Tepua, bewildered, followed her friend across the leaf-carpeted grove. It surprised her that an unexpected rival had risen against the former high chief. And this Land-crab had done something far worse, something unheard of. Arioi were under the protection of their patron god and immune from attack, even during outbreaks of war. A covenant of peace reigned at all Arioi performances; this was a tradition that the most exalted chief had never violated. Until now.
'The usurper chose a good name," said Curling-leaf bitterly. "He sits on us like a fat crab on a heap of coconuts, and tears us apart with his claws."
Well, this Land-crab would see what it was to anger Oro, Tepua thought, clenching her fists.
"Look! More of our friends," cried Curling-leaf. Tepua gathered another group of Arioi refugees and sent them to her pahi. She and Curling-leaf continued searching, finally reaching the smaller thatched houses of the Arioi women's compound. The neatly swept yards surrounding them were empty. Not even a stray chicken appeared in the shadows beneath the breadfruit trees.
Tepua saw daylight glimmering through the latticework walls of the houses. Clutching the spear in her damp fist, she approached the one house where she thought she heard rustling. "Who is in there?" she demanded, but got no answer.
She edged closer, toward the hanging mat that half-covered the doorway. Again she spoke a challenge, and this time heard another sound, a scraping. Or was it weeping?
With her spear-tip, she thrust aside the mat and looked inside. A lithe female figure wearing a red-dyed sash sprang to meet her. The woman had an eel-jawed knife clenched in one fist. Her unpainted face was twisted in rage. Tepua knew the features and lowered her spear even as the other checked her attack.
"Aitofa!" Tepua cried as she realized that she had burst in on the chief woman of her Arioi lodge. Then she saw the bright smear of blood on Aitofa's arm and the clumsy, loose bandage that she had been trying to tie around the wound with one hand.
Tepua threw down her weapon and ran to help Aitofa. The lodge leader looked as hard and stern as ever, but there was a certain weary despair in her eyes. She was a slender woman, heavily tattooed, her legs entirely black from ankle to thigh.
"You returned at an evil time," said Aitofa while Tepua retied the bark-cloth bandage. "We had no chance against Land-crab's treachery."
"But why did he do this? I have never heard of such—"
"We mocked him in our performance."
"That is our privilege!" Tepua was outraged. It was the right and even the duty of the Arioi to restrain chiefs by use of satire.
"He either does not understand that or chooses to ignore it," said Aitofa, with a return of her usual acerbic tone.
"Did we insult him?"
"We poked fun at his greed for power, but we have been harder on other chiefs."
"Then he had no right to steal our spears and burn our playhouse."
"Well, he didn't see it that way. When he learned what we were planning to present, he called us disloyal. We put the play on anyway, and this"—Aitofa opened her hands, palms up—"is the result."
"What can we do now? Who will help us?"
"As of yet, I do not know." Acting as if she had forgotten her wound, Aitofa picked up a short club and headed for the door.
"I have a large pahi," Tepua offered, quickly explaining how she had been gathering other Arioi and sending them to safety. "I can take a few more passengers."
"Good. We can use your help. The water today is too rough for smaller craft."
"But where are we going?"
Outside, Aitofa pointed between the trees toward the glimmer of gray water. "North along the coast—to Matavai Bay," she said. "If our friends there haven't deserted us, we will be safe."
When Tepua returned to the beach, she found a crowd of disheveled Arioi, mostly women, waiting for her. They were all trained warriors as well as performers, but without weapons they could not stand up to Land-crab's forces. Still wearing their paint and the remains of their costumes, they stood in groups, talking grimly.
Tepua's warriors, some arguing among themselves, watched from the pahi or the shallows. "You cannot take everyone," cried Curling-leaf when she saw the size of the crowd waiting to board.
Tepua looked at the deck that bridged the hulls of her double canoe. The thatched cabin, the dog's cage, the water bottles and supplies took up needed passenger space. She waded out to the canoe-master. He was a veteran of many journeys, with a bush of wiry hair that held a shock of gray. "We must take these people to Matavai Bay," she told him. "Remove the shelter and make as much room as you can."
"What about my other passengers?" asked the canoe-master. He opened his hand at the group of artisans who had left home at the request of a chief of Porapora. After delivering Tepua to Tahiti, the pahi was to take the craftsmen to Porapora and wait there while they finished the chief's work. Then the men would sail home, taking in trade for their services a wealth of Poraporan goods.
Tepua answered, 'The others can stay here until you return for them."
The canoe-master and the artisans glowered at her, but she ignored their reactions.
"You are in no danger," she said to the craftsmen. "If the chief here challenges you, offer to build him something. Maybe he needs an altar for one of his sacred canoes."
She glanced at distant whitecaps as she felt the harsh wind blow against her cheek. To reach Matavai, the pahi would have to go out through the reef, sail the rough Sea of the Moon, and come in through another pass before darkness fell.
The canoe-master seemed aware of the need for haste; he gave sharp orders. Quickly the crew dismantled the deck cabin and carried it ashore. Tepua watched as they carefully unloaded Te Kurevareva's cage and set it beneath a palm tree.
Atoll Cuckoo had a gentle and patient nature, making it easy to grow fond of her. Tepua originally had intended to offer the precious white dog, possibly the only one of its kind in Tahiti, as a gift to the Arioi leaders. During the journey, she had found it increasingly difficult to think about parting with Te Kurevareva. Now the troubles here had completely upset her plans.
She couldn't worry about the white dog now. Her Arioi friends needed her help. "I will be back for you," Tepua said, scratching Atoll Cuckoo behind the ears and accepting a lick on her hand. Then she went to see how many women could be crowded onto the deck of the pahi.
'Tepua, this is foolhardy," said the warrior captain, who had brought his men up behind her. "I have a duty to your brother to keep you safe. You owe nothing to these Tahitian players. Come with us now to Porapora. We will bring you back here when the trouble is over."
Tepua took a deep breath and stared into his dark eyes. 'These Tahitians are now my people. I cannot dessert them."
He gestured toward his warriors. "Then we must escort you to Matavai Bay."
"There is no room!"
The captain stared back with equal resolution. His men did not move from her path.
"If you insist on protecting me," Tepua answered, "then I will stay here, with the craftsmen, while my Arioi friends go to safety. Let me give the orders."
At last, the warriors let her pass. She found Maukiri standing to one side, trembling. Tepua tried to comfort her. "Don't send me away," Maukiri insisted. "I can help you here. I can look after Te Kurevareva."
"Then take her out of her cage and hide her somewhere," said Tepua. Maukiri seemed glad to have something to do. She went off to fill a coconut shell with fresh water for the dog.
In a short while, all the costumed Arioi managed to crowd onto Tepua's vessel. At her insistence, Curling-leaf joined them. Aitofa had not returned, but Tepua could wait no longer. She told the canoe-master to depart.
The warriors and craftsmen, with their equipment and supplies, remained behind on the beach. A crosswind was blowing, making the canoe-master's task even more difficult. Tepua watched nervously as the sails were raised and the laden craft set out.
The lagoon was choppy, the sea beyond, heaving and gray, but
the sturdy pahi had faced far worse. Tepua stood watching its departure as the sails grew smaller, rising and falling on distant swells. Gusts of wind tore at her hair and stung her face.
"Who are these invaders?" came a challenging voice from behind. She whirled, seeing that her guards had already brought up their spears. A turbaned Tahitian warrior was approaching at the head of his own group of men. Land-crab's guards had finally discovered their visitors!
Tepua strode forward, wishing she could find a single familiar face among the high chief's warriors. The leader of the canoe-builders began to speak, though the softer dialect of Tahiti sounded awkward on his tongue. He proudly proclaimed his coral island origin and the skills of his men.
The high chief's captain looked at him skeptically, then barked an order that sent a messenger running along the beach. The captain glanced at the armed visitors. "Savages," he muttered to the man beside him. "Atoll dwellers." Then, in a loud voice, he demanded, "Show us the rest of your weapons."
The master canoe-builder pointed to the heap of adzes, tools with wooden hafts and heads of shaped black stone or shell. "We cut wood, not men," he answered.
"A sharp answer!" replied the warrior, laughing at his own wit. Then he waited silently for his messenger to return from the compound of the high chief, which lay above the beach near his sacred point of land. Tepua saw a runner coming from that direction, and then another. Even from this distance, she could hear the resonant note of the conch-trumpet being blown.
The warning cry of a herald rose over the fading echoes of the conch. "The high chief comes! From his home in the sky, he flies like the sea eagle to challenge the invaders. The high chief comes!"
A crowd of turbaned warriors ran out from the compound, lined themselves on either side of the high chief's path, and held up their spears. Land-crab came, riding the shoulders of his bearer, his appearance regal, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Tepua waited with curiosity as well as distaste for her first close look at the usurper.
The Tahitians who were wearing cloaks and wraps loosened their garments and bared their bodies to the waist. Seeing this unusual gesture of respect for the arriving chief, Tepua reluctantly removed her own cape. She watched the lead warrior hurry to meet Land-crab, then turn to walk beside his bearer.
Land-crab was a sizable man, Tepua saw; unlike many chiefs, he was not grossly huge. Beneath his painted cape of fine bark-cloth she saw hints of a warrior's body—broad in the chest and amply muscled. To compare him with a sea eagle seemed appropriate, for his nose was a great beak curving down his face, and his eyes were large and glossy.
Tepua bit her lip in fury as she saw the usurper approach in all his undeserved grandeur. His expression was cold as he gazed down from the neck of his sweating bearer. In one hand he carried a fly-flap, a tuft of feathers attached to a long wooden handle that bore a scowling carved figure. "So you are canoe-builders?" he said to the men who faced him. "I have my own. And strangers on my shore can only bring trouble. How did you get here?"
"By pahi," said the master craftsman humbly. "But we have lent the boat to someone who needed it. Noble chief, we ask only your permission to stay here for the night. In the morning, before you wake, we will be gone."
"Gone where? To build canoes for my enemies?" He shook the fly-flap impatiently.
'To Porapora," the craftsman answered.
Land-crab tossed his head. 'Then your work is not likely to trouble me. Even so, I have little reason to grant your request. You land without permission.... You invade my shores.... Why not feed you to the sharks?"
There was a sudden commotion to the side. Tepua heard Maukiri shouting and then saw two warriors dragging her, a third leading an unwilling Te Kurevareva by a tether about the neck. A soft cry spilled from Tepua's lips. Maukiri had tried to hide the animal under the trees....
"What is this?" asked Land-crab, his face suddenly alive with interest. Tepua stifled a groan. With a single glance, Land-crab had grasped the significance of Te Kurevareva. "What is this animal doing here?"
She did not want to give up Atoll Cuckoo, and surely did not want the usurper to have her. But how could she avoid it when everyone stood in danger? Land-crab would have what he wished in any case. Yet she had to force out the words. "This fine dog is a gift for the high chief," she called loudly. "We offer you this as our token of respect."
Murmurs of astonishment spread through die crowd of warriors, but Land-crab did not answer at once. Everyone knew how precious were the long white hairs of this animal, used to fringe fine garments for chiefs and priests. The dog would be a prized possession to a man like Land-crab.
Tepua imagined what was running through his thoughts. Now that she had announced the gift, accepting it would put him under an obligation. If he did not respond with generosity, then he would be scorned as the stingiest chief in all of Tahiti. But hospitality to atoll dwellers would do nothing for his reputation.
At last, Land-crab replied, "I accept your gift with pleasure. I did not realize that such distinguished visitors as yourselves had arrived on my shore. Please forgive the poor manners of my men. I will leave them to sleep out under the weather while you fine people have food, entertainment, and comfortable mats under a roof. Come. All of you. Today you are guests of the mighty Land-crab."
Tepua walked with Maukiri as they followed the men along the beach. Streaks of tears ran down Maukiri's face.
"Do not fret, cousin," Tepua whispered. "He will not harm Atoll Cuckoo. She is too valuable."
"I...do not trust...this Land-crab."
"He has taken our gift, so he is obliged to treat us well," Tepua answered with an angry toss of her head. With disgust, she added, "Even though he is my enemy, I must pretend to be pleased by his hospitality." She paused, crouched, and ripped up a length of beach vine. "Help me cover my Arioi tattoos," she added. "The new people here do not know me. Let them think I am just a canoe-builder's woman."
As the two walked, they plaited simple garlands. Maukiri helped Tepua drape one around each ankle, to hide the tattoos that marked her rank of Seasoned-bamboo. They made wreaths for their hair as well, trying to maintain the appearance of a festive mood.
"Everything here is so strange to me, even the plants," Maukiri said as they entered a wooded path, where stands of ti raised spear-shaped leaves splashed with violet and veined in yellow. Whorls of periwinkle flowers, as white as coconut cream, with crimson centers, blossomed from glossy foliage. Tepua recalled her own first impressions of Tahiti, how she had been overwhelmed by the profusion of new flowers and scents. But today her thoughts did not linger on these pleasures. She kept wondering what Matopahu was doing, and how she would find him.
As they reached the fence of bamboo canes that surrounded the high chief's compound, Tepua once again found herself searching in vain for familiar faces. The sentries she had known were gone. The ones who stood now, spears firmly in hand, eyed her with disdain. And there were so many! In the past, the posting of guards had been a formality. No one would have dared intrude on the high chief's compound.
Once inside the gate, she did not see a single servant that she recognized. Apparently Land-crab had made a clean sweep, replacing Knotted-cord's people with his own. Tepua had to bear the icy gaze of the female attendant who met her and Maukiri, then escorted them to a small guest house for women.
The compound of the high chief, with its thatched houses and shady breadfruit trees, had changed little since Tepua had last seen it. Yet life here was not the same. No longer did children of the court attendants run freely about the yard. The flock of roaming chickens was gone; the pigs were confined to one corner by a small pen.
When Tepua reached her quarters, she found them shabby, the roof thatch rotting, the floor mats worn and ragged.
"What are we going to do?" Maukiri asked with a sigh.
"Learn everything we can about this troublemaker," said Tepua. "But first there is something more important. We have neglected the gods who watched over our j
ourney. Come. There's a shrine nearby where women bring offerings. Then we will wash and make ourselves presentable."
A crier called the guests together for the start of Land-crab's welcoming ceremony. Warily, Tepua and Maukiri joined the others, taking seats on mats that surrounded a bare, open space in the compound. Land-crab sat on his high stool, flanked by attendants. One man held up the huge, carved staff of office. Two more stood by with long feather-tipped sticks, making certain that no flies disturbed their chief.
Land-crab's best dancers and performers, his Arioi, had fled. Tepua wondered how he planned to present an entertainment. She watched two young drummers come forward, their faces damp with sweat. These boys were so nervous that they almost dropped the drums they were carrying.
The pair took their positions, one with a round skin-head drum, the other with a drum of the hollow slit-log variety called toere. When they began to pound out a rhythm, three dancers crept into the clearing.
Tepua almost laughed at the absurdity of the scene. The dancers were young girls, beginners, who kept glancing at each other for cues. Only the one in the center seemed to know the order of the steps. As they labored through their performance Tepua remembered Small-foot, her dancing pupil of long ago. With proper teaching, she thought, these girls would someday be worth watching. Now they were merely an embarrassment to their host.
As soon as they were done, the girls ran from the circle and out through the compound gate. Tepua wondered if Land-crab would punish them for their poor showing. She sighed and waited as another group of dancers, warriors from the high chief's compound, came forward.
At last Land-crab seemed to tire of the entertainment. His bearer lifted him, and he advanced toward his guests. The harsh, beaked face looked down impassively as his orator, standing at his side, began to speak.
The heavyset orator began with effusive praises, lauding his chief as if the man were a god. He went on to inform the guests of their immense good fortune. "You, who sit with us today, will have tales to tell your grandchildren. Think of their looks of amazement when you speak of the great man whose company you shared." The orator went on, enlarging on the exploits of Land-crab, until it seemed that he had conquered all of Tahiti.
Child of the Dawn Page 2