Part 3

"There is no God but Allah!" muttered the terrified boy.

The island was pitching again as obstacles caught at it, spinning it around and around. Each thing that it struck on its reckless journey tore portions from it; gradually it became smaller. The light grew steadily clearer, and Piang could see what awaited him. Massive rocks loomed up at the head of the falls, and he calmly wondered if he would be killed before the plunge. The side of the island where he stood began to give way, and, although he was to die in a few minutes, instinct made him move to the other side. He tried to walk, but the ground gave at each step. He crawled along the trunk of a tree and unexpectedly came upon the monkey. The little creature was still huddled against the log and showed no fear of Piang; it whined louder, seeming to sense the rapidly approaching danger.

Suddenly the monkey jumped into the tree, and Piang followed it with his eyes. It seemed to be gathering itself for a greater leap. As Bruce watched the spider, so Piang, fascinated, kept his eyes on the little wild thing. Gradually it dawned on him that the monkey had discovered an avenue of escape! The island had veered off and was fast approaching a monster boulder that would surely break it in two. Growing on it were vines and trees hanging far out over the water.

Piang stumbled along and somehow made his way to the burial tree. A moment he paused, awed by a superstitious fear of the dead, but a violent clap of thunder terrified him into forgetting all but his immediate danger. There were only a few moments left; if he could reach the top of the tree before the island dashed past the vines, he might save himself. His hands tremblingly sought the notches sacred to the dead; he scrambled upward. Thorns pierced his tired limbs; vines and creepers took vicious delight in fastening themselves upon him. The tree shook as the monkey jumped farther out on a limb, and the movement seemed to put new strength in Piang. As he struggled up, a calmness came to him. He carefully watched the monkey, and when it crouched for the spring, Piang searched the approaching vines for one strong enough to hold him.

In a moment it would all be over. What if he jumped too soon or too late? What if the vine proved too frail? The monkey was crouching for the leap. The branch that Piang was clinging to bent under his weight. The monkey flashed through the air, made a desperate grab, and swung out of sight. In a daze, Piang prepared to follow; breathlessly he watched for his chance. With a prayer on his lips and with a mighty effort, he sprang straight out into space. His hands closed over something small and round. A dizziness came over him.

In dismay he felt the vine give, as if uncoiling itself from a windlass. Down, down he fell until his feet touched the soggy earth of the island. Still the vine uncoiled; the island crashed into the boulder. Desperately Piang tried to climb the vine, but its slackness offered no resistance. Slowly the island began to tip, to slide over the falls, and Piang made one more effort to save himself. As he grasped the vine more firmly, it brought up with a quick jerk, almost breaking his hold.

He felt the vine tighten, heard it creak and groan under his weight, and finally it lifted him clear of the island, swinging him far out over the abyss like a weight at the end of a pendulum.

His island slid from under him, leaving him suspended in mid air; in the second that he hung there, he could see the cruel rocks below, the seething, steaming water. The stately funeral tree gently inclined to the fall, and, with stern dignity, took the plunge. The dying babui, flung far out into space, added its diminutive death-wail to the din. The vine trembled over the chasm. Piang felt a quick rush of air, a sickening feeling, as if he were rapidly falling; with a tremendous impetus the vine swung back, crashed into a tree, and, with the agility of the monkey, Piang climbed to safety.

"There is no God but Allah!" came from the strained lips, and the boy turned his eyes toward the setting sun as it struggled to pierce the gloom.

"Bulutu!" ("Rainbow!") he cried, and a faint smile flitted across his bruised and bleeding face.

Startled by a movement at his side, Piang found the frightened monkey trying to thrust its head under his arm. Taking the trembling little creature up, Piang pillowed it against his breast. And so these strange companions, the timid, wild monkey and the gentle, savage boy crouched in the tree together, watching the typhoon beat out its fury on the helpless things of nature, and ever clearer grew the bulutu as it wreathed and crowned Piang's goal, Ganassi Peak.

THIRD ADVENTURE

THE HERMIT OF GANASSI PEAK

The silence was oppressive. Piang stumbled along through the tangle of vines and weeds, tired and foot-sore. Would he never find the path to the peak? And was there really a mysterious old man who had lived up there for over a hundred years? Sicto was somewhere on that mountain, striving to reach the summit too, and the pandita had said that the boy who arrived first, was the real charm boy. They had both started from the barrio (village) the same day; Sicto had plunged into the jungle, while Piang had chosen the river and lake. He shuddered at the recollection of his many narrow escapes during the journey. Where was his enemy, Sicto, now? Had he found an easier route, and was he already with old Ganassi, receiving the rites of charm boy?

Unfamiliar with the vegetation on the mountain, Piang was afraid to touch the many strange fruits, so he contented himself with bananas and cocoanuts, and for water he drank dew from the enormous pitcher-plants. The jungle was thick, and it was difficult to decide in what direction to go, so Piang had to climb trees to get his bearings. One day just as he was starting up a tall tree, he was startled by a sound. Something was crashing through the bushes below him. Visions of terrible mountain animals flashed through his head, and he hastily scrambled up the tree. On came the creature, now pausing a moment, now plunging into the mesh of vines, tearing them asunder, always following the path Piang had made. Preparing himself for some strange beast, the boy drew bow and waited. Suddenly he started. A cold chill gripped him. That sound! It was a voice—Sicto's! Crouching against the tree, Piang hoped to escape detection, but just as Sicto passed beneath the tree, Piang's bow slipped and fell to the ground. Sicto jumped aside and looked up:

"Oh, ho, my pretty Piang! So I've got you, have I?" The bully started up the tree.

Like a flash Piang was away. As easily as any monkey he swung himself into the next tree, and before Sicto realized it, Piang was taunting him from the very top of a far-off tree. More agile and much smaller than Sicto, Piang could easily travel in this way, and after a few unsuccessful attempts to follow, Sicto jumped to the ground. Slyly making his way along on foot, Sicto watched his rival. When Piang thought he had outdistanced his pursuer, he slipped to the ground and started off.

"Leeeeee lelelele ouiiiit!" The war-cry rang through the jungle, and Piang knew that his life depended on his fleet-footedness. Over fallen tree trunks, through dense cogon grass, Piang fled. His feet were pierced by wicked thorns, and everything he touched seemed to throw out a defense against him. Bamboo caught at his clothing and held him prisoner; bajuca vines clutched his weapons, hurling him to the ground. Sicto was gaining on him. After poor Piang had made the path through the jungle, it was easy enough for Sicto to follow.

On, up, fled the boy. He came to a clearing through which a mountain stream was bubbling. The sun beat down; the stifling heat rising from rotting vegetation took his breath away, but Piang ran on. What was that black hole yawning in the mountain side? With a gasp, Piang realized he was at the mouth of the haunted cave.

The brook, flowing swiftly down the mountain, plunged into the cave and disappeared, to come to the surface about two miles away. It was the home of the most terrible reptiles and animals, and the souls of wicked people waited there for Judgment Day.

Piang scanned the precipitous cliffs, the impenetrable jungle, in search of an avenue of escape. He was trapped. A gloating cry from Sicto decided him. Sicto was a coward and would be afraid to follow him, so Piang ran toward the cave. Had not the pandita said that Ganassi would be with the real charm boy, and was not Piang sure of that protection? Who but Piang was the charm boy?

Piang's courage began to flag, however, as he caught the cold, damp odor from the cave, but he bravely plunged into the forbidding-looking cavern. Man had probably never set foot in that place before. Creeping along, he peered into the increasing darkness, but could see nothing. A shriek startled him, and the sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. Sicto had started to follow Piang, but just as he came to the opening, a huge python slipped across the mouth of the cave, waving its enormous head from side to side. Sicto, trembling with fear, retreated into the jungle, and as Piang saw him disappear, he longed to be out again, fighting Sicto, anything, rather than penned up in the cave with that frightful snake and the unknown horrors. There was no turning back, however, for that sentinel continued to slip and slide across the opening, and Piang bravely faced the two miles that lay between him and the other end of the underground passage.

The air was heavy and moldy; the sides of the cave wet and slippery. Once his hand touched something that moved, and he almost fainted.

"I am the real charm boy," he whispered, "and nothing will hurt me. Ganassi, the wonder man, is with me. Forward!"

Courageous and determined, the boy pressed on. A muffled cry resounded through the passage. Flattening himself against the slimy wall, Piang listened. He could not imagine what had made the sound, and he unsheathed his knife. At times he followed the bed of the stream, wading ankle-deep in the water, but the slippery stones turned or tripped him, and when he stepped on something that moved, he groaned and jumped to the narrow shelf-like ledge that overhung the water.

A faint light stole through the gloom. Was it the end? But surely not, he had not gone more than a few hundred yards. He hurried forward. Brighter, clearer, it grew. Suddenly the brook made a sharp turn, and he found himself in a high, vaulted chamber, sparkling and shimmering in the light from above. Piang was so glad to see daylight again, faint as it was, that he did not stop to consider new dangers, and eagerly ran forward. He searched the sides for support on which to climb to the crevices, but the rotting vines and moss that lined the walls gave at his touch, and he fell back discouraged. Something crumbled under his body, and he discovered to his horror that he had fallen on a skeleton. A man had been here before him, then? But closer examination proved the bones to be those of a packda (ape). Snakes and worms wriggled out of the skeleton, and Piang shrank back in fear. The dread hamadryad leered at him; poisonous toads and lizards scurried for cover. How many more of these creatures would he encounter before escaping from this dungeon? Would Ganassi protect him and lead him safely through? Something seemed to tell the boy that he was safe and with renewed faith, he prepared to continue the journey.

Everywhere the beauty of nature asserted itself. Pale green ferns seemed to hold out beseeching arms toward the light; moss crept upward hopefully, softening the rough ledges with its velvet touch. Great stalagmites and stalactites, smothered in the embrace of lichen and creepers, accepted the homage of the plant life indifferently. Piang was blind to the sublimity of his surroundings, as he hurried on. Carefully he stepped on the ledge; warily he held out his bolo to ward off surprises. A sudden hiss made him leap into the stream, and shuddering, he plunged on, down the black path. Would the stream lead him to the sunlight again? Or was he burrowing into the depths of the earth, never again to breathe the air of life?

Finally, after almost giving up hope, he heard the distant call of a mina-bird. The jungle! Frantically he worked his way forward, wondering if the mate to the sentinel at the other opening would bar his passage. Daylight! Faintly, at the end of the long tunnel, he could see the blessed green of the forest, but his cry of joy was stilled; his hope of safety vanished. Again that mournful cry echoed through the cavern, and he gave himself up for lost. The souls of the wicked were pursuing him, would capture him, and make him pay for intruding upon them! Piang reeled as he heard a splash in the water behind him; he caught at something for support; it writhed out of his hand. Paralyzed with fear, the boy scarcely breathed. On came the pursuer, stealthily, warily. Reaching the end of his endurance, Piang wheeled, and faced the cave. Something paused, whined, and a streak flew past him. The fetid odor of a living creature brought him to his senses, and his anxious eyes discerned the outline of a civet-cat making its way to the opening.

As he struggled through those last few rods, Piang thought he had never worked so hard in his life, but finally he lay in the sunshine, safe, free, and unafraid.

For two days Piang struggled upward. Everything was strange to him; the growths and trees were different from those of the lowlands. Scrub palms, covered with small buds, on which the dread packda feeds, began to appear, and Piang anxiously scanned the trees. There is no creature in the jungle that has the strength of the packda. Only the crocodile and the python are foolish enough to attack it, but the crocodile's jaws are torn asunder, and the python is clawed to pieces.

"Piang!" The name echoed and vibrated through the forest. Who had called him? Trembling with fear, filled with apprehension, Piang took refuge in a tree. From the branches he scanned the surrounding forest. Was a spirit following him from the haunted cave, or was it the hated Sicto?

"Piang!" It came softly this time, as if from a greater distance. The underbrush moved, and Piang prayed that it might not be a spirit come to destroy him. The bush rustled, cracked, and parted as a dazzling white head made its appearance. Piang shut his eyes, dreading what was to come. Almost swooning, he slipped, lost his hold, and went crashing through the branches. Stunned by the fall, it was sometime before he regained consciousness, but the first thing he was aware of, was a hot breath on his face. Slowly he opened his eyes, wondering if he was dreaming. There, bending over him, was a marvelous white fawn.

Startled and ashamed, Piang looked at the lovely thing. He put out his hand and the animal laid her soft muzzle in his palm, allowing him to caress her. What did she want? Were some of her babies in trouble? With his arm about the fawn's neck, Piang allowed himself to be led along a well defined path, trodden by many feet.

"Piang!" Again his name was called, but for some reason fear had been banished from his heart, and he advanced without a qualm. Presently they came to one of the numerous jungle clearings. The sun did not burn at this altitude, and Piang took a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air. A flapping of wings startled him, and before he could prevent, a brilliant mina-bird circled his head and gently lighted on his shoulder. A soft white mist was floating around and below him. The clouds! He was in them, "the breath of the wind," and he thought that this must be fairyland.

"Piang!" This time the voice was near at hand. Both creatures responded to the call, and Piang suffered himself to be led onward. The fawn stopped near a gigantic banian-tree. It was the only tree in the clearing and spread over more than an acre of ground, enticing the surrounding creepers and orchids to its shelter. Piang had seen these trees before, but never such a large one. The banian is like a huge tent; each branch sends shoots to the ground, which take root and become additional trunks, and year after year the tree increases its acreage; hundreds of men can find shelter under these jungle temples.

"Piang!" The voice came from within the tree. Astonished, Piang watched the mina-bird flit through the sunlight and disappear into the banya. The fawn paused, looked gravely into the boy's eyes, and with stately mien, walked into the tree.

"Thank you, my little friends, for bringing Piang to Ganassi," said the voice from within.

Ganassi! So this was the haunt! This lovely natural dwelling, the dread Ganassi's home! Expectantly, Piang waited. Was Ganassi a man, or was he only a voice, the heart of this banian-tree? While he stood gazing at the tree, waiting for the spirit to address him, or the man to appear, he was startled by a black, shiny head, and the loathsome coils of a python, writhing in the branches. The serpent! Piang had heard that it could fascinate animals, keeping them prisoner by its mystic powers, until ready to devour them. Ganassi was, then, an evil spirit in the form of a serpent! Piang uttered a low cry.

"So, my little pet, you have frightened Piang, the charm boy! You must not do that."

The snake, responding to the voice, stuck its head through the foliage and slipped from sight.

The voice! The voice! It had called him the charm boy! Piang's fear abated, and he said tremblingly:

"O great Ganassi, will you not show yourself to me, Piang?" Breathlessly the boy listened. The branches swayed, parted, and the mina-bird floated through. The python, head erect, followed, and next came the graceful white form of his first friend. On its neck it supported a weird creature. Bent and wrinkled, was the little old man; a few strands of white hair flowed from his chin, and his eyebrows and lashes had almost disappeared. Toothless, almost hairless as he was, there was that about Ganassi that precluded horror, for his sparkling eyes were kind, and his mouth gently curved into a smile. Piang fell on his knees. The hermit surrounded by his pets, advanced and raised the boy.

"My little Piang! So you have come to Ganassi at last. He has known for many years that you would come. Long before you were born he knew, and his heart is glad to welcome you."

"Is it true, O wise man, that I am the real charm boy, and that I shall lead Kali Pandapatan's tribe to victory?"

"You have spoken, my son. It was over you, not the impostor, Sicto, that the mystic star hovered on the night of your birth."

At the mention of his enemy's name, Piang quickly scanned the surrounding jungle, but Ganassi's soft chuckle reassured him.

"Have no fear, child. Sicto can never harm you, nor will he ever reach Ganassi. The python would smother him; the mina-bird would peck out his eyes; the gentle fawn would lead him astray."

"How do you know all this, O Ganassi?"

"The question shall be answered, Piang, because you are charm boy, but should other lips utter it, they should never speak again. Enter."

Ganassi held back the slender trunk-roots of the banian. Curiously, the boy looked about. All the wonder of the jungle seemed centered in this sacred spot. A forest of stems and aerial roots greeted his eyes; from overhead the graceful and rare Vanda lowii sent inquisitive blooms to caress his cheek; they mingled with his dark hair, scenting the air with their strange fragrance. From tree-ferns, nestling in the branches, tiny heads peeped out, and little feathered creatures chirruped a welcome. A civet-cat was lazily stroking its face with one paw. Something large and hairy stirred on a nest of dried grass, and sleepily a full-grown packda stretched himself and gazed at Piang. The python approached it, and a hairy paw was extended; his snakeship coiled up beside the ape, and the mina-bird flew to the ape's shoulder.