Episode #3: Greed Enshrined

[In the last MCoG, the three found themselves on an island in the Pacific, where they discovered a massive yet abandoned temple. After discerning with precision the location of the next City, Esteban triggered a self-destruct system, destroying a part of the island and sinking the Condor. They washed back onto land, only to be discovered by the Sasaks who had been living on it.]

The wealthy and fully attired captain strode with arrogance through the jail corridor, but when he encountered the end he slumped harmlessly to the side, allowing the true master of the jails to unlock the passageway and allow them to venture further. The nobleman had come all the way from Barcelona to meet an old friend, to make pleasant conversation with the wretch before condemning him. Despite his reservations about the setting, he had to admit it had probably softened him up considerably.

"The prisoner is just through this door."

The captain sighed. Another door… how many in this blasted place? He forgave the jailer's obvious inferiority, and let him open the final barrier. Two sailors bounded out. They certainly seemed familiar.

"Who are those two men, jailer?"

"Visitors," replied the jailer. "Harmless folk, and guarded. Sorta weak in the head too, if ye get my drift." He tapped his head and nodded knowingly.

"Huh. Visitors in this place! If I had my way prisoners would be treated much more seriously for crimes against the crown."

"The Audencia has encountered much more than extortion in the past."

"The Audencia has yet to make its decision on his crimes, lad. Straighten your facts before you lecture me."

"Well, he's waiting," grumbled the jailor.

"He's lucky to even get a cell like that. I shan't complain to be done with him. He obviously has no discipline if he's put off by my waiting; no sense of responsibility. Coarse sailors like him should know better. When I was his age, I had twice his courage."

Still, the man dusted off his fashionable doublet with the caution and precision of a young child before stepping into the room. The prisoner looked up at him, wearing a glare wrought not from hatred but from the passage of time. After a few moments of silence from the prisoner, the visitor spoke, and the prisoner sleepily followed suit.

"Hello, Mendoza."

"Hello, Captain Perez."

~~~

The boy had seemed only pained after his collision with Esteban, but now that he was no longer stunned his expression was one of fear. The boy got up and ran behind the other, bigger, and equally hostile strangers. Esteban took one look at their sheathed swords and long spears and momentarily thought they might be Spaniards, but immediately discounted this after deciding that no Spaniard, marooned or otherwise, would have that dark skin tone, and definitely wouldn't be wearing such colorful cloth.

One of the strangers spoke to another in a language Esteban did not understand. Then Esteban felt a firm grasp on his shoulder, and the latent strength behind the grasp would have caused Esteban to sink to his knees if he had been let go. He hollered for the others, expecting to be attacked as he did, but oddly enough the strangers did nothing to prevent his cries.

When Zia and Tao emerged onto the scene they were briefly greeted with crossed spears; the natives had heard them coming long before, and had stationed to receive them. However, just as the two had grasped the danger presented by the natives, a verbal command was given and the barrier parted. Zia and Tao ran to Esteban, and though there was some murmuring among the strangers no one moved to intercept them. At the insistence of Tao, Esteban was released, but the guards were watching the group of three, ready to catch any escape attempts.

"Esteban, are you hurt?"

"No… just surprised. I don't think they want to hurt us--"

At that moment, three guards left the circle and gently placed spears against the backs of Zia, Esteban, and Tao. The leader stood before them, shouted something at the group as a whole, and pointed in a northerly direction. The group set off in that direction, leading the children that way despite expressions of protest and discomfort, not only from the firm prodding of the spears but from the rocky feel of the ground beneath their feet, bare ever since they washed onto the island. And then there was the demoralizing effect -- the strangers seemed to know about them, but neither Esteban's attempt at Spanish, nor Tao's Hivan phrases, nor any of Zia's learned dialects provoked a meaningful response from their captors.

They were truly in another world.

~~~

"…and what do you think of that, Mendoza?" concluded Perez with a confident air of defiance.

"I think it's quite featherbrained to travel to the East Indies now," snorted Mendoza with a sleepy air of ridicule, "especially when there isn't any gold or silver to be found there. If your friend really wishes to make his fortune, I would suggest he try the Yucatan Peninsula."

"Pfaugh. You don't fool me for an instant," sneered Perez. "There are so many pawing for so little in that place. The Seven Cities of Cibola indeed. Hah! I'd bet they don't even exist. Or, if they do, they're made of mud, and mica."

Mendoza smirked back, an action he knew would set Perez's blood a-boiling, particularly when Perez was supposedly in control of this situation. Perez took the bait: he remembered the gold his foe had brought, all right, but controlled himself with remarkable skill. No doubt he'd learned it after the splitting of his rotten Esperanza, thought Mendoza.

"No, my friend. Just wait until Captain Segundo Balbin returns, with gold lining his own pockets. Segundo Balbin, of the Sanmartin. Don't forget it, eh?"

"Gladly not."

Perez made an exquisite bow and stormed out of the jail, unsuccessfully attempting to cover his emotions. Only once the captain was out of sight did Mendoza betray his own feelings.

"Across the Pacific… that's bad. With those tradewinds, and the fact he left days ago… Esteban may not yet escape the Spanish quest for riches." He sighed, remembering his own plunder, and pondered exactly what he'd do to that disease-ridden Perez. But not yet. Not until his secret was safe for sure.

~~~

The children trudged into the village, more than a little grumpy. Tao muttered something detestable about the detour they for some reason had taken, but the details of his growling were lost as two loud deep drums and a multitude of pleasant-seeming villagers greeted the returning soldiers.

The place itself was distinctly linear, and had no real center point that Esteban could determine. Also, it was large enough for him to marvel at; he had been certain that such a large village could not be concealed so well from his experienced eyes, but then again he had just escaped from the collapsing island edge and so excused himself for missing this. The buildings were raised, with polished floors and roofs of what looked like straw. A pig was even walking the streets unhampered; it snorted once and trotted off to the side as the group came through the crowd. However, one thing struck Esteban -- some of these buildings, a little ways in the distance, were temples like the first he'd seen on this island. There were so many, and furthermore they all had villagers talking and dancing within!

As Esteban was getting this concept of what he thought must be informal worship around in his Spanish head, they had arrived at their destination. Though the warriors had deliberately bypassed most of the temples, they had been making their way towards one in particular, a large and seemingly quite important one, since many people were gathered around and inside it. As the warriors came forth with their three prisoners, the people respectfully parted, and the group marched through the outer gate.

"They must be taking us to their leader," said Esteban, who was prodded and so put back to silence.

Esteban continued to note: the other temples had had their own obvious differences, but this one resembled the first temple to an unhealthy degree. This one was populated, of course. The seats which had been empty before were now filled with a gamelan orchestra, and servants were scurrying in and out of the kitchen, adding cakes and fruit to already massive heaps of food (some on the table, some on the ground). As he followed his captors through the inner gate, he saw the very same doorway that had lead to the gold. It was upon this door that a soldier knocked. Before long the door was opened by an aged native, who beckoned the three children after him. As they entered, the door closed behind them.

"What's the meaning of this?" said Tao in an attempt at a demanding tone. It didn't work; the obviously high-caste and scholarly man exuded an air of laid-back respect that no one could brush away. The man had set himself on the floor, and beckoned to the others to sit. Zia and Tao both remained standing, but Esteban slowly took a seat before the man. The other two sat, guiltily.

"Young man. I apologize for your treatment." said the older individual, in perfect yet very emphasized Spanish. "These guardians are dedicated to their work." Seeing Esteban's reaction, he continued: "I do indeed know your language. I had known that he who opened Tapakan and so fulfilled the prophecy of the Hiva Emperor would speak such a language. However, I had expected a grand conquistador and his army of many men. I did not expect three children to be the great enemy we sought."

"The Hiva Emperor… enemy…" Esteban thought. He got his medallion from under his shirt and showed it to the man, who nodded gravely.

"Yes, I was concerned when I heard you were wearing such a symbol. I am still certain the Hiva Emperor would not give a key for his Cities to one of his own enemies. And yet his prophecy has proven otherwise."

Esteban blinked in surprise. "You know about the Cities of Gold?"

"I do indeed. Atlantis once existed near here, or so I have read in the usada."

"We are looking for the Cities, to keep their secrets out of the hands of the conquistadors you mention," interjected Zia.

"I believe you, since you wear the symbol of Surya. However, not many of the villagers know of the cities, or even of the symbol. They only know what I have told them -- the prophecy in its own words." He looked directly at Esteban, and Esteban saw not hostility but confusion. "It is said that the Emperor, in his quest to preserve Surya's power, created new land very near this island of Lombok. Upon that land he placed a great temple, which he named Tapakan, and sealed it with the power of his healing. In this usada, this manuscript, he foretold that he who entered the temple's ancestral shrine would be the one to bring harm to the Cities of Gold."

Esteban felt himself crumpling, and did his best to hide it.

"At that point," concluded the old man, "the temple's land, complete, would sink again beneath the sea. It was to happen on this day. The Hiva Emperor was always so precise. This village had been preparing, privately, for this celebration, and as we were a great sound from the south deafened us. The warriors you met were looking for you, and knew that you were the one to have entered the shrine."

"I am a descendant of the Hiva Emperor," said Tao, "and yet I did not understand all the inscriptions written within. It is dedicated to something which destroyed something else. Does this really refer to the one who will destroy the Cities of Gold?"

"No, not the Cities of Gold in particular," replied the old sage, with a definitive look at and through Esteban, "The temple was dedicated to Greed, which also destroyed the Empires of Hiva and Atlantis."

Esteban, on hearing these words, grew nervous and attempted to excuse himself, but the man for a brief moment was stern, demanding he sit. When Esteban relaxed again, the power behind the words was gone, and again the elder was a scholar recounting tales to visitors.

"Now that I have found you, however, I cannot decide what to do with you. It would be easy if you were threatening, as the other visitors from Spain had been, but now I am not certain I fully understand the meaning of the Hiva usada. I cannot justify harming what I do not understand. At the same time I must serve my people, avoid what could bring harm to them. Such an enigma."

"Esteban is the one who fought to protect the first of the seven cities," insisted Zia. "He is not the enemy you seek."

"I can understand how that might be true," commented the man, "but the Emperor's prophecy stated otherwise."

"Then the prophecy must be wrong," replied Tao. He was met by a gently skeptical glance from the sage; reddened slightly, Tao continued. "Perhaps the meaning was not interpreted correctly."

"That I can believe," nodded the old man. "I shall think on this. In the meantime… you are called Esteban, aren't you? You must remain under my protection for the length of this time. Your companions will be free to go. The Emperor said nothing of them."

Zia shook her head. "Please, let him come with us."

"I warn you, the people do not trust him. Not only is he thought to be a bringer of destruction, but previous encounters with those from Spain has left them bitter. I do not blame them. I do not trust the Spaniards myself. They come with gifts and great words, but take what is valuable and living, giving what is dead and worthless in exchange."

"I made a promise to these two! I can't abandon them," insisted Esteban.

"*sigh*…so it will be. None of you must leave this village until the decision has been made. And since there is a festival today, it is very important you learn how to act in public. I shall advise you so that you do not cause trouble."

The three agreed that this arrangement would be fair, but Esteban still had one question before they began.

"How did you know my name?"

"It is a nice name."

Shaken, Esteban listened for the old man's guidance. The old man's name was Cokorda Gede Ngurah, and he was a respected healer in this village, as the three were soon to learn. They also would learn that he knew the mind of the people in this village all too well.

~~~

Before long, Esteban, Zia, and Tao left the temple, each dressed in a sarong tied with a sash. As they left, their eyes were forced to adjust; the sun had reemerged from behind its cloud cover, but was now in the process of setting. Yet the people had not stopped with their festivities, as by now seemed commonplace -- in fact, the music and dancing had lost its ephemeral nature and now the "fair" occupied the focus of the entire village.

"So," Esteban thought aloud, "what do we do now?"

"Oh! Look over there!" Zia almost pointed, but remembering her instruction she refrained and merely looked in the proper direction. Esteban and Tao followed the indication, gasping at the spectacle they saw. People were clustered across the way, watching an artificially illuminated white curtain. A rattle-drum sounded, and a shadowy figure arose from the left, speaking in a deep, hideous form of the local language. With a sinister laugh and another rattle sound, it slunk from view as another figure paraded in, this one from the right. It spoke in a higher voice, singing a little ditty, but was soon surprised by the terrible monster of the left, and as this drama took place the nearby gamelan sounded once, twice, sonorously. Thankfully, a third, monkey-shaped shadow emerged from the right, shouting what the three could only presume were valiant and heroic sentiments. The shadows of the monster and the hero locked in combat and contest, the crowd began to laugh uproariously, and the gamelan fell into full beat -- the three were absorbed, and only the presence of time kept them from being fully drawn in. Little did they know that they, too, were being watched -- by the young man whom Esteban had bumped into…

"[He is just another missionary,]" he hissed to his friends.

"[Do you think he knows the men who took your father?]" asked one of the friends, a tall, slender, and black-haired girl who stood close to him.

"[Of course he does. They are all the same.]"

He left his buddies and snuck over to near the fixated children. As Esteban walked forward, drawing some attention from the previously-fixated crowd, the older boy stuck his foot out, sending Esteban sprawling to the ground and inviting laughter among both the audience and casual passerby. The older boy immediately stood up and yelled at Esteban, who yelled back.

"[Stupid Spaniard! You can't even walk right!]"

"Hey, you did that on purpose!"

Esteban nearly got himself into a scuffle right then and there, but Tao and Zia got between them.

"Esteban, it's not worth it…"

Tao and Zia insistently lead Esteban away as the dalang, or shadow puppeteer, jumped up and tried to get the audience stilled, shame on his face due to the unruly children. The boy continued to yell taunts in the language only the audience could understand.

"[Floundering about like that! Laughable!]"

"[Wayan… stop.]" intoned the girl, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"[Fine. I shall stop.]" replied Wayan reassuringly, but he was focused on one last crack he would get at that filthy slave-trader. He had seen a sprinkle of gold dust fall from the child's pocket, and remembered how much the idiots prized such stuff, just as they had when they had first come.

~~~

The rest of the evening continued to pass slowly to Esteban, despite the many wonders of the festival around him. Zia had once stopped the group while she sat next to an artful weaver, talking as well as she could through extremely careful sign language and sparse words about the weaving style. She had learned it was called ikat, with the strands dyed independently and then woven to form a pattern; in return, she'd admired its beauty and attempted to explain the purpose of a quipu, though the concept had not been properly understood and she had eventually withdrawn the attempt. Tao, meanwhile, had taken the time to watch an elegant female dancer, only to be tapped on the shoulder with the fan. He merely stammered, with no idea what to do, and the crowd laughed as the dancer shimmied over to another man. Tapped, the second man rose and began dancing with the lady. Tao retraced his steps dejectedly, meeting with Esteban.

"Esteban, is it just me or is the festival only getting louder?"

"I think it goes on until sunrise," Esteban distractedly replied.

Tao bit his tongue. Esteban was the kind to enjoy festivals, even the festivals he wasn't supposed to. But he had not bothered to interact with the people here at all, taking no offered drink, giving curt greetings to any of the children who came up to him… it was bad, because the more he turned away the people the more they disliked him. Tao had done his best to keep him interested and accept everything in his stead, but that distraction was getting tiresome.

"Is something on your mind, Esteban?"

"Yes."

"Want to tell me?"

"…yeah…"

Esteban said nothing more; Tao shrugged this off. He'd speak when he was ready.

The three were now in front of what looked like a grisly spectacle. Two men, carrying sticks and shields, circled each other menacingly, raining blows upon each other with astonishing speed. The crowd surged as one man was struck in the chest with the stick; growling, he delivered a powerful strike to his opponent's head. The foe crumpled, and the crowd erupted into cheers as the judge declared the winner. Zia gasped at the sight, and the others were no less transfixed.

"It is only play fighting," said a man next to them. Esteban realized with shock that it was Ngurah, the healer. "It is called Persean. After three hits to the chest or one to the head, the battle is over."

"Play fighting?" Zia thought with relief. She looked over at the fallen foe and spoke aloud. "But that man… he's bleeding!"

"He'll be well taken of. Look." Already the boy was being taken to a nearby hut to be treated for his bleeding; though he had been stunned from the blow on the head, he seemed otherwise fine -- the hit had not been as hard as it had seemed. Already another match had started, though it would end soon. The more she watched, the less she saw Captain Gaspard. In fact, compared to those old swordfights they always had on the Esperanza, this was very restrained.

"Esteban, why don't you try that?" asked Tao in a friendly way. He had exhausted most of the obvious possibilities in his attempt to find something for the brooding kid to do.

"What's the point? I'll only get beaten up."

"You don't have to do this, but please stop moping! For this entire festival you've hardly even spoken to me!"

Esteban was uncertain -- he couldn't explain himself. Tao was pushing him with his words, and the crowd followed; Zia's true intentions could not be read. A circle was forming around Esteban already, and a shield was shoved into his hands, along with a stick. The crowd began to chant, and Esteban, bolstered by the sound of respect, finally saw the contest as a friendly game rather than the struggle he had known for the past years. Knowing this, he nodded his approval. The crowd cheered… and from that crowd, Wayan -- the Wayan that had tripped Esteban -- emerged with his own weapons.

The first blow was struck before Esteban could even recognize the boy's face. He'd raised his shield to protect his head, but Wayan circled around and landed it upon his chest. Esteban doubled up and stumbled back, the breath knocked out of him, the only sound that of the crowd, but he had to gather himself fast because Wayan was already poised for the second strike. This he managed to block as well. With a shout he counterattacked, but a shield thrust sent the weapon arm wide. Esteban held his ground, and because of this was only grazed by the next hit -- not a point! Stepping back, he watched Wayan warily. The boy was truly enjoying this, but Esteban could not guess why. What had he done? What would he do? The gap was closing, the stick brandished menacingly. A feint -- another -- a real strike? No, only a feint, but this one had caught Esteban off guard, and a blow to the upper chest followed. Esteban fell, gasping for breath, and Wayan loomed menacingly over. Zia and Tao had realized too late how vengeful this boy really was.

Just as he was about to deliver one final blow to the head, however, Wayan turned his head at the sound of a gong. Esteban reached out with his foot and pulled Wayan's out from under him, sending the adolescent to the ground. Wayan's attempt at an angry reprisal was stopped by the judge -- the Persean had been suspended.

"What's happening?" wondered Tao.

"Someone's about to speak!" theorized Zia.

She was correct -- the people of the village were rushing to see some newcomers who had just arrived, dressed in fine Spanish armor. An enormous bearded man, dressed as a captain, stood at the front. Next to him stood a bloated aide, and behind them stood a handful of armed and armored men. Most of the crowd was watching the actions of the strangers with mute curiosity; some, though, were hostile, though they took care not to show it. Esteban heard more than one person mutter the word "garap"; though he had no idea what this meant, he could tell they were talking about the captain's sailing master.

As Esteban pushed through the crowd, the captain's eyes fell only briefly upon him, and with disinterest. The aide, however, recognized Esteban; he started with trepidation and spoke.

"Captain… it's the Child of the Sun! From Barcelona!"

At this the Captain blinked with surprise, focusing much more closely upon Esteban. He stared back, defiantly, at the Spaniard. Little did he know he was staring into the eyes of Captain Balbin, captain of the Sanmartin. All he knew was that this man was up to no good. Was he searching for the Cities of Gold? Esteban grew chilled as he came to the realization that the quest for the Cities would not end, not until they had all been decimated. The villagers were right to fear this obsession; the world was in very real peril, and it was all because of gold -- gold, of the sort he himself was promising to soon throw away.

Esteban had at last found a way off the island without the Condor, but he knew full well it wasn't time to set sail just yet.

[In the next episode of MCoG, the children meet the foreign traders! (appropriate scene) Despite the attempts to stick up for the villagers, Zia and Tao are captured… (appropriate scene) Now it's up to Esteban to save them. Will his plan work? (Esteban surprised by a shadowy figure from behind) Find out on the next episode of MCoG!]

Documentary-ish: When the Sasak villagers met the Spanish explorers in this episode, many mentioned the word "garap". But what is garap? It is a ritual, native to Lombok, to determine who speaks the truth and who lies, akin to the hot-iron ritual of the Bedouin. This ritual differs from the Bedouin's, however, because no one truly knows the full extent of the Garap curse -- many have associated a swelled stomach and the smell of putrefaction as the onset of the curse, however, which at least explains the reaction towards the Spanish leaders. Those involved in such deception, particularly stealing, are told to swear an oath, and then drink water mixed with soil from the tomb of Wali Nyato, a Muslim saint reputed to have brought Islam to Lombok. Though it may seem to Western sensibilities that drinking the sacred soil would be the cause of the illness, in many traditional senses swearing the oath is just as harmful to the liar! In Lombok, it is commonplace to use artful rhetoric to weave around issues, instead of "pinning" conversants to the spot with direct binding statements. Thus, by being forced to swear an oath, one's privacy is breached -- and, according to the ritual of Garap, the putrefaction the liar has let gestate within him- or her- self can be reborn.

"Goodbye… 'till next time."