Owl

by Joanna Orwin

  Hamish watched in bemusement as Mr Xiang slowly and ceremoniously tore his document across, first one way then the other. He bowed towards the Maori group, then turned to Jane. ‘Mrs MacIntyre, I formally withdraw our offer to purchase your farm, The Pinnacles,’ he said. He solemnly handed Kirsten the scraps of paper. Hamish could’ve sworn he winked at her.

  ‘I don’t understand, Mr Xiang,’ said Jane. ‘Why would you make this generous gesture?’

  ‘Three things are of more importance to me than business,’ said Mr Xiang. ‘They are honour, loyalty to family, and ancestry.’ He smiled, first at Hamish, then at Kirsten. ‘I have seen that all three are operating here.’

  Uncertainly, Hamish smiled back.

  ‘What will you do now?’ Jane asked. ‘You’ve invested so much time and energy in your project.’

  Hamish winced silently. If his mother wasn’t careful, Mr Xiang might change his mind. But he merely shrugged. ‘There is other land we have looked at,’ he replied. ‘Land that will suit our purposes just as well.’

  Before Hamish had fully grasped what had happened, Mr Xiang was gravely shaking hands with them all. He held Hamish’s hand firmly and looked him in the eye. ‘I have a son near your age,’ he said softly. ‘One day I hope he will give me cause to be as proud of him as your mother must be of you.’

  Tongue-tied, Hamish couldn’t think of anything to say in response. He watched Mr Xiang and his lawyer leave. Trying to sort out his jumbled emotions, Hamish listened to the sound of their engine fade in the distance, before turning his attention back to what was happening in the room.

  Uncle Manny was talking to his mother and Reg Hudson. The two other men were opening their briefcases, drawing up chairs to the table. Only Tāua Gray stayed aloof, as she had done throughout. Hamish wondered again why she had come.

  ‘Before we settle to business, can I offer you tea?’ asked Jane, turning to her.

  ‘Thank you, perhaps later,’ she said. ‘With your permission, Manny and I will leave our representatives here to discuss an agreement with you. There is something these young people need to show us.’

  ‘But of course,’ said Jane. ‘You will want to see the rock drawings.’

  ≈ FIFTEEN

  IT WAS NOT the rock drawings Tāua Gray had come to see.

  ‘We would like to be shown the place where you trapped and killed the two giant eagles from the past,’ she said, once they were outside.

  None of them questioned her knowledge of what they had done. For Hamish, her words reinforced his instinct that somehow, in some way, she had been present. Together with Ruru, a force that had guided their actions.

  ‘Access is difficult,’ said Kirsten, doubtfully.

  ‘No matter,’ said the old lady. ‘We will manage.’ Her tone left them in no doubt that they would.

  Kirsten and Tod drove her and Uncle Manny in the Landrover along the farm track to the foot of the hill. Tama and Hamish were to follow on the farm bike.

  ‘You drive, Tama,’ said Hamish, handing over the keys. He’d tried to blot the hollow out of his mind. It was the last place he wanted to visit. Too much had happened in the last few hours. He’d thought they were securing the future. But nothing, and nobody, turned out the way he expected. He didn’t know any more what he felt or thought. And adding to the turmoil in his head, Tāua Gray’s request had brought back images of their killing of Pouākai.

  He hung on to Tama and closed his eyes as the bike bucked along the rough track. He tried to calm his breathing, still the images whirling in his head. By the time they joined the others at the end of the vehicle track, he had only partly succeeded.

  ‘I am to ride on the back of this machine?’ asked the old lady. When Kirsten nodded, she handed Uncle Manny the flax kete she’d been clutching and took the helmet Kirsten offered her. Then she hitched her skirts neatly aside and serenely clambered on board.

  ‘That Tāua, she’s got style, eh,’ Tama whispered to Hamish.

  Hamish nodded, thinking it was more than style. Startled, he realised something about her reminded him of Pouākai. Not the predator, the malignancy of him, but that glimpse of majesty he’d seen in the giant eagle’s glowing eye. That far-seeing eye, that knowledge of destiny.

  They watched Kirsten carefully negotiate the treacherous roots and rocks until the bike vanished up through the patch of beech forest, with its unusual passenger sitting straight-backed and seemingly unperturbed. Uncle Manny walked up through the trees with the three boys. He huffed and blew a bit, but he made it. At least it meant there was no need for any talk.

  And now they stood once more on the edge of the hollow. Tāua Gray and Uncle Manny stood there with them. Hamish stared at the piled rocks, still covered with a sifting of snow. It was late in the afternoon now, and the sun had almost vanished behind a bank of cloud. There was no physical sign of what had taken place here, but he felt the hairs bristle on the back of his neck.

  Softly, the old lady started to sing. Leaning on Uncle Manny’s arm, she walked slowly across the scree slope towards the rim of the hollow. There, she took sprays of fresh foliage from her kete and let them float, one by one, down onto the snow-covered stones. The notes of her song floated with them. They hovered in the air, lingered in Hamish’s head. A gust of wind stirred in the trees behind him. As the song died away, a brief flurry of rain riffled through the air, then was gone. It was still again, and silent. Hamish’s face was wet. He realised he was crying.

  And as he cried, the tears dissolved the stone that had lodged in his stomach for so long and washed it away.

  Tāua Gray turned back to them. She went first to Tama and took something from her bag. ‘Nō tō tipuna tēnei taonga, kua tuku iho,’ she said. ‘This once belonged to Ruru.’

  She hung the bone carving around Tama’s neck, then pressed her nose against his for a long time. Uncle Manny followed her. Hamish watched. The conflicting thoughts clogging his mind had drained away with the tears, leaving him calm at last.

  And then it was his turn. Tāua Gray lifted a cord over his neck. ‘He mea i te ao hou, tēnei taonga,’ she murmured. ‘This was made by my people as a gift to honour you, holder of the name Ruru in this modern world.’

  Hamish felt the touch of her nose on his, the movement of her breathing as it mingled with his. Then she was going to Tod and Kirsten, presenting them with small carvings. Uncle Manny grasped his hand, his shoulder, and bent to touch noses.

  As the big man moved on, Hamish looked at Tama. Their eyes met, and Tama nodded. For a moment Hamish saw again in his bearing and that bright hair the other presence that had been there at the time of the killing. He looked at the ancient and stained pendant that now hung around Tama’s neck. Ruru’s pendant. The design reminded him of something, something familiar. Then he identified what it was – a stylised version of the tattoo on Tama’s arm. The image of Pouākai, this time carved in bone. He knew there were old mysteries here, mysteries that were beyond the power of science to understand.

  Before they left the hollow, Hamish stopped to look back one last time. Soft mellow light lay over the scree slopes and the hollow as the setting sun emerged below the cloud bank. The green of the fresh leaves strewn over the grave of Pouākai gleamed, almost luminescent against the white of the snow. He knew with a certainty he couldn’t explain that he would not be troubled again by images of the killing.

  Hamish fingered the cord around his neck, touched smooth curves and fretwork. For the first time, he lifted the cord to look at what Tāua Gray had given him. Similar to Ruru’s pendant; the same image, but newly carved and somehow modern in its lines. Her words came back to him, those he had understood. Something about the modern world. A feeling of continuity. Slowly, he rubbed his finger over the flowing surfaces of the bone carving. Then he turned and followed the others back down through the trees.

  The first stars were showing by the time they reached the house, and the frost was already settling on the grass. The big table in the living room h
ad been cleared of papers, and Jane MacIntyre had prepared food and drink in anticipation of their return. The curtains were drawn against the cold, and the fire was lit. Hamish paused in the doorway, blinking at the bright light and the warmth. He felt as though he had travelled a great distance.

  ‘There you are at last,’ said his mother. She came to welcome Tāua Gray and Uncle Manny. ‘Come in, please. You must be cold and hungry.’

  Her words dispersed Hamish’s lingering sense of unreality. He joined the others as they crowded into the room, gathering around the table as Jane brought in hot dishes and Reg Hudson poured wine.

  Hamish listened while Tāua Gray said grace, in Maori then in English. He looked at Tama and the others properly for the first time since they had left the hollow. They seemed different somehow, their faces washed clean of strain. Like him, they’d tucked their carved pendants inside their shirts, but he could see the cords around their necks. He looked at his mother. The strain had gone from her face too, and she was animated in a way he hadn’t seen since his father had died. As they sat down and began helping themselves to food, Hamish found he was hungry.

  Suddenly, unexpectedly, this felt like a celebration. A celebration that they were an integral part of, not onlookers as they’d been at Rod Jamieson’s house a few days ago. And it felt good, right in a way he wouldn’t have anticipated, knowing that the fate of the farm had been sealed. Hamish listened to Tod talk climbing with the younger of the two rūnanga representatives. They had friends in common it seemed. And the other one was talking to Kirsten about the rūnanga’s plans for the farm. About a training scheme for young Maori wanting to go on the land. Kirsten was asking questions, acceptance in her voice. What had happened up at the hollow seemed to have allayed more than the ghost of Pouākai.

  But it was not over yet.

  In the late evening, as they all filed outside to see the visitors into their car, Tāua Gray drew Hamish and Tama aside. ‘Your task is not yet completed,’ she murmured. ‘High on an eastern mountain, the offspring of Pouākai mourn their parents. Do you intend them to live?’

  Before either of them could respond, she touched their shoulders, then joined the others in the car. Hamish and Tama watched the rear lights until they vanished in the darkness. They waited until the rest of the family had retreated inside, then looked at each other soberly.

  ‘Offspring,’ said Tama slowly. ‘I’d forgotten that part of the legend.’

  ‘Yeah,’ muttered Hamish. ‘Me too.’ He stared into the frosty starlit night, towards the east where he could just make out the black bulk of the mountain range that separated the basin from the plains. Over there somewhere, more giant eagles, growing to adulthood.

  Before breakfast the next morning, they sat on Hamish’s bed, with the last of the photos spread out between them. Hamish knew they had no choice. He could feel the weight of the pendant, lying heavy around his neck. They would have to rid the land of Pouākai’s children. They had to complete the sequence of events, the pattern set by the legend.

  Hamish watched as Tama stared at the prints, vaguely aware that the tables had turned, that he was the reluctant one now, not Tama. He wasn’t sure he had the strength for any more. But even as his resolve faltered, he was hearing once more Tāua Gray’s voice in his head.

  ‘… As Ruru and his companions climbed the steep slopes of the mountain, they heard voices raised in mournful song. They stopped to listen, knowing that it was the offspring of Pouākai they heard. When they had committed the words of that song to memory, they scaled the last heights to the summit. There, in a shallow cave, Pouākai had built a nest of sticks. In that nest, they found the great eagles’ two little ones, and hastened to slay them. By these actions, Ruru and his companions thus rid the land of the scourge that had threatened the lives of their people….’

  The voice faded away. Hamish took a deep breath. Get a grip, he told himself. Think. The summit of a mountain, but which one? A long range of mountains curved from the pass to the plains along the eastern side of the basin. With maybe half a dozen distinct peaks. It could be any one of them. Hamish stared at the prints. There had to be another pictograph that showed the location.

  ‘Climb a mountain,’ said Tama. ‘Brilliant. That’s just what I need.’ He sounded subdued.

  ‘We have to find it first,’ said Hamish absently. One of the prints showed those seven linked figures again. The Seven Sentinels. This time he looked on what would be the eastern side of them. There was something there, a squiggly line. A skyline? And on one of the high points, some of the now familiar cross-hatching. Another trap? But the telling hadn’t said anything about a trap. He showed the print to Tama.

  ‘The nest then?’ guessed Tama. ‘If that’s a skyline, you can recognise it, can’t you?’

  ‘It’s hard to be sure,’ said Hamish. He tried to remember what the eastern skyline looked like from up there, at the Sentinels. Perhaps they would have to check it out. He decided to ask Tod first. If anyone would know, it would be his mountain-mad brother.

  When Hamish showed the print to Tod, he nodded, and said, ‘Yep, it’s unmistakable.’ And he named the mountain. ‘Whaddaya want to know for?’

  Tama explained.

  ‘That could be a tricky climb this time of the year,’ said Tod. ‘The top part, anyway. Still heaps of snow up there. Think you’re up to it?’

  ‘Not really,’ admitted Hamish. ‘But with you leading, we’d be okay, wouldn’t we?’

  ‘Taking a lot for granted, aren’t you?’ said Tod. ‘What makes you think I’d want to be part of this?’ A trace of resentment sharpened his voice.

  ‘You’re already part of it,’ said Tama quietly. He looked pointedly at the cord still visible around Tod’s neck.

  Tod followed his gaze, his hand involuntarily touching the place where the pendant lay under his jersey. ‘Oh all right,’ he said.

  When Hamish approached Kirsten, she was even less keen. ‘What happens now isn’t our problem any more.’ Her voice wavered. ‘Why should we care?’

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ said Hamish. He waited.

  ‘No, don’t s’pose I do,’ said Kirsten eventually. ‘Damn you, Owl.’ She gave him a watery smile.

  Talk was easy. Hamish’s fragile resolution wavered that evening when he saw the pile of gear Tod was sorting through. He’d never climbed in winter before. Ropes, ice axes – what were they letting themselves in for? When Tama added the axe he’d just sharpened to the pile, his pulse quickened. They had agreed that the way to kill Pouākai’s offspring would be to use an axe, keeping it as quick and clean as possible. He didn’t want to think about it.

  Jane waved them off soon after sunrise the next morning. She was used to Tod taking off on winter expeditions. ‘If it wasn’t for this ankle still being weak, I’d come with you,’ she said. ‘Enjoy yourselves. You’ve earnt a break, and it’s a beautiful day.’ She went back inside to make a start on the new design project the courier had delivered the day before. Hamish could still hear in her voice the lightness he’d noticed the night before. She was more like the person he remembered, the person she’d been before his father died.

  No one said much as they drove into the mountains. When they reached the end of the access road, Hamish stared up at the peak they were going to climb. Its snowy top was highlighted in gold as the sun rose higher. It seemed far off and unreal from the valley floor, which was still deep in shadow and white with frost.

  They unloaded the gear from the Landrover, then clustered around Tod as he pointed out their route. ‘An hour up this valley will see us to the start of the climb. We’ll be in snow quite soon. Kirsten, you can have my spare ice axe. Hamish, you and Tama can use the mustering poles.’

  Hamish hefted the rough mānuka pole as he eyed the long steep slope that led to the summit. ‘That snow looks pretty thick,’ he said. Tod heard the doubt in his voice and clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘No worries – no danger of avalanches as long as we stick
to the ridge.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch!’ said Hamish drily. ‘That makes me feel so much better.’

  Shouldering their packs, they set off up the valley. The sun shining on the peak above them made the shaded valley floor seem even colder. Their breath smoked. The rattle of a loose stone underfoot, the chink of a pole on ice were startling in the silence. Hamish’s toes grew numb with cold and his boots kept sliding off the icy surface of the stones. He envied sure-footed Tod, striding steadily ahead of him as though he was walking on a paved footpath.

  They followed the frozen stream up the valley almost to its headwaters. Tod stopped them where a suitable spur led up to the ridge they would climb. ‘We’ll have a rest here,’ he said, taking off his pack.

  While they rested, Hamish traced the line of the spur up the mountain. The summit didn’t look so far from here. His stomach fluttered at the thought of what they expected to find at the top.

  But it was steeper and further than it looked. Before they reached the main ridge, they were climbing in snow. At first it was firm and provided good footing. Then they came out into sun, and the snow softened. Hamish’s feet kept breaking through the surface. By the time they stopped for another rest, he was sweating and his soaked boots were chafing his ankles. The summit looked further away from here, not nearer.

  ‘And you do this for kicks?’ said Tama, planting his pole firmly in the snow. He sat down, swigged some water, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  ‘Ain’t seen nothing yet,’ said Tod, grinning. ‘The fun’s barely started.’

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ said Hamish, resignedly. He wasn’t having any trouble keeping their goal out of mind now. Getting up this slope was taking all his energy. He’d thought he was fit, but not for this.

  Tod showed them how to kick steps in the deepening snow. ‘Just stay in my footsteps,’ he said. ‘It’s much less work. For you guys, anyway.’