I know why she is groaning so loudly, Tepua thought. The healer's dose will probably really make her sick. I could not have a better friend.
By late afternoon the players had settled into new quarters, in a Tahitian district that lay south of their own. From the shore, Eimeo was visible on the horizon, a brooding mass of dark peaks topped by clouds. Gazing at the sight did not help Tepua's sense of loss. She wondered how long Matopahu would have to remain there. When he did return to Tahiti, he might not be able find her.
"Walk with me," came a voice from behind.
Tepua turned and saw Aitofa standing deep within a grove of breadfruit trees. The Arioi chiefess beckoned. Tepua tried to bring her thoughts back to the problems at hand.
"You are my eyes and ears," Aitofa said in a low voice as they continued through the grove.
"Yes." With a sigh, Tepua recalled her earlier discussions with Aitofa. The Blackleg had explained her difficulties in preserving the troupe. Only Chipped-rock Lodge had offered assistance. Aitofa had accepted the plan to exchange members as a way to establish the needed bond of friendship, but she had not been told in advance that a rival female Blackleg would be sent to her own troupe.
"I see the worst side of Pehu-pehu," Tepua said. "She always singles me out for criticism. With everyone else, she is patient and good-natured."
"Then she is gathering her strength," said Aitofa grimly.
"She cannot take your position."
"In time, maybe she can. I think that is what Head-lifted wants. Then he can say he has rid himself of the troublemaker, the one who tried to shame Land-crab."
"It was not just you!" Tepua answered indignantly.
'The others may give up their opposition to Land-crab. Life in exile wears us all down."
"And Pehu-pehu is always working against us, undermining our resolve. She cares nothing about the people of our district."
"Do not speak too quickly, Tepua. Neither of us understands her yet."
"I know why she was glad to leave her own troupe. Too many Blacklegs. She had no chance of becoming a lodge chief. Now she wants what is yours."
"Perhaps ambition is not all that drives her."
"Not all?" Tepua stared at the Arioi chiefess.
"The other lodges think that we are harming the good name of the Arioi. I have heard this opinion from several people."
"Pehu-pehu is doing nothing about that."
Aitofa frowned. "You may not think she is helping. I know that she wants to preserve the reputation of Arioi as loyal supporters of the tribal chiefs. She will try to push us back to Land-crab even if she gains nothing for herself."
"Then we are both in her way," Tepua replied hotly, "and there are others." She walked on, clenching her fist in anger, as she named Arioi whose sentiments against the usurper had not softened. Yet she had seen too many of these women clustered eagerly about Pehu-pehu, courting her friendship....
That night, Tepua had difficulty falling asleep. The guest house was warm and dry, a pleasant improvement from what she had known on Eimeo, yet too many worries kept her awake. She kept tossing, feeling every lump in the cushion of grass between her mat and the dirt floor.
She tried to soothe herself by remembering the night with Matopahu. How odd, she thought, that images of Uhi kept pushing the pleasant ones aside. In truth, she had cared nothing for that arrogant dancer. She had been drawn to him for one reason alone—curiosity about his unusual sunshade.
Matopahu...Uhi...Aitofa. The night on Taharaa Hill. Images swirled, bringing foreign faces and the ship with wings. She remembered the weapons that spat stones and spoke thunder. She saw again the wreckage of canoes that had been struck.
Now she felt herself carried on a great dark tide, to a place she did not want to see, to a time distant from her own. She tried to resist, to bring herself back to wakefulness, but the current would not relent. Darkness turned to brilliant blue as she came to the surface and looked out across Matavai Bay.
The vision had carried her off again, and this time it was even more vivid than before. All her senses came alive. She breathed the salty tang of the air and felt its refreshing chill. Long, heavy hair brushed against her neck as the wind stirred. Her body felt firm and strong as she shifted, her weight balancing the buck and roll of a seagoing canoe. But this was not her own body!
She felt the swell of breasts against a bark-cloth robe and looked down at arms that were heavier and older than her own. As she gazed at the blue water frothing by, and listened to the beating of wind against the woven sail, Tepua discovered something new. Not only was she sharing a stranger's body and sensations—she was sharing her thoughts as well.
And what thoughts! The mind burned with pride, defiance, and an arrogant confidence that could only belong to a woman of the highest rank. A grand name came to her, though she had never heard it before—Te Vahine Airoreatua i Ahurai i Farepua. Fortunately, there was a shorter name— Purea. But who was this woman? What connection did she have with Tepua and her struggles?
As she looked out through Purea's eyes, Tepua began to sense Purea's importance to the people of this time. She sat regally on the raised deck of a double-hulled voyaging canoe and kept her gaze forward, paying little attention to the men who crewed her vessel. Eyes were lowered in respect when people turned toward her. Yet Tepua sensed more admiration than fear in their expressions.
Tepua wished she could catch a reflection of this new body. She could tell by feel that Purea was well fleshed, but also tall and majestic. And today something alarming flamed in her mind. A catastrophe threatened the shores of Tahiti. Purea had learned about the visit of the terrifying foreign vessel and had come to see it.
But what of Tepua herself? What part had she in this? As she struggled to maintain her own identity, she felt herself slipping deeper into Purea's mind until they were one....
Fine black sand clung to Purea's feet as she walked from the beach to the council house near the shores of Matavai Bay. Some of the men in her party had to hurry to keep up with her, for she was an energetic woman, scarcely hampered by the voluminous tapa robes she wore.
She had already scrutinized, from a distance, the monstrous invading ship as it lay at anchor. For a time she had watched the foreign sailors—the so-called demons—until she believed some of the tales she had heard. Now she wanted to hear how the great men of this district planned to respond.
Beside Purea strode an impressive male figure. As she glanced sideways, her gaze took in a strong-featured face and sweeping robes that covered a lithe, powerful body. Tupaia of Urietea served her not only as a high priest of Oro, but as her primary political advisor. He had tried for days to discourage her from making this journey to Matavai.
"You are brave, my lady, to turn your back on that foreign vessel." The priest's voice was deep and resonant as he glanced toward the distant ship. "I have heard that it can slay anyone within sight."
"It did us no harm when we sailed into the bay," Purea answered. "Why should it attack us now?"
"Demons are fickle. I wish you would take the simplest precautions," Tupaia said, flourishing a tuft of sacred red feathers.
"You are the priest. You hold the talisman." Purea had little hope that the gods could protect her from attack, or do anything to drive the foreigners from Tahiti. Days of prayer and sacrifice had brought no result. She heard drumming from the nearby marae and knew that the priests were trying yet again. If the priests failed, she asked herself, what hope remained? Yet she refused to give in to despair.
With an experienced eye, Purea measured the size and temper of the welcoming throng that lined up along her path. The crowd was decidedly thin, and the people's mood somber. She lifted her chin, putting on a courageous yet gracious expression. For the sake of the people, who have seen too much fear in their leader...
Though she had no direct power in this district, she was well-known here, and always received a good reception. Now eyes widened in a few faces as she approached. Then a che
er went up, traveling ahead of her. She saw, with satisfaction, that her presence was beginning to hearten these people.
The rumors said that even the chiefs had hidden in the marae for fear of the enemy. She tried to imagine the mighty and ferocious Chief Tutaha cowering behind his little wall of stone. Purea snorted to herself as she trod the path to the council house. Extending the power of his father, the venerable Tutaha i Tarahoi, the present Tutaha controlled not only the districts of Pare and Arue, but had influence over this entire corner of the island.
Perhaps the rumor was a lie, she thought. She had yet to see an enemy that could make Tutaha cower in hiding.
Purea quickened her stride. She had sent word that she was coming, so that the chiefs could meet her, and she had no doubt they would be waiting. She might be outside her home district, but she commanded great respect, both through her family connections and those of her husband. Moreover, her five-year-old son was the most important young man in all of Tahiti. By means of the honors and titles he inherited, Teri'irere would someday stand above all other chiefs of the island.
The crowd grew thicker as Purea neared the meeting place, but it opened, clearing a lane for her party into the great open-walled house that served as a performance hall and meeting place. The hugeness and grandeur of the polished pillars impressed Purea, though her own district boasted a building almost as fine. She paused regally on the threshold and waited for the crier to announce her.
With her full title still echoing beneath the high thatched roof, Purea entered the longhouse. Within, she saw a crowd of lesser chiefs seated on low four-legged stools. Of the high stools set out for the more distinguished guests, only one was occupied. She recognized the aged, yet still majestic figure of Tutaha. He towered over most men; the mere sight of his huge arms and broad chest was enough to frighten his enemies.
Close by him sat a lesser chief called Hau. Hau's straggly white beard and dry, parchment skin proclaimed his age as greater than Tutaha's, but his eyes were still bright and his body vigorous. Purea knew that Hau had been trading with the foreigners, and might have some insight into their nature.
When the welcoming formalities were finished, Purea and her advisor took their seats. "And the others?" she asked, waving a hand at the empty stools.
Tutaha gave a sharp bark of a laugh. "Did you really think those great cowards would come? No, Purea. Dealing with the troubles at hand is left to men in their dotage."
Despite the chief's gentle deprecation of his age, Purea saw the strength in Tutaha's sturdy shoulders. There was something new in him as well, a tightness of face and body that was at odds with his usual stately manner. The patience and warmth in his brown eyes had been replaced with an icy rage, born of fear.
This change in Tutaha shook Purea more than anything else. Throughout her life he had been an overshadowing presence, the true man of power in this part of Tahiti. It was said that he feared nothing, not even death.
One thing had changed that....
"Tutaha," she began. "Help me understand. I have seen the invading vessel and the men who sail it, yet—"
"Those who sail it are not men," Tutaha interrupted.
"My chief," objected old Hau, but Tutaha silenced him with an impatient roar.
"They are not! Yes, Hau. I know that you carried on the trade with them across the river. But after seeing how they made war on us in the lagoon, can you still argue that they are human?"
Purea leaned forward. "Your fleet was defeated and your people fled," she said bluntly. "That may be bitter, but not new. We have seen raiders from other districts, even from other islands. They are cruel but they are still men."
"Did you hear that they destroyed canoes on the beach?" Tutaha asked harshly. "Eighty craft hacked and broken apart. Not only those of fishermen, but the exalted sacred canoes as well."
She pursed her lips. "Harsh as these acts seem, the same tactics have been used in our own wars."
"Only after making proper petition to the gods," Tutaha answered. "Were these demons not afraid of the mana in the great canoes? Or of Oro's anger? The foreigners do not seem to fear our gods."
Purea saw the priest glancing at her, his eyes wide at the thought of invaders who obeyed no gods at all.
"Perhaps there is one piece of news that will convince you," Tutaha said wearily. "Hau. Show the skin from the shark that the foreigners killed."
The old man picked up a wrapped tapa bundle and undid it carefully, drawing out a long strip of belly skin. "From a blue shark, as you can see," Hau announced.
Purea stared at what he held and felt deeply stricken. The blue was the most revered of all sharks. At the initiation of a chief, these great fish were sent by the gods to bless the new ruler. They were divine messengers, sometimes gods themselves. "How was the shark killed?" Purea asked, her voice husky with emotion.
Hau took a deep breath and answered. "In the same mysterious way that our warriors were struck down at a distance. After it was hooked, a foreigner pointed a stick at the poor creature. The weapon spoke twice, and then the shark lay writhing and bleeding in the water."
"Even worse," added Tutaha angrily. "They towed the body ashore and put it beneath the pennant they had set up on the beach. As a 'gift' for us."
"I put my fingers in the wounds, to discover how the noble fish had died," said Hau, "but I found nothing. I could not leave it to rot on the beach, so I had my priests pray over the remains and then take them for burial. I saved only this." Purea studied the place he showed her, where two holes pierced the skin.
"So you still think these strangers are men?" Tutaha said to Hau with grim satisfaction.
Hau looked back at him, an infinite sadness in his old, watery eyes. "If they are not, my chief, then your plans have no chance at all."
"Plans?" Purea looked intently at the grizzled chief.
Tutaha sat upright in his seat and his eyes took on a hard glitter. "I am sending messengers to all the districts to gather men and war canoes. There will be such a force as Tahiti has never seen."
"But the powerful weapons...the thunder..."
"May protect the invaders for a while, but we will overwhelm them by sheer numbers. If it takes the weight of thousands of dead men to sink that ship, then I will give those lives."
Purea found herself staring at Tutaha with horrified fascination. She wondered if a malevolent spirit had taken possession of him, or whether frustration and fear had driven him mad.
He brought a closed fist down on his thigh. "If these invaders can die, then we will repay them for what they did to us. If not, then we will be the ones destroyed." He paused, struggling to keep his dignity, and then said in a more controlled voice, "Perhaps the old prophecy will prove true. The canoe with no outrigger has come, just as we were warned. Now it will mean the end of our people and our ways."
No! Purea cried out silently in protest as she looked into Tutaha's fear-ravaged face. In his eyes she could see the horror of the slaughter that had taken place, and the even greater one that threatened to follow. If such things happened, her ambitions for her son would be meaningless. What good would it do Teri'irere to wear the sacred maro if his people were destroyed? "Chief of Pare and Arue," she said respectfully to Tutaha, "the prophecy may be true, but you need not make yourself an instrument of it."
Tutaha's eyes blazed. "What would you have me do?"
Purea turned to Hau. "You carried on trade with the invaders. What did you learn?"
"They have the desires of human beings," Hau answered. "They eat. They take pleasure with women."
"Even demons have been known to take food and women," retorted Tutaha. "I hear the skins of these foreigners are as pale as shades from the Great Darkness...."
"Have you offered them hospitality?" Purea asked.
"We have given gifts," Hau said cautiously. 'The strangers have taken them, and more."
"But you have not invited them ashore to feast and be entertained."
"Had they behaved li
ke guests, they would have been treated so," Tutaha retorted. "It is not possible now."
"It is possible," Purea said insistently. "And it is our only hope."
"You would invite such murderers ashore? To make it easier for them to kill and plunder. Aue!"
Purea felt annoyed with him. "If only a few of their people come ashore, they will not make trouble. They will know they are outnumbered. Suppose we invite their leaders and honor them as visiting chiefs."
Tutaha's eyes narrowed, then his eyebrows lifted. "Now I see where this is going.... Tell me who would give the feast and where."
Purea was startled by his sudden change in attitude. Was he plotting some deceit? For the moment she focused on setting forth her plan. "The feast could take place here."
"No. My throat is too thick with hate to speak to such people without spitting. I will not receive them."
Purea took a deep breath. "Then I will." The two men looked at each other.
Tutaha's face showed a mixture of distaste and awe. "You are willing to sit...with these ghosts from the Darkness?"
"I am."
Tutaha thought awhile and seemed to brighten. "I accept the idea," he announced. "I will give you all the pigs you need to feed the guests well. I will also provide the warriors."
Purea stared at him, understanding at last the reason for his capitulation. He would wait for her to lure the visitors to a feast, and then...
"What is the matter, my dear lady? This was your idea, was it not? Cut off the head of the lizard before it can bite."
"No!" Her retort was sharp. "Such an act would give grave offense to the gods."
"Only if these enemies are men like us," Tutaha tried to argue, but Purea remained adamant. She was surprised to hear Hau adding his voice to support her.
"Honored chief, I agree with Purea. Not only would such an act be a blow to our own honor, but it might well prove useless. The newcomers are too cautious to send all their principal people ashore. They will leave behind some who are resourceful enough to take over leadership. Then they will punish us for our folly."
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