Sister of the Sun

by Coleman, Clare;

With wild cries, the battle began, spear parrying spear, club striking club. Dust swirled, sun flashed on polished wood and the sudden brightness of blood when a man went down. In the midst of the onslaught, Paruru realized that Nika had slipped away from him.

  He turned with alarm, but saw that the sailor had not gone far. Nika was behind him, crouching by the low compound wall. He had already unwrapped the weapon.

  Paruru had wanted this used against the Pu-tahi, but now it would be turned against Ahiku as well. Even worse, Cone-shell seemed determined to deal the thunderous blow. Parana saw him coming toward Nika as the sailor made his final preparations—cocking the beak, sprinkling powder in the bowl. Paruru felt a coldness in his gut as he caught the fierce glitter in Cone-shell's eyes. He had been kaito-nui for too long to give up his loyalties in a single day.

  If Cone-shell seized the weapon and used it against Ahiku Clan, the damage would be far worse than anything Paruru had anticipated. The old ways of battle would mean nothing if a man no longer needed strength and agility, if a man could kill merely with a pull of his finger. Pu-tahi dogs deserved such a death. Ahiku men did not. Neither did Tepua.

  Paruru's only hope was to reach Nika before Cone-shell did. The warrior felt as if he were moving in a strange slow dream, his legs weighted, his arms slow and heavy. As he threw himself into a lunge he heard a foreign shout behind him. Kiore's voice. Nika's eyes were wide with terror and he seemed not to hear.

  Cone-shell was approaching from one direction, Paruru from another. Nika rose, staggered backward, then lifted the thunder-club. In seeming confusion, he pointed it first at the line of attackers and then at Varoa's chief. Everything around Paruru became a wild blur, but at the center, as if at the calm eye of a hurricane, he saw Nika's forefinger curl about the long tooth under the weapon.

  "No!" Paruru cried, his hand reaching to stop him. Too late! The bird's beak fell. Sparks burst upward from the pan.

  Paruru heard the roar at the same moment that he felt the pain, tearing down the outside of his arm. He fell, one hand clutching his wound, the other his head, where the echo of the terrible noise sounded again and again. Rolling over, he stared through clouds of drifting smoke and black patches that were closing out his vision.

  He saw Cone-shell toppling, his hands clutching his breast, his mouth open in a scream that Paruru could not hear. And blood sheeted down Cone-shell's ribs like the ebbing tide running over coral.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Tepua watched with disbelief as Cone-shell and Paruru fell. The smoke cloud spread. Warriors cried out in panic. Varoa's men scattered, some diving into the lagoon.

  Sea-snake grabbed Tepua's wrist, tried to drag her to safety, but she shook him off. "Wait!" she shouted, watching Nika where he crouched beyond the wall. His eyes were wild, his face slick with sweat. He staggered to his feet, swinging the weapon from side to side, showing its terrible mouth....

  "It must not speak again!" she cried. She charged forward, her spear aimed at Nika's belly. Then she saw Kiore running toward him as well—running right into her path.

  She screamed a warning as she tried to aim high. Kiore ducked. Nika dodged and stumbled. The point missed both men, but Nika was down. With an enraged roar Kiore was on him, jerking the thunder-maker from his grip.

  Kiore became a madman, smashing the weapon on the coral wall. The air rang with the sound of battering until pieces broke away and the rest fell, bent and twisted, to the ground. "The thing is dead," he said hoarsely, his chest heaving, his eyes bright with tears.

  Tepua gazed at him in astonishment. He had destroyed the thunder-club, the work of his own people. "The battle is over!" she called to the dazed men who remained at the scene. "Let there now be peace among us."

  Varoa's warriors held on to their weapons. Nervously they edged toward their fallen chief.

  "No more fighting!" she shouted as Pu-tahi moved to cut them off. "We pledged our goodwill to the gods."

  The Pu-tahi and the men of Varoa cast threatening looks at each other. "Come away," called Ata-katinga to his warriors. "We have no more business here," he said in disgust. "We are finished with these deceivers."

  Tepua felt outraged by his words, but was glad to see the men following their orders. The Pu-tahi assembled about their chief. Slowly, one by one, the stunned warriors of Varoa put down their weapons.

  A crowd had gathered about Cone-shell's remains. Tepua pushed her way through and looked down. Blood pooled in the gaping hole in his chest, welled up, and spilled over, staining the white sand. She gasped. Ata-katinga had told what the foreign weapons could do, but his words had not conveyed the horror.

  "He is gone," said a warrior who knelt beside the body. "No one can help him." He began his wail of mourning, and others took up the cry.

  Tepua turned, leaving the men of Varoa to their grief. She caught sight of Paruru, also lying still. "Send someone for Heka," she told Sea-snake. "She must know what has happened to her brother." Unwillingly she stepped around the mourners to look closer at the state of Paruru's body. She saw blood seeping from small wounds on his upper arm....

  Suddenly Paruru groaned and stirred. "He lives!" Tepua shouted. "Call a healer!" Paruru's hands went to his ears and his face twisted with pain. When she tried to speak with him, he did not seem to hear.

  At last he looked in her direction. "Noise...in my ears ..." he said weakly. "Not stopping." He clutched his head again. He was trembling all over and his face had gone pale.

  He looked at her with wide, pain-filled eyes. "I cannot hear you, ariki. But listen. This is...my doing. I planned it all. The burned headdress...and the weapon. Do not blame the outsiders."

  How can I not blame them? she wanted to ask. She motioned for Paruru to stay where he was until a tahunga could help him. There was no need to consider his punishment now.

  At last she turned her attention to the sailors. Flanked by a pair of her warriors, Nika stood trembling beneath a palm tree. Guarded by another pair of men, Kiore sat on the wall, grimly watching the crowd. She wanted to believe that he had tried to prevent this violence. He had disarmed Nika and destroyed the weapon, but he was not blameless. None of this could have happened without the presence of these two men.

  She approached Kiore, following his gaze as it went from Cone-shell's mourners to her stricken kaito-nui. "May the gods forgive us," Kiore said quietly.

  She had no words for him, no comfort. Her feelings were in turmoil. "I must go," she said. "I must deal with Ata-katinga now." She saw Kiore turn away in anguish, and wished she could stay with him.

  Tepua tried to compose herself as she recalled the events of the morning. When news had reached her that warriors of Varoa were lurking in the forest, she had quickly conferred with Ata-katinga, agreeing that her men would fight beside his. For a brief while there had been an alliance between herself and the Pu-tahi chief. Now she saw Ata-katinga holding the ruined thunder-club, turning it over and over, his tattooed face dark with fury. Beyond him, she saw his men carrying their equipment from the guesthouses. They were leaving the atoll!

  "Ata-katinga, I know what you are thinking," she said as she came up to him. "But I was also deceived. I truly thought the weapon lost."

  He glanced up at her and tossed the ruined thunder-club aside. "There is no more to say, Tepua. Whatever hopes I had are ended. I wanted you to stand with me against a common enemy, but I came to you too late."

  "It is not so!" she answered. "Ata-katinga, my kaito-nui acted without my knowledge. It was his idea to attack you, not mine. Be glad that he relented at the last moment and tried to stop Nika from using the weapon. Otherwise you would be the one whose chest was torn out."

  He eyed her fiercely. "How can that be?"

  "Paruru has admitted everything. He could not stomach having your people as allies. Ask him how the weapon came to be here. And about the burned headdress as well."

  "I may do that, Tepua-ariki. But it does not change anything." He gestured impatiently at his men to hurry.
>
  "Ata-katinga, listen. I made a mistake and now I have suffered for it. I invited the foreigners to live among my people. We had never seen such men before. How could I know what they would do to us?"

  "I do not fault you for that, ariki. Others have been fooled when they first met the many-colored men." For a moment he seemed lost in thought.

  She searched his face, hoping to see a hint of softening in his deep eyes. He appeared implacable, but that was his way. She knew a gesture that might move him, only one. It would bring her more pain than she thought she could bear.

  She remembered Kiore as she had just seen him, his hair dusty and rumpled, his face bristly. Yet his eyes, when he gazed at her, had gleamed with the same penetrating aquamarine that always made her breath catch in her throat.

  She recalled the time she had spent close to him, enjoying his salty scent, warming to the gentle touch of his hands.

  Tepua delayed a moment longer. Beyond the Pu-tahi chief and the cluster of houses the lagoon lay placid, a brilliant blue, unruffled by wind or by the troubles ashore. Wispy clouds hung overhead, but the tranquillity they suggested was a lie. There could be no joy for her here. Not now, or ever again.

  When she spoke at last, Tepua's voice sounded strange to her ears, as if another woman were speaking in her place, a cold, hard woman, a woman of ashes. "Ata-katinga, I am sending the outsiders away. Now. Today. They will leave this atoll and never be allowed to return."

  The Pu-tahi eyed her for a long moment. "And what of those chief's and elders of yours who still oppose our agreement?"

  "There will be no more opposition. How can there be? When they see Cone-shell's body, they will understand everything you have said about the foreign invaders."

  Ata-katinga drew in his breath. He turned to the left and then to the right as if seeking help from some invisible guide. Suddenly he barked a command that sent one of his men scurrying.

  They were coming back! Tepua watched with astonishment and relief as the Pu-tahi began returning to the guesthouses. Her satisfaction lasted only a moment. Now she had to give the orders she dreaded. It was easier to let the woman of ashes speak instead.

  "Bring the foreign boat!" she called hoarsely, sending someone to recruit the fifty men needed to move it from its hiding place ashore. "Tell the priests to release the sailors' goods. Fill the foreigners' water drum. Bring the provisions from their stockpile, and anything else we can spare."

  Umia came forward, offering his help. She took his arm and walked with him back to the silent refuge of her house.

  Paruru lay on a mat in Tepua's guesthouse. The tahunga was finished tending his wounds and Heka had ceased weeping over him. The noise was fading from his ears; he could understand some of what his sister said.

  "What will you do now, brother?" she asked.

  Paruru stared dully at the thatch above him. "I have no place on this atoll. I cannot stay."

  "The gods played a cruel trick on you. If they had not sent the foreign boat—"

  "Yes, sister, but I do not blame the gods for my fate." He sat up slowly and found that his dizziness was almost gone. "I must go away, but there is still a small service I can perform. It cannot make up for my offenses, but I would like to do that much for Tepua."

  Heka tried to stop him, but he pushed her hand aside and went to the doorway. When he stood outside in the open air, he felt more of his strength returning. The weapon had left painful wounds and burns on his arm, but the rest of his body felt sound.

  He walked to the shore, where the foreign craft floated at anchor once again. The supplies were being loaded, boys handing up baskets of food. He saw the outsiders already aboard, glumly stowing their goods and readying their sails. Tepua was nowhere in sight, and neither were the Pu-tahi.

  Glancing behind him, Paruru caught a glimpse of moving figures. He climbed a small knoll for a better view. Then he saw that a crowd had gathered at the assembly ground, Tepua and the chief's meeting with Ata-katinga again. He groaned, knowing that now he was powerless to stop them.

  Paruru turned his back on that troubling scene and once more approached the foreign boat. This time he went closer, wading out into the warm, shallow water. He knew that the sailors had every reason to despise him. Yet he had saved Nika's life, and perhaps also Kiore's, by concealing the turtle-killing offense. Perhaps they had not forgotten that.

  "Nika! Kiore!" he called to them. The men looked up from their work, scowling. "You two cannot sail alone," Paruru shouted. "You need another hand." He knew that they had failed to find another crewman. Since Paruru had killed their original companion, it seemed fitting that he take the man's place.

  The foreigners did not answer him. "Let me come with you," Paruru called. "I am strong, and I know the people of these atolls. I can show you how to catch fish and survive on the sea."

  Still they did not reply. Paruru wondered if these two had learned anything at all during their stay here. He had made such an effort to teach them the customs of the atoll....

  "You are my brother," he called to the red-haired sailor. "We share everything. I have given you much and now it is your turn. I ask you for my share in the vaka."

  The two foreigners glanced at each other, exchanged a few words. Paruru was aware that many people were watching him, listening to his pleas. But now he was nothing in their eyes, a man who had betrayed his chief. No one could be lower than that.

  Paruru took a few steps forward, water lapping at his waist. Then Kiore gave a signal. "Come!" he said. Paruru threw himself into the lagoon. The burning of salt water on his wounds made him cry out but he managed to swim. With powerful kicks he reached the boat and let the sailors help him aboard.

  Unsteadily he tried to find a place for himself in the foreign craft. At once he felt queasy, though the boat lay at anchor. The feel was nothing like that of the stable canoes of his people. The outlandish vessel seemed to roll whenever anyone moved, though it did not tip far.

  "You are well prepared," he said with a false heartiness, looking around at the large collection of drums, the baskets of food, the heaped coconuts beneath the thwarts. In one corner he saw pearl-shell fishhooks that Nika had gathered. A roll of sailcloth lay near the mast. He glanced at it, remembering its strength. "We will go fast in this boat," he said. "And I will call on the spirits of my ancestors, who are Nika's as well."

  He chattered on, but the men seemed not to hear him. He began examining the boat's gear, knowing he would have to learn how to use it. So much had happened since he first pursued this vessel and kept it from crashing on the reef. He had been eager then to learn the secrets of the strange rigging. Now, he feared, the knowledge would be hard won.

  He sighed and looked out at the flotilla of canoes assembling around him. Paruru understood their purpose. They were to make certain that the sailors got under way, and did not try to turn back.

  And on the beach a crowd was growing, people coming from all directions to bemoan the departure of the foreigners. He saw Maukiri at the fore, wading into the water while she gashed her forehead with a shark-tooth flail. Others came behind her as the sailors pulled up their anchor. He saw Heka standing on higher ground, her own forehead glistening with blood. The moans and cries grew louder.

  He felt tears gather in his eyes. A heaviness settled in his chest as he watched his sister. The proud frigate bird of Piho Clan would not let his disgrace weaken her, but she would always grieve for the loss of her brother.

  But where was Tepua? Paruru blinked back his tears and tried to find the ariki, but she was out of sight now, undoubtedly still at the assembly ground. Did she care so little about the foreigners that she would not mourn their departure?

  The mainsail's canvas filled and the boat began to pull away from the crowded shore. Planks groaned, ropes creaked, sails flapped, fittings jingled. What noises this craft made! He wondered how anyone could tolerate it.

  The boat wallowed and lumbered in the light breeze. With longing, he watched the escort canoes
skimming swiftly and silently over the lagoon. Then he forced himself to look away.

  This life was finished for him. There would be another, but one that he could not imagine.

  Paruru set his gaze forward. He did not look at the sailors, or the people along the beach, or the graceful palms that shaded the shore. He kept his attention fixed firmly on the pass as the boat sailed out of the lagoon.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Paruru had watched this boat sail on the ocean, but he had not imagined how it would feel under him. As the wind stiffened, the boat heeled over and spray flew from the bow. For a time Paruru did nothing but clutch the thwarts fiercely, convinced that he was about to be plunged into the waves.

  The outsiders showed no such fear. They even raised a second triangular sheet in front of the mainsail. Paruru had never seen a vessel fly such an expanse of cloth. When the wind strengthened, the craft leaned harder, groaning and creaking more than ever. Paruru cried out in alarm but the sailors ignored him.

  Slowly he began to realize that the vessel was supposed to lean like this, that the masts were in no danger of breaking, that the sails would hold. He would have to get used to the feel of this demon's boat...and to many new things.

  When the shadows of sails had grown long on the water, Paruru noticed the flotilla making a change in course. He glanced at one of the accompanying canoes and saw someone pointing toward a speck on the horizon. Yes, he knew where they were headed now. They would spend the night at a small, uninhabited atoll called Beach-of-shells.

  Running downwind, with sails flying out to either side like wings, they made good speed. The escort canoes kept up, with no apparent difficulty. Soon he made out the fringed tops of palm trees.

  Beach-of-shells was a tiny gem, with a safe broad channel through its reef. Unfortunately, the islets were too small to support a permanent settlement. As the boat entered the lagoon Paruru noticed remains of temporary shelters made of sticks and coconut mid-ribs lashed together. He knew that this was a popular stopover for voyagers crossing between larger atolls.