Plume of the Arawas

Book Three — I. The Slippery Fame

Book Three
I. The Slippery Fame

Enter deeply, enter to the very foundations,
Into the very origin of all knowledge,
O Io of the Hidden Face!
Gather into the very base of the ears,
The ears of thy son, the desired knowledge!
Descend on him thy knowledge, thy thoughts,
To the very foundations of the mind,
O Io the Wise! O Io of all Holy Knowledge!
O Io the Parentless!

T wo quiet months have passed, and a new head chief is now in charge at Hikurangi Pa in the person of Taréha, the chief of the tohungas.

At a big meeting held to settle the question of the chieftainship, the young Manaia, now known to all by the name Tuwharétoa, had expressly forbidden Te Puku and others to press his claims. He had wished to see whether the people would remember the deeds of his dead father and himself, or whether they would seize the chance to try a new form of control in the pa.

Then, when the elders and people by a large majority had set aside his claims on the grounds of his youth and inexperience, he had merely smiled and uttered the brief comment:

He toa pahéké te toa taua! How slippery is the fame of the warrior!”

Yet those few words had made both elders and people feel very ashamed.

In the days that followed, the signs of friction between the party of Taréha and that of Tuwharétoa became more and more pronounced, and daily there occurred incidents that threatened to engulf the whole pa in bitter strife.

The head chief and Tuwharétoa both maintained a studied silence in the presence of each other, but some of their followers would brook little or no restraint. Particularly biting were the words of Rata and Kahu to each other every time they met, and more than once it was only the weakened physical condition of the latter that saved him from open attack. At last Tuwharétoa had to speak to his friend about the matter:

“O Rata! Bear the pain of the sting of the stingray until the summer come! By that time Kahu will be strong again, and thine accusation can be made before the people. Then will he suffer for his treachery, and thou wilt be avenged.”

But matters came to a head one day later when Kahu himself appeared before Tuwharétoa, seeking permission to approach Marama on the matter of marriage, and saying:

“In this manner can the enmity between thy line and mine be ended for ever. The love that I bear for thy sister is known to thee. Now grant that I may speak of it to her!”

“Where wert thou in Rata's time of danger before the Tuhoe pa?” was the cold reply.

………..

That night Tuwharétoa listened humbly as Te Moana reproved him for his disclosure of knowledge of the betrayal. Then he said:

“I was in error, O Aged One. I should have waited, as the matter is one for Rata. Alas! Strive as I may, my tongue doth leap beyond control at times. I was angered, yet this question I ask of thee: ‘Does the year ever remain calm throughout all its days?’”

“No,” admitted the old man, “there is sunshine and rain, calm and a raging storm. So it is with man.”

For some time they remained silent, and then Te Moana spoke again:

“But a brief time is left to us if thou must take revenge on Tuhoe in the spring. Therefore, let me tear down the palisades that guard the hidden pa of knowledge! No, not yet hast thou reached the heights, O Tu, though already thy powers of mind are greater than those of the chief tohunga. But forget not that thou art still a pupil of the Wharéwananga, and that upon thee Taréha and the people will call to pass the final test. Thou art the ariki, and for thee there will be no escape. Yes! Thou must slay a man by the power of mind alone. To me a simple thing, but what sayest thou?”

“I dread the thought of it,” replied Tuwharétoa. “Afraid, lest I should merely blast the mind and not the life as well! Afraid, also, to send a man to death without just cause! However, sufficient for that! What says the proverb? ‘The kumara still grows on cliffs in far Hawaiki.’ Therefore, a respite from all troubling thoughts! Now let me talk about my plans for the future!”

Willingly Te Moana agreed, and he listened patiently while Tuwharétoa explained that he would like to spend the evenings of this present winter with the Wise One of Hikurangi, practising the ancient art of “makutu” whereby the mind of man can reach out to strike at a distance, practising also the projecting of the thoughts of the mind towards other minds afar off in unspoken message.

At the first sign of spring, however, he would depart with a taua for the Uréwera, and he would destroy the Tuhoe pa of Pari-maté, and he would return to Hikurangi by a western route past Taupo.

Then, with the summer, continued Tuwharétoa, he would depart from Hikurangi for a space. He would set out again for the Inland Sea, and seek to reach the mountains beyond.

He went on to speak of the fight in the valley away to the east of Taupo, and of the fair-haired maiden he had rescued there, and of her tribe, the Ngatihotu, who owned the Lake. He spoke also of the weakness of Ngatihotu, and of the measures he would take to prepare the way for a conquest by Te Arawa. Ha! The glow in his eyes as he spoke!

Warm approval came from Te Moana as he finished. The old man was glad to find that the death of MawakéTaupo and the loss of the chieftainship had not caused any wavering in the aspirations towards the south.

Particularly interested also was he in the description given of the stranger-maiden, for it showed that the fair-haired strain in the Maori race was more widely spread than he had thought. Still eager for knowledge, he said:

“Seek out her father, O Tu, and try to learn his ancestry! Ngatoro-i-rangi himself was fair-haired, and his skin and eyes were light of colour, yet even he knew little about the source of that strain except that it was very ancient and came from beyond the islands of the Sea of Kiwa. Taihoa! Ngatoro claimed that he got his hair and his eyes and his nose from the Sea-god Tangaroa. A quaint fancy!”

………..

Throughout the remainder of that winter Tuwharétoa spent every evening with Te Moana the Wise in the privacy of the old seer's wharé. With incantations and ceremonies it had been made thrice tapu, and no one but Te Moana and his pupil could venture near it.

What went on inside that dwelling remained unknown, but gradually the wharés near by became deserted by their owners. Whisperings of queer happenings spread abroad, and few if any of the people of Hikurangi cared to venture from their fires at night. The elders sought to have the meetings forbidden, but Taréha admitted his helplessness to interfere.

During the daytime Tuwharétoa kept aloof from all except Marama. To her only did he unbend.

On pleasant days he would take her to the forest near by, or to the river, and in his company she began to shake off the deadening effect of her grief. To her, he remained always Manaia, and she shrank from giving him that other name. His very gentleness made her weep at times; but gradually the brightness came into her life again as she responded to the protecting comfort of his presence. So one day she said:

“Yes, I see it now, O Manaia. ’Tis fruitless love for the beloved. I must not grieve for him, for thy love for me and my love for thee are more than midnight offerings to the noble dead.”

“O little one!” replied Tuwharétoa softly. “We felt the force of the gale together, and now the sun begins to shine again. Should another gale come, that also we will bear together. And together we will go to Taupo. Ah! I see the light of joy in thine eyes at last.”