by Sam Puma
“Juitao! Unbind me right now!” There was no pretending any more. He was enraged and he let it show. He kicked the bowl of food and it went flying all over the ground. Liana ran away as Juitao approached. Jorobai pulled as hard as he could and tried to pull the post out of the ground, all the while cursing at Juitao.
“You’ve done it again, Jorobai.” Juitao smiled with compassion and wore the face of a caring father who needed to discipline his son. Jorobai didn’t believe it for one second. He took two steps and tried to kick Juitao in the face, but his bindings held tight, and he came up short. The smile faded from Juitao’s face as he lowered his voice and continued. “That’s the second time you’ve run away and gotten tangled up with the vines and I’ve had to use the Amoza to save you. I brought you in and welcomed you and your cat friend. I fed you and cared for you as one of my own. I have offered you a place in my village with my people. Have we not been kind to you?” He waved his hand, gesturing at his people. They stopped what they were doing and watched from a distance.
“You were not given permission to drink the Amoza!” Jorobai shouted as he tried in vain to break free from his bindings and strangle Juitao. “You are cursed!”
“No, Jorobai.” Juitao crossed his arms and stepped up closer, just beyond Jorobai’s reach. “It is you who are cursed. On this island, there is a delicate balance. You have upset the balance. Last night, you disturbed Jugon Drogon. That was foolish. We have agreements with Jugon Drogon and he is not to be disturbed at this time. He will come for the celebration on the next full moon. When he arrives, you will meet him. Not before! So just relax, Jorobai. We will keep you here and take care of you until Jugon Drogon comes. But we can’t trust you any more because you are always running around and causing problems. We must keep you tied up here and feed you until Jugon Drogon arrives.”
Juitao walked away and Jorobai sat down on his wooden planks and watched the ants crawl around. He didn’t want to meet Jugon Drogon. He didn’t believe Jankaro was in that cave. He was stuck in a cruel game with Juitao and the only way out was to get off the island. But how? He was desperate again. He could think of only one hope. “Gondaro!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “Gondaro!” He kept calling, hoping for a response, but there was none.
Two of the hunters were grumbling about the noise and moved menacingly towards his hut, looking as if they were getting ready to beat him until he lost consciousness.
“No!” Juitao commanded them to stop. “Let him call for his cat all he wants. He needs to work up an appetite.”
In the evening Liana brought a steaming hot bowl of soup. She was apprehensive about approaching him as the scorn burned in his eyes. He smelled the herbs and spices, and when she brought it before him, he saw the freshly harvested yucca floating in the bowl along with the chopped and cooked flesh of the palika. Jorobai knew one thing for certain: he wasn’t eating any more palika. Not if it was served to him by Juitao or any of his people. He was done with them. As she lifted the spoon to his mouth, he turned his head away. “Jorobai, you must eat. You need your strength.” His response was a cold stare. Liana shrugged and hurried back to her hut where Juitao sat and watched.
Liana handed the bowl to Juitao. He shook his head in disappointment as he stood and made his way over to Jorobai. He walked casually as he sauntered over. All the while Jorobai’s eyes shot daggers right through him. When he stepped on to the platform of Jorobai’s hut, Jorobai stood and confronted him. They stood face to face and Jorobai growled at him through clenched teeth.
“Jorobai, you must eat your dinner. I don’t want to see you go hungry. I must care for you.”
Jorobai flung his head forward into Juitao’s face and struck him in the nose with his forehead. Juitao was stunned and fell backwards as the bowl dropped down to the floor, spilling the soup all over. Jorobai tried to continue his attack by kicking at Juitao but he was unable to reach him, because he had reached the end of his rope. Juitao got up slowly, gathered his wits and wiped away the blood that ran from his nose onto his mouth and chin. His best five hunters rushed over with their spears to see that he was okay. They looked up at Jorobai with their eyes full of menace.
“Jorobai!” Juitao spoke with a scolding tone as he looked up at him. “I tried to be kind to you but you leave me no choice.”
Juitao instructed his hunters to bind each of Jorobai’s ankles to opposing corners of the hut. He struggled but could not resist. When they finished, he was in the middle of the hut with just enough slack to lie down and stand up, but that was all. His wrists were getting very sore from all the struggling and still he could not pry them free. The ropes seemed to bind him tighter against his efforts.
Juitao motioned to Liana for another bowl of soup. She ladled out a fresh bowl, brought it to him, and hurried away. Juitao handed it to one of the hunters and instructed him to feed Jorobai. Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain began to pour down, and Juitao and his hunters sheltered in Jorobai’s hut. “There are many ways to eat soup,” said Juitao. “I can show you all of them if you want. But first I want to give you every chance to make this easy for all of us.” He motioned to the hunter with the bowl, and he held a spoonful of soup up to Jorobai’s mouth.
“You are a disease, Juitao,” Jorobai spat out the words as he dodged away from the advancing spoon. “Release me and I will never return. You are not worth my time, and I am not worth yours.”
“Oh but you are, my friend. You are worth my time. I want to share you with Jugon Drogon. You can’t leave before he comes. You must be here for the festival! And until that day comes, I will take very good care of you.” Juitao smiled and nodded and seemed to be savoring every word he spoke. “Men, make sure he eats the whole bowl.”
Juitao stepped back, and the other four hunters took hold of his head and shoulders and forced him to his knees. He resisted, but his neck muscles were no match for their free hands and arms. One of them took hold of his face and forced his mouth open. Then the one with the soup dumped a spoonful in his mouth. Then they forced his mouth closed. He caught them by surprise the first time, and spat it all over the hunter who was feeding him. The hunter set the bowl down and slapped his face.
They held him steady, held his mouth open and dumped in another spoonful. A pile of hands clamped over his mouth, plugged his nose and covered his eyes. “Eat, eat, eat, eat,” they chanted and held him there in darkness. His frustration turned to panic and they left him no choice. He chewed on the meat and swallowed down the hot soup.
They lifted their hands as the hunter with the bowl readied the next spoonful. “You want to eat it or do you want us to help you again?”
Juitao stood back and watched. Jorobai looked up at him and realized there would be no more negotiation. His heart sank as he conceded and nodded his head dejectedly. They all hovered around him while the hunter fed him the rest of the soup, bite by bite. By the time it was dark, his belly was full and they had left him alone. Juitao was the last to go. “Thank you for eating, Jorobai. I want to show Jugon Drogon that my tribe is well fed and happy. That will make him happy.”
As the torches went out and the whispers subsided, Jorobai lay down and pretended to sleep like all the others. On the inside he was seething with rage. It boiled inside his stomach. He wanted to break free and run to Juitao’s hut and strangle him to death in front of his wife and children. The rage was so intense it made him sick. He vomited up all the soup they had fed him all over the floor of his hut. He hoped no one noticed, but of course it was none other than Juitao who approached in the darkness with a torch in his hand. He was angry and whispered bitter curses in his own tongue that Jorobai could not understand. He kicked Jorobai in the mouth. His lips pushed back into his teeth and his mouth filled with blood. Juitao pulled out Jankaro’s knife, held it up to the side of Jorobai’s head, and sliced off the top of his left ear. Jorobai cried out in pain as blood trickled down the side of his head.
Jorobai felt defeated. As the hours of the night passed and his wounds closed, his mood darkened. He couldn’t defeat Juitao with his body. He would need to use his mind. He had to convince Juitao’s wife or one of the other villagers to set him free. He would need to return the deception that Juitao had used on him. It was all out war now, and he wasn’t giving in until it was finished.
The Test
“Since the war began, a new culture has developed,” said Anhael, as he led Jankaro up the steps to his new dwelling. “Galdeans make it their highest priority to care for their soldiers, for we are the only hope for victory.” They emerged into a large rectangular space. On one end there was a large bed, big and thick, the soft contents held together by tightly stitched cloth and covered by decorative blankets. “Feel how soft.”
Jankaro felt it and thought if he lay down he would sink right into it. “It’s wide enough for two, if you know what I mean.”
Jankaro didn’t quite know what he meant. He was in the middle of puberty when the snake swallowed him, and he had been caught up in the drama of the war ever since he arrived in Galdea. It wasn’t until he was hiking alongside Janesa that he had felt what it was like to dwell in the body of a grown man.
Anhael walked to the other end of the chamber and opened a door. “This is the rinse room. You can pull this lever and warm water descends for you to bathe in. We have people tending fires in the floors above to keep this water warm for us. It’s one of the benefits of being a soldier and putting your life at risk. Here is some liquid soap to clean your body.” He held the bottle to Jankaro’s face and when he inhaled it smelled like flowers. “Over here you can relieve yourself and when you are done you pull this lever and it disappears.” Jankaro was mystified by the new technology.
Back in the main room he showed him the hearth and a cabinet full of teas, earthen mugs and medicines. Then he showed him a dresser full of soldier uniforms. Anhael showed Jankaro one with elaborate designs. “This one is for special occasions. When we next defeat the Cruxai, we will have a celebration, and you will wear this to the feast.”
Anhael walked over to one of three shuttered openings in the wall and opened it to let in the cool night air. Together they looked down at the central square where all was quiet save for two soldiers standing watch and speaking in whispers. There was a large fountain in the middle and at the top of the small pyramid of piled stones was a large ram standing with his eyes gazing toward the front gate of Caladon.
“The people here revere the sheep,” said Anhael. “Do you remember when we came here on the wagon? Did you see the sheep roaming the hillsides?”
Jankaro felt an aching tug in his heart from where the ram man had placed the arrowhead inside him.
“Their blood is poison to the Cruxai,” Anhael explained. “They kill them and eat them and then they become weak and die. In this way they will be right beside us, defending our kingdom.”
They were silent for a moment, then Anhael turned to go. “Rest and gather your strength. Meet me down by the statue at dawn.”
When Jankaro was alone he lay down on the bed and sank into a softness that swallowed him like quicksand.
The dawn was dark with clouds as the rain poured steadily down. Jankaro saw Anhael’s figure glowing from the other side of the courtyard. Together they walked past stone walls carved with ancient symbols, and through elaborately carved archways. They entered a large chamber containing various machines Jankaro did not recognize. The pile of yanigo bark in the middle of the room caught Jankaro’s attention. He ran over and picked it up.
He felt it with his hands. He closed his eyes and focused on the connection between his skin and the skin of the tree. He felt the sap sticking to his fingers. “This is too thick,” he said. “We need to cut it into thinner strips so we can wrap it around my skin and fasten it down tight. I want to wear it and still move freely.”
“Might crumble if we slice it too thin,” said Anhael.
“I don’t think it will.”
“Let me help you with that,” said Orion as he entered behind them. He looked at Jankaro and knocked on his wooden leg. “I’ve been spending a lot of time in here with Anhael getting to know these machines. Let’s put it on the belt cutter.” He turned to Anhael. “Jankaro can set the depth. You and I will crank while he feeds it through.”
Orion walked over to the machine. He seemed to be getting better at walking on his wooden leg. He noticed Jankaro watching him.
“See the strings around my fingers?”
Jankaro saw that there were very thin strands that ran around the fingers of his left hand down to his left calf and foot.
“They help me to control the knee and ankle joints. If I am in battle and I need to use my arm a lot, I can lock the leg, like this…” said Orion. He lifted his hand up, spread his fingers and pointed them downwards. Immediately five rings slid off and the wooden leg recoiled the wires. “When I want to unlock my leg again and walk smoothly, I reach down and put the rings back on. I’m still not what I was before, but I know I can fight, and I can ride.” He turned back to the machine. “So here it is, the belt cutter. The big wheel makes the belt spin. The small wheel sets the depth of the blade.”
Jankaro examined the shiny metal blade and reached out toward it. “I wouldn’t touch that!” Anhael leapt forward and pulled Jankaro’s hand away. “That blade is sharper than any Cruxai sword you may have seen. If you gently brush it with your skin, your blood will spill all over the floor.”
“Turn the wheel to set the depth,” Orion continued. “See the space between the blade and the belt? That will be the thickness of the bark that we cut.”
Jankaro cranked the wheel and set the depth. “There.”
“Now you will hold the bark on the belt. You must press down on it and guide it through the blade while we crank the big wheel and spin the belt. Be very careful not to cut your fingers off! Ready?”
Jankaro held the bark on the belt. Anhael and Orion cranked on both sides, causing the belt to spin. Jankaro pressed down on the bark and fed it through the blade, which cut the bark slowly and evenly. They kept cranking, breathing hard with the effort. Jankaro kept the pressure on, slowly walking his hands from one end of the bark to the other as it crept through. Just as they were about to come to the end, Anhael yelled. “That’s it! Stop!” They stopped cranking just as they were about to finish the cut. Anhael ran around behind the blade and pulled on the bark until it sliced all the way through.
Jankaro went around and picked up the bark that was cut to the depth he had chosen. He tried wrapping it around his arm. “It’s still too thick,” he said, walking over to the small crank and turning it to lower the blade even further.
“So thin,” said Orion. “I don’t know how well that will do for armor.”
“I want it to be the way it was shown to me during my time with the elder seed,” said Jankaro. “I met my grandfathers and they wrapped it around me.” He picked up the length of bark and set it on the belt for a second pass. Orion and Anhael obliged and set to cranking the belt. They passed the bark through again. Jankaro went around behind and pulled the last bit through the blade then picked up the bark and wrapped it around his arm. “Just right.”
“Don’t touch that small crank,” said Anhael. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
They worked for a few hours, sending one strip after another through the belt while Orion regaled them with his tales of growing up in Dorfin. “He threw the stone as hard as he could and it hit me right in the back of the head. But it didn’t knock me down. My mother asked me about the blood trickling down the back of my back and I said I fell off my horse. I brushed her aside an
d went to my room to sink my teeth into a warm slice of old man Tyler’s first peach pie of the season.” He paused and inhaled the yanigo’s scent. “It smells so good! I like your grandfathers already. I wish they had come to me during my time with the elder seed and showed me this before I got my leg destroyed by that acid spit.”
“The elder seed works in ways we do not understand. There are so many gifts we have yet to unfold. I look forward to strapping this bark on for the next battle,” Anhael said. He picked up the strip of yanigo after they had finished running it through the belt cutter and sniffed it. “Smells like victory.”
Jankaro picked up the bark. “I was in a place far below the earth, walking in the land of the dead. My grandfather opened the wall, pulled out a pile of strips of bark just like this, but it was all one long strip. He held one end of it up to my fingertip, it wrapped itself all around me and became my skin.” Jankaro held a piece up to his wrist. “It doesn’t seem to want to do that now.” He missed the jungle as he looked at the bark in his hands and traced the lines that ran along it like rivers. “Will you help me wrap myself up in it?”
Anhael and Orion came to him and helped cover him in the bark. Anhael pulled out a needle and stiched it in some places so that it would hold tightly. They fashioned smaller strips for his fingers, and a hood with eyeholes to protect his face. “We could make shapes for shields and solid armor, then apply heat and see if it holds a solid shape.” Orion stood back with his hands on his hips as Anhael applied the finishing touches. “Time to send out a team to start harvesting.”
“Not yet,” said Anhael. “First we have to test it.” He finished tying off his last stitch, then stepped back and admired his handiwork. He rested his hands on Jankaro’s shoulders. “Are you ready?”