Chapter 176 - Zenzele, My Captor part 3

I had yet to meet the one who'd waved her over. This one had been absent from the battle in the forest. As Zenzele's horse stepped into the circle of torches, he left off from his toils and met her halfway across the grounds. He appraised me with a scowl-- from my tangled hair and muddy face to my torn clothing and bare feet-- and then he turned his attention to the woman. He spoke in the tongue of the T'sukuru, the words still gibberish to me, but it was obvious that I was the subject of their conversation.

He was a tall man, broad across the shoulders, and with features that could only be described as beautiful. Large, pale blue eyes, a small upturned nose and dimpled cheeks. He might have looked childlike but for his powerful jaw and jutting chin. He had shoulder-length brown hair, pulled back by a leather thong, and wore intricately inscribed bone-plated armor.

Zenzele answered him, her voice purring with mockery—yet, I detected an undercurrent of defensiveness in her tone. Her posture was stiffly erect, as if she did not fully trust the man.

The handsome blood drinker looked at me again, clearly unconvinced by whatever it was she had said to him, and she snapped at him.

He ran a tongue along the tip of one of his upper fangs, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk, then he shrugged and ambled away. I watched as he returned to his labors, helping several mortals to erect a high-peaked frame tent.

Zenzele sighed, then urged her mount forward. A mortal attendant came trotting toward us, and my captor slid from the back of her beast. She turned the horse over to the care of the mortal, then led me toward their captives.

"That one is Palifver," she said in a low voice, nodding toward the handsome blood drinker. "He is my second-in-command."

"You do not trust him," I murmured.

Her eyes flashed at me. "Khronos is his patron."

I glanced at the man over my shoulder, impressed that he could unnerve such an imperious woman. 

Most vampires are like my adopted son Ilio, stronger and faster than a normal human, more resilient, able to survive physical trauma that would kill a mortal man-- but not completely invulnerable. Decapitation, dismemberment, grievous injury… these things will kill most vampires, and we can all sense those vulnerabilities in one another. Palifver was strong. He was a bit more powerful than my maker, perhaps, but not much more. He was not a true immortal like me… or my beautiful obsidian mistress.

Khronos must favor him greatly, I mused, to make a true immortal so wary.

I thought for a moment that she intended to bind me with the rest of the captives, but she did not. She inspected them, paying particular attention to the bite marks on their necks and wrists. I guess she was checking them for disease. A vampire's bite can transmit infection just like any other animal's bite.

I followed Zenzele as she circled the captive mortals. The sight of them filled me with great pity, yet what could I do? If I defied these ruthless blood drinkers, they would surely visit retribution on my loved ones.

The mortals were haggard, their bodies bruised and riddled with teeth marks. They were filthy and tattered and hollow-eyed. Hopeless. Pushed to the brink of collapse. I wanted to save them. I wanted to deliver them from bondage, but I was as much a prisoner as they.

Some of them looked at me, their eyes beseeching. Others sneered with revulsion or contempt.

I turned away, ashamed.

At least they had shelter: a crude lean-to. Several fires blazed near enough to keep their bodies from freezing. They would survive this howling blizzard… but to what end?

My mistress finished her inspection. She gave some orders to the mortals who tended the slaves, then ducked from their shelter and led me toward the big tent that Palifver had been laboring over.

It was fully erect now, its peaked roof shaking in the whistling gales. Zenzele bent through the flyflap and surveyed the interior. Waterproof skins had been laid out on the soggy ground. In the center of the tent, Palifver was working to build a fire. A couple mortal attendants dashed to and fro, putting down sleeping furs and woven mats. Soon the shelter would be cozy and warm, while the captives of the blood drinkers shivered outside.

Palifver's glinting blue eyes followed us as Zenzele led me to a particularly luxurious pile of furs. She took the rope from around my neck and put it aside. She watched me warily for a moment, as if she thought I might attack her or try to escape. Like my flimsy leash was anything more than symbolic! When I did not immediately revolt, she smiled and called out to the domestic slaves.

They were still readying the tent for occupation, but at her summons, they came scrambling to assist her.

They were small males. Young. Androgynous. More finely attired than their slave-tender counterparts. Their faces were painted white with red lips and dark-circled eyes. 

"Hold my hand," she said to me, and when I took her tiny cold fingers in mine, she lifted her left foot and allowed her attendants to wash it. She smiled at me, her teeth very sharp and white in the dim interior of the tent, then she lifted her other foot, her perfectly formed toes slightly curled.

They helped her out of her body armor and cleaned and dried her flesh, then eased more comfortable garments onto her.

I stared into her eyes, trying to ignore her nakedness, trying to will my body not to respond to those brief glimpses of bare flesh.

I should feel only hatred for this woman, I thought.

She represented all that I found repugnant in this world. Arrogant. Cruel. She was a slave trader. A killer.

And yet, the sight of her small breasts, the smooth curve of a flawless thigh, made my stomach flutter like an adolescent boy. I wanted to circle my lips around her nipples. I wanted to lick my way down her body, part the coarse fleece of her maidenhood with my tongue.

She belted the bright red frock they'd put on her, grinning at my studied neutrality, then lowered herself onto her furs and gestured for the mortal attendants to clean me.

One of them asked her something, and she replied curtly, looking annoyed. With a flick of her fingers, she sent them hurrying away. I watched as the little mortals crossed to the other side of the tent and started searching through a large sack.

While the attendants were digging through the bag, Palifver stared at Zenzele. He had built up the fire to a crackling blaze and his eyes glowed in the dancing yellow light. She ignored him, looking after her attendants. Finally, she grew annoyed and called out to them in a sharp voice. The fussy little men rushed back to us, one of them clutching a long strip of cloth.

They cleaned my feet, then relieved me of my tattered clothes, curling their noses in distaste as they handled my mangled garments. Zenzele appraised my nakedness as they cleaned me. I cupped my genitals in my hands, submitting meekly to their care as they swabbed the mud from my flesh. Some of the other blood drinkers pushed through the flap of the tent as I stood there exposed and I endured their mockery without expression. I still did not understand what they were saying, but their amusement was quite evident. They pointed and laughed. Made crude gestures with their hands.

"If'v ever d'moii?" one of the little mortals asked, looking up at me. When I didn't reply, he glanced toward his mistress.

Zenzele nodded and flicked her finger at me.

I jumped as he slid his forearm between my legs.

"D'moii," he said, smiling up at me.

I raised my arms to allow the attendants to clothe me. The garment they'd taken from the sack was a loincloth. It was made of tree bark, cut into a long, narrow strip and beaten soft. While the first man held one end up over the front of me, the second twisted his end into a rope, yanked it between my buttocks and passed it around my waist. They circled the strip around to the back again and knotted it, cinching it tight. When they had girded my loins, Zenzele dismissed the two mortals to tend to the other blood drinkers. The little men bowed and scurried away, and she gestured for me to sit.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked in Tanti, and I shrugged. In truth, I wanted to pick that prickly cloth out of my buttocks. I kept my features devoid of expression, however. Emotionless. She smoothed her bedding as if she did not notice and said, "It will be dawn soon. We sleep during the day, of course, while the slave-tenders look after our captives. When night comes, we continue to Uroboros."

"How far is it?" I asked.

"Many nights past the mountains. We can only travel as fast as the slaves can walk. Alone, I could make the journey in two nights, but only if I ran without stopping. With as many slaves as we have this time: three fists, maybe four."

Fifteen to twenty days.

"Your eyes flash with anger when I mention the slaves," she said. "I saw pity in your gaze when I inspected them earlier. Are you truly so fond of mortals?"

"You were a mortal once," I replied.

She scowled. "I was also a slave once. What does that matter now?"

I wanted to ask her how she could be so callous. Did she not have a mortal family at some point in her life? Was she not loved?

Before I could give voice to my thoughts, however, the other blood drinkers laughed uproariously. Judging by the way the big one was gesticulating—swinging his big stone hammer, which he'd brought inside the tent—he was recounting our battle in the forest. The giant—Zenzele had called him Bhorg—pointed at me and grinned, his teeth big and square, with long and wickedly curved fangs. Palifver glanced in our direction. His laughter was shrill with hatred.

"They don't believe that you will honor our bargain," Zenzele said.

I glanced at her guiltily.

Maybe I won't, I thought.

"I told Palifver what I promised you. That I would spare the Tanti in return for your submission," she said, staring into my eyes intently, as if her words had some hidden meaning. "I sent Hettut to spy on them tonight. He was only supposed to count their numbers, but he is… easily tempted. I had planned to raid the village at nightfall tomorrow. Since the fall of the Oombai, we have been forced to raid the villages of the Western Dominions ourselves. It was simpler before, when we bartered with the Oombai for our slaves. You have caused us quite a bit of aggravation."

I absorbed what she had just confessed to me, wondering at the kindness implied by her words. She had lied to her second-in-command about the terms of my surrender. She knew that I cared for the Tanti, but why be merciful now? I was defeated.

And then I thought of my beloved Tanti. I imagined them bound and shivering in the cold. I thought of my Irema and Aioa, Valas and Yorda and their whole extended family, all their sons and daughters and grandchildren. I thought of the fishermen, the huntsmen, the craftsmen, and their wives. Good, dutiful, cheerful women. I pictured the village destroyed, the streets full of the dead, my Tanti tribesmen conquered, and all the tattered survivors marched away to Uroboros.

And what could they look forward to if they survived the arduous trek?

To be enslaved?

Devoured?

"I will honor our bargain," I said gravely. "Spare the Tanti, Zenzele, and I am yours. Whatever you will do with me."