by Sam Puma
“Keep firing!” This time Titus’ fierce command seemed directed right at him. “At the ones across the chasm! Keep firing at them and take out as many as we can!”
The Cruxai loaded their bows with spent Galdean arrows but their aim was poor and they were in an exposed position. With their piles of arrows, the Galdean archers stood on the wall and picked them off one by one. Eventually they came to their senses, and the Jurugas ordered their retreat. Titus kept the archers firing on them until they were out of range.
“Now lets head down below!” he shouted.
Jankaro turned around to see the front courtyard full of Cruxai. Titus grabbed hold of the rope that was behind him and dropped down to the clashing frenzy below. The other archers grabbed their own ropes and lowered themselves down. Jankaro found the rope behind him and slid down.
He landed in the middle of a bunch of Cruxai waiting to be killed. They swung at him with their crude weapons but he simply followed Orion’s advice of “block, kill” and they were all easily dispatched. One on a lizard mount surprised him but was soon disposed of as well. He was side by side with the other soldiers who worked their swords just as skillfully as their bows. They fanned out and marched forward, deftly clearing their way through the Cruxai as they advanced.
Jankaro came upon a Juruga encircled by seven soldiers. Orion and Rafael coordinated the effort to put the lock on its head. They came at him from behind and dodged his spit when he attacked. They were having a hard time getting close because the accuracy of his spit had wiped out all their shields. Orion hobbled around coaching Rafael and swatting away oncoming Cruxai. Rafael held the lock and danced around the Juruga waving his sword while the other soldiers poked at him. Rafael looked for an opportunity to jump up and secure it to the Juruga’s head.
Jankaro was fully decked out in his yanigo armor, and he knew this was his moment to step in. He jumped in front of Rafael and attacked the Juruga. The Juruga blocked his attack and knocked him to the ground. Jankaro got up and the spit caught him directly in the chest.
It trickled down his armor and did not harm him. The Juruga was shocked. Rafael leapt up, applied the lock and leapt back down his back before the Juruga could swat him. Orion and the other soldiers charged him together and brought him to the ground.
Titus appeared suddenly and chopped off his head.
“What are you doing?!” Rafael shouted at him. “We had him captured! You cursed idiot!”
“We have to kill them all!” Titus screamed as he spun around and executed a Cruxai that tried to attack him form behind. “No more prisoners!”
“I won’t tolerate your insubordination!” Rafael stepped toward Titus looking like he would strike him with his sword.
As Titus and Rafael squared off and prepared to fight each, Jankaro drew in a breath as he glanced around and noticed that the battle was nearly over and the threat had subsided. Most of the Cruxai had fallen, and the Galdean soldiers were having an easy time of finishing off those that remained.
“My sons,” Oranos’ voice rang out as he emerged from the pyramid wearing his crown of hard wood and feathers. “We have won. Let go of this dispute, for tomorrow the people will celebrate your victory. Soldiers!” He extended his arms and addressed his army as they finished off the last of the Cruxai. “You have shown great courage in turning away the enemy from this great city. Go and clean yourselves and rest. I will make sure this all gets cleaned up, and tomorrow the people of Caladon will honor you for your victory.”
The king’s words functioned like a salve, but there was an obvious gaping rift that opened between the two brothers. They exchanged a hard glare as they sheathed their swords.
Jankaro was glad the battle was over and that they had won. He was glad that his armor had worked. He looked down at his armor and realized he would need to be careful taking it off because the Juruga’s slimy spit still dribbled down the front.
Orion approached him cautiously. “Don’t let anyone get close to you.” He looked around protectively, prepared to knock anyone away who might unknowingly bump into Jankaro and get burned by the spit. “Come this way. We have a special shower for you.” Orion hooked his fingers into the rings to unlock his knee so he and Jankaro could walk together. They stepped over many Cruxai bodies as they rounded a few turns.
“Stand there.” Orion pointed to a spot on the ground. “Close your eyes.” He pulled on a lever and a heavy stream of water came pouring down on Jankaro from above. He opened up his palms and spun around a few times, letting the fall of water pour over him. “All gone?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
“I prepared this for you because I knew your armor would work.” Anger flashed across Orion’s face. “That Titus,” he snapped. “He is a cursed idiot. He ruined my work with that lock twice now. But you know what? We got what we wanted; that armor of yours works. Now we don’t have to worry about the Juruga’s spit. You took care of that for us. Go get some rest. Anhael left some herbs for you on the bed in your chamber. Chew them up and you will sleep well. You’ll need some energy for tomorrow.”
Jankaro walked up to his rooms alone, while images of the battle flashed through his mind. As he removed his armor and washed off the sweat, he remembered the arrows that sunk into the archers beside him and the look of unbridled rage on Titus’ face as he executed the Juruga. He didn’t want to think about it any more, so he strode over to his bed, seized the herbs, thrust them into his mouth, chewed and swallowed.
Palika’s Curse
Dawn broke. A big palika came in for a landing on a treetop on the hillside of Jugon Drogon’s cave. The rain subsided to a gentle drizzle. Juitao and his men were talking to one another, preparing to depart on their hunt. Jorobai lay in a crumpled heap with a throbbing headache. He was exhausted and his body ached as he watched Juitao through barely parted eyelids.
His hair dangled over his face and tickled in the gentle breeze. Flies gently danced on and off of his forearms. Things that once annoyed him and compelled him to take action now seemed pointless. His situation felt hopeless. Gondaro was gone and likely dead. He was far beyond where anyone from back home could find him. A desperate flicker of hope crossed his mind: maybe Jankaro would come and save him. Maybe Jankaro was in the cave, bound by Jugon Drogon. Or he may have been killed long ago. Maybe Ishikaya was just a crazed shaman, and meddling with his magic potion had simply led him down into the depths of darkness, where another crazed shaman, Juitao, had tied him up.
His heart erupted in sorrow and he cried out to Sagaya. “I need my father!” He said the words silently but the truth shook him and he cried. He made no sound but his stomach heaved with the emotions as the tears streamed down his face. He had buried and mourned for his father when Jankaro was a babe, after those crazed mongrel marauders killed his wife and parents. Now, his devastation was born anew.
“Look at Jorobai,” said Juitao with a smile. “He is sad.” Juitao held his arms behind his back, scrunched up his face, and made loud sounds of mock sobbing. His men laughed.
“When he finishes breakfast, we will head out,” said Juitao as the laughter subsided.
“Don’t cry, Jorobai,” said Liana as she smoothed his hair out of his eyes. She took his arm and helped to sit him up with his back against the post. He looked into the distance past her head as she smiled at him. “Time to eat.”
She held the wooden spoon of food up to his mouth. He chewed the food and swallowed without tasting it. His mind and heart were far away, back in the Olaya of his youth, where he played with his brother by the river and came home to the loving protection and care of his parents.
He remembered the day when Ishikaya arrived in Olaya and his father welcomed him. Together they conspired to hide him up in a tree far outside the village. The mongrels came a few months later. He wondered if Ishikaya had brought them. Had they been coming for him and simply killed all the people who g
ot in their way? Over the years the other men of Olaya had sought out Ishikaya’s shamanic powers for help in finding new women when they were ready. But Jorobai could never seek him out. Somewhere deep inside he blamed Ishikaya for the death of his wife, parents, and many members of his tribe.
The last bit of food slid down his throat while he was lost in memory and he belched. Liana retreated. Juitao and his men began their hike into the jungle, in the direction of Jugon Drogon’s cave.
Jorobai was left to himself. He thought about his mother, Viyasha, and how she had sympathized with Ishikaya when he arrived in Olaya with his son, Kayo. He told them about how his own wife was killed by his persecutors. Shobo didn’t recognize any risk in helping him hide miles outside the village. He made the mistake of thinking the village would be safe when he sent his sons and the other men out on the initiatory hunt. In the dark parts of Jorobai’s heart, he was angry with his father for his role in the chain of events that brought him to this state of despair.
In the light of his heart, he always had compassion for his parents. They died trying to protect the tribe. Many mongrels were dead all around where they had fallen. They and his wife were successful in saving two of the children, Jankaro and Kiara. Jankaro became the aloof wanderer and Kiara was so haunted by what she saw that she was struck dumb for life. He loved both children and had come to accept that his parents were not at fault. The cruel mongrels were at fault.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Jankaro had encountered them in his wanderings and met his mother’s fate. He questioned the logic that had compelled him, in his desperation, to seek out Ishikaya. He had drunk the Amoza and decided to follow the clue that came from what Rongo told him he said in his long sleep: that he was a bird and flew over the water for 40 days to find another land. It seemed to have played out just like that. But instead of finding his son on the other side and bringing him home, he had become enslaved by a crazed shaman.
He wanted to cry out and scream the names of everyone he had lost. He wanted to burn down Juitao’s village with the flames of his anger. He looked around and it seemed that no one was watching him, but occasionally a small child would cast him a sideways glance.
He lost contact with reason and simply brooded. He wallowed in darkness. There was no hope. Jugon Drogon was coming and there was nothing that could be done about it. His fate would claim him in one cycle of the moon.
While Juitao was away for the day, the rains came and went. His wife and some of the other women prepared food, mended clothing and shelters and tended to the children. The men worked on building another hut on the other side of the village. He knew what it was. It was a new longhouse for the tribe to gather. They had been working on it for a while, as Jorobai had been occupying the old one. Before it had seemed that everyone eagerly wanted him to join the tribe and mate with one of the single women. But now that he was bound, everyone turned away from him.
He sat there and waited like a statue. He reminisced about his father and mother. His mother was the matriarch of the tribe. She felt that every child was her own and she always helped the other mothers if ever there was a need. When Ishikaya introduced his adolescent son Kayo, she was overcome with compassion to hear that his mother had been killed. She was ready to shelter them in her own hut.
Jorobai hadn’t known what to think of the strange man from another jungle far to the north. He had always known only the one jungle, and believed that it was all there was. But Ishikaya spoke of his escape through the mountains and the plains and the sight of a river with no other side. It dawned on Jorobai that he was on an island on that same river.
Shobo was the peace chief, the leader of the men among the tribe. Every year he led an initiatory hunt. On the night he died, he had elected to stay in the village and pass on the responsibility of initiating the young men to his sons, Jorobai and Rongo. After the village was destroyed, they gave up the tradition that had been passed down for 12 generations.
From that day forward, they had no tradition for initiating boys into manhood. Jankaro’s day had come, but Jorobai had waited, frozen by his grief. He had wished for a chance to kill the mongrels and take his revenge. That day never came. If they came and took Jankaro, how could they have left no trace? He saw again that it was something his mind could not solve. That was why he sought out Ishikaya. Over the years he had watched as the other men discovered that his magic could help them find new mates. He was never able to go. Part of him always blamed Ishikaya, and the other part refused to let Shalea go. He sent his love to her on the other side, coupled with her in his dreams, and pined for her to return in the flesh. Sometimes he would think he could hear her, but no, it was just the wind or a small bird rustling the fallen leaves.
He was desperate. It was Rongo’s idea, and he trusted his brother. He drank the Amoza and fell asleep for 40 days, journeying on a flight he could not recall, and his brother had prepared his path while he slept. Rongo. He sacrificed his life for Jorobai. As the clouds parted and the sun warmed the afternoon sky, he grieved his brother, and thanked him again.
The sea had taken Rongo but spared Jorobai. He did not know the name of the deity, but he knew that she knew him when she took pity on him and sent the fish people to help him live. They did something to him. They blessed him and gave him strength. Why? So he could wash up on the island to become food for Jugon Drogon?
He looked over at Juitao’s hut. He saw the bottle of Amoza next to Juitao’s bedding. Jorobai drank it two times, and so had Juitao. Both times he turned into a palika. The second time he used Jankaro’s voice to lure him away from Jugon Drogon’s cave. Why? What was he hiding? Jorobai knew they wanted to fatten him up and sacrifice him. In the distance an arrow flew, and a palika fell to the ground.
After a while the day became very hot. He sweated profusely as his nausea gave way to fatigue. His head bobbed and he lost consciousness. Liana gave him some water to drink, and he collapsed down on the planks of the hut. Not even the sting of the ant bites could keep him awake.
He dreamed that his father was sitting in the hut with him. “Father! You must free me!” he cried out. Then Ishikaya walked up to the hut. He placed a palika on the floor and said, “Shobo, kill this bird and eat it.”
Jorobai was shocked to see his father obey Ishikaya’s command. He stalked the bird, took it down and killed it. He pulled out its feathers, chopped it up and seasoned it. He took the feathers and fashioned them into a headdress much like Juitao’s while he boiled the meat with herbs and vegetables. He donned the headdress and sloppily slurped down the soup. Jorobai awakened with an acrid taste in his mouth. He looked over and his father was not there.
He waited, cursing the pain in his arms. He waited for death. He didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to sit there waiting for it. He wanted to run, but could not. Juitao had taken possession of him. He had been foolish to trust Juitao. He should have known and stayed away while he had the chance. He could have gone into the cave with Gondaro. Juitao and the vines had conspired against him. Both of them were clearly linked with Jugon Drogon. Together the three of them were a foul brood. He imagined Jugon Drogon, lord of the vines, the foulest of the three. He was on a quest to find his son and now he was being offered as a sacrifice to a crazed island demon. The floor of despair collapsed and he sunk down further into the depths. Every night he watched the moon and grew fat on the flesh of palika. His nightmare unfolded to the sound of Juitao’s laughter.
And so he whiled away the hours of the day. His body was in pain, his mind was spinning in circles of obsession around his plight, and he was lost in darkness. Not the bright flowers, nor the gentle breeze nor the children’s laughter could lift him. On and on he suffered.
Finally Juitao returned. He emerged from the jungle and strode into the village with a live palika perched on his arm. His wife brought him a cage from behind their hut. Juitao put the bird in the cage and bound the door shut with twine. The bi
rd squawked and Juitao gave it some bits of food. It hastily pecked at the food.
“You see, Jorobai,” he turned to look over at Jorobai while the other hunters each brought back a dead palika. “I don’t need to hunt. I can make my prey come to me.” He turned away and went with the other hunters to prepare the birds for cooking.
Jorobai caught himself salivating. He couldn’t bear the thought that eating the food served by his enemy was the one pleasure he had left. His soul was sick while his stomach churned with hungry anticipation. Over in the cage, the palika cleaned itself and settled down to rest.
The steam rose off the cauldron outside of Juitao’s hut while Liana stirred the soup and added chopped vegetables and herbs to the water that boiled the palika meat. The palika in the cage didn’t seem too shocked by the smell of its own kin being cooked. It flapped its wings and tested the cage occasionally, but mostly it sat and rested looking around.
When Liana came to feed him the soup, he was disgusted with himself for taking pleasure in it. But it was the only thing remotely like a respite from the ongoing torture of being held captive. When he was finished he couldn’t help but notice a satisfied feeling. His hunger had been appeased. His body hurt a little bit less.
As the sun was about to set, Juitao and his hunters came around. Jorobai couldn’t bear to look up at them, so he let his head continue to hang down as his gaze rested on the floor planks of his hut. As they closed in around him, he dreaded what they might be up to.
“I am feeling grateful today,” said Juitao. “So grateful that the palika have returned to abundance now that Gondaro is gone.” Jorobai’s jaw clenched as he reigned in his anger. “Life is good and I’ve tied you up much too tight. Just relax, you are going to like this.”
They cut his ankles and wrists free from the rope. He was unbound, but he knew he was not free. He knew that Juitao was playing with him, but he had his own game to play. He thought if he could convince everyone that he had no intentions of escape they would relax their guard and he would find a way out. So he kept his head down and stayed calm. His body groaned with aches and pains while he slowly rose to his feet, stretched out his arms and rubbed his sore wrists.