The Bone Tiki (19 page)

‘Scoreson was a nasty piece of work, but didn’t have the degree of talent Puarata required. But one of the other artists did—Wilomina Stephenson, who was of course, Mat’s relative Wai-aroha. We met at a party—everyone was sooo polite, pretending we weren’t Maori and we spent a lot of time together. Her art was amazing—very expressive, quite troubled. But she was too pure of heart for Puarata. I reported her skill to him, as I had to. He changed his attentions to her, but wasn’t so thorough with his orders, as he was in a hurry. He left some gaps, which I saw I might be able to exploit.

‘I was pretending to be a buying agent. When she asked questions, Puarata’s orders forced me to be evasive and she became increasingly frustrated with me. I was…drawn to her…she was attractive, very lively and animated. She
found my half-answers annoying. Finally she told me to either tell her who I really was, or leave her alone.

‘This was the chance I’d been waiting for. She had directed me to tell all or leave her alone, but under Puarata’s orders, I was forbidden to do either. Two orders that directly contradicted each other. I was forbidden to do either…but could not do neither…I must have swayed and nearly fainted, which drew strange looks from the other partygoers…I nearly blacked out…but when I recovered, I found I was freed from either restraint. Suddenly I could talk to her!

‘I convinced her to leave the party, and found a quiet corner of a bar on Featherston Street. I told her what I could. My true story was too fantastical to be believed. I told her instead that Puarata was blackmailing me. That he had stolen my family’s fortune and ruled my life. That I could be freed if he could be separated from a bone tiki he wore about his neck. It was evidence, I told her, that would allow other property to be returned to my family.

‘It wasn’t the most watertight set of lies ever told, but Wai-aroha believed me. I think she wanted to believe anything I said. She was swept up in my story—I was a young well-dressed Maori man, handsome and intelligent. We talked about her art. She talked about past boyfriends who had hurt her. We talked with our eyes…

‘Was it love? I don’t know. It felt like it, for both of us. We kissed. She promised she would get the tiki. I told her, once she had it, that if she thought of me, and held the tiki in her hand, I would come. It sounds ridiculous now…
we were speaking words of love, and to her, it was just something lovers said. I warned her about Puarata, that he was a dangerous gangster. She said she would hide from him, even if she had to leave her art-world name behind her. We parted slowly, gazing back at each other as we separated, making promises…

‘I returned to my rooms. Puarata and I had been staying at the Saint George Hotel on Willis Street, the grandest place in town. I had one room, he had another. He would let me have a room so I could study modern life, so I would be more useful to him.

But that night when I returned to the hotel, he was angry. He had found that I had left the party with Wai-aroha and realised something had happened that affected his control of me. He began to question me, demanding answers. I thought the game was up, and that I had placed Wai-aroha in deadly danger. But we were interrupted. A Minister of the Crown arrived, anxious to speak to this influential East Coast Maori leader. Puarata was distracted. ‘You will keep,’ he said to me. I thought he would send me to my room, but instead, he banished me back into the tiki. This was a disaster.

‘I could sense much, as I lay trapped inside the tiki. I heard Puarata and the Minister talk and joke. They drank whiskey, and talked of electoral boundaries. They made plans that would benefit them both. Then, the Minister became drunk.

‘One of the effects of the potion that conveys sorcerous powers is that it gives the sorcerer a taste for blood, just
like the fairies whose blood the potion contains. When the Minister was asleep, Puarata drank some of his whiskey-tainted blood, and fell asleep, drunk and satisfied. I lay upon his breast in the tiki, helpless, praying that Wai-aroha would not come.

‘But Wai-aroha came after midnight. She had gone to my room first and found it empty. Then she stole into Puarata’s room—the door wasn’t locked. She saw the two men sleeping, but didn’t lose her courage. She took the tiki, with me inside, and crept away. I was free, but I was still trapped.

‘She was as good as her word. She left the name of Wilomina Stephenson behind, and took refuge with Hinemoa, her cousin. She hid, and then she waited. But as time passed I felt her go from joyous expectation, to doubt, to fear. She heard stories from Hinemoa of people looking for her and held the tiki in her hands as she called for me.

‘But she didn’t have the knowledge. She didn’t have enough power and training to release me. Sometimes she sensed me, in her dreams. I was calling to her, hoping, praying that somehow she would work out how to get me out. But she never did. And over the years her hold on reality cracked, and she went mad. Hinemoa tried to cope, but Wai became suicidal, and had to be sedated and locked away. Only her father knew where she was, and when she was institutionalised, he hid her memory.

‘I felt her age and die, and I could do nothing. Perhaps I will see her again, if I walk the paths to the spirit world. I hope so. So I can explain, and apologise.’

Wiri looked at Kelly. Both had tears running down their cheeks. ‘Did that tell you what you wanted to know?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Kelly, her lips shaking. ‘I’m not sure what I wanted to hear. But thank you. I’m so sorry, how it all turned out…’

They sat in silence for a long time. Finally Fitzy stood up on the backseat. ‘Hey, kids. Sorry to spoil the moment, but we’ve got to move or else something nasty is gonna come down that road and we’ll be in big trouble.’

Wiri and Kelly looked back him, and nodded. Kelly started the RAV4 and swung onto the trail to the cape.

T
he road had faded to a dirt track, and the light was becoming shadowy. From somewhere, clouds had begun to gather, to the north, in the direction they were heading. When they topped a rise, the sight was even stranger. The sky ahead was blue, but the rainbow they had seen before arched over the cape, from east to west, and beyond it was shadow and darkness, as if it was a gateway into a storm.

Mat was watching out the window, trying to think ahead to what might be awaiting them, when Kelly suddenly braked, crying aloud. Thrown against the back of the seats before him, he looked forward, in time to see a pale shape drift into the forest. Kelly was shaking.

‘There was a woman! Did you see her? I nearly hit her!’ she said, her hand to her mouth.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Wiri. ‘She is only a ghost.’

Kelly raised an eyebrow, and swallowed. For a second she looked like she might scream, but she let out her breath and grinned. ‘A ghost! Was that supposed to be reassuring?’

‘Well, you can’t kill her any deader,’ said Wiri lightly. ‘Let’s go on, wahine.’

Kelly gripped the steering wheel and blew out a deep breath. ‘Ghosts!’ she exclaimed with rich sarcasm. ‘Ghosts! Right! Fine! See them every day! Hey everyone—I see dead people. Must be my sixth sense. No worries, mate! Let’s just do it!’ Her voice rose with every word, to a tone verging on hysteria.

Wiri just nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We’ve left normality a long way behind.’

Kelly took another deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Yeah. The things we do, eh?’

The RAV4 roared back into life, and bounced up the next slope. They passed under the arch of the rainbow, and into a darkening sky. It was as if they had driven from morning to twilight in the blink of an eye. The ghosts became more common, pale shreds of people drifting back and forth, as though lost. Behind them the rainbow still stood, and the bright day receded as they drove on. It was like looking from inside a darkened tunnel, toward the light. But ahead, the day was darkening. They crested a rise, and saw what Puarata had prepared for them.

Only half a kilometre ahead a shifting, half-seen knot of transparent pale shapes seethed, heaving, toward the cape
and then boiled backward, like a sea that tries to break over a sea-wall and is repulsed.

The breakwater holding them back was a line of earth, which had been dug across the narrow strip of land that led to the pohutukawa. Mat could see the tree itself beyond, teasingly close. The wall was manned by ranks of small warriors—kehua goblins. They had dark skin and strange, bird-like faces, and brandished mere and taiaha. Before the kehua were six robed and hooded humans, gathered about a tall, heavily carved totem. The creatures on the totem had paua for eyes; the totem was daubed in red ochre so that it gleamed as if dripping blood. Something about it seemed alive, even from that distance. Kneeling, tied to the foot of the totem, was a small woman with a tangle of red-brown hair hiding her bowed face. She was slumped, semi-conscious at best. Mat recognised his mother with a tightening in his stomach. Above her, towering over his apprentices, was Puarata.

Mat looked at Wiri. ‘What has he done?’

Wiri looked at Kelly, then answered Mat. ‘He has created a barrier, to prevent the dead from escaping this world.’

‘Why?’ Mat thought for a second, and then answered the question himself. ‘Because you can’t escape. Unless I take you back into the tiki and carry you through. And that would leave just Kelly and me against all of them.’

Kelly scowled. ‘Let’s just run them over.’

Wiri shook his head. ‘See the earthworks? Even the RAV can’t get over that.’

‘I wonder what’s on the real world side,’ said Mat.

‘Couldn’t be worse,’ said Kelly. ‘Can you get us over, Mat?’

Mat closed his eyes, held the koru, and tried to wish them back to the real world. But at once he felt something hammer at his consciousness, and gasping, opened his eyes. ‘I can’t do it!’ he panted. ‘Something stopped me.’

Wiri looked up and back at the rainbow arch. ‘Ah…so that is the purpose of the rainbow gate. He has made this place his own. You cannot shift out of it.’

Kelly looked behind them. ‘Let’s go back. We could try again on the other side of the rainbow.’

Mat looked at Wiri. The warrior seemed about to nod, but when they glanced back, it seemed that dark clouds were gathering behind them, in the south. He peered through narrowed eyes. ‘I don’t think we can. We’re out of time. Something is coming. We have about half an hour before we’re trapped. We have to try now.’

He looked down the slope to the waiting tohunga and his minions, only one hundred metres away. One of the apprentices, a plump balding man who looked like an office clerk, was stumbling down the earthworks holding a handkerchief aloft.

‘It seems they want to talk,’ observed Wiri, his voice flat. ‘That’s Benjamin Platt. I remember him from before Wai stole the tiki. He fancies himself as Puarata’s right-hand man, but he’s second rate.’

Platt stepped confidently to within a few metres. He was sweating in the stifling air, but spoke to Mat with oily contempt. ‘The master wishes to trade with you, boy. Give
him the tiki, and you’ll have your mother back, and the right to return home safely. I’d advise you to accept. The alternative is death, and my master takes the tiki from your corpse.’

Mat stared up at the man helplessly and Platt sniggered. ‘Don’t wait too long, boy. Or we’ll kill you anyway. Just for fun…’ He looked down contemptuously as Fitzy whimpered, and crawled forward. ‘Ha! Even your dog seems to know his master.’ He bent down, oozing smugness. ‘Here, doggy…’

Mat held his breath.

‘Come here, mutt,’ purred Platt. Fitzy crawled up to him, and licked his fingers. He laughed.

And Fitzy
changed.

It began with his legs. They twisted backward and upward, even as his abdomen distended. It was as if a shiny ball of darkness was swallowing the dog from within, even the dog head fell backward into the ball of darkness, and more legs sprouted and then it leapt onto the apprentice. A spider the size of a cat clung to his face, its legs caught about the gleaming bald head, huge fangs poised above each of the man’s eyes. Platt gave a half-shriek, then whimpered and nearly fell.

‘
Steady!
’ hissed the turehu in a sibilant whisper. ‘Stand up straight. If you move I will kill you. Understand?’

Platt let out a soft whine that sounded a little like assent.

‘Good…now stand still.’ The spider shape slowly shifted, shrinking as it crawled in behind Platt’s neck. As the man’s
face was uncovered, Mat saw a look of naked terror. His eyes were nearly rolled back in his sockets, and his skin was grey, his lips nearly blue. Fitzy hissed at him. ‘Now, slime…I am behind your neck, hidden in the hood of your robe. Bear in mind that the amount of poison I can pump into you will kill you in seconds. Understand?’

Platt nodded weakly. His balance wavered and there was a sudden stench and a patch of wetness on the front of his robe. He had lost control of his bladder, and was trembling so much he could barely stand.

‘Cowardly scum,’ continued Fitzy in the same chilling whisper. ‘You are going to walk back, with me in your hood. You will not betray my presence. You will act as if all is going well. Otherwise I’ll kill you for fun and we’ll think up a new plan.’

‘If you kill me the master will kill the woman,’ said Platt in a weak voice, attempting bravado.

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Fitzy. ‘But that won’t help you, will it?’

The attempt at defiance collapsed, and he nearly fell at Wiri’s feet.

‘Let’s go,’ said Wiri.

Fitzy made Platt walk before them, shouting ‘they agree, master, they agree’ in a quavering voice. They followed him, heads down.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Kelly quietly.

Wiri thought for a moment, then replied in a low voice. ‘Fitzy, go for Puarata to distract him, but don’t get too close. I’ll try and grab Mat’s mother. Mat, you stay back. Once
we’ve got your mother out, they lose their bargaining chip and it becomes a fight instead of a hostage situation.’

‘What should I do?’ asked Kelly.

‘Stay out of trouble.’

‘Not a chance,’ she replied grimly.

They got to within a few metres of the waiting tohunga and his apprentices. Puarata looked like an ancient king, his hair around his face like the mane of a lion. His face was set, his eyes triumphant. About his shoulders was a deep green cloak of tui feathers, and in his hand a pounamu mere, intricately carved. Beside him his apprentices looked pale and insipid, but each was cold-eyed, and full of sneering malice. Behind them, on the earth embankment, boiled a host of goblin faces, gesticulating fiercely, with hands and faces.

‘Well Matiu. We meet again. You have caused me some problems, boy. I was right about your potential. If you join me, I could make you great. Very great indeed.’

Mat glared at him, not trusting himself to speak.

Puarata laughed. ‘I see you are too consumed with disappointment and anger to reply. You need not…yet. But think on it, and I will call you again. Never forget that I know where you live, boy.’

The tohunga turned to Wiri. ‘My prodigal son. My Toa. It is good to have you back.’

Wiri didn’t reply, and laid a hand on Kelly’s shoulder to restrain her.

Puarata turned back to Mat. ‘Give it to me, Matiu. You have lost. I have won. Give me the tiki.’

Mat nodded, his eyes on Platt and the spider, visible from behind on the back of his neck, unseen by his master and the other apprentices. The bald man came to within a few feet of Puarata, then suddenly his hand slapped at the back of his neck and he half-turned, his mouth flying open to screech a warning. ‘Mas—’ With a gurgling cry his arms suddenly spread wide, as Fitzy buried fangs the size of fingers in his neck. Puarata and the five apprentices turned toward him, eyes going wide, their mouths opening, their hands moving, as Wiri blurred into motion.

His taiaha appeared in his hands as he leapt, and smashed a grey-haired woman to Puarata’s right to the ground with a sickening crunch. He spun like a dancer, his foot catching Puarata in the chest and throwing the tohunga backward. Puarata staggered, and snarled, and the four remaining apprentices jerked into movement like puppets. Behind them the kehua squealed and gibbered. Their ranks parted and Tupu appeared atop the earthworks, bellowing.

Platt had collapsed screaming, spittle and blood spurting from his mouth, quivering until he went rigid. A snarling reptilian form erupted from his hood and darted through the apprentices toward the totem, where Mat’s mother crouched. As a male apprentice—a horribly ordinary red-haired man—reached toward her, knife in hand, the turehu sank his teeth into the man’s wrist, and the knife fell. Kelly darted forward, snatched the blade and slashed at the knots tying Colleen Douglas to the totem. Wiri smashed another apprentice aside—a pencil-thin girl with bloodshot eyes and scarred arms. Mat heard bones splinter as
she fell motionless, and the others fled back up the slope, screaming, into the ranks of advancing kehua.

Puarata had rolled away, out of reach, his eyes ablaze. Tupu roared like a bull, and charged down the slope. Wiri paused half a second, caught between a desire to strike again at Puarata, to fight Tupu, or to grab Colleen Douglas. He chose the latter, swept Colleen up in his arms and staggered backward. Kelly came up behind him, waving the knife and snarling like a wildcat, slashing about her to create space to retreat. It seemed an inadequate gesture—there were seconds to spare before Tupu and kehua reached them, and they were engulfed…Mat stared up at the totem, then almost in a dream he lifted the knife he had taken from Donna Kyle’s office, and plunged it into the right eye of the totem.

With a burst of rainbow light, a massive concussion threw him through the air like a toy. Roaring filled his ears like a huge bell, like a massive wave, and he spun dizzyingly, to plough into the earth feet from the edge of the ridge, fifteen metres from where the totem had stood.

He looked about, dazed. He couldn’t hear, and blood was pouring from his nose. Wiri and his mother were lying nearby. The warrior was getting to his feet, but his mother was limp, unconscious. Kelly was on her face in the dirt six metres beyond them, but moving gingerly. Fitzy was nowhere to be seen.

He looked back at the totem. It stood, but it was split in two, and blackened as if a fire had half-consumed it. About it were strewn the fallen apprentices. Puarata was staggering
to his feet, as was Tupu—the kehua had been blown backward like twigs.

Something pale swam past his eyes. Something transparent, shaped like a woman. It was the ghost they had seen on the road to the cape. She was moving toward the tree, unimpeded now by the totem. Other pale shapes followed her—Puarata’s forbidding was broken.

Wiri could get through now…he could fight…

Puarata rose with blood spattered across his face, and bellowed aloud in words Mat couldn’t follow. He saw the pale ghost-figures ripple, then something swept them backward. Wiri was swept aside, as if some hidden mind were tearing at his flesh, ripping pieces of him into the winds. Mat got to his feet, yelling, expecting to be blown aside but there was no wind that affected him, only a ghost-wind that flowed from Puarata and ripped into the phantoms as they gathered, tearing them apart like cobwebs in a storm.

Mat saw the ghosts, and Wiri with them, re-form a hundred metres further back. Kelly was bent over his mother’s prone form, and he stumbled toward them, helping move her away to safety. Fitzy flowed to his side, in dog form again, blood soaking one flank. In the distance, on the earthworks, the kehua were regaining their feet, and Tupu also, shaking his massive head.

‘That was well done, Mat,’ panted Fitzy. ‘But we’ve got to do more. They’re about to attack.’

Mat turned to face their enemies, trembling with fright. They had freed his mother, but there was no more time. The
kehua were gathering themselves to charge, Tupu rousing them for the fray. About them ghosts boiled ineffectually, repulsed by Puarata’s power. His mother lay unconscious, limp as a broken doll. He looked back toward the RAV4. Maybe they could run? But the darkness was sweeping in from the south. He heard an engine roaring, something coming near. Wiri’s eyes were blazing with suicidal desperation. Kelly’s looked blank, in shock, as if everything she had seen was now too much to bear. Puarata was on his feet, roaring, and the wind behind him grew, slashing at the pallid forms of the ghosts that massed about Wiri.