by Nat Burns
“And here we are,” Ronat said, stepping into the doorway. She looked around, eyes widening. “Well, it looks as though there really is going to be a party here today.”
“Ronat!” Yewsy said. “Where have you been?”
“Ava and I took a little journey,” Ronat said. She continued to stand in the portal, which seemed odd.
Yewsy studied Ronat with a cocked head. “Where did you go?”
“Just to visit one of Ava’s old friends,” she said.
Uneasy, I rose to my feet. “Ronat! Is Avapeony all right? Where is she?”
“I’m here,” Avapeony said, stepping into the room. She had a large basket in her right hand.
“More food?” Yewsy asked.
Occil passed by and nudged the basket. “Some would say so,” it muttered. “Jinni, my love, where are you?”
“Well, we’re glad you are here. Guests are coming soon. It should be a fun day.”
MayApple entered the cottage, her arms laden with wooden bowls. “It’s always a good day when we add someone new to our joins. Where can I put these, sweet daughter?”
“Here, Mother, there’s space here.” Yewsy led MayApple past me and to a small side table.
“Cleome, are you happy about the joining? About the expanding of our join?” Avapeony took a seat in the chair next to the hearth. Ronat moved to the table and began looking in some of the covered crocks. I sat next to Avapeony, positioning myself comfortably on the hearth.
“I am. It is good to have a full house again,” I said. I took her hand and patted it. “I want you to be happy and you certainly need more than just me to be that way.”
“Or Occil,” she said, laughing.
“Definitely need more than Occil,” I agreed, chuckling.
“So, I have a present for you,” she added.
I sat back, surprised. “A present for me? No, no, this is the day for you and Ronat, not me.”
Avapeony lifted the basket and handed it to me. It was uncommonly heavy.
“Well, I guess it’s for all of us.” She glanced down, drawing my eyes to the basket.
I folded back the feather light covering and gasped. There, in the basket, tiny fist shoved in its mouth was a pale blue Jana with a long shock of bright white hair that came down and covered her little body. She looked up at me and blinked bright green eyes.
“Oh, Ava, look what you’ve done,” I breathed. “She’s so beautiful.”
“Ooooooooh,” Tsisi cooed in happiness. “You birthed a Jana! A Jana, like me!! I didn’t know your atrebud was gonna be a Jana!” She fluttered close to the atrebud and they clutched hands together. The atrebud looked up adoringly and we could practically see the timeless connection they forged in that moment. “Oh, that’s a wonderful name, Omie, of the wind.”
Voices sounded outside and I knew the party had already started out in the clearing.
I looked at Ronat, who had approached and was looking on the scene lovingly. “Omie?”
“You saved us. We wanted to name her after you,” she said simply, shrugging.
I turned my head and found Avapeony looking at me with fondness. I smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to hold her?”
“Umm, I don’t know. I held you when you were little but Mother...” I stopped, missing my mother so much that my heart hurt. She would have loved this.
MayApple touched my arm. “Hold her, Cleome. Go ahead. Hold her.”
I reached into the basket and gingerly laid a palm against Omie’s side.
“Be very careful,” Tsisi cautioned. “She’s much littler than a Meab, you know. We are a very delicate tribe, made of wind and Fey dust. We can’t even have a fammie because the wind takes it. It’s actually unusual for a Meab to request a Jana. I remember tales from many centuries ago when a Luti requested a Jana. I mean a Morri like my father is big enough, a forest sprite, but a Luti? They are earth sprites and one of them mothering a wind sprite? I don’t know about that.” She shook her little head doubtfully. “I do know that Caress, that’s the Luti’s Jana, served the wind tribes well and was always loyal to both—”
I sighed as I lifted the atrebud. She smiled at me and blew a bubble with her little pouty lips. I straightened her tiny gossamer wings and she fluttered them at me with a little giggle. I smiled back at her and blinked my eyes.
“Please, please tell me you can’t talk yet,” I said.
Book Twenty-seven
THE BRINC CLAN had pulled away from their association with the Witta Meab much during the past century so their absence wasn’t as noticeable as it could have been. When caught up on my lessons with MayApple, I found myself hiking to the bridge spanning the Felshea River quite often. I would stand there, staring west, at the pearly, undulating surface of the veil, and wonder what the Brinc were doing over there. Were they happy? Were they still dependent on their machines? Had they and their fammies perished? All I could see across the top of the partition was the very tip of the citadel tower. It told me nothing.
There was much sadness at first. We felt horrible about the Luti who had not been able to escape. When we shared what had happened with the other Witta joins, they gathered in the center of the village and shared stories about their positive interactions with those of the Brinc. Then, just a few suns later, life carried on just as always. There was less strife, too.
No more raids of vulnerable villages.
No more trees taken from the Morri without permission.
No more extensive meetings trying to mediate two opposing sides.
I soon began to fully understand that our decision, painful as it was, had been the correct one.
One morning, at sunrise, I rose and moved to the common room to bless the Lares and the Fey. Occil was curled up on the stone hearth, snoring loudly. I shook my head, wondering why it didn’t pick a more comfortable place to sleep. It certainly had many more options to choose from.
I quietly put the kettle on and worked a little salamander magic to boost the flames without disturbing the Diarmin. I moved to the table and pulled Mother’s grimoire off the storage shelf and placed it on the worktable. I rested both palms on it, hoping I could feel a bit closer to her. I realized suddenly, in that moment, that it was finally time to grieve. Without any thought about it, the tears came. And they came. I cried silent, harsh tears, arms crossed over my stomach, rocking back and forth in my sorrow. I envisioned my mother. My father. Their fammies, who were my parents, as well. They were all gone. And for what?
It still made no sense.
Sometime later, spent, I opened my eyes and wiped my face, finished with sorrow. I needed to look forward now, though I would always carry my parents with me in my heart. They would always be my first join. I took a deep breath and straightened my spine.
Just then, I heard a powerful humming outside the window. Lares and Fey awoke and stirred against the walls. Occil sat up and looked at me sleepily. I rose and moved to the window opening. They were there, in the clearing before the cottage, all facing me. There were eight of them now—eight Witta Mothers. Two had been added since the veil had gone up. I suddenly realized what was happening and my heart swelled anew. I raced to the door and stepped onto the front steps.
Endless eternal, powers of the night
Endless eternal, powers of the day
Endless eternal, by dusk and by dawn
Come to us now, come to us now
We who live in time
We who live and die
We who cross the veil
We who live in time
Are here and are there
Flow through us now
Flow through us now
The chant rose on the morning air, stirring the colorful cloth of the Mother’s morning robes as they lifted their arms high. Earthrise spun around them and their fammies joined and made a circle above their heads and hands.
Earth, air, fire, water
Spirits open your hands to us
Earth, ai
r, fire, water
Spirits open your hearts to us
Earth, air, fire, water
Spirits open your souls to us
Earth, air, fire, water
Spirits lend your power to us
Guardians of the dreamtime, shapes and forms
Roots of the mountain, silent and deep
Earth spirits dreaming, awaken to our touch
Shapers of the crystal, shapers of the leaf
shapers of the valley beneath our feet.
Cleome Widdershin
Cleome Widdershin
Cleome Widdershin
When they said my name the third time, earthrise woke in me, took me over, and I lifted up and floated down the steps and into the clearing. I found myself joining with them in the ancient dance of the mothers, chanting along with them, the chant morphing into a joyful song of elemental life. Earth my body, we chanted as we stomped the ground beneath our feet. Water my blood, we sang as we cupped our palms and swept them as if scooping the cooling water from our rivers. Air my breath, we whispered as our palms came up, fingers spread as if blown by a powerful wind. Fire my spirit! We shouted as our arms lifted high above our heads and our palms clapped together.
We eventually fell silent and the earthrise gradually settled around us. Each Mother filed past me and kissed my forehead as she moved silently into the forest. I watched them go, breath rasping in my lungs. Power, magic power tingled in my hands and feet and so many things were now clear to me. So many questions had been answered, questions I had never even thought of asking. One thing was sure.
I was now one of them. A Witta Mother.
About the Author
Nat Burns is a full-time novelist with a background in journalism, creative writing and medical publishing. She is from Virginia, near Washington DC, but now lives with her partner, Chris, in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
Another Nat Burns Title You Might Enjoy
Gospel
Gospel, using erotic poetry and prose, takes the reader on a journey into the mysterious world of woman-to-woman relationships.
The first part, Genesis (We Desire), focuses on that initial, all-consuming attraction two women can feel for one another. Beginning with the phrase “you steal across me like twilight” and progressing to the physical awe portrayed in “Wet Panties”, Genesis propels the reader into the passion of part two.
The second section, Psalms (We Love), shares the intense sensuality experienced by new lovers. “I feel a sort of hum, electric in nature” lays a path to “aching, hesitant, I limp emotion closer” as women explore issues of passion and deep need, abandon and trust.
In the third part, Revelation (We Lose), lovers separate on emotional and physical levels. The words “you take my love yet deny my passion” reveal the frustration caused by the machinations of a lover and the phrase “a loneliness seeps through, saturating a living sponge grown of flesh and blood” deals with indifference.
In summary, Genesis is the burgeoning of love, Psalms, the fruition of passion, and Revelation, the grief of loss.
This book is unique in that it consists of small servings of emotion, whether glee, sadness, frustration or anger, and a myriad of women instead of one main protagonist. There is a thread of continuity between the three units and the resolved situations in each short story. It is erotic, sometimes graphic, and draws the reader into the highly sensual lives of women.
ISBN: 978-1-61929-090-7
eISBN: 978-1-61929-091-4
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Table of Contents
Part One
Book One
Book Two
Book Three
Book Four
Book Five
Book Six
Book Seven
Book Eight
Book Nine
Book Ten
Book Eleven
Book Twelve
Book Thirteen
Book Fourteen
Part Two
Book Fifteen
Book Sixteen
Book Seventeen
Book Eighteen
Book Nineteen
Book Twenty
Book Twenty-one
Book Twenty-two
Book Twenty-three
Book Twenty-four
Book Twenty-five
Book Twenty-six
Book Twenty-seven
