by David Hair
‘Woohoo!’ hollered Riki behind him, but Mat kept his eyes fixed ahead, blazing a trail through the darkness, through the mists — and in!
All about them, the dome of shadow became riven with multiple seams of fiery scarlet, and shrivelled. Mat shouted and pointed as the Bath House appeared below. Before it was a swarm of tipua. The Ngati Maungatautari warriors responded with renewed paddling, scooping at the air as the waka nosed into a dive.
Kurangaituku threw out a huge call, and suddenly the air above beat with countless wings. Her children soared above in a wall of feathers and claws and beaks. It was impossible to even guess how many. She threw her hands dramatically forwards, and they dived through the shredding darkness.
The tipua only had eyes for the air above them now. Their leaders screamed orders, but they were staring upwards in awe as a massive wall of birds plummeted towards them like a tidal wave. Panic was written over every tiny goblin face. Worse, among the birds flew a waka full of warriors, diving towards them with the maniacally grinning Kurangaituku at the prow.
That snapped Parukau out of his sudden paralysis. ‘Cootface! No way!’ He strode back to the tipua ranks. He saw Stone, holding Hine’s tether. ‘Stay beside me!’ he shouted at the patupaiarehe. ‘Keep the girl safe!’ I’ve got plans for her. Then he turned to the tipua war-leaders. ‘Form up, form up! Get them into a line!’
The tipua milled, squalling. Sporadic fire opened up, at too long a range; ineffectual and, worse, the tipua musket men barely knew how to reload. Parukau swore in fury. But then the banshee wail of Kurangaituku filled the air, and Parukau saw a wave of darkness swell above his ranks of tipua. Birds, shrieking down on them. By sheer weight and momentum alone, the birds were going to rip through his goblins. Many of the birds were swooping over the top — straight at him.
He took one look at Donna Kyle’s white face to know this wasn’t her doing, either. Stone and Rose looked at him blankly, and Hine Horatai’s face was disbelieving.
The old disciplines of leadership rose inside him. He rapped out his orders furiously. ‘Stone, stay with me! Keep the girl close. Rose, keep hold of Donna Kyle. If she runs, rip out her heart!’ I might need hostages. ‘Asher!’ he shouted. ‘Asher, hear me!’
Parukau.
‘I’ve got your daughter, Asher! I know you want her back — she’s yours, if you can help me! We’re under attack, right outside the Bath House.’
Are you? How unfortunate. What is your price?
‘I’ve no time for this! It’s Cootface and Wiremu and a bunch of warriors, and they’re going to dismantle us if you can’t help me!’
I see, purred Asher, seemingly unhurried. But there was a tension in his voice. Reach out for me, Parukau, with your mind …
There was about six seconds before the first birds struck: he had no choice. He reached out, like a fuse seeking a spark. His inner eye saw an outpouring arise from the phantom wing of the Bath House, a jagged emerald branch like slow-moving lightning, and he grasped it without thinking.
His eyes flashed verdant power, his chest filled to bursting. He felt like a god, yet also like a bug caught on an electric pad, as the full strength of Te Iho jolted into him, through him …
… and out of him, in a wave of fire that erupted into the sky above.
The waka glided in on the power of the Birdwitch, swooping low until its keel almost skimmed the turf. ‘Get us down,’ Wiri called anxiously in the witch’s ear. ‘If anything goes wrong, I want to drop two feet, not two hundred.’ He pushed his open palm down, signalling a slowing of the paddling.
Behind him, Manu muttered, ‘Why didn’t we fit this waka with landing gear?’
The birds swarmed past, obscuring the tipua ranks. Kurangaituku lifted her arms slightly, and the keel carved the turf while the nose of the waka lifted, and gently slid into a skidding, twisting landing. The men inside it cowered beneath the rim of the waka, in case the canoe flipped. It didn’t. The Birdwitch kept the waka steady until it halted some hundred metres from the tipua, and tipped lightly to one side.
The warriors whooped, and weapons clattered as they leapt from the canoe hull. ‘Form up!’ Wiri shouted. Above, the vast cloud of birds dropped, and Wiri tried to anticipate the impact of this wall of flying bodies upon the tipua. They’re going to rip the goblins apart … He almost felt sorry for them.
Suddenly, from behind the tipua, flame washed in a burst of molten light. It carved through the birds as if through paper, and in that single instant they ceased to exist. The cries of the swooping avians were extinguished in a concussive roar of heat. Wiri heard Kurangaituku scream and saw her fall to her knees, her arms raised in despair as every death among her children tore through her senses. The warriors staggered to a halt, as they lost all vision in a falling cloud of smoke, burnt feathers and falling bodies.
Great Tane, what was that?
Mat and Riki dropped beneath the flow of birds, and found themselves only a few metres above the waka. They hit the ground running, and staggered to a halt. A second later, the air above them exploded in fire.
Mat threw himself down, Riki beside him, as heat swept over them and the air was suddenly a whirlwind of searing, unbreathable smoke. He buried his head in his arms, sucking oxygen from ground level in gasps. Burning winds whipped at them, and his lungs felt like the inside of an oven.
For long seconds, he could see nothing but the smoke and ash, and there was nothing to breathe. Then the hot air swirled away, and cool air whooshed about him.
Before them, unseen, the tipua howled triumphantly, while the desolate cry of the Birdwitch wailed amidst the ash and spiralling feathers.
The Ngati Maungatautari scrambled to their feet, sucking in a sweet flow of oxygen, grabbing at their weapons. All were armed with muskets as well as their traditional Maori weaponry. The air ripped open the smoke clouds, revealing the enemy shockingly close. Wiri peered forward. If that happens again, we’re toast. We gotta hit them fast.
‘Close formation, boys! We volley at fifty metres!’ Wiri raised a hand and signalled the advance. I can’t let them dwell on that firestorm. We’ve got to get among the enemy before whatever makutu did it gives us a repeat dose.
Wiri saw Mat and Riki scramble to their feet and join them, and breathed a sigh of relief. They trotted past Kurangaituku, who was on her knees, a broken figure.
Tu Hollis ran behind him, fiddling with the lock of his musket. In front of them the tipua waited in thick, layered ranks. Wiri glanced at Manu. He had never seen such a thing before: a tipua defensive line. Tipua did not crouch in lines — they boiled forward in berserk assaults, screaming and frothing at the mouth.
This is all wrong.
He peered through the gloom, trying to see what was going on. The shadowy massed ranks were only silhouettes, and if he didn’t know better, he would have said they had—
He spun. ‘Fan out! Fan out! They’ve got guns!’
Mat heard Wiri’s call about the guns, and saw them, too. Rank upon rank of gun barrels fell into line, right down the tipua lines. The rational part of him began to calculate: Maybe half the goblins have guns — we could lose half our men in one go, and then they’ll roll over the top of us. And what if that firestorm happens again?
The Ngati Maungatautari were trotting forwards, and he kept pace, caught up in the flow, but his mind was desperately looking for something he could do, some ‘magic bullet’ to prevent carnage. God knows how many guns, and only forty targets … What are the odds? The Fire-Nail barely flickered in his palm, all but drained from breaking into this place. Could he make it ready in time?
‘Drop and take aim!’ Manu shouted, and the Ngati Maungatautari fell to one knee. But already the tipua were aiming. It was too late — they were still too bunched, impossible to miss even for untrained goblins.
I’ve got to do something …
Only one thing sprang to mind. He dropped his taiaha and lifted both hands, shouting as he summoned and sent the only thing he could think
of towards the array of glinting metal gun barrels.
Electricity, just like Cassandra had showed him, but more than he had ever attempted before. To fail would mean disaster …
He nailed it perfectly.
White sparks blazed, forked spasmodically, and leapt towards the tipua guns. A frightened howl erupted from the goblins as lightning danced among them. Virtually every gun fired as trigger fingers convulsed at the sudden pain stabbing through the hands of their wielders. But the shock of the electricity had ruined all aim. Instead of a level volley into the ranks of Maori warriors, there was only an erratic burst of fire. Lead balls whined through the air, but only a handful of men shouted in pain, and none went down. Mat swayed as the effort hit him. Then Riki dragged him flat as Manu shouted. ‘Ngati Maungatautari, fire!’
Forty guns barked in unison, and the front rank of the goblins was blasted apart. The whole body of the enemy staggered backwards, howling and thrown into confusion. It was as if a giant machete had scythed through them as they stood.
Manu lifted his hand, assessing, then grinned viciously. ‘Reload! Let’s give ’em another lick!’
It made sense. The tipua had been thrown into chaos, and were incapable of charging. Mat looked past the goblins, searching in the shadows for greater threats. On the steps lurked taller figures, and something that glowed green like a classroom chemistry experiment. He pointed them out to Riki. ‘We’ve got to stop that fire from happening again!’
Riki nodded. ‘Right with you, bro.’
They ran three steps towards the enemy, spreading their arms and letting the feather cloaks pin their arms again, shouting through the tingling pain, and then they were soaring into the air and over the tipua.
Parukau backed away as his goblin war-party disintegrated into chaos. The current of power that had jolted through him receded, releasing his limbs. He could still feel how good it had been to unleash that energy and release such destructive power. Had even Puarata done such a thing?
‘I need more, old man!’
Asher’s mental voice, when it came back, was shaky. Wait … you must wait … You’ve exhausted me. I can’t channel more, not immediately …
‘DAMMIT, GIVE ME MORE!’
Wait! The source is infinite, but I am not.
‘How long?’
Not long … half a minute.
Half a minute. ‘HOLD THE LINE!’ he screamed at his captains. ‘HOLD THE LINE!’
His heart pounded as two man-size shapes leapt into the air, and soared high above.
No! No-one must get inside before me!
A second volley crashed through the tipua, and the goblin lines burst apart. Suddenly the line of warriors was terrifyingly close. He leapt down the stairs, desperate now to rally this remnant that protected him, to buy some last precious seconds.
‘Attack! Attack!’ He menaced the tipua with the traces of green fire that still played about his fist. They responded fearfully, staggering forward towards the enemy guns with little conviction, caught between two terrors. ‘We have the numbers!’ he implored. ‘Attack!’ They streamed away from him, those that could still move, or would. Many fled. He had to resist blasting at them — he had to harbour the rekindling energy. Damn this!
Instead he spun and gestured at Rose, who hovered behind Donna Kyle, licking her neck. ‘Bring her!’ He turned to Stone, waiting at his side with his broadsword in one hand and Hine Horatai in his other. ‘Follow!’ he commanded the patupaiarehe, and sprinted towards the Bath House, his eyes searching the night sky above for those two fliers.
Wiri spun his taiaha as the warriors beside him drew into a loose skirmish line. From out of the carnage before them staggered a wave of tipua, howling in fury. He saw Manu thrust his smoking pistol into his belt and draw a sabre — Manu had preferred European weaponry for decades — but most of the warriors pulled a patu or mere from their belts, or lifted long taiaha from the ground beside them. They had been lucky, virtually untouched thanks to Mat’s burst of electricity. But they were still outnumbered. There had to be close to sixty tipua swarming towards them over the bodies of their fallen comrades, howling for revenge.
Momentum is the key in close combat. Years of war had taught Wiri this. The man going backwards loses his footing, has one eye behind him, and is already defeated mentally. Size and power can only be used off the front foot. ‘Maungatautari, advance!’
Manu gently wove a pattern in the air with his blade. He had a wide smile on his face. ‘Don’ s’pose we have time for a haka?’ he remarked laconically. About them, the Ngati Maungatautari war-party rose and broke into a slow run, as the enemy boiled closer.
Wiri bared his teeth. ‘Charge!’
The Bath House
Friday night
Rose’s hand clamped on Donna’s forearm like steel, and her eyes held no more intelligence than a child. Strange to think she had pitied the girl, but the sharp teeth that had teased her throat offered no release except death. ‘When will he let me drink?’ Rose fretted. ‘I’m thirsty.’
All semblance of control and order was gone. There was only chaos now. The firestorm — how? And now Kurangaituku — how had the Birdwitch enlisted such aid? What had she promised them? How had she corrupted Wiri and his allies? Or had she?
She cursed the sigil on her brow. With it there, she was helpless; a loser no matter how this turned out. Only years of pitiless training under Puarata kept her upright. She harboured her remaining strength. There would be a chance, she had to believe that.
Rose hauled her up the stairs to the wide double doors of the Bath House. Beside them, Stone guarded Hine, sword in hand. Hine’s face wore a look of sullen anger — and readiness to act. The girl was a gang moll, Donna recalled. She had to be tough. Self-preservation would force her to resist. She tried to meet the girl’s eyes, to establish some kind of rapport. ‘Hine,’ she whispered. ‘Be ready. Follow my lead—’
‘Quiet!’ Rose casually slapped her, a wafting blow that almost shattered her jaw. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she reeled, but the patupaiarehe’s hand kept her upright. ‘No words, Mistress. We have a new master now, and he will let me eat you soon.’ She smiled dreamily at the thought.
Her eyes watered and her cheek stung. She blinked, seeing Parukau at the foot of the stairs, staring out over the battlefield. ‘Asher — now!’ Parukau called.
Father is aiding him … Something else died inside her.
She sucked in a breath as two figures dropped out of the skies and landed before Parukau. Matiu Douglas and Riki Waitoa, wearing cloaks of the Birdwitch. They looked incredibly young, and, in that instant, vulnerable and noble and foolish and beautiful.
Parukau cried aloud, and raised his fist to strike again. The air about him boiled with emerald fire.
Parukau reached the steps of the Bath House; Stone and Rose hauling the prisoners on ahead. He turned as a whir of wings reached his ears. Spinning, he saw two shapes swooping from the skies towards him. A skinny youth with a taiaha, and Matiu Douglas. He snarled in fury. You again! He gathered the emerald current from the hospital wing as it forked towards him again, feeling its power about to peak. He raised his fist.
‘Stop!’ Matiu Douglas called.
‘Asher — now!’ Beyond the boy the goblins and the Maori warriors fought, and the wails of the tipua told him that they were folding. He had minutes at most. But one burst, aimed at ground level, would be all he needed. Men and tipua, they would perish together.
He pointed his burning hand at the boy to let the flames surge. ‘Burn!’
‘No!’ The young Adept threw up his hands, and suddenly they were fighting, mind to mind.
Fire! The gift of Mahuika to the world. He held it in his hand, that tiny fingernail. He felt it stir to life again, and begin to slide up his forefinger. It gripped and seemed to root itself into the puckered open wound at the top of the finger. It hurt, like tipping antiseptic on a cut, but it rooted into his fingertip like a normal nail, only blackened and
full of menace. He lifted it, felt its power swell. Maybe he could strike, just as the goblin had, and incinerate all before him: Parukau the goblin, Donna Kyle, the two patupaiarehe … Then he saw Hine Horatai among the enemy, held in Stone’s fist.
No, not her!
Instead of attacking with the fire, he reached out desperately with his mind, and threw it like a spanner into the machinery of destruction that was brewing inside Parukau. As he opened himself up to it, he saw the current of power flowing from the hospital, and realized that what he was doing was suicidal. He was making himself the circuit-breaker on a line of power that dwarfed any he had ever experienced. But it was too late.
The moment he locked horns with the goblin, a flash of recognition passed between them. Parukau! The centuries-old body-snatcher against a partly-trained youth. He knew within seconds that there could be only one result. He felt the force confronting him shift and solidify, felt the gleeful triumph of Parukau, heard taunting words as unseen hands wrapped around his throat. His vision swam, and the flames grew in the goblin’s hands.
‘Yes, boy, it is I,’ Parukau purred. ‘Say goodbye!’
The past couple of hours had been a nightmare, but Hine was waking now. She was dragging herself from a walking stupor of blood loss and fear. She was recovering from the array of shocks, from seeing the horror of death close up, and the nightmare creatures of this Ghost World. Part of her wanted to crawl away and hide, but she refused. I’m stronger than this! I can rise above this! And the need to see Tu Hollis drove her on, to face the world again, however crazy it had become.
For the past half-hour, she had thought only of how she might escape. When Mat Douglas appeared, she saw her opportunity. She could see he was fighting, somehow, some unseen struggle. His hands burned with the same flame as that in Parukau’s goblin hand, but it was purer somehow. She could almost sense what they were doing — and she realized that Mat was losing.
