Taniwha's Tear (25 page)

He wondered what had become of John Bryce and Donna Kyle, and what Sebastian Venn had made of the sudden violence erupting on his doorstep. Had the game changed again? Would there be further conflict, or would this night have resolved the struggle for supremacy among the tohunga makutu’s acolytes? He let his mind range over the possibilities.

But mostly he bent his skills and talents to finding young Matiu Douglas. However, he had not met the boy, only seen him briefly before the water took him. That was little to work with. He built the fire high, cast his seeing spells into the heart of the flame, and sent his gaze out over the flooded lands, calling, seeking. But not finding.

A
woman was singing, low and sad, amidst the thunder of the waves. It tugged at his sleep, nagging, winding its way into his tumultuous dreams of raging water and giant serpents. It pricked at him, and pulled him from where he lay, deep amidst the blankets of sleep, back to wakefulness.

Mat blinked, and let his senses return. The throbbing pain from his left temple came first, and he groaned aloud. Shingle was digging into his side and cheeks, and the aching that began in his skull ran the length of his spine and legs. He could feel bruises and grazes and scrapes, and swelling in twisted joints, and scabs forming on gashes and cuts. He felt like a car-wreck.

‘Kia ora, Matiu. Welcome back,’ whispered Ngatoro-i-rangi into his mind. The ancient rasping voice had an ironic sound to it.

‘Where—where am I?’

‘I don’t know, poai. The only eyes I have are your ones and they’ve been closed.’

Mat tried to think that through. It hurt. His headache was the worst he’d ever had. Finally he managed a little coherency. ‘
Where are you?’

‘Trapped, boy. Trapped and imprisoned, and barely alive. I don’t know where.’ The ancient voice sounded both frustrated and resigned.

‘But how
…?’

‘I sensed you, when you were on the run from Puarata. I couldn’t work out how to communicate with you, then, but somehow I sensed you. The ability to speak to you came later, just recently, in fact. I have forged a kind of link. Now that you’re listening, I can strengthen it.’

Mat closed his eyes. If he concentrated, he could almost see it, like a rope made of electricity and flame.

‘Why me?’
he asked plaintively.

He felt Ngatoro consider his reply. ‘A few months ago, I followed Puarata’s thought, bent on you, and found you. You need to understand that Puarata’s grip on the magical forces of Aotearoa was very strong. Most people with your ability had no choice but to hide. Most are so walled in with protections that I can’t detect them. But you appeared at a crucial moment, and you were an unknown, untrained, and at the heart of the action. Long ago when we fought, Puarata proved stronger than me, but my powers have always been subtler than his. I could find you, though he couldn’t. Since then, you have been my lifeline, the thread that holds me here.’

Mat groaned. More responsibilities.

Ngatoro tsked impatiently. ‘Who do you think gave you
the strength and wherewithal to cling to the taniwha in the flood while breathing water, then? A little gratitude goes a long way.’

‘Uh…thanks.’

‘You are very welcome, Matiu Douglas. If you are to be my eyes and ears for the near future, it is beholden upon me to help as I can. But I fear I must leave you again, for now. This has nearly worn me out, and that’s not good at my age.’

‘But—’

‘Well done, Matiu. Again. You will hear from me in future. Haere ra, Matiu. Haere ra.’

The link was suddenly gone, and no amount of trying could get another response, or any sense of the tohunga’s presence. Mat opened his eyes.

He had no idea where he was, but he could guess. Waves were pounding on a beach strewn with detritus. A river of debris was spilling into the sea. Everything was still gloomy and dark, but he knew from the distant glow above the ocean that it would be dawn soon.

The song stopped, and he turned to find the singer. She was sitting on a log, staring out across the water. Her black hair was wet through and clung to her back, twisted and knotted. He could not see her clearly in the darkness, but he could tell she was naked, cloaked in her thick black hair like Lady Godiva. A slender girl, no taller than him. He averted his gaze a little, and coughed. She turned, and her eyes glowed amber in the dim light of the moon and stars. Reptile’s eyes.

His last recollection had been the mouth of the vast beast opening, and himself tumbling from the heaving back of the taniwha, into the waves. He’d thought he would die. She must have pulled him out.

He sat up, and gathered his legs under him, wrapping his arms about them, and placing his head on his knees. ‘Thank you,’ he told her. ‘Thank you for saving me.’ She looked at him without comprehending the words. Perhaps she understood the sentiment. He cursed his own lack of knowledge, but tried, racking his tired brain for words. ‘Uh…kia ora rawa atu,’ he said tentatively. Thank you very much. Or something like that, he hoped.

She stared at him, then nodded slowly. There was a strangely unfocused look in her eyes, as if everything she saw was too much to take in, and he was about the least interesting thing present. Her gaze shifted to the stars, the moon, back to the beach, and always, to the sea. He had no idea what to say as minutes like hours dragged by.

The sky grew lighter. Mat looked inland, and saw a huge man striding through the waters of the flood, straight towards them. Water ran from his head and shoulders, and down his massive thighs, as if he had just emerged from the deep. He looked immense, the height of two or three men, with corded muscles. The girl rose, and walked towards him, until they were only a few paces apart. It could only be her father, the man that had drowned her centuries before, and then carved a river in his remorse. He seemed to shrink as he walked towards her, until he was merely six feet tall, straight-backed and muscular.

Feet crunched on the shingled beach behind him, and he glanced back. The old storyteller, Kauariki, stood there, wrapped in a feather cloak, clutching an old walking stick, with her dead-alive huia pohoi on her shoulder, watching him. She was staring at the man and girl, longing, hope, and anger warring for mastery of her face. Her eyes gleamed in the pre-dawn light as she looked at Mat, hobbling up to him, and pressing her nose to his. ‘Behold,’ she whispered in Mat’s ear. ‘That is Maahu, her father.’

Mat watched as the old man spoke to his daughter in a low rumbling voice that barely carried to his ears, the words so archaic that even his Maoritanga teachers at school would have struggled.

‘He greets her as daughter,’ Kauariki hissed, her voice quavery. ‘He says he is sorry. So very sorry…’

Maahu hung his head, his hands extended. Abruptly he fell to his knees on the beach, Haumapuhia before him, a silhouette against the light of pending dawn. His voice broke, a stream of broken words pouring from his lips.

‘He says “I carved you a river, to ease your pain”,’ Kauariki whispered, her voice thick with emotion. ‘He begs forgiveness.
He begs!
’ Mat could see tears flowing down his cheeks in glistening streams.

The girl who was a taniwha reached out slowly, stroked his cheek and said something softly.

‘She forgives.’ Kauariki’s raw voice broke. ‘Aieee,
she forgives!
’ The storyteller clung to Mat as if for strength, then pushed off, tottering towards her husband and daughter like a baby taking her first steps. The three of
them embraced. Mat had to look away, blinking back his own tears, thinking of his own family.

Haumapuhia looked over her mother’s shoulder, staring at Mat. At first she made no sign, of recognition, of gratitude. Her eyes were empty of any emotion that a man could recognise. But they glittered, with complex facets and strange desires. Finally, her face contorted, as if relearning expressions, one by one, until it settled upon a slow smile.

She surprised him by speaking hesitantly in English. ‘I understand now, Matiu Douglas. The power is the river, and I will swim it. To the sea.’

‘Lena?’

Haumapuhia shook her head. ‘Lena is here,’ she said, putting a hand over her heart. ‘And here.’ She touched her brow. Then she turned away from them all, and walked towards the sea. Slowly at first, but then she strode through the shallows, then bursting apart the small waves. Finally with a vast cry that echoed across the sky, she ran, leapt, arced into the breakers, and was gone. Mat stared after her, his mind numb.

‘She understands what you did, Matiu Douglas,’ Kauariki murmured. ‘We all know. Evil ones surrounded you both, but you and she found a path to freedom. We will not forget.’ She seized Mat’s hand, and placed something in his palm, a piece of pounamu the size of his thumb, shaped like a perfect teardrop. Its inner glow swirled as he held it up, flowing like the sea.

With a great cry, Maahu buried his face in the sand, and
lay there, shaking. The remorse of millennia—forgiven. He sounded as bereft as a child who has lost his parents. Kauariki went to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Finally he grew still, and then sat, and placed an arm about his wife. Years fell from them both.

Kauariki laughed, and looked at Mat. She touched the ground beside them, invitingly. ‘Sit with us, Matiu Douglas, and let us watch the sun rise, together.’

So they sat, silent, and watched the golden glow that climbed up from the east, and lit a shimmering path across the ocean, where a vast creature was frolicking far out to sea, joyous as a dolphin, majestic as a whale. Eventually weariness overtook Mat, and he slept, until jolted awake, alone, the sun high in the sky.

Two huia, one with a short bill and the other long and curved, studied him from a driftwood log, then both sprang into the air and flapped away.

D
awn on the river revealed a glimpse of the devastation that surely covered much of the Aotearoa countryside inland of Wairoa. The valleys were immersed in dirty brown water that flowed sluggishly towards the sea. Forests were drowned, timber snarled in massive knots against the edges of the hills. Not far away they saw a half-drowned colonial cottage with a couple and their child sitting on the roof forlornly. They waved, but when the Ponaturi paddled towards them, they took fright, and fired a musket above their heads.

‘There’s nothing to be done,’ Jones shook his head. ‘The water levels are falling. They will not be stranded for long.’

The teens barely heard him, sitting glumly in the waka as they glided across the watery wasteland. There seemed nothing to say, and it was all they could do not to cry. Mat was gone. Lena was gone. They had seen and done things that would haunt them for ever. The thought of
trying to tell Mat and Lena’s parents what had happened filled them with hopeless dread.

Damien huddled under a blanket, still shaking. Riki sat beside him, an arm about his shoulder. Cassandra faced them, her face swollen and puffy from injury and misery, her eyes with that vulnerable look some shortsighted people have when they take off their glasses. Jones had straightened her nose for her while she slept, but it still throbbed. Godfrey crept up to her, and pressed himself close. Jones puffed on his pipe, his face carved from seamed rock.

For hours they paddled towards the coast, everyone silent. Even the little wonders of Aotearoa in the water and ashore could not rouse them. They passed a moa, stranded on a tiny knoll, bellowing across the waters as if in anger. It watched them curiously as they flowed past, its eyes beady and inquisitive. It must have been close to ten feet tall and rare even in this place. A mile or so onward, a column of constabulary waded on horseback through a gully, a Maori scout ahead testing the way cautiously. They eyed the Ponaturi warily, but spoke briefly to Jones, giving directions, looking at the teens curiously. Damien waved at the youngest, a soldier barely in his teens, and the youth waved back cheerily enough. They glimpsed several goblins, fat waddling things with dark skin and strange faces akin to carvings in meeting houses, sitting at the verges of the flows, surveying the floods with mournful expressions. Godfrey barked at them, and they chirruped back.

It was mid-afternoon when they came to Wairoa. Wairoa-Aotearoa was never large, a line of pa along the Wairoa River, and the walls of the pa were wet for several feet up, but were otherwise largely undamaged. Men and women toiled at repairs to the palisades, while children made mudslides down the bank to splash into the waters with careless ease. A cloaked man—obviously a chief—was watching over everything, a tohunga crouched at his feet.

The holy man waded out to converse with Jones in fast, thickly accented Maori. Jones must have told him much, for the tohunga’s eyes went round, and he strode back to his chief energetically, shouting with excitement. Soon the whole populace of the villages lined the river as they paddled to shore.

The Maori were nervous of the Ponaturi, but less afraid of Jones or the teenagers. Strutting youths matched themselves in height and build to Damien, who towered above most, and the girls looked at Cassandra as if she were from another planet, but as she could barely see them she didn’t notice anything. The girls giggled at Riki, and the bolder ones winked and flirted with their eyes. He took to winking back until he noticed the warriors, who were also the brothers and parents of the girls, frowning.

‘Hey, even Aotearoa chicks reckon I’m hot,’ he murmured to Damien. But it was difficult to be cheerful, after what had happened.

Jones talked a while with the tohunga and the chief, while the Ponaturi stayed close to their waka, looking
around them guardedly. In the light of day they were even more alarming than at night, and the villagers took fright at their merest gesture.

Jones came back to them, and for the first time that day, he was smiling. ‘I have good news,’ he said, clapping Riki on the shoulder. ‘We are not the first strangers they have welcomed today. The men who went down to the sea this morning to survey the damage there found some thing. Or should I say…someone.’ He gestured behind them, and they turned to find a very solemn Matiu Douglas, as bruised and battered as the victim of a mugging, staring at them with round eyes.

They all flew together, choking back tears and laughter.

They were offered the hospitality of the pa, but felt beholden to return to Gisborne as swiftly as they could. They promised to return and feast there, as soon as they were able. Before they parted, Jones did something that took them to a later incarnation of Wairoa, perhaps 1910, and pushed a few coins into their hands. Riki and Damien raced into the tiny Osler’s Bakery, newly built, where they purchased all of the chocolate in stock from the startled owner. ‘Concentrate on your pies, they’re winners!’ Riki shouted as they raced out.

They distributed the chocolate among the Ponaturi before they parted. The sea-fairy warriors gulped their treats down with relish, and each embraced the teens and Jones briefly before they flowed back into their waka. Piriniha departed last, speaking earnestly to Jones in low
tones before bowing to the teens. The mist on the river swallowed them, and it was as if they had never been.

Jones then took them back to Wairoa in the modern-day world, to where they had left the car. It was still there, untouched. With Mat in the backseat with Cassandra and Damien, Jones and Godfrey in the front, and Riki at the wheel, they finally got under way. Slowly, tentatively, they swapped stories, piecing the sequence of events together. Jones asked piercing questions, and shook his head many times during Mat’s account, whether in anger or exasperation they couldn’t tell. By the time they reached Gisborne, as the sun fell into the west, they had talked themselves out, and were silent and reflective.

By mutual consent they went first to the hotel where Lena’s parents were lodged. Jones came with them to give his support and weight to the tale they must tell. All of them, even the old adept, were in a state of agony and sorrow. How do you tell any parent that their child is lost to them, whatever the circumstances? And in this case, with the manner of the loss so confused, and the fact that they may not be believed even if, or especially if, they gave the full truth, it would be worse. Damien and Riki had argued that they should tell them she was lost in a rafting expedition, but Mat and Cassandra wanted to tell them the truth, however unbelievable. Jones had just nodded to both arguments, but when they parked the car, and slowly climbed the stairs to the penthouse suite, the teens still had no idea what he would say. He just looked at them heavily as he rang the doorbell, and they waited.

Bare feet padded to the door, and it swung open.

They all gaped.

It was Lena, wrapped in a towel, her short-cropped hair damp, with a glass of orange juice in her hand. She smiled coolly as their jaws dropped. ‘Hello.’ There was no trace of warmth in her voice.

‘Who’s there, darling?’ her mother called from beneath a sunshade on the balcony.

‘Just the guys, Mum,’ Lena called back over her shoulder.

‘Honey, you’ve spent the last few days with them. Don’t you think it’s time you spent a bit of your holiday with us?’

A trace of irony slipped into her expression. ‘Don’t worry, Mum, they aren’t staying.’ She looked at Jones, her expression defiant. Her voice dropped to a whisper, and her eyes were suddenly alien, the slitted pupils a window on a more complex soul. ‘Don’t think to try anything, old man. The girl surrendered her soul to me. I am she, and she is I. We made a bargain. I will let her drive…when it suits me.’ Her hand caressed the glass, her fingernails flinty and deadly sharp. ‘I am taniwha, wizard. You will not meddle.’

Jones looked shaken, though his nostrils flared. He opened his mouth to retort, but then glanced at the teens, and seemed to think better of it. Godfrey pressed against his legs, and bared his teeth. The girl bared hers, which were triangular, and looked sharp as razors. The little turehu backed away.

‘This is wrong,’ Jones said gravely.

‘Is it?’ Lena or Haumapuhia said levelly. ‘I think not. I have never lived, and now I find I share a soul with this girl. Is it right that her parents should grieve her, when it is so easy for the two of us to remain with them, for now? They are decent people, who do not deserve to lose a daughter. And they haven’t really. They’ve just gained a second, secret one. Don’t interfere, wizard. I shall not harm them.’

Jones stared, and let out a long breath. ‘Very well. I can see that it is as you say; two souls and one body. If you can endure that, then there is little that can be done, for now. But I will be around. If you need help, you can call me.’

The girl stared at him, and then nodded. ‘We need not be enemies, ruanuku,’ she agreed slowly. ‘But you should all go now. Leave me alone, for a time. I need to learn about this new life. Lena and I must reach…agreement.’

They backed away, shaken. Only Mat stepped forward, to within touching distance.

‘Lena?’ He felt his voice crack. ‘Lena? I’m so sorry.’

The girl who was no longer Lena narrowed her eyes. ‘You cannot talk to “Lena” any more, Matiu Douglas. Nor just to “Haumapuhia”. There is only me, who is both.’

‘I’m still sorry. I was blind. I’ll never forgive myself.’

The girl inclined her head. ‘We were both blind. Do not reproach yourself. You freed me. The girl’s greed did this. She went too far down the path they laid for her, and then she had no way back. By the time Ngatoro spoke to her,
there were only three choices left. To do as the warlocks wished, and become their plaything was one. To drop the tear into the waters and free me unfettered was another, but no one would have survived that. She chose the third way, and gave up much to do so. Perhaps she and I will make that a price worth paying.’

‘You saved me twice over,’ he said softly. ‘You chose a path that kept me alive, and you fished me from the flood. I owe you.’

‘But Lena also lied to you, and led you on, Matiu Douglas,’ the taniwha replied in a dispassionate voice. ‘She liked you a little, but she thought herself your superior, and envied your gifts. She had no love for you. Only envy. A little admiration. But too much greed. She wanted too much. She was not happy with who she was, Mat-who-freed-me. If the third choice had not been there, she would have willingly become the warlock’s weapon, rather than die, even if it meant your death.’ Those golden eyes shimmered. ‘She got what she wanted, Matiu Douglas. Power. But she doesn’t drive any more, not all the time. She is just a mask that I must wear. I have much living to do, Matiu Douglas. More than a lifetime.’

Mat felt his heart twist in his chest, and his eyes stung with acid tears. He reached out his hand, and opened it. The teardrop of pounamu lay there—an offering.

Haumapuhia stared down at it, and then she reached out, and closed Mat’s hand.

‘It is a gift. It is yours to keep.’ The hard voice softened, and her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Matiu Douglas, I
spoke harshly. Lena had envy and greed in her soul, but she also had warmth and light. She envied you because she admired you. She saw openness and optimism, though she was closed and soured. She stood in shadows, but she could see your light.’

Mat clenched his fist about the teardrop, and then he stepped forward, and pulled the girl into a hug. She resisted at first, and then relented, and stroked his back. Her whole body was as cold as a reptile, but it seemed to gain heat as he held her. Finally she pushed him away.

‘So warm,’ she murmured. ‘I have missed that warmth.’ She stared into his eyes with her reptilian gaze, and sighed heavily. ‘It’s not possible, Matiu. You and I, it is not possible, not right now. Maybe in time, when I have worked out what my new life will be. When I’ve worked out how to be both school-girl and river-spirit. I know you saw her as an equal, and imagined that she could be a part of your life. But you weren’t equals, and your souls held no kinship. And as for me, I am something different again. Something new. Lena and I are two halves of a soul now. We must learn how to live as one. By ourselves.’

He swallowed a massive lump in his throat and nodded.

‘I will stay with these parents of hers, and learn your world. Maybe you and I will see each other again, at times. But do not seek me out except at need.’ She stroked his cheek, then pulled out the koru-knot he wore at his throat, and studied it. ‘Hang my tear with this,’ she told him, ‘and keep it close to your heart.’

She shut the door, and he heard her walking away.

Riki put his arm around Mat’s shoulder as they milled outside his parents’ hotel complex. ‘You okay, mate?’

Mat stared up at the sky, and wiped his eyes. ‘Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.’

Damien gripped his arm, and forced a smile. ‘Hey, dude, I’m thinking this adventuring through magical worlds full of wonders is kind of overrated. You want to come past my place and mess around on the Xbox tomorrow instead?’

Mat nodded slowly. ‘Sure. But nothing involving fighting, okay? I’m really over that.’

‘I think we are all over fighting stuff,’ Damien responded, looking slightly ill at the thought. ‘Nah, let’s go for car races and soccer games, yeah?’

The three boys nodded tentatively, then grinned.

‘I could bring SingStar,’ Cassandra offered.

The boys cringed. ‘No bloody way.’

The girl grinned. She still looked a mess, but thanks to Jones’ ministrations the swelling was receding, and she was getting her normal colour back. Her parents were still going to be horrified though. ‘I was just joking. But I do have a good tennis game and I could whup your butts at that.’

Riki smirked. ‘Sorry, it’ll be your butt that’s smarting, girly. Boys are genetically better at computer games. It’s a hunting, shooting, fishing thing.’

‘More likely it’s a joystick thing,’ Cassandra snorted. Then she looked at them all a little shyly. ‘So can I play, then?’