Guardian of the Dead

by Karen Healey

  When I came back, Kevin had left, and Mark was standing by the window, looking bemused.

  ‘He threatened me,’ he said.

  ‘Threatened you how?’

  ‘Well, if I do unspecified things to you, he plans to do specified things to me, none of which sound like much fun. Are all your friends this violent?’

  ‘I’m sure that if he knew what you’ve done—’ I began, not-quite apologetic.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Uh. Did you know you were still holding the mask?’

  I started and dropped it on my bed. It whined, hurt.

  ‘Mark? Is this thing alive?’

  He peered at it, hands behind his back. ‘Not exactly.’ He scratched his chin, where reddish stubble glinted. ‘It likes you.’

  ‘It loves me,’ I corrected.

  ‘Well, I don’t think it loves me.’

  It didn’t. When he spoke, a discordant buzzing throbbed through the bones behind my ears. It increased as he poked a cautious finger at the mask. My sister had given me a hideous black handbag for my birthday. I found it at the back of the wardrobe, wrapped the mask in a scarf and shoved it into the bag’s depths. Unease was stirring in my stomach. ‘What I did to Chappell – was that bad?’

  He shrugged. ‘I would have had to try it if you hadn’t.’

  ‘That’s not exactly reassuring.’

  He nodded distractedly and sat heavily on the bed. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead,’ he said. ‘I know everyone says that, but I really can’t.’

  My heart squeezed for him. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You know the worst thing?’ he asked. I sat beside him, legs pressed primly together, and made an encouraging noise, feeling worse than useless, and watched him push his hair back from his face. His knees were too bony. He should eat more.

  ‘He couldn’t be like other dads. He loved me, he was the best parent he could be, but he had no . . . On the worst days, he’d go down to the Square, and preach about what had happened to him. Reka did the same thing to stop him talking that she did to me, before she let him go. So he could only talk around it, and it hurts the more you try, but he’d do it for hours. Because he thought warning people was the right thing to do. And then he’d come home, and then he’d go catatonic. He’d sit at the table and shit himself. Or puke, or suddenly black out and fall. Or both. I was terrified that one day he’d do both and I wouldn’t be home in time to drag my father’s head out of his own vomit.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘I know. I know that. It was her fault. I hate her.’ He plucked at the knees of his tracksuit.

  ‘I don’t blame you.’

  ‘Yeah? Would you blame me if I said I hated him too?

  Because sometimes I did – this sick man, out of his time, who had nineteen good years before he met my sociopathic mother. So, yeah, sometimes I hated him, because he made my life just that bit harder.’

  Pity swelled in my throat. I couldn’t speak, only sit and listen.

  ‘A couple of years ago, before Gribaldi came, I went up north, to talk to this guy. See if I could cure Dad, fix myself, find a better way to stop Reka from getting Kevin.’

  He fell silent. I wanted to ask what he meant by fixing himself, but his face was still mobile with some inner dialogue, and I was loath to interrupt. ‘That didn’t go so well,’ he said finally. ‘Anyway, I came back early. I’d arranged for Dad to go into care for a week. I could have left him there for another two days. But, I don’t know, I missed him. So I took a taxi from the airport and picked him up again.’ He turned teary eyes to me. ‘He just kept talking, Ellie. He was preaching, and he didn’t really see me. I was exhausted. I cooked dinner, and he ate it, and he went to bed. But he just talked through the wall, on and on, and all I could think was, he’s been doing this all day and he’s going to be sick. And I’m going to have to deal with it. Again.’

  ‘I was so tired. And then I thought, I just sort of realised that if he wasn’t there in the morning, then I wouldn’t have to deal with any of it. So I walked into his room with my pillow, and I put it over his face, and I pressed down.’

  I stifled my shock before he looked at me, but the blank expression I produced was just as telling. He smiled, taut with bitterness, and went on.

  ‘He didn’t fight me. He’d been thrashing around, but when I leaned against the pillow he went completely still.’ He plucked at his tracksuit again, long fingers restless. ‘And then I took the pillow off his face and went back to bed and he talked until four in the morning. Then he had a fit and pissed himself, and I got up and changed him and put him in my bed and I went to sleep on the bedroom floor.’

  ‘You’re a good person,’ I said. It seemed so inadequate. ‘You’re not even half right. Even when Reka told me, it didn’t hurt right away. The first thing I felt – the very first thing – was relief. I thought I could find a way to stop being a monster. But it’s in me, indelibly. Body and soul.’

  He dropped his head, hair falling limply over his face. I stared at him.

  ‘Well,’ I said, hearing the word crack the air, and knowing that I was going to say the rest of it now, that I couldn’t stop. ‘That’s pretty arrogant.’

  For a moment his expression was so full of affronted shock that the sadness was pressed out. I pushed harder. ‘Oh, right, sleep-deprived and worn-out you tried to kill your dad. For what, about five seconds? Yeah, you’re Hitler. You’re Pol Pot. Oh, wait! You can’t be! Because they were human, and you’re a monster.’

  ‘You don’t—’

  ‘What? Understand? You keep saying I don’t know enough, I don’t speak the right languages, I don’t know the right stories, I don’t look in the right places. And it’s true. I’ve spent a day stunned by all the things I didn’t even know I didn’t know. But you can’t tell me I don’t know what it’s like to be human. I live human.’

  ‘But I’m not,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t care. People kill people every day, for much stupider reasons than yours. If you’d actually gone through with it, then yeah, you could make a case. As it is, no, sorry. You don’t measure up.’ I clutched his shoulders, feeling the bones solid under my hands. ‘The ones who did kill your dad, who want to drown three million people, they’re monsters. It’s what people do that matters. Okay? You’re an arrogant, secretive, manipulative son of a bitch, but you’re not a monster.’

  He seemed honestly confused. ‘What am I, then?’

  I snorted. ‘Mixed up. A chimera. Like the rest of us.’ I shrugged. ‘You put the pillow down. You took it off. You’re a good enough person. Okay?’ I released his shoulders and wriggled back across the mattress.

  Too late, I realised that he wouldn’t see that backwards motion as giving him space, but as a retreat. It was there, raw, in the way his fingers spread against his thighs.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ I said, and kissed him.

  Objectively, it wasn’t a great kiss. I’d grabbed his chin at an awkward angle, so first our teeth bumped, and then my nose squashed into his. I could still taste the toothpaste in my mouth, but he hadn’t brushed his teeth. And my back flared every time I did anything as complicated as raising my arms or turning to the side.

  Subjectively, I was aware of all these things, and didn’t give a damn.

  Mark’s lips were warm and smooth against mine, his fingers twisting under the tangled weight of my hair to stroke the back of my neck, careful not to touch my wounds. He made a sound that was part whimper, part sigh, and I pressed against him, his cotton jacket rough against my hands. His body was warm underneath it. I had my hands up under his shirt before I realised I was moving, had lowered him flat against my bed before I’d made any decision to hold him.

  A thrill unrelated to any magic hummed between us.

  ‘Whoa,’ I said, and pulled back to hover above him. Mark was looking up at me, lips parted. I reminded myself that his father had just been murdered. ‘Uh. Sorry if I—’

  He got a better grip on the back of my
head and tugged me down again. I decided less talking and more kissing was the order of the day, and lost myself in the taste of him and the feel of smooth skin flexing under my questing fingers.

  Eventually, he tilted his head away and gave me a smile that expanded across his face like a fern unfurling.

  ‘Um,’ I said, witty as ever.

  ‘You’re amazing,’ he replied, which was clearly another lie, but still something more coherent than I was managing. The window rattled as someone pounded on it.

  ‘Get a move on, Ellie!’ Kevin yelled, clearly unimpressed on several levels.

  ‘Shit,’ I hissed, and rolled off both Mark and the bed, waving Kevin away again. He rolled his eyes, but obeyed.

  Mark was sitting up, looking at me carefully.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ I said.

  He obeyed, and I skinned out of the costume and into my cleanest pair of jeans. Half-clothed, I sucked in a breath when I saw the purple bruises neatly spaced up my right forearm. The patupaiarehe’s taiaha had not been gentle. I tried to fasten a bra over the scratches on my back, but it just wasn’t going to happen. I gave up and spared one moment for the fear that Mark would peek just when I was at my most unattractive – struggling painfully into my jersey with my face concealed and my stomach rolls wobbling hypnotically – but when I tugged the material down to cover my belly, his eyes were still closed and he hadn’t bolted from the room.

  ‘Open them,’ I panted. ‘Okay. Let’s go.’

  HOME, LAND AND SEA

  KEVIN SPED DOWN the flat length of Memorial Drive, instructing us to look for police on the way. I reflected that between Mark and the mask, being pulled over wouldn’t slow us down much, but neglected to explain that to Kevin. Instead I occupied the time by looking through Iris’s wallet. The small family portrait in the ID pocket had survived the dunking: her father stood clasping one wrist with his other hand, wearing a severe dark suit, boxy at the shoulders; her mother sat on a low-backed chair, wearing a bright-pink high-necked jacket. A much younger Iris sat on her mother’s knee in a fluffy pink dress, beside an older boy I didn’t recognise. His skin was darker than hers; Iris looked more like her father. I wondered what Iris’s brother did, if he lived in the North Island.

  I had to stare out the window, blinking fast.

  At the airport, Kevin parked in the two-minute off-load zone, and insisted on getting my bag out of the boot, oblivious to the glares of other drivers. Mark waited a tactful few paces away while we said our goodbyes.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, forcing the words out of a suddenly tight throat. ‘You know. For everything.’

  ‘You too,’ he said, and lightly touched my cheek. ‘It’s weird. You look taller.’

  I touched the top of my head, appalled.

  ‘Not actually taller,’ he amended. ‘But you’ve stopped hunching.’

  I felt my shoulders cave in. When my back protested I straightened again. He grinned. ‘Looks good, Ell.’

  Mark made a sharp noise, and took off toward the entrance.

  I began to follow him, but Kevin caught my sleeve. His eyes were intent on mine. ‘I feel like a bad friend. I haven’t been around for you much lately.’

  ‘You’re the best friend,’ I said, and meant it.

  ‘Are you and Mark Nolan together? Or is that part of the big secret?’

  ‘Nope,’ I said, happy that I could be completely honest about something. ‘To tell the truth, I have no idea what I’m doing there.’ Mark was almost out of sight in the crowd, stalking towards the doors. ‘I better go.’

  ‘Okay. Whatever you’re doing, be careful.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ I said, and started moving, gear bag heavy in my numb-fingered grip as I jogged.

  I realised why Mark had taken off so quickly when I saw who else was standing under the eaves of the sliding doors.

  Reka wore dark, expensive sunglasses, but there was no disguising that erect carriage or the mass of shining hair, coiled and pinned about her delicate skull. She’d changed her clothes again – a black dress fell to flowing folds about her gleaming, booted ankles, a matching bolero jacket over her shoulders. Mourning colours, I thought, for a movie star’s funeral.

  Mark was speaking to her, his shoulders set and hostile. ‘—changed your mind?’ I caught.

  Her head tilted to look just over his shoulder. ‘Not quite,’ she said coolly. ‘I will not go with you.’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  ‘However, I have brought you two gifts. The first is the rest of the knowledge I gleaned. The attack will be tomorrow night. Be prepared.’

  Mark blinked. ‘Thank you,’ he said after a moment.

  ‘And this is the second.’

  She reached down the neck of her dress, to draw out a small flax bag. It was hanging from her neck on a cord, and I was unpleasantly reminded of the bone carvings the patupaiarehe had worn, on similar strings. The flax was newly made, still green, with the distinctive scent of sap rising from it. The cord shone gold-red in the light. Somewhere under that pile of glossy red hair was the bare patch of a missing strand.

  ‘I told you, I don’t want anything you have to offer.’

  ‘See it before you decide.’

  Mark hesitated, then took the bag, peering inside. I’d braced for something unusual, but the power hidden in the bag struck up through my heels and shuddered through my bones to the top of my skull. The mask stirred unhappily, and I patted the outside of the handbag to soothe it.

  Reka smiled. ‘Do you accept my gift?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done this,’ Mark whispered.

  ‘That was my choice. Do you accept?’

  He bowed his head. ‘I do.’ Pulling the bag closed, he slipped the cord over his head and tucked the bag into the tracksuit jacket. That vibrating rush vanished, with a feeling like the air after a thunderclap’s final echo had gone.

  ‘Well, then. I hope they may aid you. Come back safe with them.’ She hesitated, then held out her right hand for him to shake.

  Mark took it, then reached for her left hand and grasped them both lightly. Very slowly, he bent down and pressed his nose against hers. She jerked, then sighed, relaxing into the hongi, sharing his breath, until he moved away again, ending the greeting. ‘Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you thought you did,’ she suggested.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘I still can’t forgive what you did.’

  ‘I have never asked for forgiveness.’

  This was way too awkward.

  ‘I’ll go inside,’ I suggested, and Reka started.

  ‘Ah, yes. Eleanor Spencer. Guard my son.’

  The mirrored sunglasses were still tilted toward Mark. Evidently I was unworthy of direct eye contact. I had the immediate urge to tell Mark to go screw himself, but I nodded anyway.

  ‘I want your word.’

  ‘You’ve got it,’ I snapped.

  Some tension dissolved from her shoulders. People were passing us to go into the airport, paying us little attention. All the power of her presence was diluted into ordinary charisma, her beauty and clothing collecting second glances, but no awe.

  ‘Goodbye,’ Mark said, and gripped her shoulder once on his way past. She stayed in the doorway, staring out over the car park from behind her expensive shades.

  ‘What was that about?’ I muttered.

  ‘I’ll tell you later. We better check in.’

  We picked up boarding passes and checked my bag without any hassle, and passed through the slow-moving security line. The mask in my handbag got a raised eyebrow from the man on scanner duty and I tensed up, but a visual inspection satisfied him that I wasn’t carrying anything dangerous.

  Hah.

  The mask didn’t care about the inspection; the security guard was no threat to it or to me. Throughout the check-in process, I was very aware of Mark’s presence at my back, and had to prevent myself from oh-so-casually leaning back against him. One kiss was not enough. I was internally thrumming with the need for more.
>
  But he didn’t speak. Obviously, we couldn’t discuss the really important things while surrounded by grumbling fellow passengers, but I was a little disappointed that we couldn’t talk about something ordinary. I told myself that if he didn’t feel like conversation, I wasn’t going to push him.

  Just wait, and want.

  My stomach gurgled as we got to the departure lounge, and I eyed the small café off to the side. ‘Do you want a sandwich or something?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, then: ‘Wait, no.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Which?’

  ‘I better not eat anything,’ he said quietly.

  I stared at him. He avoided my eyes. ‘I had better observe purity, as far as I can.’

  ‘What did she give you?’ I demanded.

  He glanced at the people around us. ‘Something tapu.’

  I reached for his hand, but he pulled away, giving me a look that pleaded for understanding. ‘Something really tapu,’ he repeated. ‘I shouldn’t touch you. I mean, I shouldn’t touch anyone.’

  My jaw tightened. ‘For how long?’

  He looked away. ‘We’ll talk about it when it’s all over.’

  Wailing like a kid whose ice-cream had fallen out of the cone after one taste was an attractive option, but would probably draw a lot of unwanted attention. ‘Fine,’ I said shortly, and went to buy myself an overpriced salad while he sat in a deserted corner of the departure lounge, staring at the planes leaping into the sky. I wasn’t hungry for lettuce.

  I finished the salad without speaking and went back to the small café to grab a chocolate bar. Waiting in line behind an elderly couple deciding between Belgium biscuits and custard squares, it occurred to me that if he’d had second thoughts about me, maintaining the sacred nature of whatever he was carrying would be a great, culturally untouchable excuse.

  Or maybe, his dad had just been murdered and the body probably brutalized, and his mother was a psycho, and I should give the guy a break instead of being a paranoid bitch.

  I put the chocolate bar back, half smiled at the woman behind the counter in apology, and slid my wallet into my bag. My fingers brushed the smooth, cool surface of the mask.