Witi Ihimaera - Sky Dancer

Skylark heard Arnie’s sharp cry curling towards her. The owl warriors were waiting, ropes in beaks, arms pumped.

“On my order, fire from the first barrel … fire!”

With an almighty heave, the owls pulled at the ropes. The trigger moved. But nothing happened. Oh no. What was wrong?

“Skylark, fire!” Arnie called again.

“It’s the safety catch,” Skylark realised. “It’s still on.”

The seabird army began cruising across the lagoon like conquerors. They reached the halfway mark, coming closer. Dreams of victory flared in Karuhiruhi and Kawanatanga’s eyes. The Great Division was about to be overturned.

“Skylark, quickly, before it’s too late —”

Skylark’s mouth was dry. She needed a drink of water. She could hardly speak. “Te Arikinui Kotuku, there’s a tiny switch up there —”

Kotuku cocked her head, saw the switch on the shotgun. She put her strong bill against it. “You mean this little thing?”

Skylark nodded. Heard the tiny click as the safety catch was unlatched.

“Fire!” Skylark said.

The shotgun roared. The owls were thrown to the ground by the recoil. Arnie ducked. A shell whizzed over his head and exploded. Pellets scattered through the air.

“E hika ma,” Ruru said, picking himself up and dusting himself off. “He aha tera? What the hell was that?”

His shock was nothing to the pandemonium in the first ranks of the seabird army.

“Get back to the ropes!” Skylark yelled. The recoil had kicked the shotgun off its cradle of rocks. Already Ruru was on the case. He knew his owl warriors were bruised, but he ordered them to get under the barrel and to lever it back up.

“Don’t worry about us, Chieftainess Skylark,” Ruru said.

“Second barrel … fire!”

Another shell left the shotgun. The owl warriors were again kicked to the ground. No time to waste.

“Reload! Reload!” Skylark screamed.

This time, the shell exploded right in front of Karuhiruhi. Caught in a hail of pellets, the only thing that saved him was a quick-thinking corporal who flew to his protection. With horror, Karuhiruhi saw the corporal’s body disintegrate. He felt a wet lash across his face and realised it was a spurt of blood from the dying corporal.

Karuhiruhi completely lost it. “The Lord Tane has returned to the side of the landbirds!” he yelled. “Retreat! Retreat!”

In fear for his life, he turned and wheeled away from the lagoon. The bewildered seabird army watched. Then, one by one, they banked and followed him. After all, was he not their leader?

“Come back, come back, you fools!” Kawanatanga raged. “We must press on with the attack —”

But from all corners of the Great Forest of Tane, the manu whenua, led by Arnie, came flying.

“ Kik-kik-kik-kik! Don’t even think about it.” Arnie said.

It all happened so quickly. One moment the sky had been filled with seabirds. The next they were turning, wheeling away, following Karuhiruhi out of Manu Valley. Only Kawanatanga and his squad of seashags remained.

Kawanatanga was insane with rage. He hissed and spat at Arnie. “Next time, boy,” he said, “it will be just between you — and me.” With contemptuous ease, he flicked a wing and was away, soaring on the wind, back to the sea and the offshore islands.

On his return to his island fortress, Karuhiruhi dismissed his troops and sought the sanctuary of the royal nursery where he would find the solace of Areta and his baby son. The mood on the flight back had been sombre. Karoro, Taranui and Parara had joined him from the corners of the sky, and when they reached their destination fights broke out between those lieutenants who were loyal to him and those who questioned the order to break off the fighting. “For the second time we have flown the field of battle,” Karoro shrilled. “Yet we were winning —” Turmoil was in the air, as great as that which Cleopatra, the Egyptian Queen, had faced when, leaving the sea battle of Actium to her consort, she gave victory to the navy of Octavian.

“Live to fight another day,” Areta soothed. But she was bothered by Karuhiruhi’s obvious tiredness and despondency. With foresight she realised the psychic diminution which had come upon him since Kawanatanga had turned up. Her husband’s star was in the descendancy, and Areta suspected Karuhiruhi knew it. Visibly aged by his conscience, his mana had been tested in battle, and for the second time he had not come up to the mark. Kawanatanga’s mana, on the other hand, was on the rise. Not only that, but Areta had seen the lustful way Kawanatanga looked upon her and had felt her own passions responding. Perhaps it was time to consider, she mused, the artful and political business of changing birds, of using her feminine wiles to ensure that in the changeover she still maintained her position.

So it was that when Kawanatanga whirled down the corridors seeking the place where his ancestor had taken refuge, Areta had already placed herself on the perimeter of the nursery.

“Do not include me in any revenge you are about to enact,” she said. She gave him a sideward glance, hinting that she was prepared to consider other offers.

“You fool,” Kawanatanga raged when he confronted Karuhiruhi. “Do you realise how humiliating your running away was?”

“Don’t touch me,” Karuhiruhi answered, grabbing his son as if he was a shield. “From my child’s loins will come the line from which you are descended.”

Kawanatanga sighed. “Put the child down,” he said. “Don’t cringe before me. How do you think it makes me feel to see you hiding behind your child? The weapon that was fired against you was a shotgun, nothing more, nothing to do with the Lord Tane. Nor will it be of any use to the landbirds again, now that we know they have it. Should they fire it again, we will keep out of its range —”

Karuhiruhi heard a noise in the corridor. Areta was there, and with her were Karoro, Taranui and Parara. He realised he was without allies or friends. “How was I to know?” he whimpered. “I am ignorant of the marvellous magic that comes from the future. When it happened, what was I to think?”

Karuhiruhi hugged his son closer. But Areta made her move. She came across the floor and soothed her husband. “Give me our son, Lord,” she said.

Nodding, Karuhiruhi delivered the child into her arms. When she had him, Areta slipped past Kawanatanga, accidentally caressing his loins as she did so and giving him the glad eye. “Make it quick,” she said enigmatically.

Karuhiruhi began to sob. Kawanatanga walked towards him and took him in his arms. He was surprised at how small Karuhiruhi was. Small, ineffectual, a harmless bag of bones. “What am I to do with you, my ancestor?” he said. “All my life I grew up hearing of your great deeds. None of it is true, is it? All of it is lies. Ah well, you did your best —”

He turned quickly and kissed Karuhiruhi on the forehead. “He aha ma te rora. What use is a coward to anyone? There can be only one leader here —”

With a quick movement Kawanatanga slashed at Karuhiruhi’s jugular, and pulled. Areta watched, horrified. Her son squirmed in her arms.

“You are weak, my ancestor,” Kawanatanga said. “I must take over from you, can’t you see that?” He listened to Karuhiruhi’s death rattle, his chest heaving. Then Kawanatanga stabbed at the old bird’s breast and ripped out his heart. The blood spurted out in fast jets. Kawanatanga arched his throat, flipped the heart out of its cavity and swallowed it whole. The blood spilled out of Kawanatanga’s mouth.

Kawanatanga called Karoro, Taranui and Parara forward. “Tell the army that my beloved ancestor Karuhiruhi is dead. His consort and I are taking an appropriate hour to mourn his death. After that we will resume the battle. This time there will be no retreat.” He smiled across at Areta. “Put the child to bed, my lady,” he said. “Attend to me, for you are mine now.”