by David Hair
Mat felt a deepening uneasiness. What would this entail? Why did every contact with Jones and his men make him more and more afraid?
‘Who is this “Jones”?’ Ngatoro asked in his head. Mat tried to reply, thinking back words, and sensing somehow that Ngatoro had heard.
Jones stared out across the bowl. ‘The head must burn, freeing the spirit, and he that would free the spirit of the taniwha must inhale that smoke, to lend power to their words. Then the sacred water of Waikotikoti Stream must be applied to the eye of the stone taniwha, and the smoke exhaled upon it. Thus will the sacred elements of fire, water, earth and air be brought together, to free the spirit of the creature.’ He looked over Mat’s shoulder at Lena. ‘This will cause a green droplet to be expelled. When this reaches the water of the stream, the taniwha will begin to form.’
Mat nodded, and let out a long sigh of relief. It is that simple, after all…‘I’ll do it, sir. Kauariki charged the task to me.’ He took a step, but Jones had not let go of his shoulder.
‘Wait, Mat. We cannot enter the hollow yet. It is warded with curses laid by Puarata to destroy any that try to usurp this prize that even he could not attain.’ Jones looked at Mat. ‘Do you know why he could not gain it?’
Mat thought, staring into those glittering eyes. ‘By the time he knew of the legend, Tuwai’s ghost was there, guarding the caves and therefore the mokomokai. And because the way to get past Tuwai wasn’t by fighting, but by a bargain.’
‘Very good,’ nodded Jones. ‘The guardian would see into the heart of anyone that came to his caves. Only you came with both the power and willingness to meet Tuwai’s price. Only you.’
Mat looked down at his feet, his mind trying to bury a sudden frightening thought…Why didn’t you do it, then, Mister Jones? Were you not willing to meet the price…
No, surely not…
‘Yes, yes…’ he heard Ngatoro-i-rangi murmur. ‘Open your eyes, boy. All is not as it seems.’
He refused to think it through. ‘Aren’t we supposed to free the taniwha before the moon rises?’ he asked Jones. ‘Kauariki said we had to do it before the moon rose.’
‘Don’t worry, Mat,’ Jones replied in soothing tones. ‘Kauariki thought that there would be enemies poised, so that the moment the enchantments of Puarata failed and the taniwha was exposed, there would be danger. But we have been successful. Venn is penned inside the keep, oblivious to our presence. There is only us here. All is well.’
Mat felt far from reassured. Inside his head he could feel Ngatoro urgently sifting through his thoughts, and drawing conclusions. All about him were armed men, and Lena seemed unreachable. Sporadic shouting and occasional shots rang out in the woods, but the guns of the redoubt had fallen silent.
He looked about, at the men on the top of the western wall of the hollow, and scattered on the northern side. There were none to the east, where the hollow fell away into the sea of trees, nor the south. As Jones had said, they were alone.
‘Do you know the tale of pounamu, of greenstone, Mat?’ Jones asked. ‘There was a race, long ago, who fell into war. The mightiest were victorious, and pursued their enemies, who fled to the furthest ends of the earth—to the South Island of Aotearoa. But their enemy still found them, and so they perished. Their tears were tears of liquid jade, that filled the rivers of the South Island, so that it was later named “Te Wai Pounamu”—the Greenstone Waters.’ He smiled. ‘That race were taniwha, at the dawn of Aotearoa. It is among the earliest and most powerful myths of this land.’
The edge of the mists rolled to within a few feet of the top of the western wall of the bowl. The soldiers eyed it uneasily, brandishing guns anxiously with bayonets fixed.
Mat could feel Ngatoro’s eyes behind his own, watching, calculating.
‘Were you with me, in September, against Puarata?’ Mat asked Ngatoro.
‘Yes and no,’ the voice replied. ‘I couldn’t speak to you then. I fed you energy, at times. Our link will strengthen with time. Now be still!’
A sliver of light caught Mat’s eye, lifting above the eastern hills, pale pinky blue. The new moon, risen at last.
Lena caught her breath, and pointed down into the bowl. He followed her gaze, holding his breath. A tracery of light appeared, a spider’s web the same pinky-blue as the rising moon. It grew brighter as the moon rose, a beautiful, chilling thing. Mat could almost picture Puarata down there, standing upon the head of the taniwha, singing this lovely deadly thing into being in his resonant voice.
‘What does it do?’ he breathed.
Jones smiled dourly. ‘You do not want to know.’ He pointed to the edges of the coruscating light, where Mat could make out some kind of border, lumpy and white and irregular, like a line of driftwood tossed up by waves on a beach. Then he realised that all of the white sticks, bleached by the sun, were bones.
He swallowed. ‘You’re right, I don’t.’ He looked around for a friendly face, but Lena was staring into the bowl avidly. Jones seemed carved from stone, a small smile on his lips. The soldiers were grim and skittish.
Lena saw the change first. As the thin crescent of the new moon cleared the hills and turned silvery-white, a kind of smoke seemed to suddenly rise from the lines of force below. Slowly at first, but then with greater speed, the lines began to fray, as if they were watching a spider-web burn in slow motion. The soldiers murmured uneasily, looking at Bryn Jones for reassurance. He never moved, though his gaze burned with intensity and satisfaction.
With a sudden flare, the lines parted, and were gone, leaving the hollow silent and smelling of some strange aroma, metallic, or acidic, that was unpleasant to inhale. Jones made a gesture, and a wind rose, blowing the last of the smoke down the valley. He put one hand on Lena’s shoulder and the other on Mat’s. ‘Let us begin,’ he said.
They trooped down the stairs, one after another, and entered the hollow. Mat walked to the edge of the pool, where dozens of silver fish darted about. The presence of Ngatoro within him felt weak here, tenuous and fragile. A small stream trickled out and down the cleft, to join with the Waikaretaheke Stream, and eventually the Wairoa River, where he had met Kauariki. He wondered if somehow she was watching. And Maahu too.
One presence he could feel. Like a deeper part of his shadow, he could feel the presence of Tuwai, the guardian, deeply woven into the darkness, poised to see whether he would fulfil his vow. Ngatoro and Tuwai were speaking—he could almost hear them.
Bryn Jones laid a hand on his shoulder, and held out his other hand for the shrunken head. Mat felt a tremor inside as he handed it over. The wizard walked to where one of the soldiers had dumped a pile of dried bones. A movement caught his eye, and he glanced up, to where a line of silhouetted figures, their features indiscernible against the light of the sky beyond, had appeared on the southern rim of the bowl. Jones made a slight gesture to them. They were cloaked like Maori, the first that Mat had seen working for Jones. He wondered who they were.
Jones lifted a hand, and gestured, and flames leapt up among the pile of bones. The soldier leapt away, nervously crossing himself. Captain Taylor strode up, ordering the man away, adding more bones. He looked expectant, and impatient.
Lena splashed into the waters, making the fish dart away, and reached out to the stone taniwha, stroking it about the nostrils. She was shaking visibly, but her eyes were filled with eagerness. Mat felt his stomach clench. She seemed like a stranger. It was as if everyone knew something he didn’t. In his ear, Ngatoro murmured wordlessly.
Jones beckoned to Lena, and she walked back through the water to his side. Mat hurried up. ‘I’m ready, sir,’ he offered again.
But Jones shook his head. ‘It must be Lena. The taniwha was a female, so must her deliverer be.’
‘But…Kauariki…I’m sure it must be me…’ Mat stared helplessly at Jones, while Tuwai’s unseen fingers stroked his windpipe. He turned to Lena. ‘It should be me…’
Lena smiled thirstily. ‘No, it’s going to be me…’ S
he licked her lips. ‘I told you I would become someone.’
He floundered, his brain refusing to comprehend. ‘But how…you can’t.’ He felt Ngatoro gasp inside his skull, and his own dread and confusion threatened to drown him.
Jones dropped the head into the heart of the fire, and looked at Lena. ‘Do you understand what you’ve got to do, Lena?’
She looked sideways at Mat, then nodded.
‘Then proceed, my girl, and we will end this war, perchance.’
Mat felt the walls of the world tumble about him. ‘Ahhh,’ Ngatoro murmured. An image rose in Mat’s mind, of Lena…changing into the taniwha. A massive beast…on a leash, held by Bryn Jones…if that was really his name.
‘No!’ Mat lunged forward, towards the fire. Something hammered into the back of his head, and he fell dazed onto the flat stone. A booted foot smashed into his ribs, something inside cracked, and he gasped in agony.
Captain Taylor put his boot into the middle of his chest and pinned him flat. He levelled a gun at his face. ‘Lie still or I’ll blow your whiny little head off, boy.’
Unseen, but horribly close, Tuwai snarled softly in his ear. ‘You’re failing me, poai.’ He could feel the guardian’s baffled fury. The only one he had power over here now was Mat, because of the tapu. The only person he could harm was the one person he couldn’t afford to if his whole purpose was not to be rendered as nought.
Mat fought for air, pinned immobile and in agony. Beside him, the mokomokai crackled as the flames caught it. He swivelled his head, and saw Lena kneeling beside the fire, with a wetted blanket about her head. He tried desperately to think…but he knew so little of what was really going on…
‘Who are you?’ he whispered desperately to Jones. Playing for time, scared to really know.
The man turned, as if he’d been waiting for the question. ‘My name is John Bryce. I was Native Minister from 1881 to 1884. It was my job to undo the harm the liberals and weaklings had done, and put the savages in their place. I did that, oh yes, though the weak-kneed fools in Parliament tried to tie my hands. They remember me, yes they do, especially in Parihaka.’ His voice dripped with bitterness. ‘When I was reborn in Aotearoa, I found that all the hatred of the natives towards me gave me power over them. They feared me, for they knew I could and would kill them all if I was permitted. Belief is reality here, boy. Over here, I can kill a Maori man with a single word, you know that? All because they called me Bryce Kohuru, “Bryce the Murderer”.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s one of the great pleasures, to kill with a word.’ He looked thoughtfully at the smouldering skull. ‘Soon, girl,’ he told Lena.
He turned back to Mat. ‘You know, when I lived, I never really hated you natives. Despised, yes, for you are inferior beings. But not hated…you are not worthy. A thing has to be fully human to earn true hatred. But here in Aotearoa, what Maori believed about me changed my nature. When I was alive, it was just a task that I had to do. Politics, nothing more. Here, where I am a ghost, it is a labour of love.’
Mat stared at him with growing disbelief. ‘You’re insane.’
Bryce smiled gently. ‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘The mad ghost of a sane man. It hardly matters. I am what I am, here in this place. I made my deals with Puarata, and he ceded me the South Island. Rich pickings, and not too many natives.’ He nudged Lena. ‘Now, girl. Breathe in deeply, as if inhaling a cigar.’
‘Lena!’ Mat called to her, his voice echoing about the dell. ‘Lena, this will destroy you! And Tuwai will kill me!’
She looked down at him. ‘No, it won’t,’ she replied. ‘It will make me great. Don’t worry, I won’t let them hurt you, Mat. Mister Bryce will keep you safe from Tuwai. He promised. But I can’t let you get in my way.’
‘Shall I shut him up?’ Taylor asked Bryce dispassionately. ‘We don’t need him no more. Why don’t I just—’
‘No!’ Lena said hastily, looking at Bryce. ‘You promised.’
Bryce shrugged, and looked at Taylor. ‘There is no need. He has been a cipher all along. Just a way to bring a number of unique elements together. But don’t let him speak again. Keep him quiet.’ He turned away, as if Mat had ceased to exist.
Taylor knelt beside him. ‘You hear that, boy?’ the American asked. ‘You speak, and I’m gonna hurt you bad. So keep your mouth shut.’
Mat went still, hope draining away. The moment she breaks the bargain I made with Tuwai, the guardian is going to kill me, right before he fades away. Has she forgotten that? Doesn’t she understand? He looked about helplessly. Sassman was hovering near the edge of the hollow, haunting it like a spectre. The other soldiers were staring at the girl, with expressions ranging from distaste to fear. He looked up at Taylor, trying to measure whether he had any leeway to speak.
Lena coughed, and when her head emerged from the blanket, her eyes were red and streaming. Mat stared at her, willing her to stop. Bryce saw the look, as he helped her up, and guided her towards the pool. ‘Ah, betrayed love,’ he mock-sighed. ‘But she deserves her chance at true power, you know. And only a woman can do this part.’
Mat watched as Lena stumbled through the water, and then breathed the smoke of the burning skull across the eye of the taniwha. Bryce took the flask he had obtained from the trader and doused the eye.
It blinked, with a sound like a windshield cracking. Lena gaped at the amber-slitted orb that gazed balefully at her. She fell to her knees in wonder as green fluid filled the bottom of the eye, and gathered into a single tear, the size of a child’s fist.
‘Take it, and drink, Lena,’ Bryce told her. ‘Don’t let it touch the water! Drink it, make your wish. You must wish to become Haumapuhia the taniwha, so that all her wonderful strength and power will be yours, just as I said it would.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, a bundle of something that glinted in the torchlight, as the sun fell in scarlet in the west. It was a plaited lock of blonde hair. He held it behind himself, out of Lena’s sight.
Full realisation struck Mat like a blow.
He had confessed his promise to Sassman, and Sassman had told Bryce, his master. Finally, they had realised, here was the key that would unlock the power of the taniwha. But only if they played Mat for a fool. So they had led him with feigned friendship, and he had dutifully fed them the remainder of the puzzle—Kauariki’s tale, Hoanga’s words—he had given them all the missing pieces.
But they wanted more than the freeing of the taniwha…
They wanted to control it…
And to control it, it needed to be contained in a vessel…
A female vessel, with some power of its own to channel it…a gifted female like Lena…
Then they had to be able to control the vessel…and would, with a braid of Lena’s hair!
They must have gone to Lena, probably as recently as yesterday, and told her that they could make her powerful, make her into a ‘player’. She had accepted. No wonder she had become so full of vengefulness against perceived and real slights, when she felt that soon she would have the ability to redress them. No wonder she had become so bristling with ambition and purpose, and so distant, for she must have known that Mat would never agree to any of this. She wanted too much and knew too little. Because of that, he would die, when Tuwai punished his failure to free the taniwha. As a taniwha, she would be beyond Tuwai’s retribution. The taniwha, freed by Lena and controlled by Bryce, would be turned into a killing machine. Everything that was Lena would be erased, and Bryce would destroy his rivals and rule Aotearoa.
Mat met her eyes, as she cupped the tear, and let it flow into her hands, where it caught the firelight and reflected it about the bowl, a watery green and golden glow. It seemed to take that light and magnify it, so that it became the illumination that lit the whole bowl.
She wanted power…but did she also want to be controlled? And what would be left of her soul when Haumapuhia flowed into it, with her centuries of pent-up rage?
‘Ngatoro?’ he called silently. No one answered.
Lena raised her hands to her mouth, the green liquid of the tear poised against her lips. Suddenly she started and her eyes went wide. Mat heard a voice inside his head as if from a massive distance…the voice of Ngatoro-i-rangi…‘Girl, they are betraying you, even as they betrayed Matiu.’ Ngatoro’s voice, speaking to Lena. Her eyes flitted about the hollow, filled with confusion and fear. ‘But even now you have choices, though each has a price…’
Mat lost the connection. He looked up at Taylor, and saw Tuwai, superimposed over the captain’s features, staring down at him. Mat didn’t have to feign terror. They both looked back at Lena.
With a small flourish and lifting of her head, Lena drank the green liquid, her eyes impossible to read.
Mat panted, clinging to his consciousness by a thread, the pain throbbing through him. He looked up desperately, scanned the rim of the bowl, hopeless, helpless. A new figure had joined the Maori on the south side of the bowl. Donna Kyle, clad in a feather cloak, her face glowing in the light. Some thing gleamed in her grasp.
It was another braid of Lena’s hair…
Of course! Bryce didn’t have the resources to keep Venn penned in his redoubt. And Donna didn’t have control of Mat and Lena. From the moment Mat gave Bryce the pieces of the puzzle, Bryce must have realised he had to make a deal. To destroy Venn, and divide Aotearoa with Donna Kyle, North Island and South Island. With equal command of the taniwha. Which meant the attack on him and Lena at Matawhero had been staged…
I’m such a fool! Everyone in Turanga had asked them: ‘Are you with Kyle or Venn?’ It was always going to be one of them, standing behind everything…
‘Make the wish, girl,’ Bryce commanded, his voice ringing out across the bowl, echoing on the walls. The braid of hair twitched in his hand.
Mat stared into Lena’s eyes, and she stared back. He read it all. She understood too, finally, that she was as trapped as Mat. She had been there, in the chamber when he bargained his soul with Tuwai. She knew that her next words could kill him. She knew she was dealing with treacherous men. The very fact that they had come to her with their secret deals revealed their true nature. That they would deal behind Mat’s back, and seek to offer her the taniwha’s powers instead of letting it go free showed what type of men they were. That meant she must expect treachery…to offer her power with no strings attached would go against their nature. She was much worldlier than Mat. She would have guessed. But she had said nothing to Mat about it, and she wanted so very badly to be among the mighty…
