The Lost Tohunga

by David Hair

  ‘What are you doing about them?’ Mat asked.

  ‘Me? I’m staying out of their way. Let them kill each other, and we only need contend with the winner.’

  Mat pursed his lips and leant forward. ‘But where are all the good guys? Why do the bad guys have free run of this place? Where are all the heroes? Maori legends and settler history have lots of heroes. Guys like Maui and Hatupatu. And there must be heroes among the settler soldiers. Aren’t they somewhere in Aotearoa?’

  Jones tapped his pipe. ‘Maui was a demigod: the gods don’t really come here. As for the heroes of legend … well, some have died in Aotearoa — been killed that is — and are gone. Others have vanished. And the more modern soldiery don’t have the mystique of legends — those who remember them, remember them as men not magical beings. So they’re ordinary people. Not everyone who dies becomes a ghost in Aotearoa, Mat. Probably fewer than a quarter of those who die in the real world come here. Maybe fewer. We don’t know why.’ Jones looked at him. ‘You have to remember that Aotearoa is, for most of its inhabitants, a form of afterlife. People who are reborn here have their own priorities, usually to do with the life they just lived. They are looking for peace of mind and to resolve internal conflicts. Wars and politics are things they have left behind. Aotearoa doesn’t have an economy, and its people seldom organize. As long as the warlocks don’t openly assail the larger communities, such authorities as there are avoid them.’

  Mat grimaced. ‘But you’ve told me before that they are killing Aotearoa folk in more isolated places all the time. And that if we weren’t getting in their way, they’d be strong enough to attack the larger places.’

  Jones nodded. ‘And that’s true. Aotearoa teeters on the brink of a war, but most who dwell here are oblivious. Here, most folk are only concerned for their own afterlife.’ He took a puff on his pipe. ‘The warlocks have the upper hand, for now. They are cunning, and they cheat. But they aren’t invulnerable, as you know. I’m beginning to believe there is a very real way we can stop them, or at least hurt them badly, and you may be vital to it.’

  Mat put his tea down so that he wouldn’t drop it. ‘Me?’

  ‘Don’t sound so eager, boy!’ He grimaced, as if reluctant to speak. ‘It’s about Ngatoro. You say he describes a floating sensation, and the feeling of being drained … it reminds me of an old spell that I once found being performed by a witch in the Waikato. Must’ve been 1911. She had kidnapped another Adept, and was bleeding him of his magical energies. The poor fellow was only nineteen, but he looked sixty when I rescued him. He described similar sensations.’

  ‘Do you think Puarata was doing that to Ngatoro?’

  Jones nodded. ‘Yes, I think it is possible. Ngatoro, instead of being dead, may have been Puarata’s prisoner for centuries, and a major source of his power. If so, we’ve got to find him before Bryce, Venn or Kyle do.’

  Mat stood up, clenching both fists. ‘Yes! We’ve got to help him!’

  Jones blinked. ‘I meant “we” figuratively, Mat. “We” as in myself and various other Adepts; not “we” as in “you and me”. This could get very dangerous.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No “buts”. It was bad enough how close to death you and your friends came in Waikaremoana. You’ve been lucky, boy, but you’re only half-trained.’

  ‘You’ve got to let me help,’ Mat insisted. ‘It’s me he talks to! I’m the link!’

  ‘I know that,’ Jones agreed reluctantly. ‘Otherwise I’d not even mention it. But I don’t want you and your friends endangered this time. I mean it!’

  ‘Okay, okay. I get it!’

  Jones slapped the table. ‘I think that’s enough for today. Let’s have us some lunch, and then you can get your friend out of my house before she burns it down. Best you don’t neglect your mother, too. I dare say she’s not happy at your visiting me.’

  ‘She believes that if I spend time with you then more bad stuff will happen.’

  ‘Well, she might be right. No-one said I’m safe to be around.’ Jones led him back to the kitchen. ‘Clean up, Cassandra! Lunch time!’

  Over a pleasantly plain lunch Jones questioned them both, but principally Mat, about life. How was school going? How were things with his family? Jones didn’t comment on much, which was a relief. He sent them home with the usual instructions for Mat. ‘Don’t forget: no coffee — it’s bad for bones and nerves. No soft drink—’

  ‘Because it’s bad for teeth and stomach,’ Mat interrupted. ‘No alcohol or dope, because they’re bad for everything. No fast cars or fast women, cos they’re just bad. And above all, no fun.’

  Jones beamed. ‘Excellent. I knew you’d turn out alright in the end. Now, off you go, laddie. I’ve got things to do. Keep watching your dreams, keep listening for Ngatoro, keep your nose out of trouble, and …’

  ‘No fun!’

  ‘Aye. You’ve got it.’ They grinned at each other, and Jones waved them off.

  Mat and Cassandra walked back around the track that led to Taupo, spinning three times around a certain kauri tree to return to the real world.

  Mat had never really been alone with Cassandra before. Usually, there was one or both of the others around, except for odd minutes here and there. He realized that he had been kind of avoiding being alone with her. Riki had told him that Cassandra fancied him and, well, he didn’t really feel the same way about her. Not that he didn’t like Cassandra, but she wasn’t what he pictured when he thought of girls. In his mind she came under a category labelled ‘One of the guys’. And also ‘Kinda kooky’. And she had no magical abilities — she was an ordinary person — so what future could there be anyway? Best just not go there.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ he asked, to fill the slightly awkward silence.

  ‘Oh, y’know. School. Night-class in 3-D animation. Part-timing on the Telecom Xtra helpdesk. And training for a half-marathon. The usual.’ She paused. ‘Oh, and I’ve taken up judo and karate.’

  ‘Judo and karate?’

  ‘Yeah. After all that wacko stuff in Waikaremoana, I figured I needed to be able to defend myself a little. Damian keeps trying to get me to take up fencing, but … nah.’

  ‘Are you and Damian … ?’

  She pulled a disbelieving face. ‘No! I believe that relationships are kind of pointless ’til you’re eighteen,’ she told him in a lofty voice. ‘I’m going to marry when I’m old, say twenty-eight. Kids maybe. I should have a house by then, and have a bit of OE behind me. Guys can just kind of fit in around that.’

  Mat frowned. He had enough trouble figuring out what to do from one hour to the next; that much forward planning couldn’t be natural. ‘How do you just decide not to have boyfriends? I mean, what if you meet someone you really like?’

  She cocked an eyebrow. ‘It’s just prioritization. It’s not like hanging with some acne-ridden dweeb is so rewarding that I can’t put it on hold for a while. And if I meet someone so totally special it can’t wait, well hell, I’ll just change the rules. They’re my rules. Anyway, kissing with these braces on kills the insides of my lips. I’m left using Bonjela for weeks like a teething infant. Embarrassment city.’

  He remembered kissing Lena with a sudden flush. Cassandra saw the look, and seemed to read it straight off. ‘So, seeing as you’re a hopeless romantic, have you got a girlfriend?’

  He pulled a face to hide his blush. ‘No. Not really.’

  She fixed him with her full stare, her eyes huge behind her glasses. ‘Does it bother you, then?’

  ‘Uh, I guess.’ He suddenly wished they could talk about something else.

  ‘Then it’s counter-productive. Chill, you’re sixteen. Anyway, what are you doing this arvo?’

  ‘Homework,’ Mat grumped. ‘I promised Mum. If I’d known you were gonna be around …’

  ‘Yeah, well, it was a kinda spontaneous thing. An’ my Dad doesn’t tell me anything,’ Cassandra muttered. ‘I only found out last night.’

  ‘Why don’t y
ou just hack into his computer and check out his calendar?’ Mat laughed.

  Cassandra grinned. ‘One: he doesn’t use an online calendar. Two: his computer is locked down harder than the Intelligence Service. Um, apparently.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyways, wanna go to the AC Baths and check out the waterslides and stuff later this arvo; around five?’

  He hesitated, then smiled. Why not? And it seemed she didn’t want entanglements either, so it should be fine. ‘Yeah, sure!’

  She beamed. ‘Cool!’

  They walked together to the northern foreshore, and then parted — Cassandra’s father had a time-share not far away. Mat carried on towards town and his mum’s place. People were sunbathing and picnicking, locals and tourists enjoying what sun there was. He was just about to cross the road when he glimpsed a girl in a hoodie sitting under a tree; he stopped with a thumping heart.

  It’s the girl from my dream … Should I talk to her? What if she’s like me, a potential Adept? Maybe she’s like Lena, and I’m meant to help her … He wavered, chewing his lip. She was staring across the waters, her face a void. She didn’t look like she wanted company, but her head swivelled and she saw him. He couldn’t read anything in her sunglasses and stony face. Nothing ventured … He screwed up his courage, and walked towards her. He couldn’t think of anything clever to say, so he just said ‘Hi’.

  She lifted her shades and jerked her head around as if afraid to be seen with him. He was struck by how unhappy she looked. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, her mouth hung down at the ends, and there were tear tracks on her face. Her hair was tangled and appeared slept-in. She looked tired and run-down and hung over, although she remained a natural beauty.

  ‘Hi. I’m Mat,’ he offered. ‘Well, Matiu actually,’ he added, as she was clearly Maori.

  She dragged on her cigarette with a shaking hand. ‘Matiu? Picked you as Pakeha.’

  He let that pass. ‘This is going to sound really weird,’ he said, ‘but I saw you yesterday afternoon, and …’

  He was going to say ‘You looked sad. Is there anything I can do?’ but something happened to his words on the way out of his mouth, and what he found himself saying was: ‘ … I dreamt of you last night.’

  Oh, for Chrissake! He turned scarlet and tried to sink into the ground. He stared at the grass between his feet and waited for her to laugh at him and tell him to get lost.

  The next cell

  Sunday

  Déjà vu, Hine thought as she threw up over the toilet floor. She couldn’t remember anything about the party except that there had been truckloads of drinking. Now she couldn’t stand up and her stomach felt like an eel farm. Even the dim light in the hall was enough to set off shafts of white noise in her skull.

  She struggled to the basin and splashed cold water over her face. Her body was starting to voice some really loud complaints. The stomach was the worst, but she had painful welts all over, too. She wanted to curl up and die, but not here. She reeled into the lounge, grabbed that old hoodie of Ko’s, some cash and sunnies, and crept out the front door.

  It felt like the world was spinning, but she managed to steady herself. Come on, you loser! She fumbled the gate latch open and set off down the road towards the nearest petrol station. Although the petrol fumes on the forecourt made her want to chuck all over again, she managed to order a coffee and doughnut to go. She cradled the coffee like a newborn baby as she nursed herself to the lakefront. Her watch said quarter to twelve. The wind was easing and the sun was trying to break through; she hoped it failed. She found a tree, and lay against it, sipping the coffee. The doughnut could wait till her stomach settled.

  This is killing me.

  The night before, Evan had laughed loudly and praised up Deano, who was a nice kid, long may he remain so. No doubt Deano was headed down the same path as the rest of them, though. Anyone who fell in with Evan ended up dead, in prison, or trapped on Loser Street. He had also thrashed her, but still had the gall to act like everything was sweetness and light afterwards. His friends all thought he was so cool. He had joshed with the guys, all matey, but if one of them got too close to her, she could feel his eyes lasering through her.

  I used to think girls who stayed with guys who beat them were pathetic. Now I’m one of them. Different perspective, huh!

  I gotta get out.

  I’ve gotta go where he can’t follow.

  God knows where that might be. The only folks she knew here were Evan’s mates. None of her rellies believed her about Glenn Bale. No-one would take her side.

  There had been a girl that had run out on Brutal, and word had it she had gone to Auckland but ended up on the streets. If I don’t do this right, that’ll be me.

  It was too much to think about, and she was too tired. So she set her head against the tree, and blanked out everything. Despite the caffeine and the sugar, sleep came like a rising tide, and pulled her under.

  She started awake. She looked at her watch: Jaysus! Quarter to four! But she felt so much better … the gnawing in her stomach had settled, and she wolfed the doughnut in three big bites. It was sickly sweet and vaguely unpleasant, but she felt better for it. She caught a whiff of herself: like a ciggie stubbed out in a puddle of beer. She felt utterly wretched.

  She was suddenly aware of scrutiny. A young guy was standing nearby, watching her. She realized it was the same kid who had seen her crying the day before. She lifted her shades and jerked her eyes about, scared that Evan might be around, but no — tourists and all sorts were everywhere, but no-one she knew. It was as if she and the young guy were totally alone.

  ‘Hi’, the guy said hesitantly. ‘I’m Mat. Well, Matiu actually,’ he added.

  She considered ignoring him, or telling him to get lost. But instead, found herself drawling offhandedly, ‘Matiu? Picked you as Pakeha.’ She puffed her half-forgotten ciggie to buy some time. He must be only part-Maori, with his paler skin, and that reddish hair must come from that mother of his. He was kind of cute, in an over-serious way. Maybe he’s a bloody Mormon, trying to save the sinner.

  He looked at her intensely. ‘This is going to sound really weird, but I saw you yesterday afternoon, and …’

  She waited. Here we go … Is he a Jesus-freak or just chatting me up?

  ‘… I dreamt of you last night.’ Then he seemed to realize how disastrous he sounded, and went redder than a Santa suit.

  She was suddenly cross to have wasted even a second of her life on him. ‘Yeah? Piss off, kid.’

  He took a step back. ‘Yeah, look, sorry, I deserve that. Sorry to intrude …’ He seemed to be berating himself silently.

  She turned away, when suddenly the black-and-white sheepdog from yesterday came up and nuzzled the boy affectionately. She stared. ‘Hey, is that your dog?’

  ‘Yeah, this is God,’ the boy told her, ruffling his fur.

  ‘God?’ Definitely a Mormon!

  He grinned. ‘It’s short for Godfrey. He’s a friend of mine.’

  She felt herself unbend a little. ‘He’s everyone’s friend, kid. He was all over me yesterday.’

  ‘So, aren’t you going to introduce us, Godfrey?’

  She smiled at him suddenly, feeling an unexpected liking. He’s just an ordinary kid. He was respecting her, and didn’t have a dirty mind. How long since I met someone nice? She had to look away again, to compose herself. Then she stared. Oh, shit!

  Evan was striding across the grass towards her, with Brutal and Ronnie at his heels. She leapt to her feet and hissed ‘Run, kid! Run now!’

  But the boy didn’t run. He set his jaw and stepped forward instead.

  Heads turned towards them and then the crowd on the foreshore seemed to melt into a circle of bystanders, not wanting to get involved — or miss a moment. Hine felt that ‘aquaplaning-towards-a-power-pole’ sensation she got when trouble was inevitable.

  Brutal was snarling something, but Evan didn’t say a word. His face looked like a gestating murder. He towered over Mat, his tattooed should
ers muscled like the flanks of a racehorse and his chest straining his tank top. He bared his teeth, cradling his right fist in his left hand.

  Ronnie dragged Hine aside. ‘What are you doing, Hine? Evan hates you talkin’ to other guys.’ His pudgy face was torn between concern for her and eagerness to help Evan.

  ‘We were just talking,’ she told him, straining at his grip. She yelled at Evan. ‘We were just talking!’

  Evan didn’t listen, just eyeballed Mat, who stood his ground, his face pale but not overly scared. Brutal was circling on the far side, his teeth bared. He looked about to thump his chest like a gorilla. Ronnie gripped her shoulders. ‘Go home, Hine. This is between him and us now.’

  Evan said something in a low voice, and Mat answered him back in similar tones, his face calm despite his pallor. A tall blond man yelled ‘What is happening?’ in a foreign accent, and pushed through the circle of onlookers. He tried to brush past Brutal, who shoved him back and squared up.

  Evan put his left hand on Mat’s chest and snarled something, a knuckle-duster gleaming on his right fist. He spat in Mat’s face, then pushed him. Mat staggered, and visibly restrained himself, as though he was doing Evan a favour by not hitting him. Hine marvelled at his stupidity, and was suddenly terrified he would get knifed for his bravado. She pulled out of Ronnie’s grip. ‘Evan, he didn’t touch me! We were just talking! Let him be!’ She lurched towards him, off balance. ‘Evan!’

  The air turned to water, and she was swimming through it in slo-mo as Evan’s right hand swung up, back-handed, and his fist connected. ‘Shut up, bitch,’ he said, without even looking at her. Light exploded inside her head. She fell backwards, arms flailing, until her skull smacked the hard ground, and she lay dazed as everything unfolded about her.

  The blond man tried to push past Brutal, who punched him in the head. Mat tried to step towards her, his eyes leaving Evan for a crucial second, but Evan’s left hand snagged his collar, and his right fist bunched, knuckle-duster glinting. Mat’s shirt tore as he twisted under the blow, kicking out at Evan’s knee in the same motion. He might as well have tried to kick a telephone pole. Evan grunted, and then launched a kick of his own into Mat’s ribs as he tried to pull away. It connected and Mat doubled over.