Native Tongue

by Shannon Greenland

  “I needed to see what would happen. What he’d say. What he’d do. I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.” Guillermo nodded to the swinging bridge. “I’m going to stand here and watch you until you get to the cave. Get Quirk and get back to the village. We need to have a meeting.”

  Grabbing up my stuff, I made my way as fast and safely as I could across the bridge. At the cave’s entrance, I turned and waved to Guillermo, and he disappeared back into the jungle.

  I checked my phone for a signal, hoping to have a quick call with David. I just needed to hear his voice. But I’d lost the temporary satellite transmission. With a sigh, I clipped my phone on my belt. I’d have to be strong and handle things on my own.

  I crawled into the cave and told Quirk what happened. Together, we went back to the village, found the talks on a break, and saw our team waiting for us at the corral.

  “He’s violated every rule of the alliance,” Guillermo spoke, obviously having already told Jonathan and Parrot what had happened. “This is enough to get him kicked out of the talks. But in doing that we won’t know who he’s working with to steal the vase. We know there is someone else, but we need proof.”

  Jonathan looked first at me and then Parrot. “Do not go anywhere unless you have someone with you.”

  We both nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Hannah, you need to get working on those cave-drawing translations. The faster we can know what those drawings say, the quicker we can end these talks. Have you found anything yet?”

  “I’m working on it,” I replied. “My program hasn’t revealed anything, but once I input more drawings, I should have some preliminary results.”

  “Good,” Jonathan replied. “As for the vase, I’ve spoken to the Huworo chief. It is being kept at the lookout tower.”

  I craned my neck all the way up and saw the two bald guards standing post on the watchtower. Not a bad place to keep the vase.

  “The chief had heard from one of his people that there have been more whispers about the vase being stolen. He felt that the vase would be safer up in the tower. While I disagree, I have no power to argue with him.”

  Quirk cleared his throat and, with a slight nod, indicated the ceremonial hut. My team turned to see Talon standing in the entryway watching us.

  “Let’s break up,” Guillermo said, and he and Quirk strolled off.

  “Jonathan,” Parrot began, “it’s very likely Talon knows who I am. If he does, that means he has the upper hand.”

  Talon knew Parrot would do anything for the truth about his mother. The question was, would Parrot really do anything?

  “Yes,” Jonathan agreed. “But he doesn’t know what we’re capable of.”

  [12]

  Quirk and I spent the next day in the cave—he was drawing the glyphs and I was scanning them into my translation software. We worked for hours, and at the end of the day I click-click-clicked. But again, my program gave me nothing.

  Quirk was beginning to doubt my software.

  I was frustrated. I had hoped to have something by now, but some of the glyphs just weren’t matching up. According to my program, there were at least a dozen possible translations, but I didn’t want a dozen possible ones, I needed one real one. It made me feel a bit stupid, to tell you the truth. I’d failed at a lot of things, but never computers. I knew them better than I knew myself.

  It was dark when Quirk and I finally exited the cave and headed back.

  As we stepped from the jungle, we saw a frenzied village. The single women and girls were running around, talking fast, giggling, obviously excited about something.

  I noticed they’d changed from their traditional clothes into more ceremonial-looking garments. They wore small skirts and short tops, with beads around their wrists, necks, and bare stomachs. Considering I’d seen them dressed primarily in knee-length, sleeveless dresses, the traditional bikini-looking clothing came as a total shock.

  Eager to see what was going on, I hightailed it toward the ceremonial hut and ran straight into Guillermo.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Some of the chiefs have bowed out,” he said as a greeting.

  “What happened?”

  “Through the course of the talks they’ve realized their tribes have no claim to the Mother Nature vase. They headed home earlier today.”

  “Is Talon one of them?” I hoped beyond hope.

  “No, and he’s been very ‘well behaved’ today. He’s done nothing out of the ordinary. He didn’t go anywhere or do anything he wasn’t supposed to.” Guillermo narrowed his eyes. “He’s up to something.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of some girls hurrying into the ceremonial hut. I nodded toward them. “What’s going on?”

  “Full moon harvest dance.”

  I blinked. “Full moon what?”

  “It’s to ensure a prosperous harvest. It’s the Huworo custom.” Guillermo nodded to the ceremonial hut. “Let’s go. It’s an honor to attend this ceremony.”

  Torches had been lit to illuminate the night village. I followed Guillermo across and into the ceremonial hut. Things had been rearranged. Instead of the women sitting along the back, the men and chiefs occupied that area. The women sat right in front of the men. Everything had been cleared from the middle.

  The teen girls stood in a large circle facing inward, and the teen guys surrounded them facing outward. In the middle of them all, a fire flickered. Like the girls, the guys had changed for the event into a small bikini bottom. They wore identical red-and-yellow stripes painted down their faces and bare chests.

  Guillermo gave my arm a slight pull and led me over to Jonathan, Parrot, Jaaci, and Quirk, who were standing in an empty space along the back wall.

  The same chief who had chanted at each meal stood, and the entire hut fell silent. Carrying a thick piece of wood with feathers tied on both ends, he strode to the center of the hut and came to a stop in front of one of the guys.

  Bowing his head, the guy went down on both knees in front of the chief. The chief touched his feathered staff to the guy’s right shoulder, then left, then his head, and then ran the staff down both of his arms. The chief closed his eyes and chanted something in his language.

  “What’s he saying?” I whispered to Parrot.

  “That guy is the oldest single male,” Parrot translated. “He’ll lead the dance. The chief is praying for a good harvest.”

  Jonathan cleared his throat, his way of telling us to be quiet.

  The chief finished the prayer, reared back with the staff, and slammed it right into the guy’s chest.

  I cringed.

  The guy didn’t even flinch. He jumped to his feet with an adrenaline-filled yell.

  An old man whom I hadn’t seen before entered the hut, banging his palm against a drum propped under his arm.

  Immediately the girls and guys moved, circling in opposite directions with their backs to each other. Linking fingers, the girls closed their eyes, lifted their faces upward, and began singing a high-pitched song.

  At that second the moon beamed in through the opening in the top of the ceremonial hut, illuminating the girls’ faces.

  The old man with the drum wove his way around the hut, taking oversize slow steps as he beat out a rhythm. Ba. Ba. Badadaba. Ba. Ba. Badadaba . . .

  The chief shouted something, and, keeping their eyes closed and faces lifted, all the girls turned to face the guys’ backs. The girls linked fingers again and continued circling, singing their high-pitched song.

  Ba. Ba. Badadaba. Ba. Ba. Badadaba . . .

  The guys linked arms at their elbows and began a deep guttural chant. Unlike the girls, their eyes stayed open, but they kept their gazes fixed to the ground.

  Ba. Ba. Badadaba. Ba. Ba. Badadaba . . .

  Everyone in the hut started chanting as the girls and guys circled faster and faster. The whole ceremony was powerful and gave me chills as I watched it unfold.

  The chief raised the staff abov
e his head, and slowly circling it in the air, he chanted something in the Huworo language. The girls and guys broke apart from their circles and all the older men and women sitting along the hut’s perimeter got up. The old man continued banging the drum, and everyone, except the visiting chiefs, started dancing.

  A couple minutes ticked by, and as I watched, I realized each person’s awkward dancing maintained a unique rhythm.

  The old man drummer crossed in front of us, and the Huworo chief danced toward us. He came to a stop right in front of Jonathan and said something. We all looked at Parrot.

  “It’s his wish that we join the dance,” Parrot translated.

  “No, thank you,” I immediately replied.

  “It would be considered a slap in his face,” Guillermo put in, “if we don’t participate.” He looked at Jonathan. “We don’t want to offend him.”

  “I’ll do it.” Quirk shot away from us as if he’d been dying for the invitation and joined the mass of dancing bodies, gyrating in his own unusual version of the dance.

  Jonathan nodded to the chief. “It’s our honor to participate.”

  Parrot translated, and with a satisfied smile, the chief writhed his way back into the group. Guillermo followed, and Jonathan looked at Parrot and me.

  “Consider it part of your training,” Jonathan rationalized.

  Parrot and I gave each other matching looks of dread with an underlying hint of how do we get out of this?

  Jonathan probably saw our wheels turning because he arched a disciplinary brow. “Do it.” With that, he left our side and joined the seizuring bodies.

  Jaaci stepped in front of both of us. With a sweet smile, she took my hand and then Parrot’s and led us into the throng.

  Dropping our hands, she spun away and into the crowd.

  I turned to Parrot to say, “Well, here goes nothing,” but found him standing with his eyes closed. His face appeared meditative as his body began to sway, absorbing the beat of the drum.

  Without opening his eyes, he stepped forward into the group and began his dance.

  I’d never seen Parrot so lost in his own personal moment. It made me wonder if he’d performed a ritual dance similar to this one in his pre-Specialist life

  Someone bumped into me, and I realized I was the only one not moving. All around me people gyrated to the old man’s drum, and without another thought, I joined in. Throwing my arms up I did what I labeled “whatever” moves. The dance was perfect for someone uncoordinated like me. It took on no style.

  As I was getting into the rhythmic beat of the drum, I heard a voice rise above the music.

  “Kipbup!”

  A few people stopped dancing.

  “Kipbup!”

  More people stopped.

  Someone screamed.

  I spun around and saw one of the guards standing in the entrance covered in blood.

  [13]

  Chaos broke out. Women screamed, men ran from the hut, and I frantically looked around for my team.

  Parrot and Quirk quickly came up right beside me.

  “What going on?”

  “Kipbup means murder,” Parrot said. “Someone’s been murdered.”

  “What?!” I looked around and saw Jonathan running toward us.

  “Stay here,” he ordered as he and Guillermo raced past us.

  I glanced around the hut, trying to recall who I had seen, who’d been missing from the harvest dance, who could possibly be dead. I caught sight of Jaaci and breathed a sigh of relief. She could very easily be a target.

  Outside I heard a woman’s wail, and it brought cold prickles to my skin. “Who died?”

  Parrot shook his head. “I don’t know yet. But it looks like the guard tried to save the person.”

  More people hurried from the hut as others came back in. Then Jonathan reappeared, motioning us out.

  Quirk, Parrot, and I followed Jonathan out of the hut. Many of the Huworo people had gathered at the base of the tree where the watchtower was. I looked all the way up . . .

  And sucked in a breath.

  Covered in blood, one of the guards dangled by a rope around his neck. His body swayed in the air as a couple of Huworo men slowly pulled him up onto the watchtower’s platform.

  I put my hands over my mouth. “Oh, my God.”

  “Come on,” Jonathan said, directing us into the jungle. We walked in silence and about a quarter of a mile in, came to a stop. From his backpack he pulled three pieces of wood that had been shaped into knives. He gave one to each of us. “Keep this on you at all times. Don’t be afraid to use it. And do not trust anyone.”

  I took my knife and knew without a doubt in my mind I would use it if I had to.

  “Listen to me,” Jonathan emphasized. “These hand-carved knives are extremely sharp and dangerous. Only use them if absolutely necessary.” He looked at me and Quirk. “You two, I don’t want you coming out of that cave until you know what those glyphs say.”

  We nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Jonathan turned to Parrot. “Don’t leave the village.”

  Parrot nodded his understanding.

  Back to the village we went. Quirk and I packed up enough food and water to get us through the next twenty-four hours. With renewed determination, I knew, without a doubt in my mind, that I would figure out the ancient code.

  One person had died. There was no telling what would happen next. That dangling guard could have been any one of my team members.

  In the dark, Jonathan escorted us to the cave. “I’ll check on you when I can. Guillermo will try to keep a watch on the cave entrance as well. I wish I had more people. Someone to post outside the entrance at all times.”

  “We’ll be fine,” I reassured him.

  With a nod, he headed off.

  Inside the cave we illuminated the lanterns. I plugged a new battery into my laptop and powered up. While Quirk began working, I analyzed every line of code in my program. . . .

  “Here,” Quirk threw something at me, jarring me from my concentration.

  I looked at the foil-wrapped rectangular object. “A PowerBar? Where did you get a PowerBar in the jungle?”

  “I packed it in my luggage. But clearly you need it more than me.” Quirk handed me a sketch.

  How sweet of him to bring me a PowerBar. It reminded me of David, when he brought me lollipops.

  Unwrapping the PowerBar, I took a bite, and Quirk and I dove back into our work. He sketched, I scanned, and hours ticked by. Vaguely, I registered Jonathan checking in on us.

  Click, click, click . . . I stared blurry-eyed at the screen. . . . Seconds rolled by in sync with the script scrolling my monitor.

  “Well?” Quirk leaned over my shoulder. “Anything?”

  My heart gave a happy little pitter-patter. “We’ve gone from a dozen possible translations down to four. That’s progress.” Major progress.