by David Hair
Most painfully, Evie. He’d never know just what they might have had.
Last of all, Aroha’s face flashed in the skies, calling out something as he twisted and fell back-first to the Earth, staring up into clouds that were shaped in her image. It all seemed to be happening incredibly slowly, his heightened senses stretching seconds into hours, the feather cloak billowing beneath him as if to cushion his fall.
He closed his eyes and waited for impact, falling through the first shaft of sunlight.
The sun rose above the horizon.
A ray of light burst through the eastern hills, as dawn finally broke over the storm-tossed city. The shaft of golden light struck the playing fields of Kilbirnie.
Words spilled uselessly from Evie’s mouth as her tired lips simply refused to form the words that would keep her alive. ‘I am … I am …’ Her voice trailed away as she stared into the wairau’s expanding maw, her brain frozen in the horror of failure. For an instant, only the radiance of The Star card hanging in the air before her protected her, its radiance forcing the spirit to pause.
It was the tiniest respite, but it was enough.
Kiki stammered as the direct sunlight he’d been avoiding for centuries struck like a blow. A second later, the wairau swarmed all over him, shrieking in triumph. Evie gaped at it, wondering what to do if it came at her again, but it didn’t. She was the last one standing.
With a final, resentful glare, the wairau faded away, taking Kiki with it, as the sun rose.
Evie sagged onto the wet grass, shaking like jelly.
Sunlight pulsed through the chamber and filled it with sudden radiance, even the granite-hard, merciless face of Hine-nui-te-po.
Riki was on his knees, face upturned awaiting the deathblow, and saw the moment she changed. A golden glow enveloped the Death Goddess. She froze, held immobile as the light suffused her skin, her eyes, her soul. Where she had been monochrome grey-black, colour burst. Radiant copper skin, glowing with health, spread over her body. Her hair flared as if struck by a fresh wind, and caught the light in shades of auburn and rose. Her bleak eyes went from grey to the most vivid green, and her shift became the brightest red and white, patterned with traditional designs, intricately woven.
She looked down at Riki, momentarily stunned. Then she smiled that smile, the one he’d teased from her in his dream-tests. ‘What are you doing down there?’ she asked in a daze, as though she could not remember his presence a moment before. Her voice was like flute music, breathy and beautiful. Then her face filled with recognition and surprise. She reached down, grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet. ‘Haere mai, Riki Waitoa. It is good to see you again.’
‘Aroha?’
She shook her head. ‘I am Hine-titama. The Dawn Maiden.’
His jaw dropped. ‘Eh?’
‘I am both Night and Day. But the sun has risen, the night has passed, so now I am Hine-titama.’ She frowned prettily. ‘Really, don’t you know these things?’
‘Ah, yeah, everyone knows that, but …’ His voice trailed off. He had no idea of the significance of any of this, but death didn’t seem quite so imminent, so that had to be a good thing. And holding her hand was really, really nice. He took her other one and squeezed.
‘Riki Wai-toa,’ she said wonderingly. ‘My “Wai-toa”: my water-warrior; come to me through hardship and danger, to make me smile.’ She nuzzled him, pressed her nose to his. He could scarcely think past the full carillon of bells going off in his brain. He tried to say something, couldn’t imagine what. Stared at her lips, shivering in anticipation.
‘You have missed your chance for immortality, Riki Waitoa. That was Hine-nui-te-po’s gift, not mine.’
He hesitated. That was bad, wasn’t it? ‘So … does that mean … no child to renew the world either?’
She looked at him with a sweet coyness that melted his spine. ‘Actually, there’s still time for that.’
His heart begin to pound again. ‘Ah … cool.’ He let himself drown in her lovely emerald eyes. ‘I didn’t really care about the immortality thing. Who wants to live forever anyway? I’m really only here to be with you.’
Her face filled with wonder. ‘No-one has ever said that to me. Ever.’ She pressed her face to his, lips millimetres apart, her breath cool and fragrant against his skin. ‘I feel like I have waited for you for all of eternity.’
‘Me, too …’ Many lifetimes. He went to kiss her, as she very clearly wanted, then hesitated. Everything was perfect, except … ‘Is Mat still alive?’ he asked tremulously. ‘I wouldn’t be here except for him.’ His throat clenched in fear of the answer.
She looked at him, pulled a hand free and stroked his face. ‘You think of others first, even at such a moment? I like that: you are a good person, my wai-toa.’ She pecked at his cheek. ‘He is alive, and any moment now he is going to remember that he is wearing a feather cloak that imparts the gift of flight, which is now fully functional again, as he has left this place above the clouds.’
Riki thought his heart would break for joy. Tears stung his eyes then rolled down both cheeks.
She kissed them away, then her lips found his, hungrily, and after that there was only her, in all of Creation.
Mat barrel-rolled out of his ridiculous dive, as a woman’s melodious voice whispered in his brain and reminded him of the perfectly obvious.
I might have no magic, but the cloak has! I can still fly!
He shouted with sheer relief, hollering at the rising sun as pulled out of his fall and skimmed the waves of the harbour, right beside the fountain on Oriental Parade. Not far away, Byron’s body struck the water with a massive splash, but Mat tore upwards again into the sky.
Alive, alive, alive, alive — alive!
Better still, he could feel in his very bones that the voice that had roused him had been that of Aroha, but a kinder, friendlier Aroha— and that meant only one thing.
Riki, you bloody genius — you did it!
His eyes went back to Byron’s body, as it bobbed back to the surface, unmoving, broken amidst the spume and ripples of his impact. For a moment Mat contemplated retrieving the body — if only to make sure the tohunga makutu was dead — when from beneath the floating body a massive set of jaws opened, crunched together, and then vanished in a huge swirl.
Mat lifted again, staring aghast. But then the joy of the moment took over again.
I’m alive! Riki’s alive! We did it!
He whirled into a series aerobatics, diving and spinning about the fountain in the harbour, then tearing out across the waters in absolute, utter joy, careless of who might see him. He circled Somes — no Matiu— Island, three times, filled with too much happiness to do anything else. How many centuries ago had it been that he’d gone there, to catch the tail of the storm? He saw someone who might have been a ranger, a tall, young ginger-haired woman, staring at up him from the summit as he zoomed past, and he waved to her exuberantly. She returned his wave hesitantly, visibly stunned.
She probably thinks I’ve got some new type of jet-pack or something.
He laughed aloud, his voice booming across the island and the harbour, then he soared away in search of those he loved.
Certainty
‘Evie?’
She was kneeling over the fallen Ngatoro. She knew there were tears on her face, and didn’t trouble to brush them away as she looked up.
Wiri knelt beside her, and closed the dead tohunga’s eyes. ‘What happened?’ he asked softly. He’d been running, and there were constabulary with him, from the other side, hovering nearby hesitantly. Fitzy was with him, making a low keening sound as he stared at the dead tohunga, his canine face the embodiment of sorrow.
‘Ngatoro brought me here, to fight Kiki. But he didn’t make it.’ It surprised her how upset she felt, considering she’d never met him before that morning. But he was Mat’s tutor, and there had been enough in their brief moments together to know him far more deeply than she’d realized at the time.
&n
bsp; Wiri bowed his head. ‘We have a saying: Kua hinga te totara i te wao nui a Tane. “The totara has fallen in the forest of Tane.” It means that a great one has died, though in this case that phrase seems barely adequate. He was truly legendary.’
Evie stood slowly, on trembling legs, and accepted Wiri’s comforting hug, with none of the awkwardness of the earlier moment in the library. That was gone now, in the past. People weren’t perfect; she decided to forgive herself one lapse. ‘I would have been dead too, but the sun broke through, at exactly the right moment.’
‘I realized you were gone, but by the time I did, it was too late to come to your aid.’ Wiri hung his head. ‘If only he’d summoned us all.’
‘He said any others would only have endangered us further.’ She realized how cold that sounded. ‘I’m sorry, but we really were up against something that required a tohunga’s skills. Others would have died.’
Wiri took no offence. ‘I know when to fight and when to find other ways, Evie.’ He looked back towards the captain of the constabulary. ‘Wait here: I have to tell these men what to do. We should take Ngatoro back to Aotearoa before the modern world wakes.’
He left Evie to gather Ngatoro’s cloak around him and arrange his body in a more seemly manner. She was about to join Wiri and the captain, when a shout resounded above. She looked up, as a dark shape plummeted toward her. Then Mat’s voice rang out over the park.
‘Evie! Evie!’
Mat’s first instinct was to fly straight into her arms. But then doubts assailed him as he saw that she was standing over a body — and that the body was Ngatoro’s. Greif struck him like a physical blow, and the exultant mood of victory crumpled. No, not him … He touched ground some twenty metres away, staring from her face to the body and back.
He saw her register his doubt, and her face, at first swathed in joy and relief, became hesitant, troubled. Something withered inside. In his mind’s eye, The Lovers, the tarot card he had pinned to his wall at home, still hung upside-down, the way it had from the moment she’d given it to him. Unrequited love.
But not on my side. Not unrequited at all.
Still he hung back, frightened that this really was as bad as it looked: his tutor dead and the girl he so desperately wanted to love standing over the body. Then he saw Wiri and some soldiers, standing in the middle distance staring at him, hanging back. Are they here to arrest her? He longed to rush to her, his whole body begging him to do so, but still he hung back, uncertain what to believe, his eyes or his instincts.
‘Evie? What’s happened?’
Her voice was level, almost resigned, as though she could see how this was going to go. ‘Kiki was here. He was trying to waken the taniwha and destroy the city.’ She looked at him cautiously. ‘Did you … and Aroha …?’
He shook his head, his mind on one thing: deciphering what had happened here. ‘Where is Kiki?’
‘The wairau took him,’ she replied, her expression pure Puarata in its vengefulness, her voice Donna Kyle’s in its satisfied malice. Then her face softened. ‘It took them both. It would have been me instead of Kiki, but the sunlight struck him, just as I was failing.’
His heart chilled to hear of so near an escape. But Kiki is dead … and Byron, too … We’ve won.
But it didn’t feel like victory. Not yet. Not with the lingering doubts in the air.
How did she survive when two giants of the world of magic didn’t?
A miasma of mistrust hung in the air between them. She was Puarata’s child. She was Donna’s child. Could he trust what she said, when his master lay dead with her standing over him?
Wiri began to come toward him, and he read in an instant what his friend would say. And Wiri’s word should be enough.
It’s all about trust now.
The damage had perhaps already been done, in his initial hesitation. But he knew that unless he gave that trust of his own, immediate volition, he would lose Evie forever. To wait on Wiri’s word would diminish him in Evie’s eyes past retrieval. And that clarified all else in his mind.
I don’t care whose child she is: I believe her and I trust her.
He strode toward her, holding his arms open. ‘You didn’t fail, Evie. You did all you could. I know it.’ He seized and hugged her, trembling in fear that she would push him away. But hesitantly her arms came around him. For a few seconds it all felt terribly fragile, then their grips tightened.
‘Riki went to Aroha, in my stead,’ he whispered.
She looked up at his face, her lips trembling. ‘What? But …?’
‘I gave him my powers, so that he could go on. I think he made it. I think he’s with her now.’ There was a stinging tear carving a track down his left cheek. ‘I don’t know whether he’ll ever come back.’
But I’m free of her, now. Free for … whatever life offers. He cast his mind back to those failed lives of his tests. But none of them had happened. In none had he been free of that destiny. He was neither immortal nor dead, and all possibilities remained. Even the possibility of love.
‘What do you mean: “I gave him my powers”?’ she asked, incredulous.
He explained, the dream-test that had given him the idea, and the willingness at the end to lay down his life to allow Riki a chance at happiness. He thought she understood the subtext: that he could not be happy without her.
‘But I’ve heard nothing from Riki,’ he said worriedly.
She smiled tentatively. ‘He might be a little distracted, don’t you think?’
He coloured at that. ‘I guess.’ He looked into her one exposed eye, words drying up. Part of him was aware that Wiri had paused and was watching them both, waiting, hoping. For what, he knew— and he was hoping for it, too.
Slowly, carefully, he tilted his head, and pressed his lips to hers. Terrified of rejection, that his earlier doubts had broken the bonds between them. A kiss offered, not stolen …
An offer she took.
In Evie’s mind’s eye, a card pinned to a wall turned upright. Warmth flowed from him to her, filled her core which had been drained to near freezing during the cold and terrifying night just gone. She forgave him his doubt, and his fear. Forgave herself. We were all afraid. We all doubted. I felt the temptations: the rage and the anger of my parents. I rejected them, but I felt them.
Just as Mat had felt his doubts of her, and then elected to trust.
There is no such thing as certainty. Each moment has to be taken on trust.
She gave herself over to trust in love and loyalty, and all that was good in the world.
Her mouth strained for his again, their lips caressing, a tingle thrilling through her at the long-awaited contact, and then suddenly they were mashing their mouths together, the adrenalin and the relief and the joy and the sadness fusing into a bittersweet taste as they drowned in the moment.
Renewal
The cheering told its own story.
Tama and Coleen stood on the steps of the old Parliament Buildings, watching Seddon and Fraser and Muldoon and the rest make political capital of the events of the night, while brown-clad journalists with primitive cameras shouted questions. Beyond them it seemed that the whole population of Wellington-Aotearoa had come out to see what was going on, Friday work schedules forgotten amidst the excitement. The sea of people went on forever.
‘A true politician never wastes a crowd,’ Tama noted wryly.
Colleen laughed, and snuggled against him. ‘Neither do lawyers. I’m surprised you’re not down there yourself.’
‘I’m no good at that sort of thing. I’ll leave it to the pros.’
Colleen stared about her, tired but content. She’d spent the dawn reviving Tama, aided by a bevy of colonial women with smelling salts and cups of tea, which seemed to be the sovereign remedy against all ills. She’d been praised and congratulated by all comers, including New Zealand’s first woman MP, Elizabeth McCombs, and even the pioneering suffragette Kate Shepherd. It was overwhelming enough to strike Colleen speechless,
but she was filled with pride.
And then the word had come.
Kiki was dead.
And her son was alive.
The emotion welled up inside her, the joy and relief too much to contain. She couldn’t say who was holding who up, she or Tama, as the cheering crowds parted, and Mat emerged, clad as a warrior in a bedraggled feather cloak. Wiri was with him, and a girl with an eyepatch— she narrowed her eyes a little at that, then chided herself. He’s almost a man, Colleen, give him a chance! Then a low-flying gull swooped overhead, becoming a dog that boundedacross the greenery, barking madly.
Mat took the last few steps at a run, and she and Tama pulled him in and embraced him as tightly as only a family can.
The signing of the new Treaty — which was exactly the same as the old one — took place the next day in brilliant sunshine on the lawns before Parliament. Representatives of all the signatory tribes were present, one or two from the smaller iwi, but others sent massive delegations. Largest were the Nga Puhi from the Far North, gathered about the cunning and charismatic Hone Heke. The fierce Ngati Porou were here, down from the East Cape, watchful and wary. A massive contingent of Tama’s own iwi, the Ngati Kahungunu, had come from Hawke’s Bay. Ngai Tahu from the South Island, heavily armed with muskets. Waikato and Tuwharetoa, half in traditional garb and half wearing Waikato Chiefs rugby gear. Ngati Toa and Ngati Awa, looking overwhelmed to be hosting so many, but proud, too, as they gathered around fearsome Te Rauparaha. Tama couldn’t tell from this distance whether the old warrior relished or regretted this new peace, but he seemed content enough as he surveyed the masses.
There were hosts of Pakeha of course, many more than the Maori, and some of those had travelled far, too. Governor Hobson was here — the younger version of Hobson, whom Mat greeted with an enthusiastic ‘Will!’ and much backslapping. Evidently they had history. Tama chuckled: everyone here was history, in every sense of the word.