Fee-Jee, the Cannibal Islands

By Robert Ennever

Personal conflicts and fierce emotions set amidst the intrigues and bloodshed of the infamous Cannibal Islands and the hardships of the fledgling convict colony of New South Wales.

Early nineteenth century Fee-jee, an era of proud men and barbaric cruelty, of unspeakable inhumanity, duplicity, bitter hatreds and vicious revenge. A time of well-int

• Language: English
• Publisher: Publicious Book Publishing
• Release date: Jul 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9780987166784

Robert Ennever

Rob Ennever was born in Sydney, Australia in 1933. He attended North Sydney Boys' High School and graduated as a pharmacist from Sydney University in 1954. After marrying his childhood sweetheart he opened a number of successful pharmacies on the North Shore and Northern Beaches of Sydney, inaugurating Chambers of Commerce and Merchants' Associations in the process. The birth of a son and daughter during this time added to his happy life. An inveterate seeker of new challenges, at forty-nine Rob sold his pharmacies, to become a property developer and student of Mid-Eastern History and the Italian language. Then came the call of the land, when he devoted his time and energy to farming a fifteen hundred acre cattle and wheat property in the Cowra region of New South Wales, down-sizing nine years later to start Australia's first 'Goosey Gander Geese' farm, along with a Tukidale carpet-wool sheep stud, on three hundred acres in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales. In her mid-fifties Rob's wife developed a progressive degenerative neurological disorder and he became her full-time carer until finally she had to be admitted to a Nursing Home when he served as a Community Representative on the Division of General Practice. It was during this time Rob developed a love of writing. It provided him with a degree of escape from the reality of the shattering of their life together. Over this period he wrote five novels in total, including Anna's Story which speaks of his wife's tragic terminal illness and its impact on their lives. Fee-Jee, the Cannibal Islands, Sinclair's Retreat, The Chaos Vortex, Sardinia, the Brotherhood of Orso and Anna's Story were all penned in the early hours while his wife slept. In 2009 Rob remarried and continued to live on his mountain-top at Mittagong, New South Wales with his second wife Trish until 2015, when they moved into the township of Bowral. His passion for the land and large scale gardening has now been replaced with a passion for leisurely walks into the village for morning cappuccinos! He still teaches Italian, travels extensively and is involved more than ever with his writing. His latest works are 'Loveridge...and they call this Progress?', an attempt to express his concerns about some aspects of modern life, and 'Mending Michael' which deals with the ongoing traumas suffered by war veterans and the effect these can have on those who share their lives.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

1828

New Guinea.

In the darkness of the hut Maluwai shivered, not from cold, although the night air was chill and he, like his companions, was naked, but from the heady mixture of fear and excitement which coursed through him like quicksilver.

The village, high in the hills, was ablaze with torches. Outside he could hear an expectant hum of voices as the tribe assembled around the huge pit in which a pig had been cooking since noon. Inside the hut the silence was absolute. Each of the young men was so engrossed, so overwhelmed by the solemnity of the occasion, that their usual boastful banter had deserted them.

Maluwai’s scalp prickled and his stomach churned at the thought that tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that, he would claim his first head. ‘Will it be a woman’s, or a child’s? No! I, Maluwai, will never settle for that! It must be the head of a warrior’. With a shock it came to him he could die on the raid, tonight could be his last on this earth, and for the first time in his short life he confronted the reality of his mortality.

A drum beat shattered the night and their mentor, the warrior Nagog, entered. ‘Come!’ he whispered. ‘It is time.’ Stooping to clear the low entrance the young men filed out and followed him into the glare of the torchlight.

The men of the tribe were gathered to one side of the earth oven, the women to the other. Wordlessly Nagog led the initiates before the tribe’s elders, where they waited while the drum-beat increased in tempo until, from an ornately decorated hut, a terrifying figure emerged.

It was the chief priest, an old man, his chest criss-crossed with scars inflicted with oyster shells and enlarged by rubbing ash into the wounds. Around his neck hung strands of cowrie shells and he wore a bracelet of human finger bones. His features were hidden by a huge mask in the likeness of a hornbill. Carved and painted, its mother-of-pearl eyes seemed to flicker to and fro as they reflected the dancing flames. In one hand he held an upturned skull and in the other a crude ladle fashioned from a jaw-bone. With a high-pitched, quavering voice he began to chant.

‘Hear me, and hear me well, you who seek to become men! Know it is time to go forth and replenish our village’s store of ‘soul-matter’, that upon which all life depends. The rains have been and gone, our soils hunger to be fed.’ He pointed to a row of trees which led away from the village and through carefully tended small plots of yams. Every tree had several hollowed-out niches in each of which reposed a skull. ‘Without new heads in those trees every year our crops will fail for want of nourishment, our sows will have no litters, our menfolk’s seed will dry up and our women become barren.’ As he recited the age-old ritual his audience listened intently.

The priest raised his arms in exhortation, causing his bone bracelet to rattle eerily in the reverent silence. ‘Know this, you who have never touched meat, you who have yet to take your first head! It is in the head that ‘soul matter’ is found. Only from fresh heads can the rain wash the ‘soul matter’ into the soil, into our food and thence into our loins.’ He turned to the young women of the tribe.

‘Heed me also, you wives and mothers-to-be! No-one who has not touched meat is truly a man. He cannot beget virile children, only weaklings who will surely waste away and die. He who has not taken a head is not worthy to be a husband. Better he perish in the quest than return empty-handed.’

At this point the rhythm of the drums subsided and two of the priest’s helpers approached the line of young men, bearing a number of razor-sharp bamboo knives which they fastened around each youth’s waist. ‘These are your sacred decapitation knives. May you perish and roam forever in the spirit-world should they ever be used for any other purpose. Henceforth they will never leave your side!’

Then the chief priest, flanked by his assistants, made his way along the row and fed to the initiates in turn a little of the contents of the skull, which they sipped from the jawbone ladle.

Facing the awe-struck youths once more he screeched, ‘Begone! Let tomorrow’s rising sun not shine upon your faces in this place. Feast tonight, fill your bellies! For you shall not eat again until your task is done. Before the dawn you leave on a sacred mission. May you never again see your families or homes if you fail!’

Finally, as the drums rose to a crescendo, a junior priest attached a gigantic wooden phallus to the loins of the chief priest, who downed the remainder of the narcotic liquid in the skull and began to dance with erotic, sensuous movements. At first slowly, then ever more quickly, his rhythmic pelvic jerks kept pace with the drums. He danced with an energy quite amazing in so old a man, his feet stamping the earth in time, whirling and jumping like a dervish for some minutes until his actions became unco-ordinated and spasmodic as the drug took effect and he sank to the ground in a deep trance.

The whole group now joined the dance as boy sought out girl and man woman. Maluwai could feel a euphoria creeping through him as the drug took effect, an enveloping glow of well-being and elation. The throbbing of the drums was insistent and the dancers became blurred shadows as the firelight glistened on dark skins shining with sweat.

Maluwai’s eyes sought out Navasu, a nubile, flashing-eyed temptress whom he had been courting earnestly the last months, and, finding her, danced to her side.

She brushed provocatively against him. ‘Bring me back a head, Maluwai! Prove to me you are a man and I will scatter grain over you when you return, I shall take you as my husband.’ She wriggled suggestively. ‘I will warm your bed like no-one ever before and bear your children.’ He thrilled at her implied promise.

The feasting and dancing continued until just prior to day-break.

*****

In the pre-dawn the mists rose like wraiths from the dew-soaked leaves and droplets of moisture twinkled on the coiled tendrils of the vines as the raiders made the short march down the steep track from the village to where the canoes were beached. Maluwai’s excitement was at fever-pitch, the anticipation of his beloved’s welcome, should he return a hero, unbearable. If it took a ‘head’ to possess Navasu, then a ‘head’ she would have!

CHAPTER 2

The island of Aora.

Far to the north-east, on one of the cluster of islets dotting the sea off the coast of New Britain, the hot sun beat down on glistening bodies as a group of young girls emerged from the clear waters of the lagoon. They carried coconut-frond baskets full of edible shellfish.

‘Do you think Jono likes me?’ asked Alana, as she stooped to pick up the brief grass skirt she had discarded before entering the water.

Her friend Mere paused a moment before replying. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps?’

‘But, does he ever talk about me?’

‘No, he never says anything. Jono thinks he’s too important to discuss things with girls, even his sisters.’ Noting Alana’s disappointment Mere took her arm kindly. ‘He notices you. He never took his eyes off you while we were weaving the new sail yesterday.’ She giggled. ‘Listen, come and sit with us after dinner when Father tells his stories. You can… Ouch!’ She broke off abruptly as a clump of seaweed, hurled by her younger sister Isoa, hit her on the back. Mere whirled round but Isoa twisted out of reach and squealed with delight. ‘You wait!’ laughed Mere. Surreptitiously she scooped up a handful of sand.

‘Can’t catch me! Can’t catch me!’ chanted Isoa as she danced around Mere, who pretended to be having trouble fastening her skirt. Suddenly, as Isoa pranced closer, she grabbed her and rubbed the sand through her woolly hair. ‘There, you imp!’

Laughing happily the girls made their way up the beach, pausing to say their good-byes before each made her own way back to her hut.

*****

‘Let’s go the long way, Mere,’ said Isoa.

‘No, we’re late already.’

‘Please, Mere!’

‘It’s too hot. Why do you want to go that way?’

‘I like looking at the carvings by Uncle Narik’s hut,’ Isoa sniggered.

‘Well I don’t!’ Mere’s voice was sharper than intended. ‘He always invites me in to see his charms.’

‘Truly!’ Isoa’s eyes were wide. ‘Have you been inside the hut? What’s it like?’

‘Once. I didn’t like to be rude, he is our uncle. It’s horrible.’ She made a face. ‘Dried-out frogs, bones and feathers everywhere. It’s dark and gloomy and hot and stuffy. High up, tied to the roof, is a skull. Uncle Narik kept taking my hand and saying he had magic powers and could give me anything I wanted. I didn’t like the way he looked at me. You feel he can see inside you. He’s so ugly and mis-shapen. I was glad to get outside, he makes me feel dirty.’

‘Mother told me never to go near his hut.’ Isoa admitted. She had become subdued.

‘Oh, we don’t have to worry. He wouldn’t dare do anything to the chief’s daughters.’ Mere started walking. ‘Let’s take the short cut. We’re late.’

Isoa took her sister’s hand and held it tightly.

*****

That evening.

The moon shone through an opening in the roof and threw a circle of light into the gloom.

With its dome higher than those of the other huts, Narik’s home was set apart. Unlike them, it was surrounded by a clearing garlanded with shells and flowers. Laid out on the sand in geometric patterns, were bones bleached white by the sun. Tree-trunks, carved as erect phalluses, stood on either side of the doorway. A wisp of smoke spiralled up and disappeared into the darkness while a pungent smell of burning aromatic leaves hung in the area.

Inside, although the night was warm, Narik sat hunched over a mound of coals, his eyes fixed trance-like on the embers. Sour, austere, Narik was a man given to introspection. He had never learned to give or to love, only to want and to hate.

No woman had ever wished to grant him her favours and it was easy to see why. Even by the dim light of the fire the grotesque abnormality of the man was apparent. Infected as a youth by the Elephantiasis virus, his scrotum had distended to form a monstrous scaly sack which affected his gait and rendered him impotent. Constant rejections of his offers of friendship had embittered him and turned him against women. Deprived of female companionship, starved of love, he sought power through fear and had turned to the mysteries of the occult for solace.

His contemporaries treated him with contempt but, as the years passed and his skills improved, a curious community, in particular the young, developed a qualified acceptance. Even those elders who remembered him as a young man, while not wholly convinced, were reluctant to disregard his utterances. Now, at the age of forty-nine, Narik held a fervent belief in his powers and used them to mask his inadequacies, both real and imagined, and his hatred of his fellows.

Consumed by bitterness, without friends, and obsessed with the unfairness of his lot, he had so lost any social graces that his attempts at renewing human contact were misinterpreted and invariably rejected. In his isolation Narik longed for someone with whom he could share his secrets. For, along with his elaborate rituals and worthless charms, he had a vast knowledge of nature, acquired during long days of roaming the island and digested during even longer nights alone by his fire.

Every occasional passer-by, and they were few as the tribe scrupulously avoided his hut, was accosted and invited to join him, although in his heart Narik knew they would not accept. Still he persisted. He needed someone, anyone, with whom he could talk and who would listen.

Now he could hear sounds, faint on the evening air, of the gathering in the village. His heart ached with loneliness. Disconsolately he walked out into the night.

*****

Alana sighed as she mopped up the last of the juices in her coconut-shell bowl with a lump of dalo. ‘I’d eat turtle every night if my father was a chief!’

Mere laughed. ‘We don’t eat turtle every night. Jono caught this one today while fishing.’

‘Did he? If I were his wife I’d make him bring me a turtle every day!’ Alana’s eyes grew wistful. ‘More chance of it raining without a cloud in the sky!’ She looked across to where Jono sat with the men, boastfully recounting every detail of the catch. ‘He doesn’t even know I’m here.’

‘Wait till Father finishes his meal and talks about the old times,’ said Mere. ‘I’ll arrange it so you sit next to Jono.’

‘Could you Mere? I’ll make sure he notices me then!’ Alana smiled suggestively.

The coconut fronds rustled softly at the caress of the balmy evening breeze as Mana and Lena, Chief Nasivi’s wives, waited on him, vying to anticipate his every wish. Mana, the older of the two, was a robust woman in her early forties who smiled constantly and broke into great bosom-shaking peals of laughter at the slightest provocation. Lena, on the other hand, was hardly more than a girl. Slight, reserved, placid, she happily accepted her role as junior wife and readily undertook the more menial tasks, even though she was still breast-feeding the chief ’s youngest son.

‘More turtle, Tui?’ asked Mana. ‘Quickly Lena, bring the Tui more turtle!’ She clapped her hands to emphasize the point.

‘No, no Mana, no more turtle, no more anything! I’ve eaten enough. Sit down Lena. Sit down both of you and have something yourselves.’ The calm, deep voice was considerate but authoritarian, in sharp contrast to its owner’s external appearance. Chief Nasivi was now an old man. His once superb physique had wasted to a shrunken shell which slumped tiredly over its pot belly. The firmness of his thighs had shrivelled with the years, leaving the sinews gaunt beneath the papery skin. His crinkly hair was white and thinning.

It was his face, however, which drew and held one’s attention. It was a face of marvellous nobility, lined and mature, wise and understanding, accustomed to accepting responsibility and taking decisions, resolute yet strangely persuasive. The animation of the clear, shrewd eyes mirrored the alertness of an active mind. Nasivi was chief, and had been chief for many years. One look at his face was sufficient to see why.

He moved slightly on the plaited mats, eased the cramps in his crossed legs and turned his attention to Jono’s account of the day’s hunt. He smiled indulgently at his son’s brash confidence. ‘Does the boy think nobody else has ever caught a turtle?’ His gaze shifted from Jono to young Peta who was listening intently to his half-brother’s exaggerations. ‘How would you like to come with us in the canoes tomorrow, eh Peta?’

‘Go out in a canoe?’ echoed Peta, the amazement on his face giving way to delight.

‘Yes, that’s what I said,’ Nasivi smiled. ‘I think I’ll come myself and teach you, with Jono’s help of course, to throw the harpoon.’

‘Mere! Alana! Did you hear?’ Peta ran to the girls. ‘I’m going with Jono and Father tomorrow.’

‘Wonderful!’ Mere interrupted her gossip with Alana and the girls. ‘You must be so excited.’ She hugged him to her. Mere loved this seven-year-old half-brother by her father’s third wife, with his wide enthusiastic smile and appealing face. ‘I’m sure you’ll be a great hunter, like Father.’

‘I’d rather be like Jono. He knows about axes and clubs and spears and boats and birds and making fires and… Jono knows everything!’

‘Certainly he thinks he does,’ smiled Mere, ‘but he doesn’t know about people, how they feel and what they think. That’s what makes Father a wonderful chief. If the gods are kind, Jono will never have to assume that role. Our brother Samu is Father’s successor. I can’t imagine harm ever coming to him. He’s like a rock, hard, strong, yet with Father’s compassion’. She took Alana’s hand. ‘Come! The men have finished eating. Let’s find a place near Jono while Father tells us how we came to this land. You too Peta, sit with us. You’re not too big to cuddle up with your head in my lap while you listen and you must be fresh for tomorrow.’ Slowly they drifted around the fire to where Jono sat.

*****

Chief Nasivi scanned the faces gathered in the clearing between the thatched huts and his heart was glad. His greatest satisfaction was the knowledge he had led his family and the tribe to peace and contentment after all the years of wandering. ‘They are all here,’ he thought, ‘all the living. My wives, fine women, loving and respectful. My son Samu by my first wife and his wife Ilikai. Mana my second wife and her children Jono, Mere, Isoa and Lena’s boy Peta. Who’s that girl with Mere? Oh yes, Alana, Rana’s daughter. She’s besotted with Jono only the poor fool is too blind to see it.’

Mere deftly out-manouvered Isoa as she placed Alana alongside Jono. Alana moved her thigh against his.

‘Mere’s the thinker of the family,’ thought Nasivi proudly. He had seen her manipulation. ‘Yes they’re all here,’ he mused. ‘all except Narik. Strange how nobody misses Narik!’ Nasivi disliked his half-brother. Narik’s sombre countenance, with its disapproval of any form of pleasure, had a singularly depressing effect. ‘His deformity is so gross and horrible I ought to feel pity, but Narik’s sour disposition stifles my compassion and leaves only revulsion.’

‘Thank the gods Uncle Narik isn’t here,’ whispered Mere to Alana. ‘He stares at you like a toad. You feel like a fly waiting for his sticky tongue to dart out and swallow you.’ She shuddered.

‘I would never go near his place,’ replied Alana in the same low tone, ‘even though he’s always inviting boys and girls. What does he do shut away from the rest of the village like that?’

‘They say he can do spells, that he speaks with the spirits and they show him the future.’

‘Quiet, your father is about to begin.’

Nasivi cleared his throat loudly and waited for silence. ‘Tonight I want to tell you how we came to live in this place. I need to tell you because I am growing old and shan’t live much longer. You must be able to tell your children and they in turn their children, so you learn from my experiences and the tribe remains strong.

‘As a boy I lived far from this island, back towards the setting sun, in a village on the coast of a large land, bigger than any island I have ever seen. We had come, so my father told me, from another land even further towards the sunset, and settled there and were very happy.

‘My father was the head of the tribe. I had an elder brother Ba and a younger sister, as well as my half-brother Narik.

‘Ba and I used to play as children. We became inseparable, roaming the jungle, hunting and fishing together. We never moved far from the sea because mountains reached to the clouds behind the village. We would occasionally hear the throbbing of drums in those mountains and believed evil spirits dwelt there.

‘Life was peaceful until the day the headhunters, for they were the ‘evil spirits’ of the mountains, came down and killed, among others, my brother and sister.’

Nasivi paused, lost in his memories. ‘How long ago it is and yet I still feel the loss of my brother.’ He looked around to ensure he had their attention, then resumed. ‘My father decided we should leave that place of sorrow so we began a lengthy migration, never settling for long in one spot, continually on the run and often under attack. It was hard leaving the only home I’d ever known and certainly it must have been far harder for my parents. Still, one son was dead and Father was too old to have another heir. So that left me! He watched over me like a mutton bird over its eggs.

‘For eight summers we travelled, always with our backs to the setting sun, skipping along the coast in our canoes, crossing from one island to another and back to the mainland.

‘The day came when my father took sick with fever. He called me to him. ‘My son,’ he said, ‘I am dying and soon you will be chief. Guide my, no, your people well. Somewhere you will find a safe home for them.’ He took my hand and clasped it tightly. I couldn’t answer him for I knew he was dying. His eyes were over-bright and sweat drenched his body. ‘Watch Narik,’ he exhaled. They were his last words. Later that evening he died and I was chief.

‘Our journey continued towards the sunrise. Shortly after my father’s death I took my first wife and Samu was born. Then the spirits ceased to smile on us, my wife couldn’t carry children full term. Five times she miscarried. Each time her strength ebbed. When she fell pregnant again the drain upon her was too much. The baby was stillborn and she died during the birth.’

Time passed quickly as Nasivi spoke, his rich voice untiring, mesmerizing his listeners with vivid word pictures. He told them how he had honoured his father’s instructions and led the tribe to the secure isolation of Aora. There he married a slim young Mana. Children had followed, Jono, Mere and Isoa.

‘I was fifty-five when I took my third wife.’ Lena’s face glowed with pride as he spoke of their son Peta and the new baby. ‘She has brought me great happiness.’

The fire had burned to white-grey ashes and smoke-tired eyes were bleary with sleep as Nasivi said ‘It is late and tomorrow we hunt the great turtle again. Let us sleep.’

*****

‘It’s no use, Mere, it didn’t work!’ Alana stood up to go.

Mere seized the opportunity. ‘Jono, walk Alana home!’

‘Why don’t you? You two always go together.’

‘I know, but’, Mere’s mind raced, ‘I must look after Peta tonight.’ She glanced to where the child lay asleep. ‘He has an exciting day ahead.’

‘I forgot.’ Jono held out his hand to Alana. ‘Come on then, I’ll take you home.’

Alana flashed a look of gratitude to Mere as she took Jono’s hand and followed him.

At first they walked in awkward silence along the vine-hung path where only occasional rays of moonlight filtered through the leafy overhang. ‘It’s kind of you to walk with me,’ she ventured.

He grinned sheepishly. ‘That’s alright.’

He had not relinquished his grip on her hand. Her heart leapt. ‘You must be proud of your father, he’s a great man.’

‘Yes,’ he nodded, acutely aware of her nubile body near his. Again an uncomfortable pause.

Alana scoured her brain for something to say, found nothing and remained silent.

The walk was almost over. She had to act. Her boastful remark to Mere earlier in the day niggled. Nearly there! In desperation she asked, ‘Tell me about the turtle?’

‘The turtle?’ Jono stopped dead in the middle of the path, puzzled. ‘Hunting turtles is men’s business not women’s business.’

‘Please, it must be so exciting.’ She tugged his hand. ‘Come and sit down. I want to hear.’ She led him to a leaf-strewn clearing beneath the canopy of the trees and he allowed himself to be seated beside her. ‘Now tell me the full story, everything!’ she said, trying to hide the subtle note of triumph in her voice.

*****

Aora.

Narik roamed blindly, dejected, hating the world and himself, overwhelmed by loneliness and a sense of futility, wallowing in self-pity.

Suddenly he heard the soft voices. He froze. Years of stalking and watching animals had endowed him with an uncanny stealth which he now utilized to creep up to the edge of the clearing unobserved. His eyes narrowed as he recognized his nephew Jono. The girl he did not know. With hardly more substance than one of the shadows he merged into the mottled background of leaves and tree-trunks, immobile, his ears listening to every sound.

Jono was warming to this girl who took such an interest in him and his turtle. ‘Have you ever been out in a canoe? Out past the reef? Not just in the lagoon?’

‘No’, sighed Alana, ‘never.’

It was on the tip of Jono’s tongue to invite her but something held him back. Instead he said, ‘It’s marvellous, scudding along with the wind filling the sail and the spray drenching you.’ He stopped, aware he had dropped his reserve in his enthusiasm.

‘Go on’, she said softly, ‘tell me.’

‘Well, I can’t describe it,’ he faltered self-consciously. ‘It’s a freedom, a, a sense of mastery over the sea and wind, taming them, using their power.’

‘It sounds thrilling,’ Alana said, drawing her knees up and hugging them to her chest. She laid her head sideways on them and looked at him enigmatically. ‘Men are so lucky.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they do as they please. They don’t have to wait to be asked.’ She looked away in confusion.

Jono digested this a moment, then tentatively reached out and took her hand. They sat, the silence warm and shared between them. ‘You know’, he confided after a while, ‘I was sorry when we dragged that turtle up beside the canoe. It was still alive. Its flippers struggled against the drag of the water and the pull of the line half turned it on its back. Barnacles were growing on the underside of its shell. I felt I was destroying something fine. Then everyone started congratulating me, telling me how clever I was. I began to believe them. I wanted to believe them, believing was easier than guilt.’ He looked squarely at her, his young face unaccustomedly grave. ‘I wanted you to know. I don’t want to deceive you.’

‘Thank you.’ She squeezed his hand and then drew it around her shoulders. With a contented sigh she cuddled against him. Again they were quiet.

‘You know Mere set up tonight, don’t you?’ Alana eventually broke the silence.

‘No. Did she? Crafty old Mere!’

‘Yes. We talked this afternoon. She’s a very good friend.’ Alana giggled. ‘There, you see! I don’t want to deceive you either.’

Minutes passed as they explored their newfound emotions. All at once she sat upright. ‘You didn’t notice my thigh against yours after dinner!’

Again Jono was grateful she couldn’t see him flush. ‘Oh yes I did! I certainly did.’ He laughed self-consciously. It had been hard maintaining a mask of dignity with her flesh against his, pliant and inviting. He lay back on one side, resting on an elbow and cupping his head in his hand. For an intense moment he gazed at her, then he smiled. ‘I must remember to thank Mere’.

‘In the morning,’ Alana whispered.

Tenderly he took her in his arms. ‘Yes, in the morning.’ With fumbling hands he began to caress her.

Velvet night enveloped the island. The far-off murmur of the sea on the reef was a background accompaniment to the pizzicato of the crickets. The rhythmic swish of the palm fronds and soughing of the breeze in the casuarinas lent depth to the melody of the evening sounds.

Suddenly Alana gasped. Her body stiffened as she caught sight of the apparition in the trees. Jono whirled. Narik, swallowing to ease the constriction in his throat, stepped purposefully into the clearing.

‘Uncle Narik!’ gulped Jono.

‘Relax. I didn’t wish to frighten you. I get very lonely out here. Frequently I go for walks at night. Please’, as he saw Jono begin to rise, ‘please sit for a while and talk. I feel I hardly know my nephew. It’s years since I’ve spoken to you. Who’s your young friend?’

‘Alana,’ replied Jono, embarrassed. Alana smoothed down her grass skirt and averted her gaze. She wished she were a moon’s journey away.

‘Tell me about my brother, your father. Is he well? And your mother?’

Jono assured him they were indeed well, as his mind searched frantically for an excuse to leave. Narik sensed their impatience to be off. It was a sign he had seen only too often. ‘I suppose you wonder what I do, living here by myself?’

Jono nodded diffidently. Why had Uncle Narik picked this way to come tonight of all nights?

‘I’ll tell you,’ Narik went on, not to be dissuaded. ‘I’ve been studying. Observing. Seeking knowledge. Exploring other worlds. Trying to communicate with the spirits. Finally I’ve succeeded.’

‘We should go,’ said Jono. ‘Alana’s parents will worry.’

‘No, don’t go! Please! Wouldn’t you like to know your future?’ His eyes narrowed shrewdly as he assessed Jono’s reaction. ‘Whether you will be chief one day?’

‘Can you tell me that? No, it’s impossible. My stepbrother Samu is Father’s older son. He will be chief.’

‘Can you be so sure?’ asked Narik slyly. His voice wheedled. ‘Come to my hut. I shall speak to the spirits of your ancestors. How fortunate I stumbled upon you. Tonight I’ll reveal your destiny. I can see the mark of fate upon you.’

Despite himself Jono was tempted. His desire abated and was replaced by curiosity. ‘What about Alana? I promised to see her home.’

‘Bring the girl, she will be useful,’ suggested Narik. Leading the way he moved swiftly despite his impediment. Soon they arrived at the hut, Jono consumed by impatience. Alana hung behind then followed. ‘Come inside! Here, sit on the mats. I’ll get you a drink.’

He crossed to a turtle-shell of fermented liquid. Turning his back to obscure their view, he took three half-coconut-shells and added a few pinches of greyish-white powder to one before filling them. He offered a cup to Jono then the one containing the powder to Alana. Next he prodded the fire into life and threw on a handful of dried leaves. Acrid smoke filled the hut, stinging their eyes.

Jono sipped his drink. It tasted bitter. Beside him Alana hesitated nervously.

‘Drink up!’ Narik was insistent.

Jono motioned her to drink. Alana grimaced then drained her cup in in a single gulp.

Narik spoke. ‘For years I tried to invoke the spirits without success. Sacrifices, rituals, purification! All futile! I taught myself to sink into a trance so deep I was oblivious to pain. I could feel their presence about me but was unable to converse with them. But when I awoke from the trance I was aware they had spoken to me. I knew things I hadn’t known before! I experimented until I found certain leaves which soaked in water produced a drink which heightened this perception. Gradually I came to learn the value and uses of a host of plants.’ His voice droned on monotonously.

Jono’s eyes were heavy with tiredness and smoke. He wished Narik would get to the point. Slowly it penetrated his dazed consciousness that Alana had fallen into a deep sleep and was slumped on the floor. ‘What have you done to her?’ he cried.

‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ replied Narik. His voice was soothing and persuasive. ‘She is only asleep. That’s good. We need her. It’s through her the spirits will speak to you. Come! Help me prepare her.’

Even though befuddled by the narcotic drink Jono was uneasy. He held back.

‘Come on! Or have you changed your mind? Are you afraid to learn your fate? Would you prefer to live in ignorance, forever a boy in a man’s body?’ Then reassuringly, ‘Nothing will happen to the girl. She’ll remember none of this in the morning.’

Narik gently arranged Alana so she rested on her back, arms by her sides and legs together, then deftly slipped off her short skirt. Next he took from the wall a grotesquely carved mask which he donned before shedding his own loincloth to reveal his disfigured scrotum. He motioned to Jono to undress, ignoring the disbelief on the youth’s face.

His eyes sought Jono’s and held them hypnotically. ‘Do as I say and all will be well.’ He reached into the shadows and brought out another smaller shell full of ointment with which he proceeded to anoint Alana, rubbing her all over from head to toe. The thought permeated hazily through Jono’s stupor that he should say or do something in protest as Narik kneaded the paste into her breasts, but he lacked any will to act.

The priest was chanting softly but with a disturbing and growing excitement. Finally he turned to Jono. ‘Now we shall purify you,’ he purred. His fingers were strong and sensual as he massaged the irritant ointment onto Jono, causing his skin to tingle. Narik was staring at Jono with compelling intensity. He reached out his hand towards Jono’s groin. ‘First we must have some of your seed.’

Revulsion filled the youth as he realized his uncle’s intent. Shock waves of horror jolted him from his daze and he knocked Narik’s hand away. ‘You filthy pig!’ he exploded. The words felt thick and fuzzy on his tongue. ‘You vile, perverted fake!’ He raised his muscular young arm and struck Narik furiously, causing the older man to reel against the side of the hut where he cringed in terror.

Jono shot him a withering stare of contempt. ‘You vermin!’ He stooped and with one effortless movement swung Alana up in his arms and started out into the night.

‘You wanted to know your fate!’ cried Narik after him, his bravado returning as he saw Jono intended no further violence. ‘I shall tell you! You and your precious village are doomed. Disaster will strike you all down.’ He ranted on but the rest of his words were lost to Jono as the young man stumbled through the bush, anxious to be rid of his uncle and that place of abomination.

Instinctively his steps turned towards the beach and soon the darkness of the trees overhead gave way to the twinkling of a myriad stars as he felt the soft sand beneath his feet. Straight to the lagoon’s edge he went and there he cradled Alana’s head above the ripples while he lovingly washed her with the tepid water. Repeatedly he rinsed her body, determined to erase every trace of that evil concoction. Not until he was satisfied no vestige remained did he lay her gently, almost reverently, on the beach and return to cleanse himself. He would have liked to fling himself into the inky waters and swim for miles, allowing the sea to wash the taint of the evening away, but fear of the sharks which invaded the lagoon after dark kept him to the shallows.

Finally, when he could no longer feel the greasiness on his skin, he emerged and stretched out beside her on the sand. He rolled on his back, resting his head on his hands. In the stillness between the hiss of each receding wave and the surge of its successor he could hear the scurrying of the sand crabs. From the corner of his eye he caught the regular rise and fall of Alana’s breasts silhouetted against the stars. ‘Thank the gods she’s alive!’

Far out in the lagoon a fish jumped and the noise as it splashed back beneath the surface carried clearly to him. While he waited for Alana to awaken he brooded over Narik’s parting words. ‘The tribe was doomed!’ Could Narik converse with the spirits? He winced as he relived his foolishness. Why ever had he gone with his uncle?

*****

The darkness of the sky was lightening imperceptibly in the east when Alana stirred. ‘What happened?’ she murmured drowsily. ‘Where am I?’ Sudden fright registered in her eyes as memory came flooding back.

‘Everything is alright. Don’t worry. Truly, everything is alright now.’ Jono patted her head soothingly. ‘I was very stupid but it’s over. We were lucky. No harm came to you.’

‘Oh Jono!’ She clung to him sobbing. ‘I was so frightened.’

He kissed her tenderly. ‘I’m sorry.’ Arm in arm they walked back to the village. ‘Perhaps it’s better we tell no-one,’ were his last words as he left her outside her bure.

*****

The new day held but a suggestion of dawn as Peta slipped out the doorway of his bure, pausing only to collect his spear. He tiptoed surreptitiously across the clearing between the thatched huts then skipped exuberantly as he reached the cover of the bush. A few hundred yards further and he was at the edge of the creek where the girls often came to bathe and collect the water-lilies which bloomed in profusion.

There, beside a pool at the base of a tinkling waterfall, was a small pebbly beach. At its far end a decaying tree-stump loomed ghost-like in the grey half-light. Peta took careful aim and threw his spear, chuckling aloud with delight as it plunged quivering into the rotten wood.

‘I’ll show Jono,’ he chortled, ‘I won’t miss!’ He ran to retrieve the spear. For the next hour, until boyish pangs of hunger told him it was time for breakfast, he practiced over and over.

*****

Mere bustled about rekindling the fire and preparing the meal. All over the village women were attending to the cooking pots, the older ones cackling orders while daughters and junior wives hurried to do their bidding. In front of the huts men sat cross-legged, some sharpening spears in readiness for the hunt but most idly watching the women at work.

‘Mere, have you seen Peta?’ asked Lena, stooped beneath the weight of a basket of breadfruit.

‘No, but I wouldn’t worry. I doubt he slept last night, he was so excited. He’ll be back for breakfast. That nose could smell food a day’s walk away. What a treat it will be for the boy!’ The weather promised to be fine. Only a few flecks of early morning mist hovered in an otherwise clear sky.

Mere stirred absently at the soup made from remnants of last night’s turtle. ‘I wonder how Alana fared on the walk? I didn’t see Jono come home.’ Her face lit up with a grin. ‘Poor Jono, for all his self-importance he’s so easily manipulated. A girl would do him good, cut him down to size.’ She caught sight of a child scampering homewards. ‘Ah! Here comes Peta now.’

Lena patted his head. ‘Where have you been so early, my big fisherman?’

‘I’ve been practicing Mother, down by the waterfall. That turtle had better look out!’

‘Well done! Now run and have some breakfast! An empty tummy doesn’t make for a good sailor.’

*****

The sun rose slowly above the horizon, shimmering across the lagoon, as the men, bodies taut with effort, slid the canoes to the water’s edge. The entire village was there to wave goodbye.

Lena squeezed Peta’s shoulder. ‘Bring me back a turtle.’

‘I will Mother, I will!’ Lena waved lovingly but he was too excited to notice.

Soon the canoes were darting across the lagoon, paddles biting powerfully into the placid surface. Peta made his way carefully to the prow, clutching the sides to maintain his balance.

Nasivi laughed. It was worth coming merely to watch Peta’s face. Behind them the bows of the other canoes rose clear of the sparkling water with each stroke. He felt the years drop away. He was a boy again, exhilarated, full of the hope and optimism of youth.

They passed through the reef and the colour of the water changed abruptly from aquamarine to indigo. A first puff of breeze ruffled across the calm ocean. Soon it had strengthened sufficiently for Nasivi to order the sail set. Putting the paddles aside the men rested back and enjoyed the easy surge and glide of their craft.

‘I see one! I see one!’ shouted Peta, pointing eagerly at a brown patch ahead.

‘I’m afraid that turtle wouldn’t taste very pleasant,’ laughed Nasivi, as he picked up a spear and deftly hooked in a large clump of seaweed. Peta looked crestfallen. ‘The water has lots of shoals here. Turtles prefer the deeper parts. Keep your eyes open for birds wheeling and diving. They’re feeding on the small fish. That’s where the big fish will be!’

Avidly the boy scanned the ocean. Actually Jono saw them first, seconds ahead of Nasivi. Nasivi put his finger to his lips and whispered, ‘Let the boy discover them.’

A few seconds later Peta exclaimed, more cautiously after his earlier mistake, ‘Father, I think I see birds over there.’

‘Good,’ said Nasivi, hiding a smile. ‘Head towards them!’ he called to the man at the steering oar.

The canoes fanned out to encircle the school of fish. The sea boiled. Everywhere silver bodies darted and jumped in a frenzy of feeding. The air was thick with circling, cawing gulls dropping like stones into the water as they hunted the smaller fish, now targets from birds above and larger fish below.

The canoes dropped their sails. Samu was in the nearest boat and Nasivi smiled as he watched the way his son handled its crew. ‘He’s learning! When I’m gone he’ll be ready.’

Two men in each boat sat with paddles poised, ready to manoeuver as the fish moved, while the others took up pronged spears fastened to their wrists with lengths of vine.

Nasivi gave the signal. Slowly they closed in, working through the vast school. Covered with spray and sweat, bronzed muscles rippling, the fishermen flung their spears and almost invariably impaled a fish. Peta yelled with delight as a slithering, squirming mass began to fill the hull.

Suddenly the school was gone. A few solitary gulls glided overhead but that was all. Flecked with blood but in high spirits the crews raised the sails once more.

‘That’s the work done, now for the fun,’ said Nasivi. ‘Let’s find a turtle!’

In the west, back over the island, a few fleecy puffs of cloud were forming.

*****

The Village.

The moment the canoes left Mere sought out Alana. She was surprised her friend hadn’t been at the beach and hurried directly to her bure. Blinking her eyes to accustom them to the darkness, she stooped and went inside. Alana sat listlessly on the floor.

‘You didn’t see the canoes off. What’s the matter?’

Alana didn’t reply. Instead her body shook with loud sobs. Instinctively Mere blamed her brother. ‘Jono, what did he do?’

‘No, it wasn’t Jono. It’s nothing, I’m just tired.’

‘Rubbish!’ snorted Mere, ‘You can’t fool me, I’ve known you too long. You’d never miss the canoes leaving just because you’re tired. Come on, tell me what’s wrong!’

‘Oh Mere, I can’t,’ she wailed. ‘I promised Jono I wouldn’t say anything.’

The unhappiness on Alana’s tear-streaked face was too much for Mere’s sympathetic nature. She put her arm comfortingly about her friend’s shoulder, resolving as she did to question Jono that evening. Her voice lost its bantering tone. ‘Alright then, let’s fetch some of the other girls and go to the waterfall. We can swim and gather lilies. And make you beautiful for Jono!’

CHAPTER 3

Off the coast of Aora.

The island of Aora lay in the blue ocean shaped like a crescent moon, its horns linked by a coral reef. Mainly palm-covered lowland, it rose steeply to its northern extremity where craggy volcanic cliffs dropped sheer into the sea.

It was around this headland that two twin-hulled canoes now made their cautious way. By the shape of the sails it was obvious they were not of Aora. From the appearance of their occupants it was also apparent that this was not some roving fishing party.

Each canoe held a dozen young men and eight older warriors, of squatter, smaller build than the men of Aora. Many of them had a bone piercing their noses and were daubed with yellow, red and white ochre markings. Some wore braided armlets or necklets of human hair and all were naked except for small lap-laps or wooden cod-pieces.

In these boats there was none of the light-hearted banter of Nasivi’s crews. Rather, a grim sense of purpose pervaded the atmosphere and there were few attempts to converse. The older warriors had seen it all before and stayed remote and aloof while the youths were apprehensive but eager to show their worth.

Three rows back from the prow of the leading boat sat Maluwai, his eyes unceasingly scanning the shoreline, alert and keen on this his first and most important expedition. They had not eaten for two days and his stomach rumbled emptily. He could still imagine on his lips the hot greasy flavour of the roast pig on which the village had feasted the night prior to their departure. What a night it had been! Such high hopes then, such disappointment now.

He squirmed impatiently on his seat. Three days, and so far the trip had been a disaster! The hunger, anger and frustration of the crews were almost tangible. The first three villages they had reconnoitred had been too heavily guarded. Then they had sighted some fishing boats and given chase. However, their more primitive craft lacked the speed of those made by the fishermen, whose very lives depended on the quality of their vessels. Their quarry had eluded them.

The humiliation and the ignominy still rankled as he recalled how they too, on approaching an island perhaps too incautiously in their eagerness, had become the hunted and been pursued by two large war canoes. Forced to flee further north than even the oldest warrior among them had ever ventured, only nightfall had saved them.

Then there had been, last evening, a violent storm which drove them still further off course. This morning the warrior in charge of the expedition ordered them to turn the boats to the south and begin the broad homeward sweep. The bile had been bitter in Maluwai’s mouth from that moment. Not a single head to show for their trouble! They would be ridiculed for life.

Three hours ago his disappointment had changed to suppressed hope when the lookout in the bow sighted the island around whose northern tip they were now so carefully skirting. Would they be successful this time?

*****

They all saw it together, the lazy smoke spirals curling up from cooking fires. There was a buzz of expectancy among the youths. In an instant the canoes were headed directly for the nearest shore lest they be perceived by the village guards. The hulls scrunched noisily on the coarse coral sand as they beached.

With a minimum of fuss the headman allocated a dozen youths and four warriors to keep watch on the boats The rest of the raiding party, after a hurried guttural discussion, set off behind the leader, weapons at the ready, merging silently into the jungle, moving with a loping gait which carried them swiftly towards the village.

*****

The Village.

After the excitement and confusion of their menfolk leaving the women drifted back to the village in little groups, chattering and laughing amongst themselves. No-one was in any hurry to commence their day-to-day tasks and the party’s departure had provided a welcome break from routine.

Mana took Lena’s hand and Lena responded with a squeeze. There was a strong bond of affection between these two and Mana could still vividly remember how she had worried the first time Jono ventured out of the safety of the lagoon. ‘Relax Lena, Peta couldn’t be in better hands than with Samu and Nasivi. You’ll have him under your feet again before you know it.’ They walked on in comfortable silence for a way. ‘Did you notice how Mere connived with Alana last night? Poor Jono, he didn’t stand a chance.’

Lena nodded. ‘Like a pig to the slaughter. By the way, where are the girls now?’

‘I overheard Mere saying a few of them were going down to the creek. I expect they’ll have lots to talk about. I hear Alana didn’t get in till dawn. Mind you, I’ll see to it there’s plenty of work left for them to do when they return.’

On reaching the village Lena made straight for their hut. Satisfied the baby was still sleeping soundly, she took a woven bag of dalo from where it hung in the roof, selected a few good-sized roots and tossed them into a stone grinding bowl. Picking up a round-ended wooden pole she began to pound them with a rhythmic lift and drop motion as she hummed happily.

Elsewhere other women were busily attending to their chores in a cheerful communal fashion with a great deal of good-natured humour.

‘Jono mightn’t be too steady on his feet today Mana!’ one called out as Mana walked by.

‘Why not?’ retorted Mana. ‘He spent most of last night lying down I’d guess, unless young people today are very different to the way we were.’ She laughed and headed across to the dalo patch where another group of women, using curved digging sticks, were grubbing out the weeds which grew prolifically in the tropical climate.

The morning passed leisurely, the women slowly and with frequent pauses for chats carrying out their various tasks under the apparently disinterested gaze of the old men, who had remained at home and sat congregated in the shade of a huge banyan, remembering and retelling tales of past glories.

Towards noon as the heat of the day increased, a few fleecy thunderheads began to build up, as was common for the season. The women started to collect their young ones, who had scampered about and played themselves to a standstill all morning, and returned to the huts for the midday sleep.

Mana sought out Samu’s wife Ilikai. ‘Bring the children over to our hut. We can feed them together and talk while they sleep.’

Lena looked up from the basket she was weaving as they entered and quickly rose to her feet. ‘You sit with the children Mana, while Ilikai and I prepare something to eat.’ She bustled about and in no time was back with bowls filled with a mash of powdered dalo mixed with fresh coconut milk and flavoured with a little crab-meat.

‘You must eat more coconut yourself Lena’, admonished Mana as the younger woman put down her empty bowl, ‘if you want to keep feeding that baby of yours. Coconut gives you plenty of milk.’

Lena, who had been fed more coconut over the past months than she would have believed possible, said gently, ‘There’s nothing wrong with my milk, Mana. Truly!’ At that precise moment her baby son awoke and began to cry lustily.

‘See’, said Mana, ‘he’s hungry!’

Lena stooped and scooped the infant up, cradling him to her. She walked back and forth, rocking him to and fro, but still he cried so she sat down, leaned back against the centre-post of the bure and began to suckle him. The children, sprawled out like cats in the sun, were lying sound asleep around Mana, whose head was nodding drowsily.

All over the village people were dozing in the noonday heat, relaxed and contented. A gentle breeze rustled through the palms, the huge leaves of the vines hung limply. The only movement was the occasional silent passage of a cloud’s shadow across the clearing, the only sound the incessant drone of the insects.

*****

The Waterfall.

Hand in hand, with a deal of giggle and chatter, the girls made their way along the track to the pool at the foot of the waterfall.

Lying on the smooth pebbles with the sunshine streaming warmly down on her, Alana felt the fears and tensions of the previous night dissipate. So when Isoa suddenly asked, ‘Tell us about last night, Alana! What happened?’, she ignored Mere’s reproachful stare at her young sister and said ‘It’s alright Mere, I can talk about it now. It all seems a bit unreal by the light of day.’

‘Listen everyone! Alana’s going to tell us about last night with Jono,’ bubbled Isoa irrepressively. ‘Come and sit closer so we can all hear.’

Thus encouraged, Alana began a brief account of her walk home with Jono. Isoa kneeled forward teasingly. ‘Tell us Alana, tell us everything! Did you rub noses together?’

‘Isoa! That’s none of your business,’ interrupted Mere. ‘Alana will tell us what she wants us to know. Behave yourself!’

Isoa shrugged eloquently. ‘I’m going for another swim, this is no fun.’ She skipped across the pebbles and plunged into the water.

Alana beckoned the others nearer. ‘You’ll never guess what happened!’ Her friends waited eagerly. ‘Just as things were starting to go well who should step out of the bushes but Narik!’

‘Narik? What on earth did he want?’ asked Mere. ‘Why would uncle be out at that time of night?’

‘He said he often walks alone at night but I don’t believe him. I think it gives him a thrill spying on lovers.’

‘So what did you do, Alana?’ asked one of the other girls. They were all crowded around now, listening avidly.

Isoa glanced over from the pond and, seeing the interest on their faces, realized she was missing something. She scampered back to join them.

‘Narik is smart. He knows how to fool people. And Jono’s a boy. Like most boys he’s easily fooled. Narik played on his vanity, told him he could see the future, whether he would ever become chief. Jono took the bait and Narik invited us back to his place.’

‘You went to Narik’s hut?’ interjected Isoa, her eyes wide as saucers.

‘I didn’t want to, but Narik told Jono to bring me.’ Alana was relishing being the centre of attention and lowered her voice conspiratorially as she proceeded to describe the interior of the bure, its bones and peculiar smell. The girls, in spite of themselves, felt a slight shiver of fear as she told how he had given them the narcotic drink.

Isoa squealed as daylight gave way to shadow. She looked up fearfully, only to see a small cloud obscuring the sun. She laughed nervously in relief.

Alana continued. ‘After the drink I don’t remember another thing until waking up on the sand just before dawn, with Jono beside me.’ She turned to Mere. ‘He really is very kind, your brother. I think it was worth the unpleasantness of the night just to see the genuine concern on his face as he leant over me.’ She stopped guiltily and raised her fingers to her mouth as if to seal her lips. ‘Oh dear, I forgot! I promised Jono not to say anything.’

‘Never mind’, said Mere, ‘it’s just between us girls. Now let’s go and have a swim, it’s too hot sitting here in the sun.’

For some time they frolicked in the coolness of the water, until they tired of that game and set about collecting flowers to make leis which they placed around each other’s necks. Mere was about to tuck a water-lily into Alana’s hair when a blood-curdling cry rent the air, quickly followed by a series of women’s shrieks.

Isoa clung to Mere as they huddled together, uncertain what to do. More screams followed and instinctively Mere said, ‘Quick, we must hide! Follow me! Into the cave behind the waterfall. Hurry!’

She led the way around the edge of the pool past the decaying tree-trunk, noting even in her haste the marks from Peta’s target practice earlier in the day, to the base of the cascade. There she stepped boldly through the sheet of falling water and disappeared from view, only to reappear and take Isoa by the hand. ‘Come on, it’s nothing to be frightened of, it doesn’t hurt. Alana! All of you! Quickly!’

One by one they passed through the waterfall into the small cavern behind and in an instant, as the birds sang in the trees, the glade was empty, the only remaining trace of their presence a few palm leaves and flowers they had dropped when making the leis.

*****

The Village.

Slowly Maluwai raised his head until his eyes looked over the lichen-covered log behind which he was sheltering. He breathed soundlessly, immobile as he took in the scene in front of him. Around him the rest of the raiding party was invisible. It took every bit of self-control months of discipline and training had ingrained in him to suppress an involuntary hiss of disbelief at what he saw. Safely hidden in the tangled foliage, his pupils contracted against the glare from the sunlit clearing and excitement welled up in his stomach.

There, under the grandfather banyan, lay a dozen or so old men, all sleeping heavily. The odd hen scratched lazily in the dirt, smoke rose from the roof vents of the bures, but otherwise there was no sign of life, not a guard or warrior to be seen.

One of the older head-hunters detached himself quietly from the shadow of a tree-trunk and began to scout around the edge of the clearing. Maluwai held himself rigid, not a muscle moving, but his mind was racing. ‘What kind of people are these? A village without a palisade, without guards! Are they giants who don’t need protection, or do they have some potent magic which repels intruders?’ His knees began to tremble from a mixture of fear and exhilaration. Certainly there didn’t appear to be anything supernatural about those old men. He clutched his club and spear hard, until his knuckles showed through the taut skin.

The scout returned and indicated to the leader that he had not seen any warriors. The leader rose to his feet, in full view now, and motioned to the others to follow him. They paused expectantly, an awe-inspiring spectacle, naked bodies tensed, nose bones gleaming whitely, ferocious paint-daubed faces contorted with blood-lust.

The leader uttered a fierce cry. As one they raced into the clearing, fanning out as they ran. One group made straight for the old men, not one of whom managed to get to his feet before being clubbed to death. Others charged directly into the huts where stifled screams announced their arrival.

Miroke, Alana’s aunt, was examining a length of cloth she had just woven when three of the marauders sprang into the bure. She shrieked, jumped to her feet and, eluding them around the roof supports, darted out through a side opening towards the trees. For a moment her agility and familiarity with the terrain helped her gain on her pursuers. Suddenly she tripped on an exposed banyan root and pitched headlong. Like a pack of hunting dogs they were upon her, one wrenching her arms outstretched while another ripped off her skirt and forced her legs apart. A third man raped her as they held her spreadeagled on the ground.

Maluwai burst through Nasivi’s palm frond door, his eyes taking in the tableau before him. Lena sat petrified, her arm protectively around her quietly feeding baby. With one arm he pinioned her while with the other he snatched the child from her breast and, holding it by its chubby legs, swung it once and then a second time against the stout wooden upright. Its skull fractured. Dropping the tiny body to the floor he bent and, putting his fleshy lips to