pack.
The ritual of kissing the whip can be a lovely ritual. In it, one acknowledges one’s submission, one’s subjection to the mastery. It can be very beautiful. The whip itself, of course, is a symbol of the mastery. As the whip, however, had been so rudely put to my lips I had no difficulty in gathering that my supposition that a master might care for a slave had borne little resemblance to reality. Indeed, that action had been more an expression of annoyance, or contempt, an indication that a master might disapprove of, and fail to tolerate, an unwarranted presumptuousness on the part of a property, a mere beast.
I should have known better.
“Do you think a slave is to be cared for?” he asked.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said.
“A slave,” he said, “is to be dominated, mastered, used, worked, and put to one’s pleasure, until she weeps and screams with need.”
“Yes, Master,” I said.
“You should be whipped,” he said.
“Lash me then,” I said, “that I may the better know myself yours.”
“I have said things I did not wish to say, but had to say,” he said. “I have spoken truths which have alarmed and shamed me. I have acknowledged a mighty wanting of you, fierce as the tides of Thassa, and as irresistible and inalterable, that I have fought to free myself from this inexplicable, terrible wanting, and have failed to do so. My intentions vanished like smoke, my resolve collapsed. I must have you. I would not rest until you were mine. I must own you. And you, stupid Earth slut, dare to speak of caring? Rather, tremble, and speak of owning, mastering, and possessing, yes, possessing, as any object, article, or animal may be possessed. For that is what you are, and only that, an object, article, and animal, and that is what you will be, that, and only that, in my collar! Yes, you are desired, you are wanted, but you are desired, and wanted, as what you are, a slave, a worthless, meaningless slave!”
“Yes, Master,” I said. I saw that he would be my master. But what slave would want it otherwise?
“Do you wish to be a free woman?” he asked.
“No, Master,” I said. “I am a slave. It is what I want to be.”
“That is unfortunate,” he said. “If you wished to be a free woman, it would be pleasant to keep you as the most abject of slaves.”
“I think, Master,” I said, “that such a woman would soon beg to be kept as your slave, and fear only that you might sell her.”
“It is interesting,” he said, “the effect of a collar on a woman.”
“We belong in it,” I said.
“I hate you,” he said.
“I will try to please you,” I said.
“I will own you as few slaves have been owned,” he said.
“And it is thus that I would be owned,” I said.
“I have waited long,” he said, “that you would be mine.”
“And I,” I said, “that I would be yours.”
“We shall trek,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
He turned about, and suddenly stiffened. His head was up. I looked, too. He shaded his eyes. I did not see it immediately. Then I saw it. It was a dot in the sky, in the distance. “Into the brush,” he said, curtly. I rose to my feet, and hurried into the brush to the side, from which, earlier, Master Axel had emerged. My master seized up his pack, and, in a moment, had joined me. We crouched down.
“He is probably back scouting,” he said, “looking for stragglers, deserters.”
“Perhaps only to see if the ship is followed?” I said.
“Remain motionless,” he said.
I regretted that my tunic was white. How much better would have been the skins of Panther Women which would have blended with the background, the branches, the shadows, and foliage.
He removed his dagger from its sheath, and held it, lightly, by the tip of the blade.
“Do not move,” he said.
I had seen men playing near the dock, hurling knives into an upright plank or post. A tiny circle is drawn on the target, and the winner is he whose blade comes closest to the center of that circle.
Some Ihn later we saw the shadow of the giant saddlebird pass.
“He is gone,” I said.
“No,” he said.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Upriver, circling Shipcamp, the ruins of the dock, of the stockade, who knows.”
“Would it not be best for us to be on our way?” I said.
“Not yet,” he said.
“He is on tarnback,” I said. “He could not follow us