Song of the Spirits (In the Land of the Long White Cloud saga)

by Lark, Sarah

  Elaine found it more alarming than wonderful. Her heart was already pounding in anticipation, but she was still much less anxious than Caleb would have been. Her stage fright would motivate her, and the resplendence all around her would lend its radiance to her playing. Kura had no concerns about Elaine. She had known dancers in the ensemble who trembled with excitement every evening, only to improve with each performance. Elaine was like that—she would be sure to do her job well.

  Elaine was already playing better in their rehearsal than she had in Greymouth. Though that may have had something to do with the impeccably tuned and very expensive grand piano the hotel had made available to them. Elaine was intimidated by the instrument at first, but she played with visible joy.

  Both of the girls were in high spirits when they finally went to their rooms and dressed for the evening. Mrs. O’Brien had indeed managed the feat of tailoring a new dress for Elaine in only a week. This one was made of a darker velvet, as the azure-blue fabric had been impossible to get ahold of again on such short notice. But it looked equally beautiful. The night-blue tone brought out the shine in Elaine’s hair and emphasized her pale skin. It made her look more serious and less like a girl.

  Kura did not have a new dress. She and William had spent all their savings on the trip and the concert announcements, and William had to decline when she asked him to sew her a dress himself.

  “Sweetheart, I only have an imperfect mastery of this miracle machine. Only a small number of the women who buy them will ever sew as well as Mrs. O’Brien. To be honest, I didn’t even think it was possible before that woman laid her hand on her first Singer. She’s a natural-born talent. I’ve already wondered whether she could be persuaded to study to be a saleswoman. But if we meet success in Blenheim, I’ll be done with Singers, and you’ll be buying your wardrobe in London.”

  So Kura planned to perform in her wine-red dress. Even in an old dress, she cast a shadow over all the women around her. At the Redcliffs’ reception, admiring looks followed her around the room before she had even been introduced as the evening’s guest of honor. Heather Redcliff greeted her effusively, and Kura even let Heather embrace her.

  “You look as ravishing as ever, Kura,” Heather said enthusiastically. “You’ve become an adult, and it suits you marvelously. I can hardly wait to hear you sing.”

  Kura could only return her compliments. Heather looked better herself. She looked softer—and that night, she was beaming from the inside out, the reason for which William Martyn was not wholly innocent.

  Julian Redcliff proved to be a ponderous, somewhat heavyset man of middle age. Though he could be described as red-faced, exposure to wind and weather, rather than an overly intensive enjoyment of whiskey, was the primary cause of it. He had thinning hair, attentive brown eyes, and a firm handshake. While William felt that the man was appraising him, Timothy thought him likable from the start. The two were soon involved in a conversation about railroad construction and the various difficulties of laying tracks over mountains.

  “We must have a drink together in my study afterward,” Julian said almost conspiratorially when he noticed that Timothy was beginning to have difficulty standing. “I have some fantastic whiskey. But first I need to put these greetings behind me. My wife seems to have invited everybody in Blenheim I know but don’t like. Find yourself a seat and have something to eat. After what this squadron of cooks cost—who spent all day getting on our nerves—the buffet must be a wonder to behold.”

  Heather spent the better part of the evening introducing Kura and Elaine around. Elaine hardly managed to eat a thing. Kura charmed everyone to whom she was introduced. Though most of them admired her for her appearance alone, a few of the guests appeared to be genuinely interested in music and admired the richly decorated putorino flute that she had brought along at William’s insistence. For many guests, it was an experience to see and even touch the Maori instruments up close.

  “Can you really conjure the spirits with it?” one woman asked Kura with interest. “I read something about that. The flute is supposed to be able to sing with three different voices, but they say that only a few have the talent to wake the spirits with it.”

  Kura was just about to explain that the spirit voice of the putorino was more a question of breathing technique than spirituality when William interrupted her, giving his talent at whaikorero free rein once again.

  “Only the chosen—they’re known as the tohunga—can draw this very unusual sound from the flute. And when you hear those sounds, you’ll no longer think of it as mere superstition. It may only be a breathing technique, but these voices touch a person deep inside. They ask questions, and they give answers. Sometimes they even fulfill sensual desires.” He winked at Kura.

  “Well, go ahead and show us how it’s done,” said an already slightly drunk young man accompanying the young woman. “Conjure up a few spirits.”

  Kura looked embarrassed, or at least pretended to be.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” she mumbled. “I’m not a magician, and besides, the spirits are not circus ponies that one summons to trot about.”

  “Oh, what a shame, I would have liked just once to see a real spirit,” the man quipped. “But perhaps it will happen tomorrow at the concert.”

  “The spirits touch a man when he least expects it,” William explained seriously. Then he laughed unashamedly in front of Kura when the couple had left. “That’s how you do it, sweetheart. You need to present yourself with more of an aura of mystery. Many people can sing the “Habanera,” but conjuring spirits is something special. Your ancestors won’t hold it against you.”

  “If things go on like this, you’ll soon be telling fortunes,” Elaine teased her cousin.

  Kura rolled her eyes. “He’s also reconsidering whether I shouldn’t appear in traditional Maori attire after all.”

  Elaine giggled. “You’re supposed to get tattooed and take the stage with bare breasts?”

  “Not the former, but there’s no question he’s thought about the latter. What he actually mentioned was a ‘bast skirt.’ I don’t even know what that is,” Kura said, smiling. She had long since stopped taking William too seriously.

  “Kura? Miss Keefer? There you are. Come here, there’s someone else I’d like you to meet,” Heather Redcliff said, fussing over them once more. She had a corpulent man and his no-less-rotund wife in tow. Following them was a rather strange-looking couple who required more time to cross the room. The man leaned heavily on the woman and a walking stick. He was tall but looked somehow crooked. His face was all but hidden behind a pair of dark glasses.

  “Dr. Mattershine and Louisa Mattershine. The doctor is a surgeon at our new hospital. A real expert in the field. And his wife…”

  Elaine didn’t hear another word. She stared as though hypnotized at the woman behind the Mattershines, who was slowly inching closer. A narrow, symmetrical, and classically beautiful face. Soft golden-colored hair set in a heavy bun at the nape of the neck. Beautiful brown eyes that made a striking contrast to her light skin color.

  Zoé Sideblossom.

  Elaine’s mouth went dry. She stared at the dark-haired man at her side. Though he had no doubt once been slim and muscular, he now looked deformed and twisted. Body and face alike were spongy and bloated. Yet the hard line around the mouth was still there, as was the crease between his eyes that betrayed his concentration when he would…

  Elaine felt a cold sensation surge through her. She wanted to run, but she could not. Just as she had not been able to do so often on Lionel Station.

  “These are our guests, Zoé and Thomas Sideblossom.” The doctor’s wife took over the introductions. Though friendly and considerate, she also liked to spread gossip. So she continued quickly before Zoé and Thomas reached the group and could hear what she said.

  “We brought them to cheer them up a bit. They’ve had a hard time of it. The young man was severely injured in an accident with a gun and is now a shadow of his
former self. And she is his… hmm… stepmother, a love his father found late in life. Well, and yesterday she learned that her husband… Like I said, a hard time. Come here, Zoé, dear, these are the artists.”

  Zoé and Elaine stared at one another. Zoé was wearing black, so she had to know. Naturally, Elaine had not believed for a minute that the Sideblossoms’ staff had no way to reach them.

  “You.” Zoé’s voice sounded expressionless. She seemed to push Thomas away from her a bit. It was almost as if she hoped that he would concentrate on Mrs. Mattershine, to allow her a few personal words with Elaine. “I was amazed at you back then, you know? But you… we… Oh God, we should leave.”

  Zoé seemed as seized by panic as Elaine. Yet neither of them saw any possibility of escaping the situation.

  “Mrs. Kura-maro… How does one pronounce that, my dear? And Miss Elaine Keefer.”

  Perhaps Thomas would not have noticed if his hostess had not accidentally given Elaine’s real name. They had agreed that she would appear one last time as Lainie Keefer, but “Lainie” seemed to be just too unusual for Louisa Mattershine. Or was it something in Elaine’s aura that betrayed her—an aura of fear that Thomas knew only too well?

  “Elaine?” It was the same voice. It touched Elaine in her innermost recesses, seeming to compress her heart. “My Elaine?”

  The man balled his left fist on his stick.

  Elaine’s eyes widened in fear, unable to look away.

  “Thomas, I…”

  “Thomas, we should go now,” Zoé Sideblossom said calmly. “We agreed to leave the past alone. We all regret what happened.”

  “You wanted to leave the past alone, Zoé darling.” The last word sounded threatening. Thomas Sideblossom straightened up, to the extent that he still could. For most people, it may not have been a particularly terrifying sight, but Elaine stepped back, her hands grasping the air. It was as though Timothy and her time in Greymouth had never happened. Here was Thomas, and she belonged to him.

  “And you!” He spoke in Elaine’s direction as though he could see her before him as clearly as he had back then. “I don’t want to leave anything alone, my beloved Elaine. My father is looking for you, you know… or was looking for you. Now he’s supposedly dead. Maybe you had something to do with that too, you witch?”

  The guests around Elaine, Zoé, and Thomas who had been following his outburst watched the deathly pale girl in front of him and the young woman desperately trying to pull him away.

  “Thomas, come now.”

  “But in the end, he found you, Elaine.”

  The words rolled off his tongue as though he were hungry to say more. He made an unsteady step in Elaine’s direction.

  “I’ll take you back. Not today, not tomorrow, Elaine, but when it suits me. You should be expecting me, Elaine… just like back then. Do you still remember? Your white dress—so sweet, so innocent—but even back then, you talked back. You always talked back.”

  Elaine’s whole body shook. She was utterly paralyzed by fear. If he had wanted to take her then, she would have gone with him—or fired a gun once more. But she did not have a gun. Elaine raised her hands helplessly.

  But then a muffled sound, an arduously produced melody from another world, broke through the tense silence between Elaine and Thomas. A voice, somewhere between a whisper and a moan, arose. Loud, hoarse, threatening.

  Elaine had never heard this sound before. But of course, she recognized the instrument. It was the spirit voice of the putorino.

  Kura played with concentration, starting with long, plaintive notes that gradually became faster, eerier. Logically, the notes should have begun to sound shriller, but instead they became hollower, scarier. And they wrapped around Kura like a ghostly aura. Kura stepped over to Elaine, then between her and Thomas Sideblossom.

  The man had been frozen in his aggressive stance since he had heard the first notes. Then his body visibly lost its tension, and his threatening expression changed to one of panicked fear. His glasses tumbled off, and his destroyed face became visible to all—a twisted, contorted face that seemed to lose all its hardness with the music. Behind the features of the malignant man appeared the face of a distraught child.

  “No… please… not…” The man stepped back, lost his balance, fell. Then he screamed, tried to shield his face with his arms, and rolled onto the floor.

  Elaine did not know what she was seeing and hearing any more than the other observers. But she noticed everyone around Kura and Thomas drawing back. She might even have believed in the magic of the flute if Kura herself had not looked just as mystified by the crumpled man in front of her.

  Thomas was still whimpering when Kura finally stopped. She did not seem to know what she was supposed to do, but she hurled a few words at him in Maori that appeared to complete derange him. Elaine felt she had to add something. Quickly and hoarsely, she uttered the first sentence in Maori that occurred to her.

  Then she backed up, retreating just as timidly as the other people in the room. Kura, however, maintained her poise. She turned her back to Thomas and left the room, head held high, every inch the victor.

  “A doctor, we need a doctor,” Elaine heard Zoé Sideblossom’s voice and then Heather Redcliff’s as though through a fog. As she walked out of the room, she wondered in passing where Dr. Mattershine had run off to, but she didn’t care. When she found Timothy in the study having a relaxed conversation with Julian Redcliff, she fell to her knees in front of him, and buried her head in his lap.

  “Lainie? What’s wrong? Lainie?”

  One of the guests rushing past the entrance to the room answered for her. “That Maori witch killed a man.”

  “Nonsense, he’s not dead,” William Martyn said, supporting Kura, who was completely disoriented. She could have kept herself on her feet without him, but he felt he should be prepared to assist her when the magic—or whatever it was—had drained from her unnaturally rigid body. “He’s just had a shock. But how that happened…”

  “Find an explanation among yourselves,” said Julian Redcliff, who was rapidly gaining esteem in Timothy’s eyes. He had brought Elaine, who had come completely unraveled, and Kura, in her agitated state, into the safety of his bedroom. He scored points with William as well by producing a bottle of whiskey right away. With an awestruck look at the flute in Kura’s hands, he took another deep drink himself before taking his leave. “I’m going to sally out and calm the hysterical. My wife chief among them. Perhaps afterward, you can explain to me how you knock a grown man to the floor with a flute. To be honest, this is the first time that art has really impressed me.”

  “I don’t know either,” Kura said, reaching for the bottle. “I have no idea. When the man began to threaten Lainie, and she looked like she was about to fall down dead with terror, I just started playing. Hoping to draw William over, really. He can’t resist the spirit voice. I thought if I played a bit of it that he would come, thinking he needed to feed the guests a line.” Kura laughed nervously. “But then the man reacted so strangely. The flute clearly terrified him. So, naturally, I kept playing.”

  “What sort of song was that anyway?” William asked. “Some kind of conjuration?”

  “Now you’re being absurd, William.” Kura shook her head. “It was a lamentation for the dead. From a haka Caleb wrote down. But we thought it too sad for the program, and it’s quite difficult to play. The volume works for a room, but it would not fill a hall.”

  “So Sideblossom became completely hysterical because he heard a sort of… er… keen?” Timothy asked incredulously.

  Kura nodded. “You could put it that way. The equivalent would be if a Maori man were to collapse because a pakeha played “Amazing Grace.”

  “And the curse?” Timothy continued. “I hear that you said something afterward.”

  Kura blushed. “I can’t translate that. But it’s… well, a makutu, an insult. I can assure you that something along those lines gets said every day among jealous men
or brats without any consequences—other than maybe causing one of them to punch the other in the nose.”

  “And what did you say?” Timothy said, turning to Lainie. “Didn’t you also add something at the end?”

  “Me?” Lainie started as though woken from a gloomy dream. “I hardly know any Maori. I said what came to mind just then. Something that roughly means, ‘Thank you, you also have a very good-looking dog.’”

  “That explains everything, of course,” remarked William.

  “But the Maori woman who manages the Sideblossom household also has a putorino,” Elaine said. She spoke without inflection, as she always did when she recalled her time on Lionel Station. “And I hated her, because whenever she would play, Thomas seemed to fly into a rage, and then he would be even crueler than usual. But I don’t know if it was the spirit voice. I never listened that closely.”

  “She probably couldn’t,” said Kura. “It’s not easy. My mother taught me to do it. And I didn’t find it scary. Marama would play the spirit voice for me when I couldn’t sleep. Then she would say the spirits sang me to sleep.”

  “Emere was Thomas’s nanny. Maybe she did it the other way around?” Elaine reflected. “Perhaps she scared him with it?”

  Timothy shrugged. “Whatever the case, we’ll probably never know. Maybe he was just scared that Elaine would sic Callie on him. He deserved it. Though he may be terrified now, I’ll nonetheless feel better when we put a few thousand miles between us and these crazy people. I’m just sorry about your concert, Kura. After this evening, no one is going to come.”

  William grinned. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

  7

  Around ten the next morning, the hotel’s business manager appeared with an urgent request to be allowed to bring fifty more seats into the concert hall.

  “It might affect the acoustics, and the crowd cannot be good for their concentration, but people keep rushing in. This morning there were a few remaining tickets, but they were gone by five after nine. Now they’ve lined up downstairs, and we don’t have any more seats.”