Guardian of the Dead (24 page)

‘Before he makes this attempt, he swears his bird companions to absolute silence. One breath of sound might wake the goddess. They all promise to keep quiet. And then, while she snores, he crawls into the cave between her legs.

‘But he looks so ridiculous, wriggling his way into her, with his legs sticking out and his feet squirming in the air. The birds take deep breath after deep breath, until all their cheeks puff up and they are dying with the need to laugh.

‘And then the fantail surrenders to this need, and lets out a trilling burst of mocking song.'

Mark brought his hands sharply together. ‘At once Hine-nui-te-p
wakes, and crushes the impudent man between her thighs. He dies in shame. Worse, in trying to prevent death, he invites it. And ever since, all living things are mortal and must die, to be received and protected by the guardian of the dead, who was once the dawn maiden, in accordance with the agreement she made with her father-husband. And that is the end of the story.' His voice fell on the last words, winding away into a tenuous finality.

We waited for a moment, but he said nothing else.

‘Are you saying this actually
happened
?' Iris demanded.

Mark hesitated. ‘Not . . . A lot of people know the story, do you get it? It's the shape of the story that matters, the way belief forms around it. The story has real weight.' He pointed at himself. ‘Patupaiarehe look like monsters in some stories, but they're beautiful in a lot. I guess people believed more in the beautiful version. And the ideal of beauty changes. If I'd been born two hundred years ago, I bet I wouldn't look like this. The stories shaped me. They shape everyone, inside and out, but me more than most, because I'm magic.'

Iris looked mildly perplexed.

He was tugging at his bracelet again. I put my hand over his to still the movement. There was a sense of motion in my head, of important things sliding into new places, forming new structures. ‘You said “all living things must die,” ' I repeated. ‘Including the patupaiarehe?'

‘Yes. They live a long time, especially if they stay in the mists. But they age, and eventually, they die. They used to be immortal. They don't see why they should pay for a man's arrogant mistake.'

‘Are you saying they think there's a way to get immortality again?' I couldn't see what this had to do with anything. Good luck to them.

Mark's face was weary. ‘There might be. This is
living
legend. Hine-nui-te-p
is always there, guarding the dead in her sleep, but maybe she could be, uh . . . mystically overworked? If the patupaiarehe can burden her with enough work to make her sleep very soundly, they might be able to do what M
ui tried to, and regain their immortality.'

I suddenly grasped the implications of what he was saying, and gaped at him.

Iris had apparently been a step ahead. ‘You're saying Reka wants to kill a lot of people?' she said flatly.

Mark smiled bitterly. ‘That's . . . not her style. It's other patupaiarehe, in the North Island.'

I felt empty. ‘Can't they just sit and wait for a really bad flu season?'

He shook his head. ‘They don't have the time. There's maybe three dozen left. They're a dying race.'

‘What will they do?' Iris asked. She sounded practical and calm, but her fingers were combing frantically through the ends of her hair.

‘I've been trying to work that out for five years. Reka didn't know specifics, so I started researching, making some contacts. Nukes are probably out. But it could be an epidemic – like flu. Or maybe sars.' He took a deep breath. ‘Whatever they've planned, I think they've already started preparing for it.'

I stared at him, that same sliding feeling in my head outlining the shape of some enormous revelation. I almost knew what he would say before he pointed at me.

‘You were right, Ellie. But the Eyeslasher isn't just one person. It's a dying species, cannibalising the power to commit mass murder.'

‘Oh my God,' I said, as the outline became clear. ‘When they take the eyes, they're taking power, aren't they? That's why you tried to keep me from going out at night. They've been killing magicians for days.'

Mark winced, as if in pain, and then, slowly, inclined his head.

In the silence, ducks made their way up the river, small wakes spreading in the dirty water behind their churning feet.

‘Magicians like . . . us?' I asked at last.

He nodded, looking slightly sick. ‘Like both of us. To them, I don't count as patupaiarehe any more.'

‘But not Kevin?' I pressed.

‘No. He's still latent. Not even half-woken, like you.'

‘Is this why Reka tried to get him now? Before they did whatever they're trying to do?'

Mark's mouth hung open slightly. ‘Huh. Maybe. I never thought of that.'

‘This is insane,' Iris said. ‘This is not happening.'

My own head was spinning. The stories were true on some level, okay. There really were patupaiarehe; I had seen that for myself. That they were killing real people, in the real world, and stealing their power I could definitely believe. Those dead people on the news had been very real. But that the patupaiarehe were planning to use that stolen power to precipitate a disaster so catastrophic that the guardian of the dead wouldn't notice one of them crawling between her thighs to reclaim immortality for their species –
that
was a bit much.

Still, I forced myself to believe.

‘You wanted your eyes opened,' Mark said, and rose to his feet. ‘This should complete that process.'

‘What are you doing?'

‘There's someone I want you to meet.' He held out his hand to the river and cried out something long and ceremonial-sounding in M
ori.

I raised an eyebrow at Iris.

‘I don't understand it all,' she said quietly. ‘I caught greetings. And an apology for the disturbance.'

Mark's voice died away. The dark water churned, white froth washing violently against the banks. Gleaming darkly, water cascading from its stately flanks, something rose slowly from the river.

The
something
was immense, and so alien that I could barely comprehend its dimensions. On the long, twisting body, I saw scales grown over with furry algae and jagged spikes like greenstone spear-heads thrusting up from the spine. But it was the face that held most of my attention – a knotted, twisted thing with a nose that was merely two nostril slits and, most arresting, the pupilless eyes. They weren't patupaiarehe green, but iridescent and as many-coloured as opal or the inner shell of a paua.

‘This is my grandfather,' Mark said. ‘Be careful. Show him respect.'

Something crumbled in my head; some final remaining barrier between the ordinary person I had been, and my access to the secret potential I carried within me. I barely noticed its disintegration. Instead, I stared up at the taniwha, and wondered if vomiting in terror might be considered rude.

‘Wow,' Iris breathed, edging closer to me. Her small hand was colder even than mine, but I didn't pull away when she wrapped it around my fingers.

‘Did you feel it, Ellie?' Mark asked.

‘In my head, like walls crumbling? Yes.'

He smiled, and I understood that I had passed a test. It did little to alleviate my terror when the taniwha opened its mouth.

In shape and sequence, the black teeth were those of a shark's, marching back in rows, but the smallest was as large as my hand, and they all gleamed like obsidian mirrors. The pink tongue was pointed and rough, like a cat's. I waited for some menacing roar or reptilian hiss, but it spoke to Mark in M
ori. That mouth apparently had no difficulty forming the sonorous syllables, and the rolling voice was beautiful and low, rippling like water. It sounded real. It sounded human.