by Sam Puma
Jankaro sat down with his back against Ixtlayo’s sternum and rocked back and forth with the rise and fall of Ixtlayo’s breath. He took a few deep breaths and thought of treetops. He thought of his friend Chesta and the games they played, how he hung upside down from a tree branch high in the air and Chesta took a flying leap from a nearby tree, caught his arm and swung over to another tree limb 20 feet away. The things they came up with to amuse themselves… he wanted to show Valera. As he imagined telling her about it he blocked out Titus and breathed in the relaxation as he walked with her all around Olaya, introducing her to all the creatures he had come to know. He took her for a canoe ride by moonlight and a smile stretched across his face as he drifted off to sleep.
Gondaro’s Cave
Jorobai awoke hungry. He wanted a bowl of palika soup. He started walking back toward the village. He saw a palika flying through the air and he salivated. He saw Liana’s smiling face and the bowl of soup in her hands. He kept walking towards the village, convinced that he would arrive there and be offered a bowl of soup under the canopy of his hut. A small multi-colored frog distracted him for a moment and he paused to admire the brilliant markings of orange, yellow and blue across its back. He thought of someone who would admire such a creature.
“Jankaro!” He snapped back to himself. “What in Sagaya’s name am I doing?!”
He couldn’t go back. He was horrified to recognize how the soup had taken hold of him. He ran back to the beach and cast himself into the water, rubbing his whole body with his hands, wiping away all the perfumes and smudges they had put on him. The cuts he had suffered in the fight burned, and he crawled back out onto the beach.
He looked around to see if they were coming for him, but there was no one. Would they come with their spears and try to kill him or recapture him? He decided it would be best to cover his tracks, so he swam out into the water, past the waves that gently broke on the beach. He swam to the north. He was out of shape and tired quickly, but the fat on his body helped him to stay afloat. He kept at it for hours until he had traveled a safe distance and the sun was setting once again. He was very tired and swam back to shore. He found a stream and drank.
He noticed it was about that time for another bowl of palika soup. He sat under a tree and hugged his knees. His body was shaking.
“NO.” He spoke to himself, to his urge.
He couldn’t go back to the village. He had to leave the island and find Jankaro. His body shook from the hunger. He looked around and found a citrus tree. He gnawed on the peel, spit it out, and devoured the sour fruit inside. His face grimaced with the sourness. He dwelled on the sour flavor, anything to distract him from the savory herbs and spices of palika soup. It was then that he put it all together. There was something powerful that they put into that soup. It had lulled him into complacency and turned him into a drooling infant. He would have to fight the craving until it left him. He pulled down one fruit after another, anything to stave off the obsessive hunger that would send him running back to the village to plead with Liana for another bowl.
When he was through with the fruit, he wrapped his arms around the tree and held it tight. He wanted someone to tie him to the tree so he couldn’t go back. He imagined men with spears greeting him and stabbing him. Images flashed through his mind as the sky darkened and the rain fell. He saw Liana extending a bowl to him; he saw the Gondaro ripping apart Jugon Drogon; he saw palika strolling through the village, picking away at the scattered bits that the battle left behind; he saw Juitao carrying palika and laughing; he saw Juitao laying on the ground bleeding.
The wind blew wildly and he clung tightly to the tree. He opened up his mouth and drank the rain as it poured down sideways and crashed into his face. He clung to the tree and forced his eyes open to peer into the cracks and crevices of its bark. Ants crawled on his skin and bit him. He welcomed the sting and thanked them for bringing a sensation that pulled his attention away from his craving.
He felt the spirit of his brother with him. He felt Rongo’s strength inside him, holding him to the tree. He was drifting in and out of sleep, and in his dream state he felt his brother’s arms reaching around from the other side of the tree, holding him there.
“Stay here through the night, and you will be free,” he thought he heard Rongo say. His teeth chattered and he shivered through the night, fighting through nightmares of being back in the village. Juitao’s laughter and the flavor of the palika soup danced upon his tongue until the sun broke over the eastern horizon and a sliver of light pierced through the trees and struck his forehead. He released the tree and collapsed on his back.
Jorobai cursed the fat that hung from his stomach and weighed him down. He huffed and puffed as he dragged the fallen branch up into the tree. He was building a tree fort so he could sleep in a space where the hunters could not reach him. He wasn’t sure if they would devote time and energy to coming after him but he figured it would be wise to prepare for the worst. He planned to also build a raft and get off the island. But first he needed to find out if Gondaro was coming with him. If so, he would need to build a bigger raft.
He needed to complete his search for Jankaro by exploring Jugon Drogon’s cave. Now that he was dead, it would be much easier. But Jorobai wasn’t sure about it. He had experienced enough danger on his journey to know that he didn’t know what to expect when he entered that cave. He knew he needed to wait until he got his strength back.
So he kept his eyes and ears open, sharpened sticks into spears and set up traps around his territory in case he was attacked. He dissected frogs and tried to find ones that carried a lethal poison. He tested their venom on jixnus, small, rotund furry creatures that dug in the earth for worms to eat. When he found a frog that carried lethal poison, he made a few blow guns, harvested several frogs and stockpiled enough poison darts to kill every man in Fayaya five times over. He would defend himself from the platform on the tree. He built platforms on two other trees and developed an escape route with vines he could swing from in case they found a way to get to him or bring the first tree down.
He worked for several days, and all the while there were no signs of Gondaro or any of the villagers. He cursed his weakness and fat, but as he worked, rested, and ate very little, he watched his fat recede and felt his strength return. He wondered which one of the plants growing on the island had fed his illness and reduced him to an infant in the hands of Juitao. He figured it was better not to know, and stuck to a diet of fish and fruit.
He made a mental map of his surroundings, noting the fallen logs he could use to make his boat. He also made a note of larger logs that Gondaro could move if he were to return in full health. He made stockpiles of vines that could be used as rope to bind the logs of the raft together and staged them near the tree under his platform.
While he worked there was a question that nagged at him. Should he sail east, further out into the sea? Or should he sail west, to return to Olaya and begin the search anew? Neither option offered him much hope. Thinking about it made his stomach tighten with anguish. Still there was one more thing he had to do on the island: explore the cave of Jugon Drogon.
The moon waxed for fourteen days while he regained his strength. He swam, worked on his platforms and traps, gathered materials for a boat, and kept watch over a basic perimeter around his territory. A group of monkeys took a liking to him, and he thought they might be keeping watch over a larger territory on his behalf. Trust the monkeys. It was a lesson that had been passed down through generations by his people. They, in turn, kept a watchful eye out for the monkeys. It was one of few pieces of his culture that he had passed down to his son. He was feeling good one day and imagined he would have a grandchild who would carry on the traditions of his people. He swore to Sagaya that when he saw Jankaro again, he would teach him all that his father had taught him about being a man of Olaya.
He saw an occasional palika fly above. He wondered if
Juitao could see through their eyes. Did he know where he was? Was he dead? It looked like Gondaro dealt him two deadly wounds, but Jorobai didn’t trust a man like him to die so easily. Who would lead in his place? Would they seek vengeance? He prepared for them to hunt him down.
As he regained strength, he hunted and ate the jixnu. They were the favorite prey of the palika, and Gondaro in his youth. He wondered what happened to the palika. He wondered if they had broken out from under Juitao’s spell at the same time he had, at the moment Jugon Drogon first emerged into full view. He remembered the terror he felt. He was reassured to have witnessed Gondaro killing him in such a convincing fashion.
He spent a lot of time wondering about Gondaro. He looked like he had suffered potentially fatal wounds and there was no one on the island who could help him heal. Jorobai shuddered at the thought of Gondaro eating Jugon Drogon’s entrails, and he didn’t want to consider the implications. He had a strong suspicion that Gondaro had been in that cave before, had been locked in battle with Jugon Drogon’s vines the entire time he was missing. He wondered why he waited until the last minute to rescue him. It may have been that Jugon Drogon’s attention was diverted from his control of the vines for a moment and Gondaro took advantage of the opportunity. He knew he had to go and check on his progeny. He was grateful to the beast for saving him from death, and he wanted to know if there was a way for them to continue the search together. The idea of sailing away with an Ashtari on his boat seemed ludicrous, but having seen what he had seen on the island, he thought he could use Gondaro’s help when he arrived at the next island or on the other side of the sea, the river that seemed to have no other side.
When the full moon rose, he set off up the hillside toward Jugon Drogon’s cave. He walked until the twilight faded and the light of the full moon and stars lit up the cloudless night. The wind was calm, and when he stopped, all was quiet save for the constant chorus of mating calls from the insects and birds. No vines to worry about any more.
He only needed to worry about Juitao’s men. He knew not to put anything past Juitao. If he was alive, he could be setting up a trap. Jorobai kept his blowgun at the ready. He wasn’t going to let anyone get near him. Every step was a measured silence, just like his father had taught him when he was young.
He carried on that way, creeping along for a few hours until he reached the edge of the clearing in front of the cave. He kept himself hidden in the shadows, and climbed up a tree so he could look down at Fayaya. He couldn’t see any people and there were no torches lit. The debris from the battle on the last full moon had been cleaned up. The village looked intact. All the huts were the same. There was no one around.
He listened for sounds from the cave, but heard nothing. So he slowly climbed down from the tree. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. In three quick steps he was hidden in the shadows of the mouth of the cave. He heard breathing from inside. He smelled a foul odor. He took one small step further into the cave, and the smell worsened. He silently took another step and the smell was absolutely rancid. It was Jugon Drogon’s rotting flesh; there was no doubt in his mind. The breathing had to be Gondaro. He took one more step and a great fear overcame him. He felt he was in a larger chamber, but it was pitch black and he could not see at all.
When he felt the full force of Gondaro’s exhalation crash against his face, it was more than he could bear. He knew he needed to vomit. He turned and ran out of the cave and into the underbrush, tiptoeing all the way. He picked a broad leaf from a tree and held it to his mouth. It took all of his strength to silence his convulsions as his stomach expelled all of its contents into the leaf.
The scent left a broad stain across his mind. All of his instincts kicked in, everything his father taught him was activated as his mind broke down the scent. In that scent was a truth he didn’t want to know: Gondaro had grown much larger. Larger than a normal Ashtari. He had felt it in the volume of his breath. It must be that Jugon Drogon’s rotting flesh was sitting in a pile, slowly being consumed. Jorobai shook his head in disgust.
He was sickened by the thought it. Somehow Gondaro had become enslaved to feasting on Jugon Drogon’s flesh, much like Jorobai had become enslaved to eating palika soup. He wondered how he could liberate his friend. He thought of scaring him out with a fire. The prospect felt dangerous, but he felt like he owed it to him. He decided to head back to camp and make the preparations. On the way down, all was calm. He remembered how he had called upon his father for help right before the palika soup put him into a strange trance. He thanked Sagaya for answering his prayers.
The next day he wanted fish. He caught a big one, cooked it up and ate it. Then the idea came to him: He would lure Gondaro out with fish. He was sure Gondaro would prefer the flavor of the fish over the rotting flesh of Jugon Drogon.
He figured a day visit was in order. He needed to be able to see what he was doing. Once he lured Gondaro out of the cave and down to the beach, it wouldn’t matter if the people of Fayaya saw the whole thing. They wouldn’t dare attack Gondaro. In spite of his ambitious plan, he was greatly disturbed. He wondered why Gondaro hadn’t emerged from the cave and joined him on the beach. Victory had been won. There was no need to dwell in the cave and feast on Jugon Drogon’s flesh. He didn’t like knowing that Juitao could still be drinking the Amoza. There was no way of knowing how Juitao could influence the events in the cave, especially considering the bond he had shared with Jugon Drogon. The thoughts were making Jorobai sick as he devised his plan for the next day.
He awoke in darkness, but the predawn light touched his subtlest perception. He had dreamt that his father and brother came to him on a boat and fished with him and he caught twenty fish.
He grabbed his fishing spear and ran to the water. Before the first ray of the sun he had ten fish. By the time the sun lifted itself off of the water, he had ten more.
“My son, I come for you.” He shouldered the fish onto his back in a woven pack, gathered his weapons, and hiked into the forest. He saw the monkeys and signaled them to keep watch over him. He thought of Gondaro, strong and healthy.
In a few hours he reached the mouth of the cave without incident. The sky was clear and there was no wind. He laid down his pack of fish, climbed the tree, and looked down to see the people of Fayaya going about their daily routine. He scanned the jungle between Fayaya and the cave for any sign of Juitao’s hunters but found none. They could be anywhere on the island. He looked up into the sky and saw a palika flying. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that Juitao could see through its eyes. He waited for several minutes until it descended into the canopy. He dropped to the ground, grabbed the sack of fish, tiptoed over to the entrance of the cave and went inside.
He looked to the back of the cave and could see the far wall of the large chamber by the refracted light of the sun. He saw Gondaro’s tail lying on the ground. He readied a fish in one hand and slowly crept to the entrance of the large chamber.
He peered his head around the corner and saw Gondaro crouching over Jugon Drogon’s carcass, gnawing bits of rotting flesh from the bones. Jorobai was paralyzed by the smell.
“Gondaro…” he stammered, taking a step back as Gondaro turned his head to look at him.
Gondaro met Jorobai’s eyes and snorted. He had grown to twice the size of an adult Ashtari, and he did not look pleased to see him. Jorobai flung the fish over in front of Gondaro and tried to hide his fear. The smell was not helping. He wanted to run out and vomit again.
“My friend, I thank you for coming to help me. Come with me now. There are many fish in the river that we can eat.”
Gondaro stood up, bumped his head on the top of the chamber, and growled. Jorobai stood by the entrance, poised to run. Gondaro roared in Jorobai’s face. It was loud, and echoed out from the cave, ringing out all over the island. He lifted his paw and his claws were extended. He swung, and by the time he reached where Jorobai had been, Jorobai was out
of the cave. He dropped the sack of fish, raced down the hillside and didn’t stop to look back until he reached the beach.
Jorobai worked on his raft and reflected on what he had seen in the cave. Jugon Drogon’s body was decomposing, yet Gondaro continued to hover over it, determined to eat every ounce of flesh. Jorobai was disgusted to think about it. Gondaro’s fur was darker, and the blue stripe that extended down his back had turned brown. The rest of the fur covering his body was darker than before. His wounds from the fight had healed. Jorobai was troubled by his suspicion that there was dark magic afoot. He remembered the deep green roots that started in the chamber and grew out the walls of the cave. He reasoned that they were the roots of the creeping vines, and from his cave, Jugon Drogon had been shamanically controlling them the whole time. Gondaro was eating Jugon Drogon and taking his strength, and quite possibly his other qualities. If he kept growing, he might not be able to get out. If he adopted Jugon Drogon’s ability to control the vines, he might use them to express his rage.
Jorobai knew that he was speculating and using his imagination, but in his heart he knew that Gondaro was a lost cause. His search of the island was complete. There were no other tunnels leading out of Jugon Drogon’s cave. He would need to continue his search for Jankaro elsewhere. He would build a raft and sail east again, perhaps crossing the great river and finding his son safe on the other side.
Although he was sad to lose Gondaro, he felt a renewed hope in knowing that his search of the island was completed. He sang a fishing song his father had taught him as he worked vigorously, pulling logs onto the beach and lining them up. As the afternoon waned, he grew hungry, so he grabbed his spear and went fishing.
He felt in every muscle that his strength had returned. His aim was true when he plunged his spear into a fat fish. He kindled a fire, cooked the fish, and eagerly devoured it as the sun dipped closer to the horizon. When he finished, he reclined on the beach and looked up at the sky. A jolt of dischord shot up his spine as he saw a palika circling above him. Juitao. He had seen enough of Juitao to suspect that he could see through the eyes of those birds. He fetched his blowgun, but it was too high and out of range. Eventually the palika drifted inland toward Fayaya and out of sight. Jorobai felt a dark foreboding. He extinguished his fire, checked his traps, readied his spears and blowguns and retired to his platform in the trees. He knew that Juitao must have heard Gondaro’s roar and sent the palika out to investigate. Now he would have to wait and anticipate Juitao’s response.