Hearing the chorus of whispers on high, Diane opened her eyes. She was looking at the thatched ceiling of a kankurua. It hadn’t been a dream; she was in the Kogi village and had spent a restless night in the hut reserved for Olimpia’s visits. She looked over at Olimpia’s bed. It was empty.
Diane rolled out of her hammock, stepped outside and gazed around in wonder. She was standing in a flat, open area just below the glaciers and far above the rain. Overhead, the great mountain sighed. The splendor of it all brought a lump to her throat. Her heart swelled in anticipation the day that lay ahead.
Last evening, Olimpia had introduced Diane to Yami the tribe’s shaman and high priestess who had promised Diane a tour of the Kogi lands this morning.
She bathed with the water provided in her gourd basin, then pulled on a sweat suit and headed toward the village common area. She and Yami had agreed to meet there after the shaman finished a training session with the young priestesses.
As Diane passed several round huts along the pathway, white-robed men and women poked their heads out of doorways. “Buenas, buenas,” they called to her.
Arriving in the lower village, she watched Yami line up several young women behind a flat-topped boulder that stood in the center of the common area. The large stone held a bouquet of dried thistles. One by one the girls approached the bouquet, reached for it timidly, then squealed when it pricked them.
After Yami dismissed the class, she greeted Diane warmly. “Come, let us walk.”
The high priestess stepped out energetically, white woven gown flowing against her willowy form. Diane fell in beside her. Yami answered Diane’s question before it formed on her lips.
“They are seeking their strong life force.”
“How do the thistles help?”
“The thistles are a test. When the young priestesses are able to approach them with courage, it means they have found the center of their power and reached into it. Then the thistles cannot harm them.”
They came to a narrow trail, and Yami led the way. After an hour-long walk they reached an open plateau. Yami stepped to the edge and pointed out the Kogi aerial farmlands terraced into the mountainsides below them. Then she held out her arms and turned clockwise, chanting the names of the peaks penetrating the heavens before them.
Lastly, she called out to the great glacial mountain that stood behind them, “Avistar.” The mountain inhaled.
Yami sat on a long, flat rock and reached into a deep pocket woven into her gown. She patted a spot beside her. “Come, I have brought food.”
They ate pan-fried bread made with manioc and sprinkled with tiny black seeds. Yami explained that the seeds were from the craoa, one of their ancestor plants that gave them vision.
They were silent for several minutes, watching the cloud forests floating in verdant valleys below.
Then Yami spoke: “My people have named you ‘the closed emerald one,’” she said.
Turning, Diane studied the shaman’s weathered but ageless face and smiled. “I like the emerald part.”
Yami explained: “They say your eyes are the color of the stones inside our mountains. But your mind blocks them from knowing who you are.”
Perplexed, Diane said, “I haven’t intentionally put up any mental barriers. I wouldn’t know how.”
“A thread is broken in the loom of your inner vision. This keeps your mind from weaving into ours. But soon you will conquer the fear and pain that have been your masters. Your strong life force will return, and you will become part of all things.”
“But how?”
“While you sleep, the mountain will bring your dreams into a closer weave; it is for this purpose Olimpia has brought you here.”
Diane pondered this silently.
Yami patted her hand. “The knowledge will come to you - like it did Olimpia years ago when she returned to us full with child.”
“She trekked up here pregnant?”
“That is why she returned here. She begged me not to turn her away. She said her family would send her to Europe; the baby would be given away.
“I helped her bring Eduardo into the world. He was the first emerald one. But, unlike your mind, his was open from the beginning. I raised him. Olimpia came often. And when he was six, she took him away with her.”
Diane turned to Yami. “It must have been painful for you to let him go.”
Yami stared at a distant mountain. “Except for his captive years, he has come to visit often. But even when he is gone, he is with me. Olimpia is the mother of his body, but his mind is always joined with mine.”
“Who held him captive?”
“They only captured his body. You must talk with that mother about it.”
Yami stood up and took Diane’s face between her hands. Her voice held a mystical tone. “The mountain divines that your eyes will become jewels of light that will bind you to the emerald fire within Eduardo.”
On the way back to the village, they stopped at Yami’s small, private plateau. She retrieved a white tribal gown from her hut and offered it to Diane. “I have woven this for you.”
“But when—”
“Wear it at all times. The small holes are to let the weak force out. The larger ones let the strong force in. Food will be brought to your hut.
“Olimpia is staying with friends in a lower village; you will not be disturbed.” She placed her hand on Diane’s head as if anointing her. “Sleep often,” she murmured.
As Diane walked back to her hut alone, her gait became uncertain, her brain whirled and her vision fractured into impressionistic dabs. She blamed it on the altitude.
Passing by the thistles in the village center, she reached out to touch them, only to jerk her finger back in pain. She staggered uphill to the hut.
She would have known him anywhere. There were the scruffy cowboy boots of course, and when he turned his head to snatch the briefcase away, she glimpsed his profile and the angry set of his jaw.
Leonard Everly had his back to Diane and was scuffling with another man who was looking at her and mouthing the words “help me.”
She was startled to realize it was Harry Lee. But how did she recognize him? She’d never even seen his picture.
She stepped forward to help him just as he disappeared over the railing of the observation deck. Stunned at what she had witnessed, she backed into the shadow of the building to hide from the murderer. But when he turned around, he had become Gabriel Carrera, and he was pointing one of his father’s antique pistolas at some invisible foe off to her left. She turned and ran.
Reaching the door, she heard a voice behind her chanting Raymond Bellfort’s name. She glanced over her shoulder to see Bellfort lying facedown on the floor.
Diane made her way toward the cable car to escape the observation deck, but was blocked by a jostling crowd.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she realized Vari had been nudging her awake. He had brought more food.
She struggled out of her hammock and let the Kogi tribesman lead her outside to a small wooden table where she had been taking her meals. How many days had it been now? Her dreams had left her too exhausted to count. After a couple mouthfuls, she dragged herself back inside and fell into her hammock just as the mountain began to roar.
The wind and water grew fierce. She and Vincent clung to the damaged sailboat while they watched the large yacht motor away.
Suddenly, they saw someone fall overboard just as a rogue wave rose up and engulfed the white vessel. The yacht sank, bow first. The last they saw of it was the word written across its stern: “Enterprise.”
Vari appeared in a haze. Time to eat again. “Today, you must stay inside,” he warned. “The mountain is excited.”
Diane had no appetite. Listless, she sat at her makeshift table, watching dirt and thatch blow by the doorway, listening to the hut shiver and scrape in the wind.
Then she heard a bell ring.
Yami had summoned the priestesses forth; the warrior hunters were
arriving out of moon phase. This had only happened once before in her lifetime. But she and her priestesses were prepared.
She circulated among them in the village common area and inspected their labors. Fruits, vegetables and bread were laid out in traditional patterns, then woven into baskets with lliana vines to keep the provisions from spilling on their journey down the steep mountain paths.
The priestesses had been taught all about the warrior hunters. Through the tribe’s collective consciousness, the young women traveled back centuries to recall the Spanish conquest. They learned how the warriors protected the tribe’s remote home from men who tried to bring weapons and metal implements to remove their gold and emeralds and weaken their mountains with greed and violence.
The priestesses also learned about the revolution that occurred just two hundred years ago and how, at that time, the Kogi had rewarded the warrior hunters for centuries of protection.
The tribe had looked through the mountains and the days and weeks ahead, then sent messengers to report future positions of the Spanish occupiers to the greatest warrior of all, Simon Bolivar, helping him secure the northern provinces and beyond.
The women were also told about the warrior hunters’ visits every third full moon and how the Kogi maintained their hacienda and supplied them with food, nurturing the bonds that had been forged eons before.
The women stepped carefully down the mountain trail, chanting to forewarn wildlife of their approach. In keeping with a four-hundred year old secrecy pact, only the shaman and her priestesses were permitted to carry food to the hidden valley.
The cloud forest, home to a Kogi ancestral village that held the hunters’ lodge, was forbidden to outsiders. Only one person had ever trespassed and lived.
Dazed, tripping on the ankle-length gown, she followed them at a distance down the precipitous mountain path. Yami’s red sash and the chanting voices were her beacons. Every turn in the trail presented new challenges. Sharp rocks, shifting soil and fallen trees conspired to slow her progress.
Once inside the cloud forest, the clamor of jungle noises and air drenched in mist obscured the voices and concealed the red sash.
She was lost.
Weary, Diane collapsed onto a soft mound of ferns. Just a short rest, she promised herself.
Aroused by the slow approach of hooves, she opened her eyes and looked up.
The rider sat astride his horse, watching her. Even in the dim light, she saw the crest on his shield and glint of his sword.
Heart racing, Diane groped for a vine and pulled herself to a sitting position. At that moment Huck appeared. He growled and barked and tried placing himself between her and the intruder. But some barrier prevented him from coming close.
Calmly, the horseman pulled something from behind his shield and tossed it into Diane’s lap. She rubbed her eyes with her cuff, then blinked. The jungle wavered in and out of focus. She looked up at the horse and rider—and froze in place.
Astride a magnificent white steed sat Carlos Carrera. His sword—a simple machete. His shield—a plain khaki shirt. He looked like a hunter. Was she the prey? They made eye contact and held it for a long moment. Then Carlos turned his horse and headed down the trail and out of sight.
Diane struggled back up the mountain. In mid-afternoon she found a sun-dappled stream where she drank greedily and bathed. Afterwards she climbed toward the village, eating wild jungle berries and wondering how long her mind had taken leave from the world.
At dusk she approached the tribal common area. She saw Olimpia conversing with a group of white-clad Kogi. When she spotted Diane, she sprinted toward her. “Where have you been? Are you okay?” Her voice was frantic.
“I’m not sure. I think I followed Yami, but I lost her. I don’t remember much else.”
Olimpia appeared flabbergasted. “I thought you would know better than to do such a thing. Yami is on a solemn tribal journey. To follow her is taboo.”
Diane smirked. “Right. Well, I can’t be held responsible for whatever I might have done—your friends drugged me.” She shook her head trying to clear it. “Powerful hallucinogen; what was it?”
Olimpia took Diane by the arm. Her voice held an urgent tone. “It was a necessary part of the healing ritual. Your spirit is free from external influences once again.”
Diane shook off Olimpia’s grasp. “It didn’t work. I feel rotten. I need some sleep.” She turned and stumbled away.
Passing the boulder at the center of the village, Diane reached out and grabbed a bunch of milk thistles from the bouquet. Then, astounded, she opened her hand and looked at the plants, crushed nearly to powder, in her palm. Not one spine had pricked her skin.
She trudged up to the hut. Hungry, but not trusting tribal food, she reached into her gown for the remainder of the bilberries she had harvested on the way up the mountain.
She retrieved the berries. Then, in the corner of the woven pocket, she felt something oblong and spiny. Puzzled, she gingerly wrapped her fingers around it and pulled it out. Opening her hand, she gaped at a four-inch spike of aloe.
μ CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT μ
Today, the President for Life, Carabina, did not need to touch his gavel to the table to call the men to order; they had been sitting silently, staring at the wine cellar’s ancient walls since their arrival.
First, Espalda, the Record Keeper, stood and took roll. Then Carabina called on Novicio to give his special report, which outlined the Knights’ efforts to halt the deforestation of millions of acres of rainforest. This unnatural disaster was being propagated by drug traffickers and peasants in their employ to provide fields for cultivating coca and poppy crops.
The President for Life did not, however, hear Novicio’s litany of successes and failures. His mind had moved on to the second point on the agenda—the real reason why this special meeting had been called.
Suddenly Carabina realized the cellars had gone silent. He looked up. The group was waiting.
With a wave of his hand, he signaled that Espalda should move on to the second point.
Espalda reported that after the unanimous vote at the last regular meeting, officials guilty of narcocorruption at every level of government were sent warnings. All had taken corrective action—except two of them. One had been dealt with. One remained.
The group voted to take further action.
Novicio jumped up and respectfully moved that he receive the Sword of Damocles, even knowing that it would go against convention.
Caballo stood to second the motion, but Carabina quickly rose to his feet and rapped the gnarled gavel on the table. “Our traditions will not be subverted by expediency,” he stated firmly.
Espalda bowed solemnly and placed the Sword of Damocles in Carabina’s hands.
μ CHAPTER THIRTY NINE μ
Diane peered through the small window hoping to spot a passerby and somehow signal that she was being held against her will, though she suspected there was a sentry posted outside to discourage any good Samaritans.
She slid back in her seat and pondered how foolhardy she had been. Or maybe it had been exhaustion that allowed her to drop her guard once she was off the mountain. After days spent doing nothing but eating and sleeping at the Kogi village, she had been physically de-conditioned, totally unprepared for the hurried trek from stratosphere to near sea level in five days—mostly on foot, but often on her butt in cascading mud.
The descent through hell began shortly after she had confronted Olimpia with the piece of aloe vera from her gown pocket—proof-positive that Carlos Carrera was not a hallucination. He had approached her in the cloud forest, mockingly tossed the aloe, then abandoned her to die in the jungle.
One glance at the spiny plant and Olimpia had launched into frenzied preparations to leave the mountain.
News of Diane’s encounter with the warrior hunter whipped the eminently placid Kogi into an extremely agitated state. The tribe lamented that the great mountain had become angry, and soon someone would
die. In Yami’s absence, the Kogi made no effort to conceal their wish that Diane and Olimpia leave the village—immediately.
Their downhill trek was doomed from the outset. They were three days early for their return helicopter ride. But even if their descent had been timely, they had to circumvent the landing site in the “Lost City” where the hunters would be returning their horses and meeting their own helicopters. That forced Diane and Olimpia and their Kogi guides to take a more challenging route with several waist-deep whitewater crossings through the domain of the guerrilla. Unrelenting rain, water snakes and mudslides were mere annoyances compared to Diane’s fear of being taken by bandidos.
They spent the first night in an abandoned jungle hut with a sieve for a roof. Early on the second evening, they stopped at a cave hung with a million bats and crawling with scorpions. The cave was dry, however, and it provided a fitting environment for Olimpia to reveal the rest of her story.
She leaned wearily against a stone near the cave’s entrance and, accompanied by nocturnal voices from the wilderness, she began:
“I know you wonder why I have been lying about my identity in Santa Marta all these years. It is because I wanted to make sure I would not be tracked. I wanted to protect the Kogi and my son from people who might want to follow Olimpia Garza—pharmaceutical spies, my family and so forth.
“As for the hunters: For years I thought their visits to the mountain were random. I did not know their timetable, and I was ignorant as to their identities. But when my son turned eight years old, I learned those things in the most painful way imaginable.
“For his eighth birthday, I brought Eduardo to the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta to visit his Tia Yami. The hunters rode into the high valley two days after we arrived at the Kogi village.
“Yami warned me to keep Eduardo close while she and the priestesses descended to the cloud forest for three days. I did not take heed, and when I awoke the second morning, Eduardo had gone in search of his Tia.
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