My Savior's Secret

Getting on a private jet to go to a private island sounded like a vacation dream come true. If that dream was a solo trip to attend a funeral at a far-flung area which no search engine or map could identify, it was one heck of a wild one. Especially if that so-called island was where my parents had lived this whole time instead of Australia. Apparently, my mother was born there. And so was I.    The island of Etheria, hidden amid the Atlantic waters of America.  I’d been a month old when I was taken to Canada to live with my grandma, never to return and fathom how life would’ve been with my parents whether it was in Australia—as they’d lied to me about—or this inconspicuous island. I had no idea where Etheria was. No idea how it looked like. I didn’t even know it existed until I got the call two weeks ago.   That kind of place still felt unreal until I saw the half lush-green and half urban-lit land under the evening sky from my plane window. I looked away and clutched the armrests. My first take-off and landing. Bile had camped in my throat the entire time, but I kept the flap open. I had to see.   For my first overseas ride, there wasn’t much I expected. Rather, nothing surprised me anymore. Another call? Another death? What was new? Probably meeting the family my mom had hidden from me.   Of course, if she’d been born in Etheria, she must’ve had another family on the island, and my parents hadn’t told me much about themselves to begin with. One of her Etherian brothers had found my number through the consulate, and only a day after I finished the formalities, I boarded one of their jets. They must be loaded.  I’d give this one to them. An overseas trip was nice. Different. Why else would I drop everything—before finishing my final college year, leaving friends I shouldn’t be calling friends, and two part-time jobs that ate up half my time—and took off to an unknown island within a week after getting the news? Was it for the funeral? For my mother who I hadn’t seen or spoken to for four years?  All my life, I wanted to know the reason. I asked until I had no one left to ask. The same fairytale my grandma had told me circled my head. It went something like this:  A long time ago, a travelling zoologist from Canada was sent to Australia—*cough* Etheria—on a research project. He met a beautiful woman there. They fell in love, married, had a child, and brought the child to Canada. After a few months, they returned to the Oceanian country and raised that child from a distance.   Why? Why did they go back? For work? Why couldn’t I live with them? The money they’d sent every year was not aid. It had been a disappointing blow to the stomach that they’d chosen not to come home to me.  Canada had never been their home. It was mine. Etheria was theirs.  Etheria. The land amidst the body of water, coming closer now as the jet lowered. My stomach hovered at the altitude, at the exotic terrain on which my mother supposedly passed, and the same place my father must’ve passed twelve years ago. A world only they knew, they served, that gobbled them up forever cementing the distance between us.  The rough contact of wheels to ground shook the jet. The next while from exiting the jet into the humidity of the airport to getting my luggage was a blur from processing I was here. Finally, after 21 years, I was back where I was born. Where my parents had refused to let me stay.   If they’d hidden this place from me all my life, there must be a reason they hadn’t let me visit, but no reason would lift the grudge that had grown like weeds in my chest.    Someone was at the empty waiting area. The younger uncle, probably. What was his name? Ry…no, Ren—Rego. I rolled my suitcase towards him with an evident hint of caution.   He was a lanky man probably in his mid-forties, grooming a lock of ashy charcoal hair from the low ponytail over his shoulder. He lifted his square glasses to appraise me head to toe.   “Scarlet?” he said in the type of voice that was both careful and stunned. He stopped patting his hair and cleared his throat. “Shiloh never showed us a picture of you, but you look…I mean, you’re an easy one to spot. With the resemblance.” On the contrary, he looked nothing like my mother—if anything changed from the last time I’d seen her.  “You must be Rego.”   “Yes, the younger, cooler uncle. I’m stoked to finally see you.” He looked more awed than happy, as if he was still picturing a baby from two decades ago and not a grown woman. He then hugged me, and when I didn’t react immediately, his arms loosened. “Come on. Let’s take you home.”   Home. I hated that word. The daring inaccuracy of it.  Along the way out, he talked to fill the silence and snuck short glances at me as if to ascertain I was there and wouldn’t…run away.  “Not many visit the island,” he said. “You liked the view out the jet? Landings are the best.” Liking wasn’t the word. “Would’ve been nice if your parents brought you here earlier.”   I trained my eyes on the wheels of the suitcase. “Why didn’t they?”   “Outsiders aren’t allowed in Etheria. Of course, unless authorities permit.” There was utmost solemnity in those few words it creeped me out a little. “You were the next of kin, so we went through hoops to bring you here.” Next of kin. Hard to believe my virtually non-existent mother had chosen me over her whole family.   “What’s with the secrecy of this place?” I said.  His head tilted at me jocularly. “Isn’t it a U.S thing to keep territorial secrets?” Wasn’t it every countries’? “This place hides the richest ore deposits. Even under the ocean. We have our own network and jurisdiction here.” Still didn’t explain my parents’ choice to abandon me in Canada.  “My mom didn’t tell me about her family here.” No filter, no holding back, but no real curiosity to know anymore.   He didn’t respond for a second. “Your parents didn’t live with us unlike other families in their clans.”   “Clans?”   “Oh, you wouldn’t know ‘bout that, would you?” He rubbed a long finger along his scraggly jaw. “Clans are close-knit societies in Etheria. Kind of like races, but much smaller and different in status. Boy, status drives economy here.” As if it didn’t drive any economy.   When I became quiet the remaining way, he asked, “You doin’ okay?”   I didn’t budge, numb since the morning I boarded and now as I walked across the never-ending airport pathways.  “‘Course not. This is a lot to digest,” he answered for me. He slowed to match our steps and gently squeezed my shoulder. “Hang in there.”