Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

Here's another snippet from the same book, Eden. Effia's society basically believes in the survival of the fittest, and don't have any children who are "impure" or unable to survive in the wild. Basically, they're not totally compassionate. So if a baby was born and it couldn't move its legs, it would be left to die. By doing this, her society has become strong and incredibly fit to live in the rugged wilderness that they inhabit. She's confused by humans living in the technologically advanced world.

“How can such weak beings ever survive?” she asked, staring at the frail little man in the wheelchair. Levi looked at her, a bit skeptical. She looked back at him, her green eyes wide with inquiry. He put a hand on her shoulder, as if, for the hundredth time, trying to be sure that she was truly real.

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to get her to clarify. She shrugged, the words not coming to her immediately. She knew what to say . . . if only he understood her language!

“My people are strong because we have chosen to be so. The strongest warrior and woman are mates by law. We can’t survive and be weak.” She looked up into his hazy gray eyes and bit her lip. “If anyone shows signs of weakness, they are abandoned on a hillside. It’s survival. We’d never be able to live like that.” Effia pointed at the man in the wheelchair, and Levi grabbed her hand away.

“It’s not polite to point,” he said, the way his mother would have disciplined him. She bit her lip and looked at the ground. He rolled his eyes and sighed inaudibly. She was so like a child, yet she was more adult than half of his friends. She was a mystery, and that intrigued him. He wanted to know so much about everything; what her life was like, what she did for fun, how society around her worked . . . the list went on and on. How had she come to be on that hill where his father found her? And how in the world did she understand his language? She looked up at him again, her soulful green eyes burning into his.

“We care for our sick,” he explained, leading her away as the man in the wheelchair struggled to heft himself into the seat. “Most of the time we have cures that make them better. That’s what my father does.”

“My father heals the wounded,” she said absently, looking around her at all the strange things that this cold city held. “He makes poultices and charms, and he cures the warriors of their wounds. Next to the chief, he is the most important man in the whole tribe.” She paused, staring up at the cloudy sky. Levi smiled involuntarily. Poultices and charms? Those sorts of things had died out a long, long time ago. Now, all medicines were made with elements and radiation—no doctors used plants anymore. It was considered to be a waste of the environment. Cures were synthetic, and had more of an effect than anything made naturally.

“And you believe that they work? That chanting over a person who is wounded will help him heal faster?” he asked, a hint of humor in his voice. She stopped and looked at him very seriously. He looked down at her and suddenly wished that he could take back his words.

“It’s more than that. If they believe that they’ll live after being mauled by a leopon, chances are, they will. It’s all in the mindset.” She looked down the busy city street and shook her head, shivering a little. This place was so cold. It had none of the wide-open fields and huge trees covered with vines that seemed to make the world a warmer place. All of this stone and metal was so unnatural and overwhelming. “A lot of the herbs we use do have healing properties, and they make the wound heal twice as fast. But if the person believes that they will die, it doesn’t matter what we do to him. He’s going to die.”

Levi blinked and stared at her. What she said made sense . . . in an odd sort of way. He grinned and shook his head. “So you’re saying that if I were sick and I wanted to get better, I would?” he asked, placing an arm around her shoulders. She shot him a sidelong glance and took a step forward so that his arm would drop down.

“What I’m saying, Levi, is that if you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything,” she replied coolly, stepping into the street. A car whizzed through the red light, its horn blaring, and Levi yanked her back onto the sidewalk. He saw her open dislike of it—of everything in his world. Suddenly, he had an idea. It was probably a bad idea, and she’d probably have something even more philosophical to say when she saw it, but it was worth the shot. He took her hand and led her down Fourth Street and across High Road into a tall, glass building.

Immediately, she straightened. That smell . . . if only she could put her finger on it. Then suddenly, she broke into a huge grin as they rounded a corner. Trees. Few, but trees nonetheless. She leaped forward and over the fence that wanted to separate them, it seemed, and hugged the trunk, just as if she were a little girl again. “Yoka trees,” she exclaimed, then jumped up to reach the nearest branch and nimbly climbed about, like the little chima Kalei’s father kept as a pet. Levi stared at her from across the fence. What in the world was she doing? He demanded to himself, his jaw a little slack. The trees were on display—there hadn’t been any apple trees around for almost three decades. Effia giggled, dangling from one of the branches.

Unfortunately, the curator was around to see this spectacle, and pounced on Levi like a leopon on its unsuspecting prey. “Just what is your friend doing?” the curator demanded, shocked that anyone would have the audacity to touch one of her trees. Levi struggled for words, as Effia dropped lightly to the ground, a fistful of the small, seedless fruit in her hand.

“Levi! This is my favorite tree!” she frowned at the small, shriveled fruit in her hand, and tasted one. Her tongue hated it and she spat it onto the ground, where the rest of the ones she’d picked tumbled a few moments later. “We have hundreds upon hundreds of these back home. Only our fruit tastes better.” She opened the wrinkled skin and peered inside. “And ours have seeds. How do you manage to get seedless yoka anyway?”

The curator snapped to attention and hauled Effia out of the enclosure. “What do you mean, you’ve seen hundreds?” she demanded, fairly yelling at the young woman. “This is the only apple tree left in the world, and thanks to you, it may become extinct!” Effia stared at the matron, confused. She glanced back at the bark and at the leaves, to make sure that it was a yoka tree. The leaves were a bit yellow, and the bark wasn’t nearly as thick, but she was positive that she could tell that tree apart from any other.

“You obviously haven’t seen the whole world,” Effia snapped, wrenching her arm out of the woman’s grip. “And if you bothered to give your plants real sunlight and water, they would probably be in better condition.” She pointed to the poor tree. “Look at it! That is the most pathetic thing I have ever seen! And if you think that—“

“Come now, Effia, let’s be going,” Levi broke in, afraid to let her go on. The curator looked more and more angered with every word that his young colleague uttered. He half-dragged, half-led the tribal girl back out into the cold, unnatural city.