by Bear Grylls
'I suppose you think I dreamed it again,' said Beck. 'Like in the crowd at the carnival. Well, I didn't then and I didn't last night. And this time I've got the evidence to prove it.'
'Beck wasn't dreaming,' said Christina, who had disappeared along the headland towards the beach and had now rejoined the boys. 'I followed the tracks and found where Beck's footprints stopped and the others led off into the jungle. Somebody was watching us last night. And not just in Beck's dreams.'
A morning mist still hung in the air as Beck led the twins back to the spot where he had hidden from the Indian. 'This is where he was standing when I saw him,' he said a few minutes later after a brief search in the jungle. 'You can tell from the outline of the prints. They're deeper and more blurred than the ones before and after.'
Beck recalled the time he had spent with the San Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert in southern Africa. His father had been living among them on a special assignment with Green Force and the San had taught Beck the secrets of tracking animals in the wild. It was they who had taught him to read the world under his feet like an open book.
Following the prints where they led away into the jungle, Beck suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Without warning, the footprints had changed direction and were heading straight back to the beach. Beck shuddered. All the time he had been scanning the forest from his hiding place under the bush, the Indian must have been watching him from behind.
'Maybe there's a reason for all this,' he said, gazing along the gentle curve of the palm trees where the footsteps disappeared around the bay. 'If Gonzalo landed on this beach, as the map says, this is where he would have met the Kogi Indians. And they must still know where the Lost City is. Either way, it's time we found out.'
Beck led the way along the edge of the beach, where the tracks soon faded away in the soft sand. After about an hour they reached the far side of the bay. Looking back, they could barely make out the outline of the cave where they had spent the night on the headland in the far distance.
The palm trees thinned out as the sand merged into the long grass surrounding the low-lying marshy land of a mangrove swamp. They heard the sound of pelicans' wings whirring overhead. Footprints were now clearly visible on a path that led away from the sea into the mountains. From the jumble of prints in the soft clay, Beck could tell at once that the path was in regular use.
In the distance, smudges of smoke stained the bright green of the jungle where it rose up into the mountains, and Beck could see the dark outline of a circle of thatched roofs. Following the path through the long grass, they emerged on the edge of the mangrove swamp; a raised path led towards the village. Suddenly a familiar screech came from the grove of jungle trees surrounding the huts.
'Ringo!' cried Christina as they crouched down in the cover of the long grass. 'It's Ringo. I'd recognize that screech anywhere. Thank goodness he's OK.'
'Wait here,' said Beck. 'It's better if one of us goes ahead. If I'm not back in an hour, go back to the cave and wait for me there. We need to know if the Kogi are friend or foe.' As the twins looked on nervously, he made his way along the path, listening intently at each bend for the sound of footsteps coming towards him.
As he approached the village, he could at last make out the formation of the huts. Three rings of huts had been built around a clearing with larger huts with more elaborate roofs at either end. As he reached a grove of trees outside the village, Beck crouched down in the undergrowth and peered towards a gap in the ring of huts where the path disappeared into the village. Ringo was nowhere to be seen.
Wisps of smoke still curled above the huts, but not a sound came from the clearing within. All Beck could hear now was the thumping of his heart. Stepping out from the protection of the trees, he clutched at the handle of the machete where it hung from his waist and strode boldly down the short avenue between the huts.
A smell of cooking hung in the still air and logs smouldered on campfires with pots dangling above them. A leather sandal lay on the ground outside one of the huts next to a plate made of palm leaves. But no human sound broke the silence.
Beck circled slowly around on his heels, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The sun was high in the sky now, making him squint as he peered nervously into the murky darkness of one of the huts. Suddenly he let out a muffled cry and stepped back into the clearing, his heart thumping against his ribs. Like stars in the night sky, four pairs of eyes stared back at him.
Then Beck heard a movement behind and spun round. In front of him was the Indian from that fateful night in the carnival crowd in Cartagena. Those familiar piercing eyes were now just a couple of metres away and staring directly into his own. Beck swallowed hard and opened his mouth to speak. But the words would not come. His mouth felt parched. The Indian did not move.
'I have come . . . to . . . to . . . find . . .' Beck stammered at last, hardly able to get the words out. He started again. 'My friends and I were wrecked on the beach near here and we have no food or water. We mean no harm.'
Realizing he was still clutching the handle of his machete, Beck laid it down slowly on the ground before raising his palm in a sign of peace. The Indian did not move but continued to gaze straight into Beck's eyes.
Under the hot sun, Beck was beginning to feel light-headed. Part of him wanted to run. To run now, and to run hard. But his legs felt like lead. Then the Indian began to speak. Not a single muscle on his face was moving and his lips were quite still. But his words echoed deep inside Beck's head.
'My name is Mama Kojek,' said the voice. 'I am an elder of the Kogi Indians. This is our home. Without our welcome, you are an intruder here.'
Beck opened his mouth and tried to speak. But again not a single word came out.
'Come,' said Mama Kojek. 'The Younger Brother must learn something of our ways.'
By now a small crowd of villagers had emerged from their huts around the clearing. They stood in family groups, the children in front of the parents, as if they had been expecting a visitor and had turned out in their Sunday best. Jet-black hair framed the high cheekbones of their brown faces. But their features did not move. Not a smile or a frown. Neither welcome nor reproach.
From a larger hut at the far end of the clearing, a small group of men now appeared. They too wore the white tunics of the Kogi tribe, with hats that tapered to a point like the roofs of their huts. Mama Kojek led the way towards the group of elders, who parted to let them through, then led the way into the hut.
After the bright sunlight, the world went black as Beck followed him in. By the time his eyes had adapted to the darkness, he found himself sitting cross-legged in the centre. The hut was divided into four sections, with a fire in the middle of each tended by one of the Mamas – the holy men of the Kogi tribe.
'Younger Brother' – Mama Kojek was again speaking inside Beck's head – 'you have come here uninvited. Even so, we welcome you to our home. We, the Kogi people, are the Elder Brother. We are the guardians of the Earth. Our work is to protect the mountains among which we live. Without the holy work of the Mamas, not only these mountains but the whole world will die.'
Mama Kojek paused for a while before continuing. 'The first time the Younger Brother came here, you killed our people and burned our homes. Your leader found our holy city in the jungle and took away the life blood of the Mother. Soon after, we deserted the city. When the Younger Brother returned again, he could not find the city and took a terrible revenge.'
The holy man leaned forward. 'Younger Brother, all is not as it seems to you.' He pointed slowly up towards the roof of the hut and then down to the ground. 'For us, there are many worlds. Both above and below. Inside us and without. You see only one, but we see many. You yourself believe you have met me before. And it is true. But only in the world of Aluna. Only in the spirit world which is Aluna.'
Beck's head was spinning. What was the meaning of Mama Kojek's words? He said that Beck had only met him in another world, but hadn't Beck seen him with his
own eyes in the square in Cartagena? And anyway, where exactly was this other world, this magical world of Aluna?
Mama Kojek was speaking once more. 'Because of the deeds of the Younger Brother, the world is dying. Our sacred city has lain covered by the jungle for many centuries. To you it is a lost city but for us it is a city that sleeps. A treasure was stolen from us. You must give back to the Mother what your ancestors stole. Only the Younger Brother can return it to the place from whence it was taken.'
Mama Kojek was standing again now, his arms outstretched and his tunic bright in the sunlight shining through the doorway of the hut.
'Younger Brother, the treasure which you call gold is the blood of the Mother. Without her life blood, the Mother will die. First in the world of Aluna and later in the world of flesh and blood. On our mountain peaks, the eternal snows are melting. Soon the rivers will dry up and the people will die. The Elder Brother cannot heal the world for much longer if the Younger Brother continues to let her bleed.'
Beck was staring deep into Mama Kojek's eyes. Nothing seemed real any more. The village, the hut, the Kogis – everything seemed to be dissolving into thin air. He felt his hand groping under his shirt for the golden amulet. Since they had first discovered it in Gonzalo's secret hiding place, the toad had hung around Beck's neck like a good-luck charm.
Now, he slowly raised its gaping mouth towards his lips.
And blew.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Beck was back on the beach, staring out to sea. The hut, the Kogis, Mama Kojek – all were gone. And something inside him had changed too. Yes, it was still him all right. Still Beck Granger standing here thinking his own thoughts. But he had entered a different world.
His eyes scanned the horizon nervously. Just a few hundred metres out to sea, beyond where the surf was breaking, was a sight Beck had never witnessed before outside the pages of a history book. Two Spanish galleons were anchored in the bay, their pennants fluttering in the breeze.
For a moment he stared at them in disbelief, unable to move a muscle; unable to quite believe what he was seeing. But something else had caught his eye now: rowing boats were being lowered into the water from the decks of the ships and Beck could hear the gruff shouts of the crew over the sound of the waves. The men in the boats were shouting up to those on the ships as chain gangs loaded supplies over the rails. Meanwhile, pairs of oars were emerging from the sides of the rowing boats as they bobbed up and down in the swell.
And now another more precious cargo was being lowered slowly and carefully down to the men in the boats. The objects were long and thin, and before each one was handed down, powder from a leather pouch was poured into one end before being rammed home with a long stick. With a shock of recognition, Beck realized what they must be.
Turning their prows towards the beach, the rowing boats were soon coming fast towards him. Near the back of the first boat, Beck could see a man, who was clearly the commander of the boat, shouting orders. Sitting calmly while the men around him rowed, he fixed his eyes on the mountains beyond the beach.
Spread over his knees was a parchment and he was moving his head from side to side, scanning the land ahead of him. As the boats came closer, Beck was able to make out the man's features in more detail. He reeled back in shock. The profile of that long, straight nose was unmistakable.
Then Beck heard a shout. The men at the front of the lead boat were pointing in his direction. And they did not look friendly. A glint of steel flashed in the sunlight and the oarsmen redoubled their efforts as the boats changed direction and headed straight towards him.
Beck felt his legs sprinting up the beach, along the path through the mangrove swamp towards the village. He could see the villagers standing outside their huts, nervously awaiting his return. The white of their long tunics gleamed in the hot sunshine as anxious faces peered at him. The men of the village were shouting now. Women and children were gathering in the village clearing and Beck could hear the screams of the children as they grabbed hold of their mothers' tunics. Above the commotion he could hear the sound of a baby crying.
Panic began to spread and the women and children were soon running out of the clearing towards the safety of the jungle and the mountains beyond. The men were clutching spears and had spread out across the path beyond the entrance to the village, crouching among the trees behind the line of the mangrove swamp.
At last a tense silence fell. Beck was kneeling on the path in front of the villagers. And then he saw what his heart most dreaded. The commander himself was advancing along the path towards him. The man's beard was more ragged than in his portrait and the eyes more cruel. But Beck knew for sure now who he was looking at.
His legs felt weak as he tried to rise from his crouching position in the undergrowth. He could see every detail now, every slight change of expression, on the man's face. Behind him, the men from the rowing boats were strung out in a line, scanning the horizon nervously from right to left. And then, as the arc of the man's gaze crossed his own, Beck froze. There was no doubting it now. He was staring into the eyes of the twins' ancestor, the famous conquistador, Don Gonzalo de Castillo.
For a moment no one moved. Beck's ears were burning and he could hear every sound in minute detail. The sailors were breathing heavily and he could hear the chink of chain on metal. Behind him, in the forest, the call of a hummingbird sounded like a song from an opera. In front of him, a tiny bird with bright yellow feathers and a hooked beak was flitting among the white flowers of the mangrove swamp.
Gonzalo raised his arm, his palm facing towards Beck as if giving a sign of peace. In response, the men of the village slowly began to stand, the points of their spears facing towards the sky and no longer towards Gonzalo and his men. Suddenly there was a flash, followed by a bang and a puff of smoke. At once the sounds of the jungle fell away, drowned out by the noise of screaming and shouting. Gonzalo had turned to face his men and was mouthing angry words that Beck could not hear above the noise. Then he felt an agonizing pain in his left shoulder like the blow from a hammer; his body crumpled and he dropped to his knees.
All around him was chaos. Musket muzzles flashed every few seconds as Gonzalo's men disappeared behind clouds of smoke. And now somebody was dragging him back along the path towards the village. His shoulder had gone numb and he could feel blood seeping through his fingers as he tried to cover the wound with his hand. He was among the palm trees near the entrance to the village when the arms that were pulling him suddenly went slack and a Kogi man fell down beside him. His eyes were closed and his head hung limp, slumped on his chest.
Beck dragged himself towards the trunk of a nearby tree and lay against it, breathing heavily. Some villagers lay writhing on the ground beside him, circles of bright red spreading out over their white tunics. A woman with a young child in her arms, her face contorted in grief, was pulling at his arm as other villagers tried to drag her away, pointing desperately towards the forest.
Beck's head swam, and for a while he lost track of what was going on around him. When he came to, Gonzalo's men were running past him into the village. Flames were leaping from the thatched roofs of the huts and acrid smoke was billowing into the sky.
And now Beck was being pulled along the ground once more. But this time it was Gonzalo's men who were dragging him, shouting, cursing and spitting. His shoulder felt like it was being stabbed repeatedly with a knife; then he was thrown roughly to the ground in the centre of the clearing. He watched helplessly as Gonzalo strode into the burning village and one of his men pointed towards where Beck was lying.
Gonzalo was standing over him now, staring down into his face. Beck could see every detail of the conquistador's features. The painting in the ballroom of the Casa Blanca, the statue in the square and the portrait at the hacienda had caught the likeness well. But there was something they had all missed. The nobility of the features had gone; cruelty curled on Gonzalo's lips and glinted in his eyes.
Now he was kneeling down b
eside Beck, clutching something in his fist. As he lifted his arm, a gold chain flashed in the sunlight. The familiar features of the toad amulet, its eyes bulging, its stomach bloated, its mouth gaping, stared back at him.
For a moment Gonzalo dangled it in front of Beck's face. Then he knelt closer and whispered in his ear.
'Perdido no más,' he said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Beck was drifting in and out of sleep. After his journey in the world of Aluna, the muffled chanting of the Kogi Mamas had soothed his troubled dreams and the slow, rhythmic beat of a drum calmed the thump, thump, thump of his racing heart. Now, the distant babble of voices had lapsed into silence once more.
Beyond his closed eyelids, he could dimly see the light of morning and smell the freshness in the cool air. The raucous crowing of a cock broke through the quiet and he realized that a voice he recognized was calling his name. For a few delicious moments Beck thought he was back home again on Uncle Al's farm in the country. Aunt Kathy was calling him down to breakfast and he could smell frying bacon and freshly baked bread.
But now someone was shaking him and gently slapping his cheek and he sat up with a start. 'Buenos días, Señor Granger,' said the voice. 'Sleep well?' It was Christina.
Beck wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked around. Sunlight was pouring through the entrance of the hut. But everything had changed since the previous evening. The Mamas had gone and he and Christina were alone. In a pot hung over a fire, something that looked like thin porridge was bubbling gently.
Christina handed him a bowl full of the steaming gruel. 'Tasty,' she said, raising her eyebrows to the heavens. 'Not!'