sthuvad use! Allow me but a few short reckid with sword in hand, and the matter shall be quickly seen to!”
Again my breathing had grown heavy with the heat of emotion, yet a gasp was forced from me as Ceralt’s grip tightened upon my wrists. No longer was he amused, and that strange glint shined coldly from his eyes as he leaned nearer to me.
“A man cares little for being threatened by another man,” he rasped, his voice grating with anger. “Should the one who threatens him be female, he may choose between amusement at such foolishness, and punishment for such insolence. I am not amused. ”
His hand went again to my hair, and nearly did I cry out as his fist took strong purchase therein. “Perhaps, by cause of what has previously occurred between us, you feel I fear to face you with sword in hand.” His voice, laced with contained anger, had grown very soft, so soft that my fury cooled quickly in the face of it. “Such is not the truth of the matter, yet I feel no need to present you with proof you would accept. Suffice it to say that you shall not again touch hand to sword, dagger, bow or spear for any reason, save with my express permission. You are to banish all thoughts of flight from your mind, for you travel to no place lest it be by my side. Should the fey ever come that I raise sword to a female, that female will not be you. I do not fear you, varaina, yet you may perhaps learn to fear me. Some wenches require such fear to keep them where they belong.”
That disturbing coldness did not leave his eyes as his maleness sought and found its place within me. I no longer wished the vigor of his use, yet he took me as he willed, knowing he increased the soreness he had caused and caring not. My femaleness flinched from him in vain till my body acknowledged its helpless response to his presence, and then was I soothed and lifted in his wake, to follow slave-like the demands he put to me. Well used was I by this Ceralt who ruled me, yet his anger increased with each of his thrusts till I thought he would end me with such fury. I cried out in protest, half with pleasure, half with pain, yet he chose to ignore my protest though his eyes had not left my face. He used me to the full, at last sending his seed within me an action which seemed to drain his anger as well. When he left me to lie beside me, his breathing had already begun to quiet, and with great difficulty I moved my arms to where I might see my wrists. An angry redness circled them from his unrelenting grip, and the daggertips in my fingers tingled then blazed with pain. A moment I flexed my fingers, regaining some sense of feel, and then I clumsily touched myself, wondering if Ceralt had caused me damage. Was this male ever to do me as none before him? In the past, it had ever been a warrior who took an unwilling sthuvad, never the warrior who was taken herself. I cared little for the manner of turn about; however I saw no way the distortion might be corrected. Males are strange in their doings and thoughts, and seem ever to wish the rights and privileges of warriors.
“Do you at last begin to learn the meaning of your place?” asked Ceralt from beside me. I turned my head toward him, and saw that he lay stretched upon his side, leaning upon one arm. Those light eyes noted where my fingers had gone, and my cheeks filled with heat at the grim satisfaction he showed. Surely he now thought me bested, for he had taken his pleasure with me above my protests. I had no wish to see the matter so, yet his gaze was difficult to meet. I turned to my left, away from him, bringing my hands to my middle and drawing my knees up, suddenly feeling the lack of the lenga pelt upon me. The dwelling was cold in the gray of the new light, and the dampness of my flesh drew the cold as an unprotected infant kan would draw a hungry zaran. Ceralt watched me turn from him, yet he would not allow me to take my shame from his sight. His hand grasped my arm and returned me to my back, then placed itself upon my breast.
“This is the sign of a woman,” said he, stroking the breast then cupping it in his palm. “Women are smaller than men and weaker, not nearly as swift, and easy prey to men. Such things are necessary, for women are also the bearers of children, and if it were impossible for men to take the women of their choosing, our race would not survive. The lives of your clanswomen are perversions, Jalav, for they do not acknowledge this necessary difference, and waste untold numbers of precious child-bearers in bloody and senseless battle. I may not know how such a thing began, but I need not allow it to continue. I shall show you the vulnerability of a woman again and again, till the truth of the matter is known in the very bones of you. Then, perhaps, we may seek another manner of living with one another, yet the choice will be yours. I shall not change my treatment of you till you request it.”
So seriously did he gaze upon me as he spoke, and so quietly, that I knew he felt the matter one of importance, yet I could not fathom his meaning. All knew of the physical differences between male and warrior, and all knew as well that males could not bear children, yet when he spoke of waste, I could not follow his reasoning.
“Those warriors who are with child are never wasted,” I informed him, ignoring the discomfort his fingers brought. “Though some might wish to hide the presence of the quickened seed within them so as not to be denied the glories of battle, all Midanna know it their duty to bear new young warriors into the world. They then give over battle till the child is born, returning to a warrior’s life only upon placing the child with Keeper’s Attendants to raise.”