Key to the Journey (The Chronicles of Hawthorn, Book 2)

by Rue

  Oturu sent her an image of running.

  She yanked the falcon’s leash loose and yelled, “Fly, Oturu, fly!”

  Powerful wings launched the falcon into the air as Flynn rolled to retrieve her bow.

  No time. The male and two smaller boars had closed the distance—too close to fire an arrow. She grabbed the adze and swung with all her might.

  A huge gash opened on the side of the male boar’s head, but their skulls are thick and the instinct of the hunt had taken over. He lowered his head and swung sideways, leading with his large tusk.

  Flynn jumped out of the way, barely escaping the dangerous beast. She swung again and landed a fatal blow, slicing through the thick hide and layers of fat around the neck. She stumbled backward and blood spurted over her. She felt the warm wetness seeping between her bare foot and the leather of her sandal. She vomited bits of burned rabbit meat onto the ground.

  The two remaining boar charged.

  Tears filled Flynn’s eyes as she flailed the adze back and forth. Her vision blurred and her stomach churned. Flickers of memories flashed in her mind’s eye. The look of pride on her mother’s face when Flynn had vanished in the Meeting House. The gratitude and love in Hazel’s eyes when Flynn had revived her in Dreamwood. The hate and fury in Magdelana’s eyes when Flynn had refused to relinquish the wand.

  A screech and the sound of rushing air filled her ears. Oturu’s talon ripped an eye from the head of one of the boar.

  Flynn saw an opportunity and struck with all her might on the skull of the second animal. Whether she had killed or stunned it, she couldn’t be sure, but it dropped with a thud at her feet. She quickly grabbed her satchel, waterskin, and bow and arrow.

  A searing pain shot through her thigh as she turned to run.

  The half-blinded boar sliced its tusk through her flesh and readied for a second strike.

  She smashed the adze into the side of its jaw and the sickening sound of shattering bone filled the night. Her leg burned with pain and she felt blood flowing down her skin. There was no time to dress the wound; she had to put distance between herself and this pack of murderous mammals. She limped northward as quickly as her injured body allowed.

  Flynn had to find water, but agony knifed through her right leg with each step. She thought of Oturu, hoping the bird had escaped injury, and sent her an image of water.

  No reply. No screech.

  Tears fueled by injury, fear, and self-doubt sluiced down Flynn’s cheeks. She walked because stopping would mean certain death—an idea that grew more appealing with each tormented, faltering step.

  Pounamu arrived in Moa Bend the morning after Hazel had been hurried into the Healing Hut. The mid-morning sun had dried the dew and several species of birds flitted from tree to rooftop in search of insects. She leaned lightly on her kauri wood staff as her slow purposeful strides carried her closer to the waiting envoy.

  The sun-kissed glow from Kahu’s recent trip to Zingiber Sound minimized the flush of anger in her cheeks, and she kept her voice even, “Good morning, Mistress Pounamu. May I have a word?”

  “It would be an honor, my Priestess,” replied Pounamu, with a nod. She walked in step with Kahu as they both made progress down the dirt road toward the center of the village.

  “I have a young girl in the Healing Hut who is drifting in and out of consciousness. She looks half-starved and severely deprived of water. The young boy who brought her in is the son of our most honored Mistress Carver and has a history of getting himself into trouble. If he is to be believed, he claims that he rescued the girl from Dreamwood Forest with the aid of the witch of the wood, a faery, and” Kahu stopped and turned toward Pounamu, “my daughter.”

  Pounamu nodded, but did not reply.

  “My daughter is still missing,” said Kahu. Her jaw muscles flexed and she squared her shoulders. Addressing an ancient elder required patience and respect, but the High Priestess seemed short of both.

  “It would not be wise to rush your daughter to the Way of the Wand, young Kahu.” Pounamu leaned heavily on her staff.

  Kahu’s eye twitched when she heard the word ‘young’. She swallowed and waited.

  “Flynn’s magick is connected to something she is only beginning to understand. If you remove her from the training levels, she may never learn to fully wield the power she possesses.” Pounamu lifted her sparkling green eyes to meet Kahu’s impatient stare. “She astral traveled within the boundaries of Atahu Forest.”

  Kahu gasped and clutched her chest as a surge of emotion gripped her heart. “It is for this reason, Auntie, that I must see to her training personally. It will take her years to work through the levels. I can train her to defeat Magdelana in half that time.” Kahu lifted her chin toward her ancestor, proudly displaying the tattoo of her rank.

  Pounamu reached out and tenderly stroked the markings on Kahu’s chin. “Do you remember the legends of my sister’s powers?”

  Kahu nodded.

  “All who beheld Temarama basked in her glory. Her spell craft was a work of art, and in the end it saved us from destruction.” Pounamu let her hand drop to her side. “But it could not save her.”

  “But Flynn is different, her power is deeper. I won’t say she is more powerful than Temarama, but she could be.” Kahu took a step back. The bold statement could be interpreted as an insult to the sacred memory of Temarama.

  “Flynn’s magick may be more powerful than Dunedin himself, but if she cannot master it she will be as vulnerable as a newborn moa chick. Do you understand the source of her magick, High Priestess?” Pounamu’s emerald eyes flashed with a challenge.

  Kahu dropped her gaze, “I do not.”

  The fire sputtered out and a liquid calm returned to Pounamu’s gaze, “Flynn is unlocking the puzzle. She is the only one who can find the key.”

  At the mention of a key, Kahu’s eyes darted up to meet her auntie’s and then off to the side. “But, I can guide her. I know I can speed up the process.”

  “Speed is not the answer, my darling. It is like extracting tutu juice. If you rush the process or your pukoro bag is poorly made, you may accidentally allow a few seeds to pass through the sieve and turn your juice into a deadly poison.”

  The deeper meaning of Pounamu’s words seeped into Kahu’s heart. “You don’t think—she would never embrace the shadow.” Her voice held conviction but her eyes widened with fear.

  “I believe Flynn could fulfill her destiny and reunite The Book of Shadow and Light, but if you put too much on her young shoulders…” Pounamu did not finish her warning; she could see the veil lifting from Kahu’s eyes.

  The High Priestess nodded. “She is young, Auntie. She may be safe in your cottage today, but she needs her mother. Please send her home. I’ll deal with the Grand Coven.”

  “She is not in my cottage, my darling,” said Pounamu.

  “What? Where is my daughter?” Kahu’s throat tightened and she shifted her stance.

  “You and I will address the coven and inform them that Flynn is on her Seeking. When they have agreed to your plan to keep her in the levels, and Flynn understands the key to her magick, she will return to us.” Pounamu turned toward the village and resumed her stroll.

  Kahu did not budge. She took a deep breath and spoke in a low commanding voice, “Do not meddle with my coven, witch. You will tell me where my daughter is at once.”

  Pounamu turned and smiled like a child caught stealing a sweet. “There is the High Priestess I serve.” She walked back toward Kahu and gave a respectful nod of her head. “You can’t blame an old woman for trying, can you?”

  Mirth did not touch Kahu’s face.

  “All right, my darling. We parted ways at the southwestern tip of Dreamwood Forest. She is headed to the Cliffs of Tapu. He has called to her and she has answered.” Pounamu leaned on her staff and waited.

  “You have no right to send a child into the wilderness alone. The Seekings were abolished for a reason, Pounamu.” Kahu clenched her
fists at her sides.

  “She is not alone, Kahu. She travels with her belt knife, an adze, a bow and full quiver, a waterskin, and a most unusual falcon. This falcon willingly accompanied her into Dreamwood, my darling.” The witch of the wood smiled and raised one eyebrow.

  Kahu did not react to the news of the falcon. Her concern was for her daughter. “I could mount a search in minutes,” she threatened.

  “Of course, but think how the people will feel when she returns from the Seeking with tales of the wilderness and the magick of the Keeper of the Moon.” Pounamu added the reference to Dunedin to bolster up her argument.

  “If anything happens to her—”

  “What could happen?” Pounamu quickly interrupted.

  Kahu remembered how the blessing of Dunedin had strengthened her position as High Priestess of Aotearoa. Flynn had fourteen years of Watcher rumors to overcome. Kahu couldn’t deny the benefit of a tale like Pounamu promised. “Please, stay with me this evening, Auntie, and tomorrow I’ll address the Grand Coven with you as my honored guest.”

  “So it will be, my Priestess.” Pounamu nodded. “With your permission, I would like to visit Hazel at the Healing Hut?” The witch of the wood had played the game to perfection and tomorrow she would see if she could keep her promise to Flynn, but today she wanted to keep her promise to Hazel and Po.

  Flynn reached the foothills of the Ti Kouka Peaks, weak and dehydrated. She looked for signs of a fresh water spring and noticed a tree that had grown in an odd loop; it bent back on itself and the top of the tree had curved down to touch the ground. She stumbled toward it, squinting and puzzling over the strange growth pattern. The sound of gurgling water stopped her stride one footfall before dropping into the deep clear pool of frigid water. She fell to the ground and plunged her head into the pool. As the cool water soothed her throat, she thought of Oturu and sent the image of the spring.

  The answering cry pierced Flynn’s heart. She’s alive! With her spirits bolstered by the arrival of her traveling companion, she set to work cleaning the nasty gash in her right leg.

  Once she filled her waterskin and Oturu had a refreshing drink, Flynn took off her sandals and plunged her leg, torn trousers and all, into the pool. The frigid water burned her open wound, but she ignored the pain and scrubbed away the filth. The blood flowed bright red and swirled into the clear liquid.

  Flynn chewed on a piece of burdock root until it formed a paste in her mouth and added a few leaves of bitter weed. She eased her leg out of the pool, ripped a slightly larger hole in the fabric, and pressed the skin together to slow the bleeding. She smoothed the burdock root paste over the cut with one hand while she continued to squeeze the gash closed with the other. She ripped a strip of cloth off the bottom of her tunic and secured it around the wound. The snug dressing and the bitter weed should stop the bleeding,

  Oturu landed on a curved branch that hung low over the pool and shook her right leg.

  “Yes, it’s badly wounded. I’ll have to take it slow for a few days, we’ll keep to the shade of the wooded areas if we can.”

  Oturu shook her leg again and Flynn noticed the bits of tissue crusted on the talons and the leather anklet.

  Flynn reached up and removed the anklet. She rubbed a little water on the dried blood and cleaned the leather. “Thank you for what you did back there. You saved my life—if you hadn’t—”

  The falcon screeched and closed her eyes.

  “All right, I won’t mention it—but thank you.” Flynn cupped some water in her hand and cleaned the viscous boar bits from Oturu’s talon, making a conscious effort to keep all images to herself. She removed the leash from the anklet before she placed it back on the falcon’s leg. Flynn held up the coiled leash as she added, “I’ll keep this in my satchel, all right? If you came back to me after last night—well, I trust you.”

  When they had both refreshed and eaten a bite or two of dried mango—neither felt like meat of any kind—they continued their journey toward the Cliffs of Tapu. Flynn picked up a sturdy branch to use as a cane and Oturu perched on the cadge at her shoulder.

  The pool opened up into a trickling creek, which widened as it flowed east. Flynn wondered if this stream eventually joined the Aniwaniwa River. It felt strange to look at the small spring bubbling into a creek that she could literally step across, and imagine it becoming a raging river that took her mother’s true love, Hauatia, crashing over Aura Falls.

  They continued their slow progress as the sun climbed across the sky.

  Flynn carefully pushed her way through the underbrush and popped out into a taro bog.

  The sharp pain in her injured leg and the sudden sogginess of her feet would have been enough of a shock, but the presence of another human stopped Flynn in her tracks.

  The girl, younger than Flynn, tilted her head like a confused animal while she stared at the intruder. She crouched bare-chested, except for a greenstone pendant, and held a fistful of taro leaves in one hand and a large curved boline knife in the other. Without moving a muscle she gave the warbling call of the riroriro bird.

  Before Flynn could react an older woman, possibly the mother, burst from the foliage on the other side of the taro bog, with a knocked arrow trained on Flynn’s heart.

  Flynn slowly raised her hands to show they were empty of weapons and she tried a friendly greeting in the old tongue, “Kia ora.”

  The woman holding the bow did not respond to Flynn. She simply clucked her tongue in the way Flynn had heard the tapuhi who cared for the baby chicks in the moa nursery when they called the hatchlings for feeding.

  The child with the handful of taro stalks rose and moved to a place of safety behind the woman, never taking her eyes off of the strange intruder.

  Flynn took a deep breath and looked at the woman. She stood clad in pieces of unfinished leather and her flame-red hair was twisted into long ropes. Both woman and child looked healthy, but with no sign of excess in the way their sun-browned skin clung to their sinewy frames. They did not look like any villagers Flynn had ever seen visiting Moa Bend.

  “Tane Mahuta?” The woman spoke the words reverently, but did not lower the bow.

  Flynn couldn’t imagine what the woman meant. She thought about sending Oturu a picture of—and before she could finish the thought, she realized exactly what the woman meant. Flynn had burst from the forest with a falcon sitting on her shoulder. The woman asked if this “being” standing in the taro bog embodied some form of the forest god, the atua, Tane Mahuta. If Flynn wasn’t afraid for her life she might have considered laughing.

  She looked at the woman and placed one of her hands slowly on her own chest. She tapped and said, “Flynn Hawthorn. Flynn of Moa Bend.”

  “Atua?” the woman shook her head, but she still looked confused about who or what Flynn represented.

  Slowly, Flynn reached for her belt knife.

  The woman drew the bowstring back a bit tighter.

  Flynn carefully pulled her belt knife out and cut the tip of the middle finger on her left hand. “Tangata, human.” The bubble of red grew and Flynn felt Oturu’s talons soften their grip.

  The woman slowly lowered the bow.

  Flynn dropped her knife and steadied the bird.

  The woman placed the arrow back in her quiver and put her hand on her own chest. “Ash,” she said. She moved her hand to the head of the child and said, “Kano.” She made a circling gesture to include their surroundings and said, “Iwi Kowao.”

  Kowao meant wild, they were living in the bush. “Kia ora, hello, Ash. Kia ora, Kano.” Flynn could feel her feet sinking into the muck. She hoped there were no eels in this bog.

  “You should fetch your knife before it’s swallowed by the bog,” said Ash.

  The voice and the clear speech shocked Flynn. She leaned heavily on her makeshift cane as she bent down and thrust her hand into the muck. She felt carefully for her sharp, trusty blade. Her fingers closed around the handle and she swished the blade back and forth
to clean the muck from the metal. Wiping it on the sleeve of her tunic, she returned the knife to its sheath.

  “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” said Flynn, as she carefully tugged her right foot from the muck.

  The sucking and popping sound that accompanied the extraction made Kano giggle.

  “She is easily amused,” observed Ash. “We don’t get visitors this deep into the wild. Kano is trained to freeze and whistle for me if she sees anything she doesn’t understand.” Ash took a hesitant step toward Flynn. “Are you injured? Your leg is bleeding—”

  Flynn could feel herself tilting and saw the blackness creeping into the edge of her vision as Oturu took to the sky.

  Ash leapt through the bog and steadied Flynn with one strong arm. “Kano, take her staff and bow. She needs to see our healer.”

  Flynn nodded and the motion made her stomach swirl. “What village are you from?”

  Ash slowly steered Flynn through the shallow bog and replied, “We are Kowao. We have no village,” she made the same encircling gesture from earlier, “all of this is our home.”

  “But how do you—where do you,” Flynn’s voice faded and she felt the blackness closing in.

  Ash signaled to Kano to take the lead. “No more questions, Flynn Hawthorn. You need to save your strength. Why don’t you share our fire tonight and I can show you the how and the where of the Kowao?”

  Kano pointed to the falcon.

  “Her name is Oturu,” whispered Flynn, “She isn’t a hunter, she is my protector.”

  Ash shook her head and gave the persistent Kano another warning, “You can hold the bird later, after we feed our new friends and see to Flynn’s wound.”

  Kano smiled and nodded.

  They walked in slow silence through the forest of cabbage trees, kowhai, and manuka. The bright yellow kowhai blooms of spring were long gone, but the tree had littered the ground with the yellow to brown seeds.

  Kano stooped and scooped up a handful of kowhai seeds.

  “Careful, those seeds are poisonous,” mumbled Flynn.

  Ash stopped and looked at the seeds in Kano’s hand. “Ah, she’s all right, eh? You have to chew a pile of them before you get sick. The things she has to watch for out here are the tree nettle and that nasty foxglove. We use the foxglove to coat our arrow tips when we hunt moa.”