The lost tribes, p.1
The Lost Tribes, page 1
To my Ken, Alexis, Olivia and my extended family.
To my editor, Eileen Robinson for her faith, friendship and vision.
C. Taylor-Butler
For Mina
Patrick Arrasmith
NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER:
For Readers Everywhere
Text copyright © 2015 by C.Taylor-Butler
Illustration copyright © by Patrick Arrasmith
Book design by Virginia Pope
All rights reserved. Published by Move Books LLC.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
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Library of Congress Control Number: 2014960256
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Printed in the U.S.A.
First edition, March 2015
P.O. Box 183
Beacon Falls, Connecticut, 06403
Contents
PROLOGUE Jemendari
PART I The Challenge
ONE: Ben
TWO: The Nature of Things to Come
THREE: Secrets and Lies
FOUR: A Game’s Afoot
FIVE: Morning Rituals
SIX: Amazing Grace
SEVEN: The Legend
EIGHT: The Guardian
NINE: Ode to Joy
TEN: Queen of the Universe
ELEVEN: The Hologram
TWELVE: Rapa Nui
THIRTEEN: Pop Goes the Weasel
FOURTEEN: The Vision Quest
FIFTEEN: Facing the East Wind
SIXTEEN: Searching for Superman
SEVENTEEN: Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy
EIGHTEEN: Son of Casmir
NINETEEN: Massacre
TWENTY: The Den
TWENTY-ONE: Now You See It, Now You Don’t
TWENTY-TWO: Revelation
TWENTY-THREE: Islas Ballestas
TWENTY-FOUR: Milestones
TWENTY-FIVE: Detour
TWENTY-SIX: The Hogon
TWENTY-SEVEN: Getting Warmer
TWENTY-EIGHT: The Bay of Whales
TWENTY-NINE: Messenger
PART II On the Run
THIRTY: Escape
THIRTY-ONE: “The Museum”
THIRTY-TWO: Just Visiting
THIRTY-THREE: The Conundrum
THIRTY-FOUR: Through the Rabbit Hole
THIRTY-FIVE: Lost and Found
THIRTY-SIX: When In Rome
THIRTY-SEVEN: The Abyss
THIRTY-EIGHT: The Gateway
THIRTY-NINE: Arpeggio
FORTY: Oasis
FORTY-ONE: Darkness
FORTY-TWO: Followed
PART III Answers
FORTY-THREE: Safe Harbor
FORTY-FOUR: Kurosh
FORTY-FIVE: Revelations
FORTY-SIX: Key of the Future
FORTY-SEVEN: Affinity
FORTY-EIGHT: Course Correction
FORTY-NINE: Aurelia
FIFTY: The Discovery
FIFTY-ONE: United We Stand
FIFTY-TWO: The Plan
FIFTY-THREE: Game On!
FIFTY-FOUR: Detour
FIFTY-FIVE: Out of Hiding
FIFTY-SIX: Chaos
FIFTY-SEVEN: Miracles
FIFTY-EIGHT: Resolutions
EPILOGUE And So It Begins
PROLOGUE
Jemadari
“They (the Dogon) have no business knowing this.”
Kenneth Brecher, MIT professor, Sirius Enigma, 1979
Hell’s Gate • 90 kms NW of Nairobi, Kenya.
Friday, October 24 – 5:00 a.m. EAT
Crouched at the entrance of a gorge, a hunter studied fissures in the obsidian rock. Steam spit and hissed through the cracks as his companions, two men and one woman, gathered samples of the smooth black rock and placed them in a cloth pouch.
“When?”
“The damage was discovered two days ago.” The guide gestured toward a towering black cloud overhead. “How long before …”
“Eight days,” the hunter answered, his voice barely above a whisper. Something had changed. Some variable. The timetable had been reduced from four years to —
— eight days.
“Let’s get to work,” the hunter said, sprinting towards a predator stirring in the tall dry grass. He raised a hollow tube to his lips and blew a dart fifty feet across the plain. The lion was down in an instant.
“How are you able to do such a thing from this distance?” asked the guide, struggling to keep up with the hunter’s long strides.
The hunter shrugged as he slowed to inspect his prize. The lion growled and swiped his meaty paw, slicing the hunter’s leg. Expressionless, the hunter pulled another dart from his pack, bit off the cap, and stabbed it into the rear flank of the beast. The lion fell silent.
“I’ll need thirty more. My team will supply the needed materials.”
“That is impossible!” the guide protested. “The authorities will have my head if I am caught!”
The woman opened a silk-lined box filled with uncut gems. The hunter selected the largest — a twenty-carat diamond — paused and then placed the entire box in the guide’s hand. “More will be sent if you complete the transaction.”
“You are bleeding,” said the guide. “We have medical supplies in the Jeep.”
Limping, the hunter waved him off. “No time. I’m overdue for dinner.”
“Dinner?” asked the guide. “It is barely dawn.”
The hunter glanced at his watch and frowned. “Not in California.”
Bandiagara Escarpment. Mopti region. Mali, East Africa, Friday, October 24 – 5:00 a.m. EAT
Three thousand miles northwest, a mysterious man surveyed a village from the edge of a cliff. More than a thousand feet below, members of the cult of Awa danced to control the forces that had caused the Earth to shift out of balance. “The time for dancing has passed,” he thought. “Ancient rituals will not solve the problem.”
“Welcome back, Jemadari,” said the Dogon priest. “How goes your search for serpents?”
“They are elusive.” The visitor shook his head, then said nothing more. He pulled a strand of beads from his belt and wrapped them around his fingers. In the distance, a towering black cloud flashed intermittently. Its shadow crept along the ground, devouring the light.
“The skies are angry,” said the priest.
“Indeed,” the visitor replied. “The earth is angry.” His beads clicked as he stroked them with his thumb. One bead shimmered and glowed red in the darkness.
The priest nodded. “There has been no rain for some time.”
“And yet the storm clouds appear.”
“To mock us,” said the priest. “But we are not worried. We received a sign from the Nommos.” He pointed. “A new light appears in the night sky. Near Po Tolo.”
The visitor didn’t bother to look up. “Not a star,” he said, his cloak whipping in the wind.
The priest frowned and wrapped his own robe tightly around his body. “I know.”
“Will you abandon the village,” asked the visitor, “if the spirits remain restless?”
“No, Jemadari. This is home now.”
“But you will die.”
“Perhaps,” said the priest. “But I have faith that it will not come to that.”
The two men studied the vast rolling plains in silence, watching as animals hunted and were hunted. The thundercloud flashed once more then moved west.
The visitor narrowed his eyes, pulled a device from his pocket, and studied streaming images of a boy crawling among small shrubs. He frowned and put the device away.
“The diviner read your future in the sand drawings. He has proclaimed a difficult path ahead.” The priest held out a mud cloth satchel. “For your shrine.”
The visitor bowed but declined to touch it. “I will send someone for it within the week.”
The priest eyed him curiously. “How will I know this messenger? Will it be one of the Nommos?”
“No. He will look like me — ” The visitor ran his fingers across his bald head, then reached beneath his cloak and produced a flawless blue diamond. “ — and he will have this with him.”
The Challenge
CHAPTER ONE
Ben
“When my cats aren’t happy, I’m not happy. Not because I care about their mood but because I know they’re just sitting there thinking up ways to get even.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Paradise Circle, Sunnyslope, CA, USA,
Thursday, October 23 – 6 p.m. PST
“Here, kitty, kitty!”
Ben tracked a shadow as it crept along the far wall of the greenhouse. Ten times larger than normal, the silhouette made it easy to pinpoint the target hiding among the plants.
Somewhere on the other side of the world, his father was on another glorious expedition, hunting for ancient artifacts. He’d flown to Nazca, Petra, and Bamiyan — wherever that was — and now a safari in Kenya. Ben had begged to tag along but the answer was always the same, “No” … “Too dangerous” … “When you’re older” … “When your grades are better.” That last comment was as good as saying, “never.”
He tightened his grip on the empty collar. The war escalated after Ben tossed the cat into the whirlpool tub — with
You’re toast, Aris!
Ben crouched behind a terra cotta pot. The label read, “Osmanthus Fragrans. Himalaya - BC 4030.” He blinked. The date had to be a typo. The peach fragrance, however, made Ben’s stomach growl. He panicked, held his breath and sank lower to the ground.
The cat’s shadow paused, then continued on its way. Ben studied a wind chime hanging to the left of a mutant avocado plant — Amorphophallus Titanum, Sumatra, A.C.E. 2014. The chimes were twenty feet away but would mask his approach if he could hit them.
A few months ago he couldn’t hit the side of the garage let alone the chimes. But with his father’s frequent trips away, he’d been shooting hoops three hours each day hoping for a spot on the basketball team. Now he rarely missed a shot. So how hard could hitting the chimes be?
He found a rock and aimed. Ripples of sound filtered throughout the garden as the rock hit dead center. The shadow stopped, lowered to the ground, then headed toward the disturbance. Ben wondered how a cat so small could cast a shadow the size of a Volkswagen.
Ben rolled under a potting table, slipped past a mass of ferns and emerged behind his quarry, collar open and at the ready.
The shadow remained, but the cat was gone.
Startled, Ben sucked in his breath and scanned the greenhouse for movement.
Something stirred to his right.
Got ya!
He pounced only to find a broken pot, a puddle of muddy water and tiny paw prints. He narrowly missed a hole where Aris had left a new gift for him — one meant for a litter box.
Okay, cat! It’s on!
Rustling leaves signaled the enemy’s position overhead. Horrified, Ben spun around to find orange eyes glowing at him from a ledge. Then it dawned on him. While he was stalking the cat …
… the cat was stalking him.
Aris, cat from hell, hissed, lowered his front legs and assumed an attack position.
Ben’s muscles tensed.
Aris’s tail twitched.
Their eyes narrowed.
Payback time!
Growling, Aris leapt into the air, claws extended. Suddenly, he froze mid-strike, reversed direction and escaped through a small opening in the wall. But not before whipping the collar out of Ben’s hands with his tail.
Perplexed and alarmed, Ben turned to see what had spooked the cat and smiled.
“Welcome back, Dad! How was Kenya?”
“Same old, same old.” Jeremiah Webster stepped through the doorway and wrapped Ben in a bear hug. “How’s school?”
Ben grinned. “Same old, same old.”
“Too bad. I was hoping for a miracle while I was away.” His father laughed and released Ben from his grip. “Where is everyone?”
“April’s at Serise’s house getting her nails done.” Ben grimaced for effect. “Mom’s at the lab. She said she’d be home soon to start dinner.”
A brief look of horror registered on his father’s face. He rolled a black pouch in his hands before tossing it on the potting table.
“What’s that?” Ben said, reaching for the pouch.
His father snatched the pouch out of reach. Something fell out and bounced underneath the table. “Rock samples for your mother.”
“Rocks? That’s it? Where’s the good stuff?” Ben ran into the garage, peered through the tinted windows of the SUV. “What else did you bring back?”
“Nothing.” His father winced. “You cut your hair?”
“Took you long enough to notice!” Ben pivoted so his father could see the initials he’d carved above his ear. He wasn’t bald, but his hair was as close as he could get without risking banishment from the house. “What do you think?”
His father walked around him in a slow arc. “What’d your mother say? You know she has a rule about you cutting your hair.”
“I know, I know. Ancient history. Samson. Losing my strength. She hasn’t seen it yet. Just did it today. Think she’ll go ballistic?”
“Ballistic?” his father chuckled grimly. “Try nuclear. I’d rather take my chances with a pride of hungry lions until it grows back.”
Ben grinned. “Sounds like a good excuse to skip dinner. Can I go with you?”
“When your grades — ”
“I know, I know. Don’t say it.” Ben considered telling his father about the basketball tryouts, but decided it could wait. For now, he had something better in mind like annihilating an unsuspecting opponent. “Until Mom gets home and grounds me, you up for a game of H.O.R.S.E?”
“Sure,” his father said. “In Spanish. Might help you bring up that grade. Last time I looked, C did not stand for ‘comprende’!”
“C is still passing and that should equal safari!”
“Nice try but the answer is still no.”
“Fine. Be that way.” Ben pulled a ball from the deck box. “I can spell ‘caballo.’ Can you spell ‘defeat’? You don’t have a prayer of beating me.”
“I don’t need a prayer. Last time we played I had to hoist you up to the basket and you still missed.” His father pulled his hair into a ponytail.
“Last time we played you couldn’t find the basket with a GPS and Google Maps!” Ben said.
“Let’s see what you’ve got.” His father dropped into an exaggerated bow. “Court’s all yours, Sir Brags-A-Lot.”
Ben aimed from the equivalent of a free-throw line. The ball swooped effortlessly through the hoop.
A look of surprise crossed his father’s face. He took the ball, moved to the same position and aimed. The ball hit the roof, rolled to the gutter then dropped onto the rim of the basket where it spun like a top before falling onto the driveway.
“C! The loser gets the letter. That — ” Ben said through a series of coughs, “would be you.”
“Uh-oh! Someone’s got an attitude. The afternoon’s still young!”
“And so am I, old man. Try this. Left handed hook shot.” Ben ran toward the basket, extended his arm and released the ball.
Whoosh! Nothing but net!
His father stared at the basket, mouth gaped open in shock. “Someone’s been practicing.”
“Obviously.” Ben grinned and tossed the ball to his father, who dropped it. Pitiful. His father’s arms were as long as the wings of a jumbo jet but there wasn’t a single basketball-playing gene in his DNA. “Don’t try so hard, Dad. Just run up to it and flick your wrist.”
His father winked, lunged toward the garage and released the ball. It completed four revolutions on the inside of the rim before falling backwards in the wrong direction.
Ben tried to erase the sarcasm in his voice. “Sorry, Dad. I’m afraid that’s an ‘A’ for you. Would you like to pick a longer word?”
His father stretched in the sunlight. “You wish you were as good as me. Know anyone else who can do tricks like that?”
“No one who’d admit it!” Ben paused. His father was favoring his left leg. “You okay? You’re limping.”
“Just a cat scratch.” His father did a little dance to mock him. “I’m just warming up.”
“Better hop in a microwave,” Ben said. “It would be faster.”
His father retrieved the ball from the middle of a peony bush. “Just play, will ya!”
Ben tried a shot he thought his father could handle. He swung the ball between his legs and tossed it in a slow easy arc. As planned, the ball swished through the net. He rebounded and lobbed it at his father. “Heads up, Dad.”
The ball hit his father’s shoulder, bounced on the driveway and rolled to a stop on the grass.
All that height going to waste.
“Dad? What’s up?”
His father cocked his head to the side, brow furrowed. “Looks like a storm’s brewing. Been raining much while I was away?”
“A couple of times, but it’s not raining now so quit stalling! What’s the matter? Scared of a challenge?”
“Challenge?” his father asked, his voice low. “Hardly.”
