First-to-crow grew impatient and waved the other chiefs aside. "We must get on with this," he hissed. He turned to the assembly and announced that the induction ceremonies would begin. Drums pounded. Voices rose in song. Then came the ritual questions and answers as the chosen ones pledged anew their dedication to the order.
As the ceremony neared its end, Tepua studied the grim expression on Aitofa's face. What had happened here? she asked herself again. Had the Blackleg been deceived about whose names would be called?
Tepua felt a surge of loyalty toward her chiefess. Aitofa had been a severe mistress, but she had brought Tepua into the lodge—against Head-lifted's wishes. Later she had fought hard to keep Tepua with the troupe, and to promote her to her present rank. Now Aitofa risked losing her position to this outsider—the new Blackleg, Pehu-pehu.
It will not happen, Tepua vowed silently. As she exchanged glances with Curling-leaf and the other women, she knew that they felt the same.
SEVEN
When Matopahu woke, he was astonished to see that the day was almost gone. After his ordeal in the marae, he had fallen asleep at dawn. Now the sun was close to setting.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up. Eye-to-heaven stood watching him, the tahu'a close behind. "We didn't wish to wake you," the priest said. "You look well. Tell us—"
"The god came!" Matopahu wondered what else he could say. Perhaps a vestige of the curse still lingered, but he felt no ill effects.
"You have done well," said the tahu'a. "I have never heard of a man with your strength of will."
"And I intend to do more."
"Not for a while," Imo cautioned. "You must rest first. And then there is one more task—"
"I need no rest," Matopahu argued. "And what is this new task?"
Imo gave him a stern look. "The sennit-wrapped corpse of your brother must be found. Only then can we completely free you of the curse. But you are not ready for the task, nor is it one you can do alone."
Matopahu felt a chill at these words. Land-crab's priests had undoubtedly hidden the body at a secret burial site. To search for it and hold off Land-crab's warriors at the same time would require a strong band of men. 'To return to Tahiti," Matopahu said, "I must have canoes and warriors and weapons."
"You will have them eventually. But I urge you to wait."
"Why wait? I am restored to what I was...." He hesitated as he realized what this meant. The curse had taken his manhood, making him lose all desire for women. That much had surely changed. If Tepua was here now, Matopahu knew he would not disappoint her. The thought of her was enough to stir his loincloth.
He paused, recalling the cold welcome he had given her. Remorse made gooseflesh run down his back. "My taio, do me a favor. Take word to Tepua. Tell her that I cannot see her yet...but soon."
"I'll try to make her listen," said the priest, eyeing him cautiously. "But I beg you to hear Imo's advice. Do not rush into anything—not even a woman's embrace—until you have recovered from this night's work."
Matopahu laughed sourly. "I have no time for rest. Fat-moon's archery contest is coming."
"Contest?" The priest appeared startled.
"I must prove myself somehow. If I am to gain support from the chiefs, I must show that the curse no longer weakens me. What better way than to enter the game of the gods?"
The face of the tahu 'a darkened. "The sacred trials will soon take place," he admitted. "But what are you thinking? You cannot enter the contest now. You are far from ready."
"Besides," added Eye-to-heaven, trying to calm the tahu'a, "there is no room for outsiders in the game."
"They will find room for me," said Matopahu defiantly. "The challengers need someone new on their team."
The tahu 'a scowled. "Even if there is a way for you to join, you cannot just walk into the game. You need equipment and a place to practice. When was the last time you tried shooting?"
"Do not worry about my skills," said Matopahu. "Just find me some good arrows and a bow, even if it is old. I will twist a bowstring. And I'll start to do again all the other things that used to exhaust me. I'll prove to you that my strength is renewed!"
Feeling full of energy, Matopahu jumped up and gazed at the gathering shadows. "Enough of this gloomy place. I want to be back at the shore, where a man can breathe fresh air and see the sun. Are you coming?" Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the steep trail down to the coastal plain.
The day after the exchange of members between lodges, Tepua and her companions returned to the motu, bringing back many gifts—articles essential to maintaining the troupe. She knew that her act of defiance had cast a shadow over the induction ceremony and the celebration that followed, but she had no regrets. If there was to be punishment, then she would endure it. She saw her duty clearly now. Aitofa must be protected from those who wished to displace her.
Late in the morning, Tepua joined a group of women who were printing designs onto new bark-cloth that the troupe had just received. Once these rolls of tapa were decorated and cut to proper lengths, the women would have fresh clothing. Tepua picked up a paint-covered leaf and pressed it against the tapa, but her mind kept straying—first to Matopahu, and then to the woes of her troupe.
With a heavy sigh, she made herself pay attention to her work. It would not do to ruin good cloth through carelessness. She glanced about and saw several women preparing dyes in coconut-shell cups—scarlet color from mati leaves and yellow from turmeric root. She tried to cheer herself with the notion that these new garments would be as fine as those that had been left in Tahiti.
The long roll of tapa? was laid out on palm leaves. Squatting beside her companions, Tepua worked slowly, using a bundle of grass fibers as a brush. She applied dye to a small hibiscus leaf, then used the leaf to print an impression on the cloth. Repeating it, she began to create a design.
There was little conversation. Tepua sensed a tension around her, a feeling that she was being shunned. Perhaps some of these women resented what she had done—defying First-to-crow. But others had whispered their approval.
How would she feel when she danced before an audience again? Tepua wondered. Everyone would be staring at her, remembering what she had said, wondering also if the god might seize her again. No. She did not want such an honor, not for a long while. The dancing had exhausted her, leaving her sore in every muscle and joint. Yet the moment, while it lasted, had been sublime.
"A fine morning for work!"
The unfamiliar voice came from behind and made every head turn. "I see you are making progress," said the new Blackleg, Pehu-pehu, coming closer. The heavyset woman wore a white blossom behind her ear, and a plaited eyeshade of palm leaf atop her close-cropped hair. She seemed relaxed and cheerful, yet Tepua could not feel easy in her presence.
"That is a pretty pattern," said Pehu-pehu, kneeling beside the long length of cloth. As she praised the work of one woman after another, they began to warm to her. "And you—Tepua-mua," she asked finally. "Where is yours?"
"I...I am just getting started."
"Ah. Still a bit tired after yesterday. I understand. That was quite a performance. Many people were impressed."
"It was not just a performance," Tepua answered sharply.
The Blackleg gave her a slow scornful smile. "Nevaneva? I have seen the frenzy imitated more than once."
Imitated? Tepua stared into the chilling gaze of the Blackleg. "Say what you like," she answered in a level voice. "Oro was with me."
"If that is so, then we will know in other ways," Pehu-pehu answered. "A woman favored by the gods excels in many things. I intend to pay special attention to everything you do."
"And I will try to please you," Tepua answered.
"Good. Then let me watch how your decorate your bark-cloth wrap."
Suddenly Tepua remembered her days as a novice, when she had been forced to stand before Aitofa and recite the chants she had memorized. Her temper flared as she realized that Pehu-pehu was treating her as if
she were still a novice. She felt the eyes of everyone on her as she stared at her section of cloth. On the ground beside her lay many twigs and leaves that might be used to mark the cloth.
It would not do to defy Pehu-pehu. Tepua knew that she had already caused trouble enough. She closed her eyes and willed a design to come to her. Then she prayed to her guardian spirit....
Matopahu raced down the beach, snatching up arrows as he went. He had started practicing this morning, shooting from a makeshift log platform. Now, as he sent scavenging gulls flapping from his path, he realized how poorly he was doing. The objective was to aim for maximum distance, and he was far from achieving the shots made by previous champions.
The arrows were slender bamboo shafts tipped with iron wood points. The bow, almost as tall as a man, was a flexible length of hibiscus wood, tapered at each end. The quiver, an archer's most prized possession, was made of polished and decorated bamboo. Matopahu's borrowed quiver was old and weathered, its design nearly worn away.
Some men believed that the power of the archer came from his quiver. Matopahu put his trust elsewhere. After collecting the last of his arrows, he returned to his starting point and picked up the bow again. The string he had made from twisted romaha bark was not as springy or as strong as some he had seen. With the help of the gods, perhaps he could do better.
"You are starting early," said Eye-to-heaven, arriving while Matopahu was testing the pull of his bow.
"Fat-moon has had many days to practice," the ari'i answered.
"Then perhaps you will reconsider your plan. Later in the season—"
"No, my taio. I am strong now. When I find the right bow, you will see how well I shoot."
The priest had with him another bow, of slightly darker wood. Decorations of finely plaited hair were wound in spirals about each tapered end. It was unstrung, the bowstring dangling. 'Try this one," he said. "A kinsman lent it to me."
Matopahu closed his fingers around the bow. He saw that it had been well made and cared for. The wood was carefully oiled, silky to the touch. He passed the bowstring loop about the bottom end, seeing how neatly it fitted into the carved groove. He pulled the string, feeling how it slid smoothly and evenly through his fingers.
As he strung the bow, it bent against his thigh with a suppleness and resilience he had never felt before. Sliding the top loop of the bowstring into its groove and moving his hand down to the center grip, he felt his spirits rise. Here was a bow worthy of the contest!
Matopahu picked up an arrow and pressed the flat, slightly sticky end of the shaft against the cord. The breadfruit gum used to keep the end from slipping had almost worn away, however, so he put aside the arrow and took another. He knelt, drawing back the string. The lightness of the piece belied its strength. Matopahu rejoiced as his muscles answered the weapon's challenge.
Where had Eye-to-heaven found this bow? Matopahu wondered. He aimed high, bow-hand thumb against his jaw, and then released. The cord sang, the shaft hissed and disappeared.
"Ah, that is better," he said as he stood up, shading his eyes, trying to see where the arrow had gone.
"You will have to beat that by half," observed the priest. "You only reached the big pandanus."
The ari'i handed the bow back to his companion. "Look again. I am well past that tree. You shoot, and then we'll see who is right."
"Wind from your mouth will not make your arrow fly farther," said his taio good-naturedly. "But perhaps the sun did blind me for a moment...."
A day later, when Tepua and the others of her rank assembled for dancing practice, Pehu-pehu joined them, replacing the usual leader. The Blackleg was gaily adorned with a crown of hibiscus flowers and ferns, and a wreath of vines over the tapa skirt about her hips. "A new invitation has come," she announced. "We'll be performing again."
"How soon?" everyone wanted to know.
"We have only a few days to get ready. And since I know Eimeo well, I want to help you learn what the local people like to see. Surely you've noticed some differences between the styles of dancing here and in Tahiti."
The other women moved closer, curious about what Pehu-pehu had to offer. Tepua was content to remain in the rear. The Blackleg had been giving her far more attention than she wanted.
"My old dance master used to say," Pehu-pehu began, "that when you watch an Arioi move her hands, you should not see her. Instead, you should see the picture she is making. This is true not only for the hands, but the whole body. The dancer should vanish, leaving only the opening flower, the rising sun, the palm swaying in the wind."
"But how is it possible?" came questions from every side.
Pehu-pehu smiled. "Watch. I will give you an example."
The Blackleg strode out onto the hard-packed earth of the practice area. She went into a crouch, with one knee raised and the other lowered. Throwing back her head and extending her arms, she signaled for drums.
This beginning took Tepua by surprise. The Blackleg had chosen a difficult starting position, one that made Tepua's legs ache every time she practiced it. She watched skeptically, doubting whether Pehu-pehu had the required strength or hip control.
She's too heavy. She'll lose her balance.
Tepua expected that Pehu-pehu would start with a slow beat. Instead, the drumming began with a fast clatter from the slit-log toere, followed by frenzied pounding from the deep-voiced drums. Suddenly Pehu-pehu's knees were pumping, her big hips moving in a fluid rotation. Her shoulders held rock steady, as if her upper half had no connection to the rest. Slowly and smoothly she rose from the crouch.
The young dancers gasped. Tepua knew that her own thigh muscles would be screaming in protest, yet Pehu-pehu came up with no seeming effort. Tepua watched with mixed admiration and scorn.
She tells us not to draw attention to ourselves, but she is showing off.
Yet, as she watched, Tepua began to see what Pehu-pehu meant. Gradually she lost her awareness of the dancer's body. What rose before was the gathering ocean swell with foam trembling on its crest.
What magic was this? Other women evidently saw the transformation for they rubbed their eyes and stared again. The Blackleg reversed her motion, going slowly down into the crouch again, the vibration of her hips tight and fast. She came up once more, and signaled for the drums to stop.
"This is not something you can learn in a day," Pehu-pehu said, slightly out of breath. "It takes discipline and effort. But we can start. Here. You two. Let me see you try."
Tepua was relieved when Pehu-pehu focused on two of the older members of the group. It was not long, however, before the Blackleg took notice of Tepua.
"Yes, you can do it, too," she said, "despite your atoll background. I want to see you blend in better with the rest of the group. This is a good place to start."
"I will try."
"I hope you'll do more than try. I said about this nothing before, but your flamboyant style draws too much notice. This kind of training can help you control yourself."
Tepua winced. Perhaps the Blackleg was right, but she could not help thinking that Pehu-pehu was criticizing her for other reasons. Perhaps the Blackleg already knew of Tepua's loyalty to Aitofa. By separating Tepua from her group, Pehu-pehu could begin to strengthen herself at Aitofa's—and Tepua's—expense.
"Show me what you can do," Pehu-pehu demanded, signaling for the drums again. "Let me see you put some effort into it."
Tepua held back her sigh of resignation as she lowered herself into the crouch. She began to move her hips, but the movement was far from smooth. Angrily, she watched Pehu-pehu strutting about, joking with the other women. A few were laughing.
The day of Fat-moon's gathering arrived, none too quickly to suit Matopahu. He and his two companions rose early and brought their canoe to a cove not far from the center of activity. They had not been invited, of course, and Matopahu wished to keep out of sight until the appropriate moment. The three men brought their equipment ashore, found a comfortable place in the fores
t, and settled down to wait.
But Matopahu could not sit for long. He crept down to the water and watched the canoes of the arriving guests and Arioi. This was to be a grand celebration, involving all the important people of Eimeo. He had learned from his taio that even Tepua's exiled troupe would be here.
When he had first planned this surprise appearance, he had not realized that Tepua might be present. Of course, the gathering was large. There would be other contests that might draw her attention. But he could not shake off the idea that she would be in the crowd when he came forward to shoot.
More double canoes arrived as he watched, their high pennants waving in the breeze. More brightly clad Arioi strode up onto the shore. Somehow he had not reckoned on the size of the crowd. So many eyes on him. So many to witness his victory or defeat.
Yet he knew no other way to show that he could defy Land-crab's curse. If everyone saw that he was alive and strong and had the favor of the gods, then they would know that he could win back his brother's land and people. Warriors would flock to support him. Chiefs would pledge their aid.
If he lost, everyone would know that the curse still bound him.
As Tepua walked up from the beach where the Arioi canoes had landed, she saw people scrambling in all directions. She guessed that they were members of Fat-moon's household or belonged to other performing troupes. Behind her, she heard shouts as more canoes arrived.
Ahead lay Fat-moon's assembly ground, a broad open area surrounded by breadfruit trees. Tepua felt little interest in being here.
'This is exciting!" said Maukiri, catching up to her. "I've never seen such a gathering. Why did you never tell me about these events?"
Tepua glanced at Maukiri's flushed face and dancing eyes. She was glad that her cousin was adapting so quickly to local ways. For Tepua herself, everything had turned sour. She had begun to wish she had remained with her own people and never come back to Tahiti.
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