T.O.A: The Tifa (I)

 T.O.A: The Tifa

It has been said that kin blood is not spoiled by distant waters, but also that, with kinship, blood is thicker than water. Yet it’s been told of old on some distant shores that a certain kin's arms, if severed, there would be no blood - just water. Shockingly, the kin did live and spoil on kinfolk blood until finally when the water was thickened with his own blood, kin blood became unspoiled. Again.

PROLOGUE

Circa: Some time after the Foafoaga or Creative Period in the South Pacific.

As the gods brooded over the face of the waters and their vast expansive handiwork, the mysterious Taimotu archipelago lay adrift on the placid ocean below. It consisted of several islands spreading over many square miles. The majority of the islands were fringed by jagged reefs, but a few were not. For the unfringed ones, high sea cliffs rise precipitously out of the deep ocean and are constantly pounded by roaring surf and surging waves. The average distance between the islands was no more than a few miles. So close but still far apart.The notable islands of Taimotu are Motu Roa, or Long Island, Motu Tapu the sacred island and Motu Oti or Death Island.  A few of the islands were diverse enough topographically to sustain a variety of life forms. The inhabitants of Taimotu were a mixture of natives, hybrid creatures and shapeshifters. They mostly lived in harmony through blood relations, interdependence and by some abstract order designed and decreed by the gods - and demigods. But infighting and wars were also common.

Time lapsed. And as if by some mythical plan, a lone white tern appeared hovering high above Taimotu. It behaved like a bird of prey prowling for a carcass. It continued to meander through midair, descending slowly through the heat of the mid afternoon sun. The striking beams bounced off the bird’s beak and silver feathers to create piercing rays that traveled far and wide, even beyond the archipelago. The bird chirped and tweeted. It sounded urgent as if trying to signal a message about an imminent event. But the message went unheeded - or likely had been misunderstood. The tweets echoed, faded and died over the boundless expanse.

Some years following, there had been little change on Taimotu. Survival of the fittest especially from the exploits of their supernatural and shapeshifting powers became the norm. The effects of a certain type of evolution played a role in the natural selection of their chiefs and masters. Overall, the natives had kept to themselves. They were vigilant in guarding their remote, isolated existence and unshared universe until one day, an outsider, a man very much like themselves -- only fairer -- was washed ashore on Motu Roa. He was still alive. After much speculation and deliberation among the natives on what to do with the stranger, they believed that perhaps he was one of the gods or a demigod, fallen, yet still had a chance at redemption. The natives decided to allow the stranger to dwell among them.

But a few years after the stranger's arrival, a huge sailing ship anchored off the shores of Motu Roa to claim him. A row boat was lowered and a few sailors with muskets boarded and started rowing towards the shore where a group of half naked warriors armed with war clubs and spears had already gathered to meet the intruders. A few men and women were also part of the group. They had been watching the ship for the last hour as its ominous form first appeared on the horizon. In front and separate from the rest of the group, two warriors were flanking a trio - the outsider in frayed and tattered pants, a woman and a little girl holding hands and appeared anxious to join the sailors in the rowboat.

Meanwhile, a conspicuous elderly man stood apart from his band of natives. Though seemingly advanced in years, his upright posture and rugged physique exude immortality and authority. He had on a headdress made of black and white pelican feathers, and donning other primitive symbols of chieftainship. He had a wooden staff in his right hand with the bottom tip thrust firmly into the sand. With his head bowed, he chanted in low audible whispers as if invoking the gods.

Then “Bang!”  A gunshot was fired into the midafternoon air. It broke the stillness and suspense of the moment. The natives cowered and the old man stopped chanting. He looked up above the ship, as if he was expecting something. Suddenly a white tern dove and perched on one of the ship’s sails and uttered repeated loud twitters as if in reproach and defiance. Hostile murmurs rippled through the provoked but subdued natives. They stood back by order of the elderly chief while allowing the trio to board the rowboat. The warriors tucked their clubs and spears while the rest of the group bowed their heads in grief. Soon the rowboat made its way back to the ship as the elderly chief waved, uttering some words of parting in a downhearted tone. 

A crow suddenly swooped in and hovered above the natives, fluttering its wings and cawing loudly as if mocking the group, and then soared back inland where it came from. As the ship was leaving, the tern, still perched on the sail, continued to utter long and sustained chirps to the sailors below. It too finally flapped its wings and took flight.