The Bitter Fruit of Home

Zhura quickly ripped an orgasm from me with fingers and tongue. She eased back then, drawing my hips and ass up with her until I was rolled up on my shoulders. She sat above me, with my knees hanging down near my face.

The feeling of being at her mercy triggered sensations I'd never felt before. Already sensitive, my skin throbbed with her touch. My shoulders sank into the raffia mat and the pile of grass beneath us.

Zhura took her time then, playing with my twitching orifices like favored children's toys. She ran her fingers around the edge of my nether lips and teased the divot of my ass. Ripples of bliss washed through me, from my core to the tips of my fingers. She dipped her head, and her tongue danced upon my pulsing little pearl.

Before long, I was a mewling mess, my face still wet with her juices, my toes curling in the air. She swiped her hand over my little hooded button until I came again. While I was still in the throes of orgasm, her fingers plunged into me, and nectar seemed to gush out of me like a river.

Zhura bent and drank. My frenzied wails added another voice to the night songs of the marsh.

Afterwards, when I was exhausted and drowsy, Zhura cradled my head on her chest. She would need to stand watch as well, so both of us needed rest. I had slept more soundly than ever the night before, and I expected this night would be the same. The last thing I remember was her wet fingers running through my hair.

*

Everyone seemed slow to move in the morning. As we broke our fast, Ngo greeted me with a knowing grin. Bayati's bearing was more of scorn than amusement. Both seemed weary, though. I wondered if my cries had kept them awake. Or perhaps Zhura and I had inspired them to similar feats last night.

That led me to imagine the four of us together.

Fortunately, my skirt and cloak covered up my flushing skin. I pulled up my hood against the sprinkle of rain, bent over my rice cakes, and tried to think of something else.

Zhura was the only one who seemed invigorated. Once we broke camp, Bayati led us out.

That morning, we climbed the low ridge that had been running to our right. The rain continued. I took a tumble on a muddy slope as we climbed, and Ngo, behind me, helped me up. Once we'd reached the crest, the savanna was laid out before us. The great, grassy plain was dotted with acacia trees and a distant herd of gazelles. To the south, we could look down on the marshy lowlands.

As we approached a grove of bushwillow, Zhura, ahead of me signaled a stop. I looked past her, to where Bayati had stopped. And then past her... to the pair of lions that had padded out from the trees.

They were much larger than the ones I'd seen in Gold City menageries. The head of the male was nearly as high as mine. With the great ruff of its dark mane, it looked massive enough to swallow me whole. Fortunately, it wasn't looking at me.

The pair of great cats stopped and stared at Bayati, not twenty paces away from her. She stood her ground and leveled her staff.

The male roared. A second female emerged from the grove, ahead and to our left.

"Do not move, priestess," Ngo said from behind me, almost making me jump. He'd dropped the basket and unslung his shield. He lowered his iklwa, easing up beside me. "Do not run. Do you understand?"

His eyes remained on mine, until I nodded shakily in response.

Like Ngo, Zhura had set down her basket. She crept forward until she stood beside Bayati. The two women murmured something to each other. Bayati backed slightly, and angled herself to face the third lion. Zhura eased ahead of her, while Ngo remained close to me.

The two women and three lions stared each other down, motionless but for the twitching tails of the beasts.

"Blessed Ancestors," I prayed. "Watch over us and keep us safe. Anathe, called Demon Queen, tend to your daughter and grant her strength..."

The women's weapons seemed pitifully inadequate. The male lion looked as if nothing short of Musa's great bow would take it down. A ballista would have been preferable.

The male's growl rumbled like a distant storm. With no more warning, it ducked its head and charged straight for Zhura. The herb-witch stood her ground, tensed and ready. In her place, I would have immediately turned to flee.

At the last moment, the lion veered away from Zhura. It wheeled and trotted back, gazing at her from only five paces away. The lion blinked, wagging its massive head. Then it turned and walked back to the female. With one last glance at us, the first two lions continued out onto the plain. The third lion retreated into the shaded darkness of the trees.

"That was unusual," Ngo said, as the two of us joined the women. "They typically keep their distance."

"Perhaps they have cubs," Bayati said.

Zhura blew out a breath, sweating, but still calm. She eyed me. "It is good to have you with us, priestess. Shall we give the lions' den a wide berth?"

I managed a weak laugh, motivated more by relief than humor.

We marched on, stopping briefly for a midday meal. My initial blisters had begun to heal, though I had grown a few smaller ones. Perpetual walking became less painful, even to the point of feeling natural.

The rain let up during the afternoon, but it remained overcast. As I was searching the western sky for some evidence of the sun, I spotted smoke trails south and west of us. Ngo, in the lead, must have seen them too. He pointed to the woodland in that direction.

Zhura, ahead of me, nodded. "We'll get some rest and replenish our supplies," she said, loud enough for us all to hear.

At the thought of civilization, my heart leapt. The lions had been a shock. I had never felt quite so vulnerable. With demons and men, there was always an opportunity to reason or bargain. Before, I'd had Jinai and well-armed askari to protect me. Here, my three new companions and their wooden sticks were all that prevented me becoming a midday meal.

As we wound our way through the shrubs and trees -- acacia, densely crowned jackalberry, and spiky thorn -- I imagined a soft bed and a warm bath. I remembered what it felt like to have a full night's sleep, to be clean from head to toe. I wondered if there were, perhaps, grains of paradise here for spicing a stew.

Then I glimpsed crude wooden ancestral wards, poking up through the trees. Dark mud and thatch huts were visible through the bush. I realized that none of my dreams of civilization would come true anytime soon.

We were still in single file. Before entering the village, we drew together to talk.

"I'll go in, and see if there is somewhere we can make camp," Zhura said. "You two stay with the priestess." To me, she only said, "stay out of sight."

Ngo and I sat upon our baskets as Zhura picked her way through the woods and thorny bushes ahead. Bayati stalked about, peering through the trees to make sure no one was near.

From where I could sit, I spotted what looked like a small field in a clearing ahead. Cream-and- red hued garden eggs grew on trellised vines. The fruits were excellent in stew and similar to the purple eggplants my Oko ancestors had brought from Bhatagur and planted on the House terraces. Dark leafy vegetables covered the black soil of the field. My belly grumbled with longing.

"I wish we had stew," I moaned.

"You city folk are all about stew," Ngo grinned. "You need to try mwambe. Palm butter sauce on chicken, over yams. My mother made the best mwambe. Much better than savory."

"Savory is common fare," I countered. "It isn't real stew. No one even knows what the meat is."

"The mystery adds flavor," said Bayati.

We were still arguing about food when Zhura returned. She carried small pieces of flatbread, which she handed to each of us.

I devoured mine in an instant. It was bland and dry as a bone; about as tasty as the vellum sheets I wrote on.

"We can trade for palm oil, and this sorghum for when the rice cakes run out," the herb-witch said.

"I can't taste the honey," Ngo complained as he chewed.

"That's because there is none. It's just bread."

"This might be edible with meat," Bayati said, taking a swig from her water gourd.

"Well, that's the problem," Zhura said. "The elder said there's no meat to trade here, but on the other side of the stream is a village of cattlemen."

"So what's the problem?" asked Bayati.

"He warned us from crossing the stream. He said there were dangerous beasts on the other side, and rumors about a demon and people disappearing."

"A demon?" I frowned. Something was familiar about this place. Something I remembered from the year before.

"It sounded like a village joke. The elder said that for years, a straying wife or husband would disappear for a few days and then come back with a story about the demon across the stream. But he said the people on the far side had strange customs, and the wild animals are very real," Zhura replied.

I slapped my leg, certain I had heard this story before. "What is the name of this village?"

"Kiki, or Kiku-"

"Kitu!" I said. "Zahar came here during Great Harvest last year. This was his last expedition before the Ijon swamp. He came to investigate the rumors of a demon cult. He met with the herders on the south bank of the stream, but didn't find any evidence of a real demon. He did say the herders lived unusually close to wild animals. One of his askari was trampled by a rhino. After that, Zahar called the hunt to a close."

I had written about the expedition from the accounts of my brother and his men. Most of the stories of demon cults were just stories, and this seemed like another.

"Well," Ngo said, "we don't fear savage beasts anymore. So let's trade with the herders and get some meat to go with this bread. And maybe they have honey."

When it was dusk, we went into the village, passing under the ancestral wards and through a clearing with perhaps twenty circular mud huts. Zhura and Ngo greeted villagers as they passed. I kept my head down and covered.

The people were typical country folk, wearing the long colorful sheaths called kitengi -- wrapped by women under the shoulder, and by men around the waist. They were noticeably thinner than the typical denizens of the city, but they didn't appear starved.

Zhura stopped to talk with a man I guessed was the elder. The three of us went to the edge of the broad stream. We found a spot that was behind market stalls, providing privacy from most of the villagers. Wards stood in the mud on either side of us, the pylons like a line of tree-high spikes along the stream. There we collected grass and sticks, and raised our shelters. We built a proper fire.

After our evening meal, Bayati stood watch. Zhura and I retreated into our shelter. This time, we kept an oil lamp at the entrance, so that we could see each other.

"Ngo and I will lend our backs to the farmers tomorrow. In exchange for a day's work, they'll give us all the bread and palm oil we need," Zhura said. "You and Bayati keep camp. Let your feet rest and finish healing. After a day or two, we will venture over the stream and trade with the cattlemen."

"I need a bath," I said. The stream had looked shallow and relatively clean. Nothing was visible on the far side of it but a few distant lights.

Zhura reached for my hair, touching the tight golden curls. "And I need to do something with this," she grinned.

"With my hair?"

The herb-witch giggled. "Keya, in the forest where I come from, hairstyling is an art. Women weave their hair into sunbursts and stars. They build palaces of braids atop their heads. A woman's hair is a thing of beauty, to be shown off."

"I'm supposed to be in hiding," I pointed out.

"Have you ever braided your hair?"

"No," I admitted.

"Then it is the perfect disguise," Zhura said. "I promise not to do anything garish. But your hair is beautiful. You should give it care."

I nodded. "In Ikanje it is custom to wear headdresses, or even shave our heads. But soon we will leave Ikanje State. So I will try your custom."

"Wait until dark tomorrow, and we will bathe." Her eyes flashed mischief, "Then we will play."

Savoring that image, I pulled her close for a kiss. Zhura would need her strength if she were going to work with the Kitu farmers in the morning. As we held our embrace, I straddled her lap and settled there, arms wrapping around her bare back.

I knew just how to keep up her strength.

*

Zhura was gone before daylight the next morning. When I emerged from our shelter, I saw that only Bayati remained. To my surprise, she didn't scowl at me. She left a couple of rice cakes and some dried meat wrapped in palm leaf by the fire, and went down to the water with her and Ngo's soiled clothing. What we'd worn in the marshy lowland was stiff and stained with mud.

After I ate and refreshed myself, I joined Bayati at the stream with an armful of Zhura's and my own garb. I watched as she beat the clothing on rocks, wrung it out, and soaked it more. It seemed like hard work. Once I squatted beside her and began, I realized it was much harder than that.

Bayati eyed me as I struggled. "I never thought to see you washing clothing at the stream, Princess."

"Aren't there washboards to make this easier?" I complained, as I wrung out a kanga skirt.

"I'm certain there are, somewhere in the village," Bayati replied. "But we have little to trade. And this is good training for the arms." She nodded at her staff, lying on the bank.

Later, Bayati collected ash from our fire, in which to soak some of the worst stains. As grueling as the work was, it was mindless, and ideal for reflecting. As I beat and stomped and wrung, I watched the daily trade in Kitu.

Just near our camp was a small market. Men crossed from the south bank with a few cattle and baskets of goods. Farmers from our side brought vegetables and grain. I spotted Zhura and Ngo amongst those carrying sacks, baskets, and bowls for trade.

A line of warding pylons stood on the far bank and curved off into the distance, but there was little evidence of a settlement there. I saw a herd of cattle tended by youths who chatted with each other. They milled in the meadow just across the water. If there were huts, they must have been further back, secluded in the woodland.

I recalled what I had written about Zahar's expedition here. According to legend, a demon had lived on the south bank for at least a generation. It wooed men and women across the stream and mated with them. Its victims never returned, living there under its spell for the rest of their days.

My brother and his men said that what they found was very different than the legend. Many of the people on the other side were born there. As the elder had told Zhura, some villagers who ventured over to the south side did return after a night or two of revelry. Certainly it seemed that there was regular interaction across the water.

Zahar and his askari were careful about how they described the customs on the south side. From what I gathered, the herders were a lascivious bunch. My brother and his men no doubt enjoyed a taste of revelry themselves. Zahar concluded that what was really going on was a slow rebellion against the hidebound traditions of the Kitu elders.

"When we leave Ikanje State, you will be free of the noble Houses for once and all," Bayati said, breaking my reverie. "What will you seek then, Keya?"

"What I have always sought. Knowledge."

"What is more important to you?" Bayati asked. She hung her halter on sticks she had planted in the mud to dry. "Knowledge, or your demon? Or us?"

"You speak as if there is conflict between my quest and those close to me," I said. "There is not."

"Isn't there?" Bayati came and knelt next to me. Her gaze roamed over my body, lingering on my breasts, before looking me hungrily in the eye. I felt as if she was a raptor and I was her prey.

"What?" I prompted her.

"You are quite beautiful," Bayati said, in a low voice.

I scoffed. "Your opinion is not widely held."

"Courage is beautiful. Strength is beautiful. I follow Zhura because she has both." Bayati reached for my hand. I had already stopped washing. "You are also brave and strong, in your peculiar way. If you weren't, you wouldn't have survived so long."

As she took my hand, I turned to face her. I was acutely aware of the villagers nearby, and I hoped we weren't drawing attention.

"You hate me," I said. "You've been quite clear about that."

She raised my hand, wet and dirty as it was, to her lips. Bayati looked at me with hooded eyes. I gasped as she kissed my hand. I could barely respond as she lowered my hand and bent to kiss my lips.

"I don't hate you," she said. "I hate the thought of your betrayal."

She stood up and stalked back to our camp, leaving me there by the water, confused and trembling.

*

Ngo returned to camp weary. Zhura, by contrast, was brimming with energy. They'd spent the day carrying vegetables and other wares to market and bundling more for transport to villages along the Western Road.

After our evening meal, she and I tracked up the stream to a bend where grass and trees grew to the water's edge. The setting sun peeked through the clouds, its light drizzling on the water like fire. Hornbills in the trees honked at each other, as if through mangled wind instruments.

We were well outside the ancestral wards and earshot of the village. Yet in the herb-witch's company, I felt safer than I had in weeks. I hung my satchel and its precious contents in the crook of a low tree branch, where I could easily reach it from the stream. We stripped off our clothing and sandals, and stepped into the knee-deep water.

"Do you still feel as if you're being watched?" I asked. "See things out of the corner of your eye?"

"Sometimes," Zhura said. "It is probably my own anxiety about leaving others behind."

The stream was not the same as a bath. But the water was deep enough for me to dip in. I dunked my head, rinsing off layers of sweat and grime. After Zhura had done the same, she came to me with a jar of coconut oil. As I stood before her, she began to rub it into my skin. She began with my neck and shoulders, and ventured downward. The act was so loving and intimate, I wanted to melt.

My mind, however, would not let go of my encounter with Bayati. So I told it to Zhura.

Zhura massaged oil under my arm, her fingers sweeping under the swell of my breast. "Do you want to rut her?" she asked, abruptly.

"That's not... that isn't why I said..."

Zhura smiled. "Keya, none of us own each other. If you manage to get between Bayati's legs, I will envy you. And I will welcome you back between mine."

As titillating as that was, I struggled to collect my thoughts. I had no skill at seduction. But I knew a veiled threat when I heard one. Bayati's words and acts felt like a threat.

"How did you meet her, Zhura?"

Zhura circled around me, covering my back. Her breasts pressed against me as she rubbed the back of my shoulders. She told me of fleeing the zenkomo in Kichinka, and finding Bayati in the bush that night.

"You never saw her in the village?" I asked.

"No."

"She doesn't strike me as a village woman," I said.

Zhura chuckled as her hands circled my hips. "How many village women have you known? We're not all simple clods, you know."

"That's not what I meant. You've said yourself she is a skilled warrior. I saw her stand by your side against that lion charge. She didn't flinch. She is also shrewder than you realize."

"She stood by me. That time, and many times before. What do you want me to do?"

My skin tingled. I loved the smooth, sweet smell of the oil. I no longer wanted to have this discussion. I felt wrong for even raising it.