Whare Potae (The House of Mourning)

Chapter One

Author's Note: I meant to update last night, but I ended up having a pretty rough evening. I co-own a small community theater company in Philly, and we closed a really successful show last night, which was fantastic. We were all celebrating at a bar near my house when my brain injury started acting up (it does that when I overdo, and if any of you are in theater, you know that it's pretty much all about overdoing). I ended up in bed with a throbbing migraine and only partial vision in both eyes by ten o'clock. I spent the time trying to read through all your nice comments and messages on my phone. Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to leave a note or a thought about the story; that was lovely of you, and you really improved what ended up being an otherwise painful and stressful night. Please forgive me if there are any typos in any of the responses I wrote to you.

But enough of that, let's have some more story. :)

Chapter One

A few hours later, Moana rushed down to her canoe with a sack of provisions slung over her shoulder, generously donated by well-wishers from the village. She was surprised to find Heihei sitting in the prow of the boat, pecking industriously at the wood and making frustrated little clucking noises every time the canoe failed to be edible.

"Heihei..." Moana gently picked the chicken up and deposited him on the beach, turning him in the direction of the island and giving him a little push. "Sorry, but you're not coming. Nothing personal, okay? You're just probably better off on the island where fewer things are going to try and eat you."

Heihei, apparently unperturbed by Moana's lack of confidence in his seafaring skills, wandered off towards the village. Moana smiled, turned back to her canoe, and then heard the sound of a familiar crutch tap-tapping down the beach in her direction.

"Dad?" She turned around again to see her father, leaning on her grandmother's old crutch, making his way towards her across the sand. He had a dark, set look on his face; one that Moana knew all too well.

She sighed.

"Dad," she mumbled, "you can't talk me out of this, okay? I have to go. It's my job, for our people, and-!"

"I know." Her father shook his head. "I'm not here to stop you, Moana...not this time."

He sank down on the sand, patting the place beside him. Hesitantly, Moana sat down where he indicated and watched his face. Shaking his head at her, he gave her a wry, soft sort of smile.

"What a chief you've become, my little minnow." He brushed her cheek with a finger, and Moana tried not to beam like the proud little kid she was inside, basking in the glow of her father's praise. "Running off to save your people...at whatever cost." His smile broadened. "Your mother and I always believed that you would do great things one day. I wish...I wish you'd never had to."

For a terrible moment, in the fading light, Moana thought her father looked much, much older than he ever had before, which was, of course, ridiculous. He was still a young man, in comparison to so many of the village elders, but something about his face had grown so tired that she could hardly bear it.

"There are days, Moana, when I wish that you hadn't been born to be the chief of our people," he went on quietly. "It's a terrible burden that we've placed on you. There are so many moments when I wish you'd been destined for something gentler, something that could have kept you safe, at home, where we could protect you. The sea has already taken three of Motunui's children this year, Moana. Please...don't let it take my daughter as well."

He looked up at her with that resigned smile still in his eyes, and Moana felt a twinge of guilt and frustration in her chest. She glared out at the waves, trying to decide if it was her, the sea, or the gods that had begun to break her father's heart. Sickeningly aware that it was at least partially her fault, Moana bit her lip and wondered what, if anything, there was to say.