by Sam Puma
Jorobai returned to consciousness but could not open his eyes. Lying on his back he heard the familiar chorus of insects around him. “Uhhhh…” he sputtered as he tried to make a sound to test if he was still alive and in his body. He felt exhausted and heavy, and had no energy to move. He wiggled his fingertips and they still felt swollen. He reached up to his face and felt something covering his eyes. He poked at the pile of mud on his face and wiped it away. He worked his eyelids for a while and was able to open his eyes again, just barely. He looked around to see that he was back in the village. His joints were still stiff from the bees’ venom but he could move enough to prop himself up into a seated position. His head started spinning, he felt sick and vomited all over the wood planks of his shelter. He felt miserable and his head drooped. There was mud piled on his knees that must have been some sort of medicinal compress applied by one of Juitao’s people. He was too sick to do anything and collapsed down on his back.
He lay on his back and rode the waves of pain and nausea. He felt Juitao’s attention on him from somewhere nearby, but he was still too sick to do anything. He despaired over losing Gondaro. He hated to lose such a powerful ally, but he thought maybe it was meant to be. Maybe Gondaro’s purpose was to guide him to this village and that was all, and Juitao would somehow help him now. But still, it was hard for him to accept what Juitao had done that morning, how he had driven Gondaro away. Jorobai felt a wave of resentment and coughed up some phlegm that drooled down his cheek. He watched as Juitao’s wife came and wiped his face clean, poured water into his mouth, spoke soothing words, and walked away. He had to abandon the strain of thinking and rest to restore his strength.
As the day passed, his body’s reaction to the venom receded, but by sunset he was still too heavy and stiff to stand. Juitao approached with the bottle of Amoza. He greeted Jorobai with a big smile and patted him on the shoulder.
“My friend Jorobai,” he said. “I am glad you have returned. I was sad to see you run away. I sent my men to help you. As I waited here, the Amoza called out to me. I decided to drink a little bit, to see if it would help me find you, bring you back and keep you safe.”
Jorobai’s eyes opened as wide as the swelling permitted as his body flushed with anger.
“No!” It was difficult to speak through his weakness and swelling but he wanted Juitao to know that he had trespassed on his territory. He reached for the bottle with his swollen hand but Juitao shifted it away from his reach.
“You ran away and I was surprised that you left this here. Now it belongs to the village. But we want you to be here with us, so I used it to help me find you.
“I took a drink of it and I turned into a bird to come and find you. I was a big blue bird, a palika, bigger than all the others, big like a man. I flew up in the sky, and flew all over the island to find you. My men tracked you, but you took a dangerous path. Eventually they found you and carried you back. But your spirit was drifting up out of your body in the form of a monkey. I caught you in my talons, and I put your spirit back inside your body. I am sorry if I hurt you my friend, I only wanted to help.”
Jorobai noticed that the feathers adorning Juitao’s head and shoulders looked more beautiful and intricate than before.
“It is good that now we can all be here together without the Ashtari. He was eating all the palika and they were becoming scarce. Those birds are a gift from Jugon Drogon, our protector, and we treasure them.” Juitao reached out and laid his hand on Jorobai’s shoulder. “Trust me, my friend, we will all be much happier here without the Ashtari around.”
Jorobai’s guts churned as his trust for Juitao dwindled, but he didn’t let it show. “Who is Jugon Drogon?”
“Jugon Drogon protects us from the vines. He lives in a cave, high up on that highest peak.” Juitao pointed off into the distance. After having tumbled down into the island’s deepest valley, Jorobai had yet to scale its highest peak. He didn’t know who or what Jugon Drogon was. When he heard Juitao and the villagers praise him, he had made the simple assumption that he was the deity of the island. But now it seemed that perhaps Jugon Drogon was a being of the flesh. Jorobai realized that a visit to that cave could be the key to finding his son.
Yanigo
Every day, Anhael led Jankaro to a new chamber, climbing more stairs each time. And each day there was a little more light trickling through openings in the walls of the new chamber.
“To prepare your eyes for the light of day, they need to gradually adjust, or you might go blind,” Anhael explained. He brought food each day, but not much company.
Jankaro longed to be among people again. He dreamed of winning the war against the Cruxai, finding Jorobai and returning to Olaya. But he knew that a brutal war stood between him and his dream. He thought of his bargain with the snake, but questioned the logic of honoring it.
On the tenth day, sunbeams streaked through the upper reaches of the new chamber. He reached up and bathed his fingertips in sunlight, and felt the excitement of that young boy from Olaya welling up inside him. He felt the sun’s heat from through the stone walls, and knew that he had finally reached the surface. He longed to go outside.
Anhael appeared, and stood in the doorway. “In Calixo, they call him king. Here we call him war chief. Before, in times of peace, we called him peace chief. Oranos has come to see you.” He stepped out and Oranos entered, wearing the crown on his head. Jankaro stood and held the king’s penetrating gaze.
The king reached into a pouch strapped to his belt, pulled out a brown seed, and held it up between his thumb and index finger for Jankaro to see.
“There is only one elder seed. Through this seed our fates are bound together.”
Jankaro stared at the elder seed and tried to suppress his anxiety around being so close to the crown. His eyes darted from the seed to the crown and back again. The king followed his eyes, and put the seed away. He pulled the crown off of his head.
“Some say that I should wear a crown of gold, and try to make amends with Agustin. That if I surrendered to his rule, he would call back his Cruxai. But I will not do it. This crown of petrified wood and feathers was worn by my father before me, my grandfather, my grandfather’s grandfather, and so on for many generations back, going all the way back to the time before Caladon was built.”
Jankaro gazed at the crown intently. His mouth was dry and sweat dripped down his brow. To his horror, he could still feel the imprint of the snake’s bargain, like a wound that never healed. “Go ahead, touch the crown. May it bless you in battle.”
“Bring me the crown!” Jankaro heard the snake’s hiss echo in his mind.
In a far corner of his heart, he could hear her quite clearly. He fought to conceal the gut-wrenching sensation from the king. As he stretched his hand forward, he considered: kill the king, escape with the crown, give it to the snake, then find Jorobai and return home. After everything he had been through with the Galdeans and what he had seen of his mother’s death in the chamber, there was no way he could abide by the snake’s bargain. If the snake came for him, he would fight back and defy her, and he would likely get help from his fellow Galdean soldiers to defend himself. He steadied his wits, reached out, and touched the crown. “I will fight for you, my king,” he said with conviction, but a jolt of cold energy raced up his spine.
“There is one thing I must ask you, Jankaro of Olaya,” said Oranos, as he returned the crown to his head.
Jankaro was nervous when he heard Olaya mentioned. He thought the king would ask him to explain how he had made his way from Olaya to Calixo. The king paced the chamber as he packed his pipe with tobacco and lit it. He blew puffs of smoke all around the chamber, filling it with smoke. It burned Jankaro’s throat and he coughed. He was sweating more profusely as he nervously anticipated the king’s question.
“When a soldier takes the elder seed into the chamber, he becomes one of us, and he comes back w
ith a gift that helps us to fight the enemy.” Oranos blew smoke all over him, covering him with smoke from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. “Did you bring back a gift?”
Jankaro was taken aback by the question. He wasn’t sure what the king was asking, or how to respond. He told him of the spirit doctors who had reassembled his body and filled it with their gifts.
“Hmm… I don’t think butterflies, coins and fruit are going to help us with this war effort,” said Oranos. “Think back a little further, tell me from when you ate the elder seed to the time you spit it out.”
Jankaro retraced his memories. It was difficult to remember anything before that moment on the stone slab when he was filled with such bright light. He remembered taking the seed from Anhael, walking down a spiral cave for hours, meeting his grandfathers…
“Aha! Yes! That’s it! My grandfathers gave me a very powerful gift!”
“What was it, my son? Tell me.” Oranos leaned in. “Anhael,” he called into the hallway. “Jankaro has a gift to share with us.”
“After I ate the elder seed, I encountered my two grandfathers. They gave me a new skin, made from the bark of the yanigo. When I fought with the Juruga, he spit on me, but I was not harmed. His spit trickled down and had no effect.”
“We have no armor that doesn’t melt away from that acid spit,” said Anhael, stepping into the room.
“Now we do!” The king was ecstatic. “Did you hear that Anhael?! The elder seed has delivered again! Find the tree. Make the armor. Test it.” The king placed his hand on Jankaro’s shoulder. “You are now a soldier. You have my blessing. Go with Anhael and show him the tree and test it with our captive to be sure it is true.” The king’s eyes gleamed at Jankaro before he turned, left the chamber and strode rapidly away.
“Tomorrow is a big day for you,” said Anhael. “You are going to see the sun.” He set down a meal and left Jankaro dreaming of victory and feeling the sun so close he could taste it.
When he stayed in Calixo, the lifeless structures there had made Jankaro wonder why anyone would want to live there. But to him, Caladon was a colossal paradise riding in the clouds. The city was a true fortress, guarded on three sides by steep cliffs, and in the front by a wide chasm with only one bridge to enter the city. But its natural defenses were not what made it beautiful. It was so high up that it often sat in the clouds, and rain fell all throughout the year. Lush vines covered every wall, and fruit trees were all around. Bright green grasses and wildflowers sprung up between the stones of the pathways. It lacked the activity and noise of Calixo. The people of Caladon lived a slower life. But the shadow of war hung over them just the same.
When Jankaro and Anhael emerged from the base of the pyramid, the sun shone upon them gently from behind the morning dew and fog.
“Take a look around the city, enjoy the fresh air and stretch your legs. I will meet you back here at midday,” said Anhael as he strode away. Jankaro closed his eyes, tilted his head back with his arms outstretched and felt the warmth of the sun on his face as tiny droplets of mist tickled his skin and made him smile.
“If only we were not beset by this war,” he said to himself. “What a paradise this would be.” Jankaro set off from the pyramid and strode through the streets in his new blue soldier’s uniform, and the people greeted him with respect in their eyes.
It wasn’t like in Calixo, where the people could not see him. Even after Altamont’s forge melted the last of the snake’s slime from his body, the people scarcely acknowledged him. But perhaps the people of Caladon would have treated him like an invisible man if he were not now one of their elite soldiers. Young women looked at him with sparkles in their eyes.
Up ahead he saw a familiar face.
“You’ve gotten bigger!” Orion strode forward and embraced Jankaro in a bear hug in the middle of the street. “But you’re still not as big as me!”
“But I bet I could still carry you!” Jankaro was glad to see his ally from the battle at Dorfin. “Hey! You got your leg back!”
“Oh no, my friend. Sadly, the Cruxai still have it.” The smile disappeared from his face. “They will likely try to kill me with my own bones sharpened into spearheads. But look!” His excitement returned as he pulled up his pantleg and knocked on his wooden calf. “A wooden leg! I’ll never be what I once was. But I can still fight. And I have you to thank for that. I’ll never forget it.” Orion clapped Jankaro on the back, then walked off into the morning mist.
Jankaro strolled through Caladon for a while. It was pleasant at first, such a marvel of stonework blended with such lush and abundant flora. But every time he met someone’s eyes, he could feel the strain, the weight of the war. He picked up on the people’s feelings and it was beginning to overwhelm him; he felt a great burden. He walked all the way to the back of the city, opposite the main gate where there were fewer structures, to get some space. He stopped at the short wall and peered over. A gust of wind almost knocked him off balance as he looked down a steep hillside that led down to the vast body of water that stretched all the way to the horizon. He was awestruck. To him it was a giant river, and the opposite bank was farther away than his eyes could see. He thought of his father, and what Rongo had told him about their voyage.
“Jorobai, steer your canoe this way. You will find me here in this mountain fortress they call Caladon,” he whispered.
The sun’s morning climb had slowed, and it was nearing midday. A break in the clouds revealed the glowing yellow disk, and Jankaro had to duck his head away from its brightness and shield his eyes with his arms.
“You look like a Cruxai, cowering from the sun like that.” Prince Titus approached and hovered over him. “No time for sightseeing, soldier boy. Get busy now and attend to your duties.” Jankaro’s lip curled up in anger but he thought it would be best to not make trouble. So he kept his gaze down, and squinted away the brightness as he hurried away.
“We will leave the fortress through the tunnels below us,” said Anhael as they sat side by side on the steps of the pyramid. “Some of which may already be familiar.” Jankaro listened while his eyes continued to feast on the beauty of Caladon: the stonework, the flora, the women. “We will leave the safety of the tunnels at first light and see if we can find and harvest the yanigo bark, then get back before dark. There are only so many Cruxai you and I and my helpers can handle. We’re not looking for a fight.”
“We could bring a bow and arrow and pick them off from the tunnel one by one,” said Jankaro as he turned to look at Anhael.
“We don’t want them knowing where our secret entrances and exits are. Out at dawn, back by dusk. Got it?”
“Got it.” Jankaro frowned and looked away. He wanted to test his new fighting skills in the real world.
“Plenty of fighting coming your way, my friend,” said Anhael. “The horde could be hitting our gates as soon as the next new moon. We will harvest the bark, make the armor, and test it. After that you have some serious training to catch up on.”
Jankaro followed Anhael for the rest of the day as they assembled tools, supplies and weapons for their day trip into the jungle. When it was all prepared, they retired to the pyramid to rest. Jankaro’s heart pined to romp in the jungle again.
Anhael introduced Jankaro to his three helpers, Maximus, Franco and Janesa. They were all of Jankaro’s age. Maximus was darker than the people of Calixo, and looked at home amongst the Caladonians. Franco had his hair flipped to one side and greeted Jankaro with a gentle handshake and a wink. Janesa was a striking beauty with the dark skin, long black hair and deep brown of eyes of a jungle woman. She was Jankaro’s height, taller than any jungle woman he had ever known, and he suspected that she too had spent time in one of the chambers and grown taller.
Anhael led Jankaro and the others down through a network of tunnels that reminded Jankaro of the ones he encountered through his experience in the chamber. Th
ey reached a wall that appeared to be a dead end. Anhael instructed everyone to extinguish their torches. They waited in silence for a while.
“I can feel the light coming,” Anhael said in a soft whisper. “When we get out there we must be very careful. Are there any Cruxai on the other side of this door? Likely not, but we won’t know until we open it. Everyone get your weapons ready.”
Jankaro pulled out his high-powered Galdean bow, all carved with runes by warriors of olden times, and arrows with arrowheads that looked just like the one the ram man had embedded in his heart. He longed to fire those arrows, and to see the jungle, to swing with the monkeys, to croak with the frogs, to play tricks on lizards…
“Jankaro,” said Anhael, as a thin beam of light trickled into the cave. “If we don’t find the tree in half a day, we need to return. We don’t want to be out here at night.”
Jankaro nodded.
“If they are out there, they are falling asleep right now,” Anhael continued. “There might be no Cruxai for miles and miles. But sometimes groups splinter off from the horde and rampage through the villages, from one to the next, taking casualties along the way until a stout village puts an end to them. We may come upon such a group, and these groups vary in size. So everyone keep your eyes peeled and weapons drawn. Sometimes they sleep on the ground and you don’t notice them until you step on them. They are slow to get going, and generally very groggy during the day. If we come upon a large group of them, it’s best to avoid the confrontation and turn back around. Let’s all stick together, understood?”