An Inauspicious Visit Read online

  Gerard shook his head. “No, never,” he said. “I will not resort to that heathen magic.”

  He raised one arm, an action that whisked pain all the way to his toes, and made the sign of the cross.

  “Holy Father,” he said, “please...” He forgot his prayer mid-sentence. Rather than concentrating on repenting his sins before his imminent death, his mind raced back through his adventures.

  So much mystery left unsolved, he thought. So much left to explore.

  He thought of the potion again.

  “Oh, to hell with it,” he said.

  Gerard struggled to remove the stopper and splashed as much of the potion as he could down his throat. Even swallowing had become a chore, and he nearly choked on the liquid. Then, everything turned black.

  #

  The Dry Bodies appeared from the woods and shambled toward the figures before them. The moment they reached the clay riverbank, their feet mired in its stickiness and their movements slowed.

  They forced their way to the clay lumps—hastily erected and covered in men’s clothing—and clawed at them. When their twig-like fingers became stuck, they clawed with their feet and even bit into the clay effigies. Soon, Dry Bodies piled upon each other within a mass of sticky clay, more arriving every moment. Hundreds of them crowded together in the muck, all the time churning up more clay and burying themselves farther. It took thirty minutes to be sure, but at last no more of them came.

  One by one, the expedition’s survivors climbed their way up from the tree roots on the river’s edge. Most were naked, their clothes having been employed in the trickery, and all shivered from the river’s icy water. However, the hot Brazilian night soon warmed them.

  Oludara and Tinga dragged themselves out last from the roots, having been the first to climb in and leading the rest behind them. Antonio, still fully clothed, pondered the writhing mass of Dry Bodies before him.

  “Let’s get out of here,” said one of the survivors.

  “No,” said Antonio. “First we bury them.”

  “It won’t hold them forever,” said Diogo. “Another hard rain and many will escape.”

  “It will hold them long enough. Let someone else deal with them later.”

  Once the creatures had been covered to his satisfaction, Antonio looked to his men and said, “Once again, I’ve rid this land of evil. Songs will be made of this day.”

  “It is easy to cut to pieces a dead elephant,” said Oludara.

  Diogo covered a smile.

  Antonio spun on Oludara. “Was that some kind of jest?”

  “Just a saying of my people.”

  Antonio punched him. Oludara had known Antonio might strike him and could have ducked it, but instead chose to take the blow and fall down, so as to not raise suspicion. The ache in his jaw made him regret it. Antonio stood over him.

  “I’ll see you well-whipped when we arrive in Ilhéus.” He turned to the others. “For now, let us push on through the night and leave this cursed forest.”

  #

  Someone shook Gerard’s shoulder and he struggled to consciousness. He heard a timid voice say, “Are you all right?”

  With effort, he opened his eyes. He saw the boy Labateau had captured looking down at him wide-eyed, while a velvet dawn appeared through the trees. Though it felt like lifting a thousand pounds, Gerard pushed himself up.

  “Why yes,” he said, “I think I am.”

  Minutes later, Gerard left the woods, hand in hand with the child. His rapier hung limply from his other hand, the point dragging the ground behind him.

  As they neared the pillory, a cry sounded from the church and everyone rushed out to greet them. The boy ran to the arms of his sobbing mother. Someone handed Gerard his harquebus, while others patted his back.

  Nicolau pushed through the crowd and cradled Gerard’s hand.

  “Is it dead?” he asked.

  “You’ll find the body in the woods nearby,” replied Gerard.

  “Praise be the Lord for sending this most heroic and loyal man to save us!” said Nicolau.

  “Gerard van Oost!” shouted someone from the crowd. Several others joined in the cry.

  “Slayer of monsters!” shouted another. “Like the heroes of old!”

  Gerard’s eyes glazed over and he whispered to himself, “Like the heroes of old.”

  “What’s that?” asked someone, pointing back to the woods.

  Gerard turned to spot movement at the edge of the forest. He tensed and raised his rapier instinctively. However, it drooped to his side the moment he saw a group of men led by a gold-and-red banner emerge from the woods.

  “Why now?” he mumbled to himself. Then he turned to the crowd and said, “So sorry, but I must be going.”

  He pushed his way through a throng of admirers and sprinted south without looking back.

  Someone shouted, “Three cheers for Gerard van Oost: Huzzah!”

  The crowd joined in: “Huzzah! Huzzah!”

  Their cries diminished as his retreating silhouette disappeared over a hill to the south.

  “What an unusual man,” commented Nicolau.

  #

  Antonio—haggard and exhausted—shivered in relief at the sight of Ilhéus before him.

  “We made it out alive,” said Diogo.

  “Some of us did,” said Tinga.

  A cheer broke out before them. Antonio could make out a crowd in the town center ahead. “They must have seen us coming,” he said, a smile breaking upon his face.

  He straightened up and dusted off his clothes for the big moment. When he saw the shocked faces of the crowd and the women covering their eyes, he remembered that many of his men remained naked. He grimaced. It was not be the triumphant entrance he’d desired, but it would have to do. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his eyes and realized his head was uncovered.

  “Where’s my hat?” he asked to no one in particular.

  His men shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders. He growled and quickened his pace towards town.

  When his group arrived at the pillory, he said, “I am Antonio Dias Caldas. I’ve brought my banner here to rescue you.”

  A man shouted, “Gerard van Oost has saved us!” Many cheered at the sound of Gerard’s name.

  “WHAT?” screamed Antonio. “I’ve marched day and night to get here and you’re telling me that Gerard van Oost has slain the beast?”

  “Labateau is dead,” said Nicolau. “Praise be to God!”

  “Where’s Gerard?” growled Antonio, looking around furiously.

  “He left just moments ago.”

  “Curse the day that Gerard van Oost was born. Curse the day he came to Brazil. I’ll have his head yet.”

  “Fie!” came a cry from the crowd. “He’s our hero!”

  Antonio spat on the ground. “Then show me to the mill owner Francisco de Santarem. I have his slave here and I expect a reward.”

  “We have but eight mill owners in Ilhéus,” said Nicolau, “and none by that name.”

  “Impossible!” yelled Antonio. In a flash, he unsheathed his rapier and turned to face his men. “Where is that cursed slave? Bring him here so I can run him through.”

  The men looked among themselves but no one spoke. Finally, someone at the back of the troop said, “Captain, here!”

  Antonio went to the man, who pointed to the ground. There, at his feet, lay two objects: an eye patch and an iron collar.

  #

  A black capuchin monkey swung through the trees, his latest acquisition held in one of his lower paws.

  He screamed to his friends, calling them to show off his prize. They appeared from the branches all around him, and he waved the hat at them: the one with the shiny buckle and red feather he had taken from the boisterous man. He had hung by the tail from a tree branch and grabbed it as the man walked past. The men around him, their weary heads bowed toward the ground, hadn’t even noticed.

  The monkey put the hat on his head and it fell down, cover
ing his face. The other monkeys screeched in approval at his mockery of the men who walked on two legs below the trees, and he howled along with them.

  END

  Gentle Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed “An Inauspicious Visit”, the fourth novelette in The Elephant and Macaw Banner series, as our heroes Gerard and Oludara leave the Tupinambá village and make their way towards unknown lands and unexpected dangers.

  I’m proud to say that the books are now being used in hundreds of schools in Brazil, and were recently adopted by some schools in the U.S. as well, as a way of introducing Brazilian folklore and history to students. If you, or someone you know, is interested in using these books in the classroom, let me know. I’ll do all I can to help!

  As always, please consider leaving a review of this book on Amazon, even if it’s just a line or two. Reviews make a huge difference for the independent author.

  If you haven’t already, please consider signing up for my newsletter. I’ve had quite a bit of news to share recently, and I hope to have more soon!

  Regards,

  Christopher

  Interested in further tales of Gerard and Oludara? There are several other titles available in this series, action-packed fantasy adventures that can be read in one sitting. Just $0.99 each or FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

  Acknowledgements:

  In the first three books, my acknowledgements were mostly related to my life as a writer. In this edition, I’d like to mention other friends who have inspired me along the way.

  First, to those who made a difference in my young life: Eric Hasslefeld, Jason Messina, Pete Osborne, Tony Huston, Mike Vega, Jason Councill, and Melissa White, to name a few. To my unconditional friends, who have always been there when I needed them: David Riggs, Hermann Gartler, Russ Jackson, William Wong. To the Rice University posse, who made those years some of my best: Tom Wardle, Rob Dickinson, Jon Pérez, Brenna Copeland, Kristine McKinney. To the old gang at Sacto, especially Felix Lung, Mike Stoner, Tin-Yau Fung.

  To the crew at Southlogic Studios, who fought alongside me in the trenches of the video game industry for over a decade: no easy feat. There are too many to name here, but special thanks to Marilia Mota, my “right arm” for many years; Gustavo Goedert, who helped me survive my first year in Brazil; and Christian Lykawka, who, in great part, inspired me to move to Porto Alegre in the first place. Adriano Ledur and Ricardo Rocha deserve my undying thanks for never giving up on our project, no matter how bleak our situation turned.

  Others have greatly influenced my academic career: Marsal Branco, Cristiano Max, Magda Cunha, Gerson Klein, Eduardo Müller, Isabel Siqueira, and Atila Vasconcelos.

  A special thanks to Joe Saunders, who, when I needed it the most, invited me into his home without a second thought. Without his kindness, I wouldn’t have achieved the success I have today.

  It takes one person to create a book, but thousands to create the writer. Thank you all.

  About the author: Christopher was born in Texas, but has lived in Porto Alegre, Brazil, for the last fifteen years. While his first love will always be literature, he also writes for video games, TV, and comics.