Night of the Forgotten

"Hallowed Ancestor!

I have poured the wine. I have spiced the meal. I have told the world of your legacy. Grant me long life!"

-- Common prayer.

Southside Hazard ruins, city of Namu.

Year 3125, Month of Praise.

Keya Oko awakened to the scents of fresh rain and old mud. She lay in a low-ceilinged, earthen cell, lit only by the dying flame of an oil lamp. Raffia fronds covered the floor. The fibers were fresh and dry. Someone had laid them very recently, though the chamber itself reeked of age and abandon. She was alone.

That last bit was nothing new.

Her memory came back, of a wordless march through a night of drizzle and sorrow alongside the herb-witch Zhura. They had entered the south edge of the Hazard, the vast, unprotected slum of the city of Namu. Keya had managed an exhausted crawl into this hideout on hands and knees, following behind the scantily-clad backside of the jungle dweller.

"Stay here," Zhura ordered, just before Keya succumbed to sleep. "You will be safe under the

sanju

's watch until I return."

How long had she slept? Given the hollowness of her belly, it must have been several hours or more.

Nearly by instinct, Keya's hand found her satchel lying next to her. It contained everything she possessed in all the world. Vellum sheets, quill and ink, and... there, Blossom's summoning stone. Her fingers curled around the weighty wooden phallus as if the veiny grooves in it had been made for her hand. Made for her willing flesh...

But as much as she craved the demon's touch, this was not the time.

Wrapped in a palm leaf next to her were a pair of mangoes and a knife with a worn wooden hilt. She devoured the messy fruit, cutting through the rind and slicing juicy flesh off in strips. A gourd next to the fruit was full of watered palm wine.

She eased up on sore legs, just able to stand in the cramped room. Keya picked up the clay lamp and poked around, noting the chamber pot and extra sleeping mats. One passage ventured deeper into the darkness. The stench of mold and old sweat was enough to satisfy any curiosity she had in

that

direction.

The other, she recalled, climbed back to the outside. The dank hole reminded her of the crypt in the Ijon River swamp where she had first encountered Blossom. It seemed her life had been exchanging one form of captivity for another.

So this is to be my new cage?

Her cowl was pulled back, laying bare a bush of pale yellow hair. It was still damp with rain and would shine like a beacon to anyone who spotted her. But there was nothing for it.

Grabbing the lamp and her satchel, she ducked into the entrance tunnel. Even as she crawled up, she could feel the moisture through her filthy cloak. Rivulets of rainwater trickled down the slant of the passage. With some difficulty, she slid the stone lid off of the entrance way. She held the light in front of her face.

It was night -- which meant that it must have been the next night. She was inside the half-collapsed shell of a house. There was only a memory of a roof above her. The rain was steady, fat drops splashing on her face.

When she had come in with Zhura, all of the buildings nearby were broken and abandoned. Keya had heard of this place, on the southern edge of the Hazard. A mudslide had washed through four years before, burying many of the unfortunates who lived here. Apparently, no one had rebuilt.

Where was Zhura's demon?

"

Sanju

demon," Keya said. She repeated it, louder. She knew of these creatures. They were elusive and impish, but harmless. "Come out!"

Perhaps a

sanju

was not the best choice for a guard.

She emerged from the tunnel, shielding the flame of the lamp with one hand. The air felt charged with energy, as it did during a storm, or when Keya called upon the Ancestors in prayer.

Zhura had said she would be protected. Keya reached for Blossom's stone again. Her demon would be better protection.

She had spent her life in crypts and windowless rooms. She had given up that to be free, not to hide in another hole. She could walk away with Blossom, right now. No more duties. No more cages.

Except the cage the demon builds for me.

The herb-witch was kind, and seemed honest. But how much did Keya really know about Zhura and her companions? Two Great Houses would be searching for Keya if they knew she still lived. Anyone who tried to protect her would be in grave danger.

A rippling sound came from behind the shattered walls. Just the fall of water over cracked stone.

No, it was something else.

Laughter. A child's laughter.

"Who's there?"

There was only the rain. Perhaps she had imagined it.

She should stay here, at least until Zhura returned. It was the honorable thing to do. Zhura had risked much to bring her here. Keya peered back into the gloom, into the dark hole in the earth, and she shuddered.

Looking up again, she saw a face, watching her from edge of a broken wall. A child's face. Whether boy or girl, she could not tell.

The child's skin and curly short hair were as pale as bone, clearly visible even in the dim light. Dark eyes danced, and the little mouth split, revealing a pink smile.

An albino.

Just like her.

"Where are your kin, little one?" Perhaps the child had ventured into the ruins.

The child watched her, giggling.

She held up her hand. Touched her face. No more golden mask to hide behind. "We are the same, you and I."

The child shook its head no.

Keya sighed. Of course they weren't the same. She had been exceedingly fortunate.

Her gaze searched the ruined house, seeing only crumbled stone and bits of rotten wood.

I will help the child home and then return back.

"This is no place for a babe," Keya drew the cowl of the cloak over her hair and scooped up a handful of sticks and rubble. "Let's get you home."

A few minutes later, she picked her way carefully through the empty alleys and lots. Shattered stone jabbed through the worn soles of her sandals. Mud puddles, large and small, dotted the pitted, ruptured pathways. Her cloak had quickly soaked through, and the tunic and skirt beneath clung uncomfortably to her skin.

The dead were still here. She could almost hear their voices in the rainstorm. If she closed her eyes, she saw mud flowing through here like a river, drowning homes and leaving only a few bricks peeking above the cascade.

The boy - she decided it was a boy - scampered well ahead, ashen feet light upon the broken ground. He clearly wanted her to follow. She caught glimpses of him as he lingered, waiting for her and disappearing again.

Keya's mother had often told her what her fate would have been if she had been born an albino to commoners. This boy was lucky he had not been snatched up by a bush magician or a superstitious neighbor. He was well-fed, his plain tunic wet but still whole. He had a home. This was not a scavenger child, like Jinai had been.

The pain Keya felt when she thought of Jinai was almost physical. If Keya had once doubted her handmaid's love, she did no longer. It had been a full day since Keya had gone over the cliff at Silmani Point, but Jinai's anguished cries still echoed in her mind.

Jinai could never have understood me.

No one understood her, save for Blossom. Her path was a lonely one.

The pale child cavorted towards a hill that loomed over the ruins. At the foot of the mound was an arched entrance, lit from the inside. Keya scanned her surroundings. In the dim light, she could see no garden plots or animal pens, no signs of recent habitation.

"Is this where you live, child?"

The boy stood in the entrance like a shadow, silhouetted before the light. He nodded, teeth glinting in her lamp's glow.

Keya approached the entrance. It felt warmer here. Rainwater ran down the insides of her legs, dripped from the edge of her hood into her eyes. The boy peered up at her. Unlike her own hair, the color of the raffia fibers she had slept upon, his was nearly as pale as his skin.

She glanced back, peering through blurred eyes at the drowning, wasted city. She should return for Zhura. But she was shivering. This place looked far more comfortable than the hole the herb-witch had left her in.

Keya searched the ground. She picked up sodden slivers of wood and arranged them before the entrance, before following the boy inside.

Immediately she was struck by heady aromas, of roasting meat, peppery greens and pigeon pea stew. Keya almost swooned, she was so hungry. She followed the boy around the twist and turns of the hallway, praying his family was a hospitable one.

This was an odd home, however. People cooked food in outside enclosures, not underground. The candlelit corridor was smooth and dry, baked mud painted over in colors of brown and ivory.

A worm of unease wriggled in Keya's belly.

The boy led her to into a large hall. He looked different now, still pale but glowing softly. A long, broad wooden table dominated the room. A heavyset woman stood at its head, with high cheekbones and lips so dark they were almost black. The simple patterns on the dress she wore spoke of some extremely old fashion.

She glowed too.

Keya's heart began to race, and the worm twisting inside her stretched and grew. There were baskets of food on the table. But not the food she smelled. Instead, the old baskets were full of ginger root and jars of dry millet and palm wine. The boy - who was not a boy, not a live one, anyway - turned, showing his pink smile.

The woman gazed upon Keya with eyes that bored into her soul.

Keya recoiled, mouthing a silent prayer. She ran back towards the entrance. The corridor which had seemed short before now twisted and turned, looping like the serpent that coiled tightly around her gut. She rushed through the hallway to find the exit, beating her fist upon the blank wall she found there. She ran on until, somehow, panting, she ended up back in the table hall, facing the woman who was not a woman.

Keya was in another tomb now. This one not so easy to escape.

It was the beginning of the storm season, the night before the Month of Abundance began. So much had happened recently that Keya had forgotten what day it was.

"Keya Oko," the woman said, "I am Mama Nyah. Welcome to the Underworld."

*

Zhura and Omiri headed south through the Hazard, skirting the low-lying areas of the slum that had quickly turned into ponds. The denizens of the Hazard bustled about in the rain, returning home from the day's work, bearing wares atop their heads, pounding out

ugali

for the evening meal. This part of the city was so much like Zhura's home. The Hazard was like a vast village, without the pomp and pretense of the wealthier districts of Namu. Aside from the occasional stench and the lack of a forest canopy overhead, it might have been the village of Boma.

Zhura balanced a basket atop her head. It shielded her somewhat from the steady rainfall. Omiri had just shown her where to buy the finest

kangas

in the Hazard. They'd spent hours shopping in the markets near Mukberi Falls.

Amina's baby was due in one month. Zhura's heart ached knowing that she would not be here to welcome the infant into the world. The very least she could do was to leave Amina and Kaj a gift. The collection of wraps she had bought for the newborn would be perfect. Bayati and Ngo had taken care of purchasing supplies for their upcoming journey. So Zhura had been free to think of the small things.

As they passed a compound, Zhura watched an old man set a bowl outside his gates, clay jars within. He hung a bit of root from the wooden handles of the gate before returning inside. Zhura smelled the sharp scent of ginger. In truth, it seemed to lay over the city like a blanket.

"Why are people leaving food and ginger outside their homes?" Zhura watched as a pair of children dashed by in the rain. They wore heart-shaped wooden masks with raffia hair stuck to the edges, kind of like the demon Mili.

"It's a Namu tradition," Omiri said. The thick-bodied whore had become one of Zhura's fastest friends, and not only because she knew how to make Zhura's

yoni

sing like a starling. Her blunt warmth made her easy to talk to, and easier to trust. "On this, the Night of the Forgotten, unloved and unrecalled ancestors haunt the streets. If you don't pray to them and leave an offering, they carry your soul back to the Underworld in the morning."

"Ah, we had a holy day like that in Boma," Zhura said. "Not quite so dark as this." Another gaggle of boys ran by in masks, with

kangas

wrapped around their shoulders like capes.

Zhura wouldn't have needed to flee the city so soon if it weren't for Keya. There was simply nowhere safe to hide the woman. She stuck out like a leopard in a herd of goats. Anyone who recognized her would go straight to her kin in hopes of a reward. Disguising her skin and hair would be a hard enough task, but if Keya expected to be coddled and obeyed it would make her impossible to handle. Zhura was nervous about leaving the noblewoman alone since late morning.

They neared the southern edge of the Hazard. Zhura gazed out over the Southside ruins. "This is where we part, my friend."

Omiri nodded. The outlines of her pierced nipples were visible through her dress. She clasped Zhura's hand, and Zhura pulled her in for a soft kiss. The woman's thin, unbound braids hung wetly in her face.

"Don't you dare leave the city without saying farewell," Omiri squeezed the hand with quiet strength. Zhura imagined what sweet pleasures that farewell might entail.

"Ancestors bless." Zhura watched the other woman go, walking east towards her brothel, the Secret Orchid. The dun colored walls of the city proper loomed above in that direction, protecting the wealthier districts from demons and other undesirables.

Zhura started across the rubble-strewn, muddy lots, balancing the basket atop her head, carrying her staff lightly in one hand. It was dark here, but once her eyes adjusted, the great city shed enough light to see.

Having Keya Oko as a companion would be a trial. That was certain.

Bayati was strongly opposed to helping her. Ngo had thought the idea amusing. "If she proves more trouble than she's worth, we can always ransom her back," he'd said.

Keya was a priestess and a scholar of demons. For all her obvious faults, there was a purity in the albino woman, a vitality that persisted like a steady flame. Zhura had seen her stand against her brother and all of his

askari

. It took courage to refuse the privileges of her birth.

But none of that had been enough to risk helping the Oko woman. Two facts had made up Zhura's mind. Keya was bound to a demon. In deep contrast to Mili, Blossom was as knowledgeable as it was dangerous. Zhura longed to speak with the creature, to learn all she could about her heritage.

And perhaps most important of all, Keya knew the stories about Anathe, the Demon Queen.

My mother.

Perhaps it was only the flow of water over broken walls and through gullies, but Zhura felt as if she were not alone. As if someone watched her.

"Mili?" she called, softly.

When the demon did not appear, she picked her way into the collapsed compound and set the basket down. She slid off the cover to the crawlspace and crept inside.

Zhura half-expected to find Keya bent over and the

sanju

rutting her pale, curvy backside. Much like Zhura had found the princess on her knees the night before, with the Blossom rutting her mouth on the beach.

She might make a decent whore, if only for demon patrons.

But the chamber was pitch black. Zhura drew her flint from the

sanju

skin wrap bound around her waist. She fumbled in the dark for the candles, and, when she had light, searched the deeper chambers.

Where in the hells were they?

Back outside, Zhura combed the area around the ruined compound. There, between two puddles of rainwater, she spotted the sticks and bits of brick, laid in the shape of an arrow, pointing east. When she looked closely, she could make out a sandal-print in the mud. Zhura followed that trail, changing direction when she saw the more markers left behind.

Finally she reached a great, grassy mound. The scent of a feast filled the air. An entrance glowed with light at the base of the hill, and one last arrow marker pointed inside.

*

"Perhaps you should summon your demon lover," Mama Nyah said. She trembled as she said it, her eyes dancing with mirth. Then she burst out in laughter, in great flesh-rolling guffaws.

Keya shook her head in forlorn silence. She sat at one of the stools across the long table from the Ancestor. Other dead, just like the albino child, drifted in and out, carrying baskets that the citizens of Namu had left on their gates and thresholds, piling them on the table.

She had to find a way out of this.

"No, that beast would not be welcome here," chuckled Mama Nyah.

"It would cause a demon great pain to be in the presence of the Ancestors," Keya said softly. She scanned the hall. The ceiling was vaulted, the chamber a great dome, with the one hallway entrance she had come through, and another in the rear, behind Mama Nyah.

Although she had been unable to leave, the others came and went freely through the entrance tunnel. Men, women and children, all aglow, and all long dead. They wore bright clothes and brighter, expectant smiles on their faces as they hauled in food and drink.

"Hasn't that demon caused

you

pain enough?" Mama Nyah arched an eyebrow. "Time to even the scales. Besides, it will be the last time you see the creature, so you might say farewell. I want to see you summon the demon-"

Just then, Zhura burst through the entrance, dripping wet from the rain. She carried her staff in one hand. She took in the room at a glance, and then her withering gaze fell upon Keya.

"What have you done?" Zhura strode over and dragged Keya off the stool like a wayward child. Her grip was like steel. "We're leaving."

Mama Nyah only chuckled.

"There's no way out," Keya said, stumbling behind Zhura as she was half-dragged. Even with both hands, she was unable to loosen the woman's hold on the shoulder of her cloak. They hurried through the entrance hallway, and along its endless loops to where a basket lay on the floor.

"Where is the doorway?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you." Keya yanked free as Zhura stared at the wall. "It's the Night of the Forgotten."

"Why in all the hells did you leave the hideout?" Zhura snapped. She turned on Keya then, anger ablaze like high sun. "Do you know what could happen if anyone recognizes you? Did you even think about what could happen to me and my friends?"

"It's the Night of the Forgot--"

"I know that!"

"We've been chosen to bring back to the Underworld."

"We've..." The other woman's jaw dropped. "What...?"

Zhura sagged slowly to the floor next to the basket, eyes unfocused, back pressed against the unyielding wall. "What have you done?"

If she had been in Zhura's place, knowing nothing about the Ancestors, Keya would probably have broken. It was hard not to compare this woman's simplicity and strength to Jinai's. But she lacked Jinai's edge.

Ancestors were the most powerful beings that involved themselves in the lives of men. They couldn't be fought. They couldn't be bound, like demons. Whatever they wanted, they got.

But Zhura did not break. Her grip tightened on her staff and, as she glared at the wall, it was clear she was determined to find a way out of the trap.

"You're a priestess," she said. "Can't you appease her somehow? Isn't that what you do?"