He held up his palms and shoved his arms out the windshield. He suspected the impaled spear next to him was a warning shot, encouraging them to turn back. But he also hoped for more than peace. He needed this local tribe’s cooperation. If anyone knew this area, it would be this group who had hunted these lands for millennia.
Was that the message sketched on the back of Sheppard’s photo?
To seek the tribe’s help.
For now, the hunters showed no further aggression, yet they also didn’t move out of the way.
“What do we do?” Kowalski asked.
“We need to end this stalemate.” Gray kept his hands up but glanced behind him. “We need an ambassador.”
5:20 A.M.
Benjie hung back with Gray and Kowalski. The three of them stood next to the ATV. Benjie cringed with worry. Across the way, illuminated by the glow of the headlights, Faraji closed upon the group of pygmies. The boy kept his arms high and his palms empty.
As he reached the group of hunters, spears were lowered toward his chest. Bows were drawn tighter.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,” Benjie murmured.
Gray looked worried, too, but he acknowledged the obvious. “Faraji is the only one who might speak their language. We need to find out if they’d be willing to help us.”
Benjie swallowed down his nervousness. He hoped Faraji could get the hunters to understand, to earn their trust.
It would not be easy.
Before traveling here, Benjie had read up on the pygmy tribes who inhabited the Congo. Many of them were Bantu-speaking, like Faraji, but other tribes spoke their own dialects. Long ago, pygmies had once been a cohesive people, sharing the same ancestral population—until three thousand years ago, when farmers had swept through the area and divided their tribes. Today, many tribes didn’t even know others existed.
Still, pygmies had been living in central Africa for over ninety thousand years. Their origins remained a mystery, which intrigued Benjie.
Even the reason for their short stature was unknown. Some believed it due to a vitamin D deficiency from living under a shaded canopy all their lives, leading to poor calcium uptake. Others claimed it was from a lack of protein and a limited diet. There were other theories, too. But no matter the reason, it ultimately changed their genetics. While their children developed at a normal rate, the last growth spurt of adolescence was suppressed, keeping them forever short.
Benjie found this genetic uniqueness fascinating, as it dovetailed into his own studies on stress-induced inheritable traits.
Unfortunately, such knowledge did not help them.
Across the way, Faraji gestured with his arms. Snatches of conversation in Bantu reached them. A few of the hunters clearly spoke this language. Not that it seemed to do any good. Heads shook and spears continued to threaten.
Benjie could guess the reason for such wariness. A little over a decade ago, rebel forces in the DRC had started a pogrom of genocide, targeting the indigenous pygmy tribes. The operational name was Effacer le tableau, French for “erasing the board.” In a matter of a year, the rebels slaughtered over seventy thousand pygmies.
It’s no wonder they look upon us as a threat.
Spears stabbed toward Faraji’s chest, driving him back. He stumbled away, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Don’t look like diplomacy’s gonna work,” Kowalski noted.
Benjie refused to give up. He considered their options, running them through his head, testing them against what he knew about these tribal people. He had read how the pygmies maintained a lengthy oral history, one shared in song and stories.
Could they have retained knowledge from a century ago?
Benjie turned to Gray. “Show them Sheppard’s photos. We know he passed through here. Maybe they’ll recognize him.”
Gray considered this for a breath, then nodded. “Why not? It’s worth a shot.”
As Gray returned to the cabin to collect the black-and-white photos, Benjie hurried to the tailgate. He popped it open and shifted through their gear until he found Faraji’s backpack. He fingered it open and slipped out the shaman’s ngedi nu ntey, the tribe’s precious Kuba Box. He removed its wooden cover and grabbed another object that might jog the hunters’ memories. He lifted out the ndop figurine, a detailed totem carved in the likeness of William Sheppard.
He quickly joined Gray. “We should take everything. Hope they understand.”
Gray pointed to Kowalski. “Stay with the ATV.”
Kowalski shrugged, looking happy to stand guard. Though Benjie suspected Gray’s order had less to do with protecting their vehicle and more about avoiding any impolitic outbursts by the big man.
Gray and Benjie headed over to join Faraji. Their approach did not go unnoticed. More hunters shed from the forest’s shadows, flanking and closing behind them.
Faraji turned as they arrived. He looked aghast at what Gray and Benjie carried, maybe fearing his precious artifacts were about to be bartered away as gifts.
Benjie explained. “We want to check if these hunters know anything about the Reverend Sheppard. We know he came through—”
One of the pygmies stepped forward. He was clearly old, with gray hair and sagging skin over wiry muscles. Still, he looked vital, his eyes bright.
“Shep. Perd,” he said, pronouncing the name as if it were two words.
Still, it appeared the man recognized the reverend.
Benjie looked to Gray, who stepped forward and fanned out the photos. He held them toward the elder. His efforts only earned a scowl. A spear knocked the pictures from Gray’s hand. They fluttered to the ground.
Faraji gasped and ducked to gather them up.
The elder shifted his spearpoint toward Benjie. He indicated the carving clutched in Benjie’s hands. With a nervous gulp, Benjie lifted it higher.
The elder stepped forward and snatched it away. The old hunter studied the figurine, even sniffing at it. A finger traced from the colonial hat down to the face under it, the delicate features carved of an ebony veined in silver. He finally handed it back with great reverence. The pygmy planted the butt of his spear and stared over at them expectantly.
When Faraji rejoined them with the photos, Gray placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Tell them of the danger in the forest. Of how we’re seeking where Sheppard went. To a lost city hidden in these jungles.”
Faraji waved an arm. “I told them. Not about the Reverend Sheppard. But the rest, yes.”
Gray frowned in frustration. “If there’s some cure hidden out here, we need to find it.”
Benjie noted how the elder had followed this brief exchange, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he understood. The man’s attention then settled again on the ndop figurine, his expression softening into sorrow, maybe disappointment.
Before Faraji could press further, the old hunter turned away. He lifted an arm and whistled a haunting note, ordering his people to leave, clearly done with these trespassers.
Gray feared the same and stepped forward. “Wait.”
But Benjie was mistaken. The elder wasn’t whistling for the hunters to leave—he was summoning others.
From the jungle, shadows broke free and stalked into the glow of the headlights. They closed in all around. The beasts approached with heads low, their blunted muzzles bristled with long whiskers. Ears stood stiff and tall, tufted at their tips. A shivering line of hackles rode across short, arched necks, looking more like spines than fur. Dark amber eyes reflected the lights.
Once stopped, the beasts’ backs stood as high as the hunters’ shoulders.
Despite their large size, Benjie recognized the species.
Or at least, what they once were.
He studied them closer to hold back his fear. He focused on picking out other identifying features.
The striped fur helped firm his classification. Only these beasts’ coats shimmered in a way that challenged the eye, as if those markings sought to blend the animals back into their surroundings. It was no wonder the pack’s presence had gone unnoticed until now. In the jungle, they would be more shadow than substance.
“Fisi ndogo,” Faraji whispered, also identifying the animals, even in their altered state, using the Bantu word.
Gray glanced over to Faraji, then to Benjie.
“Proteles cristata,” Benjie explained. “Aardwolves.”