by David Hair
Riki heard someone yelling, realised it was him. Cassandra’s hands gripped him from behind and held him desperately. Everything shook and vibrated as they picked up speed, as the last of the Ponaturi leapt onboard. They swept past a towering tree, so close they brushed its trunk. More musket balls struck the hull, burying themselves in the wood or deflecting harmlessly, then suddenly they were soaring over the cliff, and falling, dipping at the nose as they dropped like falling trees.
Cassandra screamed as much in excitement as fear, her forearms almost throttling him. Riki shouted too, as they hit the water, a second behind the lead waka. The shock knocked the breath from him, and he felt Cassandra’s face mash into the back of his neck. She gasped in pain. The nose of the waka buried itself, and then righted, a wash of icy water surging the length of the canoe, soaking him to the thighs. His neck muscles cracked with whiplash, and his elbow gashed against the hull, then for a second everything tilted. He blinked dazedly. Before him, a Ponaturi looked about, grinning fiercely as he snatched a paddle from the water at his feet. Riki looked back, to where Cassandra was cradling her face. One of her lenses was cracked. She pulled a bloody hand from her face dazedly.
‘Cass?’
She looked down, and lifted her laptop up. ‘Ish okay…ish dry!’ she gasped in a nasal whimper. She suddenly jerked her head about in alarm until she found her pack, wet but not immersed. ‘S’okay doo,’ she hissed.
That girl has a prioritising issue. ‘Your face?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Broken nosh, I fink.’ She touched her nose gingerly, which was bleeding from both nostrils. It certainly looked crooked. Then she spat, and reached into her mouth, and pulled out her braces. ‘Aw shish, bracesh mashed.’ She groaned, then stroked the laptop. ‘But thish okay,’ she added more brightly.
Riki rolled his eyes, and looked beyond her, where Damien was shaking his head as if to clear his vision. Then he looked across at the other waka. Jones was there, seemingly whole. He shouted something to the Ponaturi, and suddenly paddles were recovered from beneath the water within, and extended on both sides like legs of a giant insect. The sea-fairy in front of him thrust a stack of tightly woven baskets into his hands, made a quick scooping motion, and then set to paddling.
Riki understood immediately, taking one basket and passing the rest on. He began bailing. A gull landed on the carving in the bow, and somehow, Riki knew it was Godfrey. Something in the eyes…It was eerie, but it was comforting also.
The men on the slopes were now a good hundred yards distant, beyond effective musket range, but they would reach the cliff-top overlooking them in minutes. They would be sitting ducks, out on the water with nowhere to hide. Piriniha and Jones gestured frantically, and their warriors responded, sending them ploughing through the water, angling southwest, towards the redoubt, and deeper water.
‘We’re rowing towards the artillery,’ Damien groaned. ‘And there’s no way we can get out of range of those troopers before they reach the cliff-top, and then…’ he trailed off, and then ducked his head and begun bailing with silent desperation.
Godfrey took to the air, and flew south. The teens followed him with their eyes, wishing fervently that they too had wings.
17
Guardian of the caves
Sassman?’ Lena’s voice quivered in the darkness. ‘Sassman!’ They could hear the American’s scrabbling hands and feet as he fled up towards the cave mouth. But he made no reply.
Mat stepped in front of her, trying to pierce the flickering shadows with his eyes. He crouched and picked up Dwayne’s knife and torch, trying not to blink. As he rose, his eyes aligned with a foot-wide hole where the carved walls met the jagged rock of the ceiling. An insectoid carapace gleamed. It moved slightly, its eyes seeming to follow him.
‘Mat?’ Lena sounded terrified, but he could hear the aggression in her voice that always bubbled under the surface now.
He gripped the torch in his left hand, and the knife in his right. His senses probed the wall between worlds. He quickly realised that in the real world this place did not exist; it was just solid rock. They could not escape that way if needed. They were trapped here. There was movement in the holes around the edges of the chamber, a scrabbling, skittering noise of climbing. But it was not they that had struck down Dwayne. Whatever that was, was already here.
Mat glanced at the carved boulder, only ten yards away. Lit by the torches, the shrunken head could be seen clearly, with its dried hair and the etched moko on the blackened skin. The teeth were yellowed and menacing. It was a supremely ugly thing: a mokomokai, a trophy of war from a more savage time. When the Europeans came they used to purchase them, reviving the practice just when it was dying out. But this one was something more…it was the head of the unknown tohunga that Maahu had slain in vengeance for the transformation of his daughter, and the key to saving that daughter.
Could he reach it before the shadows struck him down?
He looked back at Lena, who was half bent over, hugging her own belly, her eyes upon the fallen ex-marine. She was visibly shaking, but she wouldn’t look away.
‘Don’t look at him,’ he told her in a low hiss.
‘I have to,’ she whispered back. ‘I have to get used to it, if I’m to be somebody in this world.’ Horror fought with greed on her face. A rising dread for her swept over him. He wanted to seize her, and hold her, and somehow break through to her, before this yearning for power permeated her soul. Lena, please don’t do anything foolish. ‘Watch the shadows,’ he told her. ‘We have to get that head, and get out.’
He tried to look in every direction at once, crabbing towards the shrunken head. The shadows flickered, and claws and legs scrabbled in the holes all about him. The tension was almost unbearable. His legs trembled and all he wanted to do was run screaming from the chamber, but he made himself sidle forward, until he was standing over the boulder.
He threw a last look at Lena. She was licking her lips, staring at him fervently, then he looked down at that hideous trophy. He pushed the knife into his belt, then slowly and reverently picked it up, cupping it in his right hand. Lena sucked in her breath and gasped. The whole chamber seemed to exhale. Nothing moved. He let out his breath, lifted the head, and turned.
He went rigid.
A towering figure stood behind Lena, his hand gripping her throat, as she sunk to her knees at his feet. Her breath came in sucking, heaving gulps. The man was naked but for a short flaxen skirt, and an immense patu was gripped in his right hand. His skin was ridged with warrior tattoos that glistened wetly in the firelight, as if they were newly etched. He was corded with muscle in a way that reminded Mat of the hulking Tupu, Puarata’s slave warrior. But this man’s eyes held more intelligence than Tupu had had, and that made him immensely more dangerous.
‘Poai,’ the huge shape chuckled. Boy.
‘Let…let her go!’
‘You have brought me a woman,’ the warrior said in archaic English. ‘I have not had a woman for a long time.’ His huge hand stroked Lena’s bruised throat, and he growled. Her eyes widened in dread. She looked pleadingly at Mat. The warrior gestured with his patu. ‘Replace the mokomokai, poai.’
‘Please, let her go, and we will leave.’
The warrior chuckled darkly. ‘Poai, you are already dead.’ He clicked his tongue, and suddenly a dozen giant cave wetas, each four to six feet long, scuttled out, and crawled onto Dwayne’s body, where they commenced dragging it to one of the larger holes, leaving a trail of wetness behind. One turned and looked at Mat, and he could swear that whatever it did with its mandibles was the equivalent of smacking its lips. He found himself backed against the far wall, beneath the two crackling torches.
‘Please, we’ve come to free the taniwha,’ Mat pleaded.
The big warrior snorted. ‘You’ve come to steal the mokomokai, and so enslave the taniwha, like many before. So you must die.’ He looked down at Lena. ‘But I’ll keep this one alive, until I tire of her.’
&nb
sp; Tears began to run down Lena’s cheeks. Mat shook helplessly. Something shifted in the darkness above—scuttling noises from the holes in the ceiling. A massive tuatara head poked out, its left eye fixed upon him, blinking slowly. He looked at the warrior desperately.
‘Please! We come to free the taniwha, I swear it! Kauariki sent us!’
The warrior’s eyes narrowed. ‘Kauariki? Who are you to evoke her name?’
‘She came to me, in Wairoa,’ Mat answered quickly, his words tumbling from his mouth almost hysterically. ‘Please, she begged me to come here, and to free the taniwha Haumapuhia, before Puarata’s warlocks gain control of her.’
The warrior looked at him appraisingly. ‘Puarata!’ He spat on the floor, and his hands gripped Lena’s throat tighter. ‘Do not mention that name. It is he that has been trying all these many years to gain that trophy in your hands.’ He sniffed. ‘Your aura stinks of him, Pakeha poai.’
Does it? ‘That may be because he pursued me, toa. But Puarata is dead now.’
The warrior’s eyebrow lifted and he sucked in a sudden breath. ‘Puarata is dead?’
‘Yes!’ Mat replied. ‘His former slave Wiremu killed him, at Reinga. He is gone. Gone for ever!’
The warrior let go of Lena all of a sudden, and she fell at his feet, and began to crawl towards Mat. One of the huge wetas moved towards her, and she stopped, and crawled back to the feet of the warrior, her mouth moving in a soundless cry. Then a groan came from Dwayne, and Mat and Lena’s eyes swivelled towards the fallen soldier. He was still alive.
A huge weta pulled, and with a hollow cry, Dwayne’s body tipped and fell down one of the holes. The other wetas scuttled down after him. Lena cried softly, her eyes on that hole. Mat tore his gaze from it, looked at the warrior, desperately seeking a way to convince him.
The warrior sighed. ‘Wiremu slew him…I remember Wiremu. The tohunga makutu sent him against me, and Tupu too. I fought both, and was not overcome, though both escaped me.’
He defeated Wiri and Tupu together?! Mat’s mind reeled.
‘Who…who are you?’ Mat asked, eyeing the tuatara poised above him.
The warrior drew himself up taller. ‘I am Tuwai, of the Ngati Ruapani. I defended these lands long ago, and fought in these caves, slaying five warriors when trapped alone. When I died, my spirit came to this place, drawn back here by my memories of that day. Or maybe the mokomokai brought me. Regardless, here I remain, bound here by makutu to protect the mokomokai from Puarata. Which I thought would mean for ever.’ He hung his head, and his heavy breathing filled the chamber. ‘And now you tell me that Puarata is gone?’
‘Gone, sir. And tonight when the moon rises, Puarata’s protections will be gone from the place where the taniwha lies. She will be vulnerable to all.’
‘Not while I guard the mokomokai,’ Tuwai growled. ‘Let them come, they will all perish, as all have before.’ He waved his patu angrily. ‘Let them come!’
Mat searched his intuitions, and something clicked inside his mind. ‘But warrior, don’t you see? If you were set here to guard against Puarata, then you too will soon be gone, just like the enchantments that are protecting Haumapuhia. All enchantments linked to Puarata are fading. So you must help us! If you don’t, the next person to come here will not need to get past you at all to gain the mokomokai.’
Tuwai stared at him, and passed a hand over his face, his brow furrowed. ‘It is true—these past months I have been feeling weaker, and weaker. With each passing day…’ He shuddered. ‘To die…to finally die…’ Then he shook himself. ‘But I am still bound to my oath! Only one sworn to free the taniwha may take the head!’
‘I am so sworn!’ Mat declared. ‘You must let me have it.’
Tuwai glared at him, and then slowly lowered his weapon arm to his side. ‘Then you must swear an oath to me, or bear the tapu of this place upon your shoulders. You must swear that the taniwha will go free, or you die, and your woman will be mine, for however long I live.’ He seized Lena’s head in his huge hand, and held her at his knees. ‘Swear, or die now!’
Mat stared at Lena, and then nodded slowly. ‘I swear. I take the tapu upon myself.’ His voice echoed oddly as he spoke those words. As if something was listening, and taking note.
Tuwai slowly nodded. ‘Then go, and know that I will be there, at your shoulder, and should you fail, then your life, and that of the girl, shall be mine.’
Mat bowed his head. ‘I won’t fail,’ he promised. But the warrior was gone.
Mat ran to Lena, fell to his knees and hugged her. She clung to him as if drowning, her breath coming in great sobs, her tears soaking his shoulder. Abruptly she stopped, and she reached down and touched the shrunken head, then shuddered. Her eyes met his. ‘Mat, we have to go. The moon will be rising soon.’
He shook his head. ‘No, we can’t go. Not until we have talked properly about this.’
Lena’s face twisted miserably. ‘Mat, we can’t. We have the head, now we have to go!’ She was sweating and panting. ‘Those creatures could be back anytime. That warrior could change his mind and come back. We have to go!’ She looked back up the tunnel. ‘Sassman is waiting.’
Mat knelt in front of her, cradling the mokomokai. ‘Lena, something is going on. I don’t think we’re being told everything. There is something else happening.’
Her eyes narrowed, as she squinted at him. ‘What?’ Her tones were impatient and dismissive, as if she didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say.
How can I break through to her…?
‘Why are all of Jones’ men such creeps? Why didn’t Jones come with us here? Why did it have to be me? And why do you—’
‘Me? What about me?’ Lena snapped.
‘You talk like you’re going to gain something from this,’ he said in anguish. ‘You keep saying things—’
‘Well I’m not!’ she snapped, pulling away from him. ‘I’m not! And even if I was, what of it? Don’t you want me to get stronger? Are you afraid of me being stronger than you? Is that it?’ Her voice rose almost to a shout with each accusation.
‘No,’ he groaned. ‘No, it’s not like that…It’s just a feeling…’
‘A feeling?’ she sneered. ‘Since when have little boys had “feelings”?’ She jabbed a finger at him. ‘You’re quite happy to be the strong one, and get all this praise and “Heir of Ngatoro” rubbish, but as soon as you think I’m going to become better than you, you’re whining like a baby about it!’
‘I am not! I just don’t believe we’re being told everything!’
‘I will not let you ruin this for me!’
‘Ruin what? Then there is something in this for you? What is it?’ he demanded.
They glared at each other, panting furiously.
‘Hey?’ Sassman’s voice floated down from above. ‘You kids all right?’
‘Yeah,’ Lena shouted back harshly. ‘We’re fine! We’re just coming up.’ She looked back at Mat. Suddenly her voice softened. ‘Sassman tested my abilities that night he told me about Aotearoa, after you had left. He tested me, and found that I was what he called a “fifth-rate talent”. Fifth-rate! He said, “All your puny talent is good for is petty theft and lying.” He laughed at me. But then he said there were ways of becoming stronger, and that he could help.’ She jabbed a finger at Mat. ‘I mean to take my chances. I don’t want to be “fifth-rate”, barely better than ordinary people. I want to be one of the lucky ones, who rule this world. Why shouldn’t I be? I want to be a player, not a pawn!’
‘But it’s not like that,’ Mat implored. ‘Hoanga told me. Power is a river, and the strongest adepts are those that swim it, not those that try to manipulate it. He said that trying to gain power is wrong, you’ve got to—’
‘Pah! Sassman told me about your Hoanga. A weakling hiding behind magic walls, in fear for his life. A pathetic coward! Well, you can go hide with him if you want, but I’m going to be more than that!’
She spun and scrabbled away, lighting her way
with a feeble flame in the palm of her hands.
Sassman was waiting for them outside the cave, his head bowed and eyes seeming to gleam with some dark emotion. He would not meet their gaze. Lena was standing over him as Mat emerged. ‘Where next?’ she asked. ‘Where’s the taniwha?’
The American swallowed, all self-assurance gone, for now. He pointed gingerly away to the south. ‘To the gorge, at the head of the stream, is where the taniwha lies,’ he whispered huskily.
Lena turned on her heel, and strode away. Mat stared down at the American as he got slowly to his feet. Sassman looked up finally. ‘I’m a musician, man. I’m no fighter.’
‘None of us are, you…’ Mat bit off the word ‘coward’ before he spoke it. ‘You knew what would happen to Dwayne. You as good as killed him.’
‘He had it comin’,’ Sassman muttered.
‘What have you promised Lena?’ Mat demanded in a low voice. ‘What is really going on?’
Sassman stared down at the shrunken head in Mat’s grasp and gave a small shudder. ‘Nothin’s goin’ down that you don’ know about, Mat,’ he replied. ‘We jus’ doin’ what we said, an’ freein’ the taniwha for you. Jus’ like Mister Jones said.’
You’re lying. I know you are…
Suddenly a volley of shots echoed from a few hundred yards to the north. He saw small billows of gunsmoke wafting down the slope, near the trail they had taken to descend from the ridge. He turned to the south and broke into a run. ‘Lena!’