فصل 02

CHAPTER 2

THE SCOUTING PARTY

THREE DUGOUT CANOES, EACH PADDLED by four hard-muscled men, slid through the rolling indigo sea, which was empty from horizon to horizon. The afternoon sun blazed in a radiant blue sky that was equally empty, save for a low white cloud to the east.

The paddlers wore only loincloths. Their skin, sun-baked to a deep bronze, glistened with sweat. Each man’s back was almost entirely covered with what appeared to be a large tattoo—a random pattern of dark swirling lines. Closer inspection, however, revealed that the “tattoos” were in fact scar tissue.

The scars had been caused by the tentacles of a particularly nasty type of jellyfish, the poison of which inflicted agonizing pain. Each of the warriors in the canoes had endured an excruciating initiation ritual: as he stood before the tribe, a large, living jellyfish was draped across his shoulders and back, its toxic tentacles searing his flesh like fire. Some men crumpled immediately to the ground, screaming; others passed out. Only those who stood still for a full minute, soundlessly enduring the agony, were allowed to become warriors in this tribe.

Poison played an important role in the tribe’s culture. In battle, the warriors sometimes hurled venomous snakes and spiders at the enemy; they also coated the tips of their arrows with a special mixture of toxins that caused horrific, paralyzing pain. It was this practice that gave the tribe its name, the most feared name in this part of the ocean: Scorpions. It was a name that meant misery and death.

The warriors in the canoes made up a scouting party. They had been at sea for three grueling days, searching for an island that, according to their tribal lore, was somewhere in these waters. Their leader, the only man not paddling, sat in the prow of the front canoe. He was a large man, a bit older and thicker than the others, but still very strong. His earlobes stretched nearly to his shoulders, indicating his rank. A braided, black beard hung from his chin like a rat’s tail. His dark eyes were fixed on the distant cloud.

He suddenly emitted a series of harsh sounds. Instantly, the warriors began paddling faster, and the canoes shot forward. They rose and fell with the rising and falling of the sea, aiming for the cloud, the men not yet seeing what had excited their leader. And then, a few minutes later, as an especially large wave lifted them high, they all saw it—a speck on the horizon under the cloud. Now all the warriors were whooping and shouting. The leader raised his arm to quiet them, then spoke. They would wait here an hour, then move to the island as the sun set behind them. Its glare would blind anyone on the island looking in their direction. The warriors nodded, grateful for the rest. They sat in the open water and stared at the distant speck—their prey.

An hour later, with the sun low, the men began paddling again. As they neared the island, the cloud gave them a gift—a small but intense rain squall, which further concealed the canoes from the land. Paddling through the rain, the warriors reached shore just as the squall ended. The showers left behind a damp and steamy island smelling of rotting vegetation.

They climbed out of the canoes, each man carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows. These weapons were to be used only as a last resort: the Scorpions did not intend to be seen. This was a scouting expedition. The attack would come later.

The men dragged the canoes up the narrow beach and hid them in the dense undergrowth. Using palm fronds, they carefully swept the sand clean of their footprints. Then, with the leader in front, they entered the jungle. Beneath the thick tree canopy, a cloak of near-darkness enveloped them, and the sound of songbirds gave way to the hum of insects and the rustle of lizards and snakes.

The men moved as if a single being, one after the other, in complete silence, yet with surprising speed. They dodged monkey-puzzle trees and bushes of ironwood, smelly swamp and patches of fireweed. In time they came to a footpath. The leader bent to inspect it, smiling at the sight of fresh footprints. He rose and signaled the men to follow him, staying in the jungle but now moving alongside the path, which was just to their right. The leader moved more slowly now, pausing every few yards to listen.

He raised his hand, and the line of men stopped. He touched his eyes, then pointed. Just ahead on the path were two boys. They didn’t look like islanders; they had light skin and hair. They were talking to each other in a language that sounded strange to the Scorpions.

Chattering away, the boys ambled along the path, oblivious to the men following them. The boys came to a clearing, in the middle of which was a tree stump. As the Scorpions watched with interest, the boys pulled on the stump, tipping it over. Underneath was a hole. The boys climbed into the hole, then pulled the stump back upright and were gone.

The Scorpions’ leader left two men to keep an eye on the stump. He led the rest silently forward, still following the footpath but remaining within the cover of the dark jungle. After a few hundred yards they stopped again. Ahead was a much larger clearing and a high wall of sharpened poles lashed together with vines.

Signaling to his men to stay hidden, the leader crept forward to the wall and put his eye to a crack between two logs. On the other side, he saw a bustling village of thirty or more grass huts, as well as pens holding goats and wild pigs. Dozens of men and women were gathered around cooking fires, eating and talking; children darted about, chasing each other, shouting, laughing.

The Scorpion leader focused on the men, studying the markings on their arms and chests. He tensed with excitement: these were the markings he had hoped to see—the markings that according to legend were used by the Mollusk tribe. The Scorpion leader smiled grimly. The legend was true. They had found Mollusk Island. And soon they would conquer it.

The leader turned and crept back to his men. The expression on his face told them that their scouting mission was a success. Eager now to get back to their canoes, they retraced their steps, traveling alongside the footpath.

By the time they reached the boys’ tree stump, night was descending, the sky lit by the last faint rays of the dwindling sun. The Scorpion leader was surprised to find that his two sentries, instead of staying concealed in the jungle, were standing in the middle of the clearing. Furious that they had taken such a risk, the leader ran toward them, only to stop when he saw the fearful expressions on their upturned faces.

Following their gaze, the leader looked up at the sky and saw what had so alarmed them.

A boy.

A flying boy.

The boy, his hair fiery red in the sun’s dying rays, was swooping among some trees about twenty-five yards away. He shot from tree to tree, knocking coconuts to the ground. Apparently, he had not seen the Scorpions. The Scorpion leader blinked, but there was no question: the boy was not swinging on a vine or jumping. He was flying.

For a moment, the leader could only stare, his mouth hanging open. He came to his senses just in time to see one of his men, panicked by the sight of the boy, fitting an arrow to his bow and drawing it back. With a quickness that belied his size, the leader lunged toward the man, reaching him and grabbing the arrow just as the man released it. It burned through his grip, sending splinters into the meat of his hand, but he did not let go.

Angrily, the leader broke the arrow across his knee. He grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him off the ground, holding his face only inches from his own. No words were spoken, but none were needed: this man understood that he had almost ruined everything by giving their presence away. With his feet back on the ground, the man hung his head shamefully.

Still angry, the leader waved his men back toward the canoes. He went last, constantly glancing backward at the flying boy, who was still darting from tree to tree, growing smaller and smaller until he was finally absorbed by the night. Turning to follow his men, the leader could feel his mind racing as he tried to comprehend what he had seen, and to figure out how much of a problem this boy would be.

These thoughts so occupied him that he forgot altogether about something that, ordinarily, he would have remembered: the broken arrow lying in the mud.