"Gudea, please tell me that this is but humor in poor taste from you and your butchers."
We stood crowded inside the yurt. It was long, black, and had two tent poles holding it up. Wooden shelves and racks had been lined against its sides. They were covered in parcels of dried herbs, stoppered glass bottles, and animal parts suspended in yellow oil.
We stood around a wooden table, two guards at either end holding lamps for extra light. Two of the men with us were cultists that had asked Rindar for slaves-to sacrifice.
Stretched out on the table was a dead slave. Her stomach was gone; all the soft tissue and flesh had been eaten away there, her spine poked through the remains, red and bloodied. Her eyes had been torn out as well. There were still twine ties around her wrists. Holding a piece of glass like a magnifier, Claevor the Healer pushed the corpse's thigh aside and examined between its legs. I looked away: something had torn into it.
"We would not waste one," Gudea the Butcher looked pained. He folded his giant arms, "my men have respect for the meat. Look at how jagged a hide this would make," he leaned forward and gestured with his finger, in a way only a cook or a surgeon would feel comfortable doing. "That's not how one guts and skins."
Rindar glared at the corpse and shook his head.
"How can you be sure this girl was not given to the butchers, or taken under such pretense?"
"I have account of all my carcasses. Those given for culling, I put down by my own hand. He made a quick throat-cutting motion with his finger. "A clean-cut and then hanging by a chain around the feet, till drained of blood. This is not honest butchery, but dark ritual."
The cultists exchanged glances and then gave Gudea dirty looks.
"You do not think so Brothers?" he took a step towards them. "The belly is gone, and with it, any evidence of flesh cut and peeled aside, that entrails may be gifted."
"The belly has plainly been devoured by beasts in the night," said one cultist. He was Brogo; a large, dark-skinned, Settite with ritual scars on his forehead, showing his allegiance to the snake god.
"And what of between her legs?" Continued Gudea. "Did beasts in the night use her, as well? Did they also bind her wrists?"
"Gerard, tell us again where you found her." Said Rindar.
All eyes were on me.
"Downriver, on the far bank. It was a hundred yards from here-that's what? ‘50 lengths' to you guys. She had been tied to a tree trunk."
"And what were you doing there?" Demanded Brogo. He folded his arms and gave me a hard look.
"Mapmaking."
Brogo snorted.
"You are a scribe? Do you also fall into wells when staring at the stars?"
"No, just mapmaking-and cutting people who piss me off."
"Gerard's word in this is without question, Brogo," said Duzil, putting his hand on my shoulder-and stepping Brogo and I. "We Sons of Set must look elsewhere to find cause. Regard: there is little blood, given what the body has been put to."
"What are you saying, Brother?" Said the other cultist. He was Kazan, a Yoggite. A tall, pale man with a black, monstrous mask hanging from his belt. "You would cast aspersion on the followers of Yog? That we would break Rindar's law, and eat his females?"
"No, I do not," Duzil held up his hand.
"But I do!" Said Brogo. "Your people have clearly eaten this one's belly! I can even see your heathen teeth marks!"
"Why you-"
"Enough!" Rindar thundered. "You are disgraces to all your gods! I called you here to give counsel and find answer to vexing mystery, not to turn on each other and further selfish agenda."
The cultists were quiet but exchanged quick glares.
"Claevor, could this be the work of Treygor's monster?"
"This is not the work of the beast," replied the old man. "Except those that stand and smiled at men in the sun, but at night set minds to other, dark purposes. Beasts have visited the corpse, but not before original intentions were visited and completed."
"It speaks poorly of those who guard us while we sleep," said Gudea, frowning.
"No," said Rindar. "I visited the guards yesterday evening. All were alert and keen of eye."
"Plainly by Cthulhu, not all, or not as keen." Said Gudea.
"What if we asked the slaves?" I suggested.
Again all eyes were on me.
The tent broke out in laughter.
"What?" I turned red. "What's wrong with that?"
"The word of a slave has no value," said Rindar.
"Would you that we also ask the trees and the sand?" Said Gudea.
"We will find no answers here, Brothers." Said Rindar. "The guard will be doubled, and every day at dawn, men will go out and sweep for these thieves. Their camp must be close by."
"How can you be sure that this is the work of those outside our palisades?" Asked Bromo.
"I do not," said Rindar. "But I expect each religious group to follow my orders and understand that within this palisade, it is I who am the God. Is that understood?"
"By Set," Bromo nodded. "And should I find it is one of mine who did this, I will slit his belly in similar fashion and bring him to you."
"That sacrifice, I would allow." Said Rindar. "Brothers, go about your business."
***
The guards were increased, and true to his word, Rindar sent out teams every morning, scouting going further and further each day. I joined them, partly to work on my maps. But we found nothing.
***
Over the next seven days, over a thousand female captives were put to the cross and tent. 20 were deemed "not fit for the collar'" and put to death. The slavers were impressed with these, and buried them, clothed, in individual graves marked with cairns. They saw them as strong as any free Hyperborean. It seemed a great crime to me they hadn't been freed, instead.
There was no such grace for the other deaths. 30 girls died of exposure or illness: their bodies were skinned for leather, and their flesh used to feed the others. The same fate awaited any slave who failed during training. Once a captive begged on the cross to be enslaved, the Hyperboreans stopped seeing them as human.
On the seventh day, the breakings were considered complete. The tents were taken down, and so were most of the crosses (some were kept up, for discipline).
Then, training began.
Where breaking was about submission to slavery, training was about conditioning immediate and diligent obedience, whatever the task. The tents made good progress towards this, but they only took a slave so far.
To go beyond, Rindar decided to build a wall.
***
I stood by the water, raising my hand over my eyes to shield them from the morning sun. Before me was a petite Shang girl with her hair in a bun. She was naked and on her knees in the mud, scooping handfuls of it and dropping them into a wooden pail.
A lovely, long-legged Anatolian carrying buckets, walked to the Shang. She put down the empty buckets and took the full one. Both slaves watched me nervously.
Up and down the river, kneeling and bending in the shallow water, were nude slave girls. Dotted among them were overseers like me, cracking whips. Further out were guards keeping an eye for runaways.
My eyes followed the Anatolian (and her long legs) as she walked up away from the shore to a large, wooden cart. Their girls lined up behind it, carrying their buckets, before dumping their mud inside the cart. Hitched to the cart were four slave girls, their wrists chained to the crossbars. An overseer cracked his whip behind them, and they leaned forward, straining as they pulled the cart forward.
The carts made their way to a brickworks area. There, smoke rose from stone and earth ovens as groups of slaves lay on their knees, making mud bricks with wooden molds. I watched a different cart load up with baked bricks, and head off, and overseer at its side. It made its way to the other side of the camp; there, the wall was being built.
It was also in the exact direction of where I had found the corpse.
Not all the slaves had been set to working on the wall. A Bharaji girl walked past me, carrying a wicker cage, fish trap over her back. She waded in the water till it came up to her slender waist, and lowered the trap into the water. A few feet from her, a blonde-haired Siberian lifted out a trap; it was filled with flopping, armored fish, and a crab-like creature that was eating one.
A slaver came walking towards me.
"You are relieved, Brother."
I nodded to him and made my way back into camp.
It was quite a different place with almost a thousand slaves at work. Three slaves carrying baskets of herbs and berries stopped and bowed their heads as I passed. Ahead of me was another cart, a man riding atop it. He drew his whip and struck; slaves cried out, and the cart jolted forward into motion.
All around, slaves went to and fro from their duties. Many were real, but others were demeaning pointless tasks. I passed a pit filled with stones alongside another, which was almost empty. A mixed group of slaves picked stones from the full pit, carried them to the other, and dropped them in. An overseer sat on a box and watch them, yawning and sipping wine.
"Finish in the hour, or each of you will taste my whip upon your backs!"
"Brother," I went over to him. "Didn't they already do this?"
"Yes, three times this morn. They will go back and forth, filling and refilling, until the evening. Then tomorrow, I will work them again."
I looked over to the slaves: their expressions were serious, sweat pouring down their naked bodies.
"They are beautiful," I said.
"Aye, that they are. Slavery becomes them! They will be lovelier still after a few days of this."
Meaningless tasks had a different value when training or retraining a slave. She will not look back on it and be proud of her labor. Instead, she will be all too keenly aware, that she was given the task for no other reason than to better understand her place. It crushes resistance as in obeying, they consent to such treatment. Repeated tasks, mean repeated consent. The slave becomes accustomed to obeying.
I continued on my way.
I soon came upon a new structure; a rectangular mud wall around a small, open, compound. It had an opening screened by a fiber mat. I lifted away the mat and peeked inside.
In the center of the compound was a thatched-roof, open shed, held up by wooden posts. Kneeling in the shed in three rows, were 12, naked slave girls.
A metal bar no higher than my waist was mounted over each row of kneeling girls. Every 4 feet along a bar, was a pair of wrist shackles and an iron collar. Each of the girls was collared and shackled, their wrists hanging parallel with their faces.
I noticed immediately that all were well-breasted.
They saw me coming and turned and looked back over their shoulders at me. Standing in front of one of the rows was an unchained, black-haired slave girl, carrying a small bucket of milk. She regarded me, eyes wide.
"Carry on, Slave," I said.
"Yes, Master," she said in an Anatolian accent.
She put the bucket down in front of a blonde, took hold of the girl's breasts, and began kneading them. Milk formed and squirted down into the bucket.
A sharp, acidic scent filled my nose.
"Slave, what is that smell?"
"It is milk root, Master," she pointed to the corner of the compound. There was an open wooden crate there with yellow, dried herbs inside. I went to the box: the smell was indeed coming from it.
Beside the box were four, small, cages. Curled up inside each of them, clutching at the wicker bars, was a slave girl. They studied me like deer watching a wolf.
By the cages was a 6' x 6' square of baked, clay tiles. Wooden posts had been rammed into the ground at each of its corners. Chained shackles had been fitted to them, and lay coiled on the ground.
"What is milk root, Slave?" I asked the Anatolian.
"I know only that it is a herb, Master," she said with her head down, "and that when fed to a slave after she has been bred, she will give milk within the day."
The caged slaves turned in their confines to try to see me better. One was a stunning Shang girl, with long, silk-black, perfectly straight hair. Her skin was gently tanned. She reminded me of Zana. Her breasts were large and well-formed, with brown aureoles and nipples.
I picked up a few grains of milk root (which was not a root) and studied them. They had an oily feel, and they smelled quite pungent.
"Have you eaten this?" I asked the caged girls.
"Yes, Master," they chorused.
"Why are you in cages, and not chained for milking?"
"We are waiting to be bred," said the Shang.
I pulled out my knife. There were gasps from some of the girls, and the caged ones tried to shrink back. The Shang stared at me; her eyes were large, dark, intelligent.
I went to her cage and cut away the leather thongs that tied it shut. I opened the cage door.
"Out."
The Shang crawled out on her hands and knees.
"There," I pointed to the brick square.
She crawled to the middle of it. I took one shackle, opened it, and fastened it around her ankle. Then I secured her other ankle, and then both her wrists. She knelt on her hands and knees.
I pulled down my pants, got down behind her, and got to work. Her body was thrown forward with each stroke, her hair tossing. She started to moan; I cupped one hand over her mouth.
When I ejaculated, I pulled her close against me. I held her like that for a few moments, she lowered her head down to the tiles and began panting. Then I stood and shook myself clean; semen dripped onto her back.
I uncuffed her wrists and ankles and led her by her hair to one of the milking shed.
"Kneel."
She knelt under a bar, the collar hanging down by her face.
I lifted her long, silk-soft hair out of the way, and pressed the collar against her warm, sweaty skin. It clicked as it locked. Then I took each of her wrists and shackled them as well.
"What do you say?" I said.
"Thank you, Master."
I left the stable.
Outside, I saw a group of about 20 slave girls walking clustered together, some holding each other's arms and looking about with wide eyes. Herding them were several of Gudea's butchers. They wore their thick aprons and carried short training whips.
"You," one pointed his whip as a slave who was passing. She stared, transfixed. He gestured towards the group of huddled slaves, and the girl lowered her head and quickly joined it.
"What's this?" I stepped in front of the man.
"Easy, Brother," he raised a hand. "The culling is done."
"Then where are you taking them?"
"To be branded. We are not idle, like you hunters."
He stepped past me, and the group continued towards Gudea's little section of the camp.
I made my way without further incident to our hunting claw's tents.
***
"Greetings, Master!" Haley came running out of my tent. Her long, blonde hair had been tied back in a ponytail. Around her neck and below her slave collar, were several necklaces made from dried seeds dyed blue and white. A black cord was tied around her waist and hung precariously over her hips. It was strung with blue, thin, tubular shells. She wore string anklets fitted with light gray, polished, River stones.
The tanned, tall, beauty knelt at my feet, hands on her knees and smiling up at me. It was a beautiful, rich smile.
"Where are the others, Slave?"
"I do not know, Master. Only I am here. Your meal is ready. May I feed you, Master?"
"No, pretty one," I reached down and stroked her cheek, my hand cupping her jaw. She nuzzled my hand without taking her eyes off mine. "But you will hold my wine."
I pointed to the tent and watched her lovely behind as she crawled back inside. I stepped in after her.
Sitting on a low, stone table was fried meat, baked flatbread, and some root tubers that had been mashed together with spices and berries and slow-cooked.
"What's this?" I sat down and peered at it.
"It is the food of my people," she said, sitting back on her heels with her knees wide apart. She poured red wine into a goblet. "I have made it with some of the berries here. It tastes the same."
I tasted some.
"It is very good."
"Thank you, Master!" She lit up.
Haley enjoyed cooking for me. I encouraged it: it was a sign of deep affection.
"You are very changed," I observed as I bit into a piece of meat.
"I am happy, Master."
"Why?"
"I enjoy being owned. I like being a slave."
Like every other slave in the camp, she was a complete submissive.
"You also give me to eat, and I am safe when I sleep in your tent."
I waited for her to go on-but she didn't. It said volumes about her life on the Siberian step.
I finished eating and drank the wine, while she licked my fingers clean and (with my permission) finished the scraps.
"Will there be anything else, Master?" She asked.
I regarded her large, blue, eyes.
"Yes."
I stood in front of her, my feet apart. She giggled, undid my belt, and pulled down my pants. My testicles were cupped in her hand as she lifted my penis aside with the other. Her fingers were warm, soft, I felt electricity at her touch. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, pressing her face into my crotch. I felt her tongue snaking out and licking my balls, and she pushed them into her mouth and sucked them. She spat them out and looked up at me, smiling, saliva hanging from her lips.
Haley gripped my thighs and put her mouth over my penis. Her long, golden hair bounced back and forth as she bobbed her head. She did maybe 10 or 15 strokes and then pulled her head free, saliva and semen spilling from her lips onto her chin.
"Master has had another woman!" she said, throwing her hair back. "I can taste her!"
"Yes," I reached down and stroked her hair. "Are you jealous, Haley?"
She took my penis back into her mouth as an answer. After a few more strokes, I pressed her head against my crotch, my penis sliding to the back of her throat. I held her like that while I orgasmed. When I was done, I pulled my penis free, she chased the tip with her lips and rolled the foreskin back with her soft fingers. She licked the skin underneath and sucked away the semen.
"Good Slave," I said. "You did that very well."
"Thank you, Master. I do not want you to sell me and then buy or seize another woman."
"But what if I don't sell you? What if I get another woman, and keep both of you?"
"You will own many girls, Master," she sat back and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "But Haley will be your best slave!"
I bent down, kissed her, and pulled my pants back up.
"Now you will come with me."
"Of course," she sat up on her knees. "Where are you taking me, Master?"
"To brand you."