Chapter 3 Nasrin
NASRIN
The vaklok lasted the entire day. Unfortunately, our Sea Sand friends didn’t do too well at first. The braxilk-riding race left Oxriel looking like he was going to vomit all over his own loincloth, and Dalk came away from that event missing most of his hair.
Dalk’s assigned mount had apparently decided that Dalk’s long braid looked like a tasty little treat – an early bird gets the worm situation – and it used its lethal beak to snap the braid clean off before swallowing it.
The archery competition was likewise a disappointing affair, Zoren, Dalk, and Oxriel never having had a chance to shoot an arrow from a bow before now.
But things picked up in the afternoon, where all the competitors were on more even footing.
I watched it all from Gahn Thaleo’s stonily silent side, wondering more than once why he’d bother to sit beside me if he seemed so damn tense and weird about it.
Stillness enveloped the man like a dome, but I didn’t sense calmness in it.
I sensed ceaseless violence, churning just below the surface.
Something powerful kept carefully leashed.
In the quiet between us, quiet where I could not even hear him breathe, the air seemed to thrum.
Frankly, it made things awkward to the point that I considered getting up and moving somewhere else. But then I wouldn’t be near the front where I had a good view. And I’d be abandoning Tilly and Fiona.
And…
I didn’t want him to be the reason I moved. It felt, in some strange way, like he’d somehow be winning if I did.
But eventually, he was the one to move. After rounds of hand-to-hand combat that Dalk emerged from – bloodied, victorious, and somehow missing a loincloth – Gahn Thaleo stalked down onto the stone to lift Dalk’s fist in victory.
He declared that Dalk could choose a nurse from among the unmated females – basically, us human women – to apply healing Vrika’s blood to his wounds, which were numerous.
Before he could do so, Fiona leaped out of her seat and shrilly announced that she volunteered.
Look, I had a lot of feelings about being here.
About being on this planet, in these mountains, under Gahn Thaleo’s rule.
There was a viscous mix of gratitude and resentment.
I was alive, but I’d been dumped into a life I’d never asked for.
I’d left my world behind, but I’d also made wonderful friends – women who were more like family to me now.
And, I considered some of the Sea Sand males friends, too.
Oxriel, who was a delightful golden retriever in alien form; Zoren, the quiet Death Plains male with the pale, penetrating sight stars; Dalk, who was gruff and grumpy and so clearly infatuated beyond belief with Fiona.
And her, apparently, with him, based on how she just about shot out of her spot on the bench.
Despite all my complicated feelings about this whole situation, I still felt a near-giddy flutter of excitement for Fiona.
I could wish that life had turned out differently – for me, maybe for all of us – and still appreciate these moments of happiness for others.
Seeing Fiona and Dalk circle each other so warily, and with such obviously intense yearning, was weirdly wholesome.
It made me think of high school days, or maybe even primary school.
Crushes and secrets and young hearts. It was almost pure.
Well, maybe not that pure, considering that Fiona’s gaze had just about glued itself to Dalk’s bared genitals before he picked up his shredded loincloth and held it in front of himself.
“Here,” said Zaria, handing Fiona a jar of Vrika’s blood and a pile of clean squares of hides.
She gestured a long, violet-coloured arm towards another narrow valley that led away from this area.
“A clearing with a pool and waterfall exists there for the victor’s ceremonial bath.
Then, you may administer the Vrika’s blood. ”
I couldn’t imagine that Dalk would be interested in this ceremonial bath. Unlike the Deep Sky people and us humans, the Sea Sand guys hated water with the passion of a thousand burning Zaphrinax suns. Or the passion of a thousand bath-avoiding cats, which was probably about the same.
But Dalk followed Fiona without complaint.
I watched them go, then realized Gahn Thaleo was doing the same thing.
My eyes tracked the Gahn’s stern profile, the unyielding bulk of his body, my attention going to him nearly involuntarily.
He was like one of the mountains he ruled over.
Smaller than the peaks that towered around us, certainly. But just as implacable. Just as hard.
No. He’s not a mountain. He’s just a man.
I fought off a sudden prickle of gooseflesh along my arms. I had to remember that he was only a person, just like me.
He wasn’t some ancient mountain or fallen god.
He may have been an alien, but he was still a man with thoughts and, presumably, feelings, even if he kept them locked behind the impenetrable veil of his sight stars.
I wondered what those thoughts and feelings were as he watched Dalk and Fiona disappear together. Did he sense the growing connection between them?
Did he resent it?
Would he try to stop it?
That possibility made my jaw tense with sudden protectiveness of Dalk and Fiona’s blooming relationship.
I didn’t think that Dalk had had a mate vision involving Fiona at this point, but in my opinion, the heart’s choice was just as valid as the decree handed down by the ageless spirits of this planet.
What would Gahn Thaleo do if one of his men had a mate vision that involved a woman who’d already made her choice? Who had chosen someone else?
Suddenly, I was dying to ask him. The question burned in my lungs.
But I didn’t get the chance. Zoren and Oxriel appeared before us, Oxriel grinning, Zoren more subdued. Both of them were bleeding and battered from that last round of combat.
“Oh, crap,” I said, swiftly standing. “Zaria, is there any more-”
But she had already anticipated me. She passed another jar of Vrika’s blood down the bench to us, followed by more clean hides.
Unlike the meal-delivery parts of the day, we didn’t seem to be in charge of healing these guys.
Oxriel and Zoren were happy to dip their hides into the jars and begin cleaning – and healing – their own wounds.
“You missed a spot,” I said to Oxriel, pointing at his mouth. His lips, chin, and most of his neck were black with drying blood.
“Oh, that is not mine!” he said brightly. “It is Dalk’s! I bit him! Right here.” He slapped a wet square of hide against his own shoulder.
“You bit him?” Tilly gasped while I snorted. I hadn’t actually seen that happen. In fairness, these guys moved fast. Most of the combat rounds had just been blurs of limbs and hair and, apparently, teeth.
“Of course!” Oxriel said, wiping Dalk’s blood from his face.
“Dalk is a brutal opponent. I was becoming rather worried that he might forget the nature of the competition between us and attempt to snap my neck. I figured that sinking my fangs in was a good enough strategy in that moment. I did not win the round, but I did come away with my life, and I consider that a very good result, in and of itself! Even if he did not taste very good.”
“I wonder if Fiona is finding out how he tastes right now,” Tilly said to me on a conspiratorial whisper.
But, unfortunately, the men with us had scary-good hearing.
“Fiona?” Zoren said, looking taken aback. “Surely, Dalk would not command her to clean away his blood with her tongues! Even if he refuses to enter the water, she can merely use the hides!”
“Tongue,” I reminded Zoren gently. “Humans only have one.”
Oxriel looked indignant. “Only one tongue means it is even more precious! It is not to be used for licking foul Dalk clean!” He turned abruptly, as if he planned to single-handedly rescue Fiona and her beleaguered tongue from Dalk’s bloody grasp.
“That isn’t what Tilly meant,” I said hurriedly. “It was just a joke.”
“Explain this joke to us,” Zoren said, his dark brows pulled together, his sight stars vibrating with concentration.
“He is not even wearing a proper loincloth!” Oxriel went on, ignoring Zoren’s interjection. “Without a loincloth, his cock will be even less under control than normal!”
“Less…Under control?” Tilly asked, sounding halfway between laughter and worry.
But there was no hint of laughter in Oxriel’s eyes when he gravely swung his tail in confirmation.
“Yes,” he hissed vehemently. “I saw him, after Fiona did the kiss to him at the New Age Day!”
“New Year’s Eve?” I asked after a moment. “Wait, Fiona kissed Dalk?”
She’d sure kept that quiet! I hadn’t seen it happen at our New Year’s Eve party about a month ago.
“Yes, she did!” Oxriel cried, and there was something disbelieving, maybe even offended, in the reply. Like he still couldn’t believe that Fiona had chosen Dalk, of all men, to kiss that night. Tilly and I eyed each other as he went on with earnest indignation.
“I saw him afterwards! I saw his rogue cock, pressing his poor loincloth to the very limits of its constitution!”
“Not the loincloth’s constitution!” Tilly gasped with mock horror.
“Indeed!” Oxriel said seriously. “I saw his hard cock jerking this way and that like an untrained irkdu! Absolutely no control. No courtesy. No decorum at all!”
“No decorum?” I asked, fighting laughter. It was a fight I was rapidly losing. “You mean Dalk? Or his, er, parts?”
“Both!” he proclaimed. “Dalk is a scoundrel. And so is his cock!” He heaved a great sigh. “Fiona needs a barrier between her and that unruly organ. A buffer, if you will. She is liable to lose an eye, if not!”
Tilly dissolved into snorts. I took a shuddering breath, and then tried to keep my voice steady as I said, “Oxriel, do you think that maybe the lack of loincloth on Dalk’s, er, unruly organ, was perhaps part of the reason Fiona nearly tripped over herself volunteering to go with him just now?”
Oxriel appeared stunned by this suggestion. Zoren frowned, muttering, “I did not see her nearly trip.”
“It’s very good of you both to be so worried about the integrity of Fiona’s tongue and, er, eye,” I said with what I hoped sounded like kindness.
“But I really think that it’s going to be alright.
Fiona knows what she’s about. She chose to go with him.
You can definitely bring him a new loincloth,” I added, because I didn’t think anyone (besides maybe Fiona) wanted to see Dalk complete the rest of the vaklok with his big, bare dick flopping around.
“But maybe just wait a few minutes more…”
He did so. But soon enough a few minutes turned to five more, then fifteen.
“How many wounds do you think Dalk’s got to heal?” Zoren asked Oxriel. Even the other Deep Sky men were all sorted out now, glancing around in anticipation of resuming the vaklok. Gahn Thaleo was among them, standing on the stone, his gaze fixed on the valley Dalk and Fiona had disappeared into.
“Maybe you should go get them now,” I said, once again feeling protective of Dalk and Fiona’s time alone. I’d much rather have sweet Oxriel go and interrupt them to fetch Dalk back than Gahn Thaleo.
Oxriel didn’t need any more encouragement than that.
He bounded away, snatching a fresh hide, presumably for wrapping Dalk’s loins, as he did so.
Moments later, all three of them returned, with Fiona walking slightly ahead.
She looked flustered, her hair mussed as she pulled up her hood.
Oxriel looked sheepish. Dalk looked absolutely murderous with anger.
“What do you suppose Ox just interrupted?” Tilly asked, no doubt noting the charged atmosphere among the group.
We both stared meaningfully at Fiona as she returned to her spot with us on the bench.
But before we could ask her to spill the details about what had just happened, Gahn Thaleo called for the resumption of the vaklok.
Then, he came back to his place on the bench.
He sat beside me for the rest of the afternoon.
I didn’t say a word.