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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

The monolith is as lifeless as the black stone it was carved from yet also vibrant as the vortex of all life on this enchanted island. Butterflies swarm it, parrots and toucans perch on it, and thousands of flowers bloom around it, attracting pollinating insects that sing and chirp and whistle.

A human cry of pain shatters the bucolic moment. I look down and see the Mysterious Kidah moving about, writhing as if trying to shake off invisible ropes. His lips curl back, and he screams again in wordless agony.

The warriors carrying Kidah start to lose their grip as he thrashes about, and they look terrified by his wrenching shrieks. They lay him down on a bed of moss and wildflowers at the foot of the great stone figure and back away.

Then the birds and the bugs leave us. One minute we’re being serenaded by hundreds of songbirds and the next there’s an eerie silence. The butterflies and beetles, dragonflies and centipedes also flutter off or slither away as if they sense something that they want no part of.

“What is it, Eko? What’s coming?”

She doesn’t look back at me. She’s looking up into the sunny afternoon sky. And so, I notice, is the old shaman, who has begun a strange, herky-jerky dance.

77

77

The sky blackens, the wind picks up, and the temperature starts to drop precipitously.

There’s a flash of lightning, a cymbal crash of thunder, and an icy driving rain begins that would feel more appropriate in northern Maine than in this spiritual cradle of the Amazon.

I watch lightning flash across the face of the stone statue while hundreds of birds take frightened flight, cawing and shrieking as they try to escape the downpour by flying up and over the walls of the chasm to the surrounding rain forest, which may provide more shelter.

“Is it the end of the world?” I ask Eko, only half kidding.

“It’s a friagem,” she tells me.

“A what?”

“A freak storm that sometimes hits the rain forest. Polar air from the Antarctic finds its way north, claws a path over the Andes, and collides with the steamy air over the Amazon basin. Anything can happen in a friagem!”

As if to make her point, the howling cold wind uproots a tree near us.

The shaman, the warriors, and the old woman retreat to the shelter of the kapok trees. These giants have withstood thousands of years of Amazon climate, and the shaman is betting that they will withstand this friagem.

Eko starts to follow them. I glance down at Kidah on his mossy bed beneath the idol. He’s getting lashed by cold wind and blasted by rain. It’s hard to tell whether he’ll drown or freeze first. “Eko, we can’t leave him.”

“He’s where he needs to be,” she tells me. “Come.” She takes my arm and draws me away.