Sister of the Sun (27 page)

Tepua recalled some wonders of his land that he had talked about. Water that turned to stone when the weather was cold. Ovens that burned inside a house but did not fill the room with smoke. "Do you long most for the strange things and foods of your country?" she asked. "Or for the company of your kin?"
 

"So many things. But you make me forget." He held her to him, gently caressing her shoulders and back. He brought her face up to his. His lips touched her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. His darting tongue began to trace a path down her neck, eventually circling her breasts. Then the circles grew smaller, ever smaller, until Tepua was wriggling with delight.
 

"Let me try that!" she said, rolling out from under him. He seemed surprised when she fell on him and began to apply her tongue. She started at his neck, tasting the salty tang of his skin. Slowly she worked her way down. When she reached a nipple, he cried out, a soft moan of pleasure.
 

He reached up and gently, softly, massaged her breasts with his fingertips until she could not stay still for the sweetness that coursed through her. She pulled away for a moment, catching her breath. Then she lowered her mouth to his and they began to explore the foreign way of kissing.
 

Now Tepua felt like a newly launched canoe, traveling a heated sea. She pitched and rolled on top of him, reveling in the warmth and power that buoyed her. A strong current pulled her onward as she bounded from crest to crest, heedless of where she was heading. But so far—so long a journey. She was ready to cry out from need, when at last she felt his tip thrust inside her.
Aue
! she cried as the canoe sped forward into unknown waters.
 

The waves lifted her and set her down, lifted her and set her down. Slowly and shallowly and gently it began, a small pleasure whispering to her at every surge. Then the waves grew higher, the troughs deeper, until she knew nothing but the music of the ocean, the singing of the deep....
 

She realized that she was shouting, crying, shuddering with great spasms. Kiore began writhing so beneath her that she thought she would surely fall off. And then he cried out, too, his head tossing, his hands gripping her fiercely.
 

Still in the throes of her own release, she reached out and began rubbing his chest and arms with the palm of her hand, making him jerk and sigh and moan until he lay still. He relaxed, breathing with great contented heaves as she nestled her head against his chest.
 

"Tell me," she said later as they lay curled together, his chest pressing warmly against her back. "What is it like with your women. What are their ways of making love?"
 

"The women are not like you," he answered. "I think they know little of love. Maybe someday you will come teach them."

She answered playfully, "If I come to your country, how many layers of clothing will I have to wear?"

"I have not counted them," he replied with a laugh. "In the cold season, we need every one. But even in the hot season we cover ourselves."
 

"Why is that?" She remembered how uncomfortable she had been on a hot day wearing the one garment he had given her. Yet there were reasons for enduring worse discomforts. "I have heard of high-islanders," she said, "who wrap themselves around and around in bark-cloth, to show off their wealth."
 

"It is not so different with us," he answered. "But there is also another reason. Do you remember Atama and Eva?" Some time ago Kiore had told her the names of the first man and woman that his god had made. Now he spoke of their early life in a place of fruit trees and flowers. From his description she thought their land had been much like Tahiti. But unlike the Tahitians, this couple knew nothing of love.
 

"Because of an evil spirit in the garden," he said, "the two learned unhappiness." The demon had tricked the young people into breaking a
tapu
. As part of their punishment, they had come to feel shame at exposing their bodies.
 

But this was not the worst part of their punishment. Kiore said that his god, the creator of his race, made strict rules about
hanihani.
Tepua was astonished when she heard them.
 

"How can you tell the young men and women not to enjoy themselves after dancing on the beach?" she asked. "And how can the trees bear and the earth flower if we do not freely show affection for each other?"
 

Kiore confessed that sometimes he thought the priests of his god might be mistaken. "I was taught," he whispered, "that my one god is everywhere, and that yours are not anywhere at all. It is a sin that I say this, but I wish to believe that here your gods do rule."
 

"Without them we would have no life, so they must be here. Tell me. Does this single god of yours take charge of everything—the wind, the seas, the crops? It seems too much for one."
 

"The one god knows if a tiny bird falls from its perch."

Tepua frowned. "We have high gods, like Tangaroa, who would not notice if a
flock
of birds fell into the sea. Tangaroa is too great to care about our ordinary problems. We depend on the spirits of our ancestors. They have the most to lose if they do not help us—they will be forgotten!"
 

Kiore laughed when she said that. "You are wise, Tepua. You do not think as I do, but you are very wise."

After a time they got up and strolled along the small, sandy beach. The moon had set and the stars shone brilliantly against an inky black. Maui's great fishhook gleamed overhead. "See how the fish go for his bait," Tepua said, pointing to the long, milky streamers that crossed the sky.
 

Some stars she recognized as guides used by canoe-masters in sailing between islands. Perhaps Kiore already knew the ones that could lead him home. She did not ask what he had learned on his recent travels or how he would use that knowledge. Tonight she wanted to think that there was no world beyond Ata-ruru.
 

Under starlight Tepua could just make out the tiny white crabs that prowled the beach. As she approached one it scuttled away across the sand. "Here is a game we can play," she suggested. "I chase a crab, and you have to catch it before it reaches its hole. If you win, we change places."
 

It was a game that young children played, but it suited their mood. Kiore tumbled happily onto the sand, never quite catching his prey. At last they changed places, Kiore startling a crab so that she could run after it. The little thing led her on a zigzag chase, down to the water and back up to the trees, until finally she lost it.
 

Tepua fell down, breathless from laughing, and lay with her face to the glowing sky. "It would be fine if there were no other place than this,'' she said when Kiore kneeled close to her. "Only this tiny
motu
. Only the two of us. The first man and woman."
 

"Atama and Eva," he said. "But with no demon to misguide us." He came closer, pressing his lips to her cheeks and then to her mouth. Hungrily she pulled him on top of her.
This is how I please my gods
, she thought as she wrapped her legs around the small of his back.
And if Kiore's god is not happy with him
...But the pleasure was beginning again and she could think no longer.
 

 

The night had seemed endless to Tepua, but finally dawn approached. She and Kiore paddled back hurriedly, aided by a gentle wind at their backs. There were no words to be spoken at parting. She touched his hand gently, laid her cheek against it, and ran off.
 

Slipping past her dozing guards, she dropped on her mat and pulled a cape over her. She could tell by the quiet sounds of breathing that everyone else remained asleep, but Tepua had no desire for slumber. She lay in the darkness, her eyes open, gazing at her memories.
 

The pounding of waves on the reef grew louder. She fried to lose herself in the sound. At this time of day, she thought, the voice of the
ringoringo
was sometimes heard. Long ago, her father had promised to send her a message when he reached the world of night. She wondered if the voice would come now, when she might hear it.
 

Her skin seemed warm, still flushed from Kiore's touch. She felt herself drifting as she listened. Her body seemed to grow light. And then she did hear a whisper, but it was Kiore's voice, speaking of the beauty that he found in her, the blackness of her hair and the whiteness of her teeth, the taste of her lips and softness of her skin.
 

The crashing of the surf took her back to Ata-ruru, lifted her as he had done, made her want to cry out his name. As she lay, engulfed by the sound of the sea, she imagined him beside her. The memory of his warmth made her forget the troubles that had come and would come again....
 

 

 

 

FIFTEEN

 

Tepua was still adrift on tumbling seas when Maukiri woke her. The high chief rubbed her eyes and sat up, wondering hazily why her sleep had been disturbed. Normally, it was her right to doze as late as she wished....
 

"A messenger from Cone-shell just arrived," said Maukiri, slightly out of breath. "Varoa's chief is coming. Today. With gifts for the
ariki
."
 

"Today! Then Umia was right.... But why did Cone-shell have to choose
this
day?" After the dancing the servants had been up late, and Tepua even later.
 

"Cousin, I see how weary you are," said Maukiri, speaking in the familiar manner she used when no one could overhear. Maukiri seemed to be waiting for an explanation, but Tepua offered none.
 

Surely it was no secret by now that the chief had vanished during the evening and had not been seen until dawn. Tepua hoped that no one knew more than that. "You must help me, Maukiri. Order preparations for the feast. Find some dancers who did not exhaust themselves last night."
 

Her cousin stared at her, a slight smile forming on her lips. "Dancers...Yes, there were many on the beach." Her eyes asked a question.
 

Tepua tried to hold back her irritation at Maukiri's prying. "I am aware of that, but we have to entertain Cone-shell—" She stopped speaking as Maukiri's look of amusement grew. "
Aue
!" cried Tepua. "Cousin, will you give me no peace? The drumming was loud last night, and the air inside very warm. I went out to walk on the beach and watch the stars."
 

"And nothing more?"

"If there was more, you will not hear it now. Go. Start the work."

Tepua watched her cousin leave, then rubbed her eyes again. Poor Maukiri had been unhappy since Paruru took Nika away. She claimed that she was consoling herself with someone else, but Tepua guessed that this was more pretense than fact.
 

Separating the two men had been helpful, forcing Kiore to speak only in the island language and to immerse himself in the way of life. But Tepua sympathized with Maukiri's plight and had recently insisted that Paruru bring Nika back.
 

Tepua was keeping this news as a surprise. Perhaps it was time to tell Maukiri.

 

When Cone-shell's
pahi
arrived, in early afternoon, the earth ovens had already been lit. Pleasant aromas drifted toward Tepua as she stood above the shore waiting for him. She was dressed in royal finery—her best mat skirt and a cape trimmed with cowrie shells. A new headdress of stiff, shiny tropic bird tail plumes encircled her head.
 

Varoa's chief, too, wore a tall feather headdress. Holding the staff of his office high, he stood on the deck of his large
pahi
as it came in. His necklaces of dolphin teem glittered. The feather trimming of his cape shimmered under the hot sun.
 

Behind him on the deck Tepua saw bundles, rolled mats, baskets—-the gifts that Umia had said that Cone-shell would bring. But how sincere was this gesture? she wondered. Her feelings of elation were tinged with doubt as she watched Varoa's ruler being carried ashore.
 

The bearers set him down and he halted deferentially before her, remaining close to the water while she stood at the top of the gentle rise. Then he spoke the words that he had withheld for so long. "
Maeva ariki
! May you have life!"
 

"May you have life," she answered. He seemed a changed man since the time she had seen him shivering in the canoe, his face pale from his encounter with the sharks. Now he looked robust and full of confidence. Tepua was puzzled. Not long ago there had been talk that his people might topple him from office. Now, with his large retinue around him, he seemed secure as chief of Varoa Clan.
 

Unable to explain this, she watched curiously as he ordered his gifts brought ashore. These included prized tools and utensils—adzes, food pounders, bowls—made of heavy, black stone only found on high islands. One gift was extraordinary—a cape trimmed with a fringe of white dog's hair. Cone-shell's servants carried it triumphantly from place to place so that everyone could inspect the remarkable fringe.
 

At last the ritual greetings and gift giving were done. Tepua escorted Cone-shell to the assembly ground for the entertainment. Earlier she had sent out messengers and had gathered important guests from several clans to welcome Cone-shell. It was clear that everyone present, especially Varoa's chief, acknowledged her superior rank. Yet she still felt ill at ease with him.
 

Once again, Umia was absent from a gathering where Tepua wanted his company. He had gone home to his uncle and had not returned. Now that Cone-shell had declared his allegiance, she hoped that Umia might find her invitation easier to accept.