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

by Lance Morcan

  Their pleasure was rudely interrupted after Talei’s husband Tahu, a surly man who was as big and tough as he was belligerent, returned to Levuka prematurely. On arrival at Viti Levu, he’d discovered his meetings with other ratus had been postponed. After returning home and finding his wife was mysteriously absent, he began making enquiries. Those enquiries led him to Talei’s friend whose home she and Jack were currently using. Discretion went out the window when the friend told Tahu of his wife’s whereabouts in return for not being beaten to a pulp.

  As luck would have it, Jack was ensconced in the outside toilet when Tahu and two equally large male friends invaded the house he and Talei were using. A noise alerted him to their arrival and he watched them through a crack in the outhouse door as they entered the house. He was about to intervene when he noticed they carried knives and, in one case, a meat cleaver. And they appeared to be more than ready to use them.

  A minute later, Tahu dragged a naked Talei outside by the hair. She was kicking and screaming, but so far appeared unharmed.

  Jack watched from his hiding place as Talei interrogated his wife, using a combination of cajoling, questioning and slaps to her face. To Jack’s everlasting relief, whatever Talei said seemed to pacify her husband. Tahu gradually calmed down and ordered his wife to collect her possessions and accompany him home. This she did with alacrity.

  Soon, the Cockney was alone on the property. Cautiously emerging from the outhouse, he breathed a sigh of relief as he realized he’d evaded a savage beating, or possibly worse. Jack vowed that from then on he’d remain faithful to his darling Namosi. But of course that was a promise he could never keep.

  Epilogue

  After narrowly avoiding being found out by the husband of his latest lady friend, Jack had wasted no time in preparing for the next stage of his venture into Viti Levu’s interior. Armed with the all important signature to the contract that gave him exclusive cutting rights to some of the island’s most lush Fijian kauri forests, he’d secured a berth on a sailing ship soon to depart for Nadi, the major settlement on Viti Levu’s west coast. From there, he would trek inland after purchasing the necessary supplies.

  While he hated the thought of being parted from Namosi and their three – soon to be four – children for any length of time, he was excited about what lay ahead. It was a gamble: there was no guarantee the traders who had lusted after Fiji’s sandalwood would be similarly enamored about the timber of the giant kauri. But that only added to his excitement.

  Before he could even start approaching traders, he had to map the area he’d secured cutting rights for. It covered around a hundred square miles, and Jack imagined mapping an area that large could take the best part of several months.

  The ship Jack was soon to depart Levuka on wasn’t just any sailing ship. Seven Seas was a magnificent fore and aft-rigged vessel whose overall length topped one hundred and twenty feet, and that wasn’t allowing for her bowsprit and aft spar. She was moored close to shore and, as happened wherever she dropped anchor, she commanded the attention and admiration of everyone within sight of her.

  Few were more admiring of her than Jack was at that moment. He took in her beautiful lines and curves as he was rowed out to her aboard the ship’s longboat.

  Another who was equally taken with her was Nathan. He, too, only had eyes for Seven Seas as he was being rowed ashore from Rainmaker.

  The two longboats passed within a few yards of each other. If the two men hadn’t been so enamored by Seven Seas, they may well have acknowledged each other. They could have exchanged pleasantries without even having to raise their voices – so close were the longboats when they passed by.

  Today was the day Nathan was parting company with Rainmaker. He was relocating to a boarding house he’d be staying in until he departed for Momi Bay. Since arriving at Levuka, the young American had been busy purchasing supplies for his forthcoming trading venture. And he’d overseen the transfer of his stockpile of muskets from Rainmaker’s hold to a secure warehouse on shore.

  Nathan had also spoken to local seamen familiar with these waters, and had learned as much as he could about the tribes domiciled on Viti Levu’s western coastline – around Momi Bay in particular – and on the outer islands west of Viti Levu. He was focused on that area because it was known for its reserves of the prized beche-de-mer.

  What he’d learned from the seamen he spoke to was music to his ears: the tribes to the west were warlike and they lusted after the weapons of the white man; muskets were in high demand and Nathan could expect his forthcoming trading venture would be highly profitable. That confirmed everything he’d been told back in San Francisco.

  The young man had received some disquieting news from one old sea dog he’d spoken to. “This place ain’t called the Cannibal Isles for nuthin!” the old man had told him. He’d advised that cannibalism was still practiced by the natives in some of the areas Nathan was planning to visit. In particular, he warned about a tribe of outcasts – appropriately named the outcasts – who terrorized villagers on the western side of Viti Levu, and who took delight in eating their victims.

  As the longboat ferrying Nathan and his possessions ashore berthed alongside the jetty, he noticed crowds of people – whites and natives – walking up toward the mission station on the rise overlooking Levuka. The mood was festive with much singing and laughter, and no-one seemed remotely concerned about the rain clouds that were threatening overhead.

  Enquiries would reveal it was market day, a weekly event hosted by the Wesleyan missionaries, and enjoyed by residents and visitors alike. In return for hosting the event, the missionaries received a small percentage of the stallholders’ profits, which helped finance their work at the mission station.

  Many of the residents among the procession of people carried goods for sale. These ranged from clothing, wood carvings, tools and furniture to fresh fish, fruit, vegetables and all manner of foodstuffs. Some needed horse-drawn carts to transport their wares up the bumpy track leading to the mission station.

  Nathan thought he may check out the market after he’d settled in at the boarding house. First, he decided, he needed a cold bath and a change of clothes. Despite the early hour, the high humidity had left him drenched in sweat even though he hadn’t been exerting himself. He prayed for cooler temperatures.

  Then, as if the weather gods had been listening, a gentle breeze blew in from the south, cooling the air and blowing the clouds away.

  #

  Before the sun was half way across the morning sky, the mission station’s grounds were almost packed to capacity. It seemed nearly everyone in the district had converged on it to enjoy the bustling market. The Drakes were also in attendance. They’d volunteered to help their missionary hosts.

  Market day was something Susannah looked forward to. She’d already experienced one since she and Drake Senior had arrived in Levuka, and she’d thoroughly enjoyed it. The confluence of Europeans and native Fijian people socializing and conducting business together was like nothing she’d seen before, with the possible exception of Bata, in Equatorial Guinea. There, she’d glimpsed similar markets, but had been too busy keeping vigil over her gravely wounded father at Bata’s hospital to take any notice of them or anything else for that matter.

  Bucket in hand, Susannah was circulating amongst the market-goers, soliciting donations for the mission station. It was a task she enjoyed as it was for a worthy cause and it brought her into contact with many different people. Most were happy to donate, and the bucket was already a quarter full with coins.

  Susannah spotted her father in the crowd. Taller than other Europeans around him, Johnson Senior was assisting at one of several mission station stalls a short distance from where she was standing. He saw Susannah and waved.

  The young Englishwoman returned her father’s wave. She didn’t notice Nathan as he brushed past Johnson Senior in the crowd. The two men didn’t notice each other either. Their attention – along with everyone else’s at t
hat moment – was on Seven Seas as the magnificent vessel departed the harbor and headed for the open sea.

  “Thar she goes!” a man with a distinctive Cornish accent declared to one and all.

  “Isn’t she beautiful!” a Scottish woman exclaimed.

  “A sight for sore eyes,” a Welshman agreed.

  Other such comments rippled through the crowd as Seven Seas ran before the strengthening offshore breeze, her massive sails billowing like clouds in what was now an otherwise cloudless sky.

  Not twenty yards apart, Susannah and Nathan stood watching the ship, each alone with their thoughts - each thinking ahead to the next stage of their world odyssey.

  Neither was aware of the other’s presence and neither knew what the future held, but it excited them and filled them with some trepidation at the same time for they were soon to venture into the unknown.

  THE END

  Fiji

  A Novel

  (Book Two in The World Duology)

  Lance & James

  MORCAN

  Part One

  SHORES OF CONFLICT

  Prologue

  A Fijian maiden stooped to pick up a shell as she walked along a white sand beach at Momi Bay, on the western side of Fiji's main island of Viti Levu. Sina had a natural island beauty. Lithe and graceful, her dark skin glistened in the tropical sun. She wore a traditional grass skirt and shawl made from tapa, or bark cloth.

  The beach was bordered by a grove of coconut trees and the turquoise waters of the bay. Tropical birds filled the sky—among them Kingfishers that dived into the sea, competing for fish.

  At one end of the beach, a distinctive headland protruded out into the Pacific. It accommodated a village whose entrance was marked by defensive fortifications in the form of bamboo palisades. The village was home to the Qopa, the region’s predominant mataqali, or clan.

  Out in the bay, Qopa fishermen speared fish and cast nets from their canoes. Beyond them, foaming surf marked the reef that ringed much of Viti Levu. The constant sound of waves crashing against the reef was like the boom of distant thunder.

  Several miles beyond the reef, a ship sailed by, her sails billowing as she was pushed along ahead of a light southerly. Sina and the other villagers paid scant attention to the vessel: they'd become used to the comings and goings of the white man's ships.

  The maiden noticed the shadows were lengthening. It was time to think about returning to the village. She smiled as squealing village children playing at the water’s edge splashed one another, white teeth sparkling against their black skin. Like all Fijian children, they seemed to wear permanent smiles.

  Sina stopped to pick up another shell, dropping it into a woven flax bag hanging from her shoulder. Humming a traditional lullaby to herself, she was unaware a tall, muscular warrior was watching her impassively from the shadows of the coconut grove. Standing motionless, the sinister warrior held a musket in one hand. Only his coal-black eyes moved—his heavily tattooed, battle-scarred face adding to his air of silent menace.

  This was Rambuka, also known as the Outcast, the charismatic leader of a tribe of cannibals feared by villagers up and down the coast. Rambuka’s eyes subconsciously widened as he studied Sina. He liked what he saw. Finally, he moved, gliding soundlessly among the palm trees like a spirit as he stalked his prey.

  Still singing, Sina bent down to study an unusual shell. A sudden movement to her left caught her eye and she looked up to see Rambuka rushing toward her, musket in hand. She recognized him immediately. Screaming, she turned to flee, but had barely taken a step before her assailant was onto her, dragging her back to the trees. Startled by her screams, the children ran toward the village, shouting.

  Terrified, Sina lashed out and twisted around, trying to bite her attacker. Rambuka slapped her hard, momentarily stunning her. Everything started spinning and Sina felt as if she might faint. Effortlessly hoisting her over his shoulder, the Outcast began running inland.

  Behind them, Qopa warriors came running from the nearby village, alerted by the children's screams. Most carried clubs or spears, while some had tomahawks they’d acquired from white traders. Nearly all were tattooed about the arms, legs and torso. The warriors were led by Joeli, son of the village ratu, or chief.

  A big, powerful man, Joeli's proud bearing and intelligent eyes were clues to his royal bloodlines. Bone earrings hung from his ears and a huge, intricately-carved, whale bone club dangled from a cord around his waist, a dozen human teeth inlaid around its head testament to how many men he’d killed in battle. Most striking, however, was his massive hairstyle. Nearly two feet high and even wider across, it was dyed blue with yellow stripes through it. Earlier treatment with burnt lime juice would ensure it remained stiffened in place for a few more days at least.

  Some of Joeli’s warriors wore equally flamboyant hairstyles—many dyed a bright color and some even multi-colored; several sported hairstyles of a geometric shape while the orange-dyed hair atop one proud warrior was all of six feet in circumference. Such weird and wonderful styles could be seen on men throughout Fiji and were worn as a symbol of masculinity and social standing.

  The frightened children all talked at once and pointed down the beach. Joeli led his warriors to the spot the children had indicated and there two sets of tracks were immediately visible in the sand. He turned, grim-faced, to his warriors. “It could only be the Outcast,” he decreed.

  A fine-looking young warrior with a distinctive birthmark on his forehead and a zany, geometric hairstyle asked, “Who has he taken?” This was Waisale, a close friend of Joeli's.

  Joeli looked down, avoiding his friend's eyes. He suspected that Rambuka had abducted Sina, but didn't want to say as much until it was confirmed. It was common knowledge Waisale and Sina were lovers.

  A sense of foreboding suddenly came over Waisale as he studied the footprints that Rambuka and his captive had left behind. “Sina!” he murmured. Without another word, Waisale sprinted into the coconut grove, following the tracks into the dense rainforest beyond. The others ran hard on his heels.

  #

  Dusk was approaching and Sina was near exhaustion when the Outcast finally stopped running, allowing her to briefly rest and drink from a shallow stream. Their flight had taken them into the forest-covered hills above Momi Bay.

  Scratches and bruises covered Sina’s face and body, and she winced as she splashed water over her face. Aware of Rambuka’s reputation and knowing what fate awaited her, she looked frantically around, her mind racing, desperate to find a way out of her predicament.

  Rambuka grabbed her by the arm. Sina shrank back, expecting to be raped. Instead, she was dragged into the water. Her heart sank as the Outcast began pulling her along upstream, leaving no tracks for anyone to follow. The realization was setting in that Rambuka wasn't merely intending to rape her—he was abducting her. Her skin crawled at the thought.

  A quarter of a mile behind, Joeli and his warriors followed their quarries' tracks. With night approaching, they knew they were running out of time. Waisale led the chase, desperate to save Sina. However, as Rambuka had intended, the tracks ended at the stream. In the fading light, Waisale ran up and down the bank, frustrated at the dearth of signs to follow.

  Joeli shook his head. “The Outcast is taking her to the Land of Red Rain,” he said simply. His tone suggested the dye was cast; there was no saving Sina now. Joeli and the others reluctantly turned and began retracing their steps back to the village.

  Waisale stayed behind, looking east toward the highlands of the interior. He knew the land Joeli had referred to lay beyond those same highlands. Exactly where the outcasts were hiding wasn't known. They moved around constantly, using various hideouts. Many a raiding party had set out from Momi Bay to try to find their enemies in the past, but the land was rugged and the outcasts hid their tracks well.

  Pain and anger rose up like bile in Waisale's throat. He vowed he’d go to the Land of Red Rain and rescue Sina.

  1r />
  Three months after Sina’s abduction, the sun’s first rays pierced the clouds, heralding the start of a new day for the occupants of the small Fijian settlement of Levuka, on picturesque Ovalau Island, to the east of the main island of Viti Levu. The clouds and oppressive humidity served as a reminder to the island’s residents that the wet season was approaching.

  Fiji’s capital of the day was built around a busy harbor that accommodated sailing ships and indigenous craft of all descriptions. Despite the early hour, the level of activity on and off the water immediately signified to newcomers that this was a lively and bustling settlement.

  Several horse-drawn carts laden with European visitors and their wares were already traveling the short distance up a narrow, palm tree-lined track linking Levuka's wharf with the township. The visitors were traders and merchants from two of the newly-arrived ships anchored offshore. Along the way, they passed Fijian fishermen meandering down to the waterfront where their waiting canoes would carry them to the bountiful fishing grounds beyond the reef that surrounded their island. The fishermen greeted the visitors with broad smiles as the carts trundled by.

  Europeans were almost as numerous in Levuka as the local natives. They included settlers, sailors, whalers, sealers, adventurers, escaped convicts and a variety of other colorful characters—as was the case elsewhere throughout the islands of the South Pacific. For most, Levuka would not be a final destination. Rather, it would serve as a temporary base from which they could conduct their trading or other entrepreneurial activities until such time as profits began waning, as they inevitably would.

  On this, the last day of October, in the year 1848, profits were the last thing on the mind of twenty-two-year-old Susannah Drake. The young Englishwoman, recently arrived in Levuka after an eventful six-month voyage out from London, had been awake most of the night. Something had made her restless, but she wasn’t sure what exactly.