The World Duology (World Odyssey / Fiji: A Novel) (33 page)

“Are they still here?” Nathan asked.

“No. The Smiths returned to England last month.”

Nathan looked concerned. “So you’ll be here alone?”

Drake Senior smiled patiently. “Well, not quite alone,” he said, placing an arm around Susannah. “We have each other . . . and we have God.”

A dubious Nathan looked away. As the longboat nosed up into the shallows, he jumped out and turned to assist Susannah from the craft. She refused his offer, preferring to wait for one of the oarsmen to assist her. Becoming used to her rebuffs, Nathan busied himself helping to unload the Drakes’ possessions.

A score or more friendly villagers descended on the Drakes and greeted them respectfully. It was clear they were expecting the couple.

Smiling children ran up to inspect the new arrivals, their gleeful laughter echoing around the bay. The children took a shine to Nathan and vied for his attention. Susannah pretended not to notice.

Several young Qopa men collected the Drakes’ possessions and began carrying them up to the nearby station. Susannah followed them. To Nathan’s disappointment, she didn’t look back.

Drake Senior debated whether to farewell the young American. Finally, he extended his hand. “Good luck, Mr. Johnson. May the good Lord be with you.”

The two shook hands. “I wish you and your daughter well, sir,” Nathan said sincerely.

Something in Nathan’s voice told the missionary he actually meant what he said. Drake Senior nodded to Nathan, flashed a grimace that almost resembled a smile, then followed Susannah up the beach.

Nathan retrieved his carry-bag and musket from the longboat, slung them over his shoulders, and began striding toward the Qopa village. The children followed close on his heels, shouting and vying for the tall American’s attention. Behind them, Nathan didn’t see Susannah quickly glance back in his direction.

#

Nearing the village, Nathan observed palisades of bamboo poles lined up in strategically placed rows. He could see they would allow defenders to retreat to the next row of palisades should the preceding row be overrun in battle. They presented a formidable barrier to any would-be enemy. It was obvious to Nathan that these people were well organized.

A deep ditch in front of the outer palisades presented another obstacle for invaders to overcome. Long planks, tied together to resemble a walkway, spanned the ditch, affording easy access for the villagers and visitors. Nathan was in no doubt the planks would be removed if the village was under attack.

Still with his escort of children, he walked unchallenged across the ditch and into the village via an opening between the palisades. Here, more children rushed forward to greet him, and the adults stopped what they were doing to look at him. This told him that white visitors were still something of a novelty in these parts.

Nearby, a master carver was busy instructing his young charges in the age-old art of carving. Under his guidance, kauri posts were being transformed into works of art as the apprentices labored away with hammer and chisel. Much of their work would adorn the exteriors of the villagers’ homes—often as decorative archways over the front entrances to their bures, or huts. Many of the bures were so adorned.

Nathan noted the carvings had a Polynesian influence. He identified similarities between these carvings and those he’d seen in Samoa and elsewhere in the Pacific during his voyage out from San Francisco. The young man knew the carvings told a story, or had some special significance, but looking at them he couldn’t even begin to guess what that could be.

The village accommodated dozens of bures of various sizes. They surrounded a large meeting house, which was the focal point of the village and which featured the largest and most spectacular carvings of all. Many of the carvings were inlaid with shell and bone.

It was from the meeting house that Joeli, the ratu’s strapping son, and Waisale, his handsome young friend with the distinctive birthmark on his forehead, suddenly emerged. Waisale had just returned from the highlands of the interior after yet another unsuccessful search for his beloved Sina, the maiden abducted by the Outcast. Their proud bearing alluded to their royal bloodlines, but it was their hairdos that really set them apart from other warriors. Joeli’s massive hairstyle, now dyed orange, was even wider and higher than it was three months earlier, while Waisale’s zany, geometric hairstyle was uniquely colored what could only be described as
shocking pink.

Waisale jealously guarded the secret ingredients that made up this color for it was widely believed he was the only Fijian in the entire archipelago with pink hair. The young warrior had promised he’d divulge the ingredients as soon as he found Sina. This ensured he at least had the support of every vain man in the village.

Joeli and Waisale saw Nathan and headed straight for him. The American noted the huge club Joeli carried. He noted, too, the human teeth inlaid around its head. The teeth numbered thirteen now, indicating Joeli had killed another man in the past few months.

Nathan couldn’t take his eyes off the incredible hairstyles worn by the two otherwise
macho-looking warriors. It took all his control not to burst out laughing. He knew that would be construed as an insult and was afraid he’d end up in a cooking pot.

Joeli stopped a foot from Nathan and, in Fijian, said, “White-Face is not welcome here.” Nathan looked blank. Joeli switched to pigeon English. “What White-Face
want?”

Nathan disliked dealing with native peoples at the best of times, more so in circumstances like these when they insisted on flexing their muscles on their home turf. Having to go through all their longwinded rituals in order to trade, like some pathetic rite of passage, was akin to pulling teeth for the American. He’d found from experience the only way he could endure it was to keep his mind focused on his ultimate goal. He constantly reminded himself of the profits he would make if the trade was successful. Nathan unslung his musket and held it toward Joeli. “I have come to trade muskets.”

Joeli took the weapon from him and studied it. A movement behind him announced the arrival of Joeli’s elderly father, Iremaia, who was the Qopas’ ratu, or chief. Iremaia was resplendent in a ceremonial tapa cloak and turban. He was a man of great mana, or spiritual strength. As was the custom, villagers in his path prostrated themselves before him to demonstrate their total subservience to their ruler.

At the sight of the musket, the ratu hurried to his son’s side and took the weapon from him. Looking from the musket to Nathan, Iremaia fired questions at Joeli in his native tongue. Joeli answered his father respectfully. As father and son talked, Nathan’s eyes were drawn to a striking whale bone pendant hanging around the ratu’s neck.

Joeli turned back to Nathan.“This is Iremaia, great ratu over all of Momi Bay.”

Nathan extended his hand to Iremaia.
“Nathan Johnson, from America.”

Iremaia ignored Nathan’s outstretched hand and addressed him in halting English.
“Na-than John-son?” The young American nodded. The old ratu continued, “You have musket to trade?”

“Yes.
One hundred muskets.”

On hearing this, Iremaia’s eyes lit up. Returning his attention to the musket in his hands, he cradled it lovingly for a few seconds longer before handing it back to Nathan.

Nathan shook his head. “That is my gift to you.” He’d learned firsthand that natives of all lands loved receiving gifts—especially gifts that
appeared
to come with no strings attached. Of course, there were strings attached: Nathan was looking to use the Qopa, just as he used everyone who came within his orbit.

Iremaia’s wrinkled face creased into a smile. He clasped the musket to his chest as a mother would a child. His unsmiling son looked on, unimpressed. Waisale appeared more receptive and studied the musket with interest.

The men would have been perturbed to know that, at that very moment, on a scrub-covered hill overlooking Momi Bay, the Outcast, Rambuka, was watching them. Half a dozen fellow outcasts lay on either side of him. Wearing grass skirts, their only concession to modern ways was that they all carried muskets. Bones and sticks inserted through apertures in their noses and ears added to their savage appearance, as did the tattoos that covered their faces as well as their bodies.

Unlike the Qopa, they shunned outrageous hairstyles, preferring to wear their hair short or shaggy. Behind them, fifty more musket-bearing warriors lay in wait. They’d been there since first light. Like Rambuka, their attention was focused on the four men below who were still deep in conversation.

7

R
ambuka stretched his long, muscular frame in the grass as he positioned himself for a better view. His fierce, battle-scarred, tattooed face was a picture of concentration and his coal-black eyes burned with hate as he studied Iremaia and the ratu’s son, Joeli, in the village below.

He had scores to settle with those two.

The Outcast turned his attention to Nathan. He wondered if the white man was related to the beautiful white woman he’d seen arriving at the mission station a short time earlier.

Watching Nathan conversing with Iremaia and Joeli, Rambuka wished he knew what they were talking about. The Outcast guessed the conversation involved trade, and he speculated whether the white man had more muskets like the one he’d just handed to the old ratu.

Rambuka switched his attention from the men to an enclosed storage structure perched atop four tall poles near the village meeting house. He looked longingly at the structure for he knew what it contained. The warriors on either side of him were looking at it, too. Like him, they lusted after its contents. After all, that was what had brought them to Momi Bay. Each took note of the two huge warriors currently guarding the structure.

For Rambuka, this village held many memories for him. After all, it was once his home; Iremaia was his father and Joeli his half-brother. Rambuka had lived at Momi Bay until he’d been cast out of the Qopa mataqali, or clan, and forced to make his own way in the world.

Memories of his past life flashed before his eyes. He took himself back five years to when he was a fully fledged member of the mataqali.

Until Joeli was born, Rambuka had been first in line to become ratu. Unfortunately for
him, his mother was not of royal bloodlines. As soon as Joeli had entered the world, everything changed. As the son of Akanisi, Iremaia’s senior wife, Joeli was destined to inherit his father’s title and ever since Joeli arrived on the scene, Rambuka had been planning his demise. He got his chance on a hunting trip when he’d speared Joeli and left him for dead. Unfortunately for him, Joeli had survived and returned to the village.

The village council had ordained that death was too good for Rambuka. Its members branded him an outcast and placed a tabu, or curse, on him. This meant that bad luck would befall anyone who offered him shelter or extended the hand of friendship to him. As a final insult, a bitter Rambuka was confined to a life of slavery.

As the seasons went by, he’d grown ever more bitter. His hatred for Iremaia and Joeli, and indeed for all the Qopa, grew by the day. He dreamed of wreaking vengeance on them. When an opportunity to escape presented itself, he took it along with a handful of fellow slaves. So began Rambuka’s campaign of terror against his old village and against other villages up and down the coast.

Despite his failings as a human being, Rambuka had always been a charismatic character. His numbers had grown as more disenchanted warriors joined him. Widely known as
the outcasts,
they wreaked havoc throughout much of Viti Levu. Their influence increased as they acquired muskets. Rambuka’s followers were also made up of a few non-Fijians, including Tongans and Samoans, who had ended up in Fiji either as a result of inter-island warfare or the healthy slave trade that existed between the islands.

Rambuka’s favorite past-time was abducting attractive maidens. As well as keeping him and his men amused, there was a more sinister reason behind this: to impregnate the women and so increase the outcasts’ numbers in order to eventually create a new tribe. It was rumored Rambuka kept the women as sex slaves at his inland hideouts.

Women up and down the coast lived in fear of the dreaded Rambuka and his fellow outcasts. Hunting parties had tried in vain to find the outcasts’ hideouts, but the cunning Rambuka had a number of encampments at his disposal and frequently relocated his followers from one to the other. Fear of reprisals ensured that tribes in the vicinity did not reveal the whereabouts of these encampments.

Forcing himself to focus on the present, Rambuka eyed the musket Iremaia was holding. Muskets were the big advantage the outcasts had over the Qopa. He didn’t want to lose that advantage. Rambuka knew he needed to act quickly.

Down in the village, unaware he was being observed, Iremaia questioned Nathan. “What you want trade for muskets?”

“Sea slugs.”

“Sea . . . slug?”

Nathan displayed the sea slug sample he carried with him. Joeli snatched it from him and studied it for a second then looked at his father.
“Ah, trepang.”

Iremaia studied Nathan intently for several long moments then announced, “We trade.”

Nathan flashed a broad grin. While he was genuinely pleased trading was to commence, his grin hid the frustration he always felt when dealing with native peoples. He knew they wanted his muskets and would trade just about anything to get their hands on them. Why they insisted on this masquerade of pretending they didn’t care whether they acquired muskets or not, he never could work out. In this respect, he decided, all natives were the same whether they were Native American, Zulu, Maori, Aboriginal, or Fijian. The irony was, he could see through their apparent disinterest so easily it was laughable.

The American and Iremaia then negotiated the terms for the forthcoming trade. It was agreed half the muskets in the
Rendezvous
’s hold would serve as a down payment on the sea slugs. Nathan would unload the muskets before the schooner sailed the following day, and he would stay in the village as Iremaia’s guest until the
Rendezvous
returned from the western whaling grounds two weeks later. This would allow sufficient time for the harvesting of enough sea slugs to complete the transaction. On the
Rendezvous
’s return, the balance of muskets would be unloaded. Then Nathan would ship the sea slugs to Levuka and from there to China where they’d fetch extraordinary prices.

As the terms of trade were confirmed, Nathan could hardly contain his excitement. Iremaia had agreed to part with double the quantity of sea slugs Nathan had been willing to settle for. Already a man of means, he was aware he would soon be wealthy enough to retire. Not that he planned to. His dream was to build a trading empire using his own fleet of ships to transport the products acquired in the course of his trading ventures around the world.

“You eat with Iremaia tonight,” the old ratu insisted.

“Thank you, great ratu.” Nathan forced a smile. Even though socializing with Iremaia was the last thing he wanted to do, Nathan knew it would be taken as a slight if he refused the offer of hospitality.

Just deal with these bastards a little longer,
he told himself,
and the world is yours.

Iremaia motioned to Nathan to follow him. The ratu and Joeli then began walking toward the meeting house. Their guest followed, wondering what Iremaia had in mind.

Approaching the meeting house, Nathan noticed the same enclosed structure perched atop four tall poles that Rambuka had been studying earlier. He guessed, correctly, it was used for storing something. Just what, he couldn’t imagine though he knew it must be of value to warrant two warriors guarding it. There seemed to be no means of access to the structure.

Another huge warrior stood guard at the entrance to the meeting house. He bowed respectfully as Iremaia escorted his guest inside.

The meeting house was unoccupied as they entered, but it quickly filled as matagali, or tribal elders, filed into it. There were no women present and the mood was solemn. Iremaia and Joeli sat down, cross-legged, on a pandanus mat, and the ratu motioned to Nathan to sit on his left. As soon as he was seated, the matagali sat down in a semicircle opposite. Nathan noticed a large kava bowl half full of kava on the ground nearby.

Speaking in his native tongue, Iremaia then welcomed Nathan and explained to the assembled why the vulagi, or visitor, was here. The speech seemed to go on forever. Nathan was learning that, as with the natives he’d begrudgingly traded with elsewhere in the world, the Fijians took pride in their abilities as orators. He hid his impatience.

Don’t you people know time is money?

Among native peoples, he knew, simple introductions could, and often would, take hours.

Nathan’s attention strayed to the shrunken heads and skulls of former enemies adorning the meeting house walls. The young man eyed them nervously. He thought he heard Iremaia mention his name and quickly looked back at the ratu. As before, his attention was drawn to the whale bone pendant around Iremaia’s neck. Five inches long, its dagger-like base tapered to a sharp point. The carvings along its length were so lifelike they almost seemed real.

A boy slave suddenly appeared holding a small bowl. Unlike cannibalism, slavery was something missionaries hadn’t managed to convince the Qopa to dispense with. Slaves were such an integral part of life at Momi Bay. For centuries, they had eased their masters’ workload and had provided the mana, or prestige, the ratu’s position demanded. Nathan guessed banning slavery would be one of the major challenges facing the Drakes.

The slave boy dipped the small bowl into the kava bowl and handed it to Iremaia. The ratu clapped his hands together three times before taking the bowl and draining its contents. He handed the bowl back to the boy then clapped three times again.

Nathan stared at the wooden kava bowl half full of the distinctive, muddy-looking kava that was so popular with Fijian men. Staring at the vile-looking liquid, Nathan realized he was about to have his first experience of drinking it. He’d heard that kava, made from the sacred kava root, featured at every ceremonial occasion throughout the Fiji islands.

The boy filled the bowl again then held it out to Nathan. The American looked at Iremaia, who nodded encouragingly. Nathan tentatively clapped three times then took the bowl in both hands. He studied its contents unenthusiastically. Aware every eye was on him, he gulped down the kava, handed back the bowl and clapped three times again. All except Joeli seemed impressed.

Nathan struggled to keep his composure as the delayed effects of the kava struck him. The vile liquid he’d just drunk reminded him of camel’s piss, or how he imagined camel’s piss would taste.

# 

While Nathan was pretending to be enjoying Fijian hospitality, Susannah and her father were settling into their new quarters in the mission station further along the beach. The modest cottage they now called home would be their base for at least the next year, so they were determined to make it as homely as they could.

As they unpacked the possessions they’d brought out from England, Drake Senior told his daughter of his strategies for converting and educating the Qopa. Susannah was crucial to his plans for, despite her tender age, she was an experienced teacher, having taught first-year pupils in a London school for several years. The good reverend was aware Susannah’s colleagues considered her a teacher in the truest sense, in that she inspired her pupils to learn all they could about any and everything.

Drake Senior firmly believed one of the best long-term ways to Christianize native peoples was to educate the children. That was primarily why, after much soul-searching and
inner torment, he’d finally relented and allowed Susannah to accompany him to such an ungodly part of the world.

A portrait painting of his late wife caught his eye in one of his travel bags. He retrieved it and stared at the beautiful face in the painting. A shadow fell over the canvas, alerting Drake Senior to the presence of his daughter.

At the sight of her dear mother, a tear came to Susannah’s eye. Looking at Drake Senior, she whispered, “Oh, Papa, how I wish she could be here.”

“She’s here in spirit, my child,” Drake Senior smiled, placing an arm around his daughter.

# 

Later that afternoon, feeling excited and more than a little nervous, Susannah wandered alone along the Momi Bay foreshore. She still couldn’t believe she’d ended up on the other side of the world in such an exotic location—somewhere that was totally different from England. It was what she’d always longed for.

Looking around, Susannah took everything in: the palm trees swaying above her, the white sand beneath her feet, the foreign smells, the constant boom of waves crashing on the reef, the exotic birdlife, the majestic, blue hues of the sea on one side and the contrasting lush greenery of the foliage on the other.

The young Englishwoman was suddenly distracted by a dragonfly that hovered in front of her face. She’d seen dragonflies before, but could hardly believe the size of this one. It was all of five inches long.

Up ahead, a man-made pile of rocks rising up out of the sand caught her eye. Then she saw a shock of pink hair behind it. The hair belonged to Waisale, of course, though Susannah wasn’t to know that. He was paying homage to the memory of Sina. Waisale suddenly saw Susannah. The two stared at each other for several moments before Waisale turned on his heel and jogged off back to the village.

Susannah followed at a more sedate pace. She marveled at the zany hairstyle worn by the handsome young man and wondered what he’d been doing at the rock pile. So taken was she by his pink hair, she’d hardly noticed the birthmark on his forehead.

Nearing the village, the sound of traditional Fijian singing and chanting could be heard above the thunder of the distant waves. Susannah saw a large crowd was gathering in the village and wandered over to investigate. The Qopa appeared to be preparing to celebrate something.