The Wind City (21 page)

“All right,” Cuba said, ambling.

The girl grinned at Steff. “Come see us tomorrow if you like,” she told him. “Once you’re done talking to the stuffy old
boooring
forest people. Cuba can show you. Ooh, Cuba, could you have a
laptop
head?”

“Sure,” Cuba said, and paused. “That’d be… Dell-ightful!”

They high-fived.

“Come and see us tomorrow, and Cuba can have a laptop head,” she continued, “so that’ll be good for you, Mister Weird Student Guy.” She waved her fingers and laughed, then staggered a little. Her grip on Cuba’s arm helped her regain her footing and she went on like nothing was wrong, but she was looking paler as well, Steff noticed. Of course. They were getting further and further away from her fountain.

“That’d be nice,” Cuba said amicably.

She leaned her head against Cuba’s arm. “Or you could be a coffee pot instead! But no being a girl, okay. Girl Cuba’s fine and all,” she added for Steff’s benefit, “but sometimes she’s prettier than
me
. Not allowed!”

Cuba patted her hand. “No one’s prettier than you,” he said. Evidently he took fluidity of sex – or maybe just gender; did spirits like this even
have
a biological sex? Maybe not, or maybe it varied. Perhaps their concepts of gender were imported from observing humans, and wouldn’t that be a fascinating thing to study. Anyway, Cuba took that as much in his stride as he did everything else. Steffan envied that a little.

Not that his calm was impossible to disrupt; when the girl stopped talking altogether Cuba looked at her in concern, and he himself seemed to get shakier as they stepped past the end of Cuba Street. Steff half thought that they’d stop there, but the two of them took him right to where they said the entrance to the Hikurangi was, between two pillars by the side of the library.

Steffan just lingered there for a while, staring at the space between pillars. He couldn’t see anything.
Well, of course you can’t
, he chided himself, but still. He hadn’t been expecting that. He wasn’t sure what he
had
been expecting.

Eventually Cuba made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat – well, he made a sympathetic noise, anyway, and said, “All a bit much, huh?”

Steffan flushed in embarrassment. “I just… I feel I should be more prepared,” he said, lamely, and the Bucket Fountain girl managed a laugh.

“They’re not gonna
quiz
you,” she said, and she tugged on Cuba’s arm. “Hey, hey, let’s get back, you were gonna sing more stuff.”

“Yeah, all right,” Cuba said, a smile in his voice, and they turned away. Steffan just stood there awkwardly, watching them go. They were
friendly
, what if the other atua weren’t friendly, it – it had been awfully pleasant, spending time with them; he was cordial but distant with most people he knew except Saint, and Saint was… well. Saint.

The Bucket Fountain girl glanced back at him. “You can
come
, dummy,” she said, so he flushed deeper but followed them, leaving the Hikurangi alone for now.

Tony’s mother had nearly died once, when Tony was very young. She remembered the ache and the worry and the sheer cringing terror of it, hovering awkwardly by her mother’s bedside, watching her get sicker and sicker every day, powerless to help –

Her mother had gotten better, but. But. Tony learned what death was, that day: realised that people could leave, go, simply no longer exist. It was a little like the first time she’d lost a tooth. She’d held it in her hands and blinked at it, at the concept that something that had been so very much a part of you could just
leave
. Death had seemed such a strange thing.

It hadn’t gotten any easier.

She walked by the ocean, breathing in the chilly morning air, but that didn’t help this time; it just made her think of losing her boat, the livelihood she didn’t have any longer. Made her think of Whai grinning at her sharp-toothed that first time they’d met, and that, of course, brought unbidden the image of Whai the last time she’d seen him, as she lowered his sagging corpse into the sea. He had sunk far too slowly.

So the ocean couldn’t help. She wasn’t sure that anything would, really – that had always been her problem, she had always cared far too much. Poor Whai, snarky and slouchy and … lonely. He’d been
lonely
. Had to be – that’d explain why he’d clung to her so much, her and the rest of the atua, oh and hey, that’d be why he’d been so worried about Māui killing –

…Hm. Māui.

Māui who’d killed him, if Whai was to be believed, and as those had been his last words Tony wasn’t much inclined to disbelieve them. Māui who could kill someone under
her
protection and think to get away with it.

Tony found that her teeth were set into a snarl without her quite intending them to be. Well, then. Maybe there was
one
thing that’d help.

She turned on her heel and started striding toward the library, not terribly far from here. It started to rain, light and inconsequential, the sort of rain that slicked the pavements so the streetlights shone back from them. Tony wiped damp curls out of her face and walked faster, quick and sure. She knew the way.

The people at the Hikurangi would know more about Māui, they might even help her stop him. They were all lonely, really, sad lost creatures stranded in a city full of people not their own. They would help. Atua whānau.

Look past
, she told herself, and then she imagined it in Whai’s jagged drawl and had to squint her eyes against the rain until she was composed again.

Look past. Right. She practised on the city, on the few people out at this time of day; she could almost see… something, something wispy and nebulous and vague, like city spirits, but it was probably her imagination. It was good that she was practising, though, because it meant she saw Hinewai.

Tony stopped when she saw her, the silent figure standing there. Looked through all the different things Hinewai was, looked past then past again – a seeming of her as a human girl, not very convincing, and then beyond that
Hinewai
, plain black clothes and a flute at her neck and white hair plastered to her face so her eyes seemed huge, and then beyond that something else again, something sharper and even less human; it reminded her of a moray eel, a little, all smooth skin and gaping teeth bared in something that was nothing like a smile.

Tony blinked and Hinewai was just herself again, thank goodness. It was impossible to hold the different levels together at once, so things got pretty confusing. Hinewai was Hinewai, standing there, and Tony tensed, thought of scales and ancientness and strength in preparation. She’d be ready for whatever attack Hinewai threw at her.

“I’m sorry,” Hinewai said.

Okay, maybe not ready for that.

“What?”

“As I say.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I meant you no harm, but I can see I harmed you all the same, so – I thought I should apologise before I go. There is a way to these things.”

Tony frowned. “Before you go?”

Hinewai tilted her head. There was no one else in the square, right now; just them, just the taniwha and the mistgirl standing in the rain. “If you will not lend me aid I have little left to do here. The reasons I came were… foolish.” Her lip curled. “And I thought I was being
clever
, moving from the mountains to this filthy frantic place, I thought I could carve of this place a home, for my own home will surely not last long, not in this new world. I thought wrongly and foolishly. This is… this is not a place I belong, not in the least.” Again, in a voice so small Tony had to step forward to hear it: “This isn’t my
place
…”

Sad lost creatures in a city not their own. And Tony was their guardian, because they had no one else.

No. No! Bad Tony! Yeah okay she’d always cared too much, it was a thing she did, but this,
no
, no no
no
she refused to feel compassionate about someone who was such an utter jerk and also terrifying. She flat-out refused. Not gonna happen.

“I miss my mountains,” Hinewai said.

…God fucking dammit.

Tony gritted her teeth and forced herself to not be compassionate. “Yeah okay, blah blah blah all very tragic. You’re sorry, I get it, now get the hell out of my sight before I punch you right in the face! Okay?”

Hinewai gave her a look that Tony would’ve described as fond, if it had been anyone else doing the looking. “You are so kind,” she said. “And so strong, and so hard to anger. I should take it as flattery perhaps, that I managed it.”

“You should take it as get the fuck out.”

“I do not understand… ” Hinewai said, and then stopped. She frowned. “I,” she said, carefully, like it was something rehearsed, “do not understand, but I shall nonetheless respect your decisions and act accordingly.” And then she ruined it by looking up at Tony all wide imploring eyes. “Is that right? That’s right, isn’t it?”

Tony sighed. She was bad at being annoyed at people. Which was good! Which was good, because hate curled up in you like cancer and ate you from the inside out if you let it. Hating one person at a time was more than bad enough. Particularly when that person was a legendary trickster demigod, which was bound to make stuff a teensy bit more complicated.

“Yeah, that’s right,” she said, kindly. “You’re learning. Well done.” She walked forward, held out her hand formally. There was a way to do these things. “Bye! Let’s part – well, not friends, but… not enemies at least.”

Hinewai’s face was a study in perfect astonishment. Then she nodded, rapid and quick like the movement of a bird, and closed the distance between them, ignoring Tony’s hands completely. For an odd second Tony thought she was going to kiss her, but she just pressed their noses together, closed her eyes, breathed out her own air and breathed Tony’s in. Smiled, shy.

It was… far too intimate. Tony cleared her throat and took a step backward. The proper way of doing things was done, so she could beat a hasty retreat now.

But for some reason she instead said, “Whai did that, first time we met –” and just like that his death was a weight on her shoulders again, a lump in her throat. She couldn’t finish.

Which was fortunate, because Hinewai stepped up to fill the silence. She really
was
learning how to be considerate, maybe. A bit. “Whai?” she said, examining Tony closely. “That’s a ponaturi name, from the sound of it. And he is dead? I’m sorry for the loss of him.” She rested one hand on her breastbone. “My pain that you are pained.”

Tony swallowed, tears prickling at her eyes.
Sea-sister
, he’d called her, and she remembered exactly the sight of his ruined face disappearing beneath the water. “You can… you could tell what he was from his name? Was it a traditional ponaturi name or something?”

“No. Just pretentious.” Hinewai snorted. “They like to pretend they were the ones who invented weaving, rather than us.”

That was heartbreaking in its ridiculousness. “He
would
,” Tony said, achingly fond. “That’s exactly the kind of name he’d take. He – gah… ” She buried her face in her hands.

Hinewai didn’t move forward to comfort her or anything, and Tony was a little surprised – Hinewai had been trying too hard, the whole conversation, to seem like she cared – but when Tony finally emerged, sniffling, she saw that Hinewai was standing a cautious distance away, hands raised as though to show that she didn’t mean to impose, she wouldn’t approach in case she made Tony uncomfortable.

Maybe she
could
learn.

But Tony was sick and tired of loving cruel people who went and
died
on her. She didn’t have space enough left. “Right,” she said, and wiped her face, and nodded briskly. “I need to get going. I need to find Māui.”

“Māui?” said Hinewai, sharp, all her comforting carefulness vanishing in an instant; “
Māui
?” And she hissed, snapped her teeth like a dog.

Tony brightened. Hey, maybe…“You know him?”

“Know
of
him, for a certainty,” Hinewai said, eyes narrowing. “Know a great plenty of him. More than I would like to. He –”

“Okay, wait,” Tony said, holding up a hand, and Hinewai stopped abruptly. “Before you continue I just – I wanna make sure you actually do know stuff about the guy. That you’re not just spinning stories to make me like you again.”

“Why would I need to spin stories?” Hinewai said blankly. “If I wanted to make you –” and then she paused and coughed and changed the subject, wisely. “My people have many names, still,” she said, and her voice had a rolling rhythm to it. “We are the patupaiarehe. We are the mistfolk, the twilight singers, the friends of mountains, the tūrehu. Māui too had many names: he was Māui-tikitiki-a-Taranga, Māui the last born, Māui of the steadfast jawbone. Māui the trickster. Māui the deceiver. Māui the thief of
fire
.” She hissed that last word like it was a profanity, a condemnation, a curse; met Tony’s eyes, her own eyes dark and cavernous-empty. “Māui was no friend to the patupaiarehe.”