by Joanna Orwin
At Ra-Hou, they were among the first arrivals. The dance troupe were told they could practise at the gathering place on the slopes of the sacred mountain of Hou, high above the narrow strip of houses edging the lagoon that emptied out to the eastern coast. Although they set off up the mountain at dawn, they were preceded by a large group of local people. Taka thought they might be intending to be their audience, until they clustered around the Hou sky-talker, which stood on a promontory at the far end of the gathering place. Moho herded the dancers as far away as possible, then told them to wait.
Curious, Taka watched the Hou people link crossed arms, then move in a double circle around the base of the sky-talker, the inner circle going the opposite way. He could hear them chanting, a solemn, low hum that rose and fell. Men, women and children, old and young, so many he thought the entire population of Ra-Hou must be taking part. They seemed oblivious to the presence of the dancers.
Kai spoke beside him. ‘Kawau will be in his element — Ra-Hou people have become fully fledged sky-talker worshippers!’
It was all very well for Kai to be amused, but Taka was made uneasy by this sign that Ra-Hou were making unilateral decisions without seeking the support and agreement of all the swampland peoples, as was customary. He knew that some years after the onset of the Dark, people started placing offerings at the base of the sky-talkers that stood on the two mountains in the swampland. When decades passed and no communication was received from the outside world, most allegiance was transferred to the water-god. Long before Taka was born, everyone had learnt to avoid the toxic, decaying piles of technological debris still submerged in the swamplands and littering the beaches. Even so, vestiges of the earlier worship of the sky-talkers lingered and most households retained their small, domestic discs. At Ra-Repo, Kawau led the few who continued to pay discreet homage to the sky-talkers. Since the sky-gods began showing their faces once more, the old hopes had resurfaced and Kawau’s small group had grown. They were mostly aging, solitary women — widows and such like. Taka had heard his father say wryly that only the madness of grief or loneliness could drive anyone to follow the doomsayer. But he did not think this large gathering of Hou people could be dismissed so lightly.
The throng around the sky-talker began dispersing. Without a glance at the dance troupe hovering nearby, they disappeared down the path to the settlement below. Taka shivered, suddenly aware of the early morning shadow cast by Hou’s summit, chilling the air and the damp, beaten earth beneath his feet.
At the far end of the gathering place, pointed out to them as out of bounds, was the beginning of a path that led up to the truncated, flat platform on top of the mountain where the Choosing would take place. Taka’s eye kept being drawn to the dark, shrouded entrance. Despite his efforts to convince himself he stood no chance of being one of the Travellers, now that the Choosing was so near his hopes stirred once more.
Kai listened impatiently when his cousin couldn’t resist expressing such longings. ‘I don’t Understand why you’re so keen to be a Traveller. You’ve got everything you could possibly wish for now you’ve been singled out as our principal dancer.’
Taka knew Kai was right, but his new role hadn’t quelled his dream. ‘Don’t you fancy being a hero?’
‘What’s so great about being a hero?’ Kai’s voice was morose. ‘Isn’t it enough that you’ll be the talk of the festival?’
Taka felt the colour rise in his cheeks. He dragged Kai off to examine the tables being set up for the night’s feasting, hoping the noisy bustle of people laying out food would distract him. He could see Kawau fussing at the furthermost table, ensuring that Ra-Repo’s meagre contribution was displayed to best advantage, so he took up a strategic position beside a group of tall Hou women where the doomsayer was unlikely to see him. He was willing the nearest woman into giving them some tasty morsel when Kawau spoilt his plan. Bellowing wordless rage, the man started hastening towards one of the other feast tables.
Taka stared after him. ‘What’s that all about? Has he gone mad?’
His cousin looked at him oddly. ‘He’s spotted those children.’
Kawau was advancing on three small children who were hanging about another group of Hou women, intent, like him, on scrounging tidbits. He watched, puzzled, as they helped each other stagger away from the tables and the angry man gesticulating at them. Taka caught his breath as he realized each child was disabled in some way: one had a withered arm, another was hopping valiantly on one leg, and the third was using crutches. Kawau made no attempt to catch up with them, but slowed on the edge of the terrace as the children disappeared down the hill, his shoulders slumped, his hoarse shouts dying away.
‘Who are they? I don’t Understand. I’ve never seen …’ Taka faltered to a stop, trying to untangle the thoughts crowding his head.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ His cousin’s face was bleak. ‘These Hou people are letting all first babies live. None of those children could be more than five years old. Of course Kawau’s upset — who wouldn’t be under the circumstances?’
It was some time before Taka absorbed what Kai was implying. He stared at his cousin, a shiver running down his spine. ‘You’re saying that Manawa’s baby …?’ He couldn’t bring himself to continue.
‘Don’t you ever notice anything beyond your own nose?’ asked Kai, exasperated. ‘When did you last see a deformed Repo child?’
Taka’s mind filled with an unwelcome image of Hina’s drawn face the day Manawa’s baby died. Kai was walking away. He flung one last comment over his shoulder. ‘Kawau’s always saying that affliction is a punishment from the gods. I wonder whether he still thinks that?’
That afternoon, finding himself alone with Moho while they cut firewood, a distraught Taka questioned his father. ‘Is Kawau right in believing affliction is a punishment?’ Another thought struck him. ‘What about Hina? Why do we make an exception for blindness?’
When he felt Moho straighten and look at him, he started stacking the cut wood so he could avoid his father’s gaze.
‘These are big questions.’ Moho thought for a while. When he spoke, he addressed only Taka’s last question. ‘We consider blindness a god-mark of privilege because that was the price Tanga demanded of Raranga for the knowledge she brought us.’
Taka knew Raranga’s story, of course. She was the woman from the time of the Dark who learnt the ancient art of weaving and some other living skills adopted by the very first inhabitants of Aotea. When she escaped north from the devastation, she brought with her a woven basket containing that ancestral knowledge. It was her skills alone that allowed those few dozen survivors to build the beginnings of a tenuous new life here in the swamplands. Raranga became their first Wise One. She was the reason the swampland peoples still held on to those simple skills from the distant past rather than trying to restore any of the later technology, thinking it was the reason the gods had wreaked such destruction.
Taka placed the last armful of wood with exaggerated care. ‘Blindness seems a big price to pay. Why should Hina have to pay it?’ He persisted. ‘What about Manawa? What’s she done to deserve having her first child taken from her?’
Moho didn’t answer directly. ‘We depend on the water-god for everything. If some of our practices seem cruel, remember that we have to find ways of controlling our numbers so they don’t grow beyond what Tanga’s swamplands can support. Our resources are stretched to the limit as it is.’
Taka was only partly satisfied. ‘But these Hou people must’ve decided to ignore that. And they’re worshipping their sky-talker.’
Moho shook his head slowly. ‘They’re causing a lot of concern. I’m sure they’ll be expected to account for their actions at the Choosing. When times are hard, it’s even more important that we stick to co-operative decisions.’
‘While they’re doing what they like, we expect Hina to pay twice.’ Taka’s tone was fierce. ‘It’s bad enough that she’s blind. And now she has to help kill babies?’
There was no answer to this. Laden with firewood, father and son started the walk back to Ra-Hou in silence. After a while, Taka glanced sideways at Moho. ‘You talk a lot about what we owe the gods, but you’re not that comfortable with the price we pay, are you? Is that because of Hina?’
His father looked startled. At first Taka thought he wasn’t going to respond, but Moho eventually said, ‘It’s more that I’ve no patience with those who think empty gestures replace acting responsibly.’ He slowed, then dumped his load of firewood. He stood looking out over the calm waters of the lagoon and the reed beds shimmering in the late afternoon light. His back still turned, he spoke so quietly that Taka barely made out the words. ‘You’re not far off the mark, though. Everyone’s in awe of the gods speaking through Hina, but I do think she pays too big a price.’
That evening, Taka watched his sister sitting for the first time with the Wise Ones outside the Ra-Hou headman’s house. He was beginning to see things from his parents’ perspective. It wasn’t only Hina who paid that price. Even though she would eventually return to Ra-Repo as their Wise One, her new role meant she would be lost as a daughter. Now that he had some inkling of the unpalatable responsibilities she would shoulder, he no longer envied her status. What was more, his own dream of being chosen as a Traveller was beginning to feel selfish. Losing both their children would be a huge price for his parents to pay. He should put all his energies into his own new role as Ra-Repo’s principal dancer. As always, Kai was right. It should be enough.
Chapter 4
Sweeping around the final bend in the river that fed into the lagoon below Ra-Hou, the thirty or so Hara reed craft made a brave spectacle. With their streamers flying in the breeze, paddles dipping in unison, the moki were the largest Taka had ever seen — each was big enough to carry five or six people. This group was the last to join the gathering. Apart from Turi’s Incoming wife Manawa, he didn’t remember encountering Hara people before; they lived on the western border of the swamplands, far beyond the reach of Ra-Repo’s annual visits to closer kin. Although they seemed a similar height to him, these men and women were all thickset and stocky, with Manawa’s broad features. He could not help contrasting them to Hou people. Even Hou women towered over any Repo male, tall and lean like their men, with faces that were all sharp angles. Taka thought it a pity that generations of systematic intermarriage had given everyone the dark hair and eyes and warm-toned brown skin characteristic of the indigenous men and women who had dominated the people of the north at the time of the Dark. Some of Huaho’s stories said a few of their ancestors had yellow hair and blue eyes, pale skin that turned red in the sun. He would like to see this for himself.
The Hara fleet turned parallel to the shore and traversed the entire length of the landing, demonstrating their paddling skills to the huge crowd jostling at the water’s edge to welcome these last arrivals. The Hara passengers began singing in counterpoint to the chanting of their paddlers, and Taka felt the sound resonate right through his body. Almost without him knowing, his feet began to move in a rhythmic response. Several drummers picked up the beat of the paddlers and everyone began stamping in time.
Exhilarated by the moment, Taka couldn’t help himself. He forgot his resolve to behave properly as a member of the Ra-Repo dance troupe. He forgot his resolve to make his father proud of him. Before Kai could stop him, he pushed his way to the front of the crowd.
There, in full view of the arriving moki and the people on the river bank waiting to welcome them, Taka began dancing to the beat of the stamping feet and the drums. Absorbed by the thrill of performing, he did not notice when the stamping feet slowed, then stopped altogether. As the drums also fell silent, he danced on, weaving all the moves he’d developed on the beach at Ra-Repo into a seamless performance that mimicked the freewheeling flight of the flocks of kua. He swooped and soared, his feet spinning him in a sequence of linked circles, arms spread like wings. He danced on, oblivious to the growing murmurs of disapproval. And as he danced, his niggling unease about the water-god and the price he demanded began to fade. His mind free of all thought, he danced in homage to Tanga.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Moho signal Ra-Repo’s drummer. For a fleeting second, he hesitated, then danced on defiantly. It was too late to do anything else. No matter what the outcome, Taka was giving the performance of his life.
The drummer made his way through the crowd, followed by Kai and the rest of the troupe, who hastily formed their ranks and danced behind Taka, pacing the usual welcome routine to his wilder rhythm.
Kai positioned himself directly behind his cousin. ‘Fall back into line — now!’
The authority in Kai’s voice brought Taka back to reality. For the first time he became aware that the people on the bank were silent, their faces hostile. He broke out in a sweat. Behind him, Kai hissed again. ‘Now, Taka!’
Taka danced a smooth transition, tempering his movements until they matched the traditional steps of welcome, then merged back into the line of dancers behind him.
When at last they could dance no more and came to a halt, their chests heaving, eyes flashing, the watching Hara people still on board the moki broke into enthusiastic applause. After a few moments, the crowd on the landing joined in. Even though their response wasn’t as enthusiastic, Taka convinced himself he had got away with it.
When the rest of the youths rushed into the water to pull the moki ashore and help the Hara women with their young children, Kai said, ‘You’re in big trouble. Moho wants to see you right away.’
Taka shrugged. ‘It worked, though, you lot joining me like that.’
‘Don’t go taking any credit,’ Kai retorted. ‘If people thought it was planned, it’s only because Moho’s quick-thinking stopped you making a fool of yourself and everyone else.’
He sounded genuinely angry. Taka had the grace to blush before he rallied. ‘You have to agree, it was a great performance.’
After a moment of silence, Kai grinned reluctantly and raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re such a show-off!’
Taka heard someone among the latest arrivals ask who the solo dancer was, but he couldn’t hear the reply. He didn’t care what people thought — he hadn’t felt so truly himself in months. Kai called after him. ‘Keep your mouth shut and let your father have his say.’
Moho took Taka by the arm, his grip hard, and led him away from the crowds. He said nothing until they reached a quiet spot on the outskirts of the settlement. By then Taka wasn’t feeling so confident. With Kai’s warning in mind, he listened without protest as his father scolded him.
‘Your lack of discipline is totally unprofessional. What was I thinking, making you our principal dancer?’
His father’s flat, tired voice brought Taka to his senses quicker than any shouting. Why had he succumbed to his need to shine? All he’d done was disappoint his father yet again.
Moho was saying, ‘Maybe I should remove you from the troupe entirely.’
‘Please, don’t do that. I’ll take any punishment, but not that.’ Taka looked beseechingly at his father. ‘I couldn’t bear not being a dancer.’
‘Who are you to be so proud? Why is it all right for you to ignore the traditions handed down by our ancestors?’ Moho showed no sign of relenting.
Taka wanted to protest that every time he danced he was celebrating the gods. But he knew his father did not include the traditional dancing rituals in the empty observances he said he despised. So he bowed his head, the effort of not arguing forming a tight ache in his chest. At the same time, Moho’s disapproval hurt more than he could bear.
Moho waited a while, then said more gently, ‘One more chance then.’
Even as Taka drew in a breath of shaky relief, his father’s next words were devastating: ‘From now on, you will dance in the back row.’
Taka reported his fate to Kai as they set off to explore the bustling encampment that now filled every available flat space on either side of the narrow strip of hous
es making up Ra-Hou. When his cousin proved unsympathetic, saying he had got off lightly, Taka changed the subject. He could never give up dancing his own way. He would just make sure it was where he could not be seen.
At the end of the encampment, they turned back, intending to retrace their steps. They had not gone far when someone stepped into their path.
‘So — Repo scum. Think you’re better than anyone else, eh?’ A heavily built youth of about eighteen blocked their way. Arms folded across his broad chest, muscular legs spread wide, he glowered at them. Behind him, three others watched expectantly.
As Taka instinctively bridled at the insult, Kai trod heavily on his foot. ‘Why would we think that?’
‘Your friend there. Likes being the centre of attention, doesn’t he?’
‘Oh, you mean Taka?’ Kai widened his eyes. ‘The dancing? He can’t help himself, been like that since he could walk. He’s a worry all right.’
The youth thrust his head forward into Kai’s face. ‘You little … are you taking the piss?’ His companions moved a step closer.
Kai pushed Taka, quivering with barely suppressed rage, behind him. ‘Me? Now why would I do that? You’re from Hara, right?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ The youth knocked his oversized knuckles together, a slow, menacing thwack.
Kai ignored his aggression. He tucked his hair behind his ears before speaking. ‘Everything, really. It was Hara’s chanting and singing that set him off. Quite Something, all your moki coming in on a wave of sound like that. Impressive. I recognize you. One of the paddlers on the lead moki, weren’t you?’
Flattered despite himself, the Hara youth stared at Kai for a moment longer. Kai looked back steadily, keeping his face friendly. At last, his confronter dropped his hands and shrugged. ‘I guess that’s different, then.’
‘Exactly,’ Kai said. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if the song-makers were already composing verses about Hara’s welcome.’
