Part I - Practice Makes Perfect

The sun blazed down on the arid countryside along the western portion of the island of Taxim. More of a desert than scrub, the Godhorn region stopped short of being blowing-sand desert, but only just short. The scant vegetation was tough and designed to resist the brutal environment. A dZhurhawk floated in the pale blue sky searching in vain for prey. Heat waves bounced mercilessly off of the baked and parched earth giving the bird all the thermals needed to soar all day. That the raptor was out at this time of day indicated the desperation of its hunger. Most creatures hid from the sun during this part of the day. Most human creatures avoided the area altogether. With the Godhorn being so harsh water was more precious than gold. Knowledge of oasis locations was a treasure.

One such oasis was a veritable paradise. A spring bubbled up forming a pool of cool clear salvation. The surrounding vegetation was lush grasses, an assortment of edible tubers, and fig trees. Nearly thirty feet across, the pool was a drawing point for animals for miles around. It provided life for numerous rodents, a few birds, small herds of hardy antelopes, and two or three competing packs of larger carnivores. There was evidence that a mated pair of sand tigers also frequented the pool. The carcass of their last kill, an antelope, was still near the pool, being reduced to component pieces by the rodents and insects. A newly emerged brood of cicadas filled the air with their drone.

As the sun angled down toward the horizon, the creatures of the oasis began to emerge. One group of creatures was the family unit called the Clan of the Drum. Their business, the Taxim Express Caravan Company brought them into the Godhorn because there was an advantage to those bold enough and capable enough to risk the desert, and the massive plateau, between the capital on the west coast and the other cities on the east coast. The Clan believed that their unique set of talents allowed them to traverse Taxim through the trackless center rather than follow the much longer Coast Road. With the bandits that regularly plied their trade on the Road, there was even some question about whether that route was truly safer.

The Clan consisted of eight adults who formed a partnership that was half family, half business. The caravan company was integrally linked with the family. All of the partners brought unique skills to the team. The founders were Ayoub and Zenkov, two women who first fell in love, then decided that they could start a caravan company based on little but brains and determination. Ayoub's head for business and all matters financial, and Zenkov's brilliance focused in sorcery gave them a good start. Their mutual sense of lust and love, coupled with little jealousy and much compersion, led them to expanding their relationship. They chose carefully, the notion of group marriage and business partnership growing together. Over time they added the others. There was Laz, a handsome man with skill to manage the caravan's beasts, the dhub. There was Guwazi, a strong, capable fighter with the skill to captain their guard force. Karsilama came to them offering her talents as fighter and desert tracker. Beledi's awe inspiring skill in unarmed combat and determination to teach his skills to all made him a welcome addition. Zenkov found Curcuna, an exotic foreigner, while the latter was searching for an obscure magical reference book in the same library as she, and their immediate mental and physical attraction formed a strong bond. Their combined magical talents covered many gaps in skill the group had. Guwazi recruited his lieutenant Falahi after seeing her manage a small squad of city guards in Taxim City.

A period without any contracts provided the company with a much-needed opportunity to re-map their route across the Godhorn. One of the minor oasis springs they utilized had dried up, leaving them in an uncomfortably thirsty situation on their last trip across. They had lost one of their dhub as a result. While not a crippling loss, the clan needed to monitor such losses closely to assure a profitable year. This particular oasis was a treat, and the Clan had decided to actually enjoy the lushness instead of simply using it as a stop point during a normal business run where time meant money. Additionally, it gave them an opportunity to perform some restoration work on the vegetation, to minimize the impact their periodic use had on the site.

With the late afternoon bringing a slight drop in temperature and an increase in breeze. The oven of the day would soon become a chilly night. For a few brief hours there was a period of comfortable temperate climate. It was a period of activity for the creatures in the desert. The Clan began its activity for the day.

"Hey Beledi, have you got time to go through that technique you started teaching me at our last layover? You remember, that one you called slow-three, fast-three?"

Beledi opened his eyes and squinted into the late-afternoon sun. His friend and lover Laz squatted next to him with an expectant look on his boyish face. Laz was the herd master for the Clan of the Drum. His lean frame, naked from the waist up, was nicely sculpted with muscle. Beledi savored the image for a moment before responding. It was a pretty nice way to be pulled out of a groggy nap.

"You mean the one called T'Kish Nine? Ai-ya, I'd be happy to." Beledi rolled easily to his feet, brushing some of the sandy dirt of his oasis nap spot off as he did so. Though small of stature, his uncanny grace and flexibility, combined with master level ability made him a formidable hand-to-hand fighter. As a side benefit, it also made him a delightful dancer. Laz towered a full head over him. Beledi glanced around the oasis looking for a suitable area to use for practice and gestured for the other man to follow him.

"If I recall correctly, I had you doing a three punch, three kick pattern last time. Let's start there again, then move on to some variations." Beledi shook his head to clear the last of his nap. "Do this first; jab, reverse, jab, kick, kick, kick." As he spoke Beledi demonstrated a right, left, right series of punches and three roundhouse kicks delivered with the right, or leading, leg without putting his foot down between each kick. The kicks were quick, and delivered at a uniform height about where Laz's floating ribs were. The timing was jab,reverse,jab,kick, kick, kick. "You know I teach these patterns as drum rhythms. You're the premier drummer of this Clan which ought to help. In drum terms, this rhythm is 'Doum, Tek, Doum, TekTekTek'. Try and run the rhythm through your head as you do the pattern and it will help you with your timing."

Laz did as directed while Beledi continued to vocalize the drum rhythm. Though he was much less skilled than Beledi, Laz was demonstrating the technique pretty effectively after a few repetitions. Or so he thought.

"Remember to keep your guard up while you do those kicks. If you drop your hands down by your waist, your opponent will pop you in the face!" Laz nodded with chagrin. He had heard that correction more than a few times during his training. "And breath! If you keep holding your breath as you do these techniques, you'll be huffing and puffing in no time." Laz laughed at himself. Most people think breathing is something you never have to think about. Those people obviously never did martial training.

Beledi watched Laz for a few more repetitions. Then he had him switch leads and put his left side forward and change which hand led and which leg kicked. Laz's ability declined noticeably.

"You need a ton of work on that side, Laz. You should make a point when you practice to do ten reps on your left lead for every one you do with a right lead. If you do that, it won't take too long before you are equally capable on both sides. Next time you're practicing with weapons, see if you have the same problem if you have a left lead. That could be a real weakness that a talented opponent could exploit."

After a few more minutes of repeating the drill, Beledi indicated he wanted to demonstrate a variation. "Keep in mind that we're still utilizing the same 'Doum, Tek, Doum, TekTekTek' slow-three, fast-three rhythm here. Now I want you to do a lead-hand slide block, secure the wrist, lock the wrist, then sidekick, sidekick, sidekick. Got that? Like this; slide block, Doum. Grab the wrist, Tek. Lock the joint, Doum. Now you have your opponent under control, so sidekick, Tek, tek, tek."

Laz looked baffled. Beledi kept saying the drum rhythm, but Laz couldn't make his hands do what Beledi was trying to get him to do. He began to get frustrated. "I know the damned rhythm. Why can't I get my hands and feet to do this?"

"Wait a minute. Let's bring in some help. Karsi! Can you come help us for a few minutes?"

Karsilama, hearing Beledi's call, emerged dripping from the oasis pool. Still naked, she padded with all the style of a proud cat over to where the two men waited. The sun baked down on the oasis causing the air to ripple, and the cicadas filled the pause with their droning. Both men dedicated their attention to her approach, savoring the beauty she exuded. Karsilama was the Clan's tracker. Her grace and agility allowed her to perfect her skills of stealth and pursuit, and her dancing was extraordinary.

"What can I do to help you, lovers?" inquired Karsi as she drew near.

Beledi replied, "I'm working with Laz on that T'kish Nine pattern, and he's having some trouble once we're past the simple stuff. I want to demonstrate it with you so he can observe, then have you work with him for a bit so I can observe and really see where the problem is."

"Ai-ya. Why don't you get Ayoub to drum for us? It always helps me cement it into my head to hear the rhythm as I'm trying the physical part. I actually hear the rhythms as I'm doing these techniques. I'm not sure I could do it if I didn't hear it. Must be the dancer in me."

Beledi snorted at her underestimation of her ability. Her skill as a dancer and martial artist was such that she didn't so much hear the rhythm as she merged with the rhythm. She segued from technique to technique with an uplifting grace that transcended from mere precision into artistic dance. He called for Ayoub, and indicated she should bring her drum. Returning his attention to Karsi, he explained what he was trying to teach Laz. He did each movement slowly, totally isolated. As Karsilama punched at his face, he blocked the punch with his lead hand using a sliding block. This left Karsi's punch right along side his head, barely a hand width away. That was the first beat of the drum in the rhythm. He shifted his blocking hand and grasped Karsi's wrist, trapping it. Beat two of the drum in the rhythm. Adding his other hand he rolled her hand over, applying pressure to the base of her thumb and bending the wrist in tightly, effectively locking the joint and forcing Karsi's shoulder to dip to avoid pain from the lock. The third slow beat of the rhythm. Now that Karsi was effectively immobilized for a moment, Beledi had a clear path to her ribs for three rapid sidekicks, the three fast beats of the rhythm.

"Do you see what I did, and how it followed the beat? Doum: slide block the punch past the face. Tek: Secure the hand. Doum: apply the lock. TekTekTek: kick, kick, kick." Beledi repeated the technique as he talked, faster than he had a moment earlier.

"So what's the agenda here?" asked Ayoub as she joined them with her doumbek under her arm. "I provide the musical accompaniment to your game of "Catch Me, Catch Me" with a (deliciously) naked Karsilama? I think I get the messy end of the stick!"

Everyone laughed. In the Clan of the Drum, all eight of the adult members formed a group marriage based on polyfidelity. Within the group, all were lovers, sometimes in pairs or trios, more often all together. The loving nature of their partnership made them strong as a family, and truly formidable as a business. All of them were focused on improving the viability of the others. Most local laws did not recognize the group marriage, so the Clan was officially based on a sanctioned marriage between Zenkov, one of the Taxim Express Caravan Company founders and Cucruna, one of the first men to join the Caravan Company. The rest were legitimized to most government busybodies through a business partnership designation. They weren't all recognized as 'family' but it was as close as the Clan could achieve under the needlessly restrictive societal rules governing the makeup of family. Thus the idea that Ayoub, one of the original founders of Taxim Express and lover of Zenkov should find herself left out of any amorous event was quite silly. No one in the Clan of the Drum slept alone unless they wanted to.

Once Beledi explained what they were trying to accomplish, Ayoub began the T'kish Nine rhythm at a moderately slow tempo. Laz paired up with Karsilama and tried again to follow the pattern. Beledi made corrections as needed. Within a relatively short time, Laz was showing noticeable improvement. He couldn't always get the wrist lock, but Beledi assured him that was a difficult thing to do, especially at speed.

"My real problem" declared Laz with mock seriousness, "Is trying to concentrate on fighting with Karsi while she's standing there naked!" He shook his head in overblown dismay. "I can't decide if I should fight or fornicate."

Karsi laughed, low and rich. "You poor lust-driven man. There is a proper time and place for everything. If we keep working on this with diligence we'll get all hot and sweaty. Then we have to bathe. Then somehow we can get all hot and sweaty again!" She smiled brightly at him.

Again everyone had a rich laugh. Such was part of the joy of living and loving in the Clan of the Drum. And the cicadas droned on.

Part II - Satisfying Hunger

"Thank you, Little Sister. May you nourish our bodies and, uh, well help us to understand your, uh, chickenness."

Zenkov laughed, causing Curcuna to turn and glare at her. "I'm sorry", she gasped, trying to control her laughter, and failing. "Your chickenness?" Another fit of laughter, poorly stifled, broke from the sorceress.

Curcuna huffed, and glared at Guwazi as the Captain of the guard and their mutual lover failed to contain a chuckle. He returned his attention to the chicken in question and mercifully killed it with a swift stroke of his boning knife.

"Well I really came up at a loss on that one! I always try to remember to thank the food I'm going to eat, even the vegetables, as I prepare it. But this just caught me at a loss." The tall, handsome sorcerer gazed at the chicken carcass with puzzled blue eyes. "It's easy to celebrate a steppe deer, acknowledging its grace and agility, or a dhub by respecting its strength and stamina. But it's not nearly so obvious with a chicken!"

Zenkov put down the scrubber she was using to cleanse the vegetables for the Clan's evening meal and turned to regard Curcuna and his chicken dilemma. Guwazi, still chuckling quietly, continued measuring out rice, picking out the odd bit of chaff. He too was listening, waiting for the conversation to continue.

"I know what you mean, lover. From our lofty position on the food chain, it's hard to see what we would want to celebrate in a chicken." Zenkov frowned a bit as she went on. "Just what is it about a chicken, other than its flesh of course, for which we'd be thankful? Its chickenness, if you will."

Guwazi chimed in, "Well they stink to high paradise. And they're stupid, let's not forget that." Zenkov and Curcuna both regarded Guwazi with the owlish stares for which they were infamous. It tended to make the others feel like a bug under a glass.

Failing to catch the humor, Zenkov plunged on. "No, I mean it. What are the qualities of a chicken that are worth noting? I'm sure there are some." They were all quiet for a moment before she continued. "Well, they lay eggs regularly, thus reproducing themselves and providing another food for us too. That's worth noting."

"They sit on those eggs pretty diligently too," noted Curcuna. "Strong impulse to hatch and parent." A lengthy pause followed.

Guwazi spoke. "That seems like it ought to be enough to celebrate. Now will you two get back to work so we don't get skinned and eaten for dinner? I'm certain the others could think of at least that many nice things to say about us, even if we did cause them to go hungry for a few hours while we roasted on a spit!" All three turned back to their tasks altered, in some small way, by the chickenness of the situation.

In short order the chicken was boned and shredded. The meat was set aside in a wet clay pot to keep cool, while the bones were tied into a gauze bag and tossed into a pot of boiling water to start the stock for the stew. A second pot was put on the fire to boil the rice. In the brief lull in preparing the meal, Guwazi suggested they peel the mango that would be pulped and added to gyog'urt, a tart, custard-like food made from milk curdled by the action of bacterial cultures to make the lassi beverage that was on the menu. The invitation to make peeling and pulping the mango a group activity clearly had sex at its core. Fresh mango has a creamy texture and heady aroma so overpowering that it was regarded as a legitimate aphrodisiac in many of the cities of Pelago. Being somewhat rare on the arid island of Taxim, mango was an almost insanely coveted addition to the meal.

"That sounds delightful." Zenkov eyed the two men with unconcealed lust. "We're going to be seriously frustrated though, because we don't have nearly enough time to do this right and still get dinner completed. We'd better get started right away!" With that, she quickly washed her grimy hands and shed her serape. The two men quickly followed suit.

Moving to the shade of a fig tree, Guwazi spread a blanket while Curcuna carried over a large pot, a smaller bowl for the peelings, and the mango. Zen procured a knife. Arranging themselves in a circle, they sat cross-legged with the large pot in the center. Zen placed the smaller bowl in front of her and deftly began peeling the fruit. She took special care to peel only the bitter hide so as to leave behind as much of the expensive treat as possible. The three were aware of the sounds of drumming and talking elsewhere in the oasis, but most of the detail was drowned under the omnipresent buzz of the cicadas. In minutes she held the naked fruit in her two hands, the knife and peelings set aside.

Holding the mango over the pot, she looked at her two lovers and said in a low, teasing voice, "Let's play."

The men exchanged a lingering kiss with each other, and then with Zen. All six hands reached out to grasp and crush the fruit. It squished between fingers, elongating, beginning to come apart. In concert, the three manipulated the gooey mess, softening it into a pudding-like consistency and extracting the large pit from the center. All the while they gazed into each others eyes and savored the heady scent. In time the fruit was sufficiently pulped. Reluctantly they wiped most of the decimated flesh from their hands into the pot. As Curcuna moved the pot to the side, Guwazi traced a wet smear down Zenkov's cheek with his finger. As Curcuna turned back, he added a similar strip to the other cheek. They both leaned in and began to delicately lick her clean. With a low chuckle Zen reached down with out looking and found each man's arising lingam. With warm, juicy hands she slowly twisted up from the root to tip. The response in both men was instantaneous and substantial. After a moment of caressing she pushed Curcuna in the chest with her head indicating that he should lie back. As he quickly complied, she indicated Guwazi should do the same. He shook his head and lay on his side with his head at the other man's waist, his own waist at Curcuna's head. He gestured with fruit flecked hands at Zenkov, indicating that she should proceed as desired. With an ear to ear grin, she leaned over and snaked out her tongue. Curcuna's penis jumped at the contact. With great thoroughness, she licked every bit of fruit from his erection. With a gustatory smacking of her lips, Zenkov sat up to admire the tableau before her. Guwazi reached over and began to slowly stroke and caress, transferring much of the mango pulp from his hands to the other's freshly cleaned lingam. With a grin at Zen, he followed her example and licked his lover clean. By this time Curcuna's toes were clenched and his face and chest were flushed. He desperately kept his hands in the air so as not to lose the juicy promise thereon. Raising his head, Guwazi gave Zenkov an inquiring glance. She smiled and magnanimously gestured for him to continue. With a deep-throated hum, Guwazi resumed his ministrations. After but a moment, Curcuna released with a cry of delight.

"Another late dinner I see." Ayoub stood at the fire with her doumbek tucked under her arm. She gazed with exaggerated dismay at the three erstwhile cooks and tsk'd. "Shall I stir either of these boiling pots?"

Guwazi, Curcuna and Zenkov looked at each other and burst into laughter. Curcuna held out his mango sticky hands for the others to lick off and replied. "No sweet honey o' darling of ours. We'll, er, compose ourselves and get back to our duty."

Ayoub laughed. "With Laz all in a tizzy over Karsi training with him while naked, and you three turning dinner prep into a sticky lick-feast, well! I just can't imagine the sort of family I have here!"

"Oh yes you can, you lecherous beast! You are one of the prime instigators of 'this looks like a good spot' sex." Ayoub harrumphed and sashayed back to the communal tent to deposit her drum before returning.

The three joined her at the cook fire and washed their hands again. Zenkov stirred the rice into the boiling water, followed by a generous pinch of the rare and exotic spice, sa'affron. Guwazi fished the bag of chicken bones out of the stock. Curcuna scooped in the potatoes as well as garbanzo beans, lentil, carrot, and onion. To that stock they added bay leaf, lemon rind, and one dried fig for nutty flavor along with some black pepper and a pinch of salt. With the immediate needs attended to and simmering nicely, the three again looked at each other and smirked. Zenkov spoke first.

"Well Curcuna, I believe that you owe the two of us a rather large debt of gratitude."

"Indeed," added Guwazi, "I think you should be our sex toy tonight. You could magic us up so we float around the tent. That'd be different!"

"It certainly would, and not nearly so pleasurable as you think. Trust me. There's no resistance for, um, pushing, and unless you're used to it floating upside down can be pretty nauseating."

"Spoil sport! There's a story in there somewhere."

"Several, actually", replied the sorcerer with a small smile.

The banter continued through the rest of the preparation and was expanded to include the rest of the Clan during the consumption of dinner. More effort was made to celebrate the chickenness of the stew. The sa'affron flavored rice, to which sun-dried grapes and pistachio nuts had been added was a huge success. The mango lassi was savored by all, but by some more than others. And all the while the cicadas sang their same song.

Part III - Fire Burns Bright

With dinner and the inevitable cleanup complete, the Clan collected as usual around an impromptu fire ring, blankets spread nearby. Precious combustibles were expended to create a sizable fire. The rapid flight of the heat of the desert day left the evening feeling chilly. The energy level of the Clan was low but jangled, and there was little talking but much bonhomie. Most simply stared as the flames grew, lost in their thoughts and content in each other's company.

Ayoub began to quietly play her doumbek. The T'Kish 9-beat rhythm she had played earlier for Laz's training failed to rouse any other drummers or dancers. Its energy was out of step with that of the group. After a moment she let it end with a tiny pop! of the head rather than a pronounced bass note. After a quiescent moment she began a slow, sultry 8-beat rhythm from the northern islands of the archipelago. She played it unfilled with barely sufficient beats struck to make it identifiable. After a few measures, Karsilama stood and began to slowly sway and stretch with the beat. Falahi picked up a tambur and softly added it's brassy jangle. Beledi rose and sidled in next to Karsi and began to share her space and movement. Slowly, with a beat here and flourish there, the rhythm was filled in, Ayoub and Falahi sharing the connection of musical familiarity. The dancing pair played with the rhythm and the eddies of each other's energy, sometimes giving, sometimes taking, but always sharing. It was as though each had connected with an element and moved to its will. Karsi was Fire, smoldering with potential heat and voraciousness. Beledi was Air, nourishing the Fire and feeding on its heat at the same time. For a moment outside of time, the pair slipped their human bounds and became something other. When Ayoub ended the rhythm with a delicate flourish, the dancers ended with their hands touching and each one's gaze locked to the others. The chill of the night had been driven back somewhat, and the energy of the group had risen perceptibly.

Laz and Zenkov each grabbed a drum and squished in next to Falahi and Ayoub. The momentary chaos of the four diddling on their instruments fled as Ayoub began playing a four-beat rhythm known as Sirto. She initiated it with a swingy style that called to mind the rolling hips of a curvaceous woman on the prowl for a lover. With grins, Guwazi and Curcuna pushed themselves up to join the dancers near the fire.

The energies of the fire, the dancers, and the drummers swirled and jinked. Now low and sensuous, now hot and crackling. Dancers leaped in or dropped out to contribute with an instrument or their voice. At times the melange became technical as percussive skills or specific movements were tested. More often though the interaction was playful and loving, filled with soft touches, glancing kisses, and teasing gazes.

As the fire died down to a bed of coals, so too did the Clan slowly draw in on itself. The desert night was chilly, and each was sidling closer to the others to conserve body heat. Corners of blankets were dragged up to cover legs or shoulders. It all resembled nothing more than a pile ofkittens snuggling in for a cuddlesome nap. The various sighs and shiftings gave attestation to the amore of the tangle.

As the quiet passion became more insistent, Laz murmured, "It seems I'm not the only one who has a bit of pent up...tension. I wonder if there's some lusty alignment of the stars this night?"

Zenkov laughed, low and rich. "Silly man! After listening to mating calls all day you wonder why you're horny?" She accompanied her comment with a lingering kiss of Ayoub's full lips.

Laz struggled to a more upright position. "What do you mean? What mating calls have I been listening to all day?"

"All that buzzing and droning. Those cicadas have a seventeen year cycle. This brood just hatched. For sixteen years they've existed below ground, first as eggs, then in a nymph stage for years. A day or so ago they became mature and emerged from the ground. The kicker is that they'll only live as adults for a few weeks, then they die. So while they're out and about, they're pretty motivated to mate. After mating, the female burrows underground, lays her fertalized eggs, and dies. The males continue searching for mates until they die."

Karsilama piped up. "So all the droning is really the male cicadas saying 'fuck me, fuck me, fuck me' forever until they die? That does sound just like you Laz!"

Much laughter followed. And without further ado, all stood and, as an amoeba-like unit wrapped in blankets, shuffled off to the tent to do as the cicadas had been suggesting so stridently.

Fin