Convergence

"She speaks to you! You are very close to her now. You risked yourself to come here, to learn more about her. You walk upon the same earth she walked upon. Anathe is more than just your ancestor, Zhura. She is an Ancestor of the city. Morore would not have become what it is without her."

That made sense. The Ancestors could bless their faithful with visions. A vision of the past, to show Zhura she was on the right path.

She glanced down to see Ngo and Lila nibbling at each other's lips.

"Who won?" Keya asked them.

"No one yet," Ngo murmured. "We're just bored."

It was nearly an hour before a gray-bearded man in an indigo tunic came through the courtyard, speaking briefly with each group. By that time, it had become even more crowded. Eventually, he arrived in the companions' corner.

"I am the King's Speaker." He eyed them. "What do you want?"

Zhura hesitated, unsure of how much to say.

"Tell him, Zhura," Keya whispered.

"I am King Yende's daughter."

The grizzled man's mouth twisted sourly. "That is quite the jest. You don't even look like her."

"I was born before he was married. Raised by his friend in the Sung Valley."

The man sighed. "The King is in no mood for fantastic tales, especially regarding his children. The punishment for bearing false witness is hard labor. Be off."

Zhura was not about to back down now. Not after all of this. "It is the truth. I can prove it."

"How?"

"I have something King Yende gave to me."

The Speaker studied her, then her companions. "Wait here," he said, and continued forging through the crowd.

"As if we were about to do something other than wait here," Ngo complained.

Another hour must have passed before the guard was back. "Come with me." As they all jumped up, he showed them the palm of a hand. "No. Just her," he added. "Leave all weapons behind."

Keya took her hand. Ngo rubbed her back in support.

"We'll be waiting," the priestess said.

The guard shoved a path through the crowd. He led Zhura through an iron gate. Then through a long narrow passageway, a door, and up a broad flight of steps in the interior of one of the palace buildings.

The walls were covered in a smooth russet finish that contained flecks of what appeared to be brass. Zhura and her escort entered a small hall, where people in gaily colored clothing gathered around a shallow pool. The ceiling above the pool had only a brass grating that allowed the midday sun to play upon the walls and shine upon potted palms. Red-smocked servants flitted about with bowls of kola nuts and mango slices, and cups of marula wine.

At the end of that hall was a gleaming double door. Plumed guards opened them, and Zhura was ushered into what she knew was King Yende's court.

The great hall was dark by comparison with the sunlit waiting room. A ring of lamps around the walls and high on the vaulted ceilings provided the only lighting. But the bright dresses and tunics of the nobles that stood along both sides seemed to glow as well. As in the waiting room, reds, greens and blues were most plentiful. In the center of the court were three thrones of polished wood.

The throne on the left was empty. The throne on the right was occupied by a slight woman with a shrewd gaze, in a brilliant crimson dress that flared at her shoulders and wrists. She could only have been Queen Yamou.

In the center sat Yende, his chin in his hand. He was short and stocky, shaven, with a tunic of copper and violet. A simple brass circlet sat upon his dark brow.

Zhura had seen him just a few hours before. Yende was one of the northern adventurers who greeted Anathe on the ramp to the Road Gate, twenty years ago.

The herb-witch approached the center of the hall, and stood before the thrones. She'd never been close to a king before, and was unsure what to do. Kneel? Call him by a title?

She'd long ago lost any shame about her midriff- and leg-baring garb. But every gaze in this room seemed to undress her. To pick her apart and judge her, piece by piece.

"You claim to be the king's daughter," Queen Yamou said.

"I am."

"Why have you come here now?" asked the queen.

Yende made a dismissive sound. "Let's see your proof."

Zhura untied the sanjuskin wrap from around her waist. She held up the darkly iridescent material.

The king's face betrayed no reaction. "Where did you come upon that?"

"It was given to me by the finest ironsmith in Boma," Zhura said, swallowing the knot that welled up in her breast. "A man who raised me as his daughter, and who called you friend."

Yende stared at the tiles on the floor for an uncomfortably long time. He glanced at the queen. "Everyone out," he ordered. "Court is done this day."

The nobles immediately began to protest, some loudly. Guards slowly drove everyone from the room, Zhura among them. They poured into the pool chamber.

"It would appear that you are the king's eldest," a deep voice behind her said.

Zhura turned to see a barrel-chested man, fat and powerful. Dark curly hair poked from the vee of his blue silken tunic. His hair was shaven along the sides of his head, with just a puff of kinky, brown-capped hair atop his head to match his beard and sideburns. His forearms gleamed with brass rings. Even in the press of the crowd, his scent was distinct, a mellow hibiscus with a salty bite.

He smiled. "Perhaps you will be less of a disappointment than his eldest son."

"What has happened to the prince?" Zhura asked.

"Ancestors bless. I am Emmi, a humble Caster," the man said. "Prince Kandu has vanished. Most likely with a lover. The man's affairs have always been the gossip of the city."

"I am Zhura," she said, though she guessed that he already knew. News seemed to travel quickly.

She wondered what she was supposed to do now. Then she saw the king's Speaker, the gray-beard who had first questioned her, pushing through the crowd.

"You are to come with me," the Speaker said to her.

Zhura nodded a farewell to Emmi and followed the man through yet another door, into a dimly lit corridor. The hallway opened onto a garden enclosed by other walls of the palace. The Speaker remained in the doorway, gesturing for her to enter the garden.

"He awaits you."

Zhura ventured along the path of hard-packed earth, cobbled with smooth round stones. Buttress roots snaked across it. Conifers and orchids she recognized from the Sung Valley grew along the path. There were also local trees, like the marula fruit tree and spindly miombos. The garden was so dense she could have become lost in it.

Yende waited alone, by a small pond that shimmered with flitting silver fish. Except for the gray hairs and the paunch, the king looked much as he had in her vision of twenty years ago. Heavy brow, hawkish features, and a bush of kinky hair. For an instant, she felt that she knew every year that had passed since he'd been that young man in his prime at the Road Gate. That confidence buoyed her strength. Somehow, Zhura knew him, even though she couldn't possibly have.

"Tell me of my friend in Boma," the king said, his gaze pensive.

"Menga raised me as his own, with his two sons. He was widowed when we were yet young. He was a good father to me. As steady as the iron he smelted, but able to bend just the same." She smiled at the old proverb, and noticed that Yende smiled as well. "He had me apprenticed to the Boma herb-witch. He never told me about you... until the Thandi came for me, during the month of Praise last year."

"Menga was always the most sensible of us," he said, wistful. "He went home to make babies while the rest of us stayed here, to drink and dream." But his expression darkened as he fastened on to what she said. "That was fifteen months ago that you left."

"Yes."

"Does Menga still live?"

"I believe so," Zhura said. "On his advice, I fled, along with friends - Menga's oldest son and that son's wife - to Namu."

"The Thandi," Yende scowled. "After the war, I thought them my allies. They were refugees of the thrice-damned Sizwe, by all the Ancestors. But then I heard rumors about them. They sought to bring back the Age of the Clover Princes, when demons ruled the Kingdoms. A few years later the witches tried to carve out a piece of my kingdom in the northern hills, just as I had carved out a piece of Chide. They have always been an elusive thorn in my side, one I could never quite pluck."

He sighed. "Why did you come here?"

"I didn't want to. I feared you would think I wanted something from you. I didn't want to endanger my friends. But...I..." her voice broke.

"This is where you came from."

"Yes."

There was so much else to say. But that was the heart of it.

"Well. Your friends are safe here. They may stay in the palace for so long as you choose." The king hesitated. "I should like to know what sort of daughter I have sired. This is a fraught time, but none of us chose it."

"I don't want to be a burden."

"You are my child," Yende said. "Our bond is sacred. It is never a burden."

Chapter 3

"Seven Fathers!" Keya sighed. "Zhura, you don't know how good this feels!"

Using tongs, the priestess plucked a fire-baked stone from the tile floor and placed it in the water. Then she sat, sloshing back in the wooden tub. "For the first time in months, I feel thoroughly clean."

Zhura reclined naked on their bed, a wicker frame with linen sheets. From her vantage point, she could see the generous swell of Keya's breasts above the steaming surface of the water. "I had a bath just before you," she chuckled. "I know how it feels."

"Do you know all it takes to bring water up here? They stable elephants in the palace, and make daily runs to the river to carry jugs back up. Each load replenishes a vast reservoir under the palace, with enough to last the Upper City seven days or more. The whole system is run by a group of craftsmen called Water Keepers." The priestess sighed again, bathwater splashing. "I love the Water Keepers right now."

It felt refreshing, to be sure. The air was thick with vapor and coconut oil Keya had rubbed into the herb-witch's skin. Zhura admired their chamber once again; the striped antelope pelts upon the wall, the potted broad-leafs, the bowl of dried fruit, and the balcony that overlooked the dark wilds in the northeast of the city.

It was the end of their first full day in the palace.

Zhura had had a short time to speak with Yende in the morning. Most of the remainder of day had been spent washing and tending to her friends. Ngo, Musa and Lila shared a chamber next to theirs. The Sung warrior already seemed to have made friends among the court nobles. With the mystical skills of a palace servant, Lila had managed to procure good food and a pair of discarded dresses for her former mistress.

And yet, at best, this was only a small respite from Zhura's worries. The Thandi remained at large, and she was certain they knew exactly where she was. And Zhura did not feel... herself.

She thought back to her conversation that morning with the king. "Fire and blood," Zhura said, absently. "Yende said that I was born of fire and blood."

"It was a fearful time," Keya said from the tub. "Even though the war with the Sizwe was won, Nubic kings were falling to their own internal rivalries. Yende himself was forging a rebellious alliance with Malindi Clan. I would wager that now that he is older, he feels more obligation. Even regret," the priestess said. "There is no higher duty; no more weighty responsibility."

"How do you know all of this?" Zhura asked, though she could guess the answer.

"I read about it in Amankar's writings, and those of Nuru Mwangi, a Magister who traveled the length of the Brassbelt more recently." Keya sighed with pleasure, a sound that delighted Zhura. "Our fathers were not dissimilar. The intrigues and conflicts between the Houses of Namu are not so different."

Yende hadn't known about Zhura's existence until she was given to him by what remained of Anathe's followers. It seemed that there had been a rebellion within the small group of adherents, one that began with her murder.

At the time, Yende saw himself as a warrior and a builder. He feared for Zhura's life. Even if he might keep her alive, he couldn't hope to give her a happy childhood.

Indeed, events that had occurred in the past few days seemed to underscore the uncertainty in Yende's court. Not only had the heir disappeared, but there was trouble on the eastern border with Chide. Rumors told of fighting in that kingdom. Trade from Chide on the Brassbelt had come to a halt. Yende had sent out runners to send his soldiers based in the north and south of Morore to its eastern border.

Zhura set her worries aside. She longed for the priestess's touch, but she did not want to disturb Keya's solace. Instead, she rolled over, so that she could stare out upon the balcony's open vista. Stars had just begun to twinkle above.

Keya had taught her how to pray. So Zhura did, whispering a soft prayer.

Are you out there, Mother?

The night breeze seemed to whisper a response.

The stars winked at Zhura, and suddenly the herb-witch was looking up at them from a very different place.

**

She walked a shallow sandstone ravine dotted with gnarled miombo trees. Her army camped along the canyon. There were nearly eight hundred men and women, though most were not fighters. Most fed, watered and cared for the five dozen war elephants that gathered in a herd at the center of the ravine, where there was a trickle of a stream. The beasts rumbled and roared in affectionate greeting as she passed by.

Mandepha was waiting for her just beyond the herd. The Thandi ritual scars that coiled around Mande's arms were visible in the flickering light of the campfires. She'd tied her braids into ziggurats, piled atop her scalp.

"I didn't believe we could do it," Mande said. "But you were right."

"The Ancestors smile upon us," Anathe replied.

Anathe hadn't believed it either, although she would never admit it. They'd marched right through Sizwe territory. It hadn't been easy to hide sixty elephants. Fast-moving impi armies could have easily run hers down.

Then they'd marched through Samucha and into Chide to the city of Morore, making alliances and gaining a few more followers along the way. They'd occupied a defensible position in front of the Sizwe offensive and even convinced battle-worn, quarrelsome Nubic and mercenary armies to join them.

The two women walked up the slope of the ravine, to where the sentries perched. Anathe spoke a few words to each, whether in Nyan or Tsholo or Trade Kan, making sure each man and woman was well fed and in good spirits.

"In Morore, there are many more Scarred Women like us. Refugees like us." Mande said in a low voice. "We could join with them."

"If they want to crush the Sizwe, they can join us," Anathe replied.

Anathe was not a refugee. Her mother had raised her deep in the bush, and on the open savanna, beyond the clutches of the Empire. Anathe had never known her father, a man of unbridled courage who had given his life to free Anathe's mother from her coven in Swaga. In the end, even that coven must have fallen, or been driven into hiding by the Sizwe.

Defeating the Empire would bring justice to all of the peoples that had suffered under its rule. There was nothing more important.

Tswe reclined in the bowl-shaped, pelt-lined outcropping of rock where the three of them slept. The kukuru demon's barkbush scent reminded Anathe of the rich sap of the thorn trees she climbed as a girl. Her mother's demon servant had been with Anathe since she was a girl. When Nandi died, Anathe shattered the demon's summoning stone, freeing xhim forever. Xhe had remained by her side ever since - not as a lover, but as a protector and teacher.

Tswe's natural power to commune with beasts far surpassed Nandi's abilities, and xhe had honed that talent in Anathe. She could move even an elephant with a single thought or a gesture.

Mande kneeled on the pelts beside the massive, furred kukuru. She took xhis long head in her hands and kissed him deeply. The beaded ornaments that hung from xhis pointed ears and spiraled horns clicked softly. Tswe had various lovers in Anathe's army, men and women. But Mande was his favorite.

Anathe watched them kiss, feeling a gradual hunger of her own. She had always respected Tswe's vow not to lay with her. Anathe's mother had been xhis lover. Out of loyalty to her, xhe would not rut her child, he said.

"Tell me what the scouts found," she asked.

Tswe broke off the kiss, but xhis tawny hands played along the curves of Mande's breasts. The Thandi woman gasped.

"With the canyon stream, we can easily hold here for more than a week. We will have all the water and fodder we need." Tswe's deep voice was like the rumble of a storm on the horizon.

Mande pulled her halter over her head, freeing teardrop-shaped breasts. She bent to kiss Tswe again. Xhis hands stole up and under her wrap skirt, even as she dropped down to straddle xhis powerful chest.

Anathe watched their dance, the slow rhythm of their bodies as they kissed. These were her tribe, and they came from every people of the region. Anathe's followers were Nyan and Tsholo, Kao and Nubic - all displaced by the Empire. Except Mande, all of the peoples she had encountered had first thought her to be some sort of barbarian witch. But she had brought them together, joined them in a common struggle against the spreading poisons of conquest and slavery.

Tswe lifted Mande as if she weighed no more than a child. The kukuru resembled a combination of a human and a sable antelope, huge and graceful. Xhe lay her on her back and nearly obscured her from view, buttocks flexing as xhe ground against her. Xhis length swelled between her eagerly spreading thighs.

Anathe shifted slightly, flushed with heat at the sight and sound of them.

Like a stone dropped in the center of a pool, the wave of the Empire's disruption had swept through faraway lands. It displaced more than just the peoples of the region. As herders and farmers migrated, they settled new pastures and croplands. They killed off predators to protect their herds, and killed off grazers to protect their land. When she was a child, wild beasts had often been Anathe's only friends. No one else could hear them the way she could. No one else could help them.

Together, the peoples of her army, the elephants, and the Nubic defenders could stop the Sizwe advance. The head of the Sizwe spear was aimed towards Morore, but Anathe would cut the spearhead cleanly off.

She stripped off her brief skirt, and the loincloth beneath that. She rounded the lovers. As Tswe reared above the prone woman, Anathe bent over Mande and let the other woman's lips brush against hers, her gasps and shudders running through Anathe like a storm season flood. While their tongues dueled, Anathe's hands roamed, tweaking Mande's nipples as the kukuru began to rut her.

When Anathe withdrew from the kiss, Mande's lips remained parted, hungry, her eyes unfocused. Anathe imagined those lips upon her sex as she thrust two fingers over her throbbing pearl and down into her own sopping folds. She threw her head back.

Stars blurred above her. The rhythm of the rutting couple pulsed within her like a second heartbeat. Plans and strategies dissolved in the feverish rush, leaving behind a single spark of determination.

Together, we will prevail.

Anathe's climax subsided, but Mande and Tswe continued to rut with increasing fervor. She needed to find her own partners for the night.

Naked, with the taste of lust fresh on her lips, Anathe rose. She padded through the dark rocks to the other campfires, to celebrate with her army.