Child of the Dawn (26 page)

He quickly reached the end of the islet, where tough, woody bushes grew almost to the water's edge. Nearby he found several sprouting coconuts and picked one up. Inside, he knew he would find the coconut germ, a light, spongy delicacy.
 

He levered off the dry, brown husk on a stake that someone had set into the ground, then broke the inner shell against a slab of coral. He bit into the germ, which had a milder flavor than fresh coconut meat. This piece had an airy crispness, yet melted deliciously against his tongue. He found a place to sit while he savored his find. His only wish was that Tepua could share it with him.
 

As he gazed out over the tranquil scene, watching the last outrigger canoes sailing in for the night, he began to understand the lure of Tetiaroa. Here one could easily forget Tahiti. The woes of home seemed so distant and unimportant. It was enough for a man to lie beneath the trees, eat good food, doze with only the quiet sounds of surf and birdcalls to wake him....
 

 

When Matopahu returned to Otaha's house, he found Eye-to-heaven in animated conversation with their host. Clearly the priest had cast his earlier reservations aside; now he seemed to be enjoying his visit. "People here have heard about your victory in the sacred game," he told Matopahu. "You will be welcome wherever you go."
 

"But you came to me first," Otaha pointed out. "You are my guest now, and I will take it poorly if you leave me. Sit. I have a surprise waiting." He gestured toward the stool next to his.
 

Matopahu complied. Two musicians appeared, one playing a nose flute, the other a small drum. Three girls did a provocative dance, but they were so heavily wrapped in bark-cloth that he could not even tell if they were attractive. After several other dances, the music's rhythm changed to a slow and dignified beat.
 

Then, from the shadows, a figure advanced slowly toward the three men. Matopahu stirred, leaning forward. "My daughter, Fleeting-star," the chief announced with satisfaction. Matopahu could see only a huge bundle of cloth with two eyes peering out the top and a pair of pale feet below.
 

Two servants came forward to assist the girl. Fleeting-star stood before Matopahu and slowly began to turn around. As she did, the servants grasped one end of the cloth, which was bleached
tapa
of quality suited to a chief's daughter, painted with intricate designs. The cloth began to unwind, revealing first the smooth, broad face and fine shoulders of Fleeting-star.
 

Matopahu knew that the cloth, once fully unwound, would be a gift to himself from Otaha. He was far more interested in the girl wrapped inside. Seclusion under the dense shade had left her complexion fair and delicate.
 

She revolved slowly so that he could savor every detail. Her nose was delicately shaped, her teeth even and white, her eyes expressive, surrounded by black lashes. And the rich diet here, as Otaha had suggested, had filled her out to classically beautiful proportions. Now her well-rounded arms were exposed and she still kept turning.
 

The flute and drum reached a crescendo as the last layer of cloth peeled away. The girl did not hesitate. When her plump glory was fully visible, she continued to revolve, making sure that Matopahu missed nothing. Then she gave a shriek of delight and ran off into the arms of her attendants, who quickly covered her.
 

"She will make someone a fine wife," said Otaha, eyeing Matopahu sharply. "Few men are worthy of Fleeting-star. I have already turned down several
ari'i
of good standing."
 

"I understand your problem," the guest agreed, feeling his voice catch in his throat. "Your other daughters all made good matches. I am sure you want to do as well for this one."
 

"Until you came to visit me, I was not so certain I could manage it," Otaha replied. 'To my thinking, birth is everything. It does not matter what happens to a man. If he has the proper ancestry behind him, little can keep him from triumphing in the end."
 

The guest could only raise his eyebrows in response to Otaha's words. Matopahu was the firstborn son of a firstborn son, going back to great men of legend. If birth alone were the only requirement, then Fleeting-star could not find a better husband than himself. And yet...

Otaha seemed to sense Matopahu's indecisiveness. "Now is no time to discuss these things," the chief added heartily. "Food is waiting for us, and I hope you are hungry. You cannot get fish like this in Tahiti."
 

 

Long after dark, Matopahu lay awake on his bed of mats in the guest house. At last he rose, wrapped himself in his cloak, and crept out into the cool air. He heard a stirring behind him—Eye-to-heaven. A moment later, his
taio
joined him on the beach.
 

The moon had not risen, and the inky sky overhead was sprinkled with stars. Across the calm lagoon came faint sounds, distant voices. Lights moved, the torches of spear fishermen who stalked their prey in the shallows.
 

"I'm not sleepy," said Matopahu quietly. "Walk with me."

The beach ahead was only faintly visible, the border between land and lagoon blurred by darkness. As Matopahu led the way, he felt hollows in the sand, smooth bits of shell, and sometimes the coolness of water beneath his toes. The men soon reached Matopahu's quiet spot and made themselves comfortable, resting against a pair of palm trees.
 

"
Taio
, we both know what Otaha wants from you," the priest said softly. "The girl is very beautiful and as wellborn as any in these islands."
 

"Are you urging me to take her for my wife?"

"It is a tempting offer."

"But—"

"Do you hesitate because of Tepua? I have talked with her many times. I know her dedication to the Arioi. I feel certain that she will not leave her troupe."
 

"Even so, there have been signs. You saw one of them. I think that she will come to realize..."

The priest sighed. Matopahu's thoughts took him back to another shore, to the place in Tahiti where Eye-to-heaven had performed a cleansing rite long ago. While Tepua and Matopahu stood in the water, a pair of blue sharks, sent by the gods, had paid them homage as if they were great chiefs.
 

"Yes, my
taio
," said the priest. "I did see a sign. But its meaning has never been as clear to me as it is to you. Perhaps someday Tepua will be your wife, but not now. Meanwhile, Otaha is offering something we did not anticipate."
 

"So that is your advice? Take the woman. You surprise me tonight. You are the one who keeps insisting that the curse still lingers."
 

"It does, but its influence is limited now. If you mount an attack against Land-crab, the curse will bring you down. That is what the omens predict. But I see no reason why you cannot take a wife and live happily in another district of Tahiti. Otaha will give you a fine tract of land—"
 

"Abandon my brother's people?"

"You must be patient. Land-crab eventually will overreach himself. Meanwhile, by marrying Fleeting-star, you can become a man of influence once again."
 

Matopahu fell silent. His friend's advice was sensible, but he couldn't forsake Tepua. "I will not sleep tonight," he told the priest. "Go back to the guest house. Take this with you." He handed his cloak to his friend, leaving himself garbed only in a loincloth.
 

"Another vigil?" Eye-to-heaven asked.

"I think not," said Matopahu with a laugh. He strode out into the water, heading for the nearest moving light.

 

Matopahu waded slowly across a coral shelf that lay just below the surface. The kelp covering the rock felt refreshingly cool beneath his feet. A short way ahead of him stood a fisherman with a long spear, accompanied by a boy. A torch of bundled palm-leaf ribs gave off a yellow light, illuminating pools where fish moved sluggishly. When the torch burned down, the boy lit another.
 

With a smooth, quick motion, the fisherman struck. "
Aue
!" the man cried in dismay when his spear missed. "They are slippery tonight." Then he turned toward Matopahu. "Are you catching them in your hands, my friend? Maybe that works better."
 

"I am just watching," said the
ari'i
. "If you lend me your spear, I'll see what I can do."
 

"Maybe your hand is swifter than mine," said the fisherman, "or your eyes keener." He offered the spear to Matopahu, who ran a finger along the carved tip, pleased at its sharpness. The whalebone point was mounted to a short section of hard
tamanu
wood, which was fitted and lashed to the spear shaft. Matopahu stepped past the fisherman, hefting the spear to judge its balance. The wrapped sennit handgrip felt good against his palm.
 

Matopahu grinned in anticipation as the boy held up the torch. He had not been spearfishing since he was little older than the boy. Of course, he remembered the tricks that water played, making fish appear in a different place from where they really were.
 

He peered down, waiting until he saw a long, dark shadow. Making a quicker thrust, he felt the point strike, pierce something solid, and slide in. The struggle began at once, the spear jerking in his hand. He brought up the fish, which flipped madly, spraying him with salt. Somehow he got it into the boy's basket before it could free itself.
 

"Ah, I think you have the right touch," said the fisherman. "Let me see you do that again."

The fisherman gave his name as Long-oar. When his basket was filled, he invited Matopahu to accompany him to his home on a small islet across the lagoon. The
ari'i
, calling himself simply "Mato," asked his new friend to wait. Then he crept back into the guest house and gently woke Eye-to-heaven.

"So you have decided," the priest said sleepily.

Matopahu squatted beside his friend. "We both know," he said quietly, "that the first son of an
ari'i
is special, a child of the gods as well as the man."
 

"That is so," agreed the priest. "And Fleeting-star will make a fine mother for that son."

"No, my
taio
. You are trying to help me, but I feel no conviction behind your words. We both know this. Tepua will be the mother of my son, or I will die childless."
 

The priest sighed gently. "You may be right, but it would not hurt to try with Fleeting-star."

"I must leave you," Matopahu said regretfully. "My
taio
, you have been more than loyal to me. My canoe is yours now, with everything in it. Stay here as long as you wish, Give gifts. Enjoy the hospitality. Find a chief who needs a priest."
 

"But you—"

"When Otaha wakes, I will be gone. Tell him I had a message from one of the supply canoes. Let him think I went back to Tahiti."

"Matopahu—" Eye-to-heaven put his hand against his friend's arm.

"I'll try fishing for a while. That is what I promised I would do. When Tepua is finished with her Arioi, I'll take her far from here. That is the only choice the gods have left me."
 

"You may change your mind," the priest said hoarsely.

"Don't give Otaha any hopes." Clad only in his loincloth, taking nothing with him, Matopahu turned away before his
taio
could offer any more arguments. Dawn was at hand. He hurried to the water and waded out toward Long-oar's canoe.
 

 

 

 

FOURTEEN

 

"Move yourself. Wake up!" Tepua groaned at the sound of Pehu-pehu's grating voice. She struggled to open her eyes.

A hand clamped on her arm and shook her roughly. "What is wrong with you, girl?" the Blackleg asked. "Every morning I have to send someone to drag you from your mat."
 

Tepua pulled free and stood up on her own before Pehu-pehu could yank her to her feet. "You should be setting a good example for the others," the Blackleg scolded. 'They look up to you as an experienced player. Soon they will all think they can sleep late."
 

Pehu-pehu was right. Tepua glanced unhappily at the empty mats around her in the guest house. The other novices had already left, somehow without waking her. Streaks of bright sunlight filtering through the mat walls announced that morning had long since arrived. Why did she still feel so groggy?
 

"Go and wash. Quickly. Catch up with the others," snapped Pehu-pehu. Tepua felt only a moment's relief when the Blackleg stormed out of the guest house.
 

Resisting an overwhelming urge to return to her sleeping place, Tepua tied on her wrap. This drowsiness had lingered for days, and she wondered if some sorcerer was working against her. Other feelings had been troubling her— gnawing sensations in her stomach that turned to queasiness when she moved.
Especially in the morning
...

The obvious explanation was wrong, Tepua thought. Her monthly flow had come twice since her night with Matopahu, and she had been with no other man.
 

It must be the visions
, she concluded. Though many days had passed since her encounter with Purea and 'Tapani Vari," she still saw remnants in her dreams. She woke often in the night. That was why she felt sleepy all day.
 

I have had enough
! she wanted to cry to the gods.
Let me have rest.
Only Aitofa understood her suffering; Tepua had confided in no one else. But Aitofa could not allow her to evade her responsibilities to the troupe.
 

Wiping away a tear, Tepua left the guest house and hurried down the path to the stream. A cold bath would wake her, she thought, and then she would take her place in practice with the others.