Since time immemorial, the Tipihao tribe inhabited Maniha Komu, which in their native language meant “Half-Moon Island.” It was one of the biggest islands in Kepula Penu[1], which was comprised of scores of isles, grouped around a formation resembling, as the name suggested, a gigantic loggerhead turtle.

The word “tipiho” in the tribe’s dialect meant a “savage,” “wild,” “intractable,” and “bellicose” warrior—a perfect description of Tipihao men. Nobody could compare with their ferocity and force. For hundreds of years, they kept the other tribes in subjugation, thanks to their perfect military organization, iron discipline, and the possession of knowledge that nobody else had—the secret of building big sailing boats, far more rapid than the primitive canoes used by the other peoples.

The Tipihaos often sailed to the nearby islands, where they sowed devastation, death, and dread. All tribes paid them tribute, making gifts of everything from trade goods—such as animal pelts, weapons, woven clothes and mats, bamboo, wine, fruits, dry meat, and raw materials—to young women, children, and slaves.

The Tipihao tribe integrated the foreign women and children and inured them to their customs. The slaves, mostly captive warriors, were forced to build boats and huts or hew trees in the jungle. When, after prolonged inhumane treatment, the slaves were on the brink of physical and mental exhaustion, they were sacrificed to the tribe’s god Kepolo before Rakapi, which literally meant “sacred tree.”

Life on the island was simple and had changed little since the time of the first ancestors. The men hunted, fished, made war, and governed. The women took care of the children and did all the hard work related to the household. Their social status was not much better than that of the slaves, as they had no right to vote or to take part in any issue related to the tribe’s rules.

The hierarchy was democratically organized. All the men would gather once every two years and would elect the twelve members of the Council of Elders, based on wisdom and merit. The Council made all the important decisions related to the tribe’s governance, justice, and politics. They would also approve the nominees for the next election and select the chieftain, who was usually one of the Council members. The chieftain fulfilled the roles of military leader and shaman.

By the time of Akamui’s return, the Tipihao tribe consisted of about five thousand people who lived in bamboo huts in the island’s heart. The largest dwellings, occupied by the chieftain and the elders, were at the foot of the central ridge, so-called Carapace Hill. The rest of the village’s huts, considerably smaller, were crowded on the slopes of the two neighboring heights—Whelk Hill to the west and Egg Hill, situated eastward of Carapace Hill. 

            It was almost ten moons since Akamui returned from exile. His punishment had taken its toll on him. The days on the atoll were long and tedious, and the labor hard and exhausting. His life was a burden, as he was doomed to endure living in complete wilderness, without woman or friend, surrounded only by morons and slaves—sheer losers punished for their stupidity and cowardice. He rapidly showed them his superiority, and after several fierce thrashings, nobody ever dared to bother him.

The nights were even worse. In the silence of the darkness, broke only by the loud snoring of his roommates, Akamui stayed up, staring into the void and fretting until dawn about the unfortunate events that led to his punishment.

But he was tough and never gave up. The spite was making him stronger, and after the hard daily work, he spent hours training his body and transforming it into an incredible mass of muscles. Broad shoulders, enormous dorsals, and bulging biceps made every man think twice before arguing with him. He kept himself in perfect shape, preparing for the big day of his return.

Unfortunately, things did not work out the way he expected. To his surprise, once back on the island, he discovered that his old friends now preferred to keep their distance. The worst of them was Hamaki, who didn’t even greet him for his homecoming. The youngsters, especially those unfamiliar with Akamui’s former feats, followed the common demeanor of the older warriors and paid him no respect.

            It must be that fucking dotard Tanuli who’s incited the others against me, Akamui seethed.

Soon, he realized that nobody liked him. In consequence, he became sullen and short-fused, dangerous, and unpredictable until he found himself alone, isolated, and depressed, just as he had been in exile.

***

After a few days of not seeing Akamui around the village, his mother Lalago woke up one morning with a pang of anxiety in her stomach, feeling that something was wrong with her son. With a racing heart, she hurried up the hillside to his hut, terrified of what she might discover.

Lalago was a good-tempered, smiling, chubby woman. People adored and highly respected her because of her kindness and her famous healing skills. Her knowledge of herbs, infusions, and salves was so legendary that her fame had reached beyond the boundary of Half-Moon Island and had spread all around the Turtle Archipelago.

The moment Lalago stepped into Akamui’s hut, she wrinkled her nose and gasped in shock. Her beloved son lay motionless, flat on his stomach, with his fists clenched and his face buried in the seating rug. All around him was a mess of leftover food, scattered empty flasks, cups, and broken pottery vessels. Flies swarmed the interior of the hut, and the stench was overwhelming.

Lalago bent down, grabbed Akamui by the shoulders, and rolled him on his back. After quickly scanning the room, she snatched a half-full bucket of water from the corner and splashed it over Akamui’s face. He jumped with a cry, brandishing his knife and staggering, still dizzy from the wine.

“What are you doing?!” he shouted, once he recognized his mother.

“No, what are you doing?” Lalago yelled back. “When are you going to stop making a fool of yourself and start acting like a real man? Where did my brave, smart son disappear to? Or did they suck out your brain with a bamboo straw on Coral Beck to turn you into a good-for-nothing wretch?”

“I’m desperate, mother,” muttered Akamui. He slumped on the ground and thrust his knife up to the hilt into the earth floor. “The men make fun of me behind my back. They never took me on a raid with them, and this was my only hope to prove my name again and find a foreign gal for the locals are fleeing from me like frightened birds…”

 “Stop whining like a woman!” Lalago cried out angrily. “Are you a man, or aren’t you? I know what you should do, and you will listen to your mother as you always did, and then you will thank me, as usual.”

“What do you mean?” grunted Akamui.

“Go to Kepolo tonight and beg him forgiveness. You must propitiate him and offer him a sacrifice. Then, you must ask him what you should do to gain the respect of your tribe again!”

“A sacrifice? What sacrifice, mother? Kepolo likes our foes dismembered before Rakapi. Where would I find a foreign warrior right now?”

“Well, if you don’t have a foe to offer him, then you should promise him one. The important thing is to do it sincerely, with all your heart—thus, Kepolo will know that you mean it and he will help you. That’s the way it works. Now, don’t be crestfallen! Go to the brook and wash yourself; you stink like a boar in rut. Meanwhile, I will clean up all this mess and prepare you something to eat.”

 

***

Akamui squeezed his way through the dense greenery. The gray blanket of twilight was falling over the forest, but his eyes were strong in the dark and the waxing moon was already rising in the east. He occasionally stopped and listened to the familiar noises of the jungle. It was the quietest period in the tropical forest—the deafening concert of piercing cries ebbed away as the diurnal animals went to sleep, and the nocturnal ones had not still come out.

Akamui hurried. Prayers before Rakapi took place a little after the sunset when the big red fireball sank in the ocean and darkness covered the place. The twilight was a special, magical time for Tipihaos. He looked up at the stars. Alina, the brightest one, was pale, meaning that he still had time. A glance ahead reassured him that he was approaching his final destination as the trees thinned out, giving way to shrubs and high grass. And sure enough, a moment later, he brushed aside the last of the ferns to emerge into a vast clearing, called by the natives the Sacred Zone or Kepolo’s Belt.

Rakapi, the gigantic Sacred Tree and the dwelling of the tribe’s god Kepolo, was a black silhouette against the dark sky. Its boughs spread in all directions, almost reaching the extremities of the clearing, where multiple cages were built into the crowns of the surrounding trees. The Council’s building, known as the Hive, stood out as a huge domed beehive on the far left side of the Sacred Tree.

Every time Akamui faced the Tree, a wave of awe and dread filled his heart.

He prostrated himself and glued his front to the ground. He paused in this position for a moment, then got up and advanced toward the enormous trunk. The hundreds of skulls impaled on its branches gleamed softly in the moonshine. Dangling bones rattled gently in the faint night breeze, which also brought a disgusting stench of carrion. Akamui shuddered and wrinkled his nose. Even though he had grown up with this smell, the first moment was never easy.

A big black bird flew out from inside the treetop with a piercing croak, flapping its wings. Akamui jumped nervously and hit his shin on the stone altar.

“Bloody burkans,” he cursed and stepped forward, rubbing his leg.

He kneeled and pressed his forehead against the trunk, feeling the cool, rough bark. A scent of moisture and something astringent filled his nostrils. Akamui knew what it was—a fluorescent mushroom that grew only on the bark of the Sacred Tree. The shamans used it for smoking or chewing and put it in the palm wine during the sacrifices. Akamui reached out and broke a small luminous piece from the large mushroom just above his head, then put it in his mouth and chewed it slowly. It tasted sour at first, and then the strong, bitter savor stung his tongue. He stayed still for a while with his eyes closed. His head was spinning and his thoughts drifted away. After a long moment of silence, he whispered: “Please, Great Kepolo, the strongest of all gods, listen to my prayer. I beg you on my knees, oh, Almighty: help me win back the respect of my tribe; make me an elder or a chieftain; please give me a woman who will bring me a son, Almighty; only you know how much I covet a boy! If you do that for me, I swear to sacrifice to you three young boys from the Taraho tribe… Please, give me a sign, greatest of the greatest gods, and show me the way to my destiny…”

Akamui stayed in a daze for a long time, staring at the green-brownish bark. His lips continued moving, but no sound was coming out. The world reeled before his eyes and made him heave.

He focused all his attention on the rustling of the leaves. Now, the clarity of his hearing was incredible—he could discern every single sound to such a degree that he had the impression that he could hear the ants walking on the branches. The rattle of the bones above him was banging in his head, stronger than the big gong. The clanging overwhelmed him and carried him away. Now he felt light as a feather, free of his body, like a loose leaf from the tree, tossed by the wind and floating aimlessly in the air. At one moment, he was scudding down, almost touching the ground; the next he flew up and drifted high above the crown; then, he descended earthward and lost himself in the green, rustling leaves… Two firebugs were chasing each other just in front of him. He fixed his mind on the blinking yellow lights, which grew bigger and bigger until a bright light exploded in his brain and he found himself in front of Lalago’s hut. His mother was weeping. She handed him a crying baby, wrapped in bloody clothes, and in his head rang her sobbing voice,

“It’s a boy… I’m so sorry, son!”

Akamui was about to ask her why she was sorry for such good news when the scene changed abruptly, and he saw himself hunting into the jungle with an eight- or nine-year-old curly-haired boy, clutching a spear in his hand. They were after a wild boar and Akamui was teaching him how to read the trail.

The setting shifted again, and a third vision appeared. Now the boy was tied to the big stony altar, his legs and arms spread horizontally. Heavy rain poured down. A flash of lightning lit up the hundreds of warriors with burning torches who swung their bodies under the rhythm of the drums. The Sacred Tree hung ominously over his son while Akamui raised his knife to sacrifice him to Kepolo.

“No!” Akamui cried out and shook his head, crossing the distance from the future to present in a blink of an eye. He lay under the tree again, numb with shock. A deep, guttural voice, coming from the rustling leaves, whispered in his ears.

“Soon you’ll have a son, brave Akamui. This boy belongs to me. I want you to sacrifice him to me the moment he succeeds in his warrior’s proof. Once he kills his first foe, he must taste human flesh and drink his enemy’s blood before I accept him.”

“Please, spare me, Almighty Kepolo,” whispered Akamui, shaking from head to toe. “I know you are great in your plans. Let my son be!”

“I’ll give you five sons, brave Akamui,” the leaves rustled in his ears. “I claim the first one. He will be your gift for me. Prove your respect, and tomorrow, before the day runs out, I’ll make you a member of the Council. Furthermore, the day you sacrifice your son to me, you’ll become the new chieftain. Promise me your firstborn, young Akamui. Be my faithful warrior!”

“Do I have a choice, Almighty?” Akamui whispered.

“Of course, you do,” the leaves hissed. “That is the beauty of being human—you can choose your path. Your side. Free will, as it is… But do you have guts to stand against me, little Akamui? Stick with me and I’ll lift you to eminence. Refuse to serve me and I will crush you. You will be a miserable coward, despised and repudiated by everyone. Do we have an agreement, young Akamui? Make your vow now.”

Akamui was trembling like a leaf. Atavistic fear crept inside him, giving him goosebumps. The top of his head was prickling and, if he hadn’t shaved his hair to the skin, it would have been standing straight. He had never felt so afraid.

Unable to move, with a heart torn with grief, he uttered, “Let your will be done, Almighty Kepolo, ruler of our destiny and master of our tribe. I will sacrifice my firstborn son to you right after his warrior’s proof.”

A strong blast of wind swished in the crown of the great tree, and in a flash, another vision swam before Akamui’s eyes. A girl crept out of the sea and crawled on the sandy shore.

“I see your sincerity,” whispered Rakapi’s leaves. “Go to the South shore and find Lelani.”

And then deep blackness wrapped Akamui in a gentle hug.

When he came to his senses, the moon was shining brightly, high in the sky. He blinked and rubbed his temples as if waking up from a heavy dream. He rose, bowed to Rakapi, and the vision of a lying on the sand girl flashed in his mind. Go find Lelani, rustled the leaves and he rushed toward the beach. Dizzy and confused, not aware of the twigs and branches lashing at his naked body, he ran in the darkness, moving deftly through the jungle, as though led by an invisible force. When finally the cool night breeze whipped his face and he heard the roar of the surf echoing in the distance, he realized that he had reached the shore, although he could not remember for the life of him which path he had chosen. The moonlight cast a mild glow over the beach, bathing the ocean in shimmering gold and making the sands white and lucent. A big round crab scuttled majestically, followed by several smaller whitish ones on their way toward the water. Akamui sank his feet into the cool sand and looked around. About fifty yards away, he saw the outline of a dark bulk near the water. He took out his knife as he approached it cautiously.

It was a girl in her teens, lying prone, half wrapped in long, tangled hair, her face buried in the sand. Akamui sheathed his knife and squatted beside her. He took her by the shoulders, rolled her over, and gazed at her swollen, covered with sand face, all in bruises and scratches. It was hard to tell who she was. Akamui slapped her across the face, but she gave no sign of life. He looked around.

How did she get here? he thought. I see no boat or raft… Weird… I’ll take her home.

He swung the girl with ease on his shoulder and set off stealthily toward his hut. Luckily, he met no one on his way.

Living on the outskirts has its advantages, he thought, as he lay the girl on the floor. He took a small open pot filled with shark oil from the shelf, and hit two flints together several times to give out a spark. The wick caught fire and mild light suffused the room. He brought the lamp close to the limp body, bent down, and moved aside her tangled black hair, staring at the pinched, exhausted face. He pressed his palm to her cool forehead. She was young, almost a child.

Yes, this is Lelani, indeed… Akamui thought.

He knew her. She was the eldest daughter of an old friend of his, Lairo, who had been killed some time ago. Akamui helped Lairo’s wife now and then since he returned from exile, usually supplying her with food when she and her three children were starving. Lelani had disappeared about six moons ago, and nobody had a clue what had happened to her. The Council of Elders conducted a meticulous investigation. They had thoroughly interrogated all her relatives and friends, and combed the entire island for several days without results.

Akamui detached the wooden flask dangling at his waist and sprinkled Lelani’s face with water. As he wet her cracked lips, she slowly opened her eyes.

“Glad to see you again, Lelani,” Akamui said, “it’s been a long time. Where have you been, girl?”

Lelani did not answer. She turned her head and closed her eyes, drifting back into unconsciousness. Akamui pushed her several times and slapped her lightly across the face, but she did not come around.

“I need my mother,” he decided and rushed out.

Lalago lived down the hill. When Akamui got in her place, he was met by loud snoring. He grasped her shoulder and shook her.

“Wake up, mother! Get your basket of herbs and ointments and come with me. Somebody needs your help.”

“What’s going on?” asked Lalago sleepily. “What are you doing here? How did the praying go? Did Kepolo give you a sign?”

“He did. Hurry up!” snarled Akamui. He helped her gather her remedies, grabbed the small covered basket, and hurried out. She trotted behind him, still half-asleep.

When Lalago saw Lelani where Akamui had left her, she let out a cry and muttered, “Poor thing.”

She kneeled and turned Lelani flat on her stomach, then pulled a small wooden box from the basket. She scooped up a small amount of ointment with the tips of her fingers and rubbed it vigorously onto Lelani’s back. Within seconds, the girl opened her eyes. Lalago rolled her over and, supporting her head, poured some liquid into her mouth. Lelani’s eyes brightened, and she gradually came to her senses.

“Water…” she whispered, and Akamui passed her his flask. She rose a little, leaned on Lalago, and drank eagerly, staring at Akamui, who had bent down, impatiently waiting for her to finish. As she lowered the flask, a wan smile slid onto her lips.

“Thank you, master Akamui,” she whispered.

“Where have you been, Lelani? We’ve been looking for you for a long time. Tell me what happened to you!” asked Akamui anxiously.

“I came from Rocky Island,” croaked Lelani in a husky voice. “I’ve been living there since I left Maniha Komu.”   

            “What the fuck did you do there?”

            “I married a man of the Taraho tribe.”

            “You what?” shouted Akamui. “You eloped with a man from Rocky Island? Are you out of your mind? Don’t you know this deed is punishable by death?”

            “I do,” uttered Lelani, “and that’s why I’m here. I brought you some important information, Master Akamui. It’s so crucial for the survival of our tribe that I hope bringing it back to the Elders will mean they treat me with clemency.”

            “Speak up, girl!” said Akamui, his eyes throwing thunderbolts. “How come you ran away with a Taraho jerk in the first place? Where did you find him?”

            “He was a slave here; they kept him in the cages at Kepolo’s belt. His name was Triko…” Lelani spoke slowly, with a great effort.

Akamui nodded. “I remember the fool.”

“The moment I laid my eyes on him, I knew he was the man of my life,” Lelani continued. “I was ready to die for him… I helped him escape… It was a hardship to get there, and all that for nothing…”

“What are you babbling on about, kid?” Akamui shouted.

            Lelani squinted and whispered, “Our people are in deadly danger, master Akamui. The chieftains of the Four Islands have allied against Tipihaos. Now there are fifteen or more tribes, all around the Kepula Penu. They have raised an enormous army, ten times ours, maybe even more…”

“Toadshit!” Akamui yelled. “Where is this army?”

            “They rallied on Rocky Island and by the full moon, after they perform their ceremony dedicated to the Moon Goddess, they will set off for Maniha Komo. They vowed to the Moon Goddess to slay us all this time, even the women and the children. Not a single Tipihao alive—this is their oath.”

            Akamui leaned at the hut entrance and sat silent for a long time, his gaze boring into the darkness.

            “Full moon is in three sunsets,” he muttered to himself, glancing at the sky, where the waxing moon glowed. He turned to Lelani. “Tell me, slut, why did you return? Why did you not stay with your man on Rocky Island?” 

            “He is dead, that’s why,” said Lelani grimly.

            “Go on! What happened?” barked Akamui.

“There was a quarrel about me, between him and a man from Starfish Island,” Lelani brushed her eyes. “The son of a snake leered at me all the time and even groped me more than once. I held my mouth shut. I wanted no trouble… It was not a big deal anyway, but Triko saw him touching me, and…” her voice trailed off. Lalago sat beside her and hugged her, gently grooming her dirty hair.

“They fought, and Triko plunged his knife in the bugger’s ribs,” Lelani continued after a while, sniffing and brushing her eyes. “The jerk fell and didn’t budge. Then my beloved wiped his knife on his stinking body and bent to tear his necklace, as the winners do. Then, suddenly, the dead man came to life and thrust his knife into Triko’s throat… They both died in a pool of blood, one piled over the other. And all that because of me,” Lelani burst into tears and buried her face in Lalago’s breast.

“It’s all right, sweetie,” murmured Lalago, rocking her gently and caressing her. “It’s not your fault. The men have no brains, only instincts, these morons; you will understand all that with time. But don’t fret too much about Triko—you didn’t belong to him, that’s why Kepolo gave him a sudden death. You are young; you’ll make it through. Here you’ll find a strong, handsome man, close to your kin.”

Akamui was losing patience. “Cut the crap, will you?” he yelled at his mother. “And you, stop crying and keep talking,” he snarled at the girl. “When did your man get killed?”

“It was right after the half-moon, about six or seven sunsets ago,” said Lelani, sniffling. “I panicked, didn’t know what to do. They would have torn me apart if they found out that two warriors were dead because of me. I ran to the shore and took the same canoe we used when we fled from here. Afterward, I don’t remember much—I followed Alina, I drank rainwater and ate nothing for many sunsets. Then my boat hit the reef, and I thought I was dying.”

Lelani stopped speaking abruptly and drifted off. Akamui glanced at his mother, who nodded and said, “Go! I’ll take care of her.”

Akamui ran to the center of the village, straight to the Snakes’ Gong. The large, reddish disk with carved wriggling silvery snakes gleamed in the moonlight, hanging from a solitary tree. Nobody knew for sure how this strange object had arrived in the village. The story went that it belonged to some pale-skin sailors, who came in ancient times to Maniha Komu in a big sailing boat. According to the legend, these men taught Tipihaos how to build and steer such boats, cultivate flax, and weave linen sails. They also brought many strange plants and animals, species like boars and snakes, which could be seen nowhere else around the Archipelago but on Maniha Komu. Moreover, the same seamen trained them to make pottery and taught them numbers and the lunar calendar. Based on that, a Tipihao year began with the rainy season, the time of the most intensive rains, and lasted between eleven and twelve full moons.

Akamui dashed straight to the gong. He took the heavy club, which was kept leaning against the tree, and hit the copper disk three times in quick succession—the signal for an emergency meeting of the Council of Elders. After a brief interval, he repeated it two times more, threw the club down, and blended into the forest. Somebody shouted at him from a distance, but Akamui was not interested in discussing his act. Summoning the Council was the prerogative of its members, except in cases of imminent danger. He knew they would go to Kepolo’s belt to check out what was going on, so he rushed to the clearing and hid amongst the shadow of the trees, waiting and keeping a sharp eye on the entrance of the Hive.

 

The chieftain, Arataki, came first. He opened the heavy wooden door, made of interlaced rods, and left it wide open. From his hiding place, Akamui watched him kneel in the center to strike flints over tinder to light the sacred fire. Akamui remembered the hearth from the time he had been brought before the elders after killing Kalia. It was built in a circle from evenly-sized stones, and the nasty smoke had stung his eyes many times.

The elders used the fire to foretell the will of Kepolo, hence its name: “the foreshadowing fire.” The chieftain always used dry twigs and branches fallen from the Sacred Tree to kindle it. The fire must burn the whole meeting and its purpose was purely practical: during the debates, the elders examined the smoke, thus guessing Kepolo’s will. If it rose straight upward and passed through the small outlet at the top of the roof, it meant that the god agreed with their decisions. Any disturbance in the smoke such as winding, wriggling, or whirling indicated that Kepolo was not pleased and that they must change their decision until the god was satisfied and the smoke began rising straight up again. Akamui remembered how a disturbance in the fumes during his trial had prompted the elders to harshen his sentence.

While the chieftain kindled the fire, the other elders arrived one by one and took their positions around the hearth. Akamui counted nine. He knew there was one vacant place in the Council since karuli, the most dangerous snake on the island, bit the old Afari.

As the last two elders appeared and hurried into the Hive, Akamui slipped in after them.

            Arataki was standing up and gesticulating nervously, saying in an irritated voice, “… and if none of us summoned this meeting, then who—”

“I have,” said Akamui, stepping forward. “I’m the one who hit the gong.”

He scanned the men who were sitting cross-legged on shark-skin rugs in a semicircle around the hearth. They all gazed at him in dismay.

“And who are you to do that?” cried out Arataki, “Don’t you know that nobody is supposed to touch the Snakes’ gong unless it’s a matter of life and death?”

“And it is, indeed! I have some crucial information to share with you tonight, and after you hear it, you will all agree that I have acted the right way,” said Akamui. His face was passive, but his eyes burned like two black coals in the dark room.

“Speak out then. Come here, before the hearth!” said Arataki.

Akamui stepped up. “Before I reveal to the honorable elders the facts I was given, I want to refer to the law of our ancestors and to claim the vacant place in the Council until the next election,” he said firmly.

Silence lingered. Kerully rose with difficulty, supporting himself with his stick, and said in a hoarse voice, “An appointed place on the Council belongs to a man with special merit to his tribe. Tell us what you know; if your tale is worth something and the smoke approves you, we will vote in your favor. However, if you speak nonsense, your punishment will be fifty lashes for summoning us without a justifiable reason. Do the wise elders concur with my proposition?”

The men nodded in silence.

“And you, young Akamui? Do you agree to my terms?”

“I have always appreciated your wisdom and fairness, sagacious Kerully,” said Akamui, bowing. “Let it be as you wish, then. I have been informed that the Four Islands have made a military alliance with the other tribes of Kepula Penu and have gathered considerable forces on Rocky Island. They will wait for the full moon to rise, and after they make their offerings to the Moon Goddess, they will leave for our land, firmly determined to kill us off. I already have an action plan, and if the Council would kindly accept me as a member, I would be glad to share it with you.”

“How do you know all this?” barked Tanuli, who still detested Akamui as strongly as in the day he lost his daughter.

Akamui expected the question. “The almighty Kepolo gave me his signs and led me to the source of my knowledge. Early tonight I went to Rakapi to prey, and I had a vision of a girl lying on the south shore. Kepolo told me she had a secret to convey. I ran to the beach and there she was. It turned out to be Lelani.”

Agitated whispering met these words.

“Lelani?” exclaimed Arataki. “Wasn’t she the girl who disappeared some time ago? Where had she been hiding?”

“She told me she had eloped with one captive from Rocky Island.”

“Who exactly?” asked Hamaki, who was in charge of the slaves.

“Triko,” Akamui said.

“Triko? I remember him. He cut trees in the forest with the other slave trash before disappearing mysteriously into thin air,” Hamaki barked.

“Yes, that one,” confirmed Akamui. “The girl admitted that she had helped him flee. Fell in love with him and all that crap. He’s dead now, and she came back with the warning to try to redeem herself. I promised her that nobody would hurt her for her previous mistakes.”

“And who you are to absolve her?” Tanuli shouted. “You have neither the right nor the power to make such a promise! You should have brought her here, instead, so that we could cross-examine her. We should punish her for her betrayal; our law is unequivocal on that matter.”

“And are we sure she’s telling the truth? Imagine if it’s a trap?” asked Ahaki.

“Listen, the girl is very weak. She’s useless right now,” said Akamui.

“How so?” barked Tanuli.

“She lies unconscious, and my mother takes care of her,” Akamui explained. “As for the doubts expressed by the young Ahaki, I am strongly convinced that she is telling the truth because I believe that the Great Kepolo sent her to us as a messenger.

Kerully leaned on his stick, his old body shaking uncontrollably, and croaked, “Some things make sense in this story. First, those fools, the Tarahos and Toragos, do worship the moon. They think everything undertaken at full moon will be crowned with success. Second, Kedia foresaw that the destruction of our tribe would come from Rocky Island. Fortunately, Kepolo is the strongest of all gods. He keeps watch over us and makes us invincible. So, if the girl tells the truth, we need to be prepared. We have to take immediate precautions and lay an ambush for our enemies. Once they set their foot on Maniha Komo, we will strike and kill them off. That is my proposition, wise elders. My talk is over.”

“With all due respect for the wise Kerully, I dare to say that his plan is far from good,” objected Akamui. “We must not allow our enemies to come and trap us like wild boars in their dens. Lelani told me they outnumber us ten to one. If they attack us on Maniha Komu, they could set the island on fire and chase us like animals. I say we must surprise these stinking frogs the way our ancestors once did. We must go to Rocky Island and hit them when they expect it the least—on the eve of their departure. As I mentioned already, I have a plan on how to do that and if the honorable Council deigns to listen to it…”

“But this is an incredible impudence,” said Keko, a fierce-looking giant whose left ear was missing. He leaped to his feet, licked his thick lips, and brushed his wide, flat nose, from which a bone ring was dangling. “First, Akamui is not a member of the Council, so he has no right to participate in the debates. Second, instead of telling us what to do, let’s make him bring this girl here. We must question her, as the Wise Tanuli suggested! What if she’s lying? What if this is a trap intended to draw us away from familiar territory and help our enemies take the island? The full moon is almost set. We don’t have time to go to Rocky Island and leave our women and children unprotected. My opinion is that the best precaution would be to stay here and to organize our defense. My talk is over.”

Keko slumped down, snorting angrily.

“With all due respect to the Honorable Council, I think Akamui’s plan is excellent,” rose Ahaki.

Akamui looked at him, astonished. Ahaki was in his late twenties, the youngest member of the Council, which was unusual, considering that the appropriate age for this position was at least ten years older. He was of medium height, with short hair, and the only one in the room with no tattoos or dangling bones on his body. His only decoration was a necklace of wild boar tusks, about a dozen, attached on a leather strap. Between the tusks were strung beads of shark teeth. Akamui had heard that Ahaki killed all the beasts only with his knife, a remarkable feat in any case.

“It’s a fair play,” he liked to say. “They have their teeth, and I have my knife. Let the best one win.” Thus, he received the nickname Kailalele, which meant “The fair hunter.” Ahaki was highly esteemed for his ingenuity, bravery, and intellect, but the exact merit that had ensured him a place in the Council was a mystery for Akamui.

“There are still three days to the full moon,” continued Ahaki, “If we set off tonight with our fastest sailing boats, we will reach Rocky Island the night before their departure. Nobody would expect us, and they will all die, once and for all.”

“What about the outposts? How are we to go unnoticed past the lookouts?” shouted Hamaki.

“As I said, I have a plan…” started Akamui, but his voice was drowned by the din that exploded. Now everybody was speaking simultaneously, gesticulating, crying, rolling their eyes, spitting on the floor, and nobody listened to anybody else. The hubbub was getting out of hand when Arataki bellowed, “Enough!”

Silence reigned over the room.

“There is only one way to find out if the girl lies and which plan is better,” snapped Arataki. “We need to perform the ritual and to ask Kepolo through the foreshadowing fire!”

They all nodded in agreement. The chieftain walked to the remote corner of the room. Arataki was in his late thirties, tall and slender, taunt like a bow-string and quick as a snake. Unlike the other Tipihaos, his hair was shoulder-length, something regarded as being very unpractical for the fighting tactic. The women, however, went crazy for him—he was the only man with five official wives on the island, not to mention the countless mistresses.

Arataki reached the far end of the room, where on a grayish-white sharkskin stood an about a height of a man replica of the Sacred Tree. Around the trunk were scattered many objects, amid them a long pipe, several small leather purses, necklaces made of small bones, a few shapeless wooden objects, and a leather hat with a crane affixed to its top. A spear with an impaled skull leaned against the trunk. Just beside it lay an impressive headdress, consisting of a semicircle of long colorful feathers.

Arataki put the headdress on, took the long pipe, stuffed it with some herbs from one of the leather purses, snatched the long spear, and returned, walking solemnly. The feathers, which belonged to the divine parrots named manuka lani, were remarkable, colored from deep red through bright yellow to deep blue, each one of them two handspans long or longer.

Transformed into a swaying parrot’s tail, Arataki approached the hearth with ceremonial steps, raising the spear up and down. He circled the hearth three times on the left and three times on the right, then stopped, thrust the spear into the ground, squatted, and lit the pipe with a coal from the glowing ambers. He took a deep draw and puffed out a great amount of reeking smoke, then passed it to the oldest of the elders, Kerully, who inhaled before handing it to Tanuli, the next oldest, and so on.

During this ritual, Akamui stood upright and watched them. Nobody gave him the pipe. It circled three times, and finally Ahaki passed it back to the chieftain, who laid it on the ground. Arataki took the spear and circled the hearth three times left and right again. Having done that, he stopped in front of the elders, turned toward the miniature Rakapi, kneeled, raised the spear, and cried out:

 “Oh, God Kepolo, the greatest of the greatest gods, the one who gives us strength and power to rule over our foes. Show us the way, Almighty, and lay your wisdom upon us. We ask you now with all the humbleness in the world: should we accept Akamui, a skillful warrior and a brave man, as a member of the Council?”

The flame flickered slightly, but the smoke moved up straight.

“Almighty Kepolo looks favorably on Akamui’s demand,” cried out Arataki. “Does it mean that Lelani’s story is true and we are in deadly danger?”

The smoke did not change.

“Give us your will, All-Powerful Kepolo, leader of our destiny and protector of our people. Tell us how we ought to confront our foes. Should we take the advice of the old and wise Kerully and wait for them at home?”

The flames suddenly swung, as if a drought passed through the hut. The smoke whirled around and crawled toward Kerully. All the men let out a gasp.

Arataki cried excitedly, “Give us a sign, oh, Almighty, the greatest God of all times! Should we go to Rocky Island and surprise our enemies there?”

The smoke rose straight through the outlet.

“Thank you, god Kepolo, our protector and wise advisor! We understood your signs and we’ll obey your will,” cried Arataki, raising the spear higher, its feathers swinging widely as he bowed. All the men did the same thing. Then Arataki stood up and walked at a solemn pace to return the spear, the headdress, and the pipe to their places in the corner. Once there, he kneeled and bowed again to the Sacred Tree.

When he returned to the hearth, he hugged Akamui and said, “Welcome to the Council of Elders, warrior Akamui. We are glad to accept such a smart and noble man between us.”

All the elders but Tanuli got up one by one and congratulated Akamui, who was glowing with pride, his eyes shining in the darkness. He took the vacant place between Ahaki and Hamaki and, with a thumping heart, tried to focus his attention on the chieftain.

“Ahaki will prepare the boats,” said Arataki. “We will sail before dawn, and thus we will be able to get to Rocky Island in time to surprise them at the moment they perform their ceremony. Keko will organize the men—I want everyone who has passed his warrior’s proof to be a part of the expedition. Hamaki and Tanati, you will go to Kedia’s cave for confirmation.

“Considering that warrior Akamui is now in Kepolo’s good grace, and as we are all aware of his former feats and his miracles of courage, I appoint him as my first commander. We will be glad to hear your plan, brave Akamui, and create a detailed attack strategy.”

 

 

[1] The Turtle Archipelago