Child of the Dawn (3 page)

'Tepua, this is foolhardy," said the warrior captain, who had brought his men up behind her. "I have a duty to your brother to keep you safe. You owe nothing to these Tahitian players. Come with us now to Porapora. We will bring you back here when the trouble is over."
 

Tepua took a deep breath and stared into his dark eyes. 'These Tahitians are now my people. I cannot dessert them."

He gestured toward his warriors. "Then we must escort you to Matavai Bay."

"There is no room!"

The captain stared back with equal resolution. His men did not move from her path.

"If you insist on protecting me," Tepua answered, "then I will stay here, with the craftsmen, while my Arioi friends go to safety. Let me give the orders."
 

At last, the warriors let her pass. She found Maukiri standing to one side, trembling. Tepua tried to comfort her. "Don't send me away," Maukiri insisted. "I can help you here. I can look after Te Kurevareva."
 

"Then take her out of her cage and hide her somewhere," said Tepua. Maukiri seemed glad to have something to do. She went off to fill a coconut shell with fresh water for the dog.
 

In a short while, all the costumed Arioi managed to crowd onto Tepua's vessel. At her insistence, Curling-leaf joined them. Aitofa had not returned, but Tepua could wait no longer. She told the canoe-master to depart.
 

The warriors and craftsmen, with their equipment and supplies, remained behind on the beach. A crosswind was blowing, making the canoe-master's task even more difficult. Tepua watched nervously as the sails were raised and the laden craft set out.
 

The lagoon was choppy, the sea beyond, heaving and gray, but the sturdy
pahi
had faced far worse. Tepua stood watching its departure as the sails grew smaller, rising and falling on distant swells. Gusts of wind tore at her hair and stung her face.
 

"Who are these invaders?" came a challenging voice from behind. She whirled, seeing that her guards had already brought up their spears. A turbaned Tahitian warrior was approaching at the head of his own group of men. Land-crab's guards had finally discovered their visitors!
 

Tepua strode forward, wishing she could find a single familiar face among the high chief's warriors. The leader of the canoe-builders began to speak, though the softer dialect of Tahiti sounded awkward on his tongue. He proudly proclaimed his coral island origin and the skills of his men.
 

The high chief's captain looked at him skeptically, then barked an order that sent a messenger running along the beach. The captain glanced at the armed visitors. "Savages," he muttered to the man beside him. "Atoll dwellers." Then, in a loud voice, he demanded, "Show us the rest of your weapons."

The master canoe-builder pointed to the heap of adzes, tools with wooden hafts and heads of shaped black stone or shell. "We cut wood, not men," he answered.
 

"A sharp answer!" replied the warrior, laughing at his own wit. Then he waited silently for his messenger to return from the compound of the high chief, which lay above the beach near his sacred point of land. Tepua saw a runner coming from that direction, and then another. Even from this distance, she could hear the resonant note of the conch-trumpet being blown.
 

The warning cry of a herald rose over the fading echoes of the conch. "The high chief comes! From his home in the sky, he flies like the sea eagle to challenge the invaders. The high chief comes!"
 

A crowd of turbaned warriors ran out from the compound, lined themselves on either side of the high chief's path, and held up their spears. Land-crab came, riding the shoulders of his bearer, his appearance regal, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Tepua waited with curiosity as well as distaste for her first close look at the usurper.
 

The Tahitians who were wearing cloaks and wraps loosened their garments and bared their bodies to the waist. Seeing this unusual gesture of respect for the arriving chief, Tepua reluctantly removed her own cape. She watched the lead warrior hurry to meet Land-crab, then turn to walk beside his bearer.
 

Land-crab was a sizable man, Tepua saw; unlike many chiefs, he was not grossly huge. Beneath his painted cape of fine bark-cloth she saw hints of a warrior's body—broad in the chest and amply muscled. To compare him with a sea eagle seemed appropriate, for his nose was a great beak curving down his face, and his eyes were large and glossy.
 

Tepua bit her lip in fury as she saw the usurper approach in all his undeserved grandeur. His expression was cold as he gazed down from the neck of his sweating bearer. In one hand he carried a fly-flap, a tuft of feathers attached to a long wooden handle that bore a scowling carved figure. "
So
you are canoe-builders?" he said to the men who faced him. "I have my own. And strangers on my shore can only bring trouble. How did you get here?"

"By
pahi
," said the master craftsman humbly. "But we have lent the boat to someone who needed it. Noble chief, we ask only your permission to stay here for the night. In the morning, before you wake, we will be gone."
 

"Gone where? To build canoes for my enemies?" He shook the fly-flap impatiently.

'To Porapora," the craftsman answered.

Land-crab tossed his head. 'Then your work is not likely to trouble me. Even so, I have little reason to grant your request. You land without permission.... You invade my shores.... Why not feed you to the sharks?"
 

There was a sudden commotion to the side. Tepua heard Maukiri shouting and then saw two warriors dragging her, a third leading an unwilling Te Kurevareva by a tether about the neck. A soft cry spilled from Tepua's lips. Maukiri had tried to hide the animal under the trees....
 

"What is this?" asked Land-crab, his face suddenly alive with interest. Tepua stifled a groan. With a single glance, Land-crab had grasped the significance of Te Kurevareva. "What is this animal doing here?"
 

She did not want to give up Atoll Cuckoo, and surely did not want the usurper to have her. But how could she avoid it when everyone stood in danger? Land-crab would have what he wished in any case. Yet she had to force out the words. "This fine dog is a gift for the high chief," she called loudly. "We offer you this as our token of respect."
 

Murmurs of astonishment spread through die crowd of warriors, but Land-crab did not answer at once. Everyone knew how precious were the long white hairs of this animal, used to fringe fine garments for chiefs and priests. The dog would be a prized possession to a man like Land-crab.
 

Tepua imagined what was running through his thoughts. Now that she had announced the gift, accepting it would put him under an obligation. If he did not respond with generosity, then he would be scorned as the stingiest chief in all of Tahiti. But hospitality to atoll dwellers would do nothing for his reputation.
 

At last, Land-crab replied, "I accept your gift with pleasure. I did not realize that such distinguished visitors as yourselves had arrived on my shore. Please forgive the poor manners of my men. I will leave
them
to sleep out under the weather while you fine people have food, entertainment, and comfortable mats under a roof. Come. All of you. Today you are guests of the mighty Land-crab."
 

 

Tepua walked with Maukiri as they followed the men along the beach. Streaks of tears ran down Maukiri's face.

"Do not fret, cousin," Tepua whispered. "He will not harm Atoll Cuckoo. She is too valuable."

"I...do not trust...this Land-crab."

"He has taken our gift, so he is obliged to treat us well," Tepua answered with an angry toss of her head. With disgust, she added, "Even though he is my enemy, I must pretend to be pleased by his hospitality." She paused, crouched, and ripped up a length of beach vine. "Help me cover my Arioi tattoos," she added. "The new people here do not know me. Let them think I am just a canoe-builder's woman."
 

As the two walked, they plaited simple garlands. Maukiri helped Tepua drape one around each ankle, to hide the tattoos that marked her rank of Seasoned-bamboo. They made wreaths for their hair as well, trying to maintain the appearance of a festive mood.
 

"Everything here is so strange to me, even the plants," Maukiri said as they entered a wooded path, where stands of
ti
raised spear-shaped leaves splashed with violet and veined in yellow. Whorls of periwinkle flowers, as white as coconut cream, with crimson centers, blossomed from glossy foliage. Tepua recalled her own first impressions of Tahiti, how she had been overwhelmed by the profusion of new flowers and scents. But today her thoughts did not linger on these pleasures. She kept wondering what Matopahu was doing, and how she would find him.
 

As they reached the fence of bamboo canes that surrounded the high chief's compound, Tepua once again found herself searching in vain for familiar faces. The sentries she had known were gone. The ones who stood now, spears firmly in hand, eyed her with disdain. And there were so many! In the past, the posting of guards had been a formality. No one would have dared intrude on the high chief's compound.
 

Once inside the gate, she did not see a single servant that she recognized. Apparently Land-crab had made a clean sweep, replacing Knotted-cord's people with his own. Tepua had to bear the icy gaze of the female attendant who met her and Maukiri, then escorted them to a small guest house for women.
 

The compound of the high chief, with its thatched houses and shady breadfruit trees, had changed little since Tepua had last seen it. Yet life here was not the same. No longer did children of the court attendants run freely about the yard. The flock of roaming chickens was gone; the pigs were confined to one corner by a small pen.
 

When Tepua reached her quarters, she found them shabby, the roof thatch rotting, the floor mats worn and ragged.

"What are we going to do?" Maukiri asked with a sigh.

"Learn everything we can about this troublemaker," said Tepua. "But first there is something more important. We have neglected the gods who watched over our journey. Come. There's a shrine nearby where women bring offerings. Then we will wash and make ourselves presentable."
 

 

A crier called the guests together for the start of Land-crab's welcoming ceremony. Warily, Tepua and Maukiri joined the others, taking seats on mats that surrounded a bare, open space in the compound. Land-crab sat on his high stool, flanked by attendants. One man held up the huge, carved staff of office. Two more stood by with long feather-tipped sticks, making certain that no flies disturbed their chief.
 

Land-crab's best dancers and performers, his Arioi, had fled. Tepua wondered how he planned to present an entertainment. She watched two young drummers come forward, their faces damp with sweat. These boys were so nervous that they almost dropped the drums they were carrying.
 

The pair took their positions, one with a round skin-head drum, the other with a drum of the hollow slit-log variety called
toere
. When they began to pound out a rhythm, three dancers crept into the clearing.
 

Tepua almost laughed at the absurdity of the scene. The dancers were young girls, beginners, who kept glancing at each other for cues. Only the one in the center seemed to know the order of the steps. As they labored through their performance Tepua remembered Small-foot, her dancing pupil of long ago. With proper teaching, she thought, these girls would someday be worth watching. Now they were merely an embarrassment to their host.
 

As soon as they were done, the girls ran from the circle and out through the compound gate. Tepua wondered if Land-crab would punish them for their poor showing. She sighed and waited as another group of dancers, warriors from the high chief's compound, came forward.
 

At last Land-crab seemed to tire of the entertainment. His bearer lifted him, and he advanced toward his guests. The harsh, beaked face looked down impassively as his orator, standing at his side, began to speak.
 

The heavyset orator began with effusive praises, lauding his chief as if the man were a god. He went on to inform the guests of their immense good fortune. "You, who sit with us today, will have tales to tell your grandchildren. Think of their looks of amazement when you speak of the great man whose company you shared." The orator went on, enlarging on the exploits of Land-crab, until it seemed that he had conquered all of Tahiti.
 

Then the chief's bearer carried him a step forward, and Land-crab himself began to speak. "Here is what you must know of the one who rules this land," the chief said. "I am the strong north wind that flattens the grass. I am the wave that washes over the beach. The god of war is the one I serve, not the god of peace.
 

"Each season my power and my territory increase. Soon, even you of the distant atolls will bring me tribute...."

 

Later, after the boastful speech was done, Tepua and Maukiri sat waiting for the meal to begin. In her anger at her host, Tepua wished that she could refuse his hospitality. Yet she dared not bring attention to herself. What if he realized that she was an Arioi?
 

During the entertainment, Tepua had occasionally glanced in the direction of the high chief's cookhouses, where large pit ovens lay under roofs of thatch. She had seen few servants coming and going, and little evidence of preparations. Now she began to wonder how Land-crab would deliver the promised feast.
 

Suddenly a parade of servants appeared bearing baskets of steaming food. Most of these bearers headed for the large party of men, a few coming to Tepua and Maukiri and the women of the chief's household. Tepua watched her cousin's look of astonishment as the portions were handed out. Here were foods that Maukiri had never tasted—breadfruit, wild plantains, freshwater fish—all flavored by the exotic leaves used to wrap them for baking.