The Lost Tohunga (10 page)

Eventually he clambered to his feet, and bowed. ‘Thank you; you've been a wonderful audience. Good night, and good luck!' He bowed again, and walked away, feeling both foolish and good at once.

Tuesday afternoon

E
van Tomoana,' said the big man opposite him on the bench, his deep resonant tones rumbling from a wide belly, muscle turning to fat. ‘Or “Parukau” if you prefer, although I remember your mother as white, and I never knew your father at all.' He sipped his beer, watching Parukau carefully. ‘Tell me why I should listen to you. You ain't a patched member. You're nobody to us.'

Parukau leant closer, nibbling battered fish and sipping a beer. To all the world, it could have been a meeting of friends, just another gathering in a back yard in Taupo, enjoying some late afternoon sunshine after the overnight rain, a gentle northerly stirring the trees and breathing warmer air over the volcanic plateau. There were fish and chips laid out, and beers aplenty. They were behind a tidy four-bedroom house in west Taupo, Acacia Bay, amidst the holiday homes of the wealthy. The setting was private and unpretentious, with children's play equipment scattered about the lawn. But the undercurrents of threat were tangible.

The night before, the cops had come past, claiming Hine had vanished. Parukau couldn't trace her, even using scrying
spells. He was beginning to feel perturbed. But he had pushed ahead, setting up this meeting to gain extra hands. Ronnie and Brutal and Deano were eating greasies at another table, watched by seven rough-looking men in filthy black leathers with
Roadhawks Taupo
emblazoned on the back, and a hawk head wearing a Roman legionary helmet.

The Roadhawks were one of the motorcycle gangs, modelled on the American biker gangs, that had proliferated in the 'sixties. The Roadhawks only rode Nortons. Its membership included Pakeha, Maori, Pacific Islanders and Asians, and was notoriously criminal. Given the smallness of New Zealand, they could never aspire to the sheer size and aura of overseas equivalents like the American Hells Angels. They were only minor players, but players nevertheless. The Roadhawks were notorious for rumours that escalating levels of petty and violent crime culminating in rape were required of gang prospects, although their leadership denied it.

The man opposite Parukau was one such leader. Robert Heke, like many of the early leaders, was pushing sixty now, with an affable smile and a rumbling laugh. Even with the gang patch on, he looked like somebody one could trust. But he had done time for killing a man — the charge had been reduced to manslaughter on appeal. He didn't have to break laws now: he had troops to get their hands dirty for him. He had a pretty young wife and a new child, to go with three children from earlier marriages. His second son, Arama, was among the seven Roadhawks present. Heke was the number two here in Taupo. He was considered ‘old school' when it came to settling grievances.

Parukau waved a hand. ‘I've got a plan; I need some muscle
to help me out. I know you've got muscle, and I thought that it could be mutually profitable.'

Heke half-smiled. ‘A plan? From the likes of you? When is the last time you made a plan, Evan “Parukau” Tomoana? I hear your plans don't run much past dealing pot to tourists and playing with that pretty little woman of yours.' It was Heke's way of saying that he knew where Evan lived, how he made his money, and how to get at someone he cared about. Which might have worked if Heke had actually been talking to the real Evan Tomoana.

‘Do you know the name “Ranginui Puarata”?' said Parukau quietly.

Heke's eyes widened, then quickly narrowed. He took a slow swallow of beer. ‘I hear he's dead. What does the likes of you know about Puarata?'

Or, indeed, the likes of you, Heke?
Puarata had dealt a whole way further up the food chain than Heke, and when Puarata recruited muscle, it wasn't from among undisciplined gang members. Puarata went for ex-army, and got fighters a whole lot scarier than anyone Heke had, however tough they walked and talked. Parukau kept his face expressionless, though. ‘They say he was rich, and that his old inner circle are fighting among themselves to claim it all. A secret war. Have you heard of Sebastian Venn?'

Heke frowned. ‘Of course. But Venn is nothing to do with us. The Hawks don't deal with Puarata, or Venn, or any of that organization. What has this is to do with you, Tomoana? All you've told me is that you know names that it isn't good to know.'

‘Sunday night, I got some cell time with an old man, a
geezer who'd hiked in from the Ureweras. He was pretty sick, and died in the cell after we talked. He told me that he'd broken into Venn's HQ at Waikaremoana, and learned where old Puarata kept his secret stash. Gold, art, antiques, money … anything you can think of.'

‘He told you that? Why would he talk to you?'

Parukau shrugged. ‘I think his mind was going. He thought I was someone else. I just played along, teased it out of him. Wasn't hard. An' then he died.' He chuckled.

Heke looked unimpressed. ‘So where is it? What's it worth? And why come to me?'

Parukau feigned hesitation, then finally said. ‘Well, it's in Rotorua. Old guy reckoned it was worth more than twenty million.' He took another sip of beer. ‘We need muscle because the old guy says Puarata has men safeguarding it; men loyal to him and not to Venn or any of his other old lieutenants.'

Heke raised an eyebrow, seemingly interested now. ‘Still loyal even though the old man is dead?'

‘The old guy reckoned these boys were hanging tough, hiding out until a winner emerges. That day could be soon. Venn has sewn things up in the bush, pretty much. Just one rival to stomp out, I've heard.'

Heke licked his lips. ‘The Kyle woman,' he murmured.

Not so ignorant of all this after all, are you, Heke?
Parukau shrugged. ‘I need men to storm the place, before they throw in their lot with Venn and the opportunity is lost.'

Heke leant back and drained his can, waved a hand, and waited until another was opened and put in his hand. He was silent for a long time, stroking an old Rottweiler that lay at his feet, its throat and flanks scarred. The veteran of many a pit
fight, Parukau guessed. A lot like its owner.

Finally, Heke spoke. ‘We never liked Puarata's outfit, but they don' cross our path, so we jus' live and let live.' He spat. ‘They're a weird bunch — too much superstition and “Godfather” crap. We got their number.'

Parukau could barely keep the derisive smile off his face.
‘Got their number'? You'd have kissed Puarata's tattooed arse if he'd come calling.
Keeping from laughing out loud took an effort.

‘We don't need no small-timer coming to us like we're some sort of hired security firm for you to hide behind,' Heke went on. ‘So, I'm going to give you my sort of deal,
Tomoana
. You can tell me where this treasure is, and then walk out of here with your balls still in your scrotum. Then, if and when we find anything, we will give you a reward for services. That's the deal. Don't waste your time bargaining, because I don't bargain.' Heke didn't look like anyone's kindly dad any more.

Parukau met his eye.
Heke, you bag of blubber. You think you can intimidate me, who has lived for centuries and learned at the elbow of Puarata himself?
He kept his voice level and his face neutral. ‘I thought you'd say that, Robert. I ain't stupid. But when you see what I've got to show you, you'll want to keep me in on the deal, and reach a better split.'

Heke belched contemptuously. ‘Will I? I told you: I don't bargain, Tomoana.'

Parukau ostentatiously looked about them. ‘Do you have somewhere more private we can talk?'

Heke looked at him. They had been patted down and disarmed on arrival. He shrugged, and gestured to the most muscular of the patched men standing around the garden,
who happened to be his son. ‘Arama, come with us.' Arama Heke drained his beer and stalked over.

‘Looks like his father,' observed Parukau. He did — a younger, slimmer version, bred for violence, an athlete of mayhem.

Heke slapped his son on the back. ‘Arama's twice the size of your man “Boo-boo” or whatever you call him.' He said it loud enough for them all to hear, and the Roadhawks boys laughed while Brutal scowled into his beer.

Heke led them through the garage to a windowless room with a stained and empty pool table in the middle, and a beer fridge in the corner. Old sofas lined the walls. Heke shut the door behind them, and locked it. Arama grinned at Parukau as he picked up a broken pool cue. Holding the narrow shaft, he slapped the heavy metal-ringed handle into his palm meatily.

Subtle
, thought Parukau. He turned and looked at Heke across the table. ‘Want a game?' he asked drily.

Heke shook his head, placed both hands on the table and leant forward, whilst Arama circled behind Parukau. ‘I'm through with games, Tomoana. Tell me where this place is or we'll smash you into pulp.'

Parukau grinned at him, and felt the serpent within him rise. He met Heke's eyes. The man was confident, complacently secure, and though his will was strong, he was an innocent in the way the world really was. The world he lived in had such
ordinary
nightmares. He raised a hand, and reached out with the shadows that dwelt within.

To Heke it seemed that Parukau's whole form wavered, like a stone dropped in a pool, and then his eyes went black. The
ceiling lights flickered, and then blew with a loud crack and the stink of burnt dust. The room was plunged into darkness.

‘Arama!' he yelled, and he heard his son begin to reply then gasp. Something heavy smashed into the pool table, once, twice, like meat slapping the counter at a butcher's shop. Someone slithered to the floor heavily.

The room fell silent. Impossibly, the broken light bulbs flared; for a second. Parukau was looking at him across the table. Then darkness. Then they flashed on, and Parukau was crawling across the table. Then the image was gone again, but not before it was burned on his retina. He backed away, mouth opening to scream.

Hands clamped his skull, and an unseen mouth closed over his. He shrieked into it, trying to pull away, a reflex of terror and disgust, but it was as if he were caught in a vice, and then something slithered inside his throat. He fell to the floor, choking.

The lights came on. Parukau stood over him, a tender look on his face. From his mouth a thin stream of smoky shadow seemed to run down to his own mouth. He froze, beyond panic, rigid in terror as the being above him smirked, and bent over him. ‘Hello, Robert. What are you doing down there? Aren't you well? Have you caught something perhaps? Or perhaps something has caught you!' He laughed vilely. ‘Do you know the old saying
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
It's Shakespeare, you know. Asher Grieve used to like to say it — do you know
that
name, Robert?'

Heke shook and lost control of his bladder. The stink of hot urine filled the room. Parukau sniggered, and spoke again, but
this time his mouth didn't move and the words spoke directly into the Roadhawks' boss's mind.

‘The rules have changed, Robert. Parukau has returned! I'm going to take everything Puarata once had, and I am going to destroy Venn and Kyle and whoever else stands in my way. And then I'm going to turn on the gangs, and those that do not pledge to me will be
flayed
. Do you hear me?'

Heke nodded mutely. He glimpsed Arama, lying senseless but still breathing. He could not remember feeling such terror ever before.

‘Yes, I'm speaking into your head, Robert. I can get there whenever I want to. So you think that Puarata was all just superstition and secrecy, do you? Wrong! His power was real and I spent six hundred years at his side. I am the heir to his kingdom. Only those that are with me will be spared.'

He smiled, and offered his hand to the fallen man, palm down. He spoke naturally this time. ‘Pledge yourself to me, Heke. And believe me, I
will
know if you are insincere. That will not go well for you, your son or your wife. Or your pretty little daughter.' He held out his hand, where a silver death-head ring gleamed dully. ‘Kiss it, Robert.'

The big man did so, and only then did Parukau swallow that thread of darkness. He watched the older man shudder as he was released.

‘You are mine now, Robert.'

 

Deano drove them home after Heke had been given his orders. He would lay hands on guns and ammunition, and the whole chapter would muster. Although before they could
go to Rotorua, they needed to find Hine Horatai.

‘Heke looked like he'd seen a ghost, eh. Whitest brownie I've ever seen,' chortled Brutal. ‘Can't believe they're gonna follow your orders, boss,' he added. ‘I thought they'd beat the crap out of us.'

Parukau just smiled. ‘You gotta know the right strings to pull, Brutal. That's why I am the boss, and that is why we're going to come out of the next few days very rich.' He had told them a little of what was going on, essentially the same story he had spun to Heke. They laughed and joked as they wound their way through town, but his mind was elsewhere.
Where are you, Hine Horatai? When I find you, you'll regret running away. I want you even more than Evan Tomoana did. How are you hiding from me?

He sat up suddenly. And slowly smiled.

Of course! I know where you are, you little bitch!

It was the only place that made sense, here in Taupo.

Aethlyn Jones's house.

Tuesday evening

D
onna Kyle stared from her hotel balcony, swirling a cognac. The evening was chill but she scarcely felt it, or the sweet, strong spirit. She was numb. Everything seemed grey, as if she was going colour-blind. It was a sensation both physical and spiritual. Her skin didn't register pain or pleasure the way it used to. Emotions that should have been intense were dull and distant. All that kept her going was the refusal to lose, to succumb to Venn or Bryce or the others. Doubts and fears gnawed at her like maggots.

Father
… Asher Grieve, back from the graveyard of her memories. The thought of seeing him in the flesh petrified her, unless it was to drive a knife through his poisonous heart. And yet … did he really hold the key to Te Iho? Could she afford to turn her back on him?

She blinked those thoughts away. Lake Taupo was darkened now to a rusted metallic sheen as the sun set. The volcanoes were hidden in cumulus gathered in the south, brooding and ominous. It would be bleak outside tonight, and bitterly cold. She tossed off the cognac in one swallow, waited for the alcohol to hit her, but felt nothing. None of the hotel staff saw
her leave in her grey Toyota 4WD. The streets were almost empty, the houses were dark hulks with curtains faintly aglow. When she left the city limits, the darkness felt like a cave.

It took her thirty minutes driving through stony back roads to reach the foot of Mount Tauhara, where she parked the Toyota in a place Puarata had shown her, between two old totara, their roots deep in both worlds. Tauhara leant over her like a watchful giant. A half-moon peered through the shredded ghosts of clouds, and half-lit the clearing. She unlocked a shrouded cage that sat on the passenger seat, and pulled out a young tabby cat. It thrashed about, but her grip never flinched as she carried it into the middle of the clearing, knife in her hand.

She could have chanted some ‘magical' gibberish, but it would have been just ceremony and nonsense, a fancy way of saying: ‘Here I am, look at me.' She had no stomach for that tonight, just wanted to get it over with. She raised the knife, and slashed. For an instant, she wanted to swallow the hot fluid. Blood was what she dreamt of now, ever since that life-saving fluid Puarata had fed her. But the thought turned her stomach, and worse, it would insult those she summoned.

She lowered the dying cat to the ground and backed towards her vehicle, still holding the knife. Shadows seemed to melt together and swim across the clearing. There were four of them, two male and two female. Pale-skinned, wild hair coloured like rust, eyes feral. They were clad in a motley collection of Maori and colonial attire. Their movements were feverish and jerky. The tallest male had a sword at his belt, a medieval broadsword. He looked at her warily as he lifted the cat to his mouth. He made a slurping noise as he drank, blood spilling down his chin. One of the women licked his face
clean, then fed second. The other two waited hungrily, and took their turns, while the first two, their faces slowly turning ruddy, regarded Donna watchfully.

They were patupaiarehe, vampiric fairy creatures from the darkest places of Aotearoa. Tauhara was known for them. They usually lurked on the fringes of isolated settlements, content to steal babies or cattle from the denizens of Aotearoa. Many were harmless, but these ones weren't. She knew their names, imparted by Puarata, and she named them now, secret words that bound them to her will. They hated that. She felt the names twist like rope about their souls. She held up her hand, and from it four silvery cords now extended, one each to the centre of their chests. She yanked the cords and watched them flinch, their hackles rising, eyes glittering with malice.

‘Why didn't you drink, lady?' the chief male called her, trying to break her composure. He had tattoos, but they were Celtic ones that writhed weirdly across his face. He spoke English, with an Irish accent. All their true names were European, oddly. ‘We know you wanted to. We could feel your hunger.'

The thin-faced lady at his feet held out the cat to her. ‘There is still a little wine left, lady. A few dregs at the bottom of the flask,' she giggled.

‘Nearly one of us, you are,' observed the lesser male, a scarecrow with his skinny limbs hunched like a roosting bird. ‘Your blood is tainted, like ours.'

Only the fourth didn't taunt her. A quiet one, that looked barely into puberty. She stood on the verge of flight, but tethered by the cord wrapped around her heart. Donna drew herself up. ‘Silence! I command you now. You will not question my authority.'

‘Oh, your authority is undoubted, Princess,' sneered the chief male wearily. ‘We are your humblest servants. You have our names, you have bound us.' He reached up and tugged gently on the half-visible cord of light that ran like a leash from his heart to her hand. His smile was ironic. ‘All I wanted was to be free. I crossed the globe hundreds of years ago, before it was even known that it was a globe, to escape witches like you. Arcane slave-keepers, and murderous priests. But here at the end of the world, there is nowhere else to run. So I shall be a slave after all.'

He bent his knee with a haughty toss of the head. The other three mimicked his movements. The four cords in her hand felt oily and untrustworthy, like vipers, with fanged heads that could twist and lunge in her grasp. But short of binding a taniwha to her will, there were no better servants for the conflict to come. She needed them.

‘I will give you use-names, as I cannot use your true names openly. You, I will call “Stone”,' she told the leader. He nodded disinterestedly as he fondled the hilt of his broadsword.

‘You, the hunched male, you are “Heron”.' The scarecrow patupaiarehe nodded casually.

‘Give me a pretty name, lady,' said the elder female, the one at Stone's feet. ‘“Isabella”, perhaps?'

Donna studied the girl, her ribs showing beneath her tiny breasts, her teeth glittering, and her lips vivid. ‘You are “Thorn”,' she replied spitefully. The skinny girl pouted, muttering under her breath.

The last female had hung back a little, had fed last and only briefly. Clearly she was the lowest in the nest. She looked barely fifteen, and reminded Donna suddenly of herself, before Asher
came for her. ‘You, the quiet one, what is your preference?'

‘Call her “Sow Face” or “Cow Breath”,' suggested Thorn with a cold snicker. ‘She is our servant. She licks our feet to cleanse us after we journey. She can lick yours, too, if you like,' she added with a cold titter. ‘She has no pride left. We took it away from her.'

‘Shut up, Thorn.' Donna stared down at the skinny being briefly and then returned her gaze to the dark-haired girl. Her hands were clasped as if in prayer, her head bowed. She still seemed to cling to some kind of innocence, despite her state. She found herself moved unexpectedly. ‘I will call you “Rose”,' she said with a faint softness in her voice that she instantly regretted.
Why that name?
The other three looked at each other conspiratorially.

She reasserted control, jerking the silver heart-cords. ‘These are my commands. Stone, you will go to Rotorua, to the tipua goblins that haunt the northern shores, and tell them that Puarata's heir commands their obedience. I will join you there in two or three days. Be discreet, and do not kill unless assailed.'

Stone bowed deeply. ‘As you command, Princess,' he growled, his voice laden with resentment.

‘And you, Thorn, go to the tipua chief to the west of Taupo and demand a war-party be sent here to serve me. I shall expect its arrival tomorrow, ready to fight.'

Thorn spat blood. ‘The tipua are worms.'

‘Then you should get on famously. Both of you, go! And do not forget who holds your souls.' She twisted the cords in her hand, sending a lash of pain before releasing them. ‘Go! Go and do not tarry.'

Stone and Thorn fled into the night. She turned to the remaining two patupaiarehe. ‘Heron, you will be my eyes and ears here in Taupo. I have sensed presences, people of power. Identify them for me. Move unseen. Observe their actions. Report to me before dawn. Understood?'

Heron cowered obsequiously. ‘I hear and obey, O Princess. Do not hurt me. I am your servant, loyal and true.' He lifted, and soared away before she changed her mind.

Rose stood watching her, huddled in her cloak and shivering. When she turned towards her, the girl bowed her head, awaiting the lash. She looked like an abuse victim. Donna fought a pang of kinship. ‘Come, Rose.' She turned and pulled her along by her silvery half-seen leash. ‘You will serve and guard me. You will do as I say, nothing more or less. Do I need to whip you also, to teach you your place?'

‘No, mistress,' the girl breathed. ‘I already understand my place.' She looked at Donna sideways through a curtain of tangled hair. Up close she smelt filthy, of rotting leaves and fetid mud, and her breath was foul with blood-taint.

‘Then come with me.' She took her to the Toyota and showed her how to get in, then drove back to the hotel. Rose was terrified of the great mechanical monster in whose belly she sat. She clung to the seat initially, then she slowly sank to the floor and huddled, whimpering. Donna had chosen this hotel because she could come and go without being observed, and was glad of this as she led the girl inside. The young patupaiarehe whimpered in terror as the lift ascended.

Inside her rooms, Donna led the girl immediately to the bathroom, and showed her the shower and toilet. ‘If you are going to be of use to me, then you must be clean. You can't
be seen as you are.' She held up a bar of soap. ‘Do you know what this is?'

Rose's face lit up. ‘Soap,' she said in wonderment. ‘It is soap!' She clutched it to herself girlishly. Donna felt another strange emotion, an almost motherly pang that infuriated and frightened her. She hastily showed Rose the toothpaste and toothbrush and how to use them, and what to do with shampoo, conditioner and mouthwash. What the hairdryer was for. Rose took it all in like a child in her favourite class at school. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wet with unshed tears. ‘I do want to be clean again,' she whispered, her face glowing. ‘Like I used to be.'

Donna half-turned away, caught her own eye in the mirror, thinking,
I used to be clean, too
.

She watched the patupaiarehe pull off her stinking cloak and loin cloth, her lean body all flat planes and jutting bones. She was unsettling to watch, alternately timid and bold, old and young, wild yet vulnerable. Donna left her, returning to the balcony with another cognac, and lit a cigarette. The night air was cold and stars glittered, callous as fairy eyes in the ebony sky.

It seemed clear now: Puarata had fed her patupaiarehe blood to speed her healing, careless of the long-term effects. Another sign of how little he had truly cared for her. What is it doing to me?
Colonizing me, that's what
… Tiny particles of alien matter taking her over. She could feel it, the urges, the new strengths and weaknesses. She was changing, inexorably. Unless she could find a path through this maze, she would slowly degenerate into one of these half-feral beings.

Her hand trembled and ash spilled from her cigarette, a
tiny comet plunging into the darkness below. She shook her head and went back inside, her legs hollow, her belly strained with tension. The shower pumped steam through the bathroom door, and she heard Rose singing softly as she washed. She sounded like a child. Then it went quiet, and she smelt blood again.

She opened the bathroom door. Rose was kneeling on the floor, crooning softly, her back to her, black wet hair cascading down her back. The patupaiarehe's song faltered, and her face turned upward. Her skin was clean and white. The window was open, and the girl held a pigeon in her hands, bloodied and torn. Feathers and blood clung to her chin. Her violet eyes widened slightly, and then she pulled back her wet hair shyly, and offered her throat. For a second an abyss opened at Donna's feet, and she saw herself bite, saw herself surrender to the thirst that would damn her. Vertigo seized her and she staggered away, slammed the bathroom door and threw herself onto the bed, trying not to vomit.

I will never become like that.

After minutes or hours or days or years, she recovered herself. Rose was on the floor beside the bed, staring at her curiously. There was a dark shape perched on the railing: Heron. She slid the glass door open and stepped outside. Her breath steamed about her like a cloud, something noticeably missing from the air about Heron's face.

‘Did Rose please you, O Glorious Princess?' he smirked in a low voice.

‘Shut up and report, before I rip your heart out.'

He bobbed his head. ‘To hear is to obey, Gracious Princess. I have flown above the city, and sniffed the fragrant air. There
are several people of power here. Foremost, a young man, asleep in his bed, troubled by dreams. His mind is half-trained, easily read. Matiu Douglas, he is called.'

She smiled.

Heron continued. ‘There is a dangerous old man walking the lakeshore, whom I feared to go near. Also two old women, sisters in a big house, with feet in both worlds. A fortune-teller asleep in the fairground caravans. But most interesting was a skinhead thug, who called himself by an old name …
Parukau
.'

She felt a thrill of fear. She knew the name.
Isn't he dead?

Heron twisted his neck, and looked at her. ‘Have I done well, Princess? Have I earned a reward?' He licked his lips hungrily.

She pulled on the cord about his heart. He jerked and tumbled at her feet. She twisted and yanked while he shrieked silently in agony. ‘You will obey me for no reward but the gift of continued life!' she hissed. ‘Go, watch this Parukau, and report again at dawn. We will strike him tomorrow night.'

When the patupaiarehe was gone she sat thinking. The old man … she remembered that the Welshman Aethlyn Jones dwelt here. He had been part of that debacle at Waikaremoana. There were scores to settle. She knew the two sisters, weak talents and meddlers, not to be trusted. The fortune-teller could be anyone.