by Joanna Orwin
As soon as Taka approached, Mister Goddard clapped his hands, and a dozen young boys filed out of a nearby door and lined up, stripped to their loincloths and shifting nervously from foot to foot. Taka straightened his back and tried to look stern, hoping they wouldn’t sense he was just as nervous.
‘They’re all yours,’ the Mister said, waving him forward. ‘Turn them into dancers for my daughter.’
He made no move to leave, and Taka was relieved that after all Cleo wasn’t present to reduce him to clumsiness again. But it wasn’t long before the familiar practice routines restored his confidence. Dancing was what he was best at. He showed the boys the simple stretches he’d devised, then led them through step by step, taking the time to make sure they all grasped what he intended. He was so absorbed in teaching them the stretches and some simple patterns, showing a patience Kai wouldn’t have suspected he possessed, that he didn’t notice when the Mister and his retinue grew bored and left the courtyard. Whoever selected these boys had at least chosen ones who could move with some suggestion of grace, and the novelty was enough for them to concentrate on what Taka wanted them to do. It was only when they grew tired and started making mistakes that he noticed the tree shadows had moved around to the opposite side of the courtyard.
Realizing he’d kept the boys working far too long, Taka sent them away to rest. ‘You’ve done well for a first effort,’ he said, hearing echoes of his father’s voice. ‘Be back here tomorrow morning at first light.’
‘Will you be teaching us to dance like you, sir?’ One of the boys hung back to ask, his voice shy. The others paused to hear Taka’s reply.
Taka was flattered by this unexpected deference. ‘It takes years of hard work to dance like that. But don’t worry. As soon as your muscles are ready, I’ll teach you some dances that’ll impress your parents and all your friends. We’ll prepare a performance for the day of the canoe race.’
A voice drawled behind him, ‘Ah, but will they impress the Mister’s daughter?’
Taka spun around. Cleo was leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the courtyard, her hair tipped to fire by a last ray of sunshine, her arms folded, sleepy eyes half-closed. The Mister’s daughter, the reincarnation of the fire-goddess — he only had to look at her to know that was true. Before he could find the words to reply, she pushed herself effortlessly upright, smiled at him, then vanished through a nearby archway.
Chapter 18
The next few days passed slowly as Taka adjusted to his new routine of training the boys for several hours, then returning to his quarters to eat the morning meal set aside for him. He enjoyed his eager young troupe of dancers and revelled in transferring some of his skills, but when he wasn’t with the boys he was ill at ease. Loneliness thinned his skin and hollowed his bones, leaving him feeling insubstantial and diminished, as though the gods of this place had devoured some essential part of him. Time stretched, making him conscious of the empty, echoing corners in his room. He’d never slept alone before.
The spear carriers housed in the rest of the stone rooms tolerated him, but he sensed a reserve he didn’t Understand. It was as though he was contaminated in some way: they took great care not to have any physical contact with him, not even brushing past him. At meals, his platter of food was placed at the end of the table and his neighbours seemed to shift involuntarily, moving further away when he sat down. Cocooned in an isolation that was almost palpable, Taka found each mouthful hard to swallow, and the food lost all taste. When he tried to question Thorssen, the ruddy-skinned, fair-headed spear carrier delegated to look after him, the man shrugged and made some noncommittal reply.
The spear carriers never invited him to join them after the evening meal, and he returned to his empty room where he sat on his cot, listening to their harsh voices and coarse laughter, the words distorted into gibberish by the separating stone walls. He missed the other Travellers more than he’d expected — all of them, not just Kai — and only now realized the extent to which they’d become his family. He missed Rauwai’s friendship and the warmth of their Mara kin. He even missed Harris, who, despite his dour gruffness, had at least come to treat them as human, if inferior. All he could do was throw himself wholeheartedly into his new role, and hope it would win Cleo’s support.
Even that hope was wavering. The Mister’s daughter was driving him mad. One part of his brain knew that was her intention, and there were times when he would give anything for a good dose of Kai’s cynicism to bring him back down to earth. No matter how much he tried to keep one eye on the archway she used, he didn’t once succeed in spotting Cleo’s arrival in the courtyard where he was training the boys. He’d look up, and there she’d be, adopting a sexy pose and waiting for his reaction to her deliberate teasing. She turned up several days in a row, but each time, as soon as she knew he’d seen her, she would give that enigmatic smile and disappear. After that first morning, she didn’t speak.
Mostly, her tactics worked, and he would stare after her, every muscle tense, longing coursing through his body like the hot molten streams that had once surged from the fire-goddess’s hidden caves high on the mountain. On those nights, his dreams filled with vivid images of Cleo and the two of them together. He would wake with a start, sweat-soaked, his heart thudding, convinced he could still feel the pressure of her body against his, the soft texture of her skin. In the sleepless hours that followed, he lay staring into the dark, every tingling nerve slow to return to reality. He was losing confidence that his strategy had any chance of success. Such dreams made it clear he wasn’t the one in control.
One evening of heavy rain, when the Mister didn’t send for him to perform, Taka waited until the jovial shouts and ribald comments of the spear carriers drinking outside their quarters died down. He waited until all he could hear was the occasional snore, the yelp of a dog startled by a sudden burst of music from the nearby steam columns. When the steady thunder of the rain on the roof stopped and the moon rose high to light the wet, deserted street, he slipped out of his room and found his way through the sleeping settlement to the outskirts and the hen house where his companions were lodged. He listened outside until he was sure Harris was asleep, his reverberating snores the only sound. He lifted the latch, wincing as the door creaked, then waited in the doorway until his eyes adjusted and he could make out the sleeping forms within. Kai woke instantly to his touch and followed him back outside. Without a word, they took the now well-worn path down to the beach.
As they slowly walked along the edge of the moonlit foam that marked the boundary between water and sand, Taka asked how the training was going and whether they’d heard any rumours of when the race would take place. He said forlornly, ‘I feel as though I’m living in a bubble. No one tells me anything.’
Kai regaled his cousin with stories of capsizes, broken paddles, groundings on sand banks and hard-won practice races, only stopping when Taka failed to laugh. Giving up, he also grew serious. ‘We’re managing — despite the Mister’s efforts. Without you, we’ve lost some speed, but not too much of our skill. I reckon the race day will be soon — we’re getting too good. And once you’re back on board …’
Taka didn’t express his niggling suspicion that the Mister mightn’t allow him to take part, that isolating him from the other Travellers had some more sinister purpose. He changed the subject. ‘What about Dyer?’
‘Fast losing his sense of humour,’ said Kai with satisfaction. ‘There was a big fight yesterday. He took exception to Something so trivial that Matu couldn’t even remember what he’d said. We’ve got him worried.’
He then asked Taka how the dance training was going.
‘They’re keen enough.’ Taka shrugged. ‘Some of them have heaps of talent.’
‘But?’ Kai picked up on his ambivalence. ‘I thought this is what you’d always dreamt of doing?’
Taka wanted to blurt out his gut feeling that the spear carriers’ treatment of him had Something to do with the fire-goddess, but Kai would
dismiss such vague fears as superstition. His tone deliberately light, he said, ‘Becoming a dance master? True, but it’s hard work keeping those boys focused. They love dancing but they don’t want to put in the practice.’
Kai started laughing. ‘You sound just like Moho. Complaining about a certain person’s lack of discipline.’
Grinning reluctantly, Taka punched his cousin on the shoulder.
‘And the Mister’s daughter?’ asked Kai.
‘What about her?’ Taka had always poured his heart out to Kai, yet now the words remained banked up in his head. Kai couldn’t help him this time. He would have to deal with his concerns on his own.
Kai had stopped walking and was facing him, his face sombre in the moonlight.
‘I don’t think you need worry,’ Taka said at last. ‘The Mister’s daughter watches the practices sometimes, but she doesn’t say a word. She’s not the slightest bit interested in me.’
‘Keep it that way.’ Kai looked up at the sky. ‘Time to go — it’ll be dawn soon.’
Taka’s gaze was drawn towards the brooding twin summits that were still a black mass against the cloud-patched sky, the underneath of their dense cap of vapour stained crimson by the light reflected from Pere’s fires. ‘I don’t remember the breath of the fire-goddess glowing red like that when we first arrived.’
‘The mountain’s been alive ever since we burned Kua-the-Seeker.’ Kai shrugged. ‘No one here seems concerned. As long as the Mister continues to see it as a sign in our favour, that’s all that matters.’
Something else was to change that very day. Thorssen came to tell Taka he was summoned to perform before the Mister. This wasn’t unusual: Taka was called on to entertain most evenings. But this time, as the spear carrier explained, Choi Yu was visiting. Thorssen made no attempt to hide his dislike. ‘The Mister wants to impress him.’
Choi Yu — the leader of the mysterious yellow-bellies. Taka’s curiosity was piqued. None of the Mara had mentioned their enforced connection with the Choi people, yet, after generations of mingled blood, their kinship ties must be strong. Rauwai had talked openly about most things, so Taka hadn’t liked to probe him about the bartering of their women. He had no similar compunction about questioning Thorssen. ‘I thought it’d be the other way round — Choi Yu wanting to impress the Mister. Is this the time of year when any bartering takes place?’
The spear carrier looked at Taka, prurient speculation in his washed-out blue eyes. ‘What’s it to you? Expecting Choi Yu to take a fancy to you, dancer boy?’
‘Hardly.’ Taka blushed.
But Thorssen had already lost interest. He turned away impatiently. ‘Believe me, you want no truck with that lot.’
Later, when Taka stood before the raised dais, he paused for some time, holding his now-expected introductory pose of a kua with angled wings. In reality he was covertly examining the Choi leader. Despite the height added by a dark, close-fitting hat with peaked corners, Choi Yu seemed shorter than Mister Goddard, and was certainly slighter. His physique was further hidden by a wide, sleeveless jacket made of stiff, green-dyed bark cloth worn over pale, baggy trousers gathered in at his ankles. The impassive, slanted dark eyes returning Taka’s scrutiny were like Lee’s, but his prominent cheekbones reflected the torchlight and his skin was darker, almost the yellow of a dune grass the weavers favoured at home. His bearing both regal and relaxed, Choi Yu was seated on a carved bench at the same level as Mister Goddard. Even as Taka watched, he turned and said Something to the Mister, who leant towards him and laughed. Both men seemed not only at ease, but somehow pleased with themselves.
Cleo’s stool, placed on the lower level, was this time positioned between the two leaders. Despite her eye-catching, rich clothing, she showed little of the arrogant confidence he’d come to expect. Instead, she crouched on her seat, her arms crossed protectively to form a shield in front of her breasts, her whole body somehow stiff and awkward. Instead of gazing about her in expectation of admiring looks, Cleo was looking at her feet.
And then Taka saw that Choi Yu had a possessive hand placed firmly on her hunched shoulder.
Taka found it hard to respond when the Mister waved impatiently at him to begin, but pulled himself together and launched into his dance routine. For the first time he could remember, dancing his own steps in front of an audience, being able to freely express his reactions to the world around him, had lost all its savour. He stumbled through, aware that he wasn’t performing his best. It was a relief when a visibly annoyed Mister Goddard dismissed him early.
Unable to sleep for hours, Taka eventually drifted off, only to be woken from a short, dream-filled respite by a rough hand that shook him. As soon as his eyes opened, the same hand was clapped over his mouth to prevent him crying out. In the moonlight streaming through the open doorway he recognized Thorssen. The spear carrier put his finger to his lips, then beckoned him to follow. Taka scrambled into his tunic and fastened his belt with fumbling fingers. The spear carrier set off without a word, not once looking back to check that Taka was still following. He kept to the shadows, slipping from one building to the next and down winding passages until Taka had no idea where they were. At last Thorssen stopped outside a mat-screened doorway, and gestured for Taka to pass through.
A single torch burned in a sconce high on the wall. In its dim light, the lavish wall hangings and woven mats that covered the stone floor glowed with the rich, tropical colours of Sanctuary’s gardens: deep crimsons, intense blues, vibrant greens. Taka barely noticed the ornately decorated room, his eyes immediately drawn to its sole occupant: the Mister’s daughter. Cleo sat slumped on a pile of luxurious mats spread over a wide sleeping bench, her face hidden by her unbound hair. She was wearing a simple tunic, her formal finery discarded in a careless heap of red and yellow feathers on the floor beside her. At the sound of his footsteps, she lifted her head and looked piteously at him, her face pale, the delicate skin around her eyes bruised into shadows by weeping.
Taka stared at her. He felt clumsy and inadequate. She looked more beautiful than ever, vulnerable, more human than fire-goddess’s daughter. He could smell the scented warmth of her body, mingled with the sourness of sweat and the salt of tears. He said nothing.
After a long silence, Cleo spoke. ‘You have every right to hate me. But I don’t know who else to turn to.’
Taka recognized the loneliness in her voice, and the despair, but still could find nothing to say. When he didn’t speak or move, the Mister’s daughter turned away and buried her face in her hands. It was only when she started weeping that he was spurred into action. He sat down beside her on the sleeping bench and cautiously unpeeled her hands from her face. When she didn’t resist, he held them enclosed in his. ‘What’s wrong?’
The words sounded feeble in his ears, but they served their purpose. After a renewed storm of tears, she told him in halting words what he already suspected. Her father and the Choi leader were having discussions and, from Choi Yu’s behaviour, she feared she might be part of any barter agreement they reached.
‘It’s not what you want, I can see that.’ Distracted by the unexpected weight of the small hands nestled in his, the warmth of her skin so close to him, Taka was struggling to find the right thing to say.
‘I can’t think of anything worse. Choi Yu is the most arrogant man I’ve ever met.’ Cleo sniffed loudly, like a child. ‘He’d expect me to obey his every word, do his every bidding.’
‘Just tell your father how you feel.’ Taka couldn’t believe the Mister would hold his daughter to any such agreement, but another voice in his head asked how this differed from the arranged marriages he was used to at home. Cleo was talking on, apparently oblivious to his shallow breathing, his stilted replies. He closed his eyes and breathed in her smell, resisting the urge to bury his nose in the damp hollow at the base of her throat.
‘He wouldn’t take any notice.’ She freed her hands from his and scrubbed the wetness from her cheeks.
; Taka’s instant sense of loss created a distance that yawned between them. He wanted to hold her in his arms, pull her back close to him. He forced himself to stay focused, find sympathetic responses. ‘I thought he loved you?’
‘I thought so, too. But it seems extending his power outweighs everything else.’ She sounded bitter.
‘Couldn’t you be mistaken?’ asked Taka tentatively. ‘Why would marrying you to Choi Yu achieve anything? The Mister already holds all the power on this island.’ He managed not to say what he was really thinking: that surely her father yielded to her every whim.
Before she could answer, Thorssen coughed discreetly from outside the screened doorway. ‘It’s growing light, Mistress.’
Cleo sat upright and twisted her hair into a single, thick tress over her shoulder. Her voice suddenly firm, she said. ‘You should go. You mustn’t be caught here.’
Taka rose reluctantly to his feet. He’d been longing to kiss her, or at least thread his fingers through that seductive hair, cup the small, elegant curve of her head in his hand, but he felt her withdrawing further from him, her body stiffening.
‘Just go.’
Her tone was formal, almost cold. Perhaps she was already regretting her moment of weakness in confiding in him. Intent on talking, perhaps she had shared none of the sensations sizzling through his own veins. Close to tears, Taka bowed slightly, then managed to push through the door matting without a backward glance.