by Bear Grylls
'But probably the best meal we're going to have in a long while,' replied Beck. 'So we'd better make the most of it. Where's Marco?'
'He's talking to the villagers,' said Christina, nodding her head towards the door. 'The Kogi found us yesterday after you disappeared. We waited and waited, and then a group of villagers appeared out of nowhere and brought us here.'
She smiled timidly, as if unsure whether to go on. 'It was as if they knew we were there. They told us everything, Beck. About how the Kogi are the Elder Brother and we are the Younger Brother. And the story of Gonzalo stealing the toad amulet from the Lost City. And how his men burned down the village in revenge when they couldn't find it again.'
Beck nodded. 'They told me too.' He paused and took a deep breath. 'And some!' He told Christina about the dream and his journey into Aluna and his vision of Don Gonzalo and his men burning down the village. When he had finished, he took the toad amulet from around his neck and held it up to the light.
'And this is what caused all the trouble. Mama Kojek, the Indian I saw in the square that day in Cartagena, says it's a sacred offering to the Earth Mother that was buried by his ancestors. Gonzalo stole it and now it must be returned.'
'Do the Mamas know that Dad and your uncle were kidnapped, Beck, and why we need to find the Lost City so urgently?' asked Christina, trying hard to remain calm. 'I'm so worried.'
'They seem to know everything,' replied Beck. 'When they travel in Aluna, they read our thoughts and talk to us without even speaking. But until the amulet is returned to the Lost City, their elders say they are forbidden to help us. We have to go on by ourselves if we want to rescue Uncle Al and your dad.'
He stood up and walked over to the doorway of the hut. Outside, groups of Kogis were going about their daily chores. Marco was talking to some villagers and watching intently as one of the women spun thread onto a spindle before using it to weave cloth on a hand loom – the white cloth for the tunics worn by all the villagers. As she carefully twisted and rolled the woollen fibre into a thread, the woman looked like she was meditating. When he saw Beck, Marco broke off his conversation and headed towards the hut.
'Sleep well, amigo?' He beamed, grasping his friend in a welcoming bear hug.
A small group of inquisitive children had soon surrounded the boys, begging them to join in a game that reminded Beck of hopscotch. Christina was dragged in to assist but none of them was a match for the Kogi children. Afterwards they retreated to a corner of the village and sat down with their backs against a tree.
'The villagers are very friendly, Beck,' said Marco, 'but the Mamas want us to leave at once. They say the Lost City is in danger. I think they know about the gang and the kidnap. I don't know how they know, but they do. Something to do with their spirit world. It's called Aluna. But I think you know all about that, don't you, Beck?' He smiled quizzically at his friend.
'If Gonzalo's treasure is not returned,' said Beck, holding up the amulet, 'they believe the mountains, and then the whole planet, will die. But only the Younger Brother can return it. If they take it from us by force, it will be like stealing it for a second time, and the Mamas forbid that. For the same reason, they can't help us in our search for Uncle Al and your dad.'
Suddenly they heard a noise behind them. Mama Kojek had silently walked up behind them and was standing watching. Once more the holy man's eyes bored into Beck's and he felt as if he were being slowly hypnotized. He realized at once that the time had come for them to leave. There was a sternness in Mama Kojek's face and an urgency in his eyes he had not seen before.
Mama Kojek led them across the clearing towards the entrance to the village. A group of young men were gathered around a fire; one of them was giving a young boy a tattoo. Nearby a young girl was having her long black hair washed by a group of older women. Marco waved to the group sitting cross-legged around the woman at the loom and, smiling, they waved back.
'Been making friends,' said Marco as he held up one of the striped woven shoulder bags in which the Kogi carried their few possessions. 'It's a gift from the villagers. Could come in useful, you never know.'
A familiar screech greeted them as they made their way out of the village and Ringo dive-bombed them from his perch on top of the Mamas' hut. 'Come on, Ringo!' shouted Marco. 'We're moving out. Time to go.'
As Mama Kojek guided them along the pathway away from the village, Beck gazed pensively out over the mangrove swamp towards the sea. All was peaceful now and there was no sign of Gonzalo's galleons. In the far distance he could see the thin pale ribbon of the beach and the white stripes of waves breaking gently on the shore. Above them, palm trees reached towards the sky like giant feather dusters.
No one spoke as they followed in single file along a wide path that led through the jungle. Soon they began to climb steeply towards the mountains and the ghostly figure of the Kogi Mama disappeared into the distance in front of them. The bustling warmth of the village soon felt like a distant memory. The salty tang of the sea air had gone and a smell of damp, steaming earth hung about their nostrils as the suffocating heat closed in around them.
No one could agree on when they finally lost sight of Mama Kojek. But just as they finally realized he had gone, the path began to level out and they emerged from the forest on a hillside that looked back over the village, now hundreds of metres below. Terraced fields lay on either side of them.
'Maize,' said Beck in astonishment, looking up at the rows of stalks that towered above them. 'The Kogi must grow their crops up here because it's drier and sunnier. That's what we had for breakfast. The Indians grind up the corn into a paste – though I reckon it's much tastier as plain corn on the cob.'
Marco was carrying the machete now and, with deft swipes of the blade, lopped six of the tight green envelopes from their stalks and dropped them into the bag.
'Mama Kojek must have led us here on purpose,' said Christina. 'It's like a final gift before he said goodbye.'
'And now it's up to us,' said Beck grimly. 'Mama Kojek told me that the Lost City is only two days' walk from here but it will be tough going – the paths haven't been used for years. There's a river on a plateau east of here that leads to the city. And it's our only chance of finding Uncle Al and your dad.'
'Through the valley on the plateau the river flows,' said Marco, as if chanting a mantra. 'Mama Kojek told me to remember those words too, Beck.' He paused and looked at his friend with knowing eyes. 'Or at least he spoke them into my head.'
Beck smiled. 'We must trust the Kogi Mamas. Without a compass, there's only one way to navigate in a jungle, and that's to find a river. But you usually do that when you're trying to find your way out, not in. Once we get high up on the plateau though, we'll be able to see over the tops of the trees and find the river valley. Then we can follow it up into the mountains to the Lost City.'
'But what are we going to do when we find the Lost City?' asked Christina. 'What chance do we have against the kidnappers? Surely they've got guns.' She shuddered.
Beck took a deep breath. 'If we can survive being attacked by a shark, we can survive anything. Keep hope alive. First rule of survival, Chrissy. And you know what?'
The twins shook their heads.
Beck took the amulet from around his neck and dangled it in the sunlight. 'If we can survive the jungle and return this to the Lost City, I'm sure the Mamas will help us.' He paused. 'And if not, the only weapon we have left is surprise.' There was a cry from a branch somewhere above them. 'Oh, and Ringo, of course,' he added, raising his eyes to the heavens.
As the day grew hotter, sweat began to pour off them. Christina's face had gone bright red and her mouth was hanging open as her head drooped.
'I can see you're getting badly dehydrated, Chrissy,' said Beck. 'You need a drink. And you need it now.' He was staring up into the surrounding trees but the only sign of water Christina could see was the sweat dripping from her sodden clothes.
'Tarzan got it all wrong,' said Beck, pulling hard
at a thick jungle vine clinging to the trunk of a tree. He took the machete from Marco and, holding it up as high as he could reach, carefully made a deep cut into the tough flesh of the vine. Then he slashed hard at the root, where it disappeared into the earth, before pulling up the severed end so that it hung over Christina's open mouth. Huge drops of clear water dripped onto her parched lips.
'Vines are more useful for drinking from than for swinging through the trees,' said Beck. 'Feeling better?'
Christina was wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 'That's the nicest water I've ever, ever tasted,' she confirmed happily.
Beck cut another vine for Marco and a further one for himself. 'It's like sucking water into a pipette in a science lab at school,' he explained. 'The vines suck up water from the ground through the roots to feed the growing end. When you make the cut at the top, the water can't be sucked up any further. Then you cut it off at the root and gravity takes over. Hey presto, a hose full of water.'
The twins continued to drink greedily as Beck strode off into the undergrowth and returned with three long sticks. He gave one to each of the twins and kept one for himself. 'The only way to move quickly in the jungle is to slow down,' he told them. 'If you try to fight it, it just fights back harder. And it will rip your skin off your back unless you take it easy. Move like a dancer, not like a bull in a china shop. Drop your shoulders, swivel your hips.'
He picked up one of the sticks and went on into the undergrowth, moving the stick from side to side in front of him just above ground level. 'Keep watching for snakes. Move slowly and put your feet down hard. Snakes feel vibrations, so you want to give them plenty of warning. They'll only attack if they're cornered – most of the time, that is!' Beck grinned.
The path had all but disappeared now and a dense tangle of foliage began to hem them in on all sides, pulling and catching on their clothes and skin. 'If you get lost in this stuff, you're in trouble,' said Beck, slashing at the thorns and tendrils that stabbed at them from every side. 'It's secondary jungle. The worst sort. The trees have been chopped down in the past, and when the light gets in, the undergrowth just goes crazy. It ends up strangling everything in the process. Including us.'
But something else had caught their attention now. Leap-frogging through the jungle trees above them, Ringo had been announcing his presence at regular intervals. Now, suddenly, his cries became more shrill than ever. 'That bird sounds more like a chainsaw than a parakeet,' muttered Beck under his breath.
In front of them lay a large, splintered branch. Ringo had come to a halt above it, and was flapping his wings and screeching wildly. 'You'd think the stupid parrot had never seen a tree before,' said Marco. 'I think it must have been blown down during the storm.'
Beck strode forward and was about to pull the branch out of their path when he felt Christina's hand on his shoulder. He stopped, sensing instantly that something was badly wrong. Silence fell as he scanned the branch in front of him.
Suddenly his body froze. Beads of sweat rolled down his brow and he could feel the sting of salt in his eyes.
He was looking into the cold, unblinking eyes of a viper.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The twins didn't have time to move a muscle. Like a Samurai's sword, the blade of the machete sliced through the air and, with a heavy thud, the sharpened steel struck home. Beck crouched over his prey, his body taut as an archer's bow. Then he relaxed and let out a long, low sigh. 'Shoousshh,' he said quietly. 'That was far too close for comfort. Thank you, Señor Ringo.' He blew a kiss skywards.
Beck dragged himself to his feet and turned to face the twins. The body of a giant snake hung twitching in front of them, impaled on the point of the machete. Beck ran his finger down the pinky-brown flesh. 'How about that for camouflage?' He raised his eyebrows in approval. 'Bushmaster,' he said. 'You can tell from the zigzag shapes on its back. They're like black diamonds strapped round its body.'
He paused and gazed down at the dead creature in admiration. 'Biggest viper species in the world. And one of the most deadly too. Check out the length of those fangs. And its head is a triangle. Usually a sure sign in snake land that it's one deadly dude.'
He pulled the machete out of the bushmaster, before bringing it down hard again to sever the head. The body fell to the ground and he picked it up on the point of the machete. Meanwhile the head still lay on the branch in a pool of oozing, dark red blood. Its mouth gaped open in a ghastly smile and its eyes were fixed in a glassy stare. Its upper lip was still twitching and had curled back, revealing two huge fangs like the curved incisors of a sabre-toothed tiger. A thick trail of poisonous goo dripped onto the smooth bark beneath.
'Haemotoxin,' said Beck. 'If that stuff gets into your bloodstream, it will turn your blood into black pudding, along with the rest of you. All the poison's in the sacs under its head. The nerves go on working even after the head's been chopped off. It could probably still bite even now.'
He let out a sudden hiss and made a lunge at Christina, who yelped and jumped out of the way. 'I'll get you for that, inglés,' she said, a hint of steel flashing in her dark eyes.
Beck laughed and held the blade of the machete proudly above his head. The body of the snake hung limp in front of them like an eel on a fishmonger's hook.
'Pure protein,' he said. 'Just what we all need. We'll cook it tonight. If it weren't so deadly, we could have just taken it prisoner and killed it later. Keeps 'em fresher if they're still alive. Still, we've got meat and veg for supper now and it's not even lunch time.'
Beck edged towards Christina. 'And in the meantime it should make rather a fetching scarf.'
But this time Christina was ready for him. Quick as a flash, she grabbed the tail of the snake and wrapped it around Beck's neck. 'Suits you, inglés. Very smart.' She chuckled triumphantly.
Now that the tension had eased, they began to move more quickly. Taking it in turns to hack a path through the undergrowth with the machete, they walked in single file as they climbed ever higher. Warblers and hummingbirds flitted through the trees, bright splashes of colour against the endless canvas of jungle green. After a while the undergrowth became less dense and the trees much larger. Huge buttress roots fanned out from the base of their trunks like the webbed claws of a dinosaur.
'Primary forest at last,' said Beck, leaning on his stick and wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. 'This stuff will be easier to walk through. The trees have never been cut down so there's been very little light in here for centuries. No light and the undergrowth is better behaved. Even so, we'll be lucky to cover more than three kilometres in a day as the crow flies.'
'Pity we're not crows,' said Christina wryly.
'Or parrots,' said Marco, watching Ringo enviously as he glided serenely through the air above them.
They had reached a ridge high up on the edge of the plateau now and the trees had given way to a dense thicket of bamboo. Some poles were as thick as an elephant's trunk, the smooth silky yellow flecked with splashes of bright green. High above, their tops curled inwards like the columns of a gothic cathedral and shafts of light pierced the gloom like sunlight through stained-glass windows.
The long day was beginning to take its toll and there was an urgency in Beck's voice now. 'At last,' he said. 'Just what we needed. Bamboo's the best material in the jungle for building a shelter. But we must work quickly. It'll be dark in a couple of hours and by then it will be too late. And if it rains tonight, we're going to get soaked.'
Without warning, Beck plunged the point of the machete into a bamboo stalk next to his head. As the twins watched in amazement, water gushed out and they drank eagerly. 'No need to go thirsty in the jungle,' said Beck. 'If there's no rain falling out of the sky, you can always be sure nature's stored it somewhere else.
'This looks like a good place for a camp,' said Christina when their thirst had at last been satisfied.
'It may look great,' said Beck, turning in a slow circle and scanning the surrounding jungle. 'B
ut looks can deceive.' He picked up his stick and started clearing the dead matter from the jungle floor until he had exposed the earth beneath. 'Look there!'
Beneath a seething mass of black they could just make out the soft green flesh of something that looked like a cross between a cockroach and a grasshopper. Every so often a limb would break free and twitch feebly before being swamped again by a sea of miniature black legs. Columns of reinforcements stretched out across the jungle floor in every direction. The twins flinched in disgust.
'Bullet ants,' said Beck. 'Get stung by one of those and you'll know all about it. It's like being burned with a red-hot poker. And if you've got the whole nest crawling over you, you're in big trouble. As that poor bug has just discovered. Ants don't do detours. If there's anything in the way, they just march straight over it. And if they're hungry, they'll just munch through it. And that includes us.'
Beck led the way out of the bamboo grove onto the edge of the ridge. He looked around and chose an area of ground that shelved away slightly. 'This is better,' he said after clearing away the undergrowth with his stick.
'There's only one rule when you build a shelter in the jungle. And it's exactly what Uncle Al says about buying a house.' Beck put on a posh English accent. 'Location, young man. Location, location, location.'
The twins laughed as they remembered the eccentric Englishman in the panama hat. 'Wonder what he's doing now,' said Marco thoughtfully.
Beck pretended he hadn't heard. He wanted to keep their spirits up, not allow them to dwell on their worries. 'We're high up here,' he continued, 'so if it rains during the night, the water won't run down the hill and swamp our camp. These jungles aren't called rainforests for nothing.' He gazed up into the tangle of leaves and branches above. 'And there's nothing up there to fall out of the tree and kill us. Most people who die in the jungle are killed by things falling on their heads. Rotten branches and coconuts are the worst. Not the most dignified way to go.'
