Innocent

by Aishling Morgan

  ‘Summon your winged creature, Sulitea,’ Aeisla demanded.

  ‘I cannot hold two,’ Sulitea answered, ‘and I cannot banish if this one will not respond.’

  They had been seen, two groups of guards moving towards them, beyond the scope of the demon’s fury, Hubaln and Greifal gesturing frantically in their direction. The gate behind them groaned, swinging wide.

  ‘We meet in the Feat Hall then,’ Aeisla said, and swung round, slashing into the opening with her sword.

  A man screamed. Aeisla hauled the gate wide and threw herself through the opening. Cianna followed, aiming a wild cut at the first man she saw, who staggered back, clutching his shoulder. Others were beyond, a third guard, and mill staff, unarmed. Aeisla stood to her full height, towering over the guard to cut down with all her force. He parried desperately, as Cianna lunged, sinking the point of her sword into his thigh. Dropping his sword, he ran, hobbling off into the night after the retreating mill staff.

  They ran, up the slope towards the dark wall of the jungle. Ahead were villas, the windows bright with lights, men standing out on the balconies, shouting questions. Cianna ran on, glancing back only to see that Sulitea and Babalyn were following. Aeisla was ahead, already by Bulzar’s villa, from which a blaze of light shone down on them.

  ‘Aeisla, no, the troll!’ Cianna screamed.

  A figure stepped from the villa, full into Aeisla’s path, holding a sword. She cut up once and he fell, but a second man was behind. Cianna slammed into him, recognising him as Raigos an instant before her blade caught him in the stomach. He went down, falling back into villa, across the massive body of Voqual, which lay still, stuck with arrows and with a hole blown in the chest.

  She hesitated, her head coming up at a movement, to find Nairgren staring at her in astonishment. In sudden fury she lunged forward, missing him as he leapt back. She followed, stabbing viciously through the bead curtain.

  ‘Cianna!’ Aeisla screamed, following. ‘Away!’

  Cianna took no notice, hacking the curtain aside to spray beads across the floor of Bulzar’s main room. Nairgren stood within, his men Telak and Aqual also. To the side was Bulzar, dead, his body roped to the couch.

  ‘It’s her! It was true!’ Telak exclaimed.

  Screaming, Cianna hurled herself at them, her foot landing on beads, to send her sprawling across Bulzar’s body. Aqual brought up his sword, laughing, only for the sound to turn to a choking scream as Aeisla’s blade embedded itself in his chest. Cianna struck up frantically, parrying Telak’s cut, even as Nairgren thrust at her, driving the point of his sword into her shoulder. She screamed, clutching as his sword wrist as Aeisla’s punch took him in the face, driving him back. Her sword was snatched from her hand, driven into Telak’s body as she rolled to the floor.

  Nairgren had risen, facing Aeisla across the couch, both ready. Cianna crawled back, clutching for a weapon. An oil lamp stood to the side. She caught at the handle, hurled it, full at Nairgren, who dodged, the lamp exploding against the wall to spray a sheet of burning oil across the window drape. Aeisla struck, and Nairgren’s head jumped from his shoulders. Cianna stood, clutching at her wound, blood seeping from between her fingers. Aeisla caught her around the middle, pulling her up, as Sulitea and Babalyn appeared behind them in the doorway.

  ‘Get his books,’ Cianna gasped. ‘Bulzar’s, from the workroom.’

  Babalyn moved immediately, only for a huge man to dash from the workroom, cannoning into her to send her sprawling.

  ‘That’s Maerdrhen!’ Cianna exclaimed.

  He hit Sulitea, knocking her aside, and dashed into the night. A burning drape collapsed, catching another lamp, which sent a flood of burning oil across the floor. Babalyn scrambled quickly away, Aeisla pulling Cianna through the door.

  ‘The books!’ Sulitea protested, but stepped hastily back as the oil caught another drape.

  They retreated onto the lawn, moving for the jungle as flames shot up in the villa. Men were coming up the slope, shouting, then yelling in fear and panic as they saw the fire. A girl darted from the burning villa, then another, Bulzar’s two Vendjomois, who fled screaming down the slope. Weak and dizzy, Cianna struggled to use her feet, half-carried by Aeisla, through the flickering light, to the first of the trees.

  ‘Stop,’ Sulitea said, ‘the lank demon, it is dissipated. I can summon.’

  ‘Not now!’ Babalyn exclaimed. ‘The mill may catch.’

  Sulitea ignored her, sinking to her knees, her hands moving, mumbling incomprehensible words. Behind them sparks were already rising from the burning villa, catching on the breeze, directly towards the main mill.

  ‘We must run!’ Babalyn urged. ‘It will be terrible, you have no idea!’

  ‘Shh!’ Aeisla urged, ducking down into the foliage.

  Men were visible, plenty, but no longer paying them attention. Orders were being screamed, to form bucket chains, to open sluices, to evacuate the villas. Cianna stayed low, trying to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach and the pain of her wound, her good hand clutched to her necklace as she prayed for strength and courage.

  A crack sound above them, fresh screaming, a malign croak as a great blast of air swept down on them, hurling the flames of the villa into sudden, searing fury. Not twenty paces from them, Sulitea’s winged horror alighted, turning to stare at them through eyes as red as the fire beyond.

  Cianna ran forward, clutching at her arm, leaving Aeisla to help the frightened Babalyn. Sulitea scrambled up, onto the broad, hairy back, Aeisla boosting Cianna behind her, then Babalyn. Sulitea began to whisper to the demon even as Aeisla joined them. It rose, padding forward, trotting, running, the beat of its wings sending a fresh burst of sparks across the landscape, heedless of the Makeans scattering under its great claws. Cianna clung tight, mumbling prayers, then crying out in joy as the motion suddenly became smooth and they shot over the nitre plant wall with no more than her own height to spare.

  They rose, swinging around in a great arc, ever higher to the slow, ponderous wingbeats of the demon. Below her, Cianna saw Julac spread out in the silver moonlight, the burning villa like a single glowing eye in a grotesque face. Her teeth gritted in her pain, she shook her fist at the antlike Makeans then, spat. The wind snatched the spittle away, and she followed it with her gaze, to see the great expanse of the jungle spreading out beneath her, with fields to the sides. Kea itself swung into view, the streets outlined in light, the Great Pit where she had fought Moloa clearly visible, with patrons spilling from the doors.

  Briefly she wondered if Moloa had been made champion again, and what Jelkrael was doing, and Klia, the spiteful Yuilla even, only to think of the dead Bulzar and turn her attention back to Julac. It was now far below, but the fire was brighter than ever. For a moment the demon’s wing cut off her view, before it was visible again. Now there were fresh areas of red, growing, blending, at an impossible pace until all merged to a vast, incandescent ball, bursting into the night sky, a great pillar of flame, searing her eyes until she was forced to bury her face in the leathery skin beneath her. Sound hit them, a great deafening roar, drumming in her ears, on and on, then the shock, lifting the demon high, crushing her to its back, to leave her terrified and shaking, her hands locked in the coarse fur, with a substantial wet patch spreading from around her sex.

  Morning found them on an island beach off the coast of Cypraea, seated on the rotting trunk of a once great tree. Cianna’s wound had been cleaned and dressed by Babalyn and Sulitea, while Aeisla had hunted crabs in the lagoon. These they had eaten, along with bananas from a substantial bunch cut down by the demon, which rested placidly beside the sea. For a long while Sulitea had said nothing, simply staring out across the water, her chin resting in her hands. Suddenly she spoke.

  ‘I have it,’ she declared. ‘The perfect plan. It is this. Returning to Makea…’

  She broke off in a squeal of surprise as Aeisla grabbed her by the hair. An instant later she was across Aeisla’s knee, skirt up, plump,
pale bottom stuck high, arm twisted into the small of her back. Immediately, Aeisla began to spank, her teeth set in determination, delivering slap after slap, quickly turning the broad white ball of Sulitea’s bottom to a flaming red. The sound of the smacks almost drowned out Sulitea’s shocked protests, squeals and gasps, while her desperately kicking legs gave a fine show of soft pink tuppenny and wrinkled anus, making Cianna giggle.

  Finally it stopped. Sulitea made no effort to get up, but lay still over Aeisla’s lap, gasping for breath, her legs well splayed behind. With an approving click of her tongue, Aeisla reached out for the banana bunch, pulled off the longest and fattest fruit she could find and stuck it firmly up Sulitea’s vagina.

  ‘We are not returning to Makea,’ Aeisla stated, with a final pat to Sulitea’s still quivering bottom.

  Epilogue

  The demon turned, its wings tilting, twisting in the air. A dull boom hit Cianna’s ears, there was a jolt, another, then nothing. Slowly, she released her grip in its hair.

  ‘We are down,’ Sulitea declared. ‘Perhaps two leagues north of the town. Babalyn?’

  Babalyn said nothing, but climbed slowly from the demon’s back, the shaking of her body visible even in the moonlight. On the beach, she looked about, her mouth open, and suddenly burst into tears.

  ‘Babalyn?’ Cianna asked, jumping down to put an arm around her friend.

  ‘I know the beach,’ Babalyn said softly. ‘I used to play here as a child. My home is a half-league inland, no more.’

  ‘Your navigation is improving, Sulitea,’ Aeisla remarked dryly.

  Sulitea didn’t respond, but spoke a single word, causing the demon to slowly dissipate. They set off up the beach, following Babalyn through dunes, along a track between fields and at last to within site of a great villa, the walls showing blue even in the moonlight. Babalyn broke into a run, along a section of paved road, through a high arch, to another, with bright lamps illuminating the brilliant pale blue of the turquoise tiles. A woman was seated on the porch, as dark as Babalyn, but older and more fleshy still. She was sipping at a glass, from which she looked up in shock as Babalyn ran at her, then joy. The two embraced, kissing, tears streaming down their faces as the older woman babbled questions and shouted for others to come.

  Cianna waited, Sulitea and Aeisla beside her, feeling happy yet slightly embarrassed. Other people emerged from the villa, servants or relatives, and last a tall, straight man, his frizzy hair faded to grey, his expression uncertain, then radiant as he took Babalyn into his arms. At length Babalyn broke away, gesturing to where the three girls stood waiting on the lawn.

  ‘These are my friends,’ she said, ‘Sulitea and Aeisla, who I met before, in the Ara Khum desert, and Cianna, without whom I would never have returned. They brought me free, out of Makea! Girls, this is Raiklin, my father, and my mother Asaya.’

  They were ushered inside, more embarrassed than ever as the questions were turned to them. Food and drink were served, Asaya pressing more and more onto them, Raiklin demanding their story. Babalyn gave it, seated on her father’s lap, losing no opportunity to paint Cianna as a heroine, but also including lewd details that would have been left out of any saga. By the end Cianna was scarlet with blushes, but the Aprinians merely smiled.

  At the end Raiklin pushed Babalyn off his knee with an affectionate pat and stood, to make a short and formal speech, ending with an offer of any reward they cared to name. As he finished, both Sulitea and Aeisla looked to Cianna.

  ‘Knowledge,’ she said. ‘How do you make the black powder for your bombards?’

  ‘Much the same way everyone else does, I would suppose,’ Raiklin answered, sounding puzzled, ‘although perhaps with greater skill. Here, I have an old armament manual somewhere. There is a chapter on gunpowder making. It is yours, freely, but that cannot be all, it is too little by far.’

  He reached up to a bookshelf, pulling down a tattered volume, which he threw casually onto the table.