Story of the Phantom (4 page)

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Then he walked along the beach with his father, the animals galloping and racing around them, clearly expressing joy at their arrival. On the ocean side of the island, the water was cairn as a pond.

A quarter of a mile out, the waves broke over sharp coral reefs that protected this lagoon. The lagoon itself was alive with fish of all sizes, some four or five feet long. As they watched, a long canoe approached. Several natives were paddling. They reached the lagoon and dumped live fish into it from large pots. Other larger live fish, tied in nets and pulled along underwater by the canoe, were released in the lagoon. The big cats bounded into the water, thrashing about as they chased fish. Soon they came out of the water, carrying their catch in their jaws. The Phantom waved to the fishermen who waved as they paddled away. "The Mod," he explained. "The best fishermen of all the jungle folk. They keep this lagoon supplied with live fish for the cats. I raised them to eat fish and to catch their own. That is why they can live with the grass-eaters and not harm them."

It all seemed natural and normal enough to Kit as his father explained it. He watched the tiger tear apart a fish as big as Kit himself. An antelope nibbled delicately on grass a few feet from the tiger's great jaws. The giraffe stepped over the lion, also busily devouring his catch, to reach the leaves of an overhanging branch. An elephant broke through the brush and trumpeted his welcome, then knelt, as the Phantom stroked his trunk.

"I brought them all here when they were babies-cubs, and fawns-and taught them to live together. Kit, do you remember Fuzzy and Stripes?" Kit stared at the lion and tiger. He had a vague memory of rolling on the ground before the cave with the little cubs. So this was where they were taken when they were too big for him to play with! "Stripes, Fuzzy!" he cried, starting toward them. The cats raised their huge heads, their eyes blazing. His father held his arm. "Never go to them while they're eating. They must be treated with care."

When the big cats were not feeding, they were as docile and playful as when they'd been cubs. But his father took care that the play did not become too boisterous. Both Stripes and Fuzzy stood patiently while Kit climbed on their backs and hugged their necks. His father straddled Stripes and sat Kit in front of him. "How about a ride?" Kit nodded gleefully and they were off for a canter across the beach on the great tiger's back, Fuzzy and Spots trotting alongside to join in the play. The cats were not their only playmates. Flap-ears, the elephant, knelt obediently at Kit's command of

"down, Flap-ears," and he toured the little island on the broad back. Even Slim, the gentle giraffe, stood by, patient and long-suffering, while Kit enjoyed his game of climbing a tree and sliding down the long spotted neck. Kit raced through the high grass with the antelopes and rode the skittish zebra.

His father taught him how to catch live fish with his hands in the lagoon. This required standing motionless in the warm clear water until an inquisitive fish swam too close. Kit lost quite a few of the slippery fish that squirmed out of his hands, but he was finally able to hang onto one, and bore his catch in triumph to his watching father on the sand. They built a little fire on the beach and cooked their fish while the great cats lay near them, watching, and blinking. Behind the cats stood the antelopes and other horned grass-eaters, with the zebras and giraffe. In the background, Flap-ears watched, occasionally pulling up a trunkful of grass and stuffing it into his red mouth. All the animals were fascinated by the bright fire, but none came too close. His father had cooked here before and they had learned to avoid the bright plumes of flame.

One morning, his father took one of the big fish from the lagoon and carried it to the river side of the island. There, as Kit and the animals watched, he tossed it into the river. The big salt water fish had barely hit the surface when the water around it foamed. Small shapes leaped at it, seemingly in a fury.

The water boiled with red blood, then all subsided and cleared. The small creatures-foot- long fish-darted away, and the large salt water fish was now only a skeleton as it sank to the shallow sand bottom. Kit stared, shaken by the violence of the attack. "Piranha," his father said. "The river is thick with them. That's why no animal from the other side ever crosses to this island. And these animals have learned to stay out of the river." Kit noticed that all the animals, including the big cats, had recoiled at the sight and sound of the attack. Some had hissed or grunted. He also noticed that none

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of them came too near the water's edge. "You'll be coming here often in the future. Never forget the piranha," his father said. He never forgot.

They spent two days and two nights on this enchanted island. During the day, his father spent hours training and retraining the animals to various word and signal commands. Kit watched with delight as the animals responded, lying, sitting, running, fetching, staying, and a variety of others. He was watching an expert animal-trainer at work. There was never a harsh word used; only kindness, patience, and rewards of food when a lesson was well- learned. Kit could not know that generations of Phantoms had developed their own techniques for handling animals of all kinds, and had passed their knowledge down to each succeeding generation. These were the lessons that Kit was receiving now, and there would be more. He would never forget them.

At night, they slept on the beach, on pallets of grass. Overhead were the blazing stars. Kit began to learn some of their names, to distinguish between planets and stars, and to learn something of their nature. He learned a few of the more prominent constellations, Orion the Hunter, the Seven Sisters of the Pleiades, the Big Bear or Big Dipper, the Little Bear, and others. He learned to find the North Star and to know that falling stars in the sky were meteors no larger than pebbles, or they might be meteorites as big as a house!

Now it was time to go. Kit protested, unhappily clutching Fuzzy's mane. "Mother's waiting for us and she will worry," his father told him. Almost tearful, Kit said good-bye to the animals, hugging each one in turn. Fuzzy, Stripes, Spots, Flap-ears, Slim, and all the rest. Then as the animal host stood in a circle around the big tree, the boy and his father climbed up to the ropes. Once more he was secured to his father's chest and clung to his neck. With a last look at the circle of watching eyes below, his father grasped the ring on the return rope, and they sped across the wide green-gold river.

Looking down, Kit now realized the danger and violence that lurked under those calm waters.

They reached the thorn corral, where Thunder and Shaggy greeted them happily. They raced back on the jungle path, passed the Golden Beach of Keela-wee, passed the Whispering Grove, had a quick dip in a cool jungle pool, and then on. Soon, they could hear the distant roar of the waterfall. They were near home. A pygmy, bow and arrow in hand, rose silently out of the bushes to greet them, then another. They were at the edge of the Deep Woods. Other pygmy warriors appeared out of the thickets, laughing and shouting, and Kit shut his eyes and clung tightly to Shaggy as they raced through the waterfalls. Then came the roar of a hundred Bandar to greet them, the Skull Throne and Cave, and beautiful mother waiting with open arms.

Excited and happy to be home again, the boy couldn't wait to tell her about his adventures. He skimmed quickly over the Whispering Grove and the Golden Beach, for Eden was fresher in his mind. Bubbling and dancing with joy, he told her about Stripes and Fuzzy and Spots and all the rest, and about catching fish with his bare hands. But, to his amazement, his mother turned pale. "Fuzzy, Stripes, Spots? How big are they?" she asked in a strained voice. "This big!" Kit shouted, measuring off a ten-foot space. He started to go on, but mother, after one horrified and quick examination of his little body, rushed out of the Cave. Kit was puzzled. He ran after her. She reached his father at the Skull Throne.

"You took that child to Eden, with that full-grown tiger, and lion and leopard?" she cried.

"It was quite safe, dear. He enjoyed it," said his father calmly.

"Enjoyed it?" she fairly screamed, quivering with rage. "He could have been mangled, killed."

The pygmies watched from the background with wide eyes. This was an unusual moment in the Deep Woods. No one had ever shouted in anger at the Phantom. In later years, Kit was to meet many girls and women, and some would be shrill or hysterical for various reasons, but he never forgot his 16

father at this time. His mother was so angry she had lost control of herself, beating with her tiny fists on the broad chest of the masked man who towered a head and a half above her. His massive arms enclosed her, drawing her up from the ground, carrying her toward the Skull Cave like a child.

His voice was deep and calm, and she was suddenly quiet, as they entered the Cave.

"He was quite safe, dear. He enjoyed it."

CHAPTER 4

Kit had always been curious about the Chamber of Chronicles in the Skull Cave. This was a place with long shelves packed with large leather-bound volumes. Though his father had never forbidden him the chamber, he had never encouraged it. But as Kit learned to read, he became more curious.

One day, he went in and pulled one of the volumes from the shelf. It was about four times as big as his story books and so heavy that he could hardly carry it. He placed it carefully on the rock floor and opened it. A torch burning in a nearby wall socket gave him light to read by, but he was disappointed. This was not like the print in his books. It was an unfamiliar scrawl. He had not yet learned about longhand script. His father found him on the floor with the folio volume and answered his questions about it.

"That one you've picked is over three hundred years old, and was written by one of your grandfathers about twelve times removed." Kit puzzled over that. That meant his great great great great great great great great great great great grandfather. "Wow!" he said. "Are all these books written by grandfathers?" he asked.

His father explained. Each generation wrote about his adventures, experiences, plans, and thoughts in these chronicles.

"But the writing is so funny," Kit said.

His father explained about the difference between printing and longhand. He showed Kit the Chronicle of the very first Phantom, the ancestor of them all. Though kept dusted, the volume had the dry, dusty, musty odor of centuries, like the walls of old castles. The pages were not made of paper, but of vellum, a fine parchment of kidskin. They read the first entry, dated February 17, 1536.

"Today I swore an oath on the skull of my father's murderer."

Kit waited expectantly for more, but his father sat in silence for a moment. He seemed moved by what he had just read. "That is where it all started," he said softly.

"What started? Who murdered his father? What is an oath?" The questions poured out of Kit. His father closed the book. "An oath is a promise you make to yourself," he explained. "I'll tell you more about all that at a later time. For now, let me tell you a little about the first Phantom and his father."

Kit sat back on a fur skin on the rocky floor and waited expectantly. He loved his father's stories.

They were never made up, like Guran's or his mother's. They were all real, all true.

"The father you just heard about was a great sea captain. Your mother told you about Christopher Columbus, didn't she?"

"Yes, he invented the New World," said Kit excitedly.

"Not invented, discovered," his father replied, explaining the difference. "When the father was a boy he went with Columbus as his cabin boy on the Santa Maria on the first voyage to the New World."

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"Wow!" said Kit.

"When Columbus returned to Spain, leaving the boy on the new settlement, on the island later called Cuba, the boy became restless. With an Indian friend, he stole off in a small boat and went to the mainland. He was possibly the first white man to set foot on what is now North America."

"He and an Indian friend? Like me and Guran!" said Kit excitedly. "What did they do?"

"They traveled far. They met the friendly Mayan Indians, and observed the human sacrifices of the Aztec who captured them. But they escaped, and made their way north to the Great Desert . .

"What are human sacrifices?" interrupted Kit.

His father explained. The Aztecs killed their captives to honor their gods.

"How?" Kit wanted to know.

"They cut out their hearts with a black stone knife," his father replied.

"Really, dear," said beautiful mother who was passing in the corridor, "is that a nice thing to tell the boy?"

"When he asks a question, he must have an answer," replied the father in the flat tone he used to end a discussion. The mother sighed, shook her head, and started off. The father smiled.

"You should have married that banker and lived in a nice white house with a picket fence, like your mother wanted you to," he said.

She laughed, threw him a kiss and went on her way. Kit waited impatiently until she was out of sight.

"Cut Out their hearts with a black stone knife!" he shouted. "Did it hurt?"

"No, I think not. As I recall, the victims were unconscious. That is, the Aztecs put them to sleep."

"How?"

"They bent them over a stone and broke their backs," said father. Mother heard this on her way back to another room. She shook her head and sighed again, but did not argue this time.

"Later," continued the father, "the cabin boy and his Indian friend named Caribo found a flat-topped peak in the desert, called a mesa. On top of this, they made a home they called the "Acne," which is an eagle's nest. That was in"-he glanced at the book-"1497. We still have an Aerie, and someday you will visit it."

He went on with the tale. The cabin boy returned to the Old World and grew up to be a great sea captain. Years later, he went on his last voyage. With him was his grown son, whose name was Kit.

The ship was attacked by Singg pirates in the bay of Bangalla. The father and all the crew were killed, except Kit, who escaped to shore, wounded, where he was found by the pygmies and nursed back to health.

"His name was Kit too?" Kit asked. His father nodded.

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"So is mine," he said. Kit was amazed. It had never occurred to him that his father had a name, other than "dear," which his mother used.

"That Kit was the first Phantom who swore the oath on the skull of his father's murderer!" said Kit, excited now that mysteries were being explained. "But how did he know the murderer?"

"The dead pirate was washed up on the beach, not long after the raid, probably killed in a brawl. Kit had seen him stab his father. And the dead pirate was wearing his father's clothes."

Days passed in the chamber of Chronicles. While Guran and his other pygmy friends waited vainly outside the Cave, Kit sat fascinated with the tales of his ancestors. Every free moment his father had was spent there. Kit would pounce upon him as soon as he was awake, drag him away from the table after meals, and sit up until bedtime, asking for more tales. The tales were endless, for four hundred years and twenty generations of Phantoms' experience were on those shelves, and each Phantom had lived a full, adventure-packed life.

NATALA

The tale of a seventeenth century ancestor thrilled Kit. This Phantom went to rescue a reigning queen named Natala, who had been kidnapped for ransom by the notorious pirate, Redbeard. Redbeard ruled an entire pirate fleet and a pirate city. He was a giant, a master swordsman and a powerful fighter who could kill men with his bare hands as easily as with weapons. He had fought his way to leadership of the toughest and wildest gang of pirates on the earth at that time. Redbeard tamed them all, forced discipline in his town and on his fleets, and became the scourge of the seven seas. So efficient and deadly were his pirate crews that the royal fleets of the great powers avoided battle with them.

Natala, the Queen of France-called the world's most beautiful woman-was on her way to Spain for a royal wedding with the king there, when Redbeard's pirates took her small fleet by surprise and attacked her. The pirates took all of the treasures Natala had brought as her dowry, looted the supplies, and dumped all the surviving crews on a remote shore. Redbeard took all the pretty young women as wives for his men, all of Natala's ships to add to his fleet, and Natala. He roared with delight when he realized the unexpected prize he had nabbed. The Queen of France! What a beauty she was. Raven-black hair, flashing gray eyes, a proud strong young body, smooth skin with the pale flush of a damask rose. Red- beard had roamed the world, but he had never seen such a magnificent woman. He was strongly tempted to make her his lady, but Redbeard Was a businessman first, and he knew the great powers would pay a queen's ransom for her safe return. But he never got the ransom, because the seventeenth century Phantom got there first.

This Phantom, the sixth of the line-and called the Sixth by Kit's father-was captured in his first attempt to rescue Natala. For the enjoyment of his crews and himself, Redbeard arranged deadly contests for this masked would-be rescuer. All watched in the large plaza of the pirate town-shouting pirates and their laughing ladies, on the walls, in windows and doors, on benches, and Red- beard himself at a long table drinking beakers of wine- while at a barred window, where she was imprisoned, sat Queen Natala. Who was this masked man in the strange costume, she wondered, who had made such a hopeless attempt to save her from this roaring crew?

First, this Sixth Phantom was to face Gillaim, a lean agile panther of a man, who-next to Redbeard himself- was the deadliest swordsman in the pirate kingdom. He faced the big masked man arrogantly, announcing he would be merciful, and kill him quickly. For this, as all battles in this place, was to the death. The boisterous crowd quieted, in anticipation of the slaughter. Smiling, Gillaim moved in confidently for the kill, his legs like steel springs. Natala covered her eyes with her hands. There was a flash and clang of steel. Gillaim's sword flew into the air, and Gillaim was flat on

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his back on the cobblestone street with the point of the masked man's sword at his throat. It had all happened faster than the eye could see. There was a hush. Not a sound, except the lapping of waves at the nearby wharfs, and the screech of a seabird. Gillaim stared up, his eyes popping, his face waxen and sweating as he faced death. But the masked man turned away and faced Redbeard and the throng.

"I have not come here to kill," he said in a voice that was deep and soft and yet could be heard all over the plaza. "I have come to return the Queen Natala to her home."

All looked at Redbeard who, even as he sat at his table, towered over most men.

"I make the rules," roared Redbeard. "You will fight to the death."

The masked man took a step toward Redbeard, and twenty swords were drawn from their scabbards.

The crowd waited expectantly. The masked man laughed, a loud laugh that roiled across the plaza.

And he threw his sword high into the air.

"Next!" he shouted.

Next was The Crusher, a man built like a bull. His arms were as wide as a large man's thighs. He had massive hands, legs like tree trunks, a shaven bullet head on a short heavy neck that sank into shoulders as wide as a barn door. The Crusher fought bare-handed. His specialty was to get men's heads between his palms and crush their skulls like eggshells. (Young Kit enjoyed that part thoroughly, and practiced without success on Guran).

This was to be a bare-handed fight to the death. Once again the crowd was bushed. They had all seen The Crusher in action more than once. It was not a pretty sight, and most of the women turned away to avoid it. The Crusher moved slowly toward the masked man, his hands poised to grab. The masked man circled him, then suddenly moved in, his fist exploding on The Crusher's jaw. It is said that a wrestler can always defeat a boxer. This may be true if the wrestler can get his arms around the boxer. To do that, he must be conscious. But The Crusher was no longer conscious. He hit the pavement with a crash. The masked man had struck with all his might, a blow that might have knocked the head off a lesser man. The Crusher remained sprawled on the stones, his jaw out of shape. He was to remain unconscious for many hours. The crowd stared, not believing what they had seen. Once again, no sound from this pirate host. Only the lapping of waves and the sound of seabirds. The masked man glanced at The Crusher.

"He will live. I have not come here to kill. I have come to return the Queen Natala to her home."

He glanced up at the barred window where the beautiful queen was watching. Who was her mysterious champion, she wondered? Now the crowd turned to Redbeard. What would he do?

Execute the brash stranger? But the stranger didn't wait.

"I know your rules here, Redbeard," he said. "To head this pirate band, you must remain undefeated.

And any man may challenge you to combat."

Redbeard banged his silver goblet on the table and roared with laughter. Then he rose to his full height. This Redbeard was a giant, a head taller than the big masked man, and a foot wider. Also, he moved like a cat, and never in his young, violent life had any man defeated him at anything, including chess. Redbeard pulled a sword from the scabbard of a man next to him and tossed it to the masked man.

"You are correct. That is the rule. I made it myself. I made it, because I like to fight, and I enjoying killing rivals. Let it be swords."

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This was not a quick affair like the duel with Gillaim. Redbeard was faster and more skillful, and the battle see sawed back and forth. Both men received cuts and scratches as they barely avoided more serious wounds. Both were bleeding in a dozen places. In her tower room, Natala was no longer hiding her eyes, but watching with dread fascination. The crowd was no longer quiet, but roaring encouragement to their leader and following the fighters as they moved from the pavement, onto a wall, then downstairs and back to the pavement again, on tables and chairs, in doorways, and in the street.

Then-a clang of steel, a flash of metal in the sunlight- as Redbeard's sword sailed out of his hand, and he was pressed against a wall with the masked man's sword at his throat.