Child of the Dawn

by Coleman, Clare;

Tepua could not make out the object, which shimmered with red and yellow as it passed from hand to hand among the foreigners. Finally it reached the man who commanded the vessel. As he lifted the present, Tepua saw that it was a tuft of sacred red-and-yellow feathers. Instantly she knew that it was a talisman of war, meant to direct Oro's wrath against an enemy.

  Unwary, the captain accepted the feathers and seemed eager to give something in return. But Tepua knew that the priest would accept nothing. The foreigner watched with evident astonishment as the priest's pahi was paddled away.

  Then, with a shout, the priest raised the frond of a coconut palm whose leaflets had been tied in a peculiar pattern. What signal was this? Tepua wondered. An answering roar came from many throats. Slings whirled, releasing a rain of stones on the ship.

  Most of the missiles fell harmlessly onto the awnings that the foreigners had rigged to shade themselves. There was a flurry of activity on the ship. Defenders pointed long, clublike weapons at the attacking canoes. Tepua knew what was coming next and screamed a warning that she alone could hear.

  If only she could hold off this moment. The foreigners seemed uncertain. They looked to their leaders for a signal.

  Then the dreaded thunder came, both from the hand weapons and from two black snouts that poked out of the hull from beneath the ship's railing. Feather pennants fell from shattered sternposts. Capes and helmets were torn away. Smoke drifted over the attacking canoes.

  Crimson welled and ran over bronze skin, orange body-paint and blue-black tattoos. Warriors screamed in rage and disbelief, clutching their bodies where terrible wounds had been bored by things unseen. Crazed by fear and pain, some people leaped overboard. The surface of the lagoon broke into chop, as if stirred by a storm.

  In confused disarray, the war canoes backed off, their paddlers pale and sweating. Tepua saw the war chief fold his arms, a grim expression hardening his features.

  Surely he knew now the nature of his enemy. To press on could only bring disaster. Yet the chief gave a hoarse yell, commanding his craft into the fray. While the bulk of the force turned to attack the foreigners at their stern, his pahi made a course for the bow. Several war canoes flanked it, slings and stones ready.

  Men chanting defiantly, paddle blades flashing, the double hull shot forward. Another rain of stones flew. Tepua could see that some hit their marks, invaders reeling under the onslaught.

  Then came a flash as sudden and dazzling as a lightning strike, and a roar that could have drowned out a hurricane. The pahi bucked violently. The platform disappeared in a cloud of flying splinters. In a burst of horror, Tepua realized that the noble Tahitian commander was gone. She saw only a fragment of a scarlet-and-yellow-feathered cloak that drifted outward on the backwash from his sinking war canoe.

  Tepua emerged from the trance and found herself sitting tensely upright. The string figure of Hire's Rock was still stretched tightly between her fingers, in front of her wide-open eyes. Streams of tears wet her cheeks; she felt drained, exhausted.

  She turned her head, feeling her hair tumble about her face. The night was quiet, heavy, still. The setting moon still hung where she had last seen it. Had nothing actually changed?

  The rollers broke with distant thunder against the outer reef. But no lost foreign ship showed its form against the moonlit ripples of the bay. The terror of invasion was suddenly, miraculously, gone.

  For a long time she stared out at the water, overwhelmed by what she had seen. Then she rose, stiff from sitting so long, and made her way wearily down the hill. The night was gone. Aitofa would be looking for her.

  The stream was still in deep shadow when Tepua found the place that Aitofa had described, the black rocks beyond the bathing pool. She gritted her teeth and plunged in. The cold water helped her come alive again. When she looked up, she saw the chiefess waiting.

  Quickly Tepua emerged and wound herself in her bark-cloth wrap. Then, with great hesitation, she related what she had seen. As she spoke, Aitofa's expression grew bleak.

  "You aren't the first to bring a warning like this," Aitofa said when Tepua was done. "I've heard about foreign ships. But never in such frightening detail."

  "Should we tell Tutaha?"

  Aitofa frowned. "How can we get anyone to listen? You have no standing with the priests. No one will believe you." She looked away, fell into thought for a moment. "Tell me, Tepua. How soon do you feel this invasion will come?"

  Tepua wondered how she could answer. In the attacking canoes, she had seen many faces, but none looked familiar. She had also glanced around Matavai Bay, with particular attention to Taharaa Hill. Had anything been different? The trees?

  "Aue! There was something strange," Tepua shouted. The memory remained vivid. She had noticed how the peak of the hill was crowded with onlookers. And the familiar grove on top had changed. In the vision, a huge coral-flower tree stood alone, its high branches shading the people below. How long would it take, she wondered, for a tree to grow so high?

  "Aitofa, I think that many seasons must pass before this terrible day arrives. You and I and Tutaha may not live to see it."

  "That gives me little comfort," the chiefess answered. "Yet it means we need do nothing for now."

  "Then why did the gods show me this? I wish I had not seen it."

  Aitofa gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Somehow these troubles yet to come are tied to our own. I cannot say how. You are the gifted one. In time the gods will tell you."

  "And meanwhile, I must live with the memory of these horrors."

  'Tepua, I am sorry. It was my idea for you to seek this vision. If I can help ease your pain..." Her eyes widened. "Perhaps there is something. I will speak to Eye-to-heaven."

  Tepua's pulse jumped. "Eye-to-heaven is here?" The stocky priest was her own friend as well as Matopahu's taio. If nothing else, she might hear some news from him.

  "He isn't here, but we may see him soon. Tutaha has asked us to leave his district. An Arioi lodge on Eimeo invited us to stay with them awhile."

  "Matopahu—"

  "Perhaps you can find him. We'll talk to the priest first. There is something he will have to explain."

  Tepua did not know what to make of this last pronouncement. But she was glad to be leaving Matavai Bay, a place that now carried such harsh memories. Remnants of the vision lingered as she followed Aitofa along the stream's bank and onto the path that led to shore.

  FOUR

  The morning after Tepua's vision at Taharaa Hill, a flotilla of double-hulled canoes ferried her troupe across the Sea of the Moon. She knew only that another Arioi troupe—the members of Chipped-rock Lodge—had invited hers to the neighboring island of Eimeo. She had never met these people before, but Arioi of different lodges often helped each other.

  As Tepua sat on a pitching deck and watched the shark-toothed peaks of Eimeo grow large, she listened to the chatter of her companions. "Tutaha wanted to get rid of us," some said. "We are better off away from Tahiti," replied others. Though Tepua was glad to leave Matavai Bay, she felt she was abandoning the people of her district. When they learned that their Arioi had been forced to move again, they would lose all hope of regaining the troupe.

  Yet she took some encouragement from the fact that the Chipped-rock Lodge was offering assistance. Her own lodge, Wind-driving, had fallen into desperate straits. With no place to live, the players would soon disperse, probably never to gather again. Now, if they all worked together, they could preserve their long traditions.

  Not only would they serve Oro. Soon, Tepua hoped, they would have a chance to ridicule Land-crab again, gathering allies wherever they performed. But to do so required many items they did not have.

  The Arioi of Wind-driving Lodge had left everything behind when they fled Land-crab. To perform before an audience they would need costumes, paints, adornments, musical instruments. The troupe had borrowed what it needed to entertain Tutaha, but now was empty-handed again. With help from Chipped-rock Lodge the leaders could
properly outfit the troupe.

  At last the canoes came around to the western side of Eimeo. Here, several sandy islets stood close to the main shore. The flotilla entered the quiet waters that separated the islets from Eimeo itself.

  "That reminds me of home," said Maukiri wistfully to Tepua as they gazed at the closest islet. This motu was heavily forested and overgrown by jungle vines. Tepua could not see past the coconut palms along its shore. Yes, she thought, at first glance it did remind her of the islets that made up the ring of her home atoll, but the dense undergrowth gave it a wild, uninhabited look.

  To everyone's surprise, the Arioi canoes did not head toward the beach of Eimeo. The boatmen halted in the shallows close to one end of the motu. "We will make a home here," Head-lifted announced. People began climbing down from the canoes and wading ashore.

  Some playful members of the troupe decided to have a swim. Tepua watched as they splashed out, modestly keeping their bark-cloth garments about their hips. When they reached deeper water, the swimmers whipped off the clothes and quickly submerged. Some bundled the tapa garments and held them above water with one arm while stroking with the other. Others tossed their clothes to their friends before plunging in.

  Tepua did not join them. Curiously, she gazed at the motu ahead and wondered how the troupe would live there. Nowhere did she see any signs of habitation; the tangle of forest nearly reached the water's edge. The Arioi would have to work for days just to clear space for shelters and pit-ovens.

  There was a reason, Tepua thought, that no people lived here. Ghosts? As she studied the overgrown islet, she shivered and drew her cape more tightly around her shoulders.

  "Why are you just standing there, cousin?" asked Maukiri brightly. Wasting little time on modesty, she unwrapped herself and plunged into the water. Maukiri's arms swept gracefully as she swam across the transparent lagoon. Suddenly there came another splash as a young man dove after her.

  "Your cousin already has an admirer," said Curling-leaf, coming up behind Tepua on the deck.

  "She will have more," said Tepua, feeling a faint pang of envy. Only one man occupied her own thoughts. Aitofa had promised to help her find Matopahu, but Eimeo was a large island, with many districts. She grimaced in frustration.

  Another splash. "That makes two," said Tepua's friend, with a touch of envy in her own voice. Poor Curling-leaf, with her pleasant but plain face, had never gotten the attention from men that Tepua thought she deserved. "I think your cousin can outswim them!"

  "Only if she wants to," Tepua replied.

  "She is more than just a good swimmer," said Curling-leaf. "She learns quickly. She speaks so well—"

  "Yes," Tepua answered, gratified that her efforts showed. During the voyage she had insisted that Maukiri use the Tahitian dialect, dropping the hard "k" and "ng" sounds of atoll speech. Tepua had also taught her many words that only Tahitians used. Her cousin was doing remarkably well in adjusting to this new life—far better than Tepua herself had done.

  "You two! Come!" Head-lifted, the men's chief, stood beckoning on the shore. All the other passengers had disembarked. Tepua jumped down into the water, which reached to her knees. With reluctance as well as curiosity she headed for the beach.

  This was a low islet, barely above water, yet she could see that no storm had recently washed over it. Hibiscus and trumpet vine covered the sand beneath the coconut palms, leaving no pathways. A party was already at work hacking its way inland. Tepua watched the men swinging their stone-headed adzes. Then she joined the women who were walking toward the other end of the motu.

  The grainy black-and-white sand felt harsh beneath her feet. Chunks of broken coral lay scattered everywhere. In places along the shore, the underlying black rocks were exposed. Tepua wondered if, long ago, an angry spirit had thrown these rocks down from the mountaintops.

  From the dense interior came a whiff of steamy air, bringing the moldy scent of decaying vegetation. Unseen birds screamed. Underfoot, tiny crabs darted into their holes.

  "Look," said Tepua as they reached the end of the motu. The beach widened here, where a brisk wind was blowing across a point of land. Above the beach, the forest thinned to scrub. "We can clear a space," she said, thinking of the open practice area needed for rehearsals.

  "I want to stay here," declared Curling-leaf. "The sea breeze is good. It will keep off the flies."

  "Then we'll build our shelter over there," said Tepua. She and Curling-leaf climbed the gentle slope to the edge of the forest, then turned to gaze back at Eimeo's curving shoreline. Matopahu was somewhere on the other side, across the narrow stretch of water. Tepua intended to find him.

  In the following days, the Arioi of Wind-driving Lodge struggled to establish their settlement in exile. To everyone's dismay, the Chipped-rock Arioi who had brought them here offered no other assistance. Despite promises, the visitors were left to fend for themselves.

  "Was this a trick?" some people began to mutter. "Arranged by Land-crab to get us away from Tahiti?" But most of the exiles seemed determined to make the best of what they had.

  Tepua's group made small clearings along the shore, put up shelters of sticks and palm fronds tied crudely with vines. Meanwhile, old gray-brown coconut husks had been left to soak in the lagoon for several days. When the fibers were soft, Arioi men sat and rolled handfuls on their thighs, making a tough and durable three-ply cord. Using lengths of this sennit, everyone retied the bindings that held their simple shelters together.

  The women divided their work, collecting shellfish and coconuts, gathering fuel for the cookfires, or hacking away underbrush. Tepua joined the group clearing the women's practice area.

  At the end of each morning's labor Tepua would stagger wearily into the lagoon for a cooling dip, then fall onto the spread of palm fronds that served as her bed. Only when she had eaten the main meal, in midafternoon, did she let her thoughts return to Matopahu. She spoke to Aitofa every day, but the chiefess could give her no news of him.

  Now that Maukiri had decided to serve the Arioi, Tepua felt a need to educate her cousin on subjects she had never raised before. In spare moments the two women sat in a shady spot and talked about the followers of Oro.

  "I've seen the way you look at the high-ranking Arioi," Tepua told her cousin. "Do not be too hasty with your admiration."

  "I think they are the best people in the islands," Maukiri replied.

  "Some are. Others—some in the highest ranks— disgrace us by doing nothing to help the troupe."

  "How can that be? After spending years mastering the chants and learning to perform—"

  "That is where you are wrong, cousin. Those of high enough birth often skip the rigorous training. They join us, then settle at once into a life of pleasure."

  "But you are of high birth," Maukiri said, "and you began as a novice."

  "When I arrived in Tahiti, I was taken for a savage!" Tepua reminded her. "It was enough that the Arioi let me in at all. Even now that they know who I am, many people resent having an atoll woman in the lodge."

  "Then you do not think that I..." Her cousin's voice trailed off.

  "Maukiri! Are you already thinking about joining? Look at the trouble we are in!"

  Her cousin kicked the coarse sand with her heel. "You know my dancing. I am not as good as you, but almost...."

  "It takes more than skill at dancing. The god must seize you. If that happens, then everyone will know that you must be one of us."

  "Aue! Is that all?"

  "No. The rules are strict. Have you heard them?"

  Maukiri repeated what she had learned from other conversations. The Arioi were dedicated to pleasing their patron god through dance, chant, and mime. They instructed the people, retelling the legends of the great Oro, who presided over peace as well as war. They carried out essential rituals, including those that assured abundant food.

  "There is one thing you have not mentioned," said Tepua. "We Arioi swear to remain childless. Do you understa
nd that?"

  "I wonder how you can manage it," Maukiri said. "The men and women certainly enjoy each other—at every opportunity."

  "And sometimes a child is born," Tepua continued, "despite our efforts to keep it from happening."

  "Then the women is sent away?"

  "Not if she does what she must. Before the child draws its first breath."

  "Aue!"

  "Yes. I thought that might trouble you, Maukiri. I have never heard you say no to a chance for hanihani. At home you didn't worry."

  "There was no reason."

  Indeed, Tepua knew that if unwed Maukiri bore a child at home, it would be quickly adopted by one of her relatives. If she joined the Arioi, however, any child of hers would be suffocated at the moment of its birth. "Think about this awhile," Tepua cautioned. "Do not be too eager."

  Early one morning, the company gathered at an assembly ground that had been cleared from the atoll forest. Rumors had been flying, and now they were confirmed. Chipped-rock Lodge had not abandoned the exiles after all. Tepua's troupe had been invited for a visit, to participate in a ceremony of friendship. Wind-driving Lodge would soon be performing again!

  The air was charged with excitement as the players of lower rank sat on the ground, the others finding makeshift seats. A new performance. At last the troupe had some hope of returning to its former way of life.

  Many Arioi formalities had been abandoned in exile. Gone were the high stools of the lodge chiefs, and their elaborate fans and high-plumed headdresses. Aitofa sat on a palm log, her dark curly hair adorned only by a wreath of orange beach vine. Head-lifted, the men's chief, sat beside her on a similar log, the gray fringe around his bald spot decorated by a single yellow feather. These two were the only members of the lodge holding the coveted Blackleg rank. The tattoos that covered their legs from ankle to thigh showed that they had reached the pinnacle of their lodge.

  As Tepua waited for the leaders to begin, she noticed that a third seat in front of the crowd sat empty. She could not help wondering if some person of importance was expected. But the seat remained empty as the meeting began, the leaders discussing which dances and plays would be best for the coming occasion. Groups formed and duties were assigned. At last the gathering began to disperse.