Kiini Salaam - Ancient, Ancient

Sené pulled a bunch of lemongrass from the hanging basket. She squatted, one hard hand holding her bulging belly. She threw the fragrant herb into the pot and watched as the bits danced and dove with the boiling water.

< Faru glanced over his shoulder. Laloro—a godly elephant covered in hideous warts—charged at him. Faru jumped. His hooves found footholds on the slenderest of rock surfaces. He bounded from rock to rock until he landed on a large outcropping. Faru skidded to a stop. >

Rocks tumbled across the entrance to Sené’s home. She put her hands to her knees and strained to rise. Her joints throbbed as she shuffled to the entrance of her dwelling. Faru jumped down from Sené’s roof and landed on all fours. Sené opened her cracked lips to scream, but the sound died in her throat. Faru rose on his hind legs and stretched, exposing the expanse of his human torso to Sené’s gaze. The thrumming of thousands of dragonfly wings beat in her chest. She bent down to one knee.

Faru preened as he always did when admiring eyes drank in the vision of him. He was a god, yes, but he was vain. He twisted his body this way and that. Light undulated across his fur in shimmering waves. He brushed his hooves across his chest, smoothing the flat gray circle of fur that collared his throat. Sené was powerless to look away.

Faru fixed his luminous eyes in Sené’s direction. He licked his lips. A muscle in his jaw flexed and his nose twitched. Sené held herself stiff until the tea hissed and spilled over. Wet tumbled into the fire.

Sené leapt to her bare feet. “Faru, honorable one, would you like some lemongrass?”

“No, no time,” Faru said. “Come.”

Sené’s blood pulsed as she neared the god. She stood before him, shaking, waiting. With a grunt Faru grabbed Sené by the neck. His hooves scratched her skin. Godly lips pressed against common ones. A godly tongue coaxed Sené’s mouth open. She gagged, almost choking as an intangible force flowed down her throat.

< A large shadow slid past the opening of Sené’s home. >

Faru broke away from Sené. “Don’t leave here. I’ll return.”

With that, he turned and bounded away.

< Laloro swooped by the cliffs. Laloro flying by on chicken’s wings. The tiny appendages didn’t seem enough to hold his elephant heft. He delighted in this, the most surprising of his godly powers, but he wanted more. >

Sené, Sené, full of dancing light. Laughter long buried came twisting up into Sené’s throat. She stared at the empty space where Faru had held her and clapped her hand over her mouth. Giggles seeped from between her fingers.

The lemongrass hissed again. Sené looked over at the fire. Even the water, boiling over, seemed something to delight in. She bent over the water, dreamily drumming her fingers on her cheek. Her lips would not lie flat. They twisted up and open, surprising Sené with irrepressible glee.

< The moment Faru reached the top of the cliff, Laloro wrapped his trunk around Faru’s body and flew into the thick of the bush. >

Sené tipped the tea over, dousing the fire. Her nostrils flared as the scent of lemongrass filled the dwelling. Inexplicably, she began to rub the back of her hand over her face. Her fingers wound into her hair, twisting the rough strands into coils, then setting them loose. She smoothed her eyebrows, massaged her neck. Those hard ugly hands found delight in the curves of her body. Her breasts, sagging and full, were a wonder to touch. So was the tight swell of her belly.

< Laloro did not care that his trunk made breathing hard for Faru. In fact, he coiled his trunk tighter. Faru laughed.

“What’s so funny, doomed one?” Laloro asked.

“I have nothing for you. It’s gone,” Faru said.

Laloro’s tiny eyes rolled in their sockets. “I want the bewitching power and I want it now.”

Faru laughed again. “My sister will not fall for such tricks. Quashe will not be seduced by an ugly hulk of flesh covered in warts.”

“Shut up, Faru,” Laloro roared, “give me the power or I will crush you.” >

Sené’s hardworking hands parted the front of her cloth. Her fingertips alighted on the curly tangle between her thighs. Lust unfurled and snaked in dizzying circles within her. Her feet backed her body to the wall. She pushed her spine against the rock. Her hand swiveled and writhed, her hips rotated in delight.

< “Where is it?” Laloro asked.

“I’ve lost it.” Faru said. “Nobody’s perfect, even gods have their days off.”

Laloro stared deeply into Faru’s eyes. Faru looked back, unblinking. Laloro knew from the calm in Faru’s face he was telling the truth. Laloro loosened his trunk and dropped Faru to the ground. >

Sené’s fingers were knuckle-deep inside herself. She was reaching for the mirth that Faru had trickled down her throat. Reaching to stroke the sudden burst of joy filling all her tired parts. When she was trembling, pleasure shooting from the pressure of her fingers, all of her skin sighed. She withdrew her wet fingers and used her own juices to draw patterns on the wall. Each mark was a reminder of this sensation; a sign to herself, a message to her husband Na, that everything had changed.

Sené. Slow Sené. Sené of the new urges climbed down the cliff. She crossed the dangerous ledges and narrow passes carefully. As she stepped down onto flat ground, she glanced up at the peak of the cliff. She saw two forms running there. The wind carried their laughter to her. They were, unmistakably, her boys. “Na,” she yelled, expecting to see her husband’s form just behind them. Instead, she saw the large frame of Na’s mother lumbering in the distance. Just as she was wondering where Na could be, a hummingbird hovered near her ear. Her heart leapt, and she felt the desire sweep through her again.

Sené swayed through the meadow, her thoughts suddenly preoccupied by a flock of yellow butterflies. She was sensitive to all sensations: the wind on her cheeks, the sun on her shoulders, the tall grass brushing against her hips. From the other side of the meadow, she could smell the sweet, sharp scent of ripe berries. In seconds, she was tucking little buds of fruit under her tongue.

< Faru, Faru running to the cliffs. >

When her belly was full, Sené’s skin ached for coolness. She headed straight for the river. Quashe’s river. Before Sené’s toes met the moist river earth, before she could submerge her fingers into the cool dark waters, Sené heard the deep bouncing of her husband Na’s laughter.

< Faru leapt down from Sené’s roof and landed on all fours. He snorted. The sight of her empty dwelling tore through him. Faru, Faru. Without the power of desire, his breath did not call forth horny submission. His presence did not attract an aroused audience of winged, slithering, and walking things. He was invisible. And the horror of it pained him. >

Na? Laughing? Sené crept along the bank toward the unfamiliar sound. She hid behind a tree and peered around the trunk. Na was sitting, legs spread, feet dipped in the water, the seductive crocodile head of Quashe—goddess of desire—leaning against his bare chest. Quashe’s back formed one gleaming stretch of reptile skin. Her torso, neck, and arms were human-soft, honey-amber skin, wet with river dew. Na’s fingers were sticky with her. One palm full of a tight godly breast, the other cupping the curve of fertile god belly. Quashe’s thick tail swished back and forth as she dripped water into Na’s mouth from her crocodile snout.

< Faru, Faru needing the power of desire just as Sené needed breath. >

A flash of anger interrupted Sené’s joy. How could Na be sharing sweetness with this…this…crocodile god? Without a thought, she opened her mouth and sang an imperfect love song: