Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (14 page)

After several more rides, all of them as terrifying as the first, we return to the
Wakemaunga
, and Julian drops me off at my room. Once he leaves, I stand there by myself, having no idea what to do. Compared to the rush I just experienced, everything else seems dull and hyper-ordinary.

In an attempt to distract myself, I explore every cranny of the chamber, turning up a flashlight, a button, and a skein of yarn under the table near my bed. Grabbing the ball of wool, I sit on the edge of the bed and begin absently braiding it into a rope. The feel of the newly formed cord between my fingers, unnaturally soft, is at once foreign and familiar.

A memory rises around me, the sensation of twisting a scratchy cattle rope between my fingers and suffocating from the heat of the August sun. I’m standing next to Tom in one of the barns at the Minnesota State Fair, waiting to hear the results of the livestock competition. The heat, the smell, and above all the crowds of people make me feel like I’m drowning. Even when we escape the pungent kiln of a barn, it’s no better. Waves of people for as far as you can see, surging around buildings and cars and everything-you-can-imagine-on-a-stick stands. The mob is too thick for us to walk side by side, so Tom has me hold one end of my rope while he holds the other. We weave our way through the deluge of sweaty arms and legs. I know if I let go, I’ll never see him again. We’ll both be swallowed by the sea.

There’s a knock on the wall outside my door, and I immediately jump up, releasing my tight hold on the rope. “Come in.”

Miri pushes aside the sheepskin covering my doorway. “You did it!” she beams as she steps inside. “Well done!”

“What did I do?” I ask, confused.

“Unlocked the Yakone device.” She raises an eyebrow. “Forgotten already?”

“Oh, that.”

She studies me for a moment. “Are you knitting a scarf with your fingers?”

“It’s a rope,” I mumble, my thoughts drifting back to the bloody hunt in the meadow, and then to the origins of my scars.

She tilts her head. “You’re upset?”

I shrug. “I’m not upset that Paika gets to live and that we won’t be made slaves. But the
Riki …
he’s not going to kill the families, is he? The children?” But even as the words come out of my mouth, I picture the Rangi soldiers in the tunnels of the
Wakenunat
, shooting everyone down with their guns.

“They killed our children and families first,” Miri says quietly, “when they destroyed our village. War is ugly, Kitara. That’s why the sooner it’s over, the better. The faster we can put an end to this, the fewer lives will be lost—on all sides. And you’ve given the
Riki
the tool he needs to make the war end quickly. You’ve done a great service for your people.”

“I guess.”

“I think it’s time we practice some more.”

“I’m not really feeling up to it.”

“I wasn’t giving you a choice. Come on.”

Grumbling under my breath, I follow her down into the mountain until we reach the cave with the pools, which I think is in
Poro M
. As before, Miri lights a candle and makes me sit.

“Before you begin,” she says. “There’s something you should know about the song you’ve chosen.
Tūtira mai katoa. Tātu e tātu e
. The words are about unity.”

“Yeah, I know. Paika told me.”

“About unity
as a group
,” she stresses. “A community. Stand together, people. All of us together. ‘There’s no such thing as a lone breeze.’”

I frown. “I thought it was about unifying your thoughts and intentions.”

“It is, but it’s also much more than that. It’s about becoming one with everything around you: your family, your tribe, the wind, the earth. Why do you think our tribal home is inside a mountain?”

“Because it’s a safe place to hide?”

“That’s partly true. But it’s also to remind us of our responsibility for the land we live on. Live
in
. The sky and its breath are important to us, but they’re not the full picture. The Māori
teach us that the wind can’t exist without the warmth from
Papatūānuku
,
the Earth Mother. We need her just as much as we need Sky Father,
Ranginui
. She grounds us, teaches us about patterns.”

“Patterns? What does that have to do with anything?”

“The wind is born from the earth’s heating and cooling. It works in cycles. Our lives work in cycles too, girl. When we start to pay attention to the way we react to outside forces, again and again, that’s when we’re able to grow. Now, feel the connection to
Papatūānuku
in your words, the power and perspective it gives you.”

I sigh. “I’ll try.”

I close my eyes and bring my focus inward. For a few minutes all I do is breathe.

Then I begin to sing. “
Tūtira mai katoa
.” I concentrate on the words, on their sound. At first I have to force them out, but soon they seem to flow of their own accord, independent of conscious thought.

When I feel the words strongly in my bones, I imagine the song climbing up into the mountain, connecting me to the other Rangi, the members of my
iwi
.

“
Tātu e tātu e
.”
I have people to rely on now, people I can trust.
I don’t have to be on my own. I am one of them. There’s no such thing as a lone breeze. I can draw on their strength, the strength of our ancestors. But my mind keeps returning to the map in the control room, to the training, and I’m unable to convince myself.

So instead I think about the island, the way the wind hums over the ocean before a storm. I will my senses to become aware of the earth’s
mana
—the ground supporting me, the dripping of the water, the strong smell of minerals, the ever so faint breeze in the air. And then somehow, almost imperceptibly, I feel the breeze grow within me, the currents expand and solidify.

“
Tūtira mai katoa
,” I sing more loudly. “
Tātu e tātu e
.” The earth makes me strong. The sky makes me powerful.

The wind matches the song’s strength, growing stronger with each word, raising me off the ground. I feel the words flowing through the cavern as the wind makes the water ripple and my hair dance. I let it spin me until the only thing I know is the wind and power and strength.

“Kitara!”

Suddenly, I feel Miri’s hand wrap around my arm, breaking me from my trance and yanking me down toward the ground. I open my eyes, but the cave is dark again.

“What happened?” I ask as the wind retreats.

“You did well.” I hear her feeling around the floor for the candle. Then she strikes a match, and the darkness shrinks to the edges of the room. “But you were getting too close to the ceiling,” she says. “Almost hurt yourself.” She stands up. “I think that’s enough for one day. Let’s go get you ready for the ceremony.”

I frown at her flowing gray hair as I follow her up the passageway, puzzled by her abruptness. But her crisp words and strong stride forbid me from asking questions. So we return to my room, and I take off my clothes and run my bath.

When I’m clean, Miri helps me get into a scarlet dress decorated with iridescent shells and intricate beadwork.

“Your mother wore this,” she says quietly, “for her initiation.”

I run my hands along the beads, letting the realization that I’m touching something she touched sink in. Almost everything we owned was lost in the fire, so I never had any keepsakes to remember her by. Was she nervous when she wore this, like I am? Did she know she would become a warrior or that she’d be engaged to the future
Riki
? Was she already in love with my dad?

Suddenly, I think of something. “My mom didn’t have a
moko
,” I say. “Neither did my dad.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“Why not?”

Miri sighs. “You should know by now that your parents were a tad … unconventional. Aroha was also a little vain. She thought the
moko
would ruin her face when she should have realized it would only add to her beauty. Silly child.” But I see the sorrow in her eyes. And something else. Regret?

I want to ask more about my mom—how else was she unconventional?—but the ache in Miri’s voice makes me hesitate. So I’m quiet as she works my hair into an elaborate braid and then ties a beaded red headband around my brow.

“Not half bad,” she says when she’s done, stepping back to look at me. “It’s amazing how much you look like her.” She coughs and turns away.

At that moment, Paika knocks and pushes aside the covering, letting himself in. “Hope you’re ready,” he trills, “because it’s time to go.” When he sees me, he pauses. “You look nice, Kit.” His eyes grow distant, and I shift my weight uncomfortably.

“Let’s go then,” Miri says.

They lead me down the tunnels back to the plateau where I was put on trial. We’re the first ones there, but soon other people trickle out of the mountain. As I stand in front of the meetinghouse doors before the gathering crowd, I can’t help but stare at the rock where I was chained to the tree at the trial, where I waited to find out if they would kill me. Now I’m going to be one of them.

I’m going to be a Rangi.

As I think about the trial, about my rebellious mother and how she fled with my father, the confidence I felt down in the caves begins to slowly ebb away.

A figure standing still against the moving crowd draws my attention: a tall man with a piercing in his nose and a
moko
that runs over his face, extending down his neck and arms. Wiremu’s dark eyes impale me from under the swirling tattoos. I press my hands together. They’re cold.

When a large group has assembled, the
Riki
and his councilors step onto the plateau. The chief greets the crowd, but I hardly pay attention to what he’s saying.

After his welcome, the ceremony unfolds exactly like Paika explained. The
Riki
reads my name, and a wrinkled man with white hair tied at the back of his head carves “Kitara Awha” onto the wall connecting the mountain and the meetinghouse. The only surprise is when the man smears some kind of pigment across my forehead and I almost panic, thinking he’s going to give me a
moko
. But he doesn’t, and then he says, “Remember Rangiātea,” and the crowd replies, “I will not be lost,” before I’ve had a chance to really process what’s happening.

When it’s over, everyone cheers, and someone presses a glass into my hand. Paika leads a toast, and I dizzily drain the cup. The liquid burns my throat, but I take another when it’s offered to me. Then another. And another. Before long, the people around me are spinning into blurred shapes, and I’m having trouble standing up.

Someone, I think it’s Miri, grips my bicep and leads me toward the tunnel entrance. The last thing I remember is the black hole opening up to swallow me.

A terrible pounding rattles my brain, waking me up. “Stop that,” I slur. I blink my eyes at the fuzzy shape walking toward me.

“Time to get up,” Paika’s voice says from somewhere within the fuzz. “It’s already after noon.”

“Don’t wanna get up,” I mutter into the pillows.

He throws back my blankets. “You can’t sleep forever. Get up. I’ve got the perfect cure for that hangover.”

“Hangover?”

“Well, what did you expect? You drank at least eight glasses of
kapia.
”

“What’s the cure?”

He grins. “Windwalking.”

“Uh uh.” I pull the blankets back over my head. “Not a good idea.”

He pulls them off again.

“I hate you,” I say as he lifts me to my feet.

“No worries, mate. You’ll love me in an hour.”

I splash some water on my face and eat a piece of toast Paika brought me before pulling on a shirt and the pants I wore yesterday, realizing as I do so that I’m not wearing the red dress anymore—Miri must have taken it off me last night. Then I let Paika push me through the passageways and up several flights of stairs until we get to a large cavern filled with equipment. Mokai is sitting on a crate. I pause when I see who’s next to him. It’s Stephen. They stand up as we approach.

“I thought it was time for you to experience some real windwalking,” Paika says to me as he walks over to a shelf carved into the rock wall and pulls down something made of pale blue
cloth. He throws it at me, and I barely manage to catch it. When I feel the soft fabric, I realize it’s a jumpsuit.

“You thought
now
would be a good time?”

“Put that on,” he instructs, ignoring me and grabbing one for himself. Stephen and Mokai are already wearing them.

“Shouldn’t you be training people?” I ask Kai. I notice he has a black eye, likely from the hunt.

“It’s Sunday,” he says. “Our day off.”

“Oh.”

“So what happened to you yesterday? I couldn’t find you anywhere. I tried to ask you what happened at the ceremony, but you were too drunk. You kept going on about—”

“I went up to the wind tunnel.” I say quickly, feeling my face flush. I sneak a look at Stephen, wondering why he’s here, but then Paika drops a cream-colored backpack at my feet.

“What is all this for?” I ask, stepping into the jumpsuit.

He nods at the jumpsuit. “Camouflage.” Then he points to the backpack. “That’s a parachute, in case the wind dies.”

“Is this dangerous?”

“Nah, as long as you stick with me and do exactly as I tell you. You’ll need these too.” He grabs a pair of goggles from another shelf and tosses them to me.

“Do you know the hand signals?” he asks next.

“Some.” I show him the signs Rye taught me.

He frowns. “Those must be Yakone signals; I don’t know those.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No worries, love. We’ll just use radios.” He hands me a helmet.

As we’re putting on the gear, I remember that Rye said something about needing special equipment to reach high altitudes when he was teaching me to windwalk. Thinking about that first lesson makes me think of a question I wanted to ask him but wasn’t able to.

“Can anyone learn to windwalk?” I ask Paika.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess they could. Might take them a while though. I imagine the more closely related they are to a windwalker, the faster they’d catch on. Windwalkers and humans are essentially the same, but humans have devolved slightly.”

“Devolved?”

“They’re wimps is what they are,” Kai inserts. “They get cold easily and need oxygen tanks when they travel to high elevations.”

“And we don’t?”

“’Course not. Some of the Cua even make their home in the peaks of the Himalayas. Humans couldn’t do that, not without help.”

I think about all the times Sue would tell me to put on a jacket even though I felt fine. I guess it was my windwalker blood keeping me warm.

Paika shows me how to work the parachute. “Remember,” he says, “only use it if you absolutely have to. The primary rule of windwalking is to go unnoticed.”

“Okay,” I say, more shakily than I meant to sound.

“A compass, altimeter, and anemometer are built on your sleeves. In case you need them.”

“A what and a what?”

He sighs. “They measure the altitude and wind speed. You also have a medical thermometer and oximeter.” He holds up a hand before I can ask. “Measures the oxygen in your blood.”

I put on the jumpsuit then study the instruments on my arms. Aside from the compass and thermometer, I have no idea which one is which. Hopefully, I won’t need to use them.

When everyone is ready, Paika leads us out onto a ledge overlooking the fiord. “Wind’s choice!” he says. “Let’s check the radios. Testing 1, 2, 3.” I hear his voice inside my helmet and wince at the pain it adds to my headache.

“I hear you,” I grimace. The other two confirm their headsets are working as well.

“Brilliant. I’ll take the lead. Kit, you follow me. Fellas, you stay in the back.” With a running start, he leaps off the ledge into the air.

I curse under my breath. This is suicide. My head is killing me, and my eyesight is still a little blurry. But I know Paika would just come back and throw me off the edge if I don’t go, so I take a deep breath and force myself to run after him. I feel for the currents, reach out to the one Paika’s riding, and form
honga
as I vault into the sky
.

Immediately, the swirling wind clears out my head, and I feel the familiar buzz in my blood, the best feeling in the world.

“Woohoo!” I shout as the wind whips me over the gorgeous green mountains and sparkling river. I forget all about my hangover.

Ahead of me, Paika swerves between the trees, getting so close he almost touches them. A moment later, I catch sight of Mokai running sideways along a cliff face then hurdling into the air with a rotating double front flip. Next to me, Stephen launches himself straight up and then lets himself free fall, pulling himself up just before he disappears into the bush.

“Loosen up, Kit,” Paika calls into the headset. “Try something fun.”

Gritting my teeth, I tip myself forward into a dive and plunge into a small ravine, the trees so close I could touch them. The ravine narrows, and I rotate myself sideways in order to fit. Once I burst out of the canyon, I reach for a new current and shoot back up into the sky.

“Yeah!” I half-yell, half-gasp into the radio.

“That’s a beaut!” Paika says.

We soar over cliffs, waterfalls, rivers, islands. Stephen skims the water, while Mokai weaves between trees. Whenever we catch sight of a boat, we pull up and dive behind the nearest outcrop, hiding from view.

“Okay,” Paika finally says. “Enough fooling around. Let’s climb!” He scales the currents, moving higher and higher.

The rest of us follow him. At first I just focus on moving to the right currents, but after a few minutes I pause and look around me. When I do, I gasp.

Surrounding us are clouds like I’ve never seen—enormous, endless walls of white, like pulled taffy. I soar past them, through them, breathing in their mist. Everywhere I look the clouds stretch across the sky, layer after layer after layer, hiding us from the real world below. Sunlight streaks through the puffy peaks, showering me in light. We rise higher and higher through the glowing wisps.

Soon we’re above the clouds, and they lie below us like the sheepskin blankets back at the
Wakemaunga.
Above them the sky is a brilliant blue. Still, Paika continues to climb.

“How high are we going?” I ask in the radio.

“You’ll see!” is the response.

We rise even higher, so high that I actually begin to feel the chill. I can see the curvature of the earth below me, the thinning air above that marks the edge of the troposphere. All my life I’ve been fascinated with outer space. I never imagined I could get this close to it using only my body.

Before long, I see something above us: a wispy but enormous tunnel of clouds. The air inside it is moving ferociously fast.

“Oh my gosh,” I say into the mic. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you think it’s a jet stream, then dead on,” Paika answers.

“Are we going in it?”

“Why else would we be up here?” Mokai says.

“Just remember to feel for airplanes,” Paika cautions.

“What do you mean ‘feel’?” I ask.

“On the wind. A plane pushes so much air around, you’ll feel it coming long before you see it. And when you do, you put your arse in gear and get out of there fast. Got it?”

“Okay.”

“Watch for clear air turbulence too—any air moving perpendicular to the stream. It can knock you off course. If you stick close to me, you’ll be good as gold.”

“Make sure you move into the stream quickly,” Stephen adds, speaking for the first time. I jump when I hear his voice. “Move quickly to get out too. Otherwise, you’ll have the same problem.”

“Got it,” I say, more confidently than I feel.

“Let’s roll,” Paika says. He barrels into the stream. Not wanting to be left behind, I quickly follow suit.

Immediately, the rushing air hurls me forward, and I have to fight to stay balanced. The speed is incredible. Ahead of me, I catch sight of Paika—a long way ahead. Glancing behind me, I see the tiny figure of either Mokai or Stephen.

I think about the jets and the turbulence, and for a moment, I’m tempted to panic. But I force myself to stay calm and strengthen my bond with the wind, really feel the air moving inside and around me. And then it’s like I enter another dimension.

The kick in my veins is indescribable, the most liberating feeling in the world. It’s as if I’m no longer contained within my body. Instead, I’m a part of the air. I am the wind. I can actually feel the disturbance the others create—Paika ahead of me, Stephen and Mokai behind. I twist around an air pocket almost without thinking. Windwalking has become pure instinct.

“Time to jump ship,” I hear Paika’s voice crackle in the radio. “Before we get too far from home.” I sense him drop out of the current. Reluctantly, I do the same.

The jolt I experience passing from the stream to the air on the other side is jarring, and I drop my hold on the wind. I reach out to reconnect then decide to let go of everything and simply free fall. I stretch my arms and legs wide and plummet toward the earth, feeling my stomach rise into my rib cage. I spin around, flip upside down, twist sideways, and float on my back. In the distance, I see the others doing more extreme tricks, but I feel content to rotate slowly toward the clouds.

Then I’m dropping into the soft mist, and I can’t see the others at all. I twirl through the puffy formations, completely alone, completely at peace.

“Kit?” Paika’s voice comes fuzzily through the headset. “Head east a bit. Otherwise you’ll end up over the ocean.”

“Okay,” I confirm.

I look at the compass on my arm and dive east.
Soon the clouds part, and I can see the land below. When I can make out the mountains of Fiordland, I reach for the wind again and slow myself down. I glance around for the others, but I can’t see them.

“Where are you guys?” I ask. There’s no answer. “Hello?” I try again. “Paika?” Nothing. “Stephen? Mokai?” The radio remains silent.

I try to feel for them on the wind, but my connection isn’t nearly as powerful as it was in the jet stream, and I can’t sense anything.

“If you can hear me,” I say into the headset, “my radio isn’t working. I’ll meet you back at the base.”

I drop down through the currents, aiming for the glistening fiords below. The contrast between the bright green of the mountains and blue of the rivers is even more striking from above. I dive through a canyon and sail over the glassy water, my reflection gliding beneath me. And then I see something moving next to my reflection. I frown and get closer.

Suddenly, an animal jumps out of the blue depths, spraying me with water. The shock almost makes me lose
honga.

“Dolphins?” I gasp.

An entire pod of them is traveling beneath me, their smooth bodies shimmering just below the surface. Occasionally, one of them jumps up, and then for a split second we’re flying next to each other in the air.

I stay with the dolphins for several more minutes until they dive deep into the water and disappear from view. Sighing, I force myself to catch an upward draft and climb into the mountains again. I should get back before the others worry.

It’s then that I realize I don’t know where I am; none of the surrounding peaks look familiar. I rise higher, looking for signs of my companions or a landmark I recognize, but I see neither. I glance at the instruments on my sleeves, but I don’t know the coordinates for the base so they’re of no use. Trying not to get anxious, I windwalk low above the mountains, searching for a clue.

“Paika?” I try the radio again, but again there is no response. “Kava,” I curse.