19. Our Jungle #2
I look away, up at the sky. Above us, the shield shimmers in the air.
It’s almost invisible unless you know how to look for it.
It’s a subtle distortion, like a heat mirage, running from the edge of the rooftop up into the clouds.
From what I’ve seen of Xythean technology, it’ll be impenetrable.
Even if New Terra sent a rescue team, they’d never get through—not on the ground through the jungle, and not through that shield in the sky.
I’m stuck. The warmth fades, replaced by a chill.
If I’m not trying to escape and I’m not hoping for rescue, then what am I doing?
Everything I’ve done for years has been about survival, about getting back to a life I still recognized as mine.
That life is no longer waiting for me. And I don’t know who I am without it.
I turn back to him. There is a question sitting in my chest. It’s been sitting there since the bath, maybe since before that. If I am going to survive what is happening to me, I need to know the answer. "How are children raised here?"
He raises both eyebrows, the surprise clear on his face. “You ask a strange question.”
“I haven’t seen one child since I came here. I want to know what happens to them.” The words come out emotionless. “Are there any? Are they kept in a nursery? Are they trained for war?”
“Tell me the answer to my question, and I’ll answer yours,” he says, eyes leveled at me.
“No. Never mind. I don’t want to think about children, anyway,” I lie.
The corner of Rythar’s mouth quirks. “I changed my mind, too. It pleases me to discuss children with you. The Reach is an ideal location on Xytheos to raise children, though there are very few born. Some of the other biomes are difficult environments for the young, so I host them here.”
“You raise them?” I say, stunned.
“No. They are raised by the parents, of course. The mother and father. Together.”
This revelation is almost as shocking. “You mean, as a family?”
He nods. “There is nothing more important. The bond is not just for mating. It is for all of life. The children born in the Reach are raised in small homes in the jungle, away from the fortress. Most become warriors, but they may choose their path. Our children will be raised in the fortress, of course, but we will also have a small home in the jungle.”
My mind races to reconcile this. The idea of raising a child in a place like this, sheltered but also wild and free, sounds… almost good. Having alien babies goes against everything I was ever taught. I’m starting to wonder if maybe I was taught wrong.
Rythar’s hands are scarred and massive. Could they hold a baby tenderly? Would he want to? The image almost makes me laugh. But I don’t. Instead, I watch him watch me, waiting for the next move.
He stands suddenly and walks to the edge of the roof, looking out over the jungle's vast expanse. I follow slowly.
The wind is stronger here, whipping my hair against my face. I squint into the distance and see something I missed before. It’s a series of lights, flickering in the shadows, not random but patterned. Patrols. Watch points.
As I stare at one of the watch points, the vines there move and twist, twining into a beautiful fractal design. I’m entranced. Flowers bloom just as the design stops forming.
“You did that. Right?” I ask Rythar.
“Do you like it?” He’s watching me, his eyes lidded.
I nod. It should be scary and strange, but the artwork is undeniably beautiful. I think of the way he used the vines in battle, twisting them into weapons, and the way he uses them now, twisting them into living artwork.
He’s pleased that I like it. He touches my upper arm. “You have more questions. Still no answer for me?”
I stare deep into the jungle before answering him with more questions.
“So you seem set for your kind of babies, but I’m not sure you’ve thought through this human baby thing.
What about genetic engineering?” I ask. “I’ve seen what you can do.
I’m not even sure we can have children together, but if we do, they’ll be half human.
How will they survive here? You can’t keep them safe forever.
What if I have a son? What happens to him? ”
Rythar frowns, as if the question is almost meaningless. “He is raised to be strong. When I am gone, he rules. But I do not plan to be gone soon.”
"How long is 'soon' for you?"
He shrugs. "A thousand years. More, if nothing kills me."
The number rattles through me, cold and unreal. "Rythar. Humans don't live a thousand years."
"You will."
I laugh. "Rythar."
"You will," he says seriously.
"Stop saying that. Humans don't live that long. That's not how our bodies work. That's not—"
His fingers close around my wrist with the same easy pressure he used when he was carrying me up from the jungle.
"The Stone has already changed you, Elena."
I wrinkle my nose. "What?"
"It changed you at the ceremony. I assumed it told you."
"Told me what?" I say breathlessly.
"Your lifespan. Your body. The things that needed to be altered so you could live here, beside me, for the length of my rule. You received many gifts from the Stone."
I stare at his hand on my wrist. Then at his face. Then back at his hand.
"Let go," I say.