Operation: Pacifica, Rhythm of the Saints



 The Chosen disappeared into the dense undergrowth of Pacifica.
  Samhain watched solemnly as they vanished from sight, pondering the recent
  events that forced this separation.  "This is what that sombitchin' Lyran
  wanted all along," he thought darkly, "...to separate me from the others."
  He took a last quick look around before muttering to himself once again.
  "Guess I'd better get moving."  He dug his swords and B'harnpoon out of the
  pack setting at his feet, stuffed a handful of tootsie rolls into his
  pocket, shouldered the awkward pack, and headed deeper into the jungle.



...




 Samhain paused briefly to rest in a clearing.  He'd been fighting
  his way through the thick foliage for almost 3 hours now.  In some places,
  the plant growth had been so thick it seemed he could have been passed by a
  fast-moving snail, but it was beginning to thin out a bit now.  He munched
  on a tootsie roll as he surveyed the clearing.  "Weird..." he whispered to
  nobody in particular, "it's unlike any jungle I've ever been in before.  No
  animal sounds at all... some strange trees..." As he completed his train of
  thought, a sound  finally reached his ears.  "...and drums?!?!"  An odd
  cadence thumped its way into his head.  It was slow, almost mechanical--and
  strangely famliar.


 *Bum-Pa-Dum* *Bum-Pa-Dum* *Bum-Pa-Dum-Pa-Dum-Pa-Dum*


 "This old man... he played one.... he played knick-knack on his
  thumb..." he sung softly as he lifted the pack once again.  He started to
  sing a new song to himself as he ventured off in search of the drums.


 "A-hunting I will go... A hunting I will go..."



...



 The trees became more and more bizarre as Samhain pushed further
  into the jungle and closer to the drumming sounds.  At long last, he reached
  what appeared to be a huge hedgerow; the drumming seemed to be coming from
  the exact opposite side.  He set down his pack and carefully concealed it
  huge, leafy-green hedge, then moved slightly further down the row before
  pushing his way through it to spy on whoever was on the other side.


 As he watched, about 10 spongin danced in sickening choreographed
  moves around one of an odd line of trees.  Another sponge had a shovel and
  was starting to dig a hole, while a baker's dozen others sat along the hedge
  beating their drums, each at his own point in the sequence.  "Scary,"
  remarked Samhain inwardly.



...


 The sponge-drummers beat along happily.  The dancers danced gaily.
  And the sole sponge with the shovel dug pathetically.  A sword swooshed out
  of the row and decapitated one of the drummers.


 None of them noticed.


 *Bum----Dum* *Bum----Dum* *Bum-Pa-Dum-Pa-Dum-Pa-Dum*


 *shwup*


 *Bum----Dum* *Bum----Dum* *Bum----Dum----Dum-Pa-Dum*


 *shuwp*


 *Bum----Dum* *Bum----Dum* *Bum----Dum----Dum----Dum*


 "Hey!" Shouted the digger.  "That's not right!  You guys are doing
  it all wrong!"


 *shwup*


 A head rolled out towards the digger and fell into the ankle-deep
  hole in front of him.  He looked down at it and picked it up.  "OK, who's
  the wise guy... tossing trash into my hole.  We'll never finish if we keep
  putting things back in!"


 Just then Samhain decided he'd had enough fun and stepped over the
  body of a drummer.  "I am.  But then, most anyone is wise next to you
  spongies," he quipped.


 The spongin stared at him, clueless, then suddenly all screamed.
  "Aieeeee!  A Jihaaaaaaaadiiiiiiii!"  The remaining drummers pounded
  frantically at their drums, not knowing what else to do, providing a taicho-
  drum-rhythm for Samhain's flying blades.  The Dancers, not knowing what else
  to do, ran circles around the tree even faster than before.  The digger...
  well, it didn't matter if he knew what to do; his head was in the hole.



...




 Samhain sat down on an odd ring of upraised soil around the tree
  and observed the carnage before him.  He hadn't even broken a sweat, but he
  was rather curious what they were digging for.  Realization suddenly dawned
  on him when he finally stood up again and looked down at where he'd been
  sitting.  A large patch of orange was showing.  "Oh... my... gawd..." his
  jaw dropped open.  "I've heard of the Garden of Eden, the Garden of Allah,
  and the famous hanging gardens, but this is ridiculous!"  he mused. He
  turned back one  last time before leaving the garden.  "I always /did/
  wonder where the spongin got the ammo for those jumbo-sized salad
  shooters..."



...




 As dusk approached, Samhain at long last reached the end of the
  jungle and stared off across a vast expanse of desert. The sun was setting
  behind the forbidding tower at the other side, outlining the points and
  spires of the immortal Lyran's massive fortress.  "At last I'm out of that
  jungle... now maybe I can make some good time!" thought Samhain as he
  started off across the desert at a better than doubletime pace.


"Rhythm of the Saints"
Copyright 1997
David R. Hibbs