by David Hair
The day was as blue and clear as the morning suggested, but the beach wasn’t empty. They surged past fishermen—some Maori, using primitive-looking nets and gourds, some European, waving cheerily holding elaborate modern lines. Mat wondered briefly at the number of people and goods that seemed to flow between the two worlds. But mostly he wondered where his mother was, fingering the pendant, chewing his nails, trying not to let his eyes sting with tears.
‘Sometimes people cross over, without ever realising,’ Wiri said. ‘This land is so beautiful and unspoilt in some places it’s never really separated into New Zealand and Aotearoa. In some special places it’s one and the same.’
Mat liked that thought. ‘If I get out of this alive, I’m going to explore them both.’
Wiri nodded. ‘You do that, brother. You do that.’
The beach was a thin strip of paradise. The dunes banked higher and higher on the right, and Mat half-wished they could pull over and play. The thought of sliding and rolling down the mountains of sand was wonderful.
Out to sea, they glimpsed huge creatures—sea-taniwha, or maybe whales—crashing amongst the waves. Inland, a massive tuatara, as big as the RAV4, watched them hum past from the crest of a dune. Gulls swirled above, diving for fish. They seemed the same as any from his own world and Mat wondered if they flew in both worlds.
He looked up, and noticed an even larger gull swooping toward them on the landward side, coming from the northeast. He stared for a few seconds, then grabbed Kelly’s shoulder. ‘Stop! Stop!’
‘Wassup?’ Kelly asked as she braked.
He pointed, as the RAV4 lurched to a halt in the sand. They got out, as the gull banked, and called, ‘Kia-ora, my friends!’
‘Fitzy!’
The turehu landed with an ostentatious flourish of his wings, and immediately took goblin form, waddling across the sands, grinning broadly. Wiri swept him up in an embrace, and after some hesitation, Mat joined them, and found himself carrying the turehu in his arms like an overgrown toddler. Kelly looked at them oddly, still obviously disturbed by the turehu’s fluid form. But he was heavy, so Mat held him out and dumped him into her arms. Fitzy threw his stubby arms about her neck and kissed her cheek. She flinched slightly, then kissed him back, and he beamed over pointy teeth. He looked highly excited, and desperate to tell them where he’d been.
‘Finally found you all! I’ve looked everywhere, and then when I finally realised what you were doing I was a long way behind. You’re doing well, but the tohunga makutu is ahead of you.’
‘What about the others?’ asked Wiri. ‘And how did you escape, little man?’
‘Man? Don’t call me a man! I am more than a man, in every way!’
Kelly looked at Mat. ‘I still liked him better when he was a dog.’
Fitzy folded his arms. ‘Do you want to know what happened or not?’
‘Just tell us,’ urged Mat impatiently. ‘Did you see my parents? Are Manu and Captain Spriggs OK? How did you escape?’
Fitzy threw up his hands. ‘OK, OK. Put me down, little wahine,’ he told Kelly.
‘Who are you calling little, squirt?’ retorted Kelly as she dropped Fitzy onto the bonnet of the RAV4. He sat there like a Buddha, and blew her a kiss. ‘I know you love me really, Kelly darling.’ Then he beamed at them. ‘I have news, my friends. Three items of good news, and three of bad news. The bad news first. Donna Kyle is laid out cold in hospital and won’t be joining us for the remainder of this expedition.’
‘How disappointing,’ remarked Kelly. ‘The bitch is still alive.’
‘You can’t have everything,’ said Fitzy lightly. ‘Second bit of bad news—those two trouble-makers Tim Spriggs and Manu are alive, and have had to leave the hospitality of Miss Kyle.’
Wiri let out a sigh of relief.
‘And finally, the third piece of bad news is that by taking this detour, you’ve missed a welcome party Puarata had planned for you near Kaitaia.’
‘What a shame,’ grinned Kelly.
Fitzy took a deep breath and became more solemn. ‘However, the good news is also bad. When Puarata realised you had evaded him he immediately drove north and is waiting for you at Cape Reinga.’
Wiri nodded. ‘That isn’t unexpected. What else?’
‘I flew near the cape and noticed strange lights in the sky, including a huge rainbow, so I think Puarata is planning an even bigger celebration to greet your arrival. And finally, he has your parents with him, Mat. I think he’s intending to threaten us with harm to them should the tiki not be returned. I am sorry.’
They absorbed that in silence. Mat felt bleak despair. How on earth could they get the tiki to the pohutukawa now? How could any of them get out of this alive? It seemed hopeless.
Kelly looked at Fitzy. ‘Couldn’t you fly the tiki up, and toss it into the bush yourself? You have a much better chance of sneaking through than we do.’
Fitzy shook his head regretfully. ‘I have the same problem as Wiri. I can’t touch the tiki. It has been made so that only living humans can touch it.’ He passed his hand through the pendant to emphasise the point, his fingers not even snagging on its thong.
Kelly looked disappointed. ‘Why don’t we just go somewhere else,’ she suggested. ‘They can’t wait up there for us forever. We could come back when the chase has died down.’
‘We could,’ agreed Wiri. ‘But by then my village will have been destroyed by Hauhau, and Puarata will have time to bring more of his allies north. He has other apprentices besides Donna Kyle. They will be coming to him, and once they join their powers to his, he will be able to break through Mat’s screening of our whereabouts, and we won’t be able to hide. And our heading for Reinga was at least unexpected this time round. It will never be as easy again. I am afraid that it is now, or never.’
Fitzy bobbed his head in agreement. ‘I have felt them coming up the island behind us, sniffing us out. Things of the myth-lands that move slowly, but are deadly if they catch us. The Bird-Witch. Patupaiarehe. All allies of Puarata, summoned to his aid. If we wait, they will be on us. There is a malevolent storm following behind. Pause, and we shall be engulfed.’
Kelly put her face into her hands. Wiri put a hand on her shoulder but she shook it of and walked away, down to the sea. Wiri watched her, flinching at the miserable look on her face, before turning back to the turehu.
‘Did you see how Puarata has arranged his forces at Reinga?’
‘I saw a little,’ the turehu replied. ‘I couldn’t stay long or I would have been noticed. But I saw something which gives us hope. He has had to spread forces over both worlds, because he doesn’t know in which world we will come. In the real world, he has Mat’s father, held by gunmen, supervised by one of his apprentices.
‘In Aotearoa, he has more apprentices, and has tied Mat’s mother to some sort of power totem.
Mat felt his legs tremble, and Wiri put an arm around his shoulders. He held onto the warrior gratefully.
Wiri’s face hardened. ‘We must move onward, and make what plans we can.’ He called to Kelly, who came back looking pale and red-eyed, but she took the wheel of the RAV4 again, and with Fitzy in dog form in the back with Mat, they drove on along the beach toward the north. Midmorning they reached the northern end of the beach, and realised they were going to have to turn inland.
‘Look for a river mouth,’ Wiri said. ‘A stream winds inland, back to the main road.’
They found it soon afterward, and stopped to eat. Mat didn’t feel hungry. Soon he might have to shift the RAV4 again, maybe more than once. The final showdown was coming. Puarata was waiting with Tupu and Puarata’s other followers. His parents were hostages, weapons to be used against him.
‘Let me tell you of the cape,’ said Wiri, after they had all eaten. ‘I’ve never been there, but I have listened to all the legends and stories and read about it, hoping it was my salvation. It is a wild place. The road climbs and dips through dense bush, until it comes to a high ridge. In New Zealand
there is a tourist centre, restricting access. No such thing exists in Aotearoa, but people still don’t go there. It is a haunted place, where the dead depart. It is sacred, tapu.
‘You then go north, to a rocky headland, which in New Zealand holds a lighthouse. From there you can see where the oceans meet. The Tasman Sea flows from the west, around Cape Maria van Diemen, and collides with the Pacific Ocean, which is higher, and the two break against each other like a wave. You can see the line of spray, a white line where the spirits of the two oceans contend, far out to sea.
‘From the lighthouse, it is a short walk to the Place of Departing, which is the same on both sides—but only on the Aotearoa side will you see the spirits, as they drift pale and lost, ever northward, until they find the pohutukawa, the fire-tree that opens the gate to the next world.’
They looked north, and Mat squinted. Somehow the light was refracting, forming a huge rainbow in the clear sky. Puarata, he thought. Puarata is waiting for us, and he is prepared.
They drove warily inland along the stream, until it hit the main road. It was little more than a dirt track. The bush was thick and damp, the air still and humid. Wiri got out and ran a little way south, peering down the track. Then he went north toward the cape, and did the same, returning ten minutes later, while Kelly and Mat waited tensely. ‘No one,’ he said tersely as he got back into the RAV4. Kelly looked across at him with wet eyes, and leaned over quickly to kiss him on the mouth, then pulled away. Mat took a deep breath, and looked out the window, fighting back a sudden stinging in his eyes.
They sat there for several minutes, without a word, until Mat couldn’t stand it any more. Even Fitzy looked uncomfortable. The turehu was in his goblin shape, staring out the window. ‘Can we go now?’ he asked, desperate to get underway.
Kelly looked at Wiri. ‘First, can I ask just one last thing. Please?’ Her voice was low and serious.
Wiri nodded.
‘We won’t have time later, and I need to know. Tell me about Wai-aroha.’
Wiri looked at her, and then at Mat. ‘Are you sure?’
Kelly hesitated, then nodded firmly.
Wiri closed his eyes, looking tired, and as ancient as Hakawau. ‘Puarata took me to Wellington, in 1964, in July. Winter time. It was cold and wet, and the wind was enough to strip your clothes and freeze you naked. We had been there before, to study, and for Puarata to mix and mingle with powerful men of your world—Maori politicians, Pakeha businessmen. But this trip he was looking for recruits.
‘He had taken several apprentices over the previous decades. Most were not strong enough to cope and ended up dead. Some, like Donna Kyle, have proved worthy. He recruited her around 1960. There are others, not many. Most failed.
‘He looks for artistic talent and anger. The artistry shows imagination—it is vital that a sorcerer can imagine things, and imagine them richly, so those things can be brought into being. Puarata used to make them imagine fire, and try to use that visualisation to make real fire. This was after he had given them ointments and potions that would either kill them, or make them into a sorcerer. The potion was distilled from the blood of the fairy folk—from patupaiarehe and turehu. The drinker’s body would either accept the potion, or die. Donna lived, as did others. Most didn’t.
‘There was a young artist he believed had potential—a mean-spirited little man called Francis Scoreson. Puarata told me to get close to him if I could, to ascertain his demeanour. He arranged for me to be introduced to Scoreson. Puarata himself was too busy with the politicians, so I was on my own. I was still rebellious, looking for ways to escape. I’m sure he sensed this, because he gave me very tight instructions. I couldn’t mention him, I couldn’t talk to others unless I had to, I couldn’t talk about myself, I could do nothing that would arouse suspicion. I was fenced in with “do nots” but for once, this worked in my favour.
‘Scoreson was a nasty piece of work, but didn’t have the degree of talent Puarata required. But one of the other artists did—Wilomina Stephenson, who was of course, Mat’s relative Wai-aroha. We met at a party—everyone was sooo polite, pretending we weren’t Maori and we spent a lot of time together. Her art was amazing—very expressive, quite troubled. But she was too pure of heart for Puarata. I reported her skill to him, as I had to. He changed his attentions to her, but wasn’t so thorough with his orders, as he was in a hurry. He left some gaps, which I saw I might be able to exploit.
‘I was pretending to be a buying agent. When she asked questions, Puarata’s orders forced me to be evasive and she became increasingly frustrated with me. I was…drawn to her…she was attractive, very lively and animated. She found my half-answers annoying. Finally she told me to either tell her who I really was, or leave her alone.
‘This was the chance I’d been waiting for. She had directed me to tell all or leave her alone, but under Puarata’s orders, I was forbidden to do either. Two orders that directly contradicted each other. I was forbidden to do either…but could not do neither…I must have swayed and nearly fainted, which drew strange looks from the other partygoers…I nearly blacked out…but when I recovered, I found I was freed from either restraint. Suddenly I could talk to her!
‘I convinced her to leave the party, and found a quiet corner of a bar on Featherston Street. I told her what I could. My true story was too fantastical to be believed. I told her instead that Puarata was blackmailing me. That he had stolen my family’s fortune and ruled my life. That I could be freed if he could be separated from a bone tiki he wore about his neck. It was evidence, I told her, that would allow other property to be returned to my family.
‘It wasn’t the most watertight set of lies ever told, but Wai-aroha believed me. I think she wanted to believe anything I said. She was swept up in my story—I was a young well-dressed Maori man, handsome and intelligent. We talked about her art. She talked about past boyfriends who had hurt her. We talked with our eyes…
‘Was it love? I don’t know. It felt like it, for both of us. We kissed. She promised she would get the tiki. I told her, once she had it, that if she thought of me, and held the tiki in her hand, I would come. It sounds ridiculous now…we were speaking words of love, and to her, it was just something lovers said. I warned her about Puarata, that he was a dangerous gangster. She said she would hide from him, even if she had to leave her art-world name behind her. We parted slowly, gazing back at each other as we separated, making promises…
‘I returned to my rooms. Puarata and I had been staying at the Saint George Hotel on Willis Street, the grandest place in town. I had one room, he had another. He would let me have a room so I could study modern life, so I would be more useful to him.
But that night when I returned to the hotel, he was angry. He had found that I had left the party with Wai-aroha and realised something had happened that affected his control of me. He began to question me, demanding answers. I thought the game was up, and that I had placed Wai-aroha in deadly danger. But we were interrupted. A Minister of the Crown arrived, anxious to speak to this influential East Coast Maori leader. Puarata was distracted. ‘You will keep,’ he said to me. I thought he would send me to my room, but instead, he banished me back into the tiki. This was a disaster.
‘I could sense much, as I lay trapped inside the tiki. I heard Puarata and the Minister talk and joke. They drank whiskey, and talked of electoral boundaries. They made plans that would benefit them both. Then, the Minister became drunk.
‘One of the effects of the potion that conveys sorcerous powers is that it gives the sorcerer a taste for blood, just like the fairies whose blood the potion contains. When the Minister was asleep, Puarata drank some of his whiskey-tainted blood, and fell asleep, drunk and satisfied. I lay upon his breast in the tiki, helpless, praying that Wai-aroha would not come.
‘But Wai-aroha came after midnight. She had gone to my room first and found it empty. Then she stole into Puarata’s room—the door wasn’t locked. She saw the two men sleeping, but didn’t lose her cour
age. She took the tiki, with me inside, and crept away. I was free, but I was still trapped.
‘She was as good as her word. She left the name of Wilomina Stephenson behind, and took refuge with Hinemoa, her cousin. She hid, and then she waited. But as time passed I felt her go from joyous expectation, to doubt, to fear. She heard stories from Hinemoa of people looking for her and held the tiki in her hands as she called for me.
‘But she didn’t have the knowledge. She didn’t have enough power and training to release me. Sometimes she sensed me, in her dreams. I was calling to her, hoping, praying that somehow she would work out how to get me out. But she never did. And over the years her hold on reality cracked, and she went mad. Hinemoa tried to cope, but Wai became suicidal, and had to be sedated and locked away. Only her father knew where she was, and when she was institutionalised, he hid her memory.
‘I felt her age and die, and I could do nothing. Perhaps I will see her again, if I walk the paths to the spirit world. I hope so. So I can explain, and apologise.’
Wiri looked at Kelly. Both had tears running down their cheeks. ‘Did that tell you what you wanted to know?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Kelly, her lips shaking. ‘I’m not sure what I wanted to hear. But thank you. I’m so sorry, how it all turned out…’
They sat in silence for a long time. Finally Fitzy stood up on the backseat. ‘Hey, kids. Sorry to spoil the moment, but we’ve got to move or else something nasty is gonna come down that road and we’ll be in big trouble.’
Wiri and Kelly looked back him, and nodded. Kelly started the RAV4 and swung onto the trail to the cape.
16
Cape Reinga
The road had faded to a dirt track, and the light was becoming shadowy. From somewhere, clouds had begun to gather, to the north, in the direction they were heading. When they topped a rise, the sight was even stranger. The sky ahead was blue, but the rainbow they had seen before arched over the cape, from east to west, and beyond it was shadow and darkness, as if it was a gateway into a storm.