Free Casca 12: The African Mercenary by Barry Sadler Page A

and honored that their daughters had been chosen. The girls walked wearily, heads downcast. Their movements were those of ones who had reconciled themselves to an unknown fate. Their young age prevented them from fully appreciating the great honor being shown them, but they would obey. During the trek from their village they had not been abused or hurt. To the contrary, they were treated with great kindness and consideration by the naked warriors, and each girl was still a virgin.
    Dzhombe looked to the sky. Through a break in the trees he could see the mountains where the gods of his fathers lived. It was to them he had been dedicated when he reached puberty and had gone through the initiation rites that entered him into manhood and the privileged membership of his clan. Every year since then he had participated in the rites. He knew that to fail in this would lead to disaster, for the gods would turn their faces from him, and his enemies would destroy him and his people. Here, where great waters fell from the lips of the gods to form the rivers that fed the lowlands, he and his warriors would once more make the earth fertile as had been done since the beginnings of memory. He regretted that no young men were of the right age to take their place in the rites, but ten years earlier a bad time of disease and drought had wiped out nearly all the young males who would now be the proper age. Next year there would be new blood added to the clan.
    By the waterfalls known as the Breath of the Mountain, they made camp. Here they would fast for three days to purify the body and spirit. During that time the girls were permitted to do much as they pleased as long as they did not wander from the camp. The girls made for themselves a crude shelter of palm leaves tied to a frame of thin saplings. The mist from the waterfall never ceased. All day and all night it cast its eerie shroud over the men as they sat in a circle by a fire chanting and singing.
    From their palm leaf hut the girls watched the men with a mixture of fear and anticipation. They knew they were to be brides, but they did not know any of the details of their marriage ceremony. It was the unknown part that frightened them. It was truly an honor to be the bride of Dzhombe or one of his clan. But why was the ceremony to be held so far from their village where there would be no witnesses, as there had been for the other girls who had been given as brides to the young men?
    At dawn on the fourth day of purification, the umThakathi cast dried leaves and herbs into the fire, and the men breathed deeply of the smoke. The herbs were liberally laced with ganga to heighten the senses, to put them on a higher plane where the grass beneath their feet felt as soft as the young breasts of the brides to be. When thorns were their pressed against their bare flesh. it felt as if warm lips were caressing their bodies. It was time....
    The three girls were brought forth. The wizards shaved their heads and covered their bodies with a paste of animal fat and ash. Then they were made to breathe the smoke of the fire until their eyes grew glazed and red, tears running down their cheeks as they leaned over the coals to breathe deeply. Fear left them as their minds floated on the smoke. Around them the men formed a circle and chanted. The girls began to dance. Stepping up to the fire, then turning to face the circle of men, they moved back and forth to a timeless rhythm. They had never danced this way before nor did the wizards tell them what they were to do. Somehow they just knew what was to be done. Eyes glazed, bodies trembling, both men and brides knew the time was near. Anticipation of the completion of the marriage act made the area between their young thighs moist and the men erect.
    Dzhombe lay on his back, naked. Each of the maidens was brought to him by the men, then held over his body and lowered on him until the hymen broke. When each had been penetrated, they all returned to the fire,