Recruits (Keeper of the Water Book 2) (24 page)

Instinctively, I dive to the side, somersaulting behind the nearest tree, ending up on one knee with an arrow ready to fire. Harriet doesn’t even budge in front of me.

“You really think I wouldn’t follow?” she asks with a huff.

I would hug her if time weren’t of the essence. We keep moving toward the sound of voices.

“What are you going to tell them?” she whispers.

“To turn around and get far away from here.”

“Why do you even care?”

“I… I don’t know,” I tell her.

That’s not totally accurate. I
do
feel something for the men, inexplicably, even though I’ve never seen them before. As an Amazon, my main focus is supposed to be the water, a rule I’m currently breaking.
Whatever
my subconscious reason may be, I know that
nobody
deserves to suffer a final fate at the hands – and eventually mouths – of the Man-Eaters.

The adventurers are just ahead and for a second I allow myself a moment of hope. But when I finally spot them through a thatch of vines, a strong hand grabs me from behind and lifts me off the ground. I nearly lose my grip on my bow but somehow stop from firing an errant arrow. Harriet just about tosses me onto the lowest branch of a nearby tree but I maintain my balance and follow her lead going up. Within a few seconds, we’re twenty feet up, again watching the explorers from above.

But this time, the three men are not alone. A dozen Man-Eaters emerge from the jungle darkness; I can’t believe I didn’t sense them earlier the way Harriet did.

“Hello,” the lead explorer says. His accent reminds me of Jane Austen’s. From my spot in the tree, I can’t see his face beneath the large wool hat. His two companions are also just out of my view. “We have come to study the jungle. We humbly request passage through your lands.”

I
can
see the band of natives, who watch the white men with a combination of curiosity and amusement. The Man-Eaters aren’t very big, the tallest one still a whole head shorter than the smallest explorer. But what they lack in size they make up for in intimidation. Each holds a spear in their hands and sneers through a mouth full of unnaturally sharpened teeth; I don’t even want to think what the tribesmen endured to sculpt their teeth to such sharp points. Nor can I imagine why they would want to mutilate their faces, which are covered with scars. Some have more scars than others; if the rumors I’ve heard from other nearby tribesmen are true, each scar on the face of a Man-Eater represents a person he killed –
and
consumed.

The Man-Eaters talk among themselves, though none show any inkling of understanding English.

“The savages have no idea what we’re talking about,” says one of the younger men, his voice particularly whiny.

“Quiet, Raleigh,” the leader snaps. “How many times do I have to tell you that the indigenous people are
not
savages?”

“Oh yeah, they look totally civilized,” says the man known as Raleigh. “Is it time to offer them the shiny trinkets?”

The young man makes a move for his pack and causes the Man-Eaters to jump into action. The tribesmen begin to yell in their native tongue and rush toward the three explorers, ignoring the leader’s plea for peace. My bow is raised, aimed through a small clearing in the tree branches, ready to fire, but there’s not much point in shooting one or two of the cannibals. As anxious as I feel watching the scene unfold, I know there’s nothing I can do but wait and see what happens.

The lead explorer holds up his hands in a universal sign of surrender – unfortunately, that universal sign hasn’t quite made its way into the depths of the South American jungle. A Man-Eater swings the blunt end of his spear and knocks the older man down. Raleigh also tries to avoid conflict with the ‘savages’ but is easily subdued by a few natives, who pound him until he falls to the ground. Harriet and I can barely hear the Man-Eaters’ laughter over the sound of Raleigh’s whimpers.

The other young explorer is the only one who puts up any sort of fight. He’s the biggest of the three white men and clearly knows how to throw his weight around. He swats aside a few spears jabbed in his direction and connects with several punches. I’m certain the natives have never seen a man fight like this. Had there been fewer Man-Eaters, the third explorer may have had a chance to save himself and his traveling party. But he tires quickly, undoubtedly the result of his long journey in this difficult environment. It’s a miracle that the Man-Eaters don’t kill him on the spot but I’m sure they have much more gruesome plans.

The dozen natives encircle the three wounded explorers and herd them farther into the jungle, away from their canoe. Once out of sight, I leap down from our tree and spot a shiny object lying within the weeds. I pick it up and recognize a compass with the initials J.F. engraved onto the back.

“
Now
what do you want to do?” Harriet asks, hands on hips.

I look in the direction where the men were taken and Harriet rolls her eyes. Without another word, we follow their trail, still careful to keep to the shadows even though most of the Man-Eaters must be focused on their unexpected visitors. Fragments of bones –
human
bones at that – litter the ground the deeper we travel into their territory. I’ve never gotten this close to their camp and I hope to never come here again.

In the distance, we hear chanting. Primitive shelters are carved into some of the bigger trees and are held together in part by even more bones. I think back to my life spent hunting buffalo on the plains and the way my tribe didn’t waste any part of the animals that we killed; apparently the Man-Eaters use every part of their human prey.

The entire tribe is gathered in a small clearing just beyond their shelters. The Man-Eaters always fought with such ferocity that I expected their clan to be massive. But there’s only about fifty people here, a dozen women – most of them pregnant – standing off the to side. The leader of the Man-Eaters sits in a chair made of – not surprisingly – more bones. He appears to be the oldest member of the tribe but that is where the similarities with our Keeper ends. He doesn’t appear to be much older than thirty; life expectancy must not be very high among his people. His face is painted, the bottom half red, the top half black. By no means is he the largest Man-Eater in the tribe but the paint on his face accentuates the fact that he has more scars than any other man.

“Please, we do not wish you or your people any harm,” the oldest explorer pleads. “We have been all over this region and had peaceful relations with other – ”

The elder Man-Eater grunts loudly and holds up his hand. The lead explorer wisely shuts up. The Man-Eater stands from his throne of bones and addresses his men, who grunt and cheer loudly, baring their teeth at the three intruders. The sight is frightening to me even though I’m well-hidden in the shadows
and
I have strength unlike any other human. I can’t imagine what the three white men must be thinking.

The tribe elder yells out a command and his men cheer. They lead the explorers to the edge of the clearing, where there’s a circle of skulls approximately ten feet wide. While most of the jungle floor comprises of green grasses or brown dirt, the area within the circle is stained red. It’s not hard to picture what’s going to happen next.

The tribe elder removes a velvety black pelt from his back that he wears as a cape; apparently jaguars are no safer within Man-Eater territory than humans. Without looking, the elder tosses the pelt behind him and several pregnant women rush forward to catch it before it hits the ground. The other Man-Eaters chant, their words unknown to me, the noise growing louder and louder until their leader steps into the circle of skulls. The chanting suddenly stops. The leader bares his mouth full of dagger-like teeth and sticks out his tongue, which is pierced by yet another tiny bone. He points toward the three explorers.

Another Man-Eater grabs hold of the oldest explorer and pushes him forward with the shaft of a spear. But the elder Man-Eater shakes his head and shrieks so loudly that even his own tribesmen recoil. He points to the shorter of the two younger explorers, the one who referred to the Man-Eaters earlier as ‘savages.’ The young man is abruptly shoved forward, even though he tries not to go. His bigger friend – the better fighter – tries to step forward to help but is clubbed by several spears.

“Raleigh, no!” he cries out between being beaten.

“Please don’t do this,” Raleigh begs. “I didn’t even want to come on this stupid trip. I just want to go home to my girl – I just got engaged. Please just let me leave.”

The man is pathetic but I still feel sorry for him. Now that I can see him clearer, I realize how emaciated Raleigh is, his shirt hanging from the bag of bones he calls a body. His time spent searching the jungle has clearly taken its toll on him. He won’t make much of a meal for the Man-Eaters but they undoubtedly imagine him as a walking piece of furniture.

Once he’s pushed into the circle of skulls, Raleigh falls to his knees and continues to beg. He may as well be singing a song for all the good it will do. One of the Man-Eaters tosses his elder tribesman a spear, which the leader of the cannibals twirls in some sort of ceremony. When he’s done, he gestures for his opponent to stand up.

“Don’t I at least get a weapon, too?” asks the scrawny explorer.

He makes a stabbing gesture with his empty hand and the tribe elder seems to understand. He barks a command to one of his tribesmen, who tosses a tiny stick into the middle of the circle. Raleigh hurries to his feet to retrieve the weapon but quickly realizes it is worthless. The rest of the Man-Eaters have a good laugh, a collective sound that reminds me of a dying buffalo.

Raleigh tries to run out of the circle but several dozens Man-Eaters stand just beyond the red ground, not letting him leave.

“This ain’t gonna be pretty,” Harriet whispers beside me.

I
want
to help but figure I should just let Raleigh try to fight for his freedom. But fighting back isn’t part of the explorer’s plan. When the elder Man-Eater crouches into an attack position – his spear held ready to strike – Raleigh loses all sense of hope
and
pride and falls to his knees yet again. He begs for his life against an enemy who is unlikely to have the word ‘mercy’ in his vocabulary.

“We can’t do anything, Mentor,” Harriet whispers. “If he ain’t willing to fight for his own life, why should we risk our necks to help?”

I don’t even have time to think of a response. The elder Man-Eater attacks, running his spear through Raleigh’s chest as the man continues to beg. The other tribesmen cheer loudly but there’s a single word I hear yelled louder than all sounds.

“No!” cries out the other young explorer.

The lead explorer remains frozen where he stands. But his younger companion tries to bolt forward, though he barely runs a few feet before being clubbed with several spears. Raleigh’s expression changes from fear to shock as he looks down at the spear plunged into his chest. That is how he dies, his body slumped forward but propped up by the spear that leans against the ground.

The pregnant women rush forward, dragging over the throne of bones while bringing the elder Man-Eater his jaguar pelt. The tribe leader yanks the spear from Raleigh’s dead body and presses the sharp tip of his weapon against his own cheek. There aren’t many places left on his face not covered already with scar tissue. As the pregnant women drag the body toward the fire –
and
toward the big pot waiting to cook their next meal – the elder Man-Eater drags the spear-tip down the side of his cheek, his eyes wide with a mixture of pain and satisfaction. He allows the blood to flow freely down his face, does not bother to wipe it away even as he once again dons the jaguar pelt. The other tribesmen move aside as their leader steps out of the circle of skulls and takes his seat on the throne of bones.

The other young explorer tries to fight his way to reach his friend’s body but it’s no use. The elder Man-Eater points toward the young man and the tribesmen drag him into the bloody circle. He puts up such a fight that the natives keep him surrounded; I still haven’t gotten a good look at his face. The tribe begins to chant again, their blood lust piqued by the anger emanating from the young man. He’s bigger than Raleigh but his shirt still looks to be too big on him. I wonder when he last ate a real meal. He’s already absorbed quite a beating from the natives but that hasn’t ruined his fighting spirit. Watching his friend mercilessly slaughtered clearly energized him.

The elder Man-Eater claps his hands once, silencing his men but not the explorer.

“Come on, cowards!” the explorer yells. “I will fight
all
of you if I must!”

“Stop this, son! Do not make things worse than they already are!” the older white man says.

“How
can
they get worse?” the young man says, pointing to his dead friend being shoved into a huge pot near the fire.

The elder tribesman points to one of his men, who steps forward to increasing chants from the rest of the tribe. He’s the biggest warrior in the tribe and has nearly as many scars on his face as the leader. He already holds a spear in his hand but doesn’t hesitate to attack; I guess he’s not big on ceremony like the tribe elder.