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

by Lance Morcan

  Susannah went straight to Nathan and knelt down beside him. Placing her hand on his forehead, she checked his temperature again.

  Good!

  She nodded, encouraged by what she found: Nathan’s temperature had come down since she’d left him earlier.

  Selaima smiled to herself as she watched Susannah fuss over Nathan. Initially, she’d wondered what the relationship was between the Englishwoman and the handsome American. It had always been clear to her the woman had feelings for him, but just how deep those feelings ran she could only guess. Since Nathan had been wounded, it had become very clear to her just how much Susannah cared for him.

  It irked Selaima that Susannah thought it was because of her own efforts and her foreign healing methods that Nathan was now out of danger. She longed to inform her that his recovery was because of the magic herbal potion she’d administered while alone with him.

  Selaima also longed to inform Susannah that she would soon be ill as a result of a spell she’d woven. Not ill enough to die, but ill enough to keep her apart from Nathan for a while at least.

  Nathan slept for the remainder of the day and most of the night, waking only to drink fluids that Susannah forced into him at regular intervals. This had the desired effect and his temperature gradually normalized. The downside was that he frequently urinated where he lay. Susannah thought, if Nathan were lucid, he’d agree that urinating in his sleep was a small price to pay for his life.

  #

  The following morning, Nathan woke to find he was alone with Inoki, who, at that moment, was hovering above him, chanting and waving a smoldering stick over his head.

  Looking at his clothes, the young American realized they’d been changed; he was wearing someone else’s trousers and someone had bathed him. He wondered who had been responsible for that, not realizing that Susannah and Selaima had taken turns caring for him through the night.

  Nathan racked his brains trying to recall what had happened to him and how he’d ended up here. His chest hurt like hell. Slowly, the memory of being speared by the wounded outcast he’d stumbled onto after the attack on the village came to him.

  When was that? Yesterday? Last week?

  Then details of the battle came flooding back to him, like small explosions in his brain.

  Inoki suddenly held the smoldering stick under Nathan’s nose and began chanting more loudly. Not wanting to offend the elderly healer, Nathan resisted the urge to turn his head away to escape the smoke, which was threatening to choke him. When Nathan felt he could bear it no more, Inoki mercifully removed the stick and lapsed into silence.

  Observing the old man, Nathan thought back to how he’d almost left the villagers alone to fend for themselves. The fact that he’d even considered so cowardly an act made him feel ashamed—especially as the people he’d been ready to forsake were now the very people who were keeping him alive in their village. For one of the few times in his life, he actually felt his conscience stirring.

  Nathan suddenly thought of Susannah and wondered where she was. The thought occurred she may have left Momi Bay. His fears were allayed when, moments later, Susannah entered the bure holding a jar. Nathan imagined he caught a look of pleasant surprise on her face, but couldn’t be certain. The two stared at each other in silence.

  At last, Susannah said, “Nathan . . . ah . . .Mr. Johnson. How are you?”

  “Nathan will do,” he said, gingerly trying to sit up. “I’ve been better.”

  Susannah went to him and helped him to sit up. Then, opening the jar, she said, “These are healing herbs we brought out from England. They might help.” With that, she gently removed Nathan’s bandages and sprinkled crushed herbs over his chest.

  Nathan watched her as she proceeded to rub the herbs into his wound. Finally, he asked, “Since when did you start worrying about me?”

  Susannah blushed. “This is the least I can do after what you did for us . . . and for this village.”

  This only served to remind Nathan how he’d nearly deserted Susannah and her father. Casting guilty thoughts from his mind, he studied Susannah’s beautiful face and lustrous red hair as she worked on him. Their faces were only inches apart. Neither said another word, but still the pair somehow seemed to communicate – an unseen energy flowing between them.

  Suddenly mindful of her close proximity to Nathan, Susannah abruptly stood up, embarrassed, and prepared to leave, saying, “I will pray for your health.”

  Nathan was about to ask her to stay a while, but couldn’t find the words. The young Englishwoman had that effect on him.

  Susannah paused in the doorway. Looking back, she said, “Oh, by the way, the Rendezvous left this morning.”

  Nathan frowned but said nothing. He remembered the balance of his muskets were still in the schooner’s hold and wondered if he’d ever see them again. Strangely though, Susannah dominated his mind more than the potential profits from his pending trade. He couldn’t believe how mesmerized he was by the redheaded missionary. She had cast a spell over him. Nathan put this down to his feverish state.

  13

  Wailing and chanting woke Nathan from a deep sleep. Sunlight streamed in through the open doorway of Inoki’s bure, hurting his eyes. He closed them momentarily to shield them from the light.

  Alone in the bure, Nathan took a few moments to remember where he was. Since being wounded, he’d spent much of the past week sleeping and had not risen from his bed mat other than to attend to his personal needs, so weak was he.

  As the wailing grew louder, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled to the doorway. Swaying unsteadily on his feet, he leaned against it and noticed a steady stream of mourners descending on the village. He deduced they must have traveled from surrounding villages to pay their respects to Iremaia and, judging by the ceremonial attire of some, he could see there were ratus and headmen among them. Beneath their turbans, they looked splendid in their tapa robes and their colorful mulberry bark capes and shawls.

  Some mourners were arriving by canoe, others materialized on foot out of the nearby rainforest. Many had traveled long distances—such was the esteem they had for Iremaia and their Qopa allies. Nathan could see that all carried gifts and food; some even brought slaves as gifts.

  The mourners, who now numbered in their hundreds, were assembling outside the village meeting house, some fifty yards from where Nathan was standing. Iremaia had lain there in state since his death.

  One by one, the mourners sat down, cross-legged on the ground, facing the meeting house. There was an expectant hum of conversation that carried faintly to Nathan above the distant thunder of waves crashing onto the offshore reef. Children scampered around on the fringes of the crowd.

  Nathan didn’t realize the occasion was also to be an acknowledgment of Joeli’s new status within the Qopa clan. As Iremaia’s oldest son born of Akanisi, Joeli was about to be proclaimed ratu.

  The young American studied the mourners, hoping to catch a glimpse of Susannah. He was secretly disappointed he hadn’t seen her for the past few days. What he didn’t know was she had developed a mysterious rash which, until today, had forced her to remain indoors at the mission station in case it was contagious. The strange thing was it had disappeared as quickly as it had occurred. Of course, Susannah wasn’t to know the rash was a result of the spell Selaima had placed on her to keep her out of circulation for a while.

  Nathan sensed Susannah had developed feelings for him, which he thought could explain why she had been avoiding him. That’s probably wishful thinking, he cautioned himself. To be fair, given the severity of his wound, his progress over the past week had been remarkable and he was rapidly improving. Even so, he was far from his old self.

  Just venturing outside unaided was an effort and his chest was painful to touch.

  Nathan suddenly caught sight of Susannah. She was sitting with her father in the midst of the other mourners. They had their backs to him. He debated whether to walk over to join them, but felt he wouldn’
t make it. Just standing was proving difficult. He was beginning to feel faint so he sat down on the grass, his back against the wall of the bure.

  The American was unaware that while he was looking at Susannah, he was being observed from afar by Selaima. The slave girl was biding her time, planning her next move to seduce him.

  Looking around him, Nathan was amazed how industrious the Qopa had been since he’d been out of commission. The razed bures and destroyed defenses had been rebuilt so that the village looked almost as it had before the battle with the outcasts. All that was missing—aside from warriors who were notable by their absence—was the storehouse that had once rested atop four poles in the center of the village. As before, Nathan wondered what the storehouse had held.

  Looking along the beach at the nearby mission station, he could see that Drake Senior had been industrious, too. The wooden framing of the new mission house appeared to be near completion.

  Beyond the mission station, Nathan could see the now-familiar storm clouds gathering above the Nausori Highlands of the interior. He guessed the wet season had arrived there and wondered when it was going to arrive in Momi Bay. By all accounts, its arrival in the western regions of Viti Levu was overdue.

  Nathan couldn’t see inside the meeting house, but at that moment all the members of Iremaia’s extended family were gathered around the bodies of Iremaia and Adi, his youngest wife. The old ratu’s remaining wives were among them, as was Joeli, who was proudly wearing the whale bone pendant he’d inherited from his father.

  The future ratu looked more imposing than ever adorned as he was in the same ceremonial turban and mulberry bark cloak his father had once worn. In keeping with tradition, the cloak featured eye-catching charcoal black and ochre red designs.

  Joeli suddenly withdrew from the others. It was time. Straightening his cloak and squaring his broad shoulders, he walked toward the doorway.

  Outside, the crowd quietened as Joeli emerged from the meeting house. He sat down facing the assembled then signaled for the formalities to begin.

  Village matagali, or elders, proceeded to welcome the visitors. One by one, they delivered their lengthy speeches, paying homage to Iremaia. Like islanders throughout the Pacific, they considered themselves wonderful orators and could not be hurried. Their speeches inevitably began with a summary of their clan’s history and finished with a recital of their genealogy dating back to the earliest known Fijian ratus. These were interspersed with imaginative accounts of their personal heroism in countless battles with their numerous enemies.

  In some cases, the enemies they referred to were in attendance. Insults, and imagined insults, were duly noted and would no doubt be avenged at some future date—such was the way things worked in Fiji.

  #

  After several hours of oratory, many of the children were asleep in their parents’ arms and the adults were becoming restless. Fifty yards away, sitting on the grass outside Inoki’s hut, Nathan had long since fallen asleep.

  Finally, the crowd fell silent when the elderly Kamisese, a respected toreni koro, or village headman, stood to speak. “Bula. This is a sad occasion and a happy one,” Kamisese proclaimed. “Today, we farewell a great ratu and we welcome another.” The crowd cheered Kamisese’s eloquence. The old man held his hands up for silence. He looked directly at Joeli. “Joeli, descended from Iremaia, descended from Naikelekele . . . your warrior bloodlines can be traced all the way back to the great Umbari. May their blood run through your veins and give you the strength to lead your people to greatness.”

  A huge cheer erupted, waking Nathan. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the young American looked on as Joeli stood to acknowledge his supporters. A hundred warriors from neighboring villages lined up in rows three deep to hail the Qopa’s new ratu. Chanting and stamping their feet in unison, the warriors gave thanks to the war spirits.

  Joeli’s few remaining able-bodied warriors joined them, proudly brandishing their new muskets. The sight of over a hundred fierce warriors paying homage to the spirits sent a thrill through everyone present.

  Watching the impressive display, Nathan found his mind wandering. He wondered what the future held for him—and whether Susannah could possibly feature in that future.

  What on earth are you thinking, Nathan chastised himself. It’s an impossible romance, so forget it. A classy woman like that would never want to end up with a rough diamond like you!

  Nathan wished he could banish Susannah from his mind. He wanted to get as far away from her and as quickly possible for she was distracting him from his mission in the Pacific. He only hoped that once she was out of sight, she would also be out of mind, but he knew he couldn’t be sure of that. All he knew for sure was such a sophisticated, not to mention religious, woman was well out of his league. Still though, she dominated his thoughts like nothing else.

  The young American had never been in love before, so he didn’t have a clue what it felt like and whether this was it. Truth be told, up until now he didn’t actually believe in the idea of love—only lust—but, as much as he hated to acknowledge it, there was definitely some bizarre feeling inside him that wouldn’t go away. It was like some dizzy combination of seasickness and ecstasy. It was so intense, he’d completely lost his appetite. As much as he tried, however much he reasoned with himself, the desire to be with Susannah wouldn’t go away.

  This was totally different to how he’d felt toward any other woman. As he pondered this, Nathan had an inkling as to why Susannah had infiltrated the prison of his mind when all other women had failed: it was her demeanor and zest for life. Life sparkled in her eyes in a way that he’d never seen in any of the numerous women he’d bedded, regardless of their beauty.

  Pondering his future once more, the American decided it wouldn’t be a bad thing if he were to spend the remainder of his life with Susannah.

  Nathan realized he was being foolish. He reminded himself it was an impossible romance. For starters, Drake Senior would never allow it.

  #

  Later, after Iremaia had been buried in the tribe’s nearby burial cave and the mourners had departed, Joeli stood alone with his thoughts on the headland overlooking Momi Bay. He was staring out to sea, thinking of his dear departed parents and preparing himself mentally for a future without them. Joeli knew now how his father must have felt. As ratu, the responsibility for the village and its people was his alone. It was a big responsibility and it weighed heavily on him.

  A noise told him someone was approaching. Joeli turned to see Nathan and Inoki walking slowly toward him from the village below. It was obvious to him the American was in pain: he was walking slowly and leaning heavily on the old healer for support. As they neared, Joeli motioned to Inoki to leave them. The healer wandered off, leaving the young men alone.

  Nathan attempted to walk the last few paces to Joeli unaided. Such was the effort, he stumbled and fell to his knees. Joeli offered no assistance, believing Nathan would lose face if he did. Nathan doggedly pushed himself to his feet and finally reached Joeli’s side. The two men looked intensely at each other for several moments.

  Nathan nodded. “Bula, Joeli.”

  The young ratu stepped forward until their faces were only inches apart. “Bula, Nathan Johnson.” Joeli reached out with his right hand and clasped Nathan’s left shoulder. With his other hand he removed the whale bone pendant from around his neck and held it out to Nathan. He wanted him to have it.

  Nathan was taken aback. He knew how much the heirloom meant to Joeli. “I cannot accept this. It was your father’s. He would want you to have it.”

  The young ratu looked wistfully at the treasured heirloom then back to Nathan. “My father would want you to have. You help defeat our enemies.” Not prepared to debate the issue, Joeli firmly placed the pendant around Nathan’s neck. “It where belong. Now I give to you, cannot take back.”

  Nathan reluctantly accepted the pendant. Again, the two young men stared long and hard at each other. There was a new respect
in the eyes of each. Joeli said, “Joeli thank Nathan Johnson for helping my people.”

  Nathan nodded, accepting the other’s gratitude, but behind his calm exterior he was troubled by his conscience, which had returned even stronger than before. His guilt stemmed from the knowledge that Joeli didn’t realize Nathan had only been looking after his own interests during the battle. He’d never even considered the Qopas’ interests and yet here they were giving him shelter and caring for him. For the first time in his life, he was becoming aware just how selfish an individual he really was.

  Joeli looked out to sea for a moment and then back at Nathan. “My people will collect trepang in return for muskets.” Nathan looked puzzled. “Trepang . . . sea slugs,” Joeli translated in hesitant English.

  “Ah.”

  “It ready by time ship return,” he said, referring to the Rendezvous.

  The American marveled at Joeli’s sincerity. It was obvious he intended to honor the terms of the agreement his father had reached with Nathan.

  In all his travels, Nathan had never allowed himself to get close to a native, or even to get to know one, like he was beginning to with Joeli. He was surprised at the level of respect he was beginning to feel toward the young ratu, but more than that, he was surprised by the realization that he felt as he did.

  The two began walking back down to the village. Joeli walked slowly to allow Nathan to keep up.

  Nathan suddenly asked, “Will your enemies return?”

  Joeli smiled a rare smile. “Our enemies always return.” The young ratu turned and pointed east toward the distant highlands of Viti Levu’s interior. He said, “Out there. . . somewhere. . .where our enemies come from.” Nathan observed the highlands for the second time that day. Joeli continued, “Rambuka, the Outcast, live there. In . . .jungle . . .” Joeli searched for the correct English word. Eventually, he lost patience and resorted to sign language. Nathan watched him curiously.

  With his hand, Joeli simulated rain falling from the sky.

  “Rain?” Nathan asked.