EIGHTEEN

 

Before nightfall, Tepua was home again. Seated in the yard beside her house, she listened to reports of everything that had happened in her absence. Her spirits were lifted a bit when she learned that the storm had done little harm to the atoll. After passing her tiny islet, it had veered off and run out to sea. 

"The storm may have struck land elsewhere," said one of her advisers, an ancient nobleman. "Perhaps it even caught the Pu-tahi chief on his journey." His wrinkled face lit up as he contemplated that possibility. 

Another man disagreed. "The Pu-tahi know how to ride out a storm. If they are set on coming, then nothing can stop them."

The arguments raged until Tepua lost patience. As she was about to send everyone home a warrior came running. "Pu-tahi sails, ariki! We have just sighted them offshore." 

She jumped to her feet in alarm. The visitors had come too soon, ignoring her instructions. Perhaps that was why the storm had sent her home early. "Are they close?" 

"Not close enough to enter the pass before dark. We think they will stay offshore until morning.''

"Or attack us during the night!" suggested one of the skeptics.

"You are too eager for blood," she said testily to the old man. But she remembered a similar warning from Paruru. Though she wanted to believe in the good intentions of her arriving visitors, she gave the orders that the kaito-nui had suggested. "Light a bonfire by the pass. Patrol the shores by torchlight." 

She gave other orders. At dawn, canoes would take word to all the clans so that the chief's could gather for the meeting. In the early morning, preparations for the welcoming feast would begin. 

Finally she sent everyone away, except Umia. In the yellow light of a fire, she studied the wide-eyed face of her brother. They had spent little time together, yet she knew already that Kohekapu's wisdom had passed to his youngest son. 

"Umia, I am curious to hear what you think," she began. "We are all guessing why the Pu-tahi are so eager to visit us, and today I heard a suggestion that worries me. I hope it is wrong." 

"About their interest in the foreigners?"

She sighed. "Yes. Nothing is secret very long on these islands. One trader tells another. The Pu-tahi may know about our sailors."

"And that is why their chief has come?"

"I would like to be wrong," said Tepua. "I would like to believe that the raiders have changed their ways. But this visit could be a ruse—to allow them to seize the foreign goods." 

"If that is their purpose, then we should not permit them ashore."

"Umia, I believe the Pu-tahi have good intentions. I invited their chief and I won't back out. But I must be careful. If he is looking for foreigners, let him find no sign of them here." 

Umia glanced toward the inland forest. She had told him about her secret arrangements. "The boat and the goods are well hidden," he said. "The two men—" 

"I will tell them to stay out of sight. If the Pu-tahi ever ask about outsiders, we must say that they have left us."

"Yes," said Umia. "Everyone must agree they have gone. Perhaps I can help you, sister. Let me take charge of greeting the clan chief's and elders as they arrive. I will tell them your concern. I am sure that nobody wants to lose the foreign goods." 

"That will please me," she answered. "But remember that you must greet your uncle along with the others."

A look of worry showed briefly, but then he squared his shoulders. "I can deal with Cone-shell. He does not frighten me any longer." 

His words filled her with hope. "That is what I have been waiting to hear, Umia."

 

Early the next morning, the first Pu-tahi canoe entered the pass into the lagoon. From the deck of her own pahi, Tepua stood watching near the inner end of the channel. She felt a chill as the lead vessel approached, driven by the current and a following wind. From her early childhood, the sight of the inverted triangle shapes of Pu-tahi sails had stricken her with terror. 

Now all was quiet aboard her double-hull and the smaller vessels that surrounded it. She could feel the tension as the lead Pu-tahi craft drew near. The red feather pennants and carved figures marked this as the canoe of the chief, Ata-katinga, whose name alone was enough to frighten children. 

Sea-snake, in charge of Tepua's war canoes, narrowed his eyes as more vessels followed their leader into the lagoon. "Is this raider chief bringing all his people with him?'' she heard him mutter. He turned to her. "You can still summon Paruru and his men from shore, ariki. We can turn these man-eaters back." 

"No. Paruru will stay where I have put him. I will give the visitors no excuse for war."

"They do not need reasons," someone else in the pahi growled, but Tepua silenced the complainer with an icy look. Once more she turned to Ata-katinga's vessel, watched with quickening breath as lean, fierce-looking men scrambled to bring down the mast and sails. Others paddled to keep the great canoe on course. 

A tall, straight figure rose from among the warriors. He wore an elaborate headdress with a tuft of black tropic bird feathers in front. His beard was grizzled, his hair long and tangled. His face was not merely lined with the creases of age, but marked heavily with a dark swirl of tattoos. 

"Aue!" Tepua cried softly. She had never before seen tattoos on a man's face. Nor had she seen a Pu-tahi warrior at close range. 

Like his men, Ata-katinga was bare to the waist, exposing a vast array of tattoos. A broad black line ran down from each shoulder to join in a spear point above his belly. A myriad of smaller designs filled in the weathered skin over his huge chest. Below these the red sash of his office was wrapped about his waist. Tepua had heard that the garment was colored, not with the usual dye, but with the blood of his numerous victims. 

And she wished to believe that this man no longer wanted war! She had been guided by what the string figures had shown her. Safe in her house on shore, she had felt confident. Now she swallowed hard as she tried to steady herself. 

The Pu-tahi chief lifted a long and slender coconut frond in his tattoo-blackened hand. "I, Ata-katinga-ariki, offer the sign of peace," he proclaimed with a harsh accent. Yet he spoke so powerfully that Tepua thought he could be understood even by the crowds watching from the beach."I ask permission to come ashore." 

She saw no weapons, no sign of hostile intent. The smaller canoes behind him appeared laden with gifts. But she could not know what lay hidden beneath the thatched cabin of the chief s vessel. Polished war clubs? Bone-tipped spears? 

Tepua needed help now. To be certain of peace, she needed to invoke a great power.

Only one name sprang to her lips. In Tahiti she had served a god stronger than any her own people dared call on. "Ata-katinga," she called back. "I must have more than mere promises. I invoke the protection of a great god, the one who presides when enemies sit down together. Break the peace, and you defy the will of Oro." 

"I acknowledge Oro-of-the laid-down-spear," replied Ata-katinga. "And by the will of our own gods as well, I pledge peace between us." 

Tepua glanced around at the anxious faces of her warriors. Few seemed impressed by the chief's declarations. But she recalled once more her vision of blue sharks escorting the visitors to shore. The ancestors had shown her what they wanted. 

"Land your canoes," she called loudly, then sent her flotilla to lead the way.

 

On the beach below the assembly ground, Tepua stood, flanked by warriors, watching Ata-katinga and his company disembark. Behind her, onlookers had lined up in long rows. Glancing back at the crowd, she saw expressions of wonder mixed with doubt and fear. The air carried a low undercurrent of muttering as well as cries of dismay. Older children wailed and ran; younger ones begged to be picked up and comforted. 

The arriving men were as fierce looking as their leader, their foreheads and cheeks heavily tattooed, wild tangles of hair spilling down their shoulders and backs. They kept flexing their broad hands, as if uncomfortable when not holding weapons. 

Now that she could see Ata-katinga's headdress at closer range, Tepua noticed a disturbing detail. In the back, whipped by the breeze, dangled a fringe of brilliant gold. It was hair, human hair, almost the same blond color as Kiore's. 

Her suspicions moved at a dizzying pace. Had these raiders also come across foreign sailors, or even foreign women? The fringe of the headdress might be a trophy from one such encounter. 

Tepua dared not ask. Unless the Pu-tahi mentioned outsiders, she was determined to say nothing about them. She tried to put aside her misgivings as she waited to greet Ata-katinga. 

The heavy steps came closer. The great tattooed face bore down on her. The broad, flat nose pressed her cheek, and she heard the raspy hiss as he inhaled. In the grip of his ceremonial embrace, her pulse drummed in her ears and a voice within her cried from fright.... 

At last he stood back. I am alive, she thought: I have touched the Pu-tahi chief and I still live! 

The tattoos on Ata-katinga's cheeks and forehead made his face seem like a grotesque mask. Tepua wondered if she would be able to speak another word to this apparition. Then she peered at the eyes behind the mask and saw signs of frailty, of caution, of hope. 

Ata-katinga gave a sharp order, sending men scurrying to unload gifts from their beached canoes. Wild-haired Pu-tahi brought lashed wooden cages containing pigs. The animals squealed as the cages were heaved off tattooed shoulders and swung down to thump on the sand. The pigs appeared as fierce as their owners, glaring out with red-rimmed eyes, slashing at the cages with their tusks. 

"These are warriors," said Ata-katinga, slapping a protruding snout. With an outraged grunt, the pig jerked its head back. "We will eat them together, and we will all share in their strength." 

The men carried other gifts—delicacies such as whole sun-dried coconuts that rattled inside when they were shaken. They also brought fine baskets and mats. 

Though the gifts flattered her, Tepua deliberately turned away from them. "Before I accept these gifts," she said to Ata-katinga, "I wish to know your reason for coming here. Your request for this meeting surprised me. The Pu-tahi are known for many things, but desire for peace is not one." 

Her words caused a buzz among the crowd. A momentary scowl darkened Ata-katinga's face, turning it once again into a threatening mask. "You are right to be suspicious. It is not by our own wish that we lay down our spears." 

I did not think you would willingly abandon your raiding, or your taste for human flesh, Tepua thought grimly, but she kept silent. 

At last Ata-katinga began to speak in a low and steady voice. "This is my reason, Tepua-ariki, and it is one that you may already know. A new enemy has come to our ocean, an enemy so strong and ruthless that even we, the Fierce People, cannot stand against it." He paused and Tepua felt a tremor in her fingers. She could guess what was coming next. "There are strangers who do not travel in pahi, but in huge islands that have wings," he continued. "These people have no need for spears or clubs. They possess sticks that belch smoke and make a great roar!" 

Ata-katinga's voice rose to a shout as if he were trying to imitate the sound and then fell almost to a whisper that made the back of Tepua's neck prickle. "When these weapons speak, men fall and lie still, covered with their blood, yet no knife or spear has torn their skin. And the foul smoke drifts down, making those who survived the blast choke and cry and run." 

Tepua struggled to hide her feelings. She had watched Kiore's companion use his thunder-maker. Her vision from the kava trance had shown far worse.... 

As Ata-katinga stared at her, she held herself stiffly, refusing to give any sign that she knew about such things. The one she had seen had frightened people, but had not harmed anyone. Perhaps it was not the same kind that the Pu-tahi feared. 

"You are quiet," said the visiting chief, narrowing his eyes. "Is it possible that you do not believe me? That you think this another trick by the rascally Pu-tahi?" 

She tried to thrust away any feelings that might betray her. With cautious dignity she replied, "I do not doubt your word. I only wish to know more. Tell me what these enemies look like." 

"More like sea demons than men. Their bodies are patched with strange colors, as if covered by seaweed. Some have brown hands and faces as we do, but others are black or white, or even red." 

Tepua recalled the ruddy flush that often deepened the bronze of Kiore's face. Again emotion swept through her. These enemies who so terrified the Fierce People almost certainly were men from Kiore's land. 

Her tongue felt wooden; she willed herself to speak. "I have heard tales of such people," she admitted. "But I still do not know the purpose for your visit. Do you seek our aid against these outsiders?" 

"We cannot hope to survive if we do not unite," Ata-katinga answered. "All my life, I have busted in the hardness of my spears, but I fear they will prove useless against these many-colored men. That is why I come to you. I do not wish to make war against the foreigners—their weapons would destroy us. But we must stop fighting one another. We must join in friendship and together find other ways to deal with the outsiders." 

Again scenes fleeted across Tepua's memory, smoke and turbulence swirling before her eyes. If Ata-katinga had a way to prevent this, then she would eagerly embrace it. Yet she foresaw how difficult any such arrangement would be. 

Glancing about, she noticed the mistrustful glares of her warriors and the anxious looks of her people. She knew of no one eager to trust the Pu-tahi. Worst of all, she had to fight a part of herself that would always crave revenge—the child who had been hustled into hiding, who had listened to grieving women, who had felt the gnawing pain of hunger while looking at ruined coconut trees. 

Ata-katinga was speaking again. "To show you that we are honest in our desire for peace, we brought you a special gift, ariki. I saved it for last." 

He gave a sharp handclap and a Pu-tahi warrior walked forward, holding a white animal in his arms. Tepua glanced in astonishment at its upright ears, pointed snout, and lolling tongue. A white dog! This dog was unlike any she had seen before. Instead of the usual sparse coat and narrow ratlike tail, the animal had a thick coat and a bushy plumed tail. 

The warrior set the dog on its feet and led it with a sennit cord tied about its neck. It trotted along willingly, lifting ears and muzzle as it appraised the assembled crowd. On every face Tepua saw astonishment and delight. 

Dogs were rare in the atolls. In Tahiti they were common, raised for feasts to mark important occasions. But Tepua knew that no one would ever eat a dog that had such brilliant white fur. The long hairs of its tail were precious. Fringes of white dog hair were highly prized on ornaments and clothing. She recalled what a stir Cone-shell had made when he presented her with the fringed cape. 

"We call the dog Te Kurevareva, the Atoll Cuckoo," said the Pu-tahi chief. He took the end of the sennit leash from the warrior and handed it to Tepua. "You should not be surprised that she has a name. She is as valuable to us as a great canoe." 

Other Pu-tahi came forward, holding up a fringed gorget and a fan as additional offerings. "Our craftsmen have decorated these for you with the hair of Te Kurevareva so that you may see how long and beautiful it is and how well it can be worked," said Ata-katinga. One of his men knelt down and with a quick pat on the dog's side plucked several hairs from the plumed tail. He handed them to Tepua. 

She rubbed the hairs between her fingers, noting how long and fine they were. This was a precious gift indeed. Not only was the dog's coat beautiful, the hairs fine and silky, but the animal herself seemed pleasant tempered and amiable. 

Tepua had never taken much interest in dogs, but this one appealed to her at once. Atoll Cuckoo seemed to sense it and her plumed tail began to wag. Her large eyes glistened, and her pink tongue flopped out of her mouth. 

"She has been taught to stand still so that gathering the hair is easy," said Ata-katinga, in a proud, almost fatherly tone. "You must be careful, of course, not to take too much." 

His face had lost some of its severity and the tattoos no longer seemed as grotesque. As Tepua reached down to stroke the dog's head, receiving several wet licks in return, she felt a growing warmth toward the Pu-tahi chief. It was clear that his affection for Atoll Cuckoo went beyond his appreciation of her fur. 

Tepua saw Ata-katinga staring at her expectantly as he waited to hear her response. For a moment she looked away, trying to free her thoughts from the dazzling array of gifts. The problems that he had spoken of were real. She believed that he had come in earnestness. "Yes," she said at last. "I am honored to receive your offerings. I will sit with you and discuss the question of the foreigners." This time she found it easier to accept the chief's embrace. 

Then she turned, addressing the crowd, and announced her decision for all to hear. She recognized that many people disagreed with her, and wanted to see the Pu-tahi forced back into their canoes. But others clearly had been impressed by Ata-katinga's show of generosity. They leaned forward for a better view of the dog. 

Tepua called Maukiri and gave her cousin charge of Te Kurevareva for the moment. Maukiri took the leash hesitantly. "The Atoll Cuckoo will not bite. She is gentle," said Ata-katinga. "Try scratching her behind the ears." Cautiously, Maukiri knelt and did as the Pu-tahi chief suggested. The dog wagged its long tail like a palm leaf moving in a stiff breeze. 

"Hairs are flying off!" cried Maukiri, trying to catch the drifting fluff.

"Have some boys follow and pick them up," Tepua told her.

With a laugh, Maukiri called for assistance. The animal did a little dance step as she led it away.

Now it was time for Tepua to present gifts in return. She called for the offerings that had been readied at short notice—pearl-shell fishhooks, finely woven mats, and other handiwork. Nothing she had collected could match the Atoll Cuckoo, but Ata-katinga showed no sign of disappointment. 

When the gift exchange was done, she led the Pu-tahi to the guest houses she had ordered prepared for them. She explained that her clan chief's had not yet arrived, and that she would meet with them before both sides sat down together. "First I wish to talk with you alone," she told Ata-katinga. 

Sitting in her yard, Tepua asked the visiting chief to tell what he knew about the many-colored men. "I have heard of great vessels," she said, "but I have not been told where they were sighted." 

"They have been seen in open water," he answered. "Several times the foreigners have sent small boats ashore at a place we call Cloud Island. It is there that I saw the thunder weapons and the men falling dead." 

"What was the reason for the battle?" she asked uneasily, though she believed she knew the answer. "Did the people of Cloud Island attack?" 

"The islanders desired to trade peacefully. The strangers wanted food and drink, and offered their foreign goods in exchange. The islanders were happy to have those goods, but they found that they could not satisfy the foreigners. The many-colored men ordered them to strip the palm trees bare, and to bring every fowl and pig on the island. To obey would have meant starvation." 

"Food and drink. Is that all these outsiders want of us?"

"They are curious about our ornaments, but toss most of them aside with contempt. They care nothing for feathers or fine craftsmanship. Pearls and pearl shell are the only valuables that interest them." 

Pearl shell. All Tepua's hopes vanished. She could not doubt now that Nika and Kiore were of the same breed as the foreign marauders. Her two sailors had seemed peaceful, but perhaps that was only because their weapon had fallen into the lagoon! 

No. She refused to believe that Kiore could carry out such acts of cruelty. Regardless of what evil she heard about foreigners, she would not change her feelings toward him. Yet it did not matter that one man was different. 

The Pu-tahi's story rang true. It fit perfectly with her own vision of terror. Now she knew how she must answer Ata-katinga's request. The outsiders were a danger that she dared not ignore. She must persuade her people to accept an alliance with their ancient enemy. 

 

By the next morning, the chief's and elders of all the clans had arrived. Even Rongo's arrogant young leader, the only chief who had not formally acknowledged Tepua's rule, came to offer his advice. They gathered at the assembly ground, under gray and threatening skies. 

Meanwhile the Pu-tahi had been left to amuse themselves beside the shore. From her seat, Tepua glanced toward the choppy lagoon and saw young men racing each other in their fleet canoes or diving into the water. A few brave Ahiku youngsters stood watching, but no one dared join the visitors' games. 

She turned her attention to the assembly. Never before had she presided over such a large gathering. As-she studied the glaring eyes and down-turned mouths, she felt a knot growing in her belly. There seemed to be little sympathy here for making peace with the raiders. 

Her voice wavered as she began to relate Ata-katinga's message, adding details she had learned from him in their private discussions. She described a foreign weapon that was even more terrible than the thunder-club. It was thick as a tree and poked out from the sides of their vessels. It spat huge stones that could smash canoes or even houses along the shore. 

When she had finished, she saw many wide eyes and gaping mouths in the crowd. Several old men were trembling out of fear and rage. 

"Do not accept these lies!" Cone-shell shouted in reply. "The Pu-tahi want to frighten us and make us weak so we will agree to whatever they ask." 

"Are these reports lies?" asked Heka, turning angrily toward him. "I have heard some of them before—from different travelers at different times. Would so many men invent the same tales?" 

"Everyone knows there are foreign vessels on the sea," Cone-shell answered. "But the power of their weapons grows with every telling of the tales." 

The chief of Rongo clan turned and eyed him. "Not so, my friend Cone-shell. I am certain that the weapons are as dangerous as Ata-katinga tells us." He turned back to address Tepua. "Yet these foreign vessels are few. I think it unlikely that they would trouble us here." 

"The Rongo ariki speaks well," said a Piho elder. "A stray boat might arrive by accident, but why would anyone seek us out? The foreigners possess lands of their own, where they build great wonders. We have nothing they want." 

"Their vessels must be provisioned," Tepua interjected. "The crews are large and they are at sea for many months. One vessel could swallow up all the food we have." 

"Then let us prepare to defend ourselves," said Cone-shell, "We can build weapons like theirs." He lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "We have men who can teach us." 

No! The thought of more foreign weapons made Tepua shudder. "We cannot make these things," she said to Cone-shell. "We do not have the kind of stone they need." 

"Does this stone fall from the sky?" asked Cone-shell, grimacing contemptuously. "Is it something that only the foreign gods give their people?" He looked from one face to the next, but no one answered him. 

Finally a Rongo elder spoke. "If outsiders come to us for provisions, we must ask for this precious stone in return. That is how we will get what we need to build the weapons."

Tepua heard this suggestion with dismay, then thought of a new argument. The gods had forbidden her people to shoot arrows at each other. What would they say about using these thunder makers? "Let me hear a priest's view." She turned to Faka-ora. 

The high priest took a deep breath. "We dare not use such weapons against our own people. The gods would punish us severely. But I see nothing wrong with turning these spewers-of-smoke against the foreigners who made them." 

Tepua felt stunned by his answer. The idea of these weapons in the hands of her own people repelled her, regardless of how they were used. "What could we offer in trade for the stone?" she asked, hoping to discourage this talk. "We have nothing but food, and little enough of that." 

"Plant more coconut trees!" said one of Varoa's men. The reply brought an uproar of agreement.

"That is no answer!" Tepua protested. The meeting became so unruly that she was ready to call an end to it. But nothing had been decided. The others seemed content with blustering and making vague plans. "Umia," she said, when the voices had finally quieted. "Tell us your thoughts." 

She watched the young man turn to Cone-shell and meet his hostile gaze. "I wish to remind you, Uncle, of how our lives used to be. In the past we were always fighting among ourselves. Now our clans support each other. Yet an atoll is still a small place." 

"Small!" said Cone-shell. "Everything a man needs is here. If we lack something, we find ways to get it."

"Until the outsiders came, I believed so," answered Umia. "Now I see that there are people and places we know nothing about. Out of malice or carelessness these foreigners may do us harm." He paused, and no voice rose against him. "We are fortunate," continued Umia. "The gods wisely spread our atolls in a wide swath across the sea. There are so many islands that the outsiders cannot descend on them all. That is where our hope lies. And why we must settle our differences with other islanders." 

"He speaks well,'' said Tepua. She looked about and saw that Umia's words had made an impression. People glanced at each other in surprise. Such wisdom from the young man they had once dismissed as unready for the chiefhood! 

"Yes, he has made a good point," said Heka. "The foreigners may be dangerous, but I do not think they can destroy all the atoll people. With alliances we will have places of refuge, and food when ours is gone." 

"Alliances, yes," Cone-shell shouted. "But not with Pu-tahi eels."

"They are the strongest friends anyone could have!" replied Umia.

Some voices joined Umia's. Others still argued against Ata-katinga. "How do we know the Pu-tahi will not betray us later?" shouted someone. "They will act like friends for a time, then turn on us." 

Tepua kept silent awhile. Umia was doing well enough on his own. Cone-shell persisted with the opposing view, slowly losing supporters. Yet many people remained adamant against making an agreement with the old enemy. 

One man had not spoken—Paruru. Knowing his true feelings toward the Pu-tahi, she had not objected to his silence. Now he began to speak, in a firm voice that made everyone turn to him. "I have listened to these arguments and I have not been swayed. Those of you who have faced the Pu-tahi in battle understand. We can never trust them. We can never feel comfortable with them around us. Get rid of the man-eaters, I say, before they take advantage of our hospitality. Do not allow them to stay another night." 

Tepua rose to her feet. "We have a meeting of peace here, sanctioned by the gods," she answered hotly. "I will not have it ruined by talk of distrust." She waved her hand at the assembly. "Discuss this all you want. Light fires, and stay up all night if you must. Then we will meet again and see who still clings to Cone-shell and Paruru." 

 

The kaito-nui was not surprised when Cone-shell approached him a short time later. "There is too much bad air about," said Varoa's chief, making a fanning motion in front of his face. 

"I know a place where the air is fresh," answered Paruru, "and where a man can speak freely." He led Cone-shell onto a little-used path across the island. 

The men walked in silence. There was no telling who might be listening, hidden under the sweeping branches of hibiscus or behind the aerial roots of fara palms. Paruru felt an obligation toward Cone-shell now, and the thought made him uncomfortable. 

Varoa's chief had never spoken a word to Paruru about the turtle incident. He had let his brother, the high priest, handle the problem at his marae. After the ceremony was done, and the spirits appeased, Cone-shell had treated the offenders as honored guests. 

Now Paruru found himself together with Cone-shell on the same side. It was a partnership that he did not welcome, yet he saw no alternative. 

"This is the way down," said Paruru, descending a short slope toward the seaward beach. A brisk sea wind was blowing, spray from the breakers leaping high. The water beyond was gray under the clouded sky. 

The warrior looked around with satisfaction at the barren shore, where only a few scrubby bushes grew amid exposed and weather-blackened coral. There was no place here for an eavesdropper to hide. 

Cone-shell found a stone perch and motioned for Paruru to take a lower seat in front of him. "I admire your little island," said Varoa's chief. "Do you know that it once belonged to my clan? That was before Ahiku people lived on this atoll." 

"We did not come here to talk of ancient wars," said Paruru, annoyed.

"That is true. We came to talk of helping each other."

"I have heard your opinions and you have heard mine," said Paruru. "They are much the same, though for different reasons. It is my duty to protect Tepua. And I will not have stinking Pu-tahi on our shores." 

"Then we two must work together."

The warrior studied Cone-shell's eager expression. He looked like a spear fisherman at the moment of his thrust, but Paruru was not ready to be his prey. "I do not think our goals are exactly the same," Paruru cautioned. "You wish to challenge Tepua's rule. It does not matter if the issue is Pu-tahi or spoils or an argument over a coconut tree." 

"I wish what is best for all the clans," replied Cone-shell, slapping his chest. "This chief is not afraid of battles. I will fight Pu-tahi. I will fight foreigners." 

"What if we win?" asked Paruru. "What if sentiment grows so strong that Tepua is forced to send Ata-katinga away? Then her power to rule will be weakened." 

"Is that not for the best? Do you truly believe a woman should lead us?"

Paruru's mouth felt dry and he had difficulty bringing an answer to his lips. "My opinion means nothing. She will continue to do so—until the gods place the sacred power with someone else." 

"That day is not far off."

"Perhaps." But you will not be the chosen one.

"We certainly have differences," said Cone-shell in a friendly tone. "Yet there is something we both want. Let us work together to prevent an agreement with the Pu-tahi.'' 

"And Tepua? What will happen to her if we succeed?"

"She is no fool. She will not make this a test of her authority. When the wind blows, the palm tree bends."