Innocent (30 page)

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.