Cry of the Taniwha

by Des Hunt

  Chapter 4

  Hone was already having his breakfast when Matt got up. The size of the meal was huge: bacon and eggs, with a hash brown and grilled tomato on the side. It was more than Matt usually ate in the main meal of the day.

  ‘Sit yourself down, Matt,’ said Nan. ‘Do you want the same as Hone?’

  ‘Just a hash brown and an egg will do, thank you.’

  ‘You sure? In this house breakfast is an important meal, because we often don’t have lunch.’

  Matt agreed that perhaps she could add another egg and some bacon.

  Hone pointed a fork at him. ‘Sit down, Matt, and tell us the things you’d like to do while you’re here.’ Apparently talking was OK at the breakfast table.

  Matt thought for a moment. ‘Mum said I should make sure I go to the Buried Village, do the luge, and see Whakarewarewa. Those are the only things I know about.’

  Hone nodded. ‘The luge is best first thing in the morning, before it gets too crowded. We can do Whaka any day, because it’s just around the corner. So the Buried Village it is today. I’ve got a Chinese tour group all morning, but I’ll be free about one, so we’ll go then. We’ll do a bit of a tiki tour so that you know what’s where in Rotorua.’ With that decided, Hone got on with his breakfast.

  ‘Why the Buried Village?’ asked Nan.

  Matt smiled. ‘I want to try out my metal detector.’

  Hone looked up. ‘You got a metal detector?’

  ‘Yeah, I made it myself.’

  ‘Ah!’ said Nan. ‘Your mum said something about that. Didn’t you win a prize with it or something?’

  Matt gave a little nod. ‘The Year Nine technology prize.’

  ‘Tell us more,’ said Hone.

  ‘Well, we had to research a problem, and then use several different technologies to solve it. The school newsletter had been asking parents about a time capsule that was buried in the 1950s. Nobody knew where it was because the records were destroyed in a fire. I decided to make a metal detector and find it.’

  ‘And did you?’ asked Hone.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what was in it?’ asked Nan.

  ‘Don’t know. We reburied it because it’s not due to be opened until the school’s seventy-fifth jubilee.’

  Hone studied Matt for a while, before saying, ‘I don’t think the people at the Buried Village will want you searching around in there. But there must be lots of other places you can try.’ He stood and carried his dishes to the sink. ‘I should be back by two at the latest. We’ll leave soon after that.’

  Nan saw him to the door, while Matt got stuck into his breakfast, pleased with how the discussion had gone. Things were working out better than he’d thought.

  The first part of the morning was spent assembling and testing the metal detector. It worked fine. Matt started with a scan near the old pipes at the back of the yard. As he got closer to the well, the sound in his headphones increased in intensity until it was squealing like the feedback you get in a loudspeaker system. From the well, he was able to trace a pipe across the veggie garden and lawn to where it disappeared under the house.

  After that he walked around the lawn, skimming the sensing disc through the tops of the grass. He got a few squeals, but nothing that sounded like it was worth digging up the lawn for. If it were anything like the lawn back home in Dunedin, the only metal would be nails and stuff like that. He had yet to find a backyard full of buried treasure.

  Nan insisted he try her freshly baked banana-and-chocolate muffins before he went off to explore the local area. Matt didn’t disappoint her, eating one immediately and pocketing another before heading in the direction of the hotels surrounding Whakarewarewa.

  There were buses everywhere: monstrous things with tinted windows and buzzing air-conditioning units. The drivers clustered in groups in the shade of trees, reading newspapers and sharing the events of the day.

  Matt could see some of the tourists on open ground beyond a bridge. Every so often some of them would be lost in a cloud of steam when a nearby vent belched boiling water. He thought of walking over the bridge and joining them, until he noticed the ticket office and a sign saying it would cost twenty-five dollars.

  However, there was nothing to stop him taking some steps down to a grassed area beside the steaming stream. A track of sorts led through some bushes, and Matt found himself in a secluded place below one of the hotels. Judging by the empty bottles and cigarette butts, it was a hideaway for either the hotel workers or local kids. The tagging on the wall indicated that it might be the latter. Matt looked for Juzza’s tag, but couldn’t see anything that might’ve started with J. Most of the tags looked fairly old, except a big one that covered most of the wall: WXK had been there recently. Matt smiled to himself. Perhaps it was Wilberforce Xavier Kristofferson, or maybe Wilhelmina Xenobia Krupt, although he suspected it would be something much more basic than that.

  A sign that said DANGER—KEEP OUT blocked a path leading down to the stream. People had walked around it so much that a new path had been formed. Matt took that path and was soon standing on a white rock surrounded by steaming water. Directly in front was a boiling, emerald-green pool with insulated pipes leading off in the direction of the hotel. The path beyond it was lost in the steam. After a bit of thought Matt took the plunge and followed it, hoping that it didn’t lead straight into something hot.

  It didn’t. Instead it led down into a quiet, bushy place beside the stream. For a moment, Matt imagined that this could have been what the world was like when it was young: steam issuing from sulphur-encrusted vents, surrounded by primitive-looking plants. He could have been back in time millions of years and been the only person alive. This image was shattered a few steps further on, however. In front of him was a sloping wall of white rock covered in graffiti.

  This time he did find Juzza’s tag. It was not one of the fancy ones. The only special feature was that the first Z was back to front so that the two of them faced each other.

  From there, Matt followed a path over a bridge and down into a flat area pockmarked with explosion craters. These were obviously dangerous, for they were fenced off. Several had boiling pools in the bottom, and others were venting steam.

  A group of four people was standing on the other side of the craters where the path led back into the scrub. Matt was about to move forward when he sensed something wrong with the group. He quickly backed away until he was hidden by bushes.

  It soon became plain that three big guys were picking on a boy. The boy was talking quickly in a high-pitched, frightened voice; so quickly that Matt couldn’t make out what was being said, yet it was obvious he was pleading with them. Then an extra-big bloke picked up the little guy and lifted him over the fence until he was dangling above a steaming crater. The boy screamed ‘No! No! No!’

  Another of the big guys said something, and this time the boy yelled ‘Yes! Yes!’

  Clearly that wasn’t enough, for he was lowered further into the hole. ‘Yes!’ he screamed. ‘Yes! I’ll do it.’ Only then was he lifted back onto the path, where he was dumped on the ground. They fired some more words at him, before turning around and swaggering back across the crater flat.

  Matt squeezed further into the bushes, aware all the time that the ground could collapse beneath him or a steam vent might sizzle up his legs. He considered that a better risk, though, than meeting up with the three thugs coming towards him.

  They were walking just like the gang members at school did: arms hardly swinging and held out from their bodies which they swayed from side to side as if to indicate great strength. As they got closer, Matt saw that they were older than school age, and a lot meaner than any gang members he’d met before. The one in front had a skull tattooed on his forehead. The other two were bigger men, and yet it was clear from the space that they gave the front one that he was the boss. All three were Maori. Fortunately, they were so intent on looking tough that none of them glanced sideways, and they were soon out of sig
ht, allowing Matt to start breathing again.

  When he heard them stomping over the bridge he reckoned it was safe to come out of hiding. But then he saw that the boy was almost in front of him. He pulled back, not wanting to get involved in other people’s trouble. As the boy went past, Matt recognized him as Jackson Peters. This was no longer the person who had acted tough over the fence. There was no sign of the tilted head and thrusting jaw that Matt had seen earlier. This was a kid who was crying his eyes out, terrified by the thugs who had just left.

  Matt’s heart felt for the boy, and he almost called out. But in the end he didn’t. It was Jackson’s problem, not his, so he stayed hidden in the bushes.

  Chapter 5

  The trip to the Buried Village passed through some spectacular road cuttings where thick layers of volcanic material could be seen. The thickest layer was composed of small balls of pumice, which Hone said was mined in a nearby quarry. The ash layer from the 1886 eruption was less than half a metre at the top, showing how insignificant it had been when compared with some of the mighty events from the past.

  The museum at the Buried Village had lots of the sort of stuff that Matt might find with his metal detector. However, most of them were everyday items like tools and cooking pots, whereas Matt wanted money, gold, jewellery and things he might be able to sell. If all he was going to find were horseshoes and the like, then it wasn’t worth getting the detector out of the car.

  Surrounding the museum were the excavated remains of the village of Te Wairoa. Clearly the ash and mud that had fallen here was much more than had fallen back at the road cutting. The most interesting was the whare of Tuhoto, the old Maori tohunga who had predicted the disaster. Nine days before the eruption, a group going to see the Pink and White Terraces had seen the image of a large canoe floating through the mist on Lake Tarawera. When Tuhoto learned of the sighting, he said that it was an omen that something bad was coming; that the whole area would be overwhelmed. When disaster struck, the ash buried him in his whare, where he spent four days before being rescued. The world he came out to was vastly different to the one that he’d known all his life: his village was buried; the gardens and bush were lost under tonnes of mud and ash; the Pink and White Terraces that had brought tourists from all over the world were gone forever. Tuhoto died two weeks later.

  On the way back they stopped at Lake Tikitapu so that Matt could try out his metal detector on the beach.

  No sooner had he started than he got a high-pitched whine, indicating something metallic. A moment’s digging with his trowel and he had it: a two-dollar coin. Three other coins came in quick succession, followed by a cheap watch that no longer worked, and set of metal-framed false teeth. By then, they were at the end of the beach and Matt’s arm was aching from waving the detector back and forth. Hone suggested they take a rest.

  ‘See that ridge up there,’ said Hone, sitting down on a low wooden fence. ‘That’s called Te Ahi Manawa—the place where the heart was cooked.’

  Matt recognized this as the start of a story. He smiled and asked, ‘And whose heart was that?’

  ‘Kataore’s,’ replied Hone. ‘The big taniwha from around here.’ He paused for a while to let that sink in, before continuing: ‘Some say Kataore was a dragon, others that he was more like an eel with legs. But all are agreed that he started life as the pet of one of the chiefs in the area. However, as time went by Kataore got so big that lizards and birds were not enough to keep him fed and he started eating humans. He got bigger and bigger, and soon he would take several people a day, eating them whole in one gulp.’

  ‘Did he prefer males or females? Matt asked with a chuckle.

  ‘It would have to be females,’ replied Nan. ‘We’re much tastier than men.’

  ‘Yes, my dear. As always, you are right. In fact, Kataore developed a taste for beautiful maidens. But that was also his downfall. For one day he ate the most beautiful girl in the whole of Rotorua. Tuhi was her name, and on the day she was killed she had been going to Ohinemutu to be married. Well, her husband-to-be was so upset that he vowed to slay the taniwha. He got together a party of many men and marched to Tikitapu. They located Kataore in his cave over there.’ Hone pointed across the lake to where the land rose steeply from the water. ‘The warriors taunted Kataore until he came out, whereupon they attacked him. The battle raged for many hours, until eventually they killed him up on that ridge. Then they chopped him up, cooked the heart and had a big feast. Hence the name Te Ahi Manawa.’

  Matt looked over to the steep land which was now covered with pine trees. ‘Is the cave still there?’

  ‘I believe so. That’s the same Whakarewarewa forest that you can see from our place. They do a lot of mountain-biking in there. One of the tracks is called the Taniwha Track.’

  ‘But there’s no taniwha anymore, is there?’ said Matt.

  Hone looked at him sideways. ‘I didn’t say that. Kataore may have been killed, but if the warriors left any of the flesh around that would quickly turn into a new taniwha.’

  Matt rolled his eyes. ‘And I bet the cyclists see them all the time.’

  ‘Oh, they do,’ said Hone, seriously. ‘Every day. They just don’t recognize what they’re seeing. A taniwha can take many forms, and you wouldn’t know it was one until you harmed it in some way.’

  ‘And what would happen then?’

  Hone looked directly at him. ‘You’ll find out if you ever harm one,’ he replied, mysteriously. ‘I only hope that it never happens.’

  That evening, sitting in the lounge after dinner, Matt realized that he would have to find something to do or he’d go mad. The television programmes that Nan and Hone watched were of no interest to him, and the only books he could see were either about cooking or famous sportsmen, neither of which he would want to read. There was no computer so far as he could tell.

  ‘Are there any computer cafés around here?’ he asked during a commercial break.

  ‘No,’ replied Hone. ‘But I can get access to a computer if you like. What do you want to do?’

  ‘Check my emails.’

  ‘That’s easy enough. We’ll go round the corner to the hotel and you can use theirs.’ He stood up. ‘C’mon, and I’ll introduce you.’

  The hotel was less than three minutes away. After a brief discussion with the desk staff, Matt had a user name and password. As he sat down to log on, Hone excused himself, saying he was going to visit Jackson’s mum.

  Matt could tell at a glance that all of the thirteen emails in his inbox were junk. He’d hoped for something from some of his friends back in Dunedin, but it seemed they were too busy enjoying their summer to think of him.

  For a while he played some web games before becoming bored. He moved onto a bit of browsing, typing ‘taniwha’ into the search engine. There were hundreds of thousands of sites containing the word taniwha. He added ‘Rotorua’ which reduced it to five thousand. Browsing through those, Matt soon found that taniwha had once been considered common around Rotorua. As Hone said, they took many forms. Kataore was mentioned many times, but was not the biggest that had ever lived. That prize went to Hotu-Puku who was considered bigger than a whale. Matt felt sure that if one that big was in the Whakarewarewa forest, then people would be sure to notice.

  Hone arrived back at the house soon after Matt. He slumped down in his chair, looking sombre.

  ‘What’s the problem, dear?’ asked Nan, stretching a hand out to take his.

  ‘It’s that Jackson. He’s not going to his aunty’s during the day. He’s wandering the streets, and Mere thinks he’s getting into trouble.’ Hone turned to Matt. ‘Mere is a solo mum. She works at the hospital all day. During the holidays Jackson is meant to go to his aunty’s, but after Mere drops him off he just walks away from the place.’

  ‘What sort of trouble is he getting into?’ asked Nan.

  ‘Mere’s not sure. All she knows is that he’s got more money to spend than she gives him.’

  ‘Does she think he’
s stealing it?’

  Hone shrugged. ‘How else would he get money unless he’s stealing it? I asked her if anything was missing from the house, just in case he was selling stuff. But she said no, and I believe her. They’ve got so little that you’d notice anything that had gone.’

  ‘It’s not your problem, dear,’ said Nan, gently.

  ‘If it’s not mine, then whose is it? Over the years I’ve tried to be a bit of a father to the boy, and I hate seeing this happen. If something’s not done now, then he’ll end up a criminal.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  Hone was silent for some time before answering. ‘I’m wondering if Matt might be able to help.’ Another long silence followed. Then he turned to Matt. ‘I’m thinking that he could be interested in your metal detector. You could take it into the forest and search for stuff that the cyclists and runners have lost. You never know, you might find all sorts of things.’

  Matt kept quiet, unwilling to say anything that could be taken as agreement.

  ‘Tell you what, Matt. If you give it a go, then I’ll take a day or two off and we’ll go do some exciting things. Jackson can come, too. There’s lots of things, we can do. The luge, quad bikes, karts; it’ll be your choice. What do you think?’

  Matt looked at Hone and saw in the man’s eyes how important this was. Despite his earlier fears, he was beginning to like these people. They were being good to him, and he didn’t want to let them down. So he gave Hone the answer he wanted. However, later, as he lay in bed, he questioned the decision. He should have told them about seeing Jackson being bullied. Neither Hone nor Nan would have wanted their grandson exposed to that sort of thing. Jackson was into something far deeper than either of them imagined. And now chances were that Matt would become involved as well.