by Emily Asad
Chapter 6: Phantoms in the Jungle
He awoke to the smell of roasting meat skewered over a cheerful, crackling fire. It was still early morning, and he lay flat on his back, his arms neatly at his sides. His shirt and vest lay close to his sleeping blanket. So did his medical kit, which was opened and emptied. The gauze that once lay folded neatly inside the kit was now wrapped tightly around his naked chest, holding his cracked and broken ribs together. Two thoughts were immediate: Someone has been here, and This pain is too much!
Someone had indeed been there, but had also gone. Sebastian wondered if they were coming back, and how they had found him in the first place. His blood froze when he suspected cannibals, but why would they cure him just so they could eat him?
The person had obviously treated patients before. Two mugs were within arm’s reach. Both were full of a brownish liquid with a rather leafy smell. Each also had a bent reed sticking up past the lip of the cup. Sebastian discovered, when he tried to reach for a mug, that even his arms were sore. He wondered if he had fractured any of their bones.
It hurt too much to move, but at the same time Sebastian was too thirsty to ignore the mugs. Inching one of the mugs toward him, he was careful not to spill whatever was inside. When it was close enough, he tried to sit up so he could drink, but the pain in his sides caused him to gasp. He would have to drink lying flat on his back.
And that’s when he realized how clever his caretaker had been. The bent reed could be used as a straw; he only needed to turn his head to sip.
The liquid tasted bitter. He spat it out immediately and began coughing. Sharp pains racked his body as he fought to control the coughs. When the pain subsided, he looked at the mug. Obviously whatever was in it was important; the mystery doctor had taken great care to make it easily accessible to the patient. Sebastian braced himself and tried again. This time he managed a few sips before the coughs overtook him, and then he drank again, draining the mug in his desire to quench his thirst.
After a few minutes, he noticed that his pain was much less. Also he felt sleepy, and it was not a natural sleep either. He could feel his brain grow fuzzy. It was just as well. Sleeping was the only thing he could do at the moment.
It was high noon when he awakened again. The sun filtered its way through the leaves high above. Sebastian was glad that, at least, he did not have to worry about sunburn. The fire had burned low and the meat still smelled tempting, but Sebastian did not dare leave his bed. He was hungry, yes, but too sore to make the journey between his bed and the fire and back again. Instead, he sipped the bitter liquid through the reed, draining the second mug. It put him back to sleep and he knew nothing else for another few hours.
Hunger and thirst finally drove him from his bed. A few hours of sunlight still remained in the sky. Afraid of passing out if he stood all the way up, and afraid of aggravating his injuries if he crawled, Sebastian realized that the best way to reach his food was to walk on his knees. It took almost ten minutes to reach it, and by the time he did, he was sweating in exertion and thought he might just pass out from the pain. He had to rest for a while before taking the meat off the skewer.
It was still warm, and there were covered embers in the fireplace. Why hadn’t he thought of that before, covering the embers while they were still hot? That way he wouldn’t have to light a fresh fire every night! Maybe he could find some way to carry a live coal with him from place to place. He looked around for his caretaker, but decided the person had long since disappeared.
The meat had been spiced with delicious herbs he did not recognize. Some sort of hard white tuber had also cooked with it, absorbing the fat drippings. Both the meat and tuber were delicious, the best food Sebastian had eaten since falling victim to pirates three weeks ago. A third mug, placed outside the firestones, contained water. Sebastian’s heart fell; he was rather hoping for more of the miracle drug that took away his pain.
He thought about his injuries while he chewed on his meat. The dog refused to take a bite, and Sebastian suspected that he had already been fed or had gone on another hunting spree. That dog could take care of himself. If only he didn’t have so many fleas.
It would be impossible to walk to Sancti Spiritu in his condition. Before, he had avoided riding any of the horses, preferring instead to walk the path himself so he could lead the animals around dangerous terrain. Now he would have to rely on the stallion’s judgment.
Toward the end of his meal, Sebastian realized he had forgotten to check on his animals all day. He looked at them for signs of thirst or hunger. They seemed to have none, and he was glad. It would have been too difficult to get up and guard them at the river. One more pig was missing, its rope neatly removed from its neck and left tied to the stake in the ground.
With a sigh of resignation, Sebastian turned his gaze toward what looked like scratchings in the sandy soil. As he peered closer, it seemed as if there were an arrow pointing due north, and a house surrounded by smaller houses.
He puzzled over the scratchings. What could a cluster of houses mean? An Indian village? Although he was grateful to his mystery physician for taking care of him, he was not sure that he wanted to meet an entire Indian village, even if they might be friendly. Was it a lure? Were they indeed cannibals, pretending to be friendly, so he would walk straight to their cooking pots?
His eyebrows shot upward at another idea. What if it meant Sancti Spiritu? According to his reckonings, he should have reached the fortress days ago. Was he finally close? How close?
Excitement welled up inside him. If it was the fortress, his journey was almost over! He offered a quick prayer of thanks and then headed back to his bedroll for his shirt and vest. Again, the trip took almost ten minutes and he was trembling with pain and fatigue when it was done. How could he make it to Sancti Spiritu like this? He certainly could not walk, not even if it was a close distance. He glanced at his stallion, wondering how he would saddle him when he couldn’t even raise his arms above his waist.
To his utter surprise, Sebastian saw that the stallion was already saddled and bridled! Not only that, but two tiny waterproof flasks hung from the saddle horn, filled with what smelled like the same thing that killed his pain before. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. His every move had been calculated and accounted for; whoever was helping him seemed to read his thoughts. But why had his helper not stayed to receive Sebastian’s thanks? He would have paid him some of the silver coins he kept in the saddle bag.
He withdrew the pouch from the saddlebag, thinking to count the coins, but found that the pouch was completely empty. His face reddened in anger and injustice. The coins had been stolen – probably by the same person who had saved his life – but what was there to be angry about? Sebastian would have paid him anyway. Maybe not all the coins, but probably half of them.
He had a hard time getting up on the stallion. His legs worked just fine, but bending his waist caused sharp pains to shoot through his lungs again. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally mounted the patient stallion and turned him in the direction of the arrow. He drank the contents of one of the tiny pouches, hoping it would not put him to sleep, and then rode off to meet his fate, whether it be cannibals or the fort.