Uncivilized (Uncivilized 1)

I knew when he told me what happened to Paraila and the tribe that Zach was probably lost to me. I knew that I could never compete with the type of love and loyalty Zach had for his people.

So it sort of stings just a bit more to know that Zach had made the choice to stay with me. For one brief, shining moment, he opened himself up and put me first, and I had no clue. He hadn't bothered to wake me up and tell me. He went off on his own, made his plans, and then kept them from me. He didn't even give me the courtesy of telling me that before he left because maybe... just maybe, it would have given me some hope for the future.

I can only guess by the way he completely withdrew from me and told me he wasn't coming back, that he had once again changed his mind and determined I wasn't more important than what waited for him back in Caraica.

Sighing deeply, I push my plate away from me. "I'm kind of tired," I tell Lisa in a soft voice. "Mind if we go ahead and leave?"

"Moira... don't withdraw. Let's continue to talk about this. I know you're hurting."

I give her a sad smile. "I am hurting and I love you for your concern, but I think the best thing to do is leave this alone. Zach made his choice, and I have to honor it. Some wishes aren't destined to come true."

"I don't believe that. I think there's still a lot left on the table here between you two," she says adamantly.

"No, there really isn't. Actually... if I'm honest with myself, Zach made the right choice. It was right for him to return. He would have never been able to live with himself if he didn't."

"So, you won't go to him? Won't even entertain that idea?"

Shaking my head, I stand up from the table. "No. There's nothing for me in Caraica. Now, I'm going to go out to the car if you don't mind getting the bill. I need some fresh air and alone time right now."

I turn from my sister and I hear her mutter, "Fool," as I walk out of the restaurant.

Chapter 29

Zach

Sweat runs in rivulets down my face, trickling down my neck and chest. It's fucking hot as Hades here, and I know I'd probably be cooler if I just shed my clothes. But like the pansy-ass that I've become during my time in the States, I'm much more enjoying the protection the long cargo pants, boots, and cotton bush shirt provide me against the sun, insects, and sharp palm fronds.

Lifting up, I place the woven palm panel against the slanted bamboo supports, securing in another piece of the roof over Paraila's new longhouse I've been building. Glancing down, I watch as Paraila lies in his hammock, watching me as I work. He has a tiny gauze pad over the arrow wound in his shoulder, one skinny leg stretched out before him and the other planted on the ground so he can sway back and forth.

"Your work is good... you didn't lose any of your skills while you were away," he comments.

I speak back in fluent Portuguese and shoot him a tight smile. "I wasn't gone that long."

"Not as long as I had hoped," Paraila mutters, and I turn a deaf ear to him. He was shocked when I came walking into the burned-out clearing of Caraica, dropping my backpack, machete, and three rifles in the dust at my feet. I purchased the weapons with some of the money Moira had given me, intent on using the guns when we went after the Matica. I walked straight over to Paraila as he lay on the ground. He wasn't happy I had come back either, and that struck a tender nerve.

"C'ordero, what are you doing here?" Paraila had asked as he grasped my outstretched hand when I dropped to my knees beside him.

"I've returned," was all I told him, gently peeling back the bandage on his shoulder to look at the wound. It was clean and I couldn't smell any infection, so I covered it back up and stared into his eyes. "How are you?"

"I've been better," he muttered, "and S'amair'a hasn't been very gentle when she tends to me. But I'm alive."

"I should have never left," I told him sadly. "This would have never happened. I'm so sorry."

Paraila shocked the hell out of me then when he poked a spindly finger in the center of my chest and said, "Foolish, prideful boy... this would have happened had you been here or not. The only thing that gave me peace was knowing you were far away from this."

"So, you wanted me to hide like a woman?" I snarled at him, completely taken aback by his anger toward me for returning. I expected to be met with open arms by my adoptive father, and here he was, chastising me for coming back home.

Paraila's eyes warmed a bit, and he patted me on my arm. "No one would ever mistake you as a woman, Zacharias. You have proven yourself time and again that you are a strong member of this tribe. But I had wanted more for you... more than this type of life. I was a happy man knowing you were taking it."

Some of my anger melted from his words, because as any father should be, he wanted what he thought was best for me. Not what I thought was best though, and I thought it was best that I return.

Sort of.

I've had a million different changes of heart since Moira dropped me off at the airport. At least five times before I boarded the plane, I almost called her and told her to come back for me but, ultimately, my conscience demanded my return to Caraica, even as my heart demanded I return to Moira.

It was a sore battle, and my heart lost out.

The village had been decimated. Every longhouse burned to the ground. A few of the men had been injured protecting the village and four were dead, two of which were Elders. Five of the children... three boys and two of the older girls... had been dragged off into the jungle, and their mothers were distraught.

I apparently arrived just in time, as the village had been packing up what salvageable items they had remaining and were preparing to move several miles down the Jutai River.

I was shocked by this, of course, because I felt they would be preparing for a revenge raid and I had come prepared to fight. But Paraila advised me that the remaining Elders and some of the younger men wanted to discuss a peaceful resolution with the Matica. They were bigger and stronger than we were, and they were afraid continued war would ultimately mean our extinction. Father Gaul, who I noticed was busy helping to harvest some of the crops and seeds for transportation, was apparently at the epicenter of this idea to open some type of accord with the Matica, since he had established good relations with them.

The idea appalled me, and I burned with an insatiable need to do violence on those that dared to hurt my people.

In the end, however, I had no choice but to go along with the tribe as we made our journey down river. After porting, we walked as a tribe through the jungle, hacking our way to our new home. For three days, we cut away at a swatch of dense vegetation and made a new clearing. We burned down the roots of the plants and trees we had destroyed to make a new home, stockpiling bamboo and palm for our new longhouses.

Food would be scarce for a while, at least until we could get a new crop of vegetables growing, but we had moved our tribe's location many times over my life and this was just something we had to persevere.

My first order of business was to build Paraila's new home, so he would have shelter. Two of my tribe mates helped me with the structure, but I then chased them away to work on their own longhuts while I put the palm roof in place.

"Are you still angry we have decided not to raid the Matica?" Paraila asks with humor in his voice.

"That decision hasn't been made for sure," I point out. "Father Gaul may return and tell us the Matica aren't interested. Then there will be war."

Paraila snickers at me. "Headstrong, you are. But this old man wants peace. He wants our children returned, and then he wants to live a life free of those worries."

My blood freezes in shame over his words. Because Paraila wants something that he should have. It's only my fervent need for revenge that's fueling me on, making me argue against him at every step of the way. Peace is a strange idea. Sure, I'd seen it in the modern world, but I'd seen enough to know that it wasn't truly attainable in any society. People still fought and killed each other, squabbling over lands, rights, and monies. Our society was no different, so I didn't want to give up on my need to set things right.

"I see Tukaba looking at you," Paraila says in mischievous voice.

My glance cuts over to the women sitting around a communal fire, baking up some cassava flour for a midday meal. Her eyes are indeed focused on me, but the minute I look at her, they drop in total subservience.

"Not interested," I tell Paraila as I lift another palm panel to the roof and start to tie it to the supports. "I've got work to do."

Paraila snickers, and then he starts laughing loudly.

"What's so funny?" I snap.

"You're funny," he says while still chuckling. "The Zacharias I know wouldn't have cared if there was work to be done. He would have had Tukaba on her knees in the dirt and unleashed his mighty--"

"Enough, old man," I roar. "When did you get to be so rotten?"

Paraila continues to chuckle as he swings lazily in his hammock. "Oh, Zacharias," he says with amusement. "You don't belong here."

My head snaps down to his and my eyes narrow. "Why would you say that?"