Blue Eyes

By Donna T. Upchurch

"Blue Eyes" is a breathtaking saga, interwoven with rich original mythology, tribal beliefs, a fantasy race of plant-based creatures, unimaginable animals, and a tapestry of supporting stories and themes. This fantastical story makes readers consider love versus honor, power versus right, and two lovers determined to believe that, in the end, love cannot be denied. This novel may appeal to readers who can't get enough of beautiful world-building and magical elements.


Forbidden love can be dangerous enough—let alone when one lover is accused of being a demon. In this high fantasy story, Yawta, the daughter of a village leader, wishes to escape her village to be free to live openly with her lover Bamru. Unfortunately, as a female, she has no rights, and Bamru is believed to be a demon because of the color of his eyes. To complicate Yawta's escape plans, Bamru is torn between his love for Yawta and his loyalty to her father, the tribal leader—even as his life is constantly threatened due to his mysterious, secret origins. This two-part story reaches a climax when Yawta's death transports her to a new death-world, and Bamru enters that dangerous death-world to find her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667812533

Book preview

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Blue Eyes

Copyright © 2022 by Donna T. Upchurch. All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-66781-252-6 (Print)

ISBN 978-1-66781-253-3 (eBook)

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Life is not worth living if the heart can no longer love;

it might as well stop beating.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my wonderful cousins:

Marie, Arthurine and Denise.

To my special friends: Cheryl and Karen.

And in loving memory of my sister, Helena

Contents

Part One: In Kwo

1: The Outcast

2: The Centipede

3: Who’s There?

4: The Anaconda

5: Evil Stew

6: How Did He Know?

7: A Risky Adventure

8: The Mound of Flowers

9: The Song of Jalanti

10: The Animal Fight

11: Claim Your Victory

12: The Accused

13: Friends

14: A Raging Argument

15: The Epiphany

16: Kwinga’s Secret

17: Coo Coo and Pignu

18: A Place for Us

19: When the Goddess Rains

20: The Beads

21: Effiomi’s Magic

22: Bamru’s Friend

23: Aisha’s Enemy

24: The Inspection

25: The Force

26: The Threat

27: Lunafu’s Request

28: The Flight

29: The Evil Twin

30: Yam’s Secret Place

31: The Big Splash

32: The Daydream

33: Akoni’s Plan

34: Yawta’s Plan

35: The Rooster and the Hen

36: The Game of Tease and Chase

37: Yawta’s Vision

38: Akoni’s Secret

39: Purifying the Hut

40: Healing Water

41: Shapes of Demons

42: A Talk with Akoni

43: The Offering

44: The Whipping Tree

45: The Sentence

46: The Story of Sondu

47: The Messenger

Part Two: In Rahome

48: Falling Feathers

49: The Zunoks of Rahome

50: Nicmoo

51: The Den

52: The Voice

53: The Puya Garden

54: The Blind Man

55: Oboo’s Desire

56: The Pact

57: Evil versus Evil

58: Tupic’s Dream

59: Effie’s Confession

60: The Attack on Koca

61: Conversing with Dinosaurs

62: East and West

63: Poison Hogoroot

64: Run, Yawta, Run

65: Nicmoo’s Dream

66: Valuable Information

67: Framed

68: Thinking of Alphis

69: Fleeing Rahome

70: All Great Men Must Sacrifice

Part One:

In Kwo

Chapter 1: The Outcast

Bamru rested on a bed of geraniums that grew across the Mound of Flowers, a living, breathing hill in the magical land of Kwo. If he lay still, his green skin blended with the newest of geranium leaves. To any bird flying overhead, only his light blue eyes gave him away in the sea of red and pink and green.

In the warm air above him, wind spirits floated, and the rays of Solo the sun god sometimes feather-brushed the mound, tickling the flowers to genuine laughter. In Kwo, geraniums chimed lovelier than the song of the Morning Bird, as the flowers shed midday dew resting upon their petals. Every creature had seen the dew drops shimmy; no one had ever seen the bird god, though its delightful tweets awakened the world each morning.

Bamru took a deep breath, filling his lungs with seductive air; when he exhaled, the geraniums came alive and caressed his body with the feel of Yawta, his love. The flowers released their tranquil perfumes, surrounding him. He marveled, not for the first time, that these flowers were not only capable of laughing, but sensed his desire for Yawta so perfectly. Oh, my sensitive friends, how I need her now, he thought. He breathed in her lavender scent as if she were there with him.

This was another gift of the geraniums: picking up on the needs of a nearby Planto, they could produce the aroma the loved one called up from the jungle floor when stepping near: and Yawta attracted lavender. The fragrance was always intoxicating, as if the ground approved of their romantic union.

And Bamru needed that encouragement. The entire village of Mosi disapproved of their love—disapproved, in fact, of Bamru’s very existence. Yawta’s father, Akoni, tried to be kind, but as leader of the Mosi Plantos, he adhered to ancestral rules regarding royal marriages: Yawta must marry someone with proof of a pure Planto origin: their first ancestor arose from a magical plant in the jungle; green skin and black eyes were proof of that legacy. Bamru had beautiful green skin, yes, but his eyes were a haunting, inexplicable blue.

This difference terrified most of his village and left him an outcast.

For moments as he lay now upon the blanket of softness, his thoughts floated in the white clouds high in the blue sky till a sweet memory came to him. He smiled as he remembered Baby Yawta, the new infant Planto lying upon a small, furry pad. Greta, her nursemaid, was out fetching water when he sneaked into the hut to watch over the tiny, perfect girl. Her skin was pale green like the fruit inside an avocado, plump and full of creases in her arms and legs, unlike the cauliflower-like skin of newborns he’d seen in the village. He rubbed his fingers over her forearm that felt soft as rabbit fur. Her eyes were black but sparkled like diamonds. Her hair was bushy, the color of sun-dried hay.

He had brought her a gift that day. Two days before, while he was playing in the jungle, he discovered a voice catcher, a musical instrument left by a wind spirit during evening times. It was a small nut-like ball with a hole in its shell. The old women of the village said, if words were spoken through the hole, what was said would be heard forever. He placed his lips near the tiny hole and whispered, Bamru thinks you’re beautiful, so Yawta would hear his voice forever, swirling among the calming hums of the wind spirits. Even as a small boy he was smitten, and as time passed and he’d grown older, he would imagine Yawta listening to the voice catcher when she rested.

Perhaps he should’ve said more, he thought, now envisioning her head lying upon his chest. He was in flower ecstasy, though the rush of romance didn’t last long for a gray cloud appeared and with it a bad thought. He recalled what came next when he’d placed the voice catcher near newborn Yawta’s ear.

What are you doing to her! Greta says. Don’t you touch her. Shoo, shoo, blue-eyed boy. And don’t come back!

He remembered running; his small eyes full of tears. It had happened long ago, but the memory remained vivid in his mind and painful in his heart. Yet, just to imagine touching her now, to feel Yawta’s warm lips upon his, made his heart beat fast and the gray cloud disappear.

Now, shaking himself out of the memory, Bamru arched his back and stretched his arms; scores of yellow butterflies ascended from the bed of geraniums, clustering to form the image of her face. Yet, as quickly as the butterflies came, they flew away, for another gray cloud appeared.

His chest tightened as he could see that it was happening again. Inside the cloud were ghosts preparing another burning execution. He wondered if this vision were a premonition of what would happen to him. He shook his head to stop the vision from developing.

I am not a demon, he whispered.

Chapter 2: The Centipede

Yawta knew it was taboo to go looking for Bamru.

She was royalty: he was cursed.

She was expected to become a royal wife.

He was suspected of being a demon.

The village sought to control her life.

The village sought to end his.

And if Yawta’s father Akoni discovered she’d left home without his permission—let alone to see the demon—his punishments could be severe. Yawta didn’t care. Restless nights of yearning to be with Bamru were too painful for her to bear. No. She felt justified for what she was about to do. She waited until evening, then ran toward the jungle to meet him.

Animal chatter filled the jungle when she entered. She could hear loud cracklings from the wingless, footless, and flightless birds that sat on tree limbs during daylight and vanished at nightfall. At daybreak, they would reappear, sitting another day in the same spot as the day before; it was as if they’d never left.

The busy eyes of the wingless birds followed her this evening as she passed beneath them. She would use these birds as landmarks. Now, as Solo the sun god prepared for sleep, Yawta walked deeper into the jungle, floral vines roping their way from one tree to another; tiny animals soaring upon leaves, some of them making Planto-like sounds and wind spirits humming their end-of-day lullabies.

Blurrrr… blurrrr. The imitation bird-mating call pierced the thick heat of the jungle, drawing her toward it. She smiled and paused to make sure her scarlet feathered breast wrap and banana leaf skirt were in place. She adjusted the skirt to accentuate her small waistline and slim hips. She sniffed her arms, searching for the rosemary aroma she rubbed over her skin. Perfect, she thought. She was ready.

She shielded her eyes from the sleepy Solo rays filtering through tall branches and leaves, creating mosaic patterns upon sparkling greenery. She flicked away blood-sucking insects that hopped on and off her face, legs, and arms. Nothing seemed to matter to her, other than being with the man she loved before the jungle turned pitch black.

Thinking about the darkness, she slowed her pace. She remembered that more than once she’d found herself alone out here, surrounded by The Color, a night-time mist of confusion that was believed by villagers to be a form of Lunafu, the troublesome, often cruel moon god. When the moon was shining, Lunafu transformed himself into large masses of darkness (The Color) and trolled through the jungle looking for any lost thing (animal or Planto) to take back to his home on the moon.

She stopped then, remembering a night not long ago when The Color had surrounded her, robbing her of sight, long horny nails touching her arms. She shook herself: she’d gotten away, hadn’t she?

With a deep breath, she started walking again, stretching her neck to see how much farther she had to go.

Suddenly, she heard something like the rattling of leaves. She froze with one foot barely touching the ground. Her eyes widened. Her throat tightened. Her hearing sharpened. She turned and peered over her left shoulder.

Is someone there?

Had she been inattentive this time, unaware of who might have seen her sneaking away? Standing as still as a chameleon, she surveyed her immediate surroundings. Everything was still, except for the walking moss mauling something smaller than itself and then skirting over her toes.

She exhaled. The walking moss. Nothing but my vivid imagination making me fearful again. The scampering plant never hurt anyone.

Blurrrr … blurrrr. Now she smiled. The call was clearer and closer this time. She parted the sap-oozing bush in front of her and kept walking, knowing the smoky tree of many fruits called Kwinga was nearby. Villagers believed the spirit of Kwinga lived inside the tree. The ancestors said Kwinga was the keeper of secrets and would only reveal a secret to save a life, although no one in the village she knew ever heard Kwinga speak. Yawta was fascinated by the tree. Some time ago, she had etched her name and the name of the man she loved upon the tree so that the smoky tree would protect her secret from those who’d wish to expose it.

She could barely wait. Her eyes brightened; her stomach tumbled; her feet couldn’t move fast enough. Finally, she was standing by Kwinga’s tree. She reached for him; their hands touched. He pulled her close to him.

They fell into each other’s arms, not saying a word, for there was no time for that. She kissed his lips, his eyes, his cheeks, his nose, as if she had no idea where to start, until he caught her up and responded with long, passionate kisses, as if he couldn’t get enough of her.

I love you, Yawta, he said, his heart pounding as fast as hers.

I love you too. Her lips gently brushed across his neck, her hand slipping into his golden-brown hair.

She tried not to look at his eyes, which attracted her in a way she found difficult to resist. His were mesmerizing, ocean-blue eyes to which she’d surrendered time after time, prompting her to drift away to places where she’d seen things she never knew existed, places where her mind spun with pleasure. During those moments, sinking into infinite depths, she heard nothing but his heartbeat.

Standing face to face, she laid her cheek against his bare chest as if it were a raft on an undulating ocean; she could feel his muscles moving up and down like waves, and his breath blowing onto her neck like a warm breeze soothing away the gathered heat of the passing day. Wrapped in his strong arms, she felt understood and safe. They kissed once more.

Bamru, we must talk, Yawta said, breaking away from his embrace. Her thoughts raced. This evening she was determined to speak her mind.

Later, he said, pressing his chin across her tightly braided, beaded hair. I haven’t held you in my arms for many star-shifts.

No, now.

He stroked her arms and nodded. Let’s sit down. He dragged a log closer and swiped away the flaky bark, disturbing a mass of bubble-eyed ants that emerged from the damp wood. He rolled the log to a cleaner side, for it was against Mosi law to harm nonaggressive creatures.

He wiped his hand on his buffalo hide breechcloth. Unlike most green men who ornamented themselves with henna and showy bracelets to appear manly to females, he was plain and simple.

For moments, there was silence. Yawta blinked her eyes, trying to work through a tumult of different emotions. She couldn’t find the right words to start the conversation. While gathering her thoughts, she knew what Bamru was thinking: They’d had this conversation many times before.

The longer she sat thinking, the more frustrated she became. She curled her hand into a fist, thinking how calm and sensible he could be at times.

Ahh! Do you want me or not, Bamru!

Yawta. You know I do.

If I wait for you to understand me, she said, old anger rising again, I’m afraid it will be too—

I know. And I do understand. Bamru placed his calming hand over hers. He tightened his grip. But we can’t just run, Yawta.

She closed her eyes, and big tears tumbled down her face. Why can’t we? We need to— She sank against his chest.

Shhh. I know, I know. He kissed her forehead. But where should we go? Should we live with the monkeys in trees or with the lions in their dens?

No, she sniffed, but there must be a place for us.

There is, and it’s here. He kissed her fingertips. I could never steal you away from your father. He’s a good man, and he loves you.

But what about us? she asked.

Bamru looked down upon a many-legged centipede fishtailing through the soft mud. The confused bug had just fallen from a tree, far away from its mate; it was sending a distress flare of red particles into the air. Bamru smiled and lifted the fallen bug with a twig; he placed it on the leaf near its mate. He and Yawta watched as the two bugs reunited. He whispered into her ear, Sometimes, young lovers need a little outside help to stay together. He pulled her closer to him and said, You are the most important Planto in my life. I couldn’t imagine living life without you, and this is why I must convince Akoni that I’m the right man for you.

Yawta exhaled, exhausted with the thought. And how do you plan to do that? I’ve tried. The entire village is against us.

I don’t know, but I believe that Rabongo will help us.

Rabongo! Yawta yelled. You always wait for Rabongo to change everything! What good is such a silent god? Watching him closely, she lowered her voice and added, Did you see us together in one of your prophetic dreams?

No.

Well, then. She shook her head. We must leave this backward village. I’d give my—

Me too. He touched her chin and turned her head toward his face. Something will change our situation. Things will go our way. Remember the fallen centipede. I bet he never thought I’d come along and transport him back to his mate. He caressed her arm. There are forces out there wanting us to be together. We must be patient. He hugged her again. True love cannot be denied. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me?

Yawta smiled, realizing that time was short, and she didn’t care to waste any more precious moments in a heated discussion when she was alone with the man she loved. The Color was coming. She cuddled closer to him and placed his arm around her waist. One day when we’re married…

Bamru chuckled.

What’s so funny? she asked, still snuggled close to him.

Are you proposing to me? Custom dictates that only men do that. His grin grew wider.

So, what? What if I am?

He rubbed his finger against her cheek, which turned apple green as he touched it. I’ve never heard of a female proposing to a male, he said.

Yawta put her hand on her waist. A woman can speak…

What was that? Bamru’s muscles tightened.

Quiet, Yawta whispered.

There was movement in the jungle. Sparks of color emitted by shrubbery splashed into the air. The sounds of leaves rustling, twigs snapping, and footsteps, Planto footsteps, were definite and drawing near.

Bamru’s adopted brothers had tried to hurt him before. They mustn’t be seen together. Yawta stood, looked around, and nodded her head.

Bamru nodded. He kissed her once more, mouthed the word tomorrow, and stepped backward into the bushes, which remained quiet as he fled.

Chapter 3: Who’s There?

Yawta wiped her face, straightened her breast wrap, and made noises while striking weeds with a stick she’d picked up off the ground. The weeds yelped and retracted into a tight roll to escape the beating. She shook her shirt, fanning away odors rising from the soil as Bamru crept away. She whistled and talked loudly to herself, There’s one. She picked up a berry. Nice and plump, she said as she chewed. Umm… juicy. She struck harder at the weeds that were now squeaking and crying. She paused, then said, Who’s there?

Cubin, a young Mosi warrior, revealed himself. Prepared for combat, his seaweed green face and body were painted with white zebra stripes. His yellow hair was plaited into a thick braid that ran down the center of his head. He was bare chested, bare legged, and a swath of jackal fur covered his male organs. He carried a spear in one hand, and there was a knife hidden under his furry breechcloth. Yawta? he said, What are you doing out here?

Yawta rolled her eyes and replied, Oh, you again. Should’ve known it when I smelled manure. She leaned down and picked up a handful of berries. Why do you ask? She continued pretending to search.

Darkness is falling.

She glanced at the trees and noticed that some wingless birds had disappeared from the tree limbs. She looked further upward and saw that the sky was changing. Shades of blue and white were fading, and bold orange was seeping through sheets of transparent clouds. The humming sound of the wind spirits were quieting. These high-passion, late-evening reunions are certainly becoming problematic, she thought.

Turning to frown at Cubin, she said, What law did I break? There’s no rule that stops me from entering the jungle during the evening.

That’s not the point, Cubin said. The jungle can be dangerous. A Tazu warrior could be close by, and it’s difficult to distinguish Tazu green from the green in the jungle.

Yawta smirked and turned her back. And I suppose you came to defend me. Let’s see, she said smartly. Tazu man! Tazu man! She puckered her lips. No Tazu warrior here, lucky for you. Tell me now, who told you to follow me?

No one.

Stop lying, she snapped, scaring the pink flowers near her foot into closing their petals. Do you really think I believe that? For days now, you’ve been on my heels like flies on meat. She stopped talking and smiled like she was flirting. Or maybe there’s more to this than protection. Are you attracted to me?

A giggle came from something hiding in a hosta.

Stop it, Yawta. You know better, Cubin said.

Then come forward with the truth.

Cubin cocked his head to the side, kept a straight face and glared into her eyes, saying, I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Yawta shook her head. It was Oboo, that slimy, two-faced pig. It was him. Wasn’t it?

Wrong. You’re so vain, you think every male in the tribe is after you.

Noooo, she said. Only Oboo. And you can tell him to fall in a patch of poison oakabe. He’ll never have me.

Cubin laughed. If not Oboo, someone else? Like his brother?

Yawta flashed a grin. Yam? He’s just as ignorant as Oboo, thinking he could sweep a female off her feet with a twitch of his arm muscle. She smacked her lips. Yam’s a hippo—all muscle, no brains. The only thing he likes to do is fight and boast victories. She pretended to be searching for more berries.

Cubin stroked the tip of his spear thoughtfully and said, I mean the other brother.

Yawta paused while glancing at the ground. Bamru? she said in a cracked voice. She faced Cubin and added, He’s not their true brother, you know. Thank Rabongo. Two related rat-brains are enough for any tribe. Bamru is a Planto of honor. Much too intelligent for…

Sounds to me like you’re infatuated with him, Cubin said in a cavalier tone, as he walked around her in a circle, inspecting her attire. You smell and dress like a female about to be wed. Are you trying to entice Bamru?

Another giggle from inside the hosta plant.

Yawta took her stick and gave the hosta a good swipe, shooing away whatever was hiding and laughing beneath it.

Uh-huh, I think I struck a nerve, Cubin said. Perhaps Bamru placed you under a spell when you stared at his dreamy blue eyes. Hmm? Just remember what the old women say. He’s not Planto, Yawta; he’s a demon. He grabbed her by the shoulders. You met with him this evening. Do not lie. I saw him running away.

Let go of me. She broke free of his hands. What I do is none of your business. So, what if you saw him. That doesn’t mean he was with me. She looked him up and down. And you shouldn’t believe everything you hear. The old women are just that, old women, who try to make villagers believe they hear the voices of the gods. Minds full of spider webs make hair white and stringy. Now, you remember that.

Yawta, think of what you’re saying! Cubin ducked forward, his eyes scanning the sky and trees. There are angry gods among us, he said. Yellow eyes hiding in the bushes blinked, as if to confirm what Cubin said.

So, I’ve heard, but never seen.

Cubin touched her shoulder and asked, What are you saying? You don’t believe?

Yawta’s eyes opened wide, and she said sharply, Don’t start putting words into my mouth. She dropped the berries. Now look at what you made me do. She squatted and patted her hand on the ground. A strawberry fragrance squirted up from the ground into her face. She wiped her face, gathered a few berries, and stood. All I’m saying is that I personally have never seen a spirit, a god, a de…

She stopped short of finishing her sentence. She couldn’t see anything. Everything that had been green was now black. The vibrant lights from the insects and shrubbery that colored the air were gone. Even Cubin, whom she knew was there…thought was there… hoped was there. But I wouldn’t… she said, adding, The spirits are invisible. Riiiight?

She held on to the word, stringing it as far as she could through the darkness, trying to fill space that had become suddenly silent. Anxiously, she waited for a response. She needed to hear his voice quickly, to know for sure he had not dissolved into The Color and been taken to the moon or slipped underground, where evil spirits were said to live.

Invisible and mighty, Cubin finally replied. He applied a paste of glowing substance around his eyes and corners of his mouth. You speak as if you have doubt.

Yawta was relieved. He’s still there, she thought, ridiculous-looking, but still there. She rubbed her arms to smooth away the goosebumps that had crept across her skin. She took several breaths to settle her nervous stomach. She reached out to touch him. No, I just have some questions. I think for myself, unlike most villagers. If it wasn’t for my father’s guidance—

Cubin interrupted her, They respect the law and listen to what the elders teach, Yawta. They are obedient. But you… you think you know everything. He closed his eyes to reveal his glow-in-the-dark eyelids. Young females know nothing. He stepped farther away and covered his face, hiding the glowing marks that he’d just applied.

Yawta began to perspire, saying, This one knows. Her voice was fearless, but her behavior spoke otherwise. Frantically, she searched for Cubin with her hands.

Cubin muffled his voice. Tough talk. You wouldn’t be so confident if your father wasn’t the leader of the tribe. Go home, smart mouth! he said in a ghostly tone.

Cubin? What happened to your voice?

He leaned farther back as Yawta’s hands snatched at the air. She tripped. That felt strange. What did I stumble on? She knelt on the ground.

Cubin took his hand off his face and knelt beside her. He brushed his hand over the scaley skin of a long animal whose belly slowly moved up and down. He felt the animal’s elongated jaw, sharp teeth, short legs, thick plated tail, and webbed feet. A crocodile. The animal stopped breathing. It’s dead. He touched the dagger that penetrated the crocodile’s belly. Bamru has broken the law. He will be punished.

No! Yawta said, breathing rapidly. Bamru would never do such a thing. It was someone else.

I saw him running.

There must be another explanation. You didn’t see Bamru with a dagger in his hand. You have no proof, and you mustn’t tell my father you saw him. The village is against him. If you accuse him, the villagers will want him executed. Please. Please, Cubin. Help me hide the crocodile beneath a bush.

Cubin rubbed his finger under his chin. Maybe in the future, you can do a favor for me.

A favor? she snapped. Don’t think so. She stood tall. Maybe I should tell my father about Suza.

I…I…, Cubin stuttered.

Thought so. Don’t stand there. Help me push.

Cubin rolled the crocodile under a dense bush, then stood and