Intended Ch. 06

~*~*~

It was nearly dark by the time the weary party arrived at the Camp, hauling their heavy burden. From the looks on their faces, Keta knew the task had greatly drained them all, so she did not debrief them for long before releasing them to eat and rest.

Because it was too late to bathe in the stream, Sala quickly filled several waterskin pots and set them over the hearth so that she might wash her mate with the soothing warmth of hot water. Once the water was hot enough, she poured some of the steaming liquid into a large wooden bowl containing a bit of soaproot along with a selection of herbs known for their healing and relaxing effect on spent muscles. Using the softest skins, she dipped them into the aromatic infusion and sponged Jakal's tired body while he spoke to her of their arduous journey.

As she lovingly caressed her mate's skin clean, both of them relieved to be together once more, their conversation was interrupted abruptly by the keening wails of terrible grief; Jila had obviously just viewed her mate's broken body. Wrapping their arms around one another, Sala and Jakal held each other tightly, sharing the comfort of the other's warmth in silence.

~*~*~

Punctuated by sounds of weeping, the Wolf Clan slowly and quietly streamed toward the Gathering Place. Though the usual custom following a funeral service included a gathering to share memories of the departed along with a meal to celebrate his life, the additional ritual the Spiritwalker announced at the conclusion of the calling ceremony was atypical.

Sala and Jakal exchanged a worried glance upon hearing this change from the normal practice. Because he had provided few details, neither knew precisely what the spiritual leader had in mind for this unexpected event; still, they discreetly sought out a few of their friends, requesting they pass along to the others the message to be especially watchful for any signs of suspicious behavior.

Feeling particularly protective of the former child of his hearth, Kitad situated himself and his family next to the young woman while the rest of their allies similarly closed ranks around the couple. Observing the Spiritwalker carefully, trying to be unobvious, he could see nothing out of the ordinary so far.

After Sala revealed to him the unconscionable crime the shaman had inflicted upon her, Kitad was ready to immediately send him into the next world, even if his actions meant he himself would become afflicted by a malicious spirit. But the child of his hearth pleaded with him, imploring him to think of his family's well-being, and once his senses returned to him, he agreed he would do nothing to threaten the man.

Keeping his promise proved more difficult, and he struggled often with the urge to confront the corrupt spiritual leader. As he sat with his colleagues one day making tools, the Spiritwalker approached them, cordially requesting a new blade for his primary knife. With barely concealed contempt, the Lead Flintknapper pointedly replied that he was too busy to create the part he needed for his implement. Unused to being denied, the shaman's eyes flared angrily while the rest of the toolmakers watched the tense scene with wide eyes. Finally, one of the others thought to speak up and volunteered to take the task upon himself.

From that point forward, to hold his fury in check, Kitad went out of his way to avoid the Spiritwalker, though in keeping with Sala and the Light-Eye's request he paid attention to his activities as best he could. However, because the man had been spending a great deal of time in the Ceremonial Hut recently, there had been little to observe. So even though he certainly did not wish for any harm to come to the young woman, at least now he felt he was doing something to help.

The crowd assembled, the Spiritwalker stood before the wondering throng, his hands raised palms out. Once silence had been attained, he began.

"Great Spirits of the Other World, we call upon you today to heal a sickness which threatens the health and stability of our Clan. Malicious spirits have invaded our settlement, infected our people..."

With wide eyes and questioning glances, those in the audience mutely communicated to one another their confusion at their spiritual leader's words. Malicious spirits? Infecting members of our Clan?

"...Spirits of disobedience and discord, begone! Let your poison no longer sully this place, and may the light of duteousness and order once more illuminate this Camp. Spirits of pride and cruelty,..."

Pride and cruelty? Kitad snorted sarcastically upon hearing the shaman's call, quickly turning his expiration into a cough once he realized he had audibly reacted. If he wishes to rid us of that affliction, he thought, he could start by "being gone" himself.

It felt to him the man's droning lasted forever before his petition finally drew to a close. At moments like this, the Lead Flintknapper especially missed their old spiritual leader; now he was someone who knew precisely what to say, with greater meaning and with far fewer words. The new Spiritwalker seemed to enjoy listening to himself speak, and apparently enjoyed subjecting his people to his endless blathering even more.

"...And so, Great Spirits, we thank you for hearing our appeal. We implore you to honor our humble entreaty so that peace and normality may once again prevail."

After pausing for dramatic effect, the spiritual leader addressed the assembled. "My people, to complete this ritual to heal our Camp of its wounds, I call upon you to come forth and partake in a curative elixir to ensure any negative spiritual influences are cast out of the body. We will perform this final segment of the ritual in groups of ten."

The crowd watched as the first group stepped forward. From behind a partially concealed platform, the Spiritwalker produced wooden cups, partially filling them with an unknown liquid. After saying a few more words, he nodded, and they downed the beverage; from the looks on their faces it was yet another of his malodorous brews.

One set of ten after another approached, all consuming the offensive drink before returning to their places. When it was Sala's turn to go to the front, Kitad was relieved to discover he was the tenth individual in their grouping. As they stood in line waiting for their cups, the man noticed that twelve cups were lined up in a row, one for each member of the party plus the Spiritwalker himself, along with one extra.

Kitad spied him filling all twelve vessels with the beverage. If he has twelve cups, why does he call for only ten at a time, he wondered suspiciously. From that moment on his eyes never left the Spiritwalker.

Passing out the cups one after the next, he handed them their portions. He appeared to do the same for Sala, when suddenly, in the very briefest of moments, he switched direction, giving the young woman the twelfth cup from the opposite end of the line.

After being handed his own beverage, Kitad glimpsed Sala's face for any indication that she had noticed the Spiritwalker's sleight of hand. When their eyes met she smiled at him nervously, and he knew then that though she recognized the danger of actually drinking the liquid, she was unaware of the deception. He was not sure what to do. It all happened so quickly, and if the child of his hearth had not witnessed it, perhaps he had been mistaken; perhaps he had seen only what he expected to see. But he could not take the chance, he could not risk being wrong, so without thinking, he acted.

"Oh!" Sala exclaimed, falling to the ground as her mother's first mate collapsed into her, their cups spilling upon the floor.

Those in front rushed forward to help her and the dazed man to their feet. As worried murmurs dotted the hall, the spiritual leader eyed the Lead Flintknapper suspiciously.

"Are you well, Kitad?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

Hearing an edge of sarcasm in the shaman's tone, Kitad responded in kind. "Yes, Spiritwalker, I think so. I believe I merely grew dizzy from standing for so long a time."

It was an innocuous enough explanation, but the Spiritwalker recognized the veiled criticism of his lengthy ceremony. Tightly pursing his lips forward, he practically thrust the remaining cup into his hands. "Since your cups are now dirty, I am afraid both you and Sala must share this one," he informed him as a look of mutual loathing passed between them.

After they had returned to their places, Sala glanced at the Lead Flintknapper, certain that what just had occurred had nothing to do with feeling faint. Winking at her, Kitad took her hand and squeezed it.

~*~*~

The Spiritwalker observed the couple's activities out of the corner of his eye, snarling inwardly as he noted their comfortable intimacy while communing with close friends. He longed to execute vengeance upon them, to permanently wipe the smug smiles from their impudent faces.

Still, he recognized perfect timing was essential. Taking advantage of the service to call Sedon's spirit to depart for the Other World simply had been an opportunity he could not discard. From the beginning he suspected that poisoning her drink would have little chance of succeeding. But it had been worth the attempt, and their actions provided him with useful information. Not only were they watching him just as much as he watched them, they were not the only ones paying attention to his actions.

So, others assist them in assuring the safety of the female's food and drink, he thought. Even now as he spied upon them, he saw how all those around her carefully regarded every dish, ensuring that others had eaten it before passing it on to her for consumption. Beyond even that, the Light-Eye tastes everything before his mate. He pressed his lips together. Poison may have been effective for her mother's mother, but it seemed unlikely to work this time. He would have to find another way, something they would not anticipate...

He wished he could observe them like this more often. His eyes shifted briefly toward the Clan Leader. But she watches both them and I too closely. The Spiritwalker understood that if he hoped to avoid detection, he could do nothing which might rouse her suspicions. Even the poisons he had chosen for today, had his former Intended actually ingested the beverage, were such that it would have taken at least half a moon cycle to cause their desired effect, long enough to draw attention away from himself as a probable catalyst for her demise, or at least to deny it persuasively.

The female's vigilance he found off-putting. As the only individual in their Clan higher-ranking than himself, the Spiritwalker did not particularly fear, nor even respect, she herself so much as the position she held. She alone possessed the authority to override him, to direct others to follow her bidding, and hers alone. He could not risk crossing spears with her, especially now.

He knew their Leader grew ever more impatient for answers, that she drew ever closer to questioning him further about the reasons for the resulting tension whenever he interacted with the couple. It was the primary reason why he had been retreating to the Ceremonial Hut so often in recent days. Aware that the rational woman experienced a great deal of discomfort when it came to spiritual matters, he noticed long ago that she dared not disturb him when he escaped to his sanctuary.

Still, while it provided him refuge from the Clan Leader's probing inquiries, it also greatly interfered with his ability to spy upon his enemies. While prolonging his revenge could result in an even more satisfying release once finally achieved, his patience was not infinite. His rage burned too brightly to contain for any longer than absolutely necessary. If he was going to accomplish his goal with any expedience, what he really needed were spies of his own.

As he pondered the obstacles he faced, his eyes scanned the rest of the crowd. They reminded him so often of helpless, unsuspecting herbivores, just waiting to be taken by a mighty predator. Over the years, he learned that careful scrutiny of his subjects' activities and interactions proved advantageous to achieve various objectives. People were so very easy to control, if one only took notice of the many ways they exposed their vulnerabilities.

His gaze stopped when he glimpsed an individual staring across the hall with a look of vexation, her massive breasts hanging halfway out of the split neckline of her too-small tunic. He wondered how she managed to compress those enormous mammaries in order to fit into those garments of hers without splitting the seams. Following her line of sight, he discovered her eyes fixated upon the Light-Eye and his mate. Turning his focus back on their watcher, he considered the possibilities this piece of information presented.

The night after they arrived, the night the Clan "celebrated" the Light-Eye's return and bonding with the runaway, he observed an encounter between the Tracker and this woman which he could only describe as acrimonious. He heard not the words they exchanged, but their bodies grew so rigid, their faces so dark, the negativity was palpable even at the distance from which he stood.

Unsurprisingly, virtually every female desired the attention of the Light-Eyed One; their desperate fawning repulsed him, as if eye color really mattered more than true power. Still, their behavior did reveal much about the inner workings of each of them, including that new mate of his.

One of the reasons why he had selected the Light-Eye over the Lead Tracker to hunt her down was precisely because she pointedly resisted his charms, and as far as he could tell, the man barely acknowledged her existence either. That, coupled with the fact that the young male was clearly superior in his chosen skill as compared to his elder, made him what seemed to be at the time the obvious choice. But he had underestimated the strength which might result should their opposing forces reverse and coalesce. The Spiritwalker gritted his teeth at his miscalculation.

No matter. This woman, more than most, was particularly susceptible to the failings of her own vanity. She displayed that body of hers so obviously, the Spiritwalker wondered sometimes why she simply did not walk about the Camp unclothed in order to guarantee the attention she so desperately craved. If the Light-Eye spurned her, it must pierce like a thorn in her delicate pride. Perhaps he should help remove the snag, soothe her wounds...

Veba had been staring jealously at the Light-Eyed One and his new mate. What is so impressive about her that she should steal his affections from the rest of us? Her eyes scanned the length of Sala's body. She is attractive, but hardly extraordinary. For one, those breasts of hers are less than half the size of mine, barely enough to fill a man's palm; how can that provide him adequate pleasure, let alone enough that he would forgo the gifts of others?

Still, she recognized it had been a mistake to antagonize Jakal. She had hoped to draw him back into her furs, especially since their last union had been so long ago. Over time, she might have been able persuade him to reconsider his exclusive commitment, but now that she had angered him... Certain their bond could not be substantial in so short a time, she had grossly underestimated the depth of his feelings for the runaway.

"It is good to see to see you this evening, Veba," a voice said, breaching her thoughts. She shifted her eyes to the source and saw the Spiritwalker standing before her.

"G-good evening, Spiritwalker," she responded, somewhat startled. Though her interactions with their spiritual leader over the years had been nothing but cordial, she still regarded him as somewhat intimidating, almost frightening. His eyes seemed to have the ability to drill into the core of a person's spirit.

He took her outstretched forearms in greeting and smiled warmly. Leaning forward, he pressed his cheek against hers and whispered, "Given the solemn circumstances for which we gather this night, I hope you will forgive me for saying the soft curves of your beauty provide one of the sole sources of comfort for my heavy soul." He squeezed her arms gently before moving away.

Veba flushed, her eyes darting up, capturing the shaman briefly admiring her ample bosom before shifting his lustful gaze to her face. He was certainly no Light-Eyed One, but she did find a certain eroticism in the idea of a such a powerful individual finding her desirable.

"It is a somber occasion," she agreed soberly. "Sedon will be missed by us all."

He looked to the ground. "Yes, and to leave behind his poor mate, and so many children at the hearth. I grieve for their suffering most of all," he confided, his voice quivering, just a little.

Surprised to witness this moment of rare vulnerability in their spiritual leader, she reached out a supportive hand, stroking his shoulder reassuringly.

He lifted his eyes, lashes damp with emotion, and gave her a look of gratitude.

With a sheepish smile, the Spiritwalker acknowledged her kindness. "Thank you, my dear. Please forgive me for displaying such unrestraint in your company. I am your spiritual leader; I should be comforting you. Your compassion is most kind."

"There is nothing to forgive, Spiritwalker," Veba insisted. "True, you are a powerful, important man, but you are still human; you have emotions as all of us do."

"You are wise and insightful, Veba, as well as beautiful. You are most fortunate; the Spirits granted you a great many gifts, far more than most."

"Spiritwalker," she began, hesitantly. "I..."

"Yes, my dear?"

"Would you...would you be interested in sharing my furs this night? Perhaps we could bring comfort to one another."

A smile slowly formed on his face. "The comfort and pleasure of your company would be most appreciated, lovely Veba. Please, join me in my dwelling at the conclusion of the gathering."

~*~*~

Passing through the Camp in the chill of the night air, Veba shivered not only from the cold. She struggled with mixed emotions for the encounter awaiting her; she did not understand how it could be possible, but she felt both arousal and a good deal of fear. What surprised her even more was the way her apprehension heightened her arousal.

The fluids leaking from her aching sex lubricated her thighs as she walked, almost in a daze, toward the Spiritwalker's dwelling. She had never shared pleasures with the shaman before; not many of the women in their Clan had.

Though their spiritual leaders were not restricted from seeking pleasures with whom they chose, most seemed to limit their partners to either a mate or a very select few. It appeared to be an unspoken custom, perhaps practiced given the great influence and authority those of their station possessed. Despite their predominance, however, Spiritwalkers were just as subject to desires of the flesh as any other, so what she was about to undertake was hardly unprecedented.

Interestingly, though he did not appear to satisfy them often, their Spiritwalker's appetites seemed to favor almost exclusively newly emergent women, and, oddly enough, on a few occasions, women of very advanced age. It was almost as though he wished to provide them memorable pleasures at the very start, and end, of their womanhoods. Considering how the aged ones had left this world shortly thereafter, she supposed these couplings gave them one last gift of worldly delight before they crossed over to the Other side. Perhaps, as a spiritual leader, he sensed their time was short.

When he did select the object of his attention, he focused on her intently for a short time before terminating it just as suddenly. She wondered if he was trying to protect them from becoming too attached, given his important status. In fact, at least among the young women he pleasured, by the time of the summer Gathering following their passage into womanhood, almost without exception they would mate and move to another settlement.