Tu-Kila-Kila was in his most insolent vein. He glanced around with a horrid light of triumph dancing visibly in his eyes. It was clear he had come, intent upon some grand theatrical coup. He meant to take the white-faced stranger by surprise this time. “Good-morning, O King of the Rain,” he exclaimed, in a loud voice and with boisterous familiarity. “How do you like your outlook now? Things are getting on. Things are getting on. The end of your rule is drawing very near, isn’t it? Before long I must make the seasons change. I must make my sun turn. I must twist round my sky. And then, I shall need a new Korong instead of you, O pale-faced one!”
Felix looked back at him without moving a muscle.
“I am well,” he answered shortly, restraining his anger. “The year turns round whether you will or not. You are right that the sun will soon begin to move southward on its path again. But many things may happen to all of us meanwhile. I am not afraid of you.”
As he spoke, he drew his knife, and opened the blade, unostentatiously, but firmly. If the worst were really coming now, sooner than he expected, he would at least not forget his promise to Muriel.
Tu-Kila-Kila smiled a hateful and ominous smile. “I am a great god,” he said, calmly, striking an attitude as was his wont. “Hear how my people clap their hands in my honor! I order all things. I dispose the course of nature in heaven and earth. If I look at a cocoa-nut tree, it dies; if I glance at a bread-fruit, it withers away. We will see before long whether or not you are afraid of me. Meanwhile, O Korong, I have come to claim my dues at your hands. Prepare for your fate. To-morrow the Queen of the Clouds must be sealed my bride. Fetch her out, that I may speak with her. I have come to tell her so.”
It was a thunderbolt from a clear sky, and it fell with terrible effect on Felix. For a moment the knife trembled in his grasp with an almost irresistible impulse. He could hardly restrain himself, as he heard those horrible, incredible words, and saw the loathsome smirk on the speaker’s face by which they were accompanied, from leaping then and there at the savage’s throat, and plunging his blade to the haft into the vile creature’s body. But by a violent effort he mastered his indignation and wrath for the present. Planting himself full in front of Tu-Kila-Kila, and blocking the way to the door of that sacred English girl’s hut—oh, how horrible it was to him even to think of her purity being contaminated by the vile neighborhood, for one minute, of that loathsome monster! He looked full into the wretch’s face, and answered very distinctly, in low, slow tones, “If you dare to take one step toward the place where that lady now rests, if you dare to move your foot one inch nearer, if you dare to ask to see her face again, I will plunge the knife hilt-deep into your vile heart, and kill you where you stand without one second’s deliberation. Now you hear my words and you know what I mean. My weapon is keener and fiercer than any you Polynesians ever saw. Repeat those words once more, and by all that’s true and holy, before they’re out of your mouth I leap upon you and stab you.”
Tu-Kila-Kila drew back in sudden surprise. He was unaccustomed to be so bearded in his own sacred island. “Well, I shall claim her to-morrow,” he faltered out, taken aback by Felix’s unexpected energy. He paused for a second, then he went on more slowly: “To-morrow I will come with all my people to claim my bride. This afternoon they will bring her mats of grass and necklets of nautilus shell to deck her for her wedding, as becomes Tu-Kila-Kila’s chosen one. The young maids of Boupari will adorn her for her lord, in the accustomed dress of Tu-Kila-Kila’s wives. They will clap their hands; they will sing the marriage song. Then early in the morning I will come to fetch her—and woe to him who strives to prevent me!”
Felix looked at him long, with a fixed and dogged look.
“What has made you think of this devilry?” he asked at last, still grasping his knife hard, and half undecided whether or not to use it. “You have invented all these ideas. You have no claim, even in the horrid customs of your savage country, to demand such a sacrifice.”
Tu-Kila-Kila laughed loud, a laugh of triumphant and discordant merriment. “Ha, ha!” he cried, “you do not understand our customs, and will you teach me, the very high god, the guardian of the laws and practices of Boupari? You know nothing; you are as a little child. I am absolute wisdom. With every Korong, this is always our rule. Till the moon is full, on the last month before we offer up the sacrifice, the Queen of the Clouds dwells apart with her Shadow in her own new temple. So our fathers decreed it. But at the full of the moon, when the day has come, the usage is that Tu-Kila-Kila, the very high god, confers upon her the honor of making her his bride. It is a mighty honor. The feast is great. Blood flows like water. For seven days and nights, then, she lives with Tu-Kila-Kila in his sacred abode, the threshold of Heaven; she eats of human flesh; she tastes human blood; she drinks abundantly of the divine kava. At the end of that time, in accordance with the custom of our fathers, those great dead gods, Tu-Kila-Kila performs the high act of sacrifice. He puts on his mask of the face of a shark, for he is holy and cruel; he brings forth the Queen of the Clouds before the eyes of all his people, attired in her wedding robes, and made drunk with kava. Then he gashes her with knives; he offers her up to Heaven that accepted her; and the King of the Rain he offers after her; and all the people eat of their flesh, Korong! and drink of their blood, so that the body of gods and goddesses may dwell within all of them. And when all is done, the high god chooses a new king and queen at his will (for he is a mighty god), who rule for six moons more, and then are offered up, at the end, in like fashion.”