Authors: David Hair
The Welshman grinned. ‘Aye, for sure. Hello, Wiremu, this is…well, a friend.’
‘Aethlyn? Aethlyn Jones?’ Wiri’s voice was suddenly anxious. ‘What’s going on? Who is that woman?’
Cassandra snatched the microphone back. ‘Thank you. Wiri, could you please verify that the person who just spoke to is Aethlyn Jones?’
‘Yes, it is. Who are you? What’s going on?’
Cassandra passed the microphone back to Aethlyn Jones, who gave her an appraising nod as he accepted it. ‘It’s okay, Wiri. Just some friends of Mat’s trying to clear up my identity. It’s not like I have a valid passport or driver’s licence, is it?’ He chuckled wryly. ‘Don’t worry, all’s well. My regards to your good lady.’
Wiri’s voice sounded puzzled. ‘Yeah, sure, mate…’ Riki could almost see him frowning.
‘Goodbye then, boyo,’ Jones finished, and passed the microphone back to Cassandra as the girl stabbed a key and cut the connection. He looked around the three
teens. ‘Well then, does that suffice?’ They all nodded. ‘Right, who the hell is this “DJ Sassman”?’
‘Well, he’s a black American with dreadlocks and—’ Riki began.
‘A black American?’
‘Yeah, I just said, and—’
‘With dreadlocks?’
‘Yeah, I just said. You know what they are? They might be a little “this century” for you, maybe?’ Riki drawled, slightly irritated at the man’s interruptions.
‘Boy, I’ve seen slave ships in Plymouth and cottonfields in Virginia.’ The Welshman was clenching and unclenching his right fist in the same way that Damien did when he was angry or worried. ‘Did he give any other name?’
‘No, but he had this muscle-bound guy with him called Dwayne, who barely spoke three words and was like a four-metre-tall primate.’
Jones cursed silently under his breath. ‘I’ve been out of touch too long,’ he muttered.
Eyeing up the man’s colonial-era clothing, Riki could only agree. ‘About two hundred years, I’m thinking,’ he quipped before he could stop himself. ‘Er, no offence meant. Sir.’
‘None taken,’ replied Jones in a tone that suggested that plenty of offence had been taken, and banked with interest for good measure. ‘I think I know who this “Sassman” is…’ He shook his head, cursing. Then he stood up. ‘Well then, I’ll look into it. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with it.’ He half-turned away.
‘How?’ Damien asked mildly, also standing. Riki felt compelled to follow.
The tall adept looked them up and down, the mood suddenly confrontational. ‘I have my methods, boyo. The world your friend is embroiled in isn’t for the likes of you. It’s for your own good.’
‘Yeah?’ Riki felt a surge of surprising anger. ‘That’s just what the other “Jones” said. But if you’re Jones and he ain’t, then he’s lied to Mat, and he and Lena are in danger.’
‘That may be so, and if it is, all the more reason for you not to get involved.’
‘You have no idea where to look for him,’ Damien accused the Welshman. ‘You’ve got no idea where he went.’
Jones visibly quelled his temper, his voice softening. ‘Listen, all of you. I have ways and means of finding your friends, and I can do them best without having to watch out for a bunch of kids with no skills and no knowledge of what they’re getting into.’ He put his hands on his hips, and the smooth walnut butt of a pistol poked from beneath his heavy coat. ‘Go home, and don’t worry. I’ll have news in a few days.’
‘A few days!’ Damien flared. ‘A few days?’
‘If it takes that. Things don’t happen instantly, boy.’ He gave a low whistle. Somehow the air rippled, and a huge chestnut stallion trotted out of the shadows of the trees. It was blanketed and saddled, and festooned with canvas packs and leather saddlebags. A musket was sheathed
against the right side of the saddle, and a belt bearing a long curved sabre sheath was hooked over the saddle-horn. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He reached out to seize the reins and swing into the saddle.
Riki and Damien stared gobsmacked at the horse, their minds going numb. They looked at each other in frustration, but could think of nothing that would compel the man to listen to them.
Cassandra was still sitting on the ground, her glasses and silver braces glinting from the light of the laptop screen. Either horses appeared from nowhere all the time in her universe, or she had completely failed to notice it. ‘So if I could tell you their exact location, right now, you’d not be interested?’ she asked diffidently. Then she looked up and saw the horse. ‘Oh, my!’ she breathed. ‘How cute!’
The three males crouched down behind Cassandra as her fingers flew over the keyboard. In the middle of the screen, a pop-up window containing a map and some stylised beacons was laid out. In the middle of the map was a small red flashing dot that transfixed them. ‘There,’ she said. ‘They’re nearly at Morere.’
‘You’re the queen bee, Cassie,’ Riki breathed.
‘How exactly are you doing this?’ Jones demanded. His lined face was intense and almost offended. The dog hunched behind him wuffed softly and then licked Cassandra’s face.
‘Yuck!’ the girl complained, wiping the slobber off her face with the back of her hand. ‘Keep that mutt away
from my laptop. He’s dribbling enough to fritz the whole thing.’ She grinned about her. ‘Mat and Lena’s cellphones are off, but what most people don’t know is that even while off they keep polling the network. You can pinpoint people’s location using triangulation from the transmitters that register them. Usually it only works when they use their number, but I’ve got some software that can “ping” a person’s number without them knowing. As long as they don’t actually remove the batteries, we’ve got their location sussed no matter where they go.’ She paused. ‘Well, in this world,’ she added with a worried frown.
‘Is that legal?’ Damien asked.
She ducked her head. ‘Um…’
‘And how’d you get access to the satellite network anyway?’
‘Erm…’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘They need to work on their firewalls.’
Riki grinned. ‘Hey, she got us the result. Who cares?’
Cassandra grinned up at him, transforming her long angular features appealingly. ‘Right on!’ She looked at Damien. ‘Dad’s got all sorts of good gear. I just play around a little. I don’t think I break, um, many laws.’
Jones sucked in a big mouthful of air, and stood up slowly. ‘They’re at Morere, you’re saying? That’s near Wairoa. What would they be doing there, I wonder?’ He ran fingers through his matted hair. ‘I don’t like this. This tastes of warlocks and makutu. I must go!’
Riki stood, and looked at the horse. ‘I dunno. It’s a fair way to go on a horse, whereas I, for example, have a car.’
‘And I’m the only one who can track them if they move,’ Cassandra put in.
‘I’m a fencing champion,’ Damien fibbed. ‘And I have many other vital skills. Vital! You’re not bloody leaving me behind!’
‘If you use my car, he comes too,’ Riki added, staring at the Welshman.
‘I could rent a car,’ Jones replied.
Cassandra’s hands flew over the keyboard, and then she smirked. ‘Actually you can’t. According to this, you don’t have a driver’s licence,’ she told Jones. ‘What is it you’re “adept” at, anyway?’ She blinked at his horse. ‘And where did that come from?’
Aethlyn Jones’ face tightened in annoyance. ‘All right, dammit. You can come for part of the way. But don’t think this is a victory. You’ll do exactly as I say. You’ll look after yourselves, and you’ll stay out of danger. I’ll not have your deaths on my conscience.’
Damien whooped and high-fived Riki, while Cassandra hugged her knees and looked up at them with a satisfied smirk.
Riki went with Jones to secure the car. The Welshman took the horse with him, but somehow it was gone as they passed beneath the trees that rimmed the park. Damien went to follow, until Cassandra grabbed his leg. ‘Sit back down, Lanky. I want to know what the hell is going on! What’s an adept? Who have Mat and Lena gone off with? And why do you all seem to believe in magic?’
T
he Mercedes wound steadily into the hills, following a river most of the way. They were travelling through hill-country farms dotted with distant sheep, well-groomed fields, brownish from the depredations of summer, but the lands were becoming wilder as they travelled. Escarpments rose rough and craggy. Sassman tapped his fingers impatiently to the beat of his own music, while Lena and Mat had run out of things to talk about, tension burying all small talk.
Finally Mat leant forward and touched Sassman’s arm. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘That’s for Jones to relate,’ the American snapped, a little bitterly. ‘He don’ tell niggers like me.’ Then he seemed to remember himself. ‘Nah, I’m only jokin’, brother. But he ain’t confided all the details to me.’
Mat leant back, and wondered which of Sassman’s words to believe—the angry ones, or the apology? He had been feeling a growing sense of unease ever since
Morere. There was no specific thing, just the demeanour of the soldiers, and of Jones himself. Nothing he could put his finger on. When he had journeyed with Wiri, they had at times been in the hands of strangers—like Hakawau and Manu from Maungatautari, and the constabulary captain, Tim Spriggs. They had been open, friendly men who treated others as equals, nothing like these surly, bad-tempered men. Jones just didn’t seem like someone that Wiri would like, and it was bothering him. Even Sassman was different here. At Rhythm and Vines he’d been relaxed and generous, and yet, now when he thought back, it seemed he’d always had an edgy morality that prickled at Mat’s conscience.
Please let me be doing the right thing…
He looked at Lena, and wished he could talk to her. But with Sassman right there, it didn’t seem possible to have the sort of conversation he wanted to have now. She seemed excited still, in fact more so, whereas to Mat, the burden felt twice as heavy.
Kauariki told me that when the moon rose on the thirty-first, the taniwha would be in peril. And yet, here we are, on the thirty-first, still short of our destination. Does Donna Kyle know what we are doing? Or any of the other warlocks? I wish Wiri were here…I wish I could talk to him.
He thought about demanding his phone back, but he was nervous about pushing the issue with this new, moody Sassman.
They came to a fork in the road, with a signpost for the settlement of Tuai to the right, while the main road
continued to wind and climb towards Waikaremoana. A man on a horse in combat fatigues was beside the road, and as they drove up, he raised an arm and pointed away to the right. Dwayne grunted and guided the Mercedes across a small bridge, and they wound through small narrow roads lined by about a dozen wooden houses that looked at least fifty years old, and parked beside a tiny, beautiful lake.
An old stone power station building sat at the west end, with the name Tuai and the date 1929 concreted into the grey stone. A flock of black swans paddled the dark-green waters. The silver Mercedes behind them pulled up a few seconds later. Sassman turned and looked at them. ‘This is Lake Tuai and the end of the road. We walk from here.’
‘Why? Why don’t we drive all the way?’ Lena asked.
Sassman’s face darkened at her question. ‘Ask the boss, girl,’ he snapped, then raised an apologetic hand. ‘Sorry. Must be getting tense. There are enemies here. Puarata’s lair is only a couple of miles away, and there are enemy soldiers nearby, in both worlds. We daren’t come closer openly.’
Lena looked at Mat and swallowed. Mat tried a smile. ‘Let’s go see Jones. He’ll know what to do.’
‘That’s right,’ Sassman beamed, looking more like his usual self. ‘Talk to Jones, he’ll sort you out.’
They got out of the car, and while Dwayne went to talk to the other driver beside the lake, Mat fished out his taiaha from the floor, and walked with Sassman and Lena
to the other car. Bryn Jones was on the cellphone as he stepped from the silver Mercedes. They couldn’t catch his words, and he finished and hung up before they reached him. He nodded grimly at Mat and Lena.
‘Here’s the situation. We’re below the lip of the eastern end of Lake Waikaremoana, which is about a kilometre or two that way, and a good deal higher.’ He pointed past the power station to the line of hills that filled the western sky. ‘The moon rises around 5 p.m. We have less than two hours to accomplish this task. According to your man Hoanga, you need water from the sacred stream.’ He pulled a flask from his pocket. ‘I have this flask from Burns; if it isn’t genuine I’ll gut him! You also need the shrunken head from the caves. I gather that is some thing you must do yourself, Mat, if you are still willing. Sassman and Dwayne will go with you, to guide and protect you.’
‘I will too,’ said Lena quickly, clutching Mat’s hand.
Bryn Jones nodded shortly. ‘Very well.’ He looked about him. ‘Sebastian Venn holds Puarata’s lair—it is a fortress built in Aotearoa on the site of an old redoubt constructed during the war with Te Kooti. Venn has got cannon up there, and maybe some guns and troopers closer as well. So we need to get in and get out without him knowing. We’ve arranged a diversion on his south flank to take his attention if needed. Harassment of his defences has already begun. Taylor’s riders are due here in a few minutes. So we must go into Aotearoa, and get you to the caves.’ He fixed his eyes on Mat’s taiaha. ‘You
won’t need that stick, boy. If someone gets so close that you have to fight, then we’ve probably already lost.’
Mat gripped his taiaha closer. ‘I’ll still take it, sir.’
I might not be allowed my cellphone, but I refuse to be unarmed.
‘No heroics, Mat,’ Jones warned. He turned to speak to Sassman, when his attention jerked to the south-western hills and the redoubt. A low rumble carried on the breeze.
‘Down!’ Jones yelled suddenly, yanking Mat off his feet. Mat tumbled, still clinging to Lena. Then a concussion tore her from his grasp and sent her flying through the air, into the lake. The black Mercedes exploded in a brilliant blast of flame, metal components shearing through the air about them in a deadly curtain. His hearing vanished, replaced by an echoing silence. He was flat in the gravel, his hands scraped and burning.
Then Bryn Jones, his forehead streaming blood, yanked him to his feet, and they pelted into the water. He caught a glimpse of a bloody mess that was Jones’ driver. Dwayne was stumbling erect, his back riddled with cuts. Sassman was sprinting towards them, bent over double, shouting some thing inaudible above the ringing silence in Mat’s ears.
‘Lena!’ Mat knew he was screaming her name, but couldn’t even hear that.
Am I deaf? Are my eardrums burst?
But then sound returned, as another explosion burst harmlessly into the foreshore fifty metres away. He dived forward, into the shin-deep water of the lake. He stumbled to his feet, and splashed through the churned
mud, stumbling and flailing, until Lena was in his arms, clutching him, shaking uncontrollably. ‘Are you okay? Are you okay? Lena!?’
Then hands gripped him, and pushed him under.
He thrashed in panic, and then suddenly a bubble of power enfolded them, and they burst to the surface with the shell-ravaged car-park gone, and the lake tranquil. He spluttered and coughed in Bryn Jones’ grip. Lena was in his arms, and Sassman and Dwayne were holding desperately to Jones’ sleeves.
‘Bring the girl ashore,’ Jones shouted at him. ‘Venn may have men here too. Run!’
Sassman and Mat pulled Lena between them. She was soaked through, her clothes clinging to her, stained a dirty green by the algae-filled water of the small lake. She seemed stunned, her expression unfocused and vague. On the shore was a cluster of horsemen, led by Captain Taylor, shouting and firing their weapons at unseen targets in the bush.
Musket balls whipped past them, splashing into the lake waters. One seared Dwayne’s shoulder. Jones made some gesture, and the next volley fell about them harmlessly, the balls caught motionless in some unseen net, and then dropping with a plop beneath the waters, all momentum of the shot lost. Onshore though, two horsemen and one of the horses went down. The agonised squeal of the horse was horrible to hear.
Sassman pulled Mat and Lena away to the right, where the power station would have been, if it were duplicated
here in Aotearoa. ‘This way,’ he shouted. ‘Let the fighting men fight. We’ve got a job to do.’
‘How will we get home?’ Mat panted as they ran. ‘The cars…’
‘We got other cars, boy. Don’ worry, we’ll see you home.’
They splashed ashore, leaving Bryn Jones behind as he angled towards Taylor’s men, who had dismounted and were plunging into the bush, seeking cover, or enemies. Taylor had a bayonet fixed to his musket. Sassman pointed to a large rock at the western end of Lake Tuai. ‘Make for the rock! The path lies behind it, according to the maps.’
Dwayne snatched Lena into his huge arms, and sprinted onward with her. Mat strove to catch up. He’d lost his taiaha in the blast of the artillery.
So much for being a mighty warrior…
Lena seemed okay, despite being thrown by the blast. She kept clutching one ear, her left, which was disgorging a trickle of blood. His stomach twisted in fear for her. He redoubled his speed.
They reached the rock together, and Dwayne put Lena back on her feet. Mat looked at the man, and nodded thanks, but the ex-marine didn’t acknowledge the gesture.
I’m nothing to him,
Mat realised.
Nothing at all. Just an inconvenient part of a mission.
It wasn’t a nice thought. He ached for Wiri or Manu or Spriggs to be here, but it seemed such a childish wish…
You’ve got to do this yourself,
he thought angrily.
You’re not a baby.
Sassman pointed to a dark gap in the thick tree-line. Impenetrable scrub and deep clusters of ferns beneath
ponga trees and taller matai and white pines blocked out all vision within a few yards, but a barely discernible trail wound up the slope. The sounds of shooting came from the left, where Taylor’s men had gone in. Either there was no enemy ahead, or they were biding their time. Mat felt a lump of fear in his gut, and he licked his suddenly dry lips.
Bryn Jones hurried across the glade. ‘We were going to separate here anyway,’ he told Mat without preamble. He frowned as he saw the blood on Lena’s ear, and bent over, placing his hand adjacent to the ear. He didn’t stop talking though. ‘I must drive any scouts from the woods and secure the site of the taniwha rock. Sassman and Dwayne will take you both to the caves, and we will rendezvous afterwards. Now go!’
He was gone before the questions Mat had could be asked, sprinting back the way he had come, following the sound of the guns. Lena raised a hand to her ear, a look of wonder on her face. ‘I think he’s fixed it,’ she whispered. ‘But it’s ringing like crazy.’
Dwayne pulled a huge knife from a sheath beneath his shirt, and looked at Sassman grimly. ‘I’ll go first. You bring them,’ he nodded at the teens. He spat and turned away. Sassman scowled at him, but the big man was already surging up the trail, almost soundless despite his size and the closeness of the under growth. For the first time Mat put together little clues in the posture and gesture and words of the two men…they loathed each other.
How did I miss that before?
Mat gripped Lena’s hand, and
they hurried after Dwayne, with Sassman behind them, a vengeful look upon his face.
Mat had never thought of bush as claustrophobic before, but climbing this slope, with only a few feet of visibility and the possibility of enemy fire at any second, was nerve-racking. Every needless sound could betray them, every movement might draw the eye, until he wished he could just roll into a ball and not move at all. The only fighting he had been involved in before had been at close quarters, hand-to-hand against the puny kehua goblins Puarata had mustered at Reinga, allies of last resort for the tohunga makutu, who had no more fearsome warriors to hand. This was different. Death could come upon him, unseen and lethal, at any second. How had Bryn Jones stopped the musket balls back at the lake? He couldn’t see how he had done it.
Behind him, Lena was sucking in air, half-sobbing in fright. This surely wasn’t what she had envisaged. That was the way of ‘adventure’, Mat decided. What seemed glamorous and exciting in imagination was often grim and brutal in reality. But her chin was fixed and her eyes determined. There was some thing in the way she held her head that suggested that she would not be cowed.
Neither will I,
he thought, taking courage from her fortitude.
After ten minutes of strained, tense climbing through the oppressive under growth, the shouting and the shooting faded behind them, and became more sporadic. They ascended steadily towards a ridge. Looking back as they reached a small clearing, Mat could no longer see
Lake Tuai behind him, lost in the folds of the land. This was the edge of the Ureweras, land where Te Kooti and the Hauhau had resisted the colonial troopers for years, trackless hills where men could hide for months. It was easy to see how, and this was just the edges.
Lena paused beside him, panting for breath. Her eyes glittered with tears but her jaw was tight and furious. ‘I’m going to get the bastards shooting that cannon.’
‘Keep your head down for now,’ Mat advised, surprised and worried at her belligerence.
But Lena showed no sign of caution. ‘When I gain my full powers, I’m going to smash them all,’ she vowed, glaring into Mat’s eyes. She stormed after Dwayne.
Full powers?
He hurried after her, more confused and anxious than ever.
Dwayne was waiting just beneath the top of the ridge, and he pulled them down beneath the skyline. ‘Don’t make a silhouette,’ he snapped at them. ‘The ridgeline is bare, and Venn might have scouts up here.’ He made them crawl forward, until they reached the top, and gazed out at the burnished silver and emerald of the lake.
Whether Waikaremoana had been made by the thrashings of a taniwha or the movement of tectonic plates, it was still a breathtakingly beautiful place. The lengthening shadows on the slopes streaked the sheer wooded slopes of the surrounding hills in every shade of green and gold. The westering sun was reflected copper
and silver in the shifting waters of the lake, rippling gently in the winds that tossed the trees and made them sigh.