by Chris Blake
“Then let’s see what your pendant has to say,” Tom suggested.
Zuma took the black disc in her hand and held it up to the light to recite the familiar incantation:
“Mirror, mirror, on a chain.
Can you help us? Please explain!
We are lost and must be told
How to find the coins of gold.”
There was a shimmer of silver across the gleaming stone as words rose to the surface:
On the banks of the water
You’ll find a sun, then seek a daughter.
With the bravest of braves you’ll use your wiles
To find the pretty stream that smiles.
Weather’s mysteries you shall know;
You’ll shiver with your quiver in an early snow.
But October storms are soon to melt;
The treasure lies within a belt.
Zuma sighed. “Why can’t it ever just say, ‘the coin is hidden under the third tree on the right’?”
Tom was about to reply that it wouldn’t be much of a riddle if it did, but before he could open his mouth, Chilli caught the scent of something. The dog let out an excited bark and dashed deeper into the woods.
“Let’s go!” cried Zuma, taking off after him.
Tom followed, kicking up dried leaves as he ran. Chilli was in hot pursuit of a small brown and white rabbit. The rabbit disappeared down a hole and Chilli would have followed if Zuma hadn’t reached out and caught him.
“Where are you going, silly?” she asked. “We need you to help us find the coin.”
As he tried to catch his breath, Tom caught a glimpse of gold glittering between some bushes. Could it be the coin? he wondered. Tlaloc never usually made their tasks so easy. He grabbed Zuma’s sleeve and pointed.
Then from out of the undergrowth, a creature stepped forward, two shining gold eyes staring out from its face.
“Hello, little doggie!” cried Zuma in delight.
Chilli began to wag his tail and wriggle in Zuma’s arms.
“Chilli wants to make friends,” said Zuma.
The creature swished its bushy orange tail. Zuma was about to set Chilli back down on the ground, but Tom stopped her just in time.
“That’s not a dog,” Tom said. “It’s a fox.” He patted Chilli on the head. “Better keep your distance, boy. Foxes can be dangerous. Their teeth and claws are very sharp.”
Chilli let out a whimper of disappointment and they carried on exploring the forest. Aside from the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds, the woods were silent. There didn’t seem to be any paths, and there was no sign of a town or city anywhere.
“I wonder if we’re the only people here,” Tom said aloud.
An odd warbling noise suddenly echoed through the woods. Moments later, a flock of birds trotted into view. Dark feathers fanned out from their backs, and lumpy red skin dangled from their necks.
Zuma hid behind Tom and shuddered. “Ugh!” she said. “Are those hideous creatures dangerous too?”
Tom laughed. “No,” he said. “Turkeys won’t hurt you, they just look strange.”
“I think you mean ugly,” said Zuma. Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she pointed. “Duck!” she cried, pulling on his arm.
“Not duck, turkey,” Tom corrected her.
“No … duck!” Zuma dropped to the ground, just as an arrow came whizzing over her head.
Too late, Tom understood what she was saying. He whirled round in the direction the arrow had come from and saw a flash of feathers sticking out from behind a tree. Then he heard a thwang and a whoosh …
Another arrow flew through the air and tore through his shoulder.
“Owwwww!” Tom howled in pain.
He looked at his arm. The sleeve of his buckskin shirt had torn and blood was trickling out of a gash.
“Tom!” cried Zuma, pulling him to the ground. “Are you OK?”
Tom nodded and tried not to let out another moan. “I don’t think it’s too deep,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I guess that answers your question,” Zuma said, as another arrow whizzed past them. They caught a flash of bright feathers sticking out from behind a tree trunk.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“We definitely aren’t the only people around!” Zuma said. “And whoever else is here doesn’t seem very happy about having company!”
A dark-haired figure dressed in buckskins stepped out from behind the tree, his bow poised, an arrow already held against the taut string.
And it was pointed directly at Tom’s heart.
*
“Please don’t shoot!” said Tom, hoping that the stranger would understand him. That’s how Tlaloc’s magic had always worked in the past. But with an arrow aimed straight at his chest, he couldn’t take anything for granted. Tom put his hands in the air to show the stranger he meant no harm.
As the stranger came closer, Tom could see that he was only a boy, not much older than they were. He wore brilliantly beaded buckskins and his cheeks were smeared with swirls of yellow and red paint. Like Zuma, his long hair had been wound into two glossy plaits. Around his forehead was a beaded band with two bright crimson feathers sticking out of it.
“I like your paint and feathers,” Zuma remarked in her friendliest voice. “Have you ever thought of trying a bit of blue? It’s not a bad look.”
The boy blinked at her, confused.
“It’s probably not the time to give him fashion advice,” Tom whispered, “when he’s got an arrow pointed at my chest.”
As if remembering what he was doing, the boy quickly lowered the weapon. Tom heaved a sigh of relief.
“I’m so sorry!” said the boy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were a deer.” He gave them an embarrassed grin. “Actually, I hoped you were.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tom, clutching his wounded arm. “Accidents happen.”
The boy bent down to examine Tom’s wound. “It’s not too bad,” he said. “But it’s still bleeding.” He crouched beside the roots of a tall tree and gathered up a handful of green moss.
“This is no time for gardening,” huffed Zuma.
The boy laughed. “This isn’t gardening, it’s medicine.” A dark look passed over his face as something had just occurred to him. “You’re not Mohawk, are you?”
“I’m an Aztec,” said Zuma.
“And I’m British,” said Tom.
The boy thought it over, then shrugged. “I do not know either of those tribes. But as long as you’re not Mohawk, I am happy to help you.”
Tom watched as the boy pressed the clump of fuzzy green moss to his cut. In seconds, the moss soaked up the blood.
“That’s clever,” said Tom.
“Yes,” said the boy, crossing to a young willow tree and peeling off some strips of bark. “And this willow bark will make a good healing tonic once I take it home and boil it up. Do you feel well enough to walk to my village? It’s not far, just round the bend there.”
“Village?” said Zuma, sounding relieved. “So there are other people here?”
The boy nodded and helped Tom to his feet. “Yes. My people are called the Mohican.” He started walking towards the water. Tom and Zuma followed.
“My name is Rising Sun,” the boy said. “What are you called?”
Tom replied for both of them. “I’m Tom, and this is Zuma.”
Chilli let out an indignant bark.
“And this is Chilli,” added Zuma, giving the dog a pat.
As they travelled through the woods, Tom noticed how silently Rising Sun moved, avoiding things like fallen twigs. Tom copied him, trying to walk as quietly as he could.
“We call ourselves Mohican,” Rising Sun explained, “because it means ‘People of the waters that are never still’.”
Tom eyed the swift current churning under the surface of the wide blue river. It sparkled in the autumn sunlight. “I can see why,” he said.
“Why were you worri
ed that we might be members of the Mohawk tribe?” Zuma asked.
Rising Sun scowled. “Because they are enemies of the Mohicans. They live on the other side of the river. And they are trying to drive us away so they can have these hunting grounds for themselves.”
“That doesn’t sound very fair,” said Zuma.
“Is that why you’re wearing war paint?” Tom asked excitedly. “Because you’re going into battle with the Mohawk?”
Rising Sun touched the squiggles he’d painted on his cheeks and forehead. “We believe these symbols and colours have magical powers.” He smiled sheepishly. “And I need all the help I can get.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tom.
“I’m a terrible hunter,” the boy admitted, looking embarrassed. He nodded towards Tom’s shoulder. “I mistook you for a deer.”
Zuma gave a wave of her hand. “It could happen to anyone.”
“That’s the problem,” sighed Rising Sun. “I’m not just anyone. I’m the son of Chief Tall Oak. My father is our tribe’s leader and also our greatest hunter and warrior. So of course I’m expected to be like him.”
“Maybe all you need is a little practice,” Tom suggested.
“But I don’t want to be either of those things,” Rising Sun explained. “What I really want is to be a medicine man. I like caring for others, and I’m good at healing injuries.”
“My, er, tribe calls that being a doctor,” said Tom. “And doctors are very important and highly respected.”
“Why can’t you just tell your dad you’d rather be a medicine man?” asked Zuma.
Rising Sun shook his head sadly. “The son of a powerful chief is expected to be a brave warrior. That’s why I was sent out here alone today – to test my hunting skills and prove my bravery. But as you can see, I haven’t done very well. I’m going home empty-handed.”
“No, you’re not,” said Zuma, scooping Chilli into her arms. “You’ve got us! And we’re much more interesting than a smelly old deer!” She giggled, but her joke failed to cheer up Rising Sun.
“My father won’t be proud of me,” the boy said darkly. “A hunter has to feed his family, and a warrior must be able to fight skilfully. I can’t do either.” He pointed ahead, to a cluster of small, round huts. “Here is my village.”
“Great!” said Zuma. “I’m freezing. Do you think there’ll be a fire where I can warm up?”
“Of course,” said Rising Sun. “My people are very friendly and welcoming.”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth when Tom heard Zuma gasp. Three huge Mohican braves stepped soundlessly into their path, blocking their way.
Tom turned to go back the way they had come, but found himself staring up at three more Mohican braves who had appeared silently behind them. These warriors were as frightening as the first three. All six wore feathered headbands and held sharp weapons, poised to strike.
Tom looked up into their painted faces and tried to remember what Rising Sun had said about his tribe being friendly and welcoming. Because as the braves glared down at him, Tom wasn’t feeling very welcome at all!
THE HUNT CONTINUES …
Travel through time with Tom and Zuma as they battle the mightiest warriors of the past. Will they find all six coins and win Zuma’s freedom? Find out in:
DISCOVER A NEW TIME HUNTERS QUEST!
Tom’s first adventure was with an Ancient Egyptian mummy called Isis. Can Tom and Isis track down the six hidden amulets scattered through history? Find out in:
Go to:
www.time-hunters.com
Travel through time and join the hunt for the mightiest heroes and villains of history to win brilliant prizes!
Copyright
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2014
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers
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Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Text © Hothouse Fiction Limited 2014
Illustrations © HarperCollins Children’s Books, 2014
Cover design by HarperCollinsPublishers 2014, Cover illustration by Dynamo
Chris Blake asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007550005
Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780007550012
Version: 2013-12-24
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