Before she could seriously start looking [for some place to camp], the jungle began to thin a bit and she found herself in a group of tall trees, though not quite as tall as the trees in the surrounding jungle, that were laden heavily laden with a bright green fruit.
It looked delicious. “But is it safe to eat?” she wondered.
Just then, a small, furry animal swooped down from one of the tall jungle trees. It snatched up one of the fruit that Sabella only now noticed littered the ground beneath the trees, and leaped away again.
“Well, I guess that answers my question,” she said, laughing in spite of herself.
She recognized the creature as a monkey. She’d learned about them in a documentary she once watched. As she recalled, there were many different species of them, but she couldn’t have said exactly what kind this one was. He was small and brown and had an extremely long tail that if she remembered correctly, could be used almost like an extension of its paws.
Stooping down, she picked up one of the fruit, wondering as she did so what exactly it was. Not that she’d seen much fresh fruit in her life. Not since she’d been a child. The world she’d been raised on was a mix of agriculture and technology. She and her parents lived in one of the settlements at the edge of a city, more because it was more affordable than because they had any great affinity for nature.
While some of their neighbors had large gardens, her mother had no time for such nonsense, as she put it, and limited her efforts to some potted herbs to be used in cooking. Her mother was a supervising technical analyst for the Branyon Corporation, Tel-Corp’s greatest rival, which her father also worked for as an engineer. Branyon paid for their quarters, and when they’d chosen to live on the outskirts of the city, they provided them with vehicles to get them to and from work.
But none of that was important now. She hefted the weight of the fruit in her hand. It was dense, and it had a faintly sweet scent. Shrugging, she finally bit into it.
“Oh!” she said in surprise. The sweet flavor burst onto her tongue and the juice ran down her chin. The flesh was firm, a lighter green shade, and delicious. She finished it in a hurry and then stooped down for a second one. This one she ate slower, savoring the taste.
Tempting as it was to keep eating until she was full, she knew better than to gorge on fruit when her stomach was so empty. She’d make herself sick for sure, and there were no med units here. She’d have to be very careful. So instead she gathered up a dozen or so – any more and they probably would just rot before she could eat them – and stowed them in one of the survival packs.
Feeling surprisingly refreshed, she continued on, seeking some place to have a proper rest.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
As usual, the clan chiefs knew he was coming and had already gathered. He had missed the communal mid-day meal, but that was nothing unusual. Eschewing the use of the ladders, he scaled the red cliffs much like the children did, using the handholds and rocky protuberances.
“Sometimes I think you are more a child than the children,” clan chief Ebou, Aaban’s friend, chuckled.
Aaban grinned in return. “Helps keep me fit. I wouldn’t want to become soft, like you.”
“What have you to tell us,” Mohlomi said, interrupting them before they got too carried away with their jibes.
“Forgive me, Clan Chief,” Aaban said, with a bow in his direction. “It is my opinion that the woman is not a threat. Those who pursued her came and left again, believing he dead.”
“And why would they believe such a thing?” Mohlomi asked with a frown.
Aaban hesitated. “Though the small ship crashed, it was intact. However, shortly after the woman left, it exploded in such a fashion that there was little doubt there were no survivors.”
“And that was enough to persuade the others? You did not assist in the deception?”
Aaban shrugged. “I may have accidentally dropped a few pieces of tak-tak flesh and bone when I was examining the wreckage. And they may have misconstrued what they saw.”
“Hmm.” Mohlomi eyed him balefully. “May have dropped flesh and bone, eh?”
Aaban made no reply.
“Where is this stranger now?”
“She follows the river Malarrich and should reach the ruins of the temple of the old gods before day’s end.”
Mohlomi pursed his lips. “She is already almost off of clan lands. Perhaps it would be—”
“Hold!” the voice came from the entrance of the meeting chamber. Ntsebo rapped her staff against the stone floor to get their attention.
There were murmurs amongst the clan chiefs. Ntsebo rarely left her cave, people usually were required to go to her. She was the oldest member of the clans, and arguably the most powerful. She was tiny, as though a breath of wind could blow her right off the cliff face, her stark, white hair confined in a braid that hung down her back, her face seamed from her many years. She walked with a cane, and was quick to use it on those who annoyed her.
She was the Mother of the Clans, a position she’d held since the first vision came to her when she was still a child. And she would hold that position until one was born to the clans who could take her place. No one knew how old she was, and there were some who believed she had always been with the clans.
“Clan Mother,” Mohlomi said, bowing his head respectfully. “You honor us with your presence.”
She snorted. “We shall see about that.”
“Have you had a vision, Mother?”
Using her stick to shoo the nearest clan chief aside so she could take his seat, she made herself comfortable before answering. “Is that not my function within the clans, to have visions of warning or guidance?”
“And which is it that you have had,” Mohlomi asked patiently. He was used to her sharp ways and was not offended by her rudeness.
“I do not know. But I have seen a stranger, a woman. She runs, though she has done no wrong. She has come to our world by accident and will surely die here if we do not give her aid. Her death would diminish us all.”
