The Wild Lands: Legend of the Wild Man (27 page)

The old tribesman waits a long time, but the
disgusting veined man does not return. Finally, his stomach
pleading, he investigates the food. There is a good amount of
fruit, even a small amount of elk meat. The veined little man gave
him meat to prove their strength and mastery of the world beneath
them.

He nibbles one of the fruits. It has lines of
black running through its flesh. It tastes wretched and he spits it
out. He tries the elk meat but it has the same vile flavor. Cursed
food from a cursed land. The hermit eats none of it.

Light burns with the same intensity so he
knows not if its been hours or days. Time crawls. Each time he
awakens his room is cleaned and fresh fruit greets him. This
infuriates him to no end. How does the veined man do this? Even in
their home, the Sky people are hidden.

More than the sun, the hermit craves the
moonlight. He can feel its gentle pull, and knows its not more than
a crescent in the sky, but something obscures its energies. There
is something in the air that makes his hair stand up and his
stomach tighten. The hermit longs to dance and run in the moon's
silver light. Only Kao can free him.

It would be wiser to let the old man rot. The
young hunter could live his own life, seek another tribe. The old
hermit can perish in the sky if he must. He would not blame Kao if
he abandoned him, but he knows the hunter will come, if not for him
then for the dream of his sister. But the young hunter will wait.
To assault their ivory tower before the full moon would be folly.
So the hermit bides his time.

He eats the vile food. He knows his old
feeble body can't fight its corrupting force anymore than he can
survive without food. The veined Hidden stays longer once the
hermit eats. He speaks to the hermit with a quick tongue. There is
an unlimited amount of sounds he makes, and he tries them all on
the hermit. The hermit tries to understand but cannot. He needs his
mushroom potion, good food and fresh air. In his cage his mind is
tired and sluggish. He speaks to veined one but he does not like
the gleam in his beady eyes. His eyes reveal secret ambitions and
cold calculation each time the hermit grunts a response.

For the hermit understands that is what he
must sound like to the man. His tribe responds to his stories in
unrefined grunts and growls. Compared to the little man's flowery,
twittery voice, his language sounds brutish and primitive. Most of
his words are little more than grunts or howls, while the sky man
uses his tongue, teeth, lips and some sort of humming to
communicate. The hermit wishes to make him understand that there is
no more than a difference in their tongues. But he fears the gap is
too great. Like his tribe and the songbirds, he worries the two
tribes will never share more than a handful of words.

The hermit resents the veined man, but wants
to prove his intelligence to him. He knows he must. The veined man
tests him, but the hermit fears his intentions. If he cannot prove
his intelligence, the Hidden will see him as nothing more than an
animal. The hermit fears losing his mind to one of their stones. He
must convince them his wisdom exists and is worth keeping.

The beady eyed, veined sky man is not the
only one to visit him though.

One day (or however the sky people measure
time) he smells a girl. He smells her come again and again, always
getting closer. There is something about her...

Once when he awakens, she is there, so close
yet forever out of reach. The girl from the ceremony who left in a
rush. Whitepatch.

She is taller than any of the other Hidden
and has expressive eyes that say everything and nothing. She has
long black hair and the hermit swears he can hear her purring. She
looks at him with equal parts fear and awe, like he is the two
headed wolf of legend, the destroyer that must cull the one so the
many will flourish. She sits down on the other side of the
invisible barrier. The two sit and stare at each other but say
nothing. It feels honest.

She holds herself differently than the rest
of the sky people. She is graceful and feminine. Her movements are
controlled but say much.

She has been in the mind of a cat.

Her eyes are catlike. They perceive more than
what is there. She does not try to intimidate him like the veined
sky man. Instead she sets with patience and grace, though her eyes
flick at any sound.

She does not want to be caught.

She too, fears the little veined one. That
bodes poorly for him. It seemed that he was the prize of the most
powerful Hidden of all.

The girl leaves but returns, she is there
when he awakens. A boy stands next to her, her twin. They have the
same black hair, the same smell, though the boys eyes are harder
and more watchful. He thinks he is older, not yet a man but thinks
he is. The hermit worries for the boy.

He is more distant than the girl. His eyes
are never still. They always move, scanning for weaknesses,
movements of import. The boy is the one-eyed kingcrow that snagged
him from the cliff face. The hermit is sure of it. He prefers to be
removed from danger, high above it. Instead of his sister's serene
patience, he needs to move. The hermit means him no harm but the
boy is frightened just the same.

Though the hermit cannot understand their
words, its obvious that they argue. From the way the girl keeps
giving him guilty looks, it must be of his death, or worse. The
brother wants it, the sister does not.

The boy storms off. The girl breaks down into
tears. She looks so much like one of the hermit's people when she
cries. She crumples to the floor, a sobbing wreck.

The hermit reaches out a hand and places it
against the invisible barrier. His collar stings but he does not
mind it. The girl slowly reaches out with her own hand, then rests
it against the hermits. A perfect match. The girl's is smaller, but
the proportions are the same, four fingers and a grasping
thumb.

The girl stares deep into his eyes. Her eyes
plead for him to understand, to help her. She is as much a prisoner
as him. He coos to her softly, and her tears dry.

She says in a voice barely louder than a
whisper, “Urea,” as she thumps her chest. She repeats the word
again and again, “Urea, Urea, Urea.” Her name.

He tries to imitate the sounds. He feel's
Kao's frustration at learning his own language. The 'Oo' is easy
enough, but the others are made in strange parts of the mouth, too
close to the front. He tries a few times and finally manages
something close.

“Oo-ah-uh.”

Urea gasps and starts chattering quickly and
excitedly. The hermit shrugs. He doesn't understand a word she
says.

“Urea,” she says as she points to
herself.

“Ooh-arh-uh,” he grunts as he points to her.
The middle sound could be made if the hermit growls.

She points to him and raises her eyebrows,
like a curious child. The hermit scratches his head, then strokes
the hairs growing on his chin. He has no name for himself, no word
to sum up all that he is. Kao was the first of the tribe ever to be
worthy of a symbol, and he never asked the hermit for a word to
call him. Instead he picks up a piece of fruit, squeezes the dark
juice from it and begins to paint.

First he paints himself. His old body bent
and stooped with age, while his mind glows with thoughts and ideas.
He paints trees from his jungle, birds, animals, his cave. He draws
members of the tribe and the great bonfire they celebrated around.
He paints the moon, a thin crescent, hoping Urea can bring it to
him.

Urea weeps as he paints the tornado that
destroyed his home. She knew of it then, but he does not blame her
and is glad she does not keep secrets. She gasps as he draws the
white Totem, the clouds atop it and the eternal lightning storm. He
paints her brother with wings as the one who captured him. He
paints her own sorrowful face with slitted cat eyes and she
understands.

He does not paint Kao. Instead he draws his
sister, the poor little girl who he prays is not as scared and as
lonely as he. He paints her gathering berries near the stream, with
grass braids in her hair. Then erases everything but her, and draws
a six sided cage around her, like the one that cages him.

When he looks up at her Urea no longer weeps.
Instead her eyes ask
You came for her?

The hermit nods, and bares his teeth. Urea
growls, and the hermit can taste her anger in the air, not at him
though. She nods a curt goodbye and leaves. The air crackles as she
storms off.

Urea!

She calls out into the cacophony of voices inside
their heads. The voices go silent. Urea's symbol is the only one
lit.

What is that? She asks, pointing into empty
space

Her name, Phoebe says softly. The girl nods,
intrigued but not yet wanting one of her own.

Urea's name blinks in front of them and the girl
hears a new voice in her head, strong and proud but sorrowful, they
can tell she's been crying.

Hi Phoebe. I haven't seen you in a while.

I know. I've been busy.

Listen, things are going to change around here
pretty soon.

That's kind of why I'm chiming you. We need some
help.

We? The sadness in her voice is replaced with
curiosity. Who do you need to help?

She doesn't have a name yet.

“You need to see this,” Urea kept her voice
level as she led Baucis down the hallway, towards the caged old
man.

“What were you doing in this wing Urea? This
is a restricted area,” unease was creeping into the ecologist's
normally controlled voice.

“There are questions you need to answer.”

“Then ask them!”

“They're not my questions,” her voice was
hostile.

Baucis rarely prayed but he did now. He
prayed to Nature that Urea had found the old man and not the girl
cloistered away with Phoebe. He knew her well enough to know she
wouldn't abide by that. Time to call, and bluff what he could.

“Look... I know what this is about. You found
the ape? I would have told you but I worried this would happen.
You're too used to the Evanimals having freedom in the Garden, but
the ape is content. It has food and space to move around.”

“
He
is a
man,
not an
it.
And he doesn't like our food or his cage.”

“You sound like you did when you first saw
the
howluchin
s. Remember Urea? You were so precious... You
asked if they were happy. You still personify the animals. You
think they understand more than they really do.”

“He understands more than you realize.”

“Maybe there's something to your theory about
the pheromones...I think the ape is manipulating you.”

“How can
you
speak of
manipulation?”

“This is why I didn't tell you where he was
kept. I knew it would use your empathy against you. You're still so
vulnerable Urea.”

She hated the way he said her name, like it
was supposed to placate her, like she was just a pouty little
princess.

”So then you knew he was intelligent?” she
managed to ask, though all she wanted to do was scream.

“No, you're twisting my words. I thought that
it might convince you to try to help it escape.”

“So you think I'm foolish enough to be
tricked by an animal?”

“We can't underestimate it.”

“He's a man! Don't you see that?” Urea
screamed. That was the first time she ever raised her voice to
Baucis, the man who raised her like his daughter. It felt
deliciously rebellious. Urea instantly understood why Skup did it
so often.

“You sound like a Naturalist.”

“How can you even say that? You and Priestess
Ntelo work together! If you know Naturalism is a lie, then why make
the Spire believe it?”

“Come on Urea, surely you've figured it out
by now. You've been inside the minds of animals, there's no hidden
resentment. Nature's not your
panthera
, biding her time,
waiting for a moment of weakness to attack. The religion is for
everybody stuck in this world without any real power. It's a mental
escape for those who have no alternative. Not everyone's as
privileged as you.”

“Privilege comes with responsibility.”

“That's my girl. Now let's head back. I don't
like you being in this hall. That ape is a trickster.”

“You still have questions to answer.” She
grabbed his hand and pulled him on.

As Baucis approached he understood there was
more here than pheromones. The ape had undeniable intelligence.
Paintings of
biselk
ran through fields while hominids
equipped with spears chased them. More of the apes danced around
campfires, or stalked through jungles. The mural was impressive for
an animal, he conceded to himself.

“You want me to stop my research because of
this?” Baucis asked, his voice like hot needles. The painting left
Baucis feeling hollow. It wasn't art, just primitive scribbles and
a waste of thousands of credits worth of food. Ungrateful beast,
ungrateful girl. “You think its worth interrupting my experiments
to look at how a monkey smeared its food all over the floor?”

“You need to answer his questions.”

“From the monkey? Fine! I'll answer his
questions. Yes he can have more bananas, no he can't run around the
hallways.”

“Just watch!” Urea screamed with fury.

The words drained out of Baucis's mouth. He
had never been spoken to like that. Not ever from her rebellious
brother. He started to protest but saw the murderous predatory
stare in her eyes that dared him to speak.

But someone else spoke first.

“Oo-ray-uh!” the ape said, then pointed to a
picture on the floor, closest to the door.

A beautiful little girl with flowers braided
into her hair stared up at Baucis. He gasped. He had been watching
Phoebe try to communicate with her minutes ago. She was to be the
mother of the next stage of humanity's evolution. His look of
recognition did not escape Urea's watchful stare.