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“But there are many—”
“I know. Can we talk about this tomorrow? I do need to take that nap.”
Faith places Rose in the crib and then comes to kiss my cheek. “Rest up, sis. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The moment my head hits the pillow, my eyes flutter closed.
* * *
The sound of my phone vibrating with a message alert on the table beside me is enough for me to open my eyes. The time on the screen shows I have been asleep for two hours. At least with daylight savings, the room is still light. And I have woken covered in sweat with the late afternoon sun beating down on my bedroom window. I groan loudly and rub my eyes, then reach for the air conditioning remote. I switch it on to cool the room at a comfortable temperature. After months in the stifling humidity of the jungle, I’m not going to deny myself modern-day comforts. I thought I’d be mentally tougher and not bothered by the dry heat. I need more sleep, that’s all.
Assuming the message to be from my friends asking when they can see me, I casually raise my phone to read the text.
Asoo:
Eden, it’s Samuel.
Three words, and it’s enough for me to sit straight up in the bed. Mentally, I prepare myself for the words to follow as Samuel’s track record with messages and notes usually brings heartbreak.
There was an incident. Drones located Ulara, and two men who worked at a nearby illegal mine assumed treasure was hidden in the village. They expected previous travelers would have left gifts for the shaman to assist them on their travels. A gesture by explorers from earlier days if lost and then taken sick. Some indigenous communities helped these explorers until well enough to travel again. At first, I thought someone had given them false information. But it seems there was someone before your grandmother, as the shaman had a gold chain with a massive nugget hidden in a brass vase. The vase was disguised easily as a clay sculpture, the tarnished metal so old.
With my hand on my chest, I close my eyes and remember Kaikare’s tarnished mirror from Gran.
These American men were looking to get rich quick. The shaman was shot and killed.
I gasp. My stomach flips, and my eyes burn as the sadness engulfs me.
The men are no longer a concern. Their boat exploded on the river, and the billowing smoke was a tell-tale for the village location. We expect more men will come, and it will jeopardize the Ularans’ safety. There’s no other choice than to migrate deeper into the jungle. The shaman foresaw the migration in his last ceremony. The timing is now imminent with increasing danger.
I’m so, so sorry.
“Please no,” I murmur.
I promised the shaman I’d guide them with paper maps and head southwest toward the Colombian and Brazilian border, away from those areas controlled by Guerrillas and Garimpeiros. When they are safe, I’ll come home to you. I will come home to you. In the meantime, please message Asoo if you need to speak with someone. I’ll not be in contact with him, but there may be a way for me to get a message to Canaima.
“How? With smoke signals?”
Please don’t worry about me. I’ll find my way out as you are home, the beacon to my heart. Think of it as a minor setback—our future together delayed by a few months. In the big picture, we will look back with only a memory of our short time apart. I love you. Please kiss Rose and tell her I love and miss her like I do you. I’ll come back to you. I promise. Samuel xx
“Don’t worry. You have got to be bloody kidding me.” My bottom lip quivers all too easily, fragile emotion like a pendulum swinging from fear for the safety of Samuel and my friends to relief at being safe at home with my family. As much as I want to be with him, this journey isn’t something Rose and I could endure.
Reality sinks in.
Covering my face with both hands, I sob and sob, releasing the fear of never seeing him again. “Why?” I croak through the tears. “Why would you do this?”
The shaman was shot and killed.
Clamping my eyes shut, the sadness turns to pain and it seeps bone-deep. The emotional weight fills my legs with what feels like lead, and I sink into the bed. Now paralyzed with overwhelming grief, I don’t want to open my eyes and see the world as it truly is. I fail, and my thoughts fill with the possibility of Samuel dying in the jungle. If not from hunger and dehydration along with exhaustion, from a bullet like the shaman as they head into an unknown country.
Poor Kaikare. She has lost her father, her mentor, and best friend. The village has lost its healer and the man who decides its future. The future is dire for all of us, and I can’t help it—I fall apart, one tear at a time.
When I can breathe again, I swipe the screen to send my sister a message.
What do you know about the Colombian Guerrilla and the Brazilian Garimpeiros working near the borders?
Seconds later, my phone vibrates in my hand.
“Hi. I just received a message from Samuel,” I say before she fires the first question. “He’s not coming here until he finds the Ularan people a new place to live and build a new village.”
