The Traiteur's Ring Read Free Page A

you medicine very weak, and he no need it. Then, he say you take his medicine dat he make for you friend who hide in da jungle. He say it make him ass feel better.”
    The old man scraped the paste into a flat leaf, rolled it up like a little green envelope, and handed it to Ben. He took it and felt himself bow a little and nodded.
    “Tell him thank you,” Ben said and slipped the leaf pouch of medicine into his cargo pants pocket. The old man spoke again. Another word jumped out at Ben, and he grabbed the interpreter’s arm.
    “What was that word? Something‘wata’. What does that mean?”
    The interpreter nodded to the old man and, then, turned to Ben.
    “Mami Wata be da water serpent. She give medicine men dey healing power. He say water serpent strong in you and dat you soon find you be having many udder power also.”
    Ben heard the words from far away. His eyes locked on the old man whose own eyes danced with youth and power from the frame of old and tired skin. The old man still nodded so Ben nodded back.
    “He say you go now and take you friend from da jungle wall wit you. He say you stop evil men today.”
    Ben and Chris nodded to the old man while Reed continued the nervous visual sweep of the village as he had throughout the conversation with the old man. Then, they all turned and left and the old man hugged his knees and watched them go.
    I will see you when the loud and ugly time comes for my people. I will see you at the end time, Ben. Then, you will learn so much. I am glad the Living Jungle sent you.
    Ben shook the voice out of his head and followed Chris and Reed back into the jungle. He turned for a moment and swept his gaze over the quiet and peaceful village. He felt certain something bad was coming here – something big and powerful.
    He hoped they could stop it.
    They were SEALs, after all.
     
    *   *   *
     
    The jungle became dark very quickly. Ben was accustomed to the speed with which the sun set in the Iraqi desert, but nothing matched the suddenness with which the dense jungle swallowed up the last ray of light with the dusk. He sat back against a thick and gnarled tree, his knees pulled up, and scooped what the folks the DoD contracted to package their MRE’s had ludicrously named “Jambalaya.” He usually avoided that particular “Meal-Ready-to-Eat,” just on principle, but as the choice tonight was that or “Captain’s Country Chicken” – which tasted like total ass – he shoveled the bland rice into his mouth with the green plastic fork that came with it. The packet of powdered Gatorade went into his pocket for later, and he sipped plain water instead.
    Ben looked around at the darkening jungle and reflexively confirmed his night vision goggles (NVG’s) were hanging from the left side of his kit. Then, he finished his packaged meal and set about taking inventory of his kit for ammo and other supplies. They would move out in a few hours, once the Al Qaeda camp settled in from their own evening meal. He and Lash had scouted ahead earlier, creeping up slowly on the camp to confirm the place and distance, scout good fields of fire and retreat, and establish a potential rally point. Most importantly, they had come up with a rough tally of opposing forces. They had counted perhaps fifteen or sixteen men and boys, ranging from hardened and well-armed soldiers to young teen-agers who looked too frail to even hoist up their weapons. There were at least ten serious fighters he guessed. Then, they had pulled back, briefed their friends, and settled in to wait.
    Reed slept curled in a fetal position at Ben’s feet and Auger flipped through a paperback book a few yards away, then looked up into the jungle canopy and cursed the darkness which rapidly engulfed them. He shoved the book back into the cargo pocket of his cammies, tipped his hat forward over his eyes, and crossed his arms across his chest. In moments his breathing slowed and deepened. With Chris and Lash patrolling