Faraji pointed down into the pond. “Utetezi . . .”
Benjie frowned. He had a nearly eidetic memory, which had allowed him to fill his head with so many facts from his years of studies. Still, it took him a moment to recognize the Bantu word. He had only heard it a couple times, back in the lab at the University of Kisangani. Utetezi meant “protection.” Faraji had used it in context to the vials of powder his shaman had deployed back at the U.N. camp.
Benjie flashed back to the frantic night of their escape, of the ambush by the baboons. He pictured Woko Bosh spinning in place, casting the fine dust toward the beasts, driving them off.
Time slowed as he focused on that moment.
The powder in the air . . .
Benjie stared down at the pond. It had been the same rusty yellow hue. He grabbed Faraji’s shoulder and called for the others to come back. They looked none too happy but obliged. Too anxious to wait, Benjie rushed to meet them near the end of the bridge.
He pointed back at the pond and shared what both he and Faraji suspected. “The mold,” he gasped out. “Or maybe something else in the water. I think this is the source of Woko Bosh’s warding powder. They must have distilled it from a pond like this.”
Gray looked at Tyende. “Is that true? Did Sheppard get it from here?”
“Molimbo’s people gave it to him as a gift, to protect him on his journey back home.” Tyende set off again, encouraging them to follow. “But, yes, it came from these ponds.”
“Still, it’s not a cure, right?” Gray asked. “Only a means to ward off the infected.”
Tyende bowed his head, admitting as much, but he would say no more.
Benji kept next to Gray as they continued. He briefly shared what he also found at the bottom of the pond. “It’s all got to be connected. The fungal hyphae network, this massive clonal complex of primitive trees. And now we know the forest is capable of distilling a counteractant to that virus. If that’s true . . .”
He quailed at the thought.
Gray forced him to voice it aloud. Benjie sensed the man had already come to the same conclusion, maybe even before he had. “Go on,” Gray urged.
Benjie passed another tree. The large cysts along its trunk smoked into air.
“The forest isn’t infected by the virus,” Benjie said. “It’s the source.”
Gray nodded with a grim set to his lips. He set a harder pace for them, clearly sensing time was running short.
Benjie understood.
We could all be infected by now.
The road approached a towering boulder with a slanted top. The rock was larger than a two-story house, covered in moss and mushrooms, scribed in lichen elsewhere. A single tree had taken root atop its skewed surface. It was a sapling, its trunk no wider than Benjie’s forearm. Most of its roots had burrowed into the thin mulch, but a few were exposed. Some of the rhizomes at the higher edge shifted and dug, as if the tree were struggling to keep its foothold. Lower down, other roots extended past the base of the boulder and vanished, likely to join the greater body hidden below.
Benjie studied this effort, remembering how mushrooms had laid the foundation for plants to move onto land. The tableau atop the boulder looked like a microcosm of that first colonization.
As they continued around the rock, a tall hill could be seen rising behind it. Though only the crowns of the trees atop it were visible, marking a more successful colonization of those heights.
Gray led them to the far side of the boulder and drew to a hard stop. Benjie almost bumped into him and quickly scooted past—only to stumble back in shock.
He instantly recognized his mistake.
It wasn’t a hill hidden behind the boulder—but a single massive tree.
Kowalski swore at the sheer size of it.
Faraji gasped.
The dozen treetops Benjie had spotted a moment ago actually made up the crown of the single beast, which arched hundreds of feet high. Its trunk alone was twenty meters wide, all scarred and gnarled. The upper sections were pale, like the rest of the forest, but it grew darker down below, turning black at the base, as if petrified by age, yet still living.
It sat amidst an acre-wide apron of gnarled and spiked roots. Some were as thick around as Kowalski’s chest. The tangled mass rose in nodules and knots to encircle it completely, rising at least twenty feet all around.
Benjie found his voice. “It’s . . . it’s the mother tree.”
8:58 A.M.
He’s gotta be right . . .
Gray gaped at the enormity of the massive tree, his mind struggling with the sheer size of it. Here was the heart of the entire forest, ancient and eternal, something that had survived for millennia, maybe epochs of time.
He sensed it wasn’t just a mother tree that rooted here.
But Nature herself.
Tyende had another name. “Here stands your judge. She will decide if you’re worthy.”
Tyende led them forward again. Dragged in his wake, they followed down the last of the road. As they approached, the tree filled the world ahead. Its ring of spiked roots looked sculpted of solid ebony, appearing more stone-like than wood. Once they drew closer, veins of silver could be seen streaking across the black surface.
Tyende stopped before the barricade. The road could be seen continuing, coursing under that tangle. They would have to crawl from here. No one looked willing to do so, not with all those daggered spikes lining the narrow path. Despite the petrified appearance to the roots, the mass creaked and groaned ahead of them.
It’s still alive. It knows we’re here.
Gray pictured the other woodland tunnel closing up behind them when they first entered this grove.
If that happened here, while we’re still in there . . .
Kowalski scowled at Tyende. “You want us to go scooting through there. Do I look like a goddamned pygmy?”
Tyende waited, stating simply, “You will be tested.”
Benjie edged closer, cocking his head, studying the roots. “Hmm . . .”
“What is it?” Gray asked.
The biologist stepped back. He twisted and squirmed, finally freeing something from the side pocket of his cargo pants. He held it aloft. It was the ndop figurine, carved in the likeness of William Sheppard. Benjie still had it after showing it to Molimbo last night.
Benjie lifted it toward a curve of root. He glanced back with an eyebrow raised. Gray saw it now, too. The ebony carving was veined in silver, matching the root.
Gray turned to Tyende. “It’s the same wood.”
The old man nodded. “Another gift from Molimbo. It is a rare honor for them to share even such a small part of Her with another. A sign of how much they revered Reverend Sheppard. He saved many of their lives.”
Gray hoped his team would be found equally worthy. He stared past the threatening circle of roots to the vast crown of leaves. There was only one way to find out.
Tyende pointed his staff toward the passage. “It is time.”
Gray accepted this. He shifted forward and dropped to all fours. “I’ll go first.”
No one objected.
Gray moved the sling of his weapon to his chest and crawled into the tunnel. He kept low, shimmying and sliding to avoid those spikes. Still, there was no escaping all of them. They poked everywhere. It was like squeezing through a broken glass bottle. Spines nicked him: on the shoulder, the crown of his head, along one cheek. He flinched each time, not from the pain, but from the fear of what those spikes might be harboring.
The others fared no better. Squeaks and gasps and a litany of curses rose behind him as the team followed. Gray expected those fangs to close on them at any moment. He scrambled faster, earning more cuts and stabs. The length of the tunnel seemed interminable, though in reality, it was only fifty or sixty yards.