by Sarah Lark
And as an official commander of the fort, Tohu was able to keep Te Ori away from Mara. The first thing he did was to send the warrior off on a scouting mission of several weeks to observe General Chute’s military activity. During that time, Mara’s wounds healed, and she seemed to finally be coming back to herself. At least she was talking again—though not much, and only to Carol. The sisters stayed away from the Maori women, although they were accommodated in the marae now and not the military area. In Waikoukou, there were no unused spaces that could be used as prison cells. But the sisters weren’t allowed to spend the night in the sleeping hall either. The tribal elders had declared Mara and Carol tapu.
“Sleep outside,” one of the women ordered, tossing two sleeping mats to their feet.
“But couldn’t we just run away then, when no one is watching us?” Mara asked her sister quietly.
Carol shrugged. “I’m sure we’d make it out of the village area, but not through the palisade. And they’re going to fortify it more; I think they’re worried about an attack. There’s hope now, Mara. Cameron’s going to send his troops when he finds my message.”
Unexpectedly, sleeping under the stars proved to be a blessing for Mara’s recovery. It was warm, and the sisters felt safe. If someone had tried to approach, the sounds would have awoken them. It would have been possible to see an attacker in the moonlight, to run and hide. Mara was finally able to sleep through the night again. Nightmares disturbed her less and less frequently.
During the daytime, Mara and Carol had to work hard, driven by the marae’s women. The women came from different tribes, and almost all of them had been through war and exile themselves. Now, they were taking revenge on the hateful pakeha by tormenting the two sisters. They laughed at them, made them do pointless dirty work, and sometimes even hit them or refused to give them enough to eat. Every bite of bread and every sweet potato had to be begged for.
Carol gritted her teeth and endured the treatment, but Mara withdrew at first, eating nothing at all, just like in Weraroa. But this time, she didn’t hold out for long. One day, for the first time, Carol saw anger in her blue-green eyes again. Mara glared at the young girl who was teasing her by holding out a piece of bread and pulling it away again and again, fury burning in her eyes. After only having stared blankly ahead for so long, this was progress. But Carol was worried that Te Ori’s return would destroy her sister’s spirit once and for all. Tohu couldn’t keep him away forever.
Indeed, after a few weeks, the village buzzed with gossip. Apparently, Te Ori was bringing a group of excellent warriors and prophets back to Waikoukou. Rumor had it that the contingent had been missionizing on the east coast and had fought General Chute’s troops. Te Ori had met them in the woods and was taking them to Haumene now.
Carol and Mara had been expecting his arrival, but Mara still got the shock of her life when Te Ori appeared in front of her. She had been dragging a heavy sack of grain from the storehouse to the kitchens, and she dropped it with a cry. Like all good warriors, Te Ori was an expert at materializing out of nowhere, and he grinned as Mara backed away from him now. She slipped on the spilled grain and fell.
“I will take you tonight.”
Mara felt the old panic rise up like a glowing-hot ocean of coals, threatening to swallow her whole. Her entire body began to shake, and she felt the blood draining from her face. She wanted to let herself fall, to roll up in a ball, wrapping her arms around her legs, hiding her face and numbing her mind, but she resisted. In her dark den in Weraroa, the warrior had seemed like the devil incarnate to her. But now, after having had time to recover, she could see clearly at last. He was an ugly, evil, violent man—but he was still human. And humans could be killed. For the space of a heartbeat, Mara imagined plunging a knife into his neck, his blood gushing out . . .
She gritted her teeth, clenched her fists by her side, and got to her feet. “I will wait for you,” she replied, hoping that her voice wouldn’t break.
She would be waiting for him. She’d endure everything he did to her, and at some point, she’d kill him. Maybe not tonight, but in the end, she would triumph.
Te Ori reacted with lightning speed. His fist came flying up, hitting her in the face and throwing her back to the ground. “Did anybody ask you?” he roared.
Mara writhed beneath his kicks, but she clung to her anger like a lifeline. She glared at Te Ori, predicting each blow or kick. The world had been reduced to him and her alone. He could beat her to death, but he wouldn’t make her lower her eyes ever again!
Te Ori jerked her to her feet, raising his fist again.
“Leave her alone!”
Mara heard another voice, one that sounded familiar. Very familiar. In her hardened mind, she could hear echoes of sweet words and laughter.
“Eru?” she whispered.
It sounded just like him, and yet, she must have been mistaken. The man who tore Te Ori away and who was now wrestling him to the ground wasn’t Eru. From forehead to chin, his face was covered in blue vines and symbols, and his hair was tied in a warrior’s knot. But his skin was pale, paler than his opponent’s. Te Ori had fallen in the ambush, and was only slowly getting back to his feet now.
The man took a step toward her. “Mara?” he asked. “How did you get here?”
He offered his hand, but Mara pulled away in fear, squinting in confusion through an eye swollen shut.
“Mara. Marama . . .”
The old pet name. Compassion in a stranger’s voice.
A strangled sound escaped her lips.
“Leave! She is my slave.” Te Ori seemed ready to fight again. “She is mine!”
The man with Eru’s skin and voice shook his head. “No!” he shouted. “She is mine!”
Mara began to scream.
The girl who went to tell Tohu Kakahi about the incident had been one of Carol and Mara’s worst bullies. Now, however, seeing the white slave lying there on the ground, screaming, kicking, and biting like a cornered animal, she felt sorry for her. Young Pania raced to the chieftain’s house and fearlessly threw herself between Tohu and Haumene. Without considering whose shadow might fall on her, she turned to Tohu Kakahi.
“Ariki, come quick! The white girl, she—she—” Pania didn’t know how to express what she had witnessed.
“Are you still having trouble with the pakeha women?” Te Ua Haumene sounded annoyed. “It is getting to be a bit much, Tohu. That eye-eater Kereopa, those scared boys—and one of them is the half-pakeha I sent to preach . . . It’s out of control. If this goes on, the English will not wish to negotiate with us any longer.”
“Please, ariki . . .” Pania wouldn’t give up.
Tohu Kakahi turned to the girl. “What happened, daughter? Tell us calmly. Or wait, I will come with you and see for myself.” He glanced back at the prophet. “Te Ua, the pakeha are well past negotiating. We have gone too far. In a direction we never wanted. This fight cannot be won.” He sighed. “I am coming, daughter.”
Te Ua Haumene watched his old companion leave with a grim expression on his face, teeth clenched. He wanted to call him back, object to such outright dissent, but he wasn’t ready to risk a power struggle. The recent banishments of tribes from Waikato and Taranaki, the lost battles, and the lack of promised miracles had cost him followers. He knew his influence was coming to an end.
When Tohu Kakahi arrived at the kitchen house, Mara was still screaming. Carol had been trying unsuccessfully to calm her. Four warriors were restraining an apoplectic Te Ori. Had they let him go, he might have killed his slave—or the younger warrior, the half-pakeha with far too many moko for his age. He kneeled before the dark-haired, screaming girl, talking to her insistently. Gently, pleadingly. Tohu had to strain to understand what he was saying.
“But I am Eru, Mara. Your Eru. You can’t be afraid of me, please. I’m your husband, Mara, dearest Mara. Mara Marama, I love you. I haven’t changed. I—”
“No?” Carol asked angrily. “Then what are you doing here with the Hauhau?
You should be counting sheep for your mother.”
The warrior ignored her.
“Please, Mara! Please, my dearest Mara. You must know me.”
Tohu saw tears running down his cheeks. They caught in the grooves of the moko. The young man didn’t wipe them away.
“Look at me, Mara!” he pleaded.
The young woman hid her face on her sister’s shoulder. Carol rocked her back and forth as Mara’s screams turned to sobs.
Tohu took a deep breath. “Enough now!” he barked at Eru. “Stop wailing like a girl! And you”—he pointed at Te Ori—“control yourself. This is unworthy of you all! Two warriors, wrestling over a toy like little boys.”
“She is no toy,” Eru said. “She is my wife!”
“She is my slave!” Te Ori countered.
“She screams,” Tohu determined. “So obviously, she does not want to be anybody’s wife. We talked about this, Te Ori, and you said you were prepared to court her. She was to stay with you of her own free will. It seems to me that you have not been successful. And she does not seem fond of you either, young man. Let her sister take her to one of the sleeping houses now.” He turned to the men holding down Te Ori. “Two of you will guard the women. Let no one approach them. The other two will bring these foolish men to the prophet. We will discuss this matter with him.” He stalked off, the men in tow.
The appointed guards waited at an appropriate distance, and slowly, Mara calmed down enough that Carol could help her to her feet. She was still sobbing uncontrollably, but she let herself be led to the closest sleeping house, where she collapsed on a mat.
“That’s not Eru,” she whimpered. “That’s not Eru. The ghosts . . . the voices . . . I’m losing my mind.”
Carol brushed a lock of tear-soaked hair from Mara’s face. “Calm down now. There are no ghosts. And you’re not hearing voices. I wouldn’t have recognized Eru right away either. He probably had those tattoos done to spite Jane. But if you look closely, you can recognize him. You will too. Hush now—”
“I don’t want to recognize him! If that’s Eru, then my Eru is dead. Eru’s dead, and I’m dead, Cat’s dead, and Chris is dead, and—” Mara began rocking back and forth again, like she had the first few nights of their captivity.
Carol slapped her across the face. “You’re not dead!” she shouted.
“Tomorrow, you may both be dead.” Pania entered the room with a basket of flatbread, boiled sweet potatoes, and raupo roots. “Here, in case you’re hungry. I needed an excuse to come.” She set the food on the ground.
“You went to get Tohu, right?” Carol asked. “Thank you.”
Pania nodded. “But the prophet is very angry,” she explained. “At everyone, I think. At Tohu, at the missionaries who returned today . . . And now they are saying the pakeha are coming to conquer Waikoukou. The prophet does not want them to find you here. He will take you away tomorrow to have you killed. He wants it to look as if you tried to escape and the guards shot you by accident.”
“Where did you learn all this?” Carol asked breathlessly.
“From Te Eriatara, the warrior who claims he is her husband.” She pointed at Mara. “The prophet reprimanded both of them, him and Te Ori. And then the prophet decided what to do with you. But Te Eriatara will not accept his decision. He gave me money, pakeha money.” Pania beamed as she pulled a penny from her skirt pocket. “I am here to warn you. He says you must be ready. He will free you tonight.”
Chapter 57
It had been a hard few months for Eru. Ever since Voelkner’s murder, he’d lost faith in Te Ua Haumene’s divine mission. It was certainly right to want to stand up to the pakeha, but not in this heartless, bloody way! The cause, which had been a kind of game for Eru up until then, repulsed him now. Still, he had continued to travel with Kereopa Te Rau. He told himself that he might be able to watch and mitigate the fanatical warrior that way, but the truth was, he had few options. As part of Kereopa and Patara’s entourage, he reached Gisborne and then Te Urewera. Eru’s preaching was more reserved, but Kereopa and Patara hardly noticed. His companions were still drunk on the bloodbath in Opotiki, and the Ngai Tuhoe, who welcomed them next, admired them for it. That tribe still upheld the old customs and traditions. A bit of ritual cannibalism, the elders felt, could only increase a warrior’s mana. The Hauhau felt safe there, no matter how desperately the pakeha were searching for them. Te Urewera, the Ngai Tuhoe’s tribal land, was an area of dense woodland between the Bay of Plenty and Hawke’s Bay. The whites gave this wilderness as wide a berth as they could.
Eru, however, couldn’t find any peace. The two groups of Hauhau missionaries had reunited in Gisborne, and of course, his childhood friends had questions. They were torn between disgust and admiration over what had happened in Opotiki, and they wanted to hear every little detail. Eru cringed at Kereopa’s and Patara’s pretentious descriptions of the “trial” preceding Voelkner’s execution, and he wasn’t sure how much of his own story he should share with Tamati and Kepa. In the end, he didn’t tell them that he’d helped Lange and Gallant escape. It was one more secret he had to live with.
And then it was time to move on. The peace in Te Urewera bored Kereopa and Patara. Kereopa suggested they return to Waikato to missionize the tribes living there, and Patara happily agreed. This meant covering a lot of English-controlled ground. And this time, the Hauhau didn’t intend to sneak past quietly. They left Te Urewera for a campaign with the Ngai Tuhoe, and in the Kaingaroa Plains, a brittle, grassy landscape, they promptly encountered Ngati Manawa and Ngati Rangitihi warriors—enemies of the Ngai Tuhoe. They battled fiercely, which Eru thought made a mockery of their whole mission. Hadn’t Te Ua Haumene said that the Maori were one people who must unite against the pakeha? Shouldn’t they have preached to the tribes, bringing them the word of the prophet, instead of facing off with spears and clubs? Of course, the Ngai Tuhoe chieftains and Kereopa explained that the enemy tribes had allied with the English and deserved to be punished. Eru didn’t know if this was true, but regardless, these warriors certainly hadn’t been traveling as pakeha auxiliary troops. All they were doing was defending their own territory against ancestral enemies. Eru and his friends were horrified to learn how much blood traditional weapons could shed. Warriors stabbed each other with spears, bashed in each other’s heads with clubs, and dismembered each other with the tewhatewha. They beheaded the dead. Kereopa Te Rau ate more eyeballs, this time those of three Ngati Manawa warriors. With that, he earned himself the nickname of Kaiwatu, the eye eater. Tamati and Kepa were just as horrified as Eru had been.
Finally, the Ngati Manawa and the Ngati Rangitihi drove the Hauhau warriors away, forcing them dangerously close to Opotiki, where English troops were stationed, ready to capture Voelkner’s murderers. But at the last moment, the Ngati Tuhoe sent reinforcements, and Kereopa and his men fled back to Te Urewera. That night, Eru, Tamati, and Kepa talked privately. They’d had enough.
“I think we should go home,” Tamati said. “We did our part, we fought. We are men! We will have plenty of mana in our tribe, and I will marry Tiana.”
Tiana was one of the prettiest girls in their village. Before this adventure, Tamati wouldn’t even have dreamed of winning her for himself.
“You don’t really think that Te Haitara will congratulate us for working with the eye eater, do you?” Kepa pointed out. “We didn’t even truly fight for the prophet. All we did was meddle in the business of tribes we don’t know.”
“A fight is a fight,” Tamati said.
Eru bit his lip. He’d been brooding over these questions since Voelkner’s death. By now, nobody could accuse him of being a coward. All three of them had stood their ground during battle, and they had spilled blood, although only Kepa had killed an enemy warrior, and it had been by sheer chance. Still, Eru felt that he had something left to finish.
“I think we should go back to Weraroa,” he finally proposed. “We can see what the prophet’s plans are and how he wishes to
go on. Then we can still decide if we want to keep fighting or if we should go back to the South Island. If we go back there now, it would be as if—as if we hadn’t achieved anything.”
Tamati and Kepa laughed.
“You mean we should stop on the way and throw some pakeha into the sea?” Tamati joked.
The young men had long ago realized that Te Ua Haumene’s vision would never come to pass. In Weraroa, they had been dreamers. Now they knew how strong the English were, and how many of their compatriots didn’t share their enthusiasm for rebellion. Many Maori wanted to live in peace with the pakeha, and in enmity with neighboring tribes, especially here on the North Island, where they were far from being one people.
Eru rubbed at his moko, which itched at times. “I just want all of this to have been for a reason,” he murmured.
The next day, the decision was taken from the adventurers’ hands. Te Ua Haumene’s representative—or Tohu Kakahi’s, rather—arrived with a message.
“The prophet is very angry at what has been done in his name,” the man said. “You were sent out to preach peace and love. Instead, you killed a white man, and then you fought the inland tribes you were supposed to be missionizing! You will have to answer to Te Ua and his advisers in Waikoukou—immediately!”
But instead of obeying the prophet’s summons, Kereopa and Patara promptly disappeared into the woods. One other recruiter fled with them. The others contritely bowed to the authority of the messenger and set off for Taranaki. The men slipped through land belonging to the tribes they’d just fought, and Eru, Tamati, and Kepa were terrified whenever they so much as heard a branch snap behind them.
Finally, Eru and the others reached Waikoukou and reported to Te Ua Haumene. As expected, the prophet was not pleased with how they had executed his mission. He subjected them to a long monologue about peace and love.
“But we were sent out to recruit warriors for you,” Eru said, daring to object. “Was it not right to send the young warriors from the tribes to Weraroa?”