by Emma Castle
“No!” Despite their current peril, his heart ached for the gorilla’s life. With horrifying dread, he and Amelia turned around to face the true danger of the jungle.
“Jacob,” Amelia whispered, her hand still in his and her other arm holding their child to her chest.
They faced the group of armed men. A white man, young, possibly twenty or so, seemed to be the one in charge. His pale-blue eyes were so cold that they made Jacob shiver. Jacob knew that he and his family were not going to survive. There was no mercy in those eyes, only cold calculation.
“Please,” Jacob said. “Please leave us alone. We won’t tell anyone anything.” He moved protectively in front of Amelia and his child. He would, without hesitation or thought, give his last breath to protect them.
“How did you get this deep into the forest?” the young man asked. “The tours don’t come this far east.”
“Our plane crashed. We were headed for the airfield near the forest guide station.” Jacob nodded toward the direction they’d come from.
The man jerked his gun at them. “Show me.”
Jacob took Thorne into his arms, and Amelia stuck close to him as they walked back to the crash site. He and his family stood with the Cessna at their backs as the armed men conversed in hushed tones.
“Amelia, we aren’t getting out of this alive.” He shot her a quick glance before facing the men again.
“Why can’t they just let us go?” she asked.
“Because I saw the gold and diamonds they were looting from a cave.” He caught her gaze and put a hand lightly, almost casually on the slight bulge of his pocket where he had the diamond.
“Gold?” she echoed. “All of this is for gold and diamonds?”
The greed of men ran deep, like the fissures of rocks that exposed the veins of the gold they coveted so badly. And with every ounce of greed, twice the blood would be spilled. Jacob knew better than to bargain with men like these.
The thieves faced them again. The youngest one, the one with the cold eyes, raised his gun at Jacob.
“We’ve had a little vote. You aren’t worth leaving alive.” That was Jacob’s only warning before the gun fired.
“Jacob!” Amelia cried out.
The bullet tore through his chest. He reached up slowly and touched the wound as his blood bubbled over his hand. Amelia’s voice was distant to his ears now as he fell back against the side of the plane and sank to his knees.
Above him, the exotic birds shrieked a warning that came too late. He choked. The sense of drowning was so frightening, yet he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His vision paled at the edges rather than darkened, as though he was slowly being surrounded by a light, soothing mist. Dimly, he wondered if that was why a person’s eyes clouded. It was like death stole over them like an inescapable fog.
It was so hard to think now. He clutched at the last few seconds of his life, and his mind drifted to thoughts of autumn leaves caught upon the wind, carried to places far and away.
Amelia shoved Thorne behind her. The child was stiff and silent with fear. Jacob lay motionless a few feet away. The light in his eyes guttered like a candle in a mighty wind and finally went out. She had no time to grieve—her maternal instincts overrode all else.
“Please, we won’t tell anyone. My son’s only three. I need to take care of him.” Thorne curled one arm around her leg, holding on for his tiny life.
“It’s nothing personal. No loose ends.”
“Please don’t. Not my baby!”
The man almost smiled. “Don’t worry, love. I don’t kill children.”
The man with blue eyes raised his gun again, and Amelia stared him down, defiant to the last as he fired. She collapsed to the ground, Thorne hugging her arm, sniffling as he tried to stay quiet.
“Please don’t. Not my baby . . .” She tried with her dying breath to shelter Thorne at her side. It was so hard to breathe. So very hard . . .
“A mother’s love—how touching,” the man mused thoughtfully as he gazed down at the child. He met Thorne’s gaze, and then looked toward Jacob’s body. “Search his pockets. I don’t want to leave anything someone could use to identify him.”
One man searched Jacob’s pockets and held up the fat uncut diamond. The man with blue eyes holstered his gun and took the diamond, holding it up with a possessive gleam darkening his eyes.
“Put their bodies inside the plane. I don’t want anyone to think they survived the crash, assuming anyone even finds the wreck.” He walked away, and the remaining men came toward Jacob.
“What about him?” one of his men asked and nodded at the toddler.
The man with the blue eyes turned back. “He is not to be harmed. Put him in the plane with his parents. I don’t kill children, but he’ll die out here soon enough. Let nature run its course.” Amelia was breathing shallowly now, her limbs cold and numb.
“Don’t touch . . . him!” she gasped, choking on her own blood as the men lifted up her beloved husband. “Don’t . . .”
Then they came for her. She was already slipping away. Such a funny thing, dying. Once the pain faded, all that was left was quiet silence, like falling asleep on a sunny Saturday afternoon. But it wasn’t easy, letting go—not when she left her child behind.
Adroa Okello held his rifle loosely, a canvas bag of gold slung over one shoulder as he stood inside the crashed plane. Others had carried the bodies in and set them in the chairs. But the boy, the helpless child, wouldn’t be parted from his mother. He sat curled on her lap, one hand resting on her lifeless arm, his body trembling as he murmured, asking her to wake up over and over.
Adroa wanted to help the boy. He was no killer, but he’d been paid good money by his boss, the Englishman called Archibald Holt, but who he called Death Eyes in Swahili when he was out of hearing. Adroa had a wife and his own children to feed and he couldn’t risk crossing Holt.
The child sniffled, his vivid dark-blue eyes so wide and full of tears that Adroa could not bear it. He was the last of Holt’s men inside the plane now. No one would see what he was about to do. He swung the canvas bag off his shoulder and removed one of the gold trinkets they’d stolen from the cave—a gold circlet of leaves like a crown. He held it out to the child. Holt would never know a piece like this had gone missing. And perhaps the gold would distract the child for a little while.
“Be good now,” he told the little boy in English and patted the child’s silky dark hair. “Stay inside, you hear? Someone will come for you.” He didn’t want to lie, but what else could he do? Save the boy, and Death Eyes would kill him. Kill the boy, and Death Eyes would kill him.
The boy gazed up at Adroa mutely, his tiny fingers curling around the leafy golden crown. A sudden eerie feeling stole through Adroa. He felt the presence of his ancestors in the shafts of light penetrating the canopy above. Many thousands of years ago, his people had lived in this jungle. They’d built great cities among the trees, and the cave had held their sacred treasure. All of that had been a myth to Adroa until he’d set foot in the cave with Holt and the others a few weeks ago. The glint of gold beneath their pale flashlight beams had almost blinded him. And he’d sensed the anger of the ancient ones in the cave, felt their righteous fury deep within his blood and bones. But they were dead, dead and gone, and had no use for treasure now.
Perhaps it was his imagination, or perhaps it wasn’t, but he was sure that he heard a whispered warning among the trees as he left the crashed plane. The whispers murmured that a ghost would rise, crowned in gold, a lord of the jungle returning to avenge his family.
Adroa stumbled back and raced into the jungle to catch up with Holt and the others. He tried to banish the image of that child from his mind, but he knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life.
2
Half a mile away from where the Haywoods’ plane had crashed, a band of gorillas paused at the rush of strange noises in the distance. The rapid sounds were harsh and violent to their ears. Their leader, the silve
rback Mukisa, had been far ahead of them, scouting the unfamiliar area to ensure their safety. But Mukisa had not returned.
Keza, a young adult female, carried her new infant Akika, one of Mukisa’s children, in one arm as she followed the others, trailing Mukisa’s scent.
The smell of blood now drifted to them on the wind, and the band grew agitated. Keza held her child tight, ready to run or climb to protect her baby. They continued to track the scent deep into the jungle until they came upon Mukisa’s body. He lay facedown, one black palm reaching out in the dirt.
Keza was the only one brave enough to approach her mate’s body. She touched his fingers, feeling the coldness, the unnatural stiffness already settling into him. She prodded at his shoulder next, but she knew, as all animals did, that her mate was gone. Their leader was dead.
Sunya, one of Mukisa’s younger sons, came forward and grunted softly, declaring himself the new dominant male. He faced no opposition. He led them forward, in the direction Mukisa had been taking to reach the river, where they could find water.
Strange new smells filled Keza’s senses—an animal she did not recognize, along with an acrid burning scent that left her jittery and anxious for the safety of her infant, Akika. They soon entered a clearing where a great white shape lay in the underbrush.
A sharp cry came from within the white mass. Most of the gorillas stepped back, pressing their knuckles hard against the ground, ready for an attack. The cry came again, and something deep in Keza’s breast tightened. This was the cry of a child. A cry for help. Her mothering instincts were strong with her first child, and she would respond to any call in need. She approached the white shape alone, still cradling her sweet Akika to her chest. When the cry came again, Keza pushed her way carefully into the dark hole.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she halted as her nose picked up the scent of death again, and that strange animal smell she didn’t recognize. She moved closer. It was a sound of distress, not unlike her own babe’s feeble cries.
A white-faced creature was looking at her, its eyes blue like the sky. Keza tilted her head, puzzled. She had never seen a creature like this. It had no hair covering its body, just some on the top of its head. The babe held out something that glinted in the dying light, but that object held no interest to Keza. She hooted softly at the baby creature and reached a finger toward it.
The child dropped the shiny object and curled tiny fingers around her thick black digit. In that instant, Keza bonded with the strange child. She reached for him, curving her other arm around his small body, and nestled him beside her little Akika. The child shifted, sniffled, and then grew quiet. She could hear his belly growl with hunger.
Sunya might not wish for this infant to stay in their band since he was not Sunya’s child, but she was older than Sunya and fierce with a mother’s love. She would kill him if he tried to harm either of her sons. Even across species, a mother and child could love without question. There were many harsh rules that governed Keza’s world, but one ruled above all, and that was a mother’s love.
Thorne clung to the mother gorilla, his belly growling. He didn’t understand why Mummy and Daddy did not wake up, no matter how much he asked them to or cried. But the black beast from his favorite book had answered his cries.
G. Gorilla.
The gorilla had crept toward him, and he’d stopped crying. He nuzzled his face against her dark bristly hair and gazed wide-eyed at the baby gorilla next to him. The baby’s reddish-brown eyes were wide as he gazed back at Thorne.
As Thorne was carried into the jungle, his ears took in the rustle of leaves and the buzz of insects, the exotic sound of birds and monkeys. The blend of sounds turned into a gentle symphony that lulled him to sleep between the warmth of Keza’s chest and the humid jungle air.
The band of gorillas stopped after several hours and settled in a safe, dense spot to feed and rest. Mist rolled in around them, thick and cooling to the skin. Thorne was kept within reach of Keza, who set Akika down beside him.
The little human boy watched the gorilla who had carried him to safety, her black and silver fur blending to a burnished bronze at the top of her head. In that moment she was beautiful to him, more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen before.
She was his mother now; he understood a mother’s caring touch as she brushed her fingers over his head, and his tiny heart filled with infinite love for her.
Keza puzzled over her new child’s tiny fingers, similar yet not quite the same as Akika’s. She ruffled a hand over the dark hair on his head. It was soft, far softer than her own. She plucked gently at his ears, checking for mites. He made a gurgling noise, baring his teeth, but it didn’t seem threatening to her.
She curled her lips back, showing her own sharp white teeth, and he clapped his tiny hands together. The little smacking sound was odd. Keza wondered if he was trying to show his strength at so young an age. She curled her fist and gave a powerful smack to her chest. The noise startled the child, and he grew still. But after a moment, he curled his own fist and slapped it against himself in imitation. Keza hooted in approval. He learned quickly. That was good. The jungle held many dangers, and the quicker this hairless ape could learn, the safer he would be.
The other gorillas in the band warily watched the young child. Sunya snorted and bared his teeth, but one quelling look from Keza and he came no closer toward them.
“I’m Thorne.” The child spoke with a strange tongue. She grunted at him.
He tapped his chest. “Thorne.” Then he climbed up her legs and perched on her lap and tapped her chest, gazing deeply into her eyes as though waiting for her to respond. She seemed to understand that he wished to know her name.
“Keza.” She spoke in her own language, and he repeated the sound. Then he gently placed a hand on Akika’s tiny arm, his questioning eyes so full of yearning that Keza became spellbound by him.
“Akika . . . brother . . . friend.” She spoke to him in her tongue, and he replied, imitating her. Though their sounds were merely a pleasant noise to Thorne at first, the thoughts behind those noises grew ever clearer. In time he would learn their language more clearly than the one he had been born into.
He was quick to learn a dozen words that first day. She taught him which plants to eat, like stems, bamboo shoots, and fruits. He favored fruits the most, and she let him eat those. At first he was not strong enough to hold on to her back like Akika, but after a few weeks he could curl an arm around her neck and hold on just as well as her other son.
As the days passed, Keza settled into her life as a mother to her two children. The band of twelve gorillas she lived with were always tolerant, and often indulgent to both Akika and Thorne.
It soon became clear that Thorne had deft control of his hands and could peel bark on trees and could climb with the ease of the younger apes. He was slow to grow and did not prefer to walk on his knuckles, but Keza let him do as he wished. She saw in her own way as he grew stronger that his balance was better when he was upright. Every now and then Keza would walk upright with him, holding Thorne’s tiny hand in her right and Akika’s hand in her left.
Joy filled her whenever she saw her children playing together, wrestling and growling. She hooted and huffed in encouragement. Akika, the child of her body, and Thorne, the child of her heart. She could not be happier.
When Akika was nearly a year old, he fell climbing and a nasty set of spines from a bush below were embedded in his arm. Keza could not pull them free. But Thorne, with his slender fingers, stroked his knuckles over Akika’s face and head in a gentle, soothing motion before he began to ease the spines from the distressed gorilla.
Akika watched his pale-skinned brother with soft, loving eyes, and Thorne bared his teeth in the way that Keza now understood was not a threat, but his way of showing joy. Keza knew she had made a good decision taking the hairless ape into her arms that day, and her love for him became infinite.
Thirteen years later
T
horne stood at the edge of the still pool that fed into a small waterfall below. His family drank handfuls of water hesitantly at the edge. Gorillas could not swim easily and kept well away from it for fear of drowning, or the other dangers that might lurk within it. But Thorne did not fear the water. He was drawn to it, fixated by the way the canopy of moss-covered trees reflected perfectly in its glassy surface.
He crept up to the shore of the pool and peered into the water, glimpsing his face reflected back at him. This was not the first time he had looked into the water, but it was the first time he truly noticed how different he looked compared to his family.
Thorne’s face was narrow, with a thinner mouth, and his eyes were the color of an evening sky. A scruffy layer of dark-brown hair grew around his jaw and his loins but not over the rest of his body. His limbs were sleek, his muscles defined and yet so different in so many ways from his brother.
Thorne studied the different shape of his fingers compared to Akika’s. Even his feet were different. He’d never been able to grasp things with his toes as gracefully as his brother could. He’d been too afraid and ashamed to compare his body to the others. He knew what they called him in their grunts and huffs. The deformed hairless ape.
Perhaps he was not deformed after all. Perhaps he was formed as he should be, and he simply was not an ape? The idea, once formed within him, gave him a greater curiosity, a need for answers. Some nights when he lay alone, a little way from the other gorillas as they slept, he let his mind wander, and strange dreams came in that moment just between sleep and waking. Dreams of apes who looked like him, their voices soft, full of love . . . and other strange dreams of a world that in this lush jungle land seemed impossible.
Perhaps they were dreams born of fevered nights when the humidity threatened to choke him and he sought refuge high in the treetops, thrusting his head above the canopy to feel the wind on his face.