Child of the Dawn (38 page)

Cries of rejoicing rose as the first great ceremony ended. A procession of attendants began carrying away the portions of food that would be eaten by the chiefs and by the Arioi. Tepua lingered awhile, watching the common people wait impatiently for their own shares. When the temple attendants finally did bring forth what was left of piles of fruit, coconuts, fowls, and pigs, she heard a low rumble of disappointment from all sides. How little had been left to the people!
 

"Come. You are wanted." Tepua heard Maukiri's voice behind her. She tried to put aside her indignation over the greed of Land-crab and his friends. She hurried back to the performance house, where the members of the troupe were assembling.
Some will go hungry today, she thought. Others, who do not deserve it, will be too stuffed to move.

 

Late that evening, after the day's formalities had ended, the drummers started up again. Moonlight flooded the assembly ground as the Arioi and their many admirers gathered for dancing. Tepua needed no partner. The exhilaration of the earlier performance by her troupe remained with her. She felt the music guiding her feet, making her hips roll. She laughed as she watched a group of children trying to imitate her.
 

From the shadows, a tall figure stood watching. Tepua felt a momentary shudder. Until now, she had tried to remain inconspicuous. During the performance she had been glad to stay in the back of the group, keeping her dancing subdued. Evidently this one man had noticed her. He took a step forward and she caught a glimpse of red and black paint smeared over most of his face and body.
 

The strange Arioi was adorned in comical fashion. Strings of mismatched shells hung across his chest. Short feathers stuck out in odd directions from his headdress of beach vines. His cloak was absurdly short, barely reaching his knees. She was sure she had never seen him in the troupe, but something about him seemed hauntingly familiar.
 

He took another step forward. Tepua gaped. No Arioi she knew moved in such a smooth and powerful manner. As soon as she recognized his stride, she saw through the absurd costume. She controlled her urge to leap out of the dance and run to Matopahu's side. Instead she lifted her hand in recognition, blending her signal into the movement of her dance. She saw him retreat into the deeper shadows beyond the clearing.
 

Somehow she kept herself from running to him. She frolicked with the children, giving the girls a short lesson, all the while imagining what lay ahead. Then, her pulse pounding with the drumbeat, she slipped away in search of Matopahu.
 

What a risk he had taken, walking right into Land-crab's camp. She knew he had done this before, but now the danger seemed far worse. Her thoughts returned to her own plight. Had he heard about her exile in the highlands? She dared tell him nothing about the outcome. For now, little Ruro's existence must be kept secret even from his father.
 

Tepua found Matopahu leaning against a palm tree. "Who is this Arioi dancer?" he asked quietly. "With so much paint on her face, I do not recognize her."
 

She flung herself into his embrace and whispered fiercely, "Land-crab's men—"

"Mean nothing to me," he answered, pressing his warm hands against her back and his nose against her cheek.

She could scarcely catch her breath. How long it had been since she last saw him! She feared he had become just a beloved image in her memory. Yet he was here now, surrounding her with the aroma and warmth of his presence. She wanted to sing out her affection for him, but other words had to come first, words on which his life and future might depend. "The people who were your friends are afraid now," she tried to warn. "This false oracle—"
 

Matopahu drew her close, wrapping her so deeply in his arms that she felt she might melt into him.

"Do not worry for me, atoll flower," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Only fools believe that babble."

Tepua nestled her head beneath his chin. She could feel the powerful throb of his pulse at the base of his neck. She wished she could cast all interfering thoughts aside and just enjoy the moment. Yet her doubts spoke. "Land-crab has become so strong. What can we do?"
 

"I have allies. On Eimeo. Putu-nui cannot support me openly, but some of his warriors have promised to fight with me."

She stiffened and pulled back, looking into his eyes. The thought of his going into battle dismayed her, yet she had long known that this must come. "Then you plan an attack? Soon?"
 

"Not yet. We will choose our time. We would not do our cause any good by defiling the ceremony of the gods."

"Then I will be your spy," she whispered. "I will make it my business to know everything that Land-crab does."

"Yes." His hands drew her to him again, caressing her shoulders, the hollows of her neck. She snuggled closer to him, basking in his warmth.
 

A new hope grew. The return of the Arioi to their home might indeed be a sign of the gods' favor. Now she would be able to help Matopahu as she could not have done otherwise. In time Land-crab would get careless, drink too much
ava
, allow his guards to grow lax.
 

"Come," said Matopahu. "We cannot stay here. I have my canoe nearby. It may be a bit uncomfortable, but—"

Tepua laughed, and followed him to the beach.

 

Together the couple paddled from shore until the rush and sigh of waves breaking on the outer reef swallowed the distant drumming. Looking back, Tepua saw fires on the beach and tiny figures moving. Soon the figures grew too distant to see and the fires showed as flickering orange stars far across the water.
 

This part of the lagoon was open and deep, with no sandy islets or coral heads; the canoe could drift safely. Matopahu took the paddles and laid them aside. He whispered her name as she turned to face him.
 

The hull seemed too narrow and deep for
hanihani
, but he was undaunted by the challenge. Moonlight gleamed on the strong curves of his arms as he placed a bundle of mats in the bottom of the canoe.
 

"You are well prepared," she chided playfully. "You have done this before."

"Before I found you, I did many strange and foolish things." The craft rocked slightly as Matopahu took off his absurd necklaces, then beckoned her to him. His
maro
fell away; she saw that he was ready for her.
 

She came close, kneeling on the mats, and leaned into his arms. The heat of his body pressed against her.

The dancing had started little tickles of pleasure running up through her breasts and down past her belly. The firmness of his embrace heightened the feelings that the dance had begun. He pulled her closer, wrapping a cloak around them both to keep off the sea breeze.
 

The canoe rocked gently, but the outrigger kept it from tipping. Floating in the middle of the lagoon, surrounded by night, she put aside the troubles that had followed her for so long. Here was Hina the moon goddess again, as bright and radiant as on the evening of Matopahu's triumph. Here was the fresh smell of the sea....
 

When he lifted her onto him, she cried out with delight, not caring if she startled every fish in the lagoon. He moved slowly at first, whispering, and then starting to sing softly. For an instant Tepua was startled to hear the words that she so often sang to herself—in the language of her own people.
 

"Here I go, parting the waves," he chanted. "Here I sail, cleaving the sea." His voice was low and teasing as he moved with the same rhythm as the rocking canoe.
 

Her sighs were soon overwhelmed by a much stronger pleasure as he thrust himself deeper. Abandoning herself to sensation, she braced herself against his shoulders and did her part.
You are the canoe and I am the vast deep
, she thought.
 

Beyond her, over the water, she imagined torches burning, flying fish leaping toward the light. Everything around her was filled with brightness and color. She pictured the glowing mantles of giant clams on the sandy bottom, and luminous jellyfish rising. The images grew brighter. The moon rivaled the sun.
 

After they had clung together awhile, Tepua gently pulled away from Matopahu. He heard her whisper a women's chant, then plunge into the water. She splashed a short while before urging him to follow.
 

With a cry of delight, Matopahu dove after her, plummeting toward the depths in a cloud of bubbles. What a fine night for swimming, he thought. He would catch her, and then they would go back to the canoe.
 

But a sudden and unexpected fright gripped him. Why was the water so cold? And why did he feel such a desperate need for air? Fighting panic, he stroked with broad sweeps of his arms and began to come back up.
 

The surface seemed too far away. He lost his sense of direction and could not tell if he was actually rising. Water pressed in on his ears and mouth and nose, and he thought that he could not hold it back.
 

Then his head broke the surface and he took large, gasping breaths. Where was Tepua? He hoped she did not hear his labored wheezing.
 

At last Matopahu found strength to swim slowly toward his canoe. He still did not know what had happened, but certain incidents came back to him. In the last round of the archery contest his fingers had briefly gone numb. He had blamed that on the cold, but he wondered if the lingering effect of Land-crab's curse was to blame. Now that he was in Tahiti, close to the corpse of his brother, perhaps he was even more vulnerable.
 

Clinging to the outrigger, Matopahu tried to will away his fears. The god of the
marae
had touched him, but he was not free of the binding. So said Imo and Eye-to-heaven. Tonight he was almost willing to believe them.
 

"Tepua," he called in a voice that sounded hoarse and weak to his ears.

"I am here," she answered. "Come after me."

Matopahu frowned. He had no strength left for games. "Not now. I have to take you back."

When he was in the canoe again, he began to feel better. They paddled in silence toward a dark stretch of beach. In the distance, drums still beat for the throngs of dancers.
 

asked him as the canoe grounded softly in the shallows.

"I have a hideaway up the coast, but there is only room for one. Otherwise I would take you with me." He dragged the canoe up the beach a short way, then stood with her on the shore.
 

"Tomorrow—"

"I will find you." He clasped her to him for one parting embrace. But he could not leave yet. "Atoll flower, there is something I must ask."
 

He felt her stiffen. Perhaps there was a secret she had kept from him. He freed her from his arms, but held her gaze, looking deep into her eyes. "You left the troupe," he said. "I heard rumors that you were carrying a child. I did not want to ask you about it, but now my thoughts are on nothing else."
 

"I left for my safety," she answered in a strained voice.

'To protect the child." His excitement grew.

Her words came out in a whisper. "There could be...no child. I have taken an oath." With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he watched her look away from him.
 

He shook her harshly. "No, Tepua. If you carried my child, you would not destroy it."

"I—had no choice."

"Tell me it is a lie. Woman, look at me."

Instead she pulled back.

"
Aue
!" Matopahu shouted. Here was the final proof that the curse still held him. The child of his loins was dead. He wailed again, a cry of anguish that carried far down the beach. He did not care who heard it.
 

"Matopahu, listen. You begged me to leave the Arioi. I will do that."

His voice caught and he stared at her, openmouthed.

"Yes. But not now. I must stay here so long as Land-crab rules. I must watch and plot against him."

His brows lowered, and at first he could not reply. What good was her offer now? It was too late for him to father another child. His moment of glory had passed, and the curse was claiming him again. "What does it matter?" he hissed, turning away. With an angry heave, he slid his canoe down the sand and waded after it.
 

He heard her behind him. "I am sure of one thing," she called. "When the time is right, we will have a son."

"We will have nothing," he threw back as he began to paddle. She shouted other words, but he would not listen or even turn around.
 

 

Her hands hanging helplessly at her side, Tepua watched Matopahu disappear into the night. She sighed, wishing that she could have given in to him. But all the while he spoke to her she had imagined the priests of Land-crab carrying her son to the
marae
as an offering.
 

She had wanted desperately to blurt out the truth, but her protective instinct held her back.
Even if Matopahu dies, I will still have the child.
But why had he scorned her offer? She had only asked for a little more time....
 

At last, filled with grief, Tepua waded ashore. She glanced about nervously, fearing that someone had heard Matopahu, recognized his voice. Seeing no warriors, she began to walk, paying no heed to where she was going.
 

After a time, she felt a friendly touch on her arm. "What is wrong?" asked Curling-leaf. "I heard shouts."

"It is...nothing." Tepua slumped to her knees.

Curling-leaf lowered her voice. "It was Matopahu. I know how he feels. But he will recover."

"He will do something foolish."

"Why? He could not have expected—"

Tepua stared at her and did not answer.

"Of course, there is no child," Curling-leaf went on. "Everyone sees that you are still an Arioi."