Part 27 (1/2)

The birds were already announcing the morning when he turned the last page and stared at his mother's final words.

Stephen, my son...

Six months have pa.s.sed since I entrusted you to Shaka's care. I have painstakingly written all that I can remember to the best of my knowledge. I know that you are too young to read this, but hear in your heart that I love you deeply. My mind lingers on your face always. My dreams each night keep me strong when I have no will to live in this dark world. I am with you always.

You must promise me that you will learn to laugh. To scamper about the ground, chasing whatever amuses you. Eat plenty of fruit and meat. Grow strong, my son. Love and feel the light of the sun full on your face, for it is a small reflection of a far greater warmth that can be found within.

I sometimes forget who I am in that light, and then suffering tempts me in ways I had not thought possible. My body lives in a world that seems to grow dimmer with each pa.s.sing day. Peace has not come to the Tulim valley. It is slipping into a darkness that few could fathom. When I forget the light, I fear dreadfully for the Impirum and the children. And then I remember what I saw on that hill and the light returns for a while.

I have found a way to pa.s.s this book out, hoping Shaka will find it. Hear my voice calling to you through these pages now. Come to your mother. I wait...

Chapter Twenty-four.

A HUM awakened in the back of Stephen's mind. A whisper of concern for his mother's safety. The emotion swelled. Deep sorrow tempted him, not for himself but for the woman held in a place of such ongoing suffering.

Surely she had found a way to continue in the light without forgetting who she was.

But what if she hadn't?

He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, and let the emotion pa.s.s without feeding it any resistance. Resistance only fueled deeper suffering.

The deep calm returned and he opened his eyes. He closed the cover and looked at the book. Shaka had marked the hide with a large O, the symbol for outlaw in the English tongue.

He understood now why knowledge of his mother would test him. It was the first time he'd been so directly confronted with another person's suffering. He had no context for Julian's role as his mother, but having read her story, he felt a deep compa.s.sion for her struggle. She'd seen the light and yet seemed to suffer still.

If his mother was still in the valley, perhaps he could go and set her free.

But of course! This was what Shaka must have in mind. This was his task now-to find Julian and help her see the light once again.

The thought swept through him and his body went rigid. He could not adequately or immediately describe the emotions swelling in his chest. They weren't negative. Eagerness, perhaps. Delight.

Stephen wrapped the book up in its cloth, set the bundle on the earth beside the thatched wall, and ran from the cooking hut to find Shaka.

Jika, jika, jawa...today was going to be a fine day.

He checked the sleeping hut and found it vacant. But this wasn't so unusual. Shaka often vanished early in the morning to find his way. Maybe he was in the tall hut. He dipped his head under the eaves and had one foot on the ground outside when he saw his teacher, watching him from the path at the edge of the clearing.

Shaka and one other.

A woman.

Stephen was so surprised by the sight that he jerked upright, hitting his head on one of the poles that supported the gra.s.s roof. He scrambled out and straightened, eyes fixed on the stranger by Shaka's side.

He'd never seen a woman. Shaka had explained the significant differences between male and female among humans, and he'd witnessed the polarities in the jungle among all creatures.

But he wasn't prepared for the fascination that swept through him upon seeing a woman in the flesh. And so close.

His first thought was of his mother. But Julian's skin was lighter, like his, not dark like that of the woman twenty paces from him.

Shaka took the woman by her hand and led her forward. Her round eyes were dark, not pale blue like his own. Her frame smaller by a third, thinner at her waist, which supported a short skirt made of woven gra.s.s. She had b.r.e.a.s.t.s for feeding an infant.

Woman! This was a woman and a fine, fine one at that, though he had no point of reference. All were fine. She was magical in every respect.

Stephen found that he was so taken by the sight of this woman that he could not move. But there was no need to. Shaka was bringing her to him. And she seemed as fascinated by him as he was by her.

They came to a stop three paces away and for a while no one spoke. Shaka had told him that his affection for others might feel overwhelming. His heart was stripped of the judgments that many carried on their shoulders, he said.

Without any thought as to how the woman might react, Stephen stepped up to her and started to lift his hand, eager to make a connection with her. But he thought twice and glanced at Shaka.

”Can I touch it?”

”She's not an it, Stephen.”

”No, no, of course not. It's a she.” A small part of him began to feel awkward but he quickly allowed the feeling to pa.s.s. ”I mean, she's a woman.”

He returned his eyes to the woman, who was staring at him as if he'd fallen out of the sky.

”I only meant that you are very beautiful, and seeing as how I've never seen much less touched a female of my kind, I was wondering if I might touch your skin. Just to connect with you.”

She said nothing. So he gently rested his hand on her upper arm.

”Your skin is very soft,” he said.

She blinked but offered no other reaction.

”What is your name?”

”Her name is Lela,” Shaka said.

Lela! The girl who had helped his mother!

”Lela,” Stephen repeated. ”I am Stephen.”

His hand was still on her arm and he lowered it, thinking that it was making her uncomfortable. He had to remember that others' ways were not the same as his. He wasn't sure how else to be, so he shrugged and took a step back.

His teacher was watching him, wearing only the hint of a smile.

”What does he think?”

Shaka was addressing his costume again.

”He thinks he is very happy to see a woman,” Stephen said.

”I'm sure he is. And he must know that this woman is not his.”

”No, never. No woman could be his. He owns nothing, nor ever will. Nor does any man or woman own anything. These costumes only think to possess what cannot be possessed.”