Sister of the Sun

by Coleman, Clare;

  Nika seemed afraid of the Pu-tahi, but Paruru was glad to see that Kiore's arguments were wearing him down. Paruru was puzzled, however, when Kiore pulled off his tattered foreign leg coverings and slapped his arms and legs as if to show Nika that his skin was as dark as an islander's. Unwillingly Paruru agreed. He had not anticipated this and wondered what Kiore was planning.

  Beneath the garments, the light-haired sailor wore only a simple maro. With a laugh, Nika pulled aside the rear band of Kiore's loincloth and remarked that the skin beneath was still as white as a fish's belly. Kiore slapped his hand away and rearranged the garment.

  Paruru then heard baffling arguments about the shapes of noses and the colors of eyes and hair. Kiore took a handful of old charcoal from beside the fire. First he darkened his cheeks, to divert attention from his nose. Then he smudged his fair hair until it appeared black. Finally he made designs on his skin, crudely imitating tattoo patterns.

  Paruru frowned as he watched. Kiore was showing more cleverness than he had anticipated. Maybe he would succeed at disguising his foreign appearance—at least in the dimness of night. Pu-tahi were stupid. Perhaps they could be fooled.

  As a final touch, Kiore plaited a headdress from palm fronds to help conceal his face. When he finished and stood by the fire, Paruru was astonished at the transformation. As long as no light caught the brilliant aquamarine of Kiore's eyes, he might actually get away with his deception. Finally the sailor picked up one of his discarded garments—the fine tiputa that he had received from the ariki—and folded it in a neat bundle.

  To be used as a gift? With a mixture of anticipation and dismay, Paruru watched Kiore slip away from the campfire. The kaito-nui had alerted his men to be ready for trouble tonight. He was not sure what kind of trouble they would face.

  A chorus of bellowing cries startled Tepua, making her jump up from her mat. After the feast, her attendants had all gone to sleep early, leaving the house in darkness. Trembling with apprehension over what might be happening, she found her way to the door and hurried outside. A sliver of moonlight lit the white coral sand.

  As she emerged, a warrior ran up, shouting, "Ariki! There is fighting in the Pu-tahi compound!"

  "Fighting over what?" Flanked by the warriors who guarded her household, she followed the messenger. As they approached the cluster of guesthouses she heard louder shouts, angry voices.

  "Treachery!" came Ata-katinga's roar.

  One of her warriors, holding a lit palm leaf torch, met Tepua at the entrance to the low wall that surrounded the compound. Paruru appeared next, a stormy look on his face. He held up a spear that resembled no weapon made by Tepua's people. In the flickering torchlight she saw a broad, leaflike blade and ornate carvings along the shaft.

  "Those sons of eels tricked us," Paruru shouted. "They had weapons hidden."

  Again Ata-katinga's bellow came from behind one of the houses. "Bring Tepua-ariki! She must explain this outrage!"

  Tepua glanced angrily at her kaito-nui, wishing to ask how the uproar had started. But first she had to soothe Ata-katinga. She hurried toward the commotion, and when Paruru tried to accompany her, she said harshly, "I will go alone."

  "Ariki, you need my protection. The men have spears."

  "And if you come with me, they may be tempted to use them." She turned her back on him and stalked around the nearest guest house. There she saw other torches and shadowed figures. For a moment the scene confused her.

  "Ata-katinga, what has happened?" she demanded. Then she saw a large man who wore only a maw struggling in the grip of two Pu-tahi warriors. The man looked familiar.... Her breath caught as she realized that the miscreant was Kiore, his hair blackened and his face smeared with soot!

  One Pu-tahi clutched his jaw while another spat out broken teeth, held his ribs and moaned. Tepua guessed that these injuries had not been inflicted by weapons, but by the way of fighting with closed hands that only the outsiders used.

  Tepua glared at Kiore, who looked back at her with an expression of arrogance mixed with embarrassment. Welts and bruises showed on his arms, proof that he had tried to defend himself from Pu-tahi clubs. Gashes bled on his chest and shoulder.

  Not knowing whether she wanted to shout at him in anger or tend his wounds, she waited for Ata-katinga to speak.

  Flanked by armed spearmen, the Pu-tahi chief stood angrily watching the sailor. "Do not feign ignorance, woman-chief," he hissed. "You deceived me once. I will not hear any more lies."

  Tepua stared at him, stunned. "Lies?"

  The Pu-tahi chief turned on her. "You took a great interest in what I told you about the foreigners. Now I know why."

  Tepua glared again at Kiore. He tried to straighten up and face her. "Ariki—"

  "Do not talk now," she ordered. His pained expression stabbed her with remorse as she turned away. As much as she wished to hear his account, she had to answer the Pu-tahi chief.

  "Ata-katinga," she said, trying to force a soothing tone. "I intended no deceit."

  "You did not send this man of the enemy here to cause trouble in my camp?"

  "No."

  "You did not know that he was living among your people?"

  She let out a long breath. To lie now might salvage the moment, but the truth would surely emerge. And she could not abandon Kiore to Ata-katinga's wrath, whatever he had done.

  Quietly she said, "It is true that two outsiders have been living among my people, but they did not come here as enemies. The sea cast them into my waters. They were almost dead when I found them."

  "You gave aid to such men?" Ata-katinga turned from Kiore to glower at Tepua. He folded his arms, awaiting her explanation. She was startled to see a bleakness in his eyes along with the anger, as if he mourned the dying of his hopes for peace.

  "The sailors I harbor are nothing like the foreigners you warned us about," she persisted. "They live among us, following our ways, speaking our language." She gestured toward Kiore. "If this man caused any offense, it was through ignorance, not ill will."

  The Pu-tahi chief stared at her a moment longer, then faced the captive Kiore. "Let me hear it from your own lips," he demanded. "I want to know why you invaded my compound and fought with my men."

  Tepua stifled a protest. It would be better if she could learn the truth in private. But Ata-katinga would sense trickery if she tried to keep the sailor from answering now.

  Kiore sent her a searching look, as if asking her advice, but she had none to give. She felt her pulse hammering as she waited for him to speak.

  "I came here to consult one of your canoe-masters," Kiore said at last.

  Ata-katinga frowned in puzzlement at Tepua. "Is it not true," he asked Kiore, "that the people here have many good navigators? Why would you seek help from one of mine?"

  "I am told that your people are the best of all sailors," Kiore answered. "Your canoes are the swiftest and your journeys the longest of any atoll dwellers."

  Ata-katinga's fierce expression softened as. he said to Tepua, "This foreigner is not the fool I took him to be. Even if he does speak with a barbarous accent."

  "It was my intention that the foreign guests not disturb you," Tepua answered. "This man disobeyed my orders."

  The Pu-tahi stared at her long and hard before commanding his warriors to lower their weapons. He was a large man and an imposing leader, but behind his tough exterior Tepua sensed his desperate need for the alliance. How powerful must the foreign enemy be to make the Fierce People plead for friendship?

  "I will turn this outsider over to you for punishment," said Ata-katinga, stroking his grizzled beard, "but I am not satisfied with his answers, despite his flattering words. I want to question him further. Perhaps he can enlighten us about certain things the you and I have discussed."

  Tepua swallowed. "Yes, that is a good suggestion. But I can tell you that I have questioned the man myself. He knows nothing of trouble between foreign sailors and islanders."

  "I must determine that for mys
elf," said Ata-katinga. With a meaningful yawn, he added, "But not tonight" He gave a signal for Kiore to be released. Tepua ordered her warriors to take charge of him.

  "Your men have spears...."she pointed out to Ata-katinga, hoping that he had not forgotten his earlier pledge to remain unarmed.

  "I came here seeking peace," the chief answered. "I have not given up mat intention, but I am not a complete fool. Of course I have weapons to protect myself, as do you. I will keep them close at hand."

  She knew she could ask for no more. At least Ata-katinga was not stalking off in outrage. "Then keep your spears," she answered. "I trust that you will not want to use them."

  On the way out, she came on Paruru where she had left him. The warrior began to fume. "Ariki, you cannot let this pass. The weapons—"

  She spun on him. "The Pu-tahi did not arm themselves until Kiore invaded their compound."

  "And now mat the spears are out, how many of us will they kill?"

  "None—if you do your job of keeping order," she answered harshly.

  When Tepua reached her house, she sent her entire household to other quarters for the night She ordered lights—burning copra wedges that cast a ruddy illumination. Then she called Kiore inside and gestured for him to sit. For a long moment, she could not find anything to say to him.

  "I wished no harm, ariki," he said, breaking the silence.

  "Did I warn you to stay away from my visitors?"

  "Before they arrived—yes."

  She stamped her foot in rage. "Did I send word to come back?"

  He shifted his long legs, ill matched to the low stool she had offered him, but did not reply.

  "Answer! Why did you disobey?"

  His head snapped up. His eyes were a new color, an icy blue. "Did you ever think, ariki, that I would have obeyed more willingly if you had confided in me?"

  "Confided what? I told you and Nika to hide for your own safety. And to keep the Pu-tahi from stealing the goods from your boat."

  "Perhaps that was your reason at first—"

  "Did you expect me to send a messenger to explain everything as it happened? I had new reasons to keep you hidden from the Pu-tahi. Everything was going well until you entered their compound and started a fight—"

  "I did not start a fight. I showed the guard my gift for the canoe-master. He took the gift, then called his friends to attack. I only fought to save myself."

  "The Pu-tahi attacked because they have seen men like you and think they are dangerous."

  "I know that now." He shifted his feet. "I am sorry for the trouble I caused," he said grudgingly. "Is that enough?''

  "I still want an answer. If you needed help from a Pu-tahi canoe-master, why did you not have me ask?" Kiore looked away, silent. "What were you so eager to find out?"

  At last, with reluctance, he told her about Cloud Island, and the possibility of meeting some of his countrymen. He explained how to distinguish vessels of one land from those of another. "Yes," she said stiffly, interrupting him. "I do understand now. You thought I might not wish to help you, that I would prefer to keep you here against your will. But you have always been free to go."

  "Tepua, let me finish! Cloud Island can change everything. If I meet a boat from my own land, I need not make the journey myself. I need only give my 'lok-puk' to the master of the vessel, who can take it home and hand it to the ones who must see it. My promise will be kept, and I will be free to come back here."

  She felt tears threatening. "I would have tried to help you in any case," she said softly. Yet she knew that he was too hotheaded, too stubborn and proud to have asked. "Kiore, how can I be angry with you now that I know what you were thinking?" She wanted to embrace him but held herself back. "This trouble you started is not over yet," she said, wiping her eyes. "You will have to face Ata-katinga again."

  Kiore clenched his fists. "So you want to parade me before that savage and have me recite like a child."

  "He is not a savage," Tepua retorted.

  "He and his tribe have killed many of your people. And some of mine, too, judging by that tassel of gold hair in his headdress."

  Your kind began the attacks, but you make no mention of that. Aloud, she said, "So that is what really angers you about Ata-katinga."

  "Maybe it does not bother you to see pieces of dead people used as ornaments."

  Her eyes widened in shock and hurt. Yes, her people wore fringes made from the hair and beards of old men, and from elders and chief's who had died. "We honor their ancestors by wearing their hair," she flung back. "This is our custom."

  Kiore set his jaw. "The hair on Ata-katinga's headdress came from no islander's head."

  "I do not know that. Black or brown hair can be sun-bleached."

  In answer Kiore seized a lock of his own hair and held it out. Tepua stared. In color and texture it bore a dismaying resemblance to the tassel in Ata-katinga's headdress.

  "Yes, it could have been mine," he hissed. "Perhaps a foreign boat struck a reef, or sailors went ashore peacefully. I am told that Pu-tahi like to creep up on their victims."

  Then I would never have known you, she thought as breath caught in her throat and tears began brimming in her eyes. Now she realized how deeply entangled she had become with this outsider. Though foreigners seemed responsible for the conflicts, she was angry at the man who wore foreign hair as a battle trophy.

  No, I dare not give in to anger. I must make peace with Ata-katinga. "Kiore, I cannot ask the Pu-tahi chief about the headdress. There is already too much suspicion between us. Can you not put that aside for one day?"

  Kiore leaned close to her. His expression was strange—a mixture of anger, sorrow, and extraordinary tenderness. She did not want to stop him when he touched her face with his fingers, his eyes never leaving hers.

  "Sometimes I think there is aroha within you, my beautiful woman. Yet tonight you seem to feel nothing. No outrage, no grief over what this man has done."

  She wanted to cry out that yes, she did feel outrage, but too much was at stake here. Regardless of what she felt for Kiore, she dared not put him above the interests of her people.

  "Kiore," she replied at last, "it would be too easy for me to hate Ata-katinga. I do not like the hair either. He may have killed to get it." She paused. "Yet now I have good reason to trust him."

  Kiore exhaled, a long deep sigh.

  "I promised Ata-katinga to take you back to him," she said. "If you do not go, then I will lose my hopes of peace. But perhaps I can make it easier for you. Perhaps I can get him to remove the headdress for a time."

  She waited, watching Kiore's face. "That will help," he conceded. "But if he questions me, he will not like some of my answers. He may decide that I am a threat to him."

  She closed her eyes. For a moment she remembered the storm that struck the motu, the lashing waves and shrieking winds. How glad she would be to face the gale again, rather than this.

  "You know much more about the men of your own kind than the Pu-tahi do," she said at last, recalling some of what Kiore had told her. "Can you explain that foreigners come from different islands and that they war against each other just as we do?"

  "Yes—"

  "I think that will enlighten him. We do know where these dangerous foreigners came from. Perhaps the men who attacked the islanders are also your enemies."

  "They may be."

  "That should help him accept you as a friend. If you are clever, you can bring up the question you so dearly wish to know—about the colors of the flags."

  Kiore's eyebrows rose and then his face showed his smile of delight. "I think you also want to know about those flags."

  The next morning, when Tepua and Kiore went to the Pu-tahi compound, Umia walked with them, bringing a gift. Ata-katinga's dark eyes glittered when he saw what Umia carried. It was one of Kohekapu's best headdresses, magnificently feathered, with a high plumed crest and decorations of rare shell.

  The Pu-tahi chief rose from his seat in the shade, em
erging into the bright morning sunlight. Tepua stepped forward to address him. "Ata-katinga, my brother and I bring you this as a token of our goodwill. It is our wish that we continue the peaceful discussions that we have begun."

  Tepua watched the Pu-tahi's mouth purse as he took the headdress into his big hands and carefully inspected it. She could see that he was dazzled by the rainbow shimmer of feathers. The best ones came from high-island birds never seen in the atolls. They had been a gift to her father from a wide-ranging trader.

  Oh, Kohekapu, she thought. Forgive what we do with your treasure. You wanted to end the raiding and warfare that claimed so many of our people. A feather headdress is a small gift in exchange.

  She could scarcely breathe as she watched the Pu-tahi proudly showing the gift to his men. There were murmurs of approval all around. Then Ata-katinga removed his old headdress, handed it to his attendant, and settled the new one on his head.

  "A worthy gift indeed," the Pu-tahi chief announced, lifting his chin and stroking the fall of rich feathers down the back of his neck. He took up his old one, fingering the tassel of gold hair. For an instant, Tepua was afraid that he would give the old headdress to Umia and expect the young man to wear it. The moment passed and he handed it back to the attendant.

  After striding around and striking poses for his warriors, Ata-katinga turned to the sailor. "And now the time has come for our talk, Narrow-nose." Tepua watched Kiore's face harden.

  "Sit!" said the Pu-tahi, pointing to a mat. When Kiore had arranged himself, the chief returned to his stool. Tepua and Umia took the seats reserved for them.

  Ata-katinga eyed the sailor with sharp suspicion. "Tepua tells me that you came to these islands by mistake."

  "It could be said so, yes."

  "And that you disturbed my compound out of ignorance."

  The sailor glared back sullenly, then gave an affirmative grunt.

  "A man who makes two mistakes can make another. Do not be foolish enough to lie to me. I want to hear what you know about the foreigners who invade our waters."

  Kiore flushed with anger, and Tepua feared that he might lose his temper and use his fists again, but he seemed to remember why he was here. Carefully he began to speak.