Pythagoras Curse Part XXII

Gerung Brandt

We both rode swift as we attempted to stay close to Gerung and his entourage, finally arriving at a place where flat grassland stretched as far as we could see on either side of a thin tributary of water.

There, tribe members, men wearing loin hides, their necks adorned with necklaces of bone, bare chested woman carrying toddlers in their arms and children squatting next to fireplaces were spread out along the banks of the river.

I gazed at the many fireplaces and tiny cloisters, guessing their number to be in the hundreds.

Some of the tribesmen hailed Gerung as he and the two warriors dismounted and after a short confab these warriors greeted us as if we were their own.

They smiled and nodded their heads as they ushered us with gestures to join them around the largest of the many campfires.

We ate of freshly slaughtered meat cooked over spits and tubers, seeming to grow rampant in the area. Then as shadows of dusk began to settle around the campsite the fire was stoked with more wood.

When tribe members began to slink away for the night Gerung and I had time to finally take assessment of our situation.

Gerung took a long sip from a canteen and offered it to me.

I shook my head and said, “brother tell me this. I met our brother Johannes Tockler many days ago, but his curse was not the same as mine. Is it possible the old man cursed you in a different manner as well?”

“Perhaps Petra. How fares Johannes and why did he not join you in your venture to find me?”

“He’s dead.”

I stared at the dancing tendrils of fire for a moment and then answered Gerung’s lingering silence, “I was forced to take his life.”

“I see.”

“No brother I do not think you do. Where the old man cursed me to give up a soul each year, Johannes was given the opportunity to take one, and at anytime he wished. Had I not bested him in battle Long Feather and I would not be here today.”

“Long Feather, your traveling companion?”

“Aye. He is an Indian from the tribes of America.”

“You have traveled far to find me my brother.”

“Yes I have.”

“I never cared for Johannes’ gravitation toward cruelty. I suppose he saw the old man’s curse as a boon.”

“He did. But what of you Gerung?”

“I take your meaning to be how the old man cursed me?”

I nodded, but remained silent. As Gerung shifted into a more comfortable position, he took another sip from his canteen and stared at the fire in silence.

Finally he said, “I must first take a soul then give it away that same moment.”

I frowned.

“How did you survive like such while in captivity?”

“Ah, the penal colony?”

“Aye.”

“The Isle of the Dead Petra.”

I shook my head and Gerung sighed as if explanation should not be necessary.

“Port Arthur was a horrible place where corporal punishment was so brutal it drove men mad. So much so prisoners were willing to die by any means to escape. At each of their deaths it was my responsibility to take them to the Isle of the Dead and inter their bodies.”

“So they pleaded with you to take their lives, you took them to the Isle of the Dead and then you gave them back their souls?”

“Yes brother. I was four years at that godforsaken place. You must believe, there was never a shortage of men willing to give up their souls for freedom.”

“But once there how were they to leave the island?”

“Simple. Their bodies I transported by a small boat lashed to my skiff. I would row to the far north side where we could not be seen, revive them and they would take the boat and leave. Then I would dig a fresh grave and depart.”

“And you were never questioned when you only came back with one boat?”

Gerung shook his head and smiled.

“It was an amazing feat how fast certain prisoners could fashion a replacement boat. The entire time I was imprisoned there none of the boat slips were ever seen empty Petra.”

“So what of this curse? How are we to break it?”

“I have thought long of it. For me, I believe there to be no way to fashion a lifting of it. Death will be the only way for me to break free.”

“And for me?”

Gerung offered me a wry grin.

“For you Petra I believe you must give your last soul to me.”

“And by doing so bring about my own death.”

“Aye, but I shall be there to give it back to you. Expending your last soul will fulfill the destiny of your curse and yes, you will begin to die, but I shall breath life back into you. As such, the curse will be broken.”

“And how am I to know when that time has come upon us brother?”

“A question I cannot answer Petra. Only you shall know when the time has come.”

“Then I suggest we take each other unto our bosoms until such time as it becomes necessary to test your theory.”

Gerung rose, then stretched and yawned. He grinned and nodded his head.

“Aye brother. From this day we shall. It is good again to be with you my friend.”

“Aye, rest well my brother.”

Sometime just before the dawn our peaceful sleep was cut short by the sounds of galloping horses and gun fire. I drew my pistol from its holster beside my saddle and turned to face our attackers.

Score of indigenous riders raced through our midst firing their weapons indiscriminately at anything which moved.

I saw children fall to the ground, their mothers screaming as they knelt over them to shield them from harm, only to be shot in the back as a rider passed.

I aimed and fired, hitting one of the riders and unhorsing him.

Immediately he was beset upon by a group of warriors who began to pummel him with clubs.

But there were too many well armed riders to combat.

They swung around for another pass, firing at their terrified victims as they sought to run away, chasing them down on horseback and picking them off one by one.

The attack lasted for brief minutes and as the sun crested the horizon the sight of hundreds of dead and dying tribes people lay everywhere I could see, staining the grassland on both sides of the river with their blood.

The riders left as quickly as they had come. Satisfied they had eradicated what they deemed to be a blight, a scourge against humanity.

Long Feather joined me and I breathed in relief the boy was unharmed. Seconds later, Gerung ran toward me and stopped, his eyes burning brightly as he seethed in anger and frustration.

He reached out and grasped my arm.

“Come brother we have work to do.”

I knew what he meant, and yet I was hesitant to follow him.

“Come Petra. We have little time with which to save them. Come.”

READ ON — THE PYTHAGORAS CURSE Part XXIII

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII, Part XIV, Part XV, Part XVI, Part XVII, Part XVIII, Part XIX, Part XX, Part XXI, Part XXII Part XXIII, Conclusion

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