Enslaved By The Desert Trader. Greta Gilbert
that feeds you, Little Asp?’ He lifted her fingers, one by one, from the stone, then tossed it aside. ‘Do not try to fight now,’ he said gravely, ‘for you will most certainly lose.’
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and threaded the other under her knees. Without effort, he lifted her body. She could smell his scent—something rich, earthy and unmistakably male. He carried her across the cave to the wall farthest from the entrance. There, he gently set her down in a sitting position.
He remained in shadow, but as he walked back towards the mouth of the cave the light hit him and she could discern a loincloth wrapped neatly around his lower body. Below the cloth his legs bulged outward, as if the Gods had decided to allot him the strength of two men instead of one. Above the loincloth the great swathe of his back seemed to bloom from his round buttocks in an array of taut muscles.
The demon was well-made.
He was also enormous.
Kiya glanced at her own scrawny, swaddled figure and concluded that he had wrapped his own clothing around her many times.
‘You were very hot for a time, then very cold,’ he explained as he reached the mouth of the cave and bent to retrieve a water bag. ‘You endured a terrible fever. The oasis water you drank was dirty and should not have been consumed.’ He returned to her side, held the water bag out to her and paused. ‘Please don’t make this like the last time.’
‘The last time?’
‘You don’t remember that either?’
Ah, but she did remember. It came all at once, in a flood of images: how she had punched the water bag from his hands; how she had tried—futilely—to outmanoeuvre him; how the blade had plunged through the water and through her arm. She touched the inside of her thigh and for a moment could feel the asp’s sharp fangs puncturing her skin once again.
She remembered all of it—even the feel of his hands as he’d picked her up and hoisted her onto his strange beast. Even...even the pool. She felt a flush of heat in her cheeks. Those hands. They had been so confident upon her waist. It had been as if her body were a dune of sand they might traverse expertly, if only given the chance.
‘Nay, I do not remember,’ she lied.
She reached for the water bag and tilted it to her mouth. The water was cool and fresh, and she drank until she had drained the entire bag.
‘Don’t be shy,’ he said, flashing a shadowy smile. He lifted the empty bag from her grasp. ‘Since you do not remember, I will have you know that you are my captive. I took you in a grain raid. I saved you from Libu raiders and nursed your wounds. I am Tahar, and you are mine.’
He put the water bag down and held up a bowl full of rich-smelling game.
‘This is addax. I caught it last night in the wash below the cliffs. The meat is tender—like oryx, but lighter in flavour. I have cured it with smoke, so that we may consume it over the next few days. You may eat as much as you like, but first you must say my name.’
Kiya stared into the bowl of meat. Meat? How long had it been since she’d eaten meat? She could hardly remember. She reached for a piece of addax.
‘Not so fast, my little imposter,’ he said, pulling the bowl away. ‘What is my name?’
‘Tahar.’
‘And what is your name?’
Her name? Was this a cave, or some earthly Hall of Judgement? His eyes were in shadow, but she could feel them studying her. Ah... She knew exactly what this was. This was her first lesson in submission.
‘I’m sorry. I do not remember my name.’
‘That’s unlikely.’
‘Please, Tahar, I do not remember,’ she lied. She blinked her eyes and was able to produce several fine, false tears. Oh, handsome trader, from beyond the Big Green, you are overmatched.
Annoyed, he thrust the bowl out to her. She placed a piece of the fresh smoked addax into her mouth and every part of her body awakened to the act. The meat was so rich—almost sweet—as if the beast had lived a life of luxury and not scratched its lean existence from the desert sands.
She ate another piece, feeling the animal’s spirit pass into hers, feeling strength return, feeling...gratitude.
She thought of the traditional Khemetian proverb: If I shall die, I shall die in thanks, having tasted all of life.
She stopped her chewing. ‘It appears that I am in your debt.’
Tahar was as still as the shadows that concealed him. ‘Indeed you are...’
She could not see his expression, but he seemed to be thinking.
‘And you shall pay that debt soon.’
In a few brisk strides he had returned to the mouth of the cave, where he bent with his knife and began scraping what appeared to be the addax’s hide.
‘How? How will I pay that debt?’
‘I shall sell you into marriage to the richest man I can find.’
His words burned through the last bit of fog that lingered in Kiya’s mind and a familiar rage began to smoulder in her heart. ‘You misunderstand me. I said that it appears that I am in your debt, but in fact I am not.’ She had his attention now. ‘For I would be halfway to Abydos by now if it weren’t for you.’
‘Is that where your family lives? Abydos?’
‘Family—?’ She stopped herself. The demon had almost caught her in her lie. ‘Aye, it is where my family lives. Though I wouldn’t call it living, for there is no food, and now I have been captured and cannot aid them, and they will continue to starve unless I am released, and—’ Kiya stopped when she discovered that she was talking to the walls.
Tahar had apparently exited the cave.
Wretched viper of a man. In the softness of her gratitude she had exposed herself to his fangs. By the Gods, where was her sense? This trader was no different from other men—always seeking to possess women and use them for profit. As soon as she had her strength back she would slip out of his grasp. There was naught she could do now while her injuries healed. She would eat his meat and bide her time, then simply disappear.
She regained her calm and looked around the cave. Slowly, a grand vision emerged before her eyes. Images—hundreds of images—upon the walls. Birds and beasts and plants—some familiar, some utterly strange.
‘Remarkable, aren’t they?’
Tahar’s voice made Kiya jump. He had silently returned to the mouth of the cave. When had he done that? He was staring at Kiya, and in the shifting light she thought she could detect a wistful look in his eyes. ‘So beautiful and mysterious.’
‘What is this place?’ asked Kiya. ‘A kind of temple?’
‘I suppose so, though only a blessed few know of it. Welcome to the Cave of Wanderers.’ Tahar pointed to the wall across from Kiya. Upon it was drawn a family of river cows, basking in the shallows of a river. Above them the long, elegant bodies of several sacred ibis floated in the sky. Beneath them a great school of perch swam for all eternity.
‘A Khemetian surely did this.’
‘Very certain of that, are you?’
‘I know the work of my people,’ Kiya said. ‘That is the Great River. And those are hippos—river cows. They bask in the water during the daytime. I have witnessed this scene many times on the banks of our sacred river.’
‘Indeed? Well, in that case, you can tell me the name of the tall creature standing on the bank.’
‘What tall