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She stops sobbing and nods. “Areku wokyry.”Angry men. She shakes her hands and points to her feet, showing Samuel how they tied her to a pole. “Konopo Tamu'ne Akare.”Eden appeared out of the rain.
“Watache topu upùpo.” She acts out being hit in the head with a rock.
Samuel’s eyes widen. “Tamu'ne Akare’s upùpo?”Eden’s head?
She nods and tells him it was under the two rubber trees.
Confirming the area, Samuel takes off into the jungle, swatting unruly vines and sharp branches aside. Is she unconscious? He turns when a chant comes from behind him, several warriors on his heels, jabbing spears to the heavens.
An old wound opens with the memory of failing someone when he is in a position to help. The scar will always be there.
Wayara meets Samuel’s stride. With longer legs and his elite track training in college, Samuel is the fastest of the Ularans. He struggles for every breath, his throat tightening in fear—still, he wills his body to run faster, to find the strength.
He slows to a walk as they approach the two large trees that tower high amongst the canopy. Wayara holds out his hands to stop further movement and leans over to inspect the ground. Samuel spins and listens for the jungle to alert him of alien movement.
“Pona saküne,” Wayara tells him and points to the puddles.Seven men.
There are signs of a struggle—several muddy footprints and scattered yellow beads that were around Eden’s ankle.
Samuel does not know where the Watache village is located, and although the Ularans are peacemakers and keep to themselves, the warriors are spies for the chief. “Do you know where the village is?” he asks Wayara in Ularan.
Wayara tells him to follow the river path for two days and walk west for one. If they haven’t moved camp.
“Fuck,” Samuel screams to the trees. He falls to his knees and stifles a sob. “No, please, no.”
The men circle him, chanting the same syllables he’s never heard sung before. The spears shake toward the tepui, but the Mawarí spirit isn’t to blame. Eden was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Samuel wasn’t there to protect her like he’d promised he would be. He closes his eyes and visualizes her face. In his mind, he searches for her soul in the depths of the jungle. His third eye sees his outstretched hand reaching into the darkness, his every nerve on alert seeking her energy. He needs a spark of hope. The black jaguar with the blue eyes growls only inches from his face. He topples back onto his rear.
He may have disappointed her grandmother, and yet it’s the hope he seeks. Ivy’s spirit is in the jungle.
Wayara gets up in his face, bringing him back, telling Samuel he thinks they can follow their tracks.
The one thing they have going for them is Eden will slow up the Watache men unless they don’t care about her well-being. He pushes out the thought before his mind is trampled with images of them hurting her.
The men head back to the village to gather supplies and form a plan along with advice from the shaman.
“Wayara,” Samuel calls out, and he won’t apologize for his overbearing tone. He points to the ground inside the long house and draws a map of the tepuis, the rivers, Angel Falls, and Ulara. The men lean in, expressions of wonder on their faces at his knowledge of the land that stretches for hundreds of miles. He hands Wayara the stick and asks him to mark where the Watache village is located.
Samuel studies the location and rushes back to the paper map he hides in his briefcase. He spreads it out on the treatment table, and hope allows his chest to expand as he runs his finger east along the Carrao River. It’s a slow journey using paddles with no motor but quicker than going on foot.
He stuffs the map into his pack, grabs a first-aid pack, including antibiotics and some bottled water before meeting the warriors by the long house. The women shove bowls of food in the warriors’ hands, their backs laddered with arrows, spears, and blowpipes. The shaman sings a song, one so sweet as though it will calm any anger, promote clear minds as to what’s the right behavior, and remind the warriors that killing for revenge isn’t wise. It could start a war—one they have avoided. They’ve experienced centuries of peace by remaining hidden from the world, including other Pemón descendants.
What has Samuel caused?
He lifts his gaze to the chief. Deep lines are etched around his eyes. The young warriors chant before him, testosterone unrestrained compared to the calm, older, and wiser men.
A dozen children carry a long curiara, one Samuel has never seen or used in fishing. Its faded paint looks decades old. The warriors carry it to the river, where they are out in the open exposed to the rest of the world. His heart weighs heavily at the cost of this journey to the Ularans. When out of sight of the chief, Samuel joins in the chant, his voice louder than any other.
He knows what he needs to do—fight for the one who owns his soul.
8
EDEN
When my eyes shudder open, I reach for the side of my head to where it throbs. Then the nausea hits me. I cringe with every jolt coursing along my spine as though I’m on a poorly engineered rollercoaster.
Treetops pass and the clouds roll by.
I lean onto one elbow and, for a moment, think I’m in Asoo’s curiara, only smaller and with no planked seats. But I’m not smoothly sailing on water as I’m swamped by trees.
