Gazda had only shown one moment’s hesitation on their journey, and that was when they reached the winding river. It was shallow for much of its length, though it hid random dark pools of murky depth. The river could be 50 feet at its widest while narrowing to little more than a spear’s length in other places.
Sight of the water from their perch in a tree above it had added a powerful thump to the ape-man’s heartbeat that throbbed against Harkon’s supple breasts, and she wondered if it was the river that had set this unusual fear in Gazda or whether it described some other reluctance to cross it.
Harkon had already been considering the great distance that opened in the jungle where the river passed, and she had hoped to convince her friend that they should wade across.
But Gazda’s hesitation had only been a brief respite, for his pulse slowed as he searched about the tree, and steadied when he found a long branch arching out toward the river.
He gripped Harkon’s wrists beneath his chin and sprinted along the branch toward the empty space until the tapering limb began to bend beneath them. With a sudden coil of the ape-man’s powerful frame, there was a release of springing energy and they were off...
...to soar through the air, some 60 feet across the gap and 100 from the forest floor. The river was a simple strip of silver that passed below them in the dark.
Awe had kept Harkon’s eyes wide, even as their forward momentum began to fail.
But the ape-man’s sinewy hand had lashed out to catch the thin end of a long branch that he used to slow and direct them hurtling downward, steering closer to the thicker limbs, where his mighty chest and shoulders turned to stone, and angled them onto a long broad bough where he came to a shuddering halt that snatched the breath from the huntress’ lungs.
Harkon had gasped for air where she laid across Gazda’s back while he crouched beneath her and peered at the jungle floor.
“Bone-faces!” He had pointed, making an urgent coughing bark, but Harkon did not see the Bakwaniri trail that he had been clearly indicating. Nonetheless, she had caught his gleaming eye and nodded and they were off again.
Tracking northeast they had soon found the tributary on which the Bakwaniri village was founded, and they followed its northeastern way until they stopped to watch the village below from a perch high in a nearby tree.
Gazda was still overwhelmed by what he saw. He had been to the east river before, but had never traveled along this tributary nor seen the bone-face nest. The last time he had crossed out of his territory it had been to follow the cliffs in search of Omag’s cave.
Now, apprehension shuddered in his breast at the sight of the tree-nests, and the great wall of sticks that circled them. The night ape had never imagined such an elaborate construction, and this great lair reminded him of what he had glimpsed in his dreams.
Truly these bone-faces were of Fur-nose’s tribe, there could be no doubt, for had not that long dead relative used similar methods to construct his own nest, much smaller though it be?
The Bakwaniri village was built a short distance from the narrow stream in a jungle clearing. Many small shelters were hidden behind a towering wall of pointed trees that had been stripped of bark and branches and sharpened at the upper end. These formed a banana-shaped loop around the little tree-nests that were linked together side by side along its center line.
Three towering poles rose up amidst these nests with the tallest coming almost to the highest branches of the trees that grew in to form a living wall around the village.
A platform was built atop the centermost pole, and the night ape had glimpsed a curious bird-faced creature upon it.
But that was only the first wonder.
“Magnuh!” Gazda barked when he recognized the skull set upon the narrow end of that high wall. Its long tusks pointed skyward, and he wondered if this explained his old enemy’s disappearance from the jungle.
Had the Bakwaniri hunters that much skill and strength? The sharp sticks they threw would only annoy the jungle giant, so how had they brought him down?
Again, he pondered Fur-nose, and the inexplicable power of his thunder-hand. So many bone-faces moved inside the wall—perhaps their numbers were enough to kill the bull elephant.
There were so many of them.
Glimpsed against the flames within the high wall, the shadows of the bone-faces passed the thin, open spaces between the poles. Drums there were also, and a great rhythmic chanting crossed the jungle night that reminded Gazda of the music from Ginny’s tribe.
He had heard the drums striking up as he and Harkon approached, but now the drumbeats were blended with other noises like birdsong to create a complex web of sound.
As he listened, Gazda hooted softly, the rhythmic beat and lilting accompaniment arousing him with its familiarity, conjuring pictures in his mind of night apes in rigid coverings like shells who danced with females dressed like Ginny.
Then in the distance a horn was blown in strident notes and the night apes answered by voicing victory calls. The males raced into darkness as their mates cried out—and blood began to flow and pool on the ground over which the tribes clashed.
Gazda panted fearfully as these conjured sounds and images reminded him of the music he had heard before—and fearing some trick of the bone-faces, he slapped his hands over his ears to drown it out.
Pushing the strange images away, he glanced to see if Harkon was distressed, but she clung to a nearby branch unaffected, her black face was calm, and a patient, hungry look gleamed in her eyes.
The huntress’ white teeth flashed when she felt his gaze upon her.
Gazda panted and hooted quietly to himself imagining his friend with yellow eyes, and fur the color of her gleaming black skin. How like
