Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence of the man.

ICYMI: An arrival in a new country. A meeting of two groups bound by a common goal. Time to unwind and become better acquainted.

With that, please enjoy the new chapter!


12. Once More, The Sound of Crying

Their orders were for three days and they were already two days late in returning. They knew they were, yet they were willing to defy those orders for their beliefs. Five days ago, the five strangers arrived. The interlopers who fumbled around the area, and who also came close to finding the entrance to the caves.

But before the inhabitants' poison darts could end their curiosity, the intruders must have sensed the presence of their imminent action and stopped their blind groping. Whoever these people were, they had the instincts of the tribe's best hunters, more so than their previous visitors: the pale-skinned man and his mate, the medicine woman, together with their friend. These new people also wielded blowpipes that looked bigger and even more unusual than the one they found near the friend.

Then the strange warriors showed an unusual interest in the murals and art of the boy. Studying them, looking at them with more intent than could be expected from mere thieves. They were interested. In him.

The boy.

The son.

He Who Silenced Nature.

Why was that?

Were those warriors come to do the boy's bidding? Were they here by his command? Did he bid them to find and retrieve his parents?

Opinion was divided. Some dismissed the trespassers as lowly thieves and looters. Nonsense, others opined. If they were thieves, then why study the art as intently as they did? Those of the latter opinion chose to follow the warriors to whence they came as far as the jungle would permit them. Down the mountain, through the forest. Beyond the forest and into the grasslands, such was their conviction. The grassland was where they remained while observing the warriors return to the village where the light at night shone with no flame and strange sounds emanated from each hut.

They remained unseen, yet their quarry seemed to remain aware of their presence while showing neither fear nor aggression. After much time during which nothing of note was observed, even those in the tribe believing these new people to be here at the boy's behest felt their belief falter. All but two who stood firm and insisted that the new warriors were doing the boy's bidding. They were given three days – no more – to bring back proof of such.

They waited a day. Nothing of note. Just the warriors assisting the villagers with their daily tasks

Two days. More of the same. Perhaps they were working in expectation of something in return

Three. And then there was different activity. Comings and goings focused around the biggest hut in the village. This was it! They were preparing for visitors! For the boy? They didn't know. It was at that moment when the party arrived from the mountains to fetch them. Their time was up, they were informed. Time to return.

"No!" they replied. They'd seen evidence of the warriors preparing for visitors. The boy! He might be coming soon from his faraway place. The party deliberated, mulling over their comrade's words and the numerous possibilities. Two more days, they conceded, then the matter would be over.

Day four. More preparations.

On the dawn of the fifth day, they watched two of the warriors leave the village, each in a most unusual wagon that needed no beast to pull it. Much later, they saw the warriors return, now with passengers with them in the wagons.

AND THERE HE WAS!

THE BOY HAD RETURNED!

HE WAS HERE FOR HIS PARENTS!

THIS WAS NEWS FOR THE ELDERS!

The one volunteered to run up the mountain to inform the rest, citing that she was one of the tribe's fastest runners. She received no argument from her comrade and was gone. She returned many hours later with a small group that included one elder.

And just where was the boy of whom they spoke? Surely he'll be asleep by now.

Right over there, Elder!

By the gods! Indeed he was. What fortunate timing for him to be seated under the starlight with a young, dark-haired girl child. Even from the distance, the party could see that the two seemed very comfortable and familiar in each other's presence. Perhaps the girl was his betrothed, maybe already his mate for them to share such a strong bond.

The elder was convinced. You two, he acknowledged to the keepers of the faith. What keen insight and superior instinct you have displayed. The gods are certain to bless you in life.

Then to the entire party: Come, for we must hurry. There is much to prepare before the boy can see his parents. They headed back to the mountains, heeding the elder's words. And to himself, the elder thought: The dead deserve to rest eternally wherever they call home.


"OK, EVERYBODY UP!"

"RISE AND SHINE, PEOPLE! WE'VE NOT MUCH DAYLIGHT TO BURN!"

Four o'clock in the morning and Arnold's party had received yet another indicator that they were not on vacation in San Lorenzo. Not while MacArthur and Lewis were walking through the hall, their booming voices projecting no sympathy whatsoever as they jolted the occupants back to the land of the living.

Slowly the tourists rose, with Rhonda the first to her feet. Not because she was particularly eager to get going, but because she wanted first dibs on the ablution facilities just to get the ordeal over and done with as soon as possible. She did, as did her companions. Once adequately cleaned and slightly more refreshed, the party shambled out of the hall, dressed and equipped for whatever awaited them. They shambled into darkness that caught them by surprise. Once again, they were reminded of not being in Hillwood, where by now the sun would have risen already. At once they understood why there would be 'not much daylight to burn', having noted yesterday's early sunset and the later sunrise still to come.

They also found MacArthur and Lewis waiting for them outside, who then marched them over to the dining area. There they found their breakfast: a modest selection of what they were told was nacatamal (tamales in all but name), together with strong coffee. They realized then that as early as they had woken up, someone had woken up even earlier to prepare this meal for them. Gratitude overcame their grumpy sleepiness as they partook in the meal with each one silently acknowledging the selfless efforts of whoever prepared the food.

With breakfast out of the way, the party was ushered over to Owens and the rest of the team who were waiting at the base of operations. From him and the others, a courteous if professionally detached greeting. Next, a brief overview of their destination as well as the roughly six-mile hike to get there. Not much talk of what would happen once they reached the destination. Owens admitted that even though he was sure that Arnold had a role to play in the proceedings, he was unsure of the nature of said role.

"But don't worry Everybody," he reassured all present. "Your safety is our number one priority and we'll do everything possible to ensure a safe excursion for you all!"

Next came the issuing of protein bars, clean drinking water, and insect repellant to each party member. A token of the rescue team's commitment to the wellbeing of Arnold and friends, issued over and above what they had already brought.

"And that's it, really," Owens concluded. "Best we be on our way now."

xxXXXxx

The sun hadn't yet risen by the time they set off at roughly quarter past five, but the faint light beginning to peer over the eastern horizon showed strong evidence of that event being imminent.

"Best to make hay while the sun's not shining," suggested Owens in his usual understatement. "Come sunrise and the humidity kicks in, things are set to be not too pleasant."

The mountain that was home to their destination, was about a two-mile hike away. The trip from the base to the destination itself would be another four miles of uphill slogging with some minor scrambling. Just as well then that the visitors had heeded their guides' advice and dressed appropriately. Or in the case of Gertie, her interpretation of the definition of 'appropriately'. Gertie drew several sideways glances from those who didn't know her with her army surplus fatigues, black combat boots, and even black camouflage paint. The UK hosts would have called her eccentric if not for the fact that they were similarly clad – minus the camouflage paint – and she was making good on her word by easily keeping up with Farah on point.

The rest of the party allowed fashion as well as sensibility to dictate their wardrobe, in varying ratios. Brand prestige and preferred color combinations may have varied from person to person as well, but the hardiness of their tank tops, shirts, boots, hats, and/or other accessories was beyond dispute.

The first quarter-mile of the hike gave very little indication of its overall difficulty. They followed a gravel road similarly rutted and uneven to the one that had brought them to the village. Initially, the view comprised vast swathes of arable crops and pasture. The children noted the maize field from the previous day, but other crops soon came into view. They made out a small grove of avocado trees there, a rice field elsewhere. And over there, a field of sugarcane. How amazing that such a relatively small tract of land could yield so many crops!

xxXXXxx

While the kids were letting themselves be awestruck by the bucolic setting, Owens was still fielding whispered questions from MacArthur regarding his decision to leave their main weapons back at the base, secured as they were inside the safes that needed both biometric input and a randomly generated combination to open.

"Look," the Welshman explained. "I get the feeling that as long as we show no aggression, they'll be willing to play ball. We ditch the SMG's and shotguns. We keep the sidearms and keep them holstered and clipped until we really, really need them. Don't give them a reason not to trust us."

"Look at you, sounding so bloody certain of yourself," responded MacArthur in not the most deferent of tones. "Have you forgotten that we're now babysitters on this trip? That's more people for them not to trust!"

"Listen. For the last time, if they wanted us dead, they'd have topped us long ago! They had the home-field advantage and no reason to keep us alive, but here we are."

"Just remember. This isn't like that night in La Paz when it was just our arses on the line. There are innocent lives at stake now. Christ, I swear! This is why I don't like the clients tagging along!"

"Your objection is duly noted," Owens responded drily, his eyes on the way forward.

xxXXXxx

The farmland gave way to the indigenous grasslands. The grass was tall and it rustled gently in the cool(er) morning air, lending a slightly more tranquil mood to the proceedings. They enjoyed the tranquility, knowing it was to be ephemeral anyway.

Eventually, the hike proper would begin. Then people would give rein to their underlying worries under the cover of their physical exertion. Phil and Gertie would resume worrying how they'd find Miles and Stella and how they'd cope if the worst-case scenario prevailed. For the time being, in the presence of the children, they were wearing their most energetic, most optimistic facades.

Arnold would harbor similar thoughts, though his main worry was currently with his grandparents. Rhonda's words from earlier remained with him, and his renewed observations of their body language and facial expressions suggested to him that they were indeed hiding years of emotional suffering behind their cheerful expressions.

"Be your grandparents' strength, for all our sakes!"

Rhonda's advice to him, also from earlier, and by god would he step up for his grandparents!

Rhonda, Gerald, and Nadine kept pace with Arnold, keeping him company with the occasional bit of small talk. No talk whatsoever of his parents and the associated what-if's. Lighter topics would prevail, such as commenting on the hiking conditions or wandering about how their friends back home were whiling away the last days of school. Gerald also adopted the role as the group's jester by occasionally telling them some of the funnier stories he'd picked up as Keeper of the Tales. These included one that had the children – and even a few adult eavesdroppers – in stitches when he got to its punchline: "…and then the guy's like 'OK, where's the woman with the sore tooth?'"

Meanwhile, Buckley and Lewis were bringing up the rear as the designated sweepers. The former Cave Rescue man felt he'd be remiss not to mention how fit and hands-on the group's moneyman was. He shared as much with Buckley, contrasting him against their usual type of client who wouldn't usually leave the comforts of home. Buckley would attribute his fitness to his regular tennis matches, highlighting how competitive he and his wife were and how epic most of their games could be. He related, for example, how he rallied from two sets down against Brooke to force a tiebreaker in the fifth set, only for her to snatch victory with a well-placed drop shot that skimmed over the net and went dead the moment it hit the ground.

"Story of my life," he concluded. "Forever chasing after my wife and loving every minute of it!"

In fact, all the conversations maintained such jovial tones and revolved around such light, inconsequential topics. The party members – though they'd be loath to admit – didn't want to think about what their destination would reveal. The possibility of the worst-case was still there, eating at them.

xxXXXxx

Eventually, the hike proper did begin when the gravel road terminated at the edge of the jungle. Fortunately too, the day was beginning to break so the party would have sufficient light to begin their alpine traversal. The path wasn't initially obvious; in fact, it was very faint after having been reclaimed by nature over many years. Owens informed the rest of how the path was last used by the Helpers for Humanity search parties during their unsuccessful searches for Miles and Stella.

It was Farah who discovered this path during the first sortie, so it was left to him to act as their guide. The Hillwood locals followed along with the rest. Unlike the rest, they were caught unawares by how much muggier it was inside the canopy. Barely daybreak, and already the humidity in the forest felt uncomfortable, almost energy-sapping.

"Aye, now imagine if we started any later…" suggested Owens, having caught on to their realizations. The Hillwood residents could only nod back in acknowledgement.

They pressed on, following Farah's lead until their path merged into a more prominent, well-worn animal path.

"Ah, good," Farah announced more to the clients than to his cohorts. "We follow this path from here on out."

The forest air had become even muggier as the morning had progressed, but at least their path remained visible. The path snaked through the forest, all the way to the base of the mountain. From there it was a succession of switchbacks that became steeper and more frequent as the path led the group further up the mountain.

The adults were all taking the strenuous climb in their stride. As for the P.S. 118 gang? They were all up to the task as well, although Gerald frequently lamented how he should have lost his afro for this humid trek. Arnold and Nadine gave no overt indication of any discomfort other than their heavy breathing that betrayed their exertion. Most surprising was Rhonda. Yes, she was huffing and puffing along with everyone else. Yes, her sweating was doing her hair, skin, and clothing no favors. And yes, she, more than anyone else, was extolling the virtues of bug repellant with application after application thereof. But for all that, her complaints were no more and no less vocal than anyone else's. In fact, they were mostly confined to how stiff her legs were becoming and how relieved she'd be once they were out of the now sauna-like canopy.

Her wishes were answered when the path emerged from out of the canopy and the party found themselves above the treeline. Having accomplished that, Rhonda and her friends had a chance to look back at where they started. What they saw made the enormity of their accomplishment all too apparent. In the distance stood the village from where they had departed. Only…it was now tiny! And look! Look how far above the gravel road they were! Did they really just climb that high?

Their amazement did not go unnoticed by Farah, who commented to them: "It's a thousand meters we've just climbed from down there, you know? Tell you what, you kids are a hardy bunch. I've had adults keel over doing not even half of what you lot just did!"

High praise indeed from the mountain man. And then Owens announced that since they were in the lee of the mountain and away from the mid-morning sun – it was approaching 9:30 – now would be a prime opportunity for a breather. For Rhonda, it was an opportunity for snapping some pictures. Of all the permutations: the group; the girls; the boys; the couples. Nadine deemed priceless the picture of a sweaty Rhonda and an equally wilted Arnold pressed together cheek to cheek and with an arm around the other's waist. So too did Rhonda laud the evidentiary value of Gerald and Nadine's pic, a moment in time frozen exactly when Gerald's lips were still planted on Nadine's cheek and the latter's eyes had just shot wide open from the surprise. Family, friends, and rescuers also received their spot of attention. Some were reluctant subjects while others hammed it up for Rhonda's lens.

After the frivolities, there was still the (somewhat) pressing matter of hunger and thirst. Water was drunk, while protein bars were nibbled at. Soon enough, the party was ready to recommence the trek.

The trail became more gradual as it now started following the mountain contour. There was, however, a trade-off in the form of extreme exposure to heights. Effectively, the party was now walking single-file on what could be considered a narrow sidewalk, only with the metaphorical pavement some three thousand feet straight below and sinking. There were also some scrambles to higher elevations, which weren't too treacherous as the surfaces were still very stable.

The waterfall arrived next and Farah wasted no time guiding the party behind it. To him and his partners, the navigation of this section was old hat at this point. Not so for the tourists, as they were once again reminded of the British propensity for understatement. Back at their briefing, Owens had said that navigating the waterfall section would be 'more or less straightforward'.

Ha! straightforward to Indiana Jones, Nathan Drake, or Lara Croft, maybe.

A hidden path into and behind a pristine, cascading, high-altitude waterfall?

Continuing behind the rock face itself?

Through a few narrow fissures that Arnold had to navigate sideways and that would have been a tight fit for even the skinniest fashion model or F1 driver?

Followed by some very careful scrambling up precarious scree?

Before reemerging outside to rejoin and continue along the narrow, exposed path?

Well excuse them for feeling that they weren't at a suitable skill level for all of the aforementioned obstacles to be considered 'more or less straightforward'! But damn if they weren't taken in by the spectacle and the sense of accomplishment of it all! What they'd just accomplished was bucket list material! It was the best bits from every action-adventure movie and video game, condensed into an unforgettable forty-minute experience!

And as the hike continued, Arnold's party couldn't ignore the wry smiles from their hosts.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Gerald ventured. "The whole 'more or less straightforward' bit," he added.

"Would you still have been eager if we told you it would be damn near impossible?" MacArthur responded.

Gerald nodded back, defeated by her logic. Good point!

The remainder of the hike passed by without incident. And eventually, at around 11:30, they arrived at what Owens in his previous report had called 'a small, deserted clearing surrounded by a rockface with no obvious points of entry to any caves'.

Only now…not one word of his initial observations was correct.


The boy and his retinue arrived at the entrance where their expressions and body language betrayed their surprise at what was awaiting them. They arrived to find the rocks covering the cave entrance completely removed and the entrance itself stood wide open and inviting their ingress.

The elder had to rally his strongest laborers at very short notice for that accomplishment, but for He Who Silenced Nature they were more than willing. Elsewhere, near where the mountain path led into the area, he had the laborers set up a stone table for the guests. Fruit, nuts, and berries for nourishment. Jugs of fresh mountain water to slake anyone's thirst.

Another accomplishment awaited the arrivals: an elaborate stone altar, also constructed at short notice, in the center of the open area.

Prominently displayed on it, the centerpiece: a scroll. An explanation. Presenting information, yielding understanding.

Preparing.

Preparing the boy for when he would find his parents.

The elder and his people were unseen in witnessing what was to transpire below. They stood on the cliffs, camouflaged by those very same rockfaces. Not that it mattered, for the party below seemed more interested in their immediate surroundings. Most of them noticed the fruits and nuts and helped themselves to that while drinking deeply of the water.

Next was the altar, which one of the warriors volunteered to approach. Very noble of her, but also very inappropriate: the scroll was drawn and meant for the boy's eyes first. The elder signaled to his best hunter, who then issued a shot from his blowpipe. The dart landed on the ground, the slenderest distance from the warrior's foot, causing her to yelp and leap away from it. She remained motionless, unsure of how to proceed. Her cohorts began frantically shouting amongst themselves, their equally frantic hand gestures ordering their charges move back for their safety. Meanwhile, a second dart, placed as close to the warrior woman's foot as the first one, proved ample motivation for her to abandon approaching the altar. Even from the distance, even with an obvious language barrier between the two groups, the people in the cliffs could tell that the woman had no pleasant remarks to make. They all smiled silently, knowing that neither dart had been poisonous.

Then the boy spoke, and the warriors and the advisor listened. From their hand gestures, nobody was willing to accept whatever he was proposing. Not the boy's elders, nor too the boy of the ebony skin, nor the girl with the woven flaxen hair. The boy's dark-haired mate – or was she his betrothed? – clung to him desperately to urge him against approaching. They watched as he gently released himself from her concern and spoke gently to her and the rest. They watched as he took his first tentative step towards the altar.

Then another.

And another.

Another still.

Continuing until he reached the altar. Then the scroll, which he next unfurled and began reading. The scroll contained no good news, of that much the elder was acutely aware. He and his people watched as the boy became tenser as he read. Tension led to disbelief, disbelief to dismay, dismay to distress.

At this point, the elder bade his people retreat. However unpleasant the assignment, however sorrowful the result, they had fulfilled their duty to the boy. His people obeyed and departed, leaving only him to witness what was to ensue.

The boy continued reading to the very end, and again, even from the distance and height, the elder could hear his crying. It seemed to be too much for him as he dropped the scroll and bolted for the cave entrance amidst screams from his retinue. He wouldn't hear them; he didn't stop. He entered the cave and a short while later, his wailing resumed with a sound that could bring down walls and even pierce the very heavens.

The elder was especially saddened by what he heard. Long ago, he had been nearby when the boy's cries silenced nature and frightened the fire gods. How sad that today there were no gods to hear the boy. The elder allowed a tear to roll down his cheek while he too cursed the capricious gods.


And that's another chapter done, wonderful readers. Thank you as ever for your time and sustained interest; they all mean the world to me. So...yeah...the news might not be all that good for Arnold. In fact, it looks terrible. I hope to see you next chapter, and please come curious. And expect to drop by Phoebe, just in case you think I've forgotten about her...

But as always let us to the reviews go:

Kryten: Well, she is kinda cute once you get to know her...

The J.A.M. a.k.a. Numbuh i: Well yeah, I reckoned Phil's achievement was too great to go completely unsung. I'd expect word of it to have gotten out among at least some WWII soldiers. As for the jet lag, I showed you my calculations and reference material that led me to that conclusion in my IM. I also explained how large changes in longitude can have as profound an effect on the body's clock as similar changes in latitude. I trust you found my explanations satisfactory.

Guest: Oh dearie me! And just when he vowed to be their strength.

The hotdog man: I thought it would be cool not just to bring up Phil's wartime achievement and tie it in with Miles. I mean...Miles must have gotten his inspiration somewhere to be the globetrotting hero that he became. And thanks as always for liking the Arnda bits.

And now, my notes:

The hike in this chapter was a Frankensteinian mashup of different hikes over different terrains that I did over my year and which indeed include all the different aspects mentioned in the story.

So the Green-Eyes are alive (awake?) and well. My reason was simply not wanting to rehash the canon story, PLUS I realized I had a different point of view from which to tell the story.

Sometimes a lot more goes into a chapter than merely stringing together a sequence of events. Sometimes I have to do actual calculations and/or make some calculated assumptions to test the viability of an event. Such was the case in the previous chapter just so I could use the term "jet lag" in one or two sentences. In this one, it all revolved around the part hiking the given distance in the stated time. So why do I go to such lengths? Two reasons. Firstly, I'm pedantic by nature. Secondly, I always assume my readers are intelligent and won't hesitate to call me out for any logical discrepancies. And thirdly, because you're worth it!

And yes, I'm fully aware - thank you for pointing it out - that my use of the word "permutations" was incorrect. I should have used "combinations" since the order of the photography subjects wasn't important. Be that as it may, "permutations" just sounds infinitely cooler than "combinations".

And next is the Deezer list for this chapter:

A Horse With No Name – America

Bright Eyes – Art Garfunkel

The Sound of Crying – Prefab Sprout

King of Pain – The Police

Knockin' On Heaven's Door – Warren Zevon

And here endeth the chapter. Until next time, stay safe and stay festive.