chapter 37

the Haunted

“Enter!”

Cautiously, they stepped over the threshold into the dim room. The door suddenly slammed shut; a rusty bolt groaned into place. Dark figures behind them blocked escape.

The only source of light in the large room came from a small fire in the far corner.

A gauze curtain concealed the speaker, only his outline visible in the dim light. “Your lives are forfeit.” The casual verdict made their blood run cold. Surprisingly, the words were spoken in English with a Manchester accent.

“Can I not beg you to consider otherwise?” William entreated, feeling there must be a human connection possible, especially with a fellow Englishman.

Nate was about to say something when William caught his eye. The British officer shook his head slightly from side to side. He pleaded with the concealed shape, “We ask leave only to pass through your land.”

“Through to where?” A coarse barking sort of noise that could have been laughter came from the shrouded figure. “There is nothing after our land.”

Becoming slowly accustomed to the gloom, they could detect many more beings in the shadows of the large room. An audible shuffling filled the space as the figures closed in on them. William glimpsed a handless specter, another shuffled on stumps, and yet another hobbled on a crutch. What manner of beings were these?

“We journey to the Sacred Land,” William said.

“The Sacred Land? Well then, my English friend, surely you are already doomed. We’ll do you a favor and end your suffering here and now and take your miserable possessions for ourselves. I like the dog.” Pax lay near William, resting on his front paws, watching.

A large man angled into position behind William and Nate. With a full black beard, swarthy face, and fierce, closely set eyes, half his head covered in a stained turban, he held a pistol in one hand and a long curved sword in the other, the likes of which neither man had ever seen before.

Nate shifted uneasily. The Brit had better get this right or, he felt, their remaining time on earth was going to be quite short.

William measured his words carefully, his voice wavering. “My guide and I beg your pardon and your leave. We only entered your land in the most dire need, to avoid the pursuit of a Spaniard, most likely an inquisitor, who endeavors to prevent us from acquiring the black orchid.” The loud mutterings from the shadows chilled William to the bone.

“The flower we seek not for ourselves, or for fortune, but as the cure for a mysterious sickness which afflicts my daughter, the same strange sickness that took my wife’s life. Your consideration and your kindness in this are requested.”

The shrouded figure sat unmoving. After several moments, the apparition slowly retreated into the shadows to confer with a knot of figures. Nate shot William a curious glance.

Their muted conversation ended, and the man moved back to the curtain.

“Inquisitor, you say? We await the arrival of any inquisitor here and, indeed, would welcome him with open arms.” The vestige of a laugh accompanied the next uttering, “Those of us with arms. An inquisitor would make such delicious entertainment.” With this, the silhouette cast aside the shroud.

Clearly visible in the candlelight, his lipless mouth and rotting gums stretched wide in a mirthless grin below a flat orifice where there once had been a nose. The man announced, “I am Adam.”

The hairs rose on the back of Nate’s neck.

William had guessed correctly.

Lepers.

“Come. Sit with me.”

William took the spare chair at the table, while Nate remained standing. Pax followed and planted himself at William’s feet.

Aside from the damage of the disease, working in the tropical sun had also taken an obvious toll on the man—his eyes betrayed his youth, but his skin was like leather jerky, and the hours spent in the fields had bowed his back.

A heavily bandaged man materialized out of the shadows and slid a platter onto the table. Tarnished black, the once-silver plate held a loaf of bread. With a hand missing several digits, Adam placed a battered tin cup in front of the Englishman and filled it with rose liquid from a jug. He poured some for himself.

Nate watched expectantly, wanting to hold his breath in the close atmosphere, but anxious of betraying any sign of revulsion. This was a test William must pass, and pass well, or they were dead men.

“Your health,” the leper said ironically, taking a deep swig.

“To you and yours,” the British officer responded, followed by a long draft. But he had not expected the smooth taste of fine wine and the surprise showed on his face.

“Better than you imagined, eh?” the leper captain said, scrutinizing William’s every reaction.

William seized the loaf, pulled off a chunk, and promptly put the leper’s bread into his mouth. It was still warm—the best bread he’d had in a long time. Nate was appalled, barely able to hide his shock.

The leper nodded slowly, his eyes riveted on the chewing Englishman. There was a noticeable lessening of the tension that had charged the room.

“I’m sorry we can’t repay your hospitality,” William said, removing another chunk of bread, “but we were deprived of much when we lost our donkey, including some very good tea.”

“We know. Little escapes our notice here.”

“Who are you?” William asked.

The leper leader considered for a moment. “You say you are searching for the black orchid for your daughter. She has a terrible sickness. This”—he stretched his arms out—“we can understand.” This was met with a chorus of agreement. “Also, you don’t fear our disease. You are foolish in your ignorance but are lucky. Those who prepared your wine and bread are not contagious.

“As for who I am: I am no one, abandoned by the captain of an English whaling ship, left for dead when they discovered I had the sickness. Marooned and forgotten”—he waved his arm around the room inclusively—“like most of us here.” Throughout the room the lepers pounded their feet, swords, and pikes.

Adam shouted over the din, “We are a league of nations, English, Portuguese, Spanish, French, Indians, slaves, Chinese, and many others, bound by an incurable affliction.” He waited for the noise to subside. “This valley is our world. Because we have been expecting you, this room tonight is filled with the clan leaders. This committee will decide your fate.”

The leper washed down his bread with wine. “Had you been a soldier, a slave hunter, or a priest, you would be begging to die right now, or already be in hell with your brothers.” He spread his ravaged hands in appeal. “You must understand, my people are not cutthroats.” The gruesome grin reappeared. “Well, not all my people. We kill those who trespass as a precaution. We must remain unknown and feared. It is our only protection.

“We toil in the heat to grow whatever we can, but we also depend heavily on what fate sends our way. Soldiers, the rich, and any others we deem worthy of waylaying”—bitter laughter filled the room—“help us survive. That is the only time we leave the valley. We cannot let anyone remain alive once they have seen us, or in fear, they would come back with others and hunt us down.”

He drank deeply again, and continued, “But you are special. You do not come seeking fortune, but arrive in need, to help another. To cure a sickness.” A quiet murmur rippled through the room. “That, as I said, we understand. We ourselves have attempted many times to gain the Sacred Land to obtain the flower. None have ever returned.”

“If we let you live and allow you to pass”—Adam leaned across the table—“you must never breathe a word of our existence to anyone. And all we ask in return is that if you find the orchid and survive, you must promise to somehow get the plant to us, if at all possible.”

William looked at Nate, who nodded ever so slightly. “I give you my word.” As if we have a choice.

“Swear on your daughter’s life that you will do your best, should you survive.”

“As a fellow Englishman, I swear on my daughter’s life that should I be successful in getting the black orchid, I will do all in my power to get the plant into your hands, by whatever means necessary.”

“Then we have a deal, my fellow Englishman,” he said with a trace of sarcasm, “and you may pass through our land. But start in the morning, when the storm’s passed, if you can endure a night under a leper’s roof.”

Several candles were lit, but the room remained in shadow, most likely by intention. Plain but clean food was brought. Many did not suffer themselves to be seen, but guttered out the door, some disappearing through the back exit.

Of the men who remained, the most memorable was the bearded one, over a head taller than either Nate or William. He introduced himself as Ajeet, a highly educated sailor, first mate on an East India Company Indiaman, pressed into service on a British warship after the Isle de France invasion almost a decade before. After escaping, he spent several years sailing on Yankee whaling vessels until being stranded on the coast of Peru once his disease was discovered. Although his hands were unscarred, he wore a turban to cover his decayed ears and scalp and walked with a slight limp. The manner in which he twirled his scimitar suggested he was well familiar with its use.

Mesmerized with the big dog, Ajeet fed Pax and gave him a drink. Pax in turn was as gentle with his hosts as he was menacing to jaguars.

There was little evidence of the violent storm of the previous night. From the knoll the cabin was perched on, they would have been able to see down the entire length of the valley if the far end had not been obscured by a yellowish-green haze.

“Before you depart us,” Adam said, “there is a man here you must speak with. He’s been to the Big River.” He signaled, and a man reluctantly shuffled forward. “John, tell these men what you’ve seen.”

The disease was advanced in the man, and he spoke weakly in English with a slight Scots accent. “Once you leave the valley, take the jungle path toward the rising sun. You’ll come to the remains of the Inca path on the second day. Take it and pass over several gorges before ascending to the last high plateau.” A fit of coughing seized him and racked his body with its spasms. The attack passed momentarily, and he continued, speaking through a bloody rag held to his mouth. “Travel for several days more on the high path to the east until you reach the Jaws of Death. Descend through there. That’s the only way down to the Amazon.” This was followed by another outburst of coughing into the bloody rag.

When he quieted, the ruined man gathered his strength to give a last bit of advice. “There’s a fair chance you’ll meet the Jivaro. Either they’ll trade for a canoe, or they’ll take your heads.” John held up a withered hand. “Ask me no questions,” he implored tiredly, “and tell no one you met me here.” He shuffled slowly back to be consumed by the shadows. A last weak caution percolated from the darkness: “Remember: The Jaws are the only way into the Amazon.”

As a farewell present, the British officer gave his sole spare shirt to Adam, and Nate gave his dragon pistol to a companion of Ajeet, a Frenchman named Philippe. The Frenchman, who kept his face hidden behind a mask, had casually remarked on the weapon, and the American gave it to him without hesitation.

The leper chief offered some parting advice of his own. Adam addressed Nate, his voice edged with an ominous tone. “Guide. A last caution. Avoid the low-lying areas further down our valley. The valley floor there is littered with the bones of trespassers and animals. And keep up your pace, you must leave the valley well before nightfall if you wish to leave at all.”

Nate and William journeyed through the valley all morning, past cabins and fields of livestock, a fresh western wind at their backs. Although they never saw another person, the feeling they were being closely watched was always present.

“How did you guess they were lepers?” Nate asked.

“In Spain, our unit chanced across an isolated colony,” William said. “Hard to forget.”

“Clever story too, about your daughter.”

William didn’t bother answering. The American wouldn’t understand anyway.

Around noontime the path entered a dark wood. The sun disappeared behind a ceiling of low gray clouds, extending the impression of traveling through a confined room. It was quiet except for the crows cawing in the treetops and the intermittent muffled cry of some distant, unidentifiable creature. There was no longer any sign of human habitation in the seemingly endless valley.

Most of the way so far had been generally level or slightly ascending. But after a while they had the distinct impression of drifting downward. William was mystified by the lack of orchids or any flowering plants in the strange forest. The fresh western breeze slowly faded, replaced with a clawing wet fog accompanied by an acrid odor.

It was near midafternoon when the American’s eyes drooped, and he spoke, his speech slightly slurred, as if unnaturally weary. “We’ve been descending for much longer than I’d like,” he said, “and that stink is growing with every step forward. It’s nearly choking me.” He could no longer blink away the narrowing of his vision, and a dull ache filled his chest.

Behind Nate in the tiresome grayness, the throbbing in William’s brain had grown almost intolerable. They were suffocating in the strange rancid fog. But how could such a thing be true?

The American was about to say something, when a bloodcurdling wail rent the air, the unnerving drawn-out cry originating from deep in the gloom of the lower dell. The strange fog seemed to thicken and fold about them.

“This way, quick, there’s no time to waste,” William ordered as he rushed to a small clearing on a hillock to the left side of the path. In his haste to follow, Nate tripped.

At first, he thought he had fallen on dry branches. But struggling to stand, he realized his hands were caught in the broken bones and twisted spine of a rotting corpse; the partially decayed rib cage had broken his fall. This close to the ground, he could see many more bones, including human skulls, scattered about.

“No time to get acquainted with your friend, Bidwell, they’re coming,” William said grimly, spotting movement through the fog. He helped the light-headed American off the ground.

A strange muted clicking and scratching came from the murky shroud surrounding them, like the sound of a thousand claws on a hard, polished surface. The noise spread in every direction.

They stood on top of the small rise and faced out toward the encircling gray mist, the Brit standing back-to-back with the American.

“Balls, Gunn. You may be willing to die for this noble mission you’re on, but frankly, I’d trust you more if you were in this for the money.”

William merely grunted as he steadied the rifle on the shadows dancing in front of them, his sword unsheathed on his belt. Nate held the blunderbuss ready with numb fingers. Next to them stood Jenny and Pax, prepared for battle.

“In the trees,” Nate said, steadying himself against the mule, his head swimming.

Above them, pairs of yellow eyes glowered, their eerie gleam penetrating the fog. Shapes moved through the foliage, hissing through terrible jaws.

Pax bristled, teeth bared in a challenging growl.

William said, “They’re behind us as well.” He shook his head, trying to clear it.

“We’re surrounded,” Nate said, raising the blunderbuss for the onslaught.

In the darkness, the creatures fell upon them.