Sister of the Sun

Clare Coleman

 

 

PRONUNCIATION

 

The vowels are pronounced approximately as follows:

 

a - as the "a" in "father"

e - as the "a" in "say"

i - as the "e" in "me"

o - as the "o" in "so"

u - as the "u" in "rule"

 

The "ng" has a nasal sound, somewhat like that in "singer."

When two vowels are adjacent, each is pronounced as a separate sound. The accent on a word usually falls on the next-to-last syllable. The presence of an apostrophe in a word indicates a break or glottal stop.
 

 

NOTE: A glossary of unfamiliar terms appears in the back.

 

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

 

I am grateful to the following for help with research: San Jose City Library, San Jose State University Library, Trigger Hill Trading Post, anthropologist Kauraka Kauraka, author Sven Wahlroos, Cultural Village of Rarotonga, and the many Polynesians I met in my travels.
 

I also thank readers Kevin J. Anderson, Michael Berch, Michael Meltzer, Dan'l Danehy-Oakes, Avis Minger, Dorothy Wall, and Lori Ann White.
 

 

 

 

ONE

 

Wave after great wave buffeted a two-hulled voyaging canoe that was beating its way windward. The craft was tossing so violently that only its sturdy master dared remain standing. Heavy sheets of spray hit the plaited sails and swept across the platform that crossed the hulls. Brine drenched the crewmen, who crouched, waiting for orders. But the canoe-master, wearing only a narrow loincloth, stood fast at the bow. Sinewy legs spread wide, knees flexed, he peered out over the heaving water for signs of land.
 

Beneath a small thatched canopy that was lashed to the deck sat the principal passenger, Tepua-mua, daughter of an atoll chief. Almost as tall as a man, she was lightly and gracefully built, as supple as a young coconut palm. Training in the dance had sculpted and defined the muscles in her arms, thighs, and calves. The swell of her breasts and hips showed that she had reached womanhood.
 

Her eyes were large and lively, surrounded by black lashes beneath angular eyebrows. Strong, wide cheekbones tapered down to a pointed chin. A mane of blue-black hair spilled back from her high forehead.
 

As the double canoe, the
pahi
, pitched and rolled, she felt her pearl-shell necklace sliding against the bare skin below her throat. She was wrapped in a garment of finely plaited matting to protect her against the wind and spray. Even so, the chill of sudden gusts set her teeth on edge.
 

"
Aue
!" one crewman shouted in dismay as a huge wave lifted the
pahi
. Tepua tightened her grip and tried not to think about her last sea voyage. It would be cruel of the gods, she thought, to bring her so close to home, only to toss her into the ocean again.
 

She had known worse sailing than this. Some time ago a squall had swept her overboard, taking her away from friends and kin. Only through the aid of the gods had she survived, finding refuge in far-off Tahiti. And now, despite misgivings, she was finally returning home.
 

"
Aue
!" came another cry, this one filled with hope. Tepua looked up to see the canoe-master pointing to something far ahead.
 

Paruru, her father's chief warrior, hurried forward to stand with him. Bared to the waist, Paruru seemed indifferent to the cold. His powerful shoulders and back were slick from spray.
 

She fought her impulse to join the men, knowing that she was expected to remain confidently seated under the shelter. Straining her eyes at the gray horizon that rose and fell with the deck, she saw only whitecaps. Waves crashed against the hull, and wind whistled through the thatch, drowning all voices.
 

Then, at last, she glimpsed a few black specks that set her pulse racing. The dots grew until she could see that they were feathery tops of palm trees. Others appeared, in a familiar pattern. The canoe-master called orders excitedly to the men. The sails had to be changed now, for the present course would take them far past their destination.
 

Tepua tried to fight her impatience. After so many days of travel she was eager for the journey to end. She ached to stretch her legs, to run free, to taste fresh food.
 

She had been away nearly two years. At first she had been treated with scorn in Tahiti, yet she had found a place for herself in that unfamiliar land. She had joined a society of dancers and performers who celebrated their patron god Oro. For a long time she had believed that she could never return to her home island, because she had lost the virginity required of a chief's unwed daughter.
 

But then Paruru arrived and invited her back for a visit. Her father, now ill, understood that she had been cleansed by a priest of Tahiti of all her offenses against the gods. Paruru brought the pearl-shell necklace as a gift from her relatives, and assured her that she would be welcome....
 

With land in view, Tepua's thoughts filled with the people who awaited her. The spirit of her mother had long ago departed on its journey. But Ehi, who had been her feeding mother, would be waiting to welcome Tepua in her ample arms. And Ehi's daughter Maukiri, closer than a sister, would have tales to keep Tepua awake for many nights. As for her father, she could only hope that he still lived.
 

She glanced out again, this time seeing foam shooting high on the horizon as breakers crashed into the outer reefs. More palms appeared, marking the length of the large islet known as Ata-mea. Soon she saw, separated by gaps, tree clusters on other islets of the atoll's coral ring. She shifted her seat and wished the
pahi
could move faster.
 

But the waters here were hazardous, bristling with underwater reefs, and the rough weather only made the canoe-master's task more difficult. Carefully he directed a zigzag course that ended downwind of the atoll. At his command, the
pahi
turned to approach the pass through the reefs.
 

The canoe was close enough now for Tepua to see details of the familiar shoreline. Great chunks of old coral, tossed up by some malevolent spirit of storms, gave a harsh look to the seaward beach. Beyond this rugged barrier lay stretches of white sand, and there she saw people gathering, waving at the boat. A few youngsters ventured onto the rough coral banks, keeping just out of reach of waves that thundered against the rock.
 

Now Tepua could no longer bear to remain in the shelter. She came out to sit cross-legged on the deck and watch the final maneuvers. People from shore were shouting, but it was impossible to make out their words.
 

With a frenzy, the crewmen began paddling, trying to bring the
pahi
into position to enter the pass. Tepua knew how fortunate her people were to have such a channel into the calm enclosed waters of their lagoon. At other atolls it was necessary to land on the outer reef, a dangerous undertaking.
 

But entering a pass also involved risk, and today's rough seas made the hazard far greater than usual. Tepua took a quick glance over the stern, to see what waves were gathering to carry her to shore. A huge swell was already upon her! She felt its power in the pit of her stomach as the canoe rose high above the land. She spoke a brief prayer to her ancestress, Tapahi-roro-ariki, as she began to plunge through the gap.
 

Steep, rough walls of ruddy coral loomed suddenly on both sides. She clutched for a new handhold and tried to keep from crying out. Once, not so long ago, she had found amusement in shooting the pass on a blustery day. She remembered cajoling her father's boatmen into taking her out and back. Now, as she raced past the jagged walls, she could not even find words of prayer to her guardian spirit.
Life on Tahiti has made me soft
, came a distant thought as the bow of the pahi slammed down and sent her sprawling forward on the deck.
 

Before she could get up, the platform was awash. Then she found herself afloat in the boiling current, flailing about for something to hold on to. She clawed at the roof of the shelter beside her, but the thatching tore away in her hand. The canoe bounced up again, tossing her behind it. Then the boat shot forward, leaving her to struggle in its foaming wake.
 

Tepua sputtered a she came up for air. There was no time for shock or anger. On both sides, sharp and deadly walls hemmed her in. Men were shouting to her from the
pahi
, now far ahead, but they could not stop its rush toward the lagoon. Someone—Paruru, she thought—dove in after her, but he was too far away to help.
 

Tepua's head went under. Perhaps life in Tahiti had indeed made her soft, but she had not forgotten how to swim. Stroking fiercely, she emerged in a mass of foam. Now the coral wall rose just in front of her, its sharp edges glistening with seawater. In a frenzy she turned away and fought the current as waves pulled her down into a deep trough, lifted her and dropped her again.
 

Then she was swimming underwater, heading for the center of the channel, only dimly sensing pain on the side of her leg. Ahead she saw hints of the brighter, calmer water of the lagoon, but the current was treacherous here, swirling her away from her course.
 

Once more the coral seemed to reach out for her, and again she felt its sting. Turning, she tried to change direction, fighting a surge of water that was dragging her down. She saw a pair of glittering fish above, tried to follow them into a gentler current. The fish raced on before her, always just beyond her fingertips.
 

Then, at last, she was free of the treacherous undertow, and she saw overhead the quiet surface of the lagoon. She came up, gasping, pushing strands of hair from her face. Outrigger canoes, singled-hulled
vaka
that could be quickly launched, were coming toward her.
 

Tepua felt weak. The sting of her coral cuts grew worse, and she saw threads of blood rising through the clear water. She knew that sharks often entered the lagoon....
 

"Get her out! Quick!" came cries from shore.

Hands reached down to help her. She half climbed, half rolled into the bottom of a canoe, and lay back, still trying to catch her breath. "Daughter, welcome home," cried a familiar voice from shore. "I will take care of you," Ehi called. Tepua closed her eyes, content, for the moment, just to feel the gentle rocking of the canoe as it headed in.
 

She sat up as the craft reached shallow water. Ehi was already wading from shore, her broad face filled with affection. Someone helped Tepua out of the canoe, and she splashed into the warm embrace of the older woman. For a long moment they held on to each other.
 

Then Paruru rushed up to stand beside Tepua. Water streamed from his soaked hair down his cheeks and brow. He was out of breath, his broad chest heaving. Tepua realized that he had fought the deadly currents also, and only for her sake. "I was too slow," he said in an anguished voice. "If I had jumped sooner ..."
 

She glanced at Paruru's strong features, the heavy brows, straight forehead, broad nose that flared about the nostrils. Blue-black tattoos of a principal warrior decorated his shoulders and swirled about his hips.
 

"Do not blame yourself, Paruru," Tepua answered. "There is an evil spirit dwelling in that pass. It is enough that you brought me home safely." Then she turned to Ehi to ask the question that was now uppermost in her mind. "Does my father...Does ..."
 

"Kohekapu is waiting for you, daughter," said Ehi, leading her out of the shallows and onto the white sand beach. Ehi made a scolding sound as she crouched to inspect Tepua's legs. "But first we must put ointment on those scrapes. And find you something to wear."