A Torrential Complication
The Elephant and Macaw Banner ®
Novelette Series – Vol. 7
by Christopher Kastensmidt
“A Torrential Complication” © 2016 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.
The Elephant and Macaw Banner® is a registered trademark of Christopher Kastensmidt.
Cover art by Ursula “SulaMoon” Dorada.
Cover design by Cristiane Viana.
All artwork © 2016 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-85-919338-6-0
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To Max Mallmann (1968-2016):
One of the greatest authors I’ve ever known, both as a writer and a person.
A small red fox, known as Gwara, approached Conte and Mayara’s house to scavenge the remains of that day’s meal. He spotted the scraps strewn behind the hut, the same place they left them every day. The pile contained remnants of banana, boiled manioc, and a few fish bones with scaly bits of meat still clinging to them. However, it was far from the simple fare it appeared—it was the refuse of immortals. The meal would do little to nourish Gwara’s body, but it was a feast for his mind. Every meal he picked through opened him to new thoughts. He had partaken of that food for so long, he had come to understand and even replicate human speech.
As the fox chewed up the remains, he overheard Conte and Mayara speaking within the hut. The building, with its packed-earth walls and palm-leaf roof, appeared to be a modest construction. However, it had been raised by the same immortal hands that had prepared the food, and for that, was stronger than iron.
Gwara peeked through the hut’s entrance and spotted Conte in a squatting position, his elbows upon his knees and his muscles tense. From looks alone, Conte appeared to be nothing more than a Tupinambá warrior: a fit adult with a single green feather sticking up from the band around his head. His perfect skin showed no blemishes from his battles of ages past; instead, it was covered with intricate designs in a green die that Gwara had seen nowhere else. Conte’s hair was shorter than most, as was his temper, but beyond that, he appeared to be no one out of the ordinary.
Mayara, his wife, sat cross-legged on the ground beside him. While Conte had the look of someone in his thirties, Mayara appeared at least a decade older. She wove an intricate cloth, full of colorful designs. Gwara had seen her working on that piece for years, always with a hint of sadness upon her face.
Without looking up from her weaving, she asked, “Tell me what troubles you, my falcon. You haven’t relaxed since you returned.”
“If you’d seen what I have, you’d be troubled as well.”
“You always speak like that after you visit the land of the humans.”
Conte stood abruptly and paced back and forth.
“It’s different this time. These foreigners come from across the sea in their overlarge canoes, the ones with cloths pushed by the wind. They bring disease and war, and no good will come of them.”
Mayara, still focused on her work, nodded. Conte continued:
“The Tupi nations are no better. They have fought among themselves for generations, and now they take sides with these foreigners, fighting their wars for them.”
“Men will always fight wars,” said Mayara.
“I’ve had enough of men.” Conte’s voice had worked up to a shout.
“You are right to say that it has been a long time since I’ve visited the land of the humans. I have yet to see these things with my own eyes, but I trust your judgment, my falcon. Tell me your plan, and whatever it is, I am with you.”
“It is time to put an end to it. To repeat what we did so long ago. To start over.”
At that, Mayara finally stopped working. She stared up at Conte for a time, then laid aside her weave and stood up.
“If that’s what you think is best,” she said, laying a hand upon his shoulder. “I am with you.”
At that, he nodded. “Then let us begin.”
Gwara ducked away, just as the two of them turned toward the entrance. He hid behind the house as they set out together. The words “repeat what we did so long ago” rang through his mind.
I hope he doesn’t mean what I think he does, thought Gwara. Anything but that.
Soundlessly, he set off behind them.
#
Oludara strolled through the woods near the village of his adopted Tupinambá tribe. They had moved to the farthest edge of the forest, the last refuge before the dry, inhospitable Backlands. They lived well enough for the time being, but everyone shared the unspoken fear that one day, the roaming groups of bannermen—who prowled ever farther into the wilderness in search of native slaves—would leave them no choice but to move once and for all into that fearful land.
Since Oludara had returned to the village, he and his native bride, Arany, had taken up their old quarrels once again. She refused to even consider the possibility of one day moving to his homeland of Ketu, in Africa. One such argument had taken place that morning. In hopes of smoothing things over a bit, he searched the woods for some small token of his affection for her: a colorful rock, a pretty flower, or whatever might catch his eye. He examined everything around him with that single goal in mind.
He was surprised, however, when a native couple emerged from a thicket before him. The man appeared to be around thirty, the woman a bit older. Oludara sensed something odd about the pair, the man in particular. It wasn’t unusual for the natives to decorate their bodies with colorful designs, but Oludara had never seen such a bright green dye in any of his travels. They also seemed surprised to find him there, but quickly regained their composure.
“I jump to meet you,” said the man, using a typical Tupi greeting.
“Greetings and good health,” replied Oludara. “My name is Oludara.”
“I am Conte, and this is my wife, Mayara. It is unusual to find one from across the sea this far into our land.”
“I live nearby with a Tupinambá tribe, who have taken me in as one of their own. But I’m sure I’ve never met either of you before. Are you travelers?”
“We live not far from here,” said Mayara, “but we live alone.”
“Let me take you to my tribe. Our village is not so far away, and you will both be welcome.”
“No need,” Conte replied curtly.
“What my husband means,” said Mayara, “is that we would like to visit, but first, we have an important task. It would be a great boon if you could accompany us.”
“You think he can help?” asked Conte.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Oludara immediately felt uncomfortable with this strange couple; he disliked the way they weighed his worth right in front of his face.
“Why don’t we share a meal at my village, and you can tell us what you need,” he said. “There are many there who could help.”
“No,” replied Conte. “What we need is nearby, and your help will be enough.”
“Please come with us,” said Mayara. “We will reward your help with a great gift.”
Oludara didn’t trust them, but the offer of a gift gave him pause. It was exactly what he’d been looking for, after all, and he rarely dared to ignore destiny.
“Very well,” he said. “Lead on.”
Conte pulled back some of the brush from which they had emerged, and Oludara spotted a two-trunked tree growing up from the ground in a ‘v’ shape. The tree’s pale trunk had a slightly blue tint to it, one
which Oludara didn’t recognize.
“Walk through this tree here,” said Comte.
“We don’t need to pass through this thicket,” said Oludara. “I know a way around it which is much faster.”
“Believe us,” said Mayara. “This is the way.”
Oludara felt foolish, but stepped through the tree and jostled his way through the brush beyond. After about a minute of thrashing through the thick vegetation, he stepped into a clearing with a small lake.
“What is this?” he asked. “This can’t be.”
“Shh,” advised Mayara, emerging from the thicket behind him. She pointed to the other side of the lake, where an enormous, ogre-like man sat fishing with a long pole. “We don’t want to interrupt Agnen.”
“What is going on?” asked Oludara. “There is no lake in this part of the forest. What enchantment is this?”
“Sometimes,” said Conte, “men don’t see what is right before their eyes. It is one of their many faults.”
“What do you mean, ‘their’ faults?” asked Oludara, taking a step back. “What are you?”
“We are nothing more than a simple Tupinambá couple looking for some help,” said Mayara.
“We need the hook from Agnen’s line,” said Conte. “He doesn’t trust me, so it’s up to you.”
“I don’t trust you, either,” said Oludara. “My people have a saying, ‘A hog that wallows in the mud seeks a clean person to rub against.’ I don’t know what you want, but I doubt it is good.”
Oludara turned to leave.
At that, Conte grabbed his arm and Oludara felt a dizzying jolt. His body changed, shrank, and he fell to the ground, landing upon his clothes. To his horror, he now saw through eyes on both sides of his head: one to the ground, and one to the air. He flopped around and choked on the air.
Conte picked him up and looked into one of his eyes.
“Don’t come back without the hook.”
At that, Oludara was tossed through the air and landed in the lake. The water rushed in through gills on his neck and returned his breath. His fish body jiggled from side to side and propelled him clumsily through the water.
#
Arany was concerned about Oludara. They had argued that morning, and she had not seen him since. She was used to his antics with Gerard van Oost—his Dutch travelling companion—with whom Oludara might disappear for weeks or months at a time. This time, however, he’d set off alone, saying he would not take long, and now it was well into the afternoon.
She searched the village, and to worsen her fears, found Gerard and Cabwassu—one of the village chiefs—sitting and laughing in the middle of the village. Moving black and white stones, they played one of Gerard’s European games. If Oludara were anywhere within the village, he would most likely have been with the two of them.
“Do either of you know where my husband is?” she asked.
Focused on their game, they didn’t look up.
“Haven’t seen him all day,” replied Gerard, lifting his wide-brimmed hat with one hand and scratching his red hair with the other as he considered his next move.
“We should go look for him,” she said.
“Why?” asked Cabwassu, also without looking up. He tugged at a pointed stone jutting from one of his cheeks, one of many colored stones which adorned his earlobes, lips, and face. “If you don’t know where he went, where will you look?”
Arany’s long, black hair whirled as she turned and stormed off to her longhouse. She grabbed Gerard’s sword, then headed to Cabwassu’s longhouse for his bow and arrows. After a moment’s thought, she retrieved a bow for herself as well.
She returned to the village center and tossed the men’s weapons between them, scattering the stones and finally getting their full attention. Open-mouthed, they gaped up at her.
“Let’s go,” she said, in a voice that left no room for argument.
#
At first, Oludara moved randomly up, down, and in circles, struggling to coordinate his fish muscles. He rammed into roots, fish, and dirt as he grew accustomed to his wide field of vision. After what seemed like hours, he had finally mastered enough bodily control to concentrate his attention on a plan.
He knew his only chance lay in retrieving the hook. If he could get that, and have Conte turn him back to his normal form, he could then turn his attention to stopping the couple, because whatever plan they had in mind, he doubted it was benevolent. He might even seek the ogre’s aid in thwarting them.
His thoughts returned to his first task: acquiring the hook. His fish form possessed exceptionally sharp teeth, so he reasoned that he should have no problem cutting the line. His real problem would be not getting caught. He approached Agnen for a better look, keeping just below the lake’s surface.
Agnen was human-like in form, but with an exaggerated body. His arms and legs were the size of tree trunks, his head as large as a boulder. Two rounded tusks jutted up from the corners of his mouth. The ogre baited his hook with an enormous piece of meat, one which Oludara didn’t recognize. Something about it, however, attracted fish by the dozens. They sank their teeth into the flesh and Agnen yanked them from the water. He then scooped them into a massive clay pot at his side, all the while humming a dreadful tune.
To Oludara’s dismay, Agnen never took his eyes off the hook, never even blinked. The ogre kept his line so close to the shore, he could easily reach in and grab anything that came close to it. Oludara could do nothing but circle and wait for an opening.
Apparently, Conte noticed his hesitation, because Oludara spotted him approaching from one side. As the man drew near, Agnen gave him one wary glance, then returned his attention to his line. Keeping still, just below the water’s surface, Oludara listened.
“Didn’t I rip you to pieces once?” Agnen asked in a booming, tired voice.
“That is no proper greeting for one you have known for so long, Agnen. And in any case, I think you mistake me for my brother.”
“Do I?”
“Perhaps. That was a long time ago, too long for anyone to remember. Countless generations of men have come and gone since.”
“Indeed. My cave is ever more crowded with their souls, and I must work that much harder to feed them.”
“It sounds tedious,” said Conte.
“It is. But without my hook, it would be much worse. Which is why you should keep well away from it.”
“What? You think I desire your hook? I wouldn’t think of taking it.”
“You wouldn’t? Why would you be here, you who have not spoken to me for ages, if not for my hook? Isn’t that why you came the last time?”
“I told you, that was my brother. We are twins, you know.”
“Right, twins.”
“Enough of that. I come in friendship, with important tidings. Many dead souls are on their way.”
That seemed to get Agnen’s attention. He stiffened, but kept his eyes on the line. Conte chanced a quick, knowing glance at Oludara, leaving no doubt it was time to act. Oludara tensed and waited for his moment. Conte cupped his hands toward Agnen and said, “Look at this, and you’ll see.”
Agnen turned and Oludara shot toward the bait.
Just as his sharp teeth neared the line, however, a wave crashed into him, hurling him away from it. Agnen, waist deep in the water, grabbed him with both hands and pulled him up.
“Don’t think I didn’t expect a silly trick like this, Conte. You won’t fool me so easily a second time.”
At that, Agnen turned back toward the shore. Both Conte and the fishing pole were gone.
Agnen roared in fury as he stepped from the water. He screamed “Conte!” several times, but received no response.
His hands squeezed down and Oludara thought his fish body would burst. At the same time, his torture was doubled as his gills gasped for water to fill his lungs. After a final, terrifying scream, Agnen appeared to remember he was holding something and lifted Oludara to his face.
“I’ll rip yo
ur friend to pieces once again,” said Agnen. “This time, it’ll be for good. But first, I’ll serve you to the dead.”
Oludara felt himself falling and landed in the clay pot, crowded to the brim with squirming fish. He gasped a merciful blast of water through his gills and could do nothing else but wait, helplessly, for some chance to escape that wiggling, maddening prison.
#
Gwara watched from the brush as Agnen fished the black piranha from the lake with his bare hands and Conte ran off with the line and pole. He snuck toward the place where Mayara awaited her husband. Seconds later, Conte emerged from the trees, smiling.
“Very good, my falcon,” said Mayara.
“I didn’t expect it to be so easy,” replied Conte. “That demon has grown even stupider over time.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes. You head for the High Place. I will head for the Spout. It is time to flood the Earth and destroy mankind. We will start over once again, as we did so long ago.”
The two of them strode off in different directions.
That confirmed Gwara’s worst fears. Panicked, he ran one way, turned around, then ran the other. He spun in circles multiple times before realizing he had no idea what he was doing, and stopped to think of a plan.
What could I possibly do to stop Conte from creating a flood? The answer came all too easily. Nothing. I can do nothing.
Then he remembered Narre.
He’s the only one who can stop Conte, he thought. I must go to him. He tensed to run before another thought gave him pause. I can’t reach him alone, I’ll need help.
He considered Agnen, but the demon was too large and too slow to traverse the Itha Irapi. No one else lived nearby. That meant he would have to pass through the split tree, and look for help in that other place. He ran, unsure what he would find, but desperate to find something.
#
Arany jogged through the woods alongside Gerard and Cabwassu, the three of them calling out at intervals for Oludara. With every passing moment, her worry heightened.
“Wait,” said Cabwassu, holding up a hand and squatting down to look at something.
A Torrential Complication (The Elephant and Macaw Banner - Novelette Series Book 7) Page 1