Child of the Dawn (42 page)

But he could not linger; he saw guards converging to block his escape. Cautiously, Matopahu stood up, breaking contact with the upright, stretching his arms and legs. The blow to his head had taken its toll. He still felt sore where the club had struck, but now he could move on his own. He hoped that he could defend himself.
 

He shouted praises and pleas to his gods, then pushed past the milling crowd of attendants. Looking for an opening, he leaped the courtyard's low wall. The first of Land-crab's men came charging, clubs raised, urged on by shrill cries from the priests.
 

With a deep roar, Matopahu wrenched the club from the warrior's grip. A kick in the gut doubled the man up, and a hard slam to the side of the head sent him spinning, blood spraying from one side of his nose.
 

Then two priests blocked him, but the
ari'i
swept them away with the borrowed club. More warriors were coming. He found a way past them. From nearby Matopahu heard voices that he recognized, men drawing closer, calling his name. Eye-to-heaven and the warriors from Eimeo!
 

Then he realized that others stood with them. As he emerged from the precincts of the
marae
he saw a host of men—warriors who had served his brother, and a surprising number of Arioi as well. They seemed poorly armed, yet so many had gathered.
 

Hope warred with apprehension in Matopahu's mind. He had heard the priest's tale of Tepua and a child. Now he wanted to see for himself if this was true. The cheering crowd made way for him, but the ring of warriors they revealed stayed in place, spears pointing outward.
 

Then he caught sight of Tepua in the center, cradling a male child in her arms. Briefly she raised the baby high so that everyone could see. Shouts of "
Maeva ari'i
!" rang from all sides.
 

My son
!
 

His joy lasted but a moment; then outrage swept through him. She had lied to him, tricked him, made him think his son was dead.... Yet here was the child, lifted in her hands like a battle standard. He thought he could strike her down once for her deception and again for bringing his son into such danger.
 

Was there any hope of saving the infant? All around him he heard the loyal shouts of his supporters. Women as well as men had gathered in great numbers. First among the Arioi stood Aitofa, who had long been his friend. Many Arioi clustered behind her.
 

The people were rising to fight for his child. As he heard their shouts, the refrain burst from his own lips as well. "
Maeva ari'i!" The people hail you as their chief.

But he had no words for Tepua. All that mattered now was saving his son. The fight would be soon—his ragtag band against an array of highly trained fighters. In the distance he heard another chorus of war cries.
 

Land-crab's men were coming. A parade of torches burned, moving closer, until he could see the oncoming mass of painted warriors, heads wrapped in bark-cloth, weapons ready. They halted in a line behind their field commander.
 

"Matopahu!" shouted their leader. "Who are these fools behind you? Why are they so eager to die?"

The
ari'i
strode forward to answer. "We are the people of this land."
 

The other man sneered. "And we are your masters!"

"Then who is
your
master? Where is the swine who calls himself your chief? Is he afraid to face me?" Matopahu heard a murmuring behind him as his supporters closed ranks. Their sheer numbers seemed enough to give the opponents second thoughts. A pitched battle now would mean disaster on both sides, bodies piled high, air filled with the mourning cries of the survivors.
 

There was another way to settle this. As was often done, each army could send out a champion.

"I fight for Land-crab," the commander said, his face glistening in the torchlight. "Let us waste no more words."

"And I fight for myself," Matopahu retorted. "But who will give me a proper challenge? An
ari'i
must have a worthy opponent."
 

The warrior grinned. "I will finish you quickly. Then these fishermen and canoe-builders can go home to bed."

"I will fight Land-crab, and no one else. That is the only battle the gods will accept. Is your chief afraid of me?"

The grin vanished. The warrior chief turned to look at his men, who moved restlessly, eyes fixed firmly on him. "Land-crab fears nothing."
 

"Then call your chief to battle!" Behind Matopahu the crowd raised a chorus of jeers and insults, all bearing Land-crab's name.
 

 

 

 

TWENTY-TWO

 

"The war canoes are leaving," Tepua announced mournfully as she peered past a stand of ironwood trees toward the shimmering lagoon. Land-crab had agreed to fight Matopahu, but had insisted on the pomp and ceremony of a battle on water. Now morning had come and the twin-hulled canoes had been launched—each bearing a raised platform between its two bows, each streaming banners of white bark-cloth.
 

Tepua had no time to linger. She and Eye-to-heaven were still searching in the forest for the sennit-wrapped body of Matopahu's brother. They still had a short while before the combat began.
 

"We must try somewhere else," came the priest's voice from behind her. 'There is nothing buried here."

Tepua glanced once more at the lagoon, hearing drumming and the bray of conch-trumpets. Soon the canoes would meet.... Hurriedly she turned away and began to follow the priest inland.
 

Eye-to-heaven looked discouraged. "If the bones are hidden in a mountain cave, we are lost," he said as he followed an overgrown path.
 

Tepua sighed, remembering how the ari'i had shouted his bold challenge to Land-crab. "Matopahu seemed so full of confidence—"

"If this were just a battle of one man against another, then Matopahu would win. But the curse still holds him back—so long as the cords bind his brother." Eye-to-heaven paused. "Do you hear the drumming? Land-crab has asked his priests to perform a ritual to strengthen the
aha-tu.
"
 

"Then hurry," Tepua said.

Eye-to-heaven pushed past hibiscus branches that swept the ground, dislodging petals of withered flowers as he went by. Tepua caught up with him as he neared another courtyard that was walled by black stones neatly fitted together. Out of respect, he put aside the
tapa
cape that was slung over his shoulder, placing it on a branch outside the sanctuary. Matopahu had worn this cape earlier, but had changed his dress to face Land-crab. The priest needed the cloth to hold the bones of Knotted-cord—if he found them.
 

Tepua watched as Eye-to-heaven stepped over the low wall and crouched to examine the ground. Grass and saplings sprouted from crevices between the stones. Moss was thick everywhere. "This
marae
is overgrown," she said. "If someone had dug a grave here, we would see signs."
 

"More than a year has passed since the burial," the priest reminded her. "This part looks cleaner than the rest. Maybe I'll find something..." He began to probe with a stick.
 

Tepua felt outraged by the
tapu
that kept her outside the marae. If only there were another priest to help, someone still loyal to Matopahu. Or a quicker way to find the remains of Knotted-cord. She turned toward the shore, peering past a stand of trees, and tried to see what was happening on the lagoon.

 

Matopahu stood on the fighting platform just behind the twin bows of his canoe. Looking down, he saw his paddlers, a row of broad-backed warriors in each hull. These men had pledged him their loyalty. They knew what their fate would be if he failed.
 

He was already starting at a disadvantage.' This double-hull was older and smaller than Land-crab's. Worried, Matopahu eyed the towering upward-curved prows and high platform of the oncoming canoe.
 

As the warrior watched his opponent approach, something to the side caught his eye. Close to his own hulls he noticed two high fins cutting through the water. Sharks! Why had they come? Did they know that blood would soon be staining the lagoon?

The fins were a slate color, without the black tips that marked common reef sharks. He could not be certain, but he thought these were great blues, sharks sacred to the highest chiefs of the land. Once, long ago, they had greeted him. Now, perhaps, they had come to honor his last battle.
 

Matopahu tore his gaze from the water to watch his enemy's approach. Even from a distance, Land-crab made an impressive figure. He wore the
fau
, the tall cylindrical headpiece of a principal warrior. Behind him stood attendants holding an array of clubs and shark-toothed
paeho
swords.
 

And Land-crab was not coming to fight alone. Close behind followed another two-hulled vessel, a floating
marae
manned by priests and their attendants. They all wore robes of dazzling white bark-cloth. On the canoe's high platform a ceremony was already in progress, offerings laid out on a table. The wind in Matopahu's face brought the boom of sacred drums.
 

Another sound dismayed him even more—the solemn bray of a conch-shell trumpet. Land-crab was not letting anyone forget his claim to the chieftainship.
As if the gods had actually chosen him.

In response, men on the deck below Matopahu sounded a defiant reply. He was surrounded by the boom of skin-head drums and the hollow clatter of the slit-log
toere.

The sound raised his spirits, yet he could not shake off the effect of Land-crab's appearance. Standing atop his platform, Land-crab had the look of a great warrior, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. His tall headpiece, covered with crimson and orange feathers, made him seem even more fearsome. Black spikes of frigate-bird feathers surmounted the top. Each movement of the usurper's head made the forward-curved front nod threateningly.
 

Equally daunting were Land-crab's half-circle gorget and cape, fringed with feathers so brilliant that they seared the eyes. Matopahu felt a pang of awe as he remembered kneeling in the
marae
before a feather-covered image while Oro's presence transformed the red-and-orange plumage into sacred fire. Now the usurper seemed clothed in the same divine flame, the mark of the great god in his war-loving aspect.
 

Matopahu's hand trembled on the haft of his war club, and a choking feeling weighted his chest, spreading weakness down into his legs. With horror, he recognized not only the paralyzing fear of the god, but also the sign of the lingering
aha-tu
curse.
 

As the usurper came on, the terror of his appearance seemed to spread through Matopahu's men. He heard the strident challenge of his drums falter. From the paddlers below the fighting platform rose despairing moans.
 

"Red Oro has been wakened!"

"This is not a man we fight—it is a god!"

The
ari'i
gathered his breath and forced a derisive shout from his lips. "If a swine wears a
fau
, he looks like a god. But when I strike it from his head, you'll see what he really is!"
 

At this cry, his men roared defiance. Drums boomed fiercely once more as the two war canoes drove closer. Then the vessels slowed as the raised prows almost touched, one sliding past the other so that the fighting platforms met. To his chagrin, Matopahu saw that Land-crab's platform stood a step above his, giving the usurper both prestige and fighting advantage.
 

"Fear me, Land-crab!" Matopahu bellowed as attendants scurried to lash the vessels together. "I fight for my brother. I fight for my people, who are starving so that you can grow fat. You are no great chief. You are a petty squabbler and a thief, using war to take what you do not deserve!"
 

"What are you but a sennit-wrapped corpse?" Land-crab threw back, his predatory eyes gleaming. "Have you forgotten what I did to your brother? My priests will help you remember."
 

Matopahu took a quick glance to the side, at the floating
marae
canoe where the priests were still chanting. He could not see what they were doing, nor could he spare any attention to look. Suddenly he felt a sharp pain at the top of his head. It eased, only to be followed by a fiercer pain, first at one ear, then the other.
 

This, too, passed, replaced by a new discomfort and a wave of dread. From the top of his head came a feeling of constriction, as if the crown of his skull were being wound with cord.
 

Like my brother
...

No! Matopahu refused to believe that the priests could bring the old nightmare on him again. He threw his head back, expanded his chest. "Your threats cannot stop me," he called defiantly. "And neither can your priests."
 

Land-crab laughed. "Use your words, Matopahu. They are all you have left. Watch the last ceremony and then we will begin." He turned to the
marae
canoe. This time Matopahu followed his gaze.
 

Below the platform where the priests stood, two warriors held a man whose hands and feet were bound. The captive crouched, shivering with terror. Then one warrior lifted a club and brought it down on the back of the victim's head. The man slumped, lifeless. The warriors heaved the corpse up to the high platform.
 

"Red Oro, take your fish," the priests chanted. "A gift without blemish..."

"There is my offering to the god for victory," Land-crab exulted. "I grant you leave to do the same."

Matopahu felt a thick disgust choke his throat as he wondered how many other men the usurper had sacrificed since daybreak. He looked away from the grin of triumph on Land-crab's face. As his gaze swept past the priests, he could not help seeing that they were readying the victim to be suspended like a gill-strung fish.