Beyond the Veil

PrologueJune 6th, 2012 – 3° 59' 57” S Latitude, 67° 11' 33” W Longitude, 100 kilometers southeast of Santo Antonio do Içá, Amazonas, Brazil Morning sunlight trickled down through the forest canopy, spraying golden beams on the thick dappled mats of silver fern. At length, Mahl came to a grinding halt and breathed deeply of the humid, damp air. He would be home soon. Already, he could smell the scent of water. Capuchin monkeys chattered in the spidery branches above. Reaching out, he broke off a slender branch and ripped the outer bark away with his teeth. As he chewed the sweet inner cambium amid the incessant whine of insects, he surveyed the dense forest. A minute later, he tossed the branch aside, re-slung his bow over his dark shoulder and struck off into the waving sea of green with the black tail of his talisman head dressing flapping in the wind. From here on, the trail ran under the thick green vegetation and he would need to rely on his memory on where to place each step. One wrong placement could mean a broken leg or worse yet, death, in one of the many gaping holes strewn out over the ragged landscape. After several hundred meters, the landscape leveled out, and in the distance a stream could be heard trickling around rocky outcroppings. Once he came across it, the trail would veer downward toward his village. He hurried toward the stream, and just as he was about step into it, heard strange voices. His heart thudded, and he crept silently into the dense thicket of heliconia with arrow drawn. Whoever they were, they were not Manaqüi, from whom his people had hid unseen since the days of old. Anxiously he waited, peering through the veil of sword shaped broad-leafs at the forest ahead. As the voices grew louder, he considered his next move. The path leading to his village had to be protected at all costs, but he was only one man against how many? He didn't know. The sound of thumping feet on the soft brown earth drew nearer until at last he saw three men dressed in strange white skins. Who they were and why they were here, he didn't know, only that they were threatening his home. The arrow strung on his bow twitched. Slowly, he lifted the weapon, aimed it at the lead man, and let the arrow fly. An instant later, a grunt was followed by cries. He quickly fitted another arrow to his bow and aimed it, then stopped when he saw a man draw out long, menacing blade from behind his back. But he stayed where he was, and after much chattering between the other men, he dragged their fallen leader off. Once Mahl was satisfied they weren't coming back, he slipped his bow back over his shoulder and fled down the steep, sloping path toward home. But deep inside, he was scared. The world was changing beyond his tribe's shrouded borders. June 6th, 2012 – University of California, Berkley, Kroeber Hall Claire El-Badawy scrolled down her computer calendar. She had a Lyceum lecture at 1:00 PM, her A330 class at 3:00 PM, and an interview to conduct in twenty minutes, not to mention dinner with Jason. Turning around in her swivel office chair, she peered through the window of her second-floor office, thinking about the grant for the expedition to Brazil. After the huge disaster in Guatemala, she was taking an enormous career risk searching for a lost bushman of the sss. The department would only suffer one mistake before showing you the door. But if this lost man turned out to be what she hoped he was, her prestige would skyrocket. As she considered her future, a knock on her open door startled her. She spun around and found herself looking into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. “Hi, I'm Owen,” the man said, walking in. He extended his hand, and as they shook, went on, “We talked a couple weeks ago 'bout my showing ya 'round da forest. Am I too early?” Claire took in the rugged Aucklander's long booted legs, faded jeans, and crisp, white button-down shirt; its top two buttons were undone. “No, have a seat,” Claire said, collecting her thoughts. “Can I get you something to drink?” He crammed his long, lean body into the chair in front of her desk. “Nah, I'm good as gold. Quite da campus ya got here. I almost got lost.” Claire took her seat behind her desk and tried to relax. “Should I be worrying?” she said. “Bout what?” “You getting lost,” Claire said, noticing the faded scar above Owen's brow. “Nah. Da forest an' I do fine. It's da 'big smokes' that get me turned around. Too many roads.” “Yes, me too,” Claire said, not quite understanding the term, “big smokes”. She guessed he meant cities. “So, how'd an Aucklander end up in Peru?” “Westhaven, actually, north of da big town, out in the wops.” Owen handed her an envelope and sat back looking her over. “My pop studied fish on da river when I was a tyke, so I grew up on it, so ta speak, yeah.” “Wops?” Claire said, opening the envelope and glancing down at his credentials. “Yeah, ya know, boonies,” he said. “I think ya find everything in order there.” Claire nodded as she read down the list of past treks he led. The resume wasn't exactly what she was expecting, but then, she wasn't looking for flash. “Must have been interesting growing up on the river.” Owen shrugged. “It was alright. Not all it's cracked up ta be. Lots a nasty critters down there – say nothing bout yella fever.” “And malaria,” Claire added. I'm not a tourist, Mr. Macleod. ”I take it you were sick?” Owen's expression tightened at the mention of the malaria. “Nah. Just a run-in with an aranhas armadeiras.” Oh, we are trying to impress. I'll give you the benefit of a doubt. “A banana spider? You should be dead.” “Yeah, yeah. For a while, I wished I was. So, why ya wanna find this Lost Man?” “To learn about his people before it's too late,” she said folding up his resume and tucking it back into the envelope. “What if he don't wanna be found? Big forest down there.” “Are you saying you can't find him?” “Nah, not at all,” Owen replied. He crossed his legs and shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Might take time. T'aint easy finding someone don't wanna be found; that and where we're going ain't a walk in da park. Manaqüi don't take kindly ta people tramping in their back yard.” “Well, we have four months, Mr. Macleod, so either you can or you can't,” Claire said, handing him back the envelope. “Ah now, no need ta be so formal. Call me Owen, and no worries. We'll find 'im.” Claire smiled. You're smooth. Too smooth maybe. I bet you'd tell me you could find Nessie if you thought it'd get you the job. Except, you come highly recommended. “Where you staying?” “Cross town.” Claire looked at her watch. It was almost noon. “You hungry?” Owen shrugged. “Wouldn't mind a round of shark and taters.” “Right … I don't know if we have shark.” Owen laughed. “Not shark. Fish.” “Oh, like fish and chips.” “Yeah, yeah.” Claire tried to think if the cafeteria offered fish. It was Friday. “Let's see if we have shark and taters then. Unfortunately, I have a lecture at one, but if you want, I can have my RA give you the nickel tour.” Owen smiled. “Sure, why not? Got no place ta be.”