by Joanna Orwin
Taka couldn’t get enough of these other-worlds and their strange, glimmering light. He persuaded Kai to linger with him on the beach long after the others returned home. There, as the largest of the stars brightened against the new blackness of the moonless sky, he stripped to his loincloth and rebound his dark, shoulder-length hair. Light-footed, his body supple and toned from long hours of practice, he danced in homage on the sea-firm sand. Kai squatted nearby, watching for a while before he started drumming an accompaniment with the flat of one hand on his extended thigh. Taka danced the awe he felt, weaving new patterns as he leapt and tumbled to the rhythm of the surging waves. He danced to ease a restlessness stirred into life by the appearance of the stars. As he danced, he kept his face turned towards the largest star, a flickering silver fire that beckoned him from the far horizon.
Later that night, they rejoined the others in the hope of hearing more from Huaho about the stars. The old storyteller told his expectant audience that, before the Dark, people visited both the moon and these other-worlds, voyaging on star ships. Taka listened avidly. When the elder said such travellers returned with stories describing those other-worlds, he snorted in disbelief. Travellers never returned — it would defeat the whole purpose of travelling.
Travellers. Excitement shivered its fingers on the skin at the back of his neck. The last Choosing had taken place five years ago when he was too young to participate. Ever since he first knew about the Travellers, he’d dreamt about becoming one of them, a hero venturing into those unknown lands that lay far to the south. Only the oldest stories Huaho told around the fire at night described what lay beyond the swamplands where they lived, beyond the final belt of sand dunes, and across the still-dead sea that separated them from the sterile lands of Aotea occupied before the Dark. At the end of this year’s winter, Travellers would again be chosen. This time, he and Kai would be eligible.
Dance practice early each morning was the most important part of the daily routine for Taka. To his frustration, Moho, their dance master, was still focusing on the traditional steps and movements. These had been developed generations ago as thanksgiving to Tanga once the first signs of life returned to the ash-enriched swamplands. It was said that the dancing arose spontaneously, an expression of joy by a talented young man who then carried others with him. Over the years, dancing became the prerogative of Repo people, whose physique suited them to the role. Because of his own ability to develop new dance steps, Taka secretly liked to think he was a direct descendant of that first dancer. But as they worked hard to polish the set pieces they would perform at the spring Choosing festival, his one attempt to introduce innovative steps to celebrate the appearance of the stars brought his father’s swift reprimand.
‘Dancing’s about precision and discipline.’
It was not the first time Moho had said this, and Taka struggled to hide his indifference. ‘I accept that.’ He managed to keep his voice neutral. ‘But why does it mean we can’t try Something new?’
‘You’re missing the point,’ said Moho. ‘We dance to honour Tanga’s bounty. Dancing’s a sacred ritual, not Something to be altered on a mere whim.’
Although the dance master’s tone was mild, his look ensured that Taka didn’t risk any further argument. He knew he was too undisciplined to be a good troupe member, and he had some inkling what this might mean to his father. Not that Moho ever put his disappointment into words. Sometimes Taka wished his father would just lose his temper and lash out, the way Kawau did with his son. But he knew even-tempered Moho wouldn’t lift a finger against him, no matter how provoked.
The dance master continued schooling Ra-Repo’s dancing troupe until they moved as one in perfect time with the monotonous beat of the drum. Although Taka liked the precision, once he mastered a new sequence of steps he quickly grew bored. Later, as they left the practice ground, he muttered protests to Kai. ‘Why doesn’t Moho see that my way of dancing is also homage to the gods?’
It was a moment before Kai answered. Taka watched him loop strands of hair behind his ears, first one then the other. Recognizing the sign that his cousin was marshalling his thoughts, he waited expectantly.
‘It’s like he said. Dancing’s a ritual. You can’t change ritual.’ Kai hesitated, then went on, his words coming in a rush. ‘I reckon dancing’s how they get us used to accepting their authority without question.’
Taka frowned. ‘What exactly are you saying?’
His cousin sighed. ‘I’m not sure really. It’s not important. More to the point, you can always dance your way in private — I’m happy to be your audience.’
That evening, after Taka had scattered the vegetable scraps for the family’s precious chickens, his last chore of the day, he leant on the rail of the small enclosure, listening to their quiet clucking as they settled for the night. Familiar restlessness set the muscles in one braced leg jigging, and he shifted his position until the twitching stopped. He yearned constantly for wider vistas, the chance to see further than the nearest head-high bank of reeds and the next bend in the waterway, to see further than the barrier enforced by the Great Ocean, further than the last sand dune that lay to the south. Those stars were unfaltering, bright signals on the periphery of his vision. The sky in the east glowed as a half-moon rose above Tepaki to silhouette the sky-walker against its pale light. These new sky emblems had to mean that Something extraordinary lay ahead. He sent renewed silent prayers to Tanga, asking to be chosen as one of the ten Travellers.
Chapter 2
Each morning that autumn, straight after dance practice, Taka and Kai poled a moki through the maze of winding, narrow waterways, helping to lift and empty the eel traps that provided Ra-Repo’s main winter food source. This year, though, something seemed different. At first, Taka thought his own growing strength meant the trap work wasn’t so demanding, but as day after day passed he suspected it was the catch that had lightened. Some days, it was late in the morning before anyone signalled that the first eel had been caught and he heard the welcome sound of two paddles being knocked together as the lucky eeler touched precious wood in an ancient and sacred ritual that had endured from before the Dark. The lengthening faces of the men as they gathered at the end of the day to hang the split and cleaned eels over smoking fires supported his suspicion. He squatted by his father at the cleansing pool, scrubbing the eel slime from his hands and arms. ‘The eels run late this year,’ he said, looking for reassurance.
Moho shook his head. ‘The runs are nearly over. The eel harvests aren’t what they were when I was your age. This one looks set to be the worst yet. Even the chiefly eels are small this year.’
The doomsayer rebuked him. ‘You should watch your tongue. No matter if you speak true, it’s unwise to voice such observations.’
Taka’s father sighed, then made the demon-averting sign. ‘Tanga forgive me.’
Kawau nodded, accepting his perfunctory gesture. ‘The bird-snarers are bound to do better. A bad season for migrating eels means a good one for waterfowl.’
Kai nudged Taka gleefully as the headman straightened and looked across at the doomsayer. ‘Voicing such expectations is as ill-advised as speaking the truth about Tanga’s bounty.’
But when all the Repo kinship groups gathered for the autumn food exchange, the Uru-Repo headman also ignored these conventions. Taka listened as he made excuses for the small numbers of potted kua his hunters had brought to Ra-Repo. So far as he knew, none of the old stories told of such an unexpected failure. Once the migrating birds started returning after the Dark, they’d been relied on for generations, coming south across the Great Ocean in their thousands to the summer feeding grounds. Foreboding seized him as the headman’s words tumbled over each other in his eagerness to justify their poor harvest. He sketched pictures in the air with the talking stick, conjuring up the turbulent seas and big tides that shortened the length of time the feeding grounds were exposed.
One of his hunters interjected in support, nodding his head v
igorously. ‘Even when we got low tides, windy nights put out our torches, so we couldn’t attract the kua to the nets. What’s more, there were far fewer birds than usual.’
The headman pointed the tip of the talking stick at him in acknowledgement. ‘I blame that moon. I blame that moon. Light as day, isn’t it? It’s this ending of the Dark, changing everything.’
It was an emphatic statement, and Ra-Repo’s doomsayer was quick to voice his loud support. His scrawny chest pouting with self-importance, Kawau took over the talking stick. ‘I’ve said it before, and I say it again now: the gods are punishing us for neglecting the sky-talker. We made a huge mistake in transferring our attention to Tanga. This new face shown by the moon confirms that.’
Taka’s father overrode murmurs of agreement. He took the talking stick away from Kawau. ‘You speak from hindsight. The switch to Tanga was a decision made long before our time, before any of us here were born, including you. Without the assistance of the water-god, our people wouldn’t have survived.’
‘As always, you speak of practicalities.’ Kawau’s voice was filled with scorn. ‘The sky-talker is our tangible and spiritual connection to the sky-gods. Surely such a sacred object should take precedence over any worship of earthly gods?’
Moho showed signs of impatience. ‘Where’s your evidence of any guidance provided by the sky-talker after the onset of the Dark?’
Such an overt challenge made Kawau bristle. ‘Evidence? What is this talk of evidence? This is a matter of faith. Take care, Moho. You risk bringing the wrath of the gods upon us all.’
Beside Taka, Kai murmured so that only he could hear: ‘Want to bet who’s taking the biggest risk? Your father sticking with the water-god or Kawau switching to the sky-gods?’
Once again, Taka made the demon-averting gesture behind his back. Signs of his cousin’s growing irreverence had been bothering him for some time now. Kai might see irony in this stand-off between Moho and Kawau, but everyone else stirred uneasily.
Not one of the Repo kinship groups had enjoyed a good season. Taka looked cautiously at the Wise One to see her reaction. The old woman sat straight-backed and unmoving on her low stool in the doorway of Puweto’s house. The torchlight exaggerated the network of lines etched in her age-darkened skin and deepened the shadows of her empty eye sockets, so he couldn’t read any expression on her face. She’d made only a brief comment when the autumn sky first started to clear. When it became obvious that she still wasn’t ready to offer a considered opinion, Puweto took charge.
‘No one should take blame for such a poor season, but it doesn’t alter our situation.’ He gestured at the meagre pile of stacked baskets and calabashes. ‘We’ll go hungry again this winter.’
Kawau seized the talking stick again. ‘Exactly.’ He thumped the stick on the ground for emphasis. ‘I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again.’
Kai nudged Taka. They both knew what was coming next — another of Kawau’s many obsessions. ‘Maybe we’re being punished for culling our pigs.’
Taka blinked. Pigs? He was too young to remember when they had kept pigs, although his grandfather sometimes regaled him with stories of roast pork on feast days. Some of the people were muttering agreement with Kawau when To-Repo’s headman rose to his feet and firmly took the talking stick back from the doomsayer.
‘You have short memories. It’s not even two decades since we made that decision — and it was taken up by all the swampland peoples at the Choosing of the time.’
He waited until the grumbling died away. ‘Pigs never provided a steady food source. They were kept for festivals.’ He looked pointedly at Kawau until the man lowered his eyes. ‘Our food sources were starting to dwindle. Pigs ate food better used for ourselves. Are you saying the gods would rather we fed pigs than people?’
Not even Kawau would argue that, but Taka heard him mutter to those within earshot that the gods might indeed want revenge for the withdrawal of pigs sacrificed in their honour.
Now Huaho called for the talking stick. Both his age and his status as storyteller quelled the final dissenters. ‘Puweto is right. Whatever the cause, none of you can deny that for nearly ten years now the seasons have been getting progressively worse. We shouldn’t assume next season will be any better. We’re facing increasing food shortages. This is what we need to focus on.’
His neighbours reached up to steady him as he struggled to sit down.
Taka’s father waited until the old man was comfortable. ‘Wise words as always, Huaho.’ Moho turned to the blind old woman still sitting motionless and unspeaking in Puweto’s doorway. ‘We did hope the return of the sky-gods and the clearing northern skies signalled better times ahead, not worse. What are the Wise One’s thoughts on this?’
Taka gasped. Things must be dire for his father to ignore the convention of waiting for the Wise One to choose her moment. But before she could answer, someone else spoke: Taka’s older sister. No one protested her lack of respect in cutting across the Wise One. When Hina spoke, people listened. Her voice was quiet, but so clear that everyone heard her words.
‘The time of the north-departing kua is near.’
What she said made no sense. The kua had already left their shores and wouldn’t return until spring. But people always respected what she said, even though her meaning was often obscure. There was an uneasy silence.
Taka looked sideways at his sister. Hina was seated not far from him, squatting on her haunches like everyone else. Shy and retiring, she preferred to meld into the background when she could be sitting up there with the Wise One. She bowed her head so that her shoulder-length black hair swung forward to shield her small face and the unseeing eyes beneath their closed lids. His heart went out to her. He knew that, despite her calm poise, his sister would much prefer not to be the centre of attention. everyone knew the gods spoke through her. Her words were mind puzzles the Wise One could sometimes interpret. Hina herself seldom understood her utterances.
At last the Wise One spoke. Her words were brief. ‘I welcome the messages our daughter brings us from the gods.’
After a long pause, the old woman addressed Moho’s earlier question. ‘It’s too soon to know what changes lie ahead. The Council of Wise Ones needs time to understand any new seasonal patterns that may develop now the northern skies have cleared. As you know, we meet at the Choosing in the spring.’
Winter set in early, rainy and cold. On a rare fine day, Kai and Taka were sent off to scavenge for storm-gifted driftwood to replenish Ra-Repo’s dwindling fuel supplies. Taka welcomed the excuse to run off some of his energy after weeks of being confined inside. They had not gone far when Something gleamed white against the rain-darkened sand further along the shore. He blinked to clear his vision, then stared again. He called out to his cousin, who was scratching up splintered fragments on the high-tide line — all that washed ashore nowadays. ‘Leave that. Tanga has exposed one of those layers of old tree remains.’
Before he finished speaking, he picked up speed, knowing that Kai would respond to the challenge. They raced side by side along the sand, Taka slowly edging ahead. As they came closer, he could see that recent high seas had chewed a large chunk out of the sand dunes. Just short of the newly excavated dune face, they both stopped, not needing to sound a word of caution.
The gleam was the bleached white of ancient bones.
Taka swallowed hard. ‘Wait. Maybe we should fetch the Wise One.’
But Kai was already moving closer. ‘They’re long dead. They can’t harm us.’
Taka detected the note of bravado. He was about to repeat his warning when his cousin spoke again, his relief unmistakable. ‘They’re too big to be human — they must be cow bones.’
Although neither of them had ever seen large animals, because most livestock had died out not long after the Dark, they were familiar with bone deposits like this one. They knew from the old stories that thousands of animals farmed before the Dark died when huge waves summoned by the wat
er-god rushed across the land, devouring all that lay in their path. Kai started prying the packed sand away from a bulbous thigh bone already projecting well out of the dune. Before he joined him, Taka said a silent prayer asking for Tanga’s protection.
They dug out several long thigh bones, the bone pitted and crumbling in places but still solid enough to use for carving. Unable to see any more bones that would be easy to extract, Taka moved further along the exposed face. He hadn’t gone far when a small bulge in the dune above him caught his attention. As he watched, a patch of drying sand sifted silently away, revealing a rounded dome. His heart missed a beat, then picked up speed. ‘Kai. Come here.’
Alerted by the urgency in his voice, his cousin joined him. They watched in silence as the sifting sand grew to a steady stream. Eventually most of the domed shape was exposed. Taka swallowed. It was a skull. Not a cow skull. A human skull. Taka could see where a large hole gaped in the curved, stitched plates of thin bone, just above projecting brows. The eye sockets seemed to be looking straight at him. Another sudden sift of sand. Another skull. This time, a fixed grimace of long teeth in clenched jaws, splintered cheekbones. Huaho’s stories of the chaos that accompanied the onset of the Dark rose unbidden in his head. Stories of desperate survivors fighting over already decaying animal carcases in the aftermath of the giant waves. Stories of fathers killing sons, brothers killing brothers, adults killing children as they competed for fragments of food in a god-ravaged landscape. It was too much. He turned and ran. The sound of footsteps close behind panicked him for a brief instance until he realized it was Kai.
They didn’t stop running until they had reached the homeward path. Taka slowed and stopped. He doubled over, hands braced on his knees, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Already ashamed of his instinctive reaction, he looked at Kai and gave him a shaky grin. ‘So much for not being scared.’
