Spirit of the Jungle Read online

  The sound of curious grunts filled the air as the primates stopped and began searching the area outside the building. One sat on its haunches beside the gap Mak had slipped through, and began scratching itself.

  Mak now saw the flaw in his plan. The macaques were spreading out beyond the buildings, making it impossible for him to slip through their ranks.

  His only exit was now blocked.

  He allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness around him. Some moonlight lanced in through cracks, revealing a surprisingly large chamber. Scores of columns supported the high ceiling. These had been protected from the ravages of the weather, and Mak could just make out carvings of monkeys and serpents adorning them.

  He was inside one of the temples.

  Having gained access through a crack in the wall, he reasoned that there should be a proper exit elsewhere. If he could find it.

  Mak crept forward – his foot skittering a pebble across the chamber. It echoed loudly, and the macaque guarding his entrance peered inside.

  With his toes throbbing, Mak pressed himself back against a column. After a moment, he risked peeking behind him.

  The macaque had entered the temple. Mak could just see the creature’s silhouette, head tilted upwards as it sniffed the air.

  It slowly advanced, now hunched forward on its front arms as its nose weaved across the floor searching for the scent of man. Mak’s decision to bathe in mud just might have saved his life.

  The ape was now on the opposite side of his pillar. Mak pressed himself flat and slowly edged in the opposite direction. His foot caught a rock, something the size of a football that caused him to stumble.

  It was a fatal mistake.

  With a hiss the macaque vaulted around the column, and even in the dim light Mak could see its lips were pulled back, baring huge and lethal incisors.

  Mak was still stumbling on the rock, and now, forced backwards, he tripped hard and landed on his backside. At the same moment he felt a rush of air as the monkey’s paw lashed past where his head had been. The terrible sound of claws raking stone told Mak that his face would have been torn in two.

  With a screech, the macaque pivoted around so that it could bite him. Mak felt slobber splash across his face. His hands reached instinctively for some sort of a weapon – anything to ward the beast off.

  He touched the wire cables he’d taken from the poachers’ traps hanging from his side. Without thinking he pulled one free, flicking it like a whip. The steel cable lashed around the macaque’s leg.

  The furious monkey howled in pain as it was whipped, but Mak didn’t care. He caught the end of the travelling cable. It stung his palm, but he didn’t let go – instead he heaved all his weight backwards just as the macaque was preparing to leap at him, and he pulled.

  The cable tightened, forcing the startled monkey to stumble as its leg refused to move in the direction it wanted to go. The beast howled in confusion as Mak circled it, yanking the wire ever tighter.

  Mak wrapped the end he had been holding around a root that was growing through the wall and hurried off in the opposite direction, leaving the monkey howling. It was just a matter of time before another ape would come to investigate the disturbance, or the macaque wriggled free.

  Although Mak couldn’t see, the temple around him seemed to yawn wide into the darkness. He ran around one fat onion-shaped pillar and then suddenly stopped in his tracks.

  Before him was a giant monkey, some six metres high. Its snarling face was lit by moonlight seeping through a hole in the roof. It was only on second glance that Mak realized this was an enormous statue of a monkey god, its four huge arms extended in prayer, a massive tail slinking around the columns and up to the dark ceiling above.

  Mak didn’t need time to think. Every church and temple he had ever gone into always had the central icon facing the doorway. He spun around and, sure enough, saw a glimmer of light from the main entrance door. He ran towards it, stopping as he drew near. He pressed his body against the wall and peeped out at what lay beyond.

  It was the wide plaza with the cobra-filled swimming pool in the middle. The distant fallen wall was just visible in the gloom and, beyond, the welcoming dark of the jungle beckoned.

  Just one long sprint to freedom and he was certain he’d be able to lose his attackers in the jungle. He braced himself, taking several long breaths. He edged out of the doorway, to the top of the moss-covered steps leading into the plaza. He could see dark shapes languishing across the stone floor – but whether they were sleeping cobras or merely harmless roots he couldn’t tell.

  He counted down in his mind –Three, two . . .

  And just then he became aware of heavy breathing over his shoulder. He cocked his head back, just enough to make out the enormous white macaque hunched over the temple entrance. Even from the corner of his eye, Mak could make out its malevolent expression, the scar that ran across one eye to its nose – a sign of a previous battle for dominance – and the string of saliva that now dribbled down across Mak’s back.

  One single pounce and Mak would fall in a torrent of teeth and fangs. There was nowhere left to run. Surprisingly, Mak didn’t feel afraid. He had faced many dangers in the wild now and had survived them all, although to be outwitted by a monkey would add insult to injury. If only he could distract the animal . . .

  Then an idea came to him.

  Mak slowly turned, attempting to make every gesture seem unthreatening. A vague recollection that one shouldn’t make eye contact with primates came to mind.

  Mak’s eyes darted away, not wishing to either provoke the beast or see the attack that would kill him. Instead, his gaze fell to his hand as he slowly drew something from his pocket.

  The Pale King’s head turned, and its threatening grunts faded as it saw the coin dancing through Mak’s fingers.

  The moonlight caught the shiny surface of the coin in tiny bursts as it cascaded down Mak’s knuckles, then up again in an almost hypnotic manner. It held the monkey’s attention for now, but with each pass the coin was losing its sheen due to the mud on Mak’s fingers.

  He caught movement beyond the white beast – the remainder of the troop were silently gathering along the steep temple walls, all looking down in fascination at the flickering light in Mak’s hand. More appeared along the side of the temple, inadvertently cutting off Mak’s direct path to the gap in the wall. He would have to flee in the opposite direction.

  Running out of time, Mak tensed – then tossed the coin high in the air to one side. As one, the monkeys’ heads turned to track it – and Mak jumped down the temple steps.

  He had just a few seconds’ lead on them – but landed on both feet as the Pale King howled in fury. Mak sprinted across the plaza – his naked feet kicking as he tried to dodge and jump both the vines and the lethal web of snakes.

  He was moving quickly – too fast for the serpents as they hissed and reared in his wake. With no cloud coverage, the night was chillier than usual, which meant the snakes’ reactions were sluggish. Mak focused on his destination ahead, the large raised square containing the well.

  Throwing caution to the wind, the macaques charged after him – but in the wake of the startled snakes, they suffered terrible injuries. The angry growls quickly turned to yelps of pain as the cobras struck. Many of the leading monkeys suffered multiple bites and staggered woozily before crumpling to the ground, howling wildly. The other monkeys wisely hesitated as they looked on from the temple.

  The Pale King roared in fury. The monkeys scattered left and right, keeping to the raised areas as they circled around the snake-filled plaza, closing in on their prey in a wide pincer movement.

  Mak had postponed his death by perhaps a minute. His flight had taken him further away from the gap in the wall, and he felt he was now running in circles as the ranks of his enemy cut off his only line of escape.

  Then a familiar howl echoed across the city, a long piercing cry that shocked Mak to his core and froze him in his tracks.
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  And then in an instant it lifted Mak’s spirits like nothing ever before. The advancing mob hesitated in confusion, heads snapping in every direction to spot this new threat.

  Mak’s heart soared as the familiar shape of Mother Wolf appeared on top of a pyramidal structure, her head tilted back as she howled again – perfectly silhouetted against the full moon.

  In response, Mak howled back and began shaking with joy when Mother Wolf, accompanied by Yip and Itch, scrambled down and joined his side. Their timing couldn’t have been better. As Mak tore his gaze away from his rescuers, he saw the mighty white macaque was still charging him. While the other monkeys were stricken with fear, their leader sought only blood.

  With its jaw extended and huge fangs poised to tear Mak’s throat out, the Pale King made a final leap. There was a blur of movement as Mother Wolf accelerated and, with a chilling snarl, bounded into the macaque’s side. They both tumbled to the floor, rolling over and over towards the lip of the raised square, as teeth gnashed and claws gouged.

  A flower of blood stained the Pale King’s side as the wolf bit down – but Mother Wolf yelped as the monkey pounded its fists into her head. Yip and Itch growled as menacingly as they could manage, keeping the remaining monkeys at bay.

  More painful yelps came from Mother Wolf as she was lifted into the air by the Pale King. The macaque’s hands around her throat, feet firmly planted in her chest. Rage surged through Mak, and just as the wolf was hurled against the stone floor, he charged.

  The Pale King stood on its hind legs, raising its arms to strike down on the prone wolf. With his back to Mak, he didn’t see the boy closing in. The monkey only half-turned when he heard the human’s battle cry – but by then it was too late.

  Mak shouldered into the monkey, thrusting his elbow in hard until he heard something crack. The macaque bellowed in pain and tried to turn around, its feet tripping over the wolf. The Pale King tumbled off the edge of the plaza, landing awkwardly with a cry of pain.

  In the moonlight, Mak could just see one of the macaque’s arms hung limp as he tried to roll to his feet. He could also see the floor was moving beneath the monkey.

  Snakes.

  The high-pitched screeches of pain forced Mak to look away as a mass of cobras swamped the Pale King. The searing pain from the snakebites didn’t last long as the enormous quantity of poison surged through the white macaque, seizing its heart. Mak looked back to see only the Pale King’s hand poking through the seething black mass.

  He knelt at Mother Wolf’s side and ran his hand across her body. She was bleeding. Mak hoped it was only from scratches rather than anything fatal.

  The wolf licked his face, causing him to smile despite the jeopardy they were still in.

  Then the wolf rolled to her feet, immediately rounding on the monkey troop who had stepped forward to watch their leader die.

  She gave a deep growl, slowly backing towards her pups. Mak stayed by her side and looked around for an opportunity to escape. It was worse than before. While one wave of monkeys had stopped to watch the battle, the others had circled them, completing their pincer movement.

  There was no getting away from the hard facts: Mak and the wolves were trapped.

  Gibbering confusion ran through the macaques as they looked at their fallen leader – then a large grey male strode forward, this one sporting a disgusting growth on the side of his cheek. He roared at Mak.

  Concerned now for the wolves’ safety rather than his own, Mak scooped up Itch and Yip and backed towards an enormous hole in the ground. Maybe this dip in the ground could hide their retreat.

  Then Mak noticed something unusual about the hole. He could hear the roar of a river below, and the noise was coming straight up from the chasm below him. It was an enormous well.

  He whistled to Mother Wolf, who followed his gaze to the well, then to the mass of slathering macaques around them.

  Mak took a deep breath, held the two pups tight, then jumped into the well, hoping that he hadn’t sealed their fate.

  A few seconds of falling, then a splash.

  The frigid water felt like needles of ice thrust into Mak’s nerves. A stream of bubbles involuntarily blew from his mouth as his whole body convulsed. He desperately tried to hold on to the two pups, but their wriggling forms slipped from his grasp, allowing him to use his hands to stabilize himself.

  It was absolutely pitch black in the well, and Mak couldn’t even tell which way was up – but then he felt the powerful tug of the underground river he’d leaped into. He’d been thrust into water so much during his jungle journey that by now he had learned the vital lesson – don’t panic. By simply not moving and allowing the current to carry him, he was saving precious oxygen.

  Now as relaxed as he could be, Mak’s other senses attempted to compensate. His body was alive with adrenalin, and he could just feel the tickle of air bubbles creeping over his body, all moving in the same direction. Reorienting himself, he felt the same bubbles travel up his spine and neck.

  Up . . .

  Mak kicked his legs to chase the bubbles, and his head popped out of the water.

  He had just enough time to gulp a fresh new breath before the raging surface splashed him in the face and the underground river’s current dragged him down again. In that brief respite he had also heard the welcome sound of furious whining – at least the wolves were with him.

  After several more cycles of gulping air and being yanked back down, Mak noticed a pale source of light ahead. He kicked powerfully to the surface using both his arms and legs. His head shot out of the water at the very same moment his body struck a rock beneath the surface and he was surprised to find himself suddenly catapulted out of the water and flailing through the air.

  Mak was confused and lost all sense of direction as he fell for what felt like forever – eventually impacting on more water below with even more force. He disappeared under the surface once more, until his natural buoyancy carried him back to the surface. He swam as hard as he could, ignoring the throbbing pain in his backside from where he had hit the rock. Breaking the surface once more, he gulped in a deep breath and took in his new surroundings.

  The underground river had emerged from a circular hole halfway up a cliff face. The torrent had spat him out into the air, and he had tumbled down, landing in a large plunge pool, which then snaked away as a river through the surrounding jungle.

  Mak swam to the shore and was relieved to feel soft sand beneath his hands and knees as he crawled out. The moon was bright and the grass in the clearing around the pool rippled with silver flecks. He scanned the river, searching with all his might for any sign of the wolves.

  But there was nothing.

  He called out in a loud whisper: ‘Yip? Itch? Can you hear me?’

  Nothing.

  Then suddenly he saw the three wolves emerge from the water. His heart leaped!

  And they looked in better shape than he did. Mother Wolf was nuzzling her two pups, sniffing for any sign of injury and ushering them out of the water. Then all three shook themselves dry, before Mother Wolf crossed to Mak and licked his face too.

  He laughed, throwing his arms around the animal in a tight hug.

  ‘Thank you for coming after me,’ he said with heartfelt relief. ‘Thank you!’

  Mother Wolf’s snout gently pushed his arm away and she shook her fur again on the banks, splashing Mak with water that stank of dog. He didn’t mind; he was too busy scruffing the heads of Itch and Yip as they stood on his chest, both trying to lick his face. He didn’t want this moment to end.

  Mak slowly awoke to warm rays of sunlight caressing his face. Birds twittered from all around him, while the constant dull roar of the waterfall provided a soothing soundtrack. The two pups were either side of him, their warm furry bodies feeling like hot-water bottles. He was content not to move.

  He didn’t recall falling asleep, and hadn’t moved far from the water’s edge. His backside and leg throbbed from where he had stru
ck the rock and then fallen into the plunge pool. With the minimum of movement he could see a nasty purple bruise on the side of his leg.

  Blue-feathered parrots flittered from the trees, paying no attention to the unlikely wolf/human family below.

  Mak scratched his head, noticing for the first time that his hair was longer than usual. Definitely longer than it was either side of half-term, having avoided the hairdresser. That hinted that he had been a month or more in the wild.

  No longer were his thoughts darkly pondering whether his parents were alive, instead he was now wondering if they thought he was still alive. Had they given up on him? Had they held his funeral? He wondered just how many of his classmates would have turned up to that. Probably not many, but the thought put a wry morbid smile on his face.

  But then Mak experienced a wave of sorrow for his mother and father. They must have gone through hell thinking he had died in the jungle, no doubt blaming themselves for dragging him out here against his wishes.

  He slowly sat up, trying not to disturb the pups, who stretched and yawned beside him as they woke. Mak took everything in. How could he not want to be here? It was as if somebody had sculpted paradise and dropped him in it. Sure, killer crocs, rabid monkeys and unforgiving poachers’ traps were not very welcome, but every incident had made him feel alive. And the importance of family had been drilled into him at every turn, whatever form it took.

  Looking up, he saw Mother Wolf returning with a fresh kill, a young forest pig, and Mak’s stomach rumbled at the thought of a filling meal.

  For several days afterwards, life appeared to fall back into the familiar comfortable routine. Waking to a fresh meal, then wandering to pastures new – except Mak couldn’t shake the feeling that there was now a sense of purpose to Mother Wolf’s actions.

  She would slink off into the forest, as if scouting ahead. Sometimes she would disappear for several hours – although Mak had long since lost any accurate measure of time – before returning and ushering Mak and the pups to follow her.