The next afternoon sees you slowly threading your way through the thick tropical forest, trying not to slip down a steep, wet slope.


You spent the previous night camping high in a mountain pass, where you found a tiny spring emerging from under a mossy rock. The spot was on the fringe of the same type of high-elevation grassland as the bald summit where you had drawn your map, and chances are if you had reached it any earlier in the day the place would have been hot as an oven. But in the evening, when you stumbled across it, your little campsite was cool and pleasant. Your ten-year-old REI backpacking tent was more spacious than the Zodiac had been the first night, and so your first full day on the island ended pleasantly. If the Wobans were throwing themselves another party, you were now too far away to hear it.


It hadn't all been fun and games, though. Yesterday, after you had stopped to sketch the map, your progress had been slowed unexpectedly. Getting down from that grassy bald had been simple, but the next little summit in the ridgeline was steep and cliffy. Going over it was not possible, and you could see no further signs of a trail, so you saw no option but to descend a few hundred feet and find an easier way around this part of the mountain. Regaining all that lost elevation was discouraging, but then you discovered the spring and all was forgiven.


Now, almost a full day later, here you are making your way over the third summit in the chain, and although this one is higher than the other two it has been completely wooded so far. Without a trail to follow, you have been forced to thrash your way through the thick vegetation. There is no graceful way to travel in these conditions, so you have been taking your time.


Although the tower-like main summit is now maybe half a mile away, you can scarcely see it. Actually, you are slowly working your way down toward a large blank spot on your map, where you have little idea what to expect. When you had stopped to sketch your map yesterday, you were able to see a good swath of the island, but not the parts that were concealed by the various mountain summits. It looked like there had been a sizable gap between the third and final peaks, but you had not been able to see what that gap contained. Whatever is there, you're about to be wandering through it in just a matter of minutes.


And so, after another fifteen minutes' worth of scrambling down steep, moss-covered slopes and crawling under fallen trees, the terrain flattens out. You continue forward, marveling that after all that ridiculous toil over the wooded summit, the vegetation is thinning out again here in the broad space between the mountains.


You are tired, dirty, and hungry — as well as intrigued by what is opening up ahead of you. The forest trees thin into scattered shrubs, and once again you are walking across a baking-hot grassland. This one is immensely picturesque, though. It is a high-elevation plateau, broad and mostly flat. The main summit spire rises almost five hundred feet above you, but you have arrived too late in the day to be in its shade. And dotting this tropical prairie are the remains of an ancient complex of buildings.


Various weeds and vines crawl over the cut-stone structures like a riot of snakes. The place is like an archeologist's wet dream, the remains of a civilization that had until recently been completely unknown to modern academia. The artistic and architectural styles on display here seem to be a mishmash of global influences: humble dwellings that resemble scale models of Mayan pyramids, rows of toppled Greek columns, eroded statues that seem to depict a horned cherub, like a satanic Buddha or something. You could spend a year exploring the place — but only if some rich fat cat thought there was something worth collecting here, and was willing to bankroll your expedition.


As impressive as the lost city is, the rocky tower is downright intimidating. How the heck is anyone expected to get up that thing? This is a challenge that is going to require some thought.


Perhaps you should start looking for a place to camp. As awesome as this plateau is, you see no sources of water here, so you'll need to venture back into the woods to search for other options. You decide to look along the northern side of the plateau, where based on experience you expect to find a verdant and moist slope leading down from the highlands. Hopefully you'll stumble across another spring — or better yet, a pool. You could use a good rinse.


So, veering northward, you soon reach the point where the terrain begins to slope downward, and trees once again become larger, albeit sparsely populated. You are wading through ferns, exalting in the fact that you have just spotted a glint of sunlight off a pool of water just ahead of you, at the foot of the hill. The terrain is gentle and open, water seems to be in abundance, and there is a good view of the mountain spire that stands between you and victory. The odds are good you have just found tonight's campsite.


You run like a giddy child to the edge of the pool. You can see right away that it is not a natural pond, but a square-edged reservoir of some kind, yet another artifact from the ancient city. Happily, the water is clear and clean. You bend down to splash its cool goodness over your face.


But what you fail to notice — until it is much too late — is the figure that rises from the ferns just around the corner. It is only when it begins to move forward through the vegetation that you turn and see it — a Woban, with tattooed and deeply tanned skin, a bone necklace, grass skirt, and a long spear. Above all, the most distinctive feature is that eerie third eye that sits directly above the bridge of his nose. You surmise he had been hunting, waiting among the tall ferns for his prey to come, when you bumbled into the scene instead.


"O Manu o Ke Kaua ko'u inoa!" he shouts. "I keia la wau e lilo i kane, aka mua au e ku i ka pa'akiki. Pono e luku au i ka holoholona ae hanai i ka io i ko'u makuakane. E ho'omakaukau ia 'oe iho e make, holoholona!"


"Whoa, hold on, chief!" you say. "We're all friends here."


"E pale ia 'oe iho!"


His speech is fast and clipped. Not a single word makes any sense, but the provocative way he is shouting them at you gives you the general idea that this is a hostile confrontation. The Woban is only about six feet tall — big enough, to be sure, but not one of the seven-foot giants you heard about. Maybe this is an adolescent, trying to prove himself in the world.


"Hey, make nice. Let's be friends."


"E pale ia 'oe iho! 'A'ohe hanohano i ka pepehi 'ana me ka pa'akiki 'ole."


"Look, I haven't the slightest idea what you're saying. Can't—"


Then he does the unexpected thing and tosses his spear at your feet. It is not a gift, because the rage in his voice is still evident, even if the words are unintelligible to you.


"E lawe i ka ihe a kaua mai ia'u!"


Well, you're at an impasse as far as verbal communication goes, but you think you're getting the gist of the body language. The young Woban wants you to fight him, and to make the odds more even he is letting you use his spear. If he assessed that you're not much of a physical threat when matched up against a six-foot Woban, he would be correct. At least with the spear in your hands, you would have a sporting chance.


So you have to make a decision: fight or flight? The Woban is glaring at you, all three eyebrows furrowed in a kind of rage you'll never understand. Eventually he'll charge at you, regardless of what you choose to do. So either you can pick up the spear at your feet and defend yourself, or you can run. With all of the ruined buildings around here, you would have plenty of places to hide — assuming, of course, you can outrun a Woban.


__________________________________________________

You stay and fight the Woban.

The Woban is clearly young, and therefore probably also over-confident. By contrast, what you lack in strength — not to mention skill with a spear — you should be able to compensate with patience and cunning. He will think he has the advantage, but he is what, all of fifteen years old? And less educated than your typical fifth grader? He will do something rash; you will recognize his obvious strategy right away, and handily defeat him with some run-of-the-mill move that you learned many years ago while playing flag football.


So what are you so nervous about? You got this!


Right?


At any rate, standing your ground seems preferable to running, so you slowly squat down to pick up the spear, never taking your eyes off your opponent. The Woban gets excited when he sees you reaching for the weapon he tossed you. He starts whooping and doing an odd dance, hopping from foot to foot and shifting his head from left to right. His tongue hangs down to his chin, making the entire act seem like a ritualistic taunt. You notice that his tattoo pattern extends across both shoulders, with lines that resemble stylized feathers; you suppose it is meant to resemble some kind of bird of prey, but the dance gives you the impression more of a gooney bird.


So now you are holding the spear in your hands, pointed straight ahead. You bend your knees and widen your stance, ready to spring into action as soon as he lunges at you.


But nothing happens. The Woban continues his silly dance, his nonsensical shouting growing louder and louder. Then he adds a slow rotation to his routine, showing you the tattooed feathers on his back for a short moment, his tongue still extended when he turns back in your direction.


"Come on, come and get me!" you say, briefly tilting the spear upward to signal your readiness to defend yourself. But still the young Woban does not charge.


"E kaua ia'u, nene me ka wawae ho'okahi!" he grunts. "Ua moe kolohe kou makuakane me kahi i'a make!"


"Look, that's nice. It's great to meet you too. Now can we get this over with?"


He shakes his head with his tongue protruding downward again. "AGGGH! Ke maka'u nei ka i'a make e ku'e ia'u!"


This is going nowhere. You have been waiting for him to attack first, but it is becoming clear he has no such intention. So what exactly are you supposed to do? If the Woban is trying to taunt you into charging straight at him with the spear, then you can safely conclude that is the last thing you should do.


"That's a nice necklace. Are those shark teeth?"


"Hiki ia'u ke kali i ka la apau, i'a make. Hiki ia 'oe ke kali mau loa?"


He continues to shift back and forth from one foot to the other, making his bare chest a moving target. If you did have to make the first move, though, it's not his chest you'd aim for — that damn tongue would be a much more satisfactory target.


But something has to give; it's not like you can just stand here doing this all day long. But what are your options? Make a feint, catch him off balance? Fake a distraction, strike when he's not looking? Then an idea occurs to you: just do what Paul Newman would do if he were in a situation like this! Specifically, you're thinking of that knife fight scene in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. It's one of the best moments in movie history, and you doubt this Woban has ever seen it; what's old to you will be new and unexpected to this cretin.


You stand up out of your defensive posture and hold the spear to your side like a walking stick. "I'm not going to fight with you — not until we get the rules straightened out."


"He ho'omake'aka keia!"


While the Woban appears momentarily confused by your words and change in posture, you casually step forward as if to greet him as a friend, tossing the spear aside.


"What, no rules? Then one-two-three-go!"


And once you are within range, you kick your opponent in the groin.


The Woban's reaction does not go according to script, however. He does immediately bend over in pain, but he is not as debilitated as you had hoped for. When you turn to deliver the knock-out punch, he is not on his knees like it was in Butch Cassidy, but enraged and coming straight at you.


Your horror is short-lived. In a pure contest of strength and brutality, you don't stand a chance against the Woban, and he doesn't leave any time for any more tricks. As it turns out, he was not as gullible as you had hoped he would be.


THE END