I am sooooooo sorry for the late update, guys! D: Inspiration didn't dry up, it just changed, and I started an original story before I finished this chapter. :( But it's here now, if there's even anyone still reading it. XD
Ohtara tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and swiped a wrist across her sweaty forehead, panting slightly in the heat. Three hours ago, she had been quite happy to vacate the ocean where she'd been fishing, drenched to the skin, buffeted by waves, and half blind from the glare of the sun on the water. Now, as she trudged back and forth from the beach to the storehouses, calves burning and arms screaming for rest, the prospect of standing in one place in the cool sea was heavenly.
Unfortunately, Cobra - and, by extension, his sadistic henchmen - wouldn't allow it. Her current task was to gather and carry provender - mangoes, pineapples, coconuts, papaya, and all manner of other tropical fruit - to the frond storehouses, where elderly slaves sorted them into their proper piles.
The girl paused for a moment, pushing her hair off her forehead and taking deep breaths to steady herself. Exhaustion gnawed at her unmercifully, and her muscles, much like the rest of her, felt like they were on fire. She was so weary that she would have been weeping if she'd had enough moisture left in her body to do so.
"Ohtara." The young woman turned at the sound of her name. Huko was coming towards her, bearing two tall clay jars, filled to the brim with cold river water. He set one down on a nearby stone and offered her the other. "Drink," he said gently. "You look like you're about to drop."
Ohtara accepted the water gratefully, forcing herself to drink slowly. Cool, blessed relief flowed through her, and she felt her strength restored in some small part. "Thank you," she said softly, handing him the jar back, and he nodded.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. "All things considered, of course," he added hastily, and the girl couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her.
"In retrospect, yes," she replied with a tiny smile. "I haven't been abused - at least, no more than how we're all abused." Though she said nothing about it, her heart was breaking at the sight of her king forced to carry the heavy water jars to the soldiers and slaves. She knew, from past experience, that it was harsh, taxing, and relentless work, and it was obvious that the guards had assigned the task to the young ruler out of sheer, wicked spite. "And you, Your Highness?"
"I'm fine," Huko assured her with a quick smile, though in truth, he was far from it. The effects of the poison, which had lain dormant for four days, were slowly but surely starting to manifest, and the boy was agonizingly aware of it. Usually impervious to the tropical climate, he found his strength being sapped by the heat, and whenever he was in direct sunlight, he felt as though a naked flame burned along the scratch on his back. His face was flushed under the tan of his cheeks, and his curly hair clung to his damp skin.
Not only was he having trouble with the high temperatures, but the muscles in his shoulders and back would periodically seize up, rendering him almost helpless and preventing him from continuing his work for a few minutes, a situation of which the guards took full malicious advantage.
But his people were still looking to him, and he was determined not to show weakness, either emotional or physical, and especially not in front of Mohea, who, he felt, was a hairsbreadth away from revealing the medallion's location to Cobra in exchange for an antidote - an antidote that Huko strongly doubted the warlord possessed.
And so he bore his sufferings in stoic silence, much like the rest of his people, giving no outward indication of his pain. Ohtara instinctively suspected that he was not as fine as he claimed, but she knew it would do no good to press him.
"Do you suppose there is any hope for us?" she asked in a low voice, fidgeting with the hairs of a coconut.
"There is always hope," Huko answered firmly, with perhaps more conviction than he felt. He put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a brief, comforting squeeze. "Remember Ohtara, as long as there's life, there is always hope." He gave her another smile before hoisting the water jars onto his shoulders again and trudging off.
Ohtara watched him go, her heart a leaden weight in her chest. Despite the young king's reassurances and Mohea's unwavering courage, the young woman feared the Aumakua people would be enslaved to Cobra for the rest of their lives, if this existence could even be called life.
As if to confirm her thoughts, a little girl off to her right - she couldn't be any older than seven or eight - stubbed her toe on a half-buried rock, dropping her basket of provisions with a startled cry. Ohtara was at her side in an instant, helping her up off the ground and brushing sand from her clothes.
"You're alright," she murmured soothingly, handing the little girl her basket. "Come on, let's pick up the fruit before a guard sees."
It was too late. One of the myriad soldiers came storming over, brandishing his switch. "You clumsy wretch!" he berated the little girl, who was wrapped protectively in the others' arms. "Be more careful with our food!" Ohtara stood up, pushing the terrified child behind her and facing the angry man, her heart pounding.
"Don't hurt her, it was my fault. I caused her to stumble," she lied unblushingly, hoping the guard would buy it.
The guard didn't buy it.
"You did nothing to her," he snapped. "Why would you take her punishment?"
"She did nothing to you," Ohtara countered steadily, "why would you punish her?"
Stuck for an answer, he gaped at her a moment, mouthing wordlessly at the upstart islander. The young woman swept him as frigid a look as she could muster and turned away, gently ushering the child ahead of her. The soldier recovered himself and scowled at her back.
"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, grabbing her shoulder. Frightened, Ohtara tried to twist away.
"Let go of me!"
There was a sharp ripping sound, and the sleeve of her blouse tore away. Cursing, the man flung aside the bright scrap of cloth and grabbed Ohtara's slim arm, raising the bamboo switch threateningly. Eyes wide with apprehension, the young woman held her other arm up as a shield, waiting for the stinging blow to fall.
Sensing danger to the lovely girl, the child pushed aside her fear and launched herself at the guard, pummeling his stomach with her small fists. "Let her go!" she piped, before dropping to the ground and grimly clamping her teeth onto his calf.
Furious beyond measure, the soldier gave a pained howl and pushed Ohtara away, shaking his leg vigorously in a futile attempt to dislodge the clinging, biting little girl. Ohtara scrambled forward, holding her torn blouse up with one hand, and wrapped her free arm around the child's waist, tugging firmly.
"Spit that out, darling!" she cried, trying to pry the little girl off the guard's leg. "You don't know where it's been!" The child finally let go, and the two girls tumbled backwards. The guard clutched his leg, his face creased with rage and pain.
"You'll both pay for that!" he growled, reaching for his curved sword.
"Cease!"
The soldier paused, his blade raised, and three pairs of eyes turned towards the new voice. Cobra, closely followed by the repulsive figure of Zarabua the witch doctor, came striding up, his long-nailed hand resting on the hilt of his machete.
"My lord," the guard murmured, lowering his head and backing up a pace. The warlord's cold, black eyes swept the scene, taking them all in: His henchman, naked sword still held in hand; the two island girls sitting on the ground, watching this new turn of events with dark, fear-filled eyes. His gaze lingered briefly on Ohtara's bare shoulder and ruined blouse, and his head tilted back slightly, his eyes hooding - a sure sign of danger.
"You're here to keep an eye on the slaves and make sure they do their work," he said harshly, addressing the guard without looking at him. "Not to mate with them." The man looked confused.
"My...lord?" He glanced at the tall warlord and followed his gaze to the young woman on the ground. His eyes widened as he put two and two together, and he started stammering. "Oh! No! No, my lord, I wasn't- I didn't- I was only trying to keep her-"
His babbling was cut short as iron-strong fingers locked around his throat, a long nail sliding into the side of his neck. Ohtara, horror stamped on her features, pressed the little girl's face to her bosom as the guard's eyes rolled up in his head and his lifeless body fell to the ground. Without missing a beat, the evil man caught the lovely girl in a similar fashion and drew her to her feet, eyes locked onto hers. Half frozen with terror, Ohtara pushed the child behind her, struggling to draw breath through her constricted windpipe. The warlord's husky voice was cold as steel.
"See how easily I dispose of my own men." The tip of his fang-like nail lightly touched her neck, right at the jugular vein, and he pulled her closer 'til her petrified face was mere inches from his. "Think how much more easily I can dispose of a few disobedient, rebellious slaves." He glanced over her shoulder, his stare resting briefly on the child clinging to her skirt. "No matter how old they are." He returned his unblinking gaze to Ohtara, his eyes relentlessly boring into hers 'til she wanted to scream.
Finally, he released her and stepped back. "Get back to work," he ordered, and stalked off, back straight and head erect, every inch the self-assured ruler. Zarabua scuttled in his wake like some sort of hideous crab, chuckling to himself.
Ohtara stood rooted where he'd left her, feeling as if she'd been doused in ice water. The little girl tugged on her hand. "Are you okay?" she asked, her high, flutey, child's voice laced with concern.
The young woman didn't answer. The world was slowly tilting back and forth around her, and the crash of the surf on the beach mingled with the sounds issuing from the jungle and of the slaves carrying out their tasks, blending together into an indistinct hum.
Then everything blurred and went dark, and she crumpled to the ground in a dead faint.
As the sun drew its last pale rays over the horizon and sank behind the ocean, turning the waves crimson and dark gold, the Aumakua slaves were finally allowed to cease their labor, rest, and eat. Cobra was not a fool; he knew that without proper nourishment, the islanders would grow sick and weakly, and would be of no further use to him. Consequently, the slaves' supper was barely inferior to the fare provided to the warlord's foot-soldiers: Shellfish stew, large, roasted beetles, coarse, hearty bread, and fresh pineapple juice.
Mohea sank to the ground, cradling her bamboo bowl of stew in her slender hands and allowing her posture to go slack. The day's work had left her completely drained, and if it weren't for the ubiquitous guards keeping a sharp eye on the prisoners to make sure they ate, she would have forfeited sustenance altogether in favor of sleep. Unfortunately, such a thing wasn't permitted.
The young woman dipped one of the beetles into her stew and took a bite, barely noticing the mingled salty and spicy flavor that she usually so enjoyed. Fear, worry, anger, and doubt, mixed with the numbing exhaustion that consumed her, left her bleak and jaded, scarcely able to form a coherent thought. She ate automatically, not really even noticing what she was putting into her mouth. All around her, everything seemed to be progressing on the other side of a misty curtain, through which she could not be bothered to look.
Then a voice cut through the mist - a voice she had almost given up all hope of ever hearing again. "Mohea?"
The island girl raised her head, gasping silently as a familiar blond-haired girl sat down beside her. "Mohea, it's me! We came."
"Allie!" Mohea flung her arms around the younger girl, giving her a welcoming hug, then sat back and stared at her friend. There was a hand-shaped bruise across her left cheek, and another dark bruise encircled her slightly puffy eye. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Allie gingerly touched the shiner. "Yes, I'm okay - relatively," she assured her. "Apparently Cobra doesn't take kindly to being killed, though. We found out that's why he wants the medallion this time - he wanted to wish himself to the future to take revenge on Billy and me. But now that we're here," she sighed, "he's got everything he wants, even without the medallion. And now he's got Dad - I mean, Father - too, to use against us."
Mohea stared at her, completely at sea. "What are you talking about?" she asked, utterly lost. "Where's Billy? And whose father? I thought you were an orphan." The young girl grimaced, taking a bite of bread.
"I've gotten ahead of myself again," she remarked ruefully, tasting the stew. "Billy's father adopted me last year - or what would be last year in our time. We got your message the other day, and we stole the medallion and came back to help you. As for where Billy is," worry shone out of her blue-grey eyes, "I don't know. Cobra chiefly blames him for his defeat last year; he knocked me around a bit and then sent me and Dad out to be slaves, but he kept Billy in his hut, and I haven't seen him since."
"I see." The older girl was quiet a moment, grimly digesting this news. "You say you stole the medallion, which intrigues me greatly, but that will have to wait. Where is it now? Why didn't you use it when you came?"
"That was the plan," Allie replied in a small voice, "but we all got knocked out before we had the chance. I guess some scouts saw us and tranquilized us, or something, because we all woke up here with Cobra standing over us."
Mohea's heart sank. "Then...he has the medallion," she said quietly. It was more of a statement than a question. The other girl nodded, her eyes filling with tears.
"Yes," she whispered. "He has it. And he's got some horrible witch doctor with him who says he can reverse its power, so it serves only evil."
"I know." Mohea rubbed her forehead, trying to ward off the anxiety-induced headache that she knew would come. Her desperate plan was crashing down around her, shattering into a thousand fragments and leaving little hope for the islanders. It had all seemed so simple when she wrote the message - and yet now what was left to show for it? Three more slaves and a cursed medallion for the warlord.
She raised her eyes to Allie, who was trying to eat, but finding it difficult to swallow past the lump in her throat. "Do you have any idea how Cobra survived? How he came back here again?"
"We have a theory about that," the young girl responded, setting aside her bowl. "It was because of Cobra's descendant, Mr. Cobb, that Billy and I came here last year. When Billy defeated Cobra, Mr. Cobb no longer existed in our time; but without him, we couldn't have come back here and killed his ancestor."
Mohea stared at her in consternation. "But you did come back here," she exclaimed. "How else could we know you? I remember everything clearly." She frowned, shaking her head. "You definitely came back."
"Yes, but it's like we didn't- Oh, please don't make me try to explain it!" Allie pleaded. "I don't understand it either. The point is, Cobra's back, and we think he can't be killed for good until he has a son, ensuring-"
"Ensuring that this Mr. Cobb from your time does come into existence so you can have come back here and defeated Cobra in the first place," the islander finished quietly. "Right?" Her companion nodded.
"Right," she affirmed wearily. "It's all so mixed up and complicated. I don't know what to do now, without the medallion or outside help." She slammed her hand against her thigh in frustration. "We were supposed to be the outside help, and all we did was deposit the medallion right into Cobra's lap." Mohea rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.
"It's not your fault," she murmured. "You did what you could, and that's- Wait." Realization struck her like a bolt of summer lighting. "You know how Billy found the medallion from this time after the future version of itself" both girls winced at the muddled up mess of time traveling, "had been destroyed?" Allie frowned.
"Yes...?"
Mohea grabbed her hand, looking excited. "The present medallion wasn't affected by the destruction of the future version, because, as Billy said, you didn't find it for another two hundred years!"
What she was saying dawned on the younger girl, and her blue eyes lit up. "So even if that witch doctor curses the medallion as we had it, we'll still have it from the past - I mean, the present - to use against him!" she whispered, and her friend nodded. Identical smiles broke over their faces, and Allie grabbed Mohea's other hand. "Where is it?"
The smile vanished from the young woman's countenance as suddenly as it had come. "Hidden," she murmured. "And Huko made me promise not to tell anyone where it- Oh no!" she gasped, and her hands flew to her face. "Huko!"
Allie's stomach gave a sick lurch; she grabbed the others' arm, giving it a slight shake. "What?" she hissed urgently. "What happened to him?" Mohea lifted her head, a tragic look shining out of her dark eyes.
"Cobra poisoned him a few days ago," she breathed. "He said he'd administer the cure if I told him where the medallion is. I had my doubts that he actually would, but now that he has the medallion, I know he won't!" She ran her fingers through her hair, clutching at the dark tresses.
Allie felt like she was about to faint. "Huko's life isn't the only one at stake," she said hoarsely. "Billy is his last direct descendant - if Huko dies, my brother will cease to exist!" She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip as she struggled to keep from going into hysterics. "We have to save them both," she whispered, half to herself. "But how?"
Mohea took a few deep breaths, forcing her nerves to steady. Her mind, long since passed out of its previous foggy state, was whirling around, seeking and considering and analyzing every possibilty of escape.
"I think," she said quietly, "it's time we made another plan."
