Child of the Dawn

by Coleman, Clare;

  Tepua halted, and whispered praise to all the gods who had helped her. At least Matopahu was safe. So long as he remained on sacred ground, no man would harm him. And one day she would show him his son....

  Still daydreaming, she didn't watch where she was walking until she felt Curling-leaf's warning touch on her arm. She glanced up with a start to see a tall wooden figure scowling at her from beneath the trees. The boundary of the high chief's land.

  "Too many people have been careless lately," whispered Curling-leaf. "Almost every day we hear that someone was caught trespassing against Land-crab. Then a warrior appears with his club, and another body is sent off to the marae. Or thrown to the sharks."

  Tepua was filled with outrage. "But none of it is his land!"

  "Do not say such things." Curling-leaf's expression was darkened by pain. "While you were gone, a priest here was possessed by the gods. He pronounced Land-crab to be the true ruler of the district. If anyone opposes him, the priest says, a great wave will sweep from the sea to punish us."

  Tepua clapped her hand across her mouth to keep from shouting in anger. "Who would believe such a lie?"

  "Of course, not everyone accepts this oracle," Curling-leaf admitted. "But we know what happens to those who speak against it."

  Tepua wrapped her arms about the nearest coconut tree and tried to expend her fury by shaking it. Suddenly she heard voices.

  "Shhh." Curling-leaf pulled her down. Both women lay on their bellies and whispered hasty prayers. The voices came from within the high chief's boundaries, and Tepua realized that she was hearing a pair of Land-crab's servants.

  She poked her head up just high enough to see. Within the protected land, palms gave way to breadfruit. Tepua watched with astonishment as one servant lifted a forked pole and used it to pull a barely ripened fruit from the tree. When the breadfruit dropped, the second man caught it deftly and lowered it into his basket.

  Tepua's mouth fell open. The time for harvesting had not yet come! The trees were still under tapu. The first fruits must be dedicated to the gods after elaborate ceremonies at the marae, and these ceremonies were still days away.

  The fools will die for this, she thought. But as she watched, she realized that the two servants seemed unafraid, talking and laughing as they worked. They were evidently following Land-crab's orders. She lowered her head and waited for the pair to finish and move on.

  As soon as the footsteps died away, Curling-leaf grabbed Tepua's hand and tugged her back in the direction of the performance house. "We saw nothing," Curling-leaf insisted. "Land-crab cannot be eating breadfruit yet."

  "Is he collecting them for sport?" Tepua asked, disgusted. What kind of man is this Land-crab, who thinks himself more worthy than the gods?

  Tepua left her friend and returned to her task of plaiting mats. Sitting with the other Arioi women near the new performance house, she felt none of the gaiety that had marked preparation for previous festivals. And she was not the only one affected by growing apprehension. Everyone worked in silence, their expressions glum, their shoulders bowed.

  The situation with the Arioi men was hardly different. Tepua glimpsed no sign of enthusiasm as they lashed planks to the viewing platform. Everyone seemed driven by the fear of Land-crab's priests and warriors rather than by a joyful desire to please the gods.

  She saw now that her hopes for sparking a new rebellion against Land-crab were in vain. He was as firmly in control of his Arioi as he was of everyone else. No one here would dare risk rousing his ire.

  Had her visions before Ruro's birth misled her after all? What future was left for her son? She wanted to speak with Aitofa, but how could she face the chiefess when she must lie about her child?

  Tepua tried to fight a rising sense of despair. Land-crab had the upper hand now, but he could not keep it forever. He was already so arrogant that he defied the gods' tapu. In time he would answer for his sins.

  The start of the Ripening Festival finally arrived. When she went out at first light, Tepua saw people from the closest precincts already coming with their offerings. The men carried poles across their shoulders, a basket holding breadfruits and bananas hanging from one end, a piglet dangling by its feet from the other. These first fruits were to be laid before the gods. After a share was dedicated to the divine ones, the rest could be eaten by mortals.

  The excitement of the day seemed to make people forget the tyranny that oppressed them. Even Tepua tried to put her grievances aside. There would, of course, be no satire directed against Land-crab at this time. But the entire Season of Plenty lay ahead. Perhaps a chance would arise.

  In the bathing pool the splashing of the Arioi women grew boisterous. When Pehu-pehu came to intervene, Tepua thought she saw a twinkle of merriment in the Blackleg's eyes. This was a day of rejoicing, after all. The gods should be pleased to see everyone happy.

  Only when the Blackleg's gaze turned toward Tepua did her expression harden. She barked a few words of rebuke. As everyone expects her to do. Tepua gritted her teeth and climbed out of the pool.

  Soon all the Arioi had donned their costumes and paint. They stood on the beach, helping to greet the arriving visitors, whose canoes were laden with gifts. These offerings are for the gods, not for Land-crab, Tepua kept telling herself. Yet she knew that the chief would have his pick.

  At last, with great pomp, the usurper came, riding his bearer. Criers ran before him, proclaiming his greatness in flowery words. Men and women along the route lowered their eyes and bared their shoulders in humble acknowledgment of his authority. Tepua hid behind a palm tree so that the chief's attendants would not see her lack of deference.

  She could not help peering out as Land-crab was carried past. She had hoped that, like other chiefs, he might grow fat and soft with overindulgence. To her chagrin, she saw that he had not changed much. His gaze remained sharp and his body still appeared powerful. He held himself in regal fashion, seemingly paying no heed to the masses who lined the way. Yet Tepua sensed that nothing missed his gaze. In a single glance he had taken in the wealth of offerings displayed, but he kept his reaction to himself.

  Following Land-crab's appearance, priests garbed in feathered breastplates and fine mat skirts began the grand procession. Their conch-trumpets made such a din that Tepua knew the distant gods must take notice. She watched in silent fury as the priests headed toward the marae, followed by an army of attendants who carried the offerings. He is the false chief. Matopahu and his son deserve these honors.

  Tepua and most of the others had to view the ceremonies from a distance. Only noblemen of the highest rank were permitted onto the sacred paving stones of the marae. Common people stood beneath the surrounding high trees and chanted their own prayers, bringing out small images of the personal gods who protected them. Tepua possessed no image of Tapahi-roro-ariki, but she required none. If she closed her eyes, she could see the strong features of her ancestress, the great chiefess of long ago.

  Tapahi-roro-ariki. Was she not much like the Purea of Tepua's vision? Though Purea's life lay yet ahead, though she had not even been born, Tepua saw a similarity between the two women. Each had a quiet strength, a determination to fight when necessary, and a willingness to try peaceful means for gaining her ends.

  Tepua herself lay in the middle, the cord of sennit that joined these extraordinary figures. If the cord frayed and the joining failed...No. Tepua prayed softly, gathering her courage. She thought of Ruro, growing rapidly in Round-pebble's care. Someday he would return to his family's lands. He would be the next length of the sacred line....

  Cries of rejoicing rose as the first great ceremony ended. A procession of attendants began carrying away the portions of food that would be eaten by the chiefs and by the Arioi. Tepua lingered awhile, watching the common people wait impatiently for their own shares. When the temple attendants finally did bring forth what was left of piles of fruit, coconuts, fowls, and pigs, she heard a low rumble of disappointment from all sides. How little had
been left to the people!

  "Come. You are wanted." Tepua heard Maukiri's voice behind her. She tried to put aside her indignation over the greed of Land-crab and his friends. She hurried back to the performance house, where the members of the troupe were assembling. Some will go hungry today, she thought. Others, who do not deserve it, will be too stuffed to move.

  Late that evening, after the day's formalities had ended, the drummers started up again. Moonlight flooded the assembly ground as the Arioi and their many admirers gathered for dancing. Tepua needed no partner. The exhilaration of the earlier performance by her troupe remained with her. She felt the music guiding her feet, making her hips roll. She laughed as she watched a group of children trying to imitate her.

  From the shadows, a tall figure stood watching. Tepua felt a momentary shudder. Until now, she had tried to remain inconspicuous. During the performance she had been glad to stay in the back of the group, keeping her dancing subdued. Evidently this one man had noticed her. He took a step forward and she caught a glimpse of red and black paint smeared over most of his face and body.

  The strange Arioi was adorned in comical fashion. Strings of mismatched shells hung across his chest. Short feathers stuck out in odd directions from his headdress of beach vines. His cloak was absurdly short, barely reaching his knees. She was sure she had never seen him in the troupe, but something about him seemed hauntingly familiar.

  He took another step forward. Tepua gaped. No Arioi she knew moved in such a smooth and powerful manner. As soon as she recognized his stride, she saw through the absurd costume. She controlled her urge to leap out of the dance and run to Matopahu's side. Instead she lifted her hand in recognition, blending her signal into the movement of her dance. She saw him retreat into the deeper shadows beyond the clearing.

  Somehow she kept herself from running to him. She frolicked with the children, giving the girls a short lesson, all the while imagining what lay ahead. Then, her pulse pounding with the drumbeat, she slipped away in search of Matopahu.

  What a risk he had taken, walking right into Land-crab's camp. She knew he had done this before, but now the danger seemed far worse. Her thoughts returned to her own plight. Had he heard about her exile in the highlands? She dared tell him nothing about the outcome. For now, little Ruro's existence must be kept secret even from his father.

  Tepua found Matopahu leaning against a palm tree. "Who is this Arioi dancer?" he asked quietly. "With so much paint on her face, I do not recognize her."

  She flung herself into his embrace and whispered fiercely, "Land-crab's men—"

  "Mean nothing to me," he answered, pressing his warm hands against her back and his nose against her cheek.

  She could scarcely catch her breath. How long it had been since she last saw him! She feared he had become just a beloved image in her memory. Yet he was here now, surrounding her with the aroma and warmth of his presence. She wanted to sing out her affection for him, but other words had to come first, words on which his life and future might depend. "The people who were your friends are afraid now," she tried to warn. "This false oracle—"

  Matopahu drew her close, wrapping her so deeply in his arms that she felt she might melt into him.

  "Do not worry for me, atoll flower," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Only fools believe that babble."

  Tepua nestled her head beneath his chin. She could feel the powerful throb of his pulse at the base of his neck. She wished she could cast all interfering thoughts aside and just enjoy the moment. Yet her doubts spoke. "Land-crab has become so strong. What can we do?"

  "I have allies. On Eimeo. Putu-nui cannot support me openly, but some of his warriors have promised to fight with me."

  She stiffened and pulled back, looking into his eyes. The thought of his going into battle dismayed her, yet she had long known that this must come. "Then you plan an attack? Soon?"

  "Not yet. We will choose our time. We would not do our cause any good by defiling the ceremony of the gods."

  "Then I will be your spy," she whispered. "I will make it my business to know everything that Land-crab does."

  "Yes." His hands drew her to him again, caressing her shoulders, the hollows of her neck. She snuggled closer to him, basking in his warmth.

  A new hope grew. The return of the Arioi to their home might indeed be a sign of the gods' favor. Now she would be able to help Matopahu as she could not have done otherwise. In time Land-crab would get careless, drink too much ava, allow his guards to grow lax.

  "Come," said Matopahu. "We cannot stay here. I have my canoe nearby. It may be a bit uncomfortable, but—"

  Tepua laughed, and followed him to the beach.

  Together the couple paddled from shore until the rush and sigh of waves breaking on the outer reef swallowed the distant drumming. Looking back, Tepua saw fires on the beach and tiny figures moving. Soon the figures grew too distant to see and the fires showed as flickering orange stars far across the water.

  This part of the lagoon was open and deep, with no sandy islets or coral heads; the canoe could drift safely. Matopahu took the paddles and laid them aside. He whispered her name as she turned to face him.

  The hull seemed too narrow and deep for hanihani, but he was undaunted by the challenge. Moonlight gleamed on the strong curves of his arms as he placed a bundle of mats in the bottom of the canoe.

  "You are well prepared," she chided playfully. "You have done this before."

  "Before I found you, I did many strange and foolish things." The craft rocked slightly as Matopahu took off his absurd necklaces, then beckoned her to him. His maro fell away; she saw that he was ready for her.

  She came close, kneeling on the mats, and leaned into his arms. The heat of his body pressed against her.

  The dancing had started little tickles of pleasure running up through her breasts and down past her belly. The firmness of his embrace heightened the feelings that the dance had begun. He pulled her closer, wrapping a cloak around them both to keep off the sea breeze.

  The canoe rocked gently, but the outrigger kept it from tipping. Floating in the middle of the lagoon, surrounded by night, she put aside the troubles that had followed her for so long. Here was Hina the moon goddess again, as bright and radiant as on the evening of Matopahu's triumph. Here was the fresh smell of the sea....

  When he lifted her onto him, she cried out with delight, not caring if she startled every fish in the lagoon. He moved slowly at first, whispering, and then starting to sing softly. For an instant Tepua was startled to hear the words that she so often sang to herself—in the language of her own people.

  "Here I go, parting the waves," he chanted. "Here I sail, cleaving the sea." His voice was low and teasing as he moved with the same rhythm as the rocking canoe.

  Her sighs were soon overwhelmed by a much stronger pleasure as he thrust himself deeper. Abandoning herself to sensation, she braced herself against his shoulders and did her part. You are the canoe and I am the vast deep, she thought.

  Beyond her, over the water, she imagined torches burning, flying fish leaping toward the light. Everything around her was filled with brightness and color. She pictured the glowing mantles of giant clams on the sandy bottom, and luminous jellyfish rising. The images grew brighter. The moon rivaled the sun.

  After they had clung together awhile, Tepua gently pulled away from Matopahu. He heard her whisper a women's chant, then plunge into the water. She splashed a short while before urging him to follow.

  With a cry of delight, Matopahu dove after her, plummeting toward the depths in a cloud of bubbles. What a fine night for swimming, he thought. He would catch her, and then they would go back to the canoe.

  But a sudden and unexpected fright gripped him. Why was the water so cold? And why did he feel such a desperate need for air? Fighting panic, he stroked with broad sweeps of his arms and began to come back up.

  The surface seemed too far away. He lost his sense of direction and could not tell if he was actually risi
ng. Water pressed in on his ears and mouth and nose, and he thought that he could not hold it back.

  Then his head broke the surface and he took large, gasping breaths. Where was Tepua? He hoped she did not hear his labored wheezing.

  At last Matopahu found strength to swim slowly toward his canoe. He still did not know what had happened, but certain incidents came back to him. In the last round of the archery contest his fingers had briefly gone numb. He had blamed that on the cold, but he wondered if the lingering effect of Land-crab's curse was to blame. Now that he was in Tahiti, close to the corpse of his brother, perhaps he was even more vulnerable.

  Clinging to the outrigger, Matopahu tried to will away his fears. The god of the marae had touched him, but he was not free of the binding. So said Imo and Eye-to-heaven. Tonight he was almost willing to believe them.

  "Tepua," he called in a voice that sounded hoarse and weak to his ears.

  "I am here," she answered. "Come after me."

  Matopahu frowned. He had no strength left for games. "Not now. I have to take you back."

  When he was in the canoe again, he began to feel better. They paddled in silence toward a dark stretch of beach. In the distance, drums still beat for the throngs of dancers.

  asked him as the canoe grounded softly in the shallows.

  "I have a hideaway up the coast, but there is only room for one. Otherwise I would take you with me." He dragged the canoe up the beach a short way, then stood with her on the shore.

  "Tomorrow—"

  "I will find you." He clasped her to him for one parting embrace. But he could not leave yet. "Atoll flower, there is something I must ask."

  He felt her stiffen. Perhaps there was a secret she had kept from him. He freed her from his arms, but held her gaze, looking deep into her eyes. "You left the troupe," he said. "I heard rumors that you were carrying a child. I did not want to ask you about it, but now my thoughts are on nothing else."