 
### Destination Paraguay

### Emily Asad

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2004, 2012 Emily Asad

All Rights Reserved

3rd Edition

Cover Art © Emily Asad 2012

Cover model - Luis Tilano-Fernandez, Jr.

_Discover other titles by this author at Smashwords.com_ :

Code Name: Whatever

Survival in Style

This e-book is licensed for your enjoyment only, and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated to my husband Babur,

whose passion for his small country made it live in my own dreams

Special thanks to my favorite Paraguayans:

Nadia and Zubia Asad; Nathalie and Juan José Miniello; Sven and Sabine Pfannl Petrovic and Liliana and Ivana Alvarez Lopez Moreira; Manuel Bogado and Alessandra Carcheri; Hugo Javier Torres Trigo, Ruben Alcaraz Brizuela, and Christian Magrini. Also to Romina Badgen and Luis Anibal Ferreira - maybe you'll read this to Mia and Lia someday.

**To the entire Fernandez family** , though I'll only list a few of you: Adriana Formby-Fernandez, Crisskay Suarez, "Junior" Luis Tilano, Joenna Fernandez, "Téréré Joe" and the two who started it all: Leni and Luciano. Thanks for treating me like family!

**To my 6th students from Asunción Christian Academy** , who read the first draft all those years ago: Bailey Carrick, Da Sol Yang Park, Esther Shi Eun Lee, Faith Eisenberg, Laura Green, Laura Steel, Christian Ko, Fermin Liu, Hector Chu Wu, Nathan Donaldson and Pedro Nasi.

Finally, this book wouldn't exist without the **Wiley-Segovias** , including Kika and Juanita, but especially Jerome Wiley Segovia for all his support through the years.

* * * * *

Author's Note:

I am a storyteller, a person who takes a single fact and explodes it into colorful detail. My husband, however, is a fervent historian who believes that facts should be represented in their most accurate form, especially where history is concerned. It is with humility, therefore, that I ask my readers to realize that although this story is based on historical facts during the years 1537 to 1542, this is a work of fiction. While the characters of Cabeza de Vaca and Domingo Irala were real people, I created fictional personalities to suit my story. Also, I squeezed the timeline; events that covered several years in history only take a few months in this book. It is my desire that the reader be left with a pleasant essence rather than a dry lecture. I hope you enjoy my story!

* * * * *

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Sleepy Sailors

Chapter 2: The Escape

Chapter 3: Alone

Chapter 4: Arazunú

Chapter 5: Between Here and There

Chapter 6: Phantoms

Chapter 7: Pa'i Shumé

Chapter 8: Jungle Comforts

Chapter 9: Chiefs in Disgrace

Chapter 10: Outbreak

Chapter 11: Caretaker

Chapter 12: Recovery

Chapter 13: River Pirates

Chapter 14: The Great Fire

Chapter 15: Silver Fever

**Chapter 1: Sleepy Sailors**

Sebastian Segovia didn't even flinch as a large green wave whacked into the side of the tiny caravel. After several weeks on board, he knew enough to flex his knees so he wouldn't lose his balance and cause the captain's dinner tray to spill. It had become an automatic reflex, like ducking under ropes that swayed in the breeze or hustling out of the way when the sailors turned grumpy. Still, with the weather growing worse each minute, Sebastian wished that the captain would hurry and call for his dinner.

When he first set out from Spain in August, Sebastian's hair had been dark brown with copper highlights. Now it was sun-bleached and totally auburn. At fifteen years old, he was a big boy. He was tall, true, but also rather chubby. When she was still alive, his mother had called it baby fat and reassured him that he would grow into his height. Everyone else back home just called him fat. And spoiled. And lazy. Nobody ever said he was brave or adventurous or clever, like his father.

Behind the closed wooden door, voices were muffled. Whatever could the officers be talking about for so long? Life on the ocean was so boring. What could possibly be more important than a hot meal?

Sebastian glanced down at the food on the tray and gulped. Meals grew more disgusting each week. When they first left Spain, bread was fresh and soft. Now, weeks later, not were the hard biscuits stale and covered with moldy blue spots, but nasty white maggots had developed, too. It had grown so bad that Sebastian preferred to eat in the dark, where he couldn't see his food squirm.

He shuddered. I hate ships, he thought. I can't wait until we reach Asunción.

Asunción! Just the name sent shivers down his spine. Its full name was Nuestra Señora Santa Maria de la Asunción, but Sebastian's father never called it by its full name. Especially not while writing a letter, since paper and ink were still scarce in the New World. Sebastian grinned to think that he would not have to read any more letters from his father. To be sure, he loved to receive letters, but it was such a struggle to read those messy squiggles that were supposed to represent words. Soon he would finally join Don Segovia in the New World, and then they could talk face-to-face.

Sebastian's father was an experienced treasure-hunter. He set out on an expedition in the winter of 1535 with the great explorer Juan de Salazar in hopes of finding a mysterious and elusive treasure. So far, nobody knew where it was, but there were so many stories that it had to be true - and Don Segovia was dedicated to sharing in the glory.

It all started with Alejo Garcia's expedition of 1524. His army of Spanish soldiers and two thousand friendly Guarani warriors overcame floods, draught, and vicious cannibals before penetrating the Chaco, a hot, humid green hell which killed half the party. But they found what they were looking for – massive amounts of silver. Two years later, Sebastian Cabot and his team explored a dangerous estuary on the River Parana. They discovered enough gold and silver to astound the royal courts of Europe. Soon, everyone caught treasure fever, including Don Segovia.

So far, Sebastian's father had not yet found any treasure, although he helped establish the fort of Sancti Spiritu in 1527 and most recently Asunción in 1537. Since that time, Don Segovia had sent plenty of letters describing strange animals that could talk like humans, strange warriors who used bows and arrows instead of rifles, and strange flowers that were twice the size of the ones that grew in Spain. Always he mentioned how close he was to discovering gold and silver, and in each letter he told Sebastian how much he missed him. Of course, Sebastian only received the letters when a ship arrived from the New World, which did not happen very often, so sometimes there were eight or nine letters at a time.

This last letter, dated January 16, 1542, was brief. Much of the ink had been smudged to the point of being unreadable, but two sentences were clear: "I've built a home for us. Come join me." It was now nearing the end of September, and Sebastian carried it with him everywhere.

Home. It was something he craved, since his no longer existed. His uncle had never made him feel very welcome, and yet Spain was the only home he knew. Would he like Asunción? Would he recognize anything over there or would the very trees and animals be different?

These were the thoughts that gnawed at him as he stood there on a small caravel entering the giant mouth of the Río de la Plata. While he waited, he glanced down at the enormous dinner tray with its neat, cloth-covered basket of hardtack, the dry biscuit that the officers would dip into their stew. They had no choice; if they did not soak the biscuit, it was so hard it could break teeth. A small round of waxed cheese rested near the edge of the tray, keeping a bottle of wine from rolling around. The food wasn't as heavy as the plates, utensils, and pewter mugs, all engraved with the captain's elaborate seal. Sebastian counted them again, just to make sure he had enough for all the officers, just in case the cook down in the galley had missed something.

When that no longer amused him, he watched the other sailors performing their duties, from mopping the deck to tightening and loosening ropes to checking the wooden boards to make sure they were still sound. Although he had been aboard for several weeks, he still did not understand all the business to running a ship. Neither did it interest him. He was not fond of ships.

A man in a high, ruffled collar and puffed sleeves strode over to Sebastian and folded his hands behind his back. "The meeting is going a little long today?"

It was Alvaro Nuñez Cabeza de Vaca, the most annoying man on earth. At least, he annoyed Sebastian. The man was always asking obvious questions, interrogating someone or another, and usually making people feel guilty for something. He was one of the King's favorites, a very wealthy and powerful man, who fretted and complained and griped about the "tiny little ship" that had "all the luxuries of a stable" and "smelled like a pig sty." Not a day passed that he did not insult the _Santa Clara_ and her crew. Sebastian tried to avoid him whenever possible.

"Sebastian, you're an intelligent lad who reads lots of books. What have you read lately?"

"Amadis de Gaula, sir," he replied through clenched teeth.

"Oh. An adventure story. You would do better to read saints' legends, boy, or at least the Sublimis Deus. Holy books for holy thoughts, to build character. None of that adventure trash you young people are so fond of nowadays. Or perhaps you'd like to read my own book, the one I wrote about the Indians in North America? I have a copy in my quarters." At Sebastian's lack of reply, he held out his copy of the Sublimis Deus. "Would you like to borrow this one for the remainder of the voyage? You do read Latin, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

Cabeza de Vaca fairly forced the book into the boy's outer vest pocket. "Good boy. I'm sure you'll agree with the Pope when he says that the natives of the New World are rational beings with souls who must not be enslaved or robbed. You do believe that, don't you, son?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "There are many good Spanish men who have fallen for the trap of free labor here in the New World. They think the natives are here to serve them, instead of it being the other way around. You see, it is our duty as good Christian men to teach the pagans about God. We can only do that by meeting their needs..."

Here we go again, thought Sebastian, but kept his thought to himself.

"...but there are some men who abuse their trust and use them as free labor. Especially that preposterous governor Irala. Did you know that he actually encourages his men to take pagan wives? Shameful! A proper marriage in the eyes of God is between Spaniard and Spaniard, not Spaniard and Indian. Don't you agree, boy?"

A small spark of defiance burned in Sebastian's eyes but he was careful to keep his jaw closed. His own father had recently taken an Indian wife. Although she spoke a pagan language, she was learning Spanish like a proper woman. Could his father be wrong to have married a native? He had converted her to Christianity before marrying her.

"...don't know why those men love Irala the way they do. He must be weak, to give his men what they want all the time. When I'm governor of Asunción, I'll set down some rules and then there will be order instead of chaos. Why, I remember one time when I was living among the Indians in North America..."

Sebastian suppressed a groan of agony. Cabeza de Vaca had spent ten years living with natives in North America, and it was all he talked about. Originally, he was supposed to be part of an expedition to explore Florida to chart potential treasures there, but his party had been split up and then disaster upon disaster befell them. Only four of the original two hundred men survived, Cabeza de Vaca being one of them, and when he finally returned to Spain, it was in disgrace. To save himself from losing all his titles, lands, and positions of respect, he wrote about his ten-year ordeal as if it were a spiritual blessing to have been gone for so long. He told about how he had a chance to preach the gospel to the Indians, and how he had become a faith healer. By turning his monetary failure into a spiritual success, he managed to regain respect from the royal court – so much so, in fact, that he had been granted a new position as governor of Asunción, to take the place of the present and very popular governor, Domingo Martínez de Irala.

Sebastian wondered how his father would handle the news; it seemed that all the men who followed Irala adored him and would gladly follow him to certain death if he asked them to do so. Sebastian doubted that any of the soldiers would ever love Cabeza de Vaca.

"...so that's why they avoid eating fish. Are you listening to me, boy? Did you even hear a word I said?" Cabeza de Vaca heaved a heavy, patient sigh. "Sebastian, you've been a perfectly bland and polite person this entire voyage. You never rebel, you always follow regulations. You're almost boring. What exactly is it that you wanted to do with your life?"

Sebastian swallowed the growing lump of anger in his throat but kept his face neutral. Ignoring Cabeza de Vaca would only make him stand here longer, so Sebastian answered him. "I want to live a nice, quiet life, get married, have children, and see my grandchildren."

"So you're not an adventurer like your father? You don't take risks? You don't gamble?"

Sebastian kept his answer as short as possible. "No, sir."

"Hmm. What a remarkable young person. I, on the other hand, always strive to improve myself. I gained my estate by being shrewd with money, and I only invest in worthwhile ventures. Do you know why I came on this little ship? Aside from saving the Indians from Irala's selfish desires?" He did not wait for a response. "There's gold in the New World, boy. I can feel it. I've been lucky that it has eluded all the others, but it will not elude me. I've talked with the foremost explorers about the best ways to reach the land far to the west." He winked at Sebastian. "When I get to Asunción, my men and I will take some volunteers through the Chaco to the land of wealth. I plan to triple my estate!"

Sebastian kept his gaze fixed solidly on the cabin door, waiting for the captain's order. Cabeza de Vaca did not seem to notice; he had entered his favorite subject of conversation: himself. He could talk about himself until he starved to death.

"... and that's the kind of life you need to aspire to, Sebastian. I say this for your own good. You need to have ambition in your life." He patted Sebastian on the shoulder and gave him a fatherly smile.

Sebastian gave him his best fake smile. "Thank you, sir. I'll keep that in mind."

Cabeza de Vaca smiled as if he had bestowed a kingship upon Sebastian. "That's right. You'll make a fine naval officer someday, boy. Just got to get some personality. And don't forget to return my copy of the Sublimis Deus before we dock." He wandered off to encourage some of the other sailors, leaving Sebastian to brew in quiet anger. His arms ached even worse now, but he would never show his fatigue to that annoying man.

Several more minutes passed. Finally, Sebastian heard Captain Ramirez call him in.

"Sorry to keep you waiting ," he said, beckoning Sebastian toward him.

All the officers looked tense. It was not his place as cabin boy to ask for details, so he set down the heavy dinner tray in front of the officers. Rolling his shoulders in small circles so nobody would see his relief, he arranged the plates and food on the table. Then he carefully poured some wine into each of the officers' glasses. He returned the bottle to the tray and stepped back behind the captain's seat, ready to serve again if he was needed.

"That's all," said Captain Ramirez. "Go eat your dinner and come back when you're done. We're going to be here a while longer."

Sebastian gave a little half-bow and silently left the room, glad to be out so soon. At the same time, he was worried. Private business among the officers could mean trouble aboard ship. He decided to ask Father Gustavo, who often knew things before the captain did. But since his stomach was growling from hunger, he decided to ask after dinner.

The cook often made fun of Sebastian for being a chubby boy, but Sebastian was careful to eat no more than any of the other sailors. He never asked for more than his share of rations. It was true that his stomach rolled over the belt of his pants, but he was by no means as fat as the monks and bishops who prayed in the monasteries.

"Don't just stand there gawking, boy," said the cook as he slopped watery stew into Sebastian's plate. "Take your biscuit and get out. You're the last one to eat; I'm waiting for you so I can clean up. And only take one biscuit, now. We don't want you sinking the ship because you're too heavy for it." He laughed at his own mean joke.

Sebastian frowned at cook's cruelties. He took a biscuit from the wooden barrel and went to a corner to eat in peace. The stew tasted strongly of salt port and lime, and the biscuit was dry and crunchy and extremely hard. He longed for the day when they would reach Asunción and he could be on dry land again. Not that he was prone to seasickness, but sharing a caravel with forty men and twice as many animals made him feel claustrophobic.

After taking one bite of the heavily salted stew, he gagged and made a face. It tasted awful, even more rotten than usual. Sebastian's homesick mood grew and couldn't help but thinking about his mother's beef and vegetable stew back home. The more he thought about it, the more the idea of eating cook's stew made him sick, so he decided he could skip a meal.

"I'm going up deck," he said.

Cook shrugged. It made no difference to him what the boy did or did not do. He was too busy eating the rest of his stew to care about one overweight boy.

Knowing that Cook would explode in anger if he threw food away, Sebastian took his plate and biscuit with him. Sailors who wanted to eat their dinner in the fading sunshine beckoned Sebastian to join them, but he did not feel like talking tonight. He made his way to the captain's cabin and sat down outside the door. Nobody would bother him if they thought he was still on duty.

Thoughts of his mother's stew brought on a sudden bout of homesickness. Sebastian hated being pudgy, but since he was not an active boy, he accepted his soft arms and a flabby stomach. Yet his figure was by no means unattractive. If he ever did lose his chubbiness, he had broad shoulders that could support strong arms and a muscular back. He was tall for his age, almost as tall as his father, and he shared his father's sharp nose and clefted chin. However, he got his auburn hair and hazel eyes from his mother, and her soft pouty lips too.

He also inherited his mother's favorite pastimes: reading, studying, drawing, playing music, and writing poetry – perfect activities for the cramped lifestyle aboard the ship. His gentle nature and intelligent answers made his a favorite of the officers although it drew criticism from the other shipmates when he was alone. They called him "my daughter" and "sweetheart" and often made him cry.

Doña Segovia had spoiled him, he knew, but he loved her for it. She had good reason: all her other sons were dead, and Sebastian was the baby of the family by ten years. The Segovias were hidalgos, descended from an ancient royal bloodline, but so poor that they had to put aside their nobility and work for their food just like commoners. All the Segovia boys except Sebastian had chosen a naval career and became captains of their own ships. But war is cruel, and all three of them were killed protecting their country. Doña Segovia had grown overly protective of her youngest son and never would have let him set foot on the _Santa Clara_ if she had been alive, not even as a cabin boy. But she had died two years ago, just after Don Segovia left for his second trip to the New World. Since then, Sebastian lived with an uncle who mostly ignored him.

He fingered his father's letter, tucked inside his shirt. _I've built a home for us. Come join me._

"I can't wait until we land," he muttered to himself. He leaned up against the cabin door. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture what his new home would be like and what new animals and plants he would have to learn. He wanted to draw everything he could, perhaps even someday be a famous scientist like Copernicus or Andreas Vesalius. He kept his eyes shut, trying to forget that he was in the middle of an empty ocean. Slowly, the noises of the caravel faded. Men ceased talking, the cook below stopped clanging his pots, and even the captain and his men inside the cabin made no sounds. Sebastian smiled to himself behind closed lids. "Powers of imagination, never be conquered," he whispered aloud.

His own whisper startled him. Often, to escape the lonely days, he would imagine himself elsewhere. But the reality of this imagination caused him to open his eyes. He looked around and saw that the sailors had indeed ceased talking. In fact, they were sleeping – and some of them began to snore.

Frowning, Sebastian sat up a little bit straighter. The creak of a ladder caused him to turn his head, and he saw the ugly, weather-beaten face of Rodrigo Lopes peeping up at the sleeping crew. Sebastian closed his eyes again, sensing that he was in danger.

"Hello?" called Rodrigo, timidly at first and then much louder. "Hello?"

There was no answer. Rodrigo climbed up the ladder onto the main deck. "They're all sleeping," he announced. "It worked!"

"Don't just stand there talking!" hissed another sailor named Santino Ayala. "Check to see that the captain and the officers are out."

"I put the powder in their wine myself," said Rodrigo. "A dose in their stew, and one in their wine? Of course they're sleeping."

"I said go check."

Rodrigo sniffed but did as he was told. Sebastian kept his eyes closed and pretended to be asleep while Rodrigo carefully opened the cabin door. "Yep, they're sleeping."

"Where's Gato?" asked Santino, stepping over sailors as he walked the deck. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Gato!"

"On my way, sir," replied Gato, a short, scrawny man whose cat-like footsteps made no sound as he approached from behind. "Everyone below is asleep."

Santino rubbed his hands together. "Perfect. I can't believe how easy this was! We're right on schedule, and about to become rich. Congratulations, gentlemen!"

"And to you, Captain," replied Rodrigo, stressing the title. "What do you plan to do with your own ship?"

"Paint her black and pillage my heart out," laughed Santino, pinching the end of his beard.

"Just how long is the potion supposed to last?" asked Gato.

Santino kicked the sleeping body of the sailor closest to him. "As long as we need. Maybe four or five hours. Of course, Cook will probably sleep an entire day, with the way he eats."

Gato scanned the empty ocean uneasily, looking for a pirate ship named the _Blue Sparrow_. "I don't see her anywhere."

Santino shrugged. "She's coming. Give it time. She'll be here."

"But what if she doesn't come? What if everyone wakes up before she gets here?"

"Then we follow our emergency plan, remember? We pretend to be asleep, just like everyone else, and we blame it on rotten food." Santino grabbed Gato by the collar and pulled him so close. "You did remember to hide the bag of sleeping powder, didn't you?"

Gato nodded, eyes wide in fear. "I have it right here in my pocket, sir. Captain."

Santino released his hold. "Good. Then we have nothing to worry about. Let's go get some early rewards, shall we?" He laughed again and climbed down the ladder that led to the crew's sleeping quarters.

Gato furrowed his eyebrows. "Early rewards?"

Rodrigo sighed and spoke as he would to a child. "We're supposed to pay fifty percent to the Blue Sparrow, right?"

"Right..."

"So what they don't know we have, they won't miss, right?"

Understanding dawned in Gato's eyes. "Oh, right!"

"Just make sure it fits in your pockets so they don't search you. I'm gonna see what Cook's been hiding all this time. You go check the sailors on this deck. But leave the cabin for Santino."

Gato waited for Rodrigo to climb below before he muttered, "Why does Santino get all the good stuff?" Then he walked to the front of the _Santa Clara_ and methodically began to check the sleeping sailors for gold pieces, necklaces, medallions, rings, and any other trinkets that could be safely hidden within his pockets.

Sebastian let out a breath he had been holding. His neck ached from being held in a bad position for so long, but he did not dare move for fear that Gato would suspect something. Then again, Gato seemed like a real idiot, so Sebastian thought he could risk moving his head just a little bit, and very slowly.

Mutiny! It was a mutiny! No, Sebastian corrected himself, it was worse. It was piracy. His own crewmates had turned pirate. And apparently they had been planning this for quite some time, probably before they set sail from Spain. Sebastian's blood ran cold to think how helpless they were. He had heard tales of the Blue Sparrow, and none of them were comforting. Probably they would be sold into slavery – or simply murdered. He began to panic. He imagined himself being thrown overboard and forced to tread water until he died of exhaustion. Or got eaten by sharks. Or maybe they'd tie an anchor to his legs and he wouldn't even get the chance to tread water or be eaten by sharks.

He had to force himself to calm down and think. What could he, youngest pampered son of the Segovia family, do? Should he try to rescue the crew somehow? Should he escape? Could he take the captain's dinghy and sail away in it? Night was falling and it would be dark soon. What if someone noticed he was missing? Would they pursue him? Would they torture him to death instead of just letting him walk the plank?

Gato had forgotten to close the cabin door, and now Sebastian peered inside. The officers were indeed sleeping, their wine glasses completely emptied. Sebastian himself felt slightly drowsy, and he had only taken one bite of stew.

I bet that's how they got the rest of the crew, he thought. I'm glad I didn't eat the stew.

It was eerie to be on such a silent ship. Gato muttered to himself from time to time as he played pickpocket. Finally he joined the other mutineers below deck.

Sebastian saw his chance to slip into the cabin and try to rouse the captain, but he was afraid. He had never been a brave boy. Once, when the family was all together for a holiday, his oldest brother had captured some mice and set them in Sebastian's bed. Sebastian fell asleep and woke up screaming as furry little bodies with sharp toenails scampered over his body and ran away. His parents had come to see what was wrong, of course. Doña Segovia cradled ten-year-old Sebastian to sleep as if he were a baby, all the while scolding his older brothers. Don Segovia, however, stared at Sebastian with such disproving eyes that Sebastian felt so ashamed of himself that he wet the bed, which made his father even more upset. "That boy will never amount to anything great," he had said. "He's as much a mouse as the ones that made him scream."

It was the memory of his father's keen disappointment that drove Sebastian to enter the cabin. Since that day, he had tried to earn his father's approval, but somehow he always failed. Sebastian did not want to die tonight with his father still thinking him a coward. He must survive! And he must save his crew!

He crawled over to the captain's chair. "Captain," he whispered. "Captain."

Nothing happened. Nobody moved, nobody stirred. It felt like being a room with dead men, except for the occasional snores. He dared not raise his voice above a whisper, and he dared not stay in the cabin too long lest Gato return and find him missing. He hesitated, and then did something dreadful – he pinched the captain as hard as he could.

The captain moved, but just a little bit. Sebastian pinched him again.

This time, he woke up. He swatted at his leg lazily, like a man swatting at a mosquito during naptime. "What's that? Who's there?"

Sebastian chose his words carefully, knowing that he must have the captain's full attention if possible. "It's me, sir. We're under attack. The Blue Sparrow is about to kill us all!"

"Blue sparrow? Attack?" Captain Rodriguez turned his head so it rested more comfortably on his arm. "No birds here, boy..." He dozed back to sleep. Another pinch woke him up, this time with more alertness. He glared at his cabin boy. "Sebastian! What are you doing here?"

"Sorry, sir. You've been drugged. You all have. I'm the only one awake, and a pirate ship is coming to take all our cargo. What do I do?"

Captain Ramirez struggled to sit up. "Do?" He looked dazed. "Pirates?"

Sebastian shook him, hoping to clear his head of the potion. "There are three mutineers on board, sir. What do I do?"

It was no use. The captain fell back on the table, his cheek cushioned on a hard biscuit.

Sebastian crawled back to his original "sleeping" position, his heart pounding in his throat. He was scared, he was outnumbered, and he felt like crying. Stop it, he told himself. Stop acting like a little child.

A tear slid down his cheek and he quickly wiped it away. As he stared at the sleeping sailors, he saw that Father Gustavo's body was among them. He had no time to go to his friend, because Gato was returning. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep again while Gato rechecked pockets to see if he had missed anything.

Every morning Father José greeted Sebastian with a smile and the words, "Be the man you want to be." He repeated those words again before Sebastian fell asleep. Now, as Sebastian gazed at his friend through slitted eyes, the words began to pound in his brain. Be the man you want to be. Be the man you want to be.

The words suddenly made sense to Sebastian. Well, he thought, I can either sit here feeling sorry for myself, feeling scared, and wanting to cry... or I can do something brave to save us all. But what?

No ideas sprang to mind. All he could do was wait.

Chapter 2: The Escape

"There she is!" Gato called, his high-pitched voice shattering the unnatural quiet on board. "The Blue Sparrow!"

Rodrigo and Santino quickly joined him on the main deck. The ship was still a long distance away, but her triangular flags were distinctive.

Santino turned to his mutineers. "Remember, we load people first, then livestock and goods. Let's be neat and quick about this, men. We want everything off so we can take the ship and leave."

"What happens to them when they wake up?" asked Gato.

"Who cares? They'll be in the Sparrow's brig and we'll be sailing toward Mexico. Nobody will know it was us. Come on, help me start bringing the animals up."

Sebastian's jaw dropped as he it occurred to him that they would be stealing his father's livestock - his inheritance! When he had gone to live with his aunt and uncle, they had claimed everything, including his mother's furniture. Sebastian had fought long to convince his uncle to let him bring the animals to the New World, and even then, Sebastian was only allowed to keep one prize bull, three of his horses, and some small livestock. His uncle kept the rest and justified it as "safekeeping" for the time when Sebastian and his father would ever return home to Spain. The thought of those mutineers stealing his inheritance made Sebastian grit his teeth in fury.

When they were gone again, Sebastian tried to wake the captain once more. He failed, except that there seemed a time when the captain was almost conscious. He grabbed Sebastian's arm and said quite distinctly, "Take the documents to Asunción with you. They must not be lost, upon pain of your life... or the cockroaches, either..." Then he fell asleep again immediately, and would not be roused further. Sebastian could not tell if the man had been dreaming or giving an order, but the words were clear.

Sebastian knew which documents the Captain was talking about, but he did not know what they said. He had been told on his very first day as cabin boy that these documents, plus a package for Father José, were vitally needed in Asunción. They were so important that they had been assigned to a guard whose only job was to see that they remained safe. The only person allowed to touch them was the captain; not even his officers knew what the documents contained.

Sebastian pushed the sleeping guard aside and used a heavy candlestick to break open the lock. Then he removed the documents from the desk and put them in a leather pouch. After tucking the pouch beneath his white tunic, he crawled back to his sleeping position and waited to see what would happen.

It was hard to keep his eyes closed when the _Blue Sparrow_ pulled alongside the _Santa Clara_. There was a lot of shouting from both parties, and then the captain and some of his crew boarded the _Santa Clara_. They looked around for several long minutes before their captain gave the order to begin loading.

Through his eyelashes, he could see the captain of the _Blue Sparrow_ shaking hands with Santino. When a pirate walked toward the captain's cabin, Sebastian closed his eyes all the way and tried to control his breathing, which was difficult because he felt like hyperventilating.

"Captain first, then officers and crew," called Santino. "We want to make sure the important people are locked behind bars first."

Several large, muscular pirates boarded the _Santa Clara_ and began picking up bodies as if they were sacks of flour. The Captain and his officers were carried from their cabin and taken to the pirate ship. Gato picked up Sebastian and threw him over his shoulder, carrying a bag of gunpowder in the other hand. Sebastian offered a prayer of thanks that his carrier was Gato, because the bag of sleeping potion was in one of his pockets. If only he could steal it! But which pocket?

Sebastian was taken to the jail cell below deck. Because the captain and officers of the _Santa Clara_ were sleeping so deeply, the jail cell door was left open and bodies were simply tossed on the damp wooden floor. Sebastian tried to not grunt as he was rudely thrown to the floor, but he could not stifle his pain. His captor did not seem to notice, however, and left quickly to go get more sleeping sailors. Sebastian mentally kicked himself for not being able to grab the sleeping powder.

It was very dark inside the _Blue Sparrow_. A single kerosene lamp burned near the ladder that led to the main deck. Although he was lying right on top of him, Sebastian could not see the captain. He smiled to himself; that meant that nobody else could see, either. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, just in case. Soon he realized that they were unguarded; apparently sleeping sailors were no threat. He sneaked out of the cell and hid behind the ladder. When the last of his crew was put into the jail cell and the door was locked, he carefully climbed up the ladder and poked his head out to the deck above.

All the pirates headed away from him toward the _Santa Clara_. Guessing that they would either load the livestock or trade goods next, Sebastian ran away from those cargo holds and found a safe hiding spot in the shadows. He had no plan except to hope that the pirates or mutineers would not catch him. He realized that saving his livestock was out of the question, at least for now. It made him sick with anger and helplessness. All he knew for sure was that he wanted to get to the captain's dinghy and row away into the darkness, where he and the precious documents would be safe.

There! Nobody was watching. Most of the pirates were down below in the animal hold, and those who were above deck were making their way back to the _Blue Sparrow_. Sebastian waited for them to cross the plank, and then he scurried over and hid in the captain's cabin. It was now empty, except for the bottle of wine with the sleeping potion. He picked up a half-filled glass and the bottle and held them to his nose. He could smell nothing out of the ordinary. Still holding the wine glass and bottle, he studied the room. It might be possible to reach the dinghy by climbing out the small window, clinging to protrusions on the outside of the hull, and swinging himself up into the dinghy which was suspended over the side of the caravel. It sounded like a good idea, in theory; but Sebastian hesitated because it required climbing, an activity he never liked, and he wondered if he would even fit through the window.

Just then, Gato entered. Sebastian froze, hoping that the low light would hide him from Gato's sharp eyes. But he was seen anyway.

"Hey! What are you doing here? I thought you were asleep!" Gato's wiry frame filled the small cabin door. There would be no escape.

Sebastian tried to be casual, but he could hear his own heartbeat. "Yeah, well, I was pretending. Santino wanted the Sparrow captain to think I was one of the crew, instead of one of you guys."

"One of us?" Doubt covered Gato's face.

"Of course! Who do you think delivered the wine to the captain?" He drew a shaky breath as a sudden idea occurred to him. He held up the bottle and the half-full glass. "In fact, Santino sent me back to get that bottle of wine. It's the captain's best, you know. I'm supposed to bring it straight to him, to celebrate his new ship." He tried to look sheepish. "I had a sip. You won't tell on me, will you?"

"I thought Rodrigo put sleeping powder in it?"

"Yeah, well, he forgot, so he lied to Santino so he wouldn't get in trouble. But it's a good thing. I mean, the stew did its job, right? And why waste a perfectly good bottle of wine?"

Gato looked very confused. "Why wasn't I told about you being part of this?"

Sebastian shrugged, trying to appear casual. "You know how secretive Santino is."

Gato knew full well. "Anyone else I should know about?"

"I don't think so, but why would Santino tell me? Look, don't tell him about me drinking the wine, okay? He gets so possessive sometimes."

It was Gato's turn to shrug. "I don't know."

Sebastian gulped but kept his voice steady. Someone else could walk in on them, and he would be in big trouble. "Well, I won't tell on you if you want to try some. I mean, I know how thirsty you must be, carrying all that gold and gunpowder." He took a deep breath and then held the glass to his lips. Gato licked his lips – his passion for spirits was legendary – but made no movement to take the glass from the boy.

Please don't let me fall asleep, prayed Sebastian, and tilted the glass back. He blocked the flow of wine into his mouth by letting the liquid stay underneath his tongue. He made gulping noises with his throat, and then lowered the glass. Fortunately, he had not swallowed more than two drops of the dangerous concoction.

"Are you getting sleepy?" asked Gato after a few minutes, still undecided.

"Are you kidding? This is the best stuff I've ever had! I told you I already had a sip before you found me." Sebastian raised the glass to his lips again despite the buzzing dizzy feeling he was feeling.

Greed filled Gato's eyes and he snatched the glass from Sebastian. He downed the rest of the wine in three gulps. Smacking his lips, he said, "You're right. This is some of the best I've ever had."

Sebastian suppressed a grin. "I'd better get going. Did you need me to help you find anything in here?"

"No, I emptied it pretty well. I think. Why? Is there something else hidden?"

Sebastian tried to think of something to keep Gato from leaving the room. "Ah, well... just the captain's private gold stash, and I'm pretty sure you already found that." He watched Gato for signs of sleepiness, but none seemed to be coming. Did he grab the wrong bottle? How long would it be before the potion took effect?

"Private stash? No, I didn't know about that. Where is it?"

"I'm not sure, but he always talks about it. Maybe we can find it." He looked under the captain's mattress, in his pillow, in his drawers... While they searched, Sebastian kept glancing at Gato. All of a sudden, the man's speech became slurred, as if he were drunk, and he started having trouble keeping his balance. Sebastian was afraid that when he fell, he would fall with a loud thud. There had to be a way to get the man closer to the floor, just in case. "Maybe it's down here," he said, getting on his hands and knees.

Gato knelt in front of the lowest drawer. A minute later, he lowered himself to the floor, sound asleep.

Sebastian carefully placed the wine bottle and glass next to Gato. He had to hurry. Surely somebody would come looking for Gato soon, and then Sebastian would be trapped. He remembered the little leather bag of sleeping powder that was supposed to be in Gato's pocket. Fishing around in the left pocket, he found nothing but rings and jewels. The right pocket held similar items, but just when Sebastian thought that all was lost, his hand touched the leather bag. He withdrew it carefully and placed it in his inner vest beside the document pouch. Then he looked in the direction of the window, his only means of escape.

He was dismayed at how tiny it seemed. He would never fit through it. His shoulders alone were too broad, not to mention his rotund belly. Still, he had to try.

He put his left arm through the window, hoisted himself up a little bit, and tried to fit his right arm through. Useless. There were no other windows, and he did not dare go again onto the deck of the _Santa Clara_ with all the pirates going back and forth from ship to ship. He had avoided being seen so far, but he didn't want to push his luck. Maybe he could put both arms through at the same time.

He did so, with much pain and pressure, and found that he could just barely squeeze. When his head and shoulders were out in the night air, and the rest of him was in the cabin, he found that he was stuck. He could neither withdraw nor advance; he felt as if a vice were squeezing his lungs and he wanted to pass out from lack of oxygen. He grinned stupidly as an image flashed in his head, an image of a pirate whipping his back with a cat-o'-nine-tails before having to use an axe to cut him free. Panicking, he laughed at the mental picture, and found that when he exhaled, he could move just a little bit.

That discovery was just what he needed. He took as deep a breath as he could manage and then exhaled it all with one sharp blow. It took several times of inhaling and hard exhaling before he was able to wiggle free. He dropped to the narrow ledge below the window and tried to recover his breath. His stomach would be bruised in the morning, and he was almost certain that he felt blood trickling down his back. The dinghy was suspended on the starboard side of the ship; fortunately, the Captain had insisted on board inspection today and several ropes with plank seats still hung over the sides of the ship. If he could just be strong and silent, it would be no trouble at all to swing over to the dinghies. He reached for the first plank seat.

"Santino! I found him. Here he is."

Sebastian withdrew his hand and held as still as he could. Rodrigo entered the captain's cabin.

"What's he doing? Oh... of course. What an idiot." Santino's voice floated dangerously close to the window.

"Never could refuse spirits," said Rodrigo. "What do you want me to do with him? Everything's loaded and ready to go. The pirates have returned to the Sparrow."

"Put him in irons with the rest of the crew. I was going to do that anyway, and serves him right."

"Irons? What about our deal?"

"More for you. In case you haven't noticed, he's not exactly the brightest gem in the chest. We can't risk him spilling our plans to the authorities."

"But he knows all our plans already."

"No, he only knows what I told him." There was a long pause. Santino must have winked at Rodrigo, because all of a sudden, Sebastian heard an exclamation of understanding followed by a hearty laugh.

"Let's get him over to the Sparrow, then," Santino said, "and we can start celebrating. My own ship at last! Merchants and officers, beware!"

There were grunts, a dragging sound, and the noise of a wooden door clicking into place, and then silence. Sebastian relaxed a little. If Santino and Rodrigo were boarding the _Sparrow_ , his risk of being caught was diminished. Of course, he could still fall into the water and drown because nobody would pull him out, and the sides of the _Santa Clara_ were too slippery to climb, but he had to take the risk. Besides, the dinghy was on the opposite side of the _Sparrow_. If he managed to climb into one of them and get it into the water, his chances of escape were fairly good.

It was easier than he expected, although he lost his grip on the ropes twice and almost plunged into the icy ocean below. He climbed – a little noisily –until he reached the captain's private dinghy, and then he removed the waterproof tarp that covered it. He folded the tarp neatly before looking at the ropes above. Although the captain had explained the process of releasing the dinghy just yesterday, Sebastian had not paid close attention. Now he strained to remember what the captain said.

Pushing at a lever caused the dinghy to dangle at an odd angle as one of the ropes released. He quickly pulled another lever and the boat splashed into the ocean. He held very still, afraid that the noise had been heard aboard the _Sparrow_ , but their loud music and celebrations and drunken shouts were far louder than the splash of a single dinghy.

As soon as he had recovered sufficiently from his panic, Sebastian found that he was faced with a new problem. Which direction should he go? Where were they? What if he started rowing, and he headed back toward Spain? The dinghy had a survival pack of dried meats, biscuits, tools, and stale water, but the food supplies would not last more than a week. Wherever he went, he had to reach land within a few days.

He took a deep breath and tried to remember where they were. Captain Ramirez had said that they were three weeks away from Asunción. They had just passed Buen Aire, which was abandoned last year because of the repeated vicious attacks by Indians. Well, it would take much longer than three weeks if he were to row in the dinghy! Besides, he needed to find land, and find it soon.

Wait! They were no longer in the ocean; they had already entered the mouth of a very large river. Cook said so just yesterday. It was like a huge bay, so large that you couldn't see to the other side, but it was not an ocean. Sebastian felt relieved. As long as he didn't turn himself completely around back toward Spain, he would hit land within a day or so.

What if the Santino or Rodrigo noticed he wasn't in the brig with the rest of the crew when they dropped off Gato? What if they noticed the missing dinghy? What if someone noticed a little black ship floating out there under the bright stars, and came after him? The _Santa Clara_ was so much faster than his little dinghy; they would catch up to him for certain. He hoped the pirates on the _Blue Sparrow_ weren't expecting him, and that once they got what they came for, they would leave.

If only the stars in this hemisphere weren't so different! Captain Ramirez had told him that once they passed the equatorial line, seasons reversed and the sky changed. It didn't happen suddenly, of course, but Sebastian had noticed subtle changes as they traveled further south. He had left during summer in Spain, and it would be spring when he reached Asunción. Instead of celebrating Christmas in cold weather, he would celebrate in the heat of summer. As for the stars, there came a point when he noticed new constellations in the night sky, and then the new constellations slowly replaced the familiar ones. Now, as he scanned the sky, the only one he recognized was Orion. He pointed the nose of his little dinghy toward the farthest star in Orion's belt, took a firm and confident grasp of the smooth wooden oars, and began to row toward land.

Chapter 3: Alone

Sebastian rowed all night. At first, when it was new, it was almost fun to be on an adventure. He could be caught at any moment. Perhaps sharks would try to tip the boat. Perhaps it would spring a leak and he would have to swim ashore. After an hour or so of "perhapsing," however, he grew tired of imagining various horrors. It was quiet in the water, but by no means silent. He could hear waves rolling and breaking, some of them splashing against his dinghy and spraying him with salt water. For a few hours the waves amused him with their shiny twinkles of moonlight reflected on their surfaces, but when he noticed that his hands were blistered and bleeding, the waves lost all their fun. His back and arms began to ache with the agony of rowing. He took breaks to relieve the pain, first every hour or so, then every forty minutes or so, and then every twenty minutes. Still he could not see land.

He had not realized how weak he was, and suddenly he envied the muscular old sailors who could row for hours and never complained.

Eventually the moon disappeared and the sun began to rise. Its light dispelled some of the night horrors he had been imagining, like the sea monsters and fog spirits and star ogres that could swallow entire ships in one gulp. Of course, his father had made it very clear that such monsters did not exist, but Sebastian had read so many stories about them that his fear was still real. Now the sunlight shone on the water and Sebastian, finally, could see strips of land around him. It was true; he was surrounded on three sides. All he had to do was row to one of the shores.

He was so relieved that he started to cry, and then stopped as he realized that he was wasting his body's water. With the shore being within sight, he treated himself to a few swallows of the stale water and a bite of dried meat and biscuit. He had been rationing them for a long journey, and now it seemed that the journey would not be so long.

Everything seemed so simple now. All he had to do was land on the northern shore and walk a hundred and sixty kilometers north to Sancti Spiritu, the first fort his father helped establish. From there, the soldiers would take him and his precious documents to Asunción. If he managed to walk twenty kilometers a day, he would be there within a week or so - he heard one of the sailors talking about the route just the other day, wishing for a sight of land.

Hope filled Sebastian, and for the first time that night, he smiled. He put all his energy into reaching the north shore.

It took much longer than he expected. He was not a strong rower and had to take frequent breaks. Not only that, but the sun was growing hotter with each passing hour. He drank one entire flask of emergency water, which left four flasks. When he realized how much he had been drinking, he restrained himself – a difficult task when his mouth was parched dry with all the effort. He didn't even have the energy to imagine new horrors.

When at last he reached the shore after battling large waves, he was almost too exhausted to haul himself out of the boat, drag her to shore, and tie her where she would not drift away. Once he was sure that both he and the boat were safe, he fell asleep, cheek down on the muddy shores of the Río de la Plata.

* * * * *

A cold wave kissed Sebastian awake from a very deep sleep. He was surprised to find that the sun had almost set. Smells of seaweed and dead fish made him sick to his stomach. He retched. His heaving was in vain, however, because his stomach had not been full for almost an entire day. It began to growl its hunger in protest. More than hunger, though, was the power of thirst. Sebastian was extremely thirsty. There were four water flasks left in the survival pack in the dinghy. He pushed himself up from the wet shore and walked over to the place he had tied his boat.

It was gone! Sebastian looked around, swinging his arms with every wild turn. It was nowhere to be found, not even floating out on the waves. Gone!

Water dripped from his hair into his mouth, making him crazy with its tempting moisture and its promise of salt. The sailors had mentioned how the water should turn sweet when they entered the giant bay, but this was still ocean water. His eyes followed the coastline. At the thinnest edge of horizon, toward the main land, he could see that the water turned brown. That was a good thing - the mud was carried out into the ocean by a river. Find the river, find fresh water. But maybe there was a lake or a pond - or a puddle - somewhere nearer.

He studied his surroundings. Nothing but thick, overgrown trees in a sort of marsh that rested on red soil. He recognized some of the trees from home - pines, poplars and laurels - but many of the low green shrubs rising from the marshland were completely unfamiliar.

He sank to his knees, trembling from the chill. It would not have been so bad if he had only been hungry, thirsty, and tired, but he was also soaking wet. Besides, September meant the end of winter here in this new southern hemisphere, though spring didn't feel like it was coming any time soon. And he was alone.

Feeling very sorry for himself, Sebastian began to cry again. Nothing in his life ever went right! His brothers always picked on him and now they were dead; his sweet-smelling mother who always wore a flower in her hair and smiled at all his jokes – she was dead also. His father had chosen the life of a soldier of fortune, which meant that he only came home every two years or so, and whenever he saw Sebastian he always frowned in disappointment. He had no home, and this rude introduction to the New World did not make him feel better about what awaited him in Asunción.

To add to all of life's injustices, now his father's livestock were stolen. How would he ever face his father without them? Sebastian thought about his father's three horses, all purebred, and the fourteen pigs, six chickens, four goats, a prize bull, and a cat for keeping mice away. There were also dishes, a set of bright silverware, two goose-feather mattresses, his grandfather's desk, the ruby-and-emerald necklace, earrings, bracelet and ring that was his mother's only good set of jewelry, a table with six chairs, and various other household necessities. And the tapestries! Sebastian's mother had been famous for her intricate designs, and also for her quilts. Sometimes, when Don Segovia had been away and money for food was running low, she would make and sell her tapestries and quilts, and then they would feast for months. Each piece took a very long time to make, but Doña Segovia loved her work and was happiest when she was busy creating her works of art.

Self-pity turned to guilt as Sebastian kneeled there in the mud, too tired to stand to his feet. It was his fault that everything was stolen! If he had been a braver boy, maybe he could have stopped the pirates. Instead, he just ran away like a coward. Yes, the captain gave him an order to take the documents to Asunción, but only a coward would have saved his own self and nothing else. He hadn't even tried to save the crew of the _Santa Clara_.

Dry tears stung at his eyes and great sobs racked his body. He laid himself flat in the mud again, weeping up at the stars. "I am a coward!" he shouted at them. "I am nothing but a coward!" Thoughts of his father's disappointment caused another large sob to shake his body.

Eventually, guilt gave way to an overwhelming anger as Sebastian realized the unfairness of his situation. He was angry at his mother for leaving him alone in Spain, with nobody but his uncle to care for him. He grew angrier at the thought of his father always being gone and never being around to help take care of the small farm or his mother. But he grew furious when he thought of Santino and Rodrigo and the pirates, who made their living by taking so easily what others had worked so hard for.

He sat up, breathing in the cold jungle air. Clouds of vapor fumed out of his nose. He would find those pirates, Santino and Rodrigo as well as those of the _Blue Sparrow_. He would find them and make them pay for their crimes. Probably he would never be able to recover his property, but the thought of watching them hang to death somehow gave Sebastian the strength to get through his first night in the New World. After finding a dry patch of grass in the marshes, he fell asleep dreaming of revenge.

Morning brought severe pangs of hunger. Despite the chill of the muddy ground, and numerous twigs and pebbles poking at his back, somehow Sebastian had slept without waking. Now he could sleep no more. Twitters and chirps greeted his ears, familiar but different from his birds back home, reminding him that he was on the other side of the world. It was too cold to keep lying there, anyway. He sat up and let out a sharp cry of pain. His back and arms were on fire! The ache of rowing for almost sixteen hours finally caught up to him. He could barely move. Slowly, ever so slowly (and wincing with each tiny movement), he stood up. It took a good deal of concentration to stretch his muscles. They were so tight that it felt as if any quick movement might cause them to tear.

He had to find water. He could wait no longer \- tomorrow he'd be so weak that he wouldn't have the energy to search. Food, too, but water first. Maybe a juicy fruit could provide both. But what was edible here? And even if he recognized something from home, what if he chomped on a poisonous plant by accident? Wishing he had not tucked one of the water flasks from the boat into his belt, he knew his best chance of finding help was to head toward Spiriti Sanctu. They would recognize him as a Spanish citizen and help him for the rest of his journey.

It surprised him how reluctant he was to leave the salty ocean; it was all he had known for the past several weeks. Not only that, but how would he report the location of the pirates when he left this spot, when he didn't even know where this spot was? But the muddy fresh water obviously came from the great Río de la Plata, which would lead him to the fort. A fort meant soldiers. Sebastian had no delusions of recovering his livestock or his property, but the thoughts of cold revenge gave him the energy to begin walking.

It was so early in the morning that dew still clung to leaves and made diamonds on the ground. Sebastian noticed that mud clung to his feet as he lifted them, releasing with a loud sucking noise. He wondered if he was the first person to walk on this beach, and suddenly he felt very alone again. He looked behind him at his footprints. They were filling with dirty brown mud, disappearing, as if he had never been there at all.

He kept his gaze fixed past the thick trees in hopes of finding a familiar fruit tree, but he was disappointed. Besides, if it was really springtime - and not autumn, as Sebastian kept thinking - then fruits were ready to bloom, not harvest.

The birds grew noisier as the sun rose higher. Finally, too thirsty to continue, he sat down to rest. After staring at the ocean behind him for a while, he grew bored with it, and turned his gaze to his footprints again. One of them was a little deeper than the others. He watched it. Dew slipped in, making a tiny puddle. After a few seconds, it filled with mud and disappeared like all the rest.

Something about the mud bothered him, but he could not pinpoint his source of dismay. Frustrated, he poked a hole in the mud with his finger and watched. The same thing happened – dew and water filled up the hole, mixing with the mud until it disappeared completely.

Suddenly he knew how to get fresh water – even if it was dirty and muddy. The thought of drinking it made him sick, but his need for water overcame his need for cleanliness.

With his hands, he dug out a hole. As fast as he could dig, water and mud filled it in. He dug faster, splashing mud all over his shirt. It did not matter; he was already filthy from sleeping on the ground, and still wet from waves washing over him. It was hard work, getting enough water to take a sip, but slowly he drank the brown liquid until his thirst abated.

When he could drink no more, he sat back and tried to calculate his chances of survival. Although he felt better, his situation had not changed. He would need to keep walking. Twenty kilometers a day. Twenty kilometers a day. He had a goal, and he would keep it. Twenty kilometers a day.

But how? He would starve to death before he arrived at Sancti Spiritu! He wondered if he could catch fish with his bare hands – his father had mentioned doing it in his letters – but he figured it would take quick reflexes for that.

The sharp squawk of a bird reminded him that he did not know which animals lurked in the marshes. The sooner he found shelter, the safer he'd be. Maybe he was just lucky last night that a wolf hadn't eaten him. He decided to walk as far as he could today until the sun had nearly set, and then make some sort of shelter to protect him from the night.

With no more of a plan than that, Sebastian set forth again.

Walk. Walk, walk, walk. Stumble over uneven terrain, trip over long green slender vines that covered the ground, walk some more. Tread. Tread, tread, tread. Try to ignore the growing agony of hunger. Try to not remember how good roast potatoes in herb sauce are, or jellied oranges or crunchy bread crisps. Trudge. Trudge, trudge... too tired to think of anything, too sore to care, too hungry to go on.

Fall. Fall? Sebastian's mind, which had turned itself off for the last hour or so, suddenly found itself screaming an alert to Sebastian's body. He tripped heavily over an animal skeleton and landed on his face. It felt as if his nose could be broken, although there was no blood. He sat up and started to sniffle, again feeling sorry for himself. Tears flowed down his cheeks but he did not have the energy to voice his sorrow.

Presently his nose stopped throbbing. He sighed, a deep and helpless sigh, and sat with his head in his hands. Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the world around him, imagining himself home in his cozy bedroom with its little fireplace and warm blankets. It was very difficult to block out his surroundings, though. Everything was so new. Little furry animals with human faces and long tails screeched at him as he sat there. Ants half the size of his thumb scurried around his swollen feet, busily carrying pieces of leaves. Birds with croaking voices or angelic whistles sang their songs high in trees overhead.

And then Sebastian heard a familiar sound – one that filled him with both joy and dread.

It was the sound of a man shouting.

His eyes popped open and he strained to listen. The shout came again – it was not a mistake!

Sebastian stood to his feet and began walking in the same direction as before, except that now he had a destination and it did not seem as if walking would take forever. He quickened his pace. The man's voice grew louder, and as he drew closer, Sebastian could hear other men's voices as well.

Suddenly he stopped, gasped in terror, and fled into the thickness of the jungle. The _Blue Sparrow_ was sailing right toward him! It was very far away, but Sebastian knew from experience that a watchman was always on the lookout.

It took a full five minutes for the _Blue Sparrow_ to reach Sebastian's former standing place. Sebastian held his breath, clinging to the smooth bark of a thick tree, but the ship did not slow down. It passed him swiftly. Even so, Sebastian stayed behind his tree for another ten minutes until it was out of sight, and another ten minutes after that deciding what to do.

He was not used to making decisions for himself. All his life, he had been told what to do and how to do it. His older brothers used to boss him around and make him serve them. His mother often had him run small errands. His father, though usually not present, still gave orders through his letters – where Sebastian was to go to school, what chores he was to do at home, even if he could or could not have a horse of his own. After his mother died, his uncle took over and Sebastian worked from daybreak to sunset, always doing what he was told. And now there was nobody to tell him what the best thing was to do!

The voices still seemed near, so he knew that a ground crew was close by on the beach somewhere. But was it the _Blue Sparrow_ pirates? Was it the crew of the _Santa Clara_ , miraculously escaped? What if the crew was there, but the pirates were guarding them?

Sebastian's conscience, still guilty about abandoning his crewmates so easily, recognized a way to redeem his virtue. He decided to have a look. If it was his men, maybe he could rescue them.

He approached the voices cautiously, weaving in and out of trees, always careful to stay hidden and to move slowly. He was afraid of snapping twigs or stepping on dry leaves, but the jungle floor was damp, so wet twigs tended to bend instead of break. He crouched behind a low bush. Through its leaves, he could see the _Santa Clara_ anchored beside a long dock.

Beside the dock, laughing, were several pirates from the _Blue Sparrow_.

And on the beach, strewn for the world to see, were all of Sebastian's possessions.

Chapter 4: Arazunú

Sebastian's heart skipped several beats. He did not move for a long time. It was all there! Well, most of it, at least. It seemed that Rodrigo and Santino had indeed taken half the plunder, but since Sebastian's cargo was not the only cargo on the _Santa Clara_ , most of his items were there - including the livestock, which were in a make-shift vine-and-branch corral that kept them all together. The chickens were still in their little cages. Don Segovia's war stallion, Olympus, had been saddled and bridled, but the two mares only wore their halters. All the creatures huddled together, afraid to stray too far into the new terrain.

While he was taking stock of his animals, the pirates disappeared into a small brick structure with a single door, two window holes, and a thatched roof. One man remained outside, stirring a large black pot that was fixed high over a blazing fire. "Lunch!" he roared. "I said, come get it!"

"In a minute, Gus!" shouted one of the pirates who was standing in front of the door. "It's not like that slop is going to burn."

"No, but it might get up and walk away," another pirate joked. "He never cooks the meat through."

Gus spat in their direction. "When it burns, you'll all be sorry." With that, he strode into the jungle.

"Hey, where are you going?" asked the first pirate.

"Personal matters," grunted Gus, who was famous for his incurable diarrhea.

The two pirates laughed and went into the tiny hut. Still another pirate, a vicious-looking man with scars on his face, looked out the window and pointed at something, then said a few words in a low voice to his men. Immediately, the door was shut and bolted and the two windows had wooden panes put over them.

Sebastian looked in the direction the pirate had pointed. He was shocked – tied to a tree with gags in their mouths and irons around their legs were Santino and Rodrigo! Sebastian tried not to gloat. It served them right, to be at the mercy of the pirates when they had broken trust with the crew of the _Santa Clara_. _Live by telling lies, choke on your own words._ It was a favorite saying of Don Segovia, and now Sebastian understood its meaning.

They did present Sebastian with a new problem, though. Did he free them, or did he ignore them? What he wanted to do was walk up to them and kick them very hard, but he restrained himself. In the end he decided that letting the pirates do justice to them would be easier. If he freed them, he would be helping them attack more ships in the future. Even if he took them into his own custody and managed to keep them shackled, how would he get them to Sanctu Spiriti? One boy dragging two full-grown men would have a hard time of it. No, it was better to just leave them.

And then there was the matter of the pirates shut up in the cabin. How long would they stay there? With them inside, and their cook in the jungle, Sebastian could wander freely around the camp. But for how long?

So many thoughts crowded Sebastian's brain that he had to shake his head hard from side to side to distract himself. He decided to take care of his most pressing need first – hunger.

He stole quickly to the black pot. The soup inside smelled disgusting, but he did not matter. It had been almost two days since he had last eaten, and he could not afford to be choosy. He reached his hand toward a ladle beside the pot. As he did so, the pressure of his shirt – now dry in the sun – reminded him of the little packet he had stolen from Gato. An idea startled him. What if...

Without stopping to consider the consequences, he fished in his shirt for the bag of sleeping powder. He dumped the entire contents of the bag into the soup, tucked it back in his shirt, and stirred the soup with the ladle.

Santino and Rodrigo gawked at him, eyes wide open, but after a deliberate smile at them, Sebastian turned his back. Sudden regret pricked him – he might have guaranteed that the pirates would not interfere with his attempts to get his property back, but now he had ruined the only food available. Even though it smelled revolting, he had been willing to eat it.

A heavy hand clapped him on the shoulder and spun him around. "What do you think you're doing, boy?" roared the pirate cook, spitting on Sebastian as he spoke.

Sebastian's face turned white. He felt like fainting, he was that afraid, but he managed to stammer an answer. "I was... trying to eat, sir. I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten in days!"

"You're that little brat that escaped my ship, aren't you?" Cook dug his fingers into Sebastian's shoulders. There would be bruises in the morning. "Well, we'll just see if you escape again. I got friends who want a good cabin boy. Or a young slave, at least. I'll bet you're worth your weight in ransom! Ha, ha!" He dragged Sebastian around the side of the little brick hut and pushed him to the ground. Before he knew what was happening, Sebastian found himself in irons, both around his wrist and his ankles. The pirate cook locked them securely and then hung the key back around his neck. Before he left, he bent so close to Sebastian that the boy could smell the garlicky stench of rotting breath. "The only way to get this key," he wheezed, "is to kill me. Ha, ha!" Then he turned toward the hut and shouted, "Boys! Come see the little wharf rat I just caught. Ha, ha!"

Sebastian watched the fat pirate waddle away and wondered if all ship cooks were so fat and so cruel.

"What's this? What did you find?"

Several pirates came out to gawk at their latest prisoner. The one with the scars on his face must have been their leader. He turned to the cook and spoke in a language Sebastian recognized as Portuguese. Sebastian's lips tightened when he realized that these pirates were both Spaniards and Portuguese – a mixture that never should have been. Spain and Portugal, though not exactly at war with each other, were not the best of friends. They competed with each other for land and trade goods, and the Portuguese were well-known as thieves.

Sebastian's mother had insisted that he study Portuguese, Latin, and French. Although he had resented the lessons when he was younger, he now found that he was grateful to his mother. He could understand what the pirates were saying.

"What's his crime?"

"Stealing food. Can we hang him?"

The scarred leader studied Sebastian for several long minutes, his steely blue eyes as piercing as the sword that hung by his side.

Sebastian stared back, unwavering, although tears did spring to his eyes and he felt like crying again.

Finally, the leader spoke directly to the boy, this time in heavily accented Spanish. "Let him be hungry a little while longer. If there's food left when we're done, he can have it." He grinned a malicious grin and pointed to the three hounds who were lying in the shade. "If there's food left. And when we're _all_ done."

Sebastian did his best to act grateful, hoping that they would eat it all right there in front of him so he could watch them drop like flies when they fell asleep. "Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I never knew pirates could be so considerate. It's been two days, you know..." He stopped babbling, not wanting to overdo his innocence. So far, the pirates suspected nothing.

From his viewpoint beside the little hut, Sebastian could clearly see the pot full of soup and sleeping potion. The pirates shoved their way around it, hitting each other with their metal plates and threatening each other with loud words.

One by one, the pirate cook ladled soup onto their plate and slammed a thick piece of fresh bread on top of it. Sebastian was appalled to see that the pirates did not use napkins or manners of any sort; they simply sopped up the soup with the bread and shoveled it into their mouths as fast as they could swallow. Some of them ate so quickly they choked, but it seemed like a game to the others to watch.

Lunch time was done in a matter of minutes. The pirates threw their plates roughly at the pirate cook's feet, hurling Portuguese insults as well as dishes.

"This food isn't even fit for the pigs, Gus."

"Oh, yeah? So why do you always eat so much?"

"Because there isn't any pig food available!"

Sebastian waited in tense anticipation. The only one who had not yet eaten the soup was the cook, and he did not look hungry. Besides, what was taking the potion so long to work with the other pirates? Did he use enough? Had it somehow gotten wet, and so become useless?

The fat cook saw the leather pouch on the ground beside the pot and bent over to pick it up. It was empty. He opened the mouth wide and held it upside down, but nothing came out. He was puzzled. Then he noticed the white powder still lining the inside of the bag. He wetted his finger, wiped the inside of the pouch, and licked his finger clean. "Doesn't taste like sugar," he muttered, then raised his voice. "Whose is this?"

Not ten seconds later he collapsed close to the fire. One of the pirates saw him drop and sprinted to his side. "Captain!" he called. "Captain Mendoza!"

The scarred pirate looked out his window, annoyed that someone would interrupt his meal. He was the only one who ate at a decent pace, chewing his bread instead of inhaling it.

"Captain! I think Gus is dead."

"Dead?" Mendoza put his bread down and walked outside. "What did he choke on?"

"Heart attack, maybe," said another pirate who had come to watch. "He's been complaining of pains lately."

Mendoza bent down to feel for a pulse on the fat man's neck. "Not dead," he grunted. "Sleeping." He straightened. "Stupid lazy pig! That man'll take a siesta anywhere. You two," he pointed, "drag him away from here. Can't have him catching on fire, now, can we?"

As the two men struggled to heave Gus's sleeping body away from the flames, Mendoza noticed the little leather pouch. "Wait," he commanded, and lifted it up. Seeing some powder still clinging to the insides, he took a careful whiff, checking for any familiar smells. His eyebrows shot upward. "Impossible!"

As if on cue, the two men who were dragging Gus away from the fire dropped to the ground. Another pirate keeled over, landing with a heavy thud. A fourth, already sitting on a stump, simply fell over into a patch of soft grass. The other three fell asleep while coming to see what had happened to Gus.

Mendoza shook his head in disbelief, then rounded on Sebastian. He closed the distance between himself and the boy in several quick strides. Hauling Sebastian to his feet, he shook the boy so hard the chains rattled. He spoke in Spanish. "What did you do? Is this the same potion I gave Santino?" He looked over at Santino and Rodrigo, still chained to the tree. "Did they tell you to do this?"

Sebastian stared at him, refusing to answer.

Mendoza shook him even harder. Sebastian bit his tongue from the force of the shaking and let out a sharp cry. Mendoza slapped him, once, twice, then again and again. Still Sebastian would not answer. Finally, Mendoza withdrew his jagged-edge knife and held it closed to Sebastian's throat. "Tell me now," he said, "or I'll kill you."

Sebastian had no doubt that the pirate meant what he said. "I put it in the soup," he admitted. "Go ahead, kill me. I'm going to die out here anyway."

Mendoza hesitated, then raised the knife high and plunged it toward Sebastian's heart. As he did so, he fell asleep standing up, The blow nicked Sebastian in the shoulder but did not penetrate deeply, and the pirate fell at Sebastian's feet.

The day had warmed up, but it was not the heat that caused sweat to bead up on Sebastian's brow. It was intense fear. Now he laughed uncontrollably as he realized that he was out of danger. All nine pirates were safely asleep.

His laughter ended in an abrupt choke as another hand touched his shoulder. He turned around, ready to face another adversary, and came face-to-face with the strangest boy he had ever met.

The boy was Sebastian's age but not as tall, with strong muscles that rippled under sun-darkened skin. His thick black hair was cropped short on his neck, and he had two rows of black paint on his cheeks, like cat whiskers. Dressed in nothing but a leather loincloth, he had been sitting so motionless and low to the ground that, although Sebastian had glanced at him, he seemed invisible so Sebastian had not given him a second glance. Now, however, Sebastian gawked, realizing that the boy was neither Spanish nor Portuguese.

His first Indian! Despite his father's letters describing various tribes of Indians, Sebastian still expected them to be monsters. Columbus had described men with one foot large enough to use as an umbrella in times of rain; other tales told of men with the heads of dogs but the bodies of humans. There were even men without heads; their faces were in their chests. But this one looked normal enough - human, actually - except for his dark skin and lack of clothing. There was one thing in common: the chains. Both boys wore iron bracelets around their wrists and ankles, and both were chained to the hut.

The boy was the first to break the awkward silence that fell between them. "What do you plan to do now?"

Sebastian gawked at him. "You speak Spanish!"

"Yes. I am the translator for these men."

"They taught you Spanish?"

The boy hesitated. "And Portuguese, although I learned against my will. What do you plan to do now?"

Sebastian turned to the cook. "I'm going to get the keys and get out of here. With my stuff."

The Indian boy merely watched as Sebastian tottered toward the fallen pirate cook. He had to take tiny steps because the ankle chains were awkward and could easily trip him. When he neared the cook, he bent down and removed the key that hung around his neck.

It took no time at all to unlock the ankle fetters, but it was near impossible to unlock his own wrists. The angle of the lock was such that, no matter how hard he tried, he could not insert the key into the lock. Even if he miraculously managed to do so, he would not be able to turn it properly. Perhaps the Indian boy would be able to free him.

No longer shackled, Sebastian took free and easy strides back toward the Indian boy. After unlocking the boy's wrist and ankle chains, he held the key out to him. "Your turn," he said, and held up his wrists.

The Indian boy did nothing but stare at him.

"Take the key. Unlock me," said Sebastian. "You do understand what I'm saying, don't you?"

"Yes," the boy said. "But why should I help you?"

Sebastian's jaw dropped. "I just freed you! You should return the favor!"

"I could have escaped on my own. Without your help."

"Really? Who grabbed the key from the cook?"

"I would have if you hadn't."

It was a good point. Sebastian tried again. "Who put sleeping powder in their food? I did, not you."

"I still would have found a way to escape. I've seen what I came for."

Despite his situation, Sebastian noticed that the boy spoke with very little accent. From time to time, he mispronounced words and sometimes said them in a singsong voice, but otherwise the Spanish was perfect. "It would seem that I'm at your mercy, then. Won't you please free me?"

"Help an enemy?" Though he did not laugh, Sebastian sensed that the way the boy folded his arms across his chest meant the same thing in his culture.

"I'm not your enemy. You've never done anything to me. Why should I fight you?"

The boy was silent, considering. "All you white men are the same. You come to steal food and land from my people. You turn us into slaves and treat us like animals. When that no longer amuses you, you steal from yourselves. Why should I help you?"

Sebastian looked at the ground. From the boy's viewpoint, those words were true. But not all Spaniards were like that. He said so, and then added, "Besides, I'm not a criminal. I'm not a pirate, I'm not a slave trader."

"But you believe in slavery?"

"Not at all! The Portuguese do. They even bring their own slaves from Africa to work their new sugar cane plantations. But we Spaniards do not take slaves."

"You Spaniards are liars. Explain, then, why I am here, taken from my people and my home – by Spaniards." The boy's brown eyes glittered dangerously.

"I don't know. Honestly. There are good people and bad people everywhere – even in my own country. And I bet you have some bad ones in your tribe, too. Does that make all of you bad?"

The boy shrugged and turned to leave.

"You tried to escape once before, and they captured you and put you in chains to prevent you from doing it again," shouted Sebastian, hoping that his guess was right. "They'll find you again, you know. And probably they'll find me, too."

The boy stopped walking. He halfway turned his head back toward Sebastian. "You'll just free your friends there," and he indicated Santino and Rodrigo at their tree.

"Look. Just help me get out of these chains. I'd rather kill myself than set those two free. They're the reason I'm here."

The Indian turned around fully this time, listening. "There is truth in your voice."

Sebastian sighed. "All I want is to take my stuff back to my father. Those men stole it from me. I just want to get home."

"Where is home?"

"I don't know. Somewhere on a river pretty far from here."

The Indian stiffened. "You've never been there, and yet you call it home?" He turned to leave again.

"Wait! My family all died back in Spain! I was sent here to join my father, whom I haven't seen in years. Please! Help me!"

The boy kept walking and did not stop. He disappeared silently into the forest, not even disturbing twigs or leaves as he went.

Sebastian sat down on the ground with a heavy thud. His head pounded, probably from hunger and thirst. Wedging the key between two stones, he tried to insert it that way, but the key kept falling out. After almost half an hour, his wrists were bleeding where the metal bit into them, but still he kept trying.

"I haven't seen my father in years, either," said a familiar voice.

Sebastian looked up into the face of the Indian boy.

"I am called Arazunú, voice of the lightning," he said as he unlocked Sebastian's shackles. "I hear the lightning speak and I interpret its words. It is one of my gifts, although," his eyebrows drew together in anger, "at times it is also a curse."

"You mean languages," Sebastian said.

Arazunú grunted. "I hear them, I remember them. At night, while I sleep, I dream about them. In the morning when I wake up, whatever I heard I can understand. It is the reason your people kept me so long. Everywhere we traveled, there was a new language to be learned. They would not let me go home when my time was done." Seeing that Sebastian wanted to ask more questions, he held up his hand. "My father also has this ability. He also was taken as a slave by your Spaniards. Not by the Portuguese."

"Why did you help me, then?"

"No son should be without his father."

The two boys looked at each other. Without words, they understood that each had his own journey to complete. They turned and parted, Arazunú back into the jungle, and Sebastian toward his livestock and furniture.

"Good luck to each of us," Sebastian muttered under his breath, and then rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

Chapter 5: Between Here and There

The first order of business was to find food. Sebastian searched around the hut and found ingredients to make a fresh pot of soup. He fairly gorged himself on fresh bread – the first soft bread he had tasted since leaving Spain – and felt much better, if not a little overly full. When he could eat no more, he wrapped several loaves in a cloth.

I'll need something to carry that in, he thought. But when saw a knapsack on a shelf in the hut and reached for it, he realized that he would have to dress the knife wound in his shoulder before gathering anything else. He found clean water, but no bandages or wraps. At least it was a shallow cut; he prayed against infection.

Then came the problem of what to do with nine pirates and two traitors. He sat and stared at them for a long time, first looking at one pirate, then another, then at the _Santa Clara_ still anchored at the dock, and then at all the items they had brought ashore. It was obvious that they were expecting somebody, perhaps a buyer for their stolen goods. More pirates? When would they arrive?

He decided to get rid of the nine pirates by loading them into the other dinghy from the _Santa Clara_. Was it possible for one boy to captain a ship all alone, especially the sort of boy who hadn't really paid attention to what the sailors were doing? If not, was there any other way to get his furniture and livestock all the way to Asunción?

He would keep the oars and push the dinghy into the bay. It would be hours before they woke up, and it might give him time to escape with his furniture and livestock. He boarded the _Santa Clara_ and easily dropped the dinghy to shore.

After hauling the smallest, skinniest of the pirates into the dinghy, however, he knew he would need help loading the rest. Especially the pirate cook, who weighed as much as three men.

"Santino, Rodrigo, I need your help," he announced, walking straight to the tree where the men were securely bound.

Both of them looked exhausted. They had been beaten severely and were bleeding from their wounds. Neither looked as if they had any fight left in them.

"I need you to do some work for me. In exchange for your labor, I'll give you some water and some soup." He pulled the gags off their mouths and waited for their words.

Santino licked his parched lips. "The soup has the sleeping potion in it."

"I know," he replied. "It's your choice. I'm leaving this area soon and I don't think you'll survive alone, tied to a tree."

"What are you talking about?"

"I want you to help load the pirates into the little boat. When they're all in, you two can join them. Then I'll give you the water and soup."

"But we'll fall asleep! That doesn't help!"

"Like I said, it's your choice. You'll all be in the boat, sleeping, and chances are that when the pirates wake up, they'll kill you. Of course, they could let you live and make you pull their boat by swimming. Weren't they going to kill you anyway?"

Neither Santino nor Rodrigo answered.

"This way, you can at least jump overboard when you wake up. But I can't have you following me."

"Sure, we'll help you," said Santino, and gestured for Rodrigo to agree.

Sebastian guessed their intentions. "No, don't try to escape." He patted a belt filled with two pistols he had collected from the pirates. "I've grown up in the last two days. I'm not afraid to use these." He stooped, picked up a large shell, and threw it in the air. He aimed one of the pistols and pulled its trigger. The seashell exploded into a white puff of dust against the brilliant blue sky. "Well?"

"Lucky shot," said Santino.

Sebastian shrugged. "This is a multi-shot, wheel-lock pistol, which makes it self-igniting so it only takes one hand to shoot. That's new technology, and expensive, even for the military. Which means you probably stole it off some captain or admiral somewhere. Which means you're not only traitors, you're probably murderers, too. If I didn't need your help, I'd serve justice on you right now. But I'm giving you a choice. So?"

Santino saw that the boy was deadly serious. He hesitated, then nodded. "You're in charge."

Sebastian untied them, then tossed them the key to their chains. "Unlock yourselves," he said, pointing his weapon at them.

They did so, and then began the difficult task of loading the remaining pirates. It took all their effort – and split open some healing wounds – to load the cook into the tiny boat, but they managed. When they were done they waited for Sebastian to tell them what to do next.

"Climb in," he said, "and I'll bring you water and soup." He backed away slowly, never taking his eyes from them for an instant, and filled one bowl with soup and one pewter mug with water. He placed the water and bowl several paces away from the boat, then backed up again. "One of you come get it. Share with the other one."

Santino, figuring that Rodrigo might drink all the water without sharing, got out of the boat and walked toward the food. As he did so, Rodrigo jumped into the shallow water and ran away. Sebastian took careful aim at Rodrigo's leg and fired his pistol, surprising himself with his controlled calmness.

Rodrigo dropped, clutching his leg in pain and howling like an angry wolf.

"Go help him into the boat," said Sebastian, gesturing with other pistol, which was still loaded. "And don't try anything."

Santino nodded, new respect in his eyes.

Rodrigo's wound barely tore the muscle, although the blood made it seem much worse. Still, Sebastian had not been aiming to kill, only to disable. He hated the thought of killing anything – even the livestock his family raised for food. He wasn't about to admit that, though, and he kept the gun trained on them while they ate their stew.

Just before they nodded off to the land of slumber, Santino looked directly at Sebastian. "Thank you," he said.

Sebastian's aim wavered. "I should have just killed you. You've stolen everything I own, and there's no way I can get it all to Asunción now."

"It's what I do," Santino said, offering no apologies. "But thank you for sparing my life. If ever I can do you a good turn..." His words became slurred and then his eyeballs rolled back in his head.

Sebastian shoved the pistol into his belt. He made sure, just one more time, that the pirates had some flasks of water, and then he kicked the boat as far as it would go. The waves rocked the boat further and further away from the shore.

By the time he finished securing the pirates, he realized that there were only a few hours left until nightfall. He panicked at the thought of other pirates on their way to take the plunder on the beach. But what he had told Santino was true; there was no way he could carry it all to Asunción without the ship.

He wished now that he had paid closer attention to Captain Ramirez's words about how to sail the _Santa Clara_ , but it would have done no good anyway. One person, especially a sea-ignorant lad, could not sail the caravel. It took a minimal crew complement of three. The furniture would have to stay.

But the animals? They could walk, couldn't they? They should be able to go where Sebastian could go, provided that he went slowly enough and was able to feed them decent food. The horses would have no trouble; they were used to walking long distances in harsh conditions. But the bull and the pigs and goats had always lived in a comfortable, grassy area. Now they would be traveling over uneven terrain and through the jungle. Anything could happen to them. And of course the chickens would have to be carried. Could he do it? Could he get them all safely to Asunción?

Tonight, no. Tonight he had to rest, and eat, and rebuild his strength. Although new pirates could well be on their way, Sebastian knew that he would not be able to continue his journey if he did not take care of himself. He felt powerless without the sleeping potion; if the new pirates captured him, he had no tricks left to use. It was a nagging thought, one that caused him nightmares, until he finally drifted into such a deep slumber that not even the violent thunderstorm that night could wake him.

* * * * *

First thing the next morning, Sebastian began to pack for the trip ahead of them. He estimated that his traveling time would be cut in half now that he would be walking with pigs and goats. Whatever dangers they would face would take time, and keeping all the animals together would take time. If he managed ten kilometers a day, it would take roughly sixteen days before he arrived at Sancti Spiritu - provided, of course, that he was heading in the right direction. There was enough food to last that long, so Sebastian would not have to worry about provisions. He wanted to take some of his personal belongings, however, but the only thing that he found worth keeping was his mother's ruby-and-emerald jewelry set, which not only had great sentimental value, but could also be sold for a small fortune. Why take a tapestry or quilt? How could he carry all the silverware and the dishes? With an aching heart, he turned his back to his family possessions and began looking for practical items that would help him survive.

He found a sturdy knife, several swords, a small cooking pot, some flint, a waterproof tarp, a hand axe, some gunpowder and ammunition for the four pistols he had gathered, a plate with raised sides that could be hold soup, a pewter mug, some fish line and hooks, a fork with a broad bowl that could be used as a spoon, several lengths of rope, and other odds and ends that he could fit into his new knapsack.

One of the mares would carry the rooster and five hens. The other carried several bags of feed for the horses and bull. The stallion would carry any items Sebastian himself could not carry, such as the heavy cooking pot. Sebastian fashioned many pouches for the pigs and goats so they could carry their own food, but he realized that they would all eventually have to learn to eat whatever the jungle provided.

It was an hour past noon when they finally started. There would be no way to hide their tracks. Anyone looking for them would be able to find them easily.

As he left camp, one of the dogs let out a whine that sounded like he was in pain. It was an ugly little flop-eared mutt with a stumpy tail - one that was not cut off for vanity's sake, but torn off during a fight. He raised a paw at Sebastian in sort of a wave.

Sebastian paused, and then realized the dog was asking permission to join them. "You can follow if you like," he said, slapping his hand to his thigh as a visual sign.

The dog bounded over, pausing to sniff noses with the horses, and then got straight to business. He proved his worth within five minutes, bullying the goats and pigs back into the group whenever they strayed from following the horse.

"You'll probably starve to death with the rest of us," Sebastian told him, glancing back from time to time.

The dog gave a yip that could have been a "Don't bother me, I'm working" or a "So we starve together," but he did not break his concentration.

Sebastian smiled, grateful for the unexpected help.

It was hard going. Sebastian decided to follow the shore from a distance, so they walked inside the jungle where he could see water, but not so close to the shore that he could be easily seen himself by any more pirate ships.

The goats and pigs seemed to have an easier time of walking than the bull, who was by far the largest creature in the group. Normally a placid animal with a gentle nature, he was upset by all the changes in his regular routine. For four years he had lived in a comfortable stable and had a regular diet; then he had spent the last several weeks, miserable, cooped up below deck with little sunlight and no chance to walk around. Now he was in the fresh air again, but not happy to be breaking through so many plants. And all of them slapped him in the face or chest, leaving raised marks on his body. The goats and pigs could just walk around saplings in their way, but the poor bull sometimes had to break branches or shove his way through the thick growth.

Sebastian did all he could to help the bull. However, he could tell that of all the animals in his pack, that bull would be the one to give him the most trouble. He wondered if he should have left him behind. And yet, of all the livestock, the bull was the most valuable. He just had to survive!

"I'll get you there," he told the bull. "One way or another, you and me. We'll make it."

He hoped his words would come true.

Sebastian spent the first several days in a state of near-panic, driving his herd as quickly as he felt they could go before he realized that nobody was coming after him. They would have been easy to find, though, with the messy trail they were cutting through the marshland brush.

Those first few nights were worse than anything that had happened to him so far, even when he was lost at sea and had to row to shore in the dark. At least he had been alone then; now he was responsible for his father's animals, and the responsibility made him more cautious and paranoid.

Fire was the hardest. Striking the flint was an art that proved difficult to master. So was aiming the spark just right to ignite a pile of dry leaves. Most often, when he did manage to draw a spark from the flint, it burned out before landing in the leaves. He soon taught himself to gather dry wood as they passed it throughout the day, and how to stack thin, dry twigs around the leaves and then add enough sticks to sustain an entire log. It was a long and difficult process that took a tremendous amount of time and effort. And with winter ending and spring rains beginning, finding dry wood was a daily problem. Plus, none of the animals liked being so near the flames, especially the bull, but they soon learned to trust Sebastian so they stayed as near to him as they dared.

Worse than fire, though, were the morning disasters. At night, Sebastian was careful to tie each animal individually to a tree or to each other so they wouldn't stray away while he slept. But when he awoke, he would find one of them gone. The first morning, it was a pig who had disappeared without a single noise. The rope was there, untied, but the pig was not. Sebastian had not heard anything strange, nor had the dog signaled any distress. The second morning brought with it a goat bloated from eating damp grass that caused gas to swell her stomach and suffocate her lungs. When Sebastian woke up, her breathing was labored. He tried to get her to her feet, but she simply lay on the red soil and would not move. Back home, his uncle would have shoved a flexible tube down her throat in hopes of releasing some of the gasses building up inside her stomach. He had no tube with him. Although he searched desperately for any sort of reed that might do the trick, his efforts were futile. She died within the hour. Sebastian cried a few minutes and then led the rest of the animals on their way.

While they walked, he wondered what had happened to the pig and how he could prevent the other two goats from eating damp morning grass. It was good to have a problem to solve; otherwise, he would have fallen into a depression if he dwelled on the long journey ahead of him.

That night, after he built the fire, he drove wooden stakes into the ground in a circle around the fire and then tied each of his animals to a stake. The chickens did not need to be tied; he put their cages near his sleeping blanket so he could hear them if they were frightened. He hoped that the fire would scare away any predators. He was only halfway correct.

On the third morning, September 24th, he woke up to find that a large snake had devoured one of the chickens, and the other two in that cage had died from fright. The snake was still in the cage, a large bulge in its middle. It would be trapped until the chicken was sufficiently digested to let the snake pass once again through the bars of the cage.

Sebastian was disgusted. He wanted to kill the snake but there was no reason to do so; it was not a threat to him, just to the remaining three chickens - and now he had learned to keep them off the ground, covered so nothing could get in through the bars.

The days began to grow warmer, although the nights were still enough to cause him to shiver, even with his woolen sleeping blanket and the flea-bitten dog curled up at his side. He remembered a story he had heard once about a flea-bitten fox who carried a leaf in his mouth and immersed himself over his head in water. The fleas, not liking the water, would hop up to the leaf, which the fox would then allow to float away.

Hoping the story was based on facts, Sebastian decided to give his dog a similar bath. When he had tied up his animals for the night, he called the dog to the edge of the water and tried to coax him in. The dog would have nothing to do with the water, and when Sebastian tried to force him, he became violent. He sliced the air with his sharp teeth, biting at Sebastian, until the boy released him. Then he ran away, terrified.

Sebastian had no time to wonder at the dog's panicked actions, for at that moment a huge, flat greenish animal darted up out of the water and managed to snag Sebastian's pant leg. It had rough skin like a log and looked like a serpent. Sebastian had never seen that sort of animal before but knew his life was in danger. The thing dragged at him with incredible strength. It was all Sebastian could do to keep his balance. Finally, the fabric tore and Sebastian ran away to join the dog back at camp. Never again would he walk so close to the shore.

Sleeping that night was near impossible. He kept wondering if the green animal was going to follow them. Eventually his fear was replaced with the realization that the ocean salt water had changed and he had not noticed until today. It was almost fresh. Hope flooded his soul. His father once mentioned that he would know he'd reached the mouth of the Río de la Plata because the water would be brown but sweet.

When Sebastian woke up in the morning, another pig was gone. There was no blood, no trace of it, and the rope remained undisturbed. The mystery of it all perturbed him.

At first when the jungle was so new to him, Sebastian startled at everything. Every call of a bird and every scream of a monkey set his nerves on edge. Especially he remembered his father's letters about natives who would eat other human beings, or the shadowy black cat the size of a man who could kill a horse in one blow. He had not seen any of these terrors yet, so he was beginning to relax.

The animals slowly adjusted to their new lifestyle of eating twice a day, walking as far as they could, drinking from streams whenever possible, and sleeping under a canopy of tall trees and broad leaves. Sebastian, however, longed for a decent bath, instead of splashing himself cautiously beside a stream, ever alert for another green monster with sharp teeth. He missed his mother's special egg custards. He even missed his uncle, which told him how lonely he had become.

The fear of losing track of his days inspired him to carve a small nick into his walking stick every night before he fell asleep. That was how he knew that October 8th was the worst day of his life.

It began hours before his usual wakeup time. He had a nightmare that he was being pursued by pirates, and one of them turned into a giant. The giant picked him up in one hand and began squeezing him to death. Sebastian screamed and screamed but the giant only squeezed harder. The pain was too real to be a dream. He woke up – and found himself being strangled to death by a large snake.

It was the snake of death his father had written about. And now Sebastian was in its clutch!

He could not tell where its head was. It seemed to be all body. The harder he struggled, the harder the snake squeezed, and yet he was afraid to stop fighting because then the snake would kill him for sure. Frantic, he found that his arms were pinned to his sides. What to do, what to do? He would die out here, and nobody would know where he was!

He used all of his strength to reach out toward the saddle he used as a pillow; his knife should be underneath it. If only he could reach it, perhaps he could stab the snake to death.

Black. Everything started to turn black. He could not breathe. It would be so easy to give in to the suffocation... he just wanted to sleep... he closed his eyes...

And opened them, forcing all his strength into his hand. He would not die like this! He had to live, so he could make his father proud of him.

There it was! His fingers, almost numb, touched the blade of the knife. It was all he could do to grab its handle.

The squeezing continued steadily. Sebastian thought he heard one of his ribs crack under the pressure. His head felt fuzzy and detached from the rest of his body. Somehow, from deep within him, he discovered strength he had not known was there. He moved his hand, hoping that he was cutting into the snake. He could not tell – there was no feeling in his arms. Hoping and hoping, he kept moving his hand, or at least telling his brain to move his hand.

Was the pressure lessening? If so, why did it hurt so much? Sebastian gasped, and found that he could draw a breath. The first intake of oxygen was an enormous relief. He kept moving his arm. The snake released its hold as slowly as when it had been squeezing. It slithered away, injured and oozing, and disappeared into the thick leaves.

Sebastian lay flat on the ground, gasping. His ribcage felt shattered. Every breath he took caused pain in his lungs, some so sharp that he wished he didn't have to breathe. He had to force himself to control the intake of oxygen, taking slow, shallow gasps and exhaling around the pain. He knew that he was seriously injured. But what could he do? How could he treat himself? If he didn't die from the broken ribs, he would certainly become a helpless victim for whatever other predator would take advantage of his helpless state.

His worries and concerns were silenced by the sudden exhaustion that overtook him. He fell into a deep sleep. His last conscious thought was, I almost died and the sun hasn't even come up. What else will I have to face today?

Chapter 6: Phantoms in the Jungle

He awoke to the smell of roasting meat skewered over a cheerful, crackling fire. It was still early morning, and he lay flat on his back, his arms neatly at his sides. His shirt and vest lay close to his sleeping blanket. So did his medical kit, which was opened and emptied. The gauze that once lay folded neatly inside the kit was now wrapped tightly around his naked chest, holding his cracked and broken ribs together. Two thoughts were immediate: _Someone has been here_ , and _This pain is too much!_

Someone had indeed been there, but had also gone. Sebastian wondered if they were coming back, and how they had found him in the first place. His blood froze when he suspected cannibals, but why would they cure him just so they could eat him?

The person had obviously treated patients before. Two mugs were within arm's reach. Both were full of a brownish liquid with a rather leafy smell. Each also had a bent reed sticking up past the lip of the cup. Sebastian discovered, when he tried to reach for a mug, that even his arms were sore. He wondered if he had fractured any of their bones.

It hurt too much to move, but at the same time Sebastian was too thirsty to ignore the mugs. Inching one of the mugs toward him, he was careful not to spill whatever was inside. When it was close enough, he tried to sit up so he could drink, but the pain in his sides caused him to gasp. He would have to drink lying flat on his back.

And that's when he realized how clever his caretaker had been. The bent reed could be used as a straw; he only needed to turn his head to sip.

The liquid tasted bitter. He spat it out immediately and began coughing. Sharp pains racked his body as he fought to control the coughs. When the pain subsided, he looked at the mug. Obviously whatever was in it was important; the mystery doctor had taken great care to make it easily accessible to the patient. Sebastian braced himself and tried again. This time he managed a few sips before the coughs overtook him, and then he drank again, draining the mug in his desire to quench his thirst.

After a few minutes, he noticed that his pain was much less. Also he felt sleepy, and it was not a natural sleep either. He could feel his brain grow fuzzy. It was just as well. Sleeping was the only thing he could do at the moment.

It was high noon when he awakened again. The sun filtered its way through the leaves high above. Sebastian was glad that, at least, he did not have to worry about sunburn. The fire had burned low and the meat still smelled tempting, but Sebastian did not dare leave his bed. He was hungry, yes, but too sore to make the journey between his bed and the fire and back again. Instead, he sipped the bitter liquid through the reed, draining the second mug. It put him back to sleep and he knew nothing else for another few hours.

Hunger and thirst finally drove him from his bed. A few hours of sunlight still remained in the sky. Afraid of passing out if he stood all the way up, and afraid of aggravating his injuries if he crawled, Sebastian realized that the best way to reach his food was to walk on his knees. It took almost ten minutes to reach it, and by the time he did, he was sweating in exertion and thought he might just pass out from the pain. He had to rest for a while before taking the meat off the skewer.

It was still warm, and there were covered embers in the fireplace. Why hadn't he thought of that before, covering the embers while they were still hot? That way he wouldn't have to light a fresh fire every night! Maybe he could find some way to carry a live coal with him from place to place. He looked around for his caretaker, but decided the person had long since disappeared.

The meat had been spiced with delicious herbs he did not recognize. Some sort of hard white tuber had also cooked with it, absorbing the fat drippings. Both the meat and tuber were delicious, the best food Sebastian had eaten since falling victim to pirates three weeks ago. A third mug, placed outside the firestones, contained water. Sebastian's heart fell; he was rather hoping for more of the miracle drug that took away his pain.

He thought about his injuries while he chewed on his meat. The dog refused to take a bite, and Sebastian suspected that he had already been fed or had gone on another hunting spree. That dog could take care of himself. If only he didn't have so many fleas.

It would be impossible to walk to Sancti Spiritu in his condition. Before, he had avoided riding any of the horses, preferring instead to walk the path himself so he could lead the animals around dangerous terrain. Now he would have to rely on the stallion's judgment.

Toward the end of his meal, Sebastian realized he had forgotten to check on his animals all day. He looked at them for signs of thirst or hunger. They seemed to have none, and he was glad. It would have been too difficult to get up and guard them at the river. One more pig was missing, its rope neatly removed from its neck and left tied to the stake in the ground.

With a sigh of resignation, Sebastian turned his gaze toward what looked like scratchings in the sandy soil. As he peered closer, it seemed as if there were an arrow pointing due north, and a house surrounded by smaller houses.

He puzzled over the scratchings. What could a cluster of houses mean? An Indian village? Although he was grateful to his mystery physician for taking care of him, he was not sure that he wanted to meet an entire Indian village, even if they might be friendly. Was it a lure? Were they indeed cannibals, pretending to be friendly, so he would walk straight to their cooking pots?

His eyebrows shot upward at another idea. What if it meant Sancti Spiritu? According to his reckonings, he should have reached the fortress days ago. Was he finally close? How close?

Excitement welled up inside him. If it was the fortress, his journey was almost over! He offered a quick prayer of thanks and then headed back to his bedroll for his shirt and vest. Again, the trip took almost ten minutes and he was trembling with pain and fatigue when it was done. How could he make it to Sancti Spiritu like this? He certainly could not walk, not even if it was a close distance. He glanced at his stallion, wondering how he would saddle him when he couldn't even raise his arms above his waist.

To his utter surprise, Sebastian saw that the stallion was already saddled and bridled! Not only that, but two tiny waterproof flasks hung from the saddle horn, filled with what smelled like the same thing that killed his pain before. Sebastian's eyes narrowed in suspicion. His every move had been calculated and accounted for; whoever was helping him seemed to read his thoughts. But why had his helper not stayed to receive Sebastian's thanks? He would have paid him some of the silver coins he kept in the saddle bag.

He withdrew the pouch from the saddlebag, thinking to count the coins, but found that the pouch was completely empty. His face reddened in anger and injustice. The coins had been stolen – probably by the same person who had saved his life – but what was there to be angry about? Sebastian would have paid him anyway. Maybe not all the coins, but probably half of them.

He had a hard time getting up on the stallion. His legs worked just fine, but bending his waist caused sharp pains to shoot through his lungs again. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally mounted the patient stallion and turned him in the direction of the arrow. He drank the contents of one of the tiny pouches, hoping it would not put him to sleep, and then rode off to meet his fate, whether it be cannibals or the fort.

* * * * *

Thanks to the indefatigable herding efforts of the little mutt, it only took an hour of easy riding to reach the cluster of houses. And it was indeed Spiritu Sancti! Sebastian almost cried for joy when he saw the fort. It seemed pretty quiet, but he was still a good distance from it. As he drew closer, however, he felt that something was very wrong. The fort should have been bustling with activity – soldiers doing drills, women and children going to the market or spinning wool or making meals, shouts and orders and laughter. There was no noise, except for the quiet hum of the jungle that had grown so familiar to him.

It was abandoned.

At first, Sebastian could not believe it. But the vines growing over windows, and the rusty gates, and the silence of the places gave all the evidence he needed. Shocked, he entered the fort – it should have been carefully guarded to prevent invaders from going in – and searched for some sign of life. Life he found, but not in human form. There were mice and snakes and birds, and an occasional wild boar or two. But the houses were completely bare. Nothing remained – not a dropped fork, or a hidden coin, or a needle left behind by a careless woman. It was completely empty, and had been that way for what looked like years.

Sebastian was crushed. He had reached the end of his journey only to find that there was nothing worth journeying for.

Too numb to feel any emotions, he turned his stallion back toward their camp. He wished he had brought the rest of the animals with him, so they could at least stay in the fort stables and he under a decent roof for one night at least.

Halfway back to his makeshift camp, his emotions returned and overwhelmed him. It was all for nothing, everything he'd been through. He was going to die out here. How would he make it to Asunción now, without a guide, without a ship, without any help for his livestock? He was out of food and did not know which plants around him were safe to eat. The next time he was attacked by a squeezing snake, he might not survive. And if he did, who would cure him? Why did Santino and Rodrigo have to be dishonest in the first place? Why did his father have to be a soldier of fortune, seeking wealth at the risk of death? Why couldn't he be a nice, quiet accountant in Spain, or a farmer, or a craftsworker? Those were safer professions, and kept a father at home, where he should be, instead of halfway around the world without his family. And if he'd stayed in Spain, Sebastian would have a home right now - a proper home, a traditional home, a home where he felt safe, not one carved out of the jungle on an entirely new continent.

And why did everyone he know have to die?

Feeling very sorry for himself, Sebastian started to cry. Here he was, in the middle of a jungle, following a river that was supposed to lead into cannibal territory before he reached friendlier territory, with a ribcage full of bruised and cracked ribs, trying to lead a dwindling pack of animals back to his father. The pain in his ribs was still numbed, but he knew that indulging in sobs would only make his lungs worse. Still, once he started, he could not stop. Weeks of frustration began to pour out of him, and he cried until he could no longer balance himself on the horse. He pulled the stallion over to a tree and hugged his arms around its trunk as if it were his mother there to comfort him. He cried for a very long time, cursing the day he had set foot on the _Santa Clara_. He cried about anything and everything, listing all the ill-deeds done against him from the time he was a baby, and then he went through his list again just to be sure he hadn't missed anything. It was a fine pity-party. He sobbed like a spoiled child until the sun started to set and he had no more energy to cry.

Drained, and with nothing else to cry about that he hadn't cried already, Sebastian let loose of the tree and nudged his stallion to a walk.

"What else could happen to me," he said in a dejected whisper to his horse.

Of course, his imagination began to answer that question for him. He could be bitten by a poisonous spider, or eat a poisoned root. He could die from dehydration if he strayed too far from the river. There could be mountains or canyons to cross. He might die from starvation, since his food supplies were dwindling and would be depleted in a matter of days.

But I survived worse, he thought defiantly. To his surprise, he found it was true. He had been the victim of pirates, been put in chains, faced starvation, almost froze to death, been attacked by a squeezing snake, and had had to hike for weeks on end on foot with blisters on each heel.

But I survived! he thought again. New emotions filled him. Now, more than ever, he realized how mortal and frail he was, one boy against a wilderness of unknowns. But he had already lived for three weeks on nothing but his own wits.

His father always said that, when stranded alone, most people died within the first four days, either from not doing anything about their situation or from doing all the wrong things. Whatever Sebastian had done so far had worked. Even with the disappearing pigs and the dead goat and chickens, he was still alive.

And here he was crying like a kid.

He decided, right then and there, to stop acting like his mother would always be there for him. He was alone now, and had been for years. It was time to accept it and act like a man. When he met his father in Asunción – for there was nothing left to do except to continue following the river another thousand kilometers up to Asunción – he would greet the man with a firm handshake and say, "Father, I made it. Here are the animals I saved from pirates. Be proud of me now, because I am."

The words were silly, but he suddenly listened to himself. All this time, he had been ashamed of himself, and his father had been ashamed of him for that very reason. Now, he knew that not even his father's disappointment could take away the pride he had earned, and would continue to earn.

"No more tears," he announced to an empty, vine-covered wall. "Today, October 8th in the year of our Lord 1542, I have become a man. I will act like one no matter what." Saying the words aloud made them more official. He felt as if he was bound to keep them now.

Despite the pain in his ribs, he did not swallow the last pouch of painkilling medicine. He would need it for his journey tomorrow. He was headed for Asunción, and neither pain nor jungle could stop him now.

Chapter 7: Pa'i Shumé

The decision to quit feeling sorry for himself was the best thing Sebastian could have done. He did not realize it, but half of his burdens came from carrying them. Now, as he learned to look at problems in an objective manner, the rest of his journey – though not less difficult – was strangely much easier.

He decided that it might be prudent to take a day of rest. After three weeks of steady travel, both he and his animals were growing gaunt and hard-muscled, and the fort offered temporary safety.

The dog helped him herd the animals into an abandoned stable where the paddock had grown over with tall grass. The horses were thrilled and immediately began to roll. Sebastian shook his head to see how shaggy they had become and promised to currycomb them extra special tonight. The goats, too, seemed to recognize their little holiday, for they frisked about back and forth as if they were kids again.

A little room attached to the stable would allow Sebastian to keep an eye on his livestock while he took inventory of his dwindling provisions. He laid everything out on the packed dirt floor, dismayed at what he saw. There was only enough bread for another day or so. The oats for the horses was gone, but they and the other animals seemed to have no problem finding tall grasses and stalks to eat. The bull had become an expert at finding hidden bits of greenery, although he had lost his handsome roundness and Sebastian could now count his ribs. Even the chickens enjoyed their little worms and grubs - which, Sebastian realized, he might have to eat once the remaining bread was gone.

It took Sebastian's remaining strength to assemble a fire. Blowing on the little sparks required a level of control that his cracked ribs could not provide, so he had to give up after just a few minutes. He resisted the urge to take the pain medicine, though; it would be more valuable to him tomorrow. Instead, he checked on the animals one last time before rolling out his blanket and collapsing into a deep, deep sleep, not to awaken until the sun's rays filtered through the open window the next morning.

Refreshed both mentally and physically, he gulped down the medicine and ate an entire loaf of bread, preparing himself for a long journey. They had been traveling slowly to accommodate the smaller animals, but now everyone was used to walking long distances each day so Sebastian wanted to pick up the pace.

Four days out of Spiritu Sancti he lost another pig to the mysterious phantom who could take animals out of their ropes without a sound.

He began to wonder if it was the same person who had treated him for the broken ribs. If so, then he was definitely being followed, and had been ever since he left the pirate's cove. If not, then what animal in the forest could be so stealthy that not even the guard dog noticed?

It made him uneasy, thinking about the people of the region. He knew that Buen Aire, another Spanish fort, had been under constant attack by the Querendi Indians, a fierce warrior people who did not appreciate having Spaniards in their territory. He wondered if the same tribe had also driven out the soldiers at Spiritu Sancti. The thought made him edgy. What if they were still in the area? What if they hunted Europeans?

Several days later, his questions were answered.

* * * * *

The mare behind him stumbled and screamed. Sebastian, riding the stallion, turned around immediately. Horse screams sounded too much like human screams, and he felt the mare's pain keenly. He dismounted and walked toward her.

She screamed again, louder this time, and flailed around on the ground. Then she lay still, panting, her eyes turned white in fear.

Both her front legs were broken, snapped by an unseen shallow pit that had grown over with grass.

For the first time in almost a week, Sebastian cried, but it was not a cry of self-pity. It was for the horse, who had been a good companion through the journey. She lay there, screaming from time to time and then falling silent. Sebastian knew that the kindest thing would be to put her out of her misery, and yet he hesitated in his duty. She was such a kind animal, and a beautiful one. She had once belonged to the King's stables and was a gift to Don Segovia for services rendered.

Gulping, Sebastian aimed his pistol at her head and fired a single shot. The shot echoed off the surrounding trees, startling birds into flying away, and then the forest grew silent again.

She had not been carrying anything today, so there was nothing to remove from her body except for her halter. Sebastian did not have the heart to take it from her.

Sebastian sat in front of her, petting the now-still muzzle, apologizing for what he had done. He wondered if he should bury her or just leave her body to be found by jungle scavengers. Which one would be safer for him and his animals? Speaking of safe, were there any other hidden pits around here that could endanger the other animals?

He spoke a word to the dog and began his search. He went forward several meters, checking the path in front of him, when the ground gave way under his feet. He felt himself tumbling down, down, and landed at the bottom of a very deep pit.

The wind was knocked out of him and his ribs, which had been mending nicely, reminded him sharply that they were not fully healed. When he had recovered his breath, he looked up. The pit was as deep as two tall men. And – he saw this with a shock – the sides were perfectly smooth and steep.

This was a man-made pit.

Was it for catching jungle lions – or humans?

He forced himself to calm down and think rationally. Obviously it was made for catching large prey; it had taken some hefty weight to break through the grass and branch covering that blended it perfectly with the jungle floor.

Sebastian did not want to find out what its purpose was. He simply wanted to escape. The sides were muddy and slick; it was very difficult to climb. Even with his steel-toed leather boots digging into the dirt, he could not climb out. There were no vines to grab, no purchase to push against.

In the distance, he heard his dog stop barking. In fact, the whole jungle seemed to grow overly quiet. Sebastian had learned to be on his guard when birds stopped singing.

And there they were – human faces peering down into the pit. They did not look friendly, these Indians, although they certainly seemed pleased. They stared at him while he stared back, and then their leader spoke in a language that sounded older than dirt.

Sebastian did not understand the words, but presently a rope was thrown down to him. They made motions to him that he should hold tight. He hesitated. Were they friendly Indians? Were they cannibals? Did he have a choice? They could kill him with their poison-tipped arrows while he was trapped in the pit, or they could leave him to die. He might never climb his way out. Perhaps it was better to take a chance.

He held the rope with both hands and closed his eyes. When he reached the top and was safe on the ground, he rolled over to express his gratitude. But the Indians did not want to talk; they stood him up roughly and tied his wrists behind his back. Although he was two heads taller than the tallest of them, he did not resist. Their sharp-tipped spears were aimed at his heart.

So. They were probably cannibals after all.

Sebastian did not cry, which surprised him and made him feel stronger. He was led back to a village of almost forty people, all of whom gathered around him as soon as he entered and began to touch his skin. Some of them licked their fingers and then wiped them against his arms, thinking perhaps that his whiteness was paint that could be washed off. It was obvious that they had not seen Europeans before, neither Spaniards nor Portuguese.

He was put into a large wooden cage with solid bars and no lock except for two fierce warriors who stood beside the cage, their spears a better lock than any metal.

Hurt and frightened, Sebastian had nothing to do but sit down and think. It was difficult when the chief and several people surrounded the cage and began talking back and forth, very quickly. Some of them shouted in angry voices. Others sounded like they were trying to convince their friends of something. Several people reached their skinny arms through the bars and patted Sebastian's skin or touched his hair and clothes. He cringed from their fingers but the cage was too small for him to get out of their reach. After much debate, the chief raised his arms and declared something, and the people backed away from the cage and returned to their previous business.

As Sebastian sat in his cage, heart pounding in terror, he was able to observe the details of the village. There was one very long house built out of wood. It had a thatched roof, and was raised well above the jungle floor. It seemed that all forty people or so lived in the single house, although they cooked their meals outside over various small fires. Naked children ran around, the boys with miniature spears in their hands and the girls carrying woven fiber baskets. Old women sat in the shade of trees, clothed only in grass skirts. Old men sat around a single fireplace, no doubt retelling stories of their younger days.

While Sebastian was busy acquainting himself with the village, the chief had begun a sort of meeting. All the men, even the old ones, participated in voicing their opinions. It took a very long time. Finally, the chief motioned for the two guards to bring Sebastian close.

They roughly took him from the cage and pushed him over to the chief. The man's head barely reached the third button of Sebastian's shirt, but he spoke to Sebastian as if he were the most powerful man in the world. He made signs that Sebastian did not understand and seemed frustrated when Sebastian did not respond.

Finally, they put him back in his cage, but not before taking his shirt. They even unwrapped the gauze that held his ribs steady. The women seemed impressed with the long white fabric, because they touched it and held it to their cheeks and took turns wrapping it around their waists as if it could be used for a skirt. Some of them forced Sebastian to a sitting position while they painted his chest and cheeks, all the while making jokes about something Sebastian could not translate. Then they returned him to his cage and set the two guards at their posts again.

Sebastian vomited when he saw what the ceremony was going to be – the chief had one of his wives bring the largest cooking pot and set it over a central fire, which other women were stoking so it would be high and hot. They half filled the pot with water and made signs to each other describing body parts.

Sebastian was going to be boiled and eaten.

He began to shake the bars of his cage. "Let me out!" he cried. "You can't do this to me! I'm not your enemy. Doesn't anyone speak Spanish?"

They merely looked at him as if he were a chattering monkey, and then returned to their business, discussing how they would cut his body so it would fit into the pot.

Another group of women began a second fire nearby, this time with a large spit for roasting. More women were bringing out their best tubers and flower petals, and making flat round cakes of dried root flour in honor of the celebration.

Sebastian continued to shout but it was no use. At one point during the preparations, all the men disappeared into the long hut and came out dressed in what seemed to be ceremonial garments. The chief began to sharpen a long blade. As he did so, he walked around and around a large flat stone, chanting to himself and to whatever gods he believed in. When he was ready, he signaled one of his men, who opened the cage and forced Sebastian to his feet.

Sebastian clung desperately to the bars of the cage, but the people laughed even harder. Prying his fingers loose, they poked him with spears and carried him to the large stone. Despite his wrists being tied behind his back, he fought valiantly, kicking warriors and biting whoever tried to touch him. There were too many of them, however, and they managed to hold him down with his chest exposed to the chief's cruel knife.

The chief chanted a prayer to which the men replied in unison a single word. He repeated the prayer and the men repeated their replies, over and over again until the chief raised his arm high in the air.

A single shot of thunder rang out, causing the chief to drop the knife and clutch at his wrist in pain. Blood dripped down his fingertips in a little red river, splashing to the ground. The villagers looked around in silent terror for the source of the noise.

It was Arazunú.

He stood with his legs spread in a solid stance, pistol in hand, to face the tribe with easy confidence. The smoke from the gun settled around him, giving the illusion that he had appeared from a large white cloud. He began to speak to the people in their own language.

"I am Arazunú, voice of the lightning. I speak with words of thunder and power. Hear me, noble warriors, and I will explain why my temper has been fired." He walked closer to them. Sebastian could see that his face had been painted black and he had symbols all over his body. Pointing at Sebastian, he continued. "Who do you think this man is?"

Nobody spoke, and then the chief answered, "This boy is the white enemy we have heard so much about. We are going to eat his heart and gain his strength so we can fight the enemy when they find us."

"He is from over the great water, yes, but he is not the enemy," said Arazunú.

Sebastian could understand none of the conversation, but every minute that Arazunú bought for him was another minute of life, and for this Sebastian was grateful.

Arazunú walked without fear into the very midst of the Indians, right up to the killing stone, and placed his hand on Sebastian's chest. "Eating his heart will indeed make you stronger," he said, "but you will miss out on his gifts if you do so. Tell me, who is Pa'i Shumé?"

The chief looked puzzled. "Pa'i Shumé? I do not know this name."

"Then I will tell you. Pa'i Shumé is the ancient white god who came to our ancestors from over the great water. It is he who taught our peoples to drink téréré, to take its leaf and dry it, and smoke it over a fire, and grind it into small pieces, and sip it through a pierced reed. It is Pa'i Shumé, the ancient god with blue eyes and white hair, who rewarded our ancestors for their kindness to their elders. He has long been forgotten by our ancestors, and that makes him sad. What father wants to be abandoned by his children? He wants to be remembered again, and so he sent his son to bring gifts to remind the people. And now you seek to offend him by killing the one who carries his blood."

The men began to look uneasy. The chief grew angry. "I have never heard of this Pa'i Shumé before. And this boy certainly does not have blue eyes or white hair."

"This man is the son of Pa'i Shumé and the daughter of the mango blossom. It is the mango blossom who gives him his red hair, and her leaves which gave him his green eyes. But his skin and height are from his father, who only wanted to give you gifts."

"You keep mentioning gifts," said the chief. "What kind of gifts?"

"You are no longer worthy of receiving them," said Arazunú. He turned his back and began to walk away.

The villagers were very upset and besieged their chief with petitions. He held up his hands to silence them and called to Arazunú. "If he is the son of a god, why does he not speak for himself? Why does he use words we cannot understand?"

"He tests your hearts," Arazunú replied, still walking. "Those who are wise will understand the sounds he makes. Those who do not understand are not worthy."

The chief held out his hands, palms up. "Do not leave us. If we have angered this god, tell us how to appease him. We do not want bad luck to fall upon us."

Arazunú faced them again. "Have you harmed the son of Pa'i Shumé?"

"No."

"Are you willing to give him his freedom, so he can visit other tribes and offer his gifts?"

The chief looked at the ground, and then at his people. They seemed terrified. He himself was reluctant to release Sebastian, but his people would not participate in the sacred ceremony if they were too frightened to partake of the boy's flesh. "Yes, we will release him."

"Then you are worthy of the gifts after all. But not all of them. You should have tried to understand before you captured him." He put his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. The dog appeared from the behind a thick clump of grass, leading two of Sebastian's largest pigs. They had vines tied around their necks, and the dog pulled them along on their leashes.

Arazunú took the leashes from the dog's mouth, and then spoke to the dog, who disappeared again into the thick foliage.

"These are what you could have had," he said, and handed the leashes to the chief.

The villagers eyed the pigs in wonder. The creatures were five times as large as the wild boar they hunted. One of these creatures would feed the entire village for a whole week.

"The son of Pa'i Shumé was going to make all your boars as large as these creatures, and gentle so they would come to you when you called. You would not have had to spend so much time hunting. But because you threatened his son, you will only have these two and no more."

It was much more than the villagers had expected. The two giant boars were a very good gift.

"Release the boy," said the chief.

Sebastian, who had not understand much of the conversation, was terrified when hands began to touch him again. But he soon realized that they were untying his bonds and helping him off the killing stone. He walked on unsteady legs to Arazunú.

"Don't show your pain," Arazunú said to him in Spanish, "And try to look angry instead of frightened."

Sebastian drew himself to his full height. Squaring his shoulders, he waited, wondering what would come next.

"Tell them that you are still angry but you will return to test them again someday," said Arazunú in a whisper.

Without asking why, Sebastian drew a breath, furrowed his eyebrows, and raised his voice to address the people. "I am still angry with you, but I will come back some day to see if you're ready to be tested." He raised a fist, too, but lowered it when Arazunú shook his head.

The strange sounds of his Spanish words sent shivers of fear down their spines. Arazunú translated.

The chief beckoned several of his women, who rushed to bring gifts of food, feathered necklaces, and sharp stone knives and weapons. There was even a cape made of grasses, which Sebastian saw was intricately decorated and must have been very valuable to them. These gifts were placed in front of Sebastian's feet.

Arazunú kept his lips still while speaking quietly to Sebastian. "Say something."

"Like what?"

"Anything. Ask me something. Talk for a while!"

Sebastian could only think of one question to ask his rescuer: "Where did you learn to shoot like that? You could have killed the chief. I'm a good shot, but I can't knock a knife out of a man's hand!"

Arazunú's eyes crinkled in what Sebastian would come to know as laughter. "I aimed for his chest, not his hand. I was trying to kill him."

Sebastian's jaw dropped. What a lucky shot.

Arazunú translated to the people, "He forgives you but says you are not ready to remember Pa'i Shumé." To Sebastian, he said, "Raise your hand in blessing and then walk away."

Sebastian did as he was told. It took all his control to not look back while Arazunú was collecting the items and saying some final words.

Chapter 8: Jungle Comforts

"I'm so glad you're here!" Sebastian said when they were out of earshot of the villagers. "I thought I was dead for sure. What did you say to them?"

Arazunú told him, then added, "Your pirate friends taught me to lie. Apparently they call it story-telling. Their captain was considered the best storyteller of the group."

Sebastian realized what must have been said. He grabbed his new friend by the arm. "You told them I was a god?"

"The son of a god."

"It doesn't matter! That's blasphemy! You could go to hell for that, and so could I!" He made the sign of the cross and fell to his knees.

Arazunú stared at him. "But your people are always saying that they're sons and daughters of God. Why is what I said any different?"

"Because there is no Pa'i Shumé, and I'm not his son."

"You're free. Isn't that what matters?"

Sebastian did not answer. He clasped his hands and began to pray fervently.

Arazunú shook his head. "I don't understand your people. You tell me to use facts and truth when telling stories, and now that I did, you're angry at me."

Sebastian stopped praying for a minute. "Why did you come back in the first place?"

"You gave me my freedom. I've given you yours."

Sebastian's anger melted in sudden comprehension. "Was it you who stole my pigs?"

"Yes."

"And you left the painkilling teas for me? And treated my ribs?"

"Yes. I was studying to be a healer when I was taken from my home."

"I see." Sebastian stood up and smiled an apologetic smile at Arazunú. "I'm sorry for overreacting, but there are some things you'll need to understand. Although, I suppose living with pirates, you didn't learn much about the Bible or God or how to be a good Christian. I'll teach you about those things, if you want to learn."

"I do," said Arazunú simply.

They walked back to where the dead mare lay. The other animals had wandered away from her and were grazing calmly. Sebastian rounded them up and walked with them for a short distance, away from the area that was full of hidden pits. When he felt that the path was safe again, he mounted his stallion.

Arazunú had said nothing during this time, but only walked with Sebastian.

Finally, Sebastian asked, "Are you going to leave again?"

"Not this time," said Arazunú. "I found my father and paid for his freedom." He dumped several bright silver coins into his palm and held them out for Sebastian to take. "This is what is left. I didn't think you'd mind."

So that's where his silver went, too. Sebastian took the coins and put them back in the saddlebag. "I don't mind."

There was an awkward silence for a few minutes, and then Sebastian asked, "Do you know how to ride a horse? Where are you going, anyway?"

"I can currycomb them and put their saddles on, but the pirates never allowed me to mount one."

"There's plenty of time to learn," said Sebastian. He held out his arm and withdrew his foot from a stirrup. "Here, grab my arm and climb up. Don't be afraid. Put your foot in here, like that, and pull..."

Arazunú struggled to pull himself up, but he managed to swing his leg over the stallion's broad back. Sitting behind Sebastian, he looked down at the ground and felt slightly dizzy. He wrapped his arms around Sebastian's chest so he would not fall off.

"Oh, easy on those ribs," groaned Sebastian. "Use your thighs to hold on, not your arms." He nudged the stallion into an easy walk.

The dog, who had returned to guard his herd, nipped and chased the animals until they were following the horse.

"That dog ran away when I needed him most," complained Sebastian after a few minutes.

"Was he supposed to stay and be killed?"

"I guess not."

"You don't like him much, do you?"

"What, the dog?" Sebastian's eyebrows raised toward the sky. "I like him fine, except that he has fleas."

"Everybody has their flaws," said Arazunú. "You have to accept the bad things in people as well as the good. Perhaps if he thought you cared for him, he would have stayed to defend you."

Sebastian had no answer, although it made him think. He hadn't given the dog much thought, except to feed him and rely on him to keep the animals in line. He hadn't even given the dog a name.

"What do you call dogs in your language?"

"We don't have dogs. We have wolves and foxes. Maybe you could call him yagua."

"Yagua. I like the sound of that. I think I'll name him Yagua."

They rode in silence for a while, each thinking his own thoughts. Sebastian was grateful to be alive. His near-death had been too close for his comfort and made him realize, once again, how fragile he was in this wild jungle.

"If your ribs still pain you, I can make more medicine tonight when we stop," Arazunú said, breaking the silence.

"That would be wonderful. They're much better, but after the fall they really hurt again. And those Indians weren't very gentle, either." He half-turned to Arazunú. "How did you know what I needed?"

Arazunú hesitated. "I've been following your path since you left the pirate cove. My father was taken by Portuguese slave-traders many years ago and I've been listening for news of him ever since. The pirates sold a string of Indians from another village just before you arrived. One of them told me that my father was close by, captured by another tribe who wanted his heart. My father is a fierce warrior, you know, feared by his enemies. So I've been negotiating with the tribe. They wanted pigs and silver."

"Why silver? What could they possibly do with money?"

"Buy back their own people, who have been captured by slave traders. Your Spanish coins are not easily obtained. They were eager to trade."

Sebastian frowned. "Is slave-trading that common out here?"

"Your people sell their own brothers. Answer the question for yourself."

Silence again. Then, "Your accent is nearly perfect. How long have you been with the pirates?"

It was Arazunú's turn to frown. "I don't know how to explain it in your time. My people tell time by seasons and events. I was taken from my people the winter season after my father was taken, which was two hot seasons after the white people asked us to join them in their search for silver."

"I don't understand. How old were you when you left?"

"I had not yet reached manhood."

Sebastian smiled. "And I supposed you've reached manhood now."

Arazunú was very serious. "Of course." He pointed to the various scars etched into his body and explained their significance. "This scar protects me from evil spirits who might want to invade my body. These scars," and he pointed to the ones on his back, "prove that I have a strong enough character to withstand pain. That means that, when I am chief after my father, I will be a strong leader." He paused. "Where are your scars?"

Sebastian held out his wrist. "I got this when I fell on my brother's dagger. I almost lost my hand."

"No, I'm not talking about accidental scars. I want to see your manhood scars. Perhaps I'm being rude?"

"Not rude," Sebastian said. "Feel free to ask me about anything. I'll ask the same."

"Good," said Arazunú. "The pirates sometimes talked to me about their ways, but sometimes they would get angry and say I was being rude. But how does a boy of your people earn his manhood?"

It was a question Sebastian had to think about before answering. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure. You just grow up and one day when you think you're a man, you're a man."

"Your people don't join in a celebration for you?"

"Not really."

"Then how do they know when you can marry and hunt?"

He thought about birthday parties back home. "When our girls turn fifteen, they have a quinceañera to let society know they're old enough to marry. As for the hunting... When you're big enough, I guess." He saw that the answer did not satisfy his Indian friend. They were approaching a stream, so he guided his stallion to the water for a drink. The other animals drank also. Yagua, as usual, was alert for any dangers to his charges.

"To become a man," Sebastian said when they were on their way again, "I think you have to master your character and be known as a responsible person."

It was difficult for Arazunú to understand. Children of his tribe were encouraged to master control of their emotions, and a child who did not do his duties did not share in the food of the tribe. He pressed for more information. "The pirates called themselves men, yet they acted as fools. Anyone can be a fool. Are there no tests of character to prove yourself? No particular name-days or celebration days when you can look back and say, 'That's the day I became a man'?"

"I'd call this journey a test of character," laughed Sebastian, "and if I survive, I'll be glad to call myself a man. Look, why all these questions? What are your traditions?"

"When a boy of my tribe reaches manhood, he fasts for several days. Then the shaman comes and etches these scars onto his body. It takes all day long."

"Etches? With what? And doesn't it hurt?"

"We do not talk about the pain. The shaman uses a special stone with a sharpened edge. We lose a lot of blood, but when the wounds heal we are men."

Sebastian was both curious and appalled. He was not sure he would ever allow someone to deliberately use a stone to cut into his body, not even if it were for surgery. "But how old were you when you became a man?"

"I'm not sure. It was several seasons ago."

"Do you mean you don't count years?"

Arazunú shrugged. "I know what years are, because the pirates tried to teach me, but they are very hard to use."

Sebastian laughed yet again, delighted to have a conversation partner. He had not realized how desperately lonely he had become. "They seem easier to use than remembering certain events. Besides, a year is the same for everybody. Seasons and counting by events is only for one person."

"I think my way is easier."

Sebastian was too happy to argue, especially with the person who had just saved his life. There would be time for debates later.

* * * * *

One morning, Sebastian noticed that the jungle had ended. The trees had been slowly thinning for the last few days, and now he saw vast grassland in front of him. For the first time, he also noticed how awfully hot it had become. It was nearing winter in Spain, but here in the New World, it was hotter than the hottest summer he remembered, and his father had written that summer grew its hottest in December or January. And here it was, not even November!

Even so, the journey grew almost comfortable with Arazunú as a companion. In the first place, Arazunú was an excellent cook. Having trained to be a healer, he was familiar with many different plants and herbs, and not just for their medicinal values.

"This is absolutely delicious," Sebastian would say again and again, every meal. One night, as the fire burned low, he even asked Arazunú where he had learned to cook.

The question seemed to frighten the Indian. But he answered, voice low, "Men in my tribe are not supposed to make food. That is the duty of a woman. But I missed eating food that was familiar to me, and the pirate cook always told stories about other men he knew who could cook better than he. There was no Guarani woman to cook for me," he repeated, as if begging Sebastian for understanding. "I had to do it for myself."

"Hey, it's no big deal to me," Sebastian said, seeing that his friend had become very upset. "Men in my country cook for themselves all the time."

"It is different with my people," said Arazunú. "Men hunt, women cook. If a man cooks, he is said to be a woman."

"You mean that people call him names?"

Arazunú stared at Sebastian straight in the eyes. "No. I mean that he _becomes_ a woman. Only women would want to cook, and only men want to hunt. That is the way of my people. If a man cannot hunt, or always brings bad luck to a hunt, then he is not allowed to hunt anymore. A man who cannot hunt is equal to a woman. Therefore he must become one, and carry a basket, and cook food for himself." He looked very much ashamed and dropped his gaze to the ground.

Slowly, Sebastian understood what Arazunú was trying to say. "Listen to me. You're not a woman just because you taught yourself to cook. It makes you a better man, that's all. You can still hunt, right? No bad luck or anything like that?"

"I always hit what I aim for."

"There you go, then. Still a man. Your people should be proud of you."

Arazunú stood up, very upset. "That's just it! They will not understand. And I'm not sure I want to go back to them. My heart cries to join them, but it is split in half. I want to go to war, and join in the hunts, _and_ make myself food."

"Why can't you do everything?"

"I will be shunned, sent away from my tribe. They do not change. I have changed, against my will. I am no longer the person I used to be. I have been to the edge of the endless waters. I have traveled with men who use thunder to kill their enemies. And it... it..." He choked and refused to finish his sentence.

The night air blew soft caresses against Sebastian's cheek. The stars were brighter than the ones in his beloved Spain. They seemed to finish Arazunú's sentence for him. "And it has been exciting and you don't want your adventure to end," Sebastian said aloud. "And that frightens you, to prefer this life over the one you knew."

The Indian kept his face passive. Over the last few weeks, Sebastian had learned his friend well enough to know he was shocked, even though he tried to cover his emotions.

Arazunú sat back down. "Yes," he admitted finally.

"And your people may not satisfy you anymore."

"Yes," Arazunú choked.

The boys were silent, letting the wind echo the emptiness in their hearts.

"That's what I'm afraid of, too," Sebastian whispered. "All this time I've been thinking about how I just want to see my father and live in a house again and raise chickens and pigs and get married and have children. But it seems so boring now. Maybe Cabeza de Vaca and the other explorers were right. The best way to live is to chase dreams." He shrugged. "Then again, maybe you can teach your people some things about change. I'm afraid my people are here to stay, and we tend to bring change with us wherever we go. Your people might have to accept it."

Arazunú did not like that idea. "I'm very tired," he said, which was his way of changing the subject. He crawled into his hammock. "Sleep well."

"You, too," said Sebastian as he banked the fire for the night. He had learned the trick of keeping coals alive all night from Arazunú. The hammock was another innovation of Arazunú's, and a welcome one at that. Hanging comfortably in a bed made of woven vines, Sebastian could wrap himself in his woolen blanket and not have to fear rats, insects, or snakes. It made sleep a much more peaceful ordeal.

Sleeping was not the only thing that improved with Arazunú's arrival. Sebastian also learned how to satisfy his thirst by cutting a water-vine and how to dig for a root called _mandioca_ that could be boiled and eaten when it turned soft, or could be pounded into flour for flat bread or soup. Arazunú also taught him to identify specific trees, plants, and flowers as well as birds and animals.

Sebastian found that Arazunú did not understand the concept of "flower," nor did he understand the concept of one color being used to name all the colors in its spectrum. His people had a name for each flower, and since no two flower species were identical, how could they all have the same name? Why were crimson and scarlet and maroon all shades of red, when only red could be called red? From what Sebastian could tell, Arazunú's people had not only given names to every single plant in their region, but also knew the medicinal or edible value of every single one. Despite the fact that Arazunú had traveled so far from home, he still seemed to recognize the flora everywhere they journeyed.

Sebastian marveled at his new friend's abilities. Although he could not grasp the concept of calling every plant with pretty petals a "flower," he did learn to ride a horse in one day. His Spanish and Portuguese were perfect, and when Sebastian set his mind to teaching the Indian to read, Arazunú learned with such rapidity that Sebastian started training him in Latin, too. He regretted leaving so many of his books back in the pirate's cove, but they were not necessary for survival. He was glad, however, that he had saved his copy of the Amadis de Gaula and the Sublimis Deus. (He had considered leaving Cabeza de Vaca's book among the pirate booty, but he had promised to return it – if ever he saw that annoying man again.) A Bible would have been the preferred choice to teach reading, but Sebastian saw nothing wrong in sharing his adventure story with his friend. And since the Sublimis Deus applied to Arazunú's own people, it was probably wise for both of them to read that one, too.

Another thing that amazed Sebastian was his friend's clarity of thought. He had been thinking about that a lot, when one day he mentioned how amazing it was that Arazunú spoke in complete sentences.

"Why? Should I speak otherwise?"

"Oh, no, it's just that I always expected Indians to sort of, you know, talk like babies. Like, 'Arazunú want food now,' or 'Sebastian fall off horse."

Arazunú smiled – and it was the closest he would come to laughing. "I used to speak like that in Spanish and Portuguese, when I was first learning the languages. That is how you sound when you speak to me in Guarani."

"I sound like that? Like a baby?" He shook his head. "I don't know why, but I thought that the natives of the New World would be simple-minded. I didn't expect you to be able to beat me at my own arguments. If you were Spanish, I'd say that you would make an excellent attorney."

"What is that?"

"An attorney? It's a person who makes his living defending people from accusers. You have to be really good at logic and debate."

Arazunú drew his eyebrows together in thought. "That sounds like what a good chief does. Would I be able to become an attorney?"

"You? Never." The words were out before Sebastian could take them back.

"Why not?"

Cheeks reddening, Sebastian stammered an answer. "It's nothing against you, you know, but Indians can't have positions like that. Honestly, Arazunú, I'm sorry. My people think your people are just good for farming and doing hard physical labor and brainless jobs like that."

Arazunú, mounted on the other mare, stopped her mid-stride. "Do you believe that? Do you, Sebastian of the Spaniards, believe that my people are not smart enough to be your equals?"

Sebastian stopped his stallion also. His eyes were glazed with shame, but he answered. "I used to think that, my friend. But not anymore. I didn't know any natives then. I do now, and I am sorry for my words. But," he added, "not all my people think that way. There's a man who may become governor of Asunción someday and he lived with Indians for ten years. He's not a very... nice... person, but he wants to protect your people from being used."

Arazunú was silent.

"Please don't be angry with me," said Sebastian. "It's how I was raised. I've never really thought about it before."

Still, Arazunú remained silent.

Sebastian tried again. "I'm really very sorry..."

"Shhh! I hear something." Arazunú closed his eyes and tried to listen.

Try as he might, Sebastian could hear nothing.

In a voice so soft that it could have come from the wind itself, Arazunú spoke. "If you mean what you say about protecting Indians from your people, prove yourself now. There is a slave chain heading this way."

Chapter 9: Chiefs in Disgrace

"A slave chain? How do you know?" asked Sebastian.

"The wind brings the smell of horses and unwashed men and gunpowder," Arazunú replied. "And the sound of chains. I once traveled in one. Do you doubt me?"

Sebastian neither heard nor smelled any traces of unusual activity, but he had learned to trust his jungle-wise companion.

Arazunú gave Yagua a short command in Guarani, but the dog looked at Sebastian for confirmation.

"What do you know," said Sebastian. "He's starting to respect me!"

"There are men in danger, and you're happy about an animal respecting you?"

Sebastian's cheeks colored. "Let's just go. They're getting closer. Even I can hear them now."

"It's better if I go and you stay with the animals. Your feet are not as padded as the jaguar's."

It was a nice way of saying that Sebastian walked like a water buffalo, and it was true. Sebastian would not be able to sneak up on anyone, no matter how hard he tried.

Arazunú was there and back again in a matter of minutes. "It is a slave chain, many men, and four of your people, carrying pistols and rifles. They will close the distance between us very soon."

"My people? Do you mean Spaniards or Portuguese?"

"How should I know? You all look the same to me." Arazunú reached out and touched Sebastian's bright red hair. "Well, except for you. You're the only one I've seen with fire on his head."

Ducking the Indian's hand, Sebastian said, "So what do you want to do? Four men with guns will be hard to avoid. Besides, it's not like our animals are invisible. We can't hide them forever."

"Do you have a plan?"

"Nope. And there doesn't seem time for one, either. Let's just see what happens." He gestured to Yagua and then mounted his stallion. They set out at a brisk pace straight toward the slave traders.

Without seeing them, Sebastian knew what kind of men the slave traders would be: a group of battle-hardened men, probably ex-soldiers, who carried nothing with them except their rifles, extra ammunition, and whatever would fit in their saddlebags. They hunted their own food wherever they went, whether it be jungle, forest, or steppe. They could go for days without eating or drinking or sleeping; their goal in life was to get as rich as possible and they did not care who they hurt – or killed – to reach that goal.

Sebastian would have to be very careful.

The would-be slaves were chained together by a long iron chain that passed through their ankle fetters. At first, Sebastian just saw a bunch of Indians, but when he looked closer, he saw that each man was from a different tribe. Some wore furs, some wore skins. Others wore feathers or woven grass garments. Some had long hair, shaved in certain spots, and others had hair cut in a bowl shape. They all had something in common, aside from their wrist and ankle chains: they all wore an air of command and carried themselves with the distinctive confidence of kings. Each of them was obviously an important man to his own people.

One of the chiefs caught his Sebastian's attention. He looked similar to all the others, except that his lower lip was pierced and he wore a labret. Also, his skin was very white. It was even whiter than a newborn baby's skin. At first, Sebastian thought he might be a Spaniard who was posing as a slave, or who had taken control of an Indian village. But the chief's dark slanted eyes, flat nose and thickly muscled neck were too similar to the other chiefs in the line.

"Hey, there!" Sebastian shouted in Portuguese to the slave traders. "There you are. You're late."

Confused, the slave traders called their party to a halt. The chiefs barely glanced at Sebastian; to them, he was just another European enemy.

"Who are you?" called the man with the shaggy brown beard. His words were also Portuguese.

Sebastian was glad he had guessed correctly on the language. His heart beat wildly as he thought of more guesses to fool the traders with.

"I'm from the Blue Sparrow," he replied, continuing to ride toward them with confidence. "You're late."

"Do we know you? What do you mean, we're late?"

When he was close enough to make out the designs of their tattoos, Sebastian stopped his stallion. "Captain Mendoza didn't want to wait any longer. He'll take whatever you have right now. I guess he has a hot buyer or something. I don't know, and I don't care."

The Portuguese men were stunned. They turned to each other, forming a tight little huddle, and spoke in quiet, angry voices. Finally, the bearded one turned around again. "He told us to get twenty! These first nine were easy enough to get, but we've been out here for months trying to get the last eleven. If he wants just ten, he's going to have to pay us for all twenty!"

"He said you'd say that," Sebastian nodded, relieved that his second guess had hit the target. "And he sends you a gift to ease your feelings." He whistled to Arazunú, who walked forward leading the mare and the other animals.

The slave traders eyed the animals greedily. "They're awfully skinny," the bearded one said, although he licked his lips when he saw the chickens.

Sebastian knew what they were thinking. "They're not all for you, just a few pigs. I have to take the rest of them upriver. I'm supposed to meet Perez and Sanchez and give them the rest. And," he held up his hand to stop their next thoughts, "if Perez and Sanchez return without having received them, and Captain Mendoza finds out that you kept more than your share, he said to tell you that he'll never use your services again. I don't say that as a threat, boys, just passing along what the Captain said." His mouth went dry from his own bold words but he tried to not swallow.

"Isn't that just like him," one of them said. "Guess a fellow's darkest intentions and keep him from acting them out."

"Well, I say a few pigs is more than we've got. Let's take them and go," said another.

The bearded one held up his hand. "Payment first, not gifts. How many pigs do we get for our trouble, and where's my money? I want to be paid for twenty chiefs, not ten."

"Sure. Let me go get the purse." Sebastian laid the reins across the stallion's neck to make him turn around and then rode back to Arazunú.

When he was out of the slave trader's earshot, he whispered, "They're willing to sell the slaves!"

"All of them?"

"I think so. I told them our pirate friends sent us to collect them."

"But, Sebastian... what will you pay with? I already used your silver to free my father. You have less than half left. You can only buy two men with that, three at most."

"I don't know... Are they watching us?"

"Like a jaguar watches a tapir."

"I need to think. Take them our two largest pigs. Walk slowly, okay? I need some time."

Sebastian dismounted and made a good show of searching the mare's saddlebags. To the slave traders, it appeared that he was looking for their silver. He hoped they did not guess his bluff.

His fingers struck a soft bundle. Sebastian yanked his hand back as if he had been bitten by a viper.

It was his mother's matched necklace set – and it was worth a small fortune. With the necklace alone, he could buy twenty slaves plus a few horses, outfits of clothing, tools and all the materials needed to build a new house. The set had been in his family for five generations, and by rights it belonged to Sebastian's future wife.

Could he sell it? Could he bring himself to part with the one tangible reminder of his mother? Hidden behind the mare, he held it to his chest. No, not the necklace. Something else, maybe.

But there was nothing else. In his haste and practicality, Sebastian had left everything else back in the pirate's cove. The only thing having any value was that necklace set.

Maybe the earrings, bracelet, and ring. Their collective value equaled the necklace.

He could not do it.

Arazunú returned. "They're not happy with two pigs. They want at least two more."

Sebastian said nothing. His fist closed on the jewelry.

The sun glinted off the gold, catching Arazunú's eye. Sebastian had shown him the jewelry several times before, often speaking of his mother when he did so. "Are you going to use that for trade?"

"No," Sebastian said, knuckles growing white as he clutched at them more tightly. Suddenly he grew angry. "Look, why do we have to save every Indian we come across? It's not my job! I just want to get go Asunción with the rest of my stuff. And in case you haven't noticed, I don't have much left!"

Puzzled, Arazunú said, "Isn't saving lives better than saving things?"

Sebastian spit on the ground. "Do you personally know all the men there?"

"Of course not."

"Are they friends of Asunción?"

"Some, yes. One of them is from a Guarani tribe, the other Guayuki. The others are Payagua, Guaycuru, Mbaya, Abipon, Mocobi and Chiriguano. I don't recognize the other two."

"Those names - why do you say them in such a tight voice?"

Arazunú clenched his fist. "They are from further north of Asunción."

Sebastian could tell that his friend was withholding information. "And that's important because... ?"

"Because they are strong enemies of Asunción."

"Ah." Sebastian folded his arms. "Then why is it so important? Saving your father – that's all fine and dandy, but these are strangers we're talking about. And didn't you once tell me that the Guayuki are ka'ayagua? Forest people? I thought your tribes hated each other."

"True. Our peoples fight whenever they meet."

"I'm waiting for a good reason," Sebastian growled. "Convince me to give up my mother's only jewelry."

"Because slavery is wrong. Your book says so. I was a slave, for a time, and every day I wanted to die."

Guilt ripped through Sebastian's gut. Of course slavery was wrong – but selling his mother's jewelry also felt wrong. Not only that, but Sebastian would not even profit from the trade. Yet it was Sebastian who had taught Arazunú to read, and what did he read? The Sublimis Deus – the Pope's book against slavery!

Bitter at being forced into making such a difficult decision, Sebastian roughly shoved his way past Arazunú and mounted the stallion.

He trotted back to the slave traders. Defiance in his eyes, he threw his precious bundle at them.

The bearded one caught it and peered inside. His eyes grew greedy as he saw the treasure inside. He tried to hide it, however, and said, "That's all? We were expecting gold."

"That is gold," hissed Sebastian. Anger gave him the edge he needed to intimidate the slave traders. "Captain Mendoza said that if you asked for any more, to give you this." He withdrew his pistol and aimed it at the bearded one. He cocked the trigger. His eyes flashed with deadly intent.

The four Portuguese men took a step back.

The bearded one began to laugh. "Son, when you first claimed to be from the Blue Sparrow, I doubted you. How could one so young be trusted out here, alone?" He pulled the key from his pocket. After tossing it to Sebastian, he bowed. "You have my loyalties, boy, when you're the next captain of the Sparrow. Give my regards to the Captain."

Sebastian did not lower the pistol. "He sends his regards as well."

"I see no reason to stay here, then," said the bearded one. His men agreed, claiming they could not wait to get to the nearest fort, and wouldn't pig be a nice change in diet.

They mounted their horses and rode away. In the distance, Sebastian could hear them bickering about their shares in the jewelry.

It made him sick.

To keep himself from crying, as his heart desperately wanted to do, he dismounted and walked over to the line of chiefs.

Some of them stood; others squatted. All of them watched, suspicious, with hatred in their eyes.

Sebastian opened his arms to them, palms up, key in one hand. "I apologize if those men treated you badly in any way," he said, gulping to see bruises and open wounds on several of them. "I am Sebastian Segovia of Spain, soon to be of Asunción. Take your freedom. I ask nothing in return." He turned to Arazunú, who had joined him when the slave traders left, and waited for the translation.

Arazunú had always told Sebastian that most of the tribes he came across spoke the same language, but in a different dialect. It seemed that he had been telling the truth. All ten chiefs seemed to understand what he was saying. When Arazunú had finished, he gave the first chief the key.

All of them, without exception, stared at Sebastian as if it were a trick.

One of them spoke.

Arazunú answered, then turned to Sebastian. "They want to know why you did this."

What he wanted to say was, Because you made me feel guilty. What he said was, "My people do not agree with the Portuguese slave policy. We feel that the native peoples who live here should be treated well."

Translating, Arazunú added a few words of his own while the chiefs removed their chains. "The fire-head gave a great deal to give you your freedom. He paid with his mother's bride-gift."

To most of the chiefs, a bride-gift was sacred; they immediately understood the depth of Sebastian's sacrifice.

The Payagua chief, however, grew angrier and angrier as Arazunú and Sebastian spoke. "He enslaves our people and kills us with strange diseases and takes our property! You expect us to be friends now, just because he gave away his mother's bride-price?"

Arazunú tried to explain the differences between Portuguese and Spaniards.

But as soon as his chains were free, the Payagua chief lunged at Sebastian. With his bare hands, he began to strangle the boy.

Shock and chaos reined for a few seconds, and then Arazunú helped the white chief and the Guarani chief pull the first chief off Sebastian, who was literally turning purple.

While they were fighting, yet another chief – the Mbaya - snatched Sebastian's pistol from him and aimed it at the Guarani chief, shouting. The weapon discharged in a cloud of smoke, knocking the Mbaya man backward.

The Guarani chief fell over, clutching his chest. Blood spurted high. Then he was dead.

The other Indians ran away, including the Payagua chief who had started it all.

Arazunú wrested the pistol away from the Mbaya chief and pointed it at his head. "Return to your people! We are not your enemies!"

The Mbaya chief stood up and spat at Arazunú's feet, then turned and fled.

Once, Sebastian's father had written a letter about how natives in the Chaco could run as fast as horses. Sebastian thought his father was exaggerating. Now he saw with his own eyes that it was indeed the truth. No wonder they were so feared in Asunción.

One chief remained – the white one Sebastian had wondered about. He held out his hand to Sebastian, who still lay gasping for breath. "I am Chachugi of the Guayuki," he said in his own language.

Sebastian understood the intent. "Sebastian of Asunción," he grunted and let Chachugi pull him to his feet.

All three of them looked at the body of the dead chief.

"Did you know him?" asked Sebastian.

"We were cousins," Arazunú replied.

Sebastian had learned enough to know that all Guarani considered themselves related in some form or another. Even though Arazunú had never known this chief, he would mourn for him.

Without words, the three of them buried the body quickly, partly because the slave traders might have heard the discharged weapon and decided to come back, and partly because blood in any part of the jungle had a way of attracting predators.

Chachugi and Arazunú seemed very tense around each other. They reminded Sebastian of two dogs about to fight over the same bone.

The younger Indian made some gestures which appeared to Sebastian to be non-threatening and apologetic. Though he did not understand the words Arazunú was saying, he reckoned that it was a call for a truce, at least a temporary one. The Guayuki chief relaxed – not by much – and conceded to talk to his enemy.

They spoke for a short time and then Arazunú turned to Sebastian. "He invites us to his village, which is not far from here. It is on the same path as ours and will bring us closer to Asunción if we follow him. He wants to prepare a celebration of thanks for what you have done."

Sebastian was hesitant. The last time he had been in an Indian village for a celebration, he almost became the main course.

"He says that his people know Irala and are on friendly terms. It seems that both our tribes look to your people for protection against the tribes in the Chaco. Also, his people and mine have had relations in the past, although we do not trade with each other now. We'll be safe in his village."

Sebastian was reminded of the saying _The enemy of my enemy is my friend_ and wondered how strong that friendship would be. He hesitated. "What about the animals?"

"They will not be hunted."

Chachugi spoke again.

"He says that you may need help crossing the great river, with the rainy season here."

"River? What river? I thought we just followed the Río de la Plata all the way up to Asunción."

"No. This river turns sharply to the east when it meets the Paraguay. I myself have seen it once before, the two rivers joining as one. We will need his help."

Not happy with this latest bit of news, Sebastian frowned. Still, he could find no reason to refuse the invitation.

"You're sure we'll be safe with him?"

"He has given his word."

To Sebastian, someone's word meant very little anymore, especially when men like Rodrigo and Santino and Mendoza gave theirs. But the way Arazunú said it convinced him.

"Very well. What are we waiting for?"

Chapter 10: Outbreak

Chachugi's idea of "not far from here" took almost a week. Sebastian learned that Chachugi's "village" consisted of almost thirty people who followed a migration circle instead of staying in one place. Wherever Chachugi had seen them last, they would not be now – but he knew how to find them. During that time, they passed from the open savanna to a heavily forested terrain, which was crisscrossed with streams. Chachugi visibly relaxed when they entered the treeline. According to Arazunú's unwilling translation, Chachugi's people believed that only dead people lived in open spaces; if a person left the safety of the forest, he was considered dead.

Chachugi himself was acting almost dead at the end of the week. His white skin was fired with a red undertone, and it was not from the heat of the jungle. It was as if he had a fever. His eyes were abnormally bright, and even the shortest walks seemed to tire him.

Normally a strong, capable hunter, he had missed his shots twice yesterday – not a good sign. He refused to hunt any more until his shaman could perform a cleansing ritual on him.

"Panee," he told Sebastian, still not speaking directly to Arazunú. Although they had declared a temporary truce, they would never trust each other.

"What's panee?"

Arazunú translated. "It has no direct meaning. The closest thing you have is bad luck. When a hunter misses a shot, it is unlucky. But if he misses two, it is very unlucky. If he continues to miss his shots, he can no longer be a hunter. A man who cannot hunt must become a woman."

"So he's not going to hunt anymore, until someone washes him?"

"Obviously he's done something wrong or attracted some evil. It is not a good omen for us that he is with us. Sometimes..." he hesitated, "panee is contagious. It's best that he doesn't hunt until he is purified."

Chachugi knew they were talking about him. He muttered something and continued to walk as fast as he could.

"He says that the savanna has infected him. Being among the dead for so long has caused him to become ill."

"But we're in the trees now."

"Not his trees." Arazunú waited for one of the goats to munch on a green shoot, and then tugged on its fur to make it continue forward. "To him, it makes a difference."

"So much so that he thinks he's sick?"

Arazunú spat on the ground. "Ka'aygua." The word was too faint to reach the chief's ears.

But it was not his belief that he had been among the dead that made Chachugi sick. Nor was it the sweltering heat, although the hot summer sun taxed their energy. It was something far worse.

On November 5th they found the wandering village. High-pitched wails and tearful faces greeted them. Chachugi, who had been fine until he saw his people, also broke into a gale of tears. He began to sing a tuneless song while several women gave him _piy_ , a ritual massage.

"He sings because he is glad to return. He tells them how he missed them, and they are singing the same thing," said Arazunú, seeing confusion in Sebastian's eyes.

Although the people saw Arazunú, Sebastian, and the animals, they pretended that they did not. Only when Chachugi introduced them did they acknowledge their visitors.

The Spaniard's presence was disturbing enough, but there were several protests over having a Guarani warrior – even a young one - in their midst. And their fear of the domesticated animals was palpable. Chachugi reassured his people that they would not be harmed, and told them to not hunt or attack their visitors.

A wail rose up from the forest, seemingly invisible until Sebastian's vision adjusted. What appeared to be a tangle of leaves and branches was in fact a well-constructed _tapy_ , a temporary water-repellent shelter. Beneath the branches lay an old man. A middle-aged woman rocked back and forth, back and forth.

Chachugi motioned for his guests to remain where they were so he could see what was happening.

Tired, Sebastian looked around at the traveling village. There were roughly a dozen branch shelters and perhaps thirty people. He could not help comparing the first village with this one. The cannibals, at least, had strong, permanent huts; the Guayuki never stayed in one place for more than three days. All of them had white skin and thick, straight black hair like Chachugi. Also like Chachugi, the people went naked or wore minimal clothing. The men had thick, strong necks that reminded Sebastian of his father's prize bull. Their backs were scarred from their manhood rituals. Their lower lips were pierced with labrets, some short and some long. The women huddled around various fires, preparing fruit and insects for the evening meal. Their scars covered their stomachs instead of their backs. Arazunú had explained that the women's scars were protective signs for future babies.

Woven baskets sat within easy reach of the women, in case they should need them in a hurry. They contained the family's entire possessions: clothes, woven mats, stone axes, stone knives, waterproof cooking pots, and any food items that were leftover or preserved. If the woman had children who were too young to walk very far, they would also carry them on their backs. Even pet capuchin monkeys hitched rides on the already burdened woman!

The people seemed happy enough, hugging each other freely or tickling each other, but Sebastian sensed something amiss. Children who should have been running around, playing with stones or chasing each other simply sat beside their mothers and watched Sebastian with curiosity. Women who normally might have chatted to each other while pounding palm fibers now did their daily chores without talking. Men polished their arrows with snail shells but did not move from their positions.

Thinking that perhaps it was his presence that caused so much discomfort, Sebastian turned to Arazunú. "Is something wrong?"

Arazunú pointed to the man lying in the tapy. "That man is very sick. It is a sickness that arrived suddenly, and their shaman does not seem to know how to treat it."

"I hope the person gets better," Sebastian said. "Is there anything you can do to help?"

Arazunú smiled. "From what I can see, their shaman is very old and very wise. I was a mere apprentice. I would only get in the way."

Somehow, Arazunú's answer did not satisfy Sebastian. He had a deep, gut feeling that something was very wrong here among these gentle people. But he could not pinpoint the source of that nagging feeling, so he tried to divert his attentions elsewhere.

It would probably rain tonight. Sebastian had learned that whenever the weather grew unbearably hot, humidity collected and evaporated and would eventually force a rainstorm. It would rain for several hours until the entire jungle floor was flooded, and then the weather would be cold for the next day or so. Gradually it would heat up until it became unbearably hot again, and the cycle would continue. Although there were no stables or even any buildings large enough to house his animals, Sebastian was glad to be among people again. Somehow there was a tremendous amount of security when people grouped together. Alone, he might not be able to hold off a jaguar – especially now that his ammunition was gone. But a group of people, together, would be safe.

Then why did he feel so restless?

"How long should we sit here?" he asked.

Arazunú shrugged. His foot covered a shiny snail shell. He pulled it out of the dirt and began to polish one of his own arrows with it. When he saw the suspicion in the villagers' eyes, however, he put his arrow back into its sling. "I don't want to stay more than a day," he replied at last. "We'll accept their gratitude feast and then we leave. We're not far from the great river, anyway."

"Should I set up a fireplace or something?"

Crinkles appeared around Arazunú's eyes. He was laughing at Sebastian. "Your people do not sit still very well," he said. "You are like small children who fidget and squirm at every chance."

Sebastian sighed. It was true – he was uncomfortable when he was bored. And right now, there was nothing to do except people-watch. And the more he watched the Guayuki, the more uncomfortable he became.

A baby began to cry, suddenly, as if it had been pricked by a thorn. The mother immediately stuffed her breast into his mouth, but the baby did not want to nurse. He squirmed away and flailed his tiny fists in the air. She tried again, but the baby was not hungry. He continued to cry, louder this time. Despite his mother's efforts to comfort him, he would not stop.

All heads turned to the baby, surprised. It was not the custom to allow an infant to cry. In a dangerous situation, when an enemy was close, a baby's cry could give away their location and draw arrow-fire upon their people. A jaguar might hear the baby and consider it an easy meal. Danger aside, however, the Guayuki simply saw no reason for their children to cry. A baby cried for only four reasons – it was hungry, tired, dirty, or sick. And since the child would not eat or sleep and had not made any messes, there was only one explanation left.

The baby must be sick.

Sebastian's heart leapt when the old woman added her wails to the baby's. Chachugi knelt and bent his face close to the old man's. The shaman began to chant in a tuneless wail. Chachugi straightened and stood.

Dead.

The entire village burst into a spine-tingling howl, some singing a mournful tune and others simply crying out in agony. One man, younger than the one who had just died, put his head in his hands and sat underneath the shade of a broad-leafed tree, crooning to himself. He said the same things over and over again until Sebastian asked Arazunú what was happening.

"The old man is dead, and he was a respected man in this village," Arazunú explained. "This man is his son. He says, 'My father is dead, my father is dead. I am an orphan now. The man that I loved has left me, the one who taught me to hunt is no longer alive. I am an orphan. My father is dead, he who made my first bow for me, he who could run like the roe deer. He is dead and I am an orphan because he is no longer alive...' Do you want me to keep translating?"

Sebastian held up his hand. "No, please." The words filled him with a strange sadness. He didn't know the old man, and therefore could not mourn his loss, but he felt the son's grief strongly. He imagined how distraught he would be if his own father died – but that wouldn't happen. Sebastian would get to Asunción, with the livestock he had left, and his father would put his arms around him and comfort him.

One voice suddenly rose above the others, but this was not a voice of mourning. It was a scream of panic.

The mother who had been trying to comfort her crying baby held him up. The baby's head drooped. She shook him gently, but there was no response. Several women stopped their mourning song for the old man and clustered around the mother. They poked at the infant, then felt his chest for movement.

As one, they took up their death chant again – but this time with the baby's name added.

The mother began to scream.

For once, Sebastian did not need a translation.

He felt claustrophobic. Two deaths in less than ten minutes – it made him anxious. He looked at their faces – the mourning Guayuki – and did not like what he saw. They all had the same fever-reddened cheeks Chachugi had been sporting for the last week.

A young girl just entering womanhood took the baby away from the mother. At first the mother resisted, but when she was restrained by the older women, the girl was able to take the body to the shaman.

Sebastian did not want to watch any more. He turned his eyes to the now-abandoned fireplaces where food was cooking in waterproof woven baskets or roasting on spits. One item caught his eye because of its difference.

It was neither woven, nor made of skin, nor carved out of wood. It was made of a substance foreign to the gentle Indian tribe.

It was metal – European metal – and it contained sickness as well as stew.

All at once, Sebastian knew what was happening. His head whirled in realization. He could not bring himself to say what he was thinking: smallpox.

Smallpox could wipe out an entire village in less than a week.

Sebastian pointed his finger. "That metal pot!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get this?" He ran to it and threw it away from the fire, into the trees. Its contents spilled onto the moist soil.

Several people stopped their wailing and stared at Sebastian in horror. He repeated his question to the chief.

Something about the urgency of Sebastian's voice caused the chief to cease his own mourning. It was his son who had just died – the son of his favorite wife. He forced himself to answer.

"He says it must have been left here when the slave traders captured him. His people do not waste things. They understood what it was for and used it."

"It was a trap!" Sebastian was disgusted. True terror gripped him as he looked into their faces again. "My father once wrote about the Portuguese _bandeirantes_ and how they 'leave' pots in Indian camps. That pot," and he pointed again, "probably belonged to a sick man. Now they're all going to get sick."

Arazunú translated. The chief looked terrified. He began to shout at the shaman, who was also trembling in fear. When the chief explained to his people, their wails took on a pitch of near-panic.

Arazunú alone seemed calm. "And me?" he asked. Sebastian was not listening – he was staring at the pot and the dead baby – so Arazunú asked again. "And me, Sebastian?"

Sebastian swallowed hard and forced a shrug. "No, you've lived with Europeans for too many years now. You've probably got immunities."

It was a new word to Arazunú, immunities, but Sebastian's face told him that the word was a lie anyway. "We'll see," he said. "Your diseases are as sneaky as your people are."

Chapter 11: Caretaker

Every baby under a year old, and every old person who was already frail, died before sunset. It was that quick – for some. For the rest, it took much longer. The babies and old people, at least, did not suffer.

Sebastian knew smallpox. When he was young he had contracted it from a neighbor boy. He still carried some pockmarks on his cheeks. True, one had to look closely to notice them, but they remained proof that he had survived. And he had been lucky - at least when the disease struck his town there had been medicines and doctors and tonics. But here, in the wild forest, the only doctor available was the shaman – and he was growing too weak to care for even himself.

What Sebastian knew about the disease was that his mother had kept fresh, cool washcloths on his forehead while fever burned him. All of his clothes, toys, blankets, and furniture had been burned when the disease left the house. Nobody in his family had died from it – but from his father's letter, smallpox easily killed the natives of the New World. He remembered being sick for several weeks, and then he was very weak afterward. He wondered if it would be the same for the Indian survivors. If there were any.

The reality of the plague was far worse than his most vivid memory. His living nightmare began almost immediately.

As soon as the wailing calmed down, Chachugi ordered his people to pack their belongings, bury their dead and break camp.

"No!" said Sebastian, turning to Arazunú. "Tell him that the bodies must be burned, and all their belongings, too."

Arazunú furrowed his eyebrows. "That is not their way. When a person dies, they must leave or else the person's spirit will haunt them. We Guarani have a similar tradition."

"But where will they go? They're already sick. Look at them. They'll never be able to get far enough away."

Arazunú could tell that Sebastian was right. He walked over to the chief and told him what Sebastian had said. Chachugi did not look happy. He spoke with his shaman for a few minutes, and then listened to the nagging of his favorite wife. Sebastian later learned that the spirits of babies do not haunt, and the mother wanted to stay with her baby's body.

Only after another person dropped to the ground and did not have the strength to rise, did Chachugi overrule his shaman and allow Sebastian to build a funeral pyre.

Sebastian kept hearing "panee, panee," everywhere he went, but he knew that he himself had nothing to do with the bad luck. Still, burning bodies instead of burying them was highly non-traditional and made the already-nervous Indians even more anxious.

Sebastian vomited when he lifted the body of the old man onto the pile of wood. Mentally, he knew what must be done, but it took every ounce of his willpower to light the fire. He had never burned a human before. He wept as he held his torch to the kindling.

The mother, whose name was Tatugi, refused to let her baby be burned. Even though the young girl Pwaagi had taken the body away, she found the baby and huddled it to her chest. Not even harsh pinches from the other women could make her release her dead child.

It had only taken half an hour or so to build and begin the funeral fire, but time seemed to suck energy from the Indians. Many of them sat listlessly under their tapy, their eyes glazed in fever. Those who were yet unaffected did their best to cook enough food for their friends and family. Most of the people avoided looking at Tatugi and the dead baby – there was already enough bad luck in the camp without drawing more of it to them.

The evening meal was difficult to swallow for everyone. For the Guayuki, it was tainted because of the deaths and their own feverishness. For Arazunú, dining with an enemy was not an experience he relished, especially not when they were all getting sick. For Sebastian, it was almost a danger, because at one point during the meal, some of the men told the chief that since it was the white strangers who brought the sickness to them, perhaps killing this white stranger who was visiting them would reverse the panee and they would feel better. The logic was sound. There was almost a mutiny. But Chachugi had given his word that Sebastian and his friend and his animals would be safe, so he kept his word. Breaking a promise would have brought even more panee.

After dinner one of the younger boys showed Sebastian where he could relieve himself, where he could sleep for the night, and where the nearest stream was in case he wanted to wash himself. The boy did not spend much time with Sebastian; he was convinced that the Spaniard was a sort of _krei_ or ghost.

Sebastian saw that the small stream led to a dead-end lake. Though it was smaller than the lakes he had passed during the past few weeks, it still had fish, frogs, and birds. It was lively for such a small lake. He recognized its potential at once: he could bring some of the feverish Indians to the stream and let them sit in the cooling waters. Any bad humors they carried would collect in the lake, instead of being passed to another unsuspecting tribe downstream.

Sleep that night was near impossible. The Guayuki did not use hammocks; they simply slept on woven palm fiber mats on the ground. As much as Sebastian wanted to use his hammock, he felt that he had already brought enough strangeness to the day and did not want to risk making the Guayuki feel even more uncomfortable. It was hard enough to convince them that his livestock were not demon-possessed, which is why they thought the animals stayed near him of their own free will. The dog, especially, made them feel edgy. He almost seemed to understand what they were saying. They began to say that he was the protective spirit of one of Sebastian's brothers, in the form of a dog. Sebastian almost wished Arazunú would stop translating every juicy piece of information; thinking about spirits and burial rituals and slave traders and black metal pots made his head swim so much that sleep evaded him.

And then there was Arazunú himself, who as yet showed no signs of the sickness. As far as Sebastian could figure, the slave traders who captured Chachugi had done so nearly two weeks ago, and it seemed that the incubation time of the disease was also two weeks or so. If Arazunú was going to get sick, it might not happen for another week or so. Still, Sebastian could not help but reach out several times in the night and feel the face of his sleeping friend, just to make sure that he hadn't contracted a fever yet.

The low-pitched moans of sick Indians also kept Sebastian awake well into the early hours of the morning. Finally, when he was about to fall asleep, new sounds started – vomiting. Sebastian did not sleep much his first night in the village.

Morning brought no relief. Arazunú, as always, awoke before the first rays of sunshine filled the sky. Sebastian tended to sleep until the peta birds began to squawk, which was almost always the same time as his rooster began to crow.

"We are leaving today," said Arazunú as a sort of reminder and hint as soon as Sebastian opened his eyes.

Sebastian looked around him. They had traveled a week with Chachugi for a gratuity feast and help crossing the river. Their welcome feast had been small and unsatisfying; it seemed that there would also be not much help crossing the river.

Everyone, with the exception of Chachugi, Pwaagi, and a few other robust individuals, remained on their sleeping mats. Those who had the energy to sit up did so, but did not get off the ground. The rest of the Indians simply lay flat, cheeks reddened in fever, breathing heavily as if it were an effort.

Tatugi stared into space, unblinking. The body of her baby lay on the ground in front of her, but it was almost unrecognizable. It had bloated so much that it was the size of a toddler instead of a newborn. And it had turned black, as black as the soil on which they sat.

Sebastian almost vomited again, except that his stomach was empty with morning hunger. He saw that those who had died through the night were also turning black and bloating. A sweet, sickening smell emanated from their bodies.

"We can't leave," he replied. "We need to get more wood."

"I don't want to stay here! The spirits of their dead are lingering around here. I cannot be protected from spirits – and I am an enemy!"

"Chachugi promised we'd be safe," Sebastian protested.

"How safe can we be from death? These people just look at each other and spread the sickness. It blows on the wind."

He had a point. "They're dying. We can't leave."

"That's why we should leave. They're dying! What do I care about an enemy?"

Sebastian gave a half-laugh. "You were the one who wanted to free your enemies! You made me give away my mother's jewelry just so that they could be free!"

"That was different. They were going to be slaves. These people still have their freedom." Arazunú stood up and looked down at Sebastian. "I will not stay where my enemy is invisible."

Sebastian knew he was not talking about the smallpox disease; he was speaking of the spirits of his enemy, whom he feared more than sickness itself. Had none of Sebastian's long speeches about Christ and God and heaven made sense to this pagan Indian? "Spirits cannot haunt," he said, thinking to start another sermon, but Arazunú grabbed his bow and disappeared into the forest.

Sebastian wondered if he would return or not. They were both heading in the same direction, since Arazunú's people lived less than forty kilometers south of Asunción. But Arazunú was not the sort of person to be ordered about. He was the future chief of his tribe, a prince in his own right. Sebastian hoped he would return.

Meanwhile, Pwaagi had taken a basket and gone into the forest to gather ripe fruits, insect larvae, honey, roots, and anything else she could find for food. Sebastian's own stomach told him that it was time for breakfast.

As had become his custom, he made sure his animals had water and safe grazing pasture before he tended to his own needs. By that time, he was ravenously hungry. But it occurred to him that the Indians also must be hungry, yet none of them had risen from their mats to go hunting. Pwaagi and two other women were the only people gathering food.

It was obvious that there would not be enough for everyone. Sebastian would have to go hunting for the tribe.

He checked his ammunition, made sure his pistol was clean, and told Yagua to watch the animals. Then he set out into the forest. After only one minute of walking, however, he pulled himself to a sharp halt. When he had traveled alone, he walked by the river's bank so he would not get lost. Even when he was in the forest, he kept the river in sight. When he had traveled with Arazunú, he did not have to stay by the river, but Arazunú's keen sense of direction prevented them from getting lost. However, traveling with Chachugi was far different. The chief never went in a straight line and did not seem to use landmarks of any sort. For all intents and purposes, Sebastian was lost. There were no streams to walk beside, and Arazunú was gone.

Sebastian knew very well that his tracking abilities were quite limited. It was a skill he had been learning from Arazunú over the past few weeks, but Sebastian knew when to say quit. Although he had only been walking for less than a minute, he knew he was lost. And he knew better than to try to retrace his steps – the forest swallowed up every footprint, every broken twig, every sign that he had just passed through.

Instead of his eyes, he used his ears. There were no sounds, not even a baby crying. All he heard were the usual birdsongs and frog croaks by the stream bed. He felt like a fool, so quickly lost.

A small voice made him turn his head. It was Membogi, the young boy who had shown him where to sleep last night. The boy repeated his phrase several times, but Sebastian did not understand. Finally, fear in his eyes, Membogi took Sebastian's hand and tugged him back to camp.

Sebastian suppressed the ridiculous urge to laugh his relief. Lost for five minutes felt the same as lost for days! He looked around, hoping that nobody had noticed. Nobody had; they were all resting, sleeping, or vomiting. Membogi took Sebastian through the camp to the other side and a little bit beyond, where Sebastian could relieve himself. Sebastian did not bother to explain that he had wanted to go hunting. When he was finished, he let Membogi point them in the direction of camp again. However, Membogi seemed to be very weak, so Sebastian carried him back. At first, the boy was frightened – was this Krei going to kill him or take him into the world of spirits? But then, how could a ghost smile so nicely? So Membogi decided that Sebastian was not as much a threat as his parents had warned.

" _Beeru, ejo_!" called Pwaagi, returning to camp a little while later. She motioned with her hands. Sebastian recognized the 'come' gesture and walked toward her. She turned and led him into the forest. He had to dodge broad leaves and tall grasses that came up to his chin. He surely would have gotten lost if he had taken his eyes away for her for even ten seconds.

She was a lithe, graceful young woman who reminded Sebastian of a slender jaguar. Her pale skin and slanted eyes made an odd contrast to Sebastian's Spaniard ideas of beauty, but he was aware that she would be considered an exotic beauty if he were back home. She had thick, straight black hair that reached all the way down her back. When she looked back to see how he was doing, he noticed that her nose resembled that of her pet capuchin monkey which rode on her shoulder. But her eyes were big and dark and fringed with thick straight black lashes. She also had full, thick lips that were quick to smile – and when she smiled, Sebastian's heart seemed to get stuck in his throat.

She spoke to him, regardless of his understanding. He was fascinated with the sound of the language. To him, it captured the bubbling stream and the rustling of leaves at night. Each word strung together into another. He was content to simply listen to this language of the forest.

"You came. Good," said Arazunú, who squatted near a large mud pile. He had been digging a hole into it, and soon Sebastian saw why. A large tegu lizard had sequestered himself in the dirt. His powerful claws dug into the mud, firmly resisting Arazunú's efforts to be dragged out by the tail. "Hold his tail here, like this. Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," said Sebastian, his cheeks growing warm. Although Pwaagi could not understand the words, he did not want her to think badly of him. He boldly knelt near the entrance of the hole and took the lizard's tail in his hands.

The lizard was strong! He sensed the exchange of hands and tried to knock Sebastian away with a blow from his tail. Sebastian held on, however, even though he was horrified at what Arazunú did next.

Arazunú took his machete blade – an item he had 'borrowed' from the pirates – and hacked off the lizard's arms and legs. Limbless, it was very easy to remove the lizard from his hole. "Breakfast," Arazunú said, holding the lizard up by his tail.

Sebastian gulped. "I thought you were leaving."

"I told you that I'm staying with you."

"Even if you get sick?"

Arazunú shrugged. "I would have gotten it by now, right? You said so yourself. I've been around your people long enough."

Sebastian looked worried. "Maybe... even so, from the moment you met Chachugi, when he breathed on you, you might be carrying the disease. I do not know if you have it now or not."

Arazunú slung the tegu lizard over his shoulder. "Cho ro bretete. I am a great hunter," he said, and told Pwaagi to gather the bloody limbs in her basket to take back to camp.

It turned out that the Guayuki were accustomed to being hungry in the mornings, and in the afternoons, too. Their hunters hunted most of the day, and the women gathered food and wood. Their meal came in the evenings, when food was evenly distributed to every member of the tribe, whether they had been successful in their hunt or not. The Guayuki were a very sharing people, Sebastian learned.

However, Sebastian was not used to waiting, and made it clear to Pwaagi that he was hungry for a morning meal. She laughed and said things that made even the sick women smile, all the time pointing to the younger members of the tribe.

"Only babies need food before meal time," translated Arazunú. He gave his tegu lizard to a woman and then sat under a shady tree.

"You look like you're getting ready to rest," commented Sebastian, eyebrow cocked.

"I hunted. I'm done for today."

"Hmm." Sebastian saw Pwaagi empty her basket at Atagi's feet and head back into the forest. "Would it be against their customs if I accompanied Pwaagi on her gather? I'd like to learn more about what they eat."

"She's not gathering food now. She's getting medicines. For fever and nausea."

Sebastian threw up his hands. "Just how is it that you seem to know everything all the time?"

Arazunú's eyes crinkled. "I listen. You should, too." And then he was done talking.

Sebastian knew when his friend had closed off. It would be useless to press further. He ran after Pwaagi before she disappeared completely into the thick foliage.

Unlike the rest of her tribe, who were still frightened by Sebastian's presence, Pwaagi seemed to enjoy his company. She chattered endlessly, pointing to various weeds and flowers. Although she told him about everything they saw and every plant he pointed to, she was very selective about what she put in her basket. She let Sebastian touch and hold the leaves or roots, treating him as if he were a small child who needed to sample the world around him. In a way, it was true – Sebastian was a baby to the New World.

It was easy to forget the misery in the village when he was surrounded by such peaceful surroundings. He learned more about what to eat from Pwaagi in half an hour than he had during the entire journey so far. Sure, Arazunú often pointed at plants when they were on their daily journey, but they never stopped to smell or feel. Getting to Asunción had been the overwhelming drive, not playing with plant life. It reminded Sebastian of when he was very young and his mother made him daisy chains to wear around his neck. She, too, had pointed out the different flowers in their yard.

When Pwaagi had gathered what she needed, she hurried back to camp. It was unusual for a girl to be in the forest alone – women usually gathered together, in groups, in case of jaguar attacks – and it was even more unusual to have a man joining her. But out of the thirty people in her tribe, only three women and two men were unaffected by the smallpox. The weight of her entire tribe was on her slender shoulders.

Pwaagi brought her basket near to the shaman, who was lying in his _tapy_ on a woven palm fiber mat. He instructed her in the preparations of the tea, which she then gave to each member of her tribe. Some of them had trouble swallowing the thick liquid, especially the children, who had been taught that bitter things were best not swallowed.

Pwaagi and Chachugi collapsed that afternoon, too weak to continue helping their people.

The other three succumbed to the disease by nightfall.

It was another sleepless night for Sebastian, who again felt in the dark for Arazunú's arm or face to make sure that his friend was not feverish.

In the morning, tired and cranky, Sebastian ate some of the leftover tegu roast and went hunting with Arazunú. After driving away several tapir, rabbits, and armadillos with his loud footsteps, Arazunú sent him back to camp so he could hunt in peace.

Sebastian hated being at camp. The people were too weak to walk the distance to relieve themselves, and they simply defacated or urinated right where they lay. Their own vomit, some of it dry, some still wet and sticky, matted their hair. They were too weak to remove themselves from their own stench.

Knowing that they would be more comfortable if they were clean, Sebastian made it the duty of the day to move everybody to a cleaner area of camp. The men, despite being short, were surprisingly heavy due to their compact build and dense muscles. Sebastian dragged them to the new place first, then the women and the remaining children. Then he prepared another funeral pyre and waited for Arazunú's return to help carry the new dead bodies to the fire.

It was disgusting work. Sebastian felt like running away. Why am I staying here in the first place? he often asked himself, but the answer always came back, Because it's the right thing to do.

He alone possessed the strength and desire to stay. Arazunú had strength, but saw no reason to help his enemy. He would help Sebastian, yes, but that was the only reason he stayed. Sebastian, already having had smallpox as a child, knew that he could not catch it again. Logically, that made him the best person to stay and take care of those who might survive – because he himself would not get sick. As long as he could feed himself and his animals, there was no danger for him.

His patients grew hotter and hotter with every passing day. Their demand for water kept Sebastian running to and from the stream almost every hour. He filled a large _daity_ with cold water, grateful that the beeswax lining on the outside of the bamboo strips made it waterproof. Yet the water did little to cool the fever within them. Their faces soon became covered in small pimply blisters which grew larger and infected every hour.

From time to time, they would also grow very cold. Their skin would be clammy to the touch, and their teeth chattered with chill. It was a strange disease, to cause fire and ice within the same body. It also caused pain. When they turned on their mats to find a more comfortable position, they moaned because their bodies ached so much.

On the fourth day in the village, Sebastian practically dragged Pwaagi with him to the place she had gathered the fever-reducing plants. He propped her up with her back against a tree. She whispered her instructions, pointing at the necessary leaves, but she fainted from exertion long before he was done gathering. When he brought the basket of medicines back to the village, he had hoped that the shaman would tell him what to do. But the shaman died while he was gone.

It took a great deal of effort to rouse Pwaagi, and when he did, he was not sure she understood what he needed. She was delirious. Arazunú was not sure that he was translating correctly, either, because she could not speak clearly. He added what he knew about herbs to her words and came up with a possible medication.

"What if we're wrong about the tea?" said Sebastian. "There are so many plants out here, and they all look alike to me. And you said it yourself – some of them will poison you, and some just make you think you've been poisoned. Like those berries I ate that gave me a stomach ache. They looked so much like the vijulla fruits..."

"It is your decision," replied Arazunú. "The worst it can do is kill them, if we're wrong. And they're already dying."

Sebastian watched Arazunú prepare the tea, and he himself helped from time to time. He wanted to learn how to do it all alone, just in case something should happen to his friend – not that it would, but it was better to be safe. Sebastian worried daily about Arazunú.

It became a routine – hunt in the morning, check on the livestock to make sure they had water and grass to eat, gather medicine, make tea, move the bodies to a cleaner place, give everyone medicine tea and water, burn dead bodies, eat what he could, feed the Indians, feed the dog, try to sleep. Sebastian felt his own strength was deteriorating daily. He was not sleeping well, moving bodies was physically exhausting, and dealing with stinky dying people sapped his mental energies. He had never been more tired in his life. He felt like running away.

If Arazunú felt tired, he rarely showed it. If he felt like running away, he never said anything. He simply helped Sebastian prepare the teas, clean off slimy, vomit-covered mats, and hunted when he could.

When Arazunú offered tea to Tatugi the next day, she refused it. Every day since she had lost her baby, she stared off into space and rocked back and forth. Mentally, she had joined her son. Sebastian knew it would not be long before she joined him in body as well.

Five days later, half the people in camp were dead, including Tatugi. The rest had pus-filled blisters that sometimes ran bloody down their faces. Sometimes the blood mixed with yellow or green pus. Whatever the color, it all stank. Sometimes Sebastian would vomit just from the odor.

Because they were constantly delirious and nauseous, the Indians could no longer eat regular foods. It simply took too much energy to chew. Sebastian had learned from Arazunú's brief translations that palm trees were vital to the Guayuki. They used palm fiber for making mats, baskets, clothing, fans and shelter. The palm wood could be used for bows and arrows and the decorated labrets the men wore in their lower lips. Palm heart, difficult to obtain but tangy and tasty, made a welcome addition to stew. So did palm starch or the sweet edible fiber that looked like dry shreds of white grass. Because it was easiest to digest, Sebastian began to make soup for the Guayuki.

There were many waterproof baskets around camp. Regardless of their original purposes, Sebastian and Arazunú turned many of them into cooking pots. After filling them halfway with water, they would add any grubs or insects as the main protein and any meat Arazunú had been able to hunt. Sebastian remembered what Pwaagi had shown him, and contributed his share of leaves, flowers and tubers to the stew, too. Then the boys would take stones hot from the campfire and put them in the basket to heat the water. When the stones cooled, they would remove them and add fresh hot stones. In this manner they were able to boil enough stew for the entire camp. It took a lot of time.

Feeding the sick Indians took a lot of time, too. Many of them were too delirious to realize that Sebastian was trying to feed them, and none of them had ever used a spoon before. Sebastian's palm wood "invention" was new to them. For those who were conscious enough to understand what Sebastian and Arazunú were doing, it was like training a baby. The soup often drooled out of their mouths onto their chests before they realized they had to close their mouths around it and suck. The rest were given cooled soup from Sebastian's pewter mugs. Sometimes it made no difference – sometimes the people were too sick to keep the food down, anyway, and they would vomit from the effort.

The only thing that kept Sebastian from giving up was Arazunú's company. Caring for fifteen people alone would have been too overwhelming, especially when none of them spoke Spanish. Arazunú, despite his unwilling assistance, was still a big help.

Which is why it was such a shock to see Arazunú return from a hunt and collapse to his knees. The hunt had been successful – two howler monkeys dangled from his shoulder – but his fiery cheeks and unnaturally bright eyes told Sebastian that he had finally taken ill. Arazunú passed his monkeys to Sebastian, said "I didn't find anything larger," and fell unconscious in the dirt.

Sebastian abandoned the people he had been tending and ran to Arazunú's side. His friend was burning up! The fever was not yet as strong as it could become, but Arazunú's skin was dry. Fortunately, Sebastian had just finished setting out beds of palm fronds. He placed his friend on one, then ran to get some water and tea.

"Don't do this to me," he whispered as he sponged Arazunú's forehead with a moist mass of leaves. "We have to get to our fathers, remember? They're waiting for us. You have to become a great chief and I have to become... well, maybe I'll train to be a doctor. But I want to study your kinds of medicines as well as Spanish medicine... do you hear me? You have to help me study! You have to teach me the plants around Asunción. We'll make it, we will. We'll get home, both of us."

Gently, he slapped his friend's cheeks until Arazunú was conscious again. "Take some tea," he said, and lifted the cup to Arazunú's lips.

Arazunú drank, sputtered from the liquid going down the wrong way, and drank again. Then he lay back on the mat.

"I'm so sorry," Sebastian said, tears flowing from his eyes. "This is all my fault."

"It was my idea to free the chain," Arazunú whispered. "And I convinced you to come with Chachugi."

"But why did you stay with me?"

"I said I'd take you to Asunción. Nothing has changed."

"But you don't owe me anything. You could get to Asunción on your own – you know the way. Why stay with me?"

Arazunú breathed heavily from the exertion of talking, but he answered. "I am safer here with you than I would be if I traveled on my own. We've already come across several slave traders during our travels, and you know how clever they are at capturing humans."

"I don't see your point."

"If they think I am with you, Spaniard, then they'll leave me alone. But if I travel alone, they'll think I'm just another slave to be captured." He licked his lips, which were visibly parched.

Sebastian gave him another sip of tea, followed by some water. "But if you wanted... Arazunú? Arazunú!" He slapped his friend's cheeks again, but it was no use. Arazunú was deeply asleep.

Sebastian continued to talk to him in low murmurs, not caring what he was saying. All he knew was that somehow the New World had united his soul with the Indian's. If Arazunú - blood-born of this land and raised knowing its secrets - could not survive long enough to get to his home near Asunción, then there was no hope for Sebastian. They would both die here in this Guayuki village.

Chapter 12: Recovery

Nineteen days after his arrival in the Guayuki camp, Sebastian found that he no longer had the energy to care for the dying Indians. He barely had enough strength to wake himself up and drink some water, much less administer medicines to those who were still alive. After relieving himself in the forest, he returned to camp and sat down heavily on a log that had become his chair.

What was the use? There was no end to this misery in sight. Slumping on his log, he put his chin in his hands. He knew his responsibilities for the day, but suddenly nothing seemed to matter anymore. Everyone was going to die anyway – there were only twelve Indians left and they would probably all be dead within the week. Sebastian considered abandoning everything – his livestock, his possessions, the Indians, and even his friend – and continuing on toward Asunción alone, but he knew he did not have the stamina to hike for even one day.

Everywhere around him were signs of death. There were no more children. Life for the Guayuki seemed to have been put on hold. There were half-finished baskets, broken shell necklaces, fans that had been trampled into the mud. Bows and arrows and spears lay discarded beside the owners' _tapy_. Plants and grasses, once green and healthy, now wilted and grew brown due to the muck of sickness. He had long since burned all the fiber mats, and now the people simply lay on fresh palm fronds since Sebastian did not know how to weave new mats.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine himself back home in Spain, when his mother was still alive and when his father was between journeys. He remembered the good times they had and the foods they ate. The special breads his mother could bake, her famous lemon pies, his father's tales of the adventures he had experienced... Eyes closed, Sebastian could almost believe that he was there again, safe.

A snapping twig forced him to open his eyes.

It was Chachugi, on his hands and knees, crawling toward Sebastian. He asked for something, and then again, his voice strangled and parched. He put his hand to his mouth, repeating the request.

"Water?" asked Sebastian, reaching for the daity.

Chachugi panted from the effort. He put his hand to his mouth again.

"Food! Yes, of course." But he did not have the strength to rise and prepare the daily stew. "Just a minute. Please."

Chachugi asked again, and then again, like a baby bird begging for worms.

Sebastian knew he could either be selfish and ignore Chachugi a little while longer, or he could push himself just a little harder and start the day's work. It always surprised him that, no matter how tired he had been over the past few weeks, he always had the strength to do just a little bit more.

"Just a minute," he repeated, his own breath coming quicker. He stood up, felt dizzy, and sat down again.

Chachugi watched him. His eyes grew sad. He lay down on the ground, curled up in a fetal position, without saying another word.

Sebastian knew defeat when he saw it. Chachugi was giving up. But he had lived so long, and fought so hard! There were so few of his tribe left – he couldn't surrender now!

He tried to stand again but was simply too tired to do so. He sat down again. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." As he had done several times on this journey, Sebastian began to feel very sorry - for himself.

He would never survive - not now, certainly not now. If he could not walk, how would he hunt? How would he get to Asunción like this? He would die with the Indians! He would wither away, drinking the water in the daity near him until it was empty, and then he would die a slow death of dehydration. It would take several days, probably about a week, but then he would be dead...

Sebastian stopped himself from thinking those depressing thoughts. He was by no means dying; he was simply exhausted.

Pwaagi's voice, thin and high, floated on a breeze. She asked the same thing as Chachugi. Soon several other voices joined her, briefly, and then silenced. One voice, however, continued to beg. "Food, Sebastian? Food?"

It was Arazunú! Arazunú had not spoken in Spanish for days, being too feverish to know what he was saying. Neither had he eaten much. But now he was awake and hungry – and coherent!

Sebastian turned his head toward his friend. Arazunú's pus-filled blisters had dried and fallen off overnight, leaving shallow pits in his skin. His eyes were bright and begging. As Sebastian looked around camp, he saw that the same thing had happened to many of the remaining Indians – their blisters had dried out and fallen off. Most of them, however, had very deep pock-marks in their skin. Their faces looked eerie, like the face of Death itself. Sebastian, however, realized that even though Death had left his mark, these people were alive. Very much still alive!

Gripping a branch above him, Sebastian hauled himself to his feet. He was still dizzy, but he forced himself to start moving. After a dozen strides or so, he realized that he would not be able to go hunting, he was so weak. He would probably pass out in the forest, and then a jaguar would probably eat him. He would have to find food very close to the camp, but how? Hunting was not an option but neither was gathering, since he had depleted the surrounding area of anything edible.

He glanced down at the ground and saw Chachugi watching him. The man still looked sad, but more hopeful. Sebastian could not disappoint him. There must be a way to get food.

Yagua barked his usual morning greeting. It was also a reminder that he was hungry, as were the rest of the livestock.

"Your turn soon," Sebastian said. "People first."

Suddenly it occurred to him that food was right in front of his nose – his own livestock, that he had tried to hard to keep safe from danger. Could he? Could he butcher one of his pigs to feed the Indians? There were only seven left from the original fourteen. He had wanted so badly to get all of them to Asunción for his father, but right now they were his only option.

Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. He withdrew his hunting knife from his belt sheath and approached the smallest of the pigs. He looked at it long and hard. Just one pig would feed the entire village for a week. There were eleven people left, plus Arazunú and Sebastian. Sebastian's mouth watered as he thought of the delicious pork roasts he would soon have. It had been months since he had eaten fresh pork. Yet he had protected this pig from jaguars and hunters, pirates and snakes. This pig had been with him since he left Spain. All of them had, but the smallest one had the most personality. It was more of a pet than a future meal. However, it would be wasteful to slaughter the larger pigs.

Sebastian placed his hand on the pig's head. "Sorry about this, buddy. I just... I know that your purpose in life is to be eaten, and I've eaten lots of your brothers and sisters, but... well, you're such a survivor that it hardly seems fair..." He gulped. "I guess I should just stop talking about it and do it, huh?"

He took the pig by the ear, removed the rope from around its neck, and led it away to the other side of camp so that its death would not upset the remaining livestock. Yagua seemed suspicious but stayed where he was.

It only took one quick, deep slice to the neck to kill the pig. Sebastian had expected more of a struggle. He felt almost guilty that the trusting creature now lay dead at his feet.

It took a great deal of effort to string the heavy pig up by its two hind feet and hang it over a tree branch so it could bleed out. Sebastian did not allow himself to think about how tired he was. Even when his hands trembled while he skinned the carcass, he forced himself to be strong. It was well past noon by the time the meat was cut into strips and filets. Dressed out, the pig weighed a little more than Sebastian did – there would definitely be enough meat for the village for a while.

But it would all have to be cooked before it started to rot. Sebastian had to gather more firewood than usual, which meant that the light was nearly gone before he was able to start cooking the meat. Some of it he roasted, some of it he boiled for stew, and the rest of it he laid out on clean fiber mats to dry. The drying meat frightened him - its scent would attract any predator within range. Tired as he was, he knew he had to stay awake during the night with his pistol in case the jaguars decided to try for an easy meal.

The moonlight was at full strength when the boiling meat was ready to be eaten. He removed chunks of pork and cut it into tiny pieces so the Indians wouldn't have to chew much. Mostly he served them broth, since their stomachs were still weak. Chachugi was delighted with the flavor, although he did not eat a lot.

By morning, most of the remaining Indians were feeling well enough to take solid meat. Their fevers broke, although they still had chills. Even Arazunú was feeling well enough to move himself to a fresh bed of palm fronds. After three weeks of inactivity, many people's muscles had atrophied a little, causing them great pain and fatigue when they tried to walk. It would be a slow recovery process – but they were the lucky ones.

After another few weeks of care, the Indians were finally able to get themselves off the ground and go for short hunts or gathering sprees. After burning almost all their possessions, they even moved their camp several kilometers away from the Death Site, as it came to be known. The black metal pot that started it all was buried deep in a pit, never to be used again. Before leaving for their new campsite, they performed an ablution ceremony on themselves to cleanse away any remaining disease or evil that still clung to them. Sebastian and Arazunú helped bring back a load of shavings from the kymata vine for the purification ceremony.

Finally, the day came when Sebastian felt comfortable leaving Guayuki. The plague had devastated the tribe, leaving only a third of them alive. They had lost their best weapon makers, their best hunters, and their friends. The five men could still hunt and make weapons, and the six women were still young enough to have more babies. Although he wished to be of further assistance, there was nothing left for Sebastian to do except part ways and hope against hope that the Portuguese would never again find his new friends.

Chapter 13: River Pirates

True to his word, Chachugi took Sebastian to the river and helped him find the shallowest and narrowest point to cross. But Sebastian's heart sank when he saw the size of the river – it seemed more like a small ocean than an actual river. It was very wide and very deep. There would be no way to walk across. The only way to cross it would be to swim.

After packing everything as securely as possible, and making sure that all knots were tied tightly, Sebastian led his stallion into the water. The mare followed with the chickens high on her back, and then the pigs. The goats were hesitant, but nips and barks from Yagua changed their minds. Arazunú was last.

They only made it waist-deep to the horses before the goats and pigs started to panic. The current was too strong and started to drag them away. Fortunately, Sebastian had tied them all together to avoid losing any of them, but the tension on the rope caused further panic. They had to turn back.

"There must be another way," Sebastian said as he sat dripping on the riverbank.

"This is the only way," said Chachugi.

"Maybe we can try again tomorrow," said Arazunú.

"Maybe there's a different place to cross," replied Sebastian.

They spent the rest of the day looking for another crossing point, but the river only widened. At one point it was at least three kilometers in width – far too wide for the smaller animals to swim. Chachugi had been right – the first place was the best place to cross.

The Guayuki were very nervous to be so near the river. The only person who dared to venture out of the forest was Chachugi, and even he disliked being out for so long. They preferred to remain near the tree line while Arazunú and Sebastian searched for crossing points.

The next day they tried again. This time the goats were less fearful, but the current was just as strong as the day before. They made it to the same point before they had to retreat.

That afternoon it rained. The storm lasted almost two hours and dropped a lot of water. With the added volume, there would be no way for them to cross the river safely, even if the goats stopped panicking.

The evening meal was roasted wild boar, roasted tubers, and some tasty round berries that reminded Sebastian of grapes. Pwaagi made sure that Sebastian and Arazunú had as much as they could eat. At the end of the meal, she spoke to Sebastian, touching his hand as she did so.

"She wants to know if she can sleep at your fire," Arazunú said.

The rain had soaked most of the available firewood, but Sebastian had managed to find enough dry timber to last through the night. "Sure," he replied.

When she smiled at him, Sebastian no longer saw the shocking pit marks on her face. He was captivated by her big beautiful eyes and the graceful way she sat beside him.

"I wish I could talk to her," he told Arazunú.

"You could learn Guarani," Arazunú replied.

"I thought she spoke Guayuki."

"Same language, different dialect. Guayuki is pretty similar to my language. I'd like it if you learned to speak to me in my own words."

Sebastian was stunned. "Do you know, I hadn't even thought about that. You've learned Portuguese and Spanish and all kinds of other stuff, and I haven't even learned how to say hello."

"Well, if she's going to be here, you'd probably better learn."

Pwaagi and Sebastian spent almost an hour sharing words and using Arazunú to translate their conversation.

The next morning, before anyone else was awake, Pwaagi went into the forest to for her morning rituals. Although they were usually awake with the first rays of sunlight, it took the Guayuki longer than usual to wake up since they were still weakened from the sickness. They awoke quickly, however, when they heard Pwaagi's throaty scream.

Immediately, the men grabbed their weapons and ran in her direction. Sebastian wanted to go with them, but knew he would get lost if he tried.

"Is it a jaguar attack? What happened?" he asked Arazunú.

"I'm not sure. It doesn't sound like an animal attack, though."

Minutes later, Pwaagi and the men returned, Pwaagi trembling in fear. She told her story to the other women, who turned white at her news.

"What's wrong? What are they saying?" asked Sebastian.

Arazunú listened for a while, then frowned. "White men have returned. Pwaagi saw one of your ships coming up the river. They are terrified that they will get sick again, or be captured as slaves. And they're not strong enough yet to leave this camp to find a new one."

"A ship?" Sebastian's heart leapt in excitement. The next minute, he frowned also. "Portuguese or Spanish? Or pirates?"

"I doubt she stayed long enough to see. Or if she would recognize the difference."

"Well, I want to see." He walked over to Chachugi, whose face wore great concern. "You've had smallpox once. You'll never get it again, ever. So you don't have to worry about this again. But I want to see the ship. If it's slave traders, then you'll have to leave. If it's my people, then they'll take me to Asunción."

Arazunú translated.

"We will not stay and be captured," said Chachugi. "All they have to do is breathe on us and we could die."

"Then stay here," said Sebastian. "I'm going to go see the ship." He turned to leave, and then turned back again. Each morning when they had tried to cross the river, Sebastian had made goodbye speeches and the Guayuki had reciprocated. There was nothing left to say. Holding out his hand, he said to Chachugi, "If the ship is Spanish, then this is goodbye. Finally. I won't be seeing you again."

Chachugi held his hand up as well, not knowing what a handshake was. "You're the only white man I'll trust with my life, Sebastian. If you ever need me..."

Tears welled up in Sebastian's eyes. He hugged Chachugi and waved to the rest of the people. Then, hurrying, he asked Arazunú to bring the animals to the edge of the thick forest growth.

"But don't show yourselves, yet," he added. "If it's pirates I don't want them stealing my horses."

Pwaagi ran with him to the place she saw the ship.

"I can't believe you saw it from so far away!" he said to her, not caring that she did not understand. The ship was still coming up the river, slowly, and would be close enough to hear his call within minutes. But was it the right ship?

Sebastian squinted his eyes to see better. It was a bright blue boat, large, and her sails were not down. She had no pirate markings or flags. He could not see if the men aboard wore uniforms or common clothes. His heart leapt into his throat when he recognized the ship – it was the _Santa Clara_! She had been repainted, and her trademark dolphin head had been replaced with a mermaid – but it was the _Santa Clara_!

But did that mean it was in Spanish hands again, or Portuguese, or pirates?

Pwaagi squealed and ran away into the forest where Arazunú was waiting.

Sebastian had to make a decision, and quick. Somehow he had to force the situation so that no matter who owned the _Santa Clara_ now, they would still take him to Asunción without robbing him or killing him. He wished he had more sleeping potion. Maybe he could make some from the nearby plants he had been learning. Or maybe...

Smiling like a fool, Sebastian began to issue orders. "Arazunú! Arazunú! Quick! Don't ask questions, just gather these plants. Tell Pwaagi to collect the little white flower petals I tried to eat once." He stifled his giggles, mostly because it was not manly to giggle like a girl and besides, smiling would make the sailors suspicious. But his plan was so brilliant that it just might get him to Asunción, safe.

While they gathered, Sebastian explained his plan to Arazunú.

"Yes, that will work," Arazunú agreed. "But you're finally leaving. What about your wife?"

"Wife? What wife?"

"Pwaagi. You took her as your wife. She does not want to leave the forest or her people, but she will go with you if you command it."

Sebastian's jaw dropped. "I'm married? When did this happen?"

"You invited her to sleep by your fire. A few nights ago. How could you forget?"

"You're kidding!"

"I am not."

Sebastian was appalled. He would educate Arazunú about decent Christian traditions and civilized weddings later. There was no time for sermons now, though – the boat was nearing.

"The boat will be here soon," Arazunú pressed. "There's still time to make a home with her. What shall I tell her?"

Home? What kind of a home could they offer him? Especially when they were struggling to survive... Suddenly, his father's home in Asunción didn't seem so awful anymore. In fact, it might even be downright luxurious, compared to how he'd been living in the past few months. But he didn't want to offend his new friends, and he really didn't want to hurt Pwaagi.

"I don't really want to be married," he said. "What should I do?"

"Just tell her to find another fire to sleep beside."

"It's that easy? Won't she be disappointed?"

"Most probably. She has great affection for you. But I don't see how your marriage will work, if you are going to live in Asunción and she will not leave her people."

"Well, go ahead and tell her then. But be nice about it."

Arazunú translated for Sebastian. Pwaagi was very distraught and began to cry. She removed her tegu-tooth necklace and gave it to Sebastian, and then ran away into the forest. She literally disappeared behind the thick vegetation, her soft footsteps leaving no trace.

"I'm sorry!" Sebastian called.

Arazunú pointed downriver. "There is no time for that. The boat is going to pass us by."

Sebastian dashed to the riverbank and began screaming loudly, waving his arms for added emphasis.

The boat did indeed notice Sebastian's waves and shouts. It slowed, readjusted its position, and dropped anchor very near Sebastian. Several men peered overboard. Sebastian's smile disappeared immediately when he saw who captained the ship – Santino Ayala. His first mate, Rodrigo Lopes, stood by his side.

"Imagine seeing you here!" called Santino, raising his hand in a mock salute. "I thought you'd be dead by now."

"I'll kill him myself!" said Rodrigo, withdrawing his pistol.

Santino restrained his first officer. "Never mind him, Sebastian. He's just angry because you left us with the pirates. When we woke up, they made us pull their boat to shore. We had to wear ropes around our waists and swim almost an hour – Rodrigo nearly drowned. Never was much of a swimmer."

"I'm very sorry for that," Sebastian said, trying his best to look humble. "Please..." He swallowed and lowered his eyes to the ground.

"Spit it out, boy. It's obvious that you wanted something or we wouldn't have stopped," growled Rodrigo.

"Take me as a prisoner!" Sebastian said. He dropped to his knees, clasping his hands to his chest. "Don't leave me here! I'll die before I get to Asunción! I can't take it anymore... the snakes, the jaguars, the stagnant water... Take me with you!"

"Captain, that sounds like a plan. He can do some work to pay penance for all the cursed hell he's put us through. And I've always wanted a whipping boy." Rodrigo's face glowed menacingly.

"We're a pirate ship, lad," said Santino. "Will your high and lofty morals allow you to serve aboard this ship?"

"I'm dying, sir," gulped Sebastian. "I can offer you something in return..."

"You can? What can you possibly have of value out in the middle of nowhere?"

Sebastian called for Arazunú, who showed himself from behind the bushes. He led the animals to the river bank. Yagua kept them from straying with a few nips and snarls.

The sarcasm in Santino's face was instantly replaced by respect and surprise. "You managed to keep your father's livestock alive for this long?"

"Only half of them, sir," said Sebastian.

"Half is more than I would have wagered." Santino gestured to one of his men. "Load those animals up. I expect a good meal tonight."

There was a hearty cheer from the rest of the sailors. They disembarked and began to lead the animals up the gangplank.

"Wait!" Sebastian shook his head. "You can't have them all. I need to get them to Asunción."

"You're in no position to make demands, young man," said Santino.

"But those are mine!"

Santino shrugged. "They're mine now. And your Indian, too. I hear he's quite an interpreter. That should come in handy."

"My friend is not for sale," Sebastian said, catching Arazunú's arm.

Santino laughed, but there was no joy. It was more of a threat than a laugh. "I don't think you understand the rules of this ship, boy. We're pirates. Everything belongs to us. Including you."

Sebastian felt strong arms pick him up and carry him onto the ship. He was thrown at the captain's feet along with Arazunú.

Santino withdrew his dagger. He pulled Sebastian's head back by the ponytail, holding the dagger to Sebastian's throat. "If you don't want to be tied up or hanged, I suggest you learn the rules. You ride with me until I say it's time for you to leave. That could be a week or a few years, until I grow tired of you. Unless I kill you first." He kicked Arazunú. "And forget your little friend. He's worth a lot of money to me."

Sebastian glowered and clenched his fist. He wanted to fight. But he had a plan – a good plan – and he just had to be patient. "What is it you want me to do first, captain?"

Santino released Sebastian's hair. Sheathing his dagger, he said, "That's the attitude, boy. Keep it up and I won't kill you after all."

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate it, sir. Can I shine your boots now? Polish your spyglass? Wash some dishes?"

The other sailors chuckled at the boy's submissiveness.

"You and your friend go help Cook with the dishes. Then report to me. I'll keep you so busy you'll wish you had just walked to Asunción."

Sebastian started in the direction of the galley, but Rodrigo grasped his shoulder with a steel hand. "Captain, you don't want this lad going anywhere near food, remember? I suggest we search him for any tricks he might have. He's been too easy, if you understand me."

Santino narrowed his eyes. "Where's the sleeping potion, Sebastian?"

"I don't have any, sir. I used the last of it on you months ago."

"I don't believe you. Empty your pockets. Turn out your knapsack." He turned to Santino. "His horses were carrying saddlebags. Go see what's inside them."

Sebastian did as he was told. Aside from some snail shells for polishing his new bow and arrow, his pockets were empty.

"What about your friend? What does he have in his pouch?"

Sebastian's heart skipped a beat. If they made Arazunú toss away the precious white flower petals that were inside the pouch, they would be at the pirate's mercy! "It's his lunch and dinner, sir. He doesn't like my cooking and I don't like his."

Santino opened the pouch and poked through it. He found a few arrowheads and removed them, but let Arazunú keep the pouch and its remaining contents.

"Report to Cook first. When you're done washing dishes, you come see me. And, Sebastian? I don't want you touching our food. You're a lad of integrity. Promise me that you will not put any potions on our food."

"I promise, sir."

"Then I'm satisfied. You may go."

The cook forced Sebastian to butcher and pluck one of his precious chickens for the midday meal. Sebastian was very bitter about it, since there were now only two chickens left, but he kept reminding himself to be patient. Besides, the cook was a skinny man with a fiery temper who enjoyed his new slaves. He found it amusing to slap and punch them frequently, shouting "Work harder! Work faster!" all the while.

"May I wash dishes now, Cook?" he asked as humbly as he could when he was done preparing the chicken.

"Be quick about it," he replied. "Lunch will be ready very soon and we don't run late meals on this ship. I'm going to go get some tobacco. You'd better be finished with those dishes by the time I get back. You got ten minutes."

Ten minutes was a ridiculously short amount of time to finish so many dishes, but the cook liked to give impossible tasks so he could punish the boys when they failed. It did not matter; Sebastian and Arazunú only needed ten minutes in order to prepare their concoction.

Alone at last, Sebastian whispered to Arazunú. "You okay? They were a little rougher than I expected."

Arazunú refused to meet his glance.

"I have a plan," Sebastian said. "Trust me."

"How can I trust your kind anymore," Arazunú asked, his voice low and sad, "when I find myself at the mercy of pirates once again?"

Sebastian gave him a playful thump on the shoulder. "After all we've been through, you think I'd sell you into slavery? I'm surprised you didn't think of this, mister medicine-man. Give me the petals."

Reluctantly, Arazunú passed his pouch to Sebastian.

As fast as he could, he soaked the petals in a mug of water and then strained them. The remaining liquid was clear, odorless, and tasteless. Sebastian poured twenty drops of the potion into the water they used to rinse the plates and forks, and saved the rest in his canteen. When Arazunú realized what Sebastian was doing, gave his friend a nod. Sebastian returned the moist petals to his pouch, finishing the mission just in time.

"Not done with those plates? I'll teach you to goof off while I'm gone!" said the cook, and boxed Sebastian's ears.

The pain did not diminish his elation, and it was all he could do to keep himself from humming. Arazunú and Sebastian finished their dishwashing and reported to the captain. They were kept busy until the meal was prepared.

"Ready?" asked Sebastian.

"Ready," replied Arazunú.

The sailors lined up and took their share of food, returning to the deck to eat. As the new cabin boy, it was Sebastian's job to deliver the officers' meals to their quarters. Arazunú shadowed him. They stood behind the officers in silence while they ate, waiting. Then they collected the dishes and took them back to the galley, where a whole new stack of dishes awaited them. Again, they put the potion drops into the rinsing water and proceeded with their chores. They worked in silence, listening, waiting.

One deck above them, men began to groan in agony.

"It's time," said Sebastian.

They abandoned their dishes and walked quickly to the captain's cabin. Sebastian did not even knock on the door. He simply opened it and marched in.

"What is the meaning of this interruption?" asked Santino, standing up in outrage. As he did so, he cried out pain. Sharp cramps began to squeeze his stomach. He turned white, as did the rest of his officers.

"Captain," Sebastian announced, "you've been poisoned. You and your whole crew."

"I knew it!" shouted Rodrigo. "I knew it was a mistake to believe you, you treacherous, cunning little devil!" Despite his anguish, he stood and briskly made his way to Sebastian, murder in his eyes.

Sebastian folded his arms across his chest. Gone was his humble, frightened attitude. He was now in command, and he knew it. "If you kill me, there will be no antidote. Without the antidote, you will die a slow death. It takes almost a month for the poison to dissolve your intestines. Every day you will feel this pain, worse and worse, until you are begging to die."

"So I kill your friend."

"He's the one who will make the antidote. He's the only one who knows its secrets."

Rodrigo grabbed Sebastian by the throat. "Then there's no point in keeping you alive!"

"He won't make it if I'm dead. He's honor-bound. He'd rather die than let you terrorize his people."

Rodrigo began to squeeze. Sebastian could feel himself grow dizzy from lack of oxygen and blood, but his gaze never faltered. He stared at Rodrigo calmly, smiling in confidence.

"Let him go! For God's sake, let that boy go." Santino knocked Rodrigo's hand away from Sebastian's throat.

Sebastian sank to the ground, gasping for air. Arazunú helped him to his feet.

"You are more trouble than you're worth," groaned Santino, clutching his stomach. "You promised you would not poison our food. I believed you, as a gentleman."

"I swear on my mother's grave that I did not poison your food, sir."

"Maybe you didn't, but your friend did. Same difference. I should have been more specific..." He panted, his breath coming in quick succession. "I know when I've been beaten. Name your terms."

Sebastian did not hesitate. "I want the rest of my livestock to be delivered alive with me to Asunción, which is to be our immediate destination. My friend is not to be hurt, insulted, abused, or killed - especially if you expect him to prepare the daily doses of antidote for you. I also want recompense for the furniture and goods you stole from me. You can pay me now or when we get to Asunción. When we reach Asunción, I will deliver this vessel to the harbormaster, since this is a Spanish ship. She should sail in Spanish hands – honorable hands. Finally, as pirates, you are all criminals in some capacity or another. You will be delivered to the proper authorities for punishment."

"You'll condemn us to our deaths," moaned Rodrigo.

"You're dying anyway."

"The antidote will only keep us alive long enough to be hanged," he spat.

Sebastian said nothing.

"The effects of the poison," said Arazunú, speaking for the first time, "are such that you will feel pain and nausea, followed by severe diarrhea. You will become dehydrated. You will be dizzy and weak. Within a few weeks, your intestines will dissolve and you will starve to death. It is a terrible way to die."

"But we can keep you alive until your body purges itself," Sebastian added. "So?"

Santino dropped his pistol, sword, and dagger at Sebastian's feet. He motioned for his officers to do the same. "Give us the antidote, and you've got yourself a crew."

Chapter 14: The Great Fire

Traveling in the ship was downright luxurious compared to hiking in the jungle. In fact, it was so peaceful that it sometimes made Sebastian nervous. There were no jaguars, no poisonous spiders, no cannibals. There were still mosquitoes, but not as many. There was no need to worry about losing any more of his livestock, either. Sebastian was constantly alert for a mutiny, thinking that the crew would try to kill him or Arazunú, but they were so afraid of dying from poison that they did not even speak to the boys.

The new _Santa Clara_ did not have sufficient feed for the animals, so they had to stop twice a day to let the animals graze and drink water. Arazunú also collected his antidote during this time to give to the crewmembers after each meal. Aside from the daily stops, they made remarkable progress toward Asunción. It was a relief to travel so smoothly after having had to cut through the jungle weeds and overgrown brush.

Although the boys were not allowed anywhere near the preparation of food, nobody suspected the plates. Sebastian and Arazunú continued 'washing' dishes after each meal, and then administering the antidote to alleviate the cramps. For the first time since arriving in the New World, Sebastian let himself relax. Their plan had succeeded.

"How much longer to Asunción?" asked Arazunú.

"Not much longer," Sebastian replied. He groomed his stallion and smiled. "What a wonderful life, now."

"Because you're getting your revenge, or because you're going to your father?"

"Both. I'll be honest, though, it's not so much revenge as it is satisfaction. They're finally going to get justice for taking things from innocent people. They'll finally be locked away where they can't hurt society anymore."

"Your father will be surprised. He probably thinks you're dead."

"At least you got to rescue yours." He stopped grooming the horse. "What are you going to do when you get back home?"

"I don't know. It's been a long time. Five years, I think. I was so young when I left..."

"They'll still recognize you. Will you get your position back as future chief?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I was thinking..." Arazunú's voice trailed off.

"You want to join me in Asunción."

"Maybe. I want to see my people first, see if I still belong. If not, then where else can I go?"

"You're always welcome at my father's house," Sebastian said, warmth in his voice. "I have no doubt that you'll be of great help to the colonists. Not everybody has your skill with languages, you know."

"Thank you. I have a surprise for you, for when you meet my father."

"Really? What is it?"

"I can't tell you now, but it's something you've wanted for a long time. I have no use for it, and neither do my people."

"I can't wait to find out what it is. It will be like Christmas." Sebastian heaved a small sigh. It was already February. He had missed Christmas this year; it was just another day of walking and trying to survive as his days blended together.

"What is Christmas?"

Sebastian spent the next twenty minutes explaining the story of Jesus' birth and why it was important even though it happened so long ago. Arazunú loved stories and listened attentively to this one, asking questions frequently.

Sebastian had just finished his story when they were interrupted by Rodrigo.

"The captain says you should come up. There's something you might need to see."

"Be right there." Sebastian replaced the counting sticks and currycomb, said goodbye to his horses, and followed Rodrigo.

Off in the distance was a thick, tall pillar of black smoke. It looked like someone had lit a very large pile of leaves. Or like someone was trying to burn down a village – or a colony!

"Is that Asunción?" Sebastian asked, his nose tingling at the acrid scent of smoke.

Santino nodded. "There may be none of it left by the time we get there. We're an hour away."

"What happened?"

"Who knows? There are so many ways to burn a town. Somebody's cow might have knocked over a lantern. Somebody's child might have been careless. Maybe there's an Indian attack. I wanted you to see it for yourself. There's probably nothing left, Sebastian," and Santino closed his hand on Sebastian's arm, "which means that you may as well forget turning us over to the authorities."

Sebastian brushed away Santino's hand. "Getting cold feet now that justice is so close?"

"I'd rather die a free man than die in prison."

"The deal was that you take me to Asunción. _All_ the way to Asunción." He gritted his teeth. "If it's not there, then we'll talk about new terms."

An hour later, they were able to see the effects of the devastating fire, as well as the reason for it – Asunción was under attack by Indians. There were hundreds of men fighting! They were everywhere, in the water, on the land. The wooden walls around the fort had burned down, leaving the city exposed. Women and children hauled water in buckets, trying desperately to save what had already burned to the ground. There were bodies everywhere, some wounded, many dead.

Asunción was located on a peninsula, so the only land access was well-guarded. But the Indians were adept at maneuvering in their canoes, so the waterfront attack was also taking its toll. Even so, the water attack was mostly on the far side of the peninsula, so the _Santa Clara_ would be relatively safe in docking.

Santino refused to let the ship get any closer, so they waited a short distance from the harbor for almost two hours until the attack drew to a close.

"Let's go," said Sebastian. "There's nothing else to wait for. Unless you're trying to avoid prison?"

"Bad time to dock," shouted Santino.

"Do it," growled Sebastian. "The Indians are on the other side. We're safe for now."

Cursing under his breath, Santino issued the orders to dock the _Santa Clara_. When the gangplank was settled, Sebastian ran down to find the harbormaster.

He was greeted by a tall, powerful man with commanding eyes. "Halt and be recognized," the man growled, pointing a rifle at Sebastian's heart.

"Sebastian Segovia, sir, son of Raúl Segovia. I've captured the pirates who stole the Santa Clara, and I brought the Santa Clara home. And I have some papers to deliver from the captain. But mostly I just want to find my father."

The tall man narrowed his eyes. He had just been preparing a small group of men for a final attack on the Indians. He issued an order to them and they left. "We were under attack. Worst one yet."

"There have been other attacks?"

"Ever since that fake governor Cabeza de Vaca came here, we've had nothing but trouble from the Indians! I was doing so well. People were happy, we were prosperous. Now he's managed to get everything I worked for burned to the ground."

"You... you're Domingo Irala!" gasped Sebastian. "Governor Irala! My father adores you! He says you're the best governor a man could hope to have, that you're fair and honest and very brave, and that-"

"Whoa, kid! You're making me blush. Who did you say your father was?"

"Don Raúl Segovia. He's one of Juan de Salazar's men."

"His name sounds familiar. But we can't stand here talking. It's not safe for you to stay; there may be a few renegades left. Unload quickly – I'll take you to a secure place."

"There are a few problems, sir. My cargo is actually pirates, and they need to be taken to the prison immediately."

The tall man tilted his helmet on his head and got a better look at the tall, broad-shouldered young man standing in front of him. "What did you say your name was?"

"Sebastian Segovia."

"And you're transporting pirates?"

"They're kind of transporting themselves. They think I poisoned them."

"Did you?"

"Oh, no! But they think I did. I actually gave them something to make their stomachs cramp for a few minutes. I just put a few drops on their plates every meal, and then they think I give them a tea to help make them better. But don't tell them that. As long as they think they're poisoned, they're loyal and harmless."

The man snorted. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Well, let's not stand here, Sebastian. Let's get you and your crew to a better place."

"And my livestock, sir."

"Livestock? They will be welcome. Most of our animals – especially the pigs – burned to death. This fire has been going since late last night. We don't have much left."

Irala followed Sebastian up the gangplank. While Arazunú and Sebastian were unloading the animals, Irala addressed the crew. "Your captain tells me that you're criminals in need of lodging and daily antidote. Right now I'm in need of a clean-up crew. You'll be rebuilding the town, cleaning up messes, and burying bodies. If you don't want to work, then you'll be escorted directly to prison. The warden won't prepare your antidote, but I'll guarantee that anyone who volunteers to help our town will receive my personal help in return. What are your decisions?"

Everybody opted to work. There were grumbles and complaints, of course, what choice did they have? Prison meant dying from poison; if they worked, at least, they would live.

"Follow me, then, men," said Irala, and led the way down the gangplank. A short time later, Sebastian joined him.

"Ready, sir," he said, leading his mare and stallion.

"Follow me, then," the ex-governor replied. He began walking toward some stone buildings – the only type of building that survived the great fire. "You remind me of someone. You said your name was Sebastian Segovia? Son of Raúl Segovia?"

"Yes, sir. Did you know my father?"

"Ah! You're talking about _Spitfire_ Segovia! Sandy brown hair, big laugh, prefers tea to beer?"

"That's him! Where is he? I've waited all this time to see him."

Irala stopped walking and looked at the boy in amazement. "But you were on the Santa Clara when she was captured. Everybody thought you were dead, son. Cabeza de Vaca and Father Gustavo were on that ship and it took them weeks to reach Spanish hands. They told us you drowned in an attempt to escape."

"Nah, didn't drown. It was the thought of seeing my father all this time that kept me going. I would have died, several times, but I just couldn't let him think... well, I was much younger when he saw me last, and I think I've always disappointed him."

"So for four months you've been looking forward to seeing him. I hate to tell you this, son, but he's not here."

"Not here? Where is he?"

Irala's voice dropped, soft and sad. "Gone. He got silver fever about a month ago and took several of my best men with him."

"But..."

"When he heard that you were dead, it just took all the spirit out of him. He said there was nothing worth living for anymore."

Tears threatened to splash onto Sebastian's cheeks. He gulped hard.

"I'm sorry son. You're welcome to go to the house - your house now, if it didn't burn." He pointed down a street and gave some directions that would lead to the house. "First let's get your livestock sheltered. If I recall correctly, your father's barn was wooden like everything else here. We'll have to do something about that in the future – maybe pass a law that all houses must be built of stone or brick or something." He pursed his lips, thinking.

"Governor! Governor!" A burly man with reddish cheeks ran over to where the group was standing.

"Your governor is Cabeza de Vaca now, Cuevas. How many times do I have to remind you?"

"You'll always be my governor," said Cuevas. "Anyway, that pig-headed fake needs you now. He says the Indians are demanding some sort of truce."

Irala turned to Sebastian. "You know where you're going now, I hope. I'll take your pirates with me and check in on you later. There's a reward for their capture, you know, and another reward for the safe return of the Santa Clara. You're going to be a fairly wealthy young man."

Sebastian shrugged, struggling to control his emotions. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate your help."

When the men were out of sight, Arazunú said, "I'm sorry about your father."

A tear flowed down Sebastian's cheek. He blinked, and the other tear spilled as well. "Let's get these animals sheltered. One thing at a time, right?" He looked at his friend. "I just... I can't..." He sucked in his breath sharply. "Look out!"

A soldier aimed his rifle at Arazunú, thinking the Indian boy was one of the hostiles. Most of the friendly Guarani dressed in 'civilized' clothes adopted from the Spaniards, so Arazunú's traditional loincloth announced him as an outsider. The rifle discharged.

Sebastian knocked his friend out of the way. The bullet ripped into his side. He fell on the red dirt and lay there, gasping.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" called Arazunú, dropping to Sebastian's side. "Sebastian, hold still. Can you hear me? Sebastian?"

Sebastian offered a weak smile and then sagged into unconsciousness.

Chapter 15: Silver Fever

The pain in his side was overwhelming, even worse than the time the snake tried squeezing him to death. Sebastian knew that they operated on him because he remembered seeing the doctor holding the bullet up, but after that there was nothing. Just whiteness. Lots of sleep and nothingness. He wanted to die. There was nothing left to live for.

His sleep was filled with disturbing dreams at first, all the bad moments of his life rolled into one long, unfocused nightmare. He remembered all his sicknesses, and the time his favorite dog died, and being left with his uncle with no hope of joining his father in the New World. All his childhood woes came to haunt him, throbbing in his memory just as the wound throbbed in his side. Every bad experience he had ever had clamored for attention, right up to the cannibals in the jungle and the disappointing news about his father. The doctor's voice kept intruding: "Bad infection. Probably die. No way to treat it – all our medicines burned..."

Eventually, however, the dreams subsided and gave way to restful sleep. Somewhere in his subconscious, Sebastian realized that he did not want to die. Every bad moment in his life had its share of good moments, too. For every failure, there was a victory. For every loss, a gain. His months alone in the jungle had sharpened his survival instinct until it was sharp and powerful. What was there to live for? Everything! Just to be alive, just to experience life with all its ups and downs. He had his livestock. It might take many years, but he could rebuild their numbers. It was what his father would have wanted.

His father. Lately his dreams were crowded with thoughts of his father. The timbre of his laugh, the smell of pipe tobacco on his breath, vivid and painful. They were so real that they forced Sebastian to awaken from his deep sleep.

Even awake, however, Sebastian thought he was dreaming. "Father?"

"I'm here, son." Don Segovia laughed and cried at the same time, embracing Sebastian with strength.

The sun was bright on Sebastian's face, and it reflected off white sheets in a white room. He thought he was in heaven. He turned to see the image of his father better. As he did so, the healing wound in his side tweaked, and he sucked in his breath. "Ow!"

"You're awake now, right?" asked Don Segovia, taking Sebastian's hand. "You haven't really been awake for the past few days." Tears splattered down his brown, leathery cheeks. "I thought I was going to lose you to that infection."

Sebastian was confused. "But... they said you were dead... gone... you caught silver fever or something."

Don Segovia laughed. "Everyone here has silver fever. It's the madness that drives men to leave their families and homes and go chase a dream. I was infected, true. When they told me you were gone, I didn't want to stay in Asunción anymore. My Guarani wife died in childbirth about the same time. I wanted to forget everything, so I signed on with a new expedition. But we found out that the Indians of the Chaco were planning an attack on Asunción, so a few of us left the expedition to come warn everyone. It looks like we were a day late."

"But you're here!" Suddenly, Sebastian had strength to laugh. He tried to sit up but fell back on the pillows instead. Then he noticed a heavy weight on his feet. Yagua lifted his head in acknowledgment, then lay back down to finish his nap.

"That dog hasn't left your side," Don Segovia said. "Except once, a few days ago, to help us round up the animals that escaped the fire. He's a fine herder."

Yagua thumped his tail at him.

Sebastian reached down to pet the dog. "He really is. I think he's more Arazunú's dog than mine, though. Up 'til now, I thought he just stayed with me because I fed him."

"Maybe he's here now because it's the most comfortable place, then?"

Sebastian shrugged. "Or maybe, he really does like me, and I could give him a chance." He patted Yagua again, then asked, "When can I come home with you?"

Don Segovia blinked his eyes, suddenly exhausted. "The house burned to the ground, son. There's nowhere for you to go. We'll be living in the barn until I can earn enough money to build another house." He patted his son's hand. "Don't you worry, though. Selling the bull will buy all the bricks we need."

Sebastian's breath came out in a sharp exhale. "Oh!"

"You hurting?"

"No," he replied. "It's just that I kept him alive all this time. It doesn't seem quite right to sell him all we've been through."

"That's life sometimes," his father said, tears flowing again. "Never quite the way you planned it. I'm so sorry, kid. For everything. You must be so disappointed in me."

"Never!" Sebastian struggled to sit up, shocked at such an idea. "If anything, I think I understand you better."

"You... you do?"

"Trust me. None of my plans worked out, either. Luck - that's what kept me alive." He grinned, thinking about how much he had changed in the past few months. "And don't worry about the house. Have you ever tried a hammock?"

"Hammock?"

"I've learned a few tricks of my own." He grimaced as his wound sent a sharp dagger through his side.

"And you can tell me when you feel better," his father said. "Listen, they said you might be thirsty. Are you? Or hungry?" He held up a mug of water. "I hardly recognized you, son. You're so... thin, and tall, and strong."

Sebastian drank greedily. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Four days, on and off. Whenever you were awake we'd spoon broth and water into you. You haven't eaten much, though."

"We?"

"Your Indian friend. He stepped outside for a few minutes. I'll let him know you're awake." He stood, then smiled at his son. "That's a good friend you have, Sebastian. Smart, witty. Loyal. You're very lucky. Plus, that kid knows more about medicine than Doc does, especially about all the plants and stuff growing around the colony. I wouldn't be surprised if Doc takes him as an apprentice, if he's willing."

"He wants to be an attorney."

"An Indian attorney?" For a moment, Sebastian was afraid that his own father was going to say something derogatory toward Arazunú, but he did not. "Hmm. I know some people who might be able to help. I'll see what I can do."

Sebastian nodded, satisfied. "I guess I am a little hungry..."

"Excellent. Wait until you try the chipa so'o \- it's a local treat. Cheese and corn in a sort of bread. I'll go get you some." Don Segovia headed for the door, then turned back. "I'm so glad to see you, kid. Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." He gave his son a gruff kiss to the forehead before leaving to find food.

As if Sebastian had the strength to leave the bed! He watched his father's frame disappear through the doorway, then closed his eyes for a quick rest.

Moments later, the soft tread of Arazunú's bare feet told him he was no longer alone.

"Wake up. I know you're not sleeping," said Arazunú, sliding something cold and round into Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian grinned and opened his eyes. It was a gold bracelet, intricately decorated. "What's this?"

"I know you're still angry at me for making you give away your mother's jewelry. So I wanted to give you something in return. I know it doesn't have the memories, but it has all the value."

"It's great," Sebastian said. "Where did you get it?"

"I guess news of the Indian attack has been going from tribe to tribe for several months now. The Chaco Indians came all the way down to attack Asunción. It seems that my people came up from everywhere surrounding Asunción to help protect it. Anyway, my father was here with my own people! He usually never wears the gold pieces they stole from the land to the west, but he did this time. He recognized me. And there was a feast and there will be another one when I go home to see my mother and brothers and sisters. They're all still alive!"

Sebastian had never heard Arazunu speak so much at one time. "I'm so happy for you."

"So I told my father about you and about everything you've been doing. He has agreed to let me return to Asunción if ever I want to – which I think I will. And he gave me the bracelet to give to you, as a token of his thanks for escorting me home."

"I didn't do anything. You were the one who kept me alive out there."

"Shhh. Your shamans say you're too weak to talk. So just listen." Arazunú's eyes shone brightly with mystery. "Do you remember the surprise I wanted to give you when we got home?"

Sebastian nodded.

Arazunú leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I don't understand your tax laws, but I know that anything you find of value, you must pay one fifth to your king. I don't want any of this going to your king."

"What are you talking about?"

Arazunú continued to whisper. "Many years ago my father and some of the people of our village went with your explorer Alejo Garcia on a treasure hunt to the land far in the west. The Spaniards brought back large amounts of silver and gold and precious gems, but they gave some to my people for being the guides. That was years ago. Our share has been sitting in a cave since then. My people are too afraid to use it for fear that your people will think we have even more. Either that, or other tribes will come kill us and steal it. And we have no real use for it." He paused. "So I spoke to my father and we want to give it to you. All of it."

"All of it? Are you sure?"

"It has only brought us trouble. At least, in your hands, it will do some good - as long as nobody knows where it came from. My people think it's cursed anyway."

"So how much is there?"

Arazunú flashed his white teeth. It was the first smile Sebastian had ever seen from him. "Enough to fill your knapsack. Maybe more. It's a small price to pay for saving my life twice."

Eyebrows raised, Sebastian could only stare at his friend, overwhelmed. They wouldn't have to sell the bull after all!

Arazunú frowned. "What's wrong? I thought it's what all Spaniards wanted."

"No, it's great. It'll help us rebuild our home. I just realized.. I'm _here_ , my friend. In Asunción - the end of my journey. I made it. And now you're leaving. Will I see you again?"

Arazunú crinkled his eyes at their corners. "You have to come claim your treasure when you're feeling better. We won't give it to anyone but you."

"I didn't mean for a quick visit. I'll miss you."

"You walked all the way from the mouth of the Great River, and now you're worried about a short hike?" Arazunú clasped Sebastian's hand. "Nothing can keep brothers apart. Not even distance."

Brothers. Sebastian's throat constricted at the title. He understood the tremendous honor bestowed upon him. "In that case," he said, squeezing his friend's hand in return. "what am I worried about?"

Don Segovia returned with a plate of cheesy yellow cornbread. He offered a piece to Arazunú. "Your father's here. He's waiting outside with the rest of your men."

"Thanks," said Arazunú. He turned back to Sebastian. "We'll stay long enough to help you build your house. Then you can come visit mine. See you soon."

"See you," he replied.

"I can't wait to hear your story," Don Segovia said, settling himself in the chair beside Sebastian's bed once more. "By the way, son, welcome home."

Home - his greatest wish. His father was alive and well, he had a loyal dog, and he had a brother. Together they would rebuild the house on this land that had become such a large part of him. This land with its red soil and brilliant green leaves, with its large spotted cats and sweet muddy waters... This land that he loved, yes _loved_ , with all his heart. And wasn't that what made it home, after all? Welcome home, indeed! He nestled back in his pillows, his thoughts filling not with memories of the past, but of the great adventures yet to come.

THE END

Thanks for reading my story! Could you do me a favor? Return to the place you purchased this book (Smashwords, Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble) and give me a rating and a review. Thanks for your time!

* * * * *

Learn more about the author and her other novels at http://www.emilyasad.com

Other published titles by Emily Asad:

The Jester of Corona (PublishAmerica 2002)

The Juggler's Journey (Hard Shell Word Factory, 2005)

Code Name: Whatever (Smashwords.com 2012)

Survival in Style (Smashwords.com 2012)

Learn more about Paraguay and its history at www.ProjectParaguay.com or www.ParaguayHistorica.com Or if you're interested in Paraguayan soccer history, try www.Albirroja.com Happy researching!

