by Joanna Orwin
When the youth frowned, Taka thought his cousin had overdone it. But the tension had lost its edge.
One of the others said, ‘Come on, Matu. You’re wasting your time.’
Their leader hesitated, then turned away. As they slouched off, he stopped to shout back: ‘Don’t go getting too clever, Repo scum! I’ll be watching you two.’
‘That was a close call.’ Kai watched them disappear down the pathway back to Ra-Hou.
‘I wanted to take him on.’ Taka pranced a few steps, throwing phantom punches. ‘Why did you stop me?’
‘He’s twice your size, and we were outnumbered.’ His cousin grinned at him. ‘Haven’t you drawn enough attention to yourself for one day?’
Reluctantly, Taka nodded, then punched his cousin’s arm hard enough to make him wince. ‘Why do you always have to be so sensible?’
Kai rubbed his arm. ‘You’d better watch out for that one — Matu. He’s a bit thick, but I don’t think fobbing him off will be so easy next time.’
‘Before the Dark, people used up all the earth gifts that gave them life. They paid no heed to the warning signs of an overstressed world.’ Old Huaho paused as more people drifted across the gathering place above Ra-Hou to join the crowd seated around him.
Taka was already there. Kai had refused to come with him, saying he’d better things to do than listen to stories he’d heard a million times before. When the newcomers settled, the storyteller continued his introduction. Taka waited expectantly as he recognized the words that led up to the most dramatic story of all — the onset of the Dark.
‘For decades, warfare raged across many of the lands.’ Huaho’s rich, compelling voice drew in his audience. ‘The victors seized earth gifts that belonged to those who couldn’t stand against them. The gods sent plagues that swept the lands and caused the crops to fail. Where people weren’t killed in warfare, they died of disease and starvation. Despite such calamities, the strong persisted in living the way they always had. They ignored the plight of the weak.’
Taka leant forward to make sure he didn’t miss a single word.
‘The earthquake-god Rua stirred, disturbed from his slumber by the turmoil among the people living on the land above him. When the ruckus continued unabated, he tossed and heaved in his efforts to get comfortable.’
The old man shuffled on his own haunches before reaching the part of the story Taka liked best. He told how the sacred mountains were woken by Rua’s restlessness and renewed their ancient quarrels. ‘The mountains stoked up the fires of discontent simmering deep in their bellies, then stalked each other across many of the lands bordering the Great Ocean, roaring their anger and spewing bile. Mahui the fire-goddess took advantage of their discontent, her strength growing with every skirmish.’
To the south, in Aotea, where their own ancestors had lived, Mahui’s fire burst from the mouths of the central mountains to form towering pillars of smoke and ash that reached far into the heavens. These sacred mountains heaved in spasms of steaming mud slurry that flowed faster than any man could run. As the battle escalated from insult to action, the wounds pierced in their sides spurted in thick torrents of heated blood that scalded the land and smothered everything in their path. On the western coast, an exploding mountain hurled super-heated boulders at its enemies in the centre, enormous boulders that bounded down the mountainsides, excavating burning craters each time they landed. This mountain’s foul breath mixed with the contents of its stomach, then surged down its flanks, the fiery clouds killing all who encountered them.
Now, Huaho included a detail Taka hadn’t heard before. ‘Far away from Aotea, far away from this northern tip of our ancestral land, duelling island mountains gave birth to chains of turbulent offspring that shouldered their way up through the boiling sea, bawling in protest at their violent expulsion from the womb.’
His curiosity stirred, Taka couldn’t resist interjecting. ‘Where are these island mountains?’
The crowd shifted restlessly, not liking the interruption, and the elder looked hard at him before answering. ‘They lie to the north-west of us, somewhere in the Great Ocean.’
Taka ignored the man beside him prodding an insistent, hard finger into his ribs. ‘Has anyone been there? What are these islands like?’
Huaho sighed. ‘No one knows — we no longer have any way of crossing the Great Ocean.’
This time, his look quelled any further questions and Taka subsided.
‘Now, where was I?’ Huaho asked, but continued before anyone could prompt him. ‘The battles between the mountains, that’s right.’ He thought for a moment, then went on. ‘Those battles raged over many weeks, many months — years even in some places. Billowing ash clouds blanked out the sky, then spread across the heavens on the wings of the winds. The air grew heavy with the stench of the mountains’ breath. The sun, the moon and the stars all hid their faces. Daylight gave way to darkness, and night ruled the world.’
Taka forgot his remaining questions about the mysterious islands as the story approached its familiar climax. Huaho paused again until he was sure he had everyone’s attention. He gave Taka a particularly searching look. But the boy waited, scarcely daring to breathe, for the old man to continue.
Huaho’s voice deepened. ‘In Aotea, in our ancestral land, the god Rua was fully woken by the rampaging warrior mountains and the heat generated by the fire-goddess. As he struggled to emerge from the bowels of the earth, he ripped the land apart with his mighty hands. People and settlements were swallowed up by chasms that split open, then closed again. The survivors fled along the narrow tract of sand dunes that extended north, here to where the land ends at the Great Ocean. They passed first Hou, lying above us, then Tepaki, both mountains now sacred to us. But as the survivors fled, many more died.’
Not only had the earthquake-god Rua woken. The water-god Tanga became annoyed by his old enemy the fire-goddess encouraging the warrior mountains. He inhaled and drew all the surrounding seas into his belly. Then he exhaled and sent giant waves to sweep across the Great Ocean, intending to extinguish Mahui’s fires. The giant waves roared onto every shore.
‘Here, where we now live, they overwhelmed the people gathered below Tepaki at the end of the land. They swept away those still travelling through the sand dunes. They swept away those who had lingered further south.’ Huaho looked around his intent audience. ‘Three times, Tanga sent his giant waves. Only those few northern people who found refuge high on the slopes of Tepaki and Hou survived.’
Although Tanga’s waves put out Mahui’s fires and the mountains slowly subsided, their rage reduced to occasional grumblings, the old world was destroyed. A wide chasm now separated the mainland of Aotea from the narrow, low-lying isthmus that extended north wards. Tanga’s retreating waves filled this chasm to form a permanent sea as a reminder to Mahui and the warrior mountains that the water-god had defeated them.
Taka listened as the storyteller described how the survivors descended from their refuges on Tepaki and Hou, then picked their way across the shattered landscape, searching for lost family and friends, searching for anyone who had survived. When they reached the southern shore, they gazed across the sulphur-yellow, pumice-littered sea that now separated them from Aotea. They could see nothing familiar.
A brave few ventured across the new sea, but returned empty-handed. What remained was no longer recognizable. For some distance inland, the low-lying areas behind a devastated shoreline were smothered in salt-laden mud interspersed with shallow stretches of stinking water. The slopes and valleys beyond lay lifeless and without colour, blanketed in grey ash, dun mudflows and still-steaming black lava. In the distance, sullen mountains exhaled dark plumes of ash, smoke and steam.
‘Those brave few came across impenetrable heaps of torn tree trunks mixed with shattered slabs of masonry, splintered timbers and twisted metal. Even worse, they encountered thousands of rotting corpses tangled among the debris, torsos and limbs torn asunder by the force of Tanga’s
vengeful waves.’ Huaho’s voice was heavy with ancient grief. ‘The searchers gave up, knowing no one else had survived. No other life remained.’
He went on, his words slow now, close to finishing the story. ‘The survivors camped in the shelter of Tepaki and Hou and waited for rescuers. No one came. Even though sky-talkers still stood on the summits of our sacred mountains, they remained inert. They understood, then, that the devastation had affected all the lands surrounding the Great Ocean.’
Huaho looked around his audience, his gaze lingering on Taka until he shifted uneasily. ‘Worse was to come. Dark was the sky and black the cold earth, but even darker, even colder, grew the hearts of men. Each small group of survivors turned against all others. They fought, against each other and among themselves, for what little food they could find. Evil flourished as all traces of humanity and decency fled in the face of the most elemental struggle of all — the struggle to stay alive.’
When Huaho reached this part of the story, Taka’s stomach muscles clenched. He suddenly felt sick. An image of what he and Kai had found in the autumn formed behind his eyes. Like the bones, the story was suddenly too real.
Huaho again paused. ‘Only the strongest and the most ruthless prevailed. Anarchy and chaos persisted until the birth of the first child. It was only then that the few who retained some vestige of humanity were able to persuade the others that the nurture and survival of the next generation were more important that the ascendancy of a few individuals. Most influential among those persuaders was the woman Raranga — she who became our revered first Wise One. It was only then that the survivors were convinced the best way to secure their future was by co-operating.’
For the first time, Taka listened intently as Huaho emphasized the moral of his story. The old man’s voice was sombre. ‘We must never forget that it was our own ancestors who resorted to such violence. We must never forget that those demon traits still lurk within each and every one of us, eager for release. That is the reason we do our best to live co-operatively and in harmony.’ Then he added Something Taka had not heard him say before. ‘Despite all our efforts, these food shortages suggest we’re again reaching a crisis point. Now more than ever, we need to act together.’
Although he didn’t directly mention the changes taking place here at Ra-Hou, Taka thought this was a veiled reference to them. Huaho reached the statement that completed his more traditional stories. ‘Although the people who lived in Aotea before the Dark recognized the signs that warned of imbalance, they did nothing but talk about changing their ways.’ He paused. When he spoke again, he gave each word solemn emphasis. ‘That is why we must heed what the gods are telling us. To ignore their portents now might once more bring peril upon us.’
As the cousins made their way to the gathering place the following morning for dance practice, Taka told Kai how vividly the storyteller had recreated the devastation of that time. ‘Huaho certainly knows how to hook an audience. Gave me nightmares this time.’
His cousin was unimpressed. ‘I don’t know why you insist on listening to those stories. I can never get past the reason they’re told.’
When Taka looked at him blankly, Kai raised one eyebrow. ‘Do I have to spell it out? They tell those stories to remind us that we’ll be destroyed in the same way if we don’t take care.’
‘Well, yes — I do know that. Huaho always makes much of telling us.’ Taka spoke impatiently. ‘So?’
‘Horror stories, meant to soften us up.’ Kai frowned as he clarified his thoughts. Then he spaced his words, his voice emphatic. ‘They make people think it’s all right, getting rid of babies. Would anyone accept doing that so easily if they didn’t believe the gods could punish them?’
Taka’s voice rose. ‘You can’t deny those stories are real — that’s exactly what happened.’ But Kai had echoed the very qualms he’d expressed to Moho. He added lamely, ‘We have to make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
Kai’s face darkened. ‘I’m not denying that. Of course I’m not. But why do we need all these threats about the gods?’
Taka blinked. What was Kai implying? That he didn’t believe the gods had direct influence over their lives? Even pragmatic Moho accepted without question that Tanga’s protection was essential to their survival. These ideas Kai was expressing went far beyond impatience with empty ritual. He risked the anger of the gods.
Kai was still speaking. ‘Don’t you see? All that stuff makes people act without thinking things through. They behave like children. Look at those Hou people, praying to the sky-talkers again.’
Taka sought for Something sensible to say. He couldn’t stop himself making the demon-averting gesture.
Kai laughed abruptly. ‘You should see your face! Anyone would think you’re expecting a demon to seize me at any moment.’
‘Don’t mock,’ said Taka quietly.
‘Come on — you know better than to take me seriously.’ Kai had the grace to look contrite. ‘It’s just that I don’t Understand why people can’t simply be trusted to make the hard decisions.’
Taka nodded reluctant acceptance. That was difficult to argue with. He walked on slowly beside his cousin as they started the short climb up to the gathering ground. They hadn’t gone much further when Kai stopped and turned to face him. He gesticulated with a closed fist, his eyes sparking with what a startled Taka thought was anger. ‘What about the Choosing? Doesn’t it bother you, the way they gloss over sending the Travellers off? How come no one admits they’re really sacrifices to Tanga?’
‘Sacrifices? That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’ Taka shook his head. ‘Travellers are selfless heroes who agree to leave here, give up their rights to have children so we can keep our numbers down. everyone honours them for that.’
‘Heroes? Honour? That’s just what I’m talking about. You’ve been sucked in.’ Kai’s anger was obvious now. ‘None of the Travellers ever returns from Aotea. They’re not meant to. They go to their deaths — but no one ever spells that out.’
‘They don’t necessarily die.’ Taka spoke sturdily. He did not want to be having this conversation, any of it, but it went a long way to explaining why his cousin was showing little interest in the normal attractions of storytelling, flirting with girls and eating delicacies at the nightly feasts — all such pleasure after the deprivations of the long winter. If Kai believed even half of what he was saying, no wonder he’d grown more and more morose as the week of festivities sped by and the Choosing came closer. To his relief, Taka could now hear the other dancers coming up the slope behind them.
But Kai hadn’t finished. ‘Travellers go to their deaths.’ His voice was emphatic. ‘You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.’
Chapter 5
That evening, soon after the feasting had finished and the crowds were moving away from the tables, leaving the Hou women to pack away the remaining food, a disturbance erupted. A curious Taka glimpsed a man being hustled away by two of Ra-Hou’s elders. Later, when everyone gathered again to enjoy the evening’s entertainment, they learnt what had happened. The Hou talking stick had been placed on the ground to signal that there would be some discussions before the Ra-Repo dance troupe performed.
As soon as the people took their seats, a mortified Ra-Hou headman rose to speak. ‘One of our kinship group was caught stealing food. He now stands before you to explain his actions.’
The elders thrust the man forward. He stood there, a young man, his eyes bright with defiance. At the headman’s prompting, he spoke. He showed no contrition, his voice strong. ‘Yes, my friends, I took preserved food that will keep through next winter. It galls me that we stash away food for these feasts while my children go hungry. Why should we be expected to let our own starve so we can appear generous hosts? What I took is owed my children. I’ll not see them hungry again.’
Taka’s own headman, Puweto, took him to task. ‘We all went hungry. We all contributed to the feast food. Putting food aside to share at our gatherings is how we re
mind ourselves that generosity and co-operation are life-enhancing.’
The young man shook his head. ‘In times of hunger we should look after our own.’
All around him, Taka could hear low murmurs of agreement. When the Hou headman asked what punishment the young man should receive, there was a long silence. Eventually one of the Hara women took the talking stick to give her opinion. ‘Not many of us would argue with this desire to look after your own. What this young man has done is wrong, but I cannot find it in my heart to punish him. Perhaps he has a point and we should change our ways when times are hard.’
Again, there were murmurs of agreement. The Hou headman bowed his head. ‘I hear you.’ But when he turned to the young man, his tone was firm. ‘During the months to come, you will indeed look after your own. Nor will you participate in the communal food distribution in autumn. Maybe you will learn that sharing has advantages. Only by sharing can we even out the success and failures of individual efforts.’
The crowd shifted uneasily. When people started to speak up, voicing reluctant approval, the young man nodded slowly. ‘This seems fair. Let it be so.’
As the dance troupe assembled, Taka’s thoughts kept returning to what Huaho had said about reaching a crisis point. Was this young man’s behaviour the first sign that people would stop co-operating if the seasonal harvests continued to dwindle? He shrugged such an unwelcome thought aside. This was more Kai’s territory than his. Besides, everyone had agreed the young man’s punishment seemed apt, and he’d accepted it. That should be an end to it.
The other dancers were already in place as Taka dutifully took his place in the back line. He tried to hide his chagrin, determined to perform his best, but his resolve quickly wavered. The less experienced youths on either side of him showed no flair, being satisfied merely with achieving the necessary timing and rhythm of each dance. What was the point in performing his best when no one could see him, dancing back here with novices? He might just as well be going through the motions. Moho knew him only too well — there could be no worse punishment than this. As each dance came to its end, he listened to the applause from the appreciative crowd, applause he knew could have been for him. His one chance to stand out in front of all the swampland peoples. He tried to convince himself that his virtuoso display at the landing place had been worth it. It was becoming increasingly difficult.
