‘Ae,’ Wiripo agreed, ‘but she was still fighting for us. Put her in the waka. We will bury her later.’
With obvious reluctance, Ngaru and Hapi struggled to hoist Amy’s heavy body off the sand and manoeuvre it into the waka’s stern, breaking into a sweat even though the day wasn’t at all warm.
Kitty glanced at Amber, and nearly smiled at the sight of the little girl’s lips clamped deliberately together—clearly she had understood the warning. She took Amber’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly, although she herself felt far from confident.
She bit her lip: how on earth were they going to get out of this? What would Rian do? Would he fight his way out? Kitty eyed the trio of burly and very fit captors and mentally shook her head. They’d rendered her pretty much defenceless by taking her pistol and her knife. The only thing still in her favour was the fact that they thought she couldn’t understand what they were saying: surely something would be mentioned sooner or later that she could use to her and Amber’s advantage?
Ngaru grasped her arm and propelled her, not roughly but certainly insistently, towards the waka. Hapi bent to take Amber’s hand, but she reciprocated by delivering a well-aimed kick to the base of his shin.
‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, hopping around on one foot and grimacing.
Wiripo and Ngaru both laughed, but, before Amber could inflict any more damage, Ngaru picked her up and deposited her in the middle of the waka. Kitty knelt and put her arm around her daughter, feeling the child’s thin shoulders shuddering with either fear or rage. To hide her own shaking hands, she put her boots back on and busied herself tying the laces.
Wiripo stepped into the waka and sat in silence as Ngaru and Hapi launched the vessel off the sand and into deeper water, then climbed in themselves and each took up a paddle.
As the waka turned against the current, Wiripo pointed to a blanket bundled in the bottom of the hull and said to Kitty, ‘Lie down under the blanket.’
She made an uncomprehending face.
Wiripo frowned again, his patience obviously wearing thin. Making what appeared to be a supreme effort, he said in English, ‘Blanket. Sleep. Hide.’
Kitty obstinately shook her head.
‘I am glad she is not my wife,’ Ngaru muttered. ‘Too stubborn.’
‘I would have the woman,’ Hapi said, rubbing his bruised shin resentfully, ‘but not if I also had to take the child.’
Wiripo told them to shut up, then leaned in close and shouted in Kitty’s face, ‘Blanket!’
When she still refused to obey, he produced a piece of thin rope and tied her wrists together, then pushed her to the bottom of the waka and pulled the blanket completely over her. Kitty stifled her panic, trying to keep a clear head. The waka began to rock alarmingly, there was a curse in Maori, and a moment later Amber was also shoved under the blanket.
Then there was silence, broken only by the quiet splash of oars dipping into the water. Kitty assumed that they were heading upriver, but to what destination she had no idea. She wriggled her shoulders, trying to make herself more comfortable—the bottom of the waka was very unforgiving, and the timber was transferring the cold of the river directly into her bones. She extended her legs, then retracted them quickly as her foot met some part of Amy’s body.
Above her, the one called Ngaru asked, ‘Who are they?’
Another voice—Wiripo, Kitty thought—replied, ‘I have not seen them before.’
‘She is wearing men’s clothes.’
Someone chuckled. ‘Ae.’
‘The child has very poor manners,’ Hapi grumbled. ‘If she were mine, I would beat her.’
Kitty drew up her knees, protectively nudging Amber closer to her belly.
‘But instead she beat you!’
More laughter.
‘They could be useful,’ Wiripo said. ‘As prisoners of war. We will ask Kawiti.’
Under the blanket, her face pressed against the cold hull, Kitty flinched.
The warriors paddled for some time, then a faint hail of greeting came and Hapi returned the call. Kitty struggled to sit up, but was pressed firmly down again by a large foot. She strained to feel any change in the rhythm of the paddles, a sign that the waka might be slowing, but the men continued smoothly on, their voices fading into a drone and then, eventually, silence.
Something floated past and scraped against the side of the waka, waking Kitty and making her cry out. She shuffled the blanket off her head and saw that it was now almost dark, and that it was raining again. How long had she slept? How on earth had she even managed to?
Amber wriggled, then stretched. ‘Mama?’
Kitty grimaced, praying that the men hadn’t heard her. ‘Ssshh,’ she warned gently.
The waka was slowing: above her, Kitty watched the dark branches of trees and ferns glide past in the gloom as they neared the bank. Where were they? She knew the river was still too substantial to be near its source, so how far inland had they travelled? How close were they now to Ohaeawai, where Kawiti himself was rumoured to be camped?
The waka jolted as it grounded in the shallows: Ngaru leapt out, took hold of the low prow and began to pull. When the vessel was secure on dry land, Wiripo hoisted out Kitty and deposited Amber on the sand beside her, then inclined his head towards Amy’s body and ordered Hapi to bury her somewhere fitting. They started to walk then, leaving Hapi behind with his unpleasant task, and soon were so deep into the dense bush that Kitty realised, with a rush of panic, that she could no longer hear their lifeline, the river. Or perhaps its sound had only been drowned out by the increasingly heavy rain, the patter and drumming on the broad leaves of the forest canopy creating a muted but steady tattoo.
Ngaru led the way at a cracking pace, rainwater sluicing down his broad back as he slogged through the mud and shoved aside drooping, water-laden branches. The soles of her boots collecting more mud with every step, Kitty slipped and slid on the track, her tied hands no help at all when she repeatedly fell to her knees. Each time, she felt Wiripo’s rough grip on her shoulders as he dragged her up again and urged her on. At one point she turned to him and snapped, ‘Get your bloody big hands off me!’, but whether he understood or not, he merely shrugged and gave her another little push.
Amber trotted along in front of Kitty, her small hands grasping at leaves and branches to keep her footing. Somewhere her cap had been lost and her dark hair hung in streaming rivulets down her back, and with every few steps she looked over her shoulder to make sure Kitty was still behind her.
‘Keep going, sweetheart, we’ll be there soon,’ Kitty urged.
The rain suddenly stopped, but the day had disappeared altogether now, leaving the forest in complete darkness except when the heavy, scudding clouds parted and briefly allowed the pale yellow of the moon to light the way. After an indeterminate amount of time, they turned off the track into a natural clearing several hundred yards square, the flattened grass indicating that the occupants had been there for at least a day or two. From what Kitty could see there were six other men in the camp, sitting around a fire that had been built under a thatch of green ponga branches to keep the rain off. The smell of cooking meat permeated the air, and, as they staggered into the clearing, every face turned towards them.
Kitty stopped in her tracks; Wiripo shoved her forward again.
‘What do you have there?’ one of the men near the fire asked with interest.
‘Something Kawiti might find useful,’ Wiripo replied shortly, and herded Kitty and Amber past the fire to the opposite side of the clearing. There, he produced another length of the thin, strong rope, tied it firmly to the binding already around Kitty’s wrists, then secured the free end to a narrow tree trunk and knotted it repeatedly. He did the same with Amber, except that the rope was fastened around her waist instead of her wrists, and by the time he’d finished they were both firmly attached to the slender tree, unable to move more than three or four feet in any direction. The more Kitty pulled on the water-sodden ropes arou
nd her wrists, the tighter they became. In her anger and frustration, she kicked violently out at Wiripo with her muddy boot: he sidestepped neatly, his face impassive, and walked away.
She sat, gesturing at Amber to do the same, then nervously stood again almost immediately as Ngaru approached carrying a rolled-up mat and an evil-smelling blanket, which he offered to Kitty. She took them, hesitated, then forced herself to thank him.
He was wearing a kind of cape now, against the cold that was creeping back into the bush after the rain, and had wrapped an extra length of some sort of cloth around his waist. The mokos patterning his cheeks, nose and stubbled chin were complex, indicating that he was a man of some mana, but he didn’t look any older than Rian and was possibly younger. When he crouched in front of Amber, Kitty quickly pulled her back beyond his reach.
Ngaru’s expression became rather wistful. ‘I have a daughter just like you,’ he said in Maori. ‘I miss her very much.’ But when Amber remained silent, after a moment he smiled sadly, then returned to the fire.
Kitty unrolled the mat and she and Amber sat on it, grateful to be off the cold, wet ground. From their position on the edge of the clearing, they could hear some of what the men were saying, but not all of it, although Kitty certainly tried to pick up as much information as she could. There was talk about what had happened at Waikare several days earlier—evidently the sortie had not been a success for Major Bridge, even though the Kapotai pa had been destroyed—speculation about the upcoming battle at Ohaeawai, and desultory comments about the atrocious weather.
When one of the men silently presented Kitty and Amber with some roasted pork half an hour later, they ate it ravenously. After they’d picked off every last edible shred, Kitty tossed the bones away, then watched with wary interest as Hapi trudged into the camp. He did not look at all happy.
‘Did you bury her well?’ one of the men asked, his voice betraying a note of unease.
Hapi nodded, warming his hands near the fire, then reached for a piece of meat.
‘We should have returned her to her people,’ Ngaru said.
Wiripo shook his head. ‘She said she had no people.’
‘She might walk, that one,’ someone else commented. ‘I hope you put plenty of rocks on her grave.’
Kitty shivered and drew Amber closer.
Some time in the night it began to rain again, not as torrentially as earlier, but very steadily. Kitty decided she would do better to stay awake, but only minutes later found herself barely able to keep her eyes open. At regular intervals someone came to check that the ropes around the tree remained secure, dashing Kitty’s hopes of escaping and stealing away under cover of darkness.
Dawn broke damp and grey, the wretched rain still falling. Kitty had slept after all, and lay blinking in confusion as Ngaru looked down at her and Amber huddled together on the mat. In silence he checked the ropes, then deliberately twisted the knots around to the far side of the tree trunk. Bastard, Kitty thought angrily as he returned to the fire and began to talk animatedly to the others.
Amber sat up, stretched, scratched her armpit and whispered, ‘Mimi.’
Kitty’s heart sank. She sat up herself, wincing at the stiffness in her bones and the headache that still lingered after yesterday’s fall, and watched as Amber clambered to her feet and moved a short distance away to relieve herself.
It wasn’t until Amber had unbuttoned her trousers and squatted that Kitty, with a start that almost made her cry out, realised that the end of Amber’s rope was trailing along the ground behind her. Hardly daring to hope, she pulled surreptitiously on her own rope and stared in amazement as the loose end appeared around the base of the tree.
Sweating now, Kitty prayed that Amber would remember that they were supposed to be tied up, and not wander around and attract attention. But as usual, Amber had trouble with her buttons and came back to Kitty for help.
As she struggled one-handed to fasten Amber’s trousers, Kitty whispered hoarsely in Maori, ‘Go into the forest when I say to.’
Amber regarded her for a long moment, then nodded.
Kitty glanced across the clearing: the men were eating and talking around the fire, except for one who was relieving himself against a tree. Ngaru turned and gave Kitty a meaningful look, then resumed energetically relating to the others what Kitty assumed was a complicated and entertaining story. Now no one was looking in their direction at all.
Kitty whispered into Amber’s ear, ‘Go!’, and the little girl obediently melted into the bush. Kitty gathered up the rope attached to her wrists so she wouldn’t fall over it, and crept after her. In the gloom of the undergrowth, she hastily wound Amber’s rope around her waist, then urged, ‘Run!’
Amber set off, jumping over small obstacles and dodging around larger ones, her feet slipping in the soggy leaf litter but never losing her balance, and Kitty realised with wonder that, even in the grip of terror, she still had the capacity to feel immensely proud of her daughter.
They circled the camp until they came to the track leading to the river. The mud sucked hungrily at their boots and forced them to slow down, but finally they reached the place where, the day before, the waka had been beached. The river was hugely swollen from the rains and the waka was almost afloat already, and Kitty was profoundly grateful to see that the paddles had been left neatly inside it.
She dug about in Amber’s pockets until she found the compass, then set it on a rock, opened the lid and stamped on it as hard as she could. Pieces of compass flew everywhere, but all Kitty wanted was the glass. She retrieved the largest shard and placed it carefully between her teeth, then lifted Amber into the waka, pushed off and jumped in herself. The waka was immediately caught by the current and began to move downstream. Behind them, from the depths of the bush, came a series of angry shouts.
Kitty took the piece of glass in one hand and started to saw at the ropes around her wrists, but knew almost immediately that the angle was wrong and it would never work.
‘Mama?’
Amber extended her hand and Kitty, trying not to think about what might happen if Amber cut herself, reluctantly gave her the piece of glass. With the shard held delicately between thumb and forefinger and her tongue poking out in concentration, Amber carefully sliced each strand until the ropes fell away and Kitty’s hands were free. Kitty gave her a delighted squeeze, then quickly cut the rope at Amber’s waist and snatched up a paddle: the waka was being swept along side-on to the current now, and was in real danger of capsizing. She plunged the paddle deep into the water and brought the waka around so that the prow was facing downstream again, then settled into a rhythm, changing sides with each stroke. Only then did she allow herself a small sigh of relief.
The cries had faded behind them, but they were still a long way from safety. Kitty noticed with alarm that the Kawakawa had breached its banks as far as the eye could see, the thick brown water eddying into the very bush itself. Logs, small trees and, at one point, a dead pig swirled about in the shallows, and the surface of the river was littered with branches and clods of earth. There was no hope of dodging anything, so Kitty resolutely paddled straight through the debris, her head up and her eyes fixed on what lay ahead.
They went on that way for almost an hour, paddling past great gouges where angry waters had taken huge bites out of the banks and flooded the new, raw contours. The sky was a curious yellow colour, bordered by yet more rain clouds gathering in great phalanxes of grey and white, and they saw absolutely no one, Maori or Pakeha, friend or foe.
Then Amber’s head lifted. She sat very still, then turned to Kitty and frowned.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
‘Turituri nui!’ Amber exclaimed, and flung her arms wide.
Kitty listened, and now she could hear it, too—a deep, dull, roaring sound that seemed to be coming from the river itself.
When they rounded the next bend they discovered the cause. Here, the river narrowed and entered a gorge. Between the elevated banks
of volcanic rock there was nowhere for the floodwaters to go, so the river simply picked up speed, carrying the debris along at a breakneck pace and sending spray high into the air.
Kitty’s shrieked warning to Amber to hold on was torn from her mouth as they were plunged into the torrent. The paddle was instantly ripped from Kitty’s hands, and the waka spun sideways, then straightened, turned again and finally flipped over, spilling both of them into the murky, tumultuous waters. Amber went under immediately, disappearing from sight before Kitty was sucked down herself, her legs tangling in a mass of submerged branches.
The light beneath the churning water was very dim, and the rush of air bubbles past Kitty’s head seemed extraordinarily loud. Struggling violently, and feeling a painful band begin to tighten around her lungs, she kicked free of the branches and struck out for the surface. She broke through, treading water and coughing, and staring wildly around for Amber. Grabbing hold of a log hurtling past her head, she shrieked her daughter’s name over and over, unable to see her anywhere as the madly bobbing detritus shot through the gorge, then gradually began to slow as the river widened once more.
At last she caught a glimpse of something that could be a small, pale face. She pushed off from the log and swam with the current, gritting her teeth as she was jostled and scraped by the rubbish sweeping past. But when she blinked, she lost sight of the little scrap that might have been her daughter, and let out such a shriek of frustration and dismay that she felt the back of her throat tear and tasted blood.
Then she saw it again, bobbing a few yards ahead, half-submerged and caught in the fork of a large branch. Still coughing, Kitty fought her way towards it, not daring to let the branch out of her sight, chanting to herself over and over, ‘Hold on, love, hold on, love, hold on, love’, until finally her hand closed on Amber’s hair and she hauled her head up and out of the water.
Somehow, Kitty managed to struggle to the bank and drag Amber onto dry land, where she sat, cradling the child and keening with despair. Around her a small group of people had begun to gather, but Kitty ignored them because she thought they were ghosts, and she didn’t have time for ghosts—not now, not while her precious little girl needed her and had to be kept warm in case she had decided to stay after all.
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