The Bone Tiki (14 page)

‘At this time, Puarata had been driven from the north by Hakawau. He took Tupu and I deep into the Ureweras, to a secret place, of caves and darkness. There were patupaiarehe there, with cold skin and hungry eyes. There were tipua and kehua who bowed and scraped around the tohunga makutu, and served him. It was a lair of dangerous beings, spirit-creatures, all unfriendly to man.

‘There was a pa nearby, which the patupaiarehe preyed upon, feasting on the blood of captured women and children. The pale ones are cowardly, guarding their lives jealously and taking no risks. Puarata came to a deal with them. I would hunt for them, so they need not risk their precious skins. I hated them. Puarata sometimes let them feed from me, as a special favour. They said my blood was especially nourishing. I could do nothing—I was Puarata’s slave. He made me serve him, which I hated. He made me
fish for him, in the still, icy waters of Lake Waikaremoana. He made me hunt for him, in the treacherous and tangled hills of the Ureweras, where you can lose a trail in seconds. You can plummet down a pothole and be lost in an eye-blink.

‘I learned quickly though, and was soon a legend among the people—they told stories of how the “ghost-warrior” would steal children. Those stories were true. If I was ordered to do something, I had to do it. I had no choice. If I resisted, or tried to disobey, then something inside me would rise and take over, forcing my limbs into whatever action I had been ordered to do. Many times I tried to resist—to let the child or woman escape so the patupaiarehe could not feed on them—but each time it was as if I had no will—my instincts would take over, and I would find myself bearing an unconscious person back to our cave. I grew to hate myself, and Puarata more.

‘Puarata walled me about with rules, to prevent me misbehaving. “Do not harm the patupaiarehe.” “Do not fight with Tupu.” “Do not run away.” Many rules, to prevent me harming him, his servants, or his plans. At first I was without hope, he ruled every moment of my life and no matter what I did, he was in control, forcing me to do whatever he wanted. He tried to turn me into another Tupu, making me do terrible things I will never speak of, evil deeds designed to break my defiance, and make me a willing accomplice, like Tupu. Then something happened to give me hope.

‘One morning Puarata went to the lake and while climbing Panekiri Bluff he saw a turehu—a shapeshifter. He wanted
to capture it, but turehu are cunning tricksters and he knew it would be no straightforward hunt.

‘First, he travelled south, to the coasts, and found paua shells. Then he went south to Ngati Porou, and traded for some pounamu. Then he went north, among Te Arawa and traded for quartz. When he returned he locked himself away and created a magnificent necklace. He carved clever, faceted beads, alternating paua, pounamu and quartz, each bead a miniature masterpiece—this one a taniwha, this a manaia, this one a hei-tiki—each tiny and intricate. It was beautiful beyond words, because Puarata knew turehu love bright things, and like to steal them. But he had woven spells about it, curses to ruin the wearer’s magic and draw harm to them. Then he gave it to me, with these instructions:

“Go to the lake, and leave this necklace high on the bluff of Panekiri. Hide yourself nearby. Should anyone find this thing other than the turehu, knock them senseless, and throw their body from the bluff. When the turehu finds the necklace, capture it, and bring it here.”

‘I did what Puarata commanded. On a fine, windy day, I placed the necklace on a rock, at the very pinnacle of the bluff, and lay in wait. Fortunately no villagers came, so I was not obliged to murder anyone. Instead, a great gull circled, lower and lower, until it swooped down, and alighted on the rock. Its claws stroked the necklace, and there was a blur of movement. Instead of a bird, a little goblin-man was there. He was dark-skinned, with short twisted limbs and only three fingers on each hand, and three toes on each foot. His hairless skull was large and his ears pointed.

He crooned over the necklace, and he put it on, making admiring noises.

‘At once, I felt the compulsions of Puarata and rose from my hiding place to strike the goblin down. It shrieked, and tried to leap into the air, and transform itself into a gull again, but I was too swift and seized it in my hands. It wriggled and squirmed and tried to bite but I was too strong. I began to carry it down the bluff, to take it back to the caves.

‘After a while it realised struggling was hopeless—it couldn’t change shape with the necklace on, and I was too strong for it in its normal body. So it went still, and began to talk to me instead. “Who are you?” it asked.

‘I found that I could answer—Puarata had not forbidden me to talk with my prey. “I am Toa, servant of Puarata, the tohunga makutu.”

‘ “Ah,” said the turehu. “Did the tohunga makutu enchant this necklace to capture me?”

‘Yes,’ I answered.

‘ “He must be a great sorcerer.”

‘Yes,’ I replied bitterly.

‘He asked many more questions, about who I was and why I was helping the tohunga makutu. When he realised I was a slave of his dark magic, the turehu asked me more about what I could and couldn’t do, and whether I hated the tohunga and wished to be free. As we came closer to the caves, he became desperate.

‘He begged me to let him go, but the compulsions on me were too great. I could not. But turehu are clever, and he
began to seize on every word I spoke, trying to twist it to see if he could bend and break it.

‘ “You were commanded to bring the turehu ‘here’ were you not?”

‘Yes.’

‘ “Were you forbidden to remove the necklace?” the turehu asked.

‘I stopped, and shook my head.’

‘ “Then do so.”

‘I held him, because I was still under compulsion to hold him. But with one hand I tried to remove the necklace. I could! He sighed in relief as it was removed. Then he grinned at me, his black lips pulled back over tiny pointed teeth.

‘ “What am I?” he asked me.

‘You are a turehu.’

‘He changed shape, even as I held him. He became a gull and beat at me with his wings. But still I hung on.

‘He stopped and spoke, in a voice made strange by the beak. “I am a gull, now,” he said. “I am no longer a turehu.”

‘I shook my head. “You are still turehu, even in gull-form. ”

‘He hissed in frustration, even as I continued toward the cave.

‘He became a dog such as the Maori brought with them to Aotearoa and bit me on the arm. But still I wouldn’t let him go. I could not. My orders were still clear.

‘He tried fish, and nearly wriggled away. He tried bat
and nearly clawed and flapped clear. Then he tried eel, and when he wriggled, his slippery skin was nearly too hard to grip. Just as I got a grip he became a lizard, and off came his tail, and he leapt free, leaving the tail in my hands. I fell to my knees, knowing that a terrible punishment would await me, but feeling strangely satisfied, that this creature had escaped Puarata.

‘The turehu took bird-shape and flew to the branches of a tree, where it went back to its natural goblin-shape and looked down at me. “I am too smart to be held by the coils of a tohunga and his puny slave,” it said.

‘I am glad,’ I said. ‘You should flee now, because Puarata is coming.’

‘The turehu looked, and saw Puarata indeed coming, wrathful that the turehu had escaped my grasp. The turehu fled, but before it did, it told me three things. Firstly, it told me that it could see my spirit was unbroken by the tohunga, and that because I still resisted the tohunga it had been able to find a way to escape. Secondly, it told me it would try to find a way for me to also escape the bonds of the tohunga. Finally, as a token of friendship, the turehu told me its name, even though it knew that if Puarata found it out from me, it might provide Puarata with a way to capture him. I will not say that name, except that it is long, and begins with Whiati which sounds similar to Fitzy, the name he planted into your head, Mat, when he first met you.

‘So it was that the turehu escaped me, and in doing so, gave me back hope that Puarata could be thwarted, and one day I could escape. Puarata punished me, and it was years
before I made even a little headway in escaping from him, but I now had hope, thanks to the turehu.’

Mat looked at Wiri, and then at the dog.

Kelly coughed, and said. ‘Weird story. If it wasn’t for everything else we’ve been through, I’d laugh at you.’

The dog sat up, and its mouth opened. Instead of a bark, it spoke in a throaty, awkward voice that made Kelly and Mat jump. ‘I can prove it to you easily enough, wahine. Would you like to see my true form?’

Kelly edged away, shaking her head quickly. ‘No thanks.’

Mat looked at the ‘dog’ curiously. ‘I think I’ve seen you already, that first night in the cave after we escaped Donna.’

Fitzy nodded and leaned forward. ‘I like this dog-shape. And people tend to ignore me, which can be handy. If Puarata had realised who I was back at Taupo he’d have beaten me into pulp.’

‘Should we call you Whiati?’

The dog shook his head. ‘I like Fitzy.’

‘OK.’ Kelly wiped her brow. ‘I can tell you one thing, though.’

‘Yes?’ The turehu looked at her curiously.

‘That’s the last time you sleep cuddled up to me.’

It snickered. ‘Aww, c’mon, I’m just a cute doggy! I can keep you nice and warm at night!’ It grinned, and looked around at the others.

Kelly looked at Mat. ‘I liked him better when he just
barked. Don’t know about you, kiddo, but this whole thing would freak me out if I stopped to think about it.’

She got up and walked away. The turehu went to follow her, but Wiri called him back.

‘Well, you go and make sure she’s OK, then,’ the turehu told the warrior.

Wiri stared after her. ‘I don’t think she wants to talk to me.’

‘Well, then,’ said the dog, and he bounded after Kelly, barking. At first she looked as if she might run, or tell him to go away, but then she slowed, and with the turehu trotting protectively beside her, they walked on until they were lost from view.

Hakawau looked at Wiri. ‘She cares for you, the Pakeha girl.’

Wiri nodded. ‘Ever since we reached our decision, she refuses to talk to me.’

Hakawau nodded. ‘It is hard for her. Hard for you both. Because what she feels for you…you also feel, do you not?’

Wiri nodded mournfully.

Mat got up and walked away. He didn’t want to hear the rest. Ever since he had met Wiri, he had felt a sense of kinship, as if the warrior were an older brother, watching over him, guiding him, laughing with him. He didn’t want to think about losing him. It didn’t seem fair. He’d wanted a brother most of his life. Now that he’d found one, he was going to lose him again, one way or the other.

L
eaving the pa next morning was almost too sad to bear. The women sang, the warriors laughed and cheered, and the lucky ones chosen for the waka strutted with bravado and merriment. Manu was among them, a soldier’s cap pulled down over his eyes against the sun’s glare.

Iru burst into tears when Wiri rubbed her nose in farewell, and tried to cling to him, to Kelly’s disgust. Rata farewelled them each individually, and finally unbowed to embrace Wiri warmly, to show he was truly forgiven. The tribe cheered at this very public reconciliation.

The children waved cheerfully at Kelly, who was back in her travelling clothes, and she waved back, smiling.

‘Haere Ra, Matiu,’ said Hakawau to Mat. ‘Farewell, and good fortune. Haere Ra, Haere Ra.’ He clasped Mat’s
hands, and pressed his nose to Mat’s. Mat felt tears sting his eyes, and blinked.

‘Thank you. Goodbye,’ was all he could manage.

They climbed into the waka, which held a dozen warriors, plus Mat, Kelly and Fitzy in the stern amidst gourds of food, and a pile of blankets. The dog-shaped turehu looked about him disdainfully, and then climbed to the rim of the waka. His form seemed to blur and stretch in a way that defied all nature, and then he was a massive gull, that squawked, rose slowly into the air, and swooped away.

‘That is so weird,’ said Kelly. ‘I’ll never get used to it.’

Mat could only nod in agreement, as he watched the turehu skim the waters, flying northward, blazing a path for the waka to follow.

The journey on the river took two days. They were travelling north with the current; although it was only gentle, it helped, and the warriors were strong and tireless. Though Wiri was at the front, in the place of leadership, Manu was directly in front of Mat and Kelly, and kept them entertained with stories about the places they were going through. He told them about the warrior Hatupatu who had fled through this area from the Bird-Witch. They asked him about turehu, and he told them many stories of turehu, ponaturi and patupaiarehe.

‘Some of the shapeshifters are OK, like Whiati or Fitzy or whatever you call him. But others are wild and mean. Then there are the ponaturi, who are fairies of the seaside,
and look more like people. They are wild and dangerous, but not always evil. Sometimes they fall in love with a human, and lure them away. That is what happened to Pania.

‘The patupaiarehe are plain scary—pale and pretty, but they’ll kill you without blinking. If you see one, run! Though I’ve heard they sometimes take a fancy to a man and keep them to play with…until they get bored.’ He grimaced thoughtfully. ‘Wiri has seen them. I stay well clear, myself.’

He also told them about the wars with the settlers, without great anger, as though it were a sad thing that was inevitable. ‘But I still get angry. And it will get worse. I have seen the world as it will be, remember. I know that this is a war that will be lost.’

‘How come you can get into our world?’ asked Mat.

Manu shrugged. ‘It isn’t so hard. There are places where the two run together, and if you know how, you can move across.’

Mat thought about that. He even got out the tiki and tried to visualise his own world, but it was too illusive—he didn’t know how to imagine it right, and nothing happened, so he put the thought aside.

The warriors laughed and sang as they paddled. Wiri led them in both, and they clearly had grown to both like and respect him. ‘He is more than he used to be,’ commented Manu to Mat quietly one afternoon. ‘Before Puarata took him, he was sullen and jealous of his brother. He used to brag loudly and was quick to criticise. But he has matured.
He is calmer, and happier. It is sad that he is going to his death.’

He pulled his cap down over his eyes, and was silent for a long time.

They slept on shore, watched over by guards who took turns to sleep. Fitzy had flown ahead and after reporting on what he had seen to Wiri, flew off again, this time as a ruru, an owl, circling eastward and southward through the darkness, to check for pursuit.

That night Wiri told them of how he met Manu again.

‘This was the second time I was able to resist Puarata’s will. It was much later, and the Pakeha had come. The land was changing—both the real land, and also the shadowland. Puarata was afraid that the white men would weaken his powers—especially the missionaries. Belief in this new god would weaken belief in the old gods, and the myths and legends that gave Aotearoa its power—power he needed to work his magic.

‘He went to the chiefs who had pledged to fight the newcomers, and placed himself at their service. So it was that I fought in the Land Wars. I fought in the Waikato, until Puarata was seen for what he was and made to leave. I fought in the Ureweras, I fought with Te Rauparaha, and Te Kooti, and I was forced to eat human flesh whilst fighting with the Hauhau.

‘One day I was told to join a war party that was planning to ambush a patrol near to Opepe, not far from Taupo. It was 1869, and there was a squad of soldiers, with a native
guide, camped near some huts—they were quite unwary. The history books say that the guide betrayed them, and left them to die. But there were two guides. One was in league with Te Kooti, and did indeed betray the party. But the other was Manu, who did not.

‘Our tribe had faded into the myth-lands centuries before, and never died, or got older or younger. Hakawau caused this to be, so that we would not be slain in the wars between Tainui and Ngati Tuwharetoa. But this did not make us entirely safe, and the coming of the Pakeha changed the ghost-world. When he realised the coming of the Pakeha was weakening Puarata, Hakawau decided we should aid them. There was another reason as well—he foresaw the power of the white people, and knew they could destroy us all in the end. Rightly or wrongly, he decided the more a tribe resisted, the worse would be their plight. So he sent our people out to seek peace.

‘Unbeknownst to me, Manu was near Taupo, assigned to the force at Opepe. I was still Puarata’s slave, and though I hoped for release, it seemed impossible.

‘The plan was simple. The guide would slink away to guide Te Kooti’s men back to the troopers. We would stroll in seeming friendly, and then attack. There were no guards and the few soldiers who were suspicious were soon killed. A few escaped naked into the wilderness—they had been washing their uniforms in the stream.

‘My orders from Puarata were to help kill the Pakeha, thinking only Pakeha would be present. He was wrong—there was one Maori captured—Manu. I burst into a hut
and struck down a soldier with my taiaha. From behind me there was the click of the hammer of a musket being pulled back. A voice said in Maori “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”

‘I spun, swinging my taiaha. A Maori clad partly in a trooper’s uniform was behind the door. His bullet took me in the chest and knocked me off my feet. He began to reload, thinking me dead, but I got to my feet, bloodied, and prepared to kill him. It was Manu. We stared at each other. I hadn’t seen one of the tribe for hundreds of years. I thought them all dead.

‘For Manu’s part, he knew of me—Hakawau had told them I still lived and fought for Puarata. The tribe believed I had turned towards evil and Manu thought I would kill him. But my orders were only to kill Pakeha. The turehu had shown me I could resist Puarata by finding gaps in my orders. I had found such a gap. So I let him go.’

Manu nodded. ‘He let me go. I ran hard, to escape Te Kooti’s men, but I didn’t go far. I tracked this group, and saw Toa—Wiri—again. I managed to spend some time with him, enough for him to tell me his situation. I went back to Hakawau, and told him. Hakawau told me I wasn’t to speak of what I’d learnt to anyone. But I knew there must be some way to free him. I even tried to steal the tiki, but I failed and was nearly caught by the tohunga makutu. Puarata shifted after that, and I couldn’t find him again.

‘So it was a wonderful thing, that night when I saw you all arrive at the pa, but we had to be sure Puarata did not still have control of Wiri, and it wasn’t a trap to capture the pa. So that’s why you all had to be locked up and put on trial.
I didn’t like it, but Hakawau insisted.’

Wiri grinned. ‘No hard feelings, bro. After what I’d been through, just being home felt like luxury.’

That night they were undisturbed, though Mat saw a moa in the distance, before it was fully dark, and deep in the night he fancied he heard a rush of many wings, as if a massive flock of birds were surging overhead. Perhaps they were the birds of the Bird-Witch, seeking Hatupatu for their mistress. Perhaps they were hunting for Wiri.

The next day they met a small sailing boat, with settlers leaning from the gunwale, smoking and chewing. They eyed the waka suspiciously, and one made a great show of displaying his musket. They looked curiously at Mat and Kelly, but didn’t call out. After that the warriors were quieter, and Manu checked his pistol.

On the afternoon of the third day, Fitzy returned, swooping to alight on the waka and shifting rapidly into dog form again. Both Mat and Kelly were hesitant at first, but he capered about them until they laughed and hugged him. He then went to the front to see Wiri, and barked eagerly as they paddled into Hamilton, for all the world an eager, playful dog.

Mat had only ever been to Hamilton once before, and that Hamilton belonged to his world, to the future. This Hamilton was a small town, of white painted houses and picket fences, of men in brown suits and waistcoats, with
hats and bushy whiskers, a town of women in bonnets and billowing skirts, of horses and carriages. Black-uniformed soldiers of the Royal Constabulary were everywhere. There were Maori, dressed shabbily in European clothing, with downcast, defeated faces. Several were missing limbs. It was noisy, with shouting vendors and the hammering of construction, the rumbling of cartwheels, the constant buzz of talk, and the barking of dogs. But to Mat and Kelly, used to the hum of cars and trucks, the noise had a hollowness, as though it were a thin veneer over the deep quiet of the bush.

Waiting to meet them at the docks was a smiling young officer, with sideburns that made Kelly giggle under her breath. He greeted Manu like an old friend, and they conversed in laughing tones about the latest rugby scores, each agreeing they must get over ‘Yonder’ again soon for a beer and a game. Manu introduced Wiri, Mat and Kelly. The captain was a Londoner named Timothy Spriggs, an emigrant to the colonies. He was a gangling, comic fellow compared to the muscular warriors, but topped them in height by at least 30 centimetres. He had a long sabre at his left hip, and his coat had gilt-embroidered insignia on the shoulders.

They farewelled the warriors solemnly—each offered to come further with them, even to Cape Reinga, but Wiri declined. Only Manu would be coming further than Hamilton, as only he knew the ‘real’ world well enough to fit in, as it had been decided they would need to cross over at some point, to speed up the journey. Wiri’s eyes were sad
as he rubbed noses and embraced each man, then watched them paddle away.

Spriggs’ voice was light and cheery. ‘Righto then chaps, let’s get underway. You men, bring that carriage up, and the young lady and gentleman can hop in. I say, young lady, you’ll want to get into some proper clothes. Don’t want to draw too much attention, now do we? You too, young lad, young Mat. My wife’ll get you togged up properly. How’s that then, eh?’

Listening to him made Mat feel breathless. He climbed into the carriage while the horses fussed, and Kelly, Wiri, Manu and Spriggs crammed in after him. Fitzy squeezed in at their feet, looking displeased at the lack of room. The carriage lurched, and they were underway.

Spriggs told them he would put them up at his house that night, then they would take the carriage north. He had arranged leave to visit Auckland and from there he had friends who could help get them further north.

‘But we’ve got to be careful, Wiri me lad. Manu tells me you’re on the run, so to speak, and I have to tell you we’ll be going through some road-blocks and security checks as we go. I’ve already seen a notice come through to my commander asking me to watch out for two young folk on the road. Seventeen-year-old girl, short-cropped red hair, freckles, name o’ Kelly. Also a fifteen-year-old boy, part-Maori, small build, name o’ Wiremu Matiu Douglas. So there are folks will be lookin’ out for you, sure as eggs.’

Mat and Kelly looked nervously at each other.

The captain reached down and went to pat Fitzy. The
turehu leant away slightly, until Spriggs bent and offered him his hands to sniff. ‘Hello, me old matey. What’s your name?’

‘You can call me Fitzy,’ the turehu answered. Spriggs leapt back as if he’d been bitten.

‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘I thought that dog spoke to me!’

Fitzy yapped happily at him.

Spriggs scratched his ears, and shook his head. ‘Well, I must be hearing things. Fitzy did you say?’ he asked Mat, obviously believing it must have been Mat who had spoken. ‘Righty-ho, then!’ He smiled at the others. ‘Don’t worry, We’ll get you up to Auckland, safe as houses.’

When the carriage stopped, they were bundled out into a back street, and up to the back door of a small white wooden house, with high ceilings and wooden floors. It was the classic colonial cottage. At the door they were greeted by a plump woman who beamed when Spriggs planted a peck on her cheek.

‘This is Amelia, the light of my life.’ He introduced the two warriors and the two young people with flourishing bows, and then Amelia took over. With a firm glint that belied her soft appearance, she sent Mat and Kelly off to choose garments, whilst she clapped hands to summon a young Maori girl servant, who she sent to the kitchen to prepare more food for the evening meal.

‘We have been expecting you, but not until tomorrow, so we have extra food, but not yet cooking, so I will have to get
back to the kitchen. Meantime, you two strapping young men,’ she addressed Wiri and Manu, ‘can prepare a tub. Because, no one here is eating until they have washed!’

Kelly got to bathe first, in a stone-floored washroom at the back of the house. Amelia stood guard over the door to ‘preserve the poor girl’s modesty’, all the while calling instructions to the Maori girl in the kitchen. ‘And don’t over-boil the peas, Sylvia!’ she shouted, before muttering to Mat that it was a shame that no one had invented electricity yet. ‘It’s so frustrating, knowing that it’s coming. Makes you feel the lack of it, so to speak.’