Free The Deadly Curse of Toco-Rey by Frank Peretti

laid her on a cot.
    The chief stopped just outside the door of the crude dwelling, watching the women work to revive the girl, then turned to the Coopers. “See the pain you have brought? She has been missing since early evening, and we looked for her until it was a long time dark. We told all the children, ‘Don’t go into the ruins, there are mukai-tochetin there.’” The chief shook his head as he peered through the doorway at his unconscious daughter. “I think that is why she went. She has always wanted to see one.” He looked at Dr. Cooper. “Well . . . now she has.”
    Jacob Cooper couldn’t help sighing in frustration. “Chief Yoaxa—”
    â€œFollow me,” the chief said, waving his hand and leading the way.
    The men holding the Coopers prodded them forward through the village, past the humble grass huts, clapboard shacks, firepits, and milling, curious people.
    Jay noticed a man wearing a strange, disk-shaped charm around his neck. Then he saw another one. Then Dr. Cooper spotted two more.
    The Kachakas were wearing the dried, stretched skins of caracoles volantes as jewelry!
    â€œCarvies!” Jay exclaimed.
    That made the chief turn his head. “You should be happy. We wear carvies to please you, but . . . I guess not today.”
    Jay tried to win a few points. “Oh, but we’re very pleased.”
    The chief brightened. “Then you are mukai-tochetin!”
    Jay made a sour face, mentally kicking himself.
    Jacob Cooper coaxed some information. “I understand they’re poisonous.”
    Chief Yoaxa enjoyed answering that question.
    â€œOh, yes, they are poisonous. They will kill you just by touching you. Unless . . .”
    â€œUnless what?”
    â€œUnless you catch them in the morning. Then they don’t hurt you. We play with them, we cook them and eat them, and there is no trouble.”
    Dr. Cooper nodded. “Yes. We’ve been told that.”
    They came to the end of the village and turned a corner. Directly ahead of them was what looked like a row of rabbit hutches and a large chicken pen, all made from poles and wire mesh.
    The Coopers stopped short at the sight of the cages. The men behind them poked them forward.
    The rabbit hutches and the chicken pen were full of carvies—yellow, angry carvies. The slugs came to life the moment the group approached. Flapping about in the cages, hissing, and chirping, they flitted from wall to wall, their little black eyes devilish and threatening.
    â€œThese carvies, they are special,” said the chief. “We caught them in the morning, so it was easy, but then we kept them in these cages until night. You do that and they get dangerous. Just watch.”
    The chief pulled a small, sharpened dart from a quiver on his belt. Sticking it through the wire mesh, he rubbed its tip against a yellow carvy’s slimy back. When he withdrew it, the tip of the dart glistened.
    Dr. Cooper eyed the dart carefully. “So this is the poison dart of the Kachakas?”
    The chief held it up proudly. “Yes. We make them ourselves! Now watch.”
    He skillfully inserted the dart into the blowgun that hung over his shoulder, then looked for a target. Some pigs were grunting and rooting in the grass nearby. He put the blowgun to his mouth, gave it a strong blast of air, and the dart shot like an arrow, sticking a pig in the flank.
    The pig did more than squeal; it shrieked, twirled, grunted, scurried in a little circle, and then flopped to the ground, legs twitching. In only seconds, it was dead.
    The chief grinned. “It works quick, you see? It can kill you. Unless . . .”
    â€œUnless what?” Dr. Cooper asked.
    The chief smiled jubilantly. “Unless you are dead already.”
    Dr. Cooper’s heart sank. “Oh. Of course.”
    â€œWe have a legend: The carvies belong to the mukai-tochetin. Together, they guard the treasure. If you are one of