Entangled (59 page)

To each Ria gave command over eight other children. ‘You’re my generals,’ she told them. ‘If you can keep this rabble in some sort of order we might get out of here alive.’

* * * 

The morning air was fresh following the rain, but by high sun the heat had become intense. The younger children, no matter how chivvied they were by Darza, Entu, Birsing and Panalan, or how amused by Jergat’s continuing antics, were slowing down. Some looked on the verge of collapse again. When they reached the waterfall they’d passed yesterday, which threw up a cooling spray, Ria ordered a halt and they found shade under trees for a short rest. There was no alternative if half her new protégés were not to die of exhaustion.

Stops were needed with increasing frequency after that, and although it was downhill all the way, retracing the route of the day before, progress was slow. Ria sent Ligar and Jergat to scout ahead for dangers and in the mid-afternoon she fell in beside the Kosh boy Panalan. ‘Tell me about mammoths,’ she said.

He wrinkled his face: ‘They are very large, they move in herds, their meat tastes good. What else is there to say?’

‘What happens when a mammoth fights a man?’

‘The man dies.’

‘But how does he die? How does the mammoth kill him?’

‘Have you
truly
never seen a mammoth?’ asked Panalan. He sounded amazed.

‘No, never.’ The almost mythical creatures had not ranged as far west as the Clan hunting grounds for as long as anyone could remember.

‘They’re as tall as two men and as heavy as twenty,’ Panalan explained. ‘So when they want to kill someone they can just stamp on them, or sit on them, or spear them with their tusks …’

‘Tusks? That’s what ivory comes from, right?’

‘They’re the mammoth’s teeth but grown extremely long’ – he spread his arms wide – ‘longer than this. They stick out of the front of his mouth, one on either side, and he uses them for digging and fighting.’

‘But you of the Kosh, you hunt these creatures, yes? And trade their skins and meat and … tusks?’

‘We’ve learnt their ways. We know how to kill them …’

‘Could you catch one for me, if I asked you to? Without killing it?’

‘We could trap one in a pit. But what use would it be to you alive?’

Ria didn’t answer.

In the distance she saw Ligar and Jergat returning at a run.

A pungent burst of hot thick fluid drenched Leoni’s face and hair as they fell, and kept on pumping as Bannerman slumped on top of her.
Blood! It had to be blood!

Leoni screamed and turned her head, spitting and gagging as her mouth and eyes filled with stinking glop. She fought to free herself, was dimly aware of the sounds of gunfire, which seemed to be all around her, heard footsteps charging down on her, thought she must die.

It was Matt. Silent, moving fast, he hauled Bannerman off her, thrust him aside, wrapped his left arm around Leoni and lifted her to her feet. The AK-47 was in his right hand, firing short rapid bursts back towards the creek. The muzzle flashes lit up the night and in the horrible yellowish on-off strobe effect, like riding a ghost train, she caught a glimpse of Bannerman’s slumped body and saw the jagged splinters of white bone and gouts of blood and brain matter where half his head had been blown away.

As the horror of the scene consumed her, two shadowy figures burst out of the trees and charged towards them. A burst from the AK-47 sent one of them tumbling but then the gun snicked and seemed to jam and the second man was on top of them. Matt had let go of Leoni to grapple with him and there was a bellow followed by an agonised scream –
Not Matt, please let it not be Matt.
The attacker fell, there was a rush behind them and Matt whirled, the long blade of a hunting knife gleaming in his hand, to face the new threat.

But it was Leoncio, not an enemy. ‘Quick,’ hissed the shaman and he turned, gesturing for them to follow. When Leoni tried to drop to her knees beside Bannerman, Matt jerked her upright and growled: ‘Nothing to be done for him.’ Then they were running deeper into the jungle, snaking through the trees, the darkness thickening.

There were insects crawling over Leoni’s body, in her hair too, some biting her, and the soup of Bannerman’s blood was congealing in a
sticky mass on her face and throat, dribbling between her breasts and down onto her belly under her clothes. But she hardly registered the discomfort now, her heart thumping, her breath coming in ragged gasps, all her senses alert to the sounds of the pursuit.

A lot of men –
How many? Twenty, thirty?
– were still crashing through the undergrowth behind them, flashlight beams stabbing the night, rough, excited voices calling back and forth to one another, and Leoni felt the oppression of the jungle hemming her in all around. More gunfire came in a long burst, followed by sporadic individual shots and distant muzzle flashes. A few bullets whipped by very close but all the rest went wide.

Leoncio kept up a steady, loping pace, Leoni behind him. Once more she couldn’t see a trail – creepers and thorns grabbed at her legs and she felt Matt’s hand on her arm, steadying her. ‘Down,’ hissed Leoncio, dropping flat to the jungle floor and worming his way forward. Matt and Leoni followed. ‘In here,’ the shaman whispered. He squeezed through a gap between low-lying branches and tangled vines, and led them to a narrow sloping muddy watercourse into which they all slithered downwards, helter-skelter in the darkness.

At the bottom of the gully, after a bruising, soaking, jarring slide, Leoni and Leoncio landed in a heap right at Mary’s feet where she was waiting in the shadows with Esteban and Emmanuel. Matt was behind them, still clutching the AK-47.

There could be no talking but as Leoni staggered upright she wrapped her arms around Mary and whispered the awful news quietly into her ear: ‘I’m sorry. John’s dead. They shot him. He was trying to save me. It’s all my fault.’

With a raw stifled moan the other woman shoved her away.

Had they escaped their pursuers at the watercourse?

The sounds of the chase were growing faint and distant, turning at a tangent from them, but Leoncio wasn’t satisfied. ‘If they have a good tracker they could be back on our trail in minutes,’ he hissed. ‘We have to move fast – no talking, just follow me.’

‘Where are we going?’ Leoni asked.

‘A long way,’ Leoncio whispered. ‘A village I know. We’ll be safe there. You’ll be able to drink Ayahuasca. Good Ayahuasca. We’ll get you back to your Ria again …’

They walked in single file, about five feet apart. Leoncio was once again in the lead, setting a fast pace, followed by Mary, Esteban, Emmanuel and Leoni, with Matt taking up the rear. He had unjammed and reloaded the AK-47, and both the handguns that he’d stolen from Apolinar’s boat were stuffed into his belt.

Somewhere during their headlong escape Leoni had lost her Rolex, and with it all track of time, but soon enough she saw daylight filling the sky from the east. Troops of red howler monkeys were already swinging through the canopy overhead, welcoming the dawn with grating roars and groans, and the high-pitched
rrrk, rrrrk, rrrrk, rrk
calls of huge-billed toucans reverberated from the treetops.

Down on the jungle floor, although it was still quite dark, Leoni could now see enough to avoid the major hazards, which was good, but she also saw the thick matted bloodstains that hadn’t been washed out of her jeans and shirt in the watercourse. Up till now there’d been so much else going on it had been easy to avoid thinking of poor dead John Bannerman, but recognising his blood all over her brought back the whole horror of what had happened.

Leoni braced herself as memories of their encounters during the past week flashed through her mind. He’d saved her life twice. Once in the emergency room, and once again right here tonight – except this time he’d taken bullets that otherwise would certainly have killed her.

Leoncio pushed ahead and the light brightened into full morning.

How much time had passed without them taking a stop? An hour? Two? Three? It was hard to be sure, but suddenly the sun was above the trees and even though the dense green canopy diffused its rays into a soft emerald glow, the heat and humidity of the day soon became almost unbearable.

Leoni had been taking frequent sips from one of her big water bottles but was now horrified to find she had only a few ounces left. What was she going to do when the other one was empty as well? Drink from the Amazon, presumably, and get amoebas in her guts.

She turned her attention to her feet, which hurt, and her legs, which felt weak and wobbly. She had a beating headache and her whole body was covered with scratches and cuts inflicted by the jungle. In contrast Don Emmanuel in his eighties, Don Esteban in his seventies and Don Leoncio in his fifties seemed to float along the almost invisible trail,
expending no effort, somehow avoiding all contact with the vines, thorns and random debris that lined their path.

Gritting her teeth, Leoni forced herself to keep up with them, trying to imitate their easy, fluid gait, when she heard a sound from back along their trail that did not belong to the jungle.

Don Leoncio held up a hand, a finger to his lips for silence, and everyone stopped.

There it was again.

Hunting dogs, baying.

The news brought by Ligar and Jergat was good. There were people ahead on their path. A lot of people. But they weren’t Illimani. They were Merell and they were led by Sebittu and Tari, the couple whose lives they’d saved the day before. ‘They’re talking about a prophecy,’ said Ligar.

Ria grimaced. ‘One of the kids mentioned something like that as well. Any idea what it’s about?’

‘Haven’t a clue,’ said Ligar in out-loud speech. He leaned close and whispered: ‘To be honest, it looks like they’ve all gone mad.’

Late in the afternoon, with the setting sun shining almost directly into their eyes, they came over a ridge. A few bowshots downslope lay the great forest into which Martu and Sakkan had disappeared yesterday with their five hundred Illimani. Now an even larger number of Merell – perhaps a thousand of them – began to swarm out of it. As the distance shortened, Ria saw that many were armed and that a disciplined body of archers stood to the front of the huge crowd. They came to a halt twenty paces from her and Sebittu made his way through the archers until he stood at their forefront. Ria stepped forward also – it seemed the right thing to do – and they faced each other across a few paces of open ground.

There was silence for a heartbeat. Then all the rescued Merell children, including Birsing whom Ria had put in charge, bolted for the Merell ranks where they were scooped up and embraced by sobbing, delighted relatives. Birsing, Ria noticed, found nobody waiting for her and wandered, looking from face to face, until Sebittu’s wife Tari came to her.

‘I’ve gathered the survivors of four bands,’ Sebittu told Ria. ‘There wasn’t another Speaker amongst them so I have command. Yesterday you offered me a place of safety for the Merell. Is that offer still open now you see our numbers?’

‘Of course it’s still open. Just follow us. We’ll take you there.’

‘There is another matter we must settle first,’ said Sebittu. He signalled to Tari who brought Birsing forward: ‘Speak, girl. Tell us your story.’

Birsing’s fierce green eyes glared up at the adults: ‘When the savages destroyed our camp my mother and I sought sanctuary in the Gate of Horn. My brother Jengo was with us.’