“Stay down, Suda the Faithful,” I growl.

In my peripheral vision, I notice Koria, and Luda tentatively step away from my other wives, towards their mother. They hesitate, either Keen Eye notices my disappointment, or they think better of their choice. Either way, their actions confirm they don’t trust me and fear for the safety of their mother. This loyalty confusion can’t stand and perhaps a real consequence of breaking their spirit links, however bogus to me, true to them. My inner Hob roars to life, eager to seek retribution in blood and flesh.

I observe the once proud defender of secrets snivelling on the ground beneath me. She is attempting to roll over and I assume stand, which my inner Hob encourages me to violently prevent. He somehow specifically urges me to kick in her ribs. Instead, I growl an order and her efforts cease. She lays defenceless before me. A sense of domineering satisfaction rises within me. Is this me or my inner Hob? No, his is disappointment, no savouring the crack of ribs yet placated by the current situation after many days of childbirth induced quiet. Therefore, me...

“Open your legs or tell me the truth?” I step forward until my shadow covers her. I also notice several on the Farm pause, neck craning and ears out to discover more. Others, those who have been a resident on the Farm since my return from the dead, hurry on.

Tears run down her cheeks, she throws a pleading look at her daughters and manages to draw them a couple of steps closer. Both of her daughters now stand alone and separate from my other wives who choose to gather and snuggle together except one. Odd that Rexa remains standing, folding her arms. I note she ensures her shadow falls over those huddling in mutual safety, while otherwise studying the situation.

Suda gulps. “What of Zeb … he … he will …”

“He is my lackey, didn’t you say? Why would he object?” I kick her left leg and then the right. She edges them together.

“If I must, I will break each leg to have my way.”

She sobs, hitching her chest, while gradually spreading her legs.

I drop to my haunches and grabbing the hem of her linen skirt flick it back to reveal her loincloth. “Maybe even after you are pregnant, I will continue for enjoyment. Your thighs and wide childbearing hips are impressive, and I can’t wait to see what your loincloth hides. No wonder Zeb is happier since your return.”

“You are a beast, a Hob beast …” She resorts to full on crying, hands covering her face.

Each of my hands grabs an ankle and ever so slowly drag her closer to tease out my torture of her. I notice Koria and Luda step forward again.

In a screaming voice, Rexa calls out, “Koria Keen Eye and Luda yet to earn your name, wives of Lord Hob return to your place.”

They stop and bow their heads. I am certain they are grinding their teeth because both run their hands over their faces. Indecision plagues them when both should be clear-minded, they have only one master.

“Return to your place!” commands Rexa, clapping her hands like a mother calling back naughty children.

Koria and Luda drop to their knees, hands reaching out grabbing for nothing. Both believe their efforts help their mother.

“Both of your daughters have forfeited their lives due to your decision. You are no longer Flint Arrows, and you are no longer welcome to stay on the Farm.”

I spring up and stride towards her daughters. Arms wrap around one of my legs and as I glance down Suda locks her arms together. “Don’t … there is a waterfall. I will tell you more if you forgive my daughters …” Her face cranes up to meet mine. The rims of her eyes dark green while tear tracks clear away the dust upon her cheeks, making for a sympathetic picture.

Koria and Luda dart back to my huddle of wives, drawing themselves up before Rexa.

I stare down at their temporary saviour. “Well?”

“There is a waterfall, behind the water is the cave you seek.”

“Pfft!” Her anchoring attempt nothing as my next step drags her along the ground stirring up dust as a result.

“No Lord, there is more, much more. Please heed me, forgive my daughters.”

I hear two slaps and look up in time to witness Rexa slap Luda, left cheek, then right cheek while Koria nurses her cheeks in her hands. “Sit,” growls Rexa in her best imitation of me.

Both of my wives, who I am certain would be able to slay Rexa without working up a sweat, bow down, eyes cowering while huddling to the rear of my other wives.

“Speak. Everything you know.”

Her forehead rests on my shin, sobbing once again, she says, “The waterfall tumbles into a beautiful, serene lake, which flows into a stream. This stream flows into the western river, which forms the boundary of Flint Arrows tribal lands. Following the water will take you directly to your armour. There are patrols, although they believe they simply guard our lands as only a precious few know of the venerated cave and the treasure within.” Her face cranes up, her pleading eyes finding mine.

The fact that she said ‘our lands’ leads me to believe, banished or not she is Flint Arrows tribe through and through and her revealing of this sacred secret required direct threats upon her daughters to break her resolve. For her part, what is plain to me now is she would have accepted any punishment and endured any humiliation. There is bravery there except her heart remains with her tribe instead of accepting her new home and transferring her loyalty to the Farm if the leap to accept me too far. Knowing this I cannot forgive her.

“Zeb,” I call for him in my normal voice because I am certain he watches, yet such is his disciple he knows to stay away until called.

Several heartbeats and he is with me, in his position on my left, one step behind me.

“Do you agree your daughters have betrayed their oath to me?” I attempt to keep the sadness out of my voice, uncertain if I succeed or not.

“Yes, Lord.” His words a whisper.

“What are the consequences?”

“My life is forfeit twice, Lord.”

I feel Suda’s arm strangle my leg, from fear, not boldness or threat. A murmuring rises around me.

“Your wife bargained this down to one life, although sadly her information could have been freely given and avoided all of this, so her folly must still bear a cost.”

The mutterings close in and become louder. Does the Farm decide I am being cruel and chooses to exercise some unfounded right to intervene? I try to ignore the build-up of babbling noise and can’t, this threat could be real.

Swivelling about, I prepare for the worst, fingering the handle of my axe behind my back. The wood and cold iron a comfort. My inner Hob ready to rage …

“Husband.” Her face tilts as she probably catches my threatening visage before I clear it upon seeing her.

“You are alive?” Close enough now, I reach out and embrace her, a certain bump needing accommodation. Slightly taller, slightly more muscle tone and a slick litheness yet there is more. She exudes confidence, her swagger while approaching me something I have only ever seen in Milga. My arms push her back by the shoulders so I can confirm my first appraisal. I study her, looking into her eyes last. The twin black pools speak of killing while trying to project warmth.

“Husband, please don’t neglect your other wives,” squeaks Ligia.

On cue, Ligia and Karo step forth. My arms wrap around the three. Lingering behind, eyes downcast, Zoria. Yet in each hand, she holds a lead. Each lead ends around the neck of two captives, one a pregnant female the other male, both have hoods over their faces. My body movement, adjusting my head to inspect them a signal to Duzsia for sure.

“You will like our prisoners, husband. We should retire to your cabin.”

My cheek rests upon Duzsia’s. “Zoria follow us with the captives,” I command.

Keeping my wives in my embrace we walk in celebration towards my cabin.

“Lord?” calls Zeb.

“Join your family Zeb and savour your time,” I quip. My reckoning with Zeb’s family can wait for only sadness awaits me there, much to my inner Hob’s disgust which clammers for resolution now. I chuckle, Duzsia has returned who I thought lost, how could I not feel joy. The wives in my embrace mistake my quiet laugh as being for all of them, which is probably best anyway.

Arriving at my cabin, I push open the door and sweeping a hand wide, invite in my returning wives, Zoria, her captives in tow and just as I am about to follow them in, Rexa approaches.

“Lord.” Her head bows quickly. “I would request to join you.”

It seems with Koria and Luda so out of favour, Rexa believes she is now at least second wife behind Duzsia, although before Duzsia’ return possibly, my first wife. Does she try to lay that claim now I wonder?

“What of my other wives, won’t they need guidance?”

“They have guidance Lord. I instructed them before following after you.”

“Explain.” To say you have is easy, to actually issue instructions entirely different.

“Your wives return to their duties. With the numbers settling, Zuxa and Lazsia are capable enough to oversee the Blood Suns barracks now. Bekto has taken on apprentices and instructs them. I permitted Koria and Luda a small amount of time to greet their parents and then ordered them to their tasks, Archery training and bow making, Lord.”

I glance over in the direction of the river and while a fair distance, there certainly doesn’t appear to be a gathering there any longer. I wave my hand before her, inviting Rexa to join and following her in close the door behind me. I glimpse Milga reach for the door and don’t close her out. If I can’t have Zeb with me, Milga is the next best thing, probably better. She accepts my wry smile; her pregnancy has slowed her up a touch it seems.

Zoria and Karo retell their story first, while our guests remain quiet with their hoods in place. Duzsia picks up the story where she frees Ligia, and they escape the ants. While the stirring of the ants is described as pure good fortune and lucky escape, an occasional smirk from Ligia makes me doubt that truth. There seems to be an agreement amongst the tribes that stirring up the ants is taboo and given the many deaths as a result I can understand why. I also must remember Ligia was a traded captive, from Meb to the Matriarch so the deaths of many Grim Weavers probably a happy accident to her.

Duzsia positions herself behind the male first. His armour the envy of everyone, especially Milga who can’t take her eyes away from the fine example of leathercrafting. My third, no, possibly my first wife now kicks behind his knees to shorten him and as he falls, she grabs his hood. I don’t recognise the face, youthful though, fresh, except for the worry lines he displays.

My first wife repeats the same procedure behind the other captive, with no concession for the fact she is pregnant.

I wobble back and plant my bottom firmly upon my bed. The Matriarch of the Grim Weavers lowers herself before me. I stare at Duzsia who beams back at me with pride, joy, and excitement. The jumble of emotions upon her face, and perhaps the fact she is also pregnant makes her glow, especially around the cheeks.

“You said, none bore witness to you taking your captives?”

“No, husband. Most had run for their lives, these two the only ones able to cross the ford.”

I stand and grab her son by his chin pretending to thoroughly examine him. The Matriarch’s mouth quietly snarls. Good, her reaction demonstrates possible affection or at least a protective instinct. He means something to her. Is he her future heir? This would mean of course the Grandfather, a new one, did the rounds again and finally restored a male to the line of succession.

“Thank you for carrying your armour to us, unfortunately to the victors goes the spoils.” I nod to Duzsia who unexpectantly waves in Zoria to assist her. I see why now, Zoria isn’t pregnant, and the Matriarch’s heir fights tooth and nail to keep his armour on. This resistance draws in Karo while Ligia stands to one side and takes the freed pieces of armour from the others to stack off to one side.

While the heir wears a light cloth over his body, his loincloth lacks, well volume. I am not the only one to pick up on this fact. Zoria, after prompting from Duzsia goes to reach for the loincloth, instead, faking the grab and balling her fist to strike the heir in the stomach. Trying to double over, he can’t as Duzsia and Karo hold him and in a flash Zoria has his loincloth off. We all stare. The Matriarch sobs, while her heir shapes her shoulders to stand proud. Duzsia and Karo momentarily allowing her to, due to their surprise.

“Well, you are full of surprises Matriarch.” I flick a hand at Duzsia, one finger wiggling up and down towards the heir.

A delicious grin and she wields my bronze knife with gusto cutting down the back of the heir. Unable to free her arms to protect her modesty, the linen cloth falls away as does the binding around her petit breasts. A dark shade of green flares upon her face, as she stands naked before us all.

“Why hide your female heir as a male?” My eyes find hers, the defiance within them raw and primal. Why?

“I don’t hide my heir. My heir believes the body you see is wrong … many over the years have tried to correct the self-misunderstanding, none have succeeded yet, as you can see.”

She utterly believes she is, a, he. Her size, either natural-born or worked on helps, her attitude, defiance rather than cowering fitting for a male hunter-warrior. I grab a length of cloth and stand before her.

“Release his arms.” He blinks. Taking advantage of the moment I hand him a length of cloth.

His eyes upon mine he chooses to bind his breasts first. Once done, I take a step back and wave to the loincloth on the floor. He squats down, his eyes not leaving mine requiring his hands to feel around on the cabin floor until success. Once in his grasp, he stands, shoulders square, pushing himself up using his well-developed thigh muscles. His loincloth is about his nether regions quickly and his juvenile maleness is instantly more pronounced.

“Return his armour to him and assist.”

Milga stands by, probably inwardly lamenting her loss. My wives simply obey while Zoria throws me a questioning look. She realises her mistake immediately, throwing a desperate look to Duzsia before helping my wives.

“What are your plans for … erm … my heir?” asks the Matriarch.

I ignore her. She begins to open her mouth again and I ball my fist before her face.

“What is your name?”

“Kor, yet to earn his name.”

He tries to deepen his voice further, probably for my benefit. Something any juvenile male would do I conclude when facing an alpha male.

“What are your plans for the future?” I ask while lowering my arm and relaxing my hand.

His head turns towards the Matriarch and then back to me. The silent exchange between the two a commitment from him to her or a parting of their ways?

“I wish to earn my name and not return to my tribe until I do. If this is before the Matriarch dies, then I will return to my tribe and accept Chieftain. If after, then I have taken too long and aren’t worthy.”

The Matriarch shouts out, “Fool! The tribe won’t accept you, name or not, as you are … confused. Don’t you understand?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “None understand you and their sympathy for me has encouraged them to help instead of resolving the issue discretely …”

“When were you going to tell me that I no longer had a future with my tribe?”

I and my wives, as bystanders, watch as the Matriarch squirms and tries to placate her child. I do wonder if this child is hers by birth or another female and put in her care to continue the succession.

“Many advised to give you time … you know to come to your senses …”

He stamps his foot. “Matriarch, since I could walk, I have wielded a dagger and now I am proficient in bow and spear. I have hunted on the great plain!” He shouts the last sentence, his anger driving his voice masculine deep.

The Matriarch refuses to back down. “When have you hunted? How did you escape …” The last words a mistake I sense.

“I knew your sycophants kept me on a short leash. Fortunately, some in the village are more sympathetic.”

The Matriarch tries to lurch towards him, failing when Milga holds a dagger to her throat. One look at Milga convincing her to stay her efforts.

“Child, they aren’t being sympathetic.” Her pleading voice clear. “They seek to undermine me, change the succession by discrediting my heir.”

“I am not a child and no longer your concern. You have nothing to worry about, an heir of your loins rests within you.” He looks at me. “It seems apart from earning my name, my future is yet to be decided upon. Do you have an offer?”

The Matriarch stomps her foot. This must be a family thing I decide. “Fool! The heir must be fathered by the Grandfather. The baby I carry now will strengthen our line nothing more. You do not need to be envious, he or she isn’t and can never be an heir. You can’t decide your future like this, you are bound to the tribe and eventually, you will come to your senses – you are female, you will be the next Matriarch. It is how it has always been.”

I read pity in his eyes. His Matriarch doesn’t understand that his body doesn’t define his sex. As a GPA I am secure in my masculinity yet different races and different cultures denote the ruling sex and the carefully engineered flesh bags my spirit must inhabit for the duration of the mission can easily be female, male or for one mission asexual. In a primitive culture you must, because of the limitations of technology accept and learn to love the body you are born with. Acceptance though, to go along with societal expectations of normality is to hide your true self. Forever to walk through life wearing a façade and Kor has simply decided not to. I salute his conviction, as a GPA my roles are transient, his is a lifelong identity.

Scanning the room, only Kor and I utterly understand his true self. My wives, Milga even will accept my authority. This will be an interesting test for Zoria though. The Matriarch, on the other hand, is horrified. Her heir is slipping from her grasp, and she doesn’t understand why. Sons and daughters of the ruling class must fulfil their roles and meet the expectations set for them otherwise the whole right to rule boon granted to them by the lesser folk falls into doubt.

Ignoring the Matriarch, I return my attention to Kor. “How would you like to be the bodyguard to the Head Hob of this valley? As Head Hob, he will be able to grant you a name if your service warrants such.”

“Immediately?”

“There isn’t any particular rush. My proposal would include the command of five female Blood Suns hunter-warriors, as not many fighting age Blood Suns males survive these days. I suspect they wish the position I am offering you to somehow threaten the life of the Head Hob. Therefore …”

“My first challenge would be to determine their loyalties,” he finishes.

I nod.

“You can’t!” shouts the Matriarch. “My child is my heir and this fool’s errand is dangerous life threatening?”

“He is old enough to decide his future. This is only a first offer, there could be others, but they will be his to accept or decline.”

My words roll off her, meaningless, her rant continues, “Once the Blood Suns see the armour, they will see a tribal hunter from a tribe who culled theirs and seek retribution.”

Duzsia flashes her eyes at me, and I nod.

“Matriarch, while my time with your heir was brief, I noticed some deficiencies, which we will need time to train out of him. Between now and then perhaps Lord Hob will discover better offers for his talent. Look around this cabin, each brings their own value to Lord Hob. I am certain your former heir has that within him.”

“I … pfft … you talk about my heir as if I don’t have a say.”

I grab the Matriarch by the throat, her toes scraping the floor of the cabin. “What can’t you understand? Kor is male to his bones, only his flesh betrays him. The heir of the Blood Suns must be female according to you and I know no different to contest this requirement. There is your impasse. The other thing you may have forgotten, you are mine to do with what I will. None but those in this room know I have you, that you are even alive and not ant venomed at the bottom of the river.”

Her brain clicks and her eyes betray her realisation. Somehow, she thought herself immune from justice. The flesh over my heart tingles slightly, the knife wound delivered by her huntress not forgotten and definitely not forgiven.

“You can’t hide me forever. Word will get out as it always does.”

I scan the room and no set of eyes look away, not even her heir’s.

Chuckling, my wives join me. “I will take my chances. It would be remiss of me not to mention many Blood Suns now call the Farm their home and I am certain the Matriarch of the Grim Weavers wouldn’t fair too well in their company. They may even demand I hand you over.”

Her eyes search the smiling faces of those around her. Her head lowers in defeat, and I release my hold.

“Zoria.”

Her face looks up at me with hope. “Yes, Lord Hob.”

“You will be responsible for the Matriarch. She is your pet to feed. Ensure you keep her existence amongst us a secret as the threat from our Blood Suns guests isn’t an empty one. When my baby is due, ensure she has the help she needs.”

“Yes, Lord Hob.”

“Duzsia, with the fall of Koria and Luda I believe you are now my first wife, so please make yourself familiar with your sister-wives’ duties and ensure they add to my glory.”

Duzsia bows. “Lord Hob, I believe there is one better suited to the position of your first wife, and she stands amongst us.” Her head tilts in the direction of Rexa, who responds with a look of shock. “I prefer to be your weapon of choice, the one you send when you need things done, most likely to others or others otherwise standing in your way. The supervision of my sister-wives would prevent me from doing this. I volunteer to immediately correct our guest, Kor’s martial technique and to some extents his lack of respect for his betters.”

“No. Lord Hob I …” says Kor.

I hold up a hand. He has the good sense to go quiet. My wives, of course, smirk and sudden realisation, dawns upon him. I am Hob, all others aren’t.

“Zoria, Ligia and Karo, do you believe Duzsia best suited to train out the deficiencies in our guest?”

Ligia and Karo exchange looks of concern. Zoria though takes the opportunity. “Yes, Lord.”

“You are certain, you don’t wish to embellish your support with details?” I can’t stop self-amusement from reaching my lips.

“No, Lord. Obvious is obvious.”

As I turn towards Ligia and Karo, they nod their agreement in unison.

“Rexa. Do you believe you can serve my glory best as my first wife?”

I fear her chest is about to explode with the pride within trying for release.

“Yes, Lord. Certainly, Lord. I never expected, only dreamt … I will ensure every wife serves to add to your glory.”

I am reminded of Zana and Gato and their assessment of the wife pecking order. Rexa seems ideal, of the Farm, therefore acceptable in her own right while Koria and Luda, foreign Flint Arrows their acceptance due to intimidation. I still need to decide on their fate, they carry my unborn, so death is out of the question for now. Equally vexing is the fate of Zeb and Suda.

Duzsia hugs Rexa, which adds to her shock. “I … I am thankful for your support sister-wife, yet I will not temper my responsibility to Lord Hob. As husband’s second wife I command you as I will command our sister-wives.”

“I expect nothing less, Rexa, first wife of Lord Hob.” Duzsia releases Rexa and while I expected Rexa to show some sort of relief after being released. Duzsia’s strong hug doesn’t faze her. Something is amiss.

“Lord …” Karo says in a whisper.

“Yes wife, and I believe your position has fortuitously risen.”

“Yes, husband. Duzsia, husband, well, she has earnt you glory and more. She returns with your ransom. She rescued Ligia and guided us all back home while capturing the Matriarch by taking advantage of an opportunity only she grasped. She will not ask, so as your newest wife who can plead ignorance, I would petition you to grant her a name.” She releases a long breath. “If you want this Lord, I make no demands or anything.”

“I know she returns to me greatly changed and we will share some quality time, later.”

I wave away Ligia and Zoria’s attempt to add any further words as I am certain they will support Karo and that is enough.

“Kor, what was your false female name?”

He quirks his head yet replies, “Korto.”

“Zoria, take the Matriarch who will now be known as Korto to be fed and find her a separate hut you can share with her to guard her. When you need relief from your duty from time to time ask Karo to assist.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Before Zoria replaces the hood, I assess my foe and take a chance to ask, “Why exchange Ligia and what did Meb seek to gain?”

Tiredness surrounds her eyes, her fight for now at least seemingly gone. Confirming her broken morale, she answers in monotone, “Ligia would provide another bloodline, being not of our tribe I would need to bribe suitors to lay with the child when old enough, but I value your seed highly Lord Hob. As for what I gave Meb, simple, a promise not to encroach upon and try to claim any former Blood Suns tribal land giving him free rein and time for his people to claim what he rightly believes is his.”

I nod to Zoria who fits the hood over the Matriarch’s head and the noose around her neck. She leads our new guest Korto to the cabin door. The former Matriarch’s shoulders slump, her steps are mechanical. Escape unlikely, more likely death. Her heir rejects her or his duty and in fact, is going to work for her enemy. The cabin door opens and closes, and they are on their way.

“Rexa, take Ligia and Karo with you and ensure they contribute to my glory.”

“Yes, Lord. I ask a concession, a few moments of your time.”

“Yes, first wife.”

“Know that my father will seek to gain favour from you, now I am your first wife. If he comes calling know he has three others fatted and ready while living miserable lives. I don’t ask for them to become wives, but perhaps servants to be free of him?”

“We will see. To your duties.”

She nods and shortly after with Ligia and Karo keeping a step behind her, they leave my cabin.

Milga, Duzsia and Kor remain.

“Kor, are you honourable?” He raises an eyebrow. “If I ask you to swear an oath of loyalty to me would this bind your fate to mine?”

“Lord Hob, I swear to serve you honourably and loyally.” He bows his head and then our eyes meet.

“I accept your oath of loyalty. For now, I need you to stand guard outside of my cabin.”

He steps towards the door and then pauses.

I answer his doubt. “If you are wondering, I trust you not to run away or rescue the Matriarch or similar mischief because I have to at some point in time. I can’t have someone following you day and night, so only you can decide, by actions and deeds the value of your oath and if it is truly binding.”

He continues, the cabin door opening and closing behind him.