by Baker Chris
But the bolt still had to come out. In the end he held a slip knot on the shaft, tied the other end of the rope to a telegraph pole, and ran.
He came to under a State Highway One sign. He was on the main drag, the road that would take him through Putaruru and Tokoroa, and all the spooky pines that grew so close to the road. He thought briefly of retracing his steps and getting back on his old route, well away from the haunts of Kurangaituku but he hurt and he didn’t feel like facing another ambush. With a sickly feeling of inevitable doom he mounted up and rode down the highway.
The country outside Hamilton was just like the rural landscape elsewhere. It had always exuded an air of wealth and substance, horse and cattle studs, two-storeyed brick houses and avenues of English trees like oaks, London planes and elms. The trees were still there and so were the signs announcing notable racehorses and prize-winning bulls, but other than that everything was the same as elsewhere with flattened fences and thistles growing in what used to be lush pasture. Sean couldn’t have cared less. All he felt was pain and dread.
In Cambridge, cleaned up like Huntly but nobody in evidence, he rummaged through the backroom shelves of a chemist shop, looking for a medical kit and anything he could identify as an antibiotic. A bottle of disinfectant helped clean the wound and he found a large jar of pills with a name that sounded suitable. Thinking what the hell, he gobbled a handful, hoping they were antibiotics. He imagined gangrene and blood poisoning and a painful and ugly end on the roadside — if Kurangaituku didn’t get him first.
A supermarket had been well picked over but Sean managed to find a packet of dog biscuits. He stuffed them in his bag. Later that day, camped by Lake Karapiro, he tipped them out on the ground for Hamu while he dined on some of Frank and Edith’s pork with rice. His arm was hurting badly and his head was aching too. He took some more pills from the jar he’d picked up. When they didn’t make him hallucinate or give him the shits, his confidence rose slightly. Maybe he wouldn’t get too crook. He went to sleep by the fire, wrapped in Bojay’s saddle-blanket.
In the morning he felt worse. His arm was throbbing and so was his head. He was hosting an infection. As he rode through Tirau and then Putaruru the pain got worse and so did a feeling of disorientation, a near-hallucinatory dizziness. Who was he? What was he doing? Why was he riding this horse? Where was he going anyway? He swallowed some more pills. Half an hour later his head had cleared but he still felt like he was dreaming.
When he rode into Tokoroa he found branches laid out in the form of a vee, pointing to the bypass road that ran down the western side of Lake Taupo. Someone was trying to tell him something. Who? Why? He turned right and followed the sign past the side entrance to the Kinleith pulp mill. In the pine forest, thick and looming, he rode in near darkness with occasional shafts of dazzling light. Was this real or a feverish nightmare? He knew that he didn’t want to be caught among the trees after dark, so he kept up a good pace, alternately cantering and trotting for as long as his arm and his throbbing head could stand the jolting.
They were still among the trees when Sean couldn’t take it any more. They’d been pushing themselves for what seemed like hours. Bojay was all lathered up, Hamu’s head drooped and his tongue hung out. The light said it was probably mid-afternoon and they’d have time for a cup of tea and an hour’s rest. They stopped by a creek. Sean made a fire and boiled the billy while the animals drank their fill. Bojay grazed on some toetoe growing at the edge of the pines.
Sean sat on the pine needles, soft as any cushion, and leaned back against a tree trunk. His whole body ached. His head felt like a puffball. He wanted to throw up. No way could he mount Bojay again and keep riding. Not without a little rest anyway. He’d just shut his eyes for a moment.
When he woke up it was completely black, or at least it was till he ungummed his eyes and staggered to the creek where he dunked his head. Dusk. The light was fading fast. He didn’t feel at all rested, he felt even worse than before, sick, weak and dizzy. He looked around, realising that night was almost upon them and he had no idea how far they’d have to ride to find clear country. No time for anything else. He whistled for Hamu who was following smells in the undergrowth, mounted Bojay and headed down the road. Bojay’s trot threatened to dislodge his pounding head.
Within a kilometre it was dark enough for Sean to see stars in the narrow gap where the road divided the trees. But it wasn’t so pitch-black that Sean didn’t see the shape that leapt from the trees with a screech that nearly paralysed him.
Bojay shied, jumping sideways. Sean saw the creature land beside them in the road. He fought to stay mounted. It was big, and it recovered its balance even as Bojay, not waiting for any command, broke into a gallop down the centre of the highway. Sean held on as best he could.
Just as Frank had described, Sean could hear the ‘Thud! Thud!’ of the creature’s pursuit, not gaining but not falling behind either. He crouched over Bojay’s neck, all thoughts of illness forgotten. He urged the horse to greater speed and prayed for Bojay to keep his footing on the potholed surface. Bojay did but he couldn’t maintain the pace. Sean felt Bojay slowing and as he did the creature sprang. This time it landed square on Bojay’s back, right behind Sean. The horse stumbled and began to go down. Sean felt the creature’s claws grip him and something struck him a glancing blow on the head.
Sean and the creature, it could only have been Kurangaituku, were thrown clear as Bojay fell and they landed side by side. Kurangaituku was first to her feet and in the gloom Sean saw Kurangaituku sizing Bojay and him up. The moment of indecision allowed Sean to draw his sawn-off. When the creature stepped towards him, beak raised for a killing blow, Sean shot her right in the head.
Kurangaituku fell just as Hamu arrived, panting and giving the fallen monster a wide berth. Again, Sean remembered Frank’s tale. Frantically he remounted Bojay, praying that the horse was none the worse for his tumble. They galloped off down the road in the dark, hoping to get clear before Kurangaituku came to. Bojay needed no urging either. He kept up his gallop for what seemed like hours.
When they were well clear of the pines, Sean stopped and dismounted to let Hamu catch up. They’d escaped. There was no sign of Kurangaituku and, apart from low scrub, they were in clear country, half a moon shining over rolling hills, with here and there clumps of trees and shelter belts.
They all needed to stop, a chance to still their pounding hearts and collect their scattered wits. Sean gathered wood and lit another fire. Bojay munched half-heartedly and Hamu ignored the rest of the dog biscuits when Sean tipped them out. Sean couldn’t eat either. He just sat there in the firelight with a cup of tea and a smoke feeling miserable, sick and sore. He could smell the carrion stink of Kurangaituku all over himself. The moon told him they were about four hours from dawn, but at least they were clear of the pines.
Hamu growled. When Sean looked at him his teeth were bared and his hackles were up. Sean followed Hamu’s gaze. To his horror, he saw a looming shadow, not ten feet away Kurangaituku stood there, not moving. Sean had all the time in the world to get a clear picture. The beak and claws stood out in the flickering firelight, but the most horrible thing of all was the eyes. They were black pits, alien and merciless, and they stared unblinking, while the claws clenched and unclenched. Sean leapt to his feet, expecting to be attacked and torn apart as he moved. But Kurangaituku was still.
Sean became aware of the manaia nestling against his chest. It was alive. It gave him back the strength he thought he’d lost. His head cleared and his body tingled all over. Forgetting his pain, he waved his arms like he was shooing chooks.
‘Haere atu!’ he yelled, as loud as he could. ‘Fuck off!’
Hamu gave a booming bark and from right beside Sean’s ear Bojay made a noise like the Muscle Shoals horn section blasting a bridge into the chorus. Kurangaituku recoiled. As they watched, the monster shrank, nearly half a metre. No longer was it towering overhead looking like it was about to leap and devour them, cl
eaving Sean’s skull with its massive beak, its shiny black eyes strange and terrifying. It was Sean’s height now and it looked directly at him. Sean saw what it was feeling. Maybe it was his feverish state, maybe it was his fright-fuelled imagination, but there was a being, just like Hamu or Bojay, just like another human. What Sean saw was a deep unhappiness. Kurangaituku was lonely and confused, gripped by unwanted passions. Sean and the creature stood there looking at each other and then it slowly backed away, lifting its great clawed feet and placing them with deliberate care like a dancer or a gymnast, like the formal movements of a warrior delivering a wero, a challenge. Despite his terror, Sean felt a sudden rush of sympathy for it. Where were its friends and family? Who could ever love it? Without thinking he spoke to it, just as it turned, about to vanish into the night.
‘Take it easy, sis!’ Sean called, and if he ever meant anything said he meant those words. Kurangaituku stopped. Sean had time to think that perhaps he should have kept his big mouth shut. To his horror he saw the firelit beast grow again, and turn its horrid gaze on him. ‘Oh no!’ he said to himself. He was reaching for the sawn-off when Kurangaituku sprang.
Kurangaituku’s leap knocked Sean over and, just as he dodged a wicked blow from the creature’s beak, he felt a claw go into his eye. Hamu hurled himself at Kurangaituku and, even though he was plucked off and thrown to one side, his attack gave Sean time to rise and seize the monster around the neck, immobilising the beak and toppling Kurangaituku. The two of them fell right into the fire.
Sean felt his hair crisp and sizzle and the stabbing pain of the hot coals searing his skin. At the same time he heard a screech of terror from Kurangaituku. When the creature leapt to her feet, he saw through his one-eyed daze that she was on fire. All down one side feathers were burning. Frantically she beat at the flames with her claws, but the tongues of fire spread. Ignoring the nearby stream and the long grass she could have rolled in, Kurangaituku fled.
Sean came to with Hamu licking his face. He lay on his back feeling his wounds. One eye was blind. His head and his arm throbbed. His nostrils were full of the unbelievable stench of the burning monster. Sean was too weak to move and he stayed on his back, the front of his swanny pulled up and held against his eye. Bojay was eating grass again and Hamu, unhurt after his encounter, had started picking his biscuits out of the grass. Sean struggled to his feet and rebuilt the fire, one-handed and one-eyed.
As he sat half blind, wondering if he was going to live or die, he noticed Hamu. The dog had stopped rootling in the grass for his biscuits. He was sitting with his head on one side, gazing enraptured at a point beside the fire. Again Sean followed his gaze. This time he saw a little creature, less than a metre high, warming himself by the flames. He was gnarled and misshapen with a high forehead and reddish curly hair. He was one of the little guys out of Cally’s paintings — one of the Maeroero. Hamu and Sean were entranced. Even Bojay had stopped munching. Sean could smell his grassy breath as he moved up behind them. The Maeroero turned to them and spoke, and the sound made Sean forget anything he’d read about the clear and piping voices of the little people. The Maeroero sounded like Tom Waits on a bad day, like cutlery caught in the waste disposal unit, and he spoke in a dialect full of g’s and k’s, grunts and clicks.
‘Tena koutou,’ he said.
The barely comprehensible formal greeting sounded more like ‘tinna goat.’ A noise like three metres of concrete mixing in a truck followed. Sean strained to make sense of the noise.
‘Ko Uruao ahau.’
Uruao? Sean had never heard the name before. It wasn’t from anywhere he’d been. Then the little guy started smiling and nodding, just like the blanketed man at Ngaruawahia.
‘Tatou tatou!’ he said to Sean, though the noise was more like a motor mower running over tin cans. Tatou tatou? All of them together? Uruao continued smiling and nodding. Sean wondered what he meant. Then Sean heard a strange noise, like a mixture of grinding gears and a punk rock drum solo. The noise was coming from the little guy. He was shaking with what looked to Sean like laughter. As Sean fought to focus, he saw the Maeroero lift one arm and point, right at his face.
That was about the last straw for Sean. He felt crook as hell. In the past couple of days he’d been ambushed, shot, chased, frightened half to death, and, to cap it all, he’d probably lost an eye.
‘And you can fuck off too, you crater-faced little dipstick!’ Sean yelled at the diminutive creature, sitting there by the fire, wrapped in a cloak made from some spotted hide and sounding like the old Cresta had just thrown a rod.
And he did. He rose, still laughing and pointing, took a step backwards into the darkness and vanished, the collapsed-bearing graunch of his laughter taking a few seconds to fade.
Sean was way beyond shock and surprise. He’d been attacked and nearly killed by one mythical creature, and laughed at by another. Big deal. He had his own problems. For a start he was having trouble standing upright. He tossed the remaining wood on the fire, wrapped himself in the saddle-blanket, lay on the ground and passed out from pain and exhaustion.
10
SEAN WAS IN A BAD WAY that night. Racked with pain, delirium, the infection raging, burns from the fire and exhaustion from his flight and his battle, he didn’t even know which way was up. He gobbled the pills like they were lollies. He crawled to the creek and lay with his head in the water, washing his eye and trying to soothe his blistered skin. Soaked from sweat, creek water and dew, he found yet more pain every time he moved on the hard ground.
When it was light enough to see, Sean managed to get to his feet and saddle Bojay one-handed. The saddle-blanket was wrinkled and crooked, and the girth so loose that anything other than a gentle walk would have dislodged him. He didn’t give a thought to being caught up in the stirrups and maybe killed by the panicked flight that would have ensued. He didn’t know what he was thinking, other than that he had to keep moving. No way could he light a fire. He had no food and couldn’t have eaten anyway, though he did manage to stuff the last of the pills into his mouth and take a drink of cold tea from the billy.
He turned left on the road to Tokaanu and looked up to see Tongariro gleaming in the sunrise, triumphant above the mist and cloud, Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe standing alongside. About three kilometres short of the settlement he fell from the saddle.
When he woke a week later, he heard the whole story. Bojay had trotted into Tokaanu, stirrups swinging and the saddle still perched on his back. The locals were getting through their chores in the early morning. They thought at first Bojay was an apparition, materialised from the Waituhi Saddle or the legendary settlement of Hauhangaroa.
They had followed the horse back to where Sean lay. Hamu who had guarded him while he lay insensible on the roadside, wouldn’t let them near him. One of the old people had to reassure the dog that they really were there to help and he’d done a particularly good job. Sean arrived in Tokaanu lying across Bojay and not far from death.
‘You’re a legend in your own lunchtime,’ laughed Roha. She’d been forcing liquids into Sean, wondering where he’d been, and whether or not he’d recover. It was touch and go for a few days. Some of the folk there even had bets as to whether or not Sean would survive. The odds weren’t too good till the day his delirium broke, he opened his remaining eye, and began climbing back to the land of the living.
Sean had lost an eye. While he tossed and ranted they made him an eyepatch and he was wearing it the day he woke up. Roha held up a mirror for him and he almost wept at the sight of the mangled mess beneath it. But he consoled himself with the thought that new hair was growing back, his blistered skin was healing and the infection had gone. And he and his two friends were still alive. They’d survived Kurangaituku. He lay in bed wondering what he’d learned from his encounter. What had the Maeroero meant by ‘tatou tatou’? How come his gesture of kindness towards the monster had almost resulted in his death?
George, a GP who had lived through the Fever and as soon as he
could had moved back home from Taupo where he’d been a partner in a medical centre, wouldn’t let Sean get up. He made it clear that continuation of his journey was out of the question for at least several weeks.
‘They’ll cancel your medical insurance if you go against my advice,’ he warned.
George laughed at Sean’s empty pill bottle. They were indeed antibiotics, but toddler-strength, designed for a two-year-old with a touch of the blahs, not even as strong as Junior Disprin.
‘Still,’ he said, ‘Better than nothing and they probably saved you.’
He asked Sean where he’d been and, lacking the strength even to sit upright, Sean told him. Disbelief flickered in the doctor’s eyes when Sean described his encounter with Kurangaituku and with the Maeroero. Sean expected to be told he’d been delirious, imagining things. But George shook his head like he was waking himself up.
‘That would have been my reaction in the old world. But I’ve seen too many strange things, since the Fever, to dismiss the tale so lightly.’
A day later Sean had a visit from an old man who pulled up a chair beside the bed and said he was one of the folk that had brought Sean in. No doubt the pills had helped, he said with a sceptical ‘Harumph’, but far more efficacious had been the manaia, untouched around Sean’s neck while everything else had been removed.
‘You’ve got some strong help,’ he said, ‘And I don’t just mean the horse and the dog.’
He knew Kurangaituku was abroad. He made Sean repeat the tale of his encounter several times, questioning Sean on the monster’s behaviour and that of the Maeroero.
‘That little fellow was a long way from home,’ he said. ‘And what are you doing, anyway? Where are you going?’
‘I’m not really sure,’ Sean told him. ‘All I seem to get is warnings.’ The old man looked at him directly for the first time.
‘Give me a few days,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask around.’ As he rose and left the room Sean wondered what he meant.
