Witchdoktor

For many generations, the Gray Moon tribe coexisted peacefully with the world around them. Deep in the Rio Claro forest on the south side of the island of Trinidad, the Gray Moon led their lives, largely untainted by the outside world. Ships would pass by on the north side of the island, docking on the piers of Port-of-Spain, the island's capital. Travelers from the Gray Moon tribe would ready their wagons and transport tribal goods to the town to barter for items from the town merchants. The tribal folk were always met with suspicion when they came into town. Women would pull their children close to them and old men would spit at the tribesmen when they passed by on their carts. Sometimes, a rowdy youngster would try to stir up the horses and cause havoc for the tribesmen. No matter. Each time Sabro and Shalumi came to town, they knew what to expect. The tribal Chief, Mainopu, forbade the townsfolk from engaging in fisticuffs or magics with the townsfolk. Sabro had formed a sort of business rapport with one of the merchants that sold meats and cheeses. These were welcome delicacies for the tribe. In turn, Sabro presented the merchant, Georges Duchaine, with exotic tribal goods, like beaded gowns and strands of mother-of-pearl necklaces. All artfully crafted by the tribal folk. Shalumi and his family had gathered sugar cane and tea leaves which fetched a good coin because of the demand from the Crown for rum and exotic teas. Coin was largely useless to the Tribe, so Sabro and Shalumi would spend as much as they could in town, making sure that they got not only the staple items, but also specialty items and trinkets that could be used as mystical components in their rituals and magics. The merchants never questioned them as to why they would want to walk away with pig's innards and spoiled fish bones. The less they knew the better. The market area of Port-of-Spain had grown over the thirty years since the town was named the capital by the Spanish government, and with the constant influx of merchant ships from Europe and the Americas, there were many foods and wares to see. Sabro and Shalumi were always ready to defend themselves and their goods should there be any signs of a threat, but they hoped each time they made their trip here to town that they would never have to do so. It was the year 1787, and tribal folk were given the harshest treatment if they were found to be any sort of social threat to the townsfolk of Port-of-Spain. Such was life. Both Sabro and Shalumi were undaunted by that fact, though, and went about their business calmly before securing everything to their cart and heading back on the Orinico route that led south from the town to the banks of the Rio Claro where they would travel east into forest. Once out of town, Sabro spoke to Shalumi in their tribal tongue, his voice deep and resonant.

"I hope I have enough swine's blood for the ritual tonight. If not, we'll have to sacrifice someone fat," he said with a dry laugh.

"Your unblooded younger sister should do the trick then," Shalumi said, spurning the horse into a trot. He laughed as they pulled away, seeing Sabro's slack face staring back at him.

"I hope the night hags rip your manhood off in your sleep," Sabro replied.

"Your sister already tried, my friend," Shalumi said, ducking a swing from Sabro's meaty hand.

"Okay! Okay! I'll shut up now," Shalumi said, still wracked by laughter.

"I should have the Witch Doctor curse you so that each time you go to be with a woman, your manhood disappears into your stomach."

Shalumi thought for a moment.

"Well then, all I would have to do is rub my stomach for satisfaction then, no?" He laughed heartily and Sabro shot him a piercing look. He joined in on the laugh.