by Greig Beck
“What about the Pemon?” Ben asked.
“If they know, they’re not saying,” Jenny said.
“Yeah, we kinda expected that,” Emma added.
“It’s got to be here,” Dan said. “I just feel it.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Steve grinned.
“We push on,” Ben said, nodding to Ataca.
They travelled on all day, and Ben’s GPS told him that they were somewhere about 52 miles from where they had departed. The jungle had closed in again, and the rods of light that filtered down to them were turning to a muted twilight, indicating they were coming to the end of the day.
The last thing Ben wanted was to be travelling in the darkness, or worse, be forced up onto some damp riverbank.
They glided on in silence for another 30 minutes before Emma straightened and pointed her flashlight.
“There!” she shouted.
A huge boulder sat half submerged at the water line, and by the edge of the first rocky outcrop they’d seen for dozens of miles.
“That’s it, gotta be.” Ben grinned.
Beside the huge rock, the rotted stump of tree poked out half a dozen feet. It was a good four feet round and would have been enormously distinctive when it was alive, perhaps a hundred years ago. It could well be the tree trunk his great, great grandfather had remarked upon in his notebook, Ben thought.
“We’ll camp for the night on the rocks.” Ben turned. “Ataca.” He pointed to the shoreline where there were rounded slabs leading into the water.
“Where’s the secret river?” Emma asked.
“Good question.” Ben craned forward but saw nothing, just a line of rushes between some of the thicker tree trunks, ferns, and bushes. He held up a hand and Ataca dug his paddle in to slow the boat. Ben then saw that the rushes actually bobbed and bent gently towards them. He smiled – there was a water flow coming from behind them.
He pointed again and waved them on. Ataca nodded and paddled deeper on one side of the canoe, steering them to where Ben indicated.
As they passed the huge boulder, Ben looked up at its surface – the carving was there, a huge leering face, faint and though heavily time eroded, still unmistakable.
Behind him, he heard Ataca mumbling and holding onto the amulet that hung around his neck as the boat glided up onto the shore and ground up on the rocks for a moment.
Ben stepped out. He held onto the edge of the canoe and pulled it further up on shore a few feet as he looked from the Pemon to the rock face and back again.
Ataca refused to look at it, but he knew Jenny had been right; superstition ran strong in the Pemon, and this meant something to them. Ben looked back at the carved face. Now that he was up closer, it wasn’t human at all, but something with fangs, a scaled face, and slit-pupil eyes.
“Rope,” Ben said, holding out his hand.
Emma handed him a length of rope which he tied to the front of the canoe, and then while he was on the bank, dragged the canoe along the rocky edge until he came to the reed barrier, where he tugged it through – he was right – just behind it there was a small hidden river.
Ben straightened. “We’ll camp here tonight.”
*****
The night was uneventful, and another lathering of repellent plus a healthy fire kept insects, predators, and anything else interested in making a home or meal of them at bay.
Just before they’d turned in, Ben did a quick wide circuit of their camp, looking for anything that might have been a threat to the group. He was as satisfied as he could be, but knew he’d be sleeping light tonight.
Emma had joined him and above them in an opening of the tree canopy, they saw the clouds open momentarily, displaying a dark sky speckled with stars…and something else.
“What is that?” Emma asked, frowning.
Ben quickly pulled out his binoculars and pointed them up at the streak. “Weird; looks sorta like a streak of light.”
“Meteor?” she asked.
“Maybe, but it’s just hanging there.” He lowered the glasses. “It’s right over us. Well, more sort of to the right hemisphere.”
As they watched, the clouds closed over them and the streak of light vanished. Emma put her arm around his waist and they continued to watch for it for a few more minutes before Ben hugged her.
“This whole place is another world,” Emma said softly.
“You got that right.” He kissed the top of her head. “Come on, let’s turn in; going to be a big day tomorrow.”
Dawn found them quickly preparing to embark on the next stage of their journey.
“Ben.” Steve waved him closer to a place near a tree trunk.
“I was taking a leak and saw this.” He pointed at the ground. There was the usual mat of leaf litter, but in an area where the leaves and debris had been kicked aside was the toe print from a large boot.
Ben grunted. “The Pemon don’t wear shoes…or have feet that damn big. I’m thinking the guys who took our map are ahead of us.” He squatted and touched the soft soil. “Maybe less than half a day.”
“Do you think they came by water?” Steve turned back and then craned to try and see further out into the jungle. “And went the same way?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But we better make sure everyone keeps their eyes peeled.”
Steve nodded and went to turn away, but Ben reached out to grab his arm.
“And tell ‘em to keep all noise to a minimum from now on.”
“You got it.” Steve headed back to the group.
Ben turned slowly, peering off into the jungle. The smaller river they were going to now enter was already catching some rays of morning light, and it meant that the tree canopy was opening slightly. It was still largely hidden from above, but the type of trees here were of a different variety with thinner canopies. Thank God, he thought.
By the time they’d packed up and were ready to go, the sun was a little higher, and they could all now see what was before them.
“Oh my God.” Emma put a hand on his shoulder.
Andrea walked forward, her arms out, and turned in a circle. The river here was shallow, of no more than a few feet, as well as being crystal clear. Where the river they had come from was dark coffee, this looked mountain-stream pure.
Unlike the previous river, each bank of the clear stream was covered with mossy rocks, orchids of all kinds and many of a hue that reminded Ben of tiny tropical birds that had come to land on the green, strappy leaves. Palm fronds dripped with dew, green-and-red striped frogs croaked, and dragonflies hummed low over the water’s surface.
“It’s beautiful,” Emma observed and turned to grin up at him. Her eyes were luminous with excitement. “A river of paradise, just like your ancestor said it would be.”
“He was right,” Ben agreed, but then smiled. “At least about this.”
As the sun rose, they took to the canoes again. The sunlight began to stream down in earnest, finding a million holes in the canopy overhead. It made the river and surrounding jungle look like some sort of giant garden pergola and leafy archway wending away for miles.
“It is a paradise; seems there are still a few Gardens of Eden still to be found in the world just yet,” Emma added.
In the canoes behind, he saw Steve holding up a camera and filming Andrea who pouted, posed, and waved for his lens. Ben grinned; seemed the actress was true to her word and was going after maximum exposure from the trip.
The lightening of the jungle made Ben feel more at ease than he had in days. It was easy to forget they were still in the dark heart of the Amazon as they moved up a shallow sandy-bottomed stream that seemed about as dangerous as a manicured Boston garden in springtime.
He let his eyes wander from bank to bank, conscious of the fact that there was another party, and a violent one, out there somewhere. But the visibility was good for hundreds of feet, and even if the stream ended, there were huge areas of meadow-like grass that would have made travelling on foot a pleasure.
“It’s so beautiful, but why aren’t there any people here?”
“Yeah, good question,” he replied. “Hardly an inhospitable place, is it?” He looked briefly at Ataca, but decided the question was way too hard to try and act out with his hands so he leaned out the side of the canoe.
“Jenny, question for our guides.”
She raised her chin. “Ask away.”
“This area – why isn’t there any Pemon, or anyone, here?” He waited as Jenny translated the question to their paddler, Ipetu.
Ipetu spoke softly but urgently in return. While he spoke, he noticed that Ataca’s hand had snuck back to the amulet around his neck. In another moment, Jenny leaned back out to him.
“Taboo; this is a place of bad spirits. Some have come here in the past. But then they never come back home.” She grimaced. “And bad news; sounds like our drivers are starting to get cold feet.”
Ben nodded. “Thank him, and thank all of them for their courage. And Jenny, try and hang onto them for as long as we can. Though walking looks easy here, we’re making good time on the stream.”
They paddled for another few hours, stopped for some lunch, and then rejoined the stream again. Ben looked over the side and after the journey on the dark and foul-smelling main river, he was delighted to see that the clear water here was filled with fish.
Silver torpedo shapes darted close to the surface as they tried to pick off overly adventurous dragonflies. Other fish just hung in the crystal clear water without fear of humans at all.
It didn’t make sense. Taboo, they’d told Jenny. Ben guessed it must have been pretty powerful magic to keep the local population out of a bountiful place like this.
The scenery was exactly like how Benjamin had described it in his notebook, and Ben only wished he could go back in time. He wanted to be standing on the bank and watch the face of his ancestor as he came along this very stream. Would he be open-mouthed in wonder, or so exhausted by now that it was only a respite from all the hard travelling he had accomplished? Back then, there would have been no air travel or luxury hotels at the edge of the jungle. But instead, a hacking, chopping and strength-draining slog every inch of the way.
After another hour or two, the sunlight began to vanish, and checking his wristwatch, Ben was confused to see it was still only four in the afternoon and many hours until sundown. Looking overhead, he didn’t discern any great thickening of the canopy, and also the jungle had gone from its bright gaiety to a more somber silence – even the once ever-present rainbow birds were now missing.
They glided on for a few more moments before he noticed that Ataca had stopped paddling. He clutched at the amulet pouch around his neck and turned about, scanning the bank for a moment before then turning back to meet Ben’s eyes.
He spoke rapidly in his local tongue and then both waved a hand and shook his head for emphasis.
Ben groaned, and looking over the Pemon’s shoulder, he saw that Ipetu in the next canoe seemed to be having the same conversation with Jenny and Nino, both animated as they probably pleaded with him.
After another moment, the man made a rapid horizontal slicing motion in the air with his hand and said with significant force probably one of the only words in English he knew, and one he knew they would understand:
“No!”
Nino turned to Jenny and shrugged, and the zoologist eased back and nodded. She smiled and spoke softly to him, and the Pemon man’s face softened, even though his eyes were still resolute. He nodded and paddled the canoe closer. At the rear of their canoe, Mukmet also brought in Steve and Andrea until all three boats were together.
Jenny reached out for the side of Ben’s canoe and smiled with resignation, or perhaps surrender. “This is as far as they’ll go. This now…” she waved an arm, “… is the land of the boraro, cherruves, and churipuri, you name it; all demons.”
“Oh fucking great,” Dan said softly.
“Yeah, I know, but what looks like a tropical paradise to us, is the start of the wettest season, they call Xincceheka.” Jenny looked up as she worked on a suitable translation for the Pemon word. “Dark Lands.”
“The season of the Dark Lands?” Dan’s frown deepened. “What does that even mean?”
Jenny spoke softly to Ipetu again, who leaned closer to her and whispered in return as if afraid of being overheard. Jenny nodded her understanding. “The elders have told them that this is the time of the demons. In this year, the wettest year, it is foretold that the jungle in this area is not safe.” She half smiled but there was little humor in it. “They have quite accurate calendars.”
Ipetu spoke again, even more urgently, and Jenny frowned as she concentrated. She nodded and turned to the group. “Once every half lifetime, the land here belongs to the gods. It becomes their kingdom.”
“That’s it,” Emma said. “It’s got to be all tied in with what your ancestor wrote about the window of opportunity when the hidden place was able to be found.”
“And when the hidden place can be found, that’s when the demons are about.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Anyone else thinking of Benjamin’s pencil drawings of the dinosaurian?”
“The kingdom of the gods.” Ben sucked in a breath.
“Sounds ominous,” Steve said. “But at least it tells us we’re heading in the right direction.”
“Yeah, there’s that,” Ben said. “Jenny, will the Pemon be here when we return?”
“Good question.” She immediately began to speak to Ipetu, who looked from Mukmet and Ataca, back to her. He shook his head and Jenny turned to him.
“It’s okay, I got it,” Ben said. “Then ask, no, tell him to leave two of the canoes.”
Jenny nodded and then straightened. She spoke forcefully.
The bickering went on for several moments, with Ataca leaning closer to her and raising a single figure in the air. Jenny shook her head, pleading, cajoling, and then demanding. Finally, she tilted her head and spoke softly. Ipetu looked from Ataca then to Mukmet; both men nodded.
Ben grinned. “You got both canoes?”
“Yes, not easy, and I had to trade.” She shrugged. “Two bush knives, a machete, and…one of the spare revolvers.”
Ben didn’t even have to think about it. “Done; trekking back would take us weeks… if we made it at all.” He looked around. “Let’s pull into the bank and unload.”
In another moment, they were all on the bank, gear beside them. The three Pemon were now in a single canoe and paddled back down the clear river. The other two canoes had been pulled up, safe and dry.
Ben had a strange sinking feeling as he watched them depart – the natives knew something they didn’t, and he hoped it was only superstition. He turned to the group.
“Okay, we’ve gone far enough for today, so let’s camp here, rest, and make an early start.”
*****
Palm fronds lashed his face and sticky vines tried to rope his arms, legs and torso. In firefights in the deserts of the Middle East, Congolese jungles, or urban labyrinths, Ben had feared nothing and no one.
But now, big Ben Cartwright whimpered as he ran – the thing was gaining on him, flattening undergrowth and knocking down trees as if they were kindling.
Where was everyone else? he wondered, trying to remember. Then he did – all dead, massacred, eaten alive, a small voice jeered back at him.
The jungle suddenly opened out onto a cloud-filled vista, and he braked hard, his feet skidding on loose gravel right to the cliff edge. Below, the jungle looked like the tops of broccoli, over a thousand feet below him.
Behind him, a blood-freezing noise made the hair rise on his head and neck, and he turned, eyes wide and teeth showing in a grimace of fear.
Instinctively, Ben’s hand slapped down on his holster – it was empty. The
thing burst from the jungle.
“Jesus!”
Ben jerked upright from his bed roll.
“Hey? You okay?” Emma sat up, rubbing her face, and then turned to stare into his. “It sounded like you were, crying.”
“Nah.” He snorted the thought away. “I’m okay, just…” He also rubbed his face and felt his eyes were wet. “Nah, it’s nothing.”
“Nino,” he called.
“Si?” Their Venezuelan guide was already up and fastening away his bedroll.
“Gather some firewood; I’ll try and catch us some of those fish for breakfast.” Ben got to his feet, and then also rolled up his mat. He reached into his pack, took out his mosquito netting, and tucked it under his arm.
“Want some help?” Emma asked.
Ben smiled. “An outdoor woman like you can help kick-start that fire. That’ll help. Also, get everyone up and ready – going to be a long day.”
She scoffed but agreed.
Ben walked up along the bank for a few hundred feet, noticing that the sandy bottom was starting to discolor the further up he went. Also, it began to shallow out even more, and would have made traversing it by canoe impossible anyway. In amongst the shallows, there were still a few pools where brightly colored fish, tiger-striped in red and blue, darted about, all the size of a medium trout.
He laid the netting on the downstream side of one of the pools, allowing a belly to be created in the mesh. He then moved upstream and used a long stick to chase some of the fish towards his trap. In just a few minutes, he had a good haul and dragged them out. He grinned at his luck; if only it was this easy back home, he thought.
Ben started to head back, but then paused, his brows knitting – on the riverbank, there were strange tracks. Almost like from a weird truck tire that had rolled over the sand. They were nearly a foot wide and continued on for a while before disappearing into the water. He crouched, looking at the impressions – they weren’t old, maybe only days.
Rain started to patter heavily about him, filling the tracks. He put two fingers into one, feeling their depth. What the hell made them? he wondered.