The Serpent and the Crown

by Sam Puma

  They finished passing through the village and the twilight was fading. Jankaro was beginning to see Ixtlayo’s glowing aura with his night vision.

  “I must return to Caladon,” said Jankaro.

  The words registered with Ixtlayo and he trotted back towards Caladon in the east. The sun dropped out of sight as they made their way in and out of rain showers, over the rolling hills, across rivers. Jankaro held tight and kept his head moving all around, looking out for Cruxai.

  They crested a hillside and surprised a Cruxai scout mounted on a lizard horse. Jankaro leaned forward on Ixtlayo, and yelled in his ear. “Get him!” The Cruxai looked up at the huge beast bearing down on him and tried to run, but couldn’t move fast enough. Ixtlayo leaped forward and dug his claws into the leg of the lizard horse, dragging it to the ground. He lifted his paw and waved it back and forth with the Cruxai mount attached. The lizard horse flopped back and forth and the rider fell to the ground. Ixtlayo batted the mount left and right and up and down, and continued to play with its body even after he battered the life out of it.

  Jankaro jumped down, drew his sword and ended the Cruxai. It wasn’t a fight. He wished there were more, enough to put Ixtlayo to the test. But he knew that if they were to face a Juruga, he would need to get Ixtlayo into some yanigo armor. He looked around and saw two glowing figures on the western hillside that they had just descended. He tried to mount Ixtlayo, but the riders bolted, and Ixtlayo chased. In seconds, they were gone, and Jankaro was alone with the dead Cruxai, its foul scent filling his nostrils.

  He climbed up to the top of the next hill and looked out to see Ixtlayo’s glow chasing one of the Cruxai. He wondered if he had killed the other one already. Their glowing auras disappeared over a distant hillside. He was alone at night, far from Caladon. He wished he had brought the bow and arrows. He debated whether to go after Ixtlayo. He thought better of it and turned to the east and started back down the hill. Ixtlayo could take care of himself, and Jankaro hoped he would return and give him a ride back to Caladon. He had been warned many times about staying out alone at night. And he remembered the horse without a rider that had come back to Caladon with an aura of poison around it.

  He was walking with his sword drawn when something came flying through the air, hit his sword and knocked it out of his hands. He looked over to see a mounted Cruxai nocking an arrow. His second shot came flying. Jankaro ducked and grabbed his sword. He ran down the hill and felt the whiz as the third and fourth shots narrowly missed him. He zig zagged and ducked to try to disrupt the rider’s aim, but the fifth shot never came. Ixtlayo’s growl signaled his return, and Jankaro looked up to see that he had disposed of the Cruxai and its lizard horse. Jankaro ran over and checked the bow but Ixtlayo had crushed it. He sheathed his sword and reached up to grab the fur of Ixtlayo’s shoulder. Ixtlayo reared up, but Jankaro held tight and flung his legs around Ixtlayo’s neck. Together they rode back to Caladon without incident. When they saw the light of the torches that lined the walls, Ixtlayo stopped.

  Jankaro looked all around and saw no Cruxai, so he lowered himself to the ground.

  “When you are ready, we will put some of this armor on you.” He gestured to the armor that he wore. Ixtlayo growled his disapproval of the idea.

  “Okay, not now. But you will need it soon.” Ixtlayo growled his disapproval again. “Tomorrow then. I will bring my bow and walk straight out from the castle gates to the west and you can come find me. Four is too easy, we must get some more.” Ixtlayo grunted an affirmation, lifted his paw and showed off his claws in the faint light of the moon.

  Jankaro was relieved to see Anhael, the person he trusted the most in Caladon. He exhaled deeply once they were alone together in the small side room where they had removed the tail feathers from the blue bird.

  I will show you how to use this fan,” said Anhael as he lifted the cloth on the table and revealed the fan that he had made from the tail feathers of the blue bird. The feathers were secured to a handle that featured elaborate multicolored beadwork. “But you cannot keep it. You must give it away.”

  Jankaro thought of giving it to Valera, in honor of her beauty. For a moment, his heart warmed as he imagined the look on her face and the way she would feel when he gave it to her. Anhael was rigid and stoic as his gaze bore into Jankaro. His voice was low and firm, his body stiff. “You must give it to Titus.”

  “What?!” Jankaro snapped out of his admiration for the fan and slammed both fists down on the table. He looked up and shot daggers into Anhael with his eyes. The psychic wound from his fight with Titus opened wide. His stomach felt sick at the thought of giving the fan to Titus and he stormed around the table, stood close to Anhael, looked right into his face and growled, directing all his anger at him as if he were Titus. He was barely able to restrain himself from physically taking out his rage on Anhael.

  “Take a breath, little brother. I am not your enemy.” Anhael reached into his pouch and lit up his pipe. He chanted Jankaro’s mother’s song while he smoked, and Jankaro felt the rage begin to subside. He realized that he was safe with Anhael, but he still rejected the idea of giving the fan to Titus.

  “Why in Sagaya’s name should I give it to him?!” Tears came to his eyes as he placed his hands on the table and directed his gaze back down at the fan. He remembered being there on the wall with the bird and Valera, and how he had felt that the bird was meant to be a gift from him to her. But Titus flew into a jealous rage and killed the bird. “I want to give it to Valera! It is meant for her!”

  “This fan carries a blessing, as did the bird, who sacrificed his life so that you could offer this gift. When you give it to Titus, you give it to Valera, his wife, for they are united as one. For the people to be united, you must make peace with Titus. He is the second commander, behind Rafael. You are our new champion. Your gifts will lead us to victory, and Caladon will never fall. But if the two of you cannot make peace, our people will be divided, and we will surely perish, suffering bitter deaths at the hands of the Cruxai. Is that what you want?”

  Jankaro reigned in his emotions, but his breath still caught in his throat. Anhael blew smoke on him and hummed while he waited. Jankaro took a few deep breaths and turned to look Anhael in the eyes. “No,” he said.

  “We will have a ceremony tonight, around the fire on top of the pyramid. Titus has agreed to come and make peace if you agree to wholeheartedly withdraw your interest in Valera.”

  Jankaro’s heart started pounding rapidly again. He knew it was the right thing to do, but something about her compelled him, and he couldn’t bear to let that feeling go.

  “If you give the fan to Titus,” said Anhael, “You give it to Valera. You offer it as a blessing to their love. I will preside over the gifting ritual. If you offer this gift with your heart, the two of you will make peace and the war council will be restored. You can both bring your gifts to the table together, and lead us all to victory. Will you do this?” Anhael’s hands were turned palms up, and he patiently awaited Jankaro’s reply.

  “This doesn’t feel right… I wanted to give it to Valera, but…”

  “This will be a gift for all of Galdea. And for the people of the jungle. Trust me. For us to win this war, you must make peace with Titus.”

  “What about him?! He is a maniac. He is not going to make peace with me.”

  “Oranos spoke with him. If you wholeheartedly withdraw your interest in Valera, he has agreed to make peace with you.”

  Jankaro stood there with Anhael and digested the message that he didn’t want to hear while Anhael smoked from his pipe.

  Jankaro clenched his jaw and looked back down at the intricate beadwork on the handle of the fan. He could see the time and concentration that Anhael must have invested to create something so beautiful, and he could hear in his words how much all of this meant to him. Whenever he heard Anhael sing his mother’s tune while he smoked the same herbs
that she had used, everything in the world started to make sense.

  “I will do as you say.”

  He surrendered to the trust he felt for Anhael, the one who had been guiding him and treating him like a brother.

  “Thank you, Jankaro. This means everything to me.” Anhael reached out and the two of them embraced. “I want to show you something else that Janesa and I made.” He reached under the table and produced a small wooden box. He opened the clasps, and there was nothing inside but cloth. “Do you recognize it?”

  Jankaro ran his fingers along the box, but it was the smell that gave it away. “Yanigo.”

  “I thought it would be the right choice to carry this fan.” He smiled at Jankaro as he gently placed the fan in the box, covered it with cloth, and closed the box. “Bring this to the pyramid at sunset.”

  The Festival

  of Jugon Drogon

  When Jorobai first arrived in Fayaya, it was a simple village, much like Olaya, with some huts and cultivated plants around, with brown beaten pathways that cut through the green of the thriving vegetation. Before his eyes it blossomed into a kaleidoscope of colors, with garlands strung from every tree and hut. Twenty-seven palika hovered around Jorobai’s hut, pecking at the seeds that Juitao had scattered for them.

  Some of the men were working on Jorobai’s hut, removing the thatched roof. He watched them while he merrily slurped down his morning serving of palika soup. Women and children practiced their songs and dances in the background while the men dismantled his hut. They removed the entire roof and he looked up at the sky and smiled. It was a pleasant view and the warmth of the sun felt good on his face. They removed all the corner posts and tied his hands behind his back and around the last remaining post. They removed the floorboards to reveal the bare ground and worms below.

  “What happened to my hut?” Jorobai asked.

  “We prepare for the festival of Jugon Drogon,” explained one of the men. “It will all make sense to you later. We must make everything just right for him, just the way Juitao says.”

  “Where will I sleep tonight?” Jorobai asked.

  Liana came and gathered his empty bowl.

  “When Jugon Drogon comes, all your questions will be answered.” She was dressed elaborately with beaded necklaces and flower garlands.

  “You are so beautiful,” Jorobai told her. She smiled, patted him on the head and hurried off to her next task.

  Some of the other women lay large green leaves on the ground in a broad circle all around Jorobai. On top of them they put down flower petals of many colors in concentric circles, creating a mandala, singing songs together as they worked. He felt special to be in the middle of the tribe with so much attention on him. Every now and then they would look up at him and smile and tell him how happy they were that he had come to be with the tribe. The four virgin women who had come to bathe him offered him extra special attention, occasionally caressing him, rubbing his shoulders and kissing him. He relaxed with his back against the post and hummed along to the buoyant melodies.

  Next came fruits and vegetables. They came in many shapes and sizes, and were piled all around Jorobai.

  “This is the offering on the altar for Jugon Drogon,” said Liana, as she offered him another bowl of soup. “We greet him with many gifts. Everything we have, we give to him, for he is our great protector.”

  They piled up bundles of medicine and flowers, and piles of seeds and any pretty object they could find. It was a massive altar of gifts dedicated to their island god, and Jorobai was sitting right in the middle of it, with beads and garlands hanging around his neck. His fat belly rested on his thighs and he smiled like a toddler while the villagers worked through the afternoon.

  When Juitao returned from his final hunt with the twenty-eighth and final palika perched on his arm, he was overwhelmed by the sight of the offering. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He put his hand over his heart and tears welled up in his eyes. He set the bird down with the others and ran over to kiss his wife. They hugged and kissed passionately and danced in a close embrace. Juitao hurried around to all of his villagers, kissing, hugging, shaking hands and making exclamations of gratitude and love, telling each of them how much he appreciated them for who they were and all they had contributed.

  He stretched his arms out wide and proclaimed, “Let us prepare the feast!” He turned toward Jorobai, “And prepare a seat for the guest of honor!”

  Everyone gathered around Jorobai and Juitao cut away his restraints. They lifted him up, arranged soft bedding beneath him, and set him back down. The four virgins sat around him, fanning him with feathers and feeding him nibbles of sweet fruit. An old man knelt before Jorobai and dipped a pointed stick into a bowl of dark brown paint. He lifted it to Jorobai’s face and set to work decorating it with intricate swirls and diamonds.

  “Many years ago, we fled the mainland,” Juitao began. Everyone settled in to listen while the old man continued painting Jorobai’s face. “The evil one and his zealots were raiding the jungles, killing and imprisoning our people, so we had to flee. We built boats and we sailed far out on the sea, until we came to this island. The sharks tried to attack us, but someone swam beneath our boats, protecting us.

  “We settled here, but life was difficult. We couldn’t live in the forest because of the vines. We had to stay on the beach. But one evening, Jugon Drogon came to me. It was a night just like tonight, the full moon after the winter solstice. I took one look at him and I feared him, but I did not run, for I saw that he was good. He spoke another tongue, but I could understand, for my father had taught me how to use my senses to read a person’s heart through his voice. I was amazed by the sight of him. I had never seen anything like him before. I knew right then that the island belonged to him, so I went down on one knee before him.

  “He placed his hand gently on my head and offered me his blessing. He bade me to stand and led me into the heart of the island. He showed me that the vines were his to control, and with his blessing they would no longer harm me or my people. He showed me where the palika dwelt, and told me they were good to eat and their meat would make me strong. He showed me all the plants we could eat, and those we could use for medicines. He told me to bring my people here where we could live in peace and harmony. We could be safe in Fayaya and have everything we needed under his protection.”

  The people of Fayaya sat and listened to Juitao with rapt attention while the old man finished painting Jorobai’s face, then moved on to painting triangles and spirals and interwoven wavy lines up and down his arms.

  “There was only one thing that Jugon Drogon asked of me. He asked that we show our devotion to him by offering him one of our own, every year on the anniversary of the day that he first came to me.

  “Every year we have obeyed him, offering one of our own as a sacrifice to him. Since he came to us we have lived here with safety, abundance, peace, harmony and happiness. We don’t need to worry about the vines and we don’t need to worry about bad people. We don’t worry about big cats who would eat us, for Jugon Drogon protects us. Now even Jorobai understands. These four women have been good for the tribe, so this year we make an offering of Jorobai.”

  It occurred to Jorobai that the whole time he had been tied up to the hut he had not been able to see Jugon Drogon’s cave on the distant mountaintop. Now that the roof was removed, he could see it. The moon crept up, and the sun went down. Jorobai slurped at the various sumptuous foods passed to him and listened to Juitao in rapt attention along with all of the other members of the tribe.

  “My people, it is time for us to invite Jugon Drogon to our celebration. Are you ready?”

  Everyone became still and silent and watched Juitao intently. Jorobai was sure that everyone wanted him to feel excited, but he was afraid. He wanted to know what had gone wrong, but all he could do was listen to Juitao.

  “Three, two, one�
��”

  “JUGON DROGON! We are prepared for your visit!” The people called out in unison, and their words echoed off the mountainside. Many of the people pulled out drums and started pounding on them in rapid rhythms, offset from one another. Others danced about in all directions, jiggling their beads and feathers. Together they sang a song to honor him.

  “Don’t be afraid, Jorobai,” Juitao whispered as he leaned in close. “Everything will be okay.” He smiled, patted Jorobai on the head, got up, turned around and walked up the path leading to Jugon Drogon’s cave.

  The drumming and dancing came to a conclusion, and the singing was more quiet and subdued as they watched Juitao make his way out of the village and up the trail toward Jugon Drogon’s cave. After a minute, he could not be seen under the canopy of trees. Everyone was still and quiet as Liana sang a gentle melody to the fading twilight, and the moon lit up the night sky. Some of the men lit torches, and some of the women cleaned up after the feast. Most of the people sat peacefully, clustered around Jorobai, their eyes trained on the path between the village and the cave, following Juitao’s progress, seeking a glimpse of him on his path.

  Jorobai’s belly was stuffed full and he was feeling sleepy. But everyone around him was so intent, he felt curious to see what was going on. The four virgins continued to massage his back, neck and shoulders while they quietly hummed along to Liana’s song, and that helped him to keep awake. His stomach ached and he felt a bit nauseous from eating too much, but the beauty of the village that surrounded him kept him distracted from the discomfort. The palika sat calmly with the people, passing the time as if they were members of the tribe.

  “Look!” A little boy cried out, pointing his finger at the cave. Everyone looked up. Juitao’s cloak of blue feathers could be seen by moonlight in the clearing leading to the cave. The tribe watched in silence as he disappeared into the dark cave.