715 stirred, shivering as she moved.
“Lay still, sis,” 1202 said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t try to get up--.”
The young woman sat up, pushing against her brother’s firm grip. The thin blanket that covered her fell away and revealed the aftermath of their last match. The tatau on both of her arms were little more than hollow shells, the barest hint of outlines without their filling. Her eyes grew large and moist as she met her brother’s gaze.
“What?” she croaked, dry throat unable to say more.
1202 handed her a cup of water. “They called it ‘Afu’ia. Something triggered and we overloaded.”
As he spoke he motioned at his exposed calf. The tatau looked much the same as 715’s arm, hollowed out and empty.
A tear leaked from the corner of her eye. With shaky fingers, she traced the marred etchings. “Papa’s tappings…”
The atmosphere in the dim room weighed heavily on the siblings as 715 quietly mourned the loss of the tattoos that had been passed down to them by their grandfather. A tear dropped from her chin and landed on the barebones art. It sizzled then dissipated as it made contact with her skin.
715 sniffled as she kept her gaze on the tatau.
“They’re providing an artist. They can patch it up really quickly and we should be good for the rest of the tournament.”
“That’s not the point,” 715 said, teeth clenched and jaw tight.
“I know,” 1202 said, voice trailing off as he tried to think of something to say.
They sat in silence, the young woman occasionally breaking it with her prolonged sniffles. Tears dripped from both chin’s as they reminisced on when they’d received their tatau.
“You know what’s stupid?” 715 asked, not waiting for her brother to respond. “He didn’t even want to mark us. He didn’t wanna pass them on. Maybe he knew something about this weird place.”
Another moment of silence passed. 1202 absentmindedly traced a finger along the outline of his ruined tattoos. He scratched at the scarred skin, picking at the odd pieces that had been left behind.
“Maybe,” 715 said, gaze lowered as she stroked her arm. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come here.”
1202 swallowed loudly, head shifting under the effort. After a moment’s consideration, he asked “What makes you say that?”
“We lost Pa’s tatau. What do you mean ‘what makes you say that?’ I can’t even remember how we got here!” Her sudden outburst startled both of them. The young woman scratched her scalp, surprised at her strong emotions.
“Do you remember?” 715 asked. “I feel like I remember a boat. Mist. A long ride. But I can’t remember anything before that.”
1202 pondered, tapping his chin as he gave himself time to mull things over. “Can’t say that I do, if I’m being honest. Kinda the same, just remember getting off their funky ship and thinking everything was normal.”
“See,” 715 said, still stroking her hollowed-out tattoo. “Don’t you think that’s weird? I can’t remember and you can’t either. And we been acting weird since we got here. We ain’t fighters, we never even got in a fight back home. Not that I could remember.”
1202 grunted noncommittally.
“Now we’re fighting a buncha weird dudes and getting our bones broken and unbroken on the regular. Some of these dudes look like the ones from the cartoons we used to watch. Why are we just now questioning this?”
The question hung in the still air as the siblings considered all the oddities. The Motu was an odd island, that was easy enough to figure out. What they couldn’t quite grasp was the effect it seemed to have on them and the others who set foot on its fabled lands.
“You know,” 1202 began before falling silent. His thoughts were a jumble, more than usual. And it showed with the pained expression he wore. “When I think about it, I can’t really think about it. Like, thinking about the weirdness makes me feel like I have two heads. Because I have thought about it. More than I’ve let on.”
He absently stroked the vacated etching on his crossed leg.
“Thinking about it is hard,” he said, shoulders falling as the wisp of the train of thought he’d been following eluded him once more.
715’s shoulders tightened as she shifted in the over-fluffed bed. For a moment, she thought about how she never liked soft beds before arriving on the island. Then the thought was gone and she was back to square one, pondering on something that she wasn’t quite sure about.
“Do you think it’s this place?”
Again, the question hung in the air. It seemed to grow and stretch around them before fading away like a fine mist at daybreak. At least, that’s how it felt to 1202 who was busy trying to stay focused on the question. Thinking was hard enough as it is, but thinking on his sister’s questions seemed harder.
“I think,” he said, scratching the itchy stubble on his neck. “That there’s something wrong. And that we won’t be figuring anything out on our own.”
“Why do you think that?” 715 tussled her hair and scratched absently. Her eyes shone in the dim light.
“Because every time I’ve thought on the problem,” 1202 said, careful to word everything properly so he wouldn’t lose his train of thought. “It felt like there was a siphon pulling it right back outta my head. Like, if I say the wrong words then they’ll just fly away. You get me?”
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“No, not really,” 715’s scratching intensified. “I mean, I kinda do. But I don’t. I have so many questions but they won’t come out properly.”
1202 was now raking his hands up and down his neck, working at the itchy stubble in a frenzy. “That’s what I mean. It’s like this itch, no matter how I scratch at it, the damned thing just won’t go away.”
Another silence fell over the two as their scratching fits subsided. They both blinked, looking as if they weren’t sure what they had just been talking about. Then the itching began as the light of understanding seemed to set their eyes alight.
“Maybe,” they said simultaneously, falling silent as they awkwardly motioned for the other to speak first.
1202 nodded, taking the chance. “Maybe it is. Maybe if we talk about it without talking about it, we might get somewhere.”
“That’s what I was about to say,” 715 said as she examined her fingernails. She scooped out bits of dander and a light smattering of blood from her itching fit. “Whenever I think of home, I get itchy all over. But when I think of the house, nothing happens.”
“Yeah, maybe that can work. First, let’s talk about the house.” 1202 sniffed at his fingers before scooping the residue out from beneath his nails. “I remember what it feels like. Where it is. But I can’t remember the details. Just the non-specifics. It all feels so ambiguous. You know what I mean?”
“Yup,” 715 said as she nodded. “I remember feeling cozy. Warm. Welcomed. But I don’t remember the who’s and the what’s of the house. Just that it felt it right.”
1202 grunted, crossing his arms as he closed his eyes. He tried to imagine home and the itching started up immediately. Then he switched it and thought of a house, not their own but a house. One with sturdy walls, warm beds, and plenty of space.
He opened his eyes and found his sister with her eyes closed and arms crossed. As he moved to speak, she headed him off.
“The house is old, I remember that,” her voice had a far off quality to it as if she were speaking over a long distance. “Generations old with so many lives having moved through it. I remember Pa.”
As she mentioned their grandfather, 715 found herself fighting the urge to rake her nails along the crook of her neck. The itch was intense but she held out.
“I remember the other house,” she continued, voice strained as she fought the need to scratch. It began to subside as she spoke of their second house. “How cold and foreign it was. So many feet had been through it yet none cared for it. It was less a home and more a thoroughfare.”
1202 pursed his lips as he thought of the house his sister spoke of. Again, he found himself unable to imagine the specifics. As if something were keeping him from doing so. An itch rose in the small of his back as he tried to get specific with his imaginings.
“I remember sadness, loneliness, aching,” 715 continued, eyes still closed as she swayed back and forth. “I remember…”
Tears leaked down her face as she seemed to hit a block. 1202 shifted over, sliding an arm around her shoulder. He quietly patted her shoulder as he gazed down at his free hand. The tatau that had been hollowed out by their overheating seemed to glimmer. Then he took up where his sister left off.
“I remember beatings and being chased away. I remember cold nights and hot days. I remember lies and being forced to lie. I remember Pa’s face.”
He tensed in anticipation of the itching. Yet none came.
715 sniffled as she looked up at her brother, eyes bright with surprise. “I remember his face too!”
She reached out and grasped 1202’s hand in hers, squeezing it as she shut her eyes. “I remember the deep scar down the side of his cheek. His ruddy brown skin. The way he always smelled like the sea, salty and briny. How long his arms seemed when we were little and how strong he was, always carrying us around under one arm. I remember! Bro, I remember!”
Her voice rose with excitement as she stared expectantly at her brother’s face.
“I remember,” he said, voice somber and withdrawn. “How mad he used to get with me. How he beat me when I couldn’t activate my tatau quick enough. I remember…”
1202 fell silent, turning away from his sister’s heated gaze. “I don’t really wanna remember, sis.”
His arm fell away from her shoulder as he shifted away from her. He pressed a hand to his brow, tapping it as the anxiety seemed to build within him. His body twitched.
“What are you talking about? I don’t remember any of that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” 1202 murmured. “You never had to see the ugly side of him because he made sure only I saw it.”
He quickly wiped at his eyes with the base of his hand.
“Let’s leave it at that, ok?”
“But we still haven’t figured anything out! And I wanna know all about what you’re talking about!” 715 moved to slide out of the bed but was stopped by her brother.
“Look, you still need to rest. And the artist should be getting here soon. You’re gonna need as much strength as possible while he fixes us up.”
She relented, swinging her legs back into the soft bed.
“You’re gonna tell me about it later.”
As she said so the doorknob clicked. The door swung open and two figures entered. One was the Faifekau who had been acting as their liaison so far, with their shiny mask and prim outfit. The other was a hulk of a man who seemed to not truly fit through the small doorway. The doorway seemed to open itself to him as he trundled through. He wore the garb of a Faifekau but was actually barefaced, unlike most of the ones the siblings had met thus far.
Tucked under his arm was a small bundle, rolled up and tightly bound.
“Excuse me, candidates. This is the artist, which of you will go first?”
1202 stood, raising a hand as he turned to greet the two members. The large man reminded him of someone but he wasn’t sure who. “My sister still needs time to heal, I’ll go first.”
The masked Faifekau nodded, beckoning behind them. A barbers seat, which hadn’t been there before they had entered, swiveled itself around.
“Take a seat, the artist will get their utensils ready.”
Bewildered, 1202 numbly stumbled into the seat. Why was he not questioning the oddness of the situation? Where had the seat come from? Did it just materialize out of thin air?
“It was always there,” the Faifekau said. “In case you were wondering.”
The mask twinkled mischievously.
The large figure quietly arranged their tools, unfurling the bundle with practiced ease. Each tool was made for the specific purpose of imparting a tatau. One looked like a long-necked hammer while four or five of the utensils bore needles of varying shapes and sizes. Bottles of mana-charged ink glimmered with life essence.
“Please,” the artist murmured, voice deep and soothing. “Be at ease. I will restore your tatau and endeavor to improve what I can. Lay back and let us begin.”
1202 glanced at his sister, smirking as he nervously sat back. She nodded at him, lips pursed with worry.
“While he is restored,” the Faifekau said, suddenly hovering over 715. “I will help with your recovery. I ask that you also lie back and allow me to do so.”
“You can invoke recovery?”
“I can. I’ve been the one tending both of you throughout this tournament.”
As the Faifekau spoke their mask lit up with tattoos etched into them, intricate lines swooping and connecting all over the shroud.
“Please close your eyes, this won’t be a pretty sight.”
715 obeyed. Something in her gut told her to follow the directions.