Sister of the Sun (4 page)

The men were all staring at something, arguing, moving their hands. Tepua tried to see what they were looking at, but it lay deep in shadow. She strained to make out their words but all she could hear now was a rhythmic splash, splash, splash.
 

Something was poking her shoulder. She tried to pull away. "Tepua!" a voice shouted, and this time the sound was unmistakable. Her eyes opened. She stopped swimming and looked up to see Maukiri and Roki in an outrigger."We are going to our
motu
," said Maukiri. "Come in the vaka. It is too far for you to swim."
 

Tepua frowned, wishing her cousin would be quiet for a moment. She wanted to remember the vision, but it had faded. Below her, in the water, a long dark shape was circling.
 

"I am coming," said Tepua, glancing nervously at the shark. "I want to stay at Ata-ruru awhile." She took a place in the middle of the boat and picked up a paddle.
 

"We cannot stay long," said Maukiri. "Kohekapu wants to see you. Mother sent us out here only to clean up after yesterday's visit."
 

With three paddlers, the canoe reached the
motu
quickly. Maukiri led the way to the shady spot where she and Tepua had been sitting the previous day. The broken remains of the coconuts they had eaten lay in a heap beneath a spiky fara palm. Inedible parts of the orange-hued
fara
fruit were strewn with the rest.
 

From the canoe, Roki brought a shovel, a short pole lashed to part of a sea turtle's belly plate. She began to dig a hole in the sandy soil. When sweat ran down her back, she dropped the shovel and told Maukiri to finish the job.
 

Tepua watched grimly as the two sisters buried the refuse, then smoothed sand over the hole. She wondered if Ehi was taking her precautions too far. It would be bad, of course, for leavings from Tepua's meal to fall into the hands of an enemy. Natunatu might be able to fashion a powerful spell if she obtained something that had touched Tepua's lips.
 

Feeling downhearted over the trouble that she was causing, Tepua made no protest when Maukiri and Roki prepared to leave Ata-ruru. She had thought earlier that she might try living alone on this
motu
awhile, pulling up clams from the nearby shallows and drinking from coconuts. Now she wondered if she could be safe here.
 

As the three women headed back the air grew still and the surface of the lagoon became perfectly smooth. In the distance, two long canoes full of paddlers raced each other. From their cries, Tepua knew they were thinking only of their game.
 

She remembered other days as pleasant as this one, when she had run footraces along the beach or competed in diving for pearl shells. Now, despite the sky's brightness and the sun's warmth, she felt a chill that went deep beneath the skin. The paddle felt heavy in her hands and she had to force herself to keep stroking.
 

Suddenly the vision came back to her, and she understood what she had seen while swimming. The priests had been engaged in divination, trying to answer their concerns about the chiefly succession. This time she suspected that the gods had given an answer.
 

When she reached shore, the sun was high overhead, the glare on the sand almost blinding. Paruru emerged from the shade of the bordering palms and beckoned her to follow him. Behind the warrior Tepua saw many eyes watching her from the shadows.
 

Following Paruru, she approached her father's high-roofed house. To her surprise she saw Natunatu seated
outside
the long dwelling. Beside the chief's wife sat a youth Tepua did not know at once, a tall and well-made young man.
Umia
! She barely recognized him.
 

Umia lived with his uncle on another islet, so Tepua had not seen him often while he was growing up. In her memory he was still a youngster, running with his friends along the beach. "Life to you!" Tepua said, giving the traditional greeting, first to her father's wife, then to her half brother. Natunatu stared back in silence, her eyes seemingly unfocused. Umia responded coolly, "May you have life."
 

"That is no way for brother to greet sister," she said, waiting for him to stand and embrace her. He glanced uncomfortably toward Natunatu but did not rise.
 

Tepua lowered her voice. "None of this is my doing," she insisted. "I will not take what is yours. Even if the priests try to force me—"
 

"Do not make rash promises," said Umia. "Go inside. They are waiting for you."

"Brother—" She studied his downcast eyes, wishing she had some way to make him believe her. Then she heard soft voices from within the house; it seemed the same murmur she had listened to in the lagoon.
 

With a sigh she turned from Umia and entered the gloomy interior of the house. Leaving dazzling sunlight, at first she could not see anything within. Then her mouth opened and she nearly cried out in dismay. So
many important people
. As she came in they all grew silent.
 

Kohekapu remained in his bed, his covering of mats pulled up to his withered neck. He called to her in a tremulous voice. "Daughter, you must do as the priests and elders advise you. Follow their instructions and all will be well." Then he fell back, exhausted by this small effort.
 

Tepua turned to Faka-ora, the high priest, who sat closest to Kohekapu. His short beard was almost as gray as her father's. His body was lean, his face deeply wrinkled. His nose was like a small clam stuck in the middle of his face.
 

It was the wrath of this man that Tepua had feared when she first thought about returning home. But Faka-ora was evidently satisfied that the priests of Tahiti had freed her from her misdeeds. He welcomed her warmly and gazed at her with an expression of affection.
 

With the high priest sat the head of almost every clan of the atoll. Only Varoa and Rongo were not represented. One after another, the clan chief, man or woman, greeted her.
 

At last, Faka-ora began to speak. "Tepua-mua," he said in a quiet but authoritative voice. "I think you understand why we have come together for this meeting. The ancestors have given us a warning, and we cannot ignore it. Kohekapu is now too weak, and Umia too young to serve our people. But you are here—the highest born among us. It is through you that the gods will provide the leadership that we need."
 

He gestured toward the others. "The clan chiefs agree to accept your authority." He nodded toward Kohekapu. "Your father also wishes you to succeed him. And now that all are together in this, I urge that we do it quickly. We must invest you with the office, wrap the crimson cloth about your loins."
 

The mention of that sacred relic brought goose bumps to her arms. "But—" Tepua struggled for words. "Not every clan is present here. It is wrong to act without them."
 

The old priest grunted. "We cannot wait for those two stubborn ones to see what is apparent to everyone else."

"I saw Umia just now. He has grown—"

"No, Tepua," the priest chided. "We have studied the signs carefully, not once but many times. Umia is not ready. Nor do we dare trust anyone to act on his behalf."
 

A quiet voice sounded; everyone turned toward Kohe-kapu. "I think I know what is troubling my daughter," he began. "She has left a man in Tahiti."
 

A few eyebrows lifted at that pronouncement, and Tepua felt her face burn.

"You no longer have any sacred obligation to us," the priest told her. "There is no reason now that you cannot take a man. If this Tahitian of yours is of good birth, we will welcome him among us."
 

She could not answer. Matopahu's ancestry was at least as honored as her own, but what did that matter? He could not leave Tahiti, where he served as adviser to his brother, high chief over a vast territory.
 

"If you do not wish to bring your Tahitian here," said Heka, chiefess of Piho Clan, to Tepua, "then why not choose someone from your own people? My brother Paruru is known throughout these islands as a man of courage and strength and good looks."
 

Other chiefs immediately began suggesting candidates. Faka-ora interrupted them. "This is no time to be discussing such questions. Tepua knows she can have her pick of consorts. We will even send canoes to the neighboring islands—"
 

"Enough!" said Tepua. "I will take no man here. My life is in Tahiti."

"Someday you will go back there," the priest answered in a gentle tone.

"But I am unprepared for this office!"

Faka-ora nodded his head. "Have no fear, Tepua. Have you forgotten who watches over you? The spirit of your ancestress will enter you and make you wise."
 

Her mouth opened, but now she could offer no reply. She was remembering the chant of her great forebear, who had ruled this atoll long ago. From early childhood Tepua had recited the words, even before she grasped their meaning.
 

 

I am Tapahi-roro-ariki,

The woman who was established on the land.

 

She felt gooseflesh rising as voices buzzed around her, discussing, planning. In her memory, the chant continued:

 

I am Tapahi-roro-ariki,

Who stood proudly in the
marae
.
 

 

"We need time to prepare the grand feast," one clan chief complained. "It will take days."

"We do not have days to spare," replied Faka-ora. "Send your people out to fish and to gather what they can. Everything must take place tomorrow."
 

"Tomorrow?" another voice echoed with dismay.

"That is when the signs tell us to proclaim our new chief," said Faka-ora. "And now that all is decided, I must go. The
marae
must be readied, the underpriests reminded of their duties." He stood up and left the house. Tepua stared after him in disbelief.
 

What about Umia? Somehow she must make him understand that she was not pushing him aside. He would be chief soon. The priests could not hold her here forever.
 

 

Tepua spent the night in a special shelter erected for her just outside the high chief's sacred courtyard. This
marae
was the most revered ceremonial place that her atoll possessed. Only the great men and a few chosen women of the land dared approached it.
 

All through the hours of darkness she listened to the priests chanting as they called on the spirits, asking them to attend her investiture. All night the wind whistled through the branches of the lofty
pukatea
trees, bringing the gods' answers.
 

At dawn, groggy from lack of sleep, she saw a pair of young women approaching her. She emerged from the shelter and stood in deep shade under the flowering trees. The women washed her with fresh water, then rubbed her body with scented coconut oil. An underpriest, averting his eyes, brought her a garment, a simple plaited wrap, but one that had been sanctified in the
marae
.
 

From afar she heard a sound that made her shiver. The conch shell was being blown, its deep and resonant notes carried to her on the breeze. In every part of the atoll, she knew, people were being roused by that awesome sound.
 

Dressed and perfumed, she approached the
marae
. The courtyard, a neat rectangle floored with crushed white coral, stood ready for her. She glanced at the wooden coffers, the houses of god images, suspended one beside the other on poles above the stone platform at the end of the courtyard. Along the sides of the
marae
sat the elders on their four-legged stools, each man holding his carved ceremonial spear. The polished wood glinted as morning sunlight filtered through the broad-leaved
pukatea
trees.
 

Ahead of her, in solemn procession, marched Faka-ora and his assistants, the priests not yet arrayed in their finery. A crowd of highborn people stood watching from a respectful distance. Tepua shivered, hesitating for a moment at the low fence of woven fronds that bordered the courtyard. No woman except one of extraordinary birth could set foot in the
marae
. She had always been warned that the power of the gods would destroy a trespasser.
 

What if the gods did not judge her worthy? She had no time to reconsider. The priests were taking up their positions, waiting to be invested with the symbols and sacred garments of their office.
 

Drawing a deep breath, Tepua stepped across the line and felt a sharp tingle as her foot pressed into the finely crushed coral. She brought the other foot across, and then she raised her head high, gazing at Faka-ora with a feeling of triumph. If she could come this far, then perhaps she could manage the rest....
 

After that moment the ceremony seemed to blur. Priests made loud invocations. Drums and conch trumpets sounded. Finally there came a great chorus of indrawn breath as the
maro kura
, the sacred crimson loincloth, was unwound and displayed for all the notables to see. They gasped loudly at its brilliant color, elaborate fringing and fineness of its matting. With a slow and dignified tread, the priests began to wrap the
maro kura
about her waist, letting one end fall in front and the other in a regal drape behind. Then the cries rang out,
Maeva ariki
! Exalted be the chief!
 

From all about Tepua the tributes came. Seabirds swooped down over the
marae.
The surf boomed louder against the reef. Overhead, the
pukatea
trees waved their glossy leaves in greeting.
 

Later came a procession by water, a tour around the lagoon on the chief's elegantly decorated
pahi
. Along every shore the people stood and called to her,
Maeva ariki
! Children, decked in wreaths, danced on the beaches as she passed.