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‘The Last Statue: Identifying Trends In Young Adult Fiction In Order To Support The Writing Of A Young Adult Novel Featuring A Fictional Language’

Thesis submitted in fulfilment of the requirement of the degree of

Master of Arts CA45

Central Queensland University

School of Education and the Arts

Denise Beckton

Student Number s0234822

March 2016

Certificate of authorship and originality of thesis

The work contained in this thesis has not previously been submitted either in whole or in part for a degree at CQUniversity or any other tertiary institution. To the best of my knowledge and belief, the material presented in this thesis is original except where due reference is made in the text.

Signed:

Dated: 3rd March 2016

This thesis may be freely copied and distributed for private use and study, however, no part of this thesis or the information contained therein may be included in or referred to in publications without prior permission of the author and/or any reference fully acknowledged.

Signed:

Dated: 3rd March 2016

Abstract

This thesis includes two interrelated components: a creative work and exegesis. The creative component has involved the writing of a historically informed fiction entitled ‘The last statue’ and, more specifically, the construction and inclusion of a fictional language as a component of the novella’s narrative. This fictional narrative explores the enigmatic history of Easter Island and its inhabitants during a particularly turbulent and complicated time of the island’s history (c. 1200–1800 AD), and focuses on themes of love, loss and war. Authors have few models on which to base a creation of fictional language should they wish to include one as a narrative component. Through the investigation of existing artefacts containing examples of the defunct pictorial language of Easter Island (called Rongorongo), and applying a fictional meaning to the glyph-based language encrypted within them, this thesis demonstrates how practice-led research techniques helped to facilitate the construction of an invented language to support the novella’s narrative. A significant finding in this area is that the use of a fictional language/s can enhance aspects of a narrative, such as voice, setting, character development and plot. It is hoped that information gleaned from this research will offer guidance to authors wishing to develop and implement a fictional language (in this case, a pictorial/symbolic language) as a component of a fictional narrative.

Written to accompany ‘The last statue’, the exegetical dissertation investigates the process and challenges associated with writing a contemporary Young Adult fiction novel when genres, sub-genres and target readerships are rapidly evolving. In identifying the distinguishing influences, and influencers, of change affecting contemporary bestselling Young Adult fiction (since 2005), this exegesis records the practice-led research methodology and resulting outcomes that inform and underpin the themes, narrative construction and literary devices chosen to develop and produce the accompanying novella. By extending scholarship relating to contemporary international bestselling Young Adult fiction, in particular, this exegesis provides research on a topic that, in scholarly terms, has eluded significant inquiry in recent times. This will be useful for creators and consumers of, and commentators on, contemporary Young Adult fiction as it contextualises and addresses current issues facing writers in this genre.

While this research supports recent findings that consider changes in Young Adult fiction to be positive developments, it also offers new scholarly knowledge that exposes the strategies and behaviours that predominantly adult groups and institutions are practising within the Young Adult fiction arena. These strategies are increasingly used to facilitate, hasten and heighten these changes. Additionally, this research asserts that market segmentation and franchise strategies that promote bestselling international fiction may be limiting the very potential that their popularity claims to offer.

Table of Contents

Declaration Page 2.

Abstract Page 3.

Acknowledgements Page 6.

List of publications, presentations Page 7.

A note on reading this thesis Page 10.

Research question Page 11.

Background Page 12.

Creative component: The Last Statue Page 15.

Exegesis component: Identifying Trends In Young Adult Fiction

In Order To Support The Writing Of A Young Adult Novel

Featuring a Fictional Language Page 133.

Introduction Page 134.

Chapter 1 Literature review Page 137.

Chapter 2 Methodology Page 146.

Chapter 3 Young Adult fiction Page 156.

Chapter 4 Fictional languages Page 169.

Conclusion Page 188.

Works cited Page 194.

Full project bibliography Page 207.

Acknowledgements

My sincere thanks go to my supervisors, Professor Donna Lee Brien and Dr Susan Davis for their invaluable guidance and unwavering encouragement in every aspect of my Masters journey. Thanks also go to Central Queensland University and the generous financial and administrative support that the institution has afforded me to complete the required research, and additional ERA accredited outputs, during my candidature. In this regard, I am particularly grateful to Professor Bobby Harreveld and the staff from the School of Education and the Arts, the Learning and Teaching Education Research Centre and CQUniversity library. I also appreciate the continuous support afforded to me by Ms. Kath Milostic and Ms. Leslie Walker from the Research Higher Degree Administration Office.

I am grateful for the wise advice and mentorship offered to me during conference presentations and as part of the academic research publication process, and would like to thank the blind peer reviewers, conference committee members and academic journal editorial staff who helped me in this regard. In particular, I would like to thank delegates of, and staff from, the Australasian Association of Writing Programs annual conference, TEXT journal, M/C journal, the Popular Culture Association of Australia and New Zealand, the inaugural Australasian Death Studies Conference, the Work in Progress Conference (University of Queensland) and Write4Children journal. Thanks also go to Dr. Jessica Seymour, Associate Professor Anthony Eaton, Professor Margaret McAllister, Professor Mike Horsley, Dr. Matt Eliot, Ms. Ulrike Sturm, and Ms. Irene Waters for their generous and continued support. I welcomed Dr. Sue Bond’s encouragement in the form of writing advice and also her fastidious copyediting skills. Sue undertook professional services according to the procedures laid out in the university-endorsed national guidelines.

Finally, I would like to thank Jason, Zachary, Flynn and Evangeline for graciously allowing me the time to see this Masters program to its completion.

Publications during Candidature

Beckton, D 2016, ‘Author’s Note: maintaining creativity and integrity when writing historical fiction’, The refereed proceedings of the 20th conference of the Australasian Association of Writing Programs: writing the ghost train: rewriting, remaking, rediscovering, 29 November – 1 December, 2015, Swinburne University of Technology, Melbourne, viewed 16 February 2016, at http://www.aawp.org.au/publications/writing-the-ghost-train-rewriting-remaking- rediscovering/

Beckton, D 2015, ‘Lost in translation: using fictional language as a form of narrative’, in T Conroy & G Pittaway (eds) Minding the gap, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp. 81–93.

Beckton, D 2015, ‘All she could see’, TEXT Journal Special Issue – Creative writing as research IV, no. 30, viewed 10 November, at http://www.textjournal.com.au/speciss/issue30/content.htm.

Sturm, U, Beckton, D & Brien, DL 2015, ‘Curation on campus: the role of curation as a learning and teaching tool for creative industries students’, M/C Journal, vol. 18, no. 4, viewed 05 November 2015, at http://journal.media- culture.org.au/index.php/mcjournal/article/view/1000.

Beckton, D 2015, ‘Bestselling young adult fiction: trends, genres and readership’, TEXT Journal Special Issue – Why YA?: researching, writing and publishing young adult fiction in Australia, no. 32, viewed 30 October 2015, at http://www.textjournal.com.au/speciss/issue32/content.htm.

Beckton, D, Seymour, J, Bacon, E, Brien, DL, Curmi, G, Kimberley, M, McAlister, J Mills, C, and Plozza, S 2015, ‘A series of fortunate readers: a collaborative review article of important Australasian YA writing’, TEXT Journal Special Issue – Why YA?: researching, writing and publishing young adult fiction in Australia, no. 32, viewed 30 October 2015, at http://www.textjournal.com.au/speciss/issue32/content.htm.

Beckton, D and Seymour, J 2015, ‘Young adult writing: setting the scene’, TEXT Journal Special Issue – Why YA?: researching, writing and publishing young adult

fiction in Australia, no. 32, viewed 30 October 2015, at http://www.textjournal.com.au/speciss/issue32/content.htm.

Beckton, D 2014, ‘Bridging the gap’, TEXT Journal Special Issue – Creative writing as research III, no. 27, viewed 30 October 2015, at http://www.textjournal.com.au/speciss/issue27/content.htm.

Anderson, M, Beckton, D, Bond, C, Brien, DL, Fergie, D, Forrer, G, Fredericks, B, Gould, J, Harald, P, King, L, Kosick, M, Longbottom, M, Milroy, AK, Persaud, N, Sandri, R, Stuart, L, Sturm, U, Ward, R, White, N & Withyman, CJ 2014, ‘Collaborative scholarly creative writing: two poems’, 2014, TEXT Journal Special Issue – Creative writing as research III, no. 27, viewed 30 October 2015, at http://www.textjournal.com.au/speciss/index.htm

Beckton, D 2013, ‘Mum, what’s a blow queen?: tracking the emergence of the “steamies” genre’, in PopCAANZ Refereed Conference Proceedings of the 4th annual international PopCAANZ conference, 24-26 June 2013, Brisbane, pp. 21–30, viewed 30 November 2015, at http://popcaanz.com/conference-proceedings/conference- proceedings-2013/.

Beckton, D 2013, ‘From Harry Potter to The fault in our stars: a generation of crossover novels’, in The Creative Manoeuvres: making, saying, being Papers – The Refereed Proceedings of the 18th Conference of the Australasian Association Of Writing Programs, 25–27 November, Canberra, pp. 1–11, viewed 30 November 2015, at http://www.aawp.org.au/publications/the-creative-manoeuvres-making-saying- being-papers/.

Presentations during Candidature

Beckton, D 2015, ‘In the absence of grief’, Death, dying, and the undead: contemporary approaches and practice, Inaugural Australasian Death Studies Network Conference, 12 October, CQUniversity, Noosaville.

Beckton, D 2014, ‘Found in translation: using fictional languages as a textual agent’, Work in progress: the life of things conference, 29–30 September, The University of Queensland, Brisbane.

Beckton, D 2014, ‘Lost in translation: using fictional language as a form of narrative’, the 19th Australasian Association of Writing Programs Conference, 30 November – 2 December, Massey University, Wellington, New Zealand.

Beckton, D 2013, ‘Mum, what’s a blow queen?: tracking the emergence of the “steamies” genre’, Popular Culture Association of Australia and New Zealand Annual Conference, 24–26 June, Sofitel Hotel, Brisbane.

Beckton, D 2013, ‘From Harry Potter to The fault in our stars: a generation of crossover novels’, The 18th Australasian Association of Writing Programs Conference, 25–27 November, University of Canberra.

Professional roles associated with Candidature

Co-editor of TEXT Journal Special Issue no. 32, Why YA?: researching, writing and publishing Young Adult fiction in Australia, October 2015.

Associate co-editor of Write4Children: the international journal for the practice and theories of writing for children and children’s literature, 2015–on-going.

A note on reading this thesis

Terms

I acknowledge that there is ongoing debate surrounding the use of the term ‘Young Adult’ with reference to writing for a particular audience and, as a contemporary term used to define a market, an audience and a developmental category. I would maintain that the phrase is a construct rather than a stable term that neatly defines a set age bracket. Within academia, Young Adult fiction is alternatively referred to as both a ‘literary category’ and a ‘writing genre’.

Additionally, scholarly writers often use capitalisation for the term Young Adult fiction, although many writers also choose not to do so. Throughout this thesis, I use capital letters to identify Young Adult fiction as a definitive category but acknowledge that elements and parameters of this category, such as age-defined readership and the themes and content of Young Adult works, are wide-ranging and continually changing.

Sources

The rapidly changing nature of Young Adult fiction (as is explored in this thesis) presents a number of challenges, not least of all, the sourcing of valid academic research to establish the cause of these changes. With this in mind, a combination of existing academic research and ‘grey literature’ (including non-published government, academic, business and industry materials) are used to identify and define the behaviours and strategies currently exhibited by readers, writers, publishers and film makers that may be contributing to change within Young Adult fiction.

Spelling

Australian/UK English spelling conventions are used throughout this thesis, however American spelling conventions are retained in direct quotations.

Research question

In writing a Young Adult novel, how does research into history, the construction of a fictional language and Young Adult fiction market trends impact upon creative practice and outcomes?

Background: ‘Mum, what’s a blow-queen?’

The novel is not so much a literary genre, but a literary space, like a sea that is filled by many rivers (Jose Saramago).

Every year, I buy my children a book each for Christmas. This was a particularly difficult task in 2012, the year that my eldest son turned 12-years-old. A voracious reader, he had devoured most children’s books on offer and was eagerly scanning Young Adult novels in search of challenging narratives. I was also researching Young Adult novels, to inform my own writing which was, at that time, inspired by our recent family holiday to the small south-eastern Pacific island of Rapanui (also known as Easter Island). The serendipitous timing of these incidents motivated me to enrol in a Research Higher Degree – a Master of Arts (in creative writing).

Easter Island is most famous for two things: firstly, a series of monolithic statues, sculptured by ancestral Indigenous inhabitants, numbering in the many hundreds and dotted across the island; and, secondly, the island’s enigmatic and controversial history of ecological destruction and consequential human demise. These features, and my discovery that the island’s inhabitants had invented an intricately constructed glyph-based pictorial language that was yet to be fully deciphered, served as creative stimulus for the development of a novel.

I returned to Australia with a rich source of potential research material. These included photos, books, leaflets, souvenirs and academic resources pertaining to the political, social, economic and cultural history of the island. Collectively, these items proved integral to my practice-led approach to research. Perhaps more importantly, they helped to foster a distinct mental picture of the novel’s main protagonists (both of whom I envisaged to be young adults), plotlines, characters and literary devices that could possibly contribute to a structurally sound work of historical fiction.

At this time, I found myself reading and writing texts that could be categorised as contemporary Young Adult fiction, even though they might not have been marketed as such. This is not to say that my choice of reading material, or my writing, contained overtly simple narratives and/or naïve themes chosen specifically, or deemed suitable, for a younger audience. In fact, most of my reading choices were

concurrently popular with an adult and Young Adult readership even though many were originally published as Young Adult fiction. Similarly, some had arrived on the bookshop shelves as adult novels, only to be re-jacketed and marketed as Young Adult fiction. The readership and the content within the category appeared to me to be extremely diverse, and efforts to ‘pin down’ the defining features of Young Adult fiction was difficult given the rapidly evolving genres, sub-genres and target readership within the category.

This view, and my decision to conduct further research into the Young Adult fiction category, was cemented by a question from my son after he read his Christmas novel – The perks of being a wallflower by Steven Chbosky (1999). My son asked, ‘Mum, what’s a blow queen?’ While my son’s query presented a valuable opportunity to discuss issues surrounding drugs and sexuality, I believed that deliberate marketing segmentation strategies were employed to downplay the novel’s sophisticated content – which referenced illicit drug use and sexual assault – in order to maximise the potential target readership.

I had selected Chobsky’s acclaimed novel from the children’s section of my local independent bookshop (there was not a separate Young Adult fiction section), and scanned the cover synopsis for potentially unsuitable content. I also sought further advice from the sales assistant, who confidently affirmed that the novel was ‘popular and appropriate for my son’s age group’. After feeling that I had duly assessed the suitability of the novel – short of reading it – I was left with a sense of guilt at unwittingly exposing my son to information that, I felt, he was not yet ready for.

Interestingly, my second son was undergoing assessment for dyslexia at this time and I was also monitoring Young Adult fiction for works that might interest him. Given that common phonological reading problems like dyslexia are estimated at 5.0 – 17.5 per cent among the general population (Shaywitz 1998), the need for enticing and engaging resources is important for the development of reading comprehension skills. Pictures and images have been, and continue to be, a fundamental component of children’s literature, particularly for those with reading difficulties such as dyslexia, where they provide stimulus for, and interest around, the reading process (Nodelman 1988, Lewis 2001, Pantaleo 2005). Images within novels support and

provide a context for the narrative and, from an educational standpoint, assist to enhance reader comprehension. As Sunya Osbourne notes, struggling readers:

…use many of the same skills to interpret pictures as they do to interpret print, such as determining their purpose for reading; drawing upon their background knowledge, experience, and attitudes; asking and answering questions; inferring; and visualizing. Putting these skills together through both illustrations and text enhances comprehension and the creation of meaning. (2001, p. 1)

Works that contain illustrations, maps, sketches and images, can support the written text and facilitate learning, and this is so for struggling readers in particular (Lewis 2001, Pantaleo 2005). Young Adult literature genres that contain many images, such as Japanese manga and graphic novels, are enjoying increased sales in Australia and internationally (Fishbein 2007, Reid 2009). My second son enjoyed reading fictions that were similarly ‘picture laden’, such as Mark Haddon’s The curious incident of the dog in the night time (2003), Jeff Kinney’s Diary of a wimpy kid (2007), Sherman Alexie’s The absolute true diary of a part-time Indian (2007) and Reif Larsen’s The selected works of T.S. Spivet (2009). His enthusiasm for these types of Young Adult novels partly inspired my own desire to use symbols and images within ‘The last statue’. This, together with the issues outlined above, led me to this Masters research project, which is presented herein as a creative work plus exegesis.

The Last Statue

Author’s note

Although the novella ‘The last statue’ is entirely fictional, the narrative is intended to echo some of the culture, traditions and landscapes of Easter Island, and its people, during the turbulent era that corresponds with the island’s demise. The characters and also the political representation of clans, border territories and rituals (as represented on the map of Easter Island and also within the narrative) are entirely fictional, although some of the names of characters and villages can be found in, or are adapted from, historical texts. The version of events, as it unfolds within this novella, is the result of my imagination. In this, I know I have taken liberties and hope that the many academics and purists who are passionate about the island’s history and its enigmatic mysteries will forgive me. The prologue and epilogue that frame the main text of the novella are designed to mirror language used by Mrs Katherine Routledge in her published anthropological study of Easter Island The Mystery of Easter Island (1919). The use of some phrases and words, such as the word ‘natives’ and the cook’s response to the lack of wood on the island, are purposeful and reflect the accounts in Routledge’s own published notes.

Denise Beckton

Map of Easter Island

Characters

* = main characters

Matua The first chief and founder of Te Pito te Hehua The seven scouts Matua’s trusted warriors – who he sent to find the island (carved as statues in Ahu Akivi) *Matatahi One of the three Ivi Atua priests (the most powerful high priests on the island) Moro One of the three Ivi Atua priests Tuma One of the three Ivi Atua priests Tea Tomi Priestess (in Anakena) Rika Tomi Priestess (in Anakena) Miru Kaia’s father (deceased) Palani Miru’s companion Toki Palani’s son

THE NORTHERN CLANS The village of Ahu Akivi *Ariki Island chief Ana Ariki’s wife, priestess from the Timo order *Pepa Ariki’s daughter *Kaia Village slave *Hotu Ariki’s first born son and heir to Ahu Akivi *Rangi Ariki’s second son *Kena Kaia’s friend Toe Kena’s father and brother of Ariki Eva Kena’s mother and a Tomi priestess Tomuku Father of Hapai, a new baby in the village Nika Tomuku’s wife Hapai New baby in Ahu Akivi Manak Warrior – loyal to Rangi

Kao Warrior – loyal to Rangi

The village of Anakena Meheke Chief of the Anakena lands Anaken Meheke’s brother Maya Kaia’s mother (deceased) Rohan One of Meheke’s trusted warriors Keke One of Meheke’s trusted warriors Noa One of Meheke’s trusted warriors Leah Village slave

The village of Tu’u Tu Chief of Tu’u The village of Raa Rano Chief of the Raa clan

THE SOUTHERN CLANS The village of Marama Tiro Chief of the Marama tribe Kuma Tiro’s first-born son The village of Orongo Koro Chief of Orongo tribe Tana One of Koro’s many daughters – exchanged for Nea (slave from the Ahu Akivi clan) The village of Tupahotu Tupa Chief of village The village of Nguare Haroa Chief of village

Notes on Easter Island, by Mrs. Katherine Routledge, for The British Association for the Advancement of Science, The British Museum, and the Royal Geographical Society On this day, Sunday, the 29th of March, 1914.

It is hard to believe that 147 days have passed since we left Southhampton aboard the Mana and still another 63 days since our expedition’s safe arrival on Easter Island. I am happy to report that, apart from the odd storm at sea and the difficult task of avoiding ports known to harbour yellow fever, the crew has enjoyed a relatively pleasant journey at sea. We approached Easter Island from the south, where it appeared as a long grey mass through the haze of evening sunset, then made our way along the northern coast past the headland, and the many huge statues that dotted the shore, before dropping anchor in the heart of Cook’s Bay. At first, we thought that the island was uninhabited as, apart from a few stray horses, there was no sign of life and not a vestige of timber or brushwood to be seen. Bailey, our yacht’s cook, expressed our thoughts best when he said, ‘I don’t know how I am to make a fire on that island, there is no wood!’. The barren scene was perplexing given that Mother Nature had forged the curiously symmetrical island out of a mass of flowing lava, leaving fertile volcanic soil in her wake and a number of extinct craters that were now filled with an abundance of fresh water. The small triangular island had, it seemed, everything required to create, and sustain, vegetation as well as human life. It was also obvious, from the presence of the many monolithic sculptures, that the island was once home to a thriving population. All of which beggars the question – what went wrong? The question was partly answered not two weeks after we made land, when life – in the form of natives – emerged from the many hidden caves around our settlement. They approached us with spears in hand and white painted faces, which was a startling sight but, to the crew’s credit, no one reached for their gun. I shudder to think what could have happened if someone had, as they have proven themselves a gentle folk who mean no harm. In fact, it turns out that they had been observing our daily movements ever since we arrived on the island. Imagine my surprise! Me, an anthropologist, whose job it is to observe others, becoming the object of a controlled study. Luckily for us – after handing over gifts from the ship’s supply and many

displays of animated sign language that looked like a bad game of charades – they obviously decided that we were not a threat to them. One of the natives, known as Te Hana, who claimed to be the chief (or Ariki) of the island, seemed just as interested in our ways and customs as we were in his, and soon overcame his wariness to investigate everything from our clothes and tools to the workings of our ship. After a time, Te Hana was willing to share some of what he knew about his island home, including the mysteries behind the construction and movement of the many huge statues (which the natives call Maoi) and the fate of the ancestors who built them. I now understand Te Hana’s wariness of foreigners – who he blames for introducing death and disease to his people who had no immunity to the new pathogens. Unfortunately, Te Hana was unable to account for much of the island’s history before this and I fear that a great deal of knowledge of indigenous traditions has been lost over the generations. I sensed that this fact shamed Te Hana somewhat, as he tried to fill in the gaps, so to speak, by guiding us through some of the underground caves on the island – which were very impressive indeed! Most contained intricate wall carvings and painted depictions (mostly in white relief) of what appeared to be culturally specific scenes and Te Hana dramatized some of these rituals for our pleasure, with the help of his men. As a finale to this performance, Te Hana produced a large wooden tablet (approximately 40 inches high x 20 inches wide), which contained rows upon rows of intricately etched symbols, which Te Hana called Rongorongo. It was tantalizing to feel how near we were to their translation – yet how far. While Te Hana was able to translate the meaning of some of the symbols to us, our understanding was limited by our mutual language barrier and also the fact that the symbols did not seem to translate directly to words. That is, one symbol often represented a full phrase or cultural ritual rather than a phonetic sound or word that could be linked together with following symbols for meaning. I am afraid that without knowledge about these past rituals, translation of these symbols will be difficult, although I am keen to continue the quest to understand them in the hope that they will elucidate the mystery behind the demise of this amazing culture. The list below identifies the symbols that Te Hana was able to translate and I will use these as a foundation for further translations:

W cursed Y life S suffer r tears

K Gods k bird o fish t cricket

U statue q island P turtle m erupt

A boy u wind z strength W fertile

F The hidden X renewed y free f hope x ocean J flower

Chapter 1. KAIA q z W K

‘Our Island – once strong and fertile – is now cursed by the Gods.’

I know more secrets about our island and the people on it than Ariki, the island’s chief, and the priests whose job it is to record our history. It is a history that started with our journey from the sacred lands of Hiva to the island we now call home – Te Pito o Te Henua. I am called Kaia and people tell me their secrets for all sorts of reasons. I like to think that Ariki, and his eldest son Hotu, confided in me because they trusted my silence. Ariki’s younger son, however, was different. Rangi believed that because I was mute and could not speak, I must also be stupid. He thought that his secrets would be safe with a slave boy who had no voice. Rangi was right, to a point. I did not have a voice, but he was wrong about one thing – I am not stupid. I do not care what Rangi or his men think of me; in fact, I owe them a great debt. Like many others, they mistakenly thought that, because I could not speak, I could not understand their words when, in truth, I understood every word they said. I learnt early that Rangi and his men were dangerous and could not be trusted, so I gathered their secrets from a distance. Thanks to their loose tongues, I learnt where to fish for the biggest tuna and how to lure the most elusive lobsters from beneath the coral shelf. Rangi and his men took no notice of me when they discussed how to fashion spears from hard obsidian stone so I listened and watched, and learnt how to shape weapons of my own. From their whispers, I discovered the whereabouts of the many tunnels that criss-crossed, intestine-like, through the belly of the island – formed long ago when the island’s volcanoes were still active. They are hollow now and provide me with a welcome escape from village life. I explored Rangi’s caves and found many new passageways of my own – some that connected inland valleys to nearby villages, others led out to the sea and many that ended abruptly and led nowhere at all. Hotu was as different to his brother Rangi as the ocean was to the sand – and their differences were not limited to appearance. While Hotu was tall and lean with a body suited to the stamina of trekking and running, Rangi made up for his lack of height with a stocky frame of ropy muscles which saw him beat the rest of the

warriors in any show of strength. Hotu could hunt as well as Rangi but preferred to spend his time helping his father Arik find solutions to the drought that had ravaged our island. Before Hotu’s inventions, our village was barely able to feed itself. The shadow of Mount Teravaka sheltered our frond-covered huts, and shielded our crops from the sun’s fiercest rays but, like the rest of the island’s clans, we were not immune to the lack of rain. The drought gripped us like a strangling vine. The arid sand repelled what little rain fell from the sky and ran in finger-like rivulets across the dry earth and into the sea. Ground that once rippled and waved with fledgling crops of sugarcane and bananas, turned brown and cracked like fields of broken eggshells. The air was barren and hot, and pulled life from everything it touched. When there was nothing left to take, it tugged at our stomachs and we became walking shadows of our former selves. We learned to conserve energy with measured steps. Our fresh water spring was a constant trickle that provided drinking water but not enough to irrigate our crops, and we had to share what little rain fell into the lake on Mount Teravaka with the rest of the northern clans. With Hotu’s innovations though, we were able to harness enough water to drink as well as nurture our crops. He designed huge stone bowls, carved from giant boulders on the valley floor, which captured and stored rainwater. He created rock gardens around our fledgling fruit trees and sugarcane crops, which moistened the ground and held down the soil so that it did not blow away. I spent much of my own time helping Hotu and, after a while, we became friends. He was marked to succeed Ariki as chief but Hotu confided to me that, sometimes, he longed to choose his own path in life rather than take on his father’s responsibilities. I imagined that he would follow a simpler life that included his inventions and his passion for carving statues, if he had the choice. Hotu also told me of his secret and forbidden love for Nea, who was a common slave like me, and his plan to ask Ariki for his approval for them to marry. Of all the secrets I knew, though, Ariki’s were the ones that changed my life forever. He first came to see me at the end of the last dry season. He was not wearing his royal necklace or white feather headdress and, in the evening light, he looked like any other warrior from our village. My cave, which was half way up the valley slope overlooking our village, was rarely visited and I jumped at the sound of his voice. ‘I hope you will excuse me for disturbing you, Kaia,’ he said at the entrance to my cave.

I managed to collect myself, and hide my surprise before gesturing for him to sit down. ‘You are no doubt wondering why I have come to see you, Kaia?’ I could think of no reason for the chief’s visit and wondered if the visit was to punish me for something I had done, or a duty that I had failed to do. I sat opposite him and waited for his explanation. Ariki removed a tightly rolled scroll and some thin wooden boards from under his arm. The timber was a deep reddish brown, darker in colour than any timber that grew on the island. Each piece of wood was covered in a patchwork of lines and strange markings, and their surface was shiny and sealed with wax, as though the wood had just been dipped in water. Ariki laid the pieces between us and ran his hands over the arrangement of symbols. ‘Do you know what these are?’ he asked. I leaned forward to get a better look at the intricate markings. Many of the symbols looked like simple lines and rounded shapes, much the same as the random drawings that children make in the sand. Others were popular images and patterns that warriors tattooed on their bodies – markings I had inked myself, on the skin of some warriors as part of ceremonial rituals. I noticed some of the more common ones such as the symbol for strength z and fertility W, and signs of totem animals such as the turtle P, and the cricket t. There were also drawings of strange beasts and animals that I had never seen before; beasts covered with hair and mouths full of threatening teeth and creatures taller, and larger, than three warriors together. ‘No doubt you recognise some of these markings and, I’m sure, many that you do not,’ he said, as if reading my thoughts. ‘There are other places besides this island, Kaia, vast lands, far greater than ours, that lay beyond the ocean. We may call this island our home but we are not originally from here. Our true homeland is called Hiva.’ I felt his eyes assessing me and, unsure how to respond, I nodded politely. Slaves like me were not privy to such information, either spoken or written. The tablets held ‘Tapu’ – sacred business – and were forbidden to anyone but the most elite, the royal and the high priests on the island.

Was Ariki playing some sort of cruel trick that I would later be punished for, would it be relayed amongst the laughs of warriors at later fireside gatherings? The proof of his words though, no matter how fanciful, lay between us on these tablets. He ran his finger over a symbol of a four-limbed creature with feet that had no toes and a face with long curved bones that jutted out of its face like crudely fashioned spears. ‘Many mythical creatures walked our Hiva homeland, Kaia,’ he said. ‘It was a time of great prosperity, when Gods blessed us with powerful magic.’ He gazed at the tablet as though imagining happier times. I recognised a small symbol at the top of one of the larger wooden tablets. It was the same symbol that Ariki had tattooed on his cheek – the symbol that marked him our island chief E. I looked at Ariki and pointed at the image. He smiled. ‘Yes, that is the symbol for chief.’ ‘These tablets are some of the writings of our ancestors. They hold ancient records of prophecies and incantations, rituals and ceremonial teachings so that we can remember our ways and honour the Gods.’ Ariki gestured to the tablets and scrolls in front of him. ‘I came here Kaia because I need your help,’ he said. ‘I need you to transcribe the symbols on these scrolls onto wooden tablets, so that our history can be preserved.’ The cave was filled with a silence that had nothing to do with my muteness. Ariki’s tone was grave and I did not understand why he would entrust me with something so important. Why would Ariki, the chief of our village, choose me, one of the lowliest slaves in the village, for a role which should be reserved for a member of the elite or even a priest? It was true that I had a flair for drawing, and a reputation for inking initiation tattoos with a steady hand. I had even inscribed some of the designs on the great statues, but transcribing sacred scrolls was an entirely different prospect. ‘Kaia, I need this to be completely secret,’ he said. ‘No one must know that you are helping me to do this. Do you understand?’ I realised then that it was my silence that Ariki required, not my drawing skill. A steady hand paled in significance to my ability to keep a secret, although I could not think what secrets he needed to record or who he needed to keep them from. Ariki visited my cave almost every night after that. I translated the symbols from the scrolls

onto blank tablets of wood, sometimes finishing just as morning light was bleeding into the night sky, and just in time for him to make it back to the village unseen. Sometimes he would run his finger in a weaving motion along each line of the scrolls, explaining the story behind the elaborate symbols to me. He told me how our first king, Matua, left our homeland of Hiva after his priest dreamt that Matua’s soul had flown across an endless ocean to a small island in the middle of the sea. In his vision, the little island was ringed by a band of rocky outcrops that looked like shadowy freckles on the skin of the sea – an island like a belly button at the center of the world. Matua believed that the dream was a prophecy and sent seven of his bravest scouts to find the priest’s island vision and how, when he found it, Matua named our new home, Te Pito te Henua – the navel at the centre of the world. He divided the territories between his eight sons and those territories remain the same to this day. The northern lands of Anakena, Ahu Akivi, Raa and Tu’u, and the southern lands of Orongo, Marama, Tupahotu and Nguare.

* Before long, the signs for food, plants, tribes and rituals stopped swimming around my head like tadpoles in a rock pool, and I found that I could understand and read them with ease. I had uncovered the biggest secret of all, a secret reserved for priests and the elite. I had learnt to read and understand Rongorongo – the secret language of the scrolls.

Chapter 2. KAIA Y S ‘But soon all life will suffer.’

I may have known more secrets than most, but there was one person on the island who always was extra careful to hide her secrets from me. I did not take it personally though; Pepa, Ariki’s only daughter, hid her secrets from everyone. Even still, I found myself following her, curious to discover what she was so keen to hide.

Chapter 3. PEPA U q

‘As each new statue will sacrifice more of the island.’

Pepa tried to keep her temper as she watched Rangi enjoying the argument he had created between Hotu and her father. It was bad enough that Rangi was humiliating his brother, but worse still that he was doing it in the presence of Nea and Kaia. Hotu might have convinced Ariki to overlook Nea’s status as a slave, even permitted them to marry, if Rangi had not meddled. She did not trust his motives. Hotu always thought of the clan, whereas Rangi usually had his own interests at heart. Lately, she noticed that Rangi was trading more with the Marama and Orongo clans, especially the obsidian stone, which was used to make hunting tools and weapons. Hunting was not what it used to be on the island and she questioned Rangi’s reasons for trading the stone. She flinched at his smug face. He was savouring Hotu’s suffering. Rangi must have known that a public declaration of Hotu’s intentions to marry Nea would force Ariki’s hand. ‘What does it matter that she is a slave, father? We love each other,’ said Hotu. ‘It matters Hotu, because, as you well know, I must ask Nea’s father for her hand before you can marry. Nea may have been given to us at birth but she is a slave and you know that giving my blessing to a marriage with her is something that I cannot do.’ Ariki sat down on a nearby rock and looked up at Hotu. ‘You are my son Hotu’, he sighed, ‘and I want nothing more than to see you happy, but no man is above the chief. Asking Nea’s father’s permission for her hand would mean renouncing my authority.’ ‘But father, Nea’s parents were respected. Her father is a carver who helped carve one of the seven great statues that mark the entrance of Ahu Akivi.’ ‘It does not matter that her father is respected. It is not an equivalent match, the marriage would not be lawful.’ ‘Why not let him go, father?’ interrupted Rangi, smiling at Hotu as he walked between them.

‘Let him be with this worthless girl,’ he added. ‘If he is so determined to show such disrespect for the laws of the island, and for our royal line, then maybe he is not worthy of the responsibilities that his role entails?’ ‘Yes, I am sure you would love me to leave, Rangi, then you would be heir to the village,’ said Hotu. Rangi sneered. ‘It is you we are discussing here brother, not me. You, and your desire to lower yourself with this slave girl,’ he said, pointing to Nea. Hotu’s arms stiffened. ‘You forget your place brother. I do not need your opinion or permission to make decisions; this issue is none of your business.’ ‘Those are strange words indeed coming from the first-born son of a chief. A son who is so willing to discard the very laws that, as heir to the village and ultimately the island, will have to be enforced.’ Rangi turned to his father. ‘What are you going to do about this?’ ‘That’s enough from both of you,’ said Ariki, driving his staff into the rocky ground. ‘I will not have this behaviour displayed for the entire village to see. You are sons of a royal chief and you will both act like it. And Rangi, Hotu is right, you do indeed forget your place.’ Ariki turned to Hotu. ‘Nea is well liked in the village, Hotu, but the fact is, she is a slave. As the son of a chief, you are within your rights to take her for your pleasure but there will be no more talk of marriage.’ Ariki held his palm to Hotu who was about to respond. ‘That is my last word on the matter,’ he said. The tense silence that followed was broken by Pepa who walked between the scene towards Nea, who was kneeling beside Ariki. ‘Ahh, there you are Nea,’ she said. ‘I have been looking for you everywhere. I am not sure why my servant is here instead of preparing meals, but I am sure that you will not mind me taking her?’ Pepa took Nea by the arm as they passed Hotu.

‘I am sure that Hotu will need your help, Kaia. There is tortoise meat to be buried under the coals. If it is not done soon, it will be morning before we have a decent meal.’ Later, Pepa and Nea overheard Rangi talking with his men around the fire pit and laughing with his men about how he humiliated Hotu in front of Ariki. ‘He is not worthy,’ said Rangi. ‘It will not be long before my father realises that Hotu is not capable of being the next chief of this island. He spends his time tinkering with tools and making inventions while I do what is needed – hunting for food to feed our starving people.’ Rangi’s men agreed. ‘He is too weak to be chief,’ said one of the warriors. ‘He is not half the hunter you are, Rangi,’ he added. Pepa and Nea listened as Rangi and his men argued about where to find the best fish, and who was the best hunter amongst them. The next morning, Pepa headed north to one of the fishing spots favoured by Rangi’s men. She knew fishing and hunting was forbidden for women but was tired of feeling useless, and obeying the restrictive island laws. After all, when she was young, Ariki often told her that she would have been better off born a boy. That way she could have explored and hunted to her heart’s content – and been less trouble. It was all she wanted to do. She could not find Rangi’s fishing cove and decided to go to her favoured one instead. She had just navigated the steep, rocky ledge and cast her fishing line when she turned to see Kaia making his way down the cliff face behind her. Her stomach turned at the thought of being discovered. She fumbled the line and it fell into a jumbled tangle in the surf. What is he doing here? she thought. ‘If you are here to gather information for my father,’ she said, searching for the snarled line from the foam, ‘he will not thank you for finding me.’ She gathered the line and walked to the sand where Kaia stood. She sat down in front of him and squinted at him from under the shade of her hand. ‘You may tell my father what you like,’ she shrugged, ‘I do not care.’ Her eyes betrayed her words though as they darted around his face in an effort to make out Kaia’s intentions – just because he could not talk did not mean that Kaia

could not somehow let her father know her secret. She knew that Ariki would have no choice but to punish her for hunting if he found out. Pepa pulled her long legs into her chest and rested her chin on her knees. ‘It is a ridiculous and ancient law,’ she said, grabbing a handful of sand and releasing it through the funnel of her closed fist. ‘It is a law from a time when there was plenty of food to go around, when women could afford to tend to the children and gardens while men hunted,’ she added. She looked up from the growing mound of sand beneath her hand, and continued. ‘But it’s different now. Everyday it is harder to find enough food and the women in our village are going without so that they can give their share to their children. I should be helping – we all should be helping – together.’ Kaia was smiling as though amused and Pepa wondered whether he agreed with her views or not – she could not tell. In fact, she did not know much about him at all apart from the fact that he was mute, that he had been that way as a child. They used to play and explore together but now she had larger responsibilities. She wished that she was able to go unnoticed and disappear like him, but she was the daughter of a chief and secrecy was almost impossible for her now. She looked into Kaia’s strange eyes – a tessellation of greens and browns – and felt that he was an enigma just like them. They radiated an intelligence that she was sure others underestimated because he could not talk, and she thought she saw approval in them too. Did he agree that she should stand up to her father? Kaia turned from her gaze, picked up the discarded fishing twine, and cut the knotted line free. ‘I have risked getting caught for nothing,’ she said, salvaging the longer threads from the nest of twine. ‘I can’t even manage to cast a simple line,’ she said, pointing to the mess of line. Kaia reached into his pouch and took out a reel of his own fine twine, some dried fish bait and two small bone hooks. Pepa took one of Kaia’s hooks and carefully touched the finely carved point. ‘What sort of baby fish are you hoping to catch with this?’ she laughed. Kaia ignored her mocking and chewed the dried fish until it was soft enough to bait, then gestured for the hook before securing it to the line. The sheltering rocks and shy

waters of the cove provided the perfect hiding place for the sweet-tasting Tomito fish but the silver-skinned fish swam faster than the water could move. Kaia had designed his hooks and line to float just below the water’s surface where it would attract the fast-moving fish. Pepa put her hands on her hips and shook her head. ‘Your line is very fine,’ she said, ‘and the hooks are very light. Surely it will tangle even faster than mine?’ Kaia walked past her and stalked the water’s edge until he found a good place to cast. He had barely let go of the line before it niggled between his fingers and before long the growing pile of silver treasure threatened to spill from the shore back into the sea. Soon, they had more fish than they could easily carry back to the village and Pepa began to scale them as Kaia searched for nuts and seeds, and debris that had washed ashore. Pepa had seen Kaia return from hunting with strange seeds and nuts, many times. He would give them to the boy named Kena who was slow of mind but had a gift with plants, and could make almost anything grow. ‘Can you show me how to make these hooks?’ she asked, when he returned to her side. ‘Most men in the village fish with much bigger hooks, and cast from deeper waters, since the fish closer to the coast have disappeared. But your tiny hooks have caught more than even the entire group of fishermen can manage together.’ Kaia just smiled at her and laid another pink fillet into the rapidly filling food pouch. The tide had turned and the watermark was creeping closer to them, up the beach. Pepa watched Kaia scan the impossible cliff that enclosed the cove behind them, obviously planning how he was going to get her back to the village before dark. ‘I know you understand more than you pretend to,’ she said, looking directly into Kaia’s patterned eyes, ‘and I know that you are responsible for finding many of the village’s new crops.’ Kaia met her eyes, and she gave him a dimpled grin. ‘You may have others fooled but you forget that I have known you since we were young.’ She waited for Kaia to respond in some way and then sighed. ‘I tell you what,’ said Pepa, ‘if you can keep my hunting a secret, I’ll show you how I found my way into this cove. You must be wondering, right?’

Kaia looked over his shoulder to the rocky ledge behind him and nodded. Pepa beckoned Kaia to the back of the cove where they faced a sheer wall of overhanging rocks. She moved a few stones from the base of the wall to reveal a body-sized tunnel and a sigh of stale air. ‘This tunnel can take us toward the village,’ said Pepa. Kaia looked at her as though she was either brave or stupid. It was well known that the two dormant volcanoes at either end of the island were responsible for the honeycomb of tunnels that underpinned the land, and also the deaths of many villagers who became lost in them. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ said Pepa. ‘I know the way. It is a straight line for most of the way until it forks into two directions – one to the Eastern coast and the other to our village. I’ve done it before – many times.’ They placed the rocks over the tunnel hole, snuffing out the last remnants of light, so that Kaia fumbled over the jagged rocks that jutted out from the wall until Pepa took his wrist to guided his way and Kaia twisted his hand so that their fingers laced fingers together. Pepa jumped at his touch. His strong grip was a surprise, and she wondered if he might be scared of the dark. They walked to the echoing beat of their footsteps, sloshing along the wet ground until they no longer noticed the strangeness of each other’s hand. After a while, they could see light ahead of them and the ground around them turned from black to red – the colour of Ahu Akivi land. ‘We are close to the village now,’ said Pepa. The tunnel ended in a bowl-shaped grotto that was filled with pockets of yams, corn, bananas and sugarcane. Their lush branches elbowed each other for space and fought for a share of the moon-shaped light. He could tell they had not grown naturally. They had been planted deliberately – secretly – in the sheltered burrow. Pepa sat on a stone under the entrance; a woven basket filled with fists of mulberries, soil-covered yams, corn ears and sugarcane, sat at her feet. ‘Nea filled my basket so that no one will question where I have been.’ Nea was Pepa’s only servant – the two were rarely apart. Pepa picked up the hamper and walked over to Kaia. She placed a flower in her hair and the smell of frangipani overpowered the mustiness of the cave. ‘You know we will have to be careful when we return to the village.’ Kaia nodded and Pepa felt that she did not need to ask more of him.

‘It is best if I leave first,’ she said, ‘you can circle the village and enter from the south.’ They stood together in awkward silence. Pepa sensed Kaia’s angst at not being able to communicate and felt an overwhelming desire to reassure him. She turned to meet his eyes and smiled, then kissed him on the cheek. His skin felt only slightly warm against her lips which tingled as though his cheek was scorching hot. His hazel eyes looked at her with such intensity that she could almost see words forming in them.

Chapter 4. KAIA r K

‘There will be no tears from the Gods to replace what is lost.’

Two rainless seasons passed without the birth of a child in our village. Each harvest yielded less and less food and the sun seemed to crawl its way across the cloudless sky. The drought spread like a contagion. Plants browned and curled, and receded, like a slow flowing current across the land – filling the space with empty fields, empty stomachs and empty wombs. It was as though the ground was grieving the absence of new life. So, when Nika’s baby arrived safely, a collective ripple of excitement and relief spread through the village. The boy grew strong on Nika’s milk and held onto life like a firm little mollusc on our world. His tiny limbs were plump and round, and looked strange next to our sharp bones. Sometimes, I could hear him from my cave. He squawked for food with the persistence of a chick in a nest, but we did not mind the noise, the unfamiliar sound of healthy lungs was a welcome song. The baby was unnamed, like me, and I felt a bond with him because of it – although he would have a chance of a name of his own if he passed the initiation test. We fooled ourselves into believing that the baby was safe, that we had hidden him well, but no one can hide from the Matatahi, and as sure as the relentless tide, the priest was drawn to the child, as if the baby was the moon itself. Matatahi came to initiate him in the middle of the night and I woke to the menace of warning drums that signalled a trespass on our land. He was an expected but unwanted visitor; the eldest of the three most important priests on the island – the Ivi Atua priests – who, together, yielded the most powerful magic and oversaw law and justice on the island. Everyone knew, despite the excitement and ritual of the initiation ceremony, that if the baby did not pass, Matatahi had the power to banish him to the small island of Motu Nui nearby, where he would be left to die. There was a time when the initiation ceremony was a formality, when proud fathers delivered babies to Matatahi with eager hands and mothers watched with confident smiles, knowing that their child would be handed back safely. Now babies were lucky to survive long enough to be initiated and, when they did, they were given over to Matatahi with stiff and reluctant arms and tear-stained faces.

I could hear the echo of voices rise up the valley to my cave as the villagers woke to the drums and I navigated the darkness to the exit to look. The houses were dotted here and there, as if they had tumbled down the mountainside to settle haphazardly on the valley floor below. Their thatched roofs shone like dull blue stars in the moonlight. The drums echoed from the boundary posts, sounding a relentless and dogged warning into the clear night sky. The light from torches made long orange smudges across the land as guards escorted Matatahi towards the village plaza. I could see Ariki’s white-feathered headdress, tinged blue by the moonlight, as he stood in front of the seven great moai statues that marked the village entrance. His strongest warriors gathered behind him. They carried sharpened, stone-tipped spears by their side, and these shone like lacquered insect shells in the flickering torchlight. People scurried between houses and their worried murmurs rose to meet me as I snaked my way down the valley slope. I entered through the back of the plaza and hunched behind a mound of coal where I could watch the ceremony, safely hidden from view. The seven statues were solemn and silent, watching, as always, our every move. Two young warriors climbed each of them, in turn, and placed white, pupil- shaped coral into the eye sockets so that, through them, the Gods could see. Others placed torches around the edge of the plaza, enclosing the space in a soft halo of light. Matatahi was dressed in the image of the sacred sooty tern with black and grey downy feathers around his arms and head. His body was lathered from head to toe with a thick white paste made from the bird’s dung. Next to Ariki, who was more than a head taller than the old priest, Matatahi looked hunched and withered, like a walking corpse. But an aura of power surrounded him, as though magic alone was moving his old bones. People might have called him fine once, handsome even. His face wore lines of a privileged life but, with only one eye, it took strength now to look at him straight on. Ariki led him to the plaza where, once the ceremony began, his poor eyesight would not be an issue. The Gods would guide his way. Matatahi walked to the statues and lay prone at the feet of the largest one – Maka, the effigy of the first scout, sent by Matua, to find our island. When he rose, some time later, he was altered, as if in a trance. He swayed and stumbled into the plaza and turned to face the villagers around him. ‘The Gods have blessed this village with a newborn child and only they can determine whether he will walk with us on this land between the heavens and the

underworld. Only they can decide whether he will be returned to them. It is the way of our people and, even in these dark times, keeps us strong. It appeases the Gods.’ He raised his arms to the crowd and shouted, ‘It is the will of the Gods,’ The crowd muttered their reply. ‘Let the will of the Gods be heard.’ Matatahi faced the statues. ‘Who presents this child to be initiated?’ Tomuku wrapped his arm around Nika’s shoulder as they both stepped forward. Her long black hair covered one side of her face, and blanketed the baby in her arms. ‘You are the parents of this boy?’ They nodded. Matatahi took the baby from Nika’s arms and held him high above his head. The baby cried and his arms flailed as he tried to balance on the pedestal of Matatahi’s hands. ‘Let this child be marked with red earth to bind him to this land, with the sacred white lines that link him to our Gods, and the black of the underworld, to protect him from harm.’ He placed his open hand over the baby’s crying eyes and the child’s sobs turned to whimpers, then silence. ‘Should the Gods deem him imperfect, he will be taken to the island of Motu Nui to be carved again.’ Tomuku closed his arm a little tighter around Nika. ‘May the Gods find him worthy of your clan,’ said Matatahi. ‘This is the will of the Gods.’ ‘May the will of the Gods be heard,’ recited the crowd. Matatahi looked at the boy in his arms and frowned, ran his finger down the baby’s face as if trying to capture every miniature feature, then placed the baby on a woven mat, in the centre of the plaza. He began to dance around the boy in ever-faster circles. The red dirt lifted and spun, and stuck to the priest’s bony legs like pollen- covered stamens. Nika strained against Tomuku’s body and he held her wrist to the ground to stop her from running to her child. The dust hovered above the baby, like an imminent storm, then floated back down to the ground. Matatahi lifted the boy, in turn, to each of the seven statues

before laying him in front of bowls of red, white and black paste. Again, the baby cried. It was a good sign; the child’s lungs would not need to be checked. I sunk further behind the coal pile at the thought of my own failed initiation. People did not speak of it although I had heard rumours and imagine that Matatahi did not need to paint much of my body before he found my silent flaw. Some say that when Matatahi touched my throat, a coral eye fell from the socket of one of the statues. Others say it was Ariki himself, who saved me; that he would not allow me to be banished and sent to the island of Motu Nui. But I do not believe it: what was I to him then – or now, for that matter? It is far more likely that, as a slave, I was too insignificant to bother with, and was left to fend for myself. The baby turned his head on Matatahi’s lap in an effort to find a soft place to close his heavy eyes. Matatahi paused to check each small nub of spine then ran a spear-straight line of red paste down the baby’s back. He marked the baby’s arms and legs with white lines and, with two fingers; he scooped black paste from the last bowl and painted a mask around the baby’s eyes. He had passed the final test. Tomuku released Nika’s wrist and she ran to her child. A gentle breeze, like a sigh of relief, swept through the village. Women hurried into the plaza to fuss over Nika and the baby, and the men jostled and slapped Tomuku’s back in congratulations. The distraction was timely. I was about to step out of the darkness and make my way into the crowd when I saw Ariki walking towards me. I waited behind the coal pile, expecting him to walk past at any moment, but he did not and I heard him stop to speak to someone who had crossed his path. I peered from my hiding place and saw Matatahi’s dust-covered back. ‘We have much to thank you for Matatahi. This is the first baby to be born in our village since the rain stopped. We are grateful that he is healthy.’ ‘I am glad for you,’ said Matatahi. ‘Good outcomes are rare these days.’ Matatahi looked even more tired and shrunken than before the ceremony, as though the weight of his duties had withered his skeletal frame even more. ‘I must admit, Ariki, I have come to despise these rituals which, more often than not, end badly. I have tried to put an end to them but the other Ivi Atua priests who are stuck in the past, in a time when we could afford tradition, overrule any suggestion of change. ‘I am helpless,’ he sighed.

Ariki placed a consoling hand on his shoulder and Matatahi looked past the crowd of women to the shadowy trees behind the plaza. ‘I have delivered more babies to the island of Motu Nui in my time than I care to remember, Ariki,’ said Matatahi. ‘With the lack of rain and failing crops, we cannot afford to lose our young. If the practice continues there will be no young to replace the old and dying.’ ‘I agree with you, Matatahi, things are difficult everywhere on the island, even here in Ahu Akivi where we are luckier than most. The valley soil is fertile and our local spring, together with water from mount Terevaka, supplies enough drinking water for the needs of the village. Even still, our crops have suffered and sometimes we barely have enough food to feed everyone in the village. The Northern tribes are peaceful, and we are all mindful to share our resources, but I worry about what will happen if the drought continues and water becomes scarcer.’ ‘You are wise to be concerned, Ariki. The south is not faring as well as the north. Although it is true that Rano Kau lake is substantial, and unlikely to run out of water, it is on Orongo land, and Koro, as leader of the Orongo, claims ownership to it.’ Ariki removed his headdress and rubbed his temple. ‘Surely Koro would not deprive the Tupahotu and Ngaure’s clans access to the lake, it is the only real source of fresh water close to them.’ Matatahi shrugged. ‘I have just come from the south to your village and, yes, Koro has given neighbouring tribes access to lake Rano Kau, but I fear that it comes at a cost.’ ‘A cost?’ ‘As you know, Ariki, the southern rock-strewn homelands of the Tupahotu and Ngaure are the least fertile on the island. The soil is so coarse, and thin, that the tips of black bedrock poke through the dirt. Their nomadic lifestyle caters for this, to some extent, but they do rely on trade between clans and Orongo; and on lake Rano Kau, for water.’ ‘Yes, but this has never been a problem before,’ said Ariki. ‘Their hunting tools are unparalleled and their hunting and fishing skills have always enabled them to exchange food, water and the right to hunt on neighbouring lands. Has this changed?’ ‘I believe it has. I have heard worrying rumours that Koro has been refusing to trade with either the Tupahotu or Nguare tribes.’

‘But why?’ ‘Without access to fresh water or crops, the Orongo are now in a better negotiating position, and the clans are at his mercy.’ ‘But what would Koro want to trade that he does not already have access to?’ ‘I do not know, but things have changed. I have seen it myself, during my last visit to Orongo. The Tupahotu and the Nguare now live among the Orongo, in the village, rather than their usual nomadic shelters, and Tupa and Haroa, the chiefs of Tupahotu and Nguare, follow Koro’s every step and act on his every will.’ Matatahi paused and watched as the crowd thinned around Nika and the baby. ‘Koro does not engage in negotiations unless it is guaranteed to favour him,’ he said, ‘so what have the Tupahotu and Ngaure agreed to trade? ‘I do not know, Ariki, but I believe your naming ceremony for the little one comes at a good time. Koro will arrive, along with the other tribes, for the celebration. It will be interesting to see what comes from it.’ Ariki moved closer to Matatahi and spoke in quiet murmurs. ‘I have heard other rumours, Matatahi. Talk about why the Gods are punishing us. People say that it is because the boy still walks among us, that his presence here reminds the Gods of his father’s treason, that he should have been killed along with his parents.’ Matatahi sighed. ‘It is far more likely that we are the ones being punished for discounting the prophecy as treason, simply because the boy’s father was not of royal lineage. Had we listened, and taken notice of the prophecy that he foresaw, we might not be in the position we are in now.’ Coldness spread down my body as if I had just dived into an icy ocean current. I knew that this conversation was secret business, tapu business that I should not be privy to, but something held me to the ground – told me that it was important for me to stay – and I could not pull myself away. ‘You need to quash these rumours, Ariki, before you lose the trust of your people. Hunger and uncertainty makes people tired and angry. Idle talk can be as dangerous as a drought, it makes people unpredictable.’ ‘Yes but what can I do? Any attempt to quell the talk, or punish villagers for gossip, would only create more, and serve to create the unrest that you feel is so important to prevent.’

A crease formed on Matatahi’s brow, adding another line to his already crumpled face. ‘You have only one choice Ariki – you must remove the boy from the village.’ Ariki’s hands curled into fists. ‘I will not hurt the boy, Matatahi. I did not risk so much to save him, so many years ago, only to see him killed now.’ ‘I am not suggesting that you kill the boy, Ariki, rather that you remove him from the village until the situation calms down. The new baby’s naming ceremony will be a happy time, and your clan will be celebrating. Send the boy on an errand, and have him return in time for the naming ceremony – in two moons. The villagers will be busy with preparations for the feast and will have forgotten about the rumours by the time he returns.’ Matatahi clasped Ariki’s shoulder, the way a father might comfort a son, and they walked together to the far side of the plaza. They had gone but I could not will my legs to move. I knew nothing of the prophecies, or the killings they spoke about, but their words triggered faint memories that were tucked away in a forgotten recess of my mind, memories of a different life – a life that was filled with sounds of birdsong and laughter, and the warmth and love of family. I somehow knew, instinctively, that this life and the boy that Ariki spoke of, were one and the same. And, I knew I was that boy.

Chapter 5. PEPA q m

‘The island will erupt and mourn those who refuse to listen.’

Pepa could not wipe the smile from her face. Since returning from fishing with Kaia she felt, for the first time, that it might be possible for her to make a difference. Her secret seemed to be safe with Kaia. Maybe she could fish and hunt, and contribute for once. She would have to appear less pleased with herself though if she wanted to keep her secret safe. She noticed that Rangi, who stopped her on the way to the spring that morning, seemed suspicious of her. ‘You look like the bird that has captured the worm,’ he had said, matching her stride. ‘Why are you so happy?’ ‘Is it now secret tapu on the island to be happy?’ she asked. ‘Not at all, it is just so unlike you, Pepa,’ he said, cocking an eyebrow. ‘You are usually too busy complaining about things to be happy,’ he said kicking a small stone away from his path. Pepa slowed her footsteps and turned to Rangi. ‘Well, I suppose I have a lot to complain about.’ Rangi scoffed as Pepa adjusted the water gourd on her hip. ‘I am the daughter of a chief,’ she continued, ignoring Rangi’s jeer, ‘I believe my role is to be concerned with the welfare of the people in our village.’ Rangi shrugged. ‘You do not really believe that you can help our people in any significant way do you Pepa? I think the villagers will be in safer hands if you leave the more important problems to me – don’t you?’ Pepa shook her head at the all too familiar message behind Rangi’s words. He still could not grasp that she was no threat to his quest for power, or that his claim to it was slim at best since Hotu was Ariki’s rightful heir. ‘I am sure you mean to say the problems that Ariki, your father, and Hotu your brother, face?’ ‘Of course, Pepa,’ he said, smiling, but Pepa could hear the mocking in his tone. ‘But the time will come, possibly sooner than you think, when Ariki will need

wise advice, and I do not think that you will be the first one he approaches for help, do you?’ Pepa wondered what event could possibly spur Ariki to seek anyone’s advice. ‘And I suppose you think that person will be you?’ Pepa asked. ‘You may joke Pepa, but not everyone sees the situation as you do.’ Rangi spoke through his teeth, ‘I have heard whisperings that the Marama, for one, think Ariki weak. They feel, like I do, that Ariki should be showing greater leadership over the clans to make sure that the resources are shared equally.’ ‘And some would say that you are spending too much time in the company of Marama warriors, Rangi,’ replied Pepa. ‘There is no reason for any one clan to control resources,’ she added. ‘If we trade fairly, as Ariki states, then we should be able to help each other through the worst of the drought – all the clans have resources worthy of sharing. The Marama, for my liking, are far too interested in themselves to be concerned with the rest of the island – too busy building bigger and bigger statues, and convincing the clans that worshiping them will solve the island’s problems. If you ask me,’ she continued, ‘the Marama are responsible for much of the devastation on the island. They have cut down most of the island’s trees to transport their statues, and they are responsible for creating much of the tension that exists on the island.’ Rangi smirked. ‘You are starting to sound like father, Pepa.’ ‘Statues cannot tend our crops, Rangi,’ replied Pepa, taken aback by Rangi’s comment, ‘or provide water for our villages and, as Ariki’s son, I would expect you to share his opinion. Can’t you see that the Marama are not in the least interested in distributing the island’s resources equally? Is it not obvious that they are hoarding resources by peddling their worthless statues in exchange for items such as weapons from the south?’ Rangi shrugged. ‘They are just preparing their village like everyone else.’ ‘Tell me Rangi,’ Pepa said placing her free hand on her hip, ‘what is it that Marama is preparing for? Why do they need so many weapons?’ Rangi lifted his chin at Pepa as if defending a challenge. ‘How am I supposed to know?’ he asked. He pointed to the empty water gourd that hung from Pepa’s arm. ‘And I think it is best that you also stick to what you know and finish your chores.’

He turned and started to walk away but called back to her over his shoulder. ‘You will serve the village best by helping to collect water and tending crops, rather than having an opinion on things that you do not know about,’ he said. ‘I would hate you to get into trouble for something that you should not be doing.’ Pepa could hear him laugh to himself as he walked away. She felt her stomach turn. Did he know that she had been hunting? How could he? Only Nea and Kaia knew. Her thoughts turned to them. She trusted that Nea would keep her secret but could she trust Kaia? So much about him was a mystery; what did she really know about him after all – apart from his role as a village slave? Lately, she found herself absently looking for him in the village – when she was helping to weed the crops, or visiting some of the elders that he helped to care for. When she did happen to see him, her heart would jump unexpectedly, and she would turn away, even though she wanted nothing more but to keep looking at him. More than once, she saw her father head towards Kaia’s cave after dark, and noticed that, at times, Kaia was strangely absent – like at the initiation ceremony, the night before. Sometimes she had tried to follow him, to see where he hunted for fish, and which palm trees he favoured for collecting nuts, but she could never keep up and always lost his trail before he even left the village boundary. There were so many unanswered questions about him that she wondered, again, if he really could be trusted. She wondered why he was unable to speak and where he had come from. And why her father seemed to privilege him so? Her faint memories of Kaia as a child were not enough to answer her questions. Her memories were from a time when she was also very young and she could not grasp the events that unfolded. She had a clear memory of giving Kaia a white frangipani flower as a child. She remembered that he was very sad although she could not pinpoint exactly why. She had questioned her father about the memory until Ariki forbade her from talking about Kaia with him. But his refusal to talk about him only made her want to know more. She was still thinking of Kaia when she arrived at the spring. Pepa walked over to Nea who was busy collecting the herbs that grew wild in the moist soil nearby. ‘What is wrong,’ asked Nea as Pepa approached. ‘I think that Rangi knows I have been hunting,’ whispered Pepa. Nea placed the herbs in her basket as she faced Pepa. ‘But how could he? We were so careful?’

Pepa shrugged. ‘Do you think Kaia told Ariki?’ asked Pepa. ‘How could he, Pepa, he cannot speak? And, anyway, why would he?’ Pepa shrugged again and looked down at the ripple of water that spread over the rocks close to the spring. Nea smiled. ‘Anyway, even if Kaia could speak, Kaia would never betray you,’ said Nea, grasping Pepa’s fingers with her own. ‘Do you really think so?’ ‘Yes,’ nodded Nea. ‘Why would he do something like that when it is obvious that he likes you?’ Pepa could feel herself redden. ‘Kaia cannot take his eyes away from you Pepa. Surely you have noticed? She did not answer; she did not need to. Pepa never could hide her feelings from Nea – the girl may have been her slave, but she was also her closest friend, and knew her too well. ‘You like him, don’t you?’ Pepa nodded. ‘I envy you,’ she said. ‘There are some benefits to being Ariki’s daughter. At least you have a chance of being with Kaia. You can choose who you love. Hotu does not have that same freedom.’ Pepa looked up and saw the pain in Nea’s eyes. ‘Do not fret, Nea,’ she said, squeezing her hand. ‘I am sure that, with time, we can convince Ariki to change his mind.’ Nea smiled. ‘I pray that we are both blessed with what we wish for.’

Chapter 6. KAIA u k

‘The wind will lull and the birds quieten, when the end is near.’

I woke to the smell of smoke and wisps of grey haze that had pooled in the hollows of my cave. I rushed to the entrance to check the village below. I was still foggy from a restless night filled with strange dreams and I shook off the remnants of sleep as I stumbled out of the cave. Although we learnt to recognise and prepare for fire from an early age, we feared and respected it just the same, as it could rip though and destroy a village in moments. I breathed in the crisp morning air and smelt the smouldering undertones of toromiro wood and knew that the village was safe. My racing heart began to slow. The village was safe. Toromiro wood was used for celebration. The fire would burn until the naming ceremony, in two nights time, when elite members from each tribe would come to welcome and name the new baby. News of celebration travelled quickly on the island and members of the elite rarely missed the opportunity to share a free meal. Soon, villagers from every clan on the island would be arriving and there was much to prepare before they came. I could see the pale flames of the celebratory fire below blend with the lightening sky. The flickering light illuminated the villagers as they moved, like nesting birds, between their houses and the fire pit. Slaves did most of the heavy lifting in the village and I expected a day of hard work ahead of me. I gathered my blade, water gourd and some pieces of dried tuna, and made my way down to the village. Ariki stood behind the flames, his white plumes distorted by the shimmering heat and dancing in the flames. He was talking to Pepa and, as I walked closer, I could tell that their discussion was a heated one. Her arms flailed around, animating her words, and her glossy plaited hair fell like thick rope over her shoulder, swinging loosely over her long woven coat as she spoke. They were alone and I suspected, from their raised voices, that others had abandoned the fire so that Ariki could save face and argue with his daughter in private. ‘You know the laws, Pepa, it is ridiculous for you to even ask me. I’ve told you before, the answer is no.’

Ariki spoke with the weariness of someone who had argued a point, over and over. ‘You should know, better than anyone, that it is one thing to play at hunting as a child, but you are of age now. You know that it is forbidden for women to hunt and fish.’ Pepa clenched the shaft of her spear so that her knuckles turned white. ‘And you know, as well as I do father, that the old laws are stupid. They were made for a time when we could afford for women to be idle, to make beads and dig for yams.’ Her lean build reinforced her status as the daughter of a chief and I knew that it was guilt as well as kindness that drove her – guilt that she would never go hungry, while others around her suffered. ‘We should be teaching woman and children to hunt, not to weave baskets,’ she sighed. ‘I could be just as good at hunting as any of the warriors in this village.’ ‘I’m sorry Pepa but I cannot allow it. What you ask is against our laws. It is tapu for women to hunt.’ I could see every muscle tense in Pepa’s body until she was as stony and unyielding as the moai statues that loomed above us. I did not need to wonder who had told Ariki and I immediately thought of Rangi. Did he know about me too, that I helped her? ‘Well maybe the laws need to be changed, father.’ She aimed her spear at the pile of toromiro wood next to the fire and it lodged into the wizened wood with a twang. My hand moved instinctively towards her as she walked past the fire. I had an overwhelming desire to touch her, to soothe her frustration, and embrace her, but she did not look at me as she passed and my skin prickled as her arm brushed mine. Ariki leaned against his spear and, despite the fact that morning dew still glistened at his feet, looked as though he had already endured a full day of responsibilities. ‘Ahh, Kaia,’ he sighed. ‘You are just in time.’ I could see shadows, dark and full, under his eyes. ‘It is not enough that I have seen that my daughter has been hunting; we are not even near ready to hold the naming ceremony, in only two moons. There is no telling when clans will start arriving or how much food we will need to feed them. I

want you to go to the Raa lands where the large tuna runs on the cold currents. We will need as much fish as they can spare. ‘Take this,’ he said, pulling a tightly wrapped banana scroll from his loincloth and handing it to me. ‘It contains an invitation for Rano, Raa’s chief, and members of his clan, to attend the naming ceremony. My seal will give you the protection you will need to travel the island; you can escort Rano and his clan back here for the naming ceremony, in two moons.’ Two moons. A small part of me must have considered, at least, that Ariki’s secret conversation with Matatahi was about me, but hearing him repeat them made my legs weak as they and echoed through my brain - louder than the sound of village warning drums. It made sense for Ariki to send me to the Raa lands. Hotu and Rangi would have already left for the villages of Marama and Orongo, territories where my presence would not be tolerated; where only an invitation from Ariki’s eldest sons would be acceptable. Ariki, however, shared a good rapport with Rano, the chief of the Raa clan, and I was confident that I would be able to enter his lands, especially with a message from Ariki. I gathered my things and left at sunrise the next morning. The valley pointed, like a diminishing arrow, towards the northern lands. I had the freedom to explore and hunt around the village of Ahu Akivi but my discovery of the many tunnels under the island meant that I also knew most areas of the island. The sun prickled and bit, like a bothersome ant, on the back of my neck. I had a long distance ahead and stayed in the mountain’s shadow as much as I could, falling into a loping run in the hope that I would outpace the heat. I checked for holes and depressions on the ground. They were common next to the valley slopes – and the cause of many sprains and broken ankles. I hopped between them as though the ground beneath my feet was already hot on my bare soles. The scroll bounced and bumped against my thigh with every step and reminded me, nagged me even, that I was carrying Ariki’s scrolls – and I wondered if any of them mentioned me. When the sun was above me, I stopped to rest at a squat clump of bushes. The branches were thin and spindly with only a handful of leaves clinging to each branch. These provided scant shade but, with my back against their trunks, I had enough shelter to escape the worst of the heat. I shrugged my food pouch from my shoulder,

emptying the contents of fish, yams and berries. The sharp smell of salted fish filled the air. I bit into a fillet and followed it with a berry. I loosened the scroll at my waist and wondered about the message it contained, and how it related to me. I untied the cord, studying my hands as they worked the knot. I knew that it was wrong but I couldn’t will my fingers to stop. The scroll was bordered with the filigreed symbols that represented powerful magic – including images of birds in flight and the all-seeing, mask-like eyes of the Gods. I read:

Rano – my brother. I hope this message finds you well, and that the Gods have blessed your clan with a season of bountiful food and good health. I send happy news of a successful initiation in our village, and I invite the Raa elite, of your choosing, to feast with us in celebration, at sunset – after two moons have passed, to welcome the new baby with a name.

The message ended with Ariki’s mark, his signature and, as I rolled it back up, a smaller parchment peeled away and fell at my feet. The scroll was delicate and thin, and addressed to Raa, but the symbols on it were etched with less care than those on the invitation, as though written in a hurry and addressed to a friend.

Brother, The naming ceremony is a timely omen. There is much for us to discuss. Matatahi has news from the south where the Tupahotu and Nguare clans have joined with the Orongo tribe. Koro’s motives are unclear but we cannot underestimate his hunger for power. The northern clans must attend the naming ceremony. With a show of unity from the northern clans, he will have no choice but to explain his actions in front of Matatahi and the Ivi Atua priests. The boy who brings you this message is much grown from the one who came to our village many years ago. You may not recognise him from the small child I saved, many moons ago, although I think you will agree that he has grown to look like his father, the one his followers called Miru. He shares his father’s broad stature and strong brow. He mirrors the same dimpled chin and high cheekbones that some took as confirmation that his father was a descendant of the ancient Honga lineage who, as you know, were known for their strong magic.

The boy has lived his childhood as a Kio slave and has been mute since the traumatic death of his parents. He shows no recollection of the events and, with the passing of time, the villagers have also forgotten. He is not seen as a threat in the way that his father was and, I have, with much guilt, allowed him to be treated as a slave, with all that this entails, in order to maintain peace in the village and to keep him safe. He is known in the village as Kaia. I send him to you, Rano, with the hope that he reminds you of our past actions – or rather, our lack of them. I remember that, like me, you were unsettled about how events played out in the end. I often think about what might have happened had we intervened, had we listened to the prophecy that Miru presented, instead of allowing our fear and the arrogance of others to dictate his fate. I often wonder where we would be now had I evoked my authority over the southern lands, and ensured his safety; had I not let the priests and those who felt threatened by him decide the outcome. There would have been conflict, no doubt, but would my support have ensured the island’s safety, as Miru predicted? I often wonder where we would be now had we heeded his vision, and followed his advice. It is ironic that the very prediction he foresaw, should we fail to heed his advice, now seems to be coming true. I send Miru’s son to you, Rano, with the hope that you can help me to rectify the mistakes of the past, and avoid the worst of Miru’s prophecy – which, to all accounts, seems to be coming true.

Although I had expected the scrolls to include some information about me, it was still a shock to read what they contained. I squinted my eyes shut and willed myself to concentrate on earlier times, on the events written on the scrolls, on what my parents might have looked like. Images of my childhood flashed before my eyes and I saw the familiar faces of Ariki, Hotu and Kena. But it was Pepa who featured in almost every scene; as a child with a toothless grin, and of her running – her hair flying behind her as she tried to keep up with the older boys and, then, more recent images of her as a young woman with feminine curves. Amongst the myriad of images, however, one memory of Pepa stood out above the others. It was a recollection of us when we were young. We were facing each other on a cliff’s edge – I could still remember the sound of waves crashing against the rocks

below me. As Pepa looked at me, a worried crease divided her smooth forehead, and I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness, a feeling that something terrible had just occurred even though Pepa was not crying. She touched my shoulder with one hand and handed me a white frangipani flower with the other. The memory triggered a faint fragrance of frangipani and the certainty that she had given me the flower because my parents had just died. I had no memory of my parents or of their death. It was as though they, along with the events that surrounded them, had been wiped from my memory and replaced with a panicky feeling of loss and an aching stain of sadness. The more I tried to remember their faces, or anything about them, the more fragmented my memories became. The air was still and silent and I wanted to fill it with screams. Instead, a leak of warm tears slid down my face. I picked up stones from around my feet and threw them as far as I could, until I could throw no more, and fell to the ground. I will find out who my parents were, I promised myself. And, what happened to them. I will find out where I belong. I re-rolled the scrolls and slung my pouch across my shoulder. By the time I reached the coral-covered rocks that marked the edges of Raa territory, the sun’s rays cut like sharp fingernails down my back. I crossed a series of jagged peaks and bluffs that faced the sea, and a cooling mist rose from the breaking waves and soothed my skin. The wind from the north was relentless. It moaned and blew, and lifted the foamy white tops from the waves until the salty froth floated through the air like miniature clouds. Even the reedy grasses flattened to the ground as though bowing in awe to its power. The Raa clan had learnt, long ago, to surrender rather than fight it by planting hardy grains and fishing whenever there was a lull. Looking below, I could see men wearing tethered shoes and little else standing in the spaces between the black rocks. Their sinewy legs rippled in the sun as they braced their feet against the rocks and pulled, what seemed to be, endless ropes from the sea. Several huge fish lay glistening and gasping next to the men. Rano was standing at the tip of the bluff, the wind’s invisible hands pushing him back from the cliff’s edge. His white hair danced in snarls around his head. He was watching for the tell-tale lines of white foam in the distance, for these signalled a run of tuna.

He turned to me and raised his callused palm to his forehead, the sign of welcome and protection to friends entering tribal lands. I returned his gesture with a low bow and offered Ariki’s message to him. He opened the scrolls and skimmed over the Ariki’s invitation then read the other note, more slowly. A furrow, like a bird’s footprint, formed between his eyes as he tracked the symbols across the scroll. He looked up and did the same to my features as though my face was something that could also be read. ‘You are called Kaia?’, he asked. I nodded. He shielded his eyes with his hand and looked at the setting sun. Golden threads spilled from its base as it touched the water, as though the sun was pouring its golden contents into the sea. ‘You have travelled far and must be weary, Kaia.’ He walked to the edge of the cliff and whistled a high-pitched note into the wind and a series of whistles returned, fractured by the buffering wind. ‘It will be a clear and bright night,’ said Rano, as he turned and we walked towards the village. ‘The wind has chased the clouds from the sky.’ He clasped my shoulder with his callused hand and walked me to a hut of my own. It was inside the village boundary but separate to the settlement of slaves. The cave was small and, apart from some grass matting, bare of furniture. I laid my head on the matting, expecting to rest but woke, sometime later, to the sound of villagers making their way to the fire pit where the evening meal was being pulled from the buried stone ovens. ‘We have the best fishing grounds for tuna,’ said Rano proudly. ‘And even though the season is short, the fish has kept many of my people from starving.’ He handed me a fish parcel wrapped in straps of fire-scorched seaweed. Fresh tuna was reserved for the royal and the elite members of our village and I had never tasted it before; the rich flavour of smoked seaweed lingered on my tongue. ‘You have not eaten this fish before?’ I shook my head. ‘You have not suffered for the lack of it Kaia,’ Rano reached over and clasped my arm. ‘You have the muscles and frame of a warrior – you have been well fed?’

It was a statement more than a question and I had to agree. I had not overly suffered as a slave under Ariki’s watch. ‘Ariki is a good man,’ he said. ‘Whatever you hear, Kaia, remember that Ariki, as the direct descendant of Matua, and chief of the island, had an obligation to keep the peace and look after the best interests of everyone. He did his best with a bad situation. Whatever you hear, Kaia, you must know that Ariki is not to blame, you must know that he tried to make sure no harm came to you.’ I chewed slowly as I tried to make sense of Rano’s words, and wondered if he considered that I was the bad situation he mentioned. His words felt like a message although they were cryptic to me, like I was grasping for answers that were just out of my reach.

Chapter 7. KAIA

U K

‘Beware of those who make statues of themselves as Gods.’

The harsh Raa lifestyle meant that Rano and his clan were fit, and so we made our return to my homeland by early morning. The air was dark and still as if the night was holding its breath in wait for the sun. Although fingers of light stretched down the mountain slope and across the valley floor, the village was still cloaked in darkness and looked eerie against the lightening sky, as though it had been swallowed by a fallen raincloud. I was keen to rest before the naming ceremony that evening so left Rano at Ahu Akivi and made my way to my cave. Kena was waiting for me at my cave. His hair was matted into prickle-like mounds above his head. He jumped on his toes and clapped his hands when he saw me coming, making sharp, angled shadows against the rising sun. Nobody quite knew what to do with Kena. Matatahi would have decided his fate, long ago, had he been born deformed but, at birth, Kena was rosy-cheeked and healthy. I often wondered if banishment to Motu Nui might have been a kinder fate for him after he nearly drowned. Most villagers thought so but, in the face of Toe and Eva’s grief at losing their only child, Ariki could not send him away. Kena was Ariki’s nephew, after all. I was glad he saved Kena; he was now like family to me. The villagers have also come to accept and even respect him as he has a gift for growing things and can nurture even the most ailing plants and animals back to life. Eva and Toe were now too old to care for him alone, and I was the only one who could settle Kena’s temper. I could tell when he was happy, hurt or needed something. I would have allowed him to follow me regardless but, as Ariki’s nephew, Kena’s company afforded me a measure of protection, especially from Rangi and his men. Kena carried his pouch in his hands and I made a note to check that he had not filled it with objects from my cave – he had a particular fetish for my flint stones. The village was still asleep so I raised my finger to my lips. He raised his finger and copied my gesture. ‘Shhh,’ he said.. He lifted a water bucket at his feet and held it out to me.

‘Waat.’ Kena wanted to collect water with me – so much for a rest. I nodded. There were plenty of chores to do before the ceremony and collecting water from Mount Terevaka was one of them. Kena shuffled up the hill, ahead of me. We made a strange pair – Kena’s bent body and my silence. He was several seasons older than me but people always assumed I was the eldest, as his wasted body and slow mind made him seem much younger than he really was. The top of the mountain was shaped like an open hand and its palm held the only real source of water for the northern lands. After two seasons of drought though, it was receding fast. By the time we walked over the summit lip, the dawn-lit silhouettes of slaves from these tribes were already dotted around the water’s edge. Kena pointed to a silhouette. ‘Neeeee,’ I smiled and nodded, thinking. Kena had spotted Nea at the water’s edge. The gourds clinked and twisted together as he ran down the gully – his awkward body a tumble of arms and legs. ‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite prince. How are you, Kena?’ Nea laughed and untangled the gourds from Kena’s back. There was beauty in her movements as though every action was part of a ritual dance. Kena pointed to me as though introducing me to Nea for the first time. ‘Kaa,’ he stuttered. Nea bowed. ‘How are you, Kaia?’ She looked at the water and sighed. ‘We will need to start boiling it soon, I think,’ she said, filling one of the larger gourds with murky water from the lake. ‘If the Gods do not bless us with rain soon,’ she said, ‘we will be forced to find water elsewhere.’ The village spring was not enough to supply everyone in the northern clans and, if Mt. Teravaka ran out of water, we would all have to negotiate with, and be at the mercy of, the Marama and Orongo clans. I am sure that I was not the only person praying for rain.

By the time we returned to the village, most of the warriors had set out to fish for Toremo, which were large and meaty and could be relied upon to fill the many plates and bellies that were expected to attend the naming ceremony later that evening. I headed further north where the oceans were notoriously rough but where I knew I would be alone. The tide was so low that I could see the pointed tips of the outer reef jutting out of the ocean like the fingers of a drowning man. Most mornings, on this part of the island, the wind started as a whisper at sunrise then became a scream by the time the sun was high in the sky. It pushed the waves towards the coastline and made the return swim to shore twice as hard. But the ocean was calm today. My body was stiff and tired after my journey to the Raa lands, but the swim gave me time to think about my parents, the secrets that had been kept from me, and the ones I still did not know. The injustice of it gave my weary bones false strength and I wanted to fight someone, or something, with it to prove that I was somebody, that I was as good a hunter as any warrior in the village. That I was more than just a slave. I dived into the waves and, as my arms fought against the sweeping current, the churning sea seemed to calm and change. Even though I was aware of my arms paddling through the rough ocean waves, the vision in front of me looked like a lake. The image was fleeting at first then became clear. I knew this place well – it was lake Rano Kau, on Orongo territory. I should have been frightened, surprised even, but the vision felt natural as though they were as much a part of me as my dreams. The lake was surrounded by chanting warriors from the Orongo, Tupahotu and Nguare tribes and, in my vision, I walked unseen among them: ‘Koro…Koro…Koro.’ Koro, the chief of the Orongo tribe, rose from his carved-stone throne at the water’s edge and held his hands up to the crowd. ‘It is a great pleasure to see that we, the southern tribes, are united in our struggle to share the island resources in a way that is fair and equitable to us all.’ I looked behind me and noticed that there were no warriors from any of the northern tribes. ‘It is a shame that the Northern tribes do not share this view, and it is clear that Ariki who, by lineage, claims chiefdom of the island, has access to the most fertile

lands on the island – the only lands that are capable of providing enough food for everyone on the island to survive. It seems that he has no plans to ensure that other clans have access to grow food on these lands.’ A collective and disgruntled murmur travelled around the lake. ‘This injustice cannot be solved by exchange, or bartering between tribes, and it is not in Ariki’s interests to offer a solution that sees his villagers receive less food.’ Koro raised his arms to the crowd. ‘The time has come for us to stand up against this unfairness and to take control of the island’s resources, to ensure that they are distributed equally and everyone gets a fair share.’ The warriors stamped their spears, in unison, against the rocky ground. ‘It is time to combine the island as one, to make sure that we are united, and have equal access to all that the island can provide. It is the only way that we are all likely to survive the drought that the Gods have inflicted on us. Today I travel, hand in hand, with you, to Ahu Ariki where we will express these concerns at the naming ceremony.’ As quickly as the vision appeared, it blurred again and I felt myself being pulled away from the lake. My body shivered from the cold as I reached the jagged coral rocks, and I grasped the coral outcrop to steady myself. The stony reef was camouflaged with strange, rock-like shells that I had never seen. I filled my net, too distracted by my vision to pay much attention to what type of shellfish they were and tried to calm my breathing so that I could focus on what I had just seen. What did it mean? Was Koro really planning to confront Ariki? The only way I could know for sure was to return to Ahu Akivi as soon as I could.

I could hear laughter and chatter even before I entered the village and knew it had been a good hunt. It was a welcome change to the silent and hungry greeting of recent times. Women were plucking white plumes from Mahoke birds and downy wisps floated in the air, like hovering mosquitoes, around their heads. The birds were bound by their twig-like feet and hung from branches above the women’s heads. Beads of blood fell like ripe berries from their jagged necks into waiting bowls below.

A half-filled basket of silvery fish glistened in the sun, reflected in a full moon disc of light. I emptied my heaving catch of shellfish into the basket and salt water stung my back as it ran into the cuts made from the sharp-edged shells. Rivulets of watery blood formed a lattice of pink lines down my spine. I could see Rangi at the centre of a group of men talking and laughing at the far side of the plaza. He raised his spear above his head and, pausing for effect, pretended to throw it in slow motion, at an imagined target in front of him. The addition of my shellfish filled the basket and it leaned like a wilting flower. The women surrounding the basket giggled as they propped it up. Rangi looked at me and handed his spear to one of his warriors. He walked towards us and his men followed closely behind. Rangi pulled one of the shellfish from the basket and turned it slowly in his hand, then looked at me and sneered. ‘Look at what this slave has brought us,’ he smirked, holding the shell out like a gift to his men. ‘We are sent to hunt for food and what does he return with? A load of rocks for us to feed on.’ The men laughed. He held the shell to his nose and sniffed, then picked at the crust of moss that grew from the shell’s seam. ‘Is it not enough that your mere presence on this island is the cause of our famine and hunger?’ He lifted the jagged edge of the shell to my face. ‘Do you mean to poison us all in one foul swoop?’ Silence hung in the air between us like the stillness between lightning and thunder. I could not respond and Rangi knew it. He lunged without warning and I flinched as he whipped the shell in a slicing movement close to my throat. The watching crowd laughed. I could feel anger rise in my throat and I flexed my legs, pinning my feet to the ground in an effort to stop myself from lunging back at him and wiping the smirk from his face. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ The crowd parted as Ariki walked through. He stopped when he reached the basket and looked inside.

‘Where did you find these, Rangi?’ Rangi stiffened. ‘I do not need to pad my catch with rocks,’ he said, jutting his chin in my direction. ‘The slave has brought these foreign objects into our village. I would not touch them father, there is no telling what danger they present.’ Ariki took one of the larger shells and surveyed it. Like Rangi, I had never seen the shells before but did not think that they would be poisonous to eat. I held out my hand for Ariki’s shell and he passed to me. I wedged my knife into the snug edges until it cracked. A plump cushion of grey flesh sat within the shell like a dull, watery moon. The silken lump slid, in a single fluid movement, down my throat leaving a sweet aftertaste on my tongue. I opened a second shell and offered it to the chief and Rangi stepped between us. ‘You dare to present your poison to Ariki?’ he said placing his hand on the hilt of his knife. Ariki placed a hand on Rangi’s shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Rangi. I know these shells – they are safe,’ he said taking it from my hand. ‘When I was young, the elders would talk of a time when these shells were as plentiful as the grains of ocean sand,’ he said smiling, ‘when women could wade, ankle deep, out to the reef and pluck them at will. Back then they cooked the shellfish with yams and seaweed; they were considered a delicacy.’ Ariki tilted his head and let the sticky flesh slide into his mouth. The crowd was silent. ‘They are better than I imagined,’ he laughed. ‘Sweeter.’ Ariki patted me on the back. ‘There is no doubt you have captured the best haul for tonight’s naming ceremony, Kaia. You are to be congratulated. This new food is cause for celebration,’ he added. Ariki faced the crowd. ‘Kaia will stand alongside the rest of the warriors who will be honoured for their catch,’ he declared. Rangi looked impassively ahead, then signalled for his men to follow as he walked away. Soon, women were handing out some of the shellfish for people to

taste, and I walked over the discarded shells as though I were treading on the stars. For the first time, I stood alongside other honoured warriors in the village. My unmarked face stood out like a full moon on a dark night next to the men with their intricate, black tattoos – their marks of initiated warriors. Rangi and two of his warrior friends, Manak and Kao, refused to stand in line with me, and watched instead from the fringes of the plaza. Even at this distance, as women danced around us and praised the Gods, I could feel Rangi’s disapproving stare. My skin prickled, hot and hateful, like the ceremonial fire. Ariki was too busy with preparations for the naming ceremony that evening and there was no way for me to warn him about the vision I had seen while swimming that morning. I would need to somehow find a way to warn him about Koro’s plans before the ceremony began.

The air was cool but I hardly felt it as I walked up the valley to my cave. My head was heavy from the acrid smoke of the ceremonial fire and I struggled to drag one leg after the other I was so tired. I could not believe that so much had changed in such a short time. I had started the morning as a slave and ended the day a warrior – now equal to any of the men in the village. I did not have a chance to somehow warn Ariki about my vision. I stumbled into my cave and fell instantly to sleep – my head spinning from the events of the past few days and the questions that they raised. Who was I? Who were my parents? What offense did they commit that could possibly provoke their death? What was the prophecy that Matatahi and Ariki spoke about and how did it affect me? After what felt like only moments I woke, with a start. Kena was sitting near the door, humming as he concentrated on twining a piece of rope between his fingertips. A pale white mist filtered the afternoon sun, like an intricate cobweb, diffusing the sunset into a warm amber glow. In the distance I could hear the faint sounds of women preparing the last of the celebratory food in the plaza – I had slept much of the day away. ‘Wak?’ I struggled to open my eyes. Yes, I nodded.

I took the rope from Kena and held it to the light. The twine was tight and strong. I patted his arm and he grinned as though he had found a cure for the drought. I lodged my knife into my belt and gathered a stiff shawl around my shoulders to guard against the evening chill. Gulls were gathering to feed on the coast, their shrill squawk echoed in unison, like an out of tune song, from a distant shore. I imagined them circling the air, waiting for the glimmer of fish and diving, with exact precision, for the herring that rode the evening tide. Underneath the trill of birdsong, I could hear the faint shuffling of footsteps and realised that someone was outside the cave. The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Ariki was the only regular visitor apart from Kena, and he would be busy welcoming neighbouring clans to the village. One hand went to the knife on my hip, and my other to my lips to warn Kena but, in his excitement, he rushed to the entrance to see who was there. As I reached Kena, at the entrance, Manek and Kao, Rangi’s warrior friends, grabbed each of us around our necks. Kao locked his arms around my throat so that I could hardly breathe and I gulped for air like a freshly caught fish. A fearful moan escaped Kena’s mouth. Manek was holding him above the ground and his legs thrashed wildly, in search of solid ground. ‘Well, if it isn’t the two invalids,’ said Rangi, appearing from the side of my cave. ‘I should have known that I would find the two of you together.’ He looked at both of us in turn. ‘What a pathetic couple you make,’ he said. ‘And you,’ he added, pointing to Kena, ‘Ariki should have let you drown when he had the chance but he would not allow his nephew to be banished. You are an embarrassment to the Gods.’ Rangi moved closer to Kena and his lip curled, as if the air around the boy was foul. Kena struggled to free himself but his wasted muscles were no match for Manek who seemed to be relishing Kena’s panic. ‘And you,’ said Rangi, turning to me, ‘you deserve to be congratulated.’ He took my blade from my belt and turned it in front of his eyes. ‘It seems that you are one of us, now.’ My body stiffened. I was no match for three warriors without a weapon. The most I could hope for was to distract them so that Kena could escape. I braced myself against Kao’s grip and kicked, with all my strength, at Manek’s head. My foot connected and he reeled backward, holding his head. Rangi and Kao pulled me down,

pressing my head to the ground but I could not resist a smile. I could see, from the corner of my eye, that Kena had escaped and was running down the valley slope toward the village. ‘Forget the imbecile,’ yelled Rangi as Manek started to chase Kena. ‘This one, however,’ said Rangi through gritted teeth, ‘deserves our – special – attention.’ Manek and Kao pinned my arms to the ground with their knees while Rangi went inside my cave. I could hear the crash and clatter of things breaking and smashing until he returned with my knife in his hand. The tip was red, as though it has been dipped in paint, and a fine line of smoke drifted from the tip in smouldering tendrils. He must have put it in the fire. Rangi placed the blade near my face, close enough for me to smell the heat. ‘It seems only fair, don’t you think – now you are famous – that you have your own warrior tattoo?’ I jerked my head from side to side in an effort to escape the tip of the blade. Manek turned me so that my cheek was exposed. ‘Now, what shall your tattoo be?’ he said, waving the scorching knife back and forth. ‘I tell you what,’ he said, ‘I’ll make a deal with you. All you have to say is no…If you say no, I’m happy to oblige.’ Kao and Manek laughed. ‘What was that Kaia? I couldn’t quite hear what you said.’ Rangi leaned his ear close to my mouth as though I had said something that he did not hear. ‘It’s a shame you can’t tell me what Piriu you would like, but no matter,’ he sighed, ‘I am happy to choose one for you. Now let me think, what would suit you best?’ He let the question hang in the air then straddled my chest. I tried to stay as still as I could; he was enjoying my pain enough as it was and I did not want to provoke him, or cause more damage than was necessary, by moving. ‘Maybe it should be the mark of the slave? No wait, that would be too obvious, don’t you think?’ My eye flinched as the pain of the knife seared into my skin. My nostrils flared and a noise that I did not recognise, a noise that must have been my own, rose from my broken throat.

‘Of course, if it was up to my father,’ he sneered, ‘your tattoo would be some noble mark – something he mistakenly believed you worthy of. So let me remind you, and him, of what you really are; that way neither of you can fool yourselves into thinking that you, an uninitiated slave, will ever belong to this village, or this island for that matter.’ I felt my skin split as he turned the blade, twisting it to make an image of something on my cheek. I recognised the lines as they formed – Rangi had drawn the image of a baby. The message was clear. To him, I would never be a warrior; to him, I would always be uninitiated, forever a baby. The smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils, and the pain felt like he was etching the image onto my brain. I heard a voice, and thought that someone had come to save me at last – but no one came. The voice howled, deep and wounded, like the call of a roosting bird, and when Rangi wiped the blood from the blade, I closed my eyes and the world went black, and the voice faded with me. It was then that I realised the voice was my own.

I woke to Hotu, Pepa and Nea peering over me. I recognised the crisscrossed thatching of Toe and Eva’s roof above me. I was in their hut. I could hear Kena was sobbing in the corner, and Eva and Toe were trying to soothe him with calming words. I suddenly remembered Rangi and his blade and I reached for my cheek, which seared with pain, and the memory of what had happened. Hotu grabbed my wrist and placed it gently by my side. ‘You must stay still,’ he said, ‘Eva has treated it, touching will only bring on infection.’ My cheek was covered in a layer of damp material and I guessed that Eva had covered the wound with a poultice to stop infection and soothe the pain. It felt numb and cool, although I could still feel the gentle pinch of tender skin where Rangi had made his mark. The darkening sky outside hinted at the approaching night. The combination of strange and unfamiliar foods and spices, from different parts of the island, filled the air. By now everyone would be seated around the ceremonial fire. Pepa and Hotu should be there, they would be missed and questions would be asked. I tried to sit up but Hotu pressed my shoulder to the ground.

‘You need to rest for a while,’ said Nea. ‘It is best that you stay here until you get your strength back. You are safe here Kaia, you know we will not hurt you.’ She had a bowl of tea in one hand and cradled my head in the other so that I could sip it. It was stringent – laced, no doubt, with one of Eva’s medicines. I coughed and tried to swallow. Eva peered over Nea’s shoulder and nodded to the tea. ‘Try to drink it all,’ she said. ‘It will help calm your nerves, and give you strength.’ She placed her hand on my forehead. It felt cool against my flushed face. ‘Toe and I owe you a debt that we can never repay,’ said Eva. ‘Thank you for saving Kena.’ I looked over to the corner of the hut where Kena was huddled, shaking. ‘There is no telling what would have happened to him if you had not stepped in. We are just sorry that we did not make it to you in time to stop Rangi from hurting you.’ Kena must have managed, somehow, to let them know that I was in danger. My heart ached with gratitude towards him; I would have been left for dead without him. Pepa stood and began to pace the floor. ‘He should be banished from the village for this,’ she said. ‘My father will see Rangi punished for this,’ she said. She walked back and crouched over me and she placed her hand on my uninjured cheek, soothing me just as well as Eva’s poultice. Our eyes connected and I could see her pain in them, as clearly as if her face had also been cut. ‘Kaia, I hope that you will forgive us for bringing you here, but Hotu and I thought it was best. We would have taken you straight to Ariki but there is a bad feeling in the air, the clans have gathered for the naming ceremony and tensions are high.’ If the naming ceremony had begun then I was too late to warn Ariki. It was likely that Koro would soon confront him, as he did in my vision. ‘Something is wrong and I would not be surprised if Rangi is somehow involved,’ said Pepa. ‘Rangi would not have risked assaulting Kaia if he did not believe he could get away with it,’ she continued as she walked over to Hotu. Hotu patted her arm.

‘Pepa and I have no proof of this of course,’ he said, ‘until we do and the clans leave, it is safer for you to stay here.’ Eva walked over to Kena and stroked his head and he leaned into her comforting hand. ‘So you best leave now or there will be questions asked,’ she said, waving her hand to leave. ‘I will stay here,’ she said. As Hotu and Nea made their way to the entrance, Pepa kneeled by my side. She brushed my hair back from my forehead. ‘I will come back for you after the ceremony, Kaia.’ I placed my hand over hers on my forehead and our eyes met. I could not tell her how much I wanted her to stay by my side but I felt she understood. The message was as clear as symbols on any scroll.

Chapter 8. KAIA K m

‘The Gods will be so angry that the earth will erupt.’

They left the hut and the silence that remained permeated my bones. Eva’s tea was beginning to work. My muscles relaxed into the cushioned matting beneath me. Eva walked Kena to his raised crib. He curled himself into a ball as she wrapped him, cocoon-like in layers of soft brown coverings. My breathing slowed to match his snoring. Eva was considered a great seer and was responsible for rituals related to death and bad omens. I guessed she had seen a great deal in her years as a Tomi priestess and was privy to the most sacred information on the island. She checked that Kena was asleep then sat by my side, gently lifting the poultice on my cheek. It felt as though she was peeling back my skin. She added another cool layer of cream and I immediately felt its numbing effects. ‘It is not safe for you here,’ she said urgently. ‘You must leave before the ceremony ends.’ I was confused. Pepa had said that Eva’s home was, indeed, the safest place to be right now or had I imagined this? ‘You are not safe anywhere in this village now,’ she added. She walked to the entrance and checked either side of the opening before opening a small wooden chest next to the fire. She returned to my side with a reel of scrolls, the length and width of her forearm and pulled the cord that secured the bundle. ‘There is so much you do not know, Kaia – where you came from, who your parents were, the events that led to their death, and how you came to live here in Ahu Akivi. I must have looked very confused because she said, ‘You have no memory of them, I know. This is your father’s doing.’ She paused, monitoring the effect of her words. ‘He took your memory and your voice.’ she added. She grasped my arm.

‘But you must not blame him, Kaia. Your father had no choice – he did what he had to, to protect you,’ she added. ‘It has kept you safe, Kaia. You cannot tell what you do not know,’ she said. I felt I was listening to a village story, like the ones made up by mothers to put their children to sleep. I reached over and touched the age-softened paper on the ground next to her, not quite believing the truth of her tale. After all, what information could I possibly possess that would be a threat to me or anyone else, and how did she think that these scrolls would be helpful? ‘I have watched Ariki visit your cave,’ she said, ‘and long suspected that you have been helping him to scribe the scrolls.’ Eva’s eyes questioned mine, and she nodded as if I had somehow confirmed her words. ‘His secret is not as safe as he believes,’ she said. ‘This village has eyes and ears, and they are everywhere. I am afraid that in showing you the scrolls, Ariki has exposed you to great danger, Kaia. You are not supposed to be privy to such tapu, it is sacred information divined by law for only royalty, priests and the elite to see.’ I felt exposed, as though trapped on a rock in the vast ocean. My stomach fluttered with a mixture of guilt, for accessing the scrolls, and anger, at the hopelessness of my situation. I did not choose to see the scrolls, and I could not have refused his request for help, even if I had wanted to. ‘I’m sure that, in his mind, he believed he was making amends for past mistakes,’ Eva said, ‘but his actions have not helped.’ She looked towards the entrance, lost it seemed, in another time. When she turned toward me, her words were grave. She rested a hand on the scrolls. ‘Am I right, Kaia, in thinking that you can understand and read the symbols on these scrolls?’ I knew, by her searching look, that there was no point denying it. ‘I think Ariki knew you would learn quickly, just as the sand soaks up the sea.’ It did not make sense to me – why would Ariki wish me to understand the scrolls in the first place?

‘The information on these scrolls is important, Kaia. It will tell you about events of the past, and your place in it, but there is other important information that concerns you, information that is not recorded on the scrolls.’ Eva touched my hand. ‘I believe that your father gifted you when he took your voice. By taking your voice – he has made you, and your skills, invisible. People have ignored you, thought you insignificant and stupid and, because of this, your talents and abilities have been gravely underestimated. It has been your greatest protection, Kaia. And now, by giving you access to the sacred scrolls, and acknowledging you as a warrior, as he did earlier, Ariki is risking this protection. Rangi’s attack is evidence of that. It does not bode well to remind those who were threatened by your father’s power that you are his son. If they believe you have inherited even the smallest degree of his powers, your life is already in grave danger.’ Eva took a deep breath. ‘The ability to walk between the worlds of heaven and earth, and talk with our ancestors, is sacred and highly guarded. I realised my own powers and had my first vision when I was not much older than you, Kaia.’ Eva watched me as her words slowly sunk in. Surely she was mistaken. I did not have such powers. The Gods would not share their prophecies with a slave such as me…unless. I thought back to the strange vision I had while swimming – the vision of Koro at Lake Rano Kau. ‘The Anakena were known for their powerful Tomi priestesses,’ said Eva, ‘and your mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, was born into the clan. I was different; it was rare for someone my age to be accepted into the order. ‘Yes,’ she said, reading my surprise. ‘I knew your mother well. It is painful to see her likeness staring back at me with the same eyes. It is like staring into a vision, but instead of seeing a picture of the future, I am seeing memories of the past, visions that cannot be changed.’ I imagined my mother’s face, a distorted likeness of my own, from the glimpses I had seen of myself in the still water of ponds around the island. ‘My first vision,’ said Eva, ‘when my own powers were revealed, was of Maya, your mother. She was much younger than me, and much more beautiful.’ She smiled and touched my arm.

‘I foresaw her leaving our village, and meeting your father, when she was not much older than you are now. The vision, at the time, felt like a bad omen to me but I did not see the true tragedy of your parents’ union, and doubt that events would have been different, even if I had. The priests were worried that my vision might come true, so I was charged with protecting Maya. Your mother was happy under my care and, after a time, my vision was all but forgotten. We thought that the danger had passed, that we had protected her from harm but we were wrong. One day Maya ran away and left the village.’ I felt a pang of worry in my chest for the mother I had never known, and could not help. I touched Eva’s arm, urging her to fill the gaps in my memory with real events. Eva looked over to Kena, her own son. ‘Your mother left the village because she felt she had a calling, Kaia. She was born to a line of gifted priestesses, and her powers were strong and valued, and evident from a very early age. She had great empathy for people and was gifted with the ability to heal. With a single touch, she could see through peoples’ words and read the true meaning and motives behind them. By the time she reached young womanhood, she knew every herb and remedy that the island or ocean had to offer, and could heal, far beyond the skills required to make tinctures and medicines. Clans, from all over the island, brought their sick and injured to her. She had the ability to silence pain with her bare hands and heal warriors who were close to death.’ Eva sighed. ‘Her powers were great, there was no doubting it, but your mother was never satisfied with them, and always felt that she could do more. She wanted to help those suffering in other villages, those who could not make it to her. Meheke, Anakena’s chief and Maya’s father, never stopped searching for her after she left. He sent word to every village but Maya could not be found. It was as though she had vanished from the island completely. Eventually, I married Toe and moved from Anakena to Ahu Akivi. Rumours about Maya made their way to our village – fantastical tales of her living with the condemned, in the tunnels below the island.’ I had never heard of ‘the condemned’ before and pulled myself up onto my elbows to listen.

‘It is all speculation, of course, and most people believed that the condemned were a myth – a story made up by the priests to ensure that clans stay within their territories and keep away from the dangerous tunnels. ‘The condemned,’ Eva continued, ‘are said to live in the network of tunnels and caves that twist like knotted fishing nets beneath the island. There are said to be whole communities of people living there – people who have been exiled or banished from their own villages. ‘Some people have even claimed to see them as white figures in the night, who appear from and disappear to nowhere. Others say that these figures are not people, that they are the ghosts of our ancestors, checking to make sure we are following their laws. I did not pay heed to the rumours and believed, like most, that the condemned were merely a myth. I reasoned that, they would have been discovered by now if they did truly exist.’ She looked thoughtfully towards the entrance of the cave. ‘I wonder, now, if my beliefs may have been too hasty?’ She took a deep breath and turned back to me. ‘Wherever your mother went, Kaia,’ she said, ‘it was there that she met your father.’ I could feel my blood pulse at my temples. ‘I believe that your parents’ gifts will awaken in you soon, Kaia,’ said Eva, ‘and there is no telling when or what they will be. They may come gradually, or all at once, and when you least expect it. Gifts are often triggered when they are most needed.’ She smiled and leaned closer to me. ‘You may not notice them at first, as I did not, but when you do, I believe that you will be in more danger than ever.’ She paused, lost, it seemed, in memories from a different time. ‘I do not have anywhere near your mother’s powers, Kaia, however we did share the gift of visions, and one other power – the power to protect. It is the only gift I have to give you. It is one your mother would have bestowed on you herself, if she had been here in my place.’ Eva cupped her hands over my head, closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky. She murmured a stream of whispered words. I could feel her warmth as it emanated from her hands and seeped through my body, like a medicinal balm – like

the pull of the ocean current. My thoughts wandered back to the blurred vision I had while swimming, and wondered if this was the power that Eva thought would awaken in me. Her incantations stopped and I roused from her touch with the clarity of mind that comes from a long, deep sleep. Eva was watching me, and cradling the reel of scrolls as though they were a newborn. ‘My life is also in danger by giving you these,’ she said. ‘If the Ivi Atua priests discover this, I will be killed without question. Do you understand what I am saying Kaia?’ I saw the vulnerability in her silver-grey eyes and knew that she was entrusting me with her life. I nodded. ‘I do not do this for you alone,’ she added. ‘I believe that these records partly hold the key to our survival. The Gods blessed your father with the ability to see into our future. He tried to warn us, but those who had the power to act on them felt threatened by his words and offended that the Gods had not entrusted one of them with such an important message. Others chose to live in ignorance and condemn him as a charlatan. Now the island is being punished for their actions, Kaia – and you may be the only one who can change that.’ Eva fingered through the scrolls on her lap, as though skinning the husks of a corncob. She pulled a larger parchment from the bundle and ran her thumb over the author’s symbol on the top of the scroll.

‘This is my mark, u, the symbol for wind. I wrote this record about your parents.’ I could hear a tone of regret in her voice. ‘You must go to the northern lands, Kaia, to Anakena where you will be safe.’ She rolled the parchment with the rest of the scrolls and handed it to me. ‘You would do well to avoid the Marama territories, Kaia. Without Ariki’s royal seal, you will not have protection. You know the island well, I know, but there is word of an alliance between Marama and Orongo. There is no telling what their motivations are.’ Eva gently raised me until I was sitting up. Her tea, and the loss of blood, made my head spin. I regained my balance by focusing on her movements around the

hut as she gathered food, a straw sleeping mat and supplies for my journey. She placed a full satchel of supplies at my feet. ‘This is all that we can spare,’ she said apologetically. ‘There is a tincture for your wound and tea for you to brew, it will help with your pain. Take the scrolls and retrace you father’s steps, Kaia. Perhaps you can find a way to save us as well as yourself.’ I stood but then faltered under the weight of the satchel. Eva steadied me. The sound of muffled moans came from the corner of the hut as I passed Kena’s crib, and a mess of brown hair appeared from under the covers. ‘Kaia?’ Kena’s eyes were puffy and his eyes twitched as he looked at me. I ruffled his matted hair and smiled. I felt guilty about leaving him, knowing that he would be confused. I was sure that he would wander the village searching for me after I was gone. Kena lifted his arm from his coverings and offered me his pouch of treasures. I hesitated but he pushed the pouch into my hands. I took it and tied it to my belt and gave him my small pieces of flint in return. His face lit up as if the terrible earlier events were temporarily forgotten. ‘Mine?’ he said, with such clarity that it was hard for me to imagine that he ever struggled to speak. I nodded. I could hear the clunk of flint stones striking each other as I walked away from Eva’s home. With everyone at the ceremony, I felt that it was safe to return to my cave. There was not a single possession in its rightful place. Rangi and his men had upended or broken most everything. I rummaged through what was left and gathered my shawl, fishhooks and twine, a few more pieces of flint and some food. I took one last look at the clutter of mess that had been my home then stepped outside. The night was clear and bright. Slices of white moonlight bounced off the leaves paving the road ahead of me as I ran. I was still a little dizzy from Eva’s tea, and my body ached from the days of hunting with little sleep and my struggle with Rangi’s men. My cheek throbbed with every step. Even still, I made it to the far side of Mount Terevaka before I was too tired to go on. The mountain was well known for the caves that dotted its base; they were a refuge for hunters and nomads and provided

welcome relief from the sun’s harsh rays. I stumbled into one that was partly obscured by a large fallen rock and laid out Eva’s sleeping mat under the shelter of low hanging rocks. I loosened the scrolls from my waist. I longed to read them but the moon was not bright enough for me to recite the symbols. My cheek ached and, as I drifted to sleep, my head filled with thoughts of the village, my parents and symbols of stories from another place and time. I fell into a fitful sleep of intangible dreams. The most vivid ones were of Kena. We were underwater, talking. His bones were no longer bent and his voice soft and clear. He was waving for me to swim with him. ‘I am safe now, Kaia,’ he said. ‘There is no need for you to worry about me now, I can fly, like the birds, between the heavens and the earth.’ We swam together and talked – as though talking was the most natural thing in the world. The words came out in a rush as though every unsaid word between us had been saved until now, like lava from a volcano. ‘It is time for me to go,’ he said eventually, ‘time for me to leave this world.’ He turned to go and I held him by the arm, reluctant to let him go and afraid, all of a sudden, that he was leaving me forever. ‘Do not be afraid,’ he said. ‘I am free.’ Then he was gone, and I was no longer under water. Instead, I was flying over a vast ocean, with a blur of blue beneath me, and the soft melodic chirping of birds in the distance. As the scene faded, I woke to find that the noise was not a dream. The soft and melodic peeping sound echoed through the cave. I looked behind the rocks and walked outside the opening until I eventually found the source of the noise coming from inside Kena’s pouch. I scooped my hand inside the pouch lining and felt a fragile tangle of feathers and twigs – a nest. I gently lifted it out and a fledgling bird, almost old enough to take flight, lay curled and snug at its centre. Its downy feathers curled around its body like the petals of a flower bud. I recognised it instantly. The Sooty Tern, often called the messenger of the Gods, was hardly seen nowadays, and came once a year to breed, and lay a single egg, on the island of Motu Nui. Its young wings were still soft and raincloud grey. Soon they would begin to turn black to match her beak and feet. Where had Kena found it? It would not have been possible for him to swim to Motu Nui on his own. Did someone give it to him? Kena could nurture even the most

hopeless of cases. I untangled the twigs from the flyaway feathers until it was a ball of downy fuzz. I stroked the bird’s wispy grey feathers with my fingers as I thought of a name. I settled on Kapu – little raincloud, and, as she stirred, I chewed a dried berry and dropped it into her open beak. It swallowed the berry whole and chirped for more. Kapu, and the vision from the night before, left me feeling both happy and uneasy at the same time. They were treasured gifts, but there was a finality about both of them that made me long to see Kena, and to be in his company again.

Chapter 9. PEPA o P Y

‘The ocean, will take its catch of fish and turtles and abandon the forsaken land.’

Snippets of gossip and laughter reverberated around the plaza and, in the commotion, Pepa waded through the seated bodies and slipped, unnoticed, next to Nea. She was glad to be back a bit from the fire, where she was shielded by other villagers but also had a good view of everyone around it. Flames licked the air and danced across the statues, in a play of shadow and light, so that the statues appeared to move in rhythm with the conversations below them. Pepa recognised Rangi by the spiral tattoos that draped over each of his shoulders. He sat in front of her, closer to the fire, but she could not see Manak or Kao. That was odd, she thought, they were usually at his side. She could not find Hotu either. He should be here, she thought; he had left Eva’s hut before she had. Nea placed a hand on Pepa’s thigh, as if reading her thoughts, and leaned close to her ear. ‘Hotu is worried,’ she said. ‘He is checking the village boundaries.’ Pepa paused, and felt it too, a pervasive sense of danger that hung in the air, like a bird of prey – like a silent warning hidden underneath the sounds and smells of celebration. Different tastes and flavours from all over the island marinated the air with a fusion of fragrances as parcels of food glowed in the campfire embers. The overpowering smell of the spices tickled Pepa’s nose. She recognised the sweet undertones of the Moki-oo-ne fruit, found only on the Tu’u lands, and the strong, sharp smell of spiced chicken, a delicacy from Marama. The smells obscured, but did not extinguish, the subtle aroma of roasting toromiro nuts, or the sudden feeling of dread that the smell evoked. The Orongo clan had arrived. She felt Hotu slide between her and Nea. His skin was slick and hot against hers, and she could see the curve of his ribs as he panted, trying to catch his breath. ‘I ran the boundary,’ he said. ‘Orongo, Nguare and Tupahotu warriors are at every entry point to the village.’ Pepa kept her eyes focused on the heads in front of her.

‘It is not unusual for warriors to accompany the elite when clans travel Hotu,’ she said. ‘There are warriors from other tribes here too.’ ‘I know,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘But this is different. Something is wrong – I can feel it. I heard some of the warriors joking that they were looking forward to Ariki’s reaction.’ ‘Reaction to what?’ asked Pepa. ‘They mentioned something about a good trade, that Koro was going to be in a good position once he made a trade for the oldest of his many daughters, Tana.’ Pepa turned and stared at Hotu. ‘What does that mean?’ ‘I think that Koro plans to offer his daughter to Ariki – I think he is planning an exchange.’ Pepa remembered her mother talking to her about exchanges of women between clans, when she was a child. The practice used to be common generations before but had phased out in recent times. It was now told to daughters as a tale, a made up story to scare them into behaving and to make sure young girls followed the rules – or they would be taken away from their homes. ‘Nobody wants a disobedient daughter,’ she remembered her mother saying. ‘You should be careful to do as you are told, and not anger the elders, or they might just swap you for a better daughter from another village.’ The thought that such a tale was true seemed ridiculous to Pepa. ‘But that is a myth, surely, Hotu? Exchanges do not happen anymore.’ ‘It is true that the custom has long since ceased, Pepa, but it is still part of island law and clan chiefs can, if they choose, offer their daughters with the expectation of an exchange.’ ‘But no one would expect to exchange now, surely,’ she said. Hotu shrugged. ‘In times past, it ensured the purity of the royal lineage. If Koro offered his daughter, Tana, as an exchange, Ariki would have no choice but to accept Koro’s offer. They are both chiefs and therefore obliged to accept. In fact, with so many daughters, Koro could do the same with every clan on the island. Pepa was confused, ‘I do not understand, why would he offer an exchange in the first place?’ Hotu paused and Pepa felt that he was choosing his words carefully.

‘It does put our father in a difficult position,’ he said. ‘Ariki cannot refuse the exchange, to do so would revoke the law, and if he accepts, Koro has a willing spy in his daughter Tana and a hostage in…you.’ Pepa felt her stomach turn, and she adjusted her legs to sit in a more comfortable position. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I would be the obvious choice for exchange.’ She scanned the perimeter of the fire and caught Koro’s face as it appeared and disappeared behind the leaping flames. His skin the colour of the tannin-filled rivers that ran into the sea, and his eyes darted around the fire, from face to face, and every conversation. Pepa felt that he took in everything, and stored it for future use. ‘I think Koro could be looking for any excuse to incite warfare and overthrow Ariki.’ ‘Ariki would never let the situation turn to that,’ said Pepa. ‘He may not have a choice, Pepa. Koro has allies in the Tupahotu and Nguare tribes. He may have more allies for all we know.’ Pepa looked at Hotu, and felt a twinge of sorrow for him. It was not just her future that was at stake. As the eldest son, Hotu would be expected to marry Tana – even more reason for Koro to initiate the exchange. ‘You must leave Pepa, now, while you still can,’ said Hotu, ‘Koro cannot choose what he cannot see.’ ‘And Nea?’ asked Pepa. ‘She will be safer, and fewer questions would be asked, if she stays here with me. As a slave, her departure would be seen as desertion and she could be taken or killed, on sight, whereas you have your royal necklace, and do not need to carry permission to travel the island.’ Pepa held the royal necklace against her neck. ‘Nea could travel with me,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Pepa,’ said Nea, ‘but my place is with Hotu,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘I will not leave without him.’ Nea laced her fingers with Hotu’s. It was a dangerous public display, but no less dangerous than the situation that seemed to be brewing around them. Pepa looked over to Koro who was watching Ariki talk to the Ivi Atua priests. Two barrel-chested warriors from Tupahotu and Ngaure sat either side of him. His new recruits, she thought.

Their spears leaned towards each other, in front of Koro’s face, like a shield. It was a well-known, although usually unspoken, law that weapons were forbidden at ceremonies. Pepa’s skin bristled; the gesture had to be intentional, designed to insult or provoke a response. Koro had not yet noticed her in the crowd, she was sure of it. She looked at her father who wore his usual wide smile and joked as he talked with Matatahi and two of the Ivi Atua priests, as though he did not have a care in the world. He showed no sign of responding to the forbidden weapons. Either he was completely unaware of the insult, or he was choosing to deliberately ignore it, although Pepa knew that it was the latter. Ariki rose and cleared his throat, and waited for the fireside chatter to peter out. ‘Welcome my brothers and sisters,’ he said. He bowed to each of the Northern clans then turned to the far side of the fire and the Southern tribes, and bowed deeply to Koro and the warriors on either side of him. ‘I thank you for making the journey to help us celebrate the naming of our newest clan member,’ he said. ‘May the Gods bless us with many more,’ he added, bowing his head to the seven giant statues overlooking the plaza. Everyone followed Ariki and crouched forward, their foreheads touching the ground. Hotu whispered in Pepa’s ear. ‘It is time you should go now, and return to Eva’s. The warriors are not watching her hut. Take supplies from there and stay out of sight as much as you can. Make your way to the north to Anakena or the Raa lands, they are our closest allies. Ask for their protection.’ He reached for his belt, and the cord that held his water and food pouches, and handed them to her. She walked to the back through the crowd. Then ran as quickly and as quietly as she could to the closest hut. Her blood thumped in her throat, like the village warning drums, and she flattened herself against the wall until she was sure no one was following her. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave without knowing Koro’s plans, so she stayed at the hut where she could hear what was happening at the ceremonial fire. Matatahi was standing in front of the seven moai statues. He was holding Nika and Tomuku’s sleeping baby in his arms.

‘We welcome this baby, son to Nika and Tomuku, a new member of the Ahu Akivi clan.’ The Priests have met and decided on his name, which will be a reminder to us all, to care for all we hold dear on our island home, Te Pito Te Henua. The boy’s name will be Hapai – one to be cared for.’ Matatahi handed Hapai to his mother, then turned back to address the crowd. ‘There is much talk about the scarceness of food on the island,’ he said. ‘Some say that the Gods are angry at us, and that the cloudless skies and dry lands are proof of their punishment.’ He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘But this bounty of food around us now is proof that, as a people, we are strong and when we work together we have more than enough. I say that the food here tonight shows us that the Gods are not angry with us, that they have in fact blessed us, and I invite you to share this banquet with each other, in peace.’ The message in Matatahi’s words was obvious. Pepa watched as slaves scurried in all directions offering the best foods to the chiefs and priests. Had Hotu misread the potential danger? The feast seemed to go on without any issue. She was just starting to wonder whether they were wrong about Koro’s plans when, suddenly, the laughter and talk was replaced with silence. She peered around the edge of the hut and saw that Koro was standing next to Ariki, between his warriors, ready to address the hushed crowd. ‘I’m sure that you all agree that our host, Ariki, has outdone himself?’ he said, his arms open wide for the crowd to respond. He began to clap and others slowly followed with wary applause. ‘This celebration is a welcome opportunity for us, as royal sons and leaders of the island, to come together and share such a fine banquet.’ Koro’s words were an obvious insult to Ariki. He had addressed the chiefs as equal but Ariki, as Hotu Matua’s direct descendant, was the rightful leader of the island. ‘I agree with Ariki,’ he said. ‘Each clan does have their own unique foods and resources, and there is plenty of opportunity for us to share them…more equitably.’ Pepa could sense the tension around the fire. This is my cue, she thought, and took the opportunity while the focus was on Koro’s words to run back to Eva’s hut.

Her body relaxed at the thought of seeing the old woman, and listening to her wise advice, but as she neared Eva’s hut, she noticed that the cloth that covered the door was shredded, as though giant fingernails had ripped it into vertical strips. She held her breath and lifted the door. It was chaos inside, as though the hut itself had been turned upside down and its contents shaken loose. Every shelf and ledge was bare and the floor was littered with an assortment of broken baskets and beads, and opened scrolls. Pepa did not immediately see Eva, but when her eyes focused on a bundle of covers on the floor, and a puddle of blood that spread out around it. She began to panic. Pepa turned Eva’s body; it was as light as a child’s. She used her thumb to wipe a line of blood away from Eva’s mouth. ‘Kena,’ whispered Eva. ‘Help Kena.’ ‘Where is he?’ Eva reached behind her and pointed to the corner of the room. ‘Kena,’ she moaned. Pepa lowered Eva’s head gently to the floor, and slowly peeled back the bundle in the corner. Kena’s eyes were fixed, staring at nothing in particular. They were wide and confused, and unmoving. Pepa felt her body go numb, as though the blood was draining down from her head, through her body, and out of her toes. She felt heartache for Kena but also fear. Who had done this? There was every possibility that whoever had was still close by. Her fear turned to worry for Kaia. Perhaps he escaped, she thought. She scattered the litter of objects on the floor for a sign of Kaia but he was nowhere to be found. She gathered a water gourd, and some discarded nuts and yams, and wrapped them in a small fishing net and ran out of the hut. She headed North to get as far away from Ahu Akivi as she could, and to find Kaia.

Chapter 10. KAIA f A

‘Only those who place their hope in the boy will be saved.’

The thin blankets were little comfort against the packed earth of the cave and my back ached from a fitful night’s sleep. I shivered as the crisp morning air streamed through the opening of the cave and I curled like a startled bug against the chill. Kapu had nestled in the crook of my armpit and I tightened my arm around her. Her black eyes protruded from under a thin translucent veil of pink skin as she slept and her body fluttered, as gently as a butterfly’s wing; it tickled my skin as she breathed. Kena must have found the chick as an egg, although I could not see how, since Terns were only known to lay their eggs on Motu Nui. In the wild, they were left to fend for themselves at an early age. Even now, I could see that strong feathers were beginning to grow over the bird’s downy fuzz; soon it would be ready to fly and I needed to find somewhere safe for it to nest. The cold morning air stung the wound on my cheek. It was still raw and I winced as I applied a fresh layer of balm. Coils of cold fog filled the air as I breathed, and my thoughts lingered over the vivid dreams from the night before. They were so real that I woke, half-expecting to see Kena in the cave with me – talking and walking with all trace of his affliction gone. I smiled but knew it could not be – Kena could never be healed. Even though I knew it was only a dream, I could not help but feel that he was reaching out to me somehow, as if trying to tell me something important. I loosened the cord around the scrolls and they unfurled with a sigh on my lap. It was easy to tell which of the scrolls were old and which ones were recently written. The newer ones were heavy and unyielding from the sap, which had not dispersed and still starched the wood fibres. The faded symbols on the others were barely discernable and were made on bark so fine that they were translucent in the light. I had never seen the strange bark before, and I guessed that the wood no longer grew on the island. Eva’s wavy symbol, the sign for wind, graced the top of most of the scrolls but I did not recognise the signatures on the others. I had become quite good at reading the Rongorongo symbols, although some on the older scrolls were strange, and

unfamiliar to me. I separated Eva’s from the rest, and searched through her pile until I found the one about my parents, the one she had told me to read when I was safe. It was pale brown, the colour of freshly roasted nuts. I turned the scroll to find that, unlike most of the others, both sides of the parchment were completely filled with small finely inked symbols.

The one known as Miru arrived at Ahu Akivi with his wife and son, requesting to address the high Ivi Atua priests at the celebration of the second full moon of the dry season. Miru claimed to have received visions and prophecies of bad omens. He believed that these messages came from the Gods who intended them to be a warning, and who instructed him to pass them on. The following scroll records the meeting between the man called Miru, his wife Maya and the clan leaders, including the Ivi Atua high priests.

Miru: My wife Maya and I thank the Ivi Atua priests, and elders of the clans, for agreeing to see me. I am truly honoured. Moro: You go by the name of Miru, is this correct? Miru: Yes, I am called Miru. Moro: And Maya is descended from Anakena, is that right? Meheke: Maya is my daughter, as you well know, Moro. Moro: Yes, Meheke, we are aware that this meeting is a reunion of sorts for you and your daughter. Meheke: That is so. Maya’s whereabouts have been unknown to me since she disappeared from Anakena. Moro: Miru, you have asked to address the elders and clan leaders but not one of us recognises you. From which clan do you descend? Miru: I do not lay claim to any one clan or territory, my lord. I was born a free man. I am neither a slave nor one of the elite. I live a nomadic life. Koro: You say that you are not from any one clan, yet I have heard you have a following – that you have a clan, of sorts, of your own. Is it true that they refer to you as The Birdman, that they revere you as a prophet? Miru: Their devotion, as you suggest my lord, is truly misguided. I do not ask to be worshipped or followed; however, neither am I at liberty to send them away.

Like myself, these people are without clan; their only choice is a nomadic life. It is not against island law for them to live a nomadic life alongside me. Ariki: Miru is correct, Koro, the island has always made allowances for those who wish to choose a nomadic life, provided, of course, that they are not a slave or already belong to a clan, and so long as they are not inciting violence on the island. Koro: There is no crime in being a free man, Ariki, you are right, but I find it very difficult to believe that the Gods would choose this man as his messenger. Surely if there was such a message, the Gods would chose someone of importance, one of the royal family, or even an elite, for that matter. Miru: Forgive me. I cannot tell you why the Gods have chosen me as their vessel. I have no standing it is true but, for whatever reason, they have chosen me and I am compelled to deliver their message. Moro: Tell us, what is the nature of their message?

I tried to imagine what it was like for this man, supposedly my father, to present himself in front of such powerful men, or my mother with her thoughts and fears for her family’s safety as the events unfolded in front of her eyes. I closed my own eyes and willed my mind to recollect the slightest memory of their features, but nothing came.

Miru: I was visited on two occasions. On both occasions the visions appeared the moment the sky and land worlds met, and a full moon appeared in the sky. My wife, Maya, also witnessed the first vision. Ariki: Ana, my wife, tells me that Maya is a well-known priestess in her own right. She is from a long line of powerful Tomi priestesses, is that correct? Miru: That is correct my lord. I believe that Ana and Maya are distantly related and share similar gifts; they both have the ability to heal. Moro: Many people could have benefitted from your gift, Maya, had you not run away from your homeland of Anakena. Your father, for one, who has suffered for not knowing your fate. Maya: I am sorry for my father’s concern; I had no wish to cause my parents grief. But my leaving has benefitted more people than I could help had I stayed

in my own homelands, people who did not have access to any medical assistance. Moro: I assume you are talking about those referred to as The Condemned? The outcasts who are forbidden to have contact with clans due to either banishment or illness? Maya: Yes, but there are innocent people, women and children, whole communities, who live on the fringes of our island. These people have no one to help them when they are sick. Ariki: The Condemned are a separate issue, Moro, we are here to discuss Miru’s visions. Moro: How can we trust their words when they choose to live with the outcasts, and the Gods know who else? Ariki: You were telling us that Maya witnessed your vision, Miru? Moro: And she was the only person to witness it? Miru: Yes, my lord. Maya witnessed me fall into a deep trance, which to me felt like a short period of time, but lasted until the sunrise. Moro: And what did you see when you had this…vision? Miru: I saw the island from above, as though I was a bird, flying. And the island was treeless, barren and dry. The seas were empty of fish, and our people were hungry. Moro: Is it not possible that you had a dream, that these images were just a simple dream – and not a vision? What evidence do you have that it was a vision from the Gods? Miru: Maya, despite her powers, was unable to revive me from it. The images were too vivid to be a dream, as though I was living inside the vision. Maya: It is true. I have fallen into them myself many times and can recognise when someone is under a trance. I have no doubt that Miru was entranced when he experienced this vision. Miru: I admit that, at first, I was unsure myself that the vision was in fact a prophecy until I fell into a second trance and heard the warning. Moro: You heard a warning? Miru: Forgive me lord, I am only relaying the words that were spoken to me. Moro: Yes, yes, go ahead.

Miru: The voices said that the island has been infected with greed, that those responsible for destroying the island, in order to build bigger and bigger statues in their likeness, will be punished. Moro: And you believe this warning was from the Gods? Miru: I do. These are the visions and the prophecy that I foresaw. I believe that the only way that the Gods will be appeased, and the island saved, is to stop building your statues. Moro: We, as elders, will gather to consider your words. We will tell you of our verdict when we return.

The scroll ended with a final note from Eva:

Although the Anakena, Raa and Tu’u tribes called for calm leniency for Miru and his wife, the southern tribes including the Marama and Hotu Iti clans judged Miru and his wife to be traitors, and their treason worthy of death. The High Ivi priests, as arbitrators, upheld this decision and condemned Miru and his wife to death, although Matatahi and Ariki successfully claimed clemency for the child.

My muscles tensed, as hard as the rocks around me, and warm tears fell down my face. My head felt like the once volatile volcanoes on the island – as if about to explode. I closed my eyes and covered my ears with my hands to steady myself, but the walls of the cave seemed to tumble away. I opened my eyes to the sound of strange voices and in a strange location. The words swirled around me, like smoke from a dying fire, and billowed into a fully formed vision in front of my eyes. I was still on the island but no longer in the cave. I had the feeling that I was witnessing an event from a different place and time – a vision. I touched my arm – it felt real, as though I was present in the vision, even though I could not be seen. It was evening and the sun was disappearing behind the surface of the sea, transforming the water from blue to black, and creating an arc of light on the horizon. It illuminated the shiny fingernail of moon and a forest of palms that stretched out in front of me like a sea of raised arms. Their inky fronds blocked out the stars and they were still and silent in the breezeless night.

My back faced the base of a steep mountain slope that opened, like a gaping mouth, into a tunnel near my feet. The voices belonged to two men who were standing in front of me looking out to the shadowy trees. One was very old and the other not much older than myself. At first I thought they were ghosts as every part of their bodies, from their toenails to their eyelashes, was covered in a thin layer of white, as though they had walked through a finely spun spider’s web. It was clear that, while I could see and hear them, they could not see or hear me. The smaller man was no taller than a boy although he was obviously much older than his companion. His long hair was matted, like sea-weathered rope, and pulled back to expose a high forehead and hooked nose. Neither of them had markings nor tattoos that linked them to any particular tribe and I sensed, from the way the younger man spoke, that he was in command. ‘If we do not act soon to secure some of the remaining palms, it will be impossible to make enough boats for everyone to leave the island. Now that clan leaders are using the trees to move their moai during the day, it is difficult to find a time when the forest is empty of people. If we don’t act soon they will be gone, and our chance will be lost forever.’ He turned to the older man. ‘I think we must start to fell trees at night so that we are not seen.’ The older man laughed. It was infectious and full of mischief. ‘Well it’s a good thing we know a thing or two about stealth then, isn’t it, Miru?’ I saw the name form on the old man’s lip, as if he was speaking it in slow motion and also saw that, even beneath his powdery mask, the man he called Miru and I shared the same mottled green eyes and high-set cheekbones. ‘You are right, Palani, our people are experts at secrecy. My worry though is not only that we will be discovered, but that we will not be able to collect enough wood to make the boats we need.’ I followed the pair as they turned away from the forest and entered the cave. Their bodies were luminescent and glowed as if by magic, and guided my way through the lightless cave. I traced each of their footsteps, carefully marking their footfalls with my own, as we ventured deeper underground. The air became cooler and the tunnel narrowed until there was only enough room to walk in single file. The

rocks were slippery and sharp, and small rivulets of water trickled across my feet with each step so I used the cavern walls to guide my way. The men stopped and I heard the dull strike of flint followed by a flurry of sparks as they lit the series of strategically placed torches on the walls. The light revealed a wide shallow cavern that stretched into the darkness ahead. I squinted, adjusting my eyes to the scene in front of me, and realised that the floor was completely covered with what I first thought were felled logs. The timber structures were long, and the same colour as the pine trees in the forest behind us, but I realised that the wood was stripped of bark, and each piece was carved into the same curved structure – hollow and wider in the middle and tapered to a point at either end. They reminded me of the seed pods that fell from foreign trees and drifted over the ocean and onto the island’s shores. Miru walked between each row of the wooden structures. The light from his torch bounced fleetingly between the waxed surfaces and the wet cavern walls. ‘We do not have anywhere near enough boats for every clan to leave the island,’ he said, as he surveyed the collection around him. ‘We need to make more if we are to save everyone.’ Palani paused and tilted his head to Miru. ‘Is it realistic to expect to convince every clan on the island to leave?’ Miru continued to examine the detailed workmanship of each boat without raising his head to respond to Palani. ‘I expect,’ he said, ‘to make as many boats as I can so that, when the time comes, we can save as many people as possible.’ Just as Miru was finishing his sentence, his words began to fade and the vision evaporated as quickly as it had appeared. The confines of the cave took shape again before my eyes. My muscles felt drained, as though they had endured a full day of hunting and I wondered how long I had been drawn away by the dream-like images. I expected the cave to be altered, that it would be changed somehow from the vision but, apart from Kapu, who was out of her nest and stumbling around, everything, including my bedding, food and the scrolls were in exactly the same place. As I watched Kapu patter around the cave floor, a small parchment caught my eye. It must have fallen away from the larger roll. The symbols were small and drawn in such a way that they looked real, as though at any minute they might come to life and run off the edge of the parchment.

At first, I did not recognise the author’s symbol, which was a strange but beautiful plant J one that I had not seen on any other scroll. I did not have to translate much before I realised the author could only be one person – my mother.

Dear Father and Mother, I hope that, when you read this scroll, you will understand my decision to leave the village. I did not ask for this power to heal and while some may call it a gift, it sometimes feels like a burden to me. I have been able to heal people from all over the island but by leaving I can help so many more. There are people – unseen by the rest of the clans – who have no one to help them. They call to me in my visions and I feel that it is my destiny to find and help them. I hope that you eventually find it in your hearts to forgive me. Your loving daughter, Maya

I ran my hand over her flowing symbols and tried to picture her face, the shape of her eyes, her smile. I wondered, like the vision of my father, if I shared her features, too. Every sense seemed heightened. Kapu’s chirping screeched in my ears, the dappled morning light of the cave stung my eyes, and my skin felt raw to touch. Something was stirring inside me, surging through my veins. There was no doubt that Eva’s predictions about my visions were coming true. I needed to find the hidden community that my mother left Anakena for – the condemned – where she lived with my father, Miru. I rolled the scrolls and bedding then ate some of the berries and yams. I chewed a few berries for Kapu and lifted her to my mouth so she could take the softened food. I tucked her under my cloak, against my chest, and quickly packed and made my way towards the coast and the sound of breaking waves, which ricocheted through the crisp morning breeze. I hoped to find a secluded cove where I could fish and refill my supplies so I headed North. The seasonal winds that favoured this side of the island were gaining strength. The trees and reedy grasses that did manage to survive the relentless sea howl were brittle and bent, and leaned precariously towards the ground, as if desperate to escape their roots and scamper to safer land. My footsteps left impressions on few drops of dew that clung to the grass as I walked but, as I

sheltered my eyes against the rising sun, I was confident that the strengthening rays would cover my tracks.

Chapter 11. PEPA k F A

‘The sacred bird will guide the boy and the hidden.’

Pepa left Ahu Akivi and walked through the night to the Anakena lands, stopping only when she found a cave or shelter where she was hidden from view. Even then, she slept lightly and did not stay in one place for long, and kept to the coast where intermittent moonlight escaped the thick blanket of clouds. The light illuminated the white lines of breaking waves that hugged the cliffs and guided her north. By morning, the last of the clouds had loosened into spidery webs and vanished into the bright morning sky. A strengthening sea breeze blew over the land. Pepa knew the wind would pick up even more so that, when the sun was high, the wind would roar around her ears like her father’s temper. The steep, jagged rocks would be almost impossible to descend then. Most clans took the inland route to avoid the wind, which suited Pepa, as she was not keen for any chance encounters with strangers this close to the coast. She stopped at a ledge of rocks that extended, like a breaking wave, frozen in mid-air, over a cove of white sand below. The quiet inlet made her think of Kaia, who sought inlets like this one – where the sweeping currents lured fish and trapped seaweed, seeds and nuts from distant lands. Her cheeks suddenly felt hot and she smiled, remembering how he would come back from a day of foraging to the village with strange fruits and seeds. Kaia would give them to Kena who had a gift for making them grow. A pain, like a fish hook tugged at her insides as images of Kena’s lifeless body flashed before her eyes. She could not rid her mind of his last look – that gaze full of innocent surprise that stared back at her. What would happen to the garden now that Kena was dead? She swallowed the acidic taste that had lodged at the back of her throat. She would see Rangi punished for what she knew he had done. Pepa tightened the fishing net and her supplies on her back and made her way down the rocky slope using the last of her energy to tumble onto the pile of soft white sand at the base of the cliff. The cliff ledge loomed over her like a clawing hand. There was no sign that anyone had visited the cove in recent times and she felt that she was safe, at least for a while. The waves were small and broke in quick succession against the inclining shore and the hollowed out cove amplified their gentle wave-

breaks into thunderous crashes. Pepa pulled pipi shells from the rocks near the shore. They were small but with seaweed and water chestnuts they would make a meal. She looked out to sea. It was not such a great distance to the coral reef where she was sure there would be plenty of shellfish. The tide was receding, exposing shards of coral reef above the water. Maybe, she thought, I might find shellfish like those Kaia found for the naming ceremony. She took a knife and her fishing net then waded into the water. The promise of food for her supplies spurred her to swim farther than she usually dared and the cool calm water was clear enough for Pepa to see that the rocks ahead were crowded with shellfish. She wondered what her father would say if he saw her now and felt the sting of guilt as she reached the reef. She tried to put the thought out of her mind, reasoning that she was not really hunting and had little choice if she wanted to eat. Anyway, she thought, she was unlikely to be discovered on this remote part of the island. The reef was slick with moss but the shells were the size of her palm, and popped like a pulled tooth when she levered them from the rocks. The wind had picked up and the cold sea spray numbed her face. Her thighs ached from treading against the current that dragged across her feet. She wanted to fill her net with more of the shellfish, but at half full it was already weighing her down and she knew that it would take all of her strength to get what she had back to the shore. Pepa could feel that something was wrong as soon as she let go of the reef and started to swim back to shore. The current was different, and no matter how hard she swam against it she was not making any progress. The waves pulled her sideways and she had to swim hard against it just to hold her position in the water. Her arms felt like waterlogged wood as she dragged them through the water. She was cold and her blood seemed colder than the water around her as she struggled to stay calm. She had no choice but to drop the net, and watch as her treasure sank beneath her; staying alive was more important than the food. She felt all strength drain from her limbs with every stroke and felt an overwhelming desire to close her eyes. Pepa swam against her tiredness until her body succumbed to it and the current pulled her down towards her net. She fell deeper and deeper, until the water morphed from blue to a colourless blur. Just as she was ready to let go, to surrender to the current, she felt her body being lifted to the water’s surface. Bright light assaulted her eyes and she coughed up salty water as she squinted at the sunlight. She felt an arm lock around her neck from

behind. Someone, she could not see who, was holding her above the water and hauling her towards the shore. Whoever he was, he was a strong swimmer and she soon felt the welcome firmness of the sand. Before she could see who it was, she saw a flash of legs and a splash as the figure flashed past her and dived back into the ocean. When she had enough breath, she raised herself up on her elbows to see Kaia emerging from the ocean with her net of shellfish in his hands. She tried to talk between ragged breaths, to explain what had happened, but ‘thank you’ were the only words she could manage. Kaia stood over her and Pepa couldn’t help but notice how a constellation of water droplets glistened across his chest and rippled down his rippled stomach. Eva’s poultice had slipped from his face into the water and his cheek was now bleeding again. It looked sore. She wanted to help – to sooth his pain – but he walked past her, not giving her a chance to speak. Is he mad at me? ‘The current was stronger than I anticipated,’ she panted. ‘I am grateful that you found me.’ Kaia dropped the net at her feet and walked past her to the rocky cliff-face. His feet flicked up the soft sand as he walked past her and he swung his pack over his shoulder as he scaled the rocky cliff alcove. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘you can’t just leave me here. Where are you going?’ Kaia continued to scale the rugged cliff face as though deaf to her words. ‘I know that you can hear me, Kaia,’ she said angrily. ‘I know you are not deaf. Do not forget who I am or,’ she hesitated, ‘or who you are – a slave.’ She had never spoken or treated him like this before, and regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Kaia hesitated, clinging to the rock and suspended from the rocky wall, then fell reluctantly to the sand below. He moved towards her and sat next to her like a chastened dog. ‘You save me from drowning, and then leave?’ she asked. ‘As the daughter of your chief, I don’t know whether I should thank you or punish you,’ she said. She knew that Kaia would not answer, that he could not answer, but could see as he stared unfocused at the ocean that he had only returned to her because she had ordered him to.

‘I am sorry Kaia,’ she said, ‘I should not have spoken to you that way. I guess I was just scared to be on my own.’ She could tell that there was something on his mind. She wondered what he was thinking about, and felt sorry for him – sorry that he could not tell her, or anyone, his problems and sorry for all his unsaid worries, silenced hurt and isolation. She did not want to add to these by telling him that Eva and Kena were dead, but she had to let him know somehow about the danger that Koro and his men presented to him and the island. ‘I do not know what happened during the ceremony last night, Kaia, but after hearing Koro’s words, I fear the worst. I do not think it is safe for either of us to return to Ahu Akivi. I plan to seek sanctuary in the Anakena lands. You should travel with me,’ she said. ‘We will be safer together.’ Kaia reached for a twig and used it to draw an image on the firm white sand between them. g Pepa knew the symbol. It meant beware of danger. Pepa’s eyes widened, partly at the sign and what it meant but mostly at surprise that Kaia could not only scribe but seemed to understand the island’s sacred language. ‘You understand Rongorongo?’ she asked. Kaia looked at her but did not respond. In her mind, everything she knew about him seemed all of a sudden wrong, irrelevant. She had so many questions that she wanted to ask him. Like, who was he, and who had taught him to understand Rongorongo, a language reserved for the island’s elite? As long as she could remember, it had been reinforced to her, and to the rest of the village, that Kaia was a lowly slave, but it was clear to her now that he was so much more. ‘Who taught you Rongorongo?’ she asked. Kaia ignored the question and pointed again to the symbol in the sand, then to her. Pepa looked at him, her brow creasing with confusion. ‘You think that I am in danger?’ she asked. ‘I am not afraid, Kaia, I can look after myself.’ She knew at once, given her circumstances, how stupid her words sounded, especially since he had just saved her from certain death.

Kaia realised it too. He smirked and raised his eyebrows as Pepa looked away. He touched her shoulder and shook his head. He pointed again to the symbol on the sand then pointed to her. Pepa frowned. Kaia pointed to the symbol a second time and then to him. ‘You think that I am in danger if I travel with you, Kaia?’ Kaia nodded. ‘And you think that I will be safer without you?’ Kaia nodded again. ‘Even though you just saved my life?’ she asked. ‘The fact that you just saved me from drowning? And there is also the issue of your safety, I cannot see how you will be able to travel the island safely by yourself. You do not carry my father’s permission to travel the island, which means that you are in just as much danger as me.’ Pepa slid her fingers over the moon shaped wooden necklace – her royal remeiro – around her neck. ‘I am the daughter of a chief, and as long as I wear this,’ she added, lifting the remeiro, ‘we can both travel with my father’s protection.’

The wind whipped up a mist of fine sand that stung their faces and obscured their way. The sun was still, unmoving in the sky, and gazed at them from above like a stalking hawk. They ate what food would spoil first and saved the seaweed, wild blackberries and water chestnuts from the roots of rushes that grew at the water’s edge. Kaia would not meet Pepa’s eyes and responded to her when she spoke, with little more than a shrug or a slight nod. Kaia flitted like a lizard between the bushes and rocks, and moved with the ease of someone intimate with the land and Pepa soon realised that she needed him more than he needed her. She followed his lead and filled his every footstep as though each one was a comfortable shoe. They followed the coastline until the sun reached its peak, then they veered inland to travel under the shadow of the mountains that skirted the boundaries between the Tu’u and Mararma lands. Although they stayed away from the well- travelled paths, Pepa was surprised at how easy it was for them to travel undetected.

The thought worried her – it was late afternoon and they should have crossed paths with at least some of the villagers who were at the naming ceremony. Where were the elite – and, more disturbingly, where were the men? They rested in one of the many disused rock quarries hollowed out to carve moai statues. Even though they were concealed from view, the air around them tingled with a sense of foreboding. She was glad to be traveling with Kaia. He was strong and seemed to carry with him an aura of calm, like a soothing balm. The quarry was damp and cool and they were shadowed from the sun by an alcove of rocks. It was a good place for them to rest and to see to Kaia’s wound, which had split again and needed dressing. Pepa pressed a clean poultice against Kaia’s cheek, trying to concentrate on his wound as she did, but it was difficult. She kept meeting his gaze and each time it made her stomach leap. In the built up silence between them Pepa could hear a strange chirping coming from somewhere close by. ‘Can you hear that?’ she asked. The sound seemed to be coming from Kaia himself, and he smiled as she searched behind him for the source of the noise. He reached into his cloak and presented Kena’s bird to her. She gasped. ‘A sooty tern?’ she asked, reaching for the bird and giggling as it squirmed in her hand. ‘Where did you find it?’ she asked, ‘ I haven’t known one to be caught before. They are rare,’ she added. Kaia’s smile fell and he stroked the bird’s wing with two fingers. ‘It was Kena’s wasn’t it?’ Kaia nodded without looking up at her. He wore the pain of Kena’s death like a warrior’s tattoo and it tore at her heart. She lifted his chin with her finger, and then kissed him gently on the lips. Kaia clasped her fingers and kissed her back. When they parted, Pepa surveyed the rocks around her; they felt like a sanctuary to her, a world away from the threat above them. A world where she was happy to remain, for a while at least, as long as Kaia was in it. Kaia fed Kapu and placed him back under his coat while Pepa made a soup from the chestnut bulbs, shellfish and some seaweed that they had collected earlier.

They ate in the silence of the cove until Kaia placed his hand on Pepa’s knee. She jumped, and he placed his finger to his lips. Someone was close. Pepa stopped eating and tried to listen for voices behind the rustling grass. ‘Tiro has been clever, don’t you think, in forming an alliance with Orongo and, at the same time, distancing himself from his actions? No one could possibly link the chief of Marama with Koro’s actions.’ A second voice sniggered. ‘Yes Kuma, I think that you are right,’ said the voice. ‘Tiro has managed to distance himself from Koro’s actions. Your father has bought himself time now to gather his men while the Orongo tribe wins over the Northern tribes.’ Kuma laughed. ‘Yes, and I am sure his plan to win over the clans should not take too long.’ Pepa recognised the name of one of the speakers: Kuma. He was the only son of Tiro, the chief of Marama. Kuma was only slightly older than Pepa, but even as a child he thought himself superior to the other children from neighbouring clans. He always took pleasure in hurting the smaller children when the clans played together, and took every opportunity to bully those he considered weaker than himself. In his mind, all of the northern tribes were weaker than Marama. Kuma and his companion stood directly above them and Kaia pulled Pepa into the quarry and out of sight. She could hear the smug superiority in Kuma’s voice – he had not changed. ‘Together, the Orongo and Marama clans will be unstoppable,’ he said. Pepa and Kaia shared a look of silent understanding. ‘My father will sit alongside Koro as the island’s leaders which means Marama will also have control of the island and its resources,’ he continued. Kuma’s companion laughed, ‘It will not hurt that you are also Tiro’s only son,’ his voice trailing as they walked past Pepa and Kaia over the quarry. ‘At least we know now that the Marama clan cannot be trusted,’ said Pepa. Kaia nodded as he collected their belongings. ‘We will need to be more careful from now on if we want to avoid the Orongo clan,’ continued Pepa. Kaia sketched a quick map of the island on the sand and pointed to the northern point. Pepa nodded.

‘I think you are right,’ she said, ‘Koro would not see the Anakena tribe as a threat, and would probably travel to the Raa and Tu’u lands first. We should seek sanctuary in Anakena.’ The Northern headlands were a weathered range that stretched like a knobbly spine towards the isolated tip of the island and away from the tense island politics. Scaling this, and walking this route, would take most of the day but it was the safer route as it bypassed both the Raa and Tu’u lands, where they had more chance of facing Orongo’s men. Pepa and Kaia reached the boundary of Anakena as the last remnants of daylight lingered in the sky. There were no imposing boundary posts or guards to escort them to the village, just a long, unbroken curve of palm trees that marked Anakena’s borders. The wind whistled through the maze of solid trunks and stirred the fronds above them, which swayed from side to side like waving hands. Pepa and Kaia crouched down behind one of the larger palms. The busy echo of village life filtered through the trees. Points of light appeared between the trees as women lit torches and readied naked children for the evening meal. Shadowy figures skittered between the trees as men hauled and gutted fish from the bay. The faint tempo of breaking waves resonated through the palms and underscored the peace that pervaded the village. The villagers looked healthy and happy, and blissfully unaware of the events occurring elsewhere on the island. Pepa touched Kaia’s arm. ‘We should go in now rather than later,’ said Pepa, ‘it will be safer for us to enter the village while there is still light.’ The noise gradually stilled as villagers watched them pass until three of the tallest warriors Pepa had ever seen blocked their way. Maybe she was wrong, maybe they were more aware of the tensions than she had given them credit for? The three men could have been brothers – they had the same dark hair, plaited in rows across their skulls, and the same narrow faces and stature – but on second glance she noticed small differences between each of them. One was slightly taller, another had fuller lips, and the third was fairer skinned. Pepa lifted the royal reimero over her head and held it up for them to see. ‘I am Pepa, daughter of chief Ariki of the Ahu Akivi. My slave and I come in peace. We ask for refuge in your village.’

The tallest warrior took Pepa’s necklace and inspected it, then, without a word, indicated for them to follow him. As they walked past the village plaza, the brightening moon broke into slithers of light across the windblown water. They stopped at a wide stone covered building with a shelter of overlapping palm fronds. The walls curved to match the shape of the bay and the warrior holding Pepa’s necklace stopped at the building’s opening which faced the bay. He held up his hand to them. ‘Wait here,’ he said, leaving Pepa and Kaia with the remaining warriors at the entrance. A woman holding a platter of nuts and berries walked out of the stone building and past Pepa without looking up from the ground. Before long the warrior returned. ‘Come.’ Pepa and Kaia followed the warrior into the cave-like hut. The dark stonewalls were carved with precision so that each fitted together seamlessly. A mat, woven from bull rushes, covered the floor and rolls of scripts were piled in random bundles upon it. Meheke, Anakena’s chief, sat at the far end of the hut. His silver-grey hair was plaited in the same way as his warriors and gathered behind his head. Pepa could tell, even sitting, that like the other warriors, he was a tall man. Pepa walked closer, drawn by his lively eyes and sincerity. Meheke motioned for them to sit down opposite him and Kaia sat a respectable distance behind the two. ‘You are Ariki’s only daughter, Pepa?’ Pepa nodded. ‘Yes, my father sends me with warm greetings, Meheke.’ ‘You are very welcome here, Pepa. I am happy although surprised to see that you made it here safely after what happened in your village.’ Pepa raised her eyebrows. She wondered how much Meheke knew about the tensions outside his village. She was sure that neither he, nor his warriors, were at the naming ceremony, and she and Kaia had travelled as quickly as they dared to Anakena. ‘I have heard that Eva, the wife of Ariki’s brother, and their son Kena had been killed.’

Pepa’s heart leaped into her throat, and constricted her breath. She felt Kaia flinch behind her and was sorry that she had not told him about Kena and Eva when she had the chance. She wanted to reach behind to him and say sorry, to hold him. She took a deep breath and tried to halt the hot sting of tears that threatened to form in the corners of her eyes. ‘I am sad to hear about Eva and her son,’ he added, ‘She was born and raised here in Anakena, you know. She grew into a gifted Timo priestess and her death will be a great loss to the island.’ Pepa cleared her throat and, thinking of Kaia, changed the subject. ‘Have you heard of my family?’ she asked, hurriedly. ‘Do you know if they are safe?’ ‘I believe that they are, Pepa, at this stage, although my warriors have conveyed troubling news. They tell me that Koro has proposed his daughter in exchange for a slave girl from your village, called Nea. Koro’s daughter, Tana, is now under your father’s care and the girl from your village, Nea, was taken in exchange to Orongo.’ Pepa felt ill – she felt that it was her fault that Nea was captured. ‘I believe that Koro intended for me to be exchanged,’ she said. Meheke shook his head. ‘I do not believe that is the case, Pepa. Koro particularly asked for Nea.’ Pepa hesitated, ‘On my brother Rangi’s recommendation?’ Meheke frowned and nodded. Pepa looked past him to the object-filled shelves behind him. ‘And my father agreed to this?’ ‘From the outside, the exchange appears to be a compliment to your father – a slave girl in exchange for one of Koro’s daughters – it would be perceived as a gift of sorts. Regardless, your father did not have a choice,’ added Meheke. ‘Koro invoked an old, and rarely used law, one that he is entitled to request as a chief of one of the clans on the island.’ Pepa rubbed her throbbing temples. ‘But what was the purpose of it?’ she asked. ‘I believe that Koro has a larger plan,’ said Meheke. ‘It is not a well kept secret that Nea has captured the heart of your brother, Hotu, is that right?’ ‘Yes,’ said Pepa quietly.

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‘Hotu is in line to succeed your father and now that he holds Nea, Koro has a degree of power over him. What is just as worrying,’ added Meheke, ‘is that your brother Rangi seems to have aided Koro with his plans.’ The mat rustled as Kaia shifted his weight behind her. No Kaia, she thought, willing him to stay still. Now is not the time. Meheke clapped his hands twice and a girl entered the room. She was young, and so slight that she moved without raising a sound from the grass mat beneath her. She knelt at Meheke’s feet and bowed her head to the ground. ‘You have had a shock, Pepa,’ said Meheke. ‘Bring our guests some tea, Leah,’ he said, addressing the young girl. The girl left silently and soon returned with a wooden tray of food and tea. She offered it to Pepa and Kaia and, although they had not eaten since the quarry, the thought of food made Pepa’s insides lurch. She took the steaming tea instead. ‘Do you think it was Koro who killed Eva and her son?’ Pepa asked. Meheke hesitated then nodded slightly. ‘I believe that he was involved in some way.’ The ginger tea was sharp and clean. It settled her stomach and gave her the strength to ask the questions she was not sure she wanted the answers to. ‘Why would he have them killed?’ she asked. ‘Eva was a Tomi priestess, who had unlimited access to the scrolls and privy to even the most sacred information. There was not a secret on the island that Eva did not know about.’ ‘Do you think Koro saw her as a danger?’ she asked. ‘I do not think that Koro is scared of anything. I think that he sent his men to find something the night of the naming ceremony, although I am not sure that they found what they wanted to find. Koro’s warriors have a reputation for being ruthless, they have little regard for life, and I think that Eva and Kena were casualties of their cruelty.’ Pepa thought back to the state of Eva’s hut, the upturned furniture and the matted floor, strewn with shards of broken clay and unfurled scrolls. ‘What do you think he was looking for?’ she said. Meheke looked over Pepa’s shoulder to Kaia who was seated behind her. ‘Kaia can be trusted,’ she said. ‘I have no doubt that Kaia can be trusted,’ said Meheke.

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Pepa frowned. It was curious for a chief to acknowledge a slave in such a way. ‘Eva was the custodian of the scrolls,’ he said. ‘She had access to even the most sacred of writings – including the prophecies.’ ‘Prophecies? Are you saying that Koro was looking for a prophecy?’ ‘Among other things, yes,’ said Meheke. ‘His speech gave him and his men a useful alibi to search Ahu Akivi for something in particular. I think Koro was searching for the scroll that prophesised the island’s demise. It is said that this scroll describes the one who can save the island and our people.’ ‘Is it possible that Koro was searching for the prophecy in order to save the island?’ asked Pepa. ‘I fear that Koro wants to control the island, not save it. I believe that past behaviour is the best indicator of future behaviour, Pepa, and with this in mind, we must consider that Koro was looking for someone who was identified on the scroll, someone who, it is rumoured, can save the island. Koro has never been one to share power. I believe that he was looking for the scroll so that he could identify and find this person.’ Hearing Meheke’s words spoken out loud, Pepa felt an overwhelming desire to protect this unknown person, to hide him or her from Koro’s grip. ‘Then we must find this person before Koro or his men do,’ she said. She could hear the anxiety in her own voice, as the words hung like static in the air. ‘There is no need to fear,’ said Meheke. ‘Koro will not find the prophecy or the one he is searching for, I can assure you that both are safe from harm.’ ‘But how do you know?’ she asked worriedly. ‘Because the prophecy scroll is safely hidden in Anakena and the person Koro is looking for is also here.’ Pepa sat up and glanced around the hut in search of this so-called saviour. ‘He is here?’, she asked. ‘Yes, Pepa, in fact, he is sitting directly behind you.’

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Chapter 12. KAIA o K

‘The ocean will return and the Gods will have vengeance.’

The small beachside village at the remote north of the island seemed a world away from the rules of, and restrictions on, the rest of the clans. Even Ahu Akivi’s way of life, where slaves had a certain amount of freedom compared to most, seemed strict in comparison to Anakena. Men and women, royalty and slaves, laughed and talked together, as though sharing each other’s company was the most natural thing in the world. The men cared for children, wove baskets and mended fishing nets and, to Pepa’s delight, the women fished with confidence and hunted turtles from the coral reef offshore. I could not tell the slaves from the elite or distinguish the ordinary villagers from the many Tomi priestesses that roamed the village and temples. It seemed that the rules that I had lived by, the repressive rules of my childhood, did not apply here. I felt a twinge of sadness for my life that could have been. Meheke was my mother’s father – and my grandfather – and I could not help wondering how different my life would have been, here in Anakena. Meheke had sent two of the three warriors we met when we arrived in Anakena – Rohan and Keke – in search of news about Koro and the movements of the Orongo and Marama. We were somewhat oblivious to the world outside Anakena. Even though we had only been in the village for a couple of days, in the absence of bad news, Pepa and I were left in peace to enjoy village life. Apart from Meheke, Pepa and the Tomi priestesses, no one knew my true identity. Pepa was treated as a royal guest and I her guard and personal slave, although I had begun to accept my role in Meheke’s prophecy. The Tomi priestesses were instructing me, and there was no denying that my visions were getting stronger as a result, even though I was constantly distracted by thoughts of Pepa. I would hurry my morning sessions to spend my time with her. Every day Kapu was getting stronger under Pepa’s care and before long the bird was flying. Kapu would hunt for food in the morning but always return by evening to perch on my shoulder. While she was away, Pepa and I spent time exploring the northern cliffs for driftwood and washed up debris. I was often too tired after from trying to see visions each morning to do anything more than rest on the

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shore and listen to Pepa’s stories. Sometimes, when she thought I wasn’t watching, I felt her eyes fixed on me as though expecting, at any moment, to see some magical event emanate from my body. Under Tea, the Tomi priestess in charge of my training, my visions became more frequent and clearer than ever, and I was learning to control them and conjure them at will. No matter how hard I tried, however, I could only recall the visions that I had already seen. The most frequent was the vision of my father, Miru, talking to the old man Palani in the cave of boats. I had walked through the cave, in my vision, so many times that I knew the exact twists and turns of each cave and felt that, if I could see just one of these familiar caves in real life, I would find the boats which I knew were somewhere close by Anakena. I transcribed the vision with Rongorongo symbols for Tea but felt a sting of shame for not having anything more to offer her. ‘You must concentrate if we are to learn the full meaning of the prophecy, Kaia,’ she said. ‘It is obvious from the prophecy that something will befall us but there is not enough information to know what it is. If your father has built these boats to save us, then we need to know where to find them.’ Tea spread out the prophecy scroll in front of her and ran her finger along the tightly formed symbols, as if touching them would reveal their puzzle. She spoke the symbols as she traced each line. q z W K

‘Our Island – once strong and fertile – is now cursed by the Gods.’ Y S ‘But soon all life will suffer.’ U q

‘As each new statue will sacrifice more of the island.’ r K

‘There will be no tears from the Gods to replace what is lost.’ q m

‘The island will erupt and mourn those who refuse to listen.’ u k

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‘The wind will lull and the birds quieten, when the end is near.’

U K ‘Beware of those who make statues of themselves as Gods.’ K m

‘The Gods will be so angry that the earth will erupt.’ o x P Y ‘The ocean will take its catch of fish and turtles and abandon the forsaken land.’ f A

‘Only those who place their hope in the boy will be saved.’ k A F

‘The sacred bird will guide the boy and the hidden.’ o K

‘The ocean will return and the Gods will have vengeance.’ q X

‘The island will be washed clean and be renewed.’ q A y

‘The island and the hidden will be free.’

I walked over to the scroll and was not surprised to see my mother’s symbol

J on the top corner. She had witnessed every one of my father’s visions after all. The thought that this small scroll, with its few lines of symbols, was responsible for my parents’ death made my hands tremble, and I stretched out my fingers wide in an effort to shake off my rage. My emotions seemed to take hold of my body and, as my muscles tensed, the cave spun into a swirl of images. I felt, once again, as though my body was falling through air, like a bird diving for food in the waves. My stomach, unable to catch up with the rest of my body, lurched until, all of a sudden, I was once again on firm ground.

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I recognised my surroundings. I was at Lake Ranu Kau in Orongo territory. The volcanic lake was almost perfectly round. It was black and still and reflected the evening light like a full moon. I looked behind me, to the stoutly built huts of Orongo village, which were dotted, like stepping stones, on the terraced hillsides surrounding the lake. The edge of the lake formed the sides of the ancient volcano and dropped away to the sea. A channel of water separated Orongo from the island of Moto Nui – the island of banishment and failed initiations. Sooty terns flew in lazy circles above the islet's precipice, their grey feathers fanned wide against the sweeping headwind, as they prepared to land on the moss-covered nesting nooks within the rocks. People from every tribe, most of the island it seemed, gathered next to me along the lake edge. A row of planks formed a narrow wooden pier over the water. Koro and his wife sat on carved wooden chairs at the end of the pier, surrounded by a group of warriors. More warriors from the Nguare, Marama and Tupahotu clans bordered the village boundaries, and terraces and there were villagers from all clans watching from the lake’s edge. Koro rose from his chair and raised his arms to the watching crowd. ‘I welcome you all here,’ he said, his voice reverberating across the stillness of the lake. I looked behind me and recognised villagers from every clan, including Meheke who was standing at the back of the crowd below the terraces. I knew that Meheke was, at that very moment, in Anakena and sensed that I was witnessing something that had not yet happened, an event I felt was about to happen in the not to distant future. ‘As if we had any choice but to come here and listen to him,’ said a voice from beside me. It was Hotu’s. I had not recognised him right next to me. At first I thought Hotu was talking to me but remembered that this was a vision, and that I was invisible to him. On the other side of me was Ariki, who looked through me to answer him. ‘Stay calm Hotu,’ he said. ‘It is best to listen to what he has to say, and the full extent of what he plans to do. We need to know what we are dealing with.’ They both turned back to Koro. ‘The time has come,’ said Koro, ‘for the island’s resources to be shared more equally. For far too long now resources have been unfairly controlled by a few, under the false illusion that the laws we are governed by were issued by the Gods.’

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I could feel Hotu’s body bristle at Koro’s thinly veiled insult. Murmurs of surprise rippled through the crowd and people spoke in covert whispers at Koro’s disrespect for Ariki and the Gods. But underneath the disquiet, I sensed a small but undeniable undercurrent of approval for Koro’s words. ‘Our out-dated ways, and our reliance on bartering for resources, has seen this island move to the brink of devastation,’ he continued. ‘It is time that we had a new, fairer leadership. One that is decided by consensus and one that ensures there is enough food for everyone to survive the drought that has gripped our island.’ There was a commotion in front of me and I noticed that the old Ivi Atua priest, Matatahi, was straining to free his wrists from the grip of Orongo warriors. ‘Your ignorance has brought on this drought, Koro, not Ariki’s leadership,’ said Matatahi. ‘Our best hope is to heed the prophecy that was predicted by Miru.’ The crowd was silent as the old priest’s words echoed back to Koro across the vast lake. ‘We were wrong not to listen to Miru,’ Matatahi continued. ‘We must stop felling the trees and making stone Gods of ourselves. It is not too late to make amends, Koro, to heal our land.’ Koro pounded his spear against the pier. ‘Enough old man!’ he said. ‘You and Ariki do not command the same respect that you once did, Matatahi. Even your fellow priests have turned against your false prophecies.’ Koro gestured to the two Ivi Atua priests, Moro and Tuma, who stood beside him. It was the first time I had seen them without Matatahi by their side, and I wondered what reward Koro had offered for their allegiance. Rangi and his men stood directly behind the priests and I could see Rangi’s self-satisfied smile from where I stood. ‘You have toppled enough statues in the name of the ‘Gods’, Matatahi, and it has done nothing but create friction between neighbouring clans. It is time for you to face the fact that the man you call Miru was nothing more that an outcast – a fake.’ Matatahi shook his head. ‘You are wrong, Koro.’ ‘The Ivi Atua priests and clan leaders were right to order Miru’s death,’ said Koro. ‘There will be no vengeance from the Gods, and there is no chosen one who will save our island from the destruction that you wrongly prophesise, old man.’

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Warriors pounded their spears against the wooden pier. Their thunderous support sounded like a downpour of boulders as it echoed across the lake. ‘It is time that we had a new order and you,’ said Koro, sweeping his hand across the watching crowd, ‘you will soon discover that those who do not yield to it will be punished.’ I felt the intensity of Hotu and Ariki’s gaze as they turned towards me to look at each other. ‘He might have the support of the Marama and his neighbours Nguare and Topahotu,’ muttered Hotu, ‘but Koro does not command the support of every clan on the island, and I cannot imagine that every clan will offer Koro absolute support. Do you think he has enough warriors to take control of the island?’ ‘I think that Koro has been very clever, Hotu. The Topahotu and Nguare clans do not have large numbers, but they are the strongest and most skilled warriors on the island. Their lands hold the only quarries of obsidian stone strong enough to make sharp hunting spears and knives, and I will bet that many of those weapons are not just destined for food hunting. Whatever Koro is planning to make up for his lack of warriors, I bet that it will not be a fair or peaceful arrangement. He will have some way to ensure that the rest of the clans support him.’ The crowd stood still, like rows of taut fishing line straining against a heavy catch, worried, it seemed, that the slightest movement might invite Koro’s threat of punishment. Rows of guards watched the crowd from the terraces above, like hungry seabirds perched to launch on prey. I did not feel Hotu’s elbow as he reached through my ghost-like form to nudge Ariki’s arm. ‘Look father,’ he said, ‘they have Nea.’ Hotu gestured to a group of women surrounded by the watching guards. Ariki squinted as he searched for Nea in the rows of women’s faces. ‘She looks unharmed, Hotu,’ said Ariki, as his eyes rested on Nea, who was seated at the feet of one of the guards. ‘For that, at least, we can be grateful.’ Hotu nodded, although I knew that gratitude was not what he felt. ‘And we now know how he plans to gain the support of the rest of the clans,’ he added. ‘None of the clan leaders will be eager to reject his terms – whatever they are – now that Koro has their women under his control.’ I looked to the women gathered at the feet of the guards. Ariki was right, there was one from every clan.

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‘He must have insisted that every clan make an exchange with one of his daughters.’ The sound of warrior spears upon the wooden pier drowned out Hotu’s words. ‘It has become clear that the only way to divide the island’s resources fairly is to decide on a single leader who will oversee the island and the needs of all the villages.’ Hotu tilted his head and gave Ariki a sceptical glance. ‘Each clan,’ continued Koro, ‘will volunteer a warrior who will compete for the honour of island leader. The winner will be the warrior who returns from the island of Moto Nui, with the first egg of the season from the sacred Sooty Tern.’ Koro turned to Matatahi. The guards pushed him into a kneeling position. ‘This should keep you happy, priest,’ said Koro. ‘Surely even you cannot deny that such an offering would be seen as favourable by the Gods?’ Koro’s words fell away and the vision of Matatahi kneeling lurched from in front of me. I was aware of leaving the scene at Orongo and returning to my body in Anakena, slipping back into my flesh like a well-fitting glove. But, as the cave and Tea came back into focus, I felt an overwhelming sense of impending danger. I sensed that the vision I had seen was a warning – a glimpse of future events that could lead to catastrophe for the island and our people. I did not know what this catastrophe would be, but knew that if I did not at least try to warn people of it, then the lives of everyone on the island would be at risk. But who would believe me, and how could I express what I saw, without words? I skittered around the cave, lifting dust with panicked feet, as I searched for something on which to transcribe my vision until Tea managed to catch my hands. ‘Shh,’ she said. ‘There is no need for you to transcribe your vision, Kaia.’ I pulled slightly away from her grip, and frowned. Tea does not realise the importance of the vision, I thought. As though reading my thoughts, she said, ‘It is ok, Kaia, you have already told me your vision.’ I stared blankly at her, trying to comprehend her words, until she nodded reassuringly. ‘It is true,’ she said, ‘it seems that with this vision, you have found your voice, Kaia. It was difficult for me to understand at first, raspy and faint from lack of use, but it was clear enough for me to understand your vision.’

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Tea handed me a water gourd and it was only then that I suddenly realised my overwhelming thirst. My throat felt like an open wound. I sat back down, my body and mind both exhausted. ‘I have transcribed your words,’ she said, handing me a newly inked scroll. I was still confused and could not believe that her symbols had come from me – my own voice. I put my hand to my throat and shaped my lips into the words I wanted to say. ‘They are mine?’ I asked. The words were slow and hoarse, and scratched my throat as they vibrated into the air. The words sounded strange, as though an insect was trapped inside my ears, buzzing with soft and meaningful speech. ‘You have been entranced for most of the morning, Kaia, and have awakened your voice as well as your powers,’ she said. It was hard to believe – I felt like I had just left the cave only moments before. ‘Meheke is waiting for us,’ said Tea, ‘and his warriors, Rohan and Keke, have returned with news from Orongo. We need to tell Meheke what you have seen.’ I felt anxious that my vision was true and worried that I was too late to prevent a catastrophe that had not yet hit the island. The newly returned warriors were deep in conversation with Meheke when Tea and I entered Meheke’s hut. People were gathered in a circle on the matting floor, talking, and eating from large platters. I recognised the charcoal undertones of seared mahi fish, and the blistered skin of freshly roasted yams, cooked in Anakena’s underground ovens. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I had not eaten. Pepa made room for me next to her. She was struggling to hold Kapu who was fighting to be free from her grip. I cradled her hands, nest-like in my own, as she gently passed the bird to me. ‘I was starting to worry about what might have happened,’ she whispered, ‘you have been so long.’ I smiled, reassuringly. There were so many things I had wanted to tell Pepa over the years, but could not; now that a real possibility of telling her existed, it took everything to keep the words from spilling from my tongue…how her kindness to me, in a time when I was invisible to the world, made me feel worthy of life, and that being with her felt as magical as the visions that overtook me.

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Meheke cleared his throat and the murmurs were replaced with expectant silence. ‘As you can see,’ said Meheke, ‘Rohan and Keke have returned with news and I am afraid that it is as we expected, the news is not good.’ The hum of worried chatter rose again and Meheke had to raise his voice to be heard. ‘It is important that you listen to what they have discovered – the safety of our village depends on it.’ Rohan sketched a map of the island on the dirt floor of the hut and carefully labelled the northern villages of Ahu Akivi, Marama, Tu’u, Raa and, lastly, Anakena. ‘As Meheke said to the watching crowd, the news is not good. It is as we thought; Koro has allied with the Tupahotu and Nguare tribes, and we now know from Pepa’s information, the Marama has also made a similar pact of loyalty. Together, these clans form a strong army and I do not think that the rest of the Northern clans, even if they band together, would be able to resist Koro’s men.’ ‘What do you mean by “resist”?’ said Rika, one of the Tomi priestesses, who had a slender child-like body that matched her voice. ‘The Anakena have not been threatened by Koro, what is there to resist?’ ‘That is true, to a point, Rika,’ said Meheke, ‘as so far we have not been threatened. This, I believe, is because we have a history of keeping to ourselves, and are not considered by Koro to be a threat, but I fear that this might change. Thanks to the many secret tunnels that link our village to the rest of the island, we have been given pre-warning of the unrest that is unfolding as we speak.’ ‘Particularly here in the north,’ added Rohan. ‘But Meheke, we have seen none of this unrest’, added Rika. ‘What if this talk is an overreaction? What proof do we have that Anakena really is in danger?’ Rika shrugged her shoulders, her palms raised in question to the grass roof of the hut. ‘Is it possible that, by confronting this threat, we could provoke the very danger that we want to prevent?’ ‘It seems that Ariki has directed his clan, as well as the Tu’u and the Raa, to consent to Koro’s demands, whatever they are, without conflict, and I agree,’ said Meheke. ‘War between the clans serves no purpose. Rohan and Keke believe that

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Koro’s warriors are making their way north, as we speak,’ said Meheke, ‘and if this is the case they will likely reach us by morning.’ Waves of nervous talk rippled through the hut and Rohan waited for it to quell. ‘Keke and I saw Ariki and Matatahi try to warn the other two Ivi Atua priests about Koro, and the alliances with the Tupahotu and Nguare. He openly questioned Orongo’s motives at the naming ceremony, but the Ivi Atua priests refused to accept Ariki’s accusation of Koro, or to acknowledge the prophecy that foresaw these unfolding events.’ Meheke interrupted Rohan. ‘Which makes me think that the priests will side with Koro,’ said Meheke. ‘I do agree with Rika, however. We need to be careful how we react when Koro’s men arrive, especially now that it seems the Ivi Atua and Marama have joined Koro’s growing army.’ Meheke sighed. ‘I fear that it is too late to prevent certain events now. The Ivi Atua had the power to stop Koro’s plans but I am afraid that it was easier for them to ignore the issue, to bury their heads in the sand, rather than stand up to Koro and now he will be much harder to control.’ Meheke’s words unsettled the crowd. It was forbidden for anyone, even a chief, to talk disrespectfully about the Ivi Atua priests and I sensed the potential danger of his disapproval from some of the elders. ‘Meheke speaks the truth,’ said Rohan. ‘Ariki thought there might be a chance to reason with Koro and so, while Ariki and Hotu travelled to Orongo, Matatahi went to warn the Northern tribes. We followed Matatahi to Tu’u and Raa while Koro’s men travelled to Marama to gather men. Matatahi warned the chiefs to fell their statues – their false Gods – in the hope that this might halt the prophecy and Koro’s plans. They did as Matatahi said, but it did not stop Koro’s men from coming. ‘What happened?’ asked Rika. ‘Koro’s men arrived when Matatahi was in Raa,’ said Rohan,’ Keke and I waited on the outskirts of the village for as long as we could, but Koro’s men and Matatahi did not leave. We think that Koro has captured him.’ I thought back to my vision of Matatahi straining against the warriors at the lake. Rohan’s words made sense.

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‘But they cannot do that,’ said Rika, outraged. ‘Matatahi is an Ivi Atua priest; he has authority on the island.’ ‘They can do it if they have the authority from the other two Ivi Atua priests,’ said Meheke. ‘Together, they are a majority.’ The air in the cave was heavy, and full of indignant pleas to save the old priest. I drank from my gourd to wet my throat. ‘It will do no good,’ I said. ‘It is pointless to try to save Matatahi; he is already on his way to Orongo to face Koro. I have foreseen it.’ My voice, as gruff and feeble as it was, silenced the room. All eyes were on me; so too were faces of doubt and disbelief that I was suddenly talking.

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Chapter 13. PEPA q X

‘The island will be washed clean and be renewed.’

Pepa tore her attention between Tea and Kaia. She tried to listen to Tea’s words, which she knew were important, but struggled to steal her eyes away from Kaia. Her fondness for him had developed slowly, like the changing colour of leaves when seasons changed. She could not remember when exactly it was that she had begun to think of Kaia in this way, as a friend – maybe even more than a friend. The change had been subtle, and developed unnoticed, until now she could no longer imagine her days without him by her side.

‘We do not have the time to debate the truth of the prophecy or Kaia’s vision for that matter,’ said Tea, who was trying, without success, to quell debate since Kaia’s revelation that he could speak. She stood within the circle of people – Miru’s prophecy in one hand and Kaia’s translated vision in the other – and raised her voice above the bustling talk.

‘The Tomi priestesses have long known, and believed in, the existence of Miru’s prophecy,’ she said. ‘The man who prophesised them, Miru, was Kaia’s father.’

She held the scroll above her head and gestured to Rohan, ‘And this new prophecy describes events that Rohan and Keke have already witnessed.’

She unrolled the parchment and continued.

‘The prophecy is clear when it states that “there will be no tears from the Gods”. There is only one interpretation of this – that the Gods have forsaken us, and left the island in drought because of those who did not listen.’

She followed by reading her transcript of Kaia’s vision and addressed the circle of people around her.

‘Kaia has now seen the future,’ she said. ‘His vision verifies that we travel, along with the other clans, to Orongo to face Koro.’

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Tea looked at Kaia.

‘Kaia did not foresee past this point, though, which means that we may still have a chance to save our future, and that of the island.’

Tea sighed and placed her hands on her hips.

‘Now, we could spend the small amount of time we have before Koro’s men arrive by arguing Kaia’s heritage, and whether the vision is true or not, but if Rohan is also to be believed, and Koro’s warriors are on their way here, then we have very little time left to devise a plan.’

‘I agree,’ said Meheke. ‘We have little choice but to trust Kaia. The arrival of Koro’s army is inevitable, we can either choose to fight a conflict that we are sure to lose, or we can trust Kaia’s vision and go in peace with Koro’s men, to Orongo.’

Meheke looked to Kaia.

‘You should not be here when they come, Kaia,’ he said. ‘Koro is looking for you.’

As all eyes turned to Kaia, Pepa could still see looks of surprise as they watched him speak.

‘We should not give up hope,’ he said. ‘Koro is looking for me but he has not found me yet, and he does not know that we suspect his plans. If I can avoid his detection, I believe that I might find some way to stop the prophesised destruction of the island.’

‘Avoiding detection is something we do well,’ smiled Meheke. ‘Rohan and Keke are familiar with the secret tunnels that link to Anakena and can take you where you need to go.’

Keke, who was a head shorter than his fellow warrior Rohan, had a sharp, clever-looking face with quick bronze eyes that took in everything around him. He led the way to the secret caves at the outskirts of Anakena and Rohan, Pepa and Kaia followed behind him.

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‘These caves are how we know what is happening on the island,’ said Keke as he disappeared through a dense shrub that concealed the cave entrance.

The warriors moved quickly, using torches made from oil-soaked palm fronds to lead our way. Kupa chirped and flapped from under Pepa’s coat and she placed a hand over the panicked bird, but it fluttered and squawked as if trying to escape – as if trying to warn us of impending danger.

Pepa felt Kaia take her free hand as Rohan’s torch drew further away, leaving them alone amongst the shadows. His hand was warm and strong, and her fingers tingled at his touch. It was almost completely dark, but she felt safe by Kaia’s side, and let him blindly guide her way through the twisting darkness.

‘These tunnels run directly under the ranges and valleys that divide the north and south of the island,’ said Rohan as he waited for Pepa and Kaia to catch up. Pepa could just make out the faint glow of Keke’s torch as he rounded a corner further ahead.

‘We know where each one begins and ends,’ said Rohan. ‘If we follow this tunnel,’ he said, veering left as they came to a T junction, ‘we will end up in the village of Orongo, where there is a hidden entrance that opens on the top of the mountain overlooking the township. A large boulder hides the opening and we should be able to exit without being noticed. If we hurry,’ he added, ‘we can make it long before the other clans arrive.’

As Rohan made his way around the bend that Keke had just passed, however, the ground shifted beneath them and shook so hard that dust and pebbles loosened from the wall above them and rained on Pepa’s head. She could see Rohan, who was sheltering under a rock ledge ahead of them. He mouthed for them to hurry up, beckoning for them to run, but the deafening noise of grinding rocks drowned out his words. Kaia sheltered Pepa from the falling rubble until they finally reached the safety of the ledge. The tremor petered out as quickly as it had begun and the noise of fracturing rocks echoed through the network of tunnels, like a retreating thunderstorm.

‘There can be no doubt now about the truth of your father’s prophecy,’ said Pepa, still shaking and breathing heavily, as she huddled closer to Kaia. ‘Your father foresaw this happening. This earthquake was mentioned in his prophecy.’

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Kaia closed his arm around her and gently touched her shoulder where a falling rock had left a thin trail of blood down her arm.

‘There is some comfort in the knowledge that my father spoke the truth but not in what else might follow,’ said Kaia, smiling sadly.

‘Of course,’ she said, stammering over her words. ‘I did not mean…’

Kaia stepped closer to her and cupped the side of her face and trailed his thumb down the side of her cheek.

‘It is ok,’ he whispered. ‘I know what you meant.’

It still felt strange to hear Kaia speak, to understand rather than guess what he was thinking. She felt as though she was meeting someone new, as though she was meeting Kaia for the first time. She grinned and placed her hand over his, still wanting the feel of him against her skin.

‘Well,’ she said, losing herself in his dappled eyes, ‘we had better make sure that we survive, so that we have the rest of our lives to talk about it.’

Kupa, who was no more settled after the tremor than before it, chirped and flapped his wings as though agreeing with Pepa.

‘They are wise words,’ said Rohan, as he blew the dust from the torch so that sharp rocks jutted out from the walls in a shadowy light, like teeth in a gapping mouth. They could see a similar, but weaker, glow from Keke’s torch ahead and, as they got closer, the ghostly outline of Keke’s body lay facedown next to the light. Even from a distance, they could see that there was no hope. The side of his face was oddly misshapen, crushed like an eggshell, and a puddle of blood, black in the eerie firelight, was spreading slowly over the tunnel floor. Rohan handed Kaia the torch.

‘It will do no good to linger,’ he said, closing Keke’s lids with his hand, so that the final spark of reflected torchlight vanished from his eyes. ‘We will need to make good time if we are to get to Orongo unseen.’

They only managed one more bend before Kupa’s efforts to escape succeeded and the bird flew from Pepa’s grip, in the opposite direction. Kupa’s fledgling wings struggled to navigate the narrow walls, and Pepa squealed as the bird bounced between the tunnel walls.

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‘Leave the bird’, said Rohan over his shoulder, ‘we do not have the time.’

Pepa looked at Kaia.

‘We cannot leave her,’ she said. ‘I am sure that I can catch her, she is only just learning to fly.’

‘You go ahead,’ said Kaia to Rohan. ‘We have a torch and will follow as soon as we catch the bird.’

Rohan stalled but nodded.

‘You should be fine,’ he answered, ‘as long as, from now on, you follow the tunnel uphill, this will lead you to the entrance above Orongo.’

Pepa could hear the bird’s panicked chirps, rebounding back from the tunnel walls. They followed her until they no could no longer recognise the rocks, tunnels or the direction from which they came.

When they found Kupa, she was perched on a mound of rocks that had collapsed and exposed the top of a large cave entrance behind it. The bird was sleeping. Her grey lids were closed and her head was nestled in the folds of her black- grey wings. The feathers on her chest were still fluttering in time with the bird’s rapid heartbeat.

‘What has gotten into you Kupa?’ said Pepa clicking her tongue as she picked up the bird. ‘Now we will need to rush if we want to catch up with Rohan.’

Pepa placed Kupa back under her coat and turned to head back the way they had come, expecting that Kaia would light her way with the torch but, as she looked behind her, Kaia had reached the top of the rubble mound. He pointed the torch at the opening above the rocks and peered through into the cavernous hole behind it.

Pepa zigzagged her way up the rubble, careful not to create an avalanche from the loose stones, or to disturb Kaia who seemed transfixed with something in the darkness beyond the stones.

‘What is it Kaia?’

He did not answer her and, in the pause of silence that followed, Pepa wondered for a moment if he had returned to his mute state.

‘Kaia,’ she said, this time gently touching his arm, ‘we have to go.’

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‘I think I can find them from here,’ said Kaia.

Pepa felt as though he was talking to himself rather than addressing her.

‘Find who? The village is down this way, remember?’ said Pepa as she pointed in the opposite direction. ‘You will not find Orongo by going that way.’

‘It is not Orongo that I am trying to find, Pepa,’ he said. ‘I know that this is hard to understand but I need to do this, I need to find them.’

Pepa tilted her head.

‘Them?’ she asked, ‘who do you need to find, Kaia? I do not understand.’

Kaia told her about his vision; the white-bodied men, his father Miru and the old man Palani, who he followed to the cavern of boats.

‘I cannot explain it, Pepa,’ he said, ‘but I know that this is the way I must go.’

He gave Pepa an apologetic look.

‘Kupa has lead us here. It is a sign.’

They were already pressed for time if they wanted to make it to Orongo – Pepa could feel it slipping away from them. Their torch had burnt down to a feeble flame, fuelled by the last of the palm fronds. They would not be able to spend much time searching if they wanted to find their way back.

It was dark but Kaia anticipated every twist and turn as though he knew the tunnels well.

Pepa shadowed Kaia’s footsteps until the tunnels came to an abrupt end with an arched entrance opening into a cavernous space.

Even though Pepa could not see into the yawning darkness, she sensed that the space had history, that it was not abandoned and, as Kaia waved the torch through the air, her feelings were confirmed. Rows of polished wooden boats lined the cave floor, like a scattering of fallen leaves. Suddenly, something moved in front of them. Pepa raised a protective hand over the bump that was Kupa, under her coat. Kaia lifted the torch to illuminate the cavern to reveal a billowed cave. It reminded Pepa of the underside of a giant shell.

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Kaia walked between the boats until his torch was close enough to see the source of the movement. A line of white bodies stood against the cave wall; their shining eyes flashed in the flickering light.

‘Who is there?’ asked Kaia.

He held the torch in front of him like it was a weapon.

One of the bodies moved forward from the wall.

‘We have been expecting you, Kaia,’ he said. ‘You are welcome here.’

As he entered the circle of torchlight, Kaia recognised the man’s features, the same high forehead and hooked nose, of the man he remembered from his vision, his father’s companion, the man his father called Palani.

‘You look like someone I have seen before,’ said Kaia, ‘a man called Palani.’

The man’s face broke into a smile, as though relieved not to have to explain himself.

‘I am his son, Toki.’

Toki clasped Kaia’s shoulder.

‘We have been waiting for you, Kaia,’ he continued. ‘My father remained sure, even until his death, that you would come for us – that you would save us.’

Kaia shifted uncomfortably.

How was he supposed to save these people, people who he had just met and knew nothing about?

‘Why are you here dwelling in these tunnels and caves rather than living above ground?’ asked Kaia.

‘You do not know?’ asked Toki.

Kaia frowned and shook his head.

‘I have heard rumours,’ said Kaia, ‘reports of cave dwellers who have their homes down here, but they are not widely believed.’

The cavern was silent but for the sound of Kapu’s muffled chirping.

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‘Then we have hidden ourselves well,’ smiled Toki, showing teeth that matched his white body. Kaia wondered if he looked any different without the white sheen of paint that covered his skin.

‘We are the saved ones, Kaia,’ said Toki, ‘the babies and the forgotten, the failed initiations and the excommunicated who were banished by clans, or left for dead on the island of Motu Nui. We owe our lives to people like your father and mother. They saved us, and made a home for us under the island – a safe place where we were allowed to live.’

One of the painted women reached for Kaia’s torch and used it to light torches that hung on the walls around the cavern revealing the rows of boats between blinks of light.

‘And now your father’s prophecy has come true. You have come to save us, to take us to our new home, away from this island.’

Kaia felt the heavy weight of responsibility rest on his shoulders. He moved closer to Toki, and lured him out of hearing range from the rest of the group.

‘You expect me to save you all,’ he said, ‘but I have no plan how this could be done. If these boats are to save us, to take us from the island, I have no idea how to get them from here, to the sea.’

Toki smiled.

‘You have found us and that in itself has fulfilled part of the prophecy. Events that we have little control over have been set in motion, and we are merely a small part of a larger plan.’

Toki handed Pepa and Kaia newly lit torches.

‘You should be on your way now,’ he said. ‘Have faith that you will see us again.’

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Chapter 14. KAIA q E y

‘The island and the hidden will be free.’

We retraced our steps and Rohan’s instructions through the tunnels uphill toward Orongo. I was thankful for Toki’s torches which highlighted the uneven floor and fallen rocks. The ground continued to rumble and shake, intermittently, each shudder bigger than the last, until we turned into the final tunnel towards Orongo, when the tremors settled. Pepa stopped and rubbed her legs. My thighs were also burning from climbing the steep tunnel slope. We rounded the bend into a long passageway divided by a thin stream of light.

‘That has to be the entrance,’ said Pepa, pointing to the source of the light – a narrow fissure between two large boulders. She quickened her pace as we closed in on the light, trying to avoid the random rocks that clattered around us. When we made it to the opening Pepa bent over, her hands on her knees, and sucked in the thin cave air.

‘Are you all right?’, I asked.

‘I will be fine,’ she said, in between breaths.

The tremors had stopped. I faced Pepa in the wedge of sunlight and tried to focus as I listened for signs of people outside – signs that clans had arrived from elsewhere on the island, but I was distracted by the light, which seemed to land strategically on Pepa’s silky hair and rounded curves. Without thinking, I closed the gap between us. I ran my fingers through her light-filled hair and scooped her head in my hand. I felt her body relax against mine as I kissed her and in that moment, the island could be falling into the sea and I might not have noticed.

I kissed Pepa’s flushed cheeks and she cooled them between her palms.

‘We have to go,’ I said, ‘stay close to me.’

Pepa nodded and we squeezed through the narrow opening.

The entrance to the cave was completely hidden from the outside by bush. I heard a strange whistle, like the chirping of crickets, from within the bushes.

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‘Down here.’

Rohan, who was crouched among the reeds, signalled for us to join him. Pepa pushed the torch into the sand and smothered the flames with her feet as we crouched next to Rohan.

‘I was worried you would not make it,’ he said. ‘The ground has only just stopped shifting under our feet. I am not surprised that it took time for you to get here.’

Pepa looked at me before lowering her eyes. I nodded, knowing that it was too difficult to explain what we had just experienced.

The clans were already gathered around the lake, the guards surrounded groups of women on the terraces, and Koro’s voice boomed over the lake – just as it had in my vision.

‘Koro has women from every village,’ Rohan confirmed, pointing to the huddled crowed surrounded by guards on the terraces. ‘He has Matatahi, too.’

The scene in front of us matched the events from my vision. Matatahi was struggling against the guards, just as he had done in my apparition. I searched for Hotu and Ariki and also found them in the crowd. The only difference from my vision was a group of warriors who were in a line at the far edge of the lake, facing out to sea.

‘What is happening?’ Pepa asked, peering through the screen of reeds.

Rohan raised his eyebrows as if unsure how to explain the strange events that were unfolding at the lake below.

‘Koro has devised a competition, one that will decide a new island leader,’ said Rohan.

‘And the clans are agreeing to it?’ I asked.

‘What choice do they have?’ asked Rohan. ‘The Ivi Atua priests have renounced Matatahi, and Koro has made alliances with the tribes that hold the major resources such as Marama in the north, and the Nguare and Topahotu in the south. As you know, the Nguare and Topahotu have access to the vast obsidian quarries and,

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together with Marama, control the materials necessary to make weapons and hunting tools and most of the island’s water.’

‘What about Ariki?’ I said to Rohan, looking down at the chief in the crowd. Hotu was next to him, his muscles tense as though resisting the urge to pounce on the Koro’s guards who were standing next to them.

‘Koro may have a stronghold,’ I continued, ‘but Ahu Akivi does not need to rely on Koro for resources. They have the best crops on the island and also an adequate water supply.’

‘Maybe so, Kaia, but it may not surprise you both to know that Rangi has volunteered as Ariki’s champion for the competition.’

‘Nothing my brother does would surprise me,’ said Pepa under her breath. ‘Rangi is nothing but a traitor,’ she added with gritted teeth.

Koro’s warriors rapped the pier with their spears and the crowd hushed. Koro made his way along the wooden planks to the cliff edges then turned to address the crowd around the lake. The silence amplified his words, and they echoed like skipping stones over the lake to our hiding place amongst the reeds.

‘The competitors are ready,’ he announced. ‘It is time to see who will be our next Island leader.’

I looked at the line of competitors, their muscles taut and poised, ready to jump into the strait of water that separated us from the small island of Motu Nui. They were amongst the tallest and strongest men on the island and, apart from those from the northern tribes of Tu’u, Raa and Anakena, they were also, in reality, competing for Koro. Rangi stood between the tall and ropy warriors from Nguare and Topahotu. He was one of the best, if not the best swimmer on the island and had a good chance of winning, but I had little doubt that Koro would be the real dictator no matter who won.

‘As you know,’ said Koro, ‘the sacred sooty tern mates, and produces eggs, only once every dry season. With this in mind, the winning competitor will be the warrior who journeys to, and returns from, the island of Motu Nui with the first sooty tern egg of the breeding season. This competitor will be named chief of the island until the following breeding season when the competition will be held again.’

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Koro raised a conch shell to his mouth, and a low haunting moan rang through the air. The warriors dived together, like fish hooked on the same line, and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

Koro and the warriors around him watched the competitors from the edge of the cliff as they swam towards the small island. They whooped and cheered while the rest of the guards kept the crowds back behind the lake. I noticed that, apart from Koro and his men’s cheering, the air was strangely quiet. The lake was motionless, and reflected a mirror image of the birdless sky.

‘I cannot hear the waves or any birds,’ I said.

Pepa looked at me and frowned.

‘It is strange, don’t you think? Usually they are so loud that it is difficult to talk above them.’

Pepa cocked her head.

‘You are right,’ she said.

I stood up and looked to the distant horizon. The waves, which usually curled and rolled toward the island in a consistent and timeworn rhythm, were absent. In fact the water seemed to be receding and returning back to the sea.

‘Look,’ I whispered, pointing out the anomaly to Rohan and Pepa.

‘What do you think is happening?’ asked Pepa.

‘Isn’t it obvious,’ replied Rohan. ‘The prophecy is coming true…the wind will lull and the birds quieten, when the end is near. Wasn’t that what it foresaw?’

‘The ocean will take its catch and abandon the forsaken land. Yes, you are right.’

‘What is that?’ asked Pepa, grabbing my arm and pointing out to sea.

The gently curving horizon suddenly wavered and lifted, like a swollen wound on the skin of the ocean.

‘I do not know,’ I said, straining to make out the distortion that had appeared on the skyline. ‘It looks like a giant wave.’

‘Whatever it is,’ said Rohan, ‘it is coming this way.’

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Koro’s men continued to cheer, unaware of the distant threat, and I wondered how difficult the swim had become for the contestants in the face of the changing sea.

The uneven horizon morphed into an unbroken wave that gathered momentum as it curled towards the shore. I turned without thinking, to the smouldering torches in the sand.

‘Find what you can to light these torches,’ I said.

Pepa and Rohan eyed me as though I was a madman but did not question my instructions. We wrapped dry palm fronds and weeds around the torch heads and blew them alight. It wasn’t until I began lighting anything and everything around us that Rohan protested.

‘Have you gone mad?’ he asked.

‘No, Rohan, I have not,’ I said pulling away from his grasp, continuing to light the grass close to my feet.

‘Fire, for the first time, is our only friend,’ I continued.

The white cap of the wave was visible nearer, and moving with speed as I threw the torches, like a spear, over my head and onto the thatched huts perched below us. I cupped my hands around my mouth.

‘Fire,’ I yelled.

Within moments, fire and smoke rose in columns, like upside-down waterfalls, from every roof. The air was thick with smoke and flames. People from every clan yelled ‘fire’ and screamed in panic as they made their way towards us to put out the fire. Guards dropped their spears and grabbed what ever they could to douse the flames. I willed the clans to hurry; they had to make it to the terrace, to the fire, if they were to be saved.

Pepa looked at me as though I had gone mad as we moved to where we could see both terraces. Koro’s warriors at the cliff’s edge, further down the cliff face. They had farther to run to get away from the fire.

‘What have you done?’ asked Rohan again, grabbing my arms as though he was reasoning with a mad man.

‘I am saving them,’ I said. ‘Look.’

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Rohan frowned, his distrust turning to confusion as he followed my pointed arm out to sea. The looming wave was climbing towards the island, lifting the swimmers in its path until they disappeared like bugs in a flame. Koro and his warriors ran along the cliff ledge, away from the wave’s shadow

Koro’s words rang above the noise around me.

‘Help me,’ he said.

‘You have to save me,’ he demanded, lagging behind his warriors as they ran in the opposite direction of the hounding wave. It curled over the cliff face like a grasping hand and smashed against the rock ledge with a deafening thunderclap, dispersing the overflow across the lake and bluff, and sweeping everything in it’s path into the sea, including Koro and his men.

It was strange to see people running from the lake below into the arms of the fire. Most people ran to the terraces to put out the fire, not to escape the wave. It wasn’t until they heard the wave crash behind them that they understood that the fire had saved them. We joined together to douse the flames with what little water was close at hand, and smother the embers and save the remaining huts. Our skin was black with dampened ash as we collapsed to the ground with exhaustion. I searched through the smoke and haze for Pepa’s face and my heart skipped with relief when I saw her washing ash from a child’s face by one of the smouldering huts.

At first, I did not recognise Hotu from the rest of the ash-covered bodies around me as he approached.

‘We would all be dead if it was not for your quick thinking, Kaia,’ he said. ‘We could not see the wave from the lake,’ he said, ‘and had no idea it was coming. If you had not distracted us so cleverly with the fire, and lured us up to the terraces, we would have all died. I am so grateful to you for saving Nea,’ he added.

‘It was indeed lucky that I could see the wave,’ I said.

Hotu raised his eyebrows and scanned my face as though he also did not recognise me from the ash.

‘You can speak?’

I had forgotten that Hotu had not yet heard me speak.

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‘Yes, I guess I can thank the Gods for that,’ I said.

‘I think we have a lot to thank the Gods for,’ he said.

Hotu looked to where Ariki was resting on a rock, and frowned. I could sense what he was thinking – Ariki had aged, even in the time since Kaia left Ahu Akivi. His skin clung to his ribs, and his spine curved forward as though his body was threatening to collapse upon itself.

‘I fear that Ariki no longer has the strength to lead us,’ he said.

I agreed with Hotu, but silenced my thoughts out of loyalty for the old chief who had once saved me. I did not resent Hotu for his words, it was obvious that he was sad that his father was no longer strong enough to be chief and he knew that Hotu was thinking of the island, and the people on it, rather than his own desire to become chief.

‘After what has happened, Kaia,’ he said, ‘no one would argue that you deserve to succeed Ariki – that you should be the island’s next chief.’

I turned to Hotu, unable to hide my surprise.

‘It makes sense, Kaia, you saved us from Koro and his men, as well as certain death. You have proved that you are more than capable of being the island’s chief.’

I was flattered by his words but knew, in my heart, that Hotu should be Ariki’s successor.

‘You are the rightful heir to the island, Hotu.’

‘I may be Ariki’s heir but the people look up to you Kaia, you are their hero.’

I shook my head, I was not used to being thought of as a hero.

‘Even if that is the case, Hotu, my place is no longer here on the island, my life is somewhere out there,’ I said, inclining my head in the direction of the sea. My words became abruptly real, as though by saying them aloud, their true meaning was now tattooed on my brain.

‘You will make a good chief, Hotu,’ I said as I rose, patting his shoulder.

‘And we need someone to continue Ariki’s work. We need someone to continue to carve our future on the wooden tablets, and you are the best carver I know, Hotu.

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‘You won’t be able to record my story though,’ I added. ‘Pepa and I will be starting a new one of our own.’

I noticed a question form on his features although he did not ask it.

‘I will continue your work, Kaia,’ he said reassuringly.

I walked over to Pepa and, without words, took her hand. She hesitated for only a minute before I felt her fingers relax in mine. We walked, hand-in-hand, along the terrace and through the two large boulders that marked the entrance of the cave, without turning back.

We arrived a short time later to a deserted Anakena, to find that the village had been flooded. The water had streamed through the island tunnels and created a torrent, which had surged past Anakena, collecting most of the village on the way. The huts were reduced to scattered piles of rocks and straw, and the trees that had previously marked the water’s edge were now at the centre of the bay surrounded by the swollen shoreline. It was hard to look at the ruined village that had given me sanctuary but huts could be rebuilt and I was sure that Anakena, and the island would recover from disaster. It always had.

I could see a collection of boats in the bay as they bobbed and pitched on the unsettled water, and when Pepa and I reached the water’s edge one of the boats slowly turned and rowed our way. Toki’s face came into focus as he rowed closer,

‘We have been expecting you,’ he said.

Without questioning him about what was in store for us, or where we were going, Pepa and I stepped into the boat. The ocean currents were still churning, like a boiling pot, beneath us and the unsettled current pulled our boat, like a giant hand, around the northern headland and out to sea. Flocks of birds, still confused by the turmoil, squawked in chorus and flew in random directions through the air as if shaken from the trees into the sky. One bird, a sooty tern not much older than Kapu, flew low over the boat and back towards the island.

The floods that had followed the giant wave had also toppled many of the Moai statues along the coast and near the villages of Tu’u and Raa. As we came around the headland, however, Pepa pointed out one that was different from the rest, not only because it remained standing but also because it was red – made from the red

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scorcia found only in Ahu Akivi. The carving was unmistakably one of Hotu’s creations.

‘It is you, Kaia,’ she said.

‘Hotu has carved a statue of you.’

Pepa was right, even at a distance I could see that the statue shared my features. The figure was tall and Hotu had carved it carrying a fishing spear as it looked out to sea. It was difficult to tell whether the statue was protecting the island or looking afar, for a new adventure. And, as current pulled us further from the island, I noticed the same sooty tern that had swooped over our boat had perched on the statue’s shoulder.

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Today is the Sabbath and we are homeward bound. It is true to say that in many ways Easter Island has become our home and, as such, I’m sure that I can speak for the crew when I say that we will miss her greatly. We set out early in the day with the principal objective of visiting Tahiti to collect all the letters, newspapers and money that have been forwarded to us over the past twelve or so months. It seems desirable to also visit Pitcairn Island on the way thither as, even though it is a little out of our route, I am keen to either prove (or disprove) Te Hana’s translations. After presenting the tablet of Rongorongo symbols to us on Easter Island, Te Hana has indicated that the symbols form a prophecy of sorts, and provide a clue as to the demise of the island’s population. According to Te Hana, the message on the tablet is a warning from the Gods – a caution that, if not heeded, foretells of a potentially cataclysmic event. Te Hana is adamant that the prophecy was fulfilled, and that the island was indeed subjected to such an event several generations before he was born. He claims that many people escaped this event in boats while others stayed to rebuild the island.

Te Hena’s version seems unlikely to me given the limited availability of wood to build the boat, however, the records show that a tsunami did hit islands in this region during this time. If Te Hana’s translations, and my calculations of ocean and wind currents are accurate, then Pitcairn Island can be the only possible destination for such a journey. We follow this same path now, as we steer the Mana on her 1,100- mile journey, towards Pitcairn Island.

Katherine Routledge

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Identifying Trends In Young Adult Fiction In Order To Support The Writing Of A Young Adult Novel Featuring A

Fictional Language

Exegesis

to accompany

‘The Last Statue’

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Introduction

This exegesis documents research that, in scholarly terms, has eluded significant inquiry thus far, by questioning how increased stakeholder involvement is impacting upon patterns of readership, content and genre trends within Young Adult fiction and, in particular, on internationally bestselling Young Adult fiction. In doing so, this exegesis builds on research by scholars including Heather Scutter, Sue Page and Anthony Eaton, the latter of whom identifies that changing conceptions of young adulthood, in terms of sophistication, is defining how Young Adult fiction is being shaped by those who create, produce and consume it (2010).

Concurrently, this research drew from existing examples of invented languages within creative works (within novels and films), to inform the development of a glyph-based language that would be broad enough to authentically convey the conventions of a functional language, within a creative literary work (a Young Adult historical novel). Prior to this research, Rongorongo had not been examined for its merits as a component of the narrative within a novel. Consequently, this research aimed to elucidate the essential components of a language, with particular reference to Rongorongo, that are needed to effectively compose and convey language to reflect a cultural microcosm – in this case, a historical snapshot of the Easter Island culture – in a creative work. Further to this, this research informed the construction of functional symbolic glyphs that not only seek to communicate interaction between characters within the creative work, but also aim to express cultural nuances as related to the past peoples of Easter Island and their surrounding environment.

Many theorists have surmised the possible reasons for the demise of Easter Island (see, for example, Englert 1936, 1948 & 1970, Diamond 2005, Bahn and Flenley 2011), however, scholars are yet to come to a conclusive agreement as to why the Easter Island culture and language collapsed. To my knowledge, this will be the first Young Adult creative work to centre on Easter Island and its culture as the setting of a novel, and allude to these conflicting theories as impetus for the plot: a unique and unexplored foundation for a fictional study of Easter Island before its collapse.

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As an inaugural study, this research identifies how a fictional language may be created and applied to a narrative, in an attempt to provide a comprehensible and enjoyable reading experience for young adult readers. In order to facilitate this successfully, existing trends within the contemporary international bestselling Young Adult fiction market were investigated and are identified. This research pinpoints current developments and potential market gaps within an ever-changing Young Adult fiction category. The resulting information provides new knowledge on genres, writing forms and target audience preferences for Young Adult fiction creators, contributors, commentators, and consumers. Additionally, the development and inclusion of a plausible and workable pictorial glyph-based language, with supporting research, hopefully adds to the intrinsic interest of the creative piece. And, in doing so, possibly offers a tangible model for others to develop similar languages within creative works. These two components of the research – investigating trends within contemporary bestselling fiction, and using fictional language as a form of narrative – have informed each other throughout the research and writing process.

In order to document this research, this exegesis comprises four chapters, plus a conclusion. The first of these is a literature review that focuses on the history and culture of Easter Island, with particular reference to the time period of the island’s ecological and economic collapse (estimated to be between 1200–1800 AD). This review details the major scholarly and non-scholarly literature and data that informed and influenced the construction and the narrative of my creative work. Literature and research specifically related to the construction of fictional language and also Young Adult fiction, as it relates to Easter Island, is addressed in separate chapters as outlined below.

The second chapter outlines my chosen methodology and discusses research by key practice-led research theorists whose work has influenced my own methodological approach to creative writing research. Additionally, this chapter explains how my two main areas of enquiry – using fictional language as a form of narrative, and the changing trends of Young Adult fiction – interdependently informed, as a key organizing principle, the construction of my creative work.

The third and fourth chapters unpack these two areas, with the central discussion in chapter three focusing on the under-researched area of invented languages in literature. In doing so, I explore the linguistic construction of fictional

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languages in existing fictions in order to examine the motivations that drive writers to create these languages. This chapter also identifies how authors use fictional languages in literature to enhance narrative elements such as characterisation, setting, atmosphere and plot. Finally, this chapter describes how these findings have informed the development and application of an invented language in my novella.

The fourth chapter outlines the current, and largely under-researched, state of contemporary bestselling Young Adult fiction and, in particular, questions how increased stakeholder involvement is impacting upon patterns of readership, content and genre trends within this category. Detailed findings from this investigation, as they relate to ‘The last statue’, are also discussed in this chapter.

The conclusion brings the exegesis to a close by unifying the scholarly elements of this thesis. This chapter connects earlier research and practice and also established literature, together with a summary of my research findings. From this, discussion focuses on the importance and implications that these findings may have for Young Adult fiction and the discipline of creative writing. Additionally, it suggests potential opportunities for future research in this area.

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Chapter 1

Literature Review

This chapter describes literature that directly relates to the history and culture of Easter Island which informed the development of the novella, ‘The last statue’. This diverse range of resources included academic and ‘grey literature’ sources. That is, traditional formats of academic material such as theses, journal articles, non-fiction and fiction works, and artefacts from Easter Island were researched alongside more informal souces of ‘grey literature’ such as periodicals, tourist websites, guidebooks and films. Both served, in varying degrees, to inform the narrative of ‘The last statue’. The literature used to investigate aspects of Young Adult fiction and the creation/implementation of fictional language, as they apply to the writing of ‘The last statue’, are reviewed in following chapters (see chapters three and four). While this literature, identified within these separate chapters, equally informed the development of the creative artefact the resources relating to Young Adult fiction and also fictional language are separately unpacked and analysed to ensure that the research question is adequately addressed.

The history and culture of Easter Island

The cult-like fascination that surrounds Easter Island’s enigmatic history is not solely limited to scholarly interest. This is evident by the number of tourists – approximately 80 000 – who annually take the five-hour flight from the South American mainland to visit the remote Chilean outpost (Trouble in paradise for Chile’s Easter Island 2014). This interest also extends beyond archaeology, anthropology and science, to contemporary pop culture appeal as when, in 2014, the Easter Island Myths and Popular Culture Exhibition travelled to international museums and galleries to showcase the ‘multitude of ways in which Easter Island has been popularised in fiction, and in material and visual culture’ (Moai Culture 2014). My personal interest in Easter Island, as a setting and also a platform for a fiction narrative, is similarly founded on curiosity and fascination of the island’s culture, but extends to what Hawryluk and Shilton (2013) refer to, in a creative writing sense, as ‘capturing glimpses’ of a landscape. That is, by researching and writing Easter

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Island’s past, I endeavour to ‘capture these glimpses, hold on to them to savour the physical sense of belonging they create, then try to evoke them in words’ (1).

The history of Easter Island, and that of the island’s Indigenous inhabitants, has both excited and confounded archaeologists, sociologists, historians and academics since the time of the island’s discovery by Europeans in 1722. The Polynesian civilisation at this time is known to have been much poorer and less populous than it had been a few hundred years earlier, and it is this social and economic record of rising wealth and population, followed by decline, that has been the subject of both histories and other research narratives.

The importance that expository information presents to the creative component of a Masters-level research higher degree should not be underestimated (Kroll and Harper 2013). As Tom Griffiths states, ‘history and fiction journey together and separately into the past; they are sometimes uneasy partners, but they are also magnetically drawn to one another in the quest for deeper understanding’ (2015). This certainly proved true for my research, where the diversity and availability of historical references, and scholarly articles, surrounding the economic, social, cultural and environmental factors relating to Easter Island and its people, helped me imagine a possible past in which to set my story (Nelson and De Matos 2015). With this in mind, several books, articles and visual documentaries served as foundation points for the development of the creative work.

One of the most important and influential works to inform my writing was penned almost one hundred years ago by British-born archaeologist, Katherine Routledge (1866–1935). Routledge was the first European to organise an expedition to Easter Island in order to catalogue the Moai (giant statues) and the Ahus (platforms) on which they had once stood. Her book, The Mystery of Easter Island: The Story of an Expedition (1919), remains an essential resource, indeed ‘continues to be regarded as an important record of the island’s culture and history’ (Van Tilburg 2003). Her exploration of the island, excavation of Moai sites, investigation of the Rongorongo script, and interviews and recordings of oral histories of Indigenous Easter Island inhabitants and their legends offer a unique insight into a people and their land which has since changed.

This retelling of Easter Island’s history was possibly as, if not more, important

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to my creative work than other modern texts about Easter Island because Routledge’s comprehensive work (which included drawings, maps and early photographs) also included first hand accounts of interactions with Easter Island people and their lands. Although Routledge’s expedition did not fall within the same historical timeframe as the events within ‘The last statue’, her records are more comprehensive and closer to the relevant era than most other resources. Further to this, Routledge’s reflections are fastidiously accurate in detail; attributes that archaeologist Joanne Van Tilburg applauds in her biographical account of Routledge’s expedition, titled Among stone giants.

Pacific island anthropology was only nascent, and the Routledges’ exposure to archaeology was sharply limited. Yet Katherine, like a few other women of her time, combined a brilliant mind, a solid education, diverse life experience, and a quirky personality to make up for the training she lacked. (2003, p. 196)

It is interesting to note that the only successful novel, in terms of book sales, about Easter Island is a fictionalised narrative loosely based on Routledge’s life. The novel, Easter Island by Jennifer Vanderbes (2003), was a valuable practice-led tool to read – as a writer. The narrative was written in third person and in past tense, and tells of two separate yet converging tales. This was instructive as it demonstrated a perspective that I knew, on reading it, would not work for my own narrative. I sensed that the use of third person perspective, for my novella, would distance the reader from the events within the narrative rather than encourage engagement with the text and the main protagonists, in particular. Vanderbes’ work did demonstrate, however, an example of past-tense writing that was a potential fit for my novella’s narrative arc.

Alongside Routledge’s work, I found myself repeatedly referring to two works in particular to check for accurate historical information within this era. Joanne Van Tilburg’s reference book Easter Island: archaeology, ecology and culture (1995) and Paul Bahn and Jon Flenley’s Easter Island: earth island (2011) were both integral to the structure and content of my creative work. Bahn and Flenley’s work was particularly useful, with its inclusion of detailed maps, statistical information, and comprehensive overviews of the island’s history from Indigenous inhabitants and the time of European colonisation to the period of human and ecological decline. As specialists in the field, I felt comfortable that Bahn and Flenley’s book was an accurate measure of Easter Island’s history and met the authors’ assertion that

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if one leaves aside those filled with fantasies about lost continents and visiting astronauts, they [books about Easter Island] are dominated by the works of Thor Heyerdahl, which set out to buttress a single and now largely discredited theory. A more balanced and up-to-date account is badly needed and it is hoped that this present volume fills this gap. (12)

I was able to draw information for ‘The last statue’ from these works. Both comprehensively describe the island’s archaeology, origin, history, language and the cultural nuances of the Indigenous islanders, and pose insightful theories about sociological and historical events, including the possible influence of European contact as a factor of the civilization’s decline. Van Tilburg’s Easter Island statue project website (2014) also proved to be a convenient supplement to her published work, especially as a quick reference checking tool when writing the novella.

In addition to these texts and resources, I widely accessed issues and articles from the Rapanui Journal found via the Easter Island foundation website (2013). These invaluable resources comprised peer-reviewed conference proceedings, book reviews and independently submitted scholarly articles from 1986–2014, and possibly represent the most important academic sources relevant to Easter Island to date. While some of these studies seemed, at first, to be irrelevant to the novella’s narrative (such as Christopher Stevenson’s article titled ‘Prehistoric gardening systems and agricultural intensification in the La Perouse area of Easter Island’ (2008) and Steadman’s research on ‘Extinction and biography of Pacific birds’ (2006)), collectively, these provided interesting facts and histories that were invaluable to the nuances of the creative work.

Jared Diamond’s widely published theories on the ‘demise of Rapanui’, endeavour to address the causal factors of the island’s cultural collapse, and are elaborated on in his book Collapse: how societies choose to fail or succeed (2005). Although Diamond’s scientific conclusions have been questioned by Benny Peiser in his 2005 article ‘From genocide to ecocide: the rape of Rapanui’, his and other works, such as Dan Vergano’s research identifying rats as a causal factor of the island’s demise (2005) and Terry Hunt’s ‘rethinking’ of the island’s downfall (2006), filter recent scientific theories and offer alternative views as to the causal factors of contributing to loss and Easter Island’s fate. These works contributed to the writing of ‘The last statue’ by offering evidence-based, non-evidence-based and informed

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speculative theories that contained significant creative potential for a creative narrative. These articles, though analytical and scientific in nature, also helped me to build a more complete and contemporary picture of the ecology, language and history of the island. I felt that, although most of this supplementary information was not referenced within the content of the novella, consideration of it ensured that the novel evoked a greater sense of authenticity in terms of this scholarly research – and I certainly did not include anything contrary to these scholarly findings.

Additional material in the form of visual documentaries and film (see Rapanui 1994, Foreign correspondent 2012, Easter Island: mysteries of a lost world 2013), photographs taken personally during a visit to the island in 2012, grey literature articles (see McCarthy 2009, Needham 2012 and Bloch 2012) and guidebooks accessed directly from Easter island aided in the writing of the ‘The last statue’. The guidebooks included maps, brochures and suggestions for significant tourist attractions to visit (see Museo Antropologico Padre Sebastian, n.d.). I also used the Google Earth (2014) website application to view potential locations when considering settings for the novella’s narrative. This was a surprisingly helpful resource because the application functions allow the user to zoom into a location and, although I had previously visited Easter Island, Google Earth, as a tool, helped me to recall the topographic and sensory aspects of the island.

Maintaining creativity and integrity when writing historical fiction

My writing of ‘The last statue’ was further enhanced by reading foundational documents about Indiginous culture, which I sourced from the Museo Antropologico Padre Sebastian Englert (Rapanui Museum) on visiting the island in 2012. This reference material provided valuable information on Easter Island legend, culture and history. Some were originally written by the museums namesake – Father Sebastian Englert – a missionary priest who resided on the island. These were then later compiled with assistance from academic scholars studying and teaching at the University of Valparaiso in Chile. Some of these include Legends of Easter Island (1936), La tierra de Hotu Matua (1948) and The guide: Rapanui culture (2007).

Although ‘The last statue’ is entirely fictitious, and evokes themes related to the human condition, including love, loss and war, the events that unfold within the

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narrative do have a historical context. Most of the island’s oral history and written artefacts disappeared when the island’s population was decimated, and this void continues to be filled with contentious, and often contradictory, theories about the physical, social, political and ecological conditions at this time. While, therefore, this wide-ranging information provided rich inspirations for developing a creative narrative, validating and using controversial material, even in a fictional context, sometimes stifled my writing process. For example, the original working title for this novella was ‘The language of the Long Ears’, which references documented evidence of two warring clans on the island – one of which was described as having distinctively elongated earlobes (possibly resulting from piercings and ornamental earrings). The title was changed, however, when I discovered heated discourse between academics about the reliability of this research (see Heyerdahl 1989, Bahn and Flenley 1994, Langdon 1994). I chose to avoid the reference even though it was, creatively, a potentially exciting anecdote.

I wanted to guard against potential criticism by those invested in the historically accurate account of events while, at the same time, try to create an imaginative and plausible fiction. As such, I investigated the use of ‘author’s notes’, in historical fiction and historical fantasy, as a resource for validating writing choices. Additionally, I drew on Shady Cosgrove’s article ‘Masturbating with prostitutes: research and the realist Novel’ (2015) to progress the accompanying novella. Cosgrove’s research, which relates to ethics and writing realist fiction, asserts that fact-checking can be crucial to the research of producing new knowledge. Even though Cosgrove references the importance of this research in relation to ‘realist’ novels, her ideas were nonetheless relevant to my own work. Cosgrove’s direction helped me to truthfully represent fictional characters and content within imagined scenes, particularly where I covered important historical, and potentially contentious, content. This thinking is in line with Geoffrey Trease who posits that, ‘a true historical novel is one in which a faithful recreation of minds and motives is achieved’ (1972: 5). Griffiths also asserts that the search for a faithful recreation of minds is part of the ‘intriguing dance between fiction and history’ (2015).

While some historical novelists such as Hilary Mantell argue that ‘all rules must give way before the simple need to communicate’ (2012), many others – including Kate Grenville and Arthur Golden – have experienced criticism for their

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fictional interpretation of historical events. Similarly, Young Adult fiction writers are concerned with cultural authenticity. Anthony Eaton’s examination of Young Adult creative practice within an academic context identifies practice-led research material that informed the authenticity of, and subsequently a significant rewriting of, his own published novel A new kind of dreaming (2001).

Later drafts, written in 2000-2001, were heavily influenced by Melissa Lukashenko’s article ‘Muwi muwi-nyhin, binung goonj: boastful talk and broken ears’ (2000)…It had and continues to have a significant influence upon not just this novel, but upon my creative habitus as an ‘Australian’ young adult writer. (8)

These various views point to the difficulties that I experienced when creating fiction within a historical context. ‘The last statue’ is informed by research into the consideration of truth and authenticity in historical fiction, as well as the moral and cultural implications surrounding the writing of contentious historical fiction, and this struggle contributes to the current discourses around the fictionalisation of history (see Nelson and De Matos 2015, Cosgrove 2015, Griffiths 2015, Eaton 2015), and the controversy associated with fictionalising historical events where the oblique voice of fiction is often critiqued in terms of political and cultural sensitivities.1

Cultural sensitivity and Easter Island

The intense, and often contentious, discourses surrounding the human and ecological demise on Easter Island has, in recent times, focused on the actions of the Easter Island Indigenous population and less on the devastating effect that European contact has had on the island and its people. Unfortunately, this emphasis has, to a certain extent, created negativity around, and associated blame with, the past actions of Easter Island inhabitants rather than the positive aspects of the Easter Island civilisation. Such qualities include their physical and emotional resilience, and their ability, as a culture, to adapt to external challenges and changes (see McCall 1994, Van Tilburg 2003, Bahn and Flenley 2011). In trying to emphasise this resilience and

1 Please note, an expanded version of my research pertaining to creative writing and historical fiction can be viewed in my published refereed paper from the 2015 Australasian Association of Writing Programs conference, ‘Making History: Constructing fiction from varying, and often conflicting, accounts of history’ (see List of Publications and Presentations).

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adaptability, the focus of my novella’s narrative has always been on the ‘human condition’ rather than controversial history.

Historically, the political, social and cultural structure of the island’s Indigenous inhabitants adheres to strict rules associated with power (mana) and sanctity (tapu) corresponding to hereditary rank and status (Van Tilburg 2014). Taking note of cautionary information from academics such as Grant McCall, who identified Easter Island cultural sensitivities in his book chapter ‘A question of audience: the effects of what we write’ (2000), I was mindful of the cultural nuances and possible sensitivities of surviving Easter Island inhabitants, and therefore focused on the narrative as a tale of the ‘human condition’ rather than one of cultural decimation and blame. I was also careful to clearly state, in the author’s note at the beginning of the novella, that the narrative was a work of fiction focused on the ‘human condition’ (including love, war and loss) rather than my attempted documentation of true historical events.

I was also considerate of cultural appropriation when assigning meaning to existing Rongorongo glyphs, ensuring that any objects and/or associations with glyphs and narrative were historically and culturally accurate. I had some freedom in this regard, as the language remains largely undeciphered, however I did closely refer to translations by three major decoding attempts of the Rongorongo script from existing artefacts, which are further detailed in chapter three of this dissertation. I also made it clear in the author’s note to the novel that these translations were my own inventions.

Conclusion

The enigmatic nature of Easter Island has inspired academic as well as non- academic inquiry and has resulted in the creation and availability of wide-ranging resources from a number of perspectives. A selection of these resources provided sufficient historical information for me to write a fiction novella about Easter Island, its inhabitants and events that occurred during this time. I was able to use incomplete and/or contested research, such as controversial translations of Rongorongo glyphs and varying research about the cause of the Island’s demise, to develop my creative writing. I was mindful about the turbulent history of Easter Island and the inhabitants

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and was careful to apply this information with sensitivity. This historical information, however, was not sufficient to complete all aspects of my novella and, in this regard, the following chapter details my methodological approach to researching the two main components of this Masters thesis research: the use of invented language as a narrative component and understanding current trends in bestselling Young Adult fiction.

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Chapter 2

Methodology

‘Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade just as painting does, or music.

If you are born knowing them, fine. If not, learn them. Then rearrange the rules to suit yourself’ (Truman Capote)

This chapter details the issues that informed my decision to adopt a practice-led methodological approach, and then clarifies how methodologies from within this framework were used to progress my creative practice.

My previous undergraduate and post-graduate studies in the fields of Education and Public Health/Epidemiology were defined by meticulously structured methodological paradigms. Both fields mandate detailed qualitative and quantitative approaches whereby expectations of outputs and outcomes are clearly identified and measured in conjunction with aligned processes of data collection and analysis. Consequently, I struggled to find a methodological approach that fulfilled the needs of thesis research as it related to my creative practice, without feeling personal and institutional pressure to adopt a more traditional stance.

With this in mind, I attended university-led research workshops (facilitated by Brien & McCallister 2013, 2014) and also enrolled in an online research methodology course (Stanford University 2013) in an effort to ‘find my research feet’ within the field of Creative Arts. These workshops and studies helped me to realise that the messy and dynamic nature of creative writing and inquiry-based research did not easily support philosophical and epistemological frameworks adopted throughout traditional institutional fields (Kroll and Harper 2013). The standard institutional approach of linear research such as naming the research problem, identifying and controlling variables, and illuminating findings according to regulated quality assurance measures did not completely fit with the intrinsic needs of my research and left me feeling inadequate – as though I was unable to meet standard higher degree methodological expectations.

This stress is, according to Brad Haseman and Daniel Mafe (2009), a feeling common to creative arts students:

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[T]he potential for anxiety is not surprising for most established strategies are carefully constructed to exclude the researcher…the research industry and universities continue to insist that researchers conform to traditional approaches and research practices with their guarantee of methodological “hygiene”. (212)

Dominique Hecq asserts that creative writers in the academy continue to debate the relationship between theory and practice (2012), in that ‘the emergence of practice-led research has both restricted and extended the boundaries in considering how practitioners contribute to research inquiry’ (3). I initially experienced some of this confusion, and consequently anxiety, with my own practice. Despite this doubt, however, and after reflecting on the primary objective of the research – which was to tell a story – I settled on an Interpretivist philosophy (see Crotty 1998, Schwandt 2000 and Lincoln and Guba 2005), which seeks an understanding of the world in which we live and work to develop subjective meanings of lived experiences that are directed towards certain objects or things (Cresswell 2009, 2011). This approach combined a critical thinking/inquiry based research with supportive reflections related to the writing process. As such, I relied on qualitative inquiry in order to develop rich narrative descriptions rather than broad generalisations. Furthermore, this approach assisted with the identification and implementation of literary devices, such as symbolism, irony and story framing. These devices assisted with the development and placement of fictional language within the novella. In conjunction with this praxis, I undertook a minor amount of quantitative research to ascertain current trends in the Young Adult fiction market (as explained below, and in chapter four), in order to cement and support qualitative findings, and validate my writing choices.

In this way, and within this Interpretivist way of thinking about and studying social reality, I constructed a practice-led research approach that aligned with philosophers in this area who ‘insist on the primacy of their creative practice in research with those philosophers and epistemologists who are intent on theorising practice’ (Haseman and Mafe, 2009, p. 213). The range of theorists drawn upon in this creative practice-based field include, but are not exclusive to, John Dewey 1934, Pierre Bourdieu 1990, Carole Gray 2004, Donna Lee Brien 2004, Linda Candy 2006, Hazel Smith and Roger Dean 2009, Jenn Webb 2012, Hecq et al. 2013, Jeri Kroll 2006 and Graeme Harper 2013. Kroll and Harper succinctly explain this shared philosophy where they state that:

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Creative writing research…is distinct in being primarily focused on the production of new works, and the understanding of the processes as well as the ideas and actions that inform a project. In this respect, creative writing research is fundamentally ‘practice- led’; or, to put it another way, it always has practice at its conceptual core, even when dealing with issues of critical understanding or with theoretical speculation. (9)

This ‘primacy’ was in the forefront of my mind when constructing a method of research, including procedures, techniques and ways of collecting and analysing data, to write my creative artefact. For these processes, I related to Tess Brady’s experiences and adopted her view that:

Unlike my colleagues in other more traditional disciplines I needed to acquire a working rather than specialist knowledge, not in one area but in a range of areas and disciplines. I needed to function a little like a bowerbird that picks out the blue things and leaves all other colours…This bowerbird researching requires its own skill. The skill to locate quickly, sort through, and accurately select all the blue pieces. It is also the skill of knowing where to look, where to find the blue pieces in the first place. (2)

Like Brady, my bibliographical reference list of researched resources – or collected ‘blue things’ – seemed somewhat frenetic, and illustrated ‘the unusualness of the novelist’s research’ (2). My own collected research data ranged from physical artefacts containing undeciphered Rongorongo symbols, museum catalogues of Easter Island artefacts, records of Easter Island folklore, to linguistic and philologist studies, and analyses of language, alongside Young Adult and adult contemporary, historical and genre-based novels, travel brochures and guides, paintings, pop-culture websites and quantitative statistical data, among other texts and relevant physical objects. The diversity of these resources has contributed in varying ways to the completion of this project and their value, in terms of progressing the narrative, cannot be overstated. These and other practice-led methods and instruments are itemised more specifically throughout this chapter, however it is important to note here that, when choosing methodology, I espoused Carole Gray’s instruction to ‘take the terms and the technique of [creative] practice and repurpose them into the language and methods of research’ (Gray 2009: 215). These repurposed terms are outlined throughout this chapter.

In relation to methodology, one of the most effective influences on my creative writing also happened to be the most intangible. The effect of what has been

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called, in this context, ‘serendipity’ (Tan 2008), became increasingly important to my creative process. As my work progressed, I was able to hone my ability to identify and recognise objects, experiences and feelings that had seemingly providential relevance to my creative and research practice. I found that the elemental force of serendipity within creative writing has the ‘capacity to surprise even the writer at the point of authoring the written product [and] gives the creative writing process some of its visceral power’ (Green 2010, p. 1). Novelist Amy Tan agrees with this and adds,

I get these hints, these clues, and I realise that they have been obvious and yet they have not been. And what I need in effect is a focus. When I have the question it is a focus and all these things that seem to be flotsam and jetsam in life actually go through that question. And what happens is that those particular things become relevant and it seems like it is happening all the time; you think that there is a sort of coincidence going on, a serendipity in which you are getting all this help from the universe, and it may also be explained that now you have a focus and you are noticing it more often. (2008)

Through a similar process, I found impetus for my methodological symbolism of ‘infinity’ in a pop culture reference from The perks of being a wallflower, the novel which, as stated earlier, instigated my desire to undertake higher degree research. The book-to-film release of Chbosky’s work in 2012 inspired a resurgence of the novel’s popularity and a proliferation of references associated with quotes taken directly from the text. One such reference, ‘and in this moment, I swear, we were infinite’ (39) is often accompanied in print, and on merchandise, with the representative symbol for infinity .

It is fortuitous that, at the same time, I was questioning distinctly separate, yet interrelated, problematic issues that guided my research. The interactive duality of these variables within Young Adult fiction, to my mind, constituted two areas of unchartered scholarly research and had the potential to contribute new knowledge to the field of creative writing.

Adding to these coincidences, I discovered that theorists Hazel Smith and Roger Dean identify a similar yet more complex model of interactive duality in relation to practice-led research, and research-led practice, where they define the categories as ‘overlapping and interlinked’ (5). They further state that ‘research-led practice is a terminology that we use to complement practice-led research and which

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suggests more clearly than practice-led research, that scholarly research can lead to creative work’ (7). It seemed to me that the further I progressed through Smith and Dean’s iterative cycle of practice-led research design (see page 20, figure 1:1), the more I noticed Tan’s notion of ‘focus and coincidence’, and the relevance of this duality in relation to selecting and organising the ‘flotsam and jetsam’ of my research higher degree research process.

I used this paradigm as a key organising principle in order to unpack my research question:

In writing a Young Adult novel, how does research into history, the construction of a fictional language and Young Adult fiction market trends impact upon creative practice and outcomes?

This dual paradigm provided a framework that directed my research methods, processes and outcomes. One construction of questions, in particular, came to represent the overarching research problems that guided my methodological approach:

1) How do I write a Young Adult fiction when genres, sub-genres and target readerships are rapidly evolving? How does knowledge of this rapidly changing Young Adult market influence what I write?

This complex research problem was further unpacked in order to separate, identify and resolve variable components, as below: a) How are the institutions (associated with YA) affecting Young Adult fiction? How is Young Adult fiction, in turn, affecting these institutions?; and, b) How do I construct a fictional language within a historical novella that is suitable for a Young Adult readership? Is my proposed historical novella, which contains a constructed symbolic language, suitable for a Young Adult readership?

I found that, by investigating and addressing the sum of these questions, I could resolve aspects of my research question, which in turn directed my creative practice. In this, various practice-led methods and strategies of data collection, instruments and tools were applied to each of the constituent parts in order to resolve the larger research question. These are outlined below:

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Researching the writing process

I used a number of practice-led qualitative strategies, data collection techniques, tools and instruments to analyse my own writing process in order to progress my creative artefact, and was heavily influenced by Marguerite MacRobert’s (2013) chapter of suggested practice-led methods called ‘Modelling the Creative Writing Process’ (56). In researching my own writing process, I noted the need to ‘examine not simply the process of developing a product but also the interaction of the inner processes of the person producing the product’ (57). I adopted the strategy of reading to inform as a ‘purposeful, practice-led research strategy’ (Brien 2006, p. 2) and found that authors’ autobiographies and interviews became important tools for guidance and reflection.

In this, I related to John Marsden’s Everything I know about writing (1993), where, in the introduction, he refers to writers as ‘collectors’, stating, ‘All good writers and readers, consciously or unconsciously, are aware of language. They respond strongly when they see or hear language used beautifully, cleverly and effectively’ (3). Additionally, Kate Grenville’s The writing book (1998) and Searching for the secret river (2008) offered a range of excellent ideas, particularly focusing on what she called ‘technical aspects of writing’ (xiv), and troubleshooting when the author experiences difficulties. Similarly, Stephen King’s On writing (2000) offered valuable writing advice by reflecting on tools from his metaphorical ‘writer’s toolbox’ which he has amassed, and continually draws from, as part of his writing journey. Furthermore, I attended book launches, writing conferences and festivals, and read interviews with authors who penned books related to my own creative artefact, in order to progress my creative writing – including presentations and recordings from authors such as Craig Silvey (2010), Kate Grenville (2011), Markus Zusak (2012), Margo Lanagan, Stephanie Bowe and Julia Lawrinson (2013), Tim Winton (Jennifer Burns presents 2013), Michael Morpurgo (2013), Neil Gaiman (2015) and Kate Forsyth (2015).

Further analysis of my creative process (as also identified by MacRobert) was conducted through ‘protocal analysis’ (59), where thoughts were verbalised and

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recorded (via dictation) during the creation phase of writing. These thoughts, as reflexive contemplations, were revisited at various times throughout the iterative writing cycle to resolve issues relating to my creative practice. My writing drafts, notes and doodles were also examined in this manner. This process helped me to identify problems with my creative work and provided me with inspiration for ways forward.

Creative writing methods – tools, instruments and strategies

The technique of journaling was used (or repurposed – to use Gray’s term, above) as an important practice-led method for research. As Eugen Bacon (2014) states, journaling, for a writer, is

a flexible instrument of personal and scholarly insights…[that] informs the mapping of self and research [doing so] through an intuitive, albeit reflexive, experience, where intuitive refers to discerning, not just something based on feelings rather than facts or evidence, and reflexive means inward reflection, something that is focussed on improving “self” and “process”. (1)

As a researcher who works best within an ordered environment, journaling, as a practice-led method, allowed me to separate information – via colour-coded pads and notebooks – according to thoughts and inward reflections on self and process. In this, I separated and journaled information relevant to the plotline (including creating and revising a chronological plotline, visual concept mapping of the plotline and a narrative arc), information relating to the development of a fictional language including Rongorongo translations, cultural and historical information relevant to my novella’s characters, settings, events, and ceremonies, and also narrative concerns and potential problems including narrative and structural writing gaps.

Investigative methodology of historical resources

The historical and cultural inquiry nature of this creative research project meant that the exploration and analysis of primary historical and social material played an important role in developing an understanding of cultural perspectives. In line with best practice principles within the Creative Industries field, investigative methodology based around the iterative cycle of researching, writing, drafting and

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editing (see Stevens and Asmar 1999, Brien 2004, 2006) was used to research constructed languages within fictional texts. Academic and non-scholarly resources related to Easter Island history and the decoding and analysis of Indigenous Rongorongo language, although instrumental as a strategy for artefact creation, will be discussed, in greater detail, in chapter three.

Reading as a writer

Stephen King has written:

I don’t read in order to study the craft, I read because I like to read…Similarly, I don’t read fiction to study the art of fiction, but simply because I like fiction. Yet there is a learning process going on. Every book you pick up has its own lesson or lessons, and quite often the bad books have more to teach than the good ones. (2000, p. 145)

By ‘reading as a writer’ (see Brien 2006), I found that was an important practice-led research strategy for my own creative writing and I read extensively, from a number of related genres and sub-genres, in order to further develop creative writing skills and progress my work. I read many novels that contributed in some way to the structure, content, voice, intended audience, point of view, themes and/or other literary devices within my novella. Some of these were also worthy of quantitative analysis due to their relationship to the rapidly changing nature of genres, sub-genres and content sophistication within the Young Adult fiction category, and were used concurrently for creative writing and also quantitative data gathering.2

2 These books include: Forest of the Pygmies, Isabel Allende (2005), Obsidian, Jennifer Armentrout (2011), Thirteen reasons why, Jay Asher (2007), Clan of the cave bear, Jean M Auel (1980), The perks of being a wallflower (1999), Mortal instruments, Cassandra Clare (2008), The alchemist, Paul Coelho (1988), Leverage, Joshua C Cohen (2011), The hunger games, Suzanne Collins (2008), Losing it, Cora Carmack (2012), A little wanting song, Cath Crowley (2005) The kill order, James Dashner (2012), Raw blue, Kirsty Eager (2009), The great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald (1925), Pillars of the earth, Ken Follett (1989), The hunt, Andrew Fukuda (2012), Beautiful creatures, Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl (2009), The Vincent brothers, Abbi Glines (2011), Memoirs of a geisha, Arthur Golden (1997), Looking for Alaska, John Green (2005), The fault in our stars, John Green (2012), Paper towns, John Green (2008), The curious incident of the dog in the night time, Mark Haddon (2003), Across the nightingale floor, Lian Hearn (2002), Slammed, Colleen Hoover (2012), About a boy, Nick Hornby (1998), A thousand splendid suns, Khaled Hosseini (2007), 50 shades of grey, EL James (2011), Flowers for Algernon, Daniel Keyes (1959), In darkness, Nick Lake (2012), Tender morsels, Margo Lanagan (2010), To kill a mockingbird, Harper Lee (1960), The giver, Lois Lowry (2002), The piper’s son, Melina Marchetta (2010), The chronicles of the mound builders, Elle Marie (2012), Tomorrow when the world began, John Marsden (2006), Game of thrones, GRR Martin (1996), Second chance summer, Morgan Matson (2012), The road, Cormac McCarthy (2006), Atonement, Ian McEwan (2001), Twilight, Stephanie Meyer (2005), Cinder, Marissa Meyer (2013), The host, Stephanie Meyer

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Primary research

The multi-sensory impact of visiting Easter Island (in 2012) informed my creative writing long after I returned to Australia. Reflecting on photographs and resources from my time there, and also assessing new resources related to Easter Island, often triggered sensory memories from my time on the island – such as smells, sounds, tastes and how things felt – and these inspired, and progressed, my creative writing. As a primary resource, the residual effect of visiting Easter Island gave a depth of understanding to secondary resources which, I believe, enhanced my writing. For example, when viewing locations on Easter Island from the website resource Google Earth, my senses responded to remembered sounds, smells and feelings from the island – I could zoom in, for example, to look at the black rocks of the island statues on the computer screen and, at the same time, could remember the feeling of the rough porous rocks under my fingertips.

Quantifying the Young Adult fiction market

When I began writing the creative component of this thesis, I could not determine the target audience which it would best suit, or for that matter, whether or not I needed to align my novel with a particular age-defined category at all. After all, many of the most famous authors of Young Adult fictions claim to have written without an audience in mind. Maria Popova, in her investigation of authors who espouse this view, includes JRR Tolkien, Neil Gaiman and Maurice Sendak, the last of whom stated ‘I don’t write for children, I write and somebody says, “that’s for children!”’ (see Sendak, qtd. in Popova 2013).

(2008), Someone to love, Addison Moore (2012), 1Q84, Haruki Murakami (2011), My sister’s keeper, Jodi Picoult (2005), The kissing booth, Beth Reekles (2013), The lightning thief, Rick Riorden (2005), Divergent, Veronica Roth (2011), Harry Potter (series), JK Rowling (1997-2007), The absolutely true diary of a part-time Indian, Alexie Sherman (2007), The stone diaries, Carol Shields (1993), Jasper Jones, Craig Silvey (2009), The Rosie project, Graeme Simsion (2013), The light between two oceans, ML Stedman (2012), The help, Katherine Stockett (2009), The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien (1937), The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien (1954), Wildlife, Fiona Wood (2013), The story of Edgar Sawtelle, David Wroblewski (2008), The fifth wave, Rick Yancey (2013), Shadow of the wind, Ruiz Zafon Carlos (2001), How to save a life, Sara Zarr (2011),The book thief, Marcus Zusak (2005).

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With elements of whimsy, fantasy and adventure, and a story driven by plot, my ideas were somewhat traditional in their appeal to a younger audience, yet they also contained elements of drama, violence and sophisticated plotlines that were more aligned to an adult readership. On researching Young Adult fiction market trends, I discovered that this complexity was a common characteristic of novels in this category (see, Spencer 2010, and fn. 1).

For this reason, I adjusted my methodological approach to also investigate contemporary bestselling Young Adult fiction. That is, I researched sites that provided statistical data (such as The New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists, and Nielsen statistical data reports) to determine patterns in Young Adult fiction. As Kerry Spencer has written; ‘fundamentally, a statistical analysis is an inductive methodology that requires a random sample to be drawn from within a defined population’ (Spencer 2013, p. 87). In this way, the research parameters of this study included investigating statistical data regarding readerships, genres, and market trends in bestselling Young Adult fiction from 2005 to 2015. This investigation and the resulting findings are further detailed in chapter four.

Conclusion

As with Kroll and Harper, and many other practice-led theorists, my practice is at the conceptual core of my methodological approach, even when dealing with issues of critical understanding or with theoretical speculation. As such, reading as a writer and researching successful writing strategies were, for this Masters project, central to my methodology. Although I collected and analysed some statistical data in order to understand the status of contemporary Young Adult fiction, my research was fundamentally dictated, and led, by the needs of my writing practice and was qualitative and practice-led in nature. And, as a result, I developed a key organising principle as a model to guide this project’s research question:

In writing a Young Adult novel, how does research into history, the construction of a fictional language and Young Adult fiction market trends impact upon creative practice and outcomes?

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Chapter 3

Lost in Translation: Using Fictional Language as a Form of Narrative3

The juxtaposition of separate languages (whether real or invented, textual or pictorial) within a single piece of fiction is rare. Furthermore, the difficulty of authentically achieving a cohesive and seamlessly gripping novel in one language is complex, let alone with two – one of which is invented. With this in mind, this chapter details my investigation of the Rongorongo script, and the practice-led research findings that informed the creation and implementation of an invented glyph-based fictional language for ‘The last statue’. In doing so, it explores the linguistic construction of fictionalised languages in existing fictions, in order to examine the motivations that drive writers to invent language for fiction, and to identify and document the strategies used by these writers, in an effort to assist other writers who may wish to create languages for fiction. Furthermore, this research identifies examples where authors have used fictional language as textual agents to enhance narrative elements such as characterisation, setting, atmosphere, and plot. This chapter continues to describe how this research has informed the development of my own fictional language – which was adapted from existing Rongorongo glyphs – to help establish an imagined world within ‘The last statue’ that might appear, to the reader, to be both plausible and authentic.

Existing Rongorongo language – as a practice-led resource

Our understanding and appreciation of language is fundamentally important to our comprehension of each other, and our interactions with the surrounding environment. Noted linguist Leonard Bloomfield’s foundational book on this subject, simply titled Language, asserted this notion as early as 1914 (1973, revised edn). With this in mind, dovetailing a created language within, and central to, the plotline of ‘The last statue’ aimed to enrich and add tension to the climax of the work. That is,

3 Please note that some of the information contained in this chapter is drawn from, and developed in, the book chapter of the same title, which was published during my candidature (See List of Publications).

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each climactic component of the narrative is understood at intervals, parallel, and in conjunction with, the created fictional language. In this case, the fictional language is pictorial. It was, and is, hoped that this inclusion will encourage readers to engage with the text and the invented language when reading the novel – engagement being identified as an integral factor to understanding and comprehending literacy (see Bloomfield 1973, Enciso 1996, Guthrie, Wigfield and You 2012).

As mentioned above (in the Literature Review), I was mindful of cultural appropriation in relation to the use of existing Rongorongo scripts and artefacts. However, I wished to use the existing knowledge about this undeciphered language in order to link the symbol artefacts with real objects and cultural norms within the timeframe of my novella. The following sources do not represent an exhaustive list of attempts to decipher Rongorongo scripts, however; they were chosen for their relevance to the novella’s characters, setting, and plot, and their ability to accurately progress the novella’s narrative.

In this area, the most comprehensive (although controversially inaccurate and relatively incomplete catalogue) and primary resource, for the creative component was Jaussen’s List (see Barthel 1958, Guy 1999, Brookman 2007). Florenin-Etienne Jaussen developed this resource with the help of a native Easter Island inhabitant between the years of 1869 and 1874, from a number of tablets containing the glyphs. Some images and their meanings were translated exactly from Jaussen’s list of Rongorongo symbols and others were created and given meaning according to the needs of the novella’s narrative. I also used the techniques of epigraphic science as applied by German ethnologist Thomas Barthel (1958), in that I attributed whole words to individual glyphs rather than assigning phonetic sounds to each glyph. This allowed me to simplify the processes of language construction and interpretation. In this context, Steven Roger Fischer’s research (see 1995 and 1997), especially his journal article ‘Preliminary evidence for cosmogonic texts in Rapanui's Rongorongo inscriptions’ (1995) was also useful in that it contained a comprehensive list of glyphs that included single word translations that could be easily applied to my novella.

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The purpose of fictional language

Fictional languages, in literature, can range from the creation of a few words that have symbolic relevance and importance to the narrative, to fully functioning constructed languages. According to Peter Stockwell, in his Invented language in literature:

the primary function of invented language in literary fiction is to delineate the distance and connections between the reader’s world and the world imagined in the text…Delineating the difference between the textual world and the reader’s world is the first step in determining the significance of the work, in making identifications for empathy or satire, in being able to generalize the specifics of the story world into principles for the reader’s world. (2006, p. 3)

Stockwell’s idea of ‘delineation’ was central to the invention of a fictional language within ‘The last statue’, where I deliberately chose symbols and created language that I considered had a unique look in order to create a sense of difference, and therefore, distance from my narrative text. I found this stratagem helpful when using symbols to ornament the novella’s imagined landscape, highlight central themes within the narrative and when attempting to create a sense of historical plausibility for the reader.

When I first stumbled across the Indigenous Easter Island Rongorongo script I was struck by the sheer calligraphic beauty of the symbols which, to me, were reminiscent of Tolkien’s constructed Elvin scripts in his Middle-earth novels. I was inspired by the notion that their inclusion (within the narrative) would beautify the writing and I was eager to learn how this might be done. I discovered via my research that my desire to convey an artistic perspective of the world in which we live is shared, and exemplified by, a multitude of constructed languages throughout history.

Thousands of invented languages have been artistically created and published for varying purposes including communication, personal recognition, education, philanthropy and the pursuit of a better world (Conley and Cain 2006, Okrent 2009). Ludwik Zamenhof, for example, published Esperanto (which literally translates to ‘one who hopes’) as early as 1887, with the intention of creating a universal language designed to foster peace and international understanding between people who spoke different languages. In the literary world of popular fiction, where the primary intent is to entertain, constructed languages provide a reality for, and a cultural setting

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around, imagined races of speakers, societies and/or invented worlds. They are designed to add depth and an appearance of plausibility to the fictional worlds with which they are associated (Conley and Cain 2006, p. xix). Joseph Lo Bianco in his 2004 linguistic investigation of invented languages explains that ‘constructed languages are meant to be used by humans in giving life to new worlds of ideas, interests, art, politics and ideology, particular civilisations, gender, particular lifestyles, and the imagination’ (11).

The freedom to similarly ‘give life to new worlds’ compelled me to push the boundaries of my own writing practice, and attempt to construct and implement a series of glyphs that convey meanings and add to the written text. The artistry of the original Rongorongo glyphs, and the skill that Easter Islanders exhibited to create them, added beauty and intrigue to the narrative, particularly when my new meanings aligned the symbols with the text. Moreover, the use of an accurate Rongorongo ‘font’ style, I felt, enhanced the authenticity of this text within its historical context and also the aesthetic of the novella.

The use of fictional languages in literature and film

The cult-like popularity and enduring global success of works such as Tolkien’s Middle-earth fictions including The Hobbit (1937) and The Lord of the Rings (1954–1955), George Orwell’s Nineteen eighty-four (1949), Richard Adams’s Watership Down (Adams 1972), G. R. R. Martin’s fantasy series A song of ice and fire (1996–2015), and the film Avatar (2009) can be partly attributed to the fictional languages within them that mimic and transform the reality of life, as we know it, into a believable fantasy. I was surprised, therefore, that when researching fictional languages, there were not more examples of these constructions when compared to the huge number of published novels within compatible genres. Fictionalised languages within literature list only in the hundreds compared to the many thousands of novels published within the fiction-language compatible genres of fantasy, science fiction, utopia and dystopia. Linguist Professor Matt Pearson agrees and notes that ‘there has been a sea change in Hollywood. They realise there’s a fan base out there that wants constructed languages’ (Pearson, qtd. in Chozick 2011). It is relevant (to the construction of a fictional language within my novella) that many of the films and

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novels that contain fictional languages are also popular with Young Adults, for example, The Lord of the Rings, Watership Down, Nineteen eighty-four and The hobbit. This consumer desire is driving a demand for realistic constructed languages with grammatical rules, written alphabets and a vocabulary that allows for basic conversation.

Prior to my research into the construction and use of fictional language in literature, I considered myself unqualified for the task of constructing one. Given my initial reticence, it is plausible to believe that other writers share my reluctance to create a fictional language – and this possibly may explain the underrepresentation of fictional languages in literature generally. That is, writers may harbour the perception that fictional languages are difficult, or too time consuming, to construct. This view, however, is contrary to most examples in fictional literature, which are written/created by authors with no formal linguistic training. In her article about created languages in science fiction novels, Ria Cheyne reiterates this view:

Highly developed languages such as Elgin’s Láaden and Okrand’s Klingon are much in the minority. The lack of technical linguistic information behind science fiction’s creative languages is no flaw or weakness, however. It only appears that way when created languages are read in terms of a scholarly paradigm that does not fit the material. Whatever other purposes they serve, real world constructed languages are designed to be used for human communication. They need to be extensively developed, with a large vocabulary, comprehensive grammar rules and so on. The created languages of science fiction, in contrast, do not serve the purposes of practical communication. “Completeness” is not a criteria because science fiction texts are not language primers. (2008, p. 389)

This view can be applied to all literature genres that contain invented languages including my own inventions and applications of Rongorongo glyphs, which could not be constructed from their original form to represent a functional language. This is because each Rongorongo symbol was not designed to represent phonetic sounds of words or even singular words, rather, each one can signify a phrase, a ritual, or even a cultural event.

Invented languages within literature can vary greatly in terms of sophistication and also word count. Tolkien’s collection of published works is a mere fraction of his total linguistic creations which, in comparison, contain far more invented language

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than his novels: ‘The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are something like islands in the vast sea of his legendary output’ (Robbins 2013, p. 184). Tolkien’s islands are, furthermore, considerably richer in invented language than most other examples where the number of invented words is relatively few.

Further, as another example, the fairy language of Gnommish, in Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl novel (2001) contains only five invented words, and Watership Down, written by Richard Adams in 1972, included only forty words of ‘Lapine’ for the rabbit characters that inhabit his book. Similarly, GRR Martin’s recent novels contain only a smattering of invented words in Dothraki and Valyrian and, when asked recently about their construction and complexity, he noted that:

Tolkien was a philologist, and an Oxford don, and could spend decades laboriously inventing Elvish in all its detail. I, alas, am only a hardworking Science Fiction and Fantasy novelist, and I don’t have his gift for languages. That is to say, I have not actually created a Valyrian language. The best I could do was to try to sketch in each of the chief tongues, my imaginary world in broad strokes, and give them each their characteristic sounds and spellings. (Martin 2001)

Martin’s ‘broad strokes’ approach to grammar conventions and minimal invented word count is evidence that fictional languages, as textual agents, can effectively convey meaning even when writers do not necessarily classify themselves as linguistically talented or include highly developed language creations within their works. Martin does not reveal any new or unfamiliar strategies in his explanation of language development; rather, his statement highlights the use of essential narrative elements that are required for successful fiction in all its forms. That is, aspects of voice, setting, character development and plot.

I was not aware – until I researched these and other examples where fictional languages were used in novels – how simple such constructions could be. Rather than develop and implement many glyphs, I found that their meaning could be subtly conveyed with the inclusion of just a few symbols. As with many aspects of creative writing, I discovered that ‘less is often more’ and, in this case, I found that the narrative flowed more readily when fewer Rongorongo glyphs were introduced within the text. This finding transformed my approach to the construction and implementation of Rongorongo glyphs for my novella. Furthermore, the delineation of the fictional text was enhanced when the glyphs were separated from the general

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text to form a small passage (almost a story within a story) at the beginning of each chapter.

Character development

Reader comprehension of the text was a paramount consideration when writing the Rongorongo language parallel to the narrative and, with this in mind, I experimented with ways to incorporate symbols so that they could seamlessly add to the text and not create confusion for the reader. Consequently, I limited the number of symbols used to represent only the main protagonists and used the repetition of important symbols in order to reinforce comprehension.

According to Peter Stockwell, the success of ‘all creative fiction depends, to a greater or lesser degree, on the difference between our actual world and the imagined world of text’ (2006, p. 3). Within this context, the primary functions of creative languages are to delineate this distance between worlds and to add plausibility to the text. Richard Adams explained how he used such delineation to create his invented language of ‘Lapine’ in Watership Down, from the elemental construction of words – to which he gave a “kind of wuffy, fluffy sound” – to more thoughtful considerations:

Lapine was invented word by word in the course of writing. This took place wherever a rabbit word was needed rather than words used by human beings. For example, “going above ground to feed” is a phrase hardly needed by human beings. But rabbits would need a single word – a word they quite often needed to use, for example silfay. Again, tharn was a rabbit word meaning stupefied or paralysed with fear. (2005, p. xiv)

This approach illustrates how fictional language can be used as a textual agent to act as a conduit between the writer and reader to provide information about characters and the invented worlds in which they live. As a literary tool, it is a condiment of sorts, that enables the writer to scaffold text, develop character traits and cultural nuances, and to create enriched environments for imagined worlds. In this sense, Jaussen’s List of Rongorongo translations provides an accurate record of life on Easter Island within the historical era in which the novella is set. Jaussen was said to have found a labourer from Easter Island, named Metoro Tau‘a Ure, who supposedly knew the inscriptions ‘by heart’ and vouched for the authenticity of the listed translated glyphs. Jaussen’s translated glyphs are a mixture of nouns and proper nouns

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of animals, people and objects found on the island at this time, such as turtles, fish, gods and types of fauna, as well as representations of religious and social/hierarchical objects. Additionally, these symbols depict important verbs and actions that were relevant to my narrative such as hunting, praying, eating and sitting. Some glyphs, such as the symbol for turtle, were so pictorially accurate that I was able to transfer Jaussen’s literal translations to the novella; however, I assigned my own translation to many of the glyphs according to the needs of the narrative.

An invented language instantly delineates the speaker from both the reader’s world and other characters within the novel who do not share that character’s language or dialect, thus establishing a unique voice and point of difference. As a tool, such languages have been used to depict all manner of races and beings ranging from animals and humans to aliens and invented beasts. Edgar Rice Burroughs constructed the ape language of Mangani for his fictional species of great apes, which feature from the beginning of his series in his first novel Tarzan of the apes (1914). Similarly, Tolkien created at least fifteen Elvish languages in combination with several fully developed examples for various races of invented creatures in Middle- earth; each containing separate linguistic features that reveal character traits specific to each one. According to Lo Bianco, Tolkien’s languages, and the evolution of them, are indicative of real world languages and the cultural distinctions that they disclose:

[T]he hard-to-learn languages of the ancient tree-like Ents, described as repetitive and poor sounding; the slow changing language of the Dwarfs, with its secret discourses and private speech; and the Black Speech of the Orcs, cobbled together from other languages as if to reflect their lack of virtue. (2004, p. 12)

Galach, which is the common tongue spoken by all citizens in Frank Herbert’s 1965 novel Dune is described, within his work, as the terminology of the Imperium. As a writing strategy, this shared language effectively delineates Herbert’s invented worlds from the reader’s world with a collectively profound and distinct difference, and establishes an avenue of communication between interracial characters that negates the need for translation by the author.

Unlike authors such as Burroughs, Tolkien and Herbert, who were able to phonetically represent invented tongues to infer dialect and varying races and cultures within their texts, Rongorongo glyphs, which are pictorial, are not phonetically constructed and do not identify a dialect or syntactic language that signifies cultural

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nuances. However, the glyphs do identify objects from different tribes and social hierarchies within the island, such as members of royalty, slaves and hunters (Barthel 1958). These identities are reinforced by matching objects and people with ‘like’ symbols. For example, the symbol representing a fish has similar attributes to those found in the real world, including fins, and the symbol representing a chief has an ornamental headdress proportionate to the ceremonial headdresses worn in many existing cultures: o fish G chief

Setting and atmosphere

‘Artistic languages’ are named thus partly because of their ornamental capacity and ability to enrich the physical and political background of the imagined world. This characteristic makes such language a valuable tool for writers, like Martin who creates worlds containing multiple races, cultures and landscapes. His harsh, unyielding landscapes inhabited by the fierce Dothraki race correlates with the tribe’s language and brutal cultural nuances. In contrast, the lush city of Quarth is suited to his refined characters who speak Valyrian. Similarly, the stark dialectical language of Nadsat, used by members of a teen subculture in Anthony Burgess’s A clockwork orange (1962), helps to create a threatening atmosphere, and enhances the scenes and themes of ultra-violence within the novel. It serves the thematic purpose of increasing the reader’s involvement with the antihero, and narrator (Alex), ‘by pitching the reader into Alex’s mind more effectively than if the narrative had been written entirely in standard English’ (Stockwell 2006, p. 6).

Martin and Burgess’s examples were excellent research models, however I found that choosing from the potentially vast numbers of Easter Island cultural and physical vocabulary, with its many characters, tribes and settings, was a particularly difficult task. I discovered that the tasks of choosing symbols and replacing texts with fictional languages was easier after the creative writing was completed. Therefore, much of the fictional language was inserted after the completion of the first draft of the novella, when each fictional symbol could be fitted into the existing narrative arc.

A particularly engaging use of fictional language can be seen in examples where common words within the constructed language are purposefully omitted in

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order to accentuate political and/or environmental themes. In Ursula K Le Guin’s science fiction novel The dispossessed (1972), she deliberately omits words for some common objects and animals such as forests and horses since the environment is mostly dry and has little vegetation. The absence of money and property within Le Guin’s imagined world means that words such as gambling are also redundant. These purposeful omissions, ironically, add plausibility to the political and natural environment and offer a realistic platform from which to build the fictional narrative arc.

Although I was impressed by the creative applications where authors such as Martin and Burgess used fictional language as a literary device and wished to emulate the effect of these strategies in my own writing, there were limitations with using symbols rather than a readable phonetic text. For example, the word Alda, in Tolkien’s elfish Quenya language, can be ‘sounded’ out and translated to mean ‘tree’; however, symbols and pictures cannot be ‘sounded out’ and therefore must be recognised on sight. As such, the use of symbols as compared to textual invented language has limitations in terms of ornamenting narrative. This is particularly true with Rongorongo language where a single symbol can represent many words and/or phrases. Given this constraint, I found it was informative to study Le Guin’s purposeful omissions, and I found her strategy relevant to aspects of my fictional creations. In my case, I was limited in my choice of both English words and symbols (based on Rongorongo glyphs) because the novella is set in a specific historical point in time, on a remote island, where external human contact and materials were restricted. I was always aware of objects and words that were not present or used at this time. I could not use symbols that represented dialect, objects, scenes or actions that would not be available or plausible on Easter Island in the context of my narrative and, therefore, I carefully chose the language and glyphs accordingly. Some examples of these includes animals and birds which were still quite numerous at this time and the image for Gods which was commonly found throughout the island and widely recognised as a true image due to the appearance of the mask which denotes a deity (Barthel 1958).

P Turtle k Birds K Gods

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There is evidence that some animals and objects were traded between inhabitants and passing ships at this time – such as chickens and fresh fruits and vegetables – however, I chose not to include these as glyphs, as I wanted to heighten the feeling of isolation by creating a sense that limited resources were dwindling with little chance for the inhabitants to escape from the island. The issue of dwindling resources on the island was also the impetus for my choice to limit the number of Rongorongo symbols within the narrative. As a symbolic literary device, the minimal number of glyphs reflects the scarcity of resources.

Using fictional language to progress plot

The creation of words in order to detail objects, characters and cultural or political distinctions establishes an immediate difference and sense of foreignness that, for the reader, delineates the real from the imagined world portrayed in the text. This delineation facilitates reader immersion and allows the author to convey central themes and progress plot designs via the narrative (Stockwell 2006). With this in mind, I deliberately chose the placement of Rongorongo glyphs within sentences, and the structure of the narrative that surrounds them, to enhance suspense. Particular glyphs were introduced strategically to support the text and often preclude an event. This is specifically relevant to the prophecy and the decoding aspect that is revealed and therefore adds mystery to the scene.

I modelled my placement of fictional language on existing examples in novels where objects, characters and cultural or political distinctions established an immediate difference, and sense of foreignness, between the real and the imagined world portrayed in the text, and where this strategy was used as a tool to progress the narrative plot. One such example was found in Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl novel (2001) where the lines of translatable Gnommish symbols run along the footer of each page to form a riddle relating to the storyline. The character of Artemis Fowl is the only human to speak Gnommish fluently, which enables Colfer to explain plot-worthy information to the reader via his main character. In this way, Colfer progresses the narrative, via Artemis Fowl’s translations, to those who do not possess his gift of tongues. A further example can be found in JK Rowling’s Harry Potter novels (1997– 2007) where Rowling created the fictional snake-language of Parseltongue. To a

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human who cannot speak it, the words are similar to the hissing of a snake. Harry is one of only a few wizards who can speak and understand Parseltongue and Rowling uses this fact as a plot device throughout her books, by connecting the language to a problem or mystery that Harry and his friends need to solve. For example, Harry could only unlock the spell to open the Chamber of Secrets in the novel of that name (2004) by speaking Parseltongue, and this, of course, underscores his role as the central protagonist of the series. I also chose to identify the main protagonist within my novella by using literary devices such as irony and symbolism when characterising Kaia as a mute slave. Although it is symbolic for Kaia, who is a slave, to be without a voice, the irony surrounding the fact that he cannot speak, however, is that he is able to translate secret and highly important Rongorongo symbols. This is especially true when Kaia begins to fulfil the prophecy and, simultaneously, finds his voice.

Initially, I struggled to find a way to imbed the Rongorongo symbols into the narrative so that they melded seamlessly together. In this regard, I was inspired by Gary Crew’s use of framing as a device in his Young Adult novel Strange objects (1990), which has been described as ‘a book which helped re-shape the form of Australian Young Adult fiction writing’ (Eaton 2011). Crew creates a ‘story within a story’ by introducing evidence and clues relevant to the story plot, via documentation, as a prologue and epilogue.

I modelled Crew’s framing device by including a prologue and epilogue by Katherine Routledge, a British anthropologist famous for her 1913 journey to, and study of, Easter Island. The prologue and epilogue are written in expository form, to evoke the ethnographic language of sociology reflections (of that time), and they detail the mystery of the undeciphered Rongorongo language. I was able to emulate this form from Routledge’s own accounts, written in The mystery of Easter Island (1919), where she penned a sub-chapter on Rongorongo language called ‘The script’. As Routledge explains (in the prologue), her expedition discovers some tablets that contain examples of the language, which they believe documents the story of the island’s demise. They are able to decipher some of the symbols (below) and these symbols form the basis for the prophecy, which is revealed, in parts, throughout the novella.

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K Gods k birds o fish t cricket

U statue q island P turtle m erupt

A boy u wind

As literary devices, these additions served a number of authorial purposes. Not least, they provided a premise to introduce the invented language within the narrative. The minimal number of invented glyphs within the Prologue and throughout the novella is symbolic of this point in time on Easter Island, and reflects the lack of resources, isolation and desperation that inhabitants might have felt at this time and also aims to add a sense of suspense, intrigue and mystery to the text for the reader.

Conclusion

I created and used Rongorongo glyphs as a literary device within ‘The last statue’. After researching works with few invented words as well as novels with highly developed fictional language systems, I reconsidered the number of glyphs that I intended to apply to the narrative. As a result of this, I felt confident that I could subtly enrich and ornament the characters and the landscapes within the novella with minimal glyphs. Through these creations, I was able to detail objects, characters and cultural or political distinctions. I aimed to establish a sense of difference and foreignness that, hopefully, delineates the real from the imagined world portrayed in the text, and, therefore facilitates reader immersion while allowing me, as the author, to convey central themes and progress plot designs via this literary device.

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Chapter 4

Bestselling Young Adult fiction: trends, genres and readership4

I discovered, early in this research process, that writing for, or into, the Young Adult fiction category by trying to design fiction to appeal specifically to Young Adult readers, somewhat stifled my creativity. As mentioned in the Methodology chapter, my thinking, in this regard, aligned with Tolkien, Gaiman and Sendak – all of whom in their own ways espouse Kurt Vonnegut’s view that writers should ‘write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia’ (2000, p. 10). I disregarded the formulaic approach of writing specifically for a Young Adult fiction audience (as advocated by Nilsen and Donaldson 2009) and instead concentrated on telling the story as I felt it needed to be told. Information relating to the contemporary Young Adult market was, however, important to me in so much as the findings informed the potential market placement of my novella; that is, it assessed whether or not my novella was suitable for a young adult readership. The proposed research also identified, and addressed, a research gap – in the area of international bestselling fiction – and represented new scholarly knowledge within the field of Young Adult fiction. With this in mind, information within this chapter is weighted towards scholarly research rather than reflexive contemplations. However, reflections, as they relate to the Young Adult fiction category (and my creative artefact), are explained in this chapter, and further detailed in the concluding chapter of this exegesis.

While recent scholarly debate within Young Adult fiction has often focused on the appropriateness, and advocacy of, content marketed as Young Adult fiction and for young adult readers, within the context of a changing market (see Scutter 1999, Page 2005, Nodleman 2008, Dunn 2014, Plozza 2015, Roy 2015), this research has uncovered information that extends the discourse relating to international bestselling Young Adult fiction and, in particular, the growing appeal Young Adult fiction has for readers, writers, publishers and film-makers. In doing so, this thesis provides research that, in scholarly terms, has eluded significant inquiry thus far. In examining

4 Please note that some of the information contained in this chapter is duplicated and also further detailed and developed in the ERA A-ranked TEXT journal article (of the same title) which forms a component of my published works during my candidature (see List of Publications).

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this appeal, this chapter questions how increased stakeholder involvement is impacting on patterns of readership, content, and genre trends within the Young Adult fiction category, in order to provide new scholarly knowledge and also to inform the progress of my creative work. While the degree of change is not measured in a numerical sense, this research utilises a statistical inquiry approach based on epistemological analysis (as outlined by Spencer (2013), and detailed in the Methodology chapter) to pinpoint strategies and behaviours exhibited by invested groups and institutions, which are affecting change. This builds on work by Heather Scutter and Sue Page, and references important work by Anthony Eaton, who identifies that changing conceptions of young adulthood, in terms of sophistication, is defining how Young Adult fiction is shaped by those who create, produce and consume it (2010).

Fluctuation, as it relates to the term Young Adult, and also Young Adult fiction, is well documented in recent years. Scholars describe the literature category of Young Adult fiction, in terms of definition, readership and content, as ‘experiencing an extraordinary shift’ (Wheatley 1994, p. 13), being in a ‘state of flux’ (Eaton 2007, p. 205), ‘vexed and varied’ (Chambers 2015, p. 8) and ‘fast-growing and ever- changing’ (Roy 2015, p. 2). These assertions correlate with similar views expressed in related fields of study such as psychology (Stringer 1997) and sociology, where Johanna Wyn and Dan Woodman credit the ‘post-1970 generations with shaping a new adulthood as a result of governances in education, the labour market, welfare, health and the justice system which have played an important role in redefining the meaning and experience of youth’ (2006, p. 511). Psychologist Jeffrey Arnett proposes a paradigm to address these considerations, which he names ‘emerging adulthood’, noting that these transitional changes constitute a separate period of the life course (2007). Arnett notes that in a relatively brief time, this theory was adopted by many fields including psychiatry, sociology, anthropology, education, epidemiology, health sciences, human development, geography, nursing, social work, philosophy, paediatrics, family studies, journalism and law. With such extensive societal transformation, it is understandable that Young Adult fiction is similarly assimilating such change to reflect new and emerging norms and trends. A definition of the term Young Adult fiction in this context, therefore, seems to be less important than understanding that the fiction category is, itself, inherently amorphous.

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Despite this flux, a consensus generally affirms the increasingly sophisticated themes and content of Young Adult fiction today. Australian and international writers and scholars laud the merits of these changes, not only for Young Adults as readers but, ultimately, for the betterment of society (see, Pattee 2006, Nodelman 2008, Cart 2008, Hunt 2010, Howell 2011, Lanagan, Bowe & Lawrenson (Books and arts daily with Michael Cathcart, 2013)). Within an international context, Australia is not immune to the seemingly exponential growing appeal of bestselling Young Adult fiction. The 2015 Sydney Writers’ Festival, for instance, staged three separate events to reflect the rising popularity of this genre of writing, showcasing successful Australian authors as both panel members and facilitators of discussion related to issues facing the category. There is less commentary, however, related to the driving forces behind these changes, and the impact that (predominantly adult) groups and institutions are having on the readership, content and trends apparent within the Young Adult fiction category (Seymour 2015). The various involvement and influence that adults as creators, publishers, marketers and consumers have in and on Young Adult fiction, in my opinion, represented a gap in knowledge and, therefore, information required to progress my creative work (as well as possibly of use to others invested in the changing parameters of this fiction category). I acknowledge that ‘new knowledge’, in this instance, will not dictate or instruct a writer on ‘how to’ create a successful Young Adult fiction, however it will arm writers with valuable research-based information about at least some of the intrinsic beliefs and behaviours of those invested in Young Adult fiction, which may help to progress or inform future endeavours – as it did my own novella.

A small number of Australian, and other, writers and academics have discussed the investment, and effect, of numerous individuals, organisations and institutions in relation to Young Adult fiction. Writer and scholar Heather Scutter, for example, identified a ‘pressing need for greater scrutiny of the politics of young adult fiction,’ and titled her book Displaced fictions (1999) to illustrate the fact that

books for teenagers and young adults belong neither here nor there, neither in the free market of adult books nor in the closed shop of children’s books. While the many practitioners of teenage fiction and the institutions associated with it – schools, publishers, specialist book shops and various award schemes – speak long and loudly in favour, I suspect that its advocates and proponents are protesting too much. (2)

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Further to this, Perry Nodelman suggests that ‘what adults most frequently believe children need from their literature is education…Adults, thus, [perceive that they] have a duty to teach children what they don’t yet know’ (2008, p. 157). Both positions identify the influence that invested practitioners and institutions have on Young Adult fiction, and infer a range of potential motivations for their involvement – from altruistic and educational to economic.

A decade later, in 2010, Australian Young Adult fiction writer and academic in the field Anthony Eaton in his article ‘Growing older: young adult fiction coming of age?’ identified the liminal nature of Young Adult fiction – as it applies to the arbitrary and transgressive boundaries of the term itself. In this, Eaton suggests that new ideas and directions in Young Adult literature may serve as a benchmark to measure, or plot, the relationship between the creators of art and those who consume it. Eaton goes further to propose that, through this lens, these measures can, in turn, lead to useful consideration of the changing nature of adolescence, in that

increasingly, the institutions which influence young adult writing in Australia (publishers, book councils, awards, committees) seem to be recognising as valid ‘Young Adult fiction novels’ which, just a decade or two ago, would have been considered adult: protagonists above school age, emancipated from the family unit, dealing with concerns and contexts more traditionally associated with the adult world. (2010, p. 53)

In relation to this, Eaton posits that, in 2010, the classifying parameters of Young Adult fiction were changing, and these changes were being recognised more widely by a range of associated stakeholders. When revisiting this research in 2013, Eaton again marked the increased sophistication in the way works are written and marketed as Young Adult fiction, and also in the way they have been ‘positioned by publishers, librarians, parents and key organisations through award structures, critical response, and market positioning’ (6). By accepting these more sophisticated works as Young Adult fiction, some groups are, effectively, re-setting the literary parameters and definitions around what are currently, and in the future, understood as belonging to this category of work. These changing parameters represent greater flexibility in terms of market potential with a greater acceptance of sophisticated themes and content, and have attracted a wider readership base.

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As a result of my research, I believe it is difficult to quantify the degree to which these and other groups and institutions affect the content, themes and the reader demographic of Young Adult fiction as, regardless of its level of sophistication, works are predominantly created, marketed and selected for younger audiences by adults. This power imbalance (see also Seymour 2015) extends to institutions that would traditionally be considered safe havens of choice for younger readers. These include libraries, schools and award-winning book lists where, even though children and young adults are seen to be making independent choices in terms of their reading, this freedom is subject to the arbitrary selection of works that are made available to them by adults. In this way, these groups play an important role in defining and constructing perception of Young Adult literature – what it is, what is suitable content and subject matter, and who are suitable readers.

Sue Page (2005), in her exploration of the choices that Australian young adult readers make, also identifies this power imbalance, and terms dominant adult groups ‘gatekeepers’ of Young Adult fiction content because, to a degree, they limit the freedoms that younger audiences have to select and, therefore, consume works. Page identifies areas of inequity such as ‘the relative lack of power of young adults compared with the economic, critical and social power of those adults who claim to be operating on their behalf’ (11), arguing that these adult-dominated groups (including various educational institutions and the wider community) have the power to limit the access that young readers have to contentious Young Adult fiction. Page continues to assert that this influence extends to, and can frustrate, writers and publishers. I would add to this by contending that adult-dominated groups, organisations, businesses and industries also wield power to affect change over Young Adult fiction content, themes and readerships.

The connection between these dominant groups and the rapidly changing landscape of Young Adult fiction content, themes and readership, although established in the research above, is relatively intangible and constantly shifting and, therefore, difficult to definitively measure in quantitative terms. Sales statistics may measure a work’s, or even a group of works’, popularity, but they do not identify or define industry strategies or the institutional and consumer behaviours that contribute to shifts in content and/or readerships. For this reason, the following discussion does not attempt to quantify the degree to which these connections impact upon each other.

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Rather, by examining the market trends of bestselling Young Adult fiction and identifying behaviours and strategies common to stakeholders aligned with this literature, I assert that the interrelation can be observed and a basis set up for future (and possibly quantitative) research and investigation. While most aspects of this interrelation are viewed as positive in terms of the development of writing and publishing opportunities by those invested in the Young Adult field, this chapter also outlines concerns that these developments may actually narrow the diversity of Young Adult fiction and limit publishing opportunities.

The rapidly changing nature of Young Adult fiction (in terms of content, readership, marketing and authorship) presents a number of challenges, not least of all, the sourcing of valid academic research to establish the cause of these changes. With this in mind, a combination of existing academic research and grey literature (including non-published government, academic, business and industry materials) is used to identify and define the behaviours and strategies currently exhibited by readers, writers, publishers and film makers that may be contributing to change within young adult fiction. The examples of bestselling Young Adult fiction in the following research are in no way an exhaustive, or representative list, rather, each title is chosen for its ability to illustrate a particular point or discuss a link between behaviours and strategies exhibited by invested individuals and groups, and changes related to Young Adult fiction.

Global bestselling Young Adult fiction

A ‘bestseller’, for the purposes of this discussion, is a novel that appears on both the New York Times and USA Today Young Adult bestseller lists and is defined, as such, by sales data from vendors including ‘independent book retailers; national, regional and local chains; online and multimedia entertainment retailers; supermarkets, university, gift and discount department stores; and newsstands’ (New York Times 2015). While there is no current agreed definition or measure by which international Young Adult bestselling fiction is described, ‘global bestsellers’ tend to have a different sales, publishing and marketing trajectory than what could be termed mainstream Young Adult and/or literary fiction. That is, these bestsellers maintain a consistent presence on identified leading, high profile bestseller lists, and the

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comparable international lists as well. Additionally, global bestsellers tend to be accompanied by corresponding book-to-film adaptations, extensive marketing campaigns, and film/book related franchises (including movie soundtracks, merchandise and memorabilia).

Most recent and current Young Adult global bestsellers (as of December 2015) are from the USA. In Australia, these titles feature on the bestselling lists of sites such as Booktopia and Books and Publishing. Movie adaptations of these novels and their accompanying product franchises are also duplicated in Australia (Chambers 2014). Recent examples of these films include The hunger games (2012), The book thief (2013), Divergent (2014) and The fault in our stars (2014). Malinda Lo’s 2014 study of diversity in the New York Times Young Adult bestseller list concluded that most Young Adult bestsellers do not stay on the list for more than a few weeks, although a small number of titles remain on the list for many weeks, sometimes even months and years (such as The hunger games and The fault in our stars). My research confirms that it is these few titles which go on to become global bestsellers. These findings are relevant in that they detail the current Young Adult fiction landscape, and help me to identify that my book is not a genre or sub-genre of Young Adult fiction that has already trended (such as vampire, dystopian or illness fiction). The research also details the growing scope of Young Adult fiction – in terms of readership and content diversity – and identifies that my novella and Young Adult fiction, as a literary category, are compatible.5

Patterns and trends in young adult fiction

Biennially, the Beatrice Davis Editorial Fellowship Award is bestowed to enable its recipient to research and report on publishing and editorial trends in the USA. In 2014, a recipient of this award, Susannah Chambers, assessed the state of Young Adult literature, and questioned whether the category (and Australia) was ‘being flooded with huge-selling US imports’. After investigation, she declared that

something was happening to Young Adult literature, it was happening in the USA, and it was spreading around the world…Yes, there has been a change. Yes, the huge success of Twilight changed Young Adult editing and publishing. And yes, the

5 Such findings do not, of course, indicate that my novella will find a publisher and/or sales success.

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subsequent blockbuster Young Adult titles have cemented that change. I met many editors who had worked for a long time in children’s literature in New York, and all of them felt that things were different than when they had begun their careers, even if it was sometimes just the flavour of things that had changed. (14, italics in original)

This international editorial perspective aligns with, and validates, changes evidenced by writers and scholars of Young Adult fiction identified earlier.

JK Rowling’s Harry Potter series (1997–2007), originally written for children, enjoyed global success and attracted a diverse readership of child, young adult and adult readers, however, it was arguably Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight novels (2005–08) that cemented the international bestselling popularity that Young Adult fiction now enjoys with all these readerships, and particularly adult readers, who now appear to be firmly aligned with the category. Since the publication of the Twilight series, Young Adult bestseller sales statistics have outstripped age – and genre – defined categories, with research undertaken by the Association of American Publishers in 2012 highlighting an increase in sales revenue of 41 per cent (Boog 2012). In 2014, Young Adult book sales experienced a 20.9 per cent increase, while the adult fiction category showed a slight decline (Association of American Publishers 2015). Although the data does not conclude that adults are choosing Young Adult fiction as a preference over adult fiction, the results do indicate that adults are attracted to the themes, genres and content which are currently trending in books in this category.

The increased sales of Young Adult fiction reflects genre and thematic patterns occurring within the bestselling Young Adult fiction category overall during this period. The publication of Twilight, for instance, sparked a supernatural and vampire genre trend which inspired a sequence of similarly themed fiction. A series of dystopian and utopian themed novels then dominated after the success of Suzanne Collins’ The hunger games (2008–2010), Cassandra Clare’s Mortal instruments (2007–2014) and Veronica Roth’s Divergent novels (2011–2013).

The release of EL James’s bestselling adult erotica novel 50 shades of grey in 2011 may, at first, appear unrelated to Young Adult fiction. However there seems to be an indelible connection between James’s sexually explicit novel, Meyer’s Twilight series and the age-based readership dynamics of the Young Adult fiction category, especially as 50 shades of grey was written as a work of online fan-fiction based on the novel Twilight (Bertrand 2015). Fan-fiction, although it is a stand-alone genre,

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mimics the themes, characters and often the plot of the novel it is based upon (Oxford Dictionaries 2015). This suggests that James, as an adult, was enjoying Young Adult fiction and was inspired creatively by it to write her adult work. Additionally, the sophisticated themes, content and narrative of Twilight, although categorised as Young Adult fiction, were also mature enough for James to use to construct a successful adult erotic novel in 50 shades of grey. Some journalists consider the juncture of the two novels as the catalyst for a greater number of published Young Adult works that contain sexualised narratives. Allen Salkin, for instance, reports that ‘Publishing industry veterans say the Twilight series, with its love triangle of Edward, Bella and Jacob, opened the floodgates for more complicated romantic situations in YA’ (2015). [Given this research process (with reference to my son’s reaction to content within Perks of being a wallflower), I did not, however, feel the need to conform to this trend.]

This porosity of content and flexibility in relation to age-defined readership between categories is similarly evident in the emergence of the ‘New Adult’ literature category, which was originally defined by Sarah Jones in 2009 in a competition held by St Martin’s Press. The association between New Adult fiction and Young Adult fiction is explained on New Adult Alley, a fan-based website that focuses on this particular genre of writing, which states that its readers

view New Adult fiction as a category of literature – meaning, it gives readers content expectations, but it does not dictate genre-based criteria. Typically, a novel is considered New Adult if it encompasses the transition between adolescence – a life stage often depicted in Young Adult fiction – and true adulthood that protagonists generally fall between the ages of eighteen and twenty-six, though exceptions may apply. (2010)

This is a revealing explanation given that the flexible age-based parameters often attributed to Young Adult fiction (as described earlier) often encompass this same transition period. The site goes on to explain that ‘New Adult characters are often portrayed experiencing college, living away from home for the first time, military deployment, apprenticeships, a first steady job and a first serious relationship’ (2010). While it is true that most young adults are not traditionally represented at college or in full-time employment in Young Adult fiction, these novels often include similar plotlines involving serious relationships and experiences

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away from home. Additionally, the site states that, as with Young Adult fiction, the New Adult fiction category ‘can be combined with all genres and sub-genres for every type of reader to enjoy’ (2010, my italics).

The rapid rise in popularity of New Adult fiction can be seen in how American social networking site Goodreads.com recorded a 500 per cent rise in New Adult book listings between 2010 and 2012 (Vincent 2013). By 2013, the New Adult label appeared as a stand-alone category on many large bookseller and publishers’ websites including Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Macmillan. It was during this time that commentators on popular websites and periodicals began to note both a rise in the sophistication of content, and the decreasing age of consumers of, Young Adult fiction. Similar sub-genres as those popular in the New Adult category were concurrently appearing and trending in the Young Adult categories and many of the works, regardless of the category assigned to them, shared comparable levels of narrative and content sophistication.

One such category – contentiously labelled ‘Steamies’ by commentators – featured significantly more, and increasingly detailed, sexual content than traditional Young Adult fiction. Although Young Adult novels often delve into sexuality, most had, up until this point in time, alluded to sex as a component of the narrative or plotting rather than detailing specific sexual acts or showcasing sexuality as a dominant theme (Books and Arts 2013). With this in mind, the New Adult descriptor became synonymous with the Steamies category and also linked to the Young Adult fiction category where ‘the influence of New Adult fiction has been so great that some publishers and authors are winkingly describing the new category as “Harry Potter meets 50 shades of grey”’ (Kaufman 2012). Salkin goes further to suggest that ‘the shelves of books aimed at the 14 to 17-year-old reader are groaning – make that moaning – under the collective weight of explicit scenes involving multiple partners, or love triangles’ (2015).

In another new categorisation, bestselling Young Adult works that contemplate serious life-and-death issues, such as suicide, rape and cancer, have been controversially labelled ‘Sick-lit’. This sub-genre has also proven popular with young adults and includes bestselling works such as 13 reasons why? by Jay Asher (2007), In darkness by Nick Lake (2012) and John Green’s The fault in our stars (2012) – a novel that is also currently trending as contemporary realistic fiction (Chambers

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2014). Editor and literary agent Laura Rennert notes that the success of works that deal with these hard-hitting subjects ‘demonstrates the voracious appetite that exists among teen, and a cross-over adult audience, for gut-wrenching fiction’ (qtd. in Corbett 2013). Similarly, Green’s recent publications, which frequent both international adult and Young Adult bestseller lists have revived a trend for contemporary, realistic fiction in the Young Adult category, a trend that currently encompasses the rising appeal of thriller and memoir among young adults (Corbett 2013, Chambers 2014, Brien 2015). It is interesting to note the commonality between the themes of Green’s bestsellers, these predicted genre trends for Young Adult fiction, and the fact that memoir and thrillers are also currently trending adult fiction genres (Kirkus 2015).

Readers

The link between adult fiction and trending Young Adult fiction has been discussed in relation to trends above. However, a definitive measure of Young Adult fiction, and the recent appeal it has for adults, can be seen in statistics from Bowker’s 2012 biannual study carried out by marketing researchers, which identified that 55 per cent of people purchasing Young Adult fiction to read themselves (that is, rather than buying a book for a child or teenaged reader), were over the age of eighteen. This shows that adults are not only seeking out fiction that contain elements consistent with Young Adult fiction, but also possibly driving demand for more sophisticated content and themes in these works.

American author and scholar Michael Cart points out that ‘kids have been reading adult books since at least the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries’, however, he also recognises that nowadays ‘publishers of adult books are increasingly offering books that will also appeal to teen readers’ (2013, p. 2). Eaton, in his 2013 journal article, ‘Transition to Threshold: Redefining “Young Adulthood”’, corroborates this view by identifying a number of popular Australian literary and award-winning works that do not meet the conventional criteria of Young Adult fiction, even though they have been categorised, marketed and sold as such. A sample of Eaton’s selections include Sonya Harnett’s Sleeping dogs (1996), The ghost’s child (2000) and Butterfly

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(2010), Marcus Zusak’s The messenger (2002) and The book thief (2005) and Melina Marchetta’s The piper’s son (2010) (Eaton 2013, p. 6).

Evidence that publishers recognise the attraction that adult fiction has for a younger readership can be seen in behaviours and strategies used by literary agents and publishing houses. Agents, for instance, actively search for Young Adult manuscripts that mirror the content of bestselling adult fiction (Lee 2012). In Corbett’s examination of publishers’ perspectives on Young Adult fiction trends, American literary agent Molly Jaffa notes that ‘everyone is looking for a YA Gone girl’ (2013), referring to the success of Gillian Flynn’s 2012 thriller which entered USA Today’s adult fiction bestseller list on 14 June 2012 and remained there for more than two and a half years (McLurg 2015). On the back of Gone girl’s success, Flynn has signed a publishing contract with Delacorte Press to pen a Young Adult novel in the same genre. There is an expectation that the impending novel will push the boundaries of Young Adult fiction content: ‘given that themes of self-harm, violence, small-town prejudice, and family dysfunction run through Flynn’s adult novels, it is likely that any modified version for the Young Adult market will also delve into such dark territory’ (Lee 2012). This industry-driven desire to duplicate the success of Gone girl, and other similarly adult-themed fiction, raises questions about the motivation of invested institutions where content is seemingly designed and generated to suit the industry’s purposes, such as sales and franchises, rather than created specifically for a younger readership, and then marketed to them, parents and schools.

In Australia, at a community level, school and public library staff generally choose and shelve fiction, relatively arbitrarily, according to perceptions of age suitability and, although there are no formal classifications, some schools restrict novels with what are understood as ‘mature themes’ to readers in higher grades. The increasing popularity of Young Adult fiction, however, has seen many libraries and bookshops dedicate specific areas, such as special shelves or storefront shelf space, to showcase works with more mature themes to potential readers/purchasers and to direct readers to trending literature.

The marketing of Young Adult fiction to young readers in schools begins with the distribution of sales catalogues within primary schools, where these works often share sales space with novels in the younger children’s literature category. Some Young Adult novels that are designed for a more mature readership, do not have an

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age suggestion attached to the book image supplied on the brochure, whereas picture books are, most often, age-specified. The example below, for instance, displays The hunger games series marketed alongside items designed for children aged between six and nine years of age and, although there is a marker that notes the presence of mature themes within the series, the positioning of Collins’ series between these items may give the buyer the impression that they might be suitable for younger children. The idea that this, and similar, strategies is a purposeful tactic to attract younger readers to more mature texts and increase sales is a view supported by book buyer and distributor Rachel Seigal who identifies that, ‘while it’s true that most publishers do suggest reading levels, they tend to keep them as broad as possible, understandably being afraid of limiting their audience by being too specific’ (2012).

Figure 1. Primary school marketing catalogue, Ashton & Scholastic, Gosford, 2013

As early as 2005, stakeholders noted that publishers were increasing the number of avenues that purchasers have to buy sophisticated Young Adult fiction:

The advent and increase of online booksellers such as Amazon.com enables readers to search for novels according to particular issues ‘by clicking on “teen books”, then “social issues” which provides headings such as Dating and Intimacy, Drug Use and Abuse, Pregnancy, Suicide and Violence’. (Yampbell 2005, p. 351)

To maximise this increased reader access, Yampbell argues that ‘Young Adult literature has broken nearly every boundary of acceptable subject matter in trying to address real-life problems and intrigue teen readers’ (351). These dramatic changes in content, readership and publishing/marketing practices mean that writers now have greater scope to create content and a larger and more sophisticated readership. This is a promising outcome for aspiring authors like myself, although, as I will discuss below, it is not uncontested or welcomed by all.

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Writers

Many literary and bestselling authors such as JK Rowling, Marcus Zusak and Sonya Harnett claim not to write with an age-specific audience in mind, and adopt a fatalistic approach when considering the categorisation of their work (Zusak 2009, Harnett, qtd. in Ellis 2014). Others make no secret of their attempt to mimic the success of adult fiction when it comes to writing for the Young Adult market. Author Liz Bankes, for example, admits that her young adult novel, Irresistible (2013), featuring a 16-year-old protagonist, was ‘an attempt to capture the Fifty Shades of Grey success, within the teen market.’ Her goal is reiterated by the author’s publishing agent who states, ‘Irresistible is about passion and love, touching rather than sex. It is aimed at sophisticated teenagers aged 14 and above’ (Bankes qtd. in Vincent 2013).

Conversely, an increasing number of authors known for their adult novels are now writing Young Adult fiction. This includes James Patterson, Tim Winton, Nick Hornsby, Sherman Alexie, Emma Thompson and Fiona Paul. Regardless, however, of whether a writer considers an intended audience when penning Young Adult fiction, academic consensus and literary market trends, as outlined above, reflect a Young Adult category that now includes more sophisticated themes and content. This is outlined by Eaton who agrees that:

while ‘traditional’ young adult narratives and concerns continue, quite rightly, to be the mainstay of ‘YA’ writing there is, at the same time, a growing awareness of the potential for young adult fiction to stretch beyond the age-circumscribed boundaries of ‘teenage writing’ and into other, more sophisticated, worlds, speaking to those ‘young adults’ (and indeed adults) who require something different of their reading. A ‘coming of age’ if you will, not so much in terms of writing ‘growing up’ as ‘growing out.’ And this notion excites me tremendously, as a writer, teacher, and academic. (2010, p. 53)

Eaton’s argument holds true, not only with literary and award-winning fiction but also for bestselling Young Adult fiction where, due to this increased awareness and the popularity of novels within this category, the field offers greater opportunities for writers and publishers.

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Publishers

Chambers identifies three ways in which recent changes within the Young Adult fiction category have been manifested. Firstly, from an industry perspective, Chambers asserts that there are now more publishers of Young Adult fiction and notes not only an ‘increase in the number of imprints specialising in Young Adult fiction, but also big publishing houses that have no previous record of publishing Young Adult literature have established YA imprints’ (2014, p. 14). Chambers also states that the value of the advances given to Young Adult authors for these books has risen in the last decade. Finally, she notes that resources – both money and time – allocated to marketing Young Adult literature has radically increased, stating that ‘the more money you spend to acquire a book, then the more you spend to ensure the book is a success’ (16).

Publishing and distribution strategies lead to books meeting their desired target audiences, and it is here that market segmentation strategies can have the greatest influence on readership. Some bestselling novels, such as the Harry Potter series, are now marketed to age-defined categories with separately designed book covers for each category, while others have generic book covers aiming for dual appeal (both young adults and adults) like The hunger games. Additionally, the marketing of works that contain contentious content does not always extend to the cover synopsis where some offer scant reference to the explicit nature of the content within. In conjunction with this, the depictions of characters on these covers are often indistinct, making it unclear what age of reader the novel is attempting to attract. The 2009 cover of The perks of being a wallflower (Chbosky 1999) is an example where the back cover synopsis does not clearly define the explicit nature of the content within the novel. The cover depiction of Charlie (the main protagonist) does not similarly reveal a clear image of his face and it is therefore difficult to accurately assign a clear age guide to him or the readership that might be interested in his story. New book covers, or re-jacketed issues, with each reprint of Chbosky’s novel are an attempt to attract and reflect a changing readership. This includes a film adaptation tie-in cover in 2013 where, as a marketing strategy, the actors are featured on the cover (see Figure 2). Re-jacketing is a common marketing practice where ‘a common industry belief is that covers become stale; they need a facelift to suit the times and

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potential audience’ (Yampbell 2005: 361), with the implication that different jackets can attract different audiences.

Figure 2. Re-jacketed editions of The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Goodreads.com 2015

The unprecedented popularity of many recently published Young Adult novels possibly reflects the marketing strategies employed by publishers and book distributers during this period. Research undertaken by the American Press Association in 2012 identified a 300 per cent increase, from the previous year, in e- book purchases of Young Adult fiction. Publishing aims to connect with the widest possible target audience and CEO of Hachette Book Group, Michael Pietsch, claims that e-books:

which didn’t exist 15 years ago, now make up 20 per cent of all unit sales and are rising rapidly. As that number climbs, it changes readers’ relationship with books, as well as the books themselves. The instant gratification factor is turning garden-variety bestsellers into juggernauts by removing the friction from the purchase. Readers who finish one instalment can immediately start the next without the interruption of a bookstore trip or an Amazon delivery wait. Lower e-book prices also encourage binge buying. All of which encourages multi-book series. (Pietsch 2013)

Popular works within the Young Adult fiction category boost these e-book purchasing behaviours. The immediacy of online e-book sales, for example, enhances the sales of series such as Twilight, Divergent and The hunger games because consecutive novels are easily accessed either individually or together as a set. When buyers purchase novels online, sites often suggest additional purchases that have similar content and

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themes, or offer recommendations according to similar purchases that others have made. In this instance, buyers can be exposed to suggested material from any category – adult and/or Young Adult fiction – depending on the trending fiction at that time and the purchasing behaviours of others accessing the site.

The rise in e-book sales across most fiction categories has coincided with a decline in storefront bookshops; at the same time, small selections of popular hardcover and paperback novels are now sold at discount department stores (Inside Retail 2015). The final decision of where and how a book is published and marketed now in terms of category, is, according to Michael Cart, ‘made on the basis of not the content of the book, but rather, its sales potential and whether it will it do better with adult or young adult buyers’ (2013, p. 2). In this way, the marketing behaviour of a certain text determines the target audience to an extent. Some stakeholders view this level of controlled marketing as a component, or result of, economic rationalisation and are sceptical about the strategies used to source, market and distribute bestselling Young Adult fiction.

One of the most popular contemporary Young Adult fiction writers, John Green, questions the impact that some marketing strategies may have on Young Adult fiction, and laments the possible negative developments that these behaviours could have on the future diversity and availability of works within the category.

Imagine a world – and I don’t think this is hard to do – where almost all physical books bought offline are purchased at big box stores like Walmart and Costco and Target, which carry a couple of hundred titles a year. Anything that gets published that doesn’t end up in one of those stores doesn’t really get published, at least not in the sense that we understand the word now, because it won’t be widely available: it will only be available at the vast, flat e-marketplaces of Amazon and iTunes, where readers will choose from among a vast and undifferentiated sea of texts…Every now and again, a book will rise up out of the sea of the Kindle store and become 50 Shades of Grey – so popular that it will transition the author from online distribution to physical distribution, but most books that find readers will be franchises. (Green 2014)

Green’s commentary is unusual given that current marketing and distribution behaviours, and strategies employed by the publishing industry, have rewarded him with several global bestsellers; however, his belief in the integrity of Young Adult fiction and criticism of counterproductive corporate strategies is shared by a small,

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but growing number of scholars who note the possibility that marketing intervention may actually be narrowing the diversity of the Young Adult fiction market (see, Cart 2013, Lo 2013 and 2014, Chambers 2014, Roy 2015). Possibly the most tangible of these is Kerry Stevens statistical study, On Books That Sell (2010) where she statistically analysed 192 Young Adult fiction novels within the American fiction market and found that the level of marketing invested in novels was the only statistically significant predictor of market-success. Interestingly, this statistical finding supports Chamber’s research – as stated earlier.

Filmmakers

Once a novel is established as a global Young Adult bestseller, it is almost always followed by a film adaptation (Goodreads.com 2015). According to Nielsen statistics:

movies based on young adult books have emerged as the newest genre in which content creators are investing big money. And their investments are paying off. YA adaptations are a growing slice of the box office pie, increasing 6% from 2013 to 2014…where 43% choose YA adaptations as one of their favourite genres to go see in a movie theatre. (2014)

These adaptations are often marketed with new novel print-runs with corresponding film tie-in covers. It is interesting to note that the classification attached to many of these movies, which often reflect the same content in the novels they are based on, start at an M rating, for mature audiences, and with parental guidance recommendation for children under fifteen years of age. Recent examples include the films in the Twilight series (2008), The hunger games (2012), The book thief (2013) and The fault in our stars (2014). This contrasts to the book versions of the movies where age-related classifications do not exist.

The franchises associated with these film adaptations offer diverse marketing opportunities to value-add to the book titles with accompanying film soundtracks, DVDs and related merchandise. Nielsen’s study of Young Adult fiction movie adaptations, and their franchises, found that:

Suzanne Collins’ latest film, Catching Fire, burned up the box office last year, and has sold 3.8 million discs since its home video release in March 2014. The first film in the series, The Hunger Games, has sold over 8 million discs since 2012, which is no

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surprise considering the series of books, combined, sold over 11.4 million print copies in the same period. Following Twilight’s example, The Hunger Games franchise has also broken into pop music, inspiring two soundtracks (so far) featuring popular artists such as Arcade Fire, Coldplay and Lorde, among others (2014).

The formulaic franchise marketing approach that is assigned to these blockbusting bestsellers, and the accompanying profit margins that result from it, supports Green’s argument above, ‘that most books that find readers will be franchises’. However, his prediction that this development will also result in a narrowing of reader choice is yet to be confirmed.

Conclusion

The interplay between Young Adult fiction and those institutions invested in its production, distribution and consumption continue to contribute to the redefinition of fundamental components of this writing. This impact is particularly pronounced with the recent, and continued, rise of global Young Adult bestsellers where the behaviours of readers, writers, publishers and filmmakers direct and mould trending genres, themes, content and readerships. Conversely, the influence that an older Young Adult fiction readership has on invested groups and institutions, where target audiences are demanding more sophisticated content and reading books that contain trending genres and themes, encourages specific behaviours by publishers, marketers, booksellers and others including those in the film and DVD industry) to capture and satisfy the widest possible market. The complexity of this situation is revealed by how the positive potential that these diverse changes promise for Young Adult fiction is well received by the academic, educational and publishing communities, while there is concern that bestselling Young Adult fiction, and the groups and institutions driving their success may limit the very potential that their popularity claims to offer. This complexity is also imagined by the rapid shifting of many of the variables of this discussion over relatively brief periods of time (Spencer 2010). Therefore, the research undertaken for this thesis is, and will continue to be, complex and shifting.

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Conclusion

While I have discussed findings throughout this exegesis, this conclusion reiterates their importance and the possible implications that this new scholarly research may have for the discipline of creative writing. This will be done with reference to the research question for this thesis:

In writing a Young Adult novel, how does research into history, the construction of a fictional language and Young Adult fiction market trends impact upon creative practice and outcomes?

Recent scholarly research has identified changes that have affected, and continue to affect, those who create, consume and otherwise contribute to contemporary Young Adult fiction. These findings add to this existing research by reiterating the intensity and trajectory of this change, specifically since the publication of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series in 2005. While this exegesis also contributes to existing scholarly debate surrounding the appropriateness and advocacy of content marketed as Young Adult fiction and for young adult readers, it focuses on contemporary international bestselling Young Adult fiction, and confirms the effect that the growing appeal that this subset of Young Adult fiction has for readers, writers, publishers and film-makers.

Most research to date considers recent changes in Young Adult fiction, such as an increased and more diverse readership, and more sophisticated content and narrative themes, to be positive developments. While my research supports the premise of this belief, it also offers new scholarly knowledge that exposes the strategies and behaviours that predominantly adult groups and institutions are practising within the Young Adult fiction arena, in order to facilitate and heighten these changes. Additionally, this research found that the market segmentation and franchise strategies that promote bestselling international fiction, such as book-to-film adaptations and merchandising, e-book marketing, and the limited availability of bestselling books sold in discount department stores, may be limiting the very potential that their popularity claims to offer. With this in mind, these groups and institutions can be seen to be as directly narrowing the reading, writing and publishing

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opportunities of Young Adult fiction, so that the fiction which is being produced as a result of these marketing strategies, seems to be perpetuating these limitations.

This research found that the Young Adult fiction market actively covets works that emulate (trending) bestselling themes and genres, and selectively produces and markets fiction according to the marketability and sales potential of works of this nature. At this stage, this phenomenon – in terms of availability – is largely limited to the USA where most international Young Adult bestsellers originate. Although Australian fiction does not enjoy the same degree of success as bestselling North American fiction, Australian readers, as a result, are possibly enjoying a more diverse range of content with varying themes, in comparison to the trend identified above.

These findings, as they relate to my own work, provide an informative overview of the Young Adult fiction landscape. Moreover, they identify current trends and industry behaviours that inform the marketing potential and a possible target audience for both my novella and other, similar works. For example, few historical novels for young adults in recent years (outside of the Tudor and Medieval eras – most of which are Young Adult romance and/or adventure novels) have enjoyed recent international bestselling success. Few also explore the same dystopian aspects of history or contain elements of magical realism and invented language as ‘The last statue’. However, this research offers considerable evidence that young adult readers enjoy (bestselling) fictional works that focus around worlds outside their own. The significant readership of the works of authors such as Stephanie Meyer (Twilight), Suzanne Collins (The hunger games), Cassandra Clare (Immortal instruments) and Veronica Roth (Divergent) reveal that young adults enjoy imagining possible futures – signifying that Young Adult readers may be also be receptive to the themes of ‘The last statue’, especially with the novel inclusion of the Rongorongo language.

This research revealed the increasing degree to which sophisticated content is marketed for, and read by, contemporary Young Adult fiction readers. With this in mind, and through researching my own writing process (particularly through journaling), I acknowledged this finding, and allowed myself the freedom to write without considering the potential audience for, or acceptance of, my narrative by any age-defined group of readers. In this way, the problem of writing Young Adult fiction when genres, sub-genres and target readerships are rapidly evolving was somewhat

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redundant. This increasingly diverse readership has seen the demand for and, therefore, emergence of, fiction that contains themes and content usually reserved for an adult readership. The New Adult fiction category was created to cater for demand from older readers, although some sub-themes such as ‘Steamies’ and ‘Sick-lit’ now overlap both fiction categories. The popularity of these fictions may have promoted, and therefore increased, the number of narratives that contain more sexualised and sophisticated content in Young Adult as well as New Adult fiction. I chose not to apply this finding to my own writing, even though adding sexualised and/or controversial content could have potentially widened its reading audience.

This research has also underscored the liminal and shifting nature of Young Adult fiction. As a category that consistently outstrips other aged-defined literature categories in terms of sales, Young Adult fiction is now a major focus of expansion for many publishers. Trending themes, genres and narratives are heavily marketed and successful Young Adult novels are now often followed with a series of similarly themed novels. Trends can, however, be short-lived, and while some publishers actively search for ‘like’ successes, the literary market (including authors) can not always pick potential trends. My research indicates that there is also scope for new voices and themes in Young Adult fiction and I aimed to develop original characters and plotlines when writing my novella.

By studying modelled examples of fiction (and films) that contain examples of constructed languages, I found that successful works did not rely on complicated language systems, or include large amounts of fictional language within their narratives. Instead, I discovered that most works contained only small amounts of fictional language and relied on the quality of writing around these constructions to convey meaning. This finding transformed my approach to writing, in that I significantly reduced the number of Rongorongo symbols used throughout ‘The last statue’. Additionally, I found that invented language could be seamlessly melded into the text by including a prologue and an epilogue, as a story-framing device. I also ensured that the Rongorongo symbols I used were authentic, and accurately conveyed the cultural heritage of Easter Island, rather than creating my own symbols. Additionally, by researching and highlighting examples where writers have successfully used fictional language as a narrative component, I was able to use such symbols and their meaning in my text as a ‘textual agent’ to enhance the setting,

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develop characters and drive the plot of the narrative. It is hoped that these findings will not only contribute to this area of research, but also assist other writers wishing to construct fictional languages within their works. This information on invented languages in fiction represents a scholarly contribution to this area which was, up to this point, under-researched.

In relation to my research question, the use of practice-led research, as a methodology, was integral to the construction of a fictional language within my novella. Equally, adopting a practice-led approach enabled me to identify Young Adult fiction market trends which have consequently guided my own authorial process.

The novella completed during this process is one of the few historical fictional narratives based on Easter Island and the only novella, according to my research, that creates a narrative related to the turbulent historical events of the Island’s demise. It is hoped that by highlighting the enigmatic events surrounding Easter Island culture, and by including the invented Rongorongo texts, the narrative will promote engagement, and entice struggling readers in particular. Fictions that focus on foreign cultures, and historical accounts such as those experienced on Easter Island, offer Young Adult readers a perspective on cultural diversity, and their own place in the wider world, knowledge which is in line with contemporary educational objectives and outcomes. Historical fiction, as a contemporary Young Adult fiction genre, has not recently experienced bestselling success, and contributions in this area may spur interest in related fields of study and reading.

To some degree, this Masters project was a personal quest to research, inform and progress my own creative practice. However, while this aim was achieved on a personal level, these findings also serve a scholarly purpose. That is, they inform the wider public who have an interest in Young Adult fiction by detailing the current state of the contemporary Young Adult fiction market, particularly works of bestselling (including international bestselling) fiction. Importantly, this research has identified groups such as writers, filmmakers and publishers, as well as other groups and institutions, whose behaviours and strategies are affecting change within the Young Adult fiction category. As stated earlier, influence from these groups and institutions, which contribute to the continuing and increasing popularity of Young Adult fiction, may actually be limiting the very potential that they aim to achieve. The implications

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of these findings could impact stakeholders invested in Young Adult fiction including readers, writers, scholars, publishers and marketers, film industry and associated censorship bodies, educators, librarians, commentators of Young Adult fiction and the wider community.

Avenues for further research

As a Masters level project, it was beyond the scope of this thesis to conduct detailed quantitative research to test and report on current marketing and publishing practices associated with bestselling Young Adult fiction. Further research is needed to understand the effect that these and other practices are having on the availability (and diversity) of Young Adult fiction both globally and in Australia. As such, there is scope for research that investigates the degree to which current commissioning and marketing practices are applied to Young Adult fiction, by large publishing houses. This avenue of future research could encompass both quantitative data gathering and statistical analysis about marketing and publishing strategies. Such on-going qualitative research about the impact of these practices on creators and consumers of Young Adult fiction would be valuable, particularly where it relates to the availability and diversity of Young Adult fiction themes and genres, and how stakeholders perceive this.

Additionally, the parameters of this thesis did not allow for the development of a comprehensive guide for authors wishing to create fictional language as a narrative component of a range of differing genres of fiction – such as fantasy, science fiction, adventure, dystopia/utopia, romance and magic realism – and this also represents a further avenue of research. This thesis could provide a foundation for further investigation and, likewise, future research may further qualify and develop the findings outlined in this project.

Further research could also be conducted into various other topic areas that were touched on in this thesis, such as the emergence of Young Adult fiction sub- genres that mirror popular contemporary Adult fictions. Study into these bourgeoning genres – which are, at present, almost exclusively available from non-scholarly, grey literature sources – represent gaps in scholarly research within Young Adult fiction, and would be a valuable contribution to research in creative writing. These new and

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emerging genres include, but are not exclusive to, fan-fiction, horror, thriller, memoir, fairy-tale and classic-literature inspired fictions.

Possibly the most pressing and scholarly important area of future research (as exposed by this Masters project) is the emerging paradoxical situation resulting from current marketing and publishing practices within the Young Adult literature industry. Publishers who are increasingly trying to predict bestsellers and concentrating marketing resources on a limited number of publications are potentially compromising the availability of a wide range of Young Adult fiction titles. It seems that the publishing and marketing strategies and practices that are purported to have contributed to the widening diversity and availability of Young Adult fictions may actually be limiting the diversity and availability of themes and content. Qualitative research findings from this Masters project, in combination with commentary from important writers such as John Green, and quantitative research from scholars in the field such as Kerry Spencer, provide the basis of this hypothesis and the rationale for future research in this area of Young Adult literature.

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