The colossal cliff of Petrel’s Atoll towered above the shimmering water. From three distinct vantage points, the lookouts of the Taraho tribe watched with raising concern the approaching boat, her bow decorated with a full yellow moon—the totem of their allies, the Torago people. Impeded by the falling twilight, they could not make out the painted faces of the men in the boat, but they could see the white warpaint in the darkness.

Kimo, the commander of the Taraho lookouts, didn’t like it. According to plan, it had been at least ten sunsets since the Toragos arrived at Rocky Island, so a boat drifting alone at night was more than suspicious. Kimo whistled sharply, and eight men gathered at the cliff overhanging the sea within a minute.

            “I smell a rat, boys,” Kimo said. “Keep your eyes peeled and be extremely careful. These three are probably from Torago tribe like they claim to be, but the timing is weird.”

            “All the Toragos are already on Rocky Island. There’s something wrong here,” grunted one of the guards.

            “Aho and Liko, you go down the cliff and keep your bows ready to cover the others,” ordered Kimo. “Amari, take four men and hide in the bushes around the shore. You’ll lay in ambush, and once they beach the canoe, you’ll swoop down on them, tie them up, and bring them here. We’ll take them to Rocky Island to see what their story is. Akeru, you stay with me!”

            The men gave stern nods and disappeared in different directions while the commander and Akeru worked their way up until they reached a patch of small flat ground, the highest point on the atoll and an excellent observation spot. A huge stack of wood sheltered with big stones was set up there, ready to be lit. This was the signal fire, which the lookouts had to ignite if it appeared that Rocky Island might be in danger.

Akeru and Kimo crawled toward the edge of the cliff and looked at the shore. The full moon was rising from the east, bathing the sea in soft golden light, and they had a clear view of the boat coming toward the island.

“The cloudless night is a good omen,” said Kimo, observing the sky. “We have to set off immediately after we capture our visitors if we want to attend the ritual. I’ll leave only Amari with two men for the night watch.”

“Do you think we’ll get there on time?” asked Akeru.

“I hope we will. The ceremony will start when the moon levels with the Albatross’s Peak, so we have plenty of time. Right after the sacrifice, if the omens are favorable, we will set off for Half-Moon Island.”

While they talked, the boat reached the shore, and the three men inside jumped in the water. As soon as they dragged her up on the beach, the guards leaped out of hiding and charged with their spears raised.

            “Lie down! Put your hands behind your heads!” barked Amari.

            The strangers from the boat obeyed at once. “It’s all right, we’re your allies, from the Torago tribe,” shouted one of them in the common archipelago language. “We left late, and the current carried us away, so we lost the course. Take us to the chieftain Moholi, he’ll confirm.”

            “My intention, precisely,” smirked Amari. “Tie them up!”

“Seriously, men! What a hearty welcome! Where are your manners?” the captive complained while the lookouts were tying their hands behind their backs.

            Something’s wrong here. Amari’s mind was racing as he pressed his knee between the man’s shoulders and deftly fastened the rope. I’ve never seen such submissive jerks, mocking and arrogant instead of scary or angry. All their heads shaved… But wait, all Toragos have a shoulder-length—

            A wild yank at his hair broke his stream of thought, and sharp pain burst in his throat. The blood gushed out and choked his horrified scream.

***

Akeru and Kimo lay flat on their stomachs on the bare cliff and watched as their men tied up the intruders. The evening breeze lashed their faces and roared in their ears, so they avoided speaking. With brisk movements, Akeru touched the commander’s hand and pointed at the beach.

            “There’s something weird about these Toragos, but I can’t figure out what is it,” he said, putting his mouth close to Kimo’s ear.

            “Yeah, they’re somehow different,” Kimo replied. “Yes, I know what! It’s the hair. The men of the Torago tribe never shave their heads, they braid their—”

            “Toadshit!” exclaimed Akeru.

            As the guards were binding the captives’ hands, a dozen black shadows crawled from the water. Noiseless and quick, they pounced at the lookouts and slit their throats, then cut the ropes around their friends’ wrists before all of them disappeared together into the jungle. It happened so fast that both men watching the scene barely had time to grasp what was going on.

            “Tipihao cannibals,” whispered Akeru, horrified. “Moon Goddess, we’re doomed.”

“Run to the bonfire! Move!” shouted Kimo.

They dashed madly toward the pile of logs, kneeled, and fervently started striking the flints with shaking hands. Once the tinder caught fire and the dry grass crackled, they bent and blew until the first flame began licking the thick lumber.

Meanwhile, the Tipihaos, who could smell the smoke from a mile away, were already there. Akeru and Kimo didn’t even hear them coming. They were still blowing on their knees when several spears hit them in their backs and sent them into the pile of wood. The logs scattered as their blood extinguished the fire.

A sturdy man, tattooed from head to toe, straddled the dead men and urinated over the corpses, giving his contribution to the putting out of the smoldering wood. Satisfied, the man lingered there as his friends dispersed down the cliff in search of other survivors, watching the shore, when suddenly the last two enemy lookouts, Aho and Liko, appeared from the forest. They sprinted toward their own beached canoes, waving their bows.

The man brought his fingers to his mouth, whistled sharply two times, and ran toward the shore. The escapees pushed one of the canoes into the water and started rowing desperately when several Tipihaos appeared at the beach and threw themselves into the sea. They swam with rhythmic strokes, shortening the distance swiftly. Soon they reached the boat and turned it upside down. The water churned and boiled, and then everything went still.

A little later, after thoroughly combing the atoll for survivors, the Tipihaos set off for Rocky Island, where they would deal with the guards in the same fashion as at the Petrel’s Atoll outpost. The tactic was simple, but it always worked perfectly. At first sight of land the men dived, leaving only two or three on board. The divers approached the shore invisibly, thanks to thin bamboo pipes which they used to breathe whilst hiding under the water until the perfect moment to strike.

The tattooed man who pissed on fire took one of the lookouts’ canoes and rowed in the opposite direction for a long time before reaching Seagull Islet, a bare rock crowded with sea birds. It was the most remote piece of land westward of the Turtle Archipelago, which was not claimed by any tribe. Now instead of seagulls, it teemed with Tipihao’s sailing barks. The man neared the first one and cried to the men inside, “The way is clear!”

***

The hammock swung gently in the hut’s darkness. Laia clung tightly to Keoni’s naked body and listened to his calm, even breathing, hot tears running down her face. For a long time, she stared into the dark, trying to control her anxiety. It was their last time together on Rocky Island before her beloved Keoni, the man of her life, would set off toward his destiny. The sacrificial ceremony would commence at any moment, and she was surprised that she had not heard the assembly drums yet.

The last evening before the raid was free of duty, allowing the warriors to make their proper leave-taking with their dear ones. Laia knew that many of them had left their wives and girlfriends on their native islands, but Keoni was a lucky one. As the eldest daughter of the Torago’s chieftain, she had begged for permission to come and stay with her hero until the last moment of his departure. Now the time had come, and a grim feeling of impending calamity was slowly turning into a growing lump in her throat. For hours the same thoughts circled in her head:

What if they kill him over there? If I never see him again? What will happen to all of us if the evil cannibals win…?

She started coughing, choked with grief.

Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones, she thought.

Damned Tipihaos, with all their wars and cruelty! She had witnessed so many deaths during her life. But for the first time now, the odds were good, and the alliance could finish off this ferocious tribe once and for all.

She had heard her father saying that such an enormous army had never been formed before. And if they won this war, all this atrocity would be over at last, and peace and harmony would prevail among people. If only her beloved Keoni could stay with her instead of going there… But he was the bravest hunter and warrior she ever knew, and his place was in the battle, not in her lap.

She stared at his open, handsome face and ran her hand through his shoulder-length hair. He did not seem to care much about the upcoming battle. As she watched him, his lids twitched, and a slight smile glided onto his lips. A wave of love suffused her heart, and she started kissing him fervently, waking him up. He folded her in his arms, and she climbed on top of him, grabbed his pulsating member, and directed it inside her. The hammock began to swing wildly. She moaned, clinging to Keoni so tightly that the moment he finished, he pushed her aside, gasping for breath.

“What’s wrong with you?” he said, panting heavily. “Do you want to kill me just before the battle?”

“I won’t let you go!” said Laia, continuing kissing him. “You’ll stay with me, and we’ll escape to Hot Spring Island, and I’ll bear you many children, and we’ll live a long and happy life together, forever and ever.”

“Hot Spring Island,” Keoni chuckled. “How did you come up with that one? Nobody leaves there.”

“That’s my point! It will be only the two of us in the entire world and our beautiful kids.” Laia’s eyes shone in the darkness.

 “Yeah, and our kids will go as a tribute to the bloody cannibals,” said Keoni. “We cannot continue living like this, my heart. We have to get rid of this pest once and for all. And then freedom, harmony, and peace will reign all over the Turtle Archipelago and our children will grow up happy and safe.”

“You know that it’s not going to happen,” said Laia quietly. “Do you think it’s so easy to get rid of them? They have dominated us since time immemorial despite the countless attempts to gain our freedom, and everybody knows why.”

“I don’t,” said Keoni. There was a hint of mockery in his voice. Laia bristled.

“Of course you do! It’s all because of their god Kepolo, the same one that makes them kill and eat humans, the one that gives them supernatural force. My grandmother had said once that the only way to beat them would be to accept their god.”

“That’s old woman’s talk, pure nonsense,” said Keoni angrily. “How do you see us adopt their disgusting rituals? Becoming servants of evil? Giving up on the Moon Goddess who brings us love and harmony? No, my love. It’s time to stop talking and start acting, and we have to do it now because tomorrow will be too late. The omens are good, and even their prophecy says that the destruction of the Tipihao tribe will begin from Rocky Island.”

His blazing eyes and glowing face made him so handsome! She knew that he firmly believed in every word that he spoke. A wave of hot, burning love welled up in her again, a passion that she had never felt before.

“Stay with me, my love,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t bear to lose you... I love you so much…”

The curtain of the hut entrance flew open, and Akamui rushed in, followed by three other men. Keoni pushed Laia aside and reached for his pike, but it was too late—Akamui plunged his spear into Keoni’s chest with such a force that the tip emerged through his back. The hammock overturned, and Laia fell to the ground with a terrible scream. She jumped to her feet and flung herself toward Keoni. One of the men met her with a fierce backhand strike. She flew back, banging her head on the hut’s central support column, and fell unconscious. Akamui looked her over and nodded with approval.

            “Nice chick,” he said. He removed his necklace and put it on Laia’s neck, then turned to the warrior who hit her.

            “Tie her up and bring her to my boat,” he ordered. “Let nobody touch her, understood? This one will be mine.”

 

***

Akamui’s plan had worked well. The Tipihaos had neutralized all outposts, debarked on Rocky Island, and sneaked into each hut, killing the men, and tying and gagging the women and children. As most of the warriors had gathered unarmed (as the custom required) for the ceremony, they did not even know what had hit them. The cannibals attacked them in the rear and slaughtered them to the last man, “as a sacrifice to the Moon Goddess,” as they put it later, laughing. Flushed with excitement after their victory, the savages ravaged the island the whole night, raping the women and burning everything that could catch fire.

The first sunbeams revealed a terrible picture of still smoldering, collapsing huts, and dead bodies scattered all around. Wails of bound women and cries of children were filling the air. The women constituted the main part of the captives, along with a few surrendered warriors and three of the surviving tribes’ chieftains. All of them had been dragged to the shore and loaded into the canoes.

Laia was gradually coming to her senses. The ground heaved up and down, making her head spin and her stomach churn. A soft splashing of oars and agitated talk in a strange dialect were the first sounds she heard as she came round.

She opened her eyes, and the bright sunlight exploded into her brain, forcing her to shut them again. She attempted to bring her hand to her face, but she couldn’t. She writhed her body and realized that her arms and legs were bound.

Laia let out a low moan of pain. Slit-eyed and trembling, she couldn’t see much more than the two pairs of bare men’s legs just in front of her, and she realized that she was in the bottom of a canoe. The events of the last night came back to her in slow motion: laying in Keoni’s arms; four men rushing in; Keoni with a spear sticking out from his chest...

Laia let out a shrill shriek. Roaring laughter shook the canoe.

            “Ah, look who just woke up,” said a mocking voice. A toned, brawny forearm brought a wooden flask to her lips. “Drink! Akamui wants you alive.”

Soon the boat slowed down. Laia sensed a cool blade gliding between her hands and ankles and cutting the ropes that tied her. She got up, shivering, stretching her numb limbs. They were drawing near to a substantially bigger boat with a pole stuck in the middle and a large square piece of cloth attached to it.

Laia had heard many times about the famous cannibals’ sailing boats, driven by the force of the wind, but she had never seen one. A rope dangled from the hull, and one of the men motioned for her to grab it. Somebody hauled her over the edge and she jumped on board. It was swarming with men who were shouting, cursing, spitting, and scurrying back and forth. Some of them climbed the only short mast, fiddling with the ropes as they hoisted the sail. As she watched them, Laia sensed shivers crawling down her spine and her hair started slowly lifting from the back of her head.

“Mother Moon, what abominable creatures,” she whispered, staring hypnotized at these bald men whose strong tattooed bodies were still covered with the blood of their victims. The wild, primitive force of feral beasts emanated from their ugly faces, and their eyes streamed pitiless cruelty, death, and horror.

            The world started swinging before her, and she focused on the face of a man, frozen in a dreadful grimace of anguish. There was something wrong in these bulging eyes and the half-opened mouth, full of pointed teeth. Blood trickled down from its corner toward his… neck? Laia squinted at the sun, gazing at his broad back and unable to understand how a man with his back turned could also be facing her.

Just as she realized she had been looking at a tattoo of a face on the back of his head, he turned around. His real face was covered with dried blood. A thin human bone passed straight across his nose. His lustful eyes bored into her as he licked his lips and grinned, revealing the same pointed, filed-down teeth. The second their eyes met, Laia visualized the endless rape, beatings, and misery that awaited her from now on.

She screamed at the top of her lungs and darted toward the port side with the firm intent to throw herself into the water. She had almost reached the edge of the boat when a fat man knocked her down. She wriggled desperately facedown while he pressed his knee to her back and started tying her up. Akamui approached and licked his lips again.

“Eh, careful with the fish,” he said. “I want her in good shape, right?”

The fat one chuckled. “We know the chick is yours, Akamui, only you are so handsome that she got a little jumpy.”

He lifted her and turned her around, forcing her into a sitting position. Akamui bent down and pressed her face between his hands.

“Yeah, I don’t think she appreciated my new tattoo. I’ll certainly have to teach her some manners, with an emphasis on discipline,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes. His stare was insane. Laia did not understand a word, but she had never seen such hatred in someone’s gaze. She diverted her eyes.

Akamui tossed her aside disparagingly and said, “Put her with the others.”

The fat man grabbed her and carried her aft, where he threw her on a pile of tied and gagged women, crammed together like a stack of fish.

Laia closed her eyes and thought,

What I’d give to have died with my beloved Keoni.

 

***

The shore swarmed with people who had come out to meet the triumphant winners. They shouted and cheered, raising their spears, while the sailing boats dropped anchor in the bay and the canoes sped toward the shore, passing over the reef. Once they reached the beach, the warriors jumped into the water and hauled the canoes onto the sand under the shouts of the throng.

The captives, still tied up, were tossed on the ground, women apart from men.

With tight jaws and clenched fists, Tipihao wives stared narrow-eyed at their foreign rivals, who would soon share their huts and the hammocks of their husbands.

In their spite, some of them kicked the poor newcomers, spat at them, or hit them with rocks and rotten fruit.

            “Here we go again,” muttered Arataki, while dragging aside two young women under the murderous looks of his wives. They had clustered together, all five of them, and their stares bode nothing good for the days to come.

Whenever the men brought foreign women to the island, it created turmoil. Brawls, fights, and violent beatings inevitably broke out, often ending in the death of the intruders. The jealousy among locals was so wild that there was no force in existence that could prevent the natural storm unleashed by the disturbed hierarchy. The irony was that the men, so strong and mighty on the battlefield, were helpless when it came to keeping a tight rein on their sweethearts—despite all the restrictions and bans, the first several full moons were always a nightmare for men and women alike. It all eventually calmed down when the foreigners began getting pregnant—it was unheard of for anyone to mistreat an expectant mother.

            Arataki turned to the crowd and lifted his hand, his long black hair flying majestically in the breeze. When the silence reigned, he shouted over the surf, “Thank you for the hearty welcome, sons and daughters of Kepolo. In this crucial battle, when all other tribes united against us and plotted our destruction, we prove once again that there is no-one stronger, braver, and smarter than us, the Tipihaos!”

The crowd roared in agreement, raising their spears and waving clenched fists.

            “Led by our God, the Almighty Kepolo, the One who gives us wisdom, strength, and power to rule over the others, the One who has always protected and supported us, we taught a good lesson to our enemies, and smashed all of those miserable toads with birds’ hearts.”

            More cheers and applause.

            “This victory will be perpetuated in songs and legends for years to come, and everybody will remember the day when the Almighty Kepolo crushed once again the fake Moonlight Goddess and all of her worshipers.”

            He rose his spear and wild cries swept over the shore.

            “Tonight will be a celebration time,” continued Arataki, when the cheers died. “Our foes will be sacrificed before Rakapi, as a sign of our deepest gratitude to the Glorious Kepolo. We’ll drink their blood and eat their hearts, and their strength will become our strength, and their spirits will strengthen our spirits!”

            Amid the roar of the crowd, Arataki turned to the nearby man and ordered, “Take all the captives to the cages now!”

            Laia lay on the sandy shore in utter confusion. She listened to the brisk, seagull-like shouts of the chieftain. Right after his last words, a man standing next to her brusquely drew his knife and bent over her. She shut her eyes, terrified. The stone blade touched the skin between her wrists, and the rope loosened. The man grabbed her under the arms and lifted her onto her feet. She opened her eyes, feeling sick.

The Tipihaos were setting the enslaved women in rows and were attaching wooden hoops around their necks. The one who had set Laia free pushed her into the middle of a row of eight women and fit her with a similar ring, leaving it just loose enough to breathe. Another warrior passed a long rope through all hoops and girded it around each captive’s waist. Linked that way, nobody could escape, as every step aside would drag the entire row in the escapee’s direction.

A crack of the whip announced the start of the journey. In the beginning, all of them stumbled and staggered until they grew accustomed to keeping synchronizing every movement with each other. Laia shambled, confused and dizzy, listening to the heavy breathing of the girl behind her. She was moving as if in a nightmare, hoping desperately to wake up at any moment, only it continued on and on—a strange separated reality of scorching heat and a swarm of insects buzzing into her ears and thrusting themselves into her mouth, nostrils, and eyes.

The path was narrow, and the twigs left scratches all over her face and body. Thick creepers tangled around her feet and made her stumble every step or so, which often provoked the lash of a whip over her naked body. The bites of the leather strap formed small bloody grooves around her back and shoulders, and the thirsty insects clung to her wounds, sucking them mercilessly.

 Gradually, Laia fell into a state of profound indifference toward everything that happened around her, and her mind drifted back to the lush meadows of her native island, strolling hand in hand with Keoni.

“I’m coming to you, my love,” she whispered. “Nobody can keep me away from you. I’ll kill myself at the first chance I get, and we will be together forever…”

The narrow path ended and the row of captives found themselves in a vast clearing bathed in sunshine. Laia jerked out of her daze and squinted, unable to believe her eyes. The nightmare was getting brighter and more surrealistic, with many wretched details incomprehensible to normal human thinking. Just in front of her, hundreds of black birds were circling the most gigantic tree she had ever seen, bristling with embedded weapons and adorned with bones.

The awful smell made Laia step aside and vomit. She heard an angry shout, and a swish of the whip burned her shoulder. She was forced back into step with the other captives, and they marched toward a score of bamboo cages perched over the branches of the trees surrounding the clearing.

On their way, the captives passed an unlit pyre. Around it the grass had long been burned away, and their shuffling feet caused white bones to roll over the dirt, gleaming in the sunshine.

The guards stopped below the cages, took the hoops off the women’s necks, and disentangled the ropes. The leader of the convoy beckoned to several old men and young boys who had been waiting nearby.

“Who is in charge of the wardens?” he asked.

“It’s me, master Hakahili,” said a skinny old man with a bow.

“Nice to see you, Tanagora,” replied Hakahili, bowing back. “Look now, these eight go together. They are for the elders, and these two here belong to Arataki. Another six chosen are coming too, for the rest of the elders, so you put them in a separate cage.”

“And those over there, master Hakahili? There is not enough space for all of them,” asked Tanagora, nodding at the crowd of women who had just spilled into the clearing.

“I don’t care for them much. They are destined for the warriors after a toss-up, so do whatever you want with them,” Hakahili chuckled meaningfully.

The old man stretched his lips in a sad toothless grin and turned to the boys. “Didn’t you hear, sluggards? Take care of the ladies!”

“Hey, careful with this one,” warned Hakahili, pushing Laia aside. He touched the necklace around her neck. “Do you recognize this?”

Tanagora shook his head.

“She belongs to Akamui,” Hakahili explained.

“Excellent choice, indeed,” chuckled Tanagora, his eyes gleaming. “I hope she’ll live longer than his last wife. It was high time for him to find a woman, though. He’s become pretty creepy lately…”

“Absolutely,” sneered Hakahili. “See you tonight, old man.”

After another toothless grin, accompanied by a friendly wave, Tanagora clutched Laia’s elbow and snapped at a boy, “What are you staring at, as if you’ve never seen a woman? Send her with the others over there!”

The boy pushed Laia toward a cage to their right, where a long rope ladder dangled from several feet above the ground.

“Climb!” he shouted in the archipelago language. Laia grabbed the ladder and tried to pull herself up, struggling with the ropes, but she was too feeble. She felt the boy’s hand between her legs, squeezing her hard, heard his disgusting chuckle, and felt his stinking breath blowing in her neck. He lifted her with a mighty push, and she found the first rung under her trembling feet. The ladder swung on the wind as she struggled to climb.

A second boy emerged from a square opening in the cage’s floor and reached down to give her a hand. Laia found herself in a large dark room made of interlaced bamboo sticks. After the all women climbed, the guard counted them and slipped out, closing the hole and bolting it from below.

            The sun was high, casting scorching heat upon the clearing. Most of the warriors retreated for a well-deserved rest. Only five guards remained, hiding in the shadow below the cages.

            The women in the cage were silent. They sat on the floor with their backs leaned against the wall and stared blankly ahead of them. Some were very young, almost children. Suddenly, a slender beauty with gorgeous long wavy hair broke in tears.

            “They said they’ll draw lo—lots for us,” she sobbed. “Wha—what will our life be from now on? With these animals? Ca-nni-bals? Damn them!”

            “Stop whining,” snarled a chubby girl with a split, bloody upper lip and a black, half-closed eye. “Nobody will draw lots for you. We’ve already been allotted to the elders, so relax.”

            “I think she’s destined for the chieftain,” said a skinny girl with a parrot’s feather in her hair, nodding at the sobbing one. “Did you see how all his wives looked at us? I wish you good luck with them—they’ll eat you alive, with all your snot and tears. As for me, I hope to be given to the oldest one, won’t fuck me too often.”

“If you ask me, the men are the least of our problems,” said a small woman with a cute face. “Think about it. How long does a man stay home? They are always outside, hunting or fighting, or whatever. Their wives, though, are the real trouble for us. If I have to deal with only one, I’m sure I’ll get along with her, but if more allied against me, it would be really tough…”

“The men are the least of our problems…” mimicked a tall, heavily built, hard-faced woman. “What nonsense! I know these men well and I would not be surprised if we end up roasted tonight. Being someone’s wife is far preferable to being eaten alive.”

            The world whirled around Laia. The heat, the exhaustion and all the terrible events from the last days took its toll on her. The women’s voices rang loudly in her ears and she fainted.

When she came round, it was twilight. The tall woman was pushing at her shoulder again and again.

            “Water,” whispered Laia in a hoarse voice. Her mouth was dry, her lips cracked and stiff.

            “There is no water here, honey,” said the hard-faced woman. “I just wondered if you’re still alive. You need to wake up, ‘cause they’ll start the sacrifice ceremony soon, and right after that we’ll be brought to their stupid tree for acceptance.”

            “How do you know?” asked the girl with the parrot’s feather.

            “I’ve already been through this,” said the tall woman. “They abducted me and made me marry one of them. How I hated the brute! I counted every bloody sunset and made plan after plan until I managed to escape. And all that for naught—only to come back again.”

            “How did you escape?” asked the girl with the wavy hair.

            “I promised my man that I’d give him the best sex of his life if he takes me on a trip to Jellyfish Atoll. And there, while he was inside me, I drew his knife and stabbed him in the throat. It was so sublime… I’ve never come like that before, and I doubt I will ever again… Then I took his canoe and reached my native island, and he fed the sharks, the bloody wretch.”

Long silence lingered in the air.

“Wow,” said the girl with the split lip, with a hint of respect in her voice. “I can say that living with cannibals made you quite bloodthirsty… A bit like them.”

“Do you think they’ll recognize you?” asked the girl with the feather.

“Nah, they are really stupid, you’ll see,” said the tall woman blithely. “Just consider their procedure of acceptance: they think if their wacky god is to claim you, the bark of the tree will glow, and they must scarify you. It’s never happened, though. Otherwise, if the bark remains unchanged, you belong to the man who has chosen you. Pure nonsense!”

Laia drew her limp body near the interlaced poles and peered through the gaps. The area down below teemed with people, hustling to and fro in preparation for the forthcoming ritual. Older men, kids, and women dragged wood and piled it up, building a huge pyre not far away from the cages. The faint rhythm of drums sounded far away.

A bunch of men had gathered beneath the gigantic tree. They swayed in front of a flat rectangular stone and let out strange sounds, something between grunting, wailing, and singing. The chieftain, who was easily recognizable by his long hair, wore a weird cylindrical hat with a skull fastened on the top. He was going around the stone, mumbling and sprinkling red liquid from a coconut shell. And just behind the stone, the horrible tree seemed even more ominous in the twilight.

Laia shuddered, feeling a growing terror creep in her. She had heard hundreds of legends about this famous tree, the god of the cannibals, but this… Its gigantic size, the nightmarish black birds, swooping down and pecking at the swinging bodies, the terrible stench of carrion, floating around and causing her constant nausea—all these wretched details had widely surpassed her worst fears.

The beat grew louder and soon a couple of men with drums appeared from the jungle, followed by hundreds of people who flooded the clearing. Then the drums stopped, and the chieftain addressed the crowd in his weird barking language. He spoke for a long time, often drowned out by the wild cries of the throng.

The drums started again. The chieftain rose a burning torch, then walked solemnly to the pyre and lit it. The flames licked thirstily at the pile of wood, rapidly growing bigger.

Meanwhile, a captive was brought and stretched over the altar. Arataki lifted his torch and passed the fire to one of the surrounding men, who, in his turn, handed it to the next. Within seconds, the place was bathed with bright light. The drums increased their rhythm.

The chieftain turned to the altar and placed his torch in a special aperture in the stone. He raised both his hands interlocked in a fist, clutching a long knife. The blade was outlined in the light of the flames. The crowd started rocking back and forth and humming a long-drawn-out melody.

            Laia screamed and shut her eyes. She twisted and vomited on the feet of the woman beside her, who jumped up as if stung.

“Fucking fish,” she shouted.

“I’m sorry,” Laia murmured. She leaned on the wall and started crying, then passed out again.  When she came to, it was pitch dark. The beat of the drums rammed tediously into her head. The other women were missing from the cage. Laia looked outside. The bonfire burned out, and the glowing embers cast purple gleams on the lawn. Around it, men and women were dancing in wild ecstasy. In the air drifted the foul smell of burnt flesh. Through the darkness above the clearing floated moans, screams, and giggles.

The cage squeaked and rocked. The cover moved up and aside, and the ugly head of the tall man from the boat popped up through the hole. He squeezed up to the waist and moved his torch inside. As he saw Laia, who retreated into the corner like a wounded animal, he grunted something and motioned for her to approach.

            “I wanted to attend to bring you personally to my God,” Akamui barked in perfect archipelago language. “You are the last; all the women passed already. Come with me. Kepolo must accept you.”

            He disappeared through the opening below. Laia crawled toward the orifice, turned backward, and searched with her legs for the ladder’s steps. Having found the uppermost rung, she slowly descended. Akamui watched her graceful body while the ladder swung on the night breeze. When she leaped on the ground, he grabbed her by the hand and yanked her toward the Tree.

            “Go kneel before the trunk and embrace it,” he instructed and pushed her rudely.

            Laia advanced, all of her attention focused on suppressing the urge to throw up, and did exactly what she was said to. The moment she laid her forehead on the cool green bark, a deafening boom came from the heavens, and everybody looked up to see a blazing shooting star, falling with unbelievable speed and leaving a red trace across the black sky. It exploded just above the clearing with a blinding light and, in a twinkle, the whole place became bright as day. A rain of dazzling sparks and scattered lights sprinkled over all the Sacred Zone, and everybody let out cries of surprise and acclamation.

Gradually, the sky turned black again, and nobody but Laia noticed that the tree’s bark was glowing with a soft purple color, claiming her life. She took a quick step back and glanced at Akamui, who was still gaping at the sky. She bowed her head in acceptance.

It’s finally over, she thought in a flash. A second later, a wave of incredible energy overwhelmed her body and shook her like a thunderbolt. A mighty impulse to live ran in her veins and, in a split second, she realized that she had some mission in this world and that she must live to accomplish it.

Without even understanding what she was doing, she ran toward Akamui, threw herself on his neck, and kissed him. He looked bewildered in the first moment, then kissed her too.

“Let’s go to my hut,” he said, gripping her firmly by the hand, and dragged her toward the jungle. Laia glimpsed at the Tree—the bark was dark again.

Akamui walked confidently in the darkness, impatiently pulling her out every time she tripped.

“Watch your step, numbskull,” he yelled at her every trip.

Laia was in shock. “Slut! Whore!” a voice screamed in her head. “What did you do? Where is your honor? Your dignity? These cannibals killed your beloved and you are ready to spread your legs for them? Such a tramp like you doesn’t deserve to live. Kill yourself! Right now!”

She wrenched herself free of Akamui and darted into the darkness, but collided with a tree, bounced off, and stumbled on a root, falling back into Akamui’s hands. He grabbed her by the neck and she started screaming.

“Wanna play games, do you?” he hissed in her year. His mouth stank terribly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, soon we’ll play games. I bet you’ll like them very, very much.”

He slapped her on the back of her head to stun her, then lifted her across his shoulders and carried her home as though she were a hunting trophy.

Once in the hut, he dropped her on the floor and poured a bucket of water over her face. Laia jumped and withdrew to the corner, bristling. Akamui calmly lit the lamp and leaned on the supporting pole, scrutinizing her. She was gorgeous, upper class, far more beautiful than Kalia, and still resembling her somehow. Slender and tall, with long curly hair, full sensuous lips, small nose, and big black shiny eyes, Laia possessed some particular inner beauty, some humility that made her face glow from inside. At this moment, though, her look emanated only wild, rudimentary fear.

“Come here!” Akamui hissed menacingly in the archipelago language. “From now on you will be my wife and you must satisfy all my needs, understood?”

            “I’d rather die,” snarled Laia.

            “Oh, you’ll die for sure, if you don’t obey… Like my first wife… Come here! I need a woman right now.”

            Laia did not move. Quick as a flash, Akamui lunged at her, grasped her throat, and lifted her in the air. She kneed him in the groin, and he doubled over with a yell, hurling her to the ground. They rolled over, she madly scrambling to escape, and he trying to keep her back, pulling at her hair. Amid shouts and curses, Akamui was the first to regain his feet. He clutched Laia in his mighty arms, threw her flat on her back, pressed his knee to her chest, and began slapping her rhythmically with heavy cutting blows. Laia screamed, blood gushing from her nose and mouth. At this moment, Lalago entered the hut and yelled at her son something that Laia did not understand. Akamui stopped at once.

            “Leave her alone!” shouted Lalago angrily. “What do you want, to kill her like you did Kalia?”

            “She has to obey,” said Akamui through clenched teeth.

            “She’s coming with me!” snapped Lalago. “She will sleep in my hut tonight! Don’t you see how weak is she, still in shock? She needs to be healed; she is not ready for the stupid phantasms buzzing in your head. I’ll talk with her, woman to woman, and she will understand. Get out of the way, now!”

Lalago stepped forward and pushed her son aside. She extended her hand to Laia and lifted her to her feet. The youthful woman was trembling and staggering.

Under Akamui’s stunned look, Lalago pulled Laia’s arm over her shoulders and the two of them left the hut.

Akamui watched them crossly as they walked down the path, hesitating what to do. His groin ached, but he had immense respect for his mother, so eventually, he let them go. When they passed out of sight, he muttered, “Women,” and went back into the dark room.

***

It seemed to Laia that it took forever to get to Lalago’s hut, and the moment they went in, she collapsed on the floor. Lalago dragged her to the corner and prepared a bed for her from straw mats. After quenching her thirst, Laia swallowed hot fish broth, so delicious that she couldn’t compare it with anything she had ever eaten before. When she finished her meal, Lalago made her stretch on the floor, cleaned all her wounds and bruises, and rubbed her body with some soothing ointment.

            “It will appease your pain and calm you down. Tomorrow you’ll feel a lot better, you’ll see,” she said to Laia, smiling at her. She continued in a confidential voice: “Listen, he’s not so bad, my son. The problem with him is that he is a bit short-tempered, but once you get to know him, you’ll be surprised how easy it is to get along with him.”

            “I don’t want him,” moaned Laia. “I’d rather die.”

            “I hear you, girl, but everything will be all right, you’ll see. I’ll teach you some tricks and, in a brief time, you’ll be able to wrap him around your little finger. Don’t forget that it was me who has raised him, and I know him better than anyone. Don’t worry now. Get some rest, and tomorrow will be another day.”

The soothing words didn’t reach Laia. The ointment was taking effect, and she started drifting away. The events of the last days passed in quick succession through her mind, and she wriggled and tossed in her sleep. Little by little, the dream steadied, and she walked hand-in-hand with Keoni in a large green meadow studded with colorful tropical flowers.

             “Listen, Laia,” Keoni whispered in her ear. “You must accept Akamui for your husband. I know how difficult it is for you, but you have to do it. We have a child, my love, a boy who was conceived on our last night together, right before they killed me. It’s crucial to give birth to this boy, my heart. It’s a matter of life and death…”

            Laia moaned loudly in her sleep, rocking her head left and right. From her hammock, Lalago watched her suspiciously.

            “Do you remember when I said that the time has come for us to crush this cursed tribe?” whispered Keoni. “This boy is the key. He is precious… He will change their thinking, and from bloodthirsty cannibals they will be made into peaceful people, as in the time before Kepolo, when they worshiped the Moon Goddess. Yes, my love, our son will be a great man. But I can see that his life is in great danger. If you kill yourself or let Akamui kill you, everything would be lost. That’s why you have a great responsibility, and you must be braver than any warrior on the battlefield. Akamui has to think he is the father of the child; otherwise, he’ll kill both of you. Do whatever it takes to gain his confidence, Laia! Do it, if you love me...”

The meadow disappeared and Laia gradually woke up. In the hut’s darkness, the only sound was Lalago’s steady breathing. Laia propped herself up on an elbow and gasped, her eyes wide open—Keoni, gleaming in the dark, stood in front of her. His hair was matted and his near-naked body smeared with blood. In the middle of his chest gaped a large bloody hole.

“Don’t make a sound,” said his voice, which she heard inside her head. “Don’t touch me, either! Just think in your mind, ask whatever you want and be quick, because we don’t have much time. Do you remember the dream?”

Laia nodded.

“Every single word?”

She nodded again and said with her thoughts, “Are you real?”

“Of course, I am. The dead are as real as the living. You can’t imagine what a beautiful world awaits you after your death, my love. It’s amazing! I met my parents and my brother… Not everyone has the same fate, though. Some people are doomed to suffer… Listen Laia, the only reason you can see me now is because I have to convey to you the message about our child. I see you are not convinced at all… You must accept Akamui as your husband and you need to sleep with him right away. I know it’s hard, my beautiful flower, but no suspicion about the child’s parentage must be raised. He has to believe that the boy is his blood, understand?”

“I can’t stand this man,” whispered Laia, and she shuddered, tears rolling down her cheek. “Just the thought of him makes me sick…”

            “You have to accept your destiny!” Keoni said firmly. “You must give birth to this child, whatever it takes. There is nothing more important than that. This is the bitter cup from which you must drink to the last dregs. Do whatever it takes and remember that I love you with all my heart. Don’t even think about suicide, as it’s one of the most terrible things you could possibly do. I’ll help you in your endeavor. Look here, I’m giving you my shark-teeth bracelet. Every time you need my help, just press it to your heart, and I’ll come to you and give you strength. I know that you can do it, my love... Can I count on you?”

            Laia nodded and Keoni disappeared. She drifted away. When she woke up again, the sun was already high in the sky.

She looked around. The hut was empty. The dream was still vivid in her memory, only in daylight, it seemed more unreal than ever.

She sat up, contemplating how to run away when something clattered in her lap. She looked down, startled, and froze. On the earthen floor gleamed a white bracelet. She stared at it for a long time, then she reached down to pick it up, observing the sharp shark’s teeth strung on a leather strap.

She knew the story behind it: One day, while Keoni was out to sea fishing, the beast attacked his canoe and overturned it. The assault was so sudden that most of his weapons sank to the ocean’s bottom and he faced the shark with only his knife, which he always wore attached at his waist. The battle was epic. Keoni’s left shoulder was torn to the bone, and the traces of the beast’s teeth were visible on his upper back and thighs thereafter. Other men from his tribe were nearby and came to his aid. When they approached, the shark was already dead. Keoni took its head and later made the bracelet.

Now, as Laia looked at it, her eyes filled with tears and an overwhelming love suffused her heart.

            “But how is it possible?” she muttered, fiddling with it thoughtfully. She was sure that when Keoni got killed, the bracelet was fastened as usual around his wrist because she remembered it scratched her back while they made love…

            “… Every time you need my help, just press it to your heart,” resounded his voice inside her head.

She clutched the bracelet and clasped it firmly to her chest. In the blink of an eye, she saw a curly little boy with mild features and big shiny black eyes, who smiled at her. The resemblance to her was so striking that she gasped. An immense wave of love swelled in her, and at that moment, she was ready to do anything for this child. She got up and strode decisively toward the entrance. Her eyes were full of tears but shone with unbending intent. She stepped out and met Lalago, who was sitting before the hut, basking in the morning sun.

            “Are you all right, girl?” she asked, surprised when she saw Laia.

            “I am,” nodded Laia and smiled. “Thank you for having me overnight; your hospitality helped me to think everything over. Now I must accept my destiny. I’m ready to be your son’s wife, and I’m going to tell him my decision right away. From now on, you will become a mother for me, and I will be your daughter.”

Lalago gaped at her, unable to believe her ears. Laia smiled and motioned to the path that ascended the hill.

“As far as I recall, I have to follow this track, right? Goodbye for now.”

            She bent over, took the old woman’s wrinkled hand, and kissed it, then turned around and hurried away, leaving the stunned Lalago gawping after her for a long time.

            “Well, well,” she said at last. “What a change! It must be the special soothing ointment I rubbed her with.”