Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (9 page)

And then we reach a wide passageway with a door at the end—a real door, not a rug. It’s made of steel. Jian takes a key from a leather thong around his neck and unlocks it; then Paika carries me inside.

The room, really a suite of rooms, is enormous. Thick, black sheepskin rugs cover the entire floor. Plush couches face a fireplace in the wall and surround a low, shiny table brimming with food and drink. On the other side of the couches is a polished stone desk strewn with papers and maps. To our right is an entrance to another room; inside, I glimpse a large king-size bed built into an alcove. To the left is a bathroom—I see mirrors, towels, and a deep stone tub. Behind us is a mini kitchen with stone cabinets and sinks, and in front of us is a massive window with a magnificent view of the emerald fiord below.

“This is the Riki’s personal room,” Jian says. “He would like you to stay here until the danger is over.” He looks at Miri and Paika. “Please do not tell anyone where she is.”

“Obviously,” Paika snorts.

“Thank you, Jian,” Miri says, more politely. “Give our thanks to Henare.”

Jian bows his head and walks back into the hall. I hear him lock the door behind him.

“Why is the Riki giving me his room?” I ask.

“He doesn’t want them to gut you,” Paika says. Miri scowls at him.

“Will they really try to kill me?” I ask.

“It won’t last long,” Paika says, avoiding my question. “The chief will put an end to it. Once he subdues Wiremu, the others will lose steam.”

“Who’s Wiremu?”

“He’s the rep for the Tuhoe—the most hostile hapa in the iwi. And the only hapa that’s recognized as a Māori tribe, which could mean our goose is cooked.”

“What do you mean?”

“They tend to attract attention,” Miri says. “Human attention. The Riki will have to try to appease them if he doesn’t want trouble.”

“Their lands are in a sweet location in the North Island,” Paika explains. “It’s a deathtrap for anyone trying to invade, and they like to keep to themselves. They fought hard against the early English settlers and even today refuse to cooperate with the Crown, claiming they never signed the Treaty of Waitangi, which is the document that made the Māori British subjects. They weren’t keen on joining the Rangi federation either, but they knew they didn’t have a choice, not if they wanted to survive. They just make no secret of their feelings. They’re stirrers is what they are.”

“Do they rebel often?”

“They’ve never technically rebelled, but they’ve threatened to leave the coalition many times. And they’re always starting quarrels.”

“If they’re such troublemakers, why don’t you just kick them out of the iwi?”

“Because they have to be kept under control,” Miri says.

“Plus, they’re bloody good fighters,” Paika adds. “And when you’re in a war, you can’t afford to get rid of your best men.”

“What will the Riki do?”

Paika shrugs. “He’ll try to talk sense into Wiremu, but we’ll probably just have to wait here until he cools off.”

I look around. “That doesn’t sound too bad. His room is sure nicer than everyone else’s.”

“He earns it.”

“Come sit down and eat something,” Miri says.

I limp over to one of the couches and drop down into the soft cushions. Paika lights a fire, and Miri hands me a mug of Milo. On a side table next to me is a framed picture of the Riki standing next to a couple and their two children: a son and a daughter, both in their twenties. The girl has gray eyes and a moko on her chin and lips; a shiver runs through me as I think about another girl with a tattooed chin—a girl I killed before she could kill me.

“What happens if I don’t do it?” I ask, gripping the mug tightly and looking up at Paika. “Open the Quil, I mean?”

He shifts his weight. “The situation’s a mite difficult, Kit,” he says at last. “You were facing the death sentence. A repeal of this kind can’t be done without a pledge.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What Paika means,” Miri says, “is that he had to stake his life in order to speak for you. It’s because he was willing to do so that half of the reps were convinced of your innocence and voted no.”

“He staked his life? You mean … ”

She nods. “If you don’t fulfill the terms of the agreement, they’ll kill Paika in your place.”

I stare at both of them. “But why?” I finally gasp. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

“If there wasn’t a risk,” Paika explains, “guilty criminals might be released all the time. The fact that someone is willing to pledge his or her life for the accused is considered evidence that the person on trial might really be innocent. It’s the only way a hearing can take place.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“No, it’s the law. Without our laws, our traditions, we’re nothing. They’re what keep us together.”

“Why would you do this for me?”

“You’re not off the hook just yet,” he says, again avoiding my question. “If you fail, Miri, Kai, and you will all be made slaves, probably sent to one of the iwi’s manufacturing plants.”

“They won’t kill me too?”

“No, the reps voted to let you live.”

“But why will Miri and Mokai be punished?”

“Because they supported the pledge. That’s something they can only do if they’re convinced you’re innocent. The threat of slavery guarantees that.”

I look down at my Milo and let the steam roll over my eyes. Now I understand what Miri meant about Mokai being nervous. Of course he’s nervous. If I can’t pull this off, he’ll be made a slave. All of us will. Except Paika …

I shakily set my cup down on the table. “I have a headache,” I mumble.

“Why don’t you go take a bath?” Miri suggests. “It’s been a rough day.”

Standing up slowly, I walk with her into the lavish bathroom. She turns on the faucet for the oversized tub, and after she leaves I strip off my clothes and lower myself into the water—so deep and warm it feels like a hot spring. The heat relaxes the soreness in my ankle, and I tip my head back against a soft towel, focusing only on the warmth and forbidding my mind to wander.

We stay in the room for the rest of the day. Paika teaches me a game with sticks, which we play for an hour or so. The rest of the time is spent eating, sitting on the sofas, walking back and forth in front of the large window until the sun sinks into the ocean. The fire in the hearth bounces warm shadows across the walls.

At last we hear the key turn in the lock, and the door opens. Jian walks into the room, his face tired. “Things are still heated,” he says. “You should plan to spend the night here.”

“Where will the Riki sleep?” I ask.

“He won’t be sleeping tonight.”

Paika takes one of the couches, and Miri and I climb into the king-sized bed stacked high with sheepskins. A large jar of glowworms sits on a bedside table, and the wriggling worms send pale waves of light twitching around the room, like a blue lava lamp.

As I roll onto my side, the thoughts I’ve been ignoring come creeping back. I can’t believe Paika staked his life for me. I feel like such an idiot. The way I acted … and that whole time he never said anything. Mokai was right; I do only think about myself. He, Miri, and Paika have all risked their necks for me. What have I done for them?

I wonder where Mokai is now, what he’s doing. Is he safe with the rioters around? Would they attack him for standing up for me? I can’t believe he supported Paika. He doesn’t even know or like me, but twice he’s been willing to jeopardize his life on my behalf.

The thought of him being left here as a child … it makes me sick.

I have to do it, I realize. I have to unlock the Quil. It’s not just about my freedom anymore. It’s about paying a debt. I owe them—Paika, Miri, and Mokai, even Jian and the Riki. Despite the fact that they all have strong cause to hate my parents, and to hate me, they’ve still voted for me, defended me, protected me, pledged their lives for me.

As much as it pains me to admit it, if the Rangi had killed my father before he had escaped, they would have had justice on their side. But the Yakone? They killed him in cold blood, and my mom with him, after he had been doing them a favor. If they had found the twins and me, they would have killed us too, just like they tried to kill me later on when even my friends refused to stand up for me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the blankets. This is it. My decision is made.

I’m going to help the Rangi.

I’m woken when sunlight, entering through an east-facing window I didn’t notice the night before, shines directly on my eyelids. I roll over to see if Miri is still asleep, but she’s no longer there. Rubbing my eyes, I climb out of bed, stepping onto the soft fleece, and walk into the main room.

Miri is cutting some melon on a platter while Paika converses with Jian over by the desk. He looks up when I enter the room.

“Freshen up and grab some breakfast quick,” he says. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“You mean it’s safe to leave the room now?”

“Not exactly. Just hurry up.”

I wash my face and wolf down a few pieces of the melon, glancing at Miri to see if she’ll give me a clue, but she doesn’t.

When I’m ready, Jian ushers all of us into the bathroom. I notice he’s holding a flashlight.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Patience,” Miri says.

Jian walks over to the large, sunken bathtub and opens a hidden compartment in the smooth stone. He pulls a lever, and the floor of the tub slides back, revealing a dark staircase winding down beneath our feet. He turns on his flashlight and shines it on the stone steps. I blink down into the darkness, not sure I’ll feel comfortable taking a bath in here again.

“This way,” he instructs.

Jian leads the way, Miri behind him. I go next, and Paika, who also has a flashlight, brings up the rear.

The stairs are wide but shallow enough that I catch my sore foot on the rock a couple of times and Paika has to reach out a hand to steady me. I strain to see ahead of us, but Jian’s torch only illuminates the steps immediately in front of him. I glance back to see if I can tell how far we’ve come, but either the tub floor has closed behind us or we’ve descended too far for me to see it. It’s a suffocating sensation, knowing neither how far we’ve gone nor how far we have left to go. Suspended in the dark.

At last we reach the bottom of the stairs and come to another steel door. But unlike the door to the
Riki
’s rooms,
this one has a keypad lock and a retina scanner, and when Jian enters the code, scans his eye, and opens the door, I see that it’s easily five times thicker than the one above. I follow him and Miri inside.

We’re standing in what feels like a large metal box—the walls, floor, and ceiling are made of steel, just like the door. Instead of glowworms or fire, electric bulbs light up the room, and I hear the low hum of a generator in the background. In the center of the floor are a dozen computer stations, organized in three rows. Along with the computer monitors, the desks support piles of tablets, cords, and various gadgets. The sight seems so foreign; I haven’t seen so much as a cell phone since I’ve been here.

There’s another door in the wall across from us, and on the wall to our right are two large video screens, currently powered off. A stack of sealed crates is against the wall on our left—emergency supplies, from the looks of it.

There are only two people in the room: a man and a woman. They’re both tall, with long, black hair, and dressed in black woolen pants and sweaters.

“Kitara,” Jian says, “Allow me to introduce our comms specialists. Anahera and Mikaere.”

“Call us Ana and Mik,” the woman says, smiling. “Everyone does.”

“We’re here to talk to you about this,” Mik says, pointing to a metal toolbox on the desk next to him. I recognize the box. It’s the one Paika held up at the trial.

I look inside it, and sure enough, I see my Quil.

“The
Riki
thought if you could make some progress, it might pacify the rioters,” Jian says quickly.

“Why have you been keeping it in a toolbox?” I ask Paika.

He shrugs. “For the same reason we’re in this bunker—I didn’t want the bleeding Yakone to know we have it. The metal acts as a shield. Blocks the signal.”

“Oh.”

“Are you willing to help us?” Mik asks.

I take a deep breath then slowly nod. “Okay.”

Paika raises an eyebrow and looks over at Miri. She shakes her head.

“First thing’s first,” Ana says. “Can you unlock it?”

“Yeah.” I pick up the Quil and tap the screen three times, biting my tongue when the image of the eagle with the tomahawk appears. Quickly, I press my thumb on the box, and the display changes to reveal the menu of triangle-shaped apps. “Here,” I hand it to Ana. “It’s still in training mode, so there are restrictions on how much information I can access.”

Ana flips through the screens eagerly. “My guess is the restrictions can be lifted remotely or within the device itself. It probably just requires an authorization code. Ah ha!” She presses a triangle that reveals the Quil’s settings then selects various menu options, all in Kohangaere. “There we are.” She clicks on the word
Akautanga,
and the screen changes into a keypad.

“Now all we need is the number,” Mik says. “I’m guessing it’s a standard four-digit. Because it’s an internal code, the security won’t be high.”

“Will you be able to figure it out?” I ask.

Ana and Mik look at each other. “Actually, we’re hoping you can do that,” Ana says. “There’s probably an automatic lock-out after a certain number of wrong tries, so we can’t enter an unlimited number of combinations. You’ll have a better shot of recognizing which numbers might have significance.”

“I have no idea what it could be,” I say. “I didn’t have access to information like that.”

“You just need to give it some thought,” Mik says.

“Don’t you have some kind of program on your computers that can figure it out?”

“As a last resort, we can try to create a digital copy of the device and run the numbers in a simulation, but the external security on this thing is quite sophisticated. If it detects a break-in, it will shut down permanently.”

“What if it’s unlocked when you do it? Like now?”

“It still isn’t going to like having its data pulled. But, like I said, as a last resort we can give it a shot.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Ana says. “Just let your mind stew on it for a bit. Something will come to you.” She hands me the Quil.

“We’ll be right over here if you need us,” Mik says, pointing to the next row.

I sit down on a chair, desperately trying to remember if I ever saw one of the counselors at the camp use a four-digit number. I replay the events of the first day in my head, but the man checking me in was on the other side of a computer, and I never saw what he typed into the screen. I can’t recall Jeremy, Damon, or Aponi ever using a code, or even anyone at the
Wakenunat
.

“I really don’t think I know,” I protest to the others. “I’ve thought through everything.”

“Don’t think about when you might have seen a code,” Miri suggests. “Try thinking about numbers that had special meaning.”

“Here’s a piece of paper and a pencil,” Jian says.

Numbers
, I think, taking the paper from him. I write down every number I can think of:

273 — my number

158 — Lila’s number

303 — number of initiates

14 — my bunkhouse

7 — number of days the camp was supposed to last

64 — kilometers to the camp from the kayak town

I study my list. None of them are four digits. I try combining them, but most of the numbers are so arbitrary I know they can’t possibly be the answer. I keep trying, writing down the total number of bunkhouses, the number of contestants who fought each day in the arena, anything I can think of. But nothing makes sense.

“It’s no use!” I exclaim, dropping the paper and leaning into the backrest.

Jian crouches down next to me and pats my knee. “Don’t think so hard,” he says. “Try to relax.”

How can I relax?
If I don’t figure this out, they’ll kill Paika, and they’ll enslave the rest of us.

“We’ll give you some space,” Miri says. The three of them walk over to Mik and Ana.

Rubbing my head and trying to shut out their hushed conversation, I look down at the Quil and aimlessly slide my finger across the screen. The time moves into view, then the date, then my speed dial list.

I stop when I see a number on the screen I had forgotten about. A pit opens in my stomach. It’s the number for Rye’s Quil.

I close my eyes and press my fist against my forehead, remembering when I entered in the number, just after he taught me how to windwalk. I think about our journey through the wilderness, how we saved each other’s lives, barely making it to the fortress. I picture that day at the lake, that night in our pine tree shelter. What would Rye think if he knew what I was doing right now?

I know what he’d think. He’d think that their suspicions were correct, that I really am a spy. And he’d be right. I’m using the information I learned about the Yakone against them. That’s what spies do.

I consider what would happen if the Rangi could hack into the network. Lots of Yakone would die. Maybe Rye’s family. Maybe Rye himself. I bite my cheek.
I’ve made up my mind. There’s nothing I can do about it, remember?
If it were only my freedom at stake, perhaps I would be willing to sacrifice it, but I can’t let them kill Paika and enslave Miri and Mokai. Besides, even though Rye saved my life, in the end he was still willing to let his people kill me. No, I have to try to help my friends, my family, and that means the Yakone are now my enemies.

The Yakone are my enemies
, I repeat firmly.

I rack my brain for another hour but with no success, and finally Jian takes us back up to the
Riki
’s room where I continue to brainstorm for the rest of the day. We stay there for another night.

In the morning we get some welcome news: most of the rioters have gone home.

“So what does this mean?” I ask Miri.

“It means we can leave the
Riki
’s chambers, but we’ll be staying here in the
Wakemaunga
until you’ve finished your work with the whatever-it’s-called.”

“Where will we go?”

“The
Riki
has prepared other accommodations for you,” Jian inserts. “In fact, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you there now.”

Jian leads us out of the main door, down the stairs, and through the tunnels. “It’s in
Poro G
,” he says.

“
Poro G
?” I ask Miri.

“The whole mountain is divided into blocks or sections,” she says. “We call them
poro
.”

“How many are there?”

“Fourteen. The guest rooms are in
Poro G
,
H
,
I
, and
J
.

“
Poro J
is the biggest,” Jian says. “But you’ll have more privacy in
G
.”

As we turn a corner, we encounter a group of maybe a dozen children being escorted down the hall. The children are more or less in a single file line, though they keep breaking into little clusters to chatter excitedly to each other before the adults in charge send them back to their places.

“Do families live here?” I ask in surprise.

“It’s summer camp,” Jian says. “These little ones are here learning how to windwalk.”

As we pass the children, a small girl with two braids looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine. Just for a moment, I see the way my life would have been if my father hadn’t been a traitor, if I’d grown up in the tribe, learned how to windwalk as a child, like this girl. And then we’ve passed them, and the moment is gone.

Soon we enter a common area connecting a cluster of dormitories. Jian points us to one on the right, and we go inside. The cavern is much like my first room—bare and rocky—but it’s larger and has a bathroom.

A warrior is standing in the middle of the floor. He nods at Paika then turns to look at me. Despite the fact that a tattoo covers half of his face, he is strikingly handsome. His dark features are smooth, strong, and detached, like a statue chipped out of stone. It makes the soft woolen pants and sweater he’s wearing seem bizarrely out of place.

“This is Stephen,” Jian says. “He will be one of your guards.”

“Guards?”

Jian coughs. “Since you aren’t a full member of the
iwi
yet, you must be kept under watch. It’s to protect you as much as it is to reassure the tribe. Paika will be your other guard, so you’ll be with someone you know.”

“I have to stay in this room?”

“You’ll go to the bunker to work on the Quil. But otherwise, yes.”

“Don’t worry, Kitara. It won’t be for long,” Miri says.

I look at her but don’t say anything.

“Miri and I must leave you now,” Jian says. “The
Riki
wants to see us.” Throwing me what I assume are meant to be reassuring smiles, he and Miri exit the room.