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Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

I find it a little hard to adjust to these mood swings. One minute we’re about to be eviscerated by blunt weapons, the next we’re treated like honored guests.

Where are they taking us now? I ask Eko.

To see Kidah, she replies, with an uncharacteristic mix of dread and awe. Or at least what’s left of him.

70

70

I hear running water. The kids pull me around some palm trees, and I see a river spilling down rocks in a small and beautiful waterfall. A dozen huts are built around a clearing near the pool at the bottom of the falls. They look like miniature versions of the longhouses that the American Indians used to build. They have a framework of posts and poles, covered with sheets of bark and palm leaves.

One of the huts is smaller than the rest, with an animal skin for a door. The children lead me to it and then run off. Eko, what is this place?

The spirit home, she says. Part medicine lodge, part holy of holies. Whatever is inside, be respectful.

The old shaman walks up and lifts the skin, and Eko and I bend and enter.

The medicine lodge is dark and smells faintly of incense. As my eyes adjust to the gloom I’m disappointed to note that there are no statues or paintings or masks, just what looks like a fire pit in the middle, with a small hole in the thatch above it for smoke to escape.

Where are the spirits? I ask Eko. Don’t they have totem poles or giant golden idols?

She doesn’t bother to respond. She’s turned away from me, to the darkest wall of the hut. I turn in that direction and hear something, and then I glimpse movement.

Live animals are kept tethered in the far corner of the hut—birds, rodents, snakes, and even giant insects. Maybe they use them for sacrifices.

I step closer, and see that the creatures are all free. They’re not caged or tied up. The birds could fly away. The snakes could slither off. The large butterflies could flitter up through the opening in the thatch.

They don’t. They want to stay here.

And then I see why.

They’re keeping a corpse company. Perched motionless on his still limbs. Fluttering above his bloodless face. As I watch, a gorgeous golden butterfly lands softly on his shock of white hair. Seconds later, a brightly plumed songbird flies in through the opening in the thatched roof. It sings a few melodic notes as it circles the lodge and finally lands at the dead man’s feet.