Ghosts of Parihaka

by David Hair

  He looked down at himself and realized that someone had ripped off his shirt and jersey. He was only wearing his khaki pants, which had been mutilated, the labels ripped off. At first he was angry, but then he realized that someone had gone to some effort to conceal his modern clothing. He looked about him, meeting the eyes of the burly youth he’d seen with Damien. ‘Hey’’ he managed, realizing as he did that his throat was rough and dry.

  ‘Kia ora,’ the young man said in a broken whisper. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

  Riki was a little surprised that the youth spoke English. But the girl had too. Maybe they’d dealt with settlers a lot. ‘What happened? Where are we going?’

  ‘We’re on the ship Leonora. I imagine we’re being taken south.’ His eyes hardened a little. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘My name is Riki Waitoa. I was, um, lost, following a girl, and I guess I was snooping around.’

  ‘What is snooping?’ the other youth frowned.

  ‘Investigating: trying to see what was happening.’

  ‘Then you have found out. But if they find that you are not one of us, they will kill you.’

  ‘Who are they?’ Riki asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

  ‘They are men of Bryce kohuru. Slave-takers. You were a fool to come to Parihaka.’

  ‘You’ve got that right, mate.’ He rubbed his face painfully, tried to massage his temples, to rub away the pain behind his eyes. ‘Did you see if my friends escaped?’ He looked down the row of bleak faces. ‘Any of you?’

  ‘There were no strangers taken but you,’ another man said. ‘There were no strangers among the bodies they burned. Only our people.’ Then his voice broke and he began to sob.

  ‘Who are you people?’ Riki asked, dreading to know the answer.

  ‘We are the people of Parihaka,’ the young man opposite replied. ‘Bryce kohuru has cursed us. We are his slaves forever.’ His face was a mask of resigned dread. ‘My name is Hemi. Welcome to our hell.’

  Missing person alert

  The landline rang, shaking Mat from a deep sleep. He barely heard it, but the persistent ringing somehow reached him and he staggered out of bed, heading for the phone stationed at the top of the stairs. His nose was clear, thanks to Aroha, but his mind was still fuzzy. He’d barely slept a wink until dawn; partly that was anxiety over Aroha’s ominous visit, but mostly it was worry about the midnight call he’d taken from Riki. He’d tried a dozen times to phone back and got nothing — Riki’s cellphone was now off the grid.

  He’s in trouble, I know he is.

  He grabbed the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mat? Mat?’

  He knew the voice, but hadn’t thought to hear it down a telephone line. ‘Damien?’

  ‘Mate, we’re in trouble. We were nearly killed, and now I can’t find Riki. There never shoulda been anyone there, it’s the wrong time of year and—’

  ‘Slow down, man, slow down. What’s happened? Where’s Riki? How can you be using a phone?’

  The story poured out. A late-night rendezvous which turned into surveillance over Parihaka-Aotearoa, Riki’s unexpected appearance, and then the fight. Now Riki missing in action. Mat groaned, rubbing furiously at his eyes. ‘Where are you calling from?’

  ‘A farmhouse in your world: near Parihaka. The owners are away.’

  ‘You broke in?’

  ‘Yeah, what else could we do? I’ve got to report back to the sergeant, but I thought you should know what’s happening. What are we going to do?’

  Bloody hell! Mat tried desperately to think. The clock on the wall said 8:07 a.m. By now the teachers on the field trip would know Riki was missing. They’d start by looking around, then they’d really start to get worried. Family would be called, then the police. It would take hours before the cops took it seriously enough to get heavily involved, and they wouldn’t find anything because they’d be looking in the wrong world. He had to act soon.

  ‘Mat?’ Damien’s voice was frightened. ‘I’m so sorry, I never thought anything would happen. Nothing should be happening there.’

  Mat swallowed heavily. It would be easy to get angry at Damien about this, but what would be the point? Time was passing and there were things that had to be done. ‘How long can you stay where you are?’

  ‘Not long. Only a few more hours. People like us … dead people … we can’t stay long in this world. It hurts. We’ve got to get back.’

  ‘Okay. Stay as long as you can.’ Mat looked at the receiver and jotted down the phone number. ‘I’ll call back after I’ve made some other calls.’

  ‘And then?’

  Mat took a deep breath and made the only decision he could. ‘Then I’m coming to you. I’m home from school sick, so no-one will miss me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks. I’m so sorry, I never—’

  ‘Save it, Dame. Stay by that phone.’ He broke the connection and stared into space, breathing heavily. Paralysed by fear. But then a sense of urgency took over. He ran to his room still holding the receiver, then threw it on the bed as he fished around for the notebook he kept under the mattress — one which contained jottings of important things he needed to remember about Aotearoa. He leafed through scrawlings about concepts like tapu and mana, and notes on where the major settler sites were and who was in charge. It also contained a seldom-used phone number in his world. He rang it. The ringtone was antique, a three-note bell that cut off almost immediately. He left a quick message, then put the receiver back down, grabbed his cellphone and made another call.

  Cassandra Allan picked up instantly, unsurprising as she was connected 24/7 to every electronic gadget she owned. ‘Mat? Hi, what’s up? I’m about to go into class.’

  ‘Have you heard from Riki?’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Or last night.’

  ‘Nope. Why?’ Her voice took on an extra edge. ‘Isn’t he over in the ’Naki?’

  ‘Yeah, at Parihaka. But something bad has happened.’ Mat quickly brought her up to speed. Not only was Cass Riki’s girlfriend, but she knew all about Aotearoa and was the most expert techo Mat knew. If Riki had left any trace of where he was in this world she’d find it — not that he really thought Riki was in this world at all. His worst nightmare was that his friend was a corpse in Aotearoa — and if you died over there, mostly you never came back, unless your spirit was caught up in one of that world’s big events … like the raid on Parihaka. His mind swirled.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ Cassandra asked tersely.

  ‘I’m going to go over there and find Damien and Shui, then retrace their movements, see what I can pick up. I’ve already put in a call to Jones’s emergency number, but it could be hours or even days before he gets it.’ Aethlyn Jones lived in both Aotearoa and the real world, flitting between the two, but at times he could be gone for weeks.

  ‘What about Wiri and Kelly?’ Cass asked.

  Mat scowled. ‘They’re in Australia. Kelly wanted to give Wiri a treat — he’s never been out of New Zealand before. They won’t be back for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘How will you get to Taranaki? You don’t have a car, or your licence.’

  ‘I dunno yet.’

  ‘I do. I’ll pick you up in about four hours.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Four hours: it’s a three-hour trip from here to Napier, plus one hour to get out of school and pack. Dad’s away and I’m about to throw a sickie. And you should call Evie.’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘She’s a seer, Mat. Call her.’ The connection snapped off before he could argue.

  He exhaled heavily, realizing that his hands were trembling. It was great that Cass was coming, though he was worried that he was leading a friend into danger, just like Damien had last night. It was almost 8:20 a.m. Cass would be here around midday. Maybe he’d hear from Aethlyn Jones by then, but probably not. He had no idea where his mentor was at the moment. Jones was a centuries-old
Welshman who’d settled in Aotearoa. He was an Adept, a wizard or whatever word was in vogue, and had moved freely between the real and ghost worlds in many countries. If anyone could help, it was Jones. Mat could only hope the message got to him soon.

  Making the next call was much harder. He glanced at The Lovers tarot card pinned to his wall. No matter how often he re-pinned it the right way up, it defied gravity to turn upside down in seconds. It was eerie to watch. When he’d first met Evie, and realized how alike they were, he’d really thought he’d met the right girl for him. That was until he’d found out that Evie was the child of the two worst people Mat had ever met — Puarata and Donna Kyle — and his growing feelings had become confused and tangled. That inverted card symbolized everything about their relationship just now.

  But Evie was also an incredibly gifted seer; she could track people and things that even a well-trained tohunga or Adept could not. Cass was right: Evie’s help could be the difference between finding Riki alive or finding a corpse. He made the call.

  Everalda van Zelle was doing her make-up, her hands full and wrapped in a towel, when her cellphone rang. She hissed at it, as if it might stop ringing at her displeasure.

  ‘Are you going to answer that?’ her mother called. Her mum was dressed for the office and heading for the door. She worked on the North Shore of Auckland for a real estate company. Evie was always the last to leave for work, as her fortune-telling booth at the Victoria Park Market didn’t usually open until ten o’clock.

  Thanks, Mum. She ditched the powder and paint. ‘Just getting it.’ She picked up the cellphone and stiffened as she read the screen: Mat.mob.

  She hesitated, then hit the green pick-up button. ‘Mat?’

  ‘Evie. Hi.’ His voice rang clear down the line, stirring bittersweet memories. Until she met Mat, the only Adepts she’d met were vile people, friends of Donna Kyle who made her skin crawl. Mat had been different: honest, good-hearted and wholesome. She’d never thought to meet someone like him. They’d sparked off each other immediately, as if they’d each been longing for someone just like the other. Being a semi-stranger to him now hurt.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked, feeling her pulse quicken.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he responded impatiently, no room in his voice for small talk. ‘I need your help. My friend Riki has gone missing. He went to Aotearoa, to a place called Parihaka. Do you know it?’

  ‘I’m fine too,’ she said tartly, before she could bite back the petty words. Brilliant, girl. His best friend is missing and all you’re giving him is sarcasm. ‘Sorry.’ She closed her eye. ‘No, I don’t know Parihaka. Or Riki. I’ve never met him, remember.’

  Mat went silent. ‘If you had to try and find him, what would help?’

  Evie thought hard. ‘Something of his that I can touch. A photograph. Something I can focus on.’

  ‘I could email you a photo from my phone.’

  She frowned. A tiny digital image of someone she’d never met. It probably wasn’t enough. ‘Try it. I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Mat said, his voice full of longing. ‘Let me know if anything comes up.’

  ‘I will.’ The line went silent, but she could feel him, just waiting. ‘I miss you,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Me too,’ he whispered. Then the line went dead.

  She barely heard her mother leave, responding to her goodbyes with automatic responses, her mind far away. She spread a tarot deck out on her bed, running a three-card reading: past, present and future, Major Arcana only. She got The Lovers inverted for the past, as she always did when she thought of Mat. The Hanged Man was the card for the present, which she interpreted as ‘life in suspense’ or ‘transition’, which at least offered hope that things might be about to change. It was the future card that was troubling: The High Priestess, a card that symbolized wisdom and learning, but also spinsterhood. It was a card that she’d often pulled when thinking about herself, especially in the last few months. It seemed to tell her that she would remain alone, isolated by her powers.

  Regardless, it wasn’t helpful, at least not about Mat’s friend. More was required. She went to her bookshelf, pulling down rune stones and wands, and some books she’d found in the sorts of New Age shops that didn’t understand at all the forces they trafficked in. She pulled carefully chosen crystals from drawers and lit certain candles she seldom used. Work was forgotten: her stall would remain closed today.

  This is an opportunity, she told herself. Though even she couldn’t tell whether this was a real premonition, or simply the wishful thinking of a lovelorn girl.

  Picking up the trail

  Cassandra Allan’s Mazda soft-top roared into Mat’s driveway just after midday. He’d been ready for more than an hour, his bag crammed with clothing, beside which he’d placed a taiaha and two rolled-up feather cloaks. One belonged to Riki and the other was his. They were gifts of Kurangaituku, the Bird-Witch of the Hatupatu legend. Riki kept his at Mat’s house as his family was huge and he couldn’t keep it secret. They’d occasionally managed to use them, on practice flights in Aotearoa. He’d found that leather gauntlets and swimming goggles were essential if long flights were planned, so those were in his bag too. He wasn’t sure he’d need the cloaks, but better to be safe than sorry.

  About his neck, Mat wore two interlocking wooden carvings, a Maori spiral that fitted into a Celtic knot. He’d made them for his parents, but then they’d separated and now he wore them, fitted together into one pendant — it seemed to aid his powers somehow.

  Cass flew to him and wrapped her skinny arms around him, kissing his cheek. ‘Any news?’ she asked anxiously.

  Cassandra was all angles and bony bits. Her hair was different every time Mat saw her. Currently it was short and spiky, teased up and dyed scarlet. She was wearing a tracksuit and a hoodie, and a headset wired to the iPad slung over her shoulder on a shoulder strap. She was stroking the tablet unconsciously.

  ‘Jones called. We need to pick him up in Taupo on the way through. Nothing else from Damien. I let him know we’d be in New Plymouth by dinner time, and he’s back on the other side now. I’m ready to go.’ He hugged her again. ‘Thanks for coming.’

  ‘As if I wouldn’t,’ she sniffed. Her whole body quivered with urgency. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  The interior of the Mazda was roomy enough in front, but the back seat and boot were tiny. Enough for the two of them easily, but things promised to get cramped when they had to cram Jones in as well. Cassandra had her restricted licence, as did Mat now thanks to a busy couple of months. They drove north, around the port and over the bridge into Westshore, then onto the highway. Soon they were clipping along rapidly through light traffic, passing Westshore, the airport and Bay View, then onto State Highway 5 to Taupo.

  ‘You look knackered,’ Cassandra told him. ‘Sleep if you want.’

  ‘Don’t think I can. Is it okay if I use your iPad? I need to look something up.’

  Cassandra’s nose twitched warily. ‘I guess. Don’t change anything on it, okay?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know how.’

  ‘And that’s supposed to comfort me how?’

  ‘I just want to look up something on the internet.’

  ‘And you’ve used an iPad before?’

  ‘Uh, no.’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  Mat fumbled his way through the unfamiliar touch-screen controls, occasionally cursing, which invariably drew a panicked squawk of ‘What have you done?’ from Cassandra. He was trying to find out all he could about Parihaka, but it was mostly stuff he’d already learnt in class. One thing stood out: most of the men taken from Parihaka in 1881 had been shipped to Dunedin, which was, in Aotearoa, John Bryce’s base. Bryce was the last of Puarata’s circle still at large. Mat had a sinking feeling that what was happening to Riki was going to bring him into direct confrontation with the former Native Minister, ready or not.

  He then looked up Hine-ahu-one, to try to verify what Aroha had told him.


  Cassandra glanced across at the screen. ‘Who’s that? Somebody number one?’

  ‘You pronounce it “o-nay”, not “won”. Hine-ahu-one, the first woman in Maori lore. Just a name I heard,’ he added, not wanting to talk about Aroha. There were plenty of snippets about the goddess, some contradictory, and he didn’t feel like he learnt a lot more than what Aroha had already told him. Soon after he began to feel queasy — too much staring at a screen while travelling along winding roads.

  So they chatted about schoolwork a while, though they did few of the same subjects: Mat was very much an arts student, while Cass was all science and technology. It was good to have a friend to keep his mind from Riki and Aroha. The journey seemed to fly past. Soon they were travelling across the central plateau and into Taupo, taking a left turn at the main intersection as if going south, then turning at a farm gate near a new subdivision at Wharewaka. Mat got out of the car, hopped the fence, and went down into a little dip that hid him from any watchers. Then he reached inside himself, found the little flame that fuelled his arcane abilities, and attuned it to Aotearoa.

  It was a swift transition, well-practised. He could do it several times a day now, provided he rested in between. An observer would have seen him turn transparent and then vanish entirely in about a second. To Mat, it was the other way around: the world slowly faded, to be replaced by a different version of the same place. Not an older version, as the Ghost World had the same time-flow as the world he’d left, but one that retained its older shapes. The most obvious change was that the subdivision and farmlands became bush, and the road above a dirt track pitted with the grooves left by wagon wheels. The houses of Taupo had also vanished when he clambered out of the small gully, leaving just a large pa site and several rows of white timber settlers’ houses, most tiny, a few huge. The boats on the lake were now fishing canoes. Subtler, but more pleasurable, was the way the aromas of the grass and bush filled his nostrils with clean, fresh sweetness, and the vivid blues of the sky above.