Naima, having been bred as a warrior, never knew her true family. But Bibi had been raised within the sheltered hives of the gatherers among her mother, her father, his other mates, and Bibi’s eleven sisters. Bibi had not seen her family in nearly a full moon. She obviously longed for them now.
Naima feared her mate was thinking of returning to the colony. She worried about what would happen to Bibi if she did return. Would the colony accept her, or would she be an outcast? Would she be forced to mate with Kaj? And what would Naima do then? How could she live without her mate? Though her heart felt weighted with a thousand stones, Naima knew she had to speak to Bibi. She had to ask her if she wished to return to her family.
Naima hung the rabbit on a bramble branch and went in search of Bibi. To her surprise, Bibi was neither on the moss rocks, nor was she in the bramble. She was not among the brightly colored catteyas or the field of orange star flowers. Growing ever frantic, Naima continued her search well after dusk. Not a stone or petal was left unturned. And when the moon had finally risen and the forest became aglow with moon blossoms and fire mites, Naima knew Bibi had returned to her family.
After slinging her sword onto the ground, Naima heaved herself onto a patch of butterfly grass as a sob claimed her breath. As part of her hunter’s training, Naima had been taught that crying was a sign of weakness, yet she could not stop the flow of tears that overcame her. She cried harder, wracked by pain and grief as an infinite well of sorrow filled a hollow void in her chest. What was left for her now that her mate had left? How could she go on living?
Perhaps, she thought, Anu was right. Their love was a sin against nature. Perhaps that was why Bibi left. And as her punishment for her sins, Naima would be an outcast and alone, heartbroken for loving a woman who was not meant for her.
A muted cry sounded somewhere in the distance.
Naima shot up and drew her sword. “Bibi!” she called before rushing forward.
Her hunter’s ears knew the sound had come from the spring, but when she flew to the moss rocks, Bibi was not there.
Had she imagined Bibi’s cry?
Naima hissed when she saw it. How had she missed the carnivus plant the numerous times she and Bibi swam in the spring? Though it was nearly obscured beneath the shadow of the large, leafy himiwa bush, its eerie glow was hard to miss now. The blue light emanated upward from its poisonous roots, pulsing across swollen membranes and ending at the tips of flowery petals. The plant was closed now, its lips sealed tight with a sticky substance Naima knew would be nearly impossible to penetrate. Beneath the plant’s translucent petals, Naima made out Bibi’s shadow struggling to break free.
With a primal roar, Naima unsheathed her sword and began hacking at the base of the plant. She fought off her aches and pains and devastated the stalk, stopping only long enough to dislodge her sword from the sticky glue that seeped from the plant’s roots. After what felt like hours, the carnivus finally fell over on its side, its petals falling open with a shudder.
Naima’s heart stopped when Bibi rolled out of the flower, her matted hair and reddened skin glistening with poisonous goo. Naima dropped her sword and gently scooped Bibi into her arms. She bathed Bibi in the spring and treated her burns with the healing nectar from wana roots.
*
After three interminable days and nights, Bibi stirred from her deep slumber, her reddened flesh now a soft pink like the guavii shells that lined the rocky soil in the bed of the spring.
Naima was holding Bibi’s hand when her violet eyes fluttered open. Bibi smiled and then squeezed her lover’s hand. Naima leaned over and brushed a soft kiss across Bibi’s cracked lips. She helped Bibi sit and then held a pod of nectar to her mouth. Though Bibi drank hungrily, she continued to hold Naima in her gaze, as if she was afraid Naima would vanish if she blinked.
But Naima had made a promise to The Elements on the night she’d found Bibi clinging to life. She promised that if they allowed Bibi to live, Naima would strive each day to prove that her love for Bibi was not a sin against nature, but a thing of beauty, as natural as the song of the humming bees and the steady drizzle of a spring shower.
*
After several more days, Bibi was finally strong enough to fly to the spring. Naima left her perched on a moss rock and then flew off to set gully traps nearby. Naima never wandered from Bibi’s side for long. She hadn’t hunted in several moons, which meant their primary sustenance was berries and fish.
Bibi didn’t mind as long as she and Naima were together. Though Naima took every opportunity to lavish her with kisses, her beautiful huntress rarely smiled now. And when Naima did smile, Bibi could see that the light in her eyes was still dull and weary.
Naima had changed since that night Bibi had been drawn in by the carnivus. Bibi had been so tired that day and the flower’s beautiful and mesmerizing bloom of lavender with pink and gold tips beckoned her to rest on its soft petals. She readily agreed, and sleep had come to her so easily while nestled within the cocoon of the flower’s enveloping warmth.
When she awoke, Bibi knew that she’d been tricked. Her body ached and her flesh burned as if she was being consumed by thousands of tiny fire beetles. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she remembered her mother warning her about such predators. But the colony warriors had long ago cut down all the carnivus plants surrounding their hives.
Bibi had screamed and kicked, but the more she fought her captor, the more her flesh burned. If it hadn’t been for Naima, she would have died a slow and agonizing death. A soft sob escaped Bibi’s throat as her hand rested on her womb.
Naima had not only saved Bibi’s life that night. As Bibi worried over the fate of the child that grew inside her, she could not contain the flow of tears.
“Why are you crying?”
Bibi looked up to see Naima hovering above her, a look of worry etched in the drawn lines of her mouth.
Unable to look Naima in the eyes any longer, Bibi gazed down at a small slug working its way across the moss. “I did not see you there.”
Naima fluttered down beside her and grasped her hand. “Do you miss your family?”
Bibi shook her head. “No.”
“Be truthful with me, Bibi,” Naima said sternly before dropping her voice to a soothing whisper. “I will not be angry.”
“I don’t miss any of them,” Bibi said through a sob before burying her tear-soaked face in Naima’s embrace.
How could she miss them? Not after what they’d done to her. She still remembered that fateful night her mother and sisters had lured her away from the hive to the lush field of star flowers. Then they left her alone—with him.
She’d tried to fight him but she could not. The nectar her mother and sisters had shared with her made her limbs feel hollow and weak. Like a hungry carnivus plant, Kaj took his fill of her several times, until her body felt bruised and broken.
“Then why are you crying?” Naima asked as she tenderly kissed Bibi’s forehead. “Is it something I’ve done? Do you grow weary of our simple life together?”
Bibi had been dreading this day. How would Naima react? Would she abandon Bibi and her bastard child? Would she fly back to the colony and seek revenge against Kaj and Bibi’s family and risk her own death in the process?
Bibi let out a slow, shaky breath as she prepared to reveal her dark secret. “It will not be just the two of us, Naima.”
“What?” Naimi dropped Bibi’s hand and pulled back.
Bibi placed her hand on her womb, feeling the life stir inside her. “I’m with child.”
Naima’s jaw fell open. “How?”
Bibi tried desperately to quell the fear that twisted a knot in her chest. “Kaj raped me when you were on the hunt.”
Narrowing her eyes, Naima spoke through a hiss. “But you were always in the care of your mother, your sisters.”
“I know.”
Naima let out a strangled cry, then jumped to her feet while clenching her fists
at her sides.
“I will kill him.”
The finality in Naima’s voice left Bibi with no doubt that she could kill Kaj, and Bibi knew what would happen to her then. Kaj’s father was an elder. The colony warriors would swarm Naima.
Clutching a hand to her heart, Bibi cried out. “You’ll be killed!”
Bibi could not bear the thought of Naima surrendering her life, not even for the sake of her honor. She backed away from Naima, from the only person she’d ever truly loved, and took flight. Bibi knew she couldn’t risk her child’s life by chancing another encounter with a predator. She flew to the only other place she knew she’d be safe, to her new home among the brambles. Once inside, she fell onto the flower petals in a heap of sobs.
*
Naima returned to the brambles after the sun’s warm rays had vanished into the darkness. After she’d torn up many roots and hacked away at defenseless branches, she’d finally allowed herself a moment of reason. Though she wanted nothing more than to see Kaj’s head on a stake, she knew if she sought revenge, the colony warriors would have no choice but to kill her.
And then what would become of Bibi and the child? No, she must not go back to the colony. Not ever. For if she did, Naima knew she would not be able to keep from killing Kaj. Besides, she already had her revenge by taking Bibi and the child away from him.
She found Bibi sleeping atop the petals of their nest. A stab of guilt pierced Naima’s heart when she noticed Bibi’s red and swollen eyelids and tearstained cheeks. She and Bibi had both suffered enough since their departure from the colony. Now it was time to begin their life anew.
She lay beside Bibi and wrapped her in a tight embrace while feathering kisses across her neck and the tips of her wings. When the soft folds of Bibi’s wings began to flutter and hum in response, Naima turned Bibi toward her and stared earnestly into her violet eyes.
“I will not seek revenge. I will keep you and the child safe. I promise.”
Bibi’s eyes widened and her lips parted. “You’d care for Kaj’s child?”
Naima nodded. “She’s your child, and I’ll love her as if she is mine as well.”
The smile that lit Bibi’s face was brighter than a thousand moon blossoms. Her joy warmed Naima’s heart and spirit, and she knew without a doubt that their love was not a sin against nature, but a thing of beauty.
Naima pressed Bibi into the soft petals while feathering kisses across her face and neck. She dipped further into the hollow between her breasts, and lower to the soft skin around her belly. She lingered on her lover’s womb before dipping her face beneath her dark thatch of curls.
*
Bibi cradled the tiny babe while resting her head against Naima’s bosom. Naima enveloped them both in the warmth of her strong arms. They sat beneath the moonlight, watching the firemites dance among the thorn bushes. The babe cooed and reached out, trying to swat the bright pins of light with her chubby hand.
Bibi felt Naima tense behind her and she sat with a start as the thorn bushes rustled with movement. Bibi shielded the babe while scooting into the bramble. Naima had already flown in front of them and unsheathed her sword.
Two other huntresses emerged from the shadows. Bibi recognized Feira from her wavy flame-colored hair and large, crystal eyes, and Ro, whose mischievous smile seemed to be permanently etched into her sun-kissed skin.
Bibi’s eyes widened when she saw that Feira’s swollen womb was near to bursting. Bibi knew Feira carried a boy. The few huntresses who conceived always bore sons, while the gatherer sprites birthed daughters.
Bibi blinked hard and then broke into a slow and knowing smile when she saw how Ro clutched Feira’s hand tightly within her own.
#
Known best for her crude parodies, PJ Jones proves that she has a sensitive side, too.
Find her online at https://pjjoneswrites.com/
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Books by P.J.:
Driving Me Nuts!
Romance Novel
The Vampire Handbook
Melvin the Dry Cleaning Zombie and Vampire Shoe Warehouse
Attack of the Fairytale Zombies!
“Urbs in horto”
M. Edward McNally
“City in a garden,” motto of Chicago, Illinois.
The problem with drinking wine was that it didn’t lend itself to making a point. A guy could throw back a beer, slam the bottle or mug down on the table with a resounding “Clunk!” and then say something dramatic. Even if he got a tinny clatter from an emptied can, he could crush it for emphasis, eyes steely and forearm bulging.
But after Garth tossed his last sip of a precocious merlot with an oaky bouquet (backed by notes of plum and cherry) down the hatch, and slammed the meaty part of his hand on the tall table, all he got from his glass was a feeble ping. Totally took the wind out of:
“I think Leslie is cheating on me.”
Bogart would have rolled his eyes, but they were narrowed over one sagging shoulder of Garth’s suit coat, looking at a TV behind the bar. The Sox had a man on second with two out in the fourth, and they were hanging just a run behind Detroit. The kid they brought up from Triple-A when Carter blew out his elbow was having a heck of debut. Four innings, one hit, just one earned run, but another had scored on an error in the second when Phippsie lost a pop-up behind third in the sun at Tiger Stadium. Friggin’ Detroit. Bogart knew that as an American he was supposed to feel bad for the Motor City, the auto industry, unemployment and urban decay, on and on and on. But this was Chicago, and Detroit had a two game lead in the AL Central. Screw the Tigers. And screw the Lions, Red Wings, and Pistons while you’re at it.
“No she isn’t…was that a ball?”
“Called strike two,” Garth said, as he was looking at another TV behind the bar over the shoulder of Bogart’s Frank Thomas replica jersey. “The kid’s getting that call on the outside too, can’t really complain. And she is cheating on me.”
“They need to put the sound up in here,” Bogart said, taking a moment to look around the bar while the Detroit pitcher stepped off the mound and kicked the dirt. Back when he was still working IT at the law firm around the corner on La Salle, Bogart and Garth had snuck down to this place regularly whenever the Sox were playing a day game midweek. It had been more of a sports bar then, with picnic tables in the barroom and big baskets for all sorts of condiments, including vinegar for the potato wedge fries that had been a specialty. The place had gone to seed in the last couple years and had a “bistro” quality to it now. Little round tables so tall people had to sit on stools, with barely enough room for two drinks and one elbow on top. The TVs above the bar still had the local game on, but one screen was half-blocked by a fern and the sound was on so low it was only one part of the murmur of voices and clinking flatware. Even at late lunchtime in the middle of the week, there were couples all around making goo-goo eyes at each other. Nobody was just pounding down a brat and a brew, checking scores before scurrying back to work.
“What the hell happened to this place?” Bogart asked. “Dude, this is a lot of people trying to get laid for a Wednesday.”
“It’s the decline of Western Civilization.” Garth looked miserably at his empty glass. His hair was thinning out on top and Bogart could see sad, pasty scalp when Garth was looking down. Bogart held up his bottle of Pabst at the waitress and dipped it towards Garth’s empty, too. She nodded from behind the bar and by the time Torres grounded out and the game went to commercial, she dropped off two fresh ones. Bogart smirked as Garth furtively watched her comely hindquarters in black slacks re-cross the room, hips swinging as she maneuvered around tables.
“Okay,” Bogart took a swig. At least they still had Pabst here, not just Stella and Heineken. “I’ll bite. Why do you think Leslie is cheating on you?”
Garth frowned at his merlot. “Did I tell you we were trying to have a kid?”
“No. I mean, you guys were talking about it before Christma
s, when you came over for…for that playoff game.”
“God damned Bears.”
“Yeah. But I thought the baby stuff was just talk.”
Garth shook his head. “We decided to start for real in February. It’s been three months of calendars and thermometers and…I don’t even know what to call it…yoga? Downward dog? Just weird positions. I pulled a hammy in March, couldn’t sit at my desk without my foot up on a briefcase.”
“See, that’s why the pros stretch before the big game.”
Garth took a strong pull off his dainty wine glass. “So a week ago, I’m out of floss.”
“Floss?”
“Dental floss. Don’t you floss?”
“Well, maybe if I’ve got a sunflower seed stuck.”
“When Leslie does the shopping, she always forgets to buy me floss. She buys herself floss, but she likes that cinnamon-flavored shit that makes my friggin’ teeth hurt.”
“Tell me you don’t think your wife is cheating because she forgets to buy you dental floss.”
“Can I finish?”
“Yeah, go.” The game was back on, and both Bogart and Garth went back to watching it over each other’s shoulders. The kid from triple A was starting to look comfortable on the mound. Confident. Young Cuban south paw named Jardín.
“So, even though I hate that cinnamon crap, I go into Leslie’s bathroom drawer. Where I’m not allowed to go, by the way. There’s like six drawers in my own house that I am not permitted to open, on penalty of dismemberment.”
“Right, like you let her near that giant footlocker of porn in the garage.”
“That has a padlock on it. I’m a gentleman. So I open up her bathroom drawer, and guess what I find?”
“If it’s dental floss, this is going to be the lamest story ever. Shit, he walked the guy. C’mon kid, pull it together.”
“Birth control pills.”
Bogart looked away from the TV at Garth.
“Birth control pills?”
Garth nodded. “Yeah. And they were taken right up to the day, too. It was Thursday. The other little plastic doohickeys were all empty.”
“This is after you guys had been trying to have a kid for three months?”