by Joanna Orwin
As they started setting ties out at regular intervals along the rows, Piko stopped them. ‘Wait. Maybe we should all work on the same row, make one bundle at a time.’
‘Good thinking.’ Kai nodded. ‘That might be more efficient than pairs working on individual rows.’
Kota homed in on the idea underlying such apparently practical suggestions. ‘One bundle, one team, working together.’
Taka knew the Roto youth was remembering the old man’s words. ‘We could take it in turns to fasten this first, central tie. Someone different for each bundle.’
‘Make a ceremony?’ Kota understood what he was saying. ‘It would seem fitting.’
‘Who gets to do this one then?’ Matu, his voice challenging.
Taka was going to suggest they draw straws, but Piko got in first. ‘We’re on Hara land. This first tie should be Matu’s.’
No one could argue with this logic. They gathered around the nearest row and watched while Matu crouched to slip the first flax tie under the centre of the heaped reeds. He formed a loop by threading one end through the split he made in the other, the way they’d been shown. Taka watched his stubby fingers work deftly if slowly, showing none of his usual clumsiness. Matu brought both ends together at the top of the loosely bundled reeds. He compressed the encased reeds as firmly and evenly as he could around the inner, flax-stalk skeleton, then pulled the loop tight, putting all his strength into tensioning the tie before he knotted it.
As Matu stood up, Kota started the words of the dedication to Tanga. The others joined in, one by one. Taka noticed that even Kai didn’t hesitate in saying the traditional prayer.
They quickly realized that, by alternating on each side of the row, they could fasten successive ties without getting in each other’s way. The Travellers worked outwards from the central tie, first towards one end of the row, then the other. As they transformed the entire shaggy heap into a neatly bound, firm bolster, weaving any loose ends of rau leaves into the stems as they tied off each loop, the Travellers found their rhythm. Even Matu was able to keep up, his strength in tightening the loops making up for his slowness in fastening the knots. Time passed without any further sign of tension, not even a joke at another’s expense. Although it took most of the morning to complete this first bundle, when they finished work for the day they lined three more up beside it. The only words spoken were those needed to get the work done.
They stood together to admire their workmanship. Taka flexed fingers and wrists that ached from the long day of concentrated effort. He was enjoying the effect of the evenly spaced, dark flax ties against the bleached fawn of the rau stems and leaves, when a quiet voice at his shoulder made him jump.
It was the old Hara moki expert. ‘Your work is good.’ Then his thready, ancient voice echoed Taka’s thoughts. ‘Such work has its own beauty.’
Just as Taka was nodding his agreement, the old man continued. ‘This is the beauty that comes only when care and pride in your workmanship serve a common purpose, not the glorification of an individual. Today, Tanga indeed guided your hands.’
The Travellers instinctively drew closer together. Taka’s weariness fell away. He stood tall with pride, surrounded by the others. The invisible barrier that had been keeping him separate from them had dissolved. They watched as the old man walked slowly the length of each bundle, stooping every now and then to test the tautness of a tie.
When he had completed his inspection, he offered only a useful hint. ‘Thin both ends of each bundle slightly, from this point where the reinforcing finishes. Do this also for when you make the longer keel bundle. Once you link all the bundles, it’ll make bending the prows upwards that much easier.’
He nodded at them all, then hobbled away, leaning heavily on his stick. Taka watched his shrunken figure disappear along the river bank to where a man waited for him with a moki. How long had the old man been observing them at work?
That evening, as the Travellers sat around their small fire, letting their tired muscles relax, they shared a quiet satisfaction in what they’d achieved. Taka was content, not bothered by the restlessness of spirit that so often made his thoughts rush ahead in anticipation of what might come next. It was Kai who asked Matu about the old man. ‘Who is he? I’ve never met anyone so impressive. Not even the Wise Ones.’
Matu hesitated, but could find nothing suspicious in Kai’s question. ‘Maunu? He’s Tarapu’s grandfather.’
Taka couldn’t hide his amazement. ‘Really? That must make him — what? A hundred or more?’
‘You casting doubt?’ Matu glowered.
‘Not at all.’ Taka waved him down. ‘I believe you. It’s just that makes him a whole generation older than my grandfather.’ Pare, whose age had fuddled his wits and rendered him fit only to sit by the fireside. He winced to think he’d been so quick to dismiss Maunu as being of the same ilk.
Matu was watching him. ‘Some say he’s Raranga’s son, born to her late in life here in the swampland.’ His look challenged Taka to show disbelief.
Taka drew in his breath. If Maunu was indeed the son of their famous ancestress, no wonder he had that special aura, the authority that needed no outward trappings.
‘Not that Maunu himself has ever claimed that,’ Matu added quietly.
Taka waited for him to boast that he, too, was descended from the original Wise One, seeing the headman was his uncle. But Matu looked at them all and shook his head slowly. ‘Maunu did us great honour today.’
By the end of the week, the Travellers were ready to link the completed bundles, using the stronger flax ropes that had been plaited by the Hara men. They aligned the bundles into two flat rafts. For each raft, they placed three bundles on either side of the longer one that would form the keel. As always, Maunu watched from a short distance away, a calm, reassuring presence. He joined them at the end of each day to inspect their work, making quiet suggestions in a gentle voice that not even Matu perceived as critical. The other experts seemed content to leave such supervision to the old man. Taka was convinced it was Maunu’s presence that helped them to work together in harmony. A harmony that only a week ago he would have sworn was impossible.
Now, they threaded the long flax ropes over and under the aligned bundles at one-metre intervals, then looped them back the other way, before hauling the ropes ever tighter until the two flat rafts rolled up into V shapes, the heavier, larger keel bundle forming the bottom of the V. Once Maunu was satisfied with the shape formed for each hull, they drew together the thinned bundle ends by passing a rope around the point where the reinforcing ended. Matu used all his strength to pull this rope tight. Taka thought irreverently that he looked as though he was strangling some arch enemy.
Maunu inspected the fastened-off ends, then judiciously thinned some more of the rau until the ends sloped progressively inwards towards the tip of the keel bundle. ‘Excellent. Now fix more ties just as tightly at short intervals. This will help seal the reeds.’
That done, again using Matu’s extra strength to achieve the necessary tension, Piko then shaved each tip of the two keels with his machete until they were smooth. Next they attached a rope to the projecting keel bundle, working first at the prow and then the stern end of each hull. They hauled on this rope, gradually forcing each keel end into a steep upward curve. When Maunu was satisfied they were achieving the right angle, he told them to hold the curve while Kota used his quick, nimble fingers to fix it in place with tensioned ties. They didn’t pause until they had shaped the ends of each keel bundle into prow and stern for both hulls, neatly weaving in any protruding stems and leaves as they fastened the ties.
At last, Maunu nodded. ‘That will do.’
The Travellers stood back to check their work, chests heaving with the hard physical effort.
Taka drew in his breath. Lying on the sand before them were two canoe-shaped, hollow hulls with elegantly curved prows and sterns, and gently swelling mid-sections. He’d been too close to the work before. Now, for the
first time, he could visualize the completed craft that would carry them over the Great Ocean.
Chapter 10
The completed moki hulls sat upright on a line of skids just above the high-tide line, dragged there with the help of some of the Hara men. It had taken the Travellers a further week to fill the initially hollow hulls with thinner bundles of rau, densely packing each layer and lashing it into place. At Maunu’s suggestion, they’d built up sloping bulwarks from each side of the prows to provide protection against breaking waves. The men now left them to add the finishing touches.
With all the reed work completed, they next built a sturdy platform of manu rods to link the two hulls, then added a smaller platform across the stern to support a strong H-shaped frame for the big steering oar. Then, with little discussion needed, they split up to work on the remaining tasks. Kota’s quick fingers fashioned loosely woven flax matting, which he stretched over both platforms to provide better footing. As the lightest among them, Taka and Kai scrambled over the flimsy framework of the small shelter attached to the central platform, building up layered thatch over matting to keep them and their supplies dry. Just forward of this shelter, Matu and Piko combined their strength and height to step two long booms, which they weighted at the base before fastening them so they would pivot freely. The Hara women had produced the finely woven, triangular sail they now gathered up in folds and lashed securely around the two booms.
After that, the Travellers could find nothing more to do. The ocean-going moki was complete. Expecting a sense of triumph, Taka instead felt hollow, emptied of the purpose that had kept him focused all these months. Now, the unknown future loomed. None of the others spoke, and he sensed that they, too, felt sudden foreboding.
In the late afternoon, they slowly packed up their tools for the last time, then set off one by one to return to their sleeping shelter on the outskirts of Hara. This would be their last night on land. It was now well into autumn and the great flocks of kua were ready to leave. At the top of the sand dunes, Taka and Kai stopped and turned to look back at the moki. The whole structure glowed in the light of the setting sun, the pale hulls a mellow gold against the crimson sky.
Taka let out his breath. ‘She’s beautiful.’
Kai nodded. ‘No doubt about that.’
Taka picked up on his abstracted tone. ‘But?’
‘But everything.’ Kai slowly pushed his hair behind his ears as he gathered his thoughts. ‘Everything about her is sheer guesswork. Nobody’s built an ocean-going moki before. The only real expertise we have is the actual hull construction, but we haven’t a clue whether those hulls will be strong enough. Or how long they’ll stay afloat.’
Taka frowned. Trust Kai to put a name to his uncertainties. ‘You’re forgetting Something. We have Tanga’s guidance. The water-god wouldn’t let us get it wrong.’
‘You really believe that?’ Kai sounded curious. ‘Tanga’s direct involvement, I mean.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Taka wasn’t going to let his cousin’s lack of faith unsettle him again. ‘Think about it. Everything’s gone so smoothly. What about finding those huge boards sticking out of the sand dunes after that last big storm? Enough flat timber for the steering oar and two full sets of paddles, just when we were wondering how we were going to make them. What more proof do you need?’
Kai shrugged. ‘You could put all that down to good luck and Maunu’s expert guidance.’
When Taka sighed, Kai added, ‘I’m not about to argue with you. We’ll know soon enough whether Tanga’s protecting us.’
Before dawn the next morning, the five Travellers stood facing the mist-shrouded river. Stripped to their loincloths, their hair unbound and lying loose on their shoulders, they waited for the sun with Hara’s Wise One and her assistant. As the morning light spread across the eastern sky, the rim of the rising sun flared its brilliance above the sand dunes and lit a shining path across the calm water. As its warmth grew, the wreaths of mist eddied, then lifted away. The Wise One started the ceremony that would send the Travellers on their way.
Taka listened to the familiar words, his thoughts returning to the Choosing ceremony on the sacred mountain of Hou four long months ago. Although these opening chants were the same, everything else seemed different. He wasn’t the same young man who had stood shivering on the mountain, not knowing whether he would become a Traveller. The months of physical work had broadened his shoulders and hardened his muscles. At the same time, his growing resolve had tempered his restlessness. He was proud of what they’d accomplished, proud that he hadn’t wavered during the long days of repetitive work. He could feel the moki’s presence beside them, waiting like the Travellers for the blessing and the tide that would carry them out to sea.
He was ready for whatever lay ahead, any earlier fear vanquished by his firm belief that they were in Tanga’s hands. Energy and anticipation were rising like sap in his body and mind. No matter that the Travellers had no idea where they would end up. They would follow the migrating kua towards the north and the westering sun. No matter that they had no idea what land they would find or who they might encounter there. Taka knew his own future would unfold as surely as the sun rose and set each day. He felt a fleeting stab of sorrow that Kai carried such a burden of doubt that he couldn’t bring himself to trust in the gods.
He bowed his head as the Wise One moved along the line of Travellers, sprinkling each of them with spring water she dipped from the wide bowl held by her assistant. After she passed him, he watched a calm patch on the river darken into tiny riffles, which scudded across the surface towards them where they stood on the shore. The streamers attached to the tops of the booms on the moki lifted in a brief fluttering dance, then the stirring air caressed his damp face and raised the hairs on the back of his neck. He shivered, recognizing the signs that Tanga himself was present.
Unfamiliar words now caught his full attention. The Wise One was reciting a chant he had not heard before, a chant that invoked Kahu the god of cultivated foods, Kahu the voyager, Kahu whose path they would follow across the Great Ocean:
Leaving the land
Leaving the people
Kahu going before
Following the kua’s flight
Seeking the kuma.
Riding Tanga’s waves
Long-reaching waves
Swelling waves
Rolling-to-the-horizon waves
Guided by the winged ones
Guided by the new-born stars
Carried on the wind
Steady wind
Gentle wind
South wind.
Leaving the land
Leaving the people
Kahu going before
Following the kua’s flight
Seeking the kuma.
Now it was the moki’s turn. Taka swivelled with the others until they faced her twin prows. She was, he thought, already straining to enter the water, her streamers dancing as the stirring air steadied into a breeze. He absorbed every line and curve of her, every change of colour and texture, and carefully stored each precious image in his mind. Every detail so familiar, yet the whole still new enough for him to draw in a sharp breath of wonder each time he saw her. Each time, he had to remind himself that the five of them, seemingly ordinary young men chosen as Travellers for this voyage, had built this amazing craft.
The old woman was asking the water-god to accept the moki as one of his own offspring, a new-born creature to be cradled by his waves and carried on his currents far across the Great Ocean. She sprinkled water on both prows where woven figureheads were now fastened, images of kua with folded wings, their long, curved beaks pointing the way ahead. Those beaks reminded Taka of the worn prow of that ancient canoe revealed to him and Kai all those months ago at Ra-Repo. He watched the flax fibre take up the water droplets, darkening like the flecked breast of the living bird. Maunu had chosen the bird as their emblem, saying it was the kua who would guide them, carrying the success of the voyage on their
wings.
And now the Wise One was calling the moki into full life. Raising both arms high, she turned towards the north. Her head flung back, her thin voice rising and falling like the song of the kua, she revealed for the first time the name chosen for this new-born. The moki was to be known as Kua-the-Seeker. Taka tasted each syllable with his tongue, heard each sound resonate in his head.
The solemnity of the dawn ceremony faded as the Travellers spent the rest of the day loading stores. Although some of the Hara people had been openly hostile about yet more incursions into their precious winter food supplies, already depleted by feeding the five extra mouths all summer and autumn, they brought the Travellers enough bundles of dried eel strips wrapped in kelp, strings of dried flounder, and sealed calabashes containing protein-rich cakes made from rau pollen to last them three weeks if they were careful. With the clusters of water-filled gourds, spare ropes, ties and paddles, one precious machete, their rolled sleeping mats, and a few rolls of fine woven work the elders thought would serve as useful gifts, these items took up more than half the space under the thatched shelter, the foodstuffs and gifts lashed to the roof poles, the rest fastened against the low walls. The only personal possessions the Travellers could take with them were restricted to a spare loincloth, a heavy rain cape and what they could carry in their waist pouches. Other than the usual small set of cutting tools, Taka’s pouch contained only the two packages he’d been given by his grandmother and Hina. Their wrappings were already softened by constant fingering, their shapes now familiar to him.
They would leave as the sun set, when the tide was full enough to take them out over the bar into the open sea. They would leave when the great flocks of kua gathered on the seaward beach at last took flight for the north.
