The water slid by, helping her forget her turmoil. Vaguely she thought of sharks, but she did not consider them a threat to her now. The dangerous ones usually stayed near the pass to the sea.
The motions of swimming became as repetitive as the game of string figures had been. Once more she felt herself slipping into a daze. Lulled by the rhythm of stroking and the feel of the water sliding past, she grew less and less aware of her surroundings.
Then she seemed to hear a distant murmur of voices. She glimpsed a circle of human figures, men wearing tall feathers in their hair. They were priests squatting together in the sacred precincts of the marae.
The men were all staring at something, arguing, moving their hands. Tepua tried to see what they were looking at, but it lay deep in shadow. She strained to make out their words but all she could hear now was a rhythmic splash, splash, splash.
Something was poking her shoulder. She tried to pull away. "Tepua!" a voice shouted, and this time the sound was unmistakable. Her eyes opened. She stopped swimming and looked up to see Maukiri and Roki in an outrigger."We are going to our motu," said Maukiri. "Come in the vaka. It is too far for you to swim."
Tepua frowned, wishing her cousin would be quiet for a moment. She wanted to remember the vision, but it had faded. Below her, in the water, a long dark shape was circling.
"I am coming," said Tepua, glancing nervously at the shark. "I want to stay at Ata-ruru awhile." She took a place in the middle of the boat and picked up a paddle.
"We cannot stay long," said Maukiri. "Kohekapu wants to see you. Mother sent us out here only to clean up after yesterday's visit."
With three paddlers, the canoe reached the motu quickly. Maukiri led the way to the shady spot where she and Tepua had been sitting the previous day. The broken remains of the coconuts they had eaten lay in a heap beneath a spiky fara palm. Inedible parts of the orange-hued fara fruit were strewn with the rest.
From the canoe, Roki brought a shovel, a short pole lashed to part of a sea turtle's belly plate. She began to dig a hole in the sandy soil. When sweat ran down her back, she dropped the shovel and told Maukiri to finish the job.
Tepua watched grimly as the two sisters buried the refuse, then smoothed sand over the hole. She wondered if Ehi was taking her precautions too far. It would be bad, of course, for leavings from Tepua's meal to fall into the hands of an enemy. Natunatu might be able to fashion a powerful spell if she obtained something that had touched Tepua's lips.
Feeling downhearted over the trouble that she was causing, Tepua made no protest when Maukiri and Roki prepared to leave Ata-ruru. She had thought earlier that she might try living alone on this motu awhile, pulling up clams from the nearby shallows and drinking from coconuts. Now she wondered if she could be safe here.
As the three women headed back the air grew still and the surface of the lagoon became perfectly smooth. In the distance, two long canoes full of paddlers raced each other. From their cries, Tepua knew they were thinking only of their game.
She remembered other days as pleasant as this one, when she had run footraces along the beach or competed in diving for pearl shells. Now, despite the sky's brightness and the sun's warmth, she felt a chill that went deep beneath the skin. The paddle felt heavy in her hands and she had to force herself to keep stroking.
Suddenly the vision came back to her, and she understood what she had seen while swimming. The priests had been engaged in divination, trying to answer their concerns about the chiefly succession. This time she suspected that the gods had given an answer.
When she reached shore, the sun was high overhead, the glare on the sand almost blinding. Paruru emerged from the shade of the bordering palms and beckoned her to follow him. Behind the warrior Tepua saw many eyes watching her from the shadows.
Following Paruru, she approached her father's high-roofed house. To her surprise she saw Natunatu seated outside the long dwelling. Beside the chief's wife sat a youth Tepua did not know at once, a tall and well-made young man. Umia! She barely recognized him.
Umia lived with his uncle on another islet, so Tepua had not seen him often while he was growing up. In her memory he was still a youngster, running with his friends along the beach. "Life to you!" Tepua said, giving the traditional greeting, first to her father's wife, then to her half brother. Natunatu stared back in silence, her eyes seemingly unfocused. Umia responded coolly, "May you have life."
"That is no way for brother to greet sister," she said, waiting for him to stand and embrace her. He glanced uncomfortably toward Natunatu but did not rise.
Tepua lowered her voice. "None of this is my doing," she insisted. "I will not take what is yours. Even if the priests try to force me—"
"Do not make rash promises," said Umia. "Go inside. They are waiting for you."
"Brother—" She studied his downcast eyes, wishing she had some way to make him believe her. Then she heard soft voices from within the house; it seemed the same murmur she had listened to in the lagoon.
With a sigh she turned from Umia and entered the gloomy interior of the house. Leaving dazzling sunlight, at first she could not see anything within. Then her mouth opened and she nearly cried out in dismay. So many important people. As she came in they all grew silent.
Kohekapu remained in his bed, his covering of mats pulled up to his withered neck. He called to her in a tremulous voice. "Daughter, you must do as the priests and elders advise you. Follow their instructions and all will be well." Then he fell back, exhausted by this small effort.
Tepua turned to Faka-ora, the high priest, who sat closest to Kohekapu. His short beard was almost as gray as her father's. His body was lean, his face deeply wrinkled. His nose was like a small clam stuck in the middle of his face.
It was the wrath of this man that Tepua had feared when she first thought about returning home. But Faka-ora was evidently satisfied that the priests of Tahiti had freed her from her misdeeds. He welcomed her warmly and gazed at her with an expression of affection.
With the high priest sat the head of almost every clan of the atoll. Only Varoa and Rongo were not represented. One after another, the clan chief, man or woman, greeted her.
At last, Faka-ora began to speak. "Tepua-mua," he said in a quiet but authoritative voice. "I think you understand why we have come together for this meeting. The ancestors have given us a warning, and we cannot ignore it. Kohekapu is now too weak, and Umia too young to serve our people. But you are here—the highest born among us. It is through you that the gods will provide the leadership that we need."
He gestured toward the others. "The clan chiefs agree to accept your authority." He nodded toward Kohekapu. "Your father also wishes you to succeed him. And now that all are together in this, I urge that we do it quickly. We must invest you with the office, wrap the crimson cloth about your loins."
The mention of that sacred relic brought goose bumps to her arms. "But—" Tepua struggled for words. "Not every clan is present here. It is wrong to act without them."
The old priest grunted. "We cannot wait for those two stubborn ones to see what is apparent to everyone else."
"I saw Umia just now. He has grown—"
"No, Tepua," the priest chided. "We have studied the signs carefully, not once but many times. Umia is not ready. Nor do we dare trust anyone to act on his behalf."
A quiet voice sounded; everyone turned toward Kohe-kapu. "I think I know what is troubling my daughter," he began. "She has left a man in Tahiti."
A few eyebrows lifted at that pronouncement, and Tepua felt her face burn.
"You no longer have any sacred obligation to us," the priest told her. "There is no reason now that you cannot take a man. If this Tahitian of yours is of good birth, we will welcome him among us."
She could not answer. Matopahu's ancestry was at least as honored as her own, but what did that matter? He could not leave Tahiti, where he served as adviser to his brother, high chief over a vast territory.
"If you do not wish
to bring your Tahitian here," said Heka, chiefess of Piho Clan, to Tepua, "then why not choose someone from your own people? My brother Paruru is known throughout these islands as a man of courage and strength and good looks."
Other chiefs immediately began suggesting candidates. Faka-ora interrupted them. "This is no time to be discussing such questions. Tepua knows she can have her pick of consorts. We will even send canoes to the neighboring islands—"
"Enough!" said Tepua. "I will take no man here. My life is in Tahiti."
"Someday you will go back there," the priest answered in a gentle tone.
"But I am unprepared for this office!"
Faka-ora nodded his head. "Have no fear, Tepua. Have you forgotten who watches over you? The spirit of your ancestress will enter you and make you wise."
Her mouth opened, but now she could offer no reply. She was remembering the chant of her great forebear, who had ruled this atoll long ago. From early childhood Tepua had recited the words, even before she grasped their meaning.
I am Tapahi-roro-ariki,
The woman who was established on the land.
She felt gooseflesh rising as voices buzzed around her, discussing, planning. In her memory, the chant continued:
I am Tapahi-roro-ariki,
Who stood proudly in the marae.
"We need time to prepare the grand feast," one clan chief complained. "It will take days."
"We do not have days to spare," replied Faka-ora. "Send your people out to fish and to gather what they can. Everything must take place tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" another voice echoed with dismay.
"That is when the signs tell us to proclaim our new chief," said Faka-ora. "And now that all is decided, I must go. The marae must be readied, the underpriests reminded of their duties." He stood up and left the house. Tepua stared after him in disbelief.
What about Umia? Somehow she must make him understand that she was not pushing him aside. He would be chief soon. The priests could not hold her here forever.
Tepua spent the night in a special shelter erected for her just outside the high chief's sacred courtyard. This marae was the most revered ceremonial place that her atoll possessed. Only the great men and a few chosen women of the land dared approached it.
All through the hours of darkness she listened to the priests chanting as they called on the spirits, asking them to attend her investiture. All night the wind whistled through the branches of the lofty pukatea trees, bringing the gods' answers.
At dawn, groggy from lack of sleep, she saw a pair of young women approaching her. She emerged from the shelter and stood in deep shade under the flowering trees. The women washed her with fresh water, then rubbed her body with scented coconut oil. An underpriest, averting his eyes, brought her a garment, a simple plaited wrap, but one that had been sanctified in the marae.
From afar she heard a sound that made her shiver. The conch shell was being blown, its deep and resonant notes carried to her on the breeze. In every part of the atoll, she knew, people were being roused by that awesome sound.
Dressed and perfumed, she approached the marae. The courtyard, a neat rectangle floored with crushed white coral, stood ready for her. She glanced at the wooden coffers, the houses of god images, suspended one beside the other on poles above the stone platform at the end of the courtyard. Along the sides of the marae sat the elders on their four-legged stools, each man holding his carved ceremonial spear. The polished wood glinted as morning sunlight filtered through the broad-leaved pukatea trees.
Ahead of her, in solemn procession, marched Faka-ora and his assistants, the priests not yet arrayed in their finery. A crowd of highborn people stood watching from a respectful distance. Tepua shivered, hesitating for a moment at the low fence of woven fronds that bordered the courtyard. No woman except one of extraordinary birth could set foot in the marae. She had always been warned that the power of the gods would destroy a trespasser.
What if the gods did not judge her worthy? She had no time to reconsider. The priests were taking up their positions, waiting to be invested with the symbols and sacred garments of their office.
Drawing a deep breath, Tepua stepped across the line and felt a sharp tingle as her foot pressed into the finely crushed coral. She brought the other foot across, and then she raised her head high, gazing at Faka-ora with a feeling of triumph. If she could come this far, then perhaps she could manage the rest....
After that moment the ceremony seemed to blur. Priests made loud invocations. Drums and conch trumpets sounded. Finally there came a great chorus of indrawn breath as the maro kura, the sacred crimson loincloth, was unwound and displayed for all the notables to see. They gasped loudly at its brilliant color, elaborate fringing and fineness of its matting. With a slow and dignified tread, the priests began to wrap the maro kura about her waist, letting one end fall in front and the other in a regal drape behind. Then the cries rang out, Maeva ariki! Exalted be the chief!
From all about Tepua the tributes came. Seabirds swooped down over the marae. The surf boomed louder against the reef. Overhead, the pukatea trees waved their glossy leaves in greeting.
Later came a procession by water, a tour around the lagoon on the chief's elegantly decorated pahi. Along every shore the people stood and called to her, Maeva ariki! Children, decked in wreaths, danced on the beaches as she passed.
Even on the lands of Varoa and Rongo Clans many people waved, and hailed her as their high chief. She wondered about the people who refused to accept her. What would they do?
THREE
At midmorning several days later, on the seaward side of the island, a stiff wind was blowing. It came from the northeast, flinging spray and fine sand that stung Paruru's lips. The chief warrior stood on high ground, gazing past the white line of breakers where the sea pounded the outermost reef. Closer in, scattered about the barren tidal zone, lay tumbled blocks of pink and gray-white coral.
The tall coconut palms that lookouts climbed stood just behind him. Paruru had been summoned because of a sighting. He waited now while his men got a better look.
Shortly he heard a voice calling from the closest tree. "Canoe afar!" He frowned, glancing seaward, though he did not expect to spot anything from the ground. Then he looked up at the small figure high above him, clinging just below the fronds. "Who else sees it?" he called back.
For a moment there was a no answer. Perhaps this was a mistake, but he dared not dismiss it. What would Tepua think if he could not warn her of incoming canoes?
When he had gone to bring her home, he had never suspected that she was to be made chief. Often during the journey he had gazed at her, hoping for a glance in return. His own wife's spirit had long since gone to the ancestors, yet he had not found a woman to take her place.
He remembered how Tepua's black hair glistened as it tumbled in waves around her smooth and supple shoulders. He recalled the rich brown of her eyes and the proud way she walked. Were she not chief, how eager he would be for her caresses!
Paruru's sister, Heka, had pointed out what a fine pair they would make. Heka understood nothing about men! It was bad enough that his sister was head of his own clan, which resided principally on a separate islet of the atoll. If Tepua took him as her consort, then a woman would rule his household, his clan, and his tribe.
He could not imagine such a life. Even so, he found himself constantly thinking about ways to please his new chief. If visitors were coming, he would make sure that she had plenty of warning.
"Canoe! I see it!" came a second lookout's voice.
"Traders?" Paruru called back eagerly, feeling a tingle of anticipation. Traders from other islands were always welcome, not only because of the goods they carried. They would bring new songs and tales from afar. Paruru would get his share of attention when he told the visitors about his recent long voyage to Tahiti.
He knew another possibility, far less pleasant. The raiders known as Pu-tahi had been sighted recently in nearby waters. They might
be coming to his own atoll seeking spoils again—or human flesh for their ovens.
Scowling, Paruru shaded his eyes and peered once more at the horizon. He wished he could mount a force to stand against the Pu-tahi. His own men, brave as they were, had never proved a match for the ferocity of the raiders. Too many lives had been lost in fighting them.
If the man-eating enemies came again, he knew that he would have to withdraw. The clans would take to their canoes and hurry to distant islets of the lagoon. Perhaps the Pu-tahi would be content to plunder the abandoned houses. Or perhaps they would seek out stragglers, the weak and the old, taking them back as offerings to their gods....
"What kind of canoe?" he asked impatiently. When the men did not answer, Paruru decided to look for himself. He picked up a plaited climbing loop that someone had left on the ground. Choosing an unoccupied palm that leaned away from him, he stretched the band between his feet, grasped the tree with both hands and jumped onto its base, gripping with the callused arches of both feet. Bracing the loop against the ridged trunk for added support, he began to climb, pulling himself up in a series of bounds.
Paruru had once been the fastest tree climber among the island youths, but his spare frame had long since filled out. The extra flesh, as well as reduced practice, had hurt his agility. Today he felt even slower than usual. He hoped that the younger men did not notice.
When he reached the top, he saw the lookout in the next tree gesturing toward the horizon. Paruru squinted and followed the other's extended fingers. At first he could see nothing, but he did not wish to admit that the young man's eyesight was keener than his own. Then a white dot appeared, trembling against the blue sky.
"Sails!" Paruru said. An insect crawled across his bare foot. It made an annoying tickle, but he forced himself to concentrate on the distant horizon. Had the canoe vanished, heading in some other direction? No, there it was again on the crest of a blue-gray mound of ocean.
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