by Indie Gantz
I look down at the recipe I’m referencing for dinner tonight and cringe. It’s a human cookbook, which means I have to ignore about sixty percent of the ingredients if I want anything I make out of it to be nutritional.
This stew contains mostly whole ingredients, except for something called a bouillon cube and corn starch. Humans used a lot of corn. I’m also leaving out the steak. Not only because it’s difficult to get viable meat out in the middle of nowhere, especially the particular species of animal this recipe calls for, but also because Tirigan would refuse to eat it.
“Want me to chop some of these carrots?” John asks. “I’m an above average chopper, you know.”
“Oh, I’m aware,” I reply, handing him the carrots and the knife I used to cut the potatoes. “Knock yourself out.”
John slides in next to me and starts chopping while I reach for the kale to wash and tear it.
“So, you’re heading closer to the jungle tonight, right?” I comment as nonchalantly as I can manage.
We travelled for weeks to get to this particular jungle, my parents more outwardly excited than they have been for any other job before. The legends that surround it are notoriously gruesome, which make my parents probably the most insane Anunnaki alive for wanting to venture so close.
Back on Eridu, horrific creatures known as Aqrabuamelu live in the deepest valleys of the planet. Some say the Aqrabuamelu found a way to make it to Earth and now roam freely in the areas that have yet to become habitable, but there’s no real evidence for this. The jungle my parents plan to enter tonight, Zoúnkla, is one of the places that has had supposed Aqrabuamelu sightings.
“Yes,” John says with a smile. “But as I’ve told you before, there’s nothing to be afraid of. There are no scorpion-men on Earth, nor is there anything in that jungle that can render an immortal dead on sight.” He looks out the window to my mother and brother, and his smile grows wider. “Besides, Zoúnkla is special to your mother and me for other reasons.”
“How can you be so sure?” I counter, ignoring the last part of his statement. “There’s a reason the jungle is forbidden. You guys want to risk it just to take a few pictures of some rare flower?”
John places the knife on the counter and turns to me. Keeping my hands busy with the kale, my eyes stay on my preparations.
“I won’t lie to you; the jungle can be dangerous for those who don’t know it as well as we do.” His hand goes to my shoulder, and I feel instantly calmer upon contact. I lift my eyes to meet his. “We’ve photographed there before. Don’t worry so much, all right? Your mother isn’t even going in the jungle. She will stay outside and get some pictures of the perimeter.”
“What about you?” I challenge.
John laughs at that. “I’m over three hundred years old and I heal faster than any other Anunnaki you’ve ever met. I think I’ll be fine.”
I want to argue that I could count the number of Anunnaki I’ve met on my currently marred right hand, but I let it go. There’s no point in arguing with either of them. My parents are going to do what they want; they always have. They’ve always encouraged Tirigan and I to do what we want as well. Under the guidelines to always think of the other first, my brother and I have lived our seventeen years doing pretty much whatever enters our minds. Living on the road, so far from civilization, we haven’t really had to worry about other people. Our activities range from climbing mountains, to lounging about and reading all day, to throwing knives at unsuspecting trees. We run for exercise, but neither of us has ever enjoyed the activity unless one of us is chasing the other. Tirigan pretty much lives in trees when he can, but I’ve stayed on the ground since the last time I fell out of one and broke my arm. Thankfully, John and Calla were on a long scout that day and my arm had healed enough by the time they returned that I was able to hide the injury. Otherwise, I probably would have had Calla shadowing me for a week. Kind of like she’s doing now.
Perhaps if I died of starvation, you would take it as a sign to accelerate your progress. I huff and shake my head at my brother’s telepathic complaint.
You should have helped, Sarrum.
It is not my night to cook.
Rules are made to be broken.
That is false. Rules are made to-
“Oh, shut up,” I say aloud, raising my voice so he can hear me through the open window.
“Yeah,” John says loudly after me. “Quiet down, Tirigan!”
I see Tirigan’s chest shake as he laughs softly, and Calla’s smile grows wide and bright. She speaks softly to my brother, who nods his head once.
“Why do you think he won’t start now?” I blurt out, quiet enough not to be overheard. “He speaks perfectly in his mind, better than I do even. Why not speak out loud?”
My father doesn’t take a moment to think. This is something he’s obviously already given a lot of thought to.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how.” John finishes his chopping duties and places the carrots in the pot of seasoned water already on the stove. “Or maybe he doesn’t find the need to, since he has you.”
“True.” I give the pot of ingredients a stir, and then set the lid on top.
“All right, how long before this is done?” John asks, clapping his hands together and peering out the window again. “I want to get out there before the sun sets.”
“You’ve got some time,” I reply. “Go get the truck packed up and join the lazy ones outside. I’ll call you in when it’s ready.”
John leans forward and kisses my temple. “Best daughter in existence.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes, but smile at my father’s compliment.
John walks back into his bedroom, presumably to pack his equipment for the night shoot. His exit accompanies a wave of nausea that I try to ignore. I really don’t like the idea of my parents going inside the jungle tonight.
I consider myself to be a brave person, never one for the damsel in distress bit, but there’s something unnerving about Zoúnkla. Not just because of the stories, but because of the way the jungle affects me personally. I haven’t been closer than several bêrus away since we arrived, but even when Zoúnkla is in the distance, the sun casting shadows above or the moon creeping beside, I can feel it.
The trees stare at me, beckon me inside. When the wind whistles in Zoúnkla’s direction, its song is enticing, entrancing. The closer we get to Zoúnkla and the closer my father comes to actually stepping inside the jungle, my body strangely begs to follow. My mind, however, is staunchly opposed to the idea, and the battle between the two is beginning to drive me insane.
Tirigan says he feels the same way sometimes, but he seems to be able to shake it off easily enough. It’s always hard to tell with him, though. I tried to shrug it off too, but the very next time I laid eyes on the haunting mass of palms and breadfruits, the feeling pulling me towards it didn’t lessen. It’s only gotten stronger.
◆◆◆
John comes out of his bedroom fifteen minutes later, bringing their equipment for the shoot outside so he can pack it into the truck. When he comes back in a little while later, the stew is simmering nicely on the stove. The smell wafts through the trailer, and my father makes an appreciative noise.
“Smells delicious, Lee Lee.” I groan at the nickname, but say nothing. John’s the only one I let get away with it.
“Thanks. Why don’t you get out the bowls and set us up outside?” I stir the stew a few times and take a sip of the broth. “I think we’re about ready here.”
“How many will Tirigan need?” John asks.
“Three.”
John nods and pulls the bowls from the cabinet and spoons from the drawer, then places them next to the stove. I peek out the window at Calla and Tirigan and watch them wordlessly interact. With the sun setting in the distance, my brother and mother are cast in the most beautiful pink shadows. It makes my mother’s dark auburn hair look more indigo than red, a picture so dazzling it makes my smile grow wider.
&nbs
p; “Dinner! Get your drinks!” I yell out to them, laughing when Tirigan practically tramples Calla in his haste to get inside. I hold out his bowls and he grabs them, but I cling on until his eyes meet mine. It only takes him a second to retrieve the magic words.
Thank you for dinner, Charlie.
I give him a nod. There are three ingredients.
Tirigan eyes the stew for a second, forcibly overcoming his issue with his food co-mingling. I step aside so Tirigan can spoon each vegetable into its own bowl. Rather than serving himself, John helps Tirigan take his bowls to the table outside.
My mother’s eyes are hard on me instead of dinner service. Scowling, I round on her.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” My tone is teasing, but I know she can hear the truth under my words. “I’m fine, and you’re driving me crazy.”
Calla raises her hands in innocence. “Hey, I wasn’t even thinking about your impending death from loose cabinetry.” She smiles brightly at me, and I can’t help but return it.
“Then what were you thinking about?” I spoon out a healthy portion of food for John and myself, and then hand the ladle to my mother. She takes it and fills her bowl.
“Just that we got really lucky with you two.” With the hand not holding her full bowl, Calla pushes my hair behind my ear and looks at me fondly. “You take care of him, and he... your brother loves you more than you know.”
I flush, embarrassed, but I smile down at my soup. “I know.” When I look back up to find my mother’s eyes have grown somber, my brow pulls together in confusion. “What?”
Calla’s mouth quivers for a second before she blurts out something I’m not prepared to hear.
“You’ll stick together, won’t you? No matter what-” Calla clamps her lips together. When she speaks again, there’s a carefulness to her tone that worries me. “You’ll always look out for one another, right?”
I’m sure my surprise is written all over my face, but I do my best to sober my features quickly.
“Of course, Calla.” She smiles, her features becoming less concerned and more like my mother again. “But, you know, if there’s some way to avoid the scenario where that becomes a serious question, I’d appreciate you taking care to do so.”
She laughs the kind of laugh that makes the crinkles around her eyes deeper. The sound soothes my growing anxiety. “I’m sorry. I’m being creepy, aren’t I?”
“Not creepy,” I disagree. “Just a little weird. If you’re that worried about going to the jungle, maybe-”
“Oh, don’t be silly. That’s not what I-” She cuts herself off again and shakes her head, laughing. “It’s nothing.” Calla gives me a convincing smile and turns to join the others outside. “Hurry up, will you? I want to get out there as soon as the sun sets.”
I follow my mother out the front door casually, but there’s something in the air I recognize, and it quickly becomes impossible for me to ignore.
It’s the phenomenon of going outside of your body and watching yourself live a moment that will forever remain in your subconscious.
My mother’s plea for Tirigan and me to stick together with genuine concern in her eyes, that’s what I think about as I join my family outside, the sun falling quickly below the horizon and the jungle taunting me in the distance.
CHAPTER THREE
Resu’s Swan Song
Charlie.
My brother’s voice in my head pulls me from a recurring dream that’s just colors flashing beneath my eyelids. Bright, velvet-rich shades float and blink in and out of existence. Sometimes certain colors dominate others; sometimes they all collide, like an explosion of acrylics coating the black of my consciousness. I can never figure out what it means exactly, and I always wake up before the colors morph into anything interpretable. Sometimes I wonder if it’s just my mind being lazy and refusing to come up with something more complex to play on repeat every night.
The sun’s rays are hot on my face, burning through the worn piece of cloth we hung over our bedroom window. The makeshift curtain is far too thin to be useful, but I put it up there anyway.
My eyes sting as they flutter open, and I groan loud enough for Tirigan to hear me. As always, Tirigan would have woken up with first light and eaten his breakfast at the table outside of our trailer. I know if I were to look out the window right now, he would be hunched over a book and tapping his toes to a rhythm only he could feel.
I didn’t realize my alarm clock included an annoying brother option. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn widely.
The mechanics of the alarm clock we own would not allow for that function to exist. My lips curl into a familiar smile at my brother’s literal interpretation of my words.
How is it that you can deadpan just about anything when the mood strikes, but whenever I make a joke, you can’t spare the brain power to understand?
Perhaps if your jokes were more humorous.
My brother’s special brand of humor is something not many people would understand. Mostly because he doesn’t talk and uses me to interpret for him, but there’s also a subtlety to Tirigan that would slip past those who’d mistake him for simple. There was a time when he really did struggle with taking everything literally, but now Tirigan mostly just pretends to misunderstand my jokes. Sometimes it’s obvious he’s memorized a rule of some sort to help him categorize what he’s supposed to interpret as jokes, rather than fully understanding them. In those moments, I am reminded of his child-like innocence, and it makes me laugh. Not in a malicious way, but in a way that makes my chest grow warm and my eyes close with a smile.
Why did you wake me up, anyway? I throw the question to my brother before kicking the blanket off my legs and pulling myself out of bed.
Your dream was becoming too vivid. It was distracting. I roll my eyes and walk to my bedroom door, pulling it open.
“Good Morning, Resu.”
“Good Morning, Charlie.” Our personal assisting device’s voice is silky and deep. It’s a comforting sound first thing in the morning.
You aren’t supposed to be dream walking, Tirigan. We-
I could not help it. The colors. Cyan. Scarlet. Grey. Mustard. Indigo-
I get the point.
They were too loud. It was very difficult to keep them out.
I sigh and nod, knowing that even though Tirigan can’t see me, he will know I’m not really angry with him. It can be very difficult to keep the other out if one of us is experiencing anything on a more extreme level.
I make my way to the bathroom, wiping sleep and irritation off of my face. As soon as I’m inside, my environment makes me stop short. Usually when my parents have night shoots, they have showered and gone to sleep by the time I wake up in the morning. The ventilation is so poor in the trailer that the bathroom stays foggy for over an hour afterward. This morning the bathroom is only slightly moist, probably from the shower Tirigan took when he woke at the crack of dawn.
Are John and Calla not back yet?
The other reason I woke you.
“Shower time Resu. Forty-one degrees, please.” The shower spurts to life and lets off steam almost immediately. “Thanks, Resu,” I yawn.
“You’re welcome, Charlie.”
I step under the water stream and think about where my parents could be.
Despite what my father says about the stories and legends surrounding the jungle, I’m not too proud to admit how terrified I am that something might have happened to them. Stories have to come from somewhere, and at least some of the story is true. There really are monsters on Eridu. Scorpion Men. Hundreds of šēpusi tall. Legs as thick around as a Giant Sequoia’s trunk. A tail stinger with multiple sharp appendages. I’ve never seen them, having been born on Earth, but I’ve seen pictures.
In the legend, upon entering Earth, the Aqrabuamelu are said to have transformed as a result of Earth’s apocalypse. They evolved further to match the horridness of their circumstances. I don’t know how much evolution is needed to tur
n something nicknamed “Scorpion Men” into something even more horrible, but that’s how the story goes.
The Aqrabuamelu are only supposed to be found in the most dangerous place on earth. The Northern Hemisphere.
The northern part of the planet is still uninhabitable since that’s where the asteroid actually hit, but there are pockets of dangerous areas around the equator that extend into the Southern Hemisphere. The stories don’t give reasons as to why the creatures don’t travel further south, and we’re just left to wonder.
Zoúnkla is one of those pockets and being so close to it without any concrete evidence as to whether it’s actually safe for us to be here, I’m naturally a little uncomfortable. My parents, on the other hand, have never shown fear of anything aside from tiny cuts on their daughter’s hand. I don’t know if it’s because they possess an unparalleled sense of courage or because they’re both too stubborn to accept anything they don’t witness with their own eyes. Either way, both of them have been buzzing with energy ever since we started our journey here.
I can feel Tirigan’s anxiety float through me, amplifying my own. I rush through my typical shower routine. I’m sure it’s nothing. They probably just fell asleep or something.
Perhaps.
I turn off the shower and dry myself with the yellow towel none of us like because it’s too coarse and doesn’t soak up enough water. There are only four towels, and on laundry day it isn’t unusual for one, if not all of us, to stand outside next to the clothes line and fight over the good towels.
I grumble as the towel slides over my wet skin and does absolutely nothing to dry it. That’s it! The next time John goes into town for supplies he’s buying a new towel.
The towel wraps begrudgingly around my long dark hair and I set the temperature regulator on my clothing before pulling them on. Earth’s ozone layer has yet to completely stabilize, so we wear clothing over most of our skin to protect us from the sun. Anunnaki heal sunburns faster than we can get them, but using our regeneration abilities all the time drains our life force. It’s better to protect ourselves and live longer than be completely care-free and shorten our lifespan.
