Author's webpage: http://www.skeeter63.org/~k9kennel/

Author's disclaimer: They belong to PetFly, but the gorillas, the natives and Father Benjamin belong to me. So there.

Author's notes: A story based on the discussion on senad about Tarzan, Jim and Blair. It's an AU, but only in the sense that Jim and Blair start out from a different place, but end up where they belong, in Cascade, as partners. Okay? Maybe a PU? (No funny comments on that, okay? It may be pu, but hey!)

Warning: Violence, angst, h/c, swahili, and death of a supporting character and an original character.

Second warning: Gratutitous use of Swahili, and some fiddling with the real timeline of events in Uganda in the mid-nineties to now. All Swahili will be explained. For anyone who finds a near naked man swinging through the trees and jungles of Uganda to be offensive? Delete now.

Bakari
by alyjude

The young woman clutched the small child to her breast. The plane was going down, and everyone knew it. It was amazingly quiet on board, as one hundred and twenty people came to terms and prayed. The young mother was no different, other than the object of her prayers; her baby son. She found herself praying to a god she wasn't sure she even believed in, let alone trusted, praying that he would spare her boy.

A small, strong hand grasped a bit of her hair and tugged until she tore her gaze from the horrorific view from her window and looked down into wide, blue eyes. He was frowning, that small baby frown, that said everything he couldn't, as yet, verbalize, asking his mother what was wrong. She closed her eyes and sent up another plea.

"Please, please, spare him, he's so special, please, save him."

Tears pooled in the babyblues, and a small whimper met her prayer. The child's head dropped, tucking itself under her chin, as the small, chubby hand continued to pet her cheek.

"nonononono....please, save him."

A thunderous noise assaulted the passengers of the Kisoro AirFlight electrojet, as metal met treetops at an alarming rate. The left wing was sheared off and as the plane listed sickeningly to the right, the air rushed into the gaping hole left by the loss of the wing, and the woman's arms were suddenly, horribly, empty. As the right wing hit the ground, the woman's terrifying scream of, "NONONONO!" was swallowed up by the gigantic explosion.

The jungle quiet was broken by the sound of man's invention, as engines coughed, sputtered, tried to gain height, and failed. Monkeys stopped their frantic flights through the dense trees, birds skittered from the path of the huge silver monstrosity, coming so low, so dangerously low.....

The plane lurched, drunkenly, then dipped, then it's nose turned down, and like a missile, it seemed to aim for the ground. At the last minute, it veered slightly up, but not enough, not nearly enough. The wing sliced through trees and was severed from the silver body. Great, lumbering beasts below heard a high, shrill, penetrating scream, immediately followed by what sounded like one of their own, crying in panic.

The silver monster continued it's destructive path through the forest, until it gave one final, heaving glide to the right, one wing digging into ground, ripping the jet apart.

The explosion lit up the jungle, the sound spreading out, almost deafening in it's intensity.

Fire, burning flames, blue, orange, yellow, engulfing the silver machine, and screams, and finally ~ silence. Deadly silence.

The curious moved forward, sniffing, twittering, slithering, but the residual heat soon had them backing off.

Several large, dark shapes moved quietly through the trees, made their way through the debris, the strewn luggage, dark, nimble fingers plucking up bits and pieces of clothing, colors catching their eyes, materials lifted to faces, smoothed over fur. Objects were pilfered, kept and hidden to inspect and play with at a later date.

But one dark shape stayed back, ears still ringing, eyes searching for the one sound, the sound that had brought her to this scene. The sound of a baby, of one of them.

The great she-beast, so recently bereft of her own small baby, moved quickly through the trees, her nose quivering, searching, searching......

The baby boy was dropped in the middle of a patch of dense undergrowth, his landing greatly softened by mounds of moss, leaves, and branches, slightly suspended between great tall trees, growing so closely together, they were almost one.

He lay there, stunned, the air having been knocked out of his tiny lungs. The velocity of his travel from his mother's arms, to this nest, had literally torn his blue jumper from his small body, but the jungle was warm and comforting, like his own crib at home.

Soon, breathing was easy again, and his natural curiousity took over. He rolled over and pushed himself up to his crawling position and swayed over to the edge of his nest. The movement was just enough to dislodge him from his safe perch and he tumbled down the short distance to the jungle floor. He landed with a soft, "oof", shook his head, and having only recently learned to stand and take shaky steps, his baby hand struck out for purchase, found it in the trunk of a tree, and using it's rough surface, pulled himself up, unsteadily, but up never the less.

The area he occupied was lush with greenery, and bits of sunlight, streaking the ground, caught his attention and he reached out, almost fell, but suddenly, the light was gone, blocked out by a huge shadow. The baby looked up, and up, and into brown eyes.

The she-gorilla had finally pinpointed the source of the "baby" smell. There, on the ground. A baby, but ~ not.

The creature took her warring stance, down on her knuckles, brow furrowed, teeth barred.

The baby watched, fascinated. Then he too, got down on his hands and knees and squished up his features in a semblance of the funny face opposite him. Then he fell back, legs kicking wildly, and the jungle was filled with the sound of a baby's giggling.

The she-gorilla's eyes grew round, her mouth dropped opened, and she smiled a gorilla smile. She rocked back on her rear, legs out in front of her, and small sounds issued forth, sounds that were soft and inviting. The giggles stopped and the baby clumsily rolled over on it's stomach and back up on hands and knees. He waited, now unsure, but the sounds, so like his mother's, urged him forward, his little diapered butt swaying, and the gorilla put out one, large hand, black fingers wiggling in invitation, and as the baby latched onto one, the giggle returned.

Slowly the she-gorilla let her hand rise, the baby keeping hold, his body rising with the hand, legs kicking madly, his face split into a huge grin. Then she brought him to her breast, cupping his small frame with one large hand, fingers drifting over his hair, hair so much softer than her own, skin so smooth, but warm, alive, it's heart beating like her own and in that moment, she claimed him as hers.

The fire was long out, the scavengers long since gone, satisfied in their hunger. The mountain gorillas had moved back into the deepest recesses of their forest home, their trophies wrapped around massive shoulders, and necks, or layed out in soft jungle grass, to sleep on, and play with, come the new morning.

Three she-gorillas lay in nests, their babes about them, playing gently, sleep not far away. Several feet from the domestic scene, two young male gorillas, not yet of breeding age, played a game of rough house, and on a small rise, overlooking his domain, sat the great silverback.

His attention was suddenly riveted to the stand of trees just south of his family. He did not move, for he could smell the scent of his mate, but he frowned, for another scent clung to her. The trees parted and she moved forward, a small object held protectively to her breast.

Her brothers and sisters sat up, taking notice, and then they moved to her side. The silverbacked remained aloof, seemingly uninterested.

Slowly she let her hand drop down just enough to show her family her treasure. Snorts, huffing air, and stamping feet greeted the vision of the small, mostly hairless creature curled up in the crook of her arm, sleeping serenely, small hands now fists, exhausted legs twitching.

One she-gorilla tentatively reached out with one finger and ran it down the vulnerable back, then up to feel the downy hair of the small head. She snuffed in delight, and another she-gorilla sniffed and gave a low chitter. The two males just shrugged and moved off for another round of play before a nap.

The new mother moved slowly toward her mate, and he waited patiently, eyes fixed on the white blur against her dark chest. When she was a few feet from his position, she cradled the babe across her arms and held them out for his inspection. He sniffed, touched, frowned, then looked into her eyes, saw the need, but was uncertain. At that moment, the bundle moved, stretched, fists opened, the tiny head turned and eyes opened to stare into the fierce brown eyes of the silverback.

The skyblue of the innocent eyes leaped out at the silverback, touching him in the deepest corner of his mind. He drew back, almost afraid, then the baby grinned, chortled, fingers grasping, and he moved in, sniffed again, and hesitantly stuck one finger against the baby's tummy, which tickled him and his giggles seemed to swirl around the great beast, ensnaring his heart and soul. He looked at his mate, nodded, then turned his back, the protector once again.

She sighed in relief, brought her child back to her breast and let him feed. She lumbered to her own nest, where she settled in, baby resting on her chest, suckling, small sounds of contentment reverberating through her body. She was a mother again. And this baby was hers. Safe.

The jungle closed it's arms around the machine of man, night fell, and the gorillas slept, safe in the knowledge that their protector watched.

Present Day - British Airways Flight 307, one hour from Entebbe Airport, Uganda.

The man sat, body still, eyes fixed at the view from his window seat. In one hour, he would be landing at Entebbe Airport, and from there, a forty minute drive to Kampala, the Ugandan captial city. His ultimate destination; Biwandi Impenetrable Forest National Park.

To anyone interested enough to look, he would appear calm, easygoing, assured. But this was far from the case. He was on this trip due to exhaustion. And pain. And fear.

From his early childhood, he carried a dream. A dream of someday visiting Africa, specifically, the mountainous regions of Uganda, where he wanted nothing more than to sit, deep in the rainforest and wait. Wait for a glimpse of a gorilla. He could be a patient man, and the thought of waiting for hours, for just one glimpse, brought only a peace to his troubled soul.

His life was in shambles, his mind a puzzle he'd yet to solve, and on the advice of friends, he'd given in, taken a leave of absence, and booked the necessary flights. First American Airlines from his home in Cascade, Washington, to New York, than British Airways to Gatwick, and from there, another British Airways flight to Entebbe.

A car would be waiting for him at the airport, and he was actually looking forward to the two days and two nights he would spend in Kambala. He was booked into the Speke Hotel, where he hoped to enjoy rest and relaxation before begining his journey. A journey that might have no end.

His future was in jeopardy, and while he would never have consciously acknowledged this fact, the truth was that if he could not find peace, if the burning in his gut could not be assuaged, then there was a corner of his mind that told him Africa was a good place to disappear.

The pilot announced the descent into Entebbe, the seatbelt sign flashed, and the man wondered what the next few weeks would hold. Salvation or death. And did he care?

The air was the first thing he noticed when stepping out of the Entebbe International Airport. He'd been expecting the heat and the dryness, after all, it was January, the middle of the dry season. But air could cause him great pain. Simple, Washington air. But this, this caressed him, welcomed him, brushed over him like the softest silk imaginable.

Noise. Only ~ there wasn't any. The airport had been everything he'd been prepared for, girded himself for, the hustle and bustle, the voices, so many languages, the loudspeaker announcing incoming and outgoing, the bodies, with all their various scents, his own body, constantly bombarded. But once outside, blessed silence. Which was impossible. Nothing was completely silent for Jim Ellison. And yet....like the air moving gently around him, the sounds were welcome, different, unintrusive.

Without realizing it, he'd begun to smile, to relax, his muscles unwinding.

Jim Ellison hadn't looked forward to anything in weeks, but now, with his body responding to this country, his pain ebbing, he found himself jogging to the waiting rental car, eager to begin this journey.

Jim could easily have driven directly into the Bwindi Impenetrable National Forest, but his plans didn't include the typical "Gorilla Tracking". He'd obtained a special permit that would allow him access into the deeper regions of the Impenetrable Forest, to track unchartered gorilla families. And the man who'd made this possible lived in Kambala, the Ugandan Capital City. Ebo was a friend of Jim's boss, Captain Simon Banks and with his connections, had secured the limited pass that would open the doors for Jim's adventure.

Gorilla Tracking parties had begun in 1993, but only two gorilla families were tracked, the Mubare Group and the Habinyanja Group. Tracking parties consisted of no more than six individuals, per day, per group, and this would not, could not meet Jim's needs. He wanted to experience this "meeting" alone, as much do to with his difficulty with so many sights and sounds, as with his own need for privacy, for loneness.

The world was full of exceptions and thankfully so, because for the right price, the Ugandan government would and could grant private tracking permits. In this case, the price had been double what he would have spent for a typical tracking permit. And he didn't mind paying more, as he'd been assured by Ebo, in one of several emails, that the additional money was used to protect the gorillas of the Impenetrable Forest, which housed almost half of the entire world's gorilla population.

The short drive to Kambala took Jim on a scenic drive along Lake Victoria, and Ellison was again surprised to find the view both soothing and pleasing. The directions provided by Ebo were perfect and less than forty minutes later he was pulling up in front of the Speke Hotel, a beautiful, spawling colonial-style building that immediately conveyed it's European background. His luggage was taken out and rolled inside where he was guided to registration.

He had only three things on his mind as he was shown his room; shower, change, than meet Ebo on the famous Speke Terrace.

The transition from America, from Cascade, to Africa was almost seemless. He felt immediately welcome, immediately home. The cultural shock should have been intense, but instead, he experienced a tingly sensation, and he found himself looking at the people he passed, as if he should know one of them, as if....someone were waiting for him. He felt an excitement in the pit of his stomach, almost like butterflies, an excitement that said something was close, so near, and if he could just reach out......and touch it, he'd never know pain again.

As he walked out onto the Terrace, catching his first glimpse of an African sunset, he felt it again, even stronger, as if someone else were seeing the same sunset, at the same time, and this person knew, knew he was here, watching as well.

He couldn't help it, his eyes left the spectacle in front of him and began to search, to find, hoping he would know when his eyes found.......

"Detective Ellison?"

The voice was low, with a distinct british accent, and he turned to face a man, about his height, with short, black hair, and a huge grin.

"Ebo?"

The man's hand came out as he answered, " "Yes, Jambo! And welcome to my country. Your flight was pleasant?"

They shook, both smiling as Jim nodded and said, "Very. Jambo?"

"A word with many meanings, Detective Ellison. But basically, a greeting."

"Then, Jambo!"

Ebo laughed, delighted at his new friends embrace of his language.

"Please, shall we sit and enjoy the remainder of our sunset? I ordered it especially for my guest."

"I'm honored and it is spectacular."

Ebo guided him to a table he'd already secured, on the rail, where the view was even more spectacular. Ebo ordered a drink for each of them and then sat back to study his "charge". He was surprised at how relaxed the man appeared, as he'd been warned by his good friend, Simon Banks, that Jim Ellison was ill, and suffering greatly. And while there was a paleness about him, he seemed truly relaxed.

"I'm very glad you did not object to my request that you come to Kambala first, but to come to Uganda and not see my city? No, this I could not permit."

"For the miracle you accomplished, I would gladly have driven to hell. But this?", he said with an encompassing gesture, "This is definitely worth it."

Ebo leaned forward, almost conspiratorily, and whispered, "Simon mentioned that you have been ~ unwell?"

Good old Simon. Trust him to watch out for his detective even half way across the world.

"Not ~ ill. Just.....tired." It was the only word he could come up with, and not exactly a lie, after all, pain and fear can definitely tire a man.

"So, I will make sure this adventure gives you all you desire, rafiki."

At Jim's raised eyebrow, Ebo grinned and added, "Rafiki - friend."

Friend. Yes, Jim already felt a kinship with the man who would be his guide.

"Rafiki."

Ebo nodded and both men turned their attention back to the glory unfolding in front of them.

When the sun had finished it's slow and beautiful glide below the horizon, Ebo suggested an early dinner at the Rock Garden Cafe, and now, after an excellent meal of Rack of Lamb, they sat, once again gazing out over the city, sipping Brandy, and enjoying the peace.

Eventually Jim's curiousity got the better of him and he had to quiz his guide and new friend.

"So tell me, what exactly happens tomorrow?"

"Ah, yes, the detective surfaces," but his smile softened the words as he continued, "We shall begin our journey early, at sunrise, which here in Uganda is always at six. We shall travel the difficult path to Bwindi, which is why I suggested you rent a four-wheel drive. We will be taking the eastern route, to Ruhija, where we will stay one night, before begining our trek into the jungle. Our accomodations will be spartan, as you requested. The route I have chosen is long and steep but provides, in my opinion, the best possible views of our forest."

"It sounds perfect. We are on foot once we reach Ruhija?"

"Yes. We will travel for one day, up the mountain, and you can expect to see gorillas late on that first day. We will be in what my people call the "ghost" land."

"Ghost land? Sounds intriguing."

Ebo laughed outright, the deep sound bringing others around in their seats, smiles on their faces.

"Foolish, but not intriguing. You have undoubtedly read Tarzan?", at Jim's nod, he continued, "Well, the myth is here, alive and well. A ghost man who walks with the gorillas. I travel the region, and have never seen so much as a glimpse of this creature, walking, or swinging. But it makes for interesting tourist propaganda, and if it preserves our National Forest by bringing in the tourist dollar, thus protecting it's inhabitants, than I approve."

"I feel like I should be taking notes.....watch for gorillas, and man swinging through trees."

"There is one myth that lives. A tribe, that co-exists with the gorillas, that are never seen by outsiders. They are named for dusk, Magharibi, because they do not come out until the sun has set and can melt into the night. Perhaps our "ghost man" lives with them."

"They sound almost ~ magical."

Ebo seemed surprised by Jim's choice of words, but not disappointed.

"Yes, that is a good word for them. Magical. There is one white man, living with them. A priest, Father Benjamin. A better man never lived. Perhaps I can arrange a meeting?"

"If the meeting includes a visit with the Magharibi, than yes, I would be honored."

"It shall happen, Rafiki."

As darkness fell over the mountain, the night creatures came out, scavenging, hunting and the sounds of the jungle changed, as howls filled the air.

Above the jungle floor, a dark shape moved gracefully through the trees, using the creepers and parasitic vines of the mistletoe and orchid to fuel his flight over the ground below.

The shape landed, a sturdy branch his perch. He gazed down at the beasts below him, his family, moving slowly through the bamboo, and he smiled, but did not join them. Instead his gaze seemed to move past, beyond his jungle, to another land, as if he could see something, someone, beyond the boundaries that marked his home, but moving towards him, and for the first time in his many seasons, he felt restless, earning for what, he could not guess, but knew, somehow knew that it was coming.

Bright blue eyes blinked, the head shook, long hair flying, then he dropped effortlessly down to the floor and joined his family.

Soon.

And change would come with it.

Twenty miles from Bwindi, just outside it's borders, men gathered. Soldiers. Soldiers of fortune, hired to bring death and destruction to the National Forest, hired to ensure the closure of the park. A huge consortium was behind this "army", men whose only desire was the death of the mountain gorilla, men who dreamed of the wealth their poaching would bring them.

The soldiers sat around the camp, weapons on their laps, cleaning, planning, giving no thought to the beauty they'd been hired to destroy. No thought to the majesty, the greatness of the creatures they sought to wipe from this earth.

And they gave no thought to anything that might exist in the jungles of the Impenetrable Forest that could stop them.

Jim Ellison slept deep and undisturbed, a rarity for him of late. Seconds before his alarm went off, his eyes opened. Today, the Impenetrable Forest. Gorillas. He scrambled out of bed, eager to begin, the excitement of the day before rooted again in his chest.

He grinned foolishly through his morning ritual, his eyes continually going back to his veranda, to the vista beyond, and he felt like he should say something, to somebody, to who he couldn't fathom, but the words came.

"I'm coming. Stay, don't leave until I get there."

And then he laughed at the obsurdity of it, of the words, but as he moved out on to his patio, he repeated them, almost as a prayer.

"I'm coming. Stay, don't leave until I get there."

The journey to Ruhija was just as Ebo promised and Jim was glad he'd turned over the task of driving to his guide. He simply drank in every sight, completely unprepared the land around him, lush, mysterious, and every shade of green imaginable. Medicine for his soul.

It was late afternoon when they arrived at the campsite that had been so carefully arranged by Ebo and Jim was starving by the time they'd settled in for the evening.

Their supper consisted of a delicious stew, the ingredients of which, Ebo refused to divulge, saying only that Jim would be better off not knowing. Jim smiled, wickedly, as he realized that he was eating a simple, but exotic version of beef stew. Ebo didn't know that the man sitting with him at the campfire was able to taste beyond the normal range, and that while his sensory abilities were often agony to him, there were times, like now, when they came in very handy.

"Um, yes, I'm sure you're right, Ebo, but we have beef in America, you know."

Ebo squinted at his new friend, then grinned as he realized his charge had not been fooled.

He gave an elegant shrug and said, "I tried, Rafiki, I tried. But have you ever tasted such a stew?"

"You have me there, Ebo. Many of the herbs and spices are new to me, but I do taste Cinammon? And Thyme?"

"Perhaps you are the ghost man of whom they speak?"

Jim laughed heartily, enjoying his sense of taste for the first time that he could remember. What was it about the air here? Every sense seemed to be as heightened as usual, but without the accompanying pain and confusion.

"No, Ebo, no ghost man here. Just a policeman from America."

Ebo looked as if he doubted that Jim was just a policeman, but he was content to allow their journey to unveil his secrets.

They agreed to turn in early, and went to their respectives tents, but once settled down, Jim found himself needing to be outside, the confines of his small tent keeping him from this new world. He picked up his sleeping bag and moved out and over to the campfire where he resettled his bag. But instead of crawling in, he stood there, drinking in the night, and finding himself amazed at the silence of the jungle.

He was so close now, so close the hairs on his arm were standing straight up, as if he were electrically charged.

He let his hearing take center stage, and only then could he make out the sounds of the jungle at night. Everything around him was crystal clear, every sound, a single sound, seperate, to be enjoyed. So he stood and let this world envelope him, caress him, as he would a lover, and minutes passed, and still he did not move, as a shadow seemed to glide around him, not yet touching, not close enough to touch, but there, comforting, real.

Was he going insane? Had his mind finally caved under the pressure of his senses? Was all of this ~ unreal?

Euphoria, a symptom. If this was insanity, so be it. It beat anything else he'd experienced. He'd keep it.

He dropped down onto his bag, lay back, hands behind his head, gazing up at the briliant night sky. Tomorrow? Or maybe Saturday? He rolled over and slept.

Four dark shapes moved toward the small stream, one shape lighter in color. Suddenly, the lighter shape stood straight. The gorillas with him stopped their forward movement, heads tilted, snuffling in the night air, waiting.

The man made a few low noises, then gestured with his hands. A warning. He moved swiftly to a nearby tree, climbed easily, slender limbs moving rapidly, until he reached a top branch. Once again he took to the sky, flying across his land, knowing there was danger, but uncertain of it's cause.

As the man above faded from their sight, the others went quickly to warn the rest of their family. It was time to move up, to move deeper into their mountain.

They didn't break camp at dawn, they broke one hour later. By eight they'd breakfasted, packed, and were headed up into heart of the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. And once again, Jim Ellison was struck by the sounds of silence. He knew that life was all about him, in the trees, in the brush, underfoot, and yet - silence.

The air was thick with life as small winged insects zipped about him, never quite landing, their hum the first sound he was conscious of as they moved out and up. Ebo had given him a natural insect repellent that neither irritated his skin nor his sensitive sense of smell, and it worked.

He could feel the heat, the life of this land thrumming in his blood as an excitement built around his heart and mind. He'd never felt so alive, so in tune with the world. A world that just a few days ago was an obstacle course for the detective. A world of traps, of sounds that could devastate him, send his head reeling, of lights that could brighten, sparkle, fracture, intense and painful, and of touch, of materials that could suddenly drive his skin insane. But since arriving on the Dark Continent, he'd been in complete relief, even daring to try to let his senses work for him instead of against him. So far, he'd only been marginally successful, but even that bit of success gave him hope.

They traveled easily, Jim having no trouble keeping up with Ebo's pace. He was used to the jungle, even if the jungle had been in South America. He was in excellent shape and more than once had caught Ebo looking at him in wonder, but pleased that Jim was able to equal Ebo in stamina.

As they moved up, Ebo pointed out the many and varied species of jungle life, and it didn't take long for Jim to begin to actually see and hear the life around him. The most prominent "noisemakers" were the monkeys. Swinging above their heads, chattering, sometimes in anger at what they undoubtedly perceived as an invasion of their territory. The Colobus was the most prevelant monkey, but as they went higher, Ebo would go off the path, pulling Jim with him, to suddenly stop, and Jim would see what Ebo was trying to show him. Chimpanzees. Whole families, moving, foraging, and not just a bit hostile.

Jim was constantly amazed at the color of this world. At first glance, one saw only green and some snatches of brown. And while it was every variation of green and brown imaginable, it was still, just green and brown....However, as jaded American eyes grew accustomed, as they really began to peer into the growth, the amount of color literally jumped out at Jim and he found himself almost - mesmerized by the beauty. The deep, rich purples of the jungle orchids, and the fushias, the intense blues, and pinks, and the butterflies, how many times had he found himself entranced by a flower of incredible color, only to have it fly off, wings incandescent in flight? And the birds, birds of every color imaginable, of every color combination possible. Birds with no fear of man, dipping low, twittering about the two men, chattering up a storm.

The amount of water, the streams, the waterfalls, became another source of amazement for Jim. It was every jungle movie he'd ever seen, and more. They were moving along one of the streams, just before noon, when they reached the second waterfall, a fall so spectacular, that Jim immediately requested that they stop and take a break. The water was too inviting to bypass. Ebo agreed and decided that this would be a perfect spot for their lunch. Their noonday meal was simple, consisting of some fruit, pungent cheeses, crackers and bits of dried meat, lightly seasoned, and nothing like any jerky Ellison had ever had.

As the meal was allowed to settle in very happy stomaches, Jim found himself drawn to the streams sparkling blue depths.

"Ebo, is swimming in this stream safe?"

"Ah, it is inviting, isn't it? But here, at this level, no, I would not recommend it. The water snakes and parasites are highly dangerous. But the higher we climb? Yes, a swim will be mandatory for us both."

So now Jim had the delight of seeing gorillas and a swim to occupy his mind as they packed up and moved out.

It was after two when Ebo stopped suddenly, concern in every line of his body.

"What is it?", Jim asked.

"There is something wrong. We should have seen at least signs of gorilla foraging. Bent reeds, broken bamboo, indentations on the jungle floor, but nothing. Our gorillas have an uncanny knack of sensing danger and moving deep into the forest for protection. It would appear the case here. They have not even ventured down today. I am worried."

"What should we do? Keep going or head back down?"

"The danger could be as simple as a crazed cat, on the rampage, or....something - more sinister. You know of our history, of the rebel uprising two years ago?"

"Yes, the tourists who were killed. They closed the park if I remember correctly, and gorillas perished as well."

"Yes. We lost eight gorillas during the war."

"So you think we could be dealing with another insurrection?"

"No, absolutely not. But....something has kept our gorillas away."

"Well, if I have a choice, I'd like to keep going."

Ebo smiled at his friends words, and not in the least surprised at his choice.

"Then we go forward. I believe we can handle anything up ahead. You are a good man to travel with, I can see this. We continue."

Jim didn't tell Ebo that while he too felt the unease of the jungle around them, he also felt that tingling again, so strong now, and he could no more have turned back than he could have sprouted wings and lifted off the jungle floor.

The man moved silently through the trees, moving steadily down, farther and farther away from his family. Trouble was coming, he sensed it, and he had to find it before it could find his family.

As he moved quickly and quietly, exchanging vines, climbing up, higher, ever higher, skimming the very tops of trees, taking a route he knew by heart, strong hands propelling him, he felt more than danger, he felt a sense of - homecoming. As if the danger and the thing he'd been waiting for were, while not one and the same, together, entwined somehow.

He was close now, close to the strangers who came with cameras, who came to see his gorillas.

Jim and Ebo traveled another hour, with still no sign of gorillas. But, quite some time back, Jim had begun to feel ~ watched. Apes? Some other animal? But then the tingling feeling had returned, and he found himself looking up, around him, trying to find something, and just thirty minutes ago, he could have sworn a flash of white, high above him, and he'd shaken his head, smiling as Ebo's words about a "ghost man" came back to him.

No ghost man. Just his imagination.

His head jerked up at a sound, and there it was again, that brief glimpse of streaking paleness.......then gone before he could get a fix.....but it seemed to be moving "ahead" of them now.....maybe, another chance to spot it?

Two men below him. One he recognized, a friend to his family, the other - a stranger. And yet ~ not. As he'd swung above them, the stranger had glanced up, as if he'd known...could sense him, and he'd seen such blue eyes, eyes that seemed to see so much, so much more than anyone else.......but the danger was close now, just ahead, and his worry increased tenfold, because the stranger was moving toward the danger and not away from it.

The stench hit him hard, almost driving him to his knees.

"James? James? What is it?"

Ebo stood by Jim, who was doubled over, retching, and Ebo put his hand on Jim's back, frowning in concern.

"blood - blood, so much blood. I can't - breathe. Can't you smell it?"

Ebo could smell nothing out of the ordinary, but somehow he didn't doubt for a minute that blood was exactly what his friend could smell.

Eventually Jim straightened, the sour, coppery scent fading, or he, simply becoming immune to it. He immediately began walking straight ahead, and Ebo could only follow.

Fifteen minutes later they entered a clearing and the sight that greeted them sent Ebo off to the edge, to give his lunch back to the jungle.

Four people. Three men, one woman. Dead.

Their bodies had been hacked to pieces, and the blood covering the jungle floor was even now, wet and slippery.

Cameras, clothing, sleeping bags, food, water, all scattered about them, torn, ripped, dismembered, like their owners. But all there. Nothing taken.

A shaken, pale Ebo returned to Jim's side, his head moving in denial, from side to side.

"No creature would do this, Rafiki, I know this."

"I agree. This was the work of man. The wounds, from a sharp weapon, a machete perhaps. But why?"

Even as he asked, Jim moved about the perimeter of the clearing, his eyes clued to the ground.

"....six, no seven, men. Boots. Combat boots."

Ebo watched the detective at work, listening, and fear struck as the words "combat boots" was spoken.

"Ebo, this was no rebel attack. This was quick, efficient and they moved out almost immediately. And they took nothing. They meant to kill and nothing more."

As Ebo and Jim talked, they were completely unaware of the man several feet above them, kneeling on a tree branch, hand on a vine, watching.

He lifted his head, tilted it, then rapidly stood and propelled himself off the branch.

Soaring through the air, he could now see the men, weapons at the ready, coming back down the mountain and heading for the two at the site of the massacre. He could not allow the stranger to be hurt. It must not happen.

He changed direction, hoping he'd be in time.

The soldiers moved stealthily forward, rifles held in front of them. A scout had returned to tell of two more, a guide and a another tourist, just below their previous position. They had only one objective - to kill these two as well.

Jim grabbed Ebo's arm and whispered, "Men. Just ahead. Soldiers, I think."

"We must move swiftly, Rafiki." But before either man could move, two soldiers burst through the underbrush, ready to kill.

Jim didn't pause, he simply pushed Ebo out of the way and launched himself at the nearest of the two. The soldier was unprepared for such a move and Jim landed heavily against him and they both went down. Ebo found himself the target of the other soldier and if not for Jim's quick action, would have been shot where he stood. The soldier did fire, but Ebo was diving for cover and scrambling through the jungle as bullets flew past.

The soldier quickly raced after Ebo, not realizing he didn't have a chance, this was Ebo's world and there were very few who could so successfully disappear.

Jim and the other soldier were still struggling, Jim trying to get the weapon, and he managed to land a brutal kick to the man's stomach and they rolled away from each other. The soldier reached for his knife and before Jim could prepare himself, the knife cut through the air and sliced through soft flesh. The man dropped the weapon and swung up the rifle, but Jim was ahead of him, and in spite of the slash to his arm, he dove for the protection of the jungle.

The man above witnessed the fight, saw the tall, blue-eyed man dive for cover, and saw the other soldiers in position to surround the stranger. He must make his move now.

Jim scrambled through the brush, vines whipping him, slapping his skin, but he "sensed" that he was surrounded, that escape was not possible.

He stopped, trying to catch his breath. He listened. They were all around him. He had only one choice. To fight.

He stood.

Brushes rustled, footsteps coming closer, and to his right, at least two soldiers, about to breakthrough the forest, to where Jim stood, ready. He moved into his fighting stance.

The two soldiers stepped into the small clearing, saw the man, bleeding, ready to fight; they simply raised their rifles.

The air came alive and a whooshing sound behind Jim Ellison captured his attention, and the attention of the soldiers. Jim turned, expecting to see more men, but instead, he looked up and.......could not be seeing what he must be seeing.

A man. Bearing down on Jim, from the air, hand outstretched, inviting.......and Jim Ellison had only the impression of flying brown hair, startling sea-blue eyes, before the hand was there and he was miraculously reaching up, and flesh touched flesh, and his other hand grasped the vine, and he was flying, an arm coming around his waist, to anchor him until his purchase was solid, and they were moving up and away, away from the stunned soldiers, men so surprised, they could not even fire their weapons.

The soldiers turned and watched the two men disappear into the forest.

Jim was in excellent shape and agile in his own right, but nothing could have prepared him for this - for flying. Or the circus act that went hand in hand with the flying. The exchange of vines, happening so fast Jim barely registered it, because it was so easily accomplished by the man who'd pulled him from certain death. He had no sense of the man, other than skin against him, as his ghost man wore little, and what exactly he was wearing seemed little more than a tan blur.

They must have traveled several miles from the soldiers, must be safe, and just as this thought came, they landed on another tree, but this time, they remained. Jim actually had the opportunity to "look" at the man who'd saved his life. Or so he thought. As he turned to him, the man rested his finger against lips and pointed down, then lowered himself easily and lightly, feet touching down, head up, eyes beckoning Jim.

Jim looked down. He could do this. He was a cop, an ex-Ranger, he would simply slide down the vine like his ghost man. Not as graceful, but he got there, and so what if he landed on his butt?

This Tarzan simply looked down at him, where he sat now, his back against the tree he'd just come down, then blue eyes locked onto the gash in Jim's arm and he immediately moved away, searching, finding, plucking leaves, flowers, and bringing them back to Jim. The man squatted down, his hand wrapping around a rock as he began to pound the plants together. As he worked, Ellison studied him.

Ebo's ghost man was young, at least ten years younger than Jim. He could see that in the face that was concentrating so fiercely on his task. He looked to be no more than early to mid twenties and was much shorter than Jim, but lean and muscular, with every movement economized and graceful. His hair was indeed brown, a rich brown with streaks of light in it and inspite of it's length, it was curly. Jim would have to make sure the history books were changed. Tarzan definitely had curly hair.

His face was angular, with a broad forehead,full high cheekbones, a strong chin and lush, full lips. In Jim's world, this man would have been considered beautiful, but here, in the jungle, he was more an exotic creature, dazzling in his grace, agility and beauty. His chest was covered lightly with hair, from shoulder to shoulder, but as it narrowed down to his stomach and below, it thinned out to a fine point that disappeared just below the piece of skin that barely covered the man's genitals.

The "clothing" worn by the ghost man was simply a very thin piece of leather with an irregular patch of stretched and dried animal skin in front and another irregular patch in the rear. As he squatted, doing his work, Jim's eyes could trace the outline of his rear, see the pale skin, and Jim reacted to the vision with a small intake of breath that brought the ghost man's head sharply around, as if to ask if he was alright. Jim could only mutely nod, as he forced his eyes back to watching the slender, strong hands work their magic on the plants.

After pulverizing the leaves and flowers into a kind of paste, the man stood and moved to Jim's side, where he squatted once again. He caught Jim's eyes, questioning, requesting permission and Jim again nodded. One hand tore carefully at the bloodstained shirt, revealing the very nasty gash, still oozing blood. The paste was smeared liberally on the wound, from top to bottom, then the young man again requested permission with a look and again Jim nodded, not sure what he was giving permission for. The man leaned across Jim's body, his hair brushing lightly against the older man's face and neck, and his scent rose up and Jim inhaled deeply, reveling in the mixture of earthiness, maleness and the salty mix of sweat and adrenaline.

The man tore a bit of cloth from the bottom of Jim's shirt, then quickly and efficiently bound the paste to the wound. When he was done, he stood, looked about him and with a signal telling Jim to remain seated, he moved about them, stooping every so often to pick up small pepples and bits of wood. When he was satisfied he came back to Jim, leaned over and taking Jim's left hand into his own, he poured the pepples into it, then made a motion indicating that he was going back up, and miming that Jim should drop a pepple. The light dawned for the older man. It was a timing device. This ghost man was telling him that he was leaving, but that by the time the pepples were gone, he'd be back. Jim could only nod as it was evident that this man did not speak and undoubtedly would not understand Jim's words.

A moment later, with one worried look back, the ghost man disapeared from view and Jim was alone.

With the exit of his saviour, Jim felt so bereft, it was frightening. And he quickly realized why. Ebo's ghost man was what Jim had been moving toward. In his presence he'd felt complete, his senses calm. The man's touch had soothed the tingling and the excitement had faded to a quiet, comforting buzz.

Jim Ellison was no stranger to the delights of the male form, but his reaction to this man, to this male form, went far beyond anything he'd experienced before. Questions began to assault his mind, questions like, who was he? How had he come to be here? Could he truly live in the wild? He thought back, pictured the young man again, and realized that there was something wrong with the vision. His hair was hardly a straggly mess, and it's scent had been good, clean and natural. And his eyesight had told him that it had been trimmed, not regularily but not roughly either. And his face, obviously he must shave somehow, because he had only a two day growth of stubble, heavy but still indicating grooming.

He supposedly lived with the gorillas, according to the myth. But everything about him said more. Then Jim remembered the tribe Ebo had talked about, the Magharibi. Perhaps, he also lived with them? So maybe he understood Swahili? Which did Jim absolutely no good whatsoever. His knowledge of the language was regulated to things like asking what time it was, and about food, that was it. On the other hand, they'd had no difficulty understanding each other, no trouble at all, and Jim had seen a keen intelligence in those sparkling blue eyes.

He glided through the trees, covering as much area as possible, making certain that the enemy was no longer a threat to the stranger. He knew his family was safe, and as he moved silently through his land, he felt stirrings that had long been squelched. The tall man had moved him as no other, and he knew he'd found what he'd been looking for all his life. But with that knowledge came a bittersweet truth; what good was finding this man now? And never had he felt so apart from the world outside. The tall, blue-eyed stranger came from another world, and would return to it, and he, Bakari, would stay here.

His eyes scanned the area below, looking for signs of Ebo, and he found them. Ebo was safe, the body of the soldier on the ground below him told him that. And Ebo knew his way to the village. He could go back now, knowing that for the time being, they were safe.

Jim looked down at his hand ~ it was empty. He glanced up and the young man stood there, quiet, watching, studying him as he had studied not so very long ago. How long had he been there and why hadn't Jim sensed him?

Jim struggled up as the man moved silently toward him, his eyes never leaving Jim's. When he stood just inches away, he pointed up.

They were going flying again. And why not?

When they landed this time, it was on the ground, in an area that Jim could only describe as paradise. It was lighter here, with more room for the sun to slide between the smaller bits of growth, and from the sound, Jim knew they were near water. The man moved off and Jim followed, watching the play of muscles along the slender back, and the sway of one piece of tan cloth.

They emerged into what would be a glen back home, and the water was here, in the form of a small lake and waterfall. The beauty of it stole Jim's breath away, which led to another view of beauty. As Jim gasped, the man looked back and when he saw the wonder on Jim's face - he smiled. A genuine, cover to cover smile that transformed his face as he suddenly looked like a boy playing acting. And Jim gasped yet again.

With an impatient wave of his hand, the ghost man indicated Jim's clothing, that he should remove them, but before Jim could question, the man had climbed the rocks, to the top of the falls, and with barely a pause, dove in, his body slicing through the water with the barest of a splash.

It didn't take much more than that to convince Jim to strip and join his ghost man.

The water was cool, refreshing, and invigorating as he swam somewhat clumsily, his arm hampering him a bit, but not stopping his enjoyment.

Many times in the next several minutes, he caught his ghost man staring, with what Jim could only describe as approval. They swam, dove, but oddly enough, stayed several feet apart. And this fact reminded Jim of a special he'd watched once, about a species of bird that did some kind of dance ritual prior to mating. Was that what was happening here? They were certainly dancing around each other and he was sure his ghost man was as aware of this as Jim.....the occasional glimmer of a smile told him that.

By silent mutual agreement, both men climbed out and dropped onto the soft, deep, lush grass to dry.

The afternoon was almost gone, and a sweet lethargy overtook Jim and before he knew it, he was asleep.

The young man rolled onto his side and took in his fill of the other man. He let his eyes glide down every inch of the well muscled body lying next to him, and with some hesitation, reached out and slowly touched a finger to the still wet, smooth chest, so unlike his own.

This stranger was his. He knew it. And he belonged to this stranger. But this knowledge bought him no comfort.

It was time to wake him, to take him to the Magharibi. A battle was ahead, a battle to remove a cancer from his jungle.

Two soldiers made it back to the camp. And the story they told of the flying white man caused a small sensation among those in charge. One man in particular voiced an interest and as the men talked, he listened and smiled.

The Ghost Man was real. And he would bring a fortune on the open market, not to mention that once he was gone, the gorillas would be easy targets.

The man, George Akiris, gave quick orders, and several more soldiers moved out.

Jim was awakened by a trickle of water sliding down his face. He opened his eyes to see his jungleman gazing down, hand clenched and a small bit of water sliding through the air to land on Jim's face. So, blue-eyes had a sense of humor, did he? But before he could even think of a suitable retaliation the young man was pointing through the jungle growth and Jim instinctively knew he was being told to get up, that it was time to move on.

He'd assumed they would take to the trees again, but he was wrong. His jungleman headed straight for the bush and Jim could only follow.

As he kept easy pace with the man, he found himself hungering for the sound of a human voice, even if it was his own. He was not a talker by nature, and he realized that if his ghost man spoke at all, it would probably be in Swahili. But that didn't stop him from trying.

"I don't suppose you speak, or if you do....", his voice trailed off as the young man stopped, tilted his head a bit and waited.

"Uh, I just...well," this time he was stopped by the young man's immediate lack of attention as he searched the ground, spotted something, bent, picked up a small twig, then squatted at Jim's feet, swept aside the leaves and jungle growth, and began to make figures in the ground.

Jim bent and watched in fascination as what appeared to be a village, began to take shape in the wet earth. When satisfied, Blue-eyes pointed the stick at Jim, then down to the "village" in the dirt, then back to Jim.

"I get it, you're taking me to this village", which gave him another thought, "Would this be the Magharibi Village?"

Cerulean blues widened, then he frowned, but nodded. He'd understood the word Magharibi. Jim was definitely getting somewhere, and he wasn't about to stop now. He pointed to himself and said, "Jim." And he waited. He pointed again and repeated, "Jim." He had to do this two more times before he was rewarded with a dazzling smile and his jungleman repeating, "Jim" and touching Jim's chest. Jim's ecstatic nod nearly toppled him over and into Blue-eyes, but he steadied himself and took another step towards foreign relations. He pointed to the young man and waited. He had to do this two more times before he was rewarded with, "Bakari".

Bakari. His jungleman was named "Bakari". Jim felt as though he'd just discovered the atom, or DNA, or at least sliced bread. He repeated the name, and for the next two minutes the men went back and forth, saying each others names as if it were the greatest accomplishment in the world. And for them, maybe it was.

Jim could have stayed right there, exchanging more, listening to Bakari's voice, listening to it say, "Jim", but it was soon obvious that they needed to move, so they headed on, climbing gradually up, as the afternoon waned and dusk fell.

Bakari showed no signs of slowing, and once again Jim wanted to hear "normal" sounds so he began to talk. Bakari slowed, allowed Jim to catch up so that they were now walking side by side and he actually seemed to be listening, even though he couldn't possibly understand a single word. Jim told him of his years in the military, of his enforced eighteen months in the jungles of Peru, of his senses nearly overwhelming him, of Incacha, who'd helped him to use them in the jungles, then of his rescue and subsequent years as a detective for the Cascade Police Department. He talked about his friends as they climbed higher through the Bwinidi Forest, a part that Jim was certain had not been seen by any tourist, and he told of his home, his loft, his sanctuary and finally, he talked about the return of his senses in a recent bombing incident.

Through all his revelations, Bakari seemed to listen, and Jim had the absurd feeling that Bakari somehow understood. Jim couldn't remember ever sharing this much with anyone in his entire life. And yet....it seemed right. But then he'd never had a captive audience before, not to mention one who didn't understand a word and couldn't answer back.

Jim finally wound down, and took stock of his surroundings only to find it was almost completely dark. His sight was not hampered by the loss of daylight, and he'd barely noticed how his vision just seemed to compensate on it's own. Bakari had no real difficulty with seeing either, but then Jim would wager that the young man knew every inch of this forest.

Jim was so involved with his own thoughts that it didn't register that Bakari had stopped his forward movement. Jim paused next to him, watching his face, noticing the cocked head, as if listening to something....so Jim tried to concentrate his hearing.....and was able to identify movement ahead, slow, lumbering movement, but before he could guess at what it was, Bakari rested his hand on Jim's chest and pointed to the ground with his other hand. Jim got it. He was to stay put. He nodded his understanding and Bakari moved off.

Jim waited, and waited, and waited. He was a patient man, but he was a detective, with a natural curiousity and his hearing told him that Bakari was several hundred feet to Jim's right and that he wasn't alone.

He moved out. Following the sounds, he manuevered through the jungle until he was close, very close. He parted some leaves and caught his breath at the sight before him.

Three gorillas, and Bakari. The gorillas were seated with Bakari in front of them, on his hands and knees, all skin and hair, locks hiding his face, as he seemingly acted out their own recent adventures. Occasionally, his hands would fly, making signs, and a soft whooshing sound would come from his mouth, followed by other strange and exotic sounds as he communicated with the gorillas.

The animals sat and watched, snorting softly at times, their liquid brown eyes watching every move of the young man's, and Jim could have sworn they even laughed, or at least, smiled? He was entranced, charmed, and found himself smiling in spite of the fact that he was a spy, seeing what he'd not been invited to witness.

Suddenly Bakari stood and faced him. Seemed to stare at him, then he smiled and beckoned. Jim stepped sheepishly through the brush and just as he cleared it, he stopped.

Bakari used two fingers to point to his own eyes, then Jim's, then down to the ground. He was telling Jim to approach, but with eyes downcast. Jim did as instructed until he was even with the man. Bakari squatted and pulled at Jim's shirt, bringing him down to the gorillas level.

Once there, Bakari took Jim's hand gently in his own and held it out to the nearest gorilla and said, "Orantu". A large, brown hand moved toward Jim's and he felt his heart clamor into his throat as he realized he was about to touch a gorilla. Their fingers made a gentle contact and remained until the large, gentle beast leaned forward, snuffling, and Bakari repeated, "Orantu" and signaled for Jim to raise his eyes, and at that moment, the moment his blue eyes connected with the soft brown ones, his whole world shifted.

He saw intelligence, life, history, eons of gorillas, all in that one gaze. His heart was overwhelmed with the beauty, the innocence, and the "ancientness" of the animal in front of him. He wanted to grin madly, but something reminded him not to show his teeth, so he let his eyes do his smiling for him.

Bakari moved behind the large gorilla, who was now running his large hand over Jim's clothing, and touching his hair, to take something from one of the smaller gorillas, and he came back to squat at Jim's side and to show him what he now cradled in his arms.

A baby gorilla.

Jim gasped in delight as small, near black fingers, curious fingers, began to wrap themselves around Bakari's hair, curling around one hunk and the baby gave a yank, pulling Bakari's head down, where upon the small gorilla gave what could only be described as a rasberry, and Jim got his third wonderful surprise of the day, Bakari's laughter. It seemed to bubble up, and burst forth, silvery, low, and it immediately crawled inside Jim Ellison and made itself right at home.

Jim didn't know how long they remained with the gorillas, playing, watching them groom each other and watching as they took turns grooming Bakari, but eventually Bakari stood. His hands signaled again, and the gorillas moved off, giving one, sad, backward glance before disappearing into the forest.

It was quiet once again, as the two men stood, side by side, each listening in their own way to the sounds of the gorillas moving up and to safety. Jim wanted to thank Bakari for this night, for the miracle he'd been a party to.....but the words would pale in comparison, so he contented himself with a smile and received the same back. Then it was forward for them once again.

The soldiers had their orders. They were to lay traps for gorillas, and hope to bait the Ghost Man to a rescue. They had dart guns, nets and a small cage for their eventual prize. Now all they needed was a gorilla.

Red Squad succeeded. A baby had wandered off, and the men had easily captured it.

Now the trap.

They looked forward to this, to their portion of the riches this man would bring.

Jim heard the village before he saw it. He smelled their cooking, heard their activity. Less than one hour after leaving the gorillas, they entered a clearing and Jim got his first glimpse of the Magharibi Village.

Activity stopped as the two men entered the outer perimeter, but Jim could detect no fear, only curiousity. Suddenly, Jim heard his own name and saw Ebo coming toward him, arms outstretched.

"Ebo, you're alive!"

"Yes, Rafiki, but I can not say the same for the soldier who came after me. I am pleased you are well."

"I seemed to have received a bit of help."

Ebo smiled slyly and added, "Ah, yes, our Ghost Man. You have met Bakari I see?"

Jim shook his head in disgust as it became apparent that Ebo knew all about Bakari.

"I do believe you conned me, Ebo."

"Why Rafiki, me? Not at all." But his smile said very differently.

During the exchange between Ebo and Jim, Bakari had simply stood, quiet, watching. But soon, another man came up beside Ebo, a tall, white man, dressed in the cossack of a priest.

Ebo guided him to Jim and with a huge smile, he introduced them.

"Jim, this is Father Benjamin. The only other white man besides Bakari to live with the Magharibi. Father Benjamin, this is Detective James Ellison, of Cascade, America."

The priest put out a strong hand and as they shook, Jim found himself looking into eyes almost as ancient as the gorillas. Father Benjamin appeared to be in his early sixties, with a shock of snow white hair and eyes so light brown, they appeared almost golden.

"Detective Ellison, I'm very glad Bakari found you and was able to bring you to us." As Father Benjamin spoke, his eyes went to Bakari and he seemed to frown, then smile and nod. He took Jim's arm and started to lead him to a small hut.

"You must be hungry, and you're arm needs to be re-bandaged. Come with me and after a good meal, we will talk of what must be done to protect our mountain."

There seemed to be no question that Jim and Ebo would indeed be a part of whatever was necessary to protect the forest, and Jim couldn't have agreed more even if he'd been asked. But he turned to see if Bakari was following, only to see him move swiftly back into the jungle, two tribesmen close behind him.

"Ebo? Where is he going?"

"There is another tracking party, he will use the Magharibi to warn them. Do not worry, he will soon be back. There is much to plan."

Bakari took to the air, the Magharibi traveling swiftly below him, following his lead. It didn't take long to reach the other tracking party and as Bakari stayed above, out of sight, the men made a few bird calls.

Below Bakari, four men and two women sat around a campfire, with a fifth man, their guide, gesturing, undoubtedly discussing tomorrow's adventure. As the calls from the Magharibi filled the night air, the guide looked up and around, excused himself and melted into the night.

A few minutes later, after a rapid discussion with the tribesmen, the guide moved back into camp and quickly began giving orders. Bakari watched as the tribesmen moved away, but he remained, waiting. He would follow the party a bit, ensure their safety, before making his way back to the village.

The men and women below were questioning, but the guides words assured them of the urgency and soon the camp was dismantled and the party moving quickly down the mountain. For three hours, Bakari followed, until the party meant up with two officers of the Ugandan Wildlife Authority, on their evening patrol. The guide took the two men aside and after much gesturing, one officer began to speak into a two-way radio.

Certain that the authorities now knew of the danger, and that the party was safe, Bakari began his journey back to the village, back to his Jim.

He had traveled half the distance when a cry pierced the air. He recognized it immediately. It was the cry of Nusu, the baby that only hours before, he'd been cradling in his arms. Nusu was terrified and in danger.

Bakari's speed through the air increased, as he barely allowed himself to land before taking flight again. His body moved almost of it's own accord, fine tuned muscles working automatically, strong hands grasping vines that no one else would even see, lean legs wrapping themselves around the strong "ropes" that carried him. As the cries became louder, more frantic, he flew faster and faster still, hair flying behind him, blue eyes seeing what only one other pair of blue eyes would have been able to see.

As he neared the terrified gorilla, he dropped down to the jungle floor, ran quickly, then back up, to take shorter flights over the jungle, lower, following Nusu's cries until he was certain he must be close.

He sped confidently up and down branches, silently closing in on the frightened animal, eyes and ears alert for the danger, but unprepared for the camouflaged soldiers, hiding below him, guns ready.

He knelt on a branch, looking down, and he could see Nusu, apparently trapped in some vines, arms and legs thrashing in panic, cries splitting the air. He waited just a moment, to be sure, then when satisfied, dropped down and moved silently forward.

He never saw the soldier stand or take aim, but he did feel the sharp jab of the dart as it penetrated his neck. He reached a hand up, grasped the feathered dart, then pitched forward to land face down on the jungle floor.

The soldiers moved in on the prone man, wicked smiles of satisfaction on each face. The net had been unnecessary after all. A cage was brought out from behind a large tree, and the man was lifted and unceremoniously stuffed inside the small, confined space. Poles were fitted through each side and the cage was lifted by two of the soldiers. One man walked over to the baby, pulled out his sidegun and took aim.

A hand on the soldiers arm stopped him from firing.

"No. It can be sold. Alive. Put it in the cage with our Ghost Man."

The soldier looked as though he might disobey, the thought of killing the small beast an excitement running through his blood. But eventually he holstered his gun, grabbed up the beast, opened the cage door and threw it in with the unconscious man. The small gorilla immediately curled up against Bakari's chest, it's fingers fisting around now damp curls. It turned it's head away from the men, snuffled miserably, and wound in on itself, the beating heart of Bakari keeping the baby quiet.

The soldiers moved out, the cage swaying with their pace.

The Magharibi were curious about this new white man and were gathered around Father Benjamin's quarters, peering inside, watching, pointing, and whispering, with one word, "Dingane" being oft repeated.

The constant attention did nothing to diminish Jim's appetite, nor his questions to the priest and Ebo. As he sopped up fragrant stew juices with chunks of spicy flat bread, he bombarded the two men with his queries until Father Benjamin laughingly held up one hand in surrender.

"Please, Jim. Why don't I have Ebo here share what he knows while I attend to a couple of issues with the Magharibi?"

A quick, secretive look passed between Ebo and the priest as Ebo nodded and Father Benjamin took his leave.

"So, you wish to know about our Bakari?"

"Yes. Starting with his name?"

"The Magharibi gave him this name. It means, "One with Great Promise" and is a result of a prophecy made over fifty years ago, by Kamau, the Magharibi spiritual leader or as you might say, their "Wiich Doctor". But let me start at Bakari's begining." Ebo reached for a mug of wine, took a sip, then began.

"I will tell you what I know. In late 1969 a plane crashed on our mountain and all perished. Except a babe. This child was taken into one of gorilla families and raised. As he grew, so grew the legends. He eventually became their protector. The Magharibi revered him, as they revere the gorilla. Together, the Magharibi and Bakari keep our mountain safe."

"He....lives with the gorillas?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes here."

"He shaves."

One eyebrow rose humorously, "And this is a bad thing, Rafiki? Or perhaps, in your world, there is a law that says Tarzan shall not shave?"

"Well.....yes. Tarzan does not shave. It is written." Jim couldn't hide the smirk very long and both men laughed at the thought.

"Ebo, did anyone try to find his ~ family?"

"I know nothing of this beyond the fact that Father Benjamin.....made inqueries. But as to the results, you will have to ask him."

"Tell me more about this "prophecy"."

"Kamau predicted a child coming to our mountain from the sky and living with the gorillas, he also predicted a great battle, lives lost, but that the child, now grown, would prevail, with his "Dingane"....and the mountain and the gorillas would be safe from that day forward."

Jim had sat up at the word "Dingane", the word he'd heard from the Magharibi.

"Dingane?"

"Kamau said this child-man would have a mate, "One Who Searches" or Dingane and that together they would emerge victorious." Ebo lowered his head and added, "They believe that you are Dingane." Ebo raised his eyes to his friend, seemed to search his face, then asked, hesitantly, "Does this....bother you?"

Jim sat back with a whoosh of escaping air. Mate. Dingane. Jim Ellison. And he found that he was not bothered, except by the possibility that he was not Dingane. And he also recognized the approprietness of the name. One who searches. Could any phrase better describe him?

"No, Ebo, I am not bothered. I have felt a ~ connection since my arrival. A connection that grew with my first glimpse of Bakari. I can't deny it. Nor do I wish to. I feel.....at home with him. My only concern is that I am not this Dingane, or that Bakari does not ~ feel what I feel."

Ebo smiled in joy at his friends words and hastened to reassure him, "Dingane, I believe you have no need to fear. I too felt the connection between you. It was electric."

Ebo's words alleviated some of Jim's worries, but until Bakari's return, Jim could only wait. And ask more questions.

"How is it that no one knows the truth about Bakari? You yourself alluded to the mystery."

"That's exactly it, Dingane. The mystery. We have worked hard to create just that feeling. And one of fear. Oh, not to the tourists, but to those who want to destroy this mountain, and the lives it protects. So, a legend was born. A legend of good, a legend of a people who move unseen, and of he who flies through the skies. I am pleased to say....it works."

"Until now?"

Ebo's face darkened in rage, "Yes, until now. The battle was foretold, as was it's conclusion. These men have made a grave error and the conclusion will be bloody. The Magharibi will destroy those who seek to destroy. Does being a part of this worry you, Dingane?"

Jim's own face hardened as his mind conjured up the visions of the destroyed camp and his voice, steel hard, answered, "No. This is one battle I gladly join."

Both men were quiet in their contemplation of the men who dared come to this mountain to kill. But a memory surfaced for Jim, a memory that left him cold and shaking.

"Ebo, the soldiers. Today. They saw Bakari. They saw him!"

Ebo shook his head, puzzled, "I don't understand, what.....", but then horror spread across his handsome features as he did understand. But before he could say more, Jim was already moving quickly outside.

"Jim, wait...what can you do?"

Jim didn't pause, he simply said over his shoulder, "I can go after him, make sure he's safe."

Awareness came sluggishly as Bakari struggled back to consciousness. His mouth was horribly dry, his head pounding. He tried to move, but two things happened at once; he hit something metallic and he heard a small whimper. He forced his eyes open and the first thing he could see was Nusu, peering intently at him while at the same time, trying to literally "crawl" inside Bakari. He made a low humming sound in his chest and Nusu seemed to quiet.

Bakari moved his head slightly and found the source of the metal.

He'd been caged.

"I see our Apeman is awake."

Bakari lifted his head, experiencing a sharp pain and found himself staring at smiling brown eyes

"I do hope your accomodations are adequate? I wouldn't want our prize to suffer."

Bakari stilled, letting his eyes bore into the man, but giving nothing away. His captors eyes narrowed in return as he leaned back on his haunches, but he gave a quick shake of his head and the evil smile returned.

"You are much younger than your legend would suggest and I must confess that I'm surprised by your appearance." Eyes traveled down the trapped man's body, then back up to the expressionless face. The intrusive scrutiny continued, taking in the hair, the mouth, the cold icy blue orbs, the threaded leather cord around the strong, slender neck, and brown eyes widended as they fastened on the hand that was gently stroking the frightened baby gorilla, and the multi-layered, multi-colored braided leather circlet around the wrist.

The man reached out one finger, slipping his hand in between the bars to touch the leather, stroking it in wonder. And it took everything Bakari had not to move, not to fight, to hold his revulsion in check, his blazing anger at the indignity, to just hold Nusu.

The man continued to finger the bracelets as he finally spoke, "This is magnificent work. And work I sincerely doubt was done by your gorillas. It's design is....new to me.....perhaps you are not the only myth to see the light of day?", the finger moved down to trace the slender leather thread that hugged one hip, and as the finger touched skin and moved down, a different expression took over the man's features and his tongue ran slowly across his bottom lip.

"I was considering....selling you to some less than reputable university, but now.....I believe there is another market......oh, yes, you will bring much more on the block.....I should, perhaps, sample the wares myself......", his self-discussion was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of his mercenaries and he quickly pulled out his hand and stood.

"Don't go anywhere, we have much to discuss."

As the man strode away, Bakari let out a long breath as one hand rubbed the violated hip. He looked about him, taking in the crates marked, "Ammo", the number of men moving about the camp and he listened and he learned.

They were here to destroy, to do the bidding of the men who lived in riches and who wanted more, of the man called George Akiris, the man who'd just left his side.

They would not succeed. And many would not leave this mountain alive.

Bakari began to study his cage.

As Jim attempted to leave the village, Ebo caught him and stepped in front of him.

"Dingane, you can not go alone. If he is in danger, the Magharibi must help. Please, wait. Let me get their assistance."

Everything in Jim said to hurry, but a small voice heard Ebo's wisdom and he nodded, but his blood was boiling and the heat would not wait long.

As Ebo turned, the two men who'd accompanied Bakari into the forest returned. Jim waited as Ebo talked, gestured, as Father Benjamin joined them, his own face suddenly worried, paling at the news Ebo shared. And still Jim waited.

Ten minutes after Ebo had spotted the returning men, fifteen Magharibi and Ebo walked to his side. Ebo held out a rifle and a knife. Jim took both as he looked at the natives. They carried spears, bows, knives. They were armed to the teeth, but their "arms" were no match for the weapons Jim had seen in the hands of the mercenaries.

"Ebo, they are no match for the soldiers."

"Dingane, you have no idea. The soldiers are no match for the Magharibi." Ebo looked at his companions and smiled.

"We are ready, Dingane."

Jim believe him. He nodded and as they moved out, a rustling in the bush just ahead, stopped them. As Jim watched, utterly amazed, a huge silverback gorilla came through the brush. The great beast knelt, eyes searching, as Ebo breathed out, "Orantu". The gorilla's search came to a halt as his eyes landed on Jim. The great head moved and the gorilla disappeared back into the bush.

They followed.

As the Magharibi army left the village, led by Dingane and Orantu, Father Benjamin prayed.

Bakari had been routinely testing the strength of his prison and so far had found no weakness. Nusu was awake, shivering and whimpering in hunger. Behind the cage stood tall reeds, undoubtedly full of delicious insects. Bakari manuevered his severely cramped body, surpressing a groan as his muscles complained. He wiggled an arm through the narrow space between bars and managed to snag several of the precious reeds and to pull them in. Nusu grabbed them immediately, and with fingers and tongue, he began to strip them bare, to pry for the insects buried deep within their green depths.

Bakari put his arm through again, to snag more, but stinging leather flicked down, lashing at his forearm, leaving a long, thin stream of red on the exposed skin. He quickly retracted his arm and jerked his head up, looking for his tormentor.

A tall soldier stood a few feet away, the same man who'd been about to kill Nusu earlier. He was recoiling his black whip, and staring at Bakari with such contempt, a blast of cold spread through the young man. The soldier moved to the front of the small, square cage and as he did, the whip was unfurled, the arm raised, and with amazing speed and accuracy the whip flicked down, slid easily through the bars and connected with Bakari's left shoulder.

The action was repeated again, and a again, as Bakari tried to curl his body protectively around Nusu. More often than not, the biting leather found it's mark in an arm, bare back, legs, neck and even one slight flick to Bakari's left cheek. Through it all, Bakari made no sound, just lay curled around the shaking bundle of fur.

"HALT!"

George Akiris ran forward and roughly grabbed the whip wielding arm before another downward motion could inflict more damage.

"YOU ASSHOLE! YOU WOULD DESTROY OUR TREASURE?"

He then spoke tersely in French and the soldier stalked off, but not before giving one last, hate-filled glance at Bakari.

Akiris moved to the cage, taking in the many thin lines of red. He stood there for several seconds, staring, his eyes unreadable. Bakari stared back, expression equally unreadable.

"He is a pig. He will not come near you again. I promise."

Akiris continued to stare, as Bakari absently stroked the shivering Nusu. He watched the hand as it moved, up, down, up, down. The animal once again quieted as small, reassuring sounds issued forth from Bakari's throat.

Akiris gave himself a mental shake and without another glance, walked away.

Bakari's eyes followed the man's movement across the camp. A movement to his right captured his attention and as he peered into the darkness, he saw two brown eyes looking back at him. Orantu.

He smiled.

Jim and the Magharibi had traveled for over two hours, a full moon lighting their way. Orantu stayed well ahead, but seemingly knowing that Jim could keep him within hearing range.

After another twenty minutes, Jim stopped and held up one hand. The camp was not far, he could already hear the men, their movements and talk. He turned to Ebo.

"They are just ahead. I think about twenty. And they do have Bakari."

Ebo nodded and translated. One native stepped forward and spoke quickly. Again Ebo nodded.

"Dingane, Abasi believes that he and his men can provide a distraction for you, allowing you to free Bakari. Will that work for you?"

Jim heard, but did not take in Ebo's words. He smelled blood. And somehow, he knew it was Bakari's blood.

"Dingane?"

"He is hurt. There is blood."

Ebo didn't question. He spoke again to Abasi, and the men broke away, in three groups. They disappeard into the jungle.

"Dingane, go. We will give you what you need to free him. Take him. We will protect and stop the soldiers. Go."

Jim heard and accepted. He moved just as silently into the jungle, slinging the rifle back over his shoulder and drawing out the knife. Jim focused on only one thing, the scent of Bakari's blood.

The warrior had returned.

Strange noises suddenly filled the night air. Loud, blood curdling noises. Wails. Roars. Howls. The soldiers stopped, stood, listened.

Frightened faces turned to each other, questions unsaid, but there, in their eyes.

A whir, a whoosh and one man fell, dead, a small arrow buried in his neck.

Panic ensued. Men ran, weapons were reached for, but more whirs, more whooshing and more men fell. Meanwhile the sounds around the camp increased. The screams pierced their brains, the wailing crawled under their skin. And well trained mercenaries fumbled, scrambled, weapons dropped. They ran.

A few knelt, powerful weapons of destruction raised and aimed, but never fired. Each man fell, silent, dead, a small, colorful arrow protruding from the neck.

Jim moved silently through it all, having spotted the cage with Bakari and Nusu.

Bakari clutched Nusu to his chest, as he noted Jim's stealthy movement in his direction. He was ready.

George Akiris stood just outside his tent, watching as his well trained, highly paid soldiers fell apart. And fell. He looked across the camp to the cage. Brown eyes met blue.

A single shot rang out and the lock on the cage fell to the ground.

On the other side of the compound, knelt the soldier who'd wielded the whip. He watched as the man crawled from the cage and slowly, painfully, stood. He noted the tall, white man who stepped from the shadows of the jungle.

Slowly, the soldier raised his gun, took careful aim, centering on the bare, vulnerable back and he squeezed.

George Akiris walked through the center of his camp, heedless of the destruction happening all about him, conscious of only one need. To stop the escape of his apeman. His. He also carried a weapon and he lifted it now, and took aim at the tall man who'd suddenly appeared in front of his prize.

A rifle spoke. Two blue-eyed men turned and watched as George Akiris stopped, lowered his rifle, looked down at the spreading red stain on his shirt front, then back up at Bakari. He fell forward, dead as he hit the ground.

Jim searched, and found the soldier who even now was preparing to fire again. Jim pushed Bakari aside, knelt, took aim and fired. The bullet entered the soldier's left eye, killing him instantly.

Jim and Bakari disappeared into the night. The Magharibi melted away. The compound was still, quiet. Only the dead remained.

Slowly, a large dark shape moved into the center of the camp. It stood. Fists beat a strong chest and Orantu yelled his superiority.

In spite of his hours cramped in a cage that was barely large enough for a small child, and in spite of wounds inflicted by the whip, Bakari moved swiftly through the dark, dense growth, Nusu shivering against his chest and a worried Jim bringing up the rear, and as Jim moved alongside Bakari, his eyes took in the angry red lines that crisscrossed his back, shoulders, arms and legs, and Jim's anger rose again, anger that anyone could harm this young man.

They had traveled maybe two or three miles by Jim's reckoning when Bakari stopped. The farther they'd moved from the camp, the more alert Nusu had become and now he stilled, but his furry round head peeked over Bakari's protective arm, and chocolate brown eyes widened, as the shiny black nose began to sniff and a moment later he began to literally "bounce" in Bakari's gentle embrace, with small chittering noises coming from his throat.

Jim heard the beasts moving toward them and a few minutes later two females appeared before them. Bakari stepped forward and the larger of the two gorillas joined him. Her hand reached out and Jim could have sworn she cuffed Bakari behind his ear! Nusu scrambled from one set of arms to the other and the gorilla loped back and Nusu made his final jump into the arms of the second female where he immediately began to suckle, eyes finally able to close in his mother's embrace.

The larger female was back at Bakari's side and for a moment they just gazed fondly upon each other. One brown/black finger traced a wound and she seemed to make a clucking noise, her cheeks poofing out, and Bakari smiled and shook his head. They moved together then, the gorilla resting her forehead against Bakari's chest as long arms wound around him. They remained in that position for several minutes until the female, who Jim knew must be the gorilla who'd rescued and raised Bakari, pivoted her head and the sad, ancient eyes locked with Jim's. He held his breath, his body stilling as she pulled away from her "son" and turned him to face Jim and with a gentle huff, pushed Bakari to him.

A strange blessing, but a blessing none the less.

The gorillas faded into the darkness, but not before Bakari's "mother" gave one last, sad look at the retreating back of her son.

The two men stood, one peering up at the other. The gesture made by Bakari's mother said so much, and now Jim wondered if this was really what he'd been searching for all these years? Was the man standing before him, all that he needed and desired? And how did Bakari feel about him?

"Jim." The name came out quietly, questioning.

Unsure if he was making the right decision, he pointed to his chest, shook his head and said, "Dingane."

A slow, easy smile spread over the beautiful features of Bakari and he slipped one hand into Jim's and nodded, "Dingane".

But now that Jim had made his decision, the simple movement of Bakari's hand into his was not enough, not nearly enough. He pulled the man closer, and not knowing what Bakari had experienced in the arena of physical relationships with a man or a woman, he slowly brought his head down, letting his lips hover over Bakari's. The next movement had to be Bakari's.

Bakari rested his lips against Jim's.

And with that touch, the acceptance and surrender in the gesture, the jungle night exploded for Jim. His tongue slid out and ran across the inviting bottom lip, then pushed gently, parting Bakari's lips and moving in, slowly, as hands pulled the pliant body into his own, as fingers traveled down the spine, ghosting over the wounds, to rest against the soft, silken flesh of the round globes so tantalizingly hidden by the brief bit of animal skin.

In the middle of the kiss, Jim was surprised when a very needy hand began to clumsily pull at the zipper of his jeans, and he pulled away, to a deep, animalistic groan from Bakari, and let his own hand cover Bakari's, his own fingers pulling the zipper down, watching the now glazed, almost midnight blue eyes widen, and the other hand move up, to tear at Jim's shirt, to pull stubborn buttons and when Jim's chest was revealed, he watched as the suddenly animated face smiled in wonder and lips latched onto one nipple, driving Jim nearly insane, his own groan just as animalistic as Bakari's.

The next few minutes were frantic with hands, lips and tongues, exploring, tasting, their moans mixing with the night sounds of the Bwindi Impentetrable Forest.

Bakari's head dropped back as Jim fastened on the soft, fleshy juncture between neck and shoulder, and as he bit lightly, one leg wrapped around his, a movement that brought his cock in touch with Bakari's, the animal skin becoming a part of the sensation, and all control left Jim. He shoved them both down onto damp, soft jungle grass, Bakari on his back below him, and he began the short journey to the one area he'd needed to touch, to taste, from almost the moment he'd first seen this man.

The thick, pulsing cock invited his mouth and he took him in, the body under his, convulsing in shock, fingers suddenly digging into his shoulders, the body now writhing uncontrollably, but Jim took it deeper, sucking, swallowing, his cheeks constricting around the organ, his mind filled only with this scent, with the silky hardness of Bakari that he now held, with the sounds of Bakari, sounds of need, of passion, no words, just need, and his own cock throbbed with the answering need.

Jim could feel as Bakari's body tightened, as his edge was reached, and he readied himself, wanting to take it all, to taste it all. Bakari exploded, shuddering, a scream torn from his throat, and this act, combined with the friction, the anticipation, brought Jim to his edge, and even as he was swallowing, his own climax was only a moment behind.

Complete silence. Absolute.

Jim could hear nothing, his senses dulled by the climax, by the love and he couldn't have cared less.

The first sound he did, finally recognize was a steady, slow, beat. Bakari's heart. His head moved, allowing his ear to rest just above the beloved heart and he let it fill him, the constant thrumming, now so necessary to his very being. The next thing he was conscious of was a hand, stroking through his short, cropped hair and then another sound. This sound came from Bakari's chest as well, but traveled up and through parted lips. It was not a hum exactly, but it resonated through him as if it were music, soothing him, and it seemed to be the sound of this forest, of all the creatures who lived within it's heart, and it was for him.

He lifted his head to look at Bakari, whose own eyes were half closed, whose hair was tousled, full of leaves and twigs, whose thick, kissed bruised lips were slightly parted, and he knew no other sight would ever, could ever, do to him what the sight of this man, after love, was doing to him.

Jim let his eyes take in every exposed inch of this man and with a gasp he remembered the wounds. He stumbled up, rearranging his clothing and looked down at Bakari. What he saw made him rethink his actions.

Bakari's eyes had widened at Jim's sudden movement, and now, with Jim's frantic efforts to clothe himself, Bakari's face contorted in pain, his eyes seemed to close down, as if a great shutter had been lowered, and slowly he stood, then moved back, away from the man.

Bakari's head snapped right, then left, and to Jim, he looked as if about to bolt and knowledge slammed into him. He had to make Bakari understand.

He reached out a hand, tried to smile. Bakari took another step back, his face expressionless once again.

Jim pointed to Bakari's wounds and took a careful step forward. Bakari stayed where he was. Jim took another step, and another. A small frown appeared on Bakari's face, and Jim took two more steps. He was now in reach and he carefully put out one finger and let it graze one long lash on Bakari's arm.

"Bakari", and Jim let his finger hover over another lash and then pointed to where they'd made love, then back to the wound.

Understanding flooded Bakari's face. His head lowered in shame, his face flushing a deep red. Jim brought his hand to Bakari's chin and tilted the head back up and kissed him. Deep, loving, letting all his feelings pass through him to Bakari, letting the kiss say all that he could not, praying that the kiss would succeed where words could not be understood.

He lifted his head and sought out Bakari's eyes, and there, the truth, the understanding, and the returned love. He smiled in joy, an answering smile reflected back at him. Bakari pointed up and Jim correctly interpreted the sign as meaning it was time to take to the trees again.

They both climbed and moments later they were flying through the night sky, moving in complete unison. After severals swings and exchanges, Jim could see a large tree ahead, one of the largest he'd seen to date. Bakari changed their direction and it was obvious that the tree was their destination.

They landed surefooted and again Bakari pointed up. They were to climb. Jim followed the young man, as they walked over moss covered limbs, the moon giving the tree a glittering life of it's own. Jim fell slightly behind, so enthralled was he by the play of silver and shadows as they crossed the lean, strong body of the man ahead of him. Bakari stopped suddenly and faced Jim, a look of uncertainty crossing his features.

Jim realized that this was Bakari's home.

It was nothing like the movies. No rails, no furniture, no "comforts of home", but it was clearly, "a home". They'd reached an area where several strong branches were interwoven, forming almost a broad cup, and it was here that Bakari had "built" his retreat. There was protection above, as he'd apparently taken fronds and latticed them across the limbs that stretched above his home, and the "floor" was simply more fronds, grasses, and reeds, spread out, padding the area. And now he stood, uncertain as to whether Jim would approve, would be comfortable.

What could he do? He smiled broadly and held out his hand. The returning smile nearly eclipsed the full moon in it's brightness. Bakari took the offered hand and led Jim "into" the shelter.

Morning came and with it, Jim's awareness of a warmth next to him. He opened his eyes to see brown curls resting against his chin, his arms wound tightly around a lithe body. A body that was too warm.

He lifted his head and as his eyes adjusted, he could see the angry welts, some already swollen. The body turned in his arms and sleepy blue eyes caught his, saw the worry, the concern and Bakari pulled gently away.

To Jim, it was obvious that Bakari was in pain, his face slightly flushed with fever, but Bakari made a movement indicating that Jim should follow him. They climed down the tree and slowly moved through the forest, maybe twenty yards or so, and finally Jim heard it. Water. He should have heard it sooner, but his concern overrode his senses.

The bush parted and ahead was the very waterfall and stream that Bakari had first taken him to. Bakari moved slowly and painfully to the water's edge, then carefully slipped in. Jim started to remove his clothes, but their smell decided him against it. They needed washing as much as he did, so he plunged in, completely clothed.

There was no swimming this time, no playing. It was obvious that Bakari was "cleaning" his wounds, as he moved gently through the water, over to the falls, letting the sluicing water cleanse and purify. Jim joined him, but did nothing more than to stand, waist deep, and watch. After several pounding minutes, with some wounds opening and bleeding again, Bakari motioned to an array of flowers that bordered one side of the stream. Jim swam over, plucked several of them and brought them back. Bakari immediately began to tear them into pieces and as he did, and as the water met the sap, it foamed. Jim smiled at this "jungle soap" and swam back for more.

Minutes later both men were lathering, rinsing and lathering again. Bakari let Jim gently soap some of the deeper lashes, then his hair. When Bakari was rinsed a final time, he turned to Jim and began to strip him. Once his clothes were removed, Bakari layed them out on a flat, dry rock and returned to the water.

They remained in the cool, soothing depths for another hour, swimming lazily, floating, as the water helped to defeat the fever, and keep the pain at bay.

But finally, Bakari climbed out, Jim's eyes following every move, watching as Bakari gathered more leaves and flowers, and one plant in particular, whose thick stems were snapped and added to Bakari's pile.

Jim's clothes were clean and dry and he slipped back into them. Bakari moved off, heading back to the tree, his treasures resting safely in Jim's pockets. As they walked, Bakari would detour, disappear for a moment, and when he came back, he'd have an arm full of fruit.

Bakari sat crosslegged across from Jim, with several pieces of fruit between them. They were both eating, tearing succulent chunks of the fleshy food and plopping it into hungry mouths. A line of juice was running down Jim's chin, but before he could capture it, Bakari's own finger caught it and Jim's hand had caught Bakari's and pulled the finger into his mouth, where he sucked the taste of the juice and of Bakari.

When they'd arrived back at the tree, Bakari had once again done his medical miracle by taking several of the collected leaves and flowers and again making paste, but this time more gel like, and then allowing Jim to apply it to each open wound. The gel disappeared into the skin, and even Jim could see that it's properties soothed the broken skin and provided a protective coating.

Now they sat feeding each other, smiling, the birds darting around them, the smells and the sounds of the jungle their only companions. For Jim, it was pure heaven. A heaven that ended too soon.

When their breakfast was over, Bakari stood and waited. Jim was puzzled, he wanted to stay, to learn Bakari's world, but the young man was indicating something different. And again, Jim found that he could only follow Bakari's lead.

Bakari took them back to the village and as Ebo and Father Benjamin came out to greet them, the priest took one look at Bakari's face and with an exclamation of checking his wounds, he took Bakari to his quarters, which left a very confused Jim standing with Ebo.

"So, Rafiki, we were successful, were we not?"

Jim watched as the priest and Bakari disappeared into the hut before turning his attention to Ebo.

"Yes, my friend, but for how long?"

"I have no worries on that score. We will not be bothered again."

Jim smiled wryly as he answered, "Because of the prophecy?"

"That and more, my friend, that and more." Ebo deliberately left it vague, delighting in Jim's puzzled expression.

"And speaking of the prophecy? Dingane?" Ebo quizzed.

"Yes, Dingane."

Ebo's smile was broad and knowing. "Good, Dingane. It is important to accept the truth, or a prophecy is just that and nothing more. But I am surprised you came back so early. You have over two weeks left of your time with us, I expected you to stay with Bakari."

Jim's eyes went back to the hut as he answered, "So did I, Ebo. But Bakari's thoughts were different."

Before Ebo could comment, Father Benjamin and Bakari came out, with the priest walking to Jim and Bakari remaining where he was, his face a mask.

"Dingane, may I have a word with you?"

Jim looked from Father Benjamin to Bakari and back. He didn't like this, not one bit.

"Please, Dingane, Bakari wishes this. Will you come with me?"

Jim nodded and followed the priest to another hut, and as they entered, Bakari disappeared into the jungle.

The hut was different than Father Benjamin's. It was sparse, with only a bed, a small chest at it's foot, a desk, covered with books and notebooks, and a small book shelf, holding about ten more books.

Father Benjamin walked over to the shelf and extricated one very old, very used book, opened it and thumbed to a special page, then he turned and addressed Jim.

"Bakari wishes me to show you this. He indicated to me that it would be of use to you. This is a monogram by Sir Richard Burton, the explorer, not the actor. He discusses South American tribes and their guardians, men he called Sentinels. Men who have such heightened senses, they are able to protect their tribe. Bakari believes you are such an individual."

The book was held out to Jim and stunned, he took it.

"A Sentinel? Me?"

"Yes, Dingane, you. These books belonged to a young man, he studied anthropology. Sentinels were his dream. Bakari knows this. He has studied you, as have I. I believe Bakari is correct. You are a Sentinel. With all five heightened senses." Father Benjamin retrieved a notebook and handed that to Jim as well.

"Here are the young man's notes. I suggest you study them. Bakari has gone back into the forest, to spend some time with his family, but he will return in two days. This is his wish."

The notebook was full of a large, sprawling handwriting, in english. On the front was a name; Blair Sandburg.

Jim looked at the priest, so many questions in his eyes.

"Please, Dingane. Just read. Study. We will talk as you need."

"Who was this young man?"

"You could say he was my ~ son. He is.....gone."

"Will you take these two days? Use them, study, as Bakari wishes?"

"Yes."

The priest smiled, indicated that Jim should make himself comfortable on the bed, then left him to the books and notes of Blair Sandburg.

Jim lay on the bed, searching for some sign of the man who'd lived here. But there was nothing. No scent, nothing. It was obvious that Father Benjamin kept this hut clean, kept as it had been for this Blair Sandburg, and Jim's curiousity was a fire in his belly.

But as he read, he came to know this Blair Sandburg, as his notes were full of observations, excitement, humor, and flashes of brilliant insights. And Jim found himself sad, an overwhelming sadness that he had missed meeting this man, a man that was now dead. The sadness constricted his throat, nearly closing it down, and he felt an unaccustomed wetness filling his eyes, and spilling over onto his cheeks.

But he read on.

The two days passed swiftly, and Jim learned who and what he was. A Sentinel. Who must protect his tribe.

And in that two days, Blair Sandburg seemed to walk with him, to talk to him, to explain. Jim could hear his voice through his writings, could hear him advising him, teaching him. The young man's entire thought process was in his notes, and Jim saw the wisdom and learned.

Jim also recognized one other fact. His tribe was in Cascade. He was bound to his city, to it's people.

And where did that leave Bakari? And Jim?

The two days passed quickly, with many conversations between Jim and Father Benjamin. Jim was curious about Blair Sandburg but refrained from asking the priest, unwilling to add to the man's pain. But Jim couldn't help feeling that somehow he and this "anthropologist" were connected. Ebo and several other tribesmen disappeared for much of the two days, but on the evening of the second day they returned, jubilant.

There was much celebration in the village that night, with fires blazing, native drums beating, and voices raised in such beautiful chanting that Jim was immediately reminded of Bakari. The sounds, the percussion, all served to bring back the feel of having the young man in his arms, to feel his skin, to breathe him in, to taste him. Bakari was Africa, he was this mountain.

And Jim would have to leave him. And he knew that Bakari intended him to realize this, which was why he'd given him these two days.

For Bakari the two days passed much too quickly as he spent them with his gorilla family, foraging with them, playing, teaching the young ones, and helping Nusu return to his playful, mischievous self.

Kaleefa, Bakari's gorilla mother, watched in sadness as her son moved with his brothers, groomed, and cavorted with the young ones. She knew he was troubled, understood that he was facing a great loss. She could feel it in the heat of his body, in the great emptiness of his eyes. And she could do nothing. Except love him, as she had always done.

His wounds were almost healed, but she feared there was another, deeper wound, and that this one would never heal.

On the evening of the second day, as they sat together, watching Nusu play a game of hide and seek on Orantu, Kaleefa reached out one hand and laid it on Bakari's heart. He turned to her and nodded his head, then gave a sign, taking his two hands and miming the breaking of twig. She gave a sad huff, and drew him to her breast, holding him as he shook.

On the morning of the third day, Bakari returned and as he gazed on the face of Dingane he saw the self-knowledge and understanding.

Father Benjamin watched as the two men stood in front of each other, their bodies leaning forward, almost unconsciously, but not yet touching. Bakari pointed up to the sky and raised one eyebrow. Jim understood the question. When would he leave. He looked on the ground and found a twig, he bent and scratched seven moons in the dirt. Bakari nodded and reached out his hand. Jim took it and the two men left the village.

They both understood that they had seven days left. And that they would spend it alone, together, in Bakari's treehouse.

It was their last day.

Jim sat quietly, as unobtrusively as possible, and watched the gorillas come. They moved in, slowly, uncertain, but following Bakari's lead. Soon the small jungle meadow was filled with an entire family, Kaleefa and Orantu staying slightly apart, watching indulgently as Bakari "introduced" each gorilla to Jim.

The next several hours were spent with the family, Jim with Nusu seemingly "glued" to his side. It was a day filled with wonder and delight for the detective from Cascade, Washington. Observing the interaction between the apes, the playfulness and even the loving discipline bestowed on naughty young ones by their mothers.

At one point, two young males seemed to challenge Bakari to some game, and while at first he refused to be baited, eventually they won and he entered into their activity. A game that seemed to revolve around tumbling and flipping. A game Bakari proved very adept. And Jim witnessed a whole new side to the man. A youthfulness and playfulness he not seen before.

He watched in delight as the lithe body tumbled, and cuffed, as his face was contorted into the wild, scary visage of an ape, as he made wildly funny and threatening sounds deep in his chest, and as the other two scurried off, only to tumble back, legs kicking out, arms wrapping around Bakari's neck to take him down, and finally Bakari's laughter, ringing out, as he jumped away, dropped down on his knees and fingers, looking for all the world like a football player ready for the snap. The two apes followed suit and the three snarled, moved from side to side, then in a flash, Bakari thrust himself forward and took both apes down, all three now rolling, with Bakari using his feet to connect with large chests and sending them flying over his head.

And Jim watched amazed, as Bakari stood, raised his head and gave a deep, blood burning yell, a sound so strange, so intoxicating that Jim felt the heat rise in his body, could feel his blood scorching his veins. The two apes loped forward and first one, then the other touched chests to Bakari, then scrambled off to find another playmate.

Bakari walked to Jim's side and Nusu, who'd been watching the "fight", leaped from Jim's arms to Bakari's and immediately scrunched up his face while trying to mimic the sound Bakari had made a moment before. It came out like a soft, rumbling "moo" sound, but Bakari answered back with a softer, lighter version of the yell and Nusu chittered happily, pulling on Bakari's curls as he bounced.

The sun began to set and Jim realized their day of play with the apes was at an end. The great beasts moved out, some stopping and touching Bakari lightly, some even bold enough to touch Jim. Kaleefa was last, and once again a forehead touched a chest, but this time when done, she moved to Jim and repeated the motion. Jim's heart swelled at the gesture.

As Jim and Bakari left the meadow, Jim was struck by a mischievous devil. He let Bakari get a few feet ahead, and then he pounced. Soon they were repeating their own version of the game, tumbling, wrestling, coming apart, baring their teeth at each other, then leaping, rolling, laughing. Jim's strength and learned combat techniques made him an equal match for Bakari's agility and size. Where Jim had the muscles, Bakari had the moves. The wrestling match would have gone on indefinitely had Jim not finally gotten Bakari under him. At that moment, wrestling was suddenly the last thing on Jim's mind.

As he balanced himself above his captive, hands holding outstretched wrists, the laughing face below him changing as passion took over, Jim wanted nothing more than to be as close to Bakari as humanly possible. He lowered himself down, their lips met and parted, and Jim's tongue was inside that deliciousness.

But both wanted more, much more. Bakari broke the kiss first, pushing up, wanting to move and Jim followed. They made fast work of returning to the tree, where they fell onto soft, fragrant grasses, arms and legs entwining, gentle moans driving them each on, tongues battling. It didn't take Bakari long to get Jim unclothed, his own bit of cloth no barrier to their lovemaking. They rolled and wrestled, laughing, kissing, exploring.

Their passion grew, tripled, their sweat mingling, their moans growing harsher, their needs escalating. Bakari wound his legs around Jim's waist, clinging with all his strength, needing something he could only express with his eyes. His movement brought Jim's cock into perfect alignment with his ass, and Jim shuddered at the touch. But Bakari could not know what was needed to make this happen, to make it safe for him, and Jim started to pull away when he spotted the plants Bakari had used to make the healing gel. He looked down at the panting face below and tried to motion, tried to sign his needs.

Bakari seemed to understand, and without moving from under Jim's body, he reached out and grasped a handful of the heavy stalks he'd collected but never used. He crushed them in his hand and out poured a white, thick sap. The sap smelled like spice, and wove itself around the two, warming them as Bakari took one of Jim's hand and let the creamy sap run into his palm.

Jim gently began to prepare the man below him, kissing softly, needily, as his fingers spread the cream and stretched, then coated his own cock.

He moved slowly and lovingly, letting his senses tell him all he needed to know. As Bakari's body shuddered with passion, as his eyes turned from cornflower blue to midnight velvet, Jim entered him. For a moment, time froze. Then hips jerked up, demanding movement and Jim complied, his own needs requiring the same. Soon both were in a rhythm as old as time, bodies moving easily, hungrily.

Bakari's hands gripped Jim's hips, pulling hard, wanting more, and Jim moved faster, harder, his head dipping in, lips locking on Bakari's, his tongue thrusting deeply, matching the thrusting of his cock, and Bakari rose to meet the moves, eagerly, hard, desperate to have as much as this man in him as possible, needing it to last a lifetime, knowing it would have to fuel his dreams for the rest of his days. As Jim moved harder and faster, wanting only to crawl inside Bakari, as their climax built, both men felt the hot, salty wetness of tears cascading down their cheeks, and as their tears mixed with their sweat, Bakari came, a shattering climax, and Jim emptied himself deep into Bakari, his own scream enough to send birds and beast scurrying for cover.

Jim let his body slip down, Bakari's arms welcoming the weight, his hands cradling Jim's head. Jim brought up his hands and let his fingers bury themselves in thick hair. After a moment, Jim started to pull out, but hands suddenly on his shoulders, pulling down, and Bakari's moan stopped him. He didn't have much energy left, but apparently enough to move them both onto their sides, Bakari curled into him, his spent cock still nestled deep within his love. It was enough. They slept.

It was their last night.

Bakari returned Jim to the Magharibi village, where Ebo waited to take Jim down the mountain, back to civilization, back to his own world.

They had said their good-byes before leaving the tree, made love desperately, then Bakari had removed one of the leather braids from around his wrist and slid it over Jim's.

Now he stood, looking at all about him. At the Magharibi who ringed him, faces sad at his going, at Father Benjamin who stood next to Bakari, his face strangely unreadable, at the village itself and the jungle surrounding it. The pain of leaving was almost unbearable.

Jim walked to Bakari's side and did two things. First he placed his forehead against Bakari's chest, then placed Bakari's hand on his own heart. His face pale, unshed tears waiting for privacy to fall, Bakari repeated the gesture.

Jim and Ebo left the village.

Jim had been gone over four hours. And Bakari had not left the small precipice that overlooked his forest.

Father Benjamin walked up behind him and placed a hand on the trembling shoulder.

"It is time, Bakari."

The man did not move. The priest gently tugged at one arm.

Jim's flight was not due to leave for another day, so he and Ebo said their good-byes, promising to keep in touch, and Jim sharing his thanks at the friend who'd shown him his wonderful country. Ebo was not so sure he'd done so well, seeing the misery in his friends eyes. But he also saw the deep need for privacy, so he hugged the man who had battled so strongly for his mountain and took his leave.

Entebbe was a beautiful city, but Jim saw none of it. He remained in his room, his joy of this country stifled by his loss, by a future without the man he loved.

The airport noise nearly deafened him, but as the journals of Blair Sandburg had taught him, he "dialed" down his hearing as he approached the gate for his flight. He was quickly checked in, and sent down the ramp to the plane.

He settled into the window seat and as he gazed out, he idly wondered if when aloft, he'd actually be able to see the Bwindi Forest and Bakari.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I believe this is my seat?"

Jim looked over, seeing first a pair of sandled feet, then moving up to faded blue jeans, a tucked in white oxford shirt, open at the collar to show a tantalizing bit of springy hair, a brown, clearly faded and well used leather bomber jacket, and finally the face, strong, handsome, almost beautiful, with wide sapphire blue eyes smiling back at him, and lush lips, now formed into a huge smile. The man had long hair, but currently it was pulled back into a ponytail by a leather thong. Slung over the man's shoulder was a well worn and used duffel bag, which he was storing in the overhead compartment. When he finished, he gazed back down at his flight companion and stuck out one tan, strong, slender hand, on which rested a braided leather band, matching the one on Jim's wrist.

"Hi, my name is Blair Sandburg, and you are?"

Jim could only blink rapidly as Bakari took the seat next to him. Once the rapid eye blinking stopped he could only stare.

Bakari/Blair put on his seatbelt and noticed that Jim was not wearing his yet, so he reached over and simply buckled him in, his smile reaching epic proportions.

"Is it a long flight to London? And how much longer to Washington? That's where I'm going. Cascade, Washington. I'm meeting my lover there. He lives there, you know. You're not much of a talker, I see. But that's okay, I am. Some have said I talk too much."

Jim went back to rapid eye blinking.

"You know, I've led a pretty interesting life. Let me tell you about it, to help pass the flight. My mother was traveling to Nairobi with me, when our plane went down. This part is sad, because all died except me. She's buried in the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. Have you ever been there? Well, anyway, I was actually raised by gorillas. Yes, I'm serious, gorillas. When I was ten, I was found by a priest who'd come to work with Dian Fossey, you know, the gorilla lady? "Gorillas in the Mist"? Anyway, Father Benjamin raised me from that point, after finding out who I was, that I had no family. He schooled me, and when I was sixteen, I tested for college. I was immensly interested in Anthropology, especially a warrior of ancient tribes, called a Sentinel. Anyway, I was accepted at Oxford University.....you look surprised? Yes, the Oxford University. I received my Master's in Anthropology, but trouble was brewing on my mountain. The gorillas were in danger so I returned."

Jim settled back in his seat, a beautiful smile taking years off his age. It would be a long flight, but with this voice speaking, with Bakari, no, with Blair by his side, he knew it would pass all too quickly.

He went back to listening, a habit for which he would become very proficient.

"Once I returned, I decided to stay, and I can't explain why, except that somehow I knew my destiny was on his way, and may I say, he took his own damn sweet time about getting there?"

The plane took off, but neither man noticed. Below the Impenetrable Forest remained impenetrable, and now safe.

Epilogue:

One week after the battle for the Bwindi Forest, several wealthy men received a strange package in the mail. Upon opening the package, they discovered the grisly contents.

When Ebo and his Magharibi had disappeared, it was to return to the mercenary camp, where they found enough evidence to stop the consortium. But legal ways were not always the best, and fear was still their greatest weapon in keeping their mountain safe.

Cascade, Washington - two weeks after Jim Ellison's return.

Jim pulled his Ford into the underground parking lot and parked. He and his young companion got out and began to walk to the elevator.

"Let's go over it again, it's still not working."

"Aw, man, what's wrong with it?"

"For one thing, you've got to drop the "thin blue line" thing."

"No, no, no...that's some of my best stuff, Jim."

"Just drop it, Chief, okay?"

"Hey, I may be the rookie in your jungle, but when it comes to thesis-speak, I'm a pro."

"You're an anthropologist and closet Tarzan, and our job is to get Simon Banks to believe you're studying police science so we can get him to let you ride along with me."

Jim stopped, cocked his head, and Blair asked, "What's up?"

"I smell blood."

"Oh, man, this is terrific, I cut my finger this morning slicing your bagel."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to play with knives?"

"Jim, my mother didn't even know what a knife was."

End