by Nick Thacker
Around the lake, dotting the gently sloped hill the entire area sat on, were buildings made of brush and trees. Some incorporated entire trunks or rocks into their frames or walls, but all appeared to be made from natural materials. A few larger structures rose up and dwarfed the smaller buildings, the largest of them closest to the lake. People wandered in and out of these buildings, each seeming to have a purpose and destination all to their own. Some of them were working, building more structures or cooking around large, smoky fires, and still others were sitting on the ground in groups, talking.
He then noticed a particularly interesting feature of the landscape as he examined it. There were only a handful of trees in the entire area, and all were of the same variety. He didn’t recognize them, but that fact wasn’t surprising to Ben, who’d felt out of his element since they’d arrived in the jungle. Each of the trees had large, yellow fruits blossoming on it and bowing its branches, some the larger ones nearly reaching the ground. Children ran between these branches and the trees themselves, knocking each fruit from its perch, picking them up and delivering them to women who hauled them away in baskets.
They were harvesting the plants, but something else struck Ben as odd as he watched the women deliver their baskets to their destination.
The men around him stepped back and allowed him to sit up, then stand. He rose to his feet warily, completely overwhelmed by the scene around him. He tried to search their faces for answers, but was met with a look of confusion from each of them that matched his own feelings.
He watched for nearly a full minute as the assembly line of fruit-pickers and deliverers continued their work in front of him. The women carrying baskets emptied their collection of fruit directly into the lake, walking onto a makeshift log pier that had been fastened to the shoreline. The baskets were turned over, emptied, then placed back on top of the woman’s head, and the process continued. The fruits themselves sank completely into the tiny lake.
“Ben?”
He whirled around, searching for the source of the voice. His heart raced, realizing whom it belonged to.
Julie.
ACT 4
“…‘Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,’
The shade replied,—
‘If you seek for Eldorado!’…”
— Edgar Allan Poe
59
HE SAW HER, STANDING ON the opposite side of the stream, only twenty feet away. Next to her were Reggie and Archie, and coming out of another similar cave to their right was Paulinho, then Amanda Meron, each of them being carried on their own platter of hands and delivered to a spot surrounded by more natives.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He wasn’t sure what that question meant in this context, but he nodded anyway. Am I okay? Is this even real?
He started walking toward them and was surprised to find that the tribesmen didn’t attempt to stop him. When he got close, Archie stepped forward and explained.
“I think they’re watching us closely, but aren’t worried we’ll fight back.” He nodded toward the center of the tiny village, and Ben saw immediately what Archie was focused on. He’d missed them the first time he’d scanned the village, but one of the groups was busy sharpening sticks.
Weapons.
“They’re probably not worried about us because the only way in and out of here is through these little cave-tunnels.”
“And I’m guessing they’re a good shot with one of those spears,” Reggie said. He stepped closer to the two men. “What is all of this?”
“It’s a village,” Archie replied. But I’ve never heard of or seen anything like it. Their homes and buildings are of a completely different technology. Ancient, even. Their clothing matches the rest of the contacted tribes of the Basin — piecemeal outfits from whatever articles of clothing they’ve been able to buy, steal, or trade for.”
“But you don’t think they’re a ‘contacted’ tribe?” Julie asked.
“I can’t imagine how they would have been. We are so far off the beaten path, and a place like this is not something I ever thought I would see in the middle of the Amazon.”
“You mean this village?”
“No,” Archie said. “This geologic structure. A raised plateau — even one as low as this — is strange enough. But this, obviously, is no plateau. It’s called a tepui, and it’s a landmass typically found far north of here. Sort of like a raised plateau, but instead of a flat top, the cliffs simply surround a sunken valley in the center.”
“Well, it exists, and we’re standing in it,” Reggie said. “Unfortunately that won’t help us very much. Any idea who they are?”
“Again, no,” Archie said. “Their dialect doesn’t sound anything like the other languages I’m familiar with.”
“So they spoke to you, too?” Ben asked.
Archie nodded. “Couldn’t decipher a word of it.”
Behind him, Paulinho fell down. He hit the ground, hard, and Julie and Amanda rushed over to help. It took their group by surprise, and only then did Ben remember that the man had complained of a headache not long ago.
He looked around at the men who had carried them here, attempting to make eye contact with one of them and somehow ask them for help. Two of the men, one he recognized as the man who had spoken to him in the cave, were still conversing near the cliff wall. They had walked away from their fellow tribesmen to talk shortly after Ben arrived, and only now did Ben notice how lively their argument had become.
Before he could get their attention, one of the men stormed back to their group and began talking to the others, his voice more animated and excited than the first man’s.
Within seconds, Ben felt the tribesmen converging on them and his hands ripped behind his back and bound. He was pushed to the ground, a spear suddenly poking its way through his shirt and held tightly against his upper back. He could only lift his head, and when he did he saw Julie once more. She was being shown similar treatment, her hands already tied tightly in front of her. Another man pressed down between her shoulder blades with his bare foot, keeping her on her side on the ground.
“Ben,” she whispered, her eyes glistening. Her voice shook, even with the single syllable she’d uttered, and Ben felt the vulnerability of complete helplessness as he watched the men lift her roughly off the ground and carry her away.
Before he could say anything, the hands that had brought him here were pulling him upward again.
60
REGGIE FOUGHT AGAINST THE STRAIN of the hands that once again were carrying him. This time the hands were rougher, more concerned with moving him where they wanted him than with his comfort. He struggled, knowing that a single slip of some of the tribesmen’s hands would be all he would need to wrestle free.
From there, he didn’t know. He’d fight, surely, but to what end? They were outnumbered, and even if he could get Joshua free — also a trained soldier — how many of these men could they take? There were around 200 members of this remote tribe, at least in the village, but there could be many more still outside the cliff walls surrounding their little valley.
Still, he wasn’t quick to admit defeat. As the men carried his group, each member lifted high into the air like an offering to an ancient god, he did his best to study his surroundings, shifting his head as much as the hands would allow to get a glimpse of any sort of edge he may have in breaking free.
He noticed a spear strapped to a man’s back, poking out over his shoulder as he strode next to Reggie, holding his left side. If I can just get my hands free…
He pushed all his strength into his right hand, focusing on freeing himself from their grasp. They were nearing the center of the village and the small lake that dominated the landscape. Some of the children stopped their fruit-harvesting duties and watched as their fathers and brothers carried the strangers forward, but most of the villagers expressed no interest in the light-ski
nned intruders.
Reggie waited until he felt himself start to be pointed slightly downward, the men shifting the weight on their feet to compensate for the gentle sloping land that led to the low-lying lake. He twisted sideways and simultaneously ripped his arm upward, hoping the sudden movement would release their grasp.
It didn’t. The natives increased their hold on his arm, and Reggie was stunned at the power of their grip. He’d failed, and he’d lost the opportunity to surprise them.
He wondered if Joshua or Ben had tried anything similar, and was almost positive they had. They wouldn’t be content with being carried into the center of a tribal village, especially under the assumption the Amazonian tribe was hostile.
There had to be another way…
He racked his brain to come up with a solution, but he hadn’t been trained for this. Being carried six feet off of the ground, hands pressed against his sides, weapons out of reach and completely unaware of his captives’ motives was not a situation he’d ever expected he’d be in. Reggie was out of his element, literally and figuratively, and he could only hope the others would have more luck.
They didn’t.
The indigenous tribesmen carried the group the last hundred yards to the lake. There, he was dropped to the ground and landed with a hard thud. Before he could squirm away, the men held his feet together while two of them tied them together with a thick, twisted rope made of grasses, then pulled him back up. They dragged him back a few feet and pressed him against a tall pole that had been pushed into the soft muddy bank of the lakeshore, then tied his hands behind it.
He watched the other members of his group get tied to their own poles, and waited for the job to be finished. The knots binding his wrists and ankles were solid, and he wasn’t sure how long it would take to loosen them and break free. He knew it would be possible, eventually, to stretch the grass ropes enough to slip out, but it could be hours before that happened.
He was concerned with what might happen before then.
He glanced over at Ben. The larger man was staring directly at him, seemingly pleading with his eyes for Reggie to tell him the plan.
He shrugged. Sorry, friend.
Ben nodded. Reggie felt even more respect for him at that moment. Stuck to a pole in the middle of the Amazon, hundreds of miles away from any real civilization, and Ben had accepted the non-response from him without question.
He turned his head the other direction and saw Amanda trying to talk to Paulinho. Reggie could see that Paulinho’s head was lolling sideways. His eyes were closed, but Reggie could hear him groaning, the soft sounds of painful moans drifting through the air.
“Paulinho, you okay?” Reggie asked.
Paulinho didn’t answer.
“It’s a headache,” Amanda said. “He’s not doing well.” Her own hands and feet were already tied, but her voice seemed to carry an air of hopelessness. There was no desperation, no fight. Reggie just heard defeat.
The tribal men finished tying the group to their individual poles and immediately left the area. Reggie was about to call to the others, to attempt some sort of rallying speech, when they returned. They were carrying more poles, two men per pole. Each group of men began pushing the heavy poles into the ground, heaving as they forced the sharpened ends of the trunks deep into the mud. Reggie watched as they spaced out the poles in a curving line, starting near Paulinho’s pole and working nearly halfway around the lake.
“What are they doing?” Amanda asked.
“They’re getting ready to host more guests,” Reggie said.
“What do you —“
Before she could finish, Reggie heard a chanting noise from more of the men from somewhere behind him. The chant grew in volume, and he waited until they walked near enough to the lake and looked over. There were at least ten more groups of warriors, each group holding another person above their head as they marched in lockstep toward the lake.
He knew their destination and was affirmed when the groups each stopped in front of one of the poles freshly stuck in the mud, the men were laid on the ground, and they were then bound to their own trunk.
He was shocked, however, when he saw who the men were.
“It’s the mercenaries,” he whispered, not intending for the words to carry farther than a few feet in front of him.
“They must have lost their fight with the tribe,” Amanda said.
Reggie looked at Amanda, tied to the trunk just to his right, but she was looking at the mercenaries. She watched intently, the concerned look on her face not easing Reggie’s fears.
The chanting continued, and even got louder. There’s something else going on here, he thought. They are waiting for something.
Hordes of tribespeople descended on the lakeshore, all helping to secure the mercenaries to their trunks. The chanting rose to a chorus of deep, sinister growls and unintelligible words, and Reggie forced his mind to focus on the procession, not the droning sound.
Within minutes the job was done, and both groups — the mercenaries and Reggie’s own people — were all fastened to their own poles around one side of the lake. The entire tribe was present around them, women and children included.
The chanting stopped.
All of the natives turned their heads and looked behind Reggie. He couldn’t twist around enough to see what it was they’d reacted to, so he waited until whatever they were looking at came into view.
When he did see it, he nearly gasped.
61
IT’S THE GOLDEN MAN FROM the dream, he thought. He looked to his left and saw Paulinho, his head lolling while he groaned. When his neck rotated and Paulinho’s face fell toward Reggie, he saw that the man’s eyes were white, rolled up into his head.
“Paulinho, are you okay? Can you hear me?”
Paulinho didn’t respond to Reggie’s voice, but he noticed his face turning slowly. He’s watching the golden man. Paulinho clearly couldn’t see anything, but his face was somehow locked onto the steadily moving man nearing the lake.
The man was naked, but covered head to toe in a gold powder. It shimmered as it caught the last of the dying rays of sunlight, but Reggie couldn’t tell if it was the powder itself that was reflecting or a layer of sweat on the man’s skin. The powder seemed thick, almost syrupy, and it coated every inch of skin. When the man blinked, gold eyelids replaced white eyes. Two women and a younger girl followed the golden man, each holding half of one of the fruits Reggie had seen earlier. They kept pace with their leader, rubbing him down with the fleshy portion of the fruit as he neared the lake. When one of the women saw a spot that was unsatisfactorily covered, they’d reach out and smear the fruit on his skin.
Reggie was dumbfounded. The exact image Amanda had described in her subjects’ dreams was walking directly toward them. Instead of actual gold, they were using the juice and pulp of a golden fruit, but the image was unmistakable. The man strolled as if taking in the scenery of a park, completely unaware of the captives tied to tree trunks yards away. He was heavyset but looked muscular, and he carried himself with an air of authority.
He’s the chief, Reggie thought. There was something visceral in him, a feeling the man had evoked when he met eyes with Reggie. He knew, without a doubt, this man was in charge.
“That’s him,” Amanda whispered.
Reggie could see that her hands, bound at the wrists, were shaking. He nodded, then realized Amanda hadn’t looked away from the golden man.
“I know,” he said. “And I have a feeling we’re about to be part of their special ceremony.”
“It’s the Muisca tradition,” Archie said. Archie was mounted two poles over, between Amanda and Julie. Joshua was just on the other side of Julie, and Ben was tied to the pole at the far end. Reggie looked at Archie, waiting for him to explain. He almost grinned when Archie cleared his throat out of habit, looked at the others as if preparing a lecture, and continued.
“Remember, the Muisca are thought to be the originators of at least
one of the El Dorado myths,” he said. “No one knows exactly why, but during their initiation ritual, their chief would cover himself in gold dust and jump into the lake. The Spanish, and many others after them, drained the lake — Lake Guatavita — near the Muisca people’s home, but the legends were never confirmed. Besides, this is nowhere near where they were thought to have lived.”
“But you told us a few days ago that if El Dorado was not an actual city, but a people, they could move anywhere they needed to to stay out of the way.”
Archie nodded, his head lowering. “It is true,” he said. “But it is still hard to believe. I have wanted to believe in it since I heard the myth, but seeing this — actually watching this procession — it is still unbelievable.”
Reggie looked at Amanda. “And you’re sure this is the man from the dreams?”
She nodded. “Without a doubt.” Her voice was shaking slightly, but her eyes seemed adamant.
“Okay,” Reggie said. “Archie, what happens, in this ‘legend,’ after the chief jumps into the lake? Specifically, does the legend mention anything about the people tied up to poles around the lake?”
“No,” Archie said. “But that was merely a legend. There is no boat here, either. In the stories, the chief would float out to the middle of the lake on a gold-covered boat.”
The chief held his hands in the air, waiting for all eyes to turn to him. The only sound was the churning of the waterfall cascading down into the valley far on the other side of the lake. Satisfied, he lowered his hands and stepped into the lake.
His foot fell beneath the surface, but stopped after only a few inches. He strode forward, confidently, his other foot landing again just inches below the waterline.
“There must be a platform or something,” Ben said.
