Into the Mist

by Lee Murray

  Fuck.

  Like a kitten? What was Taine talking about? Sampson was nothing like a fucking kitten. You called that playful? Jesus. And they’d put Jules in its path, with no way of saving herself. She was a fucking sacrifice!

  The Sphenodon bellowed, the sound almost gleeful. It tossed its massive head, its deadly spines glinting. It stepped closer. Lowered its head and opened its mouth…

  Soon, soon…

  Trigger was about to show Read the chop, when Jules let out an involuntary squeak.

  The animal hesitated.

  Trigger threw up his palm instead. Not yet…

  Sampson bunched his muscles.

  “Now!”

  Together Read and Trigger yanked the net skywards, just as Sampson lunged for Jules. The net swung up and around, its two rope-stays like the handles of a child’s drawstring bag, the animal’s forward movement pulling it tight and closed. Secured to the two solid beech trunks, the ropes snapped backwards.

  * * *

  The bullroarer in hand, Taine hurled the line upwards and across, aiming for a tree near Read. It caught in a fork between two branches. Taine twisted the cord around his arm, ignoring the bite of the fibre. He launched himself off the cliff, and prayed the Force was with him.

  * * *

  Jules was meant to jump sideways – sideways and away from the cliff. But she had to leave it to the very last second so Read and Trigger could bring up the net. She waited, trembling as Sampson approached. But then he lunged, coming at her with those teeth, the reek of its breath, and oh my god, those teeth… She was too terrified to move. She squeaked. Sampson slowed for a split second, startled by the pitch of her voice, then lunged, reaching with a curled talon.

  The talon that had yanked de Haas’ intestines out of his body.

  No… not again…

  Jules stepped back, and stumbled.

  She grasped for a handhold.

  * * *

  Swinging into the ravine, Taine saw her fall. She tumbled downwards, grappling for a handhold, the rocks and debris raining from the cliff face. Taine steeled his grip on the line, angling his body to face her and, coming in sideways, collected her in his free arm. Together, they slammed into the cliff face in a shower of debris, Taine’s arm nearly yanked out of its socket.

  Shit!

  They were swinging backwards. But Jules reached out and snatched at a root. Seized it. Her fist clenched around the root, the knuckles white, she pulled them back to the cliff.

  Taine glanced about for a foothold. A metre or two below them was a tiny ledge, a shelf of rock about the size of a coffee table.

  “When I tell you, I want you to let go, okay? I’m going to let out the line.”

  Her eyes widened, her heart pounding against his chest. “No! It’s too far.”

  “I’ll slide us down the rope. It’s just a couple of metres.” Taine’s arm was beginning to shake from the strain, their combined weight causing his shoulder to burn. “Jules please, trust me,” he said, his chest tightening when she bit her lip.

  “Okay.”

  “You count. We’ll go on three.”

  By the count of five, Taine’s feet found the ledge. Jamming the line into a crack in the rock, he drew her to him. They took a moment to catch their breath.

  “This wasn’t in the plan,” she said.

  * * *

  Up on the clifftop, the rope snapped back. An accidental loop closed about Trigger’s wrist. It tightened, the weight of Sampson, thousands of tons of angry thrashing Sphenodon bore down on his wrist, crushing the bones. Trigger roared. White blue, the skin changed colour. His hand was in a noose. Being amputated. His head swam.

  * * *

  In the branches of the beech, Read twisted at Trigger’s shout. Everything was going to hell in a handcart. Jules and McKenna were gone, the sergeant leaping after Jules, almost before Read saw her trip. They’d be dead, or if they weren’t, Read could only pray they’d found a hand hold somewhere. The net didn’t look as if it would hold – the rope tether on Trigger’s side stretched to the limit. If Jules and McKenna were alive down there, they’d be crushed. Read had to secure that rope!

  But it was already too late. The rope pinged free – Trigger was caught in the rope, the loose end dragging him towards the cliff. It yanked him from the tree he’d been sitting in, pulling him down the length of the trunk, slaloming him between the branches. His shoulder hit one, bouncing cruelly. His clothes were torn to shreds, and no doubt his skin with it.

  He’s going to go over.

  Grabbing a nearby supplejack vine, Read swung into the air Tarzan-style, releasing the vine mid-arc to throw himself at Trigger. Landing beside him, he clutched at the big man’s smock.

  “Got you.”

  Only he hadn’t yet. Read dug his boots in, slipping over the rock-strewn clay, straining to slow their advance. The cliff rushed at them. Gravel ground under his boots. Tumbled away. His ankle flip-flopped, snapping to one side. Pain shot up his leg.

  Biting back a curse, Read tightened his grip on Trigger, his fingers clawing at the man’s jacket as the remaining rope creaked, and dug in some more. He wasn’t going to lose another man. The net listed way to one side.

  They were going to go over the edge of a cliff with an angry thrashing Sphenodon!

  Determined, Read dug his heels in, giving it everything, leaning backwards, his ankle screaming, and the backs of his legs burning.

  No!

  Still, they slid. He could do nothing more. His heart thundering, Read held his breath and watched the cliff approach.

  They slowed to a stop, the net snare held only by a single tether.

  No time to celebrate, Read scrambled to his feet, unwinding the rope from Trigger’s mangled hand. Just in time. The remaining tether squealed and snapped, both ends free now to race away over the cliff. Read threw himself at the edge, sliding in on his stomach to peer down into the ravine.

  “Look out below!” he shouted, but already it was too late, the net, Sampson inside it, was crashing down the ravine to the ground.

  A hand appeared, extended out as if its owner was checking for rain.

  Taine?

  On a ledge below Read, McKenna grasped at the passing rope, letting it slip through his palms as it passed, until he was holding the end.

  Sampson crashed to the ground.

  * * *

  Temera picked his way to the bottom of the ravine and ran panting along the gully floor. Nearing the taniwha, he could see the old wounds on its flanks, the eyes that were blackened and raw.

  “Hello, little seer. I suppose you’ve come to gloat?” the taniwha sneered.

  “I’ve come to watch you leave the forest.”

  “Is that so? I’m not quite beaten yet.” The taniwha thrashed wildly in a demonstration of his power. The net strained to contain it. It might break yet. Terrified, Temera stepped back. He wasn’t really there, but with the pūrerehua at his neck, he felt closer to the living world than normal.

  “McKenna will kill you.”

  “He hasn’t so far.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Temera said again.

  “Ah, but that won’t stop me visiting you, will it?” it said, and laughed cruelly.

  Temera shuddered.

  * * *

  “Is it dead?” Jules asked hopefully. Taine felt her breath at his neck. He glanced at the crumpled mess at the bottom of the ravine.

  Maybe we’ve done it?

  But Sampson’s tail twitched. Wrapped in the net, the fall had only stunned the monster. It wouldn’t be long before it came to. Used those talons to cut its way free.

  Taine didn’t want to leave Jules on this ledge. If it were anyone else. Anywhere else.

  “Jules…”

  “I’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll lock the doors,” she said, forcing a smile. “Just try not to be late home, okay?”’

  Taine grinned. Looping the rope over a jagged rock in the cliff face, he pulled it tight. Tested it. He was
about to rappel down the cliff when he stopped.

  Fuck it.

  His hand at her nape, he pulled her to him and kissed her, feeling her body melt into his. She put her arms around his neck, and kissed him back.

  Sampson bellowed beneath them.

  He forced himself to pull away. “Jules…”

  “I’ll be right here,” she whispered, her eyes dark. “Go.”

  He leaped off the ledge, rappelling down the side of the ravine, and jumping the last metre onto Sampson’s belly. The animal’s head was already half out of the ropes, the nylon fibres severed by the crest of spines.

  Taine raised his pistol, preparing to fire at the creature’s eye.

  “Not the pistol,” the boy’s voice came to him, far away but also close.

  How are they talking? There was no music. Taine’s bullroarer was hanging in a tree thirty metres above him. The answer came to him almost before he’d asked the question – our souls have met before.

  “But I can finish this now,” Taine replied.

  “No! You’ll only kill the lizard, and not the taniwha,” said the boy cryptically.

  “What do you want me to do? Strangle it with my bare hands?”

  “I don’t know. Give me a second to think. It’ll be something traditional.”

  “The lead pipe in the conservatory?” Taine said bitterly.

  “You’re not helping!”

  Taine raised his pistol. “We’re wasting time. It’ll be free soon.”

  “No! We have to get it right. The nightmares, they’ll keep coming.”

  Taine lowered the gun. “They’ll keep coming?”

  “A spear!” the boy cried. “Use a spear and strike at the belly, the soft part. It’s what our ancestors did. It has to be a spear!”

  Taine didn’t have a spear. But there were branches here, torn from the trees in recent slips. He could use one of them. Make a spear. He leaped off the Sphenodon and scooped up a branch. Four strikes of the penknife, and he had a crude spear. It looked pathetic.

  “Quickly,” the boy urged.

  The creature was almost free of the net. It bucked and thrashed, tossing its head, spines slicing through the ropes, increasing its range of movement with every pass.

  Drawing a deep breath, Taine pulled back his arm. He rushed in, pointing the spear at the Sphenodon’s belly. It pierced the hide, the spear sliding into the creature’s flesh. Taine felt a tiny surge of hope. It worked! A simple spear achieving what guns could not. The Māori warriors of old had known what they were doing! He drove the shaft deeper, using all his weight. But it didn’t stop Sampson. He screwed his torso from one side to the other, bellowing, hissing. Clutching at the spear, Taine was flung from side to side. The tail won free, Taine jumping clear and onto the rocks just in time.

  Shit!

  The spear poked from the animal’s belly. Enraged, Sampson lashed out, its tail scattering nearby rocks as it worked at finishing the ropes with its talons, slashing and clawing. Taine’s hope faded. All he’d done was given it a teeny pinprick. A bee-sting. He’d annoyed it, nothing more. He should have used the pistol while he’d had the opportunity.

  “Shallow-hearted,” the boy’s voice said, and Taine prickled. Let him stand in Taine’s shoes and say that! But then he realised it wasn’t what the boy meant; the beast’s heart was in its underbelly!

  “Again. Hurry!”

  The net full of holes, Sampson kicked out, bursting the knots. He got to his feet. Taine darted under the net, and under the beast’s legs. He yanked on the spear. Stuck fast, Taine hung off it, his feet dragging on the ground, straining to wrench it out of Sampson’s hide. The Sphenodon reeled about. Tossed its head. The last of the net fell away.

  It was free.

  Chapter 29

  Temera closed his eyes, the taniwha’s laughter ringing in his ears. It hadn’t always been like this. Even taniwha, when young, started out shy. Hiding in the shadows of Temera’s dreams, it had hissed quietly. Perhaps the first few deaths had been accidents, a question of the creature killing to survive. It was a living thing, after all. But after each encounter with Temera’s people, the beast had grown more confident, even arrogant, its wairua becoming puffed up with pride and importance.

  Now it wasn’t enough for it just to live in the forest and keep to itself. It wished to place itself above everyone, even Tāne, the god of the forest. If the taniwha was to be banished forever, he would have help McKenna. It wasn’t enough to slay it; the taniwha’s wairua had to also make the journey to the underworld. But Temera was only a man, and doing battle with a taniwha was not the same as predicting where a geyser might pop up. He stood in the canyon, watching McKenna struggle to free the wooden spear, and wished his mātua were here, to guide him.

  Free the wooden spear...

  Temera opened his eyes. Wood! Mātua Rata may not be here, but there was someone who might help him. Temera took his pūrerehua from around his neck and twirled it above his head, building the cadence, widening the circle, the air dancing over the sweeps and swirls and dog’s-tooth notches of its korero-carvings until the instrument sung. He allowed it to hum for a moment, just long enough for his own wairua to gain confidence, and then he called on him, Tāne, god of the forest, who separated the earth and the sky and let light into the world.

  Temera called on Tāne, who fashioned the first man, and told him of the taniwha who would destroy them. Tāne of the forest, spirit of the mist. His body trembling, Temera, the boy-seer, walked in the spirit world and summoned the god.

  The mist rolled in, cloaking the forest in darkness. The birds fell silent, but Tāne’s children, the trees, creaked and groaned. Cold seeped into the canyon. Temera’s arm ached, but he dared not stop the music because someone was coming.

  The pūrerehua resonated with strength. Not Temera’s power. Temera was just the morepork, the humble messenger that darted between the worlds, but he felt the being’s presence. And its rage. Then the mist thickened until Temera could see only shadows. The warrior and the taniwha lost in its drifts…

  * * *

  No!

  The Sphenodon tore itself free of the net. Clutching at the rock wall, Jules stared in horror. Just seconds ago she’d seen Taine duck under Sampson’s body, still clinging to the spear. Where was he now?

  Jules could hardly breathe. She had to do something. What? Quivering, she bent her knees, her legs shaking, fingernails raking at the rock wall.

  At last, she lowered her body enough to put her hands on the ledge floor.

  Oh god.

  Trembling, she pushed her legs backwards until she was lying on her stomach, her feet dangling off the ledge. A pebble toppled over the edge. It bounced off the side of the ravine, clinking to the ground. Jules shuddered.

  Don’t think about it. Taine’s down there. He needs my help.

  Nauseated, she leaned as far out over the ledge as she dared, so Sampson could see her face. “Hey Sampson!” she called. “I think it’s time we had another one of our wee chats, you and I. What do you say?”

  But the creature didn’t respond, too intent on locating Taine, twisting and snaking to dislodge him. How long could Taine hold on? Jules needed to get its attention. She twisted her torso sideways, feeling with her fingertips until she found a loose rock. She closed her hand around it. Aimed. Hurled it. Hitting a boulder, it skittered away uselessly.

  Damn.

  Jules put her hand back and felt for another. Heavier this time. She grasped it. Concentrated hard on Sampson’s head. Then she threw, the effort wrenching her shoulder.

  Yes! The rock struck above the creature’s eye, where the flesh was black and raw. It wasn’t a strong blow. Not enough to do any damage, but Sampson stopped its thrashing and looked up.

  * * *

  At last, the spear slid free!

  Taine dropped to the ground with it, Jules’ voice in his ear. She was singing, her words soft and lilting, like a prayer. The creature paused.

  This was his cha
nce to kill it!

  Where? Taine wouldn’t get a third chance. But now the animal had stopped, he spotted the place where the heart throbbed beneath the soft belly of the animal. For a split second, watching it rise and fall, Taine was almost sorry. The last of its kind. But then he thought of Louise and Anaru and Coolie, and a sudden brutal surge of rage exploded inside him. He thrust the spear upwards, sliding it between the creature’s ribs, into the pulse, feeling the power of the weapon in his hands. Blood gushed from the wound, soaking him. He plunged the spear deep into the animal’s core. Taine drove the spear on, sinking the wooden shaft into Sampson’s heart. He felt the organ falter. The vibrations slowed.

  Sampson staggered sideways. Lurched. Bellowed. Taine watched it fall.

  The ground trembled.

  The monster glared at him from singed eye-sockets. It opened its mouth, baring murderous teeth, and hissed, its talons making a final lunge for him. Taine darted out of their way.

  Is it dead?

  Taine held his breath.

  Seconds passed.

  Finally, he pulled out the spear, stepping back to avoid the gush of blood. Sampson didn’t move. Taine drove the spear in again for good measure. Then he turned, looking up to where Read and Jules waited, one above the other on the cliff face.

  * * *

  Rotorua township

  “Temera!”

  “What?” All at once the forest was quiet.

  Temera opened his eyes, blinking as the flood of light hit him. With just his pyjama pants on, Wayne was leaning over the bed, his hands on Temera’s shoulders.