“Tepua,” he answered sadly, “I cannot say what will happen yet. I do not even know how my brother will like having me back here. And what if that old priest is proved wrong? What if the breadfruit still does not flower?”
“Then the gods have forsaken us all.” She wiped away a tear.
“No, I do not think so. The gods have been angry many times, but they have always helped us when our need was great.” He rose on one knee, as if ready to depart. “You must return to Aitofa now,” he said. “Eye-to-heaven has gone to explain why you disobeyed her orders and returned from the mountains with us. Now that Ihetoa has no power to harm you, it is best that you remain here.”
“And near you ...” She stared at him expectantly. He still had said nothing of what was to happen between them.
His gaze turned from her. “You must understand this, Tepua. People will be watching me, reporting everything I do. It will be difficult—”
“To consort with a motu woman!”
“Do not be angry. It will not hurt us to stay apart for a while. Later, when this uproar over the change of priests has subsided—”
“Then you will send for me,” she answered harshly, “as you would for your favorite dog.” She pushed herself up and stood away from him. “Perhaps I will surprise you. Perhaps I will not come.” Before he could soothe her with his whispers and warm touch, she raced from the clearing.
Late that afternoon, in one corner of the high chief’s compound, servants were readying Matopahu’s house to be occupied again. Matopahu stood outside, watching the men carry in sleeping mats, when he saw Eye-to-heaven approaching. The priest’s mood seemed unusually somber.
“What is it, my taio?” asked the chief’s brother.
“I must speak with you. About Tepua.”
Matopahu regarded his friend with narrowed eyes. Has the new high priest no more pressing problem? he wondered as he motioned for his taio to join him in the shade.
“It concerns her trip to Fenua Ura,” said the priest.
“I heard about it,” Matopahu growled. “And if I ever find that eel of a fisherman who led her there, I know what I’ll do to him.”
“So she has admitted it to you. I was not sure what to make of Ihetoa’s blustering.”
Matopahu clenched his fist, wishing his fingers were around the fisherman’s neck. “She was tricked. I understand what happened. The wretch concealed some tapu markers to ease her fears. Otherwise, she would not have stayed on the island.”
“Even so, the gods must be angry at her. She escaped Ihetoa’s wrath only through Aitofa’s protection. Yet something must be done. The gods can choose to strike her at an unexpected moment. Knowing this may drive her to despair.”
“Can you help?”
“Yes, but it will not be easy. The Arioi can protect her from any penalty I decree. She must come to me and agree to follow my instructions. Many prayers and offerings will be needed, and this will take time.”
“She is shy of priests, but I believe she trusts you, Eye-to-heaven,” said Matopahu. “Perhaps a suggestion on my part ...”
“Or better, from Aitofa. I must tell you this as well, my taio. It is prudent that you stay away from this woman until she is freed of her sin.”
Matopahu felt his face flush. He was not willing to admit, even to his taio, the true depths of his feelings for Tepua. “She will return to her place among the Arioi,” he said. “But I had thought, after a brief time—”
“As a friend, I cannot forbid you such pleasures, yet as a priest I urge you not to see her until she has come into harmony again with the gods.”
Matopahu gazed at his taio and felt his dismay turning to doubt. He and the priest had been close for so many seasons that he seldom questioned the man’s motivations. Now he wondered whether jealousy might be influencing Eye-to-heaven’s words.
Tepua’s presence had already disrupted the partnership. She had explained the riddle that Matopahu’s god spewed forth, succeeding where the priest had only met frustration. Perhaps Eye-to-heaven sought to restore things as they had been. Matopahu glanced at the priest and felt pangs of remorse. He has always acted with my best interests at heart, yet now I find myself doubting him. “For how long would you make her atone?” Matopahu asked.
“Several months, at least. I will know better after I have spoken to her.” Eye-to-heaven paused. “My taio, I see doubt on your face. My only wish is to restore Tepua to you, renewed and purified.”
Matopahu dropped his gaze. “Yes, of course.”
“Then tomorrow I will consult with the Arioi chiefess,” said Eye-to-heaven. “Now I must prepare myself for another task, a most important one—a night of prayer in the marae.”
“I wish you well,” Matopahu replied coolly. At that moment he could not think about the problems that weighed on everyone. The priest departed, leaving the high chief’s brother to stare into the dust. Servants approached, asking how to arrange the sleeping mats. What does that matter, Matopahu thought, if I must sleep on them alone?
He turned and stalked off, reaching the shore and plunging into the choppy waters. A storm was coming, but he paid no heed to it. He swam out into the lagoon, trying to exhaust himself so that he could think no more about her.
Why had he not been born a flying fish or a sleek-sided porpoise? The sea’s creatures chose their own mates. They asked no permission from chief’s or priests.
18
THE afternoon was almost gone when Tepua reached Aitofa’s compound. She hoped fervently that the chiefess would be preoccupied, too busy to call her. Tepua wanted only to throw herself down on her mat and weep.
When she came through the gate, she heard no sounds of laughter in the courtyard. No one was pounding cloth or husking coconuts. A lone servant stared at her.
“Where is everyone?” Tepua asked.
“The noble chiefess has just gone out. The novices are still in the hills collecting food.”
“Ah.” Aitofa gone! With relief, Tepua went to the novices’ quarters and unrolled her mat. She was too tired to cry; instantly, she fell asleep.
Later she woke in darkness, and thought she felt Matopahu’s warmth beside her. No, it was only the cover that she had wrapped herself in. Suddenly she realized that she was alone, in a large and empty house. And this was a night when the long-toothed ghosts roamed...
She shivered, wishing for another wrap. It did not help that Ihetoa had announced her guilt within earshot of the marae. Not only the priests and opu-nui, but every spirit that lingered there had heard it. Against living men she might have a chance, but she was helpless against ghosts.
Tepua moaned softly, and prayed to Tapahi-roro-ariki. “I will dedicate myself anew to the Arioi,” she promised her ancestress. “I will work harder than the other novices so that I can quickly advance to Pointed-thorn. And tomorrow, at first light, I will bring you a fine offering.”
She tried to sleep, but whenever the thatch rustled overhead, her pulse quickened. In the near silence she heard insects clicking, rats rustling and squeaking. These sounds might be messages from the spirits, but she lacked the skill to interpret them. The thought made her shiver anew, yet finally she dozed off.
When Tepua woke, with a start, she saw the morning’s welcome light filtering through the walls. She stood up, glanced at her body, ran fingers over her face. No harm had been done to her! At once she hurried out to find the gift she had promised her protector.
She had forgotten how difficult it would be to find a suitable offering at this season. In Aitofa’s dusty storehouse she discovered only yams and taro. “These will not do!” she cried. One did not bring such lowly roots to an altar of the gods.
She headed toward the shore, hoping to find an overlooked coconut under the palms. Along her way she passed beneath the breadfruit trees, barely glancing up at the canopy of branches. Once these boughs had bent under the weight of heavy fruit. Now only shiny scalloped leaves hung there.
But amid the greenery somethin
g new caught her attention. She stepped up on a fallen branch and peered closely at the boughs. Was it possible? She rubbed her eyes, thinking she must still be half-asleep. When she looked again, she knew she could not be mistaken.
Just out of reach a bud was emerging, a speckled yellow-and-green catkin. When she glanced higher, she saw others. The tree was preparing to bear fruit again!
She was so excited that she almost lost her balance on the branch. She hurried back to the compound, shouting to the few remaining servants. “The gods have forgiven us! Come see! Everyone come!” She said nothing of her own part in this. But she felt certain that it was Ihetoa’s dismissal that had brought this sign of hope.
The servants scrambled after her, and when they saw the buds for themselves, they began to dance about the grove, singing and clapping. Then they raced along the shore to spread the news.
Staring after them, Tepua remembered her unfulfilled pledge. Perhaps in the nearby hills she would find something. A nono, or some other small fruit would do for the altar, so long as it was unblemished.
She chose a steep path, ascending while the sun rose, but found nothing of interest along the way. Hot and thirsty, she sat to rest awhile as the sun approached noon. Then she heard shouts from the trail above. She looked up and saw a crowd of Arioi descending, the same foraging party that had taken her to the mountains.
They filed past, their faces damp and dusty, their clusters of ripening fe’i hanging heavily from poles laid across their shoulders. When they heard Tepua’s news, they began to shout and sing.
At last Tepua spotted Curling-leaf, who was carrying a basket of small mountain apples. They walked together to Aitofa’s courtyard, where the Arioi threw down their burdens. The others rushed to the breadfruit groves, but Tepua, with three of Curling-leaf’s best apples, made her way to the women’s shrine.
The altar stood almost bare. Tepua’s gift seemed a trifle in the midst of that emptiness, yet she knelt in prayer. “Here is my gift, Tapahi-roro-ariki,” she said. “I beg you to intercede for me with the high gods and ask them to forgive my transgressions against them.” She kept silent about Matopahu, and the harsh words she had said to him. He would forget them in time, she thought. He would not forget their afternoon together in the highlands.
But how long must she wait before he called her into his arms again? And how would she put by her pride when he did? She stared at the heap of black stones, the ahu of the shrine, but found no answer.
As she headed back she heard a sound that had been missing far too long—drumming. Following the deep-toned rhythm, she reached the performance house, where a group of Arioi were starting an impromptu celebration. Fires were already burning in the pit ovens, though she could see from the preparations that the mountain food would be used sparingly. After all, many days must pass before the new breadfruit was ready to be eaten.
When Tepua saw the others celebrating, she rushed to join them. Dance. Dance for Oro. Chant praises to the god. That was all she wanted to do now. But before she could even start, a servant came after her. “Aitofa calls you,” the girl said. Tepua’s words of joy died in her throat. With a heavy step she followed the servant.
“I did not expect to see you here so soon,” the chiefess said coldly as Tepua stepped into the guest house. “But I am willing to accept what Eye-to-heaven told me. Let us say nothing more of your ... adventures in the mountains. Or of what took place among the opu-nui yesterday.” She paused and took a long breath. “I have other things to say to you.”
Tepua, squirming inwardly, forced herself to stand erect. “Eye-to-heaven has spoken to me of your troubles,” the chiefess continued. “He has offered to perform whatever ceremonies are needed to help you. But you must take time to atone. Until then, you remain under a cloud.”
“That is—a kind offer—by the new high priest.”
“It is. And he asked that you speak with him about it.”
“Yes, I will do that,” Tepua said softly. But the thought of approaching Matopahu’s taio filled her with dismay. She was certain that he, too, would be a far different man here from the one she had known in the highlands. She wished she could find some other way to redeem herself.
“There is something else,” said Aitofa sharply. “Concerning our important friend, whose name I need not speak. I must tell you that he will not be calling you to his mat. Eye-to-heaven insists. Your guilt might taint our friend. Your touch might even cause his god to fall silent!”
Tepua reeled under the impact of Aitofa’s words. It is too late. In the stream, he touched every part of me, yet his god still came to him. She dared not say this aloud.
Her fury at Matopahu flared again. He had warned her that they must part. He had said that people would be watching him, but not that the gods would be watching as well!
Or was this a convenient lie, making it easy for Matopahu to cast her aside? Her throat tightened. “The man does not matter,” she whispered. “I must rise to Pointed-thorn. That is my only wish now.”
“I would also like to see you advance,” said Aitofa. “Eye-to-heaven believes that the gods will now grant us our season of plenty. And you may be ready before it ends. Yet you still have the burden of providing a feast for the entire company. Other novices made their arrangements long ago, but you were too proud.”
“I will do anything,” said Tepua. “I do not need M—I do not need—”
Aitofa frowned. “With your reputation, what man of rank would be interested? Everyone knows how you clawed that fisherman.”
She bristled at the reminder. Was it her fault that Rimapoa’s foul trick had sent her into a frenzy? But she did not wish to argue with Aitofa. “Then what am I to do?” Tepua asked in desperation.
“Your only hope is to find a patron who cares nothing about what others think of him, who does not even listen to priests. ...” Her voice trailed off into awkward silence. A gust of wind blew, making the rafters creak. “I know one such man, only one,” Aitofa said at last. “Even then, I hesitate.”
“Tell me.”
“He is not young and you will not like his appearance. He drinks too much ova. Do you know what that does to the skin? I have sent other novices to him, but none stayed.”
“I will. Let it be part of my punishment.”
Aitofa sighed. “That is appropriate.”
“Then you will talk to the man?”
Again Aitofa paused. “I see no other way to help you. And Head-lifted often reminds me that I should not have taken you in. If you advance to Pointed-thorn faster than anyone else has, then I will have a way to answer him.”
In the next few days, the Arioi who had gone away during the idle season returned to the lodge house. Every morning and afternoon the drums sounded as the dancers practiced again. When her turn came, Tepua joined them, standing in formation with the other novices and following the lead of the dancing master.
She had found that blending her performance with the troupe’s was more difficult than the dancing itself. At home she had grown used to being the featured dancer, dazzling the audience with her speed and agility while the other girls formed a backdrop for her performance. Now Tepua had to match her movements with the others. Yet sometimes she lost control, and every so often she found herself so caught up in the music that she forgot everyone around her. Then she would see the leader’s angry face and have to bear his tirade.
Tepua still was obliged to labor for Aitofa every day. She spent her mornings sitting cross-legged, making finely plaited mats to be given as gifts. When she had time, she also practiced weapon handling or mime. One warm afternoon, while Tepua exercised with an ironwood spear, Curling-leaf interrupted her. “Aitofa sends word,” she whispered, “of an admirer who wishes to see you. You must go to him now.”
Tepua felt gooseflesh as she turned to stare at her friend. She had accepted Aitofa’s offer in the heat of her anger at Matopahu. Now she felt far less certain about it. “First I must wash,” she answered. “I am covered
with dust.” With one final lunge, she drove her weapon into the target of tied straw.
They walked to the stream, and when Tepua felt the cool water around her, she wanted to prolong the bath as long as possible. Curling-leaf was already dry, and arranging her wrap. With her head down, Tepua came out on the bank, then listlessly rubbed herself with scented oil from a coconut shell. The other women in the stream were laughing excitedly as they discussed the men they were preparing to meet. Tepua had no one to care about now. Perhaps she was better off that way.
Curling-leaf vanished for a few moments, returning with a garland of coconut leaves and hibiscus flowers for Tepua’s hair. “Now I will lead you to his house,” Curling-leaf said. “To the house of the man called Feet-out-of-water.”
They took a wooded path that paralleled the shore. Here, stately ironwoods dangled needlelike leaves over a thicket of smaller trees.’ ’Why were you chosen to lead me?” asked Tepua. When Curling-leaf did not answer, a discomfiting thought reached Tepua. “Is it because you know the way?”
“Yes,” her friend answered unhappily.
“You went to this man, and yet you remained a novice.”
“I could not please him,” Curling-leaf replied, turning so that Tepua could not see her face. “He sent me away.”
“Then I cannot hope to do better.”
“You are prettier,” the other woman insisted. “And I have seen how you dance. Feet-out-of-water will not send you back.”
Tepua frowned. For a moment she thought she might not be able to go through with Aitofa’s plan. She stared at her downcast friend, trying to imagine what had happened between Curling-leaf and the nobleman.
Then anger strengthened Tepua’s will. She had come this far with the Arioi. She had learned their chants until she could say them awake or asleep. Now she would not give up her hopes.
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