Child of the Dawn

by Coleman, Clare;

  The ari'i turned and saw two warriors closing in on him. The first was broad-shouldered and heavy, the second wiry and fast. The ari'i parried the wiry man's blow and ducked the other's; he heard the club crash above him into the wall of the burning house. In the moment it took for the burly guard to yank his weapon free, Matopahu swung at the other man, but this one was too quick for him. He parried with a blow that knocked the club from Matopahu's grip.

  With a growl of defiance, the ari'i lunged, headfirst, ramming his head into the slimmer man's gut, knocking the wind out of him. Matopahu just had time to snatch up his weapon before the second man attacked again. This fellow was huge. Nothing short of a solid strike to the head would bring him down.

  Matopahu blocked a massive blow that set his whole arm tingling. His fingers felt numb. He danced forward and back, waiting to recover sensation in his hand. The other man closed in.

  The fighters were so near the burning house now that the heat burned Matopahu's skin. He ducked and feinted, trying to bait his opponent into making an awkward swing. The other man grinned and raised his weapon for the killing blow.

  This time Matopahu was a bit quicker. He swung low, striking at the knee, setting the warrior off balance. Land-crab's man toppled against the broken wall just as the rest of the house began to collapse. He screamed as he tried to free himself from the splintered bamboo and the falling sheets of burning thatch.

  The ari 'i had no more interest in these two. Their chief was gone, probably heading for the sanctuary of a marae.

  But which marae? He knew that the usurper had ordered a grand construction on a new site, but it had not yet been dedicated to the gods. Perhaps there was still time to catch him.

  Tepua and Eye-to-heaven had been cautiously making their way toward the high chief's compound when they heard the first sounds of fighting. Led by the glimmer of distant firelight, they quickened their pace, following the shoreline and then heading inland through breadfruit groves. By the time they reached the scene, nearly everyone had fled.

  Groaning men lay sprawled on the ground. Some did not move at all. Tepua's mouth went dry as she saw someone who resembled Matopahu. No, it was not him. Her pulse hammered as she rushed from one fallen warrior to the next.

  "My taio is gone," said the priest, after making his own search of the ruined compound. "And so is Land-crab."

  "We must find Matopahu." She glanced around, seeing a flash of white near the remains of the compound fence. A four-legged figure was moving.... Te Kurevareva. Tepua had almost forgotten the dog that she had been forced to give Land-crab. It had survived the fire, she was glad to see, but when she called its name, the dog turned and fled.

  Then Tepua noticed a crowd gathering, people staring in astonishment at the smoldering remains. Everyone hung back, unwilling to trespass on the high chief's land. "Look what has happened," Tepua called to them. "The usurper gave up and ran away. Is there not a warrior among you? Take arms! Reclaim what is yours."

  The onlookers shrank from her exhortation, creeping back so that the glow of dying fires did not shine on their frightened faces. "Who will lead us now?" they muttered. Other men arrived, some carrying weapons. They stared at each other in bewilderment.

  "Matopahu will lead you," Tepua declared.

  Eye-to-heaven strode forward and addressed the crowd. "It is true. Matopahu has returned to drive the usurper out."

  Voices rose. Several onlookers recognized their former high priest and muttered his name. A small group surged forward. Tepua knew some of these men, who had been respected leaders under Matopahu's brother. Now they looked gaunt and disheveled; they stood, shoulders slumping, and stared at the ground. "Why do you taunt us with lies?" asked one. "Matopahu is dead."

  "Is that what Land-crab told you?" Tepua asked indignantly.

  "He showed us Matopahu's skull," the first elder answered.

  "My taio will be amused to see it," answered the priest.

  "Even if the ari'i lives," another man pointed out, "the curse is still on him. We saw what happened to Knotted-cord. There was no deception then."

  "And what about this?" asked Eye-to-heaven, sweeping his hand across the scene of destruction. "If my taio was cursed, how did he manage to launch the attack? Where are Land-crab's renowned guards?"

  A shout from the rear seemed to answer his question. "Away from the high chief's compound!" a sharp voice declared. "The fire was an accident. Land-crab is in control. Go back to sleep, all of you, unless you want to feed the gods."

  As the warriors drew nearer, the crowd broke up in haste. Some people were so confused that they first raced toward the oncoming warriors before realizing their mistake and turning aside. Cries of anguish ran through the smoky air.

  Tepua felt Eye-to-heaven's hand grasp her arm and pull her in another direction. "We cannot fight by ourselves," he said. "But there is something else we can do that is more important than finding Matopahu."

  "No, we can't desert him! He needs our help."

  "Be patient, Tepua. He is not far away and he knows how to take care of himself."

  By now the moon had risen over the island's central peaks, but little light filtered through the leaves overhead. The priest led her by a circuitous route; at last she saw where he was heading. Breadfruit trees gave way to plantings of the sacred miro. The venerable marae where the priest had once served lay just ahead.

  "We must watch," the priest whispered, pointing to the row of thatched houses at the edge of sacred ground. "Attendants may be awake. I am sure they heard the fight, but most of them are probably cowering on their mats."

  Tepua saw no illumination in the houses. She eyed any shadows that might be men. Nothing moved.

  "Good," pronounced the priest after waiting awhile. "Now I'll go to work while you stand guard." He beckoned her to follow him.

  "Into the...marae

  He paused. "I will show you where to wait." A small storehouse stood nearby. He went inside and emerged wearing a priestly loincloth of bleached tapa that gleamed faintly when moonlight struck it. Carrying a digging stick, he went to the wall of the courtyard, prayed briefly, and entered.

  Tepua could not see exactly what Eye-to-heaven was doing as he knelt, but she heard grunts and the scraping of stone against stone. Searching for the corpse of Matopahu's brother! What would be left of Knotted-cord now, she wondered, except a sennit-wrapped collection of bones?

  Uneasily she moved closer, trying to glimpse what the priest was doing. She saw him leaning over something, peering into a crypt. Then he rose and she caught the look of disappointment on his face.

  He turned to dig in another place. From somewhere behind her, Tepua heard cries and blows, men shouting challenges. Her blood pulsed as she tightened her grip on the spear.

  The sounds of battle changed, but she was not sure if they were approaching. In the shadows beyond the marae she could see nothing. Glancing toward the priest, she noticed that he had moved again.

  Then he leaped the courtyard wall and she heard his footsteps pounding. 'The corpse must be somewhere else," he called. "I'll have to search the smaller shrines." He seemed to take only a moment to change from the sacred garment to his own and rush out to pick up his weapons.

  "You go back to the canoe," he ordered as the sounds of fighting grew louder. "Get the child to safety. The rest will be over soon."

  "Over? Yes," she retorted. "A few men cannot last against hundreds. That is why you want me way."

  "Go!" the priest insisted. "I will look after my taio."

  What can a lone priest do for him? Tepua felt prickles of fear and then a fierce determination. She recalled the discouraged expressions of the men she had seen at the compound. They needed hope. They needed a reason to fight. And without their help, Matopahu was doomed.

  Leaving Eye-to-heaven, she rushed off toward the canoe where Maukiri was waiting. This is where Matopahu's son belongs, Tepua thought. Not in hiding. Not in exile. This is his land.

  In the shadows,
the ari'i could not tell how many men were chasing him. Land-crab's warriors had painted special markings on their faces and bodies, enabling them to recognize each other in the dim light. They would have little trouble now rounding up the intruders.

  He stood perfectly still and wondered if he could find a way past them. His enemies, too, had halted, waiting for him to show himself. Glancing from one tree to the next, he saw dark figures standing erect. If there were only some way to distract them.

  He did not know what had happened to all his companions. One had accompanied him to this grove, and was crouching not far away. If Matopahu took off in one direction and his friend in the other, that would split the enemy force....

  A shout interrupted his planning. Suddenly fighting broke out in another part of the grove. Land-crab's men came alive, plunging toward the battle.

  Matopahu did not know which of his comrades had touched off the commotion, but he could not leave the man to struggle alone. Whatever plans of strategy he might have evolved were gone. He broke into a run, dodging warriors that turned out to be shadows.

  Then suddenly, the solid bodies of men stood before him. Matopahu made quick work of two. His friends were shouting encouragement to each other. Land-crab's defenders backed off.

  Only five remained standing. Five against Matopahu's three. Yet a warning nagged at him. There were not enough down to account for the rest. Had some fled, or merely circled behind?

  He smashed back the blows of the painted mail before him as he wondered frantically how to protect his back. He shouted a question to his friends, but they had no time to reply.

  With a desperate parry, he knocked the club from his opponent's grip. While the man scrambled to retrieve the weapon, Matopahu turned completely around. He just had time to see what was coming. Then the night exploded and the heavens went dark.

  As Tepua carried the child up the beach and through the groves of coconut palms, she wondered what had come over her. Eye-to-heaven had given her the only sensible advice—to take the infant to safety.

  Yet a stronger voice drove her. She remembered the people of this district as they once had been—proud and self-sufficient, fearing no enemy. They had always been ruled by Matopahu's line. The first canoe to reach these shores from the ancient homeland had brought his noble ancestor, a descendant of the gods. In her arms, Tepua carried proof that his line was not ended.

  Now that the moon had emerged, she found her way easily along the familiar paths. She tried not to think what would happen if Land-crab's men discovered her. Getting rid of both father and son would end all possible challenge to the usurper's rule.

  Yet, despite the danger, she could not turn back. If Matopahu were killed, what life would there be for Ruro? As an exile in Putu-nui's court he would never see the home of his ancestors. There would be no honors for him, no illustrious marriage, no daughter Purea of the many titles.... Gritting her teeth, Tepua walked on.

  Something darted from the bushes. For a moment, she clutched the child to her in fright. Then she saw Te Kurevareva dancing about her, leaping with excitement. "So you do remember me," she called softly. The dog lifted her muzzle, sniffing at the child. The long tail wagged and the dog rose briefly on her hind legs.

  "Stay with us," Tepua whispered. "Warn us of danger." She continued up the path and was glad that the dog followed.

  As she passed open-walled houses, Tepua saw that people were still awake. They sat huddled under tapa cloaks staring out, listening to the distant sounds of battle. She knew this part of the district. Ahead lay the large dwelling of a man who had once possessed much influence.

  Hanging mats kept her from seeing inside his house. Tepua nervously approached the doorway. She could not be certain how anyone would react to her news. They might even scorn her. Yet she knew no other way to help Matopahu.

  "la ora na," she called in a nervous voice. "Come out and meet your new chief. Come see the son of Matopahu."

  From within she heard mutters of disbelief. "He is here," she continued. 'The firstborn of the firstborn." The child gave a soft cry and shifted in her arms.

  Then the old man who had been Knotted-cord's advisor came shuffling out. "Is this possible?" he asked. "I prayed to the gods that his line would survive. Now I cannot believe it is true."

  She stood in a pool of moonlight. The elder stepped forward and bent over her for a better look. "It is so!" he cried suddenly. "Anyone can see his father in him. But why endanger the infant on this night of battle? Take him to safety. When he is fully grown, bring him back to us."

  "By then there will be no one left to fight for him," she answered. "What happened to all the brave men? Even now I cannot find them."

  Others emerged from the house, younger men, then women, finally a few boys. "What do you want?" asked a scowling man who carried a short spear.

  "Stand with Matopahu!" she demanded.

  He looked at the ground, then at the weapon in his hand. "I used to be one of the high chief's warriors," he replied in a weary voice. "Now I tend a yam garden."

  "And your crops feed the usurper!" whispered a woman behind him.

  "Watch what you say," cautioned another. "Do you want to bring the great wave?"

  "If there is a punishing wave, it will wash away Land-crab as well," Tepua retorted. "Then the gods will have no one to look after the land. Can anyone believe that will happen?"

  "Perhaps the prophecy is false," the old man admitted. "But there is danger on every side. Land-crab's men may be listening—"

  "They are too busy trying to kill Matopahu," she answered. "But there are ten of us for each of his warriors. If we all rise together..."

  "My people have lost the will to fight," the elder said with a sigh. He turned slowly to look at his sons and grandsons.

  "Even this animal has more courage than you men!" Tepua answered. "Look. This is the high chief's dog. Now it follows my son." She held out the child. Te Kurevareva trotted closer and wagged her long, bushy tail.

  "I am not afraid," replied one young man, going back inside. He emerged carrying a paeho, a wooden sword whose edge was set with gleaming shark's teeth.

  "Then come with me while I find others like you," Tepua shouted. Several more fighters came forward, and she saw that she had attracted a small crowd from the surrounding houses.

  "Spread the word," she told them. "We are defending Matopahu's son. We are driving the usurper from the land." She plunged on up the path, wondering how much time she had, unsure if her child's father still lived.

  Matopahu's first awareness was of pain. Somehow the ari'i had returned from death. He was alive, yes. He knew little more than that.

  The world around him remained black. He sensed that he was lying on something rough and gritty, with sharp pebbles that pressed into his back. Try as he might to shift his position, he could not move. All his efforts only intensified the throbbing at the back of his head.

  The leaden feeling in his limbs frightened him. If the head blow had cost him the use of his arms and legs, then he was finished. The thought alarmed him so much that he retreated back into nothingness.

  Yet his sense of pain returned and with it came another awareness—of sounds, voices, low, controlled, and sonorous. These were not the rough voices of warriors, but the trained ones of priests.

  "Even if this man appears dead, be cautious," said the deeper of the two. "He evaded the curse placed on his brother. Who knows what else he can manage?"

  "He may be full of tricks, but none will help him now," said the second voice scornfully. A hard finger poked into Matopahu's side. He felt himself rock limply, like a corpse.

  "He managed to father a child," the first priest replied. "And a healthy one, too, from what I hear. Somehow we failed to set the curse deeply enough."

  Child? Matopahu felt a shock go through him, though not a muscle moved.

  "The news may be false," the second priest argued. "I haven't heard the report."

  "A messenger was just here.
He saw crowds gathering for a fight. The mother had the child in the center, surrounded by guards, and people were cheering."

  "Aue! Then you are right. The aha-tu ceremony must have had a flaw. This time, we will make no mistakes. Neither the cliff climber nor his squalling brat will survive."

  The priest is lying. I have no son! He tried to put the possibility from his mind.

  But why would a messenger bring such false news? Maybe there was something to it. He recalled Eye-to-heaven's talk about a son, words he had dismissed in anger. Perhaps Tepua had chosen her child's life over her dedication to the Arioi!

  Matopahu tried to keep listening, but throbbing in his skull and the buzzing in his ears would not let him. Had they captured the infant yet? Perhaps not, but what did it matter? He knew what the outcome would be.

  The priests would strike at the child through him, just as they had struck at him through his brother. Under guard or not, his son would die. Matopahu knew that this time he would be the sennit-man.

  A freezing wave of fear swept through him. The priests would wrap him while he still lived. He remembered the dreams that had tormented him....

  Oh gods. If only he might be dead by then. Could he will himself into death before the sennit claimed him?

  But what of your son? a voice whispered inside him. If you die, he has no hope....

  Aitofa stood before a crowd of Arioi, men and women, while Head-lifted tried to shout her down. Her followers stood in a circle, protecting her with their spears.

  'The high chief demands your loyalty," Head-lifted called hoarsely to the people around him. "This is your duty."

  "It is," Aitofa agreed. "Go to your chief. Tepua is carrying him."

  'Tepua is disgraced!" retorted Head-lifted.

  "She has made a great sacrifice," Aitofa replied. "A sacrifice that many highborn women of the Arioi have to make. She is no longer one of us, but she has brought us a remarkable gift." Aitofa remembered how unsettled she had been by the onset of Tepua's pregnancy. Knowing the difficulty of protecting the child, she had done everything to discourage Tepua from keeping it. But now Aitofa had no choice but to defend the son of Matopahu. The Arioi remained loyal to their chiefs—not to usurpers, but to those the gods had sent to rule.