After a long journey, having left behind him a trail of bleak desolation, the demon arrived at the rims of the Amazon jungle. He took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the perfume of moist wood. A cold silence spread among the dim lit brushes and the vine-wrapped trees – the jungle was aware of his presence.
His eyes searched the soil for rocks. He picked one up, drew a circle in the ground and placed it in the center. Two more he placed on top, then took one step backwards and pulled the ancient weapon from his back. As the stone met the bone of the tomahawk, a deafening, screeching sound echoed in the forest and apart from some dizzy bats, who have been standing upright for too long and mistook the sound for a mating call, all cowered and knew that great evil had come before their doorsteps.
The night had fallen and still he stood there with his tomahawk in hand, in front of the pile.
This is where Quenti the Hummingbird, the devil's ambassador, found him.
“You called me”, it whispered with a singing voice inside the demon's ear.
He opened his eyes and nodded.
“I need your eyes.”
“You know my price.” replied the bird.”But remember, this is your last feather, it better be worth it”.
He didn't answer. With a sudden move he grabbed the bird in his giant hand. He placed all his fingers around it's tiny head and pressed. A sound of a bubble bursting broke the silence as the eyes of the bird popped out of it's skull.
Two jade beads in hand, and a little lifeless body on the ground.
* * *
It wasn't long until the ill news reached Paititi, the brightest city of the old world. There was great unrest among the llama and alpaca citizens, who started stacking piles of grass inside their stone houses for the dark days to come. They were all very worried.
The Great Llama President summoned for a meeting of all the free camelids of Peru at the top of Machu Picchu, their holy mountain peak. Many responded the call. One by one they arrived at the council and spat at Great Llama President's face, and he was pleased to see his community to be bound as ever. The crucial decision for the fate of all that was photosynthesizing - for starters - were to be taken there.
“Woodsie Woodsie die Woodsie.” he announced with a pompous voice. Which translates to “woods woods die woods” in ancient alpaca language, for that was the name they had given to the demon. Everyone froze in their seats.
“Oji must be called.” he added. Now there was stirring and rustling amongst the llamas, and it spread like a domino of dissonance towards the holy temple.
“By the Godly Drool be silent.” commanded the president. From the arches of the stone temple three tall figures appeared. They wore totemic masks and carried long staves decorated with beads and feathers – the runes on their arms illuminated with a pale blue glow as they walked beneath the moonlight. With a slow, silent pace they crossed between the crowds and vanished into the shadows of the trees.
This was their final hope.
With heavy hearts the herd exchanged phlegm once more and carried their way home, leaving behind only Mop, a llama with preposterously long hair to clean up the mess.
* * *
Birds and animals spread before his path. He searched and killed and trampled his way to Machusasha the eldest tree of the jungle, which was rooted at foothills of Andes.