Fires of Change (The Fire Blossom Saga)

by Sarah Lark

  Omaka’s eyes were still cold, but now powerful anger burned there as well.

  “Makutu?” Linda asked softly. “You will cast a curse on them?”

  During her time with the Ngai Tahu, Linda had heard tales of tohunga who, after a life of conferring with the gods, could kill using nothing but words. Black magic—fatal for the cursed, and dangerous for the priestess involved. Linda didn’t really believe in it, or hadn’t until now.

  “You must not hear the words,” the priestess said. “Nobody will hear the words.”

  Omaka drew herself up. She seemed to grow; the men by the tree must surely see her now. Linda was terrified that one of them would shoot. But the settlers only looked up at her, curious at first, but then uncertain, and finally, mesmerized. In the end, they would be trembling with fear.

  “I will wait for you, karani,” Linda said. “Do not forget, I will wait. Do not lose yourself. We are of a kind.”

  When Linda had almost reached her wagon, she heard Omaka’s scream. It wasn’t unlike a karanga, the cry uttered by a tribe’s strongest woman at the peak of a powhiri, which connected heaven and earth, gods and men. A karanga evoked peace, but this cry brought death.

  Amy, whom Linda had left in the wagon, whimpered, and Aroha began to cry. Linda was afraid she would hear shots next. But there was silence. She fought back her fear, calming the dog and her child—and then, in disbelief, she saw Omaka coming down the hill. Steadily, serenely, as if nothing had happened.

  “You—you succeeded?” Linda asked.

  Omaka nodded. “They will all die,” she said firmly. “Today, I was Whiro’s messenger. Let us go now, mokopuna.”

  “I have to collect my things,” Linda objected.

  The Maori shook her head. “Leave everything. This land is tapu from now on. This house is tapu.”

  Linda thought wistfully of her pots, her clothes, her bedding. Though she didn’t own much, she was still attached to it. She reached for the reins.

  “Very well, karani, we will leave. We do not need anything anymore. We are free.”

  Part 7

  FREEDOM

  THE AUCKLAND ISLANDS

  CAMPBELLTOWN AND THE CANTERBURY PLAINS, NEW ZEALAND (THE SOUTH ISLAND)

  OTAKI AND TARANAKI, NEW ZEALAND (THE NORTH ISLAND)

  1866

  Chapter 62

  Bill was usually the first to leap ashore when they reached a new island. After almost a year aboard the Hampshire, he should have gotten accustomed to the thrill of it. But every day, Bill awoke full of new hope, and his heartbeat quickened at the sight of every new island they approached.

  Captain Rawley had begun his mission by exploring the Bounty Islands, which was disappointing to Bill, since there was no chance of Cat and Chris having ended up there. The Bounty Islands were in the southern Pacific Ocean, a good four hundred miles southeast of Christchurch. Bill would have preferred to sail to the Auckland Islands straightaway, but it wasn’t an option in winter. And then, after their voyage to the Bounties, they’d sailed back to Christchurch to stock up on provisions. Bill’s patience had been tried again when Rawley had next headed for the Antipodes.

  It was only now that the Hampshire had reached the Auckland Islands, and today, they were planning to go to Enderby, one of the largest. As usual, the Hampshire had sailed once around the landmass to look for castaways’ boats on the beach. They hadn’t spotted anything, but that didn’t mean much. People might have pulled their boats ashore. Now, Captain Rawley was searching for an appropriate anchorage, and Bill and two other crew members were preparing the longboat.

  When an island looked more or less habitable, the men began their exploration on foot. They usually spent two to ten days on each. It was generally easy to tell whether it was worth investing much time and energy on any given island—for example, when there were already animals there. Then, Fancy would contribute to their mission. She would herd the goats or sheep in a flash, making it possible to count them and control the feeding situation. If the animals were thin and the time of year was appropriate, the men would stay for a few days, plowing fallow land and sowing grass.

  On some of these islands, castaways had survived for long periods of time in the past. Others had even been properly inhabited. On these, the Hampshire’s men found areas where crops had been cultivated, and they would weed or renew the fields. Potatoes, for example, could be planted on almost every island. The spuds grew without tending, sprouting on their own.

  A few times, they found abandoned shelters and huts. Bill and the others would repair them and leave well-sealed crates full of clothes, blankets, matches, and tools inside. On islands without huts, they built quick shelters against the weather, marking them with a large sign:

  RELIEF SUPPLIES FOR CASTAWAYS

  DEPOSITED BY THE HAMPSHIRE

  Under that, there was a bold-lettered warning for thieves:

  MAY THE SUFFERING OF WIDOWS AND ORPHANS BEFALL ANY MAN WHO BREAKS INTO THIS CRATE ALTHOUGH A SHIP AWAITS HIM ON THE SHORE!

  Finally, the Hampshire’s crew would leave signs on other beaches on the island, and if possible, they’d set out some goats or rabbits there too.

  “Now we only have one or two little islands left,” Peter said contentedly as they left Enderby and rowed back toward the Hampshire. “Sure, Disappointment Island’s going to keep us busy for a few days, but we’ll be done with most of them quickly. Goodness knows I’ve had enough! I’m going to spend next winter in Campbelltown. We’ll see if there’s a friendly woman who’ll take me in. A whole year at sea to rescue castaways—that’s bound to touch some nice widow’s heart.”

  The other men laughed in agreement. Peter was right, their journey was coming to an end. The men hoped they’d be home in about a month’s time. Bill was the only one unhappy about it.

  “We still have a few more islands to go,” he said keenly, glancing at his list. He kept a meticulous record of every island they’d visited, and he knew exactly how many were still left. “The next one is Rose Island.”

  “Pretty name for such a dismal patch of ground,” the captain remarked. “It’s only about three hundred acres. Wouldn’t want to be buried there.”

  “You know the place?” Bill asked.

  Rawley shook his head. “No, not personally. But I read about it. A few whalers used to have a station there and left some rabbits. Supposed to be plenty of them there now. But nothing apart from that.”

  Bill shrugged. “So, we can look forward to some rabbit roast. How far is it?”

  Rawley grimaced. “Ye know how bad the sea charts are out here. It’s sou’west of Enderby, can’t say more than that . . .”

  “So, let’s set sail first thing tomorrow,” Ben said, “and get it over with quickly.”

  It took them a day of strong wind to reach Rose Island, and, in fact, the island was quite small. They could see a colony of seals on one of the beaches.

  “Is that where we’re going ashore?” Peter asked.

  The captain shook his head. “Eh, let’s not bother ’em! We’ll find something else.”

  “We have to sail around once anyway,” Bill reminded him.

  Gus and Ben rolled their eyes in unison.

  “You aren’t really expecting a boat, are you?” Gus asked.

  Bill shrugged with feigned indifference. He knew he was getting on their nerves, but he didn’t care. “If I wasn’t expecting castaways, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

  The captain smiled. “Anything’s possible,” he said. “And we’ll be around in no time.”

  That much was true. It took them all of two hours to circumnavigate the island. The beaches were rocky, and Rawley was worried about shallows and cliffs. As usual, Bill squinted fervently, trying to spot any signs of human habitation.

  “Nothing,” he said sadly as the seal beach came into sight once more.

  The captain squinted through his spyglass, suddenly lowering it in alarm. “Smoke!” he cried. “Now, I might be wrong—it’s alwa
ys so foggy in these parts, but—” He looked again. “Still, looks to be there’s smoke rising there. Have a look, Bill, ye’ve got younger eyes than me.”

  Bill’s heart beat frantically as he reached for the spyglass. He scanned the coast without success, and then searched the sky over the interior. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat. The captain was right! There was definitely smoke rising there. A campfire, maybe!

  “There’s somebody there,” he whispered. “Oh my God, Carol, I—I found them . . . ,” he said directly to the image of her face that appeared in his mind’s eye.

  Captain Rawley placed a hand on his shoulder. “Easy now, lad. We don’t even know if they’re castaways. Might be a bunch o’ whalers—”

  “Without a ship at anchor?” Bill asked. “How did they get here, then? You think they swam?”

  “Or they might be castaways, but not from the General Lee,” Peter said.

  “Or mutineers who were abandoned here,” Ben guessed.

  “Seal hunters whose ship is coming back to pick them up in a few days’ time,” Gus added. “Who knows, Bill. Don’t get your hopes up!”

  Bill was already reaching for the anchor chain. “But we’ll go and have a look, right?”

  The captain nodded. “Aye, lad! Strike the sails, we’re anchoring on the seal beach. The shore’s too steep for my liking here. Ben, keep an eye on the shore, will ye? And Peter, try and locate the campfire as best ye can.” Peter was their navigator. “I’ll go ashore with Bill and Gus. Bring yer sabers and load yer guns! And no loud hullos on land. Let’s see if we’re welcome at all.”

  Bill could hardly wait to go ashore, but the captain insisted on proceeding carefully. He very diligently searched for a bay where their dinghy would be well protected but could be launched quickly. Finally, they found a beach surrounded by cliffs that was deemed acceptable.

  “If we have to flee, one of ye lads can secure the access point while the others get the sails up,” Rawley explained. “And now, we move toward the fire good and slow. Weapons at the ready. I go ahead, ye others follow me. Bill, take the right side, Gus, the left.”

  “Hang on, Rawley . . .” Gus hefted two backpacks from the boat. “Peter and I packed these in case there really are castaways. We should bring them a bit of civilization, I think.”

  Grinning, he showed Bill and the captain the contents of one of the backpacks: bread, a few sausages, and a big bottle of whiskey.

  The captain smiled. “Don’t you have it covered,” he remarked. “Ah, devils, how I enjoyed that first swig when they picked me up on my little island with the coconut tree!”

  “Can we go now?” Bill asked impatiently.

  Rawley nodded. “Come on, mates! God willing, we’re gonna save a few lives today.”

  The pillar of smoke grew clearer and clearer the closer they came to the alleged castaways’ camp. Rose Island’s vegetation consisted mostly of rata bushes, windblown on the coast, but larger and offering more protection farther inland. You couldn’t eat rata, but anyone who knew a bit about hunting could certainly live off the game here. The place was crawling with rabbits, and after all his experience on the other Auckland Islands, Bill suspected there must also be ducks, rails, and cormorants nesting here.

  The smoke turned out to be coming from a campfire tucked between a couple of large ironwood trees. It marked the center of a primitive camp composed of some hastily timbered shelters covered in sealskins. Four men sprawled around the fire, clearly unarmed. Nevertheless, Rawley signaled for his men to approach them quietly and from different directions.

  “Cover me,” he whispered.

  Reluctantly, Bill leveled his weapon at the men. They didn’t look threatening, just weary, scruffy, and chilled to the bone. The parts of their clothing that weren’t made of sealskins were in complete tatters, and none of them had seen a razor in months.

  The men jumped to their feet with terrified shrieks when Rawley suddenly emerged from the thicket. They seemed to take him for an apparition.

  “I’m Captain Michael Rawley of the Hampshire,” he began. “Me crew and I are searching for castaways, leaving supplies. May I ask who ye are?”

  “You’re looking for us?” one of the men asked in disbelief. “Now? We’d given up hope. We—it’s been more than two years . . .”

  Another man burst into tears.

  Bill lowered his weapon and broke cover. “What ship are you from?” he asked breathlessly.

  He wouldn’t have recognized any of them, even if they had been on the General Lee. It seemed as if they had aged a decade. The third man, however, took a step closer.

  “But you’re—aren’t you Lieutenant Paxton? I’m Edward Harrow—the steward, remember? You were—Lord above, he was on our ship!”

  There was no more holding back now. The castaways rushed toward their rescuer, laughing and crying and asking questions.

  Bill, however, felt numb. He’d been right. There were survivors from the General Lee, and he’d found them. But Cat and Chris Fenroy were nowhere to be seen. The disappointment felt like liquid fire consuming his insides.

  Gus saw what Bill was going through. “It wasn’t meant to be, brother.” The old jack-tar himself had tears in his eyes. He placed a hand on Bill’s shoulder.

  But Bill shook it off, unwilling to accept defeat. He turned to Harrow.

  “Are you—were you the only survivors?”

  Harrow shook his head. “No,” he said. “After three women were swept overboard, there were ten of us left. Two died later, from exposure. They were already half-dead before we got here. And a few months ago, two more left in the boat. They were going to try to get back to Campbelltown. It was complete madness, if you ask me. But they wouldn’t listen. Did they—did they arrive somewhere?”

  “No,” Rawley said curtly. “I’m sorry.”

  “So, that leaves six,” Bill said.

  Harrow nodded. “Four of us here and two who live on the other side of the island. A couple. They left a few months ago because we were always fighting over the woman. Lord, of course she’s his, but he might’ve been a little generous, you’d think. ’Course, she’s pretty prickly too. A cat, just like her name.”

  Bill swallowed. “Cat and Chris Fenroy?” he whispered.

  “That’s them,” the oldest of the four men said. “And it was damn smart of Chris to clear out. It was terrible when they started lusting after his wife. I’m grateful for all they did. Without the two of them, we’d never have survived.”

  He was interrupted by barking in the trees, and moments later, Fancy leaped up on Bill.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, half-glad, half-reluctant.

  Captain Rawley had insisted on leaving the dog back at the bay with their dinghy. He would have preferred not to bring her at all, but she’d jumped off the ship and into the boat at the last moment, and the swell was too heavy to easily put her back. She must have escaped again somehow.

  “Oh, don’t scold her!” A woman with a bright, musical voice stepped out behind Fancy. “I saw your ship while I was collecting herbs, and I also saw the longboat you came in. I ran over, but when I arrived at the bay, you’d already gone. She was the only one left. Fancy! My daughter’s dog! I’m not seeing things, am I? Mr. Paxton, Bill, is that you? Where are Carol and Linda? Are the girls alive?”

  Bill struggled to find his voice. “You—you survived. Like they kept saying. You and Chris, Linda was convinced you were alive. She said she would have felt it if you’d died.”

  Cat smiled. “And I would’ve sensed it if something had happened to her. The Maori call it aka, the connection between close relatives that can stretch, but not tear, so long as both people are alive.”

  Her smile transformed her face. Even after two years in the wilderness, Catherine Rata was still beautiful—almost more so than she’d been in her ball gown aboard the General Lee. She was wearing a simple dress made of sealskin. It exposed her calves, and her feet were cozy in rabbit-fur moccasin
s. Her long blonde hair wasn’t pinned up, falling almost to her hips. Cat’s face was flushed, and her lips were cracked from the constant cold, but she didn’t look haggard like the men around the fire, and the gaze of her nut-brown eyes wasn’t pinched and hungry, but calm. Cat seemed to be well fed—and happy.

  Captain Rawley was mesmerized. In the foggy haze of Rose Island, Cat Rata looked like a fairy or an earth goddess from an old tale.

  The captain stammered his introduction.

  Cat nodded politely. “Captain Rawley, my pleasure. My name is Catherine Rata. Welcome to Rata Island!”

  Chapter 63

  “It’s a long story,” Bill said evasively when Cat asked how Fancy had come to be with him. The dog followed as Cat led him to her hut on the other end of the island. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself first.”

  Cat smiled. She walked the well-trodden paths with the long, sure steps of the Maori. The castaways had explored the island thoroughly and made it their own. Still, there were no recognizable fields or gardens. They probably hadn’t found any crops to plant here.

  “What is there to tell? The night of the shipwreck was hell. You know—you survived it yourself. It was icy cold and dark, and the waves were towering around us. Three women went overboard; it was terrible. I clung to Chris, and he clung to the other men. We couldn’t have dreamed of rowing, not even the next day—if it was daytime at all. The storm was so fierce that we never did figure out how much time we really spent at sea. Finally, the ocean calmed, but of course we had no idea where we were. We could only imagine that we’d probably gone adrift somewhere south of where we’d been. It was so much colder than Aotearoa. The men were fighting over whether they should try to row north. We eventually managed to get our bearings with the sun’s position. I could have managed with the stars, too, and the sailor who was on board with us claimed to know a thing or two as well.”

  “Let me guess, he was one of the men who left two months ago.”