The Knife-Sharpener's Daughter Chapter 6: Mother Beast, a lord of the flies fanfic

A/N: Can one make Simon's death worse than it already was.

One tries

I took out the Bill part that makes no sense, lmao.

Mother Beast

Sam had never been in so much pain in her entire life. Her joints and muscles burned hotly in remembrance to the pig she felled, her cuts ached deep and sore, and her stomach felt twisted and upset from lack of sleep. What little rest she had came fitfully and unwelcome, Eric equally disturbed beside her. Sam did not know if Ralph slept at all.

When the first light came, Sam left the shelter with a sick stomach, leaving Eric to doze. He came to her when the other boys began to rise.

"Here," Eric said when he returned, brave enough to search the dark and brooding forest for fruit, if only for Sam. "Eat this."

Eric crouched down. He was pale like cream in the light of the pink dawn, the shadows on his face soft like the shadows on the sand. Although the thought of food disgusted her, Sam took the pitted fruit, knowing the burden behind it.

"Thank you."

Her voice shivered in a cracked whisper. Concern deeper than bodily illness crossed Eric's face, and he pushed back Sam's long hair to examine her face; her scratches were crusted and rusty, and her cheeks ruddy in fever. His mouth shifted in a wordless expression.

"I'll get you some water."

Sam nodded, and he left. Sam ate the fruit out of necessity and nothing more, the pleasure of its sweetness long lost to her. She fiddled with the dove-shaped coticule in her pocket until Eric returned again with a coconut shell filled with water, both the twins holding it as Sam drank slowly.

Simon crept out of the jungle. With him came the sun, the orb a warm color breaking over the ocean waves and turning all the sky golden. Sam sensed the safety of day and wakefulness and at once had the hope to feel better.

"Thank you," Sam repeated, taking the shell wholly. "I think I am a bit better."

"Not feeling well?" Simon asked meekly.

Eric's lightness at his success turned prickly when Simon neared Sam while she was weak. Simon understood the threat of Eric protecting Sam with his big-brother posture and did not advance further.

"I..." Simon started to speak, then froze, Sam and Eric eyeing him curiously.

"I... wanted to apologize," he struggled to communicate the ideas that were so true in his head. "Because you are two people, not one person, and they treat you like that."

He motioned out with his fingers.

"You are Sam, and you are Eric."

Then, in a whisper:

"You are a girl, and you are a boy."

Sam and Eric looked at Simon half in astonishment and half in misunderstanding. Simon flushed and shivered, unable to explain how they were their own people and one was not better than the other.

"But," Eric tried to overcome the unachievable, "why are you sorry? You didn't make it that way."

"Someone has to be."

Simon's fragile demeanor contrasted the violent, ragged note that sounded. Atop the platform was a dark, whippet outline, which Sam and Eric though chillingly similar to the beast they saw on the mountain, calling the note of assembly.

Simon gave the twins his last apologetic look before dissolving in the light towards the platform to obey the signal. Eric steadied Sam and they joined the group flocking to the platform.

Jack was not the Son of the Rising Sun—not like Ralph. He was a hollow blot of a shape that made ugly music and sniveling littluns. He was awful in many ways, but Sam only understood part of this, and said:

"He's not right."

Eric nodded and agreed.

They sat with their backs to the sun and saw the platform in its entirety. The ease they felt when Ralph retook the conch was short-lived as Jack seized attention on his own.

"This meeting-"

"I called it," Jack had an absolute desire to interrupt.

"If you hadn't called it I should have," Ralph pointed out his senselessness. "You just blew the conch."

"Well, isn't that calling it?"

Ralph looked at Jack furiously. His blue eyes were almost snake-green behind the sheen of his hair and in the burning light of new morning.

"Oh, take it! Go on—talk!"

Ralph relinquished the conch and sat down miserably. Proud to shame and dethrone Ralph, Jack presented the conch like a trophy he had won fairly instead of stolen.

"I've called an assembly, because of a lot of things," Jack reminded them as a whole, and his posh tone angered Sam slightly. "First, you know now, we've seen the beast. We crawled up. We were only a few feet away. The beast sat up and looked at us. I don't know what it does. We don't even know what it is-"

Some littluns spoke up:

"The beast comes out of the sea-"

"Out of the dark-"

"Trees-"

Jack's look cut and drew blood.

"Quiet! You, listen! The beast is sitting up there, whatever it is-"

"Perhaps it's waiting-"

"Hunting-"

"Yes, hunting-"

"Hunting." Some bodily relish came to Jack with the idea. For Sam, the thought of the beast chasing and spearing her like a pig frightened her and caused her to draw up closer to Eric. She felt the same hopelessness she had in the dark shelter.

"Yes," Jack agreed, coolly. "The beast is a hunter. Only-" some sense and ferociousness came- "shut up! The next thing is that we couldn't kill it. And the next is that Ralph said my hunters are no good."

Ralph's woe left him, and he perked straight up.

"I never said that!"

"I've got the conch," Jack said mockingly, and Ralph hushed and reddened in his returned shame. "Ralph thinks you're cowards, running away from the boar and the beast. And that's not all."

Jack gripped inside the conch, almost as if he were going to break it in two.

"He's like Piggy. He says things like Piggy. He isn't a proper chief. He's a coward himself. On top, when Roger and me went on—he stayed back."

Ralph lept up like a fire, ready to defend his honor. Standing, he did not seem so small. He seemed a chief like everyone thought him to be.

"I went too!"

"After."

They stared in challenge. The hot air reminded Sam of the tremendous battle for masculine dominance she witness atop the mountain when the ship passed, and she suddenly felt out of place and utterly alone. For a moment, Eric's hold was only a mass and she only a girl. Until, Ralph said:

"I went on too, then I ran away. So did you."

Jack's voice darkened just enough, "Call me a coward then."

He turned, taking the conch out of view.

"He's not a hunter. He'd never have got us meat. He isn't perfect and we don't know anything about him. He just gives orders and expects people to obey for nothing. All this talk-"

"All this talk! Talk, talk!" Ralph's voice rang, terrible and true and lawful. "Who wanted it? Who called the meeting?"

For a flickering hesitation, Jack went still as struck death. Then, he turned, his face shadowed in red by the sun.

"All right," his words almost shivered in heart instead of malice. "All right."

The conch dropped in one hand, hanging at his side beside his knife disrespectfully.

"Who thinks Ralph oughtn't be chief?"

Jack looked across the lighted boys. In the heavy silence he snarled, urging:

"Hands up, whoever wants Ralph not to be chief?"

He was met with blank and unchanging silence. Sam and Eric witnessed the whole of his outcasting consume him, his throat jumping in humiliation.

"How many think-"

All knew it was tired and futile. Jack swallowed the hurt in his throat.

"All right then."

The conch dropped to the soft sand and grass. All felt a little titter of fear and shock as it landed, like a dove shot from the sky. Sam felt the wound personally, but she did not know why.

"I'm not going to play any longer. Not with you."

Tears filled his words and eyes.

"I'm not going to be a part of Ralph's lot—I'm going off by myself. He can catch his own pigs." He glanced at and away from the twins and the sun; Eric's skin prickled as if he had been hit. "Anyone who wants to hunt when I do can come too."

Jack disappeared towards the surf, running before his tears and disgrace could disarm him further. Ralph moved after him.

"Jack!"

Jack turned on him quickly. He stared, then spoke a hoarse almost-sob.

"-No!"

Jack hid his face. He ran from the platform, diving into the jungle now lit by the day. Ralph watched part of his leadership be ripped from him.

Like the others, Sam and Eric watched Jack until he could not be seen. When the episode dissolved into silence, Ralph dropped to the sand, gazing at the disturbed part of the jungle absently. In the silence, some frenzied need came over Sam so that she rushed away from the comfort of her brother to retrieve the conch from the ground. She cradled the shell like a dying animal, taking it to share in the safety her brother provided. Eric gave Sam a heartfelt look, but said nothing.

Sam did not notice that she had made a display until Piggy came up to her. The silent group observed Piggy motioning for the conch and Sam giving it up reluctantly because she knew it was the last thing they had.

"We can do without him. And—Ralph!" Piggy called to the boy bowed under his long hair. "I been talking, Ralph."

Ralph spoke without hearing Piggy.

"He'll come back. When the sun goes down he'll come."

"What?"

Ralph stuck his finger in the sand.

"Well there!"

Piggy sighed at Ralph's absent mind. He cleaned his one glass before continuing.

"We can do without Jack Merridew. There's others besides him on this island. But now we really got a beast, though I can't hardly believe it, we'll need to stay close to the platform; there'll be less need of him and his hunting. So now we can really decide on what's what."

"There's no help, Piggy," Ralph finally rose to attention. "Nothing to be done."

Piggy did not reply, sympathetic but saddened. Then, in the stillness, Simon moved, taking the conch while Piggy was in awe at his uncharacteristic bravery.

"Simon? What is it this time?"

By instinct Ralph took out his feelings on Simon, who was defenseless and different. The pointed aggression made Simon weaker than he already was. Sam's heart went out to him, but she could not find any courage to act upon it—not now.

"I thought," Simon attempted to use his baby-milk voice not meant for public speaking, "there might be something to do. Something we-"

He faltered, his knees bending together to stop himself from crumpling completely. His eyes found Piggy, then Sam, then Piggy again; perhaps he sought the intellectual certainty of Piggy and any trace of motherly or sisterly femininity Sam may have had. They were different, and that was comfort.

In the end, he faced the area near Piggy. He drew up everything he had in a breath and spoke.

"I think we ought to climb the mountain."

Sam covered her noise of helpless anguish, Eric too late to catch his own. Simon heard all the gasps of terror and looked down in guilt.

"What's the good of climbing up to this here beast when Ralph and the other two couldn't do nothing?" Piggy demanded.

Simon's answer carried on the wind.

"What else is there to do?"

Perfectly spent and ashamed, Simon gave Piggy the conch, leaving the group to sit over the bathing pool and watch his reflection. Now a little upset with him for suggesting such a horrendous idea and sorrowful, Sam and Eric engrossed themselves in other matters of the meeting.

"Now," Piggy cleared his throat and returned to another subject. "I said we could all do without a certain person. Now I say we got to decide on what can be done. And I think I could tell you what Ralph's going to say next. The most important thing on the island is the smoke and you can't have no smoke without a fire."

Ralph made a sigh of protest and reconsideration.

"No go, Piggy. We've got no fire. That thing sits up there—we'll have to stay here."

Piggy shifted the conch closer to himself.

"We got no fire on the mountain. But what's wrong with a fire down here? A fire could be built on them rocks. On the sand, even. We'd made smoke just the same."

"That's right!"

"Smoke!"

"By the bathing pool!"

The idea was grand. Ever resilient, ever wise Piggy had the will to put aside fear of the beast in favor of wits. Sam and Eric understood the presence of the fire as a protection, and Sam clasped Eric's hands joyfully like she had in Mr Michaels' barbershop so long ago.

"Eric!"

"Yes!"

"So we'll have a fire down here," Ralph envisioned. "We can build it just here between the bathing pool and platform. Of course-"

His eyebrows furrowed and he bit at his thumbnail.

"Of course the smoke won't show so much, not be seen so far away. But we needn't go near, near the-"

The beast. There was no need to speak it. The group nodded and Ralph shook away the image.

"We'll build the fire now."

Progress to be done, Sam and Eric left their place on the platform. Whatever aliment Sam suffered earlier was minimized as the threat of the beast diminished. The littluns danced and picked up dried leaves as the twins worked near the familiarity of the scar, the wood here near the lagoon damp and hard to manage. The suitable bits they found were small limbs, which was lucky, for it they had found a log Sam may have been too sore to lift it. They took their tinder to the fire spot, and when they had enough, Piggy used his own glass to light the wood. The prospect of an at-home fire made Sam and Eric and many of the littluns cheer with half-false mania.

Inspecting the fire as a whole, Ralph decided it was too large.

"We'll have to have a small fire. This one's too big to keep up."

Piggy wiped his glass and saw for himself.

"We could experiment. We could find out how to make a small hot fire and then put green branches on to make smoke. Some of them leaves must be better for that than the others."

The light bits of tinder lit and burned out quickly. As the fire diminished into coals, the littluns lost their interest and went away to the shelters or the fruit trees, always close at hand but still so far. Sam and Eric knew that more kindling would be needed soon, so returned to the jungle, picking along the edge of the scar and platform and pushing at the underbrush to find any wood that did not require entering the dark jungle.

"Sam!" Eric noticed it first: the log slick with moss but not covered in creepers. "I think this one's good! It's solid."

Sure enough, when the wet bark was peeled back the log remained intact. The twins flushed and grinned together at their treasured find.

"Right! This will burn for a long while!" Sam worked away the overhanging foliage. "I can get Maurice to help us carry it."

"Where is Maurice?"

It was then they realized how he was gone. Him, and Robert, and Roger, and many other of the older boys were nowhere to be found. Sam and Eric were certain they had seen them a minute ago, but rethought and recognized that the boys had truly departed long ago, before they had considered to appreciate it.

They would receive no help. The others had followed Jack, choosing his play over the fire.

Sam and Eric understood this together and looked at one another, soulful, for a heart-beat hesitation.

"… I'll work it out," Eric volunteered his body over Sam's. "And carry it in the center."

But you hardly can, Sam held her arguments, because she knew Eric already understood.

Eric shoved the log from the half dirt, half sand and used his leverage to tip it up and over his shoulder. Sam took the lesser weight behind, her arms still recognizing work and seizing up in warning. They walked carefully and warily around the platform to the fire, seeing Ralph slumped in a fit and Piggy standing like a nervous bird.

"We can do without 'em. We'll be happier now, won't we?"

Piggy spoke as the twins rolled the log onto the fire and the sparks burst in the air and in Sam's shoulder. Piggy appeared aware of the missing as well.

"We can do all right on our own, can't we?"

Ralph said nothing, and the twins did not know if they should answer—they could not find the optimism to anyhow. As the silence lengthened and the log turned to smoke, Sam nursed her aching shoulder, the fresh pain woozying her anew. Eric equaled her expression of pain, and Piggy approached them, Ralph lost within himself.

"We ought to go to them trees," he whispered, motioning to the fruit grove. "And get some fruit. We could have some sort of feast."

His last spectacle flashed with dried-out hope. He comprehended how things were breaking up around him, and Sam and Eric finally fathomed it.

"… All right," Sam found herself longing to agree; she gave a smile, despite everything. "All right."

Sam decided to ignore her pain and loss and troubles and climb the fruit tree. She saw Eric's concern and formed another smile, which Eric knew deep in himself was forced and mostly insincere. Sam dropped the fruit from the highest branches and helped carry it back, Ralph remaining as he was and oblivious to any woe but his own. Piggy cleared his throat.

"Here you are."

Ripped from reflection, Ralph startled, only now seeing those around him.

"I thought," Piggy clarified, "perhaps, we ought to have a feast, kind of."

Ralph lingered quietly in astonishment. Sam, now feeling a little true brightness because her kindness was appreciated, grinned, Eric similarly positive about the tension weakening. They rested to Ralph's right, and Piggy to his left, presenting the gift of their labors together. With a birthday surprise sort of tremor Ralph took the fruit, his eyes wide in long-worn, almost forgotten childishness.

"Thanks," he said; not thinking it sufficient, he tried again. "Thanks!"

"Do all right on our own," Piggy savored in the hastily thrown together faith. "It's them that haven't no common sense. We'll make a little hot fire-"

Clearer in mind, Ralph remembered what he had put aside.

"Where's Simon?"

"I don't know."

Worried in the slightest, Ralph said, "You don't think he's climbing the mountain?"

Piggy covered his snort.

"He might be. He's cracked."

Ralph laughed at the familiarity of Simon's oddness and misunderstood good intentions. Sam had an idea where he was—in the jungle, the place he always entered and always left—supposing, however, if he had not told of his whereabouts he did not want to be found. So, she said nothing.

Instead, she upheld the good feeling she currently had, humming a bit as she ate her fruit. Eric saw how she and himself were safe for the moment and joined in the humming, stooping into soft giggles when they lost the tune. Sam put down her fruit and fished the coticule from her pocket, using the feeling of fun and dancing the bird around.

"I'm Eric!" She mocked his voice for the play, and in turn mocked her own. "I say—no one can play the violin better than me!"

"I've never said that!" Eric scowled without heat, then laughed. "And certainly not like that."

"Maybe you sound like that and don't know it."

Eric stuck out his tongue, and Sam laughed, and Ralph and Piggy took sport. They laughed, apart and together, at different and the same pain.

Joy died as the day continued on regardless. The four remaining could not leave the fire for long, nor was there much anywhere to go. Shifts to watch the fire were haphazard and almost unnecessary, although Piggy insisted upon them for the sake of order and half-true freedom. What else was there to have?

Sleep and sickness crept upon Sam like death. She was worn child-blanket thin and tired, but could not sleep, whether by misery or guilt to the others she did not know. The churning heat and pressure that signaled a storm left her with a headache and spoiled stomach. She sat huddled by the fire, the smoke whipping at her.

Eric tended to Sam's needs and brought her water and gathered her share of the wood. She desired not to be totally useless and aid him, but Eric insisted to her that she not, saying he was the big brother and it was his job to care for her. His love and niceties warmed Sam on the inside where she was growing cold.

Eventually, the heat and the sun and the smoke and the suffering became too much. Considerate and prideful enough, Sam stumbled away to the jungle, hiding herself behind a palm tree. Her ever loyal brother hurried after her as always, and found her retching into the creepers and sand. He rushed about and fetched her the last coconut shell saved with water, taking it to her as she soothed her violence. She at last coughed and stilled, better and worse than before.

"Here," Eric steadied the shell out. "Wash out your mouth."

Sam held the water but did not drink. Eric scooped sand over the lost breakfast and lunch, trying to rid of it like a bloody kerchief. Sam witnessed his haste and trembled. She swallowed the sour taste in her mouth, speaking around her sore throat.

"Eric... I can't eat fruit all the time. I'll die."

What she meant to say was that she could not continue to live as she did, on this island and forced to be strong as she was, or she would certainly die; yet, she did not know how to say these things, so did not. She but knew, in the simplest way, how she could not live off of fruit alone. It would kill her, either in mind or body.

"Don't say such awful things," Eric said more out of worry than harshness. "You'll live just fine."

Sam said nothing. She looked down to the water to see her reflection of a wild, beaten-up girl.

"Eric..."

"What?"

"That pig we killed tasted so good."

The memory came like snowfall. The remembered flavor and the smell of the meat made Sam immediately aware of her empty stomach. The lack of accessible meat pained her, and she chilled down her spine.

"It was scrummy."

"It was rather good..." Eric agreed, willing himself not to dribble. Currently, Sam was his utmost concern.

"But, we don't have that now," Eric moved away from the tempting subject, urging the coconut shell closer to Sam's mouth. "Wash out your mouth."

Sam obliged, working herself back to reality. She tested her uneasy stomach by drinking the rest of the water, finding it steady enough.

"All right."

A terrible sound came from the jungle. It originated further down the lagoon, and crescendoed dangerously and awfully, like a tiger being disturbed from sleep. A million evil and horrific images of beasts and death came to Sam and Eric, and they drew together at once, frightened and pitifully aware. Eyes wide and alit with fear, they dared to peek around the tree.

A pack of painted people stood over the fire—over Ralph huddled up like a hunted animal. They wore nothing but streaks of red and white and black, save the tallest one, the one with hair as red as emotion, having a belt fastened around his waist to hold his knife.

Even with the paint, Sam and Eric had enough respect to individuality to know who they were—Jack, with his tall form and bright hair and thin limbs; Maurice, with his oddly shaped rib cage and mess of curls; and Robert, with eyes the color of Jack-O-Lantern lights. Others, too quick and far away to be identified, whooped and ran with burning sticks to the other side of the island.

"Well?"

Ralph spoke from his defensive position to the leader of the pack. Jack choicely and arrogantly ignored him, because he saw Ralph as little to him now, and spoke in a terrible, ringing voice.

"Listen, all of you!" Jack's voice pointed around to the platform, and the twins saw that somehow in the clamor and with his asthma, Piggy had rushed to protect the conch. "Me and my hunters, we're living along the beach by a flat rock. We hunt and feast and have fun. If you want to join my tribe come and see us. Perhaps I'll let you join. Perhaps not."

He checked to ensure that he alone was in control of his offer and generosity. In his paint he could play that role of choice; he could be the chief over all on the island. Sam and Eric drew further out, in awe and horrified like the first time he had worn the mask.

Jack rose his spear.

"Tonight we're having a feast. We've killed a pig and we've got meat. You can come and eat with us if you like."

Thunder cracked near the mountain and all dipped under its power. A littlun near the bathing pool screamed and began to cry. Jack regained his composure, out of mind to submit any longer. He snapped at Robert and Maurice.

"Go on—now!"

The two looked at each other uncomfortably. Jack lost his patience.

"Now!"

Half embarrassed, they raised their spears and spoke in unison.

"The chief has spoken."

The display made, they turned into the forest and disappeared.

Ralph stood from the ground, no longer attacked. Sam and Eric took that as a sign and came out from behind the tree, Eric supporting Sam. They spoke together the same feeling:

"I thought it was-"

"-and I was-"

"-scared."

They released their desperate hold on one another when the reached Ralph. Piggy walked to the edge of the platform, the conch cradled close to his large body.

"That was Jack and Maurice and Robert." Ralph saw who they were also. Then, hotly: "Aren't they having fun."

Quelled from his worry, Piggy coughed.

"I thought I was going to have asthma."

"Sucks to your ass-mar."

Ralph returned to his insult in the hope that it would make him feel better. It did not, and he made an unsettled noise, flipping the long hair from his face. Piggy came down from the platform with the conch.

"When I saw Jack I was sure he'd go for the conch. Can't think why."

They stared at the shell that had brought them together with the admiration and reverence Jack never had. He always spoke over it and tried to dismantle its leadership like he did with Ralph, who was the rightful chief. The conch had made it so. Piggy gave Ralph the crown to his authority.

Ralph held the conch tenderly, like he was afraid the sun-bleached surface would finally crack. Sam and Eric startled a bit as the littluns nestled around them, drawn to the known power of the conch. Ralph saw them all and shook his head.

"Not here."

He motioned to the platform. They understood and climbed to the fallen lines of trees. Ralph stood in the center, burdened and somber and with his fair hair hopelessly dirty.

"Sit down all of you," Ralph ordered it, and they obeyed. Sam and Eric sat on a log with Piggy—the last biggun.

"They raided us for fire," Ralph continued. "They're having fun. But the-"

Bewilderment crossed his face as he trailed off. He paused, and swallowed, trying to return to the subject.

"But the-"

The thought would not return. He swallowed again, and moved the hair that had fallen in his eyes. He gripped the conch closer and found what he had lost.

"But the... oh... the fire! Of course, the fire!"

He started to laugh and regained himself. Only the twins and Piggy recognized Ralph's fragile line of thought without Jack to antagonize him. It did not bother them—not yet.

"The fire's the most important thing. Without the fire we can't be rescued. I'd like to put on war-paint and be a savage. But we must keep the fire burning. The fire's the most important thing on the island, because, because-"

He faltered anew. The resulting silence hung thick, and Piggy saved it, whispering:

"Rescue."

"Oh yes!" Ralph agreed, and continued his speech. "Without the fire we can't be rescued. So we must stay by the fire and make smoke."

Ralph stopped because there was nothing else to say—no Jack to input his disapproval. Any brilliance in the speech was lost to the silence. Eric took it as an opportunity to do something.

Eric held out his arms for the conch. Surprised, but eager to fulfill the meeting, Ralph relinquished the shell. Eric hesitated a second longer to look at Sam, and she knew exactly what he was going to do. She nodded at him before he spoke. They knew, or thought so, what had to be done for the sake of themselves.

"I think we should go to the feast."

Ralph and Piggy looked to Eric in shock at his betrayal. To clarify his point and remaining loyalty, he persisted, looking at Sam in love as he did.

"We cannot eat fruit all the time," he repeated what she has said to him. "And when we go, we can tell them that the fire's hard on all of us, that we cannot keep it up alone. We can tell them their hunting must be jolly good fun, but-"

"Rescue," Sam put her hand on the conch. Eric smiled at her as she came to his aid communicating their needs to the group. They put their shoulders together, one helping the other.

"It must be fun, yes," Sam said. "Plus, he's invited us-"

"-to the feast-"

"-meat-"

"-crackling-"

"-we can do with some meat-"

Ralph held up his hand as the meeting began to wallow in the idea. He gave Sam and Eric a sharp look, begging the question:

"Why shouldn't we get our own meat?"

The twins stared at him, then at each other. Eric took the initiative, as the eldest and with less on his pride.

"We don't want to go in the jungle."

Ralph flinched at the truth and the fear he must accept. Frustrated, he said:

"He—you know—goes."

"Yes, but he's a hunter-"

Sam hesitated in her doubt. No, it wasn't just that he was a hunter, he was more than that, because she had hunted and she was afraid. She frowned, trying to put words to the feeling she had when she ran through the creepers after the boar and forgot about the beast.

"He paints himself. He hunts, they all hunt. They're different. They don't feel hunted."

Ralph watched her solemnly. The crashing storm sang in the clouds, and Sam shivered at the situation, moving her hand over Eric's on the conch. Piggy spoke weakly from the other end of the log.

"Meat-"

The idea was too strong. The littluns dribbled and whined at the thought, while Ralph struggled not to do the same. He viewed Sam and Eric sitting so close, wondering if it was really their fault.

Sam and Eric understood the human weakness of temptation. They had sat long hours in Sunday School hearing about it—about the taking of fruit off the tree of desire, and how it had ruined humankind. However, in the true nature of hunger, as they walked to the feast they did not think of the lessons in their Christian upbringing. They thought only of the meat and how they were not strong enough to refuse it.

The sky crackled above them, and Sam's headache returned. The storm had been festering and growling in the heavens all day, but seemed intent not to break for as long as possible, almost like it wanted to torment the poor humans below by aggravating their fear. Dark clouds continued to gather as the twins reached the feast.

The party sat on a shelf over the sea. Soft, loose sand and grass piled atop the rock like sugar. The fire resided in the center, the meat haphazardly sliced and roasted on splits over it. Some meat already prepared cooled on leaves at Jack's feet.

The boy sat lavishly painted on a log dragged from the jungle. He acknowledged the twins' approach, inclining his head and eyeing them with some look neither could name. They took their meat quickly, and without a submissive gesture like the other boys had made, and this caused Jack to grow sharp. He glared at Sam and Eric as they walked away to sit in the grass, and only Eric took notice of it. He wished to return the meanness, but dared not to—not to the one hidden from shame and responsibility behind his mask. They had come for the meat, not for Jack, and Jack realized that now.

The brother and sister sat huddled as one, eating their meat until they were satisfied. Eric braved to get a coconut shell of water while a group of others went. They shared the water, and then took to gnawing on the bones of the kill as the sun started to set. When they thought it best to return to Ralph, the party fell silent. Sam and Eric looked up as they all did.

Ralph and Piggy stood on the edge of the grass. Jack watched them where they stood, small and only two, while he sat on a log over the whole. Jack and Ralph stared at one another in the trembling silence until Ralph could not bear to view the painted savage any longer and turned away to Sam and Eric. The look he gave made Sam think he was giving her some sort of hypocritical scolding. She dropped her bone under his gaze and giggled, trying to convey that he was just as bad as the rest of them.

Ralph smiled at her and whispered to Piggy, the boys succumbing to giggles in light of the situation like she had. They shook themselves free of the soft sand and advanced to be part of the group.

The unity did not last. Jack, urging his new dominance, pointed with his spear.

"Take them some meat."

A pair of littluns rushed to grant the order. Ralph and Piggy nodded thankfully at the littluns and ravaged the meat, eating with the same delight as everyone had. The thunder crashed again before Jack spoke.

"Has everybody eaten as much as they want?"

The sow they had killed was large and meat remained on the leaves at his feet. Piggy went for more, and Jack's tone changed.

"Has everybody eaten as much as they want?"

Piggy stopped at his voice. It was a warning, not an offer, and Piggy slinked back to Ralph as Jack finally stood from the log. He walked around the platform of grass, examining the group and Ralph and Piggy with his eyes lined in paint. His shadow followed him, long and malicious, as he walked, reminding all of the terrible night to come.

He stopped.

"Give me a drink."

A red-painted littlun brought him a shell as quickly as he commanded. He made a show with the drink, displaying his arm and the power to mandate behind it. Ralph chose to ignore the gesture, instead watching the fire as he ate. The tension quivered with the storm, and Sam rubbed her forehead under her long hair.

"All sit down."

It was unfair to Sam and Eric because they were already sitting. But, the others who were not scrambled about, finding a place to fall in the grass. Ralph and Piggy remained as they were, along the edge and not quite within Jack's power to order them.

Jack turned his attention to the pack of dirty and painted little boys. He moved his mask for them to see, waving his spear at the lot of them.

"Who's going to join my tribe?"

Now Eric dropped his bone. He glanced at Sam a little fearfully as Ralph jerked forward, intent and irritated.

"I gave you food." Jack pointed to the fire. "And my hunters will protect you from the beast. Who will join my tribe?"

Sam and Eric scooted deeper into the growing darkness to avoid the sparks of two clashing spirits.

"I'm chief, because you chose me!" Ralph reminded them all torridly. "And we were going to keep the fire going. Now you run after food-"

"You ran yourself! Look at that bone in your hands!" Jack accused.

Ralph faced him fully, flushed. He made a point by throwing down the idiot bone and speaking darkly.

"I said you were hunters. That was your job."

Jack sneered and disregarded him. He met the others.

"Who'll join my tribe and have fun?"

"I'm chief!" Ralph shouted, and thunder boomed. "And what about the fire? And I've got the conch-"

"You haven't got it with you. You left it behind," Jack mocked him, the king who needed a crown to rule. "See, clever? And the conch doesn't count at this end of the island-"

"The conch counts here too, and all over the island," Ralph rumbled as the sky did.

Jack confronted him, furiously, "What are you going to do about it then?"

Ralph's heat flickered. He looked over the boys, and when he reached Sam and Eric they gave him expressions of hope and encouragement, although he could not see them in the dark. He found Piggy nearest him, adrift and uncertain. Piggy pushed the point all had wanted, once, on the first day.

"The fire—rescue."

Jack overshadowed him with his persistence, "Who'll join my tribe?"

Finally, the group submitted and raised their hands.

"I will."

"Me."

"I will."

Sam touched Eric's arm and dipped him near.

"I think we ought to go."

He nodded.

"Yes-"

"I'll blow the conch!" Ralph grew to a peak, and the storm hesitated. "And call an assembly!"

Jack rose to his full height, a dark and sure force over the night.

"We shan't hear it."

Lighting broke the sky and thunder echoed over the sea. The water twisted and tore at itself, the clouds opening the cold rain that had waited all day. Some of the littluns screamed in fear, and the twins had an animalistic need to draw closer to the fire and safety. They quaked together.

"Going to be a storm," Ralph said over the noise, "and you'll have rain like when we dropped here. Who's clever now? Where are your shelters? What are you going to do about that?"

Jack became uneasy as the others did, challenged by sense. They all rustled about, wary, by the fire, shivering at the rain and knowing of the dangers of the storm. The littluns ran about in hysteria, and Sam and Eric bowed into the comfort of each other. Jack lept up before the fire, determined to gain control.

"Do our dance! Come on! Dance!"

In groups there is safety, and in disillusion there is certainty. The twins saw this as the boys hurried to form a ring, brandishing spears and clubs of wood. They saw that they were acting out the hunt of the pig with Roger as the animal, charging and grunting on all fours. When the thunder sounded again, the hunters paid it no mind, and Sam and Eric had a sudden desire to be as assured and secure as those playing in the dance. They ran and gathered roasting splits and joined in the dance as one, part of the mania and enchantment of savagery.