“What happened here?” Benjie asked.
“The Reverend Sheppard believed we’re looking at all that’s left of Prester John’s kingdom. I’ve had long conversations with Molimbo. The kingdom had fallen into ruin before he was born, but the tribe carries forward stories of that time. I’ve tried to piece together that history. As best I can tell, some six or seven centuries ago the kingdom was overtaken by interlopers, who came with crossbows and lances and war hammers.”
Tyende swept his staff toward the forest. “I’ve found a few metal bolts, broken pikes, and rusted chainmail, confirming such a story. From sigils on the armor, I’m guessing they were Portuguese conquerors, who came searching for Prester John’s gold.”
Gray remembered Father Bailey’s story of a group of Portuguese explorers from the fifteenth century who had returned from Africa, claiming to have discovered Prester John’s kingdom. Maybe they had, but clearly only a few of them had made it back.
Tyende frowned at the spread of bone. “But it wasn’t just the kingdom that the Portuguese discovered here, what they had to contend with. They woke what had been slumbering for ages. They tried to take what was not offered and were punished for it. For such an affront, they were afflicted with the disease that threatens now, falling into a deadly lassitude.”
Gray tried to picture those forces succumbing to such an illness.
No wonder those Portuguese explorers never came back.
Tyende continued, “Still, the damage was done. The kingdom was so decimated that it never recovered.”
Benjie nodded to Molimbo. “What about them?”
“Ah, his people have lived in this valley for thousands of years. Long before Prester John. They taught that future king and his people how to live in harmony here. Even gifting Prester John with his first aardwolf. And after the kingdom fell—as all empires do—Molimbo’s people abided, carrying on as they’ve always done.”
Tyende smiled sadly at the old hunter. “I’ve come to believe that it is here, in this valley, that the pygmy people originated. Possibly they were forged by Her, gifted by Her graces, until eventually tribes and families spread outward, forgetting where they had come from.”
Gray pictured the jackals, the other altered animals. Had the people here been equally changed, manipulated at the genetic level? Could that explain the claims of extreme longevity, their resistance to the disease? Questions tumbled through his mind, but one remained foremost.
“Tyende, who are you talking about?” Gray asked. “Who do you think forged them?”
Tyende appeared deaf to his question and headed toward the city. Molimbo and his hunters didn’t follow. “There is one more bit of history you should know.”
Gray hurried to catch up. “What history?”
Tyende glanced over. “My own.”
They crossed toward the edge of the firelit city. The heat grew intense. The brightness stung the eye. Finally, Tyende drew them off of the cobbled path. They waded through fields of mushrooms.
Kowalski brushed a puffball, and it blasted a powdery fluff around him. He choked and spit and stumbled away. “That better not be poisonous.”
Benjie studied the growth more closely as he passed it.
Kowalski looked to the biologist for reassurance, but Benjie straightened with a shrug, clearly failing to identify it.
Kowalski stalked away with a scowl. “This jungle seems determined to kill me.”
Tyende led them a short distance, then stopped, leaning heavily on his staff. A group of bodies lay sprawled all around, half-buried in the loam. They looked mummified, with mushrooms growing from their corpses. This set of remains was clearly a newer addition to this boneyard. One body still had a spear jammed through its chest.
“Who are they?” Gray asked.
Tyende lifted and pointed his staff at one mummified corpse, then the next. “Collard and Remy. Two Belgian colonists. They came here looking for gold but found only death.” He moved his staff to another body. The corpse’s mouth gaped open, showing teeth filed to points. “This is Nzare, brother to the cannibal Mlumba, head of the Zappo Zaps who wiped out many villages.”
Tyende turned to Gray. “The Reverend Sheppard came searching for the Belgian colonists.”
“Is that how he discovered this valley?” Gray asked.
“Yes, but he came too late. Days late. The colonists arrived with twenty men, armed with rifles and axes. They slaughtered many of Molimbo’s tribe, along with dozens of their bonded fisi nyongo. Once again, She lashed out in fury, driving them into a poisonous slumber.”
“Like with the Portuguese,” Gray said, reminded that history is too prone to repeating itself.
“When Sheppard and our group arrived, the others were already as you see them. Weak and dying.”
Gray noted one piece of this morbid tableaux that did not match Tyende’s story. “And the spear impaled in that body?”
Tyende stared down at one of his palms. “I was furious. The valley ran with blood. The cries of the dying echoed. I had heard that song too many times, in too many villages. So many had been slain, slaughtered, brutalized. And many of those deaths were ordered by one man’s tongue.”
Gray stared at the body. He noted the rifle buried in the growth, a knotted bullwhip coiled on a hip. “Who is he?”
“Captain Deprez. He led the Belgian contingent in his region. He drove the Zappo Zaps to kill and feast on our bodies. He himself beat many of my tribesmen, whipping them to death by his own hand. Often laughing as he did so.”
“So, you killed him,” Gray said.
“I could not stop myself. Though the captain’s eyes were glazed, I wanted him to see who took his life. To know it was the son of the Kuba king.”
Faraji glanced hard at Tyende, his eyes wide with shock. “You . . . you are son of Kot aMweeky, king of Sheppard’s time.”
Tyende bowed his head, one hand rising to the circlet. “A son who now rules an empty kingdom.”
Gray remembered Tyende’s earlier assertion concerning why he stayed here. “Your penance . . .”
“The Reverend Sheppard was angry, disappointed. I stole a life that was not mine to take. Death was already coming for the captain, yet I still killed him. Sheppard said it was a mortal sin—and maybe our group was punished for it. Or maybe the sickness was still in the air.”
“You all became infected, too,” Benjie said.
“We would’ve died, except Sheppard interceded. The reverend sought absolution for the crimes committed here. The purity of his heart was found worthy of salvation. We were saved.”
“You were given a cure?” Gray asked, hope spiking through him.
“She was merciful. Afterward, the Reverend Sheppard tasked me to remain here, to be ready if the world ever needed salvation again. I was left as a sentinel and guardian. Molimbo’s people honored this duty, especially as Sheppard had treated and saved many of those wounded by Deprez’s men. Likewise, She accepted me, too, granting me the years until I was needed again.”
Gray had his fill of the history lesson. If there was a cure here, he knew who held it. “Enough,” he said curtly. “Who exactly are you talking about?”
Tyende turned his back on the golden city, the firelight already fading as the fuel was used up. He headed away, while pointing back to the trail. “She awaits you,” he said. “Only She can judge you worthy from here.”
8:17 A.M.
Benjie trotted along the cobbled path to keep up with the party. Tyende had reached the crossroads and took the other fork. It led deeper, toward the heart of the valley. The way grew darker, or maybe it was only his own misgivings that made it seem that way.
Still, as they continued, a glow slowly rose ahead of them, silhouetting the huge boles of the trees into dark columns that held up the canopy. The crown of the forest climbed higher as the woods grew taller.