Native Tongue

by Shannon Greenland

  A few hours later, he put his portfolio back together. “I need fresh air and real food. And it’s going to be dark soon. I don’t want to go back through the jungle at nighttime.” Quirk came over and sat down beside me. “What’s your program got so far?”

  After a few clicks, I studied the screen . . . and my whole body sank. “Nothing.”

  “It’s okay.” Quirk shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Maybe.”

  We extinguished the lanterns, crawled back through the tunnel entrance, and traversed the swinging bridge. As we made our way through the jungle, we ran into Jonathan.

  “I tried to get over to the cave,” Jonathan began, “but Guillermo and I had to go into town for an emergency conference call with the IPNC and our top guy at the Specialists.”

  By “top guy” I knew he meant TL, but because of Quirk, Jonathan didn’t say his name.

  “Intel told us weeks ago that two chiefs were planning to steal the vase. Last night another message was intercepted.

  Unfortunately, we still don’t have the identity of the chiefs, but the message indicated a hit man has been hired. For whom, we’re unsure.”

  “Hit man?” I asked. “You mean someone from one of the tribes?”

  “Yes. For all we know, he or she could be part of the talks, a Huworo native . . . no telling. But all the chiefs know you’re in the cave decoding the glyphs for a key piece of information about the vase, presumably its rightful owner. We do not believe one of our team members is in immediate danger, but watch each other’s backs.”

  Quirk and I nodded our understanding.

  “And do your best to decipher the code as soon as possible.”

  I didn’t think now was a good time to tell Jonathan my program had given me nothing today.

  “How’s your program doing?” he asked.

  “So far so good,” I sort of lied.

  “Do you have anything yet?”

  “Hopefully, by tomorrow.” I dodged a direct answer to his question, not wanting to admit I had doubts, serious doubts, that my software would come through. I glanced down at the pouch he wore. “Can we see the vase?”

  Carefully he removed the leather pouch from his body and handed it to me. I undid the tied strap and pulled out the vase wrapped heavily in thick layers of protective cloth. One by one I unfolded the layers, and as I got closer and closer to revealing the artifact, it occurred to me I probably shouldn’t be doing this. I might break it. And then where would that leave everything?

  GiGi ruins history.

  I handed the wad back to Jonathan. “You do it. I don’t trust myself.”

  With big, confident fingers, he unfolded the wrapping and held it out for us to see. Quirk and I both moved closer, neither one of us touching it. Usually things appeared different in person, but to my surprise, the vase looked just like it had up on the screen back at the ranch.

  I glanced up at Jonathan. “Aren’t you worried you might break it or lose it or someone might steal it?”

  He arched an incredulous brow, as if that was the silliest thing to worry about.

  Okay, it probably was for someone like Jonathan or TL. But me? It was definitely something to worry about. I couldn’t imagine being given this priceless artifact to guard.

  Jonathan wrapped it back up. “Let’s call it a day. I want to touch base with Flint,” he said, using Parrot’s alias.

  We followed Jonathan back to the Huworo village.

  Quirk walked toward the single-men hut, and, when he was out of hearing range, Jonathan turned to me. “When I was in town, I told TL about what happened back in the airport security shack yesterday. He wants you to get that drawing of that woman to Chapling as soon as possible.”

  “Sure. No problem.”

  “And”—Jonathan cleared his throat—“I have a message for you from David.”

  My stomach swirled. “David?”

  “He was on the conference call earlier. He said he tried texting you, but it didn’t go through.”

  Huh. I checked my cell and saw I had no signal. Even with our new satellite chips, the jungle still made it difficult. I looked up at Jonathan in expectation of David’s message.

  He managed to look a bit embarrassed. “David says hi.”

  I waited for the rest of the message, but Jonathan said nothing. “Hi?” I asked. “That’s it?”

  Jonathan gave a terse nod. “I told him I was not a telegram service and to limit his message to one word.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How generous of you.”

  With another nod, Jonathan headed off in the opposite direction. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to head over to the talks. Remember the drawing. Try to find a signal for your computer so you can send the scan to Chapling.”

  “Yeah. No problem,” I said, preoccupied.

  Hi. One word. David was on the other side of the world and yet he still, in one word, managed to make me feel like he was right here.

  With a sigh, I took my laptop and cell phone in the hopes of finding a nearby signal. Someplace high up. I looked up into the thick foliage and turned a slow circle. Maybe I could climb a tree?

  “What are you doing?” Quirk asked.

  I jumped. “I thought you went back to your hut.”

  He smiled. “I did. But I wanted to go for a walk. Need to clear my head of all those cave drawings. So what are you doing? Looking for monkeys?”

  “Ha-ha.” I held up my laptop. “I need a signal.”

  Quirk nodded. “I know the perfect place.” He started walking, and I followed. We went across the village and past the corral and then came to a stop. He pointed up. “Watchtower.”

  I craned my neck all the way back and sure enough at the top of a very tall tree sat a watchtower. I squinted my eyes and made out a man, presumably the watch person. I swallowed. “That’s really far up.”

  Quirk shrugged. “You said you wanted a signal.”

  “What are you two doing?” Jonathan asked, coming up behind us.

  Quirk pointed up. “She said she needed a signal.”

  Jonathan looked up and whistled. “That should do it.” He motioned toward the ceremonial hut. “However, I think you should come with me to the talks instead. It’ll be interesting for you to witness your teammate in action.”

  I held up my laptop. “Do the other thing later then?”

  Jonathan nodded.

  “I didn’t realize I was allowed in the talks. I thought only natives could attend.”

  “Only the chiefs and the translators are allowed to speak. Anyone else can witness it.” Jonathan started walking slowly toward the big circular structure, and Quirk and I stepped in line beside him.

  “How are the talks going?” I asked.

  “Every chief has valid documentation to prove the Mother Nature vase belonged to his tribe at one time in history. None of the chiefs is willing to give up his rights to the artifact.” Jonathan shook his head. “It’s wearing Flint out.”

  I sighed. “I hate hearing that.”

  Jonathan stopped at the entrance to the ceremonial hut. “They are very interested in finding out what those glyphs say exactly.”

  “We’re trying our best,” Quirk commented, motioning to the opening in the hut. “Shall we?”

  Jonathan and I followed Quirk inside. Like breakfast this morning, everyone sat in designated areas, depending on their gender and age. Parrot, however, sat right dead center with the chiefs. The personal translators sat behind them.

  Jonathan took his spot beside Guillermo, and I found an empty straw mat beside Jaaci along the back wall. She smiled at me as I situated myself beside her. I located Talon among the chiefs. He sat directly across the U shape from Parrot, right in Parrot’s line of sight. And although Talon’s back was to me, it appeared as if he was staring straight at Parrot.

  I switched my gaze to Parrot and found him looking everywhere but in Talon’s direction.

  A chief wearing a nose ring lifted an old parchment rolled an
d secured with a black leather strap. “Lu ymbarsiqr misysac va gyc sga tyra em ioq nirrarreim em dedsaam svamsu sgqaa . . .”

  He continued in his native tongue, and my brain went numb trying to keep up. A minute later the chief finished, and everyone turned their attention to Parrot.

  Parrot took a second or two, probably trying to translate what was said in his own brain, and then spoke, “My ancestors noted that we had the vase in our possession in fifteen twenty-three. Mother Nature relieved the great drought of that year. We had the best crops ever. And then the Bidum warriors raided our village and stole the vase.”

  The chiefs’ personal translators leaned forward and whispered into their ears, converting Parrot’s English into their chief’s language.

  “Xjisit auys qsuug na qiuqmf seofif auys wommehf?” shouted a chief with black dots tattooed over his face, chest, and arms.

  Everyone turned to Parrot. He took a second . . . “Where’s your proof that my people raided your village?”

  The translators simultaneously whispered into their chiefs’ ears.

  “Sgys tyra qefgsdokka zakimfr . . .” The chief with the nose ring spoke again.

  Everyone turned to Parrot. He took a second . . . “That vase rightfully belongs to my people. Stealing it doesn’t legally make it yours.”

  The translators simultaneously whispered into their chiefs’ ears.

  “Oyq,” a chief wearing a colorful robe grunted. “Xir xycepy oeip . . .”

  Everyone turned to Parrot. “Yes, but before your people had it, we had it. Where’s your proof that your people didn’t steal it from us?”

  On and on the talks went, with no hope of resolution in sight.

  And after a while, I found myself studying Parrot. To any person who really didn’t know him, they would think he was fine by looking at him. Calm, controlled, patient. But I’d known Parrot nearly a year, and although he hid it well, I detected the exhaustion and stress in him. Little things like reaching up to rub his temple, blinking slow from dry eyes, the fatigue in his voice, and the way he kept forcing himself to sit up straight.

  I couldn’t imagine so many voices circling around in my head, bumping into each other, pushing and shoving for space. I’d probably go insane with the overload.

  I wished I had the power to call an end to things and give him a break.

  Suddenly, a deep grunt vibrated through the hut, and I snapped to attention.

  A chief with very long hair shot angrily to his feet. He yelled across the U shape at the chief with the black-dot tattoos, and that chief got to his feet, too.

  Back and forth they yelled, and it sounded as if they were using some of the same words. Parrot got to his feet and tried to keep up, but with their fast exchange and loud voices, Parrot’s voice was overpowered.

  Then the two chiefs charged at each other, and I sucked in a breath.

  Other chiefs and assistants rushed the two who were about to fight and pulled them apart. They were all shouting over one another. The chief with the long hair shoved others out of his way and stormed from the hut. The chief with the tattoo plopped back down on his stool. And then slowly everyone trickled back to their seats.

  I looked at each of my team members, and they seemed as caught off guard as me.

  Things quieted and, just as I thought the talks would begin again, Talon stood. Up to this point he’d been quiet. For the first time since I’d come in, Parrot gazed straight across the U and into Talon’s eyes.

  And then Talon lifted a finger and pointed it right at Parrot.

  [11]

  To parrot’s credit, he kept his gaze passively fastened on Talon as if he were any other chief standing there pointing his finger. Parrot showed no signs of recognition, no signs of fear, only a hint of question floated in his eyes.

  All the chiefs stared at Talon waiting for him to speak.

  “Baet pawkot yaeng doe yote ratag,” he finally said, before turning and walking straight out of the ceremonial hut.

  The chiefs silently looked at one another, clearly wondering what was going on. I switched my attention to Parrot and found him looking straight at me.

  The same chief who had chanted at this morning’s breakfast stood and said something in his language.

  Everyone looked at Parrot. “Today’s events are over,” he translated.

  The chiefs’ assistants whispered the translation into their ears, and then everyone started getting up and filing out of the hut. With my laptop in tow, I made a beeline for Parrot.

  “Let’s talk,” I said, grabbing his arm, not giving him a chance to say no.

  We wove our way through the departing crowd, across the village, and stopped at the corral. Our horses Diablo and Abrienda came right over.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I demanded, not giving him the time to decide if he wanted to talk to me or not. I’d been more than patient with Parrot’s silence, but it was evident I’d have to pull information from him.

  And I thought I was hard to talk to.

  I planted my hand on my hip. “I want to know the story of you and Talon.” I wasn’t being nosy, or a bully. I knew if Parrot didn’t talk to someone, he was going to explode from the stress. “What did he just say to you?”

  He turned and stalked off.

  What the . . . ?

  I stalked after him. “Stop.”

  Blatantly ignoring me, Parrot marched right into the jungle.

  “Parrot! Stop!”

  He threw his hand up, telling me to bug off.

  It only fueled my fire. I ran to catch up, dug my fingers in his arm, and spun him around. I jabbed my finger in his face. “Now listen. I’m sick of you keeping everything secret. This is starting to affect the mission. If I have to be concerned about Talon, that maybe he is the hit man, then I need to know. I want you to talk. Now.”

  Parrot jabbed his finger right back in my face. “And I’m sick of you bugging me. This has nothing to do with the mission. Just leave me alone!”

  “No.”

  His face hardened. “Get. Out. Of. My. Face,” he gritted.

  “No,” I ground out through clenched teeth, fully aware I was pushing both of us beyond the limit.

  Parrot growled, a very out-of-character reaction. He turned away from me and, with fisted hands, let out a loud yell. It echoed through the jungle, and my stomach clenched with the primal sound of it. Like all the frustration and anger over his entire life had just erupted from his body.

  With another yell, he spun and kicked a tree. And kicked it again.

  I reached for him. “Parrot, stop. You’re going to break your toes.”

  He turned away from me and put his hands over his face. “Please. Just leave me alone.”