Island of Desire

One corner of Tahu's mouth twitched. "If that happens, tonight will be the least of your worries." He lifted the paddle and used the blade to shove at Connor's bare hip. Unbalanced, arms flailing, he fell into the water with an undignified splash.

When he surfaced, saltwater stinging his eyes, Tahu was already a dozen yards away, his arms rising and falling with practiced motions, the canoe slicing through the water as easily as an oceanic predator.

Poor choice of words there, Connor. He looked down between his legs nervously, but no watery carnivore was looking back, its mouth open in a toothy, jagged-edged smile, waiting to dine on his privates.

Yet.

Fuck. Let's get going.

With a sigh, he began to swim for the shore, which suddenly looked very far away.

*****

"Are you sure she doesn't worship Mahuika?"

The whisper was meant to be quiet, but old Hi'ilei was half-deaf, and her voice was carrying. Chest-deep in a hot spring smelling faintly of sulfur, seated on a stone that had been rubbed smooth by the bottoms of generations of islanders, Brigid smiled.

She had barely time for a cup of coffee that morning before Elenoa, who had seemed to become a fixture in her life in just a few short days, had arrived at the governor's residence, asking that she come to the hot springs with her. Although it had been phrased politely, it was clear it was more than a simple request. From the group of women who had joined them as they walked up the path, it seemed this was a strange combination of ritual, blessing, and baptism.

The hot springs proved to be a group of pools set in a lush valley, high up on the slopes of the mountain. Some were no bigger than a bathtub. Others were large enough to swim in, a few dozen feet across. Shaded by lush greenery, they had stripped bare and waded in, fortified by snacks the women had brought along. The strangest thing, to Brigid's point of view, was the insistence on the part of many of the older women that Brigid, with her flaming red hair, had to be the manifestation of Mahuika, the Goddess of Fire and Lava.

But the water was hot and soothing, the food good, and the conversation pleasant. The women ranged in age from barely out of puberty, in Brigid's eyes, to old, wrinkled grandmothers who had to be assisted up the steeper parts of the slopes.

"Well, not entirely sure." Elenoa's voice was warm and amused. Brigid snorted and rolled her eyes, reaching for a chunk of pineapple. She chewed, savoring the fresh, sweet taste of the fruit. "We haven't talked much about religion. But her hair is very fetching, isn't it?"

She tried to keep from blushing. Her hair, the object of interest, lay in a thick, heavy cable across her chest, covering one breast. She had spent enough time in Europe to lose some of her American prudishness where nudity was concerned, but being naked among so many near-strangers, even in a hot spring, not entirely unlike a communal bathing pool, was a little much.

"Elenoa, I wish you wouldn't lead them on. Until a few weeks ago, when I began to consider this post, I had never even heard of Mahuika."

"Just because you haven't heard of the Three doesn't mean you don't worship them, in your own way," an older woman, Onaona, put in. She met Brigid's eyes frankly. There were lines around her mouth and the corners of her eyes, and her lustrous hair was streaked with threads of white, startlingly vivid against her dark skin. She had the baby-chewed breasts that betokened a mother who had born several children. "The missionary who was here from the mainland," here a groan rose from many of the other women, "said that a good deed done in the name of Tanirongo was the same as a good deed done in the name of his Christ."

Brigid blinked. "So, you are saying that I could be a follower of Mahuika without even knowing it?"

"Makes more sense than believing that some king decided to cut a baby in half to decide who its mother was," muttered one of the younger girls, her voice pitched to carry.

Brigid grinned as she recalled the story of King Solomon. "I always thought that one was stupid, too."

"Right!" the girl said eagerly. She seemed just out of high school. "And what woman is going to be dumb enough to say, 'Okay, chop my baby in two,' after she's gone to all the trouble to bring her case to the king? Just another way the bible makes women look like idiots."

She nodded. "My family was never very religious." She thought she noticed a subtle lessening of tension in the pool.

What did they think? That I was going to be some holy roller, out to convert them?

"Have you had a lot of...missionaries, here?"

"Too many," said a woman of about her age, her voice blunt.

"It was one of Governor Shaw's pet projects," Elenoa said.

"When he was sober," put in another teenager.

"Hush," Elenoa said, her voice stern. The girl subsided, giving her a polite nod. Brigid was impressed by her effortless authority. "It would happen about once or twice a year. Shaw would see something that offended his religious sensibilities."

"Which didn't take much, I assume."

She nodded. "So he would import someone from the mainland. He would set up in the community hall and try to drag people in to listen to his sermons. Shaw would do everything he could to make attendance mandatory."

"Didn't work," Brigid guessed.

"No." Elenoa shook her head. Her hair, floating in the water, made her seem like a dark-skinned Venus, preparing to rise from the ocean.

She has better boobs than Botticelli's Venus, though, she thought, startling herself.

"It's kind of hard to get people to listen when all you have to say is that they're going to Hell. We'd ignore whoever Shaw brought in, and sooner or later they'd leave. And Shaw would go back to his drink and leave us alone."

"I can't say I blame you. This place is like the Garden of Eden."

"Well." Elenoa looked pleased by the compliment. "Of course, people were kicked out of the real Garden. Let's hope that doesn't happen to us." Her eyes sought the sun, and she stood, water pouring off her magnificent body. "It's getting late. We should go back."

*****

"Don't you worry about men coming and spying on you?" she asked as they walked down the trail back to town.

A woman ahead of them hissed. "No one would dare to so profane a site sacred to the Three!"

Elenoa nodded, explaining to Brigid's confused look. "We have many sacred sites on the islands. But the hot springs are one of the few which are sacred to all three of the Gods.

"Heated by Mahuika, it rises through the earth, thereby blessed by Tanirongo, and containing the water which is Faumea's domain."

Brigid nodded her understanding as they emerged from the jungle and onto the wide expanse of land leading to the beach and the residence. She halted, stopped by the women in front of her, who had suddenly slowed.

"Damn," breathed one of them.

"What is it?" she asked, wishing she was taller.

The scrum parted, and she could see.

Damn, indeed.

Striding through the shallows, fully nude, his eyes glinting with a combination of triumph and anger, her brother approached them. His well-muscled chest and flat belly gleamed in the sunlight, trickles of salt-water coursing down from his brown hair. As the water fell below waist-level, the women were treated to the sight of his strong thighs and his cock, emerging from a downy tuft at his groin, beads of water shining in the curly hair like diamonds. Impressively long and thick, it swayed with his steps.

To her absolute mortification, Brigid found that she was staring at it hungrily. Her fingers twitched, wanting to hold it in her palms, to stroke it to its full length, to love it as only she could-

Stop it! She snapped at herself, realizing she was trembling. Under her robe, which she had insisted she bring to the springs, her body felt hot and flushed. He's your brother!

She willed her face to calmness as Connor walked past. "Ladies," he said, nodding at them. His eyes glinted with mild hilarity. "Governor."

"Mr. Flaherty," she answered formally, returning the nod. A sigh seemed to pass through the throng of women as he strode up the path and his well-formed rear came into view.

"By Faumea's blessed waters," murmured one of the younger women. "Elenoa, are you sure you can't give us all a crack at him? It's unfair that the island he is going to live on only has one representative." An agreeing mutter answered her. Bemusedly, Brigid realized that the entire group of women, ranging in age from over eighty to perhaps fifteen, was looking at her brother with expressions of undisguised lust.

Why so surprised? So were you.

It's not the same. He's my brother. He's mine. He's all I have left. I'm not going to give him up.

The ferocity of her emotion stunned her. She had loved Connor all her life. Her brother was, by turns, brilliant, loving, kind, infuriating, funny as hell, and a gold-plated pain in the ass. There had been times when they had driven each other to screaming rages. But the thought of having to give him up to some other woman was intolerable. Ever since that terrible day when they lost the rest of their family, they had shown a united face to the world, no matter how they might bicker between themselves.

"Don't get too worked up, ladies," she said, keeping her voice wryly cool. "He's way more trouble than he's worth."

"Really?" One of teenagers perked up. "Then he must be worth a lot!"

*****

The sun was setting. On the beach, the preparations seemed well in hand. From the hole in the sand, thin tendrils of steam escaped through the large tarp which had been laid over it, bringing tantalizing hints of roast pork, cooked with hardwood and white-hot stones in a traditional luau. The twin buildings, their purpose still a mystery, were complete, thin netting hanging from the cross-braces to shield the interior. Torches had been lit, orange flames dancing on the ends of high poles, illuminating the sand.

Connor stood at the top of the stairway. He had showered, rinsing the salt off of his body and out of his hair. After a half-mile swim, he had expected to be exhausted. But Tahu had told him the truth. The swim had been surprisingly easy, the wind and waves combining to almost push him towards the shore.

However, he hadn't expected to see his sister among the gaggle of eager-eyed women along the path to the residence. He was still trying to interpret the look on her face. It hadn't been anger, surely. At least, not with him.

Shaking his head, he glanced behind him, looking through the window at the end of the hall. The sun was a red ball, low in the sky, only a finger's breadth above the horizon.

Time to go.

Trying to still the shaking in his knees, he walked down the stairs. Thankfully, Elenoa was already there. He kept his eyes firmly on her face. Before, she had worn the traditional skirt, the pareu. Now, she was nude, save for a necklace of seashells worn around her neck, but that did not take away from the invisible cloak of dignity she wore about her.

Must come of being a priestess.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Not really," he answered honestly. "Where's Brigid?"

"Here," a wavering voice said.

It's a good thing, he thought, when his brain finally allowed him rational thought, that being with Kalele and Elenoa has given me some practice around near-naked women.

She descended the staircase with the grace of an angel, her hips swaying with a beat as old as time. Although Connor tried not to stare, he could not help but notice the graceful curves of her hips and thighs, the full, teardrop-shaped breasts, topped with delicate pink nipples, several shades lighter than her unbound hair, which, for a wonder, she had not bound into a braid, but allowed to spill down her back in a fiery, wavy torrent.

Connor had known, intellectually, that Brigid was lovely. But it had been true only in the abstract, in the same way he knew that temperatures at the South Pole could reach a hundred degrees below zero.

He had never expected for either of the two things to have any real meaning in his life. But now he found himself consumed with desire for his sister.

Exposed for all the world to see, his cock gave a twitch. Ruthlessly, he tore his eyes away from Brigid and concentrated on differential equations and the proper mass-ratios for Type IV Lee-Miller phase loads for his doctoral thesis. He would not embarrass Brigid by getting an erection in front of her.

She reached the ground floor and walked over to him, giving a little twirl, as if this was the night of the homecoming dance, and she was waiting for that jackass Harold Dwerkins to show up. "How do I look?"

"You look well, Governor," Elenoa said.

"Like a goddess," he answered, missing the quick glance Elenoa gave him.

"Well," his sister said, ignoring the compliment. "Are we ready? The good thing about showing up to a party nude is that you don't have to worry about losing any of your clothes."

"A moment. I have a gift for each of you, that I would ask you to wear tonight."

"As long as it isn't a tie," Connor said.

Elenoa smiled, then retrieved two items from a small table beside the door.

"Bend your head, Connor." She placed a garland of flowers around his neck. Hibiscus, foam flowers, and delicate orchid ringed his throat like a living garden in shades of white, yellow, and pink. The scent rose to his nostrils, a perfume made of the islands themselves.

"Flowers?"

"Indeed." Her eyes were amused. "What better, for the man who seeks to ensure the fertility of our islands and to keep them from being poisoned?"

She turned to Brigid. "For you, whose passion brought you halfway around the world, obsidian, born of the fire of the earth." She looped an arrowhead-shaped pendant around her neck, hung on a simple leather thong. It was set in a piece of black coral, skillfully carved.

She looked at them both, then nodded, satisfied. A glance out the door showed the sun, its lower rim just touching the horizon.

"We begin."

*****

That night was one that Brigid remembered for the rest of her life.

As soon as they emerged from the residence, a shout of welcome roared up from the beach, and a staccato drumbeat began, punctuated by deep, rhythmic thuds, as if the drummers were pounding on hollow logs the size of redwood trunks with drumsticks made out of sledgehammers. The sheer weight of the sound made her heart stutter in her chest, and she found her feet tapping, as if the beat was one she had known her entire life, even though she had never heard it before. The setting sun bathed all in an orange light, but the sky above them was a blue so dark as to be almost purple. To the east, above the mountain, the first stars were coming out, jewels set above the green cloak of the forest.

Fortunately, there was no receiving line, no formal introduction to the hundreds of people who thronged on the beach. Every resident of the island seemed to be there, from the oldest grandfather to babies blinking sleepily in the light of the torches. Luckily, Elenoa stayed near Connor and herself, as she shook hands and said hello and exclaimed over cute children until her cheeks were stiff and sore from smiling. Early in the proceedings, they were introduced to an older couple who proved to be Elenoa's parents. The woman was a handsome woman in her mid-fifties, her husband a few years older, but lean and spry. She accepted their well-wishes, at the same time hoping mightily for a drink and something to eat.

As if her thoughts had been plucked out of her head, an older man appeared at her elbow, bearing a wooden plate of pork, fish, and peeled fruit. "Governor," he said handing it to her, along with a broad wooden cup, filled to the brim with a clear liquid.

"Thank you," she said, smiling. Juggling the plate and cup, she took a bite of juicy pork. "Delicious," she said, meaning it. The meat was succulent, and so tender it barely needed chewing. She took a deep sip of the drink. The liquor burned a trail down her throat to her belly. She blinked, inhaling slowly. She felt she could feel the fumes clearing her sinuses.

"Very nice," she said, meeting his eyes. "But don't you have anything stronger?"

He grinned, then laughed uproariously, shouting in his native tongue to a group of his friends, who had been clustered nearby. They raised their cups to her in salute, which she returned with a nod of her head so deep it was nearly a bow.

"Well played," came an amused voice from her shoulder. She turned to see Elenoa.

"I've been drinking with guys like that since I took my first overseas posting," she replied. "They take it as a personal challenge to see if the woman can handle her alcohol. The only thing that ever changes is the quality of the booze," she continued, taking another, smaller, sip. "And in this case," she finished, her lips curving in a smile, "the dress code."

Elenoa shrugged, the motion doing delightful things to her chest. In the light of the torches, she resembled a pagan goddess, out for a night of fun with her worshipers. "It's our way," she said simply.

"I'm surprised you let the teenagers attend," she said, changing the subject. "Aren't you worried about them, well, embarrassing themselves?"

"Embarrassing?" The black-haired priestess' voice was confused. Then her face cleared. "Oh. You wonder if we worry that the boys will get an erection, seeing so many naked women.

"It's nothing to worry about. As I've said before, nudity is not the taboo in our culture that it is in yours. So a bare tit doesn't automatically get the same reaction here as it would where you grew up. I mean," she said, her cheeks dimpling in a sudden smile, "if you've seen Grandma's boobs since you were old enough to walk, they don't have quite the same fascination as they do for some men. Your brother, for instance."

"Is he..." her voice trailed off threateningly.

"Relax. Connor's being a perfect gentleman. It's confusing some of the girls, actually. They think it's cute. Look." They watched as a svelte young island girl, no more than eighteen, leaned close to Connor to talk to him. Almost by accident, one of her breasts brushed his upper arm. He jumped back, turning slightly. The motion brought his back into view, giving them both a chance to study the firm curves of his butt.

Brigid muffled a sigh of longing, and sensed Elenoa doing the same thing. "Will you be one of the women that he can choose tonight?" she asked, trying to tamp down the surge of jealousy.

She shook her head. "No. It would be too much of an advantage, for a priestess to put herself forward in that way. Especially one who already knows him. Only those who are unattached and who have had no special training can be chosen."

The beat of the drums shifted, becoming livelier. The crowd formed a hollow circle, and couples began to enter, dancing, their bare feet kicking sand high into the sky. At the edges of the crowd, children created new dances of their own, looked over by their indulgent parents.

She watched the dancing for some time. In her previous life as a diplomat, she had been forced to watch many 'traditional' dances with polite attention, always suspecting, with that bitter, cynical part of herself which she disliked intensely, that the dances were just as falsely traditional as the costumes, most of which had been made in China or Taiwan.

This dance was different. More relaxed, and at the same time, more spontaneous. The participants threw their bodies about with reckless abandon. As the night deepened, the number fell, until their were less than two dozen, the rest watching from the sidelines.