Rakshasi

I'm trying to write more longform stories. I find that usually my stories tend to end at around 6k words, I'd like to steadily increase this to a range of 10k to 15k. I'm not sure if this one should go into NonHuman or Romance, since it has lots of elements of both, but I figured I'd place it in the former.

Content Warning : This story has graphic descriptions of sex and some light violence.

All characters that have sex are 18 years old or older.

-N

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We walked at night and slept during the day. It was a good doctrine for scouting, move when your enemy sleeps and hide while they are awake.

"Speculatores are the eyes and ears of a legion," my drill instructor would tell us. "You wouldn't hit your enemy with your eyeballs, tirones?" So, we trained to do just that. Almost 16 years of this life, soon I would no longer be socii and instead a citizen.

But, those were just daydreams and currently I held onto my partner Flavius's cloak as we stumbled forward. We had been caught moving between rock formations in a sandstorm. Without even the moonlight to guide us we were blind, so, simply we pressed on hoping to reach shelter.

"Lio," he said to me earlier, "slow and steady and we'll make it home." But, in my impatience I thought we could cross two rock formations in a single night and now we were paying the price.

This was one of the worst situations a speculatore could be faced with. Well, second worst, the very worst would be braving this expedition alone. When sand whipped between the seam of my gloves and scoured lines of flesh from my wrists, I screamed in pain and fell to the side. I tried bracing my hands so I wouldn't hit the ground with my head. But what I thought would be the ground turned out to be a slope and I simply tumbled downward, smashing against a rock. Now, I was in the worst situation a speculatore could be in.

I couldn't hear over the sound of the sand whipping against my helm or the wind howling in my ears. So I curled into myself and crawled on my elbows, bracing the rocks against my right shoulder for some kind of guide.

Artemis favored me and I reached the mouth of some entrance and crawled in. Her favor didn't end there though and she gave me the grace of a lion; when I stood, I came face to face with reflective yellow feline eyes that widened in surprise when they saw me.

My elbow crashed into the creature, they stumbled back, off balance with my explosion of violence. With a shoulder charge I hit it again, seeking to quickly overpower my opponent before they could shout for help. My opponent was heavy, perhaps as much as me but in a slightly shorter form. Nevertheless, my armored shoulder going into its face was enough for it to hit the wall with an audible thud. I dropped low and kicked upward, anticipating my opponent's recovery.

"Never relent, the attrition you face will be in your marches, not in your battles," our drill instructor would tell us. "You will be few and they will be more; any opponent you fight will become more confident when they discover your meager numbers. So you must quickly demolish them, before they have this epiphany."

My kick was solid and hit center mass, the second time my opponent hit the wall with a yowl like a cat and they were stunned. Wheezing they labored to get up from their knees and I was upon them.

I'm not inexperienced when it comes to combat, having trained in a castrum as any legionnaire would. I learned the pilum, gladius and shield. But the blade I used and cared for the most was my bootknife. Every scout from every land has one, it's there to cut vegetation, rope, skin animals and shave. It's the blade you live by and because of that, it's also the blade you end up being the most familiar with. So that was the weapon I drew and placed against my feline adversary, wrapping my arms around them and pulling them close.

But, no matter your skill, numbers have an overwhelming advantage. When I held my opponent close and prepared to open their throat, I realized they were more of a hostage than an opponent. Five other pairs of yellow eyes were now looking at me from various heights and passageways that I previously hadn't seen. What I mistook for a cave was rather a cavernous room, at the center of some honeycomb of passageways.

"This will be your last night, sigir," my opponent rasped with an evil chuckle, blood spattered from her lip where my elbow had broken the skin.

One of the figures cleared his throat, "Release her, interloper. Only a few drops spilt, easily forgiven. But touch her with that blade and we'll keep you alive long enough to watch as we fashion a cloak from your skin." His voice was like the purr of a cat and the rumble of a storm, it sounded quite terrifying and I was glad I couldn't see the face such a voice belonged to.

I began to back away, clutching at my captive that was now my only lifeline. She hissed and I felt her right arm straining in my grasp as she tried to make enough room to free her left. I thought of rushing back into the storm, but I'm not sure if I could even make that short trek. Even if I escaped into the storm, how far could I get in that blizzard of sand?

So, I gambled and hoped they weren't liars. I released my hold and dropped my bootknife.

"Ave, gentlemen, a simple misunderstanding, I will of course give my surrender."

Her elbow hit me in the chest, which would normally be armored by steel plates. But as this was a particularly long patrol, Flavius and I had adopted light armor so as to not slow us down. So, it hurt and I doubled over with a grunt and prepared myself for another blow but it never came.

I looked up to see one of the other figures holding her wrist. I recognized both figures as a rakshasa and rakshasi respectively, cat demons that often served Ottoman khans as commandos.

"Hardly a way to treat prisoners, Commander Kyra." The older rakshasa said to my brief hostage, his voice was the purr I heard earlier. Even in the darkness I could see his armor didn't hold the same number of honors, but he looked like a veteran. It seemed the rest of the squad had some respect for the rakshasa, because they made no move to move against him for their leader.

She rested her hand from the other rakshasi and glared at me, "Bind him, he will be for the khan."

--

They treated me relatively well, my hands were bound at my front instead of at my back; so I wasn't constantly falling on my face while trudging through the rocky terrain or up a sand dune. It was odd, the squad wasn't terribly unfriendly, if not for the bindings it felt like once again marching with a legion. Their miralay I had kicked and briefly held as a hostage understandably gave me the cold shoulder. Rakshasas are the proudest of cats if the tales are to be believed; still I'm not sure if it was the information they hoped to get from me or honor that stayed them from opening my neck to the bone.

I thought of my companion, Flavius, he was still out there. They never mentioned finding my comrade and I didn't speak to his existence. When the sandstorm cleared we moved out, in the same direction he and I were traveling anyway. I didn't bother looking for footprints, even if t he storm didn't wipe them from the ground, Flavius wouldn't leave any. If he was traveling in front of us, our heavy bear cloaks would wipe them from the sand as they dragged behind us. With my disappearance in the sandstorm, I doubted very much he would travel on to complete the patrol. We had already crossed more than three fourths of our route without sighting Ottoman warbands and I believed we ascertained this was a no-man's land; whoever my captors were, they were an expeditionary force.

Captivity wasn't boring thankfully, this was the first time I or any legionnaire I knew of had observed rakshasas up close. They looked fairly human, with only a few differing features. A pair of tiger ears popped from the top of their heads and would often turn to better seek a noise. Their hair was orange with black stripes and their eyes a deep yellow with slitted pupils, just like tigers. A tail sprouted from the base of their back, just above their bottom and their clothes were cut so that it could directly freely swing about. It looked quite heavy and it seemed a common nervous tick was to thump their leg or their ground with it.

They wore tan-brown fatigues that were colored a lot like mine and little armor; more evidence they were scouts. When they ate I could see the two large fangs in their mouth that reached their bottom gums. The rakshasa that initially spoke to me looked older, his hair was gray and despite wearing obvious kill trophies along his sash and belt, he still seemed pretty nice. As nice as a captor could be that is.

I continued to live as a nocturnal animal, we would rest during the day and move at night, mirroring how Flavius and I would travel. I was a little surprised, I would have expected the Ottoman scouts to ride horses as their khans were so fond of them; but like us speculatores, they trudged on foot. I'm not sure if it's because this team was primarily made of rakshasas or that like us they preferred a stealthy approach to scouting. The only other humans were two archers with blond hair that I assumed was from Imperial slave blood and a friendly Easterner man, Adem, who wielded a long blade. The two of us were the only ones in the entire group that used this weapon. After the squad relieved me of my gear, he would study it and compare it with his own weapon. The rest of the commandos wielded an assortment of axes and longknives. If not for the miralay's frostiness towards me, he assured me he would have loved to untie my hands and spar. It unnerved me a little, either they were profoundly incompetent or possessed the confidence one gained after they had made piles of corpses; I was willing to bet all my denarii it was the latter.

"Practice, Speculatore, better to fight boredom than in a real battle, eh?" He said to me one night, frustration tapping his fingers along the handle of his weapon. My job became my name it seemed.

After about a week we arrived at the Ottoman warband. A sprawling set of tents lay before me. We trudged through without molestation from the sentries when they saw the miralay's coin-plated cuirass.

"Rakshasi are even more greedy than Rakshasa," Adem muttered to me with a wink the first time he saw me staring at her armor. It looked like a normal cuirass, but a thick leather webbing overlaid it and sewn in were a variety of coins from all sorts of regions. I noticed the Ottoman lira both old and new mints as well as quite a few Imperial aurei, denarii and pennies sewn in. With all the glittering coins, it resembled some halfbreed dragonscale. The other rakshasas also sported this style, but it was limited to just a belt of coins and the old tiger just had a single braid of coins in his gray hair.

We approached the khan's tent and entered. I half expected a tall brutish man, but instead found myself staring at a kindly old man wearing a goatskin mantle cloak. Grey hair lined the sides of his head and appeared to be thinning at the top. From his smile and warm eyes, I would have expected him to be bouncing a grandchild on his knee rather than leading a small army. His face was clean-shaven instead of sporting a large beard as was customary for men in the Ottoman Empire; then I saw his face was lined with small shiny burn scars that all pyromancers got before they learned to control their craft.

Just because he could incinerate columns of infantry and was a pupil to an ifrit doesn't mean he's all bad. I hoped he didn't plan on applying his talent to my feet or hands. Despite his kindly appearance, I wished my hands weren't bound so I could at least make a warding sign of Poseidon in prayer. Though he worships fire, maybe it was better my hands were bound so I wouldn't accidentally offend this warlord.

"Asalamu alaykum," the rakshasi miralay said, saluting and carefully speaking first to acknowledge her superior's status.

He replied back in turn and after the normal ritual of welcoming returning soldiers was completed, he turned his gaze upon me and gave a small smile that was kind despite the scars.

"It was good that you didn't kill this one, miralay Kyra; a week after you departed we received words on wings that an armistice is going to be formally announced a few months from now." He tapped his finger on a paper that bore the shah's personal seal.

We all blinked in surprise. The war had reached a stalemate, the formally neutral land between the two empires had been carved up. The walls of these ancient cities were high and attempting a siege was a good way to find yourself instead surrounded by a counterattack. Now we could only fight between oases or else risk a legion or warband perishing from dehydration in this ocean of sand.

I once again thought of the wisdom of my drill instructor, "An army marches on its belly and your imperator will need your help in filling it. When your legion fights Northern jarls and their raiders, you must learn to keep warm and know which frozen berries will not turn your insides to a gorey paste. In the desert, you must learn to find whatever scant sources of water there are." I discreetly studied the map they had left unfolded and made note of the three oases that I had never seen on an imperial map.

"So, I'm to cut this one loose?" Kyra said with a scowl, a week and all she did was scowl; it seemed my kick had deeply wounded her pride. It also seemed she was the only one that wasn't halted by this news.

"Well if you didn't carry him a week from his legion then yes," he said with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. I liked this guy. "Bring him along and after the routes have been established we can send him back with the rest of the tutsaks. I'm returning to the shah with a token honor guard for the pomp of his court. The rest of the warband will return to the garrison city, no more raiding for my old cats."

"Elveda, Speculatore," he said, glancing at my sandy uniform designed to blend in with the desert. Even devoid of armor and gear it still singled me out as a scout. "Enjoy your stay," with that, we were dismissed and departed from his tent.

The commandos clapped each other on the back with grins, "Another campaign and we are still above the sand," a rakshasi named Anika said with a grin, revealing her sharp white fangs. The old tiger nodded in agreement.

Miralay Kyra snorted and her ears twitched, "Armistice isn't announced yet sister," she jerked her head towards me. "Still time for that one to legally slip a blade between your ribs when you are asleep."

Anika just laughed, "He doesn't look suicidal or a fanatic to me. Relax. A few days to the garrison city and then we'll spend almost three months sunbathing on the army's lira." Her heavy tail swished with excitement at the thought and punched me in the shoulder like we were siblings. "Rejoice, Speculatore, you're going home soon and you can die toothless and in bed, instead of on these golden sands." She was in too good a mood to notice Kyra glare at her or maybe she just chose to ignore it.

--

The next morning the warband departed, the going was easy when we hit a carefully hidden road. I had a general idea where it was and as soon as I got my hands on a piece of paper I would make note of its location.

The news of the armistice brought me relief and the commandos were of the same opinion; my hands were no longer bound and they were all jokes and making toasts with spiced milk. Two days later and I was looking at a bustling city, thick tan walls surrounded it, but even from a distance I could hear the clamoring of the market. The entire thing was on a plateau and I could see oases dotted around outside the city walls. A damp rag was all I had to bathe with and I hoped I'd have the luxury of a real one.

One of the rakshasi commandos pointed at a line of large buildings outside the city that surrounded it and hugged the edge of the plateau. "Our estates, Speculatore, behave yourself up to the armistice and you'll be a guest more than a tutsak." Anika winked, "But you'll still be a tutsak. So expect to clean some dishes or herd sheep or whatever Kyra has you doing." She paused, "But don't worry, soon you'll be back to your olive groves and marble cities."

We broke off from the warband, they entered the city while we trudged along the estates that surrounded it. Alone or in groups, the commandos and other elite soldiers left the group and returned to their homes. Adem clapped me on the side before he left, "We'll see if Kyra is still squeamish about you picking up your blade, otherwise we'll have some good practice."

Soon it was just Kyra and her rakshasa bladesisters. "You know, it was Sitara that technically bound his wrists, maybe the speculatore should be amongst her war prizes until we send him home." she said, casting another dirty look at me. Apparently even my presence still poked at her bruised pride.

Sitara was the quietest rakshasa of her bladesisters and so it didn't surprise me when Anika snorted and answered in her stead, "Nonsense, you're the miralay, you get the lion's share. Or tiger's share?" With that bad joke, Anika and the rest of the bladesisters, who were now all furiously rolling their eyes, entered an estate neighboring Kyra's. She motioned me to follow her with a jerk of her head and we entered.

--

The estate was nice and I soon learned that I would be tending to the garden, so I quietly thanked Demeter. I would rather prune flowers and plant crops than sweep or scrub pots; I also disliked sheep and their leavings so I was glad I wasn't some herder. In the group ludus for displaced children, gardening work was always my preferred chore.

Her quarters were on the third floor and since it was just the two of us, she jerked her head towards a nearby guest room instead of the servant quarters on the second floor.

To my surprise, I found the garden to be very large within the estate's walls. It was filled with chili plants, oranges and date palm trees. Though I quickly saw it was in a sorry state. Kyra had not left a gardener when she was summoned to her khan's warband. I learned that even her cook, a kindly Ottoman old woman named Shwetha, was her old nursemaid; she was only here as a favor to Kyra's father until she could find permanent household staff.

"That child would find a way to let a desert go into disrepair," Shwetha confided in me after she showed me around the estate, pointing out the foodstuffs and storage areas.

I tried to suppress a smile and failed, she chuckled when she noticed. "You'll love it here, Speculatore, good story for the grandkids about having a life in an Ottoman household."

"Well I expect to be gone after a few months," I replied, not knowing how much she knew.

"Sooner it is announced the better, the war has dragged on too long." She replied.

"Do make sure she eats her morning and midday meals, I told her father that I could cook her dinners, but my own family has the rest of my time. As a kul or tutsak or whatever meaningless title they gave you, for a few months you'll be expected to work; but, just look busy and nobody will care. There's nobody but your mistress anyway. And don't let her intimidate you, she's all bark and no bite when she's back in civilization and not allowed to throw her knives around."

"All hiss and no bite?" I joked lamely, remembering Anika's own poor humor, but I suddenly wanted to get on this woman's good side and maybe embarrassingly bad jokes were in good taste here.

She sniggered and nodded while staring at me thoughtfully, "Yeah, you'll do just fine."

My days weren't unpleasant and after finding my routine, I rather enjoyed it. Kyra, like most rakshasi I learned, liked to sleep in and so I could get up well after the sun had risen. Sure enough, I had to figure out what to feed the she-cat and settled on the dried fruit Shwetha had stocked the foodstores with and milk. Milk I learned during my imprisonment was the favored drink of all breeds of cats, even the ones with knives.