by Archer Swift
***
He wasn’t away for long … but it felt as though an age had eclipsed. I wondered what words I could use to explain myself to Scott. What if he didn’t believe me, or trust Miltredic? What if he considered what I had done an act of betrayal, like my clan had concluded? I didn’t have time to finish this punishing train of thought. Although I didn’t even hear him return, I sensed him. Smelled him—yes, that intriguing trace of fragrant scent emanating from him.
Geez! He must think I stink!
Ever so quietly and gently, defying his brutish form and Scott’s bulk, Miltredic placed a drugged Mzee on the branch next to me, and though it was dark, I could see enough to know that Miltredic had secured him with a piece of rope. Where he had kept it during our trip, I couldn’t tell. A second later, he put something in my hand, and I realised it was the small, polished crystal, unclipped from his chest-wear.
“Scott will regain consciousness in a few minutes. He will be faint and groggy at first. You will have to keep him calm. When he has come around, tap the jewel, and the light will turn on. Once you think he is ready to meet me, tap the jewel, and it will turn off. I will come and introduce myself in the dark to avoid scaring him. Understand?”
“Yes … yes.” My voice was tight. “What do I say?”
“Only you can answer that question.” And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.
Alrighty then. Here goes.
I waited for Scott to stir. I waited and waited some more. Every jungle sound seemed twenty times louder than usual, and I felt panic grab me by the throat. A heavy drop of perspiration ran down the nape of my neck and tickled my back. What if he screams? I wasn’t sure we were far away enough from his sleeping clan members.
Woozily, Scott began to come to his senses. My muscles tensed. It was pitch dark but sitting right next to him, I hoped to reassure him instantly. He coughed and mumbled something.
“Scott, it’s me,” I whispered. “Rist … Ristan Abel.”
“What?” he said puzzled, before breaking into a coughing fit.
I held my breath. “Scott, it’s Rist … me … Ristan. I’ll explain everything.”
“Ristan? What are you doing here? How…?” Panicked, he gripped the branch below him as it dawned on him that he was no longer in his own tree. “What? How?”
“Scott, you’re fine…”—I put my hand on his shoulder hoping to dispel his fears—“…it’s me, Ristan.”
Exhaling deeply but unhurriedly, Scott reached out and touched my face, his hand immediately felt for the scar across my cheek. “Ristan,” his voice was measured. “How?”
“It’s a long story,” the words juddered out; I felt short of breath. “First, are you okay?”
“I think you’re the only one who can answer that question.”
“Yes, yes … you are.” The darkness hid the nervous half-smile that curled on my face. His answer was so like Miltredic’s reply earlier. “I’m going to turn on a light. Is that okay with you?”
“Turn? Turn on a light … not a flame?”
“Yes,” I said as I tapped the crystal, “a light!” The purple radiance swiftly illuminated my face and his.
“Oh, my word!” he gasped. “How? Ristan, it’s one of theirs. How is it powered?”
I was impressed by how unruffled and composed he was. And how he intuitively knew it was one of theirs. “I don’t know how it’s powered,” I said, “but it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“It is … quite beautiful.”
I’m sure he had a million questions rampaging through his head, but he was patient, waiting for me to explain myself. It was then that I noticed a small blood spot on his top, evidently where the dart had pierced his chest.
“Are you in any pain, or discomfort?” I asked.
He scratched at his salt-and-pepper beard. “No, not at all.”
“Scott,” I exhaled so sharply the air burnt my chest. “I’ve got so much to tell you. I’m not sure where to start.”
“The beginning, Ristan. Take your time, and start at the very beginning.”
