by Sam Puma
“He went to the shaman, Ishikaya. He drank Amoza medicine and he had a vision that a bird flew him across the sea. We went to Farilal and hired a boat. When we reached the salt water we were attacked by sharks. The last one was the greatest of them all, and it leaped into my spear.
“We struggled into the depths. My head was inside his mouth but I held my breath and wiggled my spear around in his brain. He thrashed and whipped me all over until he finally expired. My lungs burst and I gasped a mouthful of salty water. I woke up and I was walking here in the underworld. I felt light. I saw my mother and father and my wife, all of whom I lost on the same night we lost your mother. I was about to cross over with them, but somehow I heard you and I just knew there was one more thing left for me to do.”
“Thank you for helping me, Rongo. And for helping Jorobai. I long to see him again. Someday I will return to Olaya to find him.”
“The last I saw of him, he was headed far away from there. He was sailing east of Farilal, far out into a vast sea, a river with no other side. We have never heard of anyone going out that far and ever returning. But by the grace of Sagaya, I hope the two of you reunite one day.”
“We will find each other. He will return home when he doesn’t find me out at sea, and we will arrive at Olaya at the same moment. If you see him before me, tell him my story, and that I long to see him again.”
“I will, but I pray you see him before I do. I can hear the water coming to carry me away. You best be on your way. Leave this stinking pit and find your path out of here.” Rongo reached out and embraced Jankaro as water came pouring into the chamber from one of the tunnels. It wrapped around their ankles as they released their embrace and met each other’s eyes once more. The water rose rapidly, and in another breath it was at their waists. They turned away from each other as the Cruxai corpses bumped into them.
The chamber flooded as Jankaro swam through the gore, trying to make it to the nearest tunnel. But he was too slow and the water rose above the level of all the tunnels. He floated to the ceiling. Just before the water reached the top, he took a full breath and dove down.
He swam down through the bloody water as Cruxai body parts bumped into him. He could barely see, but he felt the elder seed burning in his stomach and pulling him, so he swam with it. He reached one of the tunnels and swam into it. The tunnel led upward, and he swam up and up as his lungs burned and threatened to burst. He finally broke the surface and gasped for air. He floated and treaded water as it continued rising for a while. He was comfortable in the darkness as the water gently lifted him.
He thought of Rongo and his father questing to find him, and the vicious sharks they had conquered, how Rongo had sacrificed his life, and how his father had risked everything on a canoe in the open sea, all to find him.
“Jorobai, don’t give up!” He cried out. “We will meet again under the sun. We will hunt and farm and fish together again. After this war is over we will be at peace in Olaya again, growing old at home. Sagaya,” Jankaro prayed, as he seldom did, “bring my father and I together again.”
The water rose until another tunnel opened to his right, and he tumbled along with the shifting current as the water flowed down. He picked up speed and spun around in the tunnel with his legs kicking in front of him. When the tunnel ended, the water poured out and Jankaro fell. He met the water below with a hard crash and plunged beneath the surface. Everything was tumbling and swirling around at the bottom of the waterfall, but he was able to swim up and fight his way to the surface.
After he fought his way out of the tumult near the waterfall and reached calmer waters, he swam slowly and caught his breath. He looked up and saw the stars. His eyes were so sensitive that they looked ten times brighter than ever before, and he had to turn away from them. He looked left and right to see tree-lined shores on both sides. He was swimming in a river. He chose to go left, and swam over to the bank. He crawled up onto the shore and laid down to rest, as he had grown tired from all of the fighting and swimming.
When his energy returned, he got back on his feet and checked to see that his sword was still at his side. He took one step forward and heard a deep voice call to him. “Jankaro.” He looked around but saw no one. “Jankaro,” it called to him a second time. This time he heard the voice coming from inside his gut. “This is the elder seed. The time has come for you to go alone. Spit me up and throw me in the river.”
“But I need you to help me fight.”
“You must face the next test alone.”
Jankaro felt nauseous and his stomach ached. He heaved and vomited. When he was through, he found the elder seed lying in the muck. He picked it up and thought to carry it with him. “Throw me in the river.”
“But…”
“Now!” The voice boomed, carrying many voices behind it. The sound hurt Jankaro’s mind. He was afraid to relinquish his guide, but did as he was told, and cast the elder seed into the middle of the river. He was sad to see it go, and when he turned around to face the trees, he felt empty inside. A feeling of dread came over him, and he suspected an ominous task awaited him.
Jankaro walked through the forest with his sword drawn and his wits about him, anticipating an ambush. The endless calling of the frogs and insects reminded him of Olaya. When he came upon a large clearing, it reminded him of the night he lost his way and met the Ashtari. A wave of fear pulsed through him as he heard loud crashing sounds from the forest on the opposite side of the clearing.
A large creature emerged on the other side. From a distance, it looked like the Ashtari he had encountered before. In the darkness he wasn’t sure. It seemed to be injured as it staggered forward a few more steps and collapsed. It lay there awkwardly and did not move. Jankaro’s dormant curiosity awakened as he approached. The Ashtari’s skin hung loosely, its jaw gaped open and its tongue drooped down in the dirt. As he got within a few feet of it, he saw that it had no eyes, only gaping empty sockets. It appeared to be dead, and he pitied such a mighty creature reduced to such waste.
“Such a pity,” he said softly to himself as he reached out to touch its face. “I wonder who did this…”
When his fingertips made contact, it made a deep rumbling sound. Jankaro leapt backwards and held up his sword defensively as adrenaline shot through his system. He continued to back away as the wounded creature got back on its feet. Its skin dangling loosely from its bones as it lifted up its front paws and stood on its hind legs. Jankaro was horrified to see that it was not an Ashtari. It was a Juruga, the most feared variety of Cruxai, like the one he had slain with his knife in Dorfin, and it had the hide of an Ashtari draped over itself like a cloak. The disguise had worked to lure Jankaro close, right where the creature wanted him. His glowing eyes spiraled in a macabre red and yellow dance as he towered over Jankaro, standing nearly twice his height. Jagged teeth protruded from his long snout and muscles bulged through smooth, thick, dark green skin. He was garbed in short ragged pants and a belt that showed the hilt of a huge sword. The Ashtari mouth gaped open and encircled the Juruga’s face for a menacing effect. He drew a jagged sword that was as long as Jankaro was tall, and grunted out a deep, gurgling, hissing laugh.
Jankaro was so overcome with fear that he fumbled his sword and cowered with his arms raised in front of his face. Cold sweat poured down his brow as the Juruga took its first step towards him, brandishing his giant sword. Jankaro clenched his teeth to quell his trembling, then bent down and picked up his sword.
“Help!” He cried out as he backed away. “I need help!” He looked from side to side, but there was no response.
The Juruga sprang forward, lifted his sword high, and swung it straight down at Jankaro, who leapt to his left as the mighty stroke cut a gash in the earth. The Juruga grunted, then slashed at him again. Jankaro dodged, and the Juruga continued his attack, one savage downward stroke after another. It took all of Jankaro’s energy and concentration
just to dodge the attacks coming at him, and there was no time to mount an attack of his own.
After an extended volley, the Juruga paused. Jankaro stood there exhausted and panting, looking for some sort of weakness he could exploit, but not seeing any. Then the Juruga spit at him, and he remembered too late that their acid spit could eat through skin and armor. It hit him in the middle of his right thigh, but to his surprise, there was no pain. The Juruga’s spit dribbled down his leg harmlessly. The yanigo wrap held strong, and he heard his grandfathers’ chanting in the back of his mind. A rush of courage came over him as he prepared to engage his enemy.
The Juruga was equally surprised, and spat at him again. The foul smelling stuff hit Jankaro’s chest, but still had no effect. The Juruga growled and charged again. This time Jankaro raised his sword to block. He caught the Juruga’s sword squarely, but it nearly drove his own sword straight back into his face, and he was knocked flat onto his back from the force of the collision. Once again, he had to resort to rolling, ducking, leaping and lunging to avoid the Juruga’s attacks.
Occasionally the Juruga gave Jankaro a moment to catch his breath. During these times his mind raced to invent a way to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. The way things were going, it wasn’t looking good, so he sheathed his sword and pulled out his dagger. A perfectly timed throw and a hit to the face or throat could easily turn the tide. After another sequence of dodges, tumbles and near misses, Jankaro squared up, set his feet, aimed for the Juruga’s eyes, and let the knife fly. His aim was off, and the knife embedded itself into the Juruga’s chest, just below his collarbone. He roared in pain and unleashed another onslaught of attacks. The wound trickled black blood but the Juruga showed no sign of weakening. Jankaro was disheartened as he continued his dodges and escapes.
The only other option he could think of was to get close, underneath the huge sword, attack the Juruga’s lower abdomen, then quickly get out of the way. As he dodged the Juruga’s attacks, he paid close attention to the way the Juruga moved his body and handled his sword. Many of the giant creature’s cuts were chopping motions that came straight down and bit into the earth when it missed.
Time slowed down as Jankaro held his sword ready. He watched the Juruga raise his sword high, and when it came down, he stepped to the left just enough for it to miss. Then he drove his sword forward and deep into the Juruga’s abdomen. When he tried to pull it out, the Juruga swung backward and caught Jankaro’s chin with the pommel of his sword, lifting him up in the air and sending him crashing down. Even dazed from the blow to his jaw, he got up and turned to run, to get clear of the next attack. His head was spinning, and in his confusion he ran right into the Juruga’s swinging sword. He felt it bite into his left shoulder, and he fell to the ground.
A bellowing laugh rumbled out of the Juruga as Jankaro got to his feet. He looked over his shoulder in horror to see that his arm was gone. It was on the ground next to him. He could barely stand as he looked up and saw the sword swinging down again. This time it severed his right arm, and he heard the thud as it hit the ground.
“No,” he breathed helplessly as the blood surged out of his arm sockets.
He dropped to his knees in defeat, and saw only with tunnel vision as his head lolled back. He watched the Juruga drop his sword and stand directly above him. He reached down and pulled Jankaro’s sword from his abdomen with a groan. He grabbed Jankaro by the throat and lifted him up. Jankaro gave in to the temptation to look into the Juruga’s glowing eyes, and he surrendered to the demon’s paralyzing spell. The Juruga cut off his legs one by one and they dropped to the ground. He threw his torso up in the air, and as it dropped back down, he swung again and severed the head.
Jankaro’s spirit floated above the scene of his grisly death. He was surrounded by light, and he watched as the
Juruga picked up his leg and flung it into the river. Then he flung his other leg into the river, followed by both his arms, and then his limbless torso. He took Jankaro’s head and tossed it up in the air. As it descended, he kicked it into the river with a splash, where it joined the rest of his body parts. The Juruga pulled the knife from his chest, and stuffed it into his belt, along with Jankaro’s sword. He picked up his own sword, sheathed it, and stalked away into the forest.
Jankaro’s spirit hovered over his body parts as they floated down the river. No thoughts or emotions passed through him; his spirit seemed to be in a state of paralysis brought on by the images of his dismemberment. The wind blew cold as he floated upon it.
Up ahead he saw the water flowing into the mouth of a cave. As his spirit and body parts drew closer, a cold fear awakened his emotions. The face of a giant snake was carved into the stone around the mouth of the cave. Its mouth remained open to swallow the contents of the river, including all of Jankaro’s body parts. As he reached the cave entrance, a wave of blackness surrounded him, and he lost all consciousness as the stone serpent swallowed him.
Jankaro sat on a fluffy, white cloud, surrounded by the bright blue summer sky and caressed by a gentle breeze. The sun glared in the distance, but its brilliance did not bother him. Flowers sprang up from the cloud in a circle around him and blossomed in many colors. Their sweet fragrances filled him with a joy far beyond even his most ecstatic childhood romp through the jungle. Twenty hummingbirds hovered around him and drank from the nectar of the flowers and he merged with their delight. In front of him, a jaguar’s head popped up from below the cloud, a gleaming white diamond resting in the center of his forehead. His whole body rose above the surface of the cloud, and it was not the body of a jaguar, but the body of a man dressed in white. He made several gestures with his hands and shapes with his fingers. He stared unblinking at Jankaro as he spoke, “Peace will follow you and the wicked shall fall defeated at your feet. Follow me.”
He turned and climbed a ladder made of green vines bearing pink flowers and surrounded by hummingbirds, butterflies and bees. Jankaro rose and followed him higher up into the sky.
They emerged onto a broader cloud and many people surrounded them, their faces glowing like suns. They gathered around Jankaro and sang a slow song in layered harmonies that turned his whole being into a pool of pure bliss. The jaguar man whispered to him softly, “Love is in your heart.”
His soul was soothed as the light grew brighter and brighter, and all he knew was pure light. He merged with the song and the light, and he rested peacefully.
Jankaro awoke to water lapping against his cheek. He felt a strange aching sensation in his neck. He opened his eyes to see his body parts strewn about the shoreline of an underground stream. Memories of a long nightmare echoed across his sea of inner bliss. Was this life or death or something else? He didn’t know what was real. There was a tornado in his head, blending the emotions and the memories in one big swirl. His mother and father, Rongo, the battles with the Cruxai, the Ashtari, the snake, the people of Galdea, the war. It was all there inside his severed head, and seemed to flow in and out of his ears. He felt the caress of the cool water on his cheek and it soothed him.
Then he heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching. A man dressed in white came and stood over his left leg. When he kneeled down to pick it up, Jankaro saw that he had the body of a man and the head of a black horse, like one he had seen the Galdeans ride. He picked up the leg, then walked around behind Jankaro, out of his view, and all was quiet again.
Another man dressed in white came to pick up his right leg. He had the head of a fish with pink and red highlights on his forehead and cheeks and scaly protuberances sticking out in all directions. As he picked up the leg, he made eye contact with Jankaro, opened his mouth and made a deep, rumbling “gah” sound, as if to greet him. He took the leg and walked behind Jankaro, out of sight.
A man with the head of a monkey came and picked up his right arm; he looked just like one of the gibbons that Jankaro would imitate when swinging through the trees outside Olaya
.
After the monkey man departed, a man with the head of a frog picked up Jankaro’s left arm. He looked like a poison frog, as the skin of his face glistened with bright yellows, reds and blues. After he disappeared from view, the four of them began humming a simple melody together. Though his arms and legs were unattached, he felt a tingling sensation in his fingers and toes.
Another man entered, singing in a low baritone voice. He knelt down over Jankaro’s torso. He had the head of a ram with great, thick, curling horns. He looked into Jankaro’s watchful eyes with ancient eyes that held knowledge and strength. And as he sang along in his deep baritone voice, his ram tongue wagged in and out. He picked up Jankaro’s torso with reverence and sang directly into the heart as he followed the others out of Jankaro’s view.
The last of them entered, and it was the jaguar man with the gleaming white diamond on his forehead that Jankaro had encountered in the clouds. He knelt down and rolled Jankaro’s head so that his eyes faced up. He put one hand on each side of his head, picked it up, and as he stood up he held it in front of his face. For a moment they held one another’s gaze. There was strength, compassion, and a deep knowing in the man’s jaguar eyes, and Jankaro felt a spontaneous kinship.
“These are dark times. Dark times call for light. We are the embodiment of light and we will build you a new body, filled with light,” said the jaguar man.
He turned to his left, turned Jankaro’s head around so they had the same perspective, held it at chest height, and walked forward along the bank of the underground river. Up ahead, there was a bright light coming from a tunnel to the left. The chanting from the other five emanated in a celestial harmony, and Jankaro could feel his body parts being graced by a divinity vastly rich and unknowable. The jaguar chanted along with them in a language that twisted and clicked. He whispered the word “victory” into the back of Jankaro’s skull.