Eden, Dawn

by Archer Swift

  ***

  It was midmorning when we arrived. Even from a trek away, I had caught sight of several plumes of camp-fire smoke twisting up from the main camp, snaking high into the air, holding their near-vertical course, before disappearing into the distant thermals. There was not even a breath of wind today. Typical of spring. And the mauve-tinted sky was sparsely dotted with thread-like clouds that would soon vanish in the noontime sun. A perfect day.

  Summer was the rainy season—when the afternoon thunderstorms arrived like clockwork. Although it provided a break from the unbearable, scorching summer heat, courtesy of Eden’s proud, young sun, the blitz of rain showers was brutal, tearing through the jungle canopy with fist-sized rain drops that bombed the flora with vicious intent, almost as though the thunder-angry sky was at war with the ground. As millions of wet shells assaulted millions of leaves, the fallout was so loud, so deafening, that attempts to talk during the bombardment were futile. Only the large, waxy leaves of the large jungle ferns provided some cover from the pelting raid, even though no one escaped a thorough drenching—which given the heat wasn’t the problem. What was extremely unpleasant, suffocatingly so, was the soup-thick cloying humidity that immediately rushed in behind the dispersing rain clouds as the summer sun baked the wet, shell-shocked jungle.

  Think warm, pea-green soup. Now, think swimming in the stuff.

  Spring, however, offered only warm, clement weather, a perfect setting for celebration.

  The main camp was very similar to ours, like every clan’s campground. As such, no more than twenty people dwelt here. About five hundred strides west of the camp, halfway towards the empty husk of the Ark, was the Gathering Place. It was an open, cleared area, and it was already teeming with people. We were the second last clan to arrive. Nearly a full house.

  Having spent a year with just ten others, day in and day out for three hundred and fifty days, every day obsessed and consumed with survival, the crowd looked overwhelming, daunting. Intimidating. I could feel myself shiver; awhirl with excitement and anxiety, anticipation and apprehension. And when I looked at my clan, I could see I wasn’t the only one.

  First things first, the check-in. Every clan signed-in on arrival, submitted weapons—knives, bows and arrows—and reported what we called major issues immediately. The big five: deaths, births, testimonials, grievances, and nominations.

  There was always bad news to report, never good news to share. Our clan had at least one death to report each year—even though Judd and I had already reported Victor’s death to the Mzees since his loss had such wide-reaching ramifications. Like every clan, there was never a birth to report. A testimonial was a beyond-normal feat of bravery accomplished by a clan member. Even though courage was common in our clan, we never had one to share. Victor had encouraged us to win as a family, to shy away from individual accolades. And we loved him for this approach. At least, I thought we all did.

  Until this year, we had never had a grievance or a nomination. Today, we had both. Judd nominated Ruzzell; everyone confirmed it at check-in—except me. I couldn’t bring myself to lie. Ruzzell then reported my alleged attack on Gellica and Judd, and the clan verified his report. My veto to his nomination now looked contrived, motivated by bitterness.

  So be it.

  I didn’t take notice of the glares from the check-in leaders; they could only take the word of a clan seemingly united against an offender. The focus of my attention was on Gellica. She had torn herself away from the rest of us, clearly distressed, wiping away the tears that streaked her beautiful face. My heart ached. I would do anything to comfort her and felt a measure of relief when Nadalie gave her a shoulder to cry on.

  This outbreak of emotion was unlike her. Gellica was an amazingly strong person, a model of laudable resilience ever since losing her family to the Wolf-pack. And the heart-touching warmth and genuine interest she showed in others made you feel like you were the only person on the planet. I found being near her cathartic, her serene maturity and natural beauty empowering. And her wise eyes and swan-like neck ennobled her, making her seem taller than she actually was. Yet, soon after Ruzzell assumed leadership of our clan, she had retreated into herself. At first, I thought it was simply because she missed Victor. He was like a father to her, too. But now I knew there was another reason.

  Two years ago, after the death of Brucie’s sister Ling to a Mogul-spider bite, Gellica became the oldest girl in our clan. And she’d become a mother-figure to the younger guys. Even Ruzzell’s lackeys adored her.

  This was probably another reason why Ruzzell’s ire was directed at Judd and me. There’s no question Ruzzell was attracted to Gellica, and her snub provoked his jealous fury, but it dawned on me that there might be more to it. Nadalie said Ruzzell spoke of being a king. While our small clan was a tiny little kingdom, Ruzzell was conniving and devious. And madcap. Since our entire world revolved around ten others, maybe he viewed it as some ‘grand domain’ to conquer and rule. Perhaps, trying to secure her loyalty would cement his power over us all. At least, in his warped mind. Even so, there was an itch inside my soul that I couldn’t scratch.

  Is there more to this? Is he just seeking to dominate our little group? Or does he have his sights set on bigger gains?

  Leaving check-in, we turned our attention to the festivities itself. Already, there was an atmosphere charged with celebration even though we knew the leadership group was hard at work. Just off-site, in private, the leaders were interviewing members of the northern clans.

  The first clans had already finished their personal interviews and were now responsible for setting up the banquet area. Since we departed last, the southern clans would assist with clearing up. This happened every year. Everyone helped; everyone contributed. In this way, we would have a full two hours over midday where we could all eat together—during which time the Mzees could share the annual update. After lunch, the southern clans were interviewed.

  Having reported me, Ruzzell and I would have to field a grievance interview before lunch. In front of a jury of two Mzees, Ruzzell would have five minutes to lay the charge. I would have five minutes to explain myself before judgment would be passed. It was quick, clinical and uncomplicated. The unanimous charge delivered by the clan made it simple.

  Today, I would get my first dark points.