46

Jendiscira led Wenthi down the makeshift alleys between the ramshackle huts. As she walked, she occasionally handed coins to the baniz children that she passed, or took a moment just to touch someone who was sitting on the ground.

“We’ve been watching your cell for some time, Mister Llionorco,” she said. “But it wasn’t until your involvement that we knew they were truly ready for induction.”

“Mine?” he asked. “Why is that?”

“You are relatively new to using the sacred mushroom, aren’t you?”

“Sacred?” he asked

“You didn’t realize that?” She sighed as she took a piece of fruit out of her robe pocket and handed it to a child. She knelt down next to them and said, “There’s more by the trucks, parked that way. You won’t go hungry today.”

“I just never thought of it that way,” he said. “Growing up, I have to admit—”

“You had absorbed the propaganda, saying how dangerous it is.”

“And the stories of—” He almost said Rodiguen, but Nália’s mind told him a better way. “The tyrant making a weapon from it.”

“All of that was how they tried to control us. For generations they—the Sehosians, the Reloumene, the tyrant, the Alliance, it’s all ‘they’—have been determined to erase our history, our beliefs, the things that are sacred to who we are. That includes the mushroom, which is at the core of who we are.”

“I thought every part of the world had the mushroom,” Wenthi said.

“Yes, and each one is special to that land and those people. I don’t care about the Sehosian one or Vailic or Outhic, or even what the ones on the other Zapisian Islands are or what they do. They are not for us, our land. Ours contains what is sacred to us, Renzi Llionorco.”

“Which is?” he asked.

“When we use the mushroom—especially when the connection is accelerated through speed—we are all part of a greater network. When a few people use just a little and connect with each other for the intensity of lovemaking, they’re only brushing against it. When you and your crew use it while also achieving great speed, you feel something stronger, right? You become more of each other, no?”

“Something like that.”

“And you come closer, right?” Her eyes lit up as she spoke. “Tell me what happened on the highway.”

“I—” He wasn’t sure what to tell her at first, but a sudden thrust from Nália pushed the truth to his words. “I took control over Ajiñe’s body. She was going to crash, but I could get a handle on her, her cycle, so I . . . just did.”

“Imagine that it can do that. Not just feel each other’s bodies, but be each other’s bodies. And maybe, even deeper, the true heart of what it offers is more than any one of us can ever handle. Because that network is vast. I will tell you a secret, Renzi Llionorco.”

“All right,” he said, not sure where this was going. Any secret she might tell him would bring him one step closer to the center, one step closer to ending this assignment. But as this whole process went deeper into inductions and visions and diving into the divinity of mushrooms and the people of Pinogoz, the more he wanted to extract himself from it.

“Many people believe there are hidden patches all over the city, all over the island, where the mushroom grows, but they are wrong. It isn’t patches of mushrooms at all. It is all one mushroom, a singular, ancient lifeform that has tendrils that spread throughout the island. The patches we harvest are the tiny bits that spring forth above the land. It connects us all because it is already part of the very island.”

“I’m not sure I fully understand.”

“And maybe none us truly do,” she said. She reached out and caressed his cheek. “But consider this: the ancient Zapi connected with it, this ancient life, a reservoir of connections and thoughts that we still touch today. Buried within that reservoir is the memory of our people for generations upon generations. Histories, languages, cultures that have been lost to foreign incursion and colonization. But it isn’t lost. It remains living memory. We can hold on to that, immerse ourselves into it.”

“That’s hard to believe. And I do not see how that ties to me joining the cell and how that got your attention.”

“We were all connected to you during the meat truck run, and the train robbery. We felt you go farther and deeper in sync than we’ve ever seen before, Renzi. Briefly, you weren’t just feeling what Ajiñe felt, but you truly inhabited her, made her body an extension of your own. You shone brighter than we could imagine. There is something very special about you. And we want—we hope you want—to explore what that means, and how far that can let us go.”

Wenthi was more than a little disturbed about this. It sounded like madness, running counter to everything he had been taught about the mushroom and the people who use it. But he couldn’t deny the experience he had had while on it, experience they had all sensed.

“And how much of that is because you aren’t you, but us?” Nália asked, back at his side.

“It frightens you,” Miss Jendiscira said, stopping in front of one dilapidated home. “And I understand that. That’s why I’ve brought you here, so you can see how deep and true the connections between us all can be. Especially in terms of family.”

“What’s here?”

She smiled and knocked on the empty doorframe. “Focoiz! Cuthinon Jendi!”

Several baniz youths—at least a dozen—came out, some as old as Lathéi, some still toddlers. Two of the older ones had babies on their hips. All of them were in filthy, hole-filled clothes, most of them with no shoes.

“What what, Jendi?” the oldest looking girl said, passing off the baby to one of the other ones. “You come with the trucks again?”

“I did,” Jendiscira said. “And I brought a friend. Renzi, this is Tyeja, and her siblings, halfs, and sides. There’s a lot of names and I don’t remember them all.”

Wenthi offered his hand. “Renzi Llionorco,” he said.

Tyeja gasped and then grabbed him in a huge embrace. “Quid!” she shouted. “Nonfuz quid!” The others all swarmed him with embraces and kisses.

“What?” he asked. “I don’t understand what this is.”

“You’re home,” Jendiscira said. “Tyeja and the rest are all named Llionorco.”

“Blessed kin,” Tyeja said, her eyes filling with tears. She looked to the others. “Go, go, get what’s on the trucks before it’s all gone.”

“I don’t understand,” Wenthi said.

“I do,” Nália said. “Looks like you just got caught.”

“I know you don’t,” Jendiscira said. “But meet your people and learn who they are. We’ll fetch you before the trucks leave.”

“Let me see you,” Tyeja said, looking him up and down. “Oh, you’re very handsome, yes. Where were you from?”

“Tofozaun,” he said.

“We lost a lot of kin in the wars, some shipped off to Tofo. At least that’s what queña says. He’ll know who your people are. But you are here and we love you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Wenthi said.

“That’s the truth,” Nália added.

“But you are kin. Come in.”

She led him into the dark hovel. It was little more than a shack with dirt floor, ratty blankets on the floor. Wenthi couldn’t imagine as many people as he had seen were living there. The only proper furniture was a single wooden chair, where an old baniz man sat.

“What’s the ruckus?” he asked. He looked up at Wenthi and his dark eyes lit up. “What’s this fellow?”

“Miss Jendi brought him, queña,” Tyeja said. “He’s kin.”

“Renzi Llionorco,” Wenthi said. He was stuck here; he needed to keep playing the part. “Though I don’t know if we are actually family at all.”

“Hmm,” the old man said with a dark chuckle. “No, you most certainly are.”

That was surprising. “I’m not from here, just—”

The old man waved him off. “Tyeja, did the others go to the trucks?”

“They did.”

“Go join them, make sure they don’t get stupid, hmm?”

“Gia, queña,” she said with a bow of her head, and left.

Wenthi looked back to the old man, who had a smile wider than Pino Sound. “Look at you, child. You’ve done well.”

“Sir, maybe you’re confused—” Wenthi said.

“Not in the slightest,” the old man said. “I know exactly who you are, Wenthi.”