Stained River (16 page)

Summoned to give an account of his actions, and certain to lose his head, h
e decided to tell the truth, bizarre as it sounded. To the amazement of everyone in the King’s court, there was immense interest in what he described. Question after question followed from the curious listeners.

He said the women were large and beautiful
. Fierce warriors, with no tolerance for men, who they often kept as slaves. Much taller than the Spanish Conquistadors, who only averaged about five feet two inches, the women were bred for battle. A myth grew that some even cut their breasts off, enabling them to throw a javelin farther than a man.

He
had sailed back in disgrace. What excuse would he provide? How would he avoid punishment? Certainly, a tale that he allowed a tribe of women to defeat him was anything but credible. He would lose his life. But he didn’t. Instead, his story was destined to survive the centuries, become legend and give name to a new territory. Some speculated that the female warriors he described, were similar to a small group that once lived in ancient Greece. If so, how did they get to the Amazon?

What Connery discovered
were the remains of the soldiers and the bodies of several female warriors. More than likely, he thought, killed by Spanish rifles. His discovery confirmed the existence of the legendary Amazonian women. It was a find of significance. He would be hailed as a world class explorer should he make it back. The irony was that he had no idea where he was, or how he would ever return to confirm such a thing. There was substantial evidence, but he would have to leave it all behind-except for the medallion. This he placed carefully in his pack. Although he knew it could be of great value, he was unaware of just how important it would eventually become.

He took the camera and photographed the female skeleton
s, the Conquistador helmet, and sacrificial altar. He felt a rush of excitement then realized he had forgotten about Teman-e. He found him in the same position as when he left him. The Indian stood stiffly; content to die.  He tried once more to rouse him. There was no response. Finally, Teman-e spoke two words in his language, recognized as '
ancestors
' and 's
pirits
', then he pointed to himself uttering an English word.

“
Dead!
”

He
began chanting the words of a ritualistic rite, closed his eyes and repeated them.

He had to be convinced the burial ground contained the remains of people who were far different from his ancestors. Connery left the woeful chanting and returned to the sacrificial altar. The silence was forbidding, eerie. He felt more alone than the first night after the crash. It was getting late, light was fading. He found where the greatest number of bones lay. Skulls with their empty orbital cavities seemed to reprove him, warning not to touch anything. He shook off the feeling, selected the largest bones he could find, carefully wrapped them in his shirt and left

Teman-e
’s trance had deepened. It was doubtful he could be induced to move, but Connery placed the bones in front of him, gently shaking his shoulder several times before getting a response. The Indian drew back in fright, terrified at what lay before him. Connery managed to calm him after some anxious moments.

Using words he didn't think he possessed, he said the bones were not those of his ancestors.
Teman-e just continued staring, so Connery picked up the large femur and held it against Teman-e's leg, then the large humerus and held it against his upper arm, all the while saying there were many more like those, and they were too big to belong to his ancestors. Lastly, he showed him bracelets, obviously formed for people of a much larger race. He stumbled over the words, but delivered his impassioned message,
no tribal law violated
!

When it was over,
Teman-e understood, though he remained in deep thought. Finally, he picked up one of the bones, studied it carefully, then tried the bracelet on. An awareness told him he was mistaken. He had not violated any forbidden burial place. Connery saw the look in his eyes, the relief he felt.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Daylight brought sunshine breaking through angry clouds, but it was all too brief as the pitter- patter of rain brought another downpour. Teman-e was disturbed. He should have recognized something, some vague image buried in his memory, yet he didn’t. There were times when he thought he had chosen correctly. Then again, he thought that the day before, and the day before that. Connery, who said little, noticed his increasing frustration.

Food consisted mostly of fruit that provided little nourishment.
Teman-e supplemented it with an occasional mouse, but that was never enough. Connery could feel his weight loss, now visible in bones that protruded under stretched skin. His hair and beard had lengthened considerably.

Teman-e
’s thoughts were of Naru. Surely, she must believe him dead by now. It was not uncommon in any Indian village, to have male adults die at an early age. Usually over some matter of honor, or revenge, but not many disappeared into the rainforest, as he had. Does she still mourn? Would she wait before taking a husband? She may not have a choice in the matter, he concluded. It would depend on Guardara. Naru was the most comely of Teman-e’s wives. Chora, the young hunter, would be more than interested now that she was without a mate. There were times when Teman-e had caught him looking in her direction, often sensing jealousy. The young warrior was a favorite of Guardara, and Teman-e knew that would play heavily on who might become her future husband. That is, if he failed to return within a reasonable length of time. He had exceeded that, no doubt, and certain moves were already in play.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

Unless he recognized something soon,
their bones would lie forever undiscovered. The pace slowed. The steady downpour and gray skies changed the forest that once offered rich colors and hues in a world of dappled sunlight. Now it was gloomy, depressing. Even the animals vanished to await the end of the monsoon.

Near noon,
they saw something unexpected.

A hut.
It stood eerily out of place. What was it doing there?

Neither moved nor said a word. The hut had a thatched roof, circular frame, no window
s, a crude door. No sound came from within, no sign anyone lived there. Strewn outside were the skulls of animals. Teman-e recognized most as belonging to monkeys, but among them was the skull of a large boa. He thought, if anyone was inside, the pouring rain might have concealed whatever sounds they made in approaching. He called in a loud voice.

There was no answer.

He waited, then called again. He crept closer to the door and pushed it open slowly, expecting someone to leap at him. He entered to almost total darkness. A few shafts of dim light fell on the skeletal remains of a person, sitting against a support pole. In front of it lay the bony remnants of a meal, perhaps his last. Gourds of various sizes hung from the circular walls. The floor was relatively dry since the person who built the hut had the good sense to elevate it.

“Conree!
See!”

Lying next to the skeleton was a colorfully painted mask, carved to resemble a jaguar. Connery picked it up and held it over his face.

“Boo!”

But this drew no response from Teman-e who obviously took jaguars, even jaguar images, more serious. Connery turned his attention to several animal pelts emitting a harsh odor of putrefaction, then continued to poke around. He noticed a small-stoppered flask and handed it to Teman-e who brought the vial to his nose, then put a dab of the viscous fluid on his tongue.  Replacing the stopper, he held two closed hands to his mouth, simulating a blowgun.

“
Woorara.”

The
deadly poison used on the tips of darts would kill a man very quickly.
Woorara
was the Machi-te word for
curare
. Teman-e knew what it was. He used it on more than one occasion and witnessed its effects. A human with the slightest amount of
curare
in his blood stream, suffers a horrible death by asphyxia. He will succumb usually within twenty to thirty minutes. Once breathing stops, the heart keeps beating, the victim trapped in the frightening awareness of his own death.

He was familiar with its preparation, the recipe known for centuries among Indian tribes of the Amazon. In his village, the only one allowed to prepare it was Guardara, the shaman-chief
, who made small quantities from bark scrapings of the strychnos plant, added to venom from the Lora snake. He boiled the mixture until it evaporated to a dark, heavy fluid before dipping the tips of long, narrow darts. The result was a lethal poison used on both humans and animals. Teman-e knew when he tasted a small amount that it would not kill him. If it entered his bloodstream from a dart, however, that was different.

Whoever lived in the hut was obviously skilled in the use of a blowgun
, the preparation of
curare
, but Teman-e hadn't seen a blow gun. He felt into the crude eaves where the roof met the walls until he withdrew a long hollow shaft made from bamboo; elaborately carved with symbols. Beside it was a leather pouch containing six darts. He showed them to Connery. Teman-e guessed the person who lived there was driven from his village as an outcast, shunned by his own people, unable to join another tribe. Perhaps he was a power driven sociopath like Uxhomeb and his fellow tribesmen turned against him, knowing that banishment was the worst kind of punishment. Whatever the reason, the man had come to his end alone, in a far distant place.

That night they ate roots and slept inside
. Both were oblivious to thunder claps and lightning that flashed through the cracks in the door. For now, they were dry.

CHAPTER TWENTY
FOUR

Tapejo I- River mining project

Paulo De Santana was furious. Why was he ordered to an area that even he thought was too remote and dangerous? Tapejo I was bad enough, he hated the isolation, but to go to this other place was far worse. So close to Lugar de la Muerte, and no one goes there. It was ludicrous, he thought. What was Castelo Branco thinking? Was he stupid? But his boss wasn't a man to refuse.

Creative ways would be needed
to move men and equipment to the region in the middle of wet season. Among other things, he would have to contend with untamed Indian tribes. God only knew what they were capable of. The thought unnerved him.

He
would coordinate the movement of all mining and logging equipment, plus several tons of supplies at the tiny town of Aquora, the last vestige of civilization on the edge of deep jungle. From there, he would transport it by river barge, to a destination three hundred miles away. It would be a treacherous undertaking, particularly if the river was high, as he knew it would be that time of year.
Impossible!
He threw his pen against the wall in disgust, about to utter an unflattering expletive about his boss when he heard a familiar voice.

“Paulo
, my boy! You seem angry.”

That voice. He would know it
anywhere. Patronizing, sarcastic, contemptuous, all at once.
Where did he come from?
He turned to the man he feared most, and quickly assumed his toadying demeanor. Because it was expected.

“Senhor
! I didn't know you were coming. Perdoe me.”

“You must be upset with someone, Paulo. I hope it isn't me
who caused you to be so aggravated.”

Castelo Branco
spoke with his usual acerbic tone, knowing that De Santana would not run the risk of expressing disagreement.

He knows damn well it is. He has this subtle way of putting me off guard. I'll play his little game anyway.

“Some parts that were supposed to be here by now. They're holding things up. I sent men back weeks ago to get them. I will take care of it.”

P
laying the obsequious puppet was the exact opposite of the way he acted with those beneath him, but he dared not do otherwise.

“And what would those be? I'll
contact the supplier myself and make him a little uncomfortable, eh?”