Curse of the Condor (2 page)

The feeling of being watched was overwhelming. And finally regaining his strength, he looked up to see the condor still sitting atop the cave. It spread its wings, stretching the length of almost two of Conrado’s own height, and straightened its crooked neck as it spied him emerge from the cave. Then it swooped down toward him. Conrado dove to the ground as it flew out of sight.

He cried into the wet dirt, retching until he was totally drained. His body shook as he spilled forth his emotions, willing his parents to be alive again. Cursed were they to ever enter this cave. Now they were gone from this life, and he could only wish he had perished with them.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it started, and when Conrado looked up, a tribe of male native warriors surrounded him with blowguns and spears in their hands. Their bodies were naked, covered only by small pieces of cloth around their waists. On their bronzed-skinned bodies were painted designs and images of animals. Their faces were painted with bright stripes of orange and red.

One of the older males wore a headdress of black feathers, like that of the condor, mixed with brightly colored feathers as well. Strings of beads, feathers, claws, and shells graced his neck, signifying his position of tribal chief. The man walked toward him, spear in hand. That’s when Conrado saw the shrunken head swinging from the end of the pole. There was no doubt in his mind. These were the Jivaro. The tribe who didn’t want outsiders in their village. The tribe of head hunters the village men had warned them about. He swallowed deeply, frozen in fear. Why couldn’t he have died in the cave instead of the fate that now awaited him?

He squeezed his eyes shut awaiting his imminent death, but when they started chanting and no one had yet touched him, he opened his eyes in surprise. They all bowed down before him, and the chief with the headdress helped him to his feet. Conrado’s knees shook and his teeth chattered. He didn’t understand what was happening.

Then the chief talked to him in the tribal language Conrado’s father knew well. Conrado didn’t understand much of it, but he did understand he wasn’t to be killed after all. The chief motioned for one of his warriors to come forward. The warrior hoisted Conrado up to his shoulder, and the chief pointed to him and shouted out what sounded like
El Condor.
Then they all chanted this name and pointed to Conrado.

The chief continued with something that sounded like
prophecy,
and suddenly it was clear to Conrado why he was being revered instead of killed. They thought he was the boy sent by the condor. The boy of the prophecy said to be able to save them. He might be safe for now, but what would happen when they found he wasn’t who they thought he was?

Conrado felt his body weaken and the world go black before him. And the last thing he remembered was seeing the condor following him through the sky.

Chapter 1

Fifteen  years later

Conrado Nievez pulled his hat lower upon his head as he made his way through the streets of Iquitos, Peru. He felt the shadow of the condor falling upon him and didn't need to look up to know it sat in a dead tree directly above his head.

El Condor
was the name he'd been given by the Jivaro tribe who raised him from a child in the jungle. Though he was born a
mestizo,
of both Peruvian and American blood, he felt he had the Jivaro blood running through his veins. The condor following him around somehow proved it.

It had been three months now since he'd set foot outside the density of the rain forest and come for supplies. He'd lived in hell and as a loner these past few months, just him and the demons in his head haunting him for what he'd done. That is, the demons and the bird of the dead that kept showing up every time there was going to be trouble. The Jivaro respected and revered the bird, but Conrado only considered it a curse.

He wasn’t in a hurry to have anyone recognize him. After all, he was a wanted man now. He figured if the authorities couldn't find him, it'd prolong his life long enough to allow him to figure out just what happened the night his friend, Ryder Fitzgerald, died from a wound caused by the poisoned dart of a blowgun.

His blowgun.

The blowgun the missionaries had found still in Conrado’s tight grip when he awoke to find his best friend dead.

He'd seen the condor earlier that terrible day, circling above their heads as he guided Ryder and two other missionaries down the waters of the Amazon on their way to the Jivaro camp. He never should have let Ryder convince him to take them into Jivaro territory. The Jivaro didn't have much contact with the outside world, and he should have just left it that way.

He should have known better than to take a
gringo
into such dangerous lands. He'd been warned by the condor in his dreams not to get involved with Ryder's mission, but yet he ignored it at the pleas of his friend, and instead served as guide and mentor.

He drank more
chicha
than he should have that night, and argued with Ryder. He cursed himself for falling into a drunken stupor before he resolved the issue. And when he awoke to find his dart in Ryder's neck and the blowgun still in his own hand, he knew the condor had been delivering a message.

The bird of death. That’s the way Conrado saw it.

Conrado pushed the memories from his head as he felt a shiver run the course of his body. He looked up and saw the condor spread its wings in flight, circling once above his head before heading off for the highlands where it belonged. This meant trouble, and Conrado only wanted to get far away from the village before he was involved. The boys he'd hired to load his boat should be finished by now. He couldn't wait to get aboard and disappear into the jungle where he was safe. Safe from the authorities, but never from himself.

He pulled his poncho around himself, knowing it was much too warm to wear it, but wanting to hide the condor tattoo that was etched upon his upper arm. He made it to the water without anyone stopping him, and was just stepping into his dugout canoe when a woman's voice caught his attention.

“¿Puede usted ayudarme?
” she said, mispronouncing the Spanish words.

Another blasted tourist. He turned to see the blonde leaning over a small guide book to speaking Spanish. The men of the village crowded around her curiously. Conrado knew this
gringa
was either severely stupid, or extremely brave to come to Iquitos by herself, as he didn't see any other Americans with her. She stuck out like a sore thumb.

She donned a big floppy hat that half-hid her face, and dark sunglasses that kept him from seeing her eyes. She daringly exposed more of her pale skin than she should have to the equator's hot sun with the shorts, tank top, and sandals she wore.  A huge straw purse hung on her shoulder, and two suitcases rested at her feet.

"I need a guide to take me into the jungle," she overpronounced the words loudly and slowly as if that would make her meaning more comprehensible to the villagers. Then she flipped through the book again and found the word for guide. "
Guía
," she said with a smile of satisfaction, then pointed toward the jungle which gave every man there a good look at her lacy bra through the huge arm holes of her oversized tank top.

Conrado almost laughed. She deserved exactly what she got.

"I want to go see the . . . " she paused a moment and dug a sheet of paper out of her huge purse. "Jee-var-roe tribe," she read off, pronouncing it like an American would with the sound of the j instead of h.

Conrado stopped in his tracks. What would an American want with the aggressive Jivaro? He figured he'd better stick around a moment or two to hear more.

"No tourists to see Jivaro," a villager told her in broken English.

"Oh, good, you speak English," she said slapping the book shut and slipping it into her straw purse. "When can we leave?"

"No take you to Jivaro," he told her again, but she wouldn't let up.

"I have to go there," she said and reached into her open-topped purse and pulled out a fistful of American paper money. "I'll pay someone to take me."

What was she doing? Conrado shook his head at the way she foolishly displayed her money, and wasn't surprised when some of the children of the village jumped up and grabbed it and ran off. These people were very poor, and he couldn’t blame them for taking what she more or less offered.

"Come back here," she shouted, but it was too late. All hell broke loose as the children showed their friends, and they too ran over to beg for money. One small boy picked up her suitcase, meaning to help, but when it popped open and clothes were spewed through the air, the children excitedly grabbed for the contents. Little girls held up fancy bras and panties, and the boys waved panty hose over their heads and let them fly behind them as they ran barefoot through the dusty streets.

The woman stood there open-mouthed, her body frozen. Then she shook her head as realization hit her, and went after her belongings. She pulled on one end of a long skirt with three children gripping the other in what they thought was a game of tug-o-war. It ripped down the middle and the woman fell on her rump. She screamed as the rest of her belongings disappeared.

The men congregating around laughed in amusement, and the women rounded up their children, disappearing into open doorways. The American woman picked up a stray shoe and threw it after the last of the stragglers.

"No! Stop. Somebody help me," she called, but the villagers ignored her and went on with their own business of the day.

Conrado let out a breath and shook his head. He watched the woman pull her hat from her head along with her sunglasses and throw them to the ground in disgust. Two toddlers who weren't lucky enough to get anything, approached carefully looking at the items.

"Go ahead," she sighed, and motioned with her hand. "Take them. You may as well. I've already lost everything else I own.” With that, they picked up the remaining of her belongings and disappeared down the street. The woman sat down on a log, clutching her straw purse to her chest and buried her face in her hands. Her body jerked with each sob.

"Damn,” he cursed and hopped out of the canoe. He noticed the condor up high in the sky and knew he shouldn't come to the woman’s aid, but he couldn't just leave her there. By nightfall the woman was sure to be in hysterics, not to mention danger in a foreign land all by herself and dressed so scantily.

"
Señorita
," he said as he approached her.

She looked up at him and jumped to her feet. He stood very close to her when he talked as was custom of the Peruvian people. She backed away a bit to keep her distance. Though he was half hidden under his Panama hat and poncho, he knew he looked like hell after living in the jungle for the last three months. Living alone, he hadn't bothered to shave, not to mention he probably smelled horrendous since he was living without deodorant.

"I . . . I . .
hola!"
she said awkwardly and started digging through her purse for the guidebook.

"I saw what happened," he said.

"Oh, you speak English." She stopped digging in her purse and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"What do you want with the Jivaro?" He wasn't one for small talk.

"I need a guide to take me to them," she said.

"If you want to see how the natives live than take a tour through the Yagua camp. The Jivaro are a secluded tribe and don't want tourists bothering them."

"I'm not a tourist," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm looking for a man."

"Look, lady. I don't know what kind of entertainment you think you're going to find, but these men aren’t for you. You'd better get the hell out of here before you get yourself in trouble.

He grabbed her by the wrist and led her back in the direction of the town. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the authorities, guns in hand, stopping some of the villagers and showing them a piece of paper which he was sure included his name if not his photo as well.

"I'm in a hurry or I'd take you to the airport myself. Just go see Señor Diego de la Cruz and his wife, Paulita. They own the local restaurant. Tell them your situation and they'll help you. He shoved some Peruvian money in her hand. "You'll have to pay them, of course. But they'll make sure you get the hell out of here in one piece." He turned to go.

"I'm not going anywhere but to the jungle," she told him, and pushed the money back into his own hand. "And if you can't help me find Conrado Nievez, than maybe the authorities can." She squinted in the sun towards the officers and waved a hand trying to flag one down.

Conrado stopped dead in his tracks when he heard his name springing from her lips. Why in heaven's name was this woman looking for him? To turn him in for the reward money? He didn't think so. She wasn't the type to go bounty hunting.  She headed toward the officers, but he hurried beside her and redirected her toward the boat in one swift, smooth movement.

"Did you say Conrado Nievez?"

"I did."

"What do you want with him?"

"Well, not that it's any of your business, but I need him to help me track someone down. I was told I could find this Conrado with the Jivaro."

"What do you mean?" he asked her. "Who is it you're trying to track down?"

She looked him up and down for a moment, pursing her lips in indecision. She squinted at him, then shook her head slowly.

"All right,” she said. “I’ll tell you. I’m looking for a missionary from the States. His name is Ryder Fitzgerald."

Conrado's body tightened when he heard Ryder's name. No one had mentioned that name since the day he was killed. Not even the tribes people talked about it, for fear they'd bring bad luck upon themselves.

"Why do you want to find this Ryder?" he drilled her.

"I want to find Ryder to bring him back to the States," she said. "He's been here for the last six months doing missionary work. You see, when Ryder contacted me over three months ago I - I mean, I just have to find him."

"Why?" he asked, keeping his head low and leading her away from the authorities and toward his small boat. "What is this man to you anyway?"

She stopped in her tracks and looked up at him with her sad, blue eyes. Conrado tried to ignore the condor now sitting at the top of a Jacaranda tree. This woman was trouble. He shouldn't get involved. He shouldn't have asked her so many questions.

"Ryder is my brother."

Conrado felt a stab to his heart equal to the sharpness of any native's dart. He swallowed deeply and noticed the authorities heading in his direction. He knew he should just leave her there and they'd see she got back to the States. But he thought of Ryder buried deep in the jungle and his sister blindly looking for him with no clue he was dead.

He’d known Ryder since the day he met him in Lima over a year ago. They’d befriended each other immediately. Damn him for not mentioning he had a sister.

He couldn't leave Ryder’s sister stranded in the jungle. He couldn't leave her without telling her what happened. And why didn’t she already know? Hadn’t the missionaries gone back to the States to tell her? Hadn’t the Peruvian authorities tried to contact her?

"Get in the boat," he told her in a low, hoarse voice.

The next time he looked up to the sky, the condor was gone.