Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (10 page)

“Why do I have two guards?” I ask Paika when they’re gone.

“Standard protocol. I represent the side that voted yes, and Stephen here represents the other side.”

“So you voted to kill me?” I look at the warrior.

“My
rep
voted to kill you,” he says.

“But you wanted me to die.”

“Correct.”

“Wonderful.” I turn back to Paika. “
Why
is he the one guarding me?”

“I abide by the
Riki
’s decision,” Stephen says.

“Stephen is a man of honor,” Paika adds. “He has agreed to take this post and will not harm you—or let anyone else harm you.”

“When do we go back to the bunker?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Now, if you’re ready.”

“Sure,” I sigh. “Why not?”

My guards escort me through the tunnels, taking me down a narrow passageway that leads to a steel door. I realize we must be on the opposite side from where we entered yesterday.

Paika knocks on the door, and a moment later, Mik opens it.

“Come in, come in,” he says. “We’ve got breakfast for you.” He hands me a coffee and a Danish and ushers me toward the desk with the Quil. I sit down.

“How long before they kill you?” I ask Paika as I stare into my cup.

“You’ll have plenty of time to work, Kit. No one is rushing you.”

I bite my lip as he places a pad of paper and several pencils in front of me on the table. Then, picking up a pencil, I begin to write down worthless numbers.

After a couple of hours, Paika asks me if I’d like a break.

“Is that allowed?” I ask.

“I don’t want you to get burned out.”

“Well, if you’re sure … ”

“Right,” he says. “Let’s go outside. Coming, Stephen?”

The three of us leave the bunker, and Paika takes the lead.

“How’s that ankle of yours?” Paika asks as we walk.

“Better,” I say. “I hardly notice it.”

“Corker.”

We pass a group of warriors in the next tunnel. They look at me with cold expressions, but Paika meets their glare with his own.

We continue to move through the passageways until we come to an exit covered by a thick wall of vines. Paika pushes the vines apart to reveal a narrow mountain path curving through the forest. We head down the trail, pebbles crunching under our feet. The air is fresh and cool, and the thick foliage makes me feel like I’m back at the lagoon.

Before long, we reach a small clearing with a view of the fiord below. Gray clouds are rolling in on the horizon.

“All right then,” Paika says. “Let’s see how you’ve held up after missing a few days of practice.” He removes two
patu
from their sheaths on his belt
.

“Why?” I ask. “What’s the point? If I can’t solve the code, none of it will matter.”

“Well, I choose to think more optimistically. Besides, what else are we gonna do? Watch the horoeaka grow?”

I take the
patu
and turn around quickly, walking a few steps away so he can’t see my face. After a moment, I turn back to face him, eyes dry, and raise my club.

Stephen sits down on a rock and watches while Paika puts me through my paces. Before long, I’m sweating hard.

When he finally gives me a breather, Paika asks Stephen what he thinks. “It’d take me two seconds to kill her,” Stephen says, “but she’s got potential.”

“Why don’t you go a round?” Paika suggests. “See what she’s got.”

“Uh, Paika,” I object. “This guy would like to see me dead, remember?”

“It’ll be good practice for you then.”

I pick up my
patu
again just as a fat raindrop lands on my head. “It’s raining,” I protest.

“Even better.”

Sighing, I turn toward my stone-faced opponent, who’s removed his sweater to reveal a stone-etched chest. He stands perfectly still, watching me. Deciding to go for the element of surprise, I quickly swing the club at his throat. He spins away and a second later returns the jab with his own
patu
. I block him, but he swings again and again, rapidly driving me back.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he says.

Annoyed, I drop down and kick his foot. As he stumbles, I grab the wind and sail over his head. The clouds are dumping rain now, making the wind currents unstable, obscuring my vision.

Before I have time to plan anything, Stephen is up in the air with me, spinning quickly and slicing the rain with his club. I meet his attack, and when he shoves me hard, I do a backflip to maintain my position.

“Not bad,” he says, thrusting his club at my stomach. I knock it away and stab in turn.

In response, he smacks my hand, scraping the skin off my knuckles. I yell and kick at his face, but he pulls back, and I twirl out of control. He lands a hit on my shoulders, but I flip around. We charge at each other. Our clubs crash together, and we spin apart from the impact. I quickly turn to face him again.

“Your technique is good, but you lack speed,” he says. He whips his arm through the air and slices the fabric on my shoulder with the sharp edge of his club.

Sharply drawing in my breath, I catch a current above my head and hang upside down as I swing my
patu
at his back. He spins out of the way, and I pull myself right side up. Then he somersaults around me, and we attack each other wildly. Swing, block, swing, block, swing. The raindrops spatter into puddles beneath us.

“How about now?” I pant. Just then the flat side of his club slams into my chest, and I crash to the ground.

Stephen drops down next to me, but before he can do anything, I dip my
patu
into a nearby puddle and fling the water into his face. As he shakes the rain out of his eyes, I nail the weapon
into his thigh, and he staggers backward.

“Choice move!” Paika claps.

“Resourceful,” Stephen grunts. “You’ve taught her well, Paik. In a year or two, she’ll rival you, I’d wager.”

“It’s in her blood,” Paika shrugs. He holds out a hand and helps me up. “Let’s get out of this rain.”

We go back to my room where I take a hot bath and massage my bruises. As I dry myself off, I look in the small mirror on the wall and study my face. Tracing the scar on my cheek, I don’t allow myself to think about what will happen if I can’t crack the code. Instead, I think about what Paika said and wonder what other horrible things are in my blood.

After I’ve changed into dry clothes—the standard black woolen pants and sweater everyone seems to wear—I ask if we’re going back to the bunker. Paika tells me no, that we’re going to go to a prayer ceremony.

“Tane is leaving tomorrow to visit the Kre. The Riki hopes he will be able to negotiate an alliance. We’re gathering together to pray that his mission will go well.”

“The alliance is against the Yakone?” I tousle my hair as I walk over to the bed.

“And their supporters.”

“Are you sure I can go to this?” I ask.

“Everyone’s going. Besides, I help with the ceremonies, so I have to take you. You’ll sit with Stephen.” He looks at my face and says, “What? Surprised they’re letting me participate?”

“A little,” I admit.

“I’m still a member of the tribe. And I plan on staying one.”

“How many people are here?” I ask, changing the subject. “I thought all the reps left.”

“Yeh, most of the reps have gone, but there are always people here. Mostly warriors. It’s our central base, and the Riki’s retinue is quite large.”

“So when are we going? Now?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not until you do something with your hair.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, touching the area in question.

“It’s a little, well … ”

“Messy,” Stephen says.

I roll my eyes. Then, muttering under my breath, I work my hair into a braid and knot it in a bun at the back of my head.

When I’ve passed inspection, we leave my room and move through the tunnels. After a while, we enter a section of the mountain that seems older: the path is less smooth, more earthy than stony, and there are wooden supports holding up the walls and ceiling.

“The original excavation for the Wakemaunga was in this part of the mountain,” Paika says, confirming my guess. “Poro K through N. Over the years, we’ve just kept expanding.”

Soon we come to a large cavern, the biggest I’ve seen yet, filled with tables and chairs. Fires blaze in large hearths at either side of the cave and in a stone pit in the center. Windows high on the walls also let in natural daylight, or what’s left of it.

“Is this where the prayer ceremony will be?” I ask.

“No,” Paika explains. “This is the dining hall. Thought you’d like a nibble of something first.”

Now I notice an antechamber, presumably the kitchen, at the far end of the cavern. A stone counter, upon which the cooks place the food, separates the kitchen from the rest of the hall.

I get in line behind Paika, trying to ignore the stares people are giving us. When I realize that the meal being served is some kind of bird, I pile my plate high. Finally, a break from fish!

The three of us find a spot at one of the tables, and Paika leaves Stephen and me alone while he goes back to get a fork. As I look around, I can’t help but compare the cavern to the dining hall at the camp with its beautiful glass walls and views of the Canadian forest—the dining hall that was destroyed by …

“Why are you named Stephen?” I ask my guard, hoping to take my mind away from the dark memories.

“Why are you named Kitara?” he counters.

I make a face. “What I mean is, Stephen doesn’t sound very Rangi-like.”

He shrugs. “My mum wanted me to fit in with the blokes at school. Native sounding names weren’t very popular in her day.”

“Oh.” It’s quiet again until I ask, “So what do you do when you aren’t being a guard?”

He doesn’t answer right away and, to my surprise, looks surreptitiously around the room, as if to make sure no one’s listening. “I’m at Uni right now,” he says. “Almost done.”

I blink. That wasn’t the confession I was expecting. “What are you studying?”

“Architecture.”

I try to imagine the stone-like warrior sketching plans for buildings but fail. “How come you’re here and not at school?”

“It’s the holidays. I don’t go for summer term. Besides, Christmas is coming up.”

Christmas. It’s hard to believe it’s already December. A couple of months ago I was in Winnipeg, selling fake I.D.s for Joe—and before that I was back in Williams, living my boring but very safe life, without the smallest idea of any of this.

“It’s weird to think of Christmas and summer together,” I say.

“Raised in the Northern Hemisphere your whole life then?” Stephen asks.

“Yeah.”

“That’s too bad.”

“We always had lots of snow at Christmas in Williams. Actually, insane amounts of snow.” An image of last Christmas slips into my head—negative twenty degrees, snowed in, singing carols and sipping cocoa by the tree with the whole family, before Tom died and everything went wrong. I push the memory away.

“Like I said,” Stephen replies, “that’s too bad.”

I frown. “Why did you think they should have killed me?” I ask abruptly.

He looks at me. “You’re an outsider. We know nothing about you. Letting you into the tribe is dangerous.”

“So it wasn’t because you hate my dad?”

He shrugs. “I was just a kid when all that happened.”

“Don’t you believe in giving people chances?”

“I don’t believe in risking people’s lives.”

“But you agreed to be my guard.”

“Because I was asked by the Riki himself. That’s not the type of request you turn down lightly.”

I think about that for a moment then ask, “Do you still think I should die?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he says. “The decision has been made.”

“Very reassuring,” I mutter. Then I ask, “Why does your tattoo only cover half your face?”

“Blimey, you are just full of questions, aren’t you?”

“What else are we going to do except talk?”

“I don’t know—maybe eat our food in peace?”

I wait expectantly, and he rolls his eyes. “I only inscribed half of my moko because I only acknowledge half of my heritage.”

“Which half?”

“My mother’s side.”

“Why?”

“Because my father was a drunk bastard who beat my mum to death, and I want nothing to do with him or his family.”

“Oh … I’m really sorry.”

The silence is painful now, and as I struggle to think of something to say, I find myself wondering if that’s why Mokai doesn’t have a moko—because he doesn’t want to acknowledge his heritage either. Then I notice a small blue tattoo on Stephen’s wrist in the shape of a sea serpent.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the tattoo.

“It’s a taniwha—the guardian—of my hapa.”

“Which hapa?”

“The Tuhoe.”

Wiremu’s clan. Brilliant.

Luckily, Paika returns at that moment with his fork and asks Stephen a question about motorcycles. I breathe out quietly and focus on eating my food.

Once we finish, Paika leads us back through the glowing tunnels to the place where I was put on trial only a couple of days ago. This time, instead of going outside and entering the plateau, we turn down a passage on the left that takes us directly to the meetinghouse.

The interior of the meetinghouse is much like the one I saw at the Māori marae, with its swirling carvings and glaring statues, only this one is made entirely of rock, not wood.

“Did my dad help carve this?” I ask, gesturing at the walls.

Paika shakes his head. “This place is much older than your dad, girl.” He looks at Stephen. “I need to go get ready now. Spotcha later.”

After he leaves, Stephen and I find a place near the back. Before long, other Rangi fill the meetinghouse and sit on the floor in a circle, leaving an open space in the middle of the room and a narrow walkway to the door. They talk quietly to each other.

Fifteen minutes or so pass before someone starts beating a drum and the talking stops. The Riki walks into the room and stands by a pillar at the front. A few seconds later, a group of ten warriors enters the meetinghouse: five men and five women. All of them carry a spear in their right hand. Among them, I see Paika. Tane too. They huddle together in a circle.

Suddenly, the drum stops beating, and into the silence Tane shouts, “Kia rite! Kia mau!”

The warriors break out of their huddle and simultaneously yell, “Hi!” They stick their tongues out, curling them down, and make their eyes wide. Then they drop their spears on the ground and turn their faces to the left, left arms bent up, right arms pointed down away from them. They hiss loudly, the noise echoing off the stone walls

Tane stands apart from the rest, yelling more rhythmic words, a fearsome look in his eyes. The warriors stand with legs bent, feet spread. They frame their wild faces with their arms.

Then they begin shouting in unison, “A! Ka kino nei hoki! A! Ka mate! Ka mate! Ka ora! Ka ora!” As they chant, they slap their legs, their arms, their chests. They shake their hands in the air, roaring and hissing even more.

Tane marches over to the windows facing the plateau and flings them open. The wind enters the meetinghouse, swirling around our heads. At the same time, the warriors pick up their spears and form a circle, still shouting. They point the weapons down at the ground then at the open windows.

All at once, they rise off the floor. They twirl the spears over their heads as they continue to chant and hiss. I can only imagine how much concentration it must be taking them to hover in place on the currents while still carrying out the dance.

Without warning, they begin leaping in a circle, at times forcing themselves against the direction of the wind to maintain the rhythm of the rest of the group. “Manatu! Manatu!” they shout. As they pass the windows, they jab their spears out into the night.

Then, swinging their arms down, they drop to the ground and yell a final “Hi!”

“E kore au e ngaro; he kākano i ruia mai i Rangiātea,” Tane shouts. “I will not be lost.” He leads his warriors to the edge of the room, and they stand at attention, spears still in hand.

“What was that about?” I whisper to Stephen.

“It’s the performance of our promise—that we won’t forget that we came here from First Parents in Rangiātea. We are the only children who did not abandon them. We will always remember, and we will seek vengeance on their behalf. We listen to the wind for their instructions.”

“Oh.”

The Riki comes forward and begins speaking in Kohangaere. I try to pay attention, but it’s hard when I can’t make out anything he’s saying. After a few minutes, I turn to Stephen again and whisper, “What did you mean when you said you listen to the wind?”

“Not now,” he hisses back.

The Riki speaks for a little while longer. Then he says, “Pualani ana. May the watchful eyes of First Parents guide us to victory.”

I frown. I remember something similar being said at the Yakone camp, though their prayer ceremony was not at all like this one.

The Rangi begin rising to their feet, the hum of their voices filling the room and officially ending the event. I stay sitting a few moments longer, thinking about the dance and what it means that the Rangi are seeking allies. Then I stand up too.

Stephen places a hand on my shoulder to prevent us from being separated as the crowd swarms out. Eventually, I see Paika making his way toward us.

“Good on ya, mate,” Stephen congratulates him.

“Thanks, bro,” Paika says, sweat shining on his brow. “Let’s get back, eh?”

We return to my room, and I go to bed. As I lie there, I’m acutely aware of the two men lying on the floor below me, and I keep thinking about my conversation with Stephen. Does he still want me dead? Would he try to murder me in my sleep? No, Paika wouldn’t let him. Still, I scoot as close to the wall as possible and put a layer of sheepskins between me and the edge of the bed.

That night, I dream I’m at our house in Williams. I’m sitting at the kitchen table, where I used to do my homework. My dad walks through the door, shaking dust from his reddish-brown hair. His face is obscured by shadow.

“How’s it going, kiddo?” he asks.

“I can’t figure this out,” I tell him.

“What’s the problem?” He sits down next to me, but I still can’t see his face. Even when I stare right at him, my eyes can’t quite seem to bring his features into focus.

Giving my head a shake, I look down at the table and point to the Quil that’s replaced my textbook.

“Oh, this one’s not so hard,” he says, picking up a pencil. “Let me show you.”

As he starts to scribble numbers on a piece of paper, I smell something in the air. Smoke.

I look at the stove, and as I turn my head, flames leap off the range toward us.

“Dad!” I scream, jumping up. “There’s a fire!”

“Hang on, kiddo,” he says. “Don’t you want to know how to solve this?”

“Dad, move!” I shout. “Don’t you see it?”

But he doesn’t move. He keeps sitting there, working on an unsolvable problem. Fiery whorls hiss around my feet; smoke smothers my throat and lungs.

“Dad!” I choke.

He doesn’t reply, and I watch in horror as he disappears into the flames.