“They’re just animals.” Papa Fuzz laughs, then drifts toward Muzi. “People hunt animals all the time.”
Muzi detects a slight twinge in Papa Fuzz’s voice, a slighter twitch in his eye. “You don’t believe that. It was your darkest hour, otherwise why would I have seen it?”
Papa Fuzz’s brow tightens. “You didn’t see the whole vision, son.”
“I’m not your son!” Rage surges through Muzi’s muscles, and he stiffens with the tension of a coiled spring. Papa Fuzz is so close now that he reaches out, touches Muzi’s forehead with one of his dark, slender fingers and memories come with the force of a shotgun blast.
He’s back in the bush, gunshots zing through the air, from the chopper, toward the chopper, though there’s much more of the latter. Dizzy and hot, Papa Fuzz holds his bloody shoulder, as a scream pierces his ears. He looks over to see his father clutching his stomach. Red-black blood gushes from the wound, his eyes gone wide as moons. Papa Fuzz’s mind snaps in that moment, something primal welling up within him. He ignores his pain and ditches the dart gun for a real one, then lets off a spray of bullets. They chip away at the chopper’s glass, and moments later, the chopper goes down into the bush, smoldering and smoking before bursting into flames. Dried grasses crackle, trees catch. Reality blurs.
“My blood rolls through your veins, like it or not.” Papa Fuzz’s scowl lifts ever so slightly, but his eyes are still judging, taunting Muzi like he’d been the one to commit those atrocities. Is he implying that Muzi’s a killer, too? Like grandfather, like grandson?
Muzi fights it, but his blood is too hot. Muzi flexes his fingers, sharp as knives, and lunges for Papa Fuzz, hands grasping for his neck, but they pass through fog. Papa Fuzz dissipates with a wicked laugh, and Muzi’s falling forward. He grabs for the edge of the cliff, fingers barely catching. Dirt crumbles beneath his hands, and he’s falling. This is it, he thinks.
“I failed you, Elkin . . .”
But an arm reaches down and snags him just in time.
“Grab hold of me,” Elkin’s voice says from the top of the cliff, and the surprise of his friend’s voice almost makes him slip. But Elkin’s got both his hands wrapped around Muzi’s forearm, and Muzi pulls up with his other hand, clutching for whatever purchase he can get. Elkin gives a last hard tug, and then Muzi’s safe, on the ground, on all fours. Safe, but exhausted.
“Thanks,” Muzi wheezes out, not sure if Elkin is real, a figment of his imagination, or something in between. “I owe you one.”
“Ja, bru. You failed me, remember?” Elkin laughs. “Next time do us both a favor and take the gods’ bridge. You scared me half to death.” Elkin shrugs, then snickers to himself. “Well, you know what I mean.”
“Gods’ bridge?”
Elkin points, and Muzi squints off into the distance, making out the bridge linking the two sides of the cliff. Then Elkin tugs Muzi out of the way as a middle-aged woman crossing the void takes a final step onto firm ground. Her tense brow loosens as soon as her foot presses into the rich, black earth. Her white robe rolls off her like smoke, revealing a taut, well-muscled body, not what Muzi had been expecting from the lines in her face, but when he catches her gaze, those are gone too.
Elkin tips his head. “Ma’am.” She smiles, then walks past them without a word, through the thickness of the jungle, eyes wide, mouth agape. Muzi then notices that Elkin is naked as well, though he somehow seems dressed perfectly for the occasion.
“You get used to it,” Elkin says. “It’s actually sort of liberating, but if you want me to get you a leaf or something . . .”
Muzi shakes his head. Whoever heard of a prude in the afterlife?
“All right, come on, then. First thing you learn about this place is that you can’t stay too long in one spot.” Elkin reaches down and tugs Muzi up by the elbow. Muzi is about to ask why, when he notices that the heels of his feet are anchored into the dirt. He pries them loose with a little effort, then sees tan roots budding from the bottoms of his feet.
Muzi then looks at the jungle around him, lush, vibrant, and alive.
“Hungry?” Elkin asks, then turns his palm to the air.
Leaves shake from above, then a branch reaches down, depositing a big, bright orange in Elkin’s hand. Elkin peels back the dimpled skin and splits the fruit in half. Muzi stuffs his half into his mouth and clenches his eyes at the sweet, delicate taste. His skin prickles, and he shivers all over.
“Good, huh?” Elkin says, lips glossy with juice. “This place is prime to the tenth degree. The other day I had a mango so delicious that I actually busted a nut. And just wait until you try the godfruit. You’ll shit yourself, I guarantee it!”
Muzi tugs back. “Sorry, but I’m going to have to take your word for it. Right now we need to figure out a way back.”
“Back? You can’t go back. You just got here!!”
“But the world is in danger with Sydney loose. We have to stop her. That’s why Mr. Tau sent me and Nomvula here. And if we had your help . . .”
“Oh, no, no, no. Fuck that shit. I’ve seen what that woman is capable of. She killed one of the tree mothers. A tree mother, Muzi! She can shred your soul as easily as she shreds flesh. There’s no coming back from that.”
“And your family, friends? You’re okay with leaving them to die?”
“My mom lost her soul a long time ago, and I don’t give a fuck about my dad. And as for friends, I’ve got my best friend in the world with me.” Elkin lays his cool hand on Muzi’s shoulder, then lets it drift down over his bicep. “What else could I possibly need?”
“I need peace of mind, Elkin. And I’m not going to get that by staying here. Like it or not, Nomvula and I are going back. With or without you.” Muzi shrugs Elkin off and bends down over the leaves swaddling Nomvula. He peels them back and finds she’s sleeping soundly.
“She needs time to fully heal, if you’re going to have a chance,” Elkin whispers, bent down next to him. “At least stay that long. It’ll take a day or two at most, and hardly any time will pass back home.” Without waiting for a response, Elkin covers Nomvula back up and tugs at a series of vines. She’s hoisted up into the canopy, hanging as snugly as a pea in a pod. “She’ll be perfectly safe up there. The trees will give her food and water when she’s ready.”
Muzi feels his palms going to root in the soil and quickly pulls them away. “The trees, they’re people?”
“It’s not a bad thing. It’s an honor. The purest form. Their roots tap into the very soul of the earth, their knowledge is without boundaries. It’s bliss, but so are the pleasures of the flesh.” Elkin raises his hand again and a plump mango falls into his palm. Muzi eyes it, unable to stop his mouth from watering. The temptations here are many, and he knows better than to give in to them, but he’s got the rest of his life to be a hero. Right now, he just wants to be happy. He weaves his fingers with those of Elkin’s free hand, and together they push through the dense jungle, dew-kissed leaves lapping at their bare skin.