When Pigs Fly and Wasps Glow
They say the early tribesmen of the jungle first found the golden protector wasp while searching for water on their arrival to the Taputuni forest. The tribe had two fierce leaders, a man and a woman, both formidable and wise in their own ways, but so competitive that the tribe had only found misfortune before they came to the jungle and decided to split the tribe in two.
The first party saw the wasps glowing high up in the treetops, their striped bodies glistening, glowing, positively rippling with recurved light from the dim sun of the planet, the wasps shining down pulsing flashes and beams of white light. The party crept up the tree, the leader urging others to follow him, entranced by the blinding lights above them.
When they reached the top of the trees, limbs aching, panting and sore, they were rewarded by finding abundant forest fruits, thick with water and practically falling off the branches with their ripeness. Biting down unleashed a cascade of delicious sweet flesh. From then on, the party settled amongst the trees to be closer to their golden protectors, as they would come to be known. The tree dwellers named themselves the Cakor tribe, and would live peacefully with their golden protectors from that day onwards.
Meanwhile, the second searching party sighted the golden protectors spread out across fallen trees, struck the nights before by lightning. The wasps pulsed and heaved, their little bodies emitting flashes like pulsar stars, and the party leader shouted out and ran towards them, the rest of the party sprinting to keep up with her. When they reached the fallen logs they found a deep, rippling pool, surrounded by herbs and plump mushrooms, with a small stream tinkling into it. They went on to create a settlement beside the fallen trees and the river and named themselves the Mala, and would live peacefully with their golden protectors from that day onwards.
Did I say peace? Peace with the golden protectors perhaps, but this peace did not extend to humanity. They say the first war started when a Cakor man was seen in bed with the wife of the chief of the Mala tribe. Others say it was when the Cakor harvest of air fruits spoilt one season, and the chief blamed the Mala for poisoning their crop. Others still claim that it was a drunken revelry got out of hand.
But however it started, the first Mala-Cakor war was bloody and brutal, the jungle soil stained red with blood. The Cakor fought from the trees, raining arrows and spears from above, while the Mala set fire to the trees and cut them down, slaughtering the Cakor as they fell. And in the skies the tribes waged war atop flying pigs, armed with spears, jabbing at each other and their mounts, causing hundreds of deaths of both riders and the ridden.
Every peace time between wars was filled with tension, no true peace to be had, each tribe determined to fight on until one tribe wiped out the other, and that was the way it was for many years, the golden protectors flashing their lights only upon violence and tragedy, bloodshed and death.
Only after a particularly gruesome bout of fighting, in which more than half of each tribe were killed, did an effective agreement finally fall into place - the Mala-Cakor laws. Signed by two whispering councils of elders on sacred soil, at the base of an ancient tree, with the golden protectors hovering around. No more fighting. No more bloodshed. And many other rules in between.
Since that day, there had been true peace between the tribes, and pigs had flown unmolested through the skies, their riders happy and free.
But that all changed one fateful night.
*
It was a warm summer's night, the type of night where the children of the Cakor tribe always stayed up late in each other’s huts in the trees, collapsing past midnight, all tangled bodies together, blankets thrown aside for the sweaty air. It was a warm summer’s night, and quiet too, until there was a rustle at the doorway and a child slipped inside, wrapped in a tunic, his face glowing, illuminated from below by a box where light just slipped out from the cracks. He picked his way over the slumbering bodies as he crept inside.
Stavo blinked and sat up. He looked closer, narrowing his eyes. It wasn’t - it was! “Aldan? What are you doing out so late?”
His friend pushed a finger to his lips and came closer, so that his tunic rustled against Stavo. “Look what I found,” he said, and held up the glowing box like an offering.
Stavo wanted to ask many questions. Why was Aldan out so late past their bedtime? Why was he all covered in grime? But curiosity stumped them all. “What’s in the box?”
Aldan smiled and winked. He held his eye close to one of the chinks. A sharp humming noise emanated from the box. “Don’t tell anyone, ok?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stavo said, “Show me what's inside!”
“Do you promise?”
“Promise on my father. And Journa.” That was serious. Even in the past, Aldan had never swore on his favourite flying pig mount.
“Ok. Ok. Don’t freak out.” Aldan lowered his arms. “But I caught a golden protector.”
Stavo gasped. A golden protector? His heart pumped and his world went foggy for a moment as he composed himself. “You - no. A golden protector. They’re protected by Mala-Cakor law!” He struggled to keep his voice to a whisper. If the other boys woke up now…
But Aldan only smiled wider. “I know it's forbidden. But who cares about what the elders think? It means we can have light in here during the night as well as the day.”
“That’s forbidden too!” Stavo’s hands were shaking, “The golden protectors are supposed to bring us light, but only in the day. It will throw everything out of balance if you use its energy in the night! Think of how dark it would become if everyone just hoarded away the golden protectors!”
“But it's only one,” Aldan said, shying away. “Just a young one.” He crossed his arms. “Don’t you think it's cool?”
Stavo took another look at the box. “Yes it is - cool. But you have to release it, Aldan! You know how the elders track the golden protectors!”
But Aldan shook his head and tucked the box under a blanket beside him, then laid down and closed his eyes, as if beckoning Stavo to do the same.
Stavo stared up at the wooden ceiling of the hut, unable to sleep. How could his friend doze off so easily, after what he’d done? What would the elders say? How could he keep such a thing secret? He tossed and turned for hours that stretched on endlessly, until finally sleep snatched him.
The next day, he had to do something to keep his mind off Aldan’s box. So Stavo clambered across the tree-to-tree walkways and found Journa’s stable. He slipped inside, lights filtering through the slats in the ceiling, veils of white. His flying pig’s body glistened in the dappled light. The stable stank terribly, pig shit mixing with the odours of rotten vegetables from the feeding bowls. But Stavo was well accustomed to it by now. He didn’t even have to hold his nose anymore. He made his way forward and lured Journa out of the darkness, whispering kind words in her ear and beckoning with his fingers. She wobbled forward, big body swaying. She was so smart. She was such a good mount.
They flew into the air, Stavo squealing at the speed of it. He stroked his flying pig’s nose as they spun through the forest trees. The jungle was bright as a thousand days, golden protectors whirring through the branches, glowing brighter than fireflies, bending the dim sunlight that came to the planet from above, and converting it to brilliant flashes that kept the trees growing and the grass blooming. You wouldn’t have noticed that one was missing, he thought. It was comforting, to think that. Aldan would get away with his secret for now, then he’d grow bored and release the wasp soon enough. Stavo pressed himself against the warmth of his flying pig and smiled. Everything would be ok. Why had he even worried?
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That was when he saw it. Another pig rider. And they were riding a dark brown mount, swinging through the trees, golden protectors flitting out of the way. A Mala tribesman. What were they doing up in Cakor territory?
Stavo turned Journa around, his brow furrowed. This couldn’t be anything good. They followed the rider, metres behind, as they lost height, spiralling lower and lower, and finally landed on the forest floor beneath the Cakor village.
A crowd had formed already on the ground below. A black Mala pig was a rare sight in Cakor territory. People clambered down from the sky pods onto the jungle floor, a big heaving mass of peaking eyes and jostling bodies, their chatter filling the humid air.
Stavo landed amongst the crowd, people scrambling to get out the way to make room for Journa’s bulk. He ignored their glares and leaned forward. He had to see what was going on.
The Mala elder dismounted and hobbled forwards, both his hands on an old gnarled stick.
The elder from the Cakor clan stepped across the clearing to greet him. “How goes it, Darno?”
Scowling, the Mala elder leaned forwards on his stick. “It does not go well, that’s for sure. I’m going to make this quick.”
The crowd was pressing closer. Stavo patted Journa as people bustled around them. His flying pig hated to be around so many people, but it couldn’t be helped.
“There’s a young golden protector missing,” Darno said, shaking his stick, “Our wasp counters spotted him gone.”
“Dead?” the Cakor elder said.
“No.” Darno's face was firm. “You know as well as I that golden protectors die with a light flash. There have been no light flashes. Someone’s taken him. And it's not from our clan.”
The Cakor leader clenched his fists. The crowd behind him was restless, mutterings and whisperings rippling through like electric currents.
“We would never attack a holy wasp! I’d wager your own kind would be far more likely,” the Cakor elder said with a sneer.
Darno waggled his stick at the crowd. “I know it's one of yours. If you don’t bring us the missing protector by tomorrow, we will seize it back by force.”
“You’re not suggesting - war? Are you?” the Cakor elder said.
But Darno had already turned on his heel, and he leapt onto the back of his flying pig. With a tap on the head, the pig flapped into the air and they swept away through the dappled treescape.
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The crowd dispersed, whisperings rippling through the crowd. You could taste the fear in the air. Stavo frowned. Surely they couldn’t mean war. The Mala-Cakor laws forbid anything like that from happening.
But the look on the Cakor elder’s face as he strode away from the glade was the most troubled Stavo had ever seen him, and it sent nerves creeping down his spine.
That evening Stavo confronted Aldan, while they sat watching the stars above the forest trees. No one else was about but them, the air still. A parakeet flashed past their heads, a blur of blue and green.
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“Did you see what happened this morning?” he said, turning to his friend, “I didn’t see you there in the crowd.”
Aldan nodded. “I saw.” He fiddled with his fingers. “The box is really great, you know. I can hear the golden protector in there still. It’s perfectly alright, perfectly happy, I think. And I can see in the evenings! It’s so amazing. I don’t see why we haven’t ever captured them before!”
Stavo shook his head. “What you’re saying is sacrilege, Aldan. No one can take light from the day. You know this!” He felt light headed. Why couldn’t his friend see reason? He was going to plunge them into something and he didn’t even care! “Do you want us to go to war with Mala?”
“Of course not.” Aldan waved his hand. “That’s not going to happen. There hasn’t been a war for years now. You know the laws. It’s hardly going to be broken over something like this.”
Stavo bit his lip. How could his friend be so sure? “But why don’t you just release the golden protector?” he said, studying Aldan.
“Why should I? I told you, it's fine in there. No one will care in a couple of days. It’s just a wasp, for gods’ sake!” Aldan was flushing red.
Stavo closed his eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Just look at it,” Aldan said, and Stavo felt him press the box into his hands.
Stavo opened his eyes and stared at the box. It glowed orange in the chinks, a prism of light. There was something enchanting about it, like staring into a fire. It was hard to take his eyes away. And there, just within earshot, was the persistent humming. It was hard to believe such a creature could be caught, made to serve prisoner.
“Cool, right?” Aldan stared at him intently.
Stavo sighed. “Yeah. I can see why you want to keep it. I guess - I guess I understand.”
“So you’ll keep it secret still?” Aldan said.
Stavo paused. “Of - of course. You’re my best friend.” It was true.
Aldan smiled and slapped him on the back. As Aldan strode away, the box held close to his chest, Stavo pressed his lips together. He should feel happy. He was helping out his friend. He’d kept his secret. And there was no harm in Aldan keeping it a few more days. So why did he feel so rotten inside?
*
He didn’t have the heart to ride Journa the following day, so he stayed inside his own hut, not ready to face Aldan again, not wanting to mingle among the village, afraid of what he might hear.
His father stomped into the hut and glanced up at Stavo. “Inside?” he said, “Why are you moping around in here, Stavo? Go outside and get some light from the protectors while you still can. It’s the summer, for gods’ sake.”
Stavo melted into the corner. His father rarely spoke to him. It was a surprise to hear him now. “I don’t feel like it.”
“Are you ill?” His father drew closer.
“No!” Stavo inched away, “there’s nothing wrong with me. I just don’t want to go out the hut today, ok?”
His father stepped back and sat down on an old carved wooden chair. He stared out the doorway at the jungle and pushed out his lips. “You know, Stavo. People are saying the Mala might declare a war, just over this missing golden protector.”
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Stavo looked away. “Really?” His voice was quiet.
His father nodded. “You know what happened last time we had war, Stavo?”
Stavo bit his lip. It was strange for his father to talk so much. He didn’t want to talk about this. He wished his father would just leave the hut again. But he had to say something.
“Yeah I remember, father. You don’t have to remind me, please.”
His father shook his head and stared out the door.
A few moments passed in silence. The silence burnt at Stavo. Suddenly he was desperate for his father to speak again, to say something, anything. Something not about the war. The war -
The soldiers with paint on their faces, blood on their spears. The flames, pillars of them, licking at the very sky, golden protectors burning up all over the place, exploding into flurries of colour. The screams of his mother as she ordered him to go, to run. The fear all over her, the tears streaming down both their faces. Tumbling through the darkness, no golden protectors to light the way, fleeing from the nearest sounds of cracking twigs and footsteps. Returning, one day, with mother gone and father in his chair, dead silent as a stone. He used to gush endlessly about anything. Before the war.
“There won’t be a war,” Stavo said, so quiet he wasn’t sure his father heard.
But his father nodded, lowering his head. “I certainly hope so, Stavo. I certainly hope so. But if this golden protector isn’t found I don’t know what will happen.”
That night, he couldn’t find Aldan, though he searched all across their usual haunts. The old tree. The abandoned hut. He went to sleep with an uneasy sickness in his chest that no amount of twisting and turning his body could remedy.
The next day, he was riding high above the canopy, upon Journa when he saw them. At first he hadn’t been sure, they were indistinct but no, there were definitely black flying pigs in the distance, just through the trees, blots against the green tapestry. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t right. They were only a few miles out from Cakor village, in Cakor territory. The Mala-Cakor laws prevented trespassing except for important reasons. Everyone knew that. So why were the riders there?
And when he returned to the village in the afternoon, people were whispering terrible things. Someone said they’d spotted men creeping through the undergrowth just outside the village border, holding spears. Others said they’d heard strange noises in the night.
And men were being called up by the Cakor elder, to have private conversations in his hut. Stavo was still a child and didn’t get called, but his father returned white as a sheet, marching straight to his chair and slumping down.
“What happened, father?” Stavo leant across the table.
His father shook his head and was silent for a while. “They’re gathering the men up for training. For war. For war, again. I don’t believe it, Stavo.”
Stavo was silent. His heart beat frantically against his chest. “But the Mala-Cakor laws, father. What about them? They can’t break the laws. No one’s ever done that.”
His father breathed out through his nose. “I don’t know, Stavo. I don’t know. They say we’ve broken a law of protection to the holy wasps already. So it's a law for a law to them. If you ask me, the Mala are just finding an excuse to fight. They’ve probably been readying an army for years, waiting for a moment like this. The golden protector probably isn’t even missing, I tell you!”
Stavo couldn’t look at his father. Did he look as guilty as he felt? Was it a smell on his body? A stench wafting from him? But his father hadn’t said anything.
“They won’t break the laws, surely.” But even as he said it, the image of the two black riders flashed in his mind. Stavo winced. “What can we do, father?”
His father shook his head, waving an unkept mane of hair, “I don’t know. I just don’t know. We need a miracle - someone to find this golden protector. If it really exists at all.”
That evening, Stavo asked around the village for Alden, asking everyone he bumped into where they’d last seen him. Finally he found his friend, sitting alone at the top of a ladder, on a wooden platform near the outskirts of the village. The sun was setting off in the distance, casting an orange glow across the trees and shrubs below. Little lights flickered, where the golden protectors sunk down from the sky, to nest for the night.
“Alden.”
“Stavo.”
“Howcome I haven’t seen you more?” Stavo said. When he met his friend’s gaze, he found a pale, trembling face.
Alden looked away. “I’ve been - I was staying with the box. Mostly.”
“You’re hiding.” It was a fact, not a question.
“It’s ridiculous. The fuss over a wasp,” Alden shook his head. “I’m not giving it up. They won’t break the laws. It’s all going to blow over soon.”
“Why are you hiding then?” Stavo hadn’t meant it to sound so angry. He gulped back a nervous laugh.
“Because people might find me and - you know what would happen,” Alden said. He smiled. “I’m so glad - to have you as a friend, Stavo. I knew I could trust you to keep the secret. Anyone else would have spilled long ago! But you know that things are ok.”
Stavo tried to smile but it came out wonky. “I’m not so sure anymore, Alden.”
Alden grabbed his arm. “Don’t say that! You’re not going to do this to me! Stavo, please.”
Stavo shook him off. “I’m not going to break my promise! But I just mean - things are looking bad, Alden. You have to admit. War. I saw two Mala riders today! In our territory!”
“They won’t break the law!”
“They already did!” Stavo exhaled. They had become far too loud. He looked about himself. But no one was nearby. No one had heard.
“I don’t want a war,” Stavo said, “No one does.”
Alden bit his lip and didn’t meet his eye. “I can - I can hardly just announce myself though, can I. Just - trust me, Stavo. It’s going to be ok.”
“Will you promise me you’ll release it? Soon.” Stavo stared at his friend.
Alden looked away. “Yes, I promise.” The words tumbled from his mouth and he leapt to his feet. “See you tomorrow, Stavo.” He brushed off his clothes. “And don’t worry yourself.”
Stavo couldn’t sleep again. Alden had said he would release the golden protector soon. Stavo wanted to believe him but he wasn’t sure. He said the laws would hold up but he wasn’t sure either. Gods, it was hard! He could hardly turn his best friend in!
He turned over again. There had to be a solution. No - it was too horrible. No - he couldn’t possibly. Stavo sat up in bed. It might be the only way to avoid hurting his friend and stopping the war. Images of war flashed through his mind again, as they often had. He’d been a child at the time, but he could still remember it all clear as day.
No, he had to do something, and he had to do it now.
Stavo rolled out of bed, quiet as he could, and crept from the room, past his father’s sleeping form. The whole village was asleep, and without the golden protectors the night was all consuming outside, but he knew the walkways like the back of his hand and he did not fall as he strode up the familiar ways. To Alden’s hut.
The night air was bitingly cold and he shivered as he strode. The slats of the walkways were slippery and he almost fell - but caught himself, and climbed back onto the path. There was a reason people never moved round the Cakor village at night. But this couldn’t go on any longer. Even a day more and the war might erupt.
After forever, he reached Alden’s hut. Aldan was sandwiched between two of his sisters. But where would the box be? He would hardly leave it lying around for anyone to see. Think, Stavo, think. He pressed a hand to his head.
Aldan wouldn’t leave it outside the hut. He’d want to be close to it. So close to it. Of course, there was only one place it could be. Stavo gulped.
He crept across the floor, making sure not to step on the sleeping sisters, and reached for Aldan’s body. Yes - there it was! Tucked beneath his chest, propping him up at a strange shape. Gods! How could he do this?
Stavo pushed his fingers under Aldan’s chest. He stirred, wriggling in his sleep. Stavo paused, withdrew his hand. Try again. He brushed the box, tugging it backwards. Aldan rolled over, crushing his arm. It took everything not to shout out. He ground his teeth and slipped his hand free. One last try. He moved from the other side, and pushed this time, two fingered, ever so gently. Yes! The box tumbled across the floor, clattering.
Stavo checked the sleeping form of Aldan. But, miraculously, he was still asleep. Thank the gods. Stavo scooped up the box. He held it to his ear. The buzzing was still there.
Tiptoeing, he slipped from the hut and made his way across the rope ladders to the stable where his flying pig would lie sleeping. With the lightbox held out in front of him, he could find his way across the paths much more easily than before, and he stepped with sure-footed confidence.
“Journa.” He tapped her on the nose. The pig’s eyes flashed open like lightbulbs. She snuffled at Stavo, edging forwards in the stable.
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“I know it's late. But we have to go now. Before - before anything bad happens. Come on Journa.”
They jumped up, up, up into the night. With only the box to guide them, progress was slow. He had to be careful not to drive Journa into a tree. The branches grabbed at them and strange creatures called in the night. Stavo shivered, pressing closer to Journa’s warm flank. He’d never loved the dear pig as much as now.
They dodged their way through the trees until finally he made out the round huts of the Mala clan in the dark distance.
Journa stomped onto the ground, sending plumes of dust up into the air. Stavo leapt off and dashed towards the great elder’s hut in the centre of the Mala village, the box swinging like a pendulum from his hand.
That was when he saw them - a Mala clansman, marching round the corner. Oh gods!
What was he doing at this time of night?
Stavo pressed himself against the wall and hid the box behind his back. Curse the light from the box! It was sure to give him away. But the clansman carried on by, unaware. Stavo let out a deep sigh.
But then he realised. Journa! What if they spotted her? There was no saying what they’d do to a Cakor flying pig in a time like this.
Stavo rushed out from his hiding place and returned to Journa’s side. He grabbed her by the nose and pressed a finger to his mouth. Did Journa understand? He hoped so. She was a smart pig. A good pig. “Come on Journa.” He stepped back towards the undergrowth. He could hide her away in the trees and they wouldn’t see her.
Slowly, Journa followed, her footsteps heavy and so loud it made Stavo wince with every step. But they were in the trees now, well covered in the undergrowth. “Now, stay here Journa.” He met her big eyes. He just had to hope she understood.
He stole back into the village, the box pressed against his chest. He was so close now.
Reaching the elder tent, he slipped inside. The thick odour of sweaty bodies filled his nose.
They were laid out - a dozen elders, top and tail, so close together you could barely step in the room. And where was Darno?
Of course. On the opposite corner.
Stavo tiptoed over the slumbering bodies. Crouched, he nudged at Darno, his heart racing. If this didn’t work, he didn’t know what he’d do.
The elder opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes.
“What is going on? You’re not from this clan, are you boy?”
Stavo took a deep breath. “No, I’m not sir.” He held out the box. “You were looking for the golden protector?”
The elder squinted and nodded. In the darkness of the hut, his eyes glowed white like some kind of demon.
“Well-” Stavo gulped. This was what he had to do. It was the only way. He’d promised not to tell on Aldan. A promise - was a promise. “I - I stole the golden protector. It was me. I have it here. So you mustn't go to war.”
Darno raised his eyebrows. He took the box from Stavo’s hands and examined it. “Inside here?” he said.
Stavo nodded. His heart pounded against his chest. What would the old man do to him, when he saw it was true?
Darno smiled like a child as he opened the lid. The golden protector zipped out, bursting the room into a glowing white chamber, and dodged out the doorway into the night.
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Stavo braced himself for a slap, a punch, some verbal abuse.
But Darno only kept on smiling. “Thank you, boy. You saved us a lot of trouble.”
“Aren’t you angry at me?” Stavo said, shaking.
The elder squinted and shook his head. “To tell the truth, child… can you keep a secret?”
What? Stavo gulped and nodded. “I promise I can.”
Darno paused for a moment, rubbing his beard. “Well - when I was younger - I kept a golden protector in a box like this for a time. Just to see what it was like. You made me a happy old man, to see such parts of my youth again.” He smiled, and patted Stavo on the shoulder. “I won’t tell anyone it was you. Don’t worry.”
Stavo gulped. He felt tears prick his eyes. He was going to be ok.
“Is the war still on?” he said, breathless.
Darno looked up at him, his eyes half shut. “Well - now that the protector is free…” He rubbed his chin. “I can tell them it was recovered somehow. It might make us look a little foolish but - I suppose that's - that's ok. We won’t go to war.”
They were all going to be ok.
Darno pushed him with the palm of his hand. “Now be on your way, boy. Before someone spots you in our territory.”
Stavo nodded and stumbled out of the hut and into the night. Far off in the distance, he thought he saw a flash of light, just flitting through the trees.
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