by David Hair
Suddenly the Ponaturi pushed them to the earth, hissing and raising fingers to their mouths in a universal gesture, commanding silence. Those carrying the waka lowered them silently to the ground. Riki stared blindly through the bush, momentarily confused. The sound reached him a second later, a faint yammering. He squinted, and finally saw them: a line of pale-skinned creatures skulking along a trail on the far side of the river, thin hairless beings with bulging bellies and long skulls, that reminded Riki as much of the creatures in the Alien movies as they did of Maori carvings.
‘Tipua!’ hissed the Ponaturi holding him down. Riki could feel the sea-fairies longing to attack in the quiver of their hands, and their bared teeth.
‘Let them pass,’ Jones whispered urgently. ‘We must remain secret!’
The Ponaturi obeyed with trembling reluctance, even Piriniha flexing his hands with pent-up bloodlust. But their discipline held, and the tipua war-party passed with no idea how close they had come to swift violence. The teens stared apprehensively after the creatures.
‘What now?’ Damien demanded, when they could speak again.
Jones met his eye. ‘This is what you all wanted, isn’t it? We can’t leave you behind.’
‘I don’t want to be left behind. Just give me a sword or a gun.’ Damien flexed his hand as if it were itching.
Jones looked at him, and then snorted. ‘I don’t think so, lad. There’s only one sword here, and I’m keeping it. Weapons will just encourage you to get into trouble.’ He looked at the others. ‘If we’re attacked, let the Ponaturi do the fighting. They’re a whole lot better at it than you could ever be.’
Damien looked surly at that. Cassandra just looked frightened. Riki was glad he couldn’t see his own face, but he bet it was pretty bloodless. He felt a new admiration for Wiri, and Mat, who had fought for real. It was more than he felt capable of, just now.
Jones exchanged words with Piriniha, then turned back to the teens. ‘We go on, but we’re going to angle north, away from the fighting. We’ll hit the lake somewhere south of Aniwaniwa, paddle in and join the fray from the rear.’
Riki looked at Cassandra, who was looking lost and vulnerable, hugging her laptop to her chest. Her huge backpack strained at her shoulders. Godfrey rubbed against her leg, offering comfort.
‘Who’s fighting who, anyway?’ Damien demanded.
Jones clenched his jaw. ‘Venn holds the redoubt, that’s a certainty. But Bryce doesn’t use goblins, or Maori—they don’t serve racists. His men are all rebels from the American Wars, apart from Sassman. I don’t understand his association with Sassman, but it is probably just convenience. Bryce despises coloured skins. Those tipua wouldn’t be his. Perhaps they are Donna Kyle’s.’
‘Donna Kyle,’ breathed Riki. ‘Mat talked about her a lot, and we saw her in Gisborne, and in Turanga too.’
‘Did you? That’s a few times too often, I’m sure.’ Jones raised a hand. ‘Onward! We must reach the lake within the hour!’
From then on, they ran. The Ponaturi seemed tireless, even those warriors bearing the two waka, and Riki, Damien and Cassandra struggled to keep up. The two boys took turns helping Cassandra. Though the girl was fitter than they had thought, the pack was exhausting her and she was no marathon runner. Neither were the boys, in truth. Jones stopped the Ponaturi periodically, to let them rest, but it seemed they had no sooner caught their breath than they had to go on.
The first inkling that they were in danger came when something shrieked in an alien-sounding tongue, and the birds fell silent. In an instant the Ponaturi had lowered the waka, and sharp-edged patu were pulled from their belts. Their pale skin glistened with perspiration, a small concession to mortality. Then the bush exploded with howling tipua goblins.
They were simply not there one instant, then leaping through the air in the next. There was no warning, no time to react. Bone patu whirled in the goblins’ bony hands. But the Ponaturi were faster. Their weapons blurred, meeting their enemies’ blows or dodging them, and counterblows snaked out. The sea-fairies gyrated like dancers, flinging would-be attackers aside and leaping upon them before they could rise. Black blood spattered as goblin skulls shattered. The sea-fairies were blindingly quick, and merciless.
The humans with them were not so swift to react. Riki saw Damien dive aside as a goblin leapt at him, and Jones turning as if in slow motion, his mouth opening. Cassandra screamed as something fell onto her back, but he had problems of his own. He felt more than saw the tipua that sprang at him, no bigger than four foot tall, with a carved bone-edged club that slashed at the side of his head. He swayed away by pure reflex, and grappled the arm. The skin of the creature was slimy and cold, and difficult to grip. The tipua shrieked, and its other hand, taloned and filthy, gripped his throat. It climbed him as a monkey climbs, ripping at his skin and flesh with its hind legs.
He heard himself cry out like a child and his legs gave way, sending himself and his attacker toppling into the bush and down the slope. They spun head over heels, through bush and over a sudden drop, before slamming into a small bank. Miraculously, Riki was above the wriggling tearing thing, as the impact slammed the breath from their lungs. He grasped at its weapon hand desperately before it could strike again, but its clawed feet raked his chest. He was momentarily numbed by the pain, and it tore free, howling in triumph. For a second, time was frozen, and if one’s life truly did flash before one’s eyes, it would have done so then for Riki.
A swinging blade took the goblin’s head off.
The tipua crumpled as blood fountained, and then it rolled in two pieces away down the slope. Damien stood over him, clutching Jones’ sword, gasping like a beached fish, but nothing came out. Then he fell to his knees and vomited. Riki crawled to his knees and put an arm around his friend. ‘Bro? Bro? You okay?’
Damien panted, and then broke into a thin laugh. ‘Nah. Yeah. Dunno. What about you?’
Riki prodded his chest, where his T-shirt had been shredded. It stung, but nothing felt too deep. ‘Just a bunch of scratches, I think. What’s going on? How’s Cass?’
‘Jones plugged the one on her back. Riskiest shot I ever saw.’
‘She okay?’
‘I think she’s in shock. She wasn’t really doing anything, just staring off…we should get back.’
Riki stared about them. The bush was menacingly silent about them. ‘Let’s go, man.’
‘Sure, too much of a good time to miss, huh? Remind me that this fighting lark is overrated.’
They struggled back up the slope, on limbs that seemed to have turned to water. The Ponaturi were butchering the fallen tipua, with blazing eyes and much licking of lips. Jones was hugging Cassandra, but she looked up when Riki and Damien appeared, smiling bravely. ‘Hey, guys.’ There were bloody scratches on her arms. Jones patted her gently, and walked over to Riki.
‘Are you boys okay?’
‘Sure,’ Riki struggled to keep his voice level. ‘But could I have a weapon, please?’
The Ponaturi found Riki a taiaha which had been stowed inside one of the waka. It was heavier than he was used to, but that felt good. It would do some damage if he got a clean blow away, and that seemed like a good thing. ‘How’d you get Jones’ sword?’ he muttered to Damien.
‘I grabbed it while he was shooting off his pistol. I got one that was going at his back. That one I got off you was my second one.’ The tall Dannevirke boy spat and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘At least this sword kinda kills clean. A patu or a taiaha just batters someone until their brains come out. You’re welcome to it, man.’
‘I’d give anything for a gun,’ Riki agreed. He forced a grin. ‘Hey, do we have to have some kind of Gimli-Legolas goblin-killing competition running now? Cos I’m happy to concede straight off.’
Damien looked ill at the thought. ‘If we don’t have to look at another goblin from closer than a mile, I’ll be happy.’
Piriniha and Jones exchanged a series of terse remarks, and then they were of
f again, with Jones hovering over the pallid Cassandra protectively. Piriniha threw her heavy backpack into the nearest waka, and she looked at the sea-fairy gratefully, causing him to half-bow before turning away.
Riki had no idea which way was which, but they seemed to be skirting the sounds of fighting, and steadily climbing in a counterclockwise loop. A gap in the trees enabled him to look to the left and see that they were above a small lake. The earth on the far side was lightly churned, and there were four or five dead horses and men lying amidst the craters. He wondered who they were, and prayed under his breath that Mat was not among those bodies. But then he saw Godfrey slinking through them, examining each body. Soon afterwards Jones was walking back to meet them, Godfrey alongside, assuring them that Mat and Lena weren’t among the dead. ‘This is Lake Tuai,’ he told them. ‘Those were some of Bryce’s men, I’m sure of that. They were in modern fatigues, but armed with muskets. Godfrey looked into the real world, and saw two destroyed vehicles there—they dare to fight openly in the real world! There is much at stake here today. We must hurry.’
They climbed again, but then the scouts reported activity ahead, and they were forced to skirt north, to their right below the ridgeline of the Ngamoko Range. They paused beneath a massive kauri, and Cassandra immediately went to the waka and retrieved her pack. In seconds she had opened her laptop, panting heavily as her hands flew over the keys, then cursing. ‘There must be a way,’ she muttered. ‘I feel blind.’
‘It’s a different world, girl,’ Jones told her. ‘Pack it away. We’ve got weapons and wits, and they will have to do for us.’
Damien lifted her pack experimentally and winced. ‘Jeez, what have you got in there?’
‘Just a few odds and ends,’ she replied defensively, packing away the laptop with reluctance.
‘It’s bloody heavy. If you really need it, I’ll carry it for you,’ Damien said. ‘Better we’ve got it close than having to try and retrieve it, yeah?’
Riki smiled at this display of gallantry, but Cassandra just shrugged and nodded thanks. Damien shouldered it, and began adjusting the straps. Then a murmur among the Ponaturi told them their break was over, and they were moving again.
They struck the ridgeline and paused as the Ponaturi scouted ahead. They returned in minutes, and Jones gathered the teens. ‘They’ve found recent footprints on a trail below, that could be two adults and two young adults.’
‘Bryce, Sassman, Mat and Lena?’ Riki guessed.
‘Maybe, but maybe not,’ Jones replied. ‘The trail loops around to Rosie Bay and the Onepoto Caves. Godfrey has flown ahead and can’t find them. The Ponaturi want to get to the lake; they don’t like it on land. So we’re going to take this trail, and we’ll watch for signs.’
They wound their way down a steep twisting path, clambering awkwardly, but at least they had their hands free. The Ponaturi carrying the waka performed miracles of strength and balance, hefting the heavy craft down steep slopes on their shoulders. They could just about make out the lake through the undergrowth, when the trail struck a cliff, along which a north–south path ran, a thin trampled ribbon of earth disappearing left and right. They peered thoughtfully to their left, where they could still hear the distant sound of gunfire. The ramparts of Puarata’s lair could be seen almost due south of where they stood, wreathed in the smoke from the artillery barrage it seemed to be maintaining on unseen opponents.
‘You just know Mat’s gonna be in the middle of all that, eh?’ Riki commented to Damien.
‘And he seemed such a sensible lad,’ Damien replied glumly. ‘Hey, Merlin, which way?’
The Welsh adept was staring at the lair, his eyes crinkled. Cassandra tapped him on the shoulder, and handed him binoculars she’d fished from her backpack. Jones stared at her in surprise, then muttered ‘Good girl, good girl,’ in a slightly surprised voice, and put them to his eyes.
Cassandra pulled out a large bar of chocolate, and offered a row to the boys. The nearest Ponaturi whirled, sniffing, and looked at the chocolate bar with hungry eyes, almost mewling. Cassandra snatched it back as it lifted its hand, and then thoughtfully handed a piece to the pallid warrior. He took it almost reverently, and then thrust it in his mouth, looking guiltily around in case any of his fellows were watching. Then he bent, and kissed Cassandra’s knee, making her giggle uncomfortably.
‘She gathers new devotees wherever she goes,’ Damien remarked. He pointed at Godfrey, panting about her now, his tail wagging as she fed him a few pieces of the chocolate. ‘See, even “God” worships her!’
Jones turned back to them, when they heard a shout from above and behind. They all turned as one, looking up at the ridgeline they had recently left. Part way down the slope, dotted in among the trees, men in combat fatigues were filing down, led by a tall soldier in a grey cap.
‘Get down!’ Jones barked. As one, the Ponaturi scattered, diving behind the waka or solitary rocks, the teens following as a sudden fusillade of musket balls scoured the knoll where they had stood. Balls ricocheted among the rocks, whining like mosquitoes, and black powder billowed through the bush.
‘Reload, reload!’ they heard someone shout above them. ‘Fan out, and pin them!’
Riki starred at a chip in the rock beside his hand, where a musket ball had ricocheted away. He looked for the others, saw Cassandra behind a stout log, unzipping a pouch on her pack, with Damien behind her, panting, his face white, flexing his right hand and gripping Jones’ sword. The Ponaturi he could see were unharmed, and itching to fight, but even he could see they were in a bad position. The soldiers were above them, and had them pinned down, with a large drop to the surface of the lake behind them. They had good cover for now, but within five minutes, they could be overlooked from dozens of positions left and right, and they had only one gun between them.
Jones was silently gesturing to Piriniha, who suddenly grinned and nodded. Riki looked across at them, and the Welshman held up a hand with five fingers raised, then looked away. Riki had no idea what he meant.
Then Jones called to him. ‘On three, sprint to the nearest waka, and keep low.’ His voice almost seemed to whisper in his ear. He gathered his courage, as movement came from above, men moving closer. They’re too close, they can hardly miss…
‘One.’
Riki gathered himself into a crouch, ready to move.
‘Locate targets!’ the voice of the officer carried from above.
‘Two,’ came Jones’ voice. ‘You can do it, lad,’ he added softly, gently.
The moment I move I’m dead…
Jones’ voice whispered in his ear. ‘Not dead, boy. You’ll be fine. Just shoot forward, then go back. Tease their fire from them.’
Tease their fire…! Holy hell…Who does he think I am?
‘Three!’
Riki darted out, balked, and threw himself backwards, as someone screamed an order from above, and suddenly the air all about him was shrieking with lead balls that pinged off rocks and ploughed through turf, whipping the leaves like hail. A fresh cloud of smoke rolled down the slopes above.
‘Now go!’ hollered Jones, and he rose from his hiding place, and fired his pistol up the slope. Someone bellowed in pain, and a body crashed down the slope. Riki froze for an instant, petrified, then booted feet smacked against rock close above him, and he shot forward like a rabbit fleeing for its burrow. Ahead of him he saw Damien grab Cassandra’s pack in one hand, the sword in the other, and run hunched for the nearest waka, which the Ponaturi were turning so that it faced down the slope. But Cassandra hadn’t moved. Instead she rose into a kneeling position, something in her hands.
Someone shouted and landed heavily behind him. He rolled sideways on instinct, as the bayonet of a still-smoking musket flashed past and buried in the dirt. A burly soldier snarled at him, then something seemed to slap the man’s throat. He convulsed, and fell choking. Still holding his taiaha but with no time to swing it, Riki got to his feet and ran again. Cassandra rose also, a heavy metal s
lingshot in her left hand.
‘You’re my queen,’ Riki gasped fervently as he reached her. ‘Now run!’
She backed away, fishing for another sling-stone in her pocket, as another soldier leapt to the ground a few yards away. Riki turned and brought his taiaha to a guard posture instinctively, months of training making the movements automatic as he stepped between the man and the girl.
The soldier lunged in a textbook skewering jab at his chest, the blade set to split his heart.
Crack! A cross-blow to deflect the bayonet down, leap and raise to high guard, sweep at the hands…Crunch! Fingers broke, mashed between taiaha blade and gunstock. ‘Aaaieee!’ An overhead blow to the top of the skull…Smack! The taiaha almost vibrated from his grasp at the impact as the man went down, pole-axed, a wet splattering of blood and hair flying, as Riki flowed into the next move, rising and aligning the sharp tongue of the taiaha hilt to ram it at the guts of the man to disembowel…
…he pulled out of the killing blow just as the tongue touched the fallen man’s belly, and stared, fighting the urge to complete the blow.
A deep savage need to strike warred with something less primitive for control of his soul…
…and lost. He relaxed, and stepped away, panting, as he met the eyes of the stunned soldier. Then the man’s eyes rolled backwards and his head fell to one side.
Mercy…Sweet mercy…
‘Riki! Run you idiot!’ Damien screamed at him.
He blinked and looked up the slope. Two more men were coming at him, one with bayonet raised, the other pausing, pouring powder into the muzzle of his musket. More movement caught his peripheral vision. The slope was boiling with enemy. He looked back to where the waka were poised, facing down-slope. Jones was pulling Cassandra in, while the Ponaturi stood outside the canoes, holding them in place.
‘Run!’
Damien’s shout jolted him into action. He pelted through the thin undergrowth and leapt into the nearest canoe, barking his shins on the timber struts. A gun cracked, but the shot went wild as a large dog—Godfrey—smashed into the shooter’s back and bore him to the ground, then leapt into the undergrowth. Another shot cracked from an unseen man, and the nearest Ponaturi spun and fell from sight. The sea-fairy’s comrades snarled, but Piriniha gave a command, and suddenly they were all sweeping down the slope, sledding through the undergrowth, the waka tilting crazily as the Ponaturi running alongside leapt in.
