by E. E. Giorgi
I quickly hide the horseshoe behind my back and grin. “Lukas is almost done fixing the rocket—or whatever the thing is.”
Dottie sets the basket on the ground and walks over to take a peek inside the machine. Lukas illustrates in detail all the functions and dysfunctions of the thing while gushing in awe at the Gaijins’ technology.
I lift the lid of the basket Dottie brought and take a peek inside. There are two bowls, chopsticks wrapped in napkins, and two bamboo boxes. The scent of fried noodles and sweet potatoes wafts to my nostrils, making my mouth water.
Dottie slaps my hand and whisks the basket away from me.
“I thought you brought us breakfast!” I protest.
“I did, but I had to cover for you, Athel. Again.”
Lukas smirks and looks away.
“Mom wanted to know where you were, so I told her you’d gone out early to help at the riverbank.”
“Good.” I reclaim the basket and hand a set of chopsticks and one of the two bowls of noodles to Lukas. We both dig in with hearty appetites. “You’re the best, Sis,” I add with my mouth full.
She scowls. “No, I’m a liar.” Taeh dips her head and kisses my sister on the cheek, making her giggle. “I wish I could go ride with you, Taeh, but there’s still so much work to do.”
“Let her roam in the paddock,” I say, pointing my chopsticks.
Dottie gets up and brushes hay straws off her pants, nodding.
“And since you’re there—” I add, but she cuts me off.
“No. I’m not fetching you anything, and I’m not your servant. I’ve got work to do.” And with that, she and the horse stomp out of the barn.
Lukas sucks up the last noodle and scrapes clean the bamboo boxes filled with steamy hot sweet potatoes. Despite my ravenous appetite, I eat only half of my noodles and leave the sweet potatoes untouched. Lukas flashes me a supercilious glare.
“Not hungry?”
“Lost my appetite,” I lie, placing the leftover food back inside the basket. “Shall we head over to the Tower?”
He lines up his tools on the ground next the rocket and nods. “What if fixing the rocket booster won’t be enough? What if they want the capsule, too?”
I push the barn door open and Taeh immediately comes trotting toward us. “Why sending it over if now they want it back?” I ask.
Lukas shrugs. “Maybe launching it was a mistake?”
I sweep a hand across Taeh’s auburn back, pondering.
What if it was all a mistake?
“You go ahead and get the wrench from Akari,” I tell Lukas. “I’ll meet you back here in half an hour.”
I wait for him to jog out of the paddock and then whistle to Taeh. “Come on, girl. You were eager to ride, weren’t you?”
She understands immediately and trots to her prepping corner.
Less than a day and still so many things to find, I think, sliding the underpad onto her back.
A capsule, five keys, and one door.
And an underground city buried and forgotten for years.
* * *
At the bank, men and women are nailing together the fishing platforms and raising them back into the riverbed. Once I reach the forest, the bangs ebb off and quiet envelops me. Taeh’s hooves thump softly on moss-covered paths, and leaves whisper in the breeze.
The main trail shows the signs of the loggers from yesterday. Split branches and overturned terrain riddle the way, while the scents of resins and pinecones tinge the air.
A flock of jays bathes at the edge of the creek. Taeh dips her head in the water to drink, and the birds storm away in a flutter of wings and screeches. I duck under the moss beards dangling from the branches and crane my neck for signs of the girl with the silver braids.
“Lilun,” I hiss, but all I get in response is the gargle of the water rushing downstream, and the gentle hoots of the spotted doves. I dismount and walk the distance to the girl’s hiding spot, where I found her the first time. The contorted branches of the old tree bend all the way to the ground, and the wild vines along the slope are still torn and flattened from yesterday, when I rolled the rocket up the hill in order to load it onto Taeh’s saddle.
“Lilun,” I call again, peeking under the roots of the old oak tree.
The small cave is cold and empty. Mom’s old prosthesis is lying on a blue blanket rolled in a corner, one edge spotted with dried blood. I lift the blanket, and the empty bottle of medicine I brought yesterday rolls away, clinking against a hard surface. Half-buried in the dirt at the back of the cave is a shiny white box with rounded corners.
A voice at the back of my head tells me to leave the box alone because it’s none of my business. I tell the voice at the back of my head to shut up and dig the box out of the dirt. As much as I try, turning it over in my hands and shaking it, I can’t find a dent or a groove where the thing would open. So I place the box back where I found it and walk out of the cave.
Grazing near the oak tree, Taeh sways her long black tail to shoo away the flies swarming around her rump. I open my mouth to call Lilun again, but change my mind. If Tahari or Aghad are out here looking for the chavis, they might hear me and then I’ll have a lot more to explain than a non-working rocket. So I climb back up, my thoughts shifting between hope that the girl has found her way back home and fear that something bad may have happened to her. And as I keep thinking about the girl with the silver braids, my left foot slips over a sheet of dead vine leaves sending me rolling down the incline.
I hear a chuckle, and when I look up again, her blue eyes are peering down at me, looking amused.
“Great,” I groan, propping myself up on my elbows. “The clown has come to town.”
Her face is suddenly serious. She chews on her lower lip and then hesitantly holds out her one hand to me.
I wonder how hard that gesture might be for her. A Gaijin girl holding her hand out to help a stupid Mayake boy who fell on his bum. And then I wonder about the Plague, and whether my own hands are dirtied with the contaminated stuff that killed most of her people.
If she gets the Plague, she’s the one to blame, cynical me blabbers in my head. What is she doing here, anyway? Doesn’t she know any better?
Cynical me keeps jabbering nonsensical thoughts in my head, while all along the knot in my throat doesn’t let go. So I shake my head and get up on my own, brushing off the bits of leaves and dirt smeared all over my pants.
Lilun seems upset, at first, her injured arm snuggled against her ribcage, but her smile resurfaces as soon as she spots Taeh grazing by the oak tree. She strides over and after a moment of hesitation, she finally reaches out and pats the horse’s auburn neck.
So much for worrying about the Plague.
“Well,” I say, sliding the backpack off my shoulders, “since you’ve reached the point of no return, how about this?” I pull a green apple from a side pocket of my pack. Taeh smells it almost immediately and walks over baring her teeth. I gently push her away and give the apple to Lilun.
A smile blossoms on the girl’s face. She snatches the fruit and offers it to Taeh. The horse widens her nostrils, a little miffed that the apple didn’t come from me. She sniffs the offering, gingerly at first, and then takes a bite.
“Yeah, she’s a little spoiled,” I comment.
Unconcerned by Taeh’s initial skepticism, Lilun giggles, the smile on her face broadening as the horse munches up the entire apple and proceeds to lick the girl’s hand and fingers.
Her only hand, I think, gazing at her right arm, still wrapped in the gauze I brought yesterday.
“Arpah,” Lilun says when Taeh’s finished. She pets the horse’s nose and repeats the word. “Arpah.”
“Taeh,” I say, pointing to the horse. “Her name is Taeh.”
Lilun nods. “Arpah Taeh.” She waves her hand in the air in a circular motion and looks at the trees above us. “Arpah Taeh, arpah sturah fegh. Arpah.”
I get it. I really do, from the mesmerized look on he
r face, from the way she stares at Taeh in awe, and then at the tree branches weaving the light above us.
She’s telling me that everything here is beautiful. For somebody who came all the way here to lose a hand and get stranded, that’s quite a statement.
“So, if ‘arpah’ means beautiful,” I say, setting my backpack down in the grass, “what’s the word for delicious?”
I show her the bowl of leftover noodles and grin. And this time I don’t have to beg her to take the food. She sits down on the grass, takes the bowl from my hands, and chomps it all down in a few mouthfuls. Heck, if I have the Plague, she’s already gotten it by now; plus, if you’re gonna die, you might as well die happy and with a full stomach.
At some point she almost chokes on a noodle, and as I make an alarmed face, she points a finger at me and laughs out loud. She’s actually pretty comical with noodles dangling down her chin and dripping on her nylon shirt. Unconcerned by the last bout of coughing, she fills up her cheeks some more and chews carefully, enjoying every flavor and texture, from the stickiness of the noodles to the crunchiness of the nuts and sprouts.
It makes me wonder how her people take their meals. There are many things I wonder about, actually, and as she scoops up the last bit of sweet potatoes from the bamboo box, I rack my brain trying to figure out a way to communicate. Pen and paper would’ve been the way to go, except paper takes a long time to make and all Mayakes these days communicate wirelessly using their retinas as screens. Maybe I can get Lukas to lend me his data feeder one of these days, but for now, some rudimentary graffiti will have to do.
I scout for a pointy rock and when I find one, I call her name.
“Lilun,” I say.
She stares at me wide-eyed and laughs. “Leeloon,” she repeats, exaggerating the vowels.
I shrug. “Yeah. That’s what I said. Lilun.”
Her smile widens. “Lilun,” she repeats, mocking me. The sun filters through the canopy of trees and flickers on her flushed cheeks. The food and laughter have chased away the chalky pallor of her face, making her look more human. More like … us.
Taeh wades through the tall grass and walks back to the creek. Lilun gets up and chases the horse, her pace slightly askew, still adjusting to the fact that her body is missing a piece. I’ve seen that kind of clumsy movement in many Mayakes, every time they outgrow prostheses and have to grow accustomed to the new ones. Funny how somebody so different can look so familiar.
I follow the horse and the girl to the creek until I spot a broken cinder wall, braced on one end by the scarred trunk of a sycamore. I scrape off a layer of moss and start carving my piece of art: two parallel lines, converging at the top. The cinder is brittle and gives easily as I scrape its old, rugged surface.
“Lilun,” I call, and, as she turns, I repeat, “Leeloon,” the way she said it earlier.
I tap my drawing with the tip of the rock. “Rocket,” I say then draw smoke at one end, and arching lines all around. In my head, this means, My friend Lukas will fix the rocket so it will fly again.
Lilun watches me, her thin brows knitted together.
Next to the rocket I carve a droid. I make it big and threatening, with its claws raised. “Droid,” I say, pressing the rock against the image on the wall.
“Kshaphs,” Lilun says, and it’s such a harsh word, it almost sounds like she just sneezed.
“Kshaphs,” I repeat. She nods. “Well, your kshaphs,” I continue, “are about to destroy us.” I carve a tall rectangle in the wall and draw little squares inside: the Tower. I trace numerous lines from the droid to the Tower and scribble all over the building until it’s all scratched out.
“This is what they’re going to do to us,” I conclude once I’m done with the drawing. “They’re going to attack us and destroy our home. Our land.”
I scan Lilun’s face for some kind of reaction. She bites her lower lip and licks a tiny blob of sweet potatoes stuck to the corner of her mouth. Her long braids drape her shoulders, so light in color they almost glisten in the sunlight spilling through the treetops.
“Lilun,” I say. “Is the rocket what the droids want?” I articulate every word as though speaking slowly will make my question easier to understand. But I know it’s not true. Somehow I fail to reach her. Her gaze slips away, and she turns back to Taeh.
“Arpah Taeh,” she says. Her voice sounds sad.
I lean forward and grab her hand. Forget the Plague. We’re all going to die if I can’t get the truth out of her. “What is it that the droids want?” I ask. “Kshaphs?”
She shies away from my touch and cups her hand over my scribbles. “Kshaphs,” she says, and then plunges into a full drivel of words of which I understand absolutely nothing. When she’s done she gets up, retrieves the bowl she ate from, and leaves it at my feet. “Maran du,” she says, bowing her head.
I pick up the bowl and toss it back into my backpack. “You’re welcome,” I reply.
And at that, she nods and smiles, though it’s a sad smile, weighed down by words neither one of us can comprehend.
Chapter Thirteen
Akaela
I set the bowl on the ground and yawn. I was so starved I scarfed up to the last grain of rice, and now that my stomach is full, my eyes want to close and sleep.
My fault for spending the night at the barn instead of in bed.
Mom rubs my back. “Come on, child. Break’s over. Let’s get back to work.” She picks up my bowl and returns to the shore, where the other women are tending the fishing nets.
My legs feel too heavy to move. One more minute, I message, rubbing my eyes.
Knee-deep in the water, men and women hammer the poles of new fishing platforms into place. The breeze carries the reek of wood stain. Swirls of sawdust spin over the wet sand, while pigeons crowd the shore looking for scraps of food. Children too young to work chase them away, laughing. The birds hop away from them without ever going too far, until Wes zips along the riverbank and the whole flock takes off all at once, like a black shadow crossing the sky.
Wes drops to the ground next to me, looks over his shoulder, and says, “You’ve got to come see this.”
“See what?”
He shakes his head and motions for me to follow him. I stare in Mom’s direction, but she’s already crouched over the heap of fishing nets. Together, the women sway back and forth and sing to break the monotony of their work. By the time I get up, Wes is already sprinting toward the shore. I glance one more time at the women, make sure they aren’t looking at me, and then break into a jog.
Wes has three sisters. Jada, the youngest, has no arms, yet her feet and toes are so nimble she can do most anything with them. She sits on a long wood plank on the shore, waves lapping at her feet, and scrubs pots and pans with a long brush secured between her toes. The other sisters pile up dirty bowls by her side and take the clean ones back to the Tower.
Wes waits for me to reach them and then asks Jada, “Can I show Akaela your drawing?”
Jada looks at me with large, wet eyes. I can tell that the girl is carefully studying me, trying to assess whether or not I can be trusted with her creation. A red birthmark sprawls on the left side of her face like a crescent moon. I smile and tell her that I have it too, except mine exploded and fragmented all over my face, creating a myriad of freckles.
“That’s not possible,” she says, laughing. Then she turns serious again and adds, “I made a drawing. Wes says I copied it from somewhere, but I didn’t!” She frowns at her brother, drops the scrubbing brush and starts rinsing the pot. As I watch her, I can’t get over how flexible her legs and feet are.
“I’d love to see your drawing,” I say.
Wes points at the rocks behind us. “Right here.”
I walk over and immediately understand why Wes has been so keen on showing me. Jada has carved a pentagon on the flat surface of the rock, and, next to it, a triangle with a key inside. The key head is the most striking detail: though rudimentary, Jada’s cl
early drawn it to make it look like a cartwheel.
“The Ingenuity Key,” I say.
Wes nods. “She swears she saw it in a dream. In her dream, she opens a door with it.”
“You think it’s an engram?”
“It has to be! How else would she even know about it?”
I open my mouth to reply, but a deep rumble covers my words. Wes jumps and looks up, ready to duck. An object soars up in the sky and zooms past our heads toward the forest, leaving behind a black wake of smoke that expands into an arching cloud.
For a moment, everything freezes. People stare at the sky in shock. Some scream, others wade out of the water, scoop up the children, and run back to the Tower.
“The rocket!” Wes whispers. “I thought the plan was to return it to the Gaijins.”
“Something went wrong,” I say. “It just flew in the opposite direction.”
“Maybe they’re testing it?”
I swallow hard and hope Wes is right. It’s just a test, I tell myself, yet I can’t help thinking that something has gone terribly wrong.
Tahari comes jogging to the bank, his long vest flapping against his wide belly.
“What was that?” a man shouts.
“Was it the droids again?” somebody else yells.
Tahari stops by the shore, waves his hands to the people, and shouts, “It’s all good. Nothing happened, everyone’s fine. Please return to your work. Hennessy and I will investigate this further.”
Wes scratches his head. “Why would he say that?”
I open my mouth to reply but then close it again. Tahari stares in our direction, nods, and then walks over.
“Do you know what that was?” he asks.
I cast a sideways glance at Wes, not sure what to reply. My brother has always told me to keep my mouth shut with the adults, Tahari in particular. But then, three weeks ago, Athel saved my life by revealing to Tahari what he’d discovered about Uli, the evil man who killed our father. I know Athel still hasn’t completely opened up to Tahari, but apparently Tahari now trusts Athel enough to enlist his help preventing what he deems an imminent attack from the Gaijins. I’m not sure what to make of that.