Mother's Little Angels

Sulon and Zeeba make it to the slave auction, but have a had time returning their slave, given that he's now damaged goods.

You may wish to start at the beginning with Chapter One, here...

Chapter Two: Them Bitches be Crazy

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The threesome broke through the tree line and stumbled right into a crowd of Women. Most wore Chief’s cloaks, dyed in their tribal colours. They held ceremonial clubs like Jaboo’s, and some waved them at the Woman in front, an auctioneer. The crowd was six-deep and Zeeba pushed her way through as best she could. Sulon followed, crouching behind the Weaver to go unnoticed. She dragged the spent slave behind her. He looked nervous, surrounded by so many club-waving warriors.

“Sold!” they heard a shout. “To Chief Kalef, a wise purchase, you’ll be seeded in no time.”

Zeeba made it through the last pairs of thick thighs to the front row as they paraded the next lot in front of the buyers. An older man; dishevelled, broken.

That didn’t bode well.

“Right, who will give me ten dinars for this fine specimen?” the auctioneer shouted, slapping the slave’s backside for effect. He lurched forward, almost falling over.

“I’ll give you five,” shouted a Woman from the back.

“Come on, you can do better than that!” The auctioneer grabbed the man’s penis and waved it from side to side. “Look at the cock on him! You could hang your club off it! He’s worth at least ten dinar. Who’ll give me ten?”

Zeeba turned and whispered to Sulon, “There’s only two lots left after this one.”

In the cages at the centre of the clearing, two naked men sat in what little shade they could find, huddled in one corner. It was hard to tell their condition from this distance. Close enough, though, to smell rank urine and sweat.

Sulon squinted into the low sun that reflected off the river, this long after midsun. Beyond the cages, traders had set up shop alongside the riverbank. Their wares included weaponry, clothes, animals, and preserved foods. Rafts were moored to the simple pier that poked into the fast-flowing waterway. Across the far bank, the valley flattened out into savanna and scrub.

“Selling, are we?”

The query came from an official looking Woman toting a bag of rattling dinar and wearing a no-nonsense expression. She’d spotted their man and strolled over.

“She looks full of herself,” Sulon whispered to Zeeba.

“Shush!” Zeeba replied. “Let me handle this.”

“Well, we’re hoping to swap.”

“Swap?” The Woman laughed. “Did you hear that? They want to swap! Just enjoy trying out the merchandise, do you? Come back for another sample?”

“No, it’s just that this one we bought two moons back, well, his seed didn’t take root.”

“Is that right? What a shame. But that’s not our problem, is it. Just geld him and use him as a general slave. He seems fit.” She stepped past Zeeba and eyed the man. “Dopey, mind you. And I see the end of his cock’s as red as a rooster comb, which one of you’s been fucking him then, eh?”

Luckily for Sulon, her ebony skin masked her blushing cheeks.

Zeeba ignored the inquisition and explained, “We have enough de-balled ones.”

Other Women were taking notice of the conversation and she wished she hadn’t pushed her way to the front. The old decrepit slave had just sold for eight dinar, and the auctioneer looked none too happy as she left to retrieve the next one from the cage.

“Good for you,” the official said, “so, sell this one and see what you can buy. We can squeeze him in as the last lot today. It’s a three-dinar fee if he sells or not. Time is money, you know. Oh, and there’s the usual two-dinar buyer’s fee, on top of whatever you pay for another one. If there’s anything there, you fancy.” She gestured over at the cages with a flick of her head.

“So, we can’t swap him then?”

“No, you can’t fucking swap him! Mother’s sake! How would we make a living if all you bitches just came here and swapped men? You sell, and you buy, and we charge, and you pay. You don’t get out much, do you?” She grabbed Zeeba’s hand, checking her fingers. “Weaver. Hah! Explains it.”

This was not going well. But Zeeba did not want to return home empty-handed. Chief Jaboo was already in a foul mood.

As she struggled to think of a solution, a cry went up from the riverbank. “It’s the Sisterhood! Run!”

Pandemonium broke out. The crowd split ten different ways, Women sprinting and shouting, most disappearing into the tree line. Official and auctioneer ran to the cages and sprang the locks. The remaining men looked up, squinting in the sun, perplexed. “Go on, it’s your lucky day, fuck off!” The auctioneer shouted and started beating them towards the open door with her club.

Zeeba turned to Sulon and their own slave. “Untie him, quick! Before the sisters get here!”

“What? Then we’ll have nothing. Who are these Sister bitches, anyway?”

A raft was mooring, or at least attempting to moor. A sizeable Woman, dressed in black, wobbled on unsteady feet, her weight causing the raft to tilt. Several other black-clad Women were trying to steer with oars. Their leader shouted instructions with such volume that she could be heard from the market.

“Left a bit, no left! You useless wenches. We’re losing the element of surprise! Just get me off this Mothersaken raft already!”

Zeeba grabbed the manslave and picked at the knots binding his hands. “Sulon! Stop arguing! They’ll kill him! The Sisterhood is crazy.” She struggled with the knots, glancing over her shoulder at the approaching gang. “You haven’t been listening at the tribal councils, have you? They turned up in our lands a few moons ago. They kill men on sight and punish anyone that keeps them. And right now, my lovely, that’s you and I!”

With some reluctance, Sulon bent down to free the slave’s legs. Unbound, he stood there, blinking.

“Go!” Zeeba shouted at him and raised her hand to give him a swift slap. That got his attention, and he turned tail and scampered away into the trees. Along with everyone else, Zeeba noticed. The slave market and trading stalls were empty of people. It was as if nobody was ever there. But the empty cages were proof of what had been going on. And only she and Sulon were left to answer for it.

“I liked him!” Sulon complained in her sulky voice. But Zeeba had no time to either admonish her or commiserate. The lead Woman in black robes had arrived, her troops close behind her. She unrolled a parchment with much ceremony.

“The Sisterhood pronounces you guilty of man keeping, man trading, and man fucking.” She declared with glee. Her followers were not far behind, swinging what looked to be very rare metal swords.

Lunatics, Zeeba thought. But dangerous lunatics and well-funded. Metal doesn’t come cheap.

The lead Sister was pig ugly. No two ways about it. A whiteskin. Her pudgy, spotty face glared out from under the black cloak. A maze of dilated red vessels on her nose announced a mead addiction. Before Zeeba could put her diplomatic skills into action, Sulon spoke up. She’d had enough of them being reprimanded today, and she’d just watched her plaything run off, on account of this old hag and her thugs.

“What’s wrong with keeping men?” she asked, pulling herself up to full height.

“Oh shit. Don’t,” Zeeba whispered.

“What’s wrong?” The hag’s face darkened and her eyes blazed. “What’s wrong with… Do you even know who we are, you little cocksucker? You’re in a world of trouble. But just in case you’re so stupid that your question is genuine…It is written in the stars that men will be the downfall of the Motherworld. The downfall of the Mother herself.”

She paused and used both arms to cross her lower belly in a sign of reverence. “IF we let them live, even as slaves, they’ll plot and they’ll scheme, speaking to each other in man’s tongue, until one day, when they’re strong enough — yes, even the de-balled ones — they’ll attack us all. And the Mother will fall from her skycave.” She crossed her belly again. “It is written in the stars!”

Her sword swinging companions stood either side of her now, and echoed her, “It is written in the stars.”

“No, it’s not,” Sulon said. “We use the stars on night hunts. I’ve seen no such thing written in them.”

“You fucking blasphemous, little ballsack!” The black hag spat venomously. “Get them, Sisters!”

The acolytes raised their swords and lunged forward.

“Run!” Zeeba shouted, and Sulon didn’t need to be told twice. They turned and sprinted for the trees. Even Zeeba, at forty winters, was fast when she needed to be.

“Man lovers!” the Sister screamed after them, but the two fugitives were already bashing their way through the undergrowth.

It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the dim jungle again, but they dared not slow. A lasting image of raised swords drove them on. After a time, Zeeba had to rest, and she collapsed into a patch of soft moss. Sulon stood over her, panting.

“Shush. Listen.” Zeeba put a finger to her lips.

They waited a full minute, but the only noises were the usual forest ones. Birds, bugs, and the breeze through the canopy.

“Mother mercy, I think we’re safe.” She wheezed as Sulon collapsed next to her.

“You run fast for an old Lady.”

“I’m not so old! Just because I don’t go around lifting my skirts and fucking men whenever I fancy, doesn’t mean I’m past it.”

“Well, neither of us can do that now,” Sulon moaned and kicked at the moss with her toe. “What a bunch of crazies. Does the Chief know about them?”

“Sulon dear, everyone knows about them. Except you. What about your friend Mosh, she mentioned nothing?”

“Nah, she only tells me stuff about men, and fucking, and hunting, you know, important stuff.”

“Oh, Mother!” Zeeba sighed and rested her head back against the moss.

“I don’t understand though.” Sulon sat up. “How can they say we should kill all the men? I know balled men are dangerous, sure. That’s why we never deal with them alone, right? But we need their babyseed, or there’d be no babies.”

“You are correct. It is the burden the Mother has seen fit to give us. But the Sisterhood believes that it’s a conspiracy of men. A secret plot. And if we killed all the men, it would free us from the burden and the Mother would bless us with babies, no seed needed.”

Sulon considered this for a while, before laying her head in the moss next to Zeeba and mumbling, “That’s fucking crazy. Everyone knows Women can’t have babies without men spitting babyseed in them. THAT should be written in the stars!”

They both laughed.

“Just give me longer to rest,” Zeeba said, “then we better head back, empty-handed I’m afraid.”

A short time later, the Weaver and the Hunter had fallen into a light doze, when a crashing of branches woke both. A lone figure burst through the undergrowth. Sulon leapt to her feet and smashed her hand-axe down on the back of the intruder’s head. Because she had not identified her target as a friend or foe, she had the presence of mind to flip the axe so that the butt, not the blade, felled her quarry.

A middle-aged man lay curled in a foetal position on the forest floor, holding his bloody head in both hands and whimpering.

“Hmm…I think he was the last lot at the auction,” Sulon said, kneeling beside him for a closer look. She turned him over onto his back and then smiled up at her fellow tribeswoman.

“Balls! He’s got balls, Zeeba. We’re in luck!”