Convergence

"And I know what you've been doing," Whisper replied. She hooked her fingers in the string of the scrap and pulled it off strong legs, wresting an involuntary gasp from Bayati.

Bayati's yoni nested in a bed of tight, trimmed curls. Her thighs spread at the lightest touch of Whisper's fingers. The woman's breath was weighted with anticipation. Whisper ran a fingertip up the plump line of Bayati's slit. A thread of silvery dew clung to her finger as she brought it to her own lips.

Whisper dipped her head between Bayati's thighs, kissing her way up to their heated juncture. She no longer used her fingers there. She didn't want to waste a drop. Instead her hands wandered upward, while her tongue teased apart Bayati's moist outer lips.

She nibbled and tugged at the inner and outer petals of Bayati's flower until it was pink and blooming. By this time, Bayati was beginning to writhe beneath her. Whisper's fingers tugged at stiff nipples, causing the other woman to moan with need.

Whisper plunged her tongue into Bayati's slick channel. Her taste was deliciously familiar, even though two years had passed. Her honey flowed out, along with the thicker, saltier seed of a man.

Yes. I know what you've been doing.

Whisper loved cum, no matter whence it came. Most of all, she loved bush-butter sap - that mix of male and female, pouring forth from a woman who trembled as much as Bayati did just now. It was nothing like the safu that hung from trees in Falancha that was also called bush-butter. This bush-butter filled Whisper with power. It fed her demonic hunger. It brought her to life.

So she fed, while Bayati gasped, that armor beginning to crack. After a time, Whisper lifted her wet face. She spun and straddled Bayati's prone form. Then she bent her head again, so that now she could finger the Thandi's gaping yoni and clenched ass, while her tongue teased the little nerve-filled pearl at the top of the cleft. She felt Bayati convulse, surrendering beneath her. Then Whisper continued to feed, delighted to feel Bayati's hands on her hips and tongue on her own shaven yoni.

Then she felt something else. Something cool and smooth that slowly eased into her and onto her at the same time. She knew from memory what it was. A polished piece of black stone that Bayati must have stashed in her dress. Slender and hard, it was like a Lake Kongo crab claw, with the dactyl that probed her much longer than the one that curled over her most sensitive organ.

As Whisper licked down the length of Bayati's cleft, she felt the stone stretch her until it seemed like she was held in its delightful grip.

Oh gods. Whisper remembered what came next.

Bayati sang again. One note, sonorous and low, a note that made Whisper's bones shake. The stone toy inside her pulsed in response, like the skin of a drum.

This was wicked Thandi magic, and Whisper loved it. The toy caressed her, inside and out. It was all she could do to concentrate on curling a finger up inside Bayati and licking at her plump little organ. The stone's thrum began as simple pleasure, but it would very quickly turn Whisper's mind to mush.

Bayati gasped beneath her. Whisper's eyes rolled up in her head. With her last bit of will, she tapped and tongued until the woman underneath her opened up like floodgates on the Hibiscus Canal. Nectar spurted into Whisper's mouth, moments before she herself dissolved into the morning sun.

When she regained her senses, a wet spot darkened the tiles of the rooftop, and a mixture of fluids dripped from the chair. Bayati lay panting on her side, and Whisper stood up to stretch her legs. She wiped her face and licked her fingers clean. The sun was high in the sky, and just like the sun, Whisper brimmed with power.

She looked at the rune-etched stone in Bayati's limp hand. She longed to lick it clean too. "I need one of those," she said.

"I want you to find someone," Bayati replied in a small voice.

Ah. So this was it. Whatever inner turmoil the Thandi woman was suffering through, this was at the heart of it. This was the reason she had stayed for wine and song.

"I'm listening," Whisper said, basking in the open air. She felt the tiniest vibrations still thrumming inside her.

Bayati gathered her legs beneath her and sat up. "A woman, younger than us, who speaks the melodic tongue of the Sung Valley, and enough trade-Kan to get by. She carries a staff, and with it in her hands she is close to invincible. An herb-witch by craft, she wears revealing garb, and is quite beautiful. She travels with a spearman, also from the Sung Valley, and an albino woman from Ikanje State. By now, they are here in Morore, somewhere."

"What are you willing to pay?" Whisper asked.

Bayati was silent for so long that Whisper turned to look at her. The Thandi woman pulled her dress closed. "I ask a favor. One you will not regret granting me."

Whisper paced a few steps, hoping to conceal the lingering shakiness of her legs. "Perhaps you are confused by what just happened. I don't do favors, Bayati."

"I am not confused," Bayati said. Now she looked up with pleading eyes. "The coven seeks this woman. When they find her, there will be blood. People that I care about will die. But if I find her first... if you help me, lives may be saved."

"I don't do favors."

"By all the damned sleeping gods!" Bayati swore. "You think you can just go on hoarding secrets and no one will give a damn? I'll wager you're already on someone's kill list. You need the Thandi as your friends. If you do this for me, if you help bring this woman to heel, the coven... I... will not forget it."

Whisper pursed her lips in thought. Bayati knew this foreign woman she spoke of well, perhaps even cared for her. "This herb-witch... she is what you've been doing for the past two years, isn't she?"

Bayati swore under her breath. "Will you find her, yes or no?"

Whisper sighed. She heard the children shouting, playing below. She had people to protect as well.

Certainly there was more to this than Bayati would say. She was a soldier, in her own way. She would do nothing she believed disloyal to the coven. A foreign power wanted to treat with the Thandi, who themselves sought out another foreigner. The coven was always plotting, but perhaps now they were plotting something bigger than usual. Perhaps there were bigger secrets here than usual.

"What is her name?" Whisper asked.

Bayati stood up. She tied her dress closed, and told Whisper the name.

Later, when Bayati was gone, Whisper gazed down on the street, where colorfully dressed kitchen maids gathered in twos and threes in the shade to eat their midday meal. Miko sidled up next to her.

"You don't want her followed?" he asked.

It was too dangerous to have Bayati shadowed. One didn't toy with the Thandi. Whatever it was the coven was hiding would have to be discovered another way.

"Why didn't you tell me it was Bayati you were bringing up?"

She felt the massive enforcer shrug. "I thought it would be a nice surprise."

"I hate gods-damned surprises," Whisper snarled. "You should know that about me, if nothing else. Put her in touch with Ranthaman."

She'd had two days to shadow Ranthaman, and the results had been interesting. One would have expected a merchant of his stature to spend most of his time in Upper City, rubbing shoulders with all the tightly clenched snoots in the palace. But he and his female friend had spent much of their time in Lower City, outside the walls. Whisper's drongos had reported that both days Ranthaman's mysterious companion had journeyed out to the countryside, where she spoke with a group of rough-looking salt traders.

Which is odd.

What did Ranthaman San want with the Thandi? It might have something to do with the coven's latest plotting. If Whisper were to find out what that was, a more personal approach would be necessary.

Perhaps this was even important enough to pay a visit to Mother.

Still flush with vitality from her encounter with Bayati, Whisper felt she could take on the world.

"Go get Adder," she said. "We have work to do."

**

The next morning, Whisper and Adder went to see Mother. The northern part of Morore east of the river and Upper City mesa was rugged and rocky, with more goats than people. It was home to stubborn farmers, and mad priests who worshiped ancestors too obscure for even Whisper to know. Though uncultivated, it was within the city's ancestral wards. Whisper had spent years within its black-barked woods and golden grass.

Adder walked beside her, as impeccable as always, in an ivory tunic that hung to their knees and slender trousers beneath that. The tunic was cut to their breastbone, revealing smooth, hairless brown skin. A fashionable, wide brimmed sun hat shaded narrow eyes and cheekbones that cut like a knife.

Whisper had known Adder since they were too young, working in Brassbelt brothels. Adder was the only one she would entrust with the location of Mother's hut.

But now that they had visited Mother, Whisper felt more confused than ever. Why did Mother have to be an oracle?

"I hate gods-damned riddles," Whisper grumbled, as they cut through the sparse wood, headed back to the city proper.

Adder chuckled. "Think about what Mother said. 'He that spurned his child shall lose another, fates of kingdoms cross. Forgotten hero now redeemed, ancient eras lost.' If we're talking about kingdoms' fates, who might be losing a child?"

Whisper sighed, exasperated already. "King Yende. But he didn't spurn a child."

"Maybe he spurned Kandu."

Whisper kept an eye open for shadows nearby, but she was confident they were alone amongst the rocky bluffs and boulder-strewn woods where she had played as a child.

"Then he'll lose another of his children. Or in the past he spurned another of his children and will lose Kandu. Great. And the rest of the riddle is as clear as river mud."

"It isn't," Adder said. "To reject your own child is a crime before the Ancestors. The whole prophecy sounds like justice is coming for some wrong of the past."

"Humans and their Ancestors," Whisper scoffed. "Why can't we all just move on?"

The stench told Whisper they were nearing two large tanneries that occupied the edge of the woods, where animal skins soaked in vats of filth to be turned into leather.

"We'll figure it out," Adder insisted.

"It does suggest that something big is on the horizon."

"Does it make you wish we were back at the Seedy Melon? Blissfully ignorant of forgotten heroes and ancient eras?" the enforcer asked.

Whisper's mouth curled into a grin. "You and I were the best whores ever. But no, I'd rather be ruling the Court of Secrets."

The two passed between the walls of the tanneries, sandals crunching on the rugged path. Soon they were at the crowded Brassbelt, standing under the tarnished statue of Tazukwa, a Yamwali hero of Chide from before the Impi War. They passed an old storyteller under the trees, trading away his secrets for the price of a beer. They cut across the road and north on one of the streets that led to the huge farms south of the city.

'I was not a good whore," Adder admitted. "A good whore has to be able to put up with bad sex, and worse. I would never go back."

If Whisper had struggled as a half-demon in a human city, Adder had had it worse, as an assigned male who sometimes identified as female. Men who traveled the Brassbelt could be cruel. Whisper and Adder had bonded over their need for secrecy, and their will to survive.

"Then it is decided," Whisper said. "We're not going back to whoring. Instead we'll grab prophecy by its balls, and see what shakes loose."

They squeezed through a shoulder-to-shoulder market for furs and leathers and continued south. Whisper had informants who worked as farmhands. They should certainly know about any unusual new salt traders in the area. After that, she would visit Chupo. He was always happy to see her.

**

Whisper crouched in Chupo's hovel. There was hardly enough room in the dim shanty for one person, let alone two. Worse, it smelled like the charcoal Chupo spent his days hauling around town, from Casting Guild furnaces to the ovens of farmers' wives. Not that charcoal was a foul smell. It reminded Whisper of Mother. Chupo's own odor was much stronger, and it was mixed with the qat leaf he also liked to smoke.

One could learn so much by venturing out and talking to people like Chupo, who knew the denizens of their part of the city better than kin. Most of that knowledge might seem useless to others. But to a hoarder of secrets like Whisper, every tidbit of information had value. What Chupo had observed about the mysterious salt traders seemed quite precious.

"Definitely an eyeball crew," Chupo said. "I mean, most farmers just go to the Brassbelt to buy their salt. These traders are selling a little salt, sure..." he fingered the fringe of a beard on his chin, "but they're more interested in keeping an eye on someone."

Whisper suspected the same. She and Adder had walked by the stall the salt traders had set up in a dusty plaza on the southern edge of Morore. The men moved more like soldiers than traders, and their dialect sounded as if they hadn't been long in the Kingdoms. The area they'd occupied was an open plaza for nearby farmers.

"You think they're planning a heist?" she asked. "Who are they keeping an eye on, out there on the ass-end of the city?"

Chupo eyed Whisper's slender legs, folded under her dress. He seemed to not have heard her question.

"Concentrate, Chupo. Who are they watching?"

His gaze slid up to meet hers. His eyes refocused. "My guess is it's a group they're after. There's at least eight of them, which seems like way too large an eyeball crew for one or even two targets. A few of them tending the stall, a few of them asleep in their hut, and the others out trailing targets."

"It's the targets that I'm interested in."

"I think I've seen two of them. But only because... I mean, you couldn't miss these two." He leered at her.

Whisper sighed. "Come on, man. I pay you by the month, not by the word."

"Well, one was an albino woman. All covered up against the sun. The other... I mean, she wasn't covered at all, if you know what I mean."

Whisper nodded, hiding her little burst of delight. "Did the second one carry a staff?"

"Yeah. Taller than me."

"And what did these women do?"

"I mean, that's the weird bit. They just went to the Brassbelt and plopped down in front of Kapa the storyteller. The pale woman was like a little girl with a piece of honeycomb, as excited as she was to hear Kapa drone on. You know how he is."

"Excellent, Chupo. Forget the salt traders. I want you to find those women for me." She got up to leave, even though she still had to stoop under the grass ceiling. "I'll be back tomorrow."

Chupo leaned forward. "About that pay by month-"

As if she carried coin on her, or much of anything else besides a thin dress. Whisper waved him off. "Talk to Miko. Tell him I said to increase it this month."

"But-"

Whisper slapped aside the flap of the hovel and ducked outside, into fresh air and sunlight.

Adder leaned against a low brick wall next to Chupo's handcarts, waiting. The enforcer looked bored. At a glance from Whisper, they joined her. She put on her own wicker hat and the two walked down the alley, past other hovels and towards the road.

"That took long enough," Adder said. "I was beginning to wonder if you were in there sucking his popo."

"I'm not that desperate," Whisper muttered. "Not today, anyway."

Adder snorted. "I've never known anyone with an appetite like yours. Even among the whores. Especially among the whores."

So it appeared that Ranthaman San was eyeballing the same foreign woman the Thandi were looking for. That meant that the Thandi would have this Zhura as soon as Whisper arranged the meeting with San.

Whoever this woman was, something momentous was brewing. Threads converging, like the river and the road coming together. Whisper could feel it. She needed to know more.

Miko will have to delay that meeting.

They emerged onto the road. It was broad and dusty, lined with thorn acacias and the brick-walled compounds of crafters and merchants, woodworkers, tailors, and oilpressers. Herb-witches to birth babies and priests to name them. Markets to trade vegetables and chickens. This was one of the streets that farmers walked, from the countryside into the central part of the city, and north to the Brassbelt, where everything in the world could be bought or sold.

The road was sparsely trafficked now. It was late enough in the day that laborers like Chupo were headed home, and families gathered for evening meals.

This was good, because she and Adder could speak freely.

"You may think your outlaw days are behind you," Adder said softly, "but the people who work for you are still thugs and thieves."

Their mood seemed to have changed. "What are you saying?"

Adder stopped and turned to her. "You trust too much."

As she frowned at Adder, she spotted someone lingering in the street, beyond the enforcer. She probably should have noticed before, but the mystery they were trying to unravel had distracted her.

"We have a shadow," she realized.

Adder nodded. "It took you long enough to notice. Who would be shadowing us?"

Whisper began walking again, and Adder did the same. "No one else knew we were out here... except Miko."

"Ah."

"Can I trust you, Adder?"

They looked at her sidelong, lips curling into half a smile. Adder's gaze dropped to the juncture of her thighs. "You know you have nothing I want," they quipped. "Besides your friendship."

"You're right. I shouldn't have to ask," she said. "Listen. I'm guessing whoever is shadowing us will stick with me. Go on home. Keep an eye on Miko until I get back."

"Are you sure you don't need me here? Are you even armed?"

Whisper grinned. "You wouldn't believe the bush-butter sap I had yesterday morning. Right now I could beat most men with my bare hands, and outrun all of them. There's just one shadow. I can handle it."

Adder snorted, but the humor had drained from their eyes, leaving only dark intensity of concern. "I'll see you soon, Whisper."

Whisper nodded, and watched her friend continue on towards the Brassbelt Road and the mesa beyond. As she guessed, the shadow didn't follow Adder. It still lingered behind, just at the corner of Whisper's vision. Without looking directly, she couldn't make out gender. Just a loose wrap over pants, and a face shaded by the brim of a knob-topped hat.

Whoever it was, they weren't very skilled. Whisper was embarrassed that she hadn't noticed them earlier.

Well, she would find out who it was. The sun was just above the horizon. It would be dusk soon.

Whisper browsed some of the printed fabric still on display outside a tailor's wall, noting her surroundings. Zam the moneylender's compound was right across the street. Beyond it were dozens of squat granaries. They stood about four paces high, twice the height of a man. That labyrinth would be an ideal place to lose a shadow - or confront one.

The granaries were a custom that began during the Impi War. The wealthy, living behind their walls atop mesas, had been petrified that they would starve if the city was besieged or if part of the Brassbelt fell into enemy hands. So they built hundreds of granaries around the city, filled with jars of millet and sorghum flour. Moneylenders often managed the storehouses, buying and selling shares of them, trading the food for coin.

After the war, even common folk bought into the granaries. A farmer might buy two jars in a granary, and sell one when there was a drought, or he needed quick coin. They served as counting-houses for honest folk; a way to save a bit of coin against hard times.