by David Hair
Kelly met Wiri’s eye one last time, and then they were gone, into the trees, going to war.
She looked at Spriggs, who came and sat beside her, cradling his broken arm. ‘Being left behind sucks.’
Spriggs exhaled heavily. ‘Yes, Miss Kelly, it does indeed, ahem …“suck”,’ he acknowledged. He peered down at the baby. ‘You have a fine young son. What will you call him?’
Kelly looked down at the sleeping bundle. ‘We don’t know yet. We haven’t even had time to discuss it.’ She felt tears well up. ‘We’ll talk about it if … when … if …’ A tear rolled down one cheek.
‘When!’ said Spriggs firmly. ‘When Wiri returns, victorious as always.’
‘He’s not immortal any more,’ whispered Kelly. ‘He thinks he is, but he’s not.’
‘But he is a warrior like no other. And Mat is resourceful, and the match of these warlocks. Tu Hollis will move mountains to rescue his Hinemoa. Kurangaituku is fighting for her very soul, and she will look out for Riki too, I fancy. These are powerful things they each bring to the fray.’ Spriggs sighed, and patted Kelly’s hand. ‘They’ll be back, old girl. You’ll see.’
The exhilaration of the decision to pursue and fight lasted around ten minutes. That was all the time it took to steal through the gateway into Aotearoa, and creep through the bush to the clearing on the south side.
It was empty. Donna and her allies were gone. They all watched Manu and Wiri examining the grass about the pool, now trampled in a column leading right to the edge, as if a herd of beasts had vanished into the waters.
Mat glanced at Tu Hollis, whose face was clouding over in despair.
Kurangaituku put a hand on his arm, leading him to join Wiri and Manu. ‘My children watched from the trees,’ Kurangaituku told them. ‘They saw Kyle drip Hine Horatai’s blood into the water.’
Mat closed his eyes wearily. ‘Ngatoro told me that if we couldn’t regain Hine, then we would be able to get in with primal fire.’ He went to the pool and experimentally immersed the Nail, praying it wouldn’t wink out. The water sizzled, and a cloud of steam rose, but nothing else. He pulled the Nail out slowly — it still burned as bright as ever. But nothing else happened.
‘I don’t think there is a gate here any more,’ he told Wiri. ‘We’ve lost the race.’
The Information Age
Friday night
Mat sat on a boulder beside the lake, in the real world. Gavin, the launch engineer, had taken Spriggs and Kelly to hospital in Rotorua. They seemed to be the only ones going anywhere. He sulked morosely. It had seemed so right, and now they were stonewalled. His fingers were throbbing, and the bandages were scratchy. He stared across the water at Rotorua, and phoned Cassandra, using the cellphone awkwardly with his wrapped fingers.
She responded immediately. ‘Mat? Hi!’
‘Hi! Where are you?’
‘Taupo hospital. Jones is okay. We’re with him, your mum and me.’
‘Mum’s there?’
‘Yeah. She was with me when we found him. He’s getting the best attention possible, Mat. Widow Calder found him,’ Cassandra went on. ‘He had a defence mechanism, totally organic, that dragged him away into some kind of niche in time and space.’
‘What?’
‘You know how Jones can alter Aotearoa sometimes, so that places change? He used that to have the ivy he cleared reappear and take him into a different part of Aotearoa — same place but different period, kind of. The principle seems to be that if you’re unaware of that memory, you can’t get there.’
Mat had seen Jones cause Wairoa-Aotearoa to alter to his whim, but had never really thought about it — it had been just another minor miracle on that day when bigger things had happened. He found himself nodding as Cassandra spoke. It was good to have something else to focus on, to lift him above the heartsickness that had descended when they had found that Donna had escaped them.
‘So, what’s happening there?’ Cassandra asked.
‘We’re screwed,’ he told her desultorily, while his mind picked over this question of memories of places.
‘What do you mean?’
He tried to keep the defeat from his voice, but couldn’t. ‘Cass, we’re mostly okay, but Donna Kyle has got into Te Iho.’ He rapidly filled her in on the state of play. ‘So basically, this Te Iho is the ultimate power, and it’s where Ngatoro is. Donna is going to own it, unless we can follow her, and it looks like she’s blocked the only gateway in. There is nothing we can do.’ Back in Aotearoa, the Ngati Maungatautari were alternately pacing or sitting, frustrated. Everyone was feeling low. He had left them to it, needing to talk to someone.
He heard Cassandra exhale, and could picture the way she would be frowning, her eyebrows almost touching, as they did when she confronted a puzzle.
‘Is Jones awake?’ he asked hopefully. Maybe he could give them guidance.
‘No, he’s unconscious. It’s not a coma and the doctors seem confident, but they say it’ll take time.’
He nodded. He tried to picture the scene in the hospital, but instead the image of Ngatoro and the other prisoners intruded. He wondered who that evil old man beside Ngatoro was, and at what he had seen through that window, the moonlit garden …
He flicked his eyes open. ‘Cass, have you got your laptop with you?’
‘Duh! Of course — it’s me!’
‘Sure. You’re surgically attached to your laptop.’ He frowned, trying to piece together his thoughts. ‘Well, there was this thing that happened tonight, when Riki and I were flying over Rotorua-Aotearoa.’
‘Flying?’
‘Yeah. I’ll explain later. Anyway, we were flying over Rotorua-Aotearoa, and I saw the whole place change all of a sudden. The big pa disappeared, and the Aotearoa village reverted to almost modern. Really weird.’
‘Yeah … and?’ She paused. ‘Hang on! Maybe it was like what Jones did to Wairoa-Aotearoa, or the ivy, but large-scale!’
‘Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking!’ He smiled wryly at being a step ahead of Cassandra for once. ‘It can’t be coincidence. I figure the change must have been when Donna Kyle entered Te Iho, near enough. It must have been that: her entering Te Iho.’ He nibbled on his lip as he put his ideas into order. ‘We know that Te Iho is a prison for Ngatoro and maybe others. It must physically exist somewhere! But somewhere that doesn’t normally appear, otherwise people would find it. Maybe even can’t appear unless someone is actually already inside Te Iho.’
‘Like Jones’s ivy! A place in Aotearoa that’s locked off except when it’s needed, and only then is it accessible.’ In the background he could hear her typing. ‘Go on, I’m getting your drift, Mat.’
‘Well, I dreamt a conversation with Ngatoro the other night, and in it I saw gardens: rose gardens, really big … Aren’t there some rose gardens by that museum place — you know, the one that’s in all the Rotorua postcards?’
‘The Bath House? Yeah, I’ve been there. Who hasn’t? It’s a museum, and there’s still big gardens. But it’s really famous, Mat. Surely it’s always present in Aotearoa?’
‘Yeah … but Ngatoro and other prisoners were on what looked like old-style hospital beds. Was there ever a hospital or something similar in the Bath House gardens?’
The typing sound that carried down the phone became frenzied. ‘Hang on,’ Cassandra whispered. ‘Ahh! The Bath House … it was built in 1908 … Mat! It was the first hospital in Rotorua! But they shut that part down in, um … 1966. The hospital wing has been demolished. Hang on, though — wasn’t Te Iho constructed well before 1908?’
Mat paused, but his mind made further connections. ‘Yeah, but listen! Ngatoro said that the others imprisoned with him were dead. He was oblivious to the other bodies. What if all the earliest prisoners started dying, so Puarata moved them to a hospital ward to keep them alive? But to conceal it, he chose a hospital ward that existed only in a certain space and time, then put protections around it so no-one could find it. Remember: each death of a priso
ner would have reduced the power he gained from them. A real-world hospital is traceable — but not one that is in a forgotten corner of Aotearoa. Especially if that period is overshadowed by more famous ones.’
Cassandra sucked in her breath. ‘That’s awfully tenuous, Mat,’ she breathed. ‘Too many ifs.’
‘Not impossible, though,’ he replied. ‘And get this: when we flew over, there was a dense, low cloud-bank right over the Bath House area. It’s still there — I can see it from here!’
‘Mmmm. Then maybe you’re right. The only way to check would be to go and look, while this 1960s incarnation of Rotorua-Aotearoa holds.’ She tsked in frustration. ‘I wish I was there.’
‘Sorry. But thanks for staying with Mum. And for helping just now. You’re a magician yourself, you know.’
‘Yeah, well, it was mostly you. Surprisingly smart for a boy, if you’re right.’
He felt himself smile. Cassandra never called anyone smart, because her own standards were so high and she didn’t believe in false praise. ‘Thanks for looking it all up.’
‘Donchya just love the Information Age?’ she laughed.
He smiled back down the phone. ‘Yeah. I owe you.’
She giggled. ‘Promises, promises.’ Her voice turned serious. ‘Good luck! And be careful — don’t get yourself killed.’
He felt mildly euphoric, despite this admonition. ‘I’ll be fine — Wiri’s here! Hey, gotta run, if we’re gonna be in time. See ya!’
‘Bye! Take care!’ Her voice was anxious. He suddenly wished he could hug her, and reassure her.
‘I will. See you soon.’ He thumbed off the phone painfully with his bandaged fingers, leapt to his feet, and shifted to Aotearoa. Heads turned as he appeared beside Hinemoa’s Pool. ‘Wiri! I’ve got an idea!’
Five minutes later, the Ngati Maungatautari were in their waka, paddling furiously as they tore through the water, and trying not to gape as the giant war-canoe rose into the air. Kurangaituku stood in the prow, her arms extended. The warriors paddled the air as if it was water, and somehow the paddles bit and propelled them forwards ever faster. The craft glided gracefully into the sky.
In the prow behind the Birdwitch, Wiri, Manu and Tu laid plans for the disposition of the warriors. Above them Mat and Riki soared, their winged cloaks spread, feeling the exhilaration of renewed purpose. Thousands of birds rose in their wake as they soared towards a dome of dark cloud that shrouded the night cityscape of Rotorua-Aotearoa.
Through the shadow-maze
Friday night
The firelight behind Donna failed to leave any impression on the shadow-walls about her, but at each intersection, the thin trail of floating blood led her deeper into the maze. She stared after it with forlorn eyes. The gun pressing into her back jabbed insistently, and the tipua snickered to see her brought low by their chieftain. They clearly didn’t realize that Kotukutuku was inhabited by Parukau. They openly brandished guns and taunted her and Hine.
On her forehead, Parukau had carved a sigil, a magical symbol, with his knife, and poured a spell into it. The pain of the cut had taken her breath away, and then abruptly she was shut off from her powers, as helpless as an ordinary woman. She knew the spell — she had used it on others — but that knowledge wouldn’t save her. She was at Parukau’s mercy, of which there would be none. She knew him by reputation, and there was too much at stake. Only one hope remained: her father. But she could no longer speak to him.
Parukau seemed exultant as he prodded her along beside Hine Horatai. The girl seemed lost in despair and wouldn’t meet her eye, but her knuckles were white, as if she concealed a seething fury. Or perhaps it was just blood loss. The girl’s blood trail wove through the air eerily as they went deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Parukau had to lash Stone and Rose more and more often. They had become increasingly rebellious, and when he had enquired of Stone, he found it was because Stone had sensed the death of the missing one, Heron. He had been slightly shocked himself to only take two heart-strings in his grasp when he took command from Donna. Doubts gnawed him — killing a patupaiarehe was no casual feat. Who had done it? Another war lock, lurking secretly? Wiremu and his allies? Even Matiu Douglas?
But we’re inside and the locks have been changed … I’m safe, I must be! My only enemies are here … or awaiting me at the heart of this maze. He licked his lips. Soon he would have to deal with Asher Grieve.
‘Are we close?’ he called mentally to the old wizard, wondering if he would hear.
He sensed Asher smile. Yes, Parukau. I sense you. You are very close. Now silence, I must gather my energies.
He nodded, exhilaration growing. He pushed Donna Kyle along before him. ‘I am in conversation with your father, Donna. Soon I will free him from Te Iho. And you will take his place there. He is not happy with his recalcitrant daughter, not at all.’
Her face was so bleak he almost thought that she would try to flee, just so that he would kill her. But she didn’t try anything. Yet.
Was it minutes or hours? Who could tell in this place? The girl Hine was losing blood slowly, and looked shaky. Donna staggered every few steps as Parukau drove her on. Then, abruptly, they were through the maze.
At last! Parukau could not contain himself from roaring in excitement. His cry of triumph was echoed by the tipua, as awe lit their faces. At last, they all beheld Te Iho.
Green light pulsed from the centre in time to a huge heartbeat, and the colour washed over their pale skin and shone in their eyes. Even Parukau was forced to stop and stare at this place he had helped create all those centuries ago, yet scarcely recognized now. Puarata had been busy.
From the inside of the shadow-maze, they appeared to be inside a dome of darkness, perhaps half a kilometre wide, and two hundred metres high in the centre. The gap between the ground and this ‘roof’ grew towards the centre, where a rocky floor opened out on, of all things, a neat and orderly rose garden. Set amongst the garden, miracle of miracles, was the quaint architecture of the Rotorua Bath House, with all of its wings. The Bath House: an iconic Rotorua building constructed between 1906 and 1908 as a spa, with black timbers framing whitewashed walls, and huge sloping roofs of terracotta tiling. In the real world it was a museum, but in Aotearoa it was still a health spa, with a fine restaurant on the ground floor.
But the Bath House had another, seldom seen, incarnation. Right now, because Te Iho had been opened, it was a hospital, and an additional wing had reappeared. From within, this wing pulsed with the same deep emerald light that washed over the gardens. The whole building seemed empty but for that lurid throbbing glow in the lost wing. Parukau stared. The place he remembered had been much more primitive. No wonder Puarata had so much power. I was lucky not to end up here too, being leeched for all eternity.
His eyes were inexorably drawn to the hospital wing, where the prisoners presumably lay. Where Asher Grieve waited, at the centre of the web. But was he fly or spider?
I will be the spider here, and I’ll eat him alive.
He raised his hand to order the advance, but the words died in his throat.
A roar of noise reverberated from high above, and the shadowy dome of cloud was shot through with scarlet like a sunset. Then a fiery hole was blasted through it, a hole in the sky that roared with a blast of wind. The tipua howled in disbelief and fear. As did he, when a waka flew through the jagged hole and swooped towards him, a thousand smaller shapes pouring behind it, shrieking in hatred.
Rotorua-Aotearoa opened up panoramically to Mat, the sparse street-lighting glistering beneath a diamond-studded sky. To his right, Riki was grinning with the sheer joy of flying, but Mat was already peering ahead. Before them, a dome of shadow cloaked the lakeside just east of the main city, the only blemish on an otherwise clear night. It was the shadow-maze, if he was right, visible because someone walked in Te Iho.
Mat’s arms grew steadily colder as they flew, fortunately numbing his fingertips, which still stung. His arms were not
built for flapping, but thankfully the feather cloak did most of the work; he just had to keep his arms spread. The air rushed by and the thrill of speed was exhilarating. He met Riki’s eyes and grinned.
‘Damian is going to be gutted at missing this!’ Riki crowed.
‘So’s Cass!’ Mat shouted back. Cassandra had parachuted; she would have loved this. He peered forwards at the mound of shadow. ‘Is it a complete dome or can we fly over it?’
‘Don’t think so. It curves over.’
I thought so. What would happen if he flew into it: disorientation and a messy landing? Or would they simply rip straight through it? I bet it’s the former, but I’ve got the Fire-Nail!
He swooped over the waka, shouting to Wiri: ‘I’m going to try it!’
Wiri raised a thumb in acknowledgement, then spoke in Kurangaituku’s ear. The Birdwitch tilted her head slowly towards Mat, her eyes flashing madly. Riki might vouch for her, but she looked demented right now, her arms spread, carrying the waka aloft by her powers alone. The Ngati Maungatautari warriors were singing a rowing song, the cadences rising and falling as they ploughed through the air, the wave of birds above blocking out the stars.
He pulled out the Nail, and thought about fire, remembering all Jones’s lessons, and pouring his waning energies into the flame. It began to flare and the bandages started to smoulder and burn away. He felt nothing, and his fingers suffered no harm.
He spread the cloak’s wings, his right fist before him, and plunged towards the shadow-maze, calling the others behind him. For a few seconds he thought he might splat on the surface of the dome like a bug on a windshield, but in the last seconds he realized that it was misty and indistinct, like clouds viewed from an aircraft window. ‘Mahuika!’ he shouted and the Fire-Nail burst into incandescent light, punching a hole in the shadow, a hole that kept growing and widening as he plummeted through.
