by Nick Thacker
“Boulders,” Archie said. “You can barely see them, but only when the light catches them just right.”
Reggie saw and confirmed this fact for himself. The slowly widening concentric circles left by the chief’s steps revealed a line of huge rocks, perfectly placed, leading outward from the shore and rising to just below the water’s height.
The leader of the tribe continued, never hesitating, until he reached the center of the lake. He stood up to his ankles and began to speak in a slow, deep voice. The words were unintelligible to Reggie, but they seemed to have a soothing effect on the gathered tribespeople. They sighed, and he heard some speaking the same syllables back to the chief, their voices lowered to a near-whisper.
They were witnessing an ancient ritual. The chief’s arms were slowly rising again, this time until they were extended straight over his head. His words, the repetitive incantation, rose in volume and intensity to match his arms, and when he opened his palms directly above his head he was nearly shouting.
The villagers copied his enthusiasm, and he saw hundreds of hands raising simultaneously with the chief’s. He noticed a few of the tribesmen to his left, near the last pole on the shore, walk toward the mercenary tied up and begin to untie the knots binding the man’s wrists and ankles. They worked methodically, each member of the tribe performing their duty in ritualistic precision. Some of them untied, while others held him steady. Still others removed his clothes, one layer at a time, until he was nearly naked, standing only in his briefs.
“Now we know where they get their clothes,” Reggie said to no one in particular.
In less than a minute the man, one of the men Reggie didn’t recognize from the attack at the atrium, was standing with his arms held to his sides by a handful of indigenous people. They pressed in against him, preventing him from fighting back or lashing out, and they slowly gripped sections of his body until they had lifted him completely off the ground.
They half-dragged, half-carried the naked man around the edge of the lake and toward the hidden line of submerged boulders. Their trajectory brought the entire group directly in front of Reggie, and he tried to read the man’s thoughts.
His eyes were dark, set deep into his head, and he wore a deep frown. Besides that he was completely motionless, allowing the tribal men to pull him along until he was in front of Joshua.
He quickly turned his head, staring down his former leader, and spat. The saliva reached Joshua’s feet, landing on the side of his boot. Joshua clenched his teeth a few times but otherwise stared straight ahead, ignoring the obvious insult.
Reggie grinned — he couldn’t help it — but the action from the mercenary was answered swiftly. Two of the warriors carrying him released their hold on him for a moment. In the second they’d dropped him, they lashed out with the weapons they were holding. One of the men reached for a club hanging in a belt on his waist and swung it up and onto the back of the mercenary’s head, earning an angry howl from the man. The second tribesman pulled out a shortened spear he’d had slung over his shoulder and shoved it into his hip. This particular attack caused a much greater reaction, the mercenary falling limp, screaming in agony.
The group of indigenous men didn’t falter, however. They pulled the man to his feet and out onto the first rock. Two of the natives poked at his back with spears, forcing him forward to the next boulder.
The mercenary obliged, holding his hip and working slowly to maintain his balance.
It was an excruciatingly long ordeal, but Reggie noticed that the chief hadn’t so much as shifted his position on the rock in the center of the lake. Arms held high, he waited the ten minutes for the mercenary to join him.
When he did, the chief wasted no time. He lashed out with both hands, each of them holding a tiny dagger Reggie hadn’t seen before, and plunged them into the man’s neck. Reggie saw the mercenary reaching up to grab at his severed artery, but the two natives behind him immediately pushed forward with their spears and sent the tips through the man’s back.
Amanda screamed.
Reggie couldn’t help but look away. The entire sickening spectacle had lasted only a few seconds, but the massacre was the most gruesome he’d ever seen. When he looked back to the center of the lake, the mercenary was already falling sideways into the water. The two warriors held him still for a moment, then yanked their spears out of the man’s flesh and allowed him to sink into the lake.
“Oh my God,” Amanda whispered. “Oh, my God…” She was shaking uncontrollably, repeating the three words in a whimpering, defeated voice.
The two warriors with spears were making their way back to the shore, but the king was already beginning his chant again. When Reggie looked over at where the mercenary had been tied, he saw another group of warriors untying the second man in the line.
So this is what happens to the people tied to the poles, he thought. But we’re not even going to have to wait for the chief to jump in the lake.
Reggie wished for a moment that the legend of El Dorado hadn’t been passed down through the ages with only the good parts of the story intact.
62
BY THE TIME THE THIRD mercenary had been slaughtered and sacrificed to the lake, the sun had completely disappeared and there was nothing but a crisp line of moonlight illuminating the village.
Ben had hoped that the tribe would pause their ceremony and continue it in the morning, but as of now it seemed as though they had every intention of finishing. He was beginning to lose control, a feeling he strongly disliked.
He was upset, not just at the tribe and village but at everyone he’d come here with. He wanted to blame them, to make it their fault he was here. But he knew it was foolish; he was the only one he could blame. He’d dragged Julie here, too, and now he had to watch her get murdered by a ruthless Amazonian tribe.
His only saving grace was that he likely wouldn’t live long enough to have the weight of her death upon him.
Ben struggled against the bindings, but his wrists only ached more with every twist of his hands, the ropes never loosening. He looked over at Reggie, hoping the man would have found a way out by now.
Nothing. Reggie was staring straight ahead, directly at the chief standing in the middle of the lake with his hands above his head.
What is this supposed to be, anyway? he thought. This isn’t how sacrificial ceremonies are supposed to go.
He had no idea if it was true or not, but he’d imagined there would be more fanfare, more excitement. A purpose.
To him, there was no purpose to all of this. The chief seemed hardly engaged in the ceremony, and even some of the younger children had lost interest.
“Ben.”
Ben turned to his left and saw Joshua looking at him.
“That one on the end,” he said, motioning with his head.
“Paulinho?” Ben asked.
“Yeah, him. What’s up with him?”
Ben frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Back at the atrium, remember? You were surrounded by another tribe. A different tribe. But they backed off. Why?”
Ben had almost forgotten about their earlier encounter, but his mind was suddenly drawn back to the moment. He remembered beating Rhett and losing Julie and Amanda, but he did also remember the encounter.
“I — I think it was his tattoo.”
“A tattoo?”
“Yeah, on his arm. Their leader grabbed his arm and looked at it, and got spooked.”
“What was the tattoo?”
“No idea. He doesn’t know, either. Just a design on something his granddad gave him.”
Joshua nodded, thinking, and Ben tried to anticipate the man’s thoughts.
“Why?” Ben asked. “You think it can help us here?”
“I don’t know, but it’s the only thing I can think of besides waiting in line to die.”
The others had started listening, and Reggie spoke up. “I’m voting against waiting in line.”
“What if it doesn’t h
elp us?” Amanda asked. She was still whispering, afraid to call undue attention to herself.
“What if it does?” Julie asked.
Ben cringed at her tone and tried to ease the hostility. “Amanda, it’s our only hope. Look at him — he needs help either way.”
“And that’s why we need to figure out how to get out of here. Not ask them to kill us faster.”
“I understand that, Dr. Meron,” Reggie said. “But consider the options. We’re stuck to poles, and without a way to get unstuck we’re not helping anyone.”
Amanda tried to wipe a tear from her eye by pressing her head to her shoulder, but couldn’t reach. It rolled, slowly, down her face and fell to the ground in front of her. “At least try to wake him up,” she finally said.
Ben watched as Reggie tried to urge the man to his left awake. Paulinho responded to the voice, but his eyes were still pulled up tight, revealing just bloodshot white spheres.
“Paulinho,” Reggie tried again. Paulinho’s eyes were still dead to the world, his face blank and expressionless. “Come on, man, wake up.”
The fourth mercenary was dragged, naked, to the rock bridge where the chief waited.
“Hey!” Ben yelled. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, but the one they had — the one where they just waited for their turn to be marched naked to their deaths — wasn’t one he particularly liked. At the very least, he wanted to get their attention.
He yelled again and this time a small portion of the villagers looked his way.
“Yeah,” he shouted. “Over here! Right here. I’m talking to you!”
Still more faces turned his direction.
“Ben,” Julie said, “what do you think you’re doing?”
He ignored her and started rolling his head around in circles. He didn’t have access to his hands and feet currently, so his head was the only thing on his body that could move. Hopefully it will be enough.
A few of the tribespeople started walking toward him. He noticed a few of the warriors glancing over, so he continued yelling. Reggie and Joshua joined in, and finally Archie and Amanda. Julie was the last to jump on board with the plan, but she eventually gave in and began shouting at the people surrounding them.
Two of the warriors appeared in front of Ben, and he shouted as loud as he could, directly in their faces. To their credit, they seemed immune to his chaotic insanity, and more concerned that he was interrupting their sacred proceedings.
“Not me, you idiots,” he shouted. “Go over there —“ he motioned toward Paulinho. “He’s the one you need to see.”
Still more warriors appeared in front of them, and even some of the older men of the tribe milled around the poles Ben’s group were tied to.
The fourth mercenary was marched outward from the lakeshore and onto the rock with the waiting chief. For an ostensibly ceremonious event, the chief quite unceremoniously jammed the blood-soaked daggers into the man’s neck, and the man’s two escorts followed up with their own stabbings.
Ben could hardly hear the man’s screams as he died, struggling for breath as his lungs and throat were punctured. He was caught up in his own yelling, screaming for attention. I just need one of you to understand me, he thought. Is that so much to ask?
“Ben, look.” Julie’s voice somehow reached his ears over the cacophony, and he followed its instructions and looked back to Paulinho. Three of the warriors had gathered in front of the man, and more were heading toward him.
“I think it’s working,” Archie said. “I think they’re —”
Six warriors surrounded Paulinho and began untying his hands and feet.
“No, no, no,” Reggie said. “That’s not what we —“
Paulinho still didn’t resist as his shirt was ripped off of him. One of the warriors was working on his pants when the others started dragging him toward the lake.
“This is not good,” Reggie said. “All we did was make them mad. They’re turning their attention to our group now.”
“No,” Amanda said. “Please, we have to make them understand.”
Paulinho had been stripped down to his underwear by now, and he was standing at the edge of the lake. The two men with spears pushed him forward, onto the first of the rocks. He took one precarious step forward, then another.
Whatever drug was affecting him had turned him into a calm, placated individual. He didn’t struggle, he didn’t fight back. He simply walked forward, walking toward his own death.
Does he even know what’s happening right now? Ben thought.
Ben began to lose control. He forced his upper body to crouch down as low as he could, bending his elbows until the strain on his shoulders from his bound hands screamed in pain. He pulled the pole against his back, pressing it tightly to his torso, then he launched himself upward. He pushed with his feet, feeling them sink into the mud. The pole barely budged, but he knew it moved.
He repeated the process, again and again. He worked silently, all the while watching Paulinho and the chief out on the rock in the center of the lake. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, yet he silently begged the others to notice him, so that they could begin freeing themselves as well.
The pole loosened with every thrust upward, but it was far too long for him to lift it out of the hole it sat in. What next? Ben wondered. He was just loosening the trunk, but he was still tied to it. Even if he could loosen it enough to lift it from the hole, his feet were still affixed to it.
Still, it gave him something to focus on, something besides watching his friend die at the hands of a religious nutcase.
The chief’s arms were raised over his head, preparing for the sacrificial murder. Ben could almost feel the anxiousness of the villagers as they watched the proceedings. The two warriors behind Paulinho stood on the rock with their spears at the ready, awaiting their leader’s next move.
Paulinho was in a daze, staring straight ahead. He was rail-thin, his lack of clothing only accentuating his lean physique.
Ben paused his attempts to loosen the pole from the dirt. He watched the back of Paulinho’s head as it rolled around lifelessly. Wake up, he thought. Please, for the love of God, wake up.
Paulinho didn’t wake up.
The chief’s arms tensed in anticipation, and Ben saw his hands start to fall downward.
Ben wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. The chief’s hands began the downward half-circles that would terminate on either side of Paulinho’s neck, and Ben watched on in silent horror.
63
PAULINHO SPOKE, HIS VOICE RESONATING clearly over the water. Ben couldn’t make out the word, but it was a guttural sound, heavy with consonants.
The chief paused, his arms now held out at his sides, elbows bent.
Paulinho repeated the word. The chief cocked his head sideways but didn’t move his arms. The entire scene seemed to freeze in place, heavy with anticipation. Paulinho repeated the word a third time. Ben didn’t understand it, but he turned and looked at Archie.
“I — I’m not sure what it means,” Archie said.
“Have you heard it before?” Julie asked.
“Yes, I believe so. I always assumed it was just a curse, something said out of frustration toward another person.”
“What language is it?”
“That’s just it,” Archie said. “I didn’t think it actually meant anything in any language. Different tribes have used it, so I assumed that it was just a shared vernacular of the region.”
The chief slowly lowered his hands and whispered a few words to the men standing behind Paulinho. They placed their spears over their shoulder once again and grabbed Paulinho’s arms.
The chief stepped closer to Paulinho and stared at him. He was shorter, so he pulled Paulinho’s head down to look into his eyes. The two warriors began poking and prodding Paulinho with their fingers, pinching his skin as they examined him.
One of the warriors stopped and dropped Paulinho’s arm. He whispered something, a single word. Ben cou
ldn’t hear what it was from the shoreline, but the chief reacted swiftly.
He shouted, a long stream of consonant-laden words that seemed more like grunting than conversational speech. The remainder of the warriors jumped into action, and even a few of the women and children. The entire village sprang into life, an odd juxtaposition as Ben’s group, the rest of the mercenaries, and Paulinho and the chief remained still.
One of the women stepped forward after a minute or two and offered two of the yellow fruits to one of the warriors who had returned to the shoreline. The indigenous warrior walked out to the lake center again and handed the fruits to the chief. The chief lifted one of the fruits to his mouth and bit a piece of its flesh. He held the other fruit toward Paulinho’s mouth and waited.
There were a few people standing around, but most of the village had disappeared to perform some unknown task. Ben watched anxiously to see what Paulinho would do.
It took about ten seconds, but Paulinho slowly lowered his mouth down and bit off a chunk from the fruit. Ben could tell he was chewing, then he saw Paulinho’s neck tense as he swallowed. He and the chief still stared at one another.
They began to sway, slowly at first then more rapidly as the fruit took its effect on them. Ben frowned, more surprised and confused than angry. What in the world? He watched Paulinho grow more and more unbalanced, finally convulsing into a heap on the large boulder at the center of the lake. The chief responded in kind, taking longer but eventually joining Paulinho on the boulder, both men’s backs resting on the rock submerged beneath the surface.
The water lapped at Paulinho’s face, but he didn’t move.
“They killed him,” Joshua said.
No one spoke. Ben and the others watched in silence for a few minutes, but neither man showed any signs of life.
Ben heard Julie whisper. “What’s going on? Are they dead?”
“Better not be,” Reggie said from Ben’s left. “I have some words I need to exchange with that chief.”
Another minute passed, Ben’s group intently watching the center of the lake. Finally, Ben thought he saw Paulinho’s arm twitch. He waited to make sure he wasn’t going crazy. It moved again, and he saw the chief stir just behind Paulinho.