Naamah's Blessing - By Jacqueline Carey Page 0,125

it didn’t look as intimidating as I’d feared. It was a wide swath of slow-moving milky-green water that led deeper and deeper into the depths of the jungle. But Eyahue had proved himself right time and time again, and when he assured us that the placid river would develop deadly rapids in the leagues ahead of us, I did not doubt him.

The marupa trees grew tremendously tall, with very straight trunks ideally suited for making long dugout canoes. The villagers indicated two that would be acceptable and set out scouring for others while our party began the task of felling and hollowing the first two trees, sharpening hatchets and adzes dulled in the digging of a mass grave after the attack of the Cloud People.

Even with so many willing hands and the aid of the villagers, it was a considerable job, and we were at it for days. The men worked in shifts, taking turns with our limited number of tools.

My offers to help were rebuffed, so I spent the time in the village getting to know its inhabitants as best I could without a shared tongue, relying on the knack of nonverbal communication I’d developed during the long winter I’d spent among the Tatars.

The women were hard at work knotting sturdy hammocks out of sisal fiber, part of the supplies for which Eyahue had bartered. They showed me how to tie the intricate knots, although I could not match the swift dexterity of their practiced fingers. They also showed me how to weave palm fronds into mats. They used the mats for seating, but the women indicated to me with gestures that they could also provide shelter from rainfall.

Between the outskirts of the savannah and the inner verges of the jungle, the villagers grew a fair number of crops. There was no maize here, but there were many of the other fruits and vegetables I’d come to know since we’d landed on Terra Nova: nourishing sweet potatoes, rich, silken-fleshed avocados, tart fruits that resembled overgrown pinecones topped with a tufted shock of leaves, papayas like melons that grew on trees.

Using nets and basket traps, they caught a variety of fish: big whiskered bottom-dwellers, long eel-like fish, fierce little fish with deceptively sharp teeth. I learned quickly to be wary of the latter.

All in all, it was a rather idyllic existence; but Eyahue warned us time and time again not to be deceived.

There would be no crops in the jungle save those stores we brought with us. What could be cultivated within its depths was guarded by wary, hostile natives who did not welcome intruders. There were fish and game, but hunting was notoriously difficult in the dense undergrowth, and even fishing was likely to prove an exhausting endeavor after a hard day’s travel.

And so I paid attention to the village children. When they weren’t engaged in play, they spent much of their days gathering less orthodox fare to augment the village’s diet. They taught me how to chisel open rotting palm logs using a sharp-edged rock to get at the thick, wriggling grubs inside, which they plucked out and wrapped in palm leaves to cook.

Balthasar Shahrizai stared at me in outright horror when I sampled one. “Elua have mercy! That may be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”

The flesh was chewy, but the taste was palatable. “If it’s a matter of survival, you’ll eat them too, my lord,” I said to him.

He shuddered. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather die.”

Bao reached over and popped one in his mouth, chewing with relish. “Not so bad,” he pronounced.

The children also caught lizards and frogs when they could, showing me which were good to eat. When I spotted a brilliant blue fellow with black speckles clinging to the bark of a tree with his webbed feet, I indicated it inquiringly. They batted my hand away with alarm, shaking their heads vehemently.

One of the older boys pointed into the depths of the jungle, then smeared his palms over his cheeks in a gesture I didn’t fully understand, although its meaning seemed clear to the others. He acted out a stealthy pantomime of hunting and stalking, raising a clenched fist to his lips and blowing sharply through it in the direction of one of his mates, who clutched at his throat and toppled over in mock rigor.

I got the message.

Later, Eyahue confirmed it. “Oh, yes. Anything brightly colored is like to be poisonous. Snakes, frogs, lizards.” He shrugged. “Here’s a simple rule. If