A shooting star burned across the night sky and disappeared over the horizon. It trailed sparks behind it that flared before slowly fading out.
"There goes another one," said Duzil. "That one will land right over the battleground."
"With our luck," said Ettun, darkly, "we’ll get sent to check, just in case."
We were four men on horseback, making our way in the predawn darkness. The unpolluted night sky was filled with stars; elbowing each other for room. It was no wonder that the humans of Hyperborea thought they were godly. I had never bothered to learn the positions of the stars in the sky of the 21st century, but here such knowledge was a matter of life and death. Sailors and caravaneers used the stars to navigate space. High priests used the stars to foresee the future.
Behind us, the cart lizard grunted and farted loudly. It was as tall at the shoulder as a man standing, and crushed its way through the ferns on feet shaped like an elephant's. It pulled no cart. Instead, ropes thrown over its back were tied to crude, wooden cages that clattered against its sides. Each cage was a cube, 3 feet on its side.
We carried no torches: we did not want to give away our presence to either our prey-or that which might prey on us. These were not safe lands, the no-man’s-land between the territory of humans–and gods. Our horses stepped with caution through the ferns, feeling about for steady footholds. We did not rush them: these hunting nights had become routine.
"There it is!" Said Duzil. "Maybe it will give us the biggest haul of the night, and Rindar will reward us!"
"Ha! Or maybe we will find that crawling creatures infest them, and have eaten their eyes!"
said Ettun. The man was cup-half-empty, incarnate.
Riding alongside me was a tall, bald, gaunt man who seemed very much a Nosferatu vampire. He just nodded to Duzil and carried on. This was Fogrim; a man of the fewest of words. He was the wisest of us-or the dimmest.
The four of us were a "slaver’s claw;" the smallest ‘field unit’ of slavers at work, seizing captives. Our horses would allow us to run down anyone we found. We had the car lizard to bring back our trophies. Most of the females who survived transport to Hyperborea, were enslaved by teams such as ours.
We drew closer to the light, which resolve itself into a bonfire. A wide ditch had been dug around, it in a circle. As we grew closer still, we could hear moans coming from it.
"See?" Ettun spat. "I told you some filthsome horror would have got to our crop before we could."
"Only you would receive gifts from the Gods, and wonder if better, had been given to another." Said Duzil.
We reached the ditch around the bonfire. Lying inside it were three, naked, girls. Two were ancient North Eurasians; tall,Siberian, brunettes with long hair. One muttered to herself and clawed at the side of the ditch, staring up at the fire. The other one was curled up in a circle, shivering. The third female was a petite Bharaji with hair falling past her shoulders. She lay in the dirt, suddenly looking up when she heard the approach of the horses. She stared up right at me: eyes not focusing. Her jaw dropped and she cried out in alarm. It was a weak, tired sound.
"Ha!" Ettun rode up and looked down at them, licking his lips. "These are some fine looking animals. I think that one will earn my red cord!"
I dismounted and approached the ditch. Steps had been cut into it going down going down to the bottom. On the other side of the ditch, the wall was sheer. Just over it, the bonfire burned.
I crouched down by the Siberians.
"This one is burning up," I put my hand against the curled up girl’s forehead. "And the babbling one is not much better."
The babbler kept staring at the fire, speaking in one of the countless Paleolithic languages of the Siberian steppe. Most would disappear on the tundra, as tribes melded, starved, and killed each other-or were transported here. She shivered, her skin covered in sweat. I took a moment to admire her strong cheekbones, and angular features. She was stunning. All of them, were stunning.
The Bharaji girl cried out again, cowering from me behind her hands. I snapped my fingers in front of her, and snapped them again pointing up towards the fire. She squinted at my hand, following it to the bright flames. She instantly calmed, staring with her large eyes at the bonfire.
This was Transport Sickness-a state of disorientation, delirium, and life-threatening fever, that captured humans experienced on waking in the liquefying remains of their transport eggs. Some recovered from it quickly. Others, not at all. All sufferers were drawn to bright light. Across the landing area, Rindar had teams like ours checking on bonfires. On the first day, we had found as many as 10 girls per bonfire trap. Yesterday, that number went down by about half. Today, we were only finding two or three girls.
They would not be a fourth day: any still disoriented enough to be caught by these traps, were either already caught, or dead.
"We should do something about the fever," I picked up the curled-up brunette in my arms. She did not resist. Indeed, it was not clear she even knew what was going on.
"To what point?" Said Ettun. He picked up the other Siberian and threw her roughly over his shoulder. He stroked her long, shapely legs as he carried her out of the pit, and licked her thigh.
"So that more of them survive," I replied.
"If they cannot survive the Transport Sickness, how then will they survive Hyperborea?"
I had no answer to that.
We put the two girls down, side-by-side on the ground. Duzil dismounted, his hand clutching a bundle of short, rope lengths. I took several from him and went back down into the ditch.
The Bharaji girl turned and looked up at me; she knew well that I was there. She looked behind and about me, as if trying to pin me down in the darkness. She was on her hands and knees, mud caked to her legs and hands, her large breasts swinging freely. I imagined how they would feel in my hands.
I got behind her. She looked left and right, wondering where I had gone. She squealed as I grabbed one arm and pulled behind her back, twisting it. She tried to jerk free, but lacked the strength. I grabbed her other arm and pulled it back, holding her small wrists together in one hand. I bound them together, pushed her into the mud, and sat on her back. Then I seized her by her ankles and pulled her legs back, till her heels were pressed against her buttocks. She squirmed and moaned; I found it a pleasant sound. I crossed and bound her ankles, threw her over my shoulder, and climbed out of the ditch.
Duzil had opened three of the cages hanging off the sides of the cart lizard. I squeezed the Bharaji into one. She whimpered and tried to push against the sides of the small cage. Her breasts jiggled as she struggled.
“Shush,”I reached into the cage and stroked her cheek. “Be still.”
She stopped struggling and looked in my direction, peering.
I cupped her left breast. She gasped but did not recoil. I gave it a gentle squeeze and enjoyed it’s warmth and fullness. She would fetch a good price.
I closed the cage door and tied it shut. Duzil caged the feverish Siberian, who offered no resistance. Ettun however took the other one, climbed back onto his horse, and threw her across his saddle. He grabbed her by her long hair, yanking her head up. She gasped, and her licked her face. The girl winced but did not seem to understand what was happening. Ettun took a red cord out of his pack and tied it around her thigh. It had a small clay tablet affixed to it. On it was his initial.
"This one is mine!"
For each share Rindar had granted us, we were entitled to claim a slave girl (like most of the men I had one shares). These we could keep in our personal tents. The way a slaver would know that another had marked out a girl for his own (and to leave her alone) would be a red cord tied somewhere around her body.
I reached into a pouch and looked at the two, red cords, inside. It was strange to think that, after four months of lying with tavern girls and captured runaway slaves, I would own a girl of my own.
I had not thought it through. Where would I put her? What would I do with her (when not recreating)? What if-or I suppose when-she became pregnant? These didn’t seem the greatest of problems to me, but I still hadn’t the answers.
The others had all picked their women, I had yet to pick-I could not bring myself to choose. How does one pick a girl that one keeps? Perhaps I would find one back at the camp.
"Let us be off," said Duzil as he climbed back on his horse. "There are yet for more bonfires to check before we may return."
***
Day broke. It brought the sight of a long, rolling, plain of red-brown dirt. Green, thorny plants and black cycads split out of the ground and sheltered against basalt boulders. We traveled alongside the river; it was more brown like a tropical waterway, rather than red. It roared, whitecaps forming and smashing against rocks that jutted up from beneath.
"Look upon the anger of the God Dagon," said Duzil, looking down from a small cliff at the fast-flowing rapids. "Any fool enough to attempt crossing, will most certainly be taken by him. Let us hope that none of our prey make foolish attempt to cross, in their weakened and maddened state."
"And yet they have," said Ettun the Pessimist. "Yesterday, downriver, Loro’s team did discover eight females, drowned and washed up along the shore. Dagon takes his share to his satisfaction. Only thus will he allow us to return with those that we would claim for ourselves."
Right up along the edges of the river were giant ferns and tall, cycad trees. They grew better closer to the water; buffered against the red, clay, wastes. Along the riverbank, lizard-like creatures with sails along their backs were hunted by giant dragonflies and three-foot long, centipedes. Those that strayed too close to the water were snapped up in a spray of angry thrashing; claimed by shark-like, armored fish.
None of these creatures harassed us though. There were too many of us and the cart lizard shook the ground with each step. Nothing that had evolved on land by the Devonian had any right to do that.
"What are you doing?" Said Ettun, giving Duzil a dirty look.
We were ascending a rocky shelf that rose up along the side of the river. Towards the rise was a particularly thick growth of giant ferns and trees. Duzil’s horse went straight into it, lowering its head and chomping on tender leaves.
"We do not have time to humor your horse." Said Ettun.
"He likes these," said Duzil. "It costs us not to appease this beast!"
"By the Gods!” Ettun spat, “I will not delay here while others return with-"
"Silence," quiet Fogrim spoke. The Nosferatu held up his hand and stared into the undergrowth. He grabbed a javelin from a pack at his side and flung it into the ferns.
They erupted and girls ran from them, screaming.
"Form a line!" Yelled Duzil, drawing his whip and cracking it. Ettun and Fogrim quickly went to his right. I went left.
"Gerard, stay where you are!" said Duzil, urging his horse forward. “You be the anchor!” He too raised and cracked his whip. It smacked into the dirt kicking up sand and pebbles.
The three of them fanned out, till we formed a loose line that cut off the screaming girls.
Two burst from between the ferns and halted, just a few feet away from me. They clutched each other, eyes wide in terror. They had long, dark, hair and their tanned features were Semitic: Neolithic Anatolians. They wore crude chestwraps and loincloths made from leaves.
I drew my whip and lashed at them. They screamed as it struck across their legs. They turned and ran, back into the ferns. I watched as the other girls ran up the cliff.
"Advance and cut them off!" Ordered Duzil. “He urged his horse forward. We closed in, shortening our line – trapping our prey up the cliff.
I looked past Duzil and over the edge: rapids were raging along the sides of the cliff, about two stories down. The sound of cracking whips competed with the roar.
"This is not a hunt, this is sport!" Said Ettun, his face one giant grin.
We reached the end of the cliff. Ahead of us, right up against the drop, were 12 girls. They were Anatolians and Siberians. The former were dark-haired and the latter were brunettes and blondes. They wore chestwraps, skirts, and loincloths of plant fiber.
“They must have recovered quickly from the Transport Sickness,” said Duzil.
"Look at that one!" Said Fogrim. His eyes were wide and his jaw had dropped.
At the very back of the group of cowering and squealing females, was a tall, slender, Amazon. She had long golden hair that fell to the small of her back. Her eyes were a light blue, set in an oval face. She looked like a Victoria's Secret runway model, but her build was more athletic, graceful. The breasts were large and perky; they swung violently from side to side in their leaf-bra, as she looked about for a way to escape. She stared at us, mouth open eyes wide, a hunted animal.
"Lassos and ropes," commanded Duzil.
My job was ropes; I got off my horse and pulled some lengths of fixed twine from a saddlebag. Ettun did the same.
Duzil and Fogrim put away their whips and pulled out long, pre-made, lassos. They began to twirl them in the air as if they were cowboys.
Fogrim threw, first. His lasso came down over a petite Anatolian. She squealed as he yanked; the noose tightening and pinning her elbows against her body. Fogrim yanked and the girl stumbled forward. The other females cried out and tried to hold onto her. Fogrim gave another yank and she was pulled clear
She grunted and struggled, her small feet skidding in the mud as he patiently drew her in. Once she was closer, I rushed up behind her. She screamed as I locked my arm around her waist, put my leg out, and tripped her. She went down in the dirt, legs kicking as she wriggled. I sat down over her back and quickly tied her wrists together. Then I grabbed her kicking feet, crossed her ankles, tying them together as well.
I slipped the lasso off her shoulders and Fogrim drew it back. Then he went back to twirling it in the air.
"Why don't you try it?" Asked Duzil. He adjusted his lasso and handed it to me. On the ground before him, Ettun was hog-tying a tall brunette.
"I have never used this except in practice," I took the lasso. It felt light in my hands.
"They are not leaving here, except in our cages, or down in the water in Dagon’s embrace," said Duzil. "Go on!"
Just as I had practiced, I began twirling the lasso. Girls stared at me, exchanging panicked words in the clipped, hard sounds of the steppes and the softer, longer vowels of Western Asia.
"Throw it!" Said Ettun.
I let the lasso fly.
It came down over a petite, red-head’s, throat. I yanked on the rope and it tightened. She choked and clawed at it, stumbling forward. She tried to resist but that only made the knot tighter; I dragged her slowly towards me. She collapsed at my feet, looking up at me, one hand reaching up to me and the other clutching the rope.
I let her gasp like that for a few moments before loosening the lasso, and pulling it off. She doubled over and choked, while Ettun bound her hands tightly behind her back.
“Your first catch!” Duzil smiled. “You are a slaver now! Everyone, lassos! Bind your own captives."
Soon, the air was filled with flying rope. After we had dragged out four of them, it became a little harder: the girls had more room to dodge.
"That beauty will be mine," said Ettun, leering at the blonde Amazon we all had our eyes on.
"You have already used your red cord," said Duzil. "She will be mine!"
"All three of you have claimed girls," I said.
I looked right at the blonde. She seemed more wary of me and of the others; and with good reason.
I was only trying to catch her.
We got them down to just six remaining. Some looked over the cliff edge, judging distance, but always they came away from it.
"Do not worry," said Duzil, catching my eye. "They will not jump. They are submissive slave stock, that is why the gods chose them. They will take capture and slavery by our hand, rather than freedom and death, by their own."
"And should any choose otherwise," said Ettun, "then it is the will of the gods. Dagon will take his sacrifices."
The blue-eyed blonde stood at the very edge of the cliff, looking straight down. A calm seemed to come over her. Her figure straightened.
She jumped.
“No!”
"By Set!"
I do not know what came over me in that moment, but sometimes in life, one knows exactly what to do without having to think about it. This was one of those times. I dropped my lasso, ran to the cliff, shoving girls out of my way, and jumped.
It was only two stories; but I didn’t know how deep the water was. The River came up to meet me; a boiling wash off murky brown. I struck like a hammer and went straight down, bubbles boiling around me. The water was ice cold and dark. I felt a strong current close around me and pull me down.
I did not resist. In the dark, and disoriented, it was the hardest thing to do. The water pulled me deeper, till all around me was blackness. Just as I was about to panic, the current changed and forced me to the surface.
My head burst through the water, I gasped for air. In those few seconds I had moved 30 feet downriver. The cliff was behind me, stunned females and slavers alike staring at me from its edge. I saw Duzil down by the shore, running along the edge.
I heard a woman cry out.
Ahead of me was the blonde, struggling and kicking against the water. She was healthy and strong, and knew how to swim. However, she had tried to swim against the current. That had tired her out-and would soon drown her.
The current pulled me back down again. I held my breath and looked about as best I could. There were dark shapes in the water; some as large and self-assured in their movements, like sharks. Suddenly I made out the pale, long, legs of the Siberian, thrashing about. Her kicks became weaker and the current kept dragging her under.
I kicked upwards, and swam up till I broke the surface. The Siberian was just a few feet from me now, floundering and crying out. She regarded me with a different expression; desperation. I swam towards her and clamped my arm around her long, graceful throat. The other one banded around her waist. Her soft body was pressed against mine, her wet, hair against my face.
I felt the current pulling down again, and quickly took a deep breath. The Siberian cried out and flailed, but I held her tight against me. This time the water pushed us towards the riverbank, the long reeds of water plants anchored to the riverbed, brushed against my feet. It was now or never.
I pushed up to the surface, holding the blonde the way a lifeguard would. I saw the shore just 20 feet away. I swam at an angle to the current. First it took us further away, but slowly, surely, we towards the shore. The Siberian girl clutched at my arm but did not resist.
At last, I felt the sand and shells of the bank beneath me. I stood, and dragged the her onto the beach.
The blonde lay on her back in the sand, gasping and spluttering. She spat out water and looked up at me, her eyes seemed filled with relief and thanks.
I grabbed her by her throat.
She cried out and clutched at my arm, trying to break free, but I sat down over her belly. I pushed down on her throat, pinning her to the sand. She started choking, eyes bulging.
My other hand grabbed the leaf fiber chest wrap she wore, and yanked. It tore away in my hands, and her large, well-developed breasts swung free. She had Brown aureoles and nipples: I had felt the softness with my fingers.
Next, I reached down and grabbed at the grass fiber skirt she wore, and ripped that off as well. Her pussy was hairless and smooth: all those arriving by the landing beasts, are shaved from the shoulders down.
I rolled her onto her front. She put her palms down on the sand and tried to get up. I shoved my hand between her shoulder blades, and forced her down. I grabbed one hand and yanked it behind her back, then the other. I bound them and let go, she tugged at her wrists, trying to pull them free. Then, I grabbed her long, slender legs and bound her ankles together.
I rolled her on to her back and regarded the female I had captured.
She stared with light blue eyes, her large chest heaving as she breathed. Her lips were parted, she seemed both anxious and afraid.
I took my red cord out, and tied it tight around her throat. The clay tablet with my initial hung under her chin.
Duzil came running up, panting.
"I do not know whether to sing praises to your courage, or curse you for your stupidity." He said.
I stood, picked up my girl, and threw her over my shoulder.
"Likely both," I patted her buttocks; they were large and well shaped. "I own her!"
"So you do. None may claim that you haven’t the beast."
***
We made our way back to the others. The other females had been subdued; they lay bound in a row, stripped naked, the cart lizard standing alongside them. Ettun was opening cages while Fogrim shoved them inside them, one by one. Both men regarded me as we approached.
They were not smiling.
"What you did was wrong," said Fogrim. "You have cheated the god, Dagon. This will bring misfortune upon us."
"Dagon does not exist!" I replied. "And if he did, he is not a god. And either way, go fuck yourself, buddy."
The expression was lost on them but the intent was not.
"Let us not bicker," said Duzil. "We have had a good night; likely the best of any of the slaving claws. Let us return now to camp to claim what rest and reward we may, and set these females towards their ordained future."
Fogrim and Ettun remained glaring at me.
“There will be a reckoning for this,” said Fogrim. “You know this, Duzil.”
“I do not presume to know the minds of gods,” Duzil replied. “But I do I will not suffer weak discipline in my hunting claw. Attend to purpose, and let not one more word of this matter pass foolish lips!”
Grudgingly, they turned away.