Recruits (Keeper of the Water Book 2) (23 page)

“He followed orders from the wrong person,” she says.

She rolls back over in bed, effectively ending our conversation. I look back to John and wonder who could’ve possibly been giving
him
orders. His two troops? Whoever was supplying him with water? Chasing after him and then falling in love with him blinded me from a lot of questions that should’ve been obvious, especially once I learned his true identity. Now that so much of my past is returning to me, not even John rising from the dead can distract me from wondering how his past might affect our future. I can’t consider any sort of serious relationship with him until he gives me answers, though I’ll let him sleep for now.

I finally make it outside as the sun begins to lower in the sky, another sunset over these mountains that I never expected to see again. Amelia stands guard just outside the room, still as a statue, eyes roving about the surrounding woods. In contrast to the cheerful personality she displays while flying planes, she appears to be taking this task much more seriously, even though we’re in the middle of the woods and nobody’s in sight.

“You have fallen for a man, Mentor?” she asks, not once taking her eyes off the forest. Now I’m not so sure whether she’s concentrating on our surroundings or concentrating on avoiding eye contact with me.

“I will not lie to you, Amelia, my feelings for John are… strong,” I admit. “I understand now that it’s against the Amazon creed but until recently, I had no recollection of my past. Falling for him just kind of happened.”

She nods her head but still remains stone-faced, still remains looking anywhere but toward me. I don’t want her to be upset with me but maybe that’ll make her more likely to be brutally honest.

“Do you know anything about John? Maybe something about how his past intersected with ours?” I ask.

Amelia shrugs. “Don’t know, Mentor. Maybe he reminds you of the men you found out in the jungle.”

“The men
I
found?” I ask. “As in the natives?”

Early in our trek deep within the South American jungles, the Amazons encountered several native tribes, some openly hostile toward us, others openly fearful. We never wanted these interactions to turn violent but that had been inevitable. And considering our fighting experience against well-armed troops, the natives provided little trouble, at least from what I can remember.

But my recruit slowly shakes her head.

“You
really
don’t remember?” Amelia asks, finally looking at me as though she doubts what I tell her. Her expression softens once she realizes I’m telling the truth. “I guess this is why we aren’t supposed to drink so much water.”

“When did I find them? And how many were there? Can you tell me anything else about them?”

I have a vague recollection of what she’s talking about, of coming across people in the heavy jungle, snippets of memories that are in my mind but I can’t quite focus on. It’s like knowing I’ve seen parts of a movie a long time ago but can’t remember exactly who starred in it or what happened. This feeling is more frustrating than if I couldn’t remember at all.

“It was before you recruited me,” Amelia says. “When you weren’t busy recruiting in the civilized world, supposedly you spent little time in the Amazon camp. You avoided the Queen Clan like they had the plague and always volunteered for guard detail with Harriet. From the story you and her once told me, you came across these men when patrolling the nearby jungle.”

Looking out at the dense forest beyond the motel, my mind flashes back to another thick section of trees. I’m hacking through the rainforest with Harriet by my side. She’s tall and dark, muscles rippling beneath the scant rags that only cover part of her body. She looks every part the Amazon, stronger and more beautiful than I could ever be, confidence exuding from every movement she makes.

I
might be
her
mentor but
she
makes
me
feel physically inadequate. I hack away through overgrown shrubs and vines with a dull machete though it’s sometimes slow-going. Harriet would probably have a much easier time slicing through the heavy growth but I don’t want to admit that I’m weaker than she is.

Not that Harriet is the type of woman to look down upon me. I feel just as comfortable around her as I do my other recruit. Though I recalled knowing the historically famous underground railroad conductor, this is the first specific memory I’ve had of her. The thought of her lasts only a split second but that’s long enough for me to recall how strongly I felt about her, the same way I remember feeling about Amelia Earhart and Mary Bowser.

“I think I’m starting to remember,” I tell Amelia.

“You
should
,” Amelia says. “Between you and Harriet, I’ve only heard this story like a hundred times. The first time you saw the men was when they were on the – ”

“River,” I say, the word coming to me before the memory even does.

Like my earlier memories, this thought comes back to crystal clear. I can tell that I’m far away from the Amazon camp, that I’m at a high vantage point, somewhere in a tree. The tree overlooks a river so huge that it would be easy to miss the single approaching canoe, though it’s
not
so easy to miss the three white faces inside. As I’m becoming totally engulfed in the thought, I hear Amelia say one final thing before completely tuning out the present world.

“You always said that they weren’t the usual natives you were used to seeing,” my recruit says as my mind drifts away.

“Not the usual natives we see in these here parts,” Harriet says.

We’re both perched at the edge of the same tree branch thirty feet above the ground, neither of us afraid of falling. Such a fall would hardly be bothersome for an Amazon. And if by chance we
did
get hurt, there’s little reason for serious concern. We might be days away from the nearest medical doctor but there’s something
very
comforting knowing we’re so close to the world’s most effective medicine, regardless of the fact that we’ve wandered farther away from camp than usual.

The canopy of leaves on these trees are so thick that it causes the jungle floor to constantly feel like a state of dusk, whether the sun’s shining brightly overhead or not. The only way we can see down to the river is because Harriet pushes aside a massive branch just enough to give us a clear view while still keeping us hidden. I could’ve moved the branch if I yanked with all my might but Harriet is so strong that she holds it back with ease.

Even with our superhuman eyesight, we can barely see the three men in the canoe. Many sections of the great river make travel dangerous, deadly wildlife and combative natives always a constant threat. Still, it’s not exactly rare to see the natives traveling on canoes; I’ve even traveled this way upon returning from my recruiting trips. But the three people rowing this canoe are white,
not
something usually seen in these parts. Harriet and I are both intrigued by their sudden appearance but now we’re trying to figure out whether we should be worried, too.

“You think they know we’re here?” Harriet asks. “That our water’s nearby?”

It’s obviously the same concern that entered my mind when first realizing these men weren’t natives. But paranoia gives way to common sense when I have a moment to consider the alternatives.

“Nobody knows about us, nobody knows about the water, so nobody knows we’re here
with
the water,” I conclude.

“What about any of the Amazons that left the tribe?” she wonders.

Every once and awhile one of our fellow sisters-in-water dies in defense of the water and the Keeper; my mentor unfortunately learned that all too well. The only other way out was by voluntarily leaving, which didn’t happen often. But I returned back from my last recruiting trip to find one of the usual women gone. It was no surprise that she wasn’t well liked by Cassie and the Queen Clan. Similar to me and my recruits, the woman who left had no love lost for the queens but I’m certain she would never betray
all
of us to get back at a few.

“Probably just an adventurer trying to make a name for himself,” I tell Harriet. “They’re very popular these days. They even make moving pictures about their stories.”

“What kinda adventure these fools think they finding here? Gonna get themselves killed is what’s gonna happen next,” Harriet says.

“The lost city,” I finally say, a light bulb going off in my mind. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this right away.

“Lost city? You mean to say them fools came all the way here for those old ruins in the jungle?”

I nod my head, causing Harriet to shake hers in disgust. On my long recruiting trips back to the jungle, I sometimes stopped in some of the bigger South American towns to learn about the rainforest. For years I heard stories about the Lost City of Z, which I assumed to be a fairytale. But the Amazons found the old stone ruins of a once mighty civilization among the trees. Most of the columns and archways were hidden beneath heavy vines. Cassie and her fellow queens wanted us to move our camp there – to have some areas of shelter away from the harsh elements – but the ruins could not stay hidden from men forever so we remained miles away from them.

“They must not know that the ruins are mostly old and damaged now. But like every story about a lost civilization, details become greatly exaggerated. Explorers seem to think the lost city has roads paved with solid gold,” I tell Harriet. “I’m surprised there haven’t been more explorers traipsing through these jungles.”

“Greed,” Harriet says, still shaking her head. “And they already come too far east anyway.”

“Let’s just hope they keep going so we don’t have to worry about them getting too close,” I say.

About twenty minutes pass before the lone canoe floats by our tree. Harriet and I share a single tree among a thick wall of green. But even though we’re already hidden in the shadows high above the water, she doesn’t hold the branch back nearly as far to make certain they can’t see us. We’re hidden within the shadows and I can only make out details of the man at the front of the canoe.

He’s clearly the oldest, the most obvious sign being his heavy growth of facial hair and wide sweeping mustache. He wears a large wool cap and is dressed in enough heavy clothing to cover every inch of his body. I’m sure it’s a great way to avoid getting eaten alive by massive insects around here but I can’t imagine how he survives the stifling heat. I’ve adopted the normal Amazonian garb – that being old rags that barely cover our tanned skin – and they
still
make me hot.

The two other men in the canoe are much younger, though I only have a quick view of their profiles. Both wear short sleeved shirts, their muscles clearly defined as they do all of the rowing. I’m sure the scorching sun doesn’t help nor do the circling bugs, which both of the young men try to swat away. The canoe continues east and it’s not long before they follow the bend nearby in the river.

Once they’re gone, I feel relieved yet disappointed at the same time.

“Should we return to camp and tell the others, Mentor?” Harriet asks.

Any Amazon on patrol duty is supposed to return to camp at the first sign of anything unusual – this would certainly classify. But I’m not too thrilled at the prospect of returning to Cassie and the queens. She’ll probably want to find the three men and kill them, whether they’re a threat to us or not.

“No need to worry everyone for no reason,” I tell her. “But maybe we should follow them to make certain they don’t get too close. Up for an adventure?”

Harriet looks at me and raises an eyebrow. As usual, her expression is easy to read: she thinks I’m up to something. But my recruit is always loyal, even when she makes me feel irresponsible.

“Of course, Mentor,” she says.

We leap down from branch to branch without making a noise or rustling a single leaf. We run along the river’s edge, catching up with the slow-moving canoe in the matter of seconds, sticking to the shadows to avoid being seen. And there are plenty of shadows to hide among, as the white men would not be able to spot us even if they knew where to look. The jungle is so thick that Harriet and I never get a clear view of them either, though we catch just enough glimpses of the canoe to keep up.

Several hours pass of us silently stalking them, rushing from tree to tree, wondering what they’re going to do. Harriet guesses that they’re trying to find their way back to civilization and I hope she’s right. Somehow, I don’t think that’s the case. I’m so focused on watching them that I barely watch where we’re going until Harriet grabs hold of my arm.

“Mentor, shouldn’t we turn back now?” she asks. If there’s one Amazon in the tribe who can equal – or even surpass by ability for tracking – it’s Harriet.

She gestures to the nearby section of jungle, where a spear pins a skeleton to a tree high above. Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me – or maybe it’s because I know who lives in this area – but the jungle seems darker, more ominous just ahead.

“The Man-Eaters,” I whisper, suddenly more aware of how important it is to remain within the shadows.

We encountered several native tribes during our years in the jungle, many of them friendly, a few combative. But none are as frightening as the clan that lives in this area of the rainforest. The Amazons fight when necessary – and normally gain respect quickly since we’re so deadly – but this particular tribe never once backed down, despite the heavy casualties we inflicted upon them in the past. An unspoken truce has been in effect between us for years but that’s mostly because they stick to their part of the rainforest and we stick to ours.

“Maybe just a little farther,” I say. “And we won’t get anywhere near their homes.”

Harriet takes a deep breath and nods, her brow furrowing. It’s rare that I see
any
type of fear on her face so I wonder if I’m being foolish. But curiosity gets the better of me and we continue moving forward, careful to make even less noise as we travel along the river. Hopefully the Man-Eaters stay away from the water, like usual.

No matter how fast we run or how well we blend in, I can’t help but feel eyes watching our every move. I don’t watch the men in the canoe as closely as before, my eyes more focused on the surrounding trees, searching for any sign of danger. Though I can’t see any of the Man-Eaters, I sense them out there, waiting for us to make the slightest mistake. Maybe this
was
a bad idea.

But it’s not as bad an idea as the adventurers make next. We’ve barely passed through Man-Eater territory when the three men steer the canoe closer to shore. I pray to Mother Earth that they’re simply rowing in this direction to avoid rocks in the river or a particularly large anaconda but we soon see that’s not the case. They steer the canoe toward a break in the trees.

“This whole long river and they pick the
worst
place to stop,” Harriet says, shaking her head. “Should we stop them and just point them in the direction of the lost city?”

I shake my head – discovering the Lost City of Z would only cause more humans to return to our area of the jungle. If there’s one thing I learned during my recruiting trip for Harriet, it’s that more of the world is opening up. This jungle is one of the last safe havens for the Amazons to hide the water.

“What about warning them to leave?” Harriet suggests.

“Seeing two
English-speaking women in this part of the rainforest will raise questions we don’t want them trying to answer,” I say.

Harriet’s suggestion causes me to recall my first interaction with Amazons during the Lewis & Clark expedition. I was given a warning to steer clear of their part of the North American forest but I was also a lone woman dealing with them. I don’t sense that these explorers are bad men but that’s not a risk we can take. Instead, we decide to follow them. But after a few hours of them hacking through the jungle – leaving a trail so obvious that I could follow it in my sleep – I decide that we can’t let them proceed any farther.

Harriet and I sprint through the jungle, moving quietly as ghosts, circling around their current path. We stick to the shadows and once they’re within range, I begin to fire arrow after arrow in their direction, careful to come close to hitting them but never once actually injuring them. I’d hoped they would merely turn around and retreat from where they came, get back into the canoe and float off. But they obviously think the attack is real and quickly become turned around in their unknown surroundings.

Harriet and I follow, making plenty of noise to let them think they’re under attack from a larger party. I retrieve my fired arrows as we run along and re-use them several times. I’m glad to be forcing them away from the general direction of our camp but I realize too late that I’ve led them to the
second
worst possible section of jungle. Harriet eventually grabs my arm and points to the same tree – with the same hanging skeleton – that we passed earlier. The explorers either didn’t notice the warning dangling in the tree or didn’t care.

“They got no idea whose land they’re on. You think the Man-Eaters seen them?”

My stomach sinks and I nod my head. I’ve witnessed plenty of death in my life, much of it involving people I’ve known and cared about. These three men are total strangers and have willingly impeded upon dangerous lands so they
should
pay the price, shouldn’t they? Logically, I know it makes sense and that I shouldn’t care, that I should turn around and let fate take its course. But there’s something about the men that interrupts my common sense.

“At least the Man-Eaters’ll make sure those men won’t ever find
our
camp,” Harriet says. “We should leave before they get turned into tonight’s supper.”

I still hold out hope that the Man-Eaters will not catch them but I realize it’s foolish to expect that. The men crash loudly through the terrain. Harriet and I pull farther back from the adventurers but can still hear the sound of their voices echoing across the jungle, which has become deathly silent since they entered these lands. Even when their leader shushes the other two, he does it so loudly that every bloodthirsty native for miles must be able to hear.

“We have to help them,” I say, a sudden sense of urgency rushing through me. I can’t believe my hesitation has already cost a few minutes, precious time that could be the difference between life and death for the three men.

“Are you
serious?
” Harriet asks. Again, her expression and tone of voice make her opinion
very
clear.

“You can go back if you want to, truly, I would understand,” I tell Harriet. “But I can’t just sit back and let them be cannibalized.”

I take off running before Harriet makes her decision. Time is limited but I still proceed cautiously; I’m no use to the explorers if the Man-Eaters kill me first. I usually run with my bow slung over my shoulder but not now. I have an arrow ready to shoot even though fighting an entire tribe of killers isn’t in my best interest. The men continue to trudge through the jungle so loudly that I almost miss the quiet sound of shuffling feet behind me.