Laia panted as she climbed the steep narrow path. The long pole across her shoulders, with two bulky buckets filled with water attached at either end, had already left bruises on her back and neck. She felt heavy and clumsy and sweated profusely in the late morning heat.

It had been almost nine full moons since she had resigned herself to becoming Akamui’s wife. Until now, she could never explain what had seized her when she quit Lalago’s hut and set off to meet her future husband. That day was stamped so deeply on her memory! Every detail of what happened next, so clear and vivid, ceaselessly stung her heart in cruel torture, and every single night she woke up, crying bitterly.

Laia had found Akamui sitting in front of his hut and stripping a long stick of its bark for a new spear. When he saw her approaching, he lifted an eyebrow and smirked. She strode decisively toward him and told him that she accepted to be his wife. He rose, took her by the hand, and led her into the hut. Once inside, he grabbed her rudely and shoved her on the floor. She hit her head against the earthen floor and his heavy, two hundred pounds body of iron muscles crashed on top of her. Dizzy and helpless, sickened by his reeking breath, she left him to do what he wanted. Akamui was like an animal in heat. He had sex with her for hours, with only brief breaks. During all that time Laia had completely detached from herself. By the end, after one of Akamui’s violent pushes, she found herself peering from above at their naked bodies, lying entwined on the floor.

This is me, and yet it’s not, she thought. She watched how Akamui, who had satiated his passion at last, got up and left the hut without a second glance at her.

I won’t return in this disgusting, stinking shell, filled with his slimy liquids, she decided. She felt light and happy without her body, like a bright ball of light, boiling with energy.

Soon she discovered that she could move through the air. It was enough just to fix her attention on something and she started floating toward it. She made a tour around the hut, lingering a bit at the central pole and the ceiling, and then focused on the wall.

Somehow, she knew that the wall would not stop her on her way to freedom and she decided to go through it. At this instant, the room filled with light. As in haze, Laia noticed a weird old man, clad in red, with white, shoulder-length hair and a bearded face. He smiled at her and shook his head, then lifted his hand and pointed to her. With incredible speed, she flew toward the lying woman below. She sensed the wind blow through her nostrils and woke up with a gasp in her mutilated body.

As she opened her eyes, a wave of despair and hatred toward herself overwhelmed her. Feeling filthy and humiliated, grief seized her in a firm grip, and she remained lying on the floor, unable to move, crying and pressing Keoni’s bracelet to her heart.

When Akamui returned hungry and sullen at sunset, he found her huddled in the corner. He kicked her in the ribs and bellowed, “Where is my supper!?”

The first two months were a nightmare—sulky and disgruntled, Akamui never showed affection and was always displeased with her. Her feelings were reciprocal. She had never realized that he was Keoni’s killer, but all the same, she loathed him so vehemently that even looking at him caused her pain. In her eyes, Akamui was an embodiment of evil. The brute had not even a single positive quality. He projected hatred, arrogance, spite, cruelty, and death. In the beginning, he almost killed her several times. Occasional snap or slow execution of his whims led to violent trashing. Beaten to a pulp, she often ran away to Lalago to seek protection, for she had discovered that Akamui would never dare to oppose his mother.

 That was the worst period in Laia’s existence, when her life was hanging by a thread, either because she was always on the brink of suicide or in the constant danger of Akamui’s wrath.

However, in the most critical moments, some strange waves of energy overwhelmed her, stopping her thoughts and giving her strength. During such a hard time, she fervently kissed Keoni’s bracelet, pressed it to her heart, cried for hours, and then she felt purified and resigned, gaining the strength to continue her dreadful reality.

As time went by, Akamui gradually relented. It was not clear what had softened his heart toward her, but the beatings had been replaced by occasional slaps and the shouts by growls. One day she yelled at him not to touch a pot, still stewing on the fire, and braced herself for the inevitable blow. To her surprise, however, he retreated, grunting discontentedly.

But the actual change occurred when she told him she was expecting a baby. From that day on, he never raised his hand against her. On the contrary, he became attentive, caring and made his mother come more often to help Laia with the household chores. In her presence, Laia regained her courage and often gave Akamui back-talk or even snapped at him, which he endured, even though she noticed his glare sometimes.

“I don’t recognize your son. He’s become so patient, so self-controlled,” she confided to Lalago once.

“You know why?” whispered Lalago back, casting a furtive glance about. “He told me recently that every time he wants to hit you, Kalia, his previous wife, emerges soaked in blood before his eyes, as though her spirit restrains him from doing it.”

And once Akamui, softened after several cups of tuka, told her, “There is nothing more important than my child and you. All my life I’ve been dreaming to have a strong, handsome son, blood of my blood, and flesh of my flesh. I’ll make him a great warrior, and the entire Archipelago will sing songs about his feats.”

“And if it’s a girl?” she teased him with a playful smile.

“No, it will be a boy, believe me,” said Akamui convincingly.

For the first time since the death of Keoni, Laia lived something similar to a normal life. The moon waxed and waned, and she felt her child growing in her. As it wriggled and kicked inside her womb, the desire for suicide faded away, replaced by her admiration of the wonder of life and the joy of having a baby. Her mother’s instincts were so profound that every single thought and desire was dedicated to the child inside her.

            Now, carrying the heavy buckets and panting on her way to the hut, she whispered to herself:

            “If it’s a boy, I’ll call him Keoni, after his father. And if it turns out to be a girl, I’ll give her the name… I don’t know, maybe Aloa… I need to speak to Lalago first, to hear her opinion on the matter… And then, we need to check with her crazy son… Although the brute told me once that he had not come up with a name and will leave it up to me, he’ll just give his approval…”

            The baby gave her a sharp kick, cutting off her thoughts, and she doubled in pain. She dropped to her knees, the buckets hitting the ground and rolling over. The water spilled and was thirstily absorbed by the dry, cracked earth. Yellow lights danced in front of Laia’s eyes. Something warm gushed down her thighs and she started screaming, paralyzed with terror: “Help! My baby! Help me, please!”

            Several men and women rushed from the nearby huts and bent over her.

“It’s all right, her water broke,” said one of the elderly women after examining her. “Let’s take her to Lalago.”

***

Akamui had been waiting for the birth for hours in front of Lalalgo’s hut. He heard the cry of the baby coming from inside a long time ago, but when he tried to enter, all three women inside shouted in one voice: “Get out!”

            “What the fuck are they doing?” muttered Akamui, pacing nervously around the entrance. The sun was dragging lazily over the blue sky, and the stagnation drove him crazy. It was almost sunset when Lalago finally emerged, clutching a large purple bundle in her hands. She handed the baby to him and said in a tired voice, “It’s a boy…” Then she brushed a tear from beneath her eye and sobbed, “I’m so sorry, Son!”

In a flash, a sense of déjà vu suffused Akamui’s mind. He stared at his mother, but mentally he was under the Sacred Tree, praying, and seeing Lalago giving him a baby, as the ominous voice of the rustling leaves told him he would have a son who he must sacrifice to Kepolo.

In fact, Akamui had completely forgotten about his vision, as often happened to the Tipihaos when they came out of a trance.

“Akamui, do you hear me, Son?” Lalago was crying, her body rocking with sobs.

“What was that? What did you say?” he asked, shaking off the weird memory, his look wandering like a person who had just woke up from a terrible nightmare.

“She’s gone,” repeated Lalago, her eyes fixed upon the ground. “She passed away.”

“She’s dead?” uttered Akamui, his face whitened. “What have you done?”

            “We tried everything,” said Lalago, wiping her eyes. “I don’t know what happened… The blood gushed out and we could not stop it. She lost too much blood… I’m so sorry, Son.”

            “Let me see her,” hissed Akamui. Absentmindedly he pushed the baby back into Lalago’s hands and got into the half-dark hut. He stepped over a bucket full of water and leaned over a pile of dirty clothes smeared with bloody stains. Laia lay in the center of the room, mostly covered with rugs. At the gleams of the torches, Akamui looked at her pale, exhausted face. Her left hand clutched Keoni’s bracelet. Akamui took a lock of wavy hair away from her face and touched her forehead, still bedewed with small drops of sweat. He remained still for a moment, then lifted her up and strode away.

At the entrance, he told his mother, “Take care of my son. I’ll lay her down below Rakapi and pray to the Great Kepolo to let her dwell in the Tree’s mighty crown along with our ancestors. I hope our god will accept her, even though she was a foreigner.”

***

After Akamui left, Lalago went up the hill to see Oliana, a young woman whose son Anuro Lalago helped deliver about a full moon ago. It was already dark when she reached there, and there were no signs of life in the hut. Lalago pulled the curtain aside and peeped inside.

“Oliana,” she hissed. Someone fidgeted. A baby started crying. The boy in Lalago’s hands took up as if in sympathy. Oliana emerged from the hut, rocking her baby with one hand and rubbing her puffy eyes with the other.

“What’s up,” she asked, yawning.

“Laia’s dead,” whispered Lalago. “Could you feed her baby and keep him for the night? I’ll take him tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” muttered Oliana. “Mine is already a nightmare. I’ve barely slept a wink since this one was born, and you want to give me another baby? Pity about the girl, though. She seemed really nice.”

“I understand that it’s hard, but it’s only for tonight,” Lalago insisted. “The baby shouldn’t stay where his mother died. I’ll purify the place at sunrise, and he can remain with me afterward. Do you have enough milk?”

“More than enough,” Oliana nodded. “Afterwards, you can bring him here to breastfeed if you like, as long as you keep him at night. What’s his name?”

“We haven’t named him yet,” Lalago muttered.

“All right, give him to me.”

“Thanks, Oliana. See you in the morning,” said Lalago with a wan smile, handing her the baby.

As she reached her hut, she was already on the brink of exhaustion. It took her a lot of time to clean up all the mess. When she finished, she collapsed on the ground, not even able to reach her hammock, and immediately sank into a deep sleep.

            That night she had a strange dream. She had kneeled before the Sacred Tree and rhythmically swung her body back and forth, touching the ground with her forehead in fervent prayer. She begged Kepolo to give her grandson health and strength and to make him a brave and mighty warrior. Suddenly she was wrapped by complete darkness and started groping in her blindness. Then a single ray of sunshine lit her up, tearing open the blackness. A strong, echoing voice came from above, speaking so loudly that Lalago pressed her palms to her ears, but that didn’t help, as she felt the voice vibrate inside her.

            “Today a boy was born,” it thundered. “He will have neither mother nor father. You will take care of him as your own precious son until the time is right. Then I will take over. He will be my son, and I will teach him knowledge and wisdom. He will become a great chieftain and will lead his tribe to a new life. His name shall be Kamolea!”

            The light moved away from Lalago and lit up the Sacred Tree. A blinding thunderbolt ripped through the black sky and hit Rakapi, splitting its trunk in two and setting the crown on fire. Then a terrible earthquake struck, and the ground swung.

Lalago woke up, moaning and rolling on the floor. Feverish and frightened, she sat up for a long time, staring ahead in the darkness. In her ears kept ringing the words “His name shall be Kamolea!” She shuddered. In their language, the name Kamolea meant “a new beginning.”

 

***

The next morning, Lalago met Oliana, who looked even more exhausted than before. The baby, to the contrary, was in a good mood, well-fed and crowing. When Oliana gave Lalago a wooden flask filled with breast milk, the latter thanked her one more time and wended her way to Akamui. She found him sitting before his hut, looking thoughtfully at a black beetle crawling near his foot.

“Here he is, your son,” she said, smiling, handing the small bundle to Akamui.

 “What do you want me to do with this baby?” Akamui snorted. “He needs his mother now, not me. Look after him until he grows up, then the fun will begin. You’ll see what an outstanding warrior I’ll make of him. They’ll call him the brave… the brave what? What was the name Laia proposed? I liked it …”

“That’s exactly what I’d like to talk with you about,” began Lalago cautiously. “Laia’s name was good, but it’s not relevant now.”

“Why not?” grunted Akamui.

“Last night, I had a dream about it,” Lalago replied. “Your son must be really special, as God Kepolo himself came into my dream and spoke to me about him. He ordered me to give him the name Kamolea.”

“Kamolea? Bats’ droppings, how did you make up this one?” barked Akamui. “Have you ever heard of someone with such a name?”

“I know, it’s a weird one, but it’s not my fault,” snapped Lalago. “It was Kepolo’s will, pure and simple!” And she told him her dream.

            “Hmm, very strange,” said Akamui. “I like the part about how he’ll become a great chieftain, but why would Rakapi split open and set on fire? It doesn’t make sense. In fact, Kepolo also gave me a sign about this boy; only there was nothing about making him a chieftain or anything. It’s pretty confusing, isn’t it?”

“What sign was it?” asked Lalago suspiciously.

“I’d rather not to tell, Mother,” muttered Akamui. “Not now, anyway. I have to think it all over because, honestly, I understand nothing.”

            Lalago remained silent for a while.

“The whims of gods are often dimmed and unclear for mortals like us,” she said at last, “but we need to follow the will of Almighty Kepolo and give your son the name he has bid. He also ordered me to take care of him like a mother, so we must respect that, too. No matter how many wives you have from now on, I want you to promise me that only I will be responsible for his upbringing. If not, we would draw Kepolo’s wrath upon us.”

            “Have it your way, then!” said Akamui reluctantly. “Kamolea! What a stupid name! I do count on you to look after him, though. As my wives die like flies, I don’t think I’ll get another one soon, anyway.”

            Lalago nodded.

            “Leave everything to me, Son, and don’t worry about a thing,” she said and waddled toward her hut with Kamolea in her hands.

***

Kamolea’s early childhood was the happiest period of his life. Raised by Lalago and surrounded by friends, he had no care in the world. The resemblance to his mother was obvious: he had the same high, prominent forehead, curly hair, small nose, full lips, and big, black shiny eyes. His mild features considerably distinguished him from the other kids of the Tipihao tribe. Oh, how strongly he loathed his small locks! As he was the only “curly” person on the island, to be different in such a small community posed serious problems, and he was a constant object of ridicule because of his hair.

Akamui loved his son madly, and although he was a busy man with many responsibilities in the Council, he always found time for Kamolea. Scarcely had the latter reached the age of five before Akamui began to take him to the forest and teach him the language of the jungle. Under his training, Kamolea learned to hunt, set snares, read tracks, shoot with a bow, throw knife and spear, know where snakes nest, beware of spiders and other dangerous insects, and how to find birds’ eggs and water in the roots of the trees.

Another part of his practice took place in the sea. There he acquired abilities like swimming, diving, fishing with spear and knife, breathing whilst under the water with a straw in his mouth, keeping away from sharks, sailing a raft, and so on.

“A Tipihao warrior is never afraid of death,” Akamui repeated during his lessons. “There is no greater honor for us than to die in a battle. Then Almighty Kepolo will graciously accept our spirit and he will incarnate us in a newborn body. Thus, we will become stronger and braver thanks to our previous experience. And one day, after many incarnations, when we will finally reach absolute perfection as warriors, we will dwell eternally in the mighty crown of Rakapi, where our ancestors live forever and enjoy our sacrifice along with us. So, remember our motto, Son: Kill or die! No mercy for our enemies! No pity for their wives and children! Nobody is stronger than us! Win or die!”

As Kamolea grew up, Akamui became increasingly amazed by his son’s intelligence. He was a quick learner, and after every successfully completed lesson, Akamui couldn’t resist bragging to his friends about how clever Kamolea was and how he would become a chieftain one day.

Sometimes, however, late at night, Akamui’s thoughts whirled in his mind, not giving him rest and raising serious concern about his son. At seven, Kamolea began to manifest strange behaviors. Something was not quite right with him. Akamui could not explain it, yet, he could feel it in his bones.

            It began with this cursed boar’s hunt. Kamolea was mad with joy at the prospect of hunting his first boar. He had begged his father so many times to do it that finally Akamui, who was aware of the danger and had intended to postpone the hunt until Kamolea got a little older, reluctantly gave in. They hunted in the jungle around Carapace Hill. During the trek, Akamui explained to Kamolea the beast’s habits and different tricks for finding its lair.

“Maniha Komu is the only place in the entire Archipelago where such animals live,” Akamui pointed out, smiling inwardly at Kamolea’s eager expression.

“Why so, Father?” Kamolea asked.

“Well, as the saying goes, some people with pale skin brought them in ancient times, along with the cursed snake.”

They spent two days in the jungle, in rain, scorching heat, suffocating dampness, and eaten alive by the mosquitos, finding and losing the boars’ usual trail, when finally they came upon a fresh wild boar’s track. They sneaked as they followed the lead, visible through the crumpled grass and bushes. It was already late afternoon on the second day, and they hoped to catch a boar before nightfall.

Suddenly, Akamui touched Kamolea’s elbow and gestured forward. Under a palm tree, with her brown, bristly back turned to them, a massive female swine was thrusting her snout into the dirt, grunting quietly as she dug for roots. Kamolea’s young eyes widened—the animal looked enormous to him.

Akamui advanced noiselessly, hiding behind the trees, with Kamolea following into his steps. Now they were no farther than five yards, but the subtle breeze blew against them and the boar still had not scented out the danger. Akamui nodded toward the boar and Kamolea raised his spear. He drew his arm backward and arched his back, exactly the way his father had taught him, his sinews taut, his muscles bulging, ready to deliver the mortal blow. Akamui was waiting, content with his performance. A couple of seconds passed. Kamolea had frozen in the perfect position to fling the spear, but did nothing. The swine raised her head and started sniffing the air. Kamolea slacked his posture and lowered his weapon. Akamui gaped, flabbergasted.

            “I can’t kill her,” whispered Kamolea. “Please, Father! She has seven babies in her stomach.”

            “What?” shouted Akamui. The wild boar dashed into the jungle and he ran after her. Kamolea did not move. Soon Akamui returned, dragging the dead swine with him. Kamolea stood rooted to the ground, staring at his feet.

            “What’s wrong with you?” Akamui yelled. “What is this nonsense? You failed your first boar’s hunt. What a shame! A son of mine should never behave like this! What were you afraid of?”

            “I’m not afraid, Father,” said Kamolea quietly. “I’m just… sad.”

            “Sad? Girls get sad, not men. Listen to me now! You’re a boy who will become an outstanding man, a brave and strong warrior, a hunter. If you pity your prey, you and your family will end up starving to death. If you have mercy on your foes, their spears will overthrow you and you’ll feed the burkans, lying in disgrace in a pool of blood. Remember, mercy is equal to weakness, and weakness equals death. Understood?”

Kamolea swallowed and looked at his feet. His eyes were full of tears.

“It was not fair to kill her, Father,” he whispered. “She was about to give life to seven babies.”

Akamui’s eyes narrowed. He made two rapid steps and delivered a hard backhand blow to Kamolea’s face. Kamolea fell with a heavy thud, his lip split in two, blood dripping from his nose.

“This was to know your place,” said Akamui through clenched teeth. “Never contradict me, you milksop! Are we clear?”

Kamolea nodded fearfully and wiped his bleeding nose.

“Good,” said Akamui. “Now I’ll rip up her belly and you’ll see that the things you imagine have nothing to do with reality.”

He drew his knife, kneeled, and plunged it in the boar’s belly. When he ripped it open, blood spouted, soaking into the soil and forming a pool. Akamui pulled the entrails out onto the ground, and amid them fell seven mouse-like piglets.

***

Right after the boar hunt, there was a series of unfortunate events, which brought Kamolea to the brink of despair. His father, angry and confused by Kamolea’s correct guess about the baby boars, decided to direct his son’s attention to serious things and to knock any stupid ideas out of his head.

“I intend to make of you a real man, not a sissy boy,” Akamui told him. “I think it’s about time to start getting familiar with our customs. When the next sacrifice takes place, I’ll bring you to Kepolo’s belt and show you what destiny awaits all traitors and cowards.”

The opportunity presented itself a score of sunsets later, when a young slave was caught in an attempt to escape and sentenced to death.

            Kamolea would never forget the ominous sentiment he experienced that moonless night. Thick clouds hung in the dark, overhanging sky, and not a leaf stirred in the still air. The Sacred Zone echoed with the drum of timpani as the crowd swung their bodies back and forth, humming in sync. Akamui pushed Kamolea to the front row to watch the ceremony at close quarters.

            The gigantic Sacred Tree had an overwhelming effect on the little boy, as he felt so small in front of it. A rudimentary fear crawled in Kamolea and he started swaying with the others. After some time, four Tipihaos dragged out the poor victim, a handsome young man. They hurled him onto the altar and tied his limbs to the four corners of the rectangular stone. The humming grew louder, the torches swayed faster and faster, and the crowd fell into a trance, rocking their bodies as one.

            The chieftain approached, carrying a torch in one hand and a long sacrificial knife in the other. Akamui pulled Kamolea aside and clutched his shoulder.

            “This is your initiation into real life, Son,” he hissed in his ear. “The scene is hard to watch, but you must not look aside. Be brave and don’t flinch! Be my worthy heir, my pride, and my glory!”

            Kamolea nodded, determined. He would not even dream of disgracing his father. He would do everything he was required to, like a real man… He looked at the chieftain, who wore a funny tall hat with a skull perched on top of it. The chieftain placed his torch into a slot on the altar near the victim’s head, slowly raised the knife that he clutched with both hands, and began singing a weird song, resembling the crowing of a burkan.

Kamolea’s heart started banging against his chest. Everything reeled before his eyes and he got the feeling that he was being sucked into a gigantic whirling funnel of wind. He floated now far beyond the clouds, watching the black sky studded with millions of stars. An incredibly bright star attracted his attention and he sped toward it.

            “Kamolea, remember Alina and her three children.” A booming voice vibrated in his entire being, and he noticed three stars in a row, near to the brightest star in the sky. And then all those countless stars around him whirled him in a staggering dance and formed a silhouette of a beautiful woman, which starry eyes pierced through Kamolea’s heart.

            A sharp sting on his cheek brought him back to his senses. He opened his eyes and found himself lying on the ground. Akamui was bending over him and had just slapped him again.

            “Wake up, you coward,” cried Akamui, beside himself with rage. “That’s exactly what you get when an old woman raises a child—a sissy boy and a worthless wretch. I forbid you to live with your grandmother anymore. You move into my hut tonight. From now on, your education will be my priority.”

            Kamolea was ill with shame. He could see the terrible disappointment in his father’s eyes.

            “I’m so sorry, Father,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to let you down. I just… I don’t know what happened.”

            He glanced at the altar. It was covered with blood, but the man was gone.

Akamui shook his head. “Go straight to my hut. Tell Kalima that you shall live with us, to feed you and to find you a place to sleep.”

            “I don’t want to live with her, Father. She hates me…”

            “I don’t care what you want,” Akamui barked. “Do what I say. Hey, Ahaki, are you going to the village?”

“I am,” Ahaki said with a nod.

“Could you take my son with you through the forest, please? Afterward, he knows the path. I need to stay here a little longer. Thank you, wise Ahaki.”

“Always my pleasure, Master Akamui,” nodded Ahaki. He grabbed Kamolea by his arms and lifted him to sit on his shoulders.

“Just watch your head,” he told him and strode away.

In the forest, it was quiet and dark. Ahaki walked in silence, sunk in his thoughts. Kamolea had wrapped his hands around Ahaki’s neck and laid his chin on the top of his head. He could not stop thinking about his failure. After a while, his body rocked with sobs.

“What is it, Kamolea?” asked Ahaki. He bent and put him down.

“I failed my father so badly tonight,” Kamolea said, weeping. “He wanted me to watch the sacrifice, but I fainted like the world’s greatest coward…”

“Oh, come on, don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Ahaki with a smile. “It happens to the best of us, especially the first time at a sacrifice.”

“Did you pass out as well?” asked Kamolea, astounded. 

“I did,” nodded Ahaki. “And I was even older than you are now. Not only did I faint, but I had a strange vision.”

“What’s a vision?”

“It’s something like a vivid dream, only you’re awake when it happens... Anyway, my father was not pleased, to put it mildly, just like yours today.” Ahaki chuckled, took Kamolea’s hand and they continued walking.

“I also had a vision,” said Kamolea proudly after a moment of contemplation. “Was yours something about the stars?”

“Nah, mine was weird. I had swum up from the bottom of the sea and paced toward the shore, water dripping off me. And on my shoulders, I carried a mighty warrior with a face covered in scars, who was gripping a big ax in his hand.”

“Wow,” Kamolea said. “That’s so cool. My vision was stupid, just some stars...”

Ahaki cut him off. “I think it’s time to part company, my little friend. Here’s your father’s home.”

“Thank you, Master Ahaki.” Kamolea bowed and ran toward his new home.

***

Several days later, Kamolea was running toward the north shore. Tears mixed with blood streamed down his face. When he reached the shore, he threw himself in the sea and, taking advantage of the high tide, swam to his favorite spot: a cave, situated in the middle of a jagged cliff.

The cliff was about two hundred yards away from the hilly shore, and the strong current and the submerged boulders made it difficult to reach, but Kamolea knew the way like the back of his hand. The spray rose a misty veil around the slippery rock, and he groped for a crack or prong to hold on. The whirlpool spun him in a boiling swirl, but he managed to hook his fingers into a     crevice and resist the draught. Then, using the surge, he caught the protruded rock, hoisted himself up, and rolled over on the cave’s stone floor, panting. He lay on his back for a long while, listening to the roaring wind and the breakers that crashed relentlessly against the rock.

 Recently, he had been spending more and more time in the cave, away from his father and friends. It was small and cozy, always dry and pleasantly warm, located high enough, so the tide heaved just a little below the entrance.

Kamolea adored the place. He felt calm and secure in it, as though an invisible presence watched over him and gave him strength and reassurance. The damp scent of the sea and its constant booming would make his thoughts stop and carry him away, and he would spend hours staring at the unceasing whirl of the white foam until he himself turned into a droplet of the splashing water, floating in the ocean’s infinity.

            Now Kamolea felt anxious and hurt. He hauled himself up and sat cross-legged, his body trembling and his head almost touching the ceiling of the tiny oval space. He ran his fingers over his clawed face, sniffed, and fixed his gaze on the horizon, where the water merged with the sky. Today he had blundered again, and he was not eager to face his father when the latter got home at dusk.

The day began as usual. When he woke up, Kalima, his stepmother, was nursing his second half-brother Lelando. Kamolea got up and walked past her on his way to the shelf to get something to eat when from the corner of his eye, he caught some shadow, similar to a big black fish, which was twisting its body in the air. Kamolea gaped and stared at it. With every twirl, the shadow was getting bigger and bigger, reaching up to the ceiling, and suddenly it lunged toward Kamolea. Frightened, he violently jumped back and collided with Kalima, who dropped the baby. A terrible din broke out… She screamed like mad at him and clawed at his face, neck, and shoulder. He ran away, aghast and humiliated, leaving behind him a fine trail of bloody droplets, and he did not stop until he reached the cave.

            Kamolea brushed a rolling tear and almost jumped as he heard Akamui’s voice bellow inside his head: “Men don’t cry!”

            “Why am I so weird?” he whispered in the darkness. “My father won’t love me anymore. I bring only shame on him.”

He stretched out in the corner and listened to the surf, which lulled him, and his eyelids grew heavy. Suddenly, the cave started to glow inside, as though the morning light was chasing the gloom. Kamolea sensed someone’s presence. He was aware of everything around him, yet he knew he was dreaming because he could not open his eyes.

To his left, near the entrance, appeared a man. A strange, pale-skinned man, his entire face covered with white hairs. Kamolea found that curious, as all the men on the island were beardless. His hair, long and white, reached to his shoulders. He was wrapped in a red robe richly decorated with golden crosses, which trailed on the cave’s floor. In his left hand, which he kept close to his chest, he clutched a strange, black object with a white cross and several signs carved on it. His presence was somehow reassuring and, instead of being afraid, Kamolea felt elated, as though some source of happiness touched his heart. The old man smiled at him, his eyes streaming light and goodness.

“Go see Lalago tonight and ask her about Kedia and the legend of your tribe,” resounded his deep voice in Kamolea’s head. The words were spoken in the perfect Tipihao language. “Tell her that the prophecy has been set in motion!”

Kamolea jerked and sat up. Nobody was in the cave, and it was dark, meaning he had slept for a long time. In a panic, he jumped in the water and crawled toward the shore with mighty strokes.

 

***

When Kamolea reached Lalago’s hut it was already night, and he presumed that she was fast asleep. It had been a while since he last visited her and, as he didn’t want to scare her, he sneaked to the entrance and peeped inside. To his surprise, Lalago was up. She was kneeling over a mat covered in dried herbs, and she crumbled them between her palms into a wooden bowl. The faint flame of the lamp flickered next to her. When she saw Kamolea, she let out a cry of surprise.

            “What are you doing here?” she scolded. “You know what your father said…”

            “I don’t want to return there, Grandma,” said Kamolea. “Can I stay here tonight? Look at what Kalima did to me…”

            “She did that!?” exclaimed Lalago, as she drew the lamp near to his clawed face. “That snake! Tell me what happened?”

            “I bumped into her and she dropped the baby. Can I stay, Grandma?” Kamolea pleaded again.

            “All right, all right,” said Lalago. “Your father will be angry, but stay if you’d like. Your hammock is always waiting for you, even though it’s getting a little short for you already. Are you hungry?”

            “I am,” Kamolea admitted.

            “Good. Give me just a moment to finish with these herbs and I’ll bring you your favorite fish broth.”

            After Kamolea finished his meal, he stretched on the hammock and said, “It’s good to be with you, Grandma. Could you tell me the legend of our tribe one more time, please? How did we become so strong and subdue all other tribes? How did it come to be that our god Kepolo chose us and made us invincible?”

            “Well, I’ve told you that story a few times already,” Lalago said reluctantly.

            “True, but I was little then and don’t remember. Tell me again, please.”

            “It’s late and I’m tired now,” Lalago said. “Let’s leave it for another time.”

            “It must be tonight, Granny,” insisted Kamolea.

“Why?”

“Because the hairy man said so,” cried Kamolea

            “The hairy man? Who is this?” asked Lalago suspiciously.

            Kamolea didn’t respond.

“Speak out, boy!” Lalago yelled.

“The legend first,” Kamolea said stubbornly.

            “All right, then,” sighed Lalago. “In ancient times, many, many years ago, so many that nobody could ever count to such a big number, Maniha Komo was a beautiful place where everybody lived in harmony and peace. The legend says that our ancestors came by huge rafts from a large earth that lies far away, in the direction of the rising sun. They were peaceful and meek and worshipped the Sun God and his wife, the Moon Goddess. At that time, nobody killed his neighbor, and the war was an unknown word.”

“How so? What was wrong with them?” Kamolea cried out.

“It’s not wrong to live in peace, boy. Yes, it was a calm time for a long time, and Maniha Komo was a glorious place, the most important center of the Turtle Archipelago.” Lalago smiled dreamily. “Our ancestors worshipped the Moon Goddess, and women ruled our tribe.”

“Whaaat?!” Kamolea looked scandalized. “How come men accepted that? Who would obey a woman in the first place?”

“And why not?” Lalago retorted. “Aren’t women better than men? They give birth, and they realize how precious life is. They carry their children for nine full moons, and when the baby is born, they feel it like a part of them, bone of their bones and flesh of their flesh. And here is the thing—they take care of their sons until they grow up, only to see them slaughtered in battle afterward. Isn’t that insane?

“But at the time it wasn’t like that. Everything was thriving and Maniha Komo was at the height of its glory. And the happiest days were during the time of the highest Moon Priestess Alina, who it was said was so tightly connected to the Moon Goddess that she received everything she asked for. The other tribes even considered Maniha Komo a holy piece of land, a blessed gift from the Moon Goddess to her people. Unfortunately, it was so long ago that nobody can even remember our first real tribe’s name. What people did remember, though, was the immense love and respect they had toward Alina, who was not only a priestess but also a chieftain. She ruled for a long time, but even at her ripe age she looked beautiful and young. The people started to say that she was eternal, a goddess herself. Her three daughters were also incredibly gorgeous and goddess-like. Everything within her touch was in harmony and filled with beauty.”

Kamolea listened intently. The name of Alina sounded familiar, and he racked his brain, trying to remember where he had heard it.

“Everything was perfect until the day when cruel, violent men invaded the Turtle Archipelago.” The voice of Lalago became brisk. “They were killers and rapists who brought war and devastation with them. Nobody knew who they were or where they had come from. They started taking the islands of Kepula Penu and enslaving the people. Caught by surprise and softened by the long peaceful period, nobody was ready to resist them. When they landed on Maniha Komo, Alina met them with peace and tried to propitiate them. How did they respond to her kindness? Well, they raped and killed her in the cruelest fashion, along with her daughters. However, Alina and her offspring were so pure and beautiful that their spirits ascended straight to the sky and turned into bright stars, which always shine over Maniha Komo.”

Lalago sniffed and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. Kamolea was the embodiment of concentration. His eyes shone in the darkness and his mouth was slightly open.

“Alina the star! I remember now!” he exclaimed. “I asked my father about it some time ago, because I flew to it when… Never mind. My father pointed it out for me, the brightest star of all, and said that if someday I get lost, I need only to follow it and it will bring me back home.”

“My son showed you Alina? Really? He said the name?” asked Lalago in disbelief.

“Yes, Granny, and he also told me that stupid old women consider her to be our ancestor and protector, just like you said. Do you think he meant you?” Kamolea giggled.

“Well, the men don’t like this legend because it contradicts Kepolo’s teaching—he wants war and she loved peace. However, you need to know this part of our history in order to understand that once we were different. As I told you, though, don’t mention it to your father.”

“And how came the Almighty Kepolo to replace the Moon Goddess and become our god?” Kamolea asked.

 “Well, you know already this part of the story. After Alina was killed and the entire tribe massacred, only a few children and elderly people escaped into the heart of the jungle. They hid in the crown of the enormous tree. From the top, they watched with sinking hearts how the assailants dragged their mothers and sisters across the sandy shore, threw them into their boats, and rowed away. Some of the invaders, however, stayed longer, searching for survivors.

“Afraid to leave their hiding place, the escapees spent several days in the tree, drinking rainwater from its hollows, eating mushrooms and insects from its bark and leaves, and the small red fruit growing on its branches. It’s not clear whether the mushrooms or the fruit or maybe the combination of both is what had a strange effect on them. One night, they shared a vision: A gigantic man of darkness, engulfed in flames, rose in the middle of the forest, and all the trees around their hiding place burned up.

            “The man spoke in a pure Tipihao language. ‘Don’t be afraid, future children of darkness! Today I choose you as my people and you’ll accept me as your god. I’ll save you from your invaders and will make you strong, mighty warriors. You’ll be a horror to anybody who dares to challenge you. From now on, your tribe’s name will be Tipihao, and everyone will bow down to you. Here, around this tree, I’m tracing my belt, and may this clearing be your Sacred Zone. Honor the tree that saved your lives, give me your foes as sacrifice to me beneath its branches, respect my commandments, and glorify my name: Kepolo. That is all you need to do to have my goodwill and protection.’

“With these words, the man disappeared. The blazing trees burned the whole night and, in the morning, the newborn tribe saw a perfect circle of ashes around their hiding tree. It was as though the fire purified and strengthened our people, petrified their hearts, and tempered their bodies. They became brave and bold, and even though they were only children and old men and women, they feared nothing. They climbed down the tree and went through the island, but they found no-one, because all of the assailants were gone.

“Thus began the transformation of our peaceful ancestors into pitiless warriors. They began to worship Kepolo, the Dark One, as the meaning of his name implies. They deified the tree that saved their lives as he commanded, calling it Rakapi, or the Sacred Tree. Thus, Rakapi became the temple of their new god Kepolo, who was also known as ‘The Master of the Tree.’

Lalago stopped for a moment and looked at Kamolea. He had propped himself up on an elbow in his slightly swinging hammock and watched her without blinking, absorbing every word.

She smiled at him and went on:

“Meanwhile, the invaders retreated to the other islands, where they killed off some of the local tribes, leaving alive only the youthful women, who brought to the world their offspring, cruel and belligerent as their fathers were. War broke out across Kepula Penu, and violence became a way of living. Our ancestors had no choice but to become impeccable warriors. Led by an invisible force, they trained themselves in all the arts of war: bow shooting, spear and slingshot throwing, the setting of snares and traps, fist fighting, and blending into the forest. The young warriors, still merely children, developed their rapidity, endurance, and boldness, and, most importantly, their philosophy of superiority without a shred of mercy. A soft attitude toward foes had been regarded as great weakness and a sign of cowardliness. All their exercises took place around Rakapi, where they prayed to Kepolo to give them strength and wisdom, patiently biding their time.

“And the day of their revenge eventually came after the moon waned and waxed many, many times. The boys had become strong and fearless men by then. One day, several of the same cruel men came to Maniha Komu to look for food and supplies. They had taken no precautions, as they were sure nobody was living there. The Tipihaos took them by surprise and killed them off, all of them.

“The next morning, our ancestors decided to strike their enemies first before they suspected that anything was wrong. They reached their island in two sunsets and crawled onto the shore at nightfall. Nobody expected the horror that would follow.

“In the middle of the night, the Tipihaos silently entered each hut and slew every man; afterward, they set the entire village on fire. They took away most of the women and, in doing so, they recognized in some of them their abducted sisters and mothers. The chieftain of the massacred tribe and a few surrendered men were taken as a special gift to Kepolo.

“On their way back home, the weather was perfect and the sea was calm. Several sunsets later, they saw many black points on the horizon and realized that a horde of them were coming for revenge. Led by Almighty Kepolo, Tipihaos built an altar under Rakapi and killed the captured chieftain with a fervent prayer for victory in the forthcoming battle. Then something incredible happened: a violent storm arose and overturned most of the boats, which made our ancestors insane with joy. Most of the invaders drowned, and those who reached the shore were immediately captured or slain.

“That very day, at sunset, the Tipihaos performed their famous ritual for the first time. They stretched their foes over the altar and executed them, and then they drank their blood and ate their flesh. They decorated the branches of the Sacred Tree with the captives’ heads and danced their famous dance of death until the sun chased away the gloom of the night sky.

“And from that day on, my boy, nothing was the same. Why? Because the god Kepolo looked favorably at this custom. The signs and omens were clear that the warriors had to continue doing this ritual. In return, Kepolo made the Tipihaos the greatest, the bravest, and the strongest tribe in the Turtle Archipelago. From then on, with his help, the Tipihaos rule over the other tribes, which fear us and tremble with dread at the mention of our name.”

Lalago glanced at Kamolea. He had tilted his head, staring dreamily at the ceiling.

“So,” Lalago said, “what about this hairy man?”

 “Yes, he was very weird. He had pale skin, and white hair was growing from his head and face,” Kamolea chuckled. “And he had wrapped himself with a red cloth, and in his hand he held something black, like a piece of wood or something… Have you seen someone like him ever before, Grandma?”

“Never.” Lalago rose in the hammock, looking suspiciously at him. “Where did you meet him?”

“In my secret hiding place. At first, I thought it was a dream, and he wasn’t real, but then he spoke to me as though he was.”

“And what did he say?” asked Lalago, smiling. She obviously did not take any of this seriously.”

“He mentioned the name of some woman… Kelia… or Kebia…,” Kamolea scratched his head, trying to remember.

“Kedia,” said Lalago, the blood draining from her face and her smile fading.

“That’s it exactly!” exclaimed Kamolea happily. “And he said also that something was put in motion or whatever... Who is she, Grandma?”

“How do you know about Kedia?” whispered Lalago, her voice trembling.

“I know nothing, Grandma. The pale man told me to ask you about her.”

“Look, I think we should stop with the legends for now,” said Lalago firmly. “Go to sleep and go straight to your father in the morning. He must be worried about you. And remember: if you want to stay alive, forget about Kedia and never—I repeat, never—mention her name again. And get this pale man out of your head! He does not exist. You imagine things, and this is not good. Not good at all, boy, understand? Do you know what they do with such people? I assume you don’t want to finish hanged on Rakapi, do you? Not a word about that till the end of your life!”

Kamolea looked at his grandmother with astonishment. He had never seen her in such mood—angry and shuddering.

She’s scared to death, he thought, but nodded in agreement to her last words and soon sank into a deep sleep.