The Sacrifice

by Joanna Orwin

  Now the Travellers and their escorts were passing a row of what appeared to be store houses but with open fronts shaded by thatched verandahs. Inside their dark interiors, Taka glimpsed shelves stacked with containers of various sorts, sacks and large baskets lining the floors, and ropes of strange fruits or vegetables hanging in clusters from the ceilings. Inside most of these store houses he could see women holding up items and arguing with someone he couldn’t make out in the darkness. In rows on the outside walls hung unfamiliar tools or weapons that he thought were made of metal, a surmise that was confirmed when he looked more closely at the women weeding their gardens. Without exception, they were all wielding metal implements. Here and there, old people sat on benches placed in the shade of palm trees. He couldn’t help but feel excited by this exotic combination of familiar and unfamiliar. No matter what was to come, this was the adventure he’d always dreamt of.

  As the Travellers walked on, most people, men and women, old and young, abandoned what they were doing to follow them. They kept a cautious distance; anyone who approached too close was warned off by one of their escorts with a threatening gesture of his spear. By the time Taka and the others reached a set of stone steps that led to a cluster of buildings on the higher terrace, they were accompanied by a sizable crowd. They were taken through a narrow passage that opened out onto an extensive space, like their meeting place at home. But this was far from home.

  There, just inside the entrance, was a steaming pool that reeked of demon breath, its surface writhing and smoking with heat. The pool was surrounded by a low stone wall, but Taka could sense its barely constrained power. Even more alarming were the three metal columns set into the stone wall at the back of the pool. Of different heights, they were pierced with several holes near their tops. Just as the Travellers were led past, steam puffed from each aperture, then the columns wailed and droned, eerie sounds that set his heart thumping against his ribs. Hastily making the demon-averting sign, he turned his head away until they were safely past this evidence of Mahui’s volatile presence — right here within the settlement itself.

  At the far end of the open space was a raised stone platform where a small group watched their approach. Taka’s eyes, though, were drawn to three more of the sinister metal columns mounted behind the platform. He swallowed hard. Blue-tinged flames flared from their tops, and a stir of air filled his nostrils with an acrid stench that made his eyes water. They were still streaming when the spear carriers brought them to a halt in front of the platform. Blinking away the tears, he looked up at the imposing figure seated there, his cloak flung back from his shoulders to reveal a thick torso, immensely powerful despite the muscles being layered with fat. This man wore a feathered headdress that sat low on his forehead, the intricately patterned feathers in fire colours, red, yellow, and orange. He held a feathered staff in one plump hand, the other rested carelessly on the arm of the elaborately carved seat, and his thighs were spread wide, large sandalled feet planted firmly. His stature was startling enough, but even more astonishing was his skin. Whiter than sea foam, paler than a fish belly, gleaming like the full moon, such skin had never been exposed to the sun. Youths stood on either side of his seat, holding large umbrellas over him to create shade. Men clad in finely woven tunics sat on low stools beside him, and more spear carriers stood behind. None of them seemed affected by the fire-goddess’s vile, eye-stinging breath.

  ‘Mister Goddard, I presume,’ Kai murmured beside Taka as he knuckled his own tears with the back of his hand. ‘Clearly their headman.’

  One of the spear carriers overheard and frowned at him. ‘Headman? Mind your language. He’s a Mister, and you’ll show respect if you know what’s good for you. Be silent until you’re asked to speak.’

  The spear carriers thrust the Travellers forward, then forced them to their knees in front of Mister Goddard and his entourage. The Mister leant forward and examined them closely. It seemed a long time before he spoke. ‘So, you are the strangers who dared approach us in the dark of night?’ Mister Goddard smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, and although his voice was high-pitched, almost feminine, it held menace. Taka had no trouble understanding every dismissive word. ‘Such boldness from flotsam thrown up on our shore.’

  Mindful of the spear carrier’s warning, none of the Travellers responded. Mister Goddard continued to assess them. His stone-grey eyes, colder in colour than anyone else’s, seemed to strip the clothes from their bodies. Taka found it hard not to flinch, hard not to make the demon-averting sign, for surely someone of such colouring and appearance must be of demon blood. But he met the man’s gaze steadily, for he sensed it wouldn’t be wise to show fear.

  Mister Goddard turned to one of the spear carriers near him and spoke quietly. The man nodded, then came towards the Travellers. He hauled first Kai, then Taka, to their feet. ‘You two — you’re to approach the high seat. If you’re asked to speak, mind you address him as Mister.’

  The Mister was no less imposing close up. He looked Kai up and down, then said, ‘You claim to come in peace, you say you come to ask our help. Tell us why we should be obliged to you.’

  Kai waited a moment, then spoke up clearly so that everyone could hear him. His words revealed none of the doubts or misgivings that Taka knew beset his cousin. He explained how their Wise Ones had sent them across the Great Ocean to seek the source of the sacred food kuma, how they had followed in the path of the ancient hero Kahu, guided by the migrating kua and the stars set in the sky to light their way. Without invoking any particular god, he made their voyage sound entirely god-inspired and sacred. He was careful to avoid any mention of Tanga, for it was clear these people were worshippers of the water-god’s enemy — people who were comfortable living beneath one of her warrior mountains, comfortable enough even to channel her activity among their very dwellings.

  Mister Goddard listened without interrupting, his face expressionless. When Kai finished, he said grudgingly, ‘You speak well for a stripling. Tell us, why do your people send mere youths on such a mission?’

  ‘Every five years, our people select young men to leave our lands and forgo the chance to father children as a sacrifice to the gods, in honour of a promise to keep our numbers within bounds.’ Kai spoke calmly again. ‘We were sent across the ocean instead of south as usual.’

  ‘Dross, then,’ said Mister Goddard. ‘Cast-offs. Why should we help such as you?’

  ‘Chosen, not cast-offs,’ said Kai.

  Mister Goddard asked for details of what they wanted, so Kai explained their need to expand their food sources now that the natural foods of the swamplands seemed to be dwindling. He finished by saying, ‘All we ask for is some kuma seed-tubers or slips, so our Wise Ones can propagate them.’

  Mister Goddard ignored this request. ‘You omit the small matter of how you intend returning across the ocean. We Understand your … craft … is beyond repair.’

  Before Kai could respond, the Mister abruptly waved him back to the others. He turned his attention to Taka. ‘You have little to say for yourself.’

  ‘I’ve no skill with words,’ said Taka, following Kai’s lead in keeping his voice respectful but firm.

  ‘You’re the dancer.’

  It wasn’t a question, so Taka merely nodded.

  Mister Goddard stared at him, then said, ‘You’ll dance for us tonight.’

  The five Travellers gathered around Kua-the-Seeker, now lying stranded in a hollow carved out around her by the receding tide. The spear carriers had taken them back to the hen house, where more food had been laid out for them. Their escorts watched them eat, then told them they were free to walk about, as long as they stayed within the confines of the settlement.

  Matu asked, ‘Can we go down to the shore — check the moki, fetch our things?’

  The spear carriers consulted among themselves, then one said, ‘No reason why not: that pile of junk isn’t going anywhere.’

  Another added, ‘They’ve no weapons. We searched.�
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  The first spear carrier snorted. ‘Even if they did, this lot aren’t any match for us.’ He looked Kai, who was nearest him, up and down, his gaze disparaging.

  Kai met his eye. ‘We come in peace. Why would we be armed?’

  ‘What are you?’ asked one of the spear carriers. He answered himself. ‘Pathetic striplings — real men carry weapons.’

  The spear carriers sauntered off then, their laughter contemptuous.

  Matu watched them go, his fists clenched, his face blackened by a scowl. ‘Ignorant lowlifes. If only—’

  ‘Patience, my friend,’ said Piko, his lanky limbs relaxed as he leant against the hen-house wall. ‘We’re in no position to retaliate. Just ignore the insults, eh?’

  Now, the Travellers walked slowly in ankle-deep water around the moki, examining her condition. It wasn’t long before they had to acknowledge that Mister Goddard and the spear carriers were right. Kua-the-Seeker was a wreck. The twin hulls sagged, their backs broken when the internal reinforcing was unable to support her weight once the water-logged moki stranded ashore. Everywhere they looked, the once tightly packed reeds bulged between the rotting ties as though some enemy had disembowelled her. The booms slewed sideways in their socket, and the untidily wrapped sail was frayed and split. Even the shelter roof had been wrenched askew when the connecting platform was thrown out of kilter by the ruined hulls. The smell of rotting, fermenting reeds was strong.

  Taka felt a deep pang of sorrow that the moki had come to this. He realized the spear carriers couldn’t be blamed for their disparagement. Anyone who hadn’t seen Kua-the-Seeker brand-new, riding high on the sea, anyone who hadn’t sailed on her for those long weeks on the Great Ocean and seen her brave performance, would need imagination to visualize that such a voyage was even possible.

  Subdued, the five Travellers retreated to dry sand just above the high-tide line and squatted on their haunches facing the moki.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Matu.

  ‘We’re stranded here like Kua-the-Seeker, aren’t we?’ replied Piko. ‘At the mercy of these people.’

  Despite being told they could venture into the settlement, the Travellers had no desire to do so. The locals showed no signs of thawing, and Taka was reminded of the months they’d lived on the outskirts of Hara, caught in limbo between the ordinary world and their god-given destiny, avoided by the Hara people. They had been naïve to take it for granted they would be made welcome, their quest honoured, as would happen at home. Not even the Wise Ones seemed to have thought beyond their landing. Had Kai been right after all in believing they hadn’t been expected to make landfall?

  Even as this unwelcome thought surfaced, Taka’s gaze was drawn towards the figureheads still attached to the prows. Although salt-bleached and battered by the waves, the woven kua still lifted their heads proudly, their beaks pointing the way forward. He swallowed hard. Where was his faith? They were still in Tanga’s hands, under the water-god’s protection.

  ‘We don’t know what lies ahead,’ he said firmly. ‘Maybe Tanga’s testing our resolve by sending us yet another challenge.’ He nodded at the kua. ‘We should take our cue from them. They’re not showing signs of giving up.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Kai, his tone bracing. ‘We need to stay strong.’

  Kota was looking thoughtfully at the kua. ‘We should farewell this moki appropriately.’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Piko.

  ‘We should burn her,’ said Kota. ‘Commit her to fire — Mahui’s sign.’

  Taka stared at him, startled. ‘That would mean placing ourselves entirely in the hands of these people.’

  ‘I think that’s what Kota means,’ said Kai. ‘Show our trust.’ He rubbed his nose thoughtfully.

  ‘Whether we trust them or not, we’re in their hands anyway,’ said Matu. ‘I’m all for doing this. We can’t just leave her rotting here.’

  He wanted to carry out the plan immediately, but Kai urged patience. ‘For it to have the impact we want, we’ll need to ask that Mister Goddard’s permission. It’s obvious he makes the decisions around here.’

  So they removed their small bundles of personal belongings from the shelter, then unlashed the rotting sail from the booms, which they laid on the beach. They added the paddles, the steering oar and the rolled spare sail, thinking they might need them. Taka and Kai cut the ties binding the two kua emblems to the prows and took them ashore. Once they’d stripped the moki of anything of value, they carried the small pile of salvaged items up to the hen house and stowed everything inside, away from prying eyes. No one talked about whether their request for the sacred food would bear fruit, or their prospects for returning home. Talking would get them nowhere. Their fate was in the hands of the two warring gods — and Mister Goddard.

  The day dragged on. The spear carriers had pointed out a nearby stream, which they said ran with health-giving mineral water suitable for bathing. After some initial nervousness, not sure whether to trust the spear carriers’ motives, and after Piko had volunteered to test the slightly warm water with a cautious toe, they lowered themselves into its seething small bubbles. It wasn’t long before they all relaxed into the caress that gently dissolved away the layers of dried salt and flaking skin. When they reluctantly emerged, Taka felt as boneless as a filleted fish, his muscles heavy with languor, his mind emptied of any alarm at being so seduced by the fire-goddess. After that they were content to lie around in the warmth of the sun, drowsing the long hours away.

  At last Taka roused himself, for he had a performance to give that evening, a performance he suspected might influence any decisions the Mister would make about their future. So he took himself back down to the beach and out of sight of the settlement to find a suitable patch of firm, level sand where he could limber up and practise. For more than two hours he worked through the rigorous set of stretching exercises his father had devised the previous winter, ignoring the protest from tightened ligaments and shortened muscles until his body started to free up. Then he concentrated on putting together a programme he thought would impress Mister Goddard and his entourage. Totally focused on what he was doing, he didn’t notice for some time that Kai had joined him and was sitting on a convenient rock watching.

  When his cousin saw that Taka was aware of his presence, he said, his voice neutral, ‘No spinning then?’

  Taka hesitated, then shook his head. ‘I don’t have any control over that.’

  Kai made no further comment, but told him it was time to return to the hen house and rest. ‘A lot might depend on your dancing.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Taka. He felt alive again, and although he was tired now, his whole body was tingling with the thrill of once more being able to dance. And more than that; he knew the exhilaration running through his veins was partly in response to this chance to stand out, to perform in front of such an influential and powerful figure as this Mister.

  Kai was looking at him dubiously. ‘I don’t much like that glint in your eye. Don’t get too carried away — this is serious.’

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that? This is why I was chosen as a Traveller — it’s my destiny to dance. Hina told me so.’

  Taka stood alone in the centre of the great open space, facing the raised stone platform where Mister Goddard sat surrounded by his attendants. Seated at his feet was a young woman, finely dressed with a feathered cloak around her shoulders and more feathers woven into her long, wavy hair, burnished to red-gold by the flickering light of the torches set up in sconces all around. From the casual way she leant back against Mister Goddard’s shins, Taka thought she must be his daughter. He couldn’t make out her features, but sensed she was watching his every move. He was stripped to his loincloth, his hair swept back from his face by a freshly woven headband. Kota had produced an unguent from one of his small gourds and had rubbed the sweet-smelling grease into Taka’s body, saying it would help to keep his muscles supple. Now, as he raised his arms to begin, the residue on
his skin gleamed in the warm light of the torches.

  He waited, his body tautly poised, his arms raised, his wrists flexed, his hands spread stiffly like the kua’s flight feathers — just as he had done on the beach. He waited until the murmur of the crowd died away and all eyes were on him. Slowly, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next, he danced a refined version of his performance for the spear carriers the night before. He danced to the best of his ability, and sensed that his audience was being swept up in his performance, that the watching people, from Mister to small child, were absorbed by the story he was weaving. But when, after more than an hour, his dance came to its natural conclusion, he knew, as he had the night before, that more was required of him. This time, as he’d anticipated, no signal came from the water-god, no impulse compelling him to finish with that god-inspired spinning that would transport him out of the ordinary world. Here, he was in Mahui’s territory, among worshippers of the fire-goddess, and Tanga would be kept at a distance by her influence.

  Gliding first to one side of the open space, then to the other, Taka lifted two flaming torches from their sconces, then returned to the centre. With a torch held high in each hand, he danced an entirely different story. Weaving an intricate pattern through the air with the torches, his body lit by their fire, he paid homage to Mahui, her power and her warrior mountain with its twin summits that loomed blackly above them, blocking out the light of the stars, the plume of steam ghosting white against the night sky.

  Taka had been acutely aware that the young woman seated at the Mister’s feet did not once take her eyes off him. Now, as he drew his fire dance to its conclusion, and stood, his chest heaving, in front of Mister Goddard, his torches still held high, he dared return her gaze. For a fraction of time that seemed endless, he was oblivious of the Mister’s presence and his slow nod of approval, of the now applauding crowd, of the spear carriers brandishing their weapons as they bellowed an answering tribute to the fire-goddess.