The Lost Tohunga

by David Hair

  Riki looked at Kurangaituku, and shook his head slowly, as if he didn’t really trust his own recollection. ‘This is Hine-manu. The Queen of Birds. She has remembered herself. She wants to help us.’

  Mat gaped. ‘But she’s—’

  The towering woman half-turned. ‘Yes, I was Kurangaituku. The Eater of Men. But that was after … after I forgot all that had been. Puarata trapped me, and changed me. People forgot me; they gave praise to new gods, and forsook me. The tohunga makutu said he could restore me. He lied. He changed me instead, made me into Kurangaituku.’ She put a hand on Riki’s shoulder. A possessive hand. ‘This poai remembered me. So now I am his. And he is mine.’

  Mat stared at Riki, who gave a weak smile.

  ‘His coming has given me hope,’ the Birdwitch whispered. ‘Hope of redemption.’

  Mat looked at Riki, who leant in and whispered in his ear. ‘Jus’ go with it, man. She jumped me, and made me tell stories for half the day, then announced she was hungry. I thought she was gonna eat me. But she let me go, and gave me smoked eel and kumara instead.’

  Mat shook his head in disbelief. ‘Only you could talk your way out of that, man.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Riki acknowledged with a smirk. ‘So, what’s up, doc?’

  Mat bent and picked up the tiny nail, cradling it in his bare palm, carefully keeping it from his bandaged fingers. The Nail smouldered brighter at his touch. ‘Primal fire,’ he said. ‘Ngatoro says we can use this to get into Te Iho even if we lack the key. I think Hine is the key to the door, but this is like a sledgehammer. If you’ve got a big enough hammer, keys and locks cease to matter. We need to get back to Rotorua and find Hine, or the gate.’ He looked at the Birdwitch. ‘I guess that means finding Donna Kyle.’

  Kurangaituku — he couldn’t think of her by another name yet — nodded her head. ‘My children will find her. Come!’

  He turned back to Fitzy. ‘Are you okay?’

  The turehu shook his head weakly. ‘I’m not good, sorry. I’ll live, but I can’t shape-shift right now, and I need to rest. I’ll stay here, and follow when I can.’ His dog eyes looked utterly mournful.

  Mat and Riki stroked his fur, and carried him to a small rivulet running through the cleft so he would have water. ‘We’ll come back for you as soon as we can,’ Mat promised.

  ‘Just go already. I’m embarrassed enough as it is,’ the turehu complained weakly.

  Kurangaituku handed Mat a cloak of black-and-white feathers. ‘Wear this, poai.’

  Mahuika had told him he could suppress then reignite the Nail, so he doused and pocketed it, then let Kurangaituku wrap the cloak around his shoulders. It gripped his arms to the elbow, and suddenly it was as if a million needles were stabbing him. He lifted his arms and the cloak swept about him like angel wings. Beside him Riki did the same. They looked at each other, sharing a moment of wonder.

  Riki grinned. ‘This is how I got here, man. It’s not hard, you just gotta go with it.’

  Kurangaituku — or Hine-manu — lifted her vast wings. Her blank, insane eyes fixed on him, and she beat at the air. He did the same, or rather the cloak did, as if it knew the moves, and he leapt into the air. All around him the birds surged about, and they streamed up, out of the gully, and flowed towards Lake Rotorua in a cloud.

  Hidden hands

  Friday evening

  Parukau watched with hooded eyes as a tall man hurried towards Donna Kyle, who was with her tipua on the southern shore of the island. There had been a settlement here in the real world, and for a while longer in Aotearoa, but both were long abandoned. All that remained were a few old kumara beds beneath a rock that served as a kumara god.

  The tipua called the newcomer ‘Stone’, but Parukau knew him by another, older name: Col, the embittered Irish Sidhe. Parukau’s face mottled with fury and despair as Col spoke to Donna Kyle. So close, and neither suspected his presence, but how to take advantage, and when? For now, he bided his time, and watched Hine Horatai. The girl’s head was bowed, but he could see her big, scared eyes. He licked his lips.

  The news went around quickly: the patupaiarehe Thorn was dead. Col’s mate. There was no sympathy among the tipua, but there was fear. If someone had slain a patupaiarehe, then no tipua wanted to encounter the slayer. Parukau saw that Col was devastated by the loss of Thorn, which meant that Thorn was Shonagh — he recalled her too, and with no liking. There was only one other patupaiarehe: the waif-like Rose, who seemed lost in a dream world. She did not even look at Col nor try to comfort him.

  A runner brought orders to form up and march to the pool clearing. As always with tipua, it took time to organize them. Parukau played his Kotukutuku role and aided the muster, whilst staying close to Kyle and the patupaiarehe. It was almost half an hour before they set off, on the ten-minute walk to the clearing by the pool. Parukau held his secret gun-squad aside, hidden in the trees with more than forty muskets. When to use them was the question. They were eager to strike, but he counselled patience. Too soon, and all would be lost; the gateway to Te Iho would remain unrevealed. Wait, he commanded them, then he slipped away to rejoin the main body of warriors. They were nervously sniffing the air and whispering among themselves.

  At the edge of the clearing, Donna Kyle and her minions were staring at the mission house that overlooked Hinemoa’s Pool. There was no-one to be seen, but several dead tipua lay on the grass, beside the contorted body of Thorn. Already it looked like a centuries-old corpse. The tipua eyed the scene nervously, and Parukau made calming gestures while staring intently at Donna Kyle.

  The blonde witch hailed the mission house. ‘Wiremu, this is Donna Kyle! We must talk!’

  Wiremu is in there? Then burn it down, Parukau silently exhorted her. Burn him!

  There was a long silence. Finally, a voice called out. ‘Alright. Let’s talk. You and I, alone.’

  Donna Kyle nodded grimly. ‘Five minutes!’ She ordered the goblins away. Parukau tried to linger, but even he, as chief, did not have the rank to stay; nor did he dare come too close to her, lest she realize just who now inhabited the goblin’s body. He slunk back into the woods, to ponder his next move.

  Donna Kyle licked her lips, feeling her heart beat like a bass drum in her chest. She waited in the tree-line, only twenty metres from the door of the mission house, maintaining a stasis shield in case one of Wiremu’s company shot at her. Not that she thought they would. They’re the ‘good guys’ after all, she thought, with a sneer that somehow tasted bad in her mouth.

  The door opened a slither, and a musket barrel tipped by a glittering bayonet poked out at her. But what struck her more sharply was the muffled cry of a female voice inside. What’s going on in there?

  Wiremu slipped out of the door and glided into the deepest shadow, in the lee of the building. She caught a glimpse of his chiselled features and curly hair, and then he was somewhere in the darkness. She caught her breath a little. He could still move like a ghost.

  ‘No closer,’ he said, from within the shadows.

  ‘I’m alone,’ she replied, aware that he probably knew. ‘And I’m unarmed.’ She showed him both her hands, stepping into the open. ‘I don’t want this to be overheard. Come closer. I’ll stay in the firing line of that gun if it makes you feel better.’ They both knew she had ways to avoid bullets.

  He nodded, and stepped out. They stalked each other, until almost in touching distance. Up close, he was still the man she remembered. She had begun her servitude in 1956, by which time he had been Puarata’s servant for hundreds of years. She had always fancied that he regarded her with pity, something she both resented and craved. For a time, she had fantasized that he would free her and they would fall in love, back when she still thought she might be able to feel such emotions. He had been her most secret hope. Then Puarata had lost him, in the ’sixties, when she was still a teenager. At the time it had crushed her. Seeing him again, the first time since he struck her down a year ago, made her tremble.

  ‘Wiremu,�
�� she blurted, feeling as nervous as a girl. ‘You know, if Matiu Douglas had not ruined things for me in Auckland last year, you would be my servant, and I would already have won this war.’

  He gave a small, wary shrug, as if this were of no consequence. The scar on his forehead, the death blow inflicted by Tupu all those long ages ago, caught the half-light. It only made him more beautiful to her.

  ‘You would be at my side, immortal still,’ she went on. ‘Perhaps even my lover.’

  ‘I might have been at your side,’ he acknowledged, ‘but there would have been no love.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I’d have won you over,’ she told him, trying to infect her voice with a knowing irony to mask a growing sense of emotional vulnerability. He didn’t bother to answer that, which cut her. ‘You would have been my tool, to play with how I wished,’ she insisted angrily.

  ‘You failed, Donna. Might-have-beens are irrelevant,’ he reminded her evenly.

  ‘I used to think that you and I were kindred spirits, Wiremu. We were the unwilling disciples, the decent people made to do evil. We know each other’s histories. We’ve been through the same things. You had no choice, and neither did I. No-one understands what we’ve been through except us.’

  He stared at her for a few seconds, and then said, ‘Is that really how you remember it, Donna?’ There was not a hint of mockery or judgment in his tones. Just a faintly surprised sadness — which was worse. The way he said it undercut everything else she might have said, and made the whole ground beneath her seem paper-thin.

  ‘How dare you?’ she flared, her mouth flooding with bile. ‘I was just a girl when he took me, and I suffered. He made me do everything I’ve done. I had no option!’

  ‘I remember a woman who took pleasure in others’ misery. I still see her.’

  She swallowed angrily. ‘Then you’re blind. I have no choice — I never had!’ She felt her skin moisten. ‘You had the excuse of having no autonomy. No choice, so no guilt! I didn’t have that! I had to damn well love my work or die. He butchered my conscience — but it’s growing back! How do you think that feels?’ She felt something beginning to fray inside, and tried to reel in her emotions. ‘I’m his worst victim.’

  He seemed unmoved. ‘Perhaps. But until you walk away from this war, you’re still his victim.’

  ‘Walk away? You think I can walk away? I’m the most wanted woman in Aotearoa.’

  ‘Then leave it. It won’t miss you.’ His eyes flickered to the patupaiarehe on the far side of the clearing. ‘If Col can cross the seas, you can.’

  ‘I can’t! You think Sebastian Venn can’t track me anywhere? You think Parukau couldn’t? There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. No-one’s protection I can claim. I either win or die!’

  His face remained unmoved. ‘Then you believe yourself incapable of the redemption you pretend you want.’ He met her eyes. ‘Surrender yourself to me, and I will vouch for you before Governor Grey.’

  ‘That old fox won’t show mercy,’ she spat. ‘He’s wanted my head for decades.’ In Aotearoa, New Zealand’s most famous and powerful governor still enjoyed nominal authority over the north of the North Island through complex arrangements involving aspects of the Treaty of Waitangi that were adhered to in Aotearoa. Governor George Grey had put a price on her head bettered only by the bounty on Te Kooti, Hone Heke, John Bryce, and Puarata himself. ‘He’s not so keen on you, either.’

  ‘I have a pardon now, as I’m sure you know. Surrender yourself to me, and I will speak for you. If your life is so bad, then accept imprisonment.’

  She looked at the ground. ‘You understand nothing! I’m on the verge of gaining control of Puarata’s secret lair — I can’t step out of the game now.’

  ‘Then you certainly won’t if you triumph,’ Wiri replied. ‘Which only leaves trying to hide behind me if you fail,’ he added with a touch of irony. From inside came those muffled cries again, and he glanced anxiously over his shoulder.

  She recognized the tone and rhythm of the cries and guessed what they were. ‘Your woman is in there! She’s giving birth!’ Good grief!

  He looked at her, then nodded shortly. ‘It is quite advanced. We can’t leave here even if we want to.’

  She scowled. Damn this! ‘I have more than one hundred tipua and a nest of patupaiarehe. If I order them to attack, you will all die. You are in precisely the wrong place, Wiri.’

  He never flinched. ‘Then we are in your hands,’ was all he said, rocking back on his heels slightly.

  They’ve already killed Thorn. They have silver. I could lose the patupaiarehe — and without them perhaps the tipua will rebel. And I can’t afford to damage the mission house until I know how the gate to Te Iho works … which means I can’t burn him out. He’ll be defending a confined space. And it’s Wiremu: I’m not even sure we’ll win.

  Then an answer occurred to her that might serve — but it involved doing something she had never done before: show mercy. She bit her lip and tasted her own blood. It made her feel shaky and hollow. ‘I need you all gone, as soon as possible. Will you accept my word that you will not be harmed if you depart?’

  His eyes widened, then narrowed. ‘What’s the catch?’

  ‘No catch. I just want you gone. This isn’t your fight.’

  ‘Where’s Mat Douglas? Where’s Riki Waitoa? And Hine Horatai?’

  ‘I have the girl. I don’t know where Matiu Douglas is, or the other person. Nor do I care. Just take your woman and get out of here.’

  ‘She’s in full labour. She can’t be moved.’ Wiri glanced over his shoulder, his normally dispassionate face gnawed by worry. ‘We have the only defensible place on this island.’

  ‘I could torch it in minutes. As you know.’ She felt like she was walking a tightrope between portraying threat and weakness. ‘Damn it, Wiri, wouldn’t you rather it was me controlling Te Iho than Parukau or Venn?’

  ‘Frankly, I see no difference.’

  ‘Then you’re a fool! I’m …’ she trailed off, too desperate and angry to continue. ‘Let me take you all across — let me get you out of there! Let me move you across!’

  More cries of pain came through the door. She saw him flinch, and consider. He nodded. ‘Very well.’

  She exhaled, in sudden relief. ‘Agreed!’ She offered her hand, because she wanted to touch him.

  He ignored it. ‘Await me here,’ he said. He withdrew, and she heard a few heated words inside. All the while the musket was trained on her. A few minutes later, he opened the door. ‘Come in. Move slowly and predictably.’

  She entered the mission house, where the tang of blood was overwhelming. They were using the altar as the birthing-table, which struck her as odd until she saw what poor repair the rest of the building was in. The pink-haired girl on the altar turned her face to her with a look of blank hostility.

  How could he prefer that fat ugly freak to me?

  The policeman Hollis glared as he trained his musket on her. The Colonial Constabulary man, Spriggs, was the other occupant of the room. An old adversary. His right arm was in a sling, but the musket in his left was steady.

  ‘Do they understand why I’m here?’ she asked Wiremu.

  ‘We know,’ the pink-haired girl, Kelly, said in a hard voice.

  ‘It’s for your own good,’ she snapped back. ‘Perhaps if you have a girl you’ll name it after me,’ she added in a sarcastic voice.

  ‘I wouldn’t name a rabid dog after you,’ Kelly shot back. She looked at Wiremu. ‘Darling, let’s get this over with so she can piss off back to her goblin buddies.’

  Donna clenched her teeth to stop herself lashing out. Slowly, she walked towards the altar. ‘I’m sure you know how this works,’ she said, looking at the clown-girl with her most disdainful look. ‘You have to touch me when I’m making the transfer.’

  They gathered with clear reluctance, and laid hands upon her arms. She felt suddenly vulnerable, suddenly afraid. Wiremu looked at her, and she at him. ‘Your skin is cold
, Donna. Unnaturally so.’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just another reason that I have to win.’

  He stared and then nodded.

  She took them across.

  They appeared in the evening-cool glade beside Hinemoa’s Pool. Spriggs immediately shoved Donna away from them, his bayonet centimetres from her breast. There was no trace of his normally habitual politeness. ‘Over there, ma’am,’ he told her in flat tones.

  Wiremu walked towards her. ‘You know that Shonagh was a servant of Puarata, just as you were. He gave her fairy blood to heal her, and gradually she degenerated.’

  She hadn’t known this at all. It took all her discipline to hide the fear this titbit sent through her.

  ‘Now go,’ he said. ‘I will not wish you luck.’

  She smiled tightly. ‘I will not need it.’

  ‘Aren’t you tired of all this, Donna?’

  Yes, yes I am. ‘I have no choice,’ she told him, and stepped back into Aotearoa.

  Donna called the two remaining patupaiarehe and the tipua chief, Kotukutuku, to her side. The tipua watched them confer. She disliked all these eyes on her, when she was still uncertain how to proceed. She might have the girl Hine, but what was she supposed to do now? Her mind frantically explored the possibilities. She had the girl, but she needed to know where the gate was. She still needed Father … and she had given her damned Pledge.

  As if summoned by her thought, Asher Grieve’s voice filled her mind. Daughter, have you obtained the Blood of the Swimmer?

  The fact he had to ask reassured her that her actions and thoughts were still somewhat cloaked from him. ‘I have her. You were right about Hinemoa and Tutanekai. But what do I do now?’

  Try dribbling some of her blood into the pool, and watch for unusual effects. It is associated with the legend, so it is the logical place to start.