Child of the Dawn (12 page)

Say to him

Your home is renewed

Your
marae
is weeded and handsome.
 

 

Bid him to come again.
 

To these kneeling stones.

 

When the chant was done, Matopahu rested, but he dared not close his eyes, what would the god say if his supplicant fell asleep in the middle of a vigil? The air grew cooler, but he did not mind the discomfort. It would keep him alert, help him avoid a mistake when his chanting began anew.
 

Yet he could not stop his thoughts from wandering, especially to memories of Tepua. He remembered when he had first seen her—a mere servant in the house of an underchief, an atoll girl whose claims of high birth were scorned in Tahiti. He could recall every word she had spoken to him that night, of her longing for home, of her hopes for joining the Arioi. He remembered, too, how the scent of her had made his head swim, and how the look in her eyes had haunted him for days afterward.
 

Not until months later had he learned the full story of her mishap, of the wave that had swept her from a voyaging canoe and left her to drown, of the gods who had helped her survive. Those gods had sent her to Tahiti for Matopahu's sake, he believed. Though he did not know their names, he called on them now as well.
 

 

Arise and run

O messengers.

 

Summon the god of this
marae

And through him the thousands of gods,

 

The gods of the atolls

The gods of the heights.

 

Something stirred. He drew in his breath and tried to control his shivering. A glimmer showed on the pavement ahead and he did not think this was moonlight. A faint noise came, like the whisper of wind through high grass. He felt as if hands were passing over him.
 

Something more powerful than anything in the
marae
had arrived. The air around him thickened, pressing close, like moist air before a storm. The noise became a drone. The glimmer grew brighter.
 

Matopahu clutched his talismans. He tried to recite an incantation, but his lips were numb. An invisible touch passed over his body, probing, stroking.... He wanted to cry out.
 

And then it was gone. The light became only moonlight again. The only sound was the wind.

Yet he felt changed, renewed, strengthened. His mouth fell open in wonder as he realized that a god had come to him. Perhaps the curse was not completely lifted. Perhaps he could not free himself by a single task. What he had been granted was enough strength to continue his struggle, and the hope that someday he would succeed.
 

Matopahu raised his voice once more, praising the high one who had aided him. The night was far from over, but now he did not feel the chill. Determined to keep his vigil until morning, he settled himself on the hard stone.
 

 

 

 

SIX

 

Several mornings after her visit to Matopahu, Tepua was wakened early by cries throughout the encampment. She had slept fitfully again, and her eyes felt red from weeping. She tried to shut Matopahu's angry words out of her memory, but they still echoed. Groggily, unwillingly, she wrapped her cape around her shoulders and crawled out of the palm-leaf lean-to.
 

She blinked, wondering why everyone was up so early. Overhead, the last stars were fading. A damp, chill wind came through the forest and ruffled her cape.
 

"All of us are going to the main island," said Curling-leaf excitedly.

"Today?" Tepua asked, frowning as she recalled her painful encounter there with Matopahu.

"Chipped-rock Lodge has finally invited us. We must prepare."

"So suddenly! I thought they had forgotten us." For many days no word had been spoken about the Arioi lodge that had brought her troupe to this islet.
 

"I thought so, too," said Curling-leaf. "But Head-lifted has been talking to their chief."

Tepua sighed. She felt so concerned over Matopahu that she had almost forgotten the problems of the Arioi. She did not know why Chipped-rock Lodge had offered to move her troupe from Tahiti. She was curious to learn what arrangements had been made. Surely her leaders had not softened their opposition to Land-crab! Or had they?
 

Before she could wonder more about this, she found herself in a party collecting vines, flowers, and palm fronds in the fringes of the forest. The women brought their gatherings to the assembly ground to make wreaths. By now the early-morning sunlight gleamed on the lagoon, but the clearing remained in shadow. Tepua's bark-cloth cape was thin and worn, doing little to keep off the chill.
 

"What a poor appearance we will make," Curling-leaf complained as she plaited a headband by wrapping one coconut leaflet with another. Carefully she worked the stems of scarlet-and-yellow hibiscus blooms into the band until she had a circlet of flowers. "Our hosts will have fresh wraps and capes, and we will have only these." She ran her hand over her frayed and stained
tapa
skirt, which she had worn every day since leaving Tahiti.
 

"I hear we will be getting new clothing. Our hosts have already sent us face paint," said another novice, who was plaiting a garland of violet beach morning glory.
 

"Why is the lodge of Chipped-rock suddenly being so generous?" someone else wanted to know. Tepua asked herself the same question. None of the troupes in Tahiti had offered help. Were these Arioi of Eimeo the only ones who did not fear Land-crab?
 

As soon as she finished her decorations, Tepua joined the rehearsal of a dancing group. When the dancing master arranged the women in rows, he sent Tepua to the rear. She deserved a better place, she thought, but admitted to herself that she was out of practice. Long ago, she had astonished the Arioi with her dancing....
 

Drummers beat on makeshift instruments as the women slowly swayed their hips. Everyone seemed stiff and awkward this morning. Tepua wondered why the lodge leaders insisted on performing at such short notice. Everything about this new development puzzled her.
 

Before noon, a fleet of two-hulled canoes arrived to pick up the Arioi, now costumed and painted as well as they could manage, faces decorated with red and black. Tepua saw Maukiri at the rear of the crowd, talking excitedly to one of her new friends. Even attendants had been invited to this gathering.
 

As Tepua stared at the far shore, she wished she could slip away from the group and search for Eye-to-heaven. The priest would have news of Matopahu's progress.
 

She found her thoughts drifting as canoes took the party along the coast to a beach where their hosts stood waiting. Tepua's companions, cheered by the prospect of relief from their spartan existence, pranced and chanted as they stood on the decks. The Arioi ashore were splendidly dressed, arrayed in new capes of bleached
tapa
that were printed with rosettes and embellished with black-eyed daisies. Brilliant feather necklaces shone around their necks; pearl and shell ear ornaments glistened in the sunlight.
 

Drums beat loudly, and flutes sang a high-pitched melody as the visitors waded ashore. Tepua hung back, watching, curious to see how her companions would be treated. She saw the lodge leaders embracing each other, and great merriment as the hosts escorted the visitors toward the Chipped-rock Arioi performance house.
 

Tepua found her cousin beside her as she approached the high-roofed building, which resembled the one that had belonged to her own lodge. "Now you have some idea what we lost in the fire," she whispered to Maukiri as they gazed at the polished pillars made from whole coconut trees that supported the high thatched roof.
 

The sides of the wooden structure lay open, mat walls rolled up to let in light and air. Tepua breathed the scent of freshly cut
aretu
grass that had been strewn about the floor. "That is where the chiefs and lodge leaders sit to watch the performance," she said, pointing to a raised wooden platform.
 

Cooking aromas made Tepua's head turn. From the pit-ovens wafted hints of the coming feast. But before the meal there would be introductions, rituals, performances. Tepua sent Maukiri to join the attendants outside, then scurried to sit under the roof with the other Arioi women of her rank.
 

The Chipped-rock Arioi welcomed the Tahitian troupe with garlands of black-centered daisies and sun-yellow hibiscus. Suspended on cords tied to the performance-house rafters were many presents for the visitors: capes, necklaces, and ornaments similar to the ones their hosts wore.
 

On the platform, four-legged wooden stools had been arranged for the highest-ranking Arioi. Lower stools on the ground were for the intermediate members. Tepua seated herself beside Curling-leaf on a mat.
 

Soon the chief comedians of the host lodge strutted out and introduced themselves, naming the special peak, river, and point of land for which their district was renowned. A traditional chant began, calling on Oro in his peaceful aspect—Oro-of-the-laid-down-spear, setting a tone of good fellowship between the host troupe and their guests. Even if their respective tribal chiefs had been actively at war, the two Arioi factions would now be pledged to a amicable meeting.
 

So far as Tepua knew, Land-crab had no enemies here on Eimeo. It was not a good place to seek allies against him. If any ill will did exist, it was directed against her own Wind-driving Lodge for defying the man who claimed to be its tribal chief.
 

The hosts began the entertainment, offering a rousing dance that made the onlookers slap their thighs in approval. The dancers ran off and players arrived. They wore typical garb for satire—outlandish headdresses and baggy loincloths. However, Tepua saw several costumes that seemed to mock the tattoos and dress of her own troupe. She stared in puzzlement. Arioi did not usually make fun of themselves.
 

The skit began by depicting the start of an Arioi performance. Several richly dressed players, representing a Tahitian chief and his retinue, filed in, took their places, and waited for the show to begin. Other Chipped-rock Arioi depicted members of the Tahitian lodge, who strutted and chanted their opening introduction. But instead of starting to entertain, the Tahitian players began to complain about their "tribal chief." The most vociferous critic was a woman whose hairstyle, voice, and manner resembled Aitofa's.
 

"We will not perform for this chief." She sneered. "Look how thin he is. A chief must have a big belly to be taken seriously."

The mock chief got up, along with his retinue, and humbly withdrew. Another replaced him, but got no further with the arrogant "Tahitian" Arioi woman and her troupe. He would not do either—he was not tall enough to be chief. This man, too, withdrew and was replaced by yet another.
 

Each mock chief who arrived was criticized and sent back until at last a disguised messenger from the god Oro appeared onstage and went before the Arioi, requesting a performance. This man, too, was refused. But instead of humbly retreating, as the others had done, he stripped off his disguise, announced his true nature, and said that Oro would punish these arrogant players who insulted tribal chiefs in his name. Instantly the "Tahitian" Arioi lodge house went up in "flames" of waving red cloth, and the lodge leaders fell to their knees, begging forgiveness and promising to mend their wayward behavior.
 

Then the players all ran off, accompanied by thigh-pounding applause from the Chipped-rock Arioi. The visitors joined in, out of politeness, but many looked chagrined. Tepua could not help a surge of indignant anger. This performance made light of the near destruction of Wind-driving Lodge. Even worse, it suggested that Land-crab had been justified in his attack. How could these people of Eimeo be so hospitable and then turn around and embarrass their guests with this one-sided satire?
 

She watched the expressions on the lodge leaders' faces. First Head-lifted smiled, and then Aitofa. Tepua knew that neither would openly object to this performance. It must not be said that Arioi could not bear being made the butt of their own humor.
 

Tepua clenched his fists. The usurper was the one who should be mercilessly ridiculed—until public opinion forced him to change his ways. She saw the same protest in Curling-leaf's eyes and the faces of the other women around her, but none of them dared speak.
 

Her own lodge leaders had clearly been taken by surprise—or had they? Head-lifted was looking more relaxed now, but Aitofa's smile appeared strained. Was it possible that Head-lifted had been told in advance what the hosts planned to perform for his troupe? Perhaps he had even helped plan it!
 

Fortunately, the face paint helped to cover her companions' embarrassment. Now it was time for the Tahitians to entertain. Tepua hurried to take her place among the dancers.
 

The drumming began. Despite her reaction to her host's satire, Tepua tried to do her best. As the dancers turned to face the platform, she saw that the chiefs of the host lodge had taken their high seats. They seemed to be watching her, though she stood in the last row.
 

She noticed that the Chipped-rock Lodge contained several members of the order's highest rank—Blacklegs, tattooed solidly from ankle to loins. Only two, the male and female chiefs, wore the red
maro
about their hips. The other Blacklegs had the rank but not the authority. And they also seemed to be staring at her. Did her tall and slender figure make her so different from the other dancers?