Battle of the Birds

by Lee Murray

  ‘Shhh, Ken.’

  Annie holds the flimsy structure while Moana races away through the long grass holding the flax string. But before the kite takes off Moana falls flat on her face. When she stands up her long hair is tangled and her knees are splattered with mud and grass.

  ‘Whoops! That’s not supposed to happen!’ Giggling, Moana winds the flax string back onto its stick. ‘Let’s have another go.’ This time the wind catches it and the kite bobs up in the air. Annie clambers through the grass to reach her friend. Moana is singing:

  kōtuku

  chases the wind

  over the kauri

  ‘That’s pretty,’ Annie says when she’s finished.

  ‘It’s my own special kite song. It gives the kite magic to make it fly.’

  ‘Actually, you do know that flight isn’t magic at all. In fact, flight is a scientific process due to the flow of air causing lower air pressure over a wing than under it…’

  ‘Shhh, Ken, you’re spoiling the magic.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’

  Annie makes Moana repeat her poem, then sings it back to her in the language of the birds. The melody is beautiful, haunting, with soft pure notes. Yet as she sings Annie can’t help feeling that something sinister is coming. Unsettled, she watches Moana’s kite swoop and dive in the wind while Ken races around after it.

  ‘You know, it would help if she wasn’t such a crazy driver.’

  ‘Shhh, Ken.’

  Later, the two exhausted girls lie on their backs in the grass beside Ken and watch the insects zipping above them.

  ‘Moana? What do you think about this prophecy thing? Do you think it’s true?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Moana brings a leg up and slaps at her calf where a sand fly is still biting her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Annie says, pausing. ‘There are a lot of things that say I am: my blonde hair, my pendant, and especially my being able to speak to Ken.’

  ‘Not to mention your strange clothes,’ Moana says, scratching purposefully at her leg where a small raised welt is already forming. ‘And the way you and Ken flew in on the wind, just as Ruānuku said you would.’

  ‘Actually, that part isn’t that surprising,’ says Ken. ‘It made sense to use a traditional migratory flyway.’

  ‘A flyway?’ peeps Annie.

  ‘A highway for birds,’ Ken explains. Annie translates for Moana.

  ‘That’s so awesome!’ Moana exclaims. It is, and that gives Annie a jolt of excitement.

  ‘So could you take me back to Wisconsin, to my parents, the same way?’

  ‘Naturally, although my migratory impulses don’t seem to be functioning at present. I’m experiencing some sort of strange interference.’

  Moana asks, ‘But if there are lots of these flyways, how did Ken know which path to choose? Does he use the stars and the sun to navigate, like my ancestors?’

  ‘I do. I also find my way by detecting changes in the earth’s magnetic field. I’ll have you girls know, I’m fitted with some pretty spectacular onboard technology…’ Annie can’t think of a way of explaining magnetism to Moana. It makes her feel small and powerless.

  ‘Moana, what if I can’t do whatever it is everyone wants me to do?’

  ‘Then we’ll help you, silly,’ Moana says, giving Annie a playful shove. She scrambles to her feet in a rattle of flax and snatches up her kete.

  ‘Race you back!’

  Kuia has produced an evening meal of hot smoked eel flavoured with spicy horopito leaves. In addition, there are eight purple-skinned potatoes and a steamy pile of pūhā, a vegetable like spinach. Ken isn’t interested in the pūhā. Throwing his head back, he swallows a small eel, and then lets out a loud belch of satisfaction.

  ‘Delish!’

  Annie tries a mouthful of sweet potato. Actually, it’s okay. It’s not Mum’s familiar roast vegetable lasagne, but it’s definitely not vomitous either. Annie tries hard not to think of Lauren, or of Mum. It makes her feel homesick. It was the same when she went on school camp, except that was only for a few days. This time, who knows if she’ll ever see her family again? When she wished for adventure, she’d been thinking of a three-minute thrill-ride on a slippery hydro-slide, or possibly a pony trek, not being whisked off across the world to help fulfil a thousand-year-old prophecy.

  Looking into the glowing embers of the fire, she blinks back tears.

  ‘Hey, chin up, kid,’ Ken soothes. ‘Let’s just see what happens.’

  Later, snuggled next to Moana under the soft down of Ken’s wing, Annie drifts off to sleep, her fingers clasping the pendant of Tūhua around her neck.

  Party of Six

  Around lunchtime the following day, Annie and the tribes-people reach another small settlement, whose chief is a cousin of Kuia.

  ‘Kuia comes from a big whānau,’ Moana whispers to Annie during the official greetings, earning a stern look from her grandmother. The formalities complete, a sturdy boy of around thirteen taps Moana on the shoulder. He has twinkly eyes and wild, expressive eyebrows. Moana squeals in delight.

  ‘Kia ora, Kahurangi. How are you? I’ve bought my kite, the one you made me. It flies beautifully. I’ve made up my own kite song…’

  Kahurangi laughs. ‘Slow down, Moana. I’m going to the meeting of the tribes, too. There’ll be lots of time to talk.’ Moana’s brown skin flushes pink. Suddenly shy, she looks at her toes.

  ‘Hi,’ says Annie, stepping up to cover her friend’s over-enthusiasm. ‘I’m Annie.’

  ‘Welcome, Annie. Come on, girls. The hāngī pit is about to be opened. Let’s get you some lunch.’

  Several men strip away the earth, their muscles glowing with perspiration as they work. The pit is crammed with shellfish, eel, taro and kūmara. The smell of the cooked food makes Annie’s mouth water. Moana and Annie carry their food on broadleaf plates to a grassy area near a small knoll, where they sit down to enjoy their lunch. While they eat, Kahurangi entertains them with stories of his latest invention, an eel trap in which he’d caught three fat eels on its first use.

  When the meal is over, the menfolk withdraw quickly into the chief’s whare. A quiet hush falls over the villagers left around the hāngī pit. Some of the women get up and begin clearing away the remaining food, packaging it to carry on the journey; but one woman bursts into tearful sobs and has to be helped into a nearby hut.

  ‘Hey, Kahurangi what’s going on?’ Moana whispers.

  At the same instant, Ken lands in a flap alongside her. Bored with the ceremonial greetings, Ken has eaten elsewhere. By now, the girls are used to Ken’s presence, but Kahurangi leaps to his feet.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Annie laughs. ‘Ken’s a friend. He won’t hurt you.’ Kahurangi is still guarded, so Annie and Moana explain how Ken brought Annie from far over the sea, her extraordinary ability to talk with birds, and the prophecy that somehow explains her presence here.

  ‘Can you really talk to this fluffy overgrown kūmara?’

  ‘Hey, less of the fluffy kūmara talk! I’ll have you know, young man, that I’m an American eagle.’

  ‘Er, Kahurangi, if you don’t mind, Ken prefers not to be called a fluffy kūmara.’

  ‘Well, all right, but ask him to sit over there, a bit further away, on that knoll.’

  ‘Yeesh! Do I have bad breath?’ Ken moans. ‘I guess I did eat some fish earlier, and a dried rat…’

  ‘Shh, Ken,’ says Annie.

  Kahurangi has some news.

  ‘Two days ago a toddler from our village was stolen by a raiding party of predators. The girl’s mother, the woman you saw crying, was at the beach gathering shellfish with the other women while a group of children played nearby. The toddler, Kakama, wandered further up the beach, searching for shells and crabs, but her mother wasn’t alarmed. She knew Kakama liked to explore. It was a warm day, so the women were surprised when a rain cloud appeared suddenly overhead. Except it wasn’t a cloud at all: it was a cluster of flying predators: falcons, kea, black-backed
gulls, and laughing owls, all crowding together to block out the daylight. In the centre of this seething mass was a brother of their leader, the mighty Te Hōkioi. This brother surged from the pack, wings stretched as wide as a canoe is long, and snatched the child up in his talons. He carried her off while her anguished mother crashed desperately through the waves trying to save her.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Moana gasps, bringing her hands to her mouth to cover her horror. Now Annie understands Kahurangi’s distrust of Ken. Ken is a bird of prey, too.

  ‘Cowards!’ squawks Ken from his knoll a few metres away. He flaps his wings in obvious disgust.

  ‘Did they find her?’ Moana asks.

  Kahurangi levels his eyes at the eagle. ‘The women rushed back to the village, screaming and wailing in distress. When our chief was able to get a full account of what happened, he sent out a party to rescue her.’

  ‘Oh, thank goodness, she’s safe. The poor little thing. She must’ve been terrified.’

  Kahurangi shakes his head sadly, and Annie feels an icy rush through her veins. Placing her arm around Moana’s shoulders, Annie rocks her gently as she whispers, ‘No Moana, she isn’t safe. They never found her.’

  Soon afterwards, the men file out of the chief’s whare. Their faces are strained. Kahurangi’s chief speaks to the assembly. Although related to Kuia, he doesn’t resemble her at all. He’s rotund, like bossy Sir Topham Hatt, and has the same crusty manner as Annie’s school deputy principal. Annie half expects him to tell them all off for not putting their litter in the bins or for dragging their school bags in the dust.

  ‘Te Hōkioi’s followers have become increasingly bold. It seems even children are at risk. We have decided the people must travel onwards to the Great Lake where there will be safety in numbers. It is a long journey, perhaps six or seven days. We’ll leave tomorrow, led by Tama and myself.’

  Annie decides the Great Lake must be the crater lake at Taupō. In a car, the trip takes just a couple of hours. Annie loves the holiday resort town. She remembers staying there during their last summer at home. She’d had great fun digging a shallow hole in the pebbly sand at the edge of the lake. Afterwards, she lay stretched out in the hollow as deliciously warm water seeped in around her. It was like having a luxurious mineral spa, except it was totally free! Moana gives Annie a sharp nudge, snapping her out of her daydream.

  Chief Deputy Principal is still talking. ‘It’s vital that the Speaker be delivered to the assembly of the birds. She cannot go alone, but given the danger, a small group would be best. Chief Ahuru will be our representative at the Council. He will lead the party.’

  Beside Annie, Moana raises her hand. ‘I’ll go with my uncle and Annie.’

  ‘I’ll go, too,’ says Kahurangi.

  But Kuia objects. ‘No! Ahuru, please. They’re just children. It’s too dangerous.’ Kahurangi and Moana start to protest, but Ahuru raises his hand, cutting them off.

  ‘Annie will need friends she can count on, Kuia.’

  ‘Te Hōkioi cannot be trusted,’ Chief Deputy Principal cuts in. ‘You’ll need warriors to protect you.’ In answer, Ken extends his wings to their full breadth and lets out a rousing caw. There is no need for Annie to translate. He intends to travel with Annie. Ahuru nods his agreement. From the back of the group a gruff voice calls, ‘My taiaha is at your service, Ahuru.’

  ‘Thank you, Toa. We leave at daybreak.’

  The Coming of Te Hōkioi

  The small group travels swiftly, and by mid-morning of the second day they push through the undergrowth to emerge on the banks of a small lake. Coming from the darkness of the bush, the day is bright and sunny, although mist still hangs over grey bush-covered banks on the far side of the water. Nearby, bubbling mud plops rudely. The newly formed mud pool is blocking the trail that skirts the lake. Toa and Ahuru stop to discuss how best to proceed.

  Annie has a headache. Adapting to her talent as Speaker, Annie is becoming more and more attuned to the conversations of the birds in her vicinity. Right now, snippets of everyday bird chatter assail her, making her head throb:

  ‘And I said if she wanted to sing well, she needed to practise. After all, I said to her, anything worthwhile requires effort. But youngsters these days…’

  ‘I swear it was the prettiest blue egg…’

  ‘Why not join me for lunch? I’ve got some huhu grubs in.’

  ‘Oh heck, I’ve lost another tail feather! At this rate, I’ll be bald before next summer.’

  But Annie also hears other things, threatening things, which remind her of her journey’s purpose:

  ‘Nasty brutes those predators.’

  ‘They want to take over, it seems.’

  ‘Doesn’t look good for the flightless ones, does it?’

  ‘There’s going to be a war.’

  ‘Oh, beetles! Surely, it won’t come to that?’

  Unable to block out the birds’ prattle, Annie’s relieved when Kahurangi uncovers a canoe, a waka, which has been carefully concealed in the undergrowth. He shouts to Ahuru and Toa to help him. Brushing out leaves and debris, they drag the tiny craft over to the water.

  ‘Beats waiting half an hour for a bus,’ Ken hoots.

  ‘Local tribes often hide waka to use the next time they pass,’ Ahuru says. ‘It’s a good thing Kahurangi discovered this hidden waka. It’ll be far quicker than taking a detour around the lake. Besides, this area is highly dangerous; there are hidden geysers and fumaroles everywhere.’

  Clearly chuffed that his resourcefulness has prevented a long walk, Kahurangi grins as he rinses the leaf litter off the paddles. They clamber into the narrow waka and push off.

  Toa and Kahurangi paddle the waka across the lake. Their blades dip and glide, dip and glide, each stroke bringing them closer to the assembly place. Annie chews at her fingernail. They’ll soon be there and her role in the prophecy will begin.

  Realising her friend has fallen quiet, Moana asks, ‘Are you frightened about attending the Council?’

  ‘A bit.’

  Behind her, Ahuru places a reassuring hand on Annie’s shoulder. ‘Try not to worry too much, Annie,’ he says. ‘Don’t forget, we’ll be there to support you.’

  But something has been worrying Annie. ‘Ahuru, before we left, the other chief said you would play a part at the Council of Birds?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘But you’re not a bird.’

  Ahuru laughs. ‘Good observation! It’s true, we’re not really part of the Council, but a representative of the People always attends. Out of respect.’

  ‘Because the birds saved us,’ Kahurangi says.

  Moana cuffs him gently. ‘No, no Kahurangi. Not like that. You start a story at the beginning, not the end.’

  ‘You tell it then.’

  But it’s Ahuru’s deep melodic voice that begins the tale. ‘After a long journey from their homeland, our ancestors arrived on these shores. They were weary and homesick, but happy to reach this beautiful land. There was a lot to do: villages to build and kūmara to plant. But that year it was very cold; the kūmara didn’t grow and the people were hungry. When the birds saw that our ancestors were dying, they felt sorry for the people. So they came in the night and left food; grubs and berries, and even eggs and dying birds. They gave their feathers to keep the people warm. Because of their sacrifice, our ancestors were able to survive the harsh winter.’

  ‘The birds saved us,’ Kahurangi says again.

  ‘From that time forwards, our ancestors vowed to protect and preserve our bird friends. That’s why we’re careful only to take what we need for food. And it’s the reason we always help at the Council.’

  Ken, who has been circling overhead, swoops down now and perches on the bowsprit of the waka. The little craft pitches and sways under his weight. When he’s settled, his huge wings neatly folded under him, Annie repeats Ahuru’s tale.

  ‘And they say history never repeats! The same thing happened when the Mayflower landed in Amer
ica, you know. An Indian tribe provided food that helped the newcomers survive the winter, and the next year the grateful pilgrims invited the tribe to celebrate their harvest. That was the first Thanksgiving.’

  ‘This year, we’ll be able to thank the birds properly, too,’ Moana says happily. ‘Now you’re here, Annie.’

  After about an hour of paddling, they round a bend in the lake. Annie sucks in her breath. There before her, in a crevice between the mountains, a magnificent staircase descends from the sky. The steps are waxy pink near the clouds, gradually spreading out and softening to lacy white at the lake edge. Steam curls from the hollowed steps. The terraces sparkle in the morning sunshine.

  ‘Otukapuarangi,’ says Toa gruffly, pointing his paddle at the top of the staircase. ‘Waterfall from the clouds.’ Toa brings the waka in to shore. Kahurangi helps him haul it out of the water where they hide it in the dense scrub. ‘We’ll walk the rest of the way, but this is a good place to eat.’ Ahuru nods.

  Annie is starving. She’d love a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  ‘Yes, well I wouldn’t mind a nice cinnamon raisin bagel either, but I think it’s unlikely.’

  Kahurangi disappears into the brush and comes back a short time later carrying a small clutch of eggs. Toa places the eggs in a kete. Then he lowers the kete into in a bubbling pool. Minutes later, they’re sitting under the trees peeling their hard-boiled eggs. Toa offers some food to the eagle.

  ‘No, thank you. I don’t eat eggs. Personal reasons, you understand.’

  ‘Er…he said no thank you,’ Annie says. Instead, Ken gobbles freshwater bullies from a nearby pool. While peeling his egg, Kahurangi tells Annie the region is renowned for its beauty. ‘Lots of poets come here for inspiration.’

  ‘I can see why. It’s like looking at the stairs to Cinderella’s palace in the clouds.’

  ‘Cinderella’s palace?’ says Moana. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a story,’ says Annie.

  ‘Another story! Will you tell it to me?’ begs Moana. ‘Please, Annie?’

  While they eat Annie tells the story of Cinderella and the ball. She has to change it a bit, because Moana has never seen a glass slipper or been to a disco. Annie’s convinced she’s done a good job when Moana sighs, idly making patterns in the pebbly sand with her finger.