Sister of the Sun Read Online Free Page A

check Tepua's sleeping mat for fallen hairs, and dispose of them properly." Ehi held up a small, leaf-wrapped packet. "I have saved the leavings from Tepua's meal. Tomorrow, Roki, you will go with your husband and drown this in the sea. And Tepua, from now on you will take no meals with anyone but me."  
    Tepua protested. "I have no wish to anger Natunatu. I came only for a visit. Are we to believe idle talk? If the high priest and his friends have plans for me, then why do they say nothing to my face?"  
    "I know Faka-ora well," replied Ehi. "He is cautious. He will continue to consult the spirits until he has a confirming sign. Meanwhile it is up to us to protect you."  
    "I do not want to be chief. Umia is next—"  
    "That is not for you to decide," replied Ehi harshly. "Daughter," she added in a softer tone. "You must listen to the ancestors. They will tell you what to do."  
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    In the morning, when the others rose early to bathe and to begin the work of the day, Tepua feigned sleep and remained on her mat. "Let her rest," said Ehi. "She has crossed a wide sea to come back to us."  
    Even Ehi's old mother shuffled out through the low doorway. At last Tepua was alone.
    She had decided what to do now, though the prospect troubled her. She still could hear, from long ago, her attendant Bone-needle's voice warning her not to meddle in the realm of priests. Tepua had a rare gift and she was determined to use it.  
    Adults as well as children played with loops of string, making patterns on their fingers. The figures illustrated everyday objects or favorite tales. But for Tepua this art was far more important—it sometimes brought visions of distant or future events.  
    Now she looked around the interior of the house, which was lit by sunlight streaming through openings in the thatch. Small utensils—coconut cups, a wooden dish, a coral pounder for fara fruit—lay neatly stacked at the base of the wall. Higher up, where rolled mats hung, she found a dangling length of sennit, coconut fiber cord. It was already knotted into a loop.  
    This was probably a cord that Maukiri used for playing string games. But Tepua's use would not be a game. Through it, the gods might reveal to her secrets that even priests could not obtain.  
    After taking a glance at the doorway to see that no one was watching, Tepua looped the cord about her fingers. Kneeling, she intoned a prayer, asking for aid from her guardian spirit, Tapahi-roro-ariki, the great chiefess of long ago. Finally Tepua sat and held the loop between her hands.  
    She began with the ordinary play, making the shapes of an eel, a warbler, a turtle. Gradually she let her thoughts run free so that her fingers moved the strings of their own accord. She began to slip into a daze, losing track of her surroundings, aware of nothing but the tiny world before her.  
    Her fingers continued to work. The loops kept forming, sliding through each other. The strings crossed and re-crossed. Now , a whisper said. Now the vision may come . Yet Tepua saw only her fingers and the cord.  
    She forced herself to keep at it, ignoring the weariness, the heaviness of her arms, the soreness of skin. An answer had never come easily. She watched the strings until she could watch no more. Then, with a cry of despair, she fell forward on the mat. The spirits must be angry with her, for they would not show her anything of what was to come.  
    She dozed, woke late in the morning, and went out for a bath in the lagoon. A group of Varoa women, people from Natunatu's clan, passed her on the beach; they barely responded to her greeting cry, "May you have life!"  
    Of course they were angry at her. They had long waited for the son of their clan to take the chiefhood. Tepua bit her lip as she recalled old alliances among the family groups of the atoll. In case of a dispute, Rongo Clan would probably side with Varoa. The conflicts of long ago, settled when