by Emma Castle
Afiya gently patted his shoulder. “Tell her. I will not be angry.”
He sighed. “It was five years ago. Dembe was only a year old. Our crops were failing, and I could not feed my family. I joined a group of men from Bunagana who planned to sneak into the Impenetrable Forest to hunt gorillas. In the old days it was common for men to hunt them as food for their families, but now the bushmeat trade puts a high price on eating gorillas. The wealthy believe it’s prestigious to dine on them, and there are those who believe that some parts of a gorilla’s body can be medicinal or hold some magical charm. Then there are the collectors who wish to have the hands, heads, or feet as prizes. There are the poachers who kill a few gorillas at a time, but there are others who abduct infants for researchers or zoos or the pet trade. When those men take the infants, they almost always kill every single adult in the band, as they try to protect their young.”
Eden had heard of such horrors before, but now that she had seen them in their natural habitat, it was even more gut-wrenching to know how thoughtlessly they were being slaughtered.
She thought of Akika, Thorne’s brother, and his infant son. This was the reason she had come here, to write and take photos. She wanted to remind people that it wasn’t just the gorillas at risk, but all life in the jungle, due to deforestation and poaching.
Sometimes people needed to be reminded of how they were connected to the world. In this modern age, it was easy to feel like a person was set worlds apart from the animals, and that the vanishing forests didn’t matter. But when a person actually saw the face of a gorilla, saw those soulful eyes that at times seemed so human, it reminded people what was at stake. Reminded them that what was being lost in the world existed outside their smartphones.
All her life, Eden had wanted to make a difference, to protect what deserved protection. Thorne had shown her the jungle and the life within it in such a way that she was forever tied to the ancient forests and the mountain gorillas.
“To my shame,” Bwanbale continued, “I went with those men, intending to find gorillas and kill them. But Thorne startled us. I fell and hit my head and lost consciousness. When I came to, I was alone, and there was a wild young man with dark hair staring down at me. I had never seen anything like this man. He wore no clothes, save a deerskin cloth around his loins. His hair was long and dark, his skin deeply tanned. I thought that maybe he was a vision, or perhaps my fevered imagination’s creation of a strange dream. He bore markings here.” Bwanbale touched his shoulders. “Symbols that I thought looked familiar, but they were too ancient for me to know. I had the strangest sense that when I gazed up at him, I knew my life had been changed forever by this jungle man.”
Eden knew that feeling all too well. She was still certain that there was something dreamlike about Thorne.
“I was injured, my head.” Bwanbale touched a pale thin scar on his scalp “Thorne was as well. One of the men I was with had shot him. He had only been grazed by the bullet. He hadn’t even known what guns were. We tended to each other’s wounds, and I stayed with him for a full month, letting my head heal, before I felt I could make the journey home. He shared his world with me, and I realized the error of my ways. I left my life of poaching behind and made amends by seeking to protect the jungle. I work with conservation groups now and meet once a month in Kampala to lobby for change. We have protected much of the land here, and the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest has much more protection now, as do the gorillas. Ugandans care about our land, and I am finding more and more people are rallying behind the cause with me. Thorne reminded me what it means to be Ugandan, to be a part of this beautiful country. I am proud of what we have done, and I am thankful to him for reminding me of that.”
Eden smiled sadly. “Thorne definitely has a way of changing your life. He just swoops in like a big wrecking ball and destroys all your assumptions about life and leads you on the most amazing adventures instead.”
Bwanbale smiled. “You see him as I do. A man with a pure heart. Thorne knows no evil and knows no greed. He uses violence only to protect and survive.”
“Yes,” Eden agreed. “That is exactly how I see him.” And she’d seen so much more of him. He was passionate, playful, tender, and fierce all at once. “I admit, it all seems a bit fantastical at times, the way he seems so attuned to the jungle, how he understands the animals when they interact with him.”
Bwanbale offered a secretive, affectionate smile. “Thorne is no mere man. No man knows the language of the animals as he does. It is not natural, and it cannot be taught. I believe he was chosen. There is a deep magic in the jungle, older than the history in our books. The ancients of the old lost civilization were like Thorne, attuned to that magic. I believe that the cave he discovered is a resting place for their spirits. If what you say about Thorne’s parents is true, then I believe their resting place was disturbed by the men hunting for gold, and the spirits reached out and chose Thorne.”
“Why?” Eden asked, her skin breaking out in goose bumps.
“To avenge a wrong, perhaps. Or maybe to find peace. Perhaps so that their past isn’t lost forever. You saw the homes he built in the trees—he spoke to me of visions, of seeing men and women build them in his head. I helped him, gave him tools, but the ideas were his. The symbols on his shoulders—those too came from the cave. Thorne is part man, part dream.”
Bwanbale was quiet a long moment, and Eden let the weight of this new knowledge about Thorne sink in. Chosen by the jungle, by ancient spirits. Did she believe it? It was becoming harder and harder not to believe that something mystical was connected to Thorne.
“He speaks of you fondly,” she told Bwanbale. “You are his dearest and only friend in the world of men.”
Bwanbale looked bashful, and Afiya chuckled at her husband’s response. She flashed a smile at Eden before she collected the empty plates. Bwanbale’s gaze turned distant, as though the past were playing before his eyes. “To know Thorne is to love him. To love him makes one a better person.”
Bwanbale’s reply was so full of honest emotion that it made Eden’s heart ache. She tried not to think of that moment when she and Thorne had parted ways.
“Come, you must be tired.” Bwanbale stood and looked toward Dembe. “You will sleep in my daughter’s room. Dembe, show our guest your room.”
Dembe bounced with renewed excitement as she followed her father and Eden toward the small room. A narrow cot sat in the corner of the room, and a tiny bookshelf held a stack of children’s books, along with a bin of some toys and dolls. The plaster walls were painted a soft orange and decorated with sketches of colorful birds and other drawings, clearly done by Dembe. The room’s cheeriness was like a mirror of the girl who lived here.
“Thank you for letting me have your room tonight, Dembe.” Eden hugged the little girl, who smiled brightly.
“We will leave tomorrow morning for Kampala once you are ready.” Bwanbale kissed his daughter’s head, and then they left.
Eden put her camera bag and backpack down on the floor and sank onto the small cot. Fortunately, she was just short enough to fit. Her limbs grew as heavy as her heart now that she was alone again. It was too humid for her to get comfortable.
She sighed after a long moment and reached for her camera, flipping through the hundreds of photos she had taken. She paused as she reached pictures of Maggie and Harold, smiling as they ate lunch in the mountains, along with the other tourists. Then she found the photos of their two guides, posing by the entrance to the national park with bright smiles. Eden’s heart squeezed in pain.
All of them were gone. So many lives taken. All in the name of greed.
When she got to the portion of pictures showing Thorne and his family, she paused again. There was sweet Keza, watching with a mother’s love as her adopted son interacted with them. And Akika, the playful brother who saw no difference between Thorne and himself.
We could learn a lot from them.
It was true that the jungle could be merciless
, that everything was divided between predators and prey, but there were no wars between these creatures over differences that were skin-deep, differences that were so minor they didn’t matter.
Eden saw Thorne’s face on the camera screen. She fought the pain she felt thinking these photos would be all she would ever have of him, along with the memories of making love with him in the deep wondrous jungle. Everything that had stopped her from maintaining a relationship with a man hadn’t been there with Thorne. Being with him, caring about him—it had all been so simple.
The worries and concerns of modern life didn’t exist with him. She had no deadlines to meet, no appointments to keep, and no bosses to satisfy. She had felt free for the first time in her life. But as much as she’d longed to stay with him, she couldn’t. She owed the other tourists justice for their deaths, and her parents couldn’t be left to worry about her. She couldn’t just run off into the jungle with a wild man, no matter how much she was tempted.
Eden finally put her camera away, but as she did, she saw something glint in the corner of her front mesh pocket, where she kept the lens cleaner packets. She pulled the object out from the front pocket and gasped. It was Thorne’s father’s ring. He must have slipped it in there. She stroked her thumb over the carved setting sun on the signet ring’s surface, and then she brought it to her lips and kissed it. The tears came swiftly, blurring her vision as she wrapped her arms around her body and wept. A long while later she lay exhausted, body aching with grief, the ring still in her hand, she gazed up at the ceiling of the small shamba and wondered where Thorne was and if he was all right.
Thorne watched the moonlight pour over the pool at the base of the waterfall. Bright ripples rolled along the dark surface of the water until they came to a stop by the shore. This beautiful sight normally would have captivated him for hours, but not tonight.
Thorne was numb. It was as though everything inside him had been ripped out and left open. In just a few days, Eden had become his life, and now he was lost without her.
I did the right thing. I let her go. She can be happy.
Then why did it feel so wrong? Why did it feel like a huge mistake?
Thorne touched his right hand where his father’s ring had been. He’d only worn it a couple of days, yet he felt its absence acutely. He did not regret giving it to Eden, though. The ring and the necklace belonged together. It felt right that they should not be separated, and Eden would care for them both.
He removed his loincloth and waded into the dark water until it was too deep to walk. Then he swam toward the falls and climbed the ledge to reach the cave.
Once enveloped in the blackness, he sought out his bed of furs and lay down upon them. Eden’s scent still clung to the soft furs, and he breathed it in. It would be a long while before he could fall asleep, but he knew he would dream of her.
His Eden. His mate.
Thorne roared with rage and sorrow, until the cave walls echoed with his heartbreak.
10
Eden gazed at the vast city of Kampala, Uganda’s capital city. For a few minutes when she’d been on her knees with a gun to her head, she’d thought she’d never see a city again. It felt good to be back in civilization, but there was an emptiness inside her too, a longing for the deep sable jungle—and for Thorne. She pushed thoughts of him away tried to focus on where she was now and moving forward.
When she’d first come to Uganda, she had flown into the city of Entebbe before catching a bus to Mbarara, where she’d stayed at a hotel before traveling to Bwindi Impenetrable Forest.
Kampala, however, was an urban sprawl, with a mix of ancient and modern art and architecture. This city, as Bwanbale had told her, was the heart of the Bugandan kingdom and was rich with a colorful history.
Bwanbale parked his car in front of the US Embassy and helped Eden collect her gear. Before she headed toward the gate, she turned to the man she now saw as a friend.
“You have my number,” he reminded her. She nodded. Bwanbale and his wife shared a cell phone, and he’d given her the number that morning before they left his village.
“Text me where you will stay so Afiya and I don’t worry.”
“Thank you, Bwanbale, for everything.” She hugged him, and he returned her embrace with a soft, warm laugh. Saying goodbye to him was like saying goodbye to Thorne all over again. Bwanbale knew what lay in her heart, how she had said goodbye to the mysterious Lord of the Jungle and would be forever haunted by losing him. They both shared that unbreakable connection to Thorne. She trembled in Bwanbale’s arms.
“Do not cry, Eden,” he murmured. “Someday you will come back. You will see him again.”
Despite his confident words, Eden heard the note of sorrow in his voice. They both knew she would likely never return. Saying goodbye once was agony. A second time of parting ways would be the end of her heart.
“Why do I miss him so much?” she asked. “I only knew him a few days. That’s crazy, isn’t it?”
Bwanbale smiled. “In many ways, Thorne is the last vessel of the old gods and the people who worshipped them. He is alone, without a family or a place to belong. His heart belongs to the wild, yet it hungers for more. You gave him a glimpse into the life that should have been his, and he will mourn losing you as no other man will.
“But I think, perhaps, there is more to your bond with him than you have told me. Such a bond doesn’t need more than a few days to become real to the both of you. It is right you should grieve being parted from him.”
Bwanbale was right. Some part of her had been left behind, lost forever deep in the heart of the Impenetrable Forest. It belonged to him now, always.
Eden wiped at her eyes and tried to smile. “Thank you.”
Bwanbale smiled back and gave her another hug before they parted ways. “Take care, Eden.”
A US marine met her at the gates. Eden showed him her passport, which had been kept in a pouch in her camera bag. Once inside, Eden was escorted into the office of one of the embassy officials, a woman who looked to be a few years older than her. The woman was dressed in khaki pants and a colorful blouse.
“Have a seat, Ms. Matthews. My name is Cara Tucker. I’m one of the civilian liaison officers.”
Eden sank into a chair opposite Cara’s desk.
“I’m told that you were attacked?” Cara focused briefly on her computer as she typed something before she turned to look at Eden.
With a heavy sigh, Eden told Cara about the murders in the forest and her rescue by Thorne. That part was much harder for her, because she couldn’t talk about him without sounding like she had lost her mind.
By the time she was done, Cara was staring at her, mouth parted in shock. Then she seemed to recover herself, and she picked up the phone on her desk and hit the red button. She waited a few seconds before she spoke.
“We have a serious incident. You need to talk to Ms. Matthews. Yes, that’s correct. I’ve just emailed you her information.” She hung up and cleared her throat.
“Right, so one of the other officers will want to talk with you. Until then, can I take you to the residential area in the building? We have hot showers, beds, clean clothes, and food. Oh, and here.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a slender flip phone. “It’s not much, but it’s yours. You can make any international calls you need to through it. Let people know you’re okay.”
“Thanks.” Eden followed Cara as the woman led her through the maze of halls. They soon stopped next to a room with a number on it.
“This is residence number eighteen, in case you get lost. Any embassy employee will know how to get you back here if you tell them the number. You have a fully stocked fridge with food, a bed, a shower. I’ll have some clothes brought down for you while we have someone drive to Mbarara to retrieve your luggage from your hotel there. Just tell me your size.”
“Uh, ten. And for shoes I’m an eight,” Eden said.
“Thanks.” Cara smiled. “Go shower and get some rest. I’ll check on y
ou later.”
Eden entered the small residence and stared at the twin-size bed. She sat down on the edge and pulled out the basic cell phone Cara had given her. She dialed her parents back in the US. It was late afternoon here in Kampala, which meant it was early morning in Arkansas.
Her mother answered after a few rings. “Hello?”
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Eden? Oh, I didn’t recognize the number you’re calling from.”
“I got a temporary cell phone from the US Embassy.”
“The embassy? What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” Just getting those words out was a huge relief, and she felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. But now came the hard part. Eden shut her eyes and fell back on the bed as she rubbed at her closed lids with her thumb and forefinger. “Mom, I need you to sit down, okay?”
“I’m sitting,” her mother assured her, though her clipped tone hinted at her growing anxiety.
“Our tour group was attacked by some armed men in the jungle. They killed everyone but me, Mom.”
“Oh my God! Oh God!” There was a harsh intake of breath. Then another. “Okay . . . okay. Oh honey, thank God you’re all right. What happened? Who were the men who attacked you? Why?”
She was so tired of telling everyone the same story, but she related the details again and listened to the silence on the other end of the phone.
“Mom?”
“Oh God, honey.” Her mother’s usual tough-love approach would have been to tell her to shake it off, but this wasn’t like losing a job or having your laptop stolen at a Starbucks. She sounded terrified. “I want you to come home right now.”
“I’m not sure I can just yet. I’m at the embassy, and they still have some questions.”
“Eden, how did you get away?” her mother suddenly asked.
“I was rescued.” She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to tell her mother. She’d told Cara everything to help them with their investigation of the murdered tourists, but her mother?