While Isaiah was busy getting to know Metztli’s children, Dr. Harwood was busy scribbling in her field journal. She’d already filled several of them with notes and observations on the Aiwaha and their language, customs, and culture, and there was no end in sight. Every day brought something new, something fascinating to explore further. She bit her lip as she sketched several Aiwaha men returning to Tlacloban with fresh game carried over their shoulders, paying particular attention to the tattoos they wore. Each tattoo was different for each member of the tribe and signified different things. Some were symbols of rank or status or used to commemorate particularly notable achievements, others were representations of the spirits they communed with, and still others were simply decorative. The tattoos on the shoulders of the men she was sketching were particularly intricate–she could make out the meaning of some of them and made sure to write them down.
One warrior carried a symbol of a writhing anaconda from his shoulder to the wrist of his left arm, but the snake was missing its tongue and its head was pierced by a spear. This, Harwood knew, told a very specific story: the young man had tangled at some point with one of the massive snakes and slain it, perhaps in defense of one of the tribe’s children. The other warriors had given him this honorary tattoo as a sign of their respect and admiration, no different really from a soldier being given a medal for bravery on the battlefield. She made a mental note to talk to the warrior and ask him to tell her the whole story so it could be properly documented and cataloged.
She was just about to finish when Naka-Mur, High Chieftain of the Aiwaha, ambled up to join her. The older man seemed in a jovial mood, as usual, and he smiled broadly as he sat next to her with a grunt.
“How are your students settling in?” he asked. His English was very fluent. Harwood had personally tutored him during her first few stays in Tlacloban.
“They are doing well, thank you,” Dr. Harwood replied, closing her field journal. She gave him a friendly smile. “We spoke to Kura yesterday and heard the tale of the Dalunga war, and Metztli is teaching my male students how to hunt. I also think she is growing quite fond of one of them, a young man named Isaiah.”
“Metztli?” Naka-Mur snorted. “I never would have thought her the type to give herself to any man, much less a man not of our tribe. Your Isaiah must have impressed her greatly.”
“Er…that’s one way of putting it,” Harwood said.
“Metztli is not the only one, though,” Naka-Mur continued. “You already know that my nephew, Zolin, is very much taken with the small, dark-haired woman. What was her name again?”
“Lin Ming,” Harwood supplied.
“A most unusual name,” Naka-Mur noted. “Yes, her. He is set on her, and I am…concerned. We have spoken of this before, but for the sake of my own peace of mind, I must ask you again: does his pursuit of your student trouble you? Do you wish for me to intervene and tell Zolin to stop?” His face darkened. “I will not have it said that any of my people made our guests feel unwelcome or uncomfortable after guest right has been given.”
Harwood considered Naka-Mur’s words carefully. She was grateful for the High Chieftain’s concern, but she didn’t feel threatened by Zolin’s pursuit of Lin Ming. “I appreciate your concern for her well-being, Naka-Mur,” she said, “but I don’t think Zolin’s attentions are unwelcome. Lin Ming is very shy and extremely sheltered, but she has given her consent for your nephew to court her. I think that, as long as he’s gentle with her, it will be fine.” She paused. “Lin Ming comes from a very different, almost completely opposite kind of life to the one you know. Her father is a very controlling and unforgiving man, and he has taught her to think of sex and anything sexual as shameful and dirty. It will take time for Lin Ming to come out of her shell. But as I told you before, as long as Zolin treats her the way she deserves to be treated, I have no problem with him pursuing her.”
Naka-Mur shook his head. “It seems to me that your people do their youngsters a disservice. Sex should be enjoyed as much as possible, while the bloom of youth is still full. What is shameful about giving and receiving pleasure, of being and feeling desired? That kind of thinking, the way you have described the woman’s father, is something I will never understand.”
The High Chieftain looked out over the encampment for a moment, then returned to Harwood. “Perhaps, in time, Lin Ming will come to see the world differently. In the meantime, I will speak with Zolin and make sure he understands the delicacy of the situation. Zolin’s blood is very hot. He may interpret even a small sign as permission to consummate their relationship. The idea of one of my people taking a woman against her will, even unknowingly…I can think of nothing worse.”
Harwood nodded. “I agree. Better safe than sorry.”
“Indeed.” He took a sip of fermented fruit juice. “What do you have in mind for your students today?”
“Well, Metztli is going to continue teaching the boys how to hunt,” Harwood replied. “And I was thinking that my female students and I could try to weave baskets and learn other useful skills that daily life in Tlacloban requires. What do you think?”
“A fine idea,” the High Chieftain said. “I have seen the women of our tribe weave baskets since I was a boy, but I never had the patience for it. Perhaps if you would allow me, I could teach your students about the art of making blowguns. They are very useful for hunting small game and are good for those just starting to learn how to hunt. Your students may not be ready for the spear or the bow, but blowguns are excellent for beginners and even our children often use them.”
“That sounds wonderful!” Harwood said warmly. “And perhaps, while they make the blowguns, Kura can tell them another story. If she is feeling up to it, of course.”
“If?” Naka-Mur snorted. “That woman has more energy than anyone else in Tlacloban. I’m sure she will be happy to share another story with you. I will go speak to her now, and you will go gather your students so we may begin. I will also fetch Tenoch, for I am sure he would be glad to lead the demonstration and show how to craft blowguns properly.”
He slapped his knees and rose, somewhat ponderously, to his feet.
“You are aware, are you not, that the spring equinox will fall in a few more weeks? I have yet to spread the word to my people, but you should know that the gods have spoken to me in my dreams. Their will is that the ceremony be held at sunset on the day before, the day of, and the day after that event.”
Harwood was surprised. “So soon? I thought the Festival was held during the summer months.”
“We do not decide when the festival is held; it takes place according to the signs and portents the gods give us, and they have made their desire clear. Kura has read the omens too, and she agrees. No outsider has ever been permitted to witness it–we give you and your pupils this honor as a gesture of our gratitude for your efforts on our behalf and advocating on our behalf to the outside world.”
Harwood bowed her head. “I accept the honor with a glad heart, on behalf of myself and all those with me. Thank you, Naka-Mur. It will be a privilege to observe such an ancient ceremony.”
The High Chieftain nodded. “And you honor us in turn by accepting. But that is yet to come, and we have more than enough to talk about between now and then. Go round up your students–I will meet you back here with Tenoch and Kura.”
“Will do!” Harwood said cheerfully. She rose to her feet, her naked breasts swaying with each step she took. Her heart was pounding like a drum at the thought of actually seeing the Festival of Fertility firsthand. What an unprecedented opportunity! No anthropologist had seen anything like that with their own eyes in centuries! How green with envy her colleagues back at the university would be!
That the opportunity in question would involve the death of several young women was something she and all her students would have to make their peace with. They hadn’t come all this way to judge the Aiwaha, but to learn from and study them. Harwood silently vowed to make certain that everyone in her group treated the ceremony with the respect and gravity it deserved, but she wouldn’t tell them about it. Not yet. Not until Naka-Mur said it was okay.
She found Bonnie, the blonde super-slut, on her hands and knees behind one of the huts. A young man was vigorously fucking her doggystyle, holding her upright with an arm wrapped around her stomach while she gave vigorous handjobs to two more. Harwood shook her head at Bonnie’s irrepressibility.
“Almost done?” the professor asked drily.
Bonnie’s head whipped around. “Oh! Harwood! I didn’t see you there!” she said, grinning. “Don’t mind me. I’m just helping these boys get a little relief. You know how it is–oh, fuck, that feels good!” She turned to the guy fucking her. “Just like that,” she cooed. “Right there, baby. Just keep pounding away!”
Harwood chuckled. “Well, when you’re done here, meet me back in the main square. We’re going to learn a few new things today.”
Bonnie licked her lips, her eyes half-closing as pleasure grew within her. “Okay, just…just give me a few more minutes…I’m so fucking close, I can feel it…”
The male pounding her from behind began pounding harder, thrusting deeper as he felt the telltale pressure building in his groin. Bonnie began to cry out every time his dick slammed home, her fingers tightening around the cocks she held in her slender fingers. Bonnie threw her head back and roared her joy to the sky.
“FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! OH MY GOD!”
The warrior grunted and his thrusts grew more erratic. Bonnie felt the tip of his cock brushing the entrance of her womb as jets of thick, ropy cum lashed her insides. A heartbeat later, the guys she’d been giving handjobs to came as well, their dicks twitching and spurting as cum splattered and sprayed her hair and face. Bonnie was still shaking from the aftershocks of her climax as he pulled out of her, and she watched with satisfaction as his cum dripped down her legs and thighs.
Slowly, deliberately, she scooped a thick gobbet of cum from her cheek with a finger and popped it into her mouth like frosting off a cake. Her blue eyes closed with relish. “Delicious,” she purred. She rose to her feet with a sated, satisfied air and blew all three of the young men a kiss. They were all gasping for breath, utterly spent, but Bonnie seemed invigorated rather than tired from the impromptu fuck-fest.
“See you around, boys,” she drawled. “Let’s do this again real soon.”
They looked at each other, unable to reply as they were still fighting to get their wind back. The young man who had just finished fucking Bonnie finally spoke. <“Truly, she is the Insatiable One,”> he told his friends. <“I have never felt so drained before, not like this. Her stamina is like that of a man twice her size or more!”>
Bonnie didn’t understand him and wouldn’t have cared if she did. She sauntered over to the main square but met up with Krupa, Aisha, and Gabby along the way.
“Jesus, you’re not even going to clean yourself up?” Aisha asked. “C’mon, Bonnie. Have some dignity.”
Bonnie’s tongue darted out to lick cum from the corner of her lips. “I’ll wash up when we get there. There’s probably a bowl of water or something to use.”
“How many times have you been fucked today? It’s not even ten in the morning yet,” Krupa said.
“Four.” Bonnie replied.
“Just four?” Krupa teased.
Bonnie shrugged. “It’s an off-day.”
Jeremy came up to join them, followed by Brian and Richard. Isaiah was conspicuously missing.
“Wonder what Isaiah’s up to?” Aisha wondered.
“Probably spending time with his new girlfriend, the huntress chick,” Jeremy said.
“I’m glad for him,” Brian said. Ever the gentle giant, he smiled at the thought of the shy boy from Texas falling for someone like Metztli. “He deserves to be happy.”
“So does Lin Ming,” Krupa added. “Who, now that I think about it, is also missing.”
“N-no, I’m not.” Lin Ming’s soft, clipped voice made them all turn. “I’m…I’m right here,” she added, biting her lip. “I…I am sorry if I am late.”
Krupa noticed that the Asian girl was wearing a necklace of some kind around her slender throat. “What’s that?” she asked.
Lin Ming blushed. “Er…well…”
“It looks like a necklace made of claws,” Bonnie noted. “Bet they’re from the same jaguar whose pelt her secret admirer, that Zolin guy, dumped outside the hut we’re staying in the other day. Speaking of which, have you met him yet?”
Lin Ming shook her head. “Not yet. He… I do not know what he looks like, so I will not know him even if I see him if he does not tell me first. Why does he not show himself?”
“I think he’s probably letting the suspense build a little,” Krupa advised. “He wants to play up the mystery before he makes his next move, I’ll bet.”
Harwood nodded, walking over to join them as they reached Tlacloban’s central plaza. “You’re probably right, Krupa. As for Isaiah, he is… otherwise engaged. He won’t be joining us this time around.”
“Because Metztli’s probably worn him out,” Bonnie snickered.
Harwood rolled her eyes while Lin Ming flushed a deep shade of crimson. She wondered if her mysterious suitor, this Aiwaha man called Zolin, would be as passionate as Isaiah’s new lover was with him. Would he take her in the open, for all to see? Just the thought of it was enough to make her faint, even as it made a curious tingle grow between her thighs. Lin Ming did her best to think of other things as she and the others met up with Kura, who was already waiting for them, and Tenoch, who was smiling amiably as the foreigners approached.
Kura gave them all a kindly smile. <“Welcome, everyone. It is good to see you all again. You are, I trust, in good health?”>
Harwood inclined her head respectfully. <“We are well, honored storyteller,”> she said. <“Please, will you tell us another of your stories while Tenoch teaches us how to make the blowguns used for hunting and sport? We would be honored.”>
“<Of course!>” the old woman said with a humorous cackle. “<A good story deserves to be told, otherwise, why keep it in the first place? Perhaps I shall tell you of the great hunter Aztotl and his hunt for the black jaguar Sbari.”>
Harwood translated, and all her students, Lin Ming included, nodded. <“We would be privileged,”> the professor said, as Tenoch began to show them how to make the blowguns from cut saplings.
<“The saplings must be split in half, cleanly and evenly,”> Tenoch said. <“Then, you must carve a channel down the length of each half. Once you have done that, we will put them back together using glue made from the sap of a tree. The sap from this type of tree is particularly sticky and hardens well, so we use it all the time.”>
Harwood relayed the instructions to her pupils, then said to Kura, <“Tell us of this tale. Leave nothing out. May my student, Krupa, record this one as she did the last one?”>
Krupa’s expression turned hopeful and she took out her cell phone, which she’d had the foresight to carry along with her. Kura thought about it.
<“Very well. So long as she is respectful, and shares this tale with the outside world in its entirety, without alteration or condescension.”> Kura said, her old eyes meeting Krupa’s. The young woman nodded solemnly, her thumbs hovering over the keys of her phone.
Kura cleared her throat as the group sat down to work. Tenoch handed each of them the materials they would need to work with, and as he showed them how to begin crafting their new blowguns, the old woman began her tale.
<“Many, many years ago, the great hunter Aztotl was the greatest hunter and tracker the Aiwaha had yet seen. No game could escape him, no matter how cunning or crafty. He could track the wiliest prey over barren rocks and across the tops of trees, his senses sharper than any hound’s. No man brought as much meat into Tlacloban as he did, and many were his deeds of daring and valor. He it was that slew the dread crocodile Ixtlati, whose jaws had devoured dozens of children who strayed too close to the river bank. His spear it was that pierced the hide of Orotzutla, the great and terrible boar, whose tusks were as long as a grown man’s arm. And it was he who tracked the massive serpent Quetzokilaro to her darkened lair and slew her in single combat, and brought her severed heard back to Tlacloban. Honor and praise were heaped upon his name, but as his deeds grew, so too did his ego. So it was that, during a great feast, Aztotl declared in drunken arrogance that no challenge, no obstacle, not even the gods themselves, were beyond his skill.”>
Kura paused. <“This declaration, and Aztotl’s arrogance, angered the gods. For they understood that for all his fabled strength and cunning, Aztotl was still mortal, and every mortal, no matter how great, has his limits. They resolved to humble Aztotl and teach him a lesson about the dangers pride can bring, for without the gods, men are as nothing but dust. All that Aztotl had accomplished was only possible because the gods allowed it, and it was time he was reminded of that. So they sent a great jaguar named Sbari to challenge him. No ordinary jaguar was she, but a spirit bound and clothed in flesh. She was larger than any other of her kind, as tall as man even when she walked on four legs, with a pelt as dark as night without stars. So swift was she, so silent and sure, that no man could keep pace with her, nor could spear or arrow pierce the thickness of her pelt. Her eyes glowed with divine light, and her claws and teeth were longer than the hafts of spears.”>
<“When word of this extraordinary creature reached Aztotl, he immediately set out to hunt and kill it, just as the gods knew he would. He took up his spear and fabled bow and set out into the jungle, vowing not to return until he could display Sbari’s pelt for all to see. For many days he tracked her, and nights he camped, listening to the distant roars and howls of the great cat. But no matter how close he got, no matter how doggedly he followed her trail, he could not bring Sbari to ground and slay her. She evaded every trap, every ambush, every piece of bait he laid out for her. For weeks, and then months, Aztotl pursued her, heedless of all else save the salvation of his own pride. All that mattered was killing Sbari.
<“But Sbari could not, would not be caught. And Aztotl remained on her trail, chasing her even into his old age, but never so much as got a glimpse of her with his own eyes. And he forgot his duty to his people and his village. He forgot the warmth of his lovers and the names of his children. Finally, as he lay dying, an old and withered man far from the warmth of his tribe and home, the gods spoke to him. They told him that he had been foolish, that he had let his pride blind him to all else. They told him that his pride had brought him low, and that had he been content with all he had already achieved, he might have lived out his days in peace and honor, a hunter celebrated above all other hunters. But Aztotl, said the gods, had let his pride and arrogance rule him. Sbari had been sent not as prey to be tracked and killed, but as a way to teach him humility. He had challenged the gods, and the gods had answered.
<“And so, Aztotl died, alone and un-mourned and far from home, a broken shadow of the great hero he had once been and remembered by his people only as a cautionary tale on the dangers of hubris.”>
Harwood clapped politely, as did her students, as Kura finished her story. Krupa turned the recording app on her phone off and grinned. “My followers are going to love this shit,” she said.
“It has a certain timeless quality about it, doesn’t it?” the professor agreed. “A lesson we could all take to heart.”
Tenoch nodded. He’d been listening too and in fact, he’d even stopped the blowgun-making lesson to hear Kura’s words. <Pride is by far the greatest affront to the gods,” he said solemnly. “They grant us life, and all that we have, and we repay them by putting ourselves above them, as if we could ever hope to match their power. Aztotl was foolish beyond understanding. Rather than thanking the gods, he placed himself on equal footing with them, and in the end, he lost everything. The gods despise mortal pride and look with favor upon humility. This is why we hold the Festival of Fertility each year, so that the gods will see our gratitude and know we have not forgotten them, that we honor and give praise to them with glad and humble hearts.”>
He paused, looking at the way the group of foreigners was trying to make the blowguns.
“No,” he said in English. “No, you are not doing it right.” He took Lin Ming’s failed attempt and held it up. “You must dig the channel in each half of the sapling deep enough that the dart can pass through it smoothly. Each piece must be hollowed out and ground down until it is smooth as a baby’s skin.” He got to his feet. “Wait here. I will fetch you another.”
Lin Ming turned beet red with embarrassment, but tried not to let it bother her too much. No one got it right on the first try, after all. A certain amount of failure was expected. A learning curve.
She had no idea that Zolin was watching, along with his blood-brothers Xipec, Coyotl and Tlaxoc. Zolin was absolutely fascinated as the naked, petite young woman struggled to craft her blowgun to Tenoch’s exacting standards.
<“Look at that mess,” Xipec chortled, pointing to Lin Ming’s aborted attempt. <“A small child could craft something better.”>
<“She will learn,”> Zolin said confidently. <“And look, see! She is wearing the necklace I made her! The one with the claws of the jaguar I slew. Truly, she must be eager for me to claim her. Perhaps, tonight, I will finally make my move.”>
<“I would ask your uncle, and for that matter, I would also ask the Harwood woman too,”> Tlaxoc advised. <“Just to make sure that everyone is on the same page. You know the punishment for any man who takes a woman without her consent.>”
Zolin did. The punishment was instant death, without exception and without compromise. It was the tribe’s equivalent to a zero-tolerance policy. He winced a little. <“Wise counsel, my brother. My hot blood gets the better of me. Yes, I shall speak to them both, perhaps both of them at once. Tonight.”>
<“Why not wait until the Festival of Fertility?”> Xipec asked. <“What better night to claim her than the most sacred rite of our people?”>
Zolin considered. <“Perhaps, but the foreigners are not used to such things. Witnessing the ceremony may disturb them, and my woman in particular seems very…sensitive…to such things. She may not be in the proper mood or mindset afterward.”>
<“Fair point,”> Xipec conceded. <“In that case, yes. Perhaps it is better to make your move now than to wait any longer. Shall I inform the woman of your intentions?”>
<“No,”> Zolin said firmly. <“That would spoil the surprise. I want to take her off-guard, pull her aside, and show her how much I desire her. My groin aches with a longing only she can satisfy.”>
<“Then I wish you well, and in the morning I shall spread word you are a mated man, so that gifts may be brought to you and your new woman,”> said Coyotl. He chuckled. <“Doubtless many of the women in Tlacloban will be heartbroken.”>
Zolin smiled. <“A regrettable thing, but a consequence I am willing to accept. Now, let us go before she sees us watching. There is much to do to prepare.”>
Zolin set about preparing for his new life with his new woman with a heart that soared on eagle’s wings. There was so much for him to do before tonight, but he had faith that he would manage all of it. The gods had brought him and his mate–who he’d come to fondly refer to as the Tiny One in his head–together, and they would not let anything go wrong. His courtship so far had gone exactly as he’d hoped; doubtless, his intended was impressed and awed at his skill and bravery and knew he would be a good provider and fill her belly with strong, healthy children.
Zolin paused, wondering for a second what his children would look like. Doubtless, they’d look different from the other Aiwaha, but that in itself mattered little. It would only mark them as unique and special. If he had daughters, would they be petite and beautiful like his wife-to-be? If he had sons, would they be as tall as he was, but with a lighter complexion and his woman’s exotic almond-shaped eyes?
His cock twitched. One way or another, he’d find out–preferably in about nine months. His woman practically radiated fecundity.
His hands clenched and unclenched, his heart racing at the thought of finally holding her, touching her, kissing her, tasting her. He had never wanted a woman like this before. No female had ever stirred his mind like this, as well as his groin. Zolin murmured a silent prayer of thanks to the gods and set about his work.
In the Aiwaha tribe, it was customary that once a male had chosen a woman and stated his intent to take her, he built a hut for them to live in before the union was consummated. The way Zolin’s people saw it, it was only proper to make sure that the couple had a place to live, a hut built just for them rather than one that had been lived in already. Building it, and building it well, was seen as the final test of the male’s worthiness. If the hut was built well and didn’t sag or lean or fall apart, his wife-to-be could be sure that he would take good care of her.
Zolin intended to build the biggest, strongest, roomiest hut in all of Tlacloban. He began by taking an axe–a metal-bladed one given by Dr. Harwood during one of her previous stays with his people–and headed out into the jungle to cut some fresh lumber, as well as copious amounts of bamboo and straw. Zolin chose each log with exacting care, judging its strength, firmness, and size to make sure there would be no gaps in the walls or roof of the hut where rain could slip in. It took him almost six hours to cut enough strong, sturdy young trees to suit his purposes, and another two to cut them into the smaller pieces he’d need. Then he chose a place for the hut near the Great House where his uncle lived and consecrated it to the gods by pricking his finger and letting a few drops fall into the dirt. He prayed that the hut he was about to build would be filled with laughter and love and many children.
The foundation of the hut was made by digging a pit in the earth and lining it with large, flat stones. Zolin then constructed the frame by digging pits deep enough to anchor the longest, largest, thickest logs into the ground, and he took care to make sure none of them were wobbly. He then made the walls using the smaller logs and bamboo, lashing them together with vines and strips of leather made from animal hide, then filling in any gaps with straw to create an insulated, protected interior that wouldn’t let in rain or insects. Zolin was meticulous and didn’t rush the work–he gave each new section of the hut a sound shake to make sure it didn’t wobble or fall apart before moving on to the next. What would his woman think if he couldn’t even build a sturdy house for them to live in?
When he was satisfied that the walls were strong and wouldn’t fall apart when the next rainstorm hit, he turned his attention to the roof. This, too, he constructed using the tried-and-true methods his people had been using for centuries. He began by using multiple layers of good, sturdy thatch interspaced with layers of thick animal hide soaked in tallow to both ward off insects and keep out rain. When that was done, he finished by covering it with fronds of the Irapay palm, which, when woven together and placed with care, could create weather-resistant roofing able to withstand even the most torrential rain. A small hole in the center of the roof allowed for smoke to escape, but could be easily covered with a small canvas affixed to the underside of the roof. All he and his woman needed to do if it rained was pull it up over the hole and fix it into place.
But just building the hut was not enough. No, Zolin wanted it to be a home, and it had to look the part. He made sure it was spacious and well-lit, with a central firepit where Zolin and his wife-to-be could cook and keep warm. He erected a small, raised sleeping platform covered in furs and soft hides from animals he’d hunted and killed himself, and a storage area at the back where they could keep their belongings. It was hard work, but he was a young male in his prime and well-motivated, so it went swiftly and he was done by mid-afternoon.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and took a few steps back to regard his handiwork. Zolin lifted a gourd filled with water to his lips and drained it dry in a single draft as he regarded the hut with a critical eye. He hoped the Tiny One would be pleased with it.
<“Ah, so that’s where you’ve been all day.”> The voice of his uncle, Naka-Mur, made him turn. The chieftain grinned. <“You’ve been industrious, my dear nephew.”>
<“Uncle,”> Zolin said, nodding respectfully as Naka-Mur ambled over to join him. <“It is good that you’re here. I wish to speak with you and the Harwood woman.”>
<“She is teaching her students at the moment, but I wish to speak with you as well. This is a fine hut, by the way,”> the older man observed. <“As fine as any I’ve seen.”>
<“Thank you.”>
Naka-Mur was silent for a moment. <“You are set on this course, then?”>
<“It is. I feel in my heart that the gods have marked her out for me. She is my woman.”>
<“Then I will not stand in your way, and for whatever it is worth, you have my blessing. I hope she brings you happiness, and that you do the same for her. But, nephew…”> Naka-Mur paused, his normally jovial features growing somber. <“She is not of our people, and the woman Harwood has told me she is very shy and easily frightened. When you come to claim her tonight, Harwood and I both want you to be gentle with her. Your blood runs hot, like any young warrior’s should, but you must show restraint until she becomes used to you. Tenderness, not frenzied passion, is what will help her open her heart and accept her place at your side as your wife. When you lie with her, take your time and go slowly. Do you understand?”>
Zolin nodded. What his uncle was saying made perfect sense; his woman, from what he’d observed of her, was very shy and easily intimidated. Of course, he would be gentle, at least at first. <“When I take her to the furs, I will treat her as I would a fragile piece of obsidian. I will be very gentle and careful not to cause her any discomfort. The last thing I want is for her to fear me, or think me some kind of brute.”>
Naka-Mur clapped a hand on his shoulder. <“You have a good heart, Zolin. I am proud of you and proud to call you my blood.”>
Zolin’s face heated. “Thank you, uncle.” Then, to change the subject, he asked, <“Is it true Metztli has taken a mate from among the outlanders too?”>
<“It is.”> Naka-Mur chortled. <“I almost feel sorry for him.”>
<“She will eat him alive and crack open his bones to suck out the marrow,”> Zolin confirmed. <“The other foreigners, they are well?”>
<“As well as can be expected, though I still worry somewhat about how they will react to the Festival of Fertility. In the strictest confidence, nephew, I can tell you that the ceremony will be held soon.”>
Zolin’s breath caught in his throat. <“I…I see. Have the offerings been chosen?”
<“Not yet. I’ve yet to make it known to our people. You, I, and Harwood are the only ones who know right now. But there will be no shortage of volunteers. There never are.”>
<“Will any of the foreigners volunteer?”>
<“I do not know, but I sincerely doubt it. In truth, I hope they don’t,”> Naka-Mur admitted. <“It could create…problems. I do not think it would endear us to the outside world if Harwood’s group returned from their stay with us with fewer members than they started with. You and I both know that every young woman who is given the honor of being sacrificed does so of her own will, but the outside world may not see it that way. They may even see it as murder.”>
<“Murder?!”> Zolin was outraged. <“How is it murder? For that matter, what gives them the right to judge us?”>
<“Calm yourself,”> Naka-Mur said. <“There is no cause to lose your temper, nephew. I am sure that none of Harwood’s group has any interest in volunteering. Relax. Be merry! After tonight you will be a married man.”>
Zolin felt his pulse quicken. <“Not soon enough,”> he murmured, gazing at his woman who, in the distance, was sitting with the rest of her classmates as Kura told another story.
Lin Ming looked at her first attempt at making a blowgun with something bordering on despair. It hadn’t gone well at all, and she felt like simply tossing it away. Gabby and Aisha had both crafted good ones, while Bonnie had made not one, but two. The others had also had varying degrees of success. Brian, the largest and tallest of the group, struggled to do the delicate work with his large fingers. He’d snapped two by accident so far, and Lin Ming didn’t think the third would fare any better.
“Aisha?” she asked.
Aisha turned, smiling. “What up?”
“Can…Can I see the one you made? I don’t know where I went wrong.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You’ll get the hang of it.” Aisha patted her naked back. Lin Ming watched her dark breasts sway slightly and was reminded of her own, much more modest bust. As Harwood predicted before they even left the States, her nudity was starting to bother her less and less, but she still felt shy if she paused long enough to think about it.
Jeremy casually blew on his. The puff of breath went through it cleanly. Tenoch, observing, nodded his approval. “Very well done,” he said in English. He held out his hand, and Jeremy handed it to him. Tenoch took a dart from his belt, slipped inside the handmade weapon, and fired it at a nearby stump. The dart let with a faint whoosh and thudded into the wood, quivering slightly.
“Good job, sweetie,” Aisha cooed, scooting closer to him.
“Thanks, babe.” Jeremy fondled her right breast, making her gasp a little. “We’ll celebrate later.”
Aisha kissed him. “Or you could just bend me over and take me now,” she whispered.
Jeremy blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“Why not? It’s not like anyone around here would mind. The Aiwaha do it in public all the time, and when in Rome…”
Jeremy’s cock twitched beneath his loincloth. “Good point,” he said with a growing, eager grin. “Down on your hands and knees, babe.”
Aisha hurriedly obeyed and Jeremy slid off the log he and the others were using as a bench. He pushed his loincloth aside, lined himself up, and thrust inside her.
Lin Ming wanted to look away but couldn’t. The more she saw what sex was like, the more she found herself entranced in it. Every time she saw Bonnie or one of the Aiwaha girls or, in this case, Aisha doing it, she felt a growing sense of loss, like she was missing out on something wonderful. She wondered if her mysterious Aiwaha suitor would do such things to her.
And she realized with a start that she was starting to hope he did.
For someone like Lin Ming, who’d been raised to view any sort of sexual activity as dirty, this was the equivalent of Emperor Constantine converting to Christianity: a drastic, sweeping, pivotal moment of change. Her whole life, she’d been taught that sex was something done only for procreation, and even then only as much as necessary to get the job done. Sex for pleasure or enjoyment was inherently immoral, even between married couples.
But, she reminded herself once more, Father is not here.
Would her suitor hold her the way Aisha’s husband did? Would he make her feel good, make her feel special and cherished? Would he be kind to her?
Lin Ming let out a soft sigh. How much longer will it be before I know who he is?
On the other side of Tlacloban, Metztli watched as Isaiah and her children laughed and played together. The first round of hide-and-seek had been over so quickly it was downright shameful, but to his credit, her new mate learned quickly and started doing things to try and mask his trail and make it more challenging for her children to find him. He even tried, at one, point, to hide in a hollowed-out tree stump, and might have even succeeded if a large insect hadn’t made him yelp when it climbed over him.
Metztli remembered plucking it from his back and flicking it away. “Dummy,” she’d said. “Just a beetle. It not hurt you.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t know that at the time,” he’d said defensively.
Just the memory made her roll her eyes. Isaiah was very lucky she was there to look out for him.
Azti came up to her and hugged his mother–or more accurately, he hugged her leg since he was still too small to reach her waist. <“I like him,”> he said. <“He’s nice.”>
<“Yes,”> Metztli said, ruffling his hair. <“He is.”> Perhaps a little too nice, but that was beside the point.
<“Will he be staying with us for a while?”> her son asked.
<“Yes. He will.”>
<“When…when will he leave?”>
She sighed. <“I do not know, little cub, but not soon.”> Perhaps not ever, but she didn’t want to get his hopes up. <“Now, go back and play with your sisters.”>
He smiled, gave her leg a final squeeze, and returned to the game. They’d switched from hide-and-seek to tag, and Isaiah was it. Metztli bit her lip to keep from laughing as he chased her children around. Their squeals of delight were music to her ears.
Metztli felt a sudden wave of affection for Isaiah wash over her. He was the complete opposite of what her people thought a young man should be, but he was always in her thoughts. Maybe that was why she was so drawn to him, she mused. It still felt like the gods were playing some cosmic joke on her, but she remembered Kura’s advice and didn’t try to fight her feelings. Things were just the way they were.
Metztli ducked into her hut and came back with an animal skin filled with water. She walked over to Isaiah and handed it to him. “Drink. You running around so much, might feel faint.”
Isaiah accepted it eagerly. “Thanks.” The water was cold and clear and sweet on his tongue. He drank and drank, but then Metztli snatched the skin away. “Not good to drink too much too fast, dummy. You make yourself sick. Even child knows that.”
“Sorry.” He gave her an apologetic grin.
“You hungry?” she inquired.
He nodded. Running around so much had worked up his appetite and his stomach growled at the mention of food. “I’d love something to eat.”
<“And you, little ones?”> Metztli asked her children. “<Are you hungry as well?”>
<” Starving,”> Itzli confirmed.
<“Then let us eat.”> She turned to Isaiah. “You wait here with them. I go get food. Should be some cooking somewhere, some good meat. You stay here, not move at all.” She then turned to her children. <“Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself while I’m gone.”>
Azti giggled. So did Kizu. Itzli just looked annoyed. <“Must we?”> she whined.
Metztli gave her a severe look. <“If you want to eat, you will. Do you wish to eat?”>
Itzli averted her gaze. <“Yes, mother,”> she replied sullenly.
<“Then do as I say. I will be back soon.”>
Itzli sat down with a humph as she watched her mother go. <“Foreigners,”> she muttered.
<“He’s not so bad,”> countered Kizu. <“Mama seems to like him a lot.”>
<“And he’s getting better at hide-and-seek,”> Azti added. <“A lot better. We almost didn’t find him that last time.”>
<“Yeah, I know. But still…he’s just so weird,”> Itzli said.
<“I’m sure we’ll get used to him. Mama said he’ll be here for a while,”> Azti said confidently.
Iztli rolled her eyes in the spitting image of her mother. <“Oh, joy.”>