Free The Curse of the Campfire Weenies by David Lubar Page B

his father said, “it’s certainly fascinating to observe the beliefs of an ancient culture from such a close vantage point. Imagine how much we’ll be able to learn once we know the basic language.”
    He said more, but Brendan had tuned him out again. They reached their tent, which was set up next to the Wanoshenu village. Brendan saw some of the kids his age playing a game with small stones. He wandered over and watched for a minute. Remembering the word the old man on the beach had used, Brendan pointed at the stone and said, “Shanbruk?”

    The boy looked at him and laughed. Then he said, “Naybu.”
    That was one of the few words Brendan knew. It meant “no.” He tried again. “Shanpana?”
    â€œNaybu, naybu,” the boy said. He held up the stone. “Shantoji.” The word may have been foreign, but the way he said it carried the universal tone of someone patiently trying to educate an idiot.
    â€œForget it,” Brendan said. He went back to the tent and got out his music player. He was going through batteries faster than he’d expected, but he really needed to sit back and blast some tunes.
    His father came in a while later. When he started to talk, Brendan removed his headphones.
    â€œBig day tomorrow,” his father said. “Some sort of special ceremony.”
    â€œLike what?” Brendan asked. That sounded like it might be a nice change of pace.
    â€œI don’t know,” his father said, “but we’ll find out soon enough. I think it has to do with Murgobruk .”
    Great, Brendan thought, some kind of bug-fish ceremony. He put his headphones back on and listened to music until he felt sleepy.
    The next morning, Brendan was startled awake by shouting. A boy named Jasi stuck his head in the tent and yelled, “Murgopana! Tanu gan weroba! Murgopana!”
    Brendan shot off of his cot, wondering what was going on. He staggered outside, along with his father. The
villagers were all heading toward the mountain that rose from the center of the island.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Brendan asked his father.
    â€œI don’t know, but it will be a great opportunity to learn about these people.”
    Brendan and his father followed the villagers, who were hustling along the path. The people didn’t seemed panicked, but they were definitely tense. From all around, Brendan kept hearing one word: “Murgopana.”
    Once the people reached the inland cliffs, they streamed into a cave. After everyone was inside, they started to drag a large rock across the opening, using wooden handles tied to it with ropes. The village chief looked out toward Brendan and his father. He pointed into the cave and said something.
    â€œShouldn’t we join them?” Brendan asked.
    â€œWe won’t learn anything in there,” his father said. “I’m pretty sure that whatever they’re hiding from is going to happen out here.” He turned toward the chief and said, “Naybu.”
    The chief touched his chest in a gesture that Brendan knew meant “farewell.”
    Brendan watched as the boulder sealed the villagers within the cave. “You sure we’re safe?”
    â€œPositive,” his father said. “They kept mentioning weroba. That’s the ocean. Whatever is supposed to happen, I think it will happen there.” He headed toward the beach.
    Brendan followed him. Again, they paused in front of
the statue of Murgobruk. “Why were they shouting, ‘Murgopana’?” Brendan asked.
    â€œI’m not sure,” his father said. “‘Bruk’ means ‘big’. And ‘toji’ means ‘small.’ They attach that to the end of a word. For example, ‘horu’ is ‘man.’ So they call me ‘horubruk’ and they call you ‘horutoji.’ I’m the big man and you’re the little man.”
    â€œBut what about