The central fire builds and builds as more dancers join and more fuel is added. The loud beat of the drums and rise and fall of the chanting voices almost drown out the jungle noises of frogs, monkeys, and insects.
Soon the young men are leaping through the enormous blaze in their grass skirts, each trying to outdo the last. The women watch at the circle’s edge, whispering behind their hands. The drumming builds to a crescendo and stops. The abrupt silence is deafening.
I try to replicate their beat by drumming on my thighs, I’m not ready for this party to end. The woman next to me stills my hands and shakes her head at me. Party pooper.
As one, everyone falls to their knees as an elder comes forth, heavily draped in animal skins with an elaborate headpiece. I watch, frozen, as he comes to stand before me.
At close range, I realize the adornments are made of small bones and teeth. We lock eyes, and I realize through the haze of the fading hallucinogenic coursing through my veins that I am in danger. Mortal danger.
Years of fieldwork with my parents sends a chilling realization down my spine. Fear brings startling clarity to my mind, dusting away the hallucinogenic cobwebs. Those aren’t just animal parts. In the jumble of macabre bric-a-brac, I can pick out human phalanges and molars.
The withered and decorated leader withdraws a long, wicked pointed blade and reaches for me, cementing my fears that I am indeed going to be sacrificed. As my primal instincts kick in, crowding out the last vestiges of the drug, a scream bubbles up from my throat and out of my mouth.
Once I start, I can’t stop. I scream and scream until all hell breaks loose.
An enormous man bursts forth into the clearing and my heart soars. Someone has found me! His pale white skin marks him as a foreigner, his size looming in the shadowy light of the fire.
My excitement is short-lived, as I’m not sure how he can fight his way through the warriors descending on him with their spears and poison blow guns. I know this is my only chance out of this debacle.
He swings his arms like an angry bear, dislodging the men throwing themselves at his towering frame. He fights his way around the fire toward me until we lock eyes. I’m shocked to see in the firelight, their amber color is a mirror of my own, minus the yellow-green splash of my heterochromia.
I reach out my hand toward him and take the first step to run to the salvation he promises when he is rushed by a fresh onslaught of fighters. He falls like Gulliver covered in Lilliputians.
I cover my mouth, sobbing at the loss of my rescuer and hopelessness of the situation. My mind is finally crystal clear, my trembling limbs no longer leaden. I can’t decide if this clarity is a blessing or a curse.
Deciding it’s only a curse if I am caught, I search for an escape. While everyone is distracted by the fray, the men running and fighting while the women wail, I spot one. I can slip back through the jungle and into the night. If I can make my way back to the stream, I might be able to retrace my steps back to camp.
This is my only shot. I look up at the night sky, the full moon shining brightly to light my way. I’d rather take my chances with the jungle than bet on the success of my would-be rescuer. I take a step toward the safety of the trees, then hesitate, stopped by my conscience.
With a sigh, I realize I can’t abandon the man who came to help me. Shocked by either my bravery, or my stupidity, I’m not sure which, I search around for a weapon. Next to an elaborate chair I suspect is meant for the elder, the firelight glints off my machete.
Someone must have given it to him as the spoils of my capture. Seeing a piece of me, of my life, casually handed over, enrages me. Digging deep into my rage for strength, I stealthily make my way over to it, thrilled when the familiar hilt is in my hand.
Out of habit, I rub my thumb over the pink leather and beads my father had lovingly wrapped around the handle when he had gifted it to me, along with the advice to always keep it with me in the jungle.
Now I see how right he was. I tighten my grip, and my resolve, and look at the fighting mass of bodies, trying to find a point where I can help. All I can see is a writhing mass of limbs and gore. The screams and battle cries combined with the smell of blood threaten to overwhelm me.
I drop into a crouch, breathing deep through my mouth, narrowing my focus to waiting to spring into action. I see an opening and get ready to charge, knowing my rescue mission may well be a suicide mission, when my rescuer suddenly lets out a ferocious roar and stands.
The night goes deathly still as the warriors begin to back away, wide-eyed and frightened. The firelight shines behind him, but even in the dim lighting, I can see multiple blow darts and weapons lodged in his body.
His shirt hangs in tatters, revealing a blood soaked and battered body. Blood covers his mouth and drips down his chin. There is no way he should be alive.Couldbe alive.
He calmly starts to pull the implements out–knives, spears, and poison-tipped darts casually drop to the ground. As his wounds begin to heal before all of our eyes, the elder comes to stand in front of him. He reverently whispers a word in a language I’ve never heard and kneels at the man’s feet.
The entire village falls to their knees and presses their foreheads to the ground. I look around in awe. I question, what the hell is going on here?
My savior pulls a few remaining darts from his body as he stalks toward me, ignoring the events around him. He doesn't spare a glance for anyone but me. I’m drawn to his intense amber gaze, riveted on mine. I must be in shock. Or maybe the drug is still warping my thoughts after all.
There is no way this man could have not only fought his way to me through an entire village, but also have his wounds heal before our eyes. He comes to stand in front of me, his face in shadow with the firelight behind him.
I’m forced to crane my head back to meet his ferocious face. This can’t be real. Tentatively, I reach up a hand and swipe a finger through the blood coating his lips, black in the shadows. I bring it closer for inspection, rubbing my fingers together, disbelief propelling my actions.
The fluid is sticky between my fingers, and the smell of copper hits my nose. It is definitely blood. I look up at him, eyes wide and mouth open, blood coated fingers shaking in the moonlight, and promptly pass out.
Iblink my eyes open to the fading sunlight and stretch. Nothing like a nap to escape reality and refresh the soul. I love naps. I have a faint recollection of a bizarre dream that doesn’t quite make sense, flickering firelight with chanting and dancing. I chalk it up to so much damn stress lately.
I sit up and my focus catches on the singular dead floral arrangement on the coffee table. How odd. I pick up the vase and carry it to the kitchen, pull the roses out over the sink, and dump the water.
