Sister of the Sun (12 page)

At this a hubbub rose, but Tepua quelled it with a sharp gesture. "These foreigners are now my guests," she said. "We do not take the belongings of a guest. And even if the outsiders offer us gifts, I am not ready to accept them."
 

"And why is that?" Cone-shell demanded.

"Think of the dangers! Ask yourself what we know of these foreign things! Perhaps they are offensive to the gods, or have been tainted by evil spirits. Would you endanger your people because of greed?"
 

This touched off another round of furious discussion, which Tepua again had to silence.

"The priest has conducted purification rituals," said Cone-shell.

"But how do you know that his power is strong enough to cleanse an unknown evil?" asked Heka. "I support Tepua's caution." The arguments raged back and forth until one of Faka-ora's assistants appeared and asked to speak. His master, he said, had completed his examination of the strangers' goods. He was ready to receive the chief's in the large storehouse where everything had been taken.
 

Tepua rose from her seat. "Those of you who wish to inspect the things, come with me. Then you will have a better idea what we are arguing about."
 

When she stood, she was not surprised to see the others hesitate. The talk of danger had dampened everyone's spirit. Even Cone-shell was slow to rise.
 

Drawing her feather-trimmed plaited cloak about her shoulders, Tepua followed Faka-ora's man into the storehouse while the clan chief's trailed behind. The building was long, airy, and lit by sunlight streaming in through the loosely thatched sides. Despite the ventilation, strange scents pervaded the air. She sniffed deeply but could not sort them out.
 

Once she was inside, she noted that the goods had been separated into four distinct piles. The high priest, looking weary after his task, stood by as Tepua and the chief's gathered about the closest heap. On top she noticed a long-handled wooden blade that resembled a canoe paddle. It lay amid other vaguely familiar articles—items that appeared to be a sea anchor, a bailer, and other equipment needed in an oceangoing craft.
 

"These are things we understand," said Faka-ora, gesturing at the first heap. "They are of the sea, of fishing and the sailing arts. Any magic in them is magic that I know, and I have taken measures to make it harmless. You may handle anything in this first pile without fear."
 

Tepua reached for the foreign paddle, ran her hand along the smooth shaft. The wood was close-grained and heavy, the crafting excellent, but the proportions wrong. The shaft was far too long to be of use in an outrigger and lacked the usual flared handgrip at the end.
 

Faka-ora was moving on to the next collection of goods. "These," he said, "are things that resemble those we know and use, but are made from materials we have not seen before. I urge caution in handling them."
 

Tepua bent over this second heap. In a band of sunlight lay a strangely shaped knife, its edge gleaming brighter than pearl shell. She squinted in puzzlement, trying to fathom how the blade was lashed to its hilt of bone. The edge looked sharp; she decided not to pick it up.
 

Her attention turned to a long roll of cloth, resembling the material in the foreign sails. Looking closely, she saw the appearance of a weave, but the threads were so thin and uniform that she couldn't imagine human fingers doing the plaiting. Taking a length, she yanked it taut between her fists.
Tapa
would tear under such treatment but this cloth held. She hoped that Kiore could explain what made it so strong.
 

Here also stood the drum that held small gifts—the items that Nika had been trading for pearl shells. As she peered into the container Tepua recalled the blue necklace she had been offered. Now she saw other tantalizing glimpses— bright beads, and ribbons of cloth in astonishing colors. Perhaps, in the strangers' land, such wonders were as common as pretty shells on the beach....
 

Faka-ora moved on to the third pile, cautioning that he was far less certain about the uses or hazards of these objects. "If you must touch them, protect your hands," he advised.
 

Cone-shell, who had been leaning close to the third heap, gave a triumphant cry. With his hand wrapped in part of his plaited cape, he snatched up a hafted tool. The thing was evidently used for chopping. Its head had a dull sheen like that of the knife blade and a shape like that of an adze—an adze whose blade was in line with the handle instead of being properly lashed crosswise. "This might prove useful," said Cone-shell, "if we could turn the blade around."
 

As he was examining the piece his hand slipped. The blade sliced through the fine matting to meet flesh. "
Aue
! It bites," he cried, dropping the tool at his feet. He frowned, sucking at the wound while Faka-ora chanted over him, asking the gods to dispel the evil.
 

Tepua put her own hands behind her as she bent over to look at a similar tool. "If the blade could be taken off the shaft, it might be used to chop food."
 

Heka eyed the tool. "It has a keener edge than our stone or shell adzes. Perhaps it would be valuable to our canoe builders."

Tepua disagreed. "A canoe-maker swinging this would risk cutting off his toes, or his thumbs."

"You are right," said Heka, turning away in disgust. "I think these foreigners are fools to make such a useless thing."

Attention shifted to other items. One was a small drum-like container that appeared to be completely sealed. Though she did not intend to touch it, Tepua's foot accidentally bumped a protruding stick near the bottom. A thin stream of liquid began to flow, its pungent odor rising. "
Aue
! What is that?" she cried.
 

"It is only something the strangers drink," explained Paruru, who had been unusually silent up to this point. With no hesitation, he bent down and adjusted the stick so that the flow of liquid stopped. "I have seen the strangers draw it into cups. It seems to make them joyful, then sleepy. Perhaps it is like your Tahitian
ava
.''
 

"It surprises me, Paruru," Tepua said coldly, "that you know so much about the foreigners' customs."

"We should be pleased that our
kaito-nui
is so observant," said Cone-shell. "Surely, you will not keep us from tasting the strangers' drink. At least that is something we can get some use out of. And they will not even notice that some is gone."
 

Tepua remembered the time in Tahiti when she had tried the intoxicant that chief's and nobles enjoyed. Its effect had been mild, numbing her lips and making her drowsy. The strangers' drink neither looked nor smelled like
ava
.
 

She paused, realizing that all eyes were watching her. So far, she had managed to keep control of the meeting, but she understood the resentment of the other chiefs. If she did not allow them a small victory now, they would soon demand a larger one. She looked toward Faka-ora for guidance but could read only a hint of curiosity in his expression. After all, the outsiders drank this with no harm to themselves....
 

"Bring cups!" she ordered. When hollow coconut halves had been handed out, she asked Paruru to pour some of the drink into hers. As chief, it was essential that she go first. No one must doubt her strength of will.
 

She tipped the cup. Her mouth began to sting as if she had licked fire coral. The liquid caught at the back of her throat, making her cough. Harsh fumes flooded her eyes with tears.
 

Instinctively she spat the stuff back into the cup. Sputtering and blinking, she wiped her mouth on her hand. Then she hurried outside, leaving the others to do as they wished. A servant brought her a
viavia
. She drank its soothing water to cool her mouth.
 

Through the wall of the storehouse she heard the sounds of others trying the stinging brew. "It is too vile even for fish poison," proclaimed Heka. She heard Cone-shell's yelp of pain as he, too, fell victim to the drink. Tepua could not help smiling; perhaps Cone-shell would now be less eager to meddle with the foreigners' goods.
 

She went back inside, wrinkling her nose at the odor that filled the air. Evidently some of the stinging brew had been sprayed onto garments. Cone-shell's cape reeked of it. She bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
 

But serious matters still lay at hand. The examination was not finished. Faka-ora had moved to the fourth and final heap.

"I have not been able to learn the purpose of any of these things," he said. "For that reason, I urge the greatest caution here. Do not touch anything, but allow my assistant to help you." A young underpriest came forward. The man appeared uneasy, though he had evidently dealt with these objects before. With a nervous motion, he lifted the first implement and let it dangle.
 

For a moment Tepua thought that he was holding two knives, each with a strange open ring for its handle. The blades were crossed, and held together by a pin. When the underpriest slipped his thumb and fingers through the rings, the blades opened and closed like the jaws of a barracuda.
 

Puzzled, Tepua ordered the assistant to take up something else, a yellowish kind of cup with a ring beneath its base and a swinging pendant inside.
 

Faka-ora's assistant held the ring so that the mouth of the cup hung downward. When he moved his hand back and forth a noise sounded that made everyone step back in alarm. "It speaks!" said the shaken chief of Rongo Clan.
 

"Only when it is moved," said Faka-ora. He nodded to his assistant. The young man closed his eyes, tightened his lips, and shook the cup vigorously again. It clanged more loudly than before.
 

"A noisemaker," said Heka, laughing. "A drum that beats itself."

"I would not want such a drum," said Cone-shell. "It hurts the ears to hear it." He gestured impatiently. "Put the useless thing back."
 

The underpriest did as he was asked, next opening a dirty cloth bag that sagged with the weight of its contents. Tepua glanced in and saw what appeared to be small round stones, all the same size.
 

Cone-shell snorted in disgust. "A well-made bag, and what do these foreigners put into it? Worthless stones."

"Perhaps they are weapons," someone else suggested.

"Too small," said Paruru, frowning. "But what is in there?" He gestured at a strange kind of bottle that curved like a boar's tusk and tapered to a point at one end. The underpriest picked it up, removed the cap from the wide end, allowing the chief's to peer at the contents.
 

"Worse yet," said Cone-shell, grimacing. "Black sand. I can imagine putting many things in such a finely made bottle, but never that."
 

As Tepua squinted inside she caught a sharp odor. Tahiti had plenty of black sand, but none carried a scent like this powder. The smell was faintly familiar....
 

Then she remembered, and her hand knotted in a fist of anger.
The thunder-club's smoke. The gray cloud over the lagoon
. Of the people here, only she and Paruru had been present at that terrifying scene.
 

She narrowed her eyes when Paruru asked for a closer look. He, too, sniffed and then grimaced. He turned away from her, but she had already caught his look of recognition.
Why does he say nothing?

The smell lingered unpleasantly in her nose. It spoke of harshness and impatience. "I have seen enough," she said to Faka-ora. "But now I remember that one thing is missing. The foreign weapon. It fell into the lagoon."
 

"I would not like to leave it there," said Faka-ora. "It might affect the fishing."

Tepua turned to Paruru, whose face now bore a troubled look. "Something must be done," she said. "Why not send divers to bring the weapon up?"
 

Paruru's frown deepened. "They may not find it. You know how currents move things around. Sand shifts...And even if someone does locate the foreign weapon, he will not want to touch it."
 

She drew in a breath and stared at the warrior for a moment. Surely the problem was not as difficult as he made it seem. "Let us announce a competition," she said. "To see which diver can locate the thing. Then we will let the priests find a way to safely bring it up." She saw Paruru glance once at Faka-ora, who had fixed him with a curious stare. The words seemed to catch in the warrior's throat, but he agreed to carry out her plan.
 

"Then I am finished here," Tepua said, gesturing for the clan chief's to follow her out. "Come. We have all had too much of this foul air."
 

Cone-shell was just behind her as she stepped out into the open. She breathed deeply, trying to rid herself of the black powder's stink. "We have not settled anything," Cone-shell said angrily as he came up beside her.
 

She answered, knowing that she could not satisfy him, "I have told you that the goods belong to the men who brought them."

"If those men are your guests, then they must be allowed their freedom. If they choose to dispose of their belongings, then you cannot stop them."
 

"And what would you want from their stores?" She glanced down at his cut hand. "I saw nothing there that pleased you."

"That is for me to decide," he answered harshly. "And not only me. The strangers have goods that would please my women. In the deep drum ..."
 

"Ah. We must not forget the pretty things." Tepua turned back toward the storehouse, where Faka-ora and his assistants were posting
tapu
signs of braided coconut leaves. Now the goods would be protected by the spirits; woe to anyone who dared trespass.