The Lost Tohunga

by David Hair

  Donna half-turned away, caught her own eye in the mirror, thinking, I used to be clean, too.

  She watched the patupaiarehe pull off her stinking cloak and loin cloth, her lean body all flat planes and jutting bones. She was unsettling to watch, alternately timid and bold, old and young, wild yet vulnerable. Donna left her, returning to the balcony with another cognac, and lit a cigarette. The night air was cold and stars glittered, callous as fairy eyes in the ebony sky.

  It seemed clear now: Puarata had fed her patupaiarehe blood to speed her healing, careless of the long-term effects. Another sign of how little he had truly cared for her. What is it doing to me? Colonizing me, that’s what … Tiny particles of alien matter taking her over. She could feel it, the urges, the new strengths and weaknesses. She was changing, inexorably. Unless she could find a path through this maze, she would slowly degenerate into one of these half-feral beings.

  Her hand trembled and ash spilled from her cigarette, a tiny comet plunging into the darkness below. She shook her head and went back inside, her legs hollow, her belly strained with tension. The shower pumped steam through the bathroom door, and she heard Rose singing softly as she washed. She sounded like a child. Then it went quiet, and she smelt blood again.

  She opened the bathroom door. Rose was kneeling on the floor, crooning softly, her back to her, black wet hair cascading down her back. The patupaiarehe’s song faltered, and her face turned upward. Her skin was clean and white. The window was open, and the girl held a pigeon in her hands, bloodied and torn. Feathers and blood clung to her chin. Her violet eyes widened slightly, and then she pulled back her wet hair shyly, and offered her throat. For a second an abyss opened at Donna’s feet, and she saw herself bite, saw herself surrender to the thirst that would damn her. Vertigo seized her and she staggered away, slammed the bathroom door and threw herself onto the bed, trying not to vomit.

  I will never become like that.

  After minutes or hours or days or years, she recovered herself. Rose was on the floor beside the bed, staring at her curiously. There was a dark shape perched on the railing: Heron. She slid the glass door open and stepped outside. Her breath steamed about her like a cloud, something noticeably missing from the air about Heron’s face.

  ‘Did Rose please you, O Glorious Princess?’ he smirked in a low voice.

  ‘Shut up and report, before I rip your heart out.’

  He bobbed his head. ‘To hear is to obey, Gracious Princess. I have flown above the city, and sniffed the fragrant air. There are several people of power here. Foremost, a young man, asleep in his bed, troubled by dreams. His mind is half-trained, easily read. Matiu Douglas, he is called.’

  She smiled.

  Heron continued. ‘There is a dangerous old man walking the lakeshore, whom I feared to go near. Also two old women, sisters in a big house, with feet in both worlds. A fortune-teller asleep in the fairground caravans. But most interesting was a skinhead thug, who called himself by an old name … Parukau.’

  She felt a thrill of fear. She knew the name. Isn’t he dead?

  Heron twisted his neck, and looked at her. ‘Have I done well, Princess? Have I earned a reward?’ He licked his lips hungrily.

  She pulled on the cord about his heart. He jerked and tumbled at her feet. She twisted and yanked while he shrieked silently in agony. ‘You will obey me for no reward but the gift of continued life!’ she hissed. ‘Go, watch this Parukau, and report again at dawn. We will strike him tomorrow night.’

  When the patupaiarehe was gone she sat thinking. The old man … she remembered that the Welshman Aethlyn Jones dwelt here. He had been part of that debacle at Waikaremoana. There were scores to settle. She knew the two sisters, weak talents and meddlers, not to be trusted. The fortune-teller could be anyone.

  And as for Matiu Douglas … Jones’s protégé … her hand went to the scar on her face.

  Revenge was overdue.

  Flintlocks and blades

  Wednesday

  Hine woke. She had been dreaming of Evan and felt hot beneath her blanket even though the air was cold. The sofa was too short and her neck was sore. Godfrey was pressed against her, and light crept under the curtains. She could hear Jones in the kitchen, and could smell coffee, but she needed more time alone, to think.

  Was that demon-thing still inside Evan? Was he looking for her? The heat drained from her body in a rush. She shivered, pushed Godfrey off the sofa and sat up, trembling. Thinking didn’t seem such a good idea all of a sudden. Godfrey gave her a reproachful look, and walked out with his head in the air.

  She talked with Jones again over breakfast, and all through the day. He walked her a little along the lake to better view the town, but he wouldn’t take her in. ‘It is best no-one knows you are here,’ Jones told her. ‘Gossip spreads, you know, even in small mythical towns.’

  Well, that sounded about right: gossip was universal. It surprised her how much she could just accept all this. It was as if she had always known this place existed, and had just been waiting to find it. She had to also admit that what she had seen Mat do, making fire dance in his hands, was holding her here. Could she really do that, too? Or shift between worlds as he could? If she could learn that, well that was an education worth having! No maths and history and boring shit! To learn magic, and be able to protect herself! That was worth knowing! That was worth living like a hermit for a while. That was worth any sacrifice.

  By dusk, when they sat smoking on the back porch, they had reached an accord. When Jones had made sure the Evan-thing was gone, he would help her find a place to live nearby, in the real world. But she would come here every day, and he would teach her: stuff she had need to know to get by, like how to manage money and do numbers and stuff. And maybe, if she had the aptitude, he would teach her magic. Make her into a witch, a good witch, so she could look after herself and her whanau. It was a good deal.

  ‘But you’ll need to make some sacrifices,’ he told her.

  ‘Sure, whatever,’ she agreed casually, her head swimming with possibilities.

  ‘No smokes, no drink. No coffee. No drugs. No mentioning me to anyone. No meat would be preferable. And no sick days.’

  ‘You hypocritical old bastard,’ she told him. ‘Look at you, you smoke that ghastly relic of a pipe, you have a whisky still in the shed, you drink coffee like it’s ya mother’s milk, and don’t think I can’t recognize marijuana in your garden either!’

  Jones smiled agreeably. ‘Guilty on all counts, lass. And you didn’t even mention Widow Calder down the road. But it’s not me we’re talkin’ about. It’s all about you, lass, and learning during your formative years. I’ve been through all that — it isn’t important now: I’m fully formed. You still have to become yourself.’ He jabbed the pipe handle at her. ‘T’will do you good, some clean living for a change.’

  ‘Clean living!’ She swore at him, passionately, called him nine kinds of bastard, and he responded in kind, in a totally genial manner that nevertheless wound her up. It turned into a profanities competition, which became more inventive and hilarious as the evening progressed. The sun fell below the tree line, and shadows stalked towards them. The air cooled, and somewhere a morepork hooted.

  She suddenly shivered for no reason. Godfrey woke, and sniffed the air. He growled a little.

  Jones looked down at him. ‘Aye. Let’s go in,’ he said.

  Hine looked at him with sudden concern. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just a smell in the air, lass. Best we’re inside.’

  ‘I thought we were safe here?’ she asked.

  ‘No more than half a dozen people in Aotearoa could find this place without me wanting them to,’ Jones replied. He opened the door for her. Godfrey slunk off into the night. ‘God’ll have a look round, don’t you worry.’ She noticed he kept that heavy walking stick close by, and felt a queasy sense of foreboding, the bush suddenly a gloomy and grim place. They seemed awfully alone. But the cheerful lamp in the kitchen drove the shadows awa
y, and although she jumped when there was a scratch at the back door, it was only Godfrey wanting to come in. He yapped a couple of times, then went to the empty food bowl, which he stared at in apparent disgust.

  ‘Don’t worry, Godfrey, dinner soon,’ she told the turehu. ‘What does he look like in his real form?’ she asked Jones.

  ‘Like a goblin,’ the Welshman answered, stirring some stew. ‘Ugly little bugger.’

  Godfrey growled at him, but Hine swore that he winked as he did so.

  They had just sat down to eat when suddenly Godfrey began to bark furiously, and then the cottage shook as something smashed against the front door.

  Hine screamed as Jones leapt to his feet, snatching up the walking stick, and ran to his room. He emerged a couple of seconds later, armed to the teeth. A big sword was in his fist, and he thrust an old pistol, like something from a pirate movie, into his belt before hefting another.

  The house shook again.

  ‘Take this!’ shouted Jones, thrusting a long, sharp kitchen knife into her hands. She stared at him, then cried out as a dark face pressed against the kitchen window.

  Mat had slept poorly, unable to get Hine’s face out of his head. Finally he woke, well past dawn, when Mum battered on the door. ‘Mat, are you awake? Have you done any study at all yet? Get yourself out of bed, and have some breakfast.’

  He looked at the clock, and realized it was nearly midday. She’s right, he acknowledged, and resigned himself to a day with his books. They went to Mum’s school and she did some prep for next term, and he took his maths books. He couldn’t get his head into it though, and hours passed without any new facts imprinting themselves on his memory.

  Finally it was time to go. He had agreed to spend the evening with Mum. ‘I don’t see why your friends should monopolize you,’ she had remarked tartly when he had floated the idea of going round to Cass’s place to play video games. They shopped for groceries and rented a DVD, something called The Usual Suspects, which Mum said had a cool ending. For once, he would rather have watched a romance, with a sultry dark-skinned lead actress, like Jessica Alba maybe. Someone who looked a little like Hine …

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Mum remarked when they got home. ‘What are you thinking about?’

  He affected nonchalance. ‘Oh, you know. Maths, exams, career … you know.’

  She smiled. ‘Mmmm … so, what’s her name then?’ She laughed when he blushed. ‘Mat, you’re a treat! You’ve been mooning all day, and it can only be a girl. Anyone I know?’

  ‘No … ah, yeah.’

  ‘So there is one!’ she leapt on his words triumphantly. ‘Not this girl you were chatting up with the nasty boyfriend, I hope?’ she said sharply.

  ‘No! Okay, yes, her … but I wasn’t chatting her up!’

  Mum frowned, looking somewhat put out. ‘Well … so, what’s her name, then?’

  ‘Hine.’

  ‘Is she pretty? Where does she go to school?’

  ‘Ummm … yeah, I think, well, she’s kinda left school.’

  ‘Really? How old is she?’

  ‘Eighteen, I think.’

  Colleen frowned. ‘Hmmm, well that’s not so good. She should be getting the most out of her education. It’s sad when a young person drops out of school early, and doesn’t make the most of themselves. You take care, Matty. A girl like that mightn’t be very suitable.’

  Suitable? He felt a swell of annoyance. ‘You don’t even know her.’

  ‘But I know lots of girls just like her, and I know you can do much better than a dropout,’ retorted Mum.

  ‘That’s not fair! You know nothing about her!’

  ‘Oh, Matty, hush. I was a teenager too, you know, and not so long ago. I’m not saying anything but “be careful”. You don’t even live here. What’s the point of getting mixed up with a local? Especially with someone whose boyfriend beats people up! The police called today and said he got bail, so if you see him around, you’re to call them.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Right now, he wouldn’t mind him showing up, makutu body-jumper or not. He felt cross and edgy.

  Then the doorbell rang, and Mum answered the door. It was some friend of hers with orange spiky hair and black leathers on. She looked kinda Gothy, and said ‘Hi’ without introducing herself.

  ‘We’re just putting a movie on,’ Colleen announced for the benefit of the newcomer.

  ‘Sure.’ The voice was vaguely familiar.

  Mat was still simmering over Mum and what she had said about Hine. What does she know, anyway?

  The movie was about halfway through and he was making no sense of it, which was apparently the point. Mum’s friend was bugging him because she never said a word, flashed her teeth a lot, and seemed to be watching him out of the corner of her eye, while stroking her fishnets as if she had never worn them before.

  Mum paused the movie. ‘Shall we have a coffee?’

  Mat sighed. ‘Yeah. I’ll get it,’ he offered, before he was told to anyway. He stood up. ‘What’ll you have, Missus … um?’ He realized he still hadn’t been given a name for Mum’s friend. He peered at her, and then several tumblers fell into place and the safe-box marked ‘recognition’ dropped open. ‘CASS???’

  ‘It took you long enough,’ Cassandra told him tersely.

  To say it had seemed like a good idea at the time wasn’t really true: it had sounded naff. But Cass was so pleased to have the braces off, that it seemed a small thing. She was due a haircut anyway, and she was over the dreadlocks. Too stinky and people assumed it meant she liked reggae (ugh!). Besides, she liked to change her look regularly and keep people guessing. So she let Colleen’s hairdresser cut them off, and somehow got talked into a spiky thing like Colleen had had in the ’eighties. After that, well, here she was in Colleen’s old leathers that she had never thrown out, wearing make-up for the first time ever.

  Colleen had looked almost tearful when she let her in the front door. ‘Oh my!’ she had said, putting a hand to her mouth, then tracing Cass’s cheekbones with her fingers. ‘You look so …’

  Cassandra put a finger to her lips. She didn’t want to know what she looked like, and this was beginning to feel like a silly game. She was only going with it because she liked Colleen.

  When she was young, the doctors had told her parents she was ADHD and autistic, and her mum had left soon after. Join the dots on that one. Somehow it had gone round school, and she was The Freak from then on. So she had embraced it. Being Different had become who she was. Let others deal with it.

  And now … Mat was staring at her like she was Exhibit A, having taken an hour to recognize her. She hated it. She felt like she was dressed up in lies. ‘Get an eyeful, Mat, cos I’m wearing my own stuff for the rest of the hols.’ She tapped the armrest impatiently. ‘I’ll have a cola.’ She glanced at Colleen, who was studying them both. Colleen wants Mat to like me, instead of that Hine. Too bad. He’s a lost cause.

  Abruptly she stood up. ‘Look, this is silly; I feel ridiculous. I’m going home. I’ll bring you these clothes back tomorrow, Colleen!’ She suddenly felt close to tears and she had no idea why.

  ‘Cass, wait!’ Mat blurted. She half-turned. Colleen looked upset, and was opening her mouth …

  They all heard it. The dull but distinct sound of a window being forced at the back of the house.

  Mat froze, and looked at his mother, then Cassandra. ‘Ring the police,’ he hissed above the movie soundtrack. Cassandra — Jeez, she looked different! — nodded curtly, reaching into a pocket, then she scowled and cursed softly.

  ‘Not my jacket,’ she hissed. She looked suddenly helpless. He looked at Mum.

  ‘Mine is on the recharger in the kitchen,’ Mum told him.

  ‘I’ll go out the back and check it out.’ He slipped out of his chair, and peered down the hallway. All he could see was the open kitchen door. To the right, out of sight, was the bathroom and toilet. Something rattled in the bath, and he thought immediately of the shampoo bottles on the
window ledge above the bath. He slipped across the hallway and retrieved the taiaha from his bedroom. Mum came to the lounge door, chewing her lip, her knuckles white. Behind her, Cassandra was peering out a window. He wished she wouldn’t: she was too visible and exposed.

  He met Mum’s eye, and nodded at the phone, which was on a shelf by the front door. She tiptoed towards it, while he went the other way, to the far end of the hallway where it turned a corner. Something smelt up here, like an animal, musky and earthy. A shadow moved in the kitchen. Had they left those windows open too? Behind him he could hear Mum begin to dial. The noise filled the silence.

  Suddenly there was a deafening howl, and a dark shape erupted from the kitchen. As it came, the light stripped it of size. It was shorter than him, wiry and pale-skinned, a narrow hairless skull with a moko carved into its face like a mask. Its eyes were slitted amber, and triangular teeth flashed as it charged, flailing a sharp-edged bone patu. It was a tipua, a goblin of Aotearoa.

  It clearly expected him to be paralysed by fright. He wasn’t. Stepping in, he jabbed with the taiaha, slamming it past the patu and into the twisted little face, bracing his feet as it came. The wooden shaft smashed the creature’s nose, shattering it in a splash of black-green blood. It arched its back as if shot, and fell backwards, but another sprang from the bathroom. Windows smashed on both sides of the house, and the glass panel on the front door cracked under a sudden blow. Mum screamed and he heard the receiver drop and hit the wall. In the lounge, he heard Cassandra swear as glass shattered.

  He didn’t take his eyes off the newcomer, but he was terrified at the sudden silence behind him. ‘Mum?’ She didn’t reply as he backed down the hallway. The oncoming goblin kicked its fallen colleague aside, patu slicing the air. He parried, reversed the taiaha and thrust the handle at his foe, catching it in the throat. The sharpened tongue of the taiaha struck the tipua’s throat and tore. It dropped, gurgling, spraying blood between its fingers. Mat spun, sensing movement on either side, dark shapes pouring into the lounge and his bedroom. ‘Mum, the phone!’ He retreated past both doors, putting himself between the goblins and his mother. But he couldn’t be on both sides of her. And where was Cass?