Thank you to my husband, Lionel, for his love and support, and to my friends Lynette Evans and Denyse Cambie for their help and advice.
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Dedication
1 The grey colt
2 Feeling lost
3 The golden mare
4 Making friends
5 The desert stallion
6 Learning lessons
7 Building bridges
8 The bachelor stallions
9 An unwelcome meeting
10 Falling out
11 Mustering madness
12 Standing strong
13 The war horse
14 Fighting back
15 Walking wounded
16 Healing hands
17 Witness to cruelty
18 Making plans
19 Trapping Tusker
20 The pit pony
21 Freeing friends
22 Fenced in
23 Restless spirit
24 Running free
25 The stallions’ stand
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1
The grey colt
The shaggy grey colt clung to his mother’s side, seeking shelter from the biting wind which whipped down from the mountains. The band of wild horses grazed peacefully, but the colt could not settle. He could hear something in the distance. It was a noise like rolling thunder, yet the sky was clear. Finally his father squealed a warning to the band. He gathered up the mares and foals and they turned as one into the wind. They galloped off towards the safety of the open plains.
The colt ran alongside his mother as fast as his spindly legs could carry him. The thundering noise grew louder. His mother was dripping with sweat and he smelt her fear. Suddenly the sky exploded. A massive bird swooped down on them, its wings beating the air and its mouth spitting fire. His mother screamed and fell, blood spurting from a wound in her shoulder. The colt raced on in a blind panic.
The colt tried to remember the lessons his mother had taught him in times of danger. When the horrible bird dived on them a second time, he was ready. He threw himself onto his side and slid along the ground. He returned to his feet facing in the opposite direction and galloped away, his heart pounding in his chest. He kept running until he could no longer hear the terrified cries of his family.
The colt stopped on a high ridge and looked down into the valley. The band of horses lay scattered like broken pebbles across the valley floor. The helicopter landed nearby and the colt saw men walking among the bodies. He had seen men once before. They had come on the backs of strange horses and carried sticks that spat fire. The band had escaped that time and he had learned men were to be feared. Now he learned they were to be hated, too.
The colt pawed the ground and snorted. He watched and waited until the men climbed back into the huge bird and flew off. Two dead horses hung from ropes tied beneath the helicopter. It roared out of the valley, its ghastly cargo swinging in the air. When it was out of sight, the colt cantered down the hill to search for his mother. He found her lying in a ditch, her neck bent and eyes glazed. He nudged her gently and nickered softly. She did not reply.
The colt stood beside his dead mother until the sun dropped behind the mountains and a heavy fog crept along the valley. He could not pull himself away. His mother and the band were the only life he had ever known. He hung his head and shivered in the bitter cold, missing the warmth of his mother. When dawn came, he was still beside her, lonely and scared.
From deep within him, something finally stirred. It was a voice from the past, calling to him. It told him this place was not safe and the men might return with the daylight. He should head for the hidden valleys to the east, beyond the mountains. There he would be safe.
The wind blew down from the jagged, snow-clad peaks of Mt Ruapehu as sharp and as cold as icicles. The colt stumbled on across the barren plains of the Rangipo Desert. He knew he must find shelter and food if he was to survive. The voice within him led him to a tumbling river which cut a deep gorge through ancient lava flows. Here at last he found shelter from the wind, water to drink, and tussock grass to eat. The three great mountains that watched over the land—Mt Ruapehu, Mt Tongariro and Mt Ngauruhoe—were now his only friends.
The voice of the colt’s ancestors had saved him. They had lived in the wilderness for hundreds of years. Their knowledge had been passed on down to him through the generations. The colt’s great-grandfather had once galloped across the burning deserts of Egypt. His mother’s ancestors had roamed the windswept hills of Wales. His closest ancestors had adapted to life in the harshest wilds of New Zealand. He came from fighting stock. He would survive.
2
Feeling lost
Lara couldn’t believe her eyes. Less than thirty metres from the rugby field a band of horses galloped past, kicking up their hooves and nipping playfully at one another as they flew by. They raced off into the distance, leaving a trail of dust behind them. Lara was so busy watching them she didn’t see her team-mate tossing her the ball. It sailed past her and landed in the arms of the other side’s halfback, who sprinted on to score a runaway try.
‘You stupid cow!’ screamed her team-mate, smacking into her. The breath was knocked from Lara’s body and she hit the ground. And they call this touch rugby, she thought, as she struggled to catch her breath. She heard her team-mates yelling, ‘Man, you lost us the game.’ Lara lay on the grass, the hot sun boring down on her. She looked up at the grinning face of a boy with long black dreadlocks and sparkling brown eyes.
‘You stuffed that up,’ he said, laughing. He held out his hand to help her to her feet. ‘What planet were you on?’
Lara felt herself blush and wished the ground could swallow her up. ‘It was the horses. Didn’t you see them?’
‘Sure. They’re Kaimanawa horses—wild horses that live around here.’
‘I didn’t know New Zealand had any wild horses! Do they always come this close to town?’
‘They usually live out near the Desert Road, but sometimes stray bands visit the horses at the pony club.’ He nodded over to a field where ponies grazed.
‘Wow, they’re beautiful. Imagine running free like that.’
‘Yeah, but there’s not much food, it’s freezing in winter, and stinking hot in summer. They’re tough horses.’
Lara was back on her feet, dusting off her shorts and long sunburnt legs.
‘You OK? They play rough sometimes,’ said the boy.
‘Tell me about it.’
The boy laughed again, an easy laugh followed by a cheeky grin. ‘You tough city chicks should be able to handle it. My name’s Kahu by the way. I’m in your class. What’s your name again?’
‘Larissa, except my friends call me Lara. Not that I have many these days—friends, that is.’
‘You’ll make friends soon enough. Some of the guys are a bit rough around the edges, like those horses. They’re fine when you get to know them.’
Kahu smiled cheekily at her and added, ‘Lara. That’s a cool name.’
Lara screwed up her nose. ‘I hate it. It’s Russian. Mum’s nuts on some old film called Dr Zhivago. She named me after a woman in it who plays the balalaika. Mum has lots of crazy ideas.’
The rest of the team was heading off to the locker room. A girl in Lara’s class pushed past her and grumbled at Kahu, ‘Why are you chatting to that snobby cow?’
‘Put a sock in it, Aroha.’ Aroha sloped off and Kahu turned to Lara with a shrug. ‘Don’t let it get you down. They’re always like this with new kids. Anyway, I’ll catch you later.’
‘Sure,’ Lara said, wondering if
he would ever speak to her again. He was the first kid who had even tried to be friendly. She just didn’t fit in here. After all, she was a city girl and wasn’t into the stuff they were into in this hick town.
Most of the kids’ parents worked at the army base nearby. They’d spent their life in this dump in the middle of nowhere. The only thing Waiouru had to offer was that it was near the ski fields. Yet most of these kids didn’t even ski! They were into rugby and softball, or just hanging out. She felt like a fish out of water.
Back in class, Lara tried to bury herself in her exercise books and ignore the smart comments of her classmates. ‘Where’s Wally?’ ‘Didn’t they teach you how to catch a rugby ball back in Oinkland?’ As they ribbed her, Kahu slipped into the seat alongside.
‘Come on, class, settle please,’ called out their dippy maths teacher, Ms Edbrooke. ‘Who finished their homework last night?’ She looked at Lara expectantly. ‘Lara, can you answer the first question?’ Although Lara always completed her homework, she wasn’t good at maths. She blamed her genes; her mother was useless at maths, too. ‘Lara, are you listening? Forty-six is twenty percent of what number?’ grilled her teacher impatiently.
Lara stared blankly at the whiteboard in front of her. For the second time that day, she felt her face burning up. Her classmates giggled. Ms Edbrooke sighed heavily and turned to the board. As her back was turned, Kahu quickly passed a note to Lara. She peeped at it and read: 230.
‘Two hundred and thirty,’ Lara called out.
‘Finally, thank you. Can you answer the next question, Kahu?’
‘Search me,’ Kahu shrugged his shoulders. The class cracked up. Lara was puzzled. He had known the answer to her question and it had been much harder.
‘I can see you haven’t been paying attention again.’ Ms Edbrooke gave another pained sigh.
The rest of the lesson dragged on. When the bell rang for home, everyone scurried for the door. Lara slowly packed up her school bag. She was in no hurry. She had nowhere to go and no one to see.
Before trudging home, Lara slipped into the girls’ loos to splash cold water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror, frowning at the freckles that sprinkled her sunburnt nose and the wide green cat’s eyes that stared back at her. Just then, a loo flushed and Aroha waltzed out of the cubicle. She sneered over at Lara, and said, ‘Don’t look too long, you’ll break the mirror.’ Lara tried to ignore her, but she felt her stomach flip with despair. Aroha laughed and Lara walked quickly out the door without saying a word.
Outside, the day was still hot and sticky. Lara pulled the band from her long golden hair and let it flow freely all the way down her back. Its silky length was soothing. She tried not to think about Aroha and the others. Instead, she wondered about the wild horses she had seen. Where had they come from? How many were there? Lara had never had a lot to do with horses. She was born and bred in central Auckland and the closest she’d been to animals was caring for a pet rabbit when she was a little kid. She remembered her dad had once taken her to a horse-hire place near Auckland for her birthday. They’d gone on a one-hour trek with a busload of tourists who, like her, had never been on a horse. The horses were old ponies that knew the ropes and plodded along a well-worn path. It was peaceful out in the bush and she loved the smell and feel of the horses.
‘What planet are you on now?’ Lara wheeled around as Kahu sauntered up. She felt herself blushing for the third time that day.
‘Oh, hi. I was away with the horses, I guess. They’re incredible. How many are there?’
‘About five hundred run free in separate bands. They live out near the Desert Road in the army-training area. There used to be a lot more until DOC rounded them up and sold some off to keep their numbers down.’
‘The Department of Conservation? Why?’
‘They said they were damaging some rare native plants. DOC still muster bands every year and cull them to keep their numbers down.’
‘Cull—you mean kill?’
‘The ones they can get homes for are sold.’
‘I’d love one!’
‘They’re different from tame horses. You have to be very patient with them. They don’t like people at first.’
‘I don’t like some people either.’
Kahu laughed. ‘Yeah, like Ms Edbrooke?’
‘She’s a pain! Thanks for helping me in class. How come you didn’t answer the next question when you knew the answer?’
‘Dunno. Like you said, she’s just a pain.’ Kahu quickly changed the subject. ‘Are you heading home now?’
‘I’ve got nowhere else to go. I don’t exactly have hordes of friends lining up to invite me over.’
‘You can come over to our place if you want. I know someone you might like to meet.’
Lara was intrigued, and pleased she didn’t have to go home to an empty house. ‘That would be great,’ she said eagerly.
‘Shouldn’t you check it’s OK with your folks first?’
‘There’s no need. Mum works at the army base and isn’t home till late. She won’t even know I’m gone.’
‘My dad’s in the army, too. He’s a Crew Commander in the armoured-vehicle brigade.’
‘Oh, Mum’s in human resources. She’s a manager, of course.’ Lara rolled her eyes.
‘Don’t you get on with your mum?’
‘I’d rather be with Dad back in Auckland.’ Now it was Lara’s turn to change the subject. ‘So who’s the mystery person you want me to meet?’
‘You’ll see!’ Kahu grinned his cheeky grin.
3
The golden mare
The wild colt grew up fast. Within a year, he had lost his shaggy grey coat and grown an adult coat of pure, shimmering white. When the winter snows came, he could barely be seen against the white expanse of the desert plains.
He soon learned how to paw at the snow to get at the tough tussock grass lying beneath. He also learned where there were patches of beech forest to shelter him from the freezing winds. His vast range stretched from southeast of Tongariro National Park to the Moawhango River. He roamed the land like a restless spirit, unwilling to settle in one place because he feared that men might find him.
He had seen other men out on the plains since the day they had killed his family. He smelt them coming and bolted away to watch them from a safe distance. They hid behind ridges shooting at one another with long sticks and hurling rocks that exploded on the ground. He shuddered at the noise and wondered about the ways of men.
One morning, the white stallion met a band of wild horses. He cantered over, excited to see them after so many months alone. He touched noses with a young mare with a long flaxen mane and golden coat. As she nuzzled him in return, he heard a squeal and reeled around to face an angry chestnut stallion. His teeth were bared and his ears pinned flat against his head. The younger stallion backed off, forced to be on his own once again.
A few months later, he was grazing in a field of heather when he caught the smell of men and horses on the warm spring breeze. A band of horses appeared on the skyline and thundered towards him. Six men rode after them, whooping and yelling and whirling ropes in the air. It was the same band of horses that he had met earlier. At their head raced the stroppy chestnut stallion.
The chestnut stallion could have easily outrun the men except he had his herd to protect. He circled the band to check on the foals who were struggling to keep up. A big man riding a coal-black horse threw a lasso over the stallion’s neck and hauled him to a stop. The stallion reared and another rider lassoed his front legs. The rest of the band scattered, confused without their leader. The men quickly rounded them up and moved them off.
The white stallion trailed after them like a ghost. They herded the horses into a wooden corral built along the side of a hill. The foals cried out for their mothers as they were jostled and pushed in the cramped space. The man on the black horse galloped around the corral, cracking his whip across the backs of the terrified horses. He opened a ga
te at one end and drove the golden mare into another yard. She kicked out at the high wooden rail, whinnying in fear.
The white stallion watched anxiously from the safety of a nearby hill. When the big man roped the mare and forced her to the ground, he grew restless. He paced along the hillside, tossing his mane and lashing his long white tail. The mare shrieked and he smelt burning horseflesh. The man loomed over her holding a hot branding iron. When she struggled to rise, he whipped her face with a rope and tied it tightly around her neck. He hauled her to her feet and she stood cowering in terror.
The white stallion whinnied shrilly and plunged down the hill towards the men, his tail held high like a flying banner. He trumpeted to the penned horses and they began to push and shove at the barrier. The chestnut stallion kicked at the rails with his powerful back legs. The top rail splintered and smashed and he cleared the fence in one leap. The rest of the band followed, crashing through the fence as if it were made of toothpicks. Only the golden mare remained, tied by the neck to the post.
The men leaped onto their horses and chased after the escaping band. The big man who had branded the golden mare stayed behind to guard his prize. The white stallion charged up to him, hatred blazing in his eyes. ‘Get out of here, you crazy brute!’ the man yelled, his jowly face blotched red with rage. He tried to lash out at the stallion with his long whip. The stallion snaked his neck at him, squealing back in anger. ‘Get out, or I’ll kill ya!’ The man dashed to his horse to grab his shotgun. The stallion whirled in front of him, knocking him down. The golden mare pulled and tugged on her rope until it snapped free. Together, the two horses turned and fled.
The white stallion and the golden mare galloped across the plains until they could gallop no more. Blood splattered the mare’s neck where the rope had sliced into her flesh. As the evening fog rolled in, the mare fell to her knees, her sides heaving. The young stallion stood beside her through the long night, the way he had stood beside his mother over a year before.
In the morning, he nudged the sick mare to her feet. He knew of a special place that could help heal her wounds. She limped along beside him until they came to a pond of boiling mud which bubbled and spat with a life of its own. Its sandy banks were yellowed in sulphur. The stallion bent to his knees and rolled onto his side in the smelly sand. The mare copied him until her wounds were covered in powdery yellow. The stallion’s instinct had led him here, as it had his ancestors before him. The sulphur was the life-force of the mountains and had the power to heal.
Restless Spirit Page 1