The Bone Tiki (11 page)

‘Mat. Come here. I’ve been so worried.’ She reached out her hands to him, dangling the Celtic pendant. He felt the koru lift toward it, as though pulled by some magnetic force. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Somewhere behind him he heard Fitzy whine.

‘Come here, darling. Let me hold you.’

She didn’t sound like his mother. He froze. Her eyes were wrong. They were blue. Mum’s eyes were green. His knees shook, as she rose, her gaze pinning him, her face narrowing and hardening and her hair turning pale and shimmering, her lips twisting. It wasn’t Mum. It was Donna, triumphant, leering at him. ‘We knew you’d come. All those warm feelings we’ve been sending to encourage you. And here you are, called home like a faithful little poodle.’ She held out her hand. ‘Give it to me, you stupid little boy,’ she snarled at him, and he froze, went absolutely rigid in fright, his skin crawling backward as though every pore in his body were trying to escape, if only his limbs would obey him.

She stalked over to him, reached down, and jerked the tiki from his neck, the cord scoring the back of his neck as it broke. She bent down and hissed in his face, the tiki gripped tight in her fist. ‘You are going to suffer for the trouble you have caused, you little sneak.’

Something inside Mat snapped. The terror, like cords around him, went tight then flew apart, and he could move again. His right hand whipped up and struck. The edge of the bone patu slashed the blonde woman’s face, and he heard something crunch. She shrieked, and went down, clutching her nose and screaming. Blood sprayed through her fingers. The tiki flew from her grasp and he snatched it before it landed. He bent over her, grabbed his mother’s Celtic knot pendant and pulled. The string snapped from around Donna’s neck, and he turned to run, yelling to Kelly. But suddenly the door from the passage flew open, and was filled by a furious Puarata. Mat froze and felt his stomach curdle.

Puarata pointed at Mat and bellowed something, his face as bestial as Tupu’s. Half-seen hands closed about Mat, blurred ghost shapes that felt like ice. He fell to the floor struggling, calling for help, beside the writhing Donna. Her foot lashed past his head. But then Puarata cried in shock and pain, and Mat felt the grip of the ghost-hands fly apart. Kelly shouted something from the front door, and Mat leapt to his feet. Fitzy had bitten Puarata in the back of the leg, and the big man had gone down. The dog worried at him, snarling, and Mat darted past him, into the hall, calling for his mother. He dashed down the hall, looked into the bedroom. Empty. He ran back to the lounge. Fitzy was snapping at Puarata’s throat.

‘Where is she?’ screamed Mat.

The sorcerer didn’t answer. With a hideous speed, he reached up and grabbed Fitzy. He threw the dog with
dreadful force, and rose. His face was bloodied, his clothes torn. ‘Your mother is mine now, boy. Like your father! Give the tiki to me and I may let you see them again!’

Donna stopped thrashing and lay whimpering on the floor, her face masked in blood. Fitzy had hit the wall beside Mat and slid down it, then dropped his tail and ran. Mat saw darkness gather in Puarata’s eyes, and knew that if he stayed he was dead. He jerked backward as something like a shadow slashed at his face, and slammed the lounge door in Puarata’s face. It shook and a sound like nails on a blackboard came from the other side, and then it buckled from an unseen impact. Mat stepped away from it, legs quaking.

‘Come on!’ called Kelly from the front door. He followed her voice out into the darkness, caught sight of her in the streetlight. Fitzy was beyond her, barking. He ran toward her, trying not to think about what he had just seen.

They pelted down the streets, hearing cars roar into life behind them. Mat threw a glance over his shoulder and saw headlights flicker on, and Puarata, silhouetted in the light, shouting after them. He turned away, and sprinted after Kelly. Around a bend, then another, tyres squealing somewhere behind. They had seconds before they were trapped.

The tiki was in his hand already—he stopped, raised it, and yelled ‘Toa!’ No blood this time, but he didn’t need it—he had done it once before—he knew the feeling now. The draining effect was less, as the warrior appeared, already
crouching, taiaha poised in his hands. His face was cleanshaven again, his jaw set and grim, waiting in the middle of the street as a black BMW squealed around the corner and roared toward him.

Kelly screamed, and Mat yelled as the car bore down on Wiri, but the warrior stayed stock still.

‘No!’ Mat howled, fearing he would be smashed like a toy by the gleaming automobile, but just before impact Wiri moved. Not sideways, but forward and upward, to slide up the bonnet of the oncoming car, the taiaha in his grasp twirling deftly until with a smash, the pointed hilt pierced the glass, Wiri holding it two-handed and stabbing down. Someone inside cried out in agony, and the car shuddered to a halt, hurling Wiri backward. The taiaha came away with him, the tip wet, and blood sprayed over the inside of the windscreen. Wiri used his momentum to back-flip, landing cat-like on the road before the shuddering vehicle. He turned and yelled at Mat to follow, then ran.

Kelly gasped something, and then they were all running, away from another car that approached cautiously, windows winding down. Mat glanced back, saw a gun poke from a window and yelled a warning. A loud crack echoed behind them and a bullet pinged off the road at Wiri’s feet. Fitzy barked defiantly. The first car was still, and one door opened, the passenger dragging the bloodied driver out. Mat and Kelly sprinted after Wiri, and reached Spa Road. To the left it fell down the slope toward the town centre—they ran that way, down the hill, and the cars were lost from sight.

Wiri waited for them just around the corner, and threw
his arm around Kelly who looked dazed. Fitzy was further ahead, barking anxiously. Mat shoved the tiki, the koru, and the Celtic knot into his pockets to free his hands.

‘To the river,’ called Wiri. ‘I have an idea.’ He threw back his head and called something aloud, in Maori, in a voice that echoed strangely, incredibly loud yet barely audible, as if the noise were meant for inhuman ears. Wiri’s call was clear and urgent, and afterward he glanced down at them and gave a half-smile. ‘I hope he’s awake!’

Mat stared at him. ‘Who’s awake?’

Wiri grinned. ‘You’ll see!’

They turned to run again, when they heard a bellow, like a wounded bull, from somewhere back amongst the houses. Wiri’s face lost all humour. ‘Tupu,’ he snapped. ‘Come on, run!’

He hung back now, driving them on from behind, covering the rear, as though wanting Tupu to overtake him. They ran down the slope, suddenly mingling with startled pedestrians on the fringes of the shopping area. Fitzy tore ahead, barking frantically, followed by Kelly and Mat, who ran through curious onlookers, brushing past startled shouts and questions. Last came Wiri, whose strange appearance and bloodied skin made everyone stare and shrink back.

They reached the roundabout at the top of the main street, and Mat yelled ‘That way!’ pointing to the right, down a dip to the bridge over the Waikato River, about a hundred metres away. He felt a surge of hope, not daring to question what would happen when they got there. Wiri had a plan. He threw his trust into that thought.

Behind them, Wiri was backing at a sideways jog down the slope. Beyond were two black cars, weaving in and out of the traffic. Somewhere faraway he heard a police siren. But worst of all was the hulking figure running bare-chested down the road, tangled hair streaming behind him. He slammed aside a woman, and someone screamed. A small crowd was gathering, some thinking they were seeing some sort of entertainment. Others recognised the impending violence and drew back, faces pale.

Mat threw a glance back at Kelly and Fitzy. They were nearly at the bridge. ‘Wiri! Run!’ he pleaded.

The young warrior turned, an agony of indecision on his face, torn between the desire to fight and the need to keep his charges safe. His eyes swept the faces of the Friday night shoppers as they stared at the bizarre figures, then danced backward, turned, and sprinted, yelling something in Maori. A flood of perspiration stung Mat’s eyes. He wiped them and ran harder.

Wiri drew level with him halfway down the slope, just as the first car ploughed through the traffic, horn hooting and tyres squealing. A second followed, as the police siren echoed distantly from the direction of the shops. Then Tupu broke through the crowd, leapt a car and tore toward them, his face contorted.

Mat ran harder than he thought he could, straining everything, willing his feet to fly. When he reached the bridge he caught himself on the right-hand parapet, slamming into Kelly. Fitzy was dancing at her feet, barking. Wiri reached them a second later, still shouting, then he turned, danced
back two steps and met Tupu’s charge full on.

The big man held a massive stone mere in either hand. The one in his right came round overhead, and smashed aside the taiaha, as his left side weapon whipped around at the side of Wiri’s head. The taiaha blurred and parried again, glancing the mere up and over Wiri’s ducking form, and then the young man swept around his leg and caught Tupu on the knee. The giant should have gone down, knee-cap dislocated, but he only grunted and staggered momentarily, then rained in more blows, knocking the taiaha down and sideways, and a blow smacked into Wiri’s shoulder and threw him against the parapet. He staggered, and nearly fell. Mat yelled and tried to close in, waving the bone patu, but Tupu whirled with hideous speed. His left-hand club flashed around and Mat jerked back, feeling the blow miss by millimetres. Wiri leapt between them again, taiaha flashing down, then spun and cracked Tupu on the arm, but the giant only grunted, and flailed both weapons again, driving Wiri back.

The black cars screamed to a halt. Doors flew open, and Mat glimpsed guns. Kelly called a warning to Wiri, clutching at Fitzy who snarled and struggled to escape her grasp. Passing cars first braked to look, then accelerated away. The siren came closer.

First out of the lead car was Tama Douglas. ‘Mat!’ he shouted, his eyes pleading. ‘Come here! I’ll protect you!’

‘Out of the way, Douglas!’ one of the gunmen shouted. He stepped forward with his gun raised threateningly. Mat flinched and backed away.

Tama Douglas turned, placing himself between Mat and
the leading gunman. ‘Get away from my son, you bastard. Whatever Puarata wants, he won’t hurt my son!’

‘Get away, fool,’ sneered the gunman, stepping closer.

‘Dad!’ yelled Mat, as his father lunged at the gunman. As if in slow motion he saw the gun-hand go up and the butt of the gun arc around to slam into his father’s temple. Tama jerked, then he slumped as though falling through water, his eyes going back into his head, blood welling from broken skin beside his left eye.

‘Run…’ his father managed in a slurred voice, falling heavily at Mat’s feet. The gunman kicked Tama aside as he reached out to seize Mat. To Mat’s left Wiri backed up, under the two-handed onslaught of Tupu.

‘Jump!’ yelled the warrior. ‘Into the river! Jump!’

Kelly and Mat couldn’t move, staring at the guns levelling in their direction. An array of dark faces confronted Mat and the patu slipped limply in his grasp, held only by the loop of cord around his wrist. The muzzles of the guns looked huge, metal mouths that could swallow them whole.

Suddenly there was a massive rush of water from behind, and everyone on the bridge was drenched in a huge splash, staggering under the impact of the water. A shrill hiss from a massive throat blasted a rank fish smell over them. Mat and Kelly turned, blinking river water from their eyes, their mouths falling open. Every face in the ranks of gunmen flew upward, shocked and disbelieving. Even Tupu lurched backward in horrified awe.

Like a stupendous snake, an enormous serpent had risen from the river. It defied belief—eel-like with slickly
glistening skin and a thick-lipped, long narrow head. Its eyes blazed with a cold shimmer, and its mouth opened over rows of thin, jagged teeth, each as long as a man’s leg. Its head snapped forward, and closed on the first car, as a volley of shots slashed its head and neck. Massive teeth crunched on the car with a hideous screech and then it lifted, two men caught inside. One screamed as the serpent swung and dropped the vehicle onto the second car, the impact shattering glass and twisting metal. As Tupu backed away the thing saw him, and coiled back to lunge. Tupu fell backward and rolled as the serpent struck. Teeth closed a second too late, and the warrior was gone, vanished as if he were never there. Mat glimpsed Puarata holding a pale talisman, shouting something—he’d pulled Tupu away from harm. The serpent hissed sourly, and twisted about seeking new targets.

Wiri seized Mat’s arm, and yelled into his face. ‘I called the taniwha! He won’t harm you! Now JUMP!’

Mat just stared. Wiri seized him in both hands, the taiaha falling to his feet, and then he lifted and hurled. The air rushed past as Mat flew, flailing, over the parapet. Briefly he glimpsed white water boiling about the torso of the serpent as its black scales churned the water, then he hit the surface shouting, and his mouth filled with water. He thrashed in panic, broke the water and his head smashed into something hard. Stars burst behind his eyes, and the black water pulled him down hungrily.

M
at woke with a throbbing ache at the back of his head. It was like a huge clawed hand had gripped the back of his skull and was malevolently squeezing and then releasing, over and over, pumping pain through his body. His eyes flickered open and all he saw was darkness—for a split second he thought he was blind—but then a flicker of bright flame drew his eye, and he gradually became aware of his surroundings.

He was lying in Kelly’s sleeping bag, his head propped on his rolled up coat. There was a fire about a metre away, crackling and throwing up sparks to the gentle wind. Wiri was lying, propped against a rock. Kelly was snoring gently, with her arms thrown around his waist, her head buried in his chest. Mat felt a twinge of jealousy, wishing he had someone to hold onto. Fitzy lay against her stomach, wedged
between the two of them like a furry teddy bear. His golden head lay in Wiri’s lap, his big soft eyes reflecting the flames, and for a brief moment he looked older and strangely wiser. Only for a second, then it was gone.

Wiri grinned when he saw Mat stir. He pointed at Kelly and put his finger to his lips, then pointed at a small serving of cooked fish lying on one of Kelly’s plastic plates, beside the fire. A small explosion of saliva flooded Mat’s mouth. He seized the fish and gobbled it down, only pausing to extract a couple of stray bones.

He remembered that at some point on the journey, Kelly had mentioned having some painkillers. He tried a side pocket of her pack and got lucky, washing them down with a long swig of river water. The night sky was starry, and the moon was full, which was odd, because it had been the first night of the new moon only yesterday. But his head felt too tender, and his eyes too heavy, to really care. He rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Mat…Mat…
the voice whispered. He held up the tiki and said ‘shush’ but the whispers kept coming. There was something forming on the dark air, hovering above the fire, coalescing from smoke like a ghost. A face, pale and bruised, framed by wispy, red hair, a wooden Celtic pendant hanging below, glowing like a coal.

‘Mum!’ He reached out, but she was just smoke. His hand swirled through her, and she was gone, but another shape formed, a rough-hewn, darker face, under unruly curls of darkness, the should-be cheery face worried…
Son, son, come back to me
… He went to call, and then hesitated, suddenly
afraid…he saw the gunman back at the bridge smash his gun down on his father’s skull, saw him stagger backward and fall in vivid slow motion, his father’s face twisted like a crumpled can and a silver-haired man with a writhing mass of moko leered instead, beckoning, reaching out.

‘Shhh,’ said Wiri, as Mat woke, a cry half-formed in his throat, his skin slick and hot. His heart was thumping hard, painfully fast. It was deep night; the moon hanging above like a silver face, and the stars bathed the trees and river in shimmering light. He took a breath, and forced his shoulders to unclench.

Wiri had disentangled himself from Kelly and Fitzy, and was sitting cross-legged beside him. He put out a hand and wiped Mat’s brow. ‘Hey little brother, it was just a dream. Everything’s OK. You can go back to sleep.’

Mat nodded, but didn’t feel like sleeping. He took a couple more painkillers, and then froze, in the sudden realisation he was wearing new clothes.

‘Did you dress me?’ he asked Wiri.

‘Nah, got Kelly to do it,’ replied Wiri without looking up.

‘Oh!’ Mat blushed.

Wiri laughed. ‘Just joking. I did.’ He put some more wood on the fire, making it flare and crackle. Fitzy and Kelly both stirred, the girl’s freckled face strangely slack, her breathing loud. Wiri glanced down tenderly, and pulled the coat she was under up a little, before turning back to Mat.

‘Well, you missed some of the best bits. You should have seen us go over Huka Falls!’

‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘Out cold, more like. A few hours. We’ve been worried. Kelly says that if you feel any dizziness, lie down. She’s worried about concussion.’

Mat felt the back of his head gingerly. ‘It really hurts. What happened?’

‘Back there? Well, I had called, to the taniwha of Lake Taupo, to meet me at the bridge—’

‘The
taniwha
! Was that real? It was amazing—it was…huge! Is it still here?’ he asked suddenly, looking at the river with wide eyes.

‘Somewhere close. He usually sleeps underwater. You’ll see him in the morning.’

Mat shivered, somewhere between eagerness and fear.

Wiri chuckled. ‘He’s quite a sight. The old boy has been swimming the lake and the river for years, long before Pakeha came. He’s one of the oldest myths—and so one of the elders of Aotearoa.’

‘How did you make him come?’

‘I didn’t
make
him do anything,’ Wiri answered. ‘I asked. He chose to come.’

‘Why?’ Mat asked thoughtfully. ‘I mean, you’ve been a slave of Puarata for years. Why would he help you?’

‘You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?’ smiled Wiri. ‘At first he thought I still belonged to Puarata, so he came out of fear. He’s been hurt by Puarata before. But when Puarata realised what I was doing, he tried to send him away. When the taniwha realised I was working against Puarata he decided to help us.’

‘Does the taniwha have a name?’

‘Yes, but I will not speak it—names have power and are not for bandying about. I learnt that much from my time with Puarata.’

‘Does he breathe fire? Can he fly?’

Wiri laughed. ‘Sorry, wrong mythology! Maybe you should visit England, where I’m told the dragons of the British Isles can do both of those things. But this taniwha is a water-creature, powerful and ancient. He listens to the wind, and the waters. He now knows Puarata has lost me, and rejoiced at a chance to strike back. He has promised to take us as far downstream as he can, before he must return to his home.’

‘So we get to ride him again tomorrow?’ Mat asked, feeling both nervous and excited.

Wiri nodded. ‘We are honoured. Even Puarata cannot tame a taniwha. No man can. But he has consented to bear us, to help us on our way. He wants us to succeed. That is very good, as much as I had hoped for.’

‘But what are we going to do now? Go to the pa? And what happened back at the bridge?’

Wiri laughed, held up his hands. ‘Whoa! One question at a time! I’ll get there, little brother. Now, where was I? Yes—we got to the bridge, just in time, and up came the taniwha as I’d hoped. Though he cut it fine he did enough to enable us all to get away.’

‘But the people watching must have…what would everyone have made of it?’

Wiri shrugged. ‘Whatever they saw wouldn’t have been what was there. They probably saw a car-smash and maybe
a freak wave. The creatures of Aotearoa do not appear as they really are to those who aren’t part of their world.

‘You were our main problem—you hit your head and went under, but fortunately Fitzy told the taniwha, and he swept you up in his mouth.’

‘His mouth!’ yelped Mat.

Kelly stirred in her sleep, and Wiri shushed him.

‘Yes. Don’t worry, we’ve washed you since! I got Kelly onto the taniwha’s back with Fitzy’s help, just as Puarata arrived and his men started shooting, but we faded out into Aotearoa, and swam down the river, safe and away. I was in a real panic, thinking we’d lost you, until the taniwha twisted around and dumped you onto his back, like a meal he didn’t want.’

Mat shuddered. ‘I was in his mouth!’ he whispered in horror.

Wiri nodded, puckering his lips and whistling softly. ‘You are one lucky guy, brother.’

Mat lay back, and tried to take it all in. ‘So, are we in Aotearoa?’

Wiri nodded. ‘The New Zealand myth-world. See how the moon is full, and the stars look different? When it is light again, you’ll see more.’ He prodded the fire again. ‘And as for what we are doing…well, we are doing as Pania suggested—heading for Maungatautari. We’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.’

Mat lay back, and sucked in the cold smoky air. ‘Tomorrow…and will it all be over?’ He wondered where he could go, and what he could do. Tears stung his eyes—
he tried to pretend it was smoke from the fire.
When will I see Mum again? And Dad? Dad tried to help! He realised what Puarata was doing…will Puarata ever give up?

Wiri looked at him sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry, Mat. I think this will only be over when Puarata and Tupu are dead and gone forever.’ Wiri’s face looked hard and merciless, and for the first time, Mat could see the full weight of years in the warrior’s eyes. He tried to imagine centuries of servitude to Puarata, and shuddered.

Wiri put a heavy hand on Mat’s shoulder. ‘Get the tiki to Hakawau, and then the tohunga and I can do what needs to be done. I won’t rest until Puarata is gone, and you can go home safely. I’ll do whatever it takes.’

Mat shivered at the coldness of his friend’s voice.

He woke to a pale misty dawn. Kelly and Wiri were asleep, and Fitzy was away somewhere. He stumbled yawning to the water’s edge to wash his face. The air was chilly, the river fog clinging about the willows, the slimy stones at the bank dull in the leaden air. Somewhere a river bird called, a solitary sound. Beyond the tiny encampment, the world ended in a sallow white shroud.

He watched the rippling waters, and tried to work out what he should do. The river fog was so thick he couldn’t see the other side and he began to worry that he might not find the camp again. He stood and called for Wiri, then for Kelly. No one answered.

Taking the pendants from his pocket, with a deft flick of his fingers, he reunited the koru and the Celtic knot. They
slid together perfectly, and he paused to look at them. He looped them, and the
tiki,
over his neck, and tucked them into his shirt before rising to go and find the others.

Behind him there was a sudden rush of water, a slurping sucking and a cascading rush. He turned slowly, almost afraid to look. What he saw made his limbs stiffen and lock.

The taniwha looked even larger in the morning light, too large for the river he lay in—a truck could have balanced on his head. Mat remembered what he’d done to the BMW back at the bridge, and had a dreadful vision of those jaws engulfing him. Cold breath hissed from his huge maw, stinking of rotting fish and deep, deep water caverns. His eyes were huge, massive orbs that glistened like giant glass marbles and his hide, dripping with greenish river slime, was pitted and rough hewn. As he uncoiled himself slowly, head rippling side to side, he gave one eye a look at Mat, then the other, the huge head dipping closer.

Mat felt rooted to the stone. If the jaws flew open, he knew he wouldn’t be able to move. He gulped, and tried to find his voice. Somehow he found trembling words. ‘K—Kia-ora. Th-thank you for saving me.’

The taniwha dipped his head nearer, until he could almost have bumped Mat with his nose. His nostrils sucked in wetly, then billowed steam into the cold air and his eyes blinked once, scanning Mat closely, then abruptly he swayed backward, and lowered his head to the riverbank, where he lay, steam billowing with each exhalation. Mat let out his breath, and found he could move, though his knees were shaking so much he could hardly stay upright. He
staggered backward, his eyes never leaving those of the massive creature.

The taniwha blinked at him again, and then looked beyond Mat. A series of barks echoed out of the mist, followed by Fitzy bounding into the clearing. The Labrador looked up at the taniwha, which looked back and nodded his massive head. Fitzy whimpered slightly and ducked his head, as if bowing. The taniwha snorted fishy breath over them, then with a gurgling noise sank below the surface and a huge wave broke against the banks.

Wiri appeared out of the mist and put a hand on Mat’s shoulder. ‘Come on. We have to break camp.’

They cleaned up their campsite, then Wiri led them back to the riverbank, and called the taniwha. He rose slowly this time, water cascading from his sides in a massive roar, baleful eyes unblinking, but he tolerated Wiri helping the teenagers onto his back. Kelly, who looked tired and scared, cradled Fitzy. When they were secure, Wiri called something in Maori, and the serpent twisted about slowly, before surging into the river current, a huge wake breaking about his head.

The journey down the Waikato River was a magical experience Mat knew he would never forget. All day they were borne north on the river, past lesser taniwha who rose like crocodiles on an African river to see the monster that dared enter their territory, only to dip and disappear when they realised his size.

‘Waikato taniwha rau, he piko he taniwha,’ murmured Wiri.
‘It’s an old saying,’ he told them. “Waikato has a hundred monsters, at every bend a monster”, though the saying is usually interpreted as referring to all the petty chiefs along the river further downstream.’

On the riverbank Mat saw Maori fishermen, gaping at the massive creature and cursing the waves that smashed their careful nets. He even saw a white girl, in a nineteenth century white cotton frock, who squealed and fled when she saw the giant taniwha.

Several glistening goblinesque little tiki-men peered at them from the bank, squatting like buddhas in the shade of the trees, their eyes alien and unreadable.

Once, unforgettably, a huge flightless bird emerged from the trees to gaze at them. Feathered in a dirty dun hue, it towered at least three and a half metres tall, a moa, the flightless bird that had once stalked New Zealand. ‘I thought they were extinct,’ Mat gasped, realising even as he said it how stupid he sounded—he was in a land of myth, riding a taniwha—‘extinct’ was meaningless here.

Even when there was no strange, mythic creature to catch the eye, it was enough to breathe the air, to see the deep azure sky or the verdant forest shadow to know he was somewhere apart from his world. Every colour seemed more vivid, every scent stronger, the air warmer, the sun brighter yet not harsher. It was as if everything carried its own light, its own healthy, ripe vibrancy, a pulsing living glow that infused every tree, leaf and rock. Even the birds, fish and insects all seemed to carry this extra lustre, as intrinsically a part of this place as the monster they rode.