Thornfalcon (The ARC Legacy Book 1)

by Matthew W. Harrill

  “How did you know who they were?” Samantha asked Adreana.

  “There are four groups of people in Madang, which is the region we're in. They are the islanders, coastal people, river people, and these, the mountain people. There are stories about entire tribes going missing that Mr. Vaitai used to tell me. One was a story about a tribe on the Bismarck Range, which is the ridge we flew over. They lived in the shadow of the peak later called Mount Willhelm and were the owners of the weirdest, most gross hunting masks.”

  “Isolation does a lot for one's perceptions of the outside world,” Samantha tried to agree but Adreana shook her head.

  “I think they prefer to be left alone and the masks are part of their efforts to remain isolated.”

  “Hasn't worked though, has it? Somebody hacked an airstrip right out of the jungle. They can't have flown in and then done so. They must have trekked in here first.”

  Further thoughts on the origins of the airstrip evaporated into thin air as they reached the end of the tunnel and a vision of spectacular beauty hit Samantha. She stopped, as did Io and Adreana, while the tribesmen continued on ahead.

  “I never thought I'd see the like,” Adreana breathed.

  Samantha craned her neck to follow the ridge that rose to a peak almost directly behind them. The jungle grew high and dense up the steep slopes to either side, large trees leaning out to frame a patch of grass which was the only area directly exposed to the sunlight above.

  Underneath the shade of the trees to either side squatted a series of wide straw-covered huts, the entrances of which were now filled with women staring. The sounds of children playing filtered through from beyond the huts.

  Io trotted ahead, crossing the grassy glade in a quick few dozen steps. “Come look,” he called.

  Samantha followed him, Adreana close on her heels.

  “That's Mount Willhelm directly above us,” she said. “No wonder all traces of the Honihin disappeared. Nobody would think to look up here. Planes don't even fly over here because of the peak and even if they did, they'd only see a patch of grass in the trees.”

  “There is more,” Io said, beckoning them forward. “Just watch your step.”

  Samantha came to a stop beside him. “I see what you mean.”

  “Great,” Adreana added, “More cliffs.”

  The trees still above, the grass ended in a sudden drop of at least twenty metres, the cliff angling back beneath the rock upon which they were standing. Feeling less safe in this knowledge, Samantha stepped back.

  Turning to the village, she said, “So what now? What have moon readings and crow predictions got to do with a lost tribe on a mountainside? How does all of what we've seen help you, Io?”

  Ever mercurial, Io replied, “This is your trek, young Samantha. I am but a companion and witness.”

  “Well, you're a lot of help. Okay, we have a lost tribe, some of which have seen you for what we believe you truly are, an angel. We have a sigil in a fortune-telling book that has no explanation, but forms precisely when you step into the summoning circle. And we have measurements taken from a hidden compartment in the same book, a book with a twin, pointing us to the lost tribe.”

  “Sounds like you were meant to be here,” said Adreana. “It all adds up, mate.”

  “But what to do with this?” Samantha found herself watching the trees. Small shapes fluttered about in the canopy, cawing to each other. Not small shapes, she corrected herself. Birds in the trees. “What are those birds?”

  Adreana followed her gaze. “That's the Gray crow.

  “A crow,” Samantha wondered aloud. “Where's the elder? I want to know what they use this open space for.”

  Adreana and Io both turned to scan the huts where several Honihin still watched them. A few children emerged, took one look at them and disappeared with a squeal into the treeline, unmindful of the intruders.

  Samantha approached a young woman in the doorway of the nearest hut, trying her best to ignore the semi-nakedness of her appearance. Clothing was clearly not top of the Honihin's priorities. With the heat of the New Guinean jungle, she could appreciate why.

  Smiling at the woman, she said, “Do you speak my language? Can you tell me where to find your elder?”

  The young woman smiled back, revealing teeth stained brown, and said something to her in the Honihin dialect, pointing in the direction of another hut.

  Samantha turned to Adreana, who shrugged. “Sorry mate. I can make do with several of the languages but nobody in Port Moresby speaks Honihin. I reckon nobody in the world speaks Honihin, other than these guys.”

  “She say your hair is very beautiful, and the women's hut is that way, if you want to dress like her.” A feeble voice mumbled from across the grass.

  “My hair?” self-conscious all of a sudden, Samantha touched a hand to her hair, bound in a loose tangle since the night before.

  The young woman beamed a smile and pointed once more. Samantha couldn't help but smile back. She turned. A wizened old man was shuffling toward her, the elder warrior she had met before at his side. A couple of dozen Honihin followed in their wake, the warriors who had led them here, women, and curious older children.

  Io and Adreana joined Samantha as the strange procession stopped. The old man, a beard hanging down his chest, stood chewing, his eyes unusually bright. He looked to Io and gasped.

  “Agela!”

  The entire following dropped to their knees, heads bowed, all murmuring the same word and refusing to look up, as if they were not worthy.

  For his part, Io appeared confused by the entire affair, an awkward look on his face. “Please,” he said when he could clearly stand it no longer. “Please, all of you, stand up.”

  The elder ceased chanting, looking up at him.

  Io nodded encouragement, holding his hand out.

  The elder's eyes widened, and he reached out to touch Io's hand. “You are not this man.”

  His words were slow, and slurred, presumably on account of whatever he was chewing, but they showed his understanding of language to be clear.

  “I'm beginning to understand that,” Io replied, and the elder looked at him in confusion. Io nodded. “I am not this man.”

  The elder climbed to his feet, leaning on a gnarled stick for support. Once up, he waved his arms to either side, mimicking wings. “You are an angel. I see you.”

  “How do you know this language?” Io pressed.

  The elder smiled and turned to a young man behind him, saying something in Honihin.

  “We came here using notes from this book,” Samantha said, stepping forward and pulling the book from her bag.

  The elder glanced at her book and looked away, then took a second longer look. He gasped. “How have you that? How?”

  “My sister gave it to me.”

  The young man returned with a package wrapped in cloth, handing it to the elder.

  Dropping his stick to the ground, the elder unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a book, the cover of which was identical to her copy.

  Chapter Twenty

  “There's your book,” Io held his hands out. “May I take a look?”

  The elder looked at Samantha with suspicion. “You may. But first your name. Tell me.”

  “Io Vel.”

  “Io … Vel?”

  Io shrugged. “I don't remember it all. I'm not quite myself.”

  “I am Turatup. I am…” he struggled to find the word. “I am wise man.”

  “Like a shaman?” Samantha asked.

  Turatup considered this, narrowing his eyes at her interruption. “What means Shaman?”

  “A wise man. A healer. He can see things others can't. Like Agela.” Samantha indicated Io with her free hand.

  “Yes. I am shaman to the Honihin. I see you, Io Vel.” He turned, indicating the elder warrior. “This is Banar. A great hunter. This his men you meet. Soki, Suara, Pila, Yokiba.”

  Upon hearing their names, the warriors looked up from their reverence o
f Io, who nodded in response. “How is it you understand us?”

  Turatap smiled. “My father teach me your language. He tell story of man come to mountain on walk quest.”

  “Expedition?” Samantha supplied.

  “Yes. Expedition. He came looking for birds.” Turatup raised his hands to the trees. “We worship the spirits of our ancestors in the birds. He taught my fathers' fathers' father your words. He built our village. He brought the book.”

  “He brought us a book, too.” Samantha held up her book of the crow patterns, opening it to one of the pages of formations.

  Turatup leaned in to look at the pattern, one telling of making a choice for good or for ill. He gasped. “This is new. The crows make this pattern two day past. I send Soki to watch the cut jungle.”

  “The cut jungle? You mean the airstrip?” Samantha was eager for more information and this man had the answers. It was clear by the shaman's reactions to her—mainly frowns and sidelong glances as he tried to refer to his angel—he wasn't used to women being in charge.

  Despite Io's amnesia, he understood this too, and he knew where she was going. “Turatup, who cut the jungle where Soki found us?”

  “More men come later. They bring Areca nut and tell my father to watch for Agela.”

  “Areca nut?”

  Turatup grinned, chewing and spitting a wad of leaf pulp into his hand. “It gives me power. Let's me see spirits. We all see spirits.”

  “Do men still bring you Areca nuts?”

  “Yes. They bring the nut, maybe once season. They ask what we see in the birds. Which patterns.” He signed. “We do not know all the patterns.”

  “Maybe this will help?” Samantha offered the Shaman her book. “If we can look at your book, you can have our book.”

  Turatup's eyes narrowed. “Trade?”

  “No. Gift. We just want to look at your book.”

  The Shaman's eyes lit up. “My home. Come there. You can look at the book of Honihin.” He turned and shuffled off, beckoning them to follow.

  Samantha looked at Io and shrugged, trailing in the old man's wake. He headed to the largest of the huts under the trees to their right and entered without stopping. Samantha followed him in and had to hold back a laugh when she saw the interior.

  A mat that probably served as a bed lay along the back of the hut. The rest of the room was taken up by seats removed from the aircraft. In various stages of decay, the seats were cracked leather, and looked well worn. A stump with a metal panel covered in skins served as a table in the middle. Light came in from the windows, but not enough to make reading a book easy.

  Io placed the Honihin book on the table and opened it with the protesting creak of very old leather. As if anticipating their needs, Turatup lit a candle in a rusting lantern and placed it near them. Once done, he sat opposite, cradling Samantha's book of crow patterns as if it were a newborn.

  “I never expected this,” Io said.

  Standing in back of them, Adreana asked, “What do you see?” Her face was eager.

  “A few of the pattern drawings but,” he leafed through the book, the pages delicate and threatening to crack, “it's mostly a diary. A log of the author's journey.” He looked up. “The date of these entries. These were logged in eighteen eighty-three.”

  “The year Papua New Guinea was colonized by the Germans and the British,” Adreana said. “What else is there?”

  “A picture of a church, partially completed. The text is too faded for me to read. Except the year. Eighteen eighty-two. But look at this.” Io held the book so that both Samantha and Adreana could see the pattern on the ground by the church.

  “What is it? Adreana asked.

  “The Thornfalcon,” Samantha replied. “Exactly how we witnessed it formed in Dubrovnik. These books are without a doubt related.” She turned her cell on. “No signal in the middle of the jungle. This thing's never been so quiet.” Selecting the camera app she photographed the church drawing. “What else is there?”

  Io leafed through the pages. “Mostly dates of log entries and drawings, presumably of the crew and landmarks he saw on his trip. Took a few months, it seems. Nice drawing of the ship here. After, some lists of numbers and then more of your crow drawings. This gentleman was quite the ornithologist.”

  “That can't be everything,” Samantha's voice rose as frustration threatened to overwhelm.

  “I'm sorry,” Io shrugged. “The writing's too faint. This hasn't been kept in an airtight library like your specimen. We're lucky to be able to read as much as we did. Hang on. There's a page stuck.” Io reached for a thin stick with a black end on the table, presumably a rudimentary writing implement. Inserting it with care, he pried the two pages apart. The pages protested as they separated, small sections of the lower page remaining stuck and ripping from the surface to remain on the upper page. What they saw caused a gasp in all three of them.

  “Thornfalcon,” Io began to read. “Only in the correct place may the mark be revealed and contact made. Look at the picture. It's an angel in a circle.”

  Samantha gazed in wonder. The picture was beautifully crafted, detailed down to the detail of individual feathers on the angel's wings. Both terrible and majestic at the same time, the angel did not belong in the realm of mortals. Its face was manlike but the eyes held such ferocity Samantha couldn't look at the picture for more than a couple of seconds. She felt it was watching her.

  “So you stand in the circle and make contact.” Adreana said, pointing at the page. “Io, you could get your memories back.”

  “The picture certainly indicates such an approach,” Samantha agreed. “But what about the church? What does that say underneath?”

  Io squinted. “Philippe LeClerq. Means nothing to me.”

  The name sounded familiar to Samantha. “LeClerq? I swear I know the name.”

  “Maybe the writer met a man called Philippe LeClerq from France on his journey to Papua New Guinea. He drew the church and signed it.”

  Samantha nodded in Adreana's direction. “You make a good case. Keep looking. You might find something else. Io, can I speak to you outside?”

  Io stood, leading the way. Adreana stood watching as Samantha followed him out into the glade.

  “The sigil means Karael,” he said in a low voice when they were alone. “She doesn't know that. When it formed before, Karael found me. What if the sigil is some kind of tracker to allow him to locate me?”

  “It doesn't explain why it's by a ruined church in that book. Who was Karael hunting then? And why you?”

  Io appeared distressed, walking in a small circle as he tried to think his way through the problem. “Karael said I was a fallen one. Am I really evil? If I remember who I am, do I become what I once was? Samantha, I don't want to bear the burden of such possibility.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “I want to know what's going on. Why I'm here. Karael no longer has possession of his sword. He can't be any stronger than me. Maybe I can get answers from him if I let him know where I am.”

  “That's a dreadful risk to take.”

  “What choice do I have? We can't go jumping all over the world trying to jog my memory with ancient books and expect to have anything meaningful inside. Not if your Aeon Fall is going to destroy the planet. We are taking risks anyway. Ask yourself: Who benefits from keeping an isolated tribe drugged on hallucinogenic nuts? If you're determined to help, let's at least be direct about our efforts.” A pensive look crossed Io's face. “Just don't tell Adreana what's going to happen,” he said in hushed tones. “And keep that gun you were given by your friend on the plane.”

  Charlotte Benson, supposed to be her protector and guide, now injured and missing. A wave of guilt washed over Samantha. How would Charlotte feel at having lost them all? Would her mother be talking to her? Samantha shook her head, looking down at the grass. “Let's hope this works out, Io. I have the feeling I'm gonna be in a whole heap of trouble before the end.”

 
* * *

  In the hut, Adreana was still poring over the Honihin book under the watchful gaze of Turatup.

  Samantha nodded at Io.

  He nodded back. “Elder Turatup,” he asked, “when do you read the crow patterns?”

  “At all times,” the shaman replied. “The spirits speak to us when they will. Morning, day, night.” He looked a little sheepish as he added, “We bring them out of the trees to feed.”

  “Could we try to bring the crows to the ground now? We could test your book for patterns.” Samantha indicated the book she had given him.

  Turatup stood. “Two days ago the birds predicted strangers among us. I sent Soki to watch. It is wise to ask the spirits for guidance once again. Follow me. Bring the other book.” Shuffling out, Turatup yelled something in Honihin.

  At his call, the tribe gathered together; children, naked but for wooden jewellery, materialised from the jungle around the village. Some watched from the safety of their huts. One of the hunters placed a circle constructed of branches bent and bound with vines in the middle of the glade, facing the cliff. Everything was ready.

  “What do we do now?” Samantha asked.

  Turatup held out a hand, indicating the circle. “You stand in the circle. We call the spirits.”

  “Not how I'd do it,” she said to Io as she passed.

  He grinned back. “What's normal about any of your adventure?”

  Careful to avoid standing on the wooden frame, Samantha stepped into the circle. Two blindfolded women emerged on either side from huts and randomly threw chunks of red fruit onto the grass. The women backed off and in their place two men appeared. Naked, they were painted with white to make them look like living skeletons.

  “Death dancers,” Adreana said from behind the circle. “Many tribes have them here. They are not uncommon among the aboriginal people back home.”

  “Won't they scare the crows?”

  The two men began chanting, a warbling ululation mixed with the occasional high-pitched shriek.

  “They are praying for intervention with the dead,” Io said in a quiet voice.