Gradually, the towers of Ginen shrunk to a speck on the horizon. The expedition party was now alone in the vast expanse of unspoiled dunes and water - although not quite alone. Carlos thought he saw someone off in the distance, watching them. A second figure materialized through the heat waves, followed by a dozen others. The dune ahead was soon crowded with them: tall, stationary figures looming dark against the sky. As the expedition party drew closer, however, Carlos saw that they were not people at all, but wooden columns sticking vertically out of the sand like telephone poles stripped of their wires. And there were thousands of them.
“The drift forest,” Moro said. “We make camp there tonight.”
They entered the forest of driftwood, hiking through a surreal landscape that Carlos realized must stretch for miles.
“Where does the wood come from?” he asked, prying at a salt-worn splinter.
“From the sea,” Moro answered as if this was this were obvious. “The forest is home to angry lwa, the petra. The baka don’t like to come here. So we should be safe.” He lowered his voice. “But I hope they do come. I have a debt to settle.”
“Killing them won’t bring back her back.”
“But we’ll be even,” Moro said, his eyes tearing up. Carlos wished Henry were here. His friend was an excellent grief counselor – a fact he knew from first hand experience.
“You should talk to Henry when we get back. He can help you work things out.”
Ayzili scoffed and began rummaging through her pack. “Yes, and make you feel guilty for years.”
“What’ve you got against him?”
“He’s a priest. Need I a better reason?” She looked up from the pack, her dark hair whisking to one side.
“The Jellyman’s a priest, and you’re friends with him.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
Ayzili scrunched up her eyes. She didn’t have an answer, and Carlos knew he’d better change the subject. He suspected that Henry reminded Ayzili of her late husband, but he didn’t dare ask for details. This was bottled up deep inside her. Best to leave those emotions alone.
Instead he remarked, “I noticed we didn’t pack a tent, I mean a tapo. I’m guessing that’s to make room for the poison. So, we just sleep out here in the open?”
“No, there’s a place we use.” After consulting a tiny compass, she pointed ahead through the timbers. “We must hurry, before the tide rises.”
The group soon made their way to a section of the forest where the driftwood poles clustered together in tight formations. Carlos noticed a rusted dagger protruding from one of the timbers. He tried to remove it, but the metal disintegrated in his hands.
“This is where we camp,” Moro said.
“Why here?” All Carlos saw was the endless forest of poles. With a mischievous grin, Ayzili grabbed his chin and tilted his head skyward. Carlos couldn’t believe his eyes.
“What is that, a tree house?” An elaborate spider web of platforms and bridges hung above him, all built upon the towering driftwood.
“This used to be a village, before the baka came. Now it belongs to the dead,” Moro explained. “This way.” He motioned to a thick pole notched every few feet. The group had already begun ascending this crude ladder towards a wide platform and opened walled hut. Here, the men unloaded their packs.
“Welcome to the Village of Ghede,” Moro said, once they’d reassembled at the top. Carlos took a moment to take in his surroundings, a maze of derelict bridges and huts that stretched over at least three acres. From the rotting timbers, he guessed the village had been abandoned for some time. It would be a safe place to camp, at least from the baka. He turned his attention back to the group, wondering which of them was the traitor. Tonight he would check the sandals and be sure. “Watch your step. The tide’s rising,” Moro cautioned them.
“What did he mean by that?” Carlos asked Ayzili, as soon as he’d passed out of earshot. She pointed below. Following her gaze, he was shocked to see ocean waves already lapping at the base of the poles.
“Wow. That’s fast.”
“The tides are very powerful here. They’ll keep us safe for the night.”
“The lwa will keep us safe, not the waters,” said a scruffy looking man with very few teeth.
“Like they did the villagers of this place?” Ayzili countered and the man fell silent. “Come,” she said to Carlos. “I know the best place to lay our mats.”
She led him across several bridges to a lone platform that commanded a wide view of the incoming tide. A thatched roof provided some cover and she hung a paper lantern by one of its rafters. Across the village, Carlos could see that others were doing the same. Throughout the village, misty halos of light began to emerge.
“Looks like a fog’s moving in,” he said.
“My grandfather called it the breath of the lwa.”
“Then they’ve got halitosis,” Carlos joked. Indeed, the fog was rolling in thick. Soon, they couldn’t see beyond the bridge that connected their platform. Carlos had a strange sense of déjà vu. He’s seen this before – the wooden pathway leading off to a small hut. It was exactly like the pier behind Mambo’s grocery, the one that led to her secret storehouse. Has she been here? His stomach interrupted his thoughts.
“I’m famished,” he said. “Want me to start dinner?”
“I’m going to sleep. Don’t chew too loudly.” Ayzili tossed him a hunk of cheese wrapped in cloth. Then she unfastened her sword, spread out her mat, and lay down. Soon her chest rose and fell with each breath, as she drifted off into rhythmic slumber.
“Ugh. This is terrible.” Carlos gnawed on a corner of the cheese. He knocked it against a floorboard to show how hard it was. “I’m going to go see what other people are eating.”
“Better hurry,” she said sleepily. Carlos saw that the lights were fading out one by one through the mist.
“Don’t wait up for me,” he said, but she’d already fallen asleep. Carlos took a deep breath and slapped his face. He needed to be alert now. It was time to find out whose sandal matched the print he’d seen in the sand, the one that belonged to the spy.
* * *
Henry watched as Jell paced the school courtyard anxiously. Tonight they would know for sure how many of Ginen’s quarters they could count as allies. Crux arrived first, although he brought less of an entourage than Henry suspected he might. The tall, skeletal man came accompanied by only three imposing men and his even more imposing wife, Bridgette. Catching Henry’s eye, she smiled unexpectedly. He smiled back, but a shiver went up his spine as he did so. It’s like flirting with a cadaver, he thought. The crowd soon increased, and Henry caught sight of Jasmin surrounded by a large gathering of men and women in elegant robes. Her sister, Iris, was not among them. Jell noticed her absence too, and it showed on his face. However, he couldn’t wait any longer; it was time to get the meeting started.
“Thank you for biding my call tonight,” he began and waited until the voices died down to a murmur. “You’ve heard my plea, so I will not belabor it. The threat is real. The baka have kept us alive as a cat plays with its prey. Now they mean to finish us off. The question is - how are we going to defend ourselves?”
“Our yamala resources are low,” Jasmin said from across the courtyard.
“We’ve already dispatched an expedition to collect more. Once they return, we’ll divide it equally amongst the quarters.”
This earned a disgusted snort from Crux. “Who will decide what’s equal?”
Before Jell could respond, he was interrupted by a commotion in the back of the crowd. A young member of his congregation pushed forward and rested his hand on a lemon tree to catch his breath.
“It’s Riyal,” he said.
“What about Riyal?” Jell asked with trepidation in his voice.
“The city guard found his staff and robes. They think he’s been murdered.”
“What? That can’t be?” Jell staggered as if he’d been physically struck.
“His robes were soaked in blood.”
Immediately the courtyard erupted into chaos as everyone started speaking at once. Accusations flew against the high priesthood and guards. Many people clamored for revenge. But Jell couldn’t find his voice. He backed onto the bench next to Henry, his head cradled in his hands.
“He can’t be dead.”
Henry patted his shoulder. Until now, he never realized what Riyal meant to Jell. The large priest was acting like he’d just lost his father.
“He may still be alive,” Henry said. Jell looked to the night sky as if the answers lay there.
“Without him, we are lost.”
Henry had comforted many of his congregation during times of sorrow and knew the best thing to say was often nothing at all. So he remained silent and began unwrapping the strange gift that Riyal had given him. It appeared to be some type of bottle, thickly entwined in ribbon.
Jell looked over. “What are you doing?
“Unwrapping Riyal’s gift.”
“You don’t unwrap a Congo packet. It’ll loose its power.” But it was too late; Henry let the last bit of ribbon fall to the side. What remained was a tiny glass bottle with a cork stopper. But that’s not what caught Henry’s eye. Inside the glass glinted a shiny object – a key.
“Hide it,” Jell said immediately. “Show no one.”
“He knew I’d unwrap this.”
Jell nodded. Seeing the key had awoken him from his stupor. He stood up and walked to the center of the arguing crowd.
“People. Calm down. They want us to panic.” His voice boomed throughout the courtyard. “There’s no telling if Riyal is dead or alive. And we’ve no proof who might’ve harmed him.” Henry was glad to see that Jell wasn’t dwelling on Riyal’s fate. They couldn’t allow themselves to be paralyzed with fear. “We’re at war,” he continued, “and need to focus on what we can do now. There’s not much time. First, we’ll need a defense force…”
Crux pried himself off the wall and gave the crowd a crooked grin. “I’ll handle that. I’ve seen my share of the battlefield. Send me your best men.” His wife kicked him in the shins. “…and women. I can train them.”
“We’ll need weapons.”
“We can provide that,” Jasmin spoke firmly. “Our craftsmen will make the necessary spears and swords. But we’ll need yamala. Without it, our weapons are useless.”
“Then let us hope the expedition is successful.” Jell scanned the room with renewed confidence.