Kiini Salaam - Ancient, Ancient

Both Quashe and Na turned to face the sound of Sené’s singing. Sené. Sené who had so long been a dry discarded thing, stepped toward her husband. Unwavering, she pointed her big belly right at him and sang him to his feet.

Na was, for a few seconds, stilled, his body trapped between godly pleasures and the pull of his wife. Not his wife, a juicy apparition of his wife as a goddess; Sené as a queen, a swarm of butterflies hovering over her holy head.

< Laloro found Faru, bereft, lying flat on his back outside of Sené’s dwelling. Laloro laughed aloud. “You really have lost it?”

He hovered close to Faru’s face.

“Shower me with some horrible disease,” Faru said, reaching for Laloro’s trunk. “Give me some fatal sickness or leave me alone.” >

To Na’s ears, Sené’s song was nothing less than enchanting. In the thrall of her voice, he forgot about Quashe. He forgot the honeyed skin that coaxed him through a labyrinth of pleasure, turned away from the crocodile claws that gifted him with fish and seduction.

Sené opened her arms to her husband, and he stepped into them. Neither of them heard Quashe snarl. Their hands were too busy groping each other, fingers remembering a dance from old forgotten times.

< Laloro took pity on Faru. “Climb onto my back, and I’ll fly you to the Old One.”

Faru climbed on without complaining about Laloro’s warts.

“You are weak,” Laloro teased. “Worse than a mortal. The great vain Faru begging ugly Laloro to disease him?” Laloro raised his trunk and pointed it at Faru as he flew. “Shall I do it? Shall I put you out of your misery?”

Faru didn’t respond. >

Quashe lifted her snout and screeched a series of clicks and trills. Teeth bared, she belched. With every belch, a ripple disturbed the surface of the river. As Sené and Na’s tongues found each other’s throats, tasted each other’s salt, Quashe kept belching.

The river waters swirled, and finally folded in on themselves. From the folds, a humongous crocodile surfaced. At the point of Quashe’s finger, it lumbered onto shore, barreling between Sené and Na. Sené screamed, as the creature, paying no heed to her belly, knocked her onto her back.

< Laloro dumped Faru at the entrance to the Old One’s cave. With his trunk, he tipped the bell to announce their presence. The Old One’s voice drifted out in irritation.

“Who is it calling so loudly?”

“Oh, honored elder, it is Laloro. I am dropping Faru here at his request.”

“How rude,” muttered the Old One. He approached the mouth of his cave slowly. His old gnarled hands clutched two ancient wooden canes. His long white cloths trailed behind him in the dirt as he approached at a snail’s pace. Each of his steps was executed with an enormous amount of concentration and energy.

“Have you no knowledge of protocol?” the Old One said when he finally came face to face with Laloro.

Laloro dropped to one knee and rubbed the pads of his feet together.

“Great one, without whom we’d have no accordance, great settler of confusing matters, we are blessed to be in your presence.”

“Yes, child,” said the Old One, rubbing his groin. “How can I be of service?” >

Still Na had no eyes for Quashe. He leapt onto the crocodile’s back and locked his arms around its neck. The crocodile shook its massive head and Na went flying into a tree. His head thudded against bark. He lost consciousness, and Quashe laughed.

Quashe sprang onto the crocodile’s back and looked down on Sené. As the god searched Sené’s face, river snakes slithered up the riverbank. The snakes slid over the crocodile’s back and settled in coils around Quashe’s arms and waist. Quashe stared without a blink of her reptilian eyes. She stared until the secret to Sené’s power was revealed to her. When she recognized it—the force Sené had used to attract Na—Quashe threw her head back and shrieked.

< The Old One wiggled his nose toward the gourd bowl that rested on the floor near the cave entrance. Faru didn’t move. Laloro sighed and dropped a few coins into the bowl. The Old One sniffed and looked at Laloro disdainfully.

Laloro dropped a few more coins into the bowl. “So Faru has given away his powers. Now he’s sick and wants my help.”

“That is correct,” said Laloro, gazing longingly in the direction of Quashe’s river.

“Why would a vain god do a thing such as this?” asked the Old One.

Laloro blushed. He scratched a patch of dry skin on his back. It flaked and fell to the grass. The grass wilted. >

“Faru,” Quashe said, recognizing the mark of her brother. She leaned forward and opened her huge crocodile mouth over Sené’s face. A forked tongue flipped from the flat of her mouth and flicked over Sené’s lips. Sené turned her head away. Quashe’s snakes writhed.

“Open,” Quashe demanded. Sené clamped her mouth shut. Quashe released a snake. It slid around Sené’s neck in a tighter and tighter yoke until Sené’s mouth burst open in panic.

Quashe’s tongue wrestled Sené’s. She speared the power Faru had banked in Sené’s body and swallowed it. Pleasure sparked through her divine thighs as she leaned back, satisfied.

< “And you are involved in this matter?” the Old One asked with certainty.

Laloro dug into the earth with one huge foot. “I threatened him.”

“What’s that?” asked the Old One.

“I threatened to kill him if he didn’t give me his powers. He lost the desire trying to hide it from me.”

“Ahh,” said the Old One rubbing his nipples. “You have created discord among the gods. I believe you should throw more coins into my gourd.” >

“Now, let us see who Na finds more desirable,” said Quashe, stretching across the crocodile’s back. She sent her snakes slithering over to Na. Each snake curled around a different limb. Together, they pumped blood through his body until Na’s eyelids flickered and he returned to consciousness.

Na’s heart constricted at the sight of Sené trapped beneath reptilian heft. Then Quashe called to him. His gaze leaped from Sené to Quashe. Quashe’s voice yanked all of him into stiff hardness. Quashe shook with clicking laughter and leaned over to confront Sené. “You cannot hold the powers of the gods, ugly one. I should let my crocodile eat you for trying.”

A brief flash of emotion sparked in Na’s eyes, but he remained silent. Every inch of him strained towards Quashe, but entranced or not, he knew the rules—not without Quashe’s permission.

“Stay there,” Quashe barked at him and commanded her crocodile to back off Sené. “You have refused me. I must find something sweet to clean myself of this bitterness.”

< Quashe sat stiffly on her crocodile’s back, Na’s betrayal pulsing in her memory. The flutter of Faru’s desire surged through her flesh as she searched the trees for a few men to ravish. >

Night fell, and Sené had not moved. The sound of Na crying forced her awake. She opened her eyes and saw him standing, immobilized, waiting for Quashe’s return. She put her hands over her ears to shut out the noise and the sensation of hand against skin ran through her body like lightning. Her fingers fluttered. She had thought this day’s delight was done—departed with Faru’s gift, but here she was, still shocking herself with sweetness.

Sené ran a finger from her forehead to her chin and shivered. She held her hands before her face. They looked just as they always had: dry, cracked, swollen. Yet today, they had done new things. They had stained themselves with berries, lured a husband away from a goddess, and painted the walls of her dwelling with the juices of her own coming.