down, cupped a huge arm underneath her shoulders, then raised her. Her head lolled against his broad chest.
“Do not give in too soon, little one,” he murmured. “There may yet be a chance.”
“Such as?” Rita asked hopelessly.
“We shall see. Anjani, jungle-wise, can read signs that may come to pass. Tocoto is master because he has a jewel, but if natives are superstitious in one thing, then they are in another. I shall try my last trick tonight.…”
Rita did not answer. She was too bone-weary and thirsty to even think.
“Tocoto must have kept close track of me and gathered tribes to aid him,” Anjani mused presently. “It is only to be expected. There will never be room for both of us in the jungle.”
Rita was hardly listening. Finally she took refuge in sleep, still with her head on Anjani’s shoulder. He remained motionless lest he disturb her. As he had expected, no water or nourishment was brought, and the guards remained outside the doorway. Once or twice Anjani speculated on the possibilities of attacking them, and then changed his mind. Single-handed, nimble, and powerful as he was, he could probably have made his escape, but not with Rita to look after as well. So he licked his parched lips and waited—and waited.
Towards the close of the hot, sultry afternoon, preparations began for the festival of nightfall. Anjani could see part of the proceedings through a crack in the ancient wall of the hut, and they followed the usual pattern. Two stakes set near to the ever-growing pile of brushwood, the effigy of Mantamiza near at hand, and, behind it, a tall stump on which reposed something dull red and faceted. It was not particularly big, and Anjani recognised it as the jewel of Akada, set in a place of honour.
Rita awoke at nightfall, her voice failing her through lack of water. She remained in Anjani’s grasp, staring dully through the crack in the wall and listening to the gathering rumble of the drums. The way she felt, she did not particularly care if she did die. Thirst was fast killing her in any case.
Night itself seemed to come sooner than usual with heavy lowering clouds. The air remained motionless, so that not a leaf stirred, and the maddening beat of the drums was carried with reverberating echoes. Outside the warriors were dancing. Directly underneath the jewel of Akada and Mantamiza, Tocoto was seated in a rush chair, surveying the proceedings, a grim-faced white giant amidst his black followers.
Then, suddenly, the door of the prison hut flew open and Anjani found himself seized by four massive warriors. He stood little chance against them and was bundled fiercely outside. Two remaining warriors grabbed the half unconscious Rita between them and dragged her to her feet. Stumbling, dazed, she was forced across the dusty clearing in the centre of the village, until one of the stakes had been reached. She drew back in horror before the naked blaze of the crackling fire, only to be forced onwards again, her back finally coming up hard against the stake assigned to her. In a matter of moments she had been bound to it, her head lolling. Near to her, Anjani was bound to his own pillar, but he remained erect, looking bitterly towards his twin on the seat beneath the effigy.
Presently Tocoto rose and held up his hand. The noise of the drums and the m’deup dance faded into silence. The quiet was uncanny, resting on both the village and the surrounding jungle. Nothing moved for a while and there was a vast oppression in the air.
“Tocoto speak few words before sacrifice!” Tocoto looked about him and at the sound of his voice, though she could not understand what he was saying, Rita raised her head. Her face was greasy from the heat of the fire, her hair tangled about her head. Her cracked lips and tongue showed just how much thirst was corroding the life out of her.
“Anjani great danger to all tribes,” Tocoto continued. “Tocoto rule, not Anjani, because I have the power of the jewel which gives us lordship over our enemies—”
“I challenge that!” Anjani interrupted, and immediately the warriors and their mates looked at him in surprise.
“You dare to challenge Tocoto the Mighty?” Tocoto roared.
“I do. Jewel of Akada gives you great power, you say—power over the gods of evil, power even over Mantamiza. I have greater power and can command the gods of rain to come to my aid if need be!”
“You have no power,” Tocoto shouted back. “Tocoto alone is master—”
“Try and burn me and the white woman as sacrifices to Mantamiza, and the rain gods will destroy you,” Anjani cried.
There was a momentary hesitation amongst the natives, and the fuming of Tocoto did not budge them either. Inherently superstitious, they were faced with two masters—the one who claimed absolute authority because of the jewel he possessed, and the other who swore he could bring the rain gods to his aid.
In the pause Anjani looked hopefully above him. He had known from the very start that a violent tropical storm was threatening: all the signs had been there ever since arriving in the village. The point was, how soon would it reach flashpoint?
“On with the dance!” Tocoto roared. “Mantamiza grows impatient! Into the fire with them! First the woman and then the man.… But not too quickly. Let them taste the flames first. Remember, Mantamiza was cheated last time. This time he will like to play with his victims!”
Immediately there was a rush of warriors to the stake holding Rita. She screamed helplessly for Anjani to aid her as the stake began to rock back and forth, then at last it was lifted out of its socket and on to the shoulders of four of the warriors. Face down, held by the ropes, Rita felt herself being carried to the flames.
“Hold!” Anjani thundered. “The rain gods forbid! Look up, you misguided fools—look up!”
The warriors hesitated, then they obeyed, which was one sure way of making them feel raindrops spattering onto their faces. At almost the same instant, to Anjani’s profound thankfulness, a fork of lightning ripped the sky and thunder exploded with shattering violence over the village.
“The rain gods will destroy you if you dare burn me or the white woman!” Anjani yelled, rain now pelting down hard. “Put the woman down. Release her!”
“Do not obey him—!” Tocoto waved his arms frantically.
But at the moment the signs were all on the side of the rain gods, which was the only thing the natives understood. With rain sweeping down in clouds and thunder cannonading overhead, they were quite convinced that Anjani, not Tocoto, was the man to be feared. Hastily they put Rita down and cut her free, dragging her to her feet. She turned her face to the sky and drank in the precious drops that poured down her face.
Then the warriors turned to Anjani, their keen knives cutting at his thongs. Tocoto watched in impotent fury for a moment or two, then realising that he had lost the battle—and that it might go ill for him too if the natives were so minded—he turned, grabbed the great Jewel of Akada, and vanished in the darkness away from the rapidly extinguishing fire. But Anjani saw him go, illumined by the flashes of lightning, and the moment he was released he dashed across to where Rita was still on her knees, drinking in the rain.
“Come—quickly,” Anjani told her, and with a hand under her arm he pulled her along beside him. This time she moved more quickly, already revived by the water, the coolness, and the fact that she had escaped death.
In a moment or two she and Anjani were in the jungle. The lightning blazed eerily for a moment, then thunder crashed down on the darkness that followed. There was a wind now, bending the treetops
