The First Tribe Read Online Free Page B

disbelief. Now, the raucous, chaotic sounds around her made her believe that the legends might be true.
    Sabra had reached the bushes and thinning trees, feeling slightly safer until she heard a crashing sound to her right. She realized it had to be a large branch. Visions of a wild man ripping the limb off the tree with his strong bronzed hands made her gasp. It had been a while since she had caught a glimpse of the tan fur of another Vastara’s short dress. Sabra was alone… except for the sound of at least one beast rider behind her, tracking with persistent efficiency.
    She wrapped her hand around her curved gathering knife. She was prepared to slice her own throat rather than be captured. There was another loud noise, still to the right, but also in front of her. Sabra changed course, angling left and pushing her further away from the caves. Even with the stamina from years of tribe running games, her legs were beginning to tire.
    An explosion of heavy hooves beat from in front of her, and then more from the right, blocking her path to the shifon tree. There was a small entrance to the forest beside the sturdy tree, but Sabra realized she would not make it. She had no choice but to veer back towards the open field. Sabra’s eyes finally began to spill tears, blurring her vision as she searched the ground, frantically trying to discern a place to hide.
    The trees were thinning, and she knew that she was close to bursting back onto the open meadow. Sabra had no way of knowing… and would not have understood the strategy… that she and the other Vastara gatherers were being herded.
    Dasheen waited on grass on the back of his banta, watching the scene unfold. Some had questioned his decision to ride north so soon, but Dasheen had reasoned it must when the elusive Vastara left the rocks and forests to gather food for the cold seasons. They had seen signs of the disrupted vegetation each year when the Kirabi traveled to the plains to have their slaves gather food for the winter.
    Dasheen had waited a week, hiding at the edge of the forest on the other side of the valley. The Kirabi were restless and bickering among themselves as to the soundness of the mission, and they grumbled about the foolishness of the improbable quest. Then, one morning, the Vastara walked out from the trees through the pre-dawn mist, onto the tall grass.
    “They still exist,” Masan whispered in awe. It had been many, many years since a Vastara was sighted. Most in their generation thought the tribe was a myth, or surely extinct. Every other known tribe had been conquered, and they traded their safety with the Kirabi for whatever the fierce tribe commanded.
    The other tribes had slowly absorbed the addition of meat into their diet. They did not work off the added sustenance, and the added fat gave them a more substantial physical structure. Their backs and chests broadened, and their thighs and arms thickened for traveling long distances and carrying supplies and possessions.
    Only the Kirabi dared to harness the banta and tame them to ride. The jagged teeth and clawed front feet of the beasts were razor sharp, and it required the speed and strength of the Kirabi to capture them. Once a warrior had trained his animal, it remained loyal to him alone. The claws and teeth worked like machetes, thrashing through overgrown vegetation… or enemies… and clearing a path without stopping.
    “On the ready,” Dasheen ordered. The men beside him were paired off, with fifteen-foot nets spread between them. They were tied to the saddles of their bantas and fisted in one strong hand. Dasheen noticed the fixed stare of his brothers, some swiping their tongues across their lips in excitement.
    This was the first capture for many years, and although they would not be conquering the tribe, they would be acquiring new slave women. The men had seen the petite, alluring women outlined across the meadow. Even from the distance, they could see these females did not