by T. Isilwath
and their crisscrossing boughs created a high-ceilinged roof over the area, giving it the illusion of being enclosed when it really wasn’t. Directly to her left, in what would be the fourth quadrant of the clearing, was the largest tree of all, a massive King of the Forest at least nine feet across at its base, and its gnarled exposed roots enclosed what looked to be a hollow underneath. If it was large enough for her sleeping bag, it could be a dry shelter for her to store her gear and find refuge from the elements.
When she stepped into the clearing a hush fell over the forest, as if the area was insulated in some way from the frenetic energy of the rest of the jungle.
The place felt safe, protected and… almost sacred, and she felt engulfed in warmth and welcome when she entered the circle of the trees’ influence.
:Hello. We’ve been waiting for you,: they said, their “voices” soft and old.
She knew the trees had meant to soothe her, but somehow their greeting brought cold comfort. The very last thing she needed to hear was that the trees had been waiting for her. If they had been expecting her, then her being there wasn’t just happenstance. But then, wasn’t it true that there were no accidents?
Elisi had taught her that all things happened for a reason, and it was up to her to figure out the reason.
‘Here is where I am at the moment. Here is where I am supposed to be.’
She made her way over to the largest tree and set down her belongings in order to inspect the hollow. The entrance was about five feet wide and three feet high, and deep enough so that she couldn’t see the back of it in the gray haze of the twilight forest. She pulled out her flashlight from one of the backpack’s side pockets and shined the light into the dark space. The hollow was large and went back at least eight feet with probably a couple of more feet beyond that, but with a lower ceiling. She estimated it to be about ten feet across and just over four feet high. Most of the roof was a huge slab of rock that the tree had grown on top of, winding its roots around the stone.
Upon closer examination of the tree, she recognized the peeling red bark.
‘This is a Sugi, a Japanese Red Cedar, but it must be at least 150ft high.’
“Thank you for the shelter, Old One,” she said, placing her hand on one massive, tangled root.
:We are glad you are here,: came the answer.
She nodded, shaking off the feeling of unease and confusion, then she felt a familiar dryness and numbness in her mouth, and she knew that she needed to eat soon. She didn’t need to check her blood sugar to know that it was low. She had been an insulin dependent diabetic since the age of six, and she was well attuned to her body’s signs and signals.
‘Get water from the stream and gather deadfall. Build a fire to boil water.
I know I have some dried soup mixes. In the meantime, I’ll grab a meal bar from my pack,’ she decided, rummaging in the pack for the food rations that no self-respecting diabetic would be caught without.
As she ate the meal bar, she went on camp autopilot. She and Michael had set up camp so many times that the tasks were second nature to her now. It was odd not to have him there, but she managed without his help. By the time full dark fell, she had unpacked her supplies, made a fire pit ringed with stones she’d gathered from the stream that was just a few yards away, built a fire in the pit and set her camp grill on top, and boiled water for some bean soup.
After dinner she took stock of her gear and inventoried what she had with her. She had no idea how long she would be there, so she needed to know what she had to work with. Most important was her insulin and testing supplies. She had five full vials of insulin and one half empty cartridge in her insulin pump that would last another day and a half. She had brought almost a full year’s worth of testing supplies, pump cannulas and infusion needles, and the batteries in her combination insulin pump/glucometer were good for two years. She also had some ketone test strips just in case she thought there might be a problem, her Glucagon Emergency kit, the tuberculin syringes, and her old glucometer in the event that the pump stopped working.
She and Michael had restocked the packs after their last trip so she had plenty of matches and batteries. She also had the full regimen of first aid and anti-venom supplies in the medical kit, along with an electronic encyclopedia of medicinal and edible plants. For cooking, she had the fire grill, one small pot, the teakettle she had brought for her host mother, and (surprise, surprise) the cast iron frying pan.
The real surprise, however, was finding her hunting knife duct taped to the back of the pan in an effort to conceal it from the security X-rays. She had noticed that security was lax around the Gates, probably because the Gates themselves screened for firearms and explosives, and because travel was instantane-ous. The guard had most likely recognized the shape as a frying pan on the X-ray and hadn’t bothered to question it since it was in a camping backpack.
‘Doesn’t instill any confidence in the guards in me if they let something like that slip through, but life just got a hell of a lot easier.’
She had two sets of bowls, cups, plates and eating utensils, and a set of serving and grill utensils like tongs and a spatula. She also had two Tupperware containers, several storage bags, and three 13-gal size trash bags. Between her own blanket shawl and the one she had brought for her host sister, she had two blanket shawls plus her sleeping bag and a camp bedroll for extra padding, and she had a rain tarp if the shelter turned out not to be waterproof.
For tools and hunting gear she had her Swiss army knife, a canteen, a compass, fishing line and hooks, 25ft of nylon rope, her hunting leathers and her hunting knife. No bow or fishing net, though. That would make life a little more difficult, but she knew how to make a fishing spear. She could make a bow too, but the bowstring was more complicated.
In addition to all of that, she had a few extras like a battery-powered lamp, a sewing kit, some maps of Japan and two travel books on the country highlighting places and history, an assortment of cooking spices, additives and food rations, instant coffee and tea bags, and a couple of rolls of camp-size toilet paper.
Her rollaway suitcase held all of her clothes, toiletries, footwear, diabetes supplies, her digital camera, the remaining gifts she had brought for her host family, three small photo albums she had brought to show her host family, and her sacred bundle bag, plus three very special items: the journal Michael had bought her, an amazing, comprehensive English-Japanese dictionary that had been a gift from Elisi and two other Elders, and one special outfit-a hand dyed skirt, shirt and shawl she had named the Long Person because the blue and green swirling colors reminded her of flowing water.
As soon as she had finished setting up camp, she opened her sacred bundle bag and took out her sage, tobacco and sweetgrass from their individually wrapped bundles. It was common practice for her and Michael to bless and sanctify their campsites to ensure a safe and pleasant stay, and she needed to honor her guides and Spirit for taking care of her. Lighting the sage, she smudged herself, her sacred items, the campsite and the trees, then she used the compass to determine north and made offerings to the spirits of the seven directions. She prayed for guidance and protection, and thanked the forest and the spirits for the aid they had given her.
Once she had finished her prayers, the campsite felt safe and secure, and she felt more at ease. She rolled out her bedroll in the middle of the hollow under the tree and put her sleeping bag on top of it. The night was cool, but not cold, so she left her blanket shawls packed. She placed the backpack, her rollaway suitcase and Iris at the rear of the hollow, and arranged her other supplies along the back wall in groupings according to how often she would need them.
Then she banked the fire and made sure that no coals could spark a forest fire overnight. The last thing she did before she settled down in the hollow was check her blood sugar to make sure she didn’t need to eat anything before she went to sleep.
‘I wonder if they’ll find me in the morning,’ she thought as she crawled int
o her sleeping bag. She was asleep almost immediately.
She was awakened just before dawn by a snuffling at the hollow’s entrance, and she opened her eyes to see a tanuki, one of Japan’s nocturnal rac-coon-dogs. It shuffled away the moment it heard her move, hurrying to find a less occupied place to settle down for the day, but its presence confirmed what she had already begun to suspect: that she was somewhere in Japan.
‘But where? Could it be that I’ve ended up on one of the smaller islands in the archipelago? Wouldn’t they have sent a helicopter or boat for me? And why don’t I have any cell phone signal? I need to get a better look around.’
While she waited for full daylight, she made her way down to the stream to wash her face and fetch water for her breakfast. The Cherokee had a ritual of cleansing known as “going to water,” and this she performed in abbreviation, facing east as she dipped her hand in the stream and ran the water over her head and upper body. Once she was finished, she filled her canteen and returned to her camp. She had some oatmeal, but she needed boiling water.
Her fasting blood glucose level was good when she checked her blood before eating, and her insulin pump automatically administered her morning dose of insulin after she entered her carbohydrate count. Then she ate her oatmeal and changed into her hunting leathers in preparation for a little tree climbing.
The leathers were rough-hewn, but the buckskin jerkin and leggings would protect her from poking branches and parasites, and they also included a leg sheath for her hunting knife that she strapped around her thigh.
As soon as it was full light, she took the rope and threw it to loop around the lower branch of a nearby tree so she could climb up. Her goal was to get into one of the big cedars, but their lowest branches were too high for her to reach or throw the rope around so she needed to start in a smaller tree next to a big cedar and find a way across. About two-thirds of the way up the smaller tree, she was able to make a small jump over to the big cedar, and she scrambled her way up the giant from there, going as high as she could go. The giant
cedar stood tall above the canopy of the forest, and she had a true bird’s-eye view of the area. What she saw made a lump of dread settle into her stomach, and she fought to hold back tears.
There was an endless sea of trees for as far as she could see with no signs of cities or civilization of any kind. Not only that, but the air smelled clean, as if no pollution had ever touched the place, yet she knew Japan had trouble with smog. And the trees, the massive trees, grew tall to kiss the sky.
The wind blew through her hair as she stared at the forest beneath her, and she turned around to face west. One look answered all of her questions and brought up a whole host of new ones; some of which she dreaded the answers.
There, as clear as any postcard or photograph, was the unmistakable profile of Mt. Fuji in the distance. The question now wasn’t where she had been sent. No, it was a much more frightening one with greater repercussions and consequences.
The question wasn’t where. It was when.
********
She slowly made her way back down to the ground as she tried to wrap her head around her new revelation. It took her a while because she found herself trembling, and she had to rest a time or two to wait for the feeling to come back into her limbs.
It was fairly obvious that, unless she had been cast into the distant future where Gene Roddenberry’s vision of the 25th century had come true (part of which involved the whole of Japan being converted into a giant park, with all of the cities being torn down and all of the people relocating to Bora Bora), she had been sent back in time.
How far back in time was yet to be determined, but it was definitely pre-industrial, and depending on how long it took for them to find her she could be in very serious trouble. She had almost five months’ worth of insulin, but once it was gone, there would be no way for her to obtain more. Since she didn’t know how long she would be trapped there, she needed to find a way to extend her insulin supply as much as possible. The first thing she did was adjust her insulin pump basal levels and profiles. The pump regularly checked her subcutaneous glucose and administered a basal rate which gave her enough insulin to maintain a steady blood sugar level. Now that she was who-knows-when in pre-industrial Japan, every unit of insulin she saved was a unit that might save her life.
In addition to carefully regulating her insulin, she knew she could also control her blood sugar through exercise and a strict diet. If she went on a “cave-man” diet of predominantly protein and vegetables, and avoided carbohydrates as much as possible, she could reduce her need for insulin as “coverage” for the carbs. It wasn’t optimal, and she knew she would need some carbohydrates for energy, but if she was smart about it, she could minimize their impact on her glucose levels.
She had no idea when the engineers would be able to figure out what had happened to the Gate for it to have sent her back in time, and she did not envy their task in solving the mystery. She had no doubt that the odds were against her, and she needed to buy herself as much time as possible; she needed to buy
them as much time as possible to find her before it was too late.
The other thing she needed to do was avoid other people. While it would be very nice to find out exactly when she was, the risk of exposing herself, and the native Japanese living in the current time, to microbes and viruses was too great. History was riddled with accounts of devastating disease being unknowingly spread by foreign visitors, and she had no desire to be pre-industrial Japan’s equivalent of Typhoid Mary. Not to mention what they might give her.
Infection and illness were to be avoided at all costs. Not only did diabetics recover and heal much more slowly than non-diabetics, any factor that compromised her body or added to her stress levels could drastically increase her need for insulin.
She needed to stay calm, stay healthy, and survive as best she could until she was rescued. She had her camp and her gear, including the frying pan Michael had snuck into the pack. His sentimentality, and his diligence in keeping their packs stocked and ready for anything, had probably saved her life. As things were, as long as she could maintain adequate control of her blood sugar, she could survive indefinitely. Her sewing kit included a leather awl so if she had to make heavier clothes for winter weather she would be able to, but she had at least seven months before the temperatures would begin to get colder.
The monsoon and typhoon seasons would come before that, and she might have to find a new camp on higher ground if the rains became too heavy.
She knew she could do it. The forest would provide everything she needed.
It was spring so food would be abundant, and there was deep enough cover for her to hide if she heard people nearby. She was Cherokee. She was Sings In Winter. She would adapt, adjust, and do what she had to do.
In the meantime, she was going to scout around and establish a territory large enough to provide her with everything she needed to live. She also needed to know if there were any villages nearby so she could avoid them.
She would record her activities in the journal Michael had given her to keep track of the days. And she would pray that the ones who could solve the mystery of what had happened to the Gate would find her quickly and bring her home.
Chapter Two
Joanna stood perfectly still, her fishing spear poised at the ready, waiting for the precise moment to strike. Long weeks of hunting and fending for herself had honed her skills considerably, and she knew exactly when to throw the spear into the water in order to earn her a fish to eat. Her throw was deadly, and a moment later a large gray-striped fish lay flopping on the stream bank. She was on it immediately, knife at the ready, slicing and putting the fish out of its misery in one cut as she thanked it for sacrificing its life for her, then she gutted it quickly and placed the carcass in a woven reed basket alongside the carcasses of the other two fish she had caught.
‘That’s enough. One I’ll bake and I’ll dry the others. Between the fish and the r
abbit I snared, I won’t have to hunt until the day after tomorrow.’
Squatting down, she cleaned the spear carefully. Proper maintenance of her tools was paramount because making a new one was not always possible, nor was it an efficient use of her time. Economy of resources was essential and it had served her well over the twenty-five days she had been in the forest. Picking up the basket, she took her spear and made her way back to camp.
Her hair had been roughly braided and tied back with strips of cloth because the one thing she did not have was a mirror. Not that her appearance meant anything to her because there was no one else to see or impress. The trees cared not for how she looked, nor did the creatures with which she shared the forest. Some days she doubted that Michael would even recognize her now; this dark-eyed sylph she had become. She was thinner but stronger, her body whipcord lean, and her muscles were defined and well-developed. She had as-similated into her new life and her body had adapted, falling back on years of teaching and her own genetic memory.
Deprived of the modern world, she had connected to the earth in ways she never had before. She walked in balance with the wilderness, and things Michael had tried to teach her about the old ways that she had never quite understood were startlingly clear to her now; as clear as the whispers of the trees and the voice of the wind.
Michael had once told her that her animal totem was Cougar (one of the Cherokee’s most sacred animals) and she had to admit that she did have a certain affinity for the big cat even if she didn’t necessarily accept it as her own personal Medicine. There were times, however, when she felt very predatory and almost feline, and she could feel the power of the solitary hunter coursing through her veins. Sometimes she wondered if she was more animal than human now.
There were three things that reminded her of her humanity, three things she held onto in order to keep from losing her focus: her journal, her disease, and her dreams.
