Read Huia Short Stories 10 for Free Online Page B

for months, and, after consulting his advisors, decided that he would indeed take the challenge laid down before him, and head to sea. Better to die on the ocean, leading a great expedition, than to stay home and die in obscurity, a minor chief – so he reasoned. He gathered his men and, with many incantations, felled four great trees from the inland forest. The sound of chipping axes drifted over the lagoon for many weeks. I recall how we women were not allowed near, since the men were under a great state of restriction as they completed the work, which was done under the cover of a great canoe-building house at the forest edge. We finally saw the two ships when they had taken shape and had been dragged to the edge of the lagoon. For each ship, two great canoe hulls had been fixed together with stout poles, onto which the masts had been lashed, and a deck and shelter hut built on top. The sails had been fashioned and already fitted. I remember how there was a full day of prayers and offerings to the sea god when the ships were finally put onto the water. Here, we women began to provision them for the long journey to the land that is supposed to be found under the southern stars, where the sign of the great anchor shines in the night sky. There were stories about the place – it was rumoured that great navigators from our neighbouring islands had found it by accident and returned with stories about its ample land. The distance made the journey a great risk, but worth it if the stories were true.
    There were tears from both men and women as we sailed away. People came from all over the island, even from villages on the opposite side, to watch us depart through the gap in the reef. The chief’s elder son stood in a heroic pose on the other ship as we cruised out onto the open sea. We watched as the island diminished to become a distant shelf of land, then a shimmer on the horizon, then a memory.
    We had pleasant sailing conditions for a while, but this did not last. The sea and wind gods are not friends; that much we already knew. It was not long before the sea and wind resumed their debate, the wind cursing the ocean like an old witch, and the ocean fighting back with waves like great rolling hills. We held to the woodwork for our lives as we mounted each huge swell, our great vessel suddenly seeming little better than a child’s toy. Wicker cages slid around the deck, and the chickens inside clucked and scrambled in alarm. The navigator held the steering oar, prepared to wait with infinite patience for the storm to blow itself out of breath. The captain shouted instructions at the other men to check every lashing, to work with the bailer to empty the storm water from the twin hulls. When the sea had again levelled out, the wind died completely, and no incantation would raise it again for many days. There had been days and nights full of demoralising paddle work. There was nothing to see on that sparkling broad ocean; only the hammerheads that glide underneath. The other vessel had disappeared completely, and we talked among ourselves about whether they might have been sunk, or whether they might have been blown right to the new lands, and already been planting their crops.
    One of our men went mad and jumped overboard, preferring the depths.
    Oh, the horrible sameness of the days.
    I sleep not a single moment that night. I am awake with the old woman’s lamentations of all these events, and, from outside the shelter, the sacred mutterings of the captain and the navigator.
    I emerge from the shelter at first light of the sunrise. We have seen so many sunrises out here on the ocean that I have lost count. The pink light is chilled by another cutting wind. The incantations have finished and the wind remains favourable. The women are up and about on the deck, where the wind blows our hair around, making ears and the tips of noses feel numb and salt-preserved. We go about the morning routine, distributing food