The Traiteur's Ring Read Free

the sides, and in the middle of the basket the man stirred together varying amounts of the three into what became an orange oatmeal-looking clump. Ben knew immediately this was the village elder and that he healed, as well as led.
    He had stirrings of home, of late nights peering down from his loft bedroom while his Gammy spoke in a strange tongue to the old man who came at night. The two would laugh and argue in the hybrid language of French, Native American, and English while mixing their own Traiteur potions. This seemed a lot like that, and he felt for a moment like the mesmerized child he had been then.
    The ‘terp spoke to the man, who looked up and replied in a similar clipped gibberish. One word jumped out as familiar, and Ben felt the childhood pull again. The ‘terp turned to Chris.
    “He welcome you here and say he knows you coming. He say you good men and dat you like da gagrow dat kill da evil tings around da living jungle, so you be friends to dem.”
    Ben smiled when he saw the lieutenant put his cupped right hand over his heart – a habit from Iraq.
    “Tell him we are his friends, and we wish to help his people. We have medicine to share and would like his help to find the evil men who lurk in his jungle and wish harm to good people. We hope he can help us find them.”
    “What mean lurk?” the interpreter asked.
    “Live – just say live,” Chris said with a little impatience.
    The ‘terp and the old man spoke again.
    “He wanna know’d if you find da road he send to you two days ago. Da one he help you find wit da heart message.”
    What the hell is that supposed to mean?
    Ben noticed that his leader’s mouth had fallen open.
    “What the hell does that mean, he sent it to me? What the fuck is a heart message?”
    The ‘terp shrugged, and Chris shifted uncomfortably.
    “Tell him we found a road two days ago, yes. Tell him evil men use that road. We want to know if those bad men, men with guns, have come to his village.”
    The old man nodded and shifted back on his heels before the interpreter began to speak. Then, he listened and answered before he had finished.
    “He say de evil come here, and he know dey man dat kill man. He say dey bad for living jungle also. Dey promise bad tings to village if he talk to you, but he not afraid.”
    “Does he know where they are? When were they last here?”
    While the interpreter spoke, Ben felt the old man’s eyes on him and looked up. The wrinkled and leathery face split into a wide grin over brown teeth.
    I am glad it is you as the Living Jungle told me. You have great Ashe which you will need. The bad time cannot be stopped, but you can help us in ways your Grandmother understood.
    A chill ran up Ben’s spine and gripped around his throat. The voice in his head had been clear and not his own. He flashed briefly to another night in the bayou – a terrible night best forgotten. The old man’s eyes left his, and he turned to the interpreter to answer. When he did, the cold that ran through Ben’s chest evaporated slowly.
    Get a grip, bro. Jesus. This creepy place is making your mind do somersaults. That was not real, and there are some memories best left buried.
    The interpreter was speaking again.
    “He say evil men be here yesterday and leave da same hour. He say da road go to dem, and it take two or tree hours for a hunting man to go to it. Or maybe four hours for a ole man like he be.”
    The old man nodded and laughed and winked at Ben who smiled uncomfortably.
    Chris was all business.
    “Tell him he should tell no one he told us this. Tell him we will make the evil leave his jungle, we promise. Then, tell him we have medicines with us and that Ben is our doctor who can help him take care of anyone in the village who may be sick.”
    The old man laughed aloud, again before the ‘terp even got started. Then, he smiled and answered back.
    “He say you to go in peace, and he believe you good men. He say you doctor more power than he know, but