Hawaii - James Michener [32]
The twenty-seven surviving crewmen had few coherent thoughts, They had watched, helpless, while their original number was decimated by the power of Oro, and they had shared their leaders' confusion. Contrary to what the High Priest believed, they were, gratified rather than disturbed by the fact that Teroro had spent his time with Tehani, for Mato had spread the news that Teroro must be got back to Bora Bora alive. They suspected that King Tamatoa had some solid plan of revenge, and they hoped to be a part of it. But beyond animal revenge they could not see.
There was one emotion which all in the boat shared, for at the end of the day, just before entering the home lagoon, the travelers saw the sun sink toward the west, throwing rich golden lights upon their magic island, and each man, no matter what his plots, instinctively felt: "This is the beautiful island. This is the land upon which the gods have spent particular care."
For to see Bora Bora at the end of a journey, with sunset upon the peaks, with dark night drifting in upon the valleys, and with sea birds winging homeward; to see the red line of sunset climbing the mountain faces until the top was reached, and darkness, and to cry, "Hold! Hold! Let it remain day until I touch the shore!" and to catch within the lagoon the sounds of children at play and the echoes of home, while outside the reef the ocean roared--to have known Bora Bora at such a moment was to have known beauty.
It was with enhanced regret, therefore, that King Tamatoa led his brother to the palace and bade him recline on the pandanus mats, whereupon the king carefully lowered the matting walls, and when he was thus protected from spies, lay down facing Teroro. Secretly and in a low voice he delivered the striking words: "I have decided that we must leave Bora Bora."
Teroro was stunned. He had never even contemplated such a retreat, for he still did not appreciate the untenable position into which he and his brother had been maneuvered. "Why should we leave?" he gasped.
"There is no place for us here any longer."
"We can fight! We can kill . . ."
"Whom shall we fight? The people? The other islands?"
"We could . . ."
"We can do nothing, Teroro."
"But where can we go?"
"To the north."
This simple phrase carried implications that were difficult for Teroro to digest, and as the idea climbed from one level of his consciousness to another he could only repeat his brother's startling words. "To the north?" He recalled that other canoes had left for the north centuries before, legendary canoes which had never returned. There existed, however, a mysterious old chant which purported to give sailing directions to a distant land that lay under the Seven Little Eyes, the holy constellation whose rising launched the new year, and some said that this chant implied that at least one of the legendary canoes must have returned, and words from the chant came to his mind:
Sail to the Seven Little Eyes,
To the land guarded by Little Eyes.
But as soon as he spoke the words he grew angry, for they conjured up a picture of him fleeing Bora Bora.
"Why should we go?" he blustered.
"Don't take refuge in empty words, Teroro," the Icing snapped impatiently. "When you sailed to Nuku Hiva, did you find any certain knowledge of any of the canoes that have sailed to the north?"
"No."
"I understand there's an old sailing chant."
"No one knows for sure where it came from."
"What does it say?"
"If I remember, it says to sail until you come to land that lies under