“Were they the same people who took you away? Held you captive?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Is there any chance they weren’t? I know you said it was chaotic. Is it possible you were attacked by one group and then given to another?”
I get identical looks of confusion from Maryanne and April.
Maryanne says slowly, “I’m not sure I understand…”
“Is there any chance that the people who attacked your camp were not the group you later joined? Or if there were any members you never saw again?”
“It really was a blur of faces, both at the attack and later.” She pauses. “Maybe if I had a better idea what you were looking for…”
I hesitate. As a cop, I would never share a theory with a witness. Not unless I’m trying to lead them into confessing themselves. Otherwise, it really is “leading.” Tainting their testimony. So I have to stop here and analyze. What are the chances that, if I give Maryanne a theory, she’ll intentionally or subconsciously shape her testimony to support or refute it, depending on her gut reaction?
She is a scientist. Whatever damage she’s suffered, she’s made incredible strides toward recovery. Her intelligence and self-awareness have fully returned, and I think I need to trust that.
“I’m not a psychiatrist,” I say. “Or a psychologist or an anthropologist or anyone else who might know more about human evolution and behavioral changes. But I struggle with the idea that people who leave Rockton—modern humans—can revert to something that … primitive in a few years.”
I adjust the baby to my other arm. “The theory in Rockton has always been, simply, that these people left, and because they left, they ‘reverted’ to a more ‘primitive’ form. That they were inherently more violent than the settlers, and they embraced that part of themselves when they left. I don’t think that’s how it works with people. I think there must be some … outside influence that at least escalates the process.”
“You’re completely right,” Maryanne says. “What happens out there isn’t a natural process of devolution. It’s the tea.”
EIGHTEEN
“The … tea?” That’s all I can manage, and when April asks, “Who provides the tea?” I am grateful. Then I’m immediately shamed by that gratitude, because I’m only glad that I’m not the one asking what might be a stupid question.
“No one, right?” I say to Maryanne. “They make it themselves.”
She nods. “From a root and plants. I don’t know the exact ingredients. The shaman is the only one who can make them.”
“Shaman?”
“That’s what I’d call her now. They don’t have a name for any roles. The shaman conducts rituals and makes the teas.”
“Teas?” April says. “More than one?”
Maryanne hesitates. “Maybe? I always thought of it as the same tea, but in two concentrations. One is for everyday drinking and the other is for rituals. They both…” Maryanne rubs her face again, this time paired with a convulsive shiver. When she speaks, her voice is lower, professorial detachment evaporating. “They make everything okay.”
Neither of us speaks. After a moment, Maryanne says, “May I go back?”
When I tense, she manages a wan smile. “I don’t mean go back into the forest. I mean may I go back to my story. That will make this easier, and possibly more comprehensible, if such a thing is possible.”
“Of course,” I say. “Whatever works for you.” I glance at my sister. “You don’t need to be here for this.”
She starts, as if from sleep. Blinks. Pauses. Then straightens, saying, “If we are discussing the effects of a potential drug, then I do believe I need to stay.”
She doesn’t actually need to stay, and I realize I have, inadvertently, achieved exactly the thing I’d tried to so many years ago. I have brought April something that catches her interest. Still, I have to ask Maryanne if she’s okay with April staying. She is.
Maryanne continues. “I told Casey that the hostiles attacked at night. They killed the men and took the women. Two of us. We were initially separated. A classic technique: Separate, isolate, and disorientate. I woke in a cavern—too small to sit up in. I had a guard. He wouldn’t speak to me. Wouldn’t even look at me. They’d only bring water. I was in that cave for days, maybe a week. By the time they hauled me out, I was starving and feveri
sh and half mad with fear and confusion. They gave me food and the tea. As soon as I drank the tea, I knew it was drugged. Everything became … unreal.”
She shifts her position. “That’s the best way to describe it. It took away the fear and the dread. When they put me back into the cave, I slept soundly. The next day, they brought me out and offered me food and more tea. I only wanted the food. That wasn’t an option. Both or nothing. I refused the tea for three days, until I realized my choices were that or starvation. I drank, and they let me stay outside the cave with the group. It felt like I was in a trance. Doing as I was told earned me food and sleeping blankets and a spot by the fire. The chores were like being at camp. Gather wood. Cook. Clean. Sew. A few of the men paid me extra attention, but they didn’t bother me. They were trying to get my attention.”
“As a potential mate.”
“Yes. During my more lucid periods, I’d remember to be afraid. To want to escape. The best plan, however, seemed to be to do exactly what they wanted. Just keep drinking the tea and being a good girl, and I’d get my chance. Then they brought Lora.”