Coiled Snake (The Windstorm Series Book 2) (22 page)

Part of the crowd cheers, but a large portion stares stonily back at their new leader.
That can’t be good
, I think, remembering what Paika said about the tribe being divided. This isn’t what we need right now.

Jian, Paika, and the council member return to the meetinghouse while the crowd breaks into small groups, everyone talking about the news. As Stephen and I push through the mob of people, I catch snippets of disgruntled murmurings.

“What do you think will happen now?” I ask Stephen.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I hope everyone will do the honorable thing, but there are people who feel strongly that Jian is not a real member of the tribe and won’t be able to lead us to victory. What the
iwi
needs now is someone the people can fully trust and support, and Jian just isn’t that person. Some may even consider it a coup, and those have never turned out well, for any tribe.”

“I wonder why the reps voted for him, then,” I muse.

“Maybe they see something the rest of us don’t.”

“I’m glad at least Paika’s the captain—oh my gosh!” I exclaim as the thought occurs to me. “Paika’s the captain! He’ll make me a warrior for sure!”

A hint of a smile slips across Stephen’s hard face. “I think you’re probably right.”

“When do you think I can talk to him?”

“Not till tomorrow, I’d imagine. New council members need to be chosen, and battle plans have to be drawn up.”

I nod. “Well, I guess I can wait.”

“I’ll catch you later,” Stephen says, turning down the hallway to the men’s dorm.

“Wait!” I stop him, reaching into the holster on my belt. “Your Beretta.”

He waves a hand. “Keep it. You’re gonna have a use for it soon. Besides, I’ve already gotten a new one.”

“Thanks.” I watch him walk away for a moment then turn toward my own room.
It’s really going to happen
, I think as I slide the handgun into my pocket, still maintaining my grip on the handle
. I’m going to become a warrior.

I stop walking as another thought strikes me. Jian is the
Riki
now. That means he’ll be able to help me rescue the twins, like he promised. I can’t believe my luck.

“I’m coming for you,” I whisper. “Nothing’s going to stop me now.”

Thick, gray clouds hide the sun and masked drummers quietly tap their drums as we stand silently in the courtyard and watch the tribal elders perform a dance for the deceased. The wind slides over my shoulder, but the dancers don’t use it; it wouldn’t be safe in the middle of the city.

When the dance ends, Jian steps in front of the crowd and reads a list of the names of the dead. It’s a long list, but I listen to each one intently. Everyone does. When I hear “Miri Awha,” large tears well up in my eyes.

I think about the first time I ever saw her—standing on the beach, her long hair streaming in the breeze. I think about the time she saved me from the drunks on the beach. How she stood up for me at the trial, risked becoming a slave. Taught me how to sing. Taught me about windtalking. I remember her rich, mournful voice singing that final piercing song. Her absurd yellow scarf. And now she’s gone. The only grandparent I’ve ever known.

I’m going to be a warrior like you,
I think into the wind.
I will avenge your death.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, everyone holds up one leaf for each person they lost. Then we release them into the wind.

I watch Miri’s leaf circle above my head, moving further and further away until I can no longer see it through my tears.

Afterward, most of the crowd moves toward the dining hall or back to the houses, but I find a bench in the courtyard and sit down. I stare at the grass under my feet, willing the tears to stop.

“I’m going to miss her too, love.”

I look up into Paika’s face. “I keep thinking about this song I heard her sing,” I say.

“Yeh?” He sits down next to me.

I recite the few words I remember. “What does it mean?” I ask.

“It’s an Āki Awha dirge,” he says. Then he sings the song in English.

“Was it about my mom?” I ask.

He nods. “And the rest of your family, you and Kai included. For years, you were all dead to her.”

“Not Mokai.”

“Well, kind of.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s complicated.” He sighs. “When your da’s betrayal was discovered, the whole family was tainted, including Miri. People assumed she knew about Hemi’s plans. Mokai was just a child though. Miri knew if she raised him, people would never forget about your family’s disgrace; the two of them would be lumped together. If she stayed away from him, however, he could earn a name for himself, and people might forget.”

“Oh.” I let this information sink in. “Do you think she did the right thing?”

“It’s not for me to say. Miri was a tough nut. She rarely showed her grief, but I know she wished things could have been different.”

“Poor Kai. And poor Miri.”

“Yeh. But they were reunited after he became a warrior. I think he’s forgiven her.”

“Speaking of warriors,” I say, wanting to change the subject, “I haven’t said congratulations yet.”

He sighs. “It’s a heavy burden to assume. Especially now.”

“You’re the best person for the job.”

He tousles my hair. “You just want me to make you a warrior, mate.”

“Will you?”

He nods. “I’ve already spoken to the
Riki
about it. He has an assignment in mind for you.”

“Really?”

Paika raises an eyebrow. “Is there something you should be telling me?” he asks.

I shake my head, and he frowns.

“I’m going to be initiating a set of new warriors,” he says. “It’s not how I’d like to do it, none of them having done the testing, but we don’t have much of a choice. We need as many people as we can get, especially if … ”

“If what?”

He sighs again. “If more
hapa
leave the tribe.”

“Will they?”

“They’ve threatened. I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

“What do you think about Jian being
Riki
? Is it a bad idea?”

“I’m not his biggest fan,” Paika admits, “but I abide by the rules of the
iwi.
Without our rules, our traditions, we’re nothing.” He looks at me. “Speaking of tradition, we’ll be doing the initiation tonight.”

“Tonight?” That’s even sooner than I had hoped.

“Yeh, you’ll need some time to recover before we can ship you out.”

“Recover from what?”

“Your
hirimoko.
You can’t become a warrior without one.”

I stare at him, horrified. I had forgotten all about the tattoo. “There’s no way around it?” I ask shakily.

“Not a chance.” He suppresses a smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll survive. It’ll hurt like
pueha
though.”

I clutch the edge of the bench. “Okay,” I say, hoarsely.

Paika laughs. “You’ll be fine. When it’s over, you’ll have something to be proud of.” He stands up. “Run over to Room 3 to get your picture taken—we’ll need to order your passport. Then report to the meetinghouse after the evening meal.”

“Passport? But I’m not a New Zealand citizen.”

“’Course you are! You were born here, weren’t you?” He ruffles my hair again then walks away.

I take a deep, shaky breath.
I can do this,
I tell myself.
It’s for Maisy and Jack. Mom did it. So did Miri. And Mokai. And Paika. And Stephen. And countless other people. I can do it too.

After I get my picture taken, the day goes by far too quickly, and when dinner is over, I have to force myself to walk toward the meetinghouse. Mokai is waiting for me outside.

“I heard the news,” he says.

“How bad does it hurt?” I ask.

“Bad. But if you focus on why you’re getting it, why it makes you a stronger warrior than the other tribes, it’ll help. That and forming
honga.
Let the wind carry off the pain.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t be afraid to yell either. It’ll make you feel heaps better.”

Nodding, I remove my shoes and enter the meetinghouse. Mokai follows me but takes a seat in the audience while I walk unsteadily toward the platform where dozens of teenagers are waiting with pale faces. One of the faces looks familiar, and I realize it’s Joshua—the boy I worked with in triage.

Once everyone has assembled, several of the tribal elders step onto the platform, each carrying a tray of instruments. Paika moves to the front and says a few words about the tradition and symbolism of the
hirimoko
, but I don’t listen. In my mind, I picture myself finding and saving the twins. I cling to this image when Paika says, “Remember Rangiātea,” and everyone responds, “I will not be lost.” I cling to it when I hear the girl next to me scream, and I keep clinging to it when an elderly woman sits before me and instructs me to lie on my stomach. I do so, and she cuts through my shirt, exposing my back. I visualize Jack and Maisy’s smiles as she traces the outline of the Manaia on my skin. When I feel the first cut of the chisel, the pain clouds the picture, but I squeeze my nails into my palms and force myself to see their faces.

“With this cut, you carry the deeds of your ancestors.”

A window above my head is open, allowing a small breeze to leak into the room. As the woman carves the pattern into my back, I desperately reach for the wind, letting the currents swirl inside my chest. I picture the wind matching the pricking vibration—matching it and sweeping away the pain.

“With this cut, you add your story to theirs.”

Tātu e tātu e,
I breathe.
In and out. In and out.
I focus so intently on the breeze that I notice only a difference in sensation when the woman stops slicing my flesh and begins instead to tap the pigment made of gum and powdered bone into the cuts.

I’m doing this for you,
I chant in my head, over and over.
I’m doing this for you.
I hold the wind tightly, feeling it not just beneath my back but deep inside my arms and legs. And then, suddenly, it’s over, and the woman is plastering my skin with ointment and bandages.

“You were very strong,” she says quietly. Then she moves onto the next person.

I lie there for a long time, unwilling to surrender my hold on the wind for fear of what I’ll feel. But eventually it’s time for me to move. I weakly hold my shirt against my chest while Mokai and another person help me hobble out of the meetinghouse and back to the dormitory.

As soon as we go inside and I’m forced to release
honga
, I almost faint. I stumble forward, but Mokai keeps me upright. Groaning, I sink onto his arm completely, relying on him to half-carry, half-drag me to my bed. He places me on the cot, face down, and someone gives me painkillers and some water.

“You’re going to pass out soon,” he says. “They’ll keep you under until the cuts have scabbed over. It will expedite the healing process.”

“How long?” I murmur into the pillow.

“A week or two.”

“It hurts,” I moan.

“It’ll stop soon.” He clears his throat. “You did really well, actually. I was impressed.”

“Held onto
honga
, like you said.”

“Good.” He pats my head awkwardly. “Well, I better go. See you when you wake up.”

He leaves, and soon I feel a numbness settle over my body. The whimpering of the newly initiated warriors lying on their cots beside me begins to subside. Or maybe it’s just that I can’t hear them anymore. My ears feel strangely thick.
One to two weeks. So long …

My neck hurts from lying on my stomach, and I turn my head the other way. I’m facing the door now, and I see someone enter the room, but it’s hard to make out the details of their face. I think it’s a woman; long gray hair sweeps over her shoulders.

“Kitara,” the woman says.

“Miri?” I gasp. “I thought you were dead!”

“What are you lying around for, girl? We’ve got work to do.”

“But—I can’t get up,” I stammer. “The cuts … ”

“I’m not interested in excuses. Come on. The day won’t wait.”

She grabs me by the arm and hauls me off the cot. I start to protest, clutching at the blanket that’s sliding off my chest, but she ignores me and hands me a fishing net.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Where the fish are, ninny. Cast your net.”

Sighing, I throw the net over the side of the boat. We’re on the
Echidna
, the sea stretching out on either side of us.

“I wish you had let me put some clothes on first,” I mutter, still pressing the blanket to my chest as the boat bobs beneath me.

“Not my fault you were sleeping in.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I just got my
hirimoko.
”

“That’s nice.”

“I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“Pride comes before a fall. That’s why they give it to you—makes you realize you’re not as tough as you think you are. Oh, here’s a big one.” She hauls an enormous whale out of the ocean, far too big for the boat.

“Miri, it won’t fit!” I yell.

But she keeps pulling. The whale rises out of the waves, looming higher and higher above us.

Splash!
The whale’s weighty body smashes onto the rig, sending our vessel plunging into the deep. The water fills my lungs. Choking, I fight my way to the surface, hoping the bandages haven’t come off my back.

When I reach the top, I’m amazed to discover the whale has become an island and Miri is sitting on the beach. I crawl onto the sand-covered blubber to join her.

“You don’t have a shirt on,” Miri says.

Gasping, I cover myself with my hands and pull down a frond from a palm tree. I wrap it around my chest, but my stomach is still exposed.

“Well, go get what you’re looking for,” Miri says, pointing into the island jungle.

“You’re so bossy,” I mutter under my breath. But I do as she says and walk into the trees. The undergrowth becomes thicker and thicker, the air hotter and hotter, as I force my way through the plants, still gripping the leaf that’s wrapped around my torso. I hear parrots screeching, bugs buzzing. And then I’m standing in front of a cave.

The interior of the cave is completely dark, and a terrible stench wafts out of the entrance. But I know I have to go inside. Holding my breath, I walk into the darkness. Soon I feel bones crunching under my feet, hear the scurrying paws of rats, the flapping of bats’ wings.

“Hello?” I call into the smothering blackness.

“Kit!” two voices ring back at me.

“I’m coming!” I shout to Jack and Maisy, hurrying forward. “Where are you?”

“Over here!” They tap on the stones.

I stop. The tapping is coming from behind me. I turn around and chase after the sound.

“Where?” I call.

“Here!” Now their voices are to my left. I adjust my course and call again. But once again their position changes.

“Stop moving!” I shout. There’s no reply. “Maisy?” Nothing. “Jack?” Silence.

I stumble forward, picking a direction at random. But now I’m completely disoriented. I don’t even know where the entrance is.

And then I hear the sound of the rats moving closer, their teeth gnawing in anticipation.
Futttut. Futttut.

“No!” I shriek, swinging wildly with my arms. “Get back. Leave me alone!”

But they keep coming, and as their furry bodies swarm over me, I hear Miri’s voice say from somewhere far away, “Pride comes before a fall.”

I scream and try to sit up, but a hand pushes me back down. “Let go of me!” I shriek.

“Suit yourself,” a female voice says.

I blink as my vision slowly comes back into focus. Sunshine—the
rohamaka
girl with the half-shaved head—is standing beside my bed. I look around and realize I’m in bed, an IV pole standing nearby. I also realize that I’ve pushed myself up, leaving the blanket behind. I drop back down onto my stomach and cover my chest, my face turning red.

“Sorry,” I stammer.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, though her tone suggests she doesn’t care.

I check in with my body. The pain in my back has dampened to a dull ache. “A lot better,” I say. “But I’ve been having weird dreams.”

“Yeh, the drugs do that.”

“How long have I been out?”

“A week, I think. Can you sit up?”

I cautiously shift my weight. The tender skin on my back protests, but I’m able to get up all the way. I turn my head from side to side and stretch out my arms.

“Cracker. It’s time for you to report.” Sunshine hands me a cream-colored envelope. “Room 15, down the hall. Ten minutes.” She turns around and leaves the room.

When she’s gone, I quickly pop the seal off the envelope. Inside is my passport and new assignment.