Pathways - Jeri Taylor [11]
Kolopak’s face was shining. “It was incredible. To see this pageant replayed, just as our ancestors did—I can’t tell you how deeply it’s touched me. We have to come back on February fifth, the reciprocal date, and see the raising of the sky.”
Chakotay stretched his stiff limbs and ran his fingers through his hair. He felt awful, cold and sticky, his stomach empty and his bladder full. The thought of going through this ordeal yet again made him shudder. He had to find some way to get out of it.
His father, relentlessly cheerful, extended his hand to help Chakotay to his feet, chattering about the power of the nightlong experience, his soul’s response to participating in such an ancient and important ritual. If he sensed Chakotay’s diffidence, he didn’t show it. He spoke as though they had shared the night and the spiritual adventure, when in fact Kolopak had been alone.
“Let’s go,” his father said, with as much energy as though he had slept like a baby all night long. “We’re meeting our guides soon. They’ll take us into the wilderness.”
Chakotay’s hand went to his neck, which he realized was itching uncomfortably. His fingers discovered a thick welt there, and he dug at it until it hurt. The mosquito, at least, had had a successful night.
If the night had been long and uncomfortable, it was a time of luxury compared with the trek into the rain forest. Chakotay couldn’t believe his father was determined to plunge into this malodorous jungle, replete with vicious insects and poisonous reptiles, simply to find the village of their ancestors. Who could even be sure the village still existed? There had been an exodus from this part of Earth over two hundred years ago; who knew what might have happened to those who stayed behind? They had probably become blended into contemporary human society, losing the ancient ways. At least, that was the fear that had driven his father’s tribe to leave Earth and settle on a remote planet several thousand light-years away, hoping to find a place where they could preserve their customs and rituals.
This was, in Chakotay’s mind, a way to insure that his tribe remained rooted in the past, clinging desperately to centuries-old traditions, instead of welcoming the new and exciting future. He, for one, was determined to embrace the twenty-fourth century, but he had yet to inform his father of that.
Now, they were slashing their way through a jungle that was oppressively hot and almost unbelievably humid. Chakotay swore he could see moisture suspended in the air, shimmering in the shafts of sunlight like a filmy curtain of water. Grotesquely huge insects hung in swarms under the canopy of trees, buzzing violently as though infuriated by the intrusion of humans. There were fifteen of them: Chakotay, Kolopak, and thirteen native guides and porters. What would have been so wrong, the boy wondered, with simply transporting all of them into the designated area? Why behave as though this were some kind of ancient safari?
Chakotay occupied his mind by trying to determine the best way to inform his father of his plans. This wouldn’t be easy—he anticipated every reaction imaginable: anger, frustration, sorrow, adamancy—but he was determined to confront the issue sooner rather than later.
But how? With a prelude explaining his dissatisfaction with his father’s ways, his insistence on making his own choices? Or by asking for understanding and requesting permission? He ran down several versions of the conversation in his mind, but no matter what approach he took, he could envision only a disappointing outcome.
A bright flash of movement at the periphery of his vision made him turn and then follow it. It was a lizard, orange and green, scurrying over a tree stump. Something was marked on the tree stump, and Chakotay moved toward it. He vaguely heard his father’s voice admonishing him: “I don’t want you wandering off . . .”
“I wasn’t,” the boy replied. “I was just looking at something.” He heard Kolopak move behind