A Preposterous Plight Read online

  A Preposterous Plight

  The Elephant and Macaw Banner ®

  Novelette Series – Vol. 5

  by Christopher Kastensmidt

  “A Preposterous Plight” © 2016 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.

  The Elephant and Macaw Banner® is a registered trademark of Christopher Kastensmidt.

  Cover art by Ursula “SulaMoon” Dorada.

  Cover design by Cristiane Viana.

  All artwork © 2016 Christopher Kastensmidt. All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-85-919338-3-9

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  EAMB.ORG

  For my parents

  An anaconda floated just below the surface of the river, waiting for some unsuspecting victim to come and drink. Only her snout poked above the water, a single lump hidden among the roots and weeds. An exhausting night had passed without a single morsel, and she had almost conceded to sleeping on an empty stomach, when she sensed something. Through the murky water she spotted a large form approaching. From the way the creature moved on two legs, it had to be human.

  The anaconda’s first reaction was to flee. The local humans could swim like fish and run like deer, and they killed her kind for sport. They were one of only two things she feared—the other being that terrible, toothy beast which roamed the woods just upriver.

  What made her pause, however, was the way this human differed from the others. It had dark, almost black skin, and wore some kind of second skin over it. Also, it smelled different than the rest.

  The human bent down just above her for a drink. It all seemed too easy: at this distance, the thing wouldn’t have time to react. Out of instinct, she tightened her muscles and prepared for the strike. She would latch onto the creature’s face, pull it underwater, and crush it with her coils. Though large, it was surely no larger than the many deer and tapir she had slain.

  At the last moment, however, she decided against it. The local men were nothing like the bumbling tapirs, and this one might also be dangerous. She hadn’t lived this long by taking chances, and decided it better to swim away hungry, but safe.

  #

  Oludara jerked back from the water as a massive shape darted into motion mere inches below his face. He could just make out a spotted, serpentine form flitting away under the murky water.

  “Olorun!” he exclaimed, invoking the name of his Yoruban deity.

  Gerard van Oost, one hand securing his wide-brimmed hat upon his head, came running. “What is it?” he asked.

  “A giant serpent. Even on this side of the world, they pester me. We must keep our wits about us as we travel these parts.”

  Gerard chuckled and sat down. “I can’t recall a single day since we’ve met that we didn’t have to keep our wits.” He rummaged through his pack and tossed Oludara a bunch of bananas. “Guess what’s for breakfast?” he joked.

  Oludara sighed at the sight of the fruit and the two ate in silence. For more than six weeks, Antonio Dias Caldas and his troop of bannermen—sworn on revenge after Gerard and Oludara tricked them in Ilhéus—had chased the pair down the coast. They lived on nothing but the fruits they scavenged along the way. They spared no time for hunting or fishing, and wouldn’t have risked a fire in any case. They’d faced too many close encounters with Antonio’s band to do anything but sleep, eat, and flee.

  After finishing his bananas, Oludara asked, “And now the question, Gerard. What is our next move? Do we follow this river inland, or continue our flight south?”

  “I wouldn’t go inland without a boat. The forest here is dense; if we get lost or bogged down, Antonio will capture us easily. In fact, I think we should do the opposite: head back to sea and follow the shore.”

  “I’m not sure, Gerard. The river may be our chance to throw Antonio off our trail. And if we stay to the beaches, we’ll be out in the open.”

  “I don’t think we can lose him in the woods; he has too many trackers among his men. Our advantage is our number. In the wilderness, we struggle as much as they do to progress. On the coast, we can outrun the larger group.”

  Oludara wasn’t convinced. If anything delayed them, they would become easy prey. But he decided to show trust in his companion and nodded agreement.

  “Very well,” he said, “the shore it is.”

  They made their way downriver, and around noon the forest opened and the pair discovered a sugar mill. What Oludara saw, however, did not encourage him in the least. The houses had been torched and fences torn down. The crops and orchards had been burned to the ground. The equipment inside the sugar mill lay smashed. Oludara and Gerard searched the ruins but found no trace of anyone or any sign of where they had gone.

  They followed the river the rest of the way to the coast, and all along it the scene repeated itself: houses, chapels, sugar mills and all other signs of settlement lay burned and abandoned. Upon reaching the shore, they discovered a cluster of charred buildings and docks that must have been the abandoned town’s core.

  “What could have done this?” asked Gerard, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “I thought you’d never ask!” came a shrill voice behind them.

  They turned to find a smiling Sacy-Perey. The one-legged imp hadn’t appeared for months, sparing the pair from his annoying pranks.

  “All this is a warning,” he said. “And if you’re smart, you’ll take it.”

  “Who left it?” asked Oludara. “And why?”

  “Hmmm,” Sacy cocked his head at Gerard. “That, perhaps, is a story best discussed over a smoke.”

  Gerard removed his pack and offered the prepubescent imp the tobacco pouch he kept on hand for just such occasions. Sacy accepted it gladly and, as always, made his pipe appear with three shakes of his pointy red hat—the source of his powers.

  Once the three had settled in for Sacy’s smoke, he told them, “You should travel no farther south; you’ve reached Wytaka land.”

  “And what does that mean?” asked Gerard.

  “The Wytaka are the undisputed rulers here.”

  “Natives?” asked Oludara. “In case you forget, Sacy, we’ve befriended many on our travels.”

  “Are you talking about the Tupinambá?” asked Sacy. “Forget all you know of them, for they have little in common with the Wytaka. Their language is not at all like Tupi. In fact, they have been enemies of the Tupi nations for countless moons.

  “But that is the least of it. They are fearless and strong: expert swimmers, flawless archers, and powerful warriors. They grow no food, they eat only what they capture. And many times, that means the flesh of their enemies!”

  “And who are their enemies?” asked Oludara.

  “Everyone who is not Wytaka!”

  Gerard looked at Oludara and rolled his eyes at the dramatic statement.

  “Thank you for the warning, Sacy,” said Oludara, “but a nearer danger troubles us. Antonio’s band is close behind. So close, in fact, they almost captured us a week ago.”

  “Before you decide what is danger and what is not,” said Sacy, dropping his pipe back into his hat, “follow me. I’ll show you something that might change your minds.”

  #

  Gerard and Oludara hid with Sacy within some boulders at the water’s edge. Waves struck the rocks from time to time, wetting their boots and britches, but their position afforded cover on all sides. Behind them, thirty-foot sea cliffs separated the beach from the forest beyond.

  “We’ve been waiting for hours,” said Gerard, straightening himself for a stretch. “We’ve lost too much time with this nonsense. Oludara, we need to move on.”

  Oludara yanked him by the shirt and pointed down the shore, where three men descended a path from the cliffs. T
he men’s nakedness and straight black hair left no doubt they were natives, but their similarity to the Tupi tribes ended there. They were taller and lighter complexioned than the other natives Gerard and Oludara had met. They held themselves high and walked with confidence. Their hair hung all the way to their buttocks.

  “Strange,” commented Gerard, “how they wear their hair in a fashion so different from the Tupi.”

  “The Tupi wear their hair short and bald on top so that no one can grab it during battle,” said Sacy. “The Wytaka have no such worries; no enemy ever makes it that close to a Wytaka alive.”

  “Your drama is wearing thin, Sacy. No one is that dangerous.”

  “Gerard,” whispered Oludara, “pay attention.”

  Gerard returned his focus to the natives and saw that one of them held a stick with a bloody carcass hanging from it. It appeared to be a rabbit, but from the distance, Gerard couldn’t be sure.

  “Unusual,” said Gerard.

  The man with the stick dove into the water and swum out with powerful strokes. He ducked the waves and advanced with amazing speed. Once past the breakers, the man stopped and treaded water.

  Gerard squinted to keep focus. “What exactly is he doing?”

  “Just watch,” said Sacy, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back on a rock.

  They watched in silence as the man treaded water for several minutes. Then, without warning, he stiffened to attention. Gerard scanned the sea and spotted a fin approaching.

  “Why doesn’t he flee?” said Gerard. “The man is insane. Surely he’s not still carrying that bloody stick?”

  “Of course he is,” said Sacy. “How else is he going to attract sharks?”

  Gerard watched, horrified, as the fin closed in on the Wytaka. At the last moment, the man disappeared under the water. Loud splashing ensued for several moments, then the water quieted.

  “I suppose that’s the end of that, then,” said Gerard. “I’m not sure what you wanted to show us, Sacy, but if these Wytaka are that foolish, I’m not worried. Bravery and stupidity are two different things, you know.”

  Sacy flashed an evil grin. “It’s not over, Gerard. Keep watching.”

  Gerard returned his gaze to the water. He scanned the area of the attack for over a minute, but saw nothing. Then, something near the shore caught his attention. The man emerged from the water dragging an eight-foot shark behind him. Gerard could see the stake poking from the animal’s mouth, up through its head. The Wytaka’s two companions smiled and slapped him on the back.

  Gerard’s jaw dropped.

  “And that,” said Sacy, “is how the Wytaka get their arrowheads. They use sharks’ teeth.”

  “All that for arrowheads?” asked Gerard.

  Sacy nodded, smiling.

  “Well, Sacy, I owe you an apology. You’re right about the Wytaka; I’d rather take my chances with Antonio. I’ve never seen him spear a swimming shark.”

  “My people have a saying,” said Oludara. “ ‘Don’t flee the sword by hiding yourself in the scabbard.’ Our flight has led us into terrible danger, but we can’t just run back into Antonio’s arms, we must head west and take our chances inland.”

  “Into the unknown, then,” said Gerard. “We may escape the sword and the scabbard, but who knows where the third path will take us?”

  “We don’t have to go far, just far enough to get around Antonio’s men. Then we can circle back and return north.”

  “What a shame,” sighed Gerard, “I was so hoping to visit the famed Rio de Janeiro.”

  “Better to pay a traveler’s fare on a ship from Salvador than pay with our lives to cross by way of this cursed shore.”

  #

  Oludara, his nerves already on alert, jumped at the sound of a shot.

  Sacy had parted ways at the beach and the two of them had plunged into the wilderness. The travel was punishing, as they had to manage the dense, unexplored woods, all the time trying to maintain a decent speed and not alert their enemies of their passage. While Gerard seemed almost oblivious to their danger, keeping a measured pace, Oludara agonized over every step. Every branch, every vine, every patch of ground could leave sign of their passage. A thousand things demanded his attention, and the exploding shot sent those thoughts whirling, making his head reel.

  “A harquebus,” Gerard stated simply, as if pointing out the name of a flower. “Should we investigate or avoid it?”

  Before Oludara could answer, three more shots echoed through the woods, and someone screamed in agony.

  “I suppose that answers your question?” asked Oludara. Already distressed for their safety, he would have preferred avoiding any encounter, but he knew his Protestant companion wouldn’t abandon people in danger.

  “You’re right about that,” said Gerard. He pulled his pack tight and ran toward the commotion.

  For the next few minutes, they followed the sound of screams and shots, interspersed with an unusual noise, which to Oludara, sounded eerily similar to a gorilla’s roar. As they made their final sprint toward the combatants, Oludara caught glimpses of a revolting scene.

  Three Portuguese men valiantly battled an enormous creature. They appeared to be all that remained of a contingent, because bodies littered the ground around them. One corpse lacked head and shoulders, another had been ripped in half and the parts tossed in two different places. Four others, their bodies contorted beyond repair, lay wrapped around trees or broken upon the ground. Oludara recognized the men from Antonio’s troop.

  The sight of the carnage, however, was nothing compared to that of the monster. The hairy creature stood over six feet tall, with muscular arms so long they almost reached the ground. The beast’s wide, spindly hands ended in lizard-like claws, and hooves supported its massive legs. But the creature’s strangest feature was its face, which looked like it had been stretched down and around its broad chest. A small knob over the creature’s torso held its eyes. Next came an oversized nose, the size of a papaya, on its upper chest. Where the creatures’ belly button should have been lay its most distinguishing feature: an enormous, toothy mouth, almost three feet wide. Blood covered its huge teeth and lips.

  Oludara grabbed Gerard’s shoulder just as his companion began forward. “Careful,” said Oludara, “these are Antonio’s men.”

  “Nevertheless,” replied Gerard, “we can’t leave them like this.”

  “Are you certain?” asked Oludara. “Antonio could arrive any moment looking for them.”

  “I’ll risk it,” said Gerard, kneeling to load his harquebus.

  Oludara crouched beside him, unsheathing his ivory knife and studying the beast for some weakness. One of the fighters poked it with a rapier, which seemed to have no effect. Another whacked it with a log, which drew the beast’s attention, if nothing else. The third man struggled to load his gun, but the powder horn slipped through his trembling fingers.

  One of the broken men on the ground craned his head toward Gerard and Oludara and rasped out, “Save me!”

  Gerard spared him only a glance before returning his attention to his harquebus. “That’s what we’re trying to do,” he replied.

  “You can’t beat it. Flee and take me with you.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “If you must fight, shoot for the mouth.”

  Oludara watched tensely as the beast grabbed the man with the log and dashed him to the ground. Bones snapped and the man went limp.

  “Gerard,” said Oludara, “whatever you’re planning, do it now!”

  Gerard raised his gun in a fluid motion and shot for the creature’s gaping maw. The beast took a step back and let out an enraged scream, then focused its gaze on Gerard. The two remaining bannermen took advantage of the distraction to flee.

  The creature charged, and Gerard and Oludara separated, ducking behind trees for cover. The creature chose to follow Gerard, knocking over an eight-foot pitanga tree in its haste to reach him. Oludara raced up behind it, slas
hing at the point on the torso where a man’s kidney would lie. Unlike the rapier, his enchanted knife sliced the beast’s hide. The creature screamed and leapt away, into the brush, without so much as glancing back.

  Gerard tensed to run after it, but Oludara said, “Leave it. Antonio could come at any moment.”

  Gerard nodded and knelt by the man who had spoken to them. He pulled a water skin from his pack and said, “Here, drink.”

  The man could barely crack open his mouth. Gerard poured a sip through his lips.

  “What is that creature?” asked Oludara.

  “Magwhar,” croaked the man. “Will you take me back to my banner? I serve Antonio Dias Caldas.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that,” said Gerard. “But we’ll make you comfortable. Two of your companions got away. I’m sure they’ll be back soon with help.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” said the man, frowning.

  Thudding footsteps boomed nearby and they turned to see a tree flying at them. Magwhar charged close behind, bellowing in rage. Branches struck both of them, knocking them apart, and the creature landed heavily in their midst. Its smell washed over them, a bitter, coppery stench of squalid fur matted with gore. It grabbed the injured man and shoved him into the enormous mouth on its chest, where its giant teeth crunched off the man’s head and shoulders.

  Gerard yelled “Run!” and Oludara needed no further urging. The two set off in different directions.

  Oludara ran his fastest, dodging branches and leaping roots in a dance through the woods. Hearing no sign of pursuit, he paused and stooped over to catch his breath. A flash of color caught his eye and he looked up to find a man, mouth agape, standing just beside him. Looking around, Oludara discovered he had run into a line of men walking double file through the woods. To his dismay, he recognized the group immediately. He turned to run, but someone struck his back with the butt of a harquebus and he fell. He turned over to find five guns trained at him.

  The line parted down the middle and a man wearing a rich, red doublet came striding toward him.