Intended Ch. 08

CRR-ACKKK!

BOOOOMMM!

Although it had been storming endlessly for ten days, the sky-splitting sight and sound of lightning and thunder continued to wrench screams from the shivering mass huddled in the Gathering Place.

As the most solidly-built structure in the settlement, it was the only building which had been able to withstand nature's merciless assault. When it stopped raining -- if it stopped raining -- the Clan would have to completely rebuild. With winter coming, their supplies largely washed away, how were their people going to survive?

"Clan Leader! Everyone!" someone screeched from outside. "RUUUNNN!"

Rushing to the flap shielding them from the nightmare which had become their world, they lifted the hide and saw to their horror a massive wave of liquid earth rolling toward them at great speed. Once-mighty trees churned in splinters while enormous stones tossed around as tiny pebbles, all of them victims of the saturated ground roiling violently down the hill.

With terrified shrieks the people mobbed the entryway, frantic to escape, but in their panic few managed to squeeze their way out, the opening plugged with struggling bodies. Ultimately, it did not matter, for an instant later the mudslide swallowed the Camp and everything in it before continuing on its destructive course.

With a jolt the old woman sat up in the cold dark, heart racing.

Placing a trembling hand on her chest, she took a deep breath, trying to slow her pulse. Having calmed her body sufficiently to move, she rose from the furs on legs shaky from age and distress, coaxing a fresh flame from the banked fire in the hearth before hanging a pot over it for tea. It would still be quite some time before the sun returned, but the Spiritwalker knew that, like the two previous nights, she would be getting no more sleep.

In the dim light of her dwelling, Veba sat on the sleeping platform sponging her bruises with a soft skin dipped in an infusion of healing herbs the Spiritwalker had given her. Though it was nearly midmorning before the woman had risen from the furs, she felt as though she had not slept at all. But she had a job to do, and by sleeping late she had already disobeyed the shaman. She could not risk defying him altogether. She had learned the agonizing consequences of disappointing him.

Gulping the remaining contents of her cup, Veba paused in her ministrations to prepare herself another dose of the medicinal tea he had also prescribed. He told her its purpose was to reduce her pain and help heal her wounds from the inside. She had no idea if the mixture of herbs and other ingredients actually healed her body, but she had noticed it significantly numbed the pain. In fact, it worked so well she used it throughout the day, even though he had intended it only for occasional use.

The spiritual leader had been surprised when she returned to him for a fresh supply, not expecting her to request more for several more days. And though she feared he might become angry with her for running out so quickly, the medicine eased her suffering so effectively she thought it worth the risk. To her relief, he was not angry at all, giving her an even greater quantity, and suggested she increase the dose.

The tea made it difficult to concentrate, and sapped some of her energy, but within that fog she found blessed peace, a place without pain, or fear. While it did not heal her confusion, as long as she consumed it in regular intervals she discovered it really did not matter; she simply did not care about understanding anymore. As far as she was concerned, that was good enough.

After the Clan returned from the fish hunt, Veba made her first mistake, or perhaps more accurately, her first mistake after making the foolish decision to couple with Letan at the lake. Despite her nonchalant response to the Toolmaker the next day, their rough encounter had injured the woman; not enough to cause permanent damage, but enough that it would take many days to heal, and enough that the Spiritwalker would certainly notice.

Instead of reporting to him the night of their return as she had been instructed, Veba decided to spend the night drinking fermented beverages with some of her female friends. She planned to tell him they had gotten carried away and passed out, not waking until the next morning. But the real reason she stayed away was that she hoped one more night would heal the tears at the entrance of her rear passage just a little more, thereby making the injury less obvious to the shaman.

It had been a grievous error.

Her second mistake was that instead of going to see him immediately the next morning, so that her explanation might actually appear credible, she again avoided him. Too worried he would be able to figure out she evaded him on purpose, she also assumed that since their relationship was supposed to be a secret, he would not wish her to visit him during the daytime. As it turned out, that evening the Spiritwalker visited her dwelling himself, just to make sure she was not, once more, "too ill" to meet with him; from the look in his eyes she knew she dare not sidestep him again. So after the Camp grew quiet that night, Veba crept to the Ceremonial Hut, sick with dread.

Naturally her aberrant behavior only increased his suspicions, and as if he were already aware of the reason for her absence the night before, he immediately stripped her naked and strung her up, opening her body wide for inspection.

"The lashes seemed to have healed nicely. Good," he observed, running his fingertips lightly over her breasts, pausing to pinch her nipples between his fingers and twisting them until she cried out. "I am glad to see that four days without pleasures has not dulled their responsiveness; if anything, they seem more sensitive."

Prolonging her torment, the shaman slowly examined the rest of her body, even peering inside of her mouth, scrutinizing her everywhere except one area. Finally his fingers peeled open the entrance to her womanhood.

Placing the tip of his thumb above the hood covering her pleasure node, he pulled up, exposing the tiny organ to his gaze. With his other hand he penetrated her opening with three fingers while he blew a stream of warm breath on the nerve bundle.

"Why, Veba, your body does not leak its fluids for me as it did only a few days before," he noted with dismay as he pumped his digits in her drier-than-usual passage. "It has been a long time. Perhaps it needs to be reminded how to behave."

The woman whimpered, too afraid to speak, as the Spiritwalker lowered his head to her sex, making contact with her quivering nub. Caressing the sensitive flesh with the bumpy, wet surface of his tongue, he soon detected the familiar scent and feel of her arousal as her body began responding to his touch.

"Now, that is more like it," he cooed, drawing his mouth away, replacing it with his fingers. As he continued manipulating her button, his fingers' thrusts into her womanhood picked up speed. "Come now, Veba darling, surely you have not lost the ability to achieve release in four short days? I so thought we had an understanding, you and I. After the experiences we have shared one does get to know another in a very intimate way, do you not agree? I will need you to let go now, Veba; you are holding back on me, and that is so disappointing. You do not wish to disappoint me, do you?"

Though she had never needed to do so before, the woman concentrated, trying to will her body to reach its peak. This was the first time he stimulated her in such a gentle manner and she was finding it difficult to let go, despite how good it felt. Before they joined for the first time, it would have been more than sufficient, but now it was not enough.

She was afraid to tell him she could not quite get there; despite his cool demeanor, she sensed strongly that he burned with rage and she did not want to do anything to trigger it while she was in this position. So she did all she could do and began recalling her encounter with Letan, imagining what it must have been like for him to unleash the power of that formidable tool of his, battering her tight, torn ring, stretching it beyond capacity, not stopping for a moment despite her suffering until he roared, filling her narrow canal with his steaming essence.

"There. I knew you had it in you," the Spiritwalker commented brightly as Veba began to thrash and buck under his fingers. "You see, my dear, you can accomplish anything if you put your mind to it." He wiped his wet digits all over her breasts and ducked under her suspended body, standing up again behind her. "Now that you are more relaxed, let us continue with our examination, make sure the rest of you has healed as it should."

He stroked the skin of her fleshy buttocks. "Beautiful. You know, Veba, I missed you very much while you were away. Did you miss me as well?"

"Yes, Spiritwalker," she answered dutifully.

"Are you certain?"

She nodded her head.

Grasping the thick mounds in his hands he pulled them apart. "Then why did you not come and see me last night, as I requested?"

"I, I had the evening meal with Yova and Atya and we got to drinking fermented beverages and...Ahhh!"

"Oh, did that hurt, my dear?" he asked, surprise in his voice.

He withdrew his fingers, and from the searing pain Veba knew she bled once more.

"Now, I do not recall you being so injured here before you left. Perhaps I am mistaken. Even so, by now your second opening surely would be healing just as the rest of your body. I wonder why it has not?"

He soon persuaded her to confess to her encounter with the Toolmaker, and even worse, the reason why she sought the man's affections in the first place. Once he had wrenched the truth from her, the Spiritwalker flew into a violent frenzy, whipping and beating her. He focused his wrath on those areas of her body which would be covered by clothing, though in the end it would become necessary for her to wear longer tunics with sleeves for a time instead of the more revealing garments she usually wore in the summer.

Heating the blade of his knife in the blazing hearth, he branded her inner thighs to serve as an excruciating reminder, whenever she walked for the next half moon cycle or so, of her betrayal. Should she ever be tempted again to share her body with another, all she needed to do was look between her legs; if that was not enough, there were always others places he could burn.

In the times before pleasure mingled with the pain; this time, she felt only agony. In previous encounters Veba experienced brief moments when she thought he might go too far in the midst of passion; the uncertainty provided her a thrill which enhanced her peaks. This time, she genuinely believed that not only could he kill her, but that he would, and easily, without a second thought. Eventually the Great Spirits took pity on her for she passed into the black where even fear and pain did not exist.

When she regained consciousness she discovered herself lying in his furs, her body covered with soft skins moistened with a soothing liquid. She cringed in fear when he approached her, but instead of meeting her with more violence he touched her tenderly, bringing a cup of steaming tea to her parched lips. Soon she fell into a dreamless slumber.

The next day the Spiritwalker appeared to be a new man; his manner was so kind and gentle Veba would have thought the night before surely was nothing more than a terrible nightmare were it not for the burns and bruises proving its reality. He apologized for losing his temper, as if he had rebuked her with harsh words for her infidelity rather than beaten her into unconsciousness. He assured her she need not worry; under his care her body would heal as good as new.

She remained with him in the Ceremonial Hut for an indeterminate period of time, unable to keep track as she spent much of it in a stupor. He woke her periodically to ingest bitter teas, and the woman guessed its ingredients had something to do with her inability to think clearly. But it made her numb, relieved her misery, so she welcomed its harsh taste and drank it greedily.

Before the Spiritwalker released her, Veba learned she had been there for two nights and a day. This surprised her as it had felt much longer than that, but she supposed if it had been as long as she thought others would have inquired about her by now. He provided her with a bowl of the medicinal herbs he had used on her injuries, instructing her how to prepare an infusion with which to bath the wounded areas twice a day. He also gave her a pouch of another mixture, the ingredients for the pain-relieving tea she consumed as she convalesced.

Veba stood up, a little unsteadily, but she could manage. One thing she had done which seemed to please the Spiritwalker was share with him the news of the accident on the lake. Though she did not understand why word of Sala's near drowning would make him happy, all she knew was that as long as she pleased him, he would not hurt her. And since spying on Sala and Jakal seemed to elicit that response in him, she would continue to do it, without question.

It had been a busy morning as various members of the Clan stopped by the food cache to pick up portions of edibles for the rest of the day's meals. Nira enjoyed the work; after six years primarily focused on caring for one infant after another, the children were now all weaned and old enough to spend more of their days with her mother and her mother's mate. The Elders doted on the brood, and their willingness to look after them allowed Kitad's mate the opportunity to once again serve her community.

After Sala disclosed her terrible secret, her mate's recent behavior all made perfect sense and she readily agreed to do whatever she could to assist the young couple. For the time being her primary task was to pay attention to anything, big or small, which might provide them with information useful in their struggle against the Spiritwalker.

Although she normally tuned out the chattering of others -- as a mother of four small children sometimes it was the only way to hear herself think -- now that she was charged with noticing their conversations, Nira was astonished by how casually others revealed themselves.

She did not believe they necessarily intended to expose their inner selves, and they typically did so one small piece at a time, but over the course of just a few days she had learned things about people she was fairly certain they would not want everyone in the Camp to know. She tried to filter what she heard, understanding what she was doing was not particularly polite, but enough came through to disturb her. What the wrong person could do with this sort of information... It made her wonder if the Spiritwalker paid attention too.

After the morning rush, demand slowed to a trickle. Just as she considered returning to her dwelling, a small group of old women approached. Nira cheerfully engaged the Elders as they gossiped amongst themselves about recent events, leisurely filling their bowls and baskets with the food they had requested when all of a sudden one of them said something which piqued her interest.

"Well, if you ask me, it is that spiritual leader of ours who is not acting right, talking about our people being overcome by malicious spirits when it is he who behaves so strangely."

"Edla!" one of her friends gasped as all stood, stunned, that she had voiced such a thing aloud in public.

"Well, Mava, it is the truth; what do I have to fear speaking what most everyone knows? I am an old woman, and will not remain much longer in this world. Why should I care what he or anyone else thinks?"

"Is this about the last moon cycle, or are you still holding onto your theory about the daughter of your daughter's daughter?"

"You youngsters," she responded as Nira smiled to herself, hearing the white-haired female addressing her gray-haired companions in this manner, "you think I am just a raving old woman telling wild tales to make my life more interesting. But I am telling you, Seya was never the same after the Spiritwalker took an interest in her."

Her dark eyes grew misty. "She was such a vibrant, beautiful child, so full of enthusiasm. But after she became a woman, after he took her to his furs, she changed. She changed," Edla insisted. "She stopped caring about her appearance; why, I had to practically carry her to the stream myself to get her to bathe. Barely spoke to anyone. Then, the next summer, she just suddenly mated with that good for nothing... She did not even know him, yet she left her family behind to move all the way to Owl Camp. My Seya deserves better than a man like him.

"He practically lives on fermented beverages and even beats her sometimes, yet she still does not break the bond. What self-respecting woman would allow such a thing? I am telling you, as someone who has lived a great many years and seen a great many things, the Spiritwalker cursed Seya; somehow he removed that beautiful girl's spirit. So you youngsters can cluck your tongues and whisper to each other about how crazy I am all you want; I do not care what anyone thinks anymore, least of all the Spiritwalker."

A large hide spread out beneath them, Sala and Jakal sat in the grass some distance outside the Camp, enjoying their midmorning meal in the warmth of the late summer sun.

Watching the wind tease her hair, coaxing a few strands to dance in the air, once again the man filled with gratitude to have this incredible woman by his side. It felt almost unreal at times, that less than two moon cycles ago they coexisted in this place, barely speaking to each other. They followed the same seasons, the same patterns as all their people, yet the strands of their own lives rarely interwove. Now they were joined in the sacred bond, together in this world and the next, and he could not imagine how he ever lived without her.

The woman could feel his gaze upon her and smiled as she turned to meet his blue eyes. It was so hard not to gasp when he looked at her that way; with the endless sky reflected back at her, she knew at that moment he saw nothing else but her.

Out of nowhere she heard him say, "Have you ever considered becoming a Tracker?"

She blinked, taken off guard. "What?"

"I was just thinking about the two Traders from my mother's Clan who were here recently, Asra and Lomal. They were mates who shared the same chosen skill. Now that Sedon has passed on to the Other World, I am the sole Tracker for our Clan. Actually, I suppose I am the Lead Tracker now..." He stared blankly for a moment before continuing. "Given your ability to elude me for so many days after I set out to find you, I think you have the instinct for it."

While many among their people, like Jakal, specialized in one particular skill, most, like Sala, were generalists. Everyone contributed to major tasks that changed with the seasons, such as the fish hunt or other assignments associated with preparing the Camp for winter, but those with a chosen skill had additional responsibilities which sometimes pulled them away from day-to-day activities. Only Clan Leaders and Spiritwalkers held positions so demanding that most of their time was taken up by the duties of their special rank.

In her lessons with Mala, Sala greatly enjoyed learning about spiritual and medicinal lore, but more from an intellectual and practical standpoint; the thought of actually devoting her life to the spiritual needs of her people she did not seem particularly attractive. She valued the variety and freedom of work changing throughout the year, not to mention just being able to have fun; from her perspective, the life of a spiritual leader was a little too confining, a little too somber. As far as anything else, no single art or skill drew her so strongly that she ever felt a need to specialize.