Lost Colony Ch. 04

"No one donated today," Sparr observed. "Excuse me. Sacrificed."

Lell smiled thinly. "Omm grants enlightenment to those whose commitment is unwavering."

"So, if I pay up year 'round I get to go on the party wagon?"

"You are the party wagon," she said, trailing her hands across Sparr as she left.

***

Sparr learned he would join the pilgrimage shortly after a second session with Liette.

This time, instead of being summoned to Liette's private chambers, Sparr was called to the inner courtyard, a place he understood to be reserved solely for the priestesses. The space was large enough to contain a small grove of trees, which appeared to be carefully tended. Late afternoon sun threw long shadows across the trimmed lawn. Several cozy, private seating areas had been cleverly worked into the landscaping as well. Small groups could easily gather without disturbing one another. A modest fountain gurgled near the center. A cluster of small, dark birds flitted between the branches.

A variation of their first encounter awaited him. When Sparr entered the grove, there was no sign of Liette. He looked about, confused, until he heard a high-pitched, distressed voice from somewhere on the far side. "Oh no!" Liette called out, loud enough for Sparr to hear. "A brigand has invaded the wood. He's here to take my jewels!"

The woman was consistent, thought Sparr. He merely had to adapt to the new role.

"I'll take all of your treasures," he shouted. "Now, where are you hiding?"

Sparr thrashed about the grove, bellowing threats, as Liette scampered away. The green robe that she had chosen might have worked better as camouflage if it hadn't also been sewn through with gold threads. Several times he had to pretend not to see the priestess as she darted by. But finally, as demanded of Liette's fantasy, he cornered her.

"Your jewels and your body are mine now," he grunted.

As before, Sparr warmed to the rough fantasy quickly. Grabbing a fistful of blonde hair, he forced Liette to a kneeling position. He tore off his wrap, and quickly stuffed the priestess's mouth with cock. She was surprisingly accommodating, accepting more of Sparr's rapidly-swelling organ than he had expected. Every so often he would pull out, rubbing his saliva-soaked cock on Liette's face, and allowing her to whimper and beg for mercy. Soon he was rock hard.

He took her, pushing the priestess to her back, and impaling her slick pussy. She moaned and wriggled, aroused and thoroughly given to lust. Liette reached for her clit, and had her first orgasm almost immediately. Both she and Sparr traded filthy talk, he boasting of how he had claimed her body for his own, while she ineffectually pushed against him, calling him a bandit and a bastard. When he was ready to cum, Sparr surprised Liette by rolling onto his back, taking her with him. With the blonde now atop him, he gripped her shoulder and drove her hard down onto his cock. The warm grass of the grove tickled his back, the fountain gurgled, and Liette's breasts hung full and enticing. He pumped her selfishly, driving deep with each thrust, bottoming out in the blonde's wet gash. Sparr nibbled and teased her breasts, then, when he was at the edge, sucked as hard as he could. Liette gasped as he unloaded into her. The pair came together, their cries echoing about the glade.

He left her even before the startled birds returned to the trees.

***

"I hear you're to go with the pilgrimage," Silla said.

"If I ever finish cutting these fucking onions," Sparr replied. They weren't actually onions, of course. The Kaybe equivalent was elongated, had a more fibrous skin, and thicker rings. The sting to the eyes was just as potent.

"Your technique with the knife is wrong, I told you. The motion is in the wrist, not the elbow." Silla showed Sparr again, moving slowly at first, then finishing in a blur. A pile of perfectly chopped vegetables joined the rest. "Try again."

Sparr had joined Silla more for her companionship than a cooking lesson. In contrast with Efreem, who could be painfully reserved, the chef was more than able to keep Sparr engaged and distracted. Her intellect was sharp and, as she had alluded earlier, the chef was remarkably plugged in to temple gossip.

"Yeah, Kess told me," Sparr said, returning to the earlier topic. "I guess I'm part of the show?"

"Liette likes you," Silla agreed. She smiled. "I mean, it's obvious she likes you, but she also has a role for you to play. Why do you think you haven't been given proper attire?"

Sparr had wondered. While the other men in the temple had practical work attire or at least trousers and a vest, Sparr had been left to roam about in only the waist-covering wrap. The contrast was clear. The princes were handsome and refined, he was a brute. Liette had made sure he was called to every temple function, remaining visible to the faithful.

"She thinks I add an edge, a bit of menace. Me. One guy."

"Like salt," Silla said. "Just a touch can do wonders."

The two worked in silence for a time. Sparr continued to peel and chop onions and other root vegetables for a stew, while Silla fileted and salted fresh-caught fish that had been brought in just that morning. The ponderous sous-chef, Ora, came and went, sometimes receiving instruction from Silla, sometimes venturing to the cellar to inventory spices. Sparr got the impression that more often than not, Silla sent her away just for some privacy.

"I saw the new talent in the outer courtyard. What are they practicing?"

"The women?" Silla kept her head down, busy with the tiny, sharp knife.

"Yes. It looked like dancing, maybe?"

Silla chuckled. "'Dancing maybe'. Yeah, that sounds about right."

"What do you mean?" Sparr turned away from the sting of the onions.

"The pilgrimage is a challenging event for the temple. It's big money. The faithful that donate enough to earn passage expect the best." Silla spread fish onto a tray, sprinkled them with a layer of salt, and resumed cutting. "Food, wine, entertainment, the attention of the priestesses, and of course..." Here she trailed off, but made an obscene gesture, jabbing her index finger into a circle formed by the thumb and index finger of her other hand.

Sparr laughed. "Yeah, I got that part."

Silla continued. "It strains the resources of the temple. Operations don't stop while the pilgrimage is underway. Priestesses still conduct ceremonies, maidens and princes still entertain guests, donations need to be collected..." She shook her head. "Everyone has to be fed."

"So they recruit temporary labor?"

"That's an odd way of phrasing it, but yes. The talent that was just acquired mostly will go along on the pilgrimage." Silla by now had filled a flat box of salted fish. Ora appeared to carry it away as the chef started on another. "They have only about a week to train the new maidens. It's nowhere near enough time, but on the road it will hardly matter. Anything in a blue gown to warm their bed will suffice."

"Who will cook?" Sparr had been elated to learn he would accompany the caravan. Selfishly, he had hoped that Efreem and Silla might also join.

"Should be her," Silla said, jabbing a finger over her shoulder in the general direction of Ora. "But... let's just say she isn't ready yet. So..." Again, she trailed off, giving Sparr a significant glance.

"So I get to torment you another few weeks?"

"You'll wish you'd never asked me to show you how to cook."

"Chopping fifty kilos of onions is 'cooking'?" Sparr chuckled, then remembered something he'd wanted to ask Silla. "What is 'The Departure'?"

"Oh," she said. "Yeah. Well, there are a bunch of prominent citizens who are important donors but just not generous enough to merit an invitation to the pilgrimage. The temple does what it can to appease them."

"So The Departure is a night-before bash?" Sparr thought of the Earth sports teams that were feted prior to a championship game.

"Yes," Silla said. "The night before the pilgrimage begins, they put on a show just for those who donated heavily, but didn't quite make the cut. It's a way of giving them public recognition, like saying 'maybe next year'."

"So what's the show?"

"It varies every year, but-" She was ready to say more, but Ora lumbered back into the room, breaking Silla's train of thought. The moment was gone.

***

The new princes were a surprise. Whereas the maidens practiced dance on a daily basis, the two men were largely left idle. Sparr came to understand that although they were supposed to be receiving at least some instruction, none of the current princes could be bothered to do so.

"What are you doing?" Sparr caught the two loitering suspiciously near where he had stacked the wine crates just days earlier. The men, still dressed in the coarse garments they had been wearing at the slave action, just glared at him. Sparr took them to be around twenty years old, boys really, still settling into adulthood. In a fair world, they would be in school, griping about their classes, and calling out for the attention of girls. On Kaybe they were little more than livestock, sold to the temple for amusements.

"Do you want this?" Sparr pulled a bottle of wine from one of the crates. He hoisted it. "Come here." Curious, the two youths followed him to the courtyard. "I'm Alain," he said. "They call me Animal." Again, the two said nothing. "Why aren't you drilling with the other princes?"

One of the youths snorted. "Those fops?"

Sparr almost laughed aloud. The word that his implant had translated as 'fops' certainly had another meaning. He glanced over to where the princes were practicing an elaborate dance. Each held a wooden rod the height of a man. The dance involved twirling about the rod, through a practiced motion keeping it still even as they twisted or leapt. In the latter portions of the dance, the men cooperated as a team, holding the rods at different heights as the other dancers vaulted over them, or tossing the rods into the air, pirouetting, then catching them before they hit the ground.

"Anyway, they chased us off," said the other.

"I see," Sparr said. If not kept occupied, the two would cause trouble. And in any event, he sensed opportunity. "I'll teach you something more useful."

The youths watched as Sparr retrieved a damaged rod from where the princes were drilling. He snapped it the rest of the way in two and tossed half to the first youth. "Land a blow and you can have the wine."

The young man stared at him, uncertainly. "What?"

"Pretend it's a blade," Sparr said. "Get past my guard and the wine is yours."

"This is stup-" The boy turned half away as if uninterested, then struck suddenly, aiming at Sparr's side. It was a swift blow, but a clumsy one. Sparr swatted it away, and tapped the youth on the arm with his own faux weapon.

"You're tricky, I like it," Sparr said. "Now, try again. Drop your elbow. No, keep the blade up."

The young man struck again. Once more Sparr deflected the blow. "Good," he said. "What's your next attack? What did I leave open when I blocked you?"

"Your other side."

"Yes, or my head, my legs. Try again, this time two blows, one after the other."

The youth complied, surprising Sparr by making the first blow a feint. The follow-up aimed at his legs was off the mark, but swift. Sparr coached him through several more combinations before the young man's friend spoke up.

"Let me try," he said, taking the stick from his friend.

"Okay, go ahead and-"

The youth struck quickly, not waiting for Sparr's permission. Like his friend, the blow was clumsy and easily blocked. Not waiting for instruction the youth tried again, then a third time. Finally, Sparr disarmed him with a flick of his wrist.

"I don't know why the Governor didn't recruit you two to be gladiators."

The two exchanged a glance. "I told him I really wanted to be a gladiator because I liked other boys so much. That seemed to put him off." He smiled. "And Tuck pretended he was having a seizure." On cue, Tuck screwed up his face and flailed his arm convincingly. "I'm Drian."

"Drian, Tuck, nice to meet you. Now," Sparr said, assessing the two youths, "neither of you landed a blow. But, train with me another hour and we'll share the wine anyway. Deal?"

In response, Tuck picked up the fallen stick and once again lunged at Sparr.

***

"I have to admit, I think Omm would approve."

Sparr found the Origin's veneer of faith repugnant. The temple traded in flesh, drugs, slavery, and influence. Still, he could only admire the showmanship. The outer courtyard had been partly ringed with plush seating and booths. It was here that the second tier of donors were gathered, already flushed and tipsy. Some were on their own, some with their husband or wife, and some with an obviously younger companion. Torches threw a guttering light on the stage, and on a smaller platform which held the temple musicians. Their playing so far was muted and bland, but Sparr had no doubts that the show and the accompanying music would intensify. The Origin didn't deal in subtlety.

"Omm would approve of the tokens collected in his name." Efreem sometimes spoke with a directness that surprised Sparr.

Maidens and princes made the rounds of the audience. Some offered wine or drugged scrolls, some flirted. Sparr watched in astonishment as a prince joined a couple in a booth sumptuously adorned in velvet, sharing his attention with the husband and wife equally.

"If this is only a preview, I can't even imagine what the pilgrimage itself is like."

Liette took the stage. "Faithful and unwavering," she began. "Those of you gathered tonight honor the Origin's mission. To keep the teachings of Omm ever in your heart is a testament to your character and strength. While others begin the pilgrimage tomorrow, we hope to renew your faith tonight with a journey of your own, a recreation of Omm's spiritual awakening."

Sparr and Efreem watched as the show got underway. They, one or two of the priestesses, and the princes and maidens who were taking part in the performance, had been gathered in a tent at the back. Out of the view of the audience they could rest, change costumes, or peer out to watch the show unfold. Sparr understood that he had a ceremonial role to play near the end of the show. Details had been thin, but he had been asked not to leave the tent before his scene.

"Omm was born into a world of excesses," Liette said, raising her voice to the crowd. "A life of ease, of indulgence!"

One of the princes leapt from the tent onto the stage. The man was meant to represent Omm. He wore a garish, almost hideous mask, and was dressed in a black robe crisscrossed with vibrant stripes of every color. As he walked the stage, maidens and princes joined him, each carrying exaggerated bundles of food, wine, or boxes of what could only be gems or tokens. Each darted close by, offering their goods to Omm. One by one he accepted the gifts. When he could carry no more, the prince collapsed. Still, the others lay gifts upon him until the man no longer could be seen. The band struck up an energetic tune, and the princes and maidens took up a lively dance. They paired up with one another and spun about the stage, circling Omm, taunting him. The music picked up until the dancers were little more than a blur. As the tune reached its strident crescendo, the dancers fled. Omm was left alone in silence, buried by the bounty that had been pressed upon him.

Backstage, the dancers caught their breath. Some performed quick costume changes while Liette once again addressed the crowd.

"And so Omm came to understand that the excesses of his world did not bring joy..."

The priestess droned on, summarizing some fragment of Origin lore, then introducing the next performance. Sparr was intrigued when the cast hauled out what was intended to be a 'maker machine', but the large prop was too abstract to be meaningful. Each dance number was more suggestive than the last. By the halfway point in the show, the crowd hooted and called out rowdily as princes, stripped to the waist, danced and ground against maidens whose robes were so gauzy and open as to provide frequent glimpses of their young flesh.

"We'll need you for the final act," Liette informed him. She had come backstage to take a breather and sip wine. She handed a cup to Sparr. "A brute in chains. It should suit you." The priestess gave him a clumsy wink.

Sparr had figured as much. Such a role would require no lines, no rehearsals, and little ability beyond being of above average size and strength. He thought of the new recruits, the talent. A few of the maidens had made it into the show, but most of the numbers required considerable practice. Instead, they poured wine, flirted, and brought roasted sausages and fried dough to the crowd. If one of the faithful fancied a prince or maiden, he or she simply took what was wanted. Sparr saw one of the new maidens, wriggling uncomfortably, seated between a merchant and his wife. Both were fondling and kissing the young woman. Sparr had to look away.

At last the evening drew near the final act. One of the princes affixed an ornate, metal belt around Sparr's waist. To this was attached a length of chain, with the other end looped through a clasp at the center of the stage.

"Finish your wine," the prince said. "You can't bring that out!"

Someone had filled Sparr's mug. He downed it, and let the prince guide him to the stage entrance. "When it's your time, just walk near the center. We'll take up the excess chain."

"... and yet Omm's work is never done," Liette was saying. "Stray from the teachings, stray from the sacrifice and the wheel, stray from Omm... you are lost!" She raised her arms with a flourish.

Someone shoved Sparr onto the stage. Irritated, he turned to see who, but just as quickly, another set of hands tore away his wrap. The chain clinked. He stood naked and bound at the back of the stage. The crowd roared their approval.

Maidens poured by on both sides, their sheer, pale robes swirling. As Sparr blinked in confusion they formed two lines at opposite sides of the stage. The music, at first calming, now grew increasingly heavy. It annoyed him. The maidens annoyed him. Why were they tormenting him? Again, the chain clinked. Like a snake constricting its prey, every time Sparr moved, the chain tightened. He was being guided to the center of the stage. Had he been told to do that? He disliked being told what to do. He disliked everything.

The music settled down, adopting a delicate, feminine character. One of the maidens pulled from her line to dance across the stage. The beauty spun gracefully, arms lifting and tossing the delicate fabric of her robe. Sparr was treated to a glimpse of her willowy, soft body as she twirled and leapt. His irritation flickered briefly toward desire. A few in the crowd noticed his growing desire and shouted encouragement.

No sooner had the first maiden made her crossing, one her sisters made the journey in the opposite direction. Adopting a similar, but more athletic approach, this one jumped high then cartwheeled, her red hair tossing crazily. Youthful flesh bounced. Sparr took a step toward her, but no sooner had he started, the maiden finished.

The red draught. Dimly, Sparr realized he had been drugged. He wasn't himself, wasn't reacting appropriately. Feelings of anger and of lust swirled dangerously near the surface. Part of him wanted to regain control. A bigger part wanted to accept, to surrender.

Another maiden broke line, this time behind him. Losing the battle to suppress his urges, Sparr turned and lurched toward her. The blonde, as she spun just out of reach, flashed an alarmed expression, but danced to safety on the far side. The crowd let out a lustful chorus of hoots and cheers.