Child of the Dawn

by Coleman, Clare;

  Then she understood that she had both Oro and Matopahu inside her, joining her in ecstasy. She heard a voice that must have been her own, a cry of triumph or joy or pain, she could not say which. The light exploded, sending her into spasms, wave upon wave, lifting her to the sky. Then she was truly the goddess of the moon, sailing across the stars.

  "Muriroa ana hoki, te matangi..."

  Matopahu roused slowly from the deepest sleep he had ever known. Nearby a woman was singing softly, in a sweet haunting voice that blended against the music of the waterfall.

  The flutter of an eyelash touched his cheek. His hands, groping in the dark, met smooth, warm skin. They traveled up, feeling the form of slender ribs, then the soft underside of a breast that felt firm as a ripe fruit....

  She met his hand with her own, then sang again.

  "E ho ake taku aro, e he to au e!"

  He blinked with wonder at how her voice brought beauty to words that were so foreign to his ears. With a sigh that was half amazement, half annoyance, he said, "You know I cannot understand that atoll language of yours."

  He heard a quiet laugh. Her fingers played about his chest as she repeated the lines in his own tongue.

  A pleasant breeze was stirring

  When I lay beside him, overcome....

  Matopahu drew her to him, buried his face in the sweet warmth of her belly. His voice muffled, he said, "You were not the only one overcome."

  "Then something remarkable did happen," she replied mysteriously. "I remember, long ago, how you used to fall into a trance."

  He hesitated, wondering what she was hinting at. Before the curse fell on him, Matopahu had been known as a favorite of the gods. Sometimes a spirit seized him, spoke through his lips, even took control of his body, leaving him afterward with no memory of what had occurred. But nothing of the kind had happened since his brother's death. "Last night, I was myself," he declared happily. "I am happy to say that I recall every moment."

  She began to sing again.

  "Like a scented fern,

  Bending over me,

  He whispered sweetly...."

  "I was more than a fern," Matopahu said with a laugh, clasping his hands behind his back.

  Light fingers descended on his lips, pressing them gently together. She sang,

  "Like a coconut palm,

  Bending over me..."

  "That is better," he answered. "Where did you get that song?"

  "It was sung long ago by a woman of my islands to a song?' chief of Tahiti. The words were in my head when I woke up."

  He let his hand stray to her thigh and then ran his fingers gently along it.

  "My scented fern...My coconut palm..." Her voice was soft in the darkness.

  "Mmm?"

  "Will you bend over me?"

  From the coolness and crispness of the air wafting over his skin, Matopahu knew that dawn had arrived. There seemed to be a fresh new note in the sound of the falls and the birds that called through the trees.

  He lay with his arms about Tepua, his eyes closed, feeling sated and blissful. Yes, there was a certain newness in the air today. Perhaps the gods were telling him in another way that his strength had returned—by hinting that now he might have a son.

  Tepua had always insisted that her dedication to the Arioi was more important than having children. Yet perhaps, now, she might relent. The thought made him shiver. He cradled the woman beside him as if she were the newborn babe he so wished to hold. Should he tell her what he felt? No. If it was true, she would find out for herself.

  What was it to be a woman? he wondered, feeling an odd twinge of envy. What was it like to have a new life growing inside? To have a belly as great as a chief's, yet holding something far more precious than taro or breadfruit?

  He was starting to drift into sleep again when he felt her stirring. He let his arms go lax, but kept his eyes closed, curious about what she would do now. Sing him another song again? Caress him in an exotic way? She was Tepua, but she was not the same girl who had left him. Everything she did now seemed new and exciting.

  Yes, she was up to something, he thought as he felt her rise up to look at him. He was tempted to peek, but kept his eyes closed. He wanted to feel, not see, what she would do.

  Her face was coming near his. Ah, the warmth, the fragrant moist breath. His limp member stirred, anticipating the next sweet encounter.

  Her nose brushed across his cheek, but it was her lips that came actively seeking his. Lips? And her tongue, wiggling like a little eel, was playing about the side of this mouth.

  He jerked his head back, away from the unfamiliar touch, but not before the velvety tip of her tongue sent a strange warm shock running down his belly, making his manhood twitch.

  No, this was not right! The mouth was where food went, a pathway for mana. He hitched himself up on his elbows, guarding his face with the back of his hand. "What...what did you do?"

  She was sitting on her heels before him in the faint dawn light, her head cocked to one side, her hair draped over her breast, her lips slightly parted. "You did not like that?" she asked, glancing down. "Your eel likes it."

  Matopahu stared at her, the echo of that strange sensation still running through his body. Something in him wanted her to do it again, but something else remained wary. Perhaps the act was not tapu, but it was certainly new to him. "Why this strange caress?" he asked. "Is it some trick from your savage island?"

  He felt uneasy, although he could not say why. It was almost as if something different, foreign, was trying to intrude on his happiness. His muscles tightened as if to spring to the defense...against what?

  "Tepua..." He reached out and caught her hand, his thoughts turning to disturbing possibilities. "What happened when you went home? What kind of men did you find there?"

  "I wanted to tell you," she answered quietly. "But there was no chance."

  He waited, not sure if he cared to hear. Her voice carried a dreamy quality as she continued. "It seems so long ago now. Outsiders came to our atoll, men with sun-darkened faces and pale bodies beneath their peculiar clothing. They learned some of our ways and taught us a few of their own."

  "Yes?" He gripped her arm, waiting uneasily for the rest. The dawn light was growing stronger, and Matopahu thought he saw her color slightly.

  "The first time I felt the mouth kiss, I pulled away," she said, "just as you did. But I began to like it. I thought you would, too."

  He felt a disturbing mixture of emotions. His delight in her was still strong, and the thought that she had meant to please him added to his affection. Yet her confession made him wonder. Had Tepua lain with one of these strangers? No. He had no right to question her or to be angry if she had. Everyone understood that men and women separated from each other took new partners.

  The past must be forgotten, he told himself. Irritably, he tried to put aside his objections to her new form of hanihani.

  "Matopahu, I did not mean for this to trouble you. You looked so happy only a short while ago."

  "If you lie down beside me, you will bring the happiness back again." Obediently she curled up next to him. They rested in silence, listening to the sounds of the world waking to a new day.

  "How long did the strangers stay on your island?" Matopahu asked.

  Tepua gave a restless sigh, as if she wished to end the discussion. "You do not have to outdance another rival. I told you the men are gone."

  "I am curious, that is all. I've heard tales about strangers from afar, and the impossible vessels that carry them. You are the only person I know who has actually seen such people."

  "If they had stayed with us only one day, it would have been too long," she began. "I admit that I had affection for one of the men. He was kind, and even beautiful in a foreign way. He could not help the harm that he and his friend did to my people. In the end, we had to send them both away, back to their home island."

  Matopahu lay quietly, his arms about her. Something in her voice told him of the pai
n she had endured, an experience that had steadied and matured her. He sensed that she would not tell him the full story yet, but perhaps in time...

  The stranger, whoever he was, might be gone now, but he had left his trace. Tepua had departed Tahiti still a girl in spirit and had come back fully a woman. Matopahu wondered whether he should praise or curse this unknown, unnamed rival. Perhaps both.

  He stirred, growing restless as the air in the grotto warmed. His affection for her was not damped, but now he felt a certain ambivalence. The blissful contentment was gone, the spell of the grotto vanishing in the brightening daylight.

  He sighed at the loss. The night had been so sweet. Who knew when there would be another like it?

  His thoughts turned to the troubles in his home district. He wondered whether he would ever be able to drive out the usurper. If not, would Tepua join him in perpetual exile? He could not ask her that yet.

  He held her a brief while longer, until she reminded him that she would be missed by the leaders of her troupe. She arranged her wrap and tidied her hair. "This time you won't carry me," she insisted. "Show me the handholds and I will climb all the way down."

  TEN

  Tepua returned to the Arioi encampment, her skin still tingling from Matopahu's touch. The grass was wet with dew and soothing under her feet. She approached her shelter quietly, expecting her companions to be asleep after the previous night's late dancing.

  To her surprise she saw yawning women crawling from under the coconut palm lean-tos. The stout figure of Pehu-pehu passed by, her voice calling cheerfully as she roused the ones still drowsing. "Canoes are waiting," the Blackleg kept announcing. "Everyone out!"

  Canoes? Tepua did not understand. Then the Blackleg noticed her. "You look wide-awake," Pehu-pehu said, grabbing her arm firmly, almost painfully. "Good. You can make sure the others don't dawdle. Get them down to the beach. Hurry!"

  Tepua blinked and watched the Blackleg hustle off to the next cluster of shelters. "Is someone eager to get rid of us?" she asked of no one in particular. "I thought we were to stay a few days."

  "We are off to Tahiti," answered one of the younger Arioi.

  "Tahiti!" Tepua's mouth fell open in surprise and dismay. "We just left not long ago."

  "We have an invitation to go back," someone else explained. 'To entertain another chief. Someone friendlier than Tutaha."

  "But...Land-crab..."

  "We will stay away from our old district," said the first girl. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "No one knows what Head-lifted is planning. Do not be surprised if he sends a banana shoot to Land-crab."

  A token of peace. Tepua groaned at the thought that her troupe might reconcile its differences with the usurper. But there was a chance that the new chief they were visiting might take her side, and help drive Land-crab out....

  The sudden change in plans made her thoughts swim. Matopahu was expecting to see her later in the day. What would he think when he discovered that she had vanished without a parting word?

  The other women were heading for the beach. Tepua glanced about wildly, hoping she might somehow delay the departure or find a way to send Matopahu a message. At last, she saw Curling-leaf.

  "Tepua," said her friend, "I watched you dance with Uhi last night. Did you and Matopahu quarrel? I was not sure."

  Tepua answered happily. "I think that all is well between us. But now..." She took a deep breath. "I need your help."

  Curling-leaf's smile lit up her plain features as she walked beside her friend. "Yes. Anything."

  "We thought we would have a few days together. When he looks for me, I'll be gone." She sighed regretfully, seeing that the pebbled shore lay just ahead. Other members of the troupe were already wading out to the large double-hulls, their tapa garments tucked up above their knees.

  Why such haste? Tepua asked herself again. If only she could stay a short while longer.

  "I know what to do," Curling-leaf said with a sly smile. She halted suddenly, clutching her stomach. Then she doubled up in apparent agony. "Aue! The fish I ate last night is trying to jump out of my belly."

  The ruse had its effect. People clustered around Curling-leaf. In a moment, Tepua knew, Pehu-pehu would arrive and begin to shout orders.

  "Go find him!" Curling-leaf whispered to Tepua, pushing her away before they were both surrounded by curious onlookers. "I will be here awhile, until this pain leaves me. One canoe will have to wait."

  As Tepua neared Fat-moon's fenced compound she saw servants coming and going through the gate. She caught up with a young woman who was carrying a section of giant bamboo filled with water. "Will you take a message to Matopahu?" Tepua pleaded.

  The serving woman eyed her with curiosity. "The archery champion is not inside," she said with a toss of her head. "You will find him at the stream."

  Tepua rushed off, caring nothing now about who might see her. Why should she care if people took her for the champion's plaything? The gods had given her a single night with Matopahu, and now they were sending her away.

  She found him sitting on the streambank, his feet trailing in the slow-moving water. Droplets beaded on the sunlit copper of his skin. He looked as fresh and new as the young grass sprouting above the bank. Damp black curls tumbled down the back of his neck, inviting playful fingers to twine in them.

  As Matopahu caught sight of her, the dark brown of his eyes lit up, revealing flecks of amber and gold. The remembered glow of hanihani filled Tepua again.

  "I thought you would sleep late," he said amiably. His words were casual, but the resonant undertone in his voice and the look in his eyes were definitely not. "I was not planning to search for you until the tiare blossoms opened."

  He pulled her close to him, wrapped her in strong, warm arms. His skin was moist and silky from his bath. She shivered with delight as he pressed his nose to her cheek, and wished she could slip away with him again to the secluded nest beside the waterfall.

  "I will be gone long before that," she said, her voice thick with misery. "My troupe is going back to Tahiti."

  He stiffened. 'To which district?"

  "I haven't heard. But Pehu-pehu seems happy about it."

  Matopahu raised his eyebrows, showing his suspicions.

  "I think I know what's coming," she told him hotly. "Head-lifted will take us on tour. Meanwhile he'll be sending gifts and flattering words to Land-crab."

  She broke off as growing bitterness sharpened her voice. This was not the right time for such anger. She paused, looking up into Matopahu's face. "What will happen to you?"

  "If I have any hope of reclaiming what my brother lost, I must stay here in Eimeo. Putu-nui now owes me a lot. If I can get help anywhere, it will be here."

  "Is there no one in Tahiti who might support you?"

  Matopahu sighed. "So far, I have been turned away by everyone I approached. Putu-nui is my best hope."

  Tepua felt her spirits sink. She laid her head against Matopahu's chest as his fingers gently stroked her shoulder and back.

  "Then that is all...."

  "Do not be angry," he chided.

  "I am not angry at you. The Arioi pull me one way and my feelings for you another."

  His arms tightened about her. "Would you leave the troupe?" he asked incredulously.

  She took a deep breath. "You know I cannot. My influence counts for something. If I can keep us from returning to Land-crab, his position will weaken. But if the troupe returns to him, who will doubt that he is the rightful chief?"

  "Is that your only reason for staying with the Arioi?" He looked at her sharply.

  She knew what he wanted her to say—that if Matopahu destroyed the usurper, she would give up the Arioi to become his wife and bear his children. "I serve Oro-of-the-laid-down-spear," she whispered.

  "Do not forget that there are Arioi fanaunau."

  Tepua looked away and did not reply. Of course there were members who left the troupe and had families— suffering ever afterward the scorn of th
e others. Never again could they take part in Arioi rites. Never again could they serve Oro-of-the-laid-down-spear.

  He touched her gently. "Let us not talk about this now. There are too many other troubles ahead of us."

  She closed her eyes and pressed her face to the moist, fragrant warmth of his chest, not wanting to leave his embrace. She did not want to pull away. "The canoe is waiting," she said. "You stay here. I must go."

  His arms loosened. "We will find each other again, soon. Then we will not be torn apart so easily."

  "Yes," Tepua whispered, letting her fingers trail down his chest as she drew away. She heard doubt in his voice that all his charm could not hide.

  Then she was hurrying down the trail, seeing everything through a blur. When she was safely away, she paused and wiped her eyes. Now was no time for weeping. Hurriedly she glanced around, studying the small vines and saplings sprouting at the edge of a sunny clearing. Curling-leaf's charade would be more convincing if someone had gone to gather curing herbs. Trying not to think about Matopahu, Tepua snatched up a handful of leaves.

  When she arrived at the shore, Pehu-pehu was standing over Curling-leaf, who had managed to sustain her grimaces and groans. Tepua's friend sat on a log with her hands still pressed to her stomach. "I brought a remedy," shouted Tepua, holding up her leaves.

  Pehu-pehu tore Tepua's collection from her hands and threw it to the ground. "There you are again, never where you're supposed to be," she said harshly. "What do you know of cures? I have a healer coming. Get into the canoe and wait."

  Curling-leaf let out a gut-rending moan that sounded more than convincing. Tepua knew that her friend would have to go through with the performance. She could not stage a sudden recovery now, or Pehu-pehu would catch on to the trick. Curling-leaf would have to swallow whatever foul potion the healer brought her.