Kokopu Dreams (9 page)

In the morning he felt worse. His arm was throbbing and so was his head. He was hosting an infection. As he rode through Tirau and then Putaruru the pain got worse and so did a feeling of disorientation, a near-hallucinatory dizziness. Who was he? What was he doing? Why was he riding this horse? Where was he going anyway? He swallowed some more pills. Half an hour later his head had cleared but he still felt like he was dreaming.

When he rode into Tokoroa he found branches laid out in the form of a vee, pointing to the bypass road that ran down the western side of Lake Taupo. Someone was trying to tell him something. Who? Why? He turned right and followed the sign past the side entrance to the Kinleith pulp mill. In the pine forest, thick and looming, he rode in near darkness with occasional shafts of dazzling light. Was this real or a feverish nightmare? He knew that he didn't want to be caught among the trees after dark, so he kept up a good pace, alternately cantering and trotting for as long as his arm and his throbbing head could stand the jolting.

They were still among the trees when Sean couldn't take it any more. They'd been pushing themselves for what seemed like hours. Bojay was all lathered up, Hamu's head drooped and his tongue hung out. The light said it was probably mid-afternoon and they'd have time for a cup of tea and an hour's rest. They stopped by a creek. Sean made a fire and boiled the billy while the animals drank their fill. Bojay grazed on some toetoe growing at the edge of the pines.

Sean sat on the pine needles, soft as any cushion, and leaned back against a tree trunk. His whole body ached. His head felt like a puffball. He wanted to throw up. No way could he mount Bojay again and keep riding. Not without a little rest anyway. He'd just shut his eyes for a moment.

When he woke up it was completely black, or at least it was till he ungummed his eyes and staggered to the creek where he dunked his head. Dusk. The light was fading fast. He didn't feel at all rested, he felt even worse than before, sick, weak and dizzy. He looked around, realising that night was almost upon them and he had no idea how far they'd have to ride to find clear country. No time for anything else. He whistled for Hamu who was following smells in the undergrowth, mounted Bojay and headed down the road. Bojay's trot threatened to dislodge his pounding head.

Within a kilometre it was dark enough for Sean to see stars in the narrow gap where the road divided the trees. But it wasn't so pitch-black that Sean didn't see the shape that leapt from the trees with a screech that nearly paralysed him.

Bojay shied, jumping sideways. Sean saw the creature land beside them in the road. He fought to stay mounted. It was big, and it recovered its balance even as Bojay, not waiting for any command, broke into a gallop down the centre of the highway. Sean held on as best he could.

Just as Frank had described, Sean could hear the ‘Thud! Thud!' of the creature's pursuit, not gaining but not falling behind either. He crouched over Bojay's neck, all thoughts of illness forgotten. He urged the horse to greater speed and prayed for Bojay to keep his footing on the potholed surface. Bojay did but he couldn't maintain the pace. Sean felt Bojay slowing and as he did the creature sprang. This time it landed square on Bojay's back, right behind Sean. The horse stumbled and began to go down. Sean felt the creature's claws grip him and something struck him a glancing blow on the head.

Sean and the creature, it could only have been Kurangaituku, were thrown clear as Bojay fell and they landed side by side. Kurangaituku was first to her feet and in the gloom Sean saw Kurangaituku sizing Bojay and him up. The moment of indecision allowed Sean to draw his sawn-off. When the creature stepped towards him, beak raised for a killing blow, Sean shot her right in the head.

Kurangaituku fell just as Hamu arrived, panting and giving the fallen monster a wide berth. Again, Sean remembered Frank's tale. Frantically he remounted Bojay, praying that the horse was none the worse for his tumble. They galloped off down the road in the dark, hoping to get clear before Kurangaituku came to. Bojay needed no urging either. He kept up his gallop for what seemed like hours.

When they were well clear of the pines, Sean stopped and dismounted to let Hamu catch up. They'd escaped. There was no sign of Kurangaituku and, apart from low scrub, they were in clear country, half a moon shining over rolling hills, with here and there clumps of trees and shelter belts.

They all needed to stop, a chance to still their pounding hearts and collect their scattered wits. Sean gathered wood and lit another fire. Bojay munched half-heartedly and Hamu ignored the rest of the dog biscuits when Sean tipped them out. Sean couldn't eat either. He just sat there in the firelight with a cup of tea and a smoke feeling miserable, sick and sore. He could smell the carrion stink of Kurangaituku all over himself. The moon told him they were about four hours from dawn, but at least they were clear of the pines.

Hamu growled. When Sean looked at him his teeth were bared and his hackles were up. Sean followed Hamu's gaze. To his horror, he saw a looming shadow, not ten feet away Kurangaituku stood there, not moving. Sean had all the time in the world to get a clear picture. The beak and claws stood out in the flickering firelight, but the most horrible thing of all was the eyes. They were black pits, alien and merciless, and they stared unblinking, while the claws clenched and unclenched. Sean leapt to his feet, expecting to be attacked and torn apart as he moved. But Kurangaituku was still.

Sean became aware of the manaia nestling against his chest. It was alive. It gave him back the strength he thought he'd lost. His head cleared and his body tingled all over. Forgetting his pain, he waved his arms like he was shooing chooks.

‘Haere atu!' he yelled, as loud as he could. ‘Fuck off!'

Hamu gave a booming bark and from right beside Sean's ear Bojay made a noise like the Muscle Shoals horn section blasting a bridge into the chorus. Kurangaituku recoiled. As they watched, the monster shrank, nearly half a metre. No longer was it towering overhead looking like it was about to leap and devour them, cleaving Sean's skull with its massive beak, its shiny black eyes strange and terrifying. It was Sean's height now and it looked directly at him. Sean saw what it was feeling. Maybe it was his feverish state, maybe it was his fright-fuelled imagination, but there was a being, just like Hamu or Bojay, just like another human. What Sean saw was a deep unhappiness. Kurangaituku was lonely and confused, gripped by unwanted passions. Sean and the creature stood there looking at each other and then it slowly backed away, lifting its great clawed feet and placing them with deliberate care like a dancer or a gymnast, like the formal movements of a warrior delivering a wero, a challenge. Despite his terror, Sean felt a sudden rush of sympathy for it. Where were its friends and family? Who could ever love it? Without thinking he spoke to it, just as it turned, about to vanish into the night.

‘Take it easy, sis!' Sean called, and if he ever meant anything said he meant those words. Kurangaituku stopped. Sean had time to think that perhaps he should have kept his big mouth shut. To his horror he saw the firelit beast grow again, and turn its horrid gaze on him. ‘Oh no!' he said to himself. He was reaching for the sawn-off when Kurangaituku sprang.

Kurangaituku's leap knocked Sean over and, just as he dodged a wicked blow from the creature's beak, he felt a claw go into his eye. Hamu hurled himself at Kurangaituku and, even though he was plucked off and thrown to one side, his attack gave Sean time to rise and seize the monster around the neck, immobilising the beak and toppling Kurangaituku. The two of them fell right into the fire.

Sean felt his hair crisp and sizzle and the stabbing pain of the hot coals searing his skin. At the same time he heard a screech of terror from Kurangaituku. When the creature leapt to her feet, he saw through his one-eyed daze that she was on fire. All down one side feathers were burning. Frantically she beat at the flames with her claws, but the tongues of fire spread. Ignoring the nearby stream and the long grass she could have rolled in, Kurangaituku fled.

Sean came to with Hamu licking his face. He lay on his back feeling his wounds. One eye was blind. His head and his arm throbbed. His nostrils were full of the unbelievable stench of the burning monster. Sean was too weak to move and he stayed on his back, the front of his swanny pulled up and held against his eye. Bojay was eating grass again and Hamu, unhurt after his encounter, had started picking his biscuits out of the grass. Sean struggled to his feet and rebuilt the fire, one-handed and one-eyed.

As he sat half blind, wondering if he was going to live or die, he noticed Hamu. The dog had stopped rootling in the grass for his biscuits. He was sitting with his head on one side, gazing enraptured at a point beside the fire. Again Sean followed his gaze. This time he saw a little creature, less than a metre high, warming himself by the flames. He was gnarled and misshapen with a high forehead and reddish curly hair. He was one of the little guys out of Cally's paintings — one of the Maeroero. Hamu and Sean were entranced. Even Bojay had stopped munching. Sean could smell his grassy breath as he moved up behind them. The Maeroero turned to them and spoke, and the sound made Sean forget anything he'd read about the clear and piping voices of the little people. The Maeroero sounded like Tom Waits on a bad day, like cutlery caught in the waste disposal unit, and he spoke in a dialect full of g's and k's, grunts and clicks.

‘Tena koutou,' he said.

The barely comprehensible formal greeting sounded more like ‘tinna goat.' A noise like three metres of concrete mixing in a truck followed. Sean strained to make sense of the noise.

‘Ko Uruao ahau.'

Uruao? Sean had never heard the name before. It wasn't from anywhere he'd been. Then the little guy started smiling and nodding, just like the blanketed man at Ngaruawahia.

‘Tatou tatou!' he said to Sean, though the noise was more like a motor mower running over tin cans. Tatou tatou? All of them together? Uruao continued smiling and nodding. Sean wondered what he meant. Then Sean heard a strange noise, like a mixture of grinding gears and a punk rock drum solo. The noise was coming from the little guy. He was shaking with what looked to Sean like laughter. As Sean fought to focus, he saw the Maeroero lift one arm and point, right at his face.

That was about the last straw for Sean. He felt crook as hell. In the past couple of days he'd been ambushed, shot, chased, frightened half to death, and, to cap it all, he'd probably lost an eye.

‘And you can fuck off too, you crater-faced little dipstick!' Sean yelled at the diminutive creature, sitting there by the fire, wrapped in a cloak made from some spotted hide and sounding like the old Cresta had just thrown a rod.

And he did. He rose, still laughing and pointing, took a step backwards into the darkness and vanished, the collapsed-bearing graunch of his laughter taking a few seconds to fade.

Sean was way beyond shock and surprise. He'd been attacked and nearly killed by one mythical creature, and laughed at by another. Big deal. He had his own problems. For a start he was having trouble standing upright. He tossed the remaining wood on the fire, wrapped himself in the saddle-blanket, lay on the ground and passed out from pain and exhaustion.

10

SEAN WAS IN A BAD WAY that night. Racked with pain, delirium, the infection raging, burns from the fire and exhaustion from his flight and his battle, he didn't even know which way was up. He gobbled the pills like they were lollies. He crawled to the creek and lay with his head in the water, washing his eye and trying to soothe his blistered skin. Soaked from sweat, creek water and dew, he found yet more pain every time he moved on the hard ground.

When it was light enough to see, Sean managed to get to his feet and saddle Bojay one-handed. The saddle-blanket was wrinkled and crooked, and the girth so loose that anything other than a gentle walk would have dislodged him. He didn't give a thought to being caught up in the stirrups and maybe killed by the panicked flight that would have ensued. He didn't know what he was thinking, other than that he had to keep moving. No way could he light a fire. He had no food and couldn't have eaten anyway, though he did manage to stuff the last of the pills into his mouth and take a drink of cold tea from the billy.

He turned left on the road to Tokaanu and looked up to see Tongariro gleaming in the sunrise, triumphant above the mist and cloud, Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe standing alongside. About three kilometres short of the settlement he fell from the saddle.

When he woke a week later, he heard the whole story. Bojay had trotted into Tokaanu, stirrups swinging and the saddle still perched on his back. The locals were getting through their chores in the early morning. They thought at first Bojay was an apparition, materialised from the Waituhi Saddle or the legendary settlement of Hauhangaroa.

They had followed the horse back to where Sean lay. Hamu who had guarded him while he lay insensible on the roadside, wouldn't let them near him. One of the old people had to reassure the dog that they really were there to help and he'd done a particularly good job. Sean arrived in Tokaanu lying across Bojay and not far from death.

‘You're a legend in your own lunchtime,' laughed Roha. She'd been forcing liquids into Sean, wondering where he'd been, and whether or not he'd recover. It was touch and go for a few days. Some of the folk there even had bets as to whether or not Sean would survive. The odds weren't too good till the day his delirium broke, he opened his remaining eye, and began climbing back to the land of the living.

Sean had lost an eye. While he tossed and ranted they made him an eyepatch and he was wearing it the day he woke up. Roha held up a mirror for him and he almost wept at the sight of the mangled mess beneath it. But he consoled himself with the thought that new hair was growing back, his blistered skin was healing and the infection had gone. And he and his two friends were still alive. They'd survived Kurangaituku. He lay in bed wondering what he'd learned from his encounter. What had the Maeroero meant by ‘tatou tatou'? How come his gesture of kindness towards the monster had almost resulted in his death?

George, a GP who had lived through the Fever and as soon as he could had moved back home from Taupo where he'd been a partner in a medical centre, wouldn't let Sean get up. He made it clear that continuation of his journey was out of the question for at least several weeks.

‘They'll cancel your medical insurance if you go against my advice,' he warned.

George laughed at Sean's empty pill bottle. They were indeed antibiotics, but toddler-strength, designed for a two-year-old with a touch of the blahs, not even as strong as Junior Disprin.

‘Still,' he said, ‘Better than nothing and they probably saved you.'

He asked Sean where he'd been and, lacking the strength even to sit upright, Sean told him. Disbelief flickered in the doctor's eyes when Sean described his encounter with Kurangaituku and with the Maeroero. Sean expected to be told he'd been delirious, imagining things. But George shook his head like he was waking himself up.

‘That would have been my reaction in the old world. But I've seen too many strange things, since the Fever, to dismiss the tale so lightly.'

A day later Sean had a visit from an old man who pulled up a chair beside the bed and said he was one of the folk that had brought Sean in. No doubt the pills had helped, he said with a sceptical ‘Harumph', but far more efficacious had been the manaia, untouched around Sean's neck while everything else had been removed.

‘You've got some strong help,' he said, ‘And I don't just mean the horse and the dog.'

He knew Kurangaituku was abroad. He made Sean repeat the tale of his encounter several times, questioning Sean on the monster's behaviour and that of the Maeroero.

‘That little fellow was a long way from home,' he said. ‘And what are you doing, anyway? Where are you going?'

‘I'm not really sure,' Sean told him. ‘All I seem to get is warnings.' The old man looked at him directly for the first time.

‘Give me a few days,' he said. ‘I'll ask around.' As he rose and left the room Sean wondered what he meant.

When the old man returned he looked worried. He sat beside Sean's bed.

‘It's a long story,' he began. Here we go, thought Sean. More doom and gloom.

‘It starts with
Uruao
. That's the name of the waka of creation of a very old iwi.' Sean pulled himself upright. ‘Those people journeyed here to a place called Te Wai o Tinirau.' Sean's hand went to his manaia. ‘It's a real place,' he said. ‘It's in the south, near Otepoti. People renamed it. They call it Makereatu now.'

‘Makereatu? What does that mean?'

The old man looked amused. ‘The historians had a lot of trouble translating that name. It's a male ejaculation. Since those early days Te Wai o Tinirau has always been a place of conservation, and especially a place of regeneration.'

‘Where do I fit into all this?'

‘There's nothing left of Te Wai o Tinirau now. It all got quarried and crushed for road metal. That's why the Maeroero are so annoyed. That's why they caused the Fever.'

Caused the Fever? That bunkly little troglodyte? Him and his mates?

‘That's a bit extreme,' said Sean. ‘They must have been really pissed off.'

‘They were. Angry about a lot of other things too.' The old man gave him a puzzled look. ‘I'm not sure where you fit in. Nobody else knows either. Maybe you have to work it out for yourself.'

That night when Roha brought a bowl of stew he asked her who the kaumatua had spoken with.

‘Uncle Ruka?' she said. ‘He's been away for a week.' She plumped Sean's pillows and helped him sit up. ‘Mangu saw him in the bush, though. He was sitting by himself, talking away flat out. Mangu was too scared even to say hello.'

Two weeks later Sean was allowed out of bed. His clothes had been washed and patched and someone had retrieved the gear he'd left behind at his last campsite, where one large clawed footprint almost obliterated by time and weather confirmed his tale. The kids at Tokaanu went silent and wide-eyed whenever he was around, but he wasn't thinking about Kurangaituku now. He had a better idea of where he was going. But he was even more nervous about
why
, about what he was going to do when he got there.

Sean was told to be a minder for George. ‘He's a thinker,' said Uncle Ruka. ‘He talks a lot too. You might learn something off him.'

George had watched how the Fever had blown everyone's lives apart.

‘A lot of people didn't survive the aftermath,' he said. ‘Especially people by themselves.' He told Sean of epidemics of flu, like the one that had struck the Ngahere community, and of people dying from simple infections and illnesses that hadn't been a problem for years, like TB and diphtheria. Other people had been overcome by horror and despair. The dogs had killed people too, but they'd long known to avoid Tokaanu where people had always shot stray pig dogs on sight, no questions asked.

‘But the scariest thing is, nobody's getting pregnant,' George said. ‘What's happening? I've done tests and I can't find anything wrong with anyone. It isn't looking good.'

Maybe that's part of the utu, Sean said to himself. Wonder how long it'll last? Is it permanent?

It was a dreadful thought and Sean tried to ignore it while he travelled with the doctor on his visits to outlying communities. Sean felt like an old hand as he shepherded George through the winter snowstorms on the Desert Road. Often they took shelter wherever they could, sometimes in culverts and sometimes under the mountain totara that grew, gnarled and stunted, on the roadside.

Twice they were attacked by dogs and Sean christened the crossbow he'd been given by Mangu, who turned out to be one of the community's hunters. The crossbow was made from the leaf spring of a broken-down Austin Gypsy, filed to shape, mounted on an old .303 rifle stock, and strung with woven stainless steel wire. It took all Sean's strength to cock it, but it could drive a reinforcing steel bolt through a piece of four-centimetre matai.

‘Those shop ones are just toys anyway,' said Mangu, dreads, tats, and a checked swanny, missing most of its front where squares had been ripped out to assist with personal hygiene in the bush.

But he didn't get a chance to use it, or his sawn-off, the day they were ambushed. He and George were on their way to visit a community of young soldiers at Waiouru. They were riding past the Chateau Tongariro, a place of evil repute. Sean turned to ask George something, but before his friend had a chance to reply a small hole appeared in his forehead, just as a rifle shot sounded. Sean was still trying to grasp what had happened when George toppled from the saddle and three men appeared atop a bank of the cutting they were riding through.

One of the ambushers looked familiar. He gestured for Sean to dismount. As Sean swung free of the saddle, the man stepped forward, grabbed a handful of Sean's swanny and pulled him, so that he ended up sprawled in the road. Sean was on his hands and knees, getting to his feet, when a kick in the face sent him sprawling again.

‘You again, you prick!' said the guy. ‘Got you this time!'

Sean saw dirty blonde hair, a tooth missing in the front. Colin? He was supposed to be dead. Colin swung his rifle by the barrel and laid the stock across the side of Sean's head. The last thing he saw, before everything went black, was a scuffed and dirty pair of Doc Martens.

When he came to he was lying across Bojay, his hands tied and a vicious pounding in his head.

Not this shit again, he thought to himself. He knew there was little chance of another tattooed marksman hiding around the corner. He couldn't see Hamu either, and he hoped the dog had the sense to stay out of sight. Colin saw him regain consciousness and trotted alongside. He sounded chatty, almost jovial.

‘I met some skinz in Hamilton,' he said. ‘They told me about this smart-arse who was riding south. Sounded like you. I hoped it was.' He nodded towards Sean's eyepatch. ‘Hope that hurt like buggery.'

How had Colin got here? How come he wasn't dead? How had he escaped Kurangaituku? Colin guessed Sean's thoughts.

‘Simple to get here,' he said. ‘I took a microlight and flew direct. Couldn't wait to meet you.' Colin did a Hannibal Lecter imitation with his teeth. ‘We've got some company for you too. He looks a bit stringy but he should be young and tender.' He laughed in Sean's face. Sean grimaced.

‘You hear about the bad breath contest?' he said.

Sean passed out when Colin struck him again with the rifle butt.

This is a major bummer, Sean thought as he regained consciousness, bouncing and lurching on Bojay's back. He was still wondering how the hell he'd get out of this one when they rode around the back of the Chateau. Shod hooves clattered and sparked on the paved parking area. Colin pulled Sean off Bojay by his hair and prodded him with the muzzle of his .308 — through a kitchen, along a hall and down a flight of stairs into a damp and icy cellar, lit only by a small high window. He stepped past Sean, unbolted a door, pushed it open and motioned Sean inside. As he stepped into the gloom Sean heard ‘Enjoy yourself!' followed by an evil chuckle. The door slammed and the bolt slid home.

Sean's eyes took a few moments to adjust to the gloom. He was taking in the concrete floor, the block walls and the dog kennel stink of the room, when someone spoke. The voice sounded young and uncertain.

‘Gidday,' it said. The voice was familiar. Sean turned at the sound, to what looked in the gloom like a bundle of rags. He peered, and made out a human shape getting to its feet. They stood there, both trying to see, and they recognised each other at the same time.

‘Kevin!' cried Sean, and ‘Sean!' yelled Kevin. Both of them were slack-jawed with surprise and a split second later they were in each other's arms. Sean held Kevin as the young man sobbed with relief. Sean wondered what the hell he was doing here? Eventually Kevin was breathing evenly. The two men sat on the floor, a ragged blanket keeping the worst of the chill away.

‘I followed you,' Kevin said. ‘I got bored in Ngahere, doing the same old things every day.'

Sean had a fleeting memory of tranquillity and certainty, the safety of living without nasty surprises, of waking up in the same place every morning, a real bed with proper bedclothes and knowing exactly what the day held in store.

‘I met some people in Ngaruawahia who'd seen you,' Kevin said. ‘This old man told me about Kurangaituku. He said if I was quick I could ride right through the middle and I'd be safe.'

He stopped and looked at Sean's eyepatch. ‘What happened to you anyway? And how come these guys caught you?' Sean's head spun. Where to start?

‘I had a run-in with Kurangaituku. And I met one of these guys at Brynderwyn. I thought we'd killed him too. I think I should have made sure.'

Kevin looked at Sean, very worried and very young.

‘I wish you had too,' he said. ‘I think they're going to eat us.' He told Sean about his former cellmate, taken out three days ago and not seen since. Colin's taunts had held him in a constant state of terror for the past week. ‘It's my turn next,' Kevin said. ‘That tall skinny dude said so.'