Lilith's Brood: Dawn, Adulthood Rites, and Imago (Xenogenesis Trilogy)

by Octavia E. Butler

  Lilith walked back to the settlement, a long crude basket filled with breadnuts on her back. She found the male and female ministering to their ooloi holding it between them and entangling its head and body tentacles with their own. Wherever the three touched, tentacles joined them. It was an intimate, vulnerable position, and other ooloi lounged nearby, guarding without seeming to guard. There were also a few humans watching. Lilith looked around the settlement, wondering how many of the humans not present would not come back from their day of wandering or food gathering. Did those who left come together on some other part of the island? Had they built a shelter? Were they building a boat? A wild thought struck her: What if they were right? What if they somehow were on Earth? What if it were possible to row a boat to freedom? What if, in spite of all she had seen and felt, this was some kind of hoax? How would it be perpetrated? Why would it be perpetrated? Why would the Oankali go to so much trouble?

  No. She did not understand why the Oankali had done some of what they had done, but she believed the basics. The ship. The Earth, waiting to be recolonized by its people. The Oankali’s price for saving the few remaining fragments of humanity.

  But more people were leaving the settlement. Where were they? What if—The thought would not let her alone no matter what facts she felt she knew. What if the others were right?

  Where had the doubt come from?

  That evening as she brought in a load of firewood, Tate blocked her path.

  “Curt and Celene are gone,” she said quietly. “Celene let it slip to me that they were leaving.”

  “I’m surprised it took them so long.”

  “I’m surprised Curt didn’t brain an Oankali before he left.”

  Nodding in agreement, Lilith stepped around her and put down her load of wood.

  Tate followed and again planted herself in Lilith’s path.

  “What?” Lilith asked.

  “We’re going too. Tonight.” She kept her voice very low—though no doubt more than one Oankali heard her.

  “Where?”

  “We don’t know. Either we’ll find the others or we won’t. We’ll find something—or make something.”

  “Just the two of you?”

  “Four of us. Maybe more.”

  Lilith frowned, not knowing how to feel. She and Tate had become friends. Wherever Tate was going, she would not escape. If she did not injure herself or anyone else, she would probably be back.

  “Listen,” Tate said, “I’m not just telling you for the hell of it. We want you to go with us.”

  Lilith steered her away from the center of the camp. The Oankali would hear no matter what they did, but there was no need to involve other humans.

  “Gabe has already talked to Joe,” Tate said. “We want—”

  “Gabe what!”

  “Shut up! You want to tell everyone? Joe said he’d go. Now what about you?”

  Lilith stared at her hostilely. “What about me?”

  “I need to know now. Gabe wants to leave soon.”

  “If I leave with you, we’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  Tate, being Tate, said nothing. She smiled.

  “I didn’t say I was going. All I mean is that there’s no reason to sneak away in the night and step on a coral snake or something. It’s pitch black out there at night.”

  “Gabe thinks we’ll have more time before they discover we’re gone.”

  “Where’s his mind—and yours? Leave tonight and they’ll notice you’re gone by tomorrow morning—if you don’t wake everyone on your way out by tripping over something or someone. Leave tomorrow morning and they won’t notice you’re gone until tomorrow night at dinner.” She shook her head. “Not that they’ll care. They haven’t so far. But if you want to slip away, at least do it in a way that will give you a chance to find shelter before nightfall—or in case it rains.”

  “When it rains,” Tate said. “It always rains sooner or later. We thought … maybe once we were clear of this place, we’d cross the river, head north, keep heading north until we found a dryer, cooler climate.”

  “If we are on Earth, Tate, considering what was done to Earth and especially to the northern hemisphere, south would be a better direction.”

  Tate shrugged. “You don’t get a vote unless you come with us.”

  “I’ll talk to Joe.”

  “But—”

  “And you ought to get Gabe to help you with your acting. I haven’t said a thing you and Gabe hadn’t already thought of. Neither of you is stupid. And you, at least, are no good at bullshitting people.”

  Characteristically, Tate laughed. “I used to be.” She sobered. “Okay, yeah. We’ve pretty much worked out the best way of doing it—tomorrow morning and south and with someone who probably knows how to stay alive in this country better than anyone but the Oankali.”

  There was a silence.

  “We really are on an island, you know,” Lilith said.

  “No, I don’t know,” Tate answered. “But I’m willing to take your word for it. We’ll have to cross the river.”

  “And in spite of what we see on what seems to be the other side, I believe we’ll find a wall over there.”

  “In spite of the sun, the moon and the stars? In spite of the rain and the trees that have obviously been here for hundreds of years?”

  Lilith sighed. “Yes.”

  “All because the Oankali said so.”

  “And because of what I saw and felt before I Awoke you.”

  “What the Oankali let you see and made you feel. You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff Kahguyaht has made me feel.”

  “Wouldn’t I?”

  “I mean, you can’t trust what they do to your senses!”

  “I knew Nikanj when it was too young to do anything to my senses without my being aware of it.”

  Tate looked away, stared toward the river where the glint of water could still be seen. The sun—artificial or real—had not quite vanished and the river looked browner than ever.

  “Look,” she said, “I don’t mean anything by this, but I have to say it. You and Nikanj …” She let her voice die, abruptly looked at Lilith as though demanding a response. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “You’re closer to him—to it—than we are to Kahguyaht. You …”

  Lilith stared at her silently.

  “Hell, all I mean is, if you won’t go with us, don’t try to stop us.”

  “Has anyone tried to stop anyone from leaving?”

  “Just don’t say anything. That’s all.”

  “Maybe you are stupid,” Lilith said softly.

  Tate looked away again and shrugged. “I promised Gabe I’d get you to promise.”

  “Why?”

  “He thinks if you give your word, you’ll keep it.”

  “Otherwise, I’ll run and tell, right?”

  “I’m beginning not to care what you do.”

  Lilith shrugged, turned and started back toward camp. It seemed to take Tate several seconds to see that she meant it. Then she ran after Lilith, pulled her back away from the camp.

  “All right, I’m sorry you’re insulted,” Tate rasped. “Now are you going or aren’t you?”

  “You know the breadnut tree up the bank—the big one?”

  “Yes?”

  “If we’re going, we’ll meet you there after breakfast tomorrow.”

  “We won’t wait long.”

  “Okay.”

  Lilith turned and walked back to camp. How many Oankali had heard the exchange? One? A few? All of them? No matter. Nikanj would know in minutes. So it would have time to send for Ahajas and Dichaan. It would not have to sit and go catatonic like the others.

  In fact, she still wondered why the others had not done it. Surely they had known that their chosen humans were leaving. Kahguyaht would know. What would it do?

  Something occurred to her suddenly—a memory of tribal people sending their sons out to live for a while alone in
the forest or desert or whatever as a test of manhood.

  Boys of a certain age who had been taught how to live in the environment were sent out to prove what they had learned.

  Was that it? Train the humans in the basics, then let them go out on their own when they were ready?

  Then why the catatonic ooloi?

  “Lilith?”

  She jumped, then stopped and let Joseph catch up with her. They walked together to the fire where people were sharing baked yams and Brazil nuts from a tree someone had stumbled upon.

  “Did you talk to Tate?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “That I’d talk to you.”

  Silence.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  “Go.”

  She stopped, turned to look at him, but his face told her nothing.

  “Would you leave me?” she whispered.

  “Why would you stay? To be with Nikanj?”

  “Would you leave me?”

  “Why would you stay?” The whispered words had the impact of a shout.

  “Because this is a ship. Because there’s nowhere to run.”

  He looked up at the bright half moon and at the first scattering of stars. “I’ve got to see for myself,” he said softly. “This feels like home. Even though I’ve never been in a tropical forest before in my life, but this smells and tastes and looks like home.”

  “… I know.”

  “I’ve got to see!”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t make me leave you.”

  She seized his hand as though it were an animal about to escape.

  “Come with us!” he whispered.

  She closed her eyes, shutting out the forest and the sky, the people talking quietly around the fire, the Oankali, several physically joined in silent conversation. How many of the Oankali had heard what she and Joseph were saying? None of them behaved as though they had heard.

  “All right,” she said softly. “I’ll go.”

  4

  JOSEPH AND LILITH FOUND no one waiting at the breadnut tree after breakfast the next morning. Lilith had seen Gabriel leave camp, carrying a large basket, his ax, and his machete as though intending to chop wood. People did that as they saw need just as Lilith took her own machete, ax, and baskets and went to gather forest foods when she saw need. She took people with her when she wanted to teach and went alone when she wanted to think.

  This morning only Joseph was with her. Tate had left camp before breakfast. Lilith suspected that she might have gone to one of the gardens Lilith and Nikanj’s family had planted. There she could dig cassava or yams or cut papayas, bananas, or pineapple. It would not help much. They would soon have to live on what they found in the forest.

  Lilith carried roasted breadnuts both because she liked them and because they were a good source of protein. She also carried yams, beans, and cassava. At the bottom of her basket she carried extra clothing, a hammock of light, strong Oankali cloth, and a few sticks of dry tinder.

  “We won’t wait much longer,” Joseph said. “They should be here. Maybe they’ve come and gone.”

  “More likely they’ll be here as soon as they decide we weren’t followed. They’ll want to be sure I haven’t sold them out, told the Oankali.”

  Joseph looked at her, frowned. “Tate and Gabe?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  She shrugged.

  “Gabe said you should get out for your own good. He said he’d heard people beginning to talk against you again—now that they can think for themselves again.”

  “I’ll be going toward the dangerous ones, Joe, not away from them. So will you.”

  He stared at the river for a while, then put his arm around her. “Do you want to go back?”

  “Yes. But we won’t.”

  He did not argue. She resented his silence, but accepted it. He wanted to go that badly. His feeling that he was on Earth was that strong.

  Sometime later, Gabriel led Tate, Leah, Wray, and Allison to the breadnut tree. He stopped, stared at Lilith for a moment. She was certain he had heard all she had said.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  They headed upriver by mutual consent since no one really wanted to head back toward camp. They stayed near the river to avoid getting lost. This meant occasionally hacking their way through undergrowth and aerial roots, but no one seemed to mind.

  In the humidity, everyone perspired freely. Then it began to rain. Beyond walking more carefully in the mud, no one paid any attention. The mosquitoes bothered them less. Lilith slapped at a persistent one. There would be no Nikanj tonight to heal her insect bites, no gentle, multiple touches of sensory tentacles and sensory hands. Was she the only one who would miss them?

  The rain ceased eventually. The group walked on until the sun was directly overhead. Then they sat on the wet trunk of a fallen tree, ignoring fungi and brushing away insects. They ate breadnuts and the ripest of the bananas Tate had brought. They drank from the river, having long ago learned to ignore the sediment. It couldn’t be seen in the handfuls of water that they drank, and it was harmless.

  There was strangely little conversation. Lilith went aside to relieve herself and when she stepped clear of the tree that had concealed her, every eye was on her. Then abruptly everyone found something else to notice—one another, a tree, a piece of food, their fingernails.

  “Oh god,” Lilith muttered. And more loudly: “Let’s talk, people.” She stood before the fallen tree that they either sat or leaned on. “What is it?” she asked. “Are you waiting for me to desert you and go back to the Oankali? Or maybe you think I have some magic way of signaling them from here? What is it you suspect me of?”

  Silence.

  “What is it, Gabe?”

  He met her gaze levelly. “Nothing.” He spread his hands. “We’re nervous. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We’re scared. You shouldn’t have to take the brunt of our feelings, but … but you’re the different one. Nobody knows how different.”

  “She’s here!” Joseph said, moving to stand beside her. “That should tell you how much like us she is. Whatever we risk, she risks it too.”

  Allison slid down off the log. “What is it we risk?” she demanded. She spoke directly to Lilith. “What will happen to us?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve guessed, but my guesses aren’t worth much.”

  “Tell us!”

  Lilith looked at the others, saw them all waiting. “I think these are our final tests,” she said. “People leave camp when they feel ready. They live as best they can. If they can sustain themselves here, they can sustain themselves on Earth. That’s why people have been allowed to walk away. That’s why no one chases them.”

  “We don’t know that no one chases them,” Gabriel said.

  “No one is chasing us.”

  “We don’t even know that.”

  “When will you let yourself know it?”

  He said nothing. He stared upriver with an air of impatience.

  “Why did you want me on this trip, Gabe? Why did you personally want me here?”

  “I didn’t. I just—”

  “Liar.”

  He frowned, glared at her. “I just thought you deserved a chance to get away from the Oankali—if you wanted it.”

  “You thought I might be useful! You thought you’d eat better and be better able to survive out here. You didn’t think you were doing me a favor, you thought you were doing yourself one. It could work out that way.” She looked around at the others. “But it won’t. Not if everyone’s sitting around waiting for me to play Judas.” She sighed. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Allison said as people were getting up. “You still think we’re on a ship, don’t you?” she asked Lilith.

  Lilith nodded. “We are on a ship.”

  “Does anyone else here think so?” Allison demanded.

  Silence.


  “I don’t know where we are,” Leah said. “I don’t see how all this could be part of a ship, but whatever it is, wherever it is, we’re going to explore it and figure it out. We’ll know soon.”

  “But she already knows,” Allison insisted. “Lilith knows this is a ship no matter what the truth is. So what’s she doing here?”

  Lilith opened her mouth to answer but Joseph spoke first. “She’s here because I wanted her here. I want to explore this place as badly as you all do. And I want her with me.”

  Lilith wished she had come from behind her tree and pretended not to notice all the eyes and all the silence. All the suspicion.

  “Is that it?” Gabriel asked. “You came because Joe asked you to?”

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  “Otherwise you would have stayed with the Oankali?”

  “I would have stayed at camp. After all, I know I can live out here. If these are final tests, I’ve already passed mine.”

  “And what kind of grade did the Oankali give you?” It was probably the most honest question he had ever asked her—filled with hostility, suspicion, and contempt.

  “It was a pass-fail course, Gabe. A live-die course.” She turned and began walking upriver, breaking trail. After a while, she heard them following.

  5

  UPRIVER WAS THE OLDEST part of the island, the part with the greatest number of huge old trees, many with broad buttresses. This land had once been connected to the mainland—had become first a peninsula, then an island as the river changed course and cut through the connecting neck of land. Or that was what was supposed to have happened. That was the Oankali illusion. Or was it an illusion?

  Lilith found her moments of doubt coming more often as she walked. She had not been along this bank of the river. Like the Oankali, she had not worried about getting lost. She and Nikanj had walked through the interior several times, and she had found it easier to look up at the green canopy and believe herself within a vast room.

  But the river seemed so large. As they followed the bank, the far bank changed, seemed nearer, seemed more heavily forested here, more deeply eroded there, ranged from low bluffs to flat bank that slipped into the river, blending almost seamlessly with its reflection. She could pick out individual trees—treetops anyway. Those that towered above the canopy.