![]()
Fifth
![]()
23
April 25, 6:28 A.M. CAT
Ituri Province, Democratic Republic of the Congo
Gray followed behind the tall figure bearing the gold circlet, trying to comprehend who led them. The man’s bearing was regal, even when leaning on his staff. His gray curls formed a nimbus that supported his simple crown. The pattern on his robe shifted with each step, looking more like a dappling of shadows than embroidered thread.
As they continued along the chasm that cut between high cliffs, the king conversed softly with the older pygmy who had guided Gray’s group here.
To either side, the pair’s aardwolves paced them, brushing through the ferns fringing the gravel path, often vanishing completely out of sight. More wolves and the remaining pygmy hunters followed behind their group.
As they hiked, the cliffs to either side had slowly pulled back, allowing a thick forest to grow between them. A canopy crested over the trail, turning the path into a tunnel. Still, the foliage was thin enough to show peeks of a brightening morning. Occasionally the loose stones underfoot became solid rock cut into steps. The trail climbed slowly higher, leading them deeper into the labyrinth of this mountainous region. More pillars dotted the path, like ancient road markers. They grew taller as the march continued, looking quarried from the same rock as the cliffs.
“I think those were once the bases for arches,” Benjie whispered. He pointed to the next set of pillars. Their tops did seem to bend toward one another, but the spans between them had long crumbled away.
Gray nodded. He glanced back to where Kowalski and Faraji trailed them. He tried to picture a road of stone arches leading through this chasm.
As he faced back around, Benjie nodded to the taller man ahead of them. “If this trail truly does lead to some lost kingdom, do you think he could actually be a descendant of Prester John?”
Gray had wondered the same.
The king heard this inquiry and drifted back to them, allowing the old hunter to take the lead. “I am not,” he answered crisply. “The lineage of Prester John faded centuries ago, long before my time. If there’s any of that bloodline still flowing, it would be found in Molimbo’s people.” He gestured toward the pygmy leading them. “They’ve lived in these forests and mountains for thousands of years. They’ve protected its secrets, acting as caretakers, while also being nurtured in turn.”
“But what about you?” Gray asked, glancing up and down his tall form. “You’re clearly not of this tribe.”
“I am not so lucky, though they took me in long ago, welcomed me into their fold.” He looked behind them. His eyes, slightly clouded by cataracts, stared off into a distance that wasn’t just measured in miles. “I was not born here, but in Muxenge.”
Faraji gasped, stepping closer. “That’s where I live. That’s my home.”
The man smiled a bit sadly. “Of course, I can tell you are Bakuba.” He placed two fingers to his forehead, then touched the same to his chest, a traditional Kuba greeting. “My name is Tyende. Joseph Tyende.”
Gray looked between boy and elder, recognizing the tribal resemblance now. The old man could be Faraji’s grandfather. He also noted how this supposed king had used the older term for the Kuba people.
“How did you come to be here?” Gray asked.
“The same as you, it would seem. By following the Reverend Sheppard.”
Gray’s brows rose. He wondered if the man had once been a tribal shaman, someone with access to the sacred ngedi mu ntey and the secrets it held. “You were able to decipher Sheppard’s clues and found this place, too.”
“No, you misunderstand. I came here with the Reverend Sheppard.”
Gray stumbled a step.
Tyende sighed, his expression sorrowful. “The reverend was my friend and teacher. It was he who taught me English, or rather finished my education after a few years at a British colonial school.”
Gray struggled to digest this information. According to the dates on the photos, William Sheppard had come on his quest in 1894. Even if Tyende was only a boy back then, it would still make him well over a hundred today.
“That’s impossible,” Gray muttered.
Even Kowalski snorted dismissively.
Tyende shrugged and gestured to the small hunter leading them. “Molimbo was already old when I first came here with the Reverend Sheppard. He claims Bala is his third blood-bonded fisi ndogo.”
As if summoned by her name, the aardwolf shifted out of the brush to trot several steps alongside the pygmy—then vanished away.
“Such proud beasts live only a century or so.” Tyende smiled at the old wolf shadowing them, his white fur nearly glowing, as if he were already a ghost. “Mbe is near the end of his life with me. He was only a pup when I first came here. I could cradle him in both palms back then.”
Gray frowned toward the old pygmy, who looked younger than Tyende, but according to this account, Molimbo was many times older. He remembered the myths surrounding Prester John, attesting to a miraculous longevity. According to those stories, the last recorded age of the lost Christian king was 562.
Gray studied Molimbo more closely. If all of this were true—and not some exaggeration or lie—then he understood why Tyende believed the bloodline of Prester John still flowed through the veins of this pygmy tribe.
Gray turned to Tyende. “If you came with the Reverend Sheppard, why did you stay? Why did you remain behind?”
“I consider it an honor now,” Tyende said. “And I do venture outward in rare occasions, even once returning to Muxenge. But after so many years, I felt a stranger there.” He swept his staff around him. “Here is my truest home. Where I took a wife, who sadly passed, but who gave me two strong sons—who themselves had children and grandchildren. So, you see, I’ve had a good life, better than I deserved.”
“What do you mean?” Gray asked.
Tyende shook his head, his gaze downcast. “You asked me why I remained behind. I’ve not truly answered it. Even now shame weighs down my tongue.”
“Then what kept you here?” Gray pressed again.
Tyende looked over, his expression pained. “Penance.”
Gray wanted to know more, but the Kuba elder thumped forward with his staff, leaving them behind.
Tyende offered only one last comment, tossed back at them. “You will understand better soon.”
The hike reached another staircase, cut into switchbacks that climbed a tall ridge. They continued in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Gray struggled to put all the pieces together in his head. By the time, they reached the top of the rise, he had more questions than when he had started up.
Tyende waited for them at the summit, leaning on his staff, bathed in sunlight as the trail crested over an open spine of rock. He looked exhausted, then again, he was over a hundred years old. He lifted an arm as Gray and the others reached him.
Gray looked out from the high vantage point. A wide forested basin opened ahead, circled by peaks and ridges. Their jagged outlines were barely discernible above the thick jungle that filled the valley to the brim. From this height, the canopy looked dense and impenetrable, its dark emerald nearly black.
“Here is what you came to find,” Tyende said. “Molimbo’s people call it Utoto wa Maisha. The Cradle of Life. The Kuba named it Mfupa Ufalme.”
“The Kingdom of Bones,” Gray said.
Tyende stared across the expanse. “Both names are equally true. As you will see.”
The man set off again, descending into the valley along another steep staircase.
Gray followed, passing out of sunlight and back into shadows. He stared down the steps that vanished into the darkness below. If there were any answers, they’d be found down there.
But can we discover them in time?
7:45 A.M.
After nearly an hour of descending the ridge, Benjie wondered if the stairs would ever end. The course zigged and zagged, delving ever downward, proving the valley was far deeper than he had imagined. By the time they reached the last step, he estimated they had traveled a mile down into the valley.
During their descent, the jungle had continued to grow taller around them. Massive trunks—some a dozen feet in diameter, many even larger—marched off into the darkness. The trees formed a colonnade that held up a multilayered canopy. Only a few emerald-hued slivers of light reached the valley floor.
It was so dark that Gray finally broke out his flashlight.
Benjie was happy for the additional light.
Two of the pygmies also gathered up torches from a neat stack at the base of the stairs. They lit the oily brands with strikes of flint. One was passed to Molimbo to help guide them. Benjie suspected the torches were more for the newcomers’ benefit.
“It is not far from here,” Tyende promised.
“Where are you taking us?” Benjie asked.
“First to the scourge,” the man answered cryptically. “To understand, you must know the temptation that lured so many to their doom.”
Kowalski grumbled, “I’m more than happy to skip the doom part of this tour.”
Tyende ignored him and set off. Molimbo once again took the lead, holding aloft his torch. The other pygmies drifted to either side. Their aardwolves dispersed wider, vanishing into the gloom.
The group set off across the valley. The darkness had smothered most of the und...
