Origin (38 page)

Ami looks around. “Where is Eio?”

“He’s coming. He got hurt, but he’ll be okay.”
He better be okay or I’ll kill him.
“Where’s Achiri and Kapukiri?”

She leads me to them. The Ai’oans greet me as I pass them, but they don’t stop making their preparations. Their faces are grim and angry and smeared with red paint. I have never seen them like this. I see none of their usual tranquility and acceptance. They remind me of Uncle Will’s ants: relentless, wild, and deadly.

“Achiri!” When I see the headwoman, I run to her. She is painting Luri’s face with frightening jagged lines of paint as red as blood. I call out to her in Ai’oan. “Achiri, you must listen to me!”

She doesn’t stop painting, but asks, “What is it, Pia bird? Where is the Farwalker?”

“He’s hurt. He’s back in the jungle. Can you send someone to find him?”

Achiri nods and snaps at several of the men, yelling for them to go search.

I continue, “He sent me ahead to tell you—you can’t attack Little Cam!”

She inspects her handiwork, grunting in satisfaction “Go, Luri.” Luri trots off after giving me a fierce smile. Achiri wipes her hands on her skirt and turns to me. “What is this now? First Ami comes to us, speaking of evil men who try to kill her, and you help her escape. Then Eio runs off to find you, and he does not return. Now here you are, telling us we should not defend ourselves against the ones who prey on our children?” She looks down at Ami and scowls. “Even if those children are stupid enough to wander off by themselves!”

Ami scowls back. “I had to give Pia her necklace back!”

“Silly girl,” Achiri snaps. “And so you go alone into the jungle? Tsk.” She looks up at me again. “Tell me, Pia bird, should we lay ourselves down at these foreigners’ feet to be slaughtered?”

Intimidated by her strength—and by the angry red slashes painted across her face—I step back. “No! Of course not! Of all people,
I
know why you should fight! But they have guns, Achiri, and many Ai’oans will die if you face them like this.”

She looks doubtful, and suddenly Burako appears at my right, speaking in Ai’oan. “We will fight! Do not listen to the foreigner girl. Look what trouble she has brought us!”

“Shut up, Burako!” Achiri barks. “Kapukiri! Come!”

The medicine man hobbles over. He alone does not wear face paint. Achiri points at me. “Pia tells us we should not fight. Burako says we should. Eio Farwalker has not returned yet.” She throws up her hands. “Fight or do not fight? There are too many voices and too many fingers pointing in different directions! Tell me, Kapukiri, have you seen the way we should take?”

Kapukiri blinks owlishly at her, then looks around. The Ai’oans, aware now of the argument, fall silent and gather close to hear what their leader will say. Ami presses close to me, holding my hand in both of hers.

“I have seen the mark of jaguar, mantis, and moon,” Kapukiri says at last, “in the eyes of the daughter of Miua. She who walks with the jaguar as her guardian and who cannot fall to spear or arrow, she has been sent to guide us.”

The Ai’oans murmur in agreement, and only Burako scowls.

Kapukiri extends a gnarled hand toward me. “Speak, Undying One, and we shall listen.”

He steps back, and I find myself ringed by expectant Ai’oans. Speechless at first, it takes Ami’s steady gaze, so hopeful and confident in me, to bring the words out.

“Ai’oa, I am, as you say, a
karaíba
, a foreigner. But you know the story of the Kaluakoa. You know that Undying Ones are only born if many die before them. This was true for the Kaluakoa, and it is true for me.” I close my eyes and draw a deep breath, wishing Eio were here, trying not to think of Uncle Antonio falling to the ground. If I can only hold myself together for a few more minutes…“I have learned today that many did die—and that they were of your blood. The
scientists who created me used lies to deceive your people, and they used elysia—
yresa
—to…to kill them. Their blood was taken and passed on, and now it flows in me.” I hold up my arms, wrists out, as murmurs ripple through the villagers. “I am a foreigner, but my blood is Ai’oan, and this is a terrible, terrible evil. I cannot give you back your dead, but I can try to stop you from adding to their number. Please, do not attack Little Cam. The scientists have guns, and though I know you are all brave and true, your arrows are no match for them. I agree with you; the foreigners must leave. You must take back your jungle. But this is not the way.”

“What, then?” asks Achiri.

“Come with me to where the
yresa
grows.” The idea forms as I speak it, and I know it’s the only thing we can do. “If we destroy the flowers, we destroy the foreigners’ reason for being here. If the
yresa
is gone, the scientists will leave.”

I step back to show that I am done speaking. They begin whispering, and the whispers grow louder and louder until Burako has to bellow to make them fall silent again.

“I do not like what the Undying One has said,” he announces, and my heart starts to fall. “But her words are true.”

I lift my chin hopefully. He nods and gives me a steady look. “We will go to the
yresa
, and we will destroy it all. No more shall die today.”

Ami squeezes my hand and gives a squeal of glee.

I want to feel her joy, and I
am
glad the Ai’oans listened to me. But at that moment all I want is Eio and to weep on his shoulder.

It’s approaching evening when we finally reach Falk’s Glen. There are five guards here; perhaps Paolo anticipates us. But he hasn’t anticipated an entire tribe of Ai’oans. Paralyzing them with curare before they even see us is child’s play to these hunters of the jungle.

Then our real work begins. The women empty their baskets of weapons, and we fill them with flowers.

It’s strangely difficult for me to do it, even knowing what it costs for the flowers to be of any use. They are stained with the blood of dozens; but they are still tied to my very existence. We share a little DNA, these flowers and I. But I must be merciless. Every last flower must go.

The baskets are soon overflowing, so people begin piling up armfuls. We use shirts and leaves to carry them; some women even thread them in their hair. Purple and gold orchids are turned into garments for the Ai’oa; they are covered in the same flowers that stole the lives of so many of their people.

Luri finds me and gives me a long hug. “You must not bear the burden of another’s evil deeds, Pia. It is not your fault. We do not blame you.”

I pull away from her. “If it wasn’t for me, Luri—”

“If it wasn’t you,” she says calmly, “it would have been someone else. And who can say? If it had been someone else, perhaps they would not have had such a gentle heart as you do. Perhaps it would have been worse for us. Yet we must not dwell on what is not—but on what
is
. And what is,
py’a
, is that you have proven yourself to be a friend of the Ai’oa. No…you have proven yourself to
be
Ai’oan.” She’s barely as tall as me, but when she looks me squarely in the eye, it feels as if
she’s much, much taller. “You said our blood is in your veins. Good. We are proud to have you.”

The vise around my heart loosens a notch, and I want to throw my arms around her and sob into her shoulder. I want her to hold me the way my mother never did, the way I see her hold little Ami, and I want her to tell me everything is going to be all right. But there is still too much pain in my soul, and instead I clench my hands into fists and stare at the ground.

Luri lifts my chin with one finger. “Little
Tapumiri
, there are monsters in this world.” She tucks a stem of elysia behind my ear, then smoothes my hair from my face and smiles. “But you are not one of them. Do not take the weight of the dead on your heart. Leave that to the gods. Death is not always sad—for some, it is the doorway to a world where everyone drinks of the
yresa
, and all are made immortal.”

I stare at her, feeling tears in my eyes that do not fall. It’s a beautiful idea, but it lifts only a tiny bit of the pain.

Across the glen, I see the warriors who went scouting for Eio return. Eio’s not with them. I inhale sharply, and my vision blurs with tears.

Luri gently turns my chin so that I’m looking her in the eye. “Eio is strong, and he knows how to take care of himself. Don’t you worry about him now.”

My breath still turns to ice in my throat, and it’s all I can do not to dash into the jungle myself. But I promised him I would look after the Ai’oans, and after all the evil my life has caused in the world, I won’t add to it by breaking that promise.

When we have gathered them all, we march to the river. It’s getting late; we need to move more quickly. But I can’t rush them. I think, for the Ai’oans, the deed we do is a kind
of spiritual rite. Perhaps they will make it a tradition. Perhaps every year the Ai’oans will find a glen filled with some kind of flower that they’ll pick and carry to the river. Maybe a hundred years from now they’ll still be doing it, still be telling the Story of the Pia-bird, not knowing what really happened, but giving it honor and remembrance all the same.

I am sorry my education did not teach me more of the religions of the world. Who knows? Maybe somewhere out there, the truth behind all of this really does exist. Paolo used to say that truth always finds a way to present itself; I think it might be the only true thing he ever said.

We reach the river and begin tossing the elysia into it. It isn’t long before the Little Mississip is drenched in the flowers; a more beautiful sight I have never seen, except perhaps that one afternoon at the swimming hole with Eio and Ami, when we were all smiling and happy and unaware of the evil that haunted our world. I wonder where Eio is and why he hasn’t found us yet. He could be alone, bleeding, or even dying—I force myself to stop thinking about it, and I remember what he said:
“The jungle will protect me.”

The last flower is still tucked behind my ear. I pull it down and stare at the nectar inside.
Beauty and death, so closely knit together
. This seems to be the central theme of my life.

I toss it into the water. Unlike the rest, which have already floated out of sight downstream, it sinks and doesn’t reappear.

When I look up, I see a pair of yellow eyes in the foliage on the opposite bank. I stand still for a moment, then call, “Alai! Alai, come!”

He emerges from the leaves and stands on the soft mud above the water, watching me. I have seen that look before,
after the night I spent in Ai’oa, when Alai ran into the jungle and almost didn’t come back. After a long minute, I nod. “Good-bye.”

As if he understands, Alai dips his spotted head, then turns. My heart sinks as I see the last of my oldest friend vanish into the jungle, but, after a moment, it lifts again.

It’s time for both of us to be free.

A
re you sure he will come?” Burako asks. “How can we know what these foreigners will do? Seems to me one minute they are going this way, next minute they are going that way. No sense. No reason. How can you know?” He mutters and shakes his head.

Achiri responds calmly, “Does not the hunter know the ways of the tapir? So does our Pia bird know the ways of the foreigners. Listen to her.”

“He’ll come,” I say, still trying to focus on the task at hand and not on Eio.
Please be safe, please be okay.…
“His work is coming down in shambles around him, and this glen is the center of it all. He will come.”

We are hidden around Falk’s Glen, or what
used
to be the glen. Now it’s just a barren dip in the jungle, a mossy scar that, within days, will be healed over with new growth. The normal orchids and the ferns and the heliconias will cover the wound, and the jungle will forget what once grew there.
Elysia is gone. Forever. Only the Ai’oans and the scientists who manage to make it out of the jungle will remember.

It is getting darker; there is only an hour of daylight left. I’m certain Paolo will come sooner or later to check on the glen, but maybe we’ll have to wait until morning before he appears.

I wrap my fingers around the stone bird in my pocket.
Oh, Eio, where are you?

“Sh. He comes.” Kapukiri stands, holding a tall staff in front of him with both hands, eyes shut. My heart flutters, thinking he means Eio, but then I see it isn’t so.

I step into the clearing as Paolo emerges from the path at the other end. I don’t have to turn around to know the Ai’oans are invisible behind me.

Paolo comes to a slow halt and stares at the ravaged glen. His ice-and-stone façade quivers. Anger flashes through him, hot and virulent as a volcano. Others soon follow: Timothy, the rest of the Immortis team, my mother, assorted scientists and workers. No Aunt Harriet, no Father. I hope those two made it out.

Everyone has guns, of course, and they all look exhausted. Were they able to save anything? Maybe in a few days the ants will be gone, moved on, and they can go back and salvage their belongings and equipment.
Why am I even thinking about this? Little Cam is not my home anymore. Their problems are their own.