The Seventh Plague

by James Rollins

  “Roho, oya,” Noah scolded, waving him back.

  Gray touched the man’s shoulder. “Let him go.”

  At the farthest reach of his lamp’s beam, a tiny section of the painted forest broke free, moving closer.

  Jane gasped behind him.

  Moving with the same care as Roho, a tiny shape appeared, as curious as the cub and maybe not much older. A tiny trunk, daubed in motes of blushing crimson, lifted higher, sniffing at the stranger’s scent.

  A larger section of the canvas followed, drawing others.

  A low trumpet of warning flowed out of the dark shadows.

  “Elephants,” Noah said, straightening in wonder.

  The small curious calf, no taller than Gray’s waist, hesitated, clearly balancing between obeying and not. It tossed its wide ears.

  As the calf hovered at the edge of his light, Gray recognized what else might have drawn out the young animal. Its skin—painted in glowing phosphorescence to match the forest—was otherwise a pinkish-white, revealing the calf to be an albino. The inquisitive fellow must have been lured out of hiding by the novelty of the white cat, perhaps also recognizing their genetic commonality.

  The calf’s tiny dark eyes watched Roho, as the cat continued his cautious approach, slinking forward in a submissive posture.

  As if encouraging him, the calf lifted his trunk and made a tiny piping whistle.

  That was all it took.

  Roho bounded forward, splashing excitedly, which involved much bouncing and slapping of water. His antics emboldened the shy calf. With an airy trumpet, it tilted up on it hind legs in faux aggression—revealing itself to be a bull calf—then dropped back down. It loped forward, its little body half-turned, making tiny hops, then swinging its body the other way.

  The earlier rumbling trumpet of warning grew louder, echoed by others hidden in the forest.

  Still, the calf would have none of it. The two youngsters met and danced in the water. They circled, bumped, and splashed together.

  “What do we do?” Noah whispered.

  Gray shrugged. “For now, let Roho be our ambassador.”

  Their play expanded outward, circling wider through the trees. Each took turns chasing the other. As Gray’s eyes adjusted, he discerned darker shadows under the canopy, their flanks as decorated as the calf’s.

  “Who painted them?” Jane asked, keeping her voice hushed.

  It was a good question.

  Gray remembered the whispered voices in the darkness.

  Who else was out there?

  Noah spoke, his words awed. “I think . . . I think they did it themselves.”

  Gray frowned. “How could—?”

  A loud splash and a trumpet of distress cut him off. They all turned to where the cub and calf had rounded a small island. Roho danced back into view, tail swishing in distress, then darted behind the island again.

  They all moved, driven faster by an upset cry from Roho.

  Gray and the others rounded one side of the island. Across the way, a lumbering shadow with painted flanks thundered through the water toward the same spot.

  There was no sign of the calf.

  Then Noah pointed. “There!”

  A few inches of pale trunk waved frantically above the water.

  “Stay back,” Gray warned.

  He took two steps and dove. With his helmet strapped under his chin, his waterproof lamp cast a weak glow through the murk. The bottom fell steeply away from the island, forming a depression. His hands discovered a floor of sucking muck.

  A shape appeared out of the gloom ahead.

  He kicked over to the calf. Its legs were sunk to its ankles in the mud. It writhed in panic, fighting the grip but only managing to sink deeper. Gray placed a palm on the calf’s side, trying to reassure the young animal.

  He then popped back up, floating to keep his own limbs free.

  “Blanket and a rope!” he called out and pointed to the island. “We’ll use the tree for leverage.”

  “Got it.” Kowalski was already in motion, hauling toward the island.

  Noah pulled a coil of climbing rope from his pack, while Jane and Derek fished a camp blanket from theirs.

  Everything was tossed toward Gray.

  Seichan nodded past the island. “Be quick, Gray.”

  A large shape hovered at the edge of their light. It was an elephant cow, likely the calf’s mother. She hung back for now, perhaps sensing they were trying to help.

  Gray knew that hesitancy might not last.

  By now, the calf’s nostrils flared and puffed at the surface.

  Gray dove back down. He reached the trapped animal and shoved the waterlogged blanket behind its front leg and under its barrel chest. He looped the rope over it, catching it on the other side—though it took two tries.

  He burst back up, tied a quick double half-hitch knot, and tossed the other end to Kowalski. The big man caught it, dashed around the trunk of a tree, and hauled on the rope, digging in his heels.

  Gray stayed with the calf. He cupped the end of its trunk and tried to keep the nostrils clear of the water. He also wanted to reassure the panicked youngster that it hadn’t been abandoned.

  On the island, Kowalski groaned and swore, fighting the grip of the mud that held the calf, but it looked like he might not succeed. Derek and Noah joined him, adding their strength to the tug-of-war.

  Finally, inch by stubborn inch, the calf’s trunk rose out of the water.

  “Keep going!” Gray urged.

  With a final grunt and heave from Kowalski, the mud finally let go. As they dragged the calf out of the water, Gray stayed beside it, rubbing and patting the pink flank. Once on the island, he removed the rope and blanket.

  The calf shivered, plainly shaken up.

  A concerned trumpet sounded from his mother.

  Having had enough of this adventure, the calf turned to her, but he looked frightened of the dark water.

  Noah leaned down, rubbing a tender spot behind the youngster’s ear. “Wakize, umsore,” he reassured the fellow. He guided the calf to the other side of the island, where the water was shallower and the footing more solid. “Come, little boy, you’re safe.”

  Gray followed but stayed a few yards back, so their group didn’t overwhelm the nervous mother waiting for her calf’s return.

  Roho kept to his new friend’s side, nudging now and then, his head hung apologetically.

  Once near his mother, the calf broke away and trotted to her side. She bent her head and wrapped her trunk around her boy. Nostrils sniffed him all over, snuffling with relief.

  The pair then turned and headed into the forest.

  “Should we follow them?” Jane asked.

  Gray nodded. “That’s why we came here.”

  The group set off, but another did not agree with this plan.

  A huge bull blocked their path. His glowing decorations looked like war paint. He raised his trunk, chuffing and brandishing a pair of yellowed ivory tusks. Other large shadows stirred behind him.

  Noah lifted an arm for them all to stop. “We don’t want him to charge.”

  “No kidding,” Kowalski said, then under his breath, “Some gratitude. I got rope burns that’ll last weeks.”

  As if hearing this, a firmer trumpet came from the retreating mother.

  The bull rolled his head toward her, then lowered his tusks and lumbered his muscular bulk around.

  “Seems he got overruled,” Seichan said.

  “Elephants are matriarchal,” Noah explained. “It’s the females that rule a herd.”

  Seichan shrugged. “Works for me.”

  As the team waded after the elephants, the herd closed around them but still kept to the painted shadows. The females might rule here, but the group remained wary. Gray didn’t know how long their presence would be tolerated, but he hoped the herd’s graciousness lasted long enough to discover what else might be hidden in this forest.

  Gray studied the surrounding bower,
trying to find a pattern in the brilliant display through which they walked. He was both awed and strangely calmed. Like traipsing through a candlelit cathedral. Their journey through here was hushed, just the whisper of rubbing skin, the gentle huffs of elephantine breaths, and the quiet burble of water.

  After a time, they passed out of the painted jungle. He could now appreciate the number of elephants, who carried bits of that glowing artwork with them, great lumbering canvases moving through the dark drowned forest.

  Gray counted at least thirty, maybe more, mostly adults, but also a handful of calves.

  But even this revelation of the herd faded as their glowing body paint grew dimmer. He glanced back and saw the same happening to the forest. Apparently this magic was fleeting, which made it all the more lovely for some reason.

  Noah had tried to capture and hold that wonder, collecting glowing samples from the trunks and low branches. He had sniffed, rubbed, even dabbed a finger on his tongue.

  “Hmm . . .” he mumbled as the magic disappeared from his palms.

  “What?” Gray asked.

  “Definitely bioluminescent mushrooms and fungus. I could identify mycelia and fruiting bodies, crushed and macerated to create this paint.” He stared around the darkening forest. “They must have gathered specimens from far and wide throughout this ancient forest.”

  “Who?”

  “I told you before.” Noah frowned at him. “The elephants.”

  8:25 P.M.

  Derek shifted forward, as incredulous as Gray. Jane came with him, but her face looked more amazed than disbelieving.

  “How can that be?” Derek asked. “We heard voices. There must be a tribe hiding here, too.”

  Noah stared at the group. “No. That was also the elephants.”

  Kowalski blew an exasperated breath. “I know elephants are smart, but ones that can talk?”

  “No, not talk . . . mimic.” Noah waved back the way they had come. “Elephants have been shown to mimic sounds, ranging from other forest animals to the grumble of a truck. And yes, even humanlike voices. They do this by using their trunks like complex whistles. Here in Akagera, one bull elephant does a perfect imitation of a water buffalo’s mating grunt.” He smiled. “It’s caused some confusion during the rutting season.”

  Jane stared toward one of the hulking shadows moving through the forest. “But why would they do that just now?”

  “I can’t be sure. But I think they were trying to scare us off. I’m sure they were aware of our approach as soon as we entered the mountains.”

  Derek had to admit the effect was unnerving.

  “And the painted forest?” Gray asked.

  “I think we were lucky to come when we did. I expect we stumbled upon a special ritual, one rarely performed due to its elaborate nature and the preparation necessary. But elephants are known to develop complex social ceremonies within a herd. They’re the only mammals, besides us, who ritually bury their dead amid touching displays of grief.”

  Derek glanced over his shoulder. “Then what’s the meaning behind decorating the jungle like that?”

  “I have no idea. You’ll have to ask them.” He smiled. “But we know from countless examples that these big giants are innate painters, seeming to have an affinity for color and patterns.”

  Jane nodded. “I remember the London Zoo even sells paintings in their gift shops done by elephants.”

  “Indeed. At another zoo, a canvas by a pachyderm Picasso named Ruby fetched tens of thousands of dollars.”

  “But would they do this in the wild?” Derek asked.

  “It’s been seen before.” Noah nodded ahead. “Elephants who would grind natural pigments and paint one another. Like I said, I think this was a ritual we stumbled upon. You could almost feel the reverence in the air.”

  Derek had felt something akin to that.

  “So when we arrived at that opportune time,” Noah said, “they tried to scare us off.” He waved forward. “But it may also be one of the reasons they’re letting us come now. Beyond rescuing the calf, the herd may have placed extra significance in our arrival during this time.” He patted his feline companion. “Of course, Roho also helped.”

  Derek pictured the two young animals playing, building a bridge, but that’s not what Noah meant, at least not entirely.

  “Did you get a look at the bull and the mother cow?” Noah asked. “They’re albino, same as the calf.”

  “But they weren’t white,” Jane said. “More a reddish brown.”

  “Ah, that’s typical for the species. Albino elephants are born pink and darken a bit as they age. A truly white elephant is very rare.” He gave Roho a rub. “But perhaps us coming with someone sharing their genetic heritage gave us a foot up.”

  “Whatever the reason,” Gray said, “at least they’re allowing us to follow them.”

  By now, the trees had begun to grow taller. The water receded to mere puddles and wide, shallow ponds. Slowly the normal sounds of the jungle returned with hooting calls of monkeys and sharper cries of nesting birds.

  Noah gazed appreciatively around. “If the entire herd shares this genetic quirk, it might be why they’ve chosen the shadowy forest to make their home. Albino elephants often go blind or get skin diseases because of the harsh African sun. Here they could thrive.”

  “And hide,” Gray added.

  Noah sobered. “Yes. That is true. Poachers would certainly target them. Perhaps it is why the herd has receded so far and been so shy. I wager they may even be nocturnal for both the same reasons. To avoid the sun and keep themselves secret.”

  Derek glanced around, wondering what other secrets the herd might be hiding here.

  They continued in silence for another mile.

  The curious calf eventually wandered back to their group, seeming to have shaken off his fright. He drew his mother with him, who lingered farther away, but kept a close watch.

  The calf sniffed and snortled and poked at their group. He seemed especially enamored with Gray, wrapping his tiny trunk around his wrist, as if holding his hand.

  “I think he’s thanking you,” Noah said.

  Kowalski grumbled. “What, no love for the guy who did all the heavy lifting? Gray just tied a knot.”

  Eventually, the forest ran up against a massive jungle-strewn cliff, a towering black wave cresting far above them. He remembered Noah’s description of the area’s geology, how the region was the oldest in Africa, where the very crust of the earth cracked and was thrust up here.

  Derek didn’t doubt it as he stared at the giant edifice blocking their way. The wall before them looked as if a chunk of that crust had been dropped, shattering along its forward edge. Fissures and narrow crevices cut deep into that rock face.

  The herd closed in on their group, drawing down to a line in front and behind. The procession aimed for one fissure that looked no different from the next.

  “Check behind us,” Noah whispered. “Near the end.”

  All their faces turned.

  A trio of bull elephants trailed the group, walking backward, sweeping the path with giant fronds.

  “They’re erasing their tracks,” Gray said.

  “I’ve seen our park elephants using the same fronds to swat flies. And once I saw an elephant during an exceptionally dry season dig a watering hole, then plug it up with a wad of chewed bark and sand to keep it from evaporating. He preserved his little well like that throughout the summer.” Noah looked like he wanted to cry. “I know the great beasts are tremendously clever, using their big brains to survive, to problem solve, to work together, to use tools. But just look at what wonderful beasts they are. Who would dare shoot them for sport or ivory?”

  Jane touched his arm in sympathy.

  Kowalski looked concerned, but for a very different reason. “If these big guys are covering their tracks, they’re covering ours, too. What if that’s on purpose?”

  He clearly worried about some sinister intention.

  Gray p
ointed ahead. “Only one way to find out.”

  9:02 P.M.

  Nearly breathless with anticipation, Jane stayed close to Derek. She was drawn by the mysteries ahead, yet worried about what they might find. Still, a larger fear clutched her throat.

  What if there’s nothing?

  Despite the wonders demonstrated by these giants, they were still just elephants. What could they hope to learn from them? How did any of this connect to the burning sands of Egypt, to a mystery going back millennia, to the time of Moses and the plagues?

  Ahead of them, the lead elephants entered a narrow fissure, vanishing away. One by one, the others followed, until it was their turn. As she entered the slot canyon, she gaped at the top of the cliffs to either side. Far above her, more jungle grew at the summit, casting a thick canopy over their path.

  Trapped between these walls, the musk of the elephants grew stronger, smelling of sweet dung and old hides. She swallowed her fear and followed with the others. The path grew ever narrower, until she was sure some of the bigger bulls could not pass, but they somehow did. She imagined them sucking in their broad chests to squeeze their bulks forward.

  They continued for what seemed like miles, though the distance was probably less than one. At last the walls began to fall away, promising an end to their long journey—but there remained one last obstacle.

  She watched the column of elephants shift to the left. The herd scaled a steep stone ramp on that side, little calves clinging to their mothers’ tails with their trunks. The procession had a timeless quality to it, as if this same path had been walked for thousands of years. The ramp confirmed this, its center worn down by the passage of countless elephants tramping over it.

  The need for this route was evident.

  It bridged over a high wall that spanned the breadth of the fissure.

  The odd formation piqued her curiosity. It did not look natural.

  Derek came to the same conclusion. He bent down and ran his fingertips over the coarse surface of the bridge. “White limestone,” he said as he straightened. “This didn’t come from these granite mountains. It had to have been quarried somewhere else.”