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The Seduction of Seleste

from the world of the mating season

Hated Matwau

Chapter 15

The ship was torn to pieces in the storm. What was left of it now floated in pieces along the quiet surface of the sea, and what was left of the crew floated likewise.

Clinging fast to a piece of driftwood, Keme shivered in his fur. He was drenched, he was aching, he was cold, and he was so tired. He could feel his feet kicking languidly in the water. The occasional curious fish would brush him and he would fall still again for fear he was attracting predators from the deep.

They had been drifting like this for days. The sea was flat and smooth now. In the distance, he could see land taking shape, the tops of trees, cliffs. Thank the gods.

They had fought the storm for hours, and for hours, the storm won. The captain finally gave up, shouting for those who remained to take to the dories. Everyone did as he ordered, running to the little boats that were fastened to the sides of the ship. When it looked as if the captain wasn't coming, Honiahaka stayed behind to argue with the male. The captain was determined to go down with his ship, and when Honiahaka's orders that he went with them went ignored, the argument escalated into a physical fight.

Waiting in the dory, Keme watched in blank surprise as the captain punched Honiahaka. The captain was by no means a big male - he was even shorter than Keme, who was of average height. And what was more, all the sailors and warriors seemed to idolize Honiahaka with something bordering worship. But the captain was adamant. He was staying with his ship - even if it meant knocking his chief on his ass to do so.

Kota looked ready to kill the captain. Honiahaka calmed Kota with words Keme could not hear over the roar of the wind. The chief then straightened up, but rather than scowl or hit the captain back, he seemed to respect his decision to stay behind. Honiahaka nodded solemnly and shook the captain's paw. Then the chief and Kota turned for the dory.

They managed to escape the ship as it was falling to pieces, the three of them along with a few warriors and sailors. Their dories were forced their separate ways as the storm roared on. What became of the other dories, Keme could not guess.

Keme had been in a dory with Honiahaka, Kota, and two male warriors. The storm blew their dory to pieces within the hour. The two warriors drowned. Kota almost drowned as well, but Honiahaka pulled him onto a large plank of wood and pumped the water from his lungs.

Now, the two of them huddled on the wooden plank, floating along not far from Keme as he clung to his driftwood. As the dismal days grew longer and hotter, Keme listened wretchedly to the loving whispers that passed between them.

Honiahaka knelt on the wooden plank, Kota's head in his lap, as he stroked his mane and whispered to him in a small sob of a voice.

"This is all my fault," Honiahaka whispered miserably. "If I hadn't dragged you out here on this crazy rescue mission --"

"Shh . . . no, baby, it's not . . ."Kota choked weakly.

"P-Please," Honiahaka whispered brokenly. "Don't die. I don't know how I'll live without you --"

"Got . . . used to me . . . did you?" Kota managed with difficulty.

Honiahaka smiled through his tears. "I'm serious, Kota. Just hold on -- Don't go!"

But Kota did go. When Keme and Honiahaka finally reached the shore, the first thing they did was set out to bury the dead. Those sailors and warriors who washed up with them were buried side by side in a mass grave that Keme and Honiahaka dug out with their paws. It was tiring work and difficult and it took many hours, but it served to take their minds from thoughts of hopelessness and despair.

When the grave was filled and the dead lay at rest beneath the earth, Keme retreated some distance to let Honiahaka say his last goodbyes. As the chief of the sun village knelt over the grave silently weeping, Keme found a good spot on the edge of the nearby forest and built a fire. With the sharp edges of whatever rocks he could collect, he set to work sharpening a long stick, and by the time twilight had fallen in soft purple hues across the sky, Keme was spearing the little fish that flitted in the shallows of the ocean. He studied the nearby forest as he worked. The trees there were huge. And red. And had a smell he did not recognize, a smell he had never known.

When Keme returned to the fire, Chief Honiahaka was seated before the flames, his pale eyes staring blankly at the horizon. Keme pitied him. He couldn't imagine what it was like to lose so many loved ones in such close succession. First Honiahaka's mother had been poisoned, now his lover had died, not to mention the many warriors and sailors who had served under him for so many years. Keme could only guess that Kota had swallowed too much seawater, which in turn made him feverish and sick. Aiyana had always warned Keme against drinking seawater. Now he knew why.

Keme fashioned a spit from his collection of sticks and began to cook his catch over the fire. They were silent as night fell around them, as the warm song of chirruping insects began. Keme closed his eyes a moment as the wind ruffled his long mane. It was almost like being back in the jungle. How many long quiet nights had he spent around a fire just like this, listening to the earth's song as he sat happily at Aiyana's side? Such silences had been the best moments of his life. It was in those moments of silent repose when he had always felt closest to Aiyana.

The fish cooked until crisp, and Keme sat at the chief's side and offered him a flat rock with a bit of the meat on it. Honiahaka, still blind with grief, took the meat and fumbled to eat it with his paws. He paused to stare when Keme crammed the meat in his face, and Keme knew he was longing for eating utensils.

"Not used to forks, are you?" Honiahaka said at last.

"No, your chiefly-ship," answered Keme playfully. "And I guess I never will be."

Honiahaka seemed unable to eat. He set his food aside and just stared at the fire. Keme understood: he didn't eat for many days when Aiyana passed. He watched the chief nervously and hoped the big male would be fit enough to travel soon: grief or not, they could not afford to stay in one place for very long while traveling through unknown territory. To do such a thing would increase the risk of being captured by hostile tribes.

"Tell me, young warrior," Honiahaka said and his pale eyes did not shift from the fire, "why did you go to such lengths for our friends? You can't have known Seleste and Talisa as long as I." He glanced curiously at Keme as he said, "By the looks of you, you can't have known anyone very long."

Keme's face darkened. Was it that obvious that he'd never had a tribe? He scratched his nuts without hesitating, and realizing what he had done, he suddenly knew it was more than obvious. He ate the rest of his fish, feeling awkward as the chief studied him in amazement.

"I almost want to say you were raised in the wild, perhaps the offspring of a loner," Honiahaka wondered aloud. "But how can it be? You must belong to Zaldon's family, and yet they aren't wild wolves in the slightest."

Keme sighed. He did not feel like explaining. But glancing at the chief, he knew it was unthinkable to expect the male to be left in the dark. He had only just discovered Keme as a stowaway on his ship: he was going to want answers.

"You're right," Keme said around a mouthful of fish, "I wasn't raised with Zaldon's family. I grew up in the jungle, though according to them, I'm one of the breed."

"Ah," said the chief and nodded. "A long lost child of the family. There should be many of those knowing Kilyan."

Keme shoved more meat in his mouth and frowned. Kilyan. There was that name again! He'd been told that Kilyan was his father and that the male resided in the summer village. When he learned this, he had suddenly understood why Aiyana had been so adamant that he go to the summer village should anything happen to her. It had angered him to know she hadn't told him the truth. Why hide such a thing from him? His father was alive and he could have gone to him - yet Aiyana had said nothing! But as he sat for days in the storage room aboard the chief's ship, Keme was soon to realize that Aiyana had hidden the whereabouts of his family because she was afraid he would leave her. But he could never leave her. Hadn't she known that?

"It still doesn't explain," continued the chief, "why you went to such lengths for Seleste and Talisa. Who are they to you? Is Talisa your lover? And Seleste couldn't be your lover, could she? Or, god forbid, are both of them your lovers?"

Keme suddenly felt very uncomfortable. Given the chief's increasingly suspicious tone, it was dawning on him for the first time that the male was good friends with not only Talisa but Seleste as well. He glowered at the fire: the reason Seleste had pointedly avoided sleeping at the chief's hut had suddenly become crystal clear.

Keme didn't answer. The sharp rocks he had used to fashion fishing spears were still gathered near his feet. His fish consumed, he fumbled to move the rocks and was startled when Honiahaka grabbed one and pressed the sharp point to his throat. Keme went rigid. What in god's name --!

"Answer me," Honiahaka said through clenched fangs. He pressed the sharp point of the rock hard. "Or so help me, I will spill your blood this day!"

Keme grabbed the bigger male's wrist and twisted it away. Honiahaka cried out in anguish as the sharp rock flew from his paw. In seconds, they were rolling across the ground, struggling against each other, snarling and growling. With his incredible strength, it was only seconds before Keme had succeeded in pinning Honiahaka on his back. He held the bigger male's wrists to the ground above his head, and as they glared at each other, their rippling bellies were pressed close. They lay hip to hip, and Keme was amazed when he noticed the color rising in the chief's cheeks. Alarmed and confused, they scrambled apart, and they sat around the fire a long time before either of them spoke.

"But . . . you like males," Keme said at last. "Why should you care if I'm with Talisa or Seleste?"

"Are you with them?" Honiahaka asked sharply. He glared at Keme, and the way his chest heaved, Keme could swear Seleste and Talisa were his wives!

"You just tried to slit my throat, so I get first dibs on questions," Keme returned.

Honiahaka's chest heaved again, this time in an attempt to regain some control. His flat icy eyes bore into the flames as he answered miserably, "I'm sorry. It's just . . . I've known Talisa and Seleste all my life. I knew Seleste when I was a boy, visited her village for several months with my father. I came to love her during that time, truly love her."

Keme went very still. God. Why wasn't he surprised? He, too, stared at the fire as he answered, "And Talisa?"

Honiahaka managed a small smile. "A very good friend," was the answer, "and part time lover."

Ah. So the chief was the reason Talisa had no lover. Apparently, fooling around with Honiahaka and Kota was more than enough.

"But do you love Talisa?" Keme pressed.

"She is my friend and has been for many years. Yes, I love her."

"But you're not in love with her."

"Are you?"

The question was asked so sharply that Keme's heart skipped a beat. He looked at the chief, and the way those pale eyes bore into him, he knew there was no doubt that Honiahaka not only loved Talisa but was fiercely protective of her as well.

"Talisa saved my life, and for that, she's my friend," Keme answered honestly. "I can't say I care for her the way you do, but I won't sit idly by while she's in danger either."

Honiahaka laughed humorlessly. "Talisa was always very adept when it came to gathering admirers like you. Though to be honest, she gathered as many enemies as she did friends or we both know we would not be here. The fool," he said fondly. "My father has long wanted that I should marry her and make her chieftess."

"And you haven't because . . .?" Keme's voice trailed away. He knew why. It was because of Seleste. Honiahaka wanted Seleste to be his chieftess. He set his teeth and didn't know why he was so angry. He didn't know what to feel. He cared about Seleste, certainly. But when he thought about it, did he really have any claim on her? It wasn't as if he was set to marry the princess just because he slept with her. And why should she want to marry him when she could have someone like Honiahaka?

Keme glanced miserably at the chief, who was gazing in deep meditation at the fire. Honiahaka was a towering male, handsome, elegant, strong, refined, duty and honor bound, dedicated. He was everything Seleste deserved and everything she probably wanted. Why should a princess like her settle for less? Studying Honiahaka, Keme felt foolish and rash. He had thrown himself after some female who already had someone more than capable of not only finding her but of loving her as well.

After all, Honiahaka was not confused in the slightest about his feelings: he knew exactly what he wanted from Seleste and how to get it. There was no straddling fences when it came to his feelings for the princess. Keme, in sharp contrast, was not only confused by his feelings but felt reluctant too. He felt guilty every time he thought of Aiyana, cold in her grave for what now? A mere month? Two? While he was falling for someone else already. He felt terrible and unworthy of anyone let alone Seleste. Sitting beside Honiahaka at the fire, he had to wonder what he thought he was doing.

"I was never in love with Talisa," Honiahaka answered. "I'm in love with Seleste." He looked at Keme. "Tell me you love them, and I will question your methods no more."

Keme looked up. Honiahaka was staring him down with this hard, unreadable warrior's eyes. "I care about them," he said gruffly and looked away. "Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose it will have to be for now," Honiahaka answered, but he continued to study Keme with his unflinching eyes.

Keme almost wanted to ask about Kota but he knew better than to prod at such a wound. He didn't know why he was so surprised that the chief should like both males and females anyway. Apparently, his grandfather was the same way. Kel lived with three mates in the sun village: his wife Aliona, his husband the court advisor Zaldon, and a retired warrior named Julyan. They lived together, took care of each other, and loved each other. Such practices were commonplace in the sun village, even in the chief's hut.

"We should get moving," Keme said eventually. He stood and kicked dirt on their fire. They had been in the same spot for an entire day. That was bad. For all they knew, some unseen wolves were watching and waiting for the time to strike.

Keme was glad when Honiahaka agreed. He rose and helped Keme put out the fire. Together, they entered the forest, and Keme couldn't stop looking around in amazement. The trees here were ruddy red and thick enough to house six of him. They towered against the black sky, wooden monoliths in the dark. The deeper the males traveled, the thicker the trees became, until Keme and Honiahaka found themselves squeezing between the massive trunks.

Honiahaka was such a large male that he became stuck between two trees and had to be pried out by Keme. Keme hauled him out by the arm, and he pulled so hard that Honiahaka fell on top of him. Awkward and embarrassed, they got quickly to their feet and were walking again when Honiahaka spoke.

"There are two more things I must ask."

Keme groaned. He hoped to god Honiahaka was not about to ask him if he liked males. While he had to admit that he felt himself stir anytime Honiahaka was on top of him, he was just too tired for that sort of conversation.

"The first question," said Honiahaka solemnly, "what is your name?"

Thinking of Seleste, Keme's ears flattened irritably. This again? "It's Keme. And the second question? Go on. The suspense is killing me."

"I wanted to know --"

Honiahaka halted: a tree came swinging down out of the darkness. The sweet musky smell of its soft moss filled Keme's nostrils as it lurched forward, dragging down leaves and vines, collapsing spider webs, and snapping the protruding branches of its fellow trees. It was one of the trees Honiahaka had gotten stuck between, and the action of having been pulled free by Keme's super strength had snapped the tree at its base. Its shadow loomed cold over Honiahaka, who did not have time to clear its path. Keme leapt forward as the tree was crashing down and caught it just before it had barely brushed Honiahaka's head. Grunting, he gave a heave and the tree swung the other way before crashing to the ground. The earth shuddered, and orange leaves spiraled down in a brilliant flurry.

Honiahaka blew a leaf off his nose. " -- how you do that."

Keme groaned again. His face darkened and he marched past Honiahaka without answering. Not right now. Didn't they have enough on their minds? He could hear Honiahaka crashing after him through the underbrush and wished he would quiet down. As if the tree hadn't made enough noise on its own - did they need Honiahaka further leading potential pursuers near?

"I am a sun wolf," Honiahaka declared, breathless as he sought to catch up, "and unlike other tribes, mine is well aware of the shemales who once lived in the jungles near our village --"

"So?" Keme snapped. Shemales? What the hell? Ugh. He didn't have time for this crap.

"They have been gone for more than a decade now," Honiahaka continued firmly, "wiped out by their enemies. But stories of them are still told around our fires. In ancient times, the sun wolves were at war with the shemales, drove them into the remotest reaches of the jungle, and there they stayed for hundreds of years, fierce warriors of incredible strength --"

"Is there a point to this history lesson?"

"The point is this," Honiahaka snarled, and startling Keme, he grabbed him by the arm and swung him around. "You're one of them, aren't you?" he said, his grip so tight it almost hurt.

Keme twisted free. "Do I look like I have a pussy to you?" he snapped.

Honiahaka shook his head. "You may not look the part, but you're a shemale. Your father loved one. Didn't they tell you the story?"

Keme blinked. No, they didn't explain anything to him. Kel had only told him the family had long thought he was dead and that his father was now living in the summer village. Kilyan. All Kel talked about was Kilyan.

Honiahaka blinked and Keme couldn't believe it when the big male's brows pressed together in concern. "So . . . you don't have a clue why you're like this?" he said sympathetically.

Keme shook his head. He looked gruffly away. He didn't know why Honiahaka should feel sorry for him. In fact, he hated it. He turned and stalked off again. After a short pause, he could hear Honiahaka following. The big male eventually caught up, and they were walking side by side when the chief spoke again.

"I'm sorry, Keme," he said. "It wasn't my place to say anything. I suppose Kel meant for Kilyan to explain those things."

Keme shrugged moodily. "S'okay."

They continued in silence. Every now and then, Honiahaka would glance sadly at Keme, and Keme was amazed to realize how much the chief sincerely regretted his own prodding. So Honiahaka wasn't just refined, fierce, and strong - but he was genuinely a nice guy too? The thought made him smile.

They passed beneath the canopy of orange leaves, and the deeper they went into the forest, the more miserable Keme became. After all, where the hell were they even going? And how could they hope to find Seleste and Talisa now? Keme had no idea which way the moon village might be, and glancing over at Chief Honiahaka, he knew the big male felt just as dismal and lost as he.

"You know, I had her blanket," Honiahaka said after a while. "It was still at Talisa's house. Took it so I could follow her scent once we reached land. The merchants should have taken her to the moon village, but just in case she escaped them, I wanted to be prepared."

Keme grunted miserably and said nothing.

"There were other scents on her blanket. One was yours," went on the chief.

Keme's ears pricked forward. He swallowed miserably.

"You had sex with her," Honiahaka said. "So I know you've grown close to her to some small degree."

Hearing the wretched tone in the chief's voice, Keme glanced at him guiltily. He suddenly felt as if he'd stolen someone else's girl. The chief was worried Seleste would not even want him should they find her. Such a thing amazed Keme.

"She must care for you as well," went on Honiahaka. "And why shouldn't she? One such as you . . ."

Keme's ears pricked forward. One such as he? Did the chief really think Keme was better than him? Before Keme could answer, the chief halted and held up his paw. His gray ears pricked forward and he listened hard. Keme listened too and his body stiffened: they were being watched.

Keme and Honiahaka looked at each other. They were alone and unarmed, the perfect prey.

They ran.

Having been raised by a pygmy - the lightest and fastest of the wolf races - Keme was naturally much faster than Honiahaka. He tried to keep the chief within arm's length as they darted through the close press of giant red trees, but the male was so big and lumbering that Keme often found himself slowing down to keep him in range. He gritted his teeth impatiently when Honiahaka became stuck between two trees yet again and was almost tempted to throw the lug over his shoulder and just bolt.

Whoever had been watching them was now in hot pursuit. Keme's heart leapt: he could hear the heavy thud of feet pelting after them, then the war cries, the screams . . . the laughter. Oh god. There must have been two dozen of them. He glanced at Honiahaka and saw the chief's hard face crease in anger. They both knew they were done for, but they kept running. Branches reached down to slap them, spider webs clung sticky to their fur, thorns cut them in the underbrush, but they pressed on for what seemed forever.

"Where . . . can we even . . . go?" panted Honiahaka.

They had been running for what? Twenty minutes? Forty? Keme couldn't believe it. Their pursuers were relentless! He suddenly realized their pursuers had no intention of capturing them: they were being herded like sheep toward a specific destination.

"They're . . . pushing us . . . somewhere," Keme panted miserably. He was so tired now that he had dropped back to Honiahaka's side.

Side by side, they scuttled over the massive corpse of a fallen tree and tumbled in the dirt on its other side. The earth here was red and orange leaves curled and crackled in the rusty grass. Having fallen hard on his ass, Keme looked up: they were so deep in the forest now that everything seemed to be bathed in a dreamy orange glow. The glow was coming from the rising sun, but the grass, the earth, the little berries growing on the trees - even the beehives - were as red as if they had been stained. Directly ahead, several massive trees stretched in twin rows either side an enormous dirt path. The trees reached over the path like stone arches, and small blood-red flowers draped from their branches.

Crowding the dirt path were bears. Tall bears, short bears, all huge and covered in soft mounds of fur. They ranged in all colors from dusky red to black to white. There were at least ten of them, all males. They stood holding spears, smiling darkly, laughing and exchanging mischievous glances.

Sitting in front of the great log he had only just clamored over with Honiahaka, Keme gulped. He heard the bears who had been in pursuit stop behind them and glanced at Honiahaka: they had been rounded up like bunny rabbits on the hunt.

Before them on the dirt path, a white bear stood in the lead. He came toward Keme and Honiahaka, a smirk on his round face. He held what looked like a flute in one big claw, a small sack in the other. His white fur had been traced with red dye, so that tattoos formed across it. Keme stared. He had only ever seen the like in the sun village, and even then it had only been the warriors who stained their fur.

The white bear swaggered to a taunting stop before his captives. Keme wanted to slap the smirk off his face. His anger must've showed, for the white bear laughed. Like all the bears with him, he was muscular and strong and his belly was a large sagging pouch that almost hid his pale pink penis from view. Almost. A long mane of white hair cloaked his erect ears and fell in two braids down his back. Feathers poked from behind his left ear.

"Good work, males," the white bear boomed. His voice was very deep and laden with mischief. "The hated Matwau will know our wrath!" So saying, he lifted the flute to his lips. Keme's eyes widened as he realized it wasn't a flute: a poisoned dart shot from the end and sank in his neck. He winced and cried out as the laughter of the bears boomed around him. He was seeing two of the white bear's grinning face as he sank over. The last thing he heard was Honiahaka's growls of rage. Then blackness took him, and he passed out.