The Lost Tohunga (13 page)

A knife flew at Jones's back, but veered and hit the wall instead. Brutal loomed out of the shadows, but Jones's sword flashed around and slashed him across the belly, making the big man roar like a wounded boar. Jones flicked his hand, and an invisible force hurled Brutal back, his mouth widening in shock. Then Ronnie burst through the back door, and Hine raised her gun. His big face widened in recognition and terror
as her finger tightened on the trigger.

Time froze. She thought of Ko and her babies, and found she was paralysed. Ronnie blundered towards her, and wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side. He began to cry. ‘Hine, Hine, Hine …' She twisted in his grasp helplessly, as Jones whirled and took aim.

‘No!' she shrieked.
Not Ronnie!
Jones looked at her with furious eyes. ‘Run!' But he turned back. Evan stepped onto the porch, with a pistol like Jones's in his hand. He raised it, and fired.

The ball punched a hole in Jones's chest, and his body jolted backwards. Fires that had begun to materialize in his hand flickered, like a spent Roman Candle, and the sword slid from his suddenly frail grip. He fell to his knees, holding the wound, muttering a stream of words. Brutal loomed over him, bloodied and enraged, and drew back his right boot. Hine screamed as Ronnie gripped her tighter. She closed her eyes to be blind, praying not to hear the death blow …

… that never came.

She heard Brutal curse in disbelief, and opened her eyes again. Jones was gone. Evan strode over, cursing. He raised a hand, and seemed to flicker, vanishing momentarily then reappearing, a look of bafflement on his face. ‘Where's he gone? Where's the old bastard gone?'

Ronnie prised the pistol and knife from her hands. She looked up at his big stupid face, as a sense of hopelessness engulfed her.
I did nothing … I did nothing and let him grab me … and got Jones killed … maybe.
She hung her head, staring at the patch of earth where the old man had fallen, praying.

Ronnie took her back into the kitchen. Evan was shouting
about grabbing something, and clouds of men were throwing all Jones's spare muskets and pistols into a heap on the porch. She saw Evan gesture and all the weapons vanished. She could hear the monster in his voice. Couldn't they all hear it? The mocking glee as he pretended concern at Brutal's wound. The scorn as he congratulated Ronnie on recovering her unharmed. Outside there were angry voices, and she heard Evan go to the door, cocking two pistols.

Someone shouted from outside on the back lawn. ‘Hey, Tomoana. Our bloody guns didn't work! An' the boys in the trees … half o' them are dead!'

‘So, Arama? What of it? They're your guns, not mine,' said Evan, coolly. He raised his voice. ‘Hurry that packing, Deano!'

The voice of this Arama rasped. ‘But you knew! You brought them old guns an' they work! You bloody knew!'

‘Be prepared, Arama. Be prepared. Scout's motto, eh? Guess you weren't never a boy scout.'

Arama pointed out into the night. ‘The hell with you! What about Joe and Henare? And Si and his cousins? You knew! You knew them guns weren't goin' t'work! An' where are we anyway?'

Evan sniggered. ‘In the backwoods, that's all. Thought you boys would be tougher than this. You better be more use in Rotorua, eh?'

‘We ain't goin' to Rotorua! Not after this! I'm tellin' Dad about this!'

Rotorua!
Hine fell to her knees on the kitchen floor. Let Ronnie think she was fainting. And she reached out, to the pool of blood welling about the dead man in the doorway … her fingers dipped in the cooling fluids, and she scrawled
blind, onto the side of the cupboard:
R – O – T – O …

Strong hands pulled her away, but there was no cry of discovery. Her message was overlooked. Ronnie wrapped about her, crooning like a lost baby. The argument continued outside, and she could feel it simmering towards blows.
Come on — fight each other
, she willed them silently.
Kill each other!

Suddenly there was a choked cry and Evan swore. Ronnie looked up, and called out in a scared voice, ‘Wass happenin'?'

Someone cried out in shock, and then the night was filled with howls, like a pack of hunting hounds descending on their prey. She heard Evan shouting, cries cut off. She was pulled to her feet as the back door slammed shut behind Evan, his face livid. Something smote the door behind him, and a big brown hand reached in the kitchen window. She peered out, and saw a biker, his eyes bulging with fright. Then a small, pale, hairless face appeared behind him, and a thin club split his skull.

‘Tipua!' Evan bellowed. ‘We've been tailed! It's a trap!' He lunged for Hine and pulled her to him. ‘Ronnie, Brutal — grab my arms!'

‘Wha—?'

‘Do it!!!'

A man wrenched open the back door, pale hands snagging him. Hine recognized Arama Heke, a Roadhawks man, son of the gang boss. His face was bloodied and frightened. ‘Tomoana, get us out of this!'

Evan laughed, then he gasped and tore at a dart that had flown from the window and gouged his neck. A thin white face, a blowpipe in its mouth, peered in, eyes lit with triumph. Evan's eyes bulged, and he staggered. But he recovered
enough to chant a phrase, and the whole room seemed to shiver. The kitchen faded slowly.

But before it did, she saw Arama Heke stagger as pallid shapes flew at him out of the darkness. He vanished beneath naked white bodies that spilled over him, scrawny little nightmare figures that ripped at him with teeth and nails. His face was the last thing she saw, his mouth open, as his skin split and his insides bubbled out. Then the blood-spattered room where she had felt so safe those last few days faded from view, to be replaced by a bewildering press of people, gunfire, and shouting. A ghastly pale thing flew at them, then vanished when Evan shot it with one of those old pistols. Cars revved, doors slammed. Then it all fell away.

 

Hine woke in Ko's arms, in Evan's lounge. Ko looked totally bewildered. Ronnie and Brutal were slamming clothing into bags, while Deano was loading loot from Jones's house — old guns and barrels from the shed — into the boot of the car. Evan was snarling at them, keeping them moving. They were leaving, going somewhere. All she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and pull something over the top. The face of Arama Heke as he was being torn apart would not leave her.

She wrapped her arms around Brandi, tried to stop the scared child from crying, and in doing so found something to deflect her own rising panic. Evan moved like a stoned dope addict, clearly still affected by the poison on the blowpipe dart, but when his eyes crept over her, she felt utter dread.

‘Hush,' she whispered to Brandi and herself, shutting her eyes. ‘Hush, it's all okay,' she repeated, although she knew
nothing would be okay ever again.

It seemed to take hours, but by dawn they were all in Deano's car, driving north towards Rotorua.

 

Mat crept up the front lawn, but the house was silent. Fog from the lake had trapped the reek of gunpowder and violence. A small black-and-white shape lay in the hallway, the rug black and wet. The little body was cold. Mat extended his senses and sensed the lump of silver in the turehu's heart. The attackers had known what they were facing. Godfrey was gone, forever.

The lounge was undisturbed and so was Jones's room. No-one had plundered the house. The only room with anything out of the ordinary in it was the kitchen. He lit the lamp, picked it up, and looked about him. His heart was hammering, but he told himself to be calm. Observe. See what was to be seen. He squatted over a ravaged corpse, a man, half-eaten where he lay. The tipua goblins lay around him.

Beyond him, on the back porch, another six men lay. Three had gunshot wounds and another had been stabbed. They had all been ripped at by teeth and claws. Small piles of tipua lay about them. He walked further out, raising the lantern. More gang men, more goblins. The men had been outnumbered, he surmised, but they had fought desperately. And died horribly. What they had been doing at Jones's cottage he didn't know. But he could guess … two parties, the bikers coming first, the goblins second. An ambush, the hunters becoming prey.

Jones's shed had been raided and all the old guns were missing, bar a few that had been right at the back. There was no sign of Jones and Hine. But there was a pool of
blood soaked into the turf outside the back door, and Jones's favourite weapons lay there. The air crackled with the afterburn of some magical energy, but he had no idea what had been done. He crouched there, fighting tears, trying to sense what he could of what had happened. It took time, and he was close to exhaustion, but he managed. A blurred vision struck him behind the eyes, of Jones falling, and then … nothing …

He opened his eyes, as the air quivered, a silent roar of power. The bloody ground boiled and the grass somehow drank the blood away. He reached out, trying to sense what was happening, and for an instant it seemed he saw Jones above him, bound to a tree, with creepers covering his body, piercing his skin, pumping his own blood back into his veins. Then it was gone.

My God, what was that?

He backed away, unsure whether to be reassured or frightened. He shifted to the real world, found himself in the back yard of an empty time-share, utterly still. The grass was torn up, and he smelt blood, but someone had removed all the bodies. He flickered back to Aotearoa again, and sagged to his knees.

Eventually he found the strength to act. He found a shovel and buried Godfrey, trying not to think about that mischievous, fun-loving and wise little spirit. The other corpses could rot forever, as far as he was concerned.

Godfrey, I hope you soar and find a new place where you can wait for us all to join you.

Eventually, he went back inside — and then he saw it, smeared blood on the side of a cupboard:
R – O – T – O …

He knelt and tentatively reached out with his senses, tried
to catch the after-images of what had happened. He saw flashes … Hine, writing in blood …
Rotorua
, surely. The vision faded.
Rotorua.

I will find you and protect you, Hine,
he promised her.
I'll find you.

He stopped for a moment, and put his remaining strength into a call, a silent plea for help.
Ngatoro, can you hear me?

There was a faint stirring, and then a voice, distant but clear.
Mat?

Ngatoro! We've been attacked! I don't know where Jones is, but he's hurt! Hine's gone! She's an avatar of Hinemoa. It was Parukau …
he paused …
or maybe Donna Kyle.

He thought he felt the old tohunga groan.
Parukau? Beware of him. Be very careful …

What do I do? Jones might be alive: I don't know where to find him. Please, help me!

I will … try … Mat … be careful
— The link with the old tohunga, so tenuous already, suddenly snapped.

Mat rubbed at his face. He felt shattered, bewildered. But there was so much to do. He straightened, and threw himself into what had to be done.

He dragged the bodies outside and mopped the floor. He took Jones's sword and pistols, and some powder and shot from a stash in the cellar. He boarded the broken windows and locked the door, in case someone came. Then he walked away, not looking back, not wanting his last memories of the place to be like this. As soon as he knew it was out of sight, he broke into a run.

 

It took no time to convince Mum that he had to go to Rotorua. He had to find Hine and protect her. There was no-one else. She cried and held him, but didn't try to change his mind. He put his and Jones's weapons into a sports bag with a few changes of clothes. He phoned the police anonymously and told them he had seen the missing girl, Hine Horatai, in Rotorua. Maybe it would make life difficult for her abductors. Then he collapsed onto the sofa, and stared at the ceiling.

‘Mat?' Cassandra slipped into the lounge, where he was sleeping. They were at Sue's house, and the night noises were all wrong. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw some horrible tipua, or that ghastly patupaiarehe, crawling towards him.

‘Hi,' he murmured. Cass was still in those leathers, and looked alien; too ‘everyday' to be the real her.

She knelt on the floor, leaning over him. ‘I want to come, too. Jones is my friend.'

‘Then stay here and find him.' He hadn't meant it to come out so brusquely. He reached out and grabbed her bony shoulder. ‘He's here somewhere, Cass. It's a puzzle. And you're the best person at puzzles I know.'

He thought she would argue, but she didn't. ‘Okay. But I'll be on call. Any time, day or night.' She put her hand on his chest, bent over him and kissed his cheek. She smelt of Mum's perfumes.

He wanted to pull her close, but his imagination kept suggesting what might be happening to Hine and he felt like throwing up. ‘Sorry,' he said, unsure what for. Cassandra just nodded, stood reluctantly, and tiptoed to the door. ‘It's weird,' he said to her back. ‘Your clothes, I mean. You look strange.' He didn't know why he said it, it was the least
important thing that had happened that night, but his mouth just kept babbling.

‘I was supposed to look normal,' she said, slightly tartly.

‘Sorry.' He felt numb and stupid. ‘I'm tired.'

She nodded, and slipped away without another word. For a moment he wished she had stayed. But sleep stole in and snuffed out his candle. He dreamt of Jones, caught up in the arms of a giant tree, his face slowly turning to bark, his eyes to knots in the wood.

Thursday

T
he Rotorua bus left at twenty to eleven. Mat had slept until after eight, when the unfamiliar house noises broke through his exhaustion. He'd called Wiri and Kelly, a short and anxious conversation. They were in Wellington, five hours' drive from Taupo and further from Rotorua.

‘Wiri is going to drive up,' he told Mum at the breakfast table. ‘I've asked him to call past on the way through, and check on things. They'll have left by now. The last text I had said they would be in Taupo by two.' He wished he had thought to call last night, but his brain hadn't been working too well.

At the bus terminal, Mum pulled him into a fervent hug, and Cassandra — still in Mum's old leathers as she had not yet gone home — hugged him, too. He realized as he let Cass go what it was that he didn't like about her new look: with it, she was no longer ‘one of the boys' or ‘kinda kooky' she no longer had a pigeonhole, and he didn't know how to react to her. He didn't have the energy to explore that just now. ‘Take care,' he whispered in her ear.

‘I wish I could have the police lock you up, to keep you
out of this,' said his mother in a shaky voice. ‘Don't you do anything stupid, Matiu Douglas. And come home.' He nodded obediently. ‘I love you, Mat.'

‘Love you, too. Gotta go, Mum! Bye!' He boarded the bus, and waved until they were both out of sight, then pulled up the hood of the tracksuit top, and wrapped himself in thought. He pushed the violence of last night from his mind, and picked up his cellphone. He texted Riki, letting him know that he was coming. He felt he ought to be making plans, but he was too exhausted to think. Instead he closed his eyes, and let it all fall away for a while.

 

He jerked awake when another passenger tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Hey, mate, wake up. We're here.' The bus was pulling to a halt in a parking space off the main street. He could smell Rotorua's sulphurous tang in the air. Rain was falling in a light mist.

Rotorua is around eighty kilometres north of Taupo, built on the south shores of the largest of a cluster of lakes. The skin of the Earth is thin here. Hot mud pools and geysers bubble and gush through the rock. ‘Roto-Vegas' the locals sometimes call it, for its tourist-trap culture. There are replica Maori villages and nightly kapa haka displays, theme parks where visitors can view the geysers and hot pools, and lots of hotels. Rotorua has a long history, by New Zealand standards. Whakarewarewa has been a pa site from the fourteenth century, growing into the fortress of Te Puia. Europeans did not arrive until the 1820s, when traders and missionaries established stations. European
settlement changed Rotorua drastically, as the Europeans brought guns, cloth, alcohol and the trappings of the British Empire. Rotorua became a spa town, a tourist destination even then.

Mat had been here before, of course, but not since he had learned of Aotearoa, and how to move between the worlds. He knew no-one here. The Maori of Rotorua are sub-tribes of the Te Arawa, whereas Mat was Ngati Kahungunu on his father's side and that wasn't going to help. These distinctions are important, especially in Aotearoa.

And if Parukau was here, maybe other warlocks were too: John Bryce. Donna Kyle. Sebastian Venn. Who knew which others?
I've got to find Hine. But how …?

He walked down Tutanekai Street, the taiaha jutting from his sports bag attracting a few looks, and turned into the main shopping area, where cafés, pubs and souvenir shops serviced the tourist market. Foreign faces and languages were everywhere. It felt strange, as if he had wandered onto a tourism infomercial set. He found a café and lunched while trying to make a plan. First up, he needed a place to stay. Wiri might know people here, but they would date back to his servitude to Puarata, and be of no use now. Wiri had texted him to let him know that he had left Wellington at about nine in the morning. They wouldn't be here until mid-afternoon. Kelly was coming, too. Mat guessed Wiri wasn't too happy about that. Weren't pregnant women supposed to be confined to bed or something?

After eating, he walked down to the lake and booked into a big hotel, one that looked out over the lake to Mokoia Island, a dim shadow in the misty rain. Mat thought about Hine, and
what Jones had said about her. Why had she been kidnapped? Was it mere vindictiveness or was she significant in ways they didn't realize?

The hotel staff seemed anxious that a teenager staying alone might trash his room or try to slip out without paying, because they seemed at pains to lecture him on behaviour, and to get payment in advance. Mum had credited his account so he had plenty of funds. The room was pleasantly nondescript. Mat had just laid his stuff down when his cellphone rang.

‘Hi, Riki,' he answered, trying to keep his voice light. ‘Are you on the island?'

‘Yeah, man! Cold and wet! Your text said you're coming to Roto-Vegas? How come? Your mum sick of you already?'

‘I wish it was just that, man.'

Riki was silent for a second, and his voice became sombre. ‘Wassup?'

Mat quickly told him about the attacks on Mum's and Jones's houses, Jones's disappearance and the kidnapping of Hine. ‘I think … I hope … that Jones might be alive. But I can't reach him … and I think Hine is important somehow. I'm going to try and find her anyway, and get her back. I can't just let some bastard run off with her.'

‘I'll be there by two o'clock, dude.'

‘You don't have to. We're just looking round at this stage, and—'

‘Are you kidding? Jones is my mate! You, too. Anyone that comes at you guys is comin' at me. Simple. I'll get my stuff together and grab the next ferry to the city from this here island.'

‘You're on Mokoia Island, the place Hinemoa swims to in the legend, right?'

Riki paused. ‘Yeah. Why?'

‘Oh, just reminding myself.'

Riki grunted. ‘Huh. Anyways, dude, I'll be on the next ferry, so you meet me on the lakefront a bit after two, and we'll work out what to do.'

 

Mat sat on one of the lakefront benches, watching a sleek white powerboat glide through the other watercraft and pull in alongside the jetty. Riki, a long sports bag over his shoulder, was already at the railing of the boat. Tall and stringy with wild hair, his normally laughing face had a hard and serious edge that Mat hadn't seen since that night at Waikaremoana. He leapt to the dock as soon as the boat touched the dock, to the annoyance of the ferrymen, strode up to Mat and threw his arms around him. ‘Mat. Good to see you, bro. Any news?'

It felt so good to see Riki that Mat almost forgot his guilt at dragging him into danger. ‘No. But I've got an idea. We've got to keep things moving. Wiri is on the way. He'll be here any time now.'

Riki chewed his lip. ‘Sure, what's the plan? And have you called Damian?'

Mat shook his head. ‘No. He's in the South Island at that tournament. I feel bad enough dragging you into this.'

Riki shook his head. ‘Dame'll be gutted if we don't call him, man.'

Mat shook his head. ‘Don't, please. This could get much
worse than Waikaremoana. But I promise I'll talk to Wiri about it.' Riki looked mollified for now. Mat's anxiety for Hine and Jones dissipated a little — just to have Riki here to talk to was great — but there was work to be done. Although part of him wanted to wait until Wiri got here, he had a horrible feeling that every minute could be crucial.

They made small talk as they hurried back to the hotel, but then Mat got down to business: ‘I've got a plan to try and find Hine.' He rummaged in his bag. ‘We need something of hers.'

Riki raised his eyebrows. ‘Got anything? A heart-shaped locket she gave you, perhaps?' he added slyly.

‘No! She went to Jones's with just a few bits of clothing … and this!' Mat held up a small metal disc on a ribbon. ‘Swimming medal. It's dated 2006 and she's kept it. I found it in the room she was using. I think it'll do the trick.'

Riki looked doubtful. ‘A swimming medal? What's special about that?'

‘Well, when she talked about her swimming she was really proud. And … well, she's an avatar.'

Riki snorted. ‘She's a seven-metre-tall blue alien?'

‘The blue aliens were Na'vi, it was the—' Mat peered at Riki, who was winking at him. ‘Dork, why did I call you in again?'

‘To cheer yourself up. So, she's an avatar: what does that mean in the mysterious and spooky world of Mat Douglas, Apprentice Wizard?'

Mat exhaled, seeking the right words. ‘In Aotearoa, it refers to people who are born in our world, but are like legendary people reborn. Kind of.'

‘You're lucky I don't already know you're nuts … A real person, but also legendary?'

‘Yeah. See, Hine is the avatar of Hinemoa, from the Hinemoa and Tutanekai story. Her fate is tied up with water. Or so Jones reckons.'

‘Jones is a very strange man,' Riki observed. ‘Okay, what do we do?'

Mat frowned. ‘I think I'll need to concentrate on it. I haven't done this before, but I know the theory. Can you give me some privacy?'

Riki got up. ‘Sure.' He threw his sports bag on the second bed, and stretched. ‘Man, they worked us hard these last few days at the taiaha camp. Got some good new moves, though. Anyhow, I'll go take a shower.'

 

Mat barely heard the shower, or Riki's clattering around. He just sat, cradling the medal, and let his mind reach out, focused on the face of the girl he had known for only a short time but to whom he felt so close.
She's not for you
: Jones's words echoed in his mind. He knew that, but it wouldn't stop him trying to save her, though.
Hine! Hine! Can you hear me? I'm here, here in Rotorua. Where are you?

The minutes flew away, and all there was were those words, a mantra, hanging in the air.

Once, he thought he might have felt her presence. Her breathing. A fluttering of awareness. But it was gone before he could focus. He fought a wave of tiredness, laying back and blinking to stay awake.

‘Any luck?' Riki came back in, wrapped in a towel. He was
skinny enough that you could count his ribs, but his shoulders were muscled and his belly flat.

Mat shook his head doubtfully. ‘I don't know …'

‘You look whacked, bro,' Riki commented. ‘You need to rest up? Wiri and Kels'll be here soon.'

It was very tempting … But the feeling that time was slipping away persisted. ‘No, let's go get something to drink, then I'll try again.'

 

Ten minutes later they were down by the lake, sipping milk-shakes on a park bench. The sun was battling successive waves of clouds from the south. Wind gusted and whipped up some white-topped waves. It wasn't peak season, but there were still lots of tourists, mostly Japanese, wrapped in bright parkas and photographing everything.

Riki turned to him, about to speak, when he froze, staring over Mat's shoulder. Mat followed his gaze to where a gull had landed on a railing a few feet away, looking at them with button-like eyes. ‘It's watching us, man,' Riki whispered.

It would be easy to scoff, but Mat didn't. The gull was too intent, too focused. ‘Maybe we should go back to the room,' Mat breathed.

Another gull swooped to the other end of the bench, mere feet from them. This close, its familiarity was overlaid with menace. It looked big and vicious. Then a sparrow landed beside it, calmly ignoring the bigger bird, its beady eyes on him and him alone. Others came, until the two boys were sitting in a circle of silent, cold-eyed birds.

‘Jeez, I always hated that Hitchcock movie,' Riki groaned.

Mat looked up, glancing along the lakefront, where someone was walking towards them, through the crowds. A brown-skinned woman, in a long coat, with a mane of grey hair. She walked like a stalking heron, with an uneven bobbing gait. Her eyes fixed on his face, and the ground seemed to quiver silently with each step. Her coat floated behind her like a feathered cloak, or wings. A name from legend entered his mind, from conversations with Jones and Wiri …
Kurangaituku
. The Birdwitch.

‘Riki,' he breathed. His friend was already on his feet. Mat stood and looked about him. The gulls squawked threateningly, fluttered about them, wings thumping the air. Suddenly they were in a sea of beaks and wings.

‘Poai,' the woman called, in a harsh voice that seemed to come from the throat of every bird about them. ‘Poai, stay right where you are!'

 

Parukau felt a tentative touch on his shoulder, and woke with a jerk. It was Deano, the young man puppy-dog, eager to please but frightened to disturb him. He grimaced, his mind groggy.
Damned drug-dart … tipua scum
… It felt like someone had poured glue into his veins then encased him in cotton wool. It took him several seconds just to focus his eyes. His watch read nearly quarter past eight in the morning.

‘Where are we?' he managed.

‘Roto-Vegas, chief. We just hit the city. Where you wanna stay?'

Must I do everything?
‘I don't give a shit, Deano. Any ol' dump … No, hang on … It's gotta be side-by-side twin-shares
with an adjoining door. Find a tourist info.' He dredged Evan's memories. ‘There's a bureau by the lakefront. Get someone there to find us a place.'

In the back seat, Brutal was staring out the window, having lapsed completely into silence since the fight last night. He looked like he was in shock, and he had his hands pressed to his bandaged belly. Evan had stitched his stomach wound before leaving. Brutal had blubbed throughout. The girl, Hine, was asleep, leaning against the opposite window. Ronnie was in another car following them, with Ko and their little girls. He wanted them all under his wing. With the Roadhawks cut down or deserted, he needed them: the men to fight; Ko and the babies for leverage. Ronnie would fight or his family would die — it was that simple. The other two men, Deano and Brutal, he would just have to keep his eye on. If they could handle some weird shit, they would be of some use.