Te ika whakataki [Rakiura/Open]

ArtingStarvist Fri Mar 04, 2011 10:58 am

SPLOOSH! Anahira dove headfirst into the clear water, savoring the feeling she had not experienced since she had left home. Of course, the water didn't sting her eyes like the ocean's water did, but that could be considered a good thing. She wriggled in the water like an eel, legs scissoring, then surfaced. Oh, freedom, freedom, freedom, freedom! She silently sent Faraz a thousand blessings for his help. He friend had made her life so much easier by helping her with her bonds, something she vowed to never allow put on her again.

She ducked below the surface again, watching curiously as strange fish she'd never seen before swam lazily by. Ika. The very thought of the word made her stomach grown. Ika Ika Ika Ika Ika Ika Ika Ika. She bubbled to the surface again, kicking until she reached shore. Dragged herself onto land, she flopped into a sitting position and painstakingly began to remove her necklace. Underneath the intricately carved bone as another carving in the shape of a hook. Anahira would never have left her matau at home. Just as painstakingly, she pulled at the grass skirt she wore, unweaving until she was left with a flax line, grass, and the black cloth she wore underneath.

"Kuku, kuku ika, kuku wehiwehi," she chanted as she strung the line, "Takina ko koe nā, te iho o ika,Te iho o Tangaroa – Uara ki uta rā, uara ki tai rā." Hold tight, hold the fish, hold tight with fearsome power, You are led along, the essence of the fish, The essence of Tangaroa – Desired on the land, desired on the sea. She remembered being taught to sing before she fished as a young girl, and she would die before she forgot the customs. Besides, she would catch nothing if she did not do so. She walked to the water's edge and cupped her hands, holding them underwater.

As she had thought, as the smaller fish in the shallows came to peck at her hand, she closed them and hurried away from the water. Three wriggling minnows tried to free themselves from her grasp. To the best of her ability, she pierced one on the line and threw it in. Now to wait. Te hī ika would take patience, especially in these unknown waters. She sat back and watched her line drift lazily.

The line jerked, pulling the flax strip further under. Anahira tugged back, reeling it in on one arm. With much effort, the flopping ika was soon in her hand, mouthing moving rapidly open and closed, gills flapping. She stared curiously at it. It was smaller than the fish at home and looked different, less colorful. Still, it was better than nothing. She raised it to the sky, muttered a few thanks to Tangaroa, then slipped the fish back into the water. Te ika whakataki, the first fish. She had made her offering. Without hesitation, she rebaited the line and threw it back in.