Convergence

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."