Fire Girl, Forest Boy

by Chloe Daykin

  I separate the fireballs into three groups and send one out front as headlamps. They sit at the front of the boat. Eyes forward. Fire blazing. And two groups for the sides. For sidelights. They stay now. All the time. Not only when I’m angry. Like I can control them better and we’re one thing.

  I remember Carlos’s instructions. I know what to do.

  We lift the anchor and untie the ship and set off upriver into the dark. The rain eases to a soft tapping on the roof. Dipping its fingers into the river.

  Raul stands on one side of the ship and Matias sits on the other, yelling directions, and if we drift too close to the bank or rocks or someone else’s boat. The river rises and the boat flows fast and we swoop like a log out of control. I try to keep it as steady as I can, to keep in control.

  Time travels fast on the Amazon in the dark. I lose track of it as Matias crashes into sleep and I watch the moon turn into sky, and the sky turns yellow and blue as the sun comes up. We go past villages built on the shores in clusters. Past women in beautiful colours in boats. A breeze blows over my face. I see a snake dart back into the riverbank, and a boy wearing shorts and eating berries waves. His mouth is red. I wave back. We go by a kid, and his mother pulls him out of the water and looks at us with sad eyes – we shout, ‘Sorry!’

  I swallow and drive on, rounding a bend, finally pulling into Yurimaguas and the harbour. We bang into the jetty. Just slightly. Just enough that the tyres protecting the front of the boat bounce, and I breathe out.

  We hobble on to the shore into the bus station. We prop Matias up on the metal chairs and me and Raul run into town for painkillers and bandages.

  We get back panting and Raul makes Matias take the tablets and he pulls a face.

  ‘City pills?’ he says.

  I think about his dad being the shaman. About the paste he made for my ankle.

  ‘You want to get better or what?’ Raul puts them under his nose.

  He takes them.

  We buy tickets for the bus and cheese and avocado sandwiches (which we eat like wolves) and chocolate. Thick slabs of chocolate.

  I shrink the fireballs down and pop them into an empty peaches can I find in the trash.

  ‘Sorry, guys,’ I say. ‘It’s just for a bit. You can’t fly around on the bus.’

  They look at me and nod, squeezing up against each other.

  We climb on board a big black coach with seats like velvet and I stick the can on the floor under the seat.

  I wonder what we look like.

  Blood on Matias.

  Sweat pouring off me and Raul.

  A lady with a big pink shopping bag stares at us.

  We collapse into the seats and watch the jungle disappear into rock and desert and sleep all the way to Cerro de Pasco.

  The driver yells when it’s our stop. We blink awake. I shake Matias’s shoulder.

  When we get off I pick up the peach can, wrapping it in my shirtsleeves so I don’t burn my fingers. I shuffle down the aisle trying to avoid the stares of people looking at my glowing can.

  We step on to the pavement and a man sent from Carlos meets us there, with keys to a car. He looks at Matias’s leg while I hide the can behind my back. We thank him and run to the car, dump our bags in the boot.

  Matias slides into the front seat, rubbing his eyes behind the steering wheel. Me and Raul pile into the back and I set the fireballs free. They fly around happy and humming. I try to keep them off the seats so they don’t burn holes in the leather.

  ‘Keep them away from the wheels or they’ll explode the tyres,’ Matias says.

  I look at Matias’s leg, I look at Matias. Blood seeping through the bandage. His face getting paler and paler. ‘Do you even know how to drive?’

  ‘I’ve driven Carlos’s car,’ Matias says. ‘Sometimes. And this is an automatic, so I don’t need to use that leg.’

  Matias spreads the road map open and passes it to Raul. ‘Directions,’ he says.

  Raul wipes the sweat off his head and I make the fireballs go into the footwell and cross my legs on the seat. They wobble and look up. Matias starts the engine and we swing out into the road and join the stream of lurching and beeping and braking, and head for Lima.

  Maya

  Raul spends the last of the money on petrol and coffee to keep Matias awake.

  Matias hunches over the wheel and we grip our seat belts and try to breathe. Raul’s directions are pretty good and we only take a handful of wrong turns.

  We drive all day and air turns to yellow dust as we pull away into the desert. As we get closer. Closer to Lima.

  I look out the window at buildings growing nearer. Skyscrapers and towers growing out of the desert sand. Matias accelerates round a pickup with three guys bouncing about in the back.

  I wind the window down. I feel sick. My insides are all churned up. Everything keeps changing. Every time we find out something new, it’s like a jigsaw that keeps making a new shape and now I don’t know what to do. I think about Matias’s dad, Raul’s sister. My mum. Rebecca. Mum?

  I think about JVF. Who’s lying and how do I find out? If Rebecca’s alive, how do I find her? If she’s not, how do I prove it? Do I help Raul and Matias? Do I help my dad? I put my head in my hands and I look through my fingers at the fireballs. They look back up at me expectantly. ‘What do I do?’ I whisper. ‘I have no idea what to do.’ They look at me and look at each other and start to jiggle. They hum and buzz and rise out of the footwell.

  ‘Whoa!’ Raul pulls back and shields the map.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Matias squints and the car veers.

  ‘I don’t know!’

  The road turns into a motorway three lanes wide. Cars scream by, the air charges in through the wound-down windows. Horns blow and the air gasps. The fireballs wobble in the wind and merge into one giant bobbly ball.

  The fireball spreads out and fills the roof of the car and blocks the windscreen. Like they’ve sensed something and I don’t know what.

  ‘Whoa!’ Matias swerves, hits the brakes and screeches into the hard shoulder.

  Horns blare. Cars zoom past and rattle us.

  The fire spreads and blazes and flickers.

  ‘Can’t you keep that thing under control?’ Matias flinches.

  ‘No.’ I look at the fireball and pull back. I don’t think I can. The light shimmers and burns. We sweat. ‘What’s up?’ I look at it.

  It squeezes its eyes tight and strains, and two arms pop out of its sides, floppy and weak. It takes a while to get used to them. It’s like a kid eating noodles for the first time. They flop around and around by its sides in circles. It seems to enjoy waving them like hula hoops. Then it gets co-ordinated and starts pointing. It points around for fun. Then it looks serious and points out the windscreen.

  ‘Don’t touch the glass!’ Matias yells.

  The fire pulls its pointer back so the glass doesn’t shatter.

  ‘You want us to follow you?’ I whisper.

  It nods.

  ‘We haven’t got time for this.’ Matias hits the wheel with his palm.

  It flows over the back of his seat, raising its arms.

  Matias wipes the sweat off his face. ‘OK, OK, keep it back,’ he says.

  And the ball looks pleased with itself. It shrinks a little and hovers between me and Raul and points out the windscreen.

  ‘Straight ahead, Matias – go straight ahead, please,’ I say and this time he actually does what someone else says for once. Because I make him. Because the words come up from my heart.

  And he hears it.

  Raul

  The fireball points to the left, we swing off the motorway.

  It directs us to smaller roads out of town and on to a dusty track going up into the mountains. Nowhere near the city. I hold the map Carlos gave us, the cross he made on it for the JVF office under my finger. We’re well off course.

  It points at the floor.

  ‘Stop!’ Maya yells, and Matias slams on the brakes
and we all jerk forwards.

  He puts his hands in the air.

  The fire flies out the open window and me and Maya follow. Matias stays in the car.

  The fire darts about, looking up down and around, like someone running their fingers over something to make sure it’s still there.

  It takes it all in. Rubble, bricks, dried-out dirt and bushes. A chicken-wire fence that’s melted and warped like something hasn’t been here in a long time. A long, long time.

  We follow round behind. I have no idea what it’s looking for. I just know we haven’t got time. ‘Maya …’

  ‘Come on!’ she says, and runs and follows it to a sign.

  ‘This is the place.’ Maya touches the rusted holes in the sign that once was white with blue lettering. ‘It’s brought us here.’

  She moves her hand and points to a logo. The sign’s old. But we both make out the logo. A globe with a star sticking out the side. JVF.

  It’s brought us to the sawmill. The one where Rebecca died. Or didn’t. It’s come to show us what happened. To tell the truth. That’s what spirits do, right? That’s what Papi Rosales says. Spirits reveal truths. Whether we like it or not.

  The fire flies off and scouts about till it finds a clear-ish patch of concrete slab. It hovers near the ground and shrinks and squeezes down to the size of a snooker ball. Compacting into a hot bright ball that glows yellow. Then white. So hot that the ground shines and dry pieces of grass start to burn.

  It lowers itself to the ground and the earth burns. And turns black.

  The white heat moves.

  I hear the car door slam. Matias is limping his way over to us.

  ‘Shh!’ Maya puts her hand to her lips and doesn’t even look at him.

  The fire moves across the earth. Leaving a hot trail. Scorching a black mark. Drawing on the ground.

  We watch as it hovers and glows. Barely breathing. Squatting in the sun.

  We follow the outline.

  It’s wobbly and wonky.

  But unmistakable.

  Maya

  The fireball shrinks and floats back into my hands, exhausted.

  I trace the scorch line with one hand and the fireball hovers over the other. The drawing’s an outline of a body. A body lying on the ground. Me and Raul squat. ‘You mean this is my mum, right?’ The fire nods. ‘She died here.’

  It nods again. Exhausted. And sags in my hands.

  It doesn’t burn. Its heat has gone. It just warms like a stone left in the sun.

  ‘They lied.’ Raul hunches next to me.

  ‘I told you, I told you!’ Matias says and kicks a rock. Hate radiating out of him. ‘JVF always lie.’

  Raul takes my hand and squeezes it and we both stand there with holes in our hearts, knowing what loss feels like.

  And being there for each other without saying anything at all.

  Friendship is a kind of magic. Fragile and lovely.

  I hold the fire, limp and small. Losing its glow. Fading.

  The dust blows round our ankles. The fire flutters like a chick trying to breathe. Getting colder and colder.

  ‘Don’t die on me!’ I whisper at it. ‘Don’t you dare go!’ I cup my hands around it and blow like lighting a fire. I hold my face so close my nose is nearly touching it. Tears run down my dusty cheeks. The fire gets colder and colder.

  Raul

  Maya sticks the fire up her T-shirt and holds it to her heart and rocks on her heels.

  ‘Come on!’ she says. ‘Don’t you dare die! Come on!’ She grits her teeth.

  ‘Maya.’ I put my hand on her shoulder. She wipes the tears from her face with the back of her hand and stays squatting.

  She shuts her eyes and rocks.

  She thinks deeply and rocks.

  She goes into a trance and rocks.

  Maya

  I think about roast chicken and surprises and birthdays and laughing so hard snot comes out of your nose.

  I think about jumping and cake and cycling so fast it feels like flying.

  I think about music and running and trampolines and I feel my heart beating stronger. ‘Come on!’ I feel my fists clenched and my tears stopping.

  I think about sunshine and Socks and peanut butter and chocolate and Raul.

  I squeeze my happy thoughts into a tight bundle so hard it’s like a glowing ball inside me and I push them out into the fire.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Come on! This does not stop here. Come on!’

  My belly starts to warm.

  My T-shirt starts to heat.

  The cotton starts to smoke.

  Raul

  A hole burns by Maya’s heart and the fire flies out woozy and wobbly like it just ran into a building and bounced off.

  She holds it between her hands and I want to kiss it, but I don’t or I’ll burn myself.

  Maya stands up. ‘At the airport Dad said he needed evidence. He said he was going to meet someone. He said, “I’m not signing till I see something. There’s someone I need to see.” He means her. He means Rebecca. It’s a trap,’ she says. ‘They tricked him.’

  I look at Matias. ‘They have a prison in Lima, right?’

  Matias looks it up on his phone and nods.

  ‘So if she doesn’t exist. She isn’t there.’ Maya pulls at her hair. ‘They’re just saying she is. They’ll just keep saying it till he signs and then …’

  ‘Then he’ll find out she isn’t.’ I look at Maya, at Matias. ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then he’ll be disposable.’ Matias looks at both of us.

  We look at each other and run to the car.

  ‘Which way now? Which way now?’ Maya says and holds the fire in front of her eyes.

  I look down at Rick’s watch.

  With time we can make plans.

  With time we can change the future.

  Maya

  We drive into Lima. Fast.

  The fire is very intense and earnest.

  This way.

  This way.

  This way.

  It points.

  ‘This isn’t the way!’ Matias looks over his shoulder at the map. The car veers.

  Raul swipes the map away from Matias and furrows his brow. ‘It’s true,’ he says. ‘It isn’t.’

  ‘Are you taking us to JVF?’ I ask it.

  It shakes its head.

  ‘Are you going to Dad?’

  It nods.

  ‘I’m not following that again.’ Matias swings into the turn-off lane.

  ‘It knew where the mill was, didn’t it?’ I shout at him. ‘It saved your life. You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me. If it wasn’t for us! You said the forest depends on it. Everything depends on it. The forest is full of spirits, isn’t it? You believe in those, don’t you? What about your dad? He was a shaman. He would have believed. He would have told you to follow.’

  Matias doesn’t say anything.

  But he doesn’t follow the map.

  He follows the fire.

  Raul

  We follow the fire to Lima. I’ve never been before.

  It’s funny being in the city. Tower blocks grow so high out of the earth and I crick my head to see them. There are tons of cars, three lanes thick, and tennis courts. We drive into a labyrinth of streets. Maya and the fire working as one. Eyes set and serious. It stretches its arms out across the front seat and we stop outside the cathedral.

  ‘In here?’ Matias asks it and it nods.

  Me and Maya smile at each other and don’t look at him.

  The fire flies out the window and we follow it into a cobbled courtyard. A blind man is playing music on an instrument with metal strings like a harp with a box for coins at the bottom.

  The sound hovers in the air and floats out, snaking between people and under cars and into the rooftops with the birds. When it catches you it makes you shiver and smile at the same time.

  He stops playing and beckons us over.

  Black vultures squawk at us from the tower and swoop down lo
w over the square towards the fire, their massive wings blocking out the sun. The fire stays strong and does not back off. The birds try to eat it and burn their beaks.

  The blind man puts his hand on our arms. ‘Shine bright,’ he says, and the fire glows and grows. I find some coins and we drop them in his box.

  The fire burns too big to hide and we follow it over the cobbles, past people laden down with miniature idols and chains and men with trays of pastries. Everyone gets out of our way. We’re like a hot knife through chocolate.

  Maya has fire now. Fire she didn’t have before.

  And the truth.

  That changes everything, right?

  Sometimes truth’s the strongest weapon of all.

  A boy walks up the street pulling a huge wooden cart full of sacks of flour with a strap attached to a headband around his head.

  He stops and sweats and breathes and keeps going.

  So do we.

  Maya

  When we walk it’s like the fire’s pulling me. From inside. Like we’re one thing.

  I can’t let it go when I see dad. I can’t. I ball my hand into fists and keep it close.

  We walk into the cathedral. The air is cool and crisp, and the fire shines and shudders and turns its head, looking, looking.

  We follow. Looking too. Over our shoulders, behind our backs. In and out of doorways.

  We walk up an old wide wooden staircase and out into a courtyard with shaded walkways round the edges and birdsong like tropical fruit and green plants which reach up like songs to the sun. Thick and green and flowering.

  On the walls are painted tiles of men with beards and monsters like dragons bursting out of their stomachs. The bottom halves of the walls are lined with wooden panels that I trail my fingers on.

  The fire looks left and right and pulls me.

  Bright, alert and growing. As big as a beach ball now.

  We go into a room with a painting of Jesus and his disciples sitting round a table eating guinea pig. A guinea-pig last supper. A red devil leans over and whispers in Jesus’s ear. I think about JVF whispering in Dad’s. I look at a carving of a martyr with its head chopped off. It holds its head with the crossed dead eyes. Me and the fire stare at it for a minute. I think about the sawmill. And sadness flows up into me like a wave.