Finally, we landed in one of the large cave openings. They gestured for me to follow. I didn’t hesitate.
The inside of the cave was ornate. There was no light. None was needed, of course, but it seemed strange to me in comparison with my former world. Beautiful paintings adorned the cave walls. The man stopped outside an opening. There were no doors, but the entrances were covered by heavy, leather drapery. The children lingered back.
I caught my breath. The drapery was moved aside and, there before us, looking slightly concerned with the presence of the watchmen at her door, stood my mother, with graying hair like the children had shown me, a slight build, fine features, and eyes the precise color of mine. After a moment, she gasped in recognition. Her eyes moistened and she blinked rapidly. I was her son; she was my mother.
It was surreal. We had no words to share, and so we stood mutely for a moment. Then she reached out her hands to me and I took them. Our skin warmed at the touch, and I saw again the empty blanket, this time from her eyes. I felt her grief as if it were my own. The image faded, and it was replaced by her memory of holding me when I was newly born, touching my soft, feathery hair, counting my toes, marveling as my hands grasped her fingers. I felt the love she’d had for me, the joy I’d given her with my birth.
In return, I showed her the happiest moments of my childhood, those that I had newly remembered: running along the farmyard, riding our horse, sitting in the grass and watching the sky. And I showed her Nik carrying me through the snow, bringing me to his home, feeding me hot soup as I struggled to remember why I wasn’t with my family any more. I didn’t show her that it was he who destroyed them, only that he rescued me. I showed her, at last, his illness, and I felt a wave of grief. I wanted her to know that he’d kept his promise. That he’d never stopped loving her. So I showed her how he’d given me the way home.
And then she was embracing me, my mother, my real, own mother. As I returned the hug, my fingers found the body of her wings. Like me. She was like me. She wanted me and loved me. Why then, even in the joy of the moment, did I feel incomplete?
She leaned away now, placing her hands on either side of my cheeks, looking into my face. She tapped my nose and then hers. We were so alike. She gestured to my eyes and then pointed to hers. Yes, I nodded. The same. I touched her shoulder. “Mother,” I said. She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Mother,” I said again. She was looking at my lips, and, after hearing the word again, she tried valiantly to echo the sound. And then she laughed, pulling me again into her arms. Laughter was universal.
She touched the shoulder of one of the watchman, and he nodded and exited the room. They weren’t pleased to see me. The other two followed. I thought of ways to ask where they’d gone, but before I could formulate a thought, she took my hand. The face of a grinning adolescent boy appeared, his deep brown eyes sparkling at some joke. He looked like my mother. Like me, too, except for the nose. “Teket,” she said. It was the first clear word I’d heard, and the first time I’d understood. My brother’s name.
“Teket,” I echoed, and she smiled, squeezing my hand gently. She showed me the next image; a woman, older than I, a younger and fairer version of my mother.
“Sakari,” she said. My sister. She touched her own chest with her free hand. “Aanaq. Mo-ther.” She placed her hand on my chest.
“Joshua,” I said, trying to speak as clearly and slowly as possible. She didn’t respond so I tried more slowly. “Joshua.”
“Iuik.” She said. She tapped her hand on my chest again. “Iuik.” My name. Of course. The ones who took me from her called me Joshua. To her, I was Iuik.
I laid my hand over hers, meeting her eyes. “Iuik,” I repeated.
The covering for the cave was pushed aside and a boy appeared, the one with my eyes and my unmistakable features. “Teket,” I said, trying the name. He tentatively took my hand. A swell of emotions from him; excitement, fear, uncertainty. I released his hand and pulled him into a tight hug. My brother.
I heard the thick curtains move again, and I looked up to see the watchmen enter, this time followed by a slight woman with a fine nose and lips and eyes just like ours. My hand was finding hers without even thinking about it. Sister. My sister. “Sakari,” I said. It sounded familiar and strange at the same time.
“Iuik.” Her eyes sparkled as I broadened the hug and enfolded her in our arms. And then, we were laughing and crying. As my sister’s hands touched my back, I could see her memory of me—my tiny chubby legs, the light sound of my laughter, my baby gurgles. She’d been a doting big sister; I could feel it in every thought and memory she sent to me. My disappearance, I was quickly coming to see, had been devastating to the whole family. Unlike the memories I offered to my mother, I hid the memories of my childhood from my brother and sister. I didn’t think, as I stood encircled by the arms of my family, that my adoptive parents had had any idea what they were doing when they took me away from all this. They had found a lost child and rescued him. I had to believe that about them. But, in truth, they hadn’t rescued me at all. No wonder Nik had been so angry.
“My father?” I asked. When nobody responded, I showed them the image of him that Nik had given me.
My mother touched my face. I saw him, older now, laying on a low bed. He was surrounded by his family and the look on his face was one of complete peace. I was too late. I thought it even as she showed me next a plot of earth. He’d died before I’d gotten a chance to meet him. Instead of complete sorrow, though, I felt from them, unmistakably, a sense of hope. I suspected that, like so many others, they didn’t see death as the final goodbye.
Eventually, we broke contact and I slowly straightened. My mother said something to me, but unlike the names, it was a long string of guttural, unfamiliar sounds.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I don’t understand.” Teket and Sakari gasped. My language was no pleasanter to them. My mother spoke to them and gestured for me to come farther into the dwelling. I followed her past another hanging divider and found myself in a small kitchen, with what looked like a round wooden table in the center of the room. Of course. Another universal. Food.
Lying in the soft bed, I breathed in the quiet cool of the early morning. After dinner, they’d wanted to know everything about me. I showed them some of the happier parts: the view from the city skyscrapers, the easy moments with Nik, the childhood feeling of grass between my toes. I kept the darker parts of me hidden. The thought of my family knowing who I was—someone who spent years victimizing strangers—without remorse—made me sick. I hadn’t even realized before that I was ashamed.
I didn’t only hold back those memories though. I didn’t let them see Lexi. She was the only part of the past that made letting go painful. They didn’t need to know how, even as I held my family close, I ached for her.
I closed my eyes. I could almost feel her—the warmth of her breath and the silk of her skin against mine. She would have loved this place. To see the sky filled with others like me. To meet my family. To fly over miles of white mountains.
Of course, she wouldn’t fit in here anymore than I did in the city. The constant cold, the dark, the lack of the very things she needed.
She’s the past, I reminded myself. Like my other mother and father. Like my life in the city. This is what I’ve been looking for my entire life. Lexi has no part in it. I was lucky they’d let me back in. They hadn’t had to. It was a calculated risk for the watchmen, for this community. But they risked it because I belonged.
The unsettled feeling, I believed, was just the newness of everything. I was sure that, once I’d adjusted to being here, everything would feel right. I’d forget about whatever life was like before; it would seem only a poorer version of reality.
The thick fur bedding was soft and warm. It wasn’t necessary, but it was nice. As sleep claimed me, I thought I could hear Lexi whispering goodnight.
Chapter 16
Evening came, and when I awoke, I could tell I’d been asleep for too l
ong. My body was stiff from inaction, although it finally felt rested. The silence was unbroken by the sound of movement.
A thick brown tunic was lying across the foot of the bed. I shed my jeans and the layers I had slept in and pulled on the dress of my people.
As I crossed the threshold of my room and entered the kitchen, the scent of something warm filled the cave, bringing back memories of my childhood on the farm. I’d forgotten what it felt like to wake to a hot breakfast. On the low table sat a solitary clay dish, with what looked like a mixture of eggs and meat. Steam still rose from the surface. I walked through the kitchen to the outer room and moved the curtain aside slightly. My mother was just disappearing into the throngs of people moving towards the exit. I wondered for a moment if this was some sort of evacuation, but nobody seemed in a great rush to get out.
Letting the curtains fall closed, I wandered back into the kitchen and sat, feeling self-conscious. As I ate, I wondered what they did vocationally here, and how I would help. I had no real skills. I’d never learned anything useful for living as part of a real society—nothing that would help me fit in. Would they see through me—see that I’d been nothing but a thief? I finished eating and stared down at my dish. I assumed I needed to clean this now, but I wasn’t quite sure how to do even that much.
The curtain moved aside and my mother came through. She spoke to me, but stopped halfway through and put her hand on my shoulder instead. I felt a rush of joy from her, paired with an image of the empty blanket in her arms and then my appearance at her door. She never thought she would see me again. And here I was. I wished I could echo back the same emotion. I was happy to be home, but part of me was still back in America.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I said, changing the topic. She didn’t need the words; my recent memory of its discovery was enough. She smiled and bent down to gather the empty dish. As she moved past me, the heavy door flap was moved aside and Sakari came through, already grinning.
She said something to me and then laughed at herself. Stepping forward, she extended her hand. I took it and she pulled me up, even as she flashed me an image of myself standing at the doorway to our dwelling, watching the people rushing by.
“Where were they going?” I asked. Again, she didn’t need words. She flashed an image of a long line of people, working on repairing the animal fencing. She emphasized the strength of the structure. It had to be strong enough to keep out wildlife.
The image shifted, and I saw Teket and other kids his age, gathered around an older man, who was speaking emphatically to them. Teaching them.
Another shift, and we were flying towards a large cave. Inside was breathtaking. I’d never seen anything like it. The sheer expanse of created fields was incredible. Even within caverns, life grew. It astonished me, that in such a cold climate, nature had given them a way of providing for their needs. The cave had a number of openings along the top and upper sides, allowing sunlight in. I could feel, through her, that the cave was warm inside, geothermally heated by a series of natural hot springs flowing within. Everything was primitive, yet advanced in a way I’d never imagined.
This is where they were going. To work. Sakari pulled on my hand. She wanted me to follow her. I nodded, allowing her to lead me through the darkened cave and out into the night. I almost expected to see pinpoints of light below me. Of course, there were none. Seeing the world around me, so alive in the darkness, I thought again of Nik. He’d taught me to work in the night because it was most discreet. It was the same reason they worked in the dark now. It was far less likely we’d be seen by the light of the moon and stars than by the harsh light of day. It was also, though, in our make-up. Maybe thousands of years of needing to hide had developed in us the uncanny ability to see in the dark. Maybe that explained the steadfast preference for night over day.
We spent most of the night touring the rest of the village. The cave that my family lived in wasn’t the only one with homes. There were a number of others like it, home to families like ours. The layout reminded me of apartment blocks, without the locks and solid doors and security. They trusted each other here. I wondered if it was due to the community they’d built over the years or the fact that they could see one another’s memories. It was obviously still possible to deceive—after all, my mother and Nik had done it for years.
People were excited to meet me. Word had spread quickly—Iuik had returned. When I showed them the world I knew—high-rises and cityscapes—I felt from them a mixture of wonder and repulsion. It could have been the crowded streets or the smell of the city air or the concrete structures shaping the skyline but, whatever it was, they didn’t see the same beauty in it that I always had. They loved this cold, mountainous, secluded place. No amount of sparkling lights could dampen that.
As the sky began lightening, my sister pointed in the direction of home, and we joined the others heading back in for daylight. As we landed in the entrance, my sister tugged my hand, pulling me with her as she weaved her way through the crowded hall.
“Kaya!” she called at a retreating figure, whose straight black hair hung down to the fringe of her brown tunic. The girl turned, looking over the heads between us, and people flowed around her as she made her way back. Sakari released my hand and hurried to meet her.
“Sakari.” The girl’s voice was light and feminine as she took my sister’s hand and said something else to her in their language. She fixed her black eyes on me as she spoke, her cheeks dimpling when she smiled. At my height, she was taller than most of the women who passed us.
Sakari answered her and, when I heard my own name, I offered a mild wave. The girl’s smile widened and she reached out and laid her hand on my arm.
“Iuik,” she said, meeting my eyes warmly. Her emotions were a blend of curiosity and attraction. Her cheeks colored. She’d read the same from me.
I cleared my throat. “Hi. Kaya, right?” I asked.
“Kaya,” she echoed. With her free hand, she mimicked my wave. “Hi.”
Sakari laughed beside me, reaching out and laying her hand on my arm. We could see ourselves from her perspective, Kaya and I standing, awkwardly frozen, in the middle of the crowded passageway. No wonder people were staring. Kaya dropped her hand, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink. Sakari spoke to her again and this time I tried to pay attention. If I were going to live here, I’d have to learn the language eventually. The sounds themselves were so unfamiliar though, and everything seemed to blend together into a single, long word.
Kaya replied and waved at me again before quickly disappearing. Sakari took my hand. She led me back to our own entrance but, as she did, she sent me images. Sakari was kneeling in the gardens of the geothermal caves. Beside her knelt a raven-haired girl in a dark brown tunic, her body curved naturally towards the ground and her hands moving the dirt aside almost tenderly. Kaya. A small smile lit her expression as she worked. They both loved it. I could see in their faces and feel it through Sakari. Kaya looked up affectionately at the person working beside her, her black eyes shimmering in the dark. I nudged Sakari and grinned when I realized Kaya was looking directly at me, and I was kneeling in the dirt beside her. I’d never worked the earth, not here or ever before. Sakari was showing me her hope for the future.
As she pushed aside the heavy curtain, Sakari’s images dissipated with the welcome scent of dinner. We were home.
The next night, I didn’t oversleep. I knew, without being told, that Sakari was going to take me to the cave gardens. She and Kaya worked there, and she was hoping I would too.
As we flew towards the cave after breakfast, the night sky alive with others like me, I wondered if the sight would ever feel commonplace.
We entered the cave and I was surprised to see Kaya waiting at the door for us. Sakari said something to her and then touched my arm, showing me she intended to start work without me. Kaya would show me around. I nodded to her. She shot Kaya a quick smile and left us.
“Hey Kaya,” I said.
“Hey. Hi,” she said, trying both greetings she’d heard from me.
“Yeah. Both are right.” She wrinkled her nose at me. I got the impression she wasn’t enthralled with the sound of the English language. I tried to elaborate. “Hey Kaya. Hi Kaya. Hello Kaya. Howdy Kaya. What’s up, Kaya.”
Laughing, she took my hand, stopping me. “Iuik,” she said, her voice soft and genuine. Hearing my name from her lips was more effective than all the greetings I could think of.
Then, leading the way, she became my tour guide, going before me through rows upon rows of produce and grain. People were working: harvesting, planting, pruning, turning the soil. Pockets of workers did dayshift work, but most worked in the dark of night. She showed me, through her thoughts, how they brought earth from the valley below them. Their watchmen travelled low enough to take fresh soil in the spring, when the ground in the valley was softest.
When I saw the image of the hand tools used to till the ground and fill the holes, I showed her some of the tractors and combines I’d seen on farms, from above. She cringed at the noise from the engines and the sound of the tires over the ground. My world was loud, ugly to her. It hadn’t felt that way to me, but maybe she was right.
Finally, she led me to where Sikari was working. Kaya knelt beside her and quietly started working, sharing the supplies my sister had laid out for us. I knelt beside them, the grain of the soil hard against my knees. Kaya grinned at me, laying her hand over mine to show me what to do.
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