The Immortal Collection (A Saga of the Ancient Family Book 1)

by Eva García Sáenz

  “And nothing less,” I snorted. “Why are you doing this to me, Kyra? I need to move on if I want to keep on working here. If you keep reminding me of this story, I’ll end up leaving.”

  “I’m actually doing this for Iago. I don’t like to watch what he’s going through. He’s the closest person to me that I’ve ever had, my brother, my blood. But more than that, he’s always been my support and my rock. You see, Iago’s the sort of person who never fails you. Do you understand? But more than that, more than the tormented guy overloaded with manias, Iago is a good man. We’re worried about him. I can’t be more explicit, and I shouldn’t give you too many details—I have no right to, and he’d never forgive me—but it’s not good for him to be so agitated, especially after the crisis he had last time . . . To the rest of the world he’s that amazing character who knows everything. You see him as being very sure of himself, and he is, he really is. But he’s very inscrutable. When he’s going through a hard time, he tends not to ask for help; he’s used to shouldering his problems and carrying on. But you two were so close.”

  “To what, Kyra? To what? Even I don’t know the answer to that.”

  “Look, Adriana, relationships like yours don’t come along too often. You’ve sensed it; he feels it; all of us around you see it. But Iago has put you in a very difficult situation, and your character doesn’t help, I might add. I’m just trying to give you a hand. Tell me you’ll think about all this, consider that it’s possible. It would be simple for me to prove to you that I’m a two-thousand-five-hundred-year-old Gaul. I can convince you without resorting to proof, just with words. I suppose what I experienced with my husband helped me. But I won’t do it, out of respect for Iago, because it would be interfering too much, and he wouldn’t take it well. From this point on the two of you have to travel the road together. Promise me that you’ll do your homework, okay?”

  I nodded silently, not very convinced, and left her. When I got home, I immediately switched on my laptop. During her high-speed class in impossible possibilities, a doubt had inserted itself inside my head. I began to search all the scientific journal websites I knew: the e-journals belonging to Revicien, and to the national research organization CSIC, etc. After that I extended my search to databases of doctoral theses: TESEO, and other repositories. My aim was to find any research that had been done recently that might connect aging with mutations.

  Four hours later, having followed the wandering trails that led me to links that took me to photos that linked to videos, I found three names—three actual present-day documented cases. The first was a sixteen-year-old girl whose aging process had stopped at seven months. Another similar case was of a girl aged six with the body of a four-month-old baby. And the most spectacular case of all: a forty-year-old man who looked ten. In other words, he was aging by one year for every four years that passed. So that gave rise to an immediate question: Was it possible to age one year every two thousand years once you reached thirty, as Iago had calculated?

  Throughout my search I had also come across news items I’d never noticed. The bulk of the national and international media had been writing about aging for years. Headlines like the one in XL Semanal in January 2011: OBJECTIVE: TO LIVE TO 130; or Quo in June of the same year, reporting on what they called THE LONGEVITY REVOLUTION; or a video from a Redes program in 2009, On the Road to Immortality, where they opened up a debate on the topic, which already seemed to have run its course in the scientific community but hadn’t yet reached the person in the street. I read testimonies from Nobel Prize winners working in reliable universities and laboratories, and not one of them seemed to have any doubts: in the next few decades humanity would break the century barrier. What made me take a deep breath was listening to the astonishing calmness with which serious scientists handled concepts like, “We could be the last generation of centenarians,” “Our offspring will be able to choose never to die,” and “Future generations will live in an eternal, healthy youth.”

  If science was on the verge of achieving this, why not believe that nature had achieved it earlier on?

  “Do your homework,” Kyra had said to me. Was this what she wanted? That I do my own research so that I’d find what anyone else could, if they knew what to look for?

  41

  ADRIANA

  Friday, June 22, 2012

  Can you stop doodling on the napkin?” Elisa had complained a few days earlier while we were having breakfast at BACus. “I don’t know what’s happened recently, kiddo, but you’re miles away.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m listening,” I said, forcing myself to concentrate on what she was telling me. I glanced down at my scribblings and realized I’d spent a good while drawing reticulated squares on top of the MAC logo: those damned tectiforms.

  “I was saying that you need get away from all this work. Why don’t you come to Cabárceno for the weekend?” She had dipped a ladyfinger in her café au lait as she added with fake innocence, “Your cousin will be there, and you can sort out your little issues.”

  So that Friday afternoon I had decided to spend some time with family, visiting the Cabárceno Wildlife Park with Marcos, Elisa, and their three children. The park was an outdoor zoo where visitors drove miles of roads in their cars watching elephants, ostriches, giraffes, and all sorts of wild animals who lived in semifreedom in the Peña Cabarga massif barely twenty minutes from Santander.

  I arrived at my cousin’s villa in Puente Viesgo just after midday, with the sun shining on the back of my car with all its force. Before I’d even had a chance to ring the bell, Marcos had opened the door and was waiting for me with a heartfelt hug.

  “You’re my soul cousin, right? Tell me your mother’s suicide note isn’t going to come between us.”

  I nodded my consent and allowed myself to be hugged. I had no desire to go on barricading myself against the whole world. Especially against those who were important to me. While, relieved, we were catching up with each other, Elisa came down the stairs carrying a one-year-old baby, and with the two other children hovering around her legs.

  “Say hi to your aunt,” she ordered, but they paid no attention to me.

  “That’s me: every kid’s friend.”

  It took only a second for the silence and tranquility I’d grown accustomed to in my new life in Santander to disappear as I found myself surrounded by all those children.

  “Help me put everything into the car, please,” Elisa requested as she traipsed back and forth, exhausted, between the kitchen and the living room with baby bottles and containers of baby food.

  I felt somewhat intimidated by the display of strollers. There was no way all that would fit into the trunk of their station wagon.

  “It’s like playing Tetris,” Marcos suggested with a wink. “Think of figures and filling spaces.”

  We were busy doing just that when his cell phone rang.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, going indoors to confront his wife, “but I have to go. A cow has gone into labor in Colindres.”

  “Marcos, you promised you’d come with all of us to Cabárceno today,” Elisa said, fuming, as she stood there looking like a Sherpa loaded down with bags.

  “I’ll try to get back as quickly as I can. Come on, don’t be like that.”

  His apology was aimed at both of us, really. Before we could react, he’d disappeared.

  Once we were all in the car, Elisa drove along the highway in a fury, ignoring the howls coming from the children strapped into the backseats.

  “He always does this to me, Adriana. I’m raising them by myself,” she complained, steam coming out of her ears.

  “I had no idea.”

  “It’s not just his work. When he’s not working, he heads off into the mountains with his friends on the weekends, and I’m left with the kids at my mother’s place.”

  “I didn’t know you were going through such a ro
ugh patch,” I answered, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

  “I suspect Marcos hasn’t said anything to you because even he doesn’t realize how much he’s ducking out of,” she commented without taking her eyes off the road. “To be honest, I’m so fed up with him that we usually spend what little time he is at home arguing. I almost prefer not to see him.”

  Terrific! I was caught in the middle of someone else’s crisis just when I’d agreed to spend a day with my family so that I’d forget my own demons for a few hours. That aside, I’d arranged to meet Héctor and Iago late in the afternoon to visit the Neocave at Altamira, so I was waiting for their call to say they were coming to Cabárceno to pick me up. Iago had disappeared a few weeks earlier, and though the official version was that he was getting together with a company that did installations, we both knew there was nothing scheduled with the company until September. Iago didn’t even bother to lie to me, although he neither gave me an explanation, nor did I ask for one. Which aspect of one of his other identities would his trip be connected with this time? What did it matter?

  We went into the park through the south entrance at Sobarza, traveling along the road that cut through the Martian-looking red mountains. Elisa told me that in ancient times these mountains had in fact been an iron-ore mine, hence the strange dun color of the countryside. While she was explaining our surroundings to me, the children started to become irritated, because we’d traveled a few miles without seeing any animals. I assumed that, given the scorching sun, the animals had all taken refuge in the shade. For a Friday the park was very quiet, and there were no cars around, so Elisa stopped by the side of the road.

  “I can’t take it anymore,” she said, switching off the engine. “We’ll let them get out and run off some steam for a bit, and then we can carry on as far as the restaurant area.”

  “I’m not sure we should stop in the middle of the park, Elisa. It’s not allowed,” I said, checking both sides of the narrow road.

  “Don’t worry. We’ve done it many times. There are fences everywhere, so the children aren’t going to escape.”

  “Whatever you think is best,” I replied, not totally convinced, but my friend was in a foul mood, and I didn’t feel like contradicting her.

  I released the oldest child from the seat belt on his car seat, and he raced off toward an open space close to where we had parked the car.

  “Don’t run, Álex,” yelled his mother as she looked after the baby. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, turning toward me. “We’ll have a bit of peace and quiet in this field for a while—we’ve earned it.”

  I agreed, and we sat down with the baby as the little girl ran about beside us. Suddenly, Elisa looked around, and when she saw that Álex was nowhere in sight, she leapt up and started to call him.

  Nothing.

  I gestured to Elisa to stay where she was, holding on to her daughter and the stroller. I headed for the road in case I could see him from there.

  Still nothing.

  I searched the small meadow, calling him by name, but he was nowhere to be seen. I tried to picture the last time I’d seen him, running off after he’d jumped down from the car, and I headed in that direction. Then I saw a sign which made my blood freeze: LION ENCLOSURE. We were in an area where lions were loose. Dammit, we’d crossed the fences without checking the signage. I raced back to Elisa with no clear idea of what to do in this situation.

  “We have to get everything together!” I yelled. “This is the lion zone!”

  “What?” she whispered, going pale. “That’s not possible. The lion enclosure is much farther on. We still have to go through the reptile area. Look, it’s here on the map.”

  She opened the map as best she could with her trembling hands, and when she finally located the spot where we were on the map, she looked up. There was no need for any words.

  I grabbed the stroller and stuffed it into the back of the van. I buckled the baby into the car seat. Elisa put her little girl into her seat, ignoring her complaints.

  “Go back to the park entrance,” I ordered her, taking control of the situation when I realized she was in no state to do so. “You have to talk to the attendants and get them out here as quickly as possible. I’ll try to find Álex, and I’ll keep in touch with you on the cell phone.”

  I glanced at her. The motor made a grinding noise as she put the car into gear without engaging the clutch. She was numb.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to drive?”

  “Y-y-yes,” she managed to reply.

  When I caught sight of the look of sheer terror on her face, I thanked heaven I wasn’t the child’s mother.

  I crossed the field again and then returned at a run, heading for the small termite-like mounds that acted as a demarcation zone between the meadow and the start of a more craggy area. There was nothing to be seen—neither Álex nor a lion, nor any other animal. It was incredibly quiet, maybe too quiet.

  I began to shout his name. I climbed on top of outcrops to get a wider perspective. And then I thought I saw something yellow near the trees.

  I ran in that direction and finally found Álex. He was harassing a lion cub, which was defending itself with a paw, clearly annoyed at the interloper. The little boy, delighted at what he’d found, heard me approaching.

  “Look, Auntie Dana, a real stuffed toy,” he shouted with delight.

  Without a second thought, I leapt toward him. I plonked him on my hip and started to run from the clearing in the forest. And then I stopped dead. A lioness had stationed herself right in front of me, some twenty yards away, blocking my path. She’d been looking for her little one, too. I began to back up step by step without looking behind me, still carrying Álex, who, like me, wasn’t saying a word. The lioness didn’t move and, for a moment, I thought we’d get out of this situation with nothing more than a big fright.

  How wrong I was.

  The lioness allowed us some space and then leaped, bringing her within a few yards of us. I turned—I don’t know how—and ran as fast as I could back to the forest, protecting Álex’s head with my free arm. I negotiated fallen tree trunks and the uneven terrain, but I lost speed when I reached the wooded area. I searched for a tree with low branches that I could climb up, and luckily I found one. It was a thick chestnut tree that, because it was lower and denser, stood out from the tall pine trees surrounding it.

  I pushed off from a rock at the base of the trunk and, with a bit of juggling, managed to get both myself and the child about three feet off the ground. I allowed myself a quick look back and saw the golden body of the lioness approaching through the trees. We had to climb up higher. I shifted Álex up onto my shoulders so I’d have two hands free.

  “Don’t let go, okay?” I whispered to him, not because I wanted to keep quiet but because that was how my voice came out.

  The boy did as he was told, and I climbed up to another thick branch that would accommodate the two of us. I placed him beside the trunk so he could hold on to it by himself. Then, using my body as a lever, I grabbed another branch and pulled it off. I thought I’d use it as a spear of sorts to keep the lioness at bay. The lioness had already arrived at the base of the chestnut tree and was trying to climb up its wrinkled bark. Fortunately, whenever she got to about a yard from where we were, she slipped back to the ground.

  Just then I heard my phone ringing in the back pocket of my jeans. Please let it be Elisa telling me they’re already on their way. And for once I wasn’t pleased to see Iago’s name on the screen, though I still answered the call.

  “Are you going to be long? Héctor and I have been waiting at the Cabárceno entrance for a while,” said his icy voice in that tone I’d become accustomed to over the past few weeks.

  “Iago, please alert the park personnel! I’m in the lion enclosure with Elisa’s son. There’s a lioness after us,” I said in a hoarse voice that so
unded strange even to me.

  Iago’s voice changed register almost immediately. “Describe to me exactly where you are, right now!”

  “We’re up an old chestnut tree that stands out in the forest next to the road . . .”

  He hung up before I’d finished. The last thing I needed was to put more people in danger, but I had a more pressing problem. The lioness had changed tactic and was jumping up now, stretching out a paw when she reached the top of her jump. I jabbed at her with the branch I’d torn off, trying to make sure she didn’t grab it and make me lose my balance. The only sound was Álex’s whimpers. He was so terrified, he didn’t dare cry.

  Then the lioness’s head came incredibly close to us, and it seemed grotesquely large. She’d jumped higher this time. I tried to shove her away with my ridiculous bit of crooked branch, but it splintered when it came into contact with her body, and Álex and I were left hunched over on the branch, protecting our heads from her clawing. I hugged Álex to the tree trunk with my body and whispered, “Don’t look down, even if Auntie Dana falls. Stay on the branch until your mommy gets back.”

  It was a good final sentence, worthy of the mother I’d never been or wanted to be. They say irony is often present at the moment of death.

  That was when I heard a hum close by and the grunt of the lioness, followed by the sound her 260-pound body made as it hit the ground. And then, when I dared to raise my eyes and look in front of me, I saw the impossible: a prehistoric hunter in a throwing position. It made no difference that he was dressed in modern-day clothes; I’d never seen anyone throw like that. Precise, confident, accurate. He was standing with his left foot forward, his right arm behind him, elbow bent, and holding a spear-thrower—nothing like we’d done in the throwing trials during the practical workshops at Atapuerca. His left arm was extended parallel to the spear, as if it were pointing out the flight path the spear should follow. That was unusual; I’d never seen it before. The hunter threw another spear and then moved toward our tree as if he himself were a big cat.