by M. D. Massey
She chuckled, and it was almost a growl. “You think I care about what your mother did to Maui? Or that he’s dead? I’d be thanking her for killing him, except for one small detail—one seemingly inconsequential fact that slipped your mother’s mind in the heat of her anger.”
The doors burst open, slamming against the front wall of the wharepuni, and Rohe shambled out of the darkness. She was wrapped in rags that had once been bright and colorful garments. Her hair was unkempt and crawling with lice and other vermin, and she clutched a short walking stick in one hand, leaning on it heavily as she moved. Although her form was bent and her stature hunched, I could tell that once, long ago, she’d possessed a shapely figure that must’ve turned heads for days.
Something’s very wrong here. Her arms were still trim and well-muscled, her skin still smooth and unblemished where it was exposed through the holes and tears in her clothing. Her hips were full and curved, and her breasts high and firm, at least from what I could tell under those tatters of cloth. But her face—
Maui must’ve been one ugly bastard, because Rohe’s features weren’t just hideous; they were impossible. The structure of her face was like an Escher done in flesh, with lines and curves and mismatched perspectives that caused an irrepressible revulsion on seeing the sum of its parts. What should have been straight was twisted. What should have been symmetrical was imbalanced, and what should have been fine was rough and misshapen.
I was certain that a mortal would have gone mad at the sight of Rohe’s unfortunate-looking mug, and I myself nearly retched reflexively. However, demigods are made of sterner stuff, so I managed to maintain my composure a moment before looking away.
“Look at me! Look at what your mother has done! Can you retrieve something that has rotted away, been eaten by worms, and returned to the earth? No, you cannot. And so, I’ll forever be cursed to bear my late husband’s repulsive, monstrous face. All because the Great Woman of Night couldn’t see fit to show mercy—not to him, but for the one whose beauty he stole. Because of her, what was mine is lost forever!”
I forced myself to look back again, swallowing bile as I locked eyes with poor, unfortunate Rohe. I pitied her then, although I knew I shouldn’t. She’d allowed her misfortune to consume her, turning her into a thing that knew only misery. Now, she chose to visit that misery on others.
It wasn’t her face that made her a monster, but her choices.
I saw it then, the evidence of her dark deeds. Things crawled under her skin, faces pressing against the surface of her flesh—souls trapped forever inside of her that she’d devoured against my mother’s wishes. Yet none of them had sufficed to replace what she’d lost, so she’d continue to eat the souls of the dead who crossed her realm—perhaps for all eternity.
“Yes, I’ve lost much due to your mother’s temper.” She smiled at me with her impossibly crooked mouth, leering with her hideous, malformed eyes. “But you’ve a pretty face, boy. Yes, a pretty face indeed.”
Gulp.
28
I backed away from the doors of the wharepuni, keeping one eye in the general direction of Rohe and the other on my escape route. It’s not that I feared fighting her—I still had my mother’s magic, after all—but I feared the consequences of losing. How Rohe thought she’d take my face off my spirit was a mystery to me, but the gods were known to make the impossible mundane.
Knowing the gods, she probably possessed some magic talent or spell that would allow her to rip my face off my spirit, replacing it with her own. Sure, if I survived I might still make it back to my body. But who wants to live knowing when you die you’ll be uglier than a hemorrhoid on a rat’s ass in the afterlife?
I figured she probably couldn’t run too fast, all hunched over like that. But when I eyed the path that ran beyond her home, Rohe cackled like a mad hen.
“Think to outrun me, eh, boy? You could, true. But thankfully I don’t have to chase you down. Do I, son?”
Her eyes looked beyond and behind me. Could’ve been a trick, but the rumbling noise in the distance and ground-shaking footsteps that approached said otherwise.
Son… what son? I turned to look, and that’s when I put two and two together. Ah, piss. Rangi-hore.
Rangi-hore was the god of rocks and stones. Which, of course, explained how Rohe’s wharepuni had been built. I had to hand it to the guy for taking care of his mum, but I wasn’t about to let him beat me to a pulp so she could steal my face. And this fella could definitely beat me to shreds if I let him.
Remember that guy from the Thor movie who talked like a bouncer from a K Road club? Well, Rangi-hore didn’t look anything like him. I mean, you’d think he would, right? But Rohe’s son was even more messed up than that fellow.
The god of rocks and stones was about four meters tall, give or take a few centimeters, and made entirely of rocks. Now, when I say made of rock, I don’t mean rock shaped like a man or a guy with stone skin like the Thing. Nope. I mean boulders that were stacked up, one on top of another, in a vague outline of a giant.
I looked up at him and grinned, even as the bottom fell out of my stomach. “Don’t tell me… it’s clobberin’ time?”
“The crow should know it’s not safe to caw from the falcon’s perch, little one,” Rangi-hore rumbled. His voice sounded like scree tumbling down a steep, rocky slope. “Yield, or I’ll crush you into pulp.”
“I’ll have to remember that one, about the crow and the falcon. Good line. But see, I’ve got places to be, bodies to reclaim, and people to resurrect. Namely, me. So no, I’m not going to yield.”
Rohe’s screeching voice echoed from the front porch of her sleeping lodge. “I want his face, son—his face! Smash the rest of him to bits, but don’t hurt what’s mine.”
I spared her a glance out of sheer displeasure. “Yours? I’ll have you know, I was born with this mug. It’s not my fault you let Maui trick you into trading yours away.”
Rohe’s disgusting face contorted into a rictus of rage and hate. “Kill him! Kill him now!”
I dove to one side, not needing to look to know that Rangi-hore was on the move. A hand that was literally a ton of rocks crashed to the earth where I’d been standing a split-second before. Rather than turn and fight, I wisely rolled to my feet and took off at a sprint toward Whiro’s lands and, hopefully, freedom.
As I mentioned before, space and time worked differently in the underworld than it did up in the realm of living humans. I always thought it was because the gods tinkered with the laws of physics so they could torture humans at their leisure. Never got a straight answer from my mum about that, which told me I was probably right.
Anyway, if I ran for Whiro’s realm, I had a fifty-fifty chance of hitting a rip in time that would take me there before Rangi-hore could catch up with me. It was kind of like stepping on one of those conveyor belts they had at airports. You still moved at the same rate of speed, but everything around you just kind of passed you by faster.
Of course, I still had to beat the big pile of rubble in the short stretch. He was bigger than me, sure, and he had a longer stride. But I also had the blood of gods in me, plus I had tricks of my own. I could put on the speed when I needed to. I muttered a few spells as I ran, causing my tattoos to glow as Mum’s magic flowed through me. Although I’d heard the giant’s footfalls getting closer as I fled, I now heard them receding into the distance.
I looked back to gauge my lead—big mistake. Oh, Rangi-hore was pretty far behind me, alright. But when I turned back around, it was just in time to see Rohe’s cane as it clotheslined me across the chest. My feet flew up and I flipped upside down, the force of the blow sending me backwards, heels over head.
I landed flat on my face with the wind knocked out of me, along with all the piss and vinegar I’d been full of moments before. I shouldn’t have been surprised at what Rohe was capable of, what with her being a goddess and all. Still, it was a shock to see that she could move that fast, not to mention that she packed such a wallo
p.
She danced a little jig nearby, waving her cane in the air as she celebrated taking me down a notch. “Thought you’d get away, did you? Hah! Old Rohe still has a few tricks. Now, just wait until my boy gets here—he’ll make minced meat out of you, and then I’ll be wearing that pretty skin of yours.”
She was so caught up in her little victory dance she didn’t see me recovering. While she was still distracted, I spun around and swept her feet out from under her. As she fell, I snatched her cane away and landed on top of her with the knife I’d stolen from Miru’s bar at her throat.
About then, Rangi-hore came up on us. I let the edge of my blade draw a thin red line over his mum’s carotid, angling my arm so he could see. The god of rocks and stone came to a grinding halt several yards away. If a boulder could give a look of concern, Rangi-hore’s big stony visage was doing exactly that.
I fixed him with a grim smile. “Bro, I reckon we should sort something out, eh?”
29
“Nice how you handled Rohe and her son back there.” Mākutu had shown up again, appearing out of nowhere after I’d dealt with those two crazies. “I was worried you’d try to fight your way through. That would have gone poorly for you, I think—even with your mother’s magic.”
“Meh,” I grunted, swiping another curl of wood away with the knife. I’d held on to Rohe’s cane, and was carving it into a war club as we walked. It might have looked like a worn old piece of wood, but it had been in the possession of a god for who knew how long. Thus, it held power—magical potential that merely needed to be shaped and focused. I hummed a tune my mother had taught me as I worked the wood.
“Seriously, Hemi, there’s more to you than meets the eye.” Her eyes darted my way and back again, almost too fast to notice.
Sneaking glances. What’s the deal with this woman?
Suddenly, the trees parted ahead and I surveyed the terrain before us. We were coming up on Whiro’s domain, where the gray, stony lands and sparse forests of Rohe’s realm gave way to dank, misty swamps and wetlands that comprised much of the god of evil’s home. The place was infested with whanau-akaaka, or repulsive ones. Giant insects that could rip your arm off, massive carnivorous reptiles, and carrion birds the size of a Cessna—definitely not friendly territory.
I glanced at the witch and shrugged. “Not every problem requires a hammer.”
She nodded as a playful smile split her ink-stained lips. “Can’t take down a mountain with a sledge, either—no matter how hard you swing. Anyway, it was well played, Hemi. I’m impressed.”
“Is this the part where you tell me I’m not as dumb as I look?”
“No, not at all. I learned a long time ago that it’s a mistake to judge people by their appearances. Besides, that old trope of the big dumb guy rarely rings true. I just thought I should give credit where credit is due.”
“I know you’re buttering me up, Mākutu. Like a hog being fattened up for slaughter, I think.”
She giggled like a schoolgirl, covering her mouth as she looked at me with hooded eyes. “Now, Hemi, I’d never hurt you. You’re my ticket out of here, after all.”
“Don’t remind me,” I replied as I scanned the trail ahead. We were passing into Whiro’s turf now. “I already regret this deal, and we haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet. Speaking of which, how are you going to get me my moko back?”
The sorceress’ eyes narrowed, the sly smile she constantly wore never leaving her lips. “Come, I’ll show you.”
She left the trail, parting the dense blades of harakeke that lined the path as she disappeared into the swamp beyond. I hesitated to leave the trail. A person could easily get lost in Whiro’s part of the underworld and never find their way back. Or get eaten. That was also a distinct possibility.
A pale white hand reached out from within the tall blades of flax, grabbing my wrist and yanking me along. “Come on, there’s nothing to fear here. You have my word.”
“The word of a sorceress,” I muttered as I allowed myself to be dragged into the dense vegetation. The plant life soon parted, giving way to another narrower path that hadn’t been visible from the main thoroughfare. Once she’d led me a ways down the new path, Mākutu stopped and turned on me. We were nearly chest to chest, and she craned her neck to fix me with a hard stare.
“Pay attention, god-man, because I’m only going to say this once. I. Never. Asked. For. This. So, give it a rest already, eh?”
“This?” I asked, wanting to make sure I understood her meaning.
She took a step back and swept her hands down the length of her figure. “This. Immortality. ‘Mākutu, the incarnation of witchcraft and sorcery.’ I was mortal once, you know. Not human, but as mortal as a faery being can be. I’ve been wronged by the gods, just like you have. We’re on the same side, Hemi Waara. You have to believe me.”
I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand. “How’d it happen—I mean, how’d you get the job, so to speak?”
Her gaze trailed off to the side. “I don’t want to discuss it. Just know that I’m not who you think I am, just like you’re not the big dumb lug everyone thinks you are.”
Hmm, that cut to the quick. Not being judgmental at all, eh, Hemi? “Fair enough.” I sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this to the goddess of black magic, but sorry for being such a prick.”
“Eh, forget it already. We have to get moving, so just drop it and we’ll pretend it never happened.”
She turned away and marched off down the trail. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have said she was wiping her eyes as she walked off. Probably just my imagination.
“Where are we headed, anyway?” I asked. Although nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, I could sense we were traveling a great distance in a short period of time. The path’s a warp, for sure.
“The place I’m taking you was once my home,” Mākutu replied over her shoulder. “We’ll have to trade with the people who live there for what we need. They kind of live out in the wops, but going there is unavoidable if you want to get back to your mum’s. I’m taking us there by way of a shortcut. Even Whiro doesn’t know about it.”
“Wait a minute—you said they were once your people?”
She moved tall blades of grass aside, parting them with her hands to reveal a fantastic scene beyond, a diorama brought to life. An entire bustling village sprawled out ahead of us, populated by dozens upon dozens of tall, pale, red-headed men, women, and children.
“Yes, that’s what I said.” She looked back at me, smiling as those cold blue eyes lit up like sapphires in sunlight. “Welcome to the land of the patupaiarehe.”
30
Before I knew it, we were in front of the village’s whare runanga, meeting with the ariki and the kaumatua—the chief and the tribal elders. All the men and women present had the most beautiful, intricate moko on their faces. In the presence of such splendor, I felt quite naked without mine. Upon closer inspection, I realized the style of their tattoos was familiar to me.
They favor unaunahi in their designs, and the ink on their faces dances like Mākutu’s. Fish scales in a tattoo design represented health and prosperity, and I’d noticed the same pattern in the witch’s ink. Truly, these were her people. But whether she was of them, or they were of her—that remained to be seen.
Another detail I noticed was that none of the men had the pakati, or dog skin cloak design, worked into their tattoos. These people were not warriors, but artisans, farmers, and such. And, perhaps, magicians. I recalled how there once lived a people indigenous to the Chatham Islands who held themselves to a code of non-violence—a peaceful people. The Taranaki iwi, a prominent Maori nation, nearly wiped them out in the 1800s. If Mākutu’s people adhered to a similar code, I could only imagine how hard it must have been for them to survive in Whiro’s domain.
As the visitor and guest, I walked around the circle, greeting each male elder with a respectful hongi, and the females with a polite hug and kiss on the cheek.
Once introductions had been made and formalities addressed, the ariki spoke first. “Maki says you can help us, Earth-walker.”
My eyes darted to Mākutu’s, and the tightness around her eyes told me she was trusting me not to rat her out. I glanced back at the chief. “That depends on your problem. But I will help, if I am able.”
Mākutu chimed in, speaking with authority. “The tribe faces a dire threat, and unfortunately none of our people have the skills to face it. A great taniwha hunts us, stealing our wāhine and raiding our stores of food. This has gone on for some time, and now almost none of our young women are left.”
“Except you,” I proffered.
The chief nodded. “Maki is very resourceful. She is the one who led us to this place, where we have remained hidden from Waima for a time, in peace. But I fear it will not last.”
“Waima,” I said. “Offspring of Āraiteuru, the legendary mother of all great sea serpents?”
An elder coughed politely before speaking. “Yes, that one. These marshy lands are an analog to Punakitere in the world above. Waima, being a supernatural creature, travels back and forth between them at will. We think because it has become harder for him to remain hidden in your world, he prefers the underworld of late.”
“And faery flesh, apparently,” I countered. “No disrespect intended. Just making sure I understand the situation.”
The sorceress clucked her tongue. “In truth, we aren’t certain if he’s eating the young women he abducts, or simply keeping them for company.”
“We hope the latter,” a female elder interjected.
The reluctant goddess continued. “Nevertheless, my people are in need of a warrior to face Waima.”
I crossed my arms and cradled my chin in one hand. “You want me to kill one of the greatest sea serpents to have ever lived in Aotearoa?”
