The Bone Tiki

by David Hair

‘Black BMW, reflecting-glass windows.’

  ‘It’s them!’

  She looked at him. ‘Them?’

  ‘She’s got some tough guys helping her look for me.’

  Kelly glanced across at the BMW and let out a shuddering breath.

  ‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘We’re a long way from anywhere.…’

  Mat reached backward and grabbed his pack, pulled it into the front. Fitzy barked at the black car, and then there was a corner ahead, and the BMW eased effortlessly in front. Kelly cursed and looked at Mat. ‘Now what?’

  ‘I dunno. Where are we?’

  ‘Umm…I think we’re coming into a gorge—where we cross and cross the same river over and over. The Waipunga River.’

  High cliffs seemed to be rearing up on all sides, and the road was narrow and twisty. The speedometer fell. The BMW was in front of them now, forcing Kelly to slow and blocking any attempt to pull alongside again. Mat wondered who was in the car. Donna? Puarata? The warrior? Was his father there? What could they do? Could he run out alone into the hills? He poked his head up a bit, and watched the tail-lights of the BMW. It slowed again, forcing Kelly to slow as well. He glanced at her. She looked shaken and pale, her freckles standing out on waxy white skin.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Mat asked.

  The BMW slowed right down, and an arm appeared from the window, a black-suited arm, that pointed right. They were approaching a right-hand bend, at the bottom of a gully surrounded by steep black hill sides. The river ran to their right, and at the inside of the curve was a dip into a picnic spot.

  ‘They want me to go into that rest area,’ said Kelly. ‘If I do, we’re sunk.’

  Mat nodded, slid the straps of the pack onto his shoulders.

  ‘If we have to stop, I’ll just run. I’m what they want.’

  Kelly glanced across. ‘You’re not going to protect me then?’ she said with a brave attempt at a joke.

  Mat swallowed. He felt ill.

  ‘I’m going to try something,’ said Kelly. She took a deep breath. Mat held his.

  Kelly eased the VW across the road toward the rest area entrance, momentarily pulling level with the black BMW. Mat saw that the driver’s window was still down—a dark face looked across at him—then suddenly Kelly slammed her foot down on the accelerator, and tried to burst ahead onto the left-hand side of the road again.

  The BMW driver snarled, and his car leapt forward and across. Its bumper smashed into the side of the VW with a sickening crunch, and the VW lurched sideways. Fitzy woofed and tried to scrabble forward. Kelly screamed. The car hit rocks on the side of the road, and then tilted, and nearly rolled. The world lurched crazily. Mat fell right then left and his head smacked the side window. A white light flashed across the inside of his skull and numbing pain throbbed behind his eyes. The car righted itself and lurched forward, then Kelly’s foot hit the brake and it slid and skidded to the right, hitting a tree with a sound like a tin-can being scrunched underfoot. Fitzy clawed at Mat’s leg and landed in Kelly’s lap as she screamed again. The windscreen shattered as a branch punched through, showering them with glass, and the car lurched again, stopped, and the engine cut out. Mat put his right hand to a stinging on his forehead, and it came away dark and wet. His sight seemed blurred, but he made out the flash of Kelly’s face, white and round-mouthed. Falling against his door, he flailed about until he gripped the handle, pulled it and fell out.

  He landed on his hands and knees on the dirt and gravel of the rest area. The daylight was nearly gone, the only sounds the rippling stream, and the whine of the BMW reversing into the rest area. He staggered to his feet, heard Kelly sob and a thumping sound, then her door burst open. There was dark liquid all over his hands. When he tried to stand he fell instead.

  Car doors opened the instant the BMW stopped. Fitzy barked fiercely, snapped and snarled. Four black-clad figures emerged from the car—Donna, and three men. The men were big and tough-looking. One was tattooed, another bearded and scarred, the third clean shaven with pockmarked skin. Mat looked for Kelly, saw her getting up, and grabbing at Fitzy, but the Labrador shook her off, snarling like a wolf at the three men.

  ‘Back off you bitch!’ screeched Kelly at Donna.

  The blonde woman smiled. The men glanced at her. ‘Get them,’ she ordered coldly.

  The men started forward. The tattooed one started for Kelly, while the bearded one moved toward Mat. Fitzy leapt into their path, barking, and dodged Tattoo’s swinging boot. Tattoo cursed, and tried again, this time catching the Labrador on the side and throwing him against the VW with a thud. He barked and leapt again. Kelly was backing from the bearded man, and she pulled a small knife. The bodyguard smirked and pulled a bigger one. Mat felt dizzying fear. Pock-face stayed beside Donna, and groped inside his jacket.

  Mat put his bloodied hand to his chest, and seized the tiki. His blood seemed to soak into the pale bone, and it felt suddenly warm.

  ‘Toa! Toa!’ he called, as Pania had told him. The tiki almost sizzled with heat and he cried out in pain. His swirling mind caught a glimpse of Puarata, frowning as he chiselled a piece of bone. The tohunga seemed to pause in surprise and looked at him, and then he was gone. Instead Mat saw a young Maori, lying still and cold, his temple bloody. He cried out as the young man’s eyes flickered open, then his whole body jerked like an awakening corpse. Mat’s hand seemed aflame and he screamed, anticipating pain. A black flash, like the opposite of light, blazed darkness. He heard Kelly cry out, the thugs bellow in confusion, and Donna gasp. He blinked, and sagged to his knees as a vast store of energy seemed to pour out of him, like electricity or light or water, emptying him as it flowed. He swayed, nearly fainted, and then cried out in surprise.

  There was a new figure in the rest area, standing over Mat like a sentinel. He was clad in a feather cloak, with a feather caught in the top-knot of his hair. It was the young Maori he’d seen a few seconds ago, but he was real. Very, very real. He held a long wooden spear in his right hand, and with his left he shrugged off the cloak. But for a small flax kilt he was naked beneath, muscular and smooth. His face was cleanshaven, and handsome except for a long scar on his left temple. He looked down at Mat, and then stepped over him, crouching, both hands now on the wooden weapon—which Mat could see now was a long wooden club—a traditional Maori taiaha.

  Donna and her cronies stared in amazement at the newcomer, but Tattoo raised his knife and closed in. Donna reached inside her jacket for her gun. Mat looked down at his hands, expecting to see them blackened by fire, but they looked normal. He tried to stand and nearly blacked out. He slumped again, and watched Tattoo lunge at the warrior like a striking snake.

  The young warrior blurred into motion, and the taiaha flashed across and down, cracking over the wrist of the knife-hand. Tattoo howled, and his knees gave way. The taiaha swept back up and the carved handle smashed into Tattoo’s mouth, splattering blood and teeth in an arc as the man collapsed. The young man didn’t look back, but danced forward and leapt at Beard. The suited thug cocked his arm back and hurled the knife at the young man’s chest. The taiaha swept across and batted the knife aside, and then the young warrior planted the club’s head in the dirt and pivoted, so that his foot struck the side of the thug’s head, and knocked him sprawling. Before his foe could recover, the taiaha flashed again, a two-handed up-swing that connected with the bearded throat and the man collapsed thrashing and choking, both hands clutched to his neck.

  Donna backed off to the BMW, her sunglasses falling off to reveal pale slitted eyes. She held a small gun but seemed on the point of flight. But Pockface pulled up a squat-nosed weapon and went into a shooting stance. The crack of the gun echoed and the flash dazzled Mat’s eyes. Kelly screamed, and so did Mat. The warrior staggered, then straightened with a groan. Pockface’s jaw dropped and he fired again, and again. The warrior stumbled again, but kept coming, without so much as flinching. The wet sound of the bullets hitting flesh was sickening, but he gave a bitter laugh
, and advanced, taiaha poised.

  Donna backed away and slid into the BMW driver seat and fired the engine. But Pockface didn’t panic, despite his round-eyed horror. Instead of continuing to fire at the young man, he swung the gun at Mat, and yelled, ‘Stop or the boy dies!’

  Mat froze. The muzzle of the gun looked appallingly big. Kelly shrieked, Fitzy barked…and in a blur the taiaha swept up and the gun flashed.

  There was a sickening crack as the taiaha struck Pockface’s wrist, an instant before the gun fired, knocking it aside so the bullet ripped past Mat’s head to strike the back of the VW with a thud. The gunman’s hand hung askew, bone piercing the skin of his wrist. He howled, and then the backswing of the taiaha smashed into his jaw and he crumpled sideways.

  Donna buried her foot to the floor. The BMW spun and skidded on the gravel, then the tyres bit, and it roared out of the rest area and spun away south. Suddenly the only sound for three long seconds was the trickling stream, and the dying echo of the gunshot.

  ‘Mat?’ called Kelly. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Mat, staring at the warrior. The young man stalked about the three fallen men, bending over each in turn. Tattoo and Pockface were unconscious, their faces a scarlet mess, but Beard was writhing, horrible gurgling noises rising with bloodied bubbles from his mouth. The young man smashed the hilt of the taiaha into Beard’s temple, and he rolled over, motionless. Mat looked away, sickened, yet relieved. He’d never pictured real fighting as being so violent, and so messy. The computer games he’d played were all so…clean. He crawled over to Kelly and hugged her and Fitzy, and tried to shut the scenes he’d witnessed out of his head.

  Everything was still, as if every living thing was drawing breath in one slow frozen moment. But Mat could still hear the fading roar of Donna’s engine, and the wind, and the insects, and the stream. He looked up blinking, not really expecting to still see the warrior. But he was there, kneeling in the dirt and gravel holding a handful of shingle and letting it trail through his hands. He was speaking, softly to himself, in flowing Maori. His voice was clear and musical. The words rolled, and his shoulders were trembling as though he were about to burst. But instead he bowed his head and clenched his fists, and then released them, spreading them wide to the sky as if praying.

  Kelly was staring at him open-mouthed, not daring to speak.

  The three of them may only have stayed that way for seconds, but it felt like an eternity before the warrior turned to walk toward Mat.

  He spoke in perfect English, accented but easily understood. ‘Matiu. I am yours to command.’

  Mat looked up at him, in fear and shock. The young man had three messy holes in his shoulder and chest, but no blood came out. The jagged tears seemed to be knitting together even as Mat watched, shaking, trying to pull away. The warrior stopped advancing, held up his right hand, palm outward, placatory. His face was grave.

  ‘Command?’ Mat was confused.

  ‘You called me. I am yours to command.’

  Mat pulled the tiki off his neck and threw it at the young man’s feet. ‘I don’t want to command you. Here, you take it. Take it and leave me alone.’

  The young man shook his head sadly. ‘If only it were that simple,’ he said. He reached down, and made as if to pick up the tiki. His hand seemed to pass right through the pendant as if one or the other wasn’t really there. ‘I am afraid I am unable to even touch it, Matiu.’

  Mat disentangled himself from Kelly and Fitzy, and slowly got to his feet. The ground seemed unstable, as though any second it might dissolve. ‘Who are you? Where did you come from? How do you know my name?’

  The warrior half-smiled. ‘You know the answers to those questions, or you could not have called me.’

  Kelly looked at Mat. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  Mat shook his head. ‘Magic. Real magic. Not clown-magic. The real thing.’

  Kelly let out her breath. ‘The real thing…oh my goodness…’

  Mat looked at the warrior, who had pulled his feather cloak back about his shoulders. ‘You are Toa, and this tiki is made from your bones.’

  The warrior nodded. ‘From my shoulder-blade. But you can call me Wiremu, or Wiri. That was my name when I last walked among men.’

  The warrior bowed slightly, and then offered a hand. Mat took it in his—it was warm, and strong. And palpably real. Wiri turned to Kelly. He gave her a solemn smile. ‘Kia-ora, wahine. I am Wiri.’

  Kelly put out a trembling hand and he took it, and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘H-hi…I’m Kelly.’

  ‘Kia-ora, Kelly.’ He looked down at the dog.

  ‘And this is Fitzy,’ said Kelly, still looking scared.

  Wiri raised an eyebrow, then hunched down and stroked Fitzy’s head. ‘Kia-ora…Fitzy,’ he said slowly, with half a smile on his lips. ‘I am pleased to see you again.’

  Fitzy looked up at Wiri and they stared hard at each other, as if some silent conversation was taking place. Wiri then nodded once, and straightened.

  Mat picked up the tiki. It was still bloodied, and it felt hot to touch. Kelly stared at it. ‘That’s what she wants, isn’t it?’ she asked.

  Mat nodded.

  ‘Wow!’ breathed Kelly. ‘Ohmigod…’

  Wiri looked at Mat. ‘I have many questions, Matiu. I’m sure you and Kelly do too. But I think they will have to wait. Puarata is near…you know who he is, don’t you?’

  Mat nodded.

  Kelly looked at him, mouthing ‘Who?’

  ‘Later’, said Mat.

  ‘Let’s go then,’ said Wiri.

  Kelly turned to the car, and then gave a hiss of despair. ‘Oh no!’

  Mat stared, and then remembered the one thing he knew about Volkswagens—the engine is in the back.

  Pockface’s bullet had pierced the engine, which was quietly disgorging oil onto the ground as they talked.

  Mat walked up to the stricken VW and kicked the bumper.

  ‘Hey!’ protested Kelly. ‘That’s my car!’

  ‘Yeah, well…’ Mat shook his head. ‘Now what are we going to do?’

  They both turned to Wiri. The young warrior pursed his lips. ‘The woman will be calling her friends. If your car cannot take us away from here, then we have to go on foot. And the next traveller to look into this clearing will see them,’ he indicated the prone thugs, ‘and then there will be police on the way.’

  Mat stared at him, his mind racing with questions. ‘How do you know about cars? And police? And how to speak English? And how—’

  Wiri put up his hand. ‘Later. I’ll tell you later. All you need to know for now is that I have lived for many years in your world and learned much, though that was long ago. And all the time I was in the tiki, I could sense things around me. But for now, we have to move!’

  Mat swallowed hard and nodded. Wiri patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. He was perspiring and had a pleasant, salty smell. He felt very real.

  Kelly tried the ignition but the engine didn’t even threaten to start. There was more wrong with it than just the oil leak. She thumped the steering wheel. ‘My car! My car! Damn them! Damn that witch!’ she shouted furiously.

  Mat heard a noise—another car, coming from the Taupo direction.

  ‘Kelly! Someone’s coming! Come on, we gotta go!’

  Wiri nodded. ‘I think it’s just a traveller, but Mat is right. Come, I know the paths of this land.’

  Kelly opened her mouth, but as she heard the roar of a car descending the road toward the floor of the gorge, she stopped, grabbed her keys, and ran to the crumpled front bonnet. She pulled it open, and hauled out a large pack. Mat reached in beside her and shouldered his kit. Fitzy had run down to the stream and was barking urgently, as though urging them on. With one last dazed look at each other, they turned and trotted to the stream, where Wiri was waving his taiaha frantically.

  By the time the oncoming car drove past the rest area—and braked sharply as the driver saw the sprawl
ed bodies—Wiri, Kelly and Mat had vanished into a gap in the trees beyond the stream, following Fitzy up a faint trail that took them away from the road, up into the hills.

  8

  Through the forest

  They lost the light within minutes. Steep cliffs, overgrown

  with native bush, pressed about them. The air was close and cold. Wet ferns clawed at them, pawed their clothes and faces as they passed. Moss covered every rock, every dip in the soil contained a muddy puddle, slimy with livid green growths. The wet earthy atmosphere made every breath heavy, like drinking fog.

  Fitzy had come back and was trotting alongside Wiri, as though the dog and the warrior were old friends. Mat was soon tired and breathless. His shoes were wet again, as they seemed to have been all night and all day, and he was staggering and reeling within minutes. It wasn’t just the long strange night, or the terrifying things he’d seen, or the long tiring day clambering through the river valley. When he somehow managed to unlock the secret of the tiki and summoned Wiri, it was as if all energy had flowed out of him, as if some internal battery had used all its electricity, and he felt hollow, the very marrow of his bones sucked away.

  Wiri noticed him fall behind, and helped him to the next clearing. Kelly was sitting on a rock, her face flushed. Fitzy woofed softly at her like a nanny reassuring a child, and she patted the dog’s head in answer, looking at Mat with concern. Mat felt a fleeting shame as he sagged down on the ground. Wiri’s arms around his shoulders were smooth yet rocklike in their strength.

  For someone who isn’t real, he seems more solid than I do…

  They managed another few hundred metres up a barely discernible trail, away from the road, though the cars were still audible. Kelly panted behind them. Occasionally Mat looked back to see her gazing in awe at Wiri. Mat could scarcely believe the warrior was truly there, but couldn’t clear his head enough to think. Wiri led them to a tiny overhang under a boulder. Mat lay panting as Wiri said something and left again, Fitzy with him. Kelly began pulling things out of her pack, clothes mostly, but the biggest thing was a sleeping bag. She helped Mat into it, babbling about how lucky they were that she had it, something about having to sleep on friends’ floors a lot. Mat barely heard, and his eyes fell shut the moment Kelly got him into it.