The buzzing of insects zipped over the rainforest, silenced only by the occasional whining of pygmy tyrants and the nighthawk’s whistle. A big drop of water, finally welling proud enough, slipped from a leaf in the canopy above and scattered itself on a rounded rock near Neeko’s leg. The distinct plop, though not the first, made him blink. It wasn’t that he was easily startled, nor was it fatigue. Neeko drummed his fingers against the handle of the old hacking knife braced between his knees and the mossy rocks he sat upon.
A frog croaked, maybe ten paces away. It registered for Neeko in the same way that the nearby woman’s words did. “Maybe we should go and speak with them again. Maybe it was too soon to ask the council for this.”
When Neeko cleared his throat, his assistant fell silent. The humid air filled his nose and hummed over the ceaseless chirping of the misty forest when he exhaled. “No, Pais,” he said, looking up at her from his hunch, “I don’t think that’s it.”
Pais’ca ran her tongue along her teeth, bulging her top lip as it moved under nose. She had worn a thinner linen tunic today, leaving her bare arms and youthful night skin to collect sweat less-visibly than the ring around her neck, under her breasts, and where she kept drying her palms on the sky blue garment’s hem. Neeko eyed her fidgets with a raised eyebrow each time, uncertain what to make of it. Was she so impatient with the elders? Or was it… something else?
Neeko removed one hand from the machete hilt and gently patted the square leather sheath on his belt that carried his notebook. It was still there. And so was the pouch of herbs, the folded wallet with its carefully arranged sections, and the empty copper loop where his blade often hung. He glanced at Pais once more, leaning there nonchalantly against a rubber tree’s dark bark, and then surveyed the foliage down the rocky slope again.
The hilltop village at their back, consisting of a dozen huts made of branch-bound grass walls and bark-layered roofs, was quiet this morning. The tribe had gathered under the suspended roof in the village center to discuss their trust of their guests. It was their calloused hands that had once piled the slopes of their hill with boulders. Grass and occasional bushes overtook the slope, but trees could only grow at the top, like Pais’ca’s back support or bottom. From here, Neeko could see the chaotic forest floor stretching away in most directions, as well as a woman filling jars of water in a nearby stream.
“Huh.” Neeko had looked down again, at the bumpy green surface that led away from the tiny settlement. “Those look like dawnwood mushrooms.”
“’Thought they only grew on tree bark,” Pais muttered.
Neeko shrugged. He stood up and slid the long knife into its ring again with a metallic clap. Another water drop splattered on his grey hair. Despite his fifty-some-odd years, he moved with solid balance and an swift stride down the rugged slope. “No, they’re dawnwood,” he said. He touched a layer of soil between carpets of moss. “Though a log likely decomposed here.”
Pais didn’t reply at first, but Neeko was hardly paying attention to her. He started to pick a few. They were not overly useful—they weakened the blood, which relieved stress on an individual’s heart—but Neeko would dry them out in case he had need of them in the next couple months. As he tucked a few of the tiny white fungi into the loose pouch at his waist, he heard his assistant clear her throat. Now what? he thought, almost speaking out loud.
There were two tribespeople standing at the top of the hill, a man and a woman. To’cani leaned on her intricately etched history staff and lifted a frail hand to wave to Neeko. Unlike the other healthy tribespeople, she was severely malnourished. Neeko had spent a few hours asking her questioning and a few days studying her habits, but could not pinpoint the cause of her ailment. Beside her was the great warrior Esh, his scarred arms crossed under his enormous pectorals, and the great club on his back casting a shadow over the white spiral painted under his right eye.
Neeko touched his forehead and then brushed his fingers through the air in front of his face. He had deemed this customary gesture as a sign of offering his thoughts to them; only Esh reciprocated, while the tribe’s Guide held only to her staff. Her thoughts were her own. “Will you permit me to speak?” Neeko asked.
As an outsider, he needed permission. To’cani lowered her head to give permission. Neeko didn’t waste time. Despite their ample respect of tradition, the Cani were a pragmatic people. “Has the tribe chosen to honour me or will they reserve their privacy?” he asked. He had to be intentional in his word choice, to speak respectfully. Despite what Neeko might think about the pursuit of knowledge, these people did not believe he had a right to it.
“Honour,” Esh said.
To’cani nodded. “We will show you our secret, the kibroot.”
“That is why you do not eat as much as we do? It’s called kibroot?” Neeko asked, referring to Pais and himself. During their months living with the Cani, the largest meal he had seen a tribesperson eat had been three nuts, a single, tiny fish, and a piece of the cassava loaf that had been divided between the entire tribe. It was the only reason that Neeko had stayed here after his initial assessment of their resources and the surrounding forests.
Esh nodded. “Eating the kib strengthens our mouths and our throats. With a bite of kib, each other food will benefit our body and our mind as potently as your enormous meals do yours.”
“That’s incredible,” Neeko said. He glanced at Pais and her youthful smile. After her repetitious questions concerning when she’d get the second half of her pay from his coffer, she was probably just smiling because they might not have to live here for another Moon. He looked back at To’cani and Esh, and said, “I’ve never heard of such a property, an effect.”
To’cani lowered her head again, after his second attempt at a noun. They spoke a simplified language that likely predated the common tongue. Most travellers in the Elder Coast picked it up easily enough. “It is closely guarded to our people,” she said.
Brushing his forehead and offering his respect once more, Neeko looked at Esh. “I would never break the trust your people have offered. If it is not too much to ask, could I see the kibroot? Could I… test or try some, or see where it grows?” As he spoke, he slowly climbed the bumpy slope toward them. He used the word test from the common language and Pais translated it for him.
Esh looked at To’cani with an uncharacteristic smirk. He turned back to Neeko. “That is what we have offered. As To’cani said, we will show you our secret.”
“Excellent,” Neeko said, patting his breathable cotton shirt with sweaty hands.
“It will be a few day’s walking,” Esh told him. “We will leave in an hour, with a few stocks to guard us and hunt for us.”
Pais glanced at Neeko with concern. A multiple day journey into the jungle? Stocks were the important warriors of the tribe—would it be dangerous as well as miserable, she wondered? Neeko could read it on her face, but she didn’t voice her concerns to him in the moment.
“Of course,” Neeko said, lowering his head to the Cani who had shown them such favour. “Show us the way.”
As they returned, altogether, to the assorted huts of their town, the tribes people answered a question or two from Pais. Neeko studied his own thoughts instead. One thought had appeared in a bubble: A connection might be made between the root’s unusual effect and the health of To’cani. Another question flowed like the river, carrying him in its focus instead: What were the effects of this ingredient on an individual’s fatigue, on their fortitude against disease, or, most importantly, on their age?
Some questions would have answers amongst the populace of the Cani village. Others would not.