The hooded pilot had not spoken a word since they had started the journey upstream. After being cooked-up in the ship for three days with the chatty Katrina and her feisty little sister, Aleister didn’t mind the silence. It was a comfortable masculine silence.
On either side of the river, the dense forest stirred with the songs of crickets and cicadas. In the thicket, ribbits and croaks mixed with the chirps and whistles, a symphony accentuated by the sonic force of the occasional howl that echoed across the dense canopy, and the long mournful cries of birds in the Jaguar sky. It all made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he felt a primordial fear surge within him. As well as a deep-rooted will to commit violence and protect himself at all costs. To be ready to fight.
He clenched his jaw and drew his satchel closer to him.
“Relax,” said the pilot in a gruff voice. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you out here, but I'd keep my elbows in the boat if I were you.” He laughed a dry laugh and spat on the water.
The rushing sound of the current grew louder until it became a deafening roar. In a ring around them, moonlit waterfalls cascaded over massive tube-like structures held aloft at various heights by giant trees, whose gnarled roots protruded from the ground like swollen appendages.
The pilot shouted something, and before Aleister could react, the leaf lurched from side to side and began to float upwards above the roaring water. He held on as best he could, blinded and drenched by the thick misty cloud that enveloped them. They reached the top of the tallest waterfall, where massive quantities of water dropped over the tubular precipice. A gusty wind threatened to blow them away, but the craft held steady and gently glided towards the river until it hit the surface with a graceful bounce. Soon, the torrential roar faded behind them and only the steady murmur of the currents could be heard.
His clothes were soaked, but beads of sweat were already running down his back. In the suffocatingly hot atmosphere, he could also smell the rainforest aroma of vegetation and decay.
“Open that box and change your clothes,” said the pilot whose face was still hidden by the shadows of his hood.
“There's no need-” Aleister began.
"It wasn't a request. We're coming up to the Den, and you'd stick out like a sore thumb with them fancy clothes you're wearing."
Aleister looked at the flickering lights that followed the twisting curvature of the biosphere. "Is that it, the Den?"
The man pulled his hood tighter, completely burying his face within its shadow. “Remember, keep your head down and your mouth shut.” He then turned to face the river and waved his fingers as he piloted the leaf through the undulating stream.
Aleister changed into his new outfit. He was not the bashful kind, yet he got the odd sensation that he was being watched from the slithering darkness.
"Did you bring it?" said the pilot.
"Yes."
"Good," he said then fell silent.
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