Sister of the Sun (16 page)

Tepua watched Ehi, mat skirt flying, breasts and rump bouncing, necklace threatening to fly off. She laughed until her sides ached. Then Kiore left the field and came before her. "You try?" he asked. "Different one."
 

His suggestion, she realized, had not gone unnoticed. Many faces turned to watch as Tepua hesitated. But she was
ariki
, one who must excel in all things. As a girl, she had won renown for dancing. How could she refuse him?
 

She put aside her cape and headdress, and heard a murmur of approval from the onlookers. She let Kiore take her left hand in his right, and they walked into a clear space that the crowd made for them. The new step was far easier, involving a heel-and-toe movement, but no deep bending of the knees. Soon they were bouncing together to Nika's piping. Kiore called "Come dance," to the onlookers, holding out his free hand, and Maukiri eagerly clasped it. Then a bold little girl took Maukiri's free hand and the line began to grow.
 

What a strange and exciting rhythm the little flute produced! Nika, usually so dour, beamed with pleasure as he played. But Kiore was the one who held her attention— his fingers warm against hers, the musky scent of his body, the glow in his eyes when the late rays of afternoon sunlight caught them. The dance went on and on, the line growing, then spiraling inward so that others could find places. At last almost everyone in the crowd joined the merriment.
 

Breathless from exertion and laughter, Kiore finally stopped. He bent over, resting his hands on his thighs while he gulped air. The others quit soon, breaking up into small groups and drifting away. Night was coming on. Some revelers headed home while others lingered, talking and joking.
 

Tepua watched as a group of stout and matronly women—grandmothers every one—crowded toward Kiore. She stepped aside to leave him with his admirers. "Look at those thick arms," shouted one. "How the muscles show beneath the skin!"
 

"Feel that thigh!"

"His shoulder!"

She saw Kiore straighten up, startled. He began to look alarmed as more women grabbed at him, putting their hands on his calves and feeling the corded muscles of his forearms. He yelped when someone evidently poked at a sensitive place.
 

Tepua stepped closer. With a sharp clap she ordered the women to let him go. They dispersed, grumbling among themselves, complaining of weakling husbands and lazy sons at home. Kiore, with an odd grin, turned to face Tepua. "The big ladies ..."he began, but then seemed lost for words.
 

"They are old," Tepua said with a laugh. "Sometimes we let them do as they please. It is not much fun for them looking after grandchildren all day. Do the grandmothers of your land enjoy seeing strong, young men?''
 

"Strong?" He seemed to ponder her question. Then he puffed out his chest and strutted around a bit. "Yes. Crowds go. To watch ..."
 

"Then that is a way our people are like yours." When a look of amusement showed in his eyes, she had an urge to embrace him, but with so many people watching she did not dare. Worse yet, she noticed Paruru gazing toward her unhappily. Going up to her
kaito-nui
, she spoke a few friendly words, trying to ease his glum expression.
 

How strangely things had turned out. Both Kiore and Paruru were competing for her favor—and with everyone watching! She resolved to discourage both men without making them angry. She wanted Paruru and Kiore to be friends. Somehow she must end this foolish rivalry.
 

"Come," she called to the attendants who stood behind her. These young women, too, had been dancing; their faces gleamed with perspiration. "I am ready to go home."
 

The attendants followed her with evident reluctance. Later, Tepua knew, they would slip away to meet their lovers and dance again on the moonlit shore.
 

With a twinge of regret she recalled the nights of her own youth—when she had been forced to remain inside with her chaperon while the sounds of music and laughter drifted to her from the beach. Now it must be the same again. She had made her decision. If she took a lover, it would mean one more entanglement here, one more reason to stay.
 

She followed the path along the shore, hearing the drumbeat begin again. Tightening her fist, she tried not to envy the others.

 

 

 

NINE

 

In the days that followed, Tepua was gratified to see how well people took to the foreigners. All the important families wanted them as guests; each day the sailors received new invitations.
 

Sometimes Tepua attended these small gatherings, watching with keen attention whenever the newcomers offered to entertain their hosts. In their early visits, the men showed only the chants and dance steps of their fellow sailors. Later they began to act out scenes from life in their own land.
 

In one instance, Kiore played the part of an animal that was big enough for a man to ride on. Nika, straddling his back, wielded an imaginary stick. Kiore made sounds through his nostrils, shook his head wildly, and finally tossed Nika to the ground. This performance proved so popular that every child on the island wanted to try it.
 

Almost every day, Tepua spent time with Kiore, gradually teaching him her language, and learning words of his. She also kept up her visits to Kohekapu, whose condition seemed little changed despite all the effort of healers.
 

Suddenly her routine was interrupted by a message from Cone-shell. He invited Tepua to visit him, promising a grand welcome. She talked to the priests and elders to ask their opinions.
 

"Kohekapu will be the same when you get back," said one. "He will not complain if you leave for a few days."

"The foreigners are no trouble," said another. "Paruru's men can look after them.''

Tepua was less than eager to see Cone-shell, expecting him to renew his demands for the foreign goods. Nor did she care to give up Kiore's engaging company. But the prospect of seeing Umia again drew her to accept Cone-shell's offer. She decided to visit Heka first, to see what advice Piho's chiefess might give.
 

 

"Come,'' said Heka to Tepua as they stood on the lagoon side of Heka's islet and gazed at the calm, blue-gray water. "The tide is out and the air is cool. A good morning for walking on the reef."
 

"It is a good time for walking," Tepua agreed, wishing she could put aside her worries about the chiefhood. She glanced up at white clouds hiding the sun and patches of sky showing through. The faint breeze was refreshing. Some exercise might help clear her thoughts.
 

Heka's servants brought sandals made of the white inner bark of hibiscus. Tepua generally had no use for such comforts; the soles of her feet had been toughened by years of walking over rough terrain. But she knew how a chief must act. She stepped into the ropy, thick-soled sandals and strode down toward the water.
 

"Where we are going," said Heka in a low voice, "there will be no chance for anyone to overhear." Heka's well-fleshed legs did not seem to slow her down as she splashed through the shallows, following the shoreline. Tepua walked beside her, enjoying the feel of cool water. The air smelled moist and briny.
 

Followed by servants, the two women rounded a point of land. Here woody
mikimiki
grew almost to the water's edge; the shore was covered with white, fist-size chunks of smoothed coral. Tepua felt the breeze stiffen as she came around the bend.
 

They had reached the extremity of the islet, and now Tepua had a clear view seaward. As the wind ruffled her hair she watched breakers crashing against the distant reef, rising in columns of foam. Above the wave tops, birds swooped and cried.
 

Within the lagoon and close to shore a long coral bench stood almost exposed, its covering of kelp showing above the water. One could walk far out on such a reef and find many good things to eat along the way. Tepua glanced back and saw that Heka's servants had prepared themselves. Several men held fishing spears; women carried
fara
leaf baskets.
 

A good meal would come from this walk, Tepua thought. But more important was the advice that Heka had for her. Tepua stepped up onto the kelp-covered shelf. The surface was uneven, cratered with many small pools. A starfish of velvety blue lay in one. A sea urchin's black spines bristled from another. The reef also had occasional deep holes, which might be home to an octopus or a fierce moray eel.
 

"Your chiefhood is like this path," said Heka when they had gone a short way out. "There is firm footing if you are careful. But you cannot afford a misstep." She pointed to a stonefish that lay close by, its mottled body and venomous spines nearly invisible.
 

"I will have even firmer footing," Tepua answered, "if I can settle my differences with Cone-shell."

"If they can be settled."

Cone-shell's invitation had said nothing about acknowledging her rule as high chief. "I think I know what is on his mind," said Tepua. "Cone-shell was hoping that the foreigners would prove my undoing. But the visitors have charmed everyone and made themselves welcome."
 

"Yes," said Heka. "Cone-shell sees that you are only growing stronger. If he had thoughts of toppling you from office, he knows now that he will have to wait."
 

"Then perhaps that is why he offers friendship."

"It is possible," said Heka. "If he shows his pretty colors, you may overlook the sting he is saving for you."

"Even so, I have accepted his gesture of friendship. The people of Varoa support me. I saw crowds of them hailing me on the day of my investiture."
 

"The people of Varoa are wiser than their chief. But what about Umia? You say nothing about him."

Tepua paused. Far behind her she heard splashing and a quiet cry as one of the servants made a catch. "I am hoping to speak with Umia. That is one reason I accepted the invitation."
 

"Then I wish you a pleasant stay with Cone-shell." Heka quickened her pace, stepping over a pool where tiny hermit crabs crept in their borrowed shells. In earlier days Tepua would have stopped to pick one up and watch it pull in its claws, but that was no game for a chief.
 

"There is something else I wish to say, Tepua-ariki, and I hope you will hear my advice." Heka came to a sudden halt. In front of her the walkway ended where the reef was cut by a deep channel. "It is something you have heard before."
 

"That I should take a husband ..."

"Ah, Tepua. You are so stubborn. You keep saying no, when you mean yes. Everyone has heard about you and the bright-haired foreigner—"
 

"It is nothing—"

"That is not what people tell me. This man may be popular, but only as a novelty. Nobody will accept him as the husband of our chief."
 

Tepua stepped back in surprise, and almost lost her footing. "He will not be."

"Then you must end the rumors. If you take a proper consort, those voices will be stilled."

Tepua frowned. Evidently Heka had not forgotten her own stake in this. "Do you suggest Paruru?"

"And what is wrong with my brother?" Heka asked indignantly.

"He is a good warrior," Tepua managed, though she heard the lack of conviction in her own voice. Recent events had changed Paruru; sometimes he no longer seemed the man she had looked up to as a girl. That was not the only reason for turning away from him. Tepua did not wish to encourage
any
suitor.
 

"Tell me this," said Heka. "Have you thought of what will happen to these outsiders? Will they remain with us?"

For a moment Tepua considered how to explain the situation simply. What she understood of the sailors' misfortune came from Kiore. He and his companions had set out from home on a huge three-masted vessel. After many days at sea, discontented crewmen had turned against their master, though he was an able leader, and had thrown him into the sea to drown. Soon afterward Kiore and two friends had escaped the dire troubles aboard and gone off in the smaller boat.
 

"The foreigners cannot reach home in their
vaka
,'' Tepua said. "Kiore wants to head for a closer port and search for his countrymen, but Nika is not in a hurry to leave. I think the sailors will be with us awhile."
 

"Then I offer you this advice. Find a wife for each of the men and get them settled. Otherwise the outsiders will always be causing trouble."
 

"Wife?" Tepua felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach as she gazed down at the surging water in the channel.

Heka put her hand on Tepua's arm and began to talk excitedly. "Yes. That is your answer. Marry him to Maukiri."

"Maukiri will be happy enough. If Nika is willing, why not?"

"No. Not Nika.
Your
outsider. Marry Kiore to Maukiri."
 

Tepua stared at Heka's sly expression as the implications began to sink in. It was customary that a woman could share the husband of her sister, so long as she did not make a habit of it. In these islands, cousins were the same as sisters— they were free to share their men. If Maukiri married Kiore, then sometimes he could be Tepua's...
 

"This is foolish talk," said Tepua angrily. "Kiore and

Maukiri have no interest in each other. I will not force my cousin to quit the man she cares for and take another."

"Ah, Tepua. I am sure there is little difference between one outsider and another. Tell Maukiri to try them both in the dark and see if I am right."
 

Tepua felt heat rush to her face. Looking down at Heka's meaty hand clamping her arm, she felt a strong urge to topple Piho's chief into the water. Harshly, she retorted, "I do not agree that men are like so many coconuts."