Calliope's Wings Page 7

  “Hey!”

  My tits jiggled in the open night air, which was somewhat cool now that the sun was so newly set. I knew it wasn’t long past sunset because the western fringes were still tinged by pink light. I could feel them puckering and swung my arms over to conceal them. Not that the beast seemed to mind my nakedness at all.

  She hoisted me up and into her upper torso, a massive claw under my bare ass and another to my upper back. She nuzzled my scalp and rocked me carefully. I swung my legs for about half a second and surveyed the people beneath me. Because, really, at the height she held me, I was above everyone. Including Mister Whale of a Tale Schlong down there.

  Speaking of…

  “Return. Now.”

  Uh-huh. Yeah, like I could command the big beastie. She was likely over four-thousand pounds worth of monster muscle. She could squash me like a bug. Turn me to mashed-Calliope with a side of resurrection-salad. Could I even come back from that? Burning, yeah, but at least my basic shape was still left – I think. If I was turned to a pulp, there really shouldn’t have been any way to come back.

  Hmm. Maybe that’d be the way I tried to go out next time. Find a nice, angry Mahzri to trample me. It’d be worth a shot at never coming back again into this shit.

  Big Mama screeched at him before hiking off with me in her arms.

  Right into the Udonak.

  …Well shit.

  I tucked my front further into her chest, needing to hide my nudity. It wasn’t like I was a prude, but the simple camp, from what I could see, was fucking huge! There were Lubrei everywhere. Lubrei and Mahzri both.

  There weren’t any huts set up as far as I could tell. There were bedrolls aplenty and campfires set up with cooking pots. There were some small, barely-there lean-tos propped up here and there. Most of the fires were congregated around where covered wagons were parked. Some of the Mahzri were settled down in rest by the support polls to pull the wagons and I thought they might be the ones that ferried them.

  Voices tittered and rumbled, an endless sea of faces turning to watch as Big Mama paraded me through the camp. She warbled and chirped, a proud female showing off her offspring.

  Okay, I had to be ill if I was jumping to that conclusion.

  She stopped after a time, rimming around a bonfire no different to any others, other than the fact that there were only a few females orbiting it. They were gawping right at me, their eyes burning holes into my numbed back. The slaves tending to them were frozen in their serving, equally awestruck. I couldn’t say as I blamed them. Big Mama made an impressive sight even if my lily-white ass was plastered to her.

  She snorted at a bronze male crunching on a native fruit nearby. The smaller beast nudged his muzzle up under hers affectionately, clipping me, too, and pattered off. He wasn’t gone long and he didn’t go far. He came back with a heavy looking bolt of fabric that he dropped on the ground.

  Big Mama laid down on it, her forward legs acting as bracers as she set me down between them on the fabric. She kept me tucked into her chest and petted my decorated hair. She made continuous, happy sounds above me, clearly enjoying having me in her grasp. I might’ve said something snarky about it, but she placated me with a ripe uropa.

  The uropa, a fruit that had the taste of mulled cider with a texture more akin to a baked apple pie, was a delicacy as far as I was concerned. It only grew in the southern hemisphere and was obscenely expensive. I’d seen them at the vendor stalls. I remembered serving them to my Masters and Mistresses. If we slaves were lucky, we’d get to eat the overripe or bruised ones. Most of the time we weren’t lucky.

  The rind, a gummy, chewy, grizzled exterior surrounded the delicious fruit normally, but someone had already removed it. I plowed into it shamelessly, having to use both my hands to hold the damned thing because it was so big. Thus, juice dribbled down my chin and over my breasts, adding a shimmer to my already pale mounds.

  The other females were still gaping at me.

  “Forgive me,” I muttered around a mouthful of fruit. I smudged some of it quite ungracefully with the back of my arm, wincing at the continued tinkle-chime of my jewelry. “I do not mean to be a messy eater.”

  “Innintani,” one of the ladies rasped in wonder. Oh no. Not this nonsense again.

  “Io, please.” I waved my one remaining pinky at them and smiled over the upper swell of my uropa. “Does anyone, by chance, have a spare change of clothing I could borrow? I do not think I am making the best impression like this.”

  “Innintani,” another of them whispered excitedly, “You have so many utakta. However were You able to bear receiving them?”

  “Gaddi, hush.”

  The one who gushed over my ‘utakta’ was quite young. Barely into womanhood, I was sure. She was young enough to be my own daughter by the looks of her. The other one who hushed her was much older. Old enough, in turn, to be my mother. There were three other females besides them. All were wearing the bakal that marked them as mates to the Zikta. The bakal, a collar of the finest, metallic twine, shielded the fragile columns of their throats, a symbol to any and all that looked at them that they had protectors unto death. A symbol that they were Pasha.

  Now that I thought about it…

  I tilted my head, triggering more bells to chime. I had one of those on, too, didn’t I? More elaborate, yeah, but it was just like theirs.

  Great. Fucking great. Three guesses on what Neanderthal mated me and if you don’t get it on one, your certificate of passable intelligence is revoked.

  Although, I swear to God, if there was a this-world wedding ceremony while I was roofied, heads are gonna roll.

  “What are utakta?”

  “Y-Your honor-marks, Innintani. Your scars of war!”

  “Gaddi!”

  “They are kut marks, not scars of war,” I argued back blandly. I wiggled my index and middle finger on my right hand, showcasing the two deformed digits to them. Where my pinky should’ve been there wasn’t even a stump remaining. Visibly, they were the worst of my scars, though my back probably looked like a patchwork quilt of ripped and torn flesh. I imagined it’d be gruesome, perfect for a horror film.

  A hum of discord bubbled up when I thought about how ruined my backpiece had to be. The whippings hacked up the bouquet of wildflowers spanning from my tailbone to just level with the tops of my shoulders along my spine, but they’d been watercolor. The lack of defined lines made it so that the scars from my innumerable whippings didn’t fuck the design up too bad. Being dragged across the port on my back probably obliterated my piece, though.

  Shit.

  I took pride in my tats. I loved my tats. Most of them were ruined now, though. Ruined and I couldn’t even have them touched up or redone. No machine. No gun. No ink.

  Intau sucked hairy ball sacs.

  “Kut?” The one known as Gaddi all but crawled over to me, her face painted with so many emotions I couldn’t keep them straight. Her head tipped up and down, openly surveying me. She had to stop, though, when Big Mama clack-snarled at her. I flinched back into her chest when her thick neck lowered over me, a shelter of living muscle and ferociousness.

  “Forgive me, Xxyx,” Gaddi prostrated herself lowly – much like my slaves had to Kor and the other male – to the Mahzri guarding me.

  The beastie took the supplication in stride. She moved one claw away from me and patted Gaddi’s scalp in a way reminiscent of my Gran petting my head after doing some chore for her without being asked. Once she finished her ‘good girl’ praise, she wrapped her arm back around me. She went back to fussing with my hair and body like she hadn’t just put a Tauren in their place.

  I glanced up at the Mahzri’s face, which was turned down to me, and pursed my lips in thought. While I knew the Mahzri were smart, maybe even dolphin smart, I still thought of them as beasts. They were clever animals, but still animals. The way the ‘Xxyx’ just behaved, though, told me she was more than just animal. She understood. She problem-solved. She wasn’t an animal.


  Well fuck.

  She chittered at me, happy as a clam, and caressed my cheeks with her tendrils. I guessed I should be glad she seemed to like me so much.

  When I looked back to the other women, none of them were staring at me anymore. They were visibly chastised, their chins tucked into their chests. Their slaves were shaking with nerves as they served their Mistresses.

  Well, I’m officially ostracized from the group.

  Nope. Not okay with that. Someone’s talking to me or I’m going to do something stupid. Like, dumber than some of my other hairbrained schemes have been.

  “Do you want one?” I held up my uropa, seeing that none of the other women had one. I didn’t know how I’d get more, but I could always share mine if I couldn’t find one. I wanted to make allies here. If I could have some of them on my side, I’d have a buffer against any trouble that came my way. Allies meant informants. Allies meant distractions.

  Jesus, I was a fucking cynic.

  “No, Innintani. The uropa are for You and Your Mahzri.” It was the older lady that kept silencing the more impetuous Gaddi.

  “I do not mind,” I tried to shuffle forward and out of the big female’s arms, but she wouldn’t let me go. Instead, she splayed a claw over my stomach to keep me up against her chest. The other she used to tap against the tip of my nose, a clear ‘naughty girl’ gesture.

  Yeah, I didn’t like living through the realization of how smart she actually was.

  “We are not sufficiently ranked enough for such decadence, Innintani.” Her gaze shot to Gaddi. “Especially that one.”

  “No need to be rude,” I muttered to myself in English. I felt bad for the flushing youth. She was scrubbing her hands roughly across her upper arms and looking at her skirt-covered knees. Whereas the other Pasha were adorned with a fair amount of jewelry or embellished dresses – their breasts notably covered – Gaddi had the least amount of decoration to her. Her skin was very dark, too, and not at all like the gold or dark tan of the others.

  What difference did her station make? She seemed like a nice enough girl and the fact that she was wearing a mated-woman’s collar announced that there was a male somewhere in this Udon that thought she was perfect.

  “Gaddi, right?” When I addressed her, the girl jerked her gaze to me with surprise. I summoned a smile. “Why do you not come sit by me? We can talk.”

  The older ladies huffed and blustered, their expressions thunderstruck and insulted. Tough noogies. I didn’t like Real Housewife bitches. I hated them at my shop when they came in with their sons or daughters and sneered at me because I was tatted up like a supposed deviant. They thought that because I was non-traditional that I was garbage.

  Fuck them. I made a good, honest living with my shop – a shop I started from nothing but a dream and an abandoned building in need of some TLC. I had degrees in Art History and Fine Arts. I might not look like the scholarly type, but I was smart enough. I worked damned hard for everything I had and, at thirty-five before my first death, I had been on the top of my world. No one could knock me down.

  Pft. No knockin’ me down but, apparently, they could shoot me dead.

  Gaddi looked back to the other Pasha and seemed to flinch under their censorious glares. I wasn’t having that shit. Jacked-up ribs and flayed back bedamned, I wasn’t sitting by to watch this girl cower away from the Housewives.

  Using Big Mama’s claw on my tummy – and I really needed give her a different name before I got too stuck on that moniker – I pushed myself up to my feet. She helped me, bracing me from the front and palming my ass to stand me up. I appreciated it since my ribs were still screaming.

  What I wouldn’t give for some Vicodin.

  “Come along, Gaddi.” I reached out a sticky hand to her. She didn’t hesitate in taking it even though that tacky juice would be a bitch to get off her fingers. Even younger than me, though, she was a lot bigger. I tried not to be salty that she had a good foot over me when she stood to her long, arched feet. “Let us go find another place to sit. I do not like the company here.”

  Gasps and feminine growls abounded, but I ignored them. They could huff and puff all they wanted. I had the big-bad-mamma-jamma at my back and, seemingly, a bullshit belief I was some sort of fallen angel protecting me.

  With her hand clasped in mine, my two-fingers-short hand, we walked to another fire closer to the bulk of the wagons. There were more slaves where we went and less fanfare. I liked it. I preferred it. It helped, too, that Gaddi’s single slave followed with her, and mine – all five of them – came pouring out of the proverbial woodwork.

  “Hello, biis’a!” My voice was cheery and I could feel my cheeks pinching from how hard I was smiling. I wished I could call them ladies instead of females, but I didn’t think ‘lady’ was a word the Lubrei even used. The northern regions didn’t, either. They favored less-inviting and more generic address for others. It made learning the languages easier since they didn’t tend towards having multiple words meaning the same thing. Neither did they bother prettying bold truths up into two-faced snivels. You got what you got with Tauren no matter where in the world you went.

  “Innintani,” Tan huffed in distress, carrying the same gauzy robe-gown-thing I’d been wearing before. Tok took one side of it while Tan opened the other. I eagerly dropped Gaddi’s hand to hurry into the garment. I didn’t give a shit that it might as well have been see-through. It was better than walking around buck-ass naked. “You cannot wander around so displayed. The Tohtahk will flay us.”

  “Kor saw her take me. I am well. You are safe with me.” I hoped.

  Besides, as just mentioned, I was practically nakey even with the gown on. Didn’t seem like any reason to throw a fit between me in it or my birthday suit. I cared, but they shouldn’t’ve.

  Gaddi’s slave and the remainder of mine set up embellished cushions to one side of the small fire we claimed for ourselves. Just like with the other one, Big Mama made sure I was cordoned off between her forward legs with her claws petting me. Gaddi was situated nearby and just a little in front of me so I could see her without having to strain my neck.

  Food was served out to us, an array of dried meats and a pastry-wrapped meat-pie of some sort. Orla carried over a stockpot and stirred whatever was in it. The aroma coming off the top was fantastic and had my stomach grumbling.

  We fell into our dinner as the chatter from neighboring fires rose up into the night sky.

  Dear God, I couldn’t remember the last time I ate so well.

  Gaddi chuckled at me licking my fingers unabashedly. I scrunched my nose up at her like I would’ve to Rachel when she ragged on me for my piss-poor table manners during our get-togethers each week. Spike and Bomber thought it was hilarious when I’d try to out-belch them. Never succeeded, mind you, but it was always an easy way to get a laugh from my coworkers and friends.

  I missed them somethin’ fierce.

  “You are very enthusiastic, Innintani. I have never seen anyone eat so.”

  Oh, honey, you’ve never seen anyone starving, then. Instead of speaking my thoughts, though, I just sucked a bead of juice off the tip of my thumb. I wasn’t going to waste a single ounce of food, even to wipe it off with a cloth napkin that Tan tried pushing onto me.

  I wasn’t some perfect, pretty little angel. There wasn’t any amount of dressing me up that could make me more presentable. They’d all do better to realize that sooner rather than later.

  “It is delicious,” I said once I’d swallowed. “The best meal I have had in a long time.”

  “You said…You said You were kut, Innintani. How could any do such to You? It is obvious to any who look that You are Innintani.”

  “I am not, though. I am me.”

  “You are not! You are Innintani!” Gaddi sounded offended for me. I was really beginning to like her. “You are so pure. You are like the bone of the Mahzri. Sacred and opari. The One sent You to us after all these seasons, entrusting You into our care.”
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br />   “I do not know about all that,” I demurred, fussing with the horn cup Shree gave me. It had more of that pink juice in it. My fingers tripped over the carved inlay. “I am a…an offlander. I do not come from here. Nowhere near here. I do not belong in this place.”

  “No! You cannot believe that! You came from Skyvryn to us.” Gaddi shot up to her knees and crawled over to me. Her fingers stopped a scant millimeter from my toes on the ground. I could read earnestness in her face. When she continued to speak, she sounded desperate. “The Tohtahk sensed You. He shrouded You in Your finery so that we could all hear the song of Your body with us. The Mahzri are called to You, the Xxyx claiming You as hers. You are She!”

  Oo-kay. Sweetcheeks was getting a little heavy for me. So, not wanting to start an argument of any kind and deciding that we’d agree to disagree, I just nodded my head softly.

  Gaddi beamed.

  It turned out, much to my elation, that I got to have dessert. The pot was full of some sort of rice pudding. Delicious, sticky, warm, decadent rice pudding. I could’ve happily drowned in the stuff. More than once, Big Mama’s clawed hands stopped my wrist halfway to my mouth, making me finish swallowing my current bite before moving onto the next.

  By bedtime, at which time I was ushered back to my basket, my stomach felt full to bursting and I regretted eating as much as I did. I felt like I was going to hurl.

  Ruune, nervously standing to the edge of my basket once I’d gone to the bathroom and the other slaves having turned to their own thin bedrolls near me, was the one that seemed to sense my discomfort. Instead of finding Kor, though, she hustled off. I didn’t watch her go, didn’t bother following her with my eyes, because Big Mama chose that moment to pull me right back out of the basket, blankets and all, and hold me up against herself. She held me cradled like a baby, wrapped up tight and snug.

  Overall, it wasn’t too bad. Different, but the Mahzri was sweet on and with me. She treated me a bit like my own Ma used to when I was still a dependent little imp. She showered me with kisses of her tendrils and even chittered a soothing melody like a lullaby.