Methuselah’s Daughter: Part 2
Destiny’s Road

Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

(William Wordsworth, 1770?1850)

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Chapter 11

Circa 1100 B.C., somewhere near Scandinavia

It was an odd sort of acceptance I had found, and not at all the way I had thought I might. In recent years it was as if a fog had begun to lift from my mind, but as that fog cleared I found only desolation around me. I found myself in just another village, just another clan, or so it seemed. These new people were farmers mostly, and were more prosperous than others I had seen in recent years. I had come to them in a trade, thrown in almost as an after-thought to seal a deal. The winters had been growing more harsh, the summers less productive, and my old clan was cutting away whatever it could not use. At least they had liked me enough to keep me through spring.

I started in this new clan in almost the worst possible situation: I was still orjan, an outsider, but no one owned me, and no one was responsible for my well-being. Instead I was merely the property of the village and expected to make the best of it I could. So as was usually the case, a strong back, eager hands and a willingness to lie down on demand meant I would not starve or freeze, but I had no place at all of my own. Decade after decade of living like that had me despondent, and I had begun wondering, for the first time, why anything mattered to me.

It was worse than being in a rut. It had been like this for me for four hundred winters or more, and I had only just begun to notice, to think on, the oddness of that. But my actions were still almost all automatic, driven towards offending no one and otherwise being seen as useful. I could see problems coming and I would do my best to bend circumstances in my favor, but that in itself caused problems, for some would see me as too manipulative and everyone saw me as aloof and strange. I had to balance the danger that represented against the danger of becoming too comfortable with my surroundings.

Then along came Att.

His real name was Attaz, but no one called him that. He was a lanky one, with pale skin, black hair he kept in a knot, and flinty gray eyes. He was respected amongst the men, desired by the women, but strange in his own way. He had had a mate who bore him a son, Attuz, and a daughter, Herdhiz, before dying in labor with their third child.

Att was often a hunt leader, but he sometimes set out on solitary jaunts as well, ranging for long days on his own, usually returning with something, but sometimes with very little. To others his wanderings seemed random, but I could always tell when he was going to set out. There was a restlessness about him that would grow as days amongst his people stretched into weeks, until he finally would pack up his gear in the evening, and disappear into the wilderness before dawn the next morning, returning after a week or more with at least his peace of mind restored.

I had made a habit of watching Att’s comings and goings all spring, for when he set out his sister would have his children to care for, which meant there might be some easier labor for me in helping her. She was friendlier than some of the other women, her light brown hair framing an open face that matched her open manner. So when I showed up outside her dwelling that morning I was expecting Att to be gone, and the possibility that she might need my help.

“Good morning, Red,” he greeted me at the door, giving me a very slight smile, but with his face otherwise impassive.

I was startled. He had never so much as spoken to me before. “I… My name is Utha,” I managed to say, “I was looking for…”

“My sister, I know. Not today. Today, you come with me.”

My heart sank for a moment as I wondered what I had done wrong, thinking that he meant to turn me out into the wilderness; however, there was no malice in him that I could see. He stood from his crouch by the door and hefted a pack, pointing to another like it on the ground.

“Pick it up,” he said, “unless you’d rather stay here?” His manner seemed gruff, but oddly so, almost as if he was testing me. I opened my mouth and shut it. “Well?” he asked.

Then before I realized I had made up my mind I was lifting the heavy pack and following him as he set off across the green. We paused long enough for me to gather my small knife, a blanket, and my few other meager belongings from the shed I had been sleeping in. Then we turned east for the forest. Many were the curious eyes upon our backs.

We passed in silence for some time, and then stopped in the midmorning for water and a brief meal of bread and fruit.

“?Utha, huh?” he mused as we ate. I nodded. “I don’t like it. Sounds like a boy’s name,” he said, his face still characteristically expressionless. He didn’t look at me much.

“It can be either,” I said, nervously.

He grunted noncommittally. “I like ‘Red’ better,” he said. I nodded; people had changed my name before, and I was used to this. “Anyway,” he went on, “it’s a full day’s walk to my favorite camp. We won’t get there until sundown.” He paused, remembering. “We have to range further these days to where hunting is better, it’s not so good like it was when I was a boy. So I hope you like walking.”

“That’s a long way to go on your own,” I noted with surprise, “what would you do if you were injured?”

“Hasn’t happened yet,” he grinned, “and I’m not alone, am I?”

There it was again, that look in his eyes, like he was laughing at me a little, but he was not. I stayed silent as we ate and then returned to walking. I was not afraid of him; rather I was somewhat confused. Att had always seemed to want to get away from people and men usually only brought women along when they were making a special hunting trip, in a large party. So why bring me? That he was enjoying my company was clear for he continued to talk as we traveled. I listened with only half my head, trying to make some sense out of his motives. They were not at all clear. If he had wanted sex, there was no need for this, for no man had claimed me. Then he said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“What?”

“You remind me of me,” he repeated, looking over his shoulder, “always watching other people, trying to see what they want.”

This dumbfounded me. Dumbfounded, and amused.

“Now that’s interesting,” he said, stopping and turning to face me. “This has to be the first time I’ve ever seen you smile.” I simply stared at him, trying to read what was behind his face, hiding in that impenetrable grin. “And there you go again,” he sighed, shaking his head, “What’s the matter with you, Red? You’re always so glum. But I watch you, and I see you watching everything and everyone. I think if I wanted to know about anyone in the village I could ask you and you’d have something to tell me. But you don’t say anything. You just watch, and you try to be good. And you’re always sad. Why?”

I did not know how to answer that. No one had ever asked me a question like that. Att kept watching me, waiting for an answer. What surprised me even more than the question he had asked, was how desperately I wanted to answer him. It caught in my chest like a hot pain and I felt tears rising, but I had to force them back. What could I say to him?

“Some people are just born to be sad, I guess,” I finally managed to say. I started walking again, hoping that he would just let it go, while at the same time hoping he would not.

“Kind of tough, I guess,” he agreed, falling in beside me, “being barren and all, with no family. Do you miss them?”

“Who? My family? I… I don’t remember ever having a family.”

“Hmm,” he muttered, mulling it over as we walked. Then he said, “I still don’t get it. You’re young, and you’re strong, and good-looking. You could still make a place for yourself if you tried. But you just stay on the outside, moping.”

“I’m not so young,” I shot back without thinking. “I’m older than I look. A lot older.”

I regretted that as soon as I said it, but he seemed to accept it easily, and his attitude actually brightened, if that was possible.

“You know, the way you watch things, I think you’d make a good hunter.”

“Really?” I laughed, genuinely amused now, “Me? A hunter?”

“Sure. Like I said, you see stuff, and you’re patient–I’ve seen that, too. Ever used a sling before?”

“No…” I said, thinking. “I’ve used a cudgel. I can drop a rabbit with one on a good day. I got a bird once.”

“If you can do that, you’d be a natural with a sling. Want to learn?”

The idea did not just appeal to me, it astounded me. I looked over at him and I could see he was absolutely serious.

“If you’re offering to teach me…”

“We’ll get started in the morning,” he said, and with that he set out at a brisk pace I was hard-pressed to match. I continued to be astonished by this man, although I was beginning to see why the women of the village all thought so well of him.

After we found his favorite camp spot late that afternoon I busied myself building a fire in the same spot he had obviously used before, while he disappeared into the woods. Some hours later, in the evening twilight, he returned with three fat rabbits. I busied myself preparing them, and fed him some of the nuts I had found while he was away.

That night as I spooned against his back, I was surprised again as he seemed simply to wish to sleep.

The next morning, he was up and gone again before dawn. When he returned the mid-morning sun was poking out from behind the clouds, and his face was sour.

“Almost got a doe, but she was too clever for me this time,” he said, dropping his spear carrier. “Maybe tomorrow. So, are you ready now?” He looked at me inquisitively, and I nodded, eagerly.

He smiled, and pulled a long buckskin sling from his belt, and pulled out several large pebbles from his belt sack.

“Now, watch me,” he said, holding the two ends of the sling in three-fingered fashion, and demonstrating how to let go of one side but not the other. Then he placed one of the larger pebbles from his left hand into the sling, turned sideways to me, and pointed to a tree some 30 paces away.

“Now watch carefully,” he said.

Staring at the tree, he began to twirl the sling in an overhand motion, faster and faster, until it began to almost whistle. Stepping forward, he threw out his arm, and with a loud ?crack!’ the rock hit the trunk of the oak. Bark flew from a spot directly in its center, and a patch of white wood the size of a man’s thumb was revealed. He grinned at me.

“I don’t think I can do something like that,” I said, nervously.

“Perhaps not,” he said. “But let us see what you can do. Here,” he said, and walked closer to the tree. I followed until we were perhaps 10 paces away from the tree. “We’ll start you with an underhand throw. That’s probably easier for girls anyway.” He showed me again how to hold the sling in my hand, and made me practice letting go of only one side.

“Now,” he said, “This is very important, Red. You must look at your target. I want you to look at that tree, and concentrate on making the rock hit the tree. Spin the sling like this,” he said, twirling his hand in an underhand motion. “But remember, keep your arm out sideways, like this,” he said, gesturing. “And look at the tree until you step forward and let go.”

Determined now, I straightened my back and concentrated very hard upon the tree trunk. I inserted the rock, holding the sling ends carefully in my fingers, and then began to twirl it in the same underhanded motion as he had shown me. As I began to twirl, the rock caught my eye, and I followed its motion around once, then twice.

“Hey don’t…!” he said, as I saw the end of the sling come toward my eyes.

As the spots cleared, I found myself staring at white clouds in a clear blue sky, my ears ringing. The sound of his merry laughter filled the air, and I sat up, groaning.

“Are you all right?” he said, his voice still laughing a little. But as I looked at him, I saw genuine concern. I nodded, and rubbed my forehead.

“You’ll never make much of a boy,” he said, his grin broadening.

To my shock I felt my blood quicken, and without thinking I said. “Yes I might!”

His friendly laugh barked out again, and I heard myself laugh a bit too. “So you haven’t had enough of this foolishness?” he asked.

I shook my head, and stood up, a little wobbly, but determined.

“Very well, Gloomy Red. Once again. Arm out like so. Now you look at the tree. Not at the rock.” He grinned again. “We don’t look at the rock, right?” I nodded, and grinned back at him foolishly. I suddenly knew why all the women in the village loved him.

“So we turn the sling like so, looking at the target…” he went on.

And thus began the greatest summer of the first 400 years of my existence.

We spent five days in the wilds together. All that first day I practiced with the sling, as he patiently watched. To his surprise, I experimented throwing overhand as well as underhand, but soon found that I preferred to twirl the sling over my head best of all. He seemed a bit chagrined that his advice about throwing underhand was wrong, and I did not let him see my small grin. He seemed content mostly to patiently watch me, letting me find my own way, giving me only a little advice. He also spent some time showing me how to find good wood for a spear, and how to sharpen the end and harden it in the fire for a crude weapon, and how to fix a precious bronze point to it. I mostly knew how to do this anyway, but I let him show me as if I did not, and to teach me the things about the craft I had never paid attention to before, such as the best ways to hold it against a charging beast. He seemed impressed with how quickly I picked up everything he told me, for I absorbed everything with a single-minded eagerness.

The next morning, while he was away, I surprised myself by spotting and killing a squirrel at nearly 25 paces, and then another only a little closer. I felt a thrill that was almost sexual at this minor accomplishment, and beamed with foolish pride when he returned empty-handed that morning.

“Haha, not much meat on a squirrel, but we can make a good stew for breakfast with them,” he said. I nodded, and set about doing exactly that. “Well,” he said, “you are a most impressive young boy. Perhaps I should teach you how to move silently in the woods today, eh?”

And so after our breakfast, he began to do exactly that. He again seemed impressed by how quickly I picked up some of the tricks of it and, although I did not master it immediately, he said I would probably only need a few months of practice before I was an expert. I didn’t tell him, but I had learned some of it before from watching and listening other men speak of it in the past, and from times when the more nomadic clans I had sometimes been with needed to sneak quietly through dangerous areas. My smaller, lighter frame also made some of it easier for me. Bare feet helped as well, as my soles were already fairly tough, and minor cuts never bothered me and always healed quickly.

As the days passed I got to know him fairly well. He sensed early on that I did not like to talk about myself, so he spoke of his life, his family, and his philosophy. He didn’t like people much, preferred to commune silently with nature. But when he spoke of his dead wife, I always saw a small pain in him, and I could tell he missed her: she had been his best friend and a good mother, which made her loss all the more troubling for him. The Chief was after him to marry again, and there were two or three marriageable-aged girls in the village that would be suitable. Or he might find one at the next clan gathering this summer.

At night he would not touch me, and I was surprised at how disappointing I found that. Normally it would have been a bit of a relief, but he was terribly attractive to me, and treated me with a respect I was unused to. Still, I understood it. Clearly the memory of his wife still bothered him, and I knew that some older men had no interest in bothering with barren women anyway.

Our third evening together at the camp site, he told me he would take me hunting with him in the morning, to help flush game toward him, and also began teaching me the sign language his people used for hunting. It was just the basic gestures to begin: prey there, stop, freeze, down, hide, danger, run, kill. I did my best to follow and obey his every word, and that first morning we nearly got a deer from a small herd, but I was too impatient and spooked them. I was mortified, but he was patient.

“Do not worry, Red,” he said, his eyes grave. “Have you learned a lesson?” I nodded, my face still hot with shame.

The next morning, I helped flush a small herd toward him, and he speared a doe that ran past him. It kept going, even though wounded, so he also began teaching me how to track a wounded animal. Within in hour we found it, and killed it, and I felt a thrill just watching him finish the prey. I spent the day helping him to dress the carcass there at our campsite, and cooking some of it so we could enjoy the meat’s freshness. We would go home in the morning, but I had never felt so alive in my entire life as I did that day.

“They’ll be happy to see us at home,” he said. “This is a fine fat doe. And you,” he said, grinning, “are a fine young hunting companion.” I just nodded, beaming at him, my heart nearly bursting with pride. My blood sang, and I tingled to my fingers and toes.
I was something. For once I felt like I was something, like I actually mattered.

The next morning we set off back to the village, taking turns carrying the meat. He seemed surprised that I was strong enough to carry most of it for long stretches without complaint. When we finally reached the village near dusk there was the usual small celebration that came with Att’s return: his sister and her husband, the children, a few of the neighbors. We cooked more of the organs and meat, sucked the bones, and ate some garden vegetables and a little bread, along with the beer Att’s sister made for such occasions. The chief also stopped by to take Att aside for a few minutes, speaking privately of the affairs of men with him, and taking the usual haunch for his own family. Att and the chief apparently had an understanding. They both glanced at me a few times as they talked, their voices low and serious. Att shook his head a few times, which made me a bit worried, but I said nothing.

Then a dozen or so adults, with a scattered handful of children and old people, sat around the fire. We sang songs, then Att told the tales of our hunts, and of teaching me, while I sat silently, embarrassed. One of the neighbor women, still youngish for a matron, came over and struck up a conversation with me, telling me how she used to hunt sometimes with her father, and how she still liked to travel as a porter with the men now and then, sometimes helping them to flush out game and such, now that her children were getting a bit older. She told me I was lucky to find such a friend in Att. In her eyes, I saw something I had not seen in a very long time in someone looking at me: respect. I chatted with her a bit awkwardly, not sure how to respond, and asked her about some of her adventures, eager to learn more about the hunting arts. Most of the tribes I had been with either rarely hunted and never thought me worth bringing along on such trips, or never brought women along at all.

As we talked, I watched Att from a distance as he played with his children, drank his sister’s beer, and chatted amiably with others. I noticed a young girl, perhaps 15, hovering around him and flirting. He had mentioned a neighbor girl whose parents were after him as a mate for her. She was cute, buxom in her young sexuality, and she caught his eye a few times. He smiled and joked with her, while her parents watched quietly. He was over 10 years her senior, but still young and strong, and a proven father and provider. I felt a tiny twinge of pointless jealousy, but a much deeper feeling of happiness. I could think of nothing better than a beautiful young wife for this fine man.

Before things became too quiet, while others were still enjoying themselves, I left and retired to the goat shed I had been sleeping in since first arriving in the village. Att was still playing with his children, and I wanted to be gone before one of the young men came looking for me. As I stretched out on my stomach, shooing the animals away, I lay for a while with a wistful smile on my face, then snuggled with the warm straw and my even warmer memories. Att had promised to bring me with him again some time, and I lingered upon the glory that was that week spent learning with him. I had never felt more alive, and just remembering it all felt almost as wonderful as living through it.

Such a gift this man had given me. I pondered how I would use it, find time to practice what he had taught me, and watch for other chances to learn. I planned how I might make my own spear tomorrow, even if I knew others might laugh at me.

I heard a rustle at the gate, and with a resigned sigh I realized one of the young men had probably decided to come after me for the night. I was still village property after all, and had my role to play. But I kept still, hoping perhaps he would think I was not there.

“Hey Red, you in there?” a man’s voice called quietly, and my heart leapt. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the gate of the pen. He was relaxed and a bit drunk from beer and exhaustion, his shirt hanging half-open. The full moon bathed his face in a soft glow as he squinted at me. Tousled and smelling of beer and sweat and cooked meat, he seemed more glorious there in that moonlight than ever. I felt an urge almost to worship him.

“What, you tired already?” he asked, his voice slurring a little. I shook my head, though my mouth seemed locked. I did not want him to leave, but I could not think of what to say. “You hunt good,” he said. “I think I’ll take you with us next time we form a party. The Chief’s after me to take a group again soon, says the spring planting’s done and people are getting tired of just bread and nuts for now. I don’t think the guys will mind if you tag along. You can be a porter, and learn a bit with the other boys.” He grinned at me, and I grinned back. “Guess I should call you Utha, huh?”

“You may call me whatever you like,” I said. “Utha was what my last clan named me.”

“Huh. No family at all with them, huh?” I shook my head. “No father or mother or anyone else?” I shook my head. “No family here wants take you in either, eh?”

“Young women don’t usually want me around their men,” I said. “I would be happy to help a family that would let me stay with them, and would never try to take the man, but…” my voice trailed off.

He looked at me, sharply. “You wouldn’t, huh?”

“No, no, a few times families have taken me in and I have always respected the boundaries expected of me. Always.” I said it firmly. “If a family were to take me in, I would know my place,” I said, hoping he would catch my hint. He scratched at his beard and just kept staring at me. “I work with all the families now a little though,” I said, a little embarrassed. “I take care of the goat pen for the chief’s family and help everyone else when I can. I like hunting!” I said, changing the subject. “A whole lot, and if that can make me more valuable, that would make me very happy,”

He smirked. “You try to please everybody, huh?” he asked.

My throat caught a little, and he noticed. “I want only to fit in, not make trouble. I want to be valuable to everyone.”

He grunted. “You’ll never be valued by everyone,” he said, cryptically. “But my sister says the kids around here all like you, even my brats.”

“I like almost all the children here, and your sister is very good with yours.”

He grunted again. “You always have something good to say about everyone, don’t you?” he said, staring at me. I was not sure how to respond, but he yawned and stretched his broad shoulders. “We’ll probably get a group party going out in a few days, they’ve all been waiting for me to get back and the chief’s getting impatient with me again,” he said, rambling a bit and repeating himself. I nodded eagerly. “Well you go on and sleep well with your goats.” He stared at me, expressionless, for several moments longer, and I began to shift uncomfortably, uncertain how to respond to his dismissal. I moved back toward the wooden shed and straw bedding I normally slept in.

When I looked back, I could see his broad shoulders and strong arms moving as he walked away. I lay down to sleep, planning to enjoy dreaming of the hunt–and a bit of him. I thought of the young girl who had been flirting with him that evening around the fire, and smiled again. I hoped that she got what she wanted and that the next few years would be good to watch.

The next morning I awoke before dawn, as the chief’s youngest son took the goats out to graze. As I shook off my sleep, I was still glowing from my recent adventure, and my blood sang with the hope for another like it. While I had been away, however, the village children had tended the pen only halfheartedly, so I had some mending and cleaning to do before going off to see if I could beg some breakfast from the Chief’s wife. I imagined she might be more generous this morning, since I had contributed to Att’s recent hunt.

“Good morning, Utha,” a young man’s voice called, with a mocking tone. My heart sank a little and my shoulders dropped a bit, resigned. It was the chief’s nephew Ghraniz again. He really should have been married by now, but his parents had not chosen a proper mate for him yet, and so he sometimes liked to visit me when he was feeling frisky. As usual, he had his two younger cousins with him.
This was nothing new, but it was a bit disappointing, after the last week, to find myself back in these whelps’ company.

I nodded, gave him a halfhearted smile, and said, “Well, let’s get to it, then.” He followed me as I moved toward the rain shelter next to the shed. “I’d like to find some breakfast soon. Could you help find me some?” I asked, putting a little wheedle in my voice.

He smirked. “Maybe,” he said. I thanked him as he pulled open my blouse. He started fondling me, and I hiked up my skirt a bit for him as his cousins watched. I closed my eyes. I didn’t mind this sort of thing, but I was not really in the mood. I tried to disconnect my mind as he pawed at me eagerly. This would not take long, anyway.

Suddenly he yelped, and I felt him pull away from me. Snapping my eyes open, I saw him standing on the balls of his feet, waving his arms.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t do anything!” he yelled.

Att was holding him by his hair, right in the middle of the pen, practically lifting him off the ground. But Att was staring at me.

“What in blazes are you doing?” he roared.

Stunned and frightened, I shrank back and closed my blouse, unsure what to say. Was it not obvious?

“No fair, I got here first!” yelled Ghraniz, sparing me from answering. “I’ll tell Wulthuz!”

Att turned his head, forcing the boy’s eyes toward his. “Bah!” he yelled. Then he practically threw the young man to the ground. He turned to me, his eyes seething. I had never seen him like this, and was genuinely frightened. I thought he might beat me. But then he calmed slightly, and his voice lowered slightly, but sounded dangerous. “What in blazes have you been doing, Utha?”

Frightened, I noticed Ghraniz staring angrily at me over Att’s shoulder. He was the chief’s nephew, and I could not afford to have him angry with me. Thinking quickly, I said, “Please, Att, he hasn’t done anything wrong, he’s a good man. If I’ve done something to make you angry, it’s not his fault. He was just maybe going to help me find some breakfast.”

From the middle of the pen, Ghraniz said, “Yeah, breakfast!”

“Was just going to….!” He stopped, and looked around. Then he looked at me again. His eyes were cold, expressionless. “You sleep in the goat pen,” he said, his voice expressionless. “You keep it clean, you beg for work and food, and you bend over on command. That’s your life,” he said. “You have no one and are nothing.” He said it flatly, but his eyes looked angry. I noticed we were attracting the attention of the other villagers, and that he was loudly saying things that everyone knew.

“Att,” I said. My heart was racing wildly because I could not think what to say to placate him. Stepping toward him awkwardly, I said, “if you want me this morning first….”

He pushed me away, and I had to stop myself from falling. “You are very stupid, do you know that?” He said it very loudly. Then he whirled around. “Get the hell out of here!” he yelled to the young men, who all scrambled as he stomped away. As I watched his back leaving, I noticed that more villagers were staring, watching from a distance. Att never acted like this.

“What did you do Utha?” called one of the women who had gathered to watch the scene.

“I told you she was crazy,” I heard one of the older men tell her.

Ashamed of the attention, unsure what to do, I scrambled back into the shed and hid in the straw. My mouth tasted of ashes. I did not want to be turned out, but I began to think I understood. Att’s unexpected interest in me, taking me away from the village for a week with no explanation, his conversations with the chief…

Likely I was an unwitting party to some game Att and others were playing, some power struggle involving the Chief or some such. I was to be scapegoated, the public spectacle giving them some pretense. I wondered vaguely what woman was involved, since one usually was. Perhaps that one who had spoken to me the night before? None of this was really new to me; I had been used in such ways before. I was just angry with myself for not watching more carefully, seeing whatever it was before it came. Grimly, I began making plans. At least this time I would be turned out with something more, with skills I had been foolish not to begin learning sooner.

I wiped my eyes, pressed down my emotions, and smiled grimly. Yes. I had faced worse, and now I had learned new, useful things, including useful things about myself. Perhaps before I was gone I could think of a thing or two to hurt their plans, whatever they were. Who all were involved, what woman was behind this? Men were not usually so clever on their own unless…

“Utha,” Att called loudly again from outside, startling my reverie.

I stood up, straightened my shoulders, and poked my head out. I kept my face passive, for I would display no sign of fear or guilt.

“Gather your things. All of them. And come out here.”

I did as ordered, keeping my face impassive. I was a bit surprised to notice the chief, his woman, and a few of the other elders of the clan there, but was relieved that they did not look ready to beat me. I resolved to say nothing and merely calculate until I could find my best advantage–whether to say something, to run, or to quietly do as ordered. I kept my emotions at bay. Remembering everything he and that neighbor woman had said, I knew now I had missed something I should not have, but would watch for what I could say or do to at least rob them of some small piece of their spoils.

As I walked out the gate he grabbed me a bit roughly by the arm, and savaged my mouth with a kiss. Still holding my arm, he turned to the chief’s woman, and said, “Do you have any objections?”

She looked a bit dubious, but said, “It’s your choice, Att.” Att then looked to the chief, who gave him a perplexed but resigned shrug.

Then Att turned and said, “Anyone else object?” No one said anything, and most turned back to their tasks.

He then marched me through the center of town, his hand holding my upper arm, as I stared at the ground in frustration. Apparently I was not even to be told what was happening, or why. We stopped, suddenly, and I was surprised to find we were in front of his hut.

He relinquished my arm and said, “Go on inside.” His voice was much quieter, and I began to get nervous. I considered running, but thought the better of it. No point in being chased down in broad daylight.

I had never been in his hut before. It was one of the smaller but nicer ones in the village, with a fresh thatched roof, and a few wooden walls with skins sealing off three rooms. A fire pit with a small stone chimney and a few nice pots stood in one corner, and there was a wood table in the center with a few utensils on it.

He turned me to face him. “Never had a family?” he asked.

Numbly, I said, “No, though I’ve lived with a few…” My voice trialed off, as my mind recalculated. “I can cook for you, I’d be honored to help you…”

“You want a family?” he said, gruffly.

“What?”

“I want you to be my woman,” he said, flatly. “If you’ll have me.”

My mind reeled, and my knees went weak. This was wrong. Some few men had made this mistake a few times in the past before learning I was…. But this man… I could not think. As my head went light he caught me, and sat me at his table. My mind replayed everything that had happened this morning, and I felt as if this could not be real.

“Att,” I started. “Att, I can’t give you…”

“I don’t care. I have children, and I’ve lost one woman enough that way anyway.” He paused. “I’ve also got my sister’s kids. But you can help me with mine, since they like you.”

“But Att, that girl, she’d be better for you.” I said, my head still spinning, almost not hearing myself speak. “If you take her, I can help you…”

“I don’t want her. I want you. I like to hunt, like to be away, and most women don’t understand that. But a huntress-wife will do me just fine,” he said. “Though sometimes you can stay here with my kids if you want.”

I just stared at him, uncomprehending. This had never, no man had ever… but he stood up and pulled aside the cloth to one of the rooms.

“The children, they sleep here. They’ll join us tomorrow night. You and I,” he said, pointing to another of the hut’s divisions, “We sleep in there.” Then he walked to the fire pit, turned toward me, and pointed to it with his open hand.

“This is yours now,” he said.

In his clan the woman owned the family fire pit. A lump grew in my throat, and I had difficulty breathing. I tried to stand, but faltered. My hands started shaking.

He smiled softly, and came back to sit next to me. “In our tribe, when a woman becomes a man’s wife,” he said, stretching out a hand to touch one curl that drifted over my left brow, “she braids her hair, so the other men will all know to leave her alone, and the other women will respect her territory.” As his finger trailed gently down my cheek, I could only nod in acknowledgment. I knew this.

“Utha, will you braid your hair for me?” he asked, softly.

My heart leapt like a small rabbit caught in a trap. Fear bound me, as it had kept me for so many centuries. As I tipped my head down, I pushed at my mental bonds and slowly wrapped my fingers into my thick, auburn hair. The strands were tangled, and my hands began to tremble, making things worse.

Att’s hand cupped my chin, gently forcing me to look once more into his eyes of flint. In that instant I wrapped my arms tightly about him, mirroring the prison of my own heart. I could smell the earth in his skin, the fires of his people in his hair, and I could feel the softness of his children in his hands that ran down my back.

“Att, you don’t know what you are doing, please, you can’t do this,” my entire body shuddered as I whispered so softly I could barely hear my own voice, “You don’t know…”

“I do know, and I just did.” His voice rumbled in his chest like the thunder of a distant storm. Slowly we stood; me clinging to him as though I were hanging off the edge of a cliff. Firmly but tenderly, Att spun me so my back was to him. “Let me help,” he said.

From the table he took a comb of shell, and pulled it through my hair with infinite patience. I stood as each knot was replaced with smooth strands that crackled with electricity. My hair fell to the middle of my back and as the comb reached the bottom of that first stubborn lock, my body shook once more, but no longer with fear. Within my mind the bonds that had held me for so long shattered. A part of me screamed that I should stop this, but I ignored it. With a grateful sigh I heard myself mouth the words, “Thank you,” but I wasn’t sure I made a sound. Att’s lips brushed across my hair until they touched the edge of my ear, and a thrill of electricity ran through my body. Then he gently cupped my breast and squeezed before returning his attention to my hair.

Time stood still for me as Att divided my hair and plaited it. I’m sure I never once took a breath. With each and every curl tamed by the ritual, my heart became calmer but my soul steadily more aroused, until I could no longer stay where I was. Turning, I slipped my arms around his body and lifted my lips to his. My face, my teeth, my tongue tingled. The first kiss was harsh; of anger, desire, hunger and need. Then the second; more subtle as our lips brushed lightly, like explorers taking that first hesitant step onto a new land. I felt as if I were floating.

“You are mine,” he said. This was both a proclamation and an order. His hands undressed me, with deliberation. As each piece of clothing fell to the ground, his hands stroked each curve. When I was completely naked, I felt a blush course through me and felt a tiny particle of panic threatening to rise up– but why? Naked I had been many times, but I felt truly vulnerable with him. Yet before I could say or do anything, Att took my hands into his. It was clear I was to do for him what he had done for me.

I began with his shirt, untying the leather laces and opening the shirt. Once my fingers got in their own way, but he caught them up and kissed each fingertip and set my hands back to their task.

“Say it,” he urged and I stared up into his eyes. At first I didn’t understand, but then, I spoke.

“You are… mine,” I whispered. It was as though lightning struck, and there was nothing in the universe but he and me. Together we embraced, desire suffusing both of us. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, but then, I didn’t want to. Att could breathe for me.

The bed was beneath our bodies before I even realized it, but suddenly, I pushed him off of me and back against the soft straw. He looked surprised, but I needed to touch him, to explore–and, quietly, he let me. I’d never done this before, taking to my own curiosity with such abandon. My fingernails tickled the softness in his elbows and behind his knees. I playfully nipped at him, luxuriating in tasting his saltiness. When, at last, our bodies came together, the Earth was swept into swirling madness and time stood still as we became one. I closed my eyes, and shrieked my pleasure to the skies.

For the first time in my life, I felt I was truly alive.

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Methuselah’s Daughter, A Novel

Posted on June 13th, 2007 by Zsallia
Filed under: The Novel