Justice and Utu (24 page)

Evie was on deck, wanting to talk to him before she, too, spoke to Donna. But he pushed past her and fled. Her face, which had seemed strangely familiar, was now so easily read. She was Puarata's daughter, and he could not bear to look at her anymore.

 

After all they had been through, the little motel off Domain Road in real-world Whakatane seemed surreal. Spartan rooms with painted walls, tiny single beds, Formica kitchen benches and squeaky linoleum. Wiri arranged a room for himself and Mat, and one for Evie. Mat and Wiri ate together at a café on the main street, but Evie didn't join them. Mat was glad. He could not bear to be near her right now. Not now he knew
the truth. That she was the child of the two worst people he'd ever met. The thought that he'd kissed her and held her now seared his memories.

If Wiri noticed that he and Evie were avoiding each other, he said nothing. But Mat couldn't avoid her forever. And there were things that had to be said. After the meal, he screwed up his courage, and went and knocked on her door. She opened it with a timid look. ‘May I come in?' he asked her nervously.

She nodded solemnly. ‘I need to show you something.' She walked in and picked up her deck of cards.

‘No!' he protested. ‘Forget the cards. I don't want to know what the cards say!'

The cards didn't save Damien. How can I trust them anymore?

She didn't answer him directly. Instead she pulled a card from the top of the deck, walked to the wall, and pinned it there. It was called The Lovers, and showed a naked man and woman, Adam and Eve in Eden, a dark angel hovering, and above them all a brilliant sun. ‘Watch,' she said.

The card slowly turned on the wall, until it was upside-down.

Her voice was flat and sad. ‘Inverted, The Lovers card means a lot of bad things. Failure, separation, frustration. Unwise love.'

He clenched his fist, then reached out and pulled the card back upright. It reversed itself again. It wasn't gravity — the pin was near the top. It was the card, and the powers that moved it. With an angry cry he ripped it from the wall and flung it away. He ached to hold her, and was frightened to. The way she'd looked as she had protected Donna, the way he'd almost seen Puarata's face in hers, haunted him.

‘It's just a card!' he shouted. He had no idea what he meant. He just wanted to shout.

She flinched, but didn't waver. ‘It's you. It's me,' she said. She sighed and picked up the card again. ‘You're angry and you feel guilty. You think I might become an enemy. Well, I won't. If my ancestry gives me power, then it is power I will use for good. I've been raised in love, raised to care about others. The people who did that are my real parents, and no-one else!'

‘That's easy to say — but I knew Puarata. I know Donna. She won't let you go! And neither will he! He might be dead, but everyone knows who he was. You don't stand a chance!'

She took a step towards him, holding out her hands. ‘Mat — please! I need your help to get through this.'

‘Yeah?' He jabbed his finger at the card in her hands. ‘Well, apparently I can't help you. Find someone else. Go ask your mother!'

She burst into tears, flung the card away, and stumbled to her bath room. He put his hand to his mouth, and finally heard all that he had said.
Of course she needs help! She's just had the worst kind of shock — and all I do is yell at her.

He went to the bath room doorway. Evie was sitting on the bath room floor, her face turned away, her shoulders heaving.

Say something, Mat, you fool!

But he couldn't. The faces of Puarata and Donna filled his mind the moment he considered it.

He backed away, feeling like a betrayer. The Lovers lay on the floor as he walked out. He scooped it up, and pocketed it. When he got back to his room, he pinned it to the wall, and watched the way it slowly inverted.

 

D
ANNEVIRKE
, F
RIDAY

They gathered in an old farmhouse just out of Dannevirke, near the tiny aerodrome from where top-dressers and light commercial flights came and went sporadically. It wasn't really a farmhouse; in fact, it was an old bar someone had re-sited but never quite renovated. It had been sold recently to a man with connections to Aethlyn Jones. Jones himself was there, haggard and walking with a stick. It made him look a little like Asher Grieve, though warmer and earthier. He'd brought the sobering news that Hone Heke and other prominent chiefs had given Hobson and Grey until the end of the year to recover the Treaty, or a new one would be written — in blood.

Jones had been handling the necessary deceptions as to the cause of Damien's death. The Meilinck family were mourning the loss of their son in what they believed was a tragic motorcycling accident. Wiri had gone north with Will Hobson, taking a bound Donna Kyle back to the North for the appeal of her sentence. Hobson had sworn to do what he could for her, so perhaps Tama Douglas's legal work in Aotearoa was not yet done. This new, more dynamic Hobson would not let Grey push him around so easily, either. Things were going to be tense in the North.

An Aotearoa fishing settlement on the Bay of Plenty coast had sent word of a badly mauled girl seen walking out of the surf on the day of the fighting. And on Thursday, Mat's
cellphone had received a simple text message from an unlisted number: . It was a relief, although Mat didn't expect to ever see Lena again.

And as for Evie, she had gone home, taking the deadly secret of her parentage with her. Mat had told no-one. He had kept The Lovers pinned to his wall, but it was still inverted.

Mat was sitting outside at a BBQ table made of heavy timber when a car slid to a halt on the gravel drive. Riki and Cassandra emerged, and hurried to Mat.

‘Hey, bro,' Riki whispered as they embraced. Cassandra wrapped herself around his shoulders and sobbed. Her hair was still close-cropped, but it was slightly longer to meet school regulations. She looked shattered, as if she'd not slept in days. Mat knew what that was like. He saw that she and Riki were holding hands, and felt a twinge of jealousy, although the emotion seemed petty in the face of so much tragedy.

‘How you doing?' Riki asked Mat.

Mat hung his head. ‘I'll come right,' he said, more to himself than to the question. ‘I just wish I'd been closer when it happened. He got too far ahead. If I'd—'

‘Dame was reckless, bro,' Riki replied quickly. ‘It was part of who he was. No-one could have reined him in. He told me after he missed out on the scrap in Rotorua that next time he got to Aotearoa he was going to really burn it up.'

Mat gulped down a sob. ‘He sure did. You should have seen him. Leading the singing on the ship. And he snogged this Chinese maid in Kororareka so she wouldn't give us away. He saved us all when these snipers had us pinned. He was fucking amazing, man.'

The whole story came out slowly. Who did what, when. He
thought his voice would crack when he spoke of Evie, but he held it together. He kept her birth secret.

‘If I'd freed Donna, maybe she could have taken on Asher, and left me free to overtake Damien. I got it all so wrong …'

‘Mat,' Riki replied, his eyes for once completely grave. ‘No-one in their right mind would have freed her. No-one! You can't blame yourself for this, bro. Damien wouldn't. We don't. So don't do this to yourself.'

They sat in silence a while, until the back door opened and Wiri came out, wearing a dark suit. ‘It's time,' he called.

 

The service was held at the Lutheran Hall in Dannevirke — Damien's family could trace their ancestry to the earliest settlers, who were all staunchly Lutheran. It was packed out; Damien had been a popular boy at his high school, and the pews were full of school uniforms. Teachers and pupils spoke about a larger-than-life boy, a smart young man who wasn't too proud to play the fool. Someone who gave everything in sport, drama class and anything except actual school work. Someone who made them all laugh. Someone who would be missed. His parents were distraught, his sister a sobbing mess surrounded by her friends. There was a pervading sense of tragedy and waste.

Riki spoke for Mat and his friends, about the summers he and Damien had spent together in Gisborne or here in Dannevirke, and the fun they'd had together. He couldn't speak of Aotearoa, of course, but the echo was there, and when Mat surveyed the congregation he could pick out the interlopers, dressed in modern garb and dotted among the
mourners. Marine Sergeant Thomas Carver had come, and a young Nga Puhi toa sent by Hone Heke to pay his respects. Several sailors of HMS
Rattlesnake
were scattered among the mourners. All had flown down on a secret charter flight, bewildered and amazed by the experience.

When the pastor gave his final blessing, he spoke of dealing with grief, and the apparent injustice of a young life lost. Justice was the theme playing in Mat's mind, also, as he stared at the casket being carried away. A different type of justice, one that he burned to mete out upon a list of names he recited inside his heart.

Byron Kikitoa. Bully Hayes. Kiki.

A loss for a loss.

Utu.

D
ANNEVIRKE AND
A
OTEAROA
, F
RIDAY

T
hey waited in Aotearoa, in an old wooden building where a Lutheran pastor gave regular services for the mostly Danish settlers of the area. Bishop Ditlev Monrad had come here in 1866, a distraught and disillusioned former prime minister of Denmark. His nation had just lost the Danish – Prussian War under his leadership, victims of Otto von Bismarck's ‘blood and iron'. Monrad was guided by Governor Grey to seek land in southern Hawke's Bay, and thus the settlements of Dannevirke (named after a wartime fortified border in Denmark), Norsewood and Mauriceville were founded. Monrad himself returned to Denmark, but actively helped populate the new settlements with migrants.

In Aotearoa, Dannevirke was a small group of white-painted houses built about a railroad that vanished and reappeared sporadically. A stockade kept dangerous things at bay, and there was an air of self-reliance. The newcomers were welcomed solemnly, and just as politely relieved of
their weapons, ‘to keep the peace'.

It was evening, warm and sultry in both worlds. Jones and Mat had brought everyone across, holding each other's shoulders tight in a small inward-facing circle.

‘I don't know if I was in time,' Mat reminded Riki, whose face held too much hope for his liking. ‘If he was already dead before I brought him across, he's gone.'

‘I know,' Riki said, but Mat could see he wasn't really taking it in. He'd already decided.

If it doesn't happen, he's going to break into pieces. And if it does … what? Life goes on. The dead don't.

Jones hobbled up. He'd nearly died in Taupo the year before, and he still looked ill. He looked about the circle of young faces with a grim expression. ‘Listen to me, all of you. We do not know everything about how this works. Some come here, others don't. It seems to be about many things: family, places, faith and personality. Aotearoa seems to be just one place a soul may be drawn to. And we're not even sure he did not die in Aotearoa. So please, do not pin too much of your hopes on this.' He cupped Riki's chin. ‘Especially you, my friend.'

He didn't let go until Riki nodded his assent.

Cassandra put an arm around Riki's shoulders and sat him down on a bench. Mat watched them, thought they looked good together. It made him feel lonely. He felt Evie's absence painfully, but there was no-one to blame for that but himself. He'd asked her not to come. He supposed she was back with her family now.

All about him, the others chatted, or just snoozed. It was a ritual of Aotearoa, he was told — if someone connected to this
land died in the real world, you kept a vigil. Sometimes they came. Other times they didn't. Wiri was talking to the Nga Puhi warrior in quiet tones. Jones was talking to the sailors. Mat and his friends huddled together, each sick with anxiety, the tension of waiting eating at them all.

‘Hey, shall we play cards or something?' Riki suggested finally.

Mat shook his head, sick to the heart of cards.

‘OK.' Riki leant back against the wall. ‘I just want to sleep, really.' And wake up to find Damien at the door, his expression added. Mat could see the doubts beginning to erode his friend's confidence, warring with the hope and desperation of seeing Damien reborn. It gave him an insight into why Aotearoa existed at all. Perhaps people could not conceive of no longer existing, so they created a whole panoply of alternatives to that non-existence: reincarnation, resurrections, immortality, Heaven, Hell and all the rest. And the universe heard that need and provided.

But it hadn't here and now … not yet.

The night went on forever, crawling by, until the sun came up, piercing the dirty windows in shafts of light that lit the floating dust motes and turned them into solid bars of light. Cassandra was awake, playing chess on her tablet, her face lit by the screen. Most of the men were asleep. Jones was smoking in the corner, talking to Wiri. Both of them looked his way when Mat stood. The movement alerted Riki and Cassandra, who followed him towards the door.

The sunlight was intense, warming, dancing on the leaves, gleaming on the white-painted walls of the township, glistening on the dew. The townsfolk drifted past them,
tipping their hats politely but eyeing them with the faint wariness that a close-knit community bestows on outsiders. A gaggle of children pranced past them, on their way to school at the hall down the street.

Riki's face was utterly desolate. Cassandra took his hand and said, ‘We should find some breakfast. We're all hungry.' She pulled Riki with her, down the street towards the local tavern. Mat trailed after them disconsolately.

The tavern was on the corner, the smell of frying bacon and ground coffee wafting enticingly onto the street. They went in and looked for a booth.

‘About time,' came the voice they most wanted to hear, from a dim corner. ‘Where've you been?'

 

After the shouting and the hugging and tears and laughter, they clustered into the booth, crowded up against each other, staring about in disbelief. Damien was clad in jeans and a Star Wars T-shirt, with a sword at his side and a pistol in a leather holster. ‘Dunno where they came from, they were just there when I woke,' he told them.

‘We waited all night for you, man!' Riki told Damien.

‘Where?'

‘In the church, of course.'

‘The church. Hmmph. Why there?'

‘Uh … because …'

‘Last place I'd show up! I kinda woke up from this weird dream, and I was under this old tree in my folks' back yard, in the middle of the night. My sister was looking at me from out the window, and we waved to each other. Then the house
faded away, and I thought of you guys, and Aotearoa, and then I was in this patch of woods, all on my own. A morepork swooped over and I got it into my head to follow it. Anyway, I got in just as the sun came up, and came here for a bite.' He patted his pockets. ‘You guys got any local currency?'

They laughed and joshed their way through breakfast, then Wiri and Jones came in and there was more uproar. By now the townsfolk were gathering, and some kind of informal party began as the community rejoiced in gaining a new son. Food and drink were laid on, music struck up.

Marine Sergeant Carver joined the throng, his grim face breaking into a smile as he saw Damien, and he pulled out an envelope. ‘I was told by Cap'n Hobson to give you this, should you come here,' he told Damien. ‘He asks you to consider joining the
Rattler
, sir, as my second. The lads would be proud to serve with you.'

Damien grinned, and adopted a confident air. ‘I'm honoured, Sarge. But you realize I'll get a lot of offers, man of my talents an' all. I need to consider my future carefully.'

They all laughed, except Mat who looked away, struck by the underlying sadness of it all.

A future … Is that what he really has? Will he ever grow old? Can he have children here? Is it a future Damien has or an eternal present?

There was so much he didn't know about how Aotearoa worked, stuff he'd never thought to ask Jones. It'd never seemed important to ask these questions before. Aotearoa had been a place to visit, like a tourist in fairyland, not a place one must stay in.

He saw Riki whisper something in Cass's ear. She laughed
and responded. He saw the way Damien's face fell slightly, as if he sensed that — no matter the intentions, no matter the love that lay between them all — things would not be what they were. He could never see his parents again, or his sister. Spirits of Aotearoa could not stay long in the real world: Aotearoa called them back. He'd never go to class and graduate and become a grown man. He'd never be more than a peripheral part of their lives. He would never quite belong anywhere but in this place. This Ghost World. Forever.

‘Mat!' Damien said, his voice cracking slightly.

‘Yeah?'

‘Did you get the number of that Chinese maid at Pompallier's place? She was cute. Shui! And she fancied me, I tell you!' What his eyes said, though, was:
‘I might not have the life I thought I would have, but I'll have something, and I'll take that. So don't worry about me. I'll be OK.'

Mat nodded gratefully. ‘Shui! She'll be waiting for you, man!'

‘She must've been short-sighted,' Riki laughed.

‘Mate, she was gorgeous,' Damien insisted. ‘Mat'll tell you. Eyes like emeralds, and the cutest dimples. And she waved me off the dock with a handkerchief. That's culturally significant, that is. I tell you, she's mad about me.'

‘The Spanish wave white hankies at losing football teams,' Jones put in wryly.

‘Yeah, it is her culture's way of saying: “Sod off, coffee-breath!”' Riki guffawed. The table erupted into more laughter, Damien loudest, as if volume could bridge the gaps between his future and theirs.

Outside, the tiny community got on with whatever was
important to them, in this strange place called Aotearoa where ghosts were not forgotten. For now, they had the present. Soon they would have to part, to go back to lives in two worlds. Some to the stresses and demands of exams and jobs and lives spent dealing with the future. And others to remain, to deal with dwelling in eternal past.

Two worlds, united by tears, and dreams, and hopes. And a few people of both worlds, bearing the burdens and rewards of each. Holding each other up. Carrying each other through the storms because that's what friends did. Sharing the pain, and sharing the rewards, too, even when they came hand in hand.

Mat closed his eyes and pictured the faces of those he would hunt: Kikitoa, Hayes and Kiki.

Utu
: good for good, ill for ill.

Justice
: retribution and punishment.

He felt the strength of both beliefs coalesce inside him. It made him tremble with rage, but he would see it through. They had a year to regain the Treaty and prevent all-out war. A year to make things right again.

In his pocket, above his heart, The Lovers card waited, like a barometer of his heart. Right now it was always upside-down, no matter what way he put it into the pocket. It was hard to think of Evie. He missed her lively, pugnacious and precious face. What would he do if the next time he saw her it was contorted with hatred? Could he face it if she became his enemy?

He exhaled, and tried to expel all his tension and fear. It took a long time for the laughter around the table and the love it voiced to buoy him up. But it did.

Good for good.

 

Evie trudged up the path and let herself in the front door. The man and woman she'd kept waiting anxiously scolded her, but then hugged her close and didn't ask questions. They seemed to think she'd been off on some idiotic escapade with her girlfriends, or perhaps suspected that some boy had led her astray.

It doesn't matter,
she told herself.
These are my parents. Blood may be thicker than water, but love is greater still.

But when she climbed into bed and turned off the lights, three faces circled her like planets. The ruined visage of Donna Kyle, the harsh, intense woman who had given Evie life, and shaped it in devastating ways. And Mat's face, with his torn soul worn on his sleeve. She wished she could reach him somehow. But she knew they lived now in the shadow of a third unseen presence. A man with a carved face and silver hair, whose moon-cold eyes transfixed her where she lay. Puarata, dead, yet still able to blight them all.

My father …

She turned on the light, frightened. With trembling hands she reached for her tarot, and pressed The Star to her breast. Faith and inspiration. Because she needed to believe.