Arrows of Time - Kim Falconer [186]
They were all dressed in brightly coloured fabric with much of their skin exposed. Their necks were draped with decorations of blue and white stones, smaller versions hanging from hooks in their ears. They were a tattooed people, as he suspected, though none of the designs he saw in this group remotely resembled the images on…he scratched his head, trying to remember something. It seemed like it was important, but it slipped away before he could grasp it. They were nothing like Jane Doe’s.
‘Are you all right, doctor?’ Regina asked.
He wiped his brow.
‘The climate takes some getting used to,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘I’m fine. Just not expecting the heat.’
She smiled. ‘You’ll learn to appreciate it.’
They picked up his bags and guided him back the way they’d come, over a rise and down a track that led into a moist, windless jungle. Every aspect of this land was like an alien world to Everett. The scents in the air alone astounded him. They tantalised him with their contrast to the accustomed odours of tarmac, smoke and chemicals. The richness that assailed his nostrils was unrecognisable, but he revelled in it anyway. He couldn’t imagine what the food would taste like in such a place. He took off his jacket, carefully folding it over his arm. ‘How far away is it?’
‘Our home?’ Regina smiled. ‘Not far.’
The village was nestled in a sheltered valley a few hours’ hike from the abandoned airstrip. By the time they arrived, he was so disoriented he couldn’t have said which direction they’d gone.
They crossed a high arched bridge, traversing a gorge with rushing water far below. After spending over a century in a single apartment building and the skyscraper hospital complex, this experience was like a rebirth. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t find his way out. He never wanted to go back.
Regina showed him to a cottage adjacent to a large open-air building she called the healing centre. It was comfortable, organic, with breezeways and a high-beamed ceiling.
‘Are you ready to get started?’ she asked. ‘Or do you need to rest?’
A line was forming outside the clinic. All women. All in their prime. How could that be?
‘Where is your…what do you call him?’
Regina laughed, the sound like sweet wind chimes. ‘Are you asking for our shaman?’
‘Shaman, yes. Where is he?’
She laughed again. ‘I am she.’
‘I didn’t know,’ he said. He made a show of gathering items from several bags to pack in his kit. He included the cryo-pac from his jacket as well.
‘No reason why you would.’
He felt his palms sweating and he rubbed them together.
‘I was hoping you would begin with me,’ she said. ‘That way I can lead the others.’
He nodded. She was perfect. Strong, tall, healthy. Her face was full of joy and enthusiasm. She even looked like Jane Doe, with high cheekbones and brown eyes. ‘I’ll need to set up.’
‘Of course.’ Her smile was genuine, like a caress. ‘We’re very grateful you’re here, Dr Kelly,’ she said, watching him sort through his packs. ‘There hasn’t been a child born in over fifty years.’
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘How old are you?’
‘How young am I? Seventy-three.’
He frowned. He would have guessed an unassisted thirty-five at the most. She would have had no access to longevity treatments, transplants or cosmetic work. It didn’t make sense, but it had to be true. The sterilisation protocol was enacted sixty-five years ago.
‘How?’
‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To learn the ways of the shaman? Our exchange?’
‘You prolong life without technology?’
‘Is that so bewildering to you?’
‘It is.’ He frowned.
‘We’ll make it familiar, then. Come. This way.’ She reached for his hand and led him to the healing centre. The afternoon light warmed his face. He paused, squinting towards the sun. ‘That’s west?’ he asked, pointing towards the light.
‘East.’ She corrected him as a parent might a small child.
He twisted around behind him, his mouth slightly open. ‘East?’
‘Yes. Come this way.’
He was about to say more, but let the matter go. There would be plenty of time to solve that riddle. It had to be a problem