Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (13 page)

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s just the way things are.”

“You sound like Paika.”

He shrugs.

“So you’re
maiha
?”

He nods. “I’m a
kapa
, in charge of a
raiti
.”

I remember Sunshine calling him that
.
“What does that mean?”

“I guess it would be like a corporal … in charge of a squad of ten people. Here, I’ll show you.” He takes a piece of paper from the clipboard and turns it around, writing on the back.

“After
kapa
,” he explains, “the next big step is to become a
wheteni
. You’re in charge of a
paratunu
, a platoon. Three squads. Next, a
kapane
oversees three platoons, called a
tanga
. Paika’s a
kapane.
”

“He is?”

“Yeh. It was a big deal that he pledged his life at your trial.”

“What else is there?” I ask, Paika’s pledge too recent for me to talk about.

“The biggest unit is a
pataria
,” Kai says. “It’s like a battalion, made of five
tanga
and overseen by a
kanara
. We currently have three.”

“And the
kanara
report to Tane?”

“Right.”

“I think I’ve got it,” I say.

“All the newbies,
that’s these guys,” Kai gestures at the trainees, “go through basic training. Afterward, they’ll pick an area of expertise: sniping, explosives, recon, etc.”

“Kai!” Mafia calls from across the room.

“Right.” Mokai looks at me. “Sorry, Kit, I’ve got to get back to training. You can stay and watch if you’d like.”

I move off to the side as Mokai directs his group toward the trampoline. I watch as he first demonstrates and then teaches various aerial maneuvers to the trainees, riding the wind and jabbing at targets with a spear. My eyes move from him to the students. The boy with blond hair, Julian, looks at me and grins. I blink and look away.

At first my gaze flits uncertainly around the room, but then it settles on a group of trainees practicing with spears. As I watch them jab the sharpened points into dummies—dummies that have been painted gray with red eagles on their chests—my stomach drops. This isn’t just fun and games. They’re preparing to stab those into real people. People I know. People I betrayed.

Unable to watch any longer, I turn around and hurry out of the room. It’s only after I’ve left
Poro E
that I realize I never told Mokai about the disc.

I grab something to eat in the dining hall then spend the next hour or so wandering around the
Wakemaunga
, attempting to get a sense of the layout. The
poro
aren’t in neat divisions like the sectors at the
Wakenunat
; they’re more sprawling and organic, with multiple points of entry. Still, there’s a pattern. If I were to divide the mountain into levels, each level would have roughly two
poro
—one on each side—except for near the summit where
Poro B
and
Poro A
take up their own level. I notice too that there are emergency stations with medical kits and gas masks scattered around the fortress, and I wonder if the base has ever been attacked. But this just makes me think of the Yakone again, so I stop wondering and return to my room for the rest of the day.

I stay in my room for much of the next morning as well, not sure what to do with myself. I don’t want to go back to the training rooms, to watch them prepare to be killers, but a small part of me is curious. For some reason, I can’t tear my thoughts away from
Poro E.
In the end, I go back.

When I arrive, I see all of the trainees forming a line at the entrance to the tunnels. They’re wearing the same outfits as yesterday but this time they’re wearing different colored bands around their arms.

“Kit!” Mokai calls to me. “You’re just in time.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re going hunting.”

“Hunting?”

“Yeh, hurry up.”

Not sure what to expect, I fall in line beside him. We move through the passageways toward one of the exits.

“Every year during the training we have a ritual hunt,” Kai explains as we walk. “All of the warriors participate.”

“All of them?”

“Well, whoever is in the
Wakemaunga
at the time.”

“If they’re eligible,” someone says from behind me.

I turn around. It’s the blond-haired boy from yesterday.

“Julian’s right,” Kai says. “The warriors have to be
ahia
.”

“Is everyone here
ahia
?”

“Not everyone,” a female voice says. I look up—into the scowling face of the girl with the half-shaved head.

As Sunshine pushes past us, Kai follows her with his eyes. He looks upset. Embarrassed maybe? Affronted?

“Her
hapa
is the Rā,” Julian whispers to me. “She’s
rohamaka
. And she’s always acting brassed off.”

By now we’ve reached the outside of the mountain, and we stop talking in order to move down the narrow path in single file. After about a quarter of a mile, the trail ends in a valley with a tall-grassed meadow. Milling around the edges of the clearing are far more people than I expected to see. Maybe hundreds.

Kai directs me to the sidelines, by the trees, and then gathers his group around him in the meadow. The trainees aren’t the only ones in the field. Warriors of all ages wait restlessly in the grass—some with pimply faces and darting eyes, some who seem to be all long legs and toned arms, some tired and gray. There are almost as many women as men, and all of the participants are standing in groups of ten.
Organized by squad?
I wonder
.
I look for Paika but don’t see him.

I glance at the bystanders, noting some faces I recognize from the council room. While I wait, I busy myself with giving them names.
Stiff … Mantis … Long Brawn Silver.

I turn to look in the other direction and catch sight of Sunshine. She’s leaning against the trunk of a red beech, still scowling. Near her, standing around the trees, are maybe fifty warriors—I can tell by the
hirimoko
curling beneath their tank tops. None of them are wearing arm bands or moving toward the field though, and none of them look particularly happy.
The rohamaka
, I guess
.

Just then, someone blows a horn, and the crowd grows quiet. An elderly woman walks into the middle of the meadow, a woven basket in hand. She says something in Kohangaere and then lowers the basket to the ground. Bowing her head, she reaches for the lid and pulls it away in a swift motion.

A blur of movement escapes into the sky, and the warriors give a whoop as they take to the air. I follow the movement with my eyes and frown.
A falcon? All of these warriors are hunting a single falcon?

I soon realize it’s a task easier said than done. None of the warriors have weapons, and the falcon isn’t afraid to attack when someone gets close. And it’s fast. Unlike the pursuing Rangi, it isn’t limited to where the wind is blowing.

Each squad tries to work as a team to capture the bird—and sabotage the attempts of other teams. More than a dozen fistfights break out in the first thirty seconds, and meanwhile the falcon slips away to entangle another set of teams.

As I watch the clever bird elude the mass of people, leaving the warriors to slam into each other, I find myself rooting for it, hoping it will escape for good. But after a decent chase, a female warrior finally succeeds in grabbing the falcon—and hanging onto it. Her squad helps her contain the bird, and I feel a wicked sense of satisfaction at the cuts they sustain on their necks and arms.

“That’s Talia for you,” someone in the crowd says to his neighbor. “Leave it to Henare’s niece to catch Kārearea.”

Henare’s
niece? I remember the photo I saw in the
Riki
’s room. The twenty-something with gray eyes and a strong chin. As she holds up the falcon, blood drips from her
moko
, and I swallow down a lump in my throat.

A man next to her leans over and whispers something in her ear. I flinch when I recognize Stephen’s smooth jaw line.
What is he doing?
I didn’t think he was the type to whisper in girls’ ears.

“Oy, Kit,” someone calls. I turn around to see Julian standing with some of the other newbies, all of them dirty and wind-tossed from the hunt. “Want to join us?” he asks. “Weather’s perfect for the wind tunnel.”

“Wind tunnel?”

“Yeh, it’s wicked fun. C’mon, we’ll show you.”

“Okay,” I say, grateful for an excuse to leave.

Turning away from the cheering crowd, we follow a trail that leads back to the cool of the mountain. But instead of returning to the base, we continue hiking up the side of the neighboring peak. The trail grows narrower and less clear, but Julian and the others seem to know where they’re going. I hurry to match their quick pace.

“So, Kit,” Julian says to me as we climb. “How old are you anyway?”

“Almost seventeen,” I pant.

“You should be training with us, then.”

“I haven’t gone through the testing.”

“But your Kai’s sister. I bet he’d let you.”

Maybe.
I don’t tell him I’m not sure I’d want to train with them.

Just then, we reach a promontory overlooking a small canyon, and I feel the wind pick up. With a shout, my companions begin jumping into the air.

“Ride it up the mountain,” Julian calls before he too forms
honga
and takes off.

I eagerly create the bond and leap off the cliff after them, thrilling at the feel of the wind coursing through me, the high I was longing for that day on the kayak in Okarito.

Together we surf up the mountain—the wind shoots us out of the canyon—and I join the others in trying to get as close to the peak’s surface as I can, weaving around shrubs and rocks and trees, like we’re skiing uphill.

The ride ends as we near the summit and the trainees abandon the wind to land on an outcrop projecting from a large cave. Reluctantly, I release
honga
and join them.

“I wish we could keep going,” I say to Julian.

“This is worth it—don’t worry,” he replies, flashing me a white smile.

“So what are we doing?”

“This cave opens into a natural tunnel,” he says. “Careful!” He grabs my arm to stop me from stepping inside. “It’s super slick. And steep. If you aren’t prepared, you’ll slip right down it.”

“Where does it go?”

“There’s an opening on the other side.”

“So it’s like a giant slide?”

“It
is
a giant slide,” he declares cheerfully. “And the best part is the wind blows through it, making you go faster.”

“Sounds fun.” I take another step toward the entrance.

“Hold up!” he says, grabbing my arm again. “I haven’t told you the catch.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“In the middle there’s a giant drop-off. No one knows how far down it goes. So you
have
to use the wind to jump over it. Otherwise, you’ll probably die.”

“Seriously?” I take a step back, suddenly not so eager to try it out.

“Don’t worry,” a girl interjects. “It’s sweet-as. I’ll show you.”

With a whoop, the girl takes a running leap into the tunnel and immediately vanishes from sight. Her gleeful shouts echo back to us, and when we can no longer hear her, the next person dives into the cave, sliding headfirst.

I’m steeling my resolve and nervously counting down to my turn when Julian holds up my hand.

“What’s this, then?” he asks, pointing to the lump of scar tissue on my forearm.

“Hunting accident,” I lie, taking my arm back.

“Choice!”

As I hold my arm at my side, I can’t help reliving the fight in the storm, when a Rangi shot me and I strangled another Rangi to death. For all I know, she was someone’s sister—maybe that girl’s over there, or that boy’s to my left. And now we’re all here, having a grand old time. I bite my lip and rub my scar until it hurts.

Suddenly, Julian nudges my shoulder. “Your turn!”

Gritting my teeth, I sprint toward the cave opening and leap away from my thoughts, into the darkness. Instantly, I’m falling, sliding down the slick rock with alarming speed. I grab the wind and hold on tightly, my whole mind intent on the drop-off that could happen at any moment.

Don’t die, wind
, I plead.
Don’t die.

And then the ground disappears from under me, and I’m keeping a death grip on the wind, trying to match the current, flying completely blind, realizing this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done …

… and then my rear end lands on rock again, and I’m sliding, sliding, sliding, and suddenly enjoying the ride, not wanting it to end. But it does, and soon I see a circle of daylight quickly expanding as I rush toward the opening. I land on a ledge much like the one I left, to the cheering of my companions, only keeping my balance because of the wind. And when Julian emerges from the tunnel behind me a few minutes later, I say, “Let’s go again!”