He inhaled deeply, the heated air singeing his tongue and the roof of his mouth; it smelled of sweat and fire. Glaring up at the darkening horizon, he mentally prepared himself to address the tumultuous crowd of islanders arguing at his back. Twenty two years of leading this tribe and even more of praying to the Gods of wisdom had not prepared Muakwandi Ramifouana for this…this humiliating break from the Faith, this utter atrocity which with every passing second unfolded upon this mountain. Deny the Gods a sacrifice? Were his people mad? This was unheard of!  He planted his feet firmly, digging his heels into the charred, pebbling rock beneath him; raising his arms up towards the approaching clouds, he bellowed out a mighty roar of, “SILENCE!”

The quarreling congregation immediately quieted, gazing open-mouthed at their leader. Turning slowly to address the hushed state of disarray, he steadily met each pair of fear-swollen eyes with his own. He met the panic, the anger, the confusion, and began,
“O, People of the Fiery Hill, will you wait for complete destruction?”
His voice rang out, loud enough to shake even the heavens.
“Will you continue to anger the almighty Gods by hoarding that which you should freely give? You invoke their downcast glances, their unabashed rage, their terrible, unavoidable fury by your human selfishness!” Despite the abundance of heat, the air froze in the islanders’ lungs; shifting from foot to foot, they wrung their hands, shifted their eyes. Though no one could deny the truth in those words, they began to grumble. Defensive words for an already lost cause.  “Their power will manifest itself,” he savagely uttered, quickly cutting off their mutterings, “a ravenous tiger thirsting for your flesh, and tear you limb from limb, letting your blood mix with lava and run down this boiling mountain! Peering into the swirling molten depths, can you not see that this island’s Gods must be appeased with a sacrifice?”

All thoughts immediately dashed to one Name, one God, one Punisher: Kukailimoku, the vengeful God of war, the ancient Seizer of the Land. The crowd shuddered.

“Instead of telling you how your ignorance will obliterate your existence, how your self-centered intentions will lead to your demise, how your blind refusal will invoke your inevitable and impending doom, I have decided to put before you the tradition of your ancestors. Their unrelenting obedience to the Gods is the reason why you stand here before me now, alive and well. Every year upon the winter solstice, this very night, they cast one of their own into the cavernous pit of the volcano; performing this honorary and selfless act deferred the Gods’ wrath another year, allowing for the safety, the wellbeing, the vitality of their people.” Many began nodding in agreement. He continued once again, “If you neglect this repeated onus, this necessary act of respect, a mighty storm will befall you, crushing your cities; it will fly in from the heavens and wreak havoc upon the world as you know it! Not only will you find your pitiful attempts at warding off this demise useless, but you will also find your pleas and cries for help going unheard. Every grain of sand will melt into glass; every roof of every house will erupt into flames, and I will blame you!”
Eyes began darting to and fro, speculating, sizing up possibility and probability. The air thickened, tensed, sparked, as all turned their attention to one young boy, barely a teenager, his right leg crippled from birth. “So now, I beg you, while pacing atop this thundering, smoldering volcano, trade one life for the whole of the community; let one person be the only price we pay for the wellbeing of many! Sacrifice to save! Proceed with this placation, this mollification, this assuaging immolation!”

All spun towards the boy, leaping at him with teeth bared;
his terrified screams of protest echoed down the mountain . . .

echoed until swallowed by the sounds of gurgling lava.