Child of the Dawn

by Coleman, Clare;

  With a final outflame of strength, Tepua snatched the infant away. At the same instant, the baby gave a huge gasp and began to wail. Tepua cradled her son to her in exultation. The child had taken its first breath! Now the baby was truly alive, filled with its vital essence. To harm it after this would be a grave offense against the gods.

  She stood back, her son in her arms, staring defiantly at Pehu-pehu. In the growing light of the morning, the Blackleg wiped the blood from her upper lip and returned the stare. Cold anger spread across Pehu-pehu's features. "Have you forgotten the curse on Matopahu?" she asked harshly. "His line must end. Everyone accepts that. Everyone but you."

  "Not everyone," Tepua answered, taking another step backward.

  "If this child survives, your people will be plunged into war again. Wind-driving Lodge will be destroyed in the battle. Is that what you want?"

  "Why should you care about the lodge or my people?" Tepua flung back. "You belong in Eimeo. Go back to your own troupe and leave me to deal with this."

  "I am not through with you, Tepua. The child has no right to live." Suddenly the Blackleg snatched her weapon and lunged forward again. Maukiri gave a sharp cry and tried to block her. Hugging the infant, Tepua dodged the clutching hands, but that was all she could do. The birth and the struggle had drained her.

  Pehu-pehu slapped Maukiri aside, but the younger woman attacked again, leaping onto the Blackleg's back. Even while Tepua's cousin clawed at the Blackleg's face, Pehu-pehu struck again with her knife, trying to wound the child. Tepua had no strength left, and Maukiri could not hold off Pehu-pehu by herself.

  Suddenly someone grabbed the Blackleg's elbow. With a shock, Tepua realized that it was Stay-long. Other manahune women joined in, dragging Pehu-pehu off.

  "How dare you interfere?" the Blackleg bellowed as a female hand wrested the blade from her and lobbed it into the bushes. "You do not understand!"

  Tepua saw Stay-long's face harden. "You had your proper chance," she answered sternly. "I did nothing then. But the child has drawn breath. To kill it now would be a sacrilege."

  As Pehu-pehu continued to struggle in the grip of the others, Stay-long spoke to Tepua. "I thought she was my friend, but now I know why you did not trust her. She makes herself out to be an instrument of the gods. If the child is to die after this, then the high ones will see to it without her help."

  Stay-long turned to Pehu-pehu sternly. "You are no longer welcome here. Go now—at once—and we will not harm you. Remain, and I promise nothing." At Stay-long's signal the women released their captive. "Manahune pig," said Pehu-pehu. "Your meddling will change nothing." She angrily strode off in the direction of the nearest stream. There, Tepua knew, she would chant a prayer for purification and wash off the birth blood that the struggle had left on her.

  Trying to ignore the Blackleg's threatening words, Tepua accepted a drink of cool water while she held the baby to her breast. He was not ready to try sucking yet, but seemed content just to stare in wonder at the strange world around him. She gazed down, almost unable to believe that her body had brought forth this amazing little creature. He had Matopahu's ears and crisp curly hair, but the sculpting of his cheeks, the line of his jaw, and the large eyes beneath arched eyebrows all seemed her own.

  I will call him Ruro-iti, she thought, because he fluttered like a little bird the first time I felt him. Someday, of course, he would take a formal name from his ancestors. But for now, Ruro would do.

  Finally Tepua felt exhaustion claim her. She lay down and closed her eyes, the baby in her arms a warm and satisfying weight. Now she could sleep....

  But no. Suddenly she grasped what Pehu-pehu had meant. Her eyelids flew open and she sat up, gazing at Maukiri. She had saved the child, but its life was still in danger. Land-crab must never learn of this birth.

  "We must stop Pehu-pehu," she said weakly. "If she tells what has happened, my son is doomed."

  "Stop her?" asked Maukiri. "Is it possible?"

  Stay-long frowned. "I will do anything I can to help my friends. But that woman is high in the ranks of the Arioi. To take her life would be too dangerous."

  "Is there no other way?" asked Maukiri. 'Those demons of yours—"

  Stay-long's eyebrows raised. "She was always so careful. If only I had a lock of her hair..."

  Maukiri began searching the ground where she and Pehu-pehu had scuffled. Suddenly she snatched up something. "Look at this!" She thrust out her hand, showing a crumpled piece of bark-cloth. "It tore from the Blackleg's robe when I was fighting with her. Can you use it?"

  A cold smile lit Stay-long's face. "Let me see what I can do."

  Tepua woke with Ruro-iti in her arms when she felt a shadow fall over her. She looked up and saw that the women were building a shelter over her where she lay, tying sheets of pandanus thatch onto roof poles. With surprise and gratitude, she realized that they were erecting the traditional fare-hua, where a new mother and her infant could be secluded from the rest of the world. But the moment was ruined by the sight of Pehu-pehu standing close by, washed, garbed in a fresh robe, looking fully recovered from her struggle. The Blackleg had seemingly forgotten her defeat. Now a glow of triumph stretched across her face.

  "She is leaving," said Stay-long, who sat outside the shelter, directing the women who were building it. "Pay no need to her, Tepua."

  "There is one last thing," the Blackleg said, taking a single step closer. "Someday you will come back to see your friends, and I will be there to watch them greet you with jeers. Let me tell you the one piece of news that I have been saving all these days. The players are back home. Wind-driving Lodge has already made peace with Land-crab."

  "A lie!" Tepua shouted. And yet, she knew it was possible. Pehu-pehu had been willing to take her back in the troupe, so long as she remained childless. Why, unless Tepua no longer posed a threat to her?

  "It is so," the Blackleg explained cheerfully. "While you were gone during the dry season, I worked hard for the reconciliation. Soon I will have my reward. I will replace Aitofa in title as well as in power."

  "No." In her fury, Tepua almost forgot the child. What had she done—abandoning the people who needed her? Her son—Matopahu's son—had been saved, but at what cost?

  "I know little of these squabbles," said Stay-long, interrupting. "But let me warn you of one thing, Pehu-pehu. You must tell no one that the child is alive. Otherwise, I promise you such pain that you will cast yourself from a cliff to end it."

  The Blackleg's face paled, but she quickly recovered. "I sneer at manahune sorcery," she answered. "There is no way you can harm me."

  Stay-long smiled calmly and replied, "Surely, in the lowlands, they speak of 'setting the hook.'"

  "Yes. And I know what is needed for that. You do not have it. Not a hair. Not a scrap of anything that touched my lips."

  "I trust that you buried your bloodied robe carefully."

  "No one will find it."

  "Except for the piece that you left behind."

  The Blackleg's eyes widened. Stay-long suddenly began to chant, using words that made Tepua shiver. She knew what had happened to the crucial piece of tapa, which had been in intimate contact with the Blackleg's skin. Stay-long had taken it, with elaborate ceremony, to the strange-eyed figures in her little house. She had made promises and threats, until the demons agreed to serve her. Now they possessed a means to invade Pehu-pehu's body....

  "I have heard enough nonsense," the Blackleg said, but her voice was nervous. "I am leaving you now. I have no doubt that my guardian spirit will keep me safe." She turned, lifted her basket of belongings, strode off. Tepua half rose to her feet with a hopeless notion of trying to stop her. Stay-long's chants grew louder, calling on her minions to attack. The Blackleg strode quickly toward the path.

  Then came a scream as Pehu-pehu clutched her belly, stumbled, and sprawled in the dust. "Stop this," she cried between gasps. "Call off your fiends."

  "Not until the hook is well set," answered the ta
hutahu.

  The Blackleg screamed again. "I am high Arioi. I am avae parai of Wind-driving Lodge!"

  "Good. Then people will believe it when you say the child is dead."

  Writhing in her agony, Pehu-pehu pleaded again.

  "I am waiting to hear your oath," answered Stay-long unhurriedly. "Swear by all the gods—by Oro himself."

  Pehu-pehu's wail split the air.

  Tepua held Ruro-iti close and looked away.

  TWENTY

  The days that followed were filled with rituals—to protect the child and mother and keep spiritual harm from coming to everyone involved in the birth. Not all the ceremonies that Ruro-iti required could be performed here, with his father absent and his ancestral marae far away. Stay-long's husband, who was the local priest as well as the headman, did his best for Tepua and her new son. The rest would have to come later, perhaps when Ruro was much older.

  For some time, mother and child lived in the temporary nursing shelter, the fare-hua that the women had built for her. Tepua wore special clothes, given to her by Stay-long, and had to change out of them whenever she went outside. She was also forbidden to feed herself, because the sacred essence that was so concentrated and powerful in the newborn ari 'i might enter her food and prove too powerful for her stomach.

  Her cousin cheerfully served as her assistant, placing food in the new mother's mouth. Maukiri was not above teasing Tepua, however, and the eating ritual became a game that both women enjoyed. But this could not go on much longer, Tepua knew. She would have to be freed of the restrictions far sooner than was customary for a woman of her class.

  At the proper time, Pig-bone placed the child's detached navel cord in a length of bamboo and buried it secretly, after many prayers, in his marae. This was the first step in permitting Ruro to come forth safely into the world.

  Tepua kept the child at her breast until an entire moon had passed. Every clear night she glanced anxiously at the sky, watching the progression of the stars. Soon the Ripening Festival would come, marking the beginning of the season of plenty, the period for feasts and celebration. Her Arioi troupe would be active again, a vital force in the life of the people, even though they now served Land-crab.

  She knew that Aitofa needed her now more than ever before. Perhaps Pehu-pehu hadn't won her victory yet; Tepua might help turn the tide. But if Tepua did not return soon, suspicions would arise about the outcome of her pregnancy. She saw no choice but to leave her son behind in the care of the manahune.

  Gradually, and with great unhappiness, Tepua began bringing "the little bird" to Stay-long's cousin, Round-pebble, for feedings. Round-pebble had nearly finished weaning her own son, and had readily agreed to nurse Ruro for as long as Tepua needed.

  Another moon passed. Tepua could delay no longer. She knew there was a risk. Pehu-pehu might not honor the oath that Stay-long had forced on her. But the Blackleg understood what swift and harsh punishment the spirits would bring.

  At last, with her breasts still aching, Tepua, along with Maukiri, took her leave of the highland settlement. The manahune women groaned and wailed at their departure. Tepua promised she would soon return with many gifts, but her promise only made the wailing louder.

  Tepua thought her own grief was the greatest, for she was leaving her son behind. Ruro-iti had become such a part of her life that she could no longer imagine being without him. "I will be back for you," she promised on the morning of departure, pressing her nose for one last time to the smooth and fragrant skin of his cheek. "It will not be long."

  As Tepua journeyed downhill toward familiar territory, she began to feel the exhilaration of going home. After descending the steep mountain trails, she and Maukiri reached the first signs of a coastal settlement. Emerging into a valley, she saw breadfruit trees in neat rows, and thatched houses surrounded by low bamboo fencing. Dogs with upright ears lolled in the shade. Children played quietly in the well-swept yards.

  The perfumes from flowering trees filled the air— hibiscus, jasmine, and many others. Birdsong that she had not heard in months cheered Tepua as she walked. Now and again she caught sight of a swooping gull, a sign that the sea could not be far off.

  The women followed a riverbank as the valley widened. All this lush and green land belonged to the district of Tahiti that Tepua loved best—the realm of Matopahu's ancestors. This was the domain that now belonged to her son. How Ruro would claim it she did not know, but she was determined to gain him his birthright.

  The thought that someone here might have news of Matopahu sped Tepua's steps, making Maukiri hurry to keep up. Soon she was passing houses that she recognized, calling greetings to women who sat at their work in the shade. These women looked unexpectedly thin, and decidedly glum. They barely acknowledged her cries of "Life to you!"

  Tepua paused to wait for her cousin to catch up. "Did you see those women? The dry season must have been harsh. But soon—" Tepua swept her hand toward high branches where the yellow-green globes of breadfruit hung. The time for first harvest was fast approaching.

  Maukiri licked her lips at the mention of food. She, too, looked thin. Months had passed since either woman had tasted breadfruit, coconuts, or reef fish. "For your sake, I missed one great festival," said Tepua's cousin. "I do not want to miss another."

  Yet Tepua knew that she would not enjoy herself in the coming season. She would have to face her old Arioi companions and act as though she deserved to be among them. She would have to perform in front of Land-crab and treat him with respect he did not merit. Perhaps, worst of all, she would have to deal with Pehu-pehu.

  Tepua was willing to endure all this for Ruro's sake. To protect her son, she would pretend that he had never drawn a breath. Everyone must see her dancing again, an active member of the Arioi troupe. And perhaps she could do more than just dance—she could work to bring the usurper down.

  "I smell the sea air!" Maukiri proclaimed, suddenly sprinting ahead of her cousin. Indeed, Tepua was now catching glimpses of the lagoon through the trees. After so many moons! She forgot her gloomy thoughts and hurried after Maukiri. Ahead, beside the river's mouth, lay a gravel beach where waves rolled to shore through a break in the reef.

  Maukiri flung her wrap aside and plunged in, with Tepua at her heels. How wonderful to taste salt again! And to hear the roar of distant breakers! As Tepua frolicked in the surf, she remembered the last time she had played in the sea—and felt a twinge of pain at the memory. How excited and foolish she had been then. How much she had endured since that time to keep her child.

  At last the two women came out and stood, still dripping, on the shore. The sun was setting, and the sea breeze had started to come in. "We could spend the night right here," Tepua suggested. She did not want to face the Arioi until morning.

  She turned her head at the sound of familiar voices, and realized that she no longer had a choice. Led by Curling-leaf, a small crowd of Arioi women was converging on the beach. Tepua's special friend broke from the rest, ran up, and embraced her while the others looked on with curiosity. "I was afraid for you," Curling-leaf said, hugging Tepua tightly. "But you look well."

  Tepua was glad that her friend asked no further questions. She was unwilling now to tell anyone here, no matter how trustworthy, about Ruro. "Yes, I am well. But I have heard only rumors about our lodge—"

  "You must be careful," answered Curling-leaf, lowering her voice. "Everything has changed. We are back home, but we are not the same troupe that left. No one dares speak against Land-crab."

  Tepua stiffened. "That is what I expected. Tell me about Aitofa."

  Curling-leaf spoke in a whisper. "She tried to stop it. Now "she can only whisper of rebellion."

  "Against—"

  "No more now," Curling-leaf cautioned.

  Tepua stamped her foot in frustration. What news of Matopahu? If only she could ask. "We will talk later," Tepua said, and straightened up, remembering the impression she must make on the others. Her hopes depended on bringing off thi
s deception. Everyone must think that she had carried out her duty and was now returning to her proper place.

  "So you are back," came the booming voice of Pehu-pehu as Tepua approached the first cluster of thatched huts near the beach.

  She turned to face the Blackleg, but stood her ground. Tepua remembered how this woman had writhed in agony and begged for relief from Stay-long's friends. Perhaps the experience had made her just a bit more humble.

  "You have been gone a long while," said Pehu-pehu. "I trust you have not forgotten your recitations and your dance movements."

  "I have not," she answered staunchly.

  "Good. I will watch you carefully to make certain."

  And I will watch you also, you treacherous eel. Tepua knew that she was playing a difficult part now. She and Pehu-pehu were both part of a performance that neither wanted. They must go on as they had before—the demanding Blackleg and the troublesome young dancer. She wondered how long they could keep up the pretense.

  Early the next morning, a party of women went to gather fronds for plaiting mats. Tepua had already seen that a new performance house stood almost ready on a fresh site near the shore. Polished timbers made from entire palm trees supported the high, thatched roof. A viewing platform, of planks lashed together, was nearing completion by a large gang of men. Floor mats remained in short supply, so she joined the women assigned to make them.

  Tepua went with her companions to gather coconut fronds that had been spread to dry in the sun. Far better work could be done with the scarcer and tougher leaves of pandanus, but time was running short. Soon the performance house must be ready for the opening events of the season.

  On her third collecting trip she saw Curling-leaf. "Slip away with me," Tepua begged. She longed for a few words alone.

  They went deep into the palm grove, out of sight of the others. "Matopahu is back in Eimeo," Curling-leaf whispered, in response to Tepua's first question. "Eye-to-heaven is now an underpriest at Putu-nui's marae, and your ari'i has become his humble attendant. That is all I have heard."