"I left for my safety," she answered in a strained voice.
'To protect the child." His excitement grew.
Her words came out in a whisper. "There could be...no child. I have taken an oath." With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he watched her look away from him.
He shook her harshly. "No, Tepua. If you carried my child, you would not destroy it."
"I—had no choice."
"Tell me it is a lie. Woman, look at me."
Instead she pulled back.
"Aue!" Matopahu shouted. Here was the final proof that the curse still held him. The child of his loins was dead. He wailed again, a cry of anguish that carried far down the beach. He did not care who heard it.
"Matopahu, listen. You begged me to leave the Arioi. I will do that."
His voice caught and he stared at her, openmouthed.
"Yes. But not now. I must stay here so long as Land-crab rules. I must watch and plot against him."
His brows lowered, and at first he could not reply. What good was her offer now? It was too late for him to father another child. His moment of glory had passed, and the curse was claiming him again. "What does it matter?" he hissed, turning away. With an angry heave, he slid his canoe down the sand and waded after it.
He heard her behind him. "I am sure of one thing," she called. "When the time is right, we will have a son."
"We will have nothing," he threw back as he began to paddle. She shouted other words, but he would not listen or even turn around.
Her hands hanging helplessly at her side, Tepua watched Matopahu disappear into the night. She sighed, wishing that she could have given in to him. But all the while he spoke to her she had imagined the priests of Land-crab carrying her son to the marae as an offering.
She had wanted desperately to blurt out the truth, but her protective instinct held her back. Even if Matopahu dies, I will still have the child. But why had he scorned her offer? She had only asked for a little more time....
At last, filled with grief, Tepua waded ashore. She glanced about nervously, fearing that someone had heard Matopahu, recognized his voice. Seeing no warriors, she began to walk, paying no heed to where she was going.
After a time, she felt a friendly touch on her arm. "What is wrong?" asked Curling-leaf. "I heard shouts."
"It is...nothing." Tepua slumped to her knees.
Curling-leaf lowered her voice. "It was Matopahu. I know how he feels. But he will recover."
"He will do something foolish."
"Why? He could not have expected—"
Tepua stared at her and did not answer.
"Of course, there is no child," Curling-leaf went on. "Everyone sees that you are still an Arioi."
Everything became a blur. Suddenly Tepua sank forward, collapsing into the sand.
"What is wrong? What are you hiding?" Curling-leaf tried to comfort her, yet Tepua sensed her stiffness, her confusion.
"Do not ask me any more," Tepua whispered.
Curling-leaf drew in her breath. Tepua wiped her eyes and saw the expression on her friend's face, first astonishment and then a glimmer of delight. 'Then you are bolder than I thought."
"There is no child," Tepua said in a toneless voice.
"Of course not," Curling-leaf agreed.
"I must do—something. I cannot let Matopahu be so angry." Thoughts whirling, Tepua clung to her friend. There was one man she could trust with her story; she should have gone to him sooner. "If I can reach Eye-to-heaven..."
"Listen, Tepua. Tomorrow we will have only games and feasting. If you disappear, nobody will notice."
She turned toward the water. The night was almost gone. At daybreak she could find a canoe that was heading for Eimeo, go to Putu-nui's marae, locate the priest. Surely Matopahu's taio would help her. "Tell Maukiri where I went," she said softly. "Tell no one else. I will be back before dark tomorrow."
After a brief morning downpour on Eimeo, the sun grew bright and the air steamy. Tepua left the canoe that had brought her, hurried through palm groves, following the shore that bordered Putu-nui's district. Soon she approached the chief's marae. Past the hardwood trees ahead she saw low walls built of black stones surrounding a rectangular courtyard. The area outside the courtyard, where sacred god-houses stood, was alive with priests and attendants.
As a woman, Tepua was allowed no closer. She called to a young attendant, requesting him to find Eye-to-heaven. Oppressed by the moist air and the heat, she waited in the shade of a sturdy tamanu tree.
Soon she heard footsteps and saw the stocky figure of the priest coming toward her. He had left his ceremonial garments behind and wore only a maro of white bark-cloth. His round face was filled with concern. 'Tepua, what has happened? I tried to keep Matopahu here—"
"I saw him last night," she answered hoarsely. "He was angry—"
"He has been plotting something. I hope he does not rush into it."
"Will Matopahu attack Land-crab? He said he has warriors."
Eye-to-heaven snorted. "Two or three men."
"But he needs hundreds!" Her eyes brimmed with tears.
"He will not listen to reason. Maybe you can talk to him."
She could scarcely find breath to answer. "He wants nothing to do with me."
The priest took a step closer. "Tepua, I don't understand. Matopahu came back from Tetiaroa to look for you. He tried to find you several times. He even searched the hills—"
"Aue! He said nothing to me about that. And now I must tell you what happened."
When she began to explain, the priest's eyes widened. 'This is a great surprise," he said. "I do not blame you for preserving the child, but now we must tell Matopahu. It will change everything. He will put aside his hopeless plans and wait for a better time."
"Yes. I want to tell him," she agreed sadly. "But my son needs protection. He is not safe in Tahiti."
"Bring the child here," said the priest. "Putu-nui will guard him. We need not reveal his true parentage. We can tell everyone that the child is...mine."
Tepua felt a moment of shock. "Yours!" It was not uncommon, she reminded herself, for a man to share his lover with his taio. Of course Eye-to-heaven had always seemed more like a brother to her, but outsiders would not know that. "Yes. That is what people must believe. Everyone but Matopahu."
"Then bring the child here. I will arrange everything." The priest glanced back over his shoulder. An attendant was coming, presumably to call him to his duties. "The ceremonies...you understand. I cannot linger now. But in a few days I will be free." Hastily he explained how he would bring a canoe to a cove in Tahiti that they both knew. He would take her and Ruro-iti to safety in Eimeo.
Then he was gone, hurrying off where she could not follow. He glanced back once, and she made a sign of agreement. The prospect of facing Matopahu again made her knees weak, but soon he would see his son.
TWENTY-ONE
Te Vahine Airoreatua i Ahurai i Farepua marched grandly into the high-roofed house where Tutaha held his court. Tutaha glowered at her from his high seat. "What do you wish to tell me?" he asked her hotly. "That these strangers suffer illness? That they fear their gods? I know these things now. They only strengthen my resolve."
"Then you think you can destroy my visitors?"
"If you stand aside and do not interfere."
"Aue!" she shouted. "Tutaha, you understand nothing about these people. Their land has as many huge vessels as we have canoes. Even if you burn their ship and kill every man, others of their kind will come here."
"We will destroy those as well," he growled.
"No. If you make war again, you will only die like the first wretches who attacked them. You and all your fine family will end. But I have a better plan."
Tutaha snorted, turning to exchange glances with his advisors.
"Go out and look at this fine harbor of yours," she persisted. "Where else on our shores can such a huge ship anchor safely? It is here, in your district, that the foreigners will stop
whenever they visit us. Each time they arrive, they will bring gifts—wonders that we have never seen before. If you step forward and present yourself as the chief of the district, all honors will go to you."
Tutaha's attention returned to Purea, his eyes narrowed, his expression showing a hint of greed as well as distaste. "I need no gifts. When I destroy these invaders, I will take whatever I want."
"Aue! You are hopelessly stubborn, Tutaha." In frustration, Purea tightened her fist. "Listen, you mighty leader of Pare and Arue. There is only one way that I can stop your foolishness. My people will keep watch on the shore. Whenever the foreign chiefs land, I or one of my principal women will be there to accompany them. Any attack on the visitors will be an attack on my family. Are you ready for the consequences of such a battle?"
Enraged, Tutaha stood up. At his full height he dwarfed the men around him. "Go from here, you meddlesome woman," he shouted. "I am tired of listening to your words."
Purea turned, satisfied that she had made herself clear. She had issued the challenge, but she did not think that Tutaha was ready to test her. In time he might make her suffer for thwarting his plans. And perhaps he would learn someday that she had been right....
Tepua stirred, emerging slowly from her dream. The vision still held her thoughts as she looked around the riverbank where she had fallen asleep. Purea's courage seemed to fill her own body, just as Tutaha's angry voice still echoed in her ears. Perhaps the vision carried a lesson. Or had it merely been a reminder of Ruro's importance?
Thoughts of Ruro made Tepua sit up abruptly, pushing the remnants of the dream aside. Maukiri had helped bring the baby down from the hills. Now she was bathing him in cool river water. Tepua wanted the weight of him in her arms, the warmth and silkiness of his skin against hers.
Giggles mixed with the sound of splashing drew her to the river where Maukiri was playing with Ruro. Tepua waded in, reaching for her son. She had wasted time in sleep while she could have been with him. Soon she would have to leave the child again....
She hugged him to her, then held him up as he smiled and chortled at the sight of his mother. She wanted to feast on him with all her senses. She delighted at his warm weight in her arms, the strength in his little limbs, the way he wriggled and crowed when she tickled his tummy. She laid her face against him, smelling and tasting the clean milky sweetness of his skin.
How fast he was growing! His eyes were losing the blue of the newborn and darkening to a rich brown. His skin would soon be the luminous bronze of his father's; his hair was starting to curl.
"You are as plump as a little breadfruit and as lively as an eel," she said, pressing her nose to his as he squealed in delight.
Cradling the baby in her arms, she put him to her breast. She felt a tightening and tingling in her nipple as the child began to suck, and then, to her delight, the release as the warm milk flowed from her breast. She had feared that her milk would not come back after so many days away, but Stay-long had helped her with an herbal drink.
"We have been here too long," said her cousin, climbing out of the water. "The priest will be looking for us soon."
Tepua looked at the shadows, handed the baby up to Maukiri, and followed. With a sigh of regret, she picked up the basket of food and supplies, then headed back onto the path.
Soon she and Maukiri emerged at the beach, coming out under the shade of a spreading ironwood tree. Overhead, the dangling needles whispered softly in the breeze. Tepua shaded her eyes and stared in the direction of Eimeo. From here she could see the neighboring island as a shadow looming up on the horizon, the setting sun hanging just above its peaks.
She noticed several double canoes crossing the Sea of the Moon. Inside the lagoon, she saw smaller vessels moving about on the calm water close to shore. One might be the craft carrying Eye-to-heaven, but she could not tell yet if any were coming toward her.
From behind came a hissing sound that made her jump. "Maukiri?" she called.
"I am here," said her cousin from another direction.
Then the familiar figure of Eye-to-heaven emerged from the shadows. "There is no time to talk," he said, sounding worried. He motioned for her to follow him.
A man she did not know was standing beside an outrigger canoe that floated in the shallows, its bow grounded on the beach. He pushed the boat farther out. After Tepua and Maukiri climbed in, there was barely room in the hull for the men.
Hastily they got under way. With its sail catching the wind, the canoe skimmed over the lagoon, bouncing in a slight chop. "What is the trouble?" Tepua asked, trying to shield her infant from spray.
"Matopahu," the priest answered with a sigh. "I did as you asked. I told him about his son. But I do not think he believed me."
"He was so eager to have a child...." Her words trailed off mournfully.
"He acted as if I were trying to deceive him—to make him change his foolish plans. And he was determined to go through with them. He and his friends have already gone to confront Land-crab."
"He hasn't enough men!"
"I'll catch up with him and do what I can. There may be others in this district willing to fight."
What could a handful of men do against Land-crab's warriors? A sick feeling grew in her stomach as she tried to keep her fears at bay.
Dusk fell. The other canoes headed in, but Eye-to-heaven continued along the coast, keeping far from shore. When the sky was almost completely black, he steered into the shallows.
Grimly she stared at the shadowy beach. How could anyone know what was happening in the darkness? An entire army might be waiting just a few paces back. She spoke a prayer as the canoe glided in.
"You must not return to the Arioi," the priest whispered. "You must go to Eimeo with my companion. No matter what happens here, Putu-nui will take care of you and the child."
"Leave now" He was telling her to stay with her son, yet how could she desert Matopahu? Her thoughts returned to Purea, whose courage would never falter. "Am I to hide while others fight?" Tepua asked angrily as Eye-to-heaven climbed from the canoe, taking a club and a short spear. "The child is important. I am not," she protested.
"Tepua—"
"I will come with you." Hastily, trying not to feel the pang of separation, she handed her son to Maukiri. "You and little Ruro stay with the canoe," she told her cousin. "Wait out there." She pointed to deeper water. "If you hear fighting nearby, get away quickly."
"But I cannot feed him," Maukiri wailed softly.
"I'll come back and call to you. If I don't, then one of Putu-nui's women will be his feeding mother."
"What are you saying?" Maukiri clutched at her. "You must come back."
Tepua did not answer. Nor did she remind Maukiri that she had fought in more than one battle. Before the priest could talk her out of it, she waded ashore.
Matopahu peered from behind the breadfruit tree that shielded him and once again studied the nearby cluster of thatched houses. Within the compound glowed a few lights, strings of candlenuts. There was no movement in the enclosed yard. The large house that the usurper occupied remained dark.
Matopahu and his warrior companions had been watching the house since dusk. He knew that Land-crab was inside, either asleep or engaged in hanihani. He smiled grimly, hoping for the latter, and that the chief's attention was still on his vahine.
The time to act had come. The effects of Land-crab's curse, evaded for so long, now seemed to be growing stronger. Matopahu thought he still had a chance to destroy the man responsible for all his woes. And if he failed, he could not be worse off than he was now.
Land-crab was a man, Matopahu reminded himself, and could be destroyed by a man. The usurper had gods to protect him, but so did Matopahu. The ari'i knelt behind the trees to make a final plea to his guardian spirit.
Then he turned and whispered a word to his companions. One warrior had brought hot embers, covered with sand, sealed within a coconut shell. In the darkness, Matopahu heard the rustling of coconut fro
nds. Someone blew on the coals while another man fed the small fire. In a moment, smoky light flared up from palm-rib torches.
Matopahu took two in one hand, a spear in the other, then gave the order to begin. The fires would have to be set quickly, before the drowsy guards spotted the flames. The four men spread out along the fence.
At Matopahu's signal, he and his warriors tossed the blazing bundles in high arcs, over the fence and onto the dry roofs within the compound. Flames leaped up and spread. A ferocious crackling sounded as the coconut thatch began to burn.
From within the houses came shrieks of alarm and shouts of enemy attack. Matopahu's men seized their war clubs and hefted their spears.
A moment later, confusion reigned, servants screaming, guards rushing to protect their chief. Holding a spear in one hand, his war club slung by a cord from his wrist, Matopahu vaulted the waist-high fence into the compound. Smoke pouring off the blazing thatch filled his nostrils and made his eyes burn.
Now, in these first moments of surprise, he had his best advantage. A sleepy guard staggered toward him. With two blows from his club he felled the man, then went after another.
This one put up a fight. He feinted, swung, then recovered quickly enough to parry Matopahu's swing. Land-crab's warrior lunged with his foot, trying a wrestler's trick to topple the ari'i. Matopahu caught him with a glancing blow to the chin, and the second guard went down.
By this time, the ari'i had lost all contact with his companions. Noise and smoke surrounded and isolated him. He saw dim figures fleeing, carrying off rolls of tapa or other valuables from the fire. Matopahu headed to the burning house of the usurper. He could not let Land-crab get away.
Even through the rolling billows of smoke, the chief on his bearer should be easy to spot. Or had Land-crab given up his pretensions of grand nobility and fled on his own feet? As the ari'i ran, he saw only a few straggling servants hurrying from his path. Ahead, the entire roof of the chief's house was ablaze.
Matopahu rushed up to the cane-walled dwelling and peered inside. The flames in the rafters lit the smoky interior with a flickering orange light. Empty!
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