ROSALIA'S ISLET

ARRIVAL

Rosalia watched the men hop onto the carriage driver’s seat and waited until they had galloped away from the river a fair distance. Satisfied they were far enough, she carefully embarked upon her brand-new wherry, set her travelling basket upon the wherry’s bottom boards, got close to one of the trunks, opened it and took out a small crossbow. She set a bolt and readied the triggering mechanism, set the weapon on the first wooden seat while she closed the trunk’s lid. Then, gathered the crossbow from the seat, setting it on her lap as she sat down. Patiently awaiting departure, Sagrario Romero, sat on the following seat beside her son, Gustavo Romero, a skinny ten-year-old boy.

The sun had nearly set, casting murkiness over the estuary’s scattered islets. Hundreds rose out in patches of tropical vegetation, like a float of ships sailing between the Sirama River and the Pacific Ocean. All the islets were government owned; some were duly purchased by wealthy families who built lavish vacationing homes. Others built farms, but most of the properties were empty, except for the dense vegetation and animal life within. To occupy such a habitat, people needed to accept the challenge to survive and thrive, as the primal ruling animal of land, river and ocean. Every human within the archipelago had to adapt to the palpitating heartbeat of raw nature, whose swaying tide gently carried a single wherry upon its waters, on this warm, darkening evening.

Rosalia Romero sat on the wherry’s first wooden plank seat looking ahead into the falling darkness, as the trajectory, slowly pursued its course through a natural maze of water and land. Rosalia had never been to the family Islet although the property had been in the Romero family for over a century. She’d heard from family members that her great, great grand uncle, Oscar Romero had won the land, gambling, from Baltasar de Velasco, the previous owner. However, Oscar Romero never lived in the islet and never developed the land. Hence, it was passed through generations of Romero descendants, without inspiring any to make it their home.

Ultimately, the property was inherited by Dolores Romero, Rosalia’s grand ant, who invested most of her fortune on the construction of the house as well as the plantation of a diverse selection of trees. Dolores wished to spend the last few years of her life on the Islet, but destiny had other plans. She grew ill with a virulent strain of influenza and died before ever setting foot upon her investment. Demised, Dolores was carried and buried, leaving the Islet and remaining fortune to Rosalia.

Gustavo’s attention was caught by a pair of crocodiles following the wherry, as the latter continued its course.

“Don’t mind the crocodiles, or better yet, get accustomed to their presence, for these waters are infested.” - Rosalia calmly stated while simultaneously reaching into her travelling basket for a stick of incense and a box of matches. She struck a match against the flat surface of her wooden seat and lit the incense stick. She waved the stick with her right hand from side to side, white smoke emanating from it, spreading past her and slicing a path within a cloud of insects gathered as the sun finally gave way to darkness.

At long last, the wherry made its way out of the archipelago and reached the last islet, before which, spread the vast Pacific Ocean. Rosalia Romero felt the soft impact as the wherry hit land. In front, a small boggy beach gradually rose upland. She sat still and silent for a moment. The wherry’s bow, hung onto land, gently rocked by small splashing waves, while the pair of crocodiles lingered, underwater, close behind.

“Stay put while I take care of the crocodiles. It won’t take long.” - In her usual monotonous tone, Rosalia assured Sagrario and Gustavo who silently waited aboard the wherry, aware of the crocodiles so very nearby.

Rosalia Romero took her loaded crossbow from her lap, firmly holding it with her right hand. With her left hand she gathered the end part of the rope, hooked onto the wherry’s bow, and sprung out of the wherry, her boots sinking into the muddy ground. She had anticipated this problem, and had premeditated the effort she was to need, and toiled harder, running inland, as fast as she could. The crocodiles had leapt out of the murky water and were now hurrying after her. She dropped the rope, turned abruptly, quickly positioned her crossbow and shot one of the crocodiles right through its left eye. With great agility, she reloaded another bolt, barely having enough time to aim and shoot again. The bolt went directly into the animal’s wide opened jaw.

After catching her breath, Rosalia bid Sagrario and Gustavo to exit the wherry, which they did, relieved that they no longer sensed any immediate predators.

“Best not waste these crocodiles Rosalia, they will make great stew for months.” - Sagrario said as she walked past the dead animals.

“I was assured that the house would be furnished, I hope that includes a horse and cart”. - Was the only answer she gave.

“Gustavo! Come back here this instant! - Shouted Sagrario, as her ten-year-old son ran ahead.

Gustavo waited for his mother and Rosalia, and the trio slowly went through dense tropical vegetation, a jungle of vines and trees. Gustavo led the way, then his mother followed. Last, followed Rosalia, making sure no hungry beast was lurking around.

“Wait! Light an incense stick. - Said Rosalia to her cousin, who now carried Rosalia’s basket. She lit the incense, consequently ridding them of surrounding insects. Then, Rosalia loaded her crossbow, while Sagrario handed her a few bolts stored in the basket. Once done, Gustavo continued indicating their new way home. His senses leading him closer to the house. He halted by a coconut tree, turned towards his mother and cousin Rosalia, and announced arrival. - “We’re here.”

BALTASAR

The first night consisted in finding a cart, somewhere around the house. Instead, they found the stables, but no horse. However, on the other side of the house, close to the well, a wooden cart was stationed. Together, Rosalia and her cousin Sagrario walked back to the beach to gather their trunks and the dead crocodiles. The cart followed the two women as if a horse was pulling it, yet none could be seen. The women struggled to find a path where the cart would fit, and eventually succeeded and reached the beach. Sagrario stepped forward, away from Rosalia, her long black hair flowing with a sudden breeze, her arms gently spread open, and one by one, three trunks levitated from the wherry onto the horseless cart. In the same manner, the crocodiles were set over the trunks. Sagrario returned to Rosalia’s side, and they began their walk back to the house. Mid-way in their trajectory, Rosalia and Sagrario suddenly noticed Gustavo slowly heading towards them.

“There’s a strange animal in the house; one I've never sensed before.” - Said the boy, expressing some degree of interest in his finding.

Hurriedly they returned to the house, leaving the cart by the well. Sagrario looked through the square tiled windows but saw nothing. Rosalia gathered her loaded crossbow, hurried to the front door, opening it bluntly, entered ready to kill, but no animal was there. Suddenly, and always undetected, Gustavo was standing behind her.

“It’s in the parlor, waiting, I think.” - The boy whispered.

Sagrario came inside holding a flaming torch, at which point all three, went into the parlor at the end of the hall. Initially, they saw nothing. After a moment they noticed a shadow move into the torches' light, and what they had been sensing, stood before them.

“Good evening, my name is Baltasar de Velasco and I am the owner of this islet.” - Said the man with an imperious voice as he stood unclad, looking at each one of them.

Without saying a word, Rosalia got closer to the man, holding her crossbow pointed directly at him. Simultaneously, Sagrario approached the man from the other side of the room, pointing the flaming torch at him. Surprised he was when searing flames touched his face. He tried to hit Sagrario and missed, at which point Rosalia shot a bolt through his abdomen. He was propelled backwards into the surrounding shadows and disappeared; a screeching sound echoing in the night.

After the tension lowered, Gustavo spoke. - “Mother, what was it?”

“I believe that was a blood-feeder.” - Sagrario answered, caressing her son’s smooth black hair.

“Indeed. Did you pay attention to his name?” - Rosalia questioned.

“Yes, Baltasar de Velasco. The man who lost his Island to our descendent Oscar Romero, playing cards.” - Sagrario answered.

“Is it dead?” - Asked Gustavo, directing himself to Rosalia.

“No. In fact, such animals don’t really die. They have ways to heal and maintain their bodies intact, against all harms. Even if burned to ashes, given a century or two, the essence of the beast will regroup and reshape itself, alive.” - Explained Rosalia.

After the trio checked the rest of the house and its outside surroundings for stray blood-feeders, they went on with their toil, unloading trunks and dead crocodiles. Sagrario busied herself making crocodile stew, adding vegetables and potatoes brought and stored in one of the trunks. By midnight, they were finally eating, while they conceived a plan to kill the blood-feeder. Rosalia Romero was adamant about being the sole owner of this islet.

Meanwhile, Baltasar de Velasco had returned to his cave, a hole in his abdomen and his face burned. Upon entering, five individuals chained to the cave’s wall grew agitated, whimpering and pulling at their chains. Baltasar ignored them, his thoughts plagued by Rosalia’s, Sagrario’s and Gustavo’s presence in his islet. He could not allow descendants of that thief, Oscar Romero, to invade him. The only solution was to kill them.

In the meantime, he would need to recover from his wounds, and feeding was an essential element to a proper recovery. Thus, in his natural form, pointed ears, jagged teeth, webbed wings of a leathery texture, Baltasar lunged upon the first chained individual, and drained him of his blood. The others screamed, knowing their turn would come.

A week passed without any sign of Baltasar, which allowed Rosalia, Sagrario and Gustavo to settle in their new home. By means of the wherry, they travelled to different islets, buying provisions, oil for the lamps and torches, candles, new bolts for Rosalia’s crossbow, etc. Rosalia also sought to hire laborers to care for the trees and the general vegetation of her islet, but everyone to whom she offered the job, bluntly refused.

“Nobody wants to work for us cousin Rosalia?” Sheepishly asked Gustavo, worried that they would have to return to the noisy city they came from.

“Indeed child, but do not worry, once we rid ourselves of Baltasar de Velasco, people will be flocking to our islet, seeking work.” - Explained Rosalia to the child, trying to reassure him. - “Besides, tonight we will accomplish that task.” - With those words Rosalia ended, as the wherry reached the shores of her islet, which she had named Romero.

SUPPER

As planned, Sagrario had invited the local priest for supper. Father Moreno, a short plumpy man, who orated catholic services within the archipelago, was more than happy to accept, arriving ahead of time at five in the afternoon. From afar Rosalia spotted the man, clad in the typical black robe and white collar. Barefooted he stood on a raft which he maneuvered with a very long stick, sinking it to the bottom to push the raft forward. She went to greet him.

“Good evening father, I hope you’re faring well?” - Said Rosalia, a beaming smile on her face.

“You’re very kind Madam Romero, be certain that our holy god keeps a warm spot for you in heaven.” - Said the man.

Arm in arm they strode towards the house, bypassing lush tropical trees basking under the sun. Colors were vibrant that afternoon, specially the red-brick house.

“I’m glad you were able to see the house before nightfall.” - Said Rosalia to the priest.

“The color of the brick is extraordinary.” - Complimented Father Moreno.

A rustic wooden table was set outdoors for the occasion. Four wooden plates, cutlery and four goblets filled with coconut water, and, to the side of the table, a terra-cotta vase filled with colorful flowers.

Through the kitchen’s window, Sagrario saw the priest outside. Then she called Gustavo.

“Yes mother?” - asked the child, suddenly standing beside Sagrario.

“Tell cousin Rosalia that supper is ready, and that I need her help to serve the food.” - Were Sagrario’s instructions.

The child discretely ran to Rosalia, unnoticed by the priest, and whispered the instructions he was told to communicate, quickly scurrying back to the kitchen.

“Father, make yourself comfortable while we bring supper out.” - Said Rosalia to the priest.

“Do you need any help Madam?” - Asked father Moreno.

“No help needed, I assure you, please enjoy the setting sun and your goblet of coconut water. You are our holy guest.” - Rosalia cheerfully responded and went to the kitchen.

Left alone, Father Moreno drank all his coconut water, but still thirsty, drank the contents of two other goblets.

“That should paralyse him for a day or two” - Sagrario confirmed as all three looked out the kitchen’s window, waiting for the priest to feint.

They waited little time before Father Moreno slipped from his chair and fell to the ground. Assured that he wasn’t moving, Rosalia, Sagrario and Gustavo took the exit, at the back of the house, that led to the stables. The cart, now strung to a beautiful brown horse, was ready, inside it a wheelbarrow and a shovel. Rosalia drove the cart to the front of the house while Sagrario and her son sat inside it. As they approached the unconscious priest, Sagrario stood on the cart, eyes closed, arms stretched towards Father Moreno. The Catholic mystic levitated from the ground, into the cart.

“Now, tell us where he is.” - Said Rosalia to Gustavo.

The child diligently guided Rosalia through the woods that led to Baltasar’s cave.

“I sense him. He still sleeps.” - Said Gustavo

“Quickly Sagrario, we must set the priest by the cave.” - Said Rosalia to her cousin.

Rosalia drove the cart close to the cave’s entrance, briefly stopping, while Sagrario, arms stretched towards the cave, levitated the priest, setting him on the ground. Once done, Rosalia swerved the cart back to their hiding-place, where they patiently waited for Baltasar.

Not a speck of sunlight was left outside when Baltasar finally woke. He was weak and in great pain. His recovery was taking longer than expected. Gladly, he would drain anyone of their blood, but he’d drained all his prisoners already. He would have to hunt. Determined, Baltasar crawled out of his cave by sinking his clawed hands into the ground, pulling himself out, inch by inch, his ribbed wings dragging on the ground.

Barely out of the cave, Baltasar saw Father Moreno laying on the ground, right beside him. The beast did not question its unexpected luck, simply crouched over the priest and fed, draining the holy man from all his blood. Baltasar withdrew from the body and within seconds, fell to the ground unconscious.

Meanwhile, carefully hidden, Rosalia, Sagrario and Gustavo waited for the right moment to act.

“He sleeps again.” - Gustavo confirmed.

Rosalia drove the cart to the cave. There, Sagrario and Rosalia descended, and walked toward Baltasar and Father Moreno. From a hand basket she’d brought, Sagrario pulled a flask of coconut oil and poured its contents upon the beast and the priest. Rosalia stacked broken twigs and plenty of dry scattered branches, over and around the bodies. Then, from her dress pocket, took out a box of matches and handed the small box to Sagrario. The latter lit a matchstick and set both beast and priest on fire.

From the cart, Gustavo watched the fire grow as the stench of burning flesh crawled up his nose. Eventually, he fell asleep while cousin Rosalia and his mother toiled all night, until sunrise, adding coconut oil and lit matches to the fire. Upon awakening, Gustavo noticed Rosalia shovelling fine ashes into the wheelbarrow they had brought. Once full, Sagrario would dump the ashes in the river, just a short walk from where they were.

Bright sunrays covered Romero Islet by the time they had finished the task. The return home allowed Rosalia, Sagrario and Gustavo to admire this part of the islet, still unexplored until a few hours ago. Tropical birds of different colors, perched on trees, stared at the trio as the cart passed by.

“You are positive that laborers will seek to work for us, now that Baltasar has been disposed of for a good two centuries?” - Sagrario questioned.

“Yes. I’m willing to wager that everyone around knew of the blood-feeder. I Imagine throughout a century, Baltasar preyed upon many, decimating more than one family in the archipelago, they probably know more about him than we do. - Said Rosalia, just before reaching her red-brick house.

Little time passed before laborers flocked to the islet seeking work, harvesting fruits and nuts, loading crates of produce onto large boats that travelled to different cities and villages, where the fruit and nuts were sold. Rosalia became the wealthiest woman in the archipelago, highly admired by all. In fact, a journalist requested to interview her the day of her retirement when she handed the family business to Gustavo Romero, now forty years old.

“What life related advice would you give to our readers Madam Romero?” - Was the last question the journalist asked.

“First, love and keep your family close, for you will surely need their help. Second, rid yourself from anyone that wants to harm and steal from you. Last, be the ruling animal of your land.” - And with these words ended the interview.

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