The Jaguar Trials

by Ruth Eastham

  “And your dad,” Rafael said, “I’m sure he’s OK.” Ben gave a quick nod and looked away. “And your mum will be very, very anxious about you both.”

  “Mum died.” Ben dug the machete tip deeper in to the soil. “Cancer. Three years ago.”

  “Oh,” said Rafael. There was a pause. “Oh.” There was another, longer pause and then he piped up again. “What did she look like, your mum?”

  Ben stopped for a moment, leaning on the handle of the machete, and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He saw her smiling face in his mind. “She had short, dark hair. Similar colour eyes to mine. The green bit, anyway.”

  Raffie stared into Ben’s face. “Green, yes.” He leaned a bit closer, frowning. “They are a bit weird, your eyes. Haven’t never seen ones like that. Got sort of funny orange bits in them, too.”

  “Amber, thank you, Rafael,” smiled Ben. “Green, amber… Only colour missing is red – with that I’d be like a set of traffic lights!”

  Raffie frowned some more as the joke sank in, then nodded, chuckling.

  Their laughter died away. It seemed out of place in the vastness of this forest.

  They pulled themselves up and continued on in silence, trudging between the soaring tree trunks and through thick undergrowth, Ben slicing the net of branches. The forest was more compacted here, even slower going. The canopy thickened over them, blocking the light. In places it was so dark they could hardly see the way ahead.

  “Careful!” Rafael babbled. “If there’s a dangerous creature, we won’t see them attack!”

  Through gaps overhead, Ben could see that the light was fading fast. Night came quickly this close to the equator, he’d learned from their days of travelling. A dimmer switch and a click and they’d be plunged into darkness.

  He struggled on, weighing up their options. His head throbbed. Should they stop and make a shelter before it got too dark, and sit out the night? But the people where the smoke was … what if they moved on before he and Rafael could reach them?

  He had to get help for Dad. No; there was no choice but to continue, fight their way through the forest. Ben’s wounded arm tensed by his side like a dead weight.

  “I read that there are these snakes that can eat a man whole, and…”

  Ben blocked out Rafael’s rantings and tried to focus on just that small piece of jungle in front of him, forging a way through, one plodding step at a time.

  “…and there are these ants that use your flesh as a fertilizer to grow fungi, and…”

  Ben checked the compass. How much further? His headache had got worse; his body felt heavy and clumsy.

  He felt his eyelids droop. His arm was hurting more by the minute, one wave of pain followed by another. And he was strangely cold, despite the muggy air. His throat felt dry and raw. His tongue was bloated, as if he wanted to be sick. The forest had taken on a shimmery appearance. Branches seemed to shift out of the way at the last minute, then weave themselves into an even tighter screen.

  “Ben, you look bad,” said Raffie. “Pale, like a ghost.”

  He thought he heard the sound of a river somewhere ahead of them. Was he imagining it? He licked his parched lips at the idea of all that water. Then there were other sounds. Sounds that made the hairs at the top of his spine stand up. Voices?

  Whispers, like spirits.

  But Rafael must have heard them too. “What if they’re not friendly?” He sounded frightened. “I read a book about cannibals, and they used to cook people’s…”

  All at once they broke out into a clearing, tumbling forward into the space. Ben saw a campfire. A group of men. Some painted with black and red. All looking straight at them.

  One with a gun pointed right in Ben’s direction.

  Ben saw a tall, elderly man come forward from the shade, a look of surprise on his face.

  The man was dressed in an uncreased white cotton suit and wore binoculars round his neck like royal regalia. In one hand he held a tin mug of what looked like tea. A smoking pipe hung from his mouth as he frowned at them.

  Ben stood there, staring at the vision: the trimmed beard; the grey hair combed neatly into place. Was this for real? His wound felt hot and his head throbbed. The din of insects in the surrounding forest sounded amplified. There seemed to be a shifting haziness over the scene.

  He saw Rafael leaning against a hammock strung between two green canvas tents. He was looking at the man and gaping like a fish, as if he had suddenly come face to face with God himself.

  “I’m Professor Erskine,” the man said.

  Ben felt his legs buckle, and the professor helped him to a nearby chair. “Water for the boys!” he shouted to the people round him. He gestured at individuals, making quick introductions. “My research team. Locals who assist me. And Luis from the States.” A lean man with a dark blond ponytail twisted the top off a plastic bottle of water and handed it to Ben.

  Ben gulped the water down – too fast, almost choking, enjoying the coolness against the back of throat as he tried to clear his head. “My dad,” he stuttered. “We have to find him!”

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” said Professor Erskine gently.

  Ben nursed his arm, covering up the place where the blood had seeped through the fabric, as Rafael blurted out their story between mouthfuls of water. “…and I forgot to tell you, Ben rescued a j—”

  “A steel wire across the river, you say,” Erskine interrupted, studying the location on a map. “Diabolical,” he muttered. “And with children aboard.”

  “It was done deliberately!” cried Rafael. “To stop us finding El Dorado!”

  “We don’t know that for sure, Raffie,” said Ben. It was so cold! His teeth chattered.

  “Your father felt he was close to some kind of breakthrough, Ben?” the professor asked.

  Ben nodded. How could a tropical forest be so freezing? “He had aerial photos that showed a new site.”

  The professor leaned in a little closer towards him. “Did any of his research survive?”

  Ben had a flashback to the accident: the explosion; the sinking skeleton of the boat. “It can’t have done,” he said quietly.

  Erskine shook his head. “Tragic. Even today, teams exploring for El Dorado disappear. Your accident was probably sabotage. Some rival team – who can say?”

  “They’re probably still after us!” said Rafael dramatically. “Wanting to torture us for information! Now, I was telling you about Ben and the j—”

  “Please can we find my dad?” Ben got shakily to his feet. “Can we get a search party organized. Please, Professor?”

  “What you need to do, Ben, is rest a while,” the professor said firmly, steering him back to his seat. “Have some food.” He gestured at the fire, where a spit of meat was cooking, fat sizzling into the flames. “You’ve got to look after yourself in this terrain.” He flipped open a jagged hunting knife and sawed off a slice of pink meat – but just the thought of food made Ben feel ill.

  “Now, about Ben…” said Rafael, chewing his meat hungrily.

  Ben felt his stress levels rise off the scale. Didn’t they get it? He couldn’t bear the thought of them sitting round eating a roast dinner when his dad was out there somewhere, alone, maybe horribly hurt. “Please – we have to get a big search organized!” he said. “Now, before it gets dark! You found it on the map? It’s not far, really. Your men will know trails – won’t they, Professor?” Deep aches racked his muscles. “We can pay for it! Just as soon as we get back to London and…”

  “I’ll send a runner tomorrow,” the professor said vaguely. “We’ll get the word spread and find your father in no time. He was a strong swimmer, yes? He could have got himself safely to shore.”

  “Yes, but who’ll be searching?” Ben tried to think, his headache worsening. “Could we maybe get back to the place the boat sank, and look around the rapids?”

  “It’ll be dark by the time we get there, Ben.”

  “Please … can’t we tak
e torches or something?”

  Professor Erskine shook his head with a sigh, folding the map up. “Ben. As you know, the terrain back to the accident site from the bottom of the rapids is very difficult to cross. There’s a wide pocket of a particular vegetation that even machetes can’t penetrate. We need to be realistic. Getting back to that part of the river will involve a roundabout hike through easier forest. Twenty kilometres or more. The men will have to wait until morning.”

  It was as though little explosions were going off inside Ben’s skull. What was Professor Erskine saying? He took a few steps, and then fell to his knees with a cry. There was a flurry of movement around him. He felt himself being lifted on to a hammock, saw the flap of mosquito nets being hung overhead.

  “Burning up with fever,” he heard the professor say.

  “Yes!” exclaimed Rafael. “That’s because—”

  But the professor motioned him to be quiet, coming close to where Ben was lying. “The search will soon be under way,” he reassured him quietly. “You have my word.”

  Ben turned fitfully on to his side. Already the sky above the camp clearing was a purplish blue, the sun gone from view. He chewed at his nails. If Dad wasn’t found tonight… He saw Luis toss another log on to the fire and there was a shower of embers, and Ben was reminded suddenly of the way the sparks had spiralled up from the burning boat. He broke into a fit of shivering coughs.

  The professor frowned. “What’s that blood on your shirt, Ben?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Rafael cried. “Ben’s hurt! A jaguar got him and his arm bled really badly. We need to stop it getting infected! Show him, Ben!”

  “A jaguar?” Erskine strode over to Ben and pulled back the netting. “Let me see, boy,” he said with authority. He held Ben’s wrist, and eased up the sleeve. He started to unpeel the bloody bandage from the right forearm.

  Ben bit his lip. Even the lightest touch on the skin sent tsunami-sized shocks through his whole body. He heard Rafael tut anxiously, then gasp. He stole a sideways look. His arm was a mess of dried blood and seeping pus, the jaguar’s claw marks clearly visible as four scarlet lines. “I let it go,” Ben mumbled. “And as it came out of the cage…”

  The camp had gone very, very quiet. Even the crazy clicking of insects seemed to have died down in that moment.

  Professor Erskine was the first to speak. “Let me understand what you are telling me,” he said slowly. “You had a jaguar in a cage with you in the rapids, and then you released it?”

  “A black jaguar,” stuttered Ben. “It had eyes different colours. One was green and the other was a kind of amber, and…”

  The air buzzed with whispers as the local men broke into conversation – quarrels. Ben heard snatches of broken English:

  “Freed the black jaguar… Given its mark.”

  Ben felt the tension, as clear to him as the hot breeze rippling through the camp.

  “Mark of the jaguar,” the murmurs went on. Some men looked at him suspiciously; others shook their heads. One stepped back, upsetting an iron cauldron from the fire.

  Erskine barked out a sharp rebuke and the men fell silent. He gripped the handle of the cauldron with a piece of cloth and lifted the heavy pot back upright with a deft swing of his arm.

  Ben’s teeth chattered. He was so cold. So sleepy.

  “The fever’s getting worse.” The professor took hold of Ben’s bad arm again and peered at the wound. “Strange that the infection took hold so fast.”

  “I’m fine.” Ben tried to raise his head, the same word spooling through his mind, over and over. Dad. Dad.

  “Get me water! Fresh bandages!” Erskine clapped his hands at the local men – but they just stood where they were, one talking to the professor in agitated tones.

  “Why won’t they do what you say?” Rafael whispered, his voice laced with worry.

  “They’re superstitious, these locals. They want to consult their shaman. And certainly there will be no search party until they have his advice.”

  “Shaman?” Rafael’s voice was loud with alarm. Ben felt his heart race. “You mean their witch doctor?”

  “The men merely seek reassurance. Before starting the search. His being the father of Ben.”

  Ben’s mind was fuzzy as he tried to follow. “What’s the problem?”

  “Just some old story,” said the professor. “Something they’re rather attached to round these parts.”

  “What story?”

  The professor dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “The shaman is one hour’s trek from here, so we need to move now to catch the last light.” He shouted out instructions, and there was now a flurry of activity from the men.

  “But shamans!” Rafael’s voice rose a pitch. “I read that they make blood sacrifices, and kill monkeys to make necklaces, and chew leaves to give themselves hallucinations, and—”

  “The shaman can be rather … unpredictable.”

  Ben tried to concentrate on what Professor Erskine was saying.

  “But it’s our only choice. Plus he will treat Ben’s infection. The wound is beyond my expertise now, I fear. It can’t be allowed to get worse.”

  “What’s wrong with antibiotics?” protested Rafael. “Don’t you have any medicines? Ben can’t trek for another hour!”

  “He’ll be carried.” Professor Erskine shouted more instructions to the men. “And I’ll give him something meanwhile to take down the fever.”

  Ben’s arm was on fire. “The shaman’s a doctor, then?” he croaked.

  “Not only an excellent healer, Ben.” The professor’s face came close. “He’s what you might call a bridge.” The man gazed past him a moment, his eyes glinting with some secret inner thought as he spoke. “A bridge between the human and spirit worlds. His authority is never questioned.

  “Now!” The professor clapped his hands. “We go!’

  Ben sat up and stared at the place they’d brought him. Small fires. Lamplight. Professor Erskine and his men were sitting nearby, talking in subdued voices, Rafael with them.

  All Ben could remember from the trek here was the sway and creak of his stretcher. Falling in and out of a fitful sleep. Torchlight glittering against the dense canopy. There were gaps of a pale night sky; glimpses of a nearly-full moon.

  The medicine the professor had given him before they left had numbed the pain temporarily. But now his arm was in agony, and he felt groggy.

  As his eyes adjusted he saw they were in a clearing, torches burning round its perimeter, and in its very centre stood a tree.

  Ben caught his breath.

  An enormous tree, leafless, ancient, its gnarled dead branches twisting upwards. A vast hollow tree, bark charred black as if it had once been struck by a bolt of lightning.

  And in the trunk, Ben saw a thin entrance, half-hidden by vines. Someone moving inside. The shaman?

  He started to get up, but the professor put out a firm hand to stop him. “We must wait, Ben. The shaman will see you when he is ready.”

  “Why can’t we see him now?” Ben asked. The sooner the shaman agreed to the search, the more chance Dad had.

  “The men tell me he is communicating.”

  “With the spirit world,” Rafael added with a nod, eyes wide.

  The professor’s voice was very firm. “Ben, believe me, even if you went in there now, he would be unable to speak to you.”

  “They said he’s taking on the spirit of a bat,” said Rafael excitedly. “And making a journey to the underworld to talk to the ancestors!”

  “And you believe all that?” said Ben.

  “You will meet him soon, Ben.” Professor Erskine lit his pipe and a wreath of grey smoke swirled up into the air. “We have to be patient.”

  Ben forced himself to breathe evenly; to stay calm. He looked into the faces of the men round the fire. He remembered their reaction to his jaguar marks. Some of them were still giving him suspicious looks. Some wouldn’t even meet his eye
. What had they said – something about trials? “You talked about a story, professor,” he said. “What was it?”

  Erskine puffed on his pipe. “It’s story that has been in this people’s culture for generations,” he said. “A prophecy, if you like.”

  A man spoke up, and the professor translated. “One will come to free the jaguar and take its mark.”

  A young man got to his feet, speaking fiercely, and again the professor passed on his words. “The jaguar is a symbol of power. He is the most powerful animal spirit of the forest. He is the guardian spirit.”

  “One will come to make the past right,” the professor translated from a third man. “The chosen one must pass the death trials. Free the unquiet spirits.”

  Rafael had been lapping up every word. “What spirits?” he asked with a mixture of fear and excitement. “And what are these death trials?”

  But the men went silent, eyes fixed on the fire.

  Ben’s skin prickled. This forest was somewhere you could believe that anything was possible. This ancient place, it took hold of you somehow. It had a life of its own. Some kind of power… And Ben had that same strange sensation he’d had before, of the faintest of whispers, of something close by, made of moonlight; made of shadows. Something watching, waiting. Fleeting figures from far back, long ago.

  “But this prophecy,” Ben said slowly. “What’s it got to do with me?”

  The professor stopped sipping on his pipe and pinned Ben in his stare. “Why, the prophecy is about you, of course.”

  Me? Ben broke into a nervous laugh, which turned into a painful fit of coughing. What is he going on about?

  “You freed the sacred black jaguar.” The professor’s face blurred a little as Ben listened to him. “The one with the gold and jade eyes. It gave you its mark, but let you live.”

  A strange sound came from the direction of the tree. Something between a human and an animal cry. One by one, the men stood up.

  “It’s time,” Professor Erskine told Ben quietly. “Go in. Alone.”

  Ben got unsteadily to his feet.

  “By the way,” the professor said, “the shaman knows no English.”