Alex’s cheeks burned under the pressure of dozens of pairs of eyes. After greeting her at the base of the kapok, Michael had escorted her into the shabono, where he approached the shaman’s enclosure and spoke to the shaman’s son. Delmar had approached, his eyes narrowed, and though the sight of him sent ghost spiders crawling along the back of Alex’s neck, she said nothing as he translated Michael’s horrible news.
The old shaman was dead. His body rested in the keyba.
The shaman’s son issued orders; a few moments later several men approached the tree with climbing ropes. Alex, Emma, and Caitlyn joined the quiet villagers who waited while the men scaled the tree, then lowered the old man’s lifeless body by means of a twisted vine.
The shaman’s body now lay next to the fire, where weeping women were bathing the corpse and preparing it for burial. The men of the tribe sat in a circle around the women while the shaman’s son sat in the place his father had once occupied.
Unfortunately, Delmar sat at his right hand. When the tracker looked directly at Alex for the first time that morning, hatred flickered in his eyes like heat lightning.
The shaman’s son sat without speaking, his face stony and blank. Michael had delivered the hard news about the man’s death, now Alex had to provide an explanation.
She stepped forward, distancing herself from her companions, for she alone bore the responsibility for what had happened.
Though she had been perspiring all day in the tropical heat, her hands suddenly felt damper, slick with the cool, sour sweat of fear.
She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and met the young man’s gaze. “Your father,” she said, speaking slowly so Delmar could translate without her having to look at him, “was a very great man. When I was sick, he took pity on me and carried me into the keyba. Though he was strong, the climb was hard, and he had lived many seasons. When I opened my eyes in the healing light this morning, the shaman . . . was dead.”
The younger man closed his eyes, squeezing them so tight his face seemed to collapse on itself. Alex looked away, unable to bear the sight of his forced stoicism. She knew very little about these people, and had no idea how—or if—they would hold her responsible for what had happened.
No longer translating, Delmar continued to whisper into the young man’s ear. The shaman’s son recoiled, then he glanced at Delmar with suspicion in his eyes.
Increasingly uneasy, Alex glanced at Emma. “Can you guess what he’s saying?”
“He didn’t translate accurately.” Caitlyn spoke up, glaring at Delmar. “He said you bewitched the shaman and killed him. He says you have an evil spirit, and everyone knows this. Last night you did not rejoice with the others when they called on Yai Pada Son. He says you went up the keyba to steal the shaman’s life, for you were the one about to die.”
“He lies!” Alex looked around the circle of natives, searching for an ally, but nearly every face mirrored the expression of distrust worn by the shaman’s son.
Alex reached for Caitlyn’s hand. “Speak for me, Cait. Tell them what I said—they have to know what really happened.”
“A child has no right to speak.” Delmar barked the objection, and something like smugness entered his face as he stared at Alex. “You must take her and leave this place at once. We must all go and leave these people in peace.”
Michael stepped to Alex’s side. “We’re not going yet. Let Alexandra have her say.”
Delmar tossed a smirk in Caitlyn’s direction. “Children do not speak in tribal council. And this is only a girl—”
“She is a very gifted young lady.” Michael’s hands fell on Caitlyn’s shoulders. “What do you think she’s been doing during our time here? She’s been learning the language. So if she wants to speak for her mother, I think you should let her.”
Olsson gestured toward Emma. “You speak some Yagua. Can you interpret?”
Slowly, the older woman shook her head. “I don’t pick up things as easily as I used to. But from what I can tell, Caitlyn’s telling the absolute truth.”
“Then it’s settled,” Bancroft growled, crossing his beefy arms as he glared down at Delmar. “Let the kid talk.”
Speaking slowly in her lilting voice, Caitlyn uttered a string of words in the tongue of Keyba Village. The natives looked at one another as she continued, and when their eyes filled with amazement, Alex couldn’t tell if they had been surprised by Caitlyn’s gift with language or with the content of her speech.
When she had finished, the shaman’s son turned to murmur to the native sitting next to him, then he lifted his voice and addressed the gathering.
All noise ceased as a balloon of quiet but intense attention centered on Alex. She looked to Caitlyn for the translation. “He says,” she whispered, “that everyone can see that you now honor Yai Pada. You were sick and now you are well. The Great Spirit of the keyba does not allow one person to steal health from another; that is not his way. He is not like Omawa, who lies and kills.”
Feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, Alex lifted her eyes to address the shaman’s son. “Last night my body was sick, my spirit was dark. I went in the jungle to die. When I could no longer bear the pain, I cried out to Yai Pada Son—” she avoided Delmar’s gaze—“and he came to me in light and warmth.”
She paused, looking around the circle of expectant faces as Caitlyn translated. “After that, your shaman came to me and offered his help. Though my spirit had light, my body was still weak. So your shaman tied me to his back and walked up the tree with me.”
She hesitated as the next words filled her mind. Though they felt undeniably right, they contained a mystery she had not yet begun to understand.
Perhaps she was not meant to understand everything . . . yet. But God had spared her, and she would learn. She had a lifetime to learn.
“Just like Yai Pada,” she continued, “who became a man and died to remove our shame, your shaman carried me to the keyba and gave his life to heal my sickness. Now I am well, and his spirit is with Yai Pada.” She looked at the fire, gazing beyond it into the future. “One day I will see your shaman in Yai Pada’s bright land, and I will honor him for his sacrifice.”
The shaman’s son had not moved during her answer, but at the conclusion of Caitlyn’s translation his chin quivered and his eyes went glassy with tears. Inclining his head in a curt nod, he spoke again. At the conclusion of his speech the warriors turned to pluck bows, arrows, and spears from the walls of the shabono.
Alex drew a deep breath to still her storming heart. “Cait, what are they doing?”
A sly smile curved Caitlyn’s mouth as Alejandro Delmar stood and stalked out of the shabono. “They are preparing to enforce the shaman’s order. He told Delmar to leave at once because he is an enemy of Keyba Village.”
The young shaman’s hazel eyes found and locked on Alex’s. “You speak truth,” he said through Caitlyn’s interpretation, “’because last night the spirit of Yai Pada came to me in a dream. I saw the hawk taking my father’s spirit to the land of Yai Pada. When I awakened, I stepped outside to see the shining men in white guarding the base of the keyba.”
“Shining men?” Alex glanced at Michael. “Are they from some other tribe?”
Smiling, Michael reached out and took her hand. “I’ll explain later.”