Chapter 9: The Spiritwalker makes his move

The sky a red, hazy blur, Sala's head pounded painfully as she strained to open her eyes. Her body throbbed in agony, most especially her left leg. The shooting pain in her thigh was localized though, somehow sharper than the rest. What was wrong with her? Where was she? Why could she not remember?

As she attempted to clutch protectively at her ailing body, she discovered to her great alarm that she could not move her arms. Moreover, she could feel from the ground below her and see, barely, from the sky above her she traveled in a forward direction. But that was impossible because she was lying on her back.

Trying to concentrate through a thick fog, the young woman struggled to reconcile these inconsistencies as she endeavored to gain control of her immobile limbs. Finding both efforts futile, she set her sights to a smaller goal. What could she remember?

The woods. Mushrooms. Laughter.

Jakal.

"So how do you like your new carving, Sala?" Yaja inquired as she adjusted the sling cradling her sleeping baby to the opposite hip.

Sala blushed as she plucked the mushrooms from the patch in front of her. "It has been ... quite enjoyable. Thank you so much for suggesting it. You were right; I think Jakal finds using it almost as pleasurable as I do."

"On him or you?" she teased, squatting next to her friend.

"Yaja!"

Belak's mate laughed. "Just curious. Some men enjoy such things, you know."

"Including your mate?"

"Well, I would be lying if I said we had not tried it at least once," she admitted. "But Belak did not find it particularly pleasurable."

"I think we have been so busy enjoying using it on me the idea never occurred to us," Sala explained. Perhaps next time she would ask Jakal if the idea appealed to him.

"My mate wanted me to ask how you like its texture. When I came home on the day he gave it to Jakal, he practically attacked me he was so excited by the idea of pleasuring me with two carvings, one rough and one smooth. He kept asking in which opening I thought the bumpier one would feel better."

Sala's groin flooded with heat. "We have only a 'bumpy' carving, so I cannot compare it to the sensation of a smooth one, but I can tell you the texture of ours is exceptionally pleasurable, especially when it rubs against this special place at the front of my womanhood. I have had some of the strongest peaks I have ever experienced using it in such a manner."

Yaja nodded in agreement. "I actually ... wet the furs the first time Belak stimulated that place inside me with ours. It was incredibly pleasurable but also a bit startling. At first I thought I had emptied my bladder, but it turned out to be closer to what leaves a man's body when he releases." She paused. "Have you tried the carving in your back entrance? For some reason I imagine the texture would feel somewhat strange there."

"It is unusual, but still pleasurable. Overall I enjoy it more inside my womanhood." Blushing, she added, "But what I like best is when both Jakal's manhood and the carving are inside me."

The two women started laughing so loudly that Yaja's infant whimpered, beginning to wake. Shushing themselves into giggles, nonetheless they could detect the scent of the other's arousal, proof of the powerful effect their discussion was having on their bodies.

Standing up, Sala pressed her legs together, as much to stem the moisture beginning to run down them as it was an attempt to quell the pulsing in her sex.

"Thanks a lot, Yaja. Now my body is ready for the furs and Jakal is nowhere in sight."

Her friend laughed anew. "Then I suppose it is a good thing we are out in the woods," she replied with a wink.

"If you will excuse me, I think I am going to ... check a little further this way to see if there are any more of these mushrooms."

Smirking, Yaja winked at her again.

As soon as she was out of sight, Sala slid her hand underneath her tunic, groaning to feel herself hot and wet. Giddy with wantonness — somehow there was something thrilling about the knowledge that another knew she was about to self-pleasure — she hurried along until she found a suitable place. Gently laying her gathering pouch on a log, she hiked up her garment above her hips and, leaning against the trunk of a tree, spread her legs.

Splitting her swollen, clinging lips with her finger, she slathered her erect node with her slippery liquid and began stroking it slowly, teasing the trembling tip before gliding around and around its throbbing base. Closing her eyes, the young woman envisioned making love with her mate the previous night...

... Parting her legs, Jakal had inhaled deeply her personal musk, groaning as he told her how much her scent intoxicated him, how much he loved to taste her. Her body shivered when he kissed the soft skin of her inner thighs, gradually licking his way to her burning, quivering womanhood.

From between her legs he paused to gaze at her with half-closed eyes, his hands slinking up her abdomen until they found her curved mounds, nipples contracting against his palms as he cupped her pliant flesh. While he continued to caress her breasts, he returned his attention to her aching sex.

Sala had cried out in pleasure when his tongue finally slithered over her petals, lifting her hips in a wordless plea to enter her with his nimble organ. He licked the length of her slit, cleaving apart the clinging lips to reveal the steaming center of her womanhood. Groaning with desire when he finally tasted her, Jakal lingered to lap her juices before plunging his tongue deep inside, her tight canal grasping at it while he penetrated her over and over.

Enveloped in her wet heat, two long fingers replaced his oral digit, sliding deep inside as she shook beneath him. With his free hand her mate then placed his thumb above her pleasure node, lifting its protective hood to reveal the blood-filled morsel. He nibbled the protruding head until she screamed, mashing her palpitating, sodden flesh into his mouth and chin.

Her slick fluid flowing freely, Jakal lubricated his digits, tickling the soft wrinkled skin hiding her secret passage. Lifting her legs, he bent them back toward her body until Sala could hold them apart, revealing the tiny, dusky bud, winking as it awaited his fingers. He caressed it first with his tongue, working it inside her for a moment, his breath heavy against her skin while she moaned rapturously. He then opened her clenching orifice gradually, one finger at a time, exploring her body's warmth as he probed the entrance, dilating the constricted ring wider and wider.

Shifting position, her mate sat with his legs open, his rigid manhood pointing straight up, the tip glistening in anticipation. Squatting in front of him facing outward, Sala wrapped her fingers around its base, guiding it to her dark hole. She lowered herself onto his thick organ, slowly stretching the taut band wide to accommodate his girth; they both moaned as it yielded reluctantly, gripping him fiercely as it rippled over his stiff, shuddering tool.

When her bottom finally slid all the way down to his lap, fully impaled, they paused while the clenching muscles flitted around the base of the organ piercing her hidden tunnel. After the fluttering ceased they shifted as one onto their sides. Hooking her upper leg over his thigh, Jakal speared her dripping womanhood with the carving. The fullness she experienced when both entrances were finally filled made Sala cry out with ecstasy, her sensitive walls engulfing two shafts, one cool and ridged, the other hot and pulsing.

Jakal had found the combination exquisite as well, whispering in her ear as he thrust in and out of her how tightly she sheathed him, how he could feel the carving's hardness, its shape and texture massaging his length while he was inside her. At his urging, she pleasured herself for him as he watched over her shoulder, groaning at the sight of one hand pinching her erect nipples while the other stroked her engorged bud faster and faster, matching the rhythm of the dual ravishment of her body...

Recalling these sensations Sala's pleasure continued to build, grateful for the tree trunk holding her upright while her feminine fluids dripped all over her plunging fingers. Feverishly rubbing her button with the other hand, she thought then of the questions Yaja asked her. Had Belak pictured her and Jakal in his mind while he took his mate in a similar way? Did he imagine the two of them grunting and rutting, reaching new heights thanks to their gift? Sala wondered if being watched as she joined bodies with Jakal would be as exciting as it had been when she watched Belak and Yaja.

"Ohhh, yes! Yes!" she moaned, her final thought sending her over the edge as her fingers continued playing rapidly with her hardened nub. Thrusting her hips wildly, the young woman wished her mate were here right now, watching her self-pleasure, ready to take her.

Suddenly she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head. Collapsing to the ground, everything went black.

As Jakal strode across the Camp on his way to assist a group of men making repairs to an Elder's dwelling, Veba approached him.

"Good morning, Jakal," she greeted with a friendly smile.

"Good morning, Veba," he replied, returning her smile.

He was in a good mood this morning. Keta had been impressed with all they had accomplished in the last few days, and she agreed that he and Sala would have her blessing to leave the settlement for a short while to visit his brother. If they wished, they could leave the next day, a day earlier than anticipated.

The Light-Eyed One looked forward to sharing the good news with his mate. He considered tracking her down to let her know right away, but she told him she and her friends would be ranging farther out on this day, and he was needed here to assist with many repairs. Perhaps later this afternoon he would hike down to the woods and find her; that way they could walk back to the Camp together before the evening meal.

"I was wondering if you might join me for the midday meal," Veba invited.

Somewhat startled by the sudden offer, Jakal was unsure how to respond at first. Then he felt wary. Was this another one of her gross attempts to "seduce" him?

"Um, thank you for the offer, but I..." he began.

As if she were aware of the reason behind his hesitation, she quickly interrupted. "Please, Jakal. I understand and accept that you and your mate have an exclusive arrangement between the furs. I do not make this invitation in order to persuade you to change your mind. I know I said some things which were ... inappropriate when you first announced your sacred bond, and I very much regret them. I wish only that we might be friends again, and I had hoped by sharing a meal together, it might serve as the first step in repairing the damage I have done."

Moved by the woman's gesture, the Light-Eye smiled. If she was willing to make a fresh start, then so was he; the Camp was really too small, and life too short, to hold grudges. "Thank you for your kind offer, Veba. I accept your invitation."

She sighed, relieved. "I am preparing something special, so I am afraid it will not be ready until later on this afternoon. I hope you do not mind."

"Oh no," he assured her. "That just ensures I bring my appetite. Though I hope you are not going to too much trouble. It really is not necessary to do so."

"It is no trouble at all," she insisted. "I just ... I want to demonstrate how truly sorry I am."

Jakal whistled the rest of the way to the Elder's dwelling. It was proving to be a good day indeed.

When Sala woke she found herself gagged, her hands bound in front of her. She was slung over the shoulder of...

Oh no! This cannot be happening! Not again, not again! Panicking, she began beating her fists against his back, aiming for his spine.

"Mmph!"

He flung her off him onto the forest floor. Though the leafy, mossy ground cushioned her fall somewhat, she still landed painfully with a thud.

Towering above her, the Spiritwalker's eyes flashed. "That was exceedingly unwise," he scolded, wagging his finger. He crouched beside her, stroking her hair. Sala recoiled at his touch. "So here we are again, my dearest Intended. It has been far too long."

He knew he did not really have the time to stop; he had hoped they would have cleared the woods by now. Carrying the female significantly slowed him down, but even with the Tracker unable to follow, he did not want to leave behind a trail so obvious as two sets of footprints or a drag mark this close to her last known location, just in case anyone else came looking for her.

Once they had traveled beyond the trees for a time, if she refused to walk on her own, then he would haul her in a less cumbersome manner. The shaman was certain any search efforts would be concentrated solely on the forest; it covered such a wide area that by the time they figured out she was not there, few, if any, indications they had crossed into the grasslands would remain. And in any case, it did not matter; by then the female would be long dead, never to be seen again.

Look at her. Bound like a slaughtered herbivore, ready to be transported, glowering at me even as she cowers at my feet. He did not like the way she looked at him. Peering upward, the Spiritwalker noted the sun's location. Well, he supposed there was a little time for a brief lesson on respecting his authority. After all, a little time was all she had left.

Standing up, he removed his pack and reached for the thong around his waist. "Oh Sala," he sighed, untying his garment. "You know, I was just thinking that you and I would have been mates by now, had you not made the foolish decision to betray me. That hurt, and disappointed me so much."

The young woman's eyes widened in alarm when his rigid manhood sprung free as he removed his leggings.

"Were you aware that what you did was a violation of one of our most sacred tenets?" he inquired, folding his clothes neatly and placing them on a large stone next to him. "Did you know that long ago, the Great Spirits spoke directly to one of my Brethren about the privilege of selection?

"The life of a spiritual leader is one of great sacrifices. We give up our own names, and many of our freedoms, all in service of our people. We cannot come and go as we please, travel simply to visit friends and family, because our responsibility to our people is far too great.

"We appeal to the Spirits to bless our people with plentiful food, to sanction our joinings, to keep our children healthy and strong. We must tend to the sick, prepare the dead for the next world, comfort the bereaved. We guide our people's sacred journeys, and as emissaries to the Great Spirits we put ourselves in harm's way as we walk their World; malevolent spirits also walk the Other side, and we often must traverse there alone, risking our own lives so our people need not.

"The Spirits recognized the incredible responsibilities borne by the spiritual caste every day of our lives, and took pity on us. They informed my Brother that because Spiritwalkers give up so much for their Clan, one of their Clan in turn should make a sacrifice as well."

Kneeling at her feet, the Spiritwalker began working on the knots he had secured around her ankles. "By making the Spiritwalker's selection of a mate absolute, it would serve as a symbol of the burdens we bear; the people would learn in one small way what their spiritual leaders give up on their behalf. By putting the decision regarding the sharing of bodies solely in the hands of the Spiritwalkers, their mates would understand in one small way the tremendous sacrifices we must make to serve our people.

"So you see, by running away, and then mating the Light-Eye when you were already promised to me, you did not merely offend me personally; you spat in the face of countless generations of Spiritwalkers before me, individuals who sacrificed everything so that you could live your life freely and safely. And you defied the Great Spirits themselves."

Sala could not speak for "countless generations of Spiritwalkers", but she did know that if she were not gagged, she would spit upon this Spiritwalker's face. And even as terrified as she was, she found the man's whining about the "terrible burden" of his station in life laughable at best and nauseating at worst. No one forced him to become a Spiritwalker, and he spoke as though his position brought him only great sacrifice. What about the incredible power and influence he so enjoyed, that he so freely abused? She found him contemptible, an insult to his rank.

The shaman noticed the loathing in her eyes and face. Oh, how he would love to force his manhood down her throat, cut off her final breath, her last memory the smell and taste of his maleness and the sound of his voice, mocking her. But he could not trust this female to place the seat of his masculinity within her jaws, so he would do the next best thing. The dryness of her twin openings would prove excruciating; physically it would not be altogether comfortable for him either, but her suffering would more than make up for it.

A shiver ran through his body and a drop of fluid from the tip of his engorged, trembling organ dripped to the ground, revealing the extent of his arousal. Smiling sadistically as he stared straight into Sala's panic-stricken eyes, he lifted her tunic, spread her legs and lowered himself on top of her.

However, due to a combination of overconfidence and eagerness, the Spiritwalker neglected to hold her limbs securely apart. Before he realized what was happening, Sala slammed her heels into his side. Taken aback, he recoiled in pain and she used the opportunity to slip a leg under him, smashing her foot against his genitals.

Cupping his body in agony, the shaman rolled off her while the young woman struggled onto her feet with only limited use of her arms. He snatched at an ankle just as she stood, but she managed to break away.

And then she ran, harder and faster than ever before.

Sala had no idea where she was; this part of the woods was unfamiliar, so she decided to follow the trail he had taken for a time before veering off. He must have chosen it because it would be easy to pass through carrying her on his back, she thought. Easier passage meant faster travel. The instincts which had driven her to flee the first time took over. She would get away, she had to...

"AHHH!" she screamed, stumbling to the ground. Something had struck the back of her thigh, something sharp and excruciatingly painful. It was lodged in her flesh, and she could not reach it to see what it was, to pull it out.

Get up! Must keep going! Despite the nearly unbearable pain, Sala attempted to stagger onto her feet, only to slam to the ground once more, this time by the weight of the Spiritwalker's body tackling hers.

As she lay prostrate in the dirt, he knelt on top of her, one shin across her back while the other pressed against her neck. With just a little more pressure he could kill her in an instant, snapping her neck, so Sala did not move a muscle.

She howled in anguish when he yanked the spear imbedded in her thigh. Breathing heavily, the shaman drove the weapon into the ground less than a hand's breadth from the tip of her nose with so much force he shattered the flint tip, snapping it off the shaft.

Rising to his feet, he stepped directly onto the profusely bleeding wound while Sala screamed at the top of her lungs, the gag cheating her of the full expression of her suffering. After kicking and stomping her for a time, he then proceeded to beat her with the shaft of his spear. Instinctively, she curled her body in on itself in a desperate attempt to lessen the impact of his blows.

Although the weapon he held in his hands caused plenty of damage, the Spiritwalker wanted the gratification of feeling her flesh cleave under his. He switched to his fists, pounding her with all his fury, spittle flying from his mouth as again and again he bloodied her face until she could barely see, her eyelids puffed up so that only slits remained.

The young woman stopped struggling, though it took a time before his rage subsided enough for him to recognize that she had lost consciousness. After one last kick to the side, the shaman yanked her limp body up by the hair, snapping the thong of Sala's bonding pendant as he slung her around his shoulders. With some effort he squatted briefly, picking up the shaft of his broken spear. Throwing the main section of the now-useless tip deep into the forest, he kicked away the remaining shards under the dense foliage, and angrily stomped back to the place where he had left his clothing and pack.

"You think you have suffered, Intended," the Spiritwalker whispered in the ear of the woman wrapped limply around him, gritting his teeth as his swollen sacs throbbed painfully. "Just wait until I dump you in the lake. As you sink to the bottom because of your own pathetic weakness, you will finally understand killing you now would have been a merciful death."

"Spiritwalker," Keta said when she saw the shaman standing at the entryway to her dwelling. "Please, come in."

She gestured to the man to take a seat. "What can I do for you this day?" she inquired.

"As you know, Clan Leader, the death of our Lead Tracker has placed a strain on the spirits of our people, and, I am afraid, on myself as well," he confessed. "I feel a certain sense of responsibility for his accident as I was the one who sent him on the mission. As you know, I have been meditating in the Ceremonial Hut for many days, searching for clarity."

The woman nodded. Though Sedon's death most certainly was an accident for which no one was to blame, nevertheless she was glad the shaman was at last taking some responsibility for his role in setting the events in motion. At the same time, it did not really seem like him to ruminate over past decisions. Typically, once he made a determination about something, he did so without looking back.

"The Great Spirits have directed me to make a spiritual journey to the place where Sedon fell. I believe that a piece of his spirit may remain in that place, perhaps traumatized by the violence of his passing. This may explain why I have had difficulty releasing the matter from my thoughts. As you know I am not a man to brood over mistakes I have made; I prefer to learn from them and move on. If Sedon's spirit has not fully left our world, then it may be his spirit that is trying to get my attention. Hopefully once I arrive I can help the Lead Tracker's spirit to depart for the Other World."

"I understand," Keta acknowledged. That made more sense to her now. "When do you plan to depart?"

"I will leave just before the sun returns the day after this one. You should know I may be gone for several days; I will stay as long as it takes until I am certain that Sedon's spirit is at peace."

"Will you travel alone? I know you usually do for such journeys, but since the circumstances of this one is different..."

He nodded. "You are correct, Keta; I will indeed undertake this task alone."

"How will you find this place?" she asked.

"I spoke at length with Nerin about its location since he was one of those who retrieved Sedon's body. I am confident I can find it easily enough."

"Given recent events, I would like to have a sense of how long you might be gone. Do you think you will be back in a couple of days, or more than that?"

"Well, as I said, I do not know how long it will take. But allow me to do this. If I am unsuccessful after four days, I will return to inform you of my progress. That way you need not worry. But I am sure I will be back well before then," he assured her.

"Very well. If I do not have the opportunity to see you again before you leave, I wish you a safe journey."

"Thank you, Keta," the Spiritwalker replied, rising to his feet. "If you will excuse me, I really must pack."

Jakal's stomach rumbled. He had been working hard all morning and almost the entire afternoon without a break, with nothing to eat since the morning meal. Veba said that the midday meal would be later than usual; had he known it would be this late, he might not have accepted her invitation after all.

Tempted to just call the whole thing off, he thought about going down to get Sala and plan on an early evening meal instead. But he tried to think about the great effort Veba was obviously putting into her task, even if he wished she had not gone to the trouble in the first place, and reminded himself to be patient.

The man waited for a time, and still she did not come. This is ridiculous, he thought. He decided go to her dwelling; if she was not yet ready, he would inform her that they would have to get together another time. He was ravenously hungry and had reached the end of his patience. Besides, before long it would be time for Sala and the others to return, and he hoped to meet her partway so he could tell her about what Keta had said that morning

When he arrived he found the flap tied back as smoke and the smell of charred meat escaped the residence.

"Veba," Jakal called, announcing his presence, "It is Jakal."

Veba jumped, startled by his unexpected arrival.

"Jakal, please come in," she invited, rushing to the entrance with a sheepish look on her face.

"I was checking to see if it was yet time to eat," he explained, trying to suppress his annoyance. "If this is not convenient, perhaps we could share a meal another time."

"No!" the woman blurted. Noting her guest's expression she launched into her explanation. "No, please stay. Everything is almost ready. I am terribly sorry the meal is so late; I was trying to make so many dishes at once I did not pay close enough attention to the meat. I am afraid it is badly burned. But there are parts of it that are still edible, and I have plenty of other dishes for us to enjoy. Please, sit," she gestured to a cushion while she rushed around with final preparations, "and help yourself to some tea. I will have you a nice full bowl before you know it."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he offered.

"No, thank you. Just relax and enjoy your tea," she insisted, untying the flap and pulling the bones inside.

Almost as thirsty as he was hungry, Jakal quickly downed the first cup, barely tasting it before refilling the vessel. It was probably not the most polite thing to do, gulping her beverage without savoring its flavor first, but under the circumstances he was not going to worry too much about it; he needed something in his stomach, now, if there was going to be any chance of them having a semi-pleasant conversation.

Now that he had largely slaked his thirst, the Light-Eye took the time to taste the tea more carefully. It was ... not unpleasant; he recognized most of the ingredients, commonly used by his people, though he found the proportions of some a little overbearing. In a way it was almost ... too strong, as if she put in far too many herbs in proportion to the liquid, leaving an almost bitter aftertaste. The man's appreciation for his mate's skillful use of flavors increased that much more; Sala really did have a way with food and drink. He would have to thank her for that when he saw her later this day.

"How have the repairs been going?" Veba asked as she sat down beside him, handing her guest a large bowl heaped with several servings of cooked greens and tubers as well as a hunk of the rather dry-looking roast.

"Pretty well, though I suppose we will find out if we missed any leaks next time it rains," he replied after swallowing the food in his mouth. "This is very good, Veba; thank you." Well, everything except the roast, he thought to himself, not that it stopped him from eating it.

"You are welcome. I am sorry about the roast."

He swallowed. "It is fine; really."

They spoke about the weather and other light subjects. Jakal thought it a pleasant enough conversation, and now that he had some food in his belly he was feeling a bit more sociable. However, he did find her manner to be a little ... unusual, almost as if she had been drinking fermented beverages. Here and there she would stare off into space or slur a word or two; a few times she actually stopped in mid-sentence, as though she had completely forgotten about what she had been speaking, and started talking about another topic altogether.

"How do you like the tea?" Veba asked, noticing his cup was empty.

"It is ... good."

"I am glad to hear that. It is a slightly different blend than I usually prepare," she responded, refilling his cup.

"Thank you. You are not going to have any?" the man commented, noting that she did not get some for herself.

"I already have a beverage," she explained, pointing to her cup. "I am drinking a medicinal tea the Spiritwalker gave me."

Jakal's head jerked up almost reflexively at her mention of the shaman. When his eyes met hers, he thought he detected ... He was not sure what it was, but she appeared uncomfortable, nervous. What reason would she have to be nervous?