The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (37 page)

Joeli sprinted to intercept his half-brother. Rambuka saw him coming and aimed his musket at him. He failed to see that Nathan already had him in his sights.

Nathan fired his musket. Unfortunately, his shot was hurried and for once his aim was off. The musket ball struck Rambuka, but not where Nathan had intended. The Outcast fell to the ground, clutching his wounded shoulder.

As Joeli neared his fallen enemy, he found his path blocked by several
outcasts intent on protecting their leader. He slashed and hacked at them with his tomahawk and club, so desperate was he to avenge his father’s death as well as to retrieve the golden tabua he knew Rambuka had on him. The outcasts fell back before him, unable to combat his fury.

The sight of their fallen leader was a blow to the outcasts. They began to lose heart and were soon retreating to the beach. Several managed to form a protective ring around Rambuka and they dragged him with them as they went.

Joeli cried out to his warriors, “Rambuka has the golden tabua. Stop him!”

Try as they may, the Qopa warriors couldn’t break through the protective ring. The outcasts effectively shielded Rambuka as they executed a fighting retreat. They were followed by the Qopa, with Nathan in tow, all the way down to the beach. Several outcasts were shot before they could reach their waiting outriggers. Stragglers and wounded outcasts
were quickly dispatched with.

On the beach, the surviving outcasts launched their outriggers and sailed off as fast as they could. As they headed out into the bay, Nathan noticed the numbers aboard each craft were considerably less than when they’d arrived. He estimated they’d lost as many as thirty men, or a third of their number.

Iremaia’s warriors jeered their departing enemies, taunting them with ancient insults before shouldering their arms and returning to the village. Trailing along behind them, Nathan could see at a glance the village had suffered terrible casualties. Scores of Qopa had been killed, others wounded. Bodies lay strewn about everywhere. From what Nathan could ascertain, only some twenty or so able-bodied Qopa warriors remained.

Back in the village, he found Joeli cradling Iremaia’s body in his arms and uttering a prayer to the Spirit World. Looking on, the American had no way of knowing that Joeli was promising the spirits he would avenge his father’s death and recover the golden tabua Rambuka had stolen.

When he finished chanting, Joeli removed the whale bone pendant hanging around his father’s neck and placed it around his own. As the ratu’s oldest son and soon-to-be leader of the Qopa people, the pendant was now rightfully his.

11

D
azed villagers wandered among the remains of their bures, inspecting the damage and tending the wounded, while others were still making their way down from the rocky outcrop above what was left of their village. In the village center, the dead had been laid out in rows on the ground; the haunting sound of wailing combined eerily with the tormented cries of the wounded.

Death and destruction were not the only reasons for their grief: they were also mourning the loss of their sacred golden tabua. Without it, their hopes for the future had evaporated.

The Drakes worked feverishly alongside village healers helping those whose wounds were life-threatening. They did this as much for their own benefit as for those they were trying to help: both father and daughter were still traumatized by the day’s events and felt they had to do something to keep their minds off the carnage they’d witnessed.

Susannah, in particular, was in a state of shock. As she stitched up a warrior’s wound, she looked around for Nathan. She was becoming increasingly worried for him, having not seen him since the outcasts had been sent packing.

Where are you? Are you still alive?

Finally she saw him. He was on the other side of the village, circulating among the villagers. Susannah immediately relaxed. Feelings of relief flooded through her. She was momentarily embarrassed to think she’d been concerned for Nathan’s welfare and quickly tried to put him out of her mind. Looking toward the distant mission station, she saw the cottage and outbuildings had been destroyed by the outcasts, but noted the chapel had survived unscathed. Drawing her father’s attention to it, she asked, “Why didn’t they destroy the chapel, too, Papa?”

Drake Senior studied the chapel. “Even heathens have respect for the House of God, my dear.”

Susannah smiled. “Amen to that.”

Nearby, Joeli was walking among his people, offering them encouragement, just as his father would have were he still alive. The villagers greeted him with greater respect than ever, knowing that he would soon be their new ratu. As usual, the strapping warrior hid his feelings, trying to portray strength and confidence. Beneath the facade he felt empty. The loss of his father and so many friends had left him feeling shattered—the loss of the golden tabua even more so.

Looking around, Joeli couldn’t help but notice how few ablebodied warriors remained. Even with muskets, he knew they’d be a pushover if the village was attacked again.

This was a common story throughout Fiji and, indeed, throughout the Pacific Islands. Fortunes constantly ebbed and flowed among these warlike people. The Qopa were no different. At certain times in their history they’d reigned over much of western Viti Levu and over many of the offshore islands. Now, with their numbers of fighting men greatly diminished, and the golden tabua gone, their fortunes were at an all-time low.

Ever a realist, Joeli knew his people’s future was up to the gods. The only thing they had going for them now was they had muskets—and he knew they had Nathan to thank for that. The original terms of trade still stood, but Nathan had advised, albeit against his better judgment, he was prepared to wait for the villagers to keep their side of the bargain. The American understood that right now they had more pressing matters to attend to.

Joeli approached his grief-stricken mother, Akanisi. She was crying out for her departed husband whose body she was lying over. Joeli placed a loving hand on her shoulder.

Akanisi looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “Joeli, strangle me so that I can be
with my husband in the Afterlife,” she implored him. Joeli shook his head sadly and turned away from her. “Joeli!” she shouted after him. Her son walked away and did not look back.

Thus rejected, Iremaia’s senior and most cherished wife slowly stood up and began walking resolutely toward the cliff edge. All eyes were on her—except for Joeli’s. He’d seen enough death for one day.

Susannah looked on, horrified, as Akanisi approached the cliff edge. She was equally horrified that none of the villagers seemed interested in stopping the elderly woman from taking her life and could only watch as Akanisi stepped out into space and disappeared from sight. Susannah screamed. It was a long and despairing cry.

Drake Senior pulled her to him and held her close. Susannah was shaking and sobbing at the same time.

“It is the way of these people,” Drake Senior explained. “The wife of a departed husband believes she must accompany her husband’s spirit to the Spirit World.”

Distraught, Susannah looked up at her father.
“But why?”

“Only they can answer that, my dear.” Drake Senior looked around at other grieving women. “There will be more such deaths before this day is out.”

# 

As the villagers set about getting their lives back in order, no one noticed a wounded outcast hiding behind a still-burning bure on the village outskirts. He had a spear lodged in his thigh. Grimacing, he pulled it out. Too incapacitated to try to flee, he chose to remain hidden until after dark and then try his luck.

Meanwhile, Nathan continued circulating among the villagers. As he did, a movement behind the still-burning bure caught his eye. He walked over to investigate.

Behind the bure, the wounded outcast picked up the spear he’d just discarded and held it tight as Nathan approached. Knowing he was about to be discovered, he stepped out from
his hiding place and hurled the spear at Nathan. Its point caught the unsuspecting American in the chest. Nathan fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

The outcast tried to flee, but his leg wound prevented him from running and he was reduced to hopping.

The attack on Nathan had been witnessed by Waisale. Running to intercept the outcast, the handsome young warrior quickly overtook him and clubbed him to the ground. On his back and writhing in pain, the outcast lashed out at his attacker with his good leg. Waisale clubbed him again, killing him, then returned to help Nathan, who was groaning. The spear was still lodged in his chest. As Waisale removed it, Nathan lapsed into unconsciousness.

Joeli and Babitu, the one-eyed warrior, arrived in time to help Waisale carry Nathan toward one of the few bures still standing in the village. As they neared it, Joeli called, “Inoki!
Inoki!” An elderly healer emerged from the bure and hurried to Joeli’s side as fast as his old legs would allow. Joeli told Inoki, “Your healing powers are needed, old man.”

The healer nodded as Waisale and Babitu carried Nathan into the bure. Inoki went to follow, but was restrained by Joeli.

“Summon the powers of the great Spirit Healer,” Joeli commanded. “Pray for the health of the White-Face.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “I lost my parents and many good friends today. I do not want to lose the  White-Face.”

Inoki bowed to Joeli and hurried inside the bure.

# 

On a rocky beach at the far end of Momi Bay, Rambuka’s defeated outcasts were resting and treating their wounded. Their outrigger canoes bobbed about in the shallows nearby.

A long-haired outcast was using a knife to dig the musket ball out of Rambuka’s shoulder. Rambuka gritted his teeth against the pain. As the musket ball was extracted and an herbal plant dressing was applied to his shoulder, he looked back at the headland that was the cause of his current misery.

Although Rambuka had tasted defeat, he had the golden tabua. Remembering the sacred object, he lifted it from his pouch and held it up for his men to see. Their eyes opened wide at the sight of it. Rambuka shouted, “The golden tabua is ours. Now the good fortune the Qopa dogs have had will be ours, too.”

The outcasts cheered their leader’s words. To a man they knew the significance of having the golden tabua in their possession. From this moment, only good luck would come their way and only bad luck could befall its previous owners—for to lose the sacred object was to invite disaster.

Rambuka returned the golden tabua to his pouch and looked across Momi Bay at the headland that was once his home. He made a promise to himself. Thinking aloud, he said, “I killed our father today, Joeli. Next time we meet I will eat your heart.”

# 

While the outcasts were recovering, Susannah was helping Inoki try to save Nathan’s life. She’d only learned of the attack on Nathan after the event and had hurried to the healer’s bure the moment she received the news.

By the light of a log fire burning in the middle of his compact dwelling, Inoki was using a variety of herbs and other natural cures to try to reduce Nathan’s fever. A concerned Susannah assisted him, sponging sweat from Nathan’s brow, while Selaima, the slave girl, was heating a pot of water over the fire. Nathan was falling in and out of consciousness. Leaves covered his chest wound.

A stern-looking Joeli looked on. Inoki was very aware of the future ratu’s presence and worked even more fervidly to save Nathan. The old healer was relieved when Joeli
eventually left the bure.

Outside, Joeli noticed crewmen from the
Rendezvous
had come ashore and were now mingling with the villagers. McTavish and Foley were among them, offering comfort where they could. Joeli saw Waisale nearby and hurried over to him. “Are the lookouts in place?” he asked. Waisale nodded. “Good,” Joeli continued, “we must be prepared for a counterattack. Our enemies will know we are vulnerable.”

“At least we have muskets now,” Waisale said.

“We still need to master their use. At present, they are of more danger to us than to our enemies.”

Waisale smiled grimly. “How is the White-Face?”

Joeli shook his head as if to say he didn’t hold out much hope for Nathan’s recovery.

The two turned their attention back to the
Rendezvous
crewmen, who were now dispensing medicine and dressings to the wounded.

Joeli looked scathingly in their direction. “Look at the White-Faces. Where were they when we needed them?”

“They delivered Nathan Johnson’s muskets to us,” Waisale reminded him.

Joeli shook his head. “The White-Faces were slow to arrive—like sea turtles.”

“They lost a man helping us,” Waisale said. “And Nathan Johnson may have to pay with his life.”

Joeli knew Waisale was right. The whites had paid a price today. He subconsciously looked back at Inoki’s bure where he knew Nathan was fighting for his life at that very moment.

Wailing and chanting came from the meeting house, which, like Inoki’s bure, was one of the few structures still standing in the village. Joeli hurried toward it. Inside, family members were gathered around the bodies of their loved ones. The chanting was hauntingly disturbing.

At the sight of their future ratu in their midst, the villagers fell to their knees and prostrated themselves at Joeli’s feet.

Joeli had eyes only for his father. Iremaia’s body, resplendent in a ceremonial cloak, was resting in state on a raised platform in the middle of the meeting house. The old ratu’s youngest wife, Adi, held her dead husband’s hand while she and Iremaia’s other surviving wives rocked and chanted beside him. Joeli went to Adi’s side and stared down at his father. He was struck by how peaceful Iremaia looked in death.

Adi, a striking young woman with fine features, looked up at Joeli through anguished eyes. She released Iremaia’s hand and reached out for Joeli’s. “Please help me,” she implored. “I wish to die so that my husband will not be alone on his journey to the Spirit Land.”

By now all chanting had ceased in the meeting house and every eye was on the grief-stricken Adi. Joeli looked down at her, his face devoid of emotion.

Adi continued, “Strangle me so that I may join my husband to ease his loneliness.”

“My mother, Akanisi, has already gone to be with my father,” Joeli reminded her.

“She chose death by taking the long drop,” Adi said, referring to Akanisi’s jump from the cliff top. “Her journey to your father’s side will be slower than mine. If I am strangled, I will be by his side in the Afterlife immediately.”

Joeli stood, unmoving, for a long time. He knew there was truth in Adi’s words: the priests maintained that the spirit of a wife who died by strangulation was united with the spirit of her dead husband in the blink of an eye. Whereas the journey to the Afterlife was a lot slower if death were by any other means. So, Joeli knew, in all likelihood his father’s spirit was still alone at this very moment. He could not bear the thought of Iremaia being lonely in death. Added to Joeli’s woes was the fact that his mother’s body had not been found. After Akanisi’s fall, the sea had taken her and, so far, had not given her back despite an extensive search by the villagers.

Joeli wrestled with his emotions. Finally, he looked at Adi and nodded. Relief and gratitude passed over her face. She fell to her knees before Joeli and kissed his feet. Joeli bent down and pulled her to her feet. “You know what you must do,” he told her.

Excited by what lay ahead, Adi hurried to join a nearby group of women whose number included her two sisters and an aunt. Knowing what was in store for Adi, they quickly bathed her and dressed her in fine garments. Adi then said her goodbyes to the women. They shed simultaneous tears of joy and of sadness. Ready now, she returned to Joeli’s side. He escorted her to the far end of the meeting house, away from the others. Looking around, he motioned to Adi’s older brother, Manasa, who immediately recruited the services of three other men. Linking arms, they approached Adi.