As he was examining the piece his hand slipped. The blade sliced through the fine matting to meet flesh. "Aue! It bites," he cried, dropping the tool at his feet. He frowned, sucking at the wound while Faka-ora chanted over him, asking the gods to dispel the evil.
Tepua put her own hands behind her as she bent over to look at a similar tool. "If the blade could be taken off the shaft, it might be used to chop food."
Heka eyed the tool. "It has a keener edge than our stone or shell adzes. Perhaps it would be valuable to our canoe builders."
Tepua disagreed. "A canoe-maker swinging this would risk cutting off his toes, or his thumbs."
"You are right," said Heka, turning away in disgust. "I think these foreigners are fools to make such a useless thing."
Attention shifted to other items. One was a small drum-like container that appeared to be completely sealed. Though she did not intend to touch it, Tepua's foot accidentally bumped a protruding stick near the bottom. A thin stream of liquid began to flow, its pungent odor rising. "Aue! What is that?" she cried.
"It is only something the strangers drink," explained Paruru, who had been unusually silent up to this point. With no hesitation, he bent down and adjusted the stick so that the flow of liquid stopped. "I have seen the strangers draw it into cups. It seems to make them joyful, then sleepy. Perhaps it is like your Tahitian ava.''
"It surprises me, Paruru," Tepua said coldly, "that you know so much about the foreigners' customs."
"We should be pleased that our kaito-nui is so observant," said Cone-shell. "Surely, you will not keep us from tasting the strangers' drink. At least that is something we can get some use out of. And they will not even notice that some is gone."
Tepua remembered the time in Tahiti when she had tried the intoxicant that chief's and nobles enjoyed. Its effect had been mild, numbing her lips and making her drowsy. The strangers' drink neither looked nor smelled like ava.
She paused, realizing that all eyes were watching her. So far, she had managed to keep control of the meeting, but she understood the resentment of the other chiefs. If she did not allow them a small victory now, they would soon demand a larger one. She looked toward Faka-ora for guidance but could read only a hint of curiosity in his expression. After all, the outsiders drank this with no harm to themselves....
"Bring cups!" she ordered. When hollow coconut halves had been handed out, she asked Paruru to pour some of the drink into hers. As chief, it was essential that she go first. No one must doubt her strength of will.
She tipped the cup. Her mouth began to sting as if she had licked fire coral. The liquid caught at the back of her throat, making her cough. Harsh fumes flooded her eyes with tears.
Instinctively she spat the stuff back into the cup. Sputtering and blinking, she wiped her mouth on her hand. Then she hurried outside, leaving the others to do as they wished. A servant brought her a viavia. She drank its soothing water to cool her mouth.
Through the wall of the storehouse she heard the sounds of others trying the stinging brew. "It is too vile even for fish poison," proclaimed Heka. She heard Cone-shell's yelp of pain as he, too, fell victim to the drink. Tepua could not help smiling; perhaps Cone-shell would now be less eager to meddle with the foreigners' goods.
She went back inside, wrinkling her nose at the odor that filled the air. Evidently some of the stinging brew had been sprayed onto garments. Cone-shell's cape reeked of it. She bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud.
But serious matters still lay at hand. The examination was not finished. Faka-ora had moved to the fourth and final heap.
"I have not been able to learn the purpose of any of these things," he said. "For that reason, I urge the greatest caution here. Do not touch anything, but allow my assistant to help you." A young underpriest came forward. The man appeared uneasy, though he had evidently dealt with these objects before. With a nervous motion, he lifted the first implement and let it dangle.
For a moment Tepua thought that he was holding two knives, each with a strange open ring for its handle. The blades were crossed, and held together by a pin. When the underpriest slipped his thumb and fingers through the rings, the blades opened and closed like the jaws of a barracuda.
Puzzled, Tepua ordered the assistant to take up something else, a yellowish kind of cup with a ring beneath its base and a swinging pendant inside.
Faka-ora's assistant held the ring so that the mouth of the cup hung downward. When he moved his hand back and forth a noise sounded that made everyone step back in alarm. "It speaks!" said the shaken chief of Rongo Clan.
"Only when it is moved," said Faka-ora. He nodded to his assistant. The young man closed his eyes, tightened his lips, and shook the cup vigorously again. It clanged more loudly than before.
"A noisemaker," said Heka, laughing. "A drum that beats itself."
"I would not want such a drum," said Cone-shell. "It hurts the ears to hear it." He gestured impatiently. "Put the useless thing back."
The underpriest did as he was asked, next opening a dirty cloth bag that sagged with the weight of its contents. Tepua glanced in and saw what appeared to be small round stones, all the same size.
Cone-shell snorted in disgust. "A well-made bag, and what do these foreigners put into it? Worthless stones."
"Perhaps they are weapons," someone else suggested.
"Too small," said Paruru, frowning. "But what is in there?" He gestured at a strange kind of bottle that curved like a boar's tusk and tapered to a point at one end. The underpriest picked it up, removed the cap from the wide end, allowing the chief's to peer at the contents.
"Worse yet," said Cone-shell, grimacing. "Black sand. I can imagine putting many things in such a finely made bottle, but never that."
As Tepua squinted inside she caught a sharp odor. Tahiti had plenty of black sand, but none carried a scent like this powder. The smell was faintly familiar....
Then she remembered, and her hand knotted in a fist of anger. The thunder-club's smoke. The gray cloud over the lagoon. Of the people here, only she and Paruru had been present at that terrifying scene.
She narrowed her eyes when Paruru asked for a closer look. He, too, sniffed and then grimaced. He turned away from her, but she had already caught his look of recognition. Why does he say nothing?
The smell lingered unpleasantly in her nose. It spoke of harshness and impatience. "I have seen enough," she said to Faka-ora. "But now I remember that one thing is missing. The foreign weapon. It fell into the lagoon."
"I would not like to leave it there," said Faka-ora. "It might affect the fishing."
Tepua turned to Paruru, whose face now bore a troubled look. "Something must be done," she said. "Why not send divers to bring the weapon up?"
Paruru's frown deepened. "They may not find it. You know how currents move things around. Sand shifts...And even if someone does locate the foreign weapon, he will not want to touch it."
She drew in a breath and stared at the warrior for a moment. Surely the problem was not as difficult as he made it seem. "Let us announce a competition," she said. "To see which diver can locate the thing. Then we will let the priests find a way to safely bring it up." She saw Paruru glance once at Faka-ora, who had fixed him with a curious stare. The words seemed to catch in the warrior's throat, but he agreed to carry out her plan.
"Then I am finished here," Tepua said, gesturing for the clan chief's to follow her out. "Come. We have all had too much of this foul air."
Cone-shell was just behind her as she stepped out into the open. She breathed deeply, trying to rid herself of the black powder's stink. "We have not settled anything," Cone-shell said angrily as he came up beside her.
She answered, knowing that she could not satisfy him, "I have told you that the goods belong to the men who brought them."
"If those men are your guests, then they must be allowed their freedom. If they choose to dispose of their belongings, then you cannot stop them."
"And what would you
want from their stores?" She glanced down at his cut hand. "I saw nothing there that pleased you."
"That is for me to decide," he answered harshly. "And not only me. The strangers have goods that would please my women. In the deep drum ..."
"Ah. We must not forget the pretty things." Tepua turned back toward the storehouse, where Faka-ora and his assistants were posting tapu signs of braided coconut leaves. Now the goods would be protected by the spirits; woe to anyone who dared trespass.
She tried to soothe Cone-shell. "I am learning to speak with the outsiders. Soon I will be able to ask what these things are and how they were made and how they can be used safely. When I can explain these marvels to the priests, they may allow us to keep some. But only if the men are willing to part with them."
Cone-shell seemed unimpressed by her promise. "This is no way to win my allegiance, Tepua-mua," he said, pointedly omitting her title. "The people of Varoa have no use for weak hands at the steering oar. We need a chief who has allegiance only to this land."
Tepua stared at him, trying to fathom his meaning. Was he hinting that her time in Tahiti had made her disloyal to her own people. Or did he think that she unduly favored the outsiders?
His other concern remained unspoken, but she understood. He was impatient, along with the others of his clan, to see Umia become high chief. And now Cone-shell had another reason to want to push her from office. With Umia as chief he could do what he pleased with the foreigners and their goods.
Umia must take the office, she agreed, but not if he remained under Cone-shell's troublesome influence. She needed to woo her brother from his uncle. Somehow Umia must learn to stand on his own.
SEVEN
Early the next morning Tepua stood in the shade of the fara palms beyond her doorway and gave orders to her growing retinue of young attendants. Later in the day she would present a feast and entertainment, to help the outsiders feel at ease among her people.
She hoped Umia would join the celebration. If he accepted her invitation to attend, then perhaps she could begin to make peace with him. But she feared that Cone-shell would refuse to let Umia come. Then she would have to find another way to speak with her brother.
When the tasks had been assigned, and the attendants had gone off to make their arrangements, Tepua at last found herself free. Kiore was still in the guesthouse. She was eager to continue the lessons and thought that they might move quickly now that he was ashore. Perhaps he would soon be able to tell her about life in his own land.
When she met him at the guesthouse, Kiore looked well rested. His expression brightened as he approached her. "Walk?" he asked eagerly, waving his hand in one direction and then another.
"Yes. We can do that. What about Nika?"
"With...Paruru."
Tepua was not entirely surprised. She had seen the warrior conversing with Nika on the boat. It puzzled her that Paruru would take such an interest in the young sailor, but she was glad to be alone with Kiore. She wished to show him many things—trees, shrubs, the long pits where taro plants were cultivated. She hoped to find things that Kiore would enjoy seeing.
As they began to walk a shady inland path, the sailor took a glance behind him. "Men watch," he said with a grimace. Tepua turned and signaled the guards to stay back. This was no way to make a stranger welcome!
Only at Paruru's insistence had she agreed to let a contingent of armed men shadow her. Paruru had warned that she could not safely be alone with the foreigner. Tepua sensed something else—jealousy—in the words of her kaito-nui.
It was because she remained cool to Paruru, she thought, that the warrior believed her interest had turned to the sailor. But the attention she paid Kiore was mostly a matter of curiosity. Everyone on the atoll wanted to know more about the outsiders.
Tepua admitted to herself that she found Kiore's company a refreshing change. Now that she was chief, Paruru and the other men often seemed uncomfortable in her presence. Though Kiore understood that she was ruler here, he appeared to enjoy being with her.
"Look!" she said, pointing to a lofty pukatea tree. The sailor threw back his head as he studied the upward-pointing branches and the high clusters of leaves. "A fine tree, very useful," she tried to explain. "For houses." She gestured at a branch, then stepped to a small, thatched dwelling that lay just off the path. She touched one of the poles that framed the doorway. "Pukatea," she repeated. "Strong." For emphasis she mimed trying to break the pole, without success.
This performance made Kiore laugh, and do his own imitation of straining to break a tough stick. "Strong wood," he agreed.
She explained more about the house. The thatching was of slender fara leaves folded over a stick, one leaf overlapping the next, and held in place by a long wooden pin. She made motions with an imaginary needle to show how the pinning rod was inserted.
"What are your houses like?" she asked, pointing to Kiore and then the dwelling.
He paused, seemingly bewildered. Then he knelt and began to heap up fist-sized pieces of coral beside the path. He showed with his hands that the pile should be taller and thicker than the one he was making. He stood and raised his arms above his head, indicating that he needed to go higher still.
Tepua laughed, and wondered if she had misunderstood. "Come, let me show you something," she told him. As she headed down the path she noticed, to her annoyance, that a crowd of youngsters had gathered to see the foreigner. Their expressions, as they watched him approach, showed both curiosity and fright.
"Go away, all of you," Tepua commanded. The children scattered into the bush, but she knew they had not gone far.
"Children," said Kiore, speaking the word almost perfectly.
"Do you have sons?" she asked him.
He seemed taken aback by the query, first frowning then smiling. "No," he finally answered. "Maybe."
Unable to make sense of that reply, she returned to the question of houses. After a short walk she led him toward one of the island's lesser marae, an open-air sanctuary. Carefully she circled the sacred site, repeating the word "tapu'' and raising her outstretched arm in front of his chest to show that he must not approach closer. At the narrow end of the courtyard stood a low platform of coral blocks. She showed it to him, asking, "Is that how you build the walls of your houses?"
"Wall," he repeated, pointing to the blocks, then miming building a much taller structure.
Tepua tried to imagine the house he was trying to describe to her. Thick walls of coral all around...She frowned, for it seemed more like a place where the bones of the dead might be stored. In such a house, how would one feel the cool night air, or see the morning sunlight?
As they continued their walk Kiore began to frame clumsy questions. He was interested in fresh water and seemed to be looking for a stream or spring. "To drink?" she asked. "To wash in?" She tried to explain that fresh water was scarce. Her islet had a few pools that caught rainwater and a well for drinking. Most people preferred to drink coconut milk.
"My water...gone," he told her. He made her understand that his boat carried water in a large drum, which he had been able to fill only partially before setting out from the larger vessel. When he spoke of that time, his brow furrowed and a look of despair filled his eyes.
"We will fill your drum," she said. "But you have only just arrived. Are you already planning to depart?" He did not understand her until she framed the question another way.
He wetted his finger, raised it to the breeze. "Winds not good." In his small vessel he hoped eventually to travel north and then west. That way he could reach a port used by his own people, and find a larger boat to take him on the long journey home.
"Then you will stay with us awhile." Favorable winds were not all he required, Tepua realized. He would need to learn his way through the swarm of atolls and underwater reefs. He would also have to replace the dead crewman.... The thought that Kiore could not leave soon made her mood brighten.
They walked a bit more, and Tepua had to chase
off the persistent gawkers again. After a stroll over a sunlit stretch of coral sand, she noticed that Kiore's face was damp with sweat. "Too many clothes," she said, pointing to his outermost wrap. She fingered the blue cloth at his wrist and playfully gave it a tug. "They make you hot." She fanned her face with her hand.
"Clothing hot." Kiore looked down at the garment, which was slit open in front and decorated on one edge by a row of round, flat bits of shell. He made a shrugging motion with his shoulders, pulled one arm free, then the other. Tepua felt a moment of anticipation, followed at once by disappointment. Underneath he was covered from neck to waist in a cloth even finer than the one he had removed; not even his arms had been bared.
She indicated that she wanted his discarded wrap, and he handed it to her. With a cry of delight she thrust her arms through the round openings. Then Kiore began to laugh, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.
"What is so funny?" she demanded. Of course, her arms were too short. They did not reach all the way through, and the ends of the garment flapped as she moved.
Kiore evidently saw something else amiss. He tugged at the closed part of the garment in front of her, then went around to her back where the cloth lay open. She felt his warm touch on her skin, his fingers softly moving, as he tried to explain. Wearing it the wrong way. When she understood her mistake, Tepua also began to laugh.
Now that she had it on, however, she paraded around awhile, admiring the blue cloth as she waved her covered hands. She was glad that the guards were far behind and that no children were spying. People must not say that their chief put clothing on backward!
When she finally tried to pull her arms free, they caught, and she needed Kiore's aid to untangle herself. He tugged gently at the cloth, easing it over her hands. Then, standing behind her, he helped her don the garment properly. The sensations—the foreign cloth against her skin, his firm hand encircling her waist as he guided her—were so odd that Tepua found herself giggling like a girl.
She discovered that her arms were still too short, but he rolled up the end parts that covered her hands. For a moment he stood before her, gazing with a look of admiration. Then he began a surprising feat. Moving his fingers down the front of the open garment, he slipped each round little shell through a matching hole so that the two cloth edges gradually closed up.
Sister of the Sun Page 9
