Part 29 (1/2)
When Temba finally awakened, he was sweating. Voices lingered on the edge of his brain, calling him to action. Only they didn't seem to know what they wanted him to do.
Temba lay curled in the crook of a tree, a hastily a.s.sembled pile of leaves as his bed. His hand fell to Kuntolo's spear and squeezed the wood, seeking comfort in its presence, consoled because he had taken it from Kuntolo's grave. He checked for his bow and arrows, eight newly fletched, and the axe he'd stolen from Polomo's camp.
He hopped from his perch, landing easily amidst the roots of the tree. He strapped the spear to his back, holding it in place with a strip of cord, and slung his bow over his shoulder. The axe he looped into his belt.
A small puddle of rainwater had gathered in the mud and he looked into it, staring at his reflection. His eyes looked sunken, like the dead. With a tattered pair of khaki pants and no s.h.i.+rt he thought he looked half of the forest and half of the village; of both worlds, but belonging to neither. Such was Temba's lot.
His belly rumbled, time for breakfast. He ignored it and began walking, slowly at first because he was uncertain of his direction. The power lines stretched overhead, a constant landmark. They would eventually take him back to the baboons and their cursed tree, he realized. It would be better to return to the river and follow that.
Temba.
The Mbuti froze. He stared up at the power lines. Something came back to him then. Something from his dreams remembered-a pulsating rhythm deep within his chest.
Temba.
The rhythm had started again. The forest was coming to life. It hated and it fueled his hatred.
Is this his magic?
It had to be. This was what Kitu spoke of when he described the forest being truly awake. This rhythm flowed through everything. It was what drove the baboons to madness. It was what drove the mercenaries to turn on each other. And maybe, just maybe, it was what had driven Ndola to kill Kuntolo.
If that was the case, then Temba couldn't give in. To let this thing enrage him was to take sides with this strange magician. Yes, perhaps the magician kept others out of the jungle, but only by disrupting the natural balance of the forest. Animals should not hate, Temba realized. And neither should humans.
”I don't believe in you!” Temba cried. ”I don't believe in your stupid magic.”
His voice echoed back at him through the trees. At least that meant the forest heard him.
Temba, once again, wondered about this man the others spoke of. Who was he and where did he come from? The houses in the clearing were st.u.r.dy like Raoul's manor, more sophisticated than the Bantu dwellings. The BaMbuti didn't build power lines in the forest. Yet, they descended right into the center of the camp.
The power lines could be the source of his magic, Temba realized. Why would he need electricity in the middle of the jungle? Whatever he did to trick the others needed the energy from the outside. Temba could end that by cutting off his source of power, by severing the lines.
Temba followed the parallel cables with his eyes. They were so high he would have to find a tall tree to reach them. He remembered the baboon's tree, but he loathed the thought of returning to it. The memory of all of those eyes sent s.h.i.+vers through his body.
Perhaps that was why the baboons guarded the tree.
Don't be silly, he thought. There is no magic.
Temba stood at the base of a small tree, its trunk a little wider than his body. A tiny gap in the canopy allowed this sapling to grow amidst the giants. As he turned to follow the power lines, a slight rustle from the other side of the trunk caught his attention.
He spun, yanking Kuntolo's spear out and ready. But the forest around him was still. He heard distant sounds, nothing nearby. A small bush, entwined in the roots of the tree, wavered from side to side. It was as if a wind came through and blew only that plant, leaving the others alone.
Temba took a step to his right, trying to see around the trunk. Nothing stood on the other side. But something had moved the bus.h.!.+
I'm frightened of nothing. I am imagining things like the mercenaries. There are no ghosts in this forest, only tricks.
A slight stir in the leaves overhead brought his gaze up. A firm branch stuck out from the tree about eight feet up. That branch pa.s.sed right over Temba's head, obscuring his view of the canopy above. Had that branch moved?
He needed to get moving and stop imagining things, he decided. But his palms glistened with sweat where they held the shaft of Kuntolo's spear. Then a faint scent like stale dung a.s.saulted his nostrils. He cringed at the smell and took a step back, closer to the trunk of the tree.
The branch above him moved.
Temba's heart stuttered until he could barely feel the ground beneath his feet or the spear in his hands. He was being hunted. The invisible predator was a leopard and it had him in its sights. It followed his every movement and in the next seconds it would pounce. To run was to die. To stay still was to die.
He stared at the branch overhead, looking for any sign of movement. He held the spear weakly in both hands, more as a security blanket than as a useful weapon.
The branch shook from the movements of the hidden cat. Temba retreated toward the tree. His eyes watched the branch expectantly for the coming pounce.
His back hit bark and he circled around the trunk, putting it between him and the branch. No sooner had he made it around then a yellow paw, spotted with black, lashed out at him. He ducked and the cat clawed from above, hissing angrily. Its prey had slipped around the other side of the tree.
It locked its maddened feline eyes on him and wedged itself in the crook between branch and trunk, getting as much reach as it could. Sharp claws shredded bark into chips that fell about Temba's head.
Frustrated, the cat leapt from the tree branch, easily descending the distance to the ground. Its paws came down amidst the roots and wove toward Temba, maneuvering along perfect angles.
Temba raised the spear defensively and turned his head away, just as the animal leapt. The force of the pounce drove him back, but the leopard howled in pain. When Temba looked up he saw a b.l.o.o.d.y wound in its right shoulder.
With new respect, the leopard backed off and circled him. Temba squared off, keeping the spear between him and it, but already he saw that the creature was outmaneuvering him, as if it meant to corner him against the tree trunk. Temba noticed the way its filthy fur was matted and saw the enraged look in its eyes. Everything told him that this was a very sick animal.
”Stay away,” he cried, a desperate scream. ”Leave me alone.”
The leopard roared back, not backing down. It would not pounce again with the spear between it and Temba. Before Temba could react, the cat moved left. Its course took it up the trunk of the tree. Its claws sc.r.a.ped on bark. With incredible agility, it pivoted and leapt toward Temba, catching him off-guard and from the side. Temba tried bringing his spear around but couldn't get the tip in fast enough. Instead, he blocked with the shaft of the spear. The feline teeth snapped around wood and a paw struck Temba's shoulder. A single claw connected with flesh and tore a gash along his bicep. Meanwhile, the weight of the beast threw him back, and he stumbled across the roots. Off balance, he realized his vulnerability and ran. He reached the tree that had served as his bed before the leopard closed the distance.
He clambered up the tree and rolled straight through the nook where the trunk split. The spear came through horizontally and wedged itself against both trunks. The force on his arm nearly wrenched it from its socket as the spear locked into place. He dangled on the other side, holding on to Kuntolo's spear, as the leopard leapt through the nook, not slowing on the steep incline up the tree. The cat's chest hit the wedged spear like a fence. Both paws squeezed through, grasping at Temba's arm. The Mbuti let go and fell to the ground, landing on his back.
The leopard remained in the tree, temporarily barred by the wedged spear.
In that instant, Temba pulled his bow from his shoulder and drew the first of his arrows. Normally when hunting, he took considerable time to aim, but he didn't have time to spare. He pulled back and released.
The cat hissed in pain as the small arrow struck it under one leg. Before it had recovered from the blow, Temba nocked another arrow and fired. This one narrowly nicked the animal's ear.
The leopard jumped back down the tree, on the opposite side of the trunk from Temba. It growled at him as he unleashed a third arrow, burying it in the creature's left flank. Angry and hurt, the animal twisted from the impact. It backed away putting s.p.a.ce between it and Temba's painful bow.
Temba held his fourth arrow nocked and ready. He gazed down its shaft at the leopard, crouched at the limit of his range. The creature, male by the look of it, learned fast, as maddened and desperate as it seemed. What Temba could not understand was why the animal still pursued him. Hadn't he proven himself difficult enough prey?
When he was confident the animal wouldn't suddenly charge, he approached the tree slowly. The leopard stayed back, maintaining a safe distance. Temba reached up and dislodged Kuntolo's spear from the tree.
”I am not your enemy,” he called to the leopard.
Not that he expected a response, although who knew what strange things could happen in this insane forest? Temba dared a glance at the canopy and found the power lines again. With one eye on the cat, he walked cautiously in the direction of the power lines. He kept his bow ready and nocked, unsure if the animal recognized it as the source of a threat.
The leopard followed at a distance, waiting for an opening to strike. Temba wished his spear was drawn; with only a bow he was powerless to fight in such close quarters. All he could do was run.
Temba had never run as fast as he did in that moment. His feet came down with reckless abandon instead of the grace his people were known for. Still, even such a wild sprint was not enough to outrun a leopard.
He felt the cat right behind him, striding paw over paw in great leaps, teeth and claws bared.
A wall of brush rose up before him and he pushed through. He didn't feel the slapping branches or even the thin trunk ripping across his s.h.i.+n, drawing blood. As lightning flashed, the clearing shone bright before him. His eyes fell upon the twisting bark of a great tree, rising high up in the canopy. He barely recognized it in the darkness until a black form rose up to his right.