Child of the Dawn

by Coleman, Clare;

  Child Of The Dawn

  Ancient Tahiti: Book Three

  Clare Coleman

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  For their help, I would like to thank:

  The members of the Wordshop: Kevin J. Anderson, Michael Berch, Michael Meltzer, Dan'l Danehy-Oakes, Avis Minger, Gary Schockley, and Lori Ann White, for reading and critiques.

  Dorothy Wall, for critical insight.

  Dorothy Bradley, for help with proofreading.

  Halau Hula 'O Malieikekainalu—its members, and Kumuhula Malie Rosare, Hawaiian dance and language teacher.

  City of San Jose Library, especially the Santa Teresa Branch, for providing space for our "Making of a Book" exhibit.

  University of Santa Clara Library, for access to a 1773 edition of Hawkesworth's Voyages.

  The Clark Library at San Jose State University.

  Pronunciation

  The vowels of the language of Tahiti are pronounced 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”

  When two vowels are adjacent in a word, each is pronounced s 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 matter of this book.

  ONE

  Under a clouded sky, a two-hulled voyaging canoe approached its island destination. As the sailing craft neared landfall, cries rang out from everyone aboard—praises to the canoe-master for his skill, to the gods for providing safe passage. Along the shore ahead, black sand beaches spread beneath stands of coconut palm. Inland, mountain slopes rose steeply, vanishing into mist.

  A shaft of sunlight broke through the overcast, tinting the feathery clouds that topped the peaks. At last the travelers understood the name of this fabled island—Great-Tahiti-of-the-golden-haze. A robe of green in an infinity of depths and shades covered her flanks. Her colors were strange to the newcomers—mist-softened, lush, yet in places so fierce that it hurt the eyes to gaze too long.

  The double-hulled canoe, the pahi, had come from the swarm of coral islands far to the east. Its hulls were pieced together from small wooden sections sewn with tough cord twisted from coconut-husk fiber. A platform of lashed planks for carrying passengers and cargo bridged the hulls. The two mat sails were plaited from strips of pandanus leaf.

  Most of the men aboard—warriors, craftsmen, paddlers— had never seen the soaring peaks of a high island. Tugging at their sparse beards, or fingering the sturdy fiber of their loincloths, they spoke to each other with awe.

  One of the female passengers, however, knew Tahiti well. Tepua-mua, a highborn woman of the atolls, gave a soft sigh. She remembered how long it had taken her to get used to this new country—the valleys that cut so deeply into the hillsides, the still, moisture-laden air that seemed heavy to someone from the windswept coral islands.

  Now Tepua was returning to her adopted land after an extended stay with her family. Accompanying her was her cousin Maukiri, a sturdy atoll girl with a plump face and a fondness for mischief. Maukiri was stockier than Tepua, pleasant in appearance but not striking. Her youthful buoyancy and spirit more than made up for any lack of physical charms. Tepua, on the other hand, had a wild atoll beauty that suggested her ancestors' struggles against wind and sea.

  Dressed in a skirt and cape of finely plaited pandanus leaf, Tepua stood as tall as many men. Though she had the figure of full womanhood, her training as a dancer had kept her as slender and supple as an atoll palm. Lustrous black hair with tints of blue tumbled down her back. Her skin was a luminous bronze, clear and smooth. She had a high forehead, an oval face with wide cheekbones, and a square jawline that came to a point at the chin. Her eyes were large, almond-shaped, and fringed with black lashes.

  Tepua and Maukiri watched eagerly as the canoe approached the frothing line of surf, where the Sea of the Moon beat against the submerged barrier reef. Plumes of sea-foam spewed into the air, raining down as fine spray that wet their skin, salted their lips.

  A gap in the arc of white surf marked the pass, where ocean swells rolled through into the lagoon. The canoe-master shouted orders as the double-hull approached. Tepua and her fellow passengers clutched anything they could hold on to as the pahi rose on the back of a long wave. For an instant it held there, the twin bows surging upward like two birds about to fly. Then the bows dropped as the wave gave the pahi a tremendous push that sent it hurtling through the pass.

  Tepua leaned to one side as the double-hull turned in response to the helmsman's powerful pull on the steering oar. Veering out of the wave just as it started to break, the pahi emerged into the glassy turquoise of the lagoon.

  The crew took down mast and sails and began to paddle. Soon a stray land breeze enveloped the canoe with the island's warm breath. It was rich with fruit and floral aromas, laden with moist perfume.

  Tepua's thoughts turned to Matopahu, a nobleman of Tahiti who had once meant much to her. His house in the high chief's compound lay just ahead; she hoped she would find him nearby. How she longed to be ashore!

  Yet something out there was amiss. Among the delightful aromas, she sensed a discordant note. The harsh tang of burning wood could not be hidden by anything else. Cooking fires? Had she forgotten how much smoke the many pit ovens of Tahiti produced?

  Curious, Tepua searched for an explanation. She saw many canoes drawn up on the beach, and none in the water. Surely some great occasion must be keeping everyone ashore. In the distance, above the coconut palms, smoke rose in a dark plume.

  Maukiri turned, sniffing the breeze. "Someone is cooking a big feast. I hope they invite us to share it!"

  Tepua eyed the smoke. Something about it seemed menacing, although she didn't know why. As the canoe drew closer to the source of the fire, she began pointing out details along the shore to her cousin.

  "That mountain is sacred to the high chief," she said. "And over there is his point of land—a place you must never go." Far ahead, where the shoreline jutted out, stood a majestic grove of Tahitian chestnut. In the deep shade lay the high chief's sacred courtyard, his marae, the site of rituals forbidden to women.

  The view brought memories that made Tepua shiver. The marae was a somber and terrifying place. In its shadows, the gods alighted in the form of birds, eating the carcasses laid on the offering platforms, sacrifices of pigs, dogs, and— when the gods demanded—men.

  Putting those thoughts aside, she gestured at the pleasant scenes before her, clusters of thatched roofs shaded by coconut palms or breadfruit trees. "All the people of our atoll could live in one district of Tahiti," she said as Maukiri's eyes grew round. Tepua, too, had once been astonished at the sight of so many dwellings.

  Just beyond the houses, the coastal plain ended and foothills began. Some dwellings were perched on the lower slopes, others at the mouths of narrow valleys that slashed like adze-cuts into the foothills, extending as far inland as the eye could see.

  Though a rush of joy came over Tepua at the sight, she could not forget that she was giving up much to return to Tahiti. At home, by virtue of her birth as well as her service to her people, she was the foremost woman of the island. Here in Tahiti she would be treated with far less respect. She was returning to her life as a dancer in one of the lower ranks of the Arioi Society. Long ago she had pledged herself to serve their patron god, Oro-of-the-laid-down-spear.

  While Maukiri gaped at the sights around her, Tepua went aft to where a bamboo cage was lashed to the deck. Inside sat a beautiful white dog with g
entle eyes, upright ears, and a plumed tail. Her name was Te Kurevareva, Atoll Cuckoo. Tepua gave the dog fresh water in a coconut shell. She put her hand through a gap and stroked the animal. The plumed tail wagged against the bamboo canes, and a wet nose poked out to nuzzle Tepua's face. She had brought this rare and valuable animal as a gift to the Arioi chiefs, though now she did not want to give the dog up.

  Maukiri crouched beside Tepua. "Stop playing with your dog and tell me where we are going," said her cousin in an exasperated voice.

  "You will see soon enough," said Tepua, straightening up. She wanted to leave a few surprises for her cousin. What would Maukiri say when she discovered such common Tahitian sights as rivers of fresh water flowing to the sea? At home, fresh water was found only in cisterns and a few brackish pools. What would Maukiri think of bananas, breadfruit, and a host of other foods she had never tasted?

  "Then tell me about the people we will visit first," begged Maukiri, her brown eyes alight with anticipation.

  "I have many friends," Tepua answered. She did not know where she would find a place for Maukiri, but the question did not bother her now. Tahitians welcomed guests, especially if they had good tales to tell. Some prominent family would take Maukiri in.

  Eventually the two cousins would have to separate. Tepua would live with the performers and dancers of her Arioi lodge. Maukiri would have to find other accommodations. "I will make arrangements for you," Tepua promised.

  The younger girl turned, sniffing the breeze. "I'm not worried, cousin. Your friends must know how hungry we are. Smell the food!"

  Again Tepua eyed the ashy haze that hung over the trees. Could all that have come from cooking?

  "Feasting! Dancing!" Maukiri crowed. "What a good day to arrive."

  The canoe made its way along the coast. Now the source of the smoke was much closer. Gray billows boiled into the sky with such violence that Tepua felt an upsurge of alarm.

  "That is no cooking fire!"

  Her cry drew the gaze of everyone on the pahi. The men began to shout and gesture.

  Tepua shaded her eyes, squinting hard at the shore. In the shadows of the palm groves she saw figures scurrying. An orange ribbon of flame shot above the treetops.

  "Aue! Something tall is burning." She clenched her fists as the realization swept over her. The only large structure in this area was the great high-roofed theater where the Arioi acted and danced. "Aue, aue!" she cried, her voice breaking.

  The commotion grew aboard the pahi. The paddlers lost their rhythm, and the twin bows swung off course. "Head for shore!" Tepua shouted at the canoe-master.

  She turned as a tall, tattooed atoll warrior left his place and came to her. This man was the captain of her escort guard, charged with bringing her safely to Tahiti.

  "There may be trouble here," he warned. He stood beside her, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

  "Maybe someone was careless with a torch." Tepua knew, even before the warrior scowled, that her suggestion was foolish. Who would use a torch in daylight? And cooking was done far from the performance house. No spark from the pit ovens could have set off this blaze.

  "We will see," said the escort captain. He was the best warrior her brother could spare to accompany her. Though slender, he was powerful, and he had five good men with him. Yet none of them had ever traveled this far from home. None knew the ways of high islanders.

  Tepua heard screams from shore as more people, men as well as women, fled the fire. They wore wreaths of flowers and festive dress, but their celebration had been interrupted. As the people ran, their flower-crowns fell off and were trampled. Broken palm fronds and blossoms scattered to the breeze.

  Maukiri began to moan softly. Tepua held her cousin's hand, but the words of reassurance she tried to say died on her tongue. The white dog whined from inside her cage.

  Tepua felt Maukiri start to shiver. "It is a bad omen. The gods must be angry," the girl wailed.

  "Men have done this, not gods," Tepua answered firmly. She studied the growing turmoil on the beach. What had happened? Invasion? War? "You stay here," she said in a low voice. "I will see what the trouble is."

  "Hold in the shallows," she heard the warrior captain order the paddlers. Still a good way from shore, he clutched a long double-ended spear, leaped out of the pahi, and splashed ashore. Tepua took a spear from another warrior and jumped down into water that rose to her thighs. The men of her escort guard followed.

  When she caught up with her captain, he tried to dissuade her, saying that he would investigate the trouble. Tepua refused his offer, but allowed him and two of his men to follow as she plunged into the trees toward the site of the fire.

  Then she saw people wearing distinctive garlands of yellow mountain plantain, sweet-scented ginger, or the sacred red-and-purple ti plant. Their tattoos were familiar, for she bore some of the same. These people were her fellow Arioi, members of Wind-driving Lodge.

  With a shock, she realized that the Arioi had been in the midst of performing, their faces smeared with red sap and their bodies blackened with charcoal. Some were hampered by oversized loincloths and other ridiculous costumes used in satires. Her jaw tightened with rage even as her mind reeled with disbelief. What evil had interrupted the devotees of Oro in their celebration?

  She looked for people she knew but could not recognize anyone under the face paint and costumes. "What is happening?" she called. The fleeing performers were too panic-stricken to stop or answer.

  She heard the harsh crackling of burning thatch. The smoke caught in her throat and made her gag. Then she was close enough to see the performance house ablaze, its high roof completely enveloped in flame. She groaned aloud in anguish. This was where the god Oro had inspired her, making her dance with such a frenzy that the Arioi asked her to join them. And now this great work of polished wood pillars and pandanus thatch was doomed!

  As Tepua fought her way through the rolling clouds of smoke, worry for her fellow Arioi performers filled her thoughts. Where was her friend, Curling-leaf? And Aitofa, the chief of the women's lodge?

  At last Tepua emerged from the drifting haze and could see the scene clearly. Now she understood why no one had tried to put out the fire at its start. Warriors bearing unfamiliar tattoos stood about the site, brandishing clubs and shark-toothed swords, threatening anyone who dared come close. No onlookers braved these fierce sentries. She saw Arioi and common folk watching with horror from the shadows.

  "Tepua! Tepua! Is it really you?" The cry made her spin around. There stood another painted figure, as difficult to recognize as the others. She knew the voice. Curling-leaf!

  Before the escort captain could prevent her, Tepua rushed into her friend's arms. "I am back. Oh, it has been so long!" Curling-leaf's embrace was strong, but Tepua felt the young Arioi woman quivering with rage and fright. "Who did this?" Tepua asked, searching her friend's eyes. "Who are those warriors? Why don't you have any weapons?"

  Her own three guards clustered close about her, but she waved them aside. What could this handful do against so many others?

  She turned back to Curling-leaf. 'Tell me what happened."

  "There is no time!" wailed her friend. "Everything has changed since you left. The high chief was cast down."

  Cast down! Tepua stared at her friend, unable to make sense of the words. When she left Tahiti, Knotted-cord had been high chief over this district and several others. She remembered him as petty and irascible, but not arrogant enough to overreach himself. The only threat to his rule had been the popularity of his brother, Matopahu.

  His brother! She closed her eyes, remembering Matopahu's ambitions as well as what he had meant to her. Had Knotted-cord been pushed aside in favor of his reckless sibling? She forced herself to ask.

  "No." Curling-leaf's answer made Tepua heave a relieved sigh, but the next words gave her a chill. "The chief's brother had to flee."

  "But Matopahu was not hurt. He is alive, isn't he?" She clutched at her friend's arm, demanding an answ
er. It was for Matopahu as well as the Arioi that she had returned to Tahiti.

  Curling-leaf looked regretful. "He is, but that's all I know. Someone told me he has gone to live in Eimeo."

  "Praise the gods, he is alive." Tepua's pulse began slowing and she felt steadier on her feet. "But who is the new chief, and why this outrage?"

  Her friend glanced apprehensively at the line of guards around the burning performance house. They were starting to notice the two women. Curling-leaf headed in the opposite direction, tugging Tepua after her. "We can't stay. The new chief wants to destroy us." As Curling-leaf spoke, several other Arioi women emerged from the smoke, their garlands and costumes in disarray, flowers falling from their tangled hair. They rallied around Tepua.

  "Go to my pahi," Tepua told them. "Straight through the trees and down the beach." She ordered one of her warriors to see that they got aboard safely. Ignoring the escort captain's pleas that she go with the departing women, Tepua plunged ahead with Curling-leaf and began to search for others who needed help.

  She felt Curling-leaf take her hand, and this time the grip was firm and steady. The spirit had come back into Curling-leaf's eyes. Now she looked more like an Arioi, despite her shredded garlands and the soot smudges over the red sap on her face.

  "The others are hiding," Curling-leaf said. "We have to find them." She beckoned Tepua through a grove of breadfruit trees. Overhead, waxy leaves of deep green hue spread a thick canopy.

  "Arioi? Hiding? Why aren't any of them fighting?"

  "With what?" Curling-leaf answered angrily. "Our weapons are gone! While the whole troupe was performing, the creature who calls himself high chief had them stolen."

  "Who is this man?"

  "He was a minor chief. After you left, he led a rebellion against Knotted-cord. Now he takes the name of Land-crab and rules as high chief."