Author's notes: Well, here is the final chapter of Noel & Lightning's quirky romance in another universe. Do not be surprised if this goes through a re-write, with further character development & more research into nomadic cultures. A very sincere thank you to the many kind comments received; I am very glad that you, the readers, have enjoyed taking a trip into the desert of my mind's eye. There are more stories to be told, so if you are willing to read more of my tales, I will upload another soon.
There is a scene in this chapter that blatantly lifts a line from a wonderful sword fight scene in the film Gladiator; I give full credit to the creator of the film, and simply state no intent of profit or gain is intended; the tale is simply for amusement. As I watched it, I could just see our heroine's face and voice saying that line & it was simply too much fun to pass up. So forgive the theatrical scene built about it. The formal insult exchange was an actual part of pre-battle events in Middle Eastern and North African cultures according to a few historical resources, which was also quite amusing to write; my Muse is credited for the gentle nudge to be more historically accurate.
On a note of historical accuracy, some inspiration of traditional clothing was due to the exquisite costumes worn in the film Kingdom of Heaven. It was very easy to imagine Lightning in Sibylla's cloak and headscarf.
Of course, one cannot forget the credit to the wisdom of the Biblical Old Testament for the judging, which now commences...so attend, o beloved...Blessings again for such an outpouring of kind responses from you. The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me.
Sheik Daveed sat in his elegant chair, carved from hard ebony and fitted to his body; hours of negotiations and fahdl demanded attention, and a shifting body in an uncomfortable chair could give excuse for insult or divert attention from the more delicate points of conversation. He waved off the servant who approached with minted tea, but pointed to a cushion, where she eagerly sat; Rhea was a trusted servant, and her wrinkled face held nothing but a flat calmness that hid a razor sharp mind; Daveed was a wise man, and patient leader of his people, but he needed his servant's sharp tongue and wily twists of mind to help with the rule of the more unruly of his flock, and keep peace with other tribes. When Harissa and Lightning were pushed up and kicked into kneeling before him, his eye did not flicker when he dryly stated: "So, the two of you lay claim to our newest warrior? Why do you fight? Cannot you both share the privilege of serving your lord? "
Harissa spat: "SHE will not obey my orders! She refused to do anything to keep the tent in order! All she would do is care for the mounts and the weapons! She slapped my hands away and knocked me to the ground when I touched the lords' sword! "
"Because it would have taken your fingers off, you damned fool. " Lightning softly interjected. "Those blades are alloy, not just steel. As for keeping a tent in order, I am not allowed to sleep in the tent, or enter without Kreiss' permission...or at least that's the story Harissa Ibn Etienne tells me, Sheik. A contradiction, yes?" She sought Daniel's eyes and nodded slightly; he nodded back indicating she had put it well, just like he'd told her to.
Daveed became the lion he was named for and fiercely turned to Noel: "Did you forbid your guest the tent?"
"I never gave such an order." Noel's eyes matched the tone in his voice. "What respect would I gather if I made a servant give an order that I was not able to carry out myself? Harissa Ibn Etienne apparently thinks the custom is so in this tribe. She apparently told my guest to not even step in the tent unless commanded. My exact words to my guest were 'do make use of anything for yourself here, except my swords' – call her to witness, if you like. "
A collective gasp went up from the listeners: it was bad manners, the worst of abuse to let anyone, no matter how low, sleep outside the tent at night. It was age old custom that kept their fellow humans safe and alive, and to hear it broken spoke volumes about Harissa's character.
Harissa, now on the attack, hissed: "I only do what the young lord does not know how to do, did he not order me to teach her all our ways? She has been disobedient in all things; She does not address the lord by his title; she disdains to even touch him, much less lay with him when he desires a woman; she even threw him off her! She will not dress as woman, look at her! It's all men's clothing on her! She is like a shield, not a vase to water the lord to refresh his soul! There is no peace in the tent!...and when I try to smooth the path, be kind to my lord, soothe his hurts and aches, and be the woman she will never be, SHE did not give up her bracelet to me, or even acknowledge my right to claim!"
" I am a warrior, not a domestic, Sheik. I performed the tasks I knew how to do. I refuse to give up his gift to me; I understand it was his way of claiming me, and he brought me out here to complete the ritual of binding me to him. I verify he said the proper host's words to me. But I also was told later by Harissa Ibn Etienne to not even approach my host unless he commanded it first, and that she, his servant would be his mouth. I did not consent to leave the match, Sheik...nor will I at this point in time. Noel Kreiss must answer to me first. If he wishes another, then he must tell me personally and make reparation to my honor!" Lightning stood firm, her sense of command clear. Screw him, I deserve to be told in person. And I'm going to get my way.
Daveed had Rhea pour him a silver cup of Rakesh and she whispered briefly as she presented it to him with the utmost respect. Daveed almost smiled and stroked his beard as if deep in thought. Then he spoke his judgment:
"I see. Since both of you lay claim in your own manner, I am forced to judge this. I ask each of you one final time: Do either of you yield your claim to the other? Only one can win. No? Then this is my judgment, children."
He turned to his guard and firmly spoke with steel in his voice: "Bring my great sword. "
The hefty scimitar was brought forward and Daveed rose with it in his hands, his eyes hard as the steel in his voice now: "Since neither yield, then I do as custom decries: The prize is to be split. Hold him."
Four guards tackled Noel and pulled him out, each with a limb; Noel hyperventilated and struggled beneath the raised scimitar and nearly cried out as it swung in an arc to give force to the blow; Daveed was going to split him in half and give half to each woman, an antique law renacted many times over the centuries.
Then a weight dropped on him and a voice almost screamed: "NO! Sheik, hold your hand! I yield! By Etro, I yield if it means his life! Sheik, do you hear me!? SHEIK DAVEED!? I Yield!" Lightning was looking up at the Sheik with her intense aqua eyes, dilated, heart pounding. Daveed slowly brought the great scimitar down and sat down, laying the blade across his chest, the perfect picture of a great sheik who has given his wise judgment. "The matter is settled. Only one has claim. Take the liar to the Field of Woe."
It wasn't until the crowd dispersed that Rhea and Daveed looked at each other again and then silently let their eyes crinkle until both began to laugh.
Lightning was chained to a pole that was a good quarter mile distant from the oasis in an arc of silver sand; it had no plants, no shade, no water. The sheik would seat himself under the fringe of palms at the edge of the oasis and watch his punishment meted out, which was simple: one simply hung in full view of the desert sun until it pleased him or one died. His tribe was welcome to deliver any type of insult or injury to hasten death; stoning, knife cuts, salt or sand rubbed in the lips were all part of the justice system of the nomad; harsh, crude, but effective.
Daveed and Rhea had already seen the hidden truth from the test; only someone who truly had the young lord's best interest at heart would yield his or her own life up to it. They figured Lightning would be tough enough to withstand a few hours chained to a pole; he knew the families would be disinterested in any further tribal punishment, especially since his own son had respectfully requested clemency along with a few choice details; Daveed expressly forbade Harissa from any punishment, stating she was to attend her lord; after all, wasn't that her goal? Daveed knew full well she was itching to cut Lightning's aqua jewels out of her head for her own and thought it'd be foolish of him to even chance that the lovely woman would be truly injured, much less touched by anything other than a gentle hand. He had consulted with his first wife, and she agreed immediately that Lightning should be brought into Daveed's private harem as a guest; she was a bow woman herself, and understood the battle of wills that was being waged between Noel & Lightning; she thought it safer to keep her close, until Kreiss learned to bring her to him with love instead of trying to bring her forcibly to him with domination. It was only then would such a fine warrior woman could be tamed properly to his hand. Apparently some of fine art of courting a warrior woman was lost between her time and Kreiss' time. It didn't seem like the pair were so at odds when the first arrived; she remembered Noel's hand immediately held out to help Lightning rise from the rug and the way they looked at each other while the harpist played tonight. Harissa was no favor done to the match she snorted to herself; had it not been for that little jackal's jealousy, the tribe would have been able to help Noel steer the match to a successful conclusion. They really are perfect for each other; all it usually takes is a little nudge of another man's interest to humble a lover. Oh my! I am going to have fun fanning the flames of this burning heart! He's as crazy as Daveed was back in the day!
The night air was cooling rapidly and soon the fires were blazing and cold hands ducked into woolen djellabas and hoods were raised to keep the plummeting temperatures from invading warm bodies; the desert was mostly a flat plain beyond the oasis and the winds howled at night until the morning sun illuminated everything with a sparkle of rime on the cactus and dry grasses. The sheik and his entourage set up and were sipping tea before beginning a debate of the 2nd chapter of Etro's script, when the night guard walked up with his report: "Tribe Ibinissa. North edge. Been there since midnight. One warrior. You know who."
Daveed groaned: "What is it this time? Does he think he has claim to my prize dapple grey again?"
"The goat boy thinks he's come to challenge Kreiss. Apparently we have large ears at the oasis and a larger mouth."
"Well. Let him. Do not answer any challenge, Noel. He is but a gadfly of his tribe; they are vicious animals who do not obey Etro, they are no better than animals who should be shot on sight. They rape every woman when raiding, and kill the old, the children for sport. Have no doubt he is a good warrior, but a consummate idiot in the art of politic behavior."
The warrior was statuesque, a dark bronzed demi-god with glossy black hair streaked with violent purple and a finely braided black-purple beard; he was loaded with jewelry, even his scabbard was richly jeweled and inlaid with thin wires of iridium in flowing tribal designs; his mount was a glorious creature, all black with a long tail and mane that cascaded almost to the ground and bore his master on a red leather saddle with a plethora of jingling silver ornaments; however, the sword hilt was simple and well-used, at odds with the display of idle richness. He strode about the edge of the encampment impatiently, waiting for the tribe to notice him before beginning his verbal assault and challenge. The sun was a full half hand above the horizon in early morning before he gave it up and bellowed: "Oh-ho, Tribe Ibrahim, thou must waste away your day with idleness? Come, a warrior is in thy sight!"
The sheik held his cup out for tea, as if he'd just heard a cricket chirp. The sun slanted across the desert, the rime sparkling like diamonds in the early light and throwing long shadows across the Field of Woe, where Lightning blearily raised her head. It had been a damn cold night, she was chilled to the bone as they had stripped her of her clothes before chaining her, so the sun would make short work of her today. She was irritated at the voice, but grasped at it with anger, to galvanize herself into staying alive.
The bellowing voice continued for a good five minutes, most of it an announcement of his glorious self, his deeds, and his tribe's deeds; he worked himself into a good frenzy, stomping about and then got down to business: "…and now you have a new tribesman, a traveler from the end of time, a son of a sheik, with a double sword who they say cleaves the very soul of a man! I say Tribe Ibrahim has played trickery, and conjured him with dark arts to their tents! He must be no swordsman, for I have met and killed all the swordsmen worth fighting in this desert! I have never seen any deed of Noel Kreiss pass the lips of any man alive here! And how is it this bravest of the brave warrior, this shadow hunter, this scorpion of the land has not come forth to challenge anyone from Tribe Ibinissa? Is he deaf? Is he blind? Or is he…afraid?"
A dry sarcastic voice piped up in the silence: "He hasn't because he's never heard of you, oh kupo! Thy legend must be in thine own mind!"
He gnashed his teeth and howled: "Why must I sit and read this silk swaddled babe without a man's beard the story of my deeds, Kupo? By Etro, he should drop his pants and show us his manhood, for methinks I'm before a eunuch!"
The air was sliced with a wicked dagger of retort in the ear: "Brush the fleas from thy lavender whiskers and the clean the camel dung from thine sow's ear, old woman! Then jump up and down, we all want to hear if thou hast the pair of balls you claim, or if those are thy camel's brass bells between thy legs!"
The mount lashed out with its heels and bugled a screech of rage, as the rider had raked its sides with his spurs; he matched it with a line of Etro's Script in a similar harshly bugling tone as he brought the creature under control again, then threw down another insult like a glove: "Dost thou long for the weight of my balls against thy arse, oh wafter? How is it I hear a woman's voice deliver retort, instead of a man's? Is his tongue so dull it cannot cut and can only be used for licking the cleft of his lady? I must be looking at a consort, not a warrior!"
"Ohhh…Really, Kupo? A consort a full decade & eight years? Isn't he a bit…old for you? I thought your tastes were helpless boys!"
At that, he roared and spurred his mount into a full gallop at the voice, then stopped suddenly, the mount squealing with rage, rearing up like Odin's mount and striking out with its hooves at the lone figure hanging off the pole in chains as a string of profane curses were thrown about.
"A prisoner? A woman? What madness has infected this tribe? Where is the warrior?"
Lightning snorted: "Too busy getting his two-timing arse licked clean by a harem girl named Harissa, so that just leaves me, kupo. They don't soil their hands with the likes of you." She forced a cocky smile at the handsome warrior glowering at her. "So, how about it?" Lightning figured she was already damned to die and decided going out in a blaze of glory was the only way to go; she didn't care that she was not wearing any clothes or armor, or that her precious gunsaber was not hanging off her back; all she could think of was a chance to get out or go down swinging. Besides, the damned gadfly pissed her off – oh, like Kreiss was anything close to eunuch for Etro's sake.
"Why in Etro's name should I fight you? Aren't you condemned to die?"
"What have you got to lose? Even a dead man walking is allowed a last meal, so why not a condemned warrior a last fight? Do I look like a girl from the harem? Do they have scars like mine? C'mon, it might be your lucky day, kupo!"
He looked, then grinned; it was carrion, but damned fine carrion. She spoke true, she had warrior's scars. A swipe of his naginata, the long single edged axe blade affixed to a length of spear wood, setting sparks off the chains, and cut through the cheap rusty iron like butter. "Rape, rape, rape! That's all you basting janissaries ever think of; just try to put up a fight, will you?"
Lightning stood and flexed her aching shoulder muscles back to life and rolled her neck a few times before she genuinely smiled and said: "Thank you, oh kupo. How shall we play today?" It left him nonplussed for a moment, seeing as she had no weapon, but as he was ready for blood, he shrugged and galloped a little way off, then charged. She wasted no time, wrapping the loose end of the chain around a hand and wrist, then started on the attack with run at the warrior on the mount, skipping up to a boulder and flying into her opponent's chest with a series of punishing blows enhanced by a chained set of knuckles.
The chase went all through the Field of Woe, until it reached the Sheik's rug, where they all watched stunned into a shocked silence at the insanity of it; a half dozen men looked at Noel who shrugged and simply commented: "Etro's Valkyrie!", at which they nodded sagely and looked back again with far more interest; Marika almost smirked at her fellow warrior woman who'd just shown more balls than half her son-in-laws and now feeling lofty, lightly kicked Harissa to serve more tea. The little jackal was sitting there like a city girl, mouth open, moaning Holy Shite of Etro! Under her breath – she had no idea how close she came to getting her face pounded by a real warrior woman until just now. That arm pin last night was a taste of honey compared to the fighting skills being demonstrated right now! She slunk backwards like her namesake and as soon as the sand hit her feet, she ran, deserting her lord Noel. The man had to be chewing peyote to expect a bed with that.
Lightning ducked and spun, still weaponless, throwing rocks, a handful of sand in the face, pulling the mount's tail, an irritating wasp bent on throwing the warrior's rhythm off. She growled at the tribesmen as she danced around the mount's kicking hind legs: "Damn it, give me a weapon! Etro-damn you all, I need a weapon!"
No one moved a muscle under the Sheik's warning eye. Desperate, she grabbed a stirrup and swung up behind the warrior as he thundered by, slashing down with the naginata. She pulled at the long dagger in the saddle sheath, but it would not release; disgusted, she leapt from her perch and landed behind Noel, running forward; surprised, Noel felt his gladius drawn with a snick as a pale golden hand adorned with a simple leather wrapped bracelet hefted the weight like a long lost friend as she ran past him.
Then the fight turned nasty. The Ibinissan pressed his advantage with the mount and naginata, ignoring the etiquette of like weapon to like weapon. Great clouds of dust hid yelps and fierce infighting; a splintering crack was heard and the horse charged out from the dust cloud. Lightning was chasing the horse as it bugled in fright; the warrior disgustedly threw down the broken naginata as he limped from the dust cloud seconds behind. He seldom lost a swordfight, and confidently he strode forward pulling at the sword hilt hung off his back; his bloodlust filled smile faded as it did not come to his hand; his companion was standing still, with an amused look now on her face. He tried harder, panicking, rattling the piece of steel in the sheath, but puzzled, as he could not draw his sword from the scabbard. Her lips formed a soft word they could not hear and she smiled before bearing down on him; then a wind blew a curtain of dust over the scene and left it with a pretty caress in the observer's ears.
She stood there in the settling dust stark staring nude, splashed head to foot with blood; then she slowly walked up to the circle of astounded nomad warriors, wearily dragging Noel's gladius through the sand, and calmly looked over at them after flicking the blood off the finely balanced blade and resheathing it in its scabbard hanging off his back. She slowly blinked at them, her face inscrutable, superior, craftily lynxlike before simply saying: "Frost. Carbon dioxide frost. It makes the blade stick."
She wearily walked back to the fallen warrior, pulled the chilled scabbard off over the headless corpse, gently took the mount's bridle and walked off totally unconcerned as if she were Etro herself through the tents, clothed in silver armor and girt with the weapons and wings of a thousand eidolons. Her light ripple of laughter floating back on the morning breeze was a contradictory gut wrenching taunt, yet somehow a hot swelling excitement for more than one pair of ears. Then she was gone.
"Ah. There goes a new blade, forged in the old metal." The old man quietly, reverently spoke at last. "That I would have above a hundred of my harem, young Kriess. I see why you stole her away from the city now; however, I think it would be a sin to the very god to break her spirit. Tell me…what think you, my beloved son?" the last query stated with a kindly loving old man's tone doting on his favorite child. Noel's heart burst open and he threw himself at the old sheik's knees and burst out weeping; a calm hand laid on his head as he spilled the words before him: "I...I feel as if I am in a game, and the rules keep changing!"
"She—she was my first, my only...ohhh damn it all I love her! I loved her ever since I saw her, father…but this is killing me, what can I do? I hate her for not coming to me, when she held my heart in her hands that day after I gave myself! She even let another man kiss her hand goodnight in front of me like I was nothing! Nothing! I claimed her, yet she thinks I have a harem equal to yours just waiting at my beck and call! She drives me so insane with desire in the night, I cannot even think of another woman, or take comfort from a man! She acts like she hates me, yet turns around protects my honor like it is my virginity! There is no peace in my heart, I want to die or kill her so no man can have her but I!"
They all nodded, knowing full well what it was like to feel this fire in the blood; it was the years of intense solitude, the sheer loneliness that drove them to introspect, grow deep, and nurture the fierce fiery passion that carried them through the aching burden of life. The rest of them fell back, leaving their leader to impart his wisdom first; they'd all offer their help and love to get him through the ritual and to the point of challenge. It was simple: Noel had found his match, but the match was not a simple nomad to nomad pairing, it was a janissary warrior to a warrior from another realm entirely; this was no smooth path to Etro's Eden. The sheik would solve the riddle of this match. Softly, slowly, the gnarled hands stroked the gleaming chestnut head in his lap and after he imparted his wisdom, he blessed the weary head like a son. The men came back after seeing Noel raised to his feet; they praised his wisdom in confiding in their sheik, the wisest of fathers, praised his choice of woman highly, and now laughing at her audacious move, praised his gladius almost as highly; they bore him off and soothed the jangled nerves and lovelorn heart with the distraction of horse racing, leaving the Sheik and Marika eyeing each other like they were twenty years younger and almost grinning.
Lightning carefully rinsed herself of blood and dust before bringing the black mount water. The stallion snorted a bit, but nosed her after a while, hungry. She was able to pull the sword now, as the frost inside the scabbard had melted, the carbon heavy rime sublimating into gas as the temperature rapidly rose; she cut dates, feeding them carefully to the splendid creature. It trusted her enough to let her lead it to a deserted edge of the oasis and investigate the contents of the saddlebags; she was desperate for anything to cover her nakedness, and the sand was beginning to burn through her feet. The warrior had outfitted himself well, a spare djellaba, sandals two sizes too big, but wearable, a windbreak, the standard tea, sugar & two cups, whetstone, and a crock of oil for the body, scented with the same resin Noel had used on her the first time. Her eyes grew soft at the memory of his silent tenderness and she felt a tear well at the thought of how close they become then how far they'd grown apart in the past weeks at this oasis. Did it have to end this way?
She sat there alone for the rest of the day after rigging up the little windbreak and grooming the horse; no one came to talk to her or even walk by, so she felt like the last person alive on the planet. She recalled Noel's softly accented voice while holding her in her bed at the garrison with a longing ache she couldn't name: "I know you are lonely, so I gifted you with myself. I am lonely too…Forever is a long time when you've only a human heart, isn't it…Claire?"
At dusk she built a fire, and shared the last of the dates with the horse, and made a pot of tea to chase away the coming chill. She brought out the sword, studied it and slowly began to become acquainted with the steel; she missed her gunsaber; Noel's gladius had been exquisite in her hand, perfectly balanced, but a trifle heavy in the hilt for her wrist; but then Noel had wrists of steel and a reach a full five inches longer than hers. It's always the little things you miss, she sighed to herself before kneeling on the ground and starting the exercises to judge a sword's balance. She let her mind drift as the steel twirled on its point and she guided it back and forth, letting the worn hilt rotate on her arms in a soothing pattern.
She was a bit startled when a little boy was staring at her across the fire; he shyly smiled and held out a bag of grain for the horse; she smiled briefly and nodded towards the horse. He skipped off before she could offer him tea for his trouble and bemused went back to her exercises; the sword was finely made, and she felt she could handle it; now, she was content, or at least that was what she told herself to believe. She lacked nothing. Her belly was full. She had clothing on her back. She had a sword. She needed nothing. Nothing.
It was no surprise that she would have another visitor; she fully expected Harissa to make good on her threat to carve her eyes out, so she was trying to stay awake until the lamps of the tents were mostly out. A Sheik raising a palm to forehead before her fire was another matter entirely. She offered him tea and a cheeky grin was her reward; she almost smiled when she sat back down on the ground after placing the magnificent saddle and pad before the fire for Daveed's comfort. After seating himself cross-legged and taking an appreciative sip of the tea, the sheik spoke:
"So, Major Lightning Claire Farron…this day has not been what I expected, but I am glad of its revelations. Much that had been a mystery to me is now clear – clear as the oasis pool yonder. Blessed be the name of Etro, and I see you have been blessed by her with many things." He paused to take another sip of the tea, flavored with a mélange of warm spices.
"I am the not only the leader of my tribe, I am as a father to them, a shepherd with his flock; it is for me to see to their needs and one has come to me with his need…and yet, there is one has not come to me with her need. Do you not know to trust me in all things as you are under my wings? Were you never told it was so with me? Ah. I see by the look on your face Harissa has only told you what she wanted you to know. She has been sent packing for a while; I have banished her to my cousin's caravan, which will cross the great divide some 2 full seasons journey south; perhaps she will have a better respect for her sisters when she returns. So I have removed an obstacle from Etro's will."
"I…I served Etro in Valhalla."
"Ah. We all serve in one way or another if we love her. Perhaps I am here tonight to serve her will; I hope you allow a father to speak for a son of his tribe?"
He gently took her hand, moving well within the invisible circle of personal space that every nomad considers intimate, with a direct gaze of a leader: "My son Noel loves. Give unto him your love before he dies from the lack of it. This I ask of you. The two of you are a true match; here is the evidence, daughter."
"First: He was able to match you in battle; you did not allow him to win, did you?"
She shook her head: "No! Most certainly not!"
"Second: He was able to walk through the desert of your heart in one night and give you not only a drink from his cup of love, but an oasis to nurture you, without having known a woman before you. And you, you did the same for him, despite not knowing men, have you not?"
She bit her lip before admitting: "I have not been with man since…fifteen, and it was forced. A soldier. Noel –he…was different. Gentle."
"Third: He has been touched by immortality like you. He knows the burden just as intimately as you."
She shut her eyes as she said very low: "I am very ashamed that I did not trust Etro with all my heart in that."
"Lastly: My first wife has wisely pointed out – Why aren't you gone back to the city if his love was so repulsive, so repugnant to you? "
She was still, then nodded as his dark eyes smiled with a hint of humor. Then he quietly continued:
" Etro herself knows your loneliness – she has lived an eternity herself – her wise being gifts you a companion to ease your loneliness throughout all time and yet, you sent him to hunt for your sister. She sent you, her Valkyrie, a vision of what was to be – did she send one to your sister? You were marked for her favor, since you bore her burden. Can you see where you did not obey the goddess? It is so simple; just accept he is yours, just as much as you are his, by her divine will. It was ordained by her."
Lightning bent her head and continued in the low voice: "I do not deny these truths, father. Foolish Lightning was expecting instructions for a life where there are none. "
Daveed continued very gently now, as his son's happiness was so close to being won now: "My son Noel has been hunting you for his own, but you do not see the signs of his affection, because you are not nomad. His own signals are not what they should be, either. The truth of our customs has become blurred over the centuries; so by the time he heard them, they were changed to benefit the dominant species in his time: The Male. Females were far and few in between in his time, so they have been far more fiercely fought over than here and now. Trust me, Noel Kreiss feels deeply. The panther is never more tender or more fierce than with his own." He caught the flicker of affection at the word panther in her eye and knew he was winning. "At this point, perhaps it is just simply differences in customs that are the barrier; I inform you that we only choose one to bind with; that is the custom then, now and at the end of time. There is no room for another mate in a nomad's life, just as it is in your customs. You will never be placed any higher in his heart. But I ask, if you truly have no love for Noel, simply tell me now, and I will see you returned to your garrison unharmed and I myself will negotiate any reparation for the stain on your honor. I give you my word it will be so. However, I cannot help but think there is much deep tenderness and fierceness in your heart also for my beautiful, brave son….So…tell me… how it is with you, daughter?"
She sighed and quirkily murmured to herself: "Nothing the god of love wouldn't let you into heaven for….and here he sits offering me a key…" She caught the humorous gleam in his eye and gave in:
"Sheik Daveed, you are so right…I think I've been so caught up in fending off his attempts at dominance I stopped looking for why he wanted to be with me. He has upset my well-ordered life like you wouldn't believe; I had thought I could survive like I was, but he forced me to face up to something: I can never be wholly human again; that in itself makes me alien to my own race. Noel is a maze, a puzzle I keep wanting to solve; and the more I get in, the more lost I become from the life I knew…Noel is… He is…I…ohhh damn it all, I love him! But damn it, I am so lost on what to do as a woman! I'm a soldier by profession, a killing machine, just like he is. No one asks a killing machine what it feels, much less asks it for love! And HE did! How do two killing machines make love, Sheik?"
"Very Carefully!" Daveed laughed. "And sometimes, you just have to tear off the armor piece by piece until the two of you are standing here in the light of the god, naked as the day you were born!"
At that she lightened inside and laughed also: "Then I lay down my shield, Sheik! I can't resist your nomad logic anymore!"
"I am delighted to hear this – this concludes my negotiation for my son, and it will be pleasurable to see you as a daughter of my tribe soon. By the God, very pleasurable! That fight delighted me no end! …So…now that you are for the match, my wife and I will prepare you; I will send my servants to collect you in the morning, Lightning Claire Farron. Have no worries. It will all come out beautifully in the end."
Noel spent a restless night at first, wondering where Lightning had gone to. Was she gone? Did she just get up on that stallion and disappear into the desert without even a parting backwards glance? Did she truly feel she had no place in his tent, much less his heart? By Etro, he was angry she had been denied shelter under his roof; Harissa had disappeared also, which somehow didn't surprise him. He had half hoped with Harissa gone, he'd have a chance at a moment alone with his desert rose. He had saddled Ishmael, having made up his mind to go look for her, but was stopped by Daniel, who insisted she had not left the oasis, and told him his father and mother would handle Lightning's return & her future within the tribe. To tease Noel, he also hinted that all the single young men looking for a mate were all agog over her fight with the Ibinissian, and with mock severity, warned he'd have competition now. Noel's look of irritated jealousy was priceless and Daniel slyly offered to sell him a gunsaber. The retort was a rather high pitched yelp: "Etro! No way! - She's hell's girl if gets a blade in her hand!"
Near dusk, a woman from the Sheik's bevy of servants silently appeared with a bowl of food and a bundle of saddleroll; she inspected the tent, tweaking a drape, poking the fire, and did all the small things a servant should do before holding a palm to her forehead and disappearing into the darkness of the other section to sleep; with a quiet smile she also reassured Noel his Lightning would be well cared for once the Sheik's men had located her; she was from Marika's own side of the tent, and distracted him with the humorous account of the Ibnissian envoy who came to collect it's warrior's remains.
He felt her kindly, calm face was welcome and although pleasantly admiring of him, she kept turning her eyes to the night guard every time he walked by, deliberately pausing to check his sword and shyly smiling at her. He felt relieved, as tonight the last thing his aching heart wanted was to fend off another Harissa from throwing herself onto his saddle roll. Noel later poked at the fire, drawing his hood up against the chill, straining his eyes into the dark horizons, hoping to see a flicker of movement that would tell him she was still in his sight; he almost gave up, but a twinkle at the far side of the oasis drew his eye; it had to be her! Now satisfied that she really didn't leave him, the tense set of his shoulders eased and his being gave a small bound of happiness; he felt he had won, at least for this day. She was here. He brought his bedding roll to the front of the tent flap and watched the faint twinkle until he fell asleep, gently comforted. She was here.
The next day brought a the news of a new guest of the Sheik's harem, which surprised no one after witnessing the most entertaining fight they'd seen for a long time, plus being rid of the gadfly from Tribe Ibinissa was a visible relief. Lightning was allowed to keep the horse as her own, which drew many of the men in admiration of the fine horseflesh; their flashing eyes glistened in envy at the stallion, now properly groomed to satin by the female warrior. Marika had outfitted Lightning most handsomely with cast-offs from the tent's wardrobe, which meant men's simplicity, but the finest of fabrics; it was also a subtle mark of favor to be given something from the Sheik's household. She added a soft sheer kurta to the deep aubergine silk djellaba with its border of Etro's script embroidered in silver thread with a matching keffeyeh wrapped turban style under the draped hood to keep cool air moving and added an intriguing air of mystery to Lightning's finely boned features below; men's loose desert pants in a sooty charcoal brocade tucked into soft boots added the proper warrior's touch to go with the sword now hanging off her back. She had no ornamentation but the wrapped leather bracelet, but Marika felt sure something would appear once a handsome lovesick young nomad glimpsed this amethyst and kunzite jewel accented with sparkling blue diamonds above a draped face cloth. Noel's heart definitely lifted at seeing Lightning amongst the small herd of prancing horses restlessly awaiting the orders of the day; she wheeled her mount stylishly and rode off with the rest to inspect the upper pastures and check on the goat boys. Daveed had decreed her warrior skills proven after yesterday's fight and assigned her duties befitting her skills. Everyone had a place in his tribe. Noel was sent with another group to hunt for the tribe; the day passed quickly and it was dusk before he got a chance to get near the Sheik's tent hoping for a word to Lightning; it rankled that she was put out of his tent and that he'd misunderstood her rejection. He told Marika just as much while she poured him tea; she hid a smile at his earnest anxiety at being perceived as less than a protector of his small household as she pointed him through a tent flap. Encouraged, he stepped through and was assaulted by the sight of Lightning in a djellaba so sheer it took his breath away. Marika was as gently ruthless as her husband in the art of war and knew the implication of wearing a garment clearly meant to arouse a man's interest would make the young lover think he'd already lost to his host, without it truly being so; they had planned only a little ruse to get Noel to admit to his girl he had feelings for her. Every woman needed to hear it out loud.
Traditionally, a formal declaration would be made, the more clever men expressing age old passion in the stanzas of poetry or in a story told to the object of his adoration, usually with the rest of tent within earshot of the tent flap; sighs and giggles behind the flap were a sure indication it was a hit. However, Noel had not come prepared with that speech; he came to humble himself. The charmingly erotic gift wrap adorning Lightning's curves was simple silk gauze, but had been sewn with thousands of minute glass beads that sparkled like dewdrops against the dull shimmer of cocoon silk; the beads clustered cleverly in dense pattern work to highlight, yet hide the more intimate parts of a woman's anatomy. All thought of measured conversation went out of his head for a few moments and his mouth ran away with all tact by breathing: "Blessed be Etro! That took some sand to put on!"
She looked over at him and raised a palm to forehead, then arched a brow: "Do I look that funny, Kreiss?"
He regained his wit and silkily replied: "Does the mirror of my eyes lie to you?"
The impudently admiring gaze was familiar, but also somehow…warmer…tender. She started to blush and turned her head, now at a loss for words herself.
"Why are you here?" She managed, suddenly aware of his scent, spicy myrrh resin underlaid with the indefinable something wild that intoxicated her.
"Knowing that the shelter of my tent over your head was denied you pains me; had I been less trusting you would have been not only with a roof to keep out the frost and winds, but the shelter of my arms and my sword. I came to be punished, and now I am."
He stepped closer, his body heat radiating through the sheer gauze, close enough to touch, but not touching. She felt the warm breath on her neck, her ear; it was heaven to feel him close; the next words were sweet as honey, yet sweet as venom to hear whispered. "The Sheik is the luckiest of men, and tonight I would die to be in his place. I yield. I will no longer pursue you. He is the better man." He almost choked on the last words, wanting to scream out he was her man and his shoulders slumped as he put his hands on his hips, because he could not even touch what was now obviously Sheik Daveed's newest harem concubine.
Lightning slowly turned and looked at him; she wanted to tell him how foolishly, adorably, wrong he was. She just wanted to hear him say it out loud just once. Just one word in particular. That was all it would take for her to run into his arms and never look back. One word.
The silence grew thick between them as he looked his last on her, intending to just turn, walk out and keep walking until he walked through enough of eternity to erode the memory of how he lost a jewel of a woman or just gain the courage to slit his own throat. Lightning, now anxious, brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face and almost gave in to say it herself, but something in him changed; Noel's face subtly arranged itself into something far more interested than defeat; his breath deepened and he was aware of his pulse, the veins and arteries slowly singing with life as his gaze zeroed in on one thing: her right hand.
He looked up again through his lashes to see if he was mistaken, but no – he was not. His defeated stance straightened back into a proud man's, & Lightning was stunned by the momentary soulful expression in his eyes, shining with unshed tears. He knew.
His mood mercurially changed again and he caught her gaze with a faintly wicked flirt of ultramarine blue, not dissimilar to a certain man-whore's at a garrison to the west, but far sexier, as it was unplanned and unsophisticated.
It was now Lightning's turn to be sucker-punched in this battle of love, as he decided to remark the moment of knowing he was in her heart by quoting the only love-poetry he knew, his father's:
Is there anything sweeter than this hour?
I have seen rain on the desert, thorns melting in a deluge of sweetest water
I cut myself to water every fragile bloom, but my veins are yielding sand
My one, my sister, my soul without peer,I have seen all impossible things come true.
Come to me, beloved, come to my tent without fear; my thirsting heart is yours to command
I listen for your footfall soft as a raindrop, for I love thee and I wait, still bleeding sand
Lightning never thought she'd ever be swayed by love poetry, much less from a stoic little scorpion like Noel, but she was now a quivering young woman inside ashis father's tender words engraved in his memory fed her like the sweetest taste of honey. He had softly, stealthily, moved around her while echoing his father's words to his mother, now seeing his earliest memory of love brought to life before him in the shape of a rose haired goddess trembling, eyes downcast one moment then flying up to gaze hungrily at his face, mouth breathlessly parted at the words dropping from heaven into the well of the soul. He never heard the coos and sighs of happiness from the seven women huddled behind the tent flaps, but such is happiness.
Both went to bed untasted, untouched and hugging themselves in delight, one at the sight of a symbol that proudly proclaimed consent, the other recalling the words that also proudly proclaimed love. Marika teasingly repeated Noel's love poetry to Daveed, and together they planned to ensure the spark set fire instead of sizzling out into ash on the sand. With the cunning of the experienced, they threw them together all day with the guard, then had them pulled apart in the afternoon.
Marika had a delightful time before dinner, polishing the gleaming beauty of Lightning while telling her the story of how she captured her Daveed; upon which a pink haired warrior turned to her stunned, and said: "You mean a woman can claim a man? Oh Holy Etro! Noel said…! Oh my Etro!" She began to laugh, almost hysterically as Marika paused in fussing over her headwrap, now handsomely adorned with one of Marika's necklaces wrapped around the brocade and left swinging below her cat's chin; the iridium was elaborately cut into hundreds of tiny links and dangling teardrops illuminating her face with scintillas of light; Marika had chosen well; the clasp sparkled with an enormous amethyst , which dangled above her forehead and contrasted well against the aqua eyes; Marika had teasingly added kohl around her lashes, which gave her a mysterious air when glimpsed under the djellaba hood; it was a delightful affair altogether in Marika's eyes, to see the warrior subtly enhanced to the form of a woman.
As Marika finished her tweaking of the ensemble, Lightning got the rest of her words out in between the hiccups and gasps, which suddenly put the whole damn problem they'd been having in perspective. When Marika realized exactly what Lightning was gasping and choking about, she also burst into merry peals of laughter, then sent for Daveed and he laughed also, then sat down and told Lightning the current custom: Men were just as highly sought after as women in this time; all she had to do was issue the challenge in public to him, have a chain to wrap & tie off and it MUST be tied off to claim him. When the challenge was issued, a family member or a go-between could offer rebuttal, upon which the challenger should point out the faults of the object of her affection to the go-between until they yielded. The words used to end the challenge were: "I claim the right to tame him/her to my hand."
"Go to him. Just go to him. Now, before the fire burns down. Go with God, daughter! I hope he gives you a good fight!" The Sheik placed the coiled chain in her hands and gently pushed her to his serving woman, Rhea.
"Wear it around your neck, with the clasp in front, so you do not lose it in the challenge, or if it slips from your pin while getting it out of a pocket! " the veiled woman walking with her whispered; another softly called: "Do not kick the door down! He's curious as a cat, make him open the door himself, then pounce!" …"Beware of his right eyebrow, it twitches before he kicks, Rosetta!"… "the left hand is slower than the right in an upstroke, so tire the left first!"
The word got out quickly that Lightning was going to challenge Noel and the swelling interest had the women now excited; they sidled up to whisper a word of advice on the upcoming fight, one slipping her a small blade in her boot, another reminding her the veil can be an effective garrote as well as a smokescreen; ancient and young, they all had something from experience to contribute.
She finally stood before Noel sitting by the fire, attended by a woman who was engaged with serving him tea. Of course, she hid her grin of delight in her veil from Noel and issued the prideful refusal to give up her place and task, pointing out the obvious attributes of her lord as custom dictates in the challenge & binding ritual. Delighted, the growing crowd squawked and trilled at the lively exchange as Lightning firmly rebutted them with his faults, chiefly noting the density of his head, likening it to a certain rock, then told her to step aside, she had claim and spoke the formal challenge to Noel.
Wickedly, charmingly, she sweetly chimed at her handsome unbelieving scorpion squirming and fidgeting, as his ears were burned with: "Ohhh, thou art a grain of sand in my eye, Noel Kreiss! I claim the right of challenge, to tame you my hand! Fight me and win, go free; but lose and thou art mine for all time! "
He stood shocked for a moment, now realizing he was trapped; the crowd now laughed knowingly and called various compliments about his male beauty as he slowly, painfully blushed. The soft coral suited him and brought to mind the first flush of excitement of extreme desire. He never looked more handsome in the dusk; his eyes stood out in his face like sparkling sapphires of ultramarine fire set off by the thick ruff of sooty lashes, the glossy chestnut brown hair gilded by the firelight; the same firelight illuminated a honed body of a swordsman; a strong chest and sinewed arms softened with a veil of deep gilt skin, and the earrings sparkled in the dusk of his hair, as did the ancient necklace he wore.
He belatedly realized he had no idea the ritual went both ways, and that said rituals must have been corrupted through time; by the time he was born, women were few and far in between, so the ritual was male oriented. He was beginning to feel some of Lightning's panic at the fight and he nearly shook with excitement and fear that she would take him down in front of everyone and make a eunuch out of him somehow. He also remembered the painful wraps and ties of his tribe; he had no idea how his mother had borne it, and now wondered if Lightning was jealous enough to geld him thus. He disagreed violently to it, and when faced with the thought of being tied off where the slightest wrong move brought searing pain, he immediately rose to her challenge.
It was a righteous scuffle, and both were at it with no holds barred; the men began to chant and women trilled as drinks were quaffed and bets laid with avid interest at this pairing; Noel had a nasty left jab and his longer reach, when paired with the power of his wide shoulders made Lightning dance away more than once; but it was a simple trick that brought him down: She laughingly taunted him, hands outspread; he threw his knife which she ducked, but pretended it had grazed her and she was hurt. At that she simply dropped her shoulders and acted as if she were ready to give up; he pressed his advantage and ran in to drop her, but she simply stepped aside at the last moment possible, left him run by, then calmly grabbed the neck of his shirt. He went down flat on his back, the breath knocked out of him from the force of the sudden stop; she dropped a knee on his chest and another on his left arm and jerked the right hand up ; she savagely bit his mound of venus on his hand to hold it still, a familiar memory that he growled over then yelped at. He prayed he could break free before she got his pants below his knees.
Lightning twisted the arm into a pin, leveraging her body weight to hold it still; she whipped the chain maille around one handed; it caught and wrapped around his forefinger, then simply ran in a simple twist to his wrist where it was crossed around and around until a glittering cuff had been formed. Using her teeth again she tied off the crisscrossed chain into a glittering bracelet , similar to the one he'd worn ever since his first kill, but simpler, almost elegant. And there, it was done. She climbed off him and sat back on her heels, winded before standing; the tribe cheered and pushed her to him for the traditional kiss, which promised to be a very good one, after all what was a binding without a proper show of resistance at first?
Noel was a mess of confused feelings; he loved her, yes! But this? It was total humiliation in his time, and wondered how he could bear it being beaten by a woman and now bound to her. He mentally cursed himself softly, wondering if he should just give up and be a wanderer for the rest of his eternity. He began to understand Caius' state of mind very clearly now. At least the wrapped chain wasn't a killer to wear. He'd been expecting something as humiliatingly painful as the scorpion's sting as she had compared him to earlier. It actually looked…manly…kind of…well, sexy.
Then he saw the faces around him, not hard, harsh, or enjoying his shame, but kind, smiling, hands patting him, men praising his fight, the beauty of the woman who claimed him, calling out blessings for love, children, wealth, all, all a daze of loving kindness meant to bolster his heart until it overflowed; and overflow it did at last. It hit him full force that she had thrown aside her fear, her customs, and was letting him know she desired him with an equal fervor! He had reached her; the walls she had built around herself so carefully were gone, and there she stood, eagerly, impatiently waiting for him. He was going to be with her no matter what. Did it really matter who did the binding? She was his just as much as he was hers. And how he was going to enjoy it.
Lightning and he were pushed together and there was no hesitation in his mind when she raised her mouth to his; he was all eagerness now, and fell against her, returning her kiss with an unabashed desire growing into a hot sirocco that lit his face, his body now fitting against her, pushing into the lush curves to feel every inch of her, knotting fists in her hair to keep her close and he continued to taste her far past what he originally intended; when he finally opened his eyes, hers were also looking at him in the same intent yet dazed manner; slowly they broke apart and allowed the tribe to push them on a shared mount, as tradition also dictated and set it off at a gallop into the cool night air to take their first ride as partners.
They fell back to their fire, poured tea and relaxed again to gossip and compare notes about the event, fueled by the ever present dates and figs until they lazily drifted to bed. They didn't expect the couple to return that night, or for at least a few days, judging by the blazing passion exhibited by the pair. 500 years is a long time to find a partner, who knows? It might take a decade or two for the passion to be satisfied. "Just leave the welcome lamp burning by the east tent awning, children!" bawled Sheik Daveed Ibn Ibrahim as he caught his first wife's eyes and smiled at her, blushing in memory at his own binding.
Post Script
Sometime after everyone had gone to bed, a muffled cry occurred in a tent as two bodies rolled over in a soft bedroll, a female form now on top; a startled "Etro! – you mean we can…?!"
"Yup" was all that was heard, as a hand hastily stifled a man's yelp of absolute delight.