When he awoke the island was silent and still. Tawhiri’s fury had moved on down the archipelego leaving his island home in ruin and stinking of fish. Still starved, he had immediately taken six of the best looking tāmure to wash in the lagoon. After he scaled and skinned the fish Howaru ate them raw sat on the beach watching the sunrise. Tāmure flesh was soft and sweet and did not bother his wounded jaw, but he found himself in tears anyway. Perhaps it was his dreams of Kafiki and his adopted father Faturaki. Or perhaps it was his wretched state physically and spiritually and his nearness to his own death which had set something off inside him. He weeped as he chewed through fish after fish, thanking Takaroa for delivering him once more, and marvelling that a glorious day could arise out of such a violent and stormy night. But it wasn’t long after that, his stomach seemingly forgetting what to do with food, the he found himself spending the rest of the morning vomiting and shitting, cursing Takaroa and the multitude of fish in the sea for tricking his stomach. He had made his way to the eastern rock pools to recover near the ocean where he could jump in and out when the need arose, and it was already midday before the feeling to expel everything finally ebbed away.
Howaru peeled himself off the ground and stood scratching the grooves the coral rock had sunk into. Turning southeast where the exposed reef created a bank for waves to crash against, he searched below the horizon until the waka was in his sight again. Two main sails could be made out on a medium sized voyaging boat. He figured the distance to be a day away if the crew were also on the hoe. He decided to wash and walked to the edge of the rocks where Takaroa broke. Blue waves spilled over the outcrop leaving white sea foam lapping at his feet. Howaru said a quick prayer and leaped into the ocean. After cleaning he headed west to check on his shelter. Along the way he picked up more of the fish intending to cook or cure it. Whether the arrivals were friends or not was not his concern. Perhaps some long forgotten enemy claiming revenge had learned of his island hideaway. Or could it be a rival wanting to claim the title of Champion of Kafiki. Either way, he was determined to offer a meal to them first. It had been a long time without human contact and he missed people, which had amazed him. As he passed by the lagoon he sought out and recovered Kalapa, headfirst in the sand beside the spot Tawhiri had almost bested him.
His spear greeted him warmly but with a full mouth, ‘how are we feeling champion?’
“Truthfully,” began Howaru, “I don’t know. My body aches and my mind wanders and before when I was eating I cried.”
‘There is no shame in tears. I would love to be able to cry,’ said Kalapa. ‘All I can manage are wooden slivers.’Howaru skewered an armful of fish along the the spear while his companion continued talking. ‘The closest I can ever get is by way of others and the pain I impose. It’s not very satisfying Howaru. Like being told how good a meal tastes without getting to try it for yourself.’
“I suppose you are right but I would hate to break into weeping when my guests arrive. I need to be in full control of my emotions.”
‘Why?’
“Why? Because I am the Champion of Kafiki. I am a hero.”
‘It’s been ten years Howaru. Are you still a champion?’
Howaru turned back to the lagoon, the water was littered with the bodies of dead fish and so he decided to spend time clearing it before moving onto his shelter. It was only then when the lagoon was empty and he could swim freely without touching the body of a dead fish, was he truly relaxed. It’s been ten years on this rock, he thought. Memories of the last two days flooded back in. First to mind was the fight with the demigods. He had blacked out while Arahuta attacked and when he had awoke alone on the small stretch of northern beach, there was no trace of the heavenly visitors. Doubt had quickly settled beyond the surety of his wounds. A nagging concern left behind that he’d only imagined the fight and his injuries were a result of some clumsy accident in the swells instead. Maybe I smashed my face on coral rock while spear fishing with Kalapa, he reasoned. What would gods want with a champion who doesn’t want to fight anymore, from an adopted tribe he refuses to live with, without family nor ancestry? He had no mana and therefore nothing to expose to them. There was no treasure inside, no roe. Why should a god or goddess want to spear him except to let a tortured spirit escape? He could do that quite easily himself and had planned to if not for the arrival of Arahuta and Loha.
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But now, wading through the lagoon, the warm waters washing over him, he truly felt good. Any desire to escape life escaped him. Howaru succumbed to the beauty of the moment sinking to his knees, hoping to wash away some of uncertainty sticking like wet sand. Then, feeling even more relaxed he slipped underwater before rolling onto his back, floating like a starfish, smiling for the first time in a long time. Howaru knew the best cure for his injured body and mind was rest and time alone. Time to feel whole again. That was why he had exiled himself without notice ten years ago. It had taken half that time to get over the bloodshed and dread of who he had become as the champion of Kafiki. What that role really meant.
Once in a restful state it was never much - birdsong, the colour of coral, how sand felt to touch or the cooling effect of water - to set off a smile. His island, the place where he stood, was the gods reminding him that beauty was everywhere as long as he was willing to take the time to look. All the most miserable people he had ever met it seemed never stopped to look. From his view skyward the blue was the same as his lagoon and again he marvelled that such skies could exist where yesterday it was all black fury. Gods come and go, he concluded, at first terrible, leaving death and destruction in their wake, but also creating a way for life.
Howaru rolled over again and swam to the shore stepping over hot sand to cool grass. Beyond the lagoon was a track through the stretch of jungle leading to his humble shelter. When Howaru had first arrived and explored the island he observed two strips of jungle one could make a home on. The first was across the Northern border between the beach and the lagoon, while the second ran north to south along the eastern shore. He chose the broader stretch where he discovered a mature grove of coconut trees near the eastern beach, and despite the risk of exposure to the prevailing winds, Howard had built his sleeping platform near their stand. He entered the jungle now, his steps felt surer with a little bit fuller belly. He welcomed the cover of shade as palm leaves spread broad shadows across the path. A light stab of the leaves against his skin reminded him his body was bare and required covering before visitors set foot on the island, lest they believe him to have turned to some pure savage.
When Howaru made it through to his clearing he despaired at the collapsed shelter but was astonished his pola blinds were intact. The blinds were tied between the coconut trunks, designed to provide protection from the wind, as he’d seen eastern tribes of Kafiki set them. The storm had almost stripped his stand of coconuts, and were most scattered in the nearest ground around him full of flax. This he did not mind, his smile remained set, as it meant he now had a supply to use which did not require him climbing to retrieve the nuts. A breeze picked up and sent a broken frond crashing into his legs. He sniffed at the air for a scent of rain and found nothing. The afternoon was beginning to leave along with the heat and he decided to hurry with his preparations before it got dark.
By dusk Howaru was satisfied with his efforts. Broken branches, empty shells, upturned trunks, the dry debris of the storm, was all piled high on top of the fire pit and burning down to ash. A supply of preserved fish, buried under rock and leaf wrapping, had been dug up and set out on the matting he’d laid across the clearing. He filled the largest turtle shell with coconut water as well as six large gourds of fresh water for washing.
There was even enough time to sweep the area of sand and dirt and lay out his handmade weapons and wood carvings. Around the perimeter, set in east, south and west positions, were three god-sticks each representing his favoured atua. There was Takaroa the sea-god, carved with pearl shell inlay for the eyes to assist with his fishing. Longo the god of peace, fertility and cultivated foods, to bless his coconut palms and taro. Longa’s smiling face was carved out of rota driftwood and included his high head-piece, but with an erect member to draw away Howaru’s dormant energy. Finally, Tū the war god, with angry bulging eyes and extended tongue, was to be used in opposition to Longo as a balancing force. All three god sticks were prayed to before being secured to the ground where they would be easily recognised and avoided so as not to break the tapu. Finally, he undid his top knot and dressed in his last good lava.
