“You mean you were here with your sister before she died?” I asked.
“I was once, but she been here since then. She been here ’cause this the place where we come together.”
Alacrity carried a pack almost as big as she was. She didn’t seem to mind the weight, though. She moved playfully up and down the path, over fallen trees and down into woods to explore. She wasted more energy than the rest of us used, but she was never tired. Her blond hair knotted on itself, and dried mud clung to her boots and jeans.
As I watched the child of my teacher dart in and out between the trees, I got the first glimpse of her purpose among us.
I had begun to believe that there was purpose to each light that began these creatures. The visionary, the dreamer, the pathfinder, death. Alacrity I could see was simply a hero. She was brave and foolhardy and the best friend anybody could have.
As I watched her move so deftly between pines, I wondered whose hero she would become: mine or theirs?
It was the first time I’d realized that there would one day be sides drawn and a conflict ahead.
Twenty-one
That night we made camp in a clearing of fallen pines. We set up two tents, one for Addy and the girls and one for Reggie and me. The moon was three-quarters full and the air was cold. I could hear Wanita and Alacrity laughing in the other tent while Reggie snored next to me. He was sleeping outside of his down bag, wearing only briefs. I could still feel the heat pouring off him from his exertions leading our journey.
Addy and I could see the change in the boy that day. Somehow the walk in the woods had made him into the man that he was destined to be. All along the walk he would turn to his sister and ask, “Do you remember this, Wanita? Do you remember when we were walking here before? It was the night that the light came, the night Luwanda died.”
The girl said nothing but kept close to her brother, touching him every now and then. When she tired he took her up in his arms and pressed forward with great concentration and force.
Reggie’s face became more angular, and his eyes lost their wandering and distracted air. It was as if he had been born to take this hike in these woods.
I loved those children. They seemed perfect together with Addy and me. Part of me, the part that was active and engaged, was only there for the children. But that night another part came alive. I was a link between natural enemies. I was the flotsam that Ordé preached about, but now I was partly aware, partly alive. I was spineless and mindless like a jellyfish, but still I had an instinct for survival. And survival, I knew, was the possibility of a bridge between these gods and my small race.
Maybe some pink crystal far away was dreaming of me, imagining the dignity of my partial awareness. The dignity of fungus stuck to a rock, depending upon the sun for life. At any moment we might be robbed of our single-note pleasure, procreation; a shadow could rise between us and the sun, could end our whole history. And even if that shadow never appeared, even if we did not meet annihilation, still, mindlessly, we would just multiply one on top of another until we covered the entire planet with our bones.
But now there was a different light, the blue light. It was, I believed, my job to conserve that light and to help my people feel its brilliance.
While Reggie snored and Wanita and Alacrity giggled in the tent next to ours, I found a direction for my life. I had been following the path for some years, since Ordé saved me from suicide, but now I was aware. Now it became my choice. I could feel it in my heart and lungs and liver. I knew that my duty was more powerful even than the visions I was allowed to see. Even the thought of Gray Man could not deter me. I would give everything to make my blood count for something beyond rutting and the piling of bones.
In the morning nothing seemed the same. I was lying next to a full-grown man who had been a child two days before. But as much as Reggie had changed, I had changed more.
The girls made breakfast for the camp with Addy’s help. I ate the baked beans and canned black bread with no taste or hunger. I ate because I needed strength.
The numbness that followed my convictions left my mind unencumbered. Freed as I was, I could remember what we saw without being overwhelmed by the trappings of fear or awe.
The first five or so miles through the woods that morning were not very different. The road had been torn up and blocked by trees, and we hoped that this was why Reggie had deemed the place safe. I couldn’t see how, but maybe the inaccessibility made it partially secure from Gray Man.
By afternoon, however, the changes became more spectacular.
“Look at those leaves up there,” Addy said, pointing to the roof of pine forest. We were in a large clearing. “They’re like a rainbow.”
And big. Some of the blue and yellow and orange leaves were as large as serving platters. They seemed to be blowing in the wind, some floating on currents of air and others falling lazily to earth.
“Them’s butterflies,” Wanita said matter-of-factly.
“Oh, God.” That was me.
The cavernous roof of leaves above us must have held hundreds of thousands of them. Many had wingspans of nearly two feet, some even larger. We were all stunned into silence by the beauty. In that hush we heard the soft fluttering of their wings. The sound was like the thrumming of a fast-pumping vein. It was exciting and a little bit scary.
A giant orange-and-black monarch with iridescent blue eyes etched in its tail sailed down, landing on Reggie’s shoulders and back. Its wingspan was almost a yard. The impossible insect unfurled its tubular tongue, gently lashing the young man’s small Afro.
“It tickles,” he said.
Alacrity giggled, and Addy and I smiled.
“We better run,” Wanita said.
Just then the butterflies overhead formed into a great multicolored blanket that began to descend.
“Let’s go!” I shouted.
Reggie took off, leading us down a corridor through the trees.
The thrumming of butterflies became so loud that it was almost a rattle. They were very fast, coming quickly and intently through the leaves and branches.
We made it through the corridor and into a dense stand of pine. The butterflies kept coming, though. Three ivory-colored ones grabbed on to Wanita. They seemed to want to lift her off the ground. She screamed, but Alacrity killed them with a branch.
The children were beset by butterflies.
We all took up branches, swinging about our heads as fast as we could, smashing the rainbow fliers into the same trees that impeded our escape. Addy and I could more easily kill the creatures because the butterflies didn’t want us. Once in a while one would land on me with feet that felt like grasping Brillo pads. But as soon as that long tongue tasted my skin, it was off after the kids.
The touch of the butterflies’ tongues had the tickle of mild electricity or the beginning of an acid burn.
We kept swinging and trying to run. The butterflies died easily enough. Their wings ripped from the slightest touch and their soft bellies came open, shedding thick green blood.
We were overcome by the crush of butterflies. Choking on the dust that rose from their battered wings. They came on in a flood of color and dust. The girls choked and cried. Reggie fought hard but was covered by tongue-lashing insects. I jumped on top of the boy, using my body to crush the insects as well as to protect him.
The butterflies’ touch seemed to sap the children’s strength.
The thrumming rattle of insect wings overwhelmed our cries. The crush of bugs stopped our advance completely and slowly pushed us downward. The children and Reggie were already on the ground. Addy and I stood above them, on our knees, beating off our attackers with thick branches.