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saw. The yell from above startled him, and he watched Teman-e slide down the tree, scrape his skin on the bark and fall the last ten feet. Those actions were foreign to the little boy’s senses. Such clumsiness wasn’t like his father, who was sure footed, nimble. It also wasn’t like him to be in so much of a hurry. The boy was scared and began to cry.
    “Nauoma! We must leave! Now!”
    A shaken Teman-e marked the spot in his mind, grabbed Nauoma by the hand and ran toward the village, half dragging, half carrying his son. He would seek guidance for a matter of this importance. The only one who might provide counsel was the shaman, Guardara.
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER SIX
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Machi-te village, Amazonas
     
    The sun was blood red on the horizon when Naru raised the crude spoon to her lips and tasted what she had prepared for the evening meal. Her husband and son would be pleased, for that day she dug a root that was scarce and difficult to find. One with a good aroma that would enhance the taste. When she was satisfied with her preparation, she looked up. Through the smoke from her cooking pot, she saw Teman-e carrying Nauoma on his back, running out of the jungle as if chased by a boar. She thought that unusual. Almost always, he came up the trail at a slow pace with a dead animal over his shoulder. Something of importance had happened. There could only be one reason for his actions. Enemy warriors must be close to the village and this terrified her. If she was kidnapped by woman stealers , the likelihood of her ever seeing Teman-e and the children again was extremely slight. She ran toward her husband and son.
    “Naru! I have seen something beyond understanding!  Have you seen Guardara?”
    Not waiting for her answer, he dropped his bow and arrows and crossed the communal area leaving Naru perplexed, at the same time relieved they weren't under attack.
    Guardara, the old shaman and village chief, sat outside his hut catching the occasional breeze of late afternoon. Wi se in the ways of tribal leadership, he enjoyed the powers he possessed, for no one dared challenge him. He had ensured his place in the tribe long ago as a young man, a day he would never forget. Alone and not far from his village, he stumbled upon a party of rival warriors. They were intent on avenging the death of one of their members, blaming the Machi-te. The nine warriors advanced toward Guardara, but he singlehandedly killed two before he himself fell wounded. The leader admired the young man’s tenacity and bravery and was about to remove Guardara’s head to strengthen his own spirit. Before he could, several Machi-te appeared with weapons, and the raiders fled. It began a long and bloody feud. Guardara, however, benefited by his actions. Within a few seasons, he was elevated to chief and shaman, a position he never relinquished; one he jealously guarded.
    The old man glanced quizzically at Teman-e, wondering why he approached so hastily, skipping the usual formalities.
    “I must speak with you! I have seen what I do not understand. I am frightened of what it means for our people!”
    Guardara , curious to hear, rose slowly, motioning him inside.  Teman-e chose a fiber mat on the floor and sat facing him, breathing rapidly. The pungent odor of yopo, a hallucinogen used to summon shamanic spirits, wafted through the hut. Painted gourds, rooster claws and animal skulls hung from the walls. Dust covered everything.
    “Be calm Teman-e. Tell me what you have seen.”
    Teman-e told his story, and the old man listened with rapt attention, not asking any questions. He didn't doubt a man with this warrior’s respect, but concluded the vision should have been his alone to see. After all, he was the shaman. If others were to have his supernatural powers, he could lose respect, maybe his life. He meant to discourage pursuing this any further.
    When Teman-e finished, he stared at the chief, looking for an answer. Instead, there