individuals by squeezing their eyes. But mostly they would just assemble and wait, gossiping among each other to lessen the tense feelings the uncertainty bred.
The whole thing had a carnival atmosphere when Poke was there to wander through the assembled crowd, leading Hefua by the hand. The nattering about which one of the men would win could be heard everywhere, no matter where Poke led Hefua to try to escape it for a moment. And, of course, there was talk about the rewards that would come to the victor, rewards that would last a full year until the competition was repeated the next spring.
“Poke! Hey!” It had been Katu, the only man that Poke ever came close to calling a friend on the entire island. He had been calling from the other side of the crowd, and Poke could see him waving for Poke to come over.
With a smile expanding over his face, Poke said to Hefua, “I will be right back. Katu wants to show me something.”
“Okay,” she said softly, squeezing his hand and moving her face to kiss the top of his chest. “I will wait right here and watch to see if anyone has found it yet.”
Poke darted through the crowd as best he was able. What Katu wanted to show him was a carving he’d made in the rock, a symbolic representation of the competition’s victor. Many gathered around, cooing at the fineness of the work and how well he’d captured the different symbols. It was the face and hands that were most striking, both of them having elongated features that still managed to retain a human likeness even in the face of the transformation.
The two of them embraced briefly when he reached Katu, the familiar kind of hug that is shared among the most fraternal of friends.
“Amazing, Katu,” Poke complimented him. “Truly superb.” Poke lingered as he looked at the image, joining the other admirers.
The two of them were the sort who used few words to communicate, but as they stood there looking at the carving, Katu cocked his head in the direction of the sea — towards the islet where the crop of competitors had been living for some days. “Have you ever thought of competing, Poke?”
“Me?” Poke unfolded his arms and hung them at his sides as he looked out where Katu had gestured. “Never. It’s not something I’ve ever wanted.”
“Maybe you should.” Katu’s reply came after one of those long pauses that neither of them found unnatural, and was spoken quietly enough that the others couldn’t overhear. Looking up and down Poke’s body, he added, “You have the perfect look. And there is no doubt you have the skills. With a little training ....” Katu’s voice trailed off.
With squinted eyes, Poke shook his head, turning his eyes back to meet Katu’s. “No ... I’m not the right person for it, Katu.”
The two of them stood for a pregnant moment, listening as others started making a fuss about seeing movement in the water just off the islet. In the end, it turned out to be a false alarm. Just a shark, maybe, or perhaps some other large fish jumping from the water to cause a splash.
“People talk about you,” Katu said.
Poke just listened, saying nothing.
“They trust you. Respect you. You have good judgment. People have not been happy the last few years.”
It was no surprise there had been dissatisfaction. The fact was widely known.
“I know,” Poke whispered. “But it’s not for me.”
Katu nodded and moved to leave Poke alone. “Think about it. It doesn’t have to be next year. But you would have more than you expect rooting for you.”
Poke returned the nod silently, and then said, “It was good to see you, Katu. And the carving is a true wonder.”
When Poke walked back to where he’d left Hefua, he was startled by what he saw. Teto. He was there, saying something to Hefua. Somehow he had maneuvered himself so she was trapped between him and a large volcanic rock. His henchmen were strangely nowhere to be seen that day. The crowd itself had moved on, probably attracted by the disturbance that had been seen in the water out by the islet, leaving Teto very effectively alone with her.
“No!” was the word he heard as he approached, his pace quickening. When he was close enough, he could see Teto had grabbed Hefua’s arm, and that she was squirming to escape from his grasp.
Teto was leering at her, his grin twisted into something more. “You’re very pretty, Hefua,” Poke could hear him saying. “I watch you often.” He moved his face towards hers, as though to kiss her, using his other hand to grab her head forcefully.
Poke seized him by the shoulders. His strength, inflamed by what he was witnessing, surprised even himself. When Teto turned, startled, Poke pounded a fist into his stomach, following it with one to Teto’s head.
Teto hissed.
The two of them scuffled, Hefua darting to get behind Poke. Teto fought well, and should have had the upper hand when he resorted to deceptive moves and trickery. But he was parried at every step by Poke, his lithe body floating with avian grace as he fought. There was no doubt as to the outcome, and Teto finally backed away defensively, his hands raised in surrender.
Teto’s face was filled with anger and hatred, marred by the early swelling of one eye and a trickle of blood escaping from one of his nostrils.
“If you ever touch her again, Teto, I will do all that is necessary.” Poke’s soft, quiet voice was deadly sincere. His own body pulsed with the heat of the fight, a light sheen of sweat covering his chest and back, but he had suffered no blows to his face the way Teto had. The quiet around the pair was unearthly; even the birds stopped their chatter to watch the result of the confrontation between the two young men. “You will never put a hand on her again.”
Hefua crept slowly to Poke’s side, staying behind him and looking very small. Her long black hair covered some of her face and she hid the rest behind Poke’s frame. Poke felt tremors in her tiny hand when she slid it into his, causing him to rub his thumb over the back of it reassuringly.
Teto laughed. It was a demonic laugh, made all the more malevolent by the damage done to his face. “You’re pathetic, Poke.”
Spitting onto the ground angrily, Teto looked out at the islet for a moment, clearly thinking about the competitors. “I will get what I want, Poke. I always do in the end.” And with that, his eyes moved obviously over Hefua's form before his everpresent grin slowly returned to his face. It did no good that Hefua tried to move behind Poke even more, to shield her body from his lewd gaze. His intentions were painfully clear.
Poke returned from his memories, watching the maroon of the setting sun. The light on the sea rippled a fiery crimson as he looked all around for any who might be watching. He looked carefully, lest any might be spying to see what he was about to do.
He saw nothing, though, and imagined the others were surely with Teto, listening to his endless regaling of half-imagined exploits and his plans for the island when he won.
So Poke moved down the ragged rock to the hidden plot of fertile land. The rock mostly shaded it, but there was still enough warmth from the late-day sun. It was here that he’d noticed it, two days before the first of the other competitors arrived, and which was only now beginning to appear at other spots on the islet.
He remembered the day he found it. It was so subtle, and so odd a place for it to be. That was to his advantage.
He’d been wandering over the islet in the systematic way he had done before the others arrived, and which they had managed to copy only poorly themselves. A true survey of the islet was necessary for whichever of them was to win. The others thought they had completed one, but too many of them had deferred to Teto and their assumption that he would be the victor to have done it fully.
It had been a night very much like this one that he’d discovered it, with the light just right. The arc of the setting sun had allowed him to spot the feeble growth of green there behind and under the rock. He had seen a small collection of gathered grasses and stems. It was almost imperceptible, but just enough for him to know they had not simply blown there on their own.
Tonight when he went to look at his secret spo
t, he could see the tern sitting in the nest she’d built. He was certain it was the first. If the others had any idea it was here, they would no doubt be camping in this very spot. Teto would’ve seen to that.
“Soon, my manu. Soon,” Poke whispered to the bird. She fluttered within the warm cup of grass and twigs, obviously defensive, but Poke kept his distance when he could see there were as yet no eggs. Her eyes were small beads within the expanse of black feathers that crowned her head, looking back at him with a strange sort of camaraderie. It was as though she understood the peculiar bond that existed between the two of them, man and bird. Poke somehow felt the tern understood his sadness about what he would need to do when the time came.
With things becoming imminent, Poke wanted to spend more time near the nest, but there was too much risk the others would learn his secret. So he tried to find moments when they were occupied with some other thing. With the dearth of activities to perform on the islet and the sheer number in the group, it was difficult. It had become very much an existence of waiting, day by day at this point, punctuated at times with practicing the swimming and climbing that would be so important at the conclusion.
“There’s getting to be quite a crowd,” Teto said. It was two days after the incident where he’d killed and eaten the tern with the others. He was looking up at the top of the cliff on the