Nuë and the Djinn Ch. 01

A man stood and walked to the edge of the cleared space in front of them, one hand on a beater, the other cradling a wide round drum stretched with animal skin. He sat. Another stood and joined him, carrying a droning instrument, a hair bow that he began to draw across its strings for the shifting tones. A woman stood up and walked to the musicians and sat. A singer, the ifrit knew.

When it began, the drum didn't pound, but rather offered soft clacks against the edge of the instrument, a complicated rhythm, low sounds, the drone continuing under it. Everyone quieted. A young Sidean woman came, holding a long sheer veil, someone walking behind it. She stopped in the center of the area, the figure still behind her. The ifrit couldn't make out the hidden figure, but he could feel her. Nuë.

The young woman dropped the veil, stepping away and leaving Nuë standing with her back to them, her arms extended at her sides, her hands with the pointer finger leading, absolutely still. Her thick hair was golden, yes, its length gathered into a single long tail, several bands. Her back was entirely exposed, a brass medallion fixed to the gold collar around her neck and falling behind her, resting between her shoulder blades.

The ifrit's eyes followed down that fragile expanse, the line, the deep curve of her waist, flaring out to her hips. He couldn't see her feet. He thought she was barefoot. She had pants on under the skirt, but the garments came well below her waist, drawn straight across her hips under her belly. The clothing was silky, flowing, Sidean tribal patterns, gold and brown and cream.

The drummer began to beat the drum, leaving behind the soft rhythmic clacks, booming through the space, slow beats, one solid and hard followed by two faster. It didn't vary as the drone of the instrument found a melody. The ifrit walked to stand in front of everyone, watching Nuë. None of the Sideans could see him. He walked in that other world.

She still had her back to him. Every part of her body remained still except for her hands, which started to move, alternating, then a kind of tension running from her fingers to her hand, across her shoulders and to her other arm, fluid.

Her hips began to slowly rise and fall, first one side and then the other, smooth motions, his eyes there. She wasn't shaking anything. Her hips were weaving back and forth, controlled, hypnotic, dropping with the beat, the other side rising, her arms and hands still in motion. Her head didn't move. There were bracelets around her arms under her shoulders, thin gold bands at the base of her fingers and thumbs.

The woman sitting with the musicians suddenly called out, a string of words, notes held long. Singing. Although she didn't move any faster, all of Nuë's body began to move to that music, her ribs in one direction, her hips in another, effortless. Her arms were snaking, her whole body serpentine. The ifrit felt a deep sinking in his belly, his breathing heavier.

Without stopping the motion, she swept around, her face serene. The silky cloth wrapped around her neck and then crossed over her full breasts. It left her belly exposed, his eyes going there, her navel deep. She was looking down. Those eyes flashed up on the drumbeat, hitting him somewhere in his gut, all of her movement precise.

His crotch was tight. The way she moved was entirely an offer of her body and her spirit. One leg rose, her arms still in motion. Her foot came down and she stepped. He ached, she was so beautiful.

The music was like all music, another thin place between the two worlds, the music emerging like light through paper. It was dreamlike, driving, a summoning of feeling, openly sensual. Openly erotic, his belly tight, her light calling to him.

Looking at her face, he saw she was looking out at her audience, but she wasn't seeing them. There wasn't anyone here she was dancing to. She was involved in the dance, in her body, lost in the music. The drum came in with a fast patter, filling in the timing. When that happened, her eyes flashed up again and her breasts rose quickly, three stuttering beats up, her belly long and extended.

Briefly, as she turned, her foot kicked up her skirt. She was barefoot, yes, gold around her ankles. She began to bend backward, and more, the singer giving a brief yelp. A few people in the audience snapped their fingers in approval, appreciating her skill. Each beat of the drum was a new pattern for her hands, the silhouettes shaping themselves, sometimes facing one another, sometimes turned away, close and far, always in relationship.

Coming up, the tension traveled across her arms and she released it again, flicking her fingers, a free, careless and wild motion in all that precision, an almost painful surge of lust going through him.

He wasn't ever going to get this song out of his mind. The ifrit closed his eyes. The voice faded, desire crawling all through him. The song ended and Nuë was back in her original position. The audience slapped their knees and snapped their fingers, indicating their approval.

The young woman came again, bringing the veil, obscuring Nuë, escorting her out. The ifrit turned and watched as a man rose and walked to Levsa, everyone else watching now, the mechi looking up. The man said something to the Mechi.

The mechi nodded. People quieted. She held up six fingers. "Neco offers six horses," Levsa announced.

For Nuë, she meant. The ifrit was surprised. She was being sold? Given the dance, maybe they were selling her for sex. If so, he would simply buy her.

Behind him, two women spoke. "They should worry about children," one said. "She's only half-Sidean."

"They should worry she'll be like her mother," the other said.

But the men in the room didn't seem worried. Another man rose, coming to Levsa. He spoke to her, the mechi nodding. Levsa flashed eight of her fingers. Eight horses, the ifrit assumed. Another man rose. He offered five horses, which didn't make any sense, bidding usually going up in price instead of down.

The ifrit was immediately aware when Nuë came back into the tent. Her skin was that warm gold, arching eyebrows over intense eyes out of which her spirit shone, almond-shaped, upturned at the outer corners, long lashes. Her hair shone gold like metal in the firelight, warming to red in her cheeks and lips. Her hair was in two thick braids now that hung down in front over each shoulder, like the other women, interwoven with red leather, some silky strands trying to escape, the long tails brushing her thighs.

Her features were elegant, a long nose and full lips, high cheekbones, and very beautiful. The Sidean clothing she wore were the same intense deep and dark dusky colors in intricate tribal patterns as all the cloth around them. She wore loose linen pants over which she had a linen shirt and then a long linen tunic, practically a dress, with two long slits up the sides. Over that, she had a belt, a knife at her waist. Her soft boots were cross-wrapped in leather, her sleeves.

Men looked at her as she passed, their eyes speculative. She sat in an empty place to the left of the mechi.

A man arrived at the edge of the gathering, followed by two others who watched him carefully, escorting him. All eyes went to the stranger, tension in the air. The new man went and spoke to the mechi, who held up ten fingers, people beginning to talk, interested. Ten horses. "Duvin from Pashi tribe offers ten horses," Levsa said, her voice neutral.

The man from the Pashi tribe turned and looked at Nuë as he walked out, smiling at her, an inviting smile. Nuë looked surprised, her eyes dropping.

A man got up and moved to Levsa. He spoke to her. She nodded. The mechi held up a hand. She flashed it once, and then again, and then two fingers. Twelve horses. Another man rose, older, the woman with him not pleased and not saying anything. The man went to Levsa. Levsa held up one hand three times. Fifteen horses. Another man rose. He offered eight horses.

The ifrit got up and walked, going to sit beside the mechi, Nuë on the other side of her. He reached out and touched Levsa's wrist.

Levsa turned to him and they were alone. She startled, looking around, lights and diffuse forms all around them. She looked back at him. "Where am I?"

"Another place, Mechi," the ifrit answered. "And the same place, too."

"Do they know where I am?"

"You haven't gone anywhere. They're looking for you," he said, touching her, keeping his hand on her, both of them briefly in a tumult of voices raised, calling for her.

"I see her!" someone cried, and the ifrit brought her back. It was quieter here.

"Why am I here?" Levsa said.

"I don't understand the ritual."

"The dance?" Levsa said, seeming surprised.

When he saw Levsa hesitate, the ifrit leaned forward, holding her eyes, the woman wary. "It would be best if you spoke the truth in this place, Mechi."

"It's a celebration that she's old enough to marry. She dances so the men of the tribe can know her, to learn if they want her for a wife. They make the offer of horses for her collar."

"What collar?" he said.

"An unmarried Sidean maiden wears a collar of gold around her neck. She gives it to her husband during the ceremony. It will go to their daughter by blood or marriage."

The necklace Nuë wore. "You think you're going to sell Nuë to the man who offers the most horses?" the ifrit said.

Levsa eyed him. "No, ifrit. The horses would become hers when she marries. They're her security if her husband dies or she wants to leave him for a good reason, like if he beats her or is a coward. She'll want more horses, because she'll be wealthier. But she may choose a man who could only offer a few horses, if she wants him above the others."

"They can offer her a thousand and one horses, Mechi, and Nuë would still be mine. She has always been mine."

Levsa seemed to decide not to say anything to that. She changed the topic. "How do you know our language?"

"I don't."

"How do you speak it?"

The ifrit shrugged. "I hear what you mean. I make sure you hear what I mean. My name is Olo."

Levsa stared at him, her eyes wide. "You just lied. Your name isn't Olo."

"In this place, you can hear lies like I can. I'm not speaking your language, Mechi. I never have. I don't know it."

She seemed to struggle with that and then let it go. "What is your name?"

He grinned. She looked taken aback. "You know better than that, Mechi," he said softly.

"Are you going to kill her?" Levsa demanded.

The ifrit was surprised in turn. "No," he said.

"Why her?"

"She's mine," he repeated, telling her the truth in this place. "She has always been mine."

Again, Levsa seemed to let that go. "Can you not stay a small time and let her come to know you?"

"She can know me elsewhere," he said.

"She's scared. You're a frightening story to her. She's afraid you'll hurt her."

The woman wasn't lying. And Nuë was a woman, but she was still young. Her spirit was close to the mechi's, their lights entwined. The ifrit thought about it. "Give her a tent of her own. She comes with me to my home in the mountains in three nights, Mechi," he said, touching her wrist.

#

Nuë sat on the pad at the fire. She wasn't going to be killed by the ifrit, Levsa had said, although he was taking her away with him in three nights. As for using her body, he was going to do that, yes. Why else would he want her to have her own tent? Nuë couldn't stop her heart from its racing beat, thundering like a horse across the plains in her chest.

"He agreed to stay for three nights because he believed me when I told him you were scared," Levsa had said, sitting across from Nuë. Levsa would tell Fada tribe in the morning what had happened. Levsa reached and put Nuë's hair behind her ear. "You danced well, sutka. So many offered for you I thought I was going to start making marks to remember."

Nuë tried to smile. "You think it was because I danced well?"

"Yes. I think that some of the men worried that because your hair is lighter maybe you aren't as passionate. The dance reassured them. Who is this young man from Pashi tribe?"

"Duvin? I met him at festival. We spoke for a short time. We don't even know each other."

"He'd like to know you better," Levsa said, smirking.

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" Nuë said.

"Were you going to accept any of their offers, Nuë?" Levsa said. "Is there one who secretly held your heart?"

Nuë looked down, shaking her head. "No, none that were special to me."

"Not even Ceden?" Levsa said with a straight face, Nuë looking up and breaking into laughter, her aunt joining her.

"A second wife. That old pervert," Nuë muttered, Levsa snorting laughter again.

Levsa shushed them both like she hadn't also been laughing, looking around.

"Neco used to call me strawhead and threaten to cut my braids," Nuë said, "and now he's offering horses for me."

"The boys who used to be unkind to you are regretting it now," Levsa said, another smirk. "I told them at the time that they would. Tahon offered twelve horses."

"I know," Nuë said. "I don't know why he would do that. He was the worst of all of them. It used to be he wouldn't stop until he'd made me cry."

"Blind hope," Levsa said.

A silence fell between them.

Nuë looked away. "Is he going to hurt me, auntie?" she asked.

"I don't know," Levsa said, also looking away, her mouth tight. "It's often painful for a woman the first time. But even if he does, it's nothing you can't endure. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from this, sutka."

"It's not your fault," Nuë said.

"You're still honorable to me," Levsa said, standing up and leaving.

#

The ifrit shifted, sidestepping, sitting across from Nuë. He was wearing white linen pants, leaving his shirt off. He was barefoot. Nuë startled like her people did, blind to the other world, her hand on her chest. She looked like she might say something to him for scaring her and then she swallowed it. She took a breath in, releasing it slowly.

"How long have you been here?" she said, her voice shaking.

"I have been with you since I brought the mechi back," he answered, staring at her, fascinated by her. It was really her. After so long.

Nuë nodded, taking another deep breath. "Do you eat and drink, ifrit?"

"Yes."

"Would you like spiced milk?"

He nodded, although what he would like would be to push her on her back and mount her now. "What is the dishonor you feel in lying with me?"

"We're not married," she said.

He thought about it. She had mentioned this before. The human ceremony. She had been born to these people. "Could you marry me?" he said, the idea occurring to him.

Her hand stopped in the middle of ladling the milk. She resumed. "Yes, ifrit."

"We'll marry tomorrow," he said, shrugging. He was looking at her breasts. It was time now. He felt another wave of excitement. He had waited, and waited, and waited some more, and he was done waiting.

She was quiet. "I can't marry if I no longer have my collar," she said, handing him the milk.

The collar, symbolizing the barrier between her legs, probably. He took the milk. "Give the collar to me now."

"I can only give it to you during the ceremony."

"Keep it and give it to me in the ceremony tomorrow."

"I can't," she said, her voice tight. "It would be a lie."

His incora was stubborn. Then it occurred to him, a happy compromise. He rose, finding the thing he'd put in the tent. He had planned to give it back to her, smelling it on her skin. She watched him.

He returned, setting it down by himself, sitting again. His anticipation was thick. "Take off your clothes," he said. When he saw her hesitate, he threw up his hand. "Does taking off your clothes mean you can't wear that necklace anymore?"

"No."

"Take off your clothes."

#

Nuë reached to unlace her boots, unwinding the leather. She drew them off. She stood up. She had known this was what he was going to do. She didn't know why she'd gotten hopeful that he wouldn't shame her. He was an elemental, a demon. She saw his eyes go to her hands. They were shaking. Untying her tunic, she drew it off, and then her shirt and her pants.

She took deep, even breaths. It was just her body. He couldn't really touch her inside, not that way. Only her surface. She would still be herself. She felt silly in the braids, so she tugged the strings and they loosened. She ran her hands through her hair and then knelt again, aware of her breasts. She didn't look at him. It was just easier.

"Come here," he said, his voice full of something that sent a crawling surge through her belly.

She rose and came to him, kneeling by him. He was huge and beautiful and foreign, so much of him. She couldn't imagine fitting any part of him into her. Every time his strange blue eyes landed on her, she wanted to be somewhere else. She didn't know where he was going to take her in three days or what he would do with her there.

But the way he was looking at her body, she didn't doubt what he was going to do to her here and now.

She stayed still when he reached, running her hair through his fingers. He caressed her shoulder, following her arm down with the tips of his fingers. His touch was surprisingly gentle, her skin tingling. He began to touch her all over in the same way, seeming content, moving her when he wanted to reach somewhere else. Sometimes he would brush his fingers on the undersides of her breasts, and a few times he touched her nipples, sending shocks of sensation through her.

Nuë had thought she could separate herself from her body, but she found herself drawn in, unable to stay away from it with the sensations he was giving her. It was pleasure and anxiety, alternating. She didn't know why she would respond to him so strongly, unless ifrit had the ability to arouse those they touched.

He pulled her down with him, her heart pounding, putting her onto her side facing him. His hands were tracing her body, over her hip, and then he was touching her thighs, looking at her face. It was too intimate. She didn't know him. She closed her eyes. He parted her legs gently, his touch sharp pleasure. For the first time, she wondered if maybe this part wouldn't be so bad. She pulsed against his fingers. A calm came to her, feeling herself relaxing. She was wet, slippery now.

#

The ifrit's breathing was rough with control. His incora was frightened, as he had known she would be. He gave her as much time as he could, his arousal painful now. He had to do this to encourage the joining, but he went slow, touching her, staying very gentle. Warming her body, trying to soothe her fears.

He pulled her down facing him, looking at her. She closed her eyes. He opened her legs, touching her there, his fingers slippery, her flesh so soft. Ready. Stopping for a moment, he did what he needed, wiping his hands, and returned to her. He reached for her spirit, aching for her. She didn't reach out to him, but she didn't retreat either. He caressed her light with his, just a little, feeling her become more calm.

The ifrit moved, coming over her silently, bringing himself behind her. He reached and gently parted her cheeks, his cock oily already and so hard. He began to press, the head of his cock slipping past the ring of her ass, Nuë relaxed.

She felt it, a sharp breath. She cried out. He had known the first time might be difficult for her, his incora not knowing him yet. His hand went over her mouth, rolling her onto her stomach as he mounted her. She would feel pleasure. The fingers of his other hand were on her pussy, wet, wanting, slick and swollen. He pressed, opening her under him, going slowly. Her hands grasped the coverlet, her fists white with strain, her ass rising under him. The pleasure was so good, so much of it. Lust tinged his vision.