by Lance Morcan
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.
Having witnessed this ritual many times over the years, Adi knew exactly what she must do next. She sat down facing the far wall, her back to the others. This was the signal for the villagers to begin singing a haunting melody. Adi sang along quietly, a slight tremor the only betrayal of any trepidation over what was about to happen. Overall, she appeared calm, even happy. Her calmness reflected the overriding joy she felt knowing she would soon be with her husband.
The singing intensified as Joeli tore a length of tapa cloth and wound it tight so it resembled a cord. Winding the cord once around Adi’s neck, he handed the other end of the cord to Manasa.
Just then, Drake Senior appeared in the open doorway. The singing had caught his attention and he’d come to investigate. Sensing something was happening, he pushed his way through the assembled villagers until he reached Joeli’s side. His gaze rested on Adi.
Adi’s aunt stepped forward and, placing her hand on the back of her niece’s neck, gently pushed Adi’s head forward so that her chin rested on her chest. Joeli looked into the eyes of Manasa. As Adi’s nearest blood relative, it was up to him to make the next move. Without any hesitation, Manasa began pulling his end of the cord while Joeli took up the resistance at his end. The cord immediately tightened, cutting off Adi’s air supply. Her face reddened and her eyes bulged as the cord tightened.
Horrified, Drake Senior rushed to Adi’s assistance. “Dear God, no!” he cried.
Two robust men grabbed him and pulled him back. Drake Senior could only look on as the gruesome ritual continued.
The three other men Manasa had recruited immediately lent their assistance and began pulling on the cord. Their arm muscles bulged as they engaged in this deadly tug-of-war. At the same time Adi’s aunt, a big woman, clamped one hand over her niece’s mouth and nose.
The singing intensified.
As Adi was starved of air, she began convulsing and throwing her arms about. Unable to watch, Drake Senior turned his head away. After a struggle that seemed to go on interminably but in fact was only a short while, Adi slumped forward, dead. The singing immediately ceased and was replaced by chanting and wailing. Drake Senior returned his gaze to Adi and began reciting the Lord’s Prayer aloud.
Joeli and the others immediately released the cord. Manasa removed it from around his sister’s neck and carried her body over to where Iremaia lay. There, he lay her body down beside Iremaia’s. A high priest then offered up a prayer, seeking a safe journey to the Spirit World for the souls of the deceased. The other villagers gathered around, offering up prayers of their own.
Drake Senior had seen enough. He felt sick to his stomach. Disgusted by the display he’d just witnessed, he strode toward the doorway, pushing villagers out of his way. Outside, he doubled over, dry retching. When he recovered, he straightened up to find himself face to face with Joeli. Glaring at him, Drake Senior asked, “Why?”
“It is the way of our people.”
Then your people will burn in hell, Drake Senior thought, turning his back on Joeli.
The future ratu watched impassively as the missionary walked away.
#
That night, sponging Nathan’s forehead in Inoki’s bure, Susannah felt exhausted by the day’s events. Still in shock, she desperately wanted to sleep, but dared not leave Nathan unattended. Inoki and Selaima had been helping her until they’d succumbed to their tiredness and fallen asleep on floor mats nearby.
Nathan was no better. He was feverish, tossing and turning and crying out in his sleep. Fresh bandages a
round his chest were already blood-stained.
Susannah studied his face. It was lit by the embers of the fire that had been burning in the middle of the bure until a few moments earlier. Susannah didn’t have the energy to keep it going and tend to Nathan.
Drake Senior suddenly entered the bure. He looked down at Susannah. “How is he?”
“Not good, Papa. He has a fever.”
Drake Senior was actually more concerned for his daughter’s wellbeing than for the American’s. “You should get some rest now.”
Susannah shook her head, indicating she wouldn’t be leaving Nathan’s side.
Drake Senior said, “We need to talk.”
Sensing her father had something important on his mind, Susannah slowly pushed herself to her feet and allowed him to lead her from the bure.
Outside, Drake Senior came straight to the point. “I made a terrible mistake bringing you here,” he murmured. “This place is far too dangerous for a lady.”
“No, Papa. I—”
“Hush, my child. I have already reached a decision. When we have finished nursing the wounded here and helped them begin to rebuild their lives, I will be sending you home.”
Susannah shook her head stubbornly. “Papa, you said yourself the good Lord will protect us.”
Drake Senior drew himself up to his full height and looked sternly at his daughter. “I have made my decision,” he growled, turning away. Without another word, he began walking brusquely toward the mission station.
Susannah watched him depart then she reentered Inoki’s bure to keep her vigil over Nathan. She arrived to find Selaima awake and wiping sweat from Nathan’s forehead with a damp cloth. Smiling at the slave girl, Susannah took over from her. She was alarmed to see Nathan was perspiring more than ever despite the cool night air.
Live, damn you.
A worried Susannah sponged Nathan’s face, determined to combat his fever and keep him alive. Nathan cried out in his sleep as the fever held him in its grip.
Susannah was so preoccupied, she didn’t notice the look on Selaima’s face. The slave girl didn’t like playing second fiddle to the Englishwoman. She wanted to care for the handsome American herself.
Selaima wasn’t as worried about Nathan as Susannah was because she knew something Susannah didn’t: she knew Nathan would live. Just how she knew, not even she could explain. She had powers that, as far as she was aware, only she knew about.
The slave girl had what the other members of her distant Bauan clan referred to as the gift. The gift couldn’t easily be explained. Unique to the Bauans, it surfaced in one member of the clan, on average, once every ten or so summers. Whoever inherited the gift inherited amazing powers of healing and prophecy. They could also cast spells, which primarily accounted for why others held them in awe and often feared them.
In Selaima’s case, she hadn’t become aware of her powers until very recently. For some reason not even she completely understood, she’d chosen—for the moment at least—to keep her powers to herself.
Now, watching Susannah care for Nathan, Selaima thought about using her powers to help the wounded American. But she wouldn’t stop at that: she’d also use her powers to ensure the Englishwoman kept well away from the man she knew they both lusted after.
12
Susannah woke to the sounds of labor coming from outside. Although the sun had not long risen, it was evident to her the villagers were already up and about. The young Englishwoman felt refreshed even though she’d been up half the night attending to Nathan.
Suddenly remembering where she was, Susannah rolled over and found herself looking into Nathan’s face, not an arm’s length away. He was sleeping peacefully. Beyond him, the old healer, Inoki, and the slave girl, Selaima, were also sleeping. Susannah allowed her gaze to return to Nathan’s face, taking in his handsome features. She found herself memorizing every feature, every line on his face.
Nathan suddenly stirred, jolting Susannah out of her reverie. She waited to see if he’d woken. He remained fast asleep. Sitting up, Susannah leaned over to check Nathan’s dressings. Satisfied they were all right, she then placed the palm of her hand on his forehead to check his temperature. Still too hot. His forehead felt clammy. Knowing the best thing she could do for him was to let him sleep, she slowly pushed herself to her feet and walked toward the bure’s open doorway.
Outside, she yawned as she observed her surroundings. Villagers were attending to the task of rebuilding their bures and defenses. Joeli was down near the beach supervising the relief of lookouts who had spent the night guarding the approaches to the village. The future ratu was about to lead a small group of warriors out to patrol the surrounding hills. All except Joeli carried muskets. He still stubbornly preferred the tried and tested traditional weapons of his forefathers.
Susannah looked beyond the warriors to the mission station. The unscathed chapel stood out like a beacon amid the destruction around it. The mission house and a small building that had served as a workshop and laundry had been razed to the ground by the outcasts.
Susannah began walking toward the mission station. As she walked, she steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation ahead: she knew her father would be raising the subject of sending her home.
At the mission station, Susannah found Drake Senior already up and about. He had converted the unscathed chapel into a temporary abode, complete with two beds and a makeshift table. Susannah noticed he’d already prepared breakfast for two.
“Good morning, Papa,” Susannah said.
“Good morning,” an unsmiling Drake Senior responded. “Breakfast is ready,” he said, nodding toward the table.
Father and daughter ate in silence. The tension of the previous evening—when Drake Senior had insisted Susannah must return to England—was still in the air.
Looking through the chapel window at the Rendezvous anchored out in the bay, Drake Senior said, “The Rendezvous sails for the western whaling grounds today.” Susannah said nothing. The reverend continued, “I have arranged with Captain McTavish to take you back to Levuka when the ship returns this way in a couple of weeks.”
“Papa, I told you—”
“It is not safe for you here.”
“My place is here—”
“Enough!” Drake Senior thumped the tabletop with his fist, causing Susannah to jump. “You already have my decision,” he said.
Close to tears, Susannah stood up and ran outside.
“Susannah!” Drake Senior called.
She ignored him and kept running down to the beach.
Susannah reached the beach as the Rendezvous’s longboat was approaching the shore. In it were the familiar figures of Captain McTavish and Eric Foley as well as two sailors who were manning the oars. Susannah walked down to the water’s edge to greet them.
McTavish and Foley saw her coming. They climbed out of the craft and approached her. The captain asked, “How is Mr. Johnson, Miss Drake?”
“He seems a little better this morning, thank you, captain.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Susannah remembered Lightning Rod. She looked sympathetically at the Irish first mate, saying, “I was sorry to learn of Rodney’s death, Mr. Foley.”
“Thank ye, Miss,” Foley mumbled. There was an awkward moment of silence. Foley looked at the captain then back to Susannah. “Ah, Miss . . . I understand ye’ll be leaving this place soon,” he ventured.
Susannah feigned surprised. “Why would you assume that, Mr. Foley?”
“Well, Miss, your father is concerned for your safety. You’ve already seen 'ow dangerous it is here. Those cannibals could return.”
“Our lives are in the good Lord’s hands,” Susannah responded. She turned and pointed to the mission station chapel. “You will have noted the outcasts did not touch the chapel.”
The two seamen looked at each other, unsure how to respond. Finally, McTavish said, “Ah, I’m afraid we can’t delay our departure for the Mamanucas any lo
nger.”
“But what about Mr. Johnson?” Susannah asked.
“He’s better off here with you.”
Susannah looked to Foley.
“Unfortunately, we have to leave him 'ere, Miss,” Foley apologized. “We must get to the western whaling grounds before the cyclone season begins.”
“Oh, I see.”
McTavish hurriedly added, “The whalers are relying on us to deliver urgent provisions, but we’ll be back this way in a fortnight. So we can check on Mr. Johnson then.”
The two seamen seemed embarrassed they couldn’t be of more assistance. McTavish doffed his cap. “Good luck to you and your father.”
Foley added, “And to Nathan.”
“Thank you.” Susannah smiled. “May God be with you.” She watched as the seamen returned to the longboat and were rowed back toward the Rendezvous before walking slowly up to the village. As she walked, her thoughts returned to Nathan. She wondered how he was faring. Without realizing it, she quickened her pace.
Striding through the village toward Inoki’s bure, she was pleased to see that life was slowly returning to a semblance of normality. The villagers were making steady progress rebuilding their bures, children were running around, and laughter could be heard for the first time since the carnage of the previous day. Looking back at the mission station, she saw work was now underway there, too. Having finished breakfast alone, Drake Senior had begun rebuilding the mission house. He was being assisted by two strapping young men he’d recruited from the village.
Susannah paused outside Inoki’s bure to watch the Rendezvous up anchor and sail out of Momi Bay. The schooner was rapidly pushed westward ahead of a stiff easterly. Susannah knew her father would be expecting her to board the schooner when it next called in. Putting that out of her mind, she entered the bure to find Nathan was still sleeping. Inoki and Selaima were now awake and watching over him. The old healer was hovering over his patient, chanting, while the slave girl sat nearby, singing softly.
