Entangled (47 page)

Mixing words and images Ria showed Grondin the amazing girl with golden hair who’d come to her in a dream just moments earlier. It was the same girl who’d warned her about the tree-birds in the spirit world, but now you could see through her as though she were made of water or air. She seemed hugely excited and alarmed. As before she shouted in a language that meant nothing to Ria. But this time her words were accompanied by fleeting images and emotions and a message came through with complete and awful clarity. Something lay concealed
deep inside the swollen wound that Sulpa’s little dart had made in her thigh. As long as it was there he would be able to find her. Then the girl disappeared and Ria woke up.

‘Dreams not same as visions,’ said Grondin. ‘Cannot always believe them.’

‘I’ve seen this girl once before,’ Ria replied. ‘The Little Teachers brought her to me. I was in danger then and she gave me a true warning. That’s why I believe her now.’

Grondin stopped and he and Driff laid down her stretcher. Ria still couldn’t get used to the Illimani’s wild blue eyes or read the expression in them – but then, how could she ever hope to know what lay in the mind of a savage such as this? As other stragglers filed past them and continued to make their way up the mountain, Grondin crouched at her side, a small sharp flensing knife in his hand. Ria looked down at the weeping swelling on her thigh. ‘Cut it open,’ she said. ‘Let’s find out what’s in there.’

The pain of Grondin’s knife exploring the wound was unlike anything Ria had ever experienced before. Even though she had braced herself, her shrieks rose to the sky, sweat drenched her brow and a stream of terrible oaths poured from her mouth. Driff knelt beside her, holding her steady as Grondin cut and cut. Then something seemed to burst and a mass of pus and blood spewed out of the wound.

Grondin probed with his fingers. There was less pain now. ‘Nothing inside,’ he reported.

‘No! There is! You have to cut deeper!’

‘You crazy,’ said Grondin.

Dripping with sweat, shaking, dizzy, Ria shrugged off Driff ’s restraining grip, sat bolt upright, grabbed the big Ugly’s jerkin and glared into his eyes: ‘You must cut deeper,’ she pulsed.

Grondin was reluctant. ‘Don’t want hurt your leg. Maybe you become lame. There is nothing inside.’

Ria gasped with frustration and snatched the flensing knife from his hands. ‘Then I’m doing it myself,’ she told him.

Grondin gently took the knife back. She could sense his conflicted feelings. ‘One more cut,’ he agreed.

As the knife went in Ria screamed again. ‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!’ The pain was unbelievable, but just as she was sure she
could bear no more the tip of the blade snagged on something deep within her flesh.

Something that
writhed.

Grondin hunched forward, peered into the wound, probed again with the knife, grunted and suddenly twisted his wrist. There came a second writhing clench within her flesh, followed by a sharp tug and Ria gasped as another huge explosion of pain hit her.

She looked down.

Skewered on the tip of Grondin’s knife, but alive and struggling, was the front end of a disgusting maggot or slug, slimy and black, long as a human tongue. It was anchored in Ria’s flesh by its rear end, which she could see was swollen into a bulb and covered with little hooks. She watched, fascinated, as Grondin carefully pulled more of its body free, dragging the hooks loose one by one until, with a wet
plop,
the whole creature was out.

He placed it on a boulder that lay nearby and cut it in half.

But each half immediately took on a life of its own and there were two new slugs where one had been before.

Driff looked at them in horror. ‘Sulpa?’ He seemed to be asking a question. In the chaos of the river escape, Ria realised, he probably hadn’t seen his former master firing his little dart into her.

Despite her pain she limped over. ‘Yes … They’re Sulpa’s work.’

The wriggling black slugs were at the edge of the rock now, leaving thick trails of bloodied slime. They couldn’t be allowed to escape into the ground. But before Ria’s bruised body could react Grondin stepped in ahead of her and pinched one of the loathsome little creatures in each hand, his big, hard fingers gripping them tight as they writhed and twisted. Ria sensed some sort of thought-talk taking place between Grondin and Driff but she couldn’t catch it. Then Driff rushed back to the tree line and began to make a small fire where the canopy of leaves and branches would dissipate the smoke.

Grondin strode down to join him, with Ria hobbling after. She arrived in time to see them place both slugs into the heart of the fire, holding them in place with sticks. The creatures squirmed, and screams that sounded almost human burst out of them as their flesh bubbled and split. They began to expand, growing to the size of a man’s hands, thrashing and flailing before exploding – WHOOSH! – in clouds of pungent sooty smoke that roiled up into the trees. The few remaining
scraps of black flesh crackled and burned, and soon there was nothing left but flames and glowing embers.

Ria looked up into the canopy where the last of the smoke could still be seen melting away amongst the leaves. A feeling of unease came over her. Was this the end of the matter? Or would traces of Sulpa’s creatures somehow remain for him to sniff out and follow? She shrugged. Either way there was nothing more she could do about it. As she turned back towards the mountainside a bout of dizziness shook her and darkness welled up behind her eyes. She collapsed in a heap, only faintly aware of Driff ’s strong arms catching her before she hit the ground.

Then came oblivion.

‘Thank God.’ The voice was Bannerman’s. ‘I think she’s coming out of it.’

Leoni was in her own body. She hadn’t yet opened her eyes but she’d been conscious of her surroundings for a few moments. She was in a hot, shadowy room, on a bed, with a light sheet draped over her legs. She could hear a persistent fly buzzing and bumping into a windowpane. Bannerman and the person he’d just spoken to were both sitting by her bed and one of them – he had a dry, gentle, reassuring grip – was holding her hand.

She opened one eye.

Oh, good. It was Matt.

Leoni felt content for about half a second until her memories of Ria’s world began to flood back.

Those wild mountains and moorlands.

And the dreadful threat of Sulpa and the Illimani.

Had she succeeded in warning her time-sister about the tracking device in her leg?

Or had she fucking failed?

She’d felt so pleased with herself for killing Sulpa’s gremlins, but if she hadn’t got that simple message through in her last frantic moments with Ria then it would all have been in vain.

She needed to go back. Right now!

Leoni opened her eyes and sat up, taking a great gulp of breath. Matt pulled his hand away as though scalded. Bannerman was on his feet so fast his chair crashed over: ‘Leoni!’ He sounded relieved. ‘Are you OK?’

She blinked and looked around the room, getting her bearings. It was one of the outhouses near the
maloca
– a dorm with a dozen beds where they’d left their bags and changed into loose clothes just before last night’s session. Her bed – she must have been carried to it unconscious – was closest to the door. The others were empty but had an
untidy, slept-in look. Although the sun seemed to be shining outside there were thick drapes on the windows that filtered out much of the light.

‘Are you all right?’ Bannerman repeated.

Leoni could hear the stress in his voice. He probably thought she’d fried her brains taking too many of his weird drugs. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I’ve had a very strange night …’

‘You went deep with the Ayahuasca. We couldn’t wake you.’

Leoni sat up in the bed and put her hand on Bannerman’s arm: ‘I have to drink again,’ she whispered. ‘I have to drink right now. I was pulled back too soon from the place Aya took me to. Someone’s in danger and I’ve got to help her …’

Bannerman held up his hand: ‘Slow down, Leoni. Take your time. Which place? Who’s in danger?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Leoni realised she was close to shouting. ‘I’ll explain later, OK? Right now I need to drink more Aya. I have to. You’ve got to help me.’

Bannerman looked severe: ‘There’s a problem with that.’

The problem was Don Emmanuel. ‘He’s not doing well,’ Matt said. ‘He woke this morning totally freaked out. I mean really gibbering.’

‘A most extreme and unexpected reaction for such an experienced practitioner,’ Bannerman was saying when Mary Ruck walked in. She saw Leoni and her face lit up in a smile. ‘Welcome back!’ she whooped, darting to her side to embrace her. ‘You’ve had a long journey.’

The news about Don Emmanuel had depressed Leoni and when Mary was through hugging her she asked about him. The older woman became grave: ‘Last night, soon after you drank your third cup, Don Emmanuel also drank again. Like you, he went very deep. My guess is he suffered … shall we say a psychic ordeal? This happens to shamans sometimes. When he snapped out of it a few hours ago he was … traumatised.’

‘Raving,’ Matt corrected.

Mary flashed him an irritated look: ‘Well, anyway, he’s already much better. I just left him in the
maloca.
He’s awake but he hasn’t told us what happened yet.’

‘I know what happened to him,’ said Leoni. ‘I was held prisoner on another world’ – you could say that kind of thing to this group of people
and they’d understand. ‘He came to rescue me but the body he was in was killed …’

Mary’s eyes had opened wide. ‘Killed?’ she asked. ‘By what?’

‘By the shaman who took me prisoner. Don Apolinar. They transformed into different kinds of animals. They fought each other. Don Emmanuel wasn’t strong enough to beat him.’

‘Don Apolinar!’ Mary whistled. ‘Shit!’

‘You
know
him?’

‘He’s a
brujo
– a sorcerer. Everyone in Iquitos is afraid of him. But if they want to use black magic to murder a love rival or zombify an enemy he’s the one they go to. Very bad guy.’

Mary and Bannerman were both adamant, over Leoni’s protestations, that they felt a duty to protect her and would not allow her to drink Ayahuasca again immediately. ‘A shaman has to control the ritual,’ Mary insisted. ‘You’ve seen the dangers now, and you know why it’s a must. If Don Emmanuel recovers he can give you the brew tonight … Anyway,’ she added, ‘we all have important work to do before you drink again …’

Leoni had awoken just before three p.m. By six, after a frugal dinner, with the velvet darkness of a jungle evening closing in, the whole group was seated in a circle in the
maloca
to review the previous night’s session. With the exception of Leoni’s few remarks it was to be the first time any of the participants had heard anything about the others’ experiences – for on Bannerman’s insistence there had been no comparing of notes during the day. Don Emmanuel himself would not join in this ‘sharing’ (as Mary called it). The little Shipibo shaman had quietly helped himself to a further cup of Ayahuasca and now lay still on his mattress in a corner of the room.

Matt spoke first, describing what he had seen and experienced under the influence of Ayahuasca. Bannerman was next, then Mary. Despite differences in the details of their accounts it was soon obvious to all of them that something extraordinary was going on.

Ayahuasca had swept Bannerman away ‘like a whirlwind’. He was taken up into a heavenly realm and confronted by a majestic winged woman seated on a golden throne. She had indigo skin spangled with golden stars. ‘Protect Leoni,’ she told him.

Amidst endless jungle, at the foot of a towering capirona tree, Matt
stood face to face with a cerulean jaguar who spoke to him in the voice of a woman. ‘Protect Leoni,’ she told him.

Mary was carried down through crystal caverns to the lair of Sachamama deep underground. A giant anaconda with amethyst scales reared before her: ‘Protect Leoni,’ she commanded.

In each case the encounter was loaded with powerful significance, and each of them emerged from the experience convinced they must do what had been asked of them – that in some profound sense it was their task, and their commitment, to protect Leoni through this extraordinary time.

But what did that mean?

It was Leoni’s turn to speak of her night journey.