Date: Sun, 28 Nov 1999 15:43:30 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Planet.of.Desire.4:Turtle.Men.Chapter.5

		    SECRET OF THE TURTLE MEN, CHAPTER 5
			"The Ceremony of Twilight"
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

     Pavel was left alone by the Ifriti while some took Isham's body away,
and others tended to the nest.  He was not be needed now, though he
supposed he must learn what he was to do to tend the nests.  Keep the eggs
warm?  Was he to perch on the eggs like a bird?  Surely not!  He wasn't up
to sitting on six clutches of eggs at one time.  He spent the next unknown
amount of time in bed, rising occasionally to accept water or food from one
of the Ifriti, but spending most of the time mostly unconscious.
     He did manage to rise up long enough one time to see the eggs.  Six of
them, each completely spherical and some two feet in diameter, coated in a
mottled white, hard shell but covered as well with a thick transparent
coating of stuff that glistened in a way that told Pavel it was like mucus
of some sort.  Yuck!  He was NOT sitting on THAT!
     During the second day of his enforced bed rest, weak but conscious
most of the time, he found himself with a great deal of time to think, and
foremost was his promise to Ashmid.  Forty days!  What had he gotten
himself into?  He could spare the time, he supposed, but to live here all
alone for that long, had he been insane?  And would the other Ifriti permit
him to leave at the end of that time?  He'd been taken against his will,
could he be taken again by others?
     The problems the Ifriti faced would have broken his own people, he
knew.  Only the fact that they laid a clutch of eggs in place of single
births kept the Ifriti on top of the burden under which they lived.  If his
father had died giving birth to him....  Pavel shuddered.
     Was the eventual fate of the men in his own valley any better than
that, though?  Without the Tree of Children, they couldn't have children
any way but with the Connobarans.  And the Connobarans didn't want
Facilitators hanging around their children, to be thus reminded that they
were only half-fathers of their children.  Pavel's people could have their
own children by using the Connobarans' eggs, but the egg only produced
another Connobaran-type human.  So with the Connobarans inheriting the
planet upon their deaths, Connobar would soon be without Facilitators, and
what then?  Desperate expeditions across the mountains to Medina Jadeed and
the Waters of Life?  It seemed the only answer that they would have left.
     Pity that the mountains prevented the Facilitators from coming to
Medina Jadeed, except for help from the Angels, which would be rare.  He
himself had made the trip easily, with the help of the Angels and their
Turtle bower, which ferried men through the air....
     "That's it!" he shouted out.
     Ashmid came in.  "What is it, little one?  You should rest."
     "You don't have to snatch people like me up and force us to stay
here!" Pavel said, the ideas slipping off his tongue as rapidly as he
thought of it.  "In my valley there are thousands of men, plenty of them
need to get through the mountains to Medina Jadeed to have their own
children."
     "Is that so?" Ashmid said.  "But there is no clear ground path through
the mountains.  You would have seen that had you continued on your journey
as you were."
     "But there IS a way to get across.  The Ifriti could ferry the men
from our valley to Medina Jadeed.  In return, on the way back, they have to
stay long enough to help out one of your families.  Two men to care for
your clutches, not one.  So they spend forty days here with you.  It'd take
longer than that to travel it on the ground.  You offer them transport and
they offer you assistance!"
     "I had never thought on this." Ashmid said.  "We have always taken
from this side of the mountains, from among the people of the plains.  Will
the people across the mountains truly want to stay with us and help us?"
     "I don't see why not." Pavel said.  "At the moment, we can only wait
to die without any grandchildren to take our place.  I've seen what the
Waters of Life does to a man, and while it's rough, it's better than having
no children at all!  Nobody would be forced to make the trip, only people
who chose to come.  And also, Medina wants trade, you could bargain with
them, offer transport to our valley and to Connobar and back, in exchange
for the assistance of men who would stay with you."
     "Yes." Ashmid said, grasping the vision Pavel had borne.  "Yes, this
would work!"  He became excited at the concept.  "I will inform the Council
of your offer."  He leapt to his feet and was winging out the door before
Pavel could say more.  Ah, well, if it is to be done, it should be done
quickly.
     And he was dizzy again.  This drug was hard to throw off!  He wondered
idly, if it took two days for him to recover, how he was supposed to
withstand it five more times.  Did he build up a resistance?  Or would he
zonked into submission somehow?
     He didn't feel submissive.  He felt able to think more clearly than
ever; like his mind had been freed as compensation for his body's weakness.
     Wonder what the Djinni would think of the offer he had extended to the
Ifriti?  The Angels let people go, he knew that from his own father's
related experience, but what of the Djinni?  Aram made them sound rather
cruel in nature.  Yet the Ifriti had terrified Aram as well....  He slept.
     He awoke to the stench of some plant.  Gagging and choking from it, he
sat up and...hey, he had sat up!
     "What happened?" he asked Ashmid.
     Ashmid took the fumes of the burning plant away from him.  "The
Council wishes to speak with you.  I have used the mesrel plant to help you
throw off the effects of the drug of the Blessed Plant.  It is better to
sleep it off as you were doing, but the need is urgent."
     "Oh." Pavel said.  He stood up, he was wobbly on his feet, but no
worse.  He fumbled into his clothing while Ashmid waiting with increasing
impatience.
     "Here, breathe some more." Ashmid pressed the burning dish of leaves
beneath his lip as he pulled on his boots.
     Pavel, knowing the intent, took a deep breath.  It was like
electricity running through his nostrils, electrifying his body!  He felt
as if he were quivering all over from that one inhalation.  "Whooh!  That's
strong!" his eyes watered from the strong fumes.
     "Yes."  The Ifriti raised his head.  "The afternoon mist has begun and
the valley will soon be full of the mist.  You should join with the others
of your kind to relieve yourself before the Ceremony of Twilight.  The
Council will convene after that."
     Ceremony of Twilight?  What was this?  Oh, well, there would be sex
first, which was sounding really good right now; the mist was rising, as
the leader had said, and he was feeling the old familiar stirring.  This
cavern he was in was so odd, in that the mist seemed to never enter it
during the day, and at night only the bedroom tasted it.  And he had slept
through last night without the slightest stirring of his groin.  The Ifriti
must be able to turn it on and off!
     Ashmid led Pavel to the edge and was able, with difficulty, to fly
Pavel down.  Angels were stronger than Ifriti in this, or more likely, the
Angels' wings were larger and thus able to handle the weight more easily.
Ashmid strained, and was able to give them a gentle landing, but his flight
was mostly straight down.
     "Now what?" Pavel asked.  He saw his fellow humans there, standing in
a group, and the mist was boiling towards them fast.  This was like the
Khamsin!  He knew better than to wait around with the mist coming towards
him, he sprinted for the knot of people he had seen.
     One man saw Pavel sprinting for him and gave a grin.  He was, like the
other humans here, all of Arabic ancestry, with a deep golden-brown skin
and black mustache and beard neatly trimmed around his face.  "Ah, the
fair-skinned one!" he called out to Pavel.
     "That's me." Pavel gasped as he made it up to the others.
     "We saw you with one of your masters at the Blessed Plants." the big
man said.  He was wearing a dishdasha, a full-length, close-fitting white
gown.  Were it not that he was at least a full foot shorter than Pavel's
own five-foot-nine-inch height, he would be enormous, for his muscles
strained his dishdasha at his chest, and the tie at the throat was undone
and formed a wide V instead of a discrete line.  His gown constricted his
upper body enormously, to finally win out at the narrow waist, and from
there, he was like a vertical pillar of manhood.  His head was covered with
a headdress, and this he doffed as Pavel came closer.  This was not a sign
of respect; the mist was upon them, and Pavel was pulling off his own
clothing.  Humph!  Might as well not have bothered putting it on, he
gasped.  The mist was strong, the more so he guessed because he had not
breathed it save sporadically for many days.  A person did develop some
immunity to its continual presence, but the plainsmen and these Ifriti
didn't have that aid.
     So he was panting in lust and so was his partner.  Pavel saw the
others pairing up and realized that he had chosen without meaning to.  Not
that this man wasn't thoroughly, eminently suitable!  Compact maleness,
yum!
     He had pulled off the overshirt and that was as far as he got before
the Bedouin man grasped him and pulled him to him.  Pavel reached down for
those lips on this strong diminutive man, and his hands burned as they
moved over this still-clothed body.  He clutched and fumbled at the cloth
while his lips steamed against his brown lover, but the cloth would not
give, would not budge!
     "Damn!" he breathed as he broke loose.  "Let me touch you, please!"
     The Bedouin laid a finger on his lips.  "Patience, my partner in
desire, for I wish this to last."
     "Last?" Pavel groaned.  "I'm going to explode!"
     The Bedouin smiled.  "I do not believe that.  Lie down upon the ground
now.  We have smoothed this area and laid it with cloth, you will not be
soiled or uncomfortable."
     Pavel obeyed and the Bedouin knelt between Pavel's legs.  Pavel raised
his legs yearningly, needing this somehow, anyhow, but hurry, hurry!
"Hurry!" he breathed.
     The Bedouin's response was to hike the dishdasha up to his waist and,
holding it in this manner, Pavel felt the thick cock touching his asshole.
His need drove his body and he felt his anus suction the huge pud into him,
this combining with the thrust of his Arab lover to bury it in him
entirely.
     Pavel groaned, as the Bedouin bent over him, pressing their bodies
together.  Pavel burned with the feel of his large man in his arms, he
groaned at the need which was collecting like a puddle in his crotch and
rising up his penis like a capillary tube, he felt the first gentle thrusts
into his body and he sighed and groaned with each movement, sighing as it
entered him and groaning as it left once again, leaving him empty, so
damned, damned empty!
     "Ah!  Harder!" he begged.  "Harder, please!"
     Then he gasped.  His whole vision was this man, only his face visible,
the rest shrouded in white cloth.  They were pressed tightly together.  How
was it, then, that he felt it, the warmth encircling his penis and
permitting him entrance into the warmth and moist channel that now engulfed
him.
     He was too dazed with the mist to question, he now had his cock in
someone's mouth which was sucking on him lustily, he was being fucked with
a powerful man-tool, and these two men somehow combined into a perfect
harmony so that every thrust into his body also sent him deeper into the
man's mouth, he was being sucked and fucked in such unison, such intense
warmth and grip, a hot tool plowing his body, a hot mouth clutching him in
a way he had only before experienced with Jethro's talented mouth and anus,
he was being milked and he was being rammed, and the warm dark hands plied
over his body, leaving fire in their wake.
     It was the mist, but he didn't care now, he just enjoyed the powerful
thrills racing through his body, he relished his Arab lover's thrusts, he
pushed his own buttocks back at the same time, and the mouth that held his
cock prisoner never faltered in its warm pulsations upon his pud, he
groaned, he gasped, he clutched his strong-chested lover, and the mustache
and beard tickled his cheeks and nose when he kissed his dark ravisher, he
was climbing the heights of joy, he was cresting the wave of passion, he
was ascending the summit of ecstasy, he was, he was, he WAS!
     "Uh, gah, gah!  Guh, guh, huh, uh, gah!" He groaned as his climax
walked with tiny feet up his spine, a row of vibrations that took their own
sweet time in their stroll through his body.  He was helpless to rush it,
he could only wait until they congregated in his skull, there to form
critical mass and explode!
     "Gah, gah, gah, uh, uh-GAGGHHH!" He climaxed at last, jetted his jism
into that warm, clutching, strong-cheeked lover, while his ass spasmed in
tight rings around the pumping Bedouin's prod.
     The Bedouin's face turned purplish in color, but never gave out with a
real sound, just a hissing in his teeth as he grunted and groaned and Pavel
felt the seed pouring into his ass, the warm, salty jizz, and he stroked
the warm body in his now-growing lassitude, as his own prick oozed out the
last of his own load, which was diligently milked clean and dry by the one
sucking him, and the Bedouin fell down upon Pavel, pressing them together,
and Pavel felt the warmth upon his penis begin to constrict, pressing his
now-flaccid cock out until it felt limp and wet upon his belly.
     He was too busy kissing and stroking his lover to look around much at
first, but when he did, he saw nothing but couples around him, and all at
some distance.  He wondered who had given him that wonderful blow-job so
adeptly, and how he had managed to fit into their coupling so easily.
     The Bedouin rose and shifted his dishdasha over his body as he rose.
Pavel still had seen little or nothing of the powerful body which had given
him such pleasure.
     "We must make ready." the Bedouin gasped.  "The Ceremony of Twilight
is about to begin."
     "What do we do?" Pavel asked.  "I haven't seen it before."
     "We only stand ready to carry them away as needed."' the Bedouin
assured him.  "You will learn quickly, it occurs every night at this time."
     Pavel would have asked more, but there was a rising song from the
Ifriti and he judged the ceremony had started.  Large bundles were brought
down from the Ifriti caverns, most of them were such that a single Ifriti
bore it easily, but others were such that two and sometimes three had to
help.
     There was only wordless song here, and it was rather sad, a minor key
repeated.  The bundles were formed into a mound at the feet of some Ifriti
squatting on rocks nearby.  The Council?  Pavel was surprised, these Ifriti
were white-haired, lined and OLD!  How, if they lived but a single year?
They were the only old Ifriti he saw among them.
     Ashmid was among them, carrying a very small bundle.  He saw Pavel,
but shook his head when Pavel made a move to join him.  He formed a row
before the elder Ifriti and the song reached some sort of conclusion, a
rising crescendo that was still somehow sad.
     And the bundles were unwrapped.
     They held Ifriti dead, all of them.  Some fifteen adults, about forty
young Ifriti, most of these seeming to be babes that had never flown for
their wings were small and undeveloped, and (Ashmid's was one of these)
perhaps a hundred eggs that were broken or stunted.
     "As the day wanes, we mourn our dead." the Ifriti said to the massed
watchers.  "We hold to the day when we can return to our homes, when we can
again rejoin our females, when no longer do we suffer the plague of life in
this world.  We must endure as we can until that day, we must wait until we
can return to the sky, to fly higher than the stars, and to dwell in peace
forever."
     That was all the Ceremony there was.  The humans came forward and
Pavel did the same, taking the egg Ashmid had brought.  One of Isham's no
doubt, it had a thin shell and had broken apart in some manner.  It leaked
a greenish liquid.  Pavel felt ill, but he mimicked the others and took it
with the rest of the humans.  It was doubtless part of his duty, he had
best get used to it if he had to stay after all.
     The bodies were placed into a pit.  Torches were brought from some
place, kindled perhaps from the flowing lava beneath the mountain.  This
charnel pit was but one of many, he saw, and the others, where the ashes
were now cool, was obviously scoop-mined to provide fertilizer for their
crops.  He had wondered about the high birth rate and why there were so few
Ifriti around despite it.  Well, he had his answer in these charnel pits.
In a few days, they would hold Ashmid and his four remaining brothers as
well.
     Pavel chose not to linger as the flames began to engulf the bodies of
this day's dead.