A Canoe In the Mist (3 page)

T
e Ariki was another pretty village with whares scattered up a hillside above a broad flat where the small Kaiwaka River entered the lake. The whale-boat passed by many canoes and fishing nets along the shore before stopping a short way up the river, behind a long thin canoe. ‘All ashore,’ said Ruka after jumping out himself.

People were hurrying down to join the boatmen in anxious conversation about the wave, which had also risen here. But there was no holding back the cluster of small children. They made hilarious fun with an impromptu haka of welcome.

A cloud of steam gave its signal. ‘A ngawha!’ cried Lillian, all excitement as she raced through the trees to find it. Oh, how beautiful! The hot spring bubbled cleanly out of a cave overhung by climbing ferns, at the foot of a tall cliff lush with greenery, making a gentle hissing sound.

‘Oh Mattie!’ she exclaimed, ‘you
must
like this one!’

But Mattie wasn’t there. Lillian ran back to the boat and found only Sophia, who said the others had gone with Dr Ralph to see how the fishing nets were made. Lillian was huffed. She’d do her own looking, then. She let the local children show her where kits of food were cooking in a steam vent, and flax fibre soaking to softness in a dark pool, ready for weaving. Ngatoro had done well for the people of Te Ariki.

And still she was first back at the river. Idly she dipped her hand into the water just as a tall Maori came by with a large, bulging kit.

‘Why, the water’s warm!’ she said.

The man laughed. ‘It has come from Rotomahana, the warm lake,’ he said.

Lillian felt foolish. She knew that was the meaning of the name. ‘Do we go in the canoe?’ she asked and at once felt foolish again, for obviously they could never all fit in. But the man answered politely, ‘No, the river is too strong. We take the lunch. You walk. At the lake we give you a ride.’

‘Lillian! Here we are,’ broke in Mattie’s cheery voice.

‘Why did you go away?’ Lillian demanded, still in a huff.

‘I told you I don’t like hot springs, but I knew you wanted to see it so I let you go,’ said Mattie mildly.

‘But this was a pretty one, coming out among ferns, like our waterfall!’

‘We didn’t know that, did we?’ Mattie put her arm round Lillian’s waist. ‘We’ll stick together from now on.’

‘We didn’t mean to take Mattie away from you,’ said Mrs Hensley kindly.

The whole party was now gathered and Sophia handed out currant buns and apples. She introduced the two canoemen: Hato, the tall one who had spoken to Lillian, and a younger man named Pera. The boatmen would wait at Te Ariki until they returned.

When all were busily munching, Lillian found a private moment to ask Sophia a question she knew would not be answered in front of tourists.

‘Please,’ she said, ‘how did you know the big canoe would not answer?’

‘Because it is a waka wairua.’

‘I don’t know what that means!’

‘Never mind. You will know in good time. E hine, my daughter, this is the day you have long awaited. Take its beauty to your heart and hold it there. That is enough for now.’

She clasped Lillian by the hand and called, ‘Are you ready, Mattie? We’ll be the first to Rotomahana!’ With a step as light as a girl’s she set off along the track that wound through the fern and manuka, singing gaily. It was an easy tune for the girls to join in. White moss as springy as a carpet grew underfoot. Now and again they sighted the canoe being poled up the river, which ran so swiftly in its twisty course that sometimes the two men had to
jump out and push their craft with the whole weight of their bodies.

‘They’ll be glad it’s a warm river,’ said Lillian.

Mattie kept on singing until they emerged from the scrub to look out to Rotomahana; and then she stopped in amazement.

This lake was not blue and sparkling like Lake Tarawera. It was much smaller, with grey water and wide patches of reeds and rushes. The whole air was warm and no wonder, for puffs of steam were rising all round the encircling hills. The islet of Puwai stood out like a Chinese painting with its well-placed trees and whares, where the Maoris came for health cures, Sophia said. The whare in front belonged to Te Rangiheuea, the venerable chief who welcomed all the famous visitors. There was a second islet too, and part of the White Terrace showed—but none of these produced the real surprise.

‘Oh the birds, look at all the birds!’ cried Mattie. ‘What are those? They’re like footmen at a king’s court!’

The pukekos did indeed look courtly as they stepped from the reeds in their rich blue plumage and crimson beaks. Close by in the shallows the pied stilts put on a comic turn, hopping first on one leg and then on the other, with happy cries as if enjoying their paddle. Further out, the ducks and teal of many kinds were clustered like a large fleet in a small harbour. Overhead the gulls were gliding against the blue sky.

‘It’s an ideal breeding place,’ said Sophia. ‘The reeds are thick with insects and the nearby lakes with fish. We have a rahui here. That’s a prohibition against killing any birds except in February, when the young ones have grown. Then we have a drive and preserve all we need. We have to be very strict about people coming here, especially with guns.’

‘Is that why they wouldn’t let me ride over the hills?’ said Lillian. ‘They came after me and brought me back. But
I
wouldn’t kill any birds!’

‘They didn’t want you to get lost, e hine. No one comes that way without permission. Pakeha settlers who wouldn’t let us wander over their farms can sometimes forget that this is a Maori lake.’

‘Why has the canoe gone away from us?’ asked Mattie.

‘Hato will put Pera down at the lunch place. Then he will take us to the White Terrace a few at a time. Here’s Dr Ralph coming, that makes four.’

The ducks moved lazily out of the way as the canoe with its passengers came towards the White Terrace, and paused where the girls could see its full beauty. It was more magnificent, and much more vast than Lillian expected. Seven acres, and a hundred feet in height: she’d heard the figures dozens of times and they hadn’t meant anything till now. The glistening sinter spilled down the hillsides and spread out beneath them to lay a shining floor in the lake.

‘It’s a fairy staircase,’ said Lillian in wonder.

‘And we’ll be two fairy princesses when we climb it,’ said Mattie.

‘So you shall,’ said Sophia. ‘But wait till the others come.’

The canoe put them down at a patch of rock where they took their boots off. Eagerly Mattie stroked the side of the first terrace and found it perfectly firm. ‘It’s a fairy fan-shell made of alabaster,’ she said, ‘and filled with turquoise water.’

‘What’s alabaster?’ said Lillian.

‘It’s a kind of soft white stone. They have it in temples in India, they carve it into ornaments—oh look, this is magic!’

Out of the pool she drew the body of a dragonfly, wings extended, set stiff by a thin layer of the sparkling sinter. ‘Don’t touch it, oh, we mustn’t spoil anything!’ she pleaded, as Lillian in her eagerness reached out for a closer look. ‘Here, let it lie in your hand,’ she added, passing it over gently.

‘A little longer in the water and it will turn into crystal,’ said Sophia. ‘Birds, flowers, leaves—all things that fall in the Terraces turn into jewels. We’ve stopped people taking them away. They stay here in their own treasure house.’

‘I’d like to put something in for someone else to find,’ said Mattie, delighted.

‘That’s allowed, of course! My princesses, why don’t you walk in your fan-shell pool?’

‘What if I tread on one of the jewels?’

‘You can feel them with your toes. The floor is like fretwork. Most of the jewels lie in the spaces your feet don’t touch.’

‘Will our feet go stiff too?’ giggled Lillian as she stepped in.

‘Does your skin
feel
stiff?’

‘No, it feels like silk.’

‘Then you won’t be turned into crystal,’ laughed Sophia.

It was delightful to twinkle their toes in the tepid water and listen to the tinkling of a hundred small cascades as the water fell from terrace to terrace—until the enchantment was shaken by a shout from the lake.

‘Hold your horses, here we come, isn’t it all too wonderful for words!’ yelled Mrs Fazackerley.

‘Why does she shout? It’s fairyland, they’ll spoil it!’ Mattie was almost weeping.

‘Leave her to me,’ said Sophia with a twinkle in her eye.

She said something to Dr Ralph, who kept a straight face when Sophia solemnly told the new arrivals not to talk too much, because the spring up above them was sensitive to sound. Eleanor and her mother must have believed her, because they did quieten down.

‘Mattie, are you feeling as happy as you look? Is there anything you want?’ asked Mrs Hensley as she took off her boots and pinned up her skirt.

‘Only to stay with Lillian, Mama,’ said Mattie.

And so the girls were left to themselves as they climbed the fairy staircase, except where Mr Hensley had to hoist them over unusually high terrace walls. Nature had carved each pool with a variety and delicacy that no human craftsman could match; and every step brought a fresh delight. The water grew steadily warmer as they mounted. When at last it flowed too hot to bear, a row of stepping stones led across to an island of rock so steep and craggy that the men had to help the girls up. And this island had its own magic. Ferns decorated every crack, club-moss lay in a rich carpet, and a five-finger tree spread a crown of glossy leaves, in startling contrast to the dull green of the hillside scrub. From the top, the climbers looked down into the steaming cauldron which spilled the turquoise water down the terraces. It made such a noise that they could only talk with those who stood at their elbows.

‘An
enormous
ngawha!’ said Lillian with awe, grasping Mattie’s hand, ‘but it’s prettier than the little one at Te Ariki!’

‘Dazzling,’ said Mattie. She squeezed Lillian’s hand in return and then knelt to stroke the furry ferny leaves of the club-moss. ‘May I pick this for my jewel?’ she asked. ‘What do you call it?’

‘Our name is whareátua,’ said Sophia. ‘Yes, that will be perfect.’

The spray was like a charm already as she held it.
Now she stood boldly beside Lillian to gaze into the great seething bowl, knowing that somewhere below was that inhuman core of fiery rock. The water must have risen from there, to gather such heat and force; but where did it get that tender blue, that silky feel, those crystals that made the Terraces? Sunshine lit the cauldron with glints of intense azure; shadow gave it a darker, richer tone. And the bank that rose behind it, dripping with spray, was luxurious with its drapery of delicate ferns in every shade of green.

So what if it also raged like a beast in a pit, spitting and roaring? Out of such violence it brought a matchless beauty. And Mattie could never be afraid when Sophia was there. She had known it as they walked up to Rotomahana over the carpet of white moss, hand in hand, singing.

Think of it, her father had said: this is how the world began, a ball of fire slowly cooling through the centuries; not created by God in one piece as most people believed. She fondled the whareátua in her hand. All she had been saying to Lillian yesterday was turning the other way round. The life on top of the earth was what counted. How had it grown in the first place out of lifeless rock? Did anybody know the answer to that?

‘A penny for your thoughts,’ said her father.

‘It’s all part of nature, as much as the birds on the lake,’ said Mattie simply. ‘A foaming giant that makes jewels and alabaster.’

‘I can’t get over it,’ said Lillian. ‘I hear talk about the
Pink and White Terraces all the time so I thought I knew all about it, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.’

‘Are the princesses ready to descend?’ said Sophia, as the adults began to move off.

The Terraces were even lovelier going down, and all the way Mattie was looking for the perfect place for her spray of whareátua. ‘I’ll choose this one,’ she said at last. ‘There’s a hollow to keep it safe, and it won’t be too hard to see.’

‘Put it in then,’ said Lillian.

‘We must have a spell, quick, think of something—oh! I know!’ Mattie hummed the tune of ‘Twinkle twinkle little star’ and the words came easily.

‘Whare
tua, here I lay

In the pool my magic spray.

May another girl one day

Find my jewel on her way,

May another girl one day

Find my jewel on her way.’

Lillian joined in on the last two lines and then exclaimed, ‘What’s Eleanor Fazackerley doing over there?’

‘Where? Oh Lillian, she’s
writing
! Writing on the terrace!’

‘She mustn’t. Quick.’

Quick they were, but too late. Eleanor was standing back admiring her name written in pencil among a host of
other names including her father’s and her mother’s. ‘Try it,’ she said, holding out the pencil. ‘The crystal will cover it and your name will be there for ever.’

‘How could you? You’ve spoilt it!’ cried Lillian with tears of anger.

‘Me? Look at all those names before we came! Some of them are famous. Why, there’s Prince Alfred, a royal prince!’