Convergence

**

Zhura opened her eyes, unsure for a moment where she was.

The bedchamber flickered with light and smelled of the clean scent of beeswax. Keya, holding one candle, kneeled to light a few others on the floor. Her skin glistened, still damp, her hair still bound up in a linen wrap.

Zhura stood at the entrance to the balcony, though she hadn’t remembered getting out of bed. Her legs were slightly splayed, her fingers wet from pleasuring herself.

“I dreamt that I was Anathe again,” Zhura said.

Keya lit the last candle. She stood up. She was wearing the harness and wooden cock Omiri had gifted to Zhura. The stiff phallus bobbed with promise as the priestess climbed onto the bed.

“We were in the hills to the south,” Zhura said, coming to bed and stretching out like a cat beside her lover. Her eyes tracked the wooden cock, but her mind was elsewhere. “At the camp of my mother’s army upon Bandiri Slopes.” She told Keya about Tswe, and the rest of the dream. “I felt how strongly she wanted to bring people together, to do what was right. People, animals, and demons too.”

“Oh, Zhura, you are blessed! I have only read of such things!” the priestess said. “Your mother’s uwa has heard your prayers. Reached out to you and told you her story.” Keya grasped the herb-witch’s hand, fingers entwining. “How do you feel?”

I feel… dread.

It was there, underneath the comfort and the relief of reunion with her father. A creeping sense of doom. A crisis was coming, and she was at its center. A conflict whose outcome could change everything.

Her hand, still clasped with Keya’s, trembled. The priestess frowned, searching Zhura’s face.

“I feel… afraid. Confused.” Zhura blushed. “I feel like I am not entirely myself. She is my mother. But I felt as if we share a body. More than a body. We share a destiny.”

“It’s not wrong,” Keya said, beginning to caress Zhura’s neck and collarbone. “It is the power of the Ancestors. They watched over you at Kichinka. They allowed me to escape my golden cage. They saw spared us on the Night of the Forgotten. If, in their wisdom, the Ancestors chose us for some grand destiny, then we should embrace that destiny.”

Zhura nuzzled against Keya’s touch, leaning into it, letting it soothe her.

“Would you do anything to save me?” Keya asked.

Zhura frowned. “You know I would.”

“I would do the same for you,” the priestess said. “I am with you, whatever happens.”

They kissed gently, Keya’s soft body sliding against Zhura’s.

“I was growing warm just watching you,” Keya said. “That’s why I put on the cock. It looked as if you needed a good rutting. But we can just-”

“I still do,” Zhura moaned softly.

“Good,” Keya said. She leaned over, reaching for something next to the bed. It was a small jar of coconut oil.

She sat up and straddled the herb-witch. “I’m going to rut you in every hole I can find, until you can’t remember your name. Then I’m going to ride that lovely face of yours until I come all over it.” She grinned, then added: “If it pleases you, that is.”

Zhura giggled. She inhaled with relief. Keya could always make her smile, always give her a sense of meaning. “I always knew you were dangerous, Keya.”

The priestess scooted forward, until the smooth phallus jutted over Zhura’s lips.

“Suck my cock, whore!” Keya growled.

Zhura’s eyes danced with mirth.

But suck Zhura did.

**

The next morning, Zhura rolled over in bed, a satisfying ache in her yoni and another in her ass, just as the priestess had promised. She heard a distant pounding, like drums. Rays of the sun streamed in from the balcony, lighting the backs of her eyelids like fire. She rolled back away from it, burying her face in Keya’s soft shoulder.

“Someone’s at the door,” Keya mumbled.

“It’s just drums.”

“No… it’s drums and the door,” Keya replied.

Zhura swore, rolling off the bed. She stumbled to the door naked, rubbing her eyes. When she opened it, Ngo was waiting there, in scarlet trousers and sandals.

The warrior winked. “You smell like sex.”

Zhura tossed her braids back from her face, letting him in. “Like you don’t? I’ll wager that if I sniffed hard enough, I could smell Lila on you. Musa too.”

Ngo grunted. He eyed the discarded phallus and harness, and the spent candles lying on the floor. He nodded his approval. “Sorry I missed the fun.”

Keya, naked too, sat up in the bed, golden locks askew. “What is it?”

“The drums,” Ngo said, his expression growing serious. “I think they mean war.”

They washed and dressed hastily. The five of them went down to the pool chamber outside the king’s hall. Though Zhura expected the gathering place to be full, it was only sparsely populated, with a handful of nobles milling about speaking in hushed tones.

Emmi was one of them, the brass on his meaty forearms glinting in the overhead light. When he saw the herb-witch, he bowed away from his conversation with two older women in resplendent red dresses.

“Morning o’,” he said to them in greeting. “You’ve heard the news?”

“We only heard the drums,” Zhura said.

“They are the signal drums. Calling soldiers from outposts in the north and south,” he said. Seeing the blank look on the others’ faces, he added: “The king’s spies in Chide reported that Prince Kandu is there, betrothed to a Vong princess.”

“The Vong don’t rule in Chide,” Keya said.

“It appears they do now. There’s been a revolt.”

“What does that mean?” Zhura asked. “Kandu is the heir to the throne of Morore.”

“He is calling for the reunification of the kingdoms. Under him, of course.”

“What has King Yende said?” asked Ngo.

The big, bearded man shrugged. “He will refuse. But he has been secluded with his closest advisers for much of the night and morning. He has arrested Vong Clan members here in the Upper City. That’s why this place is suddenly so empty. Many people are suspect.”

“Have they done anything disloyal?” Zhura asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Keya said, sadly. “Even if they are loyal, they can be held as hostages for negotiations. An Ikanjan Great House would do the same.”

“That makes it less right, not more,” Zhura muttered.

Emmi’s look was apologetic. “You have come at an unlucky time, Zhura. Your father is truly in a difficult place.”

“I need to see him,” Zhura said, to no one in particular.

“Aren’t you afraid of being arrested too, Emmi?” Keya asked.

“I am of Busara Clan,” Emmi said, as if that explained everything. “War is bad for trade and worse for most people. But I would fight to keep King Yende in power, if he would allow it. The Casters’ Guild will back him. He and Yamou have been wise rulers. Kandu would not be.”

Zhura scanned the room again. She noticed the blue in Emmi’s tunic, and thought back to the hues she had seen in Yende’s court. Busara Clan’s colors were blue. Malindi was red. The missing green must have been Vong.

“This is stupid,” Zhura said. “What does being part of a Clan even matter?”

“It matters. Everyone knows the lineage and kin of the noble Clans,” said Emmi, gravely. “It is the way of things.”

“It is senseless! It’s as if nothing has changed. You people still squabble over who gets to rule, while others suffer and die.” Zhura shot back. Her burst of anger, even her words, surprised her.

Keya and the others looked at her with concern. “It is the way of things everywhere, Zhura,” the priestess replied softly. “Until the fight over who has power is decided, there is no peace.”

Just then, with the jolt of a sliding bar, the double door to the court shook and swung wide. The meager crowd of colorful nobles gravitated towards the door like iron filings to a lodestone. They stopped when scowling red-plumes placed themselves squarely in the entrance. From behind the guards, the grizzled Speaker pointed at Zhura and Keya.

“You two. Come,” the old man said.

A chorus of protests welled up from the nobles, including Emmi. A guard cut them off with a bark.

“Wait until you are called,” the Speaker said.

Zhura glanced at the others as she and Keya squeezed by the guard and into Yendi’s court.

The hall was nearly empty in comparison to two days before. Several red-plumed guards stood around the perimeter of the circular chamber. Only the King and Queen on their thrones occupied the center, with two advisors beside them.

As they approached, Keya briefly dropped to a knee and bowed her head. Even she seemed to know the proper etiquette. Zhura, wondering how much disrespect she’d shown in her first visit to the court, mimicked the bow.

Yende regarded the pair sullenly. Yamou’s gaze was sharp and unwavering. “First, let us be clear who stands before us,” she said.

Behind them, the Speaker called, “Zhura, herb-witch and daughter of King Yende. Keya of the Ikanjan House Oko.” He paused for emphasis. “Fugitive, rumored to be dead.”

One of the advisors, a mirthless man with a sprinkle of white in his goatee, turned to the King and Queen, the scarlet of his tunic gleaming in the firelight. “Before anything else is said, I oppose this audience. Under our current circumstances, neither of these people should be trusted.”

“We know you do not approve, Chiso. Yet we will listen,” Queen Yamou said.

“I am the King’s daughter,” Zhura said simply.

“You have no path to the throne. Neither do your children,” said Yamou.

The herb-witch resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I know that.”

“Zhura didn’t even want to come to Morore, Queen Yamou,” Keya interjected. “Except so that she could learn of her ancestry. It had been kept secret from her, for her entire life. That is a curse no one should endure.”

“And you,” Yamou turned her attention to the priestess. “We have learned much about you. Why are you here?”

There was an unspoken question there, a dip of the queen’s head that acknowledged rumor that the king’s daughter was the lover of this albino fugitive from a far land. Fortunately, it seemed the king and queen were too preoccupied with other matters to pursue the rumor.

“I am her chronicler, Queen.”

“She is a recognized scholar on infernals,” Chiso said. “Another odd twist of fate that she would arrive here and now.”

“Why?” Zhura asked, looking from the advisor to Yende and Yamou.

The king shifted on the throne. “Zhura, yesterday you told me that you faced a demon in the Chidean village, Kachinka. You were one of the survivors of an attack, along with the merchant Ranthaman San.”

“Yes, father.”

“San will confirm this?”

“Of course.”

Yende glanced at his advisors. Both men shook their heads. The king’s wife, however, nodded.

“You’ve made your point, Chiso,” the king said. He turned to the second advisor, a bald, bearded man in black and yellow garb who had said nothing yet. “Warchief, explain our circumstance.”

“Within the Lower City, our position is… ominous.” The Warchief’s voice boomed, as if he had honed it on battlefields. “Dozens of wardens were murdered last night. Folk have begun to flee, and there have been claims of demon sightings throughout the Lower City.”

“What kind of demons?” Keya asked.

“Spooks,” the Warchief said. “Hyena-men.”

“How were these spooks described?” Zhura asked.

“Apelike, with masks. They vanish at will, like ghosts in the night.”

“They are sanju demons,” Keya remarked. “The hyena-men are called bajari.”

“The Thandi, my mother’s people, may be behind these sightings,” Zhura said. “They are using summoning stones to bring the infernals inside the ancestral wards. We have… seen this before.”

Yende gazed at her for a moment, a glint of pride in his eye. “I will need your counsel in fighting the infernals. But I have another task for you. You know Ranthaman San. He is in his home in the Upper City. I want you to persuade him to throw the support of the Ikanjan House San behind our kingdom.”

**

A couple of hours later, Zhura and Keya walked through the Upper City, following the directions Advisor Chiso had given. The streets were eerily empty. Dark faces peered at the women through wooden shutters. Where Zhura could glimpse the Upper City’s outer walls, red plumed soldiers stared down. More soldiers gathered around one building, ushering out a whole family, including crying children.

“This is disgusting,” Zhura said. “I have to make Yende stop this.”

“Consider what influence you could have over your father if we could help him get the support of House San,” the priestess said.

“You’re forgetting that Ranthaman is now working with your former lover.”

Keya shook her head under the wide brim of her hat. “On the contrary, I am counting on Jinai’s sympathy.”

“I see. This is the woman you lied to. The woman for whom you faked your own death.” Zhura nodded in resignation. Keya had a talent for persuasion, and it wasn’t as if there was a better idea.

They had to consider fleeing Morore. The kingdom was on the brink of war. And yet, Zhura couldn’t shake the feeling that her task was unfinished. Nor could she escape the fear that history was repeating itself, as the Kingdoms once again succumbed to political infighting.

Like the buildings around it, Ranthaman San’s Morore home was a nondescript block of brown mud brick. It was three stories high, with a notched parapet at the summit and wooden shuttered windows. A green and black banner of House San flew from the roof.

Two children squatted at the dusty entrance to an alley around the corner from the house, with a sorry-looking bowl of kola nuts between them. It seemed strange to be peddling anything on the deserted streets.

“Kola, Mah?” the taller of the children offered. At second glance, it was a girl with her hair cut short. She gazed evenly at the women.

Keya smiled at the girl. “What’s your name?”

“I’m just a drongo,” the girl replied.

“You’re a bird?” Keya frowned, taking a few of the pebble shaped white nuts, handing the little boy a copper bit in exchange. She had almost certainly overpaid.

“You really need to stop being kind to strange children,” Zhura said, cocking her head at the nuts as they walked away. “Those things will stain your teeth red.” While bitter in taste, the nuts had a pleasant stimulant effect and some medicinal value.

Keya stripped off the shells, exposing the rose-colored insides. “I know. I’m craving the sharpness. And they’re cute kids.”

Zhura shrugged. As they approached the double doors to the house, the herb-witch took one of the nuts from Keya. She gave it a test sniff and popped it in her mouth, knowing that the acerbic flavor would mellow and sweeten as she chewed. She knocked. A portly attendant greeted the women and invited them inside. When she glanced back at the alleyway, the children were gone.

The interior was pleasantly furnished, with white-washed walls, wooden trim, and a scent like old resin. The ground floor seemed to be mostly for servants, with arched entryways into pantries and storage space for linens. Several bundles were stacked near the doors, as if someone prepared for a journey.

The attendant showed them up a wide staircase to a sitting room. He opened the shutters, letting in midday light, and left them there.

Zhura noted a vu’ela board made of brass on a table, wicker chairs, fine skins on the floor, and baobab wood carvings on the wall. All items that would naturally be collected by a merchant as well traveled in the Kingdoms as Ranthaman.

Keya was trying to teach Zhura how to play the game of stones when San, followed by Jinai, came into the room. Both were swathed in light robes of dun and black.

Not for the first time, Zhura wondered about the relationship between the two. She knew from Keya that Jinai was an exceptional bodyguard. But could that be Jinai’s only purpose here? The notion seemed unlikely.

While the two took chairs across from Zhura and Keya, Ranthaman was all gracious smiles. Jinai’s expression was flat.

“I did not expect this visit,” the merchant said. “Rumor has it that you have found even better accommodation than I could offer. Daughter of a king! Zhura, you never fail to surprise me.”

Keya set down the vu’ela stones she had been holding. “Surely you have also heard the news about Prince Kandu, and the possibility of war.”

Ranthaman nodded grimly. “Also unexpected.”

“What is House San’s stance on the unification of Morore and Chide?” Keya asked.

“You mean what is my stance? It will be two weeks before anyone in Namu learns of this,” San’s lip curled. “I am a merchant, Lady Keya. All I care about is the freedom to buy and sell goods. It is not in my interest to take sides.”

“You have traded under King Yende’s rule for many years. He is respected by his people, and by many Clans,” Zhura said. “Prince Kandu is not.”

“So you would have me side with your father? If he is overthrown, then House San loses as well.”

“Then do not side with King Yende,” Keya said. “Take a position in support of peaceful negotiation. You are the closest thing there is to an ambassador of the Ikanjan State in all of the Kingdoms. Even Prince Kandu would respect that.”

Ranthaman glanced at Jinai. The woman did not meet his gaze, instead staring at a point in the center of the room. Zhura sensed an unease there, some uncertainty or dissent between the two Ikanjans.

“I sympathize with you, Zhura. Truly I do. At the moment that you reunite with your father you find him possibly losing his throne. You must want to defend him,” San said. “But this strife is the nature of the Nubic Kingdoms. Even the factions here have factions. The wisest course for outsiders like you and I is to stay far from the fighting.”

“Or,” Zhura countered, “to try to bring the factions together. That is the only way the Kingdoms survived the Sizwe invasion.”

“That should matter to you, Ranthaman,” Keya went on smoothly. “Both you and I know that the Ikanjan State fears the Sizwe. Yende is the only King who stood firm against the Sizwe that remains in power. Don’t pretend that his fall will mean nothing to Ikanjans.”

“That is for the Magisterium to decide,” Ranthaman said. “Not me.”

Keya regarded her fellow Ikanjans. “Let’s address the issue we have been dancing around for too long. Why are you here, Ranthaman? If it is only for trade, then how did you find us so easily, and why are you in the company of my former handmaid?”

“Lady Keya, you were once one of the leaders of a Great House,” San said. “But you are no longer. The world you fled no longer revolves around you, if ever it did. Jinai has many talents, as you well know. House Oko was foolish to release her.”

Keya paused, resting her chin on her hands before speaking slowly. “Ranthaman, if you are here to obtain and learn about summoning stones, know that you risk more destruction than any war between Chide and Morore could cause. The idea of the most powerful demons under the control of Barasa San causes me nightmares. To say nothing of possibly upsetting the balance of power between the Ikanjan State and the Sizwe Empire. If trade is what you truly care about, you must forswear Barasa’s reckless plans.”

Jinai only stared at the floor. Ranthaman’s smile was wearing thin.

He sighed. “Events in Morore move quickly. If the gates to the Upper City are closed, you will soon discover the horrors of life in a city under siege. If you are not arrested, or killed by competing factions, you will face thirst and starvation.”

The merchant’s face was grim, and he stood, followed by Jinai. After Keya’s near accusation, it seemed the meeting was at an end.

“I am quitting the city for Mibega,” Ranthaman said. His attendant entered to show Zhura and Keya out. “I advise you to do the same, and soon.”

“Before we leave,” Keya asked, “may I have a word with Jinai? Alone?”

Ranthaman glanced at Jinai. He nodded and left the room.

Keya’s former guard gazed flatly at Zhura.

“You too, my love,” Keya urged softly.

**

Later, Zhura and Keya walked back through the quiet Upper City, on the broad street that led to the palace gates.

Zhura cleared her throat. “What did you and Jinai talk about?”

Keya’s eyes were downcast. “She said if I wanted to fight demons and witches, I could have stayed with House Oko. She said I would have avoided sleeping in the bush, collecting blisters, and nearly getting killed in the process.”

“You’ve been perfectly safe,” Zhura protested.

Keya frowned. “Except for the lions.”

“Well, there was that.”

“And getting snatched away by demons.”

Zhura nodded. “Yes, all right, though I still think you enjoyed that part too much. You seemed happy enough to rut both of them.”

The priestess was bold enough to look affronted. “-And almost being entombed on the Night of the Forgotten. And those bandits in Chide-”

“So Jinai has a point,” Zhura admitted. “You told her about all of that?”

“I didn’t tell her about any of it.”

Zhura glanced at Keya. “When are you going to?”

“Never! Jinai will never understand. So there’s no point in telling her.”

They veered around a steaming pile of dung the size of coconuts. When she spotted another not far ahead, Zhura realized they were walking close behind the Water Keepers. Shouts and arguments came from up ahead.

“That doesn’t seem wise, Keya. What happens when she finds out you are with child, and who sired that child?”

They rounded a corner, finding themselves in the little plaza before the bronze gate to the palace.

The priestess sighed. “I don’t want to know the answer to that question.”

Three elephants, piled high with great jugs of water, and surrounded by red-plumed guards, forced their way through a crowd of Upper City residents. Another knot of red-plumes emerged from the gates, forming a cordon. Recognizing Zhura, the sub-chief waved the two women towards the cordon, to enter the palace along with the Water Keepers.

“Let us in!” a woman in the throng cried, fear twisting her face.

“Demons roam the Lower City! The King must be told!” shouted another as a guard shoved him back.

Zhura imagined what this scene would be like if the Upper City was cut off from the river. “This has to end,” she said, as shouts and the trumpets of elephants battered her ears. “It has to end soon.”

**

Zhura awakened to pounding on the door.

Again. “Why can’t we get one single night’s rest?” she complained.

When she shifted, Keya rolled over. “What is it?” the priestess asked groggily, her eyes still closed.

Zhura swung her feet to the floor and padded to the door.

The bushy-browed sub-chief who waited outside gaped at her nudity before composing himself. “There’s an attack,” he said. “In the Upper City.”

She nodded. She and Keya dressed, while the sub-chief hurried to wake their companions.

They rushed through streets steeped in shadow, with only scattered lamplight and the occasional torch to reveal their way. The narrow passages of the Upper City were like canyons in the night, empty of residents, walls reaching to the starry sky.

The fighting had taken place not far from the Road Gate. Blood still painted the cobblestones. Pools of it clotted, tacky and dark, reeking of copper in the narrow street. Cracks buckled the brick façade of the nearest buildings. The wall of a one-story home nearby was caved in completely.

They’d come as quickly as they could, Zhura, Keya, Ngo and Musa, along with the red-plumed sub-chief. They’d heard the screams as they left the palace and ventured into the pinched streets. But by the time they’d reached the scene of the battle, it was swarming with red plumes, and the fighting was over.

The sub-chief pointed down the street, to where the gate was just a short distance around a turn. “The Road Gate was already closed for the night. A group of wardens was on patrol, and two – zenkomo, you called them – were waiting there in ambush. A priest and more wardens came from the gate to help, but they could not even slow the beasts down. They were forced to retreat. The demons killed nine men, and wounded another twelve.”

The battle seemed to have raged down the street to this point, still marked by broken walls, and broken bodies that were being carried away. Zhura remembered her encounter with the bull demon, the zenkomo, in Kichinka the year before. That maul it wielded could easily have shattered a brick wall.

“The priest assures us that the Upper City ancestral wards are still intact,” the sub-chief went on. “So you believe the demons were summoned within the city?”

Keya nodded. The priestess looked weary, her eyes puffy. “Those who summoned the zenkomos couldn’t have been very far away. Afterwards, the demons must have been banished.”

“The wardens said they saw no human foes, just a pair of the creatures,” the sub-chief replied. “The demons didn’t come close to the gate or walls. So why make the attack?”

“The attack was a demonstration,” Keya guessed. “To show that you are not safe behind your wards, even in the Upper City.”

Of course she would conclude that. She had tried to give the same warning to the people of Namu.

Wardens had gathered several people, sweaty faced, in light sleeping gowns, who’d emerged from their homes, and begun questioning them.

“Did anyone see the demons vanish?” Keya asked the group.

“I did. I was looking out my window,” a tall boy said. He pointed to the street, only a few paces away. “They disappeared, right there.”

Other residents voiced their agreement.

“Did you see anyone nearby? Perhaps a woman with dark scars?” Zhura asked.

None of the witnesses had. But the summoners had to have been here.

Keya glanced at the surrounding buildings. “Have all of these been searched? Have wardens questioned people in each of them?”

The sub-chief nodded. “We’ve found no one with scars like you described. We talked to people from all of these homes. Except for this one, which has been abandoned.” He pointed to a three-story block house that looked dark and empty, except for flashes of lamplight, visible behind open shutters. “We’re searching inside now.”

“That’s the orphan’s den,” a woman said.

“Thieves’ den, you mean,” said another. “Those kids would steal the bangles off your wrists if you didn’t watch them.”

“Where are the children now?” Keya asked.

An old man with watery eyes answered. “About a week ago, Miko, one of the men who looked after the kids, was found dead in the street. The children have been gone since.”

Zhura only partially listened. She drifted away from the throng, sandaled feet retracing the battle’s path. She could taste the coppery tang in the air, and another scent, at once powerful and subtle, of burning dung. It drew her back to Kichinka, where she could still hear bloodcurdling cries.

“You have fought this type of demon before?” the sub-chief asked, bringing Zhura out of her reverie.

Looking past him, Zhura saw Keya and the others still questioning those who’d witnessed the battle. “It wasn’t much of a fight. I landed blows, but didn’t hurt it.”

“How do we kill them?” the man asked. “According to the wardens, they shot one of the beasts full of so many arrows, it looked like a porcupine. But it wouldn’t stop.”

“They are very solid, but they must have weak points. Eyes, ears, whatever seems vulnerable. Were the wardens wearing their own talismans for protection?”

“For all the good it did them, yes.”

“You should set your priests to making consecrated wards for the men,” Zhura said. “It will take time, but Keya can help.”

The herb-witch did a double-take as she spotted Jinai walking down the street towards her former mistress. The tall handmaiden, swathed in loose robes of ivory and green, glanced at Zhura as she passed by.

Zhura’s eyes narrowed. Despite her past relationship with Keya, or perhaps because of it, Jinai only seemed to further complicate what was already a vexing matter. “If I am going to face creatures like this, I’ll need different weapons,” Zhura said to the sub-chief. “Is there an armory I can use back at the palace?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you,” she said. She slipped away from the sub-chief as one of the red plumes approached him for help.

Though she carried no obvious weapons, Jinai did not seem the least bit intimidated by the heavily armed Ngo, who stood beside Keya. Zhura didn’t miss the look between Jinai and Musa. It seemed there was no love lost between them either.

“What are you doing here?” Keya asked her former companion.

“We heard the fighting,” Jinai replied. Her gaze lingered on the abandoned orphan’s den. “I brought a few of the askari with me to help. It appears that the Road and River Gates are now closed, until the wardens are certain about how the demons got in and out. Ranthaman is trapped here, which means you may get what you want. He may have no choice but to support the king.”

“It is the only reasonable choice,” Keya said.

As it became apparent that the danger had passed, the Upper City folk began to filter back into their homes. Wardens, in small lamp lit groups, cast about in all directions, looking for evidence as to where the attackers had gone. As she watched the guards disperse, Zhura spotted a familiar face, peering at the companions from the shadows of an alley.

“It’s the drongo,” Zhura said in a low voice.

As discreetly as she could, the herb-witch led her friends into the alley. By then, the girl was at the far end of it, gesturing for them to follow. Soon they had reached an empty street, lit only by a distant burning sconce and starlight.

The nappy headed girl emerged from the shadows, bestowing a crooked-toothed grin upon them.

“Why did you hide from the wardens?” Zhura asked the girl.

It was Jinai who answered, however. “She is a scavenger. The city guards probably beat kids like her, steal from them, or worse. Marble is one of Whisper’s informants.”

“Whisper?”

“An information broker who lived in that building the wardens were searching. She used to be in the Upper City. Now…?” Jinai looked to the girl.

Marble said nothing.

“Did you see the demons?” Keya asked the girl.

Marble nodded.

Keya dug in the folds of her robes. She handed the girl something wrapped in palm leaf. Zhura guessed it was dried fruit from the palace, or yam chips from their rations. “Where did they go?”

The girl took it, stashing it in the folds of her stained dress. “They vanished into the air,” she said.

“Were there women with them?” asked Zhura.

“Two scarred women, yes.”

“Did you see where the women went?”

Marble nodded. She gestured to them and hurried down the street towards the western wall of the Upper City.

The companions followed. Marble seemed to prefer to stay ahead of them, darting around a corner into another alley, but waiting for them to enter before leaving the narrow pathway.

The Upper City seemed as desolate as the Southside ruins in Namu, except for the occasional glimpse of a red-plumed guard on the outer wall, or the rustle of someone peering at them from a shuttered window. It seemed that those who had not already fled were either holed up in their homes, pleading to get into the palace, or already locked away by King Yende.

Eventually they came to another one-story home – a block of reddish mud-brick that backed upon a street along the western wall of the Upper City. Without hesitation, the scrawny girl pushed open the wooden door, though it stuck badly in the dried mud.

The interior of the windowless home was dark. Marble lit a bit of tallow. She led them from one empty room to another, where a jumble of brick ovens were lined along the dirt against the back wall. Marble pointed into the dark mouth of one of them, an opening only about one pace in width and height.

“It leads out of the Upper City?” Jinai guessed.

“Show us,” said Zhura.

The girl rolled her eyes. She stooped, holding the candle to the oven mouth. Sure enough, the chamber had a hole in its floor, extending beyond the radius of the faint light.

Zhura looked at the others, who looked back at her.

“My shoulders are too wide,” Ngo complained.

Musa was a smaller man, but his bow certainly would not fit.

The herb-witch sighed. “All right. I’ll go.”

“I will as well,” said Jinai.

Zhura arched an eyebrow in surprise. “How long is the tunnel?” she asked the girl.

Marble shrugged. “Eight paces. Maybe nine. It comes out on the side of the mesa.”

Zhura handed her staff to Keya. She crouched down and crawled into the oven mouth. The hole was barely wider than her. It took a moment before she could move on all fours without banging her head. It was pitch black. Hard earth scraped against her knees and palms. There was no way to move quickly, but a child would navigate it more easily.

She felt many-legged vermin skittering across her hands and over her calves, but she was more concerned about the woman she heard crawling behind her. Zhura didn’t think for a moment that the former guard was unarmed, and it was still a mystery as to why she was in Morore.

It may have been eight paces, but it felt like eighty.

Finally, the blackness turned to brown. Zhura reached a pocket that was large enough to stoop in. She got her feet under her in the little nook, disturbing weaver birds who roosted there. Zhura eased around a turn, following the flapping wings and feathers that made her want to sneeze. Finally she reached the exit – a hole in the rock, high on the mesa cliff. The slope would be treacherous at night, but not impossible to climb.

Lower City sprawled beneath her, glowing with the light of torches and lamps. The river meandered to the south, a black ribbon that shimmered in the night. The Brassbelt crossed the water on an arched bridge of russet stone.

What sounded like deranged laughter was, Zhura realized, the sound of hyena calls. Not unlike those she’d heard on the savanna, these came from the far side of the river. Even as she watched, bright flaming arrows arced from the bridge to the far shore. The herb-witch caught glimpses of movement, and heard more cries – human screams this time – but could see little in the night.

“It seems you have truly stepped deep into it,” Jinai said, beside Zhura. Her tall form was steeped in shadow as she peered at the scene along the river.

“As have you.”

“It isn’t me I worry about,” Jinai replied smoothly. “And it certainly isn’t you.”

“But you worry about her. So will you help us now?” Zhura asked. “Help the king?”

Jinai turned, the outline of her scowl evident in the dim light. “Your best move is to flee the city. Now.” She gestured down at the road below them. “You even have a way out.”

Zhura shook her head. “She isn’t a child, Jinai.”

“You know as well as I that she cannot protect herself. Not like you or I. Not like your warrior friends. She is only here because of you.”

“She makes choices. They are not your choices to make, nor are they mine.”

“She looks fatigued, or ill,” Jinai said. “Can you not see it?”

She is almost three months pregnant. But then, Jinai wouldn’t have known that. Zhura would not be the one to tell her.

“She is well enough,” Zhura said. “I am an herb-witch.”

Jinai nodded. “Perhaps she needs a better herb-witch,” she said smoothly. She sighed. “There is a larger plot here. You and the Thandi are at the center of it, Zhura.”

“I know that now.”

The vast, walled compound of the Caster’s Guild stretched along the river. It was the closest thing in the Lower City to a fortress. If Emmi had influence there, it might be a safe place to hole up. The fighting on the bridge and the far approach seemed to have subsided, but she could still see tiny figures running to and from the river like termites around a disturbed mound.

“Ranthaman is at the palace now, conferring with Yende. He has bid me to help you as best as I can,” Jinai said softly.

Surprised, Zhura turned to Jinai, but the other woman was watching the city below.

“Thank you,” said Zhura.

“We will likely die here,” Jinai replied.

When they returned back through the tunnel, Keya and Marble were waiting for them. Musa poked his head in from the front room, from where he and Ngo watched the street.

“How often do the Thandi use this tunnel?” Zhura asked Marble.

“This is our tunnel. The Scarred Women just found out about it, and used it this once. Now you can tell the soldiers, so they will close it up.”

“How did the Thandi find out about your tunnel?” Keya asked.

Marble scowled. “Miko told them. But he’s dead now, and there are other tunnels he didn’t know about.”

“So you drongos can come and go from the Upper City? Even with the gates closed?” Zhura asked.

Marble just looked at her.

“Of course they do,” said Jinai. “They are skilled at being unseen. Most people probably ignore them anyway.”

Zhura had seen Jinai’s old scars, and she’d seen the gangs of orphans who prowled the beaches and the Hazard in Namu. It didn’t take much to guess that the Ikanjan woman had encountered street children in her past. Perhaps she had been one herself.

“So the Thandi came in to the Upper City somehow,” Keya mused. “Through the tunnel or through the gates. They summoned the zenkomos and attacked. Then they banished the demons and slipped out of the Upper City, leaving us to wonder how demons got here and whether they might attack again.”

“Now we can close up the tunnel and tell the king the Upper City is safe against another attack,” Zhura said.

“Or…” said the priestess, eyeing Zhura.

A grin slowly stretched Zhura’s lips.

“Or you could set a trap,” guessed Jinai.

Zhura turned back to the girl. “This is very important. Just before the demons vanished, did the women say anything? Did you hear words?”

Marble held out a grubby hand, palm up.

“I don’t have any more food,” Keya said.

Jinai offered the child a handful of copper bits. Keya frowned at her former lover.

“We can trust her,” Jinai said to Keya. “I know it.” She turned back to the girl. “If you continue to provide us with what we need, you’ll not want for a thing. I promise.”

Marble took the coin. “One of the women, the one closest to me, said something.” She squinted as she remembered. “It was… ‘Ulubuleli’.”

**

Like much of what was in the palace armory, the chamber seemed a relic of an ancient past, emulating a style older than anything Zhura had seen in Namu. Thick, rectangular pillars of red ochre supported the ceiling, and the walls were panels of soft blue and ivory. The wide room was lit by torches, whose smoke curled around the chamber and into chimneys, carrying with it the scent of dust and aged wood.

But this was not just any armory. It was King Yende’s personal collection. Innumerable shields, spears, stylized clubs, swords, axes and ceremonial knives hung upon the walls. Some, battered and notched, had been wielded by Yende or his companions. Some had been gifts.

Some were familiar.

Zhura’s staff was not a weapon of war. It could not protect her or her companions against arrows or other projectiles.

The king leaned in the doorway, watching his daughter scan the room. Zhura found herself drawn to a kirri club and shield. Menga had told her about this southern weapon, a slender shaft topped with a knob of weighty heartwood. The sphere on the end of this one was capped with bronze – an alloy that would injure demons. The opposite end of the shaft tapered to a lethal point, also plated in bronze.

The shield was oblong and covered with the thick hide of a rhino or hippo. Its face was painted with the geometric pattern of a turtle shell.

Zhura looked a question at her father. He nodded, a bemused expression on his face.

She took down the items, trying a few experimental swings with the club, feeling its weight and balance.

“Menga trained you with club and shield?” he asked.

Zhura shook her head no. “He trained me to defend against them.”

She strapped the shield on her forearm. The shield was heavier than she expected, but easy to wield with the demonic vigor that pumped through her veins.

“Somehow, these feel familiar,” she mused.

“Your mother wielded them,” he said. “Remarkable. You remind me so much of her.”

Zhura swung the shield over her back, the strap pulling snug on her shoulders. “Did you love her?” she asked.

Yende sighed as he gazed at a room full of memory. “No,” he said finally. “Our affair was a brief one, born of political necessity. She was in love with her cause. I was… in love with my ambition.”

The herb-witch felt relief, hearing that. At least the tragedy of her mother’s death hadn’t been compounded by love, unrequited and unfulfilled.

“The state of the Lower City is grim,” Yende said. “There is no siege, yet the people act as if there is, hoarding food and fleeing the city. Wardens have been murdered in the streets and alleys. Those who remain hold the watch post on the Brassbelt Bridge, to keep the trade route open west to Bocha and to protect the Water Keepers’ access to the river.

“The post has been attacked each of the last two nights, by demons and Vong rebels. I will reinforce it with as many wardens as I dare. But these sanju demons sap the men’s courage. Bajari rip them apart. During the days, the people can have some shred of normal life. The surviving wardens can attempt to maintain order in the Lower City. But the nights belong to the beasts.

“If those wardens fall, then we will lose the city. More people will flee. They will raid the granaries in order to survive. I won’t be able to rally city folk to prepare defensive positions for the army. They will believe I have abandoned them. And they will be right.” He scowled. “No one in this city knows more about these monsters than you and your companions.”

“You want me to help the wardens in the Lower City.”

“Ranthaman told me of your courage in battle. He said he’d seen few who could fight like you, even among men,” Yende said.

“But you are their king.” Zhura took a deep breath. Perhaps it was too much to ask a king to personally fight for his subjects. Perhaps this was the political realism that Keya always spoke of. “You didn’t come here from the Valley to defend the interests of Malindi Clan, or protect the nobility. You came to save a city,” Zhura said. “At least, that’s the way Menga always told it.”

That was the story told to a little girl. But Yende had been a mercenary. He fought for coin, and nobles had the coin to pay.

The king steepled his hands in front of his face. He was silent for a while before allowing an embarrassed smile. “You’re right, of course. I’ve put out the word that I will be out of the palace, rallying the people of the Upper City. I have men watching the tunnel. When the Thandi come for me with their summoning stones, we will catch them. That was what you suggested, wasn’t it?”

“I did.” Her foray into the armory complete, Zhura came to stand with her father. “What about my other requests?” she asked.

“There have been no more arrests. I’ve even allowed some of the Vong to return to their homes in the Upper City.”

“And the crowd at the palace gates?”

“I cannot let them inside,” Yende scowled. “But I will make sure that all have food and water. And I will allow them to leave the Upper City if they choose. Less mouths to feed if it comes to a siege.

“This is a dangerous moment, Zhura. I’ve already given the order for the soldiers on the border to begin a fighting retreat. If the Chideans reach the city before aid comes, Morore will be besieged. If we have not crushed the Thandi and Vong rebels that are already in the city before then, Morore may be lost.”

The king hesitated, a grim expression fixed upon his face. “There are those who demand that I arrest your priestess friend, and offer her in exchange for Ikanjan aid.”

Zhura’s blood ran cold. She started to respond, and then swallowed the words, not trusting herself to speak them. Who would make that demand? Ranthaman? Yende’s advisors? Or was it Yende himself, considering his options?

“But I see she is important to you,” Yende said. “And I believe she will be more valuable to us against the demons.”

“Why would you even tell me that?”

“My daughter, I only want you to understand how desperate our situation is.”

Zhura shook her head, still angry. “How long do we have?”

“At a guess? Three, perhaps four days.” He sighed, “If we survive this-”

“If we survive this, build no more statues to long-gone heroes. Save your respect for those that live here.”

Yende sighed. “By the Ancestors. You must be channeling her uwa. That is something she would have said.”

All of this still troubled her. Yende was her father, to be sure. But how far could she rely upon him?

“Why?” she asked. “Why do you trust me with this? When your advisors counsel you otherwise?”

“Because you are my daughter,” he said, glancing away. “Maybe it is instinct that makes me turn to you when my son betrayed me. You are the eldest, perhaps not corrupted by the damnable politics of this place.

“But there is something else,” Yende said, meeting her gaze. “I see her in you. Anathe was the real hero of Morore, even though the storytellers do not recount it that way. She was a leader who compelled others to follow by her own courage and determination. I trust you because you carry part of her within you. Zhura, you are the symbol of our union, of what made this city the heart of a new kingdom.”

He moved to embrace her. In that instant, she could feel the warmth and closeness of him, his woody, earthy scent that felt like home. Not Boma, or even Morore, but the place her soul lived.

But Zhura didn’t trust that feeling.

She recoiled, even as she saw the pain on his features. She wanted him to understand. “I look forward to the day,” she said, “when our situation is… less desperate.”

**

Zhura and Keya shared supper in their chamber with Musa, Lila, Ngo and Emmi. Keya’s former maid had quickly learned which servants in the palace could find them the best food. They laid out woven mats on the cool tiles of the floor and sat round a bowl of delightfully sour sauce made from hibiscus greens, a couple of roasted birds, pounded millet dough, and jugs of honeyed beer.

Musa whispered a few words of soft prayer before he began to partake. “When I was a small boy, Ikanjan farmers drove the last Kut people off of our hunting grounds. The elders tried to fight, but eventually we starved. They herded us into Namu to civilize us, and still we went hungry.” He tore a leg from one of the birds, grease dripping from his fingers. “Ranthaman had it right to try to leave. You do not want to see the nightmare of a siege, of a whole city without food. We should fight like an elephant protecting her calf to avoid that.”

“We can prevent it,” Zhura said. “Yende says he will have aid from both the north and the west, enough to drive the Chideans back to the border, if we can keep the city from descending into chaos for just a few days.”

Musa nodded. He licked his fingers. “If we are going to stay, then we will fight like mother elephants anyway.”

Emmi sopped up sauce with a piece of the millet. “If you join the men that I can raise, the men of my Clan and of the Casters’ Guild, we can keep order. The Vong are the true enemy, and Busara Clan knows how to beat the Vong,” he said.

“Join your men?” Keya said, eyebrows raised in irony.

Zhura smiled to herself, eyeing Emmi. You are a leader of men. But I am asking you to follow.

Emmi wiped a hand across his lips as he ate. “Within the close confines of the city, even a small number of strong warriors can make a difference. If we can protect the granaries and the river crossing, the people will still have hope. The Casters’ Guild is a defensible position we can fight from.”

This had all happened before. Zhura had seen it, like a recurring nightmare. She shook her head. “We are not running like Ranthaman. The Vong are not the greatest threat.”

Everyone turned to her.

“Zhura, what are you asking us to do?” Keya said.

I’m not asking, the voice inside her urged. Zhura quelled it. “Follow me,” she said. “Fight the Thandi and their demons who are behind all of this.”

The others were silent as they ate, watching her. Emmi chuckled softly.

“I will follow you, Zhura,” Ngo said solemnly. “Wherever.”

“As will I,” said Keya, though lines of concern were etched in her forehead. “We will find a way.”

Musa, silent, only nodded his assent.

Emmi smiled. “Perhaps we will fight this mysterious enemy together,” he said. “But my men will not be led by a woman.” He took a long draught of his beer. “I have no doubt you are a capable fighter. But these men have seen war.”

“As have I,” Zhura said, levelling her gaze upon the big man.

“You are an herb-witch.”

Zhura only smiled, as she dipped her bit of millet in the sauce.

Lila cleared her throat. “I have observed something about the men who balk at following the command of women,” she said.

A knowing smile crept across Musa’s face as the Kut warrior bent over his food.

“Either they refuse to follow because they desire her, or because they see her as less than themselves,” the maid said.

Keya nearly spat out her beer, giggling in surprise.

“That is preposterous,” Emmi laughed. “What if the men are better?”

“You’re proving her point,” Ngo murmured.

“With many men it’s a little of both,” Lila admitted. “In House Oko, most of the men secretly wanted to bend Lady Keya over a bale of jamgrass and rut her silly. Some of those also thought her cursed because she is an albino.”

“Is that true, Musa?” the priestess asked.

Musa looked away. “It isn’t untrue,” he said. “Though I followed you and still wanted to bend you over a bale of jamgrass.”

“Not all men lust after women,” Emmi pointed out.

“True,” Lila grinned. “But I think you do.”

The mood in the room had changed. Zhura secretly thanked the little maid for it. No one was eating anymore.

“I followed Zhura because she knocked me on my ass,” Ngo laughed in mock protest. “Wanting to rut her came later.”

“So which is it for you, Emmi?” Zhura said.

As usual, she was the least-dressed in the room, wearing a halter that bared her belly and shoulders. The cut of her wrap skirt barely covered her toned legs. From where she sat, she was certain that Emmi could see the tight loincloth that stretched tightly over her plump mound. She didn’t try to hide it.

Zhura eased forward and pushed the bowl and empty plates out of the circle of companions. She crept into the space she’d cleared, close enough to take in the heated metallic scent of him.

It was not like her to be so aggressive with strangers. In fact, she would never have been so bold, and it wasn’t the beer that was lowering her inhibitions. She felt the eyes of her companions on her, but her gaze was fixed upon the Caster.

Anathe.

“Do you want to rut me?” Zhura said, low-voiced, to the man. “Or do you need proof of my worth?”

Emmi said nothing, but he watched her with a look of astonishment and lust.

Zhura crouched before him, their faces close. “I am daughter to the King. I have stood against demons that crushed other men. The Ancestors smile upon me, and when I speak, Yende listens.” Their lips almost touched. “Follow me. Together we will prevail.”

Before he could muster a reply, she kissed him.

Emmi tasted of beer, of the nutty sweetness of the millet brew and the burnished incense of his craft. His beard tickled her lips, as she cocked her head and straddled him. Though her eyes were closed, she sensed the others in the silence, as if they held their collective breath.

She slipped her arms around him, slender, strong fingers feeling his bulk. Her skirt was rucked up completely around her hips, and his stiffness ground against her dampening slit through the irksome fabric that kept them apart. Emmi’s hands pushed up under Zhura’s halter, squeezing soft flesh.

Zhura’s lips drifted over, through curly hair to the bare skin under his ear. “Will you follow me?” she asked softly.

His fingers teased her nipples, causing Zhura’s sharp intake of breath. She stood, hauling his tunic up and off his shoulders. She threw off her halter as well, exposing stiff nipples to the night air.

Zhura glanced at Keya, noting the lustful look on the priestess’s face. From the corner of her eye, the herb-witch could see Musa and Lila kissing. She crouched down again beside Emmi.

He began to nibble and suck at her breasts. She cradled his head with one arm. Her pulse raced, but she reined in her eagerness. The fluttering of his tongue on her nipple didn’t help her to slow down.

Emmi’s skin was hot on hers, the brass rings on his arms jingling as he hefted her breast. He was powerfully built, with a healthy paunch around his middle. Zhura ran her hand over his furred chest, letting it trail over the groove of his sternum, continuing down over the smooth bulge of his belly.

As she untied his trousers, Zhura noted the expression of hunger that settled over Keya’s ivory features. Emmi’s cock flopped out heavily from the confines of his trousers. Zhura beckoned Keya with a crooked finger. The priestess crawled over as if on a leash. Zhura leaned over Emmi.

Kissing Keya was such a contrast to the Caster. Her lips were plump and full. Her tongue darted into Zhura’s mouth – more delicate, but no less ardent. On their knees, the women embraced, with Emmi’s head still bent between them. As Keya’s chest brushed the back of his head, he turned to caress her through her tunic.

Keya shuddered in response. Her already generous breasts had become swollen and sensitive in the first months of her pregnancy. She drew away from Zhura and pulled Emmi’s head into a kiss.

Abandoned, Zhura crouched beside the Caster. She licked her hand and dropped it to encircle Emmi’s throbbing shaft. She began to stroke it, delighting in how it twitched in her fingers. She dug into the opening of his trousers to fondle his balls. They churned with seed – seed that she was determined to get into her belly, one way or another, by the end of the night.

Someone had lit candles to brighten the room. Zhura guessed that it was Ngo, although now he and Musa were busy stripping Lila of her tunic and skirt. The little maid never seemed to miss an opportunity to be the center of attention.

As much as Zhura wanted to watch, she had other matters to attend. She tugged on Emmi’s trousers. Laboriously, still locked together with the priestess, the man got to his knees. Zhura yanked his pants down as far as they could go. She tossed her braids aside and bent her head. Emmi groaned as she began to lap the musk and salt from his balls.

She felt Emmi and Keya adjusting above her, but Zhura focused on Emmi’s cock. As he laid flat on his back, she was able to ease his trousers completely off, never detaching from his twitching popo for an instant. She stroked him while she licked beneath his balls, and then she brought the spongy head to her mouth.

Zhura had come to love many things in the year and a half since she left her village of Boma behind. First and foremost of these was the Ikanjan priestess. But not the least of Zhura’s loves was the feel of a fat cock in her mouth, steely and silken smooth at the same time. It throbbed like a living, vital thing, especially when it was ready to relinquish its luscious seed.

Keya was now naked from the waist down. She squatted over Emmi’s face, eyes closed as she rode his tongue.

Zhura felt someone push her skirt up to her waist and pull off her loincloth. She complied as best she could, extending her legs in turn until the offending garment was gone. A warm tongue replaced the cool evening air on her nether lips. She wagged her hips in response, redoubling her efforts. Her eyes rolled back as the tongue lapped her, even laving the tender divot of her ass. From the brush of hair against her yoni, she guessed it was Musa pleasuring her.

Emmi’s cock, however, stood tall like a pillar, and Zhura wanted to feel it. She eased away from Musa and squatted over the prone Caster. She rubbed the helmet-shaped tip of his cock against her wet lips and then to the entrance of her yoni. Then she slid down, echoing his muffled groan as he filled her.

Keya, alert now, bent forward to kiss Zhura as they both rode the brawny Caster. Musa joined in their kiss. Zhura tasted some of her own juices on the hunter’s lips, and the brief spark of power that followed. Then Keya rose up and took Musa’s hand, and Zhura claimed Emmi to herself.

She hunched over him, until their faces were close. He smelled of Keya’s pungent nectar. She resisted the urge to lick him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, glazed with pleasure as Zhura bounced on his cock. She took him to the root, then lifted her hips until only the head of his cock was clutched inside her. He groaned.

“You will follow me,” Zhura said softly as she rutted him. It was a statement, not a question. It belied a throbbing need that she could only barely restrain.

Emmi’s eyes focused on her, locked upon hers. The chamber resonated with rhythmic slapping and slurping, but he stared only at her.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“You are certain?” she asked, her hips still rising and falling.

“Yes,” he growled.

His hands gripped her ass. He thrust his hips upward, even as he slammed her down upon him, intent upon power-rutting Zhura to oblivion. The sounds of their joining mixed with the others, and Zhura smothered his lips with hers.

She came then, as sudden as a rainstorm in the month of Praise. As she was still crying out, Emmi thrust deep inside her and flooded her with his seed.

They lay there, panting and kissing for a minute while he still twitched inside her. “You won’t regret it,” she whispered finally. She rose up off of him.

Ngo sat on the bed, his hands in the spiky twists of Lila’s hair. She was on all fours, head bobbing in his lap. The priestess, on her back, lay with her face between her former maid’s splayed legs. Lila shuddered as Keya lapped at her from beneath.

Musa held the priestess’s pallid legs on his shoulders. Her newly painted toes twitched in the air as he plowed her yoni with enthusiasm.

Emmi took a draught of his millet beer while he sat naked beside Zhura. She dipped a finger into her sodden channel. A dollop of pearly goo came out on her fingertip. She sucked it off.

The Caster chuckled as he took in the scene. “Musa is Keya’s former servant?”

“As is Lila,” Zhura felt the rush of power as she ingested their combined juices.

“You are truly remarkable people. I should like to hear the story of how all this began.”

Ngo roared as he came. He threw his head back on the bed. Lila didn’t release his cock, continuing to suck until his hips stopped jerking.

“We all have our stories to tell,” Zhura said.

She thought back to the woes of her earlier years, how so often she’d felt neglected, alone and misunderstood. She’d come so far from there. Now she was in the company of those she loved, those she trusted and admired, and those who’d accepted the dangers of their journeys together.

Emmi was not that, not yet. But his intentions seemed good, and the others were comfortable with him. She hadn’t even needed to impress or intimidate him.

Lila stood up, leaving Ngo sprawled on the bed, and Musa and Keya to their frenzied rutting. With a smug look on her face, the little maid picked her way over empty bowls and jugs of beer to where Zhura sat. She bent to kiss the herb-witch, both hands gently holding Zhura’s face. A mouthful of Ngo’s seed poured into Zhura’s mouth. Zhura savored it and swallowed it down. Her body thrummed with potency.

The bed was not large enough for six. Lila, Ngo and Musa eventually returned to their room, leaving Emmi with Zhura and Keya. The priestess wanted to sample Emmi’s cock for herself, and she did. Between Zhura’s sucking mouth, and Keya’s now sodden yoni, the two women rutted him into a deep slumber. Then they too slept, the priestess nestled under Zhura’s protective arm.

Chapter 4

Zhura never envisioned that they would be walking out of the Road Gate in broad daylight, under the gaze of an unseen enemy. She imagined they’d be sneaking out through a tunnel at night, or marching at the head of a mighty column, alongside the king himself, avowed to reclaim the Lower City.

But here they were.

She paused, adjusting the hide shield on her back, feeling the warm morning sun on her bare legs. Ngo and Musa filed past her, starting down the ramp to the Brassbelt Road. The Ikanjan hunter’s goatskin quiver was full of the giant arrows he used, half of a tall man’s height in length.

Jinai followed, with eight House San askari. The warriors were in full harness, with green and black straps to hold their knives and short swords, along with their ebon shields and the spears they used as a primary weapon. Zhura had seen the faces of some of the askari before.

The salt traders. Ranthaman had been watching them.

The city below looked almost normal, though there were only a fraction of the people on the road that had been here the morning Zhura had come to the palace. The closest market plaza, where a street ran south from the Brassbelt, had a few buyers and sellers. But the roads were clear of the elephants and buffalo used in long distance trade. People walked hurriedly, as if time stalked them.

Keya pointed to the line of painted baobabs along the road below. “The storytellers no longer sit beneath the trees,” she said, as she came up alongside the herb-witch. Where everyone else was dressed for battle, the priestess wore a beautiful gown of indigo, gold and red flame that covered her almost from her sandaled toes to the hat atop her head.

Beside her, Emmi, in a blue vest that bared his powerful arms, pursed his lips. “Probably hiding in the homes of kin, or places like the Guild,” he said. “Unless they’ve already fled.”

He turned an imploring look towards the priestess. “It will be much safer in the Upper City,” he said. “You and your maid should stay in the palace.”

Zhura scoffed, knowing such words were futile.

Keya waved her hand dismissively. “You will need me out here,” she said. Lila passed by, a basket full of their belongings atop her head.

“Ancestors bless, daughter of Yende,” one of the red plumes said. “May the Ancestors watch over you all.”

The Road Gate swung closed behind them.

Zhura descended the ramp with the others, scanning the streets like a bird of prey. On the edge of the road, an old woman with a hand cart beckoned to them.

“Wards against demons! Demons plague the night!” She held up wooden bangles strung with bright beads. “These are blessed by the Divine Father Chisoro himself! Heed my words! You will wish you had them!”

Further along the road, there were others like the old woman, peddlers of potions, talismans and stones to ward away infernals. Emmi slowed as they passed a young woman selling engraved stones, but Keya took his hand and urged him along.

The priestess had once told Zhura that most bush-magic priests had no experience with demons, and didn’t understand ward runes well enough to reproduce them on a small talisman or piece of jewelry. Many such items were attempts to counterfeit the runes on the obelisks. The consecration of those stationary wards was a rare skill, but most towns and villages had at least one priests who maintain them.

However, since Keya had never encountered demons more powerful than Blossom and Talek, she was unsure whether even the wards she’d made would work on every infernal.

That didn’t bode well for the fighting to come. Zhura had never even seen a bajari before. The zenkomo she had faced in Kachinka seemed virtually unstoppable.

They encountered their first corpse as they neared the river. The man lay mostly concealed in the elephant grass that grew between the walls of a caravan watering hole and a moneylender’s shop, both of which seemed abandoned. Flies and ants buzzed around his robed form, creeping upon the reddish soil.

One of the Ikanjans stooped to turn the body over. The askari recoiled when he saw the black stain on the ground and the gaping wound in the man’s abdomen that had caused it. Keya stood over the corpse, mouthing a soft prayer.

“What can we do?” Zhura asked Emmi, nodding in the direction of the dead man.

The Caster shrugged. “We will have someone from the Guild come out and bury the body. Clearly the wardens are too hard-pressed to patrol the Lower City, if dead bodies lie just beyond their threshold.”

The Casters’ Guild complex was just ahead, nestled between the river and the street that meandered south along the river. It was a massive structure, extending at least one hundred paces along the water’s edge, with several three-story buildings inside that peeked above the brown outer wall.

The Brassbelt crossed the river north of the Caster’s complex. A wide arch of brown stone spanned the water. On the near bank, north of the bridge, stood a square guardhouse attached to a squat watchtower. Red-plumed wardens gathered at the approach to the bridge, while others deepened ditches and placed thorny barricades along the edges of the road and around the guardhouse. Giant logs lay alongside the structure, ready to be dragged into place by harnessed buffalos. A few more wardens, armed with bows, peered down from atop the tower. A similar guardhouse, lacking a tower, appeared to be burned out on the far side of the river.

From the center of the intersection of the Brassbelt and the street that ran along the east bank of the river, Zhura could see the defensive position taking shape. A barricaded area, bordered by the river and bridge entrance on one side, and the guardhouse to the rear, dominated the intersection and the approach to the bridge.

The fortification on the far side of the river had already been destroyed in the previous nights. Even at a distance, dark stains of blood were visible on the bridge itself. While morning traffic now crossed freely over the span, at night the bridge could be barricaded to protect the defenders against attacks from the west bank.

Zhura motioned to Musa, Ngo, and the askari. “Will you talk with the wardens?” she asked Ngo. “Work with them to decide how we’re going to hold this place tonight.”

Musa pointed out the spot in the intersection he judged to be the limit of bowshot from the tower. “I can hit a target farther out than that. But the wardens, with those hunting bows… they can’t,” he said.

Ngo nodded in the direction of the Caster’s Guild, whose gates opened onto the east bank street. “The Guild gate is only about a hundred paces from the bridge approach,” he said to Zhura. “It might allow for a decent flanking attack.”

Zhura smiled thinly at her friends. “If Emmi and I can raise any followers. Then they will be the pestle.”

Ngo, along with Jinai and the House San warriors, peeled off from their group. Zhura and the others continued the short walk to the Casters’ Guild. Even as they watched, the complex gate opened to allow in a small family carrying infants and leading a goat. Emmi waved to the men tending the gate, and the companions were ushered inside.

The compound teemed with people and animals, and the reek of too many forced into too small a space for too long. Refugees had encamped along the broad, muddy path that ran the length of the Guild’s enclosure. Lean-tos were propped in front of storehouses, workshops and modest brick homes. It was as if all the people of Boma had been squeezed into an area one quarter of the village’s size.

Emmi led the companions, weaving through the throng as chickens and small children scampered underfoot. The street was less crowded near the center of the compound, amidst the stifling heat of the smithies.

A man stood near the entrance of one of the forges. His charcoal-smudged skin glistened with sweat as he wiped his chest with a bit of cloth. Zhura knew a smith when she saw one, and she noted the familiar arch of his cheekbones.

“Cousin!” Emmi announced, clasping the man in a tight hug. “The Ancestors have guided you.” The Busaran noble turned to Zhura. “This is Borosi. This is Zhura, daughter to King Yende.”

“Ancestors bless,” the smith said. “You do not look like the king’s daughter.”

“I am his common-born daughter.”

Borosi sidestepped as a young man hustled out of the smithy with what appeared to be a basket of axe blades. “What brings you down from the heights, Emmi?”

“We’ve come to join the fight,” Emmi replied.

Borosi chewed his lip. “I can’t say that that is wise. At night, we bar the gates and hide. We cover our ears so as not to hear the things that prowl beyond the walls.” He gestured at the people milling past. “It seems every distant Busara kin and their neighbor has come for refuge here, along with many others.”

“What about the river crossing?” Zhura asked. “You are well-placed to help defend it.”

“It is indefensible,” Borosi said. “The wardens do what they are bid, but they only await their deaths. The first night they ranged out, tried to patrol the city, but most never came back. If the King does not reinforce them, they will fall. This night or the next night.”

“We are the reinforcements,” Zhura said. “A few more may come down today, but they will be the last.”

The smith’s eyes grew wide. He turned to his cousin. “Emmi, it is said that armies will come to our aid within days. All we need do is hole up until they arrive.”

Zhura shook her head. “If we do not fight, demons will overrun the city before help arrives. The Upper City will begin to starve, and sanctuaries like this in the Lower City will fall.”

Borosi grinned weakly in disbelief. “Cousin-”

“She has the trust of the king,” Emmi said.

The smith laughed. “How easy it is for him to trust, while he sits on his ass behind wards and walls. There are brave men here, men who will fight if there’s a chance to prevail, but this…” he glanced doubtfully at Zhura. “Yende is not so loved down here. Many wouldn’t fight for him, let alone his… common-born daughter.”

“Then they should fight for themselves, and their homes,” Zhura said.

“I will gather everyone that will listen in the court,” Emmi said. “Borosi, you should come as well.”

“Lila and I will try to find space to keep our gear and rest,” Keya said, her hand on Musa’s shoulder.

Zhura glanced around the overcrowded compound, imagining the mayhem a zenkomo would cause if it got inside the walls. The safety of this place was an illusion.

**

During peaceful times, the Guild court was a muddy yard, nestled between forges in the center of the compound where Casters determined their prices. Dreamlike statues of brass and clay peered on from the edges of the yard, figures with impossibly long limbs and masks for faces. Refugees of the Lower City crowded in and amongst them.

Some of them could be fighters, to be sure, like the muscled men that worked the hammers and bellows, and the broad-shouldered women wearing hats that shaded them in the millet fields. But there were more here – old men leaning on walking sticks, and gaily dressed women who ran the shops and markets. All of them watched as Emmi spoke.

“Yende is our king. He is the only king Morore has ever known,” the big Caster began, turning about in the center of the crowd, so that he could meet every gaze. “Without him, we would not have a kingdom, or a Guild of our own. We would not have this thriving city.

“Now his wardens die in the alleys, and creatures from our nightmares walk the streets. And I hear my brothers say to wait. ‘Someone else will come.’ ‘The Bochans will come.’ ‘The Sung will come.’ ‘We will wait here behind high walls and they will save us.’

“My brothers. My sisters. No one but us will save what we have built. If the Bochan army saves this city, the city will belong to Bocha. If we do not fight for what we have, someone else will take it.”

“There are two cities here,” one of the metalsmiths answered. “We will fight and die for the Lower City, and the nobles in the Upper City will be safe no matter what happens. That is the way of things.”

Emmi shook his head. “How can you say that, Chuma? If not for King Yende, we would be ruled from a guild in Chide. You would not even have your own forge.”

“Where is King Yende now?” someone called.

“I don’t care who owns a forge!” a woman shouted. “My brother was dragged off by hyena-men! I don’t care whose army rules Morore, as long as my family lives in peace.”

“Then we fight the demons,” Zhura said, joining Emmi in the center of the crowd. “We fight them, and the people who have brought them here.”

“This woman has faced creatures worse than hyena-men,” Emmi said, by way of introduction. “She is the daughter of King Yende, and he has sent her here to lead us.”

The crowd fell silent, appraising the stranger who stood before them. Sweat trickled down Zhura’s back in the stifling heat.

Then the eruption came.

“The hells she is!”

“She’s not Yende’s daughter!”

An old man pushed himself up on his cane. Zhura recognized him as one of the baobab storytellers. “That shield she wears was carried by a woman who rode into Morore at the head of an army of elephants. A woman who saved the city on Bandiri Slopes. A woman who, according to rumors, lay with Yende before the battle.”

“Say what you mean, Kapa,” someone urged.

The old man stabbed a finger towards Zhura. “I say she is Yende’s daughter. And she is Anathe’s daughter.”

Silence.

“Is it true?”

“The daughter of the Demon Queen?”

“It is true,” Zhura said. She turned to the crowd, her hand raised, fingers curling into a fist. “My mother believed that it was possible to defeat a much stronger opponent. To shatter their will in one, decisive win. If we have the courage, and we put aside our differences.

“But after that battle is won, there is more that you must do. You must demand of my father that he listen. You must tell him that there can no longer be an Upper City and a Lower City. There is one Morore, and it is the heart of the kingdom he fought to build all those years ago.”

To that, there were a few nods and shouts, voices of assent.

“What is it you want us to do?” the smith said.

“When night falls, my companions and I will stand with the king’s wardens at the river crossing, against whatever horror comes to take us. We will not run. We will not break.” Zhura swallowed. Not for the first time, she felt like she was being swept along on a current, unable to stop it. “And when you see that happen, I ask you to join us.”

Solemn gazes fell upon Zhura, and she found herself unable to say more. She nodded to Emmi and eased out of the crowd.

Emmi remained there, as some of the refugees of Morore began to pledge their support to fight and others continued to argue. Seeing Borosi return to his forge, Zhura hurried to catch up with him, laying a hand on his char-blackened shoulder. The shouts and disputes receded behind.

“Have you seen my friends? The woman in the dark gown? Or the bowman?” Zhura asked.

“She wanted somewhere private,” the smith said, scratching underneath his leather apron. He nodded towards a narrow passage between two storehouses.

Zhura thanked him and eased into the long alleyway, slipping the shield from her back in order to fit. It crooked around the rear of the storehouse. There, around the corner, sat Musa. His back was against one wall, legs folded up against the other. The hunter sifted through his quiver of arrows, checking each against warps and flaws.

“What, are you standing guard?” Zhura said.

Musa gave a wan smile as she stepped over him. He chuckled softly behind her.

Zhura pushed aside a heavy hide hanging that curtained the passageway. As she did, she heard familiar moans.

The alley emptied into a small yard that was crowded by the high outer wall of the compound on one side and the storehouse and neighboring buildings on the other. The floor was paved with stone, apparently to keep the surface drier. It looked to be a space for stashing the clay molds used for bronze statues. Spindly legged figures, smaller but similar to those along the Brassbelt leaned against the wall. They lay stacked around the cramped space, leaving only a few places to stand.

Keya and Lila had squeezed in between two clay statues of men carrying drums. The priestess was on all fours on a woven reed mat. She lapped at the shaven cleft between her former maid’s legs. Lila’s wrap skirt had been cast aside on the floor. Keya’s gown was rucked up to her waist. Her pale, naked ass wiggled at Zhura, although both moaning women were too occupied by their activities to notice that the herb-witch arrived.

Zhura pressed her lips together. Not thirty paces away people still argued about life, death, and the future of a kingdom. In a few hours they would be facing a horde of demons, with nowhere to retreat. This was not the time for rutting.

Maybe this was the time for rutting.

Keya tended lovingly to the task in front of her. Her finger worked just beneath her tongue, squelching as it plunged between the soft petals of Lila’s yoni. Lila pressed up against the wall for balance, legs parted, eyes closed, hand caressing Keya’s upturned face.

Zhura could smell the women’s arousal. She could see from the sweat that trickled down Lila’s forehead that they’d been going at it for some time. Keya’s inner thighs glistened. Faint, creamy streaks painted the priestess’s ivory skin. Zhura swallowed down her growing sense of lust.

She propped her kirri club against the wall. She leaned there in the alley entrance. She wanted nothing more than to get on her knees and taste the nectar that seemed to fairly drip from her lover’s nether lips. But the sight before her was one to be savored.

One hand slipped under her halter to the swell of her breast. The other danced up her inner thigh.

“By the Ancestors,” she whispered. Her whole body seemed to pulse in the heat.

As Zhura’s eyelids grew heavy with lust, she spotted something peeking out from under the maid’s cast-off skirt.

An exquisitely carved wooden phallus.

Blossom’s summoning stone.

Zhura’s gasp was audible.

“Don’t let me stop you.” The voice from above her was like the whisper of wind through the boughs of a tree, but Zhura jumped nonetheless. “I was quite enjoying myself.”

The demon clung like a vine to the wall of the storehouse, less than a pace above Zhura’s head. She hadn’t even noticed xhis heady scent.

Or maybe she had noticed it, and that’s why her hand was stuffed in her loincloth.

Blossom dropped silently to the stone floor. Xhis pregnant belly swelled like ripe, dark fruit. Below that, a thick cock bobbed, a pearl of liquid perched on its ebon tip.

“Demon seed will give you untold strength. You will need it, in this abysmal circumstance.” Blossom’s lips parted, revealing the points of sharp little teeth. “All you must do is remove those horrendous wards from your wrists.”

Instinct told Zhura to pick up her kirri club.

“Those human talismans must chafe your flesh. Demon blood pulses through your veins, Zhura,” Blossom said.

Zhura had never been so close to Blossom before. Not when she was so aroused. Not when the demon’s jasmine scent was a haze that swam behind her eyes.

“Why haven’t you joined them?” Zhura tore her eyes away from Blossom with some effort, just past the dark demon, in the direction of other women. “Watching doesn’t seem like your style.”

Keya, bent upon her task, seemed to wiggle the globes of her ass in invitation. Zhura’s lips parted reflexively. She closed her eyes, but it didn’t help.

“In due time,” Blossom said. “Believe it or not, I am more concerned about our imminent, ghastly deaths than the next human I can breed. If you insist upon sending me into the maw of the horde to scout for you, I will spend my last few hours as I choose.”

“You need me.” Xhis added.

Yes, they would need Blossom. Xhis stealthy abilities and affinity for the dark would be more than valuable.

Zhura knew the strength infernal seed gave her. And Blossom was so much more powerful than Mili. The fingers of her free hand, the one not buried in her yoni – flexed, yearning, seemingly on their own accord.

She needed Blossom.

“You need me,” the demon repeated.

That ebon cock twitched, just out of reach of her fingers.

Zhura wasn’t even conscious of dropping to her knees. Or pulling off her bangles. She felt the grittiness of the stone floor only faintly, as if from memory. Her hands ran up the demon’s pulsing, corded thighs. Xhis skin was smooth, hot as fire-baked stones. Her gaze fixed upon the veined length of turgid flesh that throbbed before her.

The herb-witch ducked her head, curling her tongue to lick off the clear fluid from the head of Blossom’s cock. It tasted of tree sap. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, let the tip glide into her mouth. She engulfed it, stroking it lovingly.

Why had she waited so long?

She felt so complete. So right, with throbbing flesh filling her mouth, and her fingers curled up inside her.

“Yes,” Blossom’s voice was a murmur. Xhis clawed hand settled within the thick braids on her scalp. “We will survive this trap, you and I and the priestess together.”

It wasn’t only her and Keya that needed to survive. Her mind struggled to form the thought. It was… the others. All of them. But that wasn’t important just now. That could wait. Until after. Blossom would know what to do. Blossom would relieve her enormous burden of responsibility.

Zhura was not trying to prolong Blossom’s pleasure, or even pleasure the creature at all. She wanted only to feel that thick cream coating her mouth, sliding down her throat. She pumped the demon’s popo with one hand as she inhaled it. Keya and Lila’s fevered gasps added to her lust.

Just now was for sucking. Just now was for swallowing.

Zhura gagged as she forced more of the thick demon cock into the opening of her throat. She felt it throb between her lips.

She couldn’t stop.

She couldn’t imagine wanting to.

Zhura felt gentle hands on her shoulders, easing her back. She resisted, but Blossom recoiled from the wards on those pale wrists.

“This was not part of our agreement, Blossom,” Keya said, beside her ear. She smelled sweetly of sex.

Zhura’s lips relinquished the demon’s cock with a pop of wet protest. Drool hung from her chin. Her mouth, empty hungry, moaning with need, was quickly covered by Keya’s fragrant lips, quickly filled by Keya’s tongue. The priestess slipped around in front of Zhura, interposing her body between Zhura and Blossom.

As she kissed her lover, the herb-witch heard Lila beckon to Blossom.

Keya stood, one hand on Zhura’s upturned forehead, the other rucking her dress up to her waist. The priestess’s nether lips were dark and swollen.

Zhura was dimly aware of Blossom squatting over Lila’s upturned bottom. Of the maid groaning as the demon sank its saliva-slick cock into her sodden hole.

Zhura began to nibble at her lover’s cleft, teasing apart the wet petals of Keya’s yoni. She could think of no better place to be than between her lover’s thighs, at the fount of her womanhood. She could tell by the taste that the priestess had come already. Zhura would make her come again. Hard.

Keya gripped Zhura’s head and ground the herb-witch’s face into her yoni.

“Yes,” Keya gasped as Zhura’s tongue darted out. “Seven Fathers… I know what you need, Zhura. I am here for you. I am so close already…”

Keya gave a sharp cry. She shivered and moaned as Zhura lapped at her convulsing sex. When Zhura had her fill, Keya sagged between Zhura and the wall, blissfully spent.

Afterwards, the two sat amongst the clay manikins, softly caressing each other. The shadows deepened, the sun long having passed beyond the sky above the little enclosure. Blossom and Lila still rocked gently together against the adjacent wall. The demon had filled her womb at least once already. The maid lay on her back, clinging to the ebon infernal like a climber shimmying up a tree trunk.

“I don’t want you out there,” Zhura murmured to the priestess.

Keya leaned her head against her chest. “But you need me there. I have to be close to the fighting to be of any use.”

Zhura stood, brushing grit from her skin, straightening her clothing. She knew she smelled of sex, but there was nothing for it. She extended a hand to her lover and pulled Keya to her feet.

“How can I feel so determined and so afraid at once. I’m afraid for you, afraid for all these people… I’m afraid of the fact that I don’t fear for myself. I’ve never done anything like this before, and yet…”

“Anathe guides you. Be her vessel, my love.” Keya squeezed Zhura’s hand. “Whatever happens, I am blessed to have shared this journey with you.”

Zhura heard scuffing sounds from the other side of the hide covering in the alley.

“Let me pass, Musa,” came a harsh, familiar voice.

Moments later, Jinai drew the curtain aside.

She took in the scene. Her grim gaze lingered on the rutting demon, and then slid back to Keya. She stalked into the storage yard, followed by Ngo.

“We missed the celebration,” the Sung warrior said, grinning at Zhura and Keya.

Blossom noticed the newcomers. But xhe turned back to Lila, more interested in rutting than the new arrivals.

It wasn’t until Zhura saw the terror in the eyes of the priestess that she realized the imminent danger.

“How could I have been so stupid,” Jinai said.

“Jinai-” Keya gasped.

In an instant, Zhura was moving. In the same instant, a blade the length of her forearm appeared in Jinai’s slashing hand. She lunged, but not for Zhura.

Blossom’s ichor spattered across Lila and the floor.

Zhura caught Jinai’s wrist on her backswing, and wrenched her around. Then she sprang back as a shorter blade whipped past her eyes.

Lila and Keya screamed. Blossom hissed in pain. The demon had tried to get away at the last moment, but not quickly enough to avoid the blade. Xhe lurched into the far corner.

Jinai’s dark eyes glistened with grief as she and Zhura settled into fighting stances.

“You never really came out of that tomb, did you, Keya?”

The two women slowly circled each other, careful not to step on the figures. Jinai was close, too close in the cramped quarters. Zhura held out her hand, catching the kirri club Ngo tossed to her. Blossom slowly climbed up the wall, glowing fluid streaming from a gash across xhis back.

“By the Seven Fathers,” Jinai went on. “I guessed you were pregnant. But not by that filth. I was fool enough to think one of the men was the father.”

She turned towards the demon, the knife cocked to throw. Zhura jabbed her with the end of the club. Jinai grunted, the knife clattering amongst the clay statues. Quick as a serpent, she swung the longer blade. Zhura caught the edge on the shaft of her club, steel sparking against the bronze chasing. Zhura reversed the club as she would a staff, smacking Jinai in the jaw. She hit hard only enough to get Jinai’s attention, knocking her to the floor.

Jinai tossed the blade in disgust. She held the side of her face. She looked at Keya, who only gaped, lips trembling. “The soul of the Keya I knew is still in the swamp, drowned in the muck.”

“I did come out, Jinai. You saved me. You brought me out.”

Jinai shook her head. “You can have your war. All of you can go to the hells for all I care.” She rose, giving Zhura as wide a berth as she could, heading for the alley. But Ngo and Musa still blocked her exit. The two looked at Keya with uncertainty.

“Jinai, wait…” the priestess began.

Jinai and Ngo faced off, the Ikanjan woman as tall as he was. Zhura tensed, sure that Jinai concealed more weapons under her garb.

Keya screamed. “You will listen to me!”

Jinai slowly turned to her former mistress. She crossed her arms, her expression as firm as a closed door.

“I did not lie when I said that I was free of Blossom. I summon the demon when I choose. I chose to carry this child.”

Blossom was gone, having climbed up and over the edge of the storehouse roof.

“So there are good demons and bad demons now, is that it?”

“Blossom has helped us before, and would have again. Demons are as different as we are.

“I am here by my own choices and no one else’s,” Keya went on. “Zhura didn’t even want to be here. But what happens here matters, Jinai. If we do not fight, this city will be lost to demons and humans that are far more rapacious than Zahar and you and I ever confronted. This is the battle we should have been fighting!”

Jinai nodded grudgingly. “It’s the adventure you always wanted. I wish you well.”

“We need you, Jinai. People are dying.” Keya tilted her head in the direction of the golden bangles on Jinai’s scarred arms, the ones the priestess had made herself so long ago. “I need you, just like I needed you to subdue Blossom. You still wear consecrated wards. You can stand against demons. Most of the wardens – most of these people – don’t have that protection. The askari with you are far better warriors than the city watchmen guarding that river crossing.”

“The sub-chief says the wardens can face human rebels. But the bajari tear them to pieces.” Ngo said.

Jinai looked away. She retrieved her blades from where she’d thrown them, not seeming to notice when Lila edged away from her. “I’m not a warrior,” Jinai said. She spoke to Keya, as if no one else was present. Although the woman often seemed to be carved from jet, it was clear she was still desperately in love. “My charge, back then, was always to keep you out of harm’s way, not to stand in a spear line. You have the askari – Ranthaman already arranged for them to fight for Yende. You don’t need me.”

“Then just keep her safe,” Zhura pleaded, softly. “Please, Jinai. Because I may not be able to.”

**

Dusk steeped the ground in shadow, a black blanket thrown across the land, lit only by the city’s feeble flames. Above, the sky was a fathomless blue, a color Zhura hadn’t seen since the cliffs above the sea in Namu. Namu-on-the-sea. She smiled faintly as she remembered the great city, the dream of it that sparked her imagination so long ago. Only in the western sky, over the babbling river, was there a pale fringe of orange that burned as bright as that blue was deep.

Other than the murmur of the water, the Lower City was silent. Those who hadn’t fled hid in their homes, fearing the night, and perhaps the days to come. Only those defenders that stood alongside her seemed to be willing to brave the open air.

They’d built up the barriers as best they could, deepening the ditches that ringed most of the approach to the bridge and the gatehouse, and backing the ditches with a berm of brick, thorny bushes, and earthen rubble. They’d hauled two massive timber logs to barricade themselves in, blocking off their flanks, including the bridge itself.

Thirty-eight wardens remained on the ground behind the barriers. Some wore red plumes and others carried shields adorned with red tassels. Zhura, Keya, Ngo, Jinai, and the askari accompanied them.

Keya and a few priests had poured libations around the defenses, just as Keya had done in camp on the journey out of Namu. That protection would hold off demons, for a time. But once trampled and watered by blood, those wards would fail.

Above, atop the tower, were about half as many wardens, armed with short hunting bows – those weapons for which Musa held so little regard. Zhura was glad he was up there with them. She’d seen the Kut archer strike fear into Oko askari the night Keya escaped her home. She knew that fear was warranted.

On the mesa, far above, several hundred paces to the east, red-plumed guards looked down from the walls of the Upper City. They would be no help tonight. They would only bear witness.

Blossom was to have been their scout, but after Jinai had wounded the demon, xhe refused to leave the Caster’s Guild. Injured and slowed by pregnancy, Blossom would only be a risk.

So they were on their own. With no warning of what was to come, and when.

The first points of stars winked in the twilit sky, as if sensing the dread in Zhura’s heart. And beneath that, something more frightening dwelt within her.

Eagerness.

**

Anathe sat strapped astride her bull elephant, Opal, with a Tsholo bowman and javelineer in the howdah at her back. Fifty more armored beasts stood in a broad line behind Opal. To her right, a line of brass-chased shields, spear shafts and dark skin, hosts of warriors adorned in the colors of the rainbow.

The Nubic army stood poised.

Directly below Anathe’s elephants was a gentle slope, easiest for the beasts to descend, and the grassy vale of Bandiri. The plain was blanketed with the impi, the best of the Sizwe army.

The invaders stamped and sang, a sound like the raging wind. They clashed oval cowhide shields, white ostrich plumes alive in the breeze. They celebrated. They’d finally forced their enemy to stand and fight. They outnumbered the defenders by many thousands. They expected their fast-moving troops to encircle their enemy and destroy it, as Sizwe armies had, countless times before.

A column of Sizwe elephants festooned in white waded through the impi troops, moving into place to mirror her. These were more numerous but smaller than Anathe’s herd. Howdahs atop the beasts bristled with spears and lances. The elephants had been hastily trained to match hers.

Anathe knew could turn them against their own masters if she tried.

The air was heavy with the beats of drums, resonant with the hopes of entire nations. The sound echoed down the line of defenders, a ripple of hollow voices. A collective signal.

Charge.

**

Zhura blinked. She was herself again, standing with Keya, the sub-chief, Ngo and Jinai behind the defensive line. Beyond the barriers, across the broad intersection, a small, lone figure hurried towards them, waving open hands. Keya recognized Marble, the drongo, and said so to the sub-chief beside her.

The child clambered over the log with help from the wardens.

“You should not be in the streets!” Zhura scolded. “Get up into the tower-”

“They come,” Marble panted. “Spread out, approaching from all over the south, but there are many. So many.”

The sub-chief grunted and spat.

At that moment, Zhura spotted movement. Across the street from the Caster’s Guild was a cluster of walled artisan shops, all dark. In the shadows between them, candles flickered, weaving, close to the ground.

As she peered closely, she saw that they were not candles, but eyes. The eyes of night beasts, watching them.

There were many more than she could count.

The defenders saw them too. Men shifted, nervously, gripping their weapons.

“They don’t even make a sound,” the sub-chief muttered. Hyenas always cackled and called to each other, but not now. “Who can control animals like that?”

“Bajari,” Keya answered. “Marble, get up in the tower. Stay close to Musa.”

Marble slipped behind them, towards the guardhouse and tower. But Zhura never heard the door open. Later, when she remembered and glanced back, all she saw were shadows and the few wardens watching their rear.

Like ghosts in the twilight, the hyenas gathered in number. The first appeared from the south. Dark figures slunk across the Brassbelt, weaving amongst the baobabs. Eyes watched from beneath brick walls and the overhang of date palms. More crept along the bank across the river. From every direction, silent, glowing eyes watched them.

“By all that is sacred…” the sub-chief swore.

A figure appeared in the center of the street, walking from the south with a familiar gait. She wore a yellow halter top and long skirt that matched her headwrap.

Keya gasped. “Is that…?”

“Bayati,” said Zhura.

The Thandi woman stopped, outside of bow range from the tower, and waited.

Zhura slung her shield on her back. “Wait here,” she said to no one in particular. She went to the barrier, vaulting easily over the log, though it was nearly as tall as she was. She heard the sub-chief climb over after her.

The intersection was a broad empty space, almost the size of a small plaza in Namu. Zhura’s sandals crunched as she walked down the street. She felt the eyes upon her, the anticipation of the hyenas that lined the street now, hungry to kill.

Bayati waited, just near the gates to the Caster’s Guild. Her face was serene, as beautiful and heartbreaking as it had always been. She carried no weapons.

The sub-chief caught up, standing alongside Zhura. “By all the Ancestors,” he wiped sweat from his forehead. “Who in hells are you?”

Bayati ignored him. “This is not your fight, Zhura.”

“This is where I come from,” Zhura said.

Bayati’s lips curled slightly. “You’re always protecting people who don’t deserve it. Yende is a fool you met days ago who send his own daughter to fight his battles.”

Zhura heard a murmur of voices behind the gates of the Guild. There were eyes there too, watching to see what would happen tonight.

“What you’re doing is wrong.” Zhura said. “You leave blood and corpses in the streets? Make innocent people fear for their lives? No, Bayati. I’m on the right side of this one.”

“You could have stayed in Kitu. Had your holes poked to your heart’s content,” Bayati winked. “In Morore, you may get poked in places you won’t like.”

“You gods-damned liar. For a year, you did everything you could to get me back here.” Zhura spread her hands in invitation. “Well? Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Bayati sighed. “I can offer generous terms.”

Zhura smirked. “You’re surrendering?”

Bayati turned to the sub-chief. “March your men up through the Road Gate. They won’t be harmed. All we ask in return is her,” she nodded at Zhura. “She would happily sacrifice herself for you. So the decision is yours, warden.”

Zhura peered into the growing dark beyond the Thandi woman who had been her friend. She sensed others there in the shadows. A pungent scent, one of musk tinged with decay, clung to her nostrils.

“If you resist,” Bayati went on, “we will show you no mercy. Those of your men who survive will be lucky to end up as breeding slaves to the bajari.”

Zhura almost expected the sub-chief to accept. His men were city wardens, not elite palace guards, not soldiers. They never could have guessed they’d be facing infernals and a horde of hyenas in their own city.

And yet, some of them had endured two days under siege. To give up now, after all that had been sacrificed…

“Surrender my city to witches and demons?” The sub-chief spat. “If you want breeding slaves, come and get them.”

Bayati nodded, her hooded eyes regarding him like something lesser. “So we shall,” she said. “See you soon, Zhura.”

The Thandi witch turned and walked into the dark alleys between compounds on the east side of the street. Breaking their silence, hyenas called, in drawn-out whoops along the edge of the street. Zhura felt their stress growing, straining against the taut tether of control that still held them back like a leash.

They hurried back to the barricade. “Quickly!” Zhura urged the sub-chief. “The attack is coming!”