Chapter I - Prelude
Yareah, one of the oldest cities on earth, became quiet.
A hushed stillness as dusk came over it, the brilliant sunset fading fast. But a new brightness came from the east, and illuminated the sky and the dark clouds in the distance. The thousands of the city heard a distant thunder, and held their breath to listen, wondering if they might hear the gods speak.
Rachab stopped walking in mid stride, one sandal hovering from the dusty stone of the street for a moment, and then she turned and looked up.
And as she gasped, so did the whole fortress-city of Yareah.
Those that had not been paying attention, still distracted with their pleasures, men and women in allies rutting like animals, nipples being suckled, and cocks deep into the mouths of women on their knees; all eventually turned their attention to the sky.
And they began to whisper, and mutter, and even whimper and cry.
"The rumors are true! The Host of Slaves has come from Kemet!"
And indeed, a needle of fire blazed in the distance into the clouds, and the clouds rolled and broiled with fire and blue lightning. The air seemed to fill with energy, and a presence as ominous as any spirit seeking to possess an unwary soul.
Rachab thought she heard trumpets from a great distance, from beyond the Eastern River that bordered Shinar. Dreadful dreams of a great storm coming, of a powerful god that would send clouds before its army to cool its march into all Kena, was coming to pass.
The East Gate suddenly crashed open, and Emim Jabburim stormed into the city, marching in two columns. They were tall and muscular and fierce, often deformed and ugly, gray of skin, far removed from the beauty of their angelic ancestors. The Seren leading the warriors into the city stopped, and then cracked the whip on anyone he saw standing around, gaping at the distant menace.
"What are you all looking at, dogs! Back to your labors!"
A lanky slave, overworked and underfed, made the mistake of speaking up from some dark corner. But the Emim could see well in the dark, as the Anakim and akharu could.
"But, the pillar of fire!" the fool said. "We hear rumors that many Kenaanim are fleeing to the Western Lands and Seas..."
The crack of the whip was powerful, and snapped at the slave's throat, and cut it wide open. The hapless fool gurgled and fell as blood cascaded down his naked body. Akharu came from the darkness, now that the sun was gone, and their fangs pierced his body to drain what they could. The slave's cock was torn off with teeth and devoured, and eyes sucked from skull. The people were use to this macabre spectacle, and simply moved away.
Rachab got out of there, her skirt and thick curly black hair swishing as she moved. But looking up, she saw the malik on the high rampart of the inner wall in purple cloak and pomp. His two high harlots stood beside him, naked but for enough jewelry to cover most of their slender and opulent bodies. His face glowed with the fiery pillar's light from the east, and revealed a look of fear. But the view of the malik was fleeting, and she dashed in between narrow allies, and pushed her way past the throng of people that were beginning to panic, her bare breasts being squished and bounced by other people as she pressed through.
Panic had gripped much of Kena. Drought had come first, parching all the land in dust and sand. Then heavy rains came, and washed whole villages away. And come also were hornets in such swarms that whole towns were found full of bloated bodies. For decades in fear of some nameless dread, many departed west from Sur, Sidon, or Gubal.
Yet still others remained, and the slave markets flourished, and the temples were full of those that deposited their semen into harlots, in their open mouths, or on their naked breasts as offerings. Rachab brushed past a line of naked young girls, still devoid of pubic hair, looking miserable and dirty as potential buyers felt their sex for tightness and virginity. One of them turned to Rachab, and smiled wickedly, and then cupped one of her breasts, but Rachab ignored this and kept moving. She use to have rings piercing her nipples, but too often they would catch on people's clothing and be ripped. She still kept a bullring in her nose.
As she moved through the city, dark clouds shadowed it, and a cool chill made her nipples harden. Despite the growing dread of some approaching storm of men and clouds, the city went about its daily routine.
She went past the temples, and there beyond the sacred pillars saw more women than ever on all fours as one man after another mounted them. Semen flowed from their shaved vaginas and pooled on the sacred stones of the temple between their knees. Rachab once enjoyed the perpetual bliss of being ravished all day, having one cresting wave of orgasm after another, her waist gripped hard as men took turns. Once she had been famous for being able to handle the most men, and accept the greatest amount of sacred semen. Sometimes she longed to return, to be a part of something larger than herself, to share her body with strangers. But she saw that many of the girls were there against their will, and their faces asleep on crossed arms as their asses remained high to be used by men. What had once been a holy thing was now defiled, for it was babies they wanted to sacrifice, not to keep unwed men from rape and able to focus on industry and progress as was its intent.
At hearing a baby scream before the dagger pierced its chest, she fled from the temple, and hurried home faster than ever. Some of the naked, semen-drenched priestesses looked up at the rolling clouds illuminated by interior lightning, and looked afraid. She was not the only woman that had the intuition that something more than the mere weather of the world was coming.
Something else was coming.
And the baby's sudden silence, a quiet gurgling, made her nauseated and almost trip and fall. Rachab went to a wall, stained with semen and urine, and vomited upon it. She had lost her first child this way, of her own free will. But remorse had turned her away from her old life, and opened her eyes.
Some said that he Host of Slaves was coming to kill them all for their sins. Perhaps they deserved to die.
Chapter II - Visitors
In the morning, Rachab went to the market to buy what she needed. In sandals, a skirt, and carrying a basket she rushed through the narrow hot and dusty streets. It was a cramped city, more designed to repel invaders than be occupied by people. But she liked this, for it was the least populated in Kena.
She also wanted to hear the latest news of the pillar of fire off to the east, invisible now behind a hovering storm that lingered, and did not move. Could the invaders command the very weather to protect them from the heat of the sun? Surely, they were not Atenim, or Kemet fanatics, for they had no love of the sun, or the moon as her people did.
"No one is to travel east this day," one man said as she passed by.
"They say they are the very Apiru bandits that escaped Kemet, from Goshen," another said.
"The people that escaped by separating the Edom Sea?" another asked. "But that was decades ago! How could they have survived the desert wildernesses?"
