Date: Sun, 22 Oct 2017 09:33:07 -0400
From: Orson Cadell <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 30

Please see original story
(www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens/) for warnings and
copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex
between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your
local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but
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*****

"Wellllllll," Bu drawled out, "since Pameten has his Bull Ox and Harcos has
his Puppy, I decided it was only right to name you for what you seem most
like. Kapik means 'monkey' in my tongue. So, will you be my little monkey?"
In more than mere confirmation, the monkey-boy climbed Bu like he'd done
the cliff to plant a huge kiss on the warrior's surprised face. The entire
camp roared with laughter.

*****

The Heathens 30: Panir & Persimmon

By Bear Pup

*****

The newly-named Kapik did come to me before the last light of the evening
faded and pulled me aside. He knelt in front of me and folded his
palms. "I, Yosef-known-as-P'yetury-now-Kapik, do swear upon His Sacred Word
that I will never disobey the men or servants of the As of Nemesis when
their seriousness is clear. To my Brother in Christ known to me only as
Kucuk, I add this oath: I will obey him in all things, great and small, and
claim the right to owe him my life. These solemn oaths I do swear upon my
immortal soul within and before the One True God." He crossed himself in
the Syriac style and looked at me.

I had again made a mistake. His childish antics along with the demeanour of
a ten-year-old had let me underestimate a brain that was quick, agile and
as mature as my own. His oath was subtle, powerful and
demonically-well-worded. If I accepted it, I gave explicit approval of his
life-debt to me, something I abhorred. If I rejected it, I released him
from an oath that would protect him and the rest of the As of Nemesis by
ensuring his good behaviour. Bugger!

I watched his eyes carefully as I considered. The slightest hint of
smugness would have condemned him. Instead, what I saw unsettled me. Kapik
was fiercely determined, but I could see in his eyes that he was using that
as a shield to hide a deep fear that I would reject this oath and, thereby,
reject him as well. I was torn, but suddenly heard from a distance the
voice of Strasta, the voice he used in my dreams and visions. "Your name is
to be Szentély, the sanctuary of souls. Do you think the One True God
would give you such a name if he meant it only for Harcos?"

I swallowed several times before I could make my voice work. Even then, it
shook and quivered. I saw awe in Kapik's face. "I, known to you as Kucuk
and known to the One True God... by a name of His choosing, accept your
oath." I pulled him upright and leant forward. "I share with you the kiss
of Brotherhood within the Arms of Christ." I kissed him deeply, with
incredible passion but no taint of lust, allowing him to flow into my
arms. I felt his tears upon my cheek and held the kiss until they flowed no
more.

He pulled back and his eyes flicked back and forth between my
own. "Y-Y-Y-You saw, Kucuk!" His voice was suffused with awe and mounting
fear. "It was in your eyes! What...? How...? Who ARE you, Kucuk!"

"Quiet my brother, Yosef. I am no one. I swear to you that I am nothing but
what you see. I serve the Risen Christ by serving Harcos, by serving the As
of Nemesis, by serving the Legion and by serving Rome. That is all that I
am, my brother."

Kapik's voice was soft, fear-infused and absolutely certain beyond any
doubt that he was speaking Truth. "No. You may think that; you may want
others to think that. But you are far more, my Brother. Say nothing else
now. Let us return to... serve our masters as Christ would ask." He went to
move past me then startled me with his own kiss, this one clearly dripping
with lust. He pulled back and said, "If nothing else, Kucuk, I know you
cannot be an Angel. You are far too sexy for that!" He smirked at my
poleaxed expression and chuckled as he walked back to the light of the fire
and into the waiting arms of Bu.

Shortly, we all retired. Kapik and Bu would have plenty of time to talk, as
they had first watch. As I settled into Harcos' chest-fur and nuzzled, he
petted my back and murmured, "What makes my Dasqas so thoughtful this
night?"

I sighed deeply and said, "I extracted the oath from that bastard boy --
that he'd mind us and not put himself in harm's way -- and the little shit
snuck in a part about owing me a life-debt. Why would he DO that? I didn't
ASK him to do that!"

"Yes, it can be very unfair and inconsiderate. Presumptuous, even." Harcos
had a... careful tone that could have been pious agreement or... no. It
couldn't be sly mockery; I was in the right on this one!

I turned to face him. "Exactly! Presumptuous. Now I have to worry about him
owing me this and owing me that. Hmph!"

"Yes. I recall one little brat that had the nerve to tell me that he would
see me as his *master* no less, and love me whether I consented or not."
Harcos had a nasty, smug little grin going. "Later, the obnoxious little
whelp had the gall to declare that he would serve me and no one else 'til
the end of his days and that if I ever even *said* I didn't want his
service, he'd die on the spot. Arrogant. Inconsiderate. Just unbelievably
selfish. Some people..."

I flushed hard enough to light the tent. "That is completely different! You
saved me from... I mean you taught... You were nice to..." I trailed off
and chewed the inside of my cheek as the grin on my master's face slowly
widened at each abortive attempt to explain a difference that did not, in
point of fact, exist. "I hate you sometimes. You know that, right?"

He tickled me until I squealed in laughter, and we snuggled close. The men
had decided on a single sentry in each of four watches and Harcos had drawn
an excellent lot that allowed us to sleep the full night. I awoke in the
twilight preceding dawn and drank my master's piss and cum with true
relish.

I was shocked speechless when I left the tent. The brutal heat of the
plains had been swept away by a cold autumn wind flowing down the valley of
the Bunushchai. I scurried back in and a sleepy and sated Harcos burrowed
deeper in the warm covers from the quick blast of air, and mumbled hints at
me on how to find a long, thick camp shirt.

Skink had drawn the last watch, so Grubo had the fire going strong and
water already boiling. We gossiped about trivia as the camp awoke. All but
Say'f and Ghamad were as surprised as I'd been at the cold. Apparently, the
brisk wind had arisen not long after Say'f had relieved Cat to start the
third watch. We breakfasted heavily, dressed in layers of fabrics, and set
out earlier than normal, as much to walk some warmth into our bodies as
anything else.

The day was a different kind of torment. The path along the fast-flowing
river was now entirely uphill with only a few breaks, with the penetrating
wind always straight into our faces. Once I was tethered to the cart, the
punishing climb brought me quickly into sweat and the desperate need to
divest myself of layers of clothing. The instant that I handed the cart to
Harcos, the wind cruelly exploited every fold in the fabrics, whipped away
my sweat and left me shivering no matter how much I bundled up. This seesaw
battle between the sweat of exertion and the chill of the mountain wind was
devastating.

Worse still, the pace was agonizingly-slow. The rapid undulations of the
land in the hills of the previous days at least gave a sense of
movement. This endless uphill slog with nothing but peaks that seemed to
get no nearer was torture. By midday, the Bunushchai turned toward the
flanks of the peaks to our left and got rough and riotous. We climbed a
ridge between it and the watershed of a river that Bu called the
Shulaveri. We sat and ate in the lee of the ridge-peak, looking forlornly
back along our path, almost able to see our starting point. The tor that
we'd rounded early in the march was the only thing that blocked a view of
the previous camp. It was depressing to be so dog-tired for so little
apparent gain.

The men took the carts then, apparently knowing what to expect. It was a
good thing. As soon as we topped the ridgeline, the brutal wind became a
maelstrom that nearly toppled me backwards. That single stadium of path
along that ridge was like walking through gauntlet of furious air. One
easily could see how the superstitious (before the advent of the One True
Christ) would believe the winds were gods or godlings intent on preventing
human passage.

The new valley was very different. The Shulaveri flowed at the very base of
mammoth hills and peaks. If we followed too closely, we were in the
mountainous shadows and at the complete mercy of the cruel winds; too far
away and the ground was broken, slowing us further. The lee of those cliffs
gave us our first uncomfortable glimpses of actual snow. Not fresh, but
sheltered in the shadowed crags. It was not a sight to inspire comfort.

As we rounded a wide bend in the river's path, the sun was well into the
western sky, Bu pointed out the final ridge we needed to climb. Where I
expected a pass or notch, it was more of an edge to a steeply-canted,
snow-covered slope. The land was like a tilted table, cracked and broken by
the fall of the mountain to our south. Bu said that, just the other side,
we would be in the valleys that would take us into his uncle's fast-held
lands and would thus be able to relax some. Harcos, Pam and Skink shared an
identical snort of derision that made Bu's lips pucker with displeasure,
but he didn't contradict them. "I said 'some'..." he sulked.

Between that vista and the turn we'd just made was a large and
obviously-cultivated grove of trees. We could make out the smoke of several
chimneys. "Bu," I asked tentatively through chattering teeth, "do you think
those families might make room for travellers?"

"Actually, they used to. This is not the most-travelled of the roads, but
it does see its share of small merchants and traders. Larger ones with
ox-carts and wagons go far to the north to avoid the climbs we've faced."
He looked around and smiled. "Why don't you and I take Kapik and see if his
obvious plight might win some sympathy... and a discount." Everyone but
Kapik chuckled. The icy squalls had not been kind to his emaciated
frame. Even with a number of layers, he was shaking hard enough that he
looked blurred. I goaded him into a run that helped, but left us both
winded.

A loud and extremely unhappy voice rang out and we screeched to a
halt. When Bu caught us up, he began the tentative and exhausting ritual of
finding a language that both he and the unseen person could come close to
comprehending. For the first time, the tongues were utterly alien to
me. Easily as different from my own as the Latin of the Legion, but as
different from each of those as dawn is to dusk.

The sudden cessation of our run sent Kapik into a fit of shivers and I made
quite the show of trying to warm the boy. That seemed to soften the gruff
voice far more than Bu's words. A large, well-wrapped man with a
bushel-basket emerged and beckoned us forward into the lee of a wall.

He was clearly displeased with the idea that there were not three of us,
but six times that number. However, he admitted that one family had been
devastated recently and the remnants had fled for warmer fields. We could
have the use of their house, currently occupied by goats -- sigh; why is it
always goats? -- for the night. Bu agreed to the price, then negotiated a
very generous (to the farmer) deal for pears and persimmons, as well as
nice piece of kid-goat they had intended to smoke that very night.

There had been a hard freeze, the first of the year, just a week before and
the persimmons were magnificent. The farmer handed one from his pocket to
the shivering Kapik, plucked the leaf from the top and gave the boy a small
spoon. It was clear Kapik had never tasted the treat and after the first
bite flung himself into the stranger's torso with a fierce hug that got a
hearty, delighted laugh from the older man.

Kapik had been right in one thing: he did have a way with goats that I
lacked (and never wanted anyways). The recently-de-goated house was a snug
fit for all of us, but delightfully tight-walled against the wind. Grubo
exclaimed in delight when he saw the persimmons and the kid-goat haunch and
set immediately to the creation of a dish that had most of the As rumbling
in anticipation; persimmons were not that common, and Grubo had some magic
with goat and persimmons that you had to taste to believe. Not to be
outdone, Furge and Billen built a pear tart with bulgur flour and honey for
a crust. Both dishes were divine, doubly-so after the harsh and
endless-seeming day.

Other than some giggling and a little slap-n-tickle, there was no real sex
play that night. We were all exhausted, and the warm closeness made it feel
like we were all a bunch of brothers in a giant bed. One man at a time
would guard the carts, sitting in the recessed doorway to avoid the worst
of the wind. A soft symphony of snores, snorts, farts and grumbles sent us
all to a beautiful night's rest. Harcos had drawn second watch and very
kindly forbade me from accompanying him. I was quickly snuggled between
Handart's sturdy bulk (and really intoxicating musk) and the smooth hip of
Billen on the other side. I didn't actually wake at all when a
partially-frozen Harcos burrowed his way into the pile two hours later.

In the morning, we graciously fed our hosts breakfast from our own stores,
a gesture that they were shocked and delighted to receive. We also bartered
for more of the fruit in exchange for some sharp tools, including the very
nice sickle that Pameten had taken from the men who attacked us out of
hunger, and a wicked saw that Sziklak said had come from an uprising
earlier in the year.

The climb that morning was the hardest we'd faced. The men pulled and the
boys pushed to keep the heavy carts from dragging our masters
backwards. The summit, for lack of a better term, was solid with icy snow
in the fierce and unrelenting gale. Once past that, however, the entire
nature of the area changed in an instant.

The eastern slopes and plains we'd been labouring through since Harcos
first brought me out of my sheltered home got just enough water not to be
deserts, and much of that was from mountain runoff headed toward the
Caspian Sea. The ridge we'd topped was the lowest point in a dividing line
of peaks that stripped moisture from the Black Sea wind before it could
reach those plains. Barren slopes vanished under a carpet of trees and
brush. The eastern faces of the hills and mountainside were dry, but those
facing south and west were thick with vegetation. Much of it was, of
course, brown now that winter was arriving, but it was still a welcome
relief.

The windbreak that the trees and shrubs gave us was a God-send as the trail
switch-backed sharply while it meandered toward a shelf that ran about
halfway up the hillsides. Perhaps an hour from the summit, we entered a
stretch that ran tightly against a tall, north-facing cliff. Fully in the
shadow, the wind gained tremendous speed and power against the sheer rock
wall and tore at our clothes. It took us nearly half an hour to regain the
sunlight. As we did so, a tall copse of trees on a small rise completely
blocked the wind, doubling the wondrous warmth of the sunlight.

We settled in the lee of the trees and built a fire for an early lunch. A
group of pack-merchants rounded the next bend in the path and stopped,
eying us warily. Bu greeted them in his mother tongue, apparently reading
the cues of their clothing and pack ornaments. They happily joined us and
added a rich, luscious cheese to the meal to everyone's delight. Bu
explained the wary hospitality of the orchard-keepers and lavished praise
on their persimmons. Since one of the pack-merchant's stock in trade was
wooden utensils, Bu thought the men might come to a profitable bargain when
they got to the groves. In return, the men gave us news of the trail ahead,
all of it good.

We left the traders to the cookfire and set out downhill. We boys were now
used primarily as the brakes on the wagons, an exhausting and frustrating
occupation. It was with an actual cheer that we greeted the end of the
long, sloped shelf as it joined the valley and ran alongside a fast and
beautiful mountain stream. A small hamlet of six or eight cottages on
either side of it surrounded a well-kept bridge . We paid a toothless and
smiling old crone a single silver piece for the entire group to cross and
also found the source of the merchant's wondrous cheese. The families of
the village kept sheep in the high hills and made cheese from their milk
and thick shawls and wraps from their wool.

Pameten, Bu and Harcos bought some of the woollen garments for Volot, Kapik
and me as we'd never needed warm clothing before. Ghamad was the star
here. He squinted and felt each piece of fabric. The crone's daughter got
involved as soon as it was obvious that he knew what he was really looking
at, and she brought out several pieces that had not been on display
before. One of them, the one Bu bought for Kapik, actually got a smile from
Ghamad, the first I'd seen in a very long time. It was a beautiful pattern
of greens and reds in a thick, tight and meticulous weave.

The one Harcos bought for me was a luscious, soft thing that was split so
it could be worn as a cape or shawl, falling to my knees all the way around
but not encumbering movement. It was the subtle grey/sand colour of the
rocks and hills and I was delighted with it. He smiled at me and I licked
my lips lecherously as I stared into his eyes, earning me a chuckle.

We made good time and camped that night where the valley closed in and
became a gorge, using a small side-gulley with a rushing stream as
shelter. The angle was such that the wind largely missed us, but snatched
the smoke about five man-heights above us and whipped it like froth before
whisking it away. The stream was barely above the temperature of ice, but
tasted like snowflakes on the tongue.

We made a meal of a salty-sour, earthy, firm sheep's-milk cheese with
thousands of tiny holes like eyes that we roasted crisp and scraped onto
bread. Bu beamed and explained that this was considered Armenia at its
essence, simple living and hard work fuelled by the cheese and bread of the
land itself. A traditional saying was,"Hahts u panir, gortst banir!" or
"Eat bread and cheese, and work!"

Even with the scoffing of the men, Bu's statement that the lands were safer
*felt* true. Even my usually-brooding master seemed relaxed. The cleft in
which we camped had a perfect sentry-perch a man's-height up the bluff-side
and the men decided to each take a single hour's watch.

The cold of the air and the warmth of my Harcos, my Aldus, led to a long
and delicious lovemaking that I heard echoed from nearly every other
tent. My master teased and tickled and tormented me until I literally bit
his lip to get him to finally consummate the night. Harcos had drawn last
watch and I had already woken him and taken his morning offering of
night-water and seed when Pameten came to rouse us. Without the bitter
wind, the cold was bracing and crisp, like a sudden bite of a tart apple or
a sip from an icy brook. I spent our guard-hour under my master's tunica,
very carefully washing Harcos with my lips and tongue to his utter
delight. All in all, from sundown to camp-break, it was... perhaps one of
the most-perfect nights I'd yet had in my life.

<eof>

Big thanks to Beta Readers Zach, Jack, and the amazing Jeff Moses, all of
whom have significantly improved this story, chapter after chapter.

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Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
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