Child of the Dawn (15 page)

Yet he knew no other way to show that he could defy Land-crab's curse. If everyone saw that he was alive and strong and had the favor of the gods, then they would know that he could win back his brother's land and people. Warriors would flock to support him. Chiefs would pledge their aid.
 

If he lost, everyone would know that the curse still bound him.

 

As Tepua walked up from the beach where the Arioi canoes had landed, she saw people scrambling in all directions. She guessed that they were members of Fat-moon's household or belonged to other performing troupes. Behind her, she heard shouts as more canoes arrived.
 

Ahead lay Fat-moon's assembly ground, a broad open area surrounded by breadfruit trees. Tepua felt little interest in being here.
 

'This is exciting!" said Maukiri, catching up to her. "I've never seen such a gathering. Why did you never tell me about these events?"
 

Tepua glanced at Maukiri's flushed face and dancing eyes. She was glad that her cousin was adapting so quickly to local ways. For Tepua herself, everything had turned sour. She had begun to wish she had remained with her own people and never come back to Tahiti.
 

The only cheering news was of Matopahu's recovery. Eye-to-heaven had told her that his
taio
was eager to see her—but not until he proved to everyone that he was renewed. This last part infuriated her all over again. Why must the man continue to put on his pretenses? She had seen him weak and sick, and had not turned away from him.
 

Trying to shake off her mood, she studied the crowd. She saw Arioi from several lodges greeting each other, noses pressed to cheeks. Other players strutted about displaying their finery, feathers and shell necklaces gleaming. Drums boomed as a few dancers held a final practice session.
 

Maukiri gestured eagerly toward a knot of people who were watching an impromptu performance. She raced off. Tepua watched her go.
 

The morning sun still cast long shadows, but Tepua felt the growing heat of the day. She gazed toward sharp, black peaks that rose behind the assembly ground and wondered if the air would be any cooler on the heights. The garland about her neck felt heavy; her new bark-cloth wrap chafed her skin.
 

Soon the dancing would begin. Though she would be standing in the final row of performers, she knew that Pehu-pehu would be watching her carefully. The interloper's opinion did not matter, she tried to tell herself. So long as Aitofa was satisfied, Tepua could feel that she was doing her best to serve the troupe. Yet she remembered Pehu-pehu's cold, measuring eyes and harsh criticism during the practice sessions. Tepua wished she could slip away into the forest and avoid the performance entirely....
 

The brilliant and outlandish costumes of the milling Arioi became a blur before her eyes. Something caught her attention and her gaze followed it before she even knew why. The object of her interest was a sunshade, worn by a tall man in the crowd. She did not see his face, only the peculiar headgear perched atop his bushy hair. There was something utterly strange, yet familiar about it.
 

The brim was not an open weave, like the sunshades she often wore, but a solid, flat piece of cloth. Instead of shading only the eyes and face, it encircled the whole head. It was closed at the top, like an overturned bowl that fit over the crown.
 

She could not help staring, trying to recall where she had seen such a sunshade. This was unlike anything the local people made. She gasped as she remembered. In her vision she had seen similar things on the heads of the foreign sailors. And before that, two visitors to her atoll had worn them. But how could a foreigner's headdress be here?
 

The tall Arioi wearing the curiosity noticed her stare and strutted toward her, displaying all his finery. "Why are you staring, pretty one?" he asked, giving her a casual inspection. "You are from Tahiti, I see, by the style of your garlands. Let me be the first to welcome you."
 

She pursed her lips, unsure whether he had heard about the misfortunes of her Arioi lodge. She certainly did not wish to tell him that her troupe was in exile. "I am curious about that thing on your head."
 

He looked startled, and the anticipatory gleam in his eyes faded. Obviously he had thought her interest was of a more intimate nature.
 

Well...perhaps it could be. Lately she had become far too serious. Here she was at a celebration, and no one had forbidden her to enjoy herself. She studied the stranger more carefully. His cheekbones and nose were highlighted with red, making his long face appear even longer. Yet she found something sensuous about the shape of his mouth, the generous lower lip....
 

But where had he obtained that sunshade? Aitofa had assured her that no foreigners had been seen anywhere near Tahiti. And the events of her vision, Tepua thought, would not come for many seasons. "Have you been traveling?" she asked cautiously.
 

He touched the brim of the sunshade. "This came from far away," he said. "An atoll trader brought it to my father, who is chief of Hitiaa. But don't take such an interest in the thing. I cannot give it up."
 

"I don't want your sunshade. I am only curious about foreign sailors—where they were seen—how long before they find these islands."
 

"Ah. Your questions can be answered," he said with a smile. He pulled her to him, affectionately pressing his nose against hers. For a moment, she found the embrace comforting. "My name is Uhi," he whispered. "We can meet later."
 

"Yes," she said, finding no reason to refuse. Matopahu did not want her yet, and she was tired of waiting for him. The excitement of the day was finally starting to reach her. Why not permit herself some enjoyment?
 

"Good," Uhi said, releasing her. "I will look for you. Do not forget." Suddenly he saw a friend, far off in the crowd, and shouted a greeting. In a moment he was gone.
 

Then the conch-trumpet sounded to announce the arrival of Fat-moon, the host of the gathering. Everyone turned toward the herald. Tepua spotted the leaders of her lodge, their pennant fluttering from a raised staff. She hurried over to stand with her troupe for the high chief's entrance.
 

 

Matopahu returned to Eye-to-heaven and the healer, Imo. He sat with them, listening to the preliminary ceremonies, the chanting and the drums. At last, when he thought that everyone had headed up to the archery course, he led his friends on a shortcut by a steeper trail. He knew this territory. Long ago, as a boy, he had accompanied his father on visits to the former chief of the district.
 

The site of the contest lay atop a small plateau. As he threaded his way through the crowd, Matopahu caught sight of the triangular shooting platform, assembled from stones neatly fitted together and made level on top.
 

Nearby, almost entirely screened from view by
rata
trees, stood the archers'
marae
beside a brook that was dedicated to their use. Here the contestants cleansed themselves in the water before offering prayers and donning sanctified garments. Evidently Fat-moon had completed the ritual. He was seated on a stool atop the archery platform, watching the arrival of the other contestants.
 

Two attendants stood below, holding up large palm fronds to shade him. The chief wore a simple bleached
maro
, and a turban of bark-cloth decorated with a single red feather. Matopahu examined his sturdy figure, noting the well-fleshed arms and wondering about the muscles beneath the skin. Fat-moon's jutting chin and square face made him think of a canoe's prow.
 

Near the platform stood important people of Eimeo,
ari'i
garbed in their finery. They were spectators, here to watch how their favorite archers did against Fat-moon's. Matopahu knew many of these people. During his exile he had visited them to ask for help, but they had refused to support him against Land-crab or even to share a meal. Now, when the Eimeo
ari'i
saw him confidently striding before them, their eyes seemed to bulge in amazement.
 

"I am alive," he called gaily to the crowd. "And strong. Look at me!" He raised his arms, holding up the bow. The closest onlookers moved nervously from his path as he approached Fat-moon's seat.
 

The high chief curled his lips in distaste. "What is this?" he asked. "I did not invite you."

"I am here to offer you a
true
challenge."
 

"We have players enough." Fat-moon gestured impatiently. "Go challenge the women archers. They will enjoy your company."

Matopahu ignored the laughter behind him. To the chief he said, "It is easy to win if you always take the best archers of the island for yourself. That explains why no team from Eimeo can beat you." He paused, drawing himself up, thrusting out his chest. "Of course, you have not extended the challenge to anyone from Tahiti."
 

He saw that his words had stung the chief. Fat-moon stood up angrily. "Do you think we are afraid of Tahitians? They are weaklings. They are children still sucking their mother's teats."
 

"Then you need not fear my bow. Let me shoot for your opponents."

"Hah. You are full of empty words. Putu-nui does not want you on his team."

Matopahu knew the history of the long rivalry between these two chiefs, Fat-moon and Putu-nui. "He has never beaten you," said Matopahu. "I cannot do his team any harm."
 

"What is all this talk about?" From the direction of the archers'
marae
strode a bull-necked man who was heavily tattooed over his chest and shoulders. This was Putu-nui, a lesser chief of the island, whose exploits were well-known in Tahiti. His father and Fat-moon's had often been at war. Sometimes they had declared peace solely to permit the archery competition.
 

Putu-nui scowled as he eyed Matopahu. "I have heard of your troubles," the lesser chief said. "You look strong enough. But you must be sanctified with the others. Are you fit to enter the archers'
marae
?"
 

The
tahu 'a
, Imo, came up beside him. "Noble chief," he said firmly. "The gods have touched this man. Look at him. He not only lives—he thrives."
 

"I have nothing but your word for that," answered Putu-nui. He narrowed his eyes and glanced up at the high chief.

"The priest who purifies the archers will agree with me," said Imo, addressing one chief and then the other. "And he will explain his reasons."
 

Matopahu felt a tingle of anticipation as Putu-nui glanced at him again. He noticed a gleam of eagerness in the lesser chief's eyes, a hope for the victory that had long eluded him.
 

Fat-moon saw it, too. Matopahu read the other man's thoughts from the way his face hardened

I have put a scorpion in his food basket
, Matopahu thought mischievously.
If he forbids Putu-nui to choose me, he will assure his victory once again, but it will bring him no pleasure.

Fat-moon turned his head slowly, assessing the mood of the crowd. Until now it had been casual, as if everyone already knew the outcome. Now a ripple of uncertainty and excitement ran through the gathering, sharpening everyone's attention.
 

Matopahu tightened his fist on his bow grip.
Thank the gods for the rivalries between chiefs. Fat-moon cannot deny me now or the people will sneer at him behind his back.

"Call the priest of archers," Fat-moon barked. Then he and Putu-nui listened intently while the man spoke in a low voice that Matopahu could not hear. Imo had taken this priest to see the results of Matopahu's labor in the ruined
marae.
The other man had come away awed.
 

Yet it was Fat-moon who would have to make the decision.

"Enough!" said the high chief, waving his priest away. He turned to address the onlookers and spoke loudly. "It is settled," he announced. "Matopahu will shoot with Putu-nui's team."
 

The crowd responded with roars of approval. Matopahu grinned, already imagining his victory. But then, as the other archers paraded out from the
marae
, his feeling of triumph faded; his fist tightened about his bow. The men of Fat-moon's team were as strongly built as any he had seen. Their oiled biceps glistened. Their faces beamed with confidence.
 

Putu-nui's archers seemed a different breed, some wiry, some plump, but none with the look of a champion. Every face appeared grim as the challengers sized up their opponents. Matopahu drew in his breath. His chances did not look good, but it was too late to back out now. He hurried toward the
marae
to prepare himself.
 

 

After their performances on Fat-moon's assembly ground, the Arioi mingled with the crowds that climbed through forest trails to the archery range. Maukiri caught up with Tepua, and together they ascended the shady path. "There will be games for women," said Maukiri. "I would like to see you shooting again."
 

Tepua's eyebrows rose. She had almost forgotten the rare but celebrated archery matches on her atoll. Teams of women from every islet shot for distance across a sandy clearing. One time the contest had continued for three days as team after team approached victory and then faltered. Finally, late on the third day, Tepua's arrow sailed past all the others. When the points were counted, her team had won. She remembered now how her companions had carried her home, then paraded with her up and down the beach.
 

"Tepua, will you try?" asked Maukiri.

"At home, archery is a game like many others," Tepua replied. "Here, the people make more of it, especially the men. They say it is a sacred contest, and that the spirits of their ancestors attend the matches."