Revealing Eden (22 page)

She looked towards the gated hut. Did poor Rebecca languish there, filled with similar regrets? How Eden longed to sit and talk with her, like sisters in an Old World novel. They’d laugh and cry over how foolish they’d been to fall for a couple of jerks like Jamal and Bramford.

Eden spied a beautiful pair of snowy white umbrella cockatoos perched on a nearby branch. The male paraded back and forth with slow, deliberate steps to woo his female friend. He cocked his head to one side and gave her the eye-blaze,
constricting his pupil to reveal the edge of the iris. If he succeeded, the two
Cacatua alba
would bond for life.

If only Eden had another chance to find her true mate, she promised herself she would be wiser next time.

Soft voices floated in the air, and she turned to see Lorenzo and Charlie leaving their huts. They wore ragtag clothes—their city clothes. They were leaving, she realized with a jolt. Here was her chance to escape.

They stopped beside the fire pit as their faces registered surprise. Then Eden saw it too. The carcass of a massive bird, nearly three-and-a-half feet long, lay on the ground. It was a harpy eagle, the world’s most powerful raptor and one of Bramford’s genetic donor species. The bird’s showy, feminine crest of head feathers contrasted with its stern vulture-like features, bringing to mind a harpy, the half-woman, half-vulture creature of Greek mythology. Dark wings splayed open like huge, angry hands. Blood dripped from vicious bite marks on its neck.

Bramford’s bites, Eden realized with dread. He had begun to gather the DNA her father needed to continue the adaptation.
One down, two to go
. If he also captured a jaguar and an anaconda, the balance in him would tip forever from man to beast. If he failed, he’d be lunch. Either way, he was doomed to a cruel fate.

Eden heard Lorenzo murmur,
“El Tigre.”

She followed their gaze, as they scanned the area. But Bramford was nowhere in sight. Probably gathering his energy after what must have been an incredible fight. Harpy eagles nested in trees over a hundred feet high. It was no small feat to capture one.

Eden imagined Bramford stalking the raptor, as it tracked
its own prey, possibly a sloth or monkey. He must have ambushed the surprised eagle with lightning speed and impeccable timing. She shuddered to think of the actual attack—Bramford’s springing action, the desperate harpy flailing its long talons in defense, the bloodthirsty roar as Bramford lunged at the huge bird. Hot and dizzy, Eden leaned against the window to catch her breath.

The brothers hefted the heavy carcass, carrying it over their shoulders towards the laboratory. Soon, her father would discover the prized specimen as well as Eden’s absence.

When the warriors returned, she would follow them into the jungle where hungry predators and poisonous animals waited. The idea paralyzed her. Why couldn’t she just stay there at camp and wait for a better option? She was just a Pearl, after all.

And yet, she could almost hear Rebecca nudging her.
Remember your promises, Eden
.

True, not all Pearls were cowards. Some, like her mother, were brave. The image of her diseased body, soft and useless against the hard utilitarian furniture, came to Eden. Her curled posture had formed a question mark that punctuated Eden’s terrified thoughts. How would she go on after Mother was gone?

—Please, brush my hair, Eden
.

—Won’t it hurt?

—Not if you’re gentle
.

She had lain still, smiling, always smiling, while Eden brushed the dry strands, easing over the scorched scalp.

—
Tell me. Are you afraid, Eden?

—Sometimes
.

—There’s nothing to fear. I won’t be far away. You’ll see
.

How happy she’d seemed, despite the sorrowful words she had quoted from Aunt Emily’s poem.

—‘Because I could not stop for Death, / He kindly stopped for me; / The carriage held but just ourselves / And Immortality.’

Of course, the notion of a soul living past the grave was as illogical as love. Still, Eden admired the fearless grace with which her mother had made her exit. The least she could do was be brave.

Just as she expected, Lorenzo and Charlie reappeared, heading towards the main gate. Time to go, she told herself.

She took one last look at the painting of Rebecca gliding through the forest beside the protective jaguar.
See how easy it is?

Eden quietly entered the main part of the hut, greeted by her father’s gentle snore. The wounded leg jutted out over the edge of the hammock. His ravaged face broke her heart.

Especially to save Father, she must be strong.

Hurrying outside, she glimpsed the men passing through the main gate. From one of the huts the little girls’ singsong prattle floated into the air. Any minute they might spring outside. Eden could just imagine their horrified reactions to seeing her in Rebecca’s dress.

She sprinted down the steps and hit the ground running. Mud splattered on the white dress. But she couldn’t think about that now. She wove through the shadows until she reached the gate. Ahead, she saw Lorenzo and Charlie turn down the mountain path.

As she stepped outside the compound, she heard a high-pitched cry. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see
the two sisters’ troubled faces. Instead, a sharp movement near the gated hut caught her eye.

Rebecca?

Eden hesitated, fighting a strong pull. It might be her only chance to discover the truth. And yet, what hope could she possibly offer?

The seconds ticked by. Soon, the men would disappear in an impenetrable maze of jungle and she would lose her chance.

Eden waved to her twin.
I’ll be back with help
.

Then she latched the gate behind her and hurried after her unsuspecting guides.

E
DEN MAINTAINED a safe distance from Lorenzo and Charlie, as they wound their way down the mountainside. If they discovered her, she feared they’d return her to camp. She tried to keep an eye on the palm nut that bobbed from the end of Charlie’s blowgun.
Like a game, Eden
. But she wasn’t having any fun.

Her bare feet tripped over piles of vines and sank into the muddy ground. The long dress hampered her movements. She slapped away swarms of insects, stifling the impulse to scream.

The brothers wove in and out of the shadows, disappearing at heart-stopping intervals. Each time she lost sight of them, she panicked. The jungle closed in around her. Anything might happen.

When she stepped on a dry twig, it snapped in half. To her ears, it sounded like an avalanche. Her guides came to an abrupt halt. Eden ducked behind a cluster of huge, sappy leaves. Through a small gap, she saw the men fan apart, their eyes searching. Lorenzo held his machete ready, while Charlie reached into his quiver.

What if they mistook her for prey? For Earth’s sake, with her blond hair and pale skin, Eden presented a bull’s-eye
target in the dark forest. She felt faint as she imagined a poison dart sailing straight to her heart.

She inched back against the tree trunk. She could almost hear the warriors’ steady breathing, wafting through the moist air to reach her feverish cheek. Somehow, she knew they had located her position. Deep inside, she had a heightened feeling, as if she also had sprung a finely tuned antenna like Bramford.
Eden, a she-cat?

A scratchy sound from above her head distracted her. Heavenly Earth, a swarm of stout ants marched down the tree trunk. Why hadn’t her newfangled instincts warned her that it was a cecropia tree? Bullet ants,
Paraponera clavata
, took shelter in its hollow trunk in exchange for warding off intruders—like her.

Eden recalled the dreaded nickname: twenty-four-hour ants. That’s how long the pain from a sting could last. In fact, in order to become a warrior, a young Indian boy had to survive the sting of dozens of them at once. Not everyone passed the cruel initiation. And neither would she.

Wasn’t she full of useful tidbits?

The black mass of ants advanced in lockstep towards her neck and shoulders. She could either die from waves of burning pain or a quick, lethal dart. Sweat trickled down her face, as she considered her dismal options.
Decide, Eden
.

She waved her hand, hoping for a truce.

Nothing happened.

Just in time, Eden jumped away from the tree trunk. But she had escaped one deadly fate, only to be met by another. Lorenzo and Charlie were nowhere in sight. They probably had decided that the odd, hidden creature was no threat and moved on.

She looked around, anxiously debating which route to take, when an azure-hooded jay swooped in front of her. The blaring cry of the
Cyanolyca cucullata
sounded an alarm that sent Eden running.

Long tendrils reached out to grab her like the bony fingers of a giant, green monster. They knotted into her long, oak-colored hair. Trembling, Eden tore at the shoots and pressed forward, only to feel the clawing tentacles quickly smother her again. She was a small offering walking into the forest’s hungry mouth.
Feed me, little Pearl
.

The idea of Rebecca strolling through the dangerous terrain accompanied by her animal protector now seemed laughable. For Earth’s sake, Eden should have stayed where she belonged—safe inside the tunnels or even in a flimsy hut. Aunt Emily had been a recluse for good reason.

Eden glanced over her shoulder, wondering if she should turn back. But there was no clear path, and she pictured herself wandering in circles. Sick with fear, she pushed deeper into the forest, searching for the men.

Tears of relief sprang to her eyes, as she caught sight of Lorenzo and Charlie crossing a boggy marsh. Eden crouched low, studying their graceful steps across a log that spanned the brackish water. They quickly reached the other side and, once more, slipped into the flickering shadows.

Easy, right?
But then, the Huaorani weren’t terrified of water. Eden just couldn’t think about that now. She had no choice but to try.

She took a deep breath and stepped to the edge of the pond. A little blue heron on a craggy rock seemed to egg her on with its snapping sound.
You can do it, Eden
. Unlike the generous
Egretta caerulea
, a colony of ugly, gold-striped
frogs croaked ominously. Probably about the disastrous spill she would take.

Better crawl, Eden decided, tucking the hem of her impractical dress into the waistband. She knelt onto the log and inched forward with a tight grip. Her knees hurt from the rough surface; splinters lodged in her skin.

The frogs’ throats bulged with incandescent lights as they bellowed. The gruff sounds of
Lithodytes lineatus
played like a competitive roundelay. Probably laying bets on how long it would take before the white creature fell into the mucky mess they called home.

Never mind
.

Eden focused on the next step and then the next, aware of each passing minute. Halfway across, she raised her head, straining for a sign of the brothers. In that instant she lost her balance, one leg sliding into the slimy bog. The water gobbled up her skirt, which grew heavy around her leg. She kicked against the water, desperate to hoist herself back on top of the log. But her hold slipped, and she fell off with a loud shriek. A riot of victorious croaks filled the air.

At least the shallow water only reached her waistline. Eden grabbed for the log but it bobbed out of reach. She’d never make it across, anyway. She had no choice but to wade to the other side of the marsh, a few yards away.

She slowly moved through the warm, sticky water, trying not to think of a crocodile or a snake lurking below, eager to strike her bright white legs. But huge, untamable fear welled up in her. She couldn’t even pretend this was a bad experience on the World-Band. Too late, she understood that hope and courage weakened denial.

At last, Eden crawled onto dry ground, her chest heaving.
She stumbled to her feet, a lump in her throat. Her guides were gone again.

Pell-mell, she plunged into the forest. Sunlight glinted through the upper canopy at a more oblique angle. A half hour had passed, she guessed. How much ground could they have covered in that time? Perhaps enough that she would never find them.