The Lost Tohunga

by David Hair

  Heron backed slightly, looking about him. ‘Don’t come near me, Witch! I have primal fire. I am patupaiarehe. I will rip you apart and burn the remains.’

  Kurangaituku hissed and stalked closer, flexing claws that would have made Freddy Krueger blanch. ‘Put the Nail down, Silas.’

  Silas. The name dropped into the silence like a stone into water, and rippled over Heron. He gave a small sob, and tried to run.

  ‘Hold, Silas!’ the Birdwitch rasped.

  The patupaiarehe jerked like a puppet on tangled strings, and suddenly couldn’t move. He wailed in terror as the Witch pulled back her right hand. Mat stared, then looked away as the talons plunged like some mechanical tool into Heron’s chest. He gasped, a sound that died as it began, as with a wet, tearing sound he slid backwards off the Witch’s claw, leaving a pulsing organ in her grasp, connected by a tangle of blood vessels to the hole in his breast. The vessels tore and snapped as he fell. The Nail dropped from his lifeless hand and fell smouldering to the dirt, but it didn’t go out.

  Mat gaped as the Witch gulped down the still pulsing heart, then turned her head towards him. ‘Don’t move, poai.’

  Winged shapes swooped from the sky behind her, and the birds closed in.

  The mission house beside the pool

  Friday afternoon

  It was late afternoon before Tim Spriggs could get a launch to take them to the island. They packed their antique weaponry into kitbags and stowed themselves in a small cabin.

  ‘You don’t have to come,’ Wiri patted Kelly’s belly. ‘Maybe if you got some rest … ?’

  She looked at him with tired yet determined eyes. ‘Nice try, mate,’ she drawled. ‘I snatched a few winks while you and Tim were sorting out the boat. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’ She didn’t tell him that she was having light contractions every fifteen minutes. Part of her knew this was probably foolish, but Matty was out there somewhere, and it was her idea to go to the island. It would be fine.

  The pilot of the launch was a friendly-faced man called Gavin, with curly dark hair tucked beneath a stained naval cap, and filthy overalls. He wasn’t the regular pilot, he told them, just a mechanic doing some maintenance on the engine. ‘May as well give her a run out,’ he said laconically, but Kelly could see that his interest was pricked. She felt another contraction coming and sat hunched over, keeping her face serene. You’re not keeping me out of this, she told the lump in her belly.

  Wiri waited until they were chugging out over the water, and Gavin was busy in the wheelhouse, before opening the kitbags. Tim Spriggs had gone shopping in Rotorua-Aotearoa earlier and purchased three muskets, three powder pouches and three dozen balls of lead, which he had then soaked in melted silver. Wiri had a mere with a rope on the handle looped about his wrist, and Mat’s taiaha was propped in the corner of the cabin. Tim was screwing bayonets under the muzzles of the muskets.

  Kel’s cellphone rang. It wasn’t a number she had programmed. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi. This is Cassandra Allen — I’m a friend of Mat.’

  ‘Yes, I remember you, Cassandra. You were the only one at the wedding better dressed than me! How are you?’ She dropped her voice. ‘Any news on Jones?’

  ‘Yes! We’ve found him!’

  A huge swell of relief bubbled through her. She turned her gaze forward to the island, and hoped she was right about all this. ‘That’s wonderful, Cassandra. Tell me all about it.’

  Gavin deftly steered them into the small steel-and-concrete wharf on the southeast tip of Mokoia Island and moored the launch. He would stay with the boat. The taiaha school Riki had attended was over, so they would be alone on the island. If Gavin was alarmed at the odd weaponry of his passengers, he gave no sign; in fact, it looked like he wanted to join them. Wiri shouldered his musket and carried Mat’s taiaha. Spriggs held another musket, and Kelly the third, cradling it awkwardly as she waddled in the men’s wake.

  Fantails darted around them, a reassuring presence. Somewhere out of sight a bellbird chimed. They took the short path that wound from the docks to Hinemoa’s Pool. ‘It’s nice here. We should come again, when baby is born,’ whispered Kelly in Wiri’s ear.

  He looked back at her and flashed his teeth. ‘Yeah, we could work on number two.’

  ‘You betcha, big boy.’

  Wiri grinned, then looked at Spriggs. ‘I’ll go ahead and scout the clearing. Back in five.’ Then he stole into the forest and vanished.

  Kelly felt another contraction, and closed her eyes, wincing slightly. When she opened them, Tim was looking at her with concern on his face. ‘Are you well, Kelly, my dear?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just getting kicked a little, that’s all.’

  ‘He picks his moments, doesn’t he?’ the Englishman smiled sympathetically. He was a father several times over, his family in Hamilton-Aotearoa. ‘When is he due?’

  ‘In about three weeks.’ She forced a smile as the contraction eased and passed.

  Tim looked uneasy. He probably knew as well as she did that babies could very easily come early, especially in situations of stress or physical activity. He didn’t look at all convinced by her protestations.

  Wiri jogged back. ‘There are a couple of tipua in the clearing, but they aren’t on alert,’ he reported briskly. ‘You okay, love?’ he added to Kelly, his eyes narrowing as he took in her pallor.

  She stood awkwardly, holding her distended belly. ‘Yeah. Let’s get it over with.’

  Kelly watched Wiri nod and look at Spriggs; something passing between them, about her no doubt. ‘We need to go over to Aotearoa,’ was all her husband said, though.

  Spriggs nodded and pointed up the forested slope. ‘There’s a partly fallen tree up there. If you walk under it, you can come out in Aotearoa if you wish to.’ He inclined his head. ‘Shall we?’

  Wiri looked at Kelly. ‘I’d prefer you stayed with the boat.’

  ‘Like hell, lover-boy. I’m going right where you are.’ She fixed her eye on him and put her hands on hips. ‘Or else the biggest fight tonight is going to happen right now. And you won’t win.’

  They eyed each other, and then Wiri sighed heavily. ‘Just be careful.’

  ‘Aren’t I always?’ She flashed her most winsome smile. ‘I love my husband,’ she told Spriggs. ‘He understands me perfectly. Now, let’s go find Matty.’

  They wound up a small path and then branched onto another barely deserving of the name, and had to almost crawl to pass beneath the toppled tree Spriggs had identified. There was a faint prickling sensation, but that was all, and the only noticeable change was in the taste of the air: cooler and damper, richer and more pungent. The first stars gleamed through the forest canopy, twinkling faintly in the darkening sky.

  Wiri gestured for silence. They crept after him down the slope and filed around the southern walkway, almost identical to the real-world setting, until they reached the clearing about Hinemoa’s Pool. There was a building, an old mission house; just beyond the pool which bubbled enticingly. Kelly peered about warily, until Wiri touched her shoulder and pointed, and she realized that they weren’t alone.

  Sitting in the shadows beside the mission house were half a dozen or more tipua goblins, their reptile-like skin pallid. Kelly looked at Wiri, who merely shrugged, tapped Spriggs on the shoulder and stepped into the open.

  The tipua gaped, then snatched up their small weapons in skinny hands, and snarled. For a few moments they all looked at each other, then Wiri strode forward. The largest of the tipua bellowed, and the goblins pelted across the clearing towards them. The two men stepped in front of Kelly, raised their guns and fired. The muskets coughed explosively, and two goblins cartwheeled backwards. The rest momentarily vanished behind a cloud of stinging smoke. Kelly blinked furiously and raised her musket, but the men before her and the smoke obscured her view. Then a goblin launched itself out of the smoke, screeching a war-cry that died in its throat as Wiri’s taiaha whipped across and cracked its skull. Dark fluid s
plattered, and it tumbled away. Spriggs’s bayonet speared another, and then Wiri danced forward, smashing skulls and arms in a series of flashing blows. He was a one-man front-line, a barrier the tipua could not pass. One tried to edge around him, and Spriggs slammed the butt of his musket into its skull with a wet crunch. The remnants fled.

  Wiri and Spriggs edged through the gun smoke which hung heavily about them. The sudden silence jarred the senses, the only sound the panting of the two men. Then the mists shifted as more shapes emerged. Two tall, pale figures strode through the powder smoke into the glade. They were human-sized but lean and wiry, with matted red hair and feral eyes. The male held a broadsword, Celtic knot-work decorating the guard and hilt. The smaller was female; she had no weapon save her nails and teeth. Vampires, was Kelly’s thought, her mind flashing to the B-movies an old boyfriend used to make her watch. The creatures stank of rotting meat and soil.

  ‘Patupaiarehe,’ Wiri breathed, and then they were on them. Tim Spriggs yelled and staggered as the female seized his gun before he could align it, while Wiri exchanged blows with the male. The creature’s broadsword sliced about with sight-defying speed, and Wiri was forced to defend desperately, wood chips flying with each parry; all the while, the sword-fighter hissed like an angry snake. Kelly lifted her musket, trying to find a mark in the dancing figures.

  Spriggs was trying to wrench his musket from the female’s grasp, but she held it effortlessly with one hand while raking at him with her other hand, forcing him inexorably backwards. Then she shrieked and wrenched, and Kelly heard the Englishman’s right arm snap. He shouted and fell, and in an instant the feral thing was on him. Time seemed to slow as Kelly levelled her musket with its gleaming bayonet. She shrieked, and lunged. Something in her belly tore, and a curtain of red agony flashed across her eyes, but she felt the bayonet of her musket plunge into the patupaiarehe woman’s chest. The creature shrieked, and Kelly found herself staring into her mad eyes. The vampiress sniggered and began to pull herself off the bayonet slowly, staring at Kelly murderously. ‘Wrong weapon, girl,’ she snarled.

  ‘How’s this one then?’ and Kelly pulled the trigger. The musket roared, and blew the vampire woman off Spriggs and onto her back, her chest blackened and burnt, the smell of hot, rotting meat mingling with the smoke. A look of disbelief stole across her face, becoming terror as she felt the silver ball bite. Her face emptied and her eyes rolled back in her skull. She sagged, and lay unmoving.

  The male patupaiarehe howled in shock and disbelief, leaping away from Wiri and staring at his fallen companion. Wiri interposed himself, crouching in readiness for a renewed attack, breathing heavily. Spriggs crawled to his feet, but all Kelly really saw was the face of the male patupaiarehe, contorted by shock and malice. She thought it was going to fly at her. But instead, with a desolate cry, it turned and was gone, a dark shape that the bush swallowed up in an instant.

  She staggered and fell. Wiri gasped and ran to her. ‘Kel! Are you—?’

  ‘No. I’m fine. You were right about bringing silver,’ she added, barely able to think coherently through the pain in her stomach. She looked up dazedly. ‘Honey, can you see if the midwife is ready?’

  Then another contraction tore her, and everything went scarlet and black. She heard herself cry out, and fell to her knees. She heard Wiri gasp, and then he was half-carrying her. For a while, all there was was pain. But it receded at last. They were in a dark room that smelt of mildew and rot. A lamp flared, and she blinked. She realized they were inside the mission house that stood in the clearing. It was a mess, the few wooden pews pushed over, prayer books and oddments scattered about. In one corner, though, a dark shape huddled; a man tied up. Tim helped her sit, his arm hanging at an ugly angle, and then he too slumped against the wall, cradling the broken arm gingerly. Wiri darted over, and removed the sack from the prisoner’s head. She had hoped it was Matty, but it wasn’t. It was the missing policeman, the man who had released them after the hotel shooting: Tutanekai Hollis.

  Wiri untied Hollis, and the policeman stood shakily, stretching his limbs, taking in their antiquated weapons without reaction. ‘How did you get here?’ Wiri asked him.

  ‘There was a woman, she called herself Donna,’ the cop answered. ‘And there were …’ He ducked his head as if embarrassed. ‘Things like orcs or something from the Rings movies. And … uh, vampires …’ He looked at Tim Spriggs. ‘What the hell is going on, Tim? And who are you all really, anyway?’

  Tim Spriggs began talking to him in a low voice. Filling him in on a new version of reality, no doubt. Kelly looked at Wiri, who was still breathing hard. ‘What were they, love?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘The woman was patupaiarehe, and the male was Sluagh Sidhe. Vampires, if you want a reference point. But don’t try waving crosses or garlic at them. Creatures from myth.’ He was still panting. ‘Damn, he was fast.’ He showed Kelly the taiaha: it was almost in splinters.

  ‘They don’t like silver,’ Kelly observed.

  ‘No. But you still need to pierce the heart or brain to kill them. Otherwise, you’ve just got to hit them so hard they can’t take it.’ He looked at the taiaha ruefully. ‘This thing wasn’t up to it.’ There was a new sound in his voice she had never heard. It wasn’t fear, exactly. But it was respect and, almost, apprehension.

  ‘Next time, just shoot it,’ Kelly told him.

  Wiri looked at her. ‘I knew the dead one,’ he commented in a low voice.

  Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You knew her?’

  ‘Yeah. She used to be a war lock, among the first settlers with such powers. Eventually Puarata poisoned her with patupaiarehe blood, and she degenerated until she could no longer even think properly. She became patupaiarehe herself, and fled to the wilds. Last I heard she had met others, and had a nest on Mount Tauhara. Her name was Shonagh.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘A war lock. Don’t feel bad about her, love.’

  She snorted. ‘I’ll try and restrain my sympathy, then. What about the guy with the sword?’

  ‘Col, we called him — not his real name. He was Irish, a Sluagh Sidhe, a malign Irish faery who fled his homeland. He took up with Puarata when he came here, but fled with Shonagh, who was his mistress, after Puarata infected her. He was considered invincible with that sword.’ Wiri looked reflective. ‘I kind of liked him, way back when. He wasn’t all bad, just angry.’

  ‘But you’ll shoot first and look sad afterwards next time, won’t you, darling?’

  He half-smiled. ‘Yeah. I promise.’

  By the door, Tim Spriggs was still talking quietly and urgently to Hollis, his voice pained. She could guess the content: a quick rough-guide to Aotearoa. Hollis seemed to be taking it fairly well, all things considered. She breathed hard through the next contraction, and opened her eyes to find Wiri holding her hands with concern written all over him.

  ‘Where’s Mat?’ Kelly wondered.

  Wiri shook his head. ‘I don’t know. This was our best guess.’

  They sat for a while, and she felt a little peace, until the next contraction began. It was the worst so far, and she felt another thing — a hot, wet flooding that poured from her loins, soaking her knickers and the crotch of her overalls in dark fluids. She met Wiri’s eyes. He was as pale as she had ever seen him.

  ‘Your waters have just broken, Kel,’ he whispered. ‘Our son is on his way.’

  Kelly lay on the altar as the room came in and out of focus. Time was floating away, disjointed visions between bouts of searing pain. She was naked apart from her T-shirt, her skin slick, and she felt ill. The air stank of sweat and blood. Hollis was with her, flannelling her belly with warm water from Hinemoa’s Pool, which fortunately was only a few short steps away. They had found two buckets in the broom closet; they were coping. She couldn’t say if it was going well, because it hurt too much to think.

  Tim Spriggs was beside the door, peering out with a musket cradled in one arm, his other bound against his chest in a tempo
rary sling. Wiri had gone to see about getting them back to the launch, but returned quickly and whispered something urgently to Spriggs. Now he was outside again.

  Hollis was proving a godsend. He had actually delivered babies before, twice. It was one of the hazards of being a cop on the beat, he told her, and he was dealing with everything calmly, although he was clearly still taking in all the strangeness that had overtaken him.

  Wiri arrived with another bucket of warm water. ‘About bloody time,’ Kelly told him. ‘Here comes the next contrac— Shitshitshit!’

  They were getting even worse, if that was possible.

  What brought her awareness back to the here-and-now was a cold voice, calling from outside the building.

  ‘Wiremu, this is Donna Kyle! We must talk!’

  ‘Matiu Douglas,’ said the Birdwitch. ‘You are needed.’

  Mat stared up at her, wondering if he were hearing things. This was Kurangaituku, the Birdwitch, one of Puarata’s warlocks, an ally of Donna Kyle. She had attacked him in Rotorua. What was happening?

  Then a second winged figure stepped into the remaining light, and he almost choked. ‘Riki?’

  His friend stared down at him, then glanced at the fallen patupaiarehe and the heart in the Birdwitch’s hand. He visibly shook. ‘Hey, man.’ He grinned weakly, ‘Surprise!’ He was clad only in jeans and a feather cloak which clung strangely to his arms, as if pinned there. He had a taiaha in his right hand. ‘Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, but I’m still getting the hang of flying.’

  Getting the hang of flying? Mat blinked and looked about him.

  There were birds all around them, every type he could imagine, staring at him. The Birdwitch reached down, and pulled him upright with leathery hands. She peered at his bandages curiously, but said nothing. He looked at her, met a measured, glinting stare that reminded him of an emu he had eyeballed at Wellington Zoo, unblinking and slightly insane. It wasn’t a gaze one could meet comfortably. He sought Riki’s instead. ‘What’s going on, man?’