Page 32 of Feast

Ika hesitated for a moment, but she decided that honesty was best, at least for now. Perhaps a truthful answer now would buy her a bit of leverage to bluff later.

“They said they were going to take me to the slaughterhouse,” she whispered.

Apparently Thusar hadn’t heard of that place before. His brow furrowed, wrinkling his long scar. He switched his gaze to Gunnar, seeking an explanation from that quarter.

“I know the place she’s speaking of,” Gunnar said. “The slaughterhouse. It’s a massive, dark structure somewhere far to the south of here. The place that stinks of blood and death. Rumor has it the nith prepare their food there.”

“Food?” Thusar scratched his chin. “Is that what this thing is to the nith? Food?”

Another shiver ran down Ika’s spine.

Her lip trembled.

Ika feared that she should not speak out of turn. To do so was to risk yet another thrashing to her throbbing backside. But her anxiety was overwhelming, and she found herself blurting out a question.

“Are you going to eat me?” she half cried.

Thusar’s eyes widened momentarily, and then he threw his head back and roared with laughter. The others joined in too, even Slaine who thus far had not spoken a single word.

Ika was not amused, however.

At last, the laughter died down.

“Fear not, little thing,” Thusar said. “We’re not going to eat you. You’re far too interesting for that.”

Ika put on her best scowl and tried to look menacing. It was difficult, however, under the circumstances. She was naked and violated. Her behind still burned, her hole still echoed with tingles of Gunnar’s investigation, and she had not a stitch of clothing to cover her bare flesh. Shameful.

“Don’t call me little thing,” she said.

“Very well,” Thusar answered. “Then what shall we call you?”

“Ika.”

At that, the young one, Muk, burst out laughing again.

“I get it!” he choked between laughs. “Ika, because there’s no stem!”

Another blush surged into Ika’s face. She understood Muk’s joke. In their language, which was the nith language passed on to their ukkur slaves, the word ika referred to a ksh berry that was fully ripe and would break away from the stem when picked. Ika had sometimes wondered why this was her name. But she had never thought of what Muk was suggesting. She didn’t have a stem—didn’t have a piss stick like a proper ukkur.

Thusar smirked but did not laugh, and he motioned for Muk to be quiet.

“Did Rolf give you this name?” He asked.

Ika was confused. It had never occurred to her that anyone had given her her name. It was simply her name, the same as the names of places and of things. Who had bestowed all of those names?

But now that she thought about it, it must have been Rolf who named her. Who else would have done it?

She nodded uncertainly.

“And how did Rolf come into possession of you?”

There was that way of thinking again. Belong. Possess. But Ika decided it would be unwise to argue semantics.

“He found me. Eighteen years ago.”

“Found you?”

“Yes. The gods left me in his den as a gift.”