“It seems I have been obeyed,” said he, a satisfaction to his tone. “How has the time passed for you, varaina?”
“Slowly,” said I, attempting to recall that I had once been a war leader of the Hosta. I keenly felt the humiliation of my posture, yet even as I strove for a dignity that had been lost to me, my body felt the nearness of Ceralt and gave him his slave due. The heat he had left me with had quieted only a little, and he chuckled his amusement with renewed good humor.
“Never had I thought to see you so completely within my power,” said he, and a pile of furs and other things fell to the floor beside me with a thud as he released them. “It makes a man feel odd to have it so, yet greatly pleased. Do you yet know why you have come to such a pass, Jalav? Are you now able to see your vulnerability?”
He stood above me, awaiting an answer, and I saw little reason to withhold it from him. “Long have I known of Mida’s displeasure,” said I, refraining from raising my head. “I am either to be punished or tested, yet in any event, my trials are yours to mete out. I am abandoned by Mida’s love and helpless before you, male. Why do you not end me and have done with it?”
A moment of silence followed these words, then Ceralt crouched before me to once again take my hair in his fist. More gently than previous was my head raised so, and sight of his eyes showed a great annoyance aflicker there. The dwelling was cold without a fire to warm it, yet much warmth was brought by the mere presence of his hand upon my hair. Surely Mida’s judgment had been harsh upon me, to so enslave my body to a male. Much harm had already been caused by it; could there yet be more?
“You are the stubbornnest, most ridiculous female I have ever met!” said Ceralt, his annoyance evident in his sharpened tone. “Have I not told you that you are no longer to be concerned with this Mida nonsense? How might a fiction be displeased with you? It is my displeasure which must concern you, for it is I, and I alone, who has put you upon your knees! And what idiocy do you speak, asking why I do not end you! Would a man draw a woman from the circle of choice merely to end her? Have you no sense within this great, empty head?”
His fist shook my head by the hair, emphasizing his words, yet it was his question which was senseless, and then I recalled that it was a male with whom I dealt. The weariness returned to me, and I much regretted ever having ventured forth from Hosta lands.
“Truly, I had forgotten,” I sighed, looking past his shoulder to the darkened wood of the walls. “That males have no knowledge of Mida and her doings is understood, yet I had forgotten that through this lack of knowledge, honor is also unknown to them. Even those who had stolen Mida’s Crystals and the lives of my warriors were allowed death after their punishment. Males take captives whom they might torture forever.”
“Torture!” he snorted in derision, releasing my hair to hang his arm across his thigh. “The sole torture you feel, wench, is the pinching of your pride! Your body has been taught to know mine as its master, and this is what disturbs you. Sooner would that overweening pride of yours face death than see you knelt at a man’s feet. You battle with a woman’s needs and yearnings, attempting to deny them, yet this shall not be allowed you. You will learn to kiss your place at my feet, and also learn to beg the privilege of being placed there. This I shall see to during our journey.”
Much anger had come to me at the smugness of his insistences, yet his final words gave me pause. I watched as he stood erect and removed the fur covering of his upper body, considering where this oft-mentioned journey might take us. Danger had been spoken of by Lialt, a danger which might, perhaps, free me from the hold of this male. There was no battle within me of the sort he spoke of, no yearnings save the wish to ride free. That my body was in bondage to his was no more than the wrath of Mida, a thing to be ended should she once again allow me her work. Much did I believe this, and even the strain of my hardened nipples did not dissuade me from the view.
Ceralt put his body fur aside, then crouched again to sort among the pile of things he had but recently fetched. Within the bulk of that which seemed to be another body fur were two long leather strings, one short string, and a small, leather-covered pot which he removed, leaving the strings where they were. His uncovering of the pot showed a light pink liquid, thicker even than sword oil, yet thin enough to run slowly down the side of the pot when the male held it out toward me.
“Here,” said he, gesturing with the pot. “This will ease what soreness is upon you—till I choose to return it to you. Take the jar and see to yourself.”
I had no need to attempt movement to know the struggle which lay ahead, for my body’s numbness spoke eloquently of it. Slowly, carefully, I sought to raise myself from my heels, to release my ankles and free my hands, yet it seemed as though I was bound in place, my limbs of a weight too massive for movement. Deeply I breathed, feeling the greasy pads of sweat upon my forehead, knowing I must bring the pain to my flesh before freedom would be granted from where I knelt. Ceralt looked narrow-eyed upon my efforts, then shook his head with a sound of annoyance.
“Stubborn!” he muttered, once again displeased, then raised his hands to brush my hair back. “You know full well that you have knelt there too long to move without assistance,” he accused, “yet I hear no words from you asking my aid. Had you asked, you would have received it, just as you would have received my protection from those minions of Vistren who set upon you with daggers. Then, as now, you spoke not, and I do not care for the practice. Heed my words, woman, and mend your ways.”
I looked upon him in confusion, seeing his light-eyed annoyance and understanding none of it, yet he made no further explanations. Silently, he placed two fingers within the pot he had opened, withdrew them covered with the thick pink liquid, placed the pot upon the floor boards beside him, then held my neck with his free hand.
“We will see to one pain at a time,” said he, his voice now softened. “This must be done before your limbs are stretched. Brace yourself.”
His hand upon my neck brought further confusion, yet all was swept away when he reached toward me with the liquid. The touch of it was icy silk upon my irritated parts, an iciness I wished to draw away from, yet found myself unable to do so. He spread the liquid well about, returning his fingers to the pot from time to time, and in no more than a hand of reckid, I again writhed where I knelt, having been freed of the lesser pain and thrown completely to the mercy of the greater. Ah, Mida! How the touch of him upon my heat was agony! I moaned at the circular. movement of his fingers and a grin appeared upon his face, shortly to be joined by gentle laughter. My thighs were opened to him as he had demanded, and he pleasured himself with that which was unshielded from his touch. Then his fingers left the victim of his probings, and the pot of liquid was removed to a greater distance.
“That seems sufficient for the moment,” he murmured, putting his hands upon my arms. “Now let us see to your unwinding.”
A sudden reluctance was upon me to move, yet this reluctance did naught to keep him from placing me upon my belly in the furs. One by one he lowered my legs, releasing my hands, and I forced my face within the furs to keep from voicing the pain. It began heavy and dull, a mutter within muscles, rising from there to a flaming of the limbs, worsened by Ceralt’s briskly rubbing hands. Daggers of fire pierced me all about, bringing to mind the agony produced by use of two of Mida’s Crystals. I thrust the thought from me and clenched my teeth, at the same time drawing my arms forward. The effort needed was great, yet I could not remain unmoving, knowing naught save Ceralt’s ministrations. The male was heartless, rubbing my legs to screaming life, and I had no wish for the same to be done to my hands and arms. At last my hands were before my face, and I leaned upon my elbows so that I might flex the fingers and reaccustom them to movement. My life sign swung between my breasts in rhythm to the flexing, and I knew that I must rid myself of it, should it prove impossible to find freedom from the vows Ceralt had stolen. My life sign was the guardian of my soul, its presence an assurance that should my life be lost, my soul would find its way to Mida’s realm. With the prospect of an eternity of isolation before me, I had no wish to enter Mida’s realm. Far better that my soul seek the endless darkness, there to thin and spread till it was no more. A coldness touched me briefly, bringing a shudder, for I greatly feared the final darkness, yet fear was not to be acknowledged by a war leader. Though I was war leader no more, there was little to be gained by falling prey to fears and weaknesses. Though my soul would find no more than the final darkness, it was yet possible for my body to give up the breath of life with some modicum of dignity. Even should Mida wish no more of me, she would still expect my end to be worthy of a Midanna.