Read Online The Fifth Harmonic by F. Paul Wilson - Free Book Online Page B

that do so because they do not understand her ways. Others, usually ones who follow the dzul god, call her bruja .”
    Will knew that word: witch .
    “What do you call her?”
    “Ambrosio calls her sabia . . . the wise one.”
    And now Will identified the mystery note in Ambrosio's tone: reverence.
    “Mira!” Ambrosio said suddenly, pointing.
    Something brightly colored and feathered darted across the path in front of them.
    “A peacock!” Will said.
    “No-no, señor. That is a turkey.”
    A turkey in the jungle. Imagine that. “Too bad you don't have Thanksgiving down here,” Will said.
    “Like in the U.S.?” Ambrosio shook his head. “No, señor. We do not give thanks that the dzul came to our land.”
    The sides of the path rose gradually until they were traveling in a gully, with the jungle floor slipping by at eye level. They came to a huge puddle, but Ambrosio never slowed. He plowed straight ahead as muddy water the color of old blood flew in gouts to either side, bathed the windshield, and sprayed through the doorways.
    And as the Jeep rolled onto the opposite shore, the engine sputtered and died.
    Ambrosio cursed in a number of languages as he turned the ignition key. The starter whined but the motor didn't turn.
    “Maybe the wires are wet,” Will said, shaking the mud off his right arm. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he'd heard it before and it sounded reasonable. “Give them a moment and they should dry.”
    Ambrosio muttered something about “waterproof” and popped the hood release. Will joined him at the front of the Jeep and helped him lift the hood.
    Ambrosio groaned at the sight of the engine splattered with mud.
    Will knew next to nothing about cars. He could look inside someone's abdomen and identify every organ and blood vessel and describe their functions in minute detail; put him in front of a car engine, however, and he was a stuttering bumpkin.
    But you didn't need to be a Popular Mechanics subscriber to know that mud and the internal combustion engine did not mix. This one looked as if it had hemorrhaged.
    Ambrosio worked on it for half an hour, wiping it clean, drying the wires, checking the connections . . . but the engine refused to turn over.
    Finally he leaned back and stared upward. What was he looking at? He couldn't see the sky through the green canopy overhead.
    He turned to Will. “Ambrosio must go get help.”
    “How far is that?”
    “Miles.”
    Will looked down the gully. It looked walkable. “All right. Let's go.”
    “No. Not that way. Too many miles that way. Too far.” He pointed into the thick of the jungle. “Ambrosio will go that way.”
    “And leave me here?”
    No way, José.
    “It is better.” He pulled out his machete and made chopping motions at the jungle. “Ambrosio can go fast this way, but not with you. Dark will come.” He pointed to the Jeep. “You stay. You can put up the sides and close the back. You will be safe until Ambrosio returns.”
    He turned and struck off into the brush.
    “Wait!” Will shouted, fighting panic.
    “Do not be afraid,” the little man called back. “Ambrosio will come back soon!”
    And then he was gone. Will could hear him crashing through the brush, but the vegetation had closed around him. Soon even his sounds were swallowed up by the green wall.
    Will took two steps toward where he'd last seen him, then stopped. Ambrosio wasn't taking a shortcut, he was making one.
    He's right, Will told himself. I'll only slow him up if I tag along.
    And the idea of stumbling through this jungle in the dark, even with Ambrosio . . .
    Yet Will couldn't help but remember Ambrosio's remark about Xtabay . . . the spirit who lures men deep into the woods and abandons them there.
    Well, I'm plenty deep in the woods, he thought. And now I've been abandoned.
    Don't get dramatic.
    Ambrosio will come back soon. . . .
    Will believed that. He didn't have unerring judgment about people, but Maya and Ambrosio seemed like good