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Splintered Light Chapter 6.2: Kaumaka

Mr. Fritz's traitorous act would have been grounds for a ritual hunt had it happened among the Bone Tribe but, as Ash-Moon had come to learn all too clearly, the laws of the Stone Tribe were far different than those of his people. Regardless, the situation didn't sit well with him, and when he was discontent he tended to resolve the problem. The Captain hadn't told him no; Alistair had, in fact, said "Not yet." followed up with telling Ash-Moon not to tell him if he did do something. Considering the general mood of the crew and the Jackal's own displeasure something DID need to be done, and he knew exactly what.

Ash-Moon's cabin was more than sufficient for him. Despite all of the complaints he'd heard from the various passengers about cramped quarters the Jackal found his small cabin to be perfectly reasonable for all of his needs. The cabinets available for storage were a very nice touch; the only locking drawer in the room was his immediate focus. The secure storage was where Ash-Moon kept his only truly treasured belongings: two tools crafted from the bones of his first kill.

The Yew Tribe warrior had been a fine specimen perhaps two or three years Ash-Moon's senior. The Buck had fought for what felt like an entire afternoon even after the rest of his group had perished at the claws and teeth of Ash-Moon's hunting party. The rest of the Jackals had stood to the side, respecting his honor by allowing him to fight his own battle; were he to lose then the Buck would be allowed to return to his tribe, but Ash-Moon hadn't planned to lose and, of course, he didn't.

The Jackal caressed the handle of his Kosu... or what he'd heard the Stone Tribe call a 'hatchet'... but Ash-Moon had seen hatchets, and they were nothing compared to his Kosu. His fingers drew along the length of bone as if he were stroking a lover, which was not so far from the truth; he become far more intimately familiar with the body of his slain opponent as he used a stone knife to cleanly separate the bones from the rest of the warrior's skeleton; he drew each of the important organs from their resting place within the Buck; and, as was his right, Ash-Moon had eaten his fallen foe's heart.

There was something beautiful in the savagery of combat and something artistic in the taking of a life... these were things the Stone Tribe did not see... or, perhaps could not see. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, the rest of The People understood, and so they could comprehend the mind of a Bone Tribesmen... but the Stone Tribe were far too removed from it... and sometimes they required a reminder. Such was the case with Mr. Fritz. One did not attack ones own shipmates any more than one would attack one's own tribe. Ash-Moon would not be able to carry out suitable Bone Tribe justice, but his most beloved Alistair told him that he COULD do something... so long as the Tiger did not have to know.

Sliding his Kosu into place by his side through a loop in the rope he wore around his waist, Ash-Moon reverently gathered up his second blessed instrument: literally, 'Nahng' in his tongue meant 'claw', but it referred to any thin blade the Stone Tribe might call a 'dagger'... although his was much finer than any weapon of metal... his was alive. He raised the blade to his tongue and licked its length, shivering slightly as the razor sharp edge summoned the blood up from his tongue. He smiled as he licked it again along its flat side, whispering to it as if conspiring with a lover. "So thirsty... aren't you?"

From there, the Jackal moved to sit in front of the mirrored desk that had been gifted to him by a merchant... the same merchant that said that a 'make up stand' was for women. In exchange for his life, the merchant redeemed himself with the delivery of said desk, and never again claimed that it was made for women. The Jackal smiled at the memory of the sweating Boar even as he pulled out his pigments. With naturally dark fur it didn't take much to base his body out in charcoal, but the powdered chalk to perfect the bone pattern of a Bone Tribe warrior was done with great precision that came from years of practice.

Captain Jacksoni once told him that the Jackal's skeletal war paint made the Tiger think of an All Hallow's celebration. That entire evening the Captain attempted to explain All Hallow's and the celebration for which it stood, and Ash-Moon never completely understood, but he remembered liking the comparison... except he was prone to prepare himself for war far more often than just one night a year. The Jackal looked at his own reflection in the mirror as he applied the last of the chalk dust around his eyes, completing the skull visage of his face-- the final step in his transformation.

Rising from his seat, Ash-Moon carefully stowed his pigments and picked up a small pouch of Fire Dust; he knew he would have need of it. Securing the last of his three tools to his belt, Ash-Moon licked his lips with his split tongue, reveling of the feel of blood dribbling down the corner of his muzzle; rarely at sea did he ever have the chance to adorn himself for a hunt. Sadly, his prey would not be capable of running, but he wasn't about to complain about the little details.

Stepping out on deck, he was not surprised that none of the crewmen would meet his gaze. Even though the sight of a Bone Tribesmen ready for war was enough to route most tribal warriors, the Stone Tribesmen were an especially skittish bunch and all of the sailors made it a point to stay out of the Jackal's way. With night fast approaching, Ash-Moon wouldn't have doubted if his fur blended in with the darkness and the deck lamps revealed little more than a walking skeleton. Yes, he chuckled, there were certain benefits to being at sea.

Without the moonlight it was even darker below deck. Here-and-there oil lamps were hung from the rafters to provide enough visibility by which to move; Ash-Moon was used to the near blackness of the forests and so he needed even less. The guards at the entrance to the four-door brig shuffled nervously at his approach but stayed at their posts. They saluted as he approached and he wasted no time. "I am here to see Mr. Fritz."

The Wolf on the left, Mr Brown, by name, identified the doors. "Second room is Mr. Lews. Third is Mr. Fritz, sir."

The Jackal nodded. "You are dismissed."

Mr. Flax, the Bear Cat guard to the right objected. "Sir, we're ordered to secure the hall until--"

Ash-Moon accepted no excuse, and interrupted him. "Until told something else. I am here, so you can go. Guard the other end of the hall and I will get you when I leave."

Mr. Brown looked as though he would have liked to have said something, but he did not, and both quickly followed orders. The Jackal's hungry gaze returned to the third room's reinforced wooden door and the small, three-barred window. With the surety of foot and deadly grace of a hunting cat, Ash-Moon crossed the distance and gripped one bar as he gazed inside; Mr. Fritz was seated on a small wooden bench facing the side wall. Wasting no more time, the Jackal's other paw slid down to the door handle and removed the barrier that separated him from his quarry. He announced his presence in his native tongue. "Oani, Rettyn."

Mr. Fritz stood up immediately, turning to regard the Jackal, then backpedaled, almost tripping over the bench he'd been using in surprise at what he saw. Although the Marmot attempted to regain his composure he failed, burbling out. "Oh! M-Mr. A-Ash-M-Moon... s-sir!"

The Jackal stood in the doorway, paws resting on either side of his hips, on the rope that usually held up his loincloth, which had been stowed back in his cabin; at the moment, the only things it was holding were his Kosu, his Nahng, the pouch of Fire Powder, and Mr. Fritz's attention. "You have done wrong today, Mr. Fritz."

The Marmot was quick to defend his point of view. "I didn't meant to shoot Master Len, Sir. My issue was with Mr. Lews... honest!"

The Jackal nodded in understanding; there was nothing wrong with a warrior challenging another to a fight to the death... it was common enough within his Tribe. While he was nodding, however, Ash-Moon also pulled his Kosu from its place by his side. "And how did Master Len get shot then? Did Mr. Lews use him as a shield?"

Mr. Fritz fidgeted, eyes following the Kosu. "N-no, Sir... Master Len st--"

The explanation was interrupted when Ash-Moon buried the Kosu several inches into the bench Mr. Fritz had vacated, and the Jackal drew his Nahng next, using one word from the Stone Tribe tongue before one of his own. "Continue, Rettyn."

The Marmot did just that, painting a picture of close quarters, a misfired shot, and a Salamander who had turned around the wrong way. Throughout the explanation Ash-Moon continued nodding, carefully depositing all of his carried items onto the bench as he cleared everything off of the rope he wore on his waist. Finally, once it was empty, the Jackal doffed the rope, finally speaking up. "So you ambushed Mr. Lews rather than challenging him to an actual fight, is that correct?"

Ash-Moon had perfected his predator's gaze early in his life, so by his thirtieth summer he was a master of it, and Mr. Fritz's response of freezing and wilting was not at all abnormal. To his credit, he did manage a stutter. "I-I-I...."

The Jackal licked his muzzle, careful to target the corner where some of his own blood had leaked down his lips. "You are to be punished, Mr. Fritz... and, I will be the one punishing you."

The laws of the sea were different than those on land. As the ocean was not owned by any of what the Stone Tribe called 'nations' their silly rules did not hold. On a ship, the Captain was the ruler and all other men on the ship followed his orders. In the matter of discipline, if the Captain chose to leave it to one of his officers then the officer would administer punishment in whatever form he chose. The harshest punishment most sailors aboard the Wave Rider knew of was a scourge made of many leather straps.

Ash-Moon resolved to make one sailor aware of one that was much worse. "What flesh will you surrender tonight, Mr. Fritz?"

"Wh-what?!"

Mr. Fritz was no warrior, and he was hardly ready for Ash-Moon's sudden advance. With a single step and a quick twist of his body, the Jackal had his knee shoved into the Marmot's gut. Mr. Fritz doubled over and the First Mate took advantage of the leverage to shove the prisoner down chest-first onto the bench, face scarcely a paw's width from the bone blade of the Kosu. With his attention on the blade, Mr. Fritz was surprisingly easy to tussle up and Ash-Moon did just that, tying the Marmot down against the bench with the rope from his loincloth. "I gave you a choice, Mr. Fritz. You have created a hole in me with your action... and I am going to be made whole by eating. As you made the hole it is only fair that I fill it with your flesh."

The man's response was no different than his first one, only louder, and more desperate. "Wh-what?!?!"

The Jackal snorted, pulling his Nahng free from where he'd stuck it in the wood, and he deftly cut the leather belt that held up the Marmot's trousers. He talked as he used the two separate pieces of leather to tie the rodent's legs to either side of the bench. Ash-Moon then dragged the point of the blade against the right side of Mr. Fritz's face, ever so gently so that it didn't break the skin. "I could take an ear... but you already seem to have trouble hearing... I said what do I cut off? What I cut off I eat... THAT is your punishment."

There was no real variation. "I-- I-- I.... what?"

Ash-Moon adjusted his position until he was standing over the Marmot, and then bent down, sliding the Nahng through the neck opening of the man's tunic. With a quick twist and a yank, the blade cut cleanly through and left Mr. Fritz's back fur completely exposed. The Marmot cried out in alarm, and the Jackal smelled the scent of urine. It was gratifying in a way, but the man's lack of self respect was pure disappointment. "Are you making a suggestion, Mr. Fritz?"

The Marmot was only repeating himself. "W-what?"

With a growl, Ash-Moon swiped his Nahng downward, cutting cleanly through Mr. Fritz's trousers and, with his free paw, tore them clear off with one pull. He growled out the words as he hunkered over his prisoner. "I said I am going to eat a part of you, Mr. Fritz... what part of that do you not understand?!?!"

That growl finally snapped the Marmot out of his blathering and, shivering beneath the Jackal, he began blubbering. "P-please... I-- no... you... you can't!"

Ash-Moon smiled, leaning forward further to nibble on the Marmot's ear. He said nothing for several seconds, hunched completely over the prone prisoner, naked fur on bare fur, and he was well aware that Mr. Fritz could feel the Jackal's sheath against his rump. At that moment he bit down, one of his fangs going completely through the rodent's ear, causing the crewman to shout out in pain and alarm. In that moment, Ash-Moon brought the blade of his Nahng back and held it tightly against the rodent's neck, stifling his cry immediately "I can... because you must be punished."

The smell of urine grew in strength, and the Marmot whimpered beneath him. Ash-Moon pressed his advantage, still holding the Nahng at the prisoner's neck even as his other paw drew down Mr. Fritz's body, delving beneath it to tightly grab what hung meekly between the man's legs. "Are you suggesting I take this?"

Mr. Fritz's scream was as much from pain as acute alarm. He finally bleated out in no uncertain terms. "NO!"

Ash-Moon finally removed the blade from the Marmot's neck and struck the Nahng into the wood of the bench right next to his face. "Good... then consider what I should instead... perhaps a paw?"

As he spoke, the Jackal slid a little further down the prisoner's body, the paw that had been on the Marmot's genitals instead returned to Ash-Moon's own member, and he adjusted the angle. "I bore easily, Mr. Ftiz..."

The prisoner made as if to speak, but he was interrupted as the Jackal surged forward, powering into his body from behind, and all the Marmot managed was an alarmed, desperate squeak... far more animal than man. Mr. Fritz struggled but between Ash-Moon's firm grip and his bindings, the rodent could do nothing. "S-stop! STOP!"

The Jackal grinned, doing just the opposite: he continued, body quickly getting into the task of teaching the wretched Marmot his place. "Your tongue, perhaps? Cooked over an open fire, it would do me far more good than it would do you."

Mr. Fritz's struggling and objections continued for a short time but it wasn't long before his shouts and cries turned to sobs and tears. Eventually the Marmot simply laid passive on the bench, resigned to his fate. Ash-Moon was not content with that, and, in that moment, he pulled the Nahng free from its place on the bench. Mr. Fritz had just long enough to tense up before the blade descended, turned at a right angle, and its razor blade sheared a two inch thick inch line of flesh three inches long right off of his back.

The Marmot tensed up further, just as Ash-Moon had hoped he would, and the Jackal grinned, practically purring through his release as he emptied himself into the Rodent's abused backside. He panted happily, one paw still gripping Mr. Fritz's tail as the other came away covered in blood, holding his Nahng and his prized slab of Marmot. The prisoner began struggling anew, but Ash-Moon was beyond caring. He smiled as he marveled at his work; it had been so long-- it was far overdue. Pulling away, the Jackal extricated himself with a pop, and stood, moving around to sit down right in front of Mr Fritz, still-dripping member only a matter of inches in front of the Marmot. Sobbing anew, the prisoner whimpered. "You're... you're a monster..."

Ash-Moon's smile went ear to ear as he set his Nahng aside and carefully, meticulously, and with much elation, slid the plundered hunk of flesh into his muzzle, and began savoring the experience as he carefully chewed, admiring the pure look of terror on his captive's face. He picked up his blade and carefully licked it clean before setting it off to the side. The Marmot murmured again, much more softly the second time. "...monster."

The Jackal stood up and took hold of one of Mr. Fritz's ears, using it to keep the rodent's head steady as he wiped his member off in the man's hair. "The term in my tongue is 'Kaumaka', but if you wish to call me a monster that is fine, Mr. Fritz. Just remember that I am as civil as Captain Jacksoni demands of me... but when someone in his crew attacks a fellow crewman he lets me loose... and I look for every chance..."

The Marmot began struggling again, and Ash-Moon slammed a paw down against the Rodent's back, shoving his muzzle right in the man's face. "EVERY. CHANCE."

Mr. Fritz surrendered, returning to laying on the bench without another word, bloody saliva dribbling down his cheek. Ash-Moon carefully gathered up his belongings, circling his waist again with the rope, and he even paused to take possession of some of the Marmot's torn shirt to use as a waist wrapping to make himself just a little more (as Captain Jacksoni put it) presentable. With his Kosu and Nahng back in place, the Jackal picked up the pouch of Fire Powder and returned to the captive. "You will need to heal quickly, and the Captain would be unhappy if you can't return to work if asked to. I didn't take any muscle... you will be fine if your wound doesn't turn sour."

The Marmot, who had gone back to sobbing, managed to say through his whimpering "I'll bleed to death..."

Ash-Moon smiled wide. "You do not know enough of my people... let me show you."

The Jackal spat into his paw and murmured softly. Reaching into his pouch, Ash-Moon felt the power of the ancestors burst forth within his palm, and savored the burning might instilled in him. The room blazed with a flickering green as his burning paw filled it with light and he slammed the fire down onto the Marmot's back. Mr. Fritz screamed out with all the energy he had left, and Ash-Moon drew his paw back, clenching it tightly to extinguish the flames. The Marmot struggled as his skin seared and blistered... but only until Ash-Moon was ready to put it out... with urine.

The Jackal about-faced, offering very little in parting aside from "There. It smells better in here now."

He exited the room, closing and relocking the door after he left. Turning to the right, the Jackal paused and sealed the Fire Powder pouch and took a moment to open and close his paw several times; there was an ointment he had back in his bunk that would deal with it... but first, he had one more stop to make. Taking two steps forward, Ash-Moon turned and looked in through the barred window in the door; Mr. Lews, who had likely heard everything, was cowering in the back of his cell. "Hello, Mr. Lews."

The Dog quickly spoke up. "Take an ear! An ear!"

Ash-Moon chuckled with genuine levity and unlocked the door. He stepped to the side. "You are not to be punished, Mr. Lews. The Captain is not displeased with you, and I am told that you are to be released."

The sailor stared out from his position in the corner, caution and concern clearly on his muzzle. Only once the Jackal made no move to enter the cell did he slowly emerge. "Did... did you... did you really eat...?"

The First Mate let his predatory gaze free from its place behind the curtain of civility Captain Jacksoni demanded of him and Mr. Lews immediately fled back to the corner. "That matter is between me and Mr. Fritz. You do not want to be involved."

The Dog quickly shook his head in confirmation. "No... no I don't."

Ash-Moon immediately returned to a pleasant smile, all sense of aggression stowed somewhere far enough away that it wouldn't be an issue, but still close enough to the surface that it'd be there when needed. "Good. Come out of your cell, and follow me."

Mr. Lews did so immediately and obediently, not speaking up again until the cell was closed and locked behind them. "Where?"

The First Mate slid his arm around the small of the Dog's back and led him out of the brig. "We are going to talk. It will be pleasant."

With the sobs of Mr. Fritz still echoing behind them, Mr. Lews made the very smart decision to comply. "Yes, sir."