Until the Beginning
Page 26
“No way!” I yell, and do this crazed dance around the top of the cliff. I did it! I connected to the Yara! I didn’t think it was possible.
Wait. Reality check: Juneau didn’t think it was possible. She said the Yara stuff only comes with a life change. By living in tune with nature, or whatever. How can I be close to nature if I can’t even identify a freaking reindeer? It’s the Amrit; I’m sure of it. Along with the advantages of antiaging and disease immunity, it must have a side effect of messing with people’s brains. And then it hits me. The Amrit messed with my brain. I’m not just immortal. I’m magic.
My glee disappears and fear takes its place, slithering up my chest like a snake, and wrapping around my throat. It’s okay, I tell myself. It’s a good thing.
I know I should be excited. This makes me closer to Juneau. I’ll be able to understand everything she talks about that, until now, has been only an abstract concept.
But what if this isn’t the Yara. It shouldn’t be this easy. Juneau said it would take a long time. Dedication to the earth, and all that. What if, because I’m not like Juneau’s clan members, the drug that saved my life is making me go insane, and hallucinations are just the first symptom? Don’t be paranoid, I think, but now that it’s me doing the magic and not Juneau, I am truly freaking out.
I stumble back down the mountain to our campsite, overwhelmed by the warring thoughts pinballing through my mind: On one side this is one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me; on the other it’s the scariest.
When I get to the clearing, I am suddenly so exhausted that I crawl into the tent and flop down on the ground. It feels like residual death-sleep—the kind of fatigue that knocks you over the head and renders you unconscious.
As I drift off I focus once more on what happened on the cliff. Did I really connect to the Yara without even trying, or am I going crazy because I took a drug that wasn’t meant for me? I can’t know unless it happens again. Until then, I won’t say anything to Juneau. No need to scare her, too.
21
JUNEAU
WHEN I GET BACK TO CAMP, MILES IS NOWHERE to be seen. But he’s organized everything so well that I can’t believe this is the same guy who sat in the car while I had to set up the tent, make the fire, and cook just over a week ago.
I unstrap my canteen and crossbow and lay them on the ground. Taking a piece of bread from the bag Miles hung from a nearby tree, I munch on it as I use a piece of kindling to draw a map in the dirt. Quickly, before I can forget anything, I sketch a facsimile of the section of fence leading along the mountain through the forest and down to the desert. I mark everything I saw along it: groves of trees, underbrush thick enough to hide in, several streams and the places they spill into ponds. I mark the animals I saw, on both sides of the fence, and the half-dozen metal boxes I spotted hung high up on some of the fence posts.
When I’m done I glance back around the clearing, wondering just where Miles has ventured on his own. And then I notice that the tent flap is zipped shut.
I walk over to investigate, unzipping it in one quick movement. And Miles, who was sleeping, leaps up with an expression so terror struck that I yell and jump back. “Holy crap, you scared the shit out of me!” he says, and pushes his way out the tent.
“You scared me!” I say, pressing my hand to my heart, which is hammering like a woodpecker. “What are you doing taking a nap in the middle of the day?”
Miles gets this guilty look on his face and says, “I was tired. That’s all.”
“Okay,” I say, and walk away to sit next to my map while I wait for my pulse to slow to normal. When I look back at him, he’s just standing there, staring at me in a weird way. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“Nothing!” he blurts out. “Nothing’s wrong with me. Whatsoever. I’m totally normal . . . I mean, fine.”
“Okay.” I turn away from him and scribble a few more details onto the map. If he doesn’t want to talk, I’m not going to force him to. But he’s definitely bothered about something.
“What are you drawing?” Miles says, changing the subject. He stands next to me and inspects my map.
“I surveyed the fence, all of the way from where it enters the woods on one side to where it exits into the desert at the other,” I say, pointing it out on the map.
“Did you find anything helpful?” he says, avoiding my eyes.
“Just a general idea of what is there,” I say. “I wanted to see how far the enclosure goes. It’s enormous, Miles. Two hours, and I just saw a small section of it. But we can definitely move undetected along the entire length of the barrier within the mountain area. I imagine this is where Avery brings his visitors to hunt”—I point out the water sources—“because that’s where the animals are going to be. Where’s the map?”
“In the tent,” he says, and retrieves it. I spread it out so we can inspect the penned-in area.
“It’s hard to know how accurate the gas station guy was with this box he drew. But saying it’s generally right, it doesn’t look like there are many water sources in the ranch. Just our mountain area and then these two rivers coming in from the east on the far side. Most of this is dry land.”
“So what’s that tell you?” Miles says, and his voice once again sounds normal. Whatever spooked him before has passed.
“I didn’t spot any buildings near the foothills. So I’m guessing that Avery’s house is near the rivers. Probably the adobe huts my clan is staying in, too, or else he’d have to bring them daily supplies of water. That means that the area we’re looking for is probably over here.” I trace from where we are on the western edge of the rectangle to the far eastern side where two blue lines branch out.
Wait. Reality check: Juneau didn’t think it was possible. She said the Yara stuff only comes with a life change. By living in tune with nature, or whatever. How can I be close to nature if I can’t even identify a freaking reindeer? It’s the Amrit; I’m sure of it. Along with the advantages of antiaging and disease immunity, it must have a side effect of messing with people’s brains. And then it hits me. The Amrit messed with my brain. I’m not just immortal. I’m magic.
My glee disappears and fear takes its place, slithering up my chest like a snake, and wrapping around my throat. It’s okay, I tell myself. It’s a good thing.
I know I should be excited. This makes me closer to Juneau. I’ll be able to understand everything she talks about that, until now, has been only an abstract concept.
But what if this isn’t the Yara. It shouldn’t be this easy. Juneau said it would take a long time. Dedication to the earth, and all that. What if, because I’m not like Juneau’s clan members, the drug that saved my life is making me go insane, and hallucinations are just the first symptom? Don’t be paranoid, I think, but now that it’s me doing the magic and not Juneau, I am truly freaking out.
I stumble back down the mountain to our campsite, overwhelmed by the warring thoughts pinballing through my mind: On one side this is one of the most exciting things that has ever happened to me; on the other it’s the scariest.
When I get to the clearing, I am suddenly so exhausted that I crawl into the tent and flop down on the ground. It feels like residual death-sleep—the kind of fatigue that knocks you over the head and renders you unconscious.
As I drift off I focus once more on what happened on the cliff. Did I really connect to the Yara without even trying, or am I going crazy because I took a drug that wasn’t meant for me? I can’t know unless it happens again. Until then, I won’t say anything to Juneau. No need to scare her, too.
21
JUNEAU
WHEN I GET BACK TO CAMP, MILES IS NOWHERE to be seen. But he’s organized everything so well that I can’t believe this is the same guy who sat in the car while I had to set up the tent, make the fire, and cook just over a week ago.
I unstrap my canteen and crossbow and lay them on the ground. Taking a piece of bread from the bag Miles hung from a nearby tree, I munch on it as I use a piece of kindling to draw a map in the dirt. Quickly, before I can forget anything, I sketch a facsimile of the section of fence leading along the mountain through the forest and down to the desert. I mark everything I saw along it: groves of trees, underbrush thick enough to hide in, several streams and the places they spill into ponds. I mark the animals I saw, on both sides of the fence, and the half-dozen metal boxes I spotted hung high up on some of the fence posts.
When I’m done I glance back around the clearing, wondering just where Miles has ventured on his own. And then I notice that the tent flap is zipped shut.
I walk over to investigate, unzipping it in one quick movement. And Miles, who was sleeping, leaps up with an expression so terror struck that I yell and jump back. “Holy crap, you scared the shit out of me!” he says, and pushes his way out the tent.
“You scared me!” I say, pressing my hand to my heart, which is hammering like a woodpecker. “What are you doing taking a nap in the middle of the day?”
Miles gets this guilty look on his face and says, “I was tired. That’s all.”
“Okay,” I say, and walk away to sit next to my map while I wait for my pulse to slow to normal. When I look back at him, he’s just standing there, staring at me in a weird way. “What’s wrong with you?” I ask.
“Nothing!” he blurts out. “Nothing’s wrong with me. Whatsoever. I’m totally normal . . . I mean, fine.”
“Okay.” I turn away from him and scribble a few more details onto the map. If he doesn’t want to talk, I’m not going to force him to. But he’s definitely bothered about something.
“What are you drawing?” Miles says, changing the subject. He stands next to me and inspects my map.
“I surveyed the fence, all of the way from where it enters the woods on one side to where it exits into the desert at the other,” I say, pointing it out on the map.
“Did you find anything helpful?” he says, avoiding my eyes.
“Just a general idea of what is there,” I say. “I wanted to see how far the enclosure goes. It’s enormous, Miles. Two hours, and I just saw a small section of it. But we can definitely move undetected along the entire length of the barrier within the mountain area. I imagine this is where Avery brings his visitors to hunt”—I point out the water sources—“because that’s where the animals are going to be. Where’s the map?”
“In the tent,” he says, and retrieves it. I spread it out so we can inspect the penned-in area.
“It’s hard to know how accurate the gas station guy was with this box he drew. But saying it’s generally right, it doesn’t look like there are many water sources in the ranch. Just our mountain area and then these two rivers coming in from the east on the far side. Most of this is dry land.”
“So what’s that tell you?” Miles says, and his voice once again sounds normal. Whatever spooked him before has passed.
“I didn’t spot any buildings near the foothills. So I’m guessing that Avery’s house is near the rivers. Probably the adobe huts my clan is staying in, too, or else he’d have to bring them daily supplies of water. That means that the area we’re looking for is probably over here.” I trace from where we are on the western edge of the rectangle to the far eastern side where two blue lines branch out.
