by Jess Corban
I search my room for other items that might come in handy, adding two scarves, a length of cord, a small knife, and an extra change of clothes to the bag. A poorly carved monkey stares at me from a shelf, looking very forlorn at being left behind. I roll my eyes at myself even as I stuff his lopsided grin under the flap. After grabbing clothes for Bri from Ciela’s room—hoping they’re closer in size—I slip downstairs and out the kitchen door toward the stables.
Here goes nothing.
So many people cram into Bella’s stables, you’d think we were throwing a party. Neechi tightens the cinch under Bri’s horse. Marsa drops neatly tied parcels, fresh fruit, and waterskins into our saddlebags. Jonalyn adjusts the fabric sling that ties the baby to her chest. Ironically, even Diablo has shown up, strutting his pearlescent green-black tail feathers outside the breezeway. Still, despite all the chaos, Dom Bakshi has no trouble keeping seven Gentles in a straight line.
She’s lucky they’re not Brute cubs.
I toss the clothes to Bri. “Better change into these for now. I hope they fit.”
She curls a lip in disgust but doesn’t protest. Maybe she’s too tired to muster snark.
Finished with the saddle, Neechi makes his way to me. “Dom Reina,” he says, concern deepening the creases in his forehead, “Callisto doesn’t seem herself.”
Panic seizes my chest. “What do you mean?”
“Can’t quite figure it. She didn’t eat much, and I found her lying on her side. Took three tries to get her up.”
No. She’s fine. I won’t let myself entertain any other possibility. I glance over at Callisto’s stall. She seems alert and healthy to me.
I smile convincingly, refusing to worry. “She’s probably just tired from our ride last night.”
He nods, though I can tell he’s not convinced.
“Maybe take an extra horse, just in case?”
I consider his suggestion all of one second before making up my mind. Neechi knows horses, but I know my Callisto. “She’ll be fine,” I assure him, stepping between a cart and a post to get to her stall.
“Hey, girl.” I pat her neck, noticing a small trickle of drool hanging from her lips. “You must be tired, ol’ girl,” I laugh. “Pull it together. We’ve got a long ride today.”
She stands calmly as I lay my rucksack on her bare back. If she did get “the crazies,” as Jase called it, from that bat bite in the Jungle, I’m sure she’d be acting more . . . crazy. Besides, Jase said she’d be fine. He was sure of it.
Dom Bakshi sidles up, and I’m glad for the interruption. “Do you need anything else, Reina?”
In one of those strange moments that transcend time, much is spoken between us without a word. She is proud of me. I am thankful for her. She is going to miss me. I hope I’ll see her again.
But one thing must be said out loud, just in case. “If I don’t come back,” I whisper, turning my back to the others, “keep the Gentles here as long as you can. She would want it that way.”
Dom Bakshi’s face tightens in resolve. “Of course. For Leda.”
Marsa turns me by the shoulder for a tight embrace. “Careful, petit. Wherever you’re goin’, there’s enough food in your bags for a spell, at least. Gonna put some meat on you yet.”
I smile. Good ol’ Marsa, always thinking food is the answer to everything.
I wish I could promise her I’ll be back soon; instead, I lead our pack of travelers through the breezeway and into the adjacent field.
Little Boo chases after me, running to keep up with the horses’ long strides. “Will you come back? When will Dom Leda return?”
I don’t have an answer to give him, and I turn away so he won’t see my tears.
Jonalyn answers for me, the perfect Materno. “Everything will be fine. Run on back now, and mind Dom Bakshi!”
He reluctantly halts, and the distance between us stretches until we reach the lane that will take us to Highway Volcán.
Callisto and I lead the procession: my sister and her Brute baby, a Gentle fleeing Finca del Mar, and a fellow Alexia defector.
Quite the crew. And if I don’t get us lost or killed, it will be a small miracle.
The first hour passes in relative quiet. We take the road two by two, Neechi beside me and Callisto, Bri and Jonalyn just behind us. A scattering of puffy, stark-white clouds moves across the azure sky, creating drifting patches of blessed shade.
The wide dirt highway cuts through increasingly lush countryside, dotted with rural fincas, as we travel west. Crops of coffee, banana, citrus, sugarcane, and hardwoods crisscross the hills and valleys. Hundred-acre pastures corral long-eared cows, bleating goats, or, occasionally, horses grazing on Mombasa grass.
When we reach the top of a steep knoll, we’re rewarded with a glimpse of the land beyond Nedé. Where the cleared, cultivated land ends, just west of our border, Jungle-thick foothills rise. The hilly knobs stack up and back like a great, green stone wall, protecting higher peaks at the farthest edge of the horizon. Nearly straight ahead, but maybe a half day’s journey beyond the border, the formidable El Fuego volcano rises above the surrounding hills like a Brute warrior, warning intruders to stay away from the wilds. At least that’s what I see now—now that I know who lives in that Jungle.
And I’m willingly returning. Going back to treetop huts and fire circles, uncertainty and danger. If I can find Tree Camp, I’ll be returning to them. Returning to him. A nervous shiver races up my spine. Why does the thought of him do that? Why react any differently to Rohan than to Neechi?
I steal a sideways glance at the traveler beside me. I’m still shocked he insisted on coming. These Gentles keep surprising me.
We’re making good time. If we keep this pace, we should be able to cross the border by early afternoon.
Not ten minutes later, a fussing, squeaking sound comes from under Jonalyn’s wrap, followed by a full-blown baby cry. She tries to soothe him another half kilometer, to no avail.
“We’ll need to stop so I can change and feed him,” she says.
Bri snorts in irritation. I admit, I haven’t given much thought to how an infant might affect our travel plans. But what can be done? I trust Jo knows what she’s doing. If she says we have to stop, we’ll stop.
I scan the thick underbrush lining both sides of the road for a suitable resting place, grateful our journey didn’t take us east. The road toward Phoenix City cuts through coastal savannah, predominantly tall grasses and precious few trees. But this half of Nedé grows increasingly lush as the road nears the Divisaderos. We don’t have to hunt long for a fig tree capable of shading us and our animals. As a bonus, a small, shallow stream runs behind the tree, perfect for the horses.
My rear finds a stump while Jonalyn unwraps her cargo. He’s so little—no bigger than a cowhide fútbol. I’m not exactly a stranger to babies. But those that have come to Mother’s finca from the Center were several months old at least. At scarcely a week old, Jonalyn’s baby seems impossibly miniature.
But the sound that comes from him resembles a full-grown Diablo. His cheeks are as red as a rooster’s comb too, his fists clenched in rage. How can his tiny lungs create that much sound? The racket could wake the dead.
Jonalyn removes his soiled diaper and rinses it downstream from the horses, lays it over a sunny rock to dry, then fastens on a fresh cloth.
Still he wails.
For the love of Siyah, I moan inwardly. I’ve never been more grateful I didn’t choose Materno as my destiny. I wouldn’t have made it a single day. Not one.
Jonalyn settles back to nurse the child, and instantly the incessant crying is replaced by contented suckling.
My muscles ease, until Bri plops down beside me.
“Are you going to tell us where we’re going now?”
I wouldn’t tell her, but I’m actually quite proud she has ridden blind this long. And I’m relieved she didn’t ask this question before I found Mother’s charm last night. At least I have something to offer toda
y.
Neechi fiddles with his waterskin, trying not to appear interested in what I’ll say.
“You have a right to hear too,” I tell him. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to voice this ridiculous plan. “We’re taking the baby to the Jungle.”
“Why?” Bri asks, drawing out the word into an entire sentence.
“Because I promised my mother I would. There’s . . . someone there who is going to take care of him.”
“In the Jungle.”
“Yes.”
“And the Center’s okay with that?”
When I don’t answer, she narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Wait a minute. Does this have anything to do with that book you found at Finca del Mar?”
I stall, wondering how to respond without giving too much away. Bri made it clear how she feels about Brutes. When I told her about Tristan’s journal at the afterparty—when I revealed that Gentles were born Brutes, then altered with a vaccine—she defended the foremothers, saying the Brutes must have been monsters or the women wouldn’t have had to do what they did. But she didn’t know about these Brutes. And I still can’t tell her without breaking my promise to Torvus.
Why did I let her come? She is going to flip out when she discovers what waits in the Jungle.
Or maybe before, if she puts two and two together and realizes the baby Jonalyn is rewrapping against her body isn’t a Gentle at all.
I decide to avoid a direct answer. “You’re the one who wanted to come. Felt better about your chances with me—remember?”
“Yeah, but I thought you were going to, I don’t know, get revenge or something.”
“Trust me, Bri, this is better than revenge. You’ll see.” And I hope she will. I hope that if I can get her to Tree Camp, she’ll discover what I have: that the foremothers’ actions aren’t as black-and-white as we’ve been taught.
She wraps a shoulder-length strand of blonde hair around her finger aggressively, but my promise seems to have appeased her—for now. Neechi listens attentively but has nothing to say.
Jonalyn has finished situating the baby in his sling, so I take the opportunity to avoid further interrogation. “We’d better get going. The earlier we cross the border, the better.”
Roughly six hours and exactly five more stops later, we pass a familiar finca near the intersection of Highway Volcán and Camino del Oeste. But where inviting buildings once stood—candlelit windows and a neatly trimmed garden—charred walls and tumbled bricks lie scattered in scorched piles. I glance back at Bri, whose somber expression tells me she remembers precisely where we are. The raid feels like a lifetime ago, not a mere two weeks.
My stomach twists. I just freed the Brute responsible for the attack.
I really hope I did the right thing.
I still despise Dáin for what he did to Jonalyn, to this finca and others, for what he might have done to me. I don’t trust him. I’m only banking on the hunch that his hatred for the Matriarchy will channel his recklessness toward a better cause. But if I’m wrong, I just let loose the very evil that could end us all.
We take a final rest at a campsite tucked into a bend in the Jabiru, where our Alexia contingent slept our first night of patrol. The spot where Bri nearly took my life. Can’t say I have great memories around here.
While Jonalyn tends to the baby again, Neechi and I peruse the parcels of food in the saddlebags, deciding this would be a good time for a late lunch. Strips of dried lamb, rounds of sourdough, preserved mango, crisp-fried plantains, a wheel of hard cheese, a cured sausage, three bananas, a sack of taro flour, two rods of sugarcane . . . the food just keeps coming.
“Looks like Marsa was intent on fattening us all up,” I laugh. “But let’s eat light for now. Just in case.”
“In case what, exactly?” Bri prods.
“In case it takes me longer than expected to find . . . the house. I’ve only been there once.”
“Someone lives in there? She must be crazy.”
I nod, avoiding her eyes. “It takes a special kind of fearlessness to call the Jungle home.”
“So, where to from here?” Jonalyn asks, taking a chunk of bread from Neechi with one hand, cradling the nursing baby in the other.
I consider the foothills before us, which have grown into a wall between us and the world beyond. Highway Volcán ends a hundred yards ahead, abutting the perpendicular Camino del Oeste. Beyond that, the only visible landmark is the top third of El Fuego, which towers over the closest foothills like a giant peeking over the wall. I’m not sure which hills or valleys Jase brought me through. Even if I hadn’t been blindfolded, they all look eerily similar—solid green masses of leaves, vines, ferns, and the occasional tail-feather-like fronds of a cohune palm.
“Well . . .” I stall. Now what?
I run through the first clue in the song again: Where the fire don’t burn, and the dark water’s deep. Fire don’t burn. When would fire not burn? The finca is a charred heap, but that just happened recently. Maybe it’s referring to a sugarcane field, burned after harvest? No, that doesn’t make sense. Why would there be sugarcane fields beyond the border?
El Fuego steals my attention, the intimidating beauty positively arresting. A silver line of waterfall cascades to its base. A ring of clouds at the peak gives the impression the old volcano is smoking again.
El Fuego. There’s been nothing but a little smoke since Nedé began. The fire inside no longer burns.
I turn to my companions with a grin of triumph, pointing up at the mountain. “Now, we go there.”
CHAPTER NINE
WE CANVASS THE INTERSECTION of Highway Volcán and Camino del Oeste for a trail, a marker, anything that might indicate a path through the impossible tangle marking the border of Nedé. The trees seem twice as tall, the space between them half as wide. How are we going to get through this?
After probing unsuccessfully for an easy entry point, eventually we’re forced to dive headlong. I lead Callisto first, anxious and jittery. Not like her, but then, the dried vine obstacle in my teak forest arena couldn’t have prepared her for this. With no visibility and unsure footing, this is a horse’s nightmare. Maybe we should have tried to enter at the place I followed Dáin across the border. No, El Fuego has to be the clue. It makes perfect sense now.
If we can get there.
The others follow, reluctantly. The horses pick their way nervously over downed logs, around prickly bushes, and through hanging vines. They give a noble effort, but before long we’re forced to dismount and walk—no, beg—them along.
Hours pass. Sweat drips from our skin and mats the horses’ coats, even in the near-constant shade of the canopy. My arms blister with itchy red bumps. Every mosquito in the Jungle apparently wants its fill of our blood.
I try to mark a course toward the volcano—no easy feat when it only graces us with a glimpse of its head every millennium. Shadows will have to orient us in the interim.
When those shadows grow long and the dwindling light warms to amber, it’s clear we won’t reach ol’ Fuego by nightfall. Besides, Callisto seems exceptionally tired, even without a rider. And she’s drooling again.
Don’t worry about her, Reina. She’s fine. She has to be fine.
“Let’s find a place to camp for the night.” My words break a silence that has stretched since our last baby stop. For some reason, no one has felt like talking. Maybe because when you open your mouth, you chance drowning in humidity?
Finding a suitable camp proves difficult. Eventually we settle for a slightly less suffocating section of Jungle at the top of a knoll. There’s even a small window between two trees where we can see our next destination: El Fuego, appearing, graciously, a little closer. If we had a road or trail, I bet we could reach it in a couple hours. But judging by our pace today, we’ll be lucky to arrive by nightfall tomorrow.
I tie Callisto to a nearby tree—plenty to choose from—using the rope circle around her neck and the length of cord in my rucksack. Neechi unsaddles the othe
r horses, then stakes the reins. With the animals secured and happily nibbling nearby branches, we turn our attention toward our own camp.
“Reina, can you hold the baby while I help get dinner ready?”
Jo takes my surprised sputtering as a yes, thrusting a squirming bundle into my arms. I want to protest—aren’t there other, more pressing things I should be doing? Clearing Jungle floor? Charting a course? Unrolling bed mats? Scratching my billion mosquito bites?
I glance down at the tiny human.
Ugh. At least he’s not screaming.
Surely my sister realizes there’s a very real chance I could break this small creature. He feels like a newborn lamb in my arms—featherlight and fragile. I try to mimic the way I’ve seen Maternos hold these things, laying him down in the crook of one arm, but that doesn’t feel secure enough. In fact, I should probably sit. There. With him resting on my thighs and a hand on each side so he can’t fall off, I stare at his features. Dark eyes open and close slowly, enamored by the dappled light in the canopy above us, and his hands twist and curl into each other. Those teeny, moist lips pucker and smack, and I can’t help but smile. He is kind of cute.
“Hi there, little one,” I say, instantly annoyed that my voice has taken on the cooing quality Maternos always get with babies.
I place a finger over his searching palm. His fingers curl around it, surprisingly tight. “You’re a strong one, aren’t you?”
How strange that this miniature, vulnerable creature will become a full-sized Brute someday. Like Jase, like Rohan . . . like Dáin. Within this child exists the potential for strength and for danger, goodness or wrongdoing. He will have the ability to choose, as Rohan put it. That’s the gift my mother has given him. That I’m giving him, I realize.
Fear overtakes pride. What if Mother was wrong? What if I’m wrong? Are we unleashing a power we won’t be able to stop?
I’m not unleashing anything, I console myself. I’m only making good on my promise to take the baby to Torvus.