Gray lifted the phone and opened the connection. “Director Crowe, we have a—”

  Painter cut him off, his voice sharp with urgency. “Gray, you need to clear out of there. Right now. There’s a drone bomber winging your way, set to your current coordinates, carrying a MOAB payload. The blast will destroy everything for miles around.”

  Gray clutched the phone harder. “When will it get here?”

  “Fifteen minutes, maybe less.”

  Gray stared over at Kowalski, at his empty canteen. “But we don’t have the cure.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Get off this line and haul ass.”

  The connection went dead.

  Kowalski glared his way. “What now?”

  Gray waved for him to return. They had no time to argue with a tree that had lived for millennia. “Forget it!” he shouted. “Run!”

  Kowalski was happy to obey that order. Still, he hollered as he pounded toward them. “Why? What’s the rush?”

  “A bomb! Headed our way. In fifteen minutes!”

  Kowalski swore and sped faster. The outer tangle of roots parted to let him through, then closed behind him. He skidded to a stop and jabbed Benjie’s chest with a finger.

  “You owe me fifty bucks.”

  Benjie looked sheepishly at Gray. “He bet me someone would try to blow us up before this was all over.”

  “You shouldn’t have taken that bet.” Gray shoved Benjie and Faraji toward the outer barrier of black roots and sharp thorns.

  He waved for Tyende to follow, casting the old man an apologetic look.

  The tribesman looked distraught, but also resigned.

  Gray got them all moving. The low passage under the briar proved less of a gauntlet than before. The woody daggers and spines had retracted into the dark mass, allowing them to travel faster.

  As they crawled, a countdown ran in his head. The blast radius from a MOAB stretched a full mile from ground zero—maybe farther with the explosion trapped within the valley’s high cliffs.

  There was no way the team could clear that distance in the time remaining.

  At least, not all of us.

  Still, he refused to abandon any others. They would all make it out or none would. He intended to reach that golden kingdom, a city mined into a vein of precious ore. He prayed it would offer them enough shelter.

  But first we have to get there.

  Gray reached the end of the thorny briar and climbed back up, facing the rolling wonderland of glowing ponds and golden-green forest. A mist hung over the glade, cast forth by those sporulating cysts.

  He waved everyone onward. “Keep going. As fast as you can manage.”

  He set a hard pace, trotting, running, slowing when Benjie or Tyende were left gasping for air, then pushing them again when they faltered too long.

  As they fled, the ground stirred across the breadth of landscape. It was a reminder that the true bulk of the forest lay beneath their feet, in a vast interconnected network of roots and fungal hyphae, forming an intelligence far older than anything on Earth.

  Knowing what was coming, what would be destroyed, Gray gritted his teeth with frustration.

  We should never have come here.

  What had it gained them?

  Kowalski’s empty canteen bounced at his hip. Gray held out a slim hope that perhaps whatever curative powers had been gifted to the big man could be distilled back out of his blood, used to stop the spreading contagion.

  They finally reached the edge of the ancient forest. The fringe of darker woods beckoned. Benjie slowed—less due to his gasping breath and more for Tyende’s sake. The flight had left the man wheezing, his face gaunt and running with sweat. He had lost his staff along the way. Kowalski now supported the elder, with Faraji trying to help on the other side.

  Gray took the boy’s place. “Keep going.”

  They set off again, forging through the dense barricade of dark forest until the main woods opened around them.

  Gray checked his watch.

  9:38 A.M.

  They had only another seven minutes—if even that.

  Benjie noted the problem first, slowing down and searching around. “Where are the others?” he huffed out.

  Gray looked, too, and realized that Molimbo and the rest of the pygmies had left, taking their bonded aardwolves with them. They were nowhere in sight.

  Gray shook his head. “We’ll have to hope they got far enough away.”

  “Maybe they sensed what was about to happen,” Benjie offered. “Maybe they’re already sheltering at the city.”

  “Maybe,” Gray muttered, but he doubted it, not after the way the hunters had shunned the ancient place, a dead kingdom ringed in bones.

  Still, they had no time for debate.

  Gray got them all moving. “Keep going.”

  As they set off, a lone sentinel appeared on the road, materializing like a ghost out of the woods. The snowy-furred aardwolf stopped ahead of them, his old eyes staring back, welcoming the return of his partner.

  “Mbe . . .” Tyende gasped.

  The wolf flowed like silver down the cobbles to meet the tribesman. He drew abreast of Tyende and paced alongside him. His presence reinvigorated the elder. Tyende shook free of Gray and Kowalski and ran a hand along the beast’s flank, as if drawing strength from that furry body.

  They set a faster pace, rushing down the winding path. Still, by the time they reached the fork in the trail, Tyende needed help again. He hobbled and stumbled, falling behind. Gray dropped back and supported an arm under him. The elder’s limbs trembled. Gray felt the pounding flutter of his heart through his thin ribs.

  Though far younger than Molimbo, the Kuba tribesman was still well over a hundred, maybe as old as a hundred and fifty. Gray wondered if it took generations of exposure—millennia of living here—to achieve the pygmies’ extreme longevity. In that respect, Tyende was still a relative newcomer, more susceptible to the ravages of age.

  Kowalski came up on the elder’s left side, looking ready to carry Tyende if need be. The big man tried to get the aardwolf out of the way.

  Mbe growled, plainly not willing to give up his post. Even still, the old aardwolf panted heavily. His eyes rolled with the stress of the run. A reminder that, like Tyende, the century-old beast could not hold back time forever.

  “Almost there!” Benjie called back, pointing ahead.

  The city lay dark, shrouded by forest. The flames that had lit the place had guttered out. Gray understood why the pygmies avoided the place. It wasn’t just the bones. A haunted quality hung over it.

  Still, the team had no time for superstitions.

  He checked the glowing face of his watch.

  9:42 A.M.

  “Three more minutes,” Gray shouted.

  Benjie cringed, running faster toward the dark facade.

  Would that be enough time?

  Gray rushed everyone faster. “Get as far back as you can in there! As deep as you can go!”

  Benjie and Faraji reached a curve in the road. They took a more direct route, abandoning the path and crashing through the underbrush and across fields of mushrooms. A puffball blasted at his heels, startling him. Old skulls and ribs shattered under the pound of his boots, making for treacherous footing.

  He prayed that their own bones wouldn’t be added to this ancient mausoleum.

  He and Faraji reached the dark threshold. Kowalski ignited a flashlight behind them, casting their shadows deeper inside. Benjie balked at the entrance, but Kowalski bowled into him, shoving him forward.

  “Move it!” he bellowed.

  Benjie tripped, caught himself, then ran after Faraji. Kowalski crowded behind them. The beam of his flashlight bobbed all around. The shining walls warmed that light into a golden hue. Benjie ran a palm along one surface, feeling how smooth it was. But his reach was more to keep his balance.

  Bones were strewn everywhere underfoot. Most of the skeletons were still intact, macabrely so, as if untouched since the bodies dropped. A few still had scraps of clothing adhering to them. A couple wore aged-black chainmail. Steel weapons—pikes, hammers, swords—lay scattered all around, further proof of the invasion into the valley that Tyende had described.

  As they continued, Benjie followed Faraji’s example and tried sidestepping and dancing through the skeletons to avoid disturbing their rest.

  Kowalski was not so courteous. He crushed and cursed his way down the subterranean alley.

  To either side, golden homes spread out in stacks of sharp-edged blocks, climbing higher and higher. Bridges and archways spanned everywhere.

  Benjie gawked about him, trying to picture how the place must have once looked. In his mind’s eye, he hung lamps and lanterns across the city. He imagined people chattering and bartering, kids running and laughing, aardwolves loping and playing.

  He glanced back, recognizing that the city’s true wealth did not lie around him, but behind, out into the forest—where the kingdom had lived in harmony with the natural world for centuries.

  That was their greatest fortune.

  Still, Benjie frowned, realizing something else as he looked back.

  “Where’s Gray?”

  9:44 A.M.

  “You have to keep going,” Gray urged, glancing to his watch.

  One minute . . .

  Tyende had stopped only a few yards into the city. It was hard to say who halted first, the elderly tribesman or his ancient companion. As if responding to the same signal, they had both stopped.

  Mbe dropped to his haunches, panting hard, his chest heaving, looking far older, as if he were fading before Gray’s eyes. The large aardwolf settled to the floor, staring off toward the woods. Tyende lowered next to him, down to his knees. He draped an arm over his large companion.

  “This is far enough,” Tyende declared.

  Gray sensed the tribesman was not referring to a distance measured in miles.

  “You can’t give up.” Gray reached to him.

  Tyende lifted an arm. Mbe growled, voicing what the tribesman likely felt. “It’s not defeat. Not even surrender.” He offered a small, content smile. “It’s simply time.”

  “But—”

  “My story is told. It is passed to you. That is enough.”

  Gray struggled with how to convince him.

  Tyende glanced across the breadth of the dark city and removed his gold circlet. “Now is the time for kingdoms to come to an end.” He returned his attention to the forest, following Mbe’s long gaze. “And for mothers to let their children stand on their own, for better or worse.”

  Gray finally accepted that Tyende would not stir from here, but before he set off, he sought a reassurance. “The cure . . . could Kowalski share it with the world?”

  Tyende glanced back one last time, his expression sad, as if Gray understood nothing. “Molimbo’s people explained to me long ago. She is generous with her gifts, but they are brief. Once partaken, it fades quickly. While the miracle persists, the force behind it evaporates like water on a hot summer’s day.”

  Gray took a hard breath.

  So, no . . .

  Tyende turned away, dismissing him with a raised hand. “You have all the answers you need.”

  Gray could wait no longer. He swung around and sprinted into the depths of the golden city. The countdown ticked in his head. He swore he could hear a distant whine of a plane engine, growing ever louder.

  At the last second, he dove to the side, ducking into a home and sheltering behind a wall. And not a moment too soon.

  The explosion struck when his knees touched the floor. The boom shook the ground, throwing him down hard. The span of a bridge cracked outside and collapsed in a tumble of gold blocks and dust. For the briefest moment, the entire kingdom flashed brighter, lit by that fiery burst. The city shone in all of its glory, polished by the blast, burning his eyes. Heat rushed like a gale through the city, searing his lungs.

  Gray sprawled flat. He covered his head with his arms and shaded his face. He waited for the ground to stop shaking, for the furnace blast to subside. He then pushed to his feet and staggered toward the door. He leaned a palm on the frame. The gold remained surprisingly cool, further proof of the city’s incorruptibility, withstanding even this.

  He headed out again, concerned about another.

  Tyende . . .

  Gray retraced his steps through the golden rubble. Ahead, limned against the light of a bright morning, he spotted the pair, still where he had left them. The blast had shattered the forest outside, stripping it away from the cliff, allowing the sky to shine on the city’s face, in surely the first time in ages.

  He hurried forward.

  Tyende lay collapsed behind Mbe. The mountain of the aardwolf was curled around the tribesman’s form, as if even in death, the beast sought to protect his friend. The large snowy body had become a wall between Tyende and the exit, sparing the dead man from seeing the destruction of his home.

  Gray reached them, dropped to his knees, and placed a hand on the tribesman’s shoulder, silently thanking him. As he did, Tyende stirred weakly. Whether a miracle or simply due to the sheltering love of a lifelong friend, the elder still breathed, though weakly.

  “Don’t move . . .” he urged the man.

  Gray didn’t hold out any hope that the tribesman would live much longer, but he wanted to make sure he didn’t die alone.

  Tyende’s eyes opened. The old man found the strength to reach and pat Gray’s hand, as if consoling him. “I . . . I’m surprised She didn’t find you worthy,” he said hoarsely. “I do . . .”

  Gray felt a surge of guilt, of remorse.

  A clatter rose behind him, along with an echo of voices. He glanced back. A flashlight bobbled through the darkness. Kowalski came into view, flanked by Benjie and Faraji.

  Gray lifted an arm, guiding them to him, but he kept his other palm on Tyende. The old man wheezed softly. The others quickly joined them.

  Benjie gasped at the tableau.

  Faraji covered his face, as if refusing to accept it.

  Kowalski merely shook his head and swore under his breath.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Gray asked softly. “To make you more comfortable.”

  Tyende wet his lips, tried to speak, then tried again. “Let me . . . Help me see.”

  Gray understood and cradled the man up, leaning him against the wall. Tyende stared past Mbe’s body to the valley beyond. The bright morning had already darkened, the sun clouded over by smoke. This gloom was no longer the solemnity of an ancient forest, but something far more malignant.

  “I’m sorry,” Gray whispered.

  So much had been lost with nothing gained.

  Tyende stared out at the destruction. His shoulders sagged slightly in grief, but his face remained stoic. “Sometimes it takes fire to clear a forest for new growth. Hope can even be found in flames.”

  “But—”

  Tyende reached and patted Gray’s hand again. “I said before . . . mothers can only warn and scold and teach for so long . . . then even their time ends. Like mine does now. Then watoto . . . watoto . . .”

  As he faded, he clearly struggled to stay in the present, slipping into his native tongue with his eyes glazing over.

  Faraji joined them, dropping to his knees. “Watoto . . . mean ‘children.’”

  Tyende stirred. “Children, yes, they must eventually stand . . . on their own . . . make their own mistakes.” His gaze swung to the ruins. “Whether they gain hekima in time . . .”

  Tyende shrugged sadly.

  Gray turned to Faraji.

  “Mean ‘wisdom,’ yes?”

  Tyende touched the boy’s knee in thanks. The elder’s head swung toward another. He lifted a hand and weakly motioned Benjie closer. The biologist hurried and dropped next to Faraji.

  Tyende tapped at Benjie’s leg, then waved weakly at a bulge in the biologist’s pocket. Benjie understood and shifted to free the ndop figure.

  He lifted it toward Tyende.

  A soft sigh of contentment wheezed from the old man. He found the strength to lift a trembling finger and run it over the features of William Sheppard, his old friend and teacher, clearly saying goodbye.

  “The Mother . . .” Tyende whispered. “She only shares Her most precious gifts with the worthiest of us.”

  That certainly was William Sheppard.

  Tyende’s arm dropped leadenly, his voice going breathless. “Ngedi mu ntey . . . in ngedi mu ntey . . .”

  His chin sank to his chest.

  Time, at long last, had found the man.

  Silence settled over the group.

  After a few moments, Benjie lifted the carving of Sheppard in his hands. “Our lack of worthiness . . .” He gazed out at the destruction. “Maybe She was right.”

  Gray shook his head in defeat. Sheppard had been given the means to go home, to leave the valley cured. Afterward, the reverend had preserved his story, along with a possible path to salvation. He had protected it all in the ngedi mu ntey, in the precious Kuba Box. Just as Tyende had attested with his last words, honoring his friend in the end.

  But we were not found worthy, even if Tyende might think so.

  “We should go,” Kowalski said. “We still need to meet that evac helicopter.”

  Gray nodded and started out, but Faraji remained on his knees and whispered a prayer over his fellow tribesman. Gray waited out of respect. Benjie used the time to resecure the ndop figurine into his pocket.

  Gray suddenly reached out and grabbed the biologist’s wrist. “Wait.”

  “What?”

  Gray squeezed Benjie’s arm hard. “Ngedi mu ntey . . . in ngedi mu ntey.”

  Benjie frowned—then his eyes got huge with understanding.

  “What?” Kowalski asked.

  “Tyende’s last words,” Gray explained. “He wasn’t telling us about Sheppard’s gift to the world. Tyende was offering it to us.”