Ghosts of Parihaka

by David Hair

  ‘’Ullo, guv,’ said a small voice from the shadows. ‘What’s you after?’

  He turned to find a young boy, barefoot and shivering with his hands up his sleeves, staring at him from a few feet away. He looked like the cold had already killed him once.

  ‘Do you know much about ships?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure do, matey,’ the boy said, putting on a high-fluted, cheerful voice. ‘Been on ships all my life I has.’ He looked maybe ten years old. His clothes were curious, a mix of settler and the nearly modern. So was his accent, for all the colonial-era words he was using. He peered curiously at Mat. ‘Here, you just arrived? What you die of?’

  A broken heart. ‘I haven’t died yet,’ Mat replied. ‘I’m an Adept.’ As the boy began to back away, he showed the palms of his hands in a universal placatory gesture. ‘I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’m just looking for someone.’

  ‘Really?’ The boy’s face lit up. ‘Cool!’ he added, dropping all pretence of being an early settler.

  ‘I’m wanting to know if Bully Hayes’s ship the Leonora is in port tonight, or has been recently.’

  The boy turned pale at Hayes’s name and edged further away. ‘Don’t know nothing, mister. Not about him, I don’t. Folk don’t talk ’bout him at all, see?’

  ‘I’m no friend of Hayes,’ Mat said earnestly. ‘I just want to know if he’s here.’

  ‘Well he ain’t. He ain’t been through in weeks.’

  Mat frowned. ‘He may be here tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘He’s coming south on a run to Dunedin.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ the boy said, seemingly poised on the edge of running.

  Mat fished in his pocket and found a muesli bar. He tossed it at the boy, who caught it deftly. ‘Thanks,’ he called. When the boy didn’t run, he asked, ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Not so long,’ the boy admitted. ‘I drowned at the beach about ten years ago.’ His voice cracked a little. ‘It’s lonely here. There’s no-one to play with, except the ponaturi children down by Rabbit Island, and they only come here in the summer. Mostly I just hang out here and watch the ships.’

  The poor kid. He reminded Mat a little of himself, a younger self making his way through Aotearoa for the first time. I had Wiri and Kelly to help me. He’s got no-one. He had a thought. ‘Hey, do you want a proper feed?’

  The boy’s face lit up again. ‘You mean it, mister?’

  ‘Sure. Wait here.’

  Mat was exhausted from lack of sleep and the constant stress and travel, but he had just enough energy to flit back to his world and buy two servings of fish and chips from the nearby store. Two transitions so close together made him weak at the knees, but he hid that from the young boy, who exclaimed eagerly at the food. ‘Aw man, shark’n’taters! Cool!’ Mat handed over one package of rolled newsprint, then sat on the docks to watch the water. Hesitantly the boy stole in beside him and opened his own serving. He pressed against Mat’s side, his body cold. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m Mat.’

  ‘Nick.’

  They both ate greedily, eager to trap the heat of the food inside their bellies. The deep-fried batter steamed in the cold air, and the chips were perfect, crisp and crunchy. ‘Have you got somewhere warm to sleep?’ Mat asked.

  Nick looked at him, slightly warily. ‘There’s an old granny on Brougham Street that keeps a room out back for me. Her old man’s a bit of a bastard though, and he’s drunk tonight. That’s why I’m out, see.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve been here for years, Mister Mat. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, no sweat.’

  Mat frowned and pulled off his hoodie. ‘Here, take this.’

  Nick’s eyes lit up as he touched the thick fleecy material. ‘You don’t want to be givin’ your stuff away, matey. Folks’ll take you for a mark and rip you off.’ But he held the garment covetously.

  ‘I’ve got another one. Keep it.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ He forced a grin, though little Nick was just about the most tragic person he’d ever met. ‘I’ve got to go now. You take care, my friend.’

  ‘And you,’ Nick said boldly. He pulled the hoodie over his head and wriggled into it. It was way too big but his colour improved almost immediately. They shook hands like grownups, then Nick dashed away towards town. ‘Thanks for the greasies, matey!’ he called over his shoulder as he ran. ‘They were choice!’

  Mat grinned after him. Despite losing his top, he felt somehow warmer to have eased someone else’s burden, and forget his own for a while in the doing. He crossed back to his world, deciding to walk back to the motel. No doubt the two girls would be furious with him, but he decided that he could just about survive that.

  Hell, between the two of them they should’ve been able to work out where I was anyway.

  South to Hanmer

  Next morning, Mat was woken by brisk knocking on his door. As expected, he’d been greeted by two waspish girls when he got back to the motel last night, though he’d already texted ahead to soften them up. Helping Nick had made him feel better about everything, so that even having two of his favourite people furious with him didn’t bother him at all, to their irritation. In the end he’d laughed, told them he loved them both and gone to bed. He’d had his best sleep in many days.

  ‘Mat! You awake?’ Cassandra called through the door.

  He peered at the motel clock, found it was after eight. He stretched and yawned. ‘Am now!’

  ‘We’re going for breakfast in fifteen minutes. We’ve decided you can join us,’ she added acerbically.

  ‘Thanks!’

  He showered quickly, pulled on jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket, and joined the two girls by the car. Cassandra was in a leather jacket with pockets everywhere, each one with wires extending from them. A headset hung about her neck and her iPad was slung over her shoulder. ‘I’ve found a place down by the wharves that does a full cooked brekkie,’ she announced. ‘My shout.’

  ‘Hey, no,’ said Evie. ‘You’re a student. I’ve got a business, I’ll pay.’ She was wearing a mauve mohair jersey that looked beautifully soft, and a pale fawn leather eyepatch that was barely noticeable from a distance. Mat had to resist the urge to stroke her curls.

  ‘Nah, someone’s gotta spend Dad’s millions,’ Cassandra said nonchalantly. ‘C’mon.’ She drove them to her chosen destination, The Boat Shed café which was perched on an old pier, jutting over the water and beneath the cliffs of Britannia Heights. They ordered big cooked breakfasts and coffees, feeling very grown-up. It was Saturday morning and there were families and couples at every table, reading newspapers, talking and enjoying the views over the bay. Nelson was windy but sunny that morning, and any other time they might have been keen to go to the craft market back in town, near the clock tower. But their mood was sombre as Cassandra reported that she’d scanned the ether for Riki’s electronic signature and found nothing. ‘His cellphone is still off the grid, and it’s possible he doesn’t have it any more anyway. Jones is off the grid too, but he’s probably still on the Wallaby heading for here so that’s to be expected. Old fart usually forgets to turn it on anyway,’ she added sniffily.

  ‘Jones thought the Wallaby might make Nelson tonight,’ Mat said. ‘Hayes’s ship wasn’t in port last night, and mostly people don’t sail at night in Aotearoa. But they could hit port here any time from mid-morning. We need to keep an eye on the harbour.’

  ‘I’ll stay in this world and monitor the Cloud,’ Cassandra answered. ‘I’m going to do some snooping about your Mister Hayes too. If he’s got real-world business interests, I might be able to get a fix on him.’

  Mat nodded encouragingly. It was a long shot, but plausible. His main worry was that Hayes wouldn’t come here at all, but sail straight through Cook Strait and down the east coast of the South Island to Dunedin without stopping.

  Evie spoke up. ‘I’ll come with you to Aotearoa, Mat. I’ll see if I can trace your friend my way.’
She glanced sideways at him. ‘Do you have anything that belongs to him? That would make things much easier.’

  He was about to shake his head, when he realized he did. ‘Actually, yes,’ he grinned. Riki’s feather cloak. She smiled back, and he found himself lost in that moment until Cassandra coughed. He coloured and looked away, noting that Evie was blushing a little too. He felt a warm glow until he remembered that Aroha could be watching somehow and that sobered him up fast. ‘Okay, let’s do that.’

  It was hard to be this close to Mat and not just reach out to him all the time. But Evie could sense some kind of distance in him, something that was holding him back, and she still couldn’t work out what it was. The reading she’d done last night had seen the The High Priestess card come up again: it symbolized wisdom and serenity, but also emotionlessness and spinsterhood, which was depressing. Furthermore, the random card she’d drawn from her playing cards that morning — a ritual she’d maintained most of her life — was the Six of Spades, which usually meant trouble.

  While waiting for Mat the previous night she’d had the chance to properly talk to Cassandra, and get past their snippy beginning. At first she thought her cold, and almost boyish in her geekiness, but eventually she’d lost her detachment, when talking about Riki and how he made her laugh. They seemed to be total opposites, but in a complementary way.

  ‘I didn’t mean to fall into anything,’ Cassandra had confessed. ‘But when we kissed, we couldn’t stop. Dumb, huh.’

  ‘Not dumb,’ Evie disagreed. ‘I know what it’s like.’

  ‘So, we’re going to find him and get him back,’ Cass had concluded with a steely look. They’d promised each other they’d do whatever it took.

  After breakfast, they went back to the motel and retrieved the feather cloaks, then drove up to a lookout on Britannia Heights, with views over the port. Cassandra parked the car and busied herself with her gadgets, while Evie took Mat’s hand apprehensively, and he pulled her with him into Aotearoa. They transitioned easily, finding themselves still on the cliffs, overlooking the port. Mat had seen little of it the previous night, but here they had a panoramic view. Whole swathes of reclaimed land were gone, there were rows of piers jutting out into the bay, and about a dozen sailing ships bobbed below them like toys in a bathtub. Evie sighed as she looked about her, then grunted as a discomfort she’d been expecting flared behind her eyepatch.

  Mat looked at her anxiously. ‘You okay?’ He still hadn’t let her hand go, and she didn’t remind him.

  ‘Yeah. You might remember that just being here amplifies everything I can sense through my blind eye. It’s like having a pimple coming up, a really big one.’ She winced. ‘Hey, look: locals.’ She pointed to a young man and woman, about fifty yards further around the cliff, staring out over the ocean. Both were clad in colonial-era dress, the woman’s white skirt billowing in the rising winds. It reminded her of a Jane Austen movie adaptation she’d seen recently.

  Mat was looking about him. ‘It’s different here,’ he remarked. ‘There’s fewer Maori things. In the North Island of Aotearoa, in places like Rotorua, Gisborne and Taupo, the Maori stuff is everywhere. But look: there’s what, two fishing canoes on the water, and a little pa and village away to the east, and that’s it. Everything else is European.’

  She could see what he meant. Colonial-style housing with little picket fences and gardens dotted the plain, and sailing ships filled the docks. ‘We could be anywhere in Europe.’

  Mat shook his head. ‘It’s still New Zealand.’ He finally remembered he had her hand, and dropped it like a hot potato. ‘Uh, sorry.’ He handed her the feather cloak that was hooked under his arm. ‘Here, this is Riki’s.’

  She took it reverently. The feathers were mostly brown, but all shades and textures, from the downy feathers on the inside to the sleek wing feathers on the outside. It caught the cold air and billowed. ‘Wow,’ she exclaimed. ‘It looks heavy, but it’s so light. It’s like it just wants to take off and fly on its own.’

  ‘Riki was given it by Kurangaituku, the Bird-Witch. She’d captured him and was planning to eat him, but Riki talked her out of it, and she ended up giving him the cloak.’

  Evie laughed. ‘Wow. And it actually flies?’

  Mat nodded. ‘Yeah. Riki’s used it at least a dozen times, to practise. So hopefully it’ll help you find him.’

  She stroked it, thinking hard as she sat down. The temperature was cool and there were grey clouds away to the south, but here the air was, if not still, calm enough that she shouldn’t lose her cards. She pulled out a bag of rune stones and called the one known as Ansuz to her hand — a rune stone of Odin, God of Wind and Spirit. Like herself, Odin had one blind eye, traded for the gift of prophecy. She also pulled out the Knight of Wands card, which meant both journey, flight and absence: perfect for Riki. She felt a little note sound inside her, a feeling of harmony, and knew she’d picked the right card. She then fished out The Hermit to symbolize Jones and the Wallaby. She frowned as another card flipped out of the tarot deck accidentally: The High Priestess again. The card was beginning to frighten her. She left it lying on the grass beside her, scared to touch it right now. Instead she picked up a stick and traced a few lines in the earth, mapping from memory the rough shape of the north of the South Island: Nelson here, the Strait here, Wellington away to the northeast, Dunedin to the south. Then she took out the Nine of Wands: ‘hidden enemies’ to symbolize Hayes’s ship. She stared at it and slowly, carefully, unhooked her eyepatch to expose her blind eye.

  At once her sight changed. Colours and light blurred. Clouds became streaks of white and grey, showing their movements back and forth in time like vapour trails. Likewise the boats on the harbour, and the gulls in the sky. Like a photograph taken with too long an exposure, movement was captured but the clarity lost. It was headache-inducing, but she forced herself to go on. The pressure behind her blind eye eased as she used up the energies it was generating.

  Here in Aotearoa, her powers were stronger. Four months ago in February, facing capture, she’d made a breakthrough: if she exerted her will, she could not only discern future events, but shape them. She didn’t really even know her limits yet, something that was frightening but alluring.

  She realized that Mat was watching her. She felt self-conscious that he could see her ruined eye, but didn’t flinch. He’d seen it before, after all. Her ugly blind eye wasn’t what was keeping them apart. She just wished she knew what was.

  She fanned out her fingers and let the cards speak to her. Lines of force only her blind eye could see picked up and moved the cards. At once The Hermit drifted away to the northwest, and a card peeled from the stack of playing cards to follow, a Five of Clubs. ‘Jones will be here in five hours,’ she said aloud.

  She moved her focus to the Nine of Wands and the Knight of Wands. They had moved in unison, but not where she had expected. Instead of moving across her to the right, they had gone left. She exclaimed excitedly. ‘Hayes has gone down the West Coast, and Riki is with him!’

  Mat sucked in his breath. ‘He’s not coming here at all?’

  Evie shook her head. ‘West Coast, heading south.’ She jabbed a stick into the ground and carved an ‘X’. ‘If I make this symbolize Westport …’ The Nine and the Knight veered further away and slightly higher. ‘They’re a little north of Westport, sailing out of sight of land.’

  ‘And Riki is okay?’

  She opened the rune stone bag, reached in, and called a stone to her. It was Sowulu, sacred to Balder and symbolic of health. It was face down, a bad sign. ‘He’s hurt, but alive,’ she interpreted. ‘And— oh!’

  She gasped as another two cards peeled from her deck, flying to join the Nine and the Knight. An inverted King of Pentacles — an old and vicious man — lying atop the Ten of Swords — the card of ruin. An image flashed into her mind, of a squat, toad-like tohunga she’d seen once before in a vision. She hastily reached out and turned the cards upside down, and the mental image vanish
ed, but not before she felt another intellect sense her. She exhaled sharply. ‘What was the name of the old tohunga, the one who has the Treaty of Waitangi now?’

  ‘Kiki.’ Mat’s voice was curious, anxious.

  ‘He is with Hayes.’

  ‘Shit!’ Mat’s face fell at the thought of his best friend on a slave ship containing that evil old man. Evie wrung her hands, wishing she had better news. Then a card flitted between Mat and her. The High Priestess, still a presence. Still disrupting, or symbolizing the rift that was still there. Gradually, as she stared at it, it inverted, then righted, then inverted, until it suddenly fell to the ground and crumpled as if a hidden hand had screwed it up in disgust. She looked at Mat blankly, but he looked none the wiser.

  ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘That card keeps coming up at the moment, but I don’t know what it’s trying to tell me.’ She picked up the crumpled card, smoothing it as best she could, though she’d need to replace it when she got home. She sighed heavily, looking up at the sky. Her workings had taken longer than she thought. Her headache was gone though, that boil of power lanced by using her talents. She felt both tired and clear-headed. She picked up her cards and stones, and packed them away, then replaced her eyepatch. Then she lay back in the grass, the cloak covering her hips and legs. It would be cloudy in half an hour, she predicted, and raining by sunset. But for now, it was good to feel sunshine on her face. She soaked it up.

  Mat stared down at Evie as she lay on her back on the grass, the feather cloak over her like a big fluffy blanket. Watching her work was both unsettling and exciting. Since discovering his own powers, he’d been longing for someone who was truly an equal, someone who would not be helpless and vulnerable in the world of Aotearoa, someone with a good heart and a kind soul. Someone just like Evie. He admired her pert nose, her determined chin, her sunny face. The way the sun shone on her curls. The curves of her body as she lay there.