You spin around and take my mouth in yours. “All right,” you say in lowered tones after we part. Lightly, you tap the tip of my nose. “But only until morning.”
Mara’s Shadow
written by
Darci Stone
illustrated by
Quintin Gleim
* * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Darci Stone graduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in Physics Teaching and a minor in Cultural Anthropology. Her story “Mara’s Shadow” was strongly influenced by both her love of science and her love of world cultures. Darci lived at a boarding school in Singapore while attending the United World College of Southeast Asia on scholarship. She also taught English in Russia, and has participated in humanitarian aid projects in India and Cambodia. She currently teaches high school physics in American Fork, Utah and is a web developer for online educational software.
Darci married into the world of speculative fiction when she said “yes” to Nebula Award-winner Eric James Stone. While dating, she began attending his weekly writing group. After a while she realized, “I could do that,” and started working on a story of her own.
Darci has always enjoyed the mix of science and adventure found in the works of Michael Crichton. “Mara’s Shadow” draws on these elements, as well as her husband’s phobia of moths. This award proves once and for all that Eric “married up,” because he only took second place in his quarter for Writers of the Future Volume 21, while Darci managed to take first.
ABOUT THE ILLUSTRATOR
Growing up in the forests of southern Ohio, Quintin was transfixed by stories of fantasy and science fiction from early childhood. Starting out primarily as a digital artist he made the switch to oil painting after attending Illuxcon in 2016 and has been captivated by traditional mediums ever since.
Currently he is hard at work creating images for his illustrated novel set in a post-apocalyptic American West, populated by fantasy creatures, dinosaurs and other prehistoric beasts.
Quintin received a BFA from Shawnee State University in 2017 and currently studies at the Columbus College of Art and Design in pursuit of an MFA.
Visit Quintin at www.quintingleim.com.
Mara’s Shadow
PART I
Viet Nam Nhat Bao (Daily News)
5 February 2053
Swedish Hiker Dies on Trek
Peder Fridell, of Sweden, died Monday evening while trekking near Sa Pa. His death is attributed to swelling of the brain caused by a fall earlier in the day. Goran Nilsson, a friend with him on the trek, expressed his own shock. “It just won’t load, you know? Yesterday he was here, talking and laughing, and today he’s gone.”
Ngo Lien finished reading the article, looked at the red X on the far left of the screen, and blinked twice to deactivate her iRis. The sunglasses reverted to normal mode, but a bright green icon in the corner of her vision indicated the Li-Fi connection was strong. She stared out the window of the medical chopper at the misty hilltops below. They were about 200 kilometers from Ha Noi, quite close to the border with China. A village of flimsy huts spread out along the hillside. Dozens of locals stopped what they were doing to look up at the approaching helicopter. From this vantage, Lien could see a large satellite dish hidden in a patch of trees, which made her smile. Tourists liked the rustic facade, but she bet there was a computer hidden in every hut.
The helicopter landed. Her partner Tuan climbed out first, then helped Lien. Two medics were approaching the helicopter, one significantly taller than the other. Behind them, she could see a long reed hut propped up on wooden stilts. Police tape wrapped around bamboo poles created a perimeter. The men were wearing full gear: plastic gloves, face shields, bodysuits. Whatever was in that hut had scared them badly.
She nodded toward the approaching medic. “The news made it sound like an epidural hematoma, so why all this?” Lien gestured to the outfits.
“Department of Tourism doesn’t want to scare people away,” said the taller man, voice muffled by the suit’s helmet, “so they’re keeping it quiet, but it looks like some kind of parasite was involved. That’s why we called you guys.”
By “you guys” he meant The National Institute of Malariology, Parasitology, and Entomology (NIMPE) where she and Tuan worked. Lien understood the need for a cover story. The riots in Southern China the year before had really harmed tourism in Viet Nam, and the economy was still reeling from India’s Black Friday. Dead tourists were bad for business.
After suiting up, she followed Tuan and the two medics into the hut—a traditional longhouse. The walls were made of woven reeds, and the bamboo floor swayed slightly with each step. Mosquito nets hung from the ceiling, encasing dozens of sleeping mats. At the far end, one mat still held an occupant.
From a distance, obscured by mesh, the body looked like someone napping in the heat. But as Lien got closer, she could see movement on the surface of the corpse. Lien braced herself. Even so, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw when Tuan pulled back the mesh. It was hard to believe the object in front of her was human.
Remnants of a bare torso were exposed, but it was pocked with bloody craters of missing skin and flesh. Small white worms contrasted sharply with the dark-red blood. They were everywhere, climbing on the arms, face, and chest, leaving trails of devoured flesh. Below the neck, Lien could see the edge of a titanium rod reinforcing the collarbone.
“What was his age?” she asked. The damage to the body made it impossible to determine.
“Twenty-eight,” said the shorter medic.
That meant he was only a few years older than Lien. He should have had a long life to look forward to.
As she watched, a large wriggling mass climbed out a nostril. She shuddered involuntarily, imagining worms creeping across her own face.
Get control of yourself. You’re an entomologist, bugs are what you do. She took a deep breath and switched to analytic mode, kneeling for a closer look and narrating her observations to Tuan.
“The worms are roughly 1–2 cm in length.” It was hard to form a clear image of their bodies because of all the blood. “They appear to have prolegs.” Odd, that meant they weren’t maggots.
“What was his estimated time of death?” Tuan asked the medics.
“It is hard to know for certain, because of all the damage,” said the shorter medic. “But we think he died last night between two and four a.m.”
Lien glanced at the time displayed on her glasses—the body had been dead for less than eighteen hours, which was hard to believe. Insects were not uncommon on corpses, but larvae usually showed up several days later. First the parents had to lay eggs, then they needed time to hatch.
The blood also unsettled her. It was congealed and sticky after lying in the heat all day, but the way it pooled around the corpse implied he might not have been dead when the insects arrived. She turned to the shorter medic.
“You’ve been here most of the day?” He nodded. “Do the worms appear to be eating their way into the body, or are they eating their way out?”
The man didn’t need to think about his answer. “They are definitely coming out.”
Field Journal Excerpt
Dolpa District, Nepal
5 April 1889
It was agony unlike any I have experienced before. I heard the loud crack of bone; then pain engulfed me like an avalanche. When they shot my injured horse, I felt envy. I also felt a fool. Our Sherpas had warned us that horses were not fit for the rough mountain passages. Oh, how I regretted my choice as they dragged me for hours on a makeshift litter.
But I should not complain. It has been weeks since we last saw signs of human settlement. This tiny village, hovering between earth and sky, is a miracle. The language barrier poses a problem; even our Sherpa guides are unfamiliar with the dialect. Perhaps geographic isolation is to blame? My Austr
ian Alps are nothing compared to the Himalayan peaks that form a ring of sentinels around this valley.
After fretting over my injury for a week, the others decided to move on without me. I felt an odd mixture of melancholy and relief as they departed. By all accounts, the way to Lhasa is even more treacherous than what we have already encountered. I pray they are more fortunate than I have been.
The villagers are friendly, yet it is obvious they are not accustomed to outsiders. My blue eyes and thick blonde beard are of particular interest. I had hoped to fill the pages of this journal with accounts of forbidden Lhasa, but I will have to content myself with this small valley instead.
Japanese Online Journal of Entomology
7 February 2053
Entomologists in Kunming, China have identified a new species of Lepidoptera. The genetic profile reveals major differences from other known species. Officials did not reveal where the insects were found or release any images.
Lien shifted to the side in her office chair, so Tuan could scan the article over her shoulder. It wasn’t a surprise their sample had hit no matches in the EtoGenome database. But she felt surprised by the classification. She had known the worms weren’t actually worms. The samples they had collected from the corpse had legs, which implied insect. But all her previous experience had taught her to expect maggots or grubs on a dead body, not caterpillars. Had Peder really been devoured by larval moths?
“I wish we had access to a genome sequencer,” Tuan said … again. “Now China is going to take all the credit.”
“But Tuan, Viet Nam should be grateful we have such a powerful big brother to watch over and protect us.”
Tuan’s expression clouded. He was probably trying to decide whether or not she was joking. Lien let him wonder. She really didn’t care who got credit for the discovery, as long as she was given access to the data. And Kunming had shared the full DNA profile.
Tuan’s gaze shifted to her … chest? She glanced down at the Neo Ao-Dai she was wearing. It had a bright pink lotus embroidered on a black silk background. Then she glanced back at him. His eyes snapped up to meet hers, clearly embarrassed.
“I like your top,” he said quickly. “I mean, the top of your outfit. It’s a lotus, right? Like you.” Lien was impressed he had made the connection between her name and the flower. Although, she would be a lot more impressed if Tuan would stop ogling her and get back to work.
“It’s a pity,” he said, when she didn’t reply. “China taking all the credit. I was hoping maybe we could name the new species for you, since you discovered it.”
Lien stared at him for a moment, then quirked an eyebrow. “We find a species of carnivorous moths that devour people alive, and you were hoping to name them after me?”
Tuan froze, then grinned. “On second thought, I suppose it was Peder who discovered them first. So maybe we should name them for him. Peder Fridelicacy.”
After three hours of poring over lab images, Lien was in a foul mood. Nothing made sense. She adjusted the settings on the 3D reflecting dish until the virtual image was crisp. Then she rotated the floating image to various angles, zooming in and out. The more she dug around, the more she realized the pieces were not fitting together. It was obvious the larva started inside the body and chewed their way to the surface. But how had they got inside in the first place? They were found equally in every major organ system, indicating no central origin. Parasitic worms usually built up in the intestines and then migrated to other parts of the body in a predictable pattern. These larvae were just … everywhere.
Lien pulled up a series of tissue reports. Surely she could establish a basic timeline for system infections if she looked hard enough. As she scrolled down the report she noticed something—or rather, the lack of something. Eggs. The reports gave head counts of larvae per cubic centimeter and the amount of tissue damage, but not a single reference was made to eggs. Thousands of caterpillars wouldn’t appear through spontaneous generation. So where were the eggs now? Lien pulled up report after report. No eggs anywhere. That wasn’t just strange, it was impossible. Unless the larvae had entered the body after hatching.
Lien imagined thousands of microscopic larvae entering a host and swimming through the bloodstream to every body system, then growing and feeding as they made their way back to the surface. But how could thousands of larvae enter a body at once? Maybe by drinking contaminated water? No, stomach acid would destroy them in minutes. The only viable option seemed to be direct injection to the bloodstream. But how could a moth inject that many offspring into a host?
10 April 1889
Nepal
I could not ask for a better recovery environment. If it weren’t for the small biting moths which seem to relish the taste of my foreign blood, I would name this place a paradise. Each evening as I watch the sunset, the majestic peaks make me feel small by comparison, yet important by inclusion.
My leg seems to be healing well, although the villagers insist I not walk. The healer’s daughter Nyima tends to me. The girl has proved an engaging companion. She is filled with the boldness and curiosity of youth, and delights in teaching me new words. I think she is as eager to learn about Austria as I am to learn about her village.
16 April 1889
Nepal
I continue to be plagued with fevers and chills in this insufferable valley. Nyima’s fathers insist I am experiencing a common childhood ailment, but I believe it is altitude sickness. The only treatments they offer are bitter herbs and horrendous butter tea. No doubt it is brimming with medicinal properties, but it has the same texture and appearance as yak snot, and is equally palatable.
Trying to interpret Nyima’s incessant questions—half gestures, half words I can only guess at—makes the headaches worse. And why her ugly goat must sleep inside with us, I cannot guess. Keeping animals inside is commonplace here. But the smell of sharing your home with them is horrendous. I miss the clean sheets and gentle scents of home.
1 March 2053
Viet Nam
Together, Tuan and Lien carried twenty rat cages into the room with the moth tank. Most of the caterpillars were still in chrysalis form, but nearly thirty had emerged as adult moths. It was time to determine the infection mechanism.
Lien watched the adult moths climbing on branches. There was nothing special about them. They had a wingspan of only a few centimeters and were gray and boring. It was a bit of a disappointment really. She lifted a rat cage and slid it into a set of grooves which held it firmly against the larger tank. The moths, which had seemed almost lethargic a moment ago, sprang to life. Several flew toward the rat so energetically they collided with the plastic barrier. Others simply collected on the wall.
Lien disengaged a safety lock, then slid a small panel upward, creating a passage. She kept the opening as small as possible. Two moths immediately crawled through the gap. She released the panel quickly, a built-in spring snapping it shut. A third moth was crushed as it locked back in place.
“Shǎ guā!” Lien said, under her breath. “I accidentally got two.” A high-pitched squeal from the rat indicated it had already been bitten. That was fast.
“And another rat dies in the name of science,” Tuan said, turning to reach for the next cage.
“But not without putting up a good fight first,” Lien said. Tuan turned to see what she meant. The rat had managed to catch one of the moths between its front paws and was chewing on its body.
“And in a surprising turn of events,” Tuan said, “the man-eating moth is eaten by the moth-eating rat. Is no one safe anymore?”
Lien laughed, but she was only half listening. She peered into the cage closely. Based on the antennae and abdomen, both moths appeared male. Grabbing a marker, she scribbled the data on the side of the cage. “Do you think we should sedate the rats?”
Tuan thought for a moment. “For all we know, eating a moth is the
infection vector.”
“So you’re saying Fridell ate some moths?” Lien asked.
“Have you seen what they feed tourists on those treks?” he said, with a dramatic shake of his head. “It sure doesn’t look like anything I eat at home.”
Lien stared into cage twelve. “Are there any females?” she asked.
Tuan had his face pressed against the tank, moths collecting around him. Lien felt grateful for the plastic barrier.
“I don’t see any,” he said.
Lien moved closer to see for herself, enjoying the musky scent of Tuan’s shampoo. Her eyes darted from moth to moth. He was right.
“It is a new species,” Tuan said at last. “Maybe they exhibit different sex traits.”
Lien nodded. “Or maybe they’re like clownfish. They all start male, but environmental triggers morph some into females as needed.”
Tuan turned to Lien. “You know more random facts than anyone I have ever met.”
Lien wasn’t sure how to respond.
“That was a compliment,” he added, reaching out to put his hand on her shoulder. She was surprised by the physical gesture, but made no move to break it. “I’ll bet you’re awesome at crossword puzzles,” he said.
Lien laughed. “Actually, I am pretty good.”
22 April 1889
Nepal
I have finally adjusted to the altitude. It is wonderful to be free of the headaches. The language continues to be a frustrating barrier, but Nyima has been quite patient with me, and I can now recognize a variety of common words. I have started to diagram family trees, because this requires very little language. The female inheritance system in this village fascinates me. It is typical for all the brothers in a household to marry the same woman. I would venture this practice is done as a population control mechanism. Land and resources are scarce, yet few people leave the valley. It is near impossible to determine paternity for certain, which explains why property passes through the woman’s line. I must admit the thought of sharing a wife with my own brothers seems repugnant to me. It goes against basic Christian decency.
L. Ron Hubbard Presents Writers of the Future 34 Page 18
