{"id":264031,"date":"2026-07-15T01:50:39","date_gmt":"2026-07-14T22:50:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/isle-of-tears-deborah-challinor-1\/"},"modified":"2026-07-15T01:50:39","modified_gmt":"2026-07-14T22:50:39","slug":"isle-of-tears-deborah-challinor-1","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/isle-of-tears-deborah-challinor-1\/","title":{"rendered":"Isle Of Tears – Deborah Challinor (1)"},"content":{"rendered":"
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No matter how the war was progressing, some Ngati Pono warriors would have to return to Waikaraka to tend to the gardens and the seasonal food-gathering, lest the village be left with no food for next year. He did not talk of this, but his men all knew that for many of them their time on the battlefield would be limited and their opportunities to acquire mana as warriors fewer than they might have liked.<\/p>\n

Isla was not unduly disconcerted by Tai\u2019s eagerness to rush into battle. He had been trained from a young age to be a warrior, and had barely been blooded during the first Taranaki war. Niel\u2019s enthusiasm, however, concerned her more. She wondered whether her mother and father would even recognize their elder son now, so grown-up and fierce.<\/p>\n

On their journey they had passed groups of Maori, mostly women and children, moving as quickly as they could down from the Waikato and deep into the heart of the King Country to avoid the fighting. Surely if victory against the British were assured, people would not need to flee their homes and lands? But everyone was quietly aware of the possibility of defeat, even though talk around the fires at night was of the glory and mana of battles to be won.<\/p>\n

But to talk openly of defeat was to invite it, and Isla understood this as well as anyone else. So she said nothing when Tai whispered to her, as they lay together at night, of his desire to confront the British army, knowing that it was part of the mental ritual of preparing for battle.<\/p>\n

She herself was prepared, having learned to fire a rifle and a shotgun with some skill, and to move about the bush as though invisible, making no sound and leaving no trace of her presence.<\/p>\n

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Isla McKinnon was bleeding to death. She had reached up to peg a pair of her father\u2019s breeks onto the frayed washing line when suddenly she\u2019d been doubled over by a sharp, dragging sensation in her belly. Like an urge to move her bowels, but much, much worse. Screwing up her face against the grinding discomfort, she\u2019d hurried across the sun-baked back yard to the privy at the end of the garden. Inside, leaving the door ajar to let in some light, she\u2019d pulled her drawers aside and sat on the worn wooden seat.<\/p>\n

Nothing had happened, but when she\u2019d glanced down, her heart had given a single violent thud at the sight of the sinister dark smudges on her inner thighs. Tearing off a strip of newspaper, she\u2019d blotted herself, squeaking with fright when the paper came away stained red with thick, stringy blood. She sat, now, a hand pressed over her pounding heart. Only fourteen years old and she was dying, bleeding from some terrible internal malady she hadn\u2019t even known she had!<\/p>\n

She forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths. Then she stood, dropping the bloody paper into the privy, and stepped out into the bright sunshine. Fighting the urge to race into the house to tell her mam, she made herself walk calmly through the wilted vegetable garden until she reached the back porch, where she paused to remove her boots.<\/p>\n

Inside, her mother\u2014a handsome, fair-haired woman whose years of labouring on the family croft had aged her face and hands beyond her thirty-five years\u2014sat at the table peeling potatoes for the midday meal. \u2018Have ye hung oot the washing already? That wis quick,\u2019 Agnes McKinnon exclaimed. She regarded her daughter fondly, but when she saw Isla\u2019s pale, shocked face, her heart lurched with fear. \u2018What is it? What\u2019s happened?\u2019 Isla sat gingerly on one of the mismatched dining chairs, wondering how to say it so she wouldn\u2019t frighten the life out of her mother.<\/p>\n

In the end she blurted, \u2018I think I\u2019m poorly, Mam,\u2019 and burst into tears. Agnes dropped her knife into the tattie bowl and hurried around the table, stooping to peer into Isla\u2019s face. \u2018Is it a pain ye have? Or are ye sick tae the stomach?\u2019 Isla clamped a hand over her abdomen. \u2018A pain. In ma belly.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m\u2026I\u2019m bleeding, Mam!\u2019<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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