Sister of the Sun (33 page)

Somehow Tepua dozed for a time. When she opened her eyes, she realized that the storm was nearing its end. The rain became a drizzle, then ceased. The clouds began to lift. At last, she saw a broad patch of blue amid the thinning gray.
 

"It is over," Kiore said, untying himself from the branch. Below, the water was receding, leaving land bare of undergrowth but covered with new heaps of sand and broken coral. When she joined him on the ground, she found him kneeling, offering a prayer to his god. Tepua chanted praises to Tapahi-roro-ariki until she could speak no more.
 

Under a heap of sodden palm leaves she discovered a drinking nut. Kiore managed to punch out the soft mouth and they both took turns gulping sweet milk that soothed their salt-parched throats. At last they turned to examine the islet.
 

Tepua was astonished at the changes. Of the palms, only a ragged few had survived intact. Most were sticks, their crowns torn off. Not only the undergrowth but the sand itself had been stripped from much of the island. The beach where they had landed was gouged away, leaving only a rocky shore.
 

Here and there lay chunks of pink and gray coral, drowned seabirds, stranded fish. And the canoe...Tepua saw that it had been battered by the storm. She wondered if it could get back to Heka's island.
 

Kiore stood beside her, studying the
vaka
, his hand about her waist. His face looked drained and tired and he swayed slightly, leaning against her.
 

"The storm was a sign," she said. "A warning from the gods. But I do not know why. We broke no
tapu
."
 

He studied her with narrowed eyes.

"It is true, Kiore. I am sure this was meant to tell me something. I must go back." How it pained her to see the disappointment in his face.
 

"A sign," he said thoughtfully, turning to survey the devastation. "If that is so, then the message was to me as well. I also have a duty to go back—to my own land. I wish that I did not have to tell you this."
 

She felt a twinge in her stomach. "I don't understand. I know you are homesick—"

"It is not that, Tepua. I can forget my old life and stay here happily. But I once made a promise that I cannot forget, to a man who is now dead."
 

"To the sailor in your boat?"

He shook his head. "To the master of my vessel."

Tepua had heard him talk several times of his anguish over the fate of his sea voyage. The men who had seized control of the great sailing craft, forcing him to flee, would probably never return to their own country.
 

Now Kiore explained a bit more about the "lok-puk" that he had taken such pains to preserve. The topmost sheets contained marks that his friend, the master, had made as a record of his voyage. In it he told of his crewmen's discontent, though their woes were not his fault. The "lok-puk'' would enable others to learn what had happened.
 

Kiore had pledged to bring this home so that the man's good name, and that of his family, could be preserved. "I wanted to tell you this sooner," Kiore said. "But at first I did not have the words. And then you made me want to forget my promise."
 

"Kiore!" She took his hand and clutched it tightly in her own. There was nothing more she could say to him. The world of sun and sky and water seemed to shrink around her.
 

And then she heard voices. Looking up in surprise, she saw six of Heka's canoes paddling in to shore, the women aboard calling joyfully, "
Maeva ariki
! All is well on shore. Come home with us."
 

Tepua felt startled, as if awakened from a dream. She climbed into one canoe and sent Kiore off in another. The women seemed so cheerful, and Tepua wanted only to weep.
 

But how did Kiore expect to make his journey? she wondered. Maukiri had told her that Nika was far from ready to leave; no one else wanted to sail in the foreign vessel. Perhaps her man was not going after all, at least not soon. Perhaps she had not lost him.
 

 

 

 

EIGHTEEN

 

Before nightfall, Tepua was home again. Seated in the yard beside her house, she listened to reports of everything that had happened in her absence. Her spirits were lifted a bit when she learned that the storm had done little harm to the atoll. After passing her tiny islet, it had veered off and run out to sea.
 

"The storm may have struck land elsewhere," said one of her advisers, an ancient nobleman. "Perhaps it even caught the Pu-tahi chief on his journey." His wrinkled face lit up as he contemplated that possibility.
 

Another man disagreed. "The Pu-tahi know how to ride out a storm. If they are set on coming, then nothing can stop them."

The arguments raged until Tepua lost patience. As she was about to send everyone home a warrior came running. "Pu-tahi sails,
ariki
! We have just sighted them offshore."
 

She jumped to her feet in alarm. The visitors had come too soon, ignoring her instructions. Perhaps that was why the storm had sent her home early. "Are they close?"
 

"Not close enough to enter the pass before dark. We think they will stay offshore until morning.''

"Or attack us during the night!" suggested one of the skeptics.

"You are too eager for blood," she said testily to the old man. But she remembered a similar warning from Paruru. Though she wanted to believe in the good intentions of her arriving visitors, she gave the orders that the
kaito-nui
had suggested. "Light a bonfire by the pass. Patrol the shores by torchlight."
 

She gave other orders. At dawn, canoes would take word to all the clans so that the chief's could gather for the meeting. In the early morning, preparations for the welcoming feast would begin.
 

Finally she sent everyone away, except Umia. In the yellow light of a fire, she studied the wide-eyed face of her brother. They had spent little time together, yet she knew already that Kohekapu's wisdom had passed to his youngest son.
 

"Umia, I am curious to hear what you think," she began. "We are all guessing why the Pu-tahi are so eager to visit us, and today I heard a suggestion that worries me. I hope it is wrong."
 

"About their interest in the foreigners?"

She sighed. "Yes. Nothing is secret very long on these islands. One trader tells another. The Pu-tahi may know about our sailors."

"And that is why their chief has come?"

"I would like to be wrong," said Tepua. "I would like to believe that the raiders have changed their ways. But this visit could be a ruse—to allow them to seize the foreign goods."
 

"If that is their purpose, then we should not permit them ashore."

"Umia, I believe the Pu-tahi have good intentions. I invited their chief and I won't back out. But I must be careful. If he is looking for foreigners, let him find no sign of them here."
 

Umia glanced toward the inland forest. She had told him about her secret arrangements. "The boat and the goods are well hidden," he said. "The two men—"
 

"I will tell them to stay out of sight. If the Pu-tahi ever ask about outsiders, we must say that they have left us."

"Yes," said Umia. "Everyone must agree they have gone. Perhaps I can help you, sister. Let me take charge of greeting the clan chief's and elders as they arrive. I will tell them your concern. I am sure that nobody wants to lose the foreign goods."
 

"That will please me," she answered. "But remember that you must greet your uncle along with the others."

A look of worry showed briefly, but then he squared his shoulders. "I can deal with Cone-shell. He does not frighten me any longer."
 

His words filled her with hope. "That is what I have been waiting to hear, Umia."

 

Early the next morning, the first Pu-tahi canoe entered the pass into the lagoon. From the deck of her own
pahi
, Tepua stood watching near the inner end of the channel. She felt a chill as the lead vessel approached, driven by the current and a following wind. From her early childhood, the sight of the inverted triangle shapes of Pu-tahi sails had stricken her with terror.
 

Now all was quiet aboard her double-hull and the smaller vessels that surrounded it. She could feel the tension as the lead Pu-tahi craft drew near. The red feather pennants and carved figures marked this as the canoe of the chief, Ata-katinga, whose name alone was enough to frighten children.
 

Sea-snake, in charge of Tepua's war canoes, narrowed his eyes as more vessels followed their leader into the lagoon. "Is this raider chief bringing all his people with him?'' she heard him mutter. He turned to her. "You can still summon Paruru and his men from shore,
ariki
. We can turn these man-eaters back."
 

"No. Paruru will stay where I have put him. I will give the visitors no excuse for war."

"They do not need reasons," someone else in the
pahi
growled, but Tepua silenced the complainer with an icy look. Once more she turned to Ata-katinga's vessel, watched with quickening breath as lean, fierce-looking men scrambled to bring down the mast and sails. Others paddled to keep the great canoe on course.
 

A tall, straight figure rose from among the warriors. He wore an elaborate headdress with a tuft of black tropic bird feathers in front. His beard was grizzled, his hair long and tangled. His face was not merely lined with the creases of age, but marked heavily with a dark swirl of tattoos.
 

"
Aue
!" Tepua cried softly. She had never before seen tattoos on a man's face. Nor had she seen a Pu-tahi warrior at close range.
 

Like his men, Ata-katinga was bare to the waist, exposing a vast array of tattoos. A broad black line ran down from each shoulder to join in a spear point above his belly. A myriad of smaller designs filled in the weathered skin over his huge chest. Below these the red sash of his office was wrapped about his waist. Tepua had heard that the garment was colored, not with the usual dye, but with the blood of his numerous victims.
 

And she wished to believe that this man no longer wanted war! She had been guided by what the string figures had shown her. Safe in her house on shore, she had felt confident. Now she swallowed hard as she tried to steady herself.
 

The Pu-tahi chief lifted a long and slender coconut frond in his tattoo-blackened hand. "I, Ata-katinga-ariki, offer the sign of peace," he proclaimed with a harsh accent. Yet he spoke so powerfully that Tepua thought he could be understood even by the crowds watching from the beach."I ask permission to come ashore."
 

She saw no weapons, no sign of hostile intent. The smaller canoes behind him appeared laden with gifts. But she could not know what lay hidden beneath the thatched cabin of the chief s vessel. Polished war clubs? Bone-tipped spears?
 

Tepua needed help now. To be certain of peace, she needed to invoke a great power.

Only one name sprang to her lips. In Tahiti she had served a god stronger than any her own people dared call on. "Ata-katinga," she called back. "I must have more than mere promises. I invoke the protection of a great god, the one who presides when enemies sit down together. Break the peace, and you defy the will of Oro."
 

"I acknowledge Oro-of-the laid-down-spear," replied Ata-katinga. "And by the will of our own gods as well, I pledge peace between us."
 

Tepua glanced around at the anxious faces of her warriors. Few seemed impressed by the chief's declarations. But she recalled once more her vision of blue sharks escorting the visitors to shore. The ancestors had shown her what they wanted.
 

"Land your canoes," she called loudly, then sent her flotilla to lead the way.

 

On the beach below the assembly ground, Tepua stood, flanked by warriors, watching Ata-katinga and his company disembark. Behind her, onlookers had lined up in long rows. Glancing back at the crowd, she saw expressions of wonder mixed with doubt and fear. The air carried a low undercurrent of muttering as well as cries of dismay. Older children wailed and ran; younger ones begged to be picked up and comforted.
 

The arriving men were as fierce looking as their leader, their foreheads and cheeks heavily tattooed, wild tangles of hair spilling down their shoulders and backs. They kept flexing their broad hands, as if uncomfortable when not holding weapons.
 

Now that she could see Ata-katinga's headdress at closer range, Tepua noticed a disturbing detail. In the back, whipped by the breeze, dangled a fringe of brilliant gold. It was hair, human hair, almost the same blond color as Kiore's.
 

Her suspicions moved at a dizzying pace. Had these raiders also come across foreign sailors, or even foreign women? The fringe of the headdress might be a trophy from one such encounter.
 

Tepua dared not ask. Unless the Pu-tahi mentioned outsiders, she was determined to say nothing about them. She tried to put aside her misgivings as she waited to greet Ata-katinga.
 

The heavy steps came closer. The great tattooed face bore down on her. The broad, flat nose pressed her cheek, and she heard the raspy hiss as he inhaled. In the grip of his ceremonial embrace, her pulse drummed in her ears and a voice within her cried from fright....
 

At last he stood back.
I am alive
, she thought:
I have touched the Pu-tahi chief and I still live
!
 

The tattoos on Ata-katinga's cheeks and forehead made his face seem like a grotesque mask. Tepua wondered if she would be able to speak another word to this apparition. Then she peered at the eyes behind the mask and saw signs of frailty, of caution, of hope.