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“I want you to remain here,” he tells me. “I’ll grab our bags, and we’re heading straight to Canaima. I’ll stabilize you there before we fly out to Ciudad.”
I didn’t argue. My body aches and my head hurts as though someone has hit me with a hammer. The last thing I want to do is be upright.
I keep my eyes open and stare at the blue sky with ribbons of white clouds. Yet experience has taught me not to be tricked, for in minutes, Mother Nature will sucker-punch you with violent wind and rain. The walls of the dense jungle canopy pass by. A small amount of me bursts with pride how I can now identify the coral trees, wild cashew, and my favorite white and orange flowers of the beauty leaf. Even from here, her brilliant leaves stand out against other foliage.
The Ularan warriors stand with perfected balance, the canoe steady beneath their feet. One push of the paddle and it hits the bottom, so we coast into a turn. The other men row and steer us toward the familiar sandy banks of Ulara.
Shouts sound from the bank. I lift my head to a dozen men and Kaikare.
“I won’t be long.” Samuel hurdles the edge of the canoe and speaks to Kaikare. She points to our quarantine camp. Asoo stands away from everyone else. They speak, and then Samuel takes off in a sprint, and in seconds, I lose him to the trees.
Kaikare boards the curiara. It rocks gently as she kneels before me. She strokes my face, and I manage a weak smile. She speaks to me, although I’m too exhausted to comprehend any words. Two hands cup my belly, and she closes her eyes as though she’s listening for a sign or concentrating on touching. She opens her eyes, her face serious. “Wakü.”Good.
“My baby is okay?”
She nods, yet I sense she means,for now.
Asoo stands at the nose of the curiara. “I sorry, Eden. When I visit yesterday, Kaikare tell me. So I stay in your camp and wait.” He points to the makeshift campsite. “I take you to Canaima.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can manage for now, yet in my daze, I comprehend the enormity of him staying here the night.
My eyelids flutter with the weight of lead forcing them to close while Kaikare squeezes my hand. I fight to stay awake, afraid of seeing the Watache shaman’s face when trapped in a feverish dream. A battle I’m losing for the red faces with sticks protruding like animal whiskers take over my thoughts.
Lost to the dreams and reliving the nightmare, I know I’m lucky as it could’ve been worse. Much worse.
The canoe rocks with Samuel loading our bags onto the other curiara. “You’re back,” I say and smile.
He leans over me and brushes my cheek. Sweat beads dot his forehead. Hot air caresses my face with every pant passing his lips.
Asoo speaks to Samuel, and they switch back to talking in Spanish. Kaikare squeezes my hand one last time before she jumps ashore. Samuel tilts the bottle for me to take another sip, then helps reposition me at the front of Asoo’s curiara with our bags placed around me for support. I close my eyes and allow the sound of the motor to lull me into sleep.
The next time I open my eyes, the jungle is no longer a dense wall. It takes a moment to come around. I’m lying between Samuel’s legs, my head in his lap.
I stare up at his beautiful face—dirt-smeared cheeks, hair tangled into knots, the lines near his eyes etched deeper on his thinning face, and still beautiful in a masculine way.
“Where are we?” I murmur.
Bloodshot eyes hold my gaze. “Hey. We’re not far out of Canaima.” He hands me another two tablets. “Can you swallow these?”
“Sure.” I attempt to push up. Samuel takes my weight and supports me while I drink several mouthfuls of water.
I clutch my stomach as I drink. Everything is an effort. Everything hurts.
I close my eyes—then open them when I hear a helicopter overhead.
“They’re flying closer to the river and closer to Ulara,” Samuel says without checking if I’m listening. He watches its path as it heads for the opposite side of the tepui to Angel Falls.
“Why?” I rasp.
“More explorers are coming here seeking adventure. Looking for the caves or attempting to climb the tepui or even search for gold.” He shakes his head. “Flying low enough for the Ularans to see them. The shaman asked me about the metal birds and if they were our Mawarí.”
“Did you explain it couldn’t hurt them?” I murmur.
His eyes meet mine. He strokes my jawline several times. “Yes, but the reality is if they see the village, the repercussions could hurt the Ularans. Years ago, no one flew close to the mountain range near that part of the jungle, but only now people are seeking their own adventure, dare devils taking bigger risks.”
“You hear the aircraft before you see it, so you teach the Ularans to hide,” I whisper, clutching my throat.
“They’re going to have to find somewhere new,” he says. “In the opposite direction to where we’re sending the Watache.”
