Origin (14 page)

He sits up and shrugs. “Who can say? Maybe it hasn’t appeared yet. But why else would the spirits send an undying one?”

Startled, I pull away, eyes wide. “Undying one…”

He returns my stare evenly, his blue eyes fixed on mine. Something inside me, something that came alive in the light of the Ai’oan fires, begins to crumble. “But…how did you know what I am?”

“I didn’t. It’s like Kapukiri said. I only followed the call of the jaguar, but Kapukiri saw the mark of jaguar, mantis, and moon. It is the mark of the Kaluakoa, and of the
Tapumiri
. The undying ones, who do not know death.”

I feel oddly sad, and the roasted plantain I’m holding no longer looks so delicious. So Eio knows what I am, and once more I am immortal, perfect Pia. Completely unique. Completely different.
Completely alone
. The word reverberates through my body like a shard of ice, bouncing off my ribs and settling in my stomach.

But…I’ve always been alone
. Hence my dream of creating more immortals, so that I
won’t
be. So why does the word strike me so deeply in this moment and in this place? It has never…
hurt
like it does now.

Alone.

Then I see it.

I came to the Ai’oans as a scientist and a foreigner, but that was the extent of the difference between us. When these wild, vivacious people of the jungle swept me into their dance, I left even that behind. I became something different, someone new. Someone who could blend in instead of stand out. Though I hardly know them, and they hardly know me, these Ai’oans and I—we were connected. And for a short time…I belonged.

But then the truth fell like a knife, severing the tenuous
connection. I am an immortal among mortals, and I will never belong. Not here. Not in Little Cam. Not with any kind but my own.

Suddenly Eio decides he wants to dance again, and though I resist at first, he pulls me to my feet. I try to lose myself in the dance of the Ai’oans. We whirl and pound drums and someone’s pet monkey leaps from shoulder to shoulder, screeching and pelting an irritated Alai with berries.

But no matter how fast and furiously I dance, I can’t shake the word from my mind.

After we dance a few more rounds, Eio pulls me out of the circle and away from the village. Alai trails behind, escaping his simian tormentor. We are within sight of the dancers, but here the jungle sounds take precedence, and Ai’oa becomes part of the background. There is only enough light from the fires to illuminate Eio’s nose, forehead, and cheekbones. His eyes catch flecks of light in them, like fireflies trapped in glass jars.

“Come. I want to show you something.”

“What is it?”

“Just be quiet! They’ll hear, and then they’ll follow us.” He takes my hand and starts for the jungle.

“But where—”

Suddenly he stops, faces me, and presses a finger gently to my lips. “Sh,” he whispers. “You talk too much, Pia.”

His face is mere centimeters from mine, a slight, almost mischievous smile playing at his lips. Caught off guard by the closeness of him, I nearly forget to breathe.

I nod, and he drops his finger, takes my hand again, and leads me on.

Questions shoot like sparks through my head—
How far? What is it? Why are you still holding my hand?
—but I don’t ask them. Instead, I let him sweep me through the dark rainforest, my heart hammering.

The ground slopes downward; we’re moving away from Ai’oa, in the opposite direction of Little Cam. We half walk, half slide through thickets of ferns as high as my waist. High above, the call of the potoo—eerily similar to a human whistle—seems to follow us, starting high and smooth and sliding down a scale of eight notes. My ear picks out each one. The potoo is only one of the many nocturnal birds singing tonight. The trees seem to nearly vibrate with their song.

Less than five minutes after leaving Ai’oa, Eio slows. My hand is still in his, and our palms are slippery from the humidity. But neither of us lets go.

When we emerge from a thick stand of palms and come to a halt, I gasp in wonder. Eio has brought me to a river.
The
river. This must be the Little Mississip.

The water is still and silent; if it weren’t for the gentle waves brushing the bank, I’d never even know it was flowing. When I look up, I see more sky than I’ve ever seen before, because the river is so wide that the canopy cannot stretch over it. The exposed band of night is laced with stars. The river, too, is full of them, ten thousand reflections glittering down its dark blue-gray length.

There’s no one here but us. Us and the stars and the river. We walk to the edge, until the water nearly licks our feet. Alai crouches on the bank and drinks.

“I never…” I stop, the words turning to cotton in my throat, and shake my head. It’s too much. I can’t put words to
what I see. I dare not try, lest my inability to articulate somehow lessen the enchantment.

Eio watches me curiously, and I can tell he’s surprised at my reaction. “You’ve really never been outside that fence, have you?”

I shake my head. His fingers brush my face; he’s wiping away tears. I didn’t even know they were there. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “It’s…it’s almost too much. What’s down there, I wonder?” I point to where the river bends away. “Where does it end?”

“The sea,” he replies. “And the city. I’ve been to the city, you know.”

“You have?” My eyes grow wide. “What’s it like?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t go in. Just to the edge. Papi told me to find it, so I went, saw it, and came back.”

“Why would he want you to do that?”

“He said it was part of a plan, but he wouldn’t say more. I was glad to do it. No Ai’oan has ever gone that far, so after my journey, they called me Eio Farwalker.”

“That’s a…nice name,” I say, since he seems quite proud of it.

“The Three did not want me to go, but when it comes to a choice, the father must be obeyed first. Burako, the headman, was afraid it was a trick to make me a foreigner like my Papi. All my life, the Three have worried about this, since I look more like a foreigner than an Ai’oan, and in the past there have been Ai’oans who left the village and never came back. The scientists promised to take them to cities, to let them ride in airplanes and trains, and they listened and turned their backs to Ai’oa and disappeared into the outside world. I have never
known an Ai’oan who did this; these ones left long ago, before I was born, but Burako feared that if I left, others would desert too, and the village would lose many more. I’m not allowed to talk about the journey, or the city, in Ai’oa. Burako wants me to be completely Ai’oan.” He tosses a pebble into the river. It skims the surface and nearly makes it to the other side. “But no matter what rules he makes, I’m still half-
karaíba
.”

“I see.”
Eio is an outsider in his own village, like I am an outsider in mine
. “Where is your mother?”

“She died when I was little. I don’t remember her well. Achiri became my mother, as she does for all the motherless in Ai’oa. It’s her job, as Third of the Three.”

“It’s amazing,” I whisper. “Your world. It’s so close to mine, and yet it’s so different.”

He stares up at the stars. “It is wrong, Pia. They shouldn’t keep you trapped like a pet bird. You should have seen this long ago.” His gaze falls to the river. “We call it
Ymbyja
. Star-water.”

“
Ymbyja
,” I repeat softly. The word is filed into my memory, where it will never be forgotten.

“Look,” Eio says. He takes my hand and holds it up against the sky. “See there? That group of stars?”

I nod.

“We call that the hunter. And there”—he shifts my hand so that I’m pointing at another cluster of stars—“that’s the armadillo.” He lowers my hand, but doesn’t let go. “We have a story in Ai’oa, about how the hunter chased the armadillo through the sky until the armadillo hid in a hole. When the hunter dug into the hole to find it, he dug too deep and broke through the bottom of the sky and fell to the earth, where he
found the river and the trees. He led his tribe down to the earth, and they became the first people.”

Hardly a scientific explanation for the origin of mankind, but out here in the night jungle, under the starry sky, the story is enchanting instead of ridiculous. Uncle Paolo might laugh at it, but it fills my heart with a sudden mysterious longing, as if some part of me wants to believe it’s true. “So is that the Ai’oa? Do you believe you’re descended from that first tribe?”

“Of course not.” He laughs. “That was a long, long time ago. And who knows if it’s even true? But we started somewhere, didn’t we? There must have been a first people at some point in time. Which means that everyone on earth is descended from them and that, in a way, we’re all connected, because in the beginning we were one people. One tribe.” He looks at me sidelong and smiles. “So you see, we’re really not that different after all.”

“I guess when you look at it that way,” I admit.

“We live different lives,” he says, “but we’re all human. Our roots are grounded in the same earth.”

I stare at him for a long moment.
But what if you’re not quite human?

We end up sitting on the bank for a long while, staring from the river to the sky, from the sky to the river. I think Eio is trying to see it the way I see it, but I don’t think he can. I’ve heard of a condition called sensory overload. I think I’m experiencing it now.

But instead of feeling overwhelmed by all these new sights, I feel a warm, peaceful calm flood me from head to toe, as if I’ve been coming here all my life. As if this river and
these stars were a memory I’ve always had inside me and am only just now recalling.

As if sitting on the thick, fragrant moss beside a boy as warm and beautiful as the sun were something I did every night. I marvel at how perplexingly new and familiar it all feels.

Before long, I realize that Eio is staring at me more than the river. My cheeks grow warm, just as they did this morning in my room, and I try to ignore him. But soon, I’m staring back. The stars reflect on the river, and the river reflects in Eio’s eyes.

“Have you ever thought about running?” Eio asks softly. “Not going back to Little Cam?”

My breath stops, reverses. “Of course not.”

“But why? Why would you go back to a place that forbids
this
?” He points at the river. “Why do you choose your cage?”

“It’s not a cage. Not…not really.”

He studies my eyes. “What do they want with you, anyway? What need do scientists have of a
Tapumiri
? Or are there more of you trapped in there?”

“Don’t you know? Hasn’t your father told you?”

“He doesn’t talk about what’s inside the fence,” Eio replies stiffly.

“Well, I’m the only…
Tapumiri
that exists. There are no others. Yet.”

Eio lifts his eyebrows. “Yet?”

“Little Cam…” I draw a deep breath. This is our most closely guarded secret, but he already knows most of it, thanks to Kapukiri. All the Ai’oans do.
And guess what, Uncle Paolo?
They haven’t locked me up. They aren’t invading Little Cam, trying to steal all your research. What do you say to that?
My next thought runs through me like a chill.
And what would you do if you knew they knew?

“Pia?”

“Huh?” I realize suddenly how I must look, stopping in midsentence and staring dull-eyed at nothing while my thoughts crash and collide inside my head. “Oh, sorry. I was telling you that I’m the only one like me. But see, I won’t always be. In Little Cam, we’re going to make more immortals. More
Tapumiri
, I guess you’d call us. That’s why it’s not wrong for them to keep me inside the fence, Eio. They need me, and I need them. I need to help them make more immortals, because until I do…I’ll be alone. The only one of my kind in the world. The only way I’ll ever belong anywhere is if I stay in Little Cam and help create more
Tapumiri
. Do you understand?”

He frowns and looks out at the water.

“Eio? What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to
make
immortals?”

“Well, yes. That’s what I just said.”

“How?”

“Ah…I’m not really sure. They haven’t told me yet,” I confess. “It’s a secret. They don’t want anyone to steal their research, so they’re very careful about guarding the information.”

He studies me with a strange look on his face, as if he can’t decide whether I’m telling him the truth or not. He must reach a decision, though, because his expression transforms
into sudden comprehension.
What
he’s just seen, I cannot make out.

“You don’t know, do you?” he says. “About the origin of
yresa
?”

“What?”
Yresa
. My memory retrieves the word.
It’s what they call elysia
. “What do you mean, Eio?”

He seems shaken, but he only takes my hand and stands up, bringing me to my feet as well. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Listen. They are still beating the drums.” He smiles, and the stars fill his eyes again. “Come and dance with me?”

How can I resist?

W
hen I open my eyes, it is dawn.

My body freezes as my mind, sluggish with sleep, fights to comprehend what I’m seeing. I expect to see trees through the glass of my bedroom roof. The canopy is there, but no glass. The few specks of sky I can see are pale blue.

Realization seeps slowly through my mind. I am lying on my back, draped in garlands of flowers. Around me I hear the soft patter of bare feet on dirt and hushed voices. There is something narrow and hard under my head.

I sit up and see I was lying on Eio’s outstretched arm. He sleeps soundly, his other arm thrown over his eyes. We are lying beside the warm remains of a fire, and several other bodies are stretched out around us. Most of the Ai’oans are still sleeping, exhausted after the long night of feasting and dancing, but a few women are moving around. There is no sign of Alai. The little girl who gave me the plantain last night
is sitting a few feet away, weaving palm fronds together and watching me.