The Bitter Fruit of Home

I sighed. "I do want to rut her, Zhura." I reached back to caress her. "But I want to rut you even more."

After the oil came the razor. The herb-witch was gentle and attentive, especially when she shaved the hair from my pubic mound. When she was done, I treated her to the same loving care, even by the light of the rising moon. I forgot all about the soreness in my forearms and hands from the day's washing.

We slipped on our sandals, grabbed our clothes and my satchel. We returned to the camp, giggling and teasing each other like adolescent girls. Bayati, keeping watch, gawked at our dripping bodies.

Zhura and I tumbled into the retreat of our little shelter.

Before she could grab me, I went digging into the iridescent kanga I'd seen her wear as a pouch. I quickly found what I sought -- a smooth wooden phallus attached to a harness.

"Eh!" I said in triumph, drawing it out. "I remember this. Let's use it again!"

Zhura grinned, but she shook her head.

"I would rather it be just you and I tonight," she said. "Besides, the space is too cramped."

I pouted, but allowed her to put the strapped cock away.

"Another time," she said. "I promise."

Then she kissed me, and it was forgotten. We delved into each other with fingers and tongues, learning one another's bodies. She ate me to screaming orgasms, and my newly shaven mons quivered at the touch.

When she came, I watched her cunt -- her yoni, she called it, like the common folk -- convulse, saw tremors shake her to her limbs like an earthquake. I flooded my mouth with her nectar and shared it with her in a kiss.

Afterwards, I lay back against her, my head against her chest. I was barely awake, but Zhura's fingers plucked deftly on my scalp. Small wooden combs furrowed through my still wet hair. I lapsed into a dream, my senses heavy with the scent and taste of us. She whispered in my ear.

"Wait until you see yourself, Keya."

*

In the morning the four of us broke camp and waded across the stream, our baskets packed with flatbread and fresh palm oil. It had rained during the night, and a brilliant bow of color arced across the sky to the north and east, in the direction of Namu.

I looked down at my reflection in the stream. It was as if a different person stared back. Golden braids hung down to my neck and shoulders, tugging at my scalp like a skullcap. Zhura had fashioned this during the night, while I was half-conscious from our lovemaking. It was all I could do to keep from twisting the woven hair between my fingers. I pulled my hood close to keep from fidgeting.

We crossed the stream just as Kitu's market was getting underway. Behind us, women bantered, haggling over their goods. Their voices were punctuated by the steady pounding of ugali dough with mortar and pestle. Ahead, in the meadow, a herder boy waved at us as he tended his cattle.

Our sandals slapped in the mud on the south bank of the stream. I peered up at the ancestral pylons. They looked the same as the ones on the north side.

Except...

"Do you think your brother was right about this place?" Bayati asked me.

I walked the few paces to the nearest ward. Runes marked the wood, from the ground to the summit. I glanced at the herder boy, to see if he watched us. Casually, I moved away from the obelisk.

"I don't think he was," I answered.

Young men in bright kitenge emerged from the trees to the south, leading two mottled cows. They also carried antelope hides draped over their shoulders.

"Anathe's ability with wild beasts was not unique," I said, to no one in particular. "There are many accounts of demons and their offspring communing with animals."

"Like these people," Ngo said, nodding to the south. "Herders and hunters."

"The pylons are not consecrated," I said. "To an untrained eye, they might look the same as those on the north bank, but the runes are mismatched. I feel no ancestral power coming from them."

The wards were fake. Which could only mean one thing.

"Would your brother have noticed this?" Zhura asked.

I shook my head. "He is not an adept."

The young men waved and beamed at us as they approached the river. Their smiles grew even broader as they eyed Bayati, Zhura, and myself.

"Ancestors bless!" they called in greeting.

Ngo shouted a greeting.

The four of us exchanged glances. These people might have secrets, but they hadn't harmed Zahar and his men. We were not like my brother, or Barasa San, wont to slay or capture any demon we could find. All of us had learned through experience that demons were not inherently evil. In many ways, infernals were as varied as humans.

Zhura shouldered the basket she carried. "Well, they seem like a friendly folk. Let's get our meat, so we can be on our way."

"Meat and honey," Ngo corrected.

I hesitated. Perhaps there was no danger here, but I wanted us to be safe. That meant protecting the strongest of us.

I looked down at my golden bangles. I began to tug them off my wrists. "Zhura, wait. There's something you should have."

When we finally reached the sparsely forested area, we discovered another village. This one was smaller than the north bank village, but far more colorful. The huts encircled a clearing. Cords hung with brightly hued clothes and flowers hung between the huts. Within the clearing, women pounded ugali dough and children ran about at play. Magpies flitted from hut to hut.

The people seemed young and fit, and men and women surveyed us appreciatively. I tried to keep my head down and covered, but curiosity got the better of me.

I had wondered whether I should have entered the village at all. But once we knew the likelihood a demon was present, Zhura had been adamant that we stick together.

A man walked across the clearing towards us, tall and deep-chested like a cheetah. His kitenge was bright red, doubled up and slung with a belt slung low around his hips. Fine streaks of white paint on his face could not obscure chiseled features and eyes of hazel.

'"Ancestors bless," he grinned. "I am Yaro."

"I am Zhura," the herb-witch said. "My companions and I wish to trade for meat."

Ngo coughed.

"And honey," Zhura added.

Yaro looked at each of them with an appraising eye. "What do you have to trade?"

"I'm an herb-witch."

Yaro nodded. "Then the Ancestors guide us. We have some with fever, and the only herb-witch is on the north side of the stream."

"How are you treating the fever?" Zhura asked.

Yaro glanced at a slender woman with beaded braids who was tending the coals in a smoking oven.

"Ginger tea," the woman said.

"I'll see them. Perhaps a remedy with sage and acacia bark will serve," Zhura offered.

"Stay until our people recover. We will lend you and your people a hut, and you can have what you desire."

Zhura turned to the rest of us, noting our smiles. All I could think of was walls and a roof.

*

The drumbeats pulsed and flowed like blood in the veins. Two separate rhythms chased each other, stuttering and racing in turn as the people of the tiny village danced in the clearing. The children had been whisked away to their huts and keepers after the evening meal. A large pot of aromatic stew still steamed next to the meat-smoking ovens. I contemplated another bowl full of the spicy blend.

Beer flowed as freely as the music. I'd had only a taste, and my women companions had abstained as well, but Ngo had drunk more beer than stew. Our wariness had relaxed considerably over the course of the day. It was hard to do otherwise when your hosts acted with such generous abandon.

Zhura and I sat on mats outside our borrowed hut, watching as Ngo matched the foot-pounding dance of the villagers with two young women who'd coaxed him out into the clearing. To Zhura's evident surprise, Bayati had let him go. Moments later, a lanky pair of men enticed her into the dance as well. Now she pranced with them, one in front of her and one behind.

Some of the other locals were more earnest than that. One couple embraced, kissing while they ground against each other. Others had cast off pieces of clothing. Sandals, halters and even kitenge were scattered about at people's feet. I'd never thought to see such a spectacle. Brothels in Tanga District might have been less bawdy.

The herb-witch glanced at me, judging my reaction. I hoped I didn't look like a wide-eyed impala calf as I watched the festivities. She leaned against me with affection.

This was such an odd place. An anteater padded casually through the clearing, skirting the dancers, who paid it no mind. Yaro had said it was one of several who roamed freely around the village, trimming the ant and termite populations.

Zhura had been brilliant throughout the day. We'd decided that we would remain in pairs. So I had accompanied her and a pair of hunters into the bush to gather acacia bark, while Bayati and Ngo rested in our new hut. The hut's former occupants, a pair of young men, were currently dancing. I suspected that they would enjoy sharing the huts of others while we stayed in theirs, and that this was not an uncommon occurrence.

The herb-witch had used the foraging to explore the village surroundings, leading our group of gatherers in every direction except to the south, where the hunters forbade us. They told us an old bull rhino lurked in that tangled wood, one that was extremely aggressive.

We saw plenty of antelopes in the bush. We encountered hunters and small herds of cattle and goats, tended by friendly young men and women. The hunters and herders carried bows and spears, but within the village I saw very few weapons.

I'd had a chance to casually examine more of the ancestral wards. I was convinced that the obelisks on this side of the stream were only for show. The wards ran out into the bush, often not even in sight of the huts and cattle corrals. This in itself was a break with custom, as wards needed to be consistently maintained to prevent damage and wear. And, as I had noticed at the stream, the runes were improperly matched and ordered.

When we'd returned from gathering acacia bark, we told Bayati and Ngo what we'd learned. Zhura worked with other women to begin brewing a mixture along with sage, salt and honey. Before the evening meal, we'd been able to treat the feverish family with bowls of tea.

I felt Zhura swaying to the drums beside me. Warmth blossomed between my thighs as she rubbed against me and I watched the others. The couple that had been kissing strolled hand in hand to the lintel of one of the huts, where a sleeping mat had been laid out. They embraced again and sank down.

"Eh! No," I gasped. "In front of everyone?"

Zhura only smiled. "Ngo will be there soon," she said. "Unless we stop him."

One of the women dancing with Ngo snaked her hand inside the waist of his kilt. Bayati, who I thought should have been concerned, was more intent upon the partner in front of her, while the one behind swayed close enough to brush against her back.

"Let's just watch," I replied. Even as I spoke, I saw Yaro approaching us.

The tall headman's kitenge was split, exposing a muscled, dark thigh -- which I stared at a moment too long. "Zhura," he held out his hand. "I would be honored if you would join me in the dance."

"You honor me. After the day's work, I can barely stand," Zhura lied.

"And yet you look as strong as a lioness," he said smoothly. "Should the Ancestors bless me, you might dance. Even for a moment."

Zhura looked a question at me. I gently pushed her away, intrigued to watch her with this man.

They strode into the center of the clearing, near other dancing couples. Yaro began slowly, but Zhura easily matched him. I imagined them together. Smooth dark skin and strong limbs fitting together, moving in rhythm. Stealthily, I rubbed my thighs against each other.

Ngo laughed as his kilt finally succumbed, dropping to the ground. His loincloth bulged with a length of hardness beneath. The man behind Bayati rested his hands on her hips.

I licked my lips. I wanted desperately to touch myself. Privacy was just behind me, in our empty hut. And yet, I couldn't tear my eyes away. One of the couples near Zhura and Yaro rocked together, her back against his chest, his fingers teasing dark nipples.

I looked around the clearing to see if anyone was watching me. My hand drifted down to my belly.

One of the drummers smiled at me. As he pounded the skin of his instrument, his head bobbed towards Zhura and Yaro, silently urging me to join them.

Zhura held out a beckoning hand. Come, she mouthed.

I don't know how. I shook my head nervously.

"Come!" Zhura said, too loudly.

Still shaking my head, I slowly came to my feet. I stepped cautiously into the clearing to join them. I threw my hood back. Everyone had seen me. There was nothing about my freakish appearance left to hide.

"I'm tired," I had to shout to be heard, even once I was close to the herb-witch. "I was about to go inside."

"Pairs," she replied. "Remember?"

I glanced back to Ngo and Bayati. Now they danced with their partners in a crowd of six, with hands roaming everywhere. Bayati was kissing one of the men.

Zhura sidled around, her hips rocking as she held me from behind. Her hands skimmed along my waist, running over the cloak, down to my hips. I tried to match her rhythm.

I had never danced before. I had seen it, of course, at festivals and celebrations. Zahar and my younger siblings danced. I did not.

And so once again I felt like a newborn impala, graceless and inept. I attempted to follow the beat that pulsed around me. My hips, shoulders and neck moved in novel ways. Newly made braids jounced around my face. My satchel thumped against my hip.

Yaro showed me an honest smile as he danced in front of me.

"Feel it," he urged. "Let the drums take you."

Bayati, Ngo and their admirers pranced towards our hut. Bayati wore nothing but her bangles. They began filing inside, cutting off my route of retreat.

Zhura rubbed against my back, her nipples grazing me through our thin clothing. I closed my eyes. Unleashed, more heat blossomed, from my core to my toes. I stopped worrying about how I looked. I felt free.

I let the drums take me.

Before long, the drums were taking me... with Zhura, towards Yaro's hut. One man had bent his partner over and begun rutting her right there in the center of the clearing. Her wails of pleasure seemed to inflame the others. Dancers began slipping away in couples and groups. One of the drummers had passed out. The other, the stocky one wearing a black headscarf, who had encouraged me before, continued to play. He watched me as we made our way to the large hut at the south end of the village center.

"You're safe," Zhura spoke softly in my ear. "Do not feel compelled to do anything."

"I know," I said. I wondered if it was obvious that I was trembling. I'd never felt so out of control, or so stimulated.

Not since the first time with Blossom.

The circular hut was just a single chamber, I saw, as Yaro lit an oil lamp and led us inside. The dirt floor was covered with raffia, which seemed to have been laid upon grass because it was springy and soft. Soft skins and furs were spread upon the raffia.

It wasn't as nice as my bed in Coral Sands, but I wanted to stretch out upon it right away. Stools, clay pots, and wooden boxes stood in a jumble along the wall.

Yaro smiled at both of us, then focused on me. It must have been obvious how out of place I felt.

"Many people come to this village to escape. Many of us are outcasts, as you are. Whatever you are running from, Keya, this night you do not need to fear."

Yaro urged us to sit. We slipped off our sandals and joined him on the soft floor. The drum had died down outside, but faint laughter and cries of pleasure filtered through the walls and the thick door hanging across the entrance. A smoky, floral scent hung in the air.

"Where do the people of your village come from?" Zhura asked. "There are so many young people here. Their customs are so different than the people across the stream."

"Some came from across the stream," Yaro said. "Others came with my mother from the west, before I was born. Yet others stumbled across us, like you did. Or they left our women heavy with child."

"Don't you have marriage here?" I asked.

"If people want to marry, they go to the priest across the stream. We do not oppose marriage. We only oppose the sense of possession that some attach to it."

Under different circumstances I would have been fascinated by this, and asked many more questions. Of course, a human community influenced by a demon would reject the matrimonial and lineage bonds handed down by the Ancestors. But what would all of this mean over time? How could a village like this survive beyond a generation?

It was hard to think on these questions, however. Zhura's hand covered mine. She was staring at me.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"I am not thinking," I said. "I am feeling. I feel... joy."

Zhura leaned close to me. She reached up to draw my head into a kiss. I opened my lips to her. At that moment, everything around us seemed to fall away. Our tongues sparred and danced and I ran my hand down her side, reveling in how easy it was to touch her exposed skin. She slipped my cloak and satchel from my shoulders.

As I shrugged them off, I noticed that Yaro's hand was between his legs. They were splayed, and he wore nothing beneath his kitenge. His cock jutted up, and he began to stroke it.

Zhura reached for Yaro and pulled him close. Our kiss became a three-sided one. Yaro tasted of honeybush tea and fresh leaves. His manner of kiss was greedy and consuming, and that was exciting in and of itself. I smelled the acidic scent of the paint on his face.

As he and I embraced, Zhura's head dipped, trailing down his powerful chest to his lap. My hands roamed freely, one in Zhura's hair and the other behind Yaro's muscled shoulder.

He kissed down to my neck, and I turned my head up, seeing the slats of the thatched roof in the dim light. Zhura made soft suckling sounds. I raised my arms, and Yaro pulled my tunic up and off. My halter soon followed, and my breasts tumbled free.

Yaro was thrilled by this development. He bent to kiss my breasts, hefting their weight. I thrust my chest out. The contrast of his dark on my ivory skin was striking. He took my nipples in his mouth, even as Zhura continued to lavish his shaft with attention.

Zhura rose up to kiss me again with a mouth that had just been full of his cock. She slipped behind me, kneeling and drawing my head back for a kiss. As my tongue swirled in her mouth, Yaro stood up. His thick, stiffened rod swung like a weapon in front of me. He crouched some to bat it against my breasts. The flesh slapped wetly, the spongy, dome shaped head swatting my now-stiff nipples. Then he stood up. Zhura released me, and Yaro presented me with his cock.

I took it in my hands and kissed the head, tasting the salty drop of liquid at the tip. It was wet from Zhura's ministrations, and I made it wetter, anointing it with long licks.

"I've seen you with a cock before," Zhura whispered in my ear. "I know you've been missing this."

I flushed. I wondered at Zhura's assertiveness. She had seemed outwardly reserved when it came to sex. Was she always like this, or was she acting differently because I was with her? Or was there some special connection she felt with Yaro?

Everything had been different with Blossom. The demon was a primal force that overwhelmed my senses. This was new. My first human cock.

I took my time, reaching up to fondle Yaro's ball sack while I began to slowly suck on the head. I looked up at him. Yaro beamed down, brushing my braids out of my face. It felt so shameless, to suck the cock of a man I'd met just that morning. When our eyes met, and he saw me doing it, it felt even more whorish.