Bokenga stood over her, holding a large bowl. She hadn't heard his footsteps. Sam licked her dry lips when she saw him and sat up. The old man smiled as he knelt in front of her. When he set the bowl down, she saw to her dismay a small cloth floating in the water.

Bokenga lifted the dripping rag and squeezed it. He tucked the corner against his finger and stuck it toward her, an inquisitive look requesting permission. She nodded, disappointed. The old man touched the wet cloth to her cheek, very gently wiping at the dirt and blood there. The fresh water felt good on her sticky skin.

"Parlez-vous francais?" Sam asked.

Bokenga shook his head.

She sat in silence as Bokenga cleaned first her face and scalp, then her fingers, feet, and legs. His tender touch relaxed her, as did his dark, heavy eyes. After he finished, he collected the rag in the bowl and stood up.

"I'm so hungry and thirsty," Sam called after him.

Bokenga turned and looked at her, a torn expression on his face. She suspected he was under specific orders.

BaMbuti have no chieftains or leaders. They have only one master, The Forest.

"Please," she pleaded.

For a moment, she thought it might work. Then the old man shook his head. Sam's shoulders slumped. As an afterthought, she lifted her hands into the air. "My wrists, they hurt. It's too tight."

Bokenga leaned closer, studying the deep chafe marks in her skin. After a moment, he held up a finger. He carried the bowl out onto the porch and disappeared from sight. Sam sat alone until he returned with more cloth.

He knelt in front of her and tugged gently at the bonds on her wrists. Then he slid a piece of cloth underneath each thong, so the tough leather no longer touched her skin. It wasn't what Sam had been hoping for, but the cloth soothed her wrists.

"Thank you," she said. And then, just in case, she added, "Merci."

Bokenga nodded, rose, and left her alone.

Thunder crashed across the jungle and soon the sky opened.

Temba slipped to the edge of the forest. The thick undergrowth at the tree line made it hard to creep quietly, but also shielded him from view. The strange power lines descended to a stone building in the middle of the clearing, but what drew his attention was the scattering of BaMbuti huts to the right and to the left.

He recognized Kitu, even through the rain. The traitorous Mbuti stood next to Polomo, Mbogo's son. Temba couldn't recognize any other faces from this distance.

The last hour in the jungle and the falling raindrops had done much to quell Temba's initial rage. At first he intended to jump in and attack Kitu and the others, but now he was beginning to see reason. He knew these people after all. Even after Kuntolo's murder, Temba refused to believe that they were so far gone. Besides, it looked like a whole camp lived in that clearing, far more than he could handle on his own.

Temba crept back from the wall of brush. If he was going to do this peacefully he had better do it right. He picked out a distinctive tree trunk so he would remember it later and tucked his bow and arrows behind it, out of sight.

Temba walked toward the clearing again and took a deep breath. He wondered how they would receive him. Would they attack him as they had the previous night? Just in case, he picked out an escape route through the forest that would bring him past his weapons.

He almost stepped out when he glanced down and remembered the white polo shirt. BaMbuti sometimes regarded his choice of fashion with contempt. If Mbogo's people truly feared outsiders he should look Mbuti. Temba tugged his white shirt off and tossed it on the ground at the edge of the undergrowth.

He walked casually through the foliage and into the clearing. Kitu and Polomo and a few other recognizable faces turned to look at him, eyes wide. Temba's fists clenched into tight b.a.l.l.s and then opened, held out to his sides in a gesture of peace.

Spearheads rose in his direction.

The raindrops drumming overhead should have been a soothing sound, but to Sam they felt as if they were pounding on her temples.

A sound at the porch made her lift her head. As rain poured in sheets outside, Guy appeared in the doorway, holding a beaten umbrella. A young Mbuti man stood next to him, spear in hand. She recognized the man as the one who had carried her through the forest.

Guy stepped inside, half-closing the umbrella. He said something, and the Mbuti man drew a long steel knife and knelt next to Sam. She recoiled at the sight of the weapon, but he grabbed her wrists and slipped the knife under the leather thong, cutting her free. He prodded her to her feet.

"Just in case the spear isn't enough to stop you," Guy said as he gestured to a small pistol tucked into his belt.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I imagine you're getting uncomfortable on that hard floor."

She couldn't argue; her whole body felt stiff. It felt good to stretch her legs. The young Mbuti placed a hand on her bicep to push her along, but Sam resisted.

"Where are we going?" she demanded again.

"Somewhere you'll be more comfortable," Guy replied with a sly grin. "My hut."

"I think I'm fine right here."

He shifted to better expose the pistol at his belt. "I don't believe that is your decision, Sam."

The threat was clear. She clenched her fists and bit down on her lip. She stood her ground and refused to budge.

The young Mbuti looked to Guy, unsure what to do.

"Temba. You should not have come."

Polomo stepped forward from the ring of Mbuti men. They stood in the rain, droplets sliding down their naked chests. Water splashed on their scalps and shoulders, like a thousand tiny bullets exploding on impact. Temba stood before them, his eyes intense despite his relaxed posture.

"I am not allowed to come and speak to my friends?" Temba asked. His voice trembled, originating high in his throat.

Kitu stared from the background, but Temba could see the guilt on his face.

"You shouldn't be here," Polomo insisted. "You brought strangers into the forest."

"Who here killed Kuntolo?" Temba demanded. He turned to look at the faces of the other BaMbuti. "One of you did. I found his grave and a poisoned arrow."

They stood in the rain, watching, as Temba paced back and forth like a caged animal.

"Why have you taken Sam and Alfred?" Temba asked suddenly. "Where are they?"

"You mean the white girl and the one-armed man?" Kitu asked.

"I want to see them," Temba demanded. He pointed to the ground in front of him with a firm index finger. "I want to see them here in front of me. You have taken Kuntolo. You can do this for me."

Polomo shook his head. "We can't do that, Temba."

"Why not? I will take them out of this forest. We will go far away from here, and I will forget all about what you did to Kuntolo." Temba wasn't sure he could keep that last promise, but he made it anyway.

"We cannot. I'm sorry," Polomo insisted.

"Then bring me Sam, the woman. You can keep the other one," Temba reasoned.

The gathered Mbuti exchanged glances. Polomo spoke for them. "I'm sorry, Temba. We cannot release them."

"Why not?" Temba demanded.

Polomo turned away. His hands limp, as he gazed into the jungle. Streaks of rainwater dribbled down his muscled back.

Kitu, Temba's adversary from the previous night, was the first to fill the silence. "It is because he wants them."

Temba furrowed his brow. "Who wants them?"

Kitu's eyes narrowed for a moment before glancing up at the sky. "The Great Molimo."

Sam held her breath for several long minutes as Guy stared at her. His expression turned from frustration to pure amus.e.m.e.nt. After a moment, he turned to the Mbuti and spoke in their lilting language. The young man grabbed Sam by the wrists, yanking her arms back forcefully. Sam kept her eyes locked on Guy the entire time.

"Why do they listen to you?" she asked. "What did you offer them? Are you paying them?"

"Paying them?" he chuckled. "They are not so concerned with money."

"Then why?" It made no sense.

"Suddenly you are full of questions, Sam. Yet you refused to answer mine. Why should I answer yours? What will you give me if I satisfy your curiosity?"

"Nothing."

"That is no way to get what you want." His next words were in the BaMbuti tongue, and Sam felt the fresh bonds on her wrists tighten.

"It doesn't really matter. I just can't figure out what the pygmies would be doing hanging around with a creep like you." Sam had expected that to sting, but Guy's face revealed nothing. "I figure you have to be paying them or bribing them with something. That's the only way they would ever do anything for a dirty Frenchman."

She saw a subtle shift in his reaction to a look of superiority. She added: "Or a Belgian."

"I am not paying anyone. What is here was left for me," Guy answered cryptically. "The BaMbuti worship the forest. I control the forest. Therefore, they worship me."

Her face twisted in confusion. Control the forest?

As if he had read her mind, he replied, "Yes, Sam."

Kitu stepped in front of Temba. A nasty bruise swelled one eye and a deep wound, half-closed, marred the back of his shoulder. Temba remembered making both of them.

"The forest has been asleep for a long time, Temba," Kitu explained. "You have seen it. Although maybe you haven't, since you have abandoned the ways of your people."

Temba didn't respond. He was used to this one by now. Many didn't care about Temba's ways. Many tried to adapt as he did. There were always those bitter voices. The ones who said that the BaMbuti should return to the forest for that was the only way they could survive. It was, as even Temba agreed, where they belonged.

"There is war and death and sadness in the world outside the forest," Kitu went on. "This we have known. And for many long years, the forest has protected us, as it should. But now you see them. We hide from the armies that enter the forest." He held a finger pointed at Temba, his teeth gritted. "You know what has happened to my family."

Temba's gaze fell to Kitu's feet.

"We remember that day. We all remember it well," Kitu snarled, the others nodding. "My sister Ibiza was getting ready to celebrate her elima. When I left her, my mother was speaking to her excitedly about it. Little Ibiza was almost a woman, Temba. She never saw that day. Have you ever returned from a hunt to find everything that mattered to you gone? She was lying on her belly. Her flesh was still burning. I knew what they had done to her. The flames did not hide the signs of her rape. Everything was taken from me-taken forever!

"How could the forest allow this, Temba? If it were awake, this could not have happened. It is supposed to protect us and shelter us. No song we sang could awaken it. No molimo could bring my sister back. When I remember her, her face to me is the little girl I knew, because I cannot bear to see the young woman who was so defiled. When this man comes-a white man-he says to us that he can awaken the forest. That he can keep out the militias and the Europeans. We do not believe him, because what he says sounds like magic.

"Look at the forest around you, Temba. It is awake. The animals rise up to kill those who do not belong. They are, no, we are united. The militia fears us! They stay far away from here. If intruders do come, with the entire forest behind us, they cannot win."

"Surely you have felt it, Sam."

A chill went down her spine.

"You have seen it in your time in the forest," Guy went on. "The way the animals behave. The level of aggression-"

"We saw the okapi."

Guy tilted his head.

"And the baboons."

"You have seen it in the animals; and what about the rest, the feeling in your heart? The forest has a rhythm it did not have before. Maybe you don't notice. You could easily have mistaken it for your imagination. I can certainly see how an outsider would make that kind of mistake. That pulse is new. Surely you have felt it."

"There was a ghost."

"I'm surprised a scientist like you would believe in ghosts."

"How?"

"You admit you have felt my power."

"What do you mean by your power?" Sam asked incredulous.

Guy nodded.

"That's impossible," she protested.

"Not impossible, very possible. The forest is mine. When I wish, they rise up and attack. They dance to the rhythm I set. And so, might I add, have you."

Despite every doubt about his wild claims, there had to be some explanation for those experiences. Demons, spirits, and ghosts all pa.s.sed through her mind.

"How?"

"Magic."

The pain in Kitu's words was hard for Temba to ignore. Their loss had left them scarred and desperate.

"Kitu," Polomo interrupted. "You speak too highly of the white man. He is only a servant like us."

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that the forest is awake now and ready to protect us from the war and the death. The first week that he came to live here, we were scattered and frightened and with no women or families. We had not hunted and the honey season was far off so we had no meat to eat. He called an elephant out of the forest. It came into the clearing and fell asleep before our very eyes. An elephant! You know how much meat that is. Unless you are truly deaf, then you have heard the sounds of the forest when outsiders enter it. Every beast shouts in anger. I can feel that anger, here, in my chest. The whole forest rises up to chase them out. For the first time, Temba, for the first time, the forest is truly awake."

Temba looked up at Kitu's face and the desperation in his eyes. He glanced to Polomo and the others. Not a single Mbuti argued with Kitu's words. In those words, they found their justification for their worship of this man. Raindrops grew thick and heavy. They fell in slow motion, bursting about Temba's brow and shoulders. It washed away the sweat and blood. The cold splashes awakened his mind, even after a whole night and a day of running through the jungle.

"You have gone mad," he whispered. "Your whole forest is mad. No man commands the jungle. It is higher than us all. Tell me, who is this man that you have made into a G.o.d? What does he want with Sam?"

Kitu looked toward the structures. Temba spotted lantern light through the windows of one of the cottages. He saw shapes moving within. His fists tightened.