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drugged he was much like a pet. Each day
Marik was responsible for feeding it twice a day. At each meal the
monster was heavily sedated and could safely be controlled for a
few hours.
    The shaman had shown Marik how to take it out
of the hut. A bamboo pole longer than Marik was tall with two loops
on either end was used for safety. The pole was strong, yet
surprisingly light. One loop would be wrapped securely around the
monster’s neck, and the other around Marik’s wrist. Even if Marik
had fallen while the monster was attempting to reach him, it could
not have gotten close enough. Though the rest of the tribe gave
them a wide berth, Marik was surprised how submissive it was when
taken outside while heavily drugged.
    He took the creature down to the river each
day. It willingly went wherever directed, including into the water.
This was a much better alternative than attempting to wash it off
by hand.
    The monster walked as if its joints were
heavily wrapped in tight cloth. It had very poor balance and would
not lift its legs when going over a root or branch. Sometimes,
after falling to the ground, it would prefer to crawl rather than
get back on its feet to walk. It seemed to be completely oblivious
of the world. Marik did not know if this had to do with the strong
sedative running through its body, or if it would be this awkward
without the drug.
    The shaman continued to instruct Marik. “In
the next few days the flies will hatch from their cocoons. We will
leave them in the hut with the Jombi.”
    Marik was concerned. “The flies must escape
back into the forest for my father’s spirit to be released,” he
argued.
    “No,” said the old man. “These first bonsai
flies will have the spirit of the dead enemy’s father, not of the
son who continues to bind your father here. The warrior’s spirit,
that of our enemy, has already strengthened our tribe with its
sacrifice. Only when the evil essence of the son is released will
your father’s spirit be avenged. I had a dream last night. There is
something I am not considering, but not everything is clear. We
must protect ourselves. We must be careful.”
    “It is not enough,” Marik replied.
    “Not enough?”
    “No, their tribe must also suffer. They were
responsible to my father’s death. They raised this man to be a
monster.”
    “That is not possible. They have given us the
one responsible for your father’s death. If we retaliate we will
then be murderers, and we will have to pay the price with our own
lives.”
    “I will go myself. I will take their lives
for the life of my father. If I am caught, I will be giving my own
life, no one else’s.”
    “You must not,” said the shaman. “You have a
place here. You have a destiny. Do not let your thirst for revenge
affect your judgment.”
    The shaman stood up and the two walked toward
the hut.
    “Feed him one last time. We will not go back
inside until after the full moon. By that time the larvae should be
done with him and new pupae will have emerged.”
    Marik and the shaman went into the hut. The
undead had not been sedated since morning and was aggressive. The
shaman added the sedative to the raw squirrel meat and soon after
eating the hostility subsided. The body lay on the floor demurely,
its jaws grinding, its chest slowly rising and falling, but
otherwise deeply relaxed.
    They verified the bindings were tight, and
added additional constraints around the shoulders and thighs. Each
double checked the interior walls to be sure there were no gaps
between the leaves.
    Lastly, the shaman placed the unopened wooden
box on the chest of the Jombi where it rose and fell with each
breath it took. The old man had already verified the flies had
hatched and were active inside. When the creature struggled once
the drug wore off it would cause the box to fall and the lid to
open.
    The two backed out of the hut. They fixed new
large leaves over the door, and then inspected the outside for gaps
as well. When all was