Falling into Rarohenga

by Steph Matuku

  I push it off me, struggling for air. The zombie-dog is silent beside me, its blood staining the water. And there’s Tui, her mere bloodied, with all her weight on one leg because the other one is seriously messed up. But what gets me is the way she’s grinning at me.

  She seems different. She’s done her hair up, and her eyes don’t look like they usually do. They’re darker, as though her pupils have dilated right to the edges of her irises.

  I don’t really have time to take her in, because little droplets of light are rising up from the zombie-dog’s body, and it’s like its whole body is turning into sparkles. They rise higher and higher, until they drift up through the bush canopy and are gone. The poles in the wall dissolve into shimmering light too, and for an instant, they look like a bunch of naked women. I blink and rub my eyes.

  Tui waves and sings out, ‘Bye, Rākau!’

  One of the posts/women smiles, and then she turns into sparkles too. They float up and up, and all at once the clearing is just a clearing in the bush, and there’s no wall, no zombie-dog,no naked ladies, no nothing.

  Tui limps over to a pool and dips in a cupped hand. She drizzles some of the water on her leg and I watch, amazed, as the gash in her leg slowly knits together.

  ‘It was faster last time,’ she complains. ‘Maybe because it was warmer? What do you think?’

  ‘Um,’ I say. ‘I don’t know.’

  She wipes the bloodied mere on the grass and gives me a sunny smile. I don’t smile back, because the conversation was supposed to go something like, ‘I can’t believe you ran out on me’, and ‘Yeah, well, I can’t believe you’re so much of a dick that you didn’t come with me’, and ‘It’s all your fault I got bitten’, and ‘Serves you right going off by yourself. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead’, and this conversation isn’t anything like that.

  First she says, ‘You’re so brave.’ And then she follows it up with, ‘You saved my life, how can I ever thank you?’ But here’s the bit that really gets me. ‘What’s your name?’

  TUIKAE

  Now that my leg is fixed and the peropero is gone, I feel much, much better. The boy still hasn’t answered me. Maybe he doesn’t have a name? I catch sight of a thing (I can’t remember what it’s called – it’s a wooden thing with strings on it) lying in the grass, and I pick it up. I pluck at one of the strings, and it makes a twanging sound that isn’t completely unfamiliar. I pluck it again. The boy is watching me with an odd expression.

  ‘Is this yours?’ I say. I’m fairly sure it isn’t mine.

  ‘Who else’s would it be?’ He seems confused about something.

  ‘I don’t know.’ I pluck another string, and hum that tune that’s been going around in my head for the past little while. ‘Do you know that song?’

  ‘Of course I know it.’ He takes the stringy thing off me and slides it onto his back. ‘I wrote it.’

  My mouth drops. He wrote that tune in my head? But that’s amazing! He can read minds!

  He peers at me closely, and then waves his hand in front of my eyes. I’m not sure what he’s doing. Perhaps it’s a form of greeting? I wave my hand back at him, and he snorts, steps back.

  ‘Do you remember me?’

  I frown, tilt my head and squint at him. ‘No, I do not,’ I say decidedly.

  ‘I’m Kae.’

  I try to remember who I am. It’s there, it’s there, it’s …

  ‘Tui!’ I say triumphantly. ‘I’m Tui. Tooo-eee.’

  ‘Right. Do you know why we’re here?’

  I look around at the clearing and the pools. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think I was having a wash.’

  Kae looks around too, and eventually points toward some distant hills, peeking above the trees.

  ‘I’m going that way,’ he says. ‘You can come with me, or you can wait here for the next zombie-dog to come along and get you. Up to you.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll come with you.’ I have no desire to get bitten again. Besides, there’s something intriguing about this boy. ‘I trust you. You’re so brave.’

  He narrows his eyes suspiciously, as if he thinks that I’m teasing him, but why would I do that? He pulls out another of the extinguished torches from the ground and twirls it as he walks off into the trees. I scamper to catch up.

  ‘You know,’ I say confidingly, ‘it wasn’t actually a zombie-dog. It’s called a peropero.’

  He gives me an exasperated look and mutters, ‘Can’t remember nothing and yet still knows everything.’

  I have no idea what he means by that.

  TUIKAE

  Okay, so I thought my sister was annoying before, but that version has got nothing on this one. For starters, she seems to think I’m a superhero or something, and she’s said, ‘You’re so brave’ about fifteen thousand times. And she giggles. I’ve never heard Tui gigglein my life. Laugh, yes, but giggle, never. It makes my skin crawl.

  I stop talking to her after a while and try to concentrate on where we’re going. Hine-what’s-her-face said that the city of Aro-whatever-it-is was behind the hills, and so we keep going a little bit forwards toward the distant hills and a little bit sideways toward where we should have landed on the beach. I’m still not sure whether we’re on the right track.

  And the whole time, Tui blabs on and on about absolutely nothing. About the trees and the rocky ground and my ukulele (she can’t remember what it’s called no matter how many times I tell her; she calls it my stringy thing, which I think is just disrespectful to be perfectly honest), and the sky, which is nothing to speak of because it’s just misty grey and looks like it’s about to chuck buckets at us (but how can it rain down here, when we’re underground?). And about her feet, which are dirty, and her jeans, which are ripped, and her hair, which gets in her mouth and Oh. My. God.

  We’re traipsing along and Tui falls behind and coos, ‘Oh, aren’t you a pretty tree then? Haven’t you got a lovely face?’

  I’ve pretty much tuned her out by now, so I keep walking, but then she cries out and I stop.

  ‘What’s the matter now?’

  ‘It tried to bite me!’

  She’s standing, aggrieved, by a cluster of trees covered over with green moss. The trunks are intricately carved, faces grimacing with big eyes and wide mouths and protruding tongues. But they’re made of wood. They’re not alive at all. I raise my eyebrows doubtfully, and she says, ‘Look!’

  She brushes her hand against one of the carvings, and yep, sure enough, the face bulges out of the trunk, the mouth snarls and it snaps at her.

  She wags her finger at it. ‘Naughty tree!’

  The carving subsides, becoming part of the tree once more. But my attention is attracted by something else. A piece of cloth sticking out from carved teeth. I tug it this way and that, trying to release it without ripping it. Tui grabs the carving’s wide nose, sticking her fingers against its nostrils.

  ‘Do you think it breathes?’ I say, still pulling.

  She looks at me wide-eyed. ‘Do you think it doesn’t?’

  The carving resists for a moment, and then the mouth relaxes. I yank the fabric free, she lets the nose go and the carving once again sinks back into the moss.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, and she giggles.

  Ugh.

  The fabric is light blue with criss-crossing lines on it and I remember it, I do, because Mum has a shirt that’s exactly this same pattern and she was wearing it before we went to school. Adrenaline surges through me, and I take a few deep breaths to try and calm down. This is the first concrete evidence we’ve had that she’s been here. I know what Auntie said, and what Hine-what’s-her-face and the tūrehu said, but this – what I’m holding in my hand – is actual proof that Mum was once here; that she once stood in this spot.

  And maybe she had Dad with her too.

  ‘What is it?’ Tui says, eyeing the piece of fabric.

  I fold it up and slip it into my pocket. ‘It’s a piece of Mum’s shirt.’

  Tui gasps. ‘Is your
mum here too? Oh, that’s nice.’

  I groan out loud. I’ve never missed Tui’s snarkiness as much as I do now.

  The carving bares its teeth and hoicks a wad of tree sap at me. It lands on my hand, wet and sticky, and I recoil, frantically flapping my hand to get it off. It doesn’t budge. I’m about to wipe the sap on the grass when I realise it smells … it smells delicious. I raise my hand to my nose and breathe it in, and it has all the scents of toasted marshmallow and coconut and melting brown sugar and chocolate mixed up in one mouth-watering bite.

  I’ve got my hand up to my mouth, ready to suck it off my hand, and Tui cuts in, ‘Are you really going to eat that tree spit?’

  I scowl at her. What’s it to do with her? I can eat it if I want! People eat heaps more weird things than tree saliva – like mountain oysters; yuck. I inspect the tree sap again, and it’s like golden curling amber – or, no, honey – on the back of my hand, and the smell … oh man, the smell! But Auntie’s warning about not eating anything drifts into my mind, and, slowly, regretfully, I wipe the sap off on the grass. ‘No.’

  ‘Good,’ she says. ‘Because that would be gross.’

  We carry on walking. The trees are thinning out now, and the ground is getting rockier, more uneven. Just ahead, a huge hill rises up over the trees. Every now and then I slide my hand into my pocket and touch the folded fabric of Mum’s shirt. It won’t be long now; it can’t be.

  I’m so busy thinking about what will happen when I see them again – when I see Dad again – that I’m startled when Tui announces in a sing-song voice, ‘Oh hey! A new friend!’

  I glance up, and within about one second shove her behind an outcrop of rocks that has formed a long ledge. She doesn’t protest; just smiles at me and puts her hands over her mouth. I nod, and she mimes zipping up her mouth and throwing away the key.

  I peek over the rocks. The biggest guy I’ve ever seen paces back and forth in front of a dark cave entrance at the bottom of the hill. He’s muscled and covered with tatts. He’s wearing a maro around his waist and twirling a taiaha in his hand, real casual like, but it’s spinning so fast it’s nothing but a blur. Little red sparks are shooting out of it.

  Bordering the cave entrance are patterns painted in red and black on the rock, triangles and lines intersecting and repeating. At the side of the hill, a dusty track leads up through the trees and over the top. That’s where we need to be; I’m sure of it.

  I sink back behind the rocks, and my tummy gives an enormous rumble. It’s so loud I’m surprised the warrior doesn’t hear it. Tui’s eyes widen, and she mimes zipping up my tummy and throwing away the key. She puts her hands over her mouth and I know she’s giggling behind them.

  I jerk my thumb toward the track and she nods. We creep along under the rocky ledge as quietly as we can. When the rocks peter out, we wait until the warrior paces away, and then we dart to a clump of bushes. And we wait and then do it again, and again, until finally we’re on the track, and out of his sight.

  TUIKAE

  We toil up the hill. I’m getting very tired now, but I don’t like to say anything because this boy, this Kae, is very impatient. For instance, I told him how annoying it is when my hair is loose and gets in my eyes and mouth but that when I tie it back it gives me a headache and so I’m not quite sure which is better, to be annoyed or to have a headache, and he groans and tells me to shut up.

  Which isn’t fair because I like talking.

  But eventually I can’t talk anymore anyway because the hill is so steep. I can’t get enough breath to fill my lungs, let alone make conversation. I’m beginning to wonder why we’re even climbing this hill in the first place when the trees give way to craggy rock. We’re nearly at the top.

  We round a bend in the trail and there’s a red line in front of us, stretching across the path and into the rocks on either side. Kae stops short, and I do too, although I’m not sure why.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Kae mutters, and I giggle. How does a line mean anything? A line just is.

  I hunker down and inspect it. It’s made from some kind of red dirt. Kae tells me not to touch it, but it’s too late. I’ve already traced my finger through it, breaking the line and making my finger all red. The dirt feels like fire. It seeps into my pores and dissolves in my veins. It burns through my hand, my arm, and up into my chest, stealing what little air I had in my lungs. I’m fighting for my chest to expand, for my lungs to inflate, but they won’t. Everything tilts sideways, and Kae makes a grab for me, but I’m already on the ground, and everything is so bright that I shut my eyes.

  It’s blazing red behind my eyelids: red like the line of dust. There’s a zinging in my head, like a chainsaw cutting into metal. There comes an explosion of sparks and lightning, and my brain flies apart with a sudden onrush of pictures and images and sounds and memories. Finally my lungs start working again and I suck in a huge gulp of air and breathe.

  And breathe.

  I open my eyes. Kae’s hand is on my shoulder and his face is white, making him appear younger than I’ve ever seen him. My head hurts, but it feels normal. It doesn’t feel sludgy like it did before. And I remember. I remember everything.

  I sit up. ‘Hey.’

  Kae’s face clears. He looks relieved and happy to see me, and I’m glad because he hasn’t looked at me in that way for a really, really long time.

  ‘You’re back,’ is all he says, though.

  ‘I got lost. I couldn’t remember where I was supposed to be.’

  ‘You giggled heaps.’

  We both shudder.

  I tentatively touch the red line again, tracing the smear that I made in it. It doesn’t burn now. It just feels like dirt. I take up a handful, rubbing my fingers together, watching how it stains my hand.

  ‘It’s red ochre. They used to use it in the olden days to ward off spirits and spells. I guess it took the amnesia away from me.’

  I work the clay between my fingers until it turns into a little soft ball and then, without really thinking about it, drop it in my pocket.

  Kae rolls his eyes. ‘The know-it-all is back.’

  ‘Better believe it.’

  He holds out a hand for me, hauling me to my feet. ‘Sorry about before.’

  I know he is. He doesn’t have to say it, but I’m grateful that he does. ‘I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have taken off. It was stupid.’

  ‘The taniwha took you to the hot pools on purpose.’ Kae’s face twists, and he adds, ‘Dad made him do it.’

  I know how difficult it is for Kae to say this. He’s always hero-worshipped Dad, even when Dad was inside; even when he was stalking Mum and making her life miserable. Kae always made excuses for him, even though Dad didn’t want anything to do with us, really. But now, I think maybe Kae is beginning to wake up too. Just like I did.

  I reach out for his hand and hold it tight. ‘We’ll stick together from now on. Promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  We shake on it, and then Kae does an exaggerated jump over the broken line and I crack up. I don’t want to lose this between us; I don’t.

  ‘Your song is really good, you know.’

  His expression is so comical I wish I’d said it earlier just so I could have enjoyed the startled look on his face. ‘You think?’

  ‘You should mix it up with some beats.’ I mime a DJ spinning: one hand at my ear, the other scratching a record.

  Kae cracks up. ‘Alright then. If you say so.’

  We walk up to the crest of the hill, the scenery of the other side coming slowly into view with every step. And then we see what lies beyond, and we stare and stare, utterly dismayed.

  We’ve got no chance.

  TUIKAE

  The relief at having Tui back bleeds into anxiety as I gaze at the view before us. Tidy squares of fields and trees intersected by channels of water are spread out below us like a chessboard. The city of Ārohirohi lies just beyond.

  I don’t know what I was expecting of a city in the
Underworld. An olden-day pā, I guess, with wooden whare, surrounded by rows of terraces and palisades. I never imagined gleaming towers and twisting turrets and glass domes. Columns of steam and smoke drift up to the sky, silver spires glisten in the light and there’s a golden needle twisting up and back on itself so that it looks as though it’s half melted under the sun. The city is beautiful and enormous. How are we supposed to find Mum here?

  Tui isn’t even looking at the city. She’s watching the sky, where a giant with light blue skin and tattoos from head to toe twists and glides upon the air currents. My eyes widen as he scoops up a handful of cloud and bats it out of his way, sending it tumbling across the sky.

  ‘It’s Tāwhirimatea,’ Tui whispers, not taking her eyes off him. ‘The God of Wind and Storms. It must be. Isn’t he beautiful?’

  One of those huge eagles, a pouākai, soars over our heads, and we duck as its shadow passes over us. I’m poised to sprint back over the hill for the cover of the trees when Tāwhirimatea bares his buttocks at the bird and lets forth a rolling trumpet of thunder.

  The pouākai’s wings freeze in mid-flap, and it plummets. It thuds to the ground far below, cratering the earth with a little puff of dust. Tāwhirimatea laughs, lightning sparking from his fingertips, and then he glides into a bank of cloud and is gone.

  ‘So beautiful,’ I deadpan, and we crack up, but we do it real quietly just in case Tāwhirimatea hears and farts us to death too.

  I turn my attention back to the city, wondering where the hell we’re even supposed to start, and it’s changed. The twisting gold needle has moved closer toward the fields; I’m sure of it. I watch it closely. After a few minutes, it shimmers and disappears. In fact, all the buildings are slowly dissolving into mist and reappearing elsewhere. I feel a surge of panic. How can we search the city if it doesn’t stay still long enough? I finally spot the gold needle again, and in front of it is …

  ‘Isn’t that Dad’s old work?’ I point, and Tui nods.