Daughter of the Reef Read Free Page B

her cuts, mingling with the seawater, had seeped through the hull. Even a trace could draw sharks over great distances. She was fortunate that only one had found her.  
    Scooping water out as fast as she could, she kept a close watch on her enemy. This was not a great blue or a roaming tiger shark. It swam with stiff, rapid tail beats, speeding back and forth just beneath the surface, the blue and silver of its sides flashing with each turn.  
    The tail was a full crescent, like a waning moon. Its shape mimicked the tail of an albacore or bonito, the fastest fish in the sea. Only one shark had such a tail, or the speed and power to prey on those fish. All Tepua’s people knew the mako.  
    She summoned what reserves of strength she still had. If she released her guard, she thought that the shark would ram the hull with enough force to pitch her into the water. Now it seemed just to be testing her defenses. It flicked into a turn, slicing by the canoe and giving Tepua a glance from its large round eyes. No white or color showed in those eyes. They were entirely dead black.  
    Tepua sat upright in the half-bailed boat. She reached for her coconut-fiber cord, now lying waterlogged under her feet. She took a length between her hands, forming a loop.  
    A warning in her head spoke with the voice of Bone-needle. If you meddle in the realm of priests, you will be punished for it.
    â€œBut there are no priests with me now,” Tepua cried aloud. She set her teeth. She had hesitated when the storm struck her bridal canoe. When she might have found a way to soothe the gods, she had let Bone-needle dissuade her. For that advice, perhaps the old woman herself now lay within a shark’s belly.  
    Quickly Tepua looped the string about her hands. She wrapped the cord so that one strand lay across each of her palms. With the middle finger of the right hand, she picked up the strand crossing her palm and then drew her hands apart, forming the beginning of the figure. Quickly she worked, not even watching as the image took shape, for her fingers knew the art far better than her eyes.  
    And then the first figure was complete. By the looping and crossing and knotting of string, she had created between her hands the form of the mako. She held it up between trembling fingers and thrust it at her enemy. She rolled her eyes to the sky and chanted:  
    â€œFather of Sharks, I have made you between my hands. Give me strength to fight the hunger of your son. Send him to the bonito. Send him to the albacore.”  
    The mako shot forward, ramming the canoe and biting at the planks. Claw like teeth curled from its lower jaw in rows, their tips slanting back into the mouth. Some were needle thin and long as a man’s finger.  
    Tepua braced herself against the thwarts and sides of the craft. Anger and fear ripped her voice as she cried, “Mother of Sharks, I hold you between my hands. Make me your daughter. Give me your teeth, your belly, your anger, or else I die, Mother of Sharks!”  
    And as she held the figure aloft she felt a hot rush of strength come through her. Yes, it was magic, it was a gift, it transformed her insides from those of a woman to those of a shark, and she no longer felt weak with fear. With an abrupt motion of her hands, she brought her palms together, crushing the figure in the way she wished to crush her enemy. The mako jerked in the water as if it had felt the blow. The shark backed off, but remained close by, swimming in tight circles.  
    Tepua was not finished. The gods had not yet shown her how to destroy her foe. She pulled her hands apart again, intending to try another figure, but then something unexpected happened. A few strings became tangled. As she tried to pull the cord tight the shape distorted. Within the strings she suddenly caught a vision of a real shark, its nose arched back against its tail.  
    Then the mako charged the canoe again and the image