In the Willow Woods
Oikoni Stone
Anastasia Rabiyah
Published by Purple Sword Publications, LLC at Smashwords
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
IN THE WILLOW WOODS: OIKONI STONE
Copyright © 2011 ANASTASIA RABIYAH
ISBN 978-1-61292-010-8
Cover Art Designed By Dawné Dominique
Edited By Stephanie Taylor
Dedicated to Dawne’ Dominique for her encouragement, the Erotica Harem and The Novel Workshop at Writing.com, and to anyone who seeks true love when it is forbidden to them.
About Oikoni Stone
Oikoni Stone was the first erotic romance I ever wrote, hence it’s sweet, romantic nature. Set in a fantasy world where dryads wander a remote, wild willow woods, and the daughter of a naiad steals a half breed dryad’s heart, it is a love story blended with myth and hints of our past. Much of Nainie’s village is based on the early American tribal people, as is the case of the longhouses. The tradition of the younger members of the clan going out into the wilds to choose mates is particular to the South American tribal people, and this occurs to current day in villages there. The people of StoneCircle are very loosely based on a Viking like culture that arrived at and conquered a new world. Nainie’s markings, the tattoos on his upper arms, are a rite of passage indicating adulthood. The idea came from the Māori people of New Zealand whose culture prescribes to the same rite even to this day—they also tattoo their faces.
The inspiration for this story came to me after reading Penina Keen Spinka’s Picture Maker and Dream Weaver, both historical fiction based heavily on early American Indian culture.
Also, many thanks to Brandon Sanderson for his unusual fantasy world in Elantris. His use of language in the culture of the city inspired me to do the same with the names and words used by the people of StoneCircle.
Chapter One
The River Woman
Nainie crossed his hands in his lap and leaned forward, watching the mysterious woman from his vantage, hidden among the draping branches of a willow. Sea green leaves caressed his bare arms and tickled his back. His thick strands of looping black hair waved in the light breeze, forcing him to brush aside tendrils that fell in his eyes and shrouded his view.
He dropped his hand and squinted at her pale brilliance. The woman wore white, a swathe of pale cotton fabric that hugged her curves and covered her so much that it offered her modesty—a rare thing in his clan. Every morning he ran from his village in the willow woods and climbed this same tree, his bare feet gripping the gnarled trunk and his fingers lodging in each available crevice until he reached this same lookout. I wish I knew her name. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth.
She knelt beside the river, her eyes downcast and her honey-colored hair drifting just as unruly in the breeze as his. The woman pulled the leather strap from her shoulder and dipped her head beneath it in order to retrieve the clay jug balanced on her back. The ripples across the river moved toward her rather than away, a small detail that entranced him.
Nainie puckered his lips in a wind whisper when the side of her fabric wrap fell off her left shoulder, revealing more of her fair skin and the top of her small, round breast. She dipped the jug into the water and waited. The water filled fast. After pulling the jug free, she wiped the lip with delicate fingers. The woman adjusted her clothing, hiding her body, and he pouted at the loss of such a tempting view.
Beyond the white plastered wall, her clan called to her in feminine voices and Nainie sighed, disappointed. She would go, as she always did, and he’d not see her until the following morning.
He swung his bare feet in mid-air, waiting for her to hurry along the stone-lined path. Her clan is unusual, he decided. People should live in the open, not behind rocks.
When she disappeared beyond the high berry bushes, he slid forward and dropped to the ground, landing with ease on the thick blanket of leaves covering the willow wood floor. The tassels on the edges of his loincloth tickled his legs. He glanced over his shoulder. The stone path the woman took wound away from the river’s edge, and he could see the smooth prints her sandaled feet left behind. “Strange,” he whispered. “If I separated my skin from the earth, how would I know what lay beneath me?”
He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair. “Tomorrow,” he said to the breeze. He knew he wouldn’t approach the woman. The thought always dwindled and vanished when he returned home to his own clan. He twisted his arms, stretching his waist before he burst into a steady run.
Willow branches whipped past him like leaf-crusted snakes. He dodged them, his bare feet soundless over the ground. Chasing his shadow all the way home came as second nature just as his ability to blend with and become a creature of shadows. Nainie was not like the others in his clan; he couldn’t shift into the shape of trees although he could hear their voices on the winds. He longed to find a woman like him, one who stood apart as he did.
Soon he smelled the single fire in the bointpit. He slowed and inhaled the scents of his clan, tanned leathers, roasting meat, and the sweet perfume of the maidens who wove jaiga flowers into their hair. Nainie stopped at the edge of the village.
Three longhouses made of wood and mud mixed with fallen leaves stood around the bointpit. In time, he knew he would stand there and take his first wife. He blushed at the thought and wondered who his father would choose. I want the river girl, he thought. His body burned at the thought of her. He clenched his fists and frowned. What would it be like to taste her lips? To touch her skin?
Moyavi came bounding from the hollow of her family’s longhouse entry, canes balanced on her straight shoulders. Her leather daingee barely hid the ample rounding of her breasts, and he soon forgot the river woman.
“Nainie!” she called, her sideways grin lighting her round, dark face. “Where have you been?” She slowed her pace, and he knew she did so for his benefit. Moyavi always taunted him.
He studied her swagger, his roving gaze revealing his thoughts. Nainie clasped his hands and tried to keep his eyes on hers when she reached him. “I was walking by the river.”
“Not by the stone builders?” Her smile faded. She shook her head, the wood beads in her braids tapping a rhythm. “You know if your father finds out—”
“I was by the river looking for fish.” He smirked and tried to walk past her.
Moyavi hooked her finger in the strap that held his loincloth on and tugged him back.
“Ayee, you have no patience.” He growled. “If that’s what you want, wait until after nightfall. I’ll make you scream again.”
“You’re remembering the sound of your own voice,” she chided. Her fingers slid to the front of his leathers, and she teased him with a gentle tickle. “I did not scream for you.”
“Then it must have been your sister.” He plucked her fingers away, his body betraying his desire for her beneath his scant covering, and hurried on. He knew if he didn’t, she’d lure him into the ash trees and have her way with him. This time, Moyavi would do it in the daylight. The thought followed him along the worn trench of a path to his father’s longhouse. He stood outside the entry, staring up at the leaf thatch.
“Come in here, Seedling,” his father called.
Closing his eyes, Nainie climbed the steps and moved into the dim shelter. His father lay on a woven hammock, swinging lazily above the planked floor. “Is Moyavi your choice?” He breathed through dry lips, the whites of his black eyes flashing over his son. “Or do you want Soshene?”
“Neither, Father,” he answered, lowering his gaze to the older man’s leathery ankle.
“Moyavi brags about you too much. She’ll be full with your child if she gets her way. You should be careful.” His gnarled brown toes twitched in annoyance.
Nainie lowered his gaze further to the empty wooden plate beneath his father’s hammock. “I do not enter her, if that’s what you fear.” The heat of embarrassment burned his cheeks.
“Your children will belong to this house, not Moyavi’s, unless you marry her.” His father shifted his slight weight, and the hammock’s bindings strained. “She is a frivolous thing given to chasing any man that will pull down his leathers for her. You are only a game to her.”
Nainie pursed his lips and remained silent. Influencing his father’s choice for a bride was not permitted. He knew better than to try. I want the river woman, he decided. And I will have her.
“Go and fetch Iaebo. Tell her I need more oil rubbed into my skin.” His father’s nails dragged across his back with delicate scraping sounds.
He looked up in time to see his father flick his wrist, dismissing him. Nainie turned on his heels and hurried back out into the daylight, glad to be free of the longhouse. The forest and its air, free of the scents of sweat and soured leathers, suited him.
He passed a line of young women grating erachni into flour and dipped into Iaebo’s leather-covered hut, remembering when he’d lain inside for hours enduring the marking rite. Pelts clung to woven straps from the jagged ceiling. Gourds with wood stoppers lined the middle wall, some clattering against each other when the wrinkled seer stood up from her mat.
“What is it, Nainie?” she asked in a crackling voice.
“Father wants you.” He looked away from her, for her bad eye seemed to see straight through him, and he didn’t want anyone in his clan to know his secret thoughts about the river woman. “He wants you to rub more oils into his back.”
Iaebo’s long, dyed leathers rustled as she moved. He heard her pulling a gourd free from its strappings before she left him. Nainie looked down at her woven mat. Squared pieces of bark, painted in berry juice with symbols, lay strewn across the edge. She’s predicting again. A cold wave of dread passed through him. The wood card closest to the symbol of his father’s house bore a white splotch, a design he’d never seen before.
Nainie backed out of the hut and made the symbol of protection across his forehead, a swipe of his first three fingers from left temple to right. He rushed out of the village and back into the trees, longing for freedom from the reach of his father’s control. He walked along the nettle patch, careful not to step too close. The willows thinned as he passed three low hills. He started to hum when he saw the gathering of ash trees. Pausing, he plucked a strand of long grass from the clearing and chewed its sweet end.
The ash clearing did not sing like the willow woods. The trees made noises in the wind, but they sounded more like women whispering secrets beside a dying fire. He went to the center of the small clearing and lay down in the long grass to stare at the clouds. In each, he saw the fabric the river woman wore and imagined grasping the lengths gathered at her shoulders before tugging them away. I wonder if her body is the same as my clan women’s.
He closed his eyes and breathed deep the scent of the earth so close to him. His hand trailed over his chest and the patch of curly hairs sprouting in its midst.
“Tomorrow.” He moaned. “I will come down from the tree and speak to her.”
Chapter Two
Tiir
Tiir slid off her mat and rolled it up. She ran a comb through her hair, hating the golden color of it, but her master, Oden, did not allow her to dye it. Months ago she did, and for a day she went about with the black tresses that matched the other women living in StoneCircle, but Oden caught her and had Iltha bleach the dye out. Tiir rubbed her bare upper arms, shivering in the cold air of the early morning as much as the bitter memory. Such moments made her sure that she didn’t belong here, or anywhere else for that matter.
She paused to glance out the squared opening. The sun still lingered behind the hills, and the Gathering Place outside her window remained silent. Pulling up her white wrap, she dressed and made ready to start the day’s chores.
She left the small chamber Oden allotted her and lifted up the clay jug, swinging it over her back. Her leather sandals tapped while she moved down the winding steps to the Gathering Place. She stopped there and breathed deep, thankful for another day. After adjusting the strap, she balanced the empty jug’s weight for the walk to the river.
Oden and Iltha snored as Tiir walked softly past her Master’s window. She bowed her head in case, by some misfortune, he might wake and see her there. Lately, his attentions were unwarranted, and she wanted to become invisible from the brusque man. His dry fingers always chafed her skin when he grasped her wrist or chin to study her face. She feared he would turn his favor on her like he did to all the others who slept in the lower rooms.
Tiir moved faster once she’d left the stone wall. Ravens cawed at her approach, and she skipped down the stone-lined path, passing the berry bushes. At the edge of the Gothin mound, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. No one follows me, so why do I always feel like someone is watching me here?
Tiir closed her eyes, gathering her courage. She reached out with her mind and felt no threat. Ravens called to her from the treetops and she shook her head. “Go away,” she told them and carried on down the path to the river’s edge.
She’d come earlier than usual and slung the jug from her back to fill it right away. After she wiped the lip of the jug, she set it in the long grass. Her morning chore half done with time to spare, Tiir held out her arms and moved to a cleared area to spin like she used to when she was a little girl. Closing her eyes, she turned in circles, the fabric that shrouded her legs rising in the air and the river singing in its whispery voice.
I remember you, Mama. Oden had come and taken her from her parents on a day such as this, an early morning when ravens cawed and a crisp chill hung in the air. She spun around faster.
In the willow wood across the river, a low whistle carried on the breeze. Dizzy, she stopped and tried to focus on where the mysterious noise came from. The branches shifted in the wind like long, green-haired arms, hiding their trees’ trunks. She giggled, dismissing her wariness and tumbled to the ground. Overcome by spinning too fast, she sat there, her body swaying, and her gaze blurred.
She heard a soft crunch. Tiir frowned. Something moved behind the willow branches. Dark shadows shivered and danced beneath the trees. She blinked to clear her vision for surely her dizziness had caused the change of light. It couldn’t be real.
A single shadow came forward. The gray of it took on color and shape until it looked like a young man with dark skin and markings inked up and down his arms. He wore a long, leather loincloth painted with red symbols and tasseled at the ends. His broad chest and chiseled features were appealing. Unruly, black hair moved in the breeze and reached far past the stranger’s shoulders. Thick eyebrows framed his piercing, amber eyes.
The man came forward, his bare feet meeting the river’s edge. Tiir looked down at the sienna-colored pigment washing from his ankles through the water. His whole body was caked with a fine dusting of powder, and for a fleeting moment, she imagined him standing naked, rubbing the dye into his skin. It must have taken a long time to paint himself.
He stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and returned his gaze to her. “I’m Nainie.”
Tiir swallowed her fear and stood up. She stepped sideways to the water jug.
He hurried through the water, rushing toward her. He sucked his full lower lip into his mouth, and worry lines appeared on his forehead. His bare feet squelched in the mud before he emerged on her side of the river. She looked down and noticed how brown his skin appeared — exactly the opposite of hers. Water glistened on his legs.
He kept moving toward her and she knew she should run, but she remained still, her wide-eyed gaze taking in the strangeness of the forest dweller. He stopped a pace in front of her and smiled.
She pursed her lips and bent to pick up her water jug. Nainie moved to help her. Their hands met for an instant. Heat ran up through her fingers and arms. She let go of the clay handles. The jug teetered in the stranger’s grip and crashed against the earth, bursting into five pieces. Water spilled over her sandals and soaked into the ground.
“Aick!” she cursed. “Oden will beat me for this!” She reached up with both hands to hold her temples in despair.
“I’ll bring you another jug,” he offered. “It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to startle you. I only wanted to help.”
She groaned as she turned to go. Just as she took a step, he caught her wrist and tugged her back. “Wait. What is your name?”
His grip made the fire burn through her again, hotter now. She frowned. Oden grabbed her arm like that all the time, but she never felt anything but pain. “Go away,” she grumbled at him. “I have to get another jug before they wake up.” She raised her hand to slap away his hand but stopped, struck by his intense eyes. He traced her wrist with his thumb for a moment before his hand slid down to her fingers. They curled into hers and stayed there.
Tiir held her breath as Nainie took the last step that separated them. His chest brushed against hers. Her nipples hardened as if a cold wind seared through the fabric. His other hand tenderly cupped her cheek.
“Please,” he murmured, his lips hovering close to hers. “Your name.”
“Tiir,” she said.
His fingers moved past her ear and into her hair. He clutched the back of her head in a gentle hold before he leaned forward. Nainie’s warm body pressed against hers. Every hard muscle of his chest, even the bulge in his loincloth, crushed against her shape. She let out a deep sigh. He felt good, but she shouldn’t be so close to him. “I have to go back.”
“I wish you would stay.”
His gaze stayed on her mouth, and the realization of what he wanted excited her. She closed her eyes, leaning into him, frightened and yet tempted by his closeness. Her stomach tingled. Wetness crept between her legs.
His lips parted against hers and his breath, scented like vanilla and peppermint leaves, made her want to taste him. She ran her tongue over his, relishing the ripples of heat caressing her skin as her body went numb. When he moaned in her mouth, she balked, terrified at the ease of the encounter. “I have to go,” she repeated, out of breath.
His hands dropped and she took three steps backward, unable to look away from his face. His wide eyes watched her. A raven cawed nearby. Tiir turned to run, her sandals gouging the soft earth along the stone-lined path. She raced past the berry bushes and the Gothin mound. She ran through the entrance in the stone wall and took the steps two at a time, worried that Oden might be awake. When she passed her master’s squared home, a raspy voice made her skin prickle.
“What happened to you, girl?” Iltha asked.
Tiir clenched her fists to hide her trembling fingers. She turned to face the matron.
Iltha sat at the stone table outside her home’s entry, a clay cup of steaming hookla in her hands. She blew on the hot liquid and sipped, her green eyes glittering in her round face and fixed on Tiir’s wrap.
Taking the hint, Tiir looked down and noticed the pigment rubbed into the front of her white cotton covering. She knew she was in trouble.
“Where is the morning water?” Iltha grumbled. “Oden will want to wash up before he goes to the quarry.” The harsh matron took another sip of her drink.
Tiir tried to steady her breathing and focus on Iltha’s blue-black hair. She knew if she looked her mistress in the eyes that she’d not be able to speak. “I…fell,” she lied. “My water jug smashed by the bank and I…” She looked down, the heat of Nainie’s closeness still lingering in her mind.
“Clumsy girl! Get on with you. Fetch another and don’t change your wraps until you get back. I don’t want you ruining a second set.”
Tiir bowed and turned to run the rest of the way to her chamber. She heaved up a jug from the long line that sat by her entryway and closed her eyes, trying to calm down. Satisfied, she retraced her steps, passing Iltha as fast as she could.
The matron eyed her, taking a long draught from her mug. Iltha shook her head with disdain.
Tiir hurried her pace, anxious to get back to the river. At the opening in the stone wall, she looked for the ravens, but the ominous birds must have moved on. She rushed along the stone path, not bothering to stop at the mound. The berry bushes slapped at her arm, but she ignored them. When she halted at the riverbank, she found the pieces of her broken water jug just as she’d left them.
Nainie was gone. His large footprints led back to the river. She searched the opposite bank. The willow branches swayed, but no shadowy figure emerged. With a sigh, she knelt to fill her jug.
“I wish he’d come back.”
Chapter Three
Moyavi
That night, Nainie crept away from the high fire in the bointpit. His father did not come out of the longhouse after the evening meal, so he felt safe to wander in the darkness, free of the responsibility of arranged marriages and future clan offspring. The shadows absorbed and embraced him, for he was very much a part of their kind.
The blue-black night sky glittered with a mass of stars. He wanted to lie under the ash trees, studying those twinkling lights. Then I will fall asleep and dream of Tiir. Just the thought of the river woman made his pulse quicken and blood rush in his ears.
He passed the last of the three hills and entered the clearing. Crickets sang in the high grass. He sank down at the edge of the trees and lay on his back, a smile spreading across his full lips. “I shouldn’t have kissed her. What does she think of me?”
The wind swept through the ash trees, the leaves whispering their usual secrets. The long grass rattled as it swayed. He heard someone approaching and shook his head, a smile parting his lips. “Moyavi!”
She laughed like a chittering squirrel. “Did you think you could hide from me? Night is here. I want to find out which of us will scream first.”
Nainie held still, a game he played to see how long it would take her to find him. When he said nothing more, he sensed her frustration. My father is right. There is no other reason she chases after me except for the prospect of a house-free child to keep for her own. She has always been far too independent.
Her light steps padded beside him. “Nainie?” she cooed. “Why do you hide from me? It’s getting cold.”
He sighed.
She turned her head in his direction. Like a wild cat, she pounced on top of him, pressing her body tight against his. Her beaded braids tickled his bare chest.
“Ayee! You found me!” He chuckled.
Not one to waste time, she reached down to tug at the beaded leather strap on his loincloth. “Do you want me?” she asked, her face just a breath away from his.
He closed his eyes, imagining she was the river woman, full of lust for him, that Tiir’s fingers and not Moyavi’s, traced the inside of his leg. Her hand felt hot on his skin. She rolled her fingers over his balls. He sucked in a heavy breath. “Slow down.”
“Do you want me, Nainie?” she repeated, her voice husky. “Say it.”
He imagined the river woman’s hand grasping his growing hardness. Moyavi’s mouth pressed against his neck, and he writhed in ecstasy. He reached over her back to grip her leather daingee, tugging at the lacework. She always wore it loose. The straps came free, and he eased the leather down, exposing her heavy breasts. Hard nipples rubbed across his skin. She drew her fingers up and down his cock, teasing.
“Say you want me. Tell me you want to feel yourself inside me, to press yourself deep and make me cry out.” She squeezed hard and he winced.
His mind left Tiir. She seemed so innocent compared to this clanswoman. Moyavi sucked at Nainie’s earlobe, moaning low in her throat. The pad of her thumb traced the tip of his erection. He held his breath.
“Moyavi,” he sighed out. “What do you want from me?” The night did not feel cold anymore. She massaged his cock, pressing her leather-clad lower half against his thigh.
“I want to feel you thrusting between my legs…” She gasped in his ear and squeezed again, drawing out a low cry from his gut. “I want to clutch your bottom and pull you in with each…” Her words trailed off. She whimpered. Moyavi embraced his thigh with her firm legs, crushing her covered womanhood against him in tormented thrusts.
Nainie couldn’t hold back any longer. He relented to the wave of pleasure that threatened. Experienced, she held his cock tight and squeezed it with each pulsing throb while his body released, spilling his seed. He bit his lip to avoid screaming.
Moyavi slammed her hips toward him. She howled for both of them, shuddering as if her orgasm caused suffering. He held still until her voice died out, and she nestled against him.
They clutched each other in silence. He stroked her cheek while he watched the stars. The wind whistled through the trees, swaying branches over their tryst. Long grass caressed his naked, sated body. The spicy scent of cinnamon clung to her steadying breath. Moyavi’s skin felt smooth and slick from lavender oil. “You screamed,” he announced with a smug grin. “I told you.”
She groaned, irritated. “I did not. You imagined it.” She traced the hairs on his chest, her solemn gaze fixed on his face. “What are you thinking, Nainie? You’re always too quiet, and you run away so often.”
“I’m thinking that you frighten me,” he said, realizing the truth in his words.
“Why don’t you come between my legs? Don’t you want to know what it feels like?”
He thought of his father’s warning. “You are not my wife, Moyavi. I don’t want to give you a child unless you’re bound to me.”
“And I don’t want to be bound to any man. Your father knows that. It’s why he will not choose me when your time comes at the bointpit.” She reached down, sliding her daingee off completely. The curly hairs between her legs touched his thigh. “Do you want to be bound to only one woman? Or will you take a second wife, even a third?”
Sighing, he turned away from her.
She kissed his back and pressed her body against his.
“I don’t know. The world feels so open when I’m away from our village. I want to walk sometimes and keep going, following the sun. Do you ever feel like that?”
Moyavi went silent, contemplating her answer. She ran her fingers over his waist. “That’s crazy. What about your father? Your house? You can’t run away. Besides, you of all the clan, have no business following the sun. The moon, maybe.” She kissed his neck just above where his thick hair lay. “I will tell you what I desire,” she said devilishly. “I want two husbands, maybe three.”
He laughed. “Well, if the men can do such, why can’t the women? It does not seem fair.”