Guardian of the Dead (44 page)

I landed with a thump on something cold and hard, and was scrabbling for balance long seconds before I knew where I'd ended up.

I was sitting on the roof of my parents' house, precariously perched on the central ridge, with my back to the bay. The sun was setting over the hills, shafts of pale yellow light slanting up through the clouds. I was still naked, still sore, still freezing, but for a moment I hunched and shuddered with sheer relief that the horrible journey was over.

I held the mask in one hand and clutched the ridgepole with the other, grinning fiercely. The stainless steel slid under me as I turned to look behind, filled with desperate hope.

Mark wasn't there.

Neither was much of Napier.

Horror froze my throat as I saw the altered skyline; buildings half-collapsed; roofs crumpled obscenely to expose the chaos of their contents. Of the houses on the hill, mine seemed to be the only one untouched. A red rescue helicopter buzzed like a hornet, but the city itself was horribly silent. Only when I strained could I hear the urgent shouts. The shape of the bay had twisted beyond recognition, acres of new, wet land glinting gunmetal grey in the dying light. It looked like the carcass of some massive beast, but even when I squinted, I couldn't see the shape of the great fish.

Hine-nui-te-p
had taken his spirit. Te Ika a M
ui was just an island now, and the earthquakes that came after this day would only be earthquakes.

It probably didn't make a lot of difference to the dead.

And I'd failed to bring Mark home.

Numb grief welled up, seeping through my veins and leaking out of my eyes as I sat, calm and desolate. I was too frozen for sobs, too tired for anger.

‘Hello, Ms Spencer,' a silky voice put in beside me. ‘You seem to have misplaced your attire.'

I screamed and launched myself at Mr Sand, the mask clattering down the roof. Whatever kept him midair failed under my added weight. We fell more than floated to the ground, his thick body jerking as I landed on top of him.

‘Kill you,' I snarled, and went for his throat. His mouth opened and closed on imprecations he couldn't voice, slender fingers clawing at my strong wrists. It was probably the stupidest thing I'd ever done. I was sure he could have killed me with a word. But with my fingers locked around his neck, I wasn't going to let him get the words out.

He was
smiling
.

A huge hand settled on my shoulder and I screamed again, whipping my elbow back.

‘Hey, girl!' one of the bikers said, easily deflecting the blow. His remaining brother, or lover, or whatever, stood beside him. Behind their leather-clad bulk, La Gribaldi rested blood-smeared fists on her hips, a dog leash dangling incongruously from her hand.

‘She's unstable,' Sand wheezed.

I banged his head against the earth.

The biker reached around me, prying my fingers loose, but it took both of them to lift me away. I got one good kick aimed at Sand's chin, but his reflexes snapped in to block it.

He stood slowly, ostentatiously wiping my blood off his immaculate white jacket. ‘Guest-right has been broken,' he said, his voice calm and even again. He wasn't even breathing hard. ‘I'll take her now.'

‘He threw me into the mists!' I shouted.

‘Oh, darling, naive Ms Spencer,' he purred. ‘I certainly did. But I didn't directly hurt you or yours – clearly, since you returned to us in all your naked splendour – and
you
just hurt me.'

‘Breaking guest-right is a great affront, and the penalty dire,' Professor Gribaldi said calmly, and Sand smiled his bright, terrible smile. ‘But someone told the patupaiarehe when and where to strike. Treachery, also, has consequences.'

He went very still. ‘You accuse me?'

She planted her feet. ‘I do.'

‘And your proof?'

She shrugged. ‘Oh, proof. A story told to a girl betrayed. A drink enchanted to make her want to run, leaving those behind bereft of her birthright strength. A boy running after her with our best hope around his neck, sent to die undefended. I suspect I could find some proof if I tried.' She lifted the leather leash and stretched it between her dark hands. ‘Relinquish your claim on Ms Spencer and I won't try too hard.'

He snarled at the leash. ‘You wouldn't
dare
.'

‘Would I not? The first Smith made a chain of seven hundred gold rings. I am not him, and this is not that, but diminished as I am, I can yet dare a leash to hold a dog!' She snapped the leather again.

His expression soured.

‘Get out, man,' the bikers rumbled together, and their power passed through their grip on me like a current, building with every circuit.

Sand took a deep breath, eyes glittering like black glass, and I felt his own stolen power surge. He hadn't had a chance to eat the fish's magic, but it seemed he'd dined well all the same. I held my breath, certain he'd attack.

But I'd forgotten. He'd lived a very long life, and not by picking fights he wasn't certain of winning. Bargains and scavenging on the weak, that was Mr Sand.

‘I forgive the affront of Eleanor Spencer to my rights of guest–hood,' he said, waving his fingers negligently. ‘And I do believe it's about time to leave these dreary little islands.'

Professor Gribaldi inclined her head. The four of us watched him turn and walk away, a dangerous little man much older than human history.

‘Hm,' the Professor said after a long minute. ‘You can have this back, Ms Spencer.'

I stared at the leash she put in my hand. ‘Isn't it yours?'

‘And when would I have had time to make it? I found it in the kennel.'

I blurted, ‘You drove him off with my dead dog's leash?'

She nodded, and I finally lost it completely. I sank onto the soft soil and laughed until my gut ached.

Washed and dressed and bandaged, with a belly full of leftovers, I felt something closer to sane.

It had been a cold shower, and there was no electricity to make miraculous pancakes. The phone was dead, and most of the city was in blackout, but the emergency kit under the laundry sink provided candles and a battery radio. I listened long enough to get an idea of the casualties, and switched it off.

‘Blaming yourself would be counterproductive,' Professor Gribaldi observed.

The quake had run the length of the island, in patterns that baffled seismologists, striking at the beginning of rush hour. The Mt. Victoria Tunnel in Wellington had collapsed on the motorists trapped within. The outside lanes of the Auckland Harbour Bridge had tumbled into the ocean. No one knew anything, but estimates were running as high as thirty thousand dead.

It was a lot better than three million. Still, if I'd been faster, if I'd known more, if I hadn't drunk the water he'd given me – I shook my head, hard. ‘I know who to blame. I . . . Is Matiu okay?'

‘Not a scratch,' she said approvingly. ‘There's a boy with a future.'

The bikers glanced at each other and stood up. ‘We've got to go,' one said. ‘Find out if the
whanau
's all right.'

I stood too, reminded by this mention of family. ‘I saw your – the other one of you. On the way.'

The one I thought was taller nodded. ‘He told us.'

Every time I thought I had given up the capacity to be surprised, I surprised myself. I turned ‘How?' into ‘Oh,' and squinted at the two men. The taller one had a nose that spread a little broader and long eyelashes that rivalled Kevin's. The shorter had slightly darker skin and three black moles in a triangle on his cheek. I couldn't tell whether I had changed or they had, but I dropped my eyes when the shorter one met them.

I walked them to the front door, limping on my bandaged feet. ‘Goodbye. Thank you.'

They hugged me in turn, smelling of leather and sweat and salt. I stayed by the open door, listening to the stuttering roar of their cycles dwindle, wishing them unbroken roads and a safe journey.

So I was there when Reka came walking out of the night, still in her black dress and dark glasses, with a cane to guide her over the raw ground until she reached the smooth path that led to the front gate.

I stepped back over the threshold, ready to slam the door and call for La Gribaldi, but she held up her hand. ‘I mean you no harm,' she said. ‘You have what belong to me. I want them back.'

‘Right,' I said, remembering, and fumbled at the mask. The greenstone eyes came out easily, eager to return to their owner, and the mask shuddered with relief when they were gone. I held them out to her, then felt like an idiot when she didn't move.

‘Hold out your hands,' I requested, and carefully placed the eyes in the cup of her palms. She closed her fingers and breathed deeply, but her face stayed remote and calm.

I wanted to ask how she'd come here without them, but there were three good reasons not to: it was probably an inappropriate question; I knew she wouldn't tell me the answer and there was something more important I had to say.

‘Mark died,' I said, wishing I had the energy to soften it. ‘I'm sorry.'

She didn't visibly react, still holding the eyes. I didn't know what I'd expected her to do with them, but obviously just shoving them into her eye sockets after my grubby hands had been all over them was out. ‘Eleanor Spencer . . . can you see the ocean from here?'

‘Uh. No. From the backyard, I can.' Of all the weird conversations I had had this long and weary day, this was unquestionably the weirdest. Had she even heard me?

‘Go, then, and look to the sea,' she said, then hesitated. ‘Did any of my people survive?'

‘I don't know,' I said. I was hoping none of them had, but I wasn't going to be that honest when she had her eyes back and I was injured and exhausted. A nasty possibility occurred to me, hard on the heels of that thought. ‘You gave Kevin up! You can't have him to make more.'

‘Not him, no,' she said absently.

My fist clenched, but my sore muscles protested even that small motion. The mask was quiet in my hand. ‘If you touch
anyone
—' Her teeth glinted. ‘I have no intention of doing so. For now. Goodbye, Eleanor. Look to the sea.'

‘Fine,' I said shortly. I was tense with waiting for the next catastrophe, but, true to her word, she walked away. When she was out of sight, I shut and locked the door.

I started when I turned; La Gribaldi was waiting a few steps behind me, massive hammer in her hand. ‘So that's her.'

‘Yes.'

‘Hm,' she said, and leaned the hammer against the wall. ‘Do you think you're up to assisting the Civil Defence Service? People like us can be very useful in times of crisis.'

Awful as I felt, there had to be people feeling much worse. ‘Yes. Just a minute.' I walked through the house, turning over Reka's last words. La Gribaldi followed me silently as I threw the back door open and stepped into the yard.

‘Okay,' I said, mostly to myself. ‘I'm looking.'

My vision abruptly expanded, as if the ocean view was rushing up on me. I swallowed back the vertigo and saw with that part of me that was growing more familiar with use.