Tales of Fabulous Namu Pt. 01

Authors Note: This is the second story about Zhura, following While the Gods Slumber chronologically. This story should stand on its own, but many of the details will make more sense after reading through that story.

They lurched across the beach in a parade of sorrow, flowing robes and gowns fluttering in the ocean breeze. The starless sky, lit only by torchlight, bled away the bright colors of their garments. Rope bound the eight captives' hands behind them, and each to the next in line. When one stumbled, their tormentors struck him with whips and cudgels. The bitter procession headed towards a slim boat their captors had hauled up on the shoreline.

"Four guards," Ngo counted, gaze riveted on his quarry like the hunter he had been. He smeared mud on his face, covering over white tribal marks on his dark skin. "Two more waiting with the boat."

Zhura eyed her second companion as the three crouched in the long grass. Bayati drew a mambele from her leather pack, the hooked blades of the axe jutting from its haft like spiky branches from a tree limb. Fierce determination set the young woman's expression.

Bayati was a village merchant's daughter. She had less than a year's hard training with weapons. She had proved quick and strong, but this would be her first real fight.

The guards were burly and bare-chested, but appeared entirely human.

We can take six.

Zhura couldn't help but recall her encounter with bandit slavers in the hill village of Kichinka. That village had been Bayati's home. Zhura was sure her companion thought to her own friends and family who had met a similar fate. Slavery was a loathsome practice, virtually unknown in the forest that Zhura called home.

One of the captives slowed, wailing some appeal to the slavers. She was yanked to her knees in the sand and lashed with a whip. Out on the dark expanse of Silmani Bay, a light flashed briefly. A boat waited out on the water. Whoever was on that boat would be too far away to help these guards.

"Stay behind us," Zhura said to Bayati. "Free the captives as quickly as you can. Watch for any guards we miss."

She exchanged a glance with Ngo. The spearman hefted his shield, and leveled the black iron point of his weapon.

"Ready," he said.

They raced across the low dunes, the pounding surf matching Zhura's own even breaths. The sand was damp, but firm under her toes.

Demonic vigor coursed through her veins.

The slavers were too occupied with their captives to notice Zhura and Ngo coming, until it was too late. The first barely had time to see her and raise his cudgel before she whipped her staff around, the steel shod tip smashing into his jaw. He dropped. Zhura spun her weapon in her hands, and brought the end of the shaft down hard on his knee.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ngo drive his man down with a shield charge and finish him. Ngo then turned upon the man leading the line of prisoners with torch and whip.

The captives tried to scatter. But tied together, they stumbled and presented a barrier, blocking Zhura from the guard on their seaward side. He called to his friends at the boat. They came running, short, curved swords in hand.

One of the boatmen staggered to the sand as Bayati's thrown mambele sunk into his side, the hooked blade piercing him just under the rib cage. Then Zhura was past the captives and upon the fourth guard.

He swung his club viciously, lunging to try to push her off balance. She sidestepped easily, letting him swing and miss. Flush with arcane energy, Zhura was much quicker. When she saw a clear opening, she bore his weapon down and offline. With a smooth pivot of her staff, she rammed the haft into his nose. He fell back, and she finished him with a blow to the throat.

Five guards were down. The last boatman sank to his knees and surrendered.

As soon as Bayati cut them loose, two of the captives fled across the sand towards the grass. The city of Namu, where they had been marched from, was only a couple of hours away up the strand.

"We came to help you!" Bayati cried, to no avail. The two soon vanished in the night.

"Who are you?" asked one of the captives. She was graceful, with arched eyebrows, and thin, shoulder-length braids that escaped her cowl. Like the others the three friends had freed, she was young and healthy-looking.

"House San hired us," Zhura said, "to catch slavers."

House San did employ Zhura and her friends. But it wasn't really slavers the nobles were interested in.

Out to sea, the light flashed.

"You're safe now," Ngo told the former captives, "we'll bring the Goldshields. If you need it, we can provide food and shelter for the night."

"What's out there?" Zhura asked the boatman who'd surrendered. She nodded towards the flashing light as Ngo tied the man's hands. "A slaver named Bluejar?"

The man, broad-faced and balding, said nothing.

"Tell us the truth, and we'll let you go," Zhura said.

He stared back at her and spat in the sand.

"As you wish," said Zhura. She turned back to the sea.

"You're not thinking..." Ngo began.

Zhura was thinking it. She and Ngo could take the ship.

But that would be reckless. She didn't know what was out there, and she couldn't risk either bringing Bayati into that fight, or leaving her onshore alone.

Bluejar, if he was out there, would have to wait.

"No," Zhura said to him. "Take anyone who wants to go to the guard post at Dugong Marsh. Bring the Goldshields back. Tell them we have captured slavers, with their ship still offshore."

Minutes later, the three friends had bound the three surviving guards with the palm fiber ropes they'd used on their captives. The Sung spearman set off through the marsh, leading five of the people they'd rescued -- each of them with captured weapons.

Zhura, Bayati and the elegant Ikanjan woman retreated to the cover of grass. From there, they could keep watch over the length of beach where they left the bound prisoners, guttering torches, and the boat.

"Why didn't you go with the others?" Zhura asked the stranger.

"I don't care for the city guard," she said. Her voice was rich, and deeper than normal. "Most are little better than slavers and thieves themselves. I prefer the company of strangers to that of the Goldshields."

"We're not strangers," Bayati said, introducing herself and Zhura.

The woman nodded. "I am Hani, and you have my deepest gratitude."

The tall bunchgrass around them bent in the breeze, caressing Zhura's skin. She bared so much more of it than the others, wearing only a knee length, slit kanga wrap skirt, a second kanga of demonskin folded and tied around her waist, and a brief halter that was the fashion in the Sung Valley villages. Her thick braids were uncovered but tied back, to keep out of her face in combat. Bayati preferred the Ikanjan style, wearing a longer skirt, with a tunic and a light cloak. Hani wore a dark, cowled robe over loose trousers.

"How did you end up out here, Hani?" Zhura asked.

The woman was silent for a time. "If you thought you'd rescued virtuous citizens, I'm sorry to disappoint you. Most of those others will probably be dead or in chains within another moon. They owe money. They angered someone they shouldn't have. They know someone's secrets."

She glanced at them apologetically. "I'm no different. There is a proverb in Namu: 'Those baited to the beach will be swallowed by the sea.'" Hani started to say more. Then she sobbed, overcome by the gravity of what had almost been her fate.

"You're safe with us," Bayati said, resting a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder.

"If there is a danger to you in the city," Zhura said, "you can stay with us as long as you need to."

She looked out on the beach. The bound men struggled, but they hadn't gotten far. Ngo and Bayati both knew their knots. Further out, on the water, the ship's light had gone dark.

"Hani, we're not here for slavers. We seek a demon, called Bluejar."

"In the Hazard, where I live, it is rumored that there are many demons."

"The Hazard," Bayati repeated. "That's the part of the city without warding stones?"

"It's a slum. Larger than any of the other districts. The Goldshields don't police there, and there is no law to speak of. And yes, it is unprotected from infernals."

Somewhere close was Zhura's pet, the sanju demon Miliki'tiki. Zhura licked her lips. After a fight, she could always use a good rutting. To make matters worse, she was sitting next to two beautiful women. She detected the subtle scent of the hibiscus oil Bayati favored, while Hani's smell was peppery and earthy, with a pungent tang of sweat.

Zhura had lusted after the Kichinka woman since first meeting her. Bayati would have fallen victim to a bull demon if she hadn't seen her chance and escaped. She had grabbed hold of her destiny, wrestled it to the ground, and climbed astride its back. Her full lips and serene smile made Zhura wet.

They took time to eat, picking from the palm wine, dried meat and fruits in their basket. Zhura fell silent, lost in her own desirous thoughts, while the other two chatted about the varied districts of Namu.

Before long, the faint sound of voices came from across the waves. A burning brand had been thrust into the sand, near the slaver's boat. Out beyond it, a second boat came into view.

Zhura couldn't make out how many were aboard the vessel. She was certain that it was more than she wanted to fight with Bayati alongside her.

"You two stay here," she told Bayati and Hani.

"You're not going to face them alone," said Bayati.

"I'm just going to take a closer look."

Zhura untied the demonskin wrap from around her waist and swung it over her shoulders, like a short cape. Then she crawled out of the grass and onto the sand, keeping to shadows.

Ever since she had fought the bull demon in Kichinka and learned of her own heritage from the witch Ntoza, Zhura had been determined to discover more about her own demonic nature. And there was only one way she could think of to do that. For all their curiosity about demons, the rulers of San House seemed to have little understanding of the creatures or where to find them. If Bluejar was anything like Zhura, she needed to talk to him.

She crept, belly-down across the beach until she reached a point near the line between the first boat and the fallen slavers. Then Zhura drew her legs under her, making herself small, so that the wrap draped over her head, back and legs, like a hooded cloak. She thrust her staff under her, so that it extended behind her and dug into the sand.

Made from the skin of a sanju demon, the wrap had chameleon-like magical properties. Zhura knew from practice that, when mostly covered, she blended into her surroundings, rendered practically invisible.

The newcomers leapt into the surf and dragged their boat up next to the first. There were seven of them, barefoot and lightly dressed in tunics and tight, short breeches. They carried long knives and short curved swords at their waists.

The leader was burly and dark-skinned, with a nest of short spiky hair atop his head. He wore a vest of some sort of glossy hide.

The men lit brands from the flame at the abandoned boat and then ventured up the beach from the surf. As they passed where Zhura hid, she spotted a bright blue mask hanging from the leader's belt. He paused, surveying the beach. He pointed to the slavers lying on the sand.

"Get them," he said.

Zhura stood up behind the leader and his men, staff in hand. "Bluejar."

The men spun around. "By the First Woman's drippy tits!" the leader swore. "Who the rut are you?"

"My name is Zhura. I just want to talk."

The leader frowned, scanning the beach around them. He began to chuckle, eyeing her scanty clothing. "What are you, some kind of barbarian whore?"

"You are Bluejar? The demon?"

Now he laughed. He took the mask from his waist and held it up. Cowrie shells and painted stones embedded in the surface glinted in the flickering light.

"Yes. I am Bluejar. The demon," he said. "I was expecting passengers tonight. I don't suppose you know what happened to them."

"They're probably safe with the city guard by now," Zhura said, watching a scowl deepen on his face. "What kind of demon are you?"

"The worst kind." His men hadn't moved since Zhura appeared. Now he gestured at two of them. "Take her."

Zhura watched passively as the men approached. She had hoped to learn more, but Bluejar didn't look or act like any sort of demon she knew.

With preternatural speed, she jabbed her staff into one man's face. Swinging the staff around, she blocked a series of sword strokes from the second man. She moved easily, toes gripping the firm, wet sand, backing and turning towards the surf.

The slaver rushed to follow, keeping up his attack with one swing after another. Zhura countered, blocking his sword away. His momentum carried him past her. She thwacked him in the side, and he stumbled by. Before he could regain his balance, she drove the butt of the staff into his sternum, knocking him off his feet and splashing into the water.

"Kill her!" Bluejar roared at his men.

"Sanju!" Zhura cried.

Mili appeared, crouched and hissing on the dunes just behind the slavers. The sanju demon was ashen gray and the size of a short man, with small dugs on its chest and a bug-eyed mask. Reedy bristles stuck out from around the mask and the creature's waist, wrists and ankles.

As the slavers whirled towards it, the demon yanked off its mask. Zhura looked away. Whatever unspeakable hideousness lurked below the mask terrified her enemies. Two of the men took off screaming down the strand. The demon raced after them, galloping on all fours.

"You idiots!" Bluejar shouted at them. "It's only bush magic!" He drew his sword, just as another of his men groaned and sank to the beach at his side, Bayati's mambele stuck in his back.

His last slaver charged Bayati as she approached with her staff. Growling, Bluejar rushed Zhura. He ignored the first man who'd attacked her, who still rolled about on the sand near their feet, clawing at his ruined face.

The slaver captain was strong and quick. His blade was longer than the others. It didn't have the reach of Zhura's staff, but she found herself dodging his strokes. With the demon blood running strong within her, she was faster than Bluejar. But what he lacked in speed, he made up for in experience.

Zhura blocked blow after blow, his blade striking sparks off of the steel bands on her staff. Each time she tried to reverse and counter, he seemed to anticipate. Zhura glanced up the beach. Bayati was still fighting the other slaver, putting her own training with the staff to the test.

Zhura and Bluejar clashed and circled, clashed and circled again, the slaver giving no opening. Another glance, and Zhura saw Bayati fall. Her breath caught in her throat. She had to reach her friend, and fast.

"You're no demon," she said to Bluejar. "You're just a man."

Bluejar grunted, knocking away another of her blows. "Eh? How would you know?"

Zhura launched a blistering series of strikes, jabbing, reversing and swinging again, driving the slaver back.

"Because," she said, "I am a demon."

Bluejar hesitated, only for an instant. His eyes went wide, and she smashed the staff into the side of his head below the ear. Before he hit the ground she'd struck him once more. She slammed the shaft down on the back of his head once he'd fallen. She raced up the sand, fearing the worst.

But the last slaver was lying flat on his belly. Hani stood over his prone body with a cudgel, and the back of his skull glistened darkly. Bayati sat on the sand, cradling her bleeding arm.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't let you fight them alone. I'm all right," she said, "thanks to her. That was quite a blow."

The Ikanjan woman tossed the cudgel away. "It was the least I could do."

"You both did well," Zhura said. "Bayati, you've nothing to prove to me."

"I have to get stronger."

"You are strong enough," Zhura said. "In the way that matters."

She turned to scan the beach. Mili had scampered back to chase other wounded slavers away, and they scattered too.

"What is that thing?" Hani asked.

"Just a friendly creature," Zhura said.

She knelt to examine Bayati's injury. It appeared to be a flesh wound. She pointed to their hiding spot in the grass. "I have poultices already prepared."

As Zhura and Hani helped Bayati up the beach, they heard men's shouts from the sea. Bright with lamplight, coming up the bay from the south, was a massive canoe, lined with Goldshields.

Ngo waved from the prow.

"Now he shows up," Bayati complained.

*

"Mmm, yes," Amina moaned, shuddering on her elbows and knees. "I am going to miss your wonderful tongue on my yoni."

Zhura lay under her friend, her head between Amina's dark thighs. She stuck out her tongue, gently thrashing the little pink nub of flesh above her, feeling Amina tremble again in response. Zhura reached up to caress the other woman's hips and ass. Her eyes drooped shut in satisfaction, as she felt Kaj's wet finger play with her own slit.

Amina had grown heavier since they'd arrived in Namu nearly a year before. She and Kaj had had enough of being hungry in the bush. They enjoyed the comfort of a home and steady meals, with the help of House San. And of course, Amina was six months pregnant. As she rested on all fours, the soft swell of her belly brushed Zhura's thick locks.

"Why will you miss it?" Zhura said, between licks. Amina's wet slit looked almost like a dark purple waterberry in the dim candlelight. It tasted even better. "I don't plan to stop."

"Kaj and I will be busy with the newborn, and his smithy. He and I will hardly have enough time for each other."

"Zhura will probably have left us for her new lovers by then," Kaj chuckled. "How goes your pursuit of Bayati? After all that time in the marsh together..."

Zhura groaned sourly. It had been a day since the fight. They'd spent it mostly sleeping in the fens to the south of the city. She felt awful that Bayati had been hurt, just because of her own curiosity. She shouldn't have allowed it to happen.

"Obviously it didn't go well. She brought the poor girl home broken. But Zhura doesn't want to talk, my husband," Amina crooned. "She wants to slurp up all my juices." Amina lowered her ass until she was squatting on Zhura's mouth. Zhura's tongue delved deep inside Amina's cunt, and her nose tickled the little bundle of nerves at the top of her friend's slit.

"Oh!" Amina cried, rubbing herself on Zhura's face. "By the ancestors - Ohh!"

Zhura moaned as Kaj slipped two fingers into her own wet, hungry hole. She felt trapped under her friend's spasming hips. But, if she had to be trapped, there was no place better. After days slogging through the marsh, Amina's musk and clean, coconut oil scent was a delight. Zhura gasped for breath as Amina came, and then eagerly sucked the honey from her flowing hole.

Zhura felt the warmth of power spread from her belly out to her limbs. Amina crawled off of her face.

"I need something bigger in there than your fingers," Zhura said, looking down.

Her adopted brother gave her a broad-faced smile. "So do I," he said. He spread her legs wider, pressing Zhura's thighs open and back as he aimed the crown of his thick, hard cock at her aching cunt. She moaned with relish as he thrust inside, filling her.

Zhura thought back to how this all started, and how unusual the relationship between the three of them was. She had been just discovering her own power. Ingesting a woman's nectar or semen from men and demons boosted her physical strength and agility, and perhaps gave her other, unknown abilities. Once the friends won free of the rigid social confines of their home village, their sexual exploration was unleashed.