“Wait—are those ants?”
Mome smiled. “They are.”
Kirra got even closer and dropped down to one knee again for a better view. “That entire nest is made up of nothing but ants?” It looked like there were a million of them swarming around to make this structure. Their legs and bodies were linked together so tightly it was no wonder it had taken her so long to notice them.
She pointed at the middle of the mass. “What’s inside?”
“The queen. And all of her eggs. These are the colony’s most prized possessions, and every member does their part to protect them.”
“How long do they stay like that?”
Mome shrugged. “As long as they need to. In the morning, many will break away from the nest and go off in raiding parties to find food to bring back. When this area becomes unsuitable, the whole crew will move to a different part of the forest. They can reassemble into this protective covering for the queen at a moment’s notice. The structure is called a bivouac, so I call these the bivouac ants. Every ant knows its job and does it well, and their colony prospers.”
Kirra whistled in appreciation. “That’s amazing.”
Mome picked up a fallen branch. “Watch this.” He leaned forward and gently poked the stick into the middle of the heap of ants. Kirra was afraid he was going to squish hundreds of them, but the ants instantaneously rearranged themselves to allow the stick to dip right inside the structure, like it was sinking into a thick liquid.
When the stick was sunk in about a foot or so, Mome started to stir it around slowly. She was worried he would ruin the structure, scattering the ants everywhere, but the little insects shifted and moved together, as if controlled by one mind, and the stick was able to travel unimpeded through the mound. When Mome let go, the stick stood straight up, the ants having absorbed the foreign object into their space.
“Whoa,” Kirra breathed.
Mome nodded. “They are remarkable creatures.” He gripped the stick again and pulled it out. It was clean, not a single ant clinging to its surface, and the hole it had created disappeared as the ants swarmed to fill the empty area. Soon it was a solid structure once again.
Kirra shook her head in wonder. She reached out hesitantly, as if to touch the mound, but pulled her hand back. “It’s beautiful in a way, isn’t it? I mean, I never thought I would say that about a million bugs, but it is.”
Mome gave her a long look with his kind eyes. “I think it’s quite telling that you find beauty in this, young Kirra.”
“Really? Why?”
“You and I are similar,” he said. “We’re both outsiders.”
“Yes…” She didn’t need the reminder.
“I figure,” Mome went on, “that after ten years here I’ve gotten as close to the Tree Folk as anyone from the outside is going to get.”
He gestured around the clearing, at the individual small groups of people clustered together. “These people mean one another absolutely no harm…but neither are they in a rush to do for one another.”
Kirra nodded. He was putting his finger on something that she could never talk to the family about. “Yes. That’s it exactly.” She chewed on her lip, deep in thought, not entirely sure how to phrase the next part. “And it’s, well, it’s unusual, isn’t it? I mean, you think that, too, right? It’s not just me.”
“You and I find it unusual, but that’s only because we were raised differently.”
She pieced it together. “So they don’t notice this might seem unusual. Because it’s what they’ve always known.”
“That’s right.”
“But…” Kirra searched for the right words. “Isn’t it…I mean, no matter how you were raised…isn’t it just easier to share? A more natural way for people to behave?”
“When you’re used to it, yes, of course,” Mome said. “But if it’s not what you’re accustomed to, sharing is scary.”
“Scary? How?”
Again, Mome took the time to give her question real thought. “Because people are worried they aren’t going to get the amount they think they deserve.”
“Right, but it never works out totally equal like that. Sometimes you get a little more, so next time you take a little less. It’s just common sense.”
When Mome smiled it was with his whole face, not just his mouth. “The fact that you know all this so well, young Kirra, that it is such a part of you, makes me think you used to live in a place that worked like this.” He gestured at the bivouac structure.
Kirra snapped her head to look directly at him, a flash of resentment in her eyes. “Is that why you brought me here? To trick me into talking about it?”
Mome shook his head gently. “No, meerkat. I only wanted to—”
“Can’t people just live their lives in peace?” She stood up, brushed herself off. “Maybe I prefer being someplace where people don’t have to share everything.”
Mome stood and tenderly placed his hands on her shoulders. “I have lived for many years, Kirra. I have traveled far and wide and experienced a great many things. I know that some communities…well, they come to an end, like a tree dying in the forest. And also like a tree, they can cause a lot of damage when they fall.”
Suddenly, Kirra felt very tired.
“That’s the problem with not sharing your stories, with shutting them out.” Mome gently brushed tears from her cheeks. “It can be comforting to block bad memories. So comforting that it feels like the right thing to do…”
Kirra nodded slowly.
“But when we do that,” Mome continued, “we also shut out all the good. And those are the things that help us heal.”
Kirra’s heart was racing, even though she was standing perfectly still. It felt like a torrent of memories was threatening to drown her, and Mome wanted to open the dam.
But she would not let him. She pushed his hands away.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said.
Kirra turned and fled into the forest.
WHEN SHE ARRIVED BACK HOME, panting for breath after climbing two hundred feet, Loba and Maham were already there. They had gotten the fire going again, and the house smelled like fresh stew. Her stomach rumbled.
“Hello there,” said Maham, stirring the bubbling pot. She offered Kirra a smile. “I’m glad to see you home safe.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to be late.” Kirra took the pouch off her back.
“Where have you been?” asked Loba. He was hanging his hunting cloak—mottled with greens and browns to blend in with the forest—on a hook near the fire. It was damp, so perhaps he’d been stalking prey in one of the swamps. Kirra allowed herself to hope that maybe there’d be a night of crocodile steaks this week. That had become one of her favorite meals since coming to this place.
“I had to go get salt. We were running low.”
“Oh, that’s good. I didn’t want to say anything”—Maham smiled at her as she held up the ladle—“but this dish could definitely use it.”
“Did you have any trouble getting to the caverns?” Loba asked. “I haven’t been over that way since the fire.”
“Oh…I ended up not having to go out there. I saw Mome, and he said we could have some of his.”
Loba stroked his beard as he studied her. Most adult men in the Tree Folk community grew them long. Kirra had always thought they looked like the stringy moss that hung off trees by the swamp. Maybe he should dye his beard green to enhance his camouflage, she thought.
Normally she would have said that out loud, but the look on Loba’s face made it clear he was not in a joking mood.
“Why did you go to his house and not the caverns?”
Kirra shrugged, trying to make it seem casual. “I just ran into him and told him where I was headed, and he offered to let us use his supply.” She purposely left out the part about being caught up in the leopard trap. Loba did not need another reason to wonder about Mome.
Besides, Loba had a way of making Kirra feel guilty, even when
she hadn’t done anything wrong. Were all fathers like that…or just adoptive ones who maybe weren’t that crazy about the fact they ever met you in the first place?
“How much did he give you?”
Kirra held up her pouch by the strings and gently shook it so he could guess how much was inside. Then she handed the pouch to Maham, who was clearly grateful to have something to do during this conversation. She immediately opened it and started seasoning the stew. Loba remained quiet.
Kirra looked back and forth between them. “Did I do something I wasn’t supposed to?”
Loba sighed heavily. He raked fingers through his damp hair to dry it out. Then he pulled his long locks back and tied them with a leather strap.
“Look, I’m not saying you necessarily did anything wrong, Kirra. It’s just that we don’t truly know Mome. He’s not part of this family. What will he want in return?”
“Nothing.”
Loba gave her a look.
“Nothing, really! I mean, the next time I’m at the salt caverns, I’ll fill an extra pouch and bring it to his house to repay him for the kindness. But he wasn’t trying to get anything else.”
Loba stroked his beard some more. “Did he try to fill your head with more of his stories? He’s not from here, you know.”
Kirra looked at the wooden floor with eyes that had threatened to burn with tears again. “I’m not from here, either,” she said quietly.
“Oh, honey,” said Maham, “that’s not what he meant. Loba was merely trying—”
“He’s not like you, Kirra. When Mome came here, he didn’t join a family, didn’t learn our ways, didn’t try to blend in. He’s always just kept to himself on the fringe.”
Isn’t that what we’re all doing? Kirra didn’t dare say. Isn’t this entire community one big fringe?
Loba straightened up, cleared his throat. “I’ll need to think about this. I don’t know how much I want you talking to him anymore.”
Fine. Kirra could relate. After their conversation by the lake, she wasn’t sure how much more she wanted to keep talking to Mome, either.
Maham tried to break the awkward silence. “Well, I’m sorry you couldn’t go straight to the caverns. I hope the rainy season gets here soon. It’s long overdue, but when it comes, we won’t have to worry about any more wildfires.”
“The rainy season might not be here yet, but I am!” a voice said.
All three of them jumped in surprise, Maham dropping the ladle and splashing soup on herself.
They looked up to see Luwan’s head poking down through the hole in the roof, dodging this way and that to avoid the smoke rising through it. Kirra felt relief wash through her. Luwan’s antics could be annoying at times, but he had a knack for defusing tense family situations, and she was glad he had shifted attention away from that uncomfortable exchange.
“By the gods, son, can’t you come through the front door like a normal person?” Kirra couldn’t help noticing that even when Loba spoke gruffly to Luwan, there was still more tenderness in his tone than when he was telling her something nice.
Luwan’s face disappeared. “Normal is boring!” he called, and then they could hear him thumping down the roof until he appeared in the open doorway. He knocked primly on the edge of the door and spread his arms wide. “Is this normal enough?” He flashed Kirra a grin.
Loba shook his head. “Just get in here and wash up. It’s time for dinner.”
Maham folded the table down from the wall, and they all gathered around it after filling their wooden bowls.
“Mmm. This is good soup, Kirra,” Maham said. “Thank you for making it for everyone.”
Loba, mouth full, grunted his approval.
Kirra smiled. “Thank you. And many thanks for trapping the meat so I could make it.”
Loba nodded at her.
The rest of the meal was eaten largely in silence. This was normal for most of the family, but not Luwan. He usually talked so much that Kirra was amazed he could actually finish his dinner at the same time, especially since he seemed to eat twice as much as anyone else.
She knew what his silence likely meant, though—there was something he wanted from his parents, and he was waiting for the right time to ask. She would have bet any of her possessions on it. The thought made her stomach a little queasy, though; just as Luwan could defuse any volatile situation, he could also ignite one in record time.
Luwan picked up his bowl, slurped the last bit of soup, smacked his lips appreciatively, and set the dish back on the table with a clack. Then he stretched his arms over his head, let out a satisfied “Ahh!” and looked around the table. “So, parents, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Maham glanced out of the corner of her eye at Loba, who merely sighed and pushed himself back in his seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded his son with a stoic expression. Kirra wasn’t the only one who knew how to read Luwan.
“So I’ve been thinking—”
Loba grunted at that.
“We should really be taking more advantage of this unusually long dry season.”
Loba and Maham shared a look. “And…how do you think we should be doing that?” his mother asked.
“Well, after the rains come, you know how wild the river will get. All that turbulent whitewater, and so deep? Dangerous, some may say.”
Maham cleared her throat. “Yes, we know this, Luwan. It’s why the river marks the natural border of our lands, a buffer between us and the tribes that lie beyond.”
Loba pointed at his son. “It’s also the reason you’re not allowed to go down there. We give you free rein of the forest and any lands that lie to the east, but you are to stay away from there.”
Kirra shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t like this talk about the river. It was one long, winding, overflowing Memory Trap. Everyone at the table knew what had happened the last time Luwan snuck down there without permission.
Luwan held up both hands in a placating gesture. “I know, I know. And I completely agree with you. But…have you seen it lately? It’s so low, I bet I could wade right across it to the other side.”
“Not a chance.” Loba slowly shook his head. “We’ve talked about this already. The riverbed could be unstable—like quicksand that could suck you right under. There could be holes you can’t see beneath the surface. Or currents that could sweep you away. No. Not going to happen. It wouldn’t matter even if it had been ten years since the last rain.”
“Oh, of course, Father. Of course I would never try to walk across.” Luwan’s exaggerated tone made it clear doing that was the furthest thing from his mind.
“Well then…” Maham set her spoon down and pushed the empty bowl away. “Why are we talking about this?”
“Okay. Please listen before you decide anything. You promise?”
Loba’s expression said it all: Parents did not make blanket promises to their children, especially regarding unknown requests.
Luwan forged ahead. “Right. So you know how my friend Teeha is really good at building things? She’s amazing.” He looked at his parents, an expectant expression on his face, as if seeking confirmation for this fact.
Loba just twirled his finger in the keep going gesture.
“Well, she hasn’t been hanging out with us much the last month, because she’s been working on some secret project. But she finally showed it to us today, and it’s unbelievable. It’s this enormous raft—big enough to hold all of our friends. It’s really sturdy, and we were thinking that—”
Loba pushed himself back from the table and stood up, giving his son a dismissive wave. All he said was a simple no.
“But, Father, I need—”
“The discussion is closed.”
“But I’d be doing it for the family!” Luwan jumped to his feet to plead his case. “Think of the fishing spots we could find, places no one has ever been. I could bring home enough to provide dinners for a month. Or more!” He looked to his mother for
support, but her head was bowed as she collected the bowls from the table and stacked them up.
Loba retrieved his cloak from the hook, patted it to make sure it was dry, then slipped it on. “I need to fix a few loose planks on one of the trees to the northwest.” He picked up a lantern and moved toward the door.
“Father, are you even listening? We wouldn’t go far, I promise. I would be back in just two days. Three at the most.”
Loba stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Listen to me well, Luwan. We do not go into the river. The forest is vast. It is enough.”
“But think of all the fish I could—”
“Have you ever known a hungry night in your life?” Loba’s voice was very calm now. Quiet and even. Kirra found it much more unnerving than when he raised his voice.
Luwan threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “What?”
“Have you ever, even one time, gone to sleep hungry?”
Luwan stared back at his father. Finally he said, “No.”
“Exactly. We have everything we need right here.” He turned to walk through the doorway. “You will stay away from the river,” he said over his shoulder as he walked out of the hut.
The silence was heavy after Loba left. Maham busied herself with cleaning the bowls and the cooking pot. Kirra patched some clothes that had gotten ripped while she was climbing, and Luwan sat quietly with his back up against the wall. He went to his hammock early without saying good night to anyone.
But later, when Kirra climbed down through a trapdoor to get into her sleep sling, she found Luwan awake in his with hands behind his head, whistling a jaunty little tune. Kirra hung a lantern on the hook between their two hammocks. The two had slept near each other ever since she had arrived.
“Seems like you’re in a good mood,” she whispered. “Especially considering, you know…” Kirra made a face and gestured to the hut above them to indicate the tense conversation after dinner.
Luwan stopped whistling and raised one eyebrow at her. “Don’t tell me you actually believed all that?” he whispered.
“What? Of course. But you…Wait, what do you mean?”
“Father would never let me go out on a raft on that river. Not in a million moons.”
If We Were Giants Page 10
