Chapter 3

“I won’t be able to help you this time.” Adeena pointed out, tapping a fingernail against her zimam.

“Are you so sure about that?” Marr asked, thinking back to the two fiery fighters, as Malink arrived back.

“Qadim says he can navigate.”

Marr looked above at the storm raging outside of his barrier. Flashes of multi-coloured light rippled over the unseen boundary of his barrier. He had his doubts, but he was currently doubting everything. Hate was a powerful motivator and he hated the desert and longed for the hills and trees. Proper trees and not those weird looking things that grew here.

“We move.” Marr commanded.

Malink nodded and turned, heading back towards the men sheltering in between the wagons. His shouts of command were not greeted with enthusiasm, but figures moved to re-hitch the beasts back to their wagons. The same boy brought Marr his mousakil as he turned to Malink.

“I’II need another mousakil.” Marr commanded of Malink, before turning to look at the assembling men. “Take Kahlil’s. He is making no effort with his training. Let’s see if some walking instils some enthusiasm in his training tonight.”

Malink nodded and went over to give Kahlil the good news and take control of the mousakil. Adeena watched Malink return leading two mousakil.

“Are you sure this is going to be a good idea?” She enquired.

“What’s the point in being in charge if you can’t give orders.” Marr mounted his own mousakil. He was starting to get the hang of this whole riding thing.

Malink stopped in front of Marr, looking somewhat confused as to what was required

of him with regards to the spare mousakil. Marr looked down at his sister.

“Mount up.”

Adeena moved towards the spare, only for Malink to move in front of her, blocking her. He looked up at Marr.

“Ajma do not ride.”

Marr raised an eyebrow. “Well this one does. I suggest you get used to it.”

Malink stared at Marr for long enough, that Marr contemplated reinforcing the admonishment with something more robust. Malink eventually nodded and stepped aside. Adeena gave him a wide smile as she deliberately brushed against him on the way to her new mount. Malink deliberately ignored her, both her smile and the physical contact.

There were gasps and points from the men when Adeena swung her leg over the saddle and settled in, picking up the reins. Malink mounted, looking everywhere but at Adeena.

“I’m ready whenever the wagon drivers are.” Marr told Malink.

Malink kicked his mount into action with a light tap of his heels, heading towards the waggoneers. Adeena followed his retreating back.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“It’s not you, it’s your zimam.”

“Yeah? Well he should try wearing the fucking thing.”

The front wagons jerked into motion and the rest soon followed. Marr lapsed into silence as he concentrated on keeping the air shield in place above and around them.

Adeena looked up at the lightning that ran in ripples across the top of the shield. She was certain that she had read something about this, or similar, in a book in the great library. She didn’t understand it then, and still did not understand it now. Something about the sand dust rubbing together and becoming charged. Once the charge had built enough, it jumped and joined the surrounding charges to form the display above.

The lack of distractions created by not being able to see further than his barrier helped him concentrate, but it was still more mental effort than he was used to. Adeena casually moved her mount closer to him.

“Do you see that wagon with the wobbly back left wheel?”

“Yes.” Marr replied.

“I would say its roughly in the middle of our glorious group. So anchor your stream to it rather than trying to keep your stream moving in pace to your mount. Then all you have to do is match the dimensions.”

Marr wasn’t sure how to ‘anchor’ streams to anything, so it took many tries for him to formulate a mostly self-sustaining stream to the wagon in question. He wondered if the effort in achieving the anchorage was worth the expenditure. Marr lifted the water pouch from the spur in front of the saddle and took a sip. Out of habit, he held it out to Adeena. She took hold of it and had a sip before stoppering it and handing it back, so he could re hang it around the saddle handle.

He didn’t know how far he managed, but it didn’t seem to be that long before he had used up almost all the power within him. He still had his sister and the other girl, but using their power just felt wrong. He could feel his sister trying something, but to apparently little success. She reined in her mount.

“Hold up a minute.” She called up to him.

Marr stopped and his sister hooked her reins to the rear of Marr’s saddle before sliding off her mount. She walked over to Marr, wincing at the heat of the sand upon her bare soles. Taking hold of his saddle, she attempted to climb up, failed.

“Well, give me a hand you oaf!”

Marr shuffled his bum back a bit and easily lifted her onto the saddle in front of him. Out of habit, he wrapped his arms around her stomach as she gently moved against his front.

His arms felt good around her, touching her skin, as did his breath against her hair. She felt her pulse jump in response.

“I think this might have been a terribly bad idea.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing.” She said in a tone that meant anything but.

A few more strides of the mousakil and Marr felt something. At first he thought it was through the ring, then after some further tentative testing of the sensation, realised it was through the bond he had with Adeena. It was like it had been back in the mountains, when she had deftly inserted herself into the streams and guided his direction.

“Well that is interesting.” Adeena muttered.

“What is?”

“I can control streams, but only when in physical contact with you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t think that should be possible.”

Marr felt her shrug against his chest.

“This is definitely a bad idea...” She muttered again.

Marr was still none the wiser as to what his sister was talking about, so he cheated slightly and used the ring’s powers to spy upon her thoughts. He was pushing her tight up against the front of the saddle, which was rhythmically pushing against her vulva. Her skirt had risen with her legs spread so far apart and the leather of the saddle was tight against her bare sex. He could feel her arousal, which set off his own. His cock grew hard and pushed into her back.

“That’s also really not helping...” She murmured.

In the carriage, Zunaisha stared bitterly at the plain walls. The carriage of her parents had contained intricately carved freezes that she had spent hours studying, her mind continuing the tales the carvings told, long after the carvings had stopped. That had made many a long journey bearable, but no such diversions surrounded her here.

She could feel him through the ring. That he thought that he could possess her. Anger boiled up inside her, though there was no release. Her fellow ajma hardly spoke to her now, left her alone, preferring to spend her time with him. They should have been united against him, but she had sided with the enemy.

Zunaisha wanted to scream, to rail, to hit a slave like she had done before her life had been destroyed.

There was some sense of the ring owner’s mood via her collar. This was known. Ajma could always sense the mood of their ring bearer. It flowed into them, muddied their own perception. She was angry. Angry at what life had done to her. Angry at how they treated her now. Less than a thing, less than an animal. And yet, desire seeped into her, clashed with her anger. Her heart burned with hate, her loins burned with hunger. His hunger.

He was inside her. Inside the other ajma. That the other would so willingly give him everything. For what? Another bowl of food, a weaker blow of the fist? The need was unbearable. Her hand slipped under the skirt. Touched herself. That was a mistake.

His hunger pushed her anger aside. The pleasure swept through her. Memories surfaced of a better time, a happier time.

She lay in a tub of warm water. The scent of the floating petals pleasing upon her nose.

Haafizah knelt at her side, her arms in the water as she slowly washed Zunaisha’s limbs. Haafizah was, had, been almost ten years Zunaisha’s senior. She had not liked her other slaves. They looked at her badly, were surly and the many whippings that Zunaisha sent them to, never seemed to improve their mood or demeanour.

But Haafizah was different. She always smiled and laughed at her funny jokes, unlike the other girls. Haafiza would tell her of the scandalous affairs of the other nobles, which her parents never spoke about when she was in the room. Her parents often moving the conversation to other more modest topics when she entered the room they were in.

It wasn’t just the scandalous goings on of the other nobles, that Haafizah told her about, but the gossip and goings on amongst the slaves. She shouldn’t have been interested in the lives of her family’s slaves, but something stirred within her when she heard of the stories about supposedly private moments between the young boys and girls.

Haafizah gently cupped her burgeoning breast within the warmth of the water. The finger tips brushing against her nipple set alight a heat within her that Zunaisha somehow knew had nothing to do with the water. Though if asked, she didn’t know how.

She had never felt it’s like before. A few times lately, and it had only been lately, she had felt the stirrings, the beginnings, of ... something. She had been scared of it, at first, unsure of what it was she could feel stirring. Haafizah was telling her of how she had come across the slave Effat, who had been wrapped within the arms of slave Jubair. She didn’t like Effat, but something about Jubair stirred unfamiliar thoughts. Effat was of her age, Jubair akin to that of Haafizah. Slave men and slave boys were not allowed in the family’s personal quarters. To be found there was an immediate sentence of death.

Jubair’s piercing blue eyes, his toned fat free body, promised delights that Zunaisha had yet to experience, and the mystery of it all, only fuelled her hunger more.

Haafizah’s voice was soothing, like she was reciting a lullaby, though her words were far from innocent, as she told Zunaisha how Jubair’s hands roamed freely over Effat’s body.

It was at that point, that Zunaisha decided to have Effat’s face scarred, to have her looks ruined so that Jubair would no longer be interested in the girl.

The hand that had been so pleasing, left her breast and travelled on down her body, the movement over her stomach eliciting a giggle from her. Haafizah’s mouth was so close that Zunaisha could feel her breath as she continued to tell the tale.

Jubair’s hand had slipped between Effat’s legs. The slaves dressed similar to ajma, so Haafizah could see that his hand was pushed hard against the valley beneath the short skirt. Effat moaned in the tale, as did Zunaisha, as Haafizah’s palm stopped it’s sensual slide over Zunaisha’s own valley.

Haafizah continued her tale, telling and showing, what she had seen Jobair’s hand doing. How his mouth was pushed against Effat’s. Zunaisha wanted that. She reached up, pulled the older woman down so that their lips met. Haafizah’s tale stopped and her tongue pushed into her mistresses’ mouth, as her fingers did the same below the water.

This was the best thing Zunaisha had ever experienced, and she wanted more. She had no need to tell Haafizah to continue her finger movements as the slave continued without command.

Zunaisha was vaguely aware of an emotional summit and the slave remorselessly drove her there. The pleasure had swamped her body, her mind, driving all from it like the dark at night, or the light at dawn. When she could see again, it was to see Haafizah looking down at her, a mysterious, knowing smile upon her lips. She had dipped her head again as she slowly removed her hand from between Zunaisha’s thighs. Their lips had touched again. Once, twice, three times. Giggles had interspersed their touching of lips.

Zunaisha knew that her slave Haafizah had a male slave partner. As they were slaves, they could never marry, and any child of their union became the property of Zunaisha’s family, to be dealt with as her father saw fit. They looked deep into each other’s eyes, Zunaisha didn’t want to share her new love. She would have the slave castrated. She would tell Haafizah, so that her slave would know that it was her love for her that spared the male slave from the headsman’s axe.

Haafizah dried and dressed her, both giggling as Haafizah’s hands roamed freely across her body.

That night, she had commanded Haafizah to join her in her bed and bade her repeat what she had done with her hands. Haafizah had joined her in her bed and had not used her hands as commanded, but her mouth instead. This felt even better and Zunaisha decided not to have her whipped for disobeying her initial order.

Zunaisha woke to the feel of Haafizah’s tongue between her thighs. The climax was as good as the many she had experienced the night before. This was the best start to the day that she had ever experienced. Maybe the slave would be better losing his head rather than his jewels after all.

It was easy enough to engineer a situation in which Haafizah’s mate found himself in a situation that could only be resolved with the loss of his head. Haafizah had cried for a few days after, until a whipping commanded by her irate mother had silenced the slave. With the competition to Haafizah’s affection removed, she had become a more attentive companion.

Waves of pleasure rolled aimlessly through Zunaisha as she lay against the piled pillows. Haafizah’s head, especially her mouth, was busy between her thighs as Zunaisha languidly dragged a long fingernail along one of the many red, barely started healing, gashes in Haafizah’s back. Zunaisha had purposefully not been there for the whipping administered by one of her mother’s favourite male slaves.

Though she had made sure that she was the one to cut her down from the post.

In amongst the fresh wounds, were paler lines, telling of previous whippings when Haafizah had been a child. None of the old scars were recent, so she had been due a whipping anyway in Zunaisha’s eyes.

Her body continued its changes and her breasts continued to grow as her fifteenth naming day approached. Her bloods had started that morning, which meant that when her father inevitably found out later that day, he would start the process of arranging the wedding.

A match had already been chosen for her before she had even reached ten summers. She had only met him once. Didn’t like him. He had been double her age and had laughed scornfully at her. She had made it her mission to avoid being anywhere near him in future gatherings.

The cramps were painful. Her mother, when she had asked her for some pain relief, had simply told her to accept it as part of being a woman now.

To take her mind off the pain, she had commanded Haafizah, who rarely left her side now, to ease her pain with her tongue. The pleasure did help ease the pain. The colours that always accompanied the waves of pleasure behind her eyelids, seemed more vivid than they had ever been before.

Maybe the pleasure became greater when you became of age to bear a child?

The thought drifted through the pleasure.

She reached out a mental hand to the colours, tried to grasp them, only succeeding in making the colours swirl together as her fingers pulled hard against Haafizah’s hair. She laughed gently as the pain in her stomach subsided and she felt the beckoning of sleep as Haafizah cuddled up to her.

Her orgasm, the first she had experienced since that fateful night, in what now seemed like an eternity, was tainted by the knowledge that he had orgasmed as well. His may well have been the one that triggered hers, which completely ruined the normally pleasant after glow. Angrily, she slipped the hand from between her thighs and stared out at the open expanse of desert through a chink in the carriage’s blinds.

That night. She couldn’t hide from the memory or of what happened next. As the carriage rolled and creaked across the sand, she returned to the night where her life changed.

The doors to her bed chamber crashed open, rousing her from deep sleep. Zunaisha lifted herself up onto her elbows and squinted bleary eyed at her still swinging doors as several men walked in. Zunaisha pulled the silk sheet up to her chin, to cover her bare breasts and made to call out to the guards to kill the intruders. Her eyes focused and she identified the markings on the uniforms of the men storming into her room. The scream died in her throat, unvoiced as two of the Salinazar’s personal Maji entered, along with several of his personal guard.

One of the Maji was holding out an opened zimam and Zunaisha looked to Haafizah, who was now sitting upright as well. She hadn’t, unlike her mistress, pulled the sheet up and her bare breasts were exposed to the men. The Maji was heading for the slave and Zunaisha could see why. Dried blood was smeared across her mouth and part of her face.

Was her slave a Djinn? Had she been feeding off of her at night? Zunaisha was horrified and moved away from her lover, taking the silk sheet with her, exposing the naked sex of her slave who in turn moved her palms to hide the strip of hair from the male gaze.

Something ran through her, like the vibrations of gong struck by its hammer.

Immediately the Maji changed direction, heading now towards her.

Zunaisha made to move, but found that she could not. Her limbs, no matter how hard she tried, would not move. The opened collar loomed large in her vision and then it was snapped into place. The Maji let go and the iron collar smacked painfully into her shoulders. It’s weight was incredible and if she hadn’t been immobile, she would have crashed to the floor.

She couldn’t move, but she could scream. She screamed her hate and anger out at the Maji and the guard, neither of which showed any concern over her screams.

Haafizah, seeing that she wasn’t the focus of attention any more, quickly scurried naked from the room.

One of the Prophet’s personal Guard approached with a long pole, the end of which he connected to the collar. The unseen binding around her body was released and the Guardsman dragged her from the bed. Those standing at the doorway moved aside as the pole dragged her round to a position in front of the pole holder.

At some point, she had lost her grip on the sheet and her nakedness was on display to all. The end of the pole pushed into her collar and Zunaisha found herself sliding across the floor. Her skin quickly began to ablate against the rough surface of the ground beneath her and the pain forced her find her feet.

The entire household awaited her in the courtyard. Her mother was there, sobbing, and Zunaisha cried out to her, only to see her drop her eyes. She called out to her father, whose face was as blank and emotionless as the granite under her feet. He did not even look in her direction.

The slaves lined both sides, shouting and jeering at her as the guard slowly walked her down the middle. Haafizah was there, now wearing a thin shift. Zunaisha called out to her. In response, as she drew closer, Haafizah reached behind and under her shift, before leaping forward and slapping her hand slowly across Zunaisha’s face. The palm left behind a warm, sticky and very pungent substance across her face and mouth. Zunaisha threw up, making the slaves cheer and shout all the louder, even though it would be them that would be cleaning up the mess.

She was marched through the city to the palace and ultimately the dungeons beneath.

Her legs gave out in the darkness and she was dragged through the filth to a cell and lifted up against a wall as her chains were fixed. The prison guards left with the Maji, though as soon as the Maji were gone, the prison guards hurried back. A lantern was hung on a hook in the wall and many hands groped her. She screamed at them and they just laughed in return as fingers dug into her breasts and hands pulled on and then eventually out, clumps of hair from between her thighs.

For weeks she hung in darkness, biting and screaming at those who came near until a cage was fitted over her head, the bit forced into her mouth, the edges of which were serrated and cut into her mouth if she moved her tongue or her head too much.

Her screaming stopped.

The darkness was dispelled periodically by a guard with a light that blinded her. Although she couldn’t see, she could hear them. Panting away as they fondled her body, and then they would grunt and something wet would hit her or be smeared over her hair or across her face, in between the bars of her head cage.

The caravan moved down the dunes to the oasis, the sandstorm having slowly petered out about two hours previous. Some straggly looking bushes dotted around the circumference, along with long grass. Familiar looking birds tweeted at them as the wagons halted and the oxen were unhooked. Children ran over to the water carrying buckets that they struggled to bring back. The children left the buckets at the oxen and ran to collect further empty ones.

“Why don’t they just take the beasts to the water?” Marr asked loudly as he watched the children struggle.

“Because, the beasts will muddy the water with their hooves and will piss and shit in it, poisoning the water.” As if to prove Malink’s point, a nearby oxen lifted its tail and ejected a long stream of watery, browny green shit. Which only partly soaked into the ground.

Blankets were strung up between wagons and the women of the convoy disrobed and washed themselves with the contents of the brought buckets. At the other end of the camp, the men did the same, but didn’t bother with the blanket screens. Some of the younger children, male and female, were naked and being washed between the two separate adult bathing areas.

Not for the first time, Marr was perplexed by the Mutanbi definition of propriety. After being washed, the children were being rubbed down with the contents of clay jars.

“What’s in the jars?” Malink looked to see where Marr was looking.

“Tragellis sap.”

“What does that do Malink?”

“It helps stop skin burning.” Marr wasn’t suffering too much from the sun, having spent most of his life topless outdoors, but Adeena was starting to turn red, especially across her chest and shoulders, which wasn’t used to sun exposure.

It was easy enough to acquire a jar and he handed it over to Adeena, who immediately started to apply it to her torso.

She smiled up at him. “Want to give me a hand?”

“Maybe later.” He said with a grin.

A mousakil rider appeared on one of the nearby dune summits and slowly headed towards the oasis. The rider was watched warily by the waggoneers. Sensing the tension, Malink started to head in the riders direction, Marr following. The rider stopped when he saw the two men heading his way then quickly turned his mousakil and rode back up the dune as though his life depended on it.

Marr looked behind him, but there was only Adeena following closely behind. “What was all that about?” He asked of Malink.

“Brigands often send a lone rider to a caravan at an oasis. To scout out the strength of the caravan and to scout out if there is anything of value worth taking. If there is, the scout slips away and alerts the rest of his band hiding nearby and the caravan is attacked. If the caravan has nothing of worth, it’s left alone and the scout just rides away, another traveller in the desert.”

“And just now?”

Malink turned away from the dune to look back at the caravan and saw Adeena standing in front of him.

“The rider, most likely a scout now, saw your ajma. Where there is an ajma, there’s a Maji. No bandit will attack a Maji unless they have a rogue unsanctioned Maji of their own, but even then ... If The Prophet Salinazar were to hear of a rogue Maji attacking caravans, he would immediately send out a force to apprehend the rogue.”

“Apprehend or kill?”

“Whichever is the easiest Maji Marr.”

Marr ordered the doubling the guard that night. Malink did not argue.

“Tomorrow we stop off at Nabilia, resupply and then it’s three days to the far end of the Fahred Pass. Nabilia has a Maji. It would be good if you introduced yourself.” Malink said to Marr over breakfast.

“Wait. Nabilia has a Maji? why didn’t he take the post?”

Malink gave Marr a blank look. “You would do best asking him that. All goods, people and messages pass through Nabilia. On the way to and from the Fahred Pass. Introducing yourself will put a face to a name. One you no doubt will be hearing a lot of.

“Be under no illusion, that any message you send to the capital and the capital sends to you, will pass by his eyes. I recommend you leave your ajma behind.”

Marr glanced at Adeena, a pointless effort as he already knew her mind on that matter, but some habits were hard to break.

“Should I take an escort?” Marr looked towards his men.

“Yes, normally, but I would not recommend any of them.”

“Just me and you then?”

“That would be for the best on this occasion.”

“How long should I stay? How long will this meeting take?” Malink shrugged his armoured shoulders.

Marr strapped on his new armour a leather maker had made for him over the last few days. It was still hard in the wrong places and creaked a lot when he moved, but he felt better for the wearing of it. Marr intended to wear it more often, every day if possible, so that it was like a second skin. He still nurtured the boyhood dream of being a soldier. A good one.

Malink was already armoured, armed and ready.

Happy with the armours fit, Marr lifted up the sword and scabbard and buckled it around his waist, the sword inside had a war edge. Marr nodded to Malink.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

The caravan had stopped outside of the walled town, though the town itself was not large, fifteen minutes’ walk across, if that, at a good pace.

Adeena fell into place behind them as they moved away from the stationary caravan. Malink did not remark upon it, and Marr knew better than to argue with her.

The guards on the gate did not hinder or otherwise obstruct their entrance into the town. Very few guards would obstruct a Maji. The main thoroughfare itself was relatively quiet and free from traffic.

Unlike Salinad, there were a lot of statues of The Prophet. It appeared to Marr, that every statue of The Prophet looked upon at least another two.

“They like their statues here.” Adeena spoke quietly.

Unusually for Malink, he answered Adeena’s question. “The amount of statues are proportional to the distance away from the capital. Wouldn’t want the populace to forget who rules them now, would you.”

Malink led them to a grand building. A palace in all but name. Malink spoke to one of the guards. “Maji Marr to give welcome to Maji Siraj.”

The guard nodded. “If you would follow me please.”

The inside of the palace was thickly marbled and offered pleasantly cool shade from the burning sun. The guard stopped at an imposing door and turned to Marr and Malink. “If you would please wait here.”

Marr didn’t know what the guard was saying, as all the speech was in Riyadi, so he just followed Malink’s lead.

The guard knocked and slipped through the door, shutting it behind him. Malink spoke quietly out the corner of his mouth “Be careful Maji Marr. Be very careful.”

They heard footsteps and the door opened wide, the guard beckoning them to enter via a nod of his head. “The illustrious Maji Siraj will see you now.”

“Thank you for the escort and announcement.” Malink said in return.

The room was large, a spectacular mosaic covered the entirety of the floor, and another one across the vaulted ceiling. At the far end was a raised platform with a large chair on which sprawled a large fat man. On the steps below lay four weird creatures Marr had never seen the like of.

Their footsteps echoed around the empty space. Marr could see no other person in the room. No guards, no servants, nothing. Malink subtly moved in front of Marr, though being a head in height shorter, he didn’t really obstruct Marr’s view of the room.

Malink stopped with impeccable military precision and bowed low, speaking in Riyadi, finishing with “Maji Marr does not speak Riyadi.” in Marina, Marr’s native tongue.

The strange beasts from afar, turned out to be young girls on closer inspection. Three were dark skinned, the colour of the Mutanbi people, the fourth was the same colour as Marr and Adeena.

All four were naked, not even wearing the traditional short skirt. Their zimam collars were black, heavier looking than usual and all four had a thick chain leading from their zimam collars to the chair, where the ends were hooked over pins. Along with the chained collars, the ajma all wore metal contraptions over their heads, not dissimilar to the one Marr’s second ajma had worn down in the prison cells. These ones had elongated snouts made out of metal strips, with metal fangs and a bit within the snout that went into the wearers mouth. Marr thought back to the serrated bit that he had removed from the girl’s mouth back in Salinad and barely supressed a shudder of revulsion.