“Pleased am I to see the matter nearly done,” said he to a male who stood beside him. “We have little need now for distractions such as these.” Then his eyes went to Telion. “She has been told?”
“Aye, Galiose,” Telion nodded. “She has been told.”
“Good,” Galiose approved, also with a nod, and then those eyes came to me again. “Ceralt dared my displeasure once too often,” said he, “and now he finds himself without city and without wench. You shall go to him whom I deem most suitable, for I shall have no further disobedience from you.”
I folded my arms beneath my life sign, and returned Galiose look for look. “Jalav shall go to no male,” I said. “Galiose shall one fey find himself sthuvad to Hosta warriors, and then shall he learn the foolishness of his actions. Jalav shall never be his to give.”
Galiose looked amused. “Jalav is mine to give on the moment,” he snorted. “Once the punishment is done, I shall make my decision. Take her to the frame, Telion, before the clouds empty upon us.”
“How many is she to be given?” asked Telion, making no move to obey.
“The wench has earned twenty-five strokes,” said Galiose in his deep voice. “She will receive what she earned. Take her to the frame.”
“Relinor, take her to the frame,” said Telion. The male beside him nodded in obedience and grasped my arm, and then was I led to the contrivance of wood. Upon a base of heavy timber stood two high poles, one to each side of the base, yet were they forced to bend toward each other, so that they might be joined at their meeting place with heavy leather. Upon each of the poles had cuffs been placed, one to each pole, and no further adornments. The male Relinor pulled me to the base of the contrivance and upon it, then he saw to the fastening of my wrists within the cuffs.
As in Bellinard, where first I had learned the touch of a lash, I found myself unable to stand flat when cuffed. Surely those to be lashed were meant to have attained a greater height than I, though there were few Midanna who had my size. Perhaps it was males who were meant for the cuffs, yet had I, for the third time, come to such a pass. Little time had I to note the smoothness of the wood beneath my toes, as though many feet had stood there before mine; Relinor captured my flying hair and brought it forward across my shoulders so that it might be knotted below my chin and give the lash no interference, then he stepped away from me. Already did my arms twinge from the strain of the cuffs, and the ice fingers in the wind reached to me and touched my blood to freezing, and then was I touched in another manner. A gasp was forced from my throat as the lash set my back afire, and my hands clawed at the poles to which they were fastened as I rose yet higher on my toes to escape the flames. Worse, far worse, was the actuality than the memory, and I writhed in silent agony as a voice proclaimed, “One.” A sound arose from the watching throng, a sound which rose about in waves, lapping with growls and shouts and peals of laughter. Amid the noise the word “two” was lost, yet the stroke itself remained. A second trail of fire marked me, setting down in my flesh a guide way for agony to follow to my soul. Well marked did the trail become, and soon was the ache in my middle a mere nothing, easily overlooked and forgotten in the face of its larger kin of the lash. No sound did I allow to escape my lips, yet my body writhed and sought a means of relief, relief which would not soon appear. Surely did I wish to cry out when no more than “eleven” was to be heard, yet I clung to the memory of being a warrior, and did no more than cry to Mida in my soul. The skies lit to sudden brilliance, blasting the ears with screaming sound, and then the tears of Mida struck together with “twelve,” a blessing and damning at once admixed.
In some manner the remaining count advanced itself even in the face of Mida’s fury, all sounds from the throng lost to hearing as the rage of Mida roared about and upon those below her skies. The lashing done, still was I pelted by the rain and wind, and when at last I was permitted to crumple to the base of the contrivance, through merging sheets of rain and pain I saw that none had moved from their place. Nearly awash were Midanna and males, yet they stood braced against the winds, making no sounds, their eyes upon a Jalav who could no longer stand erect. The male Relinor reached toward me where I lay upon the smooth base of wood, my cheek bruised by too rapid a fall, yet was he halted by Galiose, who slowly approached and knelt beside me. The tears of Mida covered his expressionless visage, and so, too, did they soak within his long, bound hair and blue covering. A moment he gazed upon me, a large guardsman with bloodied lash silent behind him, and then his arms reached toward me, to take me from the wood. Surely had I felt the touch, I would have been shamed by voicing my pain, yet Mida spared me such. Quickly, softly, before the male, Mida touched me with darkness.
2
A male to be given to—and an encounter in the woods
Returning to the light and pain was not pleasant. Mere breathing restored the agony, and my fingers grasped the cloth beneath them in desperate reflex, wishing the darkness to return. No darkness came, therefore I attempted to move myself on what I lay, to perhaps ease the pain in such a manner. A grunt accompanied my effort, and immediately was a hand placed upon my head.
“Lie still!” came the sharp voice of Phanisar, a surprising amount of unsteadiness to it. “You are conscious too quickly, wench. It would have been a greater kindness had you remained insensible.”
My eyes opened slowly to the sight of blue cloth beneath me, and in a moment I saw that the cloth covered a platform called “bed.” Once before had I seen such blue in such unvaried amounts, and clearly then did I know myself to be in the sleeping room of Galiose, though I knew not why. The silk beneath me was cool and smooth, still possessed of the faint odor of a male. My hair was no longer tied about my throat, but lay piled above my head upon the cloth of the platform. All these things was I aware of but partially, for the raging of my back denied other sensing. The hand of Phanisar removed itself from me, therefore did I turn my head to relieve the pressure upon my bruised left cheek, thereby bringing the males into view. Phanisar stood closest, tall and grayed in his lengthened green covering, the silver sign of an opened eye upon its chain about his neck. Sharply did his dark eyes touch me, strong disapproval upon his long, thin face, and beyond him stood Galiose, still adrip from Mida’s tears. The High Seat also inspected his handiwork, for it has been truly said that should one wish a thing done, one must also find the will to look upon it.
“Far too excessive,” muttered Phanisar in his disapproval, his gaze unblinking. “Blessed One, the thing should not have been done. A wench is not a man.”
“Never was it meant to reach such a pass,” said Galiose, also in disapproval. “The lashing was to have ended when she cried out begging it. The stubborn she-lenga refused to cry out.”
Galiose grew angry at this further disobedience of mine. I had not wept and begged release as I should have, therefore was the fault of the lashing mine. Unbidden, the laughter began in me, at first a chuckle, then rising and swelling to great gasps and roaring, covering me with amusement without humor. The pain in my back increased as the laughter gained in strength, yet was I unable to halt it. Phanisar came quickly close, as did Galiose, and achingly then did my head ring as Phanisar slapped my face. As quickly come was the laughter gone, and barely was I able to lean my head from the platform before my stomach emptied itself upon the blue floor cloth. Over and again did all heave from me, till at last it was done and I was able to lean back from the vile roundness below and close my eyes. No strength does the lash leave behind it, no more than a trembling in the limbs, a quivering in the soul. I lay still, wishing it were possible to halt the need to breathe for a time, and again a hand touched my hair.