Free Shadowline Drift: A Metaphysical Thriller by Alexes Razevich

elevating it, wondering how soon he’d be able to walk.
    Pilar returned, shouldering aside the red-striped black blanket that hung in the doorway. She was carrying a tray with a bowl of something that smelled wonderful and a mug that steamed. Jake recognized the musty scent of yerba maté. The smell reminded him of Mawgis, and the light in the man’s eyes when he’d served Jake the drink he’d been thinking of, sugared just the way he liked it—as if it was a joke made more hilarious because Jake wasn’t in on it.
    “ How did I get hurt?” he asked.
    Pilar set the tray on the cot. “You fainted. The day we found you. I tried to catch you, but you went down so hard and fast, I couldn’t hold on. You must have fallen wrong. Your ankle twisted badly.”
    He remembered passing out. He remembered why, too, and had an urge to stand up next to her now, to measure himself against her to see if he was nearly as tall, held back only by a terrible fear that he wouldn’t be. Fear that his shirt had felt binding under his arms and his shorts had seemed to grow tight while he walked through the forest only because they had shrunk in the hot, moist air. That when he had stood, his legs weren’t really longer—but the cot lower to the ground.
    “ You should eat,” Pilar said. “It looks a little ugly, but it tastes good.”
    Jake looked in the bowl at the lumpy, vaguely yellowish mash. “What is it?”
    She stood by the foot of the cot. “Manioc and Brazil nuts. There’s mango in it too, for intestinal parasites. There’s no telling what you picked up out there in the forest.”
    He took a spoonful of the warm mash. It slid into his stomach like a balm. The spoon fit comfortably in his hand, a child ’s spoon. He tried not to let that bother him. He took another bite, eating slowly, savoring the flavors, the soft, comforting textures, the exquisite warmth. It was the most wonderful dish he’d ever tasted.
    How long until he could walk out of there to Catalous and a phone? If his ankle was fractured or broken, not just sprained, it would need four or five more weeks to heal. Too long. Much too long.
    “ I’d better let you get some rest,” Pilar said.
    Food had restored his confidence. He didn’t want her to leave. She was pretty, and he was starved for company and conversation. He figured he could deflect any questions she might ask that he didn’t want to answer.
    “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you a missionary?”
    She laughed low, under her breath. “No, I’m not even religious, much to my very Catholic mother’s eternal shame. I’m an anthropologist, studying the women of the Lalunta tribe. This is my second trip. I’ve been here three months. I’ll be another six, then back to Boston.”
    That explained the American accent. Not really Bostonian , though. Jake guessed that she was from somewhere else originally, probably one of the western states.
    “ What about you?” she asked. “What are you doing lost in Lalunta territory?”
    The obvious question. Of course it would be the first thing she ’d ask. He wanted to blurt out everything—the Tabna, Mawgis, and the truth about benesha—to make her a witness so that if anything happened to him, there would be someone else to spread the warning. But how could he? The story would sound crazy to a stranger hearing it. Even telling her he was here for negotiations would open more questions that could only lead to things he wasn’t ready to talk about. His ankle and the lack of transportation meant he’d be here awhile. Maybe later, when they knew each other better, if the feeling of trust he instinctively felt held up, he could tell her and she would believe him.
    “ Seeing the rain forest up close,” he said.
    Her eyes flickered over his face, giving him a look that said she knew bullshit when she heard it. “Right,” she said. “Get some rest. Keep that ankle elevated. I’ll check in on you later.”
    She started to leave, then