Human

by Hayley Camille

  “Where’s Shahn?” Ivy asked.

  “Helping Lahstri prepare the medicines,” Xiou replied. “The birth is not going well.”

  Please, no. Not Shimma too, Ivy thought. In her quiet way, Shimma had been one of the first to make Ivy feel welcome. She was all soft smiles and tinkling laughter and had taken it upon herself to gather the additional food that Kyah preferred to eat, along with her own family’s requirements each day. By that gesture, more than any other, Ivy counted her as a close friend. Please let them survive, she found herself repeating.

  The groans on the opposite side of the cave grew louder again and the low hum rose in intensity. Ivy squeezed her eyes shut, listening. Of course. They’re voices. Each had a slightly different pitch, and unlike their dusk song, each voice sounded distinctly male. Each man seemed to be at his own hearth, keeping vigil by glowing coals with a soft, low monotone.

  “They're singing to aneirlah, the life energy,” Xiou explained, “to call the child out safely and to give strength to Shimma while she labours. It’s all we can offer.” Xiou’s brow was deeply ridged and Ivy knew he was dreading Shahn's impending birth as well.

  “Shahn will be fine, Xiou. And Shimma too,” Ivy said. She gently pressed her forehead to his in the dark. “They’re strong women.”

  Xiou exhaled. “They are, you’re right,” he said. “But somehow I don't think either of us will sleep any more tonight. Shahn needs more water from the river; let’s go together.”

  Ivy nodded gratefully, glad for the distraction. She looked tentatively at Trahg still sleeping near her feet.

  “He’ll be fine,” Xiou said. “Leihna will comfort him if he wakes.”

  Ivy looked toward Leihna’s sleeping mat and was surprised to find her sitting wide awake with a grim smile that ghosted in the dark. The girl was no stranger to death. Nestled in her arms was a sleeping toddler, curled into a snug ball of hide covers. Ivy guessed the boy must be Dalu, Shimma’s first born. Ivy smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Please let them survive.

  Ivy picked her way to the front of the cave, where Xiou lit a torch. They descended into the crisp night air.

  The night was alive with rustling marsupials and chirping insects. The waxing quarter moon broke weakly through the topmost layer of foliage, drawing more darkness underneath. Giant tree ferns dominated the path. Green branches and shoots mirrored underneath by fallen dried brown ones, still attached to the black trunks. They stood in sharp relief in the fiery torchlight, one inverted triangle on another’s point, with a flowing gown of crinkly sharp leaves below to balance the soft spray above.

  The breeze carried a trace of citrus scent. She took a deep breath, stilling her nerves. Please let them survive.

  Ivy stepped into the shallows of the river, filling one of the large bladders Xiou had brought with him. Her toes curled around smooth pebbles and chilled water swirled at her calves. Shadows touched her ankles and fallen leaves twirled on the black surface, catching on needles dripping from overhead branches as they spun downstream. The night forest was beautiful. Please let them survive, Ivy continued her mantra as they returned to the cave.

  Dousing the torch, Ivy followed Xiou back into the cave. Shimma was circled by women at her hearth. She rested her hands on her engorged belly, lost in concentration and pain. An older woman moved around her, anticipating each shift of weight. It was Shimma’s mother Bosxoi, a smaller than usual hobbit with peppered grey hair and a soft body. Her face was a web of worry as she held hides warmed with hot stones to Shimma’s lower back and whispered soothing words under her breath. The pregnant woman moved constantly; rocking, bending and squatting with eyes squeezed shut.

  In the darkness, Shimma’s mate Raspik watched with concerned eyes. At Xiou’s approach, Raspik took the water bladder. A deep bowl sat beside the fire in a hollow, supported by a ring of small rocks. It was made from a circular piece of hide, stiff and moulded through repeated use. The rim was supported by a pliable willow switch and hemmed with a threaded strip of hide to keep it together. Raspik poured water into the bowl and picked up three igneous rocks from the ashes with a bone trowel. Gently shaking the ash away, he dropped them into the pot with a hiss. Within a few minutes the water was boiling. Raspik knelt by his mate and whispered words of encouragement. Shimma acknowledged him for a moment with a weak smile, and then winced again lost in her contraction. Her agony was mirrored in Raspik’s eyes; of no help to her, he would fret until it was done.

  “Come Raspik, have a drink.” Xiou led Raspik away and Ivy turned to follow. Shahn caught her wrist.

  “Stay Hiranah. It’s a woman’s duty to support a sister during childbirth.”

  Lahstri, kneeling by the fire beneath a sheen of sweat, eyed Ivy anxiously. “No Shahn, the karathah is bad luck.”

  Ivy’s heart dropped. As useless as she felt, she was petrified for Shimma and her unborn baby. She wanted to help.

  As Ivy turned away, Shimma, who had fallen back to rest between contractions, noticed her. She let out a weak, shaky breath. “Stay, Hiranah. You can stay -” Another contraction began and Shimma once again focussed on her labour.

  “The baby was not due for another half-moon,” Shahn said, lowering her voice. “It hasn’t turned within her belly. Lahstri needs to help her shift it or neither will survive. So you can help me instead. Shimma needs relief from the pain.”

  Lahstri spoke again, soft but stern. “Shahn, I’ve told you before, Krue doesn’t want - “

  “But Shimma does!” Shahn hissed. “Krue is not our medicine woman - you are Lahstri! Must you always do as your mate says?”

  With a scowl Lahstri turned her eyes to her own dark hearth. Ivy guessed Krue would stay away from her tonight. Birth was the domain of women, and Lahstri had assisted with many.

  Ivy held out her wrist, offering Lahstri the amulet. With a hesitant glance into the dark cave, Lahstri placed a single finger on the stone. It was more than Ivy had expected.

  “I know what they did to your daughter,” Ivy said. She saw the shadow of grief across the woman’s face. “And I saw the arrows in Terap and Kiran. I understand why Krue hates me.” Ivy crouched low, meeting the medicine woman’s eyes. “When he looks at me, he sees them. He sees a murderer. But that’s not what I am. When I’m here, in this cave, I’m like you. My family was lost, just like Tikan. My friends are lost. I’ve lost my own life as a karathah.” She took a deep breath. “This is my family too now, Lahstri. I want to help them. They’re all I have left.”

  Lahstri considered her intently. Then she turned to Shahn, giving her a slight nod. “Keep her out of sight.”

  Lahstri’s skill as a midwife was clear even to Ivy’s untrained eye, as she massaged and shifted Shimma’s huge belly with gentle encouragement. She soaked a small hide cloth in warmed water and gently rolled it across Shimma’s shoulders and lower back.

  The night crept by desperately slowly. Ivy helped Shahn prepare the herbal analgesics. Progress was slow and Ivy caught anxious glances between Shahn and Lahstri. Shimma was exhausted. She shook uncontrollably as she urged her body to cooperate. Ivy was critically aware of the low hum that grew in intensity as the labour progressed, leaving everybody’s nerves frayed.

  As the first ray of sun burst through the cave opening, Shimma bore down for the last time. The notes were left hanging in empty air as each voice, low and hoarse from hours of vigil, fell silent.

  Please let them survive.

  A weak newborn cry broke the silence.

  “Api,” Shimma breathed, “Baby Api.”

  Ivy met Xiou’s eyes across the cave and they shared a smile. A sense of relief settled over the family as Shimma leaned back against the pile of hide covers behind her, panting with sweat and pride. She pulled her newborn to her face, gently rubbing its greyish forehead against her own and nuzzling into its neck with her warm breath. Then she guided the newborn to her breast.

  “A healthy boy,” said Shahn to Ivy. “When he has fed, we’ll clean him s
o they can rest together.”

  While the baby fed, Lahstri continued to deliver the placenta. As the source of new life, it was honoured and would be ritually cleansed and wrapped for later burial. When Api had settled, Lastri cradled the newborn as Shahn handed Shimma a sharp blade; the sanction to cut the umbilical cord separating mother from baby was hers alone. With a quick flick it was done.

  Ivy hung back, entirely overwhelmed. From the way Shimma had called to her baby during labour to the way she held him against her heart, Ivy knew they were already connected by so much more than flesh. They were family and this time, the first in over three years, both mother and baby had survived the ordeal that had stolen so many before.

  Shimma noticed Ivy watching from the hearth, and beckoned.

  “Hold him for me, Hiranah. I need to clean myself,” she said.

  “I was so worried for you,” Ivy whispered as she knelt down, “for both of you.” Shimma gently placed the sleeping newborn in Ivy’s hands, chuckling as Ivy froze. The baby seemed too tiny and fragile to exist. Ivy looked to Shahn for help, but found her busying herself with a smile.

  “I was worried too,” said Shimma, shifting under Lahstri’s instruction, “but I think perhaps you are good luck after all, Hiranah. What do you think Lahstri?”

  The medicine woman frowned; fully aware she was now in full view of her mate. “I think you need to rest.”

  Shahn finally joined Ivy and together they rinsed Api with warm water and the cleansing juice of a tamarind fruit that Ivy had prepared under her instruction. Shahn dressed his umbilical wound with an embrocation of turmeric root and mashed leaves. Soot was rubbed into the mixture to dry it out. Finally, a betel leaf was placed as dressing and a thin strip of hide was wrapped around his tiny waist.

  The baby’s face was unlike anything Ivy had ever seen before. The water had woken him and he seemed alert, more than Ivy felt he should rightfully be. His tiny lips searched and puckered soundlessly. He had a small flat nose, strong brows and deep brown eyes.

  Api lacked the chin and high forehead that Ivy was used to seeing on human babies. Instead of being bald, elongated and smooth, his head was round and already covered in a thick layer of glossy black hair. Like other ape juveniles, the infant was still recognizably more ‘human-like’ than its grown parents. But his size was the most obvious difference between him and his baby sapien counterparts. His tiny body, perfectly formed, was entirely smaller than Ivy’s forearm. She held onto him, transfixed by the way his little chest rhythmically rose and fell.

  The fingers on his hands were tiny and perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes.

  Just like human.

  “Orrin, are you still here?” a voice called.

  “Yeah.”

  For three days, the idea of going home had seemed too unappealing. He was plagued with nightmares, each night worse than the last, so he slept as little as possible, holed up in his laboratory office. He wondered how many times he would lose her in his dreams before he finally cracked for good. Fifty thousand years…How the hell did I do it? Orrin slid his glasses on and straightened up.

  Dale appeared in the doorway. His nose wrinkled reflexively as he held out a coffee and sandwich bag. “Brought you breakfast.”

  “Thanks man,” said Orrin, inviting him in. “I’m completely knackered.”

  “Any luck?” asked Dale.

  “Kind of. Actually, I could use your opinion here.”

  “Really?” Dale's smile was nervous as he looked around for a chair. The office floor was littered with encyclopaedias, journal articles and food wrappings. An ancient, cracked oscilloscope beside the desk was piled high with dirty shirts, coins and scribbled papers.

  Orrin looked abashed. “Let’s use the lab instead. We need a history lesson.”

  “History?”

  “About these so-called ‘hobbits’. I want to find out why the bollocks I’ve never heard of them when it seems the rest of the world has.”

  Dale looked thoughtful. “I might be able to help you out there actually. Of everything Phil says, that’s the one that annoys me the most.” Orrin raised an eyebrow and Dale rushed on, “I mean, not just because he’s right, but I mean, because he shouldn’t be.” Orrin nodded, encouraging Dale to continue. “Okay, well I’m no expert on evolution but I did grow up with biologists and like I said at the time, I’d never heard of hobbits either.” He pulled a dog-eared piece of paper from his pocket. “I ripped this page from one of my dad’s textbooks. It’s a phylogenetic tree.”

  Orrin studied the image. Spread before him, the evolutionary relationships of hominids splintered from the earliest known branch of Sahelanthropus tchadensis roaming West Africa nearly seven million years ago, into an elaborate genetic tree, with modern Homo sapiens sapiens at its most recent tip. Between the two names, a myriad of early human ancestors dotted the tree’s branches, marking their place in the evolutionary prehistory of humankind.

  Dale pointed to a name, parallel with modern humans at the top of the tree. “Look, this tree shows Homo floresiensis as extant – in other words, it’s recorded as a current, living species in the present day. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think it should be there - whatever Phil thinks.” Dale’s tone was uncharacteristically abrasive. “I mean it wasn’t there before.”

  “So where the hell did they come from, and why are we the only ones who think these hobbits shouldn’t be here?” Orrin asked.

  “And another thing, this magnetospheric decay, it’s really bad. I know I don't have to tell you that, of course I don't,” Dale reddened, “but it would take years of disintegration for the Earth to respond the way it has - all these environmental problems - but a few weeks ago it was fine. Well, not fine - we anticipated trouble, but I thought we had time -”

  “Dale,” Orrin interrupted, “I get it. I know. The whole place is screwed and no one seems to realise it shouldn’t be.” He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the world to shift on its axis and throw normalcy back over his head.

  “And about this 'Ivy' woman,” Dale continued and Orrin's eyes narrowed, “I don't know if this helps but I looked into that archaeological site you said she was working on.”

  “Liang Bua Cave?”

  “Yeah. There's some stuff there that just doesn't add up.” Dale said. “Firstly, did you know that the government is suing a huge multi-national corporation for environmental negligence right now? They're claiming that a mining company is wholly responsible for the Great Barrier Reef dying. All the coral is bleached by chemical run-off and half of the fish are already gone.”

  “You mean gone, gone?”

  “I mean extinct. Entire species have been wiped out from chemicals leached into the Celebes Sea flowing down to the Coral Sea on the East coast of Queensland. “

  “Shite.”

  “That's what I thought,” Dale said. “Well anyway, when I spoke to the dig supervisor in Flores they were adamant that Ivy wouldn't have been needed. He said it was what they call a 'salvage dig'. Apparently it’s a bit like a grab and run for archaeological sites that are about to be bulldozed.”

  “Bulldozed for what?” Orrin asked.

  “That's just it,” Dale said. “It's the same company that's being sued. IPM - International Pulp and Mining. It's a conglomerate that’s already strip-mined most of Indonesia, including Flores. There are massive deposits of some rare earth metal underground, so they've been systematically ripping it out for the last fifty years and backfilling the land with Palm Oil Plantations when they're done. It's a double win.”

  “Palm Oil Plantations?” Orrin exclaimed. “That's what the rallies were about before Ivy disappeared.”

  Dale shrugged. “I just don't understand how things got so bad so fast. Floods and droughts. There are more news reports about melting ice caps and extinct species than I’ve ever seen. It terrifies me.”

  “You and me both, man.” Orrin felt the rush of adrenaline. It’s real. “I keep finding holes everywhere,” Orrin said. “No,
not holes - more like, aberrations to the way it’s meant to be.”

  “There’s another thing Orrin.” Dale shuffled in his chair. “I guess it's - kind of personal.”

  For the first time, Orrin noticed the pale pallor of Dale’s skin, the red-rimmed, tired eyes and frown creases. Dale’s normally fidgety nature seemed at breaking point.

  “Shite, I'm sorry, man,” Orrin said. “I’ve been putting too much pressure on you.” Orrin dropped his elbows to his knees and shoved his thumbs under his glasses. The instant pain was a relief, distracting him from the frustration that cut the very hollow of his bones. This is all my fault.

  “No, it's not you,” Dale said. “It’s… it’s my whole life, there’s something just not right. I can’t put my finger on it, but there are aberrations, like you said - little things that seem like nothing on their own, but they’re adding up.” Dale’s under confidence seemed to have decayed even further.

  Although he knew he shouldn’t, Orrin felt a surge of satisfaction. Dale felt it too.

  He clasped Dale’s shoulder. “You’re not losing your mind, lad. I’m seeing the same things but I just can’t work out why. Clearly you and I have something in common because no one else is affected. But all we physically share is this lab.”

  “And Phil uses the lab as much as we do, but seems entirely at home with his reality,” Dale sighed.

  “His reality?” Orrin considered. “Yeah, when you put it like that, it makes sense. It’s our reality that’s changed. The world for us is different – the politics, the environment, the people. I know Ivy existed before, but now, well, she just doesn’t. The only thing that’s left of her is that amulet and it’s a fifty-thousand-year old artefact.”

  “You’re sure it’s hers?” Dale asked.

  “Positive,” Orrin said. “Ivy was wearing it the last day I saw her. The day she disappeared.” Orrin pulled the silver chain from his pocket remembering.

  “The day she disappeared?” Dale repeated. His face drained of colour. “We were in the lab together that day! Phil didn’t arrive until the afternoon. Remember?”