by Andy Briggs
Before his eyes could adjust to the dark, Goyad raced across with two powerful bounds, his jaws stretched wide as he howled. For a lesser mortal than Tarzan, the sight of the ghostly ape was enough to freeze the blood. The man was rooted to the spot as Goyad’s powerful fist clobbered him across the head, knocking him unconscious again. The albino inspected the man for a moment, then, satisfied his prey was still alive, he returned to the stream.
The cold, calculating attack impressed Tarzan, who remained motionless just a yard away. The Targarni soon finished their rest and three chimps hoisted the prisoners over their backs before they continued.
Tarzan did not immediately move from his hiding place. It would be folly to further pursue Goyad in the dark; he knew exactly where the apes were heading. What value the prisoners had, he didn’t know, but it was enough to warrant keeping them alive. Not so long ago, Tarzan would have recklessly pursued the Targarni, if only to provoke and annoy them, but now he felt the weight of responsibility toward his family. He had led them here, and while the Targarni were around, he couldn’t risk getting injured or worse. The Mangani needed him, and so Goyad should wait.
However, Tarzan’s unquenchable curiosity was getting the better of him.
• • •
The pygmies surrounded Greystoke’s party: expressions fierce, weapons raised. The lead figure eyed Greystoke and his companions with hostility. He walked in an arc around Jane, his eyes studying her ruffled blonde hair. She had seen that air of curiosity before with Tarzan; blonde was not a natural shade in the heart of the jungle. The pygmy’s skin was a natural dark brown, camouflaged further by the dried mud he wore as war paint. His face was most definitely that of a man in his forties, but he barely came up to Jane’s shoulders, and she was by no means tall. The tip of the spear moved closer toward her, and it took all her courage not to flinch. The stone blade lifted her hair, then let it fall back to her shoulders.
Lord Greystoke suddenly said something in an unfamiliar language. The pygmies’ eyes widened as they recognized their own tongue and replied rapidly.
“You speak their language?” said Archie in surprise.
“A little,” said Greystoke, his face screwed in concentration as he tried to decipher what was being said. “They’re Mbuti people… . Or a tribe of them. They’re speaking Bantu… . But the dialect is not one I’ve heard before. There are some similarities… .”
Clark snorted. “Glad you’re such an expert.”
“There are over a hundred and forty dialects in use,” said Greystoke tartly, without taking his eyes off the lead pygmy who was now gesturing with his spear. “Even out here, there are clans who seldom need to have contact with the outside world. I think they are claiming this is their territory.” The leader gestured angrily to the trees. “As far as I can tell, they have been forced from their own lands. Forced out here.”
“They look happy ’bout it too,” said Clark.
“Forced?” said Jane. “Who’d do that to them?”
Greystoke relayed the question and the leader snapped back a reply, gesturing to the Westerners.
“It appears I did,” said Greystoke, carefully keeping his face neutral.
Jane glanced at Robbie, who was thinking the same thing. “Do they know who you are?” she asked carefully.
“If they did, I would be dead already.” Greystoke glanced at her and Robbie. “Thinking of turning me in?”
“It crossed my mind,” said Robbie grimly.
Greystoke forced a smile on his face. “Then you would lose your meal ticket. And your own lives. They are not indiscriminate killers, but they will fight for what they believe is theirs. And they see no distinction between you and me.”
He spoke in a halting dialect to the pygmies, gesturing to himself and the others. The exchange continued for some minutes before the leader finally cast the group a grim look, then disappeared back into the forest. When Jane looked around, the other pygmies had silently vanished too.
Greystoke finally let out the pent-up breath he’d been holding. His smile dropped, replaced by concerned furrows across his forehead. “I explained we were just passing through to try and convince the people who took their land to return it. They’re going to escort us most of the way.” He studied the dark trees; there was no sign of the forest people.
“So you lied to them?” said Jane caustically. “Pretended to be somebody else?”
Greystoke shrugged and returned to his tent, pausing before he climbed in to look steadily at Jane. “I saved your life. You’re most welcome.” He climbed into the tent, zipping the flap up without waiting for a reply.
Archie looked to where he suspected the pygmies were watching them. “Well I suppose that means we’re safe for the night. I suggest we rest. I know I need it.” He returned to his tent, yawning loudly.
Clark limped over to Jane, who still stood her ground. He spoke low, watching as Robbie returned to his own tent. “Listen, Jane. We don’t often see eye to eye, but you gotta stop being so pigheaded and keep your bek shut. We got a good thing goin’ with his lordship, and now it seems like Tarzan is down on his list of priorities, so what have you got to worry ’bout?”
“It doesn’t mean I have to like him.”
“Nah, you don’t. He’s a pompous rooinek.” His South African accent became more pronounced with the Afrikaans slang. “His heart may be in the wrong place, but his wallet ain’t. We need this”—Jane opened her mouth to speak but Clark raised a finger to silence her—“an’ if you don’t, your dad does. It’s your mother’s fault you’re out here in the first place; don’t let it be your fault he’s gotta stay.”
Jane felt a stab of guilt. She knew that was exactly the reaction Clark was aiming for, but it still hurt. He limped back to his tent, and Jane swore he was deliberately making his injury more pronounced to make her feel bad. Again, the sickening feeling of guilt: a feeling that would keep her awake long into the night.
• • •
The mist lingered on into the following morning, but as they broke camp and pressed on down the mountain, it slowly lifted. They were all hungry and tired. Greystoke had hoped the forest people would return their stolen food, but their enigmatic escorts remained unseen, although the group could easily feel their eyes on them every step of the way.
By lunchtime, they made it to the base of the mountain range where the trees thinned out to a small grass plain, just a few miles across. Greystoke’s pace increased as he entered a code into the GPS.
“There should be a river, this way. We’ll be picked up there,” he said, indicating a spot located an angle away from their current position.
The brown grass was almost as tall as they were, making it impossible to see ahead. Only the rising jungle-clad mountains lining the valley provided a point of reference; otherwise they could have been walking in circles without realizing it. Robbie noticed that Jane had become increasingly concerned since they stepped into the grassland. He was sure the pygmies were not following them any longer. However, Jane’s head kept snapping up at every sound she heard.
“What’s the matter?” Robbie asked Jane, catching her up as Archie and Greystoke led the way, batting aside napier grass.
“I’ve been here before,” she answered with a tremor in her voice. Before she could go on, there was a shout from Greystoke.
“Stop!” he yelled.
Jane froze, looking around sharply for danger. But Greystoke laughed loudly. “This is it!” he said, pointing.
The grass abruptly gave way to the red-soil banks of a murky brown river that meandered through the plains. The river was twenty yards wide and moved sluggishly, but the adventurers knew what dangers could lurk in the water, and kept their distance. Greystoke found a large rock and sat down with a sigh.
Clark looked around. “Now what?”
“We wait,” said Greystoke. “Shouldn’t
be too long.”
A crack in the grass got everybody’s attention. Greystoke waved his hand dismissively.
“The pygmies. No doubt ensuring we leave their land.”
Everybody visibly relaxed, except Jane who kept looking around. Her skittishness was unnerving to Robbie, who had grown to trust her instincts in the wild. He tried to ignore her, but she was too distracting. Luckily, Archie broke the atmosphere as he skipped stones across the river.
“So why did you move the pygmies off their land?” he asked as casually as he could.
“They were in the way,” said Greystoke simply. “No offense to them. In fact, we employ any who wish to work for us.”
Archie threw another stone, sending ripples across the brown surface. He fished one more stone from the muddy bank, inching closer to the water.
“Dad, careful …” said Jane as his next stone bounced three times across the still surface.
Greystoke continued, oblivious to how close Archie had moved toward the river. “Lets them afford a better standard of life than our primitive jungle friends enjoy.”
Archie turned around, his eyes searching Greystoke for answers. “But it’s their land, isn’t it?” Clark nudged his friend. The meaning was clear: Don’t argue until Greystoke pays up.
“Dad …” Jane’s warning went unheeded.
Greystoke sniggered. “Who owns anything out here? They have no idea what this land is really worth.”
A deep roar and sudden flurry of movement—not from the water, but from the grass—as a flash of tawny fur landed on Greystoke, pitching him off the rock and rolling through the red dirt. It was a huge maned lion. His claws dug into Greystoke’s back, drawing blood as it pinned him down. The lion roared, so loud and sonorous that Robbie felt his ribcage shake.
Clark fumbled for his sidearm. Staggering backward, he lost his balance, and dropped to his backside. His gun skittered away. He groped for it, but Jane darted forward and kicked it farther out of reach.
“NO!” she screamed. “You’ll just annoy him!”
The lion turned toward her and snarled, his mouth extending wide enough to encompass Greystoke’s head and shoulders. He was a massive specimen. Greystoke gibbered, tears rolling down his cheeks. Jane took a step forward, her hands raised out in front of her.
“Easy! It’s me. Remember Tarzan?”
Now Robbie understood. The last time they had seen lions was when Tarzan had rescued them from Tafari’s camp. Then he had been riding a lion as if it were a domesticated steed. Was this Numa? Tarzan’s friend? It was certainly a Numa—Robbie was still uncertain how Tarzan named the creatures around him.
Jane bravely stepped closer and the lion roared again. Even several yards away, Robbie could smell his meaty breath.
“Numa. I’m a friend. Friend,” said Jane as she approached, then did something contrary to all common sense. She knelt down so that Numa towered over her.
“Jane!” hissed Robbie. “Don’t.”
Numa pressed a paw harder against Greystoke’s back, as if kneading him. The Englishman whimpered in pain. Then Numa removed his paw and took a step toward Jane. She didn’t flinch, and maintained eye contact as the beast pressed close, sniffing her.
Robbie held his breath. He saw Archie and Clark were rigid with fear, hoping Jane knew what she was doing. Robbie guessed she was just as terrified.
The lion growled. It was as if an engine was idling close to Jane’s head. Numa’s breath blew her hair. Then, the aggressive sounds suddenly turned to a distinctive purr. He rubbed the side of his massive head against Jane, marking his scent.
Jane giggled with relief, and scratched Numa’s head, her fingers digging deep into the flea-ridden fur, and Numa purred more contently as he paced around her. She stood, wobbling as the lion playfully jostled her.
“I think he remembers me,” she said with a broad smile.
Robbie slowly moved and the lion growled a warning. “I don’t think he knows me,” said Robbie who had never been so close to a lion. Archie and Clark remained motionless.
“Can you tell him to go away?” said Archie, his gaze switching to Greystoke who was still bleeding, though his wounds didn’t look so bad.
“Well, we are on his land,” said Jane giving Greystoke a meaningful look.
Robbie caught a flicker of movement in the grass—was it one of the Mbuti? Numa caught it too, but before Numa could react, a boom echoed across the valley as a huge helicopter swooped into it at high speed. The enclosing mountains reverberated the sound into a terrifying roar.
Numa bellowed, roaring fiercely, but backed into the grass. He knew better than to take on the forces of modern man. With a final roar, he vanished into the grassland.
The chopper circled around before hovering over them. The rotor’s downdraft pressed the grass flat, kicking up dry debris into a whirlwind. Robbie crouched as the helicopter landed on the riverbank. He was forced to close his eyes to avoid the whirling dust, but not before noting the stylized Greystoke logo on the side of the machine. For the first time, he began to wonder just what resources Greystoke had at his disposal.
7
The opening between the lion’s paws was bathed in darkness, and Tarzan didn’t have enough light to make out any detail inside. He paused at the entrance, his keen senses alert to everything. The wind had changed direction, and the air now tasted unpleasant, like rotten eggs. Through the black mask of the jungle, he could see flecks of glowing red rock spitting from the cone of the volcano above. The wind carried a faint, constant rumble that made him anxious.
He turned his attention back to the cave. The stench of decay from within was stronger than ever, but he could still detect the scent of the Targarni and their captives, even if he couldn’t see into the void. The dark offered no terrors for the ape-man, but walking blind was not something he relished either.
A few careful paces into the cave revealed stone steps leading down. He guessed they were man-made, but couldn’t see anything. Through touch alone he discovered the crumbling stone had been worn smooth by passing feet and running water. Several steps down he glanced back to the entrance, his eyes adjusting to the subtle shades of darkness beyond the entrance.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the tunnel, Tarzan became aware of a faint glow. At first he thought it was his eyes playing a trick on him, but after several minutes, he grew accustomed to a faint green light clinging to the walls and ceiling. Closer inspection revealed it was some type of moss. He carefully continued down and the tunnel around him grew lighter, filled with soft luminescence.
The steps turned in a graceful bend and the tunnel widened. A cool breeze blew Tarzan’s shoulder-length hair, and it seemed to increase with each passing step. Carried with it was an increasing scent of Targarni. Still he descended and it grew warmer. Tarzan judged he must be well under the slopes of Thunder Mountain. He pressed on until another jink in the passage revealed a stronger light ahead and a faint roar.
The tunnel came to a halt and Tarzan froze in the opening as he gazed beyond at a huge cavern. Green and blue bioluminescent fungus clung to the walls and ceiling in long trails that made it seem as if the stars had leaked underground. It was much brighter there, so much so that Tarzan could easily see across the cave.
Massive rock spires stretched from floor to ceiling some hundred feet above. The roof was a mass of slender stalactites—most much longer than the ape-man—through which flocks of bats raced at high speeds. The floor sported matching stalagmites, but most had been cleared to provide a thoroughfare across the cave to another tunnel. The opening to this one was some twenty feet in diameter and circular, crafted in stone to look like the mouth of a giant beast. The fangs were blunt from age, and the features worn to nothing more than a faint trace, but it must have once been a fearsome image. A pair of small lakes sat at either end of the cavern. Their surfaces were motionless, but Tarz
an swore he saw something large move below the crystal-clear surface of one.
What impressed Tarzan most was the slender stone bridge that cut across the middle of the cavern. It was the width of a man, forcing creatures to cross in single file. Tarzan stood on it and gazed down. It spanned a whitewater river that cut through the rock a couple of feet below, appearing from one narrow cave and vanishing through another. The pale luminescence from the walls made the spume glow as it struck jagged rocks. There was no doubt—escape would be impossible for anybody unfortunate enough to fall in. Tarzan could see the lake connected to the river and guessed the water avenues were all connected in a gigantic network.
Above the noise of the river, he heard a faint scream followed by shouting. The Targarni’s female prisoner was awake. Tarzan sprinted across the bridge and raced through the open maw of the stone beast, deeper into the unknown sanctuary.
• • •
Jane’s stomach lurched as the helicopter banked sharply left, following the path of the meandering river with reckless speed. The jungle below was an unfamiliar blur. Robbie clung on to a handle mounted just above the door and was grinning like a fool as the chopper suddenly banked right.
Archie and Clark sat in flight seats opposite and didn’t say anything, although Jane suspected her father was enjoying the ride too. She hated it and was fully aware that Greystoke was taking them far deeper into the jungle, away from their camp. Without any recognizable landmarks, it would prove very difficult to return home in a hurry. Where Greystoke had previously relied on the loggers, the balance of power had now firmly shifted in his favor. Jane wondered if the others had realized that yet. Until they did, she would have to continue quietly sabotaging Greystoke’s plans.
Greystoke sat in the copilot’s seat and hadn’t said a word to them since they’d taken off. The pilot had tended to his wounds, which proved to be nothing more severe than shallow cuts. Fortunately for Greystoke, Numa had been in a playful mood.
