Child of the Dawn (25 page)

She followed Tupaia down the rope ladder and boarded her own craft. Looking back, she saw the foreign sailors cheering and waving their headdresses. Purea called a final greeting.
 

Then she turned away, her head filled with what she had seen. She had hoped to learn more about the strangers. But what puzzles they offered!
 

These people worked wonders in wood and stone, yet did not take proper care of their bodies. They claimed to fear their gods, yet she had seen them make no offerings. They showed great fondness for women, yet had brought none of their own.
 

Perhaps, in time, she would understand these things. But her first task was to make a peace agreement. So long as Tutaha did not interfere, she thought she could have that agreement.
 

 

 

 

THIRTEEN

 

"You have heard my opinion," said Eye-to-heaven, "but I see you are still determined to go." Matopahu finished heaving a net filled with green drinking coconuts into his single-hull outrigger canoe, then glanced up at the priest's frowning face. The two men were not often at odds, but in this case Matopahu refused to be swayed. He was leaving Eimeo.
 

Eye-to-heaven stood on the beach, watching his friend's preparations but offering no assistance. Matopahu turned toward the lagoon and studied the ripples on the water. He felt a steady wind against his face, a wind from Tane, the sea father.
 

He gazed past the breakers, though he could not see his destination from this low beach. Yesterday, from a high lookout, he had glimpsed the coral ring of Tetiaroa glittering far off in the sun. This atoll lay less than a day's sail from Eimeo. If the gods did not turn against him, he would arrive before dark.
 

For now, it was not the opinion of the gods but that of his
taio
that troubled Matopahu. "I don't understand your objections. What harm can it do me to speak with Otaha?" he asked.
 

"You will waste many days in Tetiaroa," said the priest. "Once you reach that place of idleness, you won't want to leave. I know what will happen there. Otaha will entertain and flatter you, but give you nothing."
 

They were arguing about a prominent chief of Tahiti, who had taken up temporary residence on the nearby atoll. Matopahu knew that in Tetiaroa a great man like Otaha might be approached informally. It was a place where chiefs went to relax, cure their ills, fatten and beautify their daughters. The
ari'i
was counting on a long tradition of amity between his family and that of this chief. Otaha might be willing to support a raid on Land-crab.
 

"Listen," said Eye-to-heaven, "I have another plan."

Matopahu carried a mat-wrapped bundle of clothing and gifts into the canoe. "Come with me to Tetiaroa," he said. "I'll hear your idea along the way."
 

"My
taio
, I do not need to go to the atoll," the priest said gravely. 'The place that draws me lies in Tahiti. I think there is a way to retrieve the corpse of your brother."
 

"You can't find the body by yourself." The thought of digging up old burial crypts made Matopahu's neck hairs rise.

"
Taio
, I have new hope. Three men,
opu-nui
who once served under me, have gone back to work in the high chief's
marae
. By now they may have learned something useful."
 

"But
opu-nui
are mere underlings. Why should the priests share their secrets with such men? I do not think your friends will learn where the body is hidden."
 

"It is certainly worth trying."

"And if Land-crab catches you, you'll be meat for the sharks."

"My
taio
, I recall that I used the same argument when
you
went to spy on our enemy."
 

"In those days, one could masquerade as an Arioi, and I went only during celebrations. How will you disguise yourself, now that Land-crab has chased away his performers? Even if you could hide your face, it would not be enough. Everyone knows your walk. I'm certain that Land-crab has his men watching for you."
 

"Then what can we do?" asked Eye-to-heaven. "Keep wandering from one chief to another until we are known as vagabonds?"

"Otaha will be the last," said Matopahu firmly.

"And if he refuses?"

"Then I will live as I deserve. I'll become a fisherman and forget that my family is descended from the great gods."

"That will not do," the priest answered.

With a sigh, Matopahu sat down on a fallen palm tree that lay on the beach. He stared at the loaded canoe before him, the single-hulled
va'a motu
. "Then I'll find another island, far from here," Matopahu suggested. He reached over and stroked the solid wood of the bowboard that extended from the front of his outrigger craft. "In this canoe, I can sail all the way to Porapora."
 

His gaze fell on the small but well-crafted vessel. Its high, rounded stern kept breaking waves from swamping the hull. The nearly vertical cutwater beneath the flat bowboard sliced cleanly through the sea. In a moment he would put up the sturdy mast, and the sail, made in the shape of a crab's claw. Yes, he could even reach more distant islands....
 

"Let me see what answer Otaha gives," the ari'i offered. "I'll resist the charms of Tetiaroa. I will not let him keep me long. Then you and I can talk again." Matopahu looked up at the face of his friend, whose expression seemed to be softening. "I ask for one thing more. Help me pray for a safe journey."
 

"I will do that much. I will even lay the 'sleeping sennit' under a stone for you."

Matopahu knew this trick of divination. By placing a straight length of sennit beneath a
marae
stone, Eye-to-heaven could learn if the voyage had succeeded. If he later found the cord twisted over, then the canoe had come to grief.
 

"When two days have passed, I'll lift the slab and learn your fate," Eye-to-heaven said.

"I know a better way," Matopahu replied, "and a more reliable one. Come along with me!"

The priest's mouth twitched. Matopahu sensed victory near. "Let us pray first," said Eye-to-heaven. "Then I'll decide."

 

Midafternoon found Matopahu and the priest on the way to Tetiaroa, blue water rolling beneath the outrigger's hull. Tane's wind had held steady all day. Matopahu sat astern, steering with a sweep oar while the priest perched out on the balance board to counter the canoe's heel.

Squinting through the salt spray that dashed in his face, Matopahu cut open the end of a drinking nut and lobbed it to his friend. He threw wide, and thought he had missed, but the priest, hanging on to the stay lines, lunged and caught it in one big hand.
 

"Nothing that is good to eat or drink can get past you," Matopahu shouted, grinning. "When you finish that one, I'll toss you another. The wind is picking up, and I need more weight on the board."
 

He shifted the steering oar beneath his arm, pointing the outrigger's bow slightly east. Tane's wind, while providing swift sailing to Tetiaroa, could make a canoe drift too far westward, causing it to miss the tiny atoll.
 

The feather pennant at the top of the sail streamed over the outrigger float. The wind was coming directly across the side into the crab-claw sail, an angle that gave the greatest speed. If this kept up, they would reach Tetiaroa even sooner than he had hoped.
 

Not long afterward, a shout from Eye-to-heaven made Matopahu squint past the sail at the horizon. Yes, those were the feathery tops of palm trees appearing over the blue backs of the swells. First he saw two, then three, then seven. Overhead, a flock of gulls wheeled about his fluttering pennant, as if celebrating his arrival.
 

As his craft sped closer, the shape of the atoll became more apparent, coral islets spaced irregularly around a ring. He caught glimpses of the turquoise water in the center— the marvelous lagoon—and flashes of brilliant white sand.
 

"I'll try the pass," he said, turning toward his
taio
, whose disapproving mood had lifted a bit during the voyage.

"It will be tricky," the priest warned.

"Yes, it will." The entrance to the lagoon was shallow and treacherous, Matopahu knew, with barely enough water to keep his vessel afloat. Many sailors preferred to carry their canoes over the reef. Yet he thought the tide favored him, making the pass the quickest way in.
 

The pass lay at the northwest corner of the atoll. Staying well clear of the surf line that marked the barrier reef, he skirted the atoll's western coast. With the wind now coming from astern, Eye-to-heaven was no longer needed on the balance board; he climbed in to handle the sail.
 

Matopahu brought his canoe around and pointed it toward the shallow channel, little more than a cleft in the rock. With the sail luffing in the direct wind over the bow, he left the steering oar and helped Eye-to-heaven loosen the stays that braced the mast. Together they brought down both mast and sail, then unlashed the paddles. The channel was far too narrow to be approached under sail, against the wind.
 

Stroking hard and deep, the two brought the craft through a gap in the surf. Matopahu aimed the bow toward a rippling patch of blue-green water that marked the inrushing tidal current. To the side he saw breakers, foam shooting high as waves struck underwater coral. But ahead, the water was relatively smooth. He felt the hull surge forward as the current caught it, pulling him toward the inviting lagoon.
 

Eye-to-heaven moved to the bowboard and called out warnings, using his paddle blade to fend away coral heads looming up from the bottom. The hull slid past jagged rocks that rose almost close enough to touch. Matopahu's paddle kept scraping bottom, and he braced himself for the sound of splintering wood. Then came a cry of relief from Eye-to-heaven. "We are over the reef, my
taio
. The gods helped us through."
 

The water of the lagoon was faintly rippled, almost perfectly calm. The deep turquoise color paled in the shallows, shading to tints of aquamarine, yellow green, and finally light yellow. Among the forests of branching coral on the bottom, Matopahu saw an eel feeding. The black loops and swirls on its green back showed as it darted from one spot to the next.
 

Schools of brilliantly striped lagoon fish fled the canoe's shadow as it glided over the bottom. In the depths, giant clams opened the wavy edges of their shells and extended their mantles of intense orange or yellow or violet, marbled with black. Matopahu drew in his breath, startled by the beauty of the scene. Here was a place that Tepua would enjoy, but he wondered sadly if she would ever see it.
 

Many canoes were afloat on the glittering lagoon, some for fishing, some for sport. Numerous islets lay at the periphery, their beaches backed by dense stands of coconut palms. Matopahu steered toward one of the largest of these
motus
.
 

As he drew closer, he saw even more canoes pulled up above the beach. Thatched-roof houses stood everywhere in the dense shade beneath the trees. A small crowd of servants came to watch his arrival and to help him drag his canoe up onto shore.
 

First the travelers made offerings at a small
marae
situated near the end of the islet. Then they unwrapped one of Matopahu's bundles, donning fine wraps and cloaks from Putu-nui's wealth of gifts.
 

It did not take much time to find Otaha. The chief emerged from his lattice-walled dwelling and gave a warm greeting to Matopahu and Eye-to-heaven. "It is good to see you again," Otaha said. "Do you know why I like this atoll? It is because I can meet all my old friends, the ones who never visit me at home!"
 

Otaha was a sturdy man with graying hair and a friendly gleam in his eyes. He was not looking as hale as Matopahu remembered, however. It was rumored that Otaha had come here to regain his health, after overindulgence in the peppery drink made from
ava
roots. Matopahu noticed scaly patches on the man's skin and a slight watering of his eyes, but sensed that the chief was recovering.
 

"Yes, it is unfortunate," Matopahu said, "that at home we rarely leave our own districts."

"But now that you are here, you will stay with me," Otaha insisted. "And you will meet Fleeting-star. We are feeding her well, and she grows more lovely every day."
 

Fleeting-star
? The name seemed familiar. Perhaps she was the daughter whose charms had been praised in a song he'd recently heard. His curiosity was piqued, but he knew that the daughter would not appear for a while.
 

After light refreshments, Matopahu took a stroll along the white sand beach. A party of fishermen had just come in, and he admired the iridescent blues and golds of the reef fish they had netted. He watched briefly while the men parceled these out into baskets, then carried the fish inland to the ovens of their patrons.
 

A couple of supply canoes arrived from Tahiti, bringing loads of breadfruit and taro. Matopahu overheard crewmen joking about the highborn people their canoes served. One sailor held aloft a ripe breadfruit as big as his head. "Feed this one to his daughter and she'll get just as plump," he said with a laugh.
 

"You don't want a girl that big," said another. "What happens if she rolls over at night? She'll flatten your clams!"

Matopahu smiled and walked on, passing low houses that were set back from shore. Occasionally someone called a greeting, but no one stirred from his seat in the shade. Overhead, coconut fronds rattled in the breeze and the trees swayed gently.