When Tepua's craft came alongside the other vessel, Nika reached down into his drum again. He drew out something new and dangled it before her face. It was a necklace of many stones, transparent, yet infused with a shade of blue that was deeper than the color of the sky. The beads sparkled when sunlight hit them, as if tiny fires lay within. They made Maukiri's trinket look like a worthless pebble.
Tepua glanced up at Nika's gray eyes and saw an expression of contempt on his youthful face. He knew that she wanted his treasure. And he viewed her as a child, she realized with a shock. A child, to be soothed by the promise of a pretty toy.
She held out her hand and let Nika drape the necklace over her fingers. Then she held the gift high, turning so that everyone could admire the glittering stones. "Do you see this lovely thing?" she shouted to the people in the canoes. "Is it not suited to a chief? Is it not a marvel that I can boast of all my days?" She watched the wide-eyed stares of the women, the gaping mouths of the men. "In return for this fine gift, what will the strangers ask? I do not know. I cannot ask." Then, in a gesture she found difficult, she gave back the necklace to the astonished sailor.
She glared at Nika, motioning for him to close up his drum. She had an impulse to scold him, but knew that he would not understand. "I wish you to come ashore," she said to both men, gesturing from them to the beach. "You have stayed long enough on your vaka."
Nika and Kiore glanced at each other, their expressions brightening as they grasped her meaning. Kiore pointed to the drums and sacks and other belongings that surrounded him. "Shore?" he asked.
"No," said Tepua. "Not now. We will take care of your goods." She mimed her meaning.
It did not surprise her to see the men's expressions darken. They argued with each other, their voices rising. Abruptly Nika stooped and grabbed his crude spear. With seeming reluctance, Kiore also took up his weapon.
"Stop!" she cried. Then she turned to her own men and ordered them to stand back.
She looked again at Kiore, sympathizing with his distress. In a mysterious way, she felt drawn to him. It was not his fault that people had defied her orders and gone to his vessel. The thought of Maukiri coming here at night even gave her a pang of envy....
"You must leave your boat now," she told him firmly. She showed the sailors a canoe that she had called for them. When Nika took a defiant step backward, Tepua's warriors picked up their own spears from the deck. She wanted to order the weapons put down again, but how could she make the strangers obey?
The bristling of so many lances, all much longer than his own, seemed to unnerve the red-haired sailor. He voiced a few more complaints, then silently dropped his weapon into the bottom of the boat. Cautiously he turned toward the canoe that lay alongside. After taking one more glance back at his small pile of pearl shells, Nika swung a leg out. He grimaced as the smaller boat shifted under his weight. With a grunt he was over the side and into the outrigger canoe.
She thought Kiore would need no persuasion, since he, too, had been chafing to come ashore. Instead of boarding behind Nika, however, he retreated to the stern, taking his weapon with him.
When she beckoned him again using the palm-down gesture, he gave several quick shakes of his head. Frowning, she ordered her paddlers to bring her closer. She wanted to see what he was doing, but Faka-ora had warned her not to touch the boat.
At first she thought that Kiore had thrust his hands through a square hole in the vessel's hull, but she realized that the hole was a storage place. He brought out a small wooden chest.
"This. Shore," he said. He opened the lid of the box briefly, showing her that it held his "puk" and the black dye that allowed him to make marks with pointed quills.
There was something else as well inside. She caught a glint of yellow, of hard edges and corners. "What else do you have there?" she asked as he shut the lid all too quickly.
He scowled defiantly, putting the box on a thwart. He tried to pretend that he did not understand her, but at last she prevailed on him to open the lid again. This time he pulled out what looked like a toy made of flat sticks. Two sticks were straight, meeting at a sharp angle. These ends were crossed by a third one that curved like the edge of a crescent moon.
Never had she seen edges that looked so hard and straight. The yellow sticks were fashioned of a material that did not seem to be wood or stone or shell. As she leaned closer she saw small, tiny marks spaced evenly along the edges.
A prickle of fear touched her nape. "What is it for?"
He seemed at a loss for words. He held the contrivance to one eye, pointed from it to the eastern horizon and then higher up. "Watch...star. Find...home...land."
Tepua's brow wrinkled as she tried to make sense of his words. Of course seafarers needed stars as guides, but she had never heard of using sticks to follow them.
"And what is that other thing inside the box?" she demanded. Kiore hesitated, meeting her gaze. Then, with a sigh, he brought out the last of his precious belongings. This was a smaller box that held something shiny and round. Looking into it, Tepua saw a design that resembled the petals of flowers pointing neatly outward from the center of a circle. As she watched, her eyes widened, for the design began to move!
The pattern turned, but then swung back again. Kiore pointed to the tip of the "most prominent petal. "North," he said, using the word she had taught him as he gestured toward the horizon. He indicated the other markings around the pattern, calling out the directions of the winds.
"A wonder of the gods!" Tepua whispered. She felt dizzy and short of breath as she studied the strange object in his hands. She barely heard the sound of paddles stroking and quiet voices approaching. When she saw that Faka-ora had arrived, she almost cried out with relief.
Kiore glared suspiciously at the priest and seemed reluctant to display his treasures again. "I have heard of such a thing," said Faka-ora, when at last he saw the swinging petals. "The tales of winged boats mention this. But no one knows what lies behind it. Perhaps some sorcerous trick ..."
"Then it must not come ashore," said Tepua quietly.
"Leave it here," agreed the priest. Tepua relayed the message to Kiore.
The sailor reacted angrily, closing the things back inside the box and moving to the stern of his boat. Once more the warriors raised their spears, but Kiore held his ground.
Again she ordered him to leave his belongings and board the canoe. Again he refused, this time picking up his weapon.
She glared at him, feeling the intensity of those blue-green eyes. Beside her, she heard Faka-ora mutter that there was a quick way to end this contest of wills. Perhaps, she thought, another ariki would already have done so.
Yet, as she watched Kiore defiantly holding the box under one arm and brandishing the spear with the other, her irritation gave way to a mixture of astonishment and then reluctant respect. Did these implements mean more to him that his life? Perhaps they did if he could not find his way home without them.
"Store them in a safe place," she suggested to the sailor, adopting a soothing tone. "Here. On the boat."
"Here?" She thought that he understood her, for he began to glance around him. Under the seat in the stern lay a storage place that was covered by a wooden board. The board swung up under the touch of his foot, and then fell with a clap. At last, to her relief, he put his weapon aside.
He found a length of cloth and used it to wrap up his yellow sticks and his magical petals. These wonders he placed behind the swinging board. Then he picked up a tool that resembled a food pounder mounted on a shaft. With his other hand he held a thin sliver—she did not know if it was made of wood or bone.
He pressed the sliver's pointed end to the board and then he pounded its flat end with the head of the tool. The noise startled her and she took a step backward. He took another sliver, and then another, making loud blows as he banged each into the wood until only its flat end showed.
At last he stopped pounding and put his hand on the board. He shook it and
pulled it, but now it would not swing open. "Good," he said. As a final test, he kicked at the storage place and then grunted his satisfaction.
"Will you come now, in peace?"
When he indicated his agreement, walking away from his own spear, Tepua ordered the guards to put down their weapons. Then, for a moment, Kiore turned his aquamarine gaze on her and she felt an odd tingle go up her spine. His eyes were deep-set and shadowed, but that only made their glow more intense. His eyebrows were straight, paralleling the top line of each eye before angling down to the inner corner, adding a certain stubbornness to his face.
"It is good that we can be friends," she said, relieved that the disagreement had been settled. Yet Kiore still held on to the small box that contained his "lok-puk".
She turned to the priest, explaining the nature of the "puk" as well as she understood it. Faka-ora signed for the sailor to open it again, and remained silent as he leafed through the sheets. Some marks looked like bird tracks, others like tiny finger signs. "Cloth with marks," said Faka-ora. "I see no harm in it." He made a brief incantation and allowed Kiore to carry this last of his belongings into the canoe that stood waiting.
"We will take care of you. You will be greeted well," Tepua assured Kiore. Then she gave orders to men in another canoe. "Have a guesthouse readied. Make these strangers welcome." On the beach, she saw that a large crowd had gathered in anticipation of the sailors' arrival. Women were braiding wreaths of vines and blossoms to drape over the visitors' necks. Others carried coconuts and fara fruit. She watched with satisfaction as the foreigners headed to their welcome.
Then she turned to Faka-ora, waiting for him to chant the words and complete the rituals over the goods remaining in the boat. Everywhere she looked she saw something that piqued her interest—glints of color, tangles of cord and cloth, shapes she had never seen before. She could scarcely contain her eagerness to rush aboard.
SIX
By late afternoon, the clan chief's and their advisers had gathered in the clearing outside Tepua's house. As was her right, Tepua sat on the carved four-legged stool that raised her above the rest of the meeting. This seat, which so long had been her father's, felt wrong beneath her. How she wished he could be here to take it.
She had no illusions that the task before her would be easy. Everyone knew about the foreigners' goods, now unloaded and in Faka-ora's keeping. The chief's had come to demand a share.
Paruru sat at her right hand, here because of his position and not because she wanted his company. When she had asked him to explain how women had visited the foreign vessel at night, he had answered that his guards saw nothing. Where had they been looking?
To her left sat an elder from her own Ahiku Clan. Rongo Clan's people came next, providing a slight buffer between Ahiku and its longtime rival, Varoa Clan. Rongo's chief was beardless as a boy and fat as an overfed Tahitian, Tepua thought. He had come here despite the fact that he did not acknowledge her leadership.
Beside him sat Cone-shell, Varoa's chief, and close kin to Natunatu. Cone-shell, who had long ago taken on the role of Umia's protector, also refused to acknowledge Tepua's authority. Yet he was here, and made an impressive sight. He was heavily built, a man of solid strength, though aging. Beneath his thick black brows glittered eyes that missed nothing. He wore a string of dolphin teeth braided into his short, dark beard, and another string around his neck.
Among the others, Tepua thought that only Heka of Piho Clan might be counted as her ally. She felt out of place here. It was Kohekapu who should be sitting regally on this seat, she thought, his calm but powerful gaze keeping order.
Varoa's chief eyed Tepua with unconcealed distaste as he spoke. "We of Varoa do not accept Tepua-mua's claim that the foreign vaka and its spoils fall under her control." He leaned forward as he spoke, making the teeth in his necklace rattle against each other.
"Varoa is forgetting the traditional right of the high chief," Tepua answered.
Cone-shell glowered at her. "Traditional right! This daughter of Ahiku Clan dares to invoke such tradition when everyone knows that she is but a pretender. If the rightful heir of Kohekapu were on that seat—"
"He would still need his mother to wipe his nose," interposed Heka, evoking a few laughs from the others. "Cone-shell," she added, "will you stop dragging that stinking fish around the beach? Regardless of what may come later, Tepua rules us now. And it was to her clan's shores that the foreign vessel came."
"Respected Heka," growled Cone-shell. "You have not seen Umia lately or you would be choking on your jest. It is only because of your ignorance that I let the insult pass." He gave another fierce rattle of his necklace. "As for the right we dispute, let me remind you that the foreign vaka was not wrecked on the reef. It was captured by your brother Paruru and brought into the lagoon. If any clan has rights to the spoils, it is your own."
"The kaito-nui can have no loyalty to any clan," Tepua objected, feeling an edge creep into her voice. "Paruru was serving his high chief. He renounces any claim Piho Clan may have. Is that not so?"
"It is, ariki," Paruru replied, but Tepua sensed his reluctance. And why not? From what she had seen, the vaka and its contents were a great prize.
She turned to the circle of faces before her. "Paruru acted for the benefit of us all, not just for one clan. It is my duty to say what will happen now."
"I know what your decision must be," said Cone-shell. "To share the goods among the chiefs."
At this a hubbub rose, but Tepua quelled it with a sharp gesture. "These foreigners are now my guests," she said. "We do not take the belongings of a guest. And even if the outsiders offer us gifts, I am not ready to accept them."
"And why is that?" Cone-shell demanded.
"Think of the dangers! Ask yourself what we know of these foreign things! Perhaps they are offensive to the gods, or have been tainted by evil spirits. Would you endanger your people because of greed?"
This touched off another round of furious discussion, which Tepua again had to silence.
"The priest has conducted purification rituals," said Cone-shell.
"But how do you know that his power is strong enough to cleanse an unknown evil?" asked Heka. "I support Tepua's caution." The arguments raged back and forth until one of Faka-ora's assistants appeared and asked to speak. His master, he said, had completed his examination of the strangers' goods. He was ready to receive the chief's in the large storehouse where everything had been taken.
Tepua rose from her seat. "Those of you who wish to inspect the things, come with me. Then you will have a better idea what we are arguing about."
When she stood, she was not surprised to see the others hesitate. The talk of danger had dampened everyone's spirit. Even Cone-shell was slow to rise.
Drawing her feather-trimmed plaited cloak about her shoulders, Tepua followed Faka-ora's man into the storehouse while the clan chief's trailed behind. The building was long, airy, and lit by sunlight streaming in through the loosely thatched sides. Despite the ventilation, strange scents pervaded the air. She sniffed deeply but could not sort them out.
Once she was inside, she noted that the goods had been separated into four distinct piles. The high priest, looking weary after his task, stood by as Tepua and the chief's gathered about the closest heap. On top she noticed a long-handled wooden blade that resembled a canoe paddle. It lay amid other vaguely familiar articles—items that appeared to be a sea anchor, a bailer, and other equipment needed in an oceangoing craft.
"These are things we understand," said Faka-ora, gesturing at the first heap. "They are of the sea, of fishing and the sailing arts. Any magic in them is magic that I know, and I have taken measures to make it harmless. You may handle anything in this first pile without fear."
Tepua reached for the foreign paddle, ran her hand along the smooth shaft. The wood was close-grained and heavy, the crafting excellent, but the proportions wrong. The shaft was far too long to be of use in an outrigger and lacked the usual flared hand
grip at the end.
Faka-ora was moving on to the next collection of goods. "These," he said, "are things that resemble those we know and use, but are made from materials we have not seen before. I urge caution in handling them."
Tepua bent over this second heap. In a band of sunlight lay a strangely shaped knife, its edge gleaming brighter than pearl shell. She squinted in puzzlement, trying to fathom how the blade was lashed to its hilt of bone. The edge looked sharp; she decided not to pick it up.
Her attention turned to a long roll of cloth, resembling the material in the foreign sails. Looking closely, she saw the appearance of a weave, but the threads were so thin and uniform that she couldn't imagine human fingers doing the plaiting. Taking a length, she yanked it taut between her fists. Tapa would tear under such treatment but this cloth held. She hoped that Kiore could explain what made it so strong.
Here also stood the drum that held small gifts—the items that Nika had been trading for pearl shells. As she peered into the container Tepua recalled the blue necklace she had been offered. Now she saw other tantalizing glimpses— bright beads, and ribbons of cloth in astonishing colors. Perhaps, in the strangers' land, such wonders were as common as pretty shells on the beach....
Faka-ora moved on to the third pile, cautioning that he was far less certain about the uses or hazards of these objects. "If you must touch them, protect your hands," he advised.
Cone-shell, who had been leaning close to the third heap, gave a triumphant cry. With his hand wrapped in part of his plaited cape, he snatched up a hafted tool. The thing was evidently used for chopping. Its head had a dull sheen like that of the knife blade and a shape like that of an adze—an adze whose blade was in line with the handle instead of being properly lashed crosswise. "This might prove useful," said Cone-shell, "if we could turn the blade around."
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