Child of the Dawn (5 page)

"Good," said Eye-to-heaven, dipping his own paddle. "The line is standing well."

For some time they continued this way, paddling gently. Meanwhile, Matopahu saw the other canoes going in. Their crews had come early and were done. Or perhaps they sensed that the "hole" was fished out for the day.
 

"You try," said Matopahu, offering to hand the line back to his friend.

"Not yet." The priest waved him away.

Suddenly the line shivered and grew taut in Matopahu's hands. Something had taken the bait! He answered the pull with a steady tension, letting the fish hook itself. A sudden jerk would pull the hook loose, but a steady pull would set the barbless point deeper into the fish's jaw.
 

Quivering, the line angled out as the albacore surfaced and made a run away from the canoe. From the fish's wake and the tension on the line, Matopahu could tell that it was a big one.
 

As he gripped the line, he felt an onset of troubling sensations that had grown familiar of late. His fingers slowly turned numb, his face cold. He gritted his teeth as his vision clouded and his head spun with dizziness. The canoe seemed to be tilting, or was it his own body that was falling toward the water?
 

Similar attacks had troubled him since the night of the
aha-tu
ceremony. Perhaps this showed that the gods wanted him to die....

Matopahu's first impulse was to let everything go and collapse in the bottom of the canoe. What did it matter if he abandoned his grip on the line? The fish would be lost anyway. It was folly to think that the gods would allow this magnificent albacore to be caught by such an ill-fated man.
 

Yet the angry part of him, the part that refused to think of himself as a sacrifice to any god, now made him stiffen his back, clench his teeth, and fight the spell of sickness.
 

The line in his hand came alive, slicing in zigzags through the water. Now he could see the shadowy blue of the albacore's back, the silver-yellow shimmer of its flanks as it turned. This fish would make a fine meal to offer his guest.
 

Matopahu saw his
taio
watching him as he played the albacore close to the canoe. Each time he brought it in, the fish broke and ran, stretching the line until it sang and burned between his fingers.
 

"You have hooked an
aahi araroal
And on the first cast!" the priest crowed.
 

An
araroal
A man-sized fish! Matopahu's excitement faded as he noticed his dizziness return again, his vision clouding, his fingers growing stiff and clumsy. But he had gotten this close to landing the albacore. He could not quit now, even if he had to defy the gods.
 

Once more his fury rose. He drew in his breath, braced his feet against the sides of the canoe, and waited while the line whipped about in his hand. Slowly, strength returned to his arms and clarity to his vision.
 

He glanced at Eye-to-heaven, wondering if he had noticed any lapses, but the priest was absorbed in watching the albacore. "A fighter!" he exclaimed, his eyes never leaving the silver wake that cut through the blue water around the boat. Most albacore would exhaust themselves in two or three runs, but this one had taken more than that and was still strong.
 

The sea erupted in a shower of sparkling spray as the fish leaped. Its long pectoral fins spread like wings; rainbows flashed from its back.
 

"
Aue!
He is indeed the length of a man," the priest exclaimed.
 

This time the albacore headed shoreward, toward the reef. With a shout, Matopahu hauled back on his quarry, realizing that the fish might snag and break the line on the sharp coral. Again he played the albacore to the canoe, but just as it was almost close enough to be clubbed, the fish revived. It dove straight down, nearly pulling him over the side.
 

It came up on the opposite side, between the canoe's hull and the outrigger float, thrashing and churning. With a quiver of the beating tail, it writhed over the float, then dove once again.
 

Eye-to-heaven plunged his hand into the sea, trying to free the line, but Matopahu saw that he was too late. The cord was hopelessly tangled about the canoe. Now if the albacore turned back, it might throw the hook and escape.
 

The fine fish...lost!
Were the gods punishing Matopahu for daring to rise above his fate? The thought blazed into anger. This
araroa
was his!
 

With a roar that startled Eye-to-heaven, Matopahu grabbed the fish-club. With a quick look for lurking sharks, he flung himself out of the canoe and over the outrigger toward the struggling fish. Opening his eyelids underwater, he ignored the salt sting in his eyes and grabbed the line that was snaking past. Wrapping it around his fist, he gave a heave, yanking the albacore toward him.
 

The albacore thrashed, beating the sea into foam with its stiff crescent-shaped tail. Its long pectoral fins spread out like wings and the gills pumped wildly as he hauled it closer. The fish mouth opened and closed, showing the small but thorn-sharp teeth in the bony jaw.
 

He lifted the fish-club and struck down at its head. Water cushioned the blow and he only knocked off a few scales. Raising his head from the water for a quick gasp, he aimed the club once more. The albacore shuddered and went rigid briefly before it began thrashing again.
 

Spines raked Matopahu's wrist, drawing blood. The pain and the fish's refusal to die unleashed his fury and he struck again and again at the silvery head, the round staring eyes, the snapping jaws. The sea swirled in red as the fish-club became a weapon of war. He was no longer striking just at the albacore, but at a foe who sought his death....
 

A hand fastened on his upraised arm and held against his struggles to jerk free. Suddenly Matopahu was no longer on the battlefield, but immersed again in the sea. The enemy before him was just a fish, now quivering helplessly, its head bruised and discolored by the beating.
 

Matopahu looked up and saw Eye-to-heaven's face, now solemn. A mixture of pride and shame flushed Matopahu's face as he flung back his brine-soaked hair.
 

"Enough, my friend," Eye-to-heaven said quietly, still leaning far out of the canoe and bracing himself on the outrigger to hold Matopahu's arm. 'The
araroa
is you
rs
."
 

The great albacore gave one last shudder and grew still, starting to sink. Matopahu helped Eye-to-heaven wrestle it into the canoe. When the
ari'i
hauled himself aboard, he stared down at his prize. The fish's size made it a worthy catch indeed. If only he had not disfigured the head.
 

Eye-to-heaven sensed his thoughts. "A few blemishes do not ruin a fish like this! We are not offering it at the
marae
. We are going to eat it." With a cry of triumph he picked up his paddle and headed in.
 

When they carried the huge albacore ashore, Matopahu saw a crowd of men watching. "We have plenty to share," he called out, still feeling the flush of victory.
 

"That is your fish. Eat it and grow strong," said a young man who seemed to speak for the others.

Matopahu knew there was no point in arguing. He had previously tried to share his catches. People thought him so tainted by his brother's disgrace that they would not eat anything he had touched. Eye-to-heaven, protected by prayers, remained his only companion. Today, at least, there would be one more.
 

Soon Eye-to-heaven crouched over the small round pit that they used for cooking. He uncovered some buried coals preserved from the previous fire, brought dry coconut fiber for tinder, and got a new blaze started. He added wood and old coconut shells for fuel. While the heavy black stones within the pit grew hot, he busied himself cutting up the fish into chunks and wrapping them in hibiscus leaves. Matopahu joined him, turning his thoughts from his troubles to the meal he would soon be enjoying.
 

"The stones are ready," said Eye-to-heaven after a while. When the packets of fish had been placed between the stones, and the oven covered with layers of palm leaf, Matopahu went off to hunt for fallen coconuts. The chief of this district had forbidden him to climb trees, but allowed him to take anything he found on the ground.
 

Most fallen nuts had already been ruined by coconut crabs, which cracked them open with huge claws and left empty shells behind. Whenever Matopahu did spot an oblong husk that looked freshly fallen, he thumped the greenish-brown side to see if it was rotten. Now and again he found one worth keeping.
 

Finally the ari'i returned to the campsite with his last load of coconuts. He saw Eye-to-heaven sitting with a stranger, a wizened elder with a wisp of gray beard and tattoos over most of his body. Beside the stranger lay a bunch of ripe bananas—his contribution to the meal. Here at last was Imo, the mysterious healer whom the priest put so much faith in.
 

The
tahu'a
greeted Matopahu with a suspicious gaze. Does he also think of me as already dead? the
ari'i
wondered darkly. Yet Imo was an expert at removing evil influences. Matopahu wanted to know how his friend had found this man, and what he expected to learn from him, but he sensed there would be no talk until after the meal.
 

The men opened the oven, took their portions aside, and ate silently. The fish was excellent, thought Matopahu, though he had only seawater in a coconut shell for sauce. The bananas would have been better had they been cooked, but he did not complain.
 

After the meal the men buried their leavings deep within a thicket, since anything in intimate contact with a person might be used against him in sorcery. "I must be more careful than most people," the healer said. "I have enemies everywhere. When I help someone, I often anger someone else."
 

At last the three took seats by the shore. A comforting breeze rattled the fronds of the nearby palm trees.

"I am familiar with your woes," said Imo to Matopahu. He nodded his head gravely and stroked his small, sparse beard. "Your father was a great chief. It does not please me to see what has happened to his sons."
 

"Have you ever known the
aha-tu
curse to be lifted?" asked Matopahu uneasily.

Imo paused to glance at Eye-to-heaven, then stroked his beard again. "It is something for the gods to decide."

"Then it is possible?" asked the
ari'i.

The healer gave a faint smile. "I can promise nothing. But you are a strong young man. If you follow my instructions—"

"It will not be easy to get the chickens and pigs—"

"Pigs?" Imo glanced again at Eye-to-heaven and then turned back to the
ari 'i
. "Do not think that you can merely bring an offering and sit watching while priests chant prayers. You will gain nothing that way."
 

"Nothing? But—"

Eye-to-heaven looked surprised. "I thought I had a way to help you, my friend, but Imo's plan is far better. You will need a strong infusion of
mana
to free yourself from this curse, and he offers a way."
 

Matopahu listened with widened eyes as the tahu'a described a source of spiritual power. Imo knew of an ancient shrine, long neglected, that lay high in the hills. He wanted Matopahu to restore this
marae
, cleaning out the weeds and debris, resetting the stones. Then he must learn the consecration ritual and carry it out flawlessly in a night-long vigil.
 

"There is great
mana
in that place," said Imo, speaking of the sacred power. "If you fulfill your duties, the gods will surely hear you. They may even grant your plea."
 

"But there is a risk," cautioned Eye-to-heaven. "Remember how ancient this
marae
is. Few men would dare touch such sacred stones—"
 

"Can I be worse off than I am now?" Matopahu asked with a forced laugh.

The
tahu'a
only looked at him and did not answer.
 

 

 

 

THREE

 

Noon had almost arrived by the time Tepua's canoe brought the atoll travelers into Matavai Bay. Her warrior captain continued to plead with her as they headed across the vast expanse of water toward a crescent-shaped shore. "How will I explain this change of plans to your brother?" he kept asking.
 

"Don't start worrying until you see how I am greeted," she replied. "If the other Arioi are safe, then you'll know that you can leave me here."
 

"I saw no great welcome when I brought your companions yesterday," he reminded her.

Tepua felt deeply troubled over the turn of events, but held to her resolve. "We are friendly with the ruling chief of this district," she explained. "We have performed for him often. If he sent no welcoming party, it was only because the visit was unexpected."
 

She tried to take cheer from the pleasant scene, enjoying the warm sunlight on her face and the gentle rocking of the canoe. Yesterday's clouds had blown away, leaving only azure sky above the island's tall central peaks. In stark black and green, the mountains rose over folds of spur ridges and deep valleys. Her gaze followed the verdant tumble of the land from hills down to the coastal plain.
 

Everything would be different now, she knew. The life she had looked forward to resuming was gone. Yet the discomfort of her exile would be small compared with what others had to suffer.
 

She thought of the people of Matopahu's district, the unfortunate new subjects of Land-crab. These people had long enjoyed the presence of their Arioi lodge, one of the best known in all the islands. Now who would perform the great legends and teach the ways of worshiping Oro? The religious ceremonies would grow lifeless, reduced to the cryptic mut-terings of priests. Soon the gods would turn away.