Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (21 page)

Well, I know this one thing: I’m going to become a warrior.

And if I ever see Rye again, I will kill him.

It’s light when the bus stops and I’m jolted from my trance. I squint through the dirty windows.

“Where are we?” I ask Mokai.

“Just outside Christchurch, I think. Must be stopping for petrol.”

Those who need to use the restroom get out of the bus. Someone hands out muffins.

“How much further?” I ask.

“About four hours to the ferry,” Mokai says. “And another eight hours from there to Porirua. It’d be a lot faster if we windwalked over the Strait, but obviously we don’t have that option.”

“You said Porirua is near Wellington?”

“Mm.”

“That’s a big city, isn’t it?”

“Capital of New Zealand. And one of the windiest cities in the world. Small consolation though, for having to live among humans.” His face darkens. “Bloody Yakone. Can’t even take us in a fair fight. Had to sneak in bombs, the cowardly bastards.”

I frown as something I had tried to put together the night before finally occurs to me. The Rangi put explosives in the Yakone fortress—why wouldn’t they have been watching for the same thing in return?

But instead I ask, “Where will we live?”

“The
iwi
owns a few houses and a
marae
with an entrance to an underground bunker, in case there’s an emergency.”

“Will we still fight?”

He nods. “With our last bloody breath.”

“Good.” I look back out the window.

The rest of the day drags by. I continue to stare out through the glass, but I find no enjoyment in the view of the passing coastline. The ocean just reminds me of Okarito and Miri.

Around lunchtime, we arrive in Picton where we exit the bus and after buying sandwiches, board the ferry. At first I lean over the rail to watch the waves, but the salty sea breeze quickly becomes too painful, and I return inside the cabin for the rest of the trip.

When we land in Wellington, several large vans are waiting in the parking lot to pick us up.

As I wait to board a van, I try to distract myself by looking at the city—historic buildings surrounded by modern skyscrapers and industrial fishing equipment. Around me, cars honk, boats blast, machines drill, and seagulls screech. In the distance, white houses pop out of the olive-colored hills.

It doesn’t take us long to drive from the noisy capital to the neighboring city of Porirua. When we reach the edge of a small bay, the sun hovering low over the water, the vans turn inland a few blocks and stop in front of a compound enclosed by a red and white wall. The
marae
.

We pile out of the van. Several members of the
iwi
are already there, and an older woman with a
moko
on her chin greets us and tells us where we’ll be staying. A handful of us are told we’ll live in the
marae
itself: in the two-story building on the right side of the courtyard where apparently there are dormitories. The rest are taken to the neighboring houses.

The woman shows us to our rooms upstairs. Mokai and other single men are put in a room on one end of the building while I’m taken to a room on the other end, really a long hallway with cots lining either side. Other girls are sitting on the mattresses, talking to each other quietly or staring blankly at the white walls.

“Supper just ended,” the woman tells me, “but you can go down to the kitchen to get something to eat, if you’d like.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

She points me toward a flight of stairs, and I take them down to the eating area. Another woman with a
moko
dishes me some type of fish I don’t recognize, along with a baked potato. I sit down at a table and slowly eat. After a few minutes, Mokai and some others from the van join me. No one says anything.

When we’re done, we take our plates back to the kitchen and wash them. Then we walk back up the stairs.

“What happens now?” I ask Kai, who’s walking next to me.

“We wait,” he answers.

The next few days are terrible. The rest of the
iwi
slowly joins us, vans arriving every day, and my dorm room gradually fills up with single and orphaned girls, some as young as four or five. To maintain order, the schedule at the
marae
is strict. Meals are served at seven, noon, and six, and if you miss one, you don’t eat—unless you’re a new arrival. Everyone is put to work patching or sewing clothes and blankets, preparing bandages and first aid kits, tending to the wounded, making meals in the kitchen, cleaning the bathrooms—any chore that needs to be done to accommodate the few hundred people that have gathered at the
marae
. But even though the compound feels crowded, I know these numbers are nothing compared to how many were lost at the base.

Every time a van arrives, I can’t help but hold my breath until all of the passengers have stumbled through the gate. But Miri is never among them. And soon the vans arrive less and less frequently until it’s announced that there will be no more arrivals. The
Wakemaunga
has been sealed.

That night I don’t sleep. I stare at the whitewashed brick walls until my eyes burn.

The next morning, tired of being in my dormitory, I’m sitting in the courtyard struggling to sew a patch on a pair of jeans when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up and gasp.

“Paika!” I exclaim.

“Kit! It is you!” He sinks down next to me and scoops me into a hug.

I cling to his large frame as tears slide into my eyes. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Are you all right, love? Were you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I sniff. “Mokai’s okay too. He’s here.”

“And Miri?”

I shake my head, the tears slipping onto my cheeks. Paika pulls me back in and squeezes me until I can hardly breathe, but I’m glad. It keeps me from crying.

“When did you get back?” I ask after he releases me.

“Late last night. We had just finished our negotiations with the Oya when we got the news. We busted a gut getting here.”

“Will the Oya help us?”

“I think so. We can’t offer the same number of warriors as we had originally proposed, but I think they’ll still honor their agreement.”

“How long before we strike back?”

Paika studies me for a moment, probably remembering my earlier hesitation, but he doesn’t say anything. “There will be a meeting tonight,” he says. “We finally have enough reps from all of the
hapa
, so now a new
Riki
can be chosen. And a new
Matoa.
”

“All of the reps survived?”

“No. But the ones who died have been replaced.”

“Who do you think will become the new
Riki
?”

“There are three candidates,” he answers. “Wiremu, Jian, and the
Riki
’s niece, Talia.”

“Wiremu? But he abandoned the tribe!”

Paika shrugs. “He still has a strong following. And he’s a fierce fighter.”

“What about Jian? I didn’t think he was very popular.”

“I’m surprised by it myself,” Paika says, “but he is a shrewd thinker. He could probably do well. If the
iwi
supported him.”

“You don’t think they will?”

“Not everyone is chuffed about his nomination, and I worry”—Paika lowers his voice—“I worry it may divide the tribe if he is chosen.”

“Do you think he
will
be chosen?”

“I doubt it. Like I said, I’m not sure how he was nominated in the first place.”

“And Talia—I guess she wasn’t in
Poro E
during the attack?”

“She’s a
kapa
, so she was with the newbies getting their supplies.”

“If she’s only a
kapa
, how can she hope to be the chief?”

“Anyone can be nominated. Besides, with most of the warriors dead, she’s not going to stay
kapa
for long.”

“So once we have the new
Riki
, how long before we retaliate?”

“Well, all of our intel was lost in the explosion, but luckily we still have one advantage.” Grinning, Paika reaches for a lead-lined pouch hanging from his belt and opens it to reveal an object inside.

“You have the Quil! I thought for sure it would have been destroyed.”

“The
Riki
entrusted it to me before I left. They already had the data they needed. This was just a back up.”

“Thank goodness.” I’m disgusted to remember my previous reservations about attacking the Yakone. Now I’m only relieved that we still can.

“Yeh, this will speed things up a lot. We’ve already decided on our next targets. In fact, it’s one of the reasons the Oya agreed to help us. You’ve done a cracker deal for your people, Kit.”

“I don’t know about that,” I whisper, thinking about my countless failures.

“Well, I do. And there’s no one now who doubts you’re a fully committed member of the tribe.”

“Will they let me become a warrior, then?”

“I’ll put in a good word with the new captain,” Paika says, looking at me strangely again. Then he stands up. “I have to go, but I’ll look for you tonight at the meeting. And we’ll talk some more afterward.”

“Okay.”

“I’m glad you’re alive, girl,” he says, brushing the hair out of my eyes. Then he walks out of the courtyard.

I turn back to my useless sewing efforts, but now it’s more impossible than ever to concentrate. Finally, things are moving again, and my hope has returned that I’ll be able to join the warriors and seek revenge for Miri’s death—and for the twins.

After an agonizingly slow day, the dinner meal finally comes, and at its conclusion, everyone assembles in the brisk evening air. The reps go inside the meetinghouse while the rest of us wait anxiously in the courtyard and in the parking lot, anywhere we can find a place to stand.

In the crowd, I spot Stephen. I’ve seen him a few times since we arrived but have avoided speaking to him. We make eye contact, and he walks toward me.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” We stand there uncomfortably, and then I say, “Who do you think will be chosen?” I wonder what he thinks about Talia being a candidate.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “There are so many new reps, it’s difficult to predict which way they’ll vote.”

“What if they choose Wiremu? Will he come back?”

“I think he would. Being named
Riki
is an honor even he wouldn’t turn down.”

“Then I hope they choose him,” I say. “We need your
hapa
’s help.”

“They’re not my
hapa
anymore,” Stephen says.

“What do you mean? Did they disown you?”

“I disowned them.”

“Why?”

“They left the
iwi
, broke their promise. That was dishonorable.”

“Will you join another
hapa
?”

“Yes, but I haven’t decided which one to petition. Perhaps I’ll wait to join my wife’s.”

“Is there someone you have in mind?” I stammer, thinking about Talia again.

“No. I probably won’t live long enough to get married anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” I say quickly.

“It’s a possibility,” he replies, his voice steady.

I’m amazed that he can be so calm.
Then again, maybe I don’t care if I live either,
I think.
I just want to rescue the twins and, if it’s too late, kill as many Yakone as I can.

We wait for maybe half an hour before the door to the meetinghouse opens and one of the council members steps out.

“The representatives have made their decision,” he announces loudly. No one in the crowd makes a sound. “The new
Riki
of the Rangi people is … ” I hold my breath. “Jian Atrangi.”

A gasp whips through the assembly.
Jian?
I didn’t think it was possible.

The council member moves to the side as Jian steps out of the door wearing a feathered cloak, his ear newly pierced with a sharp piece of bone.

“Our
Matoa
,” the councilor continues, “is Paika Kapua.”

“Paika!” I whisper to Stephen. “I didn’t even know he was a candidate.”

Paika steps out of the meetinghouse. He’s wearing Tane’s
hiri—
his
hiri
, now—and a traditional grass skirt. He moves to the other side of the door.

“The
Riki
will address us,” the council member says.

“My people,” Jian begins in his clipped accent, “we have suffered an immeasurable tragedy, and I promise you our enemies will not go unpunished. Tomorrow we will hold a memorial service for the brave souls we have lost. After that, we will strike quickly at the heart of the Yakone and their allies. They will know what it means to incur the wrath of the Rangi people!”