* * * * *
The mare behind him stumbled and screamed. Sebastian, riding the stallion, turned around immediately. Horse screams sounded too much like human screams, and he felt the mare’s pain keenly. He dismounted and walked toward her.
She screamed again, louder this time, and flailed around on the ground. Then she lay still, panting, her eyes turned white in fear.
Both her front legs were broken, snapped by an unseen shallow pit that had grown over with grass.
For the first time in almost a week, Sebastian cried, but it was not a cry of self-pity. It was for the horse, who had been a good companion through the journey. She lay there, screaming from time to time and then falling silent. Sebastian knew that the kindest thing would be to put her out of her misery, and yet he hesitated in his duty. She was such a kind animal, and a beautiful one. She had once belonged to the King’s stables and was a gift to Don Segovia for services rendered.
Gulping, Sebastian aimed his pistol at her head and fired a single shot. The shot echoed off the surrounding trees, startling birds into flying away, and then the forest grew silent again.
She had not been carrying anything today, so there was nothing to remove from her body except for her halter. Sebastian did not have the heart to take it from her.
Sebastian sat in front of her, petting the now-still muzzle, apologizing for what he had done. He wondered if he should bury her or just leave her body to be found by jungle scavengers. Which one would be safer for him and his animals? Speaking of safe, were there any other hidden pits around here that could endanger the other animals?
He spoke a word to the dog and began his search. He went forward several meters, checking the path in front of him, when the ground gave way under his feet. He felt himself tumbling down, down, and landed at the bottom of a very deep pit.
The wind was knocked out of him and his ribs, which had been mending nicely, reminded him sharply that they were not fully healed. When he had recovered his breath, he looked up. The pit was as deep as two tall men. And – he saw this with a shock – the sides were perfectly smooth and steep.
This was a man-made pit.
Was it for catching jungle lions – or humans?
He forced himself to calm down and think rationally. Obviously it was made for catching large prey; it had taken some hefty weight to break through the grass and branch covering that blended it perfectly with the jungle floor.
Sebastian did not want to find out what its purpose was. He simply wanted to escape. The sides were muddy and slick; it was very difficult to climb. Even with his steel-toed leather boots digging into the dirt, he could not climb out. There were no vines to grab, no purchase to push against.
In the distance, he heard his dog stop barking. In fact, the whole jungle seemed to grow overly quiet. Sebastian had learned to be on his guard when birds stopped singing.
And there they were – human faces peering down into the pit. They did not look friendly, these Indians, although they certainly seemed pleased. They stared at him while he stared back, and then their leader spoke in a language that sounded older than dirt.
Sebastian did not understand the words, but presently a rope was thrown down to him. They made motions to him that he should hold tight. He hesitated. Were they friendly Indians? Were they cannibals? Did he have a choice? They could kill him with their poison-tipped arrows while he was trapped in the pit, or they could leave him to die. He might never climb his way out. Perhaps it was better to take a chance.
He held the rope with both hands and closed his eyes. When he reached the top and was safe on the ground, he rolled over to express his gratitude. But the Indians did not want to talk; they stood him up roughly and tied his wrists behind his back. Although he was two heads taller than the tallest of them, he did not resist. Their sharp-tipped spears were aimed at his heart.
So. They were probably cannibals after all.
Sebastian did not cry, which surprised him and made him feel stronger. He was led back to a village of almost forty people, all of whom gathered around him as soon as he entered and began to touch his skin. Some of them licked their fingers and then wiped them against his arms, thinking perhaps that his whiteness was paint that could be washed off. It was obvious that they had not seen Europeans before, neither Spaniards nor Portuguese.
He was put into a large wooden cage with solid bars and no lock except for two fierce warriors who stood beside the cage, their spears a better lock than any metal.
Hurt and frightened, Sebastian had nothing to do but sit down and think. It was difficult when the chief and several people surrounded the cage and began talking back and forth, very quickly. Some of them shouted in angry voices. Others sounded like they were trying to convince their friends of something. Several people reached their skinny arms through the bars and patted Sebastian’s skin or touched his hair and clothes. He cringed from their fingers but the cage was too small for him to get out of their reach. After much debate, the chief raised his arms and declared something, and the people backed away from the cage and returned to their previous business.
As Sebastian sat in his cage, heart pounding in terror, he was able to observe the details of the village. There was one very long house built out of wood. It had a thatched roof, and was raised well above the jungle floor. It seemed that all forty people or so lived in the single house, although they cooked their meals outside over various small fires. Naked children ran around, the boys with miniature spears in their hands and the girls carrying woven fiber baskets. Old women sat in the shade of trees, clothed only in grass skirts. Old men sat around a single fireplace, no doubt retelling stories of their younger days.
While Sebastian was busy acquainting himself with the village, the chief had begun a sort of meeting. All the men, even the old ones, participated in voicing their opinions. It took a very long time. Finally, the chief motioned for the two guards to bring Sebastian close.
They roughly took him from the cage and pushed him over to the chief. The man’s head barely reached the third button of Sebastian’s shirt, but he spoke to Sebastian as if he were the most powerful man in the world. He made signs that Sebastian did not understand and seemed frustrated when Sebastian did not respond.
Finally, they put him back in his cage, but not before taking his shirt. They even unwrapped the gauze that held his ribs steady. The women seemed impressed with the long white fabric, because they touched it and held it to their cheeks and took turns wrapping it around their waists as if it could be used for a skirt. Some of them forced Sebastian to a sitting position while they painted his chest and cheeks, all the while making jokes about something Sebastian could not translate. Then they returned him to his cage and set the two guards at their posts again.
Sebastian vomited when he saw what the ceremony was going to be – the chief had one of his wives bring the largest cooking pot and set it over a central fire, which other women were stoking so it would be high and hot. They half filled the pot with water and made signs to each other describing body parts.
Sebastian was going to be boiled and eaten.
He began to shake the bars of his cage. “Let me out!” he cried. “You can’t do this to me! I’m not your enemy. Doesn’t anyone speak Spanish?”
They merely looked at him as if he were a chattering monkey, and then returned to their business, discussing how they would cut his body so it would fit into the pot.
Another group of women began a second fire nearby, this time with a large spit for roasting. More women were bringing out their best tubers and flower petals, and making flat round cakes of dried root flour in honor of the celebration.
Sebastian continued to shout but it was no use. At one point during the preparations, all the men disappeared into the long hut and came out dressed in what seemed to be ceremonial garments. The chief began to sharpen a long blade. As he did so, he walked around and around a large flat stone, chanting to himself and to whatever gods he believed in. When he was ready, h
e signaled one of his men, who opened the cage and forced Sebastian to his feet.
Sebastian clung desperately to the bars of the cage, but the people laughed even harder. Prying his fingers loose, they poked him with spears and carried him to the large stone. Despite his wrists being tied behind his back, he fought valiantly, kicking warriors and biting whoever tried to touch him. There were too many of them, however, and they managed to hold him down with his chest exposed to the chief’s cruel knife.
The chief chanted a prayer to which the men replied in unison a single word. He repeated the prayer and the men repeated their replies, over and over again until the chief raised his arm high in the air.
A single shot of thunder rang out, causing the chief to drop the knife and clutch at his wrist in pain. Blood dripped down his fingertips in a little red river, splashing to the ground. The villagers looked around in silent terror for the source of the noise.
It was Arazunú.
He stood with his legs spread in a solid stance, pistol in hand, to face the tribe with easy confidence. The smoke from the gun settled around him, giving the illusion that he had appeared from a large white cloud. He began to speak to the people in their own language.
“I am Arazunú, voice of the lightning. I speak with words of thunder and power. Hear me, noble warriors, and I will explain why my temper has been fired.” He walked closer to them. Sebastian could see that his face had been painted black and he had symbols all over his body. Pointing at Sebastian, he continued. “Who do you think this man is?”
Nobody spoke, and then the chief answered, “This boy is the white enemy we have heard so much about. We are going to eat his heart and gain his strength so we can fight the enemy when they find us.”
“He is from over the great water, yes, but he is not the enemy,” said Arazunú.
Sebastian could understand none of the conversation, but every minute that Arazunú bought for him was another minute of life, and for this Sebastian was grateful.
Arazunú walked without fear into the very midst of the Indians, right up to the killing stone, and placed his hand on Sebastian’s chest. “Eating his heart will indeed make you stronger,” he said, “but you will miss out on his gifts if you do so. Tell me, who is Pa’i Shumé?”
The chief looked puzzled. “Pa’i Shumé? I do not know this name.”
“Then I will tell you. Pa’i Shumé is the ancient white god who came to our ancestors from over the great water. It is he who taught our peoples to drink téréré, to take its leaf and dry it, and smoke it over a fire, and grind it into small pieces, and sip it through a pierced reed. It is Pa’i Shumé, the ancient god with blue eyes and white hair, who rewarded our ancestors for their kindness to their elders. He has long been forgotten by our ancestors, and that makes him sad. What father wants to be abandoned by his children? He wants to be remembered again, and so he sent his son to bring gifts to remind the people. And now you seek to offend him by killing the one who carries his blood.”
The men began to look uneasy. The chief grew angry. “I have never heard of this Pa’i Shumé before. And this boy certainly does not have blue eyes or white hair.”
“This man is the son of Pa’i Shumé and the daughter of the mango blossom. It is the mango blossom who gives him his red hair, and her leaves which gave him his green eyes. But his skin and height are from his father, who only wanted to give you gifts.”
“You keep mentioning gifts,” said the chief. “What kind of gifts?”
“You are no longer worthy of receiving them,” said Arazunú. He turned his back and began to walk away.
The villagers were very upset and besieged their chief with petitions. He held up his hands to silence them and called to Arazunú. “If he is the son of a god, why does he not speak for himself? Why does he use words we cannot understand?”
“He tests your hearts,” Arazunú replied, still walking. “Those who are wise will understand the sounds he makes. Those who do not understand are not worthy.”
The chief held out his hands, palms up. “Do not leave us. If we have angered this god, tell us how to appease him. We do not want bad luck to fall upon us.”
Arazunú faced them again. “Have you harmed the son of Pa’i Shumé?”
“No.”
“Are you willing to give him his freedom, so he can visit other tribes and offer his gifts?”
The chief looked at the ground, and then at his people. They seemed terrified. He himself was reluctant to release Sebastian, but his people would not participate in the sacred ceremony if they were too frightened to partake of the boy’s flesh. “Yes, we will release him.”
“Then you are worthy of the gifts after all. But not all of them. You should have tried to understand before you captured him.” He put his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. The dog appeared from the behind a thick clump of grass, leading two of Sebastian’s largest pigs. They had vines tied around their necks, and the dog pulled them along on their leashes.
Arazunú took the leashes from the dog’s mouth, and then spoke to the dog, who disappeared again into the thick foliage.
“These are what you could have had,” he said, and handed the leashes to the chief.
The villagers eyed the pigs in wonder. The creatures were five times as large as the wild boar they hunted. One of these creatures would feed the entire village for a whole week.
“The son of Pa’i Shumé was going to make all your boars as large as these creatures, and gentle so they would come to you when you called. You would not have had to spend so much time hunting. But because you threatened his son, you will only have these two and no more.”
It was much more than the villagers had expected. The two giant boars were a very good gift.
“Release the boy,” said the chief.
Sebastian, who had not understand much of the conversation, was terrified when hands began to touch him again. But he soon realized that they were untying his bonds and helping him off the killing stone. He walked on unsteady legs to Arazunú.
“Don’t show your pain,” Arazunú said to him in Spanish, “And try to look angry instead of frightened.”
Sebastian drew himself to his full height. Squaring his shoulders, he waited, wondering what would come next.
“Tell them that you are still angry but you will return to test them again someday,” said Arazunú in a whisper.
Without asking why, Sebastian drew a breath, furrowed his eyebrows, and raised his voice to address the people. “I am still angry with you, but I will come back some day to see if you’re ready to be tested.” He raised a fist, too, but lowered it when Arazunú shook his head.
The strange sounds of his Spanish words sent shivers of fear down their spines. Arazunú translated.
The chief beckoned several of his women, who rushed to bring gifts of food, feathered necklaces, and sharp stone knives and weapons. There was even a cape made of grasses, which Sebastian saw was intricately decorated and must have been very valuable to them. These gifts were placed in front of Sebastian’s feet.
Arazunú kept his lips still while speaking quietly to Sebastian. “Say something.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. Ask me something. Talk for a while!”
Sebastian could only think of one question to ask his rescuer: “Where did you learn to shoot like that? You could have killed the chief. I’m a good shot, but I can’t knock a knife out of a man’s hand!”
Arazunú’s eyes crinkled in what Sebastian would come to know as laughter. “I aimed for his chest, not his hand. I was trying to kill him.”
Sebastian’s jaw dropped. What a lucky shot.
Arazunú translated to the people, “He forgives you but says you are not ready to remember Pa’i Shumé.” To Sebastian, he said, “Raise your hand in blessing and then walk away.”
Sebastian did as he was told. It took all his control to not look back while Arazunú was collecting the items and saying some final words.
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