The Bone Tiki (20 page)

A car skidded close to them and the doors fell open. It was Manu and Captain Spriggs. Their faces were grim, but they had weapons. They turned, and helped another man from the car. Tama Douglas.

Mat gasped. His father’s face was swollen with mottled bruises, purple and livid red. One eye was nearly closed and he moved with awkward discomfort. But move he did, yelling defiance at Puarata, then falling upon his unconscious wife. Tears stung Mat’s eyes and he turned. Winds tore from Puarata’s hands, and the kehua massed behind the tohunga makutu, baying for blood.

A hand touched his shoulders. He had fallen to his knees without realising. It was a ghost, pulling him to his feet.

It was Hakawau, the tohunga. ‘Come, Mat,’ Hakawau said. ‘It is time to lead the haka. It is time to fight.’

Mat looked around him. At the ghosts. They were warriors, Maori and Pakeha. Some carried mere and taiaha, others bore muskets and swords. Many were ordinary men and
women from the modern world. They were pale, transparent, but they saw him. The air was deathly cold. He shuddered, and looked up, at his enemy, at Puarata looming above, spitting rage. He looked at the spirit of Hakawau. ‘Are you dead?’ he asked.

‘No,’ answered the tohunga. ‘But I am with you, as a spirit. I am here.’

Mat turned, and looked down the line of ghosts, who were staring up at the tohunga in confusion and dismay. He let himself go then, let his senses flow into the ghosts, until he could feel them, feel their lost, sorrowful pain, feel their hunger to leave this world, feel their anger at being thwarted, and feel their strength.

Behind him he heard the storm snap and howl, but he didn’t look back. What would be, would be. He went into a crouch, slapped his thighs, and felt the mana of the warrior flow into his being. He wondered if he would remember the words, but they flowed from his mouth as naturally as breathing.

‘KIA MAU.’

He shouted alone at first, and then Wiri and Manu joined him, leading the call to battle.

‘RINGA PAKIA.’

The Maori among the dead replied in a sibilant hiss. ‘PAKIA PAKIA.’

The Pakeha dead looked about them, and from the memories of their lives—of seeing the haka on a marae, or classroom lessons, or watching it on television before a rugby test—they found the words and actions.

‘PAKIA PAKIA,’ they all repeated now, a hundred chill voices, and they slapped their thighs in time. Mat could feel an energy building from them, and he looked up at the kehua, saw them waving their weapons defiantly, but he sensed a sudden uncertainty among them, and felt a terrifying thrill.

Wiri stalked before the ranks of living and dead.

‘WAEWAE TAKAHIA KIA KINO,’ he called.

As one they all stamped their right foot and replied. ‘E KINO NEI HOKI.’

Wiri grinned ferociously, and shouted the famous words.

‘KA MATE! KA MATE!’

‘KA ORA KA ORA,’ they yelled back at him, Pakeha and Maori spirits together answering the call.

‘KA MATE! KA MATE!’

‘KA ORA KA ORA.’

And then they all joined in one voice.

‘TENEI TE TANGATA,

PUHURU HURU,

NANA I TIKI MAI,

WHAKAWHITI TE RA.’

Down the line, Mat saw Manu, his fox-like face blazing, teeth bared. He saw Timothy Spriggs, caught up in an alien culture he didn’t understand, but a battle fury he embraced instinctively. He saw Kelly, howling out her fury with her red hair blazing like some Irish war goddess. He saw his father, his battered face and aching body forgotten in the heat of the dance. He saw his mother raise her head and look,
through the ghosts and the living, at
him,
and she nodded. She smiled dazedly.

He turned to face the foe. He felt himself swell, and seized the tiki in his left hand. It swelled like a ball of light, and in his right the koru knot also, so that it too burst like a flower of might, becoming twin patu, of bone and pounamu, light as a feather in his hand, gleaming with a trail of white and green light.

‘ARA UPANE ARA UPANE,

ARA UPANE KUPANE,

WHITI TE RA.’

He shouted, ‘HE!’ with the others, and they ran toward the earthen wall. There was a blur beside him and suddenly Wiri was running there, virile and strong.

‘Ah, brother, it is good to be here,’ he called to Mat, a grim smile on his lips. He raised his taiaha and sprinted ahead.

A look of baffled fury mottled Puarata’s face, and his chanting faltered. He screamed for the kehua to advance, but the goblin men stood their ground, bracing to meet the charge. Their pupils widened and their shoulders hunched, and they looked about them to see the lie of the land. To check the lines of retreat.

‘What’s the matter?’ yelled Timothy Spriggs. ‘Don’t you fancy it anymore, you scum?’

Manu raised his hand and emptied his pistol into the frayed ranks of the goblins, then tossed it aside and raised a trooper’s sword. They smashed into the kehua lines.

Before Mat a goblin raised a club and Mat swung, his
greenstone patu shattering the club of the goblin, and then slamming into the goblin itself, and it flew apart like clay. Wiri swept his taiaha in a roundhouse swing that shattered three kehua in one blow. Puarata was shrieking as he fell back through the ranks of his own fighters, who were giving ground all along the line. Spriggs and Manu were slashing with blurred blades, and the kehua were shrieking, turning to flee, their stomach for the fight wavering. Kelly and Mat were carried away with the moment, lashing out with abandon, forgetful that anything may strike back. And few did. The fear that had struck the goblins when they charged had dissipated their resistance. They parried, they cowered, and they fled, all along the line. And where a ghost clawed at them, they fell howling, clutching at the wounds and screaming as if their very soul had been torn. As perhaps it had.

The remaining apprentices tried to mass at the top of the rise, chanting, arms spread wide, invoking power. But their voices were lost in the winds, and their words swept away. The fleeing kehua smacked into them, knocked them down, tore at them as they tried to flee, and the flight became a rout.

‘Tally ho, Mat!’ yelled Spriggs as he and Manu swept up the slope. Tama Douglas swung a rifle, breaking a kehua with the butt. Mat felt a joy that was near to bursting. He heard Kelly yelling at him, and turned to see her, a few yards away, scaling the rampart with a bloodied club in her hands.

‘Go Mat! Go! Do it!’

He remembered himself, remembered the tiki, and even as he did, it reformed itself from the patu shape he had given it. He scurried to the top of the earthworks, Wiri bounding to his side, and together they looked beyond to the cape itself. Kelly reached them a second later and the three of them gazed at the final challenge.

Beyond the earthworks the ground fell, and then rose again to the lip of the cliffs. They were taller here, more forbidding than in the real world, and the pohutukawa at the edge of the cliff held a subtle vortex woven into its branches, that sucked and pulled at the air. The air was pure and clean as if it had just rained, and crackled with electricity, the light twilight, the red blooms of the tree swirling and pulsing like spiralling galaxies.

Waiting before the tree was Puarata. A final dozen kehua were snarling at his feet, but Mat could sense the uncertainty of their threadbare defiance. Puarata held another bone tiki in his hands, and it flashed bone-white as Tupu materialised at his side. The bestial warrior snarled even as he came into being, a mere in either hand. Wiri answered, and exploded toward him, whirling his taiaha as he came to meet his foe. Tupu swung even as Wiri ducked and rolled, and slammed the taiaha into his legs, so that Tupu crashed to the ground. Wiri was up faster and he swung overhand, his taiaha hammering down, even as Tupu raised a mere, and the two weapons met with a resounding crack. The taiaha splintered even as the mere shattered, and Wiri staggered back, tossing aside the broken taiaha. He pulled out his patu, as Tupu roared and stood, swinging as he came. His mere was a
green blur as it arced around, and it caught Wiri’s weapon and smashed it aside, then his fist caught Wiri and threw him onto his back, half-stunned, but already moving. Tupu bent and struck, missing Wiri’s head by inches as he rolled aside, and cast about for a weapon.

‘Wiri!’ yelled Mat, and he threw the koru patu, just as Tupu stood again and bellowed. Wiri leapt over a knee-cap shattering swing and caught the koru patu in one movement, then used it to block a shattering blow. The weapons chimed together and Tupu staggered back, blinded by a burst of green light, as his mere split apart. Wiri caught him a glancing blow to the head, he lurched back, then launched himself at Wiri, arms spread wide to engulf him.

Faster than sight, Wiri went backward, his feet thrusting upward. Tupu howled as his momentum took him over Wiri, flying through the air, to slam into Puarata. The tohunga’s face suddenly widened, and in reflex, he raised Tupu’s tiki, mouthing words to protect himself, already too late. The two men went down in a stunned heap, then Tupu faded, pulled from existence in the flash of thought. Puarata floundered furiously, deprived of his champion by his own hand, beginning to rise, already trying to bring the warrior back. For an instant, the way was clear. Mat ran forward, past him, and burst heedlessly through the scattering kehua, who shrieked and fled when suddenly faced with Tupu’s disappearance, throwing themselves from the ridge and into the sea, rather than face these powerful foes. Before him was the weathered rock of the point, and the twisted, battered form of the pohutukawa. The vivid red flowers coloured the
drab landscape, shining on his face, lighting the path to the land of the dead. For a second it all froze in his mind. The pohutukawa. The tiki. The fallen tohunga makutu, trying frantically to rise. Wiri, his eyes bright as a prayer. And then his arm went back and he threw the tiki and watched it sail, in slow motion, arcing through the air, toward the tree.

Behind him he sensed rather than saw Kelly, fallen to her knees, her mouth open in a cry of loss. His father, rifle raised, staring down at the chaos in disbelief. His mother, calling his name. Manu, and Spriggs, paused in the very act of striking at the retreating goblin men. The ghosts, chill eyes on the pohutukawa, seeking the gate to the next world…and the gateway opened.

Flame welled from the tree, and blossomed into a tunnel of fire, bending the air and the light and the fabric of the world until the air rippled and ripped. It swallowed the tiki, and Mat heard Wiri cry out, as if in pain. Then the ghosts were streaming past, a cold rush of cloud heaving with voices calling Mat’s name, calling out to God, calling out to loved ones. Wiri got to his feet, staggered as the ghost-wind poured through him, and suddenly he was rising, swept, blown along before this soul-wind.

‘Wiri!’ Mat called, realising too late that this was their last moment, and they hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye. The warrior raised a hand, his mouth forming words he had no time to speak. Kelly screamed, from back on the earthworks, and Wiri was gone, blown into the rift in the air. Vanished. More spirits flew past, and then the gap began to close, like a wound healing. The wind subsided and the
tongues of flame became flowers again, the red tongue-like blooms of the pohutukawa.

‘Wiri!’ Mat called again, but he was gone. Tears streamed down his face. He turned back, to look at the earthworks. The goblins were gone, all of them slain, or fled. The ghosts were gone, apart from one pale being who flowed down the slope toward him.

‘Haere Ra, Matiu,’ said Hakawau. ‘You have done well here. I hope we will meet again, but you will excuse an old tired man if he leaves now, for rest. Haere Ra.’ Mat watched blankly as the spirit of the tohunga faded away to the south, gone in seconds, winking out of sight, seeking his body far away in Maungatautari Pa.

He looked up at the line of people standing on the earthworks. His father was holding his mother in his arms, a sight that made a sudden music swell in his chest. Kelly was on her knees, face in her hands. He saw Spriggs and Manu clasping hands, smiling. He began to stagger back toward them.

Suddenly all of the faces turned to him, and eyes widened, jaws dropped, even as he sensed a cold shadow fall on him.

Puarata had risen, his face gaunt, blood on his temple from where Tupu had collided with him. He was choking on spittle, his mouth opened as though struggling to enclose the teeth that seemed to sprout in his maw. His eyes were livid, his face twisted in hideous fury. He roared, and reached for Mat with taloned hands.

D
o you think the loss of a trinket is enough to destroy me, boy?’ snarled Puarata. ‘I am still here, and you will find out how much strength remains in me!’

Mat heard his mother scream, and Kelly calling, and bullets ripped past him, striking Puarata’s chest, but even though he staggered at the impact, the tohunga makutu didn’t flinch. There was no blood, just a tear in his flesh. He laughed, raising a claw to slash, and Mat could think of nothing. All he could hear was a small voice in the back of his head saying, ‘Well, you tried…’

A shaft of wood erupted from Puarata’s chest, and he suddenly staggered, eyes widening in disbelief. The pointed handle of a taiaha had pierced him from behind. Both hands flew to the spike, and his knees buckled.

‘No!’ he choked, his voice cracking, and Mat leapt away as
he slowly pitched forward, onto his face. A metre of polished wood was sticking from his back.

Even as he fell he looked up, and reached out, but Mat jerked backward, out of reach. The earth seemed to boil, then dozens of clay hands reached out of the soil, and pulled his body downward, until it was swallowed by the earth at Mat’s feet. The taiaha was all that was left, jutting from the earth.

A young Maori warrior plucked it from the ground, a thoughtful look on his face.

‘Wiri!’ yelled Mat, his eyes lit up, and he leapt at him.

Seconds later Kelly was there, sobbing and holding them both. Mat rubbed delirious tears away.
All I seem to do is cry,
he thought furiously, but then his parents wrapped him into their arms, and there were more tears.

He pulled away, feeling a heat from the light of the pohutukawa. A tunnel hung in the air, an entrance to the spirit world. A woman stood watching him. She was young and old, with thin bird-like features, and a rippling curtain of black hair. She held the curtain of fire open and her hand reached through. ‘William! Wiremu!’

It was Wai-aroha.

Wiri stood and turned. Kelly clutched at his arm.

The warrior stood, frozen. He looked about him, at the windswept cape, and the debris of the fight. He looked at Mat, and Kelly, and his friends. He looked at Fitzy, the turehu sitting like a malicious child on a rock. And then he looked at Wai-aroha.

It was as if a cord of light bound them. She called him
again, and he wavered, looked down, and then across at Kelly, who had fallen to her knees again, her face upturned and pleading.

‘Do I have a choice?’ he asked, his voice lost as a child’s.

The bird face went still. And then it nodded, slowly. ‘Ai-eee. My love. My Wiremu! You have a choice.’ Wai-aroha’s face was bereft.

Wiri fell to his knees, and clasped Kelly to his chest. He kissed her, then stood shakily. He walked toward Wai-aroha, standing in the tunnel of fire. Her eyes kindled with renewed hope, then she shook her head. ‘My love, my love. You have the chance to live. To have the life you should have had. And I can wait here forever.’

‘But…’

‘You must stay, my love. You must live.’

‘Then I choose…I choose life,’ he choked out.

‘Ai-eeee. So be it. Be happy, my love. I will wait for you. I have all of forever, to wait…’ And then she was gone. The fires flickered and vanished, and the wind stopped, as though the whole of creation had drawn breath. And then it exhaled…

They regathered their possessions, and made a fire at the top of the headland. Manu and Timothy were drinking a bottle of scotch they had pulled from their car, and laughing softly. Wiri and Kelly were wrapped in each other’s arms, whispering. Tama Douglas was tending to Colleen. The sight filled Mat with warmth. Fitzy had taken dog-form, and was
lying in Mat’s lap, looking very contented. Mat had a water-bottle in his hand and was sipping it slowly, looking out at the starry night.

‘That was a terrible thing to do to a taiaha, bro,’ Manu told Wiri, the merriment in his voice undermining his serious face. ‘It’s not a spear, bro, it’s a club. You don’t throw the bloody thing! You’ll give us all a bad name. Make these local tribes think Ngati Tautari don’t know how to fight properly.’

Wiri laughed, and ate a mouthful of fish.

They had added logs after the cooking, making a bonfire. Spriggs had bought some vegetables, fish and crayfish from a local fisherman, and he and Manu had built a hangi. Puarata’s rainbow was gone, and with it the dark clouds. The afternoon had been vividly blue, and the evening was balmy.

Mat was sitting stroking Fitzy, who apart from a scab on his head, seemed none the worse for wear. His parents were talking softly, casting long shadows on the dunes. Each wore the greenstone pendant Mat had made for them, the koru and the Celtic knot. Mat’s neck felt oddly naked.

Wiri was sitting with the men, Kelly curled in a crook of his arm. She hadn’t let him go since he came back from the gateway.

‘When I went into the paths to the spirit world, I could look back and still see everything,’ he’d told them earlier. ‘And I seemed to have a choice. I could go on, and join the spirits on the way to the next world, or I could return. And when I saw Puarata rise, I chose to return. Although, I think
I’d already decided by then to come back…

‘You gave me back my people, at the trial,’ he told Mat. ‘Now, you’ve given me back my life. One more time to live. I think I’m mortal now, so I have sixty-odd years. And I’m not going to miss a second of it,’ he added, gazing at Kelly.

Mat listened to Manu and Spriggs tease Wiri again about the taiaha, and about Kelly, and heard Kelly join in, throwing their jibes back at them until they were all laughing. Fitzy woofed happily, and his parents came to sit with him, one on either side. Together they watched the sun go down.

Manu and Spriggs had used the keys Mat had thrown them to escape, and fled into old Auckland in the confusion at Donna Kyle’s house. They had found a place where they could get into modern Auckland, stolen a car, and followed Mat north as fast as they could, not daring to come too close to Puarata, but hoping for an opportunity to intervene. ‘Which we did,’ concluded Spriggs. ‘In the nick of time, and right on the money.’

Dad looked at Mat. ‘I was a prisoner of the gunmen Puarata had hired. But two gentlemen…’

‘He means us,’ put in Manu, his hand on Spriggs’ shoulder.

‘…these two gentlemen caught up with us north of Whangarei at a petrol station, and fair beat the crap out of Puarata’s men. I didn’t know what was going on until they said they knew you, Mat. But I’m very grateful.’

Mat looked at his father. It was hard, thinking back on how things had been, and how his father had sided with Puarata. He was glad Tama had finally realised Puarata was the enemy and not his own son…but he still felt hesitant.

Tama Douglas saw his hesitation, and seemed on the verge of trying to justify himself, but Colleen whispered something and he fell silent.

Mat looked at them both, and wondered if this ordeal really was over.

‘I’m sorry, son,’ said Dad, finally. ‘I let myself be blinded by Puarata, and suddenly, he seemed to own me, and I couldn’t think anymore. All I seemed able to do was whatever he wanted. And all the while I could see everything I was doing wrong, then and in the past, as though Puarata were showing me a movie of my life, running in my head, showing me every stupid thing I’ve ever done. Like throwing away my marriage. And making my son fear me, and hate his own heritage. I don’t know how to apologise. Can you forgive me? Either of you?’

Mat nodded, a lump in his throat.

Mum looked at him. ‘You can’t take away what has happened, Tama. But maybe I can forgive. I can…think about it. It’s all very easy making promises at a time like this, but it’s not a simple thing you’re asking.’ She looked at Mat, her face clouded. ‘You hearing this Mat? It isn’t simple. Nothing is simple.’ She turned to Tama, and her face softened a little. ‘But we can try.’

They looked at one another, and then slowly Tama drew
Colleen into a bear-hug. Mat felt a fierce surge of hope. They pulled him into the embrace, and he buried himself in it.

What will I do now?
Mat thought, much later, staring at the dying fire.
There is so much out there. Two worlds to explore, each separate, each entwined in the other. Koru and Celtic knot. Myth and reality. Maori and Pakeha. Mother and father. New Zealand and Aotearoa. Each a part of the other. Where do I start?

He leant against his father’s shoulder, felt his mother grip his hand.

I will start here.