Befuddled. That was the most apt word to describe the dizzy groups expressions as they disembarked from the sleek industrial ship. It really couldn’t even be called a ship, with its aerodynamic and, frankly, alien design. The viscous, erratic water, if it could even be called that, shied away from the vessel as it settled. It levitated, letting out a steady flow of air as it lightly bobbed up and down, seeming to simulate the natural motions of a ship sitting at dock.

The group of dazed and confused foreigners stood under an awning, waiting for the busy Conglomerate members to finish piling their belongings onto a strange wheelless vehicle. Much like the ship, it emitted air beneath it, keeping it afloat as their piles of luggage were heaped one on top of the other.

“Brothers,” one of the men turned, shaking his head as he addressed his companions. Despite the blazing tropical sun, the man wore a gaudy white fur-lined cape around his shoulders. His low brimmed hat steadily soaked the streams of sweat that built on his brow, jowls jiggling as he turned.

“We are here as Emissaries of his Holiness. Let not these,” he gestured flippantly, flicking his wrist at the impressive ship. “Trappings dissuade or distract you from the true purpose of our mission.”

He fanned himself with a large, well-manicured, muscular hand. His white suit was stained with sweat but he did his best to ignore the uncomfortable chafing. A younger man, swaddled in a black suit, rushed forward and frantically waved a thick bit of cardboard he’d procured.

“Thank you, young one,” the tall light-skinned foreigner sighed as he dropped his voice to a whisper. “Make sure you get the room next to mine.”

---

“Preposterous,” the tall man sneered at the member, someone who introduced themselves as a Faifekau of the Conglomerate. “Do you know who I am? What kind of ridiculous stipulation is that?”

“I apologize,” the Faifekau bowed her head slightly, chin covering the tatau on her throat that flickered to life as she spoke. “But this is one of the laws of the Motu. I am well aware of who you are, Father, but this is the one thing we cannot budge on.”

She held out a flat slab of obsidian that glistened under the tropical sun, rays bouncing off and shining in the eyes of the gawking foreigners. A strange electric current ran just beneath the surface, lighting it up with an ethereal glow.

“What is this?” the Father tilted his head back, looking down his beak of a nose at the Faifekau and the odd item she held out.

“A contract,” the Faifekau’s voice was steady, patient. Her face told the rowdy foreigners that she was prepared to haggle all day if need be. “Place your hand on it please.”

The Father pursed his lips, blowing a raspberry as he turned and acted like he was speaking to a particular subordinate.

“The savages believe they have power over our names,” he chuckled, a cold, distasteful laugh that carried no humor. “Names bestowed upon us by the Holiest of Holies. Well, let them try.”

With a sarcastic sigh, he laid his right hand on the slab. It was cold, deathly cold. Even though it sat under the blazing sun and was in the hand of the Faifekau it still emanated a painful chill. The Father sucked in a sharp breath as his vision dimmed, colors running into one another and fading. He swayed on his feet, eyelids fluttering as two of his entourage laid their hands on his back, steadying him. A quick prick and a shock brought saturation and clarity back to the momentarily greyed world. Blinking, he shook his head, working his jaw as if he were trying to clear his ears of excess air pressure. He noticed the Faifekau’s lips moving but couldn’t quite make out what she was saying.

“What was that?” he mumbled, voice weak and drained.

“We will hold it until your departure,” the Faifekau ran her hand over the slab, swiping it. “Next?”

Still shaking his head, the Father waved one of his subordinates forward with a trembling hand as he massaged his temple with the other.

“You feeling alright Father?” the young member, the one who’d been smart and kind enough to fan him earlier, placed a reassuring hand under his elbow.

“I’m fine boy,” the Father grumbled. “I’ve just been in the sun for too long. Strange islands and all, nothing like our temperate homeland.”

Sweat rolled down his flushed face. Another subordinate approached with an umbrella, holding it over the Father as beads of perspiration trickled down his face.

One by one, the subordinates all laid their hands on the slab. A tablet, according to the Faifekau. None seemed to react like the Father had, but they all seemed to feel something. The expressions on their faces said as much. The Father knelt, unbothered by the dusty ground that stained his expensive white pants, and prayed. Clasping his hands in front of him with a gaudy, sparkling gold chain laced through his fingers, he raised his voice.

“Our Father, benign and benevolent maker,” his voice wavered theatrically, seeming vulnerable yet powerful. “May your gaze and presence shine on your children as we embark on this harrowing journey. Lead us not through shadowed valleys, but deliver salvation through us.”

The rest of the emissaries dropped to their knees, raising their voices in a chorus of prayer.

The Faifekau gazed at the odd group, a corner of her lip curling up into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Finally, the praying slowed as the Father stood, bits of dirt falling from his knees. Arms spread, he raised his voice again, booming.

“In the name of the one who became three, we thank you!”

The rest of the emissaries echoed his closing words. One of them, the young man who’d caught the Father’s eye, peaked around through slitted eyes. He noticed a few members watching but the majority paid little mind to the theatrical praying. His brow creased, thick eyebrows furrowing.

“Thank you, Brothers,” the Father wiped sweat from beneath his nose. Unlike the rest of the emissaries, he was still pale, legs shaking ever so slightly as he stood. “Let us retire.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” the Faifekau cleared her throat as she motioned to a member standing behind her. “This member will guide you all to your accommodations. The Conglomerate appreciates your cooperation.”

With a slight bow of her head, she excused herself.

The Father’s beady, glistening eyes followed the black clad woman, sneering as she walked away. His pale face, still dripping with sweat, flushed as he found the energy to express his distaste.

“Savages,” he spat a thick, yellow blob. “How dare they send a woman. Find out who we need to talk to about this affront.”

---

Freshly showered and washed, the Father and a small detachment of his retinue ambled after their guide. A toned young man, the Father's eyes twinkled as he observed the way the members defined shoulders moved beneath the uniform.

Each member of the foreign delegation sparkled under the sun’s waning gaze, necklaces and earrings flashing and dazzling with each movement they made. Every finger was adorned by no less than one ring each, platinum and gold bands shone, attracting the wandering gazes of the members and lesser candidates they passed.

The Father’s rings signified his standing with the Church of the One. Each finger, except for both middles, were resplendent with two rings that were made as pairs. Intricate designs twisted and turned, building a picture of his accomplishments, crowned by gems inlaid into the middles. Both of his middle fingers had three interlaced rings, each one connected to the other with fine chain links. It looked like he was wearing an ostentatious gauntlet, glinting with the slightest movement.

“Look,” the Father mused, smirking as he took account of the astonished faces of the members through slitted eyes. “The savages have taken notice of our faith. Be sure to expound upon them the gratitude our order expresses to all followers.”

On cue, each man pulled a polished, gold plated piece of jewelry out of their deep robe pockets. Making eye contact with a member, they firmly pressed the item into the bewildered persons hands as they mumbled a prayer. They left a trail of confused denizens in their wake, passing out the shiny baubles as if they were candy. Their guide didn’t seem to care, waving at other members and beckoning them over to greet the emissaries.

“Friendly lot,” one of the younger foreigners commented as he fished a pair of rings out of his pocket, pressing them into the hands of a couple of members who were smiling and nodding at him. “Wish we’d met some of them earlier, they could have joined the flock.”

“Yeah, too bad that,” his companion tightened the clasp of a sparkling platinum bracelet around the wrist of a member. The member smiled, all teeth and gums as their eyes folded closed. “Now they’ll be left stranded out of our lord's favor.”

The Father beamed, smile creasing his pale face as folds of loose skin converged, turning his face into an eerie mask. His dark eyes glistened, beady little things peering out at all the possible conversions.

“Once we convert the heathen Tu’i, all these ripe little souls will be ours.”

A snort caught his attention. Long twisted hair swaying as a member, a short, dark-skinned woman, walked past. Something about her giggle made the Father feel as if she had understood him.

“Do any of the savages understand us?” he whispered to his most recent favorite.

“No, Father. Only the ones that are called ‘Faifekau’ as far as I’m aware.”

“Good, good,” he stroked his chin, smile returning to his pocked lips.

---

Much to their surprise, the Motu was home to some delightful pastimes for them to enjoy as they waited for the tournament. The Father didn’t enjoy the ‘kava’ one of the Faifekau had introduced them to. “Too dirty,” he’d commented as he tried to discreetly dispose of the murky drink. The rest of the brothers had enjoyed the mellowing effect it had on them and had been able to ignore the tart, gritty taste of the drink.

The Father was much more interested in finding out about the inner workings of the Conglomerate and spreading his dogma. Being a man of zealous faith, he’d busied himself with trying his best to impress the members with the brilliance of the Word, displaying his command of the Voice at every chance.

Sitting under a large umbrella, the Father and two of his companions eagerly watched the members and candidates milling about in the market. Located in what was effectively the heart of the island, the hustle and bustle was truly impressive for a small island. A Faifekau stood behind the group, not a woman this time.

“Say, how do you all stay so cool in all that black?” the Father fanned himself with a woven fan one of the others had bought. It was a plain thing but it served its purpose.

“Trade secret, Father,” the Faifekau’s melodic voice was tinged with a chuckle. The man stood at attention, cool as ever. One of the brothers kept eyeing him, beady eyes flitting back and forth from studying the Faifekau and observing the various candidates who passed. The Father chuckled, not hiding his annoyance in the least.

“It strikes me as odd,” the other brother began, rubbing the wispy stubble that he’d been working so hard on since their arrival. “All these contestants, they all seem so exotic. Does the Conglomerate invite anyone and everyone?”

“Candidates. We accept all. Regardless of origin along the currents.”

“Origin?” The beady eyed brother turned his odd gaze on the Faifekau. “Currents? Is that a part of your doctrines? I wasn’t aware the Conglomerate had any religious affiliations.”

The Faifekau smiled, a professional crease of the lips, barely moving the rest of his face. “The Conglomerate only believes in the furthering of the Tu’i’s goals and chooses to remain neutral, as a whole. But each member is free to follow and believe as they please.”

“Hoho,” the Father turned, the loose skin on his face trembling with the motion. “So that means you are a man of faith? I am relieved. I hadn’t expected any amongst your kind to hold any convictions. Tell me about your beliefs?”

“I’d rather not, Father.”

“Come now, it can make for light conversation,” the Father waved a hand at the beady eyed brother. “Move child. Let the man sit.”

“It’s fine, brother,” the Faifekau held out a hand to stop the young man from rising. “I’d rather stand.”

“Then at least stand where I won’t have to turn to look at you. We men of the Church value etiquette and courtesy, you see?”

The Faifekau let out a light chuckle, bordering on a scoff, as he politely walked around the three sitting figures and stood within the Fathers sightline. He positioned himself so that he wouldn’t take up their view of the mulling crowds.

“So, tell us of your faith. I’m always interested in learning about the beliefs of others, even if they’re wrong.” the Father smirked, turning to his two subordinates. They hesitated before returning the smirk, weakly at that.

If the Faifekau had heard the slight he showed no signs. Not a flush of the cheeks or reddening of the ears. His ruddy complexion darkened as he turned his face down, the sun's errant rays casting his eyes into shadow.

“We are an old faith. We worship the sea, the old fisherman and the young. We remember the sea mother and the empyrean father. We still tell the tales of when the old fisherman watched as his nearly immortal son chased the sun through the wide blue sky and beat it so that the people would have longer days. And we remember how the old fisherman pulled our homes up and out of the depths.”

“Amusing,” the Father chuckled, words resonating with his careless use of his Voice. “So your people believe in fairytales.”

“Not quite,” the Faifekau shook his head, smile apparent even though his eyes remained shrouded. If the man noticed the use of the Voice, he didn’t let it show. “We believe in those who came first. And we believe they are still with us.”

The beady-eyed brother looked at his companions, lips twisted in an incredulous smirk. “Nonsense. The Trinity is the only ruler of this world. They are the maker and the end.”

“Brother,” the Father patted his inquisitive companion's shoulder. “Let the man finish his tale. It’s not his fault he’s never had the pleasure of basking in the presence of the Trinity.”

The Faifekau let out a throaty chuckle as a murky, cloying light leaked out from beneath his crisp shirt collar. His chuckle reverberated as it echoed and grew, hitting the foreigners squarely in the chest. The Father clapped his jiggling chest with a dainty hand as his eyes widened, cheeks puffing as he wheezed, chest rising and falling rapidly. His two companions grabbed their sides as they strained to breathe, veins riddling their throats as their faces flushed red.

“That should be enough, you’re being rude to our guests,” a woman’s voice soothed the foreigners as they felt the moment pass, eyes glazing over. The odd light faded as the Faifekau dropped to both of his knees, nose digging into the paved ground.

Standing over the Faifekau was one of the Named. The woman’s beautiful black dress flowed and billowed despite the nonexistent breeze. Her sun-blessed skin glistened, hair pulled back into a severe bun tightly wound atop her head. Looking at her was hard, it hurt the eyes and made them ache and water. Having her look at you, let alone talk to you, made everything throb. Old pains, long healed scars, buried secrets, everything came raging up and began aching. And all because you dared draw the slightest ire from her.

The Faifekau shook like the last leaf atop a balding tree, wavering before the ferocious winds of a tropical storm.

“Rise, boy,” the Named woman’s voice filled his ears as he finally noticed how quiet everything had become. No hustle, no jostling, no jingling of pouches or padding footsteps, no banter or haggling.

His knees resisted as he slowly, achingly rose, legs shaking visibly. Eyes still glued to the ground, he tried his best not to look away, focusing on the smallest and farthest bit of billowing cloth, head inclined.

“Treat our guests properly.”