Shadowline Drift: A Metaphysical Thriller by Alexes Razevich Page A

raised them. At least his ankle no longer throbbed with a heavy pulse all its own. The sun was barely up, the light still mild and hazy through the one small window to the outside. He hauled himself to his feet, using Naheyo’s stick for support, and tested his ankle. It was still weak and sore, but pain didn’t shoot up his leg when he put weight on the foot. That was progress.
    Pilar had left him a worn-down bar of soap and told him how to find a nearby stream where he could wash up. He held the soap to his nose and inhaled. It smelled of lemon, like she did.
    The woodpeckers didn ’t seem to have disturbed anyone else. The compound was quiet, though Pilar and the women could be up and long gone for all he knew. He hobbled down the long hallway, past doors like his—each hung with a different colored blanket—out to the grounds beyond. The stream was to the left, through the trees, less than a quarter mile away, Pilar had said. The opposite direction from the cane field. Jake moved slowly, cautious as an old man, afraid of pain, afraid of falling. It took a long time to go the distance, and he was covered in sweat when he reached the wide, gently rushing stream.
    Pulling off his shirt and pants one-handed wasn’t easy, but he didn’t trust his ankle enough to give up the cane. The effort was worth it. The cool water sluiced over his skin like fingers. Red and black dragonflies flitted by. Birds called, hidden deep in the green leaves of the canopy. He scrubbed hard with the lemon soap, washing weeks of jungle grit and dirt into the accepting stream. His various welts, bites, bruises, and cuts were healing. He wished for a razor, but decided water and soap were gift enough for one day.
    He ’d dressed again in the muslin pants and T-shirt Pilar had given him, and was sitting on the bank dangling his feet in the stream, thinking about how to best tell Ashne Simapole at World United the truth about benesha, when she came through the trees.
    “ You weren’t in your room,” she said. “Feeling better?”
    “ Much,” Jake said. She wore the long black skirt she’d had on when he’d first seen her. He must have been more delirious than he’d thought to peg her as a nun. “Thanks for the soap.” He held out what was left of the bar.
    “ Keep it.” She sat down next to him, pulling her legs underneath her skirt. “I spoke to Naheyo. She says the sooner you are out of the compound, the better. She’s sending Fant over to the village today to find a paddler to take you to Catalous. It’s a day to walk over, a day to visit her family and friends, and another to walk back. Then you’ll be on your way.”
    It was three days longer than he would have liked. “Thanks.”
    Pilar shrugged and the conversation shrank to nothing. A troop of monkeys made its noisy way through the trees and disappeared into the forest beyond. Small fish occasionally broke the top of the stream. He wanted to reach over and touch her, take her hand. She was leaning a little toward him. He thought maybe she wouldn’t mind.
    Minutes passed. He didn ’t reach for her. Pilar sighed.
    “ I should be going,” she said, and started to get up.
    He wanted to keep her with him awhile longer. “Naheyo doesn’t like me much.”
    “ It’s not just you she doesn’t like.” Pilar settled back again. “It’s having a man, any man, in the compound. The Lalunta consider this”—she spread her arms to encompass a vague stretch of land”—to be a power center, a place where magic concentrates. Every shaman lives at the compound once she or he takes responsibility for the tribe. A shaman’s Helpers, which is what the other Lalunta women at the compound are, are always the same sex as the shaman. They live here, away from the distractions of everyday life, so they can concentrate on spiritual as well as practical matters.”
    “ Celibate?”
    Pilar shook her head. “Most of the women have boyfriends or husbands in one village or another, but