The day did not simply end, it dissolved. The bruised purple of the twilight was devoured by an all-black tapestry that bled down, smothering the village in a velvet gloom.
It was a world of flickering orange highlights and obsidian depths. Torches of bundled resin-wood hissed and spat—crack-pop—casting erratic, dancing shadows against the thatched walls of the vale.
Beside the towering foundation of a Bure, the four brothers huddled together. The stone beneath them was cold, retaining none of the afternoon's heat.
The air was still, save for the rhythmic thrum-thrum of their hearts, echoing the distant, mournful beat of a Lali drum.
The salty tang of the sea had been replaced by the acrid, earthy scent of damp thatch and the bitter smoke of the village fires.
They spoke in whispers so thin they were almost wordless, their voices sounding like the dry rustle—shhh-kt—of the pandanus fibers.
Kanka gritted his teeth, his arms crossed tightly. "I can't believe they will kill Tolu in the morning. The Chief didn't even listen in the end. That dumb bastard."
Konto wrung his hands, desperation clear in his voice. "Isn't there something else we could do?"
Tambo leaned against the wall, resigned. "No, we can't. They locked her up in the cell."
Tantei's voice, suddenly steady, cut through the resignation. "Guys. I think we could."
"Could what?" Tambo registered the shift.
"We could break her out of that prison."
Tambo shook his head immediately. "No, no. That's not going to happen. The chances we have to get Tolu out are slim to none. If they were to catch us, the consequences would be severe."
"We would be executed." Kanka confirmed, his voice flat and hopeless.
"But she is our sister!" Tantei pleaded, his voice risin. "Stop this. We can't just leave her after all these years. This is wrong. We have to do something today."
Kanka tapped his arm, refusing to meet Tantei's desperate gaze. "Or we could risk death. We don't defy the Bati group. They are formidable and skilled."
Tantei stuttered. "I know our weaknesses, but we don't truly know, unless we give it a shot. We promised her every time that we would be there for her. Tolu's fate is written in stone right now. We all respect our Father, but this time he overstepped his bounds."
The group fell quiet.
Kanka bit his lips. "…. Alright. I'm in. If I die, then... at least I don't have to live with the grief for the rest of my life." He gave Tambo a soft, challenging look.
Tambo dropped his arms, his posture signaling shock and defeat. "What? Are you actually in on this?"
Kanka stood firm. "He's right. We promised to protect her whatever the circumstances. We can't break it now."
Konto replied after a long moment, fear still present. "I think i''m in as well. I don't want to see all my siblings executed, so I might as well join. What about you, Tambo?"
Tambo's face tinged with disappointment. "I'm not going to stand here and watch you guys do something this stupid. Trust me, I love Tolu as well, but the odds are against us. You need to reconsider."
Kanka shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I have to for Tolu's sake." The moment settled into silence.
A voice came from the shadows, shattering the tense silence. A laughing, skinny, middle-aged man with lazy eyes strolled toward them.
"Good evening, young men. Sorry to bother you all. I knew Tolu very well. He was always helpful and trustworthy. We are all grieving alongside you. I'm sending my condolences to him. He was one of a kind."
Kanka drew a deep breath and delivered a stage cough. "She."
The man flicked his head to Kanka, confused. "What?" He continued,
"Well, anyway, I wish I could stop the Bati myself, but..." He glanced down at his thin body and chuckled. "...I don't think I'm in good shape to do so."
Konto shot a confused look at Tambo. "What's he saying?"
The man walked off with a waved finger pointed skyward, coughing into a chuckle. "After all, you know what they say? The sun doesn't rise before the moon goes down."
Kanka gazed after him, thoughtful. "I'm confused. How does the sun.. rise before the moon goes down?"
Konto whispered. "That guy always creeps me out."
Tantei chuckled, momentarily breaking the tension. "His eyes always get to me when he opens his mouth."
Konto replied. "Last time he said: The grass doesn't grow before the harvest, right?"
Tambo crossed his hands once more, his voice cut the conversation short. "Okay... I will join."
The others sighed in relief.
Tambo added. "But, I will be on the lookout in case something happens, because of your risky plan."
Tantei gave a light chuckle. "Thanks, Tambo. Don't worry. I definitely got a plan in mind."
Konto's eyes turned to Tantei in curiosity. "Then, what's the plan?"
Tantei smirked at Konto, then addressed the others. "Follow me."
Tambo shook his head. He languidly pushed off the wall with his hands still crossed. The slight recoil set his shoulders straight as he began to walk.
The quartet entered a robust bure standing just off the flank of the Chief's residence, nestled at the most revered end of the central village green.
The air inside was stagnant, smelling of dried pandanus reeds, woodsmoke, and the earthy, peppery scent of yaqona. The floor layers of thick ibé (woven mats) that acted as a drumhead for every movement.
Tantei instantly quickend his pace towards the rafters with a staccato pat-pat-shff. His hand movements were a dry, skeletal clatter—clck-clck-rustle—as the woven food bundles and tools shift against each other.
Tambo interjected as he walked inside, the trio's feet creating a rhythmic shhh-shhh-shff, like dry, abrasive sound like sandpaper on a basket. "Your solid plan better work, Tantei."
Tantei didn't speak, his expression focused on the rafters. He retrieved a flat, oblong piece of light-colored wood from a cluster of hung woven baskets, tools, and food bundles with a long, sibilant ssshhh-t.
Its surface was slightly concaved, etched with permanent grooves from a heated ember.
He turned quickly, headed to the center of the room. "Sit down."
The brothers sat in a circle on the woven mats.
He placed the board on the large, dark Tanoa that sat on its own small, braided mat, a deep, wooden tock—
He gave his brothers a knowing gaze. "If we're gonna do this, we need to keep in mind the formidability of the Bati. One mistake and we are out of commission."
Tambo gave him a detached side-eye. "You came to know about that now?"
Tantei gave him a quick headshake, his eyes never leaving the board. "So here's the blueprint," he murmured, his voice a low-frequency hum.
He dipped the tip of the Vesi hardwood splinter into the bilo—the half-shell of a weathered coconut nestled in the weave of the floor mat. Inside, the Dawa fruit dye sat in a thick, viscous pool that looked like clotted blood.
As the splinter met the wood, it produced a sharp, wet skrit-skrit. The sound was more "tacky" than a pencil on paper.
His new sketches were stark against the lighter wood, clumsy, but possessed of a desperate clarity. With a frenetic, rhythmic zip-zip-zip, he drew a small, square shape in the approximate center of the board.
He cross-hatched the box heavily, the splinter digging deep until the hollow Tanoa beneath emitted a low, wooden thrum-thrum.
"This is our target: The Vale ni Loka where Tolu is being held. If we're gonna break her out, we must take note of the layers of defenses, starting with the guard outposts."
He drew two short, thick, curved lines around the outer bure and two in the inner section: Vale ni Loka. Inside the cage, he slowed his hand.
With a long, dragging shhh-t, he added a tiny, desperate human figure within the square—a fragile silhouette of Tolu trapped in the heart of the Vale Ni Loka.
The fermented, iron-like scent of the crushed fruit rose from the board, mixing with the earthy smell of the dried reed mats.
As Tantei lifted the splinter, a single, heavy droplet of the purple-black dye clung to the tip before falling—tap—leaving a bruised, indelible mark right where his sister would be.
"The defenses are split in four Divisions: A, B, C, and D. The Bati's security is what we call 'the pulse shift'—a four-hour rotation divided into unpredictable 30-minute intervals."
Konto looked impressed. "Wow."
Tantei continued. "Their goal is to maximize their alertness with minimal sleep, so our only chance to get past them is by being almost inhumanly still in our mission and managing perfect timing." He tapped the plate several times to emphasize the point.
Tambo let out a heavy sigh. "Figures."
Tantei's hand moved with a feverish rhythm, the Vesi splinter dancing across the wood. He slashed a quick, jagged 'Z' into the corner of the map to mark the deep sleep window.
The brothers leaned in, their breathing synchronized in a heavy, hushed —Hnuu-hnuu—as they watched the rapid sketching with a sense of forensic awe.
He tapped the spot with a sharp tic.
"A and B outside the main headquarters are always asleep for 30 minutes while C and D are in active patrol in the Vale ni Loka," Tantei explained, his voice a sandpaper whisper that cut through the stagnant air.
He dipped the splinter back into the bilo, the Dawa dye making a tiny, wet plink. He drew two heavy dots, then connected them with swirling, liquid trails.
"After 30 minutes, Guard C swaps with B."
The splinter made a frantic zip-zip sound as he illustrated the transition.
"A and C are now in a resting stance. However, this is a trap to bait you into a false sense of safety. This stage is where they rely totally on auditory detection."
Tantei's eyes, reflecting the saturated amber of the flickering resin torches, didn't waver.
"But during this critical swap is their flaw also, what they call the 'crossing.' We could exploit that moment with a well-timed intrusion, but it must be perfectly quiet."
He paused, the heavy, fermented scent of the crushed fruit dye rising from the board.
He pressed the splinter down, drawing two final, broad marks that seemed to anchor the entire plan.
"After another 30 minutes, D replaces C, which is what we call the 'double stillness' stage. Here, they are the most active to sensory input."
The board hummed against the hollow Tanoa—a low, wooden thrum—as he finished the stroke.
Tambo challenged the approach mid-sentence. "Why can't we just take out A and B in the first phase to begin with?"
Konto nodded. "Yeah, he's right. Isn't that the most logical approach?"
Tantei's mouth formed a small 'o', his shoulders slightly raised. He quickly averted his gaze, tracing the etched lines on the wooden plate with his finger. "Wait... yes. You're right."
Kanka immediately jumped in, pointed at the blueprint. "So... given the phases you laid out, I guess Phase one is the best opportunity to pull this off then. Given the risks involved trying to outsmart the Bati, I guess two of us should... walk up to them slowly and kill them?"
Tantei pointed a finger at Kanka. "Yes. But, the idea is to make less noise without alarming the inner defense. What we should do is create well-placed sound traps that are subtle enough to catch their attention and distract them away from their positions, so that two of us could take out the other guards. This isn't a foolproof strategy, but it's less risky."
Konto flicked his head between Tambo and Tantei. "Now, how are we gonna place traps there? I certainly don't know the craft."
Tantei rubbed his chin, straining with frustration, remaining silent.
After a moment, Kanka provided a solution. "I think me and Tambo could take care of that. We aren't hunters for nothing." He said with a smirk.
Tantei smiled softly.
Tambo sighed. "We need to do this between the first and second hour of the deep-night, though. The village must also be asleep. A perfect time to carry our mission without any witnesses, but we need to make the traps as fast as possible."
Tantei nodded. "Of course, I forgot about that."
Kanka looked at Tambo. "We must also plan our escape. Where will we go? They wouldn't stop till they find us. We'd become outcasts."
The room was silent for a moment. Tantei looked at the board in quiet stress. "I would also betray the Chief and the Bati. They really trust me as a member."
The group looked at Tantei in shared, silent stress.
Kanka shook his head, the red-spiked plumes of his hair trembling with suppressed rage. He gritted his teeth—grrr-it—and spoke up, his voice a jagged rasp.
"Argh, we tried to talk him out of it... but he insisted on making her die. He brought it on himself. I say we rescue her. She's our family. Now I suggest we escape to Tongatapu, start a new life there."
Tambo interjected, his deep mahogany frame shifting on the mats with a dry, reed-like shhhh-t.
"No, Tongatapu is five hundred miles to the east," Tambo countered, his eyes narrowing in the orange torchlight.
"It is too far with just the four of us. It would take four to eight days to get there depending on the trade winds and speed of our vessel. We would be bailing out the Pacific with our bare hands before we saw land."
Konto gestured toward Tambo, his palms open. "And none of us have voyaged so far in our lives. Without a navigator to read the stars, we could get lost big time."
Tambo turned to Tantei, his brow furrowed as he recalculated their survival on the ember-etched board. "The closest island we could reach is the Lau Group, specifically the southern point. It is... wait... 180 to 215 miles east of Rewa, if I'm correct. We might have a chance."
The air in the bure grew heavy.
"Two hundred miles," Tantei whispered, the fermented scent of the fruit dye rising like a bruised omen. "It's not a new life in the Lau, but it's a life. If we hit the southern, our Father's law becomes a ghost."
The brothers shared a heavy, synchronized exhale—a long, sibilant whuuuu—as the reality of the crossing settled into their bones.
Tantei slapped his palm on the kava lightly. "Alright. Each of us need to split our focus on different tasks."
He pointed a finger to Kanka and Tambo.
"You guys will create the traps. Me and Konto will load the cargo onto the boat. We only get one shot at saving Tolu. Let's move."
The night hung cold and heavy, a thick, smothered blanket pressed over the village of Vale Ni Loka. The air, usually warm with the sweet rot of fallen fruit, was instead sharp with the bitten brine of the approached tide and the dry, nervous tension that only desperation breeds.
Konto slipped toward the south end of the silent village, his bare feet soundless on the tamped earth. He bypassed the sleeping quarters and instead entered the food tent, the thatched roof smelling faintly of smoke and dryness.
He moved by instinct, the soft scrape of woven baskets against his rough palms the only sound.
He selected the freshest catch first: several small piles of silver-scaled fish, still cold from the chilling ground. Then came the heavy starches—the dense, rough-skinned taro and the fragrant, faintly sour spheres of breadfruit.
He snapped the moist pods of mangrove seed from a bundle, the woody scent briefly overwhelming the fish, packing them all with a ferocious speed.
Inside the bure, Tambo sat cross-legged on the floor mat, his massive frame utterly still. His eyes were pulled into a single, sharp focus, tracking the slow, difficult process in his hands. He braided a length of animal sinew, the fibers sticky and stiff.
The material was stubborn, resisting his thick fingers, but he forced the three strands into a tight, relentless rope.
He secured a small, smooth stone ballast with a knot so tight the sinew looked like it was chewing into the rock. At the other end, he worked the rope into a swift, devastated slip-knot snare. .
Beside him, Kanka's movements were precise and unnaturally quiet. He held a simple, hollowed-out piece of bamboo, the light wood feeling paper-thin against his strong fingers.
With a small, obsidian flake, he worked diligently to stretch a thin, tightly cured piece of fish-bladder membrane over one end, creating a low-frequency drum that would carry an unusual distance when triggered.
Tantei stood motionless by the eaves of the Chief's residence. He didn't pace; he didn't twitch. His hands rested lightly on his hips.
He fixed his gaze on the single, dark figure stationed at the outer bure on the headland, absolutely still.
his head dipped occasionally toward the sea, his arms crossed casually.
The Drua rested half-submerged at the coast, its massive outrigger a silent, dark shadow against the pale sand. The air was utterly broken only by the hush of the low tide and the low, urgent murmur of their voices.
Tantei stood beside the immense canoe, his hands rested on its smooth, wet hull.
He gestured with a quick motion toward the sail sheet coiled near the mast and then out across the water, indicating the invisible route toward the peninsula.
"Me and the others would take out the outer bure guards at early Phase One," Tantei murmured, his voice tight, not needing to look at Konto's face to confirm he was heard.
"That gives you enough time to silently sail the Drua toward us before the inner defense rotation swaps places."
Konto perched on the Medium-Sized- Outrigger, didn't move much, but the slight tilt of his head. The navigator's eyes were already fixed on the subtle shifts in the dark horizon.
"Me and the others will take out the Bati and save Tolu quickly, and get outta there with the boat. No do-overs. Got it?" Tantei finished, his gaze snapped back to Konto, demanding finality.
Konto didn't speak. He simply gave a single, solid nod.
The quiet snap of wood slicing the air was the only warning.
Tantei's Teivakatoga—the long, flat-bladed cutting club—spun end-over-end through the air. Its sharpened ironwood edges caught the flickering torchlight, flashing like a dark mirror as it performed a heavy, gyroscopic rotation.
Kanka, stood a dozen paces away, reacting on pure instinct, snatching the weapon out of the air.
Tantei stood, a dark silhouette framed by the low thatch of the residence. "You're gonna need it. The Bati are huge and powerful. Go for a quick strike to the neck—a focused blow, to prevent him from striking back."
Kanka looked down at the weapon in his hand. The polished hardwood too smooth. His hands shook slightly, a nervous tremble that mirrored the drumbeat of his heart pumping hard against his ribcage.
"Okay." Kanka muttered, his voice raspy and thin. He didn't look up. "This is a mistake. We're so dead."
Tantei closed the distance in two quick strides and clamped his hands heavily onto Kanka's shoulders. The grip was firm, grounded. "Hey, Kanka! Look at me."
He waited until Kanka's frantic eyes met his, then pointed a finger, not accusingly, but with laser-like focus." You said you wanted to join for Tolu. Don't give up now. We got this. Belief, and the rest will follow."
The moment hung, taut and silent, the air between them vibrating with Tantei's conviction.
He let go of Kanka and turned away without another word, walking off, and left him alone to wander in his thoughts and stare at the weapon of destruction and salvation heavy in his hands.
Hours bled into the dead of night. The wait was an invisible, smothering burden.
Inside the main bure, the brothers layed on the thick, woven mat, the rough pandanus fibers doing little to cushion their anxiety.
Konto layed with one foot raised, constantly, rhythmically swinging it left and right. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, his gaze locked onto the thatched ceiling.
Tambo was slumped sat against the woven wall, his breathing deep and even, a heavy, muscular anchor in the tense room. He slept, but his hand rested near his hip, ready.
Kanka stood right at the periphery of the doorway, his entire body a knot of resistance and fear, staring at the star-scattered expanse of the night sky.
Meanwhile, Tantei was in a smaller, adjacent bure tent, where the air was thick with the smoke of sacred heartwood.
A small fire illuminating three objects was laid carefully on a mat: A smooth piece of volcanic rock, a smooth ancestral stone.
And the heavy, empty kava bowl.
Kneeling, Tantei began to pray, his voice low and solemn.
"Oi Kalou. Vakamuria na neimami sala ki na veivakabulai kei na sala vinaka. Vukei keimami me keimami vakabulai Tolu."
(Oh God. Follow (guide) our path toward salvation and the good way. Help us so that we may save Tolu.)
He paused, then pressed his hand to the tabua, he grounded his promise.
"Na cakacaka keimami sa vakarau kitaka e sega ni mai na cakamate, ia mai na veitaqomaki ni neimami vuvale."
(The work we are about to do is not for the sake of murder, but for the protection of our family.)
His voice faded. Only the hiss of the fire remained, marked the final, inevitable minutes.
Inside the main bure, the brothers had finally succumbed, scattered across the thick woven mat. The heavy silence was broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of their breathing.
Tantei strolled in. He took in the sight of his three exhausted brothers.
His voice, sharp and immediate, shattering the quiet. "Hey! Guys, wake up. Beauty sleep is over."
Tambo and Kanka jerked, eyes blinking rapidly as they scanned the room before awareness settled,
but Konto remained a defiant lump on the mat, arms still crossed, one leg still up.
Tantei stalked over and delivered a swift, unsubtle kick to the sole of Konto's suspended foot.
"Hey, wake up. The night won't wait for your dreams." Tantei insisted.
Konto responded with a low, frustrated grunt, automatically pulling his foot away and readjusting his arms tighter across his chest, clinging to sleep.
"Konto." Tantei's voice dropped to a fierce whisper. "Don't make me throw water on you. We have a mission to settle. You can't sleep this deep."
With a ragged sigh, Konto slowly hauled himself into a sitting position, his face droopy with annoyance and exhaustion. "Okay, okay. I'm awake. Sheesh. What is it?"
Tantei gave him a dismissive shake of the head and directed his attention to the broader room.
"Alright, listen up. I should've told you guys sooner, and please don't bite my head off, but I spoke to dad a few hours ago about Tolu."
Kanka pushed himself to his feet, the terror of the past hours snapped into apprehensive hope. "What did he say?"
Tantei's conviction faltered just a touch as his face dropped. "He said 'I should know better'."
A shared, frustrated 'tch' hissed through the air from the three brothers.
Kanka raised his hand forward in an accusation directed toward the absent leader.
"What's his problem anyway? He would just kill her, his own communal member in a heartbeat? It's like he wanted her to make a mistake to justify his actions!" He turned his head away sharply in raw disdain.
Tantei spoke up, his tone settling the argument with absolute, cold conviction.
"Don't worry about that now. I knew he would be too stubborn to listen. We will save our sister even when he's given up on her."
He stepped into the center of the room, gathering the remaining three under his eye. "If he won't listen, then... we will do it the hard way."
He clapped his hands once—a loud, sharp sound that echoed the decisive end of deliberation. "Get up. Let's get to work."