The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure Read Online Free Page A

little
stream that ran down a steep gulley. The gulley was filled with ancient
hardwood trees that hid a secret, which was that this was the only place on the
entire mountain where there was water in summer so high up. They were enjoying
the water and the shade and neither of them was in a hurry. In fact, they had
all the time in the world. Slowly they filled several gourds with the clear
running liquid. And they talked in the language of their forefathers, which to
the European ear sounded like the breeze blowing through a stand of reeds, full
of clicks and hisses and low on vowels.
    For the most part the old man, who could have been the
grandfather of the younger, did the talking. His audience of one listened
respectfully. Although the old one tended to ramble like all teachers of a
certain age, it was far from a casual conversation. The ancient ritual of the
master and the apprentice was playing itself out. In this secret place where
nobody could overhear them, what was being transferred were also secrets,
deadly secrets. The KhoiKhoi nation to which they belonged had an array
of people who operated in the interface of the temporary and the eternal, the
dividing line between life and death, the limited and the unlimited. There were
shamans who dreamed for them as well as for their San cousins, there were
mediums, there were people who told stories of Heitsi-Ebib the most
eminent of their forefathers, there were medicine men who could unlock the
secrets of the plant world and save your life and then, right at the bottom, there
were them, feared and despised in equal measure. Because they were the
sorcerers. Their magic was the most powerful but they did not derive their
potions from plants. They got it from human body parts.
    The grey-haired elder hung the filled gourds on the sinewy
body of his companion, who clearly expected this because he patiently allowed
himself to be loaded up. His older partner kept one gourd for himself, which he
slung across his shoulders by its thongs of goat’s leather. Then they gingerly
made their way out of the gulley, first along a rocky ledge and then up a steep
incline. They exited the gully some distance below a windswept col that
connected two peaks and climbed up to it. A south-easterly wind was blowing
hard up here and flattened the coarse grass. They did not cross the col but
turned to the left and picked their way over the rocks along a footpath only
barely visible, taking care not to step into the thorny green shrubbery that
covered the ground between the rocks. They progressed along the flank of the
mountain, in the face of the wind, until they reached the cave where they
lived.
    Their home was nothing more than a large slab of rock that
had fallen on its side but was stopped on its downward slide by another. Under
its flat bottom was a hollow with an opening that faced away from the prevailing
south-easterly wind and did not let the rain in either. It had enough space for
the master to sleep in the deepest end and for the apprentice to stretch out at
the door. They were not uncomfortable here. For bedding they used twigs from a
bush which had leaves softer than a baby’s touch and to cover them they used skins
tenderised by a process which the Dutch so far did not come close to imitate. They
performed their cooking in the lee of the rock right in front of their cave
home and this is where they put down their load of water containers.  
    Water they now had in abundance but food supplies were
running low. For tonight they had the hare that they bagged with a throwing
stick the day before but they would have to start thinking about tomorrow. What
complicated matters was that they never hunted on the mountain. They had to go
down into the valleys and find food amongst the scarce game there. Alternatively
they had to eat bulbs – or beg.
    “Down there,” said the master, whose eyes were still good
enough to see in the distance. “What do I see there on that open patch by