The Legend of the Phantom

by Jacob Nelson

  My first sight of the treatment of the pygmies by the giants filled me with dismay. I knew I was weak and they were many while I was but one.

  Then as two of them passed close I heard an astonishing thing… they spoke a few words in French. It was a brutish version of the language, but French it was. I later learned that they were traders with the outside world, selling the saffron that brought such a high price.

  Having a language at my disposal, I approached the village. I was shortly escorted before their king. The Wasaka assumed I was there to make a trade agreement for more of their saffron, and the king himself showed me the many brutalities that they forced on the Bandar. Seeing the cruelty firsthand, I attempted to reason with him, explaining that the Bandar are people as well, asking him to give up the slaves.

  When the king realized my designs were not to trade but to free his slaves, he became furious. He ordered his men to grab me. They then chained me up against a large whipping post and having taken down the whip, beat me until my back was stained with my own blood.

  I neither yelled out nor gave them any show of pain, but instead spoke sternly against them, showing my defiance. Enraged, finally they dragged me before their demon idol, and stretched me out onto a large slab of stone that lay under the shadow of a replica of their demon god Kua, a place of sacrifice.

  Not speaking they tied me securely, spread out upon the altar.

  As this all transpired, the little jungle pygmies that had escaped and brought me forth watched helplessly from the jungle’s edge.

  Finally the king approached. ‘You are left to his judgment,’ he said, indicating the demon idol. ‘He will protect you or destroy you.’

  As he said this he turned on his heel and stormed away.

  I looked at my determiner of fate and noted how he looked: like a ghost of a man dressed in a purple skin-tight outfit with the eyes covered in a black mask. Around him the skulls of past victims were adorned as if in reverence to the demon idol.

  It took great effort to tear my eyes away from the repulsive idol. I noted that the giants moved a respectable distance away.

  What I did not immediately see were the vultures that roosted in a nearby tree. However, as they took to flight the warriors turned their attention to them. I followed their gaze and recognized the filthy beasts as I watched them use air currents to slowly circle above me.

  Finally I understood what the king meant by ‘He will protect you or destroy you.’

  The vultures had obviously fed there before. From my vantage point I could see the extended cruel beaks and with it the giant’s cruel joke.

  I struggled against the cords to the amusement of the giants. Then I shouted in an attempt to frighten the foul birds away. The second item worked as the yell momentarily scared them off but then they came back landing on my chest with their sharp claws extended and sharp beaks at the ready for use.

  I spat at the Wasaka who stood off to one side and watched amused.

  As I resigned myself to my fate, suddenly a hail of sticks and stones drove the vultures away. Though I was caught in the hail of the sticks and stones, it was a blessed relief from the sharp beaks and claws of the birds.

  The hail of sticks and stones came from the jungle’s fringe, delivered by the escaped pygmies. Never before had they dared invade their master’s village and the assault took the Wasaka completely by surprise.

  The king ordered his men to protect him, and the giants quickly ran for cover. While they were thusly occupied by the hail of stones around them, the one pygmy named Buran came to my aid and quickly freed me by cutting the cords that bound me.

  It happened so fast, that by the time the Wasaka were ready to retaliate, we were already well our way running through the forest.

  The Wasaka were shortly in quick pursuit and were determined to kill the defilers of their demon God. I realized that, as quick as these little people were, they had no means to outrun the Wasaka.

  By that time we had entered a dark region of the jungle. We startled a flock of parrots that were eating fallen fruit from the ground and I watched as they took to the trees. At that moment inspiration hit and I grabbed Buran by the shoulder and pointed up. I do not know if he immediately understood, but not giving him time to argue I quickly tossed him into the air toward a high branch. He caught the branch and shinnied himself up into it and realizing what I had in mind, quickly lowered some vines to the rest of the half-dozen warriors around me.

  The pygmies quickly climbed into the tree and I followed them as silently as I could manage.

  It was none too soon, as shortly our pursuers found our trail. They raced beneath us, and yet I placed a hand upon Buran’s shoulder to keep him still, insisting he stay.

  As I suspected the Wasaka searched all over the jungle floor, never believing that a pygmy could climb such a large trunk of the tree. As they passed underneath, I nearly chuckled as I heard them talk among themselves about how the white man and the pygmies had been spirited away.

  As soon as it was convenient we climbed back down via the vines and found ourselves a place to make camp. Immediately the Bandar left all but Buran, myself and one other. Buran made it clear to me that he wished me to stay, but finding myself hungry, and having spied some nearby berries, I left his side to eat.

  As I reached for the berries I was quickly stopped by Buran. In broken French he said, ‘Never eat them.’ Then pointing at the ground to a dead bird that lay under the bush he explained, ‘See, stupid bird did. Dead! Kills at once!’

  I quickly dropped the berries and returned with Buran to the fire. I reflected much on how to defeat the Wasaka but I could not come up with a single plan that would work.

  It was many hours later that the other four warriors returned carrying a small game animal of some kind unknown to me. They had found it by chasing away carrion birds. The unfortunate animal had been killed by a lion according to the spoors that they found. The meat was barely enough to feed us all, and through broken French and signs Buran made me understand his frustration. Buran complained bitterly that they were cursed to be so small, that their size forced them to feast on the kills of the great cats or the weak or sickly. If only they had some means to strike their prey dead instantly.

  The talk gave me an idea.

  The following day I collected a number of the poison berries. Using the hide of the dead animal as a pot, I mashed the berries into a paste and added water to boil it down into thick syrup. Then I took one of Buran’s arrows and dipped the tip of it into the sludge.

  Then I had the braves search out the lion. When we found it, the Bandar hung back. I insisted that they try to kill the beast by shooting an arrow at it. Naturally, the Bandar were afraid to try to kill such a beast but again I insisted and finally Buran let the arrow fly. The arrow instantly dropped the animal dead. The Bandar looked at me like I was some sort of specter.

  ‘Remember this, a little scratch killed the lion. A scratch can kill you. Be careful.’

  ‘We will remember.’

  ‘With these deadly weapons you must fight the giants and free your people.’ I suggested.

  The words started them off. ‘Fight the giants!?... How can we fight the giants?... They are so huge!’

  ‘You must not be afraid. With this poison you can kill an elephant.’

  ‘Kill an elephant? Rarely have we enjoyed such delicacy!’ Buran began.

  The others took up another thought process, ‘But we are afraid. We can not fight the giants…’

  ‘…Unless you lead us,’ finished Buran.

  Lead them to war? How could we possibly be victorious even with the poison arrows. We needed something that would make the Wasaka believe that it was fated for the Bandar to win. That thought process made me think about the berries and at the same time reminded me of the demon idol of the Wasaka giants. A flash of inspiration hit me and I outlined my thoughts to Buran. We packed up again and immediately set out.

  Chapter 28

  The marv
els of such a strange and wild country!

  … We travelled for days. At first I was quite lost, except that I could discern the placement of the sun relative to myself. I quickly learned to watch for those oddities of the jungle that could be used as landmarks, whether they were an extremely high hill, a waterfall, or a great swamp.

  … As we neared the final destination that I will hitherto describe, we camped for the night in a grove of trees that brought great excitement to my companions. It was as if they wished to convey to me that I was fast approaching home. As the darkness enveloped us the wind picked up, at first just rustling the leafy tops of the trees, yet shortly, to my great surprise, as the wind whistled through the grove it appeared to my ears to whisper the name ‘Phan-tom’ over and over again. Were it not for the obvious enjoyment of the pygmies over this extreme peculiarity, I might have been more distressed over it.

  Eventually we wound through a path that took us into a part of the jungle that seemed to be an animal refuge, with numerous animal trails crisscrossing throughout. It was the deeper part of the woods, an area that had excessive plant-life; filled with all sorts of creepers, leafy green vegetation and massive trees.

  …However, the scene that was to come overshadowed them all. As we continued along this Deep Woods, we eventually came to a large waterfall that appeared to be impassable. The Bandar, as I have learned the pygmies like to be called, marched straight through the massive wall of water; seemingly to disappear. I was hesitant, but as my escort was willing to submit themselves to this watery doom, I was willing to follow.

  As the water rushed over me, washing the harsh jungle dirt and grime, I reveled in its coolness. Yet I was unprepared for what came next…for on the other side of that glorious waterfall, a large fissure was to be found, that opened up the rock behind through which after a short path deposited us into a beautiful bowl shaped valley with an incredible rock formation below. A cave naturally carved of wind, water and time…

  This cave was curiously shaped as a skull, not unlike the one depicted upon my belt, with separate entrances above forming the eye-sockets, while an obviously ancient rockslide had sculpted a nose bridge, and below at the ground level one could easily ride a horse inside of what one could only describe as a gaping toothed upper jaw. The Bandar lead me directly to the mouth of the skull cave, and there, through gesturing, bid me inside. I hesitantly made my way within the mouth of the cavern, and found the place perfectly functional in every way. Returning to the entrance I collected a burning torch, and bidding the Bandar to come inside with me, I entered the cavernous system once again. However the Bandar would not follow me.

  Knowing them during the course of my traversal of the jungle, it was pressed against my mind that this cave may be a holy or sacred structure to them, and that they believed that I was that holy man; for they were afraid of no living thing, whether beast or man. However, my curiosity outweighed any dangers that may have existed inside, and I explored the cave as I moved from chamber to chamber.

  Though from the outside it reminded one of a skull, the inside was more like that of a cathedral. Large chambers turned into smaller chambers, extending back to yet other chambers. I could visualize myself living there, a bed chamber here, a library chamber there, a study chamber there…

  In the very back of the cool cave I found a small underground waterfall, which was surprisingly warm. The water fell down the space of 15 feet to collect into a pool of crystal water that sloped to 3 feet deep on the back side within a 9 foot diameter. On the far end of the pool, the water roughly spilled off and quickly disappeared again through another crack in the wall. The runoff of water had cut a natural swath through the rock that allowed one to use it quite as a chamber pot, without the mess and even more so without the smell.

  Quite nearby the warm chamber another chamber had a smaller waterfall that was little more than a trickle, yet spilling off in such a fashion that a large man as myself could easily stand under it and take it up as rain from the heavens. This one however was cold and clear, and had a portion of it run off into a small side stream thanks to a well grooved protrusion. The trickle being perfect for a cool drink and side runoff ideal for cooling off after a hot day’s work.

  The entire structure took my breath away and I understood why the Bandar brought me here.

  I was home.

  “Excuse me, O Ghost Who Walks, the feast is ready for your honor,” Old Mozz called to Kit, from the entrance to the Library chamber.

  Kit started. ‘Was it that late already?’ he thought to himself. Out loud he replied, “Thank you, old friend. I will be right there.”

  ‘Now where was I…?’

  Chapter 29

  As the research ship Scavenger sat anchored off of the port city of Caldera, along the Puntarenas Province of western Costa Rica, the crew busied themselves with the categorizing, cleaning, and storing of equipment.

  Having finished their work, the failing daylight would have generally marked a time of rest. However, this night was different; this night was a night for celebration.

  The tension in the air was tangible. Below their feet sat hundreds of millions of dollars in gold coin and silver bars. The weather was beautiful, the gear had been stowed and the moon was up!

  “Hit the music!” shouted John Standoff. “Let’s get this celebration going!”

  He needn’t have added the second part. It had already begun.

  The liquor flowed freely. Someone shook up some stored champagne and having popped the top; placed their thumb over the lip to maximize the spray. The moon was nearly full, without a single cloud left in the sky.

  The crew indulged themselves. Toast after toast was made. Laughter cut across the sea. Jokes told and cheers for a job well done made animosities come to a temporary end.

  In general, pirates like to strike at dawn and dusk, when the light is lowest, sneaking up on ships in small skiffs at great speed. This was no exception.

  As the first pirate climbed over the gunwale, a shouted “Welcome to the party!” was called out by a sloshed someone.

  Les had just downed his third shot of rum; a follow-up to his earlier champagne. John had his own private party going on, with a bottle of Captain Morgan well in mouth. Suddenly they noticed they weren’t alone.

  “Pirates,” breathed out Les. He started for the ship’s communication room, his drunken stupor abruptly lightened.

  “Oh, no you don’t.” The pirate closest to him said, in an Irish accent. Recklessly the spray from a Kalashnikov, in this case an AK-47, splayed out in front of him, into the communications room, destroying any chance for sending a message.

  The shooting had the desired effect long before he barked the next command. “Everybody down! Get on that deck. I mean you, too!” Stripes added, as he kicked at one of the crew that was a little too slow to respond.

  The second pirate had pulled out his weapon and was pointing it generally toward the crowd. His grin was unnerving; looking somewhat like that of a Cheshire cat.

  “Down!” reiterated Patches, a third member of the pirates. For effect he shot up the half-drunk bottles that lay discarded on the makeshift bar table. The glass and alcohol spread in all directions. The spilt alcohol rushed off the table, leaving the rest to pool to the edge. It slowly drizzled down the side, dripping onto the growing puddle on the deck.

  “Lady coming on board!” Stripes called out. “Let’s all be respectable…” This brought more smiles from the pirates.

  Head’s turned up as the woman stepped over the gunwale. She arrived in the shadows, with her face only barely discernable in the night light of the moon; yet every man there felt drawn to her as if she were some siren of the sea.

  “Who’s the captain?” she icily asked to no one in particular.

  The captive closest to her stammered his reply, “He’s no longer on board. He was sick, so we sent him to the mainland yesterday.”

  She walked over to the frightened man, and stood right in front of him
, immediately over his face, her legs apart; hands on her hips. “Then who is in charge?” Her British voice was like a polar wind. It left no room for argument.

  The man slowly looked up, trying to crank his neck high enough to see her face. Instead it seemed to him that all he was able to see were legs; long toned legs rising higher and higher.

  “Keep yer head down!” Stripes suddenly shouted, bringing his weapon down on the man’s upper back. As the man fell back, he added, “Now answer the lady!”

  However, the man just slumped. Perhaps he was hit too hard, perhaps in part due to too much excitement following his alcoholic binge.

  As the pirate reached down to grab him by his hair, an American voice cut in from across the room. “That would be me.”

  Instantly several weapons were trained on John.

  Stripes let the man’s hair go, and the crewman’s head bounced against the deck.

  The woman quickly walked over to John. She sized him up and down, looking him over with a critical eye. She obviously liked what she saw.

  Turning to her second in command, she ordered, “Tie the rest up. Have this one come with us. Time to show us what you found, lover,” she said, running a finger up John’s neck line across his lower jaw. Abruptly she turned and walked away. He was still looking at her retreating form, when he was shoved forward from behind.

  “Come on loverboy, youse got work to do.”

  After ensuring the treasure was really there, she returned to the deck, followed by John and Stripes, with another Kalashnikov focused on John’s back to secure his cooperation.

  By the time they returned from the hold, the rest of the original ship’s crew was tied together on deck. They were left lying on their sides, two by two, with hands tied in back, and a slip noose around their necks, attached to the neck of the man behind them.