Yearning Man: Quest for the Consort

She climaxed quickly, Nomed kept her just at the edge the right amount of time. Her bum clenched, legs quivered. Alya inhaled at the sight and sounds.

Darya's legs had squeezed tightly, then relaxed like wet reeds. A good one indeed.

Alya held her breath at the excitement crisis, then relaxed. She had not had to worry about impalement tonight, she never had, and always would be able to report back to Aniz that no sperm had entered her precious charge.

She escorted Nomed out, marveling at his soft and languid staff, feeling its damp and depleted shaft with her hands, and returned to Darya.

"Will you sleep here, or in chambers?"

"My bed I think. Thank you, loyal Alya."

****

Sirin had not been able to hide his surprise at the visitor at his doorway. He had been arranging his clothing, his tunic and sandals, in one corner of his hut in Fernwood, when a tall figure appeared.

Sirin's disappointment at finishing as Fernwood's second villar had not lessened over the past week. His training has been assiduous, neglecting no aspect of his performance. Yet Rashad had bested him not only in wrestling but the toss as well, and Sirin never took well to losing. It should have been he who journeyed to the summer palace.

He would take some time to rest before resuming his training. There might be another year, if this one went as the last two had gone, and no villar had surfaced to become consort. Second chances were rare but did not extinguish hope.

The official, squint-eyed and superior, was marked with a red strip of woven bark around his left hand, the royal insignia. He spoke brusquely.

"Is Sirin here?"

Sirin nodded. "You speak to him."

The official's face loosened, however slightly.

"Excellent. I have good news. Can you be ready to travel to the playa? Within a few hours?"

Sirin stood still. "What for? Rashad has already left."

The official stood taller. "Rashad is no longer viable. As a second, Fernwood will send you. Assuming you are willing, and can go quickly." It seemed he doubted Sirin's will and capacity.

Sirin straightened. Good news indeed, which he scarcely could have imagined.

"Yes, I will go. Let me gather my things."

Sirin had two days of hard horseback travel, on a mount supplied by the province, first through the long hot valley, then the crossing of the mountains, to consider his suddenly altered status. Disappointment had given way to hope, a second chance, an opportunity to extend his fate.

Gola, between training Sirin on long jumps and sprint starts, had always urged Sirin to stay within himself. "Live in between time," she said, a phrase that proved elusive both for understanding and practicing. His next few days needed to be handled one step at a time, one task at a time, one breath at a time. When he felt impatient on a long climb into the thinner air of the mountain passes, he had to remind himself. Get there first, take single steps, that is the goal. All else will follow.

Sirin arrived at the edge of the playa in late afternoon. The vast central valley had been hot and tiresome, and moving into the foothills had brought some relief. But here in the high desert, the heat was oppressive once again.

He was met at the villars' camp, given some water and ushered to a corner of a large communal tent, which would be his home for the next week.

The other villars barely took notice of him, busy with their own preparations. Strength events began the next day, as Sirin had missed practice for the sprint but not the longer races. He was struck by the variety of shapes of the others, some sturdy with thick thighs, like the big thick-bearded fellow who paraded around the tent with his peculiar cock-ring and protruding erection, others more like himself, sinewy and lean.

****

"Darya? A word, if you will."

Darya turned from her reading by the window. It was rare when her mother visited her bedroom.

"Yes, of course."

"We have a new villar. Thank goodness. The week shall proceed as we planned. And hoped."

Aniz gazed long at her firstborn, her only.

"What are your thoughts? I know twenty-two summers ago my own were confused. My mind racing from point to point, scarcely coherent. I was excited and fearful, at the same time. Is this the case for you also?"

Darya's smile was small but grateful.

"Thank you for asking, Mother. It is confusing, that is true. I have been prepared for two summers now, my hopes strained, but then opportunity vanished. I have some worry that that will be the case again."

She twirled an errant strand of hair.

"Are you worried of failure?" Aniz looked into Darya's face, searching.

"Failure of what? There are so many things that have to proceed exactly in order, any one wrong step or error and all is dust." She waved at the window.

"This place is so remote, so different from our home the rest of the year, where it is green and welcoming. The mountains here can be oppressive, and the weight of tradition seems to push down upon this dusty playa."

"Yet you understand the tradition." Aniz was patient but intent.

"Yes Mother. Villars competing, straining for a chance. That in itself is both worthy and a sight to behold. I like the looks of this year's crew."

"Good! I do as well."

They looked hard at each other.

"The first part commences in two days, then the next, crucial test."

She took Darya's hand.

"Promise me you will hold your focus, as I promise the same to you? I so much want a good future."

"For me? Or for the kingdom?"

The grip on Darya's hand tightened.

"Both Darya. Both. For all of us."

****

The playa was growing daily more crowded. From all the provinces they came, men, women, families, vendors with carts streaming colorful ribbons, who set up tents to shade their wares and patrons, flying banners, the bustle grew day by day, and evenings grew noisier as groups gathered by their tents with cooking fires and libations at the end of day.

Events would last for over a week before the final ritual after the New Moon.

The playa, dry as it was in summer, had two sources of water, at opposite sides of the wide dusty expanse. The summer palace occupied the best spot, with trees and shade that cascaded down the north slope.

The palace complex of perhaps a dozen buildings, both small and large, clustered around where the creek Amu entered the playa to form a shallow lake. On the other side of the plain, a smaller stream emptied into a smaller pond, where the villars washed after their efforts, and settled into the tents set up nearby. It made for a tree-shaded, slightly green oasis compared to the rocky hills beyond. Here the villars' quarters nestled, a few large tents for shade from the sun, and just enough water for cooking, cleaning and bathing.

One morning Alya urged Darya to the window of the palace.

"The long race, or a practice half at least, is today. They will finish right in front of us."

"I am so grateful an alternate from Fernwood has been found. Mother is beside herself, but I sense her own anxiety. 'What else could go wrong?' she seems to be thinking. Father is more relaxed, but still he is concerned as well."

"Look! They've started! You can see the cloud of dust at the villars' quarters. In two days time they will circle the entire playa, it will take most of the morning, but today only half that, around the playa's edge and ending here. We'll see the finish, at least."

They watched the dusty signature of the villars' presence off in the distance, gradually circling the edge of the playa and coming around towards them. The original bunch of straining men had spread itself out, a long string of lean male bodies, barefoot and in loincloths, along the edge, heading towards the palace.

"Is that the new fellow in the lead? The replacement from Fernwood?"

Alya squinted. "It must be. He was not here for the earlier foot races."

Sirin was indeed in the lead with another taller villar. Both were breathing heavily, through their mouths, as legs churned and feet hit the dirt.

"So quickly they go!"

Dust rose behind them, the line drawn in the playa nearly within reach.

A quick surge at the end and Sirin pushed his foot over the line a step before anyone else.

The race official pointed at the winner and strode over to raise his hand.

"First!" He turned the fellow around, so that everyone could see. His legs were bunched, ribcage expanding and contracting, sweat and dust commingled on his skin.

The spent villars took a weary shortcut back across the playa to their quarters.

The tall man who had come in second fell into line with Sirin, and they exchanged glances.

"Your feet," the fellow spoke, pointing to Sirin.

"Are they causing any troubles?"

"No, said Sirin, "although the hardpack does take a toll on them."

"Mine are dry and cracked." The villar stopped and raised a foot to demonstrate. There were open, non-oozing seams between several toes on his left foot.

Sirin nodded. "Yes. The playa is unforgiving if you are unaccustomed to it. Where are you from?"

"The Gulch. Where the great river meets the sea. It is green always, never this dry."

Sirin nodded.

"When we get to quarters, let me show you something." They walked in silence.

Sirin took him to the far side of the pool where the filling stream settled from its origins in the uplands.

"You see the watery plants along the stream edge? Look for the bracken first, there is bound to be a certain plant nearby."

Sirin showed him a small damp cress, with oval leaves, bunched near the water's edge.

"Take some of these leaves, put them between your toes, underneath your soles, before putting on sandals. If you keep your feet covered and in contact with these green leaves, your feet should improve fairly quickly. At the very least they will not get worse. Of course you will need to run barefoot in the actual races, just clean them afterward, especially between the toes, get more of the cress, and keep your sandals on as much as possible."

The fellow looked evenly at Sirin. "Thanks for this."

"But why are you helping me? We seek the same thing. To be first."

Sirin shrugged. "Winning is only good when handled fairly, everyone involved at their best. I should not like to place first in a race of the lame, that's not a challenge."

The stranger eyed him, there was more than this involved. He pressed his hand into Sirin's. "My name is Gar."

"I am Sirin."

"I am grateful for your advice."

They shook hands.

"Get some rest. Sleep well, dream well, keep your strength for tomorrow, and the days thereafter."

****

"Who shall you have this evening?" Alya posed the question to Darya that night after dinner.

The choice, Darya realised, was one of luxury, which made it no easier. A male was always more difficult, since it meant Alya must be present as witness, to insure that Darya remain unpenetrated, while a woman's touch was often pleasing, softer, soothing, different, freer.

Darya paused at the question, idly twirling a stray lock of hair. Her life would change mightily with a mate, she knew, although that would not drastically limit her choices. A male, fully and solely, would be hers, to love as she wished, without restriction. How would it be?

Her mind drifted to a sight earlier in the day, of two of the palace servants.

The notion of softness that night, firm but curved flesh, a woman's tender mouth, this was her craving, she decided.

"I would like Uma. Her honey thighs would please me greatly tonight."

"Would you have her come with just a long skirt, Alya? Nothing else. That pale yellow one I like so much that clings to her hips, makes her seem taller?"

"Of course. She does look lovely like that. And with those lovely breasts of hers on display."

Uma did not require any assistance looking taller. She was willowy, with long limbs, slender and supple. Alya had insured that the nipples on her narrow, swaying breasts were erect before entering.

"Leading your way," Alya joked as she removed her fondling fingers. "Pointed spears of flesh pushing ahead."

Uma paused at the door of Darya's bedchambers.

"Go ahead," urged Alya. "She spoke of softness tonight, I believe she seeks tender."

A light warm breeze rippled the window coverings, the playa outside still warm and quiet except for a lone owl's unearthly call in the distance.

"Good evening." Uma played her teeth teasingly over Darya's right earlobe.

"You summoned me?"

Darya laughed. "Summon indeed! You always make me feels so special, Uma."

Darya reached for her breasts, which were both soft and taut. Skin smooth but firm underneath.

They kissed. Uma probed Darya's mouth, deep and lingering.

Darya came up for air. "I love your mouth, Uma, your taste. Reminds me of almonds. Grassy meadows."

"Speaking of grassy meadows..." said Uma.

"Oh, Uma, not yet! Remove your fingers! Although it does feel sweet..."

"Let's get that fabric off your hips, then lie down with me on the bed."

The stars were visible out the windows, sky dark until moonrise some time away.

Fingers traveled, mossy valleys ruffled lightly.

"A breast rub perhaps? You seem to like these..." Uma queried.

Darya smiled and lay back. "Yes, perfect idea."

Uma took her time, tracing her nipples like little dagger ends across Darya's face, pausing for the briefest of suckles, then now dampened, along her clavicle, shoulders, down flanks and hips, down legs, up legs, a pause at her waist, a dainty dip of each nipple into Darya's navel, making her squirm and laugh, and then back up again, into Darya's face.

"Such brave exploring nipples!" Darya laughed. "Like little puppies, they go everywhere. Fearless!"

"And bring happiness with them," she added. "Let me feel you, Uma."

Darya's fingers groped and found soft hair and scarcely damp lips. A quick rub made them slippery.

"On top, Uma? Please? I want to feel you all over."

Uma stretched herself out. Two meadows mashed together, lightly, then with purpose.

How different would this be with a man? Darya wondered as they kissed. It would be no soft breasts squashed into her, but a hard heavy body, firm and strong, an erect staff pressing against her skin and anxious for an entry.

It mattered not, she gave into Uma's kisses and hip presses. Her excitement grew close.

Then Uma edged slightly off to the side, fingers playing Darya's valley, damp groin hair pressed to the side, lovely slidings up and down, a linger at the top of her entry.

Darya's hips curled and quivered. Uma's tongue plunged into her mouth at the same time. The first wave was sudden, almost too sudden, Darya felt her hands clutch Uma's back. Was she gripping too tightly? It mattered not, her hands relaxed almost as quickly as they had tightened and fingers went limp.

This was how the kirfa would get released, she knew her mother insisted. Just after the pleasure, a measure of ripeness, fullness, completion.

"Again?" Uma whispered into Darya's ear.

Darya nodded. Fingers played, more desultory this time. Another wave, smaller and weaker but sweet.

Darya felt her body grow limp from top to bottom, inside out.

"Ah, Uma. I should do you," she whispered.

"Only if you want. But I think sleep is what you need most now. Let me tuck you in."

Uma was right. They covered up for the night, air still warm but cooling. With soft arms around her, unconsciousness came quickly to Darya. There would be time for Uma first thing in the morning. Darya consoled herself with this wish until daylight, and then each of them coaxed an early pleasure from her own sweet sleep-companion.

They parted with smiles after breakfast, the earthy taste of Uma on Darya's lips, a good beginning to a new day. More events, the end of the lunar month coming closer.

****

Townsfolk and country men continued to assemble on the playa. They came on horse, on foot, in carts, setting up tents on the edges of the playa, near water. Festive eyes gleamed everywhere, colorful cloaks on the women, most men bare-chested, in imitation of the villars.

Medium length footraces began on the official first day of competition, followed with the leaping and strength tests on days after. Then a major event, the short race, always drawing crowds, hawkers in place selling mugs of ale and cider, greasy food to be eaten in hand, capped by wrestling on the last day.

****

All week the villars had been warily examining each other in their quarters and after events, both deliberately and covertly, watching limbs stretch, gauging the mass of musculature and the movements of the others. Their thoughts they tried to hide, but darting eyes gave away intent. Who would be fastest in the races? Who might one beat in a jump or toss? Who was the best? Now all was immediate, the first race over, everything more pressing and urgent.

Bare staffs, sometimes erect, were visible, it was impossible not to imagine that one of them might have the chance to impale the princess by week's end.

Rictov and one of the larger villars had gotten into a dispute, Sirin was unsure of the nature. The two men faced each other at the edge of their tent, faces inches apart, neither wiling to back down.

It was not the first quarrel for Rictov. He had berated others, insisting on dominating, and yet most had stayed clear.

Sirin stepped in to separate the two and managed to urge Rictov away from the tent and down to the bathing pond.

"Cool water, cool minds. It is best for all that we keep our focus on just performance," he chided.

Rictov stared at him.

"I will have her. None of you will be able to stop me. You or someone else might win the races but in strength and fighting, no one will surpass me." He thumped his chest.

"Easy. We all have the same goal, it is no different from man to man."

"Here, let's get some of this sweat and dust off." Sirin tried to redirect the energy.

Sirin looked over at Rictov as the big man removed his cock-ring. His staff slopped out of the opening, it seemed to be some vertebra off a large animal. Sirin wondered if Rictov had artificially opened the spinal column so as to fit his staff snugly. Even flaccid, the fellow's staff was hefty, of some girth.

"What's that from? Surely a large animal. Predator?"

Rictov grunted. "Not saying. You can guess. All I'll say is that I killed it."

He watched as the square-bearded man slopped some water over his shoulders with his hands, his staff swinging like a pendulum, heavy at the end.

"Nice one you have there," Sirin said admiringly.

The big man grunted. "Right. And I will have it up the princess before the week is out."

"I think that is the goal for all of us. You are not different in that regard." Sirin kept an even tone.

"The difference is that I've been training for this my whole life."

"Since birth? I doubt that. I'd believe you if you said twelve summers perhaps, but not birth."

The big man stared hard.

"My father was murdered before I was born. I won't tell you why or how."

He stood up, leg muscles tensing.

"My mother bore me in anger. From the first, she was determined I would achieve. Become the best. In whatever I did. I was brought up that way. To think that way. I will not lose this week, mark my words."

He pulled his sheath-skin back to reveal the large walnut of a staff head, then splashed some water along the skin. His staff glistened with wetness.

"I missed last year due to injury. Not this time."

The two stared at each other for a moment before returning to the main tent.

****

By midday on the second to last day of competition, the playa had filled with hundreds upon hundreds of spectators. From the palace balconies, Darya looked out over a sea of shade-bringing tents, as townsfolk from all over gathered to eat, drink and gossip over the results of the villars' multi-day efforts. Still with another night, the grandest of all.