The witch doctor’s name was Oman, and his ebony skin was the darkest of any African Maynard had seen during his travels. In contrast, the elderly man’s hair was as white as the necklace of bleached bones hanging from his neck. He smiled often, even when he was angry. Old pink scars would swell and writhe while he performed his most difficult tasks.
Maynard learned that while Oman’s grandfather and father had been fishermen their whole lives, his great grandfather had also been a shaman. The leaping forward of two generations was no accident, but followed an ancient custom. If the tradition was ever violated, the power entrusted to the shaman would be lost forever.
When it came time to find the shaman’s successor his great grandsons would be called together for the ancient rite. They called it climbing a red mountain, and the one who survived their bloody trials would become the next shaman. Thirty years ago Oman had climbed the red mountain, and the ugly scars covering his entire body were his constant reminders.
CHAPTER 40
One morning a group of explorers accidentally discovered the island after a storm had blown them far off course. Since Maynard was the only white man on the island, the roguish crew of English seamen gravitated toward him for help, fearful of the company he kept and offering to take him with them as soon as they repaired their boat and replenished their lost supplies. They were shocked to find Maynard so content among the savages, that he preferred the loincloth and shell necklaces to the spare clothes they’d found on board for him.
The crew was only supposed to stay for a week after they made their vessel ready, but it soon turned into three weeks and then stretched to over a month. It was a welcome diversion from their hard life at sea and they didn’t want to leave. They made wine from the fruits and flowers they found growing abundantly up in the surrounding hills and fed nightly on wild boar. Many members of the tribe began to drink with them, and soon terrible fights were started, mostly over the women or imagined thefts of property.
When one of the crewmen was found screaming as he hung suspended above a bed of hot coals for attempting to force his lustful desires on a young native girl, the island exploded with violence. Natives were cut down with machetes or shot by muskets. When Oman tried to rescue his two grandsons and their mother from a burning hut, the crewmen tied him to a tree and made him watch as they slit his belly open and his insides spilled out in a shiny mass.
“Read your future in that,” spat the sailor who’d done the cutting.
At the time Charlie was paddling across the island’s hidden black lagoon after gathering herbs and other plants to use for healing purposes. He smelled smoke and turned around to see what was happening. Great flames were coming from the village and he heard distant screams. He pulled up to shore and ran to see what was happening. When he got to the village he found Oman half alive, trying desperately to wind his intestines around his wrist so he could shove them back into his gaping abdomen.
Oman knew he was dying but insisted that Maynard allow it to happen, even despite the possibility he might still be saved by their ancient practice.
“The ritual to heal me takes too long,” the old man said, pushing Maynard away. “The invaders need to be stopped before all is lost.”
“They won’t survive, Oman. They’re outnumbered, and those who swim for their ship are covered with blood that will be smelled by our brothers the sharks. They will be eaten alive...”
Oman stared at him with fading eyes and a wide smile. He could no longer speak to Maynard through his mouth but that didn’t stop him from communicating in his special way, mind to mind.
“You don’t know this. One of those devils could still escape and return later with hundreds of his kind... You must make certain this won’t happen and do what’s best for the tribe. My family has been taken away from me and there’s nothing left but my sorry bag of bones… That is the reason you were sent to this island. It is why I had the vision. The spirits knew this day would come...”
Oman bent forward and a stream of blood flowed from his mouth. Maynard helped lower him next to the trunk of the tree. The old shaman grabbed his water flask and rinsed his face. His dark skin had turned into a purplish hue.
“Only you can be my successor. You must find others that can be trusted with the knowledge. Take the gifts I’ve taught you and find some giant land where you can begin to reseed.”
Maynard’s face was slicked with tears. “But I have no family of my own.”
“Then you must create one, or find one whose heart is truly open to yours. Now leave me. I must die alone.”
“Please don’t send me away Oman.”
“It is what you must do, my friend. Don’t cry for me. My spirit will return to this island after I make my journey. Perhaps one day a seed of yours will return here to converse with me. But remember one thing before you go, Charlie. Do not allow your soul to house the two devils of hatred and revenge for very long. You must purify as soon as possible. We may need to live in the dark when it is absolutely necessary, but we must always return to the house of light after we’ve completed what was needed.”
Oman’s head fell against his shoulder and he died with his smile still on his face and his eyes turned toward his pupil as if he’d just posed a final riddle. His fist released his intestines and they uncoiled onto the ground like a restless snake.
Maynard wiped the tears from his eyes, kissed his tutor on the forehead and then took off running toward the beach where he could hear men shouting as they struggled to swim past the rough surf to their ship anchored in the bay.
CHAPTER 41
Years of living on the island had turned Charlie into a strong swimmer and it didn’t take him long to catch up with the retreating Englishmen. He carried an ivory blade between his teeth. Thick tendrils of smoke stretched out over the water, providing only brief periods of visibility. As soon as he came close enough behind his prey he’d dive beneath the surface of the foamy water and stroke as fast as he could, then shoot up below and lay the knife across the man’s throat without being seen.
The emerald green lagoon soon blossomed with concentrations of red. Sharks swam to the victims as they sank bleeding to the bottom holding their throats and ate them while they were still conscious. Others were able to make it to the boat and crawl inside, gasping for air. When Charlie finally swam up to the side of the boat he felt his heart sink.
Many more men had made it to the boat than he had anticipated. It would be impossible to kill them all, at least at this point in time. Charlie had no choice but to drop his knife before they saw it. Hands reached down and helped him aboard. The men stared at him suspiciously, and he saw some raise their weapons although it was obvious he was unarmed.
“What do you want here?” asked one of the men Charlie had seen setting fires to the huts. The man wore a patch over one eye.
“I want to go with you. I want to return to the civilized world.”
“So you’re telling me you’re not a heathen?”
“Aye. It was purely a matter of survival. If I had not adopted their ways my head would have been set on the end of a pike.”
“He’s lying!” said another man who looked anxious to cut him down with a long blade. “And even if he convinces you he’s not, he will still bring us bad luck if we take him back with us.”