Monkey Business

The undergrowth of Coatl-Cuahuitl was a living adversary. Etalcaxi shoved his way through it, his movements graceless and brutal. Every hanging vine that brushed against his face felt like a deliberate, mocking caress. Every thorny branch that snagged his loincloth or scratched his skin was a tiny, stinging victory for the cursed jungle. To Etalcaxi, the low, musical humming that saturated the air was no longer beautiful or mysterious; it was a grating, incessant tune of ridicule.

He swatted a large, waxy leaf from his face with a snarl. "Cursed shrubbery!" he muttered to himself, his voice a low, furious rumble. "A warrior of the Itzotec nation, reduced to a one-man war against foliage!" The image of Tlico's face, that calm, knowing, utterly unimpressed expression, flashed in his mind. He saw the old merchant's weary shake of the head. He saw Commander Yotolin's smirk as he'd handed out the insulting assignment. He saw the adoring, now surely disappointed, face of young Citli.

"I will show them all," he vowed, shoving a thick fern aside. "I will find a path. I always find a path!" He was Etalcaxi, the champion of the plaza. This forest, this collection of spooky trees and cheap illusions, would not be the end of his legend. It would be a footnote, a minor trial he had overcome with his superior wit and will. He would emerge on the other side, find his way back to the cowering caravan, and lead them through with a new, hard-won authority. Tlico would have to admit he was wrong. The porters would look at him with renewed awe. This was a temporary setback, a test from the gods to prove his mettle. He clung to that thought like a drowning man to a log.

A sudden, sharp explosion of high-pitched chattering erupted from the canopy directly above him, so loud and abrupt it made him jolt to a halt. He looked up, his face contorting in annoyance. A troop of black-furred spider monkeys, long-limbed and unnervingly agile, was swinging through the branches. They were pacing him. It was not the random movement of foraging animals; they moved with a coordinated, unnerving purpose, their dark eyes fixed on him.

Leading them was a particularly large male, his muscles coiling and uncoiling with fluid power. A distinctive patch of snow-white fur covered his left eye, a marking so stark it looked like a painted-on battle scar. This was their leader. The monkey, Patch-Eye, shimmied down a vine until he was hanging upside down by his prehensile tail, just out of reach. He folded his arms across his chest and watched Etalcaxi with an intelligent, intensely mischievous gaze that was far from animalistic.

Etalcaxi scowled. He was in no mood for the antics of common pests. "Hsst!" he hissed, waving a dismissive hand. "Get on with you, furry nuisances! I am in no mood for games!"

Patch-Eye did not move. He simply tilted his head, his dark eyes seeming to size up the furious warrior below. Then, he let out a sharp, commanding bark. It was not a sound of fear or agitation. It was a signal. An order.

Before Etalcaxi could even process the sound, the attack came. With a speed that blurred the eye, Patch-Eye swung down on a low-hanging vine. He did not lunge or attack; his movement was a graceful, precise arc of breathtaking acrobatics. In a flash of black fur and lightning-fast limbs, his long, surprisingly strong fingers wrapped around the smooth wooden shaft of Etalcaxi's spear.

Etalcaxi felt a powerful, shocking tug. The strength of the small creature was astonishing; it ripped the weapon from his grasp before his warrior's reflexes could even engage. The spear, his prized possession, was plucked from his hand.

With another fluid swing, Patch-Eye was back in the high canopy, safely out of reach. He now held Etalcaxi's spear. He was clumsy with it, the long weapon unwieldy in his simian grip, but he held it aloft, brandishing it in a crude, deliberate parody of Etalcaxi's own heroic poses. Then, the monkey opened its mouth and screeched. It was a loud, piercing, and utterly unmistakable sound of triumphant laughter.

As if on cue, the entire troop joined in. A deafening chorus of simian ridicule, a cacophony of chattering, hooting, screeching laughter, echoed through the silent, humming jungle.

Etalcaxi stood frozen, his hands empty, his jaw slack with a disbelief. Things had ceased to make sense. He had been disarmed. By a monkey.

The shock lasted for a single, stunned heartbeat. Then, it detonated, transforming into a wave of pure, incandescent rage. A deep, volcanic crimson flooded his face, and a vein throbbed in his temple. His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

"THIEF!" he roared, the sound ripping from his throat, a raw bellow of outrage that made the leaves tremble. "VERMIN! FILTHY, FLEA-BITTEN FRUIT-EATER! THAT IS THE SPEAR OF ETALCAXI! GIVE ME BACK MY SPEAR!"

Patch-Eye simply chattered again, a fresh wave of mockery, and with a final, insolent look, he took off through the trees. The chase was on.

"I WILL HAVE YOUR HIDE FOR A SANDAL!" Etalcaxi screamed, crashing through the undergrowth in pursuit. The careful, angry progress he had been making before was gone, replaced by a clumsy, headlong rush fueled by pure fury. "YOUR SKULL WILL BECOME A DRINKING GOBLET FOR ME! I WILL WEAR YOUR TAIL AS A HEADBAND!"

He was a roaring, bellowing force of destruction, while the monkeys were creatures of pure grace. They flowed through the canopy, always staying just out of his reach. Patch-Eye led the way, a furry little general directing the operation. With infuriating cleverness, the monkey used the stolen spear, pushing aside obstructive branches and vines to clear a path for his troop, while letting them swing back to whip across Etalcaxi's face.

Rage gave Etalcaxi a burst of speed. He saw an opening, a place where the canopy dipped low. Patch-Eye was there, momentarily slowed as he navigated a thick knot of vines. This was his chance. Etalcaxi poured on the power, his powerful legs churning, eating up the ground. He was closing the distance. He could see the intricate carvings on the spear shaft, the way the light caught the obsidian tip. He was just about to launch himself into the air, to leap and grab the end of the shaft.

At the last possible second, Patch-Eye swung near another large monkey who had been waiting, poised and ready, on an intersecting branch. Patch-Eye handed off the spear. The second monkey took it without breaking stride and veered off sharply to the right, chattering gleefully.

Etalcaxi, committed to his forward leap, was forced to skid to a halt, his sandals digging uselessly into the soft earth. He roared in pure frustration as his target changed, the precious spear now moving away at an entirely different angle. He had been completely, utterly outmaneuvered.

"SUCH COORDINATED TREACHERY!" he bellowed at the canopy, shaking his fist. "FURRY THIEVES IN THE TREES!"

He changed direction, his rage now mingled with a grudging, hateful respect for their tactics. The new spear-bearer, a lanky monkey with impressively long arms, led him on. This one seemed to have a different strategy. It led him away from the denser parts of the woods and into a low-lying, swampy area where the ground was soft and the air was thick with the smell of decay. The monkey, and the troop that followed, moved effortlessly, swinging from the thick, hanging vines that crisscrossed high above the marshy ground. They never had to touch the muck below.

Etalcaxi did. He splashed through shallow puddles, his eyes fixed only on the prize, the glint of his obsidian spear tip through the leaves. The monkey seemed to be slowing, dangling the spear tantalizingly, luring him onward. It led him toward what looked like a solid patch of earth, covered in a thick carpet of fallen leaves. It was the most direct route.

His eyes on his stolen spear, his mind consumed with fury, he failed to notice that the leaves were floating on a surface of dark, brackish water. He charged forward, his full weight landing on the deceptive ground.

He plunged downward. Not into water, but into thick, sucking, foul-smelling mud. It immediately engulfed him up to his knees, its grip like a hungry mouth. His forward momentum was instantly arrested. He was stuck.

He struggled, trying to pull his legs free, but the mud held fast. He was trapped, helpless, a magnificent Itzotec warrior caught like a common fly in a pot of honey.

The monkey stopped on a branch directly overhead. It looked down at the mud-caked, struggling warrior. It lowered the spear, as if to offer it back, then snatched it away again. It opened its mouth and let out a long, bubbling stream of chatter, a sound of pure, unadulterated glee. Then, with a final, triumphant hoot, it took off again, leaving Etalcaxi to his predicament.

It took him several agonizing minutes to work his way free. He had to lie back, spreading his weight, and pull each leg out of the mud's grasp with a disgusting schlorping sound. He finally crawled onto solid ground, panting, covered in stinking, black mud from his chest down. His rage had reached its peak, burned through its fuel, and was now collapsing inward, leaving a hollow space filled with a cold, sharp desperation. He was weaponless. He was filthy. He was lost. And he was being toyed.

He looked up at the canopy, where the monkeys were waiting, watching him from a safe distance. He held up his muddy hands in a gesture of surrender. "Please!" he shouted, his voice cracking, the roar of the warrior replaced by the desperate plea. "That spear... it was a gift! From my grandfather! It has been in my family for three generations! It is an heirloom!" He swallowed his pride, a bitter, lumpy pill. "I will give you... bananas! I will find you bananas! A whole bunch! The best, sweetest bananas in the whole jungle! Just... please... give me back my spear!"

Patch-Eye swung down to a lower branch to consider the offer. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, his intelligent eyes fixed on Etalcaxi. He looked at the spear, then back at the mud-caked, pleading warrior. He seemed to genuinely weigh the proposal. Then, he gave a slow, deliberate shake of his head and let out a soft chatter, a sound that clearly meant, "No deal."

With a sigh of finality, the second monkey handed the spear off to a third, a smaller, quicker female. Patch-Eye barked another order, and the troop set off again, with the new spear-bearer in the lead.

Etalcaxi got to his feet. Every instinct told him to give up, to try and find his way back to the caravan and swallow his shame. But a single, stubborn ember of his pride still glowed in the ashes of his humiliation. He would not be beaten by monkeys. He would not let them keep his grandfather's spear. Running on the last fumes of his stubbornness, he followed.

The chase led them through a thicket of giant ferns, their fronds as tall as a man. They scrambled past a series of moss-covered, gray stones that looked like the fallen teeth of some ancient god. The new monkey was faster, more daring, swinging low, dangling the spear just a few feet ahead of him, always tantalizingly out of reach. It was leading him, he realized, toward a specific destination. He could feel it. The humming in the jungle was subtly stronger here, the air cooler.

They burst through a final curtain of hanging vines into a small clearing. Ahead, the third monkey made a final, inviting swing. The spear passed directly in front of him, so close he could feel the breeze from its passage. This was it. His last chance.

Seeing the opportunity, Etalcaxi summoned his last ounce of strength, a final, desperate surge of warrior's will. With a heroic yell, he launched himself through the air. His hands were outstretched, his fingers straining, reaching for the smooth wood of the spear shaft. It was a magnificent leap, a display of power and grace that belonged in the training plazas of Elpantepetl.

It was a feint.

The monkey, with an effortless flick of its tail, swung sharply upward, pulling the spear high out of his reach.

Etalcaxi's leap, committed and powerful, carried him forward. His hands closed on empty air. His trajectory was unalterable. His foot, seeking purchase for a landing came down hard on something slick and unyielding hidden beneath the moss—a gnarled tree root. His momentum, now without a counterforce, did the rest. The world tilted violently. The green canopy spun into a blur above him as the ground vanished entirely. A final, horrified yell ripped from his throat, a sound that was swallowed by the sudden rush of wind past his ears as he plunged into the abyss. His scream was cut short. SPLASH!