by Joanna Orwin
Hamish shrank into himself. They were going off on the wrong track. None of them had the slightest clue what they were talking about. These sightings of dogs were mere bluff. It was obvious that Tama and he were the only ones who had seen the real culprit. Beside him, Tod was shaking his head urgently at Kirsten. There was no point in her speaking up now. What hope did they have of convincing these bullshitting adults of the attacker’s identity? No help would come from this lot – they would be laughed out of town. They were on their own.
≈ SEVEN
MORNING CAME all too soon for Hamish. The four of them met in the kitchen for a subdued and hasty breakfast.
‘It’s up to us then,’ said Tod. ‘We’ll get in first, shoot this thing before Doug’s posse goes into action.’
He sounded almost excited, thought Hamish. That was a worry in itself. Tod hadn’t seen the eagle. After last night Hamish suspected his brother might be having doubts again.
‘Should we take the dogs as well as rifles this time?’ Kirsten was asking. ‘They might bail this bird up or something.’
‘Good idea,’ said Tod. ‘Use them like pig dogs.’
‘Just be on the alert and stick together,’ said Kirsten. ‘We don’t want anyone else being hurt like Tama.’
‘If you get another chance at a shot, take your time and line it up properly,’ added Tod.
Hamish nodded, wincing. He wouldn’t miss again.
Separating at the kennels, they set off on their rounds. The fog had receded slightly. The sky to the west was a jaundiced shade of yellow. Snow threatening again, thought Hamish, reading the weather signs out of habit. A faint glimmer of light showed in the east. They might actually get some sun today. He could see as far as the yards ahead of them. Thickening hoar frost had enclosed each blade of tussock grass in a sheath of ice. Its brittle beauty had a cruelty about it that reinforced his gut feeling that his familiar world had vanished forever.
They trudged on to the start of their lambing beat, Storm casting back and forth just ahead of them. Hamish strained his ears, every nerve in his body alert, listening for the beating of wings. But all he could hear was the small sounds of the sheep munching the hay Kirsten and Tod had fed out from the bike. There were no other sounds.
This time they stayed well within sight of each other as they methodically worked their way back through the paddock. The ewes were restless. They started nervously whenever the boys or Storm came close. More of them needed assistance than they had before. He delivered two lambs, then gave the lambing kit to Tama when they found a third ewe in strife.
‘This one’s yours, okay? It’s just one leg tucked back.’ Tama could do with something to distract him, take his mind off what had attacked him. He whistled Storm into heel and watched the other boy’s efforts with the ewe.
He had to admit, Tama’s big knobbly hands were surprisingly gentle. He seemed to have a knack with animals. He held the ewe firmly while Tama succeeded in flipping the trapped leg free. The ewe gave a final push and the lamb slithered out. Tama dragged it nearer the ewe’s nose. It was a big strong lamb, and he soon had it feeding vigorously. He wiped his hands and rolled up the lamb kit. ‘Howzat?’
He couldn’t hide his grin, and Hamish found himself responding. The town boy was one staunch dude.
Ahead of them, Storm vanished into a thick patch of fog. Suddenly uneasy again, Hamish was about to whistle her back, when the dog started barking. A frantic high-pitched bark he’d never heard before. Then a yelp of pain and terror.
Without a word, Tama took off towards the sound.
‘Wait!’ yelled Hamish. ‘Give me a chance to load the bloody rifle!’ But the other boy had already disappeared into the fog. Hamish fumbled with the ammunition, cursing his clumsiness. Ahead, he could hear Storm barking again. Praying that Tama wouldn’t be in his line of sight, he started to run.
Ahead of him, another yelp, weaker this time. Tama shouting incoherently. Hamish put on a final burst of speed. Shapes started to firm through the fog. The winged shape, even bigger than he’d remembered. But it was an eagle all right. Huge wings beating. Something in its talons. Storm, silent now. Tama hanging on to the dog. Trying to drag her free.
Hamish tried to control his trembling hands. He propped the rifle across the branch of a matagouri bush and looked through the sights. Tama was still hanging on, but he had a clear shot. If he lined it up accurately. He had to risk it. He aimed carefully, then squeezed the trigger slowly. Once, twice. Both bullets hit the giant eagle in the breast. He saw the speckled cream feathers part.
Tama gave one last desperate heave. The bird of prey released Storm. It circled once overhead. It gave that awful drawn-out cry then spiralled up into the fog and out of sight.
Hamish stared after it. His nostrils were filled with the stench of blood and something else indescribably foul. The reality was worse than anything the books had said.
He knew those bullets had hit home. He would stake his life on it. But he’d seen no sign of wounds as the creature flew overhead. And no blood. Bullets of that calibre should’ve killed it, stone dead. He’d killed deer with that rifle.
Slowly he made his way to where Tama crouched over Storm. That heavy stone in his stomach had risen up under his rib cage, making it hard to breathe. The other boy was swearing, a continuous repetitive string of expletives, as he cradled the dog in his arms. He didn’t look up as Hamish stopped beside him, but clutched her torn body closer.
Hamish’s unwilling eyes took in the crushed skull, the gaping wounds. ‘It’s no use,’ he said. ‘She’s dead.’
The stone rose up into his throat. He turned aside and vomited the contents of his stomach into the frozen tussock. As he straightened up, still spitting, the first flakes of snow sifted slowly out of the fog. Numb, he watched them settle on Tama’s bright hair and Storm’s dark bloodied coat.
Hamish stood at the living room window, absently watching the snow flurries that flared beyond the glass. They had told their mother Storm had been attacked by the dog pack, and she’d had no reason not to accept their story. Tama had listened without comment, closed in on himself, his eyes shuttered.
Hamish was grappling with a growing suspicion that what had attacked them was even more beyond belief than a prehistoric giant eagle – that the winged marauder could not be killed by ordinary means.
Eventually there was only one thing he could think of doing. He went out to the darkroom to look at his photos of the rock drawings. His project seemed ludicrous now, kid’s stuff, but he needed to have a closer look at that test print of the birdman. Against all logic, something was telling him it had a bearing on what was happening.
Using a magnifying glass, he scanned the print carefully. Even though the image was grainy, some features were quite clear. That head turned to the right had a beak with a tip that curved downwards. Unmistakable. Just like the beak of the creature that had attacked them and had then killed his dog, the creature that was killing the sheep.
Reluctantly, he took up the glass again. That tail. Wedge-shaped, an eagle’s tail. And the wings, with the suspicion of short parallel lines angled downwards. Flight feathers? Thick legs, bent into a frog-like stance. Typical of rock drawings, but the creature that had attacked them had thick powerful legs like that. Smudges of charcoal blurred the ends of the legs, but he didn’t need to decipher any detail. Talons.
Hamish put the magnifying glass down and stared into space. Birdmen figures were common in rock art. What made this one unusual was its level of detail. This drawing portrayed an eagle like the one that had attacked them. It was too much of a coincidence. There had to be a connection.
His first instinct was to tear up the photo, deny the drawing existed. His fingers tightened on the corners of the print. But that wouldn’t solve anything. Get a grip, he told himself. Calm down, work it out. Make sense of what was happening.
Hamish started jotting ideas down on paper, anything that pointed to a connection between the drawings and
the giant eagle. The level of detail. His impression that they formed a series, had a linked theme that was based on the birdman figure. He’d have to check that out, examine the rest of the photos. The location of the drawings – inaccessible and hidden from the casual observer. That was where the key lay perhaps. The drawings had to have some significance. And the timing of the eagle’s appearance. It all added up to one conclusion.
Hamish stared blankly into space, dimly aware of the muted flump of snow against the outside wall. That earlier unwelcome thought had thrust its way to the front of his brain. He faced it head on for the first time. The appearance of the eagle was connected to his discovery of the rock drawings.
For the moment there was nothing more he could do. By the time he left the darkroom, the snow had stopped. From the porch, he could just make out the silhouette of the Seven Sentinels against a sky pale with reflected snow-light. He couldn’t escape the feeling that they were somehow involved. Perhaps he was getting paranoid, seeing connections everywhere. But when he at last gained the privacy of his own room, he could still sense them out there, watchful, waiting.
And then it came to him. There was a connection. The eagle’s bugle call. He’d heard it before. Or something very like it. It was that sound made by the Sentinels when the wind blew nor’west. And now he came to think of it, it’d been nor’west when they first saw the giant eagle. It was the final clincher. He couldn’t go on trying to rationalise his way out. He knew what they were facing.
But he was no closer to working out what they could do about it.
Slumped on his bed, he absently polished his glasses while he tried to think. He sat there for a long time, his head buzzing with half-formed ideas, all of them useless. The only thing that seemed to make any sense was a long shot, but he had to try it on the others.
Once they were gathered in Hamish’s room, he didn’t know where to start. This was going to be difficult. Tama, with his tattoos and his roll-your-own ciggies, had attitude. He was very much part of today’s world. Tama was going to take some convincing. So was Tod. A giant eagle was one thing, the real identity of their attacker was something else.
He took a deep breath. ‘Those bullets hit that thing, right where it counts, both times. And it didn’t even blink.’
‘I thought you’d missed – both times,’ said Tama. ‘But I’ll take your word for it.’
‘Don’t flog yourself over it,’ said Tod.
Hamish shook his head. ‘That’s just the beginning.’
‘Spit it out, we’re listening,’ said Kirsten.
‘It sounds crazy, but I can only think of one explanation.’ Hamish hesitated, then rushed on as they just looked at him. ‘There’s a legend from around here – a Maori legend – about a giant bird. One that ate people.’ Hamish waited to be rubbished.
‘Yeah?’ Tod, already sceptical.
‘It might seem crazy, but I think that’s what it was,’ said Hamish. There, he’d said it.
‘What’s crazy about that?’ asked Tama. ‘It bloody well tried to eat us, didn’t it?’
This was not the reaction Hamish had expected. They hadn’t understood. Not sure how to proceed, he watched while Tama busied himself with rolling a cigarette. For a long moment nobody said anything.
Hamish tried again. ‘You don’t get it. If it’s something out of that legend, maybe it’s a mythical beast.’ Said out loud, it sounded far-fetched even to him.
‘Whaddaya mean? You saying we imagined it?’ Tama bristled.
‘No, of course not. It’s real all right. But I don’t think we can kill it. I mean, normal methods won’t work. Oh, what the hell. I’m saying maybe it’s kind of – immortal.’
Tod snorted, but Kirsten quelled him with a look.
Tama was silent. He toyed with his unlit cigarette. Then he said, ‘You’re saying we can’t do anything?’
‘Stuff that!’ Tod’s eyes glinted. ‘Nuke it, I reckon.’
‘If only,’ said Hamish. ‘No, I’m thinking along different lines – I checked out those rock drawings. There’s one of a giant eagle. Well, more than that. It looked exactly like the thing that attacked us.’
‘And?’ Tama wasn’t looking at him. He still hadn’t lit the cigarette.
‘What if those people knew about it? The rock drawing people. That the eagle belongs back then. That the rock drawings are connected to it somehow.’
‘It’s a mythical being from the past come alive – is that it?’ Kirsten asked slowly.
He was getting somewhere at last. ‘That’s it. So, maybe the eagle has to be tackled in a Maori sort of way … if it belongs back then. Not part of the real world. Today’s world, I mean.’
‘So we should talk to some Maori people,’ said Kirsten. ‘Get some advice?’
‘You’re onto it,’ said Hamish, relieved.
But Tod was shrugging. ‘It’s all a bit over the top isn’t it, Owl? Supernatural stuff, consulting Maori. You’ll be bringing up the Treaty next.’
Tama stood up abruptly. ‘I’ve heard enough. I’m outta here.’ He slammed the door behind him.
They listened to his footsteps going down the hall, the closing of his own door.
‘You’ll have to talk him round, Owl,’ said Kirsten. ‘We wouldn’t know where to start. He must know someone Maori we can talk to.’
‘I s’pose you’re right,’ said Tod reluctantly. ‘Worth a try anyway, the PC approach.’
‘Give him a few minutes to calm down,’ said Kirsten, ignoring Tod’s remark.
Half an hour later, Hamish tapped nervously on Tama’s door.
For a moment, Tama didn’t respond. Then he came to the door. ‘Whaddaya want?’ He didn’t sound friendly. ‘It’s late. I was nearly asleep.’
‘Not out here,’ Hamish pushed past him.
Tama climbed back into bed and pulled the duvet up round his shoulders, but not before Hamish glimpsed the skin that still showed the grazing and bruises from the giant eagle’s attack. ‘Keep it short.’
‘Even Tod thinks we should talk to someone Maori,’ Hamish said. ‘That’s where you have to come in, Tama.’
‘How’s that?’ Tama looked totally blank.
‘Well, you’re Maori, aren’t you,’ said Hamish.
‘You’ve lost me, bro.’ Tama didn’t look at Hamish. His voice went quiet, a veiled threat implicit in the sudden stiffening of his shoulders. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Come on, man, don’t make this so hard,’ said Hamish. ‘Do I have to spell it out?’
‘Oh. I get it.’ Tama paused, then said firmly, ‘Count me out. Told you that crap means nothing to me.’
Hamish stared at him. ‘Give me a break! You obviously believe what I said about the eagle. And you said all that stuff … about leaving the rock drawings alone.’
Tama hitched the duvet higher. He wouldn’t meet Hamish’s eye. ‘Nah, it wasn’t anything like that. I can’t stand heights.’
‘You think I’d fall for that? You came back – shouted a warning of some sort. You can’t bullshit your way out of that.’
‘No?’ Tama thought for a moment, then shrugged. ‘Look, Hamish. Forget it. Didn’t mean anything. Maybe I was saving face, like.’
‘Well okay then.’ Hamish gave up. ‘Have it your way. But you will help?’
‘Me? How?’
‘You must have contacts. Someone who might know what to do. You know – relatives or something.’
‘Nah, forget it. My rellies are a pack of retards anyway. You reckon you know what the problem is. Use science to sort it out.’ He burrowed under the duvet. ‘Eff off, I need some sleep.’
Frustrated, Hamish stared at the humped duvet, then gave up. He didn’t have the energy to argue any more. He’d hoped Tama would know someone, someone who would take the burden of responsibility away from him. He’d no idea what he could do now. Perhaps Tama was right. Sleep might provide some inspiration. Perhaps everything would seem less hopeless in the morning.
But the morning brought further disaster. The snow had frozen. Worse than that, it had thawed slightly before freezing, and the footing was treacherous. The fog had returned, as dense as ever. When they struggled back to the house after an uneventful round, it was to find the range out again and the kettle filled but not back on the hob. Hamish was trying to relight the fire, his head crowded with uneasy thoughts, when Jane MacIntyre hobbled into the room, her face drawn with pain.
‘Mum!’ said Hamish, his apprehension growing. ‘What happened?’ Not the eagle, he prayed, let it not be the eagle.
‘I slipped,’ she said, grimacing. ‘Twisted my ankle. Rather badly, I’m afraid.’
They made her sit down and Kirsten fetched a bag of frozen peas to use as an ice pack. ‘You should have done that straight away,’ she said reproachfully.
Jane sighed. ‘Yes, I know, Kirsten dear. I wasn’t thinking.’ She subsided into the chair, her foot up on a stool.
Hamish knew it was selfish, but he was relieved. She’d had an accident, that was all. It was nothing to do with what was happening out there. Kirsten eased his mother’s shoe and sock off. They looked at the swollen flesh in dismay. The skin was already discoloured. It was bad all right.
‘What were you doing?’ asked Tod, exasperated. ‘The last thing we need is you out of action.’
‘Shut up, Tod,’ said Kirsten. ‘She hardly did it on purpose.’
‘It was my own fault,’ Jane said. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going. I thought I heard something. It sounded like wings beating, lots of wings. A flock of birds of some sort. So I was staring up through the fog, trying to pick them out. Caught my toe on a frozen rut, and that was it. Down I went.’
They looked at each other over her head, alarm showing in their faces. The stone formed in the pit of Hamish’s stomach again. That hadn’t been a flock of birds. It was the giant eagle’s wings she’d heard. The eagle hadn’t been near the house before. It’d been bad enough when only he and Tama had seen the creature from the past. She might’ve been attacked. Urgency seized him. He jerked his head towards the door. The others followed him outside.