Chapter 140 - Ilio part 7

At the first hint of dawn, which was little more than a lightening of the featureless haze that had enveloped the region, we set off for the Neirie encampment. It was still raining hard when we abandoned the conifer wood, but the rain slackened as we traveled southeast, ebbing at last to a slow drizzle as we rounded a hill and beheld the camp below.

Like us, the Neirie had slept beneath makeshift lean-tos constructed of tree limbs and foliage. They had fled the village of the Oombai with scant supplies, living off the land as best they could as they journeyed home. They had plundered a bit of clothing and weapons from the fallen Oombai army, but their settlement still looked quite poor. Once again I found myself impressed by their spirit and resourcefulness.

A good number of men and women had already arisen. They stumbled groggily about the camp, looking for a bit of breakfast, or ducked into the bushes to take care of their morning toilet. They had managed to build a couple smoldering fires, shielding the flames beneath the overhang of their shelters, and that's where most of them gathered once they'd visited the woods, boiling their morning tea or having their first smoke of the day.

None took note of our approach.

Ilio faltered at my side as we descended the hill toward their camp, his face purposefully neutral. I could see his nostrils flaring. I put my hand on his shoulder to support him.

"Are you sure you can endure this, boy?" I asked.

I could feel his muscles twitching beneath my hand. His entire body had gone rigid, like a great cat preparing to spring upon its prey.

"I can… smell them," he whispered huskily. "Their... blood!"

"As do I," I said. "Try to put thoughts of feeding out of your mind. Do not even allow yourself to fantasize about it."

He swallowed, then nodded anxiously. "I am ready."

He strode ahead of me without encouragement then, moving purposefully. I hurried to catch up, putting a pleasant expression on my face. The ground squished soggily beneath our feet.

Where was Tapas? I wondered, searching the Neirie faces below. Had his group already departed?

At last someone took notice of us. A female voice rang out in fear. All through the camp, nervous Neirie eyes swiveled in our direction. Several men leapt to their feet, clutching spears or clubs. Others tried hurriedly to reassure their companions, explaining that I was the one who had killed the Elders, saved them from the Oombai's final attempt to recapture them.

I saw Tapas then. He came scurrying from a copse of spindly saplings, fumbling with the laces of his breeches. He raised his hand to me as he shouted at the others. "Taian dow!" he yelled. "Sprecht ien d'tzau!" Most of the men lowered their weapons, though a few continued to stare at us suspiciously.

"It pleases me to see you, Thest," Tapas called, climbing the hill to meet us. He was a little out of breath. "Have you come to see me off this fine summer morning?"

I embraced the soggy man with a laugh, and we continued toward the camp, walking side by side. "I have motives other than courtesy for visiting you this morning, I must confess," I said.

"If you've come to ask us for a favor, know that we are only too happy to accommodate your needs," Tapas replied. "We owe you more than just our freedom, T'sukuru. Many of us owe you our lives."

"You are very generous, Tapas. The favor I ask is very small."

"You have but to speak it."

I noticed that he kept peeking at the boy as we walked. "This is Ilio," I introduced them. "He is my adopted son."

"He is much changed from the last time I saw him," Tapas said, looking down on the lad with a friendly smile. "Ilio, is it? That is a Denghoi name. I saw you at the Oombai festival." Ilio nodded in acknowledgement, and Tapas turned back toward me. "He is a blood god now. I can tell by the pallor of his skin."

"He is T'sukuru," I confirmed.

I glanced at Ilio from the corner of my eye, noting the stiff gait with which he walked. I could see it was a effort for him to resist the song of the blood. I empathized. I, too, felt its seductive call. The living hunger twisted my guts into knots. It whispered temptations in my mind, seducing, cajoling. Kill them… feast on their blood…!

As it always does.

Never ceasing.

Even as I suffered, I kept a close eye on the boy, ready to restrain him should he lose control and pounce.

Tapas sensed that I was reluctant to discuss the boy's condition. He changed the subject. "So tell me, great warrior, what is this favor you seek?"

"You speak the tongue of these other tribes," I said. "I would have you make a way for us among them before you leave for your homeland."

"A formal introduction, you mean. So that they're comfortable with your presence?"

I nodded.

"But of course, my friend! Such a small favor to ask!"

Ilio looked at me imploringly.

"Also," I said, "we would like to see the woman. The one who claims my son has sired a child in her belly."

"The Tanti woman Priss," Tapas said.

"Priss?" Ilio shouted, surprising us both. "Priss is the one who carries my child?"

Tapas absorbed the boy's excitement, grinning knowingly at me.

"So she claims," Tapas said mildly. He leaned toward me, muttering out of the corner of his mouth, "No ass can proclaim a foal of his spraying 'til the babe is full grown and takes up his braying."

I tried to conceal my amusement, looking toward Ilio to see if he understood the jest.

But Ilio had retreated into his thoughts. He stared straight ahead as he walked, his brow furrowed.

I could see past his troubled expression, however. We had been companions for two whole cycles of the seasons. He was pleased, despite his worries, that this woman called Priss was the one who carried his child.

As for me, I could not recall which one was which. In all honesty, I had paid little attention to the slave women who tended to Ilio that day. Their eldest sister, Aioa, had commanded the lion's share of my attention. A fiery and self-possessed woman, Aioa had given me to drink of her blood, seduced me with her body, whispering sweet venom in my ears in hopes of setting me against her Oombai oppressors. I knew Ilio had mated with the two subordinate sisters, but I was deaf and blind to the rather vigorous activities on the boy's side of the hut that afternoon.

As we walked, I made small talk with Tapas. "I wager you're excited to be headed home at last," I said.

Tapas nodded. "Excited, but weary. Leading these people has become a tiresome burden. Everyone worships a different god, and each man thinks his is the only true faith. Now that we are safe from the Oombai, thanks to you, these people have taken to bickering endlessly about their beliefs. It gives me headaches. I cannot wait to be free of such fruitless concerns."

We were walking through the outskirts of the camp now. The whole group had roused and moved to surround us. It was as if they shared a single mind, dogging our steps as Tapas led us to the center of the settlement. They whispered to one another fretfully-- thin, dirty men and women, eyes round with curiosity and fear. The drizzle helped to subdue the smell of their bodies, the scent of their blood, but only a little, and certainly not enough for comfort.

I glanced toward Ilio nervously, but he still had control of his bloodthirst.

Barely.

Though I am sure the signs would be indiscernible to a mortal, I could see him wrestling with the impulse to attack them. I could see it in the dilation of his pupils, the tiny flutters in the muscles of his jaw. I heard his stomach gurgle, and then he swallowed.

So did I.

We were assailed by a multitude of tongues. Some of the words sounded familiar, but most of their talk was nonsensical. The babble of lunatics.

Tapas threw his arms into the air. He yelled for their attention and the crowd instantly fell silent. He had the voice of a natural born leader, deep and rich and carrying. In the village of the ground scratchers, he had been an object of scorn, employed as a sex performer because of his unusually generous endowments. Now he was the provisional chieftain of a large group of freed slaves. Even I was impressed by the man, and I worried what would become of the Neirie once he departed.

He spoke for a long time, switching between several different languages. A few men standing in the crowd translated his words even further, muttering under their breath to their own individual cliques. Every time the giant gestured toward us, the eyes of the crowd turned obediently in our direction, and each time they turned toward us, it seemed, their expressions were more and more awestruck. I could hear my name being whispered in the throng: "Thest… Thest…!" Some of the Tanti men standing in a cluster near the back of the crowd were jabbering at one another anxiously, gesticulating. I could see two women standing in their midst, though the bodies of their tribesmen blocked most of their features from my sight.

Tapas finished speaking and the crowd shifted toward us. Many of the men and women laid their hands upon us, their faces beaming with gratitude and acceptance. "Thest! Ilio!" they said, nodding their heads and patting us. Ilio made a low groaning sound, his hands twitching, and I grabbed ahold of him by the upper arm, yanking him nearer to my side.

A dozen languages, a hundred hands.

"T'sukuru gi onho!"

"Ilio on'n ma sumbun!"

"Che wheh? Ulg! Ulg!"

I could feel the boy trembling against me. Endure! I thought intently, as if that might somehow transmit the unspoken command to his mind.

Then the crowd parted and the Tanti strode forward in a group. They were stout, proud men-- much like the people of my own lost tribe-- their chins thrust out, their eyes fervid and shining with what I surmised was some species of religious ecstasy.

Watching them approach, I again felt that nagging sense of familiarity. It was as if I recognized some part of myself in them. A modern person might call that feeling déjà vu, but it was not déjà vu… not exactly.

Something is different about these Tanti people, I thought. But what…?

I did not have time to ponder it further. The men in the front turned sharply on their heels, stepping aside with an abbreviated bow. From the center of their protective circle strode two young Tanti women. It was Aioa's sisters, the slave women who had seduced my mortal son.

Ilio gasped at the sight of them. "Priss!" he exclaimed.

The smaller one, the one who commanded Ilio's attention, stepped to the fore. She was as lovely as Aioa had been, though frailer, her features unspoiled by the passions that had tempered her older sister's looks, and though she was dressed in little more than rags, I found myself moved by her placid beauty. Priss's other sister (who, I learned later, was called Lorn) was a taller, more voluptuous woman, just as attractive in her own way, though not as finely featured.

Priss smiled at Ilio, one pale hand cupping the gentle curve of her bare belly.

"Ilio," she nodded, and then she said something to him I could not understand.

Ilio went to his knees in front of her, moving faster than I could react. For a second I feared he meant to attack her, that he had finally lost control of the bloodthirst.

Instead, he put his ear to her belly.

As if he could hear such a tiny thing! I thought. She couldn't have been more than two moons gone by!

As the rest of the Tanti watched, nervousness and wonder warring in their expressions, the young slave woman cupped Ilio's chin and urged him to his feet.

They were both small in stature. In fact, they stood almost eye-to-eye-- Ilio being a scant shade taller. Priss, still holding his chin, turned Ilio's face from one side to the other. She took in the changes the living blood had wrought upon his features. His skin: smooth and hard as stone. His complexion: white and bloodless. She stared into his gleaming jewel-like eyes, and an expression of sympathy stole over her countenance. 

She smiled and spoke to him again. Soft words. A promise, perhaps? I could not understand their meaning, but Ilio could, it seemed. He nodded and replied to her in the Tanti tongue, and then stepped backwards—very formally-- to my side.

The Tanti slave women withdrew inside their ring of protectors. The men enclosed the females, then, bowing once more to us, they huddled the women away.

I looked from Ilio to the retreating Tanti, wondering what, exactly, I had just bore witness to.