Witi Ihimaera - Sky Dancer

That’s telling me, Skylark thought.

At that moment, Arnie returned from his workout. “You should see some of the weightlifting gear Joe’s got in her barn!” Having got rid of the toxins of the past few days, he was feeling a very happy chappy indeed.

“You’d better hear all this too,” Joe said as she returned to the Apocrypha:

“Then shalt the chick have in her possession the three keys, beak, feather and claw, that wilt open the Time Portal for her own pilgrimage back to the time that is. But the portal will be opened for the space of seven moons only, counting from the first hour that the sky has opened, so should the chick not appear in time, then will the opportunity be lost. But if the chick goes through the portal, I, the Lord Tane, will grant her safe passage back to that time conjoined. And she will determine the outcome of the second battle of the birds —”

And the Runanga a Manu praised the Lord Tane for his mercy and they carried his words down from one beak to the next. Then came the arrival of Tane’s next great creation, Humankind, and Tane’s words were passed, in particular, to Hana, the first handmaiden of the Lord Tane, who could speak to the birds. It was Hana who set up the sisterhood of the handmaidens of Tane and bade that the Lord Tane’s words be placed in an apocrypha to be passed from handmaiden to successor. All were entreated to keep watch for the chick who would appear in the third year of the second millennium and to give her the keys to open the Time Portal.

Woe of woes, it is written that in the seventh generation a copy of the Apocrypha fell into the wings of the seashags so that they knew also of the chick’s predicted coming. They too passed the prediction down from one generation to the next so that they would be prepared for her, to kill her in order to confound the prophecy and opportunity the Lord Tane had given unto the Runanga a Manu.

And these are the words which have been passed down from generation to generation and even unto and throughout the times which have seen the coming of Tane’s other great creation: the wingless, beakless and clawless inferior being known as man.

Thus we continue to praise Tane at dawn and dusk unto the world’s end, and again we bow down to his holy name, Amen.

Joe closed the book. Skylark began to shiver. “Hey, Arnie, I’ve got a bounty on my head,” she said, trying to joke. She thought Arnie might make a smart crack but he didn’t. Instead, he put a reassuring hand on hers — and kept it there.

“Okay,” Joe said when breakfast was over, “two moons are already gone and the Time Portal is only open for another five days. Let’s go and get Skylark’s beak.” She strapped a Bowie knife to her left thigh and led the way out of the house and along the beach until they hit a track around the coast. Skylark saw a huge signpost, facing out to sea: Keep Out. Private Property. Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted. All Animals Will Be ShotOn Sight.

“I give everybody due warning,” Joe said, “but do you think yachties and rich pleasure-boat owners take any notice? They’re a law unto themselves. Before you know it they’re anchoring off the island and darting over here on their zodiacs with their cat or pet dog, champagne and dinner. They have a great time littering my beach, and then they return to their boats — but, dear oh dear, did we leave our darling Moggie or Fido behind? Before you know it, Fido or dear little kitty has turned into a bird killer. And if it’s not a cat or a dog, it’s a rat that has snuck on board and then, when the boat’s at anchor, swum ashore. Once here, anything on four legs — actually, on two legs as well — can play havoc with the birds, especially ground birds.”

Joe took a track leading away from the coast. The island’s forest opened, allowing them to enter, and then closed behind them. They were surrounded by giant tree trunks, like the palisades of some forest fortress. Some of the trunks had flying buttresses. Others were wrapped around with vines and flowering supplejack in brilliant profusion. Between them grew huge tree ferns. Above, the sun filtered golden through the canopy, filling the dark spaces below with veiled light. Wherever the light fell it dazzled and glowed.

How had Hoki described the Great Forest? Like the Garden of Eden. The wonder of the southern world. The lungs of the earth. Even to stand in a remnant of that whole, on this island guarded by Joe, was to evoke the power of how the Great Forest must have been.

And truly, it was the kingdom of the birds. The canopy was alive, positively seething with kakariki, tui and other pigeon species. They set up a cacophony of musical whistles and high piping welcomes.

Kita-kita-kita-kita. Chichichi. Zweet zweet zwee.

Joe put her fingers to her lips and whistled and warbled back. The pigeons redoubled their efforts, and a competition ensued — at least that’s how it sounded to Skylark. Joe gave up with a laugh. “You guys are ganging up on me again.” The pigeons warbled and chortled and cooed.

Try-again, try-again, u-may be-be-be luck-ee ee ee.

“Would you believe,” Joe said, “that once upon a time I used to shoot pigeons? When I came out of the Army I lived on the mainland with my uncle. I was a crack shot, and he used to ask me to sneak over here to the island and pot him some pigeons: twelve bullets for twelve birds. He knew Auntie Ruth owned the island and was a guardian of Tane, but there was bad blood between them. I thought it was a huge joke, banging away at the birds and then getting away before she was able to catch me. When I got home I loved watching my uncle’s face as he counted the pigeons. ‘One, two, three, ten, eleven twelve … thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. Hey, girl, I only gave you twelve bullets! Where did you get the extra bullets from?’ Then I would tell him how I waited for two birds to come together and kiss — and that’s when I would pull the trigger.”

Joe’s smile turned to regret. “You know what stopped me in the end? Auntie Ruth set an old Maori ground trap for me. I put my foot in it and, next minute, I was dangling upside down from a tree. You know, when she saw it was me, she didn’t give me a growling or thrash me. Instead, she cried. She freed me, kissed me and let me go. But when she died, she took her revenge on me — she left me the island and the birds to look after. I’ve been paying penance for my pigeon-shooting days ever since.”

Joe struck inland. She came across a trap. Inspected it. The trap had not been sprung. Cleaned it with her Bowie knife. Set it again.

“How often do you check the traps?” Skylark asked.

“Once a week,” Joe said. “But actually, I can always tell if there is a predator around. The birds go into hiding. The forest becomes silent. Beware the forest where the birds do not sing.”

The track began to climb, but Joe took it at an easy clip.

“How are you doing?” Arnie asked Skylark. “It’s not too tiring for you, is it? All this climbing?”

“Too tiring?” Presumably Arnie was referring to her physical condition. Skylark was just about to cut him down — but instead bit back on herself. “No,” she answered. “But thanks for asking.”

They reached the very heart of the island. The forest was filled with flashes of red, like feathered lightning.

“We’re here,” Joe said. “Welcome to my kaka colony.”

The air was alive with birdsong:

Hail, guardian! You come with strangers! Welcome, waewae tapu! Welcome to the marae of nga kaka iwi.

The parrots filled the air with their glorious chattering. They were large, olive brown and green with red rump and abdomen. Their heads were topped with grey crowns. They seemed to have an enormous repertoire of conversational liquid songs, whistles and gliding soprano runs. In flight they flashed scarlet underwings, setting the forest on fire.