The Lost Tohunga (26 page)

She turned her hollow-eyed face towards him, the dark twist of moko stark against her white chin. She looked incredibly young, a frightened child. Somehow he could see it in her: the dread and exhaustion, the self-loathing, the surrender. The woman who had haunted his nightmares was gone, no longer a threat.

Something she saw in him made her cower, but she pulled closer, not further away, ducking her head, trembling. The desperate gratitude in her eyes when she looked up at him was almost alarming.

He looked away, straight into Asher's eyes.

The wizard's face was bereft, his only child stolen. In that split second, he was vulnerable.

Ngatoro struck. A small gesture, but Asher reeled as if punched, and crumpled.

The blonde witch at Mat's feet began to weep uncontrollably.

Saturday morning

T
hey cleansed Te Iho, under Ngatoro's direction. Each prisoner was carefully detached from the veins distending from that mighty greenstone heart. Most, Ngatoro scowled over, and traced a warding, a sigil that would prevent the newly freed tohunga makutu from using their arcane powers. Then they were bound to their beds, and wheeled outside. Asher Grieve was among them, lying as still as a corpse.

‘Who are they?' Mat asked, his eyes still struggling to take in the fact that his hidden mentor was before him, alive and free. He wasn't tall, and had been horribly weakened by his term in Te Iho, but he had a strong frame and there was every sign that he would recover strength quickly. For now, Mat and Riki were taking turns helping him walk.

Ngatoro-i-rangi smiled grimly. ‘They are tohunga makutu. Many old enemies of the people of Aotearoa, Matiu Douglas.' He gripped his bloody taiaha like a walking stick, and exhaled with satisfaction. ‘We will transport them to the Maori King for judgment.'

Mat's eyes strayed to where Donna Kyle sat, unbound, a sigil on her forehead. ‘What about her?' he asked, feeling an
odd empathy for the woman who had prowled his nightmares. She seemed to have shrunk somehow, but she still made him uneasy. She hadn't spoken since Asher was taken.

Ngatoro looked him over. ‘Neither she nor her father are tangata whenua. We will send the Pakeha prisoners to Auckland, to Governor Grey, if he is still in charge there.'

Governor Grey has sworn to hang her, Mat remembered.

Wiri limped up, catching the end of the conversation. ‘Grey is still in charge there. Donna Kyle and I have a bargain, which she has honoured. I will speak for her before the Governor.'

They saw her listening, turning her head to catch their words. But she didn't acknowledge them.

 

There were only two of the prisoners of Te Iho whom Ngatoro did not imprison. They were tohunga ruanuku: a revered old tohunga and his younger daughter, a girl who barely looked Mat's age. They were shockingly weak, but they had a chance at life. They were taken away reverently to obtain better care. Miraculously, the Ngati Maungatautari had not lost a man — by the time they went ploughing through the tipua ranks, the goblins had lost their will to fight. Several had been wounded, but Wiri's leg was among the worst injuries. ‘Kels won't give me a second of peace over it, you'll see,' he muttered in Mat's ear.

The Birdwitch had vanished in the confusion. Riki seemed uneasy, but Mat was relieved. He wasn't sure how Ngatoro would react to her, and he thought she needed time to be free in the wild, and remember herself fully. But already she had forged one new legend for the storytellers to recall her by.

Before they left, Ngatoro sang a low chant that made the timber walls of the Bath House sprout branches. They grew rapidly, entangling with the veins of the greenstone heart. The outflow vein pumped a thick black sludge — the last of the poisonous blood that had sustained Puarata — into the ground where it sank and was gone. Something seemed to change in the air. The stale, bloody reek of the chamber vanished, replaced by something cleaner and more wholesome.

‘Puarata and Parukau did not create Te Iho,' Ngatoro told Mat. ‘They usurped it from me. It was once a force for good. I shall make it so once more.' He closed off Te Iho again, restoring the shadow-maze. Mat didn't ask him where he had repositioned the gate. He didn't want to know.

They then simply walked back into the town of Rotorua-Aotearoa, wheeling the prisoners and patients on the hospital beds. Rotorua-Aotearoa had reverted to its more usual aspect of pa and colonial town. The locals had seen the conflagration about the shadow-maze, and gathered to witness this strange procession. They kept their distance at first, until the news that Ngatoro-i-rangi was here spread, and then they flooded forward, to see for themselves, and to help.

Sunday evening

The pain in his hands woke Mat, and he lay with his eyes closed. The smell of clean sheets enveloped him, and the warmth of deep soft fabric embraced him. Everything ached, but his skin was clean and soapy smelling.

Slowly images surfaced from memory. Hine and Tu smiling as they left the Bath House in each other's arms. The way
Kelly had cried as she greeted Wiri on Saturday morning, having discharged herself from hospital when she learned that the party had returned. Tim Spriggs brought her across to Aotearoa, baby cradled in her arms. She tried to look reproachful, but relief overtook her and she flew into her husband's arms and all but knocked him off his feet.

But the thing Mat remembered clearest was the look in Donna Kyle's eyes as she tipped the blood of Te Iho from the chalice.

I'm doing this for you.

He shuddered and opened his eyes. He was in a colonial-era hostel in Aotearoa. The light at the edge of the curtains was vividly bright. Somewhere a clock chimed briefly. He stared at the open-beamed ceiling, and listened to horses whicker and wagons roll past. He examined his hands, where ten flint-like nails tipped his fingers, shining like black marble. The magical feather cloak hung over a chair beside the bed, and a blotchy-stained taiaha was propped against it. Ngatoro's taiaha, soaked in the blood of Te Iho. The old tohunga himself had given it to Mat on Saturday morning before the whole tribe in Rotorua-Aotearoa. ‘I'm too old to wield such a thing any more, Matiu Douglas. And I owe you my life. It is yours by right.'

Ngatoro had left that morning with the Ngati Maungatautari, taking the prisoners to the Aotearoa Maori King in Ngaruawahia without delay. Two of the prison wagons would go further: all the way to Auckland, with Asher Grieve and his daughter chained inside. Donna Kyle had stared out at Mat as her coach lurched into motion that morning. She still looked like a lost child. He wondered if he would ever
see her again. He hoped not. But he didn't wish a hanging on her any more. She had rejected her father, and saved their lives. Whether that meant she could ever be a better person it was impossible to tell, but perhaps she deserved a chance to find out.

It's out of my hands
. He felt both guilty and glad at the thought.

There was a soft knock on the door, and it swung open with an awkward thump, allowing Wiri to lurch through on crutches. Kelly followed, holding their baby boy to her chest. He realized she was breast-feeding, and frantically tried to find something else to look at.

‘Kia ora, chief. How're you goin'?' Wiri propped himself in front of a large arm chair and then literally fell back into it, wincing heavily. Kelly perched on the side of the bed, the baby suckling noisily. She giggled at Mat's averted eyes.

‘Get over it, Matty-mat! I'm going to be hanging my boobs out for the next six months, minimum, and there won't be anything sexy about it. It's just feeding time at the zoo!' She had dark bruises around her eyes and looked as exhausted as Mat felt. ‘The little bugger wants a drink every three hours.'

‘What are you gonna name him?'

‘Aethlyn,' said Wiri promptly.

‘Anything but Aethlyn,' said Kelly at the same time.

They both looked at each other and laughed.

Mat put his hands behind his head. ‘Matiu is a good name,' he suggested.

‘But then we'd get confused over who we're talking about, you or him,' said Kelly. ‘Otherwise it'd be our first choice, honest.'

‘Liar. You keep telling me that “Mat” means “flat and lacklustre”.'

‘No, that's just you. The name is fine.'

‘Cow.' He laughed. ‘Dairy cow!' She began to protest, so he put his hands over his ears and went
Moo, moo
, until she flicked him a rude gesture and poked out her tongue.

‘And I was about to compliment you on your new-found maturity,' remarked Kelly caustically, when he fell silent. ‘Anyway, what we really came to tell you was that it's after five in the afternoon, and everyone else is up and hungry. So you can bloody well get your arse up, and join us for dinner.'

Hunger suddenly washed over him at the mere thought of food. ‘Sure!' After seeing the wagons off yesterday morning, he had gone straight back to bed and slept thirty hours straight — the price of his exertions, both physical and magical.

Kelly waved her hand grandly. ‘I shall now hand you over to my husband for a status report.'

Wiri gave an ironic half-bow from where he sat, and coughed. ‘Yes, status report … Well, Tu is fine, just a few bumps—'

Kelly immediately interrupted him. ‘How's your leg, sweetie-darling?'

Wiri coloured, grimacing.

‘Manu carried Wiri out,' Kelly went on.

Wiri frowned. ‘He just helped me walk — I was on my feet,' he insisted.

‘Wiri got cut up by a nasty thing,' said Kelly caustically. ‘First wounds in how many centuries, darling?
Because he's not immortal any more
. In fact, he's promised to be
much
more cautious from now on, haven't you,
darling?
'

Wiri flashed Mat a ‘gimme some sympathy' look. ‘I think I'm healing up pretty quick.'

‘How's Tim?' asked Mat.

‘Broken arm. Wounded pride. And Fitzy is okay, he got back at midday.'

Kelly leant in. ‘And Hine is fine.' She looked meaningfully at Mat. ‘She's just outside.'

Mat looked up at the door, then down at the bedclothes. ‘I better get dressed first.'

‘Sure,' Kelly replied with a magnanimous gesture.

He looked at her and Wiri, who put on patient expressions. ‘Ah, I said “I better get dressed”, so I guess you'll want to leave?' Mat told them.

‘Yep, got that. Go for broke, Matty-Mat.' Kelly continued breast-feeding with a bland look on her face. ‘You've got nothing I ain't seen before. Including last night, I might add, when we decided you might sleep better out of your clothes.'

‘Oh.'

There was an impatient knock on the door, and Hine popped her head around the door.

‘Are you guys done already?' she said, and grinned at Mat. ‘Hey!' she said. She looked anxious. She was wearing another colonial-era dress, like the one she had had on at Jones's place. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked beautiful.

He thought he might feel jealousy or something, but in fact he found he didn't. She hugged him, and he breathed in the smell of shampoo and perfume. No cigarette smoke. He squeezed her shoulders, and then pushed her away. ‘You okay?' he asked.

She nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. Look, I just wanted to say thanks,
for coming after me. You really are my knight in armour. That's twice now. You're probably the second most wonderful guy I've ever met.' She measured him with his eyes. ‘But I've also met the first most wonderful guy. You okay with that?'

He realized he was. ‘Yeah, sure. Tu's cool. He'll look after you.' He put on a
Star Wars
voice: ‘It is your destiny.'

She rolled her eyes, ‘Not you, too.' Then she smiled shyly, ‘Yeah, he will look after me. And me, him.' She put her hand on his. ‘I know you fancied me, and I kinda fancied you, too. I want you to know that.'

He nodded slowly, aware that he felt both bereft and happy.

‘You'll make some chick really happy one day. One day soon, possibly,' she added with a twinkle in her eye. She leant over him, kissed his forehead, and then she was gone in a swirl of cotton skirts and rose-scented perfume.

Kelly grinned at him, and Wiri nodded slowly, his face approving.

 

They gathered in the upstairs lounge of the Red Deer: Wiri and Kelly and their still unnamed child, Mat and Riki, and Tu and Hine, wrapped up in each other — despite the age difference, they clearly belonged together. Fitzy was there, too, fully recovered, but still in dog form because Tu and Hine found his turehu form ‘just too weird'.

Cassandra was also there. She had driven up from Taupo that morning, peeved at missing the action but grateful to have been able to contribute. She had to put up with being centre of attention, as only Mat had seen the beginnings of her latest transformation of appearance. Her hair was now
buzz-cut, she was wearing stylish clothes that didn't look like op-shop rejects, and of course no braces or glasses. She looked utterly different.

‘I'm thinking Natalie Portman after she shaved her head,' Riki whispered in Mat's ear. ‘Quite hot, actually.'

‘So, what do you think?' Cass asked them, preening slightly. ‘This is the new look.'

Riki gave a nodding thumbs-up, while Mat searched for words.
Not one of the boys. Still kinda kooky … No: unique.
Not ordinary in the slightest. He suddenly realized something he should have known all along: that ‘ordinary' didn't really exist. Everyone was extraordinary in their own way. Especially Cass. ‘You look entirely like … yourself.'

She gave him a thoughtful look, then smiled. ‘Good answer. Ten points.' She raised a glass in salute.

‘Do
you
like it?' Mat asked.

‘Yeah, I think so.' She stroked the spiky down on her scalp tentatively. ‘When I look in the mirror, I still get surprised, but it feels more … honest. Although it makes me feel kinda naked. I'm still getting used to it.' She reported that Jones was awake, fully functioning and clamouring to be released from hospital. ‘Oh, and he and your mum are getting on like old mates,' she added to Mat.

Mat blinked at that. ‘Mum and Jones?'

‘Yeah. He can make her giggle like an eight-year-old.'

‘Mum? Colleen O'Connor?'

Cassandra smirked. ‘Totally. She brings him baking.'

Very, very strange.

Kurangaituku had not reappeared, and Riki confessed to being a little worried. ‘She's a goddess, right? She'll be okay?'
His friend looked years older. Adventures in Aotearoa seemed to do that to people. Although ‘adventures' seemed the wrong word —
they're more like ordeals
, Mat thought ruefully.