Eden, Dawn Page 32

Chapter 22

  “Gag! What’s the dude doing?” asked Shawz befuddled. “Ruzz?”

  “Are you praying, Villain? Prepared to die … for that thing?” I heard the sheer bewilderment in Ruzzell’s timbre, but I kept on praying.

  “R-R-Ruzz? What the heck—?” Shawz squealed, totally unnerved.

  “Villain! Have you totally flipped your lid?” He spat at me in frustration. “Okay, okay … Argghhh!” I heard Ruzzell stomp the ground. “This is a freaking stalemate! Let’s talk then. Shawz, stand down!”

  Shawz groaned. “What?”

  “Arrow off the bow and back off, pal!”

  I opened my eyes slowly to see Shawz sidle to Ruzzell’s side. “Okay,” I said, blown-away relieved at the outcome. I had envisaged a few other conclusions to our standoff. And all of them ended with me dead. “Put the bow and arrows on the ground … both of you.” I took advantage of my turn of fortune.

  “No way!” barked Ruzzell. “This is a negotiation. Not a freaking surrender!”

  “I know how quick you are, Ruzzell … I move, and you’ll notch and shoot in a heartbeat. I’m not moving until your weapons are on the ground, and you move back five strides.”

  “Then we don’t have a deal!”

  “I’m prepared to wait until dark falls, are you?” I knew I held all the aces.

  Ruzzell hissed. “They’ll kill you in that pit, pal.”

  “I’m willing to take the risk,” I kept my eyes locked on his. “I have a small chance they’ll have mercy on me for showing mercy … I don’t fancy your chances.”

  Ruzzell kicked the dirt again. “Fine!” he said, throwing down his bow. Shawz did the same.

  “Now the arrows.”

  “Fine!” He took the quiver from his shoulders, tossing it down.

  “Kick them away.”

  “Okay, okay,” said Ruzzell fuming as he scratched his face fuzz with his left hand.

  “Now what?” asked Shawz after he’d done the same, his stupefaction almost amusing.

  “Back up five strides and I’ll show you the creature … then we talk.”

  Ruzzell took five small steps backwards, and the rest shuffled behind him.

  That’ll do.

  Dixan looked terrified. Shawz’s knees were knocking. Hand in hand, the girls showed remarkable strength. Ruzzell just glared at me, his dark eyes sunken beneath his beaded brow, his visage pressed into an infuriated glower.

  If I could paint your eyes red, you’d be a dead ringer. Just about.

  I felt the creature push gently on my back to help me upwards. It understood? As I straightened up, knowing it was still well concealed behind me, I mumbled, pleading with it one last time: “Green eyes, green eyes.” Then I stood to one side, but dared not look backwards; my eyes fixed on Ruzzell in front of me.

  The astonishment on the guys’ faces was contextualised by the smile that lit up the girls’. I glanced behind me for a split second. The creature’s eyes were a stunning green, its face soft and gentle, the closest thing to a human yet … in fact, a child … okay, a hairy child. Only I was privy to its controlled, rhythmical breathing.

  That’s it, control yourself.

  “It’s … it’s beautiful!” gasped Nadalie.

  Shawz looked puzzled. “That … that’s a them?”

  “Can’t be, can it?” asked Gellica as she took a tentative step closer.

  “That’s not what I saw,” said Dixan seemingly conflicted in himself, unable to explain the creature before him and the one he ran away from earlier.

  “Dix, you were terrified, so was I … this is it,” I assured him.

  “It’s … it’s almost … like a child of sorts,” said Ruzzell in a mixture of disappointment and disbelief.

  “Yes, it is,” I said. “See Ruzzell, I’ve—”

  “Can you imagine if we could deliver it to Dylain … alive? It would be some notch on my belt.” Ruzzell didn’t even try to conceal his ambition.

  I sensed the creature tense and heard its breathing falter.

  “Wow, look at the purple … its eyes have turned purple,” said Nadalie, her own peepers as large as saucers.

  “Calm down,” I coached it under my breath. “Green eyes, green eyes … breathe. Breathe easy.”

  “And now going green again,” said Gellica. “How does it do that?”

  “Rist,” Ruzzell called me by my shortened name for the first time in a long time. “I want it alive and healthy for my meeting tomorrow—”

  “No way, Ruzzell,” I broke in, “it’s hurt … it won’t be able to travel.” I knew that if I could protect it from Ruzzell, the creature might be collected by its own kind as soon as dark fell.

  “I want it, Villain! Do you understand? I want it!”

  “Okay,” I was determined to avoid another stand-off, “but let me try to help it first.”

  “Then what?” He wrung his hands together impatiently.

  “Look, it’s lost the use of its left leg; it’s not going anywhere in a hurry. Let me try to fix it…” I thought for a moment, “…and then we can talk. It’s losing blood and could die if I don’t do something.”

  “Okay, get to it then.” Ruzzell cracked his knuckles. “I want the little imp alive. Got it?”

  “Ruzz, why don’t you return to camp? Judd and the guys will be wondering where everyone’s gone. I’ll do what I can and then bring it to camp.” I rubbed my scar. “It has to rest and recover there.”

  “But what do we do when dark falls?” asked Shawz, his eyes flitting between Ruzzell and me.

  “We’ve got a whole afternoon to discuss that,” I said, trying hard to keep panic from returning into the minds of the clan.

  “Okay, okay,” Ruzzell scratched his cheek. I could see he was scheming. I knew I had to make a suggestion that suited me and pacified him at the same time.

  “Ruzzell, leave Shawz here to keep guard over it … while the rest of you head back to camp.”

  “Can I stay to help?” asked Gellica.

  “No!” said Ruzzell. “Shawz, you stay here—”

  “By myself?” Shawz moaned like a sulky kid.

  “Yes, the rest of us, back to camp,” snapped Ruzzell brusquely. I’m not sure if she meant it, but Gellica’s question helped Ruzzell agree with my suggestion. The warm, reassuring look she sent my way led me to believe she did. “Come, let’s go,” said Ruzzell with a bite. “Villain, I’ll be back every hour to check on you.”

  I knew it was an empty threat. It was a fair hike through dangerous bush. He might come back once before dark.

  I covered the creature again as Ruzzell, Shawz and Dixan collected their bows and arrows, and then I watched them leave. Shawz argued with Ruzzell in private for a few minutes before conceding. Taking up a spot thirty strides from the hole, his bow and arrow in hand, he was perceptibly shaky. The sinister sounds of the jungle kept him on edge and well engrossed.

  Turning to the creature, grateful that Ruzzell was gone; I still couldn’t believe what I was doing. And couldn’t get over how human-like it now looked.

  As I surveyed the damage to its leg and mulled over what I should do, I felt the creature’s soft eyes focus intently on me. Looking almost through me.

  And then it spoke.

  Clearly and softly.

  In perfect English.

  “Many thanks,” it said in a husky whisper. “I owe you my life.”

  I felt like I’d stepped into a cold shower in the middle of winter. “Erm, er…” I just stared, stunned, brain-locked … unable to find any words to respond.

  “I am Shumbalic,” it continued, its voice delicate yet throaty, “how would you pronounce it? … Shum-baa-leek.”

  “S-Sum-Sumbarlik?” I repeated parrot-like, my brain unable to comprehend fully the fact that I was about to enter into a coherent conversation with one of them.

  “Nearly … Shumbalic … pronounced Shum-baa-leek.”

  “Sh-um-baa-liek,” I stuttered in faltering disbelief.

&n
bsp; It smiled, I think. “And you … are you, Villain or Rist?”

  “Rist.”

  “Who is Villain then?”

  I glanced over my shoulder grateful that Shawz was still distracted by the surrounding jungle, and its many disquieting sounds, but lowered my voice all the same. “Me.”

  “I am confused,” it said.

  No kidding!

  “I’m … wow! W-w-words can’t describe my confusion,” I said and felt an uneasy smile break onto my face. This could easily have been a dream. A weird one. A very weird one. “Villain is a derogatory … a belittling term.”

  The creature’s smile broadened. “I understand, Rist … the one called Villain by furious Ruzz Ruzzell.”

  I rubbed at my scar. “You understood … everything? You understand … my language, how?”

  “A very long story.” It looked down at the blood pool around it.

  “Yes, sorry … I need to help you, and quickly.” I scanned the damage more thoroughly; we were all DIY-medics on Eden. “Did you understand us the whole time?” I couldn’t help ask as I got to work.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why didn’t you say so earlier, before the other humans arrived?”

  “I did not trust you.”

  “And now?”

  “I trust you, Rist.”

  Am I really having this conversation?

  “Sum-br-lik,” I struggled with its name, botching it again. “Shum-baa-leek...”—Better?—“...can I ask you something?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “The colour of your eyes,” I paused. “Can you change the colours on purpose, or—?”

  “No, I cannot. The colour of my iris is a reflection of my emotions…” it seemed earnest, “...from purple when at ease or in thought, turning red when angry or aggressive; green when elated, joyful or content. When in fear or despair, they turn grey.” It reeled off the explanation as though it’d done so before. “Why do you ask?”

  I looked into its soft green eyes, hiding the enormous sense of relief I felt. “Now I trust you.” I wasn’t being manipulated; Shumbalic was sincere.

  “Rist?” The tone of its voice betrayed further emotion.

  I cleared my throat. “Yes?”

  “Why are you showing me kindness?”

  “I don’t know,” I blinked to clear my head. “It just seemed the humane thing to do.”

  “You do know I came to take one of your females, yes?”

  Take?

  “Yes,” I struggled to swallow, my mouth so dry, “but you didn’t.”

  “I could not.” A splotch of grey dappled its green eyes.

  “Why?” My voice came out hoarse. “Because you fell into my trap?”

  “No, I fell into your trap on the way back to my territory.”

  “Oh?” I felt my eyes narrow, confused by both its admission and the mental exertion spent figuring out the best way to help the creature. “Why didn’t you take one of them?”

  “I could not.”

  “Why? Why not?”—captivated by the grave expression on its face, my attention was fully engaged, eager for an answer—“Why did you spare them?”

  “I do not know … it just seemed … the humane thing to do.”

  I was stunned. Did you just say humane? “You, you said humane. What word are you translating in your language?”

  “Let me think.” It paused. “Compassion … kindness. Why? Do you find it so hard to think of us as anything but ruthless killers?”

  “No, just humane and human…” I said, not knowing how to explain myself.

  “I guess that is what we are to your people,” it said as another tinge of grey seeped into the green-purple of its eye.

  “But you,” I hesitated. “You’re not. Are there others like you?” I asked hopeful, taking my shirt off, tearing it into strips to strap its leg.

  “Many … there is so much to tell you.” The green in its eyes grew stronger.

  “Shumbalic,” I think I got the name right this time, “sorry for asking, but are you a … a man or a woman … a male or female?”

  “Female.”

  “You’re a woman?” I could feel my cheeks get warm. Could do with a shirt now! My head shook on my shoulders; I felt foolish for being embarrassed. This was an encounter of the third kind, and I was blushing.

  “Yes, I come of age this cycle … you call it, year. This year, I become an adult.”

  “Shumbalic,” I grimaced. “Please forgive me.”