Daughter of the Reef (48 page)

Then she saw that the silver fire of the apparition's face was the dying sunlight reflected from the surface of a pearl-shell mask, a mask so flat and featureless that it made the figure appear blind. When the mask turned from the sun, the glow died and she discerned the narrow slits that allowed the wearer to see.
 

Was this Ihetoa under the bulky costume? Tepua strained her eyes against the murkiness of twilight. The figure, as if it knew she watched, passed into an envelope of shadow.
 

Now she kept silent for a new reason—she did not want to frighten the intruder away. She knew that her friends would see him as soon as he went to the other side of the house. But first he stepped up to the closest wall and pressed his face to a gap. Suddenly he began moving beneath the edge of the roof, his purpose now evident as his torch swept the thatch. Berating herself for slowness, Tepua launched herself toward him. The dry roof caught, crackling and smoking while the intruder stooped to ignite the cane walls as well.
 

“Ihetoa!” Tepua shouted, and saw the apparition turn sharply at the sound of the name. Then the figure rushed away from her and around the periphery of the house, all the while setting fire as it went.
 

“Gods eat your soul!” she hissed. By the time she reached the front, the cloth flap over the doorway was a sheet of flame. She screamed Matopahu's name, her heartbeat drumming frantically. The crackle of burning thatch was loud, and the harsh smoke almost overwhelming. She hurried after Ihetoa.

From the corner of her eye she saw her companions breaking from the bush, running, weapons lifted, toward the house. They were too distant; they would come too late to help her.
 

A banging and cracking inside sounded faintly above the growing voice of the blaze. Matopahu was trapped! On the far side of the house, the sounds were loudest. There, the monstrous form had set the final wall afire. Howling her throat raw, Tepua charged Ihetoa.
 

He tossed the torch aside and lifted his tooth-edged sword. She feinted with her weapon, heard his blade hiss past, then danced out of range. She clenched the spear shaft, sighting on the one vulnerable place that wasn't guarded by the heavy cloth or shell of the costume. The sweat-gleamed patch of skin at Ihetoa's neck seemed to beckon the spear tip as he raised his sword again.
 

Baring her teeth, Tepua drew back and cast the weapon with such force that the handgrip stung her fingers. And then the false ghost-masquer was reeling, hands clutching a shaft that transfixed his throat and pinned him to a wall post of the fiercely burning house. He arched, the spasm making him rise to his toes while the hole in his throat tried vainly to quench the flames with a torrent of red. Then he sagged and hung limp, held up only by the spear shaft still embedded in the wood.
 

Tepua knew the heady swell of triumph that comes from seeing an enemy broken. She panted fiercely, drawing her lips back against her teeth. The red of his blood was the red of her hatred. She could think of nothing else as she leaned one hand against the body and yanked out the spear. She was about to plunge it into him again when the snarl of the fire reminded her that she had more to think of than revenge.
 

Whirling, she faced the house again, heard the thumps from inside, saw that the wall was sheeted with flame. She wailed in dismay and rising horror.
 

“No!” she screamed, and swung up her spear. In a frenzy she attacked the barrier that stood between her and Matopahu, ignoring the red feathers that seemed to flutter all around her. Each touch left a searing track on her skin. Dimly she felt people beside her, hands on her arms, drawing her back.
 

“It will come down! Get away or you will be killed, too!”

She did not know who shrilled the warning in her ear—she was too immersed in the flood of grief that made her struggle and scream like a maddened animal. She knew her friends were dragging her away slowly, for she fought them for every step of ground.
 

Before her, the wall bulged as if pressed from within by the exploding pressure of the fire. Nothing inside could survive such heat. Yet she saw something—the tip of a
paeho
blade, perhaps—poke through the one part of the wall that was not yet ablaze.
 

Then the hole widened and Matopahu tumbled out like a thrown club, garments alive with flame. Caught in the middle of a tearful wail, Tepua turned it into a full-throated screech. Fire seemed to lash after Matopahu, but he rolled and clawed his way to safety. In the ruddy light she saw the burn and soot marks that crisscrossed his back, almost obscuring the huge bruise on his shoulder.
 

His loincloth was bedecked with shimmering tongues of red and yellow. She threw herself beside him, rolling him, swatting at the fire, and ripping away the burning cloth.
 

And then, when at last he lay on his side, hands outstretched, Tepua fell on top of him, yelling and crying in joy as well as grief.
 

“Woman, you will make a new river in Tahiti with your tears,” said a muffled voice beneath her. “I am dazed, not dead. What about Ihetoa?”
 

“Roasting in the fire with a hole through his neck.”

“That was to be
my
job.”
 

“You eel!” she shouted. “You crawler-in-the-bushes. You useless climber of cliffs. Is there nothing you will let a woman do for you?”
 

He managed to put one arm around her and pull her closer. “I will think of something,” he said with a muffled laugh.

 

 

22

 

WHEN Rimapoa opened his eyes and saw Hoihoi's stout figure looming over him, he thought he had somehow never left home. It had all been a dream—Tepua, the feathers, Ihetoa. Now he would get up, ready his boat, go out fishing for albacore...
 

But when he tried to move, the pain at the back of his head made him gasp.

“So, brother. You went off with that atoll
vahine
, and look what it cost you.” His sister's stout fingers closed about his arm. “You are nothing but bones. Even a hungry
motu
savage would not bother with you now.”
 

The fisherman sighed. “My head—”

“It will heal. Now sit up and drink.”

Rimapoa gingerly tried to comply. He felt the polished coconut shell pressed to his lips and forced himself to take a swallow of the milk. Then he glanced around.
 

He did not recognize the hut where he lay, though he noticed that the mats were worn and thin. “Where?” He moved his arm weakly.

“Servants' quarters. We are in the high chief's compound, but I would not call you an honored guest.”

“I was—exiled—but I came back.”

“I have heard all about that,” she snapped. “You are fortunate, my wandering brother. The new high priest is not going to be harsh on you. The gods spared your life, he says, by letting you survive on that tiny
motu
. Provided that you leave Tahiti quickly, there will be no further punishment.”
 

“And where else can I go?” Rimapoa glanced up at Hoihoi's broad, fleshy face.

Her eyes gleamed in a way he had not seen in many seasons. “It may surprise you, brother, to learn that I have found a husband. My
tane
lives on Eimeo and he is taking us back with him. We will have a house close to the lagoon. He says there is good fishing nearby.”
 

“Eimeo!” He could not help recalling the wondrous night he had spent with Tepua on the beach there. In misery, he slumped back onto the mat.' 'That place would not be my choice.”
 

“You will see. There are plenty of women on Eimeo. Even a rascal like yourself might find one. But first you need some flesh on those bones!”
 

“Say nothing to me about women,” he replied with disgust.

“Good. Then you have forgotten your
motu
princess.”
 

“I do not even know what happened to her. After Ihetoa clubbed me—”

“Ihetoa is dead. And you may as well know this, brother. There is going to be a ceremony at the great
marae
. Tepua and Matopahu—”
 

“A marriage!” He sat up suddenly, though the pain made him groan anew.

“Not a marriage. And now that you are up, you can eat some of this
poi
I made for you.” She shoved a bowl at him, but he pushed it aside.
 

“What are they going to do at the
marae
?” he demanded.
 

“Ah, brother. I forgot that you were away so long on that island. Maybe you did not hear about Matopahu's grand tour of the districts.”
 

“I would rather he took a tour of the ocean's bed.”

She sighed. “When he came to visit Pigs-run-out, we all clustered around the compound trying to catch a glimpse of him. There was such a crowd that the headman's fence was thrown down and he sent his guards to chase us away. But we all got to see Matopahu.”
 

“That useless nobleman went to visit Pigs-run-out many times,” the fisherman answered bitterly. “Nobody cared about him then.”

“Ah, but that was
before
he became so renowned. This time we knew the stories about him. Every woman of the district prayed he would call her to his mat.”
 

Rimapoa wanted to grab the bowl of
poi
and dump it over his sister's head, but she seemed to sense his intent and pulled it out of range. “What does all this have to do with a ceremony?” he persisted.
 

“You will have to ask the new high priest to explain it. All I know is that Matopahu's god deserted him, and that an evil one began to speak through his lips. The ceremony is to free him from whatever sins allowed that to happen. And to free
her
from the guilt of her visit to Fenua Ura.”
 

Rimapoa frowned. “So you know everything, sister,” he answered hoarsely. “But I still do not see why they are going to do this thing together.”
 

“One sin may be connected to the other. The high priest did not take me into his confidence.”

Rimapoa tightened his fist. “No. It can only mean this. They are going to marry.”

“I do not think so,” said Hoihoi, still holding the
poi
close to her.
 

“Explain!”

“I have talked with your
motu
princess. She says that her exalted kin are sending her gifts so that she can rise in the Arioi. Matopahu will not marry a woman who is forbidden to give him children.”
 

The fisherman glanced at Hoihoi's grin and felt an unexpected surge of good feeling toward his sister. “This is no lie?”

“I think I know that woman, brother. If she is determined to be an Arioi, then she will let no man's wishes get in her way.”

“I would also send her gifts, if I had any. To make sure she stays with the Arioi.”

“Your gift to her will be to get well—as quickly as you can—and leave for Eimeo. That is why she sent for me to take care of you.”
 

He smiled. “
She
did that?” He reached cautiously to touch the back of his head, but winced as he pressed on the
tapa
dressing. “Then maybe I am not sorry that I led Dietoa into her trap.”
 

“Are you ready to eat your
poi
?”
 

Rimapoa reached for the bowl. “I will not dump it on your head today, my dear sister.”

 

The morning of the ceremony dawned with mist hanging in the trees, but soon a brisk wind cleared the air. Tepua left the women's Arioi compound, accompanied by Aitofa and Curling-leaf. She wore only a simple
tapa
wrap and carried a sprig from the sacred
miro
tree. Curling-leaf carried a trussed white fowl beneath her arm, its beak tied so that it would not interrupt the proceedings by squawking.
 

The
miro
twig, plucked earlier that morning, was still fresh and dewy. Tepua touched its heart-shaped leaves and fingered the rose-colored wood. The flowers were striking—a vivid sun yellow whose black center held a reddish sheen. It was an offering worthy of the gods, and she hoped it would please them.
 

A priest walked before the three, escorting them toward the
marae
where Eye-to-Heaven waited. As Tepua's party neared the path to the temple, she saw another priest approaching, accompanied by Matopahu and a servant. She could not help noticing how well the chief's brother looked, walking with his usual confident manner, his head thrown back and his shoulders straight. From this distance, she could not even see the scars left from his fight with the ghost-masquers.
 

It had puzzled her, at first, when the high priest suggested performing both ceremonies at once. He had not chosen to do this merely to save himself effort. The offenses were entangled with each other, Eye-to-heaven had said as he explained the ceremony of
taraehara
, the untying of
hara
. Now she and Matopahu must be untangled—from their sins and from each other.
 

She sighed, wishing the last part could somehow prove untrue. But Matopahu had asked her to leave the Arioi for him, something she could not do. And now, impossible as it seemed, the time for a final parting had come...
 

Overhead, dark branches rustled. At the border of sacred ground Tepua saw the fierce wooden figures glaring at her. She remembered all too well the furor raised when temple attendants thought that a woman had crossed that boundary. “We may enter,” said Aitofa, beside her. “See? Mats are spread so that our feet will not touch the sacred stones.”