A New Kind of Zeal

by Michelle Warren

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Mount Victoria

  John stood at the top of Mt Victoria.

  The temperature was dropping. John shivered, and drew his jacket closer around him. The sun was setting, across the harbour to the west – blood red colours, across the sky, and reflected in the water.

  It was beautiful. He took a deep breath, drinking in the view – Petone, across the water to his right, darkening into twilight, with the faint flickering of lights of the houses, and the majestic view of the city of Wellington in front of him: a multitude of lit high-rise buildings, the waterfront marina, the ferry terminus, and somewhere, behind those buildings, the Beehive.

  The crowd of the day, flooding the high hill, had gone. Autumn was settling in – it was too cold to stay out at night. Leaves littered the ground, crunching underfoot.

  Now only a handful remained.

  John wandered over to Rachel. She was sitting on the stone wall, enjoying the view, her white face reflecting the red hues.

  “Lovely,” she said, and he smiled gently, admiring her high cheeks and full smile.

  “Yes,” he said. “It is.”

  Her blue eyes moved to him, becoming more serious.

  “John,” she said, “do you think Joshua’s in danger?”

  John swallowed, glancing away to the darkening water of the harbour.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “My father…”

  John shook his head curtly, moving back a step. “I don’t want to think about it.”

  “We’re so close!” Rachel said. “So close to the seat of power.” And then she glanced across the wall.

  Tristan was sitting on the other side, on the grass. His back was to the sunset, and the view of Wellington. He was looking into the darkness – toward the airport, and the exit from the harbour: toward the South Island.

  John climbed over the wall, lowered himself to the grass, and wandered over to him.

  “Mind if I join you?” John asked, and he shrugged.

  “Whatever.”

  John sat next to him, on the grass, and stared out at the same view. The sky was darkening, now – all he could see was pitch black.

  Tristan was very quiet. John noticed his body was stiff – cold, surely: he was only wearing shorts, and the T-shirt and jacket.

  “Nice evening,” John offered, and Tristan shrugged again, and said nothing.

  “What are you thinking?” John asked. Tristan grimaced, and laughed.

  “More things than I’d like to say.”

  “It’s a beautiful view over there…”

  “Not to me it’s not.”

  “Why?”

  Tristan took a deep breath. “Maybe ask Rau,” he said. “Tell him I said it’s okay. It doesn’t matter anymore! It doesn’t matter.”

  And Tristan rose to his feet, and wandered a little distance away.

  John frowned after him, and then looked around for Rau. Where was he? And where was Joshua? He walked around the stone wall, past the magnifying glasses for the view, and down the hill a little.

  There was Rau, sitting on the grass, also smiling into the fading red.

  “Must do some fishing here sometime,” Rau said, and John sat next to him.

  “That Tristan,” John said. “Something’s up with him.”

  Rau’s face frowned. “Ae ,” he said, “something’s been wrong ever since we came here. It’s his whanau.”

  “His family?”

  “It’s private.”

  “He said you could tell me.”

  Now Rau glanced sharply at him. “He did?”

  “Yes – he said it didn’t matter anymore.”

  Rau stared at him – and then rose to his feet. “Where did he go?”

  John gestured vaguely in the right direction. “Somewhere over there.”

  “It’s not like him,” Rau said – and he headed off after Tristan.

  John looked after him – and then searched around again. Where was Joshua? He wandered around the hill, and couldn’t find him. Disappeared again. Maybe he needed privacy, too. John walked back up the hill to the top, but then heard a sound, under a cluster of maple trees. Something was happening – some tussle, and a groan.

  He rushed under the trees, to find Joshua. He was sitting taut up against a trunk, his head lolling against the bark. Blood was smeared across his forehead – his hair was matted, with blood and sweat. On the ground, his hands grasped and released dead fallen maple leaves – his body was writhing in pain.

  “What is it?” John gasped, rushing to him. Was he wounded? Where was the blood coming from? John searched his body – through the shirt, front and back.

  “Do you need Rachel?” he said. “I’ll get her! I’ll get her…”

  There was no wound in his chest! Relieved, John started searching his scalp – had he been assaulted?

  “No,” Joshua whispered, grasping his arm, “that’s not it…”

  Agony flooded John. He gasped, and sank on his knees. “Master!” he cried, and Joshua jerked his hand away.

  John sagged on the ground next to him. The pain was gone, for John, but not for Joshua! It continued! Some kind of torment John couldn’t understand! Physical, but not actually physical – emotional, or…or…

  “Spiritual,” Joshua whispered. “It’s spiritual.”

  “Spiritual?” John breathed.

  “The spirit,” Joshua said. “Life or death! Life or death…”

  And he crushed dead leaves in his grip.

  John stared at him – blood on his forehead, and no source. What was that, spiritual?

  “I have to face it,” Joshua whispered.

  “Face what?” John asked, with chills.

  “The end.”

  Tears pricked at John’s eyes, and he blinked them hurriedly away. “Don’t say that!” he said, and now Rau was there.

  His eyes moved between John and Joshua, and then he quickly knelt.

  “Master,” he whispered. “Tristan’s gone. What must we do?”

  “Stay safe,” Joshua gasped. “Stay safe!”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “We’ll gather,” Joshua said, “in the Gardens. We’ll all gather. So many, Rau – there are going to be so many! Everyone will be there!”

  “But – that’s good!” Rau said. “Your time has come.”

  “Yes,” Joshua whispered. “My time has come.”

  John stared at him, with sudden dull pain, as Joshua continued.

  “We’ll march toward Parliament.”

  “But, Master,” Rau said, “they won’t accept you there.”

  “You’re right,” Joshua said, and his eyes found John – and terrible grief threatened John’s heart. “They won’t.”

  “You’ll die,” John whispered, suddenly knowing – suddenly realizing the truth of all he had feared.

  “No!” Rau said. “Not you! Not you! You don’t need to die.”

  Joshua’s face contorted before them. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said.

  “You can live!” Rau insisted. “You have the power to live!”

  “I have the power to give life, and to give it away…”

  Tears flooded John’s eyes now. Was it true? Was Joshua going to give his life away?

  “Tristan,” John whispered. “Where is he?”

  “Gone,” Rau said, glancing at him – and now he grasped onto Joshua’s shoulders. He didn’t feel the pain – not as John had felt it! He didn’t feel Joshua’s pain – only his own.

  “Don’t go!” Rau said. “We can find another way!”

  “No,” Joshua said, grasping onto his arm. “There is no other way.”

  “We can save you.”

  “I don’t want you to save me.”

  “We can protect you!”

  “Rau!” Joshua’s voice was suddenly strong, suddenly commanding – he was grasping both Rau’s arms now, even shaking him. “This isn’t you – you know better than this! You know better!”


  Rau fell back from his grasp. John watched him swallow – watched him shake his head. Then he spoke.

  “Let me die instead,” Rau said. “You are my whanau.”

  “No,” Joshua whispered, his head lolling on the trunk again. “No.”

  “I…” John saw tears flood Rau’s eyes. “I’ll stay with you, until the end.”

  Now Joshua’s eyes met Rau’s – now a deep, sad intensity overrode the pain for a moment.

  “Oh, Rau,” he whispered, “do you really believe you are strong enough to die for me? You’re wrong! You’re not yet that strong. Tomorrow, Rau! Tomorrow you will pretend you never knew me.”

  Dismay filled Rau’s face. He stared at Joshua, and shook his head.

  “It can’t be!” he said, and Joshua grimaced.

  “It is,” he said – and Rau rose to his feet. He stared at John, and back at Joshua, and then he turned, and ran away.

  John sat himself up against the tree trunk, alongside Joshua, amongst the dead leaves – and tightly closed his eyes. Joshua was heaving, next to him – heaving with his terrible battle.

  “It’s Tristan, isn’t it?” John said. “Tristan’s going to do it.”

  “Yes,” Joshua said. “He’s going to do it.”

  “How?” John asked. “How?”

  Joshua grasped his hand – and John saw a picture now of his death: shooting! Shooting.

  “Oh God,” John whispered, and he clung to Joshua’s hand, and the pain flooded him again, but this time he could not let go.

  “It’s not the death I fear,” Joshua whispered, his head now sinking for a moment onto John’s shoulder, “it’s the reason for the death.”

  “The reason?” John whispered.

  “The darkness!” Now Joshua sobbed, and the sound cut John to the heart. The pain now was tangible – physical, throbbing: overwhelming.

  “What is it?” John breathed. “What darkness?”

  “All of humanity,” Joshua whispered. “The darkness, everywhere! Of all of humanity gone wrong.”

  John squeezed his hand more tightly, and saw a vision. Joshua was there! Hurting! He was in the middle of a street, surrounded by angry faces. There was something on his head! Some terrible weight, bearing down on him – pressing into his head, crushing him.

  Darkness was smothering him – darkness was penetrating into his body. Images flashed, in rapid sequence – felt, and seen: experienced, to the depths, though they were not his own. Murder, rape, hatred, fury – all took physical form: all were disease, stealing away his life.

  Tristan! John felt him, through, Joshua: his pain! His anger! His hatred! Mark Blake – John didn’t know the man, but Joshua knew him! Joshua saw him, and felt him, and was penetrated by his fury. John trembled – he himself was there! His own darkness, of a more subtle shade: darkness that added to the weight. And now there were many – countless faces, countless people, from countless nations, burdening him, burdening: darkness! Darkness!

  “I am the scape goat!” Joshua cried out. “I am the scape goat!”

  The darkness was too great! It was crushing him! It was beginning to kill him…

  “Oh, no!” John cried. “God!” And the vision was gone.

  Joshua was there, now: human! Human, and in agony – waiting to die, to save all of humanity from fatal darkness.

  “Oh, dear God,” John whispered, sinking down on his face at his feet. “Master! I’m so sorry! Forgive us! Forgive us!” And he prayed for him, and prayed – and he knew Joshua’s bloodied face was pointed to the sky, as Joshua cried out to God.

  “Oh, Father,” he cried, “help me! Help me.”

  Grief filled John. He stayed on his face, in the dead leaves, at Joshua’s feet. He drifted in and out of sleep. He prayed. Nightmares took him, and he jerked awake, only to find the real nightmare was still to begin.

  “Oh, God,” he prayed, into the leaves. “Save us! Save us.”

  And Joshua’s hand came to his head – trembling, but strong.

  “We will save you,” he whispered. “We love you – we always have.”

  Darkness took him – though he fought sleep, it took him against his will. And then came morning.

  The sun was rising. With utter dread, John lifted his face.

  Joshua was still there. He had washed his face, and hair – he had brushed off his clothes.

  “I’ve found my strength again,” he murmured. “I’m ready now. His light is stronger than the darkness.”

  John rose, swaying, to his own feet – and Joshua’s resolute firm gaze fixed upon him.

  “Time for my Coronation Ceremony,” he said, and John shivered.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “Will you stay with me?” Joshua asked, and John nodded.

  “I will,” he said, “I’ll stay until the very end.”

  Joshua broke into a smile, and John held his breath, lest the smile disappear. “I know you will,” Joshua said, “and you will see for yourself, in the end, that the light is stronger, John. Don’t be afraid! Trust! Even in the darkest night, trust!”

  John held his brown gaze, swallowed, and nodded. His choice was made! It was already made.

  “I will trust,” he said – and he straightened, and brushed off his own clothes, and moved up the hill behind Joshua.