Dawn came up in streaks and slashes over the rough edge of the thatched roof. Lying with the others near the communal fire, Michael kept his head low so as not to attract attention from the warriors who had been milling about since sunrise.
His companions lay scattered around the fire like rag dolls. Several of the men had groaned and moaned in the night, helpless to ease the pain of blisters left by the stinging vines, but the women hadn’t slept much better. Michael had awakened several times when Caitlyn cried out in a nightmare, but the sound of Alexandra’s patient shushing eased both Caitlyn and Michael back to sleep.
The tension of the previous day had eased when Delmar told the shaman they would agree to leave one of their women in his village while they transported his wife to the people of the Keyba, also known as the Tree People. They would then bring the shaman’s woman back, and they expected to receive their woman in return.
Michael had studied the shaman while Delmar labored to stitch words together and convey his message. Something brutal creased the shaman’s mouth; something feral lurked in his eyes. When Delmar asked why the shaman and his men did not transport the sick woman themselves, the medicine man replied that too much blood had flowed in wars between the two villages. His people hated the people of Keyba Village, and the people of that village had reason to fear the Angry People. So they could not approach on their own, but the people of the keyba would surely accept the nabas . . .
Michael had no trouble believing that the two tribes had been involved in bloody and brutal skirmishes; after all, Ya-ree had died from such an encounter. What surprised him was the discovery that they did not reserve their cruelty for outsiders. The warriors, most of whom came only to Michael’s upper arm, thought nothing of clubbing anyone whose attitude they did not like, including their own wives. This morning one of the native women had paused by the fire to stare at the prisoners and a moment later her husband clubbed her on the side of the head. Bleeding from the ear, she huddled like a mouse in the small enclosure where her children slept.
No wonder they were experiencing a shortage of women. They treated their wives like dogs.
Since their arrival, however, no one had struck the captives. After Delmar spoke to the shaman, a pair of warriors stepped forward to cut away the stinging vines that bound the men. Women brought gourds of murky, warm water to ease their thirst.
With the expert eyes of a physician, Michael realized that most of the people were starving. Though they had eaten meat last night, he wondered how often they met with success in the hunt. Most disturbing was the way they ate—the men partook of the kill first, leaving the leftover portions for their women. Only after the prisoners had been fed (grudging handfuls, but food nonetheless) did the women offer their children a few morsels of meat.
A few of the little ones cried almost incessantly. Most had the bloated belly Michael recognized as a symptom of malnutrition. And the tribe’s population—probably not more than one hundred, with only a dozen or so children—indicated a high infant mortality rate.
He managed a little wave as Emma, who’d been dozing on the ground next to him, pushed herself upright.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. “Are we still here?”
He released a sour laugh. “Sorry, but it wasn’t a bad dream.”
Sighing, she exhaled loudly, then began to roll up her shirtsleeves. “Can you believe this blouse was white when we left?” She pushed a rolled sleeve past her elbow. “Makes you wonder how they can survive in all this dirt, doesn’t it?”
“I wonder how they survive at all.” Michael kept his voice low, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. “The children are malnourished, and the women don’t look at all healthy. Last night they had meat, but I’m wondering how often they have that sort of success in their hunting.”
“Probably not often at all, though the natives are resourceful. If it moves, they’ll eat it. Life in a primitive village is hard, especially one as isolated as this. Look around, Doctor—do you see one knife, even a bit of metal?”
“None.”
“I’ve seen nothing, either. One of the most effective ways to lure a hidden tribe out into the open is to offer them mirrors, knives, machetes. Since these natives have nothing, I’d be surprised if they’ve had any previous contact with civilized people.”
Michael glanced at his belt, thinking of the knife in his pocket.
The anthropologist must have followed his thought. “Keep it hidden, Doctor. Tribal wars have been fought over lesser things.” She glanced across the fire, where Delmar sat with his back to them, attempting to talk to the shaman.
Emma inclined her head toward the guide. “What’s he up to?”
Michael shrugged. “I have no idea. But he’s been murmuring to the shaman since sunrise.”
“I wish I could understand this language better. It’s similar to Yagua, but not close enough for me to pick up more than the odd word or two. I would love to learn more about them.” Emma’s voice held a wistful note, and at the sound of it, Alexandra lifted her head. Her wrinkled cheek bore the imprint of her hand, but the eyes flashing toward the anthropologist weren’t at all sleepy.
“Don’t tell me you admire these people.”
“Of course I do.” Emma waved toward a mother nursing her child. “They lead such simple lives, and they are in touch with nature in a way you and I will never be.”
Flames lit Alexandra’s brown eyes. “Don’t give me that noble savage claptrap. You can’t seriously believe these people are better off here than in a civilized settlement.”
Emma’s jaw lifted defensively. “Your prejudices are showing, Alex. That shaman over there can probably list ten medicinal uses for every plant within fifty miles of this dwelling. Isn’t that why you’re here? To discover what he already knows?”
“If these people are so clever,” Alexandra countered, sitting up, “then why have they not bettered themselves beyond this stage? Why did they stop learning?”
The anthropologist’s graceful brows lifted, then she stood and brushed dirt from her trousers. “Excuse me.” She turned toward the entrance of the shabono. “I feel a sudden need for fresh air.”