Falling into Rarohenga

by Steph Matuku

  In front of us, the country spreads down to the distant beach. I can’t believe we’ve walked so far. On the other side, the land stretches out, placid and green. If you kind of squint and tilt your head, the rolling hills are like the body of a woman, lying there on her side, one arm crooked above her head. And if you look up and across, the puffy clouds have formed a shape that looks almost like a man reaching out for her.

  ‘Papatūānuku and Ranginui,’ Tui says. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  I have to admit it: she’s right.

  There’s a flapping of wings and a long screech, and we duck as a bird flies overhead. It’s like an eagle, but it’s absolutely massive. I realise it’s a pouākai, another bird extinct in our world but flapping about happy as anything here. The pouākai wheels and flies off toward the white clouds in the distance. We watch without saying anything until it fades from sight, and then we cross to where the tūrehu waits.

  He moves to one side to reveal a large crack in a boulder. It’s darker than dark. As I draw closer, I think I hear voices, whispers and quiet sighs, coming up from within.

  ‘What’s in there, exactly?’ Tui asks. She’s trying not to show it but she’s scared alright.

  ‘Guardians, spirits, curious souls,’ says the tūrehu, and casts me a sidelong look. ‘Demons.’

  ‘He’s not a demon, alright? He’s just made some mistakes.’

  ‘Like fraud?’ Tui mutters.

  ‘He did it for us,’ I insist. He did.

  Tui crosses to the hole, standing a little too close to the tūrehu. I mean, how she can even like that dude is beyond me. I don’t trust him at all.

  ‘After you,’ she says to him.

  He crooks an eyebrow and shakes his head. ‘Ah, no, my sweet one. I stay here.’

  Tui’s mouth drops. ‘But you said you’d help us find our mum!’

  ‘And so I did,’ the tūrehu says. ‘You would never have got this far without me. She’s down there, somewhere.’

  Tui’s eyes narrow, and for one happy moment I think she’s going to clock him one. But her bravado kicks in, and she shakes her head as though she doesn’t care at all.

  ‘Fine. Whatever.’

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ the tūrehu says. ‘You always have a choice. Remember that.’

  ‘Yeah, I wish that were true.’ She climbs up to the hole and perches on the lip, swinging her legs in. ‘It’s like a slide.’

  The tūrehu gives his mere one last twirl and hands it to her. She slowly reaches for it, her eyes widening. Close up, I can see that it has patterns carved into the stone: intricate designs that appear and disappear as she tilts it back and forth. It’s beautiful.

  ‘You will need some protection down there,’ he says to Tui and gives my ukulele a condescending glance. ‘That weapon is flimsy.’

  ‘D’you want me to go first?’ I ask Tui. I’m kind of mad that he gave his mere to her instead of me. She’d probably crack herself in the head with it if she ever tried to hit anyone.

  ‘No, I’m good.’ She lifts her chin, slips the mere into the belt on her jeans and doesn’t even glance back at the tūrehu as she slides into the hole.

  The tūrehu promptly turns into a column of mist and disappears, leaving me standing all alone on the top of the hill.

  ‘Sure, whatever,’ I say to the last droplets of mist before they disappear. ‘See ya then. Good to meet you.’

  I climb up to the hole and sit on the edge. Those breathy sighs coming up through the stone aren’t exactly welcoming, but what else am I going to do?

  With a little heave, I launch myself into the hole.

  TUIKAE

  Sliding down into that hole is, like, the bravest thing I’ve ever done. Seriously. But it doesn’t feel like I’m being brave. I feel like I always feel. Stubborn. I’m so angry with the tūrehu, my fiancé, for tricking me like that. I suppose he knew how mad I was, otherwise he wouldn’t have given me his mere. He doesn’t seem the type to give something for nothing.

  I slide down the stone chute, and at first it’s not so bad because it’s smooth and the hole is quite wide, but then the angle sharpens, the speed increases and my elbows bang painfully against the rocky sides. I begin to panic that the slide is going to rip a hole right through my jeans, and how is that going to look, exploring the Underworld with my undies showing? Then the slide gives out and I’m launched into space.

  I scream, but the sound is swallowed up by the vastness of it all. It’s like I’m falling through the universe, past stars and planets and clouds of sparkling space dust, and just as I’m about to scream again, the blacker part of the night melds together and forms the shape of a woman. She’s breastfeeding a baby, and I can hardly make out his features because he’s made of fire. He looks right at me and gives an ear-shattering wail, and from his mouth comes a jet of sparks and lava, and I know, I just know, that it’s Rūaumoko, the God of Volcanoes.

  I don’t scream again. I think my first scream woke him up. But his mother has turned away, and the black is just space again, and I feel things, long vines, brushing against me, tangling me up. I clutch at them and slide and jolt and slip my way down and down, and down some more, until there’s earth beneath my feet and I can finally collapse.

  TUIKAE

  Once I’ve recovered from the Worst Ride Ever, I decide pretty quickly that I much prefer the top level. Up there it’s warm, and the light is golden with that late summer feeling. Down here, it’s a dim twilight and there’s a clinging chill in the air that seeps slowly into my bones.

  Tui and I are in another forest, but this one is darker, spookier. There’s tangled vines and thick clumps of fern and a stinky smell that makes me think of hot pools and bubbling mud. The mist is everywhere – what is it with mist in the Underworld? And there’s little phosphorescent mushrooms growing on tree trunks and rocks. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of glowing eyes in the trees, which wink out as soon as I look at them properly.

  Tui doesn’t like it either. Once she came round, she cried a bit and wiped her tears on her shirt. And then she put that determined face of hers on and got to her feet, holding the mere at her side like it was a tennis racket. One thing I can say about Tui: you can’t keep her down for long.

  The moon hangs in the sky above us, far closer than it would back home. Against the craggy silver craters, there’s a silhouette of a woman with a sack in one hand leaning against a tree. I gape at her, wondering who she reminds me of – an old story, I think – and she waves her sack at me.

  I wave back, and the moon spins around so fast the woman has to clutch onto her tree to make sure she isn’t flung off. The moon peers down at us, its tattooed face stern, eyes blank and black. It looks scary as, like it’s about to swoop down and grab me or something. I fall back into Tui and she clutches at me, and for a moment we stand there holding hands like we’re kids again.

  But then we laugh nervously and drop our hands, and, without any idea of where we’re going, we walk ahead into the forest.

  TUIKAE

  This place is colder and emptier than up above. I’ve got that feeling you get when a good dream starts to turn bad, you know? When you can feel that uneasiness growing, and you know that if you don’t wake up, pretty soon you’re going to start screaming. But I can cope with it; I can. I’m on a mission, and I have the magic mere from the tūrehu, although if I’m honest I’m not sure if I could actually hurt anyone with it. But it glows reassuringly in my hand, the swirling patterns so beautiful and mesmerising I have to force myself to tear my gaze away, or I’ll end up staring at it forever. I try to give it to Kae – he’s a way better fighter than me – but he refuses.

  ‘It was given to you for a reason. And besides’ – he inspects the ground and finally pounces on a stick covered with clinging moss that looks like cobwebs – ‘I’ve got this.’

  I smile a bit, and suddenly the dark bush doesn’t seem so scary. ‘What do you call it?’

  ‘This is Koro Pou.’ Grandfather
Stick. He slashes it through the air, making a whipping, humming noise. He slashes again and the stick suddenly snaps in half, leaving Kae holding the broken end.

  I break into a proper laugh, which turns to a startled yelp as something drops onto my shoulder from the branches above. I brush at it feverishly and a bright green lizard flies through the air. It lands on the path, skittering under the bushes and out of sight. I shudder and shake myself. I feel as though I’ve got wet sticky feet crawling all over me, tiptoeing down my spine.

  There’s a hooting call, and we both duck as feathery soft wings swoop overhead, almost touching us. I wave my mere ineffectually and far too late, and a bird lands on the path before us. It’s a ruru, an owl, but just as I recognise the familiar shape, it swells and lengthens, becoming taller, darker.

  It’s all I can do not to scream. I can feel Kae tense up next to me as if he’s about to break into a run. The ruru wings transform into a shadowy cloak decorated at the top with feathers and bone, billowing like smoke around a striking woman. Her hair is long and dark, blowing back from her face like a woman in a shampoo ad, in a breeze that doesn’t exist. Her lips and tā moko are shimmering green, and the patterns move on her chin like those on my mere, diving under her skin and reappearing again, like too many eels in a creek.

  ‘Fah, she’s not a cuzzy, is she?’ whispers Kae, and I almost snort with nervous laughter. Kae has always been like that, saying the most inappropriate things at the most inappropriate times. But I’m grateful to him for breaking the tension, because I’m on the edge of losing it; of flipping out and running screaming back to the vines and trying to claw my way back up top. This woman is beautiful, but utterly terrifying.

  ‘Maybe on your side,’ I whisper back, and he smirks.

  The woman takes a step toward us, and instinctively I raise the mere.

  ‘Ugh. Tūrehu,’ she says flatly.

  I’m struck by her voice, which sounds young and strong. I can’t decide how old she is. She might be around Mum’s age. Or maybe not. Her eyes are old. Older than anything.

  She regards me closely, and I blurt, ‘It was a present.’

  ‘The tūrehu aren’t usually so generous. They’re far more likely to bludgeon you to death with their precious weapons than give them away. Unless …’ Her lips curve in a knowing smile. ‘Unless you’ve given them something in return?’

  Not yet, I think, but I don’t say it. A woman like this would probably despise me if she knew I’d promised myself in a bargain to someone I don’t even know, someone … alien. For the first time I feel a twinge of doubt. What if I can’t get myself out of it? What then?

  The silence is getting uncomfortably long when Kae breaks in. ‘Who are you?’

  She extends her arms wide, palms out, as if she’s about to take a bow. ‘I am Hinekōruru.’

  Kae and I exchange a glance. She’s saying it like it’s supposed to mean something – like she’s a celebrity or whatever – but I don’t know anyone of that name.

  Her face falls and she scowls, dropping her arms again. ‘You’re searching for that mortal.’

  ‘Yes, she’s our mother,’ I say, and it’s Kae’s turn to scowl at me.

  ‘What?’ I keep my voice low. ‘She might help us.’

  Kae snorts. ‘You reckon she’s the helping type?’

  Hinekōruru draws a couple of poi from under her cloak. The balls glow a dull silver; I can barely see the plaited strings they’re attached to in the dim light. She twirls her poi, showily, and Kae and I exchange glances again. Maybe she was a famous kapa haka performer back in the day? She does a tricky move, swinging the poi round each other so that the pattern they trace looks like a fluttering butterfly.

  ‘I can do that,’ I say. It took me ages to get the hang of it, but I don’t mention that.

  Hinekōruru gives me a superior sort of smile and flicks her wrist. A ball of whirling shadow erupts from the silver poi and flies toward a tree standing close by. The shadow ball slams against the trunk, and the tree promptly withers and crumbles into a pile of grey-green dust.

  ‘Okay, maybe not that,’ I mutter.

  ‘Trees are so stupid,’ Hinekōruru says airily. ‘They don’t even try to get out of the way. It’s like they want to die.’

  ‘It’s a tree,’ says Kae. ‘They’re not supposed to move.’

  ‘Maybe not on your world. Or this world. Or actually even the next few worlds down, but they do move. Eventually. Everything moves, everything changes, everything evolves. If you’d been around as long as I have, you’d know this. Of course, you haven’t, which is why you don’t know anything. Shame.’

  I’m hardly paying attention to her nonsensical chatter. I’m staring at the place where the tree once stood. It was hiding a phosphorescent path glowing shimmering green in the gloom.

  She moves near, gliding forward as though she’s on wheels, and I force myself to hold still as she leans in to talk to us in low, confidential tones. Her breath is cold against my cheek, and all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as though I’ve been charged with electricity. Up this close I can almost see a crackling aura of energy around her. Whoever she is, she isn’t human.

  ‘Your mother is down that way. In a city called Ārohirohi, beyond the hills.’

  ‘You guys have cities here?’ Kae asks.

  ‘We have everything. Eventually.’

  ‘So we just follow the path?’

  ‘It won’t be easy.’ Hinekōruru wags a finger at Kae as though he’s a naughty boy who has spoken out of turn. ‘The one who has taken her has laid traps to prevent anyone from following. You must be very careful. And very brave.’

  She reaches out and brushes Kae’s hair back from his forehead, gazing at him fondly. And he’s staring back at her, wide eyed with something that looks like fear and something that looks like attraction too.

  Ew.

  ‘I can be brave,’ he says stupidly, and then closes his eyes and grimaces as if he’s just heard what he’s said.

  I grin to myself and keep that one stored up for future mocking purposes. Widdle Kae can be so bwave.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  She trails her fingers down Kae’s cheek before answering. ‘Pleasure. And in return, I ask one little favour from you.’

  I can’t help it. ‘Now you tell us there’s a favour?’

  ‘Of course there’s a favour.’ She’s frowning at me as though I’m stupid. ‘All I ask is that you don’t forget my name.’ She smiles at Kae, but his face is blank. She sighs heavily.

  ‘Hi. Ne. Kō. Ru. Ru.’ She pronounces it slowly, as though we’re a couple of kindergarten kids. ‘Well?’

  We dutifully repeat it back, and finally she smiles.

  ‘Off you go then. Goodbye, Tui and Kae.’

  She stands and watches us as we make our way to the beginning of the path. She’s nearly out of sight, and I’m wondering how she knows our names when her voice floats toward us through the dark night.

  ‘Try not to die.’

  TUIKAE

  The path reminds me of a disco dance floor, glowing green under our feet. I keep turning back to see if Hine-what’s-her-face is still there watching us, but the light makes it hard to see, and eventually I just focus on where we’re going. Tui has got a bit more of a spring in her step, and I know why. It’s because she’s got a plan, a direction. She’s not much good if she doesn’t know what’s coming. She likes to know things in advance. I’m more spontaneous. If anyone ever said to Tui out of the blue, ‘Do you want to come and …’ do whatever, she’d turn bright red and um and ah and then say no, just because she didn’t have the time to convince herself to say yes. Me, I say yes to everything. That’s how your life stays interesting. Now I think about it, that’s also how you get yourself into trouble, but still. Trouble can be interesting, I guess.

  ‘What about her poi skills?’ she says. ‘She should so try that at Te Matatini. She’d murder the competition. Literally.’

  It’s mean
t to be funny, the thought of Hine-what’s-her-face performing onstage in a kapa haka comp, but I can’t laugh. I remember where I’ve seen her before – at the shopping centre. She was dressed differently, but I remember her. My cheek still tingles where she touched me. Her fingers were icy and yet fiery hot at the same time. When she looked at me, I could feel myself falling for her. Not in love with her exactly: more like falling into fear and awe and adoration. Looking into her black eyes was like when you lie out on the grass at night and stare up at the stars. You feel so small, as though your whole life is nothing, just dust, compared to the incredible vastness of the universe above. She made me feel scared, frankly. But she was quite hot too. She confused me.

  ‘She was dodgy as,’ I say, and Tui gives an exaggerated sigh, one of those ones guaranteed to irritate me.

  ‘Not everyone is out to do you wrong.’

  ‘So you’re perfectly happy to trust some creepy lady who shows up out of nowhere and helpfully points us in the right direction?’

  Tui shrugs. ‘What choice have we got?’

  ‘She was lying anyway.’ My voice is as loud and as firm as I can make it, but it still sounds completely unconvincing. ‘He wouldn’t try and stop us from following him.’

  ‘Out of all the things she could lie about, why would she lie about that?’

  ‘I’m his son. His only son. He wouldn’t do that to me.’

  Tui doesn’t reply, and we walk along in silence some more. The path winds through the trees, and every now and then one of us trips over a knobbly root sticking out of the ground. There’s a wet, bubbling sound up ahead. The source turns out to be a hot pool, lined with mossy rocks and ferns, steam coiling up lazily into the night. Glow-worms dot the surrounding rocks and tree trunks. Their tiny lights are reflected in the water, like stars carelessly scattered on the bush floor.