by David Hair
‘How do you mean?’
‘It’s the Wild East, mate,’ he said, his face solemn. ‘Lots of old history and dangerous stories. The Maori wars had a heavy impact upon it. There were lots of deaths. Puarata’s base was in the Ureweras. You shouldn’t go into Aotearoa when you’re there. I’m serious.’
Mat nodded, bowing his head. It sounded like this holiday was going to be worse than he’d thought.
Kelly tousled his hair. ‘Hey, don’t look so glum, chum. We’ll be back soon, and we’ll all have a great time. Enjoy yourself! You’ve got friends up there, haven’t you?’
Mat brightened. ‘Yeah, Riki is going to be up there with his grandparents.’
‘There! Cool!’ Kelly patted his shoulder. ‘Have a good time, Matty!’
Tama came out to see them off, and finally the VW pulled away with much honking and waving, with Fitzy chasing it halfway done the road before coming back, panting happily.
Tama patted his shoulder. ‘Well, I suppose you better set up that game, eh?’ He didn’t sound enthusiastic. But his cellphone rang before they could even settle into the lounge. Tama took the call. ‘What? He did what?’ He strode towards his office. ‘You better give me the details.’ His voice sounded businesslike and angry. Mat felt his heart sink.
He didn’t see Dad again all afternoon, and the house seemed cold and empty with Wiri and Kelly gone. He didn’t really feel like gaming, and had packed that in hours ago. As the sun went down, he was quietly creating and dispelling a little ball of light as evening fell, staring out the window. It was some thing Pania of the Reef had shown him how to do a few weeks ago. He’d been sneaking out for magic lessons for the last two months. No one else knew, except Fitzy who was sworn—well, bribed—to secrecy.
Finally Tama called him down for dinner, and they ate in almost silence, his father preoccupied with whatever emergency had called him away. But after dinner, Tama gave him an envelope, and sat back with an expectant smile.
Mat opened it curiously. Inside was a made-up IOU card that offered him ‘Anything you want’. It had ‘within reason’ in small print in the bottom corner. He stared at it, uncertain how to react.
‘Well?’ Tama asked. ‘What would you like? Within reason,’ he added, with emphasis.
Mat looked down at his empty plate. Anything I want? You don’t know what I want, Dad, and you wouldn’t give it to me anyway. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I mean…anything?’ he said, struggling to keep the doubt out of his voice.
Tama looked put out. ‘I mean it, anything. A car? It’s high time you had a car. You’re sixteen now, after all. I’d been thinking a Toyota—the new model looks smart. Or maybe a—’
Mat interrupted him, shaking his head. ‘I don’t know, Dad. I need to think.’ He swallowed the last of the small glass of wine he’d been allowed.
Tama stared at him, a little sullenly, and Mat realised he’d disappointed his father with his lack of enthusiasm. ‘Hey, appreciated, Dad,’ he said with a forced brightness. ‘Thanks…yeah.’
Tama nodded doubtfully. ‘Sure. Merry Christmas, matey,’ he added, but his voice was flat and his eyes were far away.
2
Lessons at midnight
Napier was glittering, the row of pines along the seafront all gaudy like so many Christmas trees, winking at the remains of the night. A waning moon hung low over the western hills, a tarnished crescent of silver that lit the silent streets faintly. The city had fallen asleep, collapsed from too much wine and good food, partied out, and dreaming fitfully of lavish gifts, family grievances and Boxing Day sales. The backstreets were empty, and the roads silent as Mat crept out the door and down the driveway, trying not to wake Dad. It was two hours until dawn, the day after Christmas.
Fitzy scampered past him, briefly tangling his legs. ‘Clumsy mutt,’ Mat muttered as he staggered.
‘Ha! Wasn’t me who had an extra glass of wine last night,’ the turehu responded sniffily.
Mat stared at his reflection in a window for a second before hurrying on. He looked like his father in the gloom: dark and grumpy. He threw a glance over his shoulder, wondering if he was being followed again. Lately a smelly black cat had been trailing him, and scratching at his window at night. There was nothing to see, but he wasn’t reassured, and hurried on.
They emerged onto Marine Parade, where a couple of boy-racer types were hurtling along in their souped-up car, blaring rap music and waving bottles out the window. Mat half-thought he recognised them—Napier was small that way. He kept well out of sight. If they were who he thought, he’d not want to bump into them here and now. They were bad enough at school.
When the road was clear, he slunk across, over the thinly grassed shingle of the beach and down to where the waves hissed and snarled. A cold salty wind met him, making him shudder involuntarily. He put a hand on the dog’s head, his eyes piercing the gloom. Away to his left was Napier Hill, just the street lights illuminating it dimly. This part of the seafront was empty, as he’d hoped.
‘Thanks, Fitzy,’ he whispered to the Labrador. ‘You can go hunting if you want. See if you can catch that stinky cat that’s been hanging round.’
The dog whuffed, and almost seemed to snicker happily, before bounding back the way they had come. Mat waved, and then sat down in the shingle to wait.
Just when he was beginning to wonder if she was coming, Mat saw her. A slender dark shape was sashaying through the waves, walking the sea’s edge. As she got closer, he could see her long black hair was plastered to her skull, and her denim jacket and jeans were soaked through, as if she had just been swimming in them. She was Maori, skinny and pretty, with a tiny moko on her chin. He caught his breath, and then half-ran to greet her. The street lights from the road behind him dimly lit her face. She smiled slyly as he came.
‘Kia ora, Matiu,’ said Pania of the Reef. ‘Happy Christian Day to you.’
‘Christmas,’ he corrected automatically. ‘And it was yesterday.’
She shrugged, then stepped in and they pressed noses in a traditional hongi. ‘How are you, my friend?’ She smelt disturbingly of the sea, her breath tangy and her skin chill.
He flushed a little. She had a lovely face and a secretive smile, and he had to remind himself that she was a creature of legend, not a regular girl at all. ‘I’m good,’ he replied, then faltered. ‘Well, mostly.’
‘Mostly?’
He glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Well…apart from Mum and Dad still being apart. And Dad…’ he trailed off. He didn’t know how to express how things were with Dad. ‘Unresolved’ was the closest word he could find. ‘And I’m still being watched.’
She frowned at that. ‘Still?’
‘There’s a black cat that tails me at night when I go out. I think it’s even been in my room. It leaves this horrible smell, like it’s been rolling in dead stuff. And someone is trying to spy on me…you know, the way Puarata used to try to, using magic. Remember, you showed me how to make it stop. I can feel them trying to see me, but they go when I wish them away.’
‘Do you know who it is?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve no idea.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘Do you know who it could be?’
Pania shrugged lightly. ‘It could be anyone. Well, out of a very small pool of people. Not many people can do it.’
‘How many?’
The girl frowned. ‘I’ve been told that there are maybe fifty of you humans in this country that can do some form of useful magic. Perhaps another few hundred who have a little potential but will never amount to much. Since you and Wiri killed Puarata, there are lots of people who are curious about you. But most folk have bigger problems since that happened.’
‘But Puarata dying was good, right? It made things better?’
Pania nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’ She looked down. ‘Except that it also triggered a war.’
Mat stared. ‘Huh?’ He glanced around, looking for evidence of conflict.
‘Not here! In
Aotearoa. Think about it, Mat; when someone that powerful dies unexpectedly, it creates an opportunity. All manner of folk try to step into the shoes of the fallen leader. That’s the way it has always been. Don’t they teach you history at school?’
‘Yeah, but…that’s all, um, historical, you know…’ he concluded lamely.
Pania rolled her eyes and sat down cross-legged on the shingle beach. She could have been fourteen or four hundred, her face full of secrets. Mat sat facing her. ‘They’re going to get someone to teach you, you know,’ she said. ‘Someone who can show you the things you need to know. Hakawau says that you’re probably the most gifted young tohunga ruanuku in Aotearoa. He said even he was stunned with some of the things you did, when you escaped Puarata.’
Mat blushed proudly. ‘He did?’ After the breakthroughs he had made during his flight to Cape Reinga, he’d left every thing alone for a while. But a few weeks after getting home he’d met Pania again while running on the beach one evening, and she had agreed to teach him a little—for his own good, she told him. That was two months ago, and they were making considerable progress, despite having to meet in secrecy because he’d promised Wiri he’d not touch his new powers until a tutor could be found. ‘Wiri told me about this guy, Jones, who’s coming here soon,’ he added.
Pania nodded. ‘A good man, they say. I’m glad. I do not have sufficient knowledge to take your learnings much further.’
‘But you’ve been great!’ Mat exclaimed. They had spent hours together, on frustrating little exercises that had finally begun to click in his head in the last few weeks. ‘Thanks to you, I know how to light fires, and repair seams, and lots of other stuff. You’re a great teacher.’ And I really like you, he didn’t add.
She shook her head. ‘You already know nearly as much as I do about it now,’ she said lightly. ‘You need a proper teacher, to keep you safe.’
He felt a sudden chill, and a breeze from the land carried an unpleasant carrion smell. ‘What do you mean, “to keep me safe”?’
‘To keep you safe from other “magicians” who want to make a name for themselves,’ Pania explained. ‘Most are weak but some are very strong. The strongest are like Puarata, very dangerous indeed. And most of them are filthy little sneaks,’ she added venomously.
Mat looked at her queasily. ‘Serious?’
‘Of course. Do you think people are so intrinsically virtuous that they won’t use a secret power for their own gain? They all use their powers to cheat, and then to hurt, and it taints them. It changes them. There are only a handful of ruanuku that I would trust, out of the dozens I’ve met.’
Mat felt his skin go cold. It felt like she’d just told him he had a congenital illness. ‘But I won’t be like that,’ he insisted.
‘You better not,’ she replied severely. ‘Anyway, now that Puarata is dead, all those with evil in their hearts are coming out of the shadows, trying to lay claim to his throne. People like Donna Kyle. You remember her, don’t you?’
Mat shuddered. He certainly did. ‘But she’s dead, right?’ he asked hopefully.
Pania shook her head. ‘She’s still alive, sadly. Alive and fighting to gain her master’s throne. She was his lover and his closest confidante. Many rally to her on that basis. But there are others strong enough to rival her. Kurangaituku, the Bird-Witch, is also powerful, with eyes everywhere. The American, Sebastian Venn, also; he has alliances among the colonial soldiers. But the worst is John Bryce.’
Mat frowned. ‘I think I’ve heard of him,’ he said, remembering some school lessons. ‘Wasn’t he the guy who took over that Maori village in Taranaki and enslaved everyone?’
‘You mean the attack on Parihaka,’ she replied, nodding. ‘It was during the aftermath of the Land Wars, in 1881, when John Bryce was Native Minister. He personally led the attack against a pacifist community. Women were raped, men beaten, and then taken away and made to work until they died, down in the south. Their houses were burned and all they had of value confiscated. He was the most hated Pakeha in New Zealand for a long time. When he died, that hatred gave him power in Aotearoa. He quickly became Puarata’s lieutenant, and the tohunga gave him the South Island as his own fiefdom. Now that Puarata is dead, Bryce seeks to seize all of Aotearoa. Ships have been passing in the night, up from the south, heading for the East Coast. We sea-people have seen them.’
‘The East Coast? What’s there?’
‘Puarata’s lair. Deep in the Ureweras, on the banks of Lake Waikaremoana.’
Mat thought for a minute, remembering what Wiri had said before he had said before he left. ‘We’re going up to Gisborne this morning, for a holiday.’
Pania frowned. ‘Well, don’t go into Aotearoa when you’re there,’ she warned. ‘This side is probably safe, but Aotearoa won’t be. Not safe at all.’ Then she smiled suddenly, in that quicksilver way she had, and her mood changed entirely. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a beautiful paua shell, its blue-green hues reflecting the distant street lights. ‘This is for you. A present.’
He accepted it awkwardly. ‘Th-thanks.’ He dug in his pocket. ‘I couldn’t think what to give you,’ he stammered.
She shrugged. ‘What would I do with a present anyway?’
‘Would you like to join us for breakfast in the morning?’ he asked. ‘It’s nearly dawn.’
She shook her head slowly. ‘That’s very sweet, Matiu. But you are humans. Your father would be afraid. And you have a turehu with you. His people and mine are old enemies. I would have to eat him, so best I don’t come.’ She bared her white teeth suddenly with a low titter. ‘I’m only joking,’ she said, but Mat wasn’t sure. ‘Anyway, I prefer to eat fish, freshly caught.’ Her teeth flashed again. ‘I like them raw.’ She looked dangerous for an instant, but then giggled. She leant in and kissed Mat on the cheek. ‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘My people await.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’ he asked as they stood.
She half-turned, looking at him sideways with a knowing smile. ‘Sure.’
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ He felt himself colour as he asked. One day I’ll learn how to talk to a girl without going red.
She laughed. ‘Mat, of course. I have a husband. Remember my story?’
Mat did. Pania had been one of the sea-people, and she had fallen in love with Karitoki, a human. She had become human to live with him, leaving the sea. He had tried to prevent her returning to her people by feeding her cooked food, which binds the power of some magical things. But her jealous people had lured her back, regardless. ‘I just wondered…’ Mat said.
‘Oh, we’re still seeing each other, my man and I,’ she purred, then she laughed and reached out, stroking his cheek. ‘You are growing up, aren’t you? The little boy is becoming a man. Girls aren’t just silly giggly things any more, hmmm? Don’t worry, you’ll meet someone, in time.’
‘Yeah, but…all the girls I meet are, well, ordinary.’
‘And you’re not? Not any more, eh?’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I can see that might be a problem. I should warn you, the record isn’t very good, when love brings human and unhuman together. Like for myself.’ Pania shrugged. ‘I can’t help you, Mat. The only girls I know live at the bottom of the sea and would eat you alive…literally.’ Some thing in her throaty laugh made him shudder.
Pania just inclined her head in farewell, and turned. Heading straight towards the water, she kept walking, letting the hungry sea devour her.
Mat watched her vanish beneath the waves with a strange sense of yearning, then turned back towards the city, where Fitzy was waiting.
Mat and Fitzy were halfway across the two-lane road when they caught that unpleasant scent of decay he’d sniffed earlier. The turehu moved like lightning. His shape seemed to blur as he scrabbled up one of the tall palm trees in the centre road divider, then something yowled and squealed. Mat gasped as Fitzy seemed to plummet to earth, but the turehu twisted and landed, shaking hard at something in his jaws that hissed and snarled.
He spat it to the ground at Mat’s feet.
The dark thing bunched as if to flee, and Mat, for want of a better move, slammed his foot down on it. There was a squelching crunch, and then a dreadful odour assailed his nostrils, making him almost vomit. The dark shape whined and tried to wriggle free.
Fitzy landed lightly beside him, and spat a wad of saliva. ‘Yrrk, that was disgusting!’ he growled. The turehu placed his right forepaw over the thing’s chest, pinning it down. Mat stepped away, staring down at the thing, breathing heavily. There were noises from the house opposite, but no lights came on.
‘What is it?’ Mat wondered. He raised his right hand, and with an effort of will, conjured a small white light on his fingertips, just as Pania had been teaching him. It illuminated a black cat, or rather, something that had once been a black cat. It looked like it had been three weeks dead, its hide dried out and cracked, its eye sockets horribly empty. The matted fur was patchy and one leg looked crushed, as if it had been run over.
It sniggered evilly. ‘What indeed?’ it hissed.
Mat almost leapt backwards in shock.
‘It is a tupapaku-ora,’ snarled Fitzy. ‘A living corpse. A makutu thing. We should kill it.’
The black cat turned its head towards the turehu. Bones and desiccated ligaments snapped as it moved. ‘Oh, and how would you do that, perchance?’ it sneered, leering at them both. ‘I’m already dead.’
‘It’s not really alive or dead,’ Fitzy told Mat. ‘It’s just a puppet. There’s a real person behind it, manipulating it.’
Mat looked about fearfully. ‘Where?’
‘Could be anywhere, but the sort of people who do this type of thing don’t usually have the guts to be close by. I’m guessing they’ll be somewhere far away and safe.’
‘Aren’t you well informed?’ the cat snarled. ‘Quite the expert. But there’s nothing you can do to me. Threaten me and I’ll be gone in the same instant.’
‘Why are you watching me?’ Mat demanded, suddenly angry. ‘You’ve been sneaking around me for weeks. What do you want?’
