Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  To their great confusion, Te Ori had taken the slaves to his wife, without the slightest reservation.

  “Do whatever you want with them,” he’d told the tall, thin woman, who was the mother of his three daughters. The eldest was Mara’s age. “But don’t damage the younger one. I have a mind to take her as a second wife.”

  Hera’s dark eyes flashed angrily, but Te Ori stopped her before she could object.

  “The prophet expressly told us that we should return to the old ways. Warriors used to take two or more wives,” he said. “You shall obey.”

  “She could be your daughter!” Hera spat back at him.

  “The younger she is, the more warriors I will conceive with her.”

  “I refuse to bear your children, but if I did, they would not be warriors!” Mara shouted at him.

  Te Ori struck her and threw her to the ground at Hera’s feet. “Teach her how to behave,” he ordered his wife.

  Next, Te Ori turned to the chieftain, who was waiting nearby. “Where are the warriors from this pa?” he demanded. “We must ready ourselves for defense; this will be our new base. Tomorrow, more warriors will be coming from Waikoukou.”

  “Will they bring the prophet here too?” the chieftain asked in an awestruck voice.

  Te Ori shook his head. “No. The prophet has become tired and weak. He wants to negotiate. He has betrayed his own teachings. It’s up to us to preserve them. The archangel will choose another. Rire rire, hau hau!”

  The villagers joined in with the chant, proud to be the last stronghold of the rebellion.

  Over the next few days, Te Ori and the other rangatira led them in an attack against the nearby white settlement. They also organized regular attacks and raids on pakeha stashes of weapons and provisions.

  To Carol, these attacks seemed like their only hope. The military settlers wouldn’t put up with it for very long. At some point, they would find Pokokaikai, and then perhaps she and Mara would be freed. But in the meantime, their renewed imprisonment dragged on for months. The conditions weren’t as bad as they had been in Weraroa, but much worse than in Waikoukou because Tohu wasn’t there to keep Te Ori away from Mara. The villagers didn’t want the white girls among them, so they were locked in a hut on the edge of the village. But Hera obeyed her husband’s orders. She guarded the slaves carefully. There was no chance for escape.

  And of course, no one stopped the warrior from coming into the hut and taking Mara whenever he wanted. He no longer did so as violently as he had in Weraroa. There would have been questions in the village if Mara had walked around bruised and injured, or had lain in the hut whimpering for days on end. The warriors in Weraroa hadn’t cared what Te Ori did with his slaves, but the tribal elders in Pokokaikai weren’t very happy about white women being held captive there. The chieftain knew very well that the revenge of the pakeha against the village would be much worse if they found the women there. What was more, Hera was his niece. He wasn’t happy about Te Ori’s betrayal of her.

  Te Ori didn’t come to the hut every night. The warriors were often out on missions, and he probably slept with his wife sometimes too, just to humor her. Hera, in turn, took out her anger on the girls. Mara, especially, suffered under the wrath of Hera and her daughters, and the other women in the village tormented Carol. For the most part, the scenario from Weraroa was repeated for the sisters—they were chosen for the hardest and dirtiest work, taunted and struck and starved.

  Carol swallowed her fury and capitulated, while Mara rebelled against the torment as long as she could. She responded with curses, threw her work on the ground at Hera’s feet, and even once struck Te Ori’s daughter after the girl threw garbage at her. When Te Ori raped her, she resisted him with all her strength. He had to gag her so her screams and curses didn’t wake the entire village.

  Then her monthly courses stopped. Mara felt weak, her stomach rebelled against the meager rations that the slaves were given in the morning, and her breasts swelled.

  “I’m sick,” she complained to Carol.

  Her older sister shook her head. “You aren’t sick, Mara, you’re pregnant.”

  From that moment, Mara gave up. She no longer defended herself against Te Ori. She stopped talking back to Hera, and spent hours staring at the walls. Her spirit didn’t seem to separate from her body as Carol had feared it would during their first imprisonment. Mara was completely aware but deeply despondent.

  “We’ll never escape,” Mara said as Carol desperately tried to figure out how to alert the pakeha to their presence. “We’ll be slaves here for all eternity. I’ll bear that bastard’s children and have to watch as my sons dance around the niu.”

  Carol didn’t bother to answer. She had told Mara often enough that the pakeha would win the fight against the Hauhau; there was no way around it. The army was vast, better organized, and had far more modern weapons. Pokokaikai would fall eventually. So why not now? When she heard the music of the powhiri, Carol had screamed as loudly as she could, praying a soldier might hear.

  “They mustn’t let themselves be fooled!” she insisted. “They have to realize that the peaceful village down at the bottom of the hill is not the entire pa. Can’t they see all the nius?”

  “They only see what they want to see,” Mara replied. “And no one is looking for us anymore.”

  Eru and the officers returned as night fell. The major was waiting impatiently in the camp.

  “Were they convinced?” McDonnell asked eagerly.

  The captain nodded. “I think so. They were very welcoming.”

  “They joined with us in peace,” Eru said, his voice hoarse. “They called the gods. They wove a bond between us. We are now one tribe.”

  “Damn, boy, they didn’t leave any room for doubt?” McDonnell glared at him.

  Eru shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “I only know that a powhiri is holy. That’s why I’m worried about what we’re about to do. It’s a betrayal of the spirits. But the people in this pa are flouting the gods no less than we are. The entire ceremony was a lie.” He turned to Paxton, who had been waiting with the major. “They have the girls, Bill, I saw it in the chieftain’s face. They’re hidden somewhere in the pa.”

  Bill went pale, but McDonnell’s face hardened. “Good,” he said. “I am now giving the order to surround the fort. If you’re sure, then tomorrow morning, we attack.”

  The next morning, the residents of Pokokaikai opened the gates of the pa, as they did every morning. The hunters streamed out to the forest. Women made their way to the fields.

  McDonnell didn’t give them a chance to notice that their village was surrounded. The moment the morning fog lifted, he gave the order to attack. The unsuspecting residents of Pokokaikai were inundated with gunfire. They panicked and ran, screaming. McDonnell had his men mount their bayonets and stormed the village with a regiment of military settlers. The men gleefully took revenge for the attacks on their farms. They herded the Maori together onto the meeting grounds, trampled their fields and gardens, tore down their fences, and set their houses on fire—but not before searching them first. Usually, McDonnell showed no mercy—he had often been accused of leaving women and children in burning houses—but this time he was looking for Carol and Mara.

  Chapter 72

  Carol and Mara heard gunshots coming from the village, but Te Ori didn’t leave them any time to hope for rescue. Their tormentor had dragged them up to the military part of the pa with a few other men. Most had gone out for their morning hunt or on patrol, and had walked directly into the English. Now, the remaining warriors attempted a hastily organized defense, which Te Ori did not take part in. The experienced warrior could tell with one glance that the fight for Pokokaikai was already lost. All he could do was to escape with his slaves, and this time he could depend on the other men for help. The chieftain had made it clear to Te Ori many times what would happen if the women were found, and that he was determined to keep his tribe from such danger.

  Te
Ori tied up Carol and Mara again, bound them together, and gagged them. Carol wondered how often they would have to repeat the same nightmare. The two of them staggered behind him through the drill ground toward a hidden opening in the palisade fence. Not far from them was a large gate where a taua was gathered.

  “They’re preparing for retreat,” Te Ori told his prisoners, “in case the pa is surrounded.”

  Shots were fired, and there was hand-to-hand combat as the men tore open the gates with war cries on their lips. Carol heard shouted orders and cries of pain, the sounds of gunfire, and calls for reinforcement. In the midst of the chaos, Te Ori forced her and Mara out through the hidden exit and into the dark forest. No one stopped them. Carol wondered if there were other hidden forts that Te Ori could flee to. Or was he finally following the prophet’s orders and bringing them to the forest to kill them?

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Paxton, but no traces of any white women have been found.”

  Once the pa was secure, Major McDonnell had allowed Bill and Eru to enter with the Maori auxiliary troops. There wasn’t much left there to see or search. Any buildings that still stood were now burning. This time, Bill thought, they wouldn’t find any secret messages from Carol.

  “The interpreter will confirm it,” the major said. “Did they search everything carefully?” he asked, turning to Eru.

  Eru nodded. “But I’m still convinced they were here. Te Ori must have escaped with them. He’s done that twice already.”

  “Impossible! We surrounded the fort entirely,” McDonnell said and turned to speak to an agitated young lieutenant who had just approached. Then he turned back to Bill and Eru with a grim expression. “You may be right,” he admitted. “There was a problem on the other side of the fort. Twenty warriors attacked suddenly. One of them is dead now, and twelve of our men are injured. It may have been a diversionary tactic. As soon as we’re finished here, we’ll get all our trackers together and—”

  “Sir, then it will be too late!” Eru said, daring to interrupt. “Te Ori might kill the girls if he doesn’t think there’s any other way out. But even if he has a direction in mind—excuse me, but if fifty pakeha go trampling around in the woods, there’s no way you’ll find their trail.”

  “He’s right,” Bill interjected before the major could get angry. “Let us go alone, sir. Immediately. Allow us to take the trackers who brought us here. Later, you can send reinforcements.”

  McDonnell frowned for a moment and then nodded. “One. You may take one tracker with you. I need the others for my own search party. We will comb the woods, Mr. Paxton. If anyone is hiding there, we will find him. And as for setting off on your own is concerned, if you are killed, I will deny that I knew anything about it. Do you understand?”

  Eru and Bill nodded in agreement. Then they ran off.

  “I’ll ask Te Katonga,” Eru said. “That’s the old man Captain Herbert didn’t want.”

  Te Katonga was an extremely experienced warrior who had earned all of the moko that covered his face. The old man had insisted on accompanying the young trackers who wanted to join the kupapa troops as their leader. Herbert had thought Te Katonga was too old for the exertions of war. But McDonnell knew better. Of course the wiry old tracker hadn’t held up the campaign. On the way to Pokokaikai, Eru hadn’t left his side, marveling at his endurance and his art: Te Katonga didn’t miss the faintest trace of a footprint or a broken twig on a rata bush.

  When Eru now asked Te Katonga for help, he willingly joined their mission. But the old warrior declined to take a gun for self-defense.

  “All my life, my spear and knife have been enough,” he said with dignity, and ran ahead of Bill and Eru through the smoking rubble of the pa.

  “This is where they must have escaped,” Bill said, examining the small opening in the palisade.

  Te Katonga studied the ground nearby. Bill and Eru did likewise.

  “Yes!” Eru couldn’t repress his cry of excitement. You didn’t have to be an expert to spot the tracks of a barefoot man and two women in worn-out boots in the rain-dampened ground.

  Te Katonga began to follow the trail. He didn’t lose it even as the woods became denser and the ground became covered with moss and fallen leaves.

  “They’re headed east,” Bill said softly, “toward the mountains. If there are any remaining hidden villages, that’s where they’d be.”

  Eru nodded. “And I don’t think he wants to kill them. Otherwise, he would have done it by now. We just have to catch up with him before he reaches another settlement. After all, the three of us can’t storm a pa on our own.” He repeated this to Te Katonga in Maori.

  “We will catch up with them,” Te Katonga said, reassuring him. “The women take short steps, and every now and then one of them falls down. Look . . .” He pointed to a place where the moss was compressed. “Someone tripped here, and it surely wasn’t the warrior.”

  “Then let’s hope for the best,” Bill said after Eru had translated. “And also that the rain won’t wash away the tracks.”

  It rained intermittently, and Carol and Mara were long since soaked to the bone and shivering with cold and exhaustion. For hours, Te Ori had goaded the sisters mercilessly forward, shouted at them, and hit them to make them walk faster. But again and again, one tripped and pulled the other down with her. Mara was crying with exhaustion, and Carol was almost ready to just fall down and give up. It would happen to both of them soon, no matter what Te Ori did to them.

  Onward they stumbled through the virgin forests of South Taranaki. In summer, these dark woods were surely gorgeous. Many times they passed gigantic kauri trees. Carol had never seen one before. Even now, through all her exhaustion, the sight of the majestic trees took her breath away.

  Once, she stumbled against one of the giants and thought she could feel its power. The tree was probably about a thousand years old, and it would still be there when Carol’s and Mara’s fates were long forgotten. For some reason, she found the knowledge comforting for the space of a heartbeat before the rain and Te Ori’s constant yanking at her ropes brought her back to reality.

  Around noon, they reached a river, wide and swollen with the rain. For the next few hours, Te Ori led them upstream, past rapids and stony riverbanks. The warrior seemed to be looking for something, and late that afternoon, he found it.

  The raft lay beside a section of the river that appeared a little calmer. It was possible to cross there, but not without danger. Carol shuddered as Te Ori towed the roughly constructed platform into the water, and at first Mara refused to climb aboard. She resisted fiercely until Te Ori brutally shoved her into the river. Carol was pulled in behind her, and she swallowed water, coughing and flailing. It was almost impossible for them to get onto the raft while tied together. Te Ori paused for a moment, and then cut the raupo cord that bound Carol to Mara, leaving their hands tied.

  “Hold on!” he ordered, and pushed the raft toward the center of the river.

  Te Ori sprang on behind them and attempted to propel the vessel with the help of a pole. Carol was surprised by his strength; they hardly drifted from their course. But then the raft got caught in an eddy. In spite of Te Ori’s skill, it spun around and bashed against a rock. Carol was tossed to the edge of the raft. She tried desperately to hold on, but as the raft slammed into another rock, she slid off. As she fell, she saw Te Ori grab the helpless Mara and hold her with an iron grip. As Carol hit the water, she heard her little sister scream—and then nothing but the infernally rushing current.

  Carol fought to keep her head above water. But trying to swim with tied hands, especially in the strong current, was pointless. Her body struck a rock, was pulled into the depths by another eddy, and then resurfaced. Carol gasped desperately, knowing it was a losing battle. If she didn’t drown, she would soon be dashed to pieces. She was going to die—and she had never imagined that her last thought would be about Bill Paxton. Now she saw him in front of her, heard his voice calling her name . . . And then it was a
s if he put his arms around her and pulled her close.

  Bill Paxton, Eru, and Te Katonga followed the trail along the river as fast as they could. The two Maori moved almost at a run, and Bill could barely keep pace. But they were catching up; even Bill and Eru recognized the signs. They found traces of blood that the rain hadn’t washed away yet.

  “Someone fell into this thorn thicket,” Te Katonga said. “And another injured a hand or arm on this branch. Two people keep falling at the same time, as though one is pulling the other. The women are tied together.”

  Then they spotted fresh marks of something heavy being dragged through the grass on the riverbank.

  “We’ll have them soon,” Eru declared.

  At that moment, Bill saw Carol. He didn’t recognize her immediately; he only saw a female body being tossed by the current, heading quickly toward the rapids. Blonde hair, tied hands.

  Bill didn’t think; he just dropped his things and leaped directly into the river. Bill had always been a good swimmer, and now just a few strokes brought him to Carol. He heard Eru and Te Katonga shouting from the riverbank, and he shouted Carol’s name back at them. He reached for her and took her in his arms, but the river was far too strong for him to be able to reach the bank. Bill could do nothing but try to keep Carol’s head above water—along with his own. He was no less at the mercy of the water than she was.

  Bill saw a ragged stone jutting out of the water and realized the current had already carried them back to the rapids he’d passed almost an hour before. He protected Carol instinctively, and his back struck hard. For a few seconds he couldn’t breathe, but at least for a moment, the rock stopped them from being pulled farther downriver. Then he slipped and they quickly hit another. This time, Bill fought to brace his feet between the stone surfaces. The water raged around him, but as long as he was able to keep the tension in his body, he could hold himself and Carol in place. He clung to her and prayed that she was still breathing. Their survival now depended on Te Katonga and Eru. If they’d pressed on in pursuit of Mara and Te Ori, it was all over. Bill’s strength would soon fail in the icy water, and the river would swallow them both.