Sister of the Sun

by Coleman, Clare;

  Several paddlers frowned. One warrior wiped sweat from his brow. Whatever happened here, Tepua thought, these men would remember her biting words. "Are you sure that Cone-shell carries no sin?" she asked them. "What of his wives? Have they been questioned?''

  "I can vouch for my family," declared Raha. "I have no such assurance in your case."

  The worried looks eased. "Enough talk," said Cone-shell. "We will settle this now. Agree to our examination, Tepua, or give up your office."

  Cone-shell's man stepped forward; Tepua reached behind her for the ironwood branch. She swung it around; the tahunga halted before its jagged point. "My own sins have been cleansed," she insisted, her voice beginning to crack. "Test me if you doubt, but let it be against Cone-shell."

  She had a way to prove her worthiness—or learn, at the cost of her life, that she was wrong. For an instant she looked toward the end of the islet at the dark water running in from the sea. Everyone knew that the outer reef was broken there by a narrow channel. Boats never risked this pass, but sharks swam through freely.

  "Is it possible that Cone-shell has no trust in his gods?" she taunted. "If he holds divine favor, let him take up my challenge. We will go to the sharks and ask which of us should rule."

  A warrior muttered to his companion. Priests exchanged whispers. "There is no doubt clinging to me," answered Cone-shell. He signaled his men to advance on Tepua, but they seemed rooted in place.

  "Then refuse my offer," she went on, hoping that no one would notice her trembling. "Do what you wish to me. Then try to make your way home, and see how the wind and waves deal with your canoes. In the end the sharks will prove me right."

  She saw a few paddlers in the rear ranks arguing among themselves. Several others had apparently made their decision and were slowly moving toward their canoes. Suddenly there was a flurry of action. Three men dragged a boat into the water. Others hurried after them, some trying to hinder the launching, the rest joining it. Fighting broke out between those who wanted to abandon Varoa's chief and those who wished to stay.

  Cone-shell sent warriors splashing after the vaka, but they were too slow to catch up. The men stood thigh-deep in water, shouting and waving their spears at the departing craft.

  "My canoe!" screeched Raha, seeing that his vaka also had been launched by paddlers.

  Tepua felt jubilant as she watched Cone-shell's dismay. "We are marooned together now," she called to him. "We can spend a pleasant night here. I will show you how to keep the ghosts away."

  Some of Cone-shell's men flung themselves into the water and tried to catch the departing boats, but the paddlers only stroked faster. The men ashore cast worried looks toward the inland forest. Priests began chanting.

  "Wait!" shouted Cone-shell to the men who were deserting him. "You misunderstood. I need no test, but I am not afraid to prove myself. Bring the canoes back and I will show you. I will swim the sharks' channel."

  The paddlers returned and nervously faced their chief. Cone-shell gazed at them with seeming indifference, waiting for the priests to agree how this test was to be carried out. First they insisted that Tepua sit in the stern, on a piece of matting, so that she would not touch the boat. Then the paddlers took the canoe into the fast-moving current beyond the islet. Trying to control her fears, she stared down into the clear water, dreading what she might see.

  As they crossed the depths Tepua glimpsed a gray shape prowling below. Farther out she saw another shark surface, and the sight of black edging on its tail fin made her freeze. She had hoped to find blue sharks, for the great blues protected high chief's of the islands.

  These were not blues. The black-edged tail told her that they were gray reef sharks, small but swift killers that attacked ariki and commoner alike.

  Cone-shell, seated in the bow, showed no fear. Was this a bluff, she wondered, an attempt to regain the confidence of his men? Or was he convinced that his gods would protect him? Tepua did not feel the same confidence. Although she had been ritually purified in Tahiti, she might have transgressed afterward in some way she did not know. If punishment came now, it would be swift.

  As Cone-shell's canoe went on across the channel the priests' vaka remained behind. She and Cone-shell were to swim from their canoe back to the other. The gap between the boats kept widening, but the paddlers continued their strokes.

  "I am ready," said Cone-shell at last, and raised a hand to signal the priests' vaka. Ahead lay a broad expanse of choppy dark blue water. Tepua wished she could make herself forget what lay below.

  The other vaka looked tiny against the sky as the lagoonward current made it drift away from the motu. A sea wind began to blow stiffly, bringing a briny scent. Tepua's vaka rocked as Cone-shell stood up in the bow and tossed aside his cape. Hastily she offered a prayer to her guardian spirit. When Cone-shell dove, she forced herself to follow.

  The chill of inrushing ocean water shocked her into a new awareness of her danger, but she did not pause to look about for sharks. Reaching ahead, she pulled herself forward, trying to swim quickly yet smoothly. So long as she avoided making sounds like a struggling fish, the sharks might keep away.

  But she could not ignore the stinging from the cuts and scrapes she had suffered on the motu. This morning she had washed herself in the sea, cleaning off streaks of dried blood, but taking care not to disturb the fresh scabs. Even so, some seepage from the wounds might give her away. Cone-shell, so far as she knew, had no such handicap.

  The current from the sea was even stronger than she had expected, pushing her so hard that she would miss her target. In order to meet the swimmers, the men on the vaka began paddling again. Tepua glanced over her shoulder and saw that Cone-shell had fallen behind. He was swimming slowly, just fast enough to stay afloat.

  And for good reason. Just ahead, Tepua saw the upper lobe of a reef shark's tail break the surface. A splash made her look sharply behind as a swift gray form cut between her and Varoa's chief. Cone-shell might be able to back off. For her it was too late. Tapahi-roro-ariki, she called silently as she slowed, trying to control her rising panic.

  She tried to keep her movements slow and even, doing nothing to draw attention, but the reef grays were already aroused. Despite her stinging eyes, she watched the sharks underwater. The nearest one lowered its black-tipped front fins and swam slowly with a stiff body motion. The gold eyes with their vertical-slit pupils seemed to fix on her.

  Changing course to avoid the shark, she found two others coming on. Tepua submerged, knowing that she would be safer deep underwater. As she kicked her way down she caught a blurred view of gray forms zigzagging back and forth above. She tried to put some distance between herself and the sharks, but a need for air forced her to surface. She could not dive again; she was still gasping, and her terror made her breathing worse.

  She choked back her cries and kept swimming, trying for an even, gentle motion, though her limbs quivered in fright. The briny taste seeping into her mouth took on a bitter tang. The burn on her tongue went to the back of her throat. Again she sent a silent plea to the spirit of her ancestress.

  Ahead Tepua saw open water and no sign of the second canoe. Far to the side lay the motu where she had spent the night. How long ago that seemed now!

  She swam on, with no clear sense of direction. The tangled greenery of the motu grew closer, though her course was taking her far past the islet. And the sharks would not leave her alone. They were constantly about her, sometimes deep, sometimes right at the surface. She heard shouts from behind, possibly Cone-shell's voice, but did not look back.

  In the sound of the blood thrumming and keening in her ears, Tepua thought she heard someone speaking—a woman's voice, indistinct, but growing closer and clearer. It echoed the words that Tepua herself had shouted long ago:

  You are the daughter of the reef, mothered by coral, fathered by coral. You are the sister of the shark, mothered by sharks, fathered by sharks.

  "But these reef sharks do not listen to the go
ds!" she cried silently.

  They listen to fear. They can taste weakness. To one who faces and overcomes both, they are no more than angelfish dancing past the coral.

  Tepua's spirit sank. Was her ancestress mocking her, abandoning her to death?

  The sharks drew closer, dorsal fins and tails rising up from the water. They slid so near that she could feel the underwater pull of their wake and see how water ran down the grain of their skin.

  Something brushed past her feet. She felt another touch, by her hip, and she no longer thought she could control her scream. She had once seen the remains of a fisherman after reef sharks had attacked him, one leg bitten through to the bone, the other completely gone. The face of the dead man grew vivid in her mind....

  She had heard that there was no pain when a shark struck, only numbness. Some people claimed that the victim did not recognize the loss until he saw blood blossoming up through the water. Tepua could not believe that. Surely she would feel the shock, the pulling sensation as flesh parted....

  No. Such thoughts were only sharpening the grays' hunger.

  You are the sister of the shark. The words quieted Tepua's shuddering. She remembered great blues that she had seen long ago, how they swam with easy sweeps of their tails. They were powerful, but held that power inside, not needing to churn the water with it.

  I can be like them. In Tepua's imagination, she clothed herself in the skin of a shark and swam the same way, with powerful strokes and long glides. She was not a reef shark, but a great blue, swimming through a pack of grays as if they were a school of mullet. In her mind, the sea swept through her open jaws, through her gill slits and out again. She watched what lay ahead through the slitted eyes of a shark.

  At that moment a gray appeared, the largest she had ever seen. It swam toward her, men suddenly adopted a threatening pose. Its back humped, its snout lifted, its forefins dropped. Then it stopped swimming and began to sink.

  Tepua had been warned of this dreaded sign. In a moment, she knew, it would shoot forward to make its slashing attack. Yet she did not waver or change course. She felt no fear in her intestines, for they were the intestines of a shark.

  The gray's tail trembled as it saw her coming on. It made a short rush, but instead of attacking, it turned before her and fled. Triumphantly she swept through the remaining grays. She no longer needed to evade them. The sharks knew her, sensed her power, and gave way.

  Gradually Tepua came out of the trancelike state she had gone into. She found herself moving, not with a powerful tail, but with strokes of human arms and legs. Soon she realized that something else had changed. The channel's current had stopped pulling her. Now the islet lay between her and the sea, blocking the flow.

  Here the lagoon was calm, its color verging from pale green to yellow. Shallows! With her last reserves of strength she headed toward shore. One moment she was in deep water, the next she found herself skimming over a sandy bottom that was close enough to touch. She looked back and saw the reef sharks—possibly as many as a dozen— remaining far behind. They seemed in a turmoil, swarming about, tails thrashing.

  Exhausted, Tepua stopped swimming and began to walk over the soft bottom, pushing through water that barely reached her knees. Her body felt heavy, as if loaded down with stones.

  At last she came out onto a shaded portion of the beach, not far from where she had made her camp. A few coconuts lay on the ground, but she did not have strength to satisfy the thirst that clawed at her throat. She threw herself down beneath a fara tree and slept.

  When she woke, Raha and his fellow priests were crouching beside her. At once she stood, grabbing at the tree for support. When the priests stood also, she noticed that they bent forward so that their heads remained lower than hers. "Cone-shell?" she asked in a dry whisper.

  "He lives," answered Raha.

  She swung around and saw Varoa's chief seated in his canoe. He was wrapped in his cloak, his face pale, his wet hair in a tangle. Had he been attacked? Fear and curiosity drove her a few steps closer. She saw no blood pooling in the bottom of the boat. But she recalled how the second canoe had moved out of sight, heading toward Cone-shell. She wondered how far he had swum before his men pulled him from the water.

  One of the paddlers humbly walked up to her and offered an open viavia. Tepua drank deeply before she spoke. "Cone-shell, the gods have given you your answer," she said in the firmest tone she could summon.

  His eyes looked red and his face incredibly weary. When he spoke, his voice was faint. "The priests will take you back to my land," he said. "You will have the welcome you were promised.''

  "I want no welcome from you." She turned away, hesitated, then faced him once more. "When you are ready to acknowledge my authority, I will see you again." She stalked away from him and paused to speak with the cowering knot of priests."Send my pahi here to take me home,'' she told them. "I will not ride with the men of Varoa Clan."

  Then she walked on, toward the high log she had used as her perch. She sat rigidly, staring straight ahead while she chanted her praises to the gods, until both canoes were gone. Only then did she permit herself the tears, the rush of relief, the taste of the sea that had spared her.

  ELEVEN

  As Tepua approached her home shore, all appeared quiet. A few fishermen in canoes looked up to call a greeting. Children glanced at her and then returned to their pebble games. Clearly, the news of Cone-shell's treachery had not yet arrived. Tepua dreaded the stir this news would bring.

  Two-eels, in his shame, had barely spoken to her during the journey home. His men had performed woefully on Varoa's territory, and now they tried to make a gallant show of escorting her to the beach. Tepua refused to be carried. She stalked away from them and headed to the one place where she might find solace–to Ehi's house.

  The rhythmic pounding Tepua heard as she approached brought back the days of her Childhood. How often she had watched Ehi and other women using stone mallets to break open keys of fara fruit for the edible seeds.

  "Tepua-ariki," cried Ehi, rising from her work. "It is my daughter, coming back to me."

  "Ah, Ehi," Tepua answered, eager for the embrace. She was glad that her foster mother had no company today. Tepua's tears started again, "I do not want to be chief. But the gods will not let me go."

  "Daughter, come and sit. Refresh yourself. Then we will talk."

  Tepua accepted a cool drink and slowly began to describe what had happened. "Cone-shell will suffer for this," Ehi said bitterly when Tepua was done. "The men of Ahiku will not sit on their heels when they learn of his outrage. They will pick up their spears and avenge the insult to our clan."

  "No battle," Tepua protested as she recalled the frightening visions caused by the kava. "We must not fight among ourselves. Not when there are enemies ready to swoop down on us."

  "Enemies?" Ehi's tone of outrage changed to one of alarm. "Pu-tahi?"

  Tepua hesitated, uncertain whether to describe the fears that troubled her now. She realized that she was not ready to tell Ehi, or anyone else, about the vision that had been brought on by kava. She had seen invaders arrive in huge boats, but perhaps they were a different breed of men from Kiore and Nika. Why raise alarms based on something so uncertain? "Pu-tahi," Tepua said finally. "Yes. They have been seen in nearby waters. Heka has heard this from traders."

  "I know you do not come to me for advice," Ehi answered. "But I can guess what the men will tell you. If we are to be strong against the Pu-tahi, then we cannot tolerate Cone-shell's impudence. Varoa must acknowledge your rule."

  "We may be rid of Cone-shell soon."

  "And how is that, daughter?"

  "He offered himself to the sharks, but he did not stay in the water long. Some men who watched will tell what they saw. If they saw weakness, soon everyone will know. I wish to do nothing now but wait. Let the people of Varoa take care of their own problem."

  Ehi's eyebrows raised. "Our warriors will not want to wait."

  "Let us see
if I can convince them." Tepua finished her drink, and for a time they spoke of lesser matters.

  "Why is it, daughter," Ehi said at last, "that you ask me nothing about the foreign sailors?"

  Tepua wished she could explain the vision that worried her. Whenever she thought of Kiore now, she remembered the smoke-belching weapon. "When I left here, the visitors were doing well...."

  "It is true that they have learned to speak better," Ehi admitted. "But that has not kept them from mischief."

  Tepua's eyes opened wide as she remembered Umia's warning. "What sort of mischief?" she asked nervously.

  "The blue-eyed one talks much of continuing his journey. He needs a sailor to replace the one who died. A man named Pinga agreed to go with him, but his wife is complaining loudly about it."

  "That will not do,'' said Tepua. "I must tell the sailors to find someone else."

  "And they are gathering provisions for their journey— dried fish, clams, octopus. This is where most of the trouble lies. The foreign goods remain under tapu, so the sailors can give nothing in return for what people bring them. Instead, the outsiders offer lengths of dried fara leaf inscribed with black marks."

  "Marks?" Tepua recalled Kiore's quills and bottle of dye.

  "Yes. Designs I have never seen before. The foreigners say that before they depart, they will exchange these marked leaves—for beads or choppers or colored cloth."

  Tepua tried to picture what Ehi was describing. "What a strange way to do things. I have never heard of using marks to make promises."

  "That is why people are starting to shun the sailors. They are afraid that the dried leaves are all they will ever get."

  "That is sensible," said Tepua. "I see no reason the sailors cannot collect their own fish. From what I have seen, they are two strong and healthy men."