The Legend of the Phantom (20 page)

13 October 153
6 – Today I swore an oath on the skull of my father’s murderer. I swore, ‘I swear to devote my life to the destruction of piracy, greed, cruelty, and injustice, and my sons and their sons shall follow me.’

The Phantom stopped reading for a moment, trying to visualize what the First must have had running through his mind at that time, trying to savor that which drove generations of men to take up that same oath. This was the
Oath of the Skull that the First, Kit, and his descendants would live by. This was his oath, his legacy.

This was a story
Kit never tired of reading. However the chronicle was large and somewhere in there was the answer to the origins of the rings and thus the gold coins.

I
t was the events that led up to The First’s return to the shore that the Phantom was after. Returning to the text, he skimmed through the opening pages.

My life began anew on the 1
7
t
h
of February in the year 1535, the day my father was murdered…

…After I was sufficiently recovered from the effects of the pirate attack, I turned my thoughts to how I might proceed in returning to my homeland. Though grief-stricken I was determined to outfit a ship of my own and exact revenge upon the murderers of my father and the crew. Upon such cognitive reflection, I decided that I would have to make a sea journey back to the land of my inheritance, which was in the English coastal towne of Whitby.

Around me the vestiges of the wreck had washed up
on the shore. The remains were such that there was little possibility of making any part of the wreckage seaworthy. As I contemplated this, I was beset upon by a number of small dark men. Pygmies.

At the sight of them I gathered up a broken beam to use as a weapon, but
seeing me, they stood there pointing and ran up to me with wide smiles. Their friendly smiles made it known unto me that they meant me no harm. My strength ebbed and I fell to my knees.

The little people immediately came to my aid, taking care of me in every way.

I attempted to make my request for a homeward journey known to the friendly pygmy people, who appeared to understand. Immediately they gathered their supplies, and leading me along, we journeyed across the wilds of the jungle.

…
But first I must scribe a bit about these wondrous little people. The Bandar, as I learned later that they were called, were but a small band of warriors that had been able to escape from their slavery to a race of giants known as the Wasaka. From the moment they found me, bruised and torn on the beaches of this seemingly inhospitable part of the world, they treated me with the care of a deity, which perhaps I must have appeared to them; for they must have never seen a white man up close before. Yet they must have had some vision of a white man, whether through legend or otherwise as they immediately called me by a local given name; which as I later discovered could be literally translated as Ghost Who Walks; or perhaps in the English tongue as Phantasm or possibly Phantom.

Having nursed me to health, they transported me through the jungle.

We traveled for a time, until finally we came to a large field that was surrounded on our side by dense jungle and on the other side by the walls of a large village.

‘
Wasaka,’ stated the pygmy Buran to me, as he pointed to the enclosure. Buran I learned was the youngest son of the chief.

Wasaka I learned was the name of the people that lived there in that village. Even from the distance of the jungle fringe, I could see that the Wasaka were giants; easily seven feet tall at average.

Within the fields worked the small pygmies alongside of their masters, their tiny frames made even smaller against the towering frames of their masters.

It was after the fact that I learned the true story of the Bandar versus the Wasaka. But as it has relevance here, I submit the story of the two factions.

For many generations the
Wasaka Giants had lived nearby the Bandar pygmies. Throughout all this time they had raided the Bandar and stolen the young and old as slaves to be used for hard labor, tending flocks and working in the fields; in essence, used to serve the giants.

It was the time of the Bandar feast of thanksgiving,
a few days before my arrival that the Wasaka went too far. They carried off the Bandar chief’s daughter.

W
ith a feast to be held at moonrise, the tribe bid Suran, first son of the chief Turan, farewell in the early morning hours as he led a band of braves into the woods in search for her. However, by dusk he had not returned. Scouts were dispatched to ascertain their whereabouts and returned with the dire news that the chief’s son and his fellow braves had been caught by the Wasaka.

The Wasaka were disciples of the death
god Kua. A god that they claimed demanded the occasional human sacrifice. The chief Turan knew that once the Wasaka found out the true identity of his son, that his son Suran would become the next sacrifice. Now fearing for both his son’s and daughter’s lives, the Bandar chief beseeched the other tribes for help, but they turned their backs to them.

It was at that time of dismay and hopelessness that
Suran and a few of the braves were able to escape with the daughter of the chief. They purposely traveled in the opposite direction of the camp, in hopes of eluding their captives when they arrived at the sea shore. Turning inland they finally made their way back to the Deep Woods, but due to a great sickness that shortly came upon them, through the insistence of the medicine woman the youngest son of the Bandar chief and a few of the still healthy braves were sent back to the sea shore to seek out the Ghost Who Walks…where instead they found myself, having watched me from the fringe of the woods as the final moments of battle took place.

To them I was legend incarnate, as I will later describe. There
, half dead and weaponless, they led me, deep into the woods and deposited me at the edge of the Wasaka village, all hope centered in my direction.

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 t
o reason with him, explaining that the Bandar are people as well, asking him to give up the slaves.

W
hen 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, t
he 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 th
e 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 v
ultures 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, s
uddenly 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 b
een 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.