Falling into Rarohenga

by Steph Matuku

  When Mum finally came back to herself, it was too late for Tui. She was kind of trapped in a habit of being alone, and she didn’t really know how to come out of it. I suppose I wasn’t much help. I pushed her away when I could have taken her along with me.

  So she got stuck into her books, and you know what happens with kids who study a lot. They get really good marks, so they study even more, and the future starts looking real bright for them. Tui didn’t want me or Mum throwing shade on that light. So she pushed us away too.

  Still, I didn’t have to be so mean.

  I guess I am a dick.

  I hunker at the water’s edge and dabble my fingers in it. She was right. It is freezing. I squint across and I think I can see a shadow of trees across the other side, but they’re ages away. Ages and ages.

  What if I drown? What happens if you die in the land of the dead? I turn the question over in my head, but there isn’t anyone to ask. Not even Tui.

  Fed up, I wrench a rock out of the sand and chuck it into the river. There’s a faint splash, satisfyingly far out in the dark somewhere, and then suddenly, the rock comes whizzing back, just missing my head. It hits the bank, sand splurts up and my heart jumps into my mouth. I can’t believe it. It missed me by that much!

  Someone – or something – is rising up from the water. It looks like a person, but under the light of the moon its skin has a shiny green glow. It doesn’t have hair, just a series of spiky things on top of its head, and there’s a long tail with a triangle on the end that flicks back and forth.

  ‘S-sorry,’ I say, even though I’m still trembling from my near miss with the rock it threw at me. It’s taller than me, and it’s holding a big spear in its hand. Of course I’m going to apologise. ‘I didn’t know anyone was in there. I was just mad.’

  ‘I’m glad that wasn’t your koha.’ It’s showing several rows of shiny sharp teeth, and its voice sounds kind of wet and watery, if that’s even a thing.

  I frown, struggling to understand what it means. ‘My koha? You thought that was a gift?’

  The thing seems surprised. ‘It is customary to offer koha if one wishes to cross the river.’

  I wonder if it wants to carry me on its back like the taniwha did, and then all of a sudden, I don’t care. I have to get across. I have to find Tui. I plunge my hands in my pockets and feel around. There’s a balled-up tissue that feels like it’s been through the wash, and nothing else. Useless.

  I finger the strap of my uke. If I handed over my uke, it’d just warp and rot in the water, and what would be the point of that? But I have an idea anyway. I shift the uke around until it’s resting against my torso and strum it absentmindedly. The mermaid thing’s eyes light up, intrigued. I wonder if it’s going to leap forward and snatch my uke from me, so I say quickly, ‘I can’t give you this. It won’t work underwater. But I can play you a song. If you want.’

  I strum again and it leans forward, eager.

  I test a few chords and then start with the song I’ve been working on, the one that I can never quite remember. But for once, the words rise up in my mind, and the song spills from me like water from a gourd, splashing through the air.

  Fading light, a long dark night

  Sure to follow

  In a restless bed, my weary head’s

  Full of sorrow.

  So far away, from that blessed day

  Of tomorrow.

  Remembering what we had then,

  Long ago.

  And it hurts to try, to turn on a smile

  Even though (I know)

  I gotta hold on tight

  Through the lonely night

  till tomorrow.

  It’s not easy, to push on through

  It’s not easy, without you

  So I’ve got to hold on tight

  Hold on tight

  Hold on tight, till tomorrow, till tomorrow

  I’m back at the chorus again when more mermaid things rise from the water, and suddenly they’re humming along, their voices rising and falling with mine. They sound so alien, so strange. They sing harmonies and play with the melody, and the music that they make starts to become more than just music. The notes take physical form, turning into flowers, feathers, leaves and twigs. They float through the air and nestle on the water, forming the shape of a little waka. Some fly on further and disappear over the river into the dark.

  We sing and we sing, and when the end finally arrives, I give a final strum and we lapse into silence. The waka rocks gently on the water.

  The thing sighs and the others slip gracefully back into the water. ‘That was a wonderful gift.’

  I smile. I’ve never thought of my music as being something good enough to share. I’ve only ever played well-known songs with my mates. I’ve never showed them anything that I’ve written. I don’t know why. Fear, I guess. Maybe they’d laugh at me. Or maybe they just wouldn’t care about it as much as I do, and then it would be spoilt. I don’t know.

  I flip the uke around onto my back and splash into the water. I climb into the boat, pleased to find a paddle resting inside.

  ‘Thanks for the ride,’ I say. ‘Hopefully I can catch up with my sister. She was with a taniwha.’

  The thing doesn’t look at all surprised to hear this, and nods. ‘I’m afraid she has been caught in a trap.’

  ‘Trap? What trap?’ My mind is spinning. I knew that taniwha couldn’t be trusted. I knew it.

  ‘A trap set by a demon, and carried out by the taniwha.’ The thing points diagonally across the river, not straight ahead, and if I squint, I can just make out a tiny flickering light, far, far away. ‘Do not blame the creature. It merely follows the demon’s orders, so that it can return to the World of Light. It has been trapped here for aeons.’

  Like I even care about the problems the taniwha has. ‘Tell me about Tui! What trap?’

  ‘With the dawn, the peropero will come. And your sister will die.’

  I have no idea what a peropero is, but it doesn’t sound good.

  ‘Dawn approaches. You might help her if you hurry.’

  I don’t even answer. I’m just digging that paddle in the water as hard as I can, two strokes on either side until I’m out into the current. The thing’s voice, regretful and sad, floats toward me.

  ‘Don’t let the taniwha catch you. He won’t disobey the demon’s orders. None must follow.’

  The voice trails off. Soon all I can hear is my own harsh panting and the splashing of the paddle in the water. But still it’s not loud enough to drown out the voice in my head: the voice that blames the taniwha, blames myself and, for the first time, blames my dad.

  TUIKAE

  I breathe.

  The steam washes me clean on the inside and the water washes me clean on the outside. I’m brand new. I’m empty of what I was before and I’m reborn.

  I feel as though I’ve been lying here forever.

  Leaves rustle gently above. They’re grey in the light, and through them, I think I see the moon. I blink and the moon has gone and the leaves have more of a green tinge to them.

  Dawn is coming.

  I look around the clearing, but it’s empty. I have an idea there were people here once, but they’re not here now. It’s just me and one flaming torch, with a wall that continues right around the whole clearing, keeping me safe.

  Keeping me inside.

  For the first time, I feel uneasiness. I breathe in deep but the steam doesn’t wash the feeling away.

  Something drops, falling into the water with a faint tinkling. I reach out to pick it up. It’s a white feather. I peer at it curiously. How can a feather make a sound? A pink flower bud drops into the water too, and this time, the tinkling sound is a little higher. I look up. Twisting on the breeze are more feathers and flowers, and leaves too, and as they drop into the water they each let out a different tinkling note. Together, they form a pattern I almost recognise.

  I hum the little tune and frown. I remember this. I do.
r />   I stand, clouds of steam rolling off my body, my flesh pink from the heat. I hum again, and this time there are words in my mind too.

  ‘Hold on tight …’ I whisper into the empty clearing. ‘I’ve got to hold on tight …’

  I don’t understand. I don’t know what it means, but it makes me feel something I haven’t felt for a very long time.

  I step out from the pool and shiver as the breeze cuts across my wet skin.

  Clothes lie in a pile at my feet. I don’t know who they belong to, but I dry myself with my hands as best I can and pull them on. There’s something happening here, but I don’t know what.

  TUIKAE

  You know how it is when you’re running in a dream? You feel as though your legs are being held by quicksand, and it’s so, so hard. That’s how I feel paddling through the water: that I’m not fast enough, that I won’t make it in time.

  I’m about halfway now. I still can’t see the bank on the other side, but when I look back, I can’t see the bank I came from either. The moon has vanished and taken the lady with it, so I can’t see much. All I can do is concentrate on that tiny little light on the other side.

  I’m so busy looking forward that when I finally glance down, I’m astonished to find I’ve been paddling over what looks like a vast underwater city. There are houses everywhere, and shapes swimming about. That must be where the mermaid thing lives. It’s pretty cool. Although I’m intrigued, I don’t stop for a closer look. I carry on paddling, and soon I leave the city behind.

  Splash!

  I pause, my paddle dripping. I’ve heard that sound before. I redouble my efforts, muscles straining, heart beating as fast as anything.

  Suddenly the taniwha launches out of the water, corkscrews in the air and slams down next to the waka, making it tip and shudder. I grab onto the sides, frantically trying to keep my balance. It leaps up again, its tail lashing out and catching me across the face, and I’m flung down into the bottom of the boat. The taniwha nudges the boat from underneath, thumping its head against the waka, lifting the prow clear of the water and letting it splash back down again.

  I fully expect this little waka made of feathers and leaves and flowers to fly apart, but it doesn’t. The stern lifts and crashes back down, and I yell, ‘Stop; stop it,’ as though I’m telling off a bad dog who’s been chewing on a shoe.

  The taniwha circles the boat so fast that the boat swirls around with it. I’m dizzy. I can’t tell which way I’m supposed to be facing. I think I might throw up.

  It rises from the water baring its fangs. Instead of ducking away, I shout, ‘Look at me; look at me!’

  Its eyes meet mine, almost by accident. I feel its mind, powerful yet primitive, slamming into mine, and I show it what I didn’t before. I give it my life. Mine and Tui’s.

  I stream us like a series of photographs. I show me and Tui growing up: me helping her when she fell out of that tree and broke her arm, her helping me with my homework, us playing together in the backyard, play-fighting with cushions behind a big cardboard box fort, making huts under the blankets, picking strawberries for Christmas lunch, body-boarding at the beach.

  And then, because it hasn’t bitten me yet, I start showing it even more stuff: Tui hugging me as I cry about Dad getting taken away, me walking by Tui’s side into school when that bitch Ruby was trying to stir up trouble, Tui and me holding hands as kids, Tui and me holding hands when we first arrived down here as we peered in the dark, an old photograph of Tui and me holding hands in our cot. And then, just for good measure, I throw in that picture that it showed us, of those drowned twins lying in the net, their hands linked.

  I pull out, breaking contact. The taniwha tilts its head sideways, looking confused. And then, without a sound, it slips below the surface of the water and disappears.

  I gasp and suck in air. I feel like I haven’t drawn breath for a very long time. There are tears on my cheeks. All those pictures I showed it – all those memories I’ve had stored away – they’ve reminded me that she’s my sister no matter what, and we belong together.

  The sky is lightening. It’s grey all around. Mist rises from the river. I make sure that the waka is facing in the same direction as before, toward that little shining light. Then I dig my paddle in and I go for it.

  TUIKAE

  The last flaming torch winks out. I examine the mere I found underneath all the clothes before slipping the tie over my wrist. It’s so pretty, but I won’t steal it. Whoever left it there must surely be coming back for it, but the silence makes me uneasy and it feels better – it feels right – that I should have it in my hand.

  ‘Hello?’

  There’s no answer, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch a flicker of movement. It’s Rākau, standing quite close to the wall of pou, about to slip through a gap. She looks sad. I start forward, ready to follow; I don’t want to be left here alone. But as she steps between the pou, her body lengthens, slims, grows. Her skin changes texture, becomes brown and shiny. Within a matter of seconds she has become a pou herself, completing the wall, which now completely encircles the clearing. Her carved face looks straight ahead, her eyes polished chips of pāua. There’s nothing there that shows she was once a living breathing woman like me; nothing except a vague resemblance in her wooden features and the carving of a comb held tightly in her hand.

  I gaze around at all of them – all these women who transform into pou when the dawn comes and the water cools – and I realise it must be the steam that brings them to life in the night. The steam softens their hardened features and makes their hearts beat again, but at dawn, they must return to their place in the wall.

  They stand so close together, there’s no way through. I trail my fingers along them, wondering if they can feel my touch, when a branch cracks on the other side of the wall. I tilt my head, listening. Leaves rustle under heavy footsteps, and I back away into the centre of the clearing.

  There’s a scrabbling of claws, and a huge, dog-like creature, a peropero, appears on top of the wall. It has massive shoulders, a thick neck supporting a boulder of a head, and white fur that blends in with the dawn’s light. It growls, showing gleaming white fangs. My mouth goes dry and my hands tremble. I back away, and it growls louder and then barks. It snaps at the air, drool spraying from its muzzle. I weakly brandish the mere and the dawn light catches it, giving it a shiny pearl-like lustre. The beast ignores it completely; it hasn’t taken its eyes off my face.

  Suddenly it leaps, faster and further than I would have thought possible. There’s nowhere for me to run. The wall encircles us. There’s no way out except over the top, and it’s far too high, far too slippery. I back away from the dog, wildly slashing at the air, and it leaps for me. By pure luck I connect with it; the mere catches it on the side of its head and the beast’s fur smokes as its flesh sizzles. The dog staggers sideways, pawing at the side of its head, and that gives me just enough time to scramble a little further away. Suddenly I see it: a gap in the wall on the far side, a gap just wide enough for a single pou. A gap, I realise with horror, just wide enough for me.

  I make a dash for it, and almost immediately trip over my own feet on an uneven piece of ground. In an instant the peropero is on me. It lunges for my ankle and bites down deep.

  I shriek and slash at it, but it dodges easily. Its fangs bury deep in my leg, and it growls and tears at me as if to rip me to shreds right there. Its muzzle is covered with my blood, the red starkly beautiful against its white fur. But the pain; the pain is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Black spots dance across my vision, and again I try to swing the mere, but it’s too heavy. I can barely even lift it, much less attack.

  Black closes in, and I feel as if I’m falling down a hole, faster and faster. Before my vision goes completely, I look for the gap in the wall, my only way out. It’s been filled: not by a pou, but by someone.

  Someone is there, and he’s coming for me.

  TUIKAE

  It’s like a nightmare. S
he’s screaming her head off, and this massive zombie-dog is ripping at her leg, and all I’ve got is the waka paddle.

  I charge into the clearing, yelling and swearing, and finally it stops biting her and snarls at me. It backs up and then leaps. I swing the paddle as hard as I can, and smash the zombie-dog across the skull. The paddle disintegrates into a puff of feathers and leaves and flowers. Absolutely bloody useless.

  It’s enough to distract it, though. While it’s spitting feathers, I yank out a stick poking up from the ground. It’s all charred and burnt on top. I stab the zombie-dog in its side, leaving a charcoal mark against its fur. It sticks its muzzle to the sky and howls, and I swipe at it across the mouth, just in case it’s calling some of its mates to come and help. One of its fangs pops right out onto the grass, and it charges at me again. I sprint for the wall, and do a couple of rugby training sidesteps, changing direction at the last minute so that the zombie-dog, confused, bangs right into it.

  With a groan, one of the poles teeters and falls, and some of the other poles follow. I know it sounds weird, but they’re dropping in every direction, almost as though they’re deliberately trying to squash the zombie-dog underneath. Most of them miss, but the last catches it across the legs. It yelps in pain, wriggling and squirming to work its way free. By then I’m whacking it with the burnt stick as hard as I can, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference.

  It’s finally free, and springs at me. I go down backwards, falling right into one of those little pools. The zombie-dog is on me, and everything is a blur of teeth and fur and water. I can’t breathe and I’m beginning to panic – and then it just collapses and everything goes still.