Athel (14 page)

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 her 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 clearly 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.

Unfortunately
Wes replies before I can come up with some sensible lie.

“A rocket
we found in the forest,” he says. “We think it’s from the Gaijins.”

Tahari
runs a hand over his bald forehead, a tear of sweat dripping down his jaw.
“Things are changing. It used to be—things used to be peaceful. Hard,
yes, but peaceful. And now”—he shakes his head—“I don’t know what
the future holds anymore.”

“We
think—” I start.

“Where’s
Athel?” Tahari interjects.

Athel
hasn’t responded to my messages for the past two hours. Which means there’s
only one place he could possibly be. “In the forest,” I reply, “looking for the
chavis
, I’m sure.”

Tahari
lets out a whistle and frowns. “We’re running out of time. The droids are
planning an attack within twenty-four hours.”

My eyes
widen.
So he knows. Why isn’t he telling
everyone, then
?

He looks
back at the people working in the river. “I can’t have them panicking,” he
whispers, as though he’s read my mind. “We have so little time. Maybe they
should be making barricades instead of fishing structures.”

I bite my
lip. “Why don’t you have everyone go hunt the keys in the forest? We’d have a
better chance if we all—”

“I can’t
trust them the way I used to.” His small black eyes dart back and forth between
Wes and me. I wonder if he’s having second thoughts about talking to us so
openly. “I used to trust everyone,” he adds, lowering his voice, his wide
forehead pearled with sweat. “Three men lost their lives because of my naiveté.
I can’t afford mistakes like that anymore.” He switches back to a more official
tone and clears his throat. “I know you two have gone through a lot. Please go
help Athel in his quest. I’ll join you after dark.”

I nod,
maybe a little too excitedly. “We think we can find the Ingenuity door. Maybe
if we could have the key—”

“That’s
fantastic news,” he interrupts. “Once you find it, Aghad and I will bring the
key over to unlock it.”

He gives
Wes a brisk pat on the shoulder, then turns around and walks back to the men
and women rebuilding the fishing platforms. “Excellent progress, everyone,” he
shouts, waving a hand. “By nightfall we’ll be able to hang back our nets.”

Everyone
cheers and claps at the statement, then the monotonous cadence of wood planing
and hammering resumes.

A light
tap on my foot drags my gaze from the river. Jada grins at me, the lower tip of
her birthmark curling up to her dimple. “Did you like my drawing?”

I smile
back. “I did, Jada. You’re very talented.”

She nods
and makes a serious face. “Well. I’m done with the dishes. When are we heading
to the forest, then?”

*
 
*
 
*

Despite being barefoot, Jada has
no problem treading the uneven trails of the forest. She climbs over obstacles
and around rocks with extreme agility, happily skipping ahead of us.

“Did she
ever have arm prostheses?” I ask Wes.

“When she was
little,” he replies. “But then she outgrew them. Between the four of us, we all
need some kind of device. My other two sisters would be completely blind
without their bionic eyes. Jada is very selfless. Whenever something’s up for
recycling, she gives priority to her siblings. She claims she’s accustomed to
living without arms, whereas life without sight or legs would be impossible.”

I watch in
awe as she steps over a fallen log, balancing her lanky body on her long,
skinny legs. Her naked feet wrap around objects and terrain as though they were
made of rubber.

The forest
around us grows thicker and darker. Long beards of moss hang from low branches
like curtains. We’re missing the map Tahari gave to Athel, but luckily it’s not
too hard to remember: the five doors are distributed like the five stars in the
Cassiopeia constellation, with Foresight and Prudence marking the two bottom
vertices.

Ingenuity
was marked on the map as the last door after Beacon Rock, so we follow the path
up all the way to a fork, the trail to the right mottled with manure and Taeh’s
horseshoe prints. For a moment I consider taking the same path to find Athel
and Lukas first. Time is ticking though, and we need to find the door fast. So
we leave Taeh’s prints behind and take a left at the fork.

“What do
you think happened to the rocket?” Wes asks as we enter a part of the forest we
haven’t explored yet.

I duck
under a branch stretching across the trail and hold it out of the way to let
Jada pass. “I don’t know, and I’m worried about it. When I last saw them, back
at the barn, Athel said Lukas was going to fix it and then they were going to
take it back to the gorge.”

“Maybe
they were just testing it, to make sure it could fly again,” Wes offers.

“I hope
so,” I say, trying not to think of the consequences should this not be true.
Will the droids really attack the Tower over a stupid rocket? Or are they
sending us empty threats to reinforce their supremacy?

Jada skips
ahead of us, too excited to be in a new place to pay attention to our
conversation.

“Let us
know as soon as you see a place that looks like your dream,” I tell her.

“I will,”
she replies, already several feet ahead.

While Wes
is usually the fastest of us all, now that the forest is thicker and the
vegetation dense around the trees, he keeps lagging behind, his sleek blades
inadequate for this kind of terrain. Jada, on the other hand, with her naked
little feet, can tramp over obstacles like a mountain goat.

Soon, the
landscape blends with the ruins of Astraca: pillars sprout out of wild vines
and ferns, and broken archways lean against trees.

“Hey, look
at me!” Jada calls. She climbs over a moss-covered rise and balances while
walking a straight line. The rise gets narrower and steeper as the terrain
around it descends into a ravine, gradually uncovering an old Astraca wall that
survived the fire.

“Jada, be
careful!” Wes shouts. “Turn around and come back.”

But Jada
keeps going, and as we follow her from below, the slope of the ravine becomes
steeper and the wall taller. My boots lose traction on terrain that’s sleek and
damp with dead leaves. I turn to warn Wes a second too late. One of his blades
slips, and before I can stop him, he falls on his behind and slides right past
me, his blades up in the air.

“Wes!” I
run after him, which turns out to be a bad idea, and soon I’m slipping down the
incline on my butt. Moments later we find ourselves piled up against a big log
at the very bottom of the crevice.

“Ow,” I
protest, as one of Wes’s blades presses against my back. “You could slice me up
with those things, you know?”

I crawl
back to my feet spitting pine needles and plucking twigs out of my hair.

“Darn
things weren’t made to walk on leaves,” Wes mumbles, checking both blades for
scratches and dents, completely oblivious to the scrapes on his face and arms.

“Wow!”
Jada squeals.

I have to
crane my neck to glimpse her behind the tree branches. She’s like an
exclamation point at the end of the wall, an ecstatic look on her face.

“This is
it!” she yells. “This is the place from my dream. How did you know we’d find it
here?”

“Great,”
Wes says. “Please tell me we’re not going to find the door at the top of that
wall.”

Her joyful
laughter echoes across the ravine. “No. But I know exactly where it is. Let me
get down.”