Battle of the Birds

by Lee Murray

  ‘I knew the chief’s son would fall in love with Cinderella. That is so romantic. You’re a great storyteller, Annie.’

  ‘Bah, it’s a girls’ story,’ says Toa. ‘A chief’s son should be brave and courageous.’

  ‘Instead, he was resourceful and romantic,’ says Ahuru, winking at the girls. ‘Sometimes, where girls are concerned, that’s more appealing.’

  A booming cackle startles them. Immediately, Toa pushes the girls into a thicket out of sight as a dark shape soars overhead. Kahurangi crouches in the lee of the waka while Ahuru uses his cloak as camouflage. The air becomes thick with the stench of rotting fish.

  Trembling with fear, Annie peeks through fanning ponga fronds to get her first glimpse of Te Hōkioi. He’s a Haast eagle! The biggest, fastest and deadliest eagle ever to live. Like the moa, Haast eagles are extinct, but Annie has seen one in a textbook — but not like this. Not in the flesh. Te Hōkioi is horribly beautiful. More than twice the size of Ken, he has striking black and white plumage and vibrant green wing tips. His bill is hooded and grotesque like a vulture’s, his helmet blood red, and his eyes, which seem to burn into Annie’s soul, are black and cruel.

  ‘Rise and conquer!’ the monster hisses to the party of predators flying in formation behind him. Annie recognises the words of the prophecy.

  ‘Rise and conquer!’

  When the sinister group has passed, Annie lets out her breath.

  ‘Oh dear,’ says Ken sceptically. ‘It doesn’t appear my cousin Te Hōkioi is coming in peace.’

  Ahuru struggles to his feet. ‘Time to go,’ he says.

  Mergus

  The assembly place is on a huge rocky outcrop. The size of two rugby fields, it’s carved into the side of Mount Tarawera near the mountain’s summit. At this height there are no trees, just bare volcanic rock and low-growing scrub. The old mountain reminds Annie of the time she and Lauren burnt a batch of hokey pokey. Its surface is puckered and bubbly, with hues running from yellow to orange to red. Deep gouges etch the hillside, the scars of some ancient eruption.

  The mountain groans and rumbles under the burden of birds flocking on every ridge and ledge. Annie is flabbergasted at the number. There are hundreds of species, some of which she has never seen before. Out of place away from the swamp are midnight blue pūkeko with scarlet lipstick bills, and their larger gentle cousins, the takahē. There are glittering black tūī, tiny wrens and terns in every colour, grey and white seabirds, and soft brown ducks. A host of fantails flit about nervously amongst the crowd. Annie admires the graceful curving bills and white tail bands of a pair of dark, elegant birds next to her. Huia! Annie’s heart leaps in excitement to see these beautiful rare birds.

  ‘Excuse me, please,’ says a small brown kiwi, as he scuttles head-down across the open terrain, seeking the safety and obscurity of a rocky crag. He’s not the only one to appear nervous. In fact, everyone is apprehensive and Annie can see why. Only metres away, clinging to the cliff face, are the birds of prey. There are eagles and falcons perched alongside black-footed cormorants and harrier hawks. Making a tremendous racket is a flap of raucous kea, albatross, and laughing owls. A band of rowdy, screaming gulls rounds out the posse. They’re a menacing, threatening crowd, but for the moment they’re keeping to themselves.

  All at once, Annie’s surrounded. Birds push and jostle to get close to her. Suddenly, she knows just how it feels to be the lead singer of a famous rock group mobbed by groupies wanting autographs. They’re mostly small birds, many of them flightless, poking their beaks at her and bombarding her with question after question.

  ‘Are you the girl who talks to birds?’

  ‘How did you learn to speak our language?’

  ‘Is that the pendant of Tūhua?’

  ‘What do you know about the prophecy?’

  ‘Will Te Hōkioi be the one who conquers the sky?’

  Although Annie knows she is not in any danger, she can feel herself dissolving into tears. It’s just like her first day at school in Wisconsin when everyone wanted to know where she was from, how old she was, and whether she would be trying out for the softball team. She feels overwhelmed. Kahurangi and Toa are nearby, but since they can’t comprehend the birds’ language they don’t realise that Annie is the subject of such intense interest. They probably think the birds are welcoming her.

  At last, a fat brown goose intervenes. ‘Hey, leave her alone, you birdbrains! What a bunch of sticky-beaks! How’s anyone supposed to think with all that cackling going on?’ Chastened, Annie’s groupies move back. One or two chirp their apologies.

  Annie wipes her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Thank you,’ she says, ‘er, Mister…?’

  ‘Just call me Mergus, and you’re most welcome,’ the goose honks, bowing low.

  A trumpet sounds making Annie jump. For a second she thinks it might be a real trumpet, but it’s a moa, and he’s standing alongside Ahuru and Ken.

  Like the creature the girls saw on Annie’s first day, the moa is enormous. His massive body is the size of a car, and yet Annie isn’t afraid. There is something quiet and calming in his manner. Ahuru behaves as if the moa is a respected elder. None of the small birds around Annie look alarmed either. They stop their nattering and listen courteously.

  ‘My friends, it is time to begin.’

  At this, the predators converge en masse on the ridge. Swooping down from their perches, they crowd the outer rim of the plateau, while the quieter, smaller birds have their backs to the hillside. The air reverberates with the sound of flapping as the birds find their places and quieten down for the proceedings to begin.

  Without warning, Te Hōkioi appears in the sky, his wings outstretched and his grotesque maw open. Unhurried, he soars over the teeming plateau taking in the assembly. After several passes, he plunges into the crowd, ploughing low then ascending rapidly in an impressive acrobatic display. A kererū faints. Several birds rush to her aid.

  Ignoring the drama, Te Hōkioi comes to roost on the outer edge of the meeting place. Immediately, his devoted followers cluster about him. The old saying ‘birds of a feather, stick together,’ pops into Annie’s head. Clearly pleased that he’s mesmerised the crowd with his dramatic entrance, Te Hōkioi cocks his head and grins malevolently at the moa.

  ‘Ah Moa, I see you could not wait. Perhaps you wished to exclude me?’

  ‘Not at all, Te Hōkioi,’ Moa replies politely. ‘We have not yet begun.’ Moa clears his throat. ‘My fellow birds, we are here to discuss the leadership of Aotearoa, according to the ancient custom. It is time to select a new Council. In keeping with tradition, the people have sent their representatives to help us: Chief Ahuru and his niece.’

  Annie is surprised when Moana steps out from behind her uncle. She hadn’t noticed her friend leave her side. There’s more squawking and chirping as the birds reshuffle themselves. They form a large circle around Ahuru and Moana. Then, one-by-one, an ambassador for each species comes forward to drop a tail feather into the Māori chief’s kete.

  The Council of Birds

  ‘What’s happening?’ Annie asks Mergus.

  ‘It’s an old custom,’ Mergus explains. ‘Each time we gather, we select a new Council from the assembly. Each species elects an ambassador who provides a single tail feather that they place in a bag. Then, eight feathers are pulled at random from the kete. Those eight feathers correspond to the species who will sit on the new Council.’ Mergus looks over his shoulder at the mass of predatory birds clustered around Te Hōkioi. He drops his voice, ‘It’s a good system. At least, so far.’

  The last of the birds, a dainty kōkako, places a feather in the bag. She sings her thanks to Ahuru in a voice that is pure and strangely touching.

  ‘All the feathers are in,’ Mergus says. ‘See how full the bag is? It is time to select the Council.’

  Mergus is right. Ahuru’s kete is bulging. Ahuru beckons to Moana who steps close. Standing on tippy-toe, she reaches into the bag. The first feather is scarcely visi
ble and resembles a bit of fuzz off an old pair of slippers. Barely the length of her little finger, Moana holds it high above her head, where it flutters.

  The kiwi.

  All around Annie, birds cheep their applause. ‘Way to go, Rowi!’ Friendly and unassuming, the kiwi is well liked. He scuttles forward, excusing himself as he squeezes through the throng to collect his feather. Now, Moana pulls out a second feather. She holds it aloft. The plume is vivid green.

  The kea! The predators squeal their delight. Cawing loudly, the brawny parrot bounds forward to reclaim his quill. The small tern beside Annie shudders. Moana slides her hand into the bag and withdraws the third feather. This time it is long and spear-shaped. The central spine is as thick as Annie’s thumb and the tip is viciously sharp where it’s been torn from the predator’s flesh. This time, it’s Annie turn to shudder.

  A shriek rings out from the predators’ camp. ‘That’s mine!’ A falcon erupts from the crowd to snatch his feather from Moana’s grasp. ‘Mine, mine, mine!’

  ‘That’s two,’ the tern gulps, fearfully.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ says Annie.

  ‘Two predators,’ the tern says, a tremor in his voice. ‘Two predators. They’ll do whatever Te Hōkioi tells them.’

  ‘Now, now, there are still five feathers to come,’ says Mergus positively. ‘Let’s not panic, yet.’

  The fourth feather is dovetailed white and brown. A fantail feather. There’s a collective sneer from the predators. Heads jerk and twist as everyone strains to see the newest member of the Council.

  ‘If our new Council member could please collect their feather and accept their place on the Council,’ Moa says. Eventually, encouraged by her friends, a tiny fantail darts forward. She sits uneasily on Moana’s shoulder, glancing this way and that before retrieving her feather. Her tail fan flashes as she hops away into the safety of the crowd.

  ‘Oh, my word,’ Mergus exclaims when Moana holds up the next feather. ‘That’s me!’ A weka claps Mergus on the shoulder as the goose waddles over to collect his feather. A silent morepork is the next Council member. He twists his neck in a full circle as he examines the small birds backed into the cliff face.

  Next Moana extracts a sleek black feather tinged with green. Collectively, the crowd holds its breath. The gruesome pack let out a chilling scream. The crisp afternoon air is pierced with their screeches. There is no doubt about who owns this feather.

  Te Hōkioi. The brute smiles.

  ‘Wait! We’re not finished. There’s still one place remaining,’ Mergus calls. Moana doesn’t understand Mergus, but Annie realises her friend has been counting the feathers. She puts her hand into the bag a final time and takes out a large hairy brown feather. It’s untidy and a bit scraggly, but at the sight of it, Annie’s neighbour, the little tern, breathes a sigh of relief.

  ‘Who is it? Whose tail feather is that?’ asks Annie.

  ‘It’s Moa’s.’

  Te Hōkioi’s Agenda

  The new Council is formed.

  There are four predators, all birds of the air. They are Te Hōkioi, the falcon, the morepork, and the kea. All burly bullying types, they remind Annie of the Slytherins from her Harry Potter books. The other members of the Council are quietly spoken, likeable birds. They include the two flightless birds: the gigantic Moa and Rowi the kiwi, as well as Mergus, and the timid fantail, whose name is Fantasia. After the election, Moa strides over to where Annie is standing beside Mergus. Annie stifles an urge to run away; he’s so big!

  ‘Moa, hello,’ Mergus says, as the ratite approaches. ‘Let me introduce you to Annie.’

  ‘Enchanted to meet you, Annie. I’m Moa.’ Annie can’t believe it! A moa has just strolled over and politely introduced himself.

  ‘Hello Moa. Nice to meet you,’ Annie replies.

  ‘Oh! That’s extraordinary. You can speak to me in my own language!’ Annie grins. Moa seems just as excited to meet her.

  ‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ Mergus beams. ‘Annie’s very gifted. The northern accents can be tricky to grasp yet she’s understood everything I’ve said.’

  ‘There is little doubt that you are Speaker in the prophecy, Annie.’

  ‘Ruānuku thought so. He said I was to play a part in a great destiny. Ruānuku sent me to join you at the Council of Birds.’

  Mergus gives a low drawn-out honk. ‘That’s a big responsibility for a youngster.’

  ‘It is sort of…scary,’ Annie admits. She glances over to where the predators cluster around Te Hōkioi.

  ‘I’m sure Annie would feel more comfortable if she were surrounded by friends, Moa.’

  Moa inclines his head. ‘Excellent idea, Mergus. Let’s ask Annie’s friends to join us, too.’

  The Council meeting takes place in the same clearing on the side of Mount Tarawera. The Council’s predators roost on the cliff face, while the flightless and small birds settle on the other side of the clearing. A few birds have left, but many more remain on the hillside to hear the outcome of the meeting.

  Moa calls the group to order, stamping his massive foot and sending up a little cloud of volcanic dust. Annie discovers she is the first item on the agenda. There’s a hush when she introduces herself to the Council, and she realises this is the first time most of the birds have heard her speak.

  ‘We believe you are the Speaker in the prophecy, Annie,’ says Moa, ‘since humans who speak our language are as rare as the tuatara. Though to be certain, do you have the pendant of Tūhua?’

  Annie shows each Council member the pendant. She takes care not to get too close to Te Hōkioi whose gleaming eyes frighten her. The kea snatches the pendant from her hand. Annie notices a piece of his beak has broken off, probably the result of a fight.

  ‘Want it back, do you?’ he hisses.

  Although Toa doesn’t understand the kea, the warrior in him senses confrontation. He leaps to his feet. Ahuru holds him back, preventing him from doing something hasty.

  ‘Give the pendant back to Annie, please,’ Moa says firmly.

  ‘Who’s going to make me, then?’ jeers the parrot. ‘You?’ He laughs, whistling through the gap in his beak. It is a hard, cruel sound.

  ‘Toka,’ says Te Hōkioi, in a cold tone. He cocks his head in Annie’s direction, indicating that the parrot should return the little stone to its owner. Toka pauses briefly, considering his options, before flinging the pendant on the ground and skulking back to his place. The atmosphere has turned icy. With a start, Annie realises that small gesture has established Te Hōkioi as the most powerful bird on the Council.

  ‘Kek, kek, kek, kek!’ shrieks the falcon, which is no doubt his version of nyeh, nyeh, n-nyeh, nyeh.

  Annie picks up her pendant, and wipes the dust from the surface. The stone is glowing again, revealing the phrase etched in its interior. ‘It has words on it,’ she says.

  ‘Words? What kind of words?’ demands Te Hōkioi. ‘Is it the prophecy?’

  ‘Y…yes, I think so. I can read it to you…’ She turns the pendant to the light and reads:

  'As this dark stone reflects the light, so will rise who conquers flight.'

  Grinning, Te Hōkioi struts to the centre. He spreads his wings wide, exposing his breastplate. He flaps them once or twice, carelessly, as if he has all the time in the world. Then he folds his wings neatly, raises his head and addresses the Council.

  ‘As this dark stone reflects the light, so will rise who conquers flight. I think the Council will agree that now is the time for me, Te Hōkioi, to rise. The prophecy foretells it. I am the darkest on the Council. Unlike the flightless here, I am truly master of the skies. There is none more powerful. It is time for a new order; my new order. Te Hōkioi will rule Aotearoa. I will be king.’

  There’s an uproar. It’s an ugly sound, reminding Annie of the time Dad took her to an All Blacks’ test. At a crucial point in the match, the referee had made a decision the crowd didn’t like. Shocked, everyone wanted to have their say. People began to argue with the
ir neighbours about what had happened. Feeling frightened, Annie had moved a bit closer to Dad.

  Satisfied his outburst is the reason for the turmoil, Te Hōkioi and his cronies take up their places on the cliff face. Because of the ruckus, the Council is forced to adjourn. Annie and her friends consider Te Hōkioi’s proposal.

  Annie quickly translates Te Hōkioi’s speech for her friends. Kahurangi whistles in disbelief.

  Mergus’ shoulders slump. ‘So there it is. Te Hōkioi wants to rule Aotearoa,’ he says.

  Moa nods. ‘He’s always sought power.’

  ‘He’s certainly scary,’ Annie says. ‘Would it really be so bad if he were king? America has a President and it seems to work out.’

  ‘A king must be responsible, Annie,’ Moa advises. ‘He should act for all species, not just his favourites.’

  ‘I can’t imagine Te Hōkioi doing that,’ pipes up Fantasia.

  ‘Neither can I,’ says Rowi. ‘Look at the pelicans: Te Hōkioi and his brothers cruelly persecute them. Not able to escape into the sky, they’re defenceless. Like sitting ducks, all of them. Only a few remain now. It won’t be much longer before they disappear completely.’

  ‘Rowi’s right. It wouldn’t be so bad if Te Hōkioi and his friends killed just for food, but they don’t.’

  Ken pipes up. ‘I reckon this Te Hōkioi needs an attitude adjustment. I’ve seen it before you know; back when the buffalo roamed the American prairies in vast herds. The settlers came, and instead of taking only what they needed, they killed for sport. Thousands of buffalo were slaughtered.’

  ‘Don’t forget the missing girl from Kahurangi’s tribe,’ Annie says. ‘What about her?’

  ‘She was snatched!’ Kahurangi says fiercely.

  ‘Te Hōkioi cares little for the hurt and suffering of others,’ Moa acknowledges.