Gold of the Gods (9 page)

He soon had the dark, rubbery flesh of
the limpets sizzling on a hot stone, then he
lowered the crab into the boiling water; its
pincers flailed wildly in the air before finally
sinking into the depths of the tin can.
After their ordeal at sea, their first proper
meal in more than two days seemed
like the best food any of them had ever
tasted. As the stars came up and the fire
began to burn lower, the twins slumped
together against the back wall of the shallow
cave. Beck lay awake thinking and
planning, before he too was overcome by
sleep.

He woke with a start. The fire was almost
out now and a chill was creeping up his
back. Sitting up, he stared down along the
line of the beach as his eyes slowly adjusted
to the darkness. All seemed quiet and yet he
could sense in his bones that something was
wrong. Then he heard a sound: the gentle
pad of footsteps on the sandy surface of the
cliff, where it gently descended to the beach.

His heart thumped in his chest and his
eyes scanned quickly from left to right.
Both the twins were still sleeping soundly
beside him. Beck slowly stood up. Hardly
daring to breathe, he walked silently in the
direction the sound of the footsteps had
come from. As he rounded the corner of the
cave, he stopped and listened once more.
Only the faraway thunder of the waves
crashing onto the beach broke the silence.

Then he looked down. In the moonlight
he could see the distinctive outline of footsteps
leading away from the cave. Taking
care not to make a sound, he followed the
prints back along the headland and down
towards the beach, where the dense undergrowth
of the forest met the sand.

The eerie glow of fireflies shone back at
him out of the inky darkness. Suddenly,
without warning, his eyes came to rest on
two shiny discs, which reflected back at him
the bright silver light of the moon. In an
instant he was back once more among the
party-goers in the carnival crowd outside
the Hotel Casa Blanca in Cartagena.

Beck was gazing straight into the eyes of
the Indian.

CHAPTER TWELVE

'You saw what?' asked Marco as the boys
huddled around the fire early next morning.
Beck had coaxed the flames back to life,
blowing gently on the embers until the remnants
of unburned wood caught alight once
more. As they picked over the remains of
the previous night's meal, an unappetizing
broth of watered-down coconut milk
bubbled gently in the tin can.

Beck was still lost in thought as he relived
the events of the previous night. The instant
he had seen the eyes of the Kogi, he had
instinctively thrown himself into the cover
of some bushes. But when he peered back
into the jungle, all signs of the man had
gone. His pulse racing, Beck had returned
to the cave. He had stared restlessly up at
the stars while the twins slept. There was no
point in waking them: tracking the Indian
before the sun came up was pointless and
they all needed rest.

'I suppose you think I dreamed it again,'
said Beck. 'Like in the crowd at the carnival.
Well, I didn't then and I didn't last night.
And this time I've got the evidence to prove
it.'

'Beck wasn't dreaming,' said Christina,
who had disappeared along the headland
towards the beach and had now rejoined the
boys. 'I followed the tracks and found where
Beck's footprints stopped and the others led
off into the jungle. Somebody was watching
us last night. And not just in Beck's dreams.'

A morning mist still hung in the air as
Beck led the twins back to the spot where he
had hidden from the Indian. 'This is where
he was standing when I saw him,' he said a
few minutes later after a brief search in the
jungle. 'You can tell from the outline of the
prints. They're deeper and more blurred
than the ones before and after.'

Beck recalled the time he had spent with
the San Bushmen of the Kalahari Desert in
southern Africa. His father had been living
among them on a special assignment with
Green Force and the San had taught Beck
the secrets of tracking animals in the wild. It
was they who had taught him to read the
world under his feet like an open book.

Following the prints where they led away
into the jungle, Beck suddenly stopped
dead in his tracks. Without warning, the
footprints had changed direction and were
heading straight back to the beach. Beck
shuddered. All the time he had been scanning
the forest from his hiding place under
the bush, the Indian must have been watching
him from behind.

'Maybe there's a reason for all this,' he
said, gazing along the gentle curve of the
palm trees where the footsteps disappeared
around the bay. 'If Gonzalo landed on this
beach, as the map says, this is where he
would have met the Kogi Indians. And they
must still know where the Lost City is.
Either way, it's time we found out.'

Beck led the way along the edge of the
beach, where the tracks soon faded away in
the soft sand. After about an hour they
reached the far side of the bay. Looking
back, they could barely make out the outline
of the cave where they had spent the
night on the headland in the far distance.

The palm trees thinned out as the sand
merged into the long grass surrounding the
low-lying marshy land of a mangrove
swamp. They heard the sound of pelicans'
wings whirring overhead. Footprints were
now clearly visible on a path that led away
from the sea into the mountains. From the
jumble of prints in the soft clay, Beck could
tell at once that the path was in regular use.

In the distance, smudges of smoke
stained the bright green of the jungle where
it rose up into the mountains, and Beck
could see the dark outline of a circle of
thatched roofs. Following the path through
the long grass, they emerged on the edge of
the mangrove swamp; a raised path led
towards the village. Suddenly a familiar
screech came from the grove of jungle trees
surrounding the huts.

'Ringo!' cried Christina as they crouched
down in the cover of the long grass. 'It's
Ringo. I'd recognize that screech anywhere.
Thank goodness he's OK.'

'Wait here,' said Beck. 'It's better if one of
us goes ahead. If I'm not back in an hour, go
back to the cave and wait for me there. We
need to know if the Kogi are friend or foe.'
As the twins looked on nervously, he made
his way along the path, listening intently at
each bend for the sound of footsteps
coming towards him.

As he approached the village, he could at
last make out the formation of the huts.
Three rings of huts had been built around a
clearing with larger huts with more elaborate
roofs at either end. As he reached a
grove of trees outside the village, Beck
crouched down in the undergrowth and
peered towards a gap in the ring of huts
where the path disappeared into the village.
Ringo was nowhere to be seen.

Wisps of smoke still curled above the
huts, but not a sound came from the clearing
within. All Beck could hear now was the
thumping of his heart. Stepping out from
the protection of the trees, he clutched
at the handle of the machete where it hung
from his waist and strode boldly down the
short avenue between the huts.

A smell of cooking hung in the still air
and logs smouldered on campfires with pots
dangling above them. A leather sandal lay
on the ground outside one of the huts next
to a plate made of palm leaves. But no
human sound broke the silence.

Beck circled slowly around on his heels,
the hairs on the back of his neck standing
on end. The sun was high in the sky now,
making him squint as he peered nervously
into the murky darkness of one of the huts.
Suddenly he let out a muffled cry and
stepped back into the clearing, his heart
thumping against his ribs. Like stars in the
night sky, four pairs of eyes stared back at
him.

Then Beck heard a movement behind
and spun round. In front of him was
the Indian from that fateful night in the
carnival crowd in Cartagena. Those familiar
piercing eyes were now just a couple of
metres away and staring directly into his
own. Beck swallowed hard and opened
his mouth to speak. But the words would
not come. His mouth felt parched. The
Indian did not move.

'I have come . . . to . . . to . . . find . . .'
Beck stammered at last, hardly able to get
the words out. He started again. 'My friends
and I were wrecked on the beach near here
and we have no food or water. We mean no
harm.'

Realizing he was still clutching the
handle of his machete, Beck laid it down
slowly on the ground before raising his
palm in a sign of peace. The Indian did not
move but continued to gaze straight into
Beck's eyes.

Under the hot sun, Beck was beginning
to feel light-headed. Part of him wanted to
run. To run now, and to run hard. But his
legs felt like lead. Then the Indian began to
speak. Not a single muscle on his face
was moving and his lips were quite still.
But his words echoed deep inside Beck's
head.

'My name is Mama Kojek,' said the
voice. 'I am an elder of the Kogi Indians.
This is our home. Without our welcome,
you are an intruder here.'

Beck opened his mouth and tried to
speak. But again not a single word came
out.

'Come,' said Mama Kojek. 'The Younger
Brother must learn something of our ways.'

By now a small crowd of villagers had
emerged from their huts around the clearing.
They stood in family groups, the
children in front of the parents, as if they
had been expecting a visitor and had turned
out in their Sunday best. Jet-black hair
framed the high cheekbones of their brown
faces. But their features did not move. Not
a smile or a frown. Neither welcome nor
reproach.

From a larger hut at the far end of the
clearing, a small group of men now
appeared. They too wore the white tunics of
the Kogi tribe, with hats that tapered to a
point like the roofs of their huts. Mama
Kojek led the way towards the group of
elders, who parted to let them through,
then led the way into the hut.

After the bright sunlight, the world went
black as Beck followed him in. By the time
his eyes had adapted to the darkness, he
found himself sitting cross-legged in the
centre. The hut was divided into four
sections, with a fire in the middle of each
tended by one of the Mamas – the holy men
of the Kogi tribe.

'Younger Brother' – Mama Kojek was
again speaking inside Beck's head – 'you
have come here uninvited. Even so, we
welcome you to our home. We, the Kogi
people, are the Elder Brother. We are the
guardians of the Earth. Our work is to
protect the mountains among which we
live. Without the holy work of the Mamas,
not only these mountains but the whole
world will die.'

Mama Kojek paused for a while before
continuing. 'The first time the Younger
Brother came here, you killed our people
and burned our homes. Your leader found
our holy city in the jungle and took away
the life blood of the Mother. Soon after, we
deserted the city. When the Younger
Brother returned again, he could not find
the city and took a terrible revenge.'

The holy man leaned forward. 'Younger
Brother, all is not as it seems to you.' He
pointed slowly up towards the roof of the
hut and then down to the ground. 'For us,
there are many worlds. Both above and
below. Inside us and without. You see only
one, but we see many. You yourself believe
you have met me before. And it is true. But
only in the world of Aluna. Only in the
spirit world which is Aluna.'

Beck's head was spinning. What was the
meaning of Mama Kojek's words? He said
that Beck had only met him in another
world, but hadn't Beck seen him with his
own eyes in the square in Cartagena? And
anyway, where exactly was this other world,
this magical world of Aluna?

Mama Kojek was speaking once more.
'Because of the deeds of the Younger
Brother, the world is dying. Our sacred city
has lain covered by the jungle for many
centuries. To you it is a lost city but for us it
is a city that sleeps. A treasure was stolen
from us. You must give back to the Mother
what your ancestors stole. Only the Younger
Brother can return it to the place from
whence it was taken.'

Mama Kojek was standing again now, his
arms outstretched and his tunic bright in
the sunlight shining through the doorway
of the hut.

'Younger Brother, the treasure which you
call gold is the blood of the Mother.
Without her life blood, the Mother will die.
First in the world of Aluna and later in the
world of flesh and blood. On our mountain
peaks, the eternal snows are melting. Soon
the rivers will dry up and the people will
die. The Elder Brother cannot heal the
world for much longer if the Younger
Brother continues to let her bleed.'

Beck was staring deep into Mama Kojek's
eyes. Nothing seemed real any more. The
village, the hut, the Kogis – everything
seemed to be dissolving into thin air. He felt
his hand groping under his shirt for the
golden amulet. Since they had first discovered
it in Gonzalo's secret hiding place,
the toad had hung around Beck's neck like a
good-luck charm.

Now, he slowly raised its gaping mouth
towards his lips.

And blew.