Kingdom of the Golden Dragon

by Isabel Allende

  Nadia and Pema never saw their attackers. Two dark cloaks fell over them, enveloping them; then they were tied with cord, like packages, and lifted off the ground. Nadia screamed and kicked and tried to defend herself, but one sharp blow to her head stunned her. Pema, in contrast, gave herself to her fate, sensing that it was useless to fight at that moment, and that she should conserve her energy for later. Two of the kidnappers slung the tied-up girls over the horses they were riding and mounted behind them, holding them with iron grips. Folded blankets were the men’s only saddles, and they guided their horses with the pressure of their knees. They were formidable horsemen.

  Within a few moments Nadia had recovered consciousness, and as soon as her mind began to clear she took inventory of her situation. She recognized immediately that she was on a galloping horse, even though she had never ridden one. With each stride her stomach and chest pounded hard against the animal; she could barely breathe beneath the blanket, and on her back she felt the pressure of a large, powerful hand clamping down on her like a claw.

  The penetrating odor of the sweating horse and the man’s clothing was precisely what cleared her mind and allowed her to think. Accustomed to living in contact with nature and animals, she had a sharp sensitivity to odors. Her kidnapper did not smell anything like the people she had met in the Forbidden Kingdom, in which everything was scrupulously clean. There the natural aromas of silk, cotton, and wool blended with those of the spices its citizens used for cooking and the almond oil that everyone used to add luster to their hair. Nadia could recognize a person from the Forbidden Kingdom with her eyes closed. The man who had her in his grasp smelled as if his clothes had never been washed, and his skin exuded a bitter scent of garlic, charcoal, and dust. She had no doubt that he was a stranger to this land.

  Nadia listened carefully and calculated that besides the two horses Pema and she were being carried on, there were at least four more, maybe five. And she could tell that they were riding uphill. When the pace of the horses changed, she realized that they were no longer on a path, but cutting across open country. She could hear the sound of hooves against stone and feel the horse straining to climb. Sometimes it slipped, whinnying, and the voice of the horseman would urge it forward in an unknown tongue.

  Nadia’s bones felt as if they were being ground to powder by the thumping, but she couldn’t get more comfortable because she was immobilized by the rope. The pressure on her chest was so strong that she was afraid her ribs would break. How could she leave some sign, so they could find her? She was sure that Jaguar would try, but these mountains were a labyrinth of peaks and precipices. If she could only drop a shoe, she thought, but that was impossible since she was wearing laced boots.

  Shortly afterward, when both girls were badly bruised and half-unconscious, the horses stopped. Nadia tried very hard to listen and concentrate. The horsemen dismounted, and again she felt herself being lifted, then tugged like a sack to the ground. She fell onto stones. She heard Pema moan, and then hands untied the rope and removed the blanket. She gulped fresh air and opened her eyes.

  The first thing she saw was the moon and the dark dome of the sky; then two black, bearded faces bending over her. A stinking gust of garlic, liquor, and something like tobacco struck her like a knife. The men’s dark eyes shone from sunken sockets and they laughed mockingly; many had missing teeth, and the few they had were nearly black. Nadia had seen people in India with teeth like that, and Kate had explained that the color came from chewing betel nut. Even though it was dark, she recognized the faces of the men she’d seen in the Red Fort, the fearsome warriors of the scorpion sect.

  With one jerk, her captors pulled her to her feet, but her knees buckled, and they had to hold her up. Nadia saw Pema a few steps away, doubled over with pain. Pointing and pushing, the kidnappers indicated the way the girls should go. One of the men stayed with the horses and the others climbed the hill, leading the prisoners. Nadia had calculated well: there were five horsemen, plus the two that had carried Pema and her.

  After walking for about fifteen minutes, Nadia saw a cluster of men, all wearing the same type of clothing, all dark, bearded, and armed with knives. Nadia tried to conquer her fear and listen with her heart, trying to understand what they were saying, but she was too battered. As the men talked, she closed her eyes and imagined that she was an eagle, the queen of the heights, the imperial bird, her totemic animal. For a few seconds she had the sensation that she was soaring up like that splendid bird, and could see beneath her the chain of the Himalayan mountains and, very far in the distance, the valley of the city of Tunkhala. A shove brought her back to earth.

  The Blue Warriors lighted torches made of burlap scraps tied to a stick and soaked in yak butter. In this wavering light, they led the girls down a natural, narrow ravine through the rock. They clung close to the side of the mountain, stepping with great care, because a deep precipice yawned at their feet. An icy wind sliced their skin. There were patches of snow and ice among the rocks, even though it was summer.

  Nadia thought that if it was this cold in summer, winter in this region must be frightful. Pema was wearing only her silk sarong and sandals. Nadia tried to hand her jacket to her friend, but the minute she started to take it off one of the men slapped her and forced her to keep walking. Pema was at the end of the file and Nadia couldn’t see her from her place in line, but she imagined that her friend was in worse condition than she was. Fortunately they did not have to climb much farther but stopped before some thorny bushes the men parted and held aside. Their torches illuminated the entrance to a natural cave, well hidden in the rough terrain. Nadia felt her hope fade; any possibility that Jaguar would find her was dwindling.

  The large cave was composed of several smaller grottos or rooms. The girls saw bundles, weapons, tack for horses, blankets, sacks of rice, lentils, dried vegetables, nuts, and long strings of garlic. To judge by the look of the camp and the quantity of food, it was obvious that their captors intended to stay for a while.

  A spine-chilling altar had been set up in a central location. A statue of the fearsome goddess Kali sat atop a pile of bones, surrounded by human skulls, dried rats, snakes, and other reptiles, vessels containing a dark bloodlike liquid, and jars holding live black scorpions. As the warriors walked in, they knelt before the altar, stuck their fingers in the vessels, and then placed them in their mouths. Nadia noticed that each of the men wore an assortment of daggers of different shapes and sizes tucked into the sashes circling their waists.

  The two girls were pushed toward the back of the cavern, where they were given to the care of an old woman. Over her rags she wore a mantle made from the hides of dogs, which gave her the look of a hyena. Her skin was stained the same blue tone as the warriors’; a horrible scar furrowed her right cheek from eye to chin, as if she had been slashed by a knife, and the figure of a scorpion branded her forehead. She carried a short whip.

  Huddled beside a fire were four captive girls, trembling with cold and terror. The jailer grunted and gestured to Pema and Nadia that they should join them. The only one of them who was wearing winter clothing was Nadia; all the others were dressed in the silk sarongs they had put on to celebrate the king’s birthday. Nadia realized that these girls had been kidnapped under the same circumstances she and Pema had, and that gave her a ray of hope, because by now the police would be moving heaven and earth looking for them.

  A chorus of moans greeted Nadia and Pema, but as the woman came toward them with whip raised high, the prisoners fell silent, burying their heads in their arms. The two friends tried to stay close together.

  When the guard wasn’t looking, Nadia wrapped her jacket around Pema and whispered not to give up hope, they would find a way to get out of this mess. Pema was shivering, but she had succeeded in regaining control. Her beautiful black eyes, which had always been smiling, now reflected courage and determination. Nadia pressed her hand, and each felt strengthened by the other’s presence.

  One of
the members of the scorpion sect could not keep his eyes off Pema, impressed by her grace and dignity. He came toward the terrified girls and stood before her with one hand on the handle of his dagger. He wore the same filthy dark tunic, greasy turban, and had the same tangled beard, strange blue-black skin, and betel-stained teeth as the others, but his attitude radiated authority, and the others respected him. He seemed to be the leader.

  Pema stood and bore the cruel gaze of the warrior. He reached out and touched the girl’s long hair, which slipped like silk through his filthy fingers. A light fragrance of jasmine was loosed in the air. The man seemed confused, almost moved, as if he had never touched anything so precious. Pema shook her head, pulling her hair from his hand. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. On the contrary, her expression was so defiant that the girls, the old woman with the scar, and even the other bandits froze, sure that the warrior would strike his insolent prisoner, but, to everyone’s surprise, he barked a brief laugh and stepped back. He spat on the floor at Pema’s feet, then returned to his cronies, who were kneeling around a fire. They were sipping from their canteens and chewing red betel nuts, spitting and talking as they studied a map unfolded on the ground.

  Nadia assumed that this map was the same, or similar, to the one she and Alex had glimpsed in the Red Fort. She understood nothing of what was being said, because the brutal events of recent hours had affected her so deeply that she wasn’t capable of listening with her heart. Pema quietly told her that they were speaking a dialect of the north of India and that she could understand a few words: dragon, routes, monastery, American, and king.

  They had to stop talking, because the woman with the scar, who had heard them, came toward them brandishing her whip.

  “Quiet!” she roared.

  The girls began to whimper with fear, except for Pema and Nadia, whose manner did not change, although they lowered their eyes in order not to provoke the woman. When the jailer again lost interest in them, Pema whispered to Nadia that women abandoned by the Blue Warriors always had a scorpion branded on their foreheads, and that many were mute because their tongues had been cut out. Shuddering with horror, they did not speak again, but communicated with their eyes.

  The four girls who had been brought to the cave a little before them were in such a state of panic that Nadia believed they must know something she didn’t, but she didn’t dare ask. She realized that Pema, too, knew what was awaiting them, but she was brave and was prepared to fight for her life. Gradually, the other girls felt the comfort of Pema’s courage, and, without consulting one another, they inched closer to her, seeking her protection. Nadia was filled with a mixture of admiration for her friend and frustration because she couldn’t communicate with the other girls, who didn’t speak a word of English. She regretted that she was so different from them.

  One of the Blue Warriors gave an order, and for a moment the woman with the scar forgot the captives and left them in order to obey the command. She spooned something into bowls from a black kettle hung over the fire, and served the men. At an order from the leader, she grumblingly served the prisoners as well.

  Nadia was handed a bowl of steaming gray gruel. A blast of garlic struck her nostrils and she had to fight to keep from retching. She must eat, she decided, because she would need all her strength to escape. She signaled Pema, who lifted the bowl to her lips. Neither of the two girls had any intention of resigning themselves to their fate.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Borobá

  THE MOON SANK BEHIND THE snow-topped peaks, and the fire in the cave faded to a pile of coals and ash. The guard was snoring, sitting up, whip still in her hand: Her mouth was agape, and a thread of saliva was trickling down her chin. The Blue Warriors had stretched out on the ground and they, too, were sleeping, but one of them stood guard at the entrance to the cave, holding an ancient rifle. A single torch shed a pale light, projecting sinister shadows onto the rock walls.

  The men had tied the captives’ ankles with leather thongs, and given them four blankets of rough wool. Barely covered, pressed against one another, the unfortunate girls tried to keep one another warm. Exhausted from crying, they were all asleep, except for Pema and Nadia, who were using the moment to whisper back and forth.

  Pema told her friend all she knew about the feared Sect of the Scorpion, how they stole girls and mistreated them. Besides cutting out the tongues of those who spoke too much, they burned the soles of their feet if they tried to escape.

  “I don’t plan to remain in the hands of these horrible men. I would rather kill myself,” Pema concluded.

  “Don’t talk that way, Pema. Whatever happens, it’s better to die trying to escape than to die without a fight.”

  “You think you can escape from here?” Pema replied, pointing to the sleeping warriors and the guard at the entrance.

  “We will find the moment to do it,” Nadia assured her as she rubbed her ankles, swollen from the bonds.

  After a while even the two friends were overcome with weariness and began to nod off. Several hours had gone by, and Nadia, who had never had a watch but was accustomed to calculating time, thought it must be about two in the morning. Suddenly her instinct warned her something was happening. She felt with her skin that the energy in the air had changed, and she sat up, alert.

  A fleet shadow was almost flying across the floor of the cave. Nadia’s eyes could not see what it was, but she sensed that it was her loyal Borobá. With a flood of relief, she realized that her tiny friend had followed the kidnappers. The horses had soon left him behind, but the little monkey had been able to follow his mistress’s trail and somehow find the cave. Nadia hoped with all her heart that Borobá would not shriek with joy when he saw her, and tried to transmit a mental message to calm him.

  Borobá had come to Nadia’s arms as soon as he was born, when she herself was nine. He was so small that she had to feed him with an eyedropper. From that time they had never been apart. The monkey grew up at her side, and they complemented one another so well that each could sense what the other was feeling. They shared a code of gestures and intentions, in addition to Borobá’s language, which Nadia had learned. The monkey must have picked up his mistress’s warning, because he did not come to her. He sat huddled in a dark corner, motionless, for a long time, looking around, calculating the risks, waiting.

  When Nadia was sure that no one had noticed Borobá’s presence, and the snores of her jailer hadn’t changed, she whistled softly. The monkey started working his way toward her, staying close to the wall where he was protected by the shadows, until he reached her and with one leap threw himself around her neck. He had torn off his baby snowsuit, leaving only shreds. His little hands clung to Nadia’s curly hair, and he rubbed his wrinkled face against her neck, emotional but silent.

  Nadia waited for him to calm down, and thanked him for being so faithful. Then she gave him a command. Borobá immediately obeyed. Slipping back the same way he had come, he approached one of the sleeping men and with his clever and delicate hands, with awesome precision pulled a dagger from his sash, and carried it to Nadia. He sat down in front of her, watching intently, as she cut the thongs from her ankles. The knife was so sharp that it was not difficult.

  The moment she was free, Nadia waked Pema.

  “This is our chance to escape,” she whispered to her.

  “How do you plan to get past the guard?”

  “I don’t know yet, we’ll see. One step at a time.”

  But Pema would not allow her to cut her bonds, and with tears in her eyes whispered that she couldn’t go.

  “I won’t get very far, Nadia. You see how I’m dressed; I can’t run like you in these sandals. If I go with you, they will catch us both. You have the best chance if you go alone.”

  “Are you crazy? I can’t go without you!” Nadia murmured.

  “You have to try. Get help. I can’t leave the other girls; I will stay with them until you get back with reinforcements. Go now, before it’s too la
te,” said Pema, taking off the jacket and handing it back to Nadia.

  She spoke with such determination that Nadia gave up any idea of trying to change her mind. Her friend would not abandon the other girls. And it was not possible to take them, because there was no way they could all leave without being seen; only she could do that. The two friends hugged briefly and, with her heart in her mouth, Nadia stood up.

  The woman with the scar moved in her sleep, stammered a few words, and for an instant it seemed that all might be lost, but then she started snoring with the same rhythm she had before. Nadia waited five minutes, until she was convinced that all the others were asleep as well. She immediately started along the path Borobá had taken, pressing herself against the wall. She took a deep breath and called on her powers of invisibility.

  Nadia and Alexander had spent an unforgettable time in the Amazon with the tribe of the People of the Mist, the most remote and mysterious humans on the planet. Those Indians, who were living just as men and women had in the Stone Age, were in some aspects very evolved. They scorned material progress and lived in concert with the forces of nature, in perfect harmony with the world around them. They were part of the complex ecology of the jungle, like the trees, the insects, the humus. For centuries they had survived in the forest with no contact with the outside world, protected by their beliefs, their traditions, their sense of community, and the art of making themselves invisible. When they sensed danger, they simply disappeared. This skill was so absolute that no one actually believed that the People of the Mist existed. When people talked about them, they spoke as if they were telling a legend—and that had protected them from the curiosity and greed of outsiders.