Taniwha's Tear

by David Hair

  Mat forced himself to grasp the hammer, sucking in air in painful gasps as he tried to stand. Another warrior appeared at Kereopa’s shoulder, and aimed a musket at his head. He asked Kereopa some thing, but the Hauhau leader shook his head. ‘Alive,’ he said, his voice hungry. ‘Don’t move, boy.’

  The musket barrel was huge, and immensely long, seeming to reach out towards him, its muzzle a dark mouth. And yet…If they have to take me alive, then he can’t use the thing…which means it isn’t a factor…

  Mat shouted, and hurled the hammer at Kereopa’s head as he threw himself sideways.

  The musket roared, triggered by reflex by the warrior, who immediately went pale, more afraid of disobeying Kereopa than of harming Mat. A stinging slash tore a furrow across Mat’s left shoulder as he hit the ground, and then he was up and running again. But Kereopa just laughed as his axe swatted the hammer aside, then he reversed its grip so that he could strike with the back of the axe-head, a bulbous counterweight that looked as if it could stun a horse.

  The warrior swung, as Mat launched himself through a glass side-window of the church. His hands tore on the thick glass, then he fell against the broken shards at the bottom of the frame, and flipped over, landing on his back on a wooden form. All the wind was knocked from him, as he pitched sideways onto the kneeler of the form in front. He stared at the blood on his hands, felt a thick shard in his stomach, and wondered if he had killed himself with what he’d done. There was no pain, yet, but he could barely breathe and it was getting harder.

  Dimly he heard Lena calling his name, and the boys shriek, and then Kereopa’s grinning face appeared at the window. ‘Nice try, boy,’ the Hauhau snarled, as he gripped the window frame, poised to climb in. Mat still couldn’t get air to his lungs, while blood pooled about that shard of glass.

  Then the window reformed itself.

  It was like watching a film of the window shatter, played backwards. All of the glass, including the shard in Mat’s belly, suddenly flew upward, flying together, rejoining, re-bonding with the wooden panels and in the next instant the window was whole again. Kereopa fell backwards, and then his thwarted face appeared again, dimly seen through the dirty glass, purpling and infuriated.

  ‘Get in there!’ he bellowed over his shoulder. ‘Bring them out!’

  A dozen bodies hammered into the doors and windows of the church. Mat heard a squeak behind him from a terrified old priest kneeling before the altar, clasping a crucifix, his face streaked with tears of fear. Down by the door, Lena was hurrying towards him, her face white, while the two boys hugged each other. It was as if the sky were falling upon the tiny wooden building.

  But not a single window or door gave way.

  For thirty seconds, the hammering of blows upon each window was like explosions of thunder. The door buckled and straightened, as the tiny building shook. At times Mat saw the glass windows shatter as weapons broke them, then reform in the next instant.

  ‘Are you doing this?’ shouted Lena, rushing to his side. Then in the next breath she gasped, ‘Omigod, you’re bleeding.’

  ‘The church is doing it,’ Mat hissed, holding on to his stomach. His shoulder stung from the grazing musket-ball, and his hands were raw agony. It was all he could do to draw breath into his tortured chest. Lena dragged the bench he’d landed on aside and knelt beside him. With every blow against the building she flinched, but her eyes were on him.

  ‘It’s the only building that the Hauhau didn’t destroy during the raid. I think it must remember that, and it remembers them,’ he gritted, holding on to the words as a way to hold on to consciousness.

  ‘How can a building remember some thing?’ Lena muttered, staring helplessly at Mat’s stomach, where blood was oozing through his fingers. Then suddenly there were voices shouting in English outside, and a volley of muskets, and no more blows fell upon the little church.

  ‘The Lord Jesus be praised,’ the priest shouted. ‘We are saved, we are saved!’ He buried his head in his lap, shaking. Lena snorted at him, then looked at the two young boys, who were clinging to each other in terror.

  ‘Bring water!’ she shouted at them. ‘Hurry!’

  Then the door of the church flew open and they all froze. The priest whimpered. Lena gripped Mat’s arm in rigid terror.

  But the man who entered was not a Hauhau.

  He was a small man, thin with intense eyes and a pale face framed by lank black hair and a bushy beard. He held a smoking pistol and was clad in a black, ill-fitting colonial jacket. There was a curved cavalryman’s sabre at his side. His eyes took them in instantly, and then he placed the pistol on a table, and strode towards Mat and Lena. DJ Sassman appeared at the door behind him.

  ‘We are in time,’ he said, with relief in his voice. ‘You are presumably Mat and Lena. I am Bryn Jones.’

  Bryn Jones did some thing to Mat’s wounds that sterilised and re-knit the flesh, and took away much of the pain. Sassman took the colonial children away. The priest just stared at them all helplessly. When Mat was able to stand, clinging to Lena for support, they found a cluster of horsemen outside. They were dressed in modern-looking camouflage gear but wielded muskets and sabres. They called to each other in what sounded like southern American accents, rich musical drawls like the men in Gone with the Wind. They all peered at Lena with undisguised interest.

  There were no bodies; it seemed all of Kereopa’s men had escaped, which seemed strange given the sounds of conflict they’d heard outside, but the soldiers appeared unconcerned.

  Bryn Jones had a restless, burning energy about him, like a man fevered. His men obeyed him instantly and to the letter, and watched him nervously. Even Sassman seemed nervous of him. Mat remembered Wiri’s description of the man as a ‘cranky old bugger’ which kind of fit, but didn’t do the man justice. He seemed everywhere, and had a haunted, hungry quality about him, though he also exuded assurance and competence. Mat had to nerve himself to address him.

  ‘Mister Jones, what happened to us? We were in the normal world, and then suddenly every thing changed.’ Mat sat with his back to the outside of the church, his legs still wobbly. It already felt like the wounds had been inflicted days ago. He felt stiff and bruised, but thankfully not in much pain.

  Jones nodded shortly. ‘Places with a strong history re-enact those events frequently, usually on the anniversary, but at other times also. Someone skilled in makutu could trigger such an event, and set an ambush alongside it.’ He looked at Mat. ‘Someone like Donna Kyle.’

  ‘She must have seen us after all,’ Mat breathed. Lena, sitting on the floor holding his hand, gave a small shiver. He squeezed back, trying to reassure her.

  ‘I’m told she has been seen with Kereopa Te Rau and his scum,’ Jones remarked. ‘It would seem likely she saw you and planned revenge, especially given your history.’ He stood up, and offered Mat a hand. ‘You should be able to stand, and move a little if you are careful.’ Mat took the man’s cool, bony hand and allowed himself to be drawn to his feet.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’m most grateful.’

  Jones’ smile was hard. ‘You were right to go to the church. You have good instincts—which is vital in the Ghost World. Had you run to any other building, you would almost certainly have perished in flames. The Hauhau burnt every other building in Matawhero in 1868, and killed more than fifty folk, including many women and children.’

  ‘We were lucky, sir. We’d just been reading the sign that said the building was spared, so it was the logical place to go.’ Mat thought for a moment. ‘Did God protect it, back in ’68?’

  Jones grunted. ‘In a way. Remember, for all their barbarism, the Pai Marire were essentially a Christian sect, however warped. They would have viewed burning a church as wrong and, more importantly, as bad luck. It’s the more likely explanation. But who knows? They targeted men involved in purchasing native lands.’ His face seemed to be struggling to conceal a measure of contempt as he said the word ‘native’. ‘There is no record th
at Kereopa Te Rau was part of the original assault, but Te Kooti had several hundred men. They reckon that if he’d planned it right, he could have swept into Turanga and wiped out every white man there. But it seems he overestimated the defences, and settled for looting the farm houses for food and liquor.’

  ‘Was Te Kooti here today, sir?’

  Jones shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. We believe he’s further north. He and Kereopa don’t get on these days—some thing to do with Te Kooti being pardoned and Kereopa being hanged.’ He grunted again, that nervous grim laugh that seemed characteristic of the man. ‘I guess that would tend to set men at odds.’ Then he turned and looked Mat in the eye. ‘The American tells me you’re under a promise to aid the taniwha at Waikaremoana?’ He motioned to a bench and they sat together, Lena a few feet away on another bench, her face still pale and scared, but listening intently.

  Mat swallowed nervously. ‘Yes, sir…I have no right to ask for help, but…’

  Jones frowned, then smiled awkwardly, as though it wasn’t an expression he used freely. ‘Nonsense, boy. Your problems are mine. Tell me more, and then we’ll see what we can do.’

  It took some time to summarise the situation and answer all of Jones’ questions. He was particularly interested in Hoanga’s revelations about the shrunken tohunga’s head in the Onepoto Caves, and became more and more intense as he probed Mat’s recollection of the conversations with Kauariki. Finally he sat back and stared into space, concentrating on his thoughts with such fervour that one of the soldiers, bringing tea, was too afraid to approach. He was a difficult man to like, Mat decided, but he radiated authority, knowledge and capability to an intimidating degree. Mat was relieved to unburden himself and put his problems into the man’s hands.

  ‘Of course we will help you,’ Jones told him. ‘But I fear that you will need to be a part of this still. Hoanga hints that you are the only one that can retrieve the tohunga’s head from the Onepoto Caves. Are you able to do this? We must all do every thing we can to prevent Donna Kyle or Sebastian Venn gaining power over the taniwha.’

  Fear and anticipation warred inside Mat’s heart. The excitement of the moment won. ‘Yes, sir. Of course I will help. My parents and I are here for another week. They prefer to be with each other, as long as I’m safe.’ He thought about that. ‘I guess I’ll not be all that safe, will I?’

  Jones half-smiled. ‘No, you will not be totally safe. But we’ll keep you as protected as we can. There will be armed men with you, and I will be there.’ He leant forward. ‘But to avoid complications, you must keep it a secret from your family and friends. I’m uneasy about this young lady here, but as she has the same talents as you and me, then for her own protection I’d prefer to keep her with us, until the danger is passed. Perhaps I can help you both develop your talents, when the danger is over.’

  Lena met Mat’s eyes, and he saw her excitement and relief. He felt a tremor of fear for her, but also relief that she would be with him. And certainly Jones wasn’t treating her powers as ‘trivial’, no matter what Sassman had told her.

  ‘Then this is what we will do,’ Jones continued. ‘This evening you must rest. You will just have to miss the rest of your musical festival, I’m afraid. You are still badly bruised and will be in some discomfort for the next twelve hours. I will arrange us some support in the Waikaremoana area. You must conceal our plans from your parents and friends who would only worry. Then tomorrow, on the thirty-first, we will meet at 9 a.m., travel to Wairoa and then on to Waikaremoana, a journey of not more than three hours. I expect that we will have you home by 9 p.m., but it may be later.’

  Mat thought a moment, then said, ‘That’s not a problem. It’ll be New Year’s Eve; Mum and Dad won’t expect to see me until after midnight.’

  ‘Good. Then we will be back in time to celebrate a victory, as well as the New Year,’ said Jones with grim levity. ‘You must carry on as if you were going to Rhythm and Vines as you originally intended. Can you both do that?’

  ‘I’m sure I can, sir,’ Mat replied.

  ‘Me too,’ Lena put in.

  ‘Excellent.’ He shook Mat’s hand. ‘Now, Mat, I need to have a quiet word with this young lady, about, er, feminine matters concerning her powers. Will you excuse us? Do you need me to aid your return to your world?’

  Mat looked at Lena and smiled reassuringly. ‘I’ll be fine, I’m sure.’

  He got up and left the church, and sheltered beneath the sprawling tree beside the gate. The soldiers looked at him curiously as they groomed their horses. Sassman came over to him.

  ‘How come there are no dead Hauhau?’ Mat asked the American, the fact having nagged at him for some reason.

  Sassman grimaced. ‘You know why they’re called “Hauhau”?’

  ‘Um…no, not really.’

  ‘Well, it’s on account of the chant they make when in battle. The Pai Marire believed that if they were strong of faith and chanted a special prayer in battle, a prayer that sounded to European ears like “Hauhau Hauhau”, hence the name, then they’d be immune to bullets.’

  ‘I bet that didn’t help them much,’ Mat said lightly, and then a thought struck him. ‘But here in Aotearoa…’

  Sassman clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Exactly. Here, it works.’

  Mat bit his lip. ‘Then how did you get rid of them?’

  Sassman grinned. ‘Their prayer does not cover pain. We can hurt and disable them temporarily, and that’s usually enough to drive them off. But it ain’t much fun, I’m tellin’ yer.’ He clapped Mat on the shoulder. ‘Boss talkin’ to the girl? He say y’all would come with us to rescue the taniwha?’

  Mat nodded. ‘Yeah. I wish she wasn’t coming, but I’m glad she is. Is that selfish?’

  Sassman shrugged, and smiled. ‘Dunno. Too deep for me. But we’ve all got to grow up sometime.’

  Mat stared out across the fields, where plumes of smoke from the raid were billowing into the clear blue sky. ‘I guess. See you tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Sure. Should be an experience, man. Helluva New Year!’

  Mat moved to the real world with only a little discomfort, and waited beside the gate, where the stump of that same tree offered scant protection from the harsh afternoon sun. Eventually, after around twenty minutes, Jones brought Lena across, and vanished again with a brief nod. Lena looked excited and infected with the same nervous determination that Jones exuded. But she would say little about whatever it was the man had told her.

  Lena dropped Mat back in town, after they had ascertained by phone that his parents had left the vineyard and gone to the beach. They parted with a kiss and a promise to see each other at 9 a.m. for the big expedition.

  Mat went back to his room, and whether in reaction to the violence at Matawhero or Jones’ healing, he slept until his father knocked on his door some time after 6 p.m. He ate with his parents, but his languor wouldn’t lift, despite the food. He recalled how tired workings of magic made him feel, and guessed that Jones’ healing was drawing on his own reserves of energy. All he really wanted to do was sleep.

  He’d just got back to his room, when to his surprise someone knocked on the door. His parents had gone to a bar at the marina for a glass or two of wine. He was half-undressed, just clad in boxers, with bandages about his chest and stomach.

  ‘Hello?’ he called, his heart pounding as his imagination supplied all manner of visitors, from Lena in a tight dress, to Donna Kyle and Kereopa Te Rau with bloodied knives.

  ‘Hey, bro.’

  ‘Riki?’ He opened the door without thinking. Riki and Damien were lounging outside his room, looking bored. ‘How come you’re not at the festival?’

  ‘We got bored, and never heard back from you.’ Riki glanced at Damien. ‘An’ Cass got hooked up with this French kook, so Dame’s kinda bummed out.’

  ‘They weren’t like kissing or anything,’ Damien observed dispiritedly.

  Mat felt guilt flood through him. He should have called them. ‘Um, my
phone is recharging, and I forgot to check it. I felt sick at lunch, and came back. I’ve been asleep.’

  ‘So,’ Riki asked, looking him up and down. ‘Uh, mate, how come you’ve got half the dressings from an A&E ward taped to your guts?’

  Damn…‘Uh, you better come in.’

  Mat had never been good at lying. So he ended up having to tell them every thing. It took some time before he finished. ‘And so we’re going up to Waikaremoana tomorrow. But Jones says you guys can’t come.’

  Riki cocked an eyebrow at Damien. ‘Like hell we’re not, dude.’

  ‘Jones said with Bryce and Kyle prowling around it’ll be dangerous, and that people who don’t have powers like Lena and I would be in too much danger. I’m only going myself because only I can do one part of it, and he’s taking Lena for her protection.’ His voice sounded high-pitched and defensive to his own ears.

  Riki scowled. ‘I don’t like it, man.’

  Damien just shook his head. ‘It doesn’t seem right. We’re your mates, Mat. We should be coming.’

  Mat stared at the wall. ‘Guys, this isn’t a game of rugby or some thing. If we do it right, we’ll maybe get in and out without danger, but if it goes wrong, we’ll be on the run from Donna Kyle and a whole bunch of Hauhau and who knows what else. Jones can’t be responsible to your parents for that. I don’t really want to go myself, but I have to.’

  As he said it, he realised it was half-true. His mouth felt dry, and his hands were shaking a little—nervousness at what could go wrong, but mostly having to tell his friends they were excluded from this part of his life. He felt slightly sick. In the end he just stood up. ‘Guys, please. This is hard enough without having a fight about it. We’ll talk on the first, yeah? The day after tomorrow, okay? Might even see you at the festival for midnight.’