Part 61: Warning

DISCLAIMER: Nonconsensual scene(s).


Note: This item has been rewritten and edited. All text in rose is BRAND NEW MATERIAL for this chapter of the story. In addition there are many minor changes to the original text itself. Please enjoy this new, expanded version of Part 61 and be on the lookout for updates to the next parts!


GENERAL DJA'MUI DID not talk the entire way that Lieutenant Nehef walked with him down the street and into General Mahakhi's house, unchallenged by the guards. Halfway to Mahakhi's quarters, another Kana approached. Nehef saluted immediately; Dja'mui slowed to a stop with an unpleasant look on his face. Captain Ahen halted before the two of them and gave Dja'mui much the same look. The enemy general was shorter even than Nehef, but he did not salute.

"General," Ahen said in a tone of forced civility. "If you have an issue to raise with our tribe then you may discuss it with me."

Dja'mui's muzzle wrinkled. "If I could ask your name, Lord--?"

"Captain Ahen. I speak directly for General Mahakhi, and so what need be said to him can go through me."

"With due respect, Captain, I will speak with the general."

Ahen's nostrils flared in surprise. He stared at Dja'mui for a moment, then looked at Nehef as if for an explanation. The lieutenant shrugged slightly and shook his head. Ahen looked back down at Dja'mui; his chest puffed and he raised himself up to his full height, but turned on his heel, lappets swinging.

"Follow," he snapped. Dja'mui obeyed and Nehef accompanied him.

Ahen didn't look back as he went down the hall. "You have come at a poor time," he growled.

"Again with respect, Lord," Dja'mui replied, "I believe I came at the best possible time for your tribe."

Ahen did look back at him now, but only briefly, and the look was not a kind one.

Noises from the direction of Mahakhi's quarters grew louder the closer they drew; Nehef cringed a little at the shouting that came from within. Dja'mui's resolve appeared to falter a little before picking up again; Ahen stopped before the doors to address the guards, who stepped aside with confused looks, letting him past. He opened the door and the other two followed him inside.

Within, Mahakhi's most trusted--and some not as trusted--captains and some lieutenants were gathered. Though only a sergeant, Binena was there as well, along with Lieutenant Tas'eta; everyone glanced at the three entering the room and immediately every stare was upon Dja'mui. Except Mahakhi's. Simit still sat upright in bed where Nehef supposed she and her master had been interrupted with the news of Lieutenant Djuta's disappearance, a gauzy sheet pulled up only halfheartedly over her breasts; it would slip once in a while when she moved, but the only reaction she gave was to blush a little bit and pull it up again. The other men in the room didn't pay any attention to her. Mahakhi paced back and forth before the bed, his wings flaring and voice bellowing.

"I will flay his wings MYSELF if I learn that even half of these rumors are true! Who is spreading them and how? Did I not say I wanted this contained at the source? CONTAINED? Morale will plummet because of his FOOLISHNESS! What they did not do to him when they set him upon the block, I will do MYSELF!"

"Lord," Ahen interrupted him, and Mahakhi whirled on him, fists clenched and tusks bared. Ahen saluted and stepped aside to gesture at Dja'mui. Mahakhi stared at him for a second before giving Ahen a hideous look.

"The meaning of this?" he growled, his voice dangerously low.

"He would not be detained, Lord," Ahen said. "I bring him to you. He wishes to speak."

Mahakhi's look grew uglier. He stepped toward the three newcomers with menace in his eyes; Nehef backed away, as did Ahen, if only by a few steps; Dja'mui stayed in his place and didn't waver even when the big general towered over him, breath snorting.

"You?" Mahakhi snarled. "Name?"

"General Dja'mui of the Hawk Tribe, Lord." Dja'mui finally saluted--or rather, bowed, more formally than most Kana would. Nehef and Ahen frowned in puzzlement.

"Your purpose for being here?" Mahakhi growled. "You are of course aware that you are not welcome."

"I came to warn you, Lord."

Mahakhi's lip curled back. "Warn me of what? You hardly look as if you are in any position to 'warn' me of anything!"

"You have not heard then," Dja'mui said, and his look grew weary. "I suppose I should be grateful that they have not reached here yet, but you are in grave danger if you do not prepare yourselves."

Mahakhi looked ready to speak, but Ahen coughed. The general glared at him and Ahen gestured at Dja'mui with his eyes; surrounded by all of the Kana in the room, the other general looked quite small and worn, his armor tattered and dusty and grains of sand nestling in his fur. He looked as if he had walked through a sandstorm, and barely survived. Mahakhi took the hint; he snorted and jerked his head at the door.

"All of you, leave! Now! Except for you two, and you." He nodded at the three standing before him, and waved at one of the lieutenants. "Bring food. Now."

"Yes, Lord."

Mahakhi gestured at one of the folding chairs now, sitting down at one side of a small table. Dja'mui followed suit, his wings sinking until they almost touched the floor. The lieutenant returned with a tray loaded with fruit and bread, and set it down between them before vanishing. Dja'mui eyed the food, and the others waiting could practically see him salivating, yet he said nothing, and didn't touch it.

"Your warning?" Mahakhi prompted him.

Dja'mui tore his gaze from the food to meet the general's eyes. "My men and I have been traveling to each tribe in our path," he said. "There are not many left to warn as it is. Most have been taken already."

"Taken?" Mahakhi frowned. "Taken where?"

"Not where." Dja'mui's eyes kept wandering to look at the food. Mahakhi finally sighed and waved at it.

"Go ahead. Eat. If it will unfetter your tongue any."

Dja'mui bit his lip. "With respect, Lord...I will not eat while my men starve."

Mahakhi's mouth twitched. "Then your men will be fed. Before you leave." He gestured again, yet this time it was not a request, but a command. "Eat."

Dja'mui hesitated only briefly this time before picking up a piece of bread carefully in his fingers. He bit into it, as if expecting poison; after a moment he was tearing into the food as if he had not eaten in weeks. The other three Kana stared at him in astonishment as he gnawed on the bread and fruit.

"And so your warning?" Mahakhi echoed himself. "Where is it you are from, originally? And who do you bring with you?"

Dja'mui wiped his mouth, swallowing a hunk of bread almost whole. "We are of the Hawk Tribe," he said, reaching for a cup of wine and downing it instantly. "I have roughly one hundred of my men with me. They are my best soldiers."

"One hundred? Surely this is not all you have?"

"It is all I have, now." Mahakhi arched a brow and waited for Dja'mui to finish ravaging the dinner plate. After a few moments the other general wiped his mouth again, poured himself another drink, and downed it as quickly as the first. He rubbed at his muzzle as he spoke.

"Once we were almost eight hundred strong, like you. I have heard of the Great Red Tribe; most of us have. This is likely the reason why you have not been attacked already; most of us are intelligent enough to know that we would not return home in any great numbers, if at all."

"I am flattered," Mahakhi said in a flat tone. "Continue."

"I will be blunt," Dja'mui said, and met Mahakhi's eyes. "There is a scourge moving through the land. They call themselves the Blue Oasis Tribe, but already many of the few they have left behind call them by darker names."

"What do you mean, the few they have left behind?"

"Exactly as I say, Lord. They are like locusts." Dja'mui looked at his cup, then set it down and stretched one wing with a wince. "They journey from tribe to tribe and decimate their numbers. They leave almost no one remaining. Not even the women and children are spared. They have slaughtered entire stables of helpless Moru to sate their endless bloodlust. You may count in the thousands the numbers they have killed, and you may count those who survived upon the fingers of both of your hands, aside from my tribe. We remain only because we were away at the time of the attack--but even so, there were four hundred of us then. We returned in the midst of it. My men and I, those who await outside your gate, are all that remain of the Hawk Tribe."

"You bring no slaves with you?" Mahakhi asked in surprise.

Dja'mui looked down at his empty cup. "There were none to bring, even if we could have reached them," he murmured. "We know already that they are all dead. We have heard from the few who remain of other decimated tribes. Each of us remembers the screams of the dying. Of eight hundred Kana warriors, two hundred Kana civilians, and five thousand Moru, we hundred are all that remain of the Hawk Tribe."

Mahakhi stared at Dja'mui, obviously stunned. The looks on Ahen's and Nehef's faces--and even Simit's--were the same.

"Six thousand...dead?" Nehef whispered in disbelief.

"We are only one of the tribes they have attacked," Dja'mui said quietly. "There have been many more. We were...fortunate." His fingers grasped the cup tightly, his knuckles turning white. Mahakhi's stare turned into a scowl.

"What are the numbers of this Blue Oasis Tribe? That they can so easily defeat eight hundred Kana?"

"We do not know their exact numbers, Lord, but they appeared to be not many. I know that they were fewer than our eight hundred."

"This is impossible!" Ahen exclaimed. "How can fewer than eight hundred kill nine hundred Kana? And five thousand slaves? Even a Moru may fight when cornered! There is no way this could have happened the way you describe it!"

"And yet it did," Dja'mui retorted. "If this were merely a story, I would not waste your time...General." He turned back to Mahakhi and leaned forward. "Lord. You must believe my story. On our way here we have come across a total of at least six tribes that have been completely slaughtered. Among the Kana warriors lying in the streets we find the laborers and women and children dead in their stables. They were not taken alive even to be kept as slaves for the victors. They do not wish for slaves or for goods. They wish only for blood. And they are heading straight for you."

"Me?" Mahakhi's eyes grew dark. "And why is this, may I ask?"

"Your tribe is far known to be among the most powerful in the Two Kingdoms," Dja'mui explained. "Conquering the Great Red Tribe would be the brightest gemstone in their pectoral. Somehow, they have delayed along the way, and we managed to get ahead of them before they could get here first. But rest assured that they will come here soon. There is no way that they could pass up the ultimate victory that would be slaughtering your people."

"I have eight hundred of the hardest-trained Kana," Mahakhi growled. "You think I will let them die so easily? You think that they will go with nary a fight?"

Dja'mui's face was set. "Do you think that I believed otherwise of my own men? I heard the rumors myself, from a surviving Moru, yet refused to heed them. I myself had eight hundred of the hardest-trained Kana, and two hundred more who could very well fight should they choose, as well. I did not believe we could be so easily vanquished." He looked down at the cup again and his voice grew soft. "But that I had heeded that warning when it first came...perhaps I would not have left my men so open to attack. But it would not have mattered anyway whether I had been there or not." He lifted his head and fixed Mahakhi with a dark stare. "If I had remained, we would all have been killed. Every last one of us. And you would have received no warning to make haste while you can. For this is why I came, to urge you to flee this place at once. You are directly in their path."

Mahakhi wrinkled his muzzle. "I do not retreat."

"This is more than a simple matter of honor, General. Would you rather be a Kana who died with honor as his entire tribe was slaughtered, or a Kana who fled and let his tribe survive?"

"You yourself said it," Mahakhi grated. "My tribe is among the most powerful in the kingdom! Why you believe I would let these dogs so easily kill us is beyond my understanding. The more you say, the further you incense me!"

"I have never said you would let them do anything," Dja'mui shot back. "You can fight as diligently as you wish. It will not matter in the end." He glanced at Mahakhi's bed, and gestured at Simit, who blushed and pulled the sheet up around herself. "She is yours?"

"What?" Mahakhi's voice came out sharp, almost a bark; he glanced at Simit, then back at Dja'mui with a scowl. "Yes. You have any other reason why she would be in my bed?"

"Has she given you any pups?"

"What business is this of yours?" Mahakhi practically roared.

"If you cherish her, and if you cherish your pups, then you will heed my advice," Dja'mui said. "You will leave this place, and let them find an abandoned city. You will not survive unless you flee." Mahakhi started to swell up in a rage when the other general continued, "Two of my best lieutenants, and one of my best captains--they were among the dead. I found the first two among the dead of my tribe. One had been beheaded. His was the most merciful fate. The other had had his wings cut off, most likely while he was still alive. He was disemboweled. His very guts trailed across the pathway I used to walk to the main gate every morning. My captain was with me when we came upon the city. He received an arrow to the throat and drowned within his own blood before my eyes. Even while he was still alive and we searched the ruins for survivors--for we did not know it was an ambush set to kill us all--he found the one who had been his mother. She had been cut open from the womb up to her breasts, which had also been removed. We found another female treated thusly, only her arms had been removed as well--torn from their sockets. The pup still growing inside her had been ripped from her belly and tossed into the street for the Sha to trample upon. I found a little boy who would have been a proud Kana one day with his wings cut off and his eyes gouged out and his throat slit. He was three years of age. A babe who was but a newborn had been torn into pieces as if by mad dogs. I recognized her only by the remains of the little necklace she had worn. We could not bury a one of them--for that was when we were attacked. We had to flee and leave their bodies to the vultures." He paused and his eyes glimmered. "This is what they did to my three eldest sons, to my mates, to my boy and my little girl, and to the pup I had yet to ever see. Aside from my fourth oldest, who awaits outside the gate, I have no one left of my entire family, not even a Moru pup. You would endanger your own in this same manner? And be as foolish as I have been?"

Mahakhi stared at Dja'mui in silence. The others in the room did likewise, looks of stunned horror on their faces. Dja'mui looked down at his cup once more, and sighed shakily as he nudged it away. He rubbed at his eyes and his weariness was again evident.

"I do not mean to speak to you in anger, General...for I do know that your army is among the best in the land. And if there were any who were to stand a chance against the Blue Oasis Tribe, it would be yours. But for the sake of your mates and your pups, I beg you to leave here while you can. You cannot defeat them. I tried, and I lost almost everything I had. Although they were dead before I reached them, I can hear every scream of every one of my Moru ringing in my ears whenever I shut my eyes to sleep. It is only hunger and exhaustion that prevent me from shedding more tears than I already have. My eyes have gone dry, but my soul still grieves."

Silence again. Mahakhi appeared not to know what to say. He looked over his shoulder at Simit and saw the fear in her eyes, then looked at Nehef and Ahen. The lieutenant and the captain kept their places and said nothing, yet they looked uneasy as well. His face grew dark and he turned back to Dja'mui.

"General." Dja'mui hesitated before lifting his head. "How far off are they? How many days' travel?"

Dja'mui stared at him for a moment before answering. "I cannot tell you," he finally said. "It took us three weeks and four days to reach you from our tribe. We were forced to flee north of here, as we dwell to the south a long ways, and we could not escape them if we had headed south. We thought to seek refuge among the Free Apsiu, somehow, yet we encountered what looked to be another band of them--at the least, they wore the same attire."

"Attire--?" Mahakhi echoed with a frown.

Dja'mui nodded. "Every last one of them wore an Apsiu skull upon his head." The other four looked incredulous, but he ignored them. "We could not even see a single face. I can only guess they got these from those whom they slaughtered already...gods know there should be more than enough to furnish them with skulls to last a lifetime." He shuddered. "We managed to evade those who approached from the north, as they too were headed for an oasis to the west--perhaps they were a faction returning from warring in the north, or maybe they were a reconnaissance party. In any event, we decided to return south. We had warned every tribe to the north of us before we were forced to head into the desert. I do not know if they heeded my advice or not, though."

"You did not encounter these strange Kana again?"

Dja'mui shook his head and rubbed at his eye. "I do not understand their methods, General...they go north, and south, and east and west, in no pattern...they attack certain tribes, and leave others standing, but I suspect not for long. Perhaps they only wait until these tribes will pose a challenge." He paused, then added, "Like your own." He sat back in his chair and his wings sank. "Gods, I am so tired...we rode almost nonstop, but for when we were hiding north of here. I was honestly surprised that they had not reached here yet; in truth, General--? I brought my men back here hoping there would be some food and supplies left in your city. I did not expect to find any Kana still dwelling within it." His look grew rueful.

Mahakhi's ear twitched. "Considering the circumstances, if your story is true, then perhaps this assumption can be forgiven. You yourself have any explanation as for why they have not reached here yet, even while you and yours had time to pass us by and then return?" He glanced at Nehef as he said this, and the lieutenant blanched a little, then saluted.

"I--I have heard no reports of anything being sighted outside the wall, Lord!"

"You will hear no reports," Dja'mui replied. "They capture and kill scouts just as they do tribes, and they do not announce their arrival." He pushed himself up bit. "I would have to guess that they are delayed because they are stopping to do the same to the other tribes they came across. I suspect that there is little left behind us now but death."

"And so you say they will be delayed coming here? As they destroy the other tribes?"

Dja'mui nodded. "We found no other survivors of those they had killed before us but for the very few I have already mentioned; we have brought them with us. Those who were still in any shape to travel, that is. One female...her child was already dead in her arms, its head just about severed from its neck, and she begged me to dispatch her with my sword." His eyes watered up and he lowered his head again. "And so this I did. If it were not for my responsibility toward my own men, I would have done the same to myself long ago."

"There will be no talk of suicide here," Mahakhi growled, drawing the other general's attention again. The big Kana lifted his head high. "We will remain here...for now. However. I will instruct my men to prepare the tribe for migration. If this Blue Oasis Tribe rears its head, and if it does become the threat you say it is."

"They will not give you the time to depart," Dja'mui insisted. "Once you have spotted them, it will already be too late."

"Not if I keep my scouts patrolling the southland. I do not care how skilled you say they are. There is no way that they will catch my scouts, as long as they are careful. Once word reaches us of their approach, I will again assess the situation, and decide whether it is prudent to move or not." Dja'mui's shoulders sank in resignation, but he offered no further argument. "I will not go dispossessing my tribe of their homes without cause, General."

"I have given you plenty of cause," Dja'mui sighed. "You do not wish to listen."

"I have listened to you plenty," Mahakhi snapped. "And I tell you that I believe the Great Red Tribe could easily defeat such a foe. But I will take your warning into consideration. Be happy." He paused, then added, in a lower voice, "My men...will prepare quarters for your men. Within my household. As many as will fit. We will find housing for the rest, even in the barracks if we have to. We will grant you asylum here, until such time as you should feel you no longer need it. You are our guests and our brothers now."

"I thank you, General," Dja'mui murmured. He rose from his seat and crossed his arm to his breast in salute, casting a look at the remains of the food as he turned back to Ahen and Nehef.

"Nehef," Mahakhi said, and the lieutenant saluted. "Take yourself and Ahai'ikh and find quarters for Dja'mui's men. Send Hiath'ikh or whoever else you can find to the kitchens. How many men have you present, General?"

"There are one hundred and sixteen...as well as myself. That is all."

"You have heard, Nehef. Make certain all are fed and housed tonight."

"Yes, Lord."

"Escort Lord Dja'mui to one of the rooms in the north hall, Ahen."

"Yes, General."

The other three Kana left the room together, but the way that Dja'mui walked made him look once more like a Moru. His gaze stayed focused on the floor as he and Ahen went in the other direction, Nehef heading back for the gate. The lieutenant had never seen a general look so dejected before. Truly this massacre had been horrid, if he was willing to tear off his lappets to have his plea heard.

Nehef tried to think of what it would feel like to find one's entire family slaughtered so brutally, and found that he could not.

The rest of the lieutenants still waited at the main gate, milling about nervously. They all crowded around Nehef, asking for news, when he arrived; he waved at the guards to open the gate. "Not now, not now! I will tell you all later! Mahakhi is fit to flay my wings if I don't get them all in here at this moment."

"He's letting them in?" someone asked. "Are they not an enemy then?"

"They are guests, not an enemy. The story is a long one...I already told you to wait until later." Nehef made a face. "Are you willing to buy me a beer? Then I will tell you over that, for I feel we will all need a drink or two in us after I tell you what I heard."

That quieted them down somewhat, though they still frowned in confusion. The doors came open and the Kana still waiting outside craned their necks to see within. Nehef stepped out and saluted, then waved at them.

"Your general asked that you be allowed into the city. Please come. Food and beds await you."

A look of overwhelming relief crossed the Hawk Tribe's faces, and they started forward silently. Not a one of them spoke as they passed through the giant doors, their heads and wings hanging. The Great Red Tribe watched in silence as well. They had never seen a more dejected, heartbroken group of Kana. Following these came a few Moru stragglers and some of the wounded of other tribes, each helping the other along; lastly was a tall gray Kana in dusty blue lappets, and he clutched at Nehef's arm as he entered.

"You are the one who spoke with General Dja'mui," he said. "Is he within? Is he well?"

Nehef looked him over. "I will assume you are his son, then."

"I am Lieutenant Intaka. He is all right?"

"Yes, he is. He has spoken with our general already. You will all be granted refuge here. You needn't worry."

"What of the Blue Oasis dogs?" Intaka's brow furrowed. "Surely he told you everything? What are you going to do?"

"For now we will remain here. Please--"

"Remain?" Intaka's voice rose to a dangerous level, but before he could protest further, one of the Moru stragglers grasped his arm and tugged on it. Nehef stood and watched in awe as the Kana let himself be led away by the slave. "He told you, surely..." Intaka murmured as they went into the city. "Her belly cut open and my brother torn out..."

"Gods," Tefkha muttered, approaching to stand beside Nehef as the last of the Hawk Tribe made their way inside, the gates closing behind them. "I have never seen any in such a state...what happened back there, 'Hef? What was he talking about?"

"Something horrible has happened, hasn't it?" Ahai'ikh asked.

Nehef rubbed at his eyes, sighing wearily. "It is a long tale," he murmured.

"I will be the one to ply you with drinks until you spill it all," Tefkha said. "There must be something that will loosen your tongue."

The first lieutenant let his wings droop. "It will not take me much convincing, for I feel I should go mad keeping it to myself. But watch how you speak around them. Do not ask them any questions right now. The looks in their eyes...one small nudge and I feel they will all shatter like clay pots. Follow me." He gestured, and the other lieutenants followed. "First we must get them settled in, then I know a tavern that serves much beer for cheap...you are going to have to ply me heavily, indeed, before I sleep this night."

* * * * *

As it was so late in the evening, there was a scramble to get all of the newcomers set up for the night; Mahakhi attempted to have Dja'mui's top men--those few that remained--housed under his own roof, only for the Hawk Tribe general to vehemently disagree, and ask the most badly injured and shocked to be housed there instead. Flustered, Mahakhi found himself directing several lieutenants to the barracks, while sergeants and privates and Moru occupied his own halls. Forty-two of them were let into the household, while Lieutenant Tefkha and the other barracks lieutenants escorted the rest into the city; word spread quickly of their state, and before they had even reached the barracks, several captains and lieutenants accosted them, offering them room within their own houses. And so none of the Hawk Tribe ended up sleeping in the barracks after all.

The physician tended to those staying within Mahakhi's house, and didn't grouse or complain once, though the look on his face was dark. He attempted to see to Dja'mui and Intaka, but again was rebuffed; it was the Moru he tended to first. Oddly, they seemed to be the best off of the lot, and filled in what sketchy details they could as they were treated, Lieutenant Hiath'ikh overseeing the proceedings. They all agreed with the strange description that Dja'mui had given of their attackers, adding that they had escaped slaughter only because they had hidden in the very backs of their tents; after the assault, they said, they had crept out, and ventured into the bigger households, only to find that the Moru quarters of each had been reduced to a bloodbath. When it was clear that there were none of their fellows remaining, they had gathered up their courage and fled. Two days into the desert, they had met up with Dja'mui's men, and had been taken in by them.

Hiath'ikh next interviewed several of the Kana who had joined the Hawk Tribe along the way, and received the same story, in varying degrees of horror. The lieutenant forced himself to keep a blank face as each told his story, though it was quite difficult, after a while of hearing the same gruesome details repeated so many times.

"I am of the Whistling Reeds Tribe, Lord, or at least I was...as far as I know I am the only one left. I am alive only because I was out scouting at the time, and heard an awful noise, and when I came back, I found the entire city burning..."

"Our tribe was the Blue Sky Tribe, Lord...we two are the only survivors...we lived only because we were in the barracks together, when we should have been out training...we heard screaming noises...when we looked out, we saw them killing everyone, every single Kana...we hid in the very back of the barracks, and barely escaped with our lives..."

"The tribe that was once mine was the Riverbottom Tribe, Lieutenant...I awoke to find someone jamming a dagger into my shoulder...I managed to stab him, but got away only by playing dead..."

"My tribe's name does not matter now, Lord, for it is no longer...I do not know how many of us escaped...I was trapped beneath the bodies for gods know how long, and I cannot get the stench out of my nose..."

Hiath'ikh stepped before the last remaining Kana, whose arm had been placed in a sling, and who bore a ragged tear to his wing; the lieutenant's blank expression finally began to waver, and his head sank on looking at it. The Kana saw the way that he faltered and frowned a little, then stood as straight as he could.

"Do not worry about me," he said, nearly scowling. "I am not a Kana anyways."

Hiath'ikh blinked at him, then frowned, then furrowed his brow. Understanding began to dawn on his face and he relaxed a little.

"Your tribe...?"

"I have been walking south for two weeks now," the Apsiu said. "They were killed off...I can't even remember when. I was away hunting when it happened, and I returned, and all were dead." He winced. "I attempted to reach our sister tribe but could not find them. Perhaps they fled, perhaps they were killed. I crossed Leader Dja'mui's men along the way. They were looking for one of our tribes, but I had to tell them they would have no luck." His face grew troubled. "I have never seen the oases so empty...I have always had a tribe to go to when I was in need. Now, there is nothing. Nothing I could find, at least."

Hiath'ikh took notes on a piece of papyrus. "The name of your tribe?"

"We do not..." The Apsiu flinched, and shuffled his wings. "We did not have a name like your tribes. We did not need one." He fell silent now, his head lowering so that he stared at the floor, and his chest hitched as realization seemed to strike him. After a moment the composure melted from his face and his eyes slowly went shut; his muzzle wrinkled and he held a hand up to his eyes as he started crying. Hiath'ikh kept his place for an awkward moment, then chewed on his lip and fiddled with his pen. The other Kana stared at the Free Apsiu in silence, too numb to protest his presence among them.

"The name of your leader," Hiath'ikh managed to say after a moment.

"Huat," the Free Apsiu said, voice cracking. "Huat-Apsiu." He started weeping again. "She was a good leader."

Hiath'ikh paused before jotting down a note upon his papyrus. Free Apsiu tribe/Huat-Moru. He then scratched out the word Moru and quickly replaced it with Apsiu, before leaving the group of Kana behind, letting out a gusty breath as he did so, and rubbing at his stinging eyes.

Lieutenant Intaka was left in Ahai'ikh's care, and the physician checked him over, finding nothing physically wrong with him; yet Ahai'ikh did not like the way that he stared off into space, as if he had been struck upside the head. He ceased speaking but for when he was directly spoken to, and then only when he was addressed by name or rank; it was as if he didn't understand anything else. Ahai'ikh showed him his quarters, and attempted to set him at ease, all to no avail; every time he looked in the young Kana's eyes, all that he saw was nothing. He shuddered to himself; it was like attempting to speak to a corpse.

"The physician sleeps in this same hall, Lord, in case you find you need his attention in the night," Ahai'ikh said. He tilted his head, trying to make eye contact, then coughed. "Lieutenant Intaka--?"

Intaka blinked and looked at him. Ahai'ikh gestured at the wall. "The physician's quarters are that way, three doors down, should you need him, Lord."

Intaka stared at him for a moment. "I do not need him," he murmured. "Thank you anyway." His gaze wandered off into space again.

Ahai'ikh fiddled with his pectoral, then resumed speaking. "There is fresh food over here, Lord, and a fresh jar of beer in the corner should you get thirsty; please eat and drink all you need, as our stores are more than adequate to provide for all of you. The rest of your father's men will be well cared for."

"The rest," Intaka echoed. Then, "I am the last."

Ahai'ikh frowned and tilted his head. "Lord...?" No reply was forthcoming so he coughed again. "Lord Intaka." The younger lieutenant met his eyes. "There is food, and there is drink. The rest of your tribe will be well cared for."

Intaka stared at him for a moment, and Ahai'ikh thought that perhaps he'd finally gotten through. Then the youth's eyes glazed over, and his stare wandered once more.

"Not if we do not leave," he said vaguely. Then, "I am the last one left."

Ahai'ikh promptly shook his head. "Lord Intaka, there is your father, and the rest of your tribe--"

"After I am dead my family dies too," Intaka said. "My brothers are all gone." His eyes clouded now and he fiddled absently with one lappet. "I am the last," he barely murmured, and Ahai'ikh chose that moment to turn and leave before he could start shuddering.

Nehef didn't do much better, seeing to Dja'mui; the Hawk Tribe general was quiet and collected enough to be shown to his quarters, and he nodded whenever Nehef pointed something out; although slightly distracted, he appeared to at least understand what was going on around him, and Nehef could easily forgive his distraction. The look in the general's eyes was what he couldn't stand to look at, so he kept himself busy looking at the walls and furnishings as he described the layout of the house and the whereabouts of anything the tribe might need. He cringed to himself and hoped that his avoidance wasn't noticed, but fortunately the other Kana didn't seem to even care.

"And my men are being properly seen to?" he asked, for perhaps the third time; Nehef nodded, biting his lip. Dja'mui seemed far more concerned about the rest of his tribe than about himself.

"Yes, Lord...the most badly wounded are housed beneath this very roof...the rest have been granted shelter in the city itself. Some of our captains and lieutenants are providing for them at the moment so none need sleep in the barracks."

"The Moru? And that Free Apsiu--?"

"The Moru are in the Moru quarters, Lord, doing as well as anything. The Free Apsiu has been housed in the opposite hall. And Lord Intaka is not that far away."

"He is not doing well," Dja'mui said, and his own eyes started to glaze over; Nehef made a point of snapping his fingers so that the general blinked, and the lieutenant then coughed.

"Physically he is fine, Lord, though mental exhaustion seems to have set in..."

Dja'mui looked at him as if he were telling some sort of joke, then a faint smile came to his face, and Nehef nearly choked on seeing it. "You are being polite," he murmured. "He has practically lost his senses." He turned toward the window overlooking the courtyard and his tail swished from side to side. "He never even wanted to join the army..."

Nehef stood where he was for a few moments, unsure of what to do or say. Fortunately, the general solved this problem for him by turning back around, his eyes cleared again, but no less exhausted. He put his arm to his breast.

"Thank you for seeing to us, Lieutenant. And let your general know the same. You are honorable Kana."

Nehef bobbed his head, flushing a little. "You are all our brothers, Lord; this is only what brothers do," he insisted, and started to turn for the door. He paused when he noticed the general start to turn away, his face pinching; Nehef paused to look back at him and saw the way that he rubbed at his side. He was ready to leave anyway, when Dja'mui held his hand up before his face, and Nehef saw the red lining his fingers. His eyes grew and he turned again, striding back into the room.

"Lord--! You're wounded--?"

"It is only a scrape," Dja'mui said quietly. Nehef reached him and stooped to look at his side. There was a slash to his armor, barely visible because the curve of the leather held it shut; yet a small trickle of red was oozing from it, and Nehef hurriedly ran from the room to call the physician. The two returned several moments later and managed to convince the general to remove his girdle; he did so with many winces, and Nehef winced himself when he saw the deep gash to the Kana's ribs. It took the physician some time to extract the broken tip of a dagger from Dja'mui's side, and then to sew the wound up and pack it with gauze. Nehef stood nearby rubbing at his neck and wondering how any Kana could walk around for so long with such an injury, and not even make any note of it. Dja'mui had nothing left to say by the time that the physician was done, so the lieutenant could only stare after him for a moment or two, seeing the way that he stood staring out at the courtyard, before turning and leaving in silence.

It was very late by the time that the lieutenants gathered at the tavern, and it took several drinks before Nehef could bring himself to explain what had happened. When he was done more than a few faces had gone gray, and the usual goodnatured bantering of the soldiers was nonexistent. Instead they sat sipping at their beers and staring off into space with pensive expressions, some of them thinking of the horrors that had been committed, others thinking about the threat now looming on the horizon. Mahakhi's decision was already known, and despite their desire to stay in the tribe, at least some of the lieutenants bit their lips and thought about all that Dja'mui had described. Once the story had been told there was no discussion, not even from Tefkha, who pushed his drink away--he had barely taken even two sips of it the entire night--and got to his feet, staring out the window for a good long while as he fiddled with his lappet, before trudging out the door and back up the street toward the barracks. The rest of the Kana took this as a signal to leave as well, and each returned to his proper household.

Lieutenant Resikh jogged down the street from the barracks, where he had been asking a few of the trainees for news; they were the only ones who had held their place after the alarm at the gate, and again he hadn't arrived in time to see what exactly was going on. He cursed himself for his repeat negligence, and for thinking that the trainees would know much of anything; when he spotted Tefkha returning he nearly turned and went to the opposite side of the street, then forced himself to keep on his current path, which would take them right near each other. He waited until the other lieutenant was practically abreast of him before speaking, waving his hand as he did so.

"Brother!" he called, then made a face, wishing that he hadn't used such a casual term. Tefkha's head popped up and Resikh expected some sort of insult, but all that the barracks lieutenant did was blink, then relax. He turned back to the barracks and kept walking so that Resikh blinked as well and had to turn to follow him.

"Brother," he echoed, absently.

Resikh furrowed his brow a little, then fell into step beside him. "I hate to bother you with this--but I failed to arrive at the gate, and was wishing to find out what's going on! No one knows anything! Did someone show up at the gate or not? Who was it--?"

"Everyone knows by now," Tefkha said, but his voice was distracted, not pissy. "The remains of another tribe," he said belatedly, and Resikh frowned. "They are being set up for the night in Mahakhi-Kana's house. Perhaps if you head back you will see them."

"What happened to them...?"

"Attacked. Almost everybody killed off by some strange Kana with skulls on their heads," Tefkha replied, and Resikh halted immediately, his hackles prickling. Tefkha seemed to notice that he continued on alone, and slowed his step, peering back with a dull look. His ear flicked when he saw the look on Resikh's face.

"Skulls?" Resikh echoed, his voice faint. "They wore skulls upon their heads--?"

Tefkha nodded, then frowned a little. He gave Resikh a questioning look but the other lieutenant was too far lost in his thoughts to give a response.

All tribe Kana in street--blood--everywhere! Some no heads--no arms or legs--wings torn--guts in street--Kana from stalls and houses being pulled out--slashed and cut and stabbed--everyone killed! Young Kana, old Kana, Moru, females, pups...

To look like skeletons. Faces to be bone--bone only. To walk and look like Kana, but have faces of dead...

He was too distracted to notice the way that Tefkha continued staring at him, before lowering his head and trudging on his way back toward the barracks without a further word. Some small part of him did notice the distinct change in the barracks lieutenant's demeanor, but he took no conscious note of it, and instead started walking back toward Mahakhi's house, lifting his hand to chew on his claws uneasily.

Could it be the same...? That was a long time ago. Why would they be here...?

And where is Djuta...?

Resikh chewed on his claws harder, not minding how it stung. He picked up his pace until he was nearly jogging, anxiety stabbing through his heart, but nothing arriving to allay it any.

* * * * *

Lieutenant Djuta was restless within the home of General Nehara. He felt uneasy living in such a household, although She'hekha and Fa'rukha seemed trustworthy enough. He could not warm to Kheten or Tes'khi no matter how hard he tried, not that he tried very hard. He felt their eyes upon him whenever he passed, and felt also their hatred of him. Likewise, whenever Lord Hakh'tas was nearby, he found that his skin would be crawling at the thought of it, and it took him a while to realize that he was equating the stranger Kana with Bakh'asu. Why was he doing that? Hakh'tas had never done a thing to him. What he'd done to She'hekha was another story.

And the mysterious Yekh'iet inflamed his thoughts all of the time now. If she was truly a Seer, as Fa'rukha had said...then she could have told Nehara everything about him by now. And so whenever the general would call for him, he had to force himself not to reach for his sword. It was as if he walked upon brittle clay pots in this place, and at any moment one of them might shatter.

Today when Fa'rukha came to inform him that Nehara wished to speak with him, he again felt the all-too-familiar prickle of the hairs on the back of his neck, and tried to maintain a calm face as they went, not to the main room, but to one of the courtyards. A clanging sound came from without, and as they entered Djuta spotted a lone figure sparring with a tree. He was surprised to see that it was Nehara, swinging a sword at the trunk so deftly that he left not a mark upon the tender wood, yet his moves were not clumsy, either. He glanced at Djuta from the corner of his eye before swiftly cutting the tree down in one stroke as it were mere bread and not wood. It toppled to the ground and he turned away from it, tucking his sword under his arm and dusting his hands. Fa'rukha saluted and Nehara waved at him.

"You may go now. I wish to speak with him privately."

Fa'rukha paused, darted a look at Djuta, then saluted again and turned to leave. Djuta watched him go and wondered if he had been tempted to make a sen'akha comment before reconsidering.

"Lieutenant." Djuta turned back to face Nehara, who held out the sword by its blade. Djuta accepted it and found it at least twice as heavy as his own. He looked at the general.

"This belonged to the old commander," Nehara explained. "I felt it would be appropriate to accustom myself to using it, as its former owner is no longer. Try it out."

Djuta held up the sword, attempting to get used to its weight for a moment before swinging it through the air. His hand slipped a bit and the swing didn't go as gracefully as he'd thought it would, as he had to stumble forward to catch hold of it before it could fall. Nehara's mouth twitched in amusement; as if to spite him, Djuta swung again, adrenaline steadying his aim. The sword sliced cleanly through the air and Nehara's smirk faded; he tilted his head and Djuta could tell that he was slightly impressed.

"Not very bad, for one just beginning."

"There were one or two times when I had to wield the sword of my--the general of my former tribe," Djuta replied.

"You mean Lord Mahakhi, yes?" When Djuta didn't reply, Nehara nodded. "I suppose he would use a larger sword than usual." He held out his hand and Djuta gave the weapon back. Nehara sheathed it and gestured at him to follow. "Walk with me a bit. I have some questions I wish to put to you." He started pacing the courtyard, and Djuta fell into step beside him. "Tell me the real reason why you left your tribe," he said.

Djuta's ears grew warm. "You do not believe Lord She'hekha?" he murmured, and noticed the look that Nehara gave him from the corner of his eye.

The general's mouth twitched again. "I do not believe he lies, but then again, he could not if you never gave him the real reason." They approached the pool and for some reason Djuta felt his heartbeat pick up. "And so? Do not tell me you would abandon your men for such a petty reason as that."

"Truthfully, Lord," Djuta said, hoping his voice sounded slightly offended, yet not too much, "I left as I decided it would be best to be with a tribe that knows how to give respect when it has been earned."

"Respect?" Nehara tilted his head again. "So this is why you left? It does make a bit more sense, considering how you act; I did not think you were so petty as to leave because you went unrecognized." He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, this sounds more reasonable."

Djuta halted in his steps, and although Nehara kept walking, he found that he could make his feet move no further. Nehara paused after noticing that he was no longer being followed and turned to look back at him inquisitively. Djuta struggled to find some sort of explanation for his sudden stop, but nothing came. His heart raced and he felt a cold sweat upon his brow, but couldn't explain it. When he tried to find the source of his fear, he discovered that it seemed to be the pool they were approaching. He took a step back and tried to keep his voice from breaking.

"I would prefer to walk elsewhere."

Nehara stared at him for a moment or two, and he had to avert his eyes slightly; he couldn't stand looking into Nehara's, what with that pale brown color that they were. After a short while Nehara turned about, gesturing back toward the household.

"Very well then. You have any objections to going this way?"

Djuta shook his head.

Nehara continued gesturing and they started walking back toward the house. "I assume you don't care much for water," Nehara murmured as they went, and Djuta's ears grew warm again.

"This isn't it, Lord. I merely did not get much sleep last night and don't think it would be prudent to walk by the pool."

"You are tired? You could go and take a longer rest. I have some things to do as it is. Some of my men are due back sometime this morning, and one of them will need to be spoken to."

"I will be fine. You would mind if I accompanied you?"

Nehara raised an eyebrow, and Djuta sensed that he was genuinely surprised by the question. Then he smiled, though it wasn't a warm friendly smile; Djuta sensed something else to it, and again had to steady himself. Nehara extended his arm.

"This way, then. I'll try not to take too long. The truth is that I had hoped to have other plans for the day, as well."

Djuta nodded and they went further into the building, toward the main hall.

The next hour or so was taken up by dealing with some returning Kana--the same ones, Djuta assumed, that Yekh'iet had spoken of in her trance the night before. It was exactly as the female had proclaimed it would be; by the time that they reached the main hall, Fa'rukha and Kheten already had one of the returning soldiers by the arms, Tes'khi holding the arm of a human female who stood nearby. Her head hung and her other hand rested upon her belly--it was greatly swollen, and the rest of the Kana were making faces at the first. One was attempting to explain the raid to She'hekha, who stepped aside when Nehara entered.

"Lord!" the speaking Kana exclaimed. "This is not our fault. It is only his fault. We had no knowledge of this, we swear, until just today when he insisted on bringing this thing back with him!"

"And so you let him?" Nehara said mildly.

The speaking Kana flushed. "Well...he would not allow us to detain him, Lord...!"

"She is a slave," the detained Kana cut in. "She should belong to me now! I've claimed her!"

"She is not Apsiu," Nehara replied. "Unfortunately, you've already gotten her plump; how far along is she?"

"He says that she is about ready to drop her child, Lord," the speaking Kana said, as if tattling on an older sibling. "At any moment!"

Tes'khi pulled his dagger. "You would like me to deal with it, Lord?"

Nehara made a face and waved at him, the woman's face going white. "Do not be so vulgar, Sergeant. Put your knife away before I do it for you." Tes'khi flushed and obeyed. "She will be taken to the physician and tended to there. What happens to her and the child afterwards depends on what she bears. Take her away." Tes'khi grasped the woman's wrist and led her from the room. She looked at the milling Kana, her eyes large, before vanishing from sight. Nehara turned to the detained Kana. "And take him to the square. Strip him naked and lash his back one hundred times, and when you are done brand him with a sign that identifies him as the human-lover that he is. Feel fortunate, Lieutenant, that I do not flay your wings," he added, as the Kana was led away. "You are too valuable yet for that." He waved at the rest of the Kana, who began picking up what goods they had returned with, filing off to another part of the household. Djuta glanced at the light falling outside and was surprised to find that it was only about noon, much earlier than it felt like. He hated the thought of setting foot outside again in the dreadful heat.

Nehara gestured, and Djuta looked back at him. The general tilted his head with an amused look and held his hand out toward the left hallway.

"You will join me?"

Djuta blinked. The offer sounded perfectly normal, yet somehow he knew it wasn't. Still, he steeled himself and nodded his head once. Nehara smiled and Djuta followed him down the hall, the two of them walking side by side as they had before. This part of the household was still and silent, the hallways cool and shaded. Their footsteps echoed softly against the floor.

"I rather have the feeling you didn't wish to go back outside so early in the day," Nehara said after a while, and Djuta tipped his head.

"I believe I am merely not used to desert travel, Lord."

"Unused to it? You will grow accustomed to it here; yet that is for another day." His footsteps slowed, and Djuta looked up to see that they approached a room on the left. His chest felt a little tight; he took a breath and let it out in what must have sounded like a sigh, for the corner of Nehara's mouth turned up and he gestured at the door before opening it.

"You don't trust yourself near the pool, so I thought this would be the next-best thing. My servants are gone but I assume you can cool yourself off if you wish."

"Yes, Lord."

Nehara pushed open the door and stood aside, and so Djuta went in first. He took several steps before standing aside himself; his eyes darted toward the hole still in the door, but Nehara appeared not to have noticed it. The general went over to a small table to pour himself a cup of wine.

"There is a bowl of cool water sitting on the table near the niche in the far wall, if you wish to wash yourself off."

"Thank you, Lord; I believe I'll sit for now." Djuta glanced around himself and was somewhat distressed to find no chair in his immediate area; Nehara waved at one standing a ways in front of him. Djuta went and sat down on it just as his legs decided to give out. He rubbed a hand against his head, confused as to why he was reacting like this. He took a breath to steady himself and let it out, examining Nehara's room in greater detail. He could see the bed now, large and ornate with its hanging drapes; Nehara had other furniture, but it appeared to be a bit haphazard, with a kilt and armor tossed over another chair, and a pair of sandals sitting askew on the floor beneath it.

Djuta took in another breath, scenting the air. He smelled the perfume that Nehara wore, but that was all.

"You do not keep your female with you," he said, without thinking. Nehara looked at him, and Djuta suddenly realized what he'd said. "I came across her in the hallway last night as I could not sleep," he explained, keeping his voice steady. Nehara smiled slightly and poured another drink.

"Not always, no. So you have met Yekh'iet? Did she speak with you much?"

"Actually we did not speak at all. She seemed in a hurry. I was merely surprised to see her dressed so."

"You do not have a Seer in your tribe?"

"No," Djuta said. "Certainly not a female Seer."

"I merely thought the Kemeti clothing brought out her finest features." Nehara approached him and offered a cup; Djuta took it.

"You know I do not mean her Kemeti clothing, Lord."

"Of course." They both took a drink and ceased speaking for a moment. Nehara finished his wine and turned away toward his window overlooking the central courtyard. He walked toward it and stared outside, past the hanging drapes which shielded the room from the light. When he spoke his voice was softer, as if lost in thought. "I find that the lappets enhance the whole experience...make it seem as if I have a female, and yet a Kana, with me at once." Djuta's fingers tightened around the cup. Nehara turned back to look at him and tilted his head inquisitively. "Though you have no idea of what I'm speaking...?" he said, leaving it open at the end.

Djuta forced his fingers to refrain from clenching the cup any tighter lest it shatter, and he was surprised that he still kept his voice level. "Truthfully, Lord, I once had a female who dressed the part of a male. It was different, though she did not wish to give up her rank."

Nehara blinked. Then he threw back his head and laughed. It sounded genuine; Djuta relaxed slightly, loosening his hold on the cup. Nehara pulled out a stool and brought it forward to sit down in front of him, clasping his hands between his knees. "And so you are no stranger to this," he said, sounding amused. "Though it sounds as if you had a very confused female. Yekh'iet knows her place."

"And what is her place?"

"She is Seer. What was yours?"

"A Kana, and then a Moru, depending on her mood."

Nehara's smile grew. "And so you do not turn Kana away?"

"This depends. Your lieutenant Fa'rukha seems to think I fancy him, but he needn't feel threatened. He is not my type."

The general laughed again. "You speak a little freely. I believe I gave you too much to drink." He reached forward to take the cup from Djuta's hand, and their fingers brushed. Djuta kept his hand still when Nehara's lingered, and instead of taking the cup away, the other Kana's hand slid over Djuta's and remained there. Djuta stared down into the half-empty cup, his heart thudding in his throat.

"And so you fall silent now?" He forced himself to lift his head a little, and could tell that Nehara still smiled. "When a mere moment ago you would not hold your tongue?"

"I am not certain what to say," Djuta replied quietly, unable to think of anything else. Nehara used his other hand to gently pry the cup from Djuta's fingers and set it aside, his left hand wrapping around Djuta's. Djuta instinctively grasped his back; Nehara stood but leaned down toward him, his mouth smiling slightly.

"Do we need to speak at all, then?"

Djuta finally lifted his head to look at him. He expected it when the other Kana pressed his mouth to his, yet still felt a jolt course through his body. He opened his mouth without prompting and tasted Nehara's tongue, shutting his eyes. For some strange reason he was grateful that they had been drinking wine and not beer. Nehara's other hand cupped his face, then slid down his neck to come to rest on his nape. His claws dug slightly into Djuta's skin and the lieutenant stiffened, then relaxed. His body reacted instinctively, his sheath swelling and his musk growing; Nehara's mouth parted from his and he found himself breathless, gasping softly at the air. He opened his eyes and Nehara smiled again, his forehead pressed to Djuta's.

"My bed is more comfortable," he said. "You will join me?"

Although a question, the sentence was phrased like a command. Djuta felt Nehara's hands on him and slowly stood, the two of them walking toward the bed. Nehara grasped Djuta's nape again and the lieutenant went limp, allowing himself to be laid down upon his back; he panted softly as Nehara joined him, his leg sliding over Djuta's, and their hips, still clothed, lightly touching. Nehara kissed him again and slid his hand beneath Djuta's armor, up his chest, his claws raking against the skin. His kiss moved down Djuta's neck as his hand moved down his body.

"Yekh'iet said I would be getting a new bedmate," he murmured as he nuzzled at Djuta's throat. "For some reason, I am not surprised it is you."

His hand moved over Djuta's sheath, and Djuta tensed, his claws digging into the bed. His breath picked up as the cool fingers rubbed over him, coaxing his hardness out and running along the smooth hot shaft as it emerged. Nehara's fingers tangled in his curls and Djuta felt all of his muscles aching when he remembered seeing Nehara naked the night before, the brilliant white blaze between his legs.

As if sensing his thoughts, Nehara's hand slipped away from him to work at his own belt, loosening and pulling off his kilt and then his girdle and pectoral. He tossed them carelessly aside, then worked at Djuta's clothes, as the other Kana wasn't removing them. Djuta lay and allowed himself to be undressed, Nehara lifting him by the shoulders to pull off his clothing, then settling him back into the pillows. His body slid over Djuta's and now he could feel the heat of Nehara's skin against his own. His panting increased; Nehara slipped his hand between them, tugging at Djuta's loincloth and pulling it free. He worked at his own, and Djuta pressed his muzzle to Nehara's shoulder as he could not press it to the general's crotch, sucking in the smell of his musk. It was just as sweet as it had been before, and his body shook.

Nehara touched his shoulder. "You are so eager? I did offer you a Moru, before...you should learn to take advantage of my offers." They kissed and he caressed Djuta's face. "It feels as if you have not been with someone in a long while."

Djuta struggled to find an answer somewhere in his lust-hazed brain, but couldn't speak. Nehara smiled at him and nuzzled his cheek.

"Your scent is a good one."

With this he again slid his hand between Djuta's legs, fondling his testicles. Djuta sucked in a breath and went loose. His head swam as Nehara gently rolled him over onto his stomach, and he dropped his head to the bed without complaint, his legs parting and his tail rising when the general touched his buttock. From the corner of his eye he could see Nehara's shadow, licking his fingers; a moment later he felt a coolness against him, and stiffened again, barely suppressing a moan. Nehara eased his fingers inside him, testing Djuta's readiness; once more his muscles went lax to allow his partner entry. Nehara leaned down to nibble at his nape.

"You are beautiful, for a Kana."

Djuta's eyes popped open when the jolt surged through his body again, another voice, a different voice, echoing in his head.

You are beautiful, for a Moru...

Nehara's eyes, pale brown and taunting, flashed before his own, and suddenly the taste of wine soured in his throat, the smell of the general's musk growing overpowering, sickening. Though his hardness still throbbed beneath him, his skin crawled at Nehara's touch. Half of him wanted nothing more than to buck upwards and throw the other Kana off of him, jump out of the bed, grab him by the throat, bash his head against the floor; the other half of him quailed from such a thought, wanting nothing more than to go limp and allow him to do as he wished. He found himself shaking terribly; Nehara must have mistaken it for desire, as he pulled his fingers out of him, his weight replacing itself against Djuta's back. He nuzzled at Djuta's ear and the scent of wine came to him again, only now it was beer, reeking and acrid. His fingers squeezed Djuta's buttock.

"If you wish not to speak, then we may simply go to it."

What is the matter, little Moru? Your tongue is tied?

The part of Djuta's brain that told him to lie still and endure it won out, and he tightened again when Nehara slid inside him, squinching his eyes shut and biting down a groan as the general's hardness filled him almost to bursting. He knew from sight that Nehara wasn't that big--so why did it hurt so much?

Nehara grunted softly. "You are tight, Djuta."

Why are you so tight, pretty one? Does my size put you off?

"You should relax." A hand brushed against his face, and Djuta felt himself sinking into the bed. "This will be much better that way..."

Relax, pretty Moru, and this will be much easier for us both...

Djuta went limp. His eyes fluttered shut and his mind drifted foggily as Nehara bit at his nape and pressed into him, his legs straddling Djuta's, hips moving slowly. He growled softly as he moved, but Djuta made no sound; it was as if his throat had been shut, and he could make out only a thin line of light from the sliver of his eyes, the light wavering as the general leisurely coupled with him. Though his penis still strained against the bed, every feeling of pleasure was gone, replaced only by a dull resignation and an overpowering sense of disgust. He couldn't understand the change, when before his body had been so eager to join with Nehara's. For all that he could tell, the general had done nothing wrong. Yet when his hand slid up Djuta's side, to his neck, he shuddered in response, shutting his eyes tightly and grinding his teeth. He felt as if he had been plunged into filth, and the smell of Nehara's musk, and the wine on his breath, made him want to gag.

Nehara lightly grasped his neck. "Do you enjoy this?" he murmured; when Djuta didn't respond, his other hand joined the first, on the other side of Djuta's neck.

Are you enjoying this, pretty Moru? I bet you are...

"Perhaps this will help you along..."

Nehara's hands squeezed his throat. Djuta gasped, survival instincts forcing him to take in a breath. The general's grip tightened and he choked at the feeling, panic surging through him. The bed and pillows before him suddenly disappeared, smooth tiling taking their place. Nehara's grip became overwhelming and his slow pushing grew heavier, his panting louder. It was no longer the general's breath, sweet with wine, that brushed over his shoulder; this breath was different, hot and heavy, thick with the smell of beer. Spittle flecked his cheek and he cringed, feeling something cold and hard dig into his ribs. His arms were out in front of him and only one hand now squeezed his throat, but it was big enough to do the job alone. He felt the other hand grasping his wing painfully tight; the weight upon him was such that his hips didn't need to be held down in place. Just as he was certain that his wing would snap, that hand joined the first, and Djuta struggled to breathe, choked gasping sounds escaping him.

The one pushing into him gave a breathless laugh. "You're enjoying this, pretty Moru? I thought you would."

Djuta opened his eyes again. A white stone bench stretched out before him, glinting in the moonlight. His panicked gaze flicked to the side to spot a pool, its water glimmering faintly; his body shook even harder, and though the grip lessened and he could breathe now, he found his sense of terror far increased.

The breathless chuckle came again. The reek of beer wafted over his face. "I should take you over there, shouldn't I...should've known you'd prefer the water..."

The hands let go of his neck and cool air poured into his starved lungs. Djuta found himself speaking even before he knew what he was going to say.

"I belong to Lord Tas'hukh!"

Laughter. "Yes, well, Lord Tas'hukh isn't here to keep an eye on you right now. What do you say we enjoy the water while he's gone?"

Djuta's terror and bewilderment only grew when the other pulled out of him and grabbed him by the arms, lifting him up and swinging him over his shoulder. When he looked down he could see only this other Kana's back and wings and tail, flicking lazily from side to side. The fur was the wrong color. This was not Nehara. This couldn't be real. Yet the grip on his waist was real enough, as well as the lance of pain in his skull when he was hauled forward and brought down upon the tiles, his head cracking against one. He grunted with pain, stars sparking in his eyes. He blinked a few times to see pale brown eyes leering down at him; his own widened. This wasn't possible. He couldn't be here. He couldn't. That was years ago.

Bakh'asu grinned and rolled him over onto his stomach. Djuta finally regained some of his senses and scrabbled at the tiles, trying desperately to force himself up; the Kana's weight was too much for him, and he would have screamed when he felt a hot length rammed up into his insides, except that his head fell forward--or was pushed--down into the pool. Instead of air for a scream, water filled his throat; his limbs flailed in panic and then his head was yanked back up by the mane, water gushing from his nose and mouth, and tendrils of pain crawling across his scalp. He sputtered and coughed brokenly and heard a hearty laugh.

"I told you you would like the water! Don't you, Moru--?"

Gush. Djuta's head plunged into the water again. And again it came out, and then in again, in tempo with Bakh'asu's heavy thrusts. The Kana laughed and dragged his head back up every time he pushed inside, as if he were riding a Sha and Djuta's head were the reins.

Djuta's struggling grew weaker as the strength fled him, his body starved for air; eventually Bakh'asu lost interest in shoving his head in the water and focused instead on pushing into him, grunting hard as he moved, but by then Djuta no longer cared. He lay upon the tiles, panting and spent and waiting for it to end. Even trying to forget, to float away from here, didn't work as it usually had. He felt every thrust, every grip against his shoulders, every drop of sweat that stung his skin. He could smell everything and hear everything. He didn't know how this could be happening again, but it was. Still, a tiny part of his brain rebelled against the idea, and he dimly focused on this.

I'm not with Bakh'asu. I am with Nehara. He's not forcing me. I am here willingly. I'm not with Bakh'asu. I am with Nehara. He's not forcing me. I am here willingly. I'm not with Bakh'asu. I am with Nehara...

I am with Nehara...

If it makes him trust me...

A sense of purpose slowly dragged itself back into his consciousness. Not lust, though Nehara had been attractive enough when he'd first seen him; the very faint reminders of Bakh'asu were enough to detract from that. More like duty; if Nehara bedded him, then Nehara trusted him. If Nehara trusted him...then he could do what he'd come here to do in the first place...

As soon as this realization came over him, the pool, the tiles, the smell of sweat and beer and musk faded, not nearly quickly enough; silken sheets, pillows, and the faint scent of sweat and wine and musk took their place. Instead of Bakh'asu's great hands squeezing his throat and dunking his head in the water, he felt Nehara's long fingers squeezing his throat, not nearly tightly enough to choke him, but just enough to make his head buzz. Instead of the sergeant's heavy, brutal thrusting, he again felt the general's smooth slow strokes; but he was relieved enough to just be able to breathe, and sank limp against the bed, shutting his eyes. His shaft throbbed against the mattress, and after another moment or two, Nehara pushing himself in and touching him inside just right, he felt the tension snap, a wetness spreading out beneath him. He let out a breath and heard Nehara do the same, his buttocks tightening slightly only at the hot feel of the Kana's seed within him. Then they both relaxed, panting softly in the dim room, the gauzy drapes floating on the breeze of their breath. The room fell still but for this, and Djuta continued sucking in deep breaths lest he lose his chance again.

Nehara leaned down over him, his breath fanning over Djuta's cheek. A faint scent of wine. "You should learn to relax," he whispered huskily. "It would be more enjoyable, then."

Djuta offered no reply, as he could think of none. There was no way that he could describe everything he'd just seen. He didn't even understand it, himself. The two of them lay upon each other for a while before Nehara pulled himself out and rolled over onto his back to lie beside the lieutenant, and they stayed that way for a while longer, Nehara staring up at the canopy, Djuta staring across at the courtyard. After a few moments Djuta felt claws running lightly down his spine, and shut his eyes again.

"So?" Nehara murmured, running his claws up Djuta's back now. "Are you always so tense during nesakh'ai?"

"It has been a while." Djuta's voice was muffled by the pillows. "I am unused to being with another Kana."

Nehara's mouth twitched and he traced his fingers over Djuta's ear. "This is good, then; I had begun to suppose I repelled you somehow." He leaned down to nuzzle at the other Kana, who couldn't quite suppress a sigh. "I doubt you would still be here if you didn't truly wish to share my bed...would you, Lieutenant?"

Djuta knew that he had to answer, but no words came. He responded instead by stretching his wings and flicking his tail. Through one slitted eye he noticed Nehara's gaze follow his wings as they rose and fell, and could tell from his expression that the general was pleased. He sat up somewhat to lean back against the pillows, playing with Djuta's ear; Djuta rolled his head to the side to look at him and stared at the ivory white fur between his legs. Despite the awful memory, he was still drawn to it; perhaps because of the awful memory. Looking in that direction, he didn't have to look into Nehara's pale brown eyes anymore.

Nehara's smile grew when he noticed Djuta's attention. He cupped the other Kana's cheek and tilted his head; Djuta accepted the invitation and crawled toward him, not lifting his head to look him in the face. He buried his muzzle against Nehara's crotch, breathing in his scent, nuzzling against the shock of white fur. Nehara didn't grasp his head as he could have done, but instead stroked his neck as he licked. Djuta took the general's testicles into his mouth and sucked on them lightly, hearing Nehara's shaky sigh above him. Claws trailed across his cheek.

"Well...at least you are not so tense...when you are doing this."

Djuta didn't reply, only stretched his wings again. As he gave Nehara hakh'tua he focused on the scent and taste and feel of him, driving out the memory of Bakh'asu; but though he did enjoy the flood of salty-bitter juice into his throat, as well as the honor of Nehara mouthing him in return, his fur still prickled at the feel of the general's touch...and when at last they lay side by side in the bed, dozing, it was as if he had drunk poison instead of seed, his stomach pitched and roiled so badly. He shut his eyes and tried to remind himself of why he had done this, why he was here...but it was something else that he continued to remember instead.

Even in his sleep, as late as it came, his mind knew no rest; and he moaned Bakh'asu's name more than once.

Continue:

"Part 62: Vision" 


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