Expedition Beyond Page 12

  “Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na!” Des shouted. The sound filled the valley below and echoed off the mountainside. He inhaled quickly. “Na, na, na, na, na, na!”

  He switched off the sound system and listened.

  Dead silence.

  He stowed the equipment in his pack, leaving clothes strewn in the jungle. He heard voices; the warriors were coming for him.

  Des ran until he was too tired to go further, but he still heard them following. He also heard waterfalls ahead, so he followed the path to the sight rock. He crawled up, gasping.

  A woman with a war club ran towards him, then stopped and pointed at him. Suddenly, there were several more.

  He backed up and slipped off the wet stone. He scrambled feverishly to keep from plunging into the river. He was out of options. He knelt and prayed. When he looked up again, he saw dozens of warriors crowding the path. The closest one had frizzed, red hair around her grim face. She twirled her club skillfully, then seemed to fight to control it, as if the club had a mind of its own. She examined it closely, then refocused on Des.

  Des hoped she’d kill him quickly so he wouldn’t suffer. He stood, blood dripping from his gouged knees, his head whirling. He readied himself for her attack.

  But the red-haired warrior didn’t hit him. She stuck the pointed shaft into the path, fell to one knee and bowed her head.

  The other warriors followed suit.

  Des was completely mystified—a state he should be used to by now, he thought wryly.

  Anastasia arrived at that moment—not only alive, but waving, smiling and bouncing past the kneeling warriors.

  “Des!” she screamed, tears streaming down her face.

  She offered him her hand.

  He took her hand and stepped off the rock.

  “What the hell is going on?” Des paced angrily across his room, his pack slung over his shoulder. “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “It is not my place…” Anastasia replied stoically.

  “It’s not my place either!” Des dropped his pack with a thud. “Why can’t you tell me?”

  She sighed. “You will learn.”

  “Learn what?” He shifted from anger to impatience. “I don’t understand where I am, or why I’m here, or who you really are. I don’t mean just you, I mean everybody…Anastasia, I love you,” he blurted, to his own surprise.

  “Love?”

  “Oh, this is impossible. Whatever we had together is obviously gone. I’m going home.”

  Anastasia leapt, knocking him flat on the bed. She straddled him.

  “No, Des, no! This is home.”

  “I thought, well, by the way you’ve been avoiding me…”

  She unfastened her blouse and bared her breasts. “Is this—”

  “No, Anastasia, not that way.”

  She rolled off him and sat on the edge of the bed looking confused.

  Des sat next to her.

  “I mean…Jeez, what do I mean? I mean, first, we must see if we have a compatible kiss.”

  “What is compatiblekiss?” she asked.

  He touched her lips with his own.

  “Oh, Des, I know compatiblekiss!” she threw her arms around him and pushed him back onto the bed.

  Des opened his eyes to see Anastasia standing in his doorway.

  “Good morning, Des. Itar wants us. Please hurry—it’s important.”

  After he’d dressed, she pulled him down the path.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “Say-ance.”

  The adobe building had curls of smoke rising in the air above the dome-shaped roof; it looked like an igloo to Des.

  They entered through a squat passageway that led to a large hemispherical room whose air was heavy, slightly smoky, and smelled of herbs; the outer walls sloped away from the roof’s central opening fifteen meters above the floor. The room was crowded—Itar and six warrior women sat cross-legged around an open log fire. The ring of warriors was broken by an empty space across from Itar. The women in the inner circle were wearing white tunics. Des estimated that there were fifty other women standing around them. Anastasia faded into a group near the outer wall.

  “Des, sit,” Itar beckoned to him, pointing at the empty place.

  Itar spoke in his own language for a long time, addressing only those in the inner circle. Sometimes, a warrior would answer, then Itar continued. Those in the outer circle wandered about, sometimes paying attention to those in the inner circle and sometimes conversing with each other.

  Des couldn’t fathom the premise of the meeting, nor why he was there. He recognized the redhead next to Itar from his encounter at sight rock. Her long, frizzy hair was held back from her forehead by a beaded headband. Next to her was a straight-backed woman with short, black hair. She kept glancing at Des, her Romanesque face unfriendly. The rest were young, all strangers to him.

  Itar tossed some powder on the fire and chanted as blue smoke billowed into the room.

  Des coughed as the firelight flickered strobe-like. He looked for Anastasia among the figures moving faster along the wall, then yawned; he grew sleepy with the smell of incense or herbs in thickening smoke and fought to keep his eyes open.

  “Des, walk over fire.”

  Des snapped awake. Itar had spoken to him in English. The old man was motioning. “Walk over the fire,” he repeated.

  Everyone was staring at Des. Drums started beating.

  Des stood, then stumbled. There’s something intoxicating in the smoke, he thought, feeling light-headed. He brushed a hand across his face, which felt numb. He whipped his head around towards the drumming—too fast; the room was spinning. There were four or five drummers beating a slow, methodical rhythm. They began to chant.

  Des turned his head slowly towards Itar and saw the redheaded woman stand and move away from the ring.

  What could Itar possibly mean? Walk around the fire and sit next to me? Watch over the fire? Certainly not literally walk across the fire!

  “Des?”

  He thought he saw Anastasia in the shadows waving him on. I’d walk across fire for her. But this fire had flames as high as the bottom edge of his shorts. Des judged it would take eight steps—maybe five if he ran—to cross to Itar. He’d never make it.

  Itar huffed. The outer circle women chanted. Anastasia waved. The drums kept beating.

  Now or never. Des picked up his sandaled foot, then placed it onto the embers, which hissed at the contact. Blue light flared around his foot, giving him some hope he’d somehow survive. He hurried into the flame, careful not to fall. The heat was intense but not unbearable. When he’d reached the midway point, he actually felt a cooling sensation around his legs. The fire drafted downward and almost extinguished. Then it rose higher around him. The bottom edge of his shorts ignited, and he beat the flames with his hand as he moved toward Itar, trying to ignore the sensation of searing pain. He stepped out of the fire, stunned that he had succeeded in passing through it.

  While he was eyeing his singed fingers, Itar bade him sit.

  Someone called, “Ay, yi, yi, yi!”

  There was an answering call from behind him, then more voices took up the cry. The chanting and drumming continued. Des recognized it as acceptance, and he felt pleased.

  Itar bowed towards Des. “Now, you are one with us.”

  The room erupted with, “Yi, yi, yi, yi,” a cascade of chatter.

  Itar quieted them. The redhead squatted where Des had been sitting. The circle was no longer broken.

  Itar’s expression was extremely serious, almost painful, and his eyes were heavy upon Des.

  “We do not…know time,” Itar said.

  Here, they couldn’t watch the sun rise and set, nor the planets move through space, nor stars light up the night. Whenever their sun peeked out from unde
r clouds, it was always directly overhead—it never seemed to move. Apparently there weren’t any seasons to their years, nor would they even know what a year was, so how could they possibly know time?

  “I gave you the watch,” Des replied.

  Itar opened and proudly displayed the pocket watch.

  “Yi, yi, yi, yi,” the outer circle started to chatter, and the drums and chanters continued.

  “With the watch, you know time,” Des explained to Itar.

  Itar closed the cover. “Des, we do not…know time,” he said hesitantly.

  “With that watch, I can teach you time.”

  This circuitous conversation made Des tired, and now he also felt somewhat nauseated.

  “Des, we know time.”

  First, Itar didn’t know, and now he does?

  “How do you know time?”

  Itar folded his arms and rocked. “The time-keeper.”

  Des folded his arms as well, and the two men sat silently, unable to communicate. He doesn’t know time, but he does know time. He has a timekeeper. Itar looked discouraged, which was how Des felt, too.

  Then it dawned on Des: Not ‘know,’ but ‘no’—We do not have any time.

  He touched Itar on the shoulder. “No time?”

  Itar said, “No time, yes.”

  “Why, no time?”

  Itar sighed.

  “The beasts return.”

  Chapter 16

  LATITUDE 82° 10’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 73° 42’ WEST

  LAPTITUDE 68%

  Month 2, Day 25; 0630 UTC, 12:30 PM LTD

  “Beasts?”

  Now wide-awake, Des’ interest was piqued by the gravity of Itar’s announcement. Anastasia had apparently taught English to the elder; Itar’s grasp of the language had improved immensely. The beasts return. Des recalled the beasts he’d seen in the sand painting. They’d walked on two legs…and sometimes on four. The fire popped and crackled. The pounding in Des’ ears wasn’t the drummers but his quickening pulse as he waited for Itar to respond.

  Des prompted warily, “Return?”

  “They return to bring the men,” Itar said.

  The warriors in the inner circle looked fearful. If this were a planned event of which Itar had prior knowledge, certainly they would be joyous at being reunited with their men, wouldn’t they? Des carefully constructed a question he thought Itar would understand.

  “Do they leave the men here?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Itar said. After a pause, he continued, “When they return, we will kill the beasts.”

  The chatter and drumming grew louder and Des’ heartbeat raced. If his interpretation of the sand painting’s depiction was correct, and the beasts somehow dominated the locals, Itar’s statement could have only one meaning: war. Des began to surmise that they were here to devise a battle plan and wanted his help.

  “How do we kill them?”

  Itar responded by motioning to the war clubs in the laps of the seated warriors.

  “Why kill the beasts?” Des asked.

  Itar’s face contorted with concentration. “They take the men. They work them very hard; they bring them back…weak, starved. We feed them; we make them strong. They take the men again.”

  Slaves, Des realized. “How long have the beasts done this?”

  “Forever. They were here long before us.”

  Des didn’t know how many generations of Anasazi-Aztec had been subjugated to slavery, but certainly, someone would’ve thought to kill the beasts before now.

  “How many beasts?”

  “Two hundred,” Itar responded quickly.

  “You’ve got to be out of your minds!” A few hundred women killing two hundred beasts seemed optimistic to Des. “And what losses do you intend to sustain?” Oh, jeez, Des thought, Itar would never understand that. He rephrased. “How many you—us—killed?”

  “Two or three—”

  Well, at least they had a plan, Des thought.

  “—for each beast.”

  Nearly five hundred locals would die if they followed Itar’s plan! Des thought back to the fight at the bazaar. They must have known what was about to unfold and had chosen sides, for or against; Anastasia had tried to untangle the confrontation single-handedly by standing in the middle.

  “No, Itar, no!” Des cried in horror. The cost was too great.

  Itar wasn’t swayed. “You do not know the beasts. They kill our sheep and cattle…” He stopped.

  Des felt there was something more, something worse to come. He waited for Itar to continue.

  The old man said ominously, “They eat them.”

  Des had considered that the natives were vegetarians. He hadn’t seen or smelled meat cooking since he’d arrived. His yearning for a steak dinner needed to be kept a secret, so he summoned up some indignation.

  “No, Itar, certainly not!”

  Itar seemed pleased with the reaction. “I have seen this. They roast pieces of them over open fires, and they eat them.”

  Des’ mouth watered at the thought of a rare steak on the grill, a roast leg of lamb.

  “Can’t we live with that?”

  “No, Des, there is more. They come in boats over the sea. Before they let the men go, many beasts come on land.” Itar leaned towards Des, reverting to Spanish. “Los bestias violan las mujeres.”

  Mujeres. Women—the beasts do something to the women. They rape the women!

  Des was overwhelmed by memories of his younger sister, Kaitlin. She was thirteen when she had been badly beaten and raped. It was a miracle that she’d managed to climb out of the twenty-foot-deep culvert into which she had been thrown. Her broken bones had healed, but the emotional scars had lessened only after many years of counseling. She rarely dated, and had never married. Des had been scarred by her rape, as well, and had suffered alongside her. While Kaitlin had never shifted the blame for the tragedy to him, he still felt guilty because he’d forgotten to pick her up after school that day.

  And now his old wounds were opening—and not just because of his sister, but also because of Anastasia. He’d purposely avoided meaningful relationships, not wanting to chance additional emotional trauma—until now. He scanned the inner and outer circles, past the fire that was churning with flame and embers, until he saw Anastasia. Those sons-of-bitches wouldn’t get her!

  “Any births, any children from these rapes?” he asked Itar.

  “No. They are animals.”

  “Show me what a beast looks like. Draw me a beast. Asa bui á natra,” Des continued.

  Itar said something. A woman from the outer circle brought him quill and parchment.

  Des watched him sketch a beast with long, gangly, hairy arms, a large, strong body, and a monkeylike face.

  “I know this beast,” he told Itar.

  The parchment slid from Itar’s lap as he gave Des an astonished look.

  Des said, “We’ve already killed all of them on Earth’s surface, where your people were before.”

  “Will you help us to kill them here?”

  “I will help, but only if I lead. If I lead, none of us must die.” Des felt as confident as he sounded.

  Itar spoke to the others in his own tongue. They erupted in loud chatter. One woman from the outer circle grabbed Des’ wrist, squeezed, then slid her hand across his; Des’ hand now looked normal where he thought it had been charred only minutes earlier.

  The woman smiled. “Yi, yi, yi,” she cried.

  Des guessed this gesture was indicative of agreement or subservience.

  The other warriors piled towards him, chattering and whooping, their hands extended. Des was smiling, grabbing their wrists. He not only felt elated, he felt powerful. He knew the deal was done; he had been selected as their leader.

  “Yi, yi, yi, y
i, yi!” Des screamed.

  His voice was lost in a multitude of voices.

  Most everyone had left. Anastasia was standing in the doorway with Itar’s guards.

  “Good trick,” Des said to Itar.

  Itar seemed tired. “What trick?”

  “Walk on fire.”

  “Give me your sandals.”

  Des unlaced his sandals and handed them to Itar.

  Itar turned the blackened soles toward Des. The firelight showed through in two places.

  “Is no trick,” Itar said.

  How could his feet have survived unscathed in those sandals? Des wondered what was in the powder Itar had sprinkled on the fire.

  He looked at the drawing on the parchment again. This beast was in all world history textbooks. The gangly, hairy arms and the monkeylike facial features were significant, but it was the long, sloping forehead that was the dead giveaway.

  Neanderthal man, the bastard child of evolution. The others had no idea how difficult it would be to bash the thick skull hard enough to cause death.

  When Itar handed back the sandals, Des pitched them into the fire.

  “How much time—how long before the beasts return?” he asked Itar.

  Itar removed the pocket watch, opened it and pointed at the small hand. He traced his finger around the face of the watch.

  “Trienta,” Itar said, nodding off. “No, not sure,” he added with a yawn, shutting his eyes.

  Des thought: Two weeks on the short side, a month on the long. If Itar meant two weeks, we all might die. But with four weeks, we just might have a chance.

  “We should tell the others,” Anastasia said when they’d left.

  Threatening clouds blocked the sun; there was lightning in the distance and thunder rumbling. They climbed past the museum to another ascending path. Anastasia pulled Des over large boulders. A half-hour passed before she stopped.

  Des scanned the towering skies. The emerald ocean was highlighted in shafts of sunlight by colorful corals; at the horizon, the sea seemed to curl up to meet the sky. No boats, thank God.

  “Ye-E-E-E-E-E,” Anastasia called.

  The face of a young man appeared above them, answering the call.

  When they reached the rocky ledge, Anastasia introduced the young man. “A-dey-yo, Des.”