Witi Ihimaera - Sky Dancer

Again, Hoki had cleverly manipulated Skylark.

“Okay,” Skylark said.

One day Karuhiruhi, chieftain of the large black seashag iwi, decided to leave his cliff-faced pah and travel throughout his coastal domain. His wife, and royal consort, Areta, had just given birth to his first-born son and although Karuhiruhi loved them both, he felt the need to escape the royal rooms, husbandly duties and fatherhood. Flying low over the water, sometimes diving undersea in pursuit of fish and crustaceans, he reached a wide river estuary.

There, while wading in the estuary and reflecting on his life, Karuhiruhi was confronted by the Chieftain Kawau, lord of the rivershags.

“E tu,” Kawau challenged, “who are you to trespass in my river domain?” He executed a haka of splendid jumps and swoops, flashing his sharply hooked bill.

Karuhiruhi bowed in acknowledgement. “E te rangatira,” he said, “tena koe.” He proceeded to mihi to Kawau. “I am sorry if I have strayed into your territory. It was not intended.”

The exchange was elaborate and formal but, by the end of it, Kawau accepted Karuhiruhi’s apology and his credentials. The atmosphere became more relaxed, so Kawau proceeded to extend the hospitalities of his estuary to Karuhiruhi. “Please rest as long as you wish before you resume your travels,” he said.

“Thank you,” Karuhiruhi answered. “But I think it is time for me to return to my pah. E hoa, since you have extended the courtesies of your home to me, may I extend to you the courtesies of mine?”

“I would love to visit,” Kawau said.

So saying, he followed Karuhiruhi. The black seashag took off from the estuary in a long series of jumps before becoming airborne.

On the way back to his island fortress, Karuhiruhi proudly showed Kawau the extent of his domain and his tribe. His personality was invested with vanity and arrogance and he could not but boast about the vast coastal territory that he ruled. Kawau himself was not without pride and, as Karuhiruhi waxed lyrical about his possessions, Kawau became irritated by the boastful fellow. But he bided his time, knowing that an opportunity would eventually come to take Karuhiruhi down a peg or two.

Areta was awaiting her husband’s return. “My Lord, your son is in his nest. You have arrived just in time for kai.”

“My royal consort,” Karuhiruhi answered, “I have brought a guest, Kawau, chief of rivershags. Let him be welcomed in the appropriate manner.”

At this order, Areta and her female attendants called in karanga, and young warriors assembled to exhibit their skills at taiaha, peruperu drill and other martial arts.

It was time for kai. “Let it be only the best for our guest,” Karuhiruhi said. He dived from the cliff, plunged into the sea, caught the choicest fish he could find and gave it to Kawau.

“Aue,” Kawau grimaced. The spines of the fish had hurt his throat. He saw his chance to hang one on Karuhiruhi. In a slightly supercilious tone, he said, “Your food is no good, Chief Karuhiruhi. Where I live the food is much better.”

There was nothing more humiliating than to have a guest belittle one’s hospitality. “Much better?” Karuhiruhi hissed. “What food do you have that could possibly compare with ours?”

Kawau smiled, and his smile was not entirely guileless. “There are eels in my estuary which are so smooth that it is a pleasure to swallow them.” He hung another one on Karuhiruhi. “Not like your fish which make me feel as if I have eaten razors.”

If only Kawau had been more diplomatic.

“Is that so?” Karuhiruhi asked, beginning to take a dislike of this arrogant rivershag. “Prove it.”

“Be my guest,” Kawau said.

He led Karuhiruhi back to his river domain. Toroa the albatross, Karoro the chieftain of the aggressive and powerful tribe of black-backed gulls, Taranui the tern, Parara the broad-billed prion, Areta and other seabird courtiers accompanied them. Kawau was oblivious to the foreboding swish of Karuhiruhi’s dark wingspan and the glitter of anger in his eyes. And he was also foolish! He took Karuhiruhi and the seabird entourage far inland, further than any seabird had ever been before, to a lagoon renowned for the deliciousness of its eels.

The lagoon was below. With a cry, “Taiki e!”, Kawau plummeted from the sky, diving deep into the sunlit waters, pursuing the eels as they fled through the sunken logs and forests of their world. On returning to the surface, he nonchalantly tossed a gleaming eel to Karuhiruhi.

“Here!” he laughed.

Karuhiruhi arched his face to the sun. He saw the eel wriggling in the air, its sinuous length flashing in the sky towards him. “So this is better kai than my own?” he sneered. The gleaming eel fell towards him. He opened his bill, catching the eel. It slid down his throat, cool, wriggling, sweet.

Nothing had prepared Karuhiruhi for such joy. His green eyes widened with shock. “It is true.” Even before the eel reached his stomach, Karuhiruhi knew he wanted more. He watched as Kawau offered eels to the other seabirds and observed in them the same swooning reaction. Always hungry, his mind immediately flicked to the ultimate possibilities: if this was the food in one lagoon, imagine the bounty in all the others. The seabirds stared at each other, speechless. Their sensory perceptions were in overload.

“So what do you think?” Kawau said.

The words flew out of Karuhiruhi’s beak before he could stop them.

“One could murder for such sweetness,” he said.

Murder?

“The Great Book of Birds tells us,” Hoki said, “that this is how the battle of the landbirds and the seabirds began. It quotes a proverb that has since become famous in the literature of the landbirds: ‘Over such things, eels, hens and land, are wars fought; he tuna, he wahine, he whenua, ka ngaro te tangata —’”

When Karuhiruhi returned to his cliff-faced pah, his mind was already whirling with a plan. Obsessed with the taste of eel, he got down to proposing a strategy. The voracious and cannibalistic Karoro was already his ally.

“I want to call a hui of all seabird chieftains,” Karuhiruhi said. “It would be helpful if I had your support. Will you all give it to me? You, Karoro, kei te tautoko? Will you be my Second in Command?”

“Ae,” Karoro nodded, his beak razoring the air.

“Count us in too,” said Toroa, Taranui and Parara.

Karuhiruhi nodded. “Let emissaries be despatched to all the other seabird chieftains,” he ordered. “All you who rule mollymawks, fulmars, petrels, shearwaters, gannets, boobies, pelicans, shags, tropicbirds, frigate birds and skuas, haere mai, haere mai, haere mai.”

Three nights later, all manu moana chieftains had assembled at Karuhiruhi’s island fortress. They were curious, excited, sensing that something revolutionary was about to happen.

“Timata,” Karuhiruhi said. “Let us begin.” In the firelit interior of the wharenui, with Areta looking on proudly, Karuhiruhi told the seabird chieftains of his meeting with Kawau. Never had Areta seen her husband act so powerfully, so like the ruler of the world.

“I have supped on kai so exquisite that I would give up all to have it again,” he said. “Oh … that river eel was so smooth and so cool. When it slid down my throat I could not believe that food could bring so much delight. Even now, remembering it, I drool for more. It had no scales, brothers, and in its death throes it flicked its tail inside me. The sensation was exquisite, and lasted for days.”

“How can such a food exist?” the chieftains asked. “No scales, you say?”

“None,” Toroa confirmed. “Just think, brothers, of the other kai which must exist in the kingdom of the landbirds. Think —”