The Secret Path

by Karen Swan

  Holly shot her a stern look. ‘Because we have science on our side. Provable, traceable fact.’

  ‘Yes. But she doesn’t know that. And for all we know, this shaman’s got a complete history of all the people he’s saved and how, too. Do you remember at Imperial? They told us Lamb’s Ear used to be used as a battlefield wound dressing. And that it helps with sore throats and fevers too. That’s not a million miles away from what he’s suggesting.’

  ‘Antibiotic properties are one thing, but you can’t cure hepatitis with leaves,’ Holly refuted.

  Tara squinted, thinking more deeply as an idea came to her. ‘But if we were to meet in the middle, agree to pursue each other’s point of view . . .’ Tara’s voice trailed off as the thought began to acquire shape, heft.

  ‘You’ve lost me.’

  Tara’s eyes widened. ‘We could strike a deal. I get the mystical magical unicorn leaf from the sacred mountains and bring it back for the Awa to use, on the condition that when it fails – because of course it will – Sarita agrees to let us move Paco to San José for treatment.’

  Holly stared at her. ‘That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard in my life.’

  ‘Do you have any better ideas?’ Tara spread her hands wide.

  ‘Don’t be daft!’

  ‘If we can’t make her believe us, then we’ll go with what she believes, on the understanding there’s our plan as the backup for when it all goes wrong. It’s a no-lose situation as far as I can see.’

  ‘Not for her, maybe. But that poor boy spends another four days slowly dying whilst you trek through the mountains and back.’

  ‘I’m sure when it comes down to it that there’s a quicker way,’ Tara said with a sniff. ‘We could get a helicopter in.’

  ‘Helicopters can’t land around here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ Holly waved her hand around idly. ‘Trees. Lots and lots of trees.’

  ‘We could—’

  ‘What? Parachute out?’ Holly laughed. ‘Descend ropes, SAS-style? Please.’

  ‘Fine. Well, even if it is two days of walking—’

  ‘Each way.’

  ‘Each way, yes. Then at least there would be some definitive action five days from now. But if we just do nothing, then nothing will ever be done and he’ll still be on that mattress two years from now.’

  Holly gave a derisive snort. ‘He’ll be dead long before then.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Tara stared intently at her friend.

  They were quiet for a moment, before Holly shuffled back under her scrutiny. ‘What? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘I want you to tell me it’s a good idea.’

  ‘No. It’s the maddest bloody idea I’ve ever heard! And don’t think you’re roping me into it. I’m here on holiday with my family.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of dragging you into it.’

  ‘Well, you can’t bloody go on your own!’ Holly argued, contradicting herself.

  ‘I know. Jed can go with me.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, why can’t Jed just go on his own?’ Holly frowned. ‘It’s his kid.’

  ‘Because apparently the leaves have to be picked by a woman. At dusk.’ She watched as Holly’s eyebrows shrugged up in confoundment. ‘I know, don’t . . . I can’t even . . .’

  ‘So then why doesn’t the mother go?’

  ‘Because she has an eight-month-old baby and two other kids to look after. She can’t just disappear into the hills for four days.’

  Holly tutted, resting her elbows on her knees and blowing out through her cheeks. ‘Rory will hit the bloody roof when he hears this.’

  ‘He’s a doctor. He’ll understand.’ Tara glanced back towards the red hut. ‘Although he’s so sparko in there, I wouldn’t be surprised if he sleeps right through it.’ She looked back at Holly, chewing intently on her lip. ‘I think I should go and present the deal to Jed.’ She scrambled up from the hammock, leaving Holly looking up at her, slack-jawed.

  ‘What, now? Right now?’

  ‘Well, if it’s going to take four days, we need to get going as soon as possible. It’s Dad’s big day on Friday. I can hardly miss it.’

  ‘But . . . we haven’t even had breakfast yet.’

  ‘Really? I’m going full Indiana Jones and you’re thinking about your stomach?’

  Holly laughed in disbelief. ‘I just can’t believe you’re actually serious.’

  ‘Unless you’ve got a better idea,’ Tara shrugged, beginning to walk towards the beach bar.

  Holly got to her feet and began running after her. ‘Well, all I can say is you’re going to need a hell of a packed lunch.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The sky cracked in half, splitting like an egg, and the rain came down like glass bullets as they hiked through the trees. Tara spluttered as it streamed down her face, plastering her hair to her head in moments. There was nothing English about this rain. It wasn’t a soft smudge of grey, a lingering drizzle. This was tropical – warm and heavy, persistent, everywhere.

  ‘Here.’

  Jed, just two steps ahead of her, reached down and pulled the knife from the holster – holster! – strapped to his knee. He bent down and with two clean hacks, detached a hand of banana leaves from low down the stalk. He held it above her head, providing an immediate umbrella. It wasn’t foolproof – rivulets still caught her in the gaps, but it blocked most of the strikes. It even sounded like an umbrella, the raindrops heavy upon the leaves as they landed and bringing to mind – curiously – a forgotten moment of running down Kensington Gate a long time ago, when a copy of the Evening Standard had had to suffice. She could still remember the weight of a hand upon her waist as they’d run, their laughter . . .

  ‘Thanks.’

  They had been walking for a couple of hours now. It had taken her twenty minutes to convince Jed she was serious about the plan, another hour and twenty minutes to get back to the village and explain to his wife.

  The Awa had been called.

  Strangely, he hadn’t seemed surprised when Jed had conveyed it to him, and he hadn’t seemed perturbed either by the prospect of Paco being transported to San José if – or rather, to her mind, when – his treatment failed. Instead, he had begun to draw, on a piece of cloth, two things: an illustration of the black star plants they were looking for, and a map. Neither one of them looked distinctive or detailed enough to even navigate off her roof terrace, much less a two-day hike through the tropical rainforest. Nevertheless, it had seemed to resonate with Jed and he had listened intently as the Awa had spoken.

  Their departure from the village after that had been swift. As Holly had predicted, there were no shortcuts to Alto Uren. This wasn’t a money issue, but a tree cover one and the only way in was through, on foot. Everything about this trek, Tara had quickly realized, was going to have to be done the hard way – back in London, in anticipation of the luxury of a barefoot holiday, she hadn’t packed walking boots, only the pair of Tod’s trainers she had travelled in and that now seemed woefully inadequate, not to mention impractical; if the Italians could take on Costa Rican coffee, they certainly couldn’t stand up to Costa Rican mud. It had been decided that rather than lose time going back into town to buy new ones, she and Jed would head for the rangers’ base station several hours up into the mountains; Jed’s father worked there and Jed knew there would be kit they could use.

  The Awa had given her a long, narrow parcel wrapped in cloth and secured with vines, which was only to be opened when the black star leaves were being picked, and other than some wry advice not to pull on the vines and never to look up with her mouth open, they were set on their way.

  She carefully walked in Jed’s footsteps, carrying her banana leaf umbrella and backpack now stuffed with food. (Holly hadn’t been joking about the packed lunch.) And as the footsteps spooled up into the thousands, and the jungle grew thicker and louder, she began to realize that the trek to Jed’s village was nothing compared to the gradients ahead of them. The Talamanca
mountains towered like purple shadows; sleepy rivers began to tumble and drop. Her breath came fast, her hurried mileage up and down the hospital corridors seemingly not counting for much out here in the wild.

  The tension between them had eased with this proposal and Jed explained to her as they walked that their village was in fact but a ‘modern satellite’ in the foothills, the tribe’s original village being another thousand metres higher up. Sarita had been born there and spent the first twenty-three years of her life living on the high plateaus, walking down weekly with the other women to barter goods and services with women of the other tribes. But it wasn’t enough. Her brothers were lured by the inducements of modern life; they wanted to work in the towns, drive bikes, watch TVs, meet more people. In the old village, there were only twenty-four males and twenty-nine females – and over half of those were children. Moving to the foothills had been the tribe’s own compromise solution, a way to preserve their culture, language and ways whilst being more accessible to the outside world.

  ‘How did you meet her?’ she panted, vaguely aware of the ground to their right beginning to pleat and drop away into a majestic gorge.

  Jed gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I got lost. She rescued me.’

  Tara laughed too. ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘I wish I was. I was sent by my father to place some new wildlife cameras where some jaguar tracks had been sighted, took a wrong turn and within twenty steps was more lost than I have ever been.’

  ‘And you’re telling me this now? When I’m following you?’

  Jed laughed again. ‘Don’t worry. This was all many years ago now, and the Awa’s directions were very specific. I am confident I know the way. It is a place he has told me about many times. It will be an honour to visit it finally.’

  They carried on planting one foot in front of the other, the rain still falling hard, the ground rapidly becoming soft underfoot. There was no real footpath to follow; just a vague animal track with broken branches and flattened leaves leading the way. Vines hung from trees in thick, twisted tangles, as thick as ropes; brightly coloured sticky flowers were blooming in the humidity, the chatter of hidden animals at their shoulders, but always out of sight.

  ‘T-t, it is extraordinary to me that you are doing this,’ he said after another few minutes, stopping suddenly and casually holding a hand out as a ‘stop’ to keep her back. She watched, horrified and fascinated, as a vivid yellow eyelash viper slid past between their feet, disappearing in the next instant into the undergrowth.

  She swallowed. If he was calm, so was she.

  She dared to lift her eyes and look back at him. ‘. . . Why? Your son is a beautiful young boy. He deserves to be given every opportunity to live his life.’

  ‘No, I mean it is extraordinary you are doing this, even though you do not believe in it. You do not believe in the Awa’s methods.’

  Tara hesitated, not wanting to offend. ‘Well, let’s just say I don’t fully understand them. The Awa cleared my headache when nothing – absolutely nothing – else has. I can’t explain that, so I’m open to . . . other options.’

  Jed glanced doubtfully at her and resumed walking. He had known her since she was nine. He knew when she was being polite. She sighed.

  ‘Okay. Do I believe this plant we’re looking for will help Paco?’ she called, following after him. ‘No, honestly I don’t. I’m happy to be wrong; I hope I’m wrong! But for me, this is just a means to an end, a way to get something happening for your son – and that has to be better than nothing. As a doctor, it’s my duty to pursue every path of possibility for my patients.’ She squinted as something scampering through the tree overhead sent a shower of raindrops onto her, straight down her collar and running down her back. So much for her umbrella.

  The background rush of running water became a sudden roar as they rounded an escarpment to face a dazzling waterfall. It was the sort of thing Tara had only ever seen on Instagram – water like horses’ tails, rainbows catching as the sun darted in and out of rain clouds. A flock of macaws were flying around at the upper reaches, landing in the neighbouring trees. She wanted to stop and admire it, photograph it, swim in it. But Jed didn’t stop. What before would have been the entire focus of a day of #gratitude was here just a footnote in their higher purpose, a pretty backdrop and nothing more. Within a few minutes it was behind them, the roar subdued to a gentle background rushing again.

  Still it rained.

  ‘How did Rory react when you told him you were doing this?’ Jed asked over his shoulder, using his stick to beat back the plants that nodded over the path and making it easier for her to follow him. Well, easy-ish. He seemed to cover two strides to her one.

  Tara grimaced, trudging behind him. ‘He hasn’t yet. I tried explaining it to him but I’m not sure he really took it in. He was like a bear with a sore head at me for waking him up. He’s not used to drinking like that.’

  ‘What were they celebrating last night?’

  ‘Everything and nothing. Holiday vibes. I think they’re just happy to be having time out. We all work pretty mad hours.’

  ‘You work too hard,’ he said simply, echoing the words he’d said to her yesterday morning too.

  They kept walking, the path growing steeper, the mud becoming more slippery as the rain kept on coming down with no signs of stopping. Her feet were soaked, the tread on her trainers completely lost as the mud grew thicker with each step. Tara wished she had packed even just a cagoule – a cagoule! – instead of the expensive linen peasant blouses and silky dresses she had brought with her. Not that trekking on a mercy mission through the mountains had been on her radar back then – hindsight always came too damned late – and she was regretting the day she’d cut her old jeans down into shorts. She kept swiping at her thighs, not sure if it was insects or plants tickling them.

  ‘So is he The One?’ Jed asked, his voice more distant. Tara looked up and saw he was ten or eleven paces ahead now. She realized she was falling behind, tiring already in her inadequate footwear, feet sliding with each step, her socks sodden and her feet beginning to rub. ‘Will you get married?’

  ‘You already asked me that! Everyone always asks me that,’ she called back. ‘My mother’s like a stuck record.’

  ‘Sounds like a “no”.’ He pushed back a tangle of thick vines that hung from a tree like a curtain. They fell back in place behind him, snatching him from her sight.

  ‘No, it’s not a “no”; it’s an “I don’t know!” she shouted up to him. ‘Because I don’t!’

  ‘They say when you know, you know!’ he called back.

  ‘They say bollocks!’ she yelled. She heard Jed laugh at that – a distinctive belly-shaking sound – and it made her smile too, until a sudden commotion made her stop dead in her tracks. The jungle seemed to be shaking itself into activity, the constant twitchy, crackling torpor igniting into a frenzy of sounds, trees swaying, bushes shaking.

  Jed?

  She went to call his name, but a shout and the sound of muffled grunts made the word die in her throat as behind her, all around, a quick series of loud cracks made her gasp, jump and whirl round. What was that? Something running? Something approaching? She instinctively fell into a crouch, trying to make herself small as she strained to understand what was happening, her body held in a state of frozen tension, ready to run, but it was so hard to hear properly over the rain, to see through the grey haze and the mists that wound whimsically here and there. She felt horribly exposed. Jed had a knife but she had nothing, no way to protect herself. She looked around quickly for something, anything she could use, picking up a stick on the ground. It was just a stick, but it was green wood and bendy, with a sharp edge; an animal must have torn it off and dropped it. It wouldn’t provide much meaningful help against seventy kilograms of muscle but it was something to threaten with, at least, a preliminary distraction.

  Her heart pounding, her eyes wide, she remembered what Jed had taught her on their adventures out here when sh
e was little: STOP. True, they’d never come this deep into the jungle, but he’d always told her to Stop. Think. Observe. Plan. Letting her umbrella fall from her hands – getting wet was the least of her worries right now – she fell still, became quiet. Began to listen. What was after them?

  A hush contracted through the jungle, like the breath before a scream. Every living thing seemed to be holding its breath and the close, unseen presences that brushed right by her had stalled like stone statues.

  The momentary quiet was broken by a bird flying into the trees in a scurry of hurried wing-flaps, followed moments later by a harpy eagle gliding in pristine silence overhead, looking for a meal.

  Had it been that? She turned a full 360, looking behind her and feeling jumpy, eyes scanning the dense ground cover – there was so much to see, nothing could be seen. Everything was green, thick, tremoring as the rain continued to fall, the sky lowered so that it skimmed the treetops. The quietude held and, as suddenly as it had come, whatever it was, it appeared to have gone again.

  She allowed herself to breathe. She could feel the sense of danger ebb away – or perhaps she had just over-reacted in the first place? A townie’s nerves getting the better of her, every unexpected sound making her jumpy. She rose to standing again, feeling foolish, and grateful Jed hadn’t seen.

  But where was he? She had to get back to him.

  She looked back to check nothing was approaching from behind. Their footprints of five metres ago, still suckered in the mud, were filling quickly with water, ready to overflow, lose shape, disappear. She attuned her focus further, beginning to pick out details, seeing now a bright green, red-eyed tree frog clinging to a leaf, the drooping head of an orange orchid, a sloth hanging from a branch ten metres away, chewing slowly on a shoot . . . It was surprisingly large, unbothered by her scrutiny. Had it been that she had heard, snapping off its lunch? Or something bigger? Something fast with sharp teeth? She remembered what Jed had said to Zac the night they’d arrived here, how the jaguars stayed inland. Well, this was inland. Deep, deep inland.