74
JUAN FRANCISCO BLANCO
daughter, Lena, was okay. He wanted to know, because he had
been running with her in his arms, when he was struck from
above by the volcanic rock.
“Yes, she is just fine, now that you are healed,” Jonathan said.
“Who are you, young warrior?” the man wanted to know.
“My family and I are visitors from a far and distant land. My
name is Jonathan,” he said, and then introduced the rest of them
to Trall, the village leader. Tital was proud that Jonathan had
called him part of his family.
“I owe you my life,” Trall said, after he had talked quietly with
his daughter.
“If we all don’t move to safer ground farther away from this
volcano, we all may lose our lives,” Tital said.
“We were trying to leave, but Ki Mab our shaman said he
could control Cabrakán, the Spirit that destroys mountains.
Three kins ago he took my daughter’s weight in gold up the
mountain with two of his men to appease the mountain’s Spirit.
Only when he returned, he told everyone in the village that the
mountain ate the men. The tongue of red rock encircled them
and our gold, and they were no more. He told us the mountain’s
Spirit was satisfied, and would leave us in peace. Ki Mab has lied
for the last time, and I have no faith in him anymore. What will
happen to my village when the warriors from the north come
again for tribute? They will demand one in ten of us as slaves
unless we have the gold ready to pay them. It was four years
ago, when my son Koo was taken along with ninety-nine others
because we could not pay. They have never come back, not even
one.” Trall said, while testing his strength to stand.