Dark Journey [Ariel's Desire 2] (4 page)

The Indian shuffled his feet in the dirt.
 
“I’m sorry, Raining Thunder, but he does smell.”

Raining Thunder began laughing.
 
“He reeks.”
 
Mike wanted to die.
 
Either that or kill the punks.
 
The Indian pulled on the leash calling over his shoulder, “Warped Arrow, grab some soap and rags and meet us by the stream.”

“No problem, Drizzling Rumble.”
 
The young men had been given their warrior names at the beginning of the summer.
 
They’d purposely screwed them up as a joke.

The stream ran down the side of the village opposite the stables and into a shallow pond.
 
Mike’s anxious eyes followed the brook trying to see if it could possibly be the one that led to the caves and freedom.
 
He couldn’t tell.

Raining Thunder pulled him to a stop about twenty feet from the water in front of a pole sunk into the ground. A branch was lashed crosswise at chest height.
 
Two leather straps were attached to each end of the pole, ending with a toggle of wood.
 
Furrowed lines of confusion etched Mike’s forehead as he nervously tried to understand the contraption.

Raining Thunder pulled his dog close to the pole and held the loop to his choker collar in one strong hand as he threaded a toggle through each nipple ring. He looped the slack around the pole so Mike’s flesh was distended to the sides.
 
With his hands still attached to the ring, he was afforded no movement.

Three buckets of freezing water poured over his head and he sputtered. Hands with soapy rags began scrubbing.
 
They covered his head, burning his eyes with the harsh soap.
 
He’d closed his mouth and inhaled some of it up his nose and started coughing and choking, eyes squeezed shut and tearing while they laughed.

The hands scrubbed his back, ripping the scab from his branding, and continued across the tender pierced flesh of his stretched nipples.
 
They moved on to scrub his arms and wrists.
 
Someone began scrubbing his sunburned penis and he jerked back, almost tearing his nipple rings.
 
Other hands were torturing the welts on his ass.
 
His cheeks were spread and someone reached under his sack.
 
Eyes still closed from the burning soap, Mike felt a rough cloth scrape under his tortured balls.
 
His mind snapped and he screamed, “You sadistic little bastards!”
 
He opened his eyes, red and burning with soap, and kicked out at his tormentors.

Raining Thunder pulled the traces down his back and Mike shrieked in pain and anger.
 
“You little asshole,” clenching his useless hands into fists.
 
The chuckling of the Indian infuriated him further.
 
“You little bastard,” he screamed.
 
Mike tried to kick backward and the traces pulled tighter.
 
Buckets of water were thrown at him rinsing off the soap.
 
He continued to kick uselessly, still cursing them all.
 
He finally had to stop the assault when it felt like the rings would tear flesh.

Raining Thunder let the dog wear out its anger.
 
He walked up close behind him and whispered calmly, “Dog’s don’t speak, asshole.”
 
Out of the corner of his eye, Mike saw him reach for something in the pouch hanging at his side.

Mike saw what he’d retrieved and his eyes got huge.
 
He felt hands grab his collar by the traces in the back as he tried to shake his head.
 
Raining Thunder hooked a finger through the choker link and pulled.
 
Tanned sinewy muscles constricted in his arm as the chain tightened around Mike’s throat.
 
He finally opened his mouth wheezing a thin stream of air into his lungs.
 
Raining Thunder jammed the gag into his mouth.
 
It was a leather plug with two tiny strips of leather on the end.
 
Whoever was behind him, strapped it to his bald head.
How do I get out of this nightmare?
 
Oh, god, please.

Raining Thunder released the chain and Mike inhaled through nostrils still partially clogged with soap.
 
On his first swallow, the thin leather straps went down his throat, gagging his sob.
 
The young men laughed.
 
He hadn’t had anything but hard tack for lunch the day before, but Raining Thunder watched that he wouldn’t puke anyway.
 
He was responsible for the dog.

He was finally detached from the washing pole and spent the walk back to town trying to clear the tickling strips from his throat as he gagged.
 
His stomach was sore from spasmed clenching and he was too frightened to attack the young Indian holding the leash.

“I’ll catch up to you guys after lunch,” Raining Thunder called out.

He led Mike to one of the teepees.
 
An Indian woman was outside cooking over a small fire pit.
 
“Raining Thunder, you won the dog,” she said proudly.

Mike wanted to knock his even white teeth out of his head when he smiled. “Yes, Mother.”
 
This would be Raining Thunder’s last year under his father’s roof.
 
After proving he could provide for himself and Misting Waters, they could be joined and build their own lodging.
 
Winning the running contest to train the dog was one of the few honors he could earn at his age.

The woman glanced at the dog.
 
Its eyes were red with irritation and bruises were already forming around its nipples.
 
The sunburned penis looked raw in its flaccid defeat.
 
She’d been concerned her son’s kind nature would prevent him from exercising the correction necessary for the soul’s first journey.
 
The evidence marked on the dog’s body eased her worry and she decided her son understood his responsibility.
 
“We’ll have him well trained in the week you have him before returning him to Wind Seeker,” she promised.

A week? I have to put up with this sadistic asshole for a week?
 
Mike’s sobbing groan was muffled by the gag.

The woman scooped out some stew and into a bowl for her son.
 
“Not too much for the dog.
 
We don’t need him choking later.”
 
She eyed Mike, walked over and pinched his stomach.
 
“He’s soft.
 
I heard flatlanders were.”
 
The coldness of her expression scared him.
 
It was obvious she would step in with her own methods of
training
rather than risk seeing her son fail.

“It’s not my task to make him strong.
 
You know they wait until later to build endurance and muscle.”
 
Raining Thunder sat, snapped and pointed.

Mike glared through his tears as he knelt.
 
The Indian untied the gag and shoved it back in his pouch.
 
Mike glanced at his mother who continued her cold stare.
 
He didn’t dare speak.
 
For some reason, she made him more nervous than Raining Thunder and at this point he was starving.
 
She scooped some water in a bowl and set it on the ground in front of him.
 
Filled with hate, Mike leaned to the dirt for his food, lapped at the water and followed the boy on his ‘walk’ to take a piss.

They headed into the grass and stopped.
 
Mike stood as Raining Thunder relieved himself.
 
After he finished, he watched the dog.
 
The Indian took the end of the leash and slapped it against Mike’s sore cock.
 
“Piss, stupid.”

Over the course of the week, the Indian had him walking two steps behind him, the thought of kicking the bastard in the ass never far from his thoughts. He dropped to his knees on a snap, didn’t utter a sound for fear of the gag and looked at the ground whenever they weren’t moving.

The day came to be returned to Wind Seeker and Mike decided nothing could be worse than the humiliation of being trained by the kid.
 
Of course, he was wrong.

Wind Seeker had thought a long time about who would train the dog on his journey from dog to horse.
 
He talked to his brother, Black Horse, and they agreed.
 
They called Yellow Hawk to meet with them.

Yellow Hawk was known as Jimmy Pirelli on the flatlands twenty years ago. He’d been a narc at a nightclub when he was brought to the mountains.
 
His antics with Lucien earned him the Indian cuffs.
 
He rebelled uselessly for weeks, finally giving in to what they wanted.

Eventually, as he earned his titles, he began to be proud of them.
 
In return, the Indians were proud for him.
 
It took a long time, but finally, he was a man. He had a lovely Indian wife, Whispering Wheat, and two beautiful healthy daughters.
 
Misting Waters was to marry Raining Thunder, one of the most promising young warriors of the tribe.
 
His life was very good.
 
Whispering Wheat never minded that he used to be a flatlander.
 
She said she was proud that he could work so hard on his journey to be a man instead of born one.

Yellow Hawk was curious why Wind Seeker would want to see him.
 
After he entered the cabin, he saw Black Horse seated at the table with him.
 
They greeted each other and Shining Star placed a pitcher of tea in front of the men and left.

Wind Seeker began, “Raining Thunder will be returning the dog today.”

“Has it been a week already?”
 
Time went by so quickly up here.
 
“He tried to talk me into stealing horses when I caged him.
 
I should have thrown him on the back of Lightening Strikes.”

Wind Seeker shook his head at the dog’s ignorance.
 
“You should have seen his eyes when Rising Sun pulled out the straight razor.
 
He actually thought we were going to scalp him.”

The three men laughed until tears filled their eyes and it took awhile to sober the discussion.

“I wanted you to cage him because I figured it would help to get the thought of you helping him escape out of his mind.
 
There’s no way to hide that damn yellow hair of yours,” Wind Seeker chuckled.
 
“He needs to concentrate on how to adapt.
 
Black Horse and I have been discussing how to help him.
 
We’d like you to train him for this part of his journey.”

Yellow Hawk was astounded.
 
He’d never heard of anyone who came from the flatlands training another.
 
Wind Seeker saw the look of disbelief.
 
“You worked hard to be a man.
 
At first, you didn’t want to be one.”
 
Wind Seeker grinned.
 
“You were a most disobedient puppy.”

Yellow Hawk flashed on when Wind Seeker was handed his leash.
 
He remembered how much trouble he’d given the youth and a smile crossed over his face.
 
“If you had introduced me to Whispering Wheat first, I wouldn’t have been nearly as difficult.”

“She wouldn’t have given you a second glance, and you know it.
 
She never noticed you until you were almost a man.”

Yellow Hawk had to agree.
 
All the women did was torture him to erections and slap him down.
 
“You have something on your mind.
 
Why do you want me to train him so early on his journey?”

“Lucien has found his mate.”

Yellow Hawk’s mouth dropped open.

“It’s true.
 
The woman is our dog’s former companion.
 
He was cruel to her on the way to the settlement.
 
I’ve promised Lucien he’ll be changed by the celebration.
 
Black Horse talked to Ethan about their journey to the settlement.
 
Apparently, our dog tried several escape attempts and cursed at the Vampires.
 
He tried to drown Lucien’s mate.”