The Vanishing Tribe

by Alex Archer

  She crouched next to him for a moment, listening, waiting for the sounds of alarm from elsewhere in the building that would indicate her escape had not gone unnoticed. When she didn’t hear anything after a few seconds she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Time to get out of here.

  With her sword out before her in the ready position, she crept to the end of the hall and peered around the corner. The hallway was empty. So was the one after that. She made it all the way down the staircase to the first floor and over to the front entrance before she ran into someone.

  Literally.

  Annja glanced back up the stairs, searching for pursuit, as she stepped through the beaded curtain that covered the front entrance and never saw the young woman coming in from the other direction.

  The two slammed into each other and fell out into the street, the buckets of water the woman was carrying splashing both of them.

  The other woman recovered first, took one look at the sword in Annja’s hand, opened her mouth and screamed as loudly as she could.

  “No, no, shh!” Annja whispered urgently, but the damage had been done. There was only one way to stop this woman from screaming.

  Annja glanced at the woman’s fear-filled eyes and lowered her sword. She couldn’t do it; the woman was an innocent and hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Annja turned and ran.

  There were no streetlights, nothing to guide her way but the light of the moon high above. Shadows loomed everywhere and Annja did her best to keep to them as she raced down the street, headed, she hoped, toward the edge of the city and the exit back to the world above.

  From behind her came the sound of a man shouting orders and Annja knew that pursuit would not be long in coming. After the woman’s screams, it wouldn’t have taken them long to find the guards unconscious and her missing.

  She pushed herself to run faster.

  The streets were narrow and the buildings loomed close, preventing her from getting a good sense of where she was. The uneven surface of the road beneath her feet didn’t help matters much, either. She stumbled and nearly fell several times as she raced.

  The road curved to the right and as she came out of the turn she spotted a search party coming, the lights of their torches bobbing in the darkness.

  Annja skidded to a stop, glancing left and right, looking for another route.

  From the direction of the search party came a loud, guttural howl that was immediately followed by several more, echoing in the narrow confines of the street.

  What on earth...?

  She’d passed the entrance to another street a few yards behind her on the left and she turned that way. She didn’t want to wait around to see what made a noise like that.

  Once off the main thoroughfare, the area became a tangle of interconnecting streets and alleyways that seemed to twist and turn at random.

  Within minutes, she was completely lost.

  At the next intersection, she came to a halt, trying to figure out where she was and what direction she should take. Everything looked familiar and alien at the same time. Had she been down this road? What about that one?

  She heard the eerie howling, this time closer.

  Much closer.

  Something sleek, slung low to the ground, raced out of the darkness to her right, snarling, and Annja spun in that direction, her sword coming around with blinding speed. She heard the scrape of claws on stone and felt rather than saw the thing as it leaped at her. Her sword flashed out, catching it in midleap and cutting it in two with a single, powerful blow. Blood splattered across the front of her face and shirt. She had a glimpse of fur and teeth—dog, maybe? lion cub?—and then she was rushing on again, trying to find some way out of what was rapidly becoming a maze of streets and alleys.

  Shouts from up ahead forced her to change direction again. She turned left at the next corner, entering a narrow street with no doors on either side, but the road sloped downward here and she began to hope that she was headed the right way at last.

  That’s when she heard the laughter.

  It was a giggling sound, high-pitched and full of excitement. It was answered immediately by other laughter, coming from the same direction.

  Behind her.

  The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

  She dashed down another street, turned left at the next intersection and raced down that road, as well. She ran around a wide curve...and skidded to a halt, staring in dismay at the dead end formed by the backs of the buildings in front of her.

  There was nowhere for her to go!

  Shouts could be heard in the distance, but closer yet was that eerie laughter that seemed to mock her. She ran over to the nearest building and put her back to it, striking a defensive stance with her sword up. Whatever it was it was going to have to come through the sword to reach her, and Annja intended to make them pay dearly for that.

  Something moved in the shadows of the alley she’d just vacated, but she couldn’t quite see what it was.

  “Come on, show yourself,” she said under her breath.

  It crept into the light, snout first, its teeth bared and dripping saliva. It had a doglike snout with black eyes black and large, batlike ears that were twitching. A tuft of hair ran over the top of its head and down its spotted back.

  It slunk forward, moving low to the ground, but one glance at its powerful rear legs was all Annja needed to know that it could move with sudden speed.

  Annja recognized it immediately. You couldn’t spend time in Africa and not encounter a hyena.

  This had to be what she had faced in the alley a few minutes before.

  She was in trouble.

  “Come on, then!” she shouted, trying to get the leader to charge before others joined in. If she could whittle them down one at a time...

  But the hyenas didn’t move.

  They stood their ground, alternately growing and laughing that horrible laugh, but making no move to come any closer.

  That’s when she noticed the collar on the lead animal’s neck.

  Trained hyenas?

  Several tribesmen, holding torches and weapons, appeared behind the animals. Annja gripped her sword tightly, determined to give a good accounting of herself in the fight to come, provided they didn’t simply shoot her down with one of those arrows she’d seen them use with such precision against Porter.

  The moment stretched out, with both parties staring at each other across the short distance between them.

  A sudden sting in Annja’s left arm was all the warning she had. She looked down to find the end of a small dart sticking out of her forearm.

  Uh-oh.

  She took two steps forward as the world began spinning and she fell.

  38

  Annja came awake with a jolt.

  She sat up from the pile of blankets on the floor, glancing around at the unfamiliar room. Unlike the first room, this one was round. Aside from the pile of blankets, the only other thing in the room was a chamber pot.

  A chamber pot that looked suspiciously like the one she’d been given earlier.

  How nice of them.

  This room had three windows, but the same wooden bars covered them.

  She rose to her feet and walked, a little unsteadily, over to one of the windows and looked out. Two stories below she could see the roof of the palace and, beyond that, the rest of the city. It looked from this height like some miniature model.

  It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was in the tall circular tower she’d seen upon first entering the city.

  Annja took a few steps toward the room’s only door, but before she could get to it, the door swung open and a man entered.

  She recognized him immediately by the long hooded robe and wooden mask he wore over his face. It was the elder’s translator.

  He stepped inside and closed the door behind him but not before Annja caught sight of the four armed guards standing in the hallway outside.

  Someone had learned
their lesson, apparently.

  Annja stared at the translator.

  The translator stared back.

  “Are you all right?” he finally asked. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”

  It wasn’t at all what Annja had expected and she was surprised into answering truthfully.

  “No. A foul taste in my mouth, but that’s all.”

  The translator looked around the room. “They haven’t given you any water? Or food?”

  There seemed to be anger in his voice.

  “No,” she replied, again truthfully, but now curious what kind of response that would bring.

  “My apologies.” He turned and rapped once on the door, which was immediately opened from the other side. He said something sharply in their language and one of them moved with alacrity to do his bidding.

  It seemed the translator had some authority of his own.

  Satisfied, he closed the door and faced her again.

  “I’m sorry for the...” He stopped, muttering, “Oh, the hell with this nonsense!” under his breath and then reached up to remove his mask and push back his hood. “There,” he said with satisfaction. “Much better, yes?”

  He was thinner than in his photographs and had shaved his head bald, but there was no mistaking him.

  It was the missing man himself, Robert Humphrey.

  “I thought you were dead” was all that Annja managed to get out.

  Humphrey chuckled. “There’s been a time or two when I thought the same, but thankfully that sad day has not yet come to pass.” He looked her over for a moment, studying her features. “Have we met?”

  “No, sorry,” Annja replied, stepping toward him and extending her hand. “Annja Creed, archaeologist.”

  Humphrey took her hand in his own. “Robert Humphr—”

  Annja gripped his hand and yanked him forward, pulling him off balance, while at the same time spinning around behind him and getting an arm locked securely around his neck.

  “Enough of this nonsense is right!” Annja whispered fiercely in his ear. “What the hell is going on here and why am I being kept prisoner?” She yanked once, hard, on his neck to show him she meant business.

  Despite the fact that she could snap his neck with a sudden, sharp twist, Humphrey made no move to try to escape. He kept his arms out to either side, hands open and visible, so there would be no misunderstandings.

  “Please, Ms. Creed,” he said in a strained voice. “I mean you no harm and am here to try to help you. If the guards come back with the food and find us like this—”

  “You want to help? Get me out of here, then.”

  “I am trying to do just that,” he said, gasping. “Please, hear me out. Quickly, before it is too late.”

  He sounded sincere. It was that sincerity, plus his refusal to try to break free on his own, that made her release him and step away.

  Humphrey took a few steps away himself and put his hands on his knees, taking a moment to catch his breath.

  He opened his mouth to say something but before he could, the door opened and a guard entered, carrying a bowl of fruit and a pitcher of water. Humphrey pointed to the floor, waited for the guard to put his burden down and then waved him back out.

  “Seems you are a rather resourceful woman, Ms. Creed. First you break out of a locked room and disable the armed guards standing watch and then you overpower a man twice your size and take him captive. Is that what they’re teaching archaeologists these days?”

  Annja shrugged. “A woman’s got to protect herself.”

  Humphrey watched her carefully for a moment. Annja was doing the same in return. He didn’t appear to be a prisoner, so why was he still here? Did he even know the world had declared him dead?

  He broke the silence first.

  “What are you really doing here, Ms. Creed?”

  Annja didn’t hesitate. “Looking for you.”

  She explained that she had acquired the Farini painting at his estate auction, about her confrontation with his son, Malcolm Porter, and of how Malcolm’s botched theft had led her to discovering the puzzle Humphrey had left behind. Of course, at that point, she explained, she had no choice but to see it through to the end. The legend of the Lost City of the Kalahari was just too amazing for the archaeologist in her to ignore, and the mystery of his disappearance made an excellent topic for a Chasing History’s Monsters episode.

  She shrugged. “It was tailor-made for me.”

  Humphrey walked over to the window and stared out into the afternoon sunlight. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he addressed her again, he didn’t look at her.

  “So you’re going to share the story of the Sho with the world?”

  Despite her nonchalant attitude, Annja had been watching and listening to Humphrey very carefully ever since he’d entered the room, and caught the sudden dearth of emotion in his voice. He was trying to hide the importance of the question but was overdoing it in the process.

  Stalling, Annja asked, “The Sho?”

  Humphrey faced her, surprised, it seemed, that she wasn’t familiar with the word. He waved vaguely at the window. “The Sho. Ancestors of the San. Cousins to the Khoikhoi. The inhabitants of this beautiful city.”

  He said the latter with such tenderness and longing that Annja immediately understood he was attached to these people in a way that went beyond admiration.

  She could use that to her advantage. Still buying time to learn as much as she could, she asked, “How did they end up here? In this remote place?”

  Anger flashed across his face and was gone again just as quickly. “The same old story,” he said. “Human greed. Once the Sho lived in peace out on the plains, in harmony with life around them, in a city far larger than this one.”

  Annja flashed back to the mural she’d seen earlier and to the ruins of the temple that had become the legendary elephant graveyard.

  Evidence of that earlier city?

  “The Sho claim that far in the distant past the Twin Gods smiled on the People. To show their favor, they pulled a star out of the heavens and sent it down to their children here on earth. The People discovered where the star had fallen and took it from the impact crater. They built a city on that spot and for years they lived in peace. The Heartstone, as they came to call it, provided them with all they needed.”

  Humphrey frowned. “But like everything else, even the glory days of the Sho had to come to an end. Neighboring tribes envied them. They wanted the Heartstone for themselves, believing that if they had it, the favor of the Twin Gods would shine on them, as well.”

  He shook his head. “The Sho’s fate was sealed the day they let word of the Heartstone leak beyond their walls.”

  “What happened?” Annja asked. She wanted to keep him talking. Who knew what might be important in helping her get out of here?

  “War happened, of course! The Sho were invaded by another tribe to the east.”

  Again the image of the mural rose in Annja’s mind, the pictures of the invading tribe, the dead filling the streets as the city fell around them.

  “And was the Heartstone lost?”

  “Lost? Oh, heavens, no. The shamans knew of the attack long before it occurred, warned, some say, by the Heartstone itself. They were able to evacuate the city before the invading horde arrived, leaving only a small force behind to delay pursuit as long as possible. The rest of the Sho fled into the mountains, to this valley, and rebuilt their shining city. They’ve been here ever since.”

  Not entirely sure he would answer her question, Annja asked, “And the Heartstone? Where is it now?”

  Humphrey grinned. “The same place it has always been, my dear. You’ve seen it yourself.”

  “I have?” she asked.

  Her visitor nodded. “They say the Heartstone whispers its wisdom right into the elder’s ear and that’s one reason his decisions are so respected. Whatever he says goes. The People believe the Twin Gods are speaking directly to him through the Heartstone.”
r />   It took Annja a moment to put the pieces together.

  “The diamond!” she exclaimed at last. “In the audience chamber.”

  Humphrey beamed. “Quite right, my dear, quite right.”

  39

  The pieces of the puzzle snapped into place. With Humphrey’s tale of the Heartstone, Annja finally understood just what Porter really wanted from the Lost City.

  For a prize like that, Malcolm wasn’t likely to give up easily.

  These people were in serious trouble.

  “We don’t have much time,” she said. “We have to warn them.”

  “Warn who about what?”

  “The Sho. About your son.”

  Humphrey looked confused. “Malcolm? What does that overstuffed weasel have to do with this?”

  Annja already knew there was no love lost between the two men, so she filled him in on the rest of what Porter had done, from taking Henry Crane hostage to trying to kill them both in the canyons outside the city gates.

  Humphrey stood there, mouth agape. “Malcolm threatened, no, tried, to kill you and Henry?”

  Annja nodded. “He wants the treasure and he’ll stop at nothing to get it.”

  The older man was incredulous. “Treasure? What treasure? The Sho aren’t the Incas! They don’t have gold or precious jewels lying around everywhere for the taking.”

  “No, but they do have the Heartstone,” Annja replied.

  “Oh, no. He can’t have that. No way.”

  “I hardly think he’s going to listen to you,” Annja answered dryly.

  Humphrey, however, was insistent. “You don’t understand, Annja. The Heartstone is a sacred, religious object for these people. They will die to keep it safe.”

  “Well, your son is going to find this place sooner rather than later and he’s going to come in here with guns and an attitude. Looking to recoup some of the fortune you denied him in your will.”

  He was pacing back and forth, and for a minute Annja thought he might work himself right into a heart attack.

  A knock at the door brought Humphrey up short. He answered it to find a Sho warrior standing there. They had a brief conversation, Humphrey nodded and the warrior stepped back into the hall.