The Great Taboo

A RASH RESOLVE.

The rest of that day was a time of profound and intense anxiety.  Felix and Muriel remained alone in their huts, absorbed in plans of escape, but messengers of many sorts from chiefs and gods kept continually coming to them.  The natives evidently regarded it as a period of preparation.  The Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila surrounded their precinct; yet Felix couldn’t help noticing that they seemed in many ways less watchful than of old, and that they whispered and conferred very much in a mysterious fashion with the people of the village.  More than once Toko shook his head, sagely, “If only any one dared break the Great Taboo,” he said, with some terror on his face, “our people would be glad.  It would greatly please them.  They are tired of this Tu-Kila-Kila.  He has held the god in his breast far, far too long.  They would willingly see some other in place of him.”

Before noon, the young girls of the village, bringing native mats and huge strings of nautilus shells, trooped up to the hut, like bridesmaids, with flowers in their hands, to deck Muriel for her approaching wedding.  Before them they carried quantities of red and brown tappa-cloth and very fine net-work, the dowry to be presented by the royal bride to her divine husband.  Within the hut, they decked out the Queen of the Clouds with garlands of flowers and necklets of shells, in solemn native fashion, bewailing her fate all the time to a measured dirge in their own language.  Muriel could see that their sympathy, though partly conventional, was largely real as well.  Many of the young girls seized her hand convulsively from time to time, and kissed it with genuine feeling.  The gentle young English woman had won their savage hearts by her purity and innocence.  “Poor thing, poor thing,” they said, stroking her hand tenderly.  “She is too good for Korong!  Too good for Tu-Kila-Kila!  If only we knew the Great Taboo like the men, we would tell her everything.  She is too good to die.  We are sorry she is to be sacrificed!”

But when all their preparations were finished, the chief among them raised a calabash with a little scented oil in it, and poured a few drops solemnly on Muriel’s head.  “Oh, great god!” she said, in her own tongue, “we offer this sacrifice, a goddess herself, to you.  We obey your words.  You are very holy.  We will each of us eat a portion of her flesh at your feast.  So give us good crops, strong health, many children!”

“What does she say?” Muriel asked, pale and awestruck, of Mali.

Mali translated the words with perfect sang-froid.  At that awful sound Muriel drew back, chill and cold to the marrow.  How inconceivable was the state of mind of these terrible people!  They were really sorry for her; they kissed her hand with fervor; and yet they deliberately and solemnly proposed to eat her!

Toward evening the young girls at last retired, in regular order, to the clapping of hands, and Felix was left alone with Muriel and the Shadows.

Already he had explained to Muriel what he intended to do; and Muriel, half dazed with terror and paralyzed by these awful preparations, consented passively.  “But how if you never come back, Felix?” she cried at last, clinging to him passionately.

Felix looked at her with a fixed look.  “I have thought of that,” he said.  “M.  Peyron, to whom I sent a message by flashes, has helped me in my difficulty.  This bowl has poison in it.  Peyron sent it to me to-day.  He prepared it himself from the root of the kava bean.  If by sunrise to-morrow you have heard no news, drink it off at once.  It will instantly kill you.  You shall not fall alive into that creature’s clutches.”

By slow degrees the evening wore on, and night approached—­the last night that remained to them.  Felix had decided to make his attempt about one in the morning.  The moon was nearly full now, and there would be plenty of light.  Supposing he succeeded, if they gained nothing else, they would gain at least a day or two’s respite.

As dusk set in, and they sat by the door of the hut, they were all surprised to see Ula approach the precinct stealthily through the jungle, accompanied by two of Tu-Kila-Kila’s Eyes, yet apparently on some strange and friendly message.  She beckoned imperiously with one finger to Toko to cross the line.  The Shadow rose, and without one word of explanation went out to speak to her.  The woman gave her message in short, sharp sentences.  “We have found out all,” she said, breathing hard.  “Fire and Water have learned it.  But Tu-Kila-Kila himself knows nothing.  We have found out that the King of the Rain has discovered the secret of the Great Taboo.  He heard it from the Soul of all dead parrots.  Tu-Kila-Kila’s Eyes saw, and learned, and understood.  But they said nothing to Tu-Kila-Kila.  For my counsel was wise; I planned that they should not, with Fire and Water.  Fire and Water and all the people of Boupari think, with me, the time has come that there should arise among us a new Tu-Kila-Kila.  This one let his blood fall out upon the dust of the ground.  His luck has gone.  We have need of another.”

“Then for what have you come?” Toko asked, all awestruck.  It was terrible to him for a woman to meddle in such high matters.

“I have come,” Ula answered, laying her hand on his arm, and holding her face close to his with profound solemnity—­“I have come to say to the King of the Rain, ‘Whatever you do, that do quickly.’  To-night I will engage to keep Tu-Kila-Kila in his temple.  He shall see nothing.  He shall hear nothing.  I know not the Great Taboo; but I know from him this much—­that if by wile or guile I keep him alone in his temple to-night, the King of the Rain may fight with him in single combat; and if the King of the Rain conquers in the battle, he becomes himself the home of the great deity.”

She nodded thrice, with her hands on her forehead, and withdrew as stealthily as she had come through the jungle.  The Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, falling into line, remained behind, and kept watch upon the huts with the closest apparent scrutiny.

More than ever they were hemmed in by mystery on mystery.

The Shadow went back and reported to Felix.  Felix, turning it over in his own mind, wondered and debated.  Was this true, or a trap to lure him to destruction?

As the night wore on, and the hour drew nigh, Muriel sat beside her friend and lover, in blank despair and agony.  How could she ever allow him to leave her now?  How could she venture to remain alone with Mali in her hut in this last extremity?  It was awful to be so girt with mysterious enemies.  “I must go with you, Felix!  I must go, too!” she cried over and over again.  “I daren’t remain behind with all these awful men.  And then, if he kills either of us, he will kill us at least both together.”

But Felix knew he might do nothing of the sort.  A more terrible chance was still in reserve.  He might spare Muriel.  And against that awful possibility he felt it his duty now to guard at all hazard.

“No, Muriel,” he said, kissing her, and holding her pale hand, “I must go alone.  You can’t come with me.  If I return, we will have gained at least a respite, till the Australasian may turn up.  If I don’t, you will at any rate have strength of mind left to swallow the poison, before Tu-Kila-Kila comes to claim you.”

Hour after hour passed by slowly, and Felix and the Shadow watched the stars at the door, to know when the hour for the attempt had arrived.  The eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, peering silent from just beyond the line, saw them watching all the time, but gave no sign or token of disapproval.  With heads bent low, and tangled hair about their faces, they stood like statues, watching, watching sullenly.  Were they only waiting till he moved, Felix wondered; and would they then hasten off by short routes through the jungle to warn their master of the impending conflict?

At last the hour came when Felix felt sure there was the greatest chance of Tu-Kila-Kila sleeping soundly in his hut, and forgetting the defence of the sacred bough on the holy banyan-tree.  He rose from his seat with a gesture for silence, and moved forward to Muriel.  The poor girl flung herself, all tears, into his arms.  “Oh, Felix, Felix,” she cried, “redeem your promise now!  Kill us both here together, and then, at least, I shall never be separated from you!  It wouldn’t be wrong!  It can’t be wrong!  We would surely be forgiven if we did it only to escape falling into the hands of these terrible savages!”

Felix clasped her to his bosom with a faltering heart.  “No, Muriel,” he said, slowly.  “Not yet.  Not yet.  I must leave no opening on earth untried by which I can possibly or conceivably save you.  It’s as hard for me to leave you here alone as for you to be left.  But for your own dear sake, I must steel myself.  I must do it.”

He kissed her many times over.  He wiped away her tears.  Then, with a gentle movement, he untwined her clasping arms.  “You must let me go, my own darling,” he said, “You must let me go, without crossing the border.  If you pass beyond the taboo-line to-night, Heaven only knows what, perhaps, may happen to you.  We must give these people no handle of offence.  Good-night, Muriel, my own heart’s wife; and if I never come back, then good-by forever.”

She clung to his arm still.  He disentangled himself, gently.  The Shadow rose at the same moment, and followed in silence to the open door.  Muriel rushed after them, wildly.  “Oh, Felix, Felix, come back,” she cried, bursting into wild floods of hot, fierce tears.  “Come back and let me die with you!  Let me die!  Let me die with you!”

Felix crossed the white line without one word of reply, and went forth into the night, half unmanned by this effort.  Muriel sank, where she stood, into Mali’s arms.  The girl caught her and supported her.  But before she had fainted quite away, Muriel had time vaguely to see and note one significant fact.  The Eyes of Tu-Kila-Kila, who stood watching the huts with lynx-like care, nodded twice to Toko, the Shadow, as he passed between them; then they stealthily turned and dogged the two men’s footsteps afar off in the jungle.

Muriel was left by herself in the hut, face to face with Mali.

“Let us pray, Mali,” she cried, seizing her Shadow’s arm.

And Mali, moved suddenly by some half-obliterated impulse, exclaimed in concert, in a terrified voice, “Let us pray to Methodist God in heaven!”

For her life, too, hung on the issue of that rash endeavor.