by Edward M. Sledge |
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After a month at sea the Taria Loquor anchored in the clear blue waters off the Ilty Islands, a crescent of white sand rising to thick, verdant jungle. The raccous calls of parrots and monkeys welcomed the weary sailors with the promise of fresh food and water, and of course, riches enough to buy a kingdom. That was what Captain Goral had been promising them since they signed on, and although I never believed him, those greedy sailors swallowed his stories hook, line and sinker. I was along as an interpreter, having dealt with many primitive cultures in my time, and I had a knack for languages. My reward was simply a home for my family and some land to work, far away from the noise and crime of the city, paid in advance, of course. Captain Goral and I and ten or so sailors went ashore in three landing boats filled with useless trinkets for the natives and guns for us if the trinkets failed. Gold was what they were after, gold and silver, diamonds and emeralds, ivory, spices, anything that would turn a great profit. I wanted none of it. We landed on the beach and searched the near jungle for hostiles, then sent the boats back for more of the crew. Signs of the natives were everywhere; firepits, footprints, carved stones and shells, even a crude wooden sign with writing marks burned into it. Captain Goral wanted to know what it said. That was my job. He fancied that it was a warning or a curse, but after a few words, I knew that it was not. “Praise be to Mataki which makes bent men stand and chained men dance,” I read. “What is Mataki?” the captain demanded. “Is it a god?” I told him I didn’t know. He wasn’t happy. “Well, if it is a god, then they will have temples for it, golden altars, tributes of gems.” I disagreed, but said nothing. The word, Mataki, was similar to others I have come across, words like life, pride, joy and light, but it was dissimilar enough to rule those out. When enough of the crew was on shore, we set off into the jungle, following the native trails until we found their village. I must say, it was more than I had ever imagined. The village was small and the people few, but the buildings, the people, even the streets, were decorated with gold, gems, pearls, furs, every imaginable form of wealth. It was enough to make even the captain’s jaw drop. We were approached by a young woman in a dress of green and gold parrot feathers with beads of gold and pearls in her long black hair. She spoke quickly, like a monkey chattering, and it took several minutes for me to translate, this being the first time I had heard this language spoken. “Greetings strangers,” she said. “What land do you come from?” “A great land far across the water with tall buildings and mighty kings,” I told her. Our names would mean nothing to her, I knew. “Where is your leader?” I asked at Captain Goral's request. She led us to the center of the village where stood a small hut. From it emerged a tall man. “I am Quo’at. This is my village,” he said. “Why are you here, strangers? Have you come to take away our Mataki?” “We are traders.” I told him at the behest of Captain Goral. “We would like to trade these fine trinkets for your gold and diamonds,” I gestured to the chests of smooth glass, small metal whistles, children’s toys and empty tin snuffboxes. Quo’at shook his head. “Keep your things. We do not need them. The gold and diamonds are pretty, but we do not need them. You may have all that you want, but you cannot have our Mataki.” “What is Mataki?” I asked. The captain was already instructing the soldiers to gather up the village wealth, so I was talking to Quo’at on my own. “It is the eagle on the mountain,” he pointed to the distant snow covered peak. “It is the dolphin in the sea,” he pointed toward the ocean. “It is the wind and the rain and the sun. Mataki.” I shook my head. I still did not understand. Quo’at smiled and nodded at me. “One day, you will know," he said. Captain Goral returned and took me aside. “Have you noticed the scars upon their backs and on their wrists and ankles?” he asked. I had not. “It must be part of a coming-of-age ceremony, for no one under age fifteen bears them.” He looked around at the growing piles of treasure that his men were collecting. “Have you figured out what Mataki is?” I confessed that I had not. “But what ever it is,” I said. “they treasure it more than gold and jewels.” The captain frowned and scratched his beard. “Find out what it is.” he ordered. “And where it is. I must have it.” I returned to Quo’at and tried to question him further, but he seemed to not understand when I asked him where Mataki was. Finally, Captain Goral grew impatient and began roaring at the native, leaving me to translate his anger. Now Quo’at grew angry. “Take anything you want from our village, but you will not have our Mataki. We will die before we will give it up!” he yelled. I could hear the soldiers gathering behind me and readying their weapons, waiting for their captain’s command. “Please,” I begged both parties, “don’t do this.” Captain Goral pushed me aside as Quo’at’s people gathered behind him, every one of them down to the last tiny infant. “Give us your Mataki or you will die.” Captain Goral said. I did not translate, but his tone needed no interpretation. Quo’at pounded his chest with one fist. “No. No more chains, no more whips. We will die Matak.” Quo’at set his jaw, a look of stubborn resignation on his face. “Kill them,” the captain ordered, not waiting for me to translate. “Wait!” I yelled, but it was too late. The soldiers raised their guns and fired, striking down every man woman and child before them. I turned away, unable to watch. When the shooting stopped and the smoke cleared, Captain Goral grabbed me by the arm so tightly that it hurt. “I want to know where my Mataki is, now.” I made my way through the village, trying not to look at the things that would never feel their master’s touch again, until I found a small hut filled with nothing but bark scrolls and clay tablets. It was a library. I sat down and began reading, going through folk tales, medicinal remedies, birth records and much more until I found on a stack of clay tablets, the history of Quo’at’s people. The had once lived on a large island to the north, many of them, and they had been slaves. Quo’at and some others had escaped, traveling in boats to this land, which they named Matakipo’o, Mataki Island. I set down the tablet and closed my eyes. Mataki makes bent man stand and chained men dance. Mataki is the eagle on the mountain. Mataki is the dolphin in the sea. Mataki is the wind and the rain and the sun. Mataki is more precious than gold and jewels. Mataki is worth dying for. I found Captain Goral watching the soldiers strip the bodies of the slain of their riches. “Well,” he said, “what is Mataki?” Looking at the dead, I could say only one word. “Freedom.” |