by Chris Blake
Time Hunters: Mohican Brave
Chris Blake
Travel through time with Tom on more
Gladiator Clash
Knight Quest
Viking Raiders
Greek Warriors
Pirate Mutiny
Egyptian Curse
Cowboy Showdown
Samurai Assassin
Outback Outlaw
Stone Age Rampage
Mohican Brave
Aztec Attack
For games, competitions and more visit:
www.time-hunters.com
With special thanks to Lisa Fieldler
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1: Harvest Time
Chapter 2: Deer Hunter
Chapter 3: Rising Sun
Chapter 4: Wigwam Welcome
Chapter 5: Gone Fishin’
Chapter 6: War Dance
Chapter 7: Snowed In
Chapter 8: Tomahawk Terror
Chapter 9: Sweating It Out
Chapter 10: Trick or Treat
Who Were the Mightiest Mohican Braves?
Weapons
Mohican Brave Timeline
Time Hunters Timeline
Fantastic Facts
The Hunt Continues …
Discover A New Time Hunters Quest!
Copyright
About the Publisher
1500 AD, Mexico
As far as Zuma was concerned, there were only two good things about being a human sacrifice. One was the lovely black pendant the tribal elders had given her to wear. The other was the little Chihuahua dog the high priest had just placed next to her.
I’ve always wanted a pet, thought Zuma, as the trembling pup snuggled up close. Though this does seem like an extreme way to get one.
Zuma lay on an altar at the top of the Great Pyramid. In honour of the mighty Aztec rain god, Tlaloc, she’d been painted bright blue and wore a feathered headdress.
The entire village had turned out to watch the slave girl being sacrificed in exchange for plentiful rainfall and a good harvest. She could see her master strutting in the crowd below, proud to have supplied the slave for today’s sacrifice. He looked a little relieved too. And Zuma couldn’t blame him. As slaves went, she was a troublesome one, always trying to run away. But she couldn’t help it – her greatest dream was to be free!
Zuma had spent the entire ten years of her life in slavery, and she was sick of it. She knew she should be honoured to be a sacrifice, but she had a much better plan – to escape!
“Besides,” she said, frowning at her painted skin, “blue is not my colour!”
“Hush, slave!” said the high priest, Acalan, his face hidden by a jade mask. “The ceremony is about to begin.” He raised his knife in the air.
“Shame I’ll be missing it,” said Zuma. “Tell Tlaloc I’d like to take a rain check.” As the priest lowered the knife, she pulled up her knees and kicked him hard in the stomach with both feet.
“Oof!” The priest doubled over, clutching his belly. The blade clattered to the floor.
Zuma rolled off the altar, dodging the other priests, who fell over each other in their attempts to catch her. One priest jumped into her path, but the little Chihuahua dog sank his teeth into the man’s ankle. As the priest howled in pain, Zuma whistled to the dog.
“Nice work, doggie!” she said. “I’m getting out of here and you’re coming with me!” She scooped him up and dashed down the steps of the pyramid.
“Grab her!” groaned the high priest from above.
Many hands reached out to catch the slave girl, but Zuma was fast and determined. She bolted towards the jungle bordering the pyramid. Charging into the cool green leaves, she ran until she could no longer hear the shouts of the crowd.
“We did it,” she said to the dog. “We’re free!”
As she spoke, the sky erupted in a loud rumble of thunder, making the dog yelp. “Thunder’s nothing to be scared of,” said Zuma.
“Don’t be so sure about that!” came a deep voice above her.
Zuma looked up to see a creature with blue skin and long, sharp fangs, like a jaguar. He carried a wooden drum and wore a feathered headdress, just like Zuma’s.
She knew at once who it was. “Tlaloc!” she gasped.
The rain god’s bulging eyes glared down at her. “You have dishonoured me!” he bellowed. “No sacrifice has ever escaped before!”
“Really? I’m the first?” Zuma beamed with pride, but the feeling didn’t last long. Tlaloc’s scowl was too scary. “I’m sorry!” she said quietly. “I just wanted to be free.”
“You will never be free!” Tlaloc hissed. “Unless you can escape again …”
Tlaloc banged his drum, and thunder rolled through the jungle.
He pounded the drum a second time, and thick black clouds gathered high above the treetops.
“This isn’t looking good,” Zuma whispered. Holding the dog tightly, she closed her eyes.
On the third deafening drum roll, the jungle floor began to shake and a powerful force tugged at Zuma. She felt her whole body being swallowed up inside … the drum!
“How many apples do we need to make a crumble?” asked Tom. He was perched on a branch of the apple tree that grew in their back garden.
His mother, who was busy raking brown and gold leaves into a pile, looked in the basket at the base of the tree. “That’s plenty!” she said.
“Good. Then this one is mine!” said Tom, picking a ripe apple from the tree and sinking his teeth into it with a loud crunch.
“I guess harvesting is hungry work,” his mum said with a smile.
“Tell me about it!” Zuma sighed. She was stretched out on her stomach in the grass, watching Tom pick the fruit. “When I was a slave my master had acres of crops. And guess whose job it was to pick everything? Mine! But I wasn’t allowed to eat anything.”
Tom’s mother couldn’t hear Zuma – or see her, either. Nobody except Tom could hear or see Zuma when they weren’t on an adventure.
It was still hard for Tom to believe that his friend had lived hundreds of years earlier in ancient Mexico. He had accidentally freed the Aztec slave girl and her feisty dog, Chilli, from their imprisonment in a drum that he’d found in his father’s museum. Since then, they had been travelling through time together in search of six golden sun coins that would buy Zuma her freedom. So far they had found four of them.
Zuma reached over to the compost heap and plucked a steak bone from the pile. Chilli sat up on his haunches, panting happily. Zuma tossed him the bone. The Chihuahua caught it in his teeth, chewed it a bit, then began digging a hole to bury it in. Clumps of grass and dirt flew up everywhere. He nearly choked on his apple when Mum’s rake brushed dangerously close to Chilli’s bottom. She couldn’t see the little dog, either.
Mum stopped raking and frowned at the dirt on her otherwise tidy lawn. “Where are all these holes coming from?” she wondered aloud.
“Er, rabbits?” said Tom, gulping down his last bite of apple with an innocent shrug. “Moles, maybe?”
“Maybe we should call in an exterminator,” Mum said.
Chilli stopped digging and let out a nervous yelp.
Tom gave Chilli a stern look. “I’ll fill in the holes and I’m sure there won’t be any more,” he assured his mother.
“Let’s hope not,” Mum said, wandering back to the house.
Tom picked the biggest apple he could find, then swung down from the tree and tossed it to Zuma with a grin. “Try one of these!” he said.
Zuma bit into the apple and closed her eyes. “Mmmmm,” she said, sighing happily. “Eating fruit is a lot more fun than harvesting it. Now that I’m free, I just w
ant to relax.”
“Almost free,” Tom corrected, making his way towards Mum’s vegetable patch. “We still have two more coins to find before you can go back to Aztec times.”
Zuma finished her apple and tossed the core on to the compost pile.
“Have you ever seen one of these before?” Tom asked, pointing to a pumpkin.
Zuma nodded. “We grew them in my master’s garden. The seeds are tasty when they’re roasted. Sometimes we’d carve out the shells and use them for containers.”
“We make jack-o’-lanterns with them,” Tom said, grinning.
“What are they?” said Zuma.
“First you carve out a scary face,” said Tom. “Then you put a candle inside, and they glow. We use them as decorations for Halloween. That’s the last day in October. It’s a special night when kids go from door to door asking for sweets!”
“In Aztec times we called that begging,” said Zuma.
“This is different,” Tom explained. “It’s called trick-or-treating. Part of the fun is that we get dressed up in silly, scary costumes.” Zuma looked at her blue painted skin, feathery headdress and distinctive black stone pendant. “I bet nobody has a costume as good as mine.”
Tom laughed. “Yes, you’d have the best Halloween costume ever.”
“I can think of an even better costume,” said Zuma. “You could go trick-or-treating as someone really scary – Tlaloc!” Zuma picked up Mum’s rake and thumped the handle against the pumpkin like it was a drum. “I am the god of thunder!” she boomed in a deep voice. “I’m a great big bully who sacrifices little kids!”
Tom and Zuma burst out laughing. But their laughter was suddenly drowned out by the sound of thunder rumbling through the sky. Suddenly the Aztec god appeared in front of them. His eyes were practically goggling out of his blue face in rage.
“How dare you mock me, slave girl!” Tlaloc bellowed, stomping his enormous feet and scattering leaves all over the grass. “You forget that you have not purchased your freedom yet!” He crossed the garden, squashing flowers and vegetables as he went. “You must find two more coins first.” He bared his sharp fangs as he let out a nasty chuckle. “Though I doubt you will be brave enough to succeed!”
A shining mist swirled up from the ground. Zuma dropped the rake and grabbed Tom’s hand. The wind howled, spinning the mist faster and faster around them.
“Here we go!” said Tom.
“Chilli!” cried Zuma.
The little dog leaped into her arms just as Tlaloc’s magic whisked them into the hazy darkness of space and time.
They landed with a bump in a wood. When the mist cleared, the autumn air was fresh and crisp, with a pleasant earthy smell. Tom looked around and saw that the trees blazed with colour. The leaves were different shades of red, orange and gold. The undergrowth was thick with green ferns, and in the distance Tom caught sight of a sparkling blue river.
“Wow! It’s so pretty,” Zuma said in a hushed voice. “Where do you think we are?”
Tom hoped what they were wearing would give them a clue. Zuma was no longer painted blue and feathered. Her dark hair was now twisted into two long plaits. The black necklace was the only thing that remained of her Aztec clothing. Both she and Tom were dressed in soft leather breeches and tunic-style shirts. Leather fringes dangled from their sleeves and the front was decorated with beaded patterns. On their feet they wore beaded leather moccasins. Tom had seen similar ones in the North American section at his father’s museum.
“We’re dressed like Native Americans,” he said. “But North America is a really big continent so I’m not sure exactly where we are.”
Zuma hugged her arms round her and shivered. “Brr!” she said. “It’s certainly colder than where I come from. The sooner we find that coin the better!”
“Then let’s see what your pendant has to say,” Tom suggested.
Zuma took the black disc in her hand and held it up to the light to recite the familiar incantation:
“Mirror, mirror, on a chain.
Can you help us? Please explain!
We are lost and must be told
How to find the coins of gold.”
There was a shimmer of silver across the gleaming stone as words rose to the surface:
On the banks of the water
You’ll find a sun, then seek a daughter;
With the bravest of braves you’ll use your wiles
To find the pretty stream that smiles.
Weather’s mysteries you shall know:
You’ll shiver with your quiver in an early snow,
But October storms are soon to melt.
The treasure lies within a belt.
Zuma sighed. “Why can’t it ever just say, ‘the coin is hidden under the third tree on the right’?”
Tom was about to reply that it wouldn’t be much of a riddle if it did, but before he could open his mouth, Chilli caught the scent of something. The dog let out an excited bark and dashed deeper into the woods.
“Let’s go!” cried Zuma, taking off after him.
Tom followed, kicking up dried leaves as he ran. Chilli was in hot pursuit of a small brown and white rabbit. The rabbit disappeared down a hole and Chilli would have followed if Zuma hadn’t reached out and caught him.
“Where are you going, silly?” she asked. “We need you to help us find the coin.”
As he tried to catch his breath, Tom caught a glimpse of gold glittering between some bushes. Could it be the coin? he wondered. Tlaloc never usually made their tasks so easy. He grabbed Zuma’s sleeve and pointed.
Then from within the undergrowth, a creature stepped forward, two shining gold eyes staring out from its face.
“Hello, little doggie!” cried Zuma in delight.
Chilli began to wag his tail and wriggle in Zuma’s arms.
“Chilli wants to make friends,” said Zuma.
The creature swished its bushy orange tail. Zuma was about to set Chilli back down on the ground, but Tom stopped her just in time.
“That’s not a dog,” Tom said. “It’s a fox.” He patted Chilli on the head. “Better keep your distance, boy. Foxes can be dangerous. Their teeth and claws are very sharp.”
Chilli let out a whimper of disappointment and they carried on exploring the forest. Aside from the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds, the woods were silent. There didn’t seem to be any paths, and there was no sign of a town or city anywhere.
“I wonder if we’re the only people here,” Tom said aloud.
An odd warbling noise suddenly echoed through the woods. Moments later, a flock of birds trotted into view. Dark feathers fanned out from their backs, and lumpy red skin dangled from their necks.
Zuma hid behind Tom and shuddered. “Ugh!” she said. “Are those hideous creatures dangerous too?”
Tom laughed. “No,” he said. “Turkeys won’t hurt you, they just look strange.”
“I think you mean ugly,” said Zuma. Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she pointed. “Duck!” she cried, pulling on his arm.
“Not duck, turkey,” Tom corrected her.
“No … duck!” Zuma dropped to the ground, just as an arrow came whizzing over her head.
Too late, Tom understood what she was saying. He whirled round in the direction the arrow had come from and saw a flash of feathers sticking out from behind a tree. Then he heard a thwang and a whoosh …
Another arrow flew through the air and tore through his shoulder.
“Owwwww!” Tom howled in pain.
He looked at his arm. The sleeve of his buckskin shirt had torn and blood was trickling out of a gash.
“Tom!” cried Zuma, pulling him to the ground. “Are you OK?”
Tom nodded and tried not to let out another moan. “I don’t think it’s too deep,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I guess that answers your question,” Zuma said, as another arrow whizzed past them. They caught a flash of bright feathers sticking out from behind a tree trunk.<
br />
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“We definitely aren’t the only people around!” Zuma said. “And whoever else is here doesn’t seem very happy about having company!”
A dark-haired figure dressed in buckskins stepped out from behind the tree, his bow poised, an arrow already held against the taut string.
And it was pointed directly at Tom’s heart.
“Please don’t shoot!” said Tom, hoping that the stranger would understand him. That’s how Tlaloc’s magic had always worked in the past. But with an arrow aimed straight at his chest, he couldn’t take anything for granted. Tom put his hands in the air to show the stranger he meant no harm.
As the stranger came closer, Tom could see that he was only a boy, not much older than they were. He wore brilliantly beaded buckskins and his cheeks were smeared with swirls of yellow and red paint. Like Zuma, his long hair had been wound into two glossy plaits. Around his forehead was a beaded band with two bright crimson feathers sticking out of it.
“I like your paint and feathers,” Zuma remarked in her friendliest voice. “Have you ever thought of trying a bit of blue? It’s not a bad look.”
The boy blinked at her, confused.
“It’s probably not the time to give him fashion advice,” Tom whispered, “when he’s got an arrow pointed at my chest.”
As if remembering what he was doing, the boy quickly lowered the weapon. Tom heaved a sigh of relief.
“I’m so sorry!” said the boy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were a deer.” He gave them an embarrassed grin. “Actually, I hoped you were.”
“Don’t worry,” said Tom, clutching his wounded arm. “Accidents happen.”
The boy bent down to examine Tom’s wound. “It’s not too bad,” he said. “But it’s still bleeding.” He crouched beside the roots of a tall tree and gathered up a handful of green moss.
“This is no time for gardening,” huffed Zuma.
The boy laughed. “This isn’t gardening, it’s medicine.” A dark look passed over his face as something had just occurred to him. “You’re not Mohawk, are you?”
