The Lost Tohunga (24 page)

Wiri saw Mat and Riki scramble to their feet and join them, and breathed a sigh of relief. They trotted past Kurangaituku, who was on her knees, a broken figure.

Tu Hollis ran behind him, fiddling with the lock of his musket. In front of them the tipua waited in thick, layered ranks. Wiri glanced at Manu. He had never seen such a thing before: a tipua defensive line. Tipua did not crouch in lines — they boiled forward in berserk assaults, screaming and frothing at the mouth.

This is all wrong.

He peered through the gloom, trying to see what was going on. The shadowy massed ranks were only silhouettes, and if he didn't know better, he would have said they had—

He spun. ‘Fan out! Fan out! They've got guns!'

 

Mat heard Wiri's call about the guns, and saw them, too. Rank upon rank of gun barrels fell into line, right down the tipua lines. The rational part of him began to calculate:
Maybe half the goblins have guns — we could lose half our men in one go,
and then they'll roll over the top of us. And what if that firestorm happens again?

The Ngati Maungatautari were trotting forwards, and he kept pace, caught up in the flow, but his mind was desperately looking for something he could do, some ‘magic bullet' to prevent carnage.
God knows how many guns, and only forty targets … What are the odds?
The Fire-Nail barely flickered in his palm, all but drained from breaking into this place. Could he make it ready in time?

‘Drop and take aim!' Manu shouted, and the Ngati Maungatautari fell to one knee. But already the tipua were aiming. It was too late — they were still too bunched, impossible to miss even for untrained goblins.

I've got to do something …

Only one thing sprang to mind. He dropped his taiaha and lifted both hands, shouting as he summoned and sent the only thing he could think of towards the array of glinting
metal
gun barrels.

Electricity, just like Cassandra had showed him, but more than he had ever attempted before. To fail would mean disaster …

He nailed it perfectly.

White sparks blazed, forked spasmodically, and leapt towards the tipua guns. A frightened howl erupted from the goblins as lightning danced among them. Virtually every gun fired as trigger fingers convulsed at the sudden pain stabbing through the hands of their wielders. But the shock of the electricity had ruined all aim. Instead of a level volley into the ranks of Maori warriors, there was only an erratic burst of fire. Lead balls whined through the air, but only a handful of men
shouted in pain, and none went down. Mat swayed as the effort hit him. Then Riki dragged him flat as Manu shouted. ‘Ngati Maungatautari,
fire!'

Forty guns barked in unison, and the front rank of the goblins was blasted apart. The whole body of the enemy staggered backwards, howling and thrown into confusion. It was as if a giant machete had scythed through them as they stood.

Manu lifted his hand, assessing, then grinned viciously. ‘Reload! Let's give 'em another lick!'

It made sense. The tipua had been thrown into chaos, and were incapable of charging. Mat looked past the goblins, searching in the shadows for greater threats. On the steps lurked taller figures, and something that glowed green like a classroom chemistry experiment. He pointed them out to Riki. ‘We've got to stop that fire from happening again!'

Riki nodded. ‘Right with you, bro.'

They ran three steps towards the enemy, spreading their arms and letting the feather cloaks pin their arms again, shouting through the tingling pain, and then they were soaring into the air and over the tipua.

 

Parukau backed away as his goblin war-party disintegrated into chaos. The current of power that had jolted through him receded, releasing his limbs. He could still feel how good it had been to unleash that energy and release such destructive power. Had even Puarata done such a thing?

‘I need more, old man!'

Asher's mental voice, when it came back, was shaky.
Wait …
you must wait … You've exhausted me. I can't channel more, not immediately …

‘DAMMIT, GIVE ME MORE!'

Wait! The source is infinite, but I am not.

‘How long?'

Not long … half a minute.

Half a minute. ‘HOLD THE LINE!' he screamed at his captains. ‘HOLD THE LINE!'

His heart pounded as two man-size shapes leapt into the air, and soared high above.

No! No-one must get inside before me!

A second volley crashed through the tipua, and the goblin lines burst apart. Suddenly the line of warriors was terrifyingly close. He leapt down the stairs, desperate now to rally this remnant that protected him, to buy some last precious seconds.

‘Attack! Attack!' He menaced the tipua with the traces of green fire that still played about his fist. They responded fearfully, staggering forward towards the enemy guns with little conviction, caught between two terrors. ‘We have the numbers!' he implored. ‘Attack!' They streamed away from him, those that could still move, or would. Many fled. He had to resist blasting at them — he had to harbour the rekindling energy.
Damn this!

Instead he spun and gestured at Rose, who hovered behind Donna Kyle, licking her neck. ‘Bring her!' He turned to Stone, waiting at his side with his broadsword in one hand and Hine Horatai in his other. ‘Follow!' he commanded the patupaiarehe, and sprinted towards the Bath House, his eyes searching the night sky above for those two fliers.

 

Wiri spun his taiaha as the warriors beside him drew into a loose skirmish line. From out of the carnage before them staggered a wave of tipua, howling in fury. He saw Manu thrust his smoking pistol into his belt and draw a sabre — Manu had preferred European weaponry for decades — but most of the warriors pulled a patu or mere from their belts, or lifted long taiaha from the ground beside them. They had been lucky, virtually untouched thanks to Mat's burst of electricity. But they were still outnumbered. There had to be close to sixty tipua swarming towards them over the bodies of their fallen comrades, howling for revenge.

Momentum is the key in close combat. Years of war had taught Wiri this. The man going backwards loses his footing, has one eye behind him, and is already defeated mentally. Size and power can only be used off the front foot. ‘Maungatautari, advance!'

Manu gently wove a pattern in the air with his blade. He had a wide smile on his face. ‘Don' s'pose we have time for a haka?' he remarked laconically. About them, the Ngati Maungatautari war-party rose and broke into a slow run, as the enemy boiled closer.

Wiri bared his teeth.
‘Charge!'

Friday night

R
ose's hand clamped on Donna's forearm like steel, and her eyes held no more intelligence than a child. Strange to think she had pitied the girl, but the sharp teeth that had teased her throat offered no release except death. ‘When will he let me drink?' Rose fretted. ‘I'm thirsty.'

All semblance of control and order was gone. There was only chaos now. The firestorm —
how?
And now Kurangaituku — how had the Birdwitch enlisted such aid? What had she promised them? How had she corrupted Wiri and his allies?
Or had she?

She cursed the sigil on her brow. With it there, she was helpless; a loser no matter how this turned out. Only years of pitiless training under Puarata kept her upright. She harboured her remaining strength. There would be a chance, she had to believe that.

Rose hauled her up the stairs to the wide double doors of the Bath House. Beside them, Stone guarded Hine, sword in hand. Hine's face wore a look of sullen anger — and readiness to act. The girl was a gang moll, Donna recalled. She had to be tough. Self-preservation would force her to resist. She tried to
meet the girl's eyes, to establish some kind of rapport. ‘Hine,' she whispered. ‘Be ready. Follow my lead—'

‘Quiet!' Rose casually slapped her, a wafting blow that almost shattered her jaw. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she reeled, but the patupaiarehe's hand kept her upright. ‘No words, Mistress. We have a new master now, and he will let me eat you soon.' She smiled dreamily at the thought.

Her eyes watered and her cheek stung. She blinked, seeing Parukau at the foot of the stairs, staring out over the battlefield. ‘Asher — now!' Parukau called.

Father is aiding him …
Something else died inside her.

She sucked in a breath as two figures dropped out of the skies and landed before Parukau. Matiu Douglas and Riki Waitoa, wearing cloaks of the Birdwitch. They looked incredibly young, and, in that instant, vulnerable and noble and foolish and beautiful.

Parukau cried aloud, and raised his fist to strike again. The air about him boiled with emerald fire.

 

Parukau reached the steps of the Bath House; Stone and Rose hauling the prisoners on ahead. He turned as a whir of wings reached his ears. Spinning, he saw two shapes swooping from the skies towards him. A skinny youth with a taiaha, and Matiu Douglas. He snarled in fury.
You again!
He gathered the emerald current from the hospital wing as it forked towards him again, feeling its power about to peak. He raised his fist.

‘Stop!' Matiu Douglas called.

‘Asher —
now!
' Beyond the boy the goblins and the Maori
warriors fought, and the wails of the tipua told him that they were folding. He had minutes at most. But one burst, aimed at ground level, would be all he needed. Men and tipua, they would perish together.

He pointed his burning hand at the boy to let the flames surge. ‘Burn!'

‘No!' The young Adept threw up his hands, and suddenly they were fighting, mind to mind.

 

Fire! The gift of Mahuika to the world. He held it in his hand, that tiny fingernail. He felt it stir to life again, and begin to slide up his forefinger. It gripped and seemed to root itself into the puckered open wound at the top of the finger. It hurt, like tipping antiseptic on a cut, but it rooted into his fingertip like a normal nail, only blackened and full of menace. He lifted it, felt its power swell. Maybe he could strike, just as the goblin had, and incinerate all before him: Parukau the goblin, Donna Kyle, the two patupaiarehe … Then he saw Hine Horatai among the enemy, held in Stone's fist.

No, not her!

Instead of attacking with the fire, he reached out desperately with his mind, and threw it like a spanner into the machinery of destruction that was brewing inside Parukau. As he opened himself up to it, he saw the current of power flowing from the hospital, and realized that what he was doing was suicidal. He was making himself the circuit-breaker on a line of power that dwarfed any he had ever experienced. But it was too late.

The moment he locked horns with the goblin, a flash of
recognition passed between them.
Parukau!
The centuries-old body-snatcher against a partly-trained youth. He knew within seconds that there could be only one result. He felt the force confronting him shift and solidify, felt the gleeful triumph of Parukau, heard taunting words as unseen hands wrapped around his throat. His vision swam, and the flames grew in the goblin's hands.

‘Yes, boy, it is I,' Parukau purred. ‘Say goodbye!'

 

The past couple of hours had been a nightmare, but Hine was waking now. She was dragging herself from a walking stupor of blood loss and fear. She was recovering from the array of shocks, from seeing the horror of death close up, and the nightmare creatures of this Ghost World. Part of her wanted to crawl away and hide, but she refused.
I'm stronger than this! I can rise above this!
And the need to see Tu Hollis drove her on, to face the world again, however crazy it had become.

For the past half-hour, she had thought only of how she might escape. When Mat Douglas appeared, she saw her opportunity. She could see he was fighting, somehow, some unseen struggle. His hands burned with the same flame as that in Parukau's goblin hand, but it was purer somehow. She could almost sense what they were doing — and she realized that Mat was losing.

She knew that she had to act. Parukau was going to use that hideous fire again, and this time Mat would burn, and Tu and all the others. Then after that she would be at Parukau's mercy. She felt the blaze mount, the light growing hotter and
hotter. The goblin was feeding that flame, and it was going to burn Mat and Tu and the others to ash. She felt Mat flounder, and so she did the only thing she knew.

She called on water to counter the flames.

She could see no physical water here. But this wasn't a physical battle. And she was an avatar, of a legend entwined with a whole lake full of water. Water that filled her dreams, that soaked her soul. She swam through it all her life, the deep water that wanted to swallow her. She called it, called it to douse the fire, and protect those she cared for. She called in desperation, but with total conviction and belief.

And the deep water came.

 

Mat staggered, lost his link to Parukau's mind, and almost fell. The flame in Parukau's hands burst into a ball, and the goblin pulled back his arm to hurl it. But with a sudden roar, water exploded from the very ground around them, as if every geyser in Rotorua had come
here
, right
now
. The windows of the Bath House erupted. Walls shook, and fountains of scalding water tore through the earth. A multitude of massive geysers gushed from the ground and from the broken pipes of the Bath House itself, in a torrent that scythed them all down.

Perhaps the primal flame protected him — he felt no pain.

But the others about him did, as torrents of boiling water slapped them off their feet.

Water and steam billowed about him. He could no longer see Parukau. Riki staggered beside him through the steam and fountaining water, his face buried in his cloak as he stumbled towards the Bath House doors. Mat followed, and he saw
Hine Horatai, on the landing, roped to a taller shape holding a sword.
Water … She is an avatar of water
…
She did this!

He didn't question this miracle. Parukau reappeared, silhouetted in the Bath House door, and then was gone, the swordsman dragging Hine with him.

He leapt past Riki and ran after them.

 

The ground bucked, and the lower floor of the Bath House seemed to explode outwards in sheets of boiling water and clouds of steam. A geyser erupted at Donna's feet and threw her sideways, tearing her from Rose's surprised grip. She found herself flung sideways along the steps, landing on her ankle and going over on it, the pain wracking through her. All about her, water flew. She saw Parukau lifted by a geyser that burst up through the ground at his feet. She had no strength to resist, nor even the will to do so any more. The steam and gushing water rendered everything a blind grope through wet darkness, then it dissipated and vision returned.

The first thing she saw was Parukau, upright again, but drenched and no longer holding verdant fire in his grasp. His goblin face was contorted in rage. She saw his teeth flash as he roared fresh orders. ‘Stone, bring the girl!' Then he saw Donna, lying alone on the stairs. ‘Rose!'

Rose emerged from the mists, her dress plastered to her body, her livid face full of teeth. ‘Master?' she mewled.

Parukau's finger stabbed towards Donna. ‘Rip her apart — I don't need her any more!'

 

Riki had always believed there was good in everyone. It was something his granddad liked to say, and Riki generally thought he was right. Which was just as well because some of the guys who hung around his family were pretty bad eggs by society's reckoning. Ex-crims and street toughs, the sort of guys who ended up being defended in court by Mat's father. If Riki had not believed in his granddad's wisdom, he would have been too scared to leave his bedroom every day.

But Puarata's warlocks were a different class of being, and he didn't think of them as human. Not after the things he had seen at Waikaremoana, and the stuff Jones and Mat had told him. They weren't people; they were hollow things who had emptied themselves of normal feelings to make room for something darker.

The mercy shown him by Kurangaituku had changed his view on that point slightly. He had been forced to see her as a being trapped by circumstance, lured and tempted by a dark life that promised everything and delivered little more than fear. Power, too, but a false kind of power — the sort that permitted inflicting pain on others, but failed on delivering peace of mind and security and happiness. A devil's bargain. It reminded him of a drug dealer who used to be friends with his brother, until some rival shot him in the spine and left him paraplegic.

So when he saw Donna Kyle sprawled on the stairs, and some vampire girl in a wet floral dress looming over her with bared fangs, he didn't hesitate. While Mat turned left and ran after Hine and her captors, he went right, swinging his taiaha as he shouted to distract the thing from its prey.

The girl spun and reared back like a snake, swaying from
his blow. She hissed and then sprang before he had even completed the follow-through, his whole weight off-balance and his weapon askew, leaving him utterly exposed. Her mouth widened into a jagged fence of teeth as she uncoiled and sprang. She hissed exultantly, in her mind already feasting on him.

The taiaha looks like a wooden spear, but it isn't. It's a long wooden club, held two-handed just above the pointed tongue. Which makes it a two-ended weapon. And Riki wasn't top of his taiaha class for nothing. Even as the patupaiarehe leapt, he was moving his left hand up the shaft, spinning the weapon like a bandmaster twirling his staff, bracing and thrusting.

The taiaha punched through the girl's chest and burst out her back. A thin splatter of blood sprayed down the shaft as her weight settled. He twisted the weapon and drove her down, slamming the tongue further through, and into the wet earth. Her body thrashed blindly, her talons raking, but he rolled clear, and came up on all fours, staring at the hideous sight of the young girl dying. She convulsed and jerked to stillness as he tried and failed to look away. Her face turned towards him.

She smiled just like his little sister did, and died.

All at once the horror of the moment struck him, and he felt a gorge of bilious food rise up his throat. He had sagged to his knees and vomited over the steps before he could stop himself.

Damn, I'll never get used to this.

By the time he thought to look for Donna Kyle, she was gone.

 

When Rose loomed above her, Donna didn't have the strength to move. But someone shouted, and the girl turned and leapt at a youth — Mat Douglas's friend Riki.

Rose moved so fast it seemed he would be torn apart, but somehow he turned a missed blow into a hidden thrust, and Rose went down with a wooden stake through the heart. The boy moved the way Wiremu did. He looked only seventeen, but she was suddenly scared of him, even when he went down and spewed like a child who has had too much cake.

She suddenly didn't care about winning any more. Or even escaping.

She had lost. It wasn't her fault.

Donna lay back on the wet stone, listening to the gushing water slow. She felt utterly out of her depth. The world had turned on its head, and the only familiar thing left was the distant but familiar sound of a tipua war-party disintegrating in confusion.

Perhaps she could crawl away …

Daughter!

She groaned.

Daughter — come!

She wanted to block him out. But some kind of silvery cord, like that with which she had bound the patupaiarehe, appeared, sprouting from her chest.

‘No, Father! Please!'

Edith Madonna Kyle: I summon you! Come to my aid!

She sobbed as she rose to her feet, tried to resist, but the cord at her heart jerked and she flew through the air like a
toy, towards a bank of broken windows lit from within by vivid green light.

 

Mat raced through the Bath House doors into a beautiful, deserted lobby, with polished marble floors, oil paintings and furniture of deep mahogany. A stairway curved upwards, and on it was Parukau, his goblin body hunched, his hand about Hine's wrist. His face was contorted by pain and desperation. Mat stormed after them even as his brain screamed a warning:
Where's the swordsman?

From above him something cracked, and a chandelier, with the patupaiarehe riding it, snapped from its moorings and plummeted towards him.

He threw himself aside, diving and rolling as half a ton of steel and glass smashed into and through the tiles with an almighty crash. Glass fragments and stone slivers ricocheted about him. The swordsman erupted instantly from the tangle, emerging from the dust and splinters as fast as sight, with a blur of steel in his fist. The sword flashed, and Mat twisted and threw himself sideways. The blade scoured his back and he fell against the balustrade, lifting his taiaha one-handed, just in time to parry another slash. Steel jarred on wood, and the pale face snarled at him from beneath lank hair. The sword in his fist looked huge.