The Bone Tiki

by David Hair

  The warriors laughed and sang as they paddled. Wiri led them in both, and they clearly had grown to both like and respect him. ‘He is more than he used to be,’ commented Manu to Mat quietly one afternoon. ‘Before Puarata took him, he was sullen and jealous of his brother. He used to brag loudly and was quick to criticise. But he has matured. He is calmer, and happier. It is sad that he is going to his death.’

  He pulled his cap down over his eyes, and was silent for a long time.

  They slept on shore, watched over by guards who took turns to sleep. Fitzy had flown ahead and after reporting on what he had seen to Wiri, flew off again, this time as a ruru, an owl, circling eastward and southward through the darkness, to check for pursuit.

  That night Wiri told them of how he met Manu again.

  ‘This was the second time I was able to resist Puarata’s will. It was much later, and the Pakeha had come. The land was changing—both the real land, and also the shadowland. Puarata was afraid that the white men would weaken his powers—especially the missionaries. Belief in this new god would weaken belief in the old gods, and the myths and legends that gave Aotearoa its power—power he needed to work his magic.

  ‘He went to the chiefs who had pledged to fight the newcomers, and placed himself at their service. So it was that I fought in the Land Wars. I fought in the Waikato, until Puarata was seen for what he was and made to leave. I fought in the Ureweras, I fought with Te Rauparaha, and Te Kooti, and I was forced to eat human flesh whilst fighting with the Hauhau.

  ‘One day I was told to join a war party that was planning to ambush a patrol near to Opepe, not far from Taupo. It was 1869, and there was a squad of soldiers, with a native guide, camped near some huts—they were quite unwary. The history books say that the guide betrayed them, and left them to die. But there were two guides. One was in league with Te Kooti, and did indeed betray the party. But the other was Manu, who did not.

  ‘Our tribe had faded into the myth-lands centuries before, and never died, or got older or younger. Hakawau caused this to be, so that we would not be slain in the wars between Tainui and Ngati Tuwharetoa. But this did not make us entirely safe, and the coming of the Pakeha changed the ghost-world. When he realised the coming of the Pakeha was weakening Puarata, Hakawau decided we should aid them. There was another reason as well—he foresaw the power of the white people, and knew they could destroy us all in the end. Rightly or wrongly, he decided the more a tribe resisted, the worse would be their plight. So he sent our people out to seek peace.

  ‘Unbeknownst to me, Manu was near Taupo, assigned to the force at Opepe. I was still Puarata’s slave, and though I hoped for release, it seemed impossible.

  ‘The plan was simple. The guide would slink away to guide Te Kooti’s men back to the troopers. We would stroll in seeming friendly, and then attack. There were no guards and the few soldiers who were suspicious were soon killed. A few escaped naked into the wilderness—they had been washing their uniforms in the stream.

  ‘My orders from Puarata were to help kill the Pakeha, thinking only Pakeha would be present. He was wrong—there was one Maori captured—Manu. I burst into a hut and struck down a soldier with my taiaha. From behind me there was the click of the hammer of a musket being pulled back. A voice said in Maori “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”

  ‘I spun, swinging my taiaha. A Maori clad partly in a trooper’s uniform was behind the door. His bullet took me in the chest and knocked me off my feet. He began to reload, thinking me dead, but I got to my feet, bloodied, and prepared to kill him. It was Manu. We stared at each other. I hadn’t seen one of the tribe for hundreds of years. I thought them all dead.

  ‘For Manu’s part, he knew of me—Hakawau had told them I still lived and fought for Puarata. The tribe believed I had turned towards evil and Manu thought I would kill him. But my orders were only to kill Pakeha. The turehu had shown me I could resist Puarata by finding gaps in my orders. I had found such a gap. So I let him go.’

  Manu nodded. ‘He let me go. I ran hard, to escape Te Kooti’s men, but I didn’t go far. I tracked this group, and saw Toa—Wiri—again. I managed to spend some time with him, enough for him to tell me his situation. I went back to Hakawau, and told him. Hakawau told me I wasn’t to speak of what I’d learnt to anyone. But I knew there must be some way to free him. I even tried to steal the tiki, but I failed and was nearly caught by the tohunga makutu. Puarata shifted after that, and I couldn’t find him again.

  ‘So it was a wonderful thing, that night when I saw you all arrive at the pa, but we had to be sure Puarata did not still have control of Wiri, and it wasn’t a trap to capture the pa. So that’s why you all had to be locked up and put on trial. I didn’t like it, but Hakawau insisted.’

  Wiri grinned. ‘No hard feelings, bro. After what I’d been through, just being home felt like luxury.’

  That night they were undisturbed, though Mat saw a moa in the distance, before it was fully dark, and deep in the night he fancied he heard a rush of many wings, as if a massive flock of birds were surging overhead. Perhaps they were the birds of the Bird-Witch, seeking Hatupatu for their mistress. Perhaps they were hunting for Wiri.

  The next day they met a small sailing boat, with settlers leaning from the gunwale, smoking and chewing. They eyed the waka suspiciously, and one made a great show of displaying his musket. They looked curiously at Mat and Kelly, but didn’t call out. After that the warriors were quieter, and Manu checked his pistol.

  On the afternoon of the third day, Fitzy returned, swooping to alight on the waka and shifting rapidly into dog form again. Both Mat and Kelly were hesitant at first, but he capered about them until they laughed and hugged him. He then went to the front to see Wiri, and barked eagerly as they paddled into Hamilton, for all the world an eager, playful dog.

  Mat had only ever been to Hamilton once before, and that Hamilton belonged to his world, to the future. This Hamilton was a small town, of white painted houses and picket fences, of men in brown suits and waistcoats, with hats and bushy whiskers, a town of women in bonnets and billowing skirts, of horses and carriages. Black-uniformed soldiers of the Royal Constabulary were everywhere. There were Maori, dressed shabbily in European clothing, with downcast, defeated faces. Several were missing limbs. It was noisy, with shouting vendors and the hammering of construction, the rumbling of cartwheels, the constant buzz of talk, and the barking of dogs. But to Mat and Kelly, used to the hum of cars and trucks, the noise had a hollowness, as though it were a thin veneer over the deep quiet of the bush.

  Waiting to meet them at the docks was a smiling young officer, with sideburns that made Kelly giggle under her breath. He greeted Manu like an old friend, and they conversed in laughing tones about the latest rugby scores, each agreeing they must get over ‘Yonder’ again soon for a beer and a game. Manu introduced Wiri, Mat and Kelly. The captain was a Londoner named Timothy Spriggs, an emigrant to the colonies. He was a gangling, comic fellow compared to the muscular warriors, but topped them in height by at least 30 centimetres. He had a long sabre at his left hip, and his coat had gilt-embroidered insignia on the shoulders.

  They farewelled the warriors solemnly—each offered to come further with them, even to Cape Reinga, but Wiri declined. Only Manu would be coming further than Hamilton, as only he knew the ‘real’ world well enough to fit in, as it had been decided they would need to cross over at some point, to speed up the journey. Wiri’s eyes were sad as he rubbed noses and embraced each man, then watched them paddle away.

  Spriggs’ voice was light and cheery. ‘Righto then chaps, let’s get underway. You men, bring that carriage up, and the young lady and gentleman can hop in. I say, young lady, you’ll want to get into some proper clothes. Don’t want to draw too much attention, now do we? You too, young lad, young Mat. My wife’ll get you togged up properly. How’s that then, eh?’

  Listening to him made Mat feel breathless. He climbed into the carriage while the horses fussed, and Kelly, Wiri, Manu and Spri
ggs crammed in after him. Fitzy squeezed in at their feet, looking displeased at the lack of room. The carriage lurched, and they were underway.

  Spriggs told them he would put them up at his house that night, then they would take the carriage north. He had arranged leave to visit Auckland and from there he had friends who could help get them further north.

  ‘But we’ve got to be careful, Wiri me lad. Manu tells me you’re on the run, so to speak, and I have to tell you we’ll be going through some road-blocks and security checks as we go. I’ve already seen a notice come through to my commander asking me to watch out for two young folk on the road. Seventeen-year-old girl, short-cropped red hair, freckles, name o’ Kelly. Also a fifteen-year-old boy, part-Maori, small build, name o’ Wiremu Matiu Douglas. So there are folks will be lookin’ out for you, sure as eggs.’

  Mat and Kelly looked nervously at each other.

  The captain reached down and went to pat Fitzy. The turehu leant away slightly, until Spriggs bent and offered him his hands to sniff. ‘Hello, me old matey. What’s your name?’

  ‘You can call me Fitzy,’ the turehu answered. Spriggs leapt back as if he’d been bitten.

  ‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘I thought that dog spoke to me!’

  Fitzy yapped happily at him.

  Spriggs scratched his ears, and shook his head. ‘Well, I must be hearing things. Fitzy did you say?’ he asked Mat, obviously believing it must have been Mat who had spoken. ‘Righty-ho, then!’ He smiled at the others. ‘Don’t worry, We’ll get you up to Auckland, safe as houses.’

  When the carriage stopped, they were bundled out into a back street, and up to the back door of a small white wooden house, with high ceilings and wooden floors. It was the classic colonial cottage. At the door they were greeted by a plump woman who beamed when Spriggs planted a peck on her cheek.

  ‘This is Amelia, the light of my life.’ He introduced the two warriors and the two young people with flourishing bows, and then Amelia took over. With a firm glint that belied her soft appearance, she sent Mat and Kelly off to choose garments, whilst she clapped hands to summon a young Maori girl servant, who she sent to the kitchen to prepare more food for the evening meal.

  ‘We have been expecting you, but not until tomorrow, so we have extra food, but not yet cooking, so I will have to get back to the kitchen. Meantime, you two strapping young men,’ she addressed Wiri and Manu, ‘can prepare a tub. Because, no one here is eating until they have washed!’

  Kelly got to bathe first, in a stone-floored washroom at the back of the house. Amelia stood guard over the door to ‘preserve the poor girl’s modesty’, all the while calling instructions to the Maori girl in the kitchen. ‘And don’t over-boil the peas, Sylvia!’ she shouted, before muttering to Mat that it was a shame that no one had invented electricity yet. ‘It’s so frustrating, knowing that it’s coming. Makes you feel the lack of it, so to speak.’

  Mat nodded sympathetically, struggling to get his head around the concept of waiting for a known future.

  Fitzy sidled up and whispered, ‘Can you get her to give me something to eat, Mat? I’m starved. Some cheese too, if you can get it. I love cheese, and milk too, if there’s some to spare.’

  Amelia happily gave Fitzy some meat, when Mat asked, but said she had no cheese to waste on a dog. The turehu muttered to Mat about this ‘shabby treatment’ even as he wolfed down some offal and settled on a bone. ‘You better save me some cheese from your plate tonight,’ he warned, ‘or I’ll bite someone!’

  Once she was washed, Kelly scampered out, wrapped in towels, her white legs flashing. Wiri and Manu whistled cheekily, until Amelia drove them away. Then it was Mat’s turn. The tub was already soapy and grimy, and growing cooler, but Wiri and Manu brought in more hot water in a pail from the kitchen, and poured it in, causing the tub to warm deliciously. Mat ducked under, then scrubbed at himself with a hard brush. He ran the grainy sand-soap through his hair, and rinsed. Wrapped in a towel, he made his way through the cottage to a room Amelia had set aside.

  A set of clothing roughly his size was laid on the bed. Rough-spun cotton breeches and a white shirt, a brown vest, and a tartan cap. He laughed, and pulled the clothing on over his last pair of clean modern underwear. The rest of his clothing was gone, presumably to be washed. He pulled the outfit on and admired the cap in the mirror, trying different poses, imagining himself as Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn. He put the tiki and koru knot back around his neck and tucked them under his shirt again. As he fondled the koru knot, he thought briefly about his parents, but they seemed a world away.

  He looked around the room, at the large genuine antique—no, not antique, modern—hand-carved furniture, with lacy place mats and silver heirloom hairbrushes and combs. It felt like a set in a museum display, yet everything looked everyday as well—in context.

  He wandered out to the dining room, and waited, examining the pictures and souvenirs above the mantelpiece. There was a manaia—a seahorse—carved in whale-bone, and a wooden sailing ship model. He picked up the manaia, wondering if all carvings had power here, but felt nothing. He replaced it, and examined a picture of a stern man with a long bushy beard brooding over the fireplace. There was a small silver etched name tag on it—Colonel Horatio Edward Spriggs, 1789-1834, it read. Mat wondered how time was tracked here.

  ‘Ah, Mat darling,’ said Amelia, poking her nose in the door. ‘You look splendid, dear. But we don’t wear caps indoors, sweetie. That’s Timothy’s father. Ghastly man! But we mustn’t speak ill of the dead, must we? Could you be a darling and get some firewood from out the back, and light the fire? There’s a good lad! Thank you!’ Then she was off again, calling commands to her husband.

  By the time Mat had found the firewood, brought sufficient through, and lit the fire (with, of all things, a plastic cigarette lighter), Manu and Wiri had joined him, sipping whiskey from crystal glasses with Captain Spriggs. They were both washed, and dressed in European clothing, with their hair pulled back in pigtails. Both were clean shaven. They were talking movies and politics in a strange conversation that veered from nineteenth century colonial Aotearoa, to twenty-first century modern New Zealand. Mat was given a glass of lemonade. It was real lemonade, not fizzy but a lemon squash with a heady, semi-fermented taste. He listened to them talk while Sylvia came in and set the table under Amelia’s direction. Neither of the Maori warriors seemed to think it worthy of note that there was a Maori servant, though Mat found himself embarrassed on their behalf. He was trying to work out how to say something about it politely, though the serving girl seemed happy enough with her role, but Kelly came in, and his mind leapt to other things. The conversation stopped and Mat’s jaw dropped.

  Amelia had found Kelly a beautiful green velvet dress, laced with fine white brocade. She’d also loaned the girl some pearl earrings and a necklace, that set it off perfectly. Kelly walked self-consciously, and went bright red as everyone stopped to look.

  ‘My dear,’ gushed Amelia, ‘you look wonderful!’

  Captain Spriggs went over and seized her hand, and kissed it. ‘I say, you look absolutely smashing, m’dear. Absolutely lovely.’

  Kelly stared at the ground. Wiri and Manu looked at each other and grinned, then both bowed deeply to Kelly, and Manu kissed her hand. Then Wiri murmured something that made Kelly giggle and look up into his eyes for so long that Amelia coughed politely.

  ‘Well, it must be dinner time, I think,’ she said meaningfully. ‘Everyone?’

  Dinner was mashed potato, over-boiled peas, and a juicy leg of lamb with mint sauce. It was strangely ordinary after the food at the pa. Spriggs brought out a bottle of Hawke’s Bay chardonnay bottled last year, in another odd mix of the modern and the past-present. Mat remembered to pocket some cheddar for Fitzy, but soon found the conversation began to drift away, leaving him feeling detached, alone amidst the happy buzz of laughter and warmth. Kelly was laughing aloud at Captain Spriggs’ outrageous comments, Manu hooting with glee every time Wiri
and Kelly looked at each other.

  Matt drifted into a reverie, wondering where his mother was, whether she was alone and scared. And Dad…Dad! Abruptly he stood up, looking down at the others, feeling young, and exhausted. Wiri looked over at him. ‘You OK?’

  Mat nodded, hoping to be strong enough to make it true.

  Amelia got to her feet. ‘Well, I think it’s time you got to bed, young man. Off you go. Make sure you wash your hands and do your teeth. I’ll check, mind!’

  He soon drifted off to sleep. If Amelia came back to check on him, he didn’t hear. The last thing he knew was that Fitzy had come in, and taking his natural form, the little goblin was going through Mat’s pockets looking for the cheese.

  Next morning, they took to the road. Kelly wore something much more practical, but to her disgust it was still a dress. ‘I haven’t worn skirts since I left school,’ she complained. Mrs Spriggs has also given her a white bonnet, to disguise her short hair. Mat wore the same clothes he’d been given the previous night. Their regular clothes had been washed and dried overnight in front of the fire, and were neatly folded into their packs, safely stowed under the carriage seats.

  Mat sat up front, beside where Captain Spriggs would drive the carriage. The Captain farewelled his wife with a courtly kiss on the cheek. She became quite teary, urging him to keep his head down, and hurry home quickly. She also fussed over Mat and Kelly, and made them promise to visit again. She hugged both warriors, and particularly Wiri. ‘Don’t you think about dying, young man. You think about life and living.’

  Fitzy had taken bird form again and flew ahead. Mat envied the turehu its flight, as the roads were slow and uncomfortable to travel. They were muddy, despite the good weather, and there was a constant stream of soldiers and settlers moving south. ‘The government has arranged the release of more land in the Waikato. The settlers are moving in, looking for land to farm,’ Captain Spriggs explained.