by Karen Swan
‘Our most sacred spot. Our church, you would say.’
She looked back at it. There was indeed a spiritual presence here; she couldn’t describe it exactly but the space felt full somehow, as if loaded. The air seemed to sparkle, the rocks to bask. She expected to see fairies flitting with butterflies, fawns nosing the grass.
‘We believe they are over two thousand years old.’
Tara’s eyebrow arched. ‘That’s pretty . . . pretty old,’ she murmured. She kept wanting to touch them. ‘Is it okay that I . . .?’ she asked, holding her arm out.
He nodded, watching her as she walked slowly around the circle, touching each sphere in turn. They all felt different. Some felt older and more ‘scarred’ or marked than others.
‘They are . . .’ He reached for the word ‘Gabbro . . .? From inside the earth. Melted . . .’ He frowned.
‘Magma?’ she supplied for him.
He nodded. ‘Magma. Magma.’
‘How are they so perfect?’
‘They were carved by hammering and grinding with smaller stones . . . There are three hundred throughout the land.’
‘Three hundred,’ she marvelled. ‘It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Actually, that wasn’t strictly true. Stonehenge inspired a similar awe and confusion, but there it was the scale of the stones that held the power; here, it was the beauty and symmetry of the spheres that set them apart.
She looked back at him, seeing how he watched her, seeming to appreciate her reaction. ‘William, why have you brought me here?’
‘Come.’ And he walked to the centre of the circle and sat down, inviting her to do the same. There were two flat stones in the centre, like discs, and she was grateful for them, the ground already soft and muddy, rainwater running freely past their feet.
She settled herself, almost sighing with relief to rest, becoming steadily aware of the birdsong again, the slanting light through the trees. Beauty reasserted itself, along with hope. She realized she no longer felt frightened.
William looked at her with his brown eyes that seemed to see more than just what was in front of him. Like the parrots that could see ultraviolet, so she sensed he could read her beyond the normal spectrum. ‘Your father is a rich man.’
She was still. ‘. . . Yes.’
‘He is a good man.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you . . . you are good too.’ They were statements, not questions.
‘I try to be. I’ve made helping others my career.’
‘Even when you did not need to have a career.’
She shrugged. Not many people noticed that.
‘Is Alex good?’
The question startled her. Alex was William’s friend. The very query of whether he was a good person seemed like a betrayal, a suggestion that he was not. But how was she to answer? Could she respond in all honesty that he’d been good to her? He had possibly never harmed anyone as much as he had harmed her.
Her mouth parted, no obvious reply coming to her lips. ‘I believe he has good intentions,’ she said finally.
William stared at her, waiting patiently for the ‘but’.
She took a sharp inhale. ‘But he doesn’t necessarily go about things the right way.’
‘He is too ambitious.’ It was another statement.
‘Yes.’
‘He hurt you.’
Just talking about it hurt her. ‘. . . Yes. But it was a long time ago. It’s all blood under the bridge now, as they say.’
‘Do they?’
‘Well, some people.’ She shrugged again. It seemed to be raining even harder – if that was possible – and yet she noticed it less. The water was warm; it felt somehow . . . cleansing.
William was quiet for several moments. ‘I believe his intentions are good too. I do not believe he deliberately intended to do us harm.’
Tara frowned. ‘Do you harm?’
‘My people. His vision is big, he wants to save the whole world, and if that means sacrificing a few people for the greater good, well . . .’ He shrugged and looked at her meaningfully. ‘You. And us. We are disposable to him.’
There was a brutality to the statement, as well as finality. But was it true? She had seen how Alex’s eyes had shone with pain as the ‘but’ had spun between them too. I had expected to get over it. She didn’t think she had been so disposable after all.
She shifted her feet closer to her bottom, feeling a kernel of worry begin to worm into her stomach. ‘William, God only knows Alex and I have had our issues and I’m not his greatest fan, but I don’t understand what you mean about him doing you harm? He’s not a bad man and I know how important you are to him. I could see it in the way he laughed and spoke with you. He came to live with you.’
‘Yes. We welcomed him as a true friend.’ He nodded slowly, looking around the space they sat in. He closed his eyes, rocking very slightly for a few moments. He opened them again, looking straight at her. There was something about his gaze she felt so unlike anyone else’s – prescient, almost not quite human, or perhaps more than human, she wasn’t sure which. ‘It is hard for you to understand, I know, that I am able to communicate with animals, and the spirits of the jungle.’
‘I . . .’ She stammered. ‘We don’t have an equivalent facility in our culture. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It is you I am sorry for. We are sitting here now and I can feel the presence of my ancestors. They are all around us.’
Tara’s eyes swivelled, trying to ‘see’ the sparkling air and not just the rain.
‘In our village, in Alto Uren, each family has lived on the same piece of ground as his ancestors for three thousand years. Older even than this sacred site.’
‘That’s wonderful.’
‘Yes, it is. We grow over one hundred crops for our food, building materials and medicine. We need nothing from the outside world and we take nothing. We live as we always have done, in rhythm with the forests and the seasons . . . So I am sure you can understand that I have a duty to protect my people.’
‘I do.’
‘We have a saying: that it is better to be a skinny dog, than a dead lion.’
Tara was quiet for a moment, not fully sure she understood. So much of what he was saying was oblique to her. Was he telling her all this because he was suggesting Alex was somehow working against the tribe? ‘William, you do know that the entire point of the project is about safeguarding Indigenous cultures and communities such as yours, as much as it is to do with protecting the rainforests, stopping mining and all that?’
A small smile spread over William’s mouth, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘No mining, that is right.’
‘Exactly. Projects such as this national park mean mining will never be allowed. Your country is leading the world in terms of renewable energies.’
William tipped his head to the side, interestedly. ‘How exactly?’
‘By using hydro-electricity instead of fossil fuels.’
‘Yes. Hydro-electricity.’ He looked her straight in the eye, and Tara had a sudden sense of being ambushed. Led into a trap. ‘And when the handover happens today and the land is given back to the Costa Rican people – specifically, the government . . .’ His downward inflection on that word left her in no doubt of his view on them. ‘They will start to build a dam that will flood thousands of hectares of land which are sacred to my people. The places where we have lived and worshipped for thousands of years will be destroyed. Our villages will be underwater. Our monuments’ – he swept an arm to indicate the stone circle – ‘will be underwater. Our entire culture will be lost, our people will be displaced. And no one will care, because it is far more important to be seen to be using renewable energies.’
Tara stared. ‘But surely . . .’ She frowned. ‘No. There are laws in place to protect your rights.’
‘Laws can be changed. And once the land is made the property of the nation, the laws will be changed.’
‘But I remember my father
. . .’ She strained to remember the details of all those many dinner-table conversations she had tried so hard to avoid or block out. ‘I remember him saying there’s a government body specifically set up to protect the interests of the Indigenous communities. Co . . .?’
‘No one from Conai has ever come to our village. It is just a face to show to the world. They pretend to consult us, but nothing changes. I brought you here because I wanted you to see this, feel it and understand. If it is lost, it will be lost forever.’
Tara bit her lip, staring around at the clearing – ancient and hidden, secret and sacred. There was so much she didn’t understand out here and never would . . . but she couldn’t deny things had happened that she couldn’t explain. Her headaches had gone; she had seen plants heal wounds that would have taken weeks at home; both medicine men had intuitively read her psyche in a way no GP or therapist ever had. And there was something unequivocally spiritual about this place. It felt more reverential than any church she’d ever been inside.
‘William, I want to help you. I honestly don’t know if what you’re saying about Alex is true – I can’t say with certainty that it isn’t – but I do know my father would want to help you if he knew.’ She sighed. ‘But we’re miles from anywhere and the handover is today . . .’ She gave a hopeless shrug. ‘It’s too late to do anything now.’
He reached into his bag and pulled out something large and rectangular, like a black brick.
She frowned as he handed it to her. ‘What is that?’ she asked. She turned it over and her eyes widened. ‘You’ve got a satellite phone?’ she gasped. ‘But . . . how?’
‘Alex,’ William shrugged. ‘We bartered.’
She looked up at him with wide eyes. ‘What did he get in return?’
‘A goat.’
She was silent for a long, drawn-out moment. A phone for a goat. She couldn’t stop a smile from climbing into her eyes as she remembered a whispered conversation in the night, many years ago . . . ‘He always wanted a goat.’
William watched her with an enigmatic smile of his own.
She looked back at the prehistoric phone. ‘You’ll have to show me how to work it,’ she said.
‘You will speak to your father?’
‘I will. But I still don’t know what can be done at this stage. Getting the national park ready for today has been a huge undertaking. Hundreds of people are involved – rangers, ecologists, consultants, lawyers. It’s a juggernaut. Trying to delay it now would be like turning a battleship.’
‘I’ve never seen a battleship,’ he said simply. ‘But all ships and boats – no matter how big – can turn.’
She smiled. ‘Well, that is true.’
‘Get him to listen to you, Tara. Then you can go home.’
There was a long pause down the line; so long, Tara half wondered if they had been disconnected.
‘So let me get this right,’ her father said finally, his voice clear and authoritative. ‘You’re telling me the ransom demand is a . . . clause?’
She looked at William, sitting cross-legged in the circle, whittling his stick – and winked at him. He gave her a gap-toothed smile in return.
‘Dad, it’s not a ransom. William wanted to bring me here so that I could see for myself what is at stake. Once you hand the park over, it’ll be too late. Their rights need to be protected and written into the contract that no area of the park will ever be flooded or developed in any way to allow for a hydro-electric dam. There can’t be any loopholes. It has to be completely watertight.’
‘No pun intended, of course,’ he said, but neither of them laughed. Tensions were running high and they were all stretched thin by the events of the past twenty-four hours. ‘Tara, it has taken years for those contracts to be drawn up and agreed. Even if I agreed to putting the clause in, it couldn’t be done in time today. You are aware the handover ceremony was supposed to be in three hours?’
‘Of course I am! But there’s still time. Zac’s a lawyer. He draws up contracts all the time. Get him to do it. It’s one clause.’
‘Tara—’
‘Or delay the handover. If it’s a deal-breaker for the government – who, let’s not forget, are being gifted all this land – then perhaps you should be asking yourself whether the handover is even a good idea?’
She heard him sigh. ‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Dad, I know it’s not. Nothing at your level ever is. But if you could be here and see this too, you would understand why I am asking this. Your vision is going to make a tangible difference to the health of this entire planet because you are a great man. But you’re an even better father, and you, me and Miles know you’ve also created this legacy because it will protect a place we all love. Please trust me. I’m asking you to do this – for me.’
‘Piglet . . .’ Her father’s voice was pained. There was a long pause and she could imagine him rubbing his temples, as he always did when he was troubled. The silence extended. ‘. . . Okay,’ he sighed finally. ‘I’ll get Zac onto it right away and see what can be done. Tell your friend William we’ve got a deal.’
‘Yes!’ She looked over to William and gave him the thumbs up. ‘Fantastic! Thank you.’
‘But we’ll still have to delay the handover.’
‘Really? For just one clause?’
‘It’s not just the paperwork. I want you to be here, beside your mother and me, when we do it. This is a legacy from our family, not just me.’
‘. . . Okay.’ It meant seeing Alex again, assuming he had made it back. Part of her had hoped that it could happen without her there. Things would be simpler that way if they could just never see each other again.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘I’m honestly fine. My feet are sore but . . . they’ll heal soon enough.’
‘Most things do, Piglet.’ His tone had changed and she had a feeling he wasn’t talking about her feet anymore; she wondered again what conversations he’d had with his technical director over the years, the casual updates he’d given about the family back home and specifically, how she was doing. ‘So now that the conditions have been met, tell me where you are. Where can we send help to come and get you? Your mother’s beside herself and Miles isn’t much better.’
‘William says we’re about two hours from the nearest place you could land a helicopter. But I’ll call when we get there, I promise.’
Her father gave a sound that wasn’t entirely happy.
‘Honestly, I’m perfectly safe. There’s no one better equipped than William to bring me back again.’
‘Well, you’d better. We’ll be running the clocks down. Bailey’s getting the co-ordinates from this call and if we don’t hear from you in two hours, they’ll disperse a land search and rescue team across the radius area. You know that.’
She did know that. Simon Bailey had headed her father’s personal protection team for fifteen years now. ‘Really, Dad, I’m fine. I’ll be back soon.’
‘You sound tired.’
‘More than you could know,’ she sighed.
‘Well, just hang in there . . . Oh wait, your brother wants to talk to you. I’ll hand him over. We’ll see you shortly . . . Bye, Piglet.’
‘Bye, Dad. Love you.’
‘. . . Make it quick,’ she heard her father say, his voice more distant. ‘She needs to get going.’
Miles came onto the line. ‘Twig?’
‘Hey,’ she smiled.
She could hear him exhale with relief. ‘Are you really okay?’
‘I’m honestly fine. Just completely knackered.’
‘We’ve been freaking out here.’
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘When that son-of-a-bitch Alex Carter pitched up here without you, all hell broke loose.’
It was her turn to go quiet. She closed her eyes, not wanting to think about how Rory had reacted to meeting her ex, a guy he’d never heard about. ‘So Alex is there, then?’
‘Well, he was. But he’
s gone again.’
‘Gone?’ Her eyes flew open and she felt her heart quake at the thought of him slipping from her life once more. ‘Gone where?’
‘Who cares? He went off to find you. He said he knows where you are, but that’s bollocks.’
She frowned. ‘He can’t possibly know. I don’t know where I am! And I’m here!’
‘I know, it didn’t make sense to anyone but him, but we couldn’t stop him. He thinks you’re at some sacred site.’
Tara went very still. Her gaze swept over the stone circle again. ‘But . . . how could he possibly know that?’
Miles sighed. ‘Don’t laugh, but Jed said there’s a curse on you.’
‘A curse? On me?’ She gave a shocked laugh. She didn’t know which part of that statement was the more ridiculous. ‘But . . . who? . . . I mean, wh-why?’
‘Some voodoo spirit man trying to stop the handover, I don’t know,’ he muttered.
She looked slowly across at William again. He was still whittling away at his stick, quiet and still. Almost serene. Was it possible he was the architect of so much chaos? ‘That makes no sense, Miles,’ she said in a quiet voice.
‘You’re telling me!’ he laughed, mirthlessly. ‘Jed said it had something to do with the river being the tribe’s lifeblood or something? That’s why you had that accident in the canoe, supposedly. The spirit of the river was . . . enacting the curse. Anyway, it’s all horseshit but Alex wouldn’t listen. He took off before anyone could stop him.’
Tara stared into space, a bad feeling spreading through her like black smoke.
William had placed a curse. On her. That was what Jed had said. It was what Alex believed . . . But William hadn’t even met her when she’d had the accident.
You. And us. We are disposable to him . . . We welcomed him as a friend.
He had used the past tense. Were they not still friends, then? They had seemed so when she and Alex had arrived at the village. But in her experience, the truth often lay in what wasn’t said.
I thought I would get over it . . . but I didn’t.
We welcomed him as a friend . . . but he betrayed us.
It was Alex’s canoe. He was supposed to be on the boat, not her.