Daughter of the Reef (31 page)

Several temple attendants, known as
opu-nui
or “noble stomachs,” were sweeping fallen leaves from the paved floor of the courtyard. When they saw the high priest, they scurried away. Rimapoa glanced at the painted, carved boards that adorned the
ahu
, and at the low stone uprights that marked special places of worship. He could not avoid looking at the largest altar, a high wooden platform set on legs that rose above his head.
 

Atop it lay an offering of fruit, and the rotting corpse of a man. When the wind shifted, the odor made him gag. “The gods have demanded another sacrifice,” the priest proclaimed. “Once that is done, I feel certain that our season of scarcity will end. You have chosen a good moment, fisherman. Your arrival comes just when we need you.”
 

“But my—”

“Silence, until I ask you my questions. Tell me how you got those feathers.”

“I—” He struggled to find breath. “I—gathered—them on an island.”

“Name it.”

Rimapoa swallowed hard. The gods were listening now. He no longer could convince himself that he was safe from them. And even if the priest spared him, he must still deal with the ghosts that haunted this place. What revenge might they take if he lied? “Fen—Fenua Ura.”
 

The high priest smiled coldly, displaying yellowed teeth. “You speak the truth. No other island in these parts has such riches.” Ihetoa glanced up at the towering stones, then fixed Rimapoa with a penetrating stare. “Did you not know that Fenua Ura is restricted by the chiefs? Did you not see the
tapu
signs posted all around the island?”
 

The fisherman retreated under the priest's stare, but behind him he felt the bulk of four armed men. He had planned his story, should this question arise. He had practiced it often when he was away from Tepua.
 

May the ghosts torment me for this lie, he thought. But I will not give it up
. “In one place,” he whispered. “In one place, along the shore, no sign was posted. I thought that I was free to hunt there. Maybe there were warnings once, but the wind blew them down.”
 

“
Wind
?” Ihetoa laughed, making a dry cackle that chilled Rimapoa in his bowels. Then he spoke in a low and vicious tone. “You did not need to see the signs! The place is
tapu
. You felt it every time you took a step.”
 

“Then,” Rimapoa managed, the words barely audible. “Then I was careless. I beg you—forgive my mistake.”

“Ah. What is to be done with such a man?” the priest said, addressing the stones of the temple. “He steals feathers that are reserved for the high chief's and he calls it a mere mistake!” Again he turned to Rimapoa. “Only your life can atone for this sacrilege, fisherman. I am sure you know this. But you can be glad that your sacrifice serves another purpose as well. You are to be our two-legged fish.” He made a signal to one of the guards.
 

My scars
!
 

The words caught in Rimapoa's throat. He saw, behind him, the man with the war club raising his arm. Rimapoa screamed, wrenching free of the hands that gripped him, throwing himself at the high priest's feet.
 

“What is this?” Ihetoa asked in a tone of fury.' 'What are these marks on your back? Why did no one mention them? Guards, where are your eyes?” When no one answered, he spoke again. “Fisherman, explain quickly.”

“A—a woman,” he gasped. “A woman—made them.”

The guards began to laugh and jest among themselves.

“It is true!” Rimapoa wailed.

“Such scars can be made by other means,” said the priest.

“There is—no trick.” He felt their stares burning his flesh. “I can—show you—the woman. Then you will know.”

“There is no woman,” said the priest. “Not for this liar, this
topu
-breaker.”
 

Rimapoa squirmed. “If you are wrong—”

“Silence!” Ihetoa roared. Then he turned to the guards and shouted an order. “Take him and check his story. Be quick. The gods are impatient.”
 

 

As Tepua made her way along a shaded path she tried not to think of Rimapoa or of the long journey that had ended so bitterly. She felt exhausted from lack of sleep and weak from hunger. Worst of all, she knew she must soon face Aitofa and resume her exhausting duties as a novice.
 

She walked listlessly, following a track between the houses, the smell of wood smoke teasing her as she went. People were readying their ovens for the principal meal of the day, but what were they preparing? She glimpsed a basket of purple stems from some wild vine. In another yard, the women sat around a heap of fern roots, wrapping them in leaves for baking.
Famine foods
. When Tepua glanced up into the breadfruit trees, she saw no sign of the tiny buds and catkins that must precede the next crop.
 

Despite her slow pace, Tepua arrived all too soon at Aitofa's household. She was sent at once to join the remaining young women in the yam garden outside the compound. The food that came from this field was precious now, she understood. “Dig carefully when you harvest,” Curling-leaf told her. “The roots must come out unbroken.”
 

Flies buzzed around Tepua's head as she squatted to probe the ground with a pointed stick. Her eyes kept shutting. Whenever they did, she saw flashes of bright plumage and birds fluttering just out of reach. If only she could forget them ...
 

Again she probed the soil, and this time she found so large a tuber that she could not dig it up. It seemed to run underground across the entire field. She worked feverishly with the stick, thinking how many people her discovery would feed, when she felt a hand squeezing her arm.
 

“You fell asleep,” said Pecking-bird, a young novice who seemed to delight in Tepua's misfortunes. “But now you have visitors.” Pecking-bird raised her voice so that all the others could hear. “The high priest's men have come to talk to you.”
 

The digging sticks halted as everyone turned to Tepua. “What have you done?” whispered Curling-leaf. But Tepua could not answer. Nor could she keep her own stick in her trembling fingers.
 

Perspiration chilled the back of Tepua's neck as she rose from the yam patch and brushed soil from her knees. Then a group of warriors burst from between the surrounding trees, thrusting their prisoner before them. Tepua's throat tightened when she saw Rimapoa, his arms bound behind him, his face smeared with dust, his eyes wide with fear and despair.
 

“Is she the one?” the leader of the warriors asked Rimapoa. Mutely he raised his eyebrows, signifying yes.

“Come closer,” the leader said, beckoning to Tepua. The other novices had all backed away. Only Curling-leaf still stood close by her. “This fisherman has fresh scars on his body,” the warrior continued. “He says you clawed him while you two were rutting. Is this true?”
 

Tepua heard an outbreak of gasps from the novices behind her. “With
that
man?” said Pecking-bird. The other women laughed nervously. “Not even our
motu
princess would want him!”
 

“Answer, woman! The high priest has chosen this man for sacrifice. Tell us the fisherman is lying so we can get on with it.”

Lie
? Tepua stared at Rimapoa, unable to reply. She could still hear Pecking-bird's words of disdain and the scornful laughter of the other novices.
 

And then a terrifying thought came. Admitting that she had been with him might be tantamount to making a far more serious confession. The high chief should have rewarded him. Instead ...
 

Tepua narrowed her eyes. There was only one explanation. Yes, Rimapoa had lied. To
her
—about the
tapu
markers on the island. And that made her guilty as well!
 

“What is keeping you, woman?”

She opened her mouth to deny Rimapoa's claim, but her voice would not come. It was true that he had lured her to Fenua Ura, then drugged her to the point of madness. But seeing him now, staring at her, lost in his own fears, she no longer felt anger, only sorrow.
 

“Take him back to the
marae
,” said the leader to the other warriors. “His falsehoods have struck this woman dumb, but we know the answer.”
 

“Wait!” she cried. “I made those scars. We were together and—I forgot myself.” She looked away as Rimapoa gave a long sigh and sagged between his two guards.
 

“Turn him around,” ordered the leader. “You.” He indicated one of his men. “Take her hand and place it on his back. See if her fingers line up with the scars.”
 

Before she could protest, the man grabbed Tepua's wrist and spread her fingers over the marks. Then, with contempt, he flung her away. Her eyes burned. It was not enough for them to hear her confession; they had to prove it in front of this audience. Behind her, the novices whispered furiously, and she heard Pecking-bird's voice rise. “They say that all savages rip up their men—”
 

Another novice sneered. “That one's no man. He's a slimy eel. She fornicates with eels.”

“What is this commotion?” demanded another voice. Aitofa appeared on the path from the compound. “Who disturbs my novices at their work?”
 

“We beg your forgiveness for this intrusion, noble chiefess,” said the warrior leader. “The high priest needed to ask a question of this woman.” He pointed to Tepua. “But now we are done with her.”
 

“If Ihetoa wishes anything from the Arioi women, he must first ask me,” Aitofa answered, her eyes flashing. “You had no right to intrude and harass my novices. Go!”
 

Tepua gaped at the woman's audacity. She understood that Arioi chief's were protected by strict sanctions. But to dismiss the high priest's warriors with an imperious wave of her hand ...
 

The guard nodded. “We are leaving. I hope we need not disturb you again.” He sent his men on ahead of him. Rimapoa, still bound, stumbled between them, barely keeping up. He gave Tepua one final look of anguish and was gone.
 

She did not want to think what might happen to him now. If they did not kill him outright, they would probably exile him to some hostile shore.
 

“Now,” Aitofa said, her gaze traveling over the novices and settling on Tepua. “Explain what they wanted.”

A dozen voices started up.

“Stop gabbling like a cageful of fowls. Remember that you are Arioi!” Aitofa snapped. “Go back to your work. Tepua-mua, come with me.”
 

Tepua tried to obey, but was so numb from shock that she stumbled, falling to her knees. Curling-leaf caught her arm, steadying her.
 

“She is weak from her journey,” Curling-leaf said. “Will the noble chiefess permit me to help her?”

“She will come with me. Alone,” said Aitofa.

Tepua leaned briefly on her friend. A squeeze from Curling-leaf's hand helped calm her. Then, lifting her chin, she followed the chiefess into the house.
 

Aitofa's lips formed a thin, tight line as she listened to Tepua repeat her confession. “A novice of the Arioi would not consort with such a person as this Rimapoa,” said the chiefess haughtily, “much less be moved to the passion you admitted. If I had been in the garden, I would have refused to let those men speak to you. I would have forced the high priest to make his own determination.”
 

Tepua closed her eyes.

“You have embarrassed us enough that I am tempted to dismiss you from the lodge. Have you anything to say?”

Tepua hesitated. She dared not let more of the story emerge. If Rimapoa kept silent about the rest, then perhaps her part in the transgression would remain secret.
 

“Noble chiefess ...” she managed. “I wish only—to say this. If I had not confessed ...”

“Yes?”

“Then the high priest—would have greatly angered the gods with his offering.”

Aitofa tossed her head. “Angered them? That is what the men would have us believe.”

“Do you—do you doubt?” Tepua stared at the chiefess in astonishment.

“The priests tell us that the touch of a woman makes a thing profane—unsuitable to be offered. You have left the sign of your touch on that fisherman, and that is why he cannot be sacrificed. But remember this. The men say that no woman may handle their holy things, yet if a woman becomes high chief, she stands in their
marae
and wears the sacred girdle of feathers.”
 

“Then—” Her mouth fell open. She had never heard anyone voice such a challenge. Aitofa's anger appeared to be directed at the priests rather than Tepua.
 

“We are heading into dangerous waters,” said Aitofa quickly. “Let us get back to deciding whether you deserve to remain with the Arioi. Come outside, and I will show you the one way to sway me.” In the courtyard, the blackleg clapped her hands sharply to summon her novices.
 

“Stand up on that flat rock,” Aitofa told Tepua, “and prove yourself.”

Prove
? Tepua glanced at the sunlit rock where novices often stood to make their recitations. Once, but only once, she had managed to get through all the chants. She had not thought about them for many days.
 

“You may start with the founding of the order,” said Aitofa. “Climb onto the rock and begin. And be certain you make no error.”

Tepua could not even bring to mind the first phrase. She advanced slowly toward the rock, aware that every novice was staring at her. She saw Curling-leaf beckoning her forward. Of all the faces, only Curling-leaf's showed any sympathy for her plight. The other novices seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, welcoming the respite from their tasks.