The Lost Tohunga (20 page)

‘So, I had heard that Aethlyn Jones had taken a protégé … I have even heard your name. Now here you are, determined to play the hero. Ngatoro thinks I will just give you what you want, does he?' She didn't seem at all surprised at the revelation that Ngatoro, and others, had been imprisoned by Puarata. ‘What do you hope to gain, boy? Power? Status? The love of this girl Hine? She is a pretty thing, isn't she?' She looked at Mat thoughtfully. ‘You are even a little in love with her — but she isn't for you.'

‘I know that,' he told her. ‘I'm just trying to help her.'

She put her finger to his lips again. ‘Hush, boy. I know you know. I've seen inside your head. Your motives are clear to me. You are that rare thing: a selfless person. Although you want things for yourself, you are prepared to put those wants aside for the sake of those you love, even a little.' She bared her gums. ‘Oh, I know about love, although I'm just an old crone in a cave. Love is a kind of fire, made of belief. Love lasts as long and shines as bright as you believe it to. You can ignite it with a single glance, and douse it with a single doubt. It burns, and flickers. You must feed it, or it will turn to ashes. But no flame burns forever, boy. Not even the sun, or the fires that well up from beneath the stone.' Her voice was bleak and faintly regretful.

He felt a pang of fear, that she would not aid him after all. ‘Please, Mahuika, will you help me? I must save Hine and Ngatoro! I must return with your fire!'

‘Must you, must you? Why? Why should I care? The world outside means nothing to me. Why should I help you or anyone else?'

He couldn't think of a reason that would sway her, if she cared so little about the world. He took a deep breath, and met her sightless eyes. ‘What must I do?' he asked her, as humbly as he could. ‘I would do anything, give anything, to rescue Hine and Ngatoro.'

Her blind gaze seemed to look through him. ‘Would you indeed, boy? Anything?'

‘Yes — yes, I would.'

She regarded him for a long time. Finally, she opened her mouth again. ‘Did Aethlyn Jones tell you how to win power from the powerful?'

He shook his head.

‘You must give to receive, Matiu Douglas. That is what he would have told you, had he been here. I was guardian of the primal fire, until I was tricked into relinquishing it. I have languished here ever since. Few come any more, and most end up feeding my slippery friends in the pool. I have grown sick of men and their taking. If you wish for fire, Matiu Douglas, then you must give. You must sacrifice.'

He looked down, and into himself. Then he looked up.

‘What must I give?' he asked in a small voice.

She leant towards him, so he could smell her poisonous breath. ‘You must give yourself, Matiu Douglas.'

He felt a shiver of fear, and a slickness on his brow. ‘What do you mean?'

The blind crone cackled low and mirthlessly. ‘You must give me your Pledge. A Pledge can take many forms. Puarata demanded one of loyalty of his warlocks that was linked to their power — if they broke with him, their powers were lessened for a time.' She reached out and clutched his face in
hands that felt like heated metal clamps. ‘You will pledge me your service, Matiu. Pledge me that, and I will aid you. Betray that promise, and my wrath will find you.'

He stared at her ruined face, and her horribly seeing blind orbs. He nodded slowly, and she felt the movement through her hands. She dropped them, smiling gummily. ‘Good,' she purred. ‘Good. Your service is accepted.' She pulled him towards her, and kissed his cheeks with burning lips. ‘I will aid you.' She added, cackling, ‘I never liked that arrogant bastard Puarata or his pustulent minions.'

He nodded slowly, frightened as to what he had just committed himself. What might she demand of him? A thousand horrible fates flashed before his eyes. She snickered as if she read them there, flashing her gums. ‘Your promise is given and heard. Violate it, and this little flame in here' — she tapped his chest—‘will go out. You hear me? Break your oath and you will die inside. Now, give me your hand.'

He held out his right hand. She shook her head, and then took his left hand instead. ‘You are right-handed, are you not?' she asked. He nodded. ‘I thought as much,' she replied, and then gripped his little finger. ‘This will hurt,' she said cheerily. ‘It will hurt a lot.'

Then she pinched the fingernail on the little finger of his left hand, and ripped it off.

The pain was excruciating — a liquid, acidic fire that tore through his hand and arm and racked his body as he threw back his head and howled. All he could see was fire; red agony that shook him uncontrollably. He snatched back his hand, and gasped over it, as the pain subsided slowly.

When he opened his eyes, a tongue of fire danced in his
gaze. It lay in the palm of Mahuika's hand. It was his tiny fingernail burning with a tiny flame that didn't consume it. The flame burned with a purity and brightness unlike any he had seen, captivatingly lovely.

‘Aethlyn Jones told me that a foreign god with the strange name of Odin sacrificed the sight of one eye for the gift of prophecy,' Mahuika told him. ‘A strange choice, in my view; but then, I gave two eyes, and gained less.' She thrust the burning nail at him. ‘Take it and go, and rejoice that you are only the third man to leave this place alive. Go, Taker! Go before I change my mind. And do not forget your oath!'

He sat there, and looked at her. His little finger felt as if it was being cut in half slowly with a blunted knife. But he felt a sudden surge of pity for the old woman. He reached out with his right hand, and took the nail tentatively between his forefinger and thumb. The heat was searing, yet it did not seem to damage his hand. He reached out, grasped the right hand of the old woman. He turned it over, and fitted his burning nail into the puckered flesh of her forefinger as her mouth fell gently open.

‘Here, grandmother. Take this, as a gift from me to you.'

She sighed, bent her head, and shook gently. The carven moko of her face seemed to flare softly to light, like rivers of lava coursing her cheeks. She blinked, and the milkiness drained from her eyes, revealing copper irises that focused intently on his face. She seemed younger, somehow.

Wordlessly, he screwed up his courage, and offered her another finger of his left hand.

Friday evening

M
at climbed the path from out of the caves, both hands wrapped in blood-soaked rags, every movement agony. But cupped in his right palm, he cradled his prize — a tiny piece of fingernail that glowed, a tiny whisper of flame playing on it. True flame, to burn away the shadows.

I did it …

He tried not to think about what he had given away, to gain this tiny thing. Nor what the Fire-Queen might eventually demand. The old woman had seemed to grow younger with each new nail; when he left, she was more like a thirty-year-old than the ancient crone he had first beheld. Her eyes remained ancient, but her body was fuller, her skin more youthful. She had a frightening type of beauty, the sort that hurt the retinas. Burnished eyes that smouldered and fingers that seared. In some ways she frightened him more, not less.

Outside, the daylight had gone, and only the tongue of fire lit the path, like a little piece of a setting sun. He stepped through Mahuika's gate, cradling the tiny flame, and looked about him. ‘Fitzy?'

Then he froze.

A scrawny, ageless man sat on a rock above him, kicking his feet like a child. He had white skin and colonial-era clothing, and his chin was smeared with blood. His orange hair, piled like a windblown haystack, shimmered in the half-light. He held a Labrador on his lap, breathing in wet rasps. Fitzy's eye rolled towards Mat, and his limbs twitched.

‘Turehu blood,' the pale thing smirked, licking his lips. ‘My favourite.'

 

Another patupaiarehe
… Mat stared up at the pale thing, his heart pounding. ‘Put him down!' He brandished the Fire-Nail, although even moving his hands sent screaming pulses of pure agony through them. ‘Put him down or I'll burn you alive.'

The patupaiarehe curled his lip. ‘Will you just, my pretty little boy? Then I certainly won't put him down, will I?' He sat up, kicked off, and floated through the air, down to the bare rock before the gate, about ten feet from Mat. He held Fitzy in front of him, as a shield, clamped effortlessly in one arm. ‘What is it you've got there, boy? Something of value?'

All about them, the birds in the trees sat watching and waiting, a silent audience. He didn't know how to answer. Fitzy whimpered in the patupaiarehe's grasp. Mat's brain seemed to seize up, like a jammed machine.

‘What is it?' the patupaiarehe insisted. ‘Is it something of hers? Is it a fire-nail of Mahuika?' He grinned ferally. ‘Yes, of course it is! How fascinating.' He cocked his head, as if listening to an unheard voice, then licked his lips. ‘I must take it to my mistress. It will please her, make me her favourite. Give it to me — give it to Heron!'

No!
He bowed his head, trying desperately to think.

‘Give it to me or your little friend here dies,' Heron wheedled insistently. ‘Give it to me.' He held out Fitzy in one skinny arm, holding thirty kilos of Labrador effortlessly. ‘Exchange …'

He could see no way out of it. Defeat seemed to lurk at every turn and it now seemed that all he could hope for was to keep himself and as many of those he loved alive as he could. Starting with Fitzy.

He slowly stepped forward, holding out both hands; the Fire-Nail in his right hand; and his left hand ready to pull the turehu to himself. His bandaged hands throbbed with merciless waves of pain, and he gritted his teeth.

The patupaiarehe's hands blurred, snatching the Fire-Nail and stepping backwards. But Mat reached desperately, gasping in pain as his bandaged fingers grasped the turehu. Fitzy twisted suddenly and bit at Heron, forcing the patupaiarehe away. He snarled as he backed from them, cradling the Fire-Nail in his hand.

Mat held Fitzy against him protectively. ‘Fitzy?' he whispered.

‘I'll be fine,' Fitzy muttered. ‘Caught by a patupaiarehe. Damn, that's embarrassing!'

Heron smirked in triumph. The flame lit his eyes. ‘Got it!' he crowed. He cocked his head again. ‘I must take it to her.' He turned back to Mat. ‘But first I must kill you, and now there is nothing to prevent me.' He raised the hand holding the Fire-Nail, as if to smite him with it.

Mat stepped in front of Fitzy to shield him. There wasn't time for anything else. But as Heron gestured with the Nail,
his own hand burst into flame, and the patupaiarehe screamed in agony, his back arching and face contorting.

Mat gaped in sudden hope, which died as another shadow fell over them, a vast shadow with massive wings.

‘My children told me you would be here,' rasped Kurangaituku.

 

Mat looked up, his heart in his mouth. Kurangaituku stood beyond Heron on a rock, her dirty grey hair fanned about her head, falling over the thick cloak of feathers that covered her shoulders. About her waist she wore a piupiu, a flax kilt. Her dark tattooed face was expressionless. It looked like etched leather.

Heron turned, cradling his burning hand, his eyes glazed with pain. ‘Witch, the mistress must have this. It is commanded.'

Kurangaituku's eyes glittered. ‘Commanded by whom, Heron?'

The patupaiarehe's voice faltered. ‘By … er …' He shook his head, then nodded again. ‘It is commanded!' His face was drawn with pain from handling the Fire-Nail.

Mat watched the Birdwitch's hands sprout claws a foot long. ‘You have been subverted, Heron. Another has stolen command of you.' She stalked closer. ‘Place the Fire-Nail on the ground, dead thing.'

Mat flexed his hands painfully. The bloody rags were like clumsy mittens, and he felt nauseous from the pain and blood loss. Beneath them, he had no fingernails left, and no weapon. He glanced at Fitzy, but the little turehu looked weak and his
throat glistened with blood. They were helpless. Their only hope was this apparent division in the enemy ranks.

Heron backed slightly, looking about him. ‘Don't come near me, Witch! I have primal fire. I am patupaiarehe. I will rip you apart and burn the remains.'

Kurangaituku hissed and stalked closer, flexing claws that would have made Freddy Krueger blanch. ‘Put the Nail down, Silas.'

Silas
. The name dropped into the silence like a stone into water, and rippled over Heron. He gave a small sob, and tried to run.

‘Hold, Silas!' the Birdwitch rasped.

The patupaiarehe jerked like a puppet on tangled strings, and suddenly couldn't move. He wailed in terror as the Witch pulled back her right hand. Mat stared, then looked away as the talons plunged like some mechanical tool into Heron's chest. He gasped, a sound that died as it began, as with a wet, tearing sound he slid backwards off the Witch's claw, leaving a pulsing organ in her grasp, connected by a tangle of blood vessels to the hole in his breast. The vessels tore and snapped as he fell. The Nail dropped from his lifeless hand and fell smouldering to the dirt, but it didn't go out.

Mat gaped as the Witch gulped down the still pulsing heart, then turned her head towards him. ‘Don't move, poai.'

Winged shapes swooped from the sky behind her, and the birds closed in.

Friday afternoon

I
t was late afternoon before Tim Spriggs could get a launch to take them to the island. They packed their antique weaponry into kitbags and stowed themselves in a small cabin.

‘You don't have to come,' Wiri patted Kelly's belly. ‘Maybe if you got some rest … ?'

She looked at him with tired yet determined eyes. ‘Nice try, mate,' she drawled. ‘I snatched a few winks while you and Tim were sorting out the boat. You're not getting rid of me that easily.' She didn't tell him that she was having light contractions every fifteen minutes. Part of her knew this was probably foolish, but Matty was out there somewhere, and it was her idea to go to the island. It would be fine.

The pilot of the launch was a friendly-faced man called Gavin, with curly dark hair tucked beneath a stained naval cap, and filthy overalls. He wasn't the regular pilot, he told them, just a mechanic doing some maintenance on the engine. ‘May as well give her a run out,' he said laconically, but Kelly could see that his interest was pricked. She felt another contraction coming and sat hunched over, keeping her face serene.
You're not keeping me out of this
, she told the lump in her belly.

Wiri waited until they were chugging out over the water, and Gavin was busy in the wheelhouse, before opening the kitbags. Tim Spriggs had gone shopping in Rotorua-Aotearoa earlier and purchased three muskets, three powder pouches and three dozen balls of lead, which he had then soaked in melted silver. Wiri had a mere with a rope on the handle looped about his wrist, and Mat's taiaha was propped in the corner of the cabin. Tim was screwing bayonets under the muzzles of the muskets.

Kel's cellphone rang. It wasn't a number she had programmed. ‘Hello?'

‘Hi. This is Cassandra Allen — I'm a friend of Mat.'

‘Yes, I remember you, Cassandra. You were the only one at the wedding better dressed than me! How are you?' She dropped her voice. ‘Any news on Jones?'

‘Yes! We've found him!'

A huge swell of relief bubbled through her. She turned her gaze forward to the island, and hoped she was right about all this. ‘That's wonderful, Cassandra. Tell me all about it.'

 

Gavin deftly steered them into the small steel-and-concrete wharf on the southeast tip of Mokoia Island and moored the launch. He would stay with the boat. The taiaha school Riki had attended was over, so they would be alone on the island. If Gavin was alarmed at the odd weaponry of his passengers, he gave no sign; in fact, it looked like he wanted to join them. Wiri shouldered his musket and carried Mat's taiaha. Spriggs held another musket, and Kelly the third, cradling it awkwardly as she waddled in the men's wake.

Fantails darted around them, a reassuring presence. Somewhere out of sight a bellbird chimed. They took the short path that wound from the docks to Hinemoa's Pool. ‘It's nice here. We should come again, when baby is born,' whispered Kelly in Wiri's ear.

He looked back at her and flashed his teeth. ‘Yeah, we could work on number two.'

‘You betcha, big boy.'

Wiri grinned, then looked at Spriggs. ‘I'll go ahead and scout the clearing. Back in five.' Then he stole into the forest and vanished.

Kelly felt another contraction, and closed her eyes, wincing slightly. When she opened them, Tim was looking at her with concern on his face. ‘Are you well, Kelly, my dear?'

‘Yeah, I'm fine. Just getting kicked a little, that's all.'

‘He picks his moments, doesn't he?' the Englishman smiled sympathetically. He was a father several times over, his family in Hamilton-Aotearoa. ‘When is he due?'

‘In about three weeks.' She forced a smile as the contraction eased and passed.

Tim looked uneasy. He probably knew as well as she did that babies could very easily come early, especially in situations of stress or physical activity. He didn't look at all convinced by her protestations.

Wiri jogged back. ‘There are a couple of tipua in the clearing, but they aren't on alert,' he reported briskly. ‘You okay, love?' he added to Kelly, his eyes narrowing as he took in her pallor.

She stood awkwardly, holding her distended belly. ‘Yeah. Let's get it over with.'

Kelly watched Wiri nod and look at Spriggs; something passing between them, about her no doubt. ‘We need to go over to Aotearoa,' was all her husband said, though.

Spriggs nodded and pointed up the forested slope. ‘There's a partly fallen tree up there. If you walk under it, you can come out in Aotearoa if you wish to.' He inclined his head. ‘Shall we?'

Wiri looked at Kelly. ‘I'd prefer you stayed with the boat.'

‘Like hell, lover-boy. I'm going right where you are.' She fixed her eye on him and put her hands on hips. ‘Or else the biggest fight tonight is going to happen right now. And you won't win.'

They eyed each other, and then Wiri sighed heavily. ‘Just be careful.'

‘Aren't I always?' She flashed her most winsome smile. ‘I love my husband,' she told Spriggs. ‘He understands me perfectly. Now, let's go find Matty.'

They wound up a small path and then branched onto another barely deserving of the name, and had to almost crawl to pass beneath the toppled tree Spriggs had identified. There was a faint prickling sensation, but that was all, and the only noticeable change was in the taste of the air: cooler and damper, richer and more pungent. The first stars gleamed through the forest canopy, twinkling faintly in the darkening sky.

Wiri gestured for silence. They crept after him down the slope and filed around the southern walkway, almost identical to the real-world setting, until they reached the clearing about Hinemoa's Pool. There was a building, an old mission house; just beyond the pool which bubbled enticingly. Kelly peered
about warily, until Wiri touched her shoulder and pointed, and she realized that they weren't alone.

Sitting in the shadows beside the mission house were half a dozen or more tipua goblins, their reptile-like skin pallid. Kelly looked at Wiri, who merely shrugged, tapped Spriggs on the shoulder and stepped into the open.

The tipua gaped, then snatched up their small weapons in skinny hands, and snarled. For a few moments they all looked at each other, then Wiri strode forward. The largest of the tipua bellowed, and the goblins pelted across the clearing towards them. The two men stepped in front of Kelly, raised their guns and fired. The muskets coughed explosively, and two goblins cartwheeled backwards. The rest momentarily vanished behind a cloud of stinging smoke. Kelly blinked furiously and raised her musket, but the men before her and the smoke obscured her view. Then a goblin launched itself out of the smoke, screeching a war-cry that died in its throat as Wiri's taiaha whipped across and cracked its skull. Dark fluid splattered, and it tumbled away. Spriggs's bayonet speared another, and then Wiri danced forward, smashing skulls and arms in a series of flashing blows. He was a one-man front-line, a barrier the tipua could not pass. One tried to edge around him, and Spriggs slammed the butt of his musket into its skull with a wet crunch. The remnants fled.

Wiri and Spriggs edged through the gun smoke which hung heavily about them. The sudden silence jarred the senses, the only sound the panting of the two men. Then the mists shifted as more shapes emerged. Two tall, pale figures strode through the powder smoke into the glade. They were human-sized but lean and wiry, with matted red hair and feral eyes. The male
held a broadsword, Celtic knot-work decorating the guard and hilt. The smaller was female; she had no weapon save her nails and teeth.
Vampires
, was Kelly's thought, her mind flashing to the B-movies an old boyfriend used to make her watch. The creatures stank of rotting meat and soil.

‘Patupaiarehe,' Wiri breathed, and then they were on them. Tim Spriggs yelled and staggered as the female seized his gun before he could align it, while Wiri exchanged blows with the male. The creature's broadsword sliced about with sight-defying speed, and Wiri was forced to defend desperately, wood chips flying with each parry; all the while, the sword-fighter hissed like an angry snake. Kelly lifted her musket, trying to find a mark in the dancing figures.

Spriggs was trying to wrench his musket from the female's grasp, but she held it effortlessly with one hand while raking at him with her other hand, forcing him inexorably backwards. Then she shrieked and wrenched, and Kelly heard the Englishman's right arm snap. He shouted and fell, and in an instant the feral thing was on him. Time seemed to slow as Kelly levelled her musket with its gleaming bayonet. She shrieked, and lunged. Something in her belly tore, and a curtain of red agony flashed across her eyes, but she felt the bayonet of her musket plunge into the patupaiarehe woman's chest. The creature shrieked, and Kelly found herself staring into her mad eyes. The vampiress sniggered and began to pull herself off the bayonet slowly, staring at Kelly murderously. ‘Wrong weapon, girl,' she snarled.

‘How's this one then?' and Kelly pulled the trigger. The musket roared, and blew the vampire woman off Spriggs and onto her back, her chest blackened and burnt, the smell of
hot, rotting meat mingling with the smoke. A look of disbelief stole across her face, becoming terror as she felt the silver ball bite. Her face emptied and her eyes rolled back in her skull. She sagged, and lay unmoving.

The male patupaiarehe howled in shock and disbelief, leaping away from Wiri and staring at his fallen companion. Wiri interposed himself, crouching in readiness for a renewed attack, breathing heavily. Spriggs crawled to his feet, but all Kelly really saw was the face of the male patupaiarehe, contorted by shock and malice. She thought it was going to fly at her. But instead, with a desolate cry, it turned and was gone, a dark shape that the bush swallowed up in an instant.

She staggered and fell. Wiri gasped and ran to her. ‘Kel! Are you—?'

‘No. I'm fine. You were right about bringing silver,' she added, barely able to think coherently through the pain in her stomach. She looked up dazedly. ‘Honey, can you see if the midwife is ready?'

Then another contraction tore her, and everything went scarlet and black. She heard herself cry out, and fell to her knees. She heard Wiri gasp, and then he was half-carrying her. For a while, all there was was pain. But it receded at last. They were in a dark room that smelt of mildew and rot. A lamp flared, and she blinked. She realized they were inside the mission house that stood in the clearing. It was a mess, the few wooden pews pushed over, prayer books and oddments scattered about. In one corner, though, a dark shape huddled; a man tied up. Tim helped her sit, his arm hanging at an ugly angle, and then he too slumped against the wall, cradling the broken arm gingerly. Wiri darted over, and
removed the sack from the prisoner's head. She had hoped it was Matty, but it wasn't. It was the missing policeman, the man who had released them after the hotel shooting: Tutanekai Hollis.

Wiri untied Hollis, and the policeman stood shakily, stretching his limbs, taking in their antiquated weapons without reaction. ‘How did you get here?' Wiri asked him.

‘There was a woman, she called herself Donna,' the cop answered. ‘And there were …' He ducked his head as if embarrassed. ‘Things like orcs or something from the
Rings
movies. And … uh, vampires …' He looked at Tim Spriggs. ‘What the hell is going on, Tim? And who are you all really, anyway?'

Tim Spriggs began talking to him in a low voice. Filling him in on a new version of reality, no doubt. Kelly looked at Wiri, who was still breathing hard. ‘What
were
they, love?' Kelly asked.

‘The woman was patupaiarehe, and the male was Sluagh Sidhe. Vampires, if you want a reference point. But don't try waving crosses or garlic at them. Creatures from myth.' He was still panting. ‘Damn, he was fast.' He showed Kelly the taiaha: it was almost in splinters.

‘They don't like silver,' Kelly observed.

‘No. But you still need to pierce the heart or brain to kill them. Otherwise, you've just got to hit them so hard they can't take it.' He looked at the taiaha ruefully. ‘This thing wasn't up to it.' There was a new sound in his voice she had never heard. It wasn't fear, exactly. But it was respect and, almost, apprehension.

‘Next time, just shoot it,' Kelly told him.

Wiri looked at her. ‘I knew the dead one,' he commented in a low voice.

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘You knew her?'

‘Yeah. She used to be a war lock, among the first settlers with such powers. Eventually Puarata poisoned her with patupaiarehe blood, and she degenerated until she could no longer even think properly. She became patupaiarehe herself, and fled to the wilds. Last I heard she had met others, and had a nest on Mount Tauhara. Her name was Shonagh.'

‘What was she like?'

‘A war lock. Don't feel bad about her, love.'

She snorted. ‘I'll try and restrain my sympathy, then. What about the guy with the sword?'

‘Col, we called him — not his real name. He was Irish, a Sluagh Sidhe, a malign Irish faery who fled his homeland. He took up with Puarata when he came here, but fled with Shonagh, who was his mistress, after Puarata infected her. He was considered invincible with that sword.' Wiri looked reflective. ‘I kind of liked him, way back when. He wasn't all bad, just angry.'

‘But you'll shoot first and look sad afterwards next time, won't you, darling?'

He half-smiled. ‘Yeah. I promise.'

By the door, Tim Spriggs was still talking quietly and urgently to Hollis, his voice pained. She could guess the content: a quick rough-guide to Aotearoa. Hollis seemed to be taking it fairly well, all things considered. She breathed hard through the next contraction, and opened her eyes to find Wiri holding her hands with concern written all over him.

‘Where's Mat?' Kelly wondered.