Child of the Dawn (43 page)

His gut heaved; the throbbing in his head and ears reawakened with a vengeance. His hands closed on the handle of his paddle-club. It had a long shaft, and a flat-bladed end for cleaving skulls. "Soon I will make my offering," Matopahu answered. "
You
will be the fish I bring to the altar of the gods."
 

With a roar of rage, Land-crab snatched a weapon from his attendant. Matopahu saw the white flash of shark's teeth mounted in wood. With a quick movement, he used his paddle-club to parry the stroke.
 

The shock jarred him and a sudden lash of pain down his chest made him gasp. He reeled back, bleeding and confused. How could his opponent have drawn first blood? The paddle-club's shaft had blocked the shark-toothed blade. Then he saw, as Land-crab swung the weapon up for another blow, what kind of
paeho
his enemy wielded. It was not straight, as Matopahu expected, but had a deadlier shape. From the handgrip,
two
blades forked out. The paddle-club had stopped one row of teeth but not the other.
 

Matopahu licked his lips, ignoring the fierce sting of the slash down his chest. Never before had he fought a man who used the forked blade.
 

"Do you like my Claw?" Land-crab taunted. "I use it to carve up stinking fish like you."

The usurper's next rush carried him over the low railing of his own platform and onto Matopahu's. Knowing no defense against the forked
paeho
, the warrior gave way before Land-crab's slashes. Sweat poured from Matopahu's body. Black patches danced before his vision, and the ache of weakness dragged at his arms and shoulders.
 

"When I finish you," Land-crab snarled, "I will set every man in the district to making sennit. My priests will bind you, then your supporters. Even your friends among the Arioi will not escape."
 

It was all Matopahu could do to keep from clapping his hands to his ears. The words alone seemed to bring on a new strike of agony through his head.
 

Land-crab pressed closer, laughing with bared teeth as one slashing blow followed another. The
ari'i
braced the end of the paddle-club against the deck and whipped the shaft back and forth to take the force of each strike. As he fought, he felt a return of ghostly fingers. Now he felt cord winding tightly across his forehead. As it passed over his eyes, a part of his sight vanished, as if his eyes were slowly being covered.
 

Like my brother...like my brother
...

No! Squinting to fend off the encroaching blindness, the
ari'i
met Land-crab again and threw him back. Death wrapped itself around Matopahu, binding his limbs. His muscles cramped painfully and contracted, his joints refused to straighten, yet somehow he kept fighting, almost welcoming the blows as a distraction from the attack of the priests.
 

He felt as though he were splitting into two—the warrior still defending against the
paeho
, and the helpless victim of the curse.
 

Matopahu knew he had only two choices. To give himself to the forked blade or fling himself over the rail to the sharks.

And then the Claw swept toward him and he had no choice at all.

 

As Tepua followed Eye-to-heaven to another old
marae
, she heard a quiet rustle in the underbrush. She halted, ready to warn the priest of a possible attack. Tepua sighed with relief when she recognized the sound of a dog panting. "Te Kurevareva, why are you here?" she asked sharply. "You should be guarding Ruro." She had left her son with Maukiri, a circle of warriors, and Atoll Cuckoo, hoping that the white dog would give additional protection by warning Maukiri of any approach by Land-crab's men.
 

Te Kurevareva ignored Tepua's complaint and trotted at her heels as she caught up with Eye-to-heaven. "We have to search the sites in this area," the priest said, pointing to another overgrown trail.
 

"By the time we finish, it will be too late," Tepua cried. Then, glancing at the dog, she suddenly had an idea. "Let Te Kurevareva sniff Matopahu's cloak."
 

The priest stopped, and stared at her. Then, his eyebrows rising slowly, he took off the cape and held it out to the dog. "A man and his brother have a similar scent," he said doubtfully. "But I wonder...And the dog must not trespass in a
marae
"
 

Te Kurevareva looked from Tepua to the priest, as if asking what was expected of her. Tepua took a stick and dug into the ground. She guided the dog's muzzle to the cloth, then toward the hole, repeating the lesson several times. "Something that smells like this is buried in the ground. Find it."
 

Te Kurevareva cocked her head, her tail lifted. Then she dove into a thicket.

The priest, muttering his doubts, walked on. "I will catch up with you," Tepua called to him. Wiping moisture from her brow, she crashed through the underbrush after the tip of a waving white tail. Shortly, she lost sight of the animal.
 

She stopped and called again, but Te Kurevareva didn't reappear. Driven by a feeling of urgency, she searched for paw marks in the red clay soil. The trail doubled back. Ahead she heard a yelp.
 

By the time she made her way across a fallen tree, the dog was gone again, and this time she found no tracks. She wandered about awhile, wondering if she should give up and return to the priest. The area was thickly overgrown, with no sign of a burial place. "Te Kurevareva, are you following a lizard?" she called in frustration.
 

From far off, Tepua thought she heard another yelp. Pushing through heavy foliage, she came on an unexpected sight. A few slabs of blackened coral stood upright under ancient ironwood trees. None of the other features of a
marae
, such as surrounding walls or an
ahu
, remained. How long ago had this place been abandoned? Tepua felt a reluctance to tread on what once had been sacred ground. She gave the uprights a wide berth.
 

Suddenly, behind her, she heard a scraping sound. Te Kurevareva was scrabbling at a hole in the base of a small mound. The dog stopped digging and looked up eagerly. Tepua crouched for a better view and then ran to find the priest.
 

By the time they returned, the dog had uncovered part of a buried coral slab, leaving red soil scattered on all sides. Eye-to-heaven intoned a prayer, then bent to finish the digging with the end of a branch. "Keep back," he warned Tepua. "Nothing tainted by death must touch you."
 

He found a heavy stick, wedged it into a gap, and tried to dislodge the stone. "Let me help," Tepua pleaded.

"You will have your chance," said the priest, almost out of breath. With a scraping sound that put her teeth on edge, he moved the stone enough to open a gap. He grunted, then tried again. This time the entire slab came up, tilted over, then dropped away with a heavy thud.
 

Tepua felt a shiver down her back as she dared a step closer, until she could see the cord-wrapped bundle within. "Is this what you are looking for?"
 

"Yes," the priest answered. "I recognize it. I caught a glimpse of the dead man after he had been bound."

Tepua did not ask when or how. From the corpse rose a smell that was heavy with the scent of decay. A surge of emotion made her eyes fill with tears. She said, "Poor Knotted-cord. He had his faults, but he did not deserve this."
 

She glanced up to Eye-to-heaven, saw that the priest's eyes were also moist. "Do not touch the body," he warned again. He took Matopahu's cloak, wrapped it around the remains, then carried the bundle down the trail to a nearby
marae
that was still in use.
 

"Build me a fire, Tepua-mua," he said, pulling out a shell-blade knife. "As quickly as you can. There is no established ritual for this, but I must try."
 

Hastily Tepua found what she needed to make a fire plow—a split piece of soft hibiscus for the plow bed and a harder stick for the blade. She knelt on the ground not far from Eye-to-heaven. She saw how he was sweating, his lips moving in impassioned prayer as he slowly cut the cords that bound the bones. Her hands trembling, she began rubbing the fireplow against the bed, making wood dust that refused to smolder.
 

"Tapahi-roro-ariki," she cried, invoking the aid of her own guardian spirit. Then, to her relief, she saw a tiny flame rise. She fed it tinder and a few dry sticks, then larger pieces.
 

As she stood back, wiping soot and perspiration from her face, Eye-to-heaven turned his head at the crackle of the fire. The look of hope in his eyes warmed Tepua. He picked up a dry twig that had fallen into the
marae
and brought it out, holding the wood in the flames until it caught. Still praying, he took the torch to the pile of cut cord he had placed on a stone.
 

The mold-blackened cord slowly came alight. Eye-to-heaven began to chant. His body shook with the intensity of his plea. Sweat ran from his face, and unashamed tears from his eyes, as his voice rang out with solemn power.
 

 

O Ta'aroa, whose curse is death.

Take your fish.

Take the bones that are bound with your sacred cord.

But free the man who has done you no wrong.

He was cursed wrongly, with evil.

 

Let the cord that binds his brother be burned.

That the curse on him shall fall away.

For my sake; I who am his friend.

For her sake; she who is his woman.

For his sake; he who is his son.

 

On the war-canoe, Matopahu fell to his knees, clutching the rail of the fighting platform. With excruciating effort he had struck away Land-crab's slash, but the act had drained him. Now he wondered why Land-crab was delaying the final blow. Was he pausing to savor his moment of victory?
 

Matopahu's knees were bent and would not straighten. He was collapsing slowly into himself, drawing tight into a cord-wrapped bundle. His calves were pressing against the back of his thighs, his knees into his chest, his feet shoved back so that his callused heels slowly crushed his genitals. O gods, he prayed,
if this is to be my end, give me the power to meet it well.

His head strained against an invisible binding around his jaws and throat. His lips moved beneath the sennit, forming words of prayer. Though he could no longer see, he sensed the blade coming. Somehow he found strength to lift his weapon and fend off one more blow....
 

And then he felt a sudden heat washing over his body. A dim orange glow penetrated the covering over his face. He strained to open his eyelids against the strands of fiber cord. A gap appeared, and then another, allowing him to peer through.
 

Flames seemed to dance all around him, licking at his bonds. He could actually see the bits of cord charring and falling away. Was this Eye-to-heaven's doing? The curse of binding seemed finally broken!
 

Matopahu had no time to wonder how it had been done. Land-crab was raising his vicious weapon. The
ari'i still
ached and bled from the battle, but he felt a surge of new strength. The deadly weariness of the sennit-curse was gone. His vision was clear and his limbs quick as he brought up the paddle-club shaft to meet the shark-toothed blade.
 

As he parried smartly, he heard frenzied chanting from the priests, but their words no longer harmed him. With a scream of rage, Land-crab tried again, striking so hard that the paddle-club's shaft shuddered in Matopahu's grip, stinging his hands. But over the crack of weapons, and his own grunts of effort, the
ari'i
heard a sound that renewed his battle fury. It was the hoarse whistling of his opponent's breath. Land-crab was starting to tire.
 

On the next exchange, Matopahu whirled aside, letting the forked weapon hit the rail of the fighting platform. Teeth broke from the blade.
The thing is deadly, but fragile
, he thought.
He trusts too much in the strangeness of the Claw. He leaves his head unguarded.

Land-crab cut low, striking at Matopahu's legs. The warrior leaped to clear the forked blade, but as it passed beneath his feet, he kicked down, catching the shaft beneath his heel and driving it toward the deck. More teeth broke away.
 

He lunged at Land-crab with the paddle-club, aiming swift, precise blows past the deadly sweep of the Claw. With a joyful roar, Matopahu gripped his weapon low and swung the blade end in a scything path at Land-crab's head. He heard the crack of breaking wicker as Land-crab's towering
fau
began to topple.
 

A great howling broke from Matopahu's supporters, and the drums thundered around him. Now it was Land-crab giving ground, wielding the forked weapon with one hand while trying to hold on to his
fau
with the other. Matopahu drove the usurper back, forced him to make a hasty retreat onto his own platform. For an instant Land-crab again took the advantage, using the greater height to reign blows down on the warrior, but battle fury swept Matopahu after his foe.
 

Now he was on Land-crab's fighting deck. With a crash the Claw met the paddle-club. One of the forked shafts broke off in a hail of splinters and shark's teeth. Before the usurper could recover, Matopahu aimed again at Land-crab's head and struck off the
fau.

It was as if he had sliced off a limb, for Land-crab shrieked in anguish at the loss of the war helmet. In that moment of inattention, Matopahu swung again, bringing the flat end of his club down on the back of Land-crab's neck. The
paeho
fell from the usurper's hand and Matopahu kicked it away.
 

But the neck blow had merely stunned Land-crab, who heaved himself up again. His face was writhing not in pain or defeat, but in terror. His eyes rolled like a man on the edge of madness.