Author's Notes:
This story concludes the
While the Gods Slumber
series, my first series ever! To those that have been patiently following...Thank you! I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments!
Going forward, demons, as inherently intersex beings, will be identified with the quasi-neopronouns xhe, xhim, xhis. This usage will be explained and formally introduced in future editions of Descent
and the stories that follow.
City of Morore, Kingdom of Morore. Year 3125, Month of Sowing
Whisper sipped from her bowl of spicy dika nut soup. She gazed out from the roof terrace, only half listening while her enforcer gave his report. The month of Sowing, just after the seasonal rains, was her favorite time of year. Cool air and the sun's glow played upon her skin like a pair of jealous lovers.
Her house was only three stories high, just one among several mud-brick homes huddled together within the Upper City walls of Morore. Squat, drum-shaped towers of the noble clans and the royal palace dominated the northern sky. South, east, and west, she could see the Lower City, and clear to the horizon.
The mesa that the Upper City occupied was both pedestal and prison. It raised wealthy traders and noble clansmen that lived upon it over the Lower City below. But its walls and height prevented easy access to the people, the river, and the granaries below. At least, access for most. Whisper and her informants crossed that barrier at will.
In the shadow of the Upper City lay the two great arteries of the kingdom. The Brassbelt Road rolled along from east to west, lined with rows of baobabs - stout pillars with stunted green crowns. That road gave birth to the lesser streets that ran south through the city. Along the west side of the mesa, the ribbon of the Big Mongoose River gleamed in the midday sun, crossing the Brassbelt and winding its way into the southern hills.
Life teemed upon these arteries. Markets for every item under the sun thrived on the patches of bare red earth along the Brassbelt. Sandal makers, tailors and trading houses opened their shops on the road and streets, shaded by stubby date palms. South of the Brassbelt, clusters of granaries stood like sun-soaked soldiers under their thatched straw roofs. The complex of the powerful Casters' Guild, a veritable castle and the home of the brass-crafters, hugged the river just south of the bridge where the road and river met. Barges and ferries floated on the river, piled high with passengers and goods from the forested north.
In the distance, a perimeter of pale, rune-marked obelisks marked the edge of the city - the ancestral wards that kept demons away.
Well
, most
of the demons.
From this height, Whisper could just make out the people in the Lower City, those tiny dabs of color, the unknowing subjects of her Court of Secrets. They told a thousand thousand stories to each other. One day, she would know them all.
"The kids say Stick has been picking pockets again," Miko went on, ever dutiful with Court business. "Almost got grabbed by the city wardens."
"Let him sleep in the gutters for a few days," Whisper said.
She could hear some of the children on the first floor below taunting each other. They were her
drongos
, little birds with eyes and ears who told her everything that happened in the narrow lanes of the Upper City. The wardens couldn't keep them outside of the walls. But if the kids were caught sleeping in the streets they'd be thrown out. If they were caught stealing, they'd be hanged.
Whisper fed the waifs, housed them, and put them to work. They begged, they lied, they spied, and they reported back. But they did not steal. This was her home. She was respectable now.
"If Stick wants to thieve, he can do it outside the walls," Whisper said, taking another sip. The peppery soup was thick with ground nuts, greens, okra and goat meat. She nodded praise to the girl, Marble, who tended the pot. The girl waited politely out of earshot, in case Whisper asked for more. "If he does it again," she said softly to Miko, "have Adder take care of it."
She trusted Adder to show more restraint than Miko. Whisper had few limits, but hurting children was among them.
Miko nodded with a grim expression. "As you say."
"No word on Kuya?"
The enforcer shook his head. "We haven't found a body, at least."
Just like Mother, Kuya was an
intulo
, one of that scaly demonic species that lived in Morore's underworld. Kuya lurked among the whores and entertainers who plied their trades along the Brassbelt.
People seemed to be disappearing all over the city these days.
Whisper downed the rest of the soup. "What's going on in the palace?"
"No more news. No one seems to know where the prince is. If they do, it's a closely held secret."
And I do love a closely held secret.
Whisper signaled to Marble to take the empty bowl.
The heir to King Yende's throne was a notorious philanderer. His conquests had already made him quite a few enemies. Had he gotten himself into trouble with one of them, or run off with a new lover? It had been two days now since Prince Kandu had been seen.
"Now," Whisper said, watching the girl, with a pair of mitts, take the pot down the stairs to share a morning meal with the other kids. "Why is Ranthaman San here?"
Miko shrugged broad shoulders. Whisper's enforcer was quite enticing in that loose, sleeveless tunic that bared python-like arms. He was the outwardly intimidating one of her pair of guards, like a giant muscled hyrax. When he climaxed, his eyes would flutter like moth's wings, and he tended to seize her head in a grip like a vise. Somehow, it made him that much more enticing.
Whisper's carnal hunger was like an old friend. Sometimes it betrayed her, and sometimes she hated it. But it was always present. Without it, she would not be her.
"I think he's here about something to do with the Thandi," said Miko.
Whisper scowled.
They
were almost enough to kill her mood. "Bring him up," she said.
He left her alone on the terrace. When he returned, he led the House San trader.
Whisper had never met the man in person, but she knew of him. Ranthaman wore light robes of cinnabar over flowing pants. His hair and his goatee were perfectly sculpted; not a hair out of place.
The enforcer stepped away to give them privacy, leaning against the parapet wall to take in the morning city streets. The merchant joined her where she reclined under her pergola.
"Ancestors bless," he said. His Nubic was quite smooth. An unpracticed ear might have mistaken it for his first tongue. He spent many months out of the year in the Kingdoms. "Whisper?"
She nodded and gestured. "Sit."
The trader took the reclining chair across from hers, the one Miko had occupied. Like the enforcer, he remained sitting upright. "This is more public than I expected."
Whisper toyed with a curly twist of her hair, enjoying the slight tug on her scalp. She stretched out long, slender legs, like a snake uncoiling its length. Her legs were mostly unencumbered by the spare, dun-colored gown that was her only garment.
She was too skinny, by her own tastes. As a girl, she had lusted after the curvy, painted whores that flaunted themselves along the Brassbelt. But no matter how much palm butter sauce she scarfed down, she couldn't seem to lose her slim appearance.
Mother's fault.
"I am not a thief, Ranthaman. I am a trader, just as you are, and I work in the daylight. But I trade in well-told tales, not bolts of linen."
The Ikanjan merchant smiled. "A secret is less weighty than gold, and far more precious," he recited.
"...To the right buyer," Whisper finished. "My favorite Nubic proverb. You have heard of the Courts of Morore?"
"Gangs of thieves, you mean?"
"Just so. This is my Court. The Court of Secrets. What do you want to know?"
Ranthaman San lowered his voice. "It is rumored there is a coven of Thandi witches in Morore," he said. "I wish to meet with them."
Whisper's eyebrow perked in interest. "Information is costly when there is great risk involved," she said. "Tell me why you seek them, perhaps we can more easily settle upon a price."
"I cannot say why. But I am prepared to offer a reasonable amount of coin, as well as the goodwill of the Great House San of Ikanje."
That goodwill was no small matter. Like whores, traders made ideal informants. And yet...
Whisper grinned. "Let's discuss 'reasonable amounts of coin'."
Once they had agreed upon a price, Ranthaman left. Miko turned around, his back to the parapet wall, pursing his lips in thought.
Whisper slid off of her chair and joined him at the wall, tasting the sweet breeze that wafted above the city stink. In the narrow street below, a kola nut peddler hawked his wares, rolling a pushcart. He shooed away two barefoot boys who begged him for a taste.
A few moments later, Ranthaman walked out the door below, accompanied by a woman in a long tunic and trousers, as tall as he was.
"Who is that?" Whisper asked.
"She arrived with him. A maid, probably."
Whisper watched as the two spoke to each other, walking side by side.
"A maid? With a back so straight she could be one of Yende's palace guards?" Whisper snorted. "You need to hone your skills of observation."
"She's got one too many scars to be the wife of a man like Ranthaman," Miko said. "Or a lover."
"Interesting."
After the Ikanjan pair had passed, the two boys peered up at Whisper. She gave a sharp nod. The boys drifted along after the merchant and his companion. Her
drongos
were resourceful, highly skilled shadows. They knew how to work as a team, and they had networks of beggars and other informants in both the Upper and Lower City.
Finding the Thandi and arranging a meeting would not be difficult. Getting involved with the coven without becoming entangled in their latest plot... that would be more difficult. Mother feared the Scarred Women, as other demons did. For good reason.
Something about the combination of events didn't sit well with Whisper. Royal heirs didn't normally go missing, and respectable merchants didn't seek out Thandi covens.
