I'm up on the tight wire

One side's ice and one is fire

— Leon Russell

PART ONE

The world was flat. This was intuitive. It was obvious. No one fell off. No one ever had.

On a world forever tidally locked to its sun, there ran a terminator that was a 22-mile longitudinal strip of Kapock rainforest--the Taputini. Vertically bisecting this ribbon of lush vegetation on an otherwise paradoxically dead world, precariously juxtaposed between ice and lava, was a mile-wide river running north to south and separating the two co-existing civilizations--the Tenz and the Phillippi--who each shared their respective banks of Taputini forest.

There was a single moon that revolved around this world, although it caused nary a wobble in the borders within which lay the planet's only verdancy, it's habitable zone of arable land and fresh water. The lands between the borders of this lush terminator were where that fresh water was neither ice nor processed instantly into steam, but ran melodiously so slowly that it could be caught in a cup. The water was plentiful, for the River Taputini was mighty, fed by what was thought to be a glaciated ice rim at the top of--again, what was thought to be--their flat world.

The Tenz and the Phillippi were the self-named ancient peoples of the terminator between the heat and cold, and they were quite similar. River Taputini separated their homelands, their populations, their religions, and their histories. But while these separations existed, like the river itself they were fluid. There were hardly any secrets between them.

No bridge was ever built from the Tenz to the Phillippi shores, because the leaders of both felt that good fences make good neighbors, and the river was as good a fence as could be. That is, one couldn't just saunter over bridging to get from one side to the other; thus, it was more of a process, involving a ferry and no small amount of pageantry.

Going from one side to another was meant to be a big deal and not something too easy, because it was felt that the flow between nations shouldn't be such a passive process, but an active one--one that meant something. The meeting of two peoples should be for a special reason and not for something as casual as tourism.

The Tenz occupied the Taputini Rainforest that bordered the bright, scorched west side of their world; the Phillippi people were adjacent to the east side beyond which was forever shrouded in frozen darkness. Even though both currently co-existed without conflict or drama, that had not always been so. In fact, a serious conflict had occurred fewer than 18 world-years prior which had taken a number of innocent lives on both sides.

As such, there were some aspects to their relationship that were somewhat tentative. One such item was the pending marriage of both leaders' son and daughter, which had been planned since long before their births, cancelled during the conflict, and then reinstated after their war as a commitment to keeping the peace.

This union had been foretold in the religious tomes of both peoples generations prior; as each people ticked off their pedigrees, one generation at a time, the countdown had run its course to coincide with the birth of one male child and one female child on either side of the river. This was the holy sign between the Tenz and the Phillippi that symbolized peace. Now it seemed the holy texts had come to their conclusion, and the clerics of each religion knew that this marriage would usher a new age--one that required a new encyclical to be written.

Everything would change--the interaction between the peoples of the forest and even their religions.

The Tenz and the Phillippi of the Tatupini got along for the most part. There was the usual us-vs-them jingoism on each side, mostly fueled by military thinking and martial attention to security, national identity, and ethnic labeling. It was, of course, the foretold union between the two of them that would finally forever fuse the Tenz and the Phillippi. as the prince and princess were coming of age, there was an excitement in the air--the taste of destiny. Finally, life would be able to move as one world, one flat bisected world of limited flora and fauna and water.

The two heir apparents, Tesh and Phinea, were pampered from birth for their role. They had each been sequestered away from other children. They had been relentlessly schooled in their royal duties throughout their childhood and adolescence. They had been instructed on the intended genetic union of their respective peoples by their sexual biology, presented scientifically in a way that only piqued their interest in the non-scientific aspects of their destiny.

Fertility on the world was limited, probably due to the geographical constraints that had affected hormonal physiology in some type of mind-body connection. However, the leaders felt their children, as chosen by their Gods, would not suffer being childless. How could they? The leaders themselves had been chosen so long ago!

Piqued interest has a way of winning out, and with the cooperation of trusted servants, it was easy for the betrothed to meet each other, driven by a need to know what they were getting into.

As it turned out, they got into each other.

Thus, in a manner of speaking the Tenz prince and Phillippi princess had already sealed the deal, an impromptu, passionate tryst provoked by their passionate worries over a political dissolution to their arranged marriage: they were in love. They were unfailingly, adolescently, stupidly, and forever in love. They made themselves their own heads-of-state and their edict was as final as it was consummated.

The flora and fauna on this world had evolved as a result of the unique aspects of the planet, some plants and animals favoring the warmer vertical side of the river, while others favored the cooler side. Ironically, it was the cold-blooded fauna that preferred the warm and, alternatively, the warm-blooded ones that preferred the cooler side. Alternate biochemistries linked them to their respective climate preferences. It was this gravitation of species preference which established the ritualistic differences between the Tenz and the Phillippi religions. They each had their sacred animals--symbols of fertility, bravery, and destiny.

Only one known living thing seemed to frit freely between both of these zones--the juvenile Golden Protector wasp. Although it was called juvenile, it was actually just diminutive. Although it was called Golden, it had a reddish hue, the golden only revealing itself as an accidental glimpse out of the corner of the eye of someone privileged to catch it at just the right angle. And although it was deemed a protector, no one was sure of--from just what--they were being protected. The mythos that had emerged in subtly different ways between the two peoples generally involved the insect's magical control over the planet's axis, keeping the terminator zone stable.

The Tenz and the Phillippi had no idea how correct they really were in this assumption.

This mysterious arthropod was an enigma, being only one of its kind. Forever, both the Tenz and Phillippi never knew of any other of its race and, without the concept of reproduction to consider, the wasp was felt to be immortal.

The lore grew and overlapped in both peoples--that it was the Golden Protector wasp that kept the ice from the fire and maintained the Taputini buffer between east and west halves of their flat world. And even though such a thing was deemed crucial to their survival, all attempts to capture it--if only to protect it--proved futile. Finally, it was adjudicated by treaty that any attempts to interact with the wasp stop and forever be forbidden.

There came a time, much later, when it became murmured about that no one had actually seen the Golden Protector wasp for several generations. Yet, the forest still existed, the river still flowed, and the lava and ice were still separate hemispheres. This prompted an emergency fact-finding meeting of both heads of state.

"How could this be?" asked the Tenz leader, Tenzor.

"I, too, ask the same question," said Phillipp III, the king of the Phillippi.

The joint council, of whose lineage were the very ones who had ratified the Golden Protector Wasp Non-interference Accord generations earlier, mumbled in confusion, no one able to proffer a rational answer.

"It must still exist," said Tenzor.

"Yes," agreed Phillipp III, "for our peoples live and thrive still, within the merciful bounties of the Kapock trees and within the protection of the boundaries of the Taputini."

"Well said," Tenson said to Phillipp III. "Perhaps, I wonder, if the wasp felt slighted by our non-interference with it?"

"It was only for its protection," added Phillipp III.

"Here, here!" and "Well said," and "It must be so," the council attendees interjected.

"Well, whatever the reason," said Phillip III, since all is well, we should just assume the wasp lives..."

"After all, the forest still lives, as do its peoples. Still lives," Tenson agreed--

"But is lost," added Phillippi. "Such is the will of God."

"Here, here!" and "Well said," and "It must be so," the council attendees again interjected. They didn't discuss which God willed it, for each people had their own. But which God was irrelevant.

There being no new business, the meeting was adjoined.

One day the leader of the Tenz called in his advisors excitedly. Once they all had assembled, he had the doors sealed shut. "I found today, in my garden, the body of the dead lost Golden Protector wasp."

"The very?"

"Indeed. Our one Golden Protector wasp. The very one. Our protector. Our savior! Oh, whatever shall we do? The scorched lands will advance and overtake us."

In an extraordinary coincidence, Phillipp III had called in his advisors to tell them that he, too, had found the body of the lost Golden Protector wasp in his own royal garden. Unbeknownst to both, the one-wasp universe lay shattered in the reality of two dead ones simultaneously appearing on both sides of the River Taputini.

"Fie! the frozen death will overtake us at any time," Phillipp III exclaimed. "Certainly we should warn the Tenz."

"Your Highness," offered one of his consuls, "perhaps this is something we should address with discretion."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean to say that our one savior, our one protector, has perished on our very own land."

"Go on."

"Won't it appear--or be assumed--that it was we, the Phillippi, who were responsible for its death? That we thwarted its protection? That we created the end of our world?"

"Which is surely coming," the king said.

"Such infamy is neither welcome nor deserved."

Meanwhile, back with the Tenz, "Shouldn't we, great Tenzor, assume the Phillippi will blame us for its death? That's why we should not report this."

Both councils, without the awareness of what had played out, felt their respective peoples would be blamed and agreed to officially swear an oath that the dead Protector, come what may with fire or ice, should be kept a secret. If both peoples had only a limited time before their deaths during a terminator Armageddon, would it not be terrible if they spent that time warring with each other?

Each member of each council--and Phillipp III and Tenzor themselves--went home that night wondering if they were to have their last night alive on their world. If they would, respectively, die screaming encased in ice or in burning fire by morning. Was it the end of the world?

Hardly.

The lost Golden Protector wasp--also--was hardly a bug.

The Lost Golden Protector wasp was an infolded 3-dimensional cross-section into our world from 11-D eternity, serving here to function as a world-axis stabilizer. In this respect, the Tenz and Phillippi were right about their worldview (i.e., their doomsday view). Even though both peoples would soon discover there were two, there were not. The dimensional infolding reduction resulted in entangled wasps of the same living being after passing through the double 3-D slit on their 11-D realm. The formula for this was large enough to fill several 12-story buildings.

Were the two (one?) entangled wasp(s) entangled dead?

Hardly.

They had retreated safely into their remaining 8 dimensions. And while they still held some sway on their world's axis, there were some perturbations.

King Phillippi III was startled to realize he was still alive and not frozen to death; Tenzor, likewise, realized upon awakening that he wasn't a cinder. Each of the leaders summoned their stewards to check the status of each wasp respectively. Each steward, almost as if they were entangled themselves, entered the supreme bed chambers wide-eyed to report that each carcass--under the protections of the Tenz and Phillippi, accordingly--were gone!

The usual crosstalk between the peoples was suspended that day. The joint fishing hunt on the river was canceled. The wedding preparations were placed on hold, and the bride and groom were each placed under house arrest to make sure there were no indiscretions.

The respective leaders convened their consuls again.

"King Phillippi," his chief consul began, "I know not the whereabouts of the Golden Protector. I secured the vault where it lay, and I stationed two guards at the entrance."

"Most mysterious," Phillippi III said. "Is there any suspicion of our forest co-dwellers in this disappearance?"

"Well," the chief consul mused out loud, "it couldn't have been any of us Phillippi. After all, they are them and we are us."

"Here, here," was launched from several mouths. Phillippi III wrapped the fingers of both his hands simultaneously on the consulate table.

"It may be time to make the announcement to the Tenz authorities?" he said tentatively, raising his voice on the last syllable, as if it were a question.

"No," the chief counsel answered. "Especially if they are involved."

"How? The vault was sealed and there were guards."

"I don't know, Sire. But you know how they are."

Meanwhile, Tenzor was investigating the similar disappearance under his own watch. "No, counsel, I don't know how they are," he said. "Tell me."

"We have no reason to distrust them except that they are very cold people."

"Here, here," from the table.

"I'd like to go with my gut," said Tenzor, "and I'd like to make a surprise visit to King Phillipp." The table went completely silent. "Make this happen, counsel."

The counselors were supercilious beyond the number of actual raised eyebrows, but their leader had spoken and the preparations began.

High above River Taputini two Golden Protector wasps danced on the breeze that blew over the forest canopy that stretched over both sides of the water. They exfolded into multiple dimensions, then shot up high into the jet stream. Below, the heat that bordered the Tenz and the cold that contained the Phillippi began to move toward the central vertical river.

Tenzor, as he ferried across the river to see his counterpart of the Phillippi, noticed something never seen before in the world. Looking coldward toward the Phillippi he saw a layer of red light on the horizon. He felt it strange, because the cold side horizon seemed to be glowing, as if with severe heat.

Phillippi III's intelligence corps was excellent, so he knew about the pending visit from the Tenz leader. Standing on the shore of his side of the river, he noticed something he had never seen before. People on other worlds might call it dawn or dusk. But with the recent scare of the dead Protector, Phillippi realized the world was in motion.

"This is how it ends," he said out loud. His ferry crew lost the color in their faces. "Stop!" he commanded. The oarsmen dutifully obeyed. "We're in the middle of the river. Whatever is approaching us from the horizon comes here last. I am your leader, and I must be last to perish."

By this time, Phillipp had concluded the episode the same way. "Fetch my daughter," he commanded. His entourage started shifting their feet nervously, otherwise immobile--otherwise not off to fetch anything. "What! Why aren't you off now? Fetch my daughter!"

"Sir," the head armed escort began, "she is currently not available."

"Why is that? Is she with the Moon?" as the quaint saying went.

"No, sir, she is with the Tenz prince."

Phillipp's face blanched, then reddened in rage. He began formulating a plan for quick and harsh punishment for his guards when there appeared in the distance a sailing vessel to the north of them ducking in and out of a rolling mist that was moving toward them. This was puzzling, because any movement issued forth from the East or the West, between the two peoples settled in the forest. North and South simply were not directions of action in their world.

Tenzor stood on the bow of his official state ferry and noted the southbound vessel, too. He listed skillfully with the boat, in amazement, as the mysterious vessel continued on an intercept course with his ferry. Murmuring ensued among the two sets of contingents. Truly this was unprecedented: someone who was neither Tenz nor Phillippi--not traveling East or West.

All life on the planet seemed to stop as the sailing vessel approached. Finally, Tenzor ordered his ferry to continue to Phillipp's shoreline; he felt whatever was coming required both of them, unified, as the stewards of their world. The mist that shrouded the mysterious boat allowed only identification of how many sailors there were on it, but not any features.

True to the novel circumstances, what finally arrived was neither Tenz nor Phillippi. It was both, for the leaders would soon be surprised to see their children.

Phillippi III's dock had received the Tenz state ferry, but there was no conversing between the two leaders. All eyes were fixed on the mist rolling in from the North.

As if to make an ostentacious entrance, the mist parted like curtains being drawn, and a rope was thrown from someone on the bow. That someone was Tesh, the Tenzor prince and heir apparent to his people. Phinea, the Phillippi princess, stood behind him smiling the smile of naïvité that came with such puerile unions.

Tenzor lowered his head and when he raised it up again, his eyes were glaring at his guard contingent. They snapped into battle readiness with the shuffle and slapping of sudden posture arrangement and grasping of their weaponry.

Phillippi just stared at Phinea in disbelief. These two children, as he regarded them, were together alone, and they had been alone for some time, all of it clandestine and in the privacy of their sailing vessel. No one else was aboard.

"Father," began Tenzor. Tenzor held up his hand, forbidding him.

"No!" shouted Phinea to Tenzor. "Hear him, sir." Tenzor's grimace didn't exactly soften, but it did reach a type of neutrality.

"I have news from the other side of the world, Father. And," to Phillipp III, "your highness."

"The other side of the world?" Tenzor blurted in disbelief. "There is no other side of the world. The world is flat. It ends to the north where the river overflows the top edge and to the south where it overflows the bottom." All in witness began laughing at how unnecessary it was to explain such an intuitive truth. It was axiomatic, figuring into the religious instruction of both the Tenz and the Phillippi.

"No," Phinea said defiantly. "That is all wrong now. We have seen it. We have sailed south from here, found the great iciness at what we thought was the end of the world, and the tide from the Moon opened a channel through it, and going farther south became for us sailing north."

"How is that possible, daughter?" Phillipp III asked in ridicule. "This cannot be true, or you would have fallen off!"

"Because our world is round, not flat."

All laughed until abruptly stopping at the upraised hand of Tenzor.

"It's true," agreed Tesh, in confident affirmation.

Tesh reached down to pick up a small box and presented it to all there. He slowly opened its lid and from it a pair of Golden Protector wasps fluttered out.

Two!

Tesh and Phinea each held out a hand and a wasp lighted on each. This was no less astounding than a religious vision. All people on the shore fell to their knees.

"Our world is saved," said one of the Tenz soldiers when all saw the two Golden Protector wasps ascend out of site.

"By this union of Tesh and Phinea," a Phillippi guard added.

The two fathers stood in silence and trembled. It remained awkward until Tenzor walked from the dock to Phillippi and extended both of his arms. The two men embraced each other tightly to the cheers on both sides of them. Then they released each other and turned to the young couple. Tenzor embraced Phinea, his new daughter-in-law, and Phillipp III embraced his new son-in-law, Tesh.

While the rest of the two kingdoms were getting more and more inebriated, Tenzor and Phillipp III sat in arduous, focused negotiation designing a new world order. The nations were now joined in sacred bonds, and the couple symbolized the new unified realms on either side of River Taputini. After two days of wanton debauchery outside their doors, they were ready to receive the new couple upon whom the entire all-encompassing document relied.

Both Tenzor and Phillipp III would sign, but so should the miraculous couple who single-handedly ushered in a new wonderful age; and the fact that they brought with them two Golden Protectors and not just one--as it was believed to be, only gave an additional guise of magic to their union. Surely the world was safe from the fire and the ice.

But what of this other side of the world?

The religious prelates of both nations had also met to issue a joint encyclical, which coincidenatlly was completed at the same time as the sovereign governing edict.

From the Clerical Council of the Church of the Tenz and the Basilica of the Phillippi:

Our great books did not say our world was flat. They only implied it by stating that the holy among us will never fall off. Truth revealed, no one has. And although the land appears flat, Tesh and Phinea have insructed us otherwise. Their tales of another realm of forest on the other side of the world can only mean we live on a sphere so big it only appears flat to us. Otherwise, anyone on the other side of a flat world would fall off, and our royal prince and princess returned intact and in the flesh. Our Supreme Being--whichever one of our two is the true One, works in mysterious ways. Nothing falls off, except the lost Golden Protector wasps, but they fall up. It is not up to us to interpret the Supreme Being, only to accept what appears to us as truth until a new truth replaces it. This is called Faith, and the lack thereof may still risk falling off this sphere, as it is. No shapes are more adherent than others. Whether flat of round. That's what we have learned by this God-given epiphany.

As expected, there were some growing pains in the new world order, but over the months the unification matured peacefully. When all seemed as if it were going smoothly, portending for a glorious river civilization spanning both sides, the bottom dropped out.

"The royal couple are gone!" shouted a handmaiden. The couple had rotated residencies on either side of the river, so it was the Phillippi guards who alerted Phillipp III. He immediately was ferried to Tenzor's residence for a meeting.

When he arrived, he was shown into the proclamation room, whereupon Tenzor presented the letter from Tesh and Phinea. Although they both had signed it, it was obviously Phinea's penmanship.

Dear loving parents,

This is the hardest thing to do, since both our mothers had been killed in that great stupid war. We've come a long way, have we not? We think so. Suspicion is extinct and ill-will between our peoples is a relic of unhappier times. The Protectors live on as does our way of life between the lava and the frozen-over desert. The River Taputini is clear, clean, and replete with the swimming life that helps sustain us. The fruit is plentiful and the ground fertile. Our natural environment is stable and expectations of each day are never disappointing.

There is a whole new world. Our exploration and surveillance of the continuing river on the other side, and its own lush forests, have shown it to be uninhabited by being such as us. And the animals and plants are according to an entirely different plan. Perhaps there is only one God there, and he must be mighty. Or she?

There is a particularly lovely garden where fruit trees stand tall and plentiful. We have set out for it and wish to settle it. If we haven't returned by the time you read these words, you should assume the South passage was still patent. Although we could hardly fit past the North one when we had returned months ago. We believe this to be a once-in-a-millenium phenomenon. If it remains open, we will return with our family (I am with child now); we will visit. But we will return there, for that will be our home. Our world. Our future. We will be fruitful and multiply and fill that world. If the passages seal, perhaps in hundreds of generations our two peoples will meet.

Tenzor handed the letter back to Phillippi. "We should set out an expedition at once to retrieve them," he said. "Our unification is fragile."

"No," Phillippi replied. He could hear his daughter's voice in the written words said out loud. It was a benevolent voice and portended benevolent things.

"You are right," Tenzor said. "They are with child and that is the confirmation of their independence to act as they want. I wonder if we should confer with the clerics on this."

"Oh, no," Phillipp III blurted. "Don't involve them in anything important. If there be any catastrophic repercussions, certainly the wasps will be back. And God knows what else."

"Then we should be careful," Tenzor urged. "We've run out of sons and daughters." Phillipp nodded in agreement.

"Is it me, or is it getting cold in here?" he asked Tenzor.

PART TWO

The Old World and the New World were ready. They were poised to assume their geographic destiny. The entire globe trembled. Then it shimmied. Then it began moving in a spin. The whole process taking a world-year.

First the winds began, and the river peoples had to batten their windows and doorways. Many domesticated animals were lost and much vegetation was battered beyond salvage. Above them, the people witnessed the stratospheric meeting of fire and ice, day and night for months. High above were the explosions of mutually exclusive elements, forced into sublimation. A rosy fog covered the lands, filtering the sunlight into a moire pattern of shimmying rainbows that crisscrossed themselves, inventing new hues never before witnessed.

Next, the dawns and dusks flickered on both sides of the River Taputini. The Tenz and the Phillippi had never seen such horizons to the East and the West.

Even more miraculous was the moving of their outlying borders. The lava receded and hardened; the ice melted and water flowed over the salt beds that had lay hidden immemorial. As the lava cooled, mountains erupted upward with thunderous noise and ground-shaking; as the salt beds mixed with the melted ice, an ocean brewed.

Ultimately, dawn repeated according to the circadian rhythm of the Tenz and the Phillippi; dusk came for every day's end. An age of unaccustomed fertility ensued, and the intermarriage between the two river peoples became fashionable. Soon, an ocean lay to the East and a continent lay to the West. There would be an explosion in population with many places for them to migrate.

PART THREE: 800 world-years later

The ancient patriarch and matriarch, Tesh and Phinea, had been fruitful and had multiplied. The long-perished Tenzor and Phillipp III rest in peace in the history books. The North and South Passages had never returned to patency, now covered with miles-high glaciers. Thus, an ocean separated the New World from the Old World on one side, and a dense forest continent on the other. The way was also blocked by at the ice caps.

When maritime progress finally allowed long voyages, it was the people of the Old World who would venture to their counterpart first, as they were a millennium ahead in their history, knowledge, and even existence.

They had heard the mythos of the antediluvian Tenzor and Phillipp III, and how the Golden Protector wasps had ascended above the heads of the betrothed Tesh and Phinea, high enough to take with them the Grand Attractor that was their anchor to an unchanging hellish day and forever frozen night.

The Tenz contemporary scientists would call it an axis, for they had long separated the science from the mythology. They understood that this axis wasn't functional until whatever the lost Golden Protector wasps symbolized set the torque about it into operation. Thus, their science, far advanced from that of the New World, would measure the tilt of this axis to explain seasons.

The New World mythos, however, explained it differently, appreciating the nature of the Golden Protectors but not necessarily understanding the science. It was no matter, for it was--for the New World--that science and religion were the same.

Their Good Book's first lines read,

In the Beginning, Father Tesh and Mother Phinea came to the New World at the behest of the Golden Protectors, who had absconded to establish the VOID that then was filled with the World Motion that begot night and day. The nature of the Golden Protectors is one of the Mysteries, which we celebrate as fertility in the newly returned Warmed Months each World-Year, and from which we ourselves take part in body and in blood. Blessed are the Golden Protectors, for They allow the World to sustain our bodies while they sustain our very Souls.

There came the day that the ships from the Old World reached the shores of the New World. The ship captain, as now recorded in the history tomes, had told the seminal story of first contact:

These are primitive people, yet they possess wondrous things--novel foodstuffs, amazing beasts of burden, and precious metals. Their men are strong and can lift mightily, and their women are seducing for childbearing. This find is Our find, and we can benefit greatly by settling here in this New World and shaping its future.

It is evident that these primitives need the guidance, leadership, and direction of our Old World to steady the rudder of their journey toward our manifest destiny.

Far away in other dimensions, a pair of Golden Protector wasps circled this discovery of the New World by those from the Old World and re-envisioned an axis stayed in its rotation; re-imagined the impurities of the age purged by fire and ice. High in the stratosphere, they fluttered their wings in indecisiveness: whether to tidally lock this world in termination of fire and ice.

They say the early tribesmen of the jungle first found the golden protector wasp while searching for water on their arrival to the Taputuni forest. The tribe had two fierce leaders, a man and a woman, both formidable and wise in their own ways, but so competitive that the tribe had only found misfortune before they came to the jungle and decided to split the tribe in two.

The first party saw the wasps glowing high up in the treetops, their striped bodies glistening, glowing, positively rippling with recurved light from the dim sun of the planet, the wasps shining down pulsing flashes and beams of white light. The party crept up the tree, the leader urging others to follow him, entranced by the blinding lights above them.

When they reached the top of the trees, limbs aching, panting and sore, they were rewarded by finding abundant forest fruits, thick with water and practically falling off the branches with their ripeness. Biting down unleashed a cascade of delicious sweet flesh. From then on, the party settled amongst the trees to be closer to their golden protectors, as they would come to be known. The tree dwellers named themselves the Cakor tribe, and would live peacefully with their golden protectors from that day onwards.

Meanwhile, the second searching party sighted the golden protectors spread out across fallen trees, struck the nights before by lightning. The wasps pulsed and heaved, their little bodies emitting flashes like pulsar stars, and the party leader shouted out and ran towards them, the rest of the party sprinting to keep up with her. When they reached the fallen logs they found a deep, rippling pool, surrounded by herbs and plump mushrooms, with a small stream tinkling into it. They went on to create a settlement beside the fallen trees and the river and named themselves the Mala, and would live peacefully with their golden protectors from that day onwards.

Did I say peace? Peace with the golden protectors perhaps, but this peace did not extend to humanity. They say the first war started when a Cakor man was seen in bed with the wife of the chief of the Mala tribe. Others say it was when the Cakor harvest of air fruits spoilt one season, and the chief blamed the Mala for poisoning their crop. Others still claim that it was a drunken revelry got out of hand.

But however it started, the first Mala-Cakor war was bloody and brutal, the jungle soil stained red with blood. The Cakor fought from the trees, raining arrows and spears from above, while the Mala set fire to the trees and cut them down, slaughtering the Cakor as they fell. And in the skies the tribes waged war atop flying pigs, armed with spears, jabbing at each other and their mounts, causing hundreds of deaths of both riders and the ridden.

Every peace time between wars was filled with tension, no true peace to be had, each tribe determined to fight on until one tribe wiped out the other, and that was the way it was for many years, the golden protectors flashing their lights only upon violence and tragedy, bloodshed and death.

Only after a particularly gruesome bout of fighting, in which more than half of each tribe were killed, did an effective agreement finally fall into place - the Mala-Cakor laws. Signed by two whispering councils of elders on sacred soil, at the base of an ancient tree, with the golden protectors hovering around. No more fighting. No more bloodshed. And many other rules in between.

Since that day, there had been true peace between the tribes, and pigs had flown unmolested through the skies, their riders happy and free.

But that all changed one fateful night.

*

It was a warm summer's night, the type of night where the children of the Cakor tribe always stayed up late in each other’s huts in the trees, collapsing past midnight, all tangled bodies together, blankets thrown aside for the sweaty air. It was a warm summer’s night, and quiet too, until there was a rustle at the doorway and a child slipped inside, wrapped in a tunic, his face glowing, illuminated from below by a box where light just slipped out from the cracks. He picked his way over the slumbering bodies as he crept inside.

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Stavo blinked and sat up. He looked closer, narrowing his eyes. It wasn’t - it was! “Aldan? What are you doing out so late?”

His friend pushed a finger to his lips and came closer, so that his tunic rustled against Stavo. “Look what I found,” he said, and held up the glowing box like an offering.

Stavo wanted to ask many questions. Why was Aldan out so late past their bedtime? Why was he all covered in grime? But curiosity stumped them all. “What’s in the box?”

Aldan smiled and winked. He held his eye close to one of the chinks. A sharp humming noise emanated from the box. “Don’t tell anyone, ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stavo said, “Show me what's inside!”

“Do you promise?”

“Promise on my father. And Journa.” That was serious. Even in the past, Aldan had never swore on his favourite flying pig mount.

“Ok. Ok. Don’t freak out.” Aldan lowered his arms. “But I caught a golden protector.”

Stavo gasped. A golden protector? His heart pumped and his world went foggy for a moment as he composed himself. “You - no. A golden protector. They’re protected by Mala-Cakor law!” He struggled to keep his voice to a whisper. If the other boys woke up now…

But Aldan only smiled wider. “I know it's forbidden. But who cares about what the elders think? It means we can have light in here during the night as well as the day.”

“That’s forbidden too!” Stavo’s hands were shaking, “The golden protectors are supposed to bring us light, but only in the day. It will throw everything out of balance if you use its energy in the night! Think of how dark it would become if everyone just hoarded away the golden protectors!”

“But it's only one,” Aldan said, shying away. “Just a young one.” He crossed his arms. “Don’t you think it's cool?”

Stavo took another look at the box. “Yes it is - cool. But you have to release it, Aldan! You know how the elders track the golden protectors!”

But Aldan shook his head and tucked the box under a blanket beside him, then laid down and closed his eyes, as if beckoning Stavo to do the same.

Stavo stared up at the wooden ceiling of the hut, unable to sleep. How could his friend doze off so easily, after what he’d done? What would the elders say? How could he keep such a thing secret? He tossed and turned for hours that stretched on endlessly, until finally sleep snatched him.

The next day, he had to do something to keep his mind off Aldan’s box. So Stavo clambered across the tree-to-tree walkways and found Journa’s stable. He slipped inside, lights filtering through the slats in the ceiling, veils of white. His flying pig’s body glistened in the dappled light. The stable stank terribly, pig shit mixing with the odours of rotten vegetables from the feeding bowls. But Stavo was well accustomed to it by now. He didn’t even have to hold his nose anymore. He made his way forward and lured Journa out of the darkness, whispering kind words in her ear and beckoning with his fingers. She wobbled forward, big body swaying. She was so smart. She was such a good mount.

They flew into the air, Stavo squealing at the speed of it. He stroked his flying pig’s nose as they spun through the forest trees. The jungle was bright as a thousand days, golden protectors whirring through the branches, glowing brighter than fireflies, bending the dim sunlight that came to the planet from above, and converting it to brilliant flashes that kept the trees growing and the grass blooming. You wouldn’t have noticed that one was missing, he thought. It was comforting, to think that. Aldan would get away with his secret for now, then he’d grow bored and release the wasp soon enough. Stavo pressed himself against the warmth of his flying pig and smiled. Everything would be ok. Why had he even worried?

https://www.freepik.com/premium-photo/flying-pig-with-wings-that-say-flying-pig_45112564.htm

That was when he saw it. Another pig rider. And they were riding a dark brown mount, swinging through the trees, golden protectors flitting out of the way. A Mala tribesman. What were they doing up in Cakor territory?

Stavo turned Journa around, his brow furrowed. This couldn’t be anything good. They followed the rider, metres behind, as they lost height, spiralling lower and lower, and finally landed on the forest floor beneath the Cakor village.

A crowd had formed already on the ground below. A black Mala pig was a rare sight in Cakor territory. People clambered down from the sky pods onto the jungle floor, a big heaving mass of peaking eyes and jostling bodies, their chatter filling the humid air.

Stavo landed amongst the crowd, people scrambling to get out the way to make room for Journa’s bulk. He ignored their glares and leaned forward. He had to see what was going on.

The Mala elder dismounted and hobbled forwards, both his hands on an old gnarled stick.

The elder from the Cakor clan stepped across the clearing to greet him. “How goes it, Darno?”

Scowling, the Mala elder leaned forwards on his stick. “It does not go well, that’s for sure. I’m going to make this quick.”

The crowd was pressing closer. Stavo patted Journa as people bustled around them. His flying pig hated to be around so many people, but it couldn’t be helped.

“There’s a young golden protector missing,” Darno said, shaking his stick, “Our wasp counters spotted him gone.”

“Dead?” the Cakor elder said.

“No.” Darno's face was firm. “You know as well as I that golden protectors die with a light flash. There have been no light flashes. Someone’s taken him. And it's not from our clan.”

The Cakor leader clenched his fists. The crowd behind him was restless, mutterings and whisperings rippling through like electric currents.

“We would never attack a holy wasp! I’d wager your own kind would be far more likely,” the Cakor elder said with a sneer.

Darno waggled his stick at the crowd. “I know it's one of yours. If you don’t bring us the missing protector by tomorrow, we will seize it back by force.”

“You’re not suggesting - war? Are you?” the Cakor elder said.

But Darno had already turned on his heel, and he leapt onto the back of his flying pig. With a tap on the head, the pig flapped into the air and they swept away through the dappled treescape.

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The crowd dispersed, whisperings rippling through the crowd. You could taste the fear in the air. Stavo frowned. Surely they couldn’t mean war. The Mala-Cakor laws forbid anything like that from happening.

But the look on the Cakor elder’s face as he strode away from the glade was the most troubled Stavo had ever seen him, and it sent nerves creeping down his spine.

That evening Stavo confronted Aldan, while they sat watching the stars above the forest trees. No one else was about but them, the air still. A parakeet flashed past their heads, a blur of blue and green.

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“Did you see what happened this morning?” he said, turning to his friend, “I didn’t see you there in the crowd.”

Aldan nodded. “I saw.” He fiddled with his fingers. “The box is really great, you know. I can hear the golden protector in there still. It’s perfectly alright, perfectly happy, I think. And I can see in the evenings! It’s so amazing. I don’t see why we haven’t ever captured them before!”

Stavo shook his head. “What you’re saying is sacrilege, Aldan. No one can take light from the day. You know this!” He felt light headed. Why couldn’t his friend see reason? He was going to plunge them into something and he didn’t even care! “Do you want us to go to war with Mala?”

“Of course not.” Aldan waved his hand. “That’s not going to happen. There hasn’t been a war for years now. You know the laws. It’s hardly going to be broken over something like this.”

Stavo bit his lip. How could his friend be so sure? “But why don’t you just release the golden protector?” he said, studying Aldan.

“Why should I? I told you, it's fine in there. No one will care in a couple of days. It’s just a wasp, for gods’ sake!” Aldan was flushing red.

Stavo closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Just look at it,” Aldan said, and Stavo felt him press the box into his hands.

Stavo opened his eyes and stared at the box. It glowed orange in the chinks, a prism of light. There was something enchanting about it, like staring into a fire. It was hard to take his eyes away. And there, just within earshot, was the persistent humming. It was hard to believe such a creature could be caught, made to serve prisoner.

“Cool, right?” Aldan stared at him intently.

Stavo sighed. “Yeah. I can see why you want to keep it. I guess - I guess I understand.”

“So you’ll keep it secret still?” Aldan said.

Stavo paused. “Of - of course. You’re my best friend.” It was true.

Aldan smiled and slapped him on the back. As Aldan strode away, the box held close to his chest, Stavo pressed his lips together. He should feel happy. He was helping out his friend. He’d kept his secret. And there was no harm in Aldan keeping it a few more days. So why did he feel so rotten inside?

*

He didn’t have the heart to ride Journa the following day, so he stayed inside his own hut, not ready to face Aldan again, not wanting to mingle among the village, afraid of what he might hear.

His father stomped into the hut and glanced up at Stavo. “Inside?” he said, “Why are you moping around in here, Stavo? Go outside and get some light from the protectors while you still can. It’s the summer, for gods’ sake.”

Stavo melted into the corner. His father rarely spoke to him. It was a surprise to hear him now. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Are you ill?” His father drew closer.

“No!” Stavo inched away, “there’s nothing wrong with me. I just don’t want to go out the hut today, ok?”

His father stepped back and sat down on an old carved wooden chair. He stared out the doorway at the jungle and pushed out his lips. “You know, Stavo. People are saying the Mala might declare a war, just over this missing golden protector.”

https://in.pinterest.com/pin/man-sitting-in-chair--402368547964386168/

Stavo looked away. “Really?” His voice was quiet.

His father nodded. “You know what happened last time we had war, Stavo?”

Stavo bit his lip. It was strange for his father to talk so much. He didn’t want to talk about this. He wished his father would just leave the hut again. But he had to say something.

“Yeah I remember, father. You don’t have to remind me, please.”

His father shook his head and stared out the door.

A few moments passed in silence. The silence burnt at Stavo. Suddenly he was desperate for his father to speak again, to say something, anything. Something not about the war. The war -

The soldiers with paint on their faces, blood on their spears. The flames, pillars of them, licking at the very sky, golden protectors burning up all over the place, exploding into flurries of colour. The screams of his mother as she ordered him to go, to run. The fear all over her, the tears streaming down both their faces. Tumbling through the darkness, no golden protectors to light the way, fleeing from the nearest sounds of cracking twigs and footsteps. Returning, one day, with mother gone and father in his chair, dead silent as a stone. He used to gush endlessly about anything. Before the war.

“There won’t be a war,” Stavo said, so quiet he wasn’t sure his father heard.

But his father nodded, lowering his head. “I certainly hope so, Stavo. I certainly hope so. But if this golden protector isn’t found I don’t know what will happen.”

That night, he couldn’t find Aldan, though he searched all across their usual haunts. The old tree. The abandoned hut. He went to sleep with an uneasy sickness in his chest that no amount of twisting and turning his body could remedy.

The next day, he was riding high above the canopy, upon Journa when he saw them. At first he hadn’t been sure, they were indistinct but no, there were definitely black flying pigs in the distance, just through the trees, blots against the green tapestry. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t right. They were only a few miles out from Cakor village, in Cakor territory. The Mala-Cakor laws prevented trespassing except for important reasons. Everyone knew that. So why were the riders there?

And when he returned to the village in the afternoon, people were whispering terrible things. Someone said they’d spotted men creeping through the undergrowth just outside the village border, holding spears. Others said they’d heard strange noises in the night.

And men were being called up by the Cakor elder, to have private conversations in his hut. Stavo was still a child and didn’t get called, but his father returned white as a sheet, marching straight to his chair and slumping down.

“What happened, father?” Stavo leant across the table.

His father shook his head and was silent for a while. “They’re gathering the men up for training. For war. For war, again. I don’t believe it, Stavo.”

Stavo was silent. His heart beat frantically against his chest. “But the Mala-Cakor laws, father. What about them? They can’t break the laws. No one’s ever done that.”

His father breathed out through his nose. “I don’t know, Stavo. I don’t know. They say we’ve broken a law of protection to the holy wasps already. So it's a law for a law to them. If you ask me, the Mala are just finding an excuse to fight. They’ve probably been readying an army for years, waiting for a moment like this. The golden protector probably isn’t even missing, I tell you!”

Stavo couldn’t look at his father. Did he look as guilty as he felt? Was it a smell on his body? A stench wafting from him? But his father hadn’t said anything.

“They won’t break the laws, surely.” But even as he said it, the image of the two black riders flashed in his mind. Stavo winced. “What can we do, father?”

His father shook his head, waving an unkept mane of hair, “I don’t know. I just don’t know. We need a miracle - someone to find this golden protector. If it really exists at all.”

That evening, Stavo asked around the village for Alden, asking everyone he bumped into where they’d last seen him. Finally he found his friend, sitting alone at the top of a ladder, on a wooden platform near the outskirts of the village. The sun was setting off in the distance, casting an orange glow across the trees and shrubs below. Little lights flickered, where the golden protectors sunk down from the sky, to nest for the night.

“Alden.”

“Stavo.”

“Howcome I haven’t seen you more?” Stavo said. When he met his friend’s gaze, he found a pale, trembling face.

Alden looked away. “I’ve been - I was staying with the box. Mostly.”

“You’re hiding.” It was a fact, not a question.

“It’s ridiculous. The fuss over a wasp,” Alden shook his head. “I’m not giving it up. They won’t break the laws. It’s all going to blow over soon.”

“Why are you hiding then?” Stavo hadn’t meant it to sound so angry. He gulped back a nervous laugh.

“Because people might find me and - you know what would happen,” Alden said. He smiled. “I’m so glad - to have you as a friend, Stavo. I knew I could trust you to keep the secret. Anyone else would have spilled long ago! But you know that things are ok.”

Stavo tried to smile but it came out wonky. “I’m not so sure anymore, Alden.”

Alden grabbed his arm. “Don’t say that! You’re not going to do this to me! Stavo, please.”

Stavo shook him off. “I’m not going to break my promise! But I just mean - things are looking bad, Alden. You have to admit. War. I saw two Mala riders today! In our territory!”

“They won’t break the law!”

“They already did!” Stavo exhaled. They had become far too loud. He looked about himself. But no one was nearby. No one had heard.

“I don’t want a war,” Stavo said, “No one does.”

Alden bit his lip and didn’t meet his eye. “I can - I can hardly just announce myself though, can I. Just - trust me, Stavo. It’s going to be ok.”

“Will you promise me you’ll release it? Soon.” Stavo stared at his friend.

Alden looked away. “Yes, I promise.” The words tumbled from his mouth and he leapt to his feet. “See you tomorrow, Stavo.” He brushed off his clothes. “And don’t worry yourself.”

Stavo couldn’t sleep again. Alden had said he would release the golden protector soon. Stavo wanted to believe him but he wasn’t sure. He said the laws would hold up but he wasn’t sure either. Gods, it was hard! He could hardly turn his best friend in!

He turned over again. There had to be a solution. No - it was too horrible. No - he couldn’t possibly. Stavo sat up in bed. It might be the only way to avoid hurting his friend and stopping the war. Images of war flashed through his mind again, as they often had. He’d been a child at the time, but he could still remember it all clear as day.

No, he had to do something, and he had to do it now.

Stavo rolled out of bed, quiet as he could, and crept from the room, past his father’s sleeping form. The whole village was asleep, and without the golden protectors the night was all consuming outside, but he knew the walkways like the back of his hand and he did not fall as he strode up the familiar ways. To Alden’s hut.

The night air was bitingly cold and he shivered as he strode. The slats of the walkways were slippery and he almost fell - but caught himself, and climbed back onto the path. There was a reason people never moved round the Cakor village at night. But this couldn’t go on any longer. Even a day more and the war might erupt.

After forever, he reached Alden’s hut. Aldan was sandwiched between two of his sisters. But where would the box be? He would hardly leave it lying around for anyone to see. Think, Stavo, think. He pressed a hand to his head.

Aldan wouldn’t leave it outside the hut. He’d want to be close to it. So close to it. Of course, there was only one place it could be. Stavo gulped.

He crept across the floor, making sure not to step on the sleeping sisters, and reached for Aldan’s body. Yes - there it was! Tucked beneath his chest, propping him up at a strange shape. Gods! How could he do this?

Stavo pushed his fingers under Aldan’s chest. He stirred, wriggling in his sleep. Stavo paused, withdrew his hand. Try again. He brushed the box, tugging it backwards. Aldan rolled over, crushing his arm. It took everything not to shout out. He ground his teeth and slipped his hand free. One last try. He moved from the other side, and pushed this time, two fingered, ever so gently. Yes! The box tumbled across the floor, clattering.

Stavo checked the sleeping form of Aldan. But, miraculously, he was still asleep. Thank the gods. Stavo scooped up the box. He held it to his ear. The buzzing was still there.

Tiptoeing, he slipped from the hut and made his way across the rope ladders to the stable where his flying pig would lie sleeping. With the lightbox held out in front of him, he could find his way across the paths much more easily than before, and he stepped with sure-footed confidence.

“Journa.” He tapped her on the nose. The pig’s eyes flashed open like lightbulbs. She snuffled at Stavo, edging forwards in the stable.

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“I know it's late. But we have to go now. Before - before anything bad happens. Come on Journa.”

They jumped up, up, up into the night. With only the box to guide them, progress was slow. He had to be careful not to drive Journa into a tree. The branches grabbed at them and strange creatures called in the night. Stavo shivered, pressing closer to Journa’s warm flank. He’d never loved the dear pig as much as now.

They dodged their way through the trees until finally he made out the round huts of the Mala clan in the dark distance.

Journa stomped onto the ground, sending plumes of dust up into the air. Stavo leapt off and dashed towards the great elder’s hut in the centre of the Mala village, the box swinging like a pendulum from his hand.

That was when he saw them - a Mala clansman, marching round the corner. Oh gods!

What was he doing at this time of night?

Stavo pressed himself against the wall and hid the box behind his back. Curse the light from the box! It was sure to give him away. But the clansman carried on by, unaware. Stavo let out a deep sigh.

But then he realised. Journa! What if they spotted her? There was no saying what they’d do to a Cakor flying pig in a time like this.

Stavo rushed out from his hiding place and returned to Journa’s side. He grabbed her by the nose and pressed a finger to his mouth. Did Journa understand? He hoped so. She was a smart pig. A good pig. “Come on Journa.” He stepped back towards the undergrowth. He could hide her away in the trees and they wouldn’t see her.

Slowly, Journa followed, her footsteps heavy and so loud it made Stavo wince with every step. But they were in the trees now, well covered in the undergrowth. “Now, stay here Journa.” He met her big eyes. He just had to hope she understood.

He stole back into the village, the box pressed against his chest. He was so close now.

Reaching the elder tent, he slipped inside. The thick odour of sweaty bodies filled his nose.

They were laid out - a dozen elders, top and tail, so close together you could barely step in the room. And where was Darno?

Of course. On the opposite corner.

Stavo tiptoed over the slumbering bodies. Crouched, he nudged at Darno, his heart racing. If this didn’t work, he didn’t know what he’d do.

The elder opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes.

“What is going on? You’re not from this clan, are you boy?”

Stavo took a deep breath. “No, I’m not sir.” He held out the box. “You were looking for the golden protector?”

The elder squinted and nodded. In the darkness of the hut, his eyes glowed white like some kind of demon.

“Well-” Stavo gulped. This was what he had to do. It was the only way. He’d promised not to tell on Aldan. A promise - was a promise. “I - I stole the golden protector. It was me. I have it here. So you mustn't go to war.”

Darno raised his eyebrows. He took the box from Stavo’s hands and examined it. “Inside here?” he said.

Stavo nodded. His heart pounded against his chest. What would the old man do to him, when he saw it was true?

Darno smiled like a child as he opened the lid. The golden protector zipped out, bursting the room into a glowing white chamber, and dodged out the doorway into the night.

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Stavo braced himself for a slap, a punch, some verbal abuse.

But Darno only kept on smiling. “Thank you, boy. You saved us a lot of trouble.”

“Aren’t you angry at me?” Stavo said, shaking.

The elder squinted and shook his head. “To tell the truth, child… can you keep a secret?”

What? Stavo gulped and nodded. “I promise I can.”

Darno paused for a moment, rubbing his beard. “Well - when I was younger - I kept a golden protector in a box like this for a time. Just to see what it was like. You made me a happy old man, to see such parts of my youth again.” He smiled, and patted Stavo on the shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone it was you. Don’t worry.”

Stavo gulped. He felt tears prick his eyes. He was going to be ok.

“Is the war still on?” he said, breathless.

Darno looked up at him, his eyes half shut. “Well - now that the protector is free…” He rubbed his chin. “I can tell them it was recovered somehow. It might make us look a little foolish but - I suppose that's - that's ok. We won’t go to war.”

They were all going to be ok.

Darno pushed him with the palm of his hand. “Now be on your way, boy. Before someone spots you in our territory.”

Stavo nodded and stumbled out of the hut and into the night. Far off in the distance, he thought he saw a flash of light, just flitting through the trees.

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Part 1: Discovery

The Ye’kuana people (https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/a9/Construcci%C3%B3n_de_Curiara.jpg/1280px-Construcci%C3%B3n_de_Curiara.jpg) lived nestled in the depths of the Taputuni rainforest. They live a simple yet comfortable existence underneath the lush, green canopy. They lived alongside their former enemies, the Sanumá (https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/1a/Yanomami_Woman_%26_Child.jpg/440px-Yanomami_Woman_%26_Child.jpg).

This coexistence came at a high price. Countless lives from both tribes were sacrificed over the years for the peacetime they could enjoy now. The people in the village today could recall losing fathers and husbands to the tribal wars. Their final battle cries still echoed still throughout the forest. A scarlet macaw (https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/47/Scarlet_macaw_%28Ara_macao_cyanopterus%29_Copan.jpg) seemed to screech in unison. The Ye’kuana people, like many other indigenous groups throughout the Amazon, believe in animism, the belief that all creatures, objects, and places have interconnected spirits. To them, the macaw was a physical manifestation of the souls of their ancestors calling out. Today, that call was a mourning wail.

The Sanumá were part of a larger group, the Yanomami (https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/93/Indio_Yanomami.jpg/440px-Indio_Yanomami.jpg), whose history was permeated with violence. While this was something the Ye’kuana people were also familiar with through years of tribal wars, the Yanomami were unique in that they had a history of brutal infighting as well. Their stone-faced expressions covered generations of inner turmoil and distrust. They were no strangers to conflict even within their own villages. Can you fault a civilization for being territorial when their territory is all they have to defend?

Today, though, the two tribes could look each other in the eyes without sharpening their spears at each other. There was an agreement that the dividing line between their territories, the thicket of cacao trees (https://img1.wsimg.com/isteam/ip/2b7e3d0b-e14d-44a0-b845-2f5061238abe/61de3270-882f-4373-b4f2-93ab1d4f3305.jpg/:/cr=t:21.43%25,l:0%25,w:100%25,h:57.14%25/rs=w:814,h:407,cg:true), was a peaceful zone. Each tribe was responsible for maintaining order from within and doling out punishments to those who violated the treaty. Violence alongside the cacao trees resulted in forcible banishment. Violence at the cacao trees resulted in a public hanging by the wounded tree. The trees and creatures who had been enlisted throughout the years to serve as tribal protectors were more sacred than the lives of the people themselves.

The tribes lived with a healthy amount of respect and fear between them. What kept their bond strong and unbroken was the vigilance of the Golden Protector wasps (https://imgs.mongabay.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2020/02/21121330/acrotaphus.jpg). These wasps had protected the forest for as long as the tribes had occupied it. Two people, one from each tribe, were tasked with raising and caring for the wasps, which had been trained throughout centuries to guard the people of the Taputuni rainforest. Now, rather than being trained to fight each other, the Golden Protectors had been united in their fight against a common enemy. The Protectors were not just active symbols of peace between the tribes, but also a crucial defense mechanism.

Unlike the tribe’s warriors, these wasps were bred for external conflict. The rivers and streams surrounding most of the perimeter of the two villages generally did a good job of keeping out intruders from the New World. They brought their evils with them whenever they stumbled out of their territory: disease, violence, and disrespect. They slaughtered Ye’kuana and Sanumá people indiscriminately for sport, as if they were worth less than the jaguars (https://files.worldwildlife.org/wwfcmsprod/images/Jaguar_GPN7474/story_full_width/4q517ahb0m_Responsible_Forestry_8.10.2012_Biodiversiry_Loss_HI_7474.jpg) they mounted on their cabin walls back home. Their sins had poisoned the very air they breathed so now, even the mosquitos buzzing through the trees carried their pestilence (https://imgs.mongabay.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2017/10/16052129/anopheles.png).

Despite the violent nature of the wasps’ work, they were known for being intelligent and empathetic. They held deep bonds with each other and with their caretakers, the guardians. The Golden Protectors defended the tribes from invaders with their poison-laced stingers. The wasps had a 100% success rate so far — no one got through to the tribes unless they were brought in dead. The wasps always did their job, and they always came back to recharge by the cacao trees. They liked to refuel with the swarms of flies that pollinated the trees’ blossoms (https://www.snexplores.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/860_main_sidebar_chocolatepollination.jpg). One day, a juvenile Golden Protector never made it back to the trees. The remaining wasps resumed their work, albeit with frazzled flight patterns, signaling that it remained alive somewhere in the forest. They were smart, and they always found their way home in the end. They trusted each other and the people they protected.

Kiri was a young Ye’kuana woman and the village mystic. She had never been married and never bore children. Instead, the gods gave her the gift of vision over the land when she came of age that the Chief Elders recognized. They insisted that she watch over all the Ye’kuana rather than limit her talents to a single family. She had an innate, unbreakable connection to the spirits of nature. The rainforest spoke to her and the Golden Protectors listened to her. She was regarded highly for this. She had been able to enrich the lives of her people more with her words and visions than many others had with the laughter of a dozen children. Though highly respected, Kiri was deeply lonely. She had lost her mother and father at a young age, so she had no family to speak of. The other women had no interest in befriending the childless mystic, either. Ultimately, it just gave her more time to learn how to communicate with the creatures around her.

Kiri had heard the tortured cry of the macaw that day. She dropped to her knees in horror as it rang in her ears. This sounded like a tortured farewell. Something had gone terribly wrong. Kiri hurried outside to get a better view as the wind blew eerily through the trees. Anxiety twisted her stomach into knots. The children dancing next to the kapok tree that created the shelter for her home (https://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/roots-of-a-kapok-tree-diccon-alexander.jpg) saw her face and bolted toward their parents. Something about her looked broken.

She gasped for breath and ran for the cacao tree where the wasps’ guardians lay waiting. She got there just in time to see the wasps come zipping through the sky and meet them in a frantic swarm. They wished they could speak the same language as the tribes, which is where Kiri came in. She was the bridge between the Taputini’s people and its creatures.

This Protector’s death was not a common occurrence. The wasps always did their jobs effectively, letting no harm come to the villages or to themselves. They were so used to dying of old age. In their youth, they were ruthless killing machines that took advantage of the fact that they could sting endlessly without losing their lives. Now, however, a sacred life had been lost. How could this be?

Kiri untied a small sack that had been attached to the rope around her waist. It contained a mix of pollens from holy flowers around the forest. She sprinkled it over the swarm of Protectors huddled together around a branch and they slowly raised up back into their formation in the air. These pollens, much like the fermented nectars humans drink, helped the wasps to forget about their pain just long enough to return to their lives for a spell. Kiri stood up and took a deep breath (https://static.scientificamerican.com/sciam/cache/file/C1EDEE09-8668-4605-91D36258FF92CA15_source.jpg), just long enough to center herself and reach out to the forest spirits. She asked the Protectors to take her to the deceased and nodded at the guardians to follow her. Kiri couldn’t make the wasps forget everything forever. Their suffering and anger was unavoidable, and it could undo years and years of careful training.

Kiri and the two guardians walked somberly into the forest. Each guardian looked back at their respective sides of the cacao trees, their eyes briefly meeting the wide-eyed children hiding between the branches. Children from both tribes laughed and played with each other here. The children didn’t quite care for tribal politics, and lived much simpler, happier lives as a result. It wasn’t until they got older that they learned how to hate each other.

Like the children, the guardians also occupied a physical and mental space far from politics. They were like the light and dark side of the moon, two distinct parts of a whole living in synchrony. The tribes had learned through trial and error that the best guardians were selected for their diplomacy, not their aggression. Guardians had to understand their place as caretakers of the Protectors, not warriors for the people. Appointing a guardian with the wrong traits resulted in maimed wasps, and as a consequence, hoards of distrusting Golden Protectors in a harsh forest for people that can’t afford to lose their first line of defense. Both the people and the Protectors relied on their symbiotic relationship.

The remaining wasps led them to a small clearing in the forest where an Amazon Royal Flycatcher (https://a-z-animals.com/media/2022/10/Amazonian-Royal-Flycatcher.jpg) sang a melancholy tune over the crushed body of the lost, and now sadly fallen, Golden Protector. It had brought it from the battlegrounds it died on to this peaceful clearing within the tribes’ domain. This saved Kiri and the guardians from a dangerous trek into the outer rings of the Taputini rainforest. The bird fanned its colorful, feathered tuft in all directions and flew away, leaving the three and the band of wasps in a deafening silence.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Part 2: Accusations

Neither Kiri nor the guardians ever wanted it to go down like this. The women were screaming at each other in both villages, the cacao trees now merely representing a suggested border rather than a firm divide. The Ye’kuana and Sanumá men were punching each other until their fists gave out. The children were busy playing with the birds (https://www.nrdc.org/sites/default/files/styles/large_16x9_100/public/oeyasuni_03_slideshow_07_cfg9n3_rm_ds_1920x1080.jpg.jpg?h=d1cb525d&itok=iDgGW6Gf) and laughing at pictures they were drawing in the dirt. A Sanumá boy used a stick to trace the shape of a large wasp as a Ye’kuana girl adorned it with a crown of golden flowers (https://www.delfinamazoncruises.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/wild-2876244_640.jpg).

The adults in the villages screamed vile accusations at each other. They hurled insults like stones. The peace was broken. Glass pieces forged by the tribes’ artisans were shattered against rock walls. All that the people had heard was that one of their beloved Protectors had been murdered. The way they saw it, there were only two possible sources of the crime, and they were all right here by the cacao trees.

Kiri heard a high chirping sound behind her cutting through the primal yells. She turned around to see a capybara sitting under a banana tree (https://www.activewild.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/Capybara.jpg). She smiled at the absurdity of this plump, little creature trying to make its voice heard among the chaos. These creatures were friends of the two tribes, as animals’ souls belonged to no one tribe or person. She bent down and gently laid her hand on its head. It chirped happily and nuzzled her hand with its snout.

Kiri needed this small act of warmth and kindness. It had been such a difficult day. It felt like she experienced loss so often, starting with the death of her parents many years ago. She felt responsible for all of the creatures as the only Ye’kuana woman capable of speaking with them. She knew it wasn’t logical, but she still felt like she had to take responsibility for allowing a Protector to fall under her watch.

The Protectors had tried to rest on the tree branches as Kiri and the guardians explained what they had found. It didn’t take long for accusations and fists to start flying through the air. The wasps had risen up above the trees and stayed there for their own protection. They heard Kiri lightly weep through the battle cries and flew over. The eldest Protector flew right in front of Kiri’s nose. She felt the words dance from the Protector to her mind.

There is something you need to know. You must make this known to your people. There was a terrible accident after our young one took out a group of intruders.

The Protector hovered down onto the petals of a Strelitzia flower (https://media.istockphoto.com/id/1302804609/photo/strelitzia-reginae-crane-flower-bird-of-paradise.jpg?s=612x612&w=0&k=20&c=kWJoC-9SZUiPnGIFusj2gAmO52K5_Xdnf0SwZUk6xrA=) and continued speaking to Kiri.

A young boy went out looking for his father in the outer territory. He was weeping over his father’s body when he accidentally stepped on our fallen brother. It was not an act of war and your people cannot be allowed to treat it as such. I see now why our service is of no use to you all when you live to destroy each other anyway.

Kiri finally allowed herself to cry as the Protectors dropped down to form a circle around her. “You trusted me,” Kiri said between sobs. “You all expected me to keep you safe and I failed. And now, the weight rests on my shoulders to ensure that another life is not taken. We are not murderers of innocent children.”

Daughter of the Taputini, you have done your job and more in taking on the pain of your people. Remember that two arms alone are not enough to embrace a whole village. You know what you must do.

Kiri was used to carrying the burden of a village’s spiritual ailments, but now she would have to take on the role of diplomat on behalf of both her people and of this defenseless child to prevent war between the tribes and the outside world. The invaders had superior technology, but the tribes had the upper hand in the dense, mysterious forest. In the end, it didn’t matter because they would all be dead anyway. Usually, the forest tended to favor the spirits who nurtured it over the years and allowed them to punish those who did not. Rules eventually had to be broken, however.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Part 3: Revelation

Kiri walked toward the cacao trees, her mind rehearsing a hundred sentences that would never be heard with every step. She climbed up onto the roots of a kapok tree guarding the entrance to the villages (https://nplimages.infradoxxs.com/cache/pcache2/01338792.jpg). All she could do was let out a heartbreaking cry as she leaned against the sturdy trunk. She felt like it was all she had to hold onto now as she looked out at the fists and vitriol flying through the air. How could she ever bring together these two tribes?

The children, guardians, and Golden Protectors were the only ones on the outskirts of the brawl. Despite being from opposing tribes, the two guardians had an unbreakable bond as the only ones who walked the planet with this unique responsibility. They knew each other as well as they knew themselves, and knew that this tragedy was anything but political. Perhaps the tribes had something to learn from these two. The guardians approached Kiri with arms reaching out. Kiri took their hands and stepped down from the great root.

“Friends,” Kiri whispered, “I have so much to tell and so little time. We all know that this death was premature, but the spirits have spoken. The Protectors have said that this was an accident by a strange child. We must act quickly before the tribes destroy each other.”

The guardians each grabbed the horns they had tied to their waists and blew into them to emit a loud, haunting tone. This captured the tribes’ attention instantly. They all turned to face the three who spoke for the Protectors.

“My Ye’kuana and Sanumá brothers and sisters, the culprit is not in front of you nor at your side,” Kiri shouted. “He is far beyond this camp and part of the clan that has tried to break our defenses for so long. Our fellow tribespeople are not to blame. You are not to blame. I can no longer lay the blame at my own feet, and you must vow to do the same.”

Kiri walked through the cacao trees to face the tribespeople scattered throughout. “Our bonds are known to the Protectors and threats to the invaders. Our Protectors trust us to lay down our arms at our twin spirits and band together against the Others. Together is the only way through.”

The Chief Elders from the two tribes, Yama and Sa’ku, approached her after a quick glance at each other. They knew she was right and they trusted her words as the voice of the rainforest more than anyone. Mystics had an innate connection with the forest’s spirits that acted like the glue between them all. She was the central point of peace and understanding, and she carried that responsibility with great pride.

Yama, the Ye’kuana elder, spoke first while wagging his finger at her. “You will take us to the offender. Blood for blood.”

Sa’ku, the Sanumá elder, nodded sharply and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, the law of the forest is clear. Balance must be restored.”

A thunderclap roared throughout the forest, echoing throughout the canopy and launching families of scarlet macaws into the skies (https://birding.amazonconservation.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/scarlet-macaw_25968195455_o.jpg). Their cries rang through the trees as the skies darkened. Heavy drops of rain quickly pelted their heads and dripped down the leaves of the cacao trees (https://pzizz.com/blog/articles/new-batch-of-rain-and-thunder-mixes/img/rainforest1.webp). Kiri wiped the rain off her cheeks, unable to tell where the rain stopped and her tears began.

“Come with me,” Kiri told the Chief Elders and the guardians. The Chief Elders followed Kiri’s lead outside the bounds of the villages while the guardians stayed back to keep the peace among the cacao trees.

The remaining Golden Protectors had been sent out to go ahead and scout out the territory beyond the villages’ borders. They were exceptionally well-trained at locating and disposing of offenders and quickly found the little boy laying on a large rock by what was once his people’s camp. Kiri heard their signal and led the Chief Elders to him. Thankfully for them but rather unfortunately for the Child, the creatures of the rainforest had already taken care of disposing of the bodies that the juvenile Protector had piled up. Little remained of them besides some bones and scraps of clothing.

The boy’s body was sprawled limply on top of a large rock. He could not have been much older than six years old, though his exposed ribs made him look even smaller than he really was. He had clearly not had a bite to eat since the juvenile Protector had perished at his hand. The tribespeople had never seen a juvenile invader. Yama and Sa’ku approached the nearly lifeless boy with clenched fists. Kiri jumped in front of them and instinctively threw her arms out to shield the boy.

“Please,” she begged. “It is clear that he is all alone. Allow me.”

Yama gritted his teeth as Sa’ku scoffed. “This was not the plan,” they hissed.

“Please. I am responsible for the Protectors, too, but these took a father away from his boy. This is wrong. We have Protectors to defend our land, but we are not murderers. We have the opportunity to rewrite the law of the forest for the better.”

Sa’ku raised her eyebrow at Kiri. “Then tell us how you plan to restore balance,” she demanded.

Kiri reached down to stroke the boy’s forehead, which now had beads of sweat dripping down. He didn’t even flinch. He was burning up with the pestilence that flew in the air. His own people had brought it to the Taputini, but they clearly had not been prepared to fight it themselves. The people of the rainforest had, out of necessity, devised a number of potions and mixtures (https://media.istockphoto.com/id/1341442891/photo/female-witch-making-potion-on-dark-background-magic-bottles-with-potions-and-candles-on-table.jpg) that killed the disease faster than the disease could kill them. She knew that she could save him if she was allowed the chance.

She carefully picked up the frail boy and cradled him in her arms. “You will not suffer for the sins of your father like we all have,” she whispered in his ear.

His eyes stayed closed, but he seemed to curl himself more snugly into her arms. Children seek and are driven toward warmth. In the humid heat of the Taputuni rainforest, the warmth this little boy needed came directly from Kiri’s heart. He had experienced such terror since his arrival in this strange forest. It’s doubtful that he would have survived without this kindness. The Chief Elders understood this and understood this was an important turning point for their tribes — for better or for worse.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Part 4: Revolution

Kiri carried the boy close to her chest on their way back to the villages. His rapid heartbeat soon slowed to mirror the steady drumbeat of her own. Yama and Sa’ku walked just behind her in silence and with hands held together tightly. It was a deeply meaningful sign of allyship for their people. They arrived to find both tribes sitting all around the cacao trees. They were humming in harmony with the Golden Protectors flying in a circle over their heads. Out of respect to the lost Protector, they had joined voices in prayer as they waited for their leaders to return. No one dared step out of line with tensions so high already.

The Chief Elders stopped and looked out at their people. They each let go of the other’s hand and parted ways to lead their respective tribes toward the village centers. The wind blew hauntingly through the lone cacao trees as the footsteps trailed off into the towering branches of the Dinizia excelsa (https://tf-cmsv2-smithsonianmag-media.s3.amazonaws.com/filer/23/69/236929e8-29e6-4a30-a1f5-ab95f626fccb/file-20190911-190044-a5xm2j.jpg).

Sa’ku ordered the Sanumá to stay home for the rest of the evening and to take a break from their labor the next day. She wrung her hands as she headed into her own hut, nervous about what was to come. Tomorrow, she would reconvene with Yama to discuss the Child’s fate. In a perfect world, everyone would have gone home, stayed home, and enjoyed the extra time to spend with their growing families. Instead, two Sanumá men snuck away from the village while the rest of their tribe was preoccupied.

Duva was young, but old enough to have been considered a man in the New World. When he came of age among the Sanumá, he was assigned the role of warrior. All he remembered at this point was his training. In the absence of wartime with the Ye’kuana, his unrealized rage had bubbled to the surface. He was known for being explosive, being unstable, and having a deep hatred of the Ye’kuana for their crime of mutual peace. He desperately craved the feeling of his spear piercing an enemy’s chest. Today’s brief brawl had made him feel alive.

His brother, Tani, was not much younger than him but looked up to him like a father in the absence of their own. Their father had been taken in the last forest battles, so they had grown up into young men with responsibilities far beyond what anyone their age should have to bear.

“Our father would never stand for this. He would have ripped the boy apart himself,” Tani murmured, looking to his older brother for approval.

Duva nodded as he walked toward the Ye’kuana with his spear. “He is an intruder. The New World has no place here, just as it has no place for us. Rules and boundaries exist for a reason.”

Tani looked ahead at his brother stalking through the forest. “Duva, what happens if we get caught?”

Duva felt his anger boil up to the surface again and turned around to lightly slap his brother’s cheek. “Only cowards ask that question, and father hated cowards.”

The brothers continued walking in silence. Duva turned around and grasped his younger brother’s shoulders. “Blood for blood,” he reminded him.

Across the dividing line between the villages, Yama stood surrounded by the Ye’kuana. The torchlight danced over the dark circles under his eyes. He looked around at the children peering up at him with curious eyes and at their elders huddled around expectantly. After a long pause, he bowed his head and wished everyone a good night. There was plenty of time for discussion tomorrow. For now, it was in everyone’s best interest to rest and reset for the night.

Duva and Tani knelt in the brush just outside the Ye’kuana village center (https://dims.apnews.com/dims4/default/40952f3/2147483647/strip/true/crop/3000x2000+0+0/resize/599x399!/quality/90/?url=https%3A%2F%2Fstorage.googleapis.com%2Fafs-prod%2Fmedia%2Ffcde9ab1bcbd439b8f13277ed8183526%2F3000.jpeg). The crowd disbanded to reveal the little boy resting on a stone slab and wrapped in banana leaves. Kiri was feeding the barely-conscious Child a tea made with the bark of the cinchona tree (https://www.stlherbsandaromatics.com/uploads/3/1/0/6/31068271/s995531351389264043_p537_i1_w453.jpeg) to break his fever. She stroked his forehead and sang him a long-forgotten lullaby that her mother once sang to her. The Protectors joined her and together, they filled the air with a pleasant hum.

The little boy finally opened a tired, blue eye. He had woken up from a fantastical dream about river spirits, vicious wasps, and villages burning themselves to the ground. He called out for his papa in a hoarse, weak cry. Kiri did not understand his people’s language, but she understood that familiar wail. Grief knew no geographic or cultural boundaries. She picked him up and rocked him back and forth in her arms.

The swarm of Protectors continued their humming in a circle around Kiri and the boy. Kiri had told them how the Child would help bring peace to the Taputini, allowing the Protectors to live more peaceful lives as he became their new messenger. Rather than a message of ruthless violence, they would now have a representative who could actually speak with the invaders. Perhaps, in time, this would bring peace throughout the forest and they could all lay down their weapons to exist in harmony. Kiri spent the night curled up around the Child and they slept by the light of the torches.

Duva and Tani had been mesmerized by Kiri’s song with the hum of the Protectors. They fell asleep where they lay waiting and woke up at dawn in the shade of the Wasai tree roots (https://res.cloudinary.com/rainforest-cruises/images/c_fill,g_auto/f_auto,q_auto/v1626693670/Amazon-Medicinal-Plants-wasai/Amazon-Medicinal-Plants-wasai.jpg). Duva saw the stars still twinkling above the rising sun and shook his brother awake.

“This is our chance to do what’s right,” he insisted.

Tani rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stood up next to his brother. They stepped forward carefully on the tips of their toes to stay unseen. When they got to the edge of the village square, Duva lifted his dagger high above his head and started charging. The Ye’kuana were such fools to leave the boy unguarded with the village witch, he thought to himself. He didn’t even get within a few feet of the boy before the sleeping Protectors rose up from their sleep.

The process was quick and instinctual for the wasps. The two eldest Protectors each flew forward toward the brothers, one injecting its venom into Duva’s neck and another stabbing through Tani’s carotid artery. The brothers fell to the ground with arms outstretched toward each other. It was an almost elegant scene.

The Protectors had sent a strong message to both tribes with this action. The Child was just a young boy who got caught in the crossfire of a longstanding war he had no role in. They forgave him for his accidental, literal misstep. This little boy would not be a martyr for his people. He would be the bridge between peoples instead.

Kiri had been startled awake by the thudding sound of the bodies hitting the ground. Then, the dagger fell to the ground with a clatter and woke the Child. He didn’t call out for his father. He just squeezed his eyes shut and curled up into Kiri’s arms. He and Kiri didn’t need to speak the same language. She understood that she had to keep him safe and he understood that he could trust her to do so.

The commotion slowly woke the Ye’kuana while the Sanumá slept in their homes. The Ye’kuana stepped out with sleepy eyes under the rising sun (https://good-nature-blog-uploads.s3.amazonaws.com/uploads/2022/08/org-5.jpg). Many of them screamed when their eyes adjusted and revealed the two bodies in their village center. They all kept their distance. The lines painted on their faces said that they weren’t one of theirs. Finally, a few of the men began hauling the bodies away to give to the Sanumá for proper burial. Yama almost couldn’t believe his eyes when he walked out.

“What have we done?” He gasped and ran over. “Now the Child has brought death to our two greatest allies.”

Yama paced back and forth until Kiri yelled out at him to stop. “Speak to Sa’ku and show her the puncture wounds. These young men were not taken with our spears or arrows. The only people who die from the Protectors are those who threaten them.”

Yama paused in his tracks. He knew she was right. The Protectors would never attack without reason. These Sanumá men were a threat that had been neutralized, plain and simple. This decision had not been made or carried out by any of the Ye’kuana. Both tribes disagreed on a number of issues, but they had agreed long ago that their Protectors would occupy the sacred, nameless place between the Ye’kuana and the Sanumá. Their punishments reflected the will of the rainforest alone.

Yama marched off behind the men carrying the bodies to the Sanumá. After what felt like hours, they finally walked out toward the grove of cacao trees (https://www.cocoterra.com/wp-content/uploads/steps-grow-a-cocoa-tree.jpg) together. They stood side by side as they addressed both tribes. The boy would belong to no tribe, not even the one he had been born into. He would be raised to lead both tribes into a brighter future underneath the forest canopy. One day, he would go out and join the Protectors to communicate with those from the Old World in their own words. Perhaps in the future, their defense system wouldn’t have to result in so much death.

Kiri felt anxiety rise within her. She rocked the Child back and forth in her arms as the color slowly returned to his pink cheeks. She knew she was soothing herself more than him. This was massively uncharted territory for everyone. Neither of the tribes knew how to deal with those from the New World, much less care for one of them. The boy felt like he had been dropped on another planet when he opened his eyes to see hoards of people who looked like nothing he had ever seen before. Kiri had only ever cared for herself throughout the years, but somehow this felt natural. It was like the Taputini had gifted her the exact child she was meant to care for at the exact time she needed to.

She looked down at the little boy, who had his blue eyes fixed hungrily on the bunch of bananas hanging above their heads (https://gardenerspath.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/12/Overwinter-Banana-Plants-FB.jpg). His stomach had been growling at him for days. Kiri smiled at him and reached up to pick one off the tree. She watched him struggle to pry the banana open and chuckled. He really was in a brand new world now. She showed him how to turn the banana upside down and split it from the bottom. He was delighted to learn this new trick. He would have to learn the Old World ways of the Taputini. Under Kiri’s care, he would learn so much more.

The Child would learn how to communicate with not just the rainforest tribes but with all the different creatures that kept it alive. He would speak for the forest, and the forest would listen. It didn’t erase the sins of his forefathers or bring peace to the Old and New Worlds, but it was a start. This was the first step in healing the Taputini.

In time, the Child grew old enough to accompany the guardians in their work caring for the Protectors. He was still affectionately called the Child even when the wrinkles formed on his freckled skin. He helped strengthen the guardians’ connection by providing another voice to the rainforest. When they grew old and ill, he became the first Chief Guardian for the wasps in many generations. The role used to be battled for among the tribes, and now it belonged to neither of them. They were happier that way, focusing their energy toward creating a new world order that transcended any earthly, tribal associations and valued every spirit that occupied the Taputini. Who knew? Perhaps this peaceful energy could one day reach the New World, too.

(1) https://www.adventuresingoodcompany.com/images/thumbs/0000684_ecuadors-amazon-jungle_1980.jpeg

(2) https://files.globalgiving.org/pfil/12229/ph_12229_99633.jpg

(3) https://natureconservancy-h.assetsadobe.com/is/image/content/dam/tnc/nature/en/photos/x/i/Xikrin%20women%20painting.jpg?crop=0%2C235%2C4000%2C2200&wid=4000&hei=2200&scl=1.0

Part Zero: Existence is a Story

“Look deep into nature & you will understand everything better”- Albert Einstein

Existence is a curious state. It is a complicated combination of living and understanding, of what once was, what is, and what will be. In the grand scheme of everything, the fleeting moments to occur between the living, of the interaction of civilizations, of the hearts beating and the breaths leaving from every manner of creature - from the tiniest insects to the mightiest beasts - are inconsequential moments in the vast tapestry of existence. Time will continue beyond every petty squabble, every truce made, beyond the fights, the death, and the rage that plague the world. Time will move beyond nostalgia and memory and goodness. Yet, we look at it with infinite closeness, with the hope that somehow our problems are going to be the thrown stone that shakes the world, the single flap of a butterfly's wings that changes history. We hope that we are at the center of the world, unsure of how to define our existence without the actual existence of us, knowing that so many experiences have had to come together in order to arrive at this specific point. In the vast expanse of time, where countless events unfold and fade away, we are reminded that even the seemingly insignificant actions hold the potential to ripple across the fabric of existence, like the butterfly's wing stirring the currents of fate or the ripple created from a stone tossed into a lake. So we look and we care and we tell every story. We pay attention to every potential change, every rise and fall in the depths of life. We look deep into nature and we learn and we hope and we grow. Amidst the tales of the rising tide, myths of the beginning of creation, stories of how far someone can run when fueled by spite, and the sounds made when a single bullfrog croaks while sitting alone in the middle of a forest, there is a profound realization of life and of existence. This story is every one of those stories, but it is also the story of nature and of grief and of beginning, and of the unseen cost of forest diplomacy.

Part One: A Story Starts at the Beginning

“Mourning, the act of dealing with grief, required attention. Until now there had been every urgent reason to obliterate any attention that might otherwise have been paid, banish the thought, bring fresh adrenaline to bear on the crisis of the day.” - Joan Didion

Along the boundaries of the Great Kithrykk River, in the buttress roots of the tall Kapok trees, two civilizations raged. Their anger was fueled by grief, the peace between them having broken alongside the killing of the smallest of the Golden Protector fleet. The Golden Protectors were the peacekeepers- Wasps blessed by the sun to travel between the Kapok trees, and to keep guard over the civilization lines of which the Kithrykk River flowed alongside. None dared cross the Kithrykk in the times before, and only foolish children and the most stalwart of the water service ever even approached its shores. But now, the waters themselves raged, threatening all of those who approached. With a juvenile dead, the Golden Protectors had turned their backs on the Atrix and Fentrin civilizations, no longer willing to tame the elements that they once presided over with loyalty. Instead they mourned, nestled into the highest branches of the Kapok trees while harsh winds blew away all who tried to approach. They did not want to hear talks of peace from civilizations whose words dripped rage, anger, and war. The Protectors were a tribe of peace, of balance, and this uncalled for death of their own had tipped the scales- necessitating their isolation regardless of the pleas from the civilizations below.

Before the time of the Protectors, the Atrix and the Fentrin lived in an uneasy balance between each other and the elements that surrounded them. They did not know how to tame the water, were not unable to calm the winds, and had no defense to the harsh rays of sun and fire that would often appear. They jostled to find space, to determine who would settle amidst the Kapok roots, the young trees being the first sign of safety in a dangerous world. In those times, the Atrix and the Fentrin did not speak, and lost many members to the temptations of the Kithrykk and to the battles that occurred between tree roots, as shelters rose and fell to wing, tail, and claw. There was no peace, not between each other and not between the elements. But, after ages of death and strife- the Golden Protectors had come, large wasps that had settled the elements and brought a companionable peace to the two warring nations. There were few instances of fighting, but most would simply coexist beneath the Kapok trees, collecting resources from the riverbanks, and tolerating one another’s close proximity. This uneasy peace had lasted for years, so long as the Protectors controlled the elements and kept the waters calm. However, with unfortunate deaths and the heavy consequence of grief, the Golden Protectors had retreated for the first time since peace had been settled years prior. No longer did the winds die at the command of the Protectors, no longer did they keep the waters from being a tempting territory for the reckless. Instead the two civilizations raged- the Atrix and Fentrin screaming across the river, lashing out in grief, in anger, and in confusion- slipping back into the wild history that had begun their stories, each laying fault with each other and spurring the chaos into continuity. Yet, both the Atrix and the Fentrin were hopeful that they could convince the Protectors to break their new isolation, and return the fraught environment to peace.

Part Two: Sometimes the Beginning is not the Start

“A bad peace is even worse than war.” - Tacitus

The Atrix sent their Ambassador first, a larger Darner Dragonfly, who at one point in their lengthy career had brokered a peace between the fierce Tegu Lizards and their feisty Caiman cousins over a dramatic feud only whispered about between the reptilian clans, and dramatized by rumors of regicide, romance, and ridicule in the greater Atrix villages. The Atrix hoped the Darner would be able to clarify their lack of fault for the death of the young Golden, and evoke empathy as a fellow winged creature, horrified by the wing struck fate of the juvenile. They were sure that the fault lay with their foes across the river waters, the Fentrin villages to blame for the death.

So the Darner approached, wings fluttering as he prepared to weave his pleas of peace, to bring stability back to the fraught nations, and to calm the raging elements that threatened their village. But as he flew farther into the branches, the wind began to buffer more strongly- swirling in lengthy gusts, a brisk barrier to the highest branches. Back and back the wind blew the Darner, forcing him to turn back after many discouraging attempts, none of his words even close to reaching the Protector’s above.

The Fentrin sent their Ambassador second, a small fire ant, only just having begun training in their political arena, new to this battle of words and subtlety. They sent the juvenile fire ant up the trunk of the tree, scuttling alongside the tree length and through the paths of its bark towards the upper branches that sheltered the wasps. They hoped that the young nature of their Ambassador would appeal to the Protectors, allowing them an audience in acknowledgment of the similar young nature of their fallen member. But as she scurried up the bark, it seemed that nature itself was against her, the path becoming more and more treacherous as twigs and branches seemed to grow together in front of her very eyes, the Kapok trees working against her to prevent any message or arrival from reaching the eyes and ears of the Golden Protectors sheltered above. And so, after many blocked attempts, the young fire ant turned around, returning to the tenuous shelter of her village among the tree roots, none of her carefully planned words reaching the Protector’s above. .

And as days passed, and nights followed- both the Atrix and the Fentrin continued to feud, certain that the other civilization was at fault for the loss of their protectors, and the raging winds, turbulent waters, and burning sun that had surged in the wake of death. They continued to send attempts at messages into the trees above, but the Atrix jumping spider was struck with a web that refused to stick, and the Fentrin mosquito was caught by sudden rain, waterlogging their wings until they landed on the ground. They sent members of the ambassadors, of the messengers, of the water patrol, and of the food service to failure. They attempted gifts, leaving bounties of precious stones and golden honey in the upper branches of the trees. But the gifts were not accepted either, their presents being knocked from the branches by the unrelenting wind that protected those grieving above. Even appeals to the elements themselves were fruitless, the wind growing harsher and water more fierce in response, and so the stability of each civilization began to fall further and further into the dredges.

With each failed attempt, hostility between the nations grew, certain that if the other just admitted fault that everything would return to normal, that it would all come to a sudden ceasing end. And as their anger grew, so did the waters of the Kithrykk. Families that once neighbored peacefully threw harsh words over tree root fences, and creatures that once refused to even tear blades of grass, began to knock over the hasty sand barricades created to defend against the rising water. The world was in chaos, and only the highest branches, where the Golden Protectors grieved, seemed to be untouched by nature’s hostility.

(Image and information about the Darner Dragonfly: https://greennature.com/darner-dragonflies/)

(Image and information about the Tegu Lizards: https://www.evergladescisma.org/the-dirty-dozen/tegu-lizards/)

(Image and information about the Caiman lizard: https://nationalzoo.si.edu/animals/caiman-lizard)

(Image and information about the fire ant: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fire_ant)

(Image and information about the jumping spider: https://www.terminix.com/blog/bug-facts/jumping-spider-fun-facts/)

(Image and information about the mosquito: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mosquito)

Part Three: What Becomes The Start

"It was how wars really ended, Dieffenbaker supposed -- not at truce tables but in cancer wards and office cafeterias and traffic jams. Wars died one tiny piece at a time, each piece something that fell like a memory, each lost like an echo that fades in winding hills. In the end even war ran up the white flag. Or so he hoped. He hoped that in the end even war surrendered." - Stephen King

It started as whispers, hidden under the still rampant buzz of cicadas. It was a question of what the next steps might be, of what would happen if the Golden Protectors refused to come back, if they stayed lost to their chosen isolationism.

“Are we going to keep fighting each other?”

“When will we know peace again?”

“Are the Golden Protectors ever going to come back?”

“What do we do now?”

“Can we survive without them?”

“When is this all going to end?”

“Why are we even fighting?”

Question after question fueled by desperation and anger and loss, and whispered into existence because of it. But the questions did not stay whispers. They became hushed conversations between families huddled behind sand barriers, dug deep into dirt tunnels, and sheltered into the homes built between the roots of the Kapok trees. It felt rebellious to question what was next, to doubt if this chaos was the right thing. But yet, in nearly every insect, every bird, every lizard, frog, and toad, of the Atrix, and of the Fentrin- these questions lingered.

And the longer that these questions lingered, the louder that the questions grew, spreading like ripples on the surface of the troubled waters. They reached the ears of those who were tired of the fighting, exhausted by the endless cycle of blame and anger. They reached the ears of those who were too young to understand the reason behind the fighting, but old enough that they were already part of the fight. They reached the ears of those who had already experienced mountains of their own grief, and who yearned for a similar peace and isolation. They reached and reached and reached, the questions spiraling out to all of those who needed to hear them. These individuals, scattered among both the Atrix and the Fentrin, began to speak in hushed tones, seeking a way to bridge the divide between their civilizations and find a path to peace.

They formed secret meetings, gathering under the cover of night, hidden within the nooks and crannies of the Kapok trees. The fireflies provided a soft glow, illuminating their discussions as they shared their fears, their hopes, and their desires for a better future. These were the peacemakers, the dreamers who believed that harmony was possible, even in the face of grief and loss.

But these peacemakers, these dreamers were still divided, split into pockets within their own civilizations, unsure of how to connect with those across the divide, unsure of whether there were those who even wanted peace in the civilization that warred against them. The peacemakers knew that they needed a plan, a way to bring the divided factions together and initiate a dialogue. They realized that they couldn't rely on the traditional channels of communication that had failed them before. The wind, the water, and the elements seemed to conspire against their efforts, blocking any attempts at reconciliation. Their ambassadors had been rejected time and time again, by every frog, every bird, every insect, every being that was willing to try and approach the Golden Wasps isolated above them. In their secret meetings, the peacemakers brainstormed ideas and considered alternative approaches. They understood that they needed to bypass the anger and blame that had consumed their civilizations. They needed to find common ground, a shared purpose that could unite them despite their differences. They needed each other.

It was a sudden burning realization among those burdened by their desire for peace. This would not be like the times that had come before. The steadfast and loyal Protectors had been burned by their mistakes, there would be no one to come in to tame the wild environment and enforce peace between their civilizations. They had taken that for granted before. Seen their coming as a blessing from above, a gift from the very nature that rebelled around them. Forsaking that had caused chaos to return- only this time they would need to fix it themselves. It wasn’t the Golden Protector Wasps that an ambassador needed to be sent to. The Atrix and the Fentrin needed to meet between themselves and build peace on their own accord. Otherwise, they would continue to fight a two-faced war forever, one against their neighbors, and one against nature itself.

(Image and information about the Cicadas: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cicada/)

(Image and information about the Fireflies: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firefly)

Part Four: In Which Everything Has an Ending

“Everything has to come to an end, sometime.”

― L. Frank Baum

It was the Fentrin that tried first. They chose a day that was dreary, clouds in the sky, a cold breeze, and rain on the horizon. They started small, sending one of the fruit flies in their cadre as a scout, hopeful to identify someone, anyone in the Atrix that may also want peace, instead of the blood-ridden war raging around them. The tiny scout went slowly, hiding from potentially violent eyes, across the Fentrin border, scurrying around battlefields towards the Atrix village. And as night approached, he hid in the crevices of Kapok bark, in outskirts similar to where the Fentrin held their own secret meetings, in hopes that the Atrix would do the same. Hours passed, and many creatures went by the small fruit fly without notice. But, as rain began to fall and the wind grew colder, and the edge of day began drifting into night- a gathering began to occur in the low clearing where the scout was hidden. Through it all, the Fentrin scout listened to the whispers, as members of the Atrix too had begun to despair the growing rift and senseless violence occurring between the two civilizations. And from their hiding spot, nestled deep into the grooves etched into the tree bark, a tiny flicker of hope began to grow- thoughts of a path forward were finally within reach. Potential actions ran through the scouts brain. Do they reveal themselves? Keep hiding and wait to discuss with the rest of the Fentrin rebels? What if revealing themselves would mean ending the war sooner? What if the Atrix thought that the scout was against them? Each potential decision felt drastically important, the weight of two civilizations falling into the crosshairs of what was occurring in these moments. In the end, the fruit fly decided to stay hidden as the Atrix rebellion began to disperse, making the careful journey back to Fentrin territory. The information learned today was too important to risk having only a small scout knowing it. It needed to be shared and scattered, so that further planning could be executed. And so they returned, cautious along the path that they had followed to arrive, to bring together their small band of rebels and discuss their next moves.

What the Fentrin didn’t know was that at the same time as their scout was eavesdropping on the Atrix rebels, another secret operation was being sent out to the Fentrin territory. It had gone undiscussed in tonight’s meeting, too afraid that even whispers would jinx the trials of the Atrix scout being sent to discover any possible rebellion or dissent among the Fentrin’s.

And so, similarly hidden among the Fentrin civilization, another scout watched and waited to catch the rebellious whispers from their fellow warring civilization. The Atrix scout scurried low to the ground, a sly beetle, well known among its peers as being sure footed and quiet. Ducking under leaves, deep into the Fentrin terrify they watched as groups of animals passed by, as dusk fell over the sky until only moonlight remained. The beetle waited and waited and waited, their hope slowly dwindling as no whispers slipped through the trees, and no sound shook the leaves. But, as the murmurs of dawn began to appear on the horizon, a small fluttering of wings appeared in view, soon joined by a small council of insects, amphibians, and all manners of other creatures, huddled together in furtive whispers. The gathered council circled around the small fruit fly that had arrived first, and what they spoke about was the hope that both societies needed to rekindle peace. But even more shocking to the Atrix scout, was the account given by the fruit fly of the journey they had just returned from. A scouting mission to the Atrix civilization that had exceeded their expectations. They too had hidden groups, rebellions groups, and were desperate for peace between the nations. The hidden beetle realized in those moments that both civilizations had sent scouting groups to the other, and while the Fentrin scout had just returned from spying on the Atrix, they were still hidden among the leaves to watch the outcome. But parallel questions ran through the mind of the beetle: What to do now? Do they reveal themselves? Keep hiding and wait to discuss with the rest of the Atrix rebels? What if revealing themselves would mean ending the war sooner? What if the Fentrin thought that the scout was against them?

Caution whispered at the corners of the beetle’s mind, stressing that there was time to make decisions without being rash. But war is an emotional game to play, and buoyed by the hope running through them, impulsive thoughts began to creep at the edges of their mind. Everything that was happening, from the confirmation of another scout, to the desire of ending the war, to the way that the sun was peeking from just beyond the horizon, had a way of kindling unexpected courage within the beetle,and thus buoyed by the spark of possibility, they chose to act- dismissing the caution that had once been considered.

With a delicate flutter of its iridescent wings, the beetle emerged from the shadows of the leaves and landed gently on the branch beside the Fentrin scout. It paused, observing the scout's antennae twitching in surprise, and spoke rushedly before anyone could take action against them.

"Wait! Before anyone reacts, please hear me out," the Atrix scout began, its voice a blend of anxiety and determination. The Fentrin scout's antennae twitched, a mix of surprise and caution evident in its posture.

"I know this might be unexpected, but we share a common goal," the Atrix scout continued, its words measured now, attempting to convey sincerity and purpose. "I've been watching and listening, just like you. Our civilizations, separated by conflict, have been searching for peace. We both have hidden groups, rebellions yearning for a way out of this cycle of war."

The tension in the air was palpable as the two scouts, representatives of their warring civilizations, stood facing each other. Words continued to spill from the mouth of the beetle.

"We have an opportunity here," the Atrix scout urged, its voice steady now. "The council that gathered here among the leaves holds the key to change. They're discussing peace – our chance to end this war, to bring an era of understanding and cooperation. Imagine what we could achieve together, the Fentrin and the Atrix, united against the darkness of war."

A moment lapsed, as the Fentrin pondered the words of the scout, relaxing from their tense positions of seconds before as the unknown had revealed themselves into their midst.

The beetle continued: “As you’ve just revealed, you already know of our desires for peace. Confirmed by the scout sitting just now beside me. There will be questions and it will take time, but together we can end this war.”

Murmurs began to break out, whispers between the animals that had gathered to this council, to declare rebellion, and search for peace. This was what everyone had been hoping for, had been waiting for, but was it too good to be true? Could this truly be the path forward in ending the war?

The whispers drew to a close, the beetle from the Atrix waiting in suspense as a representative from the Fentrin approached.

“We too, want peace.” The Fentrin spoke calmly, boldly. “If you can get your band of rebels, all of your sympathizers, to meet with us tomorrow night- I think we can truly end this war.”

The beetle nodded quickly, assured that the impulsive actions taken with the reveal had paid off.

“Tomorrow then, at the boundaries edge, a fathom from the Kithrykk, in the clearing between the Kapok trees.”

Then rushing off, the scout raced back to the territory of the Atrix, between leaves and under branches, to gather every last member of their rebellion to meet with the Fentrin the next evening. They presented their rash actions to the group, but desperate in the need for peace, the Atrix rebels did not judge the impulsivity of their scout beyond a few weary words and thanks that everything had not crumbled to pieces. Instead, they scoured their lands for every rebel who wanted peace, who would be willing to walk to the territory edge, scared and hesitant and afraid, yet hopeful that this meeting could be the end of the war.

Thus the following evening, both the Atrix and the Fentrin traveled to the boundary edge, a fathom from the Kithrykk River , in the clearing between the Kapok trees. Among the groups were frogs and flies, reptiles and rats, birds and bees and beyond. As the two groups gathered, there was a moment of silence, both too unsure of what the next step was supposed to be. Hundreds had gathered here, the number of animals wanting for peace, willing to work for it, to move past the petty grudges and unsure squabbles of before still growing.

The two scouts that had started it all emerged at the center, staring solemnly at each other in recognition of the true might of this meeting. Looking around at those surrounding them, they began to speak of peace, of possibility, of ending the violence that had erupted between the two nations. And in that moment, peace was struck between the two civilizations. It wasn’t perfect, but even this simple meeting of minds, this showcase of communication and effort, of the hundreds of animals, from the Atrix and from the Fentrin meant that peace had been found. So few animals had stayed behind in their respective towns, and even those who had stayed had not wanted violence. They were just the cautious ones, the ones taking care of the children, the ones laid up with the injury, and the rare wild one. But the rest came, in groups of two and four and six, more and more animals heard whispers of a meeting for peace to be held at the boundary edge, and began arriving. The news spread like wildfire, quelling fights and lifting spirits with each new animal who heard the message. Exclamations and celebrations raced through both populations. Even the thought of peace had been enough to cease the violence between the two. In no small part, because their reason for fighting had been inconsequential and minuscule, egged on by fear and worry and grief. They knew that death of the young golden was a mystery, a sadness- but that blame could not be laid at each other. The Protectors had left in grief, but now, the Atrix and Fentrin had united in their goals, meeting together to triumph over the uneasy balance from the times before, to triumph over the war and the violence that they had created between them. At last, the war was over. They stayed in the clearing for hours, mingling between civilizations, mending fences and repairing the communication that they had torn asunder. Plans for trade and treaty, for visiting, for being went back and forth between the Atrix and the Fentrin, as they questioned how to proceed without the Protectors that once governed them, how to tolerate the threat of nature that plagued them, and how to keep the peace between them. It wasn’t perfect, but it was peace, a premonition to everyone around that with the right communication and the right drive, that this peace could and would last.

(Image and information about the Fruit Fly: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drosophila_melanogaster/)

(Image and information about the Beetle: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beetle)

Part Five: But Endings Don’t Really End

“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished; that will be the beginning.” -Louis L'Amour

And above them all, in the tallest branches of the Kapok trees, the Golden Protector Wasps watched over the two nations as they debated their peace. They were still grief struck, but they were satisfied. The mission that they had been sent on so long ago had finally been achieved, spawning a true peace between the two civilizations, and not just one enforced by nature’s threats. Neither the Atrix or the Fentrin needed a protector anymore. They had learned the lessons that nature had been trying to throw at them all along and while stumbles were certainly bound to be made, it was time for the two civilizations to be free to make them, unencumbered by a supernatural watcher, to reap both the consequences and rewards of their actions in the true flow of nature. So the Golden Wasps let go of the hold that they had on the river, of the raging currents that they had conquered and tamed. They let go of the hold that they had on the wind, of the gusts and billows that they knew so well. They let go of the hold that they had on the trees, of the weave of twigs and branches they had coaxed into sheltering them. They let go of the hold that they had on the sun, of the direction they had of its burning gaze. Nature would still surge here, still rush and burn and blow, but it would be lesser, uncontrolled by anger or grief, yet also untamed by a watchful overseer. With the cession of their hold, the Golden Protector Wasps descended just below their hold of branches, just visible to those celebrating below. They sent one last command to the wind in the area, carrying their whispers down to spread among the civilizations, a final goodbye to those who cared for so long. A final encouragement to sustain the peace that had been fought for during their absence. And with those final whispers, the Golden Protector Wasps left. They left the Kapok trees and the Kithrykk River. They left the Atrix and the Fentrin civilizations behind, and all of the animals that they had once looked after. They were driven by a new goal now, driven to find and quell chaos somewhere else, to find a place that needed a Protector, be it for weeks or for years. For here, a lesson had finally been learned, and a story had finally been told.

The End.

An Author’s Note:

When I first started writing this, I did not realize what a challenge it was going to end up being. I rarely write long fiction, and I severely underestimated what 5000 words was going to be. Luckily for me, the deadline was extremely long- and by the time I had a little over 3000 words, I was committed to finishing up the piece, as I wasn’t about to let the pages of writing I already had languish in a google doc never to be seen again. Since, as I said in the beginning: Existence is a Story, and with every story, someone has to keep writing. Thank you!