by Sam Puma
“What’s back there for you? Are you in this fight with us? The Cruxai will bring the battle to Calaldon next. That is where you are needed. That city has better defenses than Dorfin or Calixo. That will be our best chance to turn the tide of this war, to stop their advances forever, turn it back on them and reclaim all of Galdea.
“So that’s where you’re going if you want to fight. Orion has spoken up for you. If you want to be a soldier, your initiation awaits.”
Jankaro’s head was floating in the clouds and a feeling of pleasure warmed his body with the flow of the medicine. He could barely comprehend what Anhael was saying. “You may find the landscape around Caladon familiar if you are a jungle boy like me. The city sits high up in the mountains, looking down over the vast jungle. I’m sure you will see your home from there, somewhere below the trees,” he said with a smile.
The word Caladon echoed through Jankaro’s mind as he watched Anhael get up and leave as his vision began to blur. The exhaustion of the battle had drained him of every drop of energy, and the sweetness of the plants lulled him into a tranquil sleep. The plants were kind to him, and he dreamed of a peaceful day back home, gazing at lizards and smelling purple flowers.
Jankaro awakened to the bouncing of the wagon and the sound of creaking wheels. His body felt relaxed and strong again. He looked over and saw Orion sleeping across from him. His lower leg was gone and the stump that remained was bound in heavy bandages. He saw Anhael in front, gazing out ahead with a bow at his side. He looked up and peered over the side of the wagon and saw what he had been missing while he slept. They were up on a hillside and down below he could see a lush rain forest extending out into the distance. It looked so beautiful from above it looking down. Somewhere out there must be Olaya; his old life waiting for his return.
But the thought of jumping off now and running home felt impossible. His deal with the giant snake was embedded so deeply that home felt all the more distant. He felt a hatred for the Cruxai and vowed to kill them all, bringing him closer to the crown (or so he imagined). Just rise up in the ranks, win the king’s trust and steal away with it in the dark of the night.
“Dorfin was my home,” said Orion as he propped himself up and looked over at Jankaro with a forlorn expression on his pale face. “I never thought I would see the day she would fall. The place where you found me, where I thought I would fight my last fight… that was my childhood home. I ran through those streets and fought my friends with sticks and ran home to my mother’s side by the hearth. I lost a lot of friends back there. We will make them pay for this.
“They are going to make me a new leg out of wood but I will never be the same. But I will fight on and see this war to the end. To the end of the Cruxai or to the end of me.”
“We’ll carve runes into that wooden leg,” Anhael chimed in. “You will be walking on it when the last Juruga is killed.”
A few moments passed in silence as Jankaro turned his face away from his companions to smell the sweetness of the air, radiating from the nectar of the jungle flowers. He was happy he wouldn’t need to have his foot removed.
“Look up there, high in the mountains. Do you see it?” Orion pointed ahead. Jankaro looked up and saw the stone walls and towers of a fortress surrounded by steep mountains on all sides. The hillsides on either side of the road were covered in sparse clusters of green trees and shrubs, and the winding road led to the gates of Caladon. “Here we will defeat them. Here they will never enter. This is where we make our stand. We will beat them here, we will take back my home, and we will take back all of Galdea and put an end to the Cruxai forever.”
A fifty-foot-wide chasm separated Caladon from the other side of the mountain. The long drawbridge lowered and the wagon bounced its way across. Jankaro looked down and saw that it dropped off far below, and down at the bottom there was a shallow river. “You will see a lot of Cruxai die here,” said Orion. “Their only hope is that there are enough of them to fill this entire gorge with their own dead bodies and walk across them. We have storehouses full of arrows, and the best bowmen are Caladonian. You may not need to lift your sword for this fight.”
“Never underestimate the Cruxai,” said Anhael with a frown. “We will prepare for victory, but we must prepare for everything.”
As they entered Caladon, Jankaro looked at the grandeur of the stone walls rising up all around him, covered with green vines. The air was thin and he felt a little dizzy, but could still appreciate the spiraling staircases carved into the mountainside, the trees growing out of the cracks in the walls, the tropical birds decorating the sky and the pyramid that rose up at the center of the city. The wagon ambled through the city streets and dropped them off at the base of the pyramid.
Anhael led him inside and down a hallway lit by torches. They walked for a little while, made a few turns, then came to a room; a simple chamber with a bed inside. On the bed there was a blue uniform. “Put that on. In one hour we will have a meal together. Follow the other soldiers. Tonight you will sleep here, tomorrow you will meet the king, and begin your initiation.”
“The time has come for you to breathe in the fire and descend into darkness,” said Anhael as he entered Jankaro’s chamber the next evening.
“Time to find the man, the soldier, the hero inside of you. It is time for your initiation! Follow me.”
They walked down the torchlit hallway together in silence. Jankaro’s eyes were wide with alertness and excitement. He felt the pain lingering in his foot and tried not to limp, but he knew it would be at its best soon. When they emerged from the pyramid, it was still night. The full moon hung high above them in the sky, shining with a great brilliance. Anhael led the way as they climbed the outer steps of the pyramid.
Jankaro saw bright firelight shining down from the top of the pyramid, and heard rhythmic drums pounding in unison. The climb continued for 100 steps, and the drums grew louder as they neared the top.
As he reached the top of the pyramid, he saw a gathering of mostly men and a great bonfire in the center, burning a perfumed wood that smelled enchanted with the power of a warrior’s soul. The soldiers were dressed in white and formed a ring around the fire as they pounded on the drums. The rhythm shook him in his bowels, and made him feel the compounded fear and courage of the 20-year war pulsing through him with every beat. The smells and sounds made him light headed and weak in his stomach. He wanted to kneel down and curl up in a ball to protect himself from the emotional intensity. But it was only for a moment. He stood tall, shook it off and continued forward.
“Kneel and take your place among the initiates,” said Anhael as he walked to the outer ring to stand with the soldiers. Jankaro saw about 20 other young blue-clad fighters kneeling in the center, close to the fire, and took his place among them. Their faces glowed with light as their gaze held steady on the flames. Sweat trickled down from every brow. He felt the heat and the droplets of sweat on his own face. He straightened his spine as he locked his gaze upon the heart of the flames.
The drumming gradually sped up, and the soldiers chanted a monosyllabic war chant. They circulated amongst the initiates, banging the drums right into their ears, and chanting directly into their faces, making twisted expressions. Their spit flew into Jankaro’s face, and their intensity made his stomach churn, but he held firm.
The soldiers returned to the outer circle, and concluded their chanting. The beat of the drums, however, grew louder and faster, reaching a crescendo. Prince Rafael emerged from the circle and held his hands up in the air by the fire. The drums continued their frenzy until he abruptly dropped his arms down, at which point the drums all struck their final note in unison. The sound echoed across the mountains and gorges in the distance.
“Galdea!” cried Rafael.
“Galdea!” the soldiers cried out in a unified response.
“We will defend her to our dying breath!” he cried into the hea
vens, with his back arched and fists extended upward. All the soldiers erupted in a roar of approval with their battle cries and pounding of drums. “Damn the Cruxai! We will not give in! We will fight them to the gates of hell and we will conquer them!” He screamed in a furious rage. “Here, at Caladon, we will turn the tide of this war!” Again the soldiers roared in approval and pounded their drums.
“You,” Rafael spoke more calmly as he addressed the kneeling initiates. “We need you. Every soldier brings back a gift when he emerges from that chamber. The plants teach him, he learns to fight, to see in the darkness, and he receives a special insight on how to kill these monsters. We share our insights and together we learn how to dominate our enemies in battle.
“Your time in the darkness will be the most difficult time of your life. But you will emerge a new being. You will emerge as a soldier, as one of us!” The soldiers responded with a flourish on the drums.
“If this is not your choice, you can walk away now and go back to your life. You fought bravely at Dorfin and you are here because you earned the invitation to become a leader in this war. But there are many ways to serve. Every man must choose his own path.” He paused and looked around at all of the initiates. Jankaro felt a jolt as Rafael’s attention rested on him for a moment. The fire crackled. No one moved.
“Good. As I suspected. I see the heart of a soldier in every one of you. I can feel the birth of our victory here with us tonight.
“And now, to commence your initiation, I present to you my father, champion and protector of Galdea, King Oranos.”
A slender, venerable man with a snowy beard emerged from behind the soldiers and approached the fire. All of the soldiers knelt. The sight of the king tore through Jankaro like a thunderbolt. There it was, the object of his quest, resting on the king’s head: the crown. It was made of petrified wood and decorated with kaleidoscopic feathers.
Jankaro immediately felt ill. His heart raced and he felt sick in his stomach. He sensed the serpent’s slime all over him. He held his vomit in and his head bobbed forward as if he was about to collapse. His hands landed on the cold stone in front of him, and he felt a great weight bear down on him. He felt deathly ill, convulsing and sweating, gasping for air. He wanted to sleep, to vanish, to be safe at home in Olaya resting in his father’s hut; he wanted to travel back in time and erase the last year of his life.
But a voice rose up within him. It sounded like his father’s voice. One word was all it spoke: “No.” Jankaro shook his head, straightened his spine, and gazed back into the fire. The sickness flowed out of him in an outpouring of sweat from every pore. He breathed deeply, soaking up the heat of the flame. He smelled the smoke of the sacred wood, and it restored his senses. He looked around expecting everyone to be looking at him but they were all looking at the king with reverence. The soldiers shouted and pounded their drums.
“Oranos!” they cried. Aside from the crown, the king was dressed the same as all of the soldiers. He was old and his movements were slow, but he stood tall. He had a short white beard and his ivory hair hung down against his shoulders. He walked up to the fire and held his hands out to absorb the heat. Then he patted his hands on his face and over his head. He rested them on his heart for a moment, then dropped them to his sides.
“Now you will begin your training with the master plant teachers,” he said in a soft voice, “down below the surface of the earth where all is dark. The light of the plants will burn from within you and you will see in the darkness. You will emerge reborn, a soldier in the army of Galdea. Now I will bless your journey.”
The king knelt down in front of one of the initiates. Rafael brought a large bowl of oil and knelt down next to him. The king dipped his hands into the bowl and dripped the oil onto the head of the initiate. He rubbed it over the top of his head and on his face. He rested his hands on the young man’s shoulders, looked him straight in the eyes and spoke a few words of blessing. Then he got up and moved on to the next initiate to repeat the process.
A gentle drumming began among the soldiers. One soldier came over to the first initiate and helped him to his feet. He led him to the stairs and together they descended.
Jankaro watched, but as the king got closer to him, he couldn’t bear to watch any more. His stomach was sick again; he felt like he was about to vomit, his face felt clammy and sweat poured down profusely from every pore of his body. All he could do to keep from collapsing was to stare straight into the fire. His heart beat faster and faster and his vision blurred.
The king knelt down in front of him and spoke his name, “Jankaro.” The diamond on the crown shone brightly and he was mesmerized by its gleaming light. He could feel her, the great serpent from the cave, within him. He could feel her inside of him, staring through his eyes, gazing upon her prize. His hands were clutched tightly in fists and his teeth were clenched; he knew all he had to do was reach up and grab the crown and run and it would be his. He could be free.
But no, it wouldn’t work like that. He knew they would catch him and kill him if he tried. He knew the snake knew this too. It was impossible at this time. Olaya would have to wait.
So he breathed in the sweet smell of the sacred oil as the king rubbed it over his face and head. He felt the king’s hands like lead weights as they rested upon his shoulders. He tried to meet his eyes but couldn’t see past the gleam of the diamond. “You will win this war,” said the king. “You will be a hero.” With that he rose to his feet and proceeded to the next initiate. Jankaro’s attention trailed along after him, as he was hypnotized by the jewel in the crown.
Anhael approached and stood next to him. He reached his hand down and helped Jankaro to his feet. His whole body trembled and he nearly collapsed, and he reached out to Anhael to stabilize himself.
“Breathe. Deep breaths. Breathe in the smoke of the Icai, the sacred wood that we once harvested from the northern jungle.” Jankaro breathed in the sweet fragrance and found his center. “That’s it. Keep breathing. Get your balance. Come with me.”
The Island
It was an act of faith. Jorobai was cut adrift in the middle of the open sea, at the mercy of the current. Would he make it all the way to the other side and find his son? Only the sea could reveal its truth to him. So he drifted until there was no view of the boat and nothing but open water and sky all around him.
He was all alone for the first time in a long time. He remembered the last time he was alone, walking in the jungle, taking a moment away from village life. He remembered feeling like Jankaro and getting up close with the plants and the creatures and taking in their sights and sounds and smells. He nearly got bit by a poisonous snake and scurried up into a tree, only to have a monkey throw an overripe mango into his face. He told Jankaro all about it but of course Jankaro had a tale to beat it, like he always did.
Jorobai didn’t like to spend too much time alone, and as the day wore on, he remembered why. The scenery never changed; it all blended into a mass of blue. He lay on his back and closed his eyes. There she was staring back at him, Shalea, his wife, gone for thirteen years. His heart twisted in a knot. He saw her naked body emerging from the river, he saw her in his bed with him at night, he saw her laughing, nursing baby Jankaro, working around the village with her little boy strapped to her back.
But the sweet memories would always trace back to the cold nightmare, the day he lost her. He remembered coming back from the hunt with the other men and finding their village destroyed. The bodies of the women and children were strewn across the ground, their blood spilled. He found her with a deep gash across her neck and there was nothing he could do. She was gone.
She came to visit him in dreams and it was just like being with her in the flesh, if only for those fleeting moments. But he would awaken to the nightmare of her absence, only to realize that her blood was shed by violent mongrels. They set out on a war party but couldn’t find her other killers. The bitt
erness faded outwardly with time, but always stayed lodged deep down inside. He felt it needling at him as he lay there in the canoe.
Jankaro kept him alive. The boy had a natural joy for life. So full of wonder, he gazed upon everything with delight. He couldn’t remember what happened to his mother. He would sometimes ask, but Jorobai always did his best to keep the details hidden, so as not to spoil the boy’s innocence. He had such a rich fascination with life.
Jorobai’s guts ached and he sobbed. He let out the tears that had been hiding and waiting for the right time. He pitied himself as he grieved for his son and his wife, for the family he had lost. He wanted to pitch himself over the side and end it all. But he couldn’t do it. Not until he found out what happened to his son. He promised himself that he wouldn’t rest until he found his son or learned the truth.
So he drifted on the currents of the sea, and every day his heart ached and tears flowed down his face. He collected the rainwater in a wooden bowl given to him by Madrigo. He fished with his spear and dried their meat in the sun. Every now and then he saw a shark or some other sea monster, but they did not come to eat him. Sometimes they bumped the canoe and he had to hang on. Sometimes the wind and the storms pitched him over and he had to climb back up, but still he held on.
Jorobai lay on his back and breathed deeply. It was a calm night and the canoe bobbed gently along with the current. He looked into the sky and the stars were shining bright. He stared into the full moon directly above as a cool breeze caressed his sunburned skin. He took a moment to release his pain. He took every breath slowly and dropped into a state of relaxation. He allowed the long repressed tears of grief to fall and wailed into the night.
He gazed up into the full moon and felt her light enter his heart. He let his eyes relax, and after a few moments, he saw the face of Shalea, his lost love, gazing back at him. He cupped his hands around the moon and caressed her face. He brushed her hair away from her eyes. He dropped his hands to his heart and rested them there.