The Nectar Fields
Author
Johnathon Major
Author Bio
Johnathon Major was raised in Dorset, growing up with his brother and two sisters on England’s historic south coast. It was here that Johnathon first developed a fascination with storytelling. Inspired by the authors and books he was surrounded with, he begun to write stories of his own from a young age – a passion that has continued to this day.
Pursuing his interests, Johnathon moved to London to study at Royal Holloway University, where he specialised in creative writing. During his time there, he competed in several prestigious writing competitions, gaining both national and international praise and recognition.
Following his graduation, Johnathon went on to work for Paramount Pictures, Talkback Thames TV and the Walt Disney Company, on projects that include the recently released World War Z and Maleficent.
Today Johnathon still lives in London and spends most of his time writing. He is captured by stories that are both impactful and fantastical. Writing that moves you, and stays with you long after you’ve finished reading inspires him most, with these elements forming core features in his own work.
The Nectar Fields is Johnathon’s debut novella, exploring the terrors of slavery set in the backdrop of a beautifully imagined world full of unimaginable creatures.
Description
Butterflies have been brought from all over the world to the nectar plantations of the Southwest Plaines. There, under the relentless watch of the bees, they are worked until they die or, worse, get sent to the hive.
The Nectar Fields is an allegorical novella, by Johnathon Major, exploring the traumatic and surprising effects of slavery on individual lives, told through the narrative of the butterflies on Mister Bairon’s farm in the year that changed everything.
During a parched summer harvest, an unexpected visit from the depraved socialite Mister Bradford plunges the farm into new depths of darkness.
Old Elsie, the farm’s longest serving resident, strives to keep hope alive in her fellow butterflies, in spite of the increasingly terrible cruelties being inflicted upon them. Though such cruelties were nothing compared to the threat posed by Mister Bradford’s demands that one of them be sent to the hive, in order to replace the workers who were killed in a catastrophic honey spill.
Inspired by Old Elsie’s words, Remee, the farm’s most able worker, steals away to marry Orianna, a butterfly prized for her beauty and kept on the farm for Mister Bairon’s personal pleasures. And whilst George, a graying mute, warns Remee of the torture he will inflict upon himself by loving another, a pain George knows all too well, Remee cannot be shook from his stubborn determination.
Meanwhile, Cherry, a sprightly soul heartbroken by Remee’s union with Orianna, turns her attention to gaining the interest of Mister Bradford. In her desperate gambit to free herself from her misery, she stands to gain more than she bargained for.
The winter brings with it change and a tragic death on the farm sees Remee resolve to free Orianna from the lust of the bees, forever. Convincing Jasper, Mister Bairon’s gentle-natured son, to aid him, he embarks on a daring rescue mission that will lead to freedom in the north.
In the midst of twisted seductions, savage tempers and the choking heat, the butterflies find themselves subjected to formidable challenges and impossible choices, through which they will all discover for themselves how deadly having hope can be.
Book excerpt
“What’s happened?” Remee asked again, panic rising in his voice.
“It’s Cherry, child. She took off with Mister Bradford this mornin’ and we ain’t seen her since.”
A surge of terror pulsed through Remee. Taking Old Elsie’s free hand, he hurried her back into the bunk hut to spare her wings from the downpour.
George joined them inside, closing the door.
“Did they say where they were going?” Remee demanded.
“The woods, that’s all they said, child.”
The tremble in Old Elsie’s voice was unnerving, never had Remee seen fear in her like this. He snatched up an empty nectar jar, poured in half the oil from Old Elsie’s lantern, lit a thread he had torn from the sack across his wings and stuck it in.
“Which way?” he demanded.
Old Elsie stared at him, in awe of his bravery. “They took off through the birches, child. Straight through the crescent.”
Remee grabbed the lantern he had just made and headed for the door.
“Mister Bairon will be comin’ soon to lock the door,” Old Elsie cautioned. “Who knows what he’ll do if he finds you missin’ too? Wait ‘til he’s gone, child, and then sneak out through the boards.”
“We can’t wait Ol’ Elsie.”
Remee took a moment to ensure the sack across his wings covered them fully. When he turned back to the door George was at his side, his own sack fastened around his neck. Before Remee could reach for the handle, the door flew open and Cherry frolicked in from the rain. “Evenin’ all,” she sang.
“Cherry!” Old Elsie shrieked, flying across the room and snatching her up. “We thought somethin’ awful had been done to you.”
“Ol’ Elsie, please, my coat.” Cherry wriggled from Old Elsie’s grip. The others watched as she smoothed down the edges of a navy blue wing coat draped over her shoulders.
“Where did you get that, child?”
“Mister Bradford, of course. Ain’t it pretty?”
“It sure is,” Old Elsie replied, enthusiasm absent from her voice.
“It started rainin’ and you can’t be wanderin’ about the market with your wings hangin’ out.”
“Mister Bradford took you to the town?” Old Elsie asked.
“And the mills and the river parlour, and tonight my nest.”
“Your nest, child?”
A grin erupted across Cherry’s face. She rushed to Old Elsie, clasping both her hands. “Oh Ol’ Elsie. The most wonderful thing’s happened. Mister Bradford’s asked me to go with him to the hive. He said I’m to be a lady of leisure. He said I’ll have my own nest an’ everythin’. Finally, all that hopin’s paid off!’”
The colour drained from Old Elsie’s face. “And what did Mister Bairon say about this?”
“He’s given me his blessin’! Well, at least he will do. Mister Bradford’s talkin’ to him right this second. You ever notice how Mister Bairon wriggles like a worm every time Mister Bradford’s around?” Cherry laughed.
Old Elsie sank down on her bunk.
“Oh, don’t worry!” Cherry hurried to her side. “You can keep what you want from my things. I won’t be needin’ any of it.”
“You can’t go with him, Cherry,” came Remee’s voice from across the hut.
Cherry spun to face the grave-faced butterfly.
“Mister Bradford ain’t a good man,” Remee said, fighting to sound calm. “He won’t treat you right.”
“Nonsense. Mister Bradford’s been nothin’ but gentle an’ sweet. He’s promised to love me.” She pulled her coat closed and marched for the door.
Remee grabbed her arm. “Cherry, listen to me.”
She yanked her hand back, trying to rip free. “No! You’re just jealous ‘cos I’ve found my happiness whilst the most lovin’ your wife gets is under the weight of another man.”
Remee’s fingers fell limp around her wrist.
“Oh Cherry,” Old Elsie breathed, stunned.
“Miss Cherry?” Mister Bradford’s voice called, rich with charm, across the field outside.
Cherry gave Remee a final glance. “I’m sorry you didn’t get your happy endin’,” she said, “but you ain’t gonna ruin mine.”
