Sister of the Sun

by Coleman, Clare;

  She called to the few people left on shore, and to those brave ones who were creeping back from the shadows. "Bring gifts of friendship—mats, baskets. Light a fire and bake food for the strangers." Then she turned once more toward the mourning sailor.

  She knew only one way to express her feelings, her aroha. She let out a mourning wail, as if one of her own people had died. The women on shore understood at once; they also began to wail. Some picked up sharp pieces of coral and gashed their foreheads. Then others came out from hiding, a long line of women. They waded a few steps into the water and faced the strange vaka. The din of their cries, Tepua hoped, would be heard even by the gods of these foreigners.

  At last the grieving sailor looked up and made signs toward Tepua. He wanted to come ashore, she realized. He pantomimed digging a hole, burying the body.

  "We cannot allow that," Tepua called back sadly.

  The man made more signs and beat his fist angrily against the side of the boat.

  "No. That is not our custom." Tepua was relieved to see the high priest coming in a canoe to speak with her.

  "Tell him," said Faka-ora shortly, "that the corpse must be given to the sea. The great waters will make it clean."

  "You must go out," she called to the sailor as she pointed to the pass. "Out to the ocean again. We will help you, and then we will bring you back here. We are your friends."

  The stranger stared at her in silence. She could not tell if he believed her. Those eyes spoke of thoughts that she feared she might never understand.

  Sometime later, after the tide had nearly ceased to ebb, Paruru stood on shore while he watched the dead man's journey begin. Taking advantage of the slight outward current, a pahi began towing the foreign craft toward the pass. Paruru observed this operation with relief. He knew the importance of sending the dead man's soul on its way. The spirit could cause grave harm if allowed to linger here.

  Earlier, Paruru had watched the stranger with water eyes wrap a piece of sailcloth around his fallen friend, weighting the contents with blocks of coral sent from shore. Now the outsider sat staring at the bundle he had placed in the bow of the boat. The other surviving sailor, the one with red hair, had recovered somewhat, and sat close by his grieving companion. But the younger man kept looking about nervously, as if afraid that another spear might come.

  All along the shore, people stood gazing at the odd procession. Many continued their mourning, men as well as women. For now, all attention was directed toward the boats.

  Paruru glanced around and was glad to see that no one was watching him. What he had to do now would not please Faka-ora. But Paruru had spoken with another priest, and believed that he could carry through his plan safely.

  As he waded out toward where the foreign vessel had been anchored, Parana recalled with satisfaction the bold moment of his attack. Even the weapon's roar had not shaken him. How many other warriors could boast of facing such a danger? Soon, travelers would carry songs of his deed throughout the atolls. People would speak of the weapon he had overcome, calling it the thunder-club or the spewer-of-smoke.

  It troubled him that Tepua seemed far more angry with him than impressed by his courage. In time, he hoped, she would understand what had happened, realizing that he had saved her life from another blast of that terrible weapon. And greater things might come of this incident....

  Paruru waded deeper, feeling warm water swirl about his thighs. At the edge of the sloping reef flat, he dove into the clear depths. He swam a short way out, and then down. The dropped weapon lay just below him, resting among the dark sea cucumbers. The thing lay in plain view, where anyone could find it. He did not want to lose this prize.

  As a boy, seeking pearl shells, he had often gone far deeper. He remembered holding on to ledges, pulling himself along the bottom, staying under longer than any of his friends. But now, as he kicked his way into the chillier depths, he felt an unexpected need for air. He stretched his arm downward, but the bottom still lay out of reach.

  Angry with himself, he came up gasping for breath. What a fool—to dive without preparing himself! Swimming toward a submerged coral head, he found a place to stand. With waves lapping at his shoulders, he whispered a brief prayer to his guardian spirit.

  Next he began his exercise, pulling in deep breaths and blowing them out quickly. Again and again he did this, until he felt almost dizzy. This time he carried a chunk of coral, to make the descent easier. He dove once more, using feet and his free hand to help pull himself under. The water pressed against his ears and eyes with a force stronger than any he remembered.

  This was not right. Some evil force was trying to keep him from the weapon. He refused to give in to it, though the pain in his ears grew fierce. Kicking with a frenzy, he fought his way down to the stony floor. Then his hand touched the hard shaft of the weapon and he closed his fingers around it.

  Releasing his stone, he rose in a cloud of bubbles, his body upright, his hands Taised over his head. As he neared the surface he remembered to pull the weapon out of sight. His head and shoulders broke the surface, and then he felt acute pain shooting through his body. He could scarcely see and barely had strength to keep his head afloat.

  For a time he knew only the pain that filled him. At first he feared this was his punishment for touching the foreign thing. Then he recognized the diver's agony, though it had never afflicted him so severely. The suffering would end soon, he knew, and then all would be well.

  Slowly, his senses returned. At last he could look toward shore, and was relieved to see that his dive had attracted no attention. He began to swim at a moderate pace, preserving his strength. His destination lay a good way down the beach.

  When he staggered out of the water, Paruru felt weak in all his limbs. Exhausted as he was, he remembered to be careful with the thunder-club. It had erupted when the man pointed it skyward. Paruru held it low, pointed toward the ground.

  His swim had brought him to an isolated and rocky shore, a place he had chosen for privacy. A dense stand of mikimiki bushes reached almost to the water and screened the interior from view. He crawled under the low-hanging branches and emerged in a shadowy forest. As arranged, the priest named Lost-the-wind stood waiting for him.

  Lost-the-wind was younger and stouter than his superior, Faka-ora. Paruru had found him far easier to deal with than the older priest. Lost-the-wind had agreed to dispel whatever evil might adhere to the weapon, and to the kaito-nui for touching it. Now, as Paruru stood before him, the priest lifted a coconut shell filled with seawater. He sprinkled its contents, first onto the warrior and then onto the object he held.

  After Lost-the-wind recited a long prayer, he led Paruru to a crude shelter, a thatched roof on four poles that was screened by bushes and young trees. Around the shelter, tapu signs made of coconut fronds had been tied to branches, to warn off anyone who came by.

  "Stay here," the priest said, signaling for Paruru to go in under the roof. "I have left food and drink. Do not come out for three days. If all is well after that, you are safe."

  Paruru went meekly into the shelter. He gently placed the weapon on a mat and seated himself beside it. Drinking nuts lay waiting for him, but he did not want anything just yet. "The arrangements are pleasing," he said in acknowledgment of the priest's efforts. He would make return gifts later, of course.

  "Then I go," said the priest.

  Paruru sighed, resigning himself to three days of solitude. His curiosity about the rest of the outsiders' goods would have to wait. But he had what might prove to be the most important item.

  For a time he did nothing but stare at the mysterious weapon. Much of it was made of polished wood, broad at the back, long and slender in front. The part that resembled hollow bamboo was made of something he did not recognize. Its color was gray as a stormy sea, its surface smooth and cool.

  If this was not wood, then he assumed it must be a kind of foreign stone. Paruru bent his head down so that he could look in through the hollow end
, which flared slightly. What a marvel! He wondered how long the carver had worked on it.

  More important was learning how to use the weapon. He had thought, at first, that merely pointing the hollow end in a certain way would make the noise. Now, with sudden bravado, he seized the thunder-club and pointed it above the trees.

  No blast!

  Only faintly disappointed, he turned his attention to the strange parts near the center of the weapon. Perspiration ran down his chest as he imagined the noise erupting again. Yet it had not seemed to hurt the black-haired sailor. It was Paruru's spear that had brought the man down!

  Slowly he let his fingers explore the puzzling mechanism. One part resembled a bird's head on a long and sinuous neck. Below this hung a long, narrow tooth. He poked and prodded, discovering eventually that the bird's head could move. He had to exert some force to pull it back a short way, and suddenly it slipped from his fingers. The beak sprang down and struck a tiny bowl. Sparks flew...

  He yelped in surprise. The weapon sailed across the floor of his shelter. But still there was no blast of thunder.

  He began to laugh at himself for his fear. Retrieving the thing, he held it once more on his lap. There was a secret here, one that would take patience to discover. This time he forced himself to watch carefully as he pulled back the head and let the beak strike. Once more, sparks jumped in the bowl.

  Despite his surprise, he managed to hold on to the weapon. He produced sparks several times, but that was all he could achieve. Something was lacking, and only the foreigners could tell him what it was.

  He lay back and wondered how he could get the answer.

  FIVE

  The next morning Tepua stirred at dawn. This was a quiet time, when the only sound was the distant roar of waves pounding the reef. She sat up in the gloom, waking in the house that had just been built for her. Using material brought from every part of the atoll—rafters, cord, sheets of thatching—the structure had been hastily erected. Compared with the open, airy Tahitian houses, it felt low and cramped. But the furnishings were the best her people could offer—mats, fine baskets, stools of polished wood. In the air Tepua smelled the tang of drying leaves and the subtler scents of the building's lashed, wooden framework.

  Her attendants still lay sleeping in a row, one stretched out beside the other. Tepua could sleep no longer, not on this morning. Her thoughts turned to the welcome news brought last night by the tahunga. Under his treatment the foreigners showed signs of improving. She had hope now that their gods would relent and take away their sickness.

  Eager to see how the strangers were faring, Tepua rushed outside before her yawning servants could rouse themselves. On the expanse of coral sand in front of her doorway, her paddlers also lay asleep. They jumped up from their mats when they heard her approaching and raced to launch her pahi.

  The first rays of sunlight touched the beach. She stopped a moment to gaze out at the foreign vessel, anchored beyond the underwater reef flat. With its wide, red-painted hull, the boat seemed utterly out of place there. Lagoon water lapped quietly, disturbing the reflection of the bare mast and its stays. She could see nothing of the sailors and assumed that they were sleeping beneath the thwarts.

  Tepua glanced about her, noting that the shore was almost deserted. What a change from yesterday's commotion! Yet she knew how fast word of the remarkable arrival could spread. Soon the waters would be teeming with canoes. If she wanted a quiet visit with the strangers, then she must go to them now.

  Guards stood waiting to join her on her pahi. They held their spears upright, the ends resting lightly on the ground. "Stay here," she told the men.

  "The kaito-nui said we must remain with you," the leader of the guards insisted.

  "Then where is he? I will have him change your orders."

  The guard looked first at his companions and then down at his feet. "Paruru's hand touched the foreign vessel," he said in a low voice. "A priest sent him away—to make sure that he took no taint."

  Tepua scowled. She had not heard anything about this from Faka-ora. "I admire the priest for his caution, but with Paruru gone you must take orders directly from me. No warriors. I do not want the strangers frightened again." She turned, signaled to a brawny paddler, and was carried through the shallows onto the waiting craft.

  "Ariki!" the warrior captain cried from shore. "We do not know what weapons these foreigners have. Let us follow you in our own canoe. We will not approach unless you need us."

  Tepua sighed. The strangers had shown no signs of hostility since yesterday's unfortunate event, yet she knew that the man's advice was sensible. "Launch your canoe," she told him, "but stay near shore. I will signal if I want you nearer." Then she stood on the deck while the pahi was quietly paddled toward the outsiders' vessel.

  She came far closer than she had on the previous day, almost close enough to climb aboard. In the bottom of the boat, between the thwarts, lay slender paddles, coils of rope, and other gear. In the stern, a long seat held uneaten coconuts and leaf-wrapped packets of food. She saw round, drumlike constructions of wood, but none seemed large enough for a man to crawl into. Where were the sailors?

  Then the faint sound of snoring made her look again.

  "They sleep hanging!" exclaimed a paddler.

  When Tepua saw what he meant, she began to laugh. A long bundle of cloth hung just above the thwarts, one end tied to the mast, the other to a pole that was lashed upright. A sailor's arm dangled from the bundle. From a second, similar sling she saw a foot protruding, but neither man stirred.

  "All you paddlers—out of the way," she ordered, motioning them toward the stern of her own boat. She did not want the waking sailors to see a crowd peering at them.

  While the outsiders continued dozing, her attention returned to the drumlike containers. Most lay turned on their sides, reminding her of the hollowed logs used in Tahiti for holding valuables. The walls of these foreign boxes were of thin planks, tightly joined, but with no sennit binding. What kept them from falling apart?

  One container stood on end in the stern. The top was open and she caught a tantalizing glimpse of bright colors within. She leaned closer. While the men slept, she thought, she might easily step aboard and look inside....

  No. She remembered what had happened to Paruru. She would have to wait for Faka-ora to tell her when she could safely go aboard.

  Then she noticed another thing that made her cautious. Near the suspended bed lay a pole with a blade lashed to one end. The tip was made of some lustrous material—perhaps a kind of shell—that she had never seen before.

  This was surely a weapon, though it appeared to be something that the men had hastily put together. The handle was short for a spear and lacked a proper grip, but the blade looked extremely sharp. Each of the men had one.

  Her concern grew as she searched the boat for anything else that might be dangerous. The strangers might have lost one weapon, but they knew how to improvise others. Her first impulse was to command her warriors to go aboard and confiscate the crude spears, but Faka-ora had forbidden any contact. Uneasily, she gave an order to the paddlers, widening the gap between herself and the foreign craft.

  "Life to you!" she shouted from a safe distance, hoping to wake the two sleepers. A hand stirred. The light-haired sailor swung his legs out and got down from his hanging bed. His appearance was less shocking now than when she had first seen him, certainly less bristly. Evidently he had scraped the whiskers from his face. The ointments of the tahunga had helped his skin.

  She pointed to the sailor's spear, trying to make clear her displeasure. Then she pointed to her own vessel, showing that her men had put aside their weapons. This seemed to relieve the sailor, for he set his implement behind him, its blade facing away from her. He did this hastily, as though something else was on his mind.

  The sailor made signs, first pointing his finger at Tepua, then making a motion with his arms. When she did not respond, he put his hands over his eyes, then pointed
once more at her. Was this a game? she wondered. Or an insult? Among her people, pointing with the forefinger was considered rude.

  The foreigner seemed in distress, making odd grimaces and shifting his weight from side to side in an impatient dance. Shaking his head and frowning, he finally turned his back to her and urinated noisily over the side. When he returned, his face was even redder than before.

  Tepua wished that she could grasp his thoughts. She suspected that a custom or tapu of his people had been broken, though she was not sure how. For a moment she stared at him in frustration.

  She had thought about the problem of communicating with the strangers. Signs would not be enough. She would have to teach them her language, or there could be no hope of making them feel at ease, or of learning anything about them.

  She began with a simple first step, placing her hand on her chest and speaking her name.

  The sailor looked up at her, and he seemed to regain his composure. Again she took in his alien yet compelling features. Compared with the faces she knew, his nose appeared narrow, even pinched. Yet an ordinary nose, she thought, would ruin the strange beauty.

  He opened his mouth, and she realized that he was trying to repeat what she had said. "Mua-ariki ..."

  She spoke it again, and this time he managed the whole name.

  "Tepua-mua-ariki."

  "Well done!" she praised, then gestured toward him, hoping he might speak his own name in reply. He did make a sound, while poking a thumb at his chest. When she heard his strange noise, her mouth fell open. "Again," she urged. Once more he made sounds that she had never heard before.

  Suddenly she felt foolish. Some time ago she had come to grips with differences in speech, discovering that the people of Tahiti could not pronounce the "k" and the "ng" of her atoll language. Now here was a stranger who made sounds that even she could not manage.

  She tried to repeat what the sailor had said, but one part eluded her. "Kiore!" she said at last, coming as close to his name as she could manage. "You are Kiore. Tell me what you call your friend." She turned in the direction of the other hanging bed. The ruddy-haired stranger was looking out through half-closed eyes. At her insistence he emerged, warily, and sat on his own thwart at a distance from her. He put his spear across his lap.