Magic and Makutu

by David Hair

  He looked about, picking out faces and matching them to photographs or even paintings and sketches he’d seen. There was austere George Grey, Governor of the North, chatting stiffly to Seddon and Fraser. And weren’t those two men a pair of Wellington’s founding fathers, John Plimmer, and Edward Wakefield? He wished he had a camera, but his cellphone had been left in the modern world. The cameras in Aotearoa only printed images in sepia.

  A grey-haired Maori — surely a chief from his cloak and feathers — approached him. His face was so ridged with moko that he looked as though he had been made from tooled leather, but this did not conceal the hawk-like quality of his visage. ‘Haere mai, Tama Douglas. You must be proud of your son today.’ He offered a hand, pressed his nose to Tama’s while studying him with grim and steady eyes. ‘I am Te Ruki Kawiti.’

  Tama felt a sense of sobering caution return. Kawiti was a renowned war-leader among the Nga Puhi, who had rebelled against the British in the early wars, alongside Hone Heke. Both men glanced toward the Nga Puhi delegation, where Hone Heke was standing, holding forth in dramatic style. ‘It is an honour to meet you, sir,’ Tama told the rangatira formally.

  ‘The honour is mine.’ Kawiti studied Hone Heke coolly. The Nga Puhi chief was resplendent in his chiefly regalia, a quirky little European hat sitting atop his head and set at a rakish angle. Charismatic, moody, but today evidently in high spirits. ‘That one, he never changes. See, he is reminding everyone that he was the first to sign Te Tiriti in 1840. As he was.’ A grim smile crossed Kawiti’s face. ‘But his name is not at the top. I signed after him, but above, to put him in his place. The best thing about today is that, in a few minutes, after he has signed first as is his right, I’m going to do exactly the same thing again, and he can’t stop me.’ The rangatira winked at him and passed on.

  Mat watched the signing, and the huge haka of celebration that followed, alongside Evie and his parents. He’d not really spoken to his folks about Evie, and they looked a little freaked-out that he had a girl on his arm, but Evie was already working her charm on them both. Natural charm, of course — not magical. He was pretty sure they’d all get along fine.

  There was an empty space inside him, where his powers had been. He had been trying very hard not to think about that. Evie had needed to use her own powers to bring him and Wiri and Fitzy to Aotearoa, which had been when it had really sunk in. He felt unsteady, scared even. Only Evie’s hand in his anchored him.

  To the watching crowd — thousands and thousands of people from all manner of eras pressed into the streets of Wellington-Aotearoa — the heroes of the moment were the signatories, and those who’d defended Government House. He was fine with that, content to be overlooked, especially as those the crowds fêted included his parents, dressed in colonial garb and looking strangely at ease, even his mother.

  We won, Mum. This place isn’t going to be so dangerous anymore. I think you’ll love it, whenever you choose to visit.

  That only a select few knew of his own role bothered him not at all. I was just the sidekick, after all. All that public adulation was something he was more than happy to avoid. Those who mattered knew what he’d done, and that was enough.

  ‘I love you,’ Evie whispered in his ear, for about the millionth time since he’d found her and Wiri on the Kilbirnie fields.

  ‘I love you, too,’ he repeated, far from weary of being able to finally say it aloud, without fear or guilt. There was a card in his breast-pocket: The Lovers, finally the right way up. She was so pretty, eyepatch notwithstanding, warm and lovely to be beside, like standing next to a lamp. He absolutely could not wait to finally have some time alone with her again, although that promised not to be for hours yet. Last night had been wonderful, from the moment she slipped inside his room. There really was no such thing as ‘just sex’: not when you loved the other person as much as they did. Strangely, despite not having slept in an impossible to quantify amount of time, he felt full of life. Everything was so close to perfect.

  ‘Hey, bro.’

  He spun around to find Riki smirking at him, an extremely relaxed-looking Aroha hanging off his arm, looking amazing in what seemed to be a dress from the 1920s. He blinked at them both, stunned. Evie turned to see what he was looking at, then her jaw dropped.

  ‘Didn’t you see us coming, seer?’ Aroha smiled faintly. ‘Hello, Mat.’ She looked radiant, filled with light and heat, with a sultry, feminine aura. Already she was stroking her belly like a pregnant woman, and purring like a cat with more cream than it knew what to do with.

  ‘Uh …’ Words kind of failed him, as usual.

  ‘Hey, that’s my Mat: articulate as ever,’ Riki drawled. He made a flamboyant come-and-hug-me gesture. ‘C’m’ere kid, gimme some brotherly love.’ For a few seconds the world shrank to the two of them, pounding each other’s backs and squeezing.

  Mat had barely drawn breath, his eyes stinging and hands shaking at the sudden rush of joy, when Riki drew back, and opened his hand, palm-up. ‘Oh, before I forget: I’ve got my own awesomeness now, so you can have your mojo back.’ A small berry appeared in Riki’s hand, and, while Mat gaped, he poked it into Mat’s open mouth. ‘You’d be insufferable if you were normal.’

  As Mat bit down, everything came back in a rush that left him dizzy. He didn’t know what to say, couldn’t think past the overwhelming joy of so many wishes and hopes coming true.

  Riki pushed him towards Aroha. He was in front of her before he realized, dimly aware of Riki hugging Evie, murmuring something in her ear. But he couldn’t look away from Aroha, who was so lit from within with radiance and joy that it almost stung his eyes.

  She pressed her nose to his. ‘Haere mai, Matiu.’

  ‘Uh, haere mai.’ He inhaled her breath, rich with floral scents and an earthy spice beneath. He stared into her drowning-pool eyes. ‘I’m sorry …’

  ‘For what?’ Her expression was all-knowing. ‘You should not be sorry at all, Matiu. Everything worked out exactly as you might have wished, so do not play at being regretful with me.’

  The hint of power in her tone sobered him up entirely. ‘Forgive me.’

  ‘For what? Not loving me?’ She looked at him archly. ‘I, too, got what I wanted, in the end. Someone who will love me for my own sake, not out of duty. I owe that to you, and your choices. You thought you were sacrificing your very life, to allow Riki and me to be together. It is I who should be seeking your forgiveness, for putting you in such a position.’

  Mat bowed his head, not willing to argue the point with a goddess. ‘What happens now? Will Riki …’ He hesitated. ‘Will he go away with you?’

  Aroha smiled faintly, the hint of a smouldering passion in her eyes. ‘He and I will be together, somewhere.’ She looked about her. ‘I rather like it here, you know. And your world, too. I think you will see much of us.’ She put her hand to her belly again. ‘A child needs uncles to play with at times, after all.’

  His heart sang at the thought.

  Then another voice chimed in, dry and laconic, with a distinctive Welsh lilt. ‘And when you’re done, how about greeting another old friend?’

  After that, everything was entirely perfect.

  Epilogue: The old park

  A week later, a taxi-van made its way past the Basin Reserve, battling light traffic on a Saturday afternoon. Wellington still looked a little battered from the storm of the previous week, but running repairs were underway. The weather today though was pristine: clear skies and only the gentlest southerly.

  The van was supposed to hold ten, if one passenger sat in the front with the driver. Today it had eleven, but one was in dog shape and Kelly was busily persuading the driver, a Sikh from somewhere called Chandigarh, that he really shouldn’t count dogs. The driver looked quite bemused, not least because they were dressed up in Wellington rugby scarves, although the team wasn’t playing that day and the stadium was nowhere near here.

  Mat’s parents were wedged with Wiri into the second row of seating.
They were still walking around with a look of stunned happiness. Reconciliation was not just in the air, it was written all over their faces. Especially as King Dick Seddon had told Tama that he wanted him on the Aotearoa Treaty Settlements team, which would mean a new, more lucrative career away from criminal law. A change of direction beckoned, to something that both parents believed in.

  Mum’s coming back home to live … Mat blinked away tears. There was so much to be happy about right now he could scarcely contain himself.

  He and Evie were pressed together on the middle seat, and he still couldn’t take his eyes from her. He wondered if it was too soon to propose, because he knew that she was the one. They’d barely been apart. He was still glowing.

  The week had been a blur. Up to Gisborne for Howard Allan’s funeral, and some emotionally fraught time with Cassandra. She was definitely moving to America, and seemed to accept Riki’s new ties to Aroha with stoic courage, although she was visibly shaken. They’d all taken turns giving her a lot of hugs. Lena had attended, and she had most definitely not given her powers away. Then it was back down to Aotearoa-Wellington and a tangi for Ngatoro. That had been yesterday, a huge State affair with marching soldiers and cannon. Now here they all were, together because they just had to be. The bonds forged on the night of the storm and all of their previous adventures were so tactile that it felt wrong to be apart.

  Riki, Aroha and Jones had the backseat. The troublemakers’ seat, Riki christened it. Although Jones was now forced to live out the rest of his life in Aotearoa, he could visit this world for a few hours at a time. The three of them had reappeared that morning, the two young people slinky as cats and purring to match.

  The van’s radio was burbling away through the speakers. Mat pecked Evie’s cheek as he listened to the friendly voices, wishing it was tonight already. He grinned at his parents: each was wearing the pendant he’d made for them, at last. Together, my family. He squeezed Evie’s shoulders. And about to get bigger, too, as soon as I can afford a ring.

  Kelly turned the radio up: ‘Hey, listen in: they’re talking about the storm again.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Wellington, this is Geoff from Newstalk ZB. Let’s take some more calls about last week’s storm. What a wild night! As if a tropical storm with gale-force winds, fork and sheet lightning, and torrential rain wasn’t enough, we got a quake as well. I don’t know about you, listeners, but I didn’t sleep a wink all night — so when that quake hit just before dawn, I was out of bed and under the doorway faster than you can say “Jack Robinson”.’ The DJ chuckled ruefully. ‘I kicked the corner of the bed, too. Think I’ve cracked the bone in my big toe. Not a good night. How was it for you? Let’s open it up to callers …’

  ‘Good morning, Geoff. My name’s Darren. I’ve got a plumbing business out here at Eastbourne. We took a hammering, mate. Trees down, power-poles down. We’ve only just got the power back on. We’re completely cut off, too: the coast road is blocked in five different places, with parts of the seawall and even the road itself swept away. Still, I reckon I’ll have work until Christmas with the repairs. Silver linings, eh?’

  ‘Kia ora, Geoff,’ said an old women with a heavy Maori accent. ‘This is Marama. I live on Hataitai ridge. We felt the full fury of the storm, and the shake, too. Something moved beneath us, Geoff. It was the taniwha: he almost woke. But someone silenced the flute, and Whataitai went back to sleep.’

  The DJ sounded like he was rolling his eyes. ‘Er, thank you, Marama … Erm … yes.’ He floundered a little, then said, ‘Hello, next caller?’

  The radio developed a strange echoing effect from the back seat. ‘Hey, Geoff, my man. This is Riki from Hawke’s Bay. Me an’ my cuzzie-bro Mat came down last week, to check out Vic and all, and I wanna say this: us Bay boys are too cool to be phased by your dodgy weather and shaky turf. We’re definitely coming back next year to study, and our chicks are coming, too. So mega-shout-outs to the hotties, Aroha and Evie, and to Wiri and Kels and the Douglas gang. Kia kaha, Geoff, and a big kia ora to all youse listeners, too.’

  The DJ sounded utterly perplexed now, and was probably rethinking his career in talkback radio. ‘Ah, sure, thanks Riki.’ In the van, everyone burst out laughing.

  The van reached their destination, and they poured out of the van onto an empty street atop a hill, paid the confused driver, then waved him off. Puzzled passers-by peered at them, the big group dressed up for a non-existent game. They walked down a drive, to escape any onlookers.

  ‘Welcome, my friends, to the Newtown Retirement Village,’ Wiri said, with a glint in his eye. He indicated a gateway, leading to a view over a small valley packed with housing. Then he put his hand into the middle of the circle, and they all did likewise, clasping each other’s hands. ‘However, not so long ago, this was the site of a mighty fortress, named Athletic Park.’ With his free hand he brandished a handful of tickets. ‘And here I have passes for the most legendary of stadium seats — the top of the Millard Stand. If there’s a southerly, they’ll have to wait for summer to chip us from our seats. Let’s hurry, people: I believe the game is about to begin.’

  ‘Who’s playing?’ Colleen asked helplessly.

  ‘Wellington against the Cantabs,’ Riki told them. ‘Every player is a deceased former All Black, and therefore awesome,’ He winked at Mat and Evie. ‘I expect Evie will be cheering for the red-and-black, on account of her being one-eyed an’ all.’ He dodged Mat’s rabbit-punch and poked his tongue out, smirking.

  Wiri laughed. ‘C’mon people. Damien and Shui are saving seats for us. We’ve got two worlds to enjoy: let’s make the most of them.’

  Jones took them all through, except for Mat and Evie, who at the last minute disconnected, to steal a moment alone.

  ‘This is what our life’s going to be,’ he told her. ‘Two worlds, both of them ours to explore.’

  ‘Two worlds,’ she replied softly. ‘But one love.’

  They shared another kiss, and as they did, Mat exerted his powers to take them through to Aotearoa, and they faded from mortal sight.

  The End

  Author’s note

  Lucky last! This is the sixth book of the Aotearoa series, and definitely and absolutely the last one. Ironically, just as I finally get to site a novel in Wellington where I’ve spent most of my life, my wife Kerry gets transferred to Auckland! So all the onsite research I thought I could do at leisure got crammed into a few mad weeks in June. This book has been written in a tiny apartment in Manukau City, poring over screeds of photos I took prior to leaving, and guidebooks and leaflets taken from Wellington tourist sites. Fortunately I also had over 20 years of memories to draw on, too!

  And no, living in Auckland doesn’t make me an Aucklander. Not yet.

  If you’ve been reading the predecessor novels, you’ll be familiar with the setting: parallel worlds, one our modern world, the other a place where history and mythology dwell. For any newbies who’ve only read this book: go do the other ones, for goodness sake!

  Just a few notes on the real-life historical persons and places that crop up in this instalment: The Dead Premiers are all real New Zealand politicians. Everyone has their own take on such public figures, some positive and others less so, and I certainly don’t claim my versions to be definitive. Hopefully they are all recognisable to you and gel a little with your own views of them.

  The anecdote about the signing of the Treaty (Heke first, Kawiti above) is true. Hone Heke subsequently rebelled against the Crown, and Kawiti joined him in rebellion though they were often rivals within Nga Puhi.

  There really is a painted prostitute on Marion Street, but I’ve never spoken with her (honest!). I don’t know her real name, and I think Mat was a bit mean with his suggested one: but he’d been having a trying day, so please forgive him! The other places in Wellington are all real, and I do recommend spending a day at Te Papa (for a radically different museum experience) and Matiu-Somes Island (it’s a lovely spot).

  Of those character
s drawn from legend, Kiki and Puarata were villains from legend, and may or may not have been based on real persons. Ngatoro-i-rangi is another legendary figure who may have been a real person. Hine-nui-te-po is the dark aspect of the primary goddess of Aotearoa mythology and Hine-titama her more benevolent side: like several female deities in world mythology — such as the Greek Persephone, and the season-goddesses of Celtic myth — she has dual-personas.

  So, new city, new phase of life, and new books to write. Thanks for sticking with me this far. If you want to keep track, go to my website at www.davidhairauthor.com.

  Kia ora and best wishes,

  David Hair

  Auckland

  September 2013

  Glossary

  There are a few Maori words used in this story and its prequels. Most are explained in the text, but here they are with a definition. Please note that there are subtle variations of Maori usage in different regions of New Zealand. The definitions below are based on those given in P. M. Ryan’s Dictionary of Modern Maori (Heinemann, 4th edition, 1994; republished as The Raupoo Dictionary of Modern Maori, Penguin, 2008), with reference also to the online Maori dictionary: maoridictionary.co.nz.

  Aotearoa: The traditional Maori name for New Zealand, although it did not assume wide usage until the Europeans arrived. It roughly translates to ‘Land of the Long White Cloud’. In the story I have used the word to signify the ‘ghost world’ of New Zealand mythology, history and spirits.

  Haere mai: Traditional words of greeting and welcome.

  Haka: A traditional Maori dance. We mostly think of it as a war-dance, which is a sub-type of haka called a peruperu and is performed by warriors as a challenge to enemies prior to battle. However, a haka can also be performed in celebration or to entertain, and not just by men. Different tribes have their own haka.