Child of the Dawn (32 page)

"Yes. Very much."

"Then let me help lift the weight of this decision from your shoulders. I understand little about the Arioi, but by every custom I know, you must consult with the father and his family. It is up to them to say if the child should survive."
 

'The father is far off...on another island. But I think I know how he would answer."

"Then abide by it."

Faced by an impossible choice, Tepua grew angry. "Not if it forces me to desert my friends and my troupe."

"What about his family? You cannot ignore their opinion.

Tepua hesitated. "His family is gone. He is the only one left."

"I sorrow for him," murmured Stay-long. "Yet, perhaps I still can help you."

"But—"

"Do not forget my skills," she chided, with an odd grin. "The living are not the only ones who can advise. If you wish to consult with the father's ancestors, I can help."
 

Tepua drew in her breath at this suggestion. She had never asked for favors from a
tahutahu.
One glimpse of Stay-long's spirit images had been enough to make her tremble.
 

But now that she trusted the woman, Tepua found the offer more appealing. Matopahu's wish for a son was not enough to justify preserving the child. Perhaps the spirits of his ancestors could offer a stronger reason for defying the rules of the Arioi.
 

"If you want my aid," said the headman's wife, "tell me his genealogy. As much of it as you know..."

Later that afternoon, Stay-long went to the raised little house, reaching up to put an offering of fruit inside. Tepua went with her, bearing a skewer strung with dried candle-nuts, the first nut burning. Nervously, she stood by, holding the sputtering flame aloft.
 

The shadows across the valley were deep now. Tepua heard the
vahine-tahutahu
chanting, imploring a particular spirit to speak to her, flattering it with words that Tepua could not fully understand. Then Stay-long reached up to her house of images, took a large, whorled shell from under the roof, and held it to her ear.
 

While Tepua shivered in the gathering chill, she watched Stay-long's face. The headman's wife called out questions, and the voice from within the shell seemed to answer. Soon Stay-long grew angry, shaking the shell and hurling foul language at the spirit in the house above her. By now, Tepua's hand was trembling so much that she feared the flame would go out. She watched Stay-long listen again; this time the woman appeared satisfied.
 

"Bring the light closer," Stay-long ordered. Tepua gritted her teeth and forced herself to obey. She let the smoke from the burning candlenut into the house of spirit figures. Then she recited the words taught to her by Stay-long—sounds of an ancient tongue that had no meaning to Tepua. The light flickered on the little figures, the round, dark faces glaring at her. She saw slitted eyes and protruding lips. One mouth seemed to move....
 

Tepua gasped and jumped back.

"It is all right," Stay-long said, gesturing her away from the place. "Your part is done. I must stay awhile." With her teeth chattering from fright, Tepua made her way back through the gloom to the house platform. Numbly she climbed up. Fortunately, Maukiri was waiting. Tepua collapsed into her cousin's arms.
 

From outside, behind the house, Tepua still heard chanting.

 

On a morning soon afterward, Tepua and Stay-long set off on a trail that was overgrown from disuse. Vines brushed their faces. Huge ferns arched from the forest floor.
 

The thought of where she was going made Tepua's knees weak. Somehow Stay-long had learned from her ghostly messenger how to find the cave of Matopahu's ancestors. As was common among
ari'i
families, the skulls that housed the ancestral spirits were hidden within a high rock face.
 

Tepua didn't want to approach these spirits. Yet she owed it to Matopahu to ask them what to do about the child. And she knew, in any case, that she might someday have to face them. If she and Matopahu wed, the skulls would be brought down for the ceremony. She dared not slight the sacred dead who would be called on to sanction the union.
 

The air was warm and moist as the two women trudged over ridges and across valleys, through rushing water and meandering streams. Tepua had trouble maintaining the pace. She kept stopping to drink, or to take a banana from her basket.
 

When the sun had passed noon, Stay-long led Tepua to the edge of an overhang. She clutched a sapling tightly as she peered down a steep slope that plunged into a gorge. She saw moisture dripping down the face of black stone below, and tiny ferns sprouting from crevices.
 

Stay-long pointed to a place about halfway down. Tepua followed her hand and saw a round opening in the wall.

"It cannot be that," Tepua insisted. "Only a lizard could climb down there...." The words died on her lips. Stay-long was looking at her with amusement. Perhaps the
tahutahu
was of the legendary Lizard People after all.
 

"We do not have to climb," said Stay-long with a laugh. From Tepua's basket she pulled a long rope plaited from strips of hibiscus bark. She ran this around a well-rooted tree, leaving half the length on each side. "Watch," she ordered.
 

The
tahutahu
threw the free ends of the rope into the gorge, letting them dangle below the cave. Then she stood with her back to the drop. Taking the doubled rope, she ran it under her arms and across her back.
 

"The rope must be able to slip," she explained, and showed how to let it slide slowly through her right fist while using her left hand as a brake. She could stop her descent by bringing her braking hand across the front of her body, locking the rope.
 

Tepua gaped as the headman's wife walked backward over the cliff edge, leaning out against the tension of the rope. Stay-long alternately locked and released the rope with her left hand, guiding it through the fingers of her right. After descending a few steps, she looked up and grinned. "You can do it. I will show you."
 

While Tepua trembled, Stay-long climbed hand over hand back to the top. She let Tepua try the slip-and-brake technique while still standing on level ground.
 

"As you move back, turn slightly sideways to the tree," Stay-long instructed. 'Then the rope can slip around you more easily. When you bring your hand across your body to stop, turn
toward
the tree. That will help lock the rope."
 

Tepua was not at all convinced that the rope would support her. She was still on level ground—a relatively safe place for testing. Leaning backward, she was surprised to find that she could hold herself.
 

"Keep going," Stay-long told her. "Over the edge and down."

Tepua's mouth was dry. She wondered if there might be an easier way to do this. "Tapahi-roro-ariki," she called softly, imploring her ancestress for aid. She kept stepping slowly backward until at last she planted one foot on the steeply sloping face. Resting a moment, feeling the rope supporting her, she gathered her courage.
 

"Keep looking up," Stay-long told her. "Do not worry about the bottom."

Not even a lizard would try it this way.
Tepua knew that she was hanging in midair, but was determined to follow Stay-long's advice. A puff of wind chilled the sweat that ran down her face and back. She was breathing quickly. "Don't stop!" urged the
tahutahu
.
 

Unlocking the rope a bit, Tepua took another step down and then froze. Looking at the steep wall rising in front of her, she realized suddenly that there was no going back. The longer she took, the longer she would be out here! She forced herself to go on.
 

After a time, she fell into a rhythm. Slip the rope and step. Again and again. Stay-long, gazing down at her, kept growing smaller. Tepua kept checking the
tahutahu's
hand signals, depending on them to guide her to the cave's mouth.
 

Then Tepua saw frantic waving and hastily looked at her feet. Had she arrived? To one side she saw only bare ledges. To the other...

Aue
! She clenched the rope in sweaty hands and moved sideways. Her feet reached the lip of the opening, but her body was still leaning away.
What now
? Stay-long was shouting instructions, but the wind whistling past Tepua's ears drowned out the words.
 

Once more she prayed to her guardian spirit, and this time she thought she heard a reply. Taking a deep breath, she kicked herself away from the cliff, then lifted her feet. The rope swung her out and then into the cave. She let go, fell onto her backside, her head still dangling over the gorge.
 

For an instant she panicked, thinking she would slide out, go plunging headfirst down the cliff face. Somehow her scrabbling hands found holds and her belly muscles contracted so hard that they cramped, curling her up and into the cave. She scuttled deeper inside like a crab, away from that sheer drop.
 

For a while she could only close her eyes and shudder, wrapping her arms around herself. The rock beneath her seemed to sway, as if threatening to tilt and dump her back out of the entrance. She did not open her eyes until the swaying stopped.
 

 

 

 

SEVENTEEN

 

The stone floor beneath Tepua was chilly and damp. She could see nothing in the depths behind her but shadows. The air in the cave was musty, difficult to breathe. Anxiously she edged closer to the brightness near the entrance, though she refused to stick her head out. The sunlit area about the grotto's mouth seemed her only refuge.
 

In that cramped place she sat with her knees drawn up, watching for Stay-long's descent as the rope swung past, vanished, then appeared again. Birds sailed by, squawking angrily. Tepua heard small cascades of pebbles rattle down the face of the cliff. At last, the
tahutahu
swung herself to the opening. Tepua scrambled back to make room for her.
 

Stay-long had tied the basket to her waist. She quickly brought out a mat and two cloaks, laying one about Tepua's shoulders. Feeling a bit warmer now, Tepua forced herself to peer into the darkness. At first she saw nothing.
 

Stay-long began praying softly, calling on her gods to protect her. Tepua added her own shaky voice. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she felt herself stiffen with dread.
 

The grotto was quite shallow, the rear wall almost within reach. There, on a shelf of stone, stood a dozen skulls, their vacant eye sockets watching her.
 

The
tahutahu
uttered a protective chant. "Look on this woman," Stay-long declared, addressing the skulls. "See what she carries. It is the seed of Matopahu, growing ripe. Is she to be the mother of his line? That is what we come to ask. That is the question you must answer."

Tepua wrapped the cloak tighter about her shoulders as the chanting continued. The
tahutahu
pressed against her, providing additional warmth. Even so, she trembled from chill, and from fear of these ancient spirits. How long would she have to remain in this place? And how would she get back up to the cliff top? Even thinking about that made her dizzy.
 

The repetitious droning of the chant made Tepua's eyelids begin to close. She had walked far today and had missed her usual midday nap. Her head slumped forward.
 

She tried to fight the drowsiness. Of all places, she did not want to fall sleep here. But she was not actually falling asleep, she realized. Something was drawing her into the darkness where the skulls rested, as if the ancient bones held an answer.
 

Tapahi-roro-ariki
, be my guide, she prayed silently. To Stay-long, she wanted to whisper, "Keep chanting. The gods may open a path to the answer I seek." But Tepua could no longer speak; she could only watch, listen, and feel.
 

Then she was drifting beyond herself, to a place far from the cave. She glimpsed sunlight and sharp shadows. Scents of coastal flowers wafted to her on a breeze from the bay. She sensed again the presence of that woman of another time—Te Vahine Airoreatua i Ahurai i Farepua.
 

 

At last, Purea's guest had arrived. The foreign chief, Tapani Vari, had finally accepted her invitation. In the cooling shade of the longhouse, she watched her bearers lower him onto a finely plaited pandanus mat. Because of his infirmity, he had been carried here from the beach, with his armed men walking ahead.
 

These guards, outfitted in brilliant scarlet from shoulder. to knee, stood just outside the open-walled building. Purea did not like the tight expressions on their faces as they turned from the crowd of onlookers to see what was happening within. Yet she understood the need for caution. Tutaha had agreed to keep his distance, but she did not completely trust him.
 

"Tupaia," she said, beckoning the priest to her with a downward sweep of her hand. 'There must be no disturbance."

"Your own guards will maintain order," Tupaia answered smoothly.

"Keep checking on them," she told him. 'The crowds out there will cause no problem. The people who worry me are the ones I
cannot
see."
 

"I will go and look myself," he promised, leaving her to attend to the guest of honor.

Purea put aside her concerns, and approached Tapani Van with pleasant words on her lips. He had raised himself to his elbows and was gazing at the grand sweep of beams that held up the palm-thatched roof of the longhouse. She could tell from the awed look on his face that he had not expected such an impressive structure. But surely his own people— who could build such a grand vessel—had even larger meeting houses. What a pity that they were so foolish in the ways they cared for their bodies.