by Karen Diem
“Forgive me, I thought my supplies had arrived early,” the man said in slow, hesitant English tinged with the music of Africa. “I had not expected Americans. My English is excellent, if rusty. Which of you requires help?” As his gaze slid over their faces—Andy and Zita’s hidden behind masks, and Jerome’s behind a pair of wraparound sunglasses—his welcoming expression switched to a polite, cautious one, and he retreated a step toward the door. “I am Doctor Mwangi, and will do what I can, but I have little here.” He folded both hands together at his waist, his shoulders tense and drawn up.
Zita took a second to consider her group through a stranger’s eyes. She swore mentally and grimaced. He’s too young to have been here long, so he might not know anything useful. Wonder what he did to piss off people enough to end up in a clinic way out here? “We’re not here to rob you,” she said.
Jerome rolled his eyes and leaned against the Jeep, hands relaxed and at his sides.
The monkey in the window planter hooted and leapt down onto Mwangi. It clung to his shoulders, waving a piece of fruit over his head and picking at his hair.
The doctor disentangled the animal with practiced ease and set it down, murmuring to it. When his attention returned to Zita and her companions, his eyes were flinty, like dark mahogany against the lighter brown of his skin.
As it devoured its food, the monkey scurried away from her group and perched on the old truck, watching them with bright curiosity.
Dr. Mwangi continued to survey them, his attention lingering on Jerome. “Of course not,” the doctor said, his shoulders still pulled tight. “What did you need?”
Let me do the talking before you scare the poor man to death, Wyn urged.
Andy sent his silent agreement, Yes, let’s not draw this out any longer than necessary or give him a heart attack.
What? He doesn’t know us, and you’d be alarmed if strangers like us showed up at your remote workplace. You and I are in masks and dirty pseudo-Spandex, Jerome has serious money clothes and a boxer’s build, and Wyn is ready to party at a nightclub. Zita held her hands up in the air and retreated toward the truck. Absently, she cataloged the monkey as a juvenile male with interesting gold markings, like jewelry on his chest and wedge-capped head, from some offshoot subspecies she didn’t know. The monkey watched her approach, but he did not seem to object to her proximity.
Andy grunted. I don’t have a job, and he might not be able to see the mask under all this mud. At this point, I may never be clean again.
The illusion in my pendant is static. It doesn’t update my clothing or appearance; it just mimics whatever actions or expressions I take. Beneath it, my apparel is depressingly drab, sensible, and in dire need of a wash, Wyn sent. She inclined her head to the doctor and proffered him a sparkling smile. “This may sound odd, but we’re trying to find a mountain known as Paremiyan. It’s supposed to have an old temple on it?”
The doctor pursed his lips, steepling his fingers together, though his eyes darted to the side. “Haven’t heard of that one, and there aren’t any temples around here. Monte Roraima National Park is right over the border, and I can direct you there. Maybe they can identify your mountain or sell you a map of interesting places for tourists. Is there anything else you need?”
He’s lying, Wyn sent. He thinks it’s safer for us if we continue on, so he’s pretending ignorance.
Andy snorted and brushed ineffectually at his clothing. At least he didn’t say it out loud. That’d be like waving a red flag in front of a bull with Zita here.
Wyn bit her lip. Do you think he’d let us borrow the facilities?
The thought slipped out before Zita could stop herself. Didn’t you go in Boa Vista?
Some of us cannot turn into camels when our bladders become too pressing of a need. Wyn tucked the GPS into her purse and put the strap over her shoulder.
Unaware of the mental conversation, Jerome stretched and said what the others had begun to argue about. “Hey, doc, we’ve been cooped up in the car a while, and I’m starving. Do you mind if we stop here for a bit? Maybe let us use your bathroom?”
“What are you complaining about? You’re male,” Zita said.
He shrugged. “I’m not too hot on the idea of peeing on a palm tree swarming with those vicious bullet ants you warned us about or with the spikes on the trunk. Manhood also doesn’t mean I want to whip it out with all the snakes, bugs, jaguars, and who knows what else here. For all I know, they’ve all just been waiting to take a bite out of me. I have it on excellent authority that I’m delicious as well as talented, brilliant, and attractive.”
“Modest, city boy. I did tell everyone to use the toilet before we left,” Zita teased, though she preferred flush toilets herself. She grinned. “Point taken. You good with that, doc?”
Mwangi nodded. He frowned at Andy, who continued trying to brush himself off. “You are all welcome to use my restroom and eat before you turn around. I have drinkable water should you need it. This road does not lead to the park, and you will have a long drive to get there. I can offer your friend a bucket of water and some rags to aid in cleaning himself.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Wyn darted through the doors of the clinic with amazing fleetness.
“Is anyone else going to mention the car’s dead?” Zita asked.
Mwangi’s face fell.
Jerome shook his head. “Don’t worry, doc, we’ll manage. You won’t be stuck with us forever.” After digging out his backpack, he opened the attached cooler and pulled out a bunch of wrapped squares. “Since I’m waiting until Muse is done, I might as well eat. The ice packs won’t last much longer, so we’ll need to have these before they spoil. Anyone want a mystery meat sandwich?”
“Do you need to ask? Bauru is roast beef, which is what I told you when you ordered them.” Zita licked her lips, mouth flooding with saliva as the aroma of cheese and meat rose in the air. She held out a hand. “Happy to solve that problem.”
Andy shrugged. “Sure.”
Jerome nodded. “How about you, doc?”
Staring at the doors to his clinic, Mwangi opened his mouth to speak but stopped when a small form shot from the forest and ran up to him.
Naked feet flying over the uneven ground with the grace of one born to it, a boy in shorts with red paint on his face shouted the doctor’s name. Slim and lightly muscled in the way of someone who always has more work than food, he burst out of the foliage and almost flew to them. When Mwangi smiled at him, a river of liquid syllables tied together with a lilting intonation and a familiar cadence poured from his mouth.
With each lyrical syllable, pounding agony streaked through Zita’s head, throbbing in time with the words. Her ears rang, and her hands rose to her forehead. She gasped, bending double.
The world narrowed to pain, and Zita forced herself to breathe. As suddenly as it had come, the headache disappeared. Blinking her eyes a few times to refocus, she realized someone held her upright and noticed an unfamiliar hand on the pulse point on her arm. She tensed but stopped herself from lashing out until she realized what was going on.
During her inattention, most of the others had crowded closer, with varying expressions of concern. Andy had his arm around her, and Mwangi held her wrist. Jerome had bauru in each hand, a concerned expression on his face. Although the young boy had retreated to stand behind the old Chevy, he peeked out at her from there, curiosity shining. The little monkey had returned to his window, but he crooned at her from his lofty seat. Thankfully, Wyn had missed everything.
Zita’s cheeks burned with the attention, and she stepped away from Andy’s support and freed her arm from the doctor. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice gruff. “Just hungrier than I thought. Can someone toss food my way?”
The other adults relaxed though Andy seemed less convinced than the others. Shooting Zita a glare that promised an uncomfortable conversation later, he passed her a sandwich.
“Thanks,” she muttered as she unwrapped it and ate.
“You’re welcome,” Jerome replied.
After Zita started shoveling in the food, Mwangi turned his focus back to the boy. In an odd intonation, he said, “She will be fine. Am I needed in the village? You said witches kidnapped your grandfather?”
The kid still surveyed Zita’s group with a suspicious expression, but he crept out from his hiding place, darting to the doorway. He answered the doctor, his words carrying the same strange lilt. “Unless you can return the dead to us, you aren’t needed. The men tried to run them off, but their magic was too strong. One woman turned the ground into monsters, and a man shot fire from his hands! They also had a great beast who roared and batted away our arrows like nothing. They would have killed all of us, but the man-faced woman spoke angrily, and they stopped. After they took my grandfather and left, I followed. The Death Spirit that travels with them noticed me and warned me away, but I heard they meant to go to the Temple of the Forbidden Goddess.” He shivered. “The spirit spoke directly to me, and I can’t go home until I am cleansed. Do you think your medicines can save me?”
After patting the kid’s head, Mwangi said, “None of us can evade death forever, but what did the spirit do? You seem uninjured.”
The boy rocked from foot to foot, his eyes downcast and his face contorted with worry. His eyes blinked rapidly, and thin shoulders shook for a moment before setting into a determined stance. “When they went to ascend the forbidden mountain, he rose out of the bushes with one of the guns the miners sometimes have, but his was longer and thinner. He said he hunted today, and if I did not wish to be prey, I would go.”
Mwangi squeezed the boy’s shoulder, then released it. To his credit, he did not laugh at the tale. “You obeyed him, so I believe you should be safe since he sought another. I’ll check you to ensure you have no symptoms and to, ah, clear any bad magic. Did the man who shot fire wear metal all over his body?”
“No,” the boy said. He started to enter the clinic.
Zita held out a hand to him, sending a tomato flying from her sandwich. “Wait! Can you describe these witches? We were trying to reach the temple before some others and had hoped to stop them before they could hurt anyone.”
The kid and Mwangi fell silent, turning toward Zita.
She took a bite and chewed, shifting under their scrutiny. “What?”
“You speak my people’s tongue, but I don’t know you,” the boy said, his brows lowering.
Jerome frowned. “That sounds different. What are you saying?”
“It’s just Portuguese,” Zita said. “I mentioned we wanted to head off Tiffany and her group. We should have brought a picture of them…”
Zita, that’s not Portuguese, Andy sent. I speak enough high school Spanish that Portuguese at least sounds similar.
You’re wrong, mano. I’ve never been in this exact area before, so I don’t know even a few words of his language.
What are you two talking about? Wyn sent.
“I’ve got a few images. I might have one of the professor too,” Jerome said. He dug an electronic tablet from his bag and switched it on. After a second, he set a finger on the screen, then turned it around to face the boy and Mwangi. “Do you recognize any of these people?”
Andy’s mental tone was bleak. A bunch of outsiders with powers attacked a local village. Zita’s pretending to speak Portuguese to a kid who survived.
Wyn’s reply bore her horror and sympathy. Oh, Goddess. Those poor people. I’m coming.
Mwangi translated and gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze.
After examining the images, the kid pointed to the missing professor, Pretorius, and Halja. “The witch hides half her face in a skull now though.”
Zita tried not to think about Halja’s mask too much and instead indicated Garm. “What about the wolf?”
He shook his head. “Their tame beast was bigger and had fur like a queixada, claws like a sloth, and teeth like a jaguar. It walked on two legs, close to the man-faced woman with yellow hair and a black mustache.”
Zita took a moment to process, fitting animal pieces together and eliminating anything native as the kid would’ve recognized it. Suspicion raced down her spine. “Chevalier, do you have an image of a bear on your computer? Grizzly or Kodiak would be best.”
With a frown, Jerome stroked the screen. “Let me see… Yes, here’s one.” He showed the image to the boy.
His eyes widening, the kid could not nod fast enough. “That is the creature!”
Jiggling her leg as she thought, Zita frowned. The blond woman might be Trixie, but I won’t say her name in case I’m wrong. It could be someone else. I have no idea what he means by her having a mustache. Jerome doesn’t need any more clues to our identities and recognizing her would be a real tip-off, since he met her in quarantine with us.
Wyn inclined her head as she rejoined them.
Andy narrowed his eyes at Zita. You think the bear shifter and Trixie are here? Are you going to assume your imaginary friend—
Her words came tumbling out before he could finish. “The bear’s probably a shifter we’ve met before. He travels with a blond woman and a very dangerous sniper. The gunman waltzes around all masked and goggled and ripped, so he might be the one the kid thinks is Death.”
Andy groaned. “Mind you, nobody’s seen the shooter or evidence of his existence except Arca.”
Jerome’s eyebrows rose behind his sunglasses.
“Don’t mess with me right now, mano, you know I’m not making it up.” Zita tilted her head at Andy.
The boy watched them, wide-eyed, and turned to Mwangi.
“They might be siblings. You need not worry about it. Go on inside and wait for me,” the doctor told him.
With the solemnity of his many years, the boy nodded. “Ah, I see.” He scampered into the building.
Turning back to Zita’s group, Mwangi said, “I can lead you where you need to go on Paremiyan. It is half a day’s steady hike from here. The boy’s village is about a day’s walk from the tepui, so for him to have followed them and then reached my clinic, the people you seek are at least two days ahead of you. When I’ve finished examining the child, we will go. If we leave soon, we should get there before nightfall.”
I told you he was lying, Wyn sent. “So, you have heard of it? Why didn’t you say so before?”
The doctor pressed his lips together and studied her, his eyes hooded and measuring. “Most maps don’t include it because the locals believe it sacred to a bad-tempered goddess and don’t speak of it to outsiders. They say her storm clouds hide the forbidden peaks so mortals will not spy on the land where Canaiwari lives with her monster children. Out of respect for their beliefs and the dangers of the trip, I don’t encourage visitors.”
“That’s the name of the rock the others want, right?” Jerome said.
Wyn nodded.
His arms wrapped around himself, Andy lifted his head. He rasped, “What changed your mind about helping us?”
Mwangi gestured toward Wyn. “Your masks, her ridiculous outfit, your nonchalance about the others exhibiting powers the boy mentioned… you’re all magic bearers, aren’t you?”
“We’re not all magical, but we have powers, yes,” Zita said.
Only Zita’s proximity allowed her to catch the soft words Mwangi muttered, “Even those who remain still and quiet in their mouse holes must expect cats.”
“What?” she said.
Mwangi stepped away from her, toward his clinic, then swung around to the group again. His dark eyes sparked with unidentifiable emotion, and his voice increased in volume. “It is better if you face these people and be gone, before more like yourselves come. Those of power attract others of ability, like a gathering of lions and just as dangerous. The closer together they are, the more often they clash. I bear you no ill will, but this is a poor area that cannot support so many predators.”
I’ve never read that, but it would explain why our lives have been so odd lately, Wyn mused.
An
dy chimed in. It’s not covered in anything I’ve read either.
Listen to you two, doing all that reading. Your school teachers would be so proud, Zita sent.
“We’re not here to cause trouble, just to stop the others,” Jerome promised Mwangi. “Believe me, we’ll be on our way as soon as we do that.”
The doctor gave him a brief nod. “Good.”
“How do you know?” Zita asked. “Who said that?”
Mwangi pursed his lips and stared at the distant mountain. “In the late Seventies, my mother was part of an expedition that passed through here. It included the Paladin. He said even though the odds of their paths crossing were low, every single one of those with power had met most or all of the others with gifts.”
Jerome’s eyebrows rose. “The Paladin? Did you mean Joe Paladin was part of the expedition? Are we talking about the same guy who wore armor and flew on Pegasus? This would have to have been right before he disappeared.”
The doctor acknowledged with a curt nod.
Andy frowned. “The probabilities of the ten to fifteen people with power all meeting each other when scattered across the world are…” His lips moved as his eyes became unfocused. When he caught everyone watching him, he flushed. “They’re astronomically low, especially if you consider that the Cambodian plant lady has never left her country and hasn’t been seen since she killed Pol Pot.”
Fascinating if it’s true. “That we know of,” Wyn said. “What happened to the Seventies expedition? Records are sparse.” She imbued the last sentence with all the disapproval of a born librarian.
Mwangi’s face was stone. “Out of thirty, only four survived, including my parent and the boy’s grandfather, who was a youth at the time. They only made it because Paladin helped them. Every year, we’d come here to remember the fallen, which is why I know where it is and a deciding factor in my clinic’s location.”
Jerome gave a low whistle. “Good for you that your mom survived, but that’s a real body count.”
“What a lovely omen,” Wyn said.
Preferring to focus on the practicalities, Zita asked, “What can you tell us about the trip?”