6. The Poisoned Source

Honatanan would like to have children to give warnings to, but it was hard to find a wife when your species had only ten members left. Unlike the doves: they were everywhere, covering the landscape like a blanket of white feathers. Except the Poison Belt, of course. That poisoned place was deserted. They couldn’t fish there anymore—nobody could fish there.

Crocodile!? No, it was just a yellow-green tall plant.

They had tried collecting the poison from the river. His father thought he’d get the Venomous Bite if he drank it. His mother had spread the poison across her food in small doses and then eaten that. Well, they both lived, but he wouldn’t call them right in their mind.

Hadn’t Gonadisa defeated a crocodile? Why was the Venomous Bite not returning? Or did that not count, because it was on accident and not a fight? First they saw her as a heroine. Once they realized they were unable to use the poison for anything, and also lost their food source, the mood in his family quickly changed.

That happened regularly. About a hundred times a day. Crocodile? No, a sun ray in a weird place.

Heroine or not, Gonadisa had cleared up one thing. All the poison of her ancestors had been saved there. It must have been taken away. The animals who fished them out of water, or attacked them together, must have used them for their poison. They probably forced his ancestors to bite into those plants, until the poison flowed out and was collected. But why did they never use it? Why store this much poison to never use it?

Crocodile! No, his mother.

His species had shrunk even more, their colors dull and teeth barely sharp. Mother did not look like a predator anymore, with bananas in her ears and leaves under her paws like shoes. Father regularly muttered a made-up prayer and drew crosses in the air. That “kept the crocodiles away”. Well, it also kept all possible wives away.

They were no predators anymore. They had to fear crocodiles … and every other meat eater around.

The past few months, Honatanan increasingly considered a different solution: go and find that other side of the family. Would they still live? He thought so. He was never allowed to speak to them—not even allowed to speak about those “traitors”—but it was his only chance. Rather live with “monsters” than live on a desolate, poisoned terrain.

But what if I meet a crocodile? I might have to travel alone for weeks. Maybe I never find my family.

He looked at the Poison Belt. So much poison, so potent, and they couldn’t use any of it. It seemed to contain many different kinds, but the deaths had revealed they all did the same. They either damaged your nerves so you couldn’t move yourself anymore, or they made sure your wounds never healed and you bled to death.

Along this river, all life had disappeared this way.

Even the Gosti had moved to other places. And the gods were less happy with the creatures after this incident.

There was no future here. His decision had been made.

He said goodbye to his parents, who didn’t even notice. Mother had also placed leaves on her eyes to “scare off the crocodiles”.

He visited the Ghost Den, hoping to find some Gosti who knew where his family was.

Crocodile! No, a swarm of insects.

Evening had fallen when he reached the Den. “Hallo? Gosti?”

Nobody reacted. It seemed deserted, but they weren’t called Ghost Creatures for nothing. He took another step and looked up, at the foliage, searching for eyes. Leaves crackled under his feet—the only sound.

He found his pair of eyes. They blinked and came down. The Gosti had grown larger and as tall as he was. This creature seemed relieved and placed a four-fingered hand on his shoulder.

“Man, we thought you might have been a crocodile.”

“Don’t say that!” hissed another Gosti with gray fur. “I heard they come for you when you say crocodile!”

“Now you also said crocodile!”

“And you’re saying it again!”

“Gosti!” Honatanan said sternly, as if he was their father. “Do you know where my other family is?”

“Those who do not put bananas in their ears?”

“Yes.”

“They moved closer and closer tot he gods, near the Throne. We haven’t seen them in a while.” The Gosti leaned forward and whispered. “But that path is littered with crocodiles, I tell you!”

The gray Gosti yelled: “Now you say crocodile again!”

Crocodile! No, just a Gosti covered in leaves. He tried to calm himself, but he wasn’t sure if that was even possible anymore. He couldn’t remember a time when his belly wasn’t rumbling or his back shivering. If you say crocodile all day, he thought, then of course one will randomly show up some time just after you said it.

This had to end. He told himself to never think about the creatures again. To straighten his back, make himself big, and walk to his family without fear.

It was a good plan. But nobody stays calm when it’s pitch black and you’re not sure if a family is even waiting for you.

Run, he thought, just run. He followed the Green Path. A busy road kept safe by the gods. The Longneck, the river besides it, mixed more and more with the Poison Belt and thus became poisoned itself. Why weren’t the gods doing anything? Didn’t they want to stop this?

Crocodile!

Crocodile?

Crocodile!?

False alarms. All of them. Yet the alarm kept rining. And when that happened, you stopped noticing when the alarm was right for once.

A bright green blur exploded from the Longneck and landed on top of him. He immediately knew he was defeated. His body froze from the cold and the fear, while his attackers was much bigger and stronger. We’ll never get back our poison, he thought sadly, for not a single on of us will EVER defeat a crocodile. And they know, which is why they play along with the prophecy: easy meat.

When he hadn’t been eaten yet after a while, however, he realized more was at play.