Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  Te Ropata had the young men lined up in the square, and the villagers were beside themselves with excitement. That was no surprise. The Ngai Tahu were always happy about the return of their friends and relatives, and expressed their feelings loudly. But this time the joyful greetings were mixed with cries of admiration. Women and girls complimented the beauty of the warriors, and the men their courage. At first glance, nothing seemed to have changed. As expected, they were shirtless, carrying spears in their hands and war clubs on their belts, and their long hair was wound into warriors’ knots. Only when Jane caught sight of their faces did her eyes go wide.

  There were blue spirals around the chin of young Tane, one of the chieftain’s nephews. A third eyebrow seemed to have grown above Arama’s eyes, and Hemi had a kind of fan pattern on his forehead.

  “Te Haitara . . .” Jane’s fingers tightened around her husband’s arm. “Thank God they didn’t do that to Eru. Where is he, anyway? He—”

  “Here I am, Mother.” Eru stepped forward.

  Jane lost her grip on reality for a moment. The face that spoke to her was completely covered with blue spirals, circles, and wavy lines. The tattoos reached from nose to chin, and the forehead was covered with artistic designs. The eyes were surrounded by delicate lines. Eru’s mouth stretched into a smile. He was enjoying Jane’s horror. This was the end of her dream of college in England, of the role she had imagined for him with the Sheep Breeders’ Association.

  Te Haitara gently freed himself from Jane’s grip, went to his son, and looked him up and down approvingly.

  “A child left my house,” he declared, “and a man has returned. You have shown courage, my son. More courage and strength than I have ever seen in a warrior. Welcome back to your tribe, Te Eriatara.”

  In the meantime, the older women, led by Makuto, had gathered in the square. Makuto took stock of the warriors, first with respect. But when she saw Eru, worry and anger flashed across her features.

  “An entire face, created in a few days? The images of a lifetime, chiseled into a young man’s forehead?” Makuto ran her fingers over her own moko. Like most women, she was only ornamented around the mouth with blue spirals. It was a sign that she breathed the breath of life. Makuto turned to Te Haitara. “It’s good when a warrior shows courage,” she told him. “But a child cannot become a man overnight. It’s foolish to force maturity. Your rangatira should have known better, Te Eriatara.” She gave Te Ropata a disapproving look. “I would have expected more wisdom from the tohunga-ta-oko as well! You will now have to live with a face that may no longer be your own in ten years, Te Eriatara. You believe it reflects your courage, but in truth, it only reflects your wish for revenge. I hope your soul can transcend that wish and triumph over your face.” She turned and walked away.

  Eru stood there, dumbfounded. Before he could react, he was attacked by his mother. Jane’s shock had given way to blazing anger.

  “There you have it!” she crowed. “I never thought Makuto and I would agree about anything, but this time even she said it. You’re no warrior, Eric! You’re just a spoiled, rebellious little boy.”

  Eru thought he could feel the moko’s power strengthening him. “I’ll prove to you that I’m a warrior, Mother,” he said in an unwavering voice. “I will prove it to all of you.”

  Very slowly, he pulled a tattered booklet out of his bag. It was the Ua Rongo Pai, the Gospel according to Te Ua.

  “On the North Island there is war now, a war that Te Ua Haumene says we must win. That’s what he prophesied, and it shall be so. The prophet says we will feel the call within us. And today, I, Te Eriatara the warrior, hear him! I will leave today to follow him!”

  Jane saw her husband go pale under his own tattoos.

  “Eru, my boy, all of this honors you. Your intention honors you. But you don’t really want to go through with this, do you? That isn’t our fight, Eru! It is not a war of the Ngai Tahu.” The chieftain took a faltering step toward his son, as though he wanted to embrace him and keep him from leaving.

  “A war?” Jane asked. She had briefly read Te Ua Haumene’s diatribe, and had written it off as the product of a sick mind.

  “This fight belongs to all of us!” Eru said, looking intently at the faces surrounding him. Part of his taua watched him with their eyes flashing, while the others lowered their heads in shame. “It’s a fight for every Maori!”

  Jane looked at her husband. “He doesn’t really want to go to the North Island and join some insane mob, does he?”

  Te Haitara covered his face with his hands. His silence was answer enough for Jane.

  “You must forbid him!” she shrieked.

  The chieftain took his hands down and lowered his eyes. “I can’t,” he said. “He has made his transformation, with more courage and strength than even I showed in mine. He is a warrior. He is a man.”

  “And you are his chieftain!” Jane cried.

  Te Haitara looked at her sadly. “I am only his father,” he replied. “I taught him what he needed to know. I raised him to be a warrior. It’s you he is striving against. Perhaps it’s good that he’s leaving.”

  Jane turned furiously back to her son and scrutinized his face, scowling with disgust. Malice flashed in her eyes.

  Her voice was cold as she wound up for the blow. “Well, at least that clears up the problem with the Jensch girl.” She forced a cruel smile. “No pakeha woman will ever look at you again.”

  Eru stared defiantly back at her. Then he made a gesture of farewell to the village elders, exchanged hongi with his father and his rangatira, and picked up his spear. He turned to leave, marching past the rows of villagers. The people let him go, staring with both fascination and sympathy. Eru took a deep breath of relief when two other young warriors spontaneously ran to follow him. One began to dance a war haka as they left the village. Eru sang along, but his mind was elsewhere. His mother’s bullet had found its target. Would Mara recognize him? Would she like his new face?

  Deep in his heart, he knew the answer. Mara loved him no matter what he looked like. But if he slaughtered her people the way a Hauhau warrior was supposed to, how could she do anything but hate him?

  Chapter 32

  Carol endured the sea voyage from Lyttelton to the North Island stoically. After the difficult days before the journey, she was too depressed to be afraid. The loss of Rata Station was still painful, as was her separation from Linda. And now, for the first time, it became clear how permanent her separation from Oliver was. Up until a few days before, she had been a bride, her life secure. But now Linda was married instead, and she herself was single with an unforeseeable future ahead. If it had been up to Carol, she would have crawled under a blanket with Fancy and shut out the world.

  But Bill Paxton did everything he could to distract her and keep her entertained. He insisted on leaning against the ship’s rail with her so they could feel the wind in their hair and the salty spray on their faces. In the evening, he escorted her formally to the first-class dining hall and treated her like a princess. He’d had to bribe the steward to get them in, as Carol and Mara didn’t have enough money for first class. The lieutenant didn’t urge Carol to react to his jokes and stories as cheerfully as she had before. His face simply radiated his joy to be with her again, and his wish for her approval.

  To Carol’s surprise, Mara also turned out to be a pleasant travel companion. The girl was in an unexpectedly good mood. She talked about earlier trips across the Cook Strait and allayed Carol’s fears when it became stormy.

  “It’s always like this here, Carrie; it doesn’t mean anything. And we’ll be there in just a few hours.”

  In Wellington, so many new impressions overtook Carol that she didn’t have time to remember her grief. The city was much larger than anything the young woman had ever seen. She gazed in amazement at the shops, restaurants, hotels, government buildings, and churches. And Mara was surprised by the military presence, which was much stronger than during her previous visits
. Even redcoats were stationed in Wellington, along with the local troops. But there were no Maori to be seen.

  “There’s a war going on, Miss Mara,” Bill Paxton said. “There were uprisings in Taranaki and Waikato, and the governor reacted very strongly to them. General Cameron drove the Maori warriors back into a small area.”

  “Then it’s over now?” Carol asked worriedly. “They aren’t fighting anymore?”

  In order to get to Russell, they’d have to traverse the entire length of the North Island from south to north. Carol shivered to realize that Bill Paxton’s insistence on accompanying them was not mere kindness or gallantry.

  “Why do they need all the soldiers if there’s peace now?” Mara asked.

  Bill shrugged. “There have been aggressive land seizures in the offenders’ area, but it seems like the government views the uprisings as an excuse to claim the land unfairly. Governor Grey is using his proclamation of 1863.”

  “What’s that?” Mara asked.

  “In 1863, Grey gave the chieftain in Waikato an ultimatum. Whoever remained peaceably in the village or went willingly to where the government was resettling the tribe would not be harmed. But any Maori who attacked settlers, protected troublemakers, or dared to roam freely would lose the rights granted to them by the Treaty of Waitangi. I can’t say how that went over with the chieftains at the time. In any case, it didn’t have an effect on the outcome of the war.”

  “But they’re still using it anyway?” Carol asked incredulously. “Two years later? Do they even know which chieftains or tribes were involved? The English think all the Maori look the same.”

  “I agree that the governor’s tactics are concerning,” Bill admitted. “General Cameron is complaining too. He’s not gathering troops between Whanganui and the Patea River for nothing. That’s where I’m going now, to work as a liaison officer. It’s another mixed bag of English, New Zealanders, and Australians, though Cameron’s pulling out the English. Grey is replacing them with the military settlers and other volunteers.”

  Looking into the sisters’ alarmed faces, Bill smiled. “May I accompany you to the inn now, Miss Carol and Miss Mara? I have to check in at headquarters. Later, I would be delighted to treat you to dinner in a good restaurant, if you’ll allow me. We will start on our journey north tomorrow.”

  Carol hesitated for a moment. She’d of course noticed how enthusiastically the young lieutenant was courting her, and didn’t want to encourage his attention. After so much grief and upheaval, fresh off Oliver’s betrayal and uneasy about Linda’s new husband, Carol didn’t have space in her heart for a new love. On the other hand, they would only be traveling for a few days before Bill left them in Waikato. Couldn’t they be friends?

  “We would be delighted if you would accompany us to dinner,” she replied. “But please, don’t take us to such an expensive restaurant again! It makes me uncomfortable.”

  Bill Paxton laughed. “Starting tomorrow, I won’t have to spend a thing for months. So please allow me to enjoy a little luxury with you today. There are some excellent seafood restaurants here.”

  The next day, the travel was quite difficult but not as hard as Carol had feared. Bill had been assigned to a troop of soldiers that had been detached from Cameron’s camp. The sisters rode with a group of twenty men and were followed by a cook wagon that Fancy immediately joined. The cook seemed to like dogs and enjoyed slipping her treats. The group traveled north from Wellington on a well-maintained road that Governor Grey had constructed for the transport of troops. It couldn’t have been easy to build. The landscape was mountainous, and occasionally Carol held her breath as they thundered along steep abysses or over precarious bridges.

  None of it bothered Mara. She’d traveled this road with her parents while it was still under construction, when the journey was much more challenging.

  “There were just Maori roads here before,” she said. “And, of course, those were hardly more than footpaths through the jungle.”

  “Ideal for ambushes and attacks,” said one of the soldiers, an experienced captain. “That was the first thing we cleaned up. Governor Grey was quite right to build this road, even though it was expensive and the troops didn’t want to do it. Only later did they come to understand. If you have to face those tattooed, spear-swinging fellows in the depths of the jungle, you learn to appreciate civilization. That was the problem in the first war in Taranaki. We played too much by their rules. This time, Grey and Cameron did it differently. We fought by our own rules, and won!”

  “This land used to be beautiful,” Mara remarked.

  The hills and wooded valleys, the craggy mountainous landscape, and the grass-covered plains had been disfigured by the construction. The soldiers hadn’t even carried away the trees they’d chopped down. Thousands of passing soldiers had added to the mess.

  The captain shrugged. “Now it’s safe.”

  On the way north, they saw numerous military bases along the new road. Some were Maori forts that had been taken over by the English, and some were unembellished, thrown-together new buildings. On the first day of the journey, the group stayed the night at a base near Paekakariki, and Carol and Mara stared at the structure in surprise.

  “This wasn’t a pa,” Mara said, “though there’s a pa on an island nearby. I found out by chance because Te Rauparaha died there. You know, Carrie, the father of Mamaca’s foster mother.”

  Te Rauparaha and his tribe had originally lived on the South Island. After the Wairau conflict, the chieftain had escaped to the North Island.

  “You’re right,” Carol said. “This was once a marae. A village. Families used to live here.” She pointed to the meetinghouse, sleeping house, and kitchen that had been converted into soldiers’ quarters. “Where did they go?”

  The captain shrugged.

  The next morning, Bill asked the commander of the base what had happened to the Maori who had once lived in the marae.

  “They were moved,” he told Carol and Mara later, as their caravan continued north through farmland. Sheep were grazing on both sides. “They were sent somewhere in Taranaki.”

  “Taranaki?” Mara said in surprise. “Are there tribes there that belong to the Ngati Raukawa? I thought just Nga Rauru and the Nga Ruahine live in Taranaki. Most of the North Island tribes are enemies!”

  “We didn’t notice anything like that,” the captain replied. “When it comes to the English, the Maori forget their differences quickly.”

  “That isn’t true,” Bill said with a frown. He’d been trying not to contradict the captain, but he couldn’t just let that go. “There are plenty of Maori warriors who have fought on our side, and some are still doing so—between fifteen hundred and two thousand of them.”

  “I’ve never trusted them,” the captain said.

  Bill rubbed his temples.

  On the second day, the travelers passed Otaki and spent the night in a missionary station. It was there that Carol and Mara saw Maori for the first time since they’d been on the North Island. Shy, fearful-looking women and children stood by the side of the road and sold drinks. Most of them wore crosses around their necks and addressed the soldiers “in the name of Jesus.” When Mara asked, they told her that they were Ngati Raukawa. The mission was close to their marae, and “of course” they were all Christians now.

  “They would probably be more spirited if Te Rauparaha was still alive,” Mara said to her sister. “Look at that old man. According to his moko, he was once a warrior. Now he’s selling crosses made of pounamu jade.”

  “With the soldiers, he’d probably make more money with hei tikis,” Carol replied, referring to the carved figurines of Maori gods. “At least if he called them good-luck charms. The whalers loved those back when Jane started trading.”

  “Of course, he’d have to be able to tell the right stories,” Mara said, laughing. “Which reminds me of Linda’s new husband. I wonder what yarns he’s spinning.”

  That night, the soldiers put up their
tents in the fields. The area had been settled for a long time, and the local farmers were mostly growing flax. There were more military bases to the north, where the fields and meadows of Manawatu gave way to the Whanganui hills. All the mountains and valleys, the curves of the Whanganui River, and the lakes and waterfalls between which the road led north were extremely beautiful, but they’d posed enormous challenges to road construction. The Maori hadn’t settled there.

  “But they wandered here,” Carol said. “And they had their sacred sites in the forests.”

  “And there are many settlements around the town of Whanganui,” Mara said. “My father surveyed that land a few years ago, and always had to keep coming back to resolve disputes. We once spent the night there with the Ngati Hauiti. They were furious with the New Zealand Company. My father agreed with them completely. We had such a nice time with them.”

  “Nice?” the captain said. “Are you insane? They’re cannibals and rebels!”

  “The Ngati Hauiti live very peacefully with the settlers in Whanganui,” Mara shot back. “They have no particular connection to Te Ua Haumene. I don’t think you realize that there are six or seven totally different tribes in this region. The Ngati Rahiri, the Ngati Paki—I can’t remember them all.”

  “The similar name is a coincidence, Captain,” Carol explained. “Hau just means ‘wind.’”

  At the moment, the town of Whanganui was above all a military base. Mara remembered it being surrounded by thick woods, but now they rode through large, completely deforested areas.

  “Is someone planning to build here?” Carol asked, saddened by the sight of the indiscriminate clear-cutting. “And over there—was there a fire?”

  Mara gazed uncomprehendingly at the ash-covered fields and blackened tree stumps. The atmosphere was eerie and alien.

  “There were villages here,” she whispered. “This is where the tribes had their maraes.”

  “And they posed a constant threat to the settlers,” the captain said with a huff. “Absurd to claim they had nothing to do with the Hauhau! We had plenty of trouble from them. This here”—he gestured at the obliterated fields—“was a punitive strike.”