by Lance Morcan
A lookout shouted out, drawing the defenders’ attention to the outcasts who were gathering around a cooking fire they’d lit. Looking on, Nathan saw they were roasting the body of a man on a make-shift spit they’d placed over the fire. Rambuka himself was overseeing the gruesome ritual as two of his men turned the spit.
Joeli identified the body as that of his cousin. “It is Solomone,” he murmured.
Iremaia nodded grimly as he watched Rambuka prod the carcass with a stick. Satisfied it was tender, Rambuka then carved off a morsel of cooked flesh, which he held up high for all to see.
The Outcast yelled, “Rambuka eats the flesh of his enemies!” He then devoured the flesh.
Shouting chilling war cries, Rambuka’s followers then attacked the body, using knives and tomahawks to carve off flesh for themselves.
The Qopa watched, grim-faced, as one of their own was eaten before their very eyes.
The outcasts then began massing to resume their attack on the village. At a signal from Rambuka, they came, firing as they ran. This time they were met with a crescendo of musket fire from the defenders. Most of the shots went high or wide, but some found their mark.
Several outcasts fell. The worst damage was inflicted by Nathan, who proved he was a fine marksman, shooting dead three outcasts with his first three shots.
Still the outcasts kept coming. Leading the way, Rambuka broke through the palisades. He was closely followed by a dozen others. Fierce hand-to-hand fighting followed.
As he fought, Rambuka eyed the storage hut perched atop four high poles that he and the others had been studying earlier. The Outcast disengaged from the fighting and led seven of his men toward the hut. Four of them carried axes. When they reached the structure, the axemen began hacking at the poles while Rambuka and the other three stood guard, ready to repel any villagers who came at them.
Iremaia and Joeli were so engrossed in the fighting, they didn’t notice Rambuka’s men chopping down the storage hut. A dozen mighty axe blows was all it took for the first pole to topple. The others followed almost immediately and the whole structure fell to the ground.
Only then did Joeli notice what Rambuka was up to. Unfortunately, he was powerless to stop him: Joeli had been baled up by three outcasts and was fighting for his very survival.
Rambuka wasted no time in smashing open the storage hut. He looked in and smiled. There, unscathed, was his prize: a whale’s tooth known throughout Fiji as the golden tabua. Extracted from the lower jaw of a sperm whale, its golden color had been achieved by staining with tumeric after polishing with the leaves of the masi ni tabua tree. A plaited cord of pandanus leaf was attached to each end of the tooth.
Traditionally the most valued possession within Fijian culture, the golden tabua was the ultimate symbol of respect among all the tribes. It was certainly the most sacred possession of the Qopa and had a mana, or status, all of its own.
Rambuka reached in and plucked out the sacred tooth. He held it up before his eyes and marveled at how its golden sheen sparkled in the sunlight.
Joeli could only watch from afar as his half-brother lay claim to the golden tabua. He knew better than most how much the sacred object meant to his people. It played an important role in the very fabric of everyday life, keeping the Fijian culture alive. It featured in births, deaths, sealing interclan and intertribal alliances, and was even used to settle grievances.
Joeli’s heart sank when he saw Rambuka drop the golden tabua into a pouch that hung from his waist. He vowed he’d kill Rambuka and retrieve the prized possession before this day was out. Right now, he had more pressing problems. Wielding his trusty club and tomahawk, he’d dispatched two of the three outcasts who had baled him up, but their places had been immediately taken by two more. One of them, a huge man, was proving a real handful and Joeli had to backpeddle rapidly to avoid the big man’s swinging club.
Seeing Joeli’s plight, Nathan shot the huge outcast dead with his musket then shot another with his pistol. Joeli made short work of the third outcast, cleaving his head in two with his tomahawk. He barely had time to acknowledge Nathan’s life-saving actions with a nod before he was confronted by another two outcasts.
A Samoan outcast broke through the last line of defenders and began running up the hill toward the villagers huddled on the rocky outcrop. He carried a musket in each hand and shot a club-wielding villager who tried to intercept him.
On the rocky outcrop, the Drakes were working feverishly to save the life of a wounded boy warrior. They looked up just in time to see the Samoan climbing over the rocks, not five yards away. Susannah screamed. The outcast stood atop the rocks, legs astride, and raised one of his muskets toward Drake Senior. The missionary drew his pistol from his belt, aimed it, and fired. His aim was true. The Samoan fell on top of Susannah, winding her. Terrified, she screamed again and pushed the dead man off her.
Drake Senior looked at the smoking barrel of his pistol. “Forgive me, Lord,” he whispered. Turning to Susannah, he asked, “Are you alright?”
Shocked, Susannah nodded and turned her attention back to the boy warrior whose life they were trying to save. She knew she had to stay busy. As the sounds of battle grew closer, she feared she’d flee in panic if she took any notice of what was happening further along the headland.
To take her mind off the mayhem around her, Susannah allowed her thoughts to stray to Nathan, whom she observed had rejoined the battle. She was starting to think she may have misjudged the American. After all, he had risked his life coming back to alert her and her father to the outcasts’ arrival, and now he was using his own muskets to help the Qopa fight off their enemies.
Almost as quickly, she put Nathan out of her mind, telling herself he was ungodly and worldly to a fault. A leopard can’t change its spots, she reminded herself.
Behind the second line of palisades, the defenders were sustaining horrific casualties. Iremaia found himself face-to-face with his outcast son, Rambuka, who had rejoined the fray since uplifting the golden tabua. As the old chief struggled to reload his musket, Rambuka smiled cruelly and raised his tomahawk. Thirty yards away, Joeli looked on powerless to help his father as, seemingly in slow motion, Rambuka brought the sharp blade of his tomahawk down on Iremaia’s skull, splitting it in two. The Outcast then raised his blood-stained weapon above his head and looked skyward, shouting, “Vengeance!”
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
Dazed 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.
