Night of the Forgotten

Keya nodded. "I just need to find out what Mama Nyah wants. Why she chose us." She turned back the way they'd come.

"Wait. Let's think this through first." Zhura opened the basket. "Maybe we can make some sort of offering." She began to rifle through the items inside. Keya caught glimpses of bright cloth as Zhura dug deeper.

The priestess marveled at Zhura's skin-baring garb. The halter exposed most of her back, her flat belly and arms. The skirt barely even began to cover her toned, brown thighs. It was like the woman walked around the city in her smallclothes. Keya could never do such a brazen thing. But she shivered in envy at the thought.

Zhura continued to rummage. "Why are the Ancestors here so spiteful? It was not like this in Boma. We..."

"What is it?" Keya said, as the herb-witch stared blankly into the depths of the basket.

Zhura drew out a contraption. At first, Keya thought it was a summoning stone, but the large phallus was attached to a flexible base and leather straps.

"What is that?" Keya said, imagining what it might be used for. She felt herself blushing. With her complexion, embarrassment was impossible to hide. Was that thing... to be worn?

"Ah, she must have slipped it into the basket during the day," Zhura said, with a faint smile. She glanced at Keya and remembered herself. She stuffed the fake cock and harness back into her basket. "All right, let's go talk to this Mama Nyah. But please, don't do anything rash again. Can we do this together?"

"Of course." Keya said. Zhura could certainly help in some way. The priestess led the way back to the hall. Even as they returned, a skinny man with baskets passed them by. The dead soul set his burden on the table and then went back out.

It would continue that way until dawn. Then all of these dead souls would return whence they came, whisking away Keya and Zhura with them.

Unless Mama Nyah could be convinced otherwise.

In the hall, the fat woman stood to greet them again. She wore a dress that covered her from neck to toe, printed in whorls of blue and red. Mama Nyah gestured to two stools close to her.

"Welcome, Zhura. Come sit, both of you. It must be difficult to accept that this life is over. But we will celebrate with a great feast before we return. And until then, we shall chat."

Keya sat, as did Zhura next to her. Mama Nyah smelled of the earth - of bitter sage, of clay, and overripe fruit.

"Why have we been chosen?" Keya asked. "I am an adept to the Temple of Ascendants. I pray to the ancestors, and venerate them every day."

"Yes, you have achieved great heights. Which makes it so ironic that you have nearly enslaved yourself to a demon."

Keya scoffed, despite herself. "Enslaved?"

"Tell me, Keya Oko, that you have not begged that creature to make you its thrall."

Keya shook her head. "That was in... I was... People say things they don't mean when they lie with a lover."

Mama Nyah unwrapped her headscarf, revealing a bush of graying dark hair. "They also say what is in their heart."

Keya was unsure how to respond. She knew how to negotiate, but not with someone who could read her thoughts. It was difficult to concentrate, with the steady stream of dead souls coming and going from the table. Nor could she banish the image of Zhura wearing the harness, its thick shaft dangling between her thighs like a weapon...

"I have not pledged to serve a demon," Zhura said.

"You nearly are a demon. There is more infernal blood than human in you."

"Am I cursed, then, from birth?" asked Zhura. "Am I to be punished because of my ancestry?"

Mama Nyah sighed. "This is not punishment. You have been chosen to learn what it means to be an Ancestor. Keya, your brother will sire children. Your friends, Zhura will have their child and venerate you as Auntie."

Keya thought of the child she was pledged to bear with the demon Blossom, but chose not to speak of that. "So our demons are why we were chosen."

"Infernals are the bane of humanity. Look at the misery Blossom caused in the Ijon River swamps. Or the reign of terror of the zenkomo demon in Kichinka."

"I stood against that demon," Zhura said.

"You did, and bravely. But you also let your sanju roam free in the Hazard, where it seduced and bred several women. And you," she turned to Keya wryly, "brought Blossom to the city and used it to enthrall others."

"What these creatures do is not always harmful," Zhura said. "The sanju helped to save us in Kichinka. It fed us when we were hungry."

Mama Nyah nodded, absently. "In return for a good rutting. Who wouldn't be swayed from their path by the promise of sex? You young women don't know how fortunate you have been. After a hundred years without a stiff popo you will see things differently..." She looked away wistfully. "...Where was I? Yes, demons will do just about anything if you mate with them. That doesn't make them virtuous."

"Are humans any different?" Keya asked. "The rival to my House wants to use demons as weapons against other humans. The San family could provoke a war with the Sizwe Empire that would kill thousands. If I had obeyed my mother, Amankar would have used me as part of that plot."

"Both of us have tried to do right," Zhura insisted. "I've seen the love and respect the men and women who followed Keya hold for her."

Mama Nyah's smile faded. She leaned back in her stool, eyes narrowed, judging them both.

"You know what we have done. You know everything about us," Keya pleaded. "But think about the good we could still do, while we walk this earth."

"What could you do, besides getting your yonis stuffed a lot more, eh?" Mama Nyah's dark lips spread into a slow smile again. "Stop a war?"

"My kin fought in the last war with the Sizwe. Those that I love would likely be caught up in the next one. I would gladly give my life to stop a war," Zhura said.

"I believe it." Mama Nyah said. "And you?"

"I stand with Zhura, as her chronicler," said Keya.

Mama Nyah studied the two women. "I do know everything about you. Your hearts are true. You are not servants of chaos, like the demons you keep."

"Then you will let us go?" Zhura asked.

"I will consider." Mama Nyah shrugged. "But it is not solely my choosing. You will need to convince Papa Yaz. And you only have a few hours left before dawn."

Zhura looked lost. "Who is Papa Yaz?"

The Ancestor's smile faded to a scowl. With a toss of her big head, she gestured back towards the corridor in the rear of the chamber. "He is my husband."

*

Zhura followed the albino woman through the passage, looking for Papa Yaz. Keya had seemed distracted when they spoke to Mama Nyah, but now she forged ahead with something akin to eagerness.

Zhura felt odd hauling her staff and basket around the underground complex. But if there was a way out, she wanted to be ready to take it. She studied the painted walls and dark trim. What was this place, underneath whatever illusion the ancestors had spun? Were they in a "place" at all, or just dreaming? It felt so real, down to the mouth-watering smell of roasting food.

"Did these Ancestors die during the mudslides four years ago?"

Keya mumbled some sort of prayer under her breath. "They are much older than that."

"So whose forebears are they? Why are they here?"

"They are revered by no one. They are Forgotten. So on this one night, they muster the power to break through the barrier between life and death, to savor what it was to be amongst the living."

Zhura sighed. "Don't they have better things to do?"

"No. They are Forg--"

"I know, I know! Forgotten."

"Everyone in this place is just a soul," Keya said. "They may look solid, but they are not. Mama Nyah and Papa Yaz are the most powerful. The others serve them."

"How do you know this?"

"From the lore, and from what I observe. The other souls don't speak. Have you noticed? They can't interact much. It takes enormous amounts of power to cross over from the Underworld, even on the holy day."

"Can't you call upon your own Ancestors to help us?"

"It doesn't work that way. Just because my ancestors were powerful in life, it doesn't mean they are in death. Nyah and Yaz are unusually strong." She paused and glanced back with sorrowful, almond-shaped eyes. "And even if my Ancestors could help, I'm not sure that they would."

Zhura sighed. This night just keeps getting better. "Do you know what the couple wants now?"

"Nyah was obviously unhappy with our demon consorts. Even Ancestors have their prejudices, I suppose."

Zhura scowled. "Why do I have the feeling Papa Yaz will not be as easy to persuade?"

Keya stopped and turned to face Zhura. The Oko woman was short enough that she had to look up slightly. Zhura had cared for children like Keya in Boma, but she had never known an adult. Albinos were often sickly, unloved even by their own kin. Her lips were like lily petals, so strangely pink on her pale skin. Her cloud of yellow hair would be dazzling, if braided into an attractive style.

At that moment, Zhura knew why Keya's servants followed her. That steady flame of the noblewoman's spirit burned brightly with confidence.

"I am sorry, for getting you into this," Keya said. "I promise, I will get us out."

Zhura laid a calming hand on her shoulder. The noblewoman's body, under the thin cloak and tunic, was achingly soft. "We do this together. Remember?"

"Yes, of course," Keya said, too quickly.

She pushed on ahead, leaving Zhura to roll her eyes and follow. From the beats of drums ahead, they were getting close.

"What was it Mama Nyah said about you using Blossom to enthrall others?"

"Blossom enslaved Amankar San so that he would tell me how to find you."

Zhura considered that, playing with it in her mind. It nagged at her, until they entered the next chamber.

It was a circular space, filled with glowing men who danced to the beat of unseen drummers. The chamber smelled like a garden gone to seed -- wild, decaying and verdant. At the center of the circle sat an Ancestor who could only be Papa Yaz.

He wore a reddish cloak over a long tunic. A cap atop his head covered graying hair, the whiskers of which grew down his jawline. His skin was very dark, seamed with wrinkles. He greeted Zhura and Keya with a beatific smile.

"Our honored guests arrive!" he said. He clapped his hands. The music stopped. As one, the dead turned luminous faces towards the women.

"Papa Yaz," Keya threaded through the crowd, with Zhura behind her. "We must speak with you."

"You do not look happy," Papa Yaz groaned. "All of this nonsense about scaring folk on the Night of the Forgotten. The living can be so tedious. We are not here to frighten you. We invite you to be one of us. Come celebrate!"

"We are not ready to die."

"Who is?" Papa Yaz shot back. "Yet when death comes, eventually you embrace it."

"Why have we been chosen?"

"You...?" Papa Yaz gaped at her in disbelief. He turned to his audience. "She doesn't know!"

Zhura stood beside Keya, setting her basket and staff down. "Please. Explain it to us."

"As you will." Papa Yaz cleared his throat, as if preparing a proclamation.

"Keya Oko. You studied to be a priestess. Yet you have fled from that life, abandoned your ancestral shrine and your kin. Your family has already accepted your death. Somehow, you have not.

"Zhura, lately of the village of Boma. You have no respect and honor for your ancestors because you barely know who they are. Most of your kin aren't even proper humans."

"I know who my father is. I know who my mother is." Zhura glanced at the priestess. "I joined with Keya because she knows stories about my mother, and can share them with me." At this, Keya gave a sidelong look. Apparently she was unaware that Zhura was Anathe's daughter.

"Yes, yes," Papa Yaz waved a hand dismissively. "When you're dead, you'll learn all that."

"And I have followed in the tradition of my Oko Ancestors," Keya said. "They were explorers and scholars. Leaving my family was the only way I could continue my calling."

"So both of you insist upon misery." Papa Yaz scowled, as if the women had ruined his evening. "Well, give it a hundred years. You'll learn to accept it."

"Mama Nyah disagrees," Zhura said, quickly. "She sent us here to you to ask to let us go."

"The ravings of a mad old woman!" Papa Yaz grumbled. "Who knows what goes on in Mama Nyah's ponderous head?"

"But you are married," said Zhura. "Shouldn't you at least understand each other? Come to an agreement?"

Papa Yaz gave her a wry look. "It is obvious that you don't know anything about marriage."

"My closest friends are married," Zhura said.

"Ah yes," Papa Yaz laughed. "For an entire year now! I have been wed for three centuries. I think I know better."

At this, Keya sidled towards Papa Yaz. "What if we could help you and Mama Nyah relive the joy of those first years?" Her voice was conspiratorial, flirtatious even. "In youthful, willing vessels of flesh."

Papa Yaz stopped laughing. He eyed the priestess shrewdly.

Zhura groaned inwardly. Keya, what are you up to this time?

"Tell me more," said Papa Yaz.

"Dwell within us," Keya said. "Share our senses. Feel our pleasure."

"Only if you invited it would we ever commit such a transgression."

"And if we invited it?" Keya let the question dangle, like bait from a fishing line. "You and Mama Nyah could feel what it is like to make love again. When else might you have the chance?"

Papa Yaz stroked his whiskers, his interest clear. "Intriguing."

"Mama Nyah told us how she longs for you still," Keya turned towards Zhura, taking her hand.

Zhura's gaze slid to all the souls watching them. "I don't understand this. What are you saying, Keya? You and I...?"

"...would be possessed. Your bodies inhabited by our spirits," Papa Yaz finished.

Keya nodded. "They will be in control. We will just be swept along with the current."

"So that the two of them can...?" Zhura cocked her head.

As she understood, she looked daggers at the priestess. Keya was beautiful, certainly, courageous and clever. But she was also reckless, with a knack for courting disaster. "Would our bodies change? Can we be harmed?"

"No," Keya said, softly. "But we will feel everything."

Papa Yaz grunted. "I find this quite appealing, of course. But my wife will not be tempted by lying with another woman. She has a need for... tools you do not have."

Keya held up a finger, brightly. She kneeled, opening the basket to fish through its contents. Zhura almost moaned audibly with embarrassment, as the priestess drew out the harnessed phallus. She lifted it up for everyone to see.

Keya held Zhura's gaze with pleading eyes as she lowered the polished wooden popo.

Despite her reluctance, Zhura had to admit she was curious. What would it be like to be filled with the power of the Ancestors themselves? What would it be like to be rutted by one? Would they all know if Zhura secretly desired this?

Papa Yaz chuckled.

"When this is done," Zhura whispered to Keya, "we will have words, you and I."

"Ah," an eager smile played upon Papa Yaz's whiskered face. "Splendid."

Keya turned to the Ancestor. "If we please you, Papa Yaz, you will release us before the dawn? To live our lives as we have chosen?"

He nodded his agreement. "If you please my wife and I, yes."

*

Back in Mama Nyah's hall, the dead stomped and swayed on the floor, creating their own music. The ancestors had gathered for their feast. Keya and Zhura stood in the center of the chamber beside a table stacked high with the plain fare that people of Namu had left as offerings. The chamber, however, was rich with the aromas of roasted and smoked delicacies that made the priestess's empty belly growl.

Keya stood in the center of the crowd, next to the table. She faced Zhura, as if they were preparing to dance to the music made by the others. But theirs would be a different sort of dance.

Zhura wrung her hands, kneading the muscles as if she were preparing to hit someone. Keya gently coaxed the woman's callused hands apart and took them in her own.

She is a legend come alive, straight from the treatises of Amankar San! The daughter of the Demon Queen! Though just now, she looked like any other comely but unsophisticated village woman.

"What do we do?" Zhura asked.

"Very little." Keya glanced to the side, where the Ancestral couple waited. "Just relax and repeat this chant:

I am earth

Pour thy libation

Wine to soil

Spirit to flesh

I drink of thee

Down to my depths."

Zhura repeated each verse, and then they began again.

Mama Nyah watched them solemnly, dwarfing her husband who stood beside her. Papa Yaz licked his lips with anticipation.

Very recently, Keya had been a maiden, untouched by the hands of men or women. She had always kept her passions deeply secret.

How much had changed in less than three moons! After her first time with Blossom, she had taken two women into her bed - once both of them together - and one she had shared with the demon. Seducing a woman as beautiful as Zhura was a treat.

Keya continued to chant, calming her nerves, stilling her thoughts, her trained mind quickly reaching a meditative state.

Her consciousness receded, as if she were stepping back from a window, backing into a dark room. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed. But hands caught her and kept her from hitting the floor.

The Ancestors. The souls of the dead dancers cradled Keya's head, held her arms, and supported her legs. But they have no flesh. No bodily form. How can they...?

As queer as it was, the crowd of souls helped her to stand again, doing the same for Zhura. When Keya regained her feet, she had newfound strength.

She had fantasized about how it would feel to be possessed by an Ancestor. Would she have no control? Would she know the same soul-searing bliss she felt when Blossom rutted her -- mind overcome, body reduced to an object of pleasure?

No. This was different.

Keya felt inspired.

Suddenly she was aware. Aware of each of the eighty-four souls that gathered around, and each of their stories. She knew Mama Nyah's wistful longing. She smelled the musk of damp earth, the salt of the sea, the heady bite of ginger, and the fragrant coconut oil on Zhura's skin.

Then Zhura was all Keya saw. The herb-witch gazed at her, with opaline pupils that glinted with the spirit of Papa Yaz. Zhura was the vessel of her lover since time before memory.

Their kiss was that of two people who had been deprived of touch for many lifetimes -- ardent and hungry, lips and tongues melding together as if fused by heat. She tasted of the lowly streets of Namu, of salt-sweat, the sour-sweet of tamarind sauce, and the sugared yeast of palm wine.

As they embraced Keya felt the play of muscle under Zhura's scant clothing. Jinai had been strong, but this was like taking hold of a lioness. Her skin had the suppleness of youth, but explosive power reigned beneath its surface.

That strength flowed through the hand that furrowed Keya's thick hair, tilting her head back. Zhura's lips trailed over Keya's jawline, nuzzling her throat. Keya swooned again. Her own hands slipped down over the curve of Zhura's lower back, to the thick swell of the woman's ass under the flimsy skirt. Keya tingled just thinking about what lay underneath it.

But Zhura was the first to breach that barrier, rucking up Keya's tunic, exposing her billowy breasts to their audience of dead souls. Keya felt a flush of heat as she was displayed, and that flush became a flood under the onslaught that came next.