by Sarah Lark
“My son,” said Kuti Haoka. He led his nephew onto a plateau overlooking the marae and stood tall there. Kahu kept his distance—the chieftain of the Ngati Pau was tapu, and not even his shadow could fall on one of his subjects. “I’ve known you since your birth, but I still do not know what I’m to think of you. You seem unable to decide whether you want to live with us or the pakeha, but the priests say this is your fate. You are meant to wander between the worlds. Now the time has come for you to settle down. I am old. I will soon return to Hawaiki. Someone must lead the tribe after me, and the line would point to you. So what of you? And what of the woman you chose? The gods welcome your choice. The priests have asked them many times. Your fate lies in darkness, but the union is blessed. So, where is she? When will you bring her here? When will you take my office?”
Kahu Heke had expected something like this and hoped for it too—it was only these questions about the woman he was supposed to have chosen that irritated him.
“Ariki, which woman?” he asked.
The chieftain arched his brows. “The pakeha wahine, who else? You’ve given her plenty of time to herself. Soon she will no longer be able to bear children.”
“Ariki, I have not seen her in years. She does not think of me and does not want me. When I become chieftain, I’ll take one of the girls from the tribe.”
Kuti Haoka shook his head—ever dignified with his long hair bound into warrior knots. “That is not what the spirits intend. You should have taken my daughter, but the gods gave me no daughter. The pakeha wahine is meant for you. See that you find her if you want my office. If not, there will be someone else for chief. Kia tu tika ai te whare tapu o Ngati Pau.”
May the sacred house of the Ngati Pau last forever. Once the chief finished his speech with the traditional words, he turned and walked away—very slowly, carefully, ever alert. His shadow could not fall on any field; no branch of a tree could touch his air. An ariki led a lonely life.
Kahu thought it over. It was his duty to strive for the chieftain’s office. Not just to his tribe but to all his people. They would listen to the ariki of the Ngati Pau. In the Maori villages and the pakeha cities. Again, he had the idea of having himself elected kingi—perhaps he should court the daughter of the current kingi? But that was a matter for another day. The chief had given him clear instructions as to his first wife. The spirits of the Ngati Pau insisted on a union with Elizabeth. Now he only needed to convince her of this idea. As he went back to the village, he whistled to himself. It was rare that the will of the spirits and the will of a person coincided so nicely.
Kahu Heke did not take the chieftain’s canoe to sail around the North Island this time but had a tribe of the Ngati Pau ferry him across on the shortest route to the South Island. Before that, he wandered across the North Island, speaking to the representatives of the various tribes and assuring them of his friendly intentions—now, as a visitor, and later, as ariki of his tribe. The powhiri, the ceremony that on the South Island was more of a traditional game, could become bitterly serious here. The tribes on Te Ika-a-Maui had always warred with each other. Kahu was determined to unite them now against the pakeha. The Maori had to strengthen their position, for better or worse, in war or peace. Kahu knew that Kuti Haoka hoped for peace. He had dedicated his life to this peace, although he had to fight often enough. Surely the attempt to bring white blood into the chieftain’s line of the Ngati Pau aimed at such a peaceful solution. The eldest in the tribe were thinking more of future generations. Kuti Haoka’s mention of Lizzie getting older—she might now be turning thirty—and the necessity of producing children with her as soon as possible spoke for themselves.
After his crossing, stormy this time, Kahu traveled across the South Island, visiting the pakeha settlements and finding them smaller and more manageable than the cities on the North Island. Naturally, Christchurch and Dunedin were growing, but in comparison to Wellington and Auckland, they were still villages. And here, there were hardly any conflicts between Maori and pakeha. The Ngai Tahu mostly kept away from the cities, but they were pleased with the price their land had fetched. The farmers in the plains hired the Maori as shepherds and respected their tapu. The land was big enough. Why should they fight about the settling, lumbering, or grazing of this or that grove or mountain?
In turn, it seemed to Kahu that the Ngai Tahu adapted to the whites’ way of life. They wore their clothing, sent their children to missionary schools, and often converted—at least halfheartedly—to Christianity. Only a few of the younger generation still wore moko, and the strict customs of earlier times were slipping into oblivion. No one cared where the shadow of his chieftain fell. Kahu quickly saw that the Ngai Tahu were not at all likely to be talked into an uprising.
Finally, he reached the gold prospects in Otago, where he was horrified by the destruction of the land. He hardly stopped, instead continuing into the mountains. Somewhere in this region lived the tribe that had taken Lizzie in.
The Ngai Tahu village was hard to find, and although he was an experienced Maori warrior, he wandered for some time before finding it. Finally, Kahu met a Maori girl who led him willingly to her relatives. Haikina, a daughter of the tohunga, Hainga, had attended a missionary school in Dunedin and was on her way back to the village.
Kahu followed the tall, slender girl over paths along streams and the river. Haikina wore the clothing of the whites, but she tied her skirt up high so she could move more easily in the wilderness. Kahu soon realized that although she had learned from the whites, they had not taken her in. The two former missionary students laughed as they exchanged stories about their teachers and priests. Haikina had let herself be baptized, too, but viewed the question of the whites’ gods skeptically. Finally, Kahu asked her about Lizzie, but the girl had only heard in the prospector’s camp that a white woman was supposed to be digging for gold near her village. She did not know any more, since she had not been with her tribe in almost a year.
Haikina’s mother and friends greeted her enthusiastically. Even the chieftain deigned to speak a few words to her. As tohunga’s daughter, she possessed a high rank, and many important practical and spiritual duties would fall to her. Right away Hainga gave her a decisive role in the powhiri ceremony with which Kahu Heke was welcomed into the village. The girl did not agree with her role, and she made the point that she had not danced the haka in four years, but Hainga insisted. The visitor was a future chieftain; he had a right to princesses in his welcome party.
Kahu let the praying, singing, and dancing pass over him. He would have preferred to be led directly to Lizzie’s camp after arriving in the village. However, that would have been more than impolite, and on the North Island one could interpret it as a hostile act. So Kahu played along and reluctantly began with his greeting speech. Casually, he let his gaze move over the group of dancers and girls playing music—and froze. Between the Maori girls stood a pakeha, a petite woman, hardly taller than anyone. Kahu saw her long, dark-blonde hair, silky but easily tangled. Pale-blue eyes like the sky in spring or the sea on a cloudy day. His heart pounded. Lizzie, his Elizabeth, stood beside the girls applauding the dancers. Kahu could hardly wait for the end of the ceremony.
He was so stunned that he had to be sure he wasn’t imagining his Elizabeth. “Who is that?” he asked Mahuika, a student of Hainga’s. She had been permitted the honor of letting out the karanga, and now she handed the visitor the first bite of food.
The young priestess grinned. “Erihapeti,” she said. Elizabeth. The Ngai Tahu now seemed to have an equivalent for every pakeha name. “And you’re the reason the clouds hang over her. At least, that’s what Hainga says.”
“I know her,” Kahu admitted. “But what is she doing here?”
Until then, Kahu had not believed the spirits interfered all that often in the lives of men.
“She’s waiting,” Mahuika said. “She’s waiting for a man.”
Kahu seized his forehead. That couldn’t be. “Come now, how would s
he know that I was coming?”
Mahuika laughed. “She’s waiting for a pakeha,” she specified. “She is—how do you say? Engaged.” Mahuika used the English word. There was no equivalent in the Maori language.
Kahu pursed his lips. “I’ve come to retrieve her,” he said. “The tohunga of the Ngati Pau would like to see her at my side.”
The young tohunga student arched her eyebrows. “Oh? Yet she sees herself elsewhere. Where her man sees her, no one knows. Hainga said it, the clouds. Her fate is unclear. There’s no reason not to try your luck.”
Kahu hardly dared to hope he could spend time with Lizzie that first evening. An honored visitor, especially one with rank as high as the future chieftain of the Ngati Pau, rarely came in contact with the regular members of a tribe. But to his amazement, Lizzie was also called to the circle of tohunga and elders. He saw from her face how embarrassing it was for her to be included. Why was it so unpleasant for her? How did she suddenly hold such a high rank? Whatever the reason, it was good that the tribe esteemed her so highly. That simplified Kahu’s plans.
Kahu Heke sat next to her by the fire and handed her some food. “Elizabeth, you’re just as beautiful as back when I brought you to Te Waka-a-Maui.” He spoke to her in his language. “And you’ve become what I always hoped. Even if you didn’t want to.”
Lizzie shrugged. She was nervous sitting next to him. The other girls were already looking at her questioningly. Kahu should be trying for Haikina or one of the chieftain’s daughters, not her.
“Hainga sees the work of the spirits here,” she informed him.
Kahu laughed. “And the pakeha say: Man proposes and God disposes.”
Lizzie smiled. She had forgotten how witty he could be—and how irresistibly pakeha. In the last few weeks since Michael had gone, she had missed this repartee. As a people, the Maori seemed not particularly witty to her. Their humor was bawdier and more straightforward than that of the whites. Though she still hadn’t mastered their language. Perhaps subtleties escaped her.
“Since when does Kahu Heke repeat the pakeha’s words?” She teased Kahu. “Wouldn’t you prefer to throw them out of Aotearoa?”
Kahu shrugged. “There are just too many, and my people don’t see the danger they present. But now, tell me about yourself and the gods. They tell me you have a fiancé?”
Lizzie nodded, but her eyes were sad. “I hope so, but he’s away.” Why should she make a secret of it? Kahu would hear everything the Ngai Tahu knew about her relationship with Michael anyway. “In fact, he meant to buy a house for us, but now . . .”
“Will Kupe come back?” Kahu gave her a mocking smile.
That was the Maori expression for “You might have seen the last of him.” The saying referred to Kupe, the first settler of New Zealand. He had promised his friends on Hawaiki he would come back—but he never did.
Lizzie began to brood. She had just started to feel more comfortable in Kahu’s company. The other tribesmen were making music again and dancing and, at least apparently, paying less attention to Lizzie and the future chieftain.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked mistrustfully. “You’re always talking to me about Kupe and Kura-maro-tini.” Apparently she did not know the saying, even though her Maori had gotten much better.
Kahu laughed. “Because every time I see you, I feel the urge to run off with you,” he teased her.
According to the legend, Kura-maro-tini had belonged to another, and Kupe had killed her husband and abducted her. It was on their flight that they discovered New Zealand—Aotearoa.
“Well, we don’t see each other all that often,” Lizzie said, taking a drink from the bottle Kahu handed her.
He had brought two bottles supposed to contain whiskey, and the Ngai Tahu passed them around. Until then, Lizzie hadn’t had any—whiskey always reminded her of Michael. Only the spirits knew where this had been distilled.
“Tell me how you’ve been, Kahu Heke. Do you have a wife—or several? Any children?”
Kahu shook his head. “I’ve been working for the pakeha. For Mr. Busby first, in fact.”
Lizzie’s eyes lit up when Kahu talked about winemaking. For an enchanted hour, he had her eager attention.
“I tried once or twice to ask him whether other grape varieties would do better in our soil. But Mr. Busby was stubborn. He said that Riesling grew in Europe under very similar conditions to those in New Zealand. He only meant the weather. As for everything else, Hainga would say Mr. Busby doesn’t listen to the whispering of the spirits.”
Kahu smiled—and Lizzie noticed that his tattoos suddenly no longer bothered her.
“I may have become more pakeha over the years,” said Kahu Heke. “But you’re much more Maori. You hear the whispering of the spirits. I thought of a kiss when I tasted truly good wine.”
Lizzie raised her eyebrows high. “A kiss? That must have been rather rich wine—red wine, right? It’s true that Bordeaux sits on the tongue like, like a caress.” She blushed. “I have one last bottle left in my tent,” she continued drily. “But it’s a lighter white wine, from Italy. We can drink it together. We’ll see what you taste. I taste peach, maybe a little honey.”
Again, Lizzie took on that dreamy expression that Kahu had only ever seen on her face when the subject was wine. Really, thinking about her man should provoke this response. Yet her supposed fiancé seemed to be more worrisome than anything. Kahu was determined to seize this opportunity.
“We’ll see. I’d be happy to drink it with you. By the way, can you still catch fish, pakeha wahine, like we showed you?” Kahu brushed her hand lightly, as if by accident.
Lizzie laughed but drew her fingers away—not in shock, more unsure. Not a clear no. Kahu waited for an answer.
“That’s not something you forget,” she said. “On the contrary. I, I have much more practice now.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” he teased her. “Would you like to show me tomorrow? In this stream where you pan for gold?”
A shadow crossed Lizzie’s face. It wasn’t just where she had panned for gold; it was where she had been happy with Michael. And now Kahu wanted to go there with her. Kahu, who apparently felt something for her. After all, he had been flirting with her since he sat down. Lizzie did not know if she was ready to show another man her prospect, but she could hardly say no. Kahu Heke was an old friend and an honored guest of the tribe.
“We could take your wine.”
Lizzie stiffened. “Not, there,” she stammered. “The, the way up is difficult. We shouldn’t get drunk there.”
Kahu hardly thought half a bottle of wine would get them drunk, but it wasn’t important. She had agreed to spend the next day with him. Whether at her prospect or somewhere else, with wine or not, he did not really care. The main thing was, he would have her to himself.
“Fine, no wine and no whiskey.” He smiled. “If the gods want us intoxicated, Elizabeth, we won’t need drinks.”
The day before, at the celebrations, Lizzie had looked like a Maori girl to Kahu. But now that he was alone with her, she had put on her pakeha clothes again and hidden her hair beneath her straw hat. Instead of dancing with swaying hips like the girls of the tribe, she moved with hurried steps past the river and then the stream. She did not say much as they went. Kahu followed in silence.
After a two-hour march, they reached the needle-shaped rocks and Kahu let himself fall into the grass. Lizzie remained standing.
“Do you want to fish now?” she asked.
Kahu shook his head. “Let’s pan for gold first,” he said. “Maybe we’ll find a giant nugget and become rich in an instant.”
Lizzie smiled. “I did not realize you were so in need. Is the chief of the Ngati Pau destitute? I do need to give you back the money you lent me long ago. How much interest do you want?”
Kahu made a dismissive gesture. “It was a present. Think no more of it. As for my people: the Ngati Pau have been selling land; they have everyth
ing they need. I think that a mistake, however. If you make me rich today, we’ll take the land back.”
He slid closer to her. She knew he was no longer speaking of gold; there were other riches. The gold pan seemed to vibrate in her hand. If she was going to be at the rocks, then she wanted to work.
“Have you done this before?” she asked.
Kahu shook his head and admitted he had never held a gold pan before. Lizzie sighed. She would have to show him and would hardly get to work, herself.
He was so clumsy with the pan that he almost fell in the stream. Lizzie had to laugh. She took the pan from his hands, shook it with a practiced flick of the wrist—and enjoyed his wide-eyed expression when bits of gold appeared.
“Aye, that’s how I felt too,” she said. “Gold, even on the first try. It’s not like that everywhere, Kahu. On the contrary. For this much gold, people down at the camp often have to pan or dig all day.”
“And you two did this here all summer, huh?” asked Kahu. “So, you must be rich.”
Lizzie shrugged. “I gave Michael all the gold,” she admitted. “For the house—or for a church.” She sighed.
“For a church?” Kahu inquired, confused. “Is he a cleric?”
Lizzie laughed, distressed. “Forget it. In any case, he has the gold, and I hope he comes back with it someday—or with something worth as much.”
Kahu smiled comfortingly. “If not, you can always pan for more,” he said, at ease. “If I help, it’ll go fast.” He looked more closely at the small, pinprick traces of gold. “It’s pretty, this gold of yours. It glitters. Like your hair in the sunlight.”
Cautiously, Kahu reached into the pan, took a few gold flecks out, removed Lizzie’s straw hat and threw it onto the bank, and sprinkled the flecks into her hair.
“Are you mad?” Lizzie laughed. “Do you know how much that’s worth?”