“We beg your forgiveness for this intrusion, noble chiefess,” said the warrior leader. “The high priest needed to ask a question of this woman.” He pointed to Tepua. “But now we are done with her.”
“If Ihetoa wishes anything from the Arioi women, he must first ask me,” Aitofa answered, her eyes flashing. “You had no right to intrude and harass my novices. Go!”
Tepua gaped at the woman’s audacity. She understood that Arioi chief’s were protected by strict sanctions. But to dismiss the high priest’s warriors with an imperious wave of her hand ...
The guard nodded. “We are leaving. I hope we need not disturb you again.” He sent his men on ahead of him. Rimapoa, still bound, stumbled between them, barely keeping up. He gave Tepua one final look of anguish and was gone.
She did not want to think what might happen to him now. If they did not kill him outright, they would probably exile him to some hostile shore.
“Now,” Aitofa said, her gaze traveling over the novices and settling on Tepua. “Explain what they wanted.”
A dozen voices started up.
“Stop gabbling like a cageful of fowls. Remember that you are Arioi!” Aitofa snapped. “Go back to your work. Tepua-mua, come with me.”
Tepua tried to obey, but was so numb from shock that she stumbled, falling to her knees. Curling-leaf caught her arm, steadying her.
“She is weak from her journey,” Curling-leaf said. “Will the noble chiefess permit me to help her?”
“She will come with me. Alone,” said Aitofa.
Tepua leaned briefly on her friend. A squeeze from Curling-leaf’s hand helped calm her. Then, lifting her chin, she followed the chiefess into the house.
Aitofa’s lips formed a thin, tight line as she listened to Tepua repeat her confession. “A novice of the Arioi would not consort with such a person as this Rimapoa,” said the chiefess haughtily, “much less be moved to the passion you admitted. If I had been in the garden, I would have refused to let those men speak to you. I would have forced the high priest to make his own determination.”
Tepua closed her eyes.
“You have embarrassed us enough that I am tempted to dismiss you from the lodge. Have you anything to say?”
Tepua hesitated. She dared not let more of the story emerge. If Rimapoa kept silent about the rest, then perhaps her part in the transgression would remain secret.
“Noble chiefess ...” she managed. “I wish only—to say this. If I had not confessed ...”
“Yes?”
“Then the high priest—would have greatly angered the gods with his offering.”
Aitofa tossed her head. “Angered them? That is what the men would have us believe.”
“Do you—do you doubt?” Tepua stared at the chiefess in astonishment.
“The priests tell us that the touch of a woman makes a thing profane—unsuitable to be offered. You have left the sign of your touch on that fisherman, and that is why he cannot be sacrificed. But remember this. The men say that no woman may handle their holy things, yet if a woman becomes high chief, she stands in their marae and wears the sacred girdle of feathers.”
“Then—” Her mouth fell open. She had never heard anyone voice such a challenge. Aitofa’s anger appeared to be directed at the priests rather than Tepua.
“We are heading into dangerous waters,” said Aitofa quickly. “Let us get back to deciding whether you deserve to remain with the Arioi. Come outside, and I will show you the one way to sway me.” In the courtyard, the blackleg clapped her hands sharply to summon her novices.
“Stand up on that flat rock,” Aitofa told Tepua, “and prove yourself.”
Prove? Tepua glanced at the sunlit rock where novices often stood to make their recitations. Once, but only once, she had managed to get through all the chants. She had not thought about them for many days.
“You may start with the founding of the order,” said Aitofa. “Climb onto the rock and begin. And be certain you make no error.”
Tepua could not even bring to mind the first phrase. She advanced slowly toward the rock, aware that every novice was staring at her. She saw Curling-leaf beckoning her forward. Of all the faces, only Curling-leaf’s showed any sympathy for her plight. The other novices seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, welcoming the respite from their tasks.
“Now!” ordered Aitofa. “And anyone else who speaks gets a turn to recite as well.”
Tepua stepped up onto the small platform. The sun beat on her head, making her dizzy. Her lips felt dry, and she wondered when she had last had a drink. Then she remembered her illustrious forbear, Tapahi-roro-ariki, who had proved long ago that a woman could stand in the marae, and rule over the land as well as any man. Tepua offered a silent prayer. Ancestor spirit, I call on you now once again.
The founding of the order. She could not remember a word of that chant, yet her mouth opened and she began to speak...
16
FOR the next few days, Tepua did everything she could to keep out of Aitofa’s sight. She had expressed her appreciation, both to her guardian spirit and to the chiefess, for being allowed to remain with the Arioi. Now Tepua wished only to forget the incident.
She dared not ask anyone about Rimapoa’s fate. So far, there had been no questions about her own part in his misadventure. When the chiefess finally summoned her, she knew what the interview would be about. With her mouth dry and her fingers trembling, she went to the small guest house at the side of the compound. She had met Matopahu here, long ago, she remembered with a twinge. This time only Aitofa sat waiting.
“I thought the incident finished,” said Aitofa coldly, ’ ’but now I see it is not. The high priest has learned that you were away while your fisherman was raiding that island. He believes that you went with the man and helped steal the feathers.”
Tepua looked at the grass-strewn floor, unable to reply. For two nights she had lain awake, worrying about the accusation that must come.
“I would like to let the high priest have you for questioning,” said Aitofa. “If you are guilty, then you deserve whatever punishment he decrees. You must tell the truth now, all of it. It will be better for you if I decide your fate.”
Tepua remembered the high priest, Ihetoa. She had seen him, wearing his elegant cape, standing near Knotted-cord on the day of her audience. His expression of disapproval had chilled her when she dared a glance in his direction. Perhaps he despised her merely for being a foreigner, a person ignorant of Maohi ways. Now she imagined Ihetoa standing over her, his face livid, as he questioned her about her journey with the fisherman.
All thoughts of denial fled. “I should have stopped Rimapoa,” she answered with a moan. “He deceived me about the tapu signs, but I should have seen through his lies.”
“So you admit that you helped him?”
Tepua let out a long sigh. “I did not harm the birds, but I did pick feathers from the ground.”
“Then you must be punished, but not by Ihetoa’s command. I do not intend to weaken the power of the Arioi by giving in to a priest. I will refuse him. That does not mean you are safe.”
“Then—” Tepua fell silent under Aitofa’s stern gaze.
“I will not have another incident, with warriors forcing their way into the compound. I want you away from here for a time so you can do no more harm.”
“Where can I go?”
“To the mountains. With provisions running short, there are always groups going up to gather wild food. I will send you with the next party of Arioi.”
“That—that is good of you.”
“Wait until you have heard the rest. I have spent some time planning this.” Aitofa cast a wary glance at the latticework walls. “Come closer,” she whispered. “There are spies everywhere.”
Wishing for something to hold on to, Tepua took a shaky step nearer.
“The man you met in this house fled to the highlands and remains there in exile. When the food gathering is done, you must not return here with
the others. If you find this man, he will give you refuge. It is important to me that you find him.”
Tepua felt dizzy with confusion. “Mato—”
“Speak no names!” Aitofa cut her off, then lowered her voice again.’ “There is great agitation in the court. Now that the famine is real, people are muttering against Ihetoa. Knotted-cord still defends him, and the unrest grows. It is important that our friend be kept informed. I want you to take him a message.”
Tepua frowned. “But why not—”
“Why not send someone else? Because the hills are full of spies, priests who walk by day and by night. They know who stands with our friend, but they do not know your loyalties. There are risks, yes, but would you prefer to stay here and face the high priest? At least, this way, your absence will serve another purpose.”
Tepua could only give one answer. “I will go,” she said softly.
“Good. Until then, you will not leave the compound, not even to wash.”
A few days later a party of young Arioi men and women set out for the interior of the island. Tepua had garbed herself like the others, with a sunshade of plaited coconut leaves about her head. She still felt conspicuous, out of place in the party.
The others were too cheerful, singing and laughing as they went. To them this was little more than an excuse to leave their usual routine. If the scarcity of food troubled them, they did not show it. Tepua knew that the stocks of mahi were low and the vegetable gardens almost exhausted.
As they climbed a gently rising path she could not bring herself to imitate the high spirits of the others. How could she feign a joy she did not feel? The prospect of a meeting with Matopahu—if she could find him—gave her no cheer.
Curling-leaf, who walked beside her, whispered, “There is another one,” and nudged her with an elbow.
Tepua did not have to be reminded that priests, seemingly absorbed in recitations, stood at the vantage points all along the path. She tried not to look at the white-garbed man as she went by him.
Why had Aitofa sent her with this message? she asked herself. Another Arioi might have been a better choice. Then, as Tepua crossed a glimmering brook, the answer came to her. She gasped, lost her footing, and fell to her knees in the running water.
“What is wrong?” asked Curling-leaf, helping her up.
“It is nothing,” Tepua answered, though her cheeks burned in fury. Matopahu had planned this long ago! Before he left, he had certainly arranged for spies to keep him informed of matters at court. He must have also asked Aitofa to find an excuse to send up his “dancer.” And the message Tepua had just memorized to tell him—meaningless, of course.
As she went on, Tepua tried to console herself. She had been spared a confrontation with the high priest, at least for a while. Aitofa had gotten her away safely, even if only out of friendship for Matopahu. And the chief’s brother, who thought he could call her to him like a tail-wagging pup—she would deal with him later.
The group climbed ever higher, until they came to a place where fe’i, wild bananas, grew on upright stalks. The grove was small and quickly exhausted. A few young men left for home, carrying bunches of ripe, orange-skinned bananas tied onto long poles. The rest of the group moved on, to steeper terrain, but found no more fruit that day.
In the morning, after sleeping under a shelter of branches, they reached a cascade that plunged from sheer heights into a rocky pool. A cool spray, smelling of mossy stones, drifted from the falls. Ropes dangled over the stones along the side of the waterfall, offering a way to ascend. The land above, from the little that showed, appeared lush.
“Up there,” said one of the men. “That is where to find the best fruit.” He grabbed one end of the closest rope and began to ascend the slippery face.
Tepua gaped at his daring. The thought of dangling so high made her dizzy. And Aitofa had told her, just before she left, that Matopahu was up there! She watched how the climber put his feet onto tiny ledges barely large enough to support his toes. Only a lizard could ascend that path.
Dismay came over her, drawing sweat to her palms. She remembered the outing to the hills with Rimapoa. Even that modest height had disoriented her, making her lose her balance. That climb had been a mere stroll compared to this!
She caught herself. It was a disgrace to show cowardice among the Arioi. Young Pecking-bird was already seizing a hibiscus-bark rope and mounting the base of the cliff.
This is too much to expect, she wanted to shout. You Maohi have climbed heights all your life, while I have never scaled anything higher than a coconut tree.
Yes, and she had been afraid to climb those at first, she recalled. The trees had looked as high to her then as this cliff did now. She gritted her teeth and waited for the lowest rope to be free again. Then she grabbed the end, set her toes in the narrow footholds, and began to climb before fear could stop her.
“That’s good!” called Curling-leaf, encouraging her from below.
Tepua turned her head to call back to her friend, then caught a glimpse of the foaming pool below. She shut her eyes, but the dizziness was upon her, freezing her where she clung.
The whole cliff seemed to sway beneath Tepua as she gripped the rope. She forced herself to look up, to feel with her toes for the next foothold. In her first rush up the face she had ignored the little springs that trickled down the rockface, making it wet and slippery. Now, as she frantically sought purchase for her feet, she felt the clammy algae scum covering the rocks. When she tried to shift her weight, her foot skidded out from beneath her, leaving her dangling by her arms.
At last, after slipping several more times, she reached the next ledge. Here the rope ended. She saw that she would be forced to sidestep along a narrow shelf to grab the next one.
She laid her head against the damp stone and closed her eyes. It was bad enough climbing when she had a rope to hold on to. Now she would have to leave even that small security and move out on the face with her belly to the rock and her heels hanging out over a sheer drop.
She held the rope as long as she could, but the terrible moment came when she had to release it. She inched sideways, her cheek against the stone, her eyes on the next section of rope, afraid that if she stopped for a moment, she would never continue.
She whispered a plea to her guardian spirit. “Make the handholds dry. Keep the ledge from crumbling.” Then she looked at the next rope, just ahead, swinging a little from the movements of the climber above. Each of her sideways steps seemed to bring it no closer. She imagined what might happen if her fingers loosened or the ledge gave way. She would topple backward, falling in a graceful arc into the pool below. At least it would be a pretty death, for those watching.
Her groping palm struck something thick and fibrous. Her fingers recognized the rope and clamped onto it before her fear-numbed mind could realize that she had reached safety.
From here, the face tilted inward, so that she could walk up it by bracing her heels against the stone and leaning back against the rope. On this final stretch, the rocks were drier and the going easier. And then, just as the breeze was starting to dry the sweat on her face and she was wondering if, someday, she might even learn to enjoy this, her head came up over the cliff edge and someone thrust out a hand to pull her to safety. A friend?
Pecking-bird!
“I did not expect you to make it, lover-of-eels,” said the girl, pulling her up roughly. “You savages are not easy to kill.”
Tepua, still catching her breath, gave no reply. She glared as Pecking-bird ran, laughing, toward the others, joining them beside a stand of purple-stalked fe ’i. Then she straightened up and hastened away from the steep drop behind her. Ahead lay relatively level ground, where fan like anuhe ferns stood almost as tall as the low trees.
Earlier, Tepua had hinted to Curling-leaf that she would not stay with the foraging party. Now, after glancing around to see that no one was watching, she began to follow the stream away from its cascade. Up here the water flowed qu
ietly over smooth black rocks.
After a time Tepua paused to wade into the water and splash herself. She glanced up at the dark peak that towered over the plateau. Aitofa had told her to search for a cave near its base, but she still had far to go. She paused to listen for voices but no longer heard the noisy group of Arioi she had abandoned.
She could not tell what lay immediately ahead. Around the stream’s banks the low forest closed in. The watercourse turned, and boulders blocked her view of what lay upstream. Alone in this isolated place, she felt a sudden prickle of fear.
A deep snorting in the underbrush made her spin around. She saw low branches stirring, as if moved by something beneath them. A wild hog? She had heard tales of fierce boars in the mountains, but not until now had she believed them.
Another snort. She had no weapon. In the water at her feet lay rounded stones the size of her fist.
The bushes shook so violently that she thought a whole family of pigs was coming at her. The snorting began again, but as she tensed herself for the attack she heard the sound dissolve into peals of human laughter.
Two men wearing loincloths emerged from the underbrush. It took her a moment to recognize Matopahu. She did not know the other man.
Enraged by the prank, Tepua tossed a few rocks, but the men dodged them nimbly and splashed toward her through the stream. “Is that how you greet us?” Matopahu asked with a grin.
“I do not greet you at all.” She picked up another stone, ready to use it if he tried to come closer.
“You made a pretty sight climbing with those ropes,” he added.
“You watched?” Her cheeks burned at the thought.
“My lookouts warned me a large party was coming. I did not expect to find you among them.”
“Did not expect me? Aitofa sent me to you! And for someone in exile, you look surprisingly cheerful.” The man she saw now, clad in rough cloth and a simple turban, seemed to have changed once again. Evidently the life here suited him. His broad, beaming face showed no trace of his woes.
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