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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 look down at the placid pool and see that the water bug has made it safely to a floating leaf, and is now sailing along on his own green yacht.

“No, it’s not over,” I tell Eko softly. “I know also. I saw it in a dream.”

75

75

We set out with Kidah in a convoy of fragile canoes. The People of the Forest don’t burn and chisel dugouts from trees for long voyages. They patch together flimsy canoes of bark that last only a few days. I hope that will be long enough.

The members of our expeditionary force are an eclectic bunch—Eko, Jack Danielson, the shaman, two strong young warriors, and the oldest surviving member of the People of the Forest tribe. She’s a bent old woman who looks to be at least a hundred, although she’s probably just in her seventies. She has no teeth, she’s missing three fingers, and she’s blind in one eye. But she’s the key to the whole puzzle.

I had Eko use telepathy to tell the shaman about my out-of-body journey to a wondrous diamond-shaped valley. I described it for him carefully—the imposing cliff walls, the four rivers with cataracts, and the giant men with shadowy faces who guard a lush and mysterious island.

The shaman immediately nodded and gave the place a name. It is part of their lore, their oral history, passed down from generation to generation. He said he had never been there himself, but he knew someone who had.

A mighty shaman years and years ago had found the fabled spot, and had taken his daughter along. The daughter still lived, and might be able to show us the way.

Now we are in three small canoes, following a winding river through forest so thick that even the tribesmen seem spooked. Eko and I are in one small canoe, with the Mysterious Kidah laid out between us on a bed that may become his bier if we don’t find the valley soon. I can tell that the wizard is losing his tenuous grasp on life. He is sinking deeper into himself, and his breathing is now so shallow that I can barely see his chest move.

We’re not traveling through flat rain forest anymore but moving into hill country. As the river narrows, the trees on either side link branches to weave a green-brown ceiling that completely obscures the sky. The tribesmen begin chanting—it’s creepy to be on a tiny and fragile craft, sailing along into ever-darkening gloom.

The Mysterious Kidah never moves or makes a sound, but he’s very much a part of this trip because of the effect he has on the wildlife around us. We’re accompanied by an ever-changing escort of forest well-wishers. Dusky-headed parakeets swoop over us and bawl their favorite karaoke ballads. Squirrel monkeys turn trapeze tricks for our benefit. A bearlike tamandua genuflects from the bank.