Regarding the sea lanes through blind painted eyes, at the prow of a great wooden ship it had travelled the world. Considered lucky, its luck had run out with that of its ship and its crew. It had been carved with the attention to detail reserved for the purely non-functional, but nevertheless it showed a durability absent in the timbers that cracked and splintered in the teeth of the tropical storm; it retained its elegant integrity; it sailed a new course of its own as its ship was smashed to driftwood and its crew lost to the depths and the sharks. It came to its final harbour, riding the last swell of the typhoon and rested there on a coral bed, its stem wedged in the reef and its head standing proud above the waves.
Two peoples shared the small island behind the reef. Each considered the other to be as different from themselves as could be. The origins of their undying mutual hatred had been fixed into myth; their ancient kin had come from the sea together, on to the long sweep of the western beach, but that too had been lost to forgetting. And yet each day the islanders lived the same island lives, ate the same island foods and worshipped the same island gods. Each generation inherited the little gardens and the long houses of their forebears; they knew the same crafts and grew the same crops with the same simple tools, but above all, with the turning of the years they inherited the same enmity, the hatred for the other.
The morning after the storm he had been to neutral ground. It was always this most dangerous of places that called its challenge to the young men. 'Walk here' the spirits of the place sang out, 'let the others dare to come across your path.' They had not come and he had walked the wide western sands alone, bathed in the golden sunlight and held in the sheltering embrace of the clear blue sky. The gentle surf of the lagoon pushed up the beach a little, each wave soon relenting and returning to deeper water.
He was sure enough that he was alone to stand a little while with his back to the land. He watched the breakers on the reef and dreamed of the ocean expanses beyond, the wider world from which his ancestors had come.
When the sunlight flashed on gold out there amongst the white foam he shaded his eyes; moved his head this way and that in search of a better view. There was something shaped like a head out there; a head on broad shoulders. The whole thing was white or white and yellow; the gold flashed again. It had eyes and they were staring at him. It was a god.
He stumbled backwards away from the water's edge and away from the dread being. After three or four paces thus he turned and ran to the shelter of the trees. Hidden as well as he could be then, he dared to look once more for the creature he had seen on the reef.
The god did not move, not even with the rhythm of the breakers. It had not pursued him as he had feared it might. He watched and dragged great breaths into his chest. His heart raced and sweat poured down his face. Still the god did not come.
Slowly his eyes adjusted to the looking out from the shade and finally he realised that what he was looking at was not a living god come from the ocean but rather a thing of wood; an idol of an unknown god no doubt; a miraculous sign. And it was here in the western lagoon. Neutral water. There was no time to waste.
Normally he would have followed the coastline home, disdaining to hide his presence on the sands of the beach by the lagoon, but now he decided to take the little paths through the hills. He worried that he had already been seen, but if not there was no need to risk drawing the attention of the others, The Northerners. If they spotted the idol they would doubtless want it for themselves.
There was a certain way to enter the presence of a chieftain and his closest warriors. When the young man came bursting into the longest and highest house in the village such was his sense of urgency that all such etiquette was forgotten. His elders were more than halfway to anger and rebuke by the time the wide-eyed look on the youngster's face registered. They checked themselves and waited for an explanation that might remove the need to take offence.
'There is an idol come to the western lagoon; a great idol carved of a new god and come from the sea.' Now he had their attention. The anger and disapproval had vanished like footprints on the sand. 'I saw it myself. It is on the reef. I do not think the others have seen it yet.
But for his rapid breathing then, the long house fell silent. The elders, and in particular the sharp-faced priest, regarded the youth carefully. He had brought portentous news and each of them wondered whether it was true, or if there was more to come. Perhaps the boy was under the influence of magic; perhaps this was not the boy at all, only an avatar come to mislead them. Such things were not unknown.
Outside children played and women hushed them so that they could listen at the long house wall.
The chieftain looked at the priest, 'Cloud-on-the-Mountain' he said, 'how do you see these signs?'
The priest did not answer the chieftain directly. He alone could choose not to do so. He merely nodded and spoke instead to the young man. 'Swift Gull' he said, 'how many sisters do you have?'
The youngster looked very confused, but in front of him he could see the sage elders nodding approval at the priest's question. 'Four' he said, and after managed to hold his tongue though he thought it might leap from his head in an effort to convince the old men of the truth of his words.
Priest turned to chieftain. He spoke in hushed tones that made women lean on the very structure of the long house to listen. 'If there is an idol come to the lagoon chieftain then we must have it. It is clear that we must not let the others take for themselves a thing of power.' So it would be war, or at the least the chance of war.
Outside a woman slipped against the wall, there was a thud as she stopped herself from falling. The chieftain, as if taking this noise as a sign, stood up; he nodded gravely and reached out his right hand. Into it his brother passed the long war club; today it would show its colours in the sunshine of the western beach.
It did not take long for the men to gather. They would go together to the western lagoon taking with them a canoe that could reach the reef and bring back the idol of the new god. As they walked the chieftain listened to his men claim and counter claim the right to be aboard the craft that would cross the neutral water.
'We must have good warriors on the beach' he said emphatically. 'If the others come there may be fighting.' His words eased the minds of those who would stand with him on the sand; they too would have a crucial part to play. Those who would go in the canoe would have their glory, but now each of them would pull all the harder on their oar to return swiftly to land in case blood should be spilled in battle in their absence.
They came quickly to the great expanse of the beach. From the verdant tree line all of them could see to where Swift Gull pointed, to the god's image standing majestic in the water. They could all see that he had spoken truly, and that by evening time a new idol, a thing of great power would be theirs.
At first the men from the South had the beach to themselves. They advanced with a purpose to the water's edge; in front the chieftain and his strongest warriors and behind those charged with carrying the canoe; the fastest rowers who would make the crossing to the reef.
They were moments away from laying the canoe in the water, uncertain now whether their craft was large enough to bring the distant idol back to land, when from the landward arc of shade another group of warriors emerged. The others had come. It was clear that they too had it in their minds to take the idol to their own long houses.
Soon there were two canoes cutting easily through the placid lagoon. On land the warriors left behind faced one another, no more than twenty paces between them. Such was the nature of their perennial war that each knew the faces of those arrayed against them. From the trees women of both villages watched; as always they had raced to see the confrontation and now, in places stood alongside the wives and daughters from the detested village of the unspeakable foe.
'Our priest has spoken of the new god' called the chieftain of The Northerners. He was a great cylindrical man, well-fed and muscular. His great round face spoke of his assurance; of his habitual conquest of men and women. 'It is clearly ours and will stand in my long house.'
The big man of The Southerners laughed a long hard laugh. The ranks of his enemies shifted uneasily, not believing his hilarity but still unwillingly disturbed by his display. 'Eating your relatives has made you foolish. The idol is ours. It will stand in my long house and bring glory to my ancestors.'
The two groups came a few steps closer. The warriors stood tall; as tall as they could. They spun their war clubs to show off the marks of other battles and the detailed decorations of long hours of loving work. The women watched, nodding approval as their menfolk stood unafraid.
At close quarters shouts were exchanged. Faces contorted into elongated demonic masks to fill the enemy with terror. The two bands moved jerkily alongside each other; they were like two crabs searching for advantage; the chance to take this little piece of powdered coral and to boast of its conquest. This was war as the islanders knew it. Rarely did it take more than a very little blood to find the side less willing to fight on any given day.
Some women screeched support from the beach margin. The elders amongst them shook their heads, disapproving of the enthusiasm of girls who had never known a sister widowed.
The men knew better than to be the first to attack. Retaliation inevitably followed harder than the pre-emptive strike. Each of them, brave enough, preferred still the stand-off.
But that day, war as they all knew it, a customary war in which blood-letting was limited, had different rules. They waited, taunted and grimaced, but all of them watched what was happening out on the reef.
In the stories, men who show no restraint in battle are remembered as heroes. In life, it is the warrior with the wild eyes who drives the battle beyond the stand-off; he is the man who drives the spiral of killing. That day the man who started the blood pouring was on the canoe The Southerners had sent to sea. Out there by the idol contact with the others could hardly be avoided.
Two canoes reached the idol and there, in the presence of the golden-haired god, the islanders struggled.
He was called Bright Feather. He saw a chance to swing his club. He was no longer content to struggle with canoe and hands alone. As his chosen target rocked backwards and away from the blow The Northerners' priest took the club full on the side of his face. His head split and his teeth smashed; his eyes bulged and his jaw hung limp.
Perhaps two hundred people watched. Two hundred people gasped as the priest fell. His hands went out before him and he touched the idol. He spread his blood down its front as he fell into the sea over the reef.
On the beach rage had already started the killing. War to the death that day took a dozen men to early graves. Women no longer called for violence, but watched now as it blossomed out of all control, taking their men from them as it grew.
On the reef the death of the priest brought shock and terror. The bloodied idol was abandoned. None of the men on the canoes could even begin to imagine what consequences that killing would have. Bright Feather simply stood and gazed first into the water, then at his club and finally at the gore on his hands. Suddenly, fully back in stark awareness of the day, he could not believe what he had made the war club of his fathers do.
When next a vessel passed the idol its occupants knew it for what it had once been; their ship had one still. They crossed the western lagoon not knowing why the weathered timbers of the old figurehead were shunned by the islanders and had been for three generations.
The locals were far from warlike, although they did appear to have their own petty rivalries. In time it became clear that even they were not entirely sure why the western beach was avoided, or why they taught their children not to stare at the bleached wooden god on the reef.
They did not seem surprised to see the flaxen-haired sailors. They had not encountered Europeans before but seemed to have long had the idea that someone else was coming.
It was only a matter of days after the sailors left, fresh water and provisions generously traded for, that the sickness began in the children of the island. Some spoke of the god of the reef which had once had golden hair and had been a herald of doom from the sea, Most were too close to death to listen.
