Wild Flowers, Electric Beasts

By Alina Leonova

Two species of humans — one technologically advanced and one living in nature — have coexisted peacefully on their home planet for over a century. But when an ancient treaty is breached, devastation follows.

Balika has always felt like an outsider. When tragedy strikes, she is left without a reason to remain with her tribe. Looking for a place where she can belong, she leaves the familiar forest and ventures into the desert to bond with a mythical animal through music. But her forgotten life calls her back when she discovers an unexpected threat to her land.

Sammah works long hours as an experience developer and returns to his tiny apartment alone. He suffers from anxiety and spends most of his time in the virtual world. He opens up to a friendship with a colleague, but just when things start to look up, he gets trapped in a strange and dangerous affair. He might either lose himself, or the only person he truly cares about.

Struggling to make the right choices, they get pulled into a brewing disaster. Their worlds are about to collide, and their paths are fated to cross. Caught on different sides of the conflict, Balika and Sammah take up the fight in their own ways. If they want to save what they love most, they must risk everything. Will that be enough?

Content warnings: violence, death (including death of a loved one, death of a parent, death of a child), bullying, torture, blood, language. Even though the book is ultimately hopeful, it contains some violent scenes that some readers might find difficult. Please be careful if you are sensitive to the above.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alina Leonova
• Release date: Oct 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215531549

Alina Leonova

A sci-fi author, a nomad, a dreamer and a reader on a quest.Alina likes exploring other worlds, alternative societies, possible futures, interconnectedness, weirdness, values, complexity and human relationships both with each other and the outside world.She has a website where she shares sci-fi and fantasy books by women, trans and enby authors.Some of the authors who've made an impression on her are: Essa Hansen, Emma Newman, Lois McMaster Bujold and N.K. Jemisin.Find her on Mastodon, Twitter or Goodreads to say hi and talk about books.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Extinguished Fire

BALIKA WASN’T SURE when she’d lost track of the rest of the group. She’d been too focused on her search. A flutter in her stomach had accompanied her since they’d set off early that morning. For the first time, she shared her tribe’s enthusiasm for the upcoming ceremony. Sailiya was about to give birth, and she was ready to welcome the new member of the tribe as her own family. A soft smile touched her lips, and warmth spread in her chest. She took a deep breath, inhaling the rich scent of the soil mixed with the sweet aroma of blooming flowers.

She was scanning the forest almost mindlessly, when something in the back of her mind called for her attention. Balika paused and shifted her gaze back, studying the trees more closely. A prickle in her stomach nearly made her jump. There it was!

In the distance, almost lost among the endless variety of plant life, a tree stood out. Balika rushed to it, every footfall filling her with more excitement. The tree looked like it was dancing. The trunk bent like a ribbon, branches knotted and entangled, the edges of its long, blue leaves glowing gently with silver. The constant swaying and movement of its every part was barely perceptible, but Balika could feel the heat of energy within. Sure enough, pale, iridescent caps of Tatama mushrooms were growing all over the trunk. Balika grinned.

She took her knife out of the sheath attached to her waist and sliced her palm, letting her blood drip onto the biggest cap. Closing her eyes and pressing her other hand still holding the knife to her stomach, Balika whispered, Take the sacrifice of my blood, sacred Tatama. Let it feed your spirit and your body, so that you can grow in strength, share your wisdom, and guard this land. Take a bit of me and allow me to take a bit of you for the benefit of my tribe, for the benefit of Sailiya. Feeling her whole body tingle, she opened her eyes.

Her crimson blood swirled within the mushroom cap, which was now pulsing with vivid blue light. It had accepted the sacrifice and Balika exhaled, relieved and growing excited. She touched the cap that was ingesting her blood, pressing her wound to the mushroom so that it could guide her. She took two deep breaths and let go of it.

Within minutes, her perception expanded to include that which was normally invisible. Tatama was showing her the energy of her blood spreading inside the symbiotic body of the tree and the mycelium, flowing into the soil, where the mushroom reigned. The forest around her was breathing, talking, supporting and fighting, struggling and thriving. Everything was connected with shimmering threads, and so was she. A deep sense of relaxation and happiness enfolded Balika.

She inspected the mushroom caps again, noticing seven that were glowing a bit brighter, as if highlighted by Tatama for her. She counted them all the same, making sure she wouldn’t take more than half the total amount. Seven were enough to brew the ceremonial drink for the entire tribe, and it was rare that Tatama would allow anyone to take that many from one tree. Feeling as if the mushroom was smiling at her happiness and encouraging her, Balika whispered her thanks and cut the caps, placing them into her pouch.

She whistled the signal and sat down with her back to the tree, waiting for the rest of the group to find her. She stretched her tired legs and wiggled her toes. A yellow spot that seemed shiny against the dark brown of her foot caught her attention. Tatama always made her spots stand out, and she glanced at the ones on her hip and stomach. Balika could feel two more on her back and one around her right eye as if they were slightly hotter than the rest of her body. Her right iris was yellow too, unlike her other brown eye. There was no one else like her, and her spots usually made her feel even more like an outsider. Not today, though. Now, under the influence of Tatama, she could see their beauty. It was a pity the effect wouldn’t last.

Balika smiled to herself and took the cone she’d gotten from Sailiya out of her pouch. Shika cones were usually dark orange, but this one was brown with yellow spots, just like Balika’s skin.

Look what I found. Reminds me of you — just as beautiful and unique, Sailiya had said with a smile.

Balika squeezed the cone in her hand. She couldn’t wait to hug the woman she loved and welcome her child into the world.

As always, Tatama was showing her the beauty of the world. All the colours seemed deeper and brighter, and she laughed, taking them in. The blue of the leaves above her, the purple of the sky between the dancing branches, the green of the grass all around with orange, pink and white flowers breaking through. The midnight black of a strand of hair that escaped her lose braid and was tickling her cheek, the warm yellow of the sun glistening in the sweat on her body. The blue and white and green and red of the short animal skin straps attached to the yellow belt wrapped around her waist, creating a skirt. All the colours mixed and danced and filled her with glee. Love for the world saturated her heart. She tucked the strand behind her ear and kissed the cone before hiding it in her pouch.

Moosa was the first one to arrive. Her slender body was glistening with sweat, too, but otherwise she didn’t look tired, emanating her usual youthful vitality that, under the influence of Tatama, looked to Balika like she made colourful ripples in the air as she moved. She gave Balika half a smile and touched the tree to greet Tatama, whispering her gratitude. Then, she turned to Balika again.

Hey. How many have you got?

Seven. Balika opened her pouch, showing the mushrooms to her.

Moosa’s eyebrows shot up. Unbelievable! From one tree?

Her surprise was palpable. Of course, she hadn’t expected Tatama to gift such a generous offering to Balika.

Balika exhaled, releasing the tension. I got lucky.

Well, it’s great news! We can go back home. The shamans will be happy. Moosa lay down on her back and popped a blade of sweet grass into her mouth.

One by one, the others emerged, and the same story repeated, making Balika feel like she was stuck in an endless cycle. They greeted Tatama, asked her about the mushrooms, and she showed them. Chiziko made impressed sounds, Fiosa clicked her tongue, and Riossi gasped. They congratulated her, touched her arms and smiled, and yet Balika felt that none of it was sincere; they didn’t think she deserved to be rewarded by Tatama. She looked at them, momentarily huddled together, as their attention was attracted by something in the grass. Their skin was a lighter shade of brown than hers. Everyone in the Maotto tribe had a similar skin colour, except for her. As if she weren’t already different enough.

Balika felt a familiar knot in her stomach, an acute feeling of not belonging, as if she were separated from them by a slab of rock she could never climb over, but it dissipated as soon as it came. She didn’t care anymore. She had her place now. Sailiya’s love was enough for her to finally feel at home in the tribe. Sailiya, Tatama, and the whole land accepted her as she was. She didn’t need anyone else to understand her. She smiled. Soon, she’d hug the woman she loved, and that was all that mattered.

Whistling a happy tune, Balika led the way back home. The Calm season was coming to an end, and the air was growing warmer and dryer each day. The tender touch of the breeze caressed her skin. Leaves were rustling softly above her head, shifting shadows painting intricate patterns on the ground and her body. Thin, feather-light clouds were swirling in their slow spiral dance high in the purple sky.

They had to make a stop for the night, even though Balika was growing impatient, eager to see Sailiya. They ate some fruit they’d found on the way and settled down on soft moss. Moosa and Chiziko started bickering like they always did. Balika lay on her back with her hands behind her head, gazing into the starry sky. She was awake long after the voices of her companions grew soft and faded into the darkness. She sighed, got up, and put her hand on Fiosa’s shoulder.

I’ll keep watch. Can’t sleep anyway, she whispered.

Fiosa nodded and went to lie down next to the others. Her quiet snores followed almost immediately. Balika didn’t like being on the lookout — undefined danger looming in the dark made her uneasy. She hoped that she would get sleepy and wake someone to take over, but her eyelids only started growing heavy right before dawn.

She roused everyone, urging them to get going, and they continued their journey as soon as there was enough light, grumbling. The closer they came, the stronger her anticipation grew.

***

As they reached the settlement, Balika noticed agitated movement, sharp gestures, and tense bodies. She saw Kaisha — the tribe’s healer — running, shouting hurried instructions to a few people who dashed in different directions, following her orders. Her gaze trailed the path Kaisha was taking, and her heart dropped. In an instant, she felt cold and hollow inside. She rushed after Kaisha, towards Sailiya’s hut, hoping it was someone else, anyone else who needed the healer’s help, but her stomach was a whirlpool of dread.

Sailiya’s scream was like a punch in her gut. Balika stormed into the hut right after Kaisha, ignoring a few other people who were already there, seeing only Sailiya. She was on her hands and knees, naked, shivering, and panting. She wasn’t supposed to give birth yet. Kaisha grabbed a pot and started throwing herbs into it.

I’m here. Balika dropped on her knees and touched Sailiya’s back. I’ve brought Tatama. Starting a bit early, are you?

The words came out too fast, and the chuckle that followed too high-pitched. Balika scolded herself mentally — she was here to support Sailiya, not distress her. Sailiya gave her a strained smile with her jaw clenched in pain. She was going to say something, but only groaned instead.

I’m here with you, Balika repeated. It’s going to be fine now. You’ll be all right.

She patted Sailiya’s back and head, hoping that her hand wasn’t trembling too much.

Balika, I need your help! Kaisha said, giving her the pot with herbs and water. Take this and put it over the fire. Stir. When it boils, bring it to me. It’s medicine for Sailiya.

The intense glimmer in the healer’s black eyes scared Balika. Her wrinkles somehow seemed deeper, and her grey braids were disheveled, with loose hairs sticking out. Even though Kaisha was shorter, Balika always felt small next to the woman.

She took the pot and rushed out of the hut. Someone had already started a fire and prepared the poles to fix over it. Another member of the tribe brought a wooden spoon and immediately hurried away. She took it mindlessly and started stirring. Her hands trembled and she couldn’t see anything but the hard toto nutshell of the pot and the herbs floating in it. It felt as if she was stirring her stomach, and the thoughts that were making her dizzy.

She could hear people entering and exiting the hut, running, and talking in sharp, loud voices. Every time Sailiya screamed, it felt like a knife stabbing her heart, but she kept stirring. She needed to help. Why was it taking so long? Couldn’t the water boil faster? She longed to be with Sailiya.

When circles appeared in the water, Balika thought that it was finally boiling, but it was rain. Lightning sliced the heavy sky in half, followed by a roar of thunder that made her flinch. Rain was rare during the Calm season, but when it came, it was a downpour. It soaked her in mere moments and was already putting the fire out.

No, no, no!

Balika couldn’t let it go out, so she grabbed the pot and a still-burning log and ran to the communal fire pit on the other side of the settlement. There was a space protected by a roof made of vines, branches, bark, and leaves. She was hoping someone would be cooking there. The log was burning her hand, but she refused to drop it — she might need it to start a fire. She felt in her whole being that every moment counted. She clenched her teeth and sped up.

No one was at the pit. She dropped her log; it didn’t have much time left. She fixed the pot over it, anyway, and rushed to the pile of wood gathered by her tribe.

Balika bit her lip when she realised that everything was soaked. The roof was leaking over the pile — an old leaf had been torn away by the wind. Her stomach was churning, and tears were stinging her eyes. She couldn’t give up.

She clenched her teeth and grabbed the wood, but when she brought it to the pit, her log wasn’t burning anymore. Her right hand hurt, and her left one was numb. It took her longer than usual to put everything in order, and her hands wouldn’t listen when she tried to get a spark. The spindle fell out of her useless palms.

She tried again and again, but it didn’t work. She looked around. Why was no one there to help? Of course, they were probably either hiding from the rain in their huts or helping Kaisha. Balika fumbled with the spindle, like a child doing it for the first time. Her breath was ragged, and her vision blurry with tears. Her right hand felt raw, shooting sharp pain through her forearm, but she couldn’t stop. She was shivering, and the straps of her skirt were cold against her thighs.

Come on, please! she shouted into the damp air.

Finally, smoke rose from the nest. Balika cheered, but it was gone in a moment — the wood was too wet.

No, no, no! Balika threw the spindle and rammed her fists into the soil, allowing a sob to escape her lips. What was she doing? She didn’t have time for this! She wiped the tears with the back of her hand, picked up the spindle and started rolling it even more vigorously, ignoring the pain. It didn’t matter — nothing mattered except starting this fire. She heard someone behind her back.

Come help me, I can’t start a fire! she pleaded, turning. She saw Ramee standing there, water dripping off him, long strands of dark hair plastered to the sides of his face. Lightning split the sky behind his back, followed by a blast of thunder that made both of them flinch. Ramee’s lips were tight and there was something in his eyes she wasn’t used to seeing. He looked away and down. Balika’s heart dropped.

CHAPTER TWO

Dreams

THE CAR SPED down the road. Riding it felt almost like taming a wild beast — Sammah could feel its raw power beneath him. The roof of his new red Viara was open, and warm wind was ruffling his long hair. An upbeat song was rushing through space with him, and he tapped the rhythm on his knee. When the chorus came, he sang at the top of his lungs.

The road wound among tall trees, opening to a view of a mountain with a snowy top ahead. A golden sunset shone to his right, turning all the colours soft and deep, touching his cheek with tender warmth. He grinned to himself. Everything was perfect.

Sammah! Wake up, Sammah! Someone was shaking him. The bliss evaporated, and he cracked an eye open. He had a slight headache, and his mouth was dry.

Fuck off, he said, turning away from the intruder.

It’s your shift. You’ll start late, work late, and sleep here again. Don’t make me spill water on you. The voice grew higher and a giggle followed — the intruder would very much enjoy that.

Five more minutes.

I’m holding a glass of water in my hand right now! The voice sounded excited.

All right, all right! Sammah knew from experience those weren’t empty threats. He sat up and squinted at his coworker. His hair tickled his face, so he threw it behind his shoulder and scratched the shaved side of his head. The hairs were getting longer — they didn’t feel so pleasant under his fingernails anymore. It was time to shave again.

Adriska gave him a nonchalant grin and resumed sipping water from a dirty glass. Her hands and overalls were stained as well, but she never seemed to care about such things. She was short and plump, with a pleasant roundness to her face that was often blushed, even though she was never embarrassed. Her short blond hair with a few strands of purple was a mess as always.

Sleeping at work again. She shook her head with a frown, but her eyes were still laughing.

Guilty.

You should get more rest, my friend. Are you familiar with the concept?

It was a wonderful rest, thank you.

Adriska glanced at the hard bench he’d been using as a bed and arched an eyebrow. No, I mean it. Real rest. I’m having a party at mine on Funday. You’re invited.

Sammah opened his mouth, but she placed a palm on it. No! I don’t accept lame excuses. Just come. It’ll be fun. Just this once!

I’ll think about it, he said through her palm.

Good! Don’t sleep here tonight. Go home. Adriska freed his mouth.

I don’t promise anything.

She rolled her eyes. What were you dreaming about anyway? You had that smile on your face... I know! You were fucking! Am I right?

Sammah averted his gaze. He didn’t want to have this conversation again. Yes—

"Oh no, you’re lying! Why wouldn’t you tell me the… Oooh, I see. One of those dreams again, huh?"

Don’t start. Sammah made a dismissive gesture and took the glass from Adriska, making his metal rings clank. He gulped the rest of the water and put the glass down on the bench. A long black hair of his stuck to it. Sammah took it and tried to drop it on the floor, but now it was stuck to his fingers. He shook his hand, grunting.

You know what they are. You let them into your head! Adriska persisted.

Yeah, yeah, I sold my soul for convenience. Where have I heard that before? Oh right, those radicals on the news. You should be careful, Adri. They’re preying on people like you; brainwashing.

Are you sure it’s me who’s brainwashed? Adriska cocked an eyebrow and smirked. You want that car. The new model — Viara, right? Admit it! You are saving for it! I’ve seen you cutting down on your lunch expenses. And that’s just the dream you remember. Do you know how many there are every night? Every choice you make when you shop or have fun is dictated by the profits of huge corporations. They’re earning billions, and you get nothing.

So what? Sammah shrugged. I don’t have secrets. I don’t care that they know my favourite colour, or how I like to spend my time. They suggest relevant things; the ones I actually want. And I don’t have to use a shitty search engine that supposedly doesn’t sell your data, but also can’t give you the right answer half the time.

They’re getting better. Adriska was still smiling. Machine learning is all over the place.

Right. And you know, I’ve wanted to get a car for a while. The dream just shows me what I’m likely to enjoy. It’s not such a big deal.

Not for you, but only because you know so little.

Of course, stupid me. Sammah chuckled, shaking his head and ruffled Adriska’s hair. She snorted and pushed him away. You know you are a hypocrite, right? You shouldn’t be working here if that’s what you believe in.

At least I don’t use this shit. All right, time to go back to my hungry babies. That was what she called the servers. See you at the party, yes?

Maybe.

"See you. Adriska stared him in the eye with comical intensity for a moment, then waved and turned to leave, her walk bouncy and energetic. Bye!"

Sammah stretched, frowning at the stiffness of his body. Maybe he really should go home to sleep in a soft bed for a change. He’d need to reapply tooth protection gel soon, too, and he didn’t have any at work. He walked to the kitchen to get some water and coffee. His stomach grumbled. Yes, snacks, too.

He darted his eyes to the right twice to open his MyLife data swarm. It was annoyingly transparent, hard to read, and he couldn’t make it more opaque while he was moving — safety reasons. He sighed. He knew these corridors so well that he didn’t really need to look.

Share your thoughts with the world! a cheerful MyLife voice said in his head. Ever since direct brain-machine communication had been invented, there were far more long, unintelligible rants. Sammah tried to maintain his content hygiene. Whenever he felt an impulse to post on MyLife, he waited for a couple of minutes, weighing if it was really necessary, and then phrased the thing carefully. He also never posted when he was emotional. He prided himself on being a rational user of the new tech.

Not now, he said.

You shift starts in five minutes, the calmer, more professional voice of his MindNet reminded him. Do you want me to start a countdown?

Sammah hated countdowns, but he knew that if he didn’t use them, he’d just spend hours sifting through MyLife data swarm and start work late. Since Adriska had woken him, he could as well put his time to some use. Yes. No matter what I’m doing, shut down the swarm in ten minutes and don’t allow me to open it until I finish work.

You got it. Heading to the kitchen? Want the usual coffee?

Yes please. Sammah exhaled, letting go of the tension in his shoulders and smiled. His MindNet would connect to the local network and instruct the coffee machine to start brewing the drink the way he liked it — strong and black with a dash of cinnamon. Wasn’t it like magic? He didn’t understand people like Adriska who refused to use modern miracles.

He greeted his colleagues in the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, grabbed an energy bar, and took the steaming cup of coffee already waiting for him. He didn’t have time to go to the nook he and Adri kept secret, so he sat down at one of the smaller tables in the common area, stared at the coffee for a second, and rapidly blinked three times to create a snatch — a moment of his experience that was more immersive than a video.

He inhaled the rich aroma; bitter, with a hint of earthy sweetness that reminded him of night markets. He couldn’t share smells and emotions yet, but it was only a matter of time. He thought deliberately Another day at work to caption the snatch and sent it to the data swarm. The countdown told him he only had two minutes before his shift and 8 minutes before the swarm shutdown. Irrational anxiety gripped him, and he started sifting fast, his eyes darting around, trying to choose the worthiest motes of content swirling around him in a cloud of pictures, videos, texts, audio files and snatches.

CHAPTER THREE

Uprooting

WHAT? BALIKA STARED at Ramee, her palms still working on the spindle through the pain.

It’s over, he said and his shoulders sagged. He still wasn’t looking at her.

She gave birth?

Yes, Ramee muttered, touching the back of his neck. Balika dropped the spindle and raced to Sailiya’s hut, ignoring whatever he was trying to say. She didn’t have time for it.

The floor of the hut was covered in blood. Sailiya was lying on her side, looking exhausted but peaceful under a blue passimona fur that always made Balika uncomfortable.

Sailiya! Balika rushed to her side and touched her shoulder. I’m so sorry, I was trying to make the drink for you, but it started raining and… I should have been there with you!

Sailiya’s skin was cool to the touch, and Balika tugged the fur higher.

She’s gone, Kaisha said. Balika hadn’t even noticed the healer was there, tidying up.

What do you mean? She’s just tired, she needs—

She’s dead, Balika. Kaisha’s black eyes were exhausted and grim when she met Balika’s gaze.

No! Sailiya, wake up! Balika shook Sailiya’s shoulder. It couldn’t be true. She’d just seen her alive.

Stop it! Kaisha said, her voice harsh. I’m sorry, but it’s over. She’s gone. But the baby survived. It’s a girl. Look.

There was a strange noise in Balika’s ears. Her knees were weak, and her legs felt soft, like wet soil. She walked over to the basket she’d woven with Sailiya and saw a small human, reddish and bluish, all shrivelled like a dry fruit. The human opened her eyes — dark purple, just like Sailiya’s. Balika couldn’t stand it. She started backing away.

No, she whispered, shaking her head.

Balika! Kaisha took a step towards her and put a rough hand on her shoulder, but Balika couldn’t deal with her, couldn’t deal with any of it. She ran out of the hut, seeing nothing, bumping into people and things that she didn’t recognise. There was no place for her here anymore. The only thread that connected her to these people had been severed.

***

Everything was a blur. Balika ran until she couldn’t anymore. Exhausted, she lay on soft moss, curled in a ball; unable to move, unable to cry. Sailiya couldn’t be dead. It wasn’t true. Maybe Tatama was punishing her for something, showing her the worst thing that could happen, warning her about something?

None of it made sense. The seven Tatama caps that she’d gathered in a previous lifetime were still in her pouch. They were supposed to unite a tribe around welcoming a new member — Sailiya’s child. Now they’d have to be used to say goodbye to Sailiya as she passed into Tatama’s realm, returning to the soil. Balika sat up, holding her knees. She couldn’t disrespect Tatama by rejecting the offering. Finding the mushrooms wasn’t easy and could take days. The occasions when the sacred spirit offered more than four caps at a time were extremely rare. She couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the Maotto tribe again, but throwing the caps away, or using them for a different purpose wasn’t an option. Tatama wouldn’t forgive her. She had to bring the mushrooms back to her tribe, so that they could be used in the ceremony. Maybe that’s why Tatama had allowed her to take so many — so that she could at least see Sailiya alive one last time.

Feeling hollow inside, Balika got up and headed back to the camp. She didn’t know when it had stopped raining. The sky was clear; the air damp and fresh.

A gust of wind brought a scent that made her stop in her tracks. She spun around, immediately overcome by a tightness in her chest that made it hard to breathe. She’d always been terrified of predators. It was rational — she didn’t know anyone who wasn’t. But her fear was paralysing and slimy, trapping her in a dark swamp of helplessness that she hated herself for.

She barely managed to draw her knife with a trembling hand when an allioto kicked her to the ground, landing on her chest with all its weight. Balika was choking, and her hand with the knife was pinned under the big cat’s paw. Vertigo washed over her, and she lost control of herself, thrashing in powerless frenzy. Her free hand fell on her pouch, feeling something hard inside. The cone Sailiya had given her. For a moment, Sailiya’s face was as vivid in Balika’s mind as if she was really there.

It felt as if her love’s strength flowed into her from the cone, clearing her head, and Balika was back in the moment. She threw her free arm up to protect her neck and screamed as sharp fangs tore her flesh. Trying to rip a piece of her off, the allioto shifted its weight, freeing her other hand. There wasn’t enough space between the animal’s body and her own, and the angle was wrong, but Balika pushed the knife into its belly as hard as she could.

She didn’t seriously injure it, but the allioto roared and recoiled from the knife. The additional room between them allowed Balika to stab the animal, and its warm blood poured onto her body. A metallic stench filled her nostrils, and dark spots bloomed in her vision. Her heart thudded in her ears. She hated the smell, and it almost sent her back into panic, but she clutched the cone in her pouch to anchor herself in the present and drew a ragged breath.

The allioto screeched, jumped off her and started circling. Its pink tail with a blue tip was jerking from side to side as it crouched, its huge purple eyes locked on her. Balika sprang to her feet, facing the animal and bending her knees slightly. She squeezed her knife, slippery with blood. When the allioto pounced, she tried to stab it, while stepping aside and turning, but stumbled and missed. Her shoulder bloomed with searing pain where the animal’s claws cut. She dropped her knife and hissed. The allioto landed behind her and she spun, crouching and feeling the ground with her hands, afraid to take her eyes off the predator even for a moment.

Balika found the knife just as the animal pounced again. She sprang up, ignoring her instinct to run, and thrust her hand forward, striking it right through its heart. The allioto fell heavily, pinning her to the ground. Its last squeal made Balika’s chest ache.

For a while, she lay there motionless, the allioto’s heat and weight suffocating her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. With difficulty, she wiggled out from under the heavy body and got up. Her heart was pounding, and she was soaked in sweat and blood.

She kneeled near the allioto, putting a trembling hand on its soft pink fur covered with little blue dots. Its jaws were open, long sharp fangs red from her blood.

May your spirit roam free, she whispered.

There was no way Balika could get the heavy animal back to the settlement on her own. It was a mature male that weighed four times as much as her. She couldn’t just leave it there either, as it would be disrespectful. Of course, the carcass would be eaten by other forest dwellers, so it wouldn’t be wasted, but the allioto had chosen her. This time, she had won, so its meat belonged to her. Balika stroked it one last time and cut out a few pieces of flesh from its side. She wrapped them in moss that would soak up the blood and then in large leaves and tucked them under her arm.

Let the rest of you nourish the forest, she said, before walking away.

***

She didn’t know how she got back to the settlement — her body was moving, but she wasn’t present. When she saw her tribe preparing for the dual ceremony, Balika’s heart exploded in pain.

Normally, welcoming a new member into the tribe and saying goodbye to another would require two separate ceremonies, but when a mother died during childbirth, they were combined. The two spirits were connected, and it was important to give the mother’s spirit a chance to celebrate her baby’s birth, while the baby could grieve their mother’s departure.

Most of the Maotto were sitting around the communal fire that burned bright, causing another stab in Balika’s heart. If only she’d managed to keep the fire going and made the drink in time, maybe Sailiya would still be alive.

Omilla — one of the shamans — was preparing Sailiya’s body for the ritual, weaving herbs in her hair. Balika came up to her silently and dropped the Tatama caps on the ground, refusing to look at Sailiya. She couldn’t take seeing her dead. The shaman looked up.

What happened to you?

Balika shrugged. She was numb, and speaking seemed pointless. She put the allioto’s meat down, too. Someone would cook it.

You’re covered in blood!

Covered in blood. That was how she’d joined the tribe and how she’d lose her place in it. She needed to clean herself up for the ceremony, so she plodded to a nearby stream. The coldness of the water brought a little clarity to her mind. As she washed the blood away, she saw the wounds on her forearm and shoulder. Detached, she watched them gushing blood under water, endless streaks of red flowing away from her. Just like on the day Sailiya had found her. It looked bad, but what did it matter? She could bleed out right there and then.

No. She needed to say goodbye to Sailiya. Balika pushed herself to find Kaisha who was preparing Sailiya’s baby for the ceremony.

Where have you been? Kaisha asked as Balika entered her hut. Balika remained silent.

Look at you! What was that? A passimona?

Balika shook her head, sitting down and leaning against the wall.

An allioto, then. Kaisha looked at her with a hint of respect — alliotos weren’t easy to kill. Balika didn’t care for it. She didn’t need respect that only came with doing impressive things. She needed to be respected for who she was, and the tribe had never given her that. She closed her eyes and let the healer take care of her wounds.

***

When the time for the ceremony came, Balika stayed in the back, watching from a distance. She felt like it was a dream. She wished it was, but she couldn’t wake up no matter how hard she tried. Two men carried Sailiya’s body into the glade where her tree was growing, placing her gently underneath. Balika looked away.

She remembered that tree. Each member of the tribe had one somewhere in the forest. A tree they connected with, came to for solitude and clarity, and conferred with on the most intimate subjects. The one they leaned against in times of illness and distress.

Sailiya’s tree was majestic and beautiful, just like she was. Had been. A tall okkio with smooth yellow bark and a blue spiral coiling around the mighty trunk spread its branches high above. Its thick red leaves with blue veins created a roof that had protected Sailiya from heat and rain countless times when she’d come here. They’d kissed under its canopy once, hiding from a downpour. Now, Balika was watching her tribespeople dig a pit among the roots.

She couldn’t bring herself to dig, but when it was time to place Sailiya into the pit, she came over. Each step was heavy, as if something was pulling on Balika’s limbs. She had to make sure that Sailiya would be seated comfortably, the way she’d liked most when she’d been alive — her back reclined slightly, her legs folded under her. The coldness of her love’s skin burned her fingers.

Omilla had cut small pieces off the Tatama mushrooms before brewing the ceremonial drink. She was now carefully placing them under Sailiya’s eyelids, inside her mouth and in her navel. The spores would fall on her body, and she would become food for Tatama. The herbs in her hair and the balm on her body would prevent predators and carrion eaters from digging her out. An animal could only eat a member of the tribe if it killed them, otherwise, they belonged to Tatama and became part of the soil, making sure the forest and future generations could thrive on the land long after they were gone. Feeding on Sailiya’s body, the mushroom would grow strong enough to enter the tree and form a symbiosis with it, and in a distant future, caps would grow on the trunk, and life would go on.

Balika noted the wetness of her cheeks while throwing handfuls of soil on Sailiya’s body as if she were a detached observer. She was only vaguely aware of the others next to her, doing the same. The woman she loved had been reduced to mushroom food. That was the natural cycle of life. Why did it feel so wrong? As if a part of her had been buried with Sailiya.

***

Rhythmic beating of drums accompanied by melodic singing pulled Balika out of nothingness. She found herself sitting alone, leaning against Sailiya’s tree. Night had already fallen, wrapping her in cooler air. The stars blinked at her from the sky, and the green moon was rising over the forest. She didn’t remember when everyone else had left and didn’t know how long she’d been here. The music meant the ceremony was beginning, and Balika dragged herself to the communal fire pit, where the majority of the tribe had already gathered.

The two shamans — Omilla and Tiabu — were by the fire, watching over the Tatama brew. Blue steam rose from the pot, signifying it was almost ready. The rest of the tribe sat in circles around them, playing their instruments, clapping their hands, stomping, humming, and singing. Drums, rattles, and singing stones created the beating heart of the music, a powerful rhythm reverberating in Balika’s bones. The melody of flutes and string bows was wrapped around it, filling spaces in between the beats, growing like a living body of the song, animating its veins with rushing blood. Voices merged with the music, breaking through in sudden sounds and melting back in like gusts of wind in the forest. Everyone was already attuned to each other, swaying in a state of trance.

Balika had always loved ceremonies because they made her feel like she belonged. She’d lost herself in music-making, becoming a part of the tribe for a little while. She didn’t know if she could do it now. She found a place in the outer circle and closed her eyes, allowing her heartbeat and breathing to synchronise with the music, waiting for its magic to revive her so that she could join in, but she was empty. The melody flowed around her, unable to break through her walls. It made her feel even lonelier.

She reached for the flute in her pouch, and her fingers brushed against Sailiya’s cone. Silent tears fell onto her hand holding the flute. She couldn’t feel the power of the nati-ma tree calling for her like it usually did. The flute was mute and lifeless. She looked at the light, hollow wood, feeling nothing at all. If she couldn’t have her music, what was left for her?

Excited yelps rose from the inner circles, spreading outward like ripples on water. The colour of the steam changed from blue to red, which meant the brew was ready. Something tapped Balika’s chest from the nothingness. It was the calling of Tatama that reached her through the fog of pain.

The shamans took the pot off the fire and poured it into the ceremonial stone bowl with trees and mushrooms carved on it, where it would cool. Pungent scent wafted through the air, reaching Balika’s nostrils. It was astonishing how different it was each time. Now, she smelled soil and bitterness, rotten leaves and fungus, rain and cold.

The bowl was passed around, allowing everyone to drink as much as they needed. Balika took three sips — a high dose. She needed to be in full communion with Tatama if she was going to get through it. The sharp taste made her eyes water. It was sour, bitter, and biting; so rich that it stayed in her mouth long after she swallowed, making her tongue tingle.

When the bowl returned to the shamans, they traditionally finished the drink, leaving a few drops for Sailiya’s baby. Kaisha brought her to the fire, and they smeared a bit of the brew on her stomach and thin hair. She started crying, so Kaisha hugged and rocked her.

Everyone was swaying and singing, clapping and stomping, playing their instruments and humming. Those who had their hands free lifted them in the air and put them on the shoulders of the people in front of them.

As the first warm wave rolled through her body, Balika relaxed and accepted her grief. She was still mute, but she swayed with the others, attuned to the rhythm of the tribe. As more time passed, her sense of self and boundaries started dissolving. She was entering a realm where Tatama resided and where she wasn’t a separate being anymore. The cycle of life became apparent. She’d come from the ground, and into the ground she’d return, joining Tatama’s domain. The forest was the heart of the planet, and the Maotto were its beating pulse, within which she was but a speck.

Balika felt loved, as if she were held in her mother’s tender embrace. She’d never known her parents, but Ainorra — the planet — was the mother of them all, and she was stroking Balika’s back with blades of grass, kissing her cheeks with a cool breeze, and singing to her through the birds. Loneliness didn’t exist in this realm. The word was meaningless.

The experience reminded her of the grander scale of things as if unwinding her, opening her to truths that she kept forgetting while lost in the