by Jacob Nelson
Why was he allowed to be left behind? How did he return? Who was he? How did he become the successful merchantman that he obviously was? Why did he come out here to Bangalla; an area well beyond the normal trading routes of that day?
More questions.
The painting showed him as he might have dressed on the way to court to meet the King. The clothes were clothes of finery, the leggings of blues and purples. Around his neck was a gold coin on a chain. Not just any gold coin… the gold coin. The death’s head clearly evident; the coin large and thick. ‘Funny how you never notice the obvious until it is thrust at you. I must have seen this painting a thousand times, with that coin around his neck, yet I never thought twice about the coin.’
Looking closer Kit realized the coin had writing on its edge, painted in gold—thus making it nearly invisible to the naked eye. It appeared to be but one word, “Ámona”. Kit filed it as something to look up later. Moving on he took in other areas of the painting.
There were the rings. ‘Were the rings that old?’ His own rings were so familiar to him now that they were simply considered a part of his life. Only now that he was without them did they really become more than they ever were alone. His mind had always just assumed the Father of the First would be painted with them, as every phantom carried them, but, as he reminded himself, ‘The Father of the First was before the phantom line.’
Then there was the rapier that he lightly leaned upon, the point thrust into the map of the Caribbean. A rather crudely drawn map, but a true map all the same. ‘Who drew that map?’ The map itself made to resemble a burned parchment that would have likely been used by buccaneers. It was the area where the Father of the First had wandered from Columbus’ ship into the unknown… suddenly the Phantom halted. ‘The map…’ he thought to himself, ‘the Black Widow said there was a map…’
Kit studied it a bit more closely. As he peered closer at the map he found the tip of the rapier touched down between modern day islands of Dominican Republic and Puerto Rico; upon what looked like the western edge of a small lima bean shaped island. No names were written on the map, just the crude outlines of the islands.
‘Well, now I know where she plans to go…I’ve found the map. Now what about the scroll…?’ The painting showed no scroll, nor anything resembling a scroll, unless one considered the burned parchment as such. But the very term scroll suggests it rolls up, and the painting of the burned parchment certainly did not and would not.
Leaving that minor mystery, having had studied the painting, the Phantom moved to the library.
There he placed his torch in the open hall hook that was made for such an occasion. He turned to the bookcases that walled the room and walked over to the shelf where the First had his volumes. However, he passed the First’s and moved instead to where the last volume of the First’s chronicle ended and the first volume of the Second’s chronicle began. He pulled down the first chronicle of the Second Phantom.
Settling back into his favorite reading desk under the torch light he laid out the book. He kept all the volumes well dusted, yet as he opened the vellum tome, the air of antiquity filled his lungs.
The Second began his narrative with his birth date “having been born under the Oath of the Phantom on the 28th of May in the year 1548.”
Kit already knew somewhat concerning his ancestor, the Second. He was the son of the first Phantom, father of the boy who played Juliet (in Shakespeare’s opening performance of his newly written Romeo and Juliet) for whom he traveled to London to retrieve in 1602.
Kit also remembered reading that the Second was married thrice; the first time with Christopher Columbus' granddaughter, Marabella, who died in premature childbirth. The grief of such great loss of both his wife and the child had nearly ruined the mighty man, which drove him to try to forget his immediate past and search out his legacy instead. Kit empathized with him all too well.
Kit searched for the passage and read the story again. And what a story it was!
Partially as an attempt to leave his grief behind, the Second had left on a quest to follow his grandfather’s trail and along the way found himself in the wilds of the Amazon. There along the banks of the Amazon River, a great cat came across the spoor of the Second and deciding it could take him on, began to stalk him.
Unknown to the man or cat, another followed them both. The one that followed was no other than the princess of the Amazons; a tribe first discovered by Francisco de Orellana and Friar Gaspar de Carajal on June 24, 1542 as described on parchment.
She had seen both the man and cat and having dealt with the pale skins before, had in mind to dispatch them both, but decided instead to wait and watch to see which of the two would survive the upcoming conflict.
The decision was based on emotion, though she would never have admitted to it; for when she originally saw the fair, well muscled man, she felt something within her stir. It might have been mere curiosity at first, more than anything else, but when she saw the great cat had begun to track the man, she decided she would be there to see the end result of the battle.
In her heart, she knew what the outcome would be and was disappointed that such a specimen of a man should be wasted thus, but men were for mating and nothing more, so if one more died though natural selection, so be it.
As the great cat set to pounce, the man finally seemed to notice it. Instead of running, he twirled and stood his ground. With eyes locked they stood facing one another; the cat with claws extended, teeth protruding, muscles coiled… the man bare handed, and standing erect; the epitome of casualness.
Then the great cat sprung. The two bodies collided as the cat slammed into the man, and surprise of surprises… even as the man fell to the ground under the cat’s sinuous body his mighty arms encircled the great beast’s neck. He had caught the cat!
That was something the great cat had not encountered before, and instinct alone told the cat that anything that had its neck should be dispatched or left alone. The cat fought to free itself, and as it pulled away to try to get at the man’s throat, the man did the unthinkable. As the cat struggled free the man grabbed its tail… and as the cat swung its head around to bite the arm that held its tail, swinging his mighty arm back the man slammed his great fist into the cat’s head. The cat took it in a daze, and staggered backward.
Then shaking its mighty head, it tried again, and again the man slammed its head with his mighty fist. Again and again the cat tried to break free, finally deciding that it would rather lose its tail than receive another blow.
Screaming, it finally tore free and leaping away in a daze, it landed hard, but shakily got to its feet and attempted to jump again. However it instead fell to the ground dead, its brain having hemorrhaged; leaving the man mostly unscathed, a short ways behind.
The princess couldn’t believe her eyes! Bare-handed that man had killed the great beast of the forest. The whole of the battle had so consumed her attention that she failed to realize that the band of one of the more insolent neighboring tribes had come upon her.
Suddenly fearing they were after the man, she decided that she would try to save him. She called out to them and showed herself, demanding their respect. But the tribe knew nothing of the man and believing she was alone in the woods (and being jealous to do away with the Amazon princess) had decided to kill the unprotected girl.
The girl again demanded their respect and called them to drop to their knees, but the men only sneered and with weapons raised, came on. Suddenly she realized that she was in danger and quickly retreated, as she had no other choice. However, the only path available to her lead to the edge of the piranha waters, waters which meant only death to those that were foolish enough to venture within. Seeking a new way out, she tripped upon an outward root and fell. As she did so a cry escaped her lips.
As the men heard the cry, they smiled their wicked smiles and taking their time, slowly advanced. They knew she was theirs. It was cowardly but now it was a sport and they savored the ga
me.
As the men encircled her, the princess knew she was done for and dug in her heels for the final battle which would surely be her last.
Elsewhere in the jungle the cry was heard by another. The Second, having dispatched the great cat, now caught his breath and focused on the new sound. ‘A woman? In distress?’ He couldn’t believe his ears. The Second was the type of male that could never allow a woman to be in distress while he was able to help. So leaving the great beast behind, he ran toward the sound of the woman in distress.
As he neared he came across the first of the tribesmen. The man was just as surprised at seeing the fair-skinned man as the young Phantom was at seeing the man, yet the Second had one major advantage: his surprise didn’t slow him down. Quite the opposite, he was already on an adrenaline rush from the great cat and the extra boost only made him faster, stronger and more alert.
Jumping into the midst of the men, it was as if time had slowed down for him. The man with the spear suddenly found himself knocked back into another with an equally level spear, the force of the impact so hard against him that he found himself impaled upon the pike of his fellow tribesman. He was a dead man anyway, having had suffered a collapsed lung from the blow as the Second caved in his chest with that mighty punch.
Dodging around the next thrust from a nearby tribesman the Phantom bowled over another man, and in doing so, stepped onto his head, crushing him into the ground.
As yet another spear hurled in his direction, he caught the device and using it as a baton, swung it around and took out a third, fourth and fifth with the sharp end of the weapon, slicing as he did so.
Jumping, thrusting, dodging, twisting, hitting, kicking… winning. In a very short time the entire group was down with few survivors and only the Phantom and the Amazon princess left standing.
The girl’s eyes opened wide as she scanned the carnage of what was to be her end as it lay before her. She felt obligated to repay him, and more so, wanted him as her mate to bring a new warrior girl into this life and into her tribe. But as she looked on at the young Phantom she realized he wasn’t even breathing hard. ‘Surely this is not mere man,’ she reasoned. ‘This must be a God!’
As unknown emotions filled her breast she tried to reason her way back to reality. ‘If this was a God, and he definitely appeared to be one, then didn’t she deserve to have child with him? Because whether he was man or more, he was a warrior; and would father the greatest warrior daughter ever, worthy of the crown!’
As the man helped the girl he also found in her something he had never believed he could feel again. Shortly, the two were mated, according to the simple customs of the tribe. The man was allowed to stay and learn their language during the pregnancy and by custom was to be rewarded with great wealth if the child was born a girl. But woe unto the man that fathered a son, for both were immediately dispatched, having failed to provide the heiress.
The day finally arrived and fearing the result, the princess took the man to the sacred site to await the warrior pains that marked the arrival of the new child. In due time the child was born, with the Second on the receiving end of the birth. As the babe was born the Second glowered in pride!
“Can I see her?” asked the mother, princess of the matriarchal order of the Amazons.
“Yes, you can see him,” replied the exuberant father, the Second of the Phantom line. His countenance beamed as he held up the boy, “Xena, allow me to introduce to you our son, Kit, the Third of the Phantom line.”
“NO!” she screamed. “Why would you do this to me? Was I not good enough for you? How could you give me a son? I loved you,” she sobbed. Then realizing what she said, she also realized she meant it. Amending her last words she repeated, “I love you!”
“I love you too…” began the Phantom.
“But, you cannot stay,” interrupted the girl. “They would kill you! Kill you and our son. I can’t let them.”
“What?” demanded the Phantom. “I have saved you and your village many times over, and you believe they would kill me and this innocent child?”
“They would kill you and the child… and then kill me… because I would try to defend you.”
“Don’t you recognize that this son of ours would be the greatest warrior ever born?” Instead of an answer Xena broke down and cried. Furious the Second shouted, “Then we shall all die together!”
“No, Kit! I can’t bear to see you die, my god made man. Please take the child and go.”
“I will not!”
“You must! Here, take this necklace, and find a nearby village. Buy a mother tapir that has child and use its milk for this my baby. But first let me give him suck, that he may know his mother.”
“I will not leave!”
But eventually she made him see her reason. So it was with heavy heart that the Second left with his new son, Kit, in search of a tapir. Angry, hurt, and done with women, he picked up his quest once again in search of his legacy; in search of the Eyrie, otherwise known as Walker’s Table.
Once he had reclaimed the Eyrie, he returned to England to his grandfather’s estates in Whitby and there met a commoner Englishwoman named Anne that was once widowed herself and being barren by nature found room enough in her heart to raise young Kit as her own.
It took him many years to eventually ask for her hand in marriage, deciding that he needed a mother for his son, and together they moved back to the deep Woods… but he never forgot the Indian princess of the Amazons.
Kit read on and on about the Second. By the end of the day the Phantom had scoured the several volumes of vellum of the chronicle of the Second. He finished the account of the Second with the great Phantom’s death by Barbary pirates. ‘What a man,’ he thought to himself, ‘to be born into such a legacy’. Unfortunately, nowhere in his search of the First’s chronicles did he remember reading the word, ‘Ámona’ as written across the edge of the coin, nor had he found anything in the current chronicle of the Second.
However, all was not for naught, as he found instead a reference to the rings that were avowed the First by his father, a story that the First used to tell as a bedtime story to the Second when he was but a small boy, which read in part, “which rings were avowed to be given him one day…beside the hallowed grave at the top of the 199 wooden steps, of the which lead to theRegenfrith Monastery on the cliff… by the olde parish church at the top… back in the land of his inheritance… in the coastal towne of Whitby.”
‘Whitby…’ thought the Phantom, ‘There was something recent I had seen about Whitby… some sort of article.’ Kit pondered it for a moment before his infallible photographic memory gave him the answer. It was the second story headline on the newspaper about the cursed treasure he had read in Paris. ‘Ah, yes. The guard that was found dead in a desecrated grave. I wonder whose grave it was? Oh well,’ thought Kit, having solved that mystery a bit, ‘time to find out about Ámona.’
Chapter 39
“Ámona!” Called out the hired captain, using the old Taìno Indian name for the island. “There’s the island of Mona!” he cried out pointing to the dark shape in the distance; following up the old name with the new. The call came as a much wanted and needed exclamation after the 3 hour boat ride. “But we’re not there yet. We still’s got some rough water to pass, so I’s suggest youse hold onto yer hats!” The warning was warranted as there were still moments of bucking wave action that seemed determined to drop them into the brink. Many of the six men looked sea sick.
As the boat finally pushed past the reefs into the beaching area, the old hired captain said to Stripes, “It’s safe now to send someone over to pull the boat up on shore.”
Stripes nodded his head that he understood and turning to the man closest to him, he handed him the tow line, and pushed the younger man out of the boat into the swirling water. The man tripped as his feet hit the sandy bottom and he momentarily fell dunking himself under. Yet he held onto the tow line and with much effort, made for shore.
&n
bsp; Others shortly joined him… on command from Stripes, many of them wanting to get out of the boat as quickly as possible anyway. Together they dragged the boat and occupants with them while Stripes barked commands from his comparatively dry seat.
“Check out that sea!” exclaimed the captain after they had landed. No one even looked up. Had anyone bothered to look and been compelled to care, the last rays of the sun ignited the sea with pastels that would have made a bridesmaid flush with envy.
Instead, as the men carried their gear from the boat to the higher shore, one of them stumbled over a dark rock that protruded up from the sandy shore. Cursing he complained, “Why did we have to travel at night? I can’t see a blasted thing!”
The others grunted their assent.
Their travel at dusk was for reasons of stealth, not safety; not that Stripes would have cared for the safety of his crew, aside from his own selfish reasons.
However, had any of them studied the way the water of the strait flowed, they would have by choice travelled later. The reason was a simple one. Strong currents and heavy wave action develop during the day light hours make it difficult to traverse the passage. The only truly safe time to cross the channel is in the late night hours, from midnight to sunup.
It was with welcome relief that the old captain left them as he headed back to the big island. His only concern was that he had to return shortly with two others. A man and a woman; and as all seamen know, woman are bad luck when it comes to ships.
Christopher Columbus first encountered Mona Island, called Ámona by the Taìnos who lived there, on his second voyage to the New World on a trip between Puerto Rico and Hispaniola in 1493. The rugged island lies 45 miles west of Puerto Rico, but largely remains untouched as strong currents, high waves, and numerous sharks make the Mona Passage one of the most dangerous waterways in the world.
Its beaches, some 5 miles in total length, are whiter than those of Puerto Rico. Often compared to Galápagos, Mona Island teems with animals, some endemic, such as the Mona Iguana which is considered the most spectacular single form of life on the island. Found nowhere else in the world, it attains four feet in length but is harmless. Their nests consist of a tunnel burrowed into the soil, which are commonly found on the coastal plain.
