It wasn't the same as the other fears he had lived with all his life. Those were old and familiar.
As a member of the Rsual tribe, which lived in small encampments in the dense jungles where the Jamunda River met the mighty Amazon, Chim'bor had spent much of his adolescence identifying fears-both real and imagined.
Where Chim'bor grew up, there were fish so small that they could swim up a man while he bathed in the waters of the Amazon and kill him from the inside. There were mosquitoes that carried diseases that poisoned the mind and snakes with darting fangs and a taste for flesh.
These were real fears.
There were also fears of a supernatural nature. Animals that inhaled the life's breath from tribesmen, gods that punished with torrential rain or blistering sun, shadowed ghosts armed with spears that stalked those who were alone.
These fears were imagined.
Some fears were a combination of both. The pulp of certain trees was stuffed with larvae that were a feast for the tribe. Others caused death the instant they touched the tongue. Legend had it that the succulent larvae had been mixed with the poisonous by tricky gods to test the Rsual men. It was a life test to see who could choose wisely.
Another fear in a world of fears. All known. Everything-from the great white rapids in the north to the mossy valley in the south-was known to the Rsual. It was only a span of a few miles, but it was the entire Rsual world. Everything to fear within that small area had been identified and classified by tribal elders generations ago.
To know one's fears made one master of them. That was what made this new fear so terrifying to Chim'bor.
The Sky Forest.
To the Rsual, it was alien. Like one day discovering a river or rock that had not been there the day before.
It had been brought to the land of the Rsual by whites.
Chim'bor was fourteen when the invaders first arrived five years ago. A man by the standards of his tribe. He would never forget that first frightening day.
Chim'bor and his brother Sor'acha had been searching for gualla near the valley far from the main village. This juicy fruit was difficult to harvest. Since it grew so far up the trunks of the trees, it took two natives to collect it.
They were using the network of vines they'd installed when they were children. Chim'bor climbed while Sor'acha waited on the ground to catch the dropped fruit. When Chim'bor grew weary later in the day, the two brothers would switch places.
Early in the morning Sor'acha was watching as Chim'bor stretched from tree to tree far above. Taking hold of one of the upper branches in his small hand, Chim'bor shook it violently. Green fronds rattled an angry protest, and three of the fat yellow fruit plopped to the ground.
When Chim'bor looked down, he found that Sor'acha wasn't there to catch them. His brother no longer stood amid the great gnarled roots at the base of the tree.
He found Sor'acha standing a few yards away, an ear cocked to the jungle. Strange noises rumbled from the thick undergrowth of the valley.
On callused hands and feet, Chim'bor scampered down the tree trunk. He hurried over to his brother. "What is wrong?" Chim'bor asked.
Sor'acha silenced him with a raised hand. "The ghost faces have returned," he whispered. He was peering intently through a gap in the brush.
Bright sunlight flooded the region beyond. Strange for a land where sun rarely reached past the thick treetops.
The vast valley beyond had been largely cleared over the previous season. There had been many days of toil for the whites and their earthmoving machines. The jungle canopy had been hacked down for miles within the valley. What had been dense jungle was transformed to desert.
"You should not look there," Chim'bor warned. Like most of the Rsual, he avoided the valley since the arrival of the whites.
"I am the older brother," Sor'acha replied. "You do not command me. Besides, do you not wish to know why they are here?"
Although Chim'bor didn't, Sor'acha was determined.
At nightfall, they crept out of the jungle and entered the barren valley. The moon hung bright and big in the sky as they slipped across the barren ground. A man-made hill rose in the center of the valley, its top flat.
The whites were gone. What they'd left behind intrigued Sor'acha and troubled Chim'bor.
A small forest of trees had been planted atop the wide flattened hill. The plants were of an unnatural blue. It was as if the color had bled from the sky to stain the trees.
The small trees were all roughly the same height-twice as tall as Chim'bor and his brother. In the bright moonlight the forest stretched off as far as the night eye could see.
Sor'acha laughed. "Only whites would cut down trees to plant trees," he said. He took hold of one of the saplings. It was warm to the touch.
"This is a place of evil," Chim'bor warned. "The whites have stolen the sky for their trees."
Sor'acha lingered at the edge of the new forest for a time, but there was nothing more to see. Eventually, Chim'bor convinced his brother to leave.
They returned for the harvest six months later. Again, Sor'acha let his curiosity get the better of him. Although Chim'bor was reluctant to visit the Sky Forest of the whites, his brother insisted. The two traveled back through the jungle to the valley and the hilltop forest.
They crossed the wide stretch of parched land that separated jungle from hill. The earth was hard-packed as they scampered up the side of the valley's central hill. When they reached the top, Chim'bor couldn't believe his fearful eyes.
The trees were now as tall as the ones in the jungle far behind them. A dense forest of blue stretched across the flat hill at the valley's center.
"White sorcery!" Chim'bor hissed.
Sor'acha wasn't listening. From where they hid at the edge of the hill, he spied what looked like blue fruit clinging sparsely to the undersides of some of the branches.
Although the whites were nowhere to be seen, there was still activity at the forest's edge.
Dozens of squirrel monkeys jumped and screeched at the periphery of the blue forest. They had come out of the jungle to venture across the clear-cut plain and climb the hill. Pounding the ground and hissing at air, the monkeys looked possessed by demons. None dared enter the field.
All he saw filled Chim'bor with dread.
"Please, Sor'acha," Chim'bor implored. "Let us leave this place."
But his brother wouldn't budge. "For all the work they have done, the fruit of these trees must be even more sweet than the gualla," Sor'acha insisted.
He thought they should pick some of the fruit, but Chim'bor would not be persuaded. The younger native stayed back while his older brother crept over the hill's edge to the forest of blue trees.
Shrieking, the monkeys scampered away from his feet, clearing a path to the woods. They flooded back in behind him. To Chim'bor, it looked almost as if the monkeys were trapping his brother in the white man's forest.
Sor'acha made it to the trees.
As Chim'bor watched, his brother took the bark in his strong hands and began climbing. He cupped his feet to the rough surface, pushing off. With quick, even strokes, Sor'acha scampered quickly up.
He was halfway to the top when Chim'bor realized something was wrong.
Sor'acha was moving too slowly. As though he was having a hard time climbing. It looked as if he was forcing himself to go higher and higher. As he went on, the struggle to climb became more obvious. It was with great difficulty that he finally made it to the top of the tree. One hand snaked out to a piece of blue fruit.
As his brother climbed, Chim'bor had slowly climbed up over the edge of the hill.