Entangled

by Graham Hancock

  She looked down.

  Skewered on the tip of Grondin’s knife, but alive and struggling, was the front end of a disgusting maggot or slug, slimy and black, long as a human tongue. It was anchored in Ria’s flesh by its rear end, which she could see was swollen into a bulb and covered with little hooks. She watched, fascinated, as Grondin carefully pulled more of its body free, dragging the hooks loose one by one until, with a wet plop, the whole creature was out.

  He placed it on a boulder that lay nearby and cut it in half.

  But each half immediately took on a life of its own and there were two new slugs where one had been before.

  Driff looked at them in horror. ‘Sulpa?’ He seemed to be asking a question. In the chaos of the river escape, Ria realised, he probably hadn’t seen his former master firing his little dart into her.

  Despite her pain she limped over. ‘Yes … They’re Sulpa’s work.’

  The wriggling black slugs were at the edge of the rock now, leaving thick trails of bloodied slime. They couldn’t be allowed to escape into the ground. But before Ria’s bruised body could react Grondin stepped in ahead of her and pinched one of the loathsome little creatures in each hand, his big, hard fingers gripping them tight as they writhed and twisted. Ria sensed some sort of thought-talk taking place between Grondin and Driff but she couldn’t catch it. Then Driff rushed back to the tree line and began to make a small fire where the canopy of leaves and branches would dissipate the smoke.

  Grondin strode down to join him, with Ria hobbling after. She arrived in time to see them place both slugs into the heart of the fire, holding them in place with sticks. The creatures squirmed, and screams that sounded almost human burst out of them as their flesh bubbled and split. They began to expand, growing to the size of a man’s hands, thrashing and flailing before exploding – WHOOSH! – in clouds of pungent sooty smoke that roiled up into the trees. The few remaining scraps of black flesh crackled and burned, and soon there was nothing left but flames and glowing embers.

  Ria looked up into the canopy where the last of the smoke could still be seen melting away amongst the leaves. A feeling of unease came over her. Was this the end of the matter? Or would traces of Sulpa’s creatures somehow remain for him to sniff out and follow? She shrugged. Either way there was nothing more she could do about it. As she turned back towards the mountainside a bout of dizziness shook her and darkness welled up behind her eyes. She collapsed in a heap, only faintly aware of Driff ’s strong arms catching her before she hit the ground.

  Then came oblivion.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  ‘Thank God.’ The voice was Bannerman’s. ‘I think she’s coming out of it.’

  Leoni was in her own body. She hadn’t yet opened her eyes but she’d been conscious of her surroundings for a few moments. She was in a hot, shadowy room, on a bed, with a light sheet draped over her legs. She could hear a persistent fly buzzing and bumping into a windowpane. Bannerman and the person he’d just spoken to were both sitting by her bed and one of them – he had a dry, gentle, reassuring grip – was holding her hand.

  She opened one eye.

  Oh, good. It was Matt.

  Leoni felt content for about half a second until her memories of Ria’s world began to flood back.

  Those wild mountains and moorlands.

  And the dreadful threat of Sulpa and the Illimani.

  Had she succeeded in warning her time-sister about the tracking device in her leg?

  Or had she fucking failed?

  She’d felt so pleased with herself for killing Sulpa’s gremlins, but if she hadn’t got that simple message through in her last frantic moments with Ria then it would all have been in vain.

  She needed to go back. Right now!

  Leoni opened her eyes and sat up, taking a great gulp of breath. Matt pulled his hand away as though scalded. Bannerman was on his feet so fast his chair crashed over: ‘Leoni!’ He sounded relieved. ‘Are you OK?’

  She blinked and looked around the room, getting her bearings. It was one of the outhouses near the maloca – a dorm with a dozen beds where they’d left their bags and changed into loose clothes just before last night’s session. Her bed – she must have been carried to it unconscious – was closest to the door. The others were empty but had an untidy, slept-in look. Although the sun seemed to be shining outside there were thick drapes on the windows that filtered out much of the light.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Bannerman repeated.

  Leoni could hear the stress in his voice. He probably thought she’d fried her brains taking too many of his weird drugs. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I’ve had a very strange night …’

  ‘You went deep with the Ayahuasca. We couldn’t wake you.’

  Leoni sat up in the bed and put her hand on Bannerman’s arm: ‘I have to drink again,’ she whispered. ‘I have to drink right now. I was pulled back too soon from the place Aya took me to. Someone’s in danger and I’ve got to help her …’

  Bannerman held up his hand: ‘Slow down, Leoni. Take your time. Which place? Who’s in danger?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Leoni realised she was close to shouting. ‘I’ll explain later, OK? Right now I need to drink more Aya. I have to. You’ve got to help me.’

  Bannerman looked severe: ‘There’s a problem with that.’

  The problem was Don Emmanuel. ‘He’s not doing well,’ Matt said. ‘He woke this morning totally freaked out. I mean really gibbering.’

  ‘A most extreme and unexpected reaction for such an experienced practitioner,’ Bannerman was saying when Mary Ruck walked in. She saw Leoni and her face lit up in a smile. ‘Welcome back!’ she whooped, darting to her side to embrace her. ‘You’ve had a long journey.’

  The news about Don Emmanuel had depressed Leoni and when Mary was through hugging her she asked about him. The older woman became grave: ‘Last night, soon after you drank your third cup, Don Emmanuel also drank again. Like you, he went very deep. My guess is he suffered … shall we say a psychic ordeal? This happens to shamans sometimes. When he snapped out of it a few hours ago he was … traumatised.’

  ‘Raving,’ Matt corrected.

  Mary flashed him an irritated look: ‘Well, anyway, he’s already much better. I just left him in the maloca. He’s awake but he hasn’t told us what happened yet.’

  ‘I know what happened to him,’ said Leoni. ‘I was held prisoner on another world’ – you could say that kind of thing to this group of people and they’d understand. ‘He came to rescue me but the body he was in was killed …’

  Mary’s eyes had opened wide. ‘Killed?’ she asked. ‘By what?’

  ‘By the shaman who took me prisoner. Don Apolinar. They transformed into different kinds of animals. They fought each other. Don Emmanuel wasn’t strong enough to beat him.’

  ‘Don Apolinar!’ Mary whistled. ‘Shit!’

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘He’s a brujo – a sorcerer. Everyone in Iquitos is afraid of him. But if they want to use black magic to murder a love rival or zombify an enemy he’s the one they go to. Very bad guy.’

  Mary and Bannerman were both adamant, over Leoni’s protestations, that they felt a duty to protect her and would not allow her to drink Ayahuasca again immediately. ‘A shaman has to control the ritual,’ Mary insisted. ‘You’ve seen the dangers now, and you know why it’s a must. If Don Emmanuel recovers he can give you the brew tonight … Anyway,’ she added, ‘we all have important work to do before you drink again …’

  Leoni had awoken just before three p.m. By six, after a frugal dinner, with the velvet darkness of a jungle evening closing in, the whole group was seated in a circle in the maloca to review the previous night’s session. With the exception of Leoni’s few remarks it was to be the first time any of the participants had heard anything about the others’ experiences – for on Bannerman’s insistence there had been no comparing of notes during the day. Don Emmanuel himself would not join in this ‘sharing’
(as Mary called it). The little Shipibo shaman had quietly helped himself to a further cup of Ayahuasca and now lay still on his mattress in a corner of the room.

  Matt spoke first, describing what he had seen and experienced under the influence of Ayahuasca. Bannerman was next, then Mary. Despite differences in the details of their accounts it was soon obvious to all of them that something extraordinary was going on.

  Ayahuasca had swept Bannerman away ‘like a whirlwind’. He was taken up into a heavenly realm and confronted by a majestic winged woman seated on a golden throne. She had indigo skin spangled with golden stars. ‘Protect Leoni,’ she told him.

  Amidst endless jungle, at the foot of a towering capirona tree, Matt stood face to face with a cerulean jaguar who spoke to him in the voice of a woman. ‘Protect Leoni,’ she told him.

  Mary was carried down through crystal caverns to the lair of Sachamama deep underground. A giant anaconda with amethyst scales reared before her: ‘Protect Leoni,’ she commanded.

  In each case the encounter was loaded with powerful significance, and each of them emerged from the experience convinced they must do what had been asked of them – that in some profound sense it was their task, and their commitment, to protect Leoni through this extraordinary time.

  But what did that mean?

  It was Leoni’s turn to speak of her night journey.

  ‘So the bottom line,’ Matt summarised an hour later, ‘is there’s this girl Ria twenty-four thousand years ago who’s the only person in the world with the balls to stand up to Sulpa and stop him slaughtering the Neanderthals. This matters to us because if Sulpa gets his way with the Neanderthals he devours their primal goodness and transforms it into evil – which he then uses to complete his jump into the twenty-first century. Our secret weapons are Ria and Leoni. We also have a supernatural ally – the Blue Angel. She’s the same being who’s called “Our Lady of the Forest” here in the Amazon and, as we all know, she has many other forms and identities as well. She’s what the ancients would have called a goddess, I guess, and she’s used her power to entangle Leoni with Ria in some sort of advanced, hard-to-understand quantum manner that potentially gives them the strength to defeat Sulpa. Since Our Lady of the Forest is also the spirit of the Ayahuasca vine it’s not surprising she’s used altered states of consciousness to bring them together. I’d say our task is to make certain Leoni can keep returning to Ria’s time-frame – which means more Ayahuasca – and to protect her physically and spiritually while she’s there.’

  Bannerman spoke next: ‘I don’t claim to understand this transpersonal experience we’ve all just had, I don’t understand how past and present can intersect, and I particularly don’t understand how a socalled hallucination can give the same instructions to different people.’ He took a breath: ‘As a scientist I could dig into all this for years – as a matter of fact, I intend to do so – but – whatever’s happening here is extraordinary enough to justify setting the science aside for now.’ He locked eyes with Leoni: ‘Despite the difficult journey you obviously had last night, the proposal seems to be that you do more Aya sessions while the rest of us provide you with a safe space in which to explore … these experiences … I’m ready to go with that if it’s truly what you want.’ He looked around the room. ‘I think we all are.’

  ‘It’s absolutely what I want,’ said Leoni. ‘I can’t explain it. How I feel about Ria. But I’m not going to let Sulpa get his hands on her if there’s any way I can prevent it.’

  ‘My one concern …’ Bannerman hesitated.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘My one concern is the way the Aya hit you last night. I’ve studied the medical literature and generally the brew is safe. But a few individuals have had exceptional reactions. There have been deaths. A handful of people who were already mentally unstable became psychotic …’

  ‘I don’t believe it’s going to kill me or drive me mad,’ Leoni said, cutting him short. ‘This is the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done in my life and I’m not going to stop now.’

  From the corner of the room where Don Emmanuel lay came a loud groan. The little shaman sat up wrapped in a sheet and gabbled some sentences in Spanish.

  Leoni became alert as she recognised her own name, followed by the names Apolinar and Jack.

  Strange.

  She didn’t remember anybody mentioning Jack to Don Emmanuel.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Little by little Ria’s consciousness returned, as though she had dived deep into a pool of darkness and was now swimming up again – up, up, up towards the light. She could hear sounds of movement around her, shuffling footsteps, a fire crackling, and further off the grunts and bleats of a herd of red deer. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know exactly where she was and she felt no fear when a small leathery hand touched her face and smoothed back her hair. The contact was gentle and compassionate, as though her own long-lost mother had returned to comfort her, and her stomach rumbled at the homely smells of rabbit roasting nearby.

  A disturbing memory clamoured for her attention – the golden-haired spirit girl who’d warned her of Sulpa’s vile creature buried in her thigh. Her fingers strayed to the place where Grondin had cut deep with his flensing knife, but the ragged wound he’d made was mostly healed with no swelling and very little pain.

  Then everything else came back to her in a rush. The ghastly deaths of Hond and Rill. The show trial. The treachery of Murgh and Grigo. The almost unbelievable massacre of the Clan. Everyone she knew and loved, slaughtered like animals by Sulpa’s demonic army.

  Could it be so? Could such a terrible thing really have happened?

  Surely it must all prove to be some nightmare? Not the truth.

  Surely not the truth.

  She opened her eyes to find herself prone on a bed of soft skins. Ancient oaks towered overhead and sweet morning light diffused down to her through their leaves. Merina, the magic woman of the Uglies, was kneeling by her side, gazing at her with sadness: ‘The Clan is no more, Ria. This is something you must accept …’

  Ria choked back a howl of anguish: ‘There are survivors. I will find them.’

  ‘If there are survivors we will help you find them,’ pulsed Merina, ‘and bring them to safety here.’

  Ria raised herself on one arm and turned sideways to face the magic woman. ‘Where’s Brindle?’ she asked, fearing the worst. ‘And my two Clansmen – Bont and Ligar? Are they OK? What about Jergat and Oplimar? And Driff, the Illimani kid? They were all injured in the fighting.’

  ‘All have been given healing,’ Merina reassured her. ‘All are well. They will come to us soon.’ Her brown eyes twinkled: ‘You needed much healing, Ria. While you slept. So many wounds on such a small body. But you have fought the evil one! And lived to fight another day! Few can say that.’

  ‘I did nothing, Merina. It was Grondin turning up with a hundred braves who got us out of there.’

  ‘You did much! Grondin himself has told me. Brindle has spoken. Oplimar and Jergat, too. You are clever. You have courage in battle and keep a clear head. You are young but others look to you to lead them. Spirits chose you to fight the evil one – that’s what Brindle’s father said.’

  ‘I don’t believe I’ve been chosen by anybody.’

  ‘I was told to give the five throwing stones to you and you alone, Ria of the Clan. You have been chosen! This also you must accept.’

  ‘The stones are gone.’ For some reason Ria felt guilty as she admitted it, but she refused to hang her head. ‘All five of them.’

  Merina smiled: ‘Don’t grieve their loss. I’ve heard how well you used them. Besides’ – an image of the blue woman appeared in Ria’s mind – ‘Our Lady of the Forest has other gifts for you. You must eat the Little Teachers tonight.’

  The hundred braves who had rescued Ria and her companions from the massacre were from the Uglies’ outlying camps. Grondin had found them on the south side of the Snake, already on the march towards Secret Place.
While the braves had fought the Illimani and escaped on the river, their females, children and elderly had completed the journey overland. The result was the population of the Ugly hideaway had more than doubled since Ria had last seen it two days before. But the floor of the vast Cave of Visions easily accommodated every member of the enlarged community.

  Ria sat with Bont, Ligar, Driff, Jergat and Oplimar in places of honour next to Brindle and Grondin. As Merina had promised, all had received the healing magic of the Uglies and even the more severe injuries were mending well. Ligar, crippled by a spear thrust deep into the muscle of his buttock, was on his feet again and could even run. Brindle, knocked out in a dead coma by an axe blow to the head, was wide awake, animated and excited. Ria’s aching rib no longer troubled her. Her other wounds, including the laceration of her thigh muscle where Grondin had cut out Sulpa’s creature, had closed and healed and seemed to have been inflicted months before, not yesterday.

  Despite all her sorrow Ria was happy to be reunited with Brindle and she too felt energised when she should have been paying the price of days of beatings and accumulated exhaustion. ‘Healing channels the Life Force,’ Brindle explained. ‘Of course it wakes you up.’

  After yesterday’s fight against the Illimani, the events of the escape, and the miraculous healings they had witnessed and benefited from, Bont and Ligar were changed men. Everything they had ever been told or believed about the Uglies had been proved wrong, they admitted to Ria, and they found themselves not amongst cruel, stupid savages as they had feared but amongst kind-hearted and intelligent human creatures who had saved their lives and brought them to refuge here in this hidden place. When Ria asked the two Clansmen to join in tonight’s vision quest they agreed, accepting her promise they would not come to harm from eating the mushrooms the Uglies called the Little Teachers.

  Driff sat close to Ria, glowing like the others from the healing process. She knew Grondin and Brindle had both thought-talked with him, but so far she hadn’t been able to do the same. Since he’d saved her from certain death she was more open to the idea of forgiving him for being an Illimani but she still wasn’t sure she liked him at all. He was good-looking, fast on his feet, strong and well put together, and yesterday he’d fought …