The Chronicle of Matahouroa Chapter 2: The Journey

 Maramawhā opened her eyes.

“He’s here” she said, rising herself with her staff.

“Do you know where he is?” Te Māī said, as she kept carving the albatross wing bone with a pounamu knife.

“Yes” Maramawhā responded, “He is on the Wairepomango, though not where I guessed he would be.”

Te  Māī snorted contemptuously. If Maramawhā noticed, she didn’t react to  it at all, which made the chief of the Kauri Moko wish she could just  slash the mystic’s throat there and then.

If only the rest of her tribe were this insightful. Or less desperate.

“I will need you here” Te Māī said, “You’re our best defense in case something happens.”

Maramawhā sighed. Te Māī found the sound as pleasing as she hoped it would be.

“I need to talk to him” Maramawhā, “He shares my gift, but none of my wisdom.”

“Then I like him already” Te Māī blurted.

Maramawhā  sighed again, turning to face Te Māī. She was met with nothing but  contempt, the only expression she knew of the chief.

“He’s a child, Te Māī. He needs my guidance.”

“Don’t we all” Te Māī retorted mockingly.

It was the chief’s turn to sigh, a sound Maramawhā always found rather piercing and aggressive.

“Go  now” Te Māī said, “leave as quietly as possible. Do not talk to anyone,  else they’ll demand some sort of ceremony or the like, that could blow  our cover. This goes more so for the Kākāriki, which would rather die  than keep their mouths shut.”

Maramawhā nodded, and left,  climbing downhill through a small path in the woods. Te Māī knew  instinctively and instantly that she would in fact tell someone, and  only hoped that the other refugees would at least have self-preservation  instincts.

Or that Maramawhā fell down and broke her neck. Either was fine to the chief.

Te  Māī looked one last time at the albatross bone, and was rather pleased.  One last stroke of the knife, and it was now a beautiful flute,  intricately detailed with carvings of heroic deeds her tribe’s ancestors  performed. She brought it to her beak, touching it with her tongue.

Before she could use it, however, Te Māī noticed that her tongue was stuck.

Ice had filled the flute.

***

Half-an-hour  later, Maramawhā had made her away to the cove in silence, only the  distant call of a bellbird adding a melody to the woods. The darkness  before the dawn was a very fortunate time to leave: providers in the  village were just returning from fishing offshore at the edges of the  reef, and those that weren’t would almost certainly be asleep.

All  but one, as the rushing footsteps thundered in the forest floor,  cracking leaves and twigs so intensely. They suddenly stopped, behind a  tree, and Maramawhā couldn’t help but smile.

“You still have to work on your stealth” the Aven said.

“Damnit!”

Maramawhā  turned as she heard another set of footsteps, now lighter as the feet  touched the softer substrates of the shore. They belonged to a human  girl, Taramu.

“I hope you improve your stealth by the time your  parents return” Maramawhā said, bumping the end of her staff on Taramu’s  head lightly.

The girl laughed, swatting it away, but it was  replaced by a sad expression rather quickly. Maramawhā didn’t need to  ask, and waited for Taramu to say it:

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Yes,  but just for a short while” the Aven responded reassuringly, “I was  hoping to come back before anyone realised I was gone.”

“Oh” Taramu realised, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Mm,  are you sure about that?” Maramawhā tilted her head, so only one eye  was facing Taramu, “I remember one day when someone told the whole  village about my sea urchin prank and no one fell for it.”

“Oh come on, I needed to tell that one!” Taramu pouted.

“Alright, alright. Just make sure no one goes on a rampage while I’m gone.”

“You can count on it.”

Maramawhā  lowered herself and hugged Taramu, before bidding her goodbye and  diving into the calm waters of the cove. She surfaced to wave one last  time, before porpoising her way out of the shielded waters into the  raging ocean. Beneath her, the mats of corals descended further and  further, before they were replaced by a rim of sponges, then pure, oily  darkness.

When she surfaced again, some seven miles away from the  coast and the sun just barely leaving the horizon, she took a panicked  breath. She was certain that Taramu would at least try to keep it a  secret, but doubt clouded her mind, as did other possibilities.

Maybe  someone else watched her leave. Maybe another member of the village  woke up early as well. Maybe a fishermen came in just as she left. Maybe  Te Māī would spite her.

Maybe Purūpī’s scouts would have found her again.

The  last thought made her gasp, water invading her lungs. She coughed and  gagged, the panic and drowning sending her in a convulsing frenzy,  waving her limbs madly as she tried to reach the surface.

But it  seemed so far away, as she began to sink. The sun wasn’t out yet, but  the waters felt darker and darker as Maramawhā sank. Above her, the  barely visible white dots of the stars were gone, save for two. In her  hysteria those dots became piercing eyes, followed by a crooked beak,  then webbed talons out to grab her.

No!, she screamed, her voice bubbles and water forced out of her beak.

Maramawhā’s  heart raced, her blood violently pumped through her veins. She gave in  fully to adrenaline, and with a pair of particularly powerful flipper  strokes she performed a looping turn, propelling herself at full speed  into the open ocean. Around her the water seemed to move with her,  pushing her further and faster, not an obstacle but not getting out of  her way either.

Her lungs ached, still full of water. Little by little, her awareness dimmed, and the world became numb once again.

No!, she screamed, a last pocket of lung air emerging, carrying her fear.

With  a violent resolve, Maramawhā swam towards the surface, panic replaced  by her will to survive. Even with her lungs emptied, gases lingered on  her tissues and bones, compressing and firing her nerves with pain. With  effort, Maramawhā began manipulating her own blood, carrying away these  pockets into her lungs. The air was deprived of oxygen, and too little  to fully repel the water, but she spared herself a painful demise.

In  a matter of seconds, the Aven breached the surface, darting into the  air in the highest leap she had ever performed. As she did, she vomited  the water from her lungs, and took in as much air as possible.

For  a moment she was so high she could see the sun finally breach the  horizon, its light rising with her, before gravity pulled her down  again, crashing her into the ocean. Her beak penetrated the surface with  barely a ripple, and once again she darted into the depths.

I will not run away, she thought, exhaling a stream of bubbles as she descended, and if he does find me, we will have one hell of a talk.

Soon,  gravity gave way to water density, and the ocean began urging her body  to rise. She allowed herself to almost touch the ocean bottom, before  performing a tight curve and ascending rapidly with another single  stroke, sand scattering in her wake. This time, there was more air in  her body, and she was prepared, mentally carrying it to her lungs and  even drawing some strength.

She resurfaced more calmly, just a  slight jump above the waveline. As she did, she found herself just a  mile away from Hinawahine. The massive island stretched across the  south, forests and settlements paving the lowlands. On the distance,  gray clouds covered the Plateau, but the Hoiho could still figure the  tallest peaks, breaking through the mantle.

Maramawhā dared  herself to laugh. Even her fears were part of the grand design of  things, helping her in ways she couldn’t ever expect. She muttered a  prayer to the sea, before diving, propelling herself towards the coast.

Unknown to her, a dark figure hovered in the sky.

***

The  sun was just fully visible when Maramawhā reached the coastline.  Evading the numerous Empire hōkūleʻa ships patrolling the coastal waters  proved surprisingly hard, especially when many carried Karetai Kahuna.  Even a novice could tell if she used her water magic to move faster, so  she stuck to the sea bottom, using every vitality spell she knew off to  survive for as long as possible underwater.

Eventually, she  emerged into a protected mangrove lagoon, panting heavily as she hang on  to the roots. As she rested, she wasted no time connecting herself to  the trees, feeling the water moving through them, from the sea to the  sky. With every breath her reach extended, until a good portion of  eastern Hinawahine was under her awareness. It only lasted a few  seconds, but it was enough to pinpoint Panahihou’s position - as well as  that of another planeswalker accompanying him.

“So they did move” she muttered breathlessly.

Leaning  against a trunk, Maramawhā considered two possibilities. She could meet  them through the Wairepomango, entering through the coast and  traversing it. This would be infinitely dangerous: even if the entire  region was perfectly navigable, she would still be out of her  environment in those swampy waters. Monsters infested the area, alive,  undead or worse, and few of the locals would be friendly. In the worst  case scenario, the swamp itself would kill her.

The other option  would be to make it through the land. Panahihou was at the edges of the  swamp, after all, so she wouldn’t have to go through the Wairepomango to  get to him. The forests were infinitely more pleasant to her, and with  fewer threats.

But as much as she loved the woods, Maramawhā knew  she couldn’t trek through them nearly fast enough. The only major  river, the Ingikiwai, was on the opposite side of the Wairepomango,  which only frustrated her more.

For a moment she considered planeswalking, when she heard a splashing noise, deeper within the mangrove maze.

“Oh my gods, it can’t be…” said a voice coming from that direction.

“Hello?” Maramawhā attempted, grabbing her staff more tightly.

“It is!” said another voice, this time from above her.

Maramawhā turned instinctively towards the voice above, and was as equally shocked.

Above,  perched on a branch, was a Patupaiarehe. Their description matched  everything Maramawhā heard of them: a marble-like skin, long hair the  color of embers, eyes like recently dug pounamu stones. They wore a  dress hastily tied together made of various leaves and flowers,  seemingly less designed to cover themselves than for aesthetic reasons.  On the left hand was a more well built net, an intricately woven set of  fibers between two branches, where shrimp, tadpoles and small fish were  trapped.

“Fierce-Butcher, come look!” they chirped happily, motioning to the direction of the other voice.

Sure  enough, another Patupaiarehe came in, wading navel-deep. He was  slightly taller and bore a messy hair and beard, albeit consistently  shaped, which reminded Maramawhā of flames. He was fully naked - a small  twig-like strip across his shoulders informed Maramawhā that his dress  was probably washed away - and carried a larger net, a large crab  trapped within it. He was rather miserable, and Maramawhā felt pity for  him.

“So are you actually a Hoiho?” he asked melancholically.

“Yes, I am” Maramawhā responded, “And I take it you’re Patupaiarehe?”

“Yes!” said the one in the tree, “She’s very smart.”

“Well, what are you doing here?” she asked, “I thought you lived in the mountains.”

“Very smart!” said the Patupaiarehe in the tree, who jumped into the water.

The splash hit the miserable one - Fierce-Butcher?,  Maramawhā supposed - in the face. He remained still, only temporarily  closing his eyes, and the planeswalker suppressed a laugh.

“We come here to fish” Fierce-Butcher said in a monotone, “I always end up with cramps.”

“Sorry to hear” Maramawhā said, “Hold on, let me help.”

The  Hoiho focused on the water around Fierce-Butcher, finding numerous  afflictions: extreme calcification of the tendons, arthritis, a  crocodile bite that made the Aven cross her legs. With a deep breath,  she infused the water with life giving mana, drawn from the very  mangrove woods around them, and began moving the water, touching the  contours of the Patupaiarehe’s body.

Fierce-Butcher was rather  uncomfortable, but he quickly began relaxing as the wounds regenerated,  water tenderly mending the afflicted flesh and bones, until they were  fully cured. As the healing ritual was coming to a close he bit his lip,  and as it ended he gave a frustrated sigh.

Maramawhā felt some bile piling up on her esophagus, but it quickly subdued as the younger Patupairehe jumped around excitedly.

“Wow, you fixed him!” they said happily, and embraced her.

“It was nothing” Maramawhā said, patting their head.

“It was a little too much” Fierce-Butcher moaned, “But thank you. We are in your debt.”

Maramawhā  pondered. She didn’t like the very concept of debt, that these  creatures were obligated to her. But she wondered, and couldn’t help  asking:

“Do you know how I can go across the forest fast?”

The  younger Patupaiarehe smirked. Without saying a word they took a flute  from their belt. It was made of wood with pounamu gems scattered across  it; if they formed a pattern or picture, Maramawhā did not recognise it.

As  they brought the flute to their mouth, a soft, whispery melody  unfolded. Maramawhā thought it resembled best the sound of leaves being  carried in the wind, except organised and woven together in a way that  seemed like an actual song. It was, in some ways, the opposite of the  typical Hoiho songs: soft and sweet, instead of powerful and aggressive.

The  mangrove branches descended upon them, encircling themselves around  Maramawhā and the Patupaiarehe, then rose back to the canopy. It took a  while for the Aven to get used to the sensation of branches picking her  up - an oddly soft, yet firm grip -, but neither of the Patupaiarehe  reacted at all.

“So, where do you want to go?” the flute-player said.

“To the edges of the Wairepomango, near Kōmarumaunga.”

Fierce-Butcher was surprised by the request, while the younger patupairehe merely raised an eyebrow.

“Why do you want to go there?” they asked.

“I thought you were indebted to take me there” Maramawhā said playfully.

“‘Indebted’  doesn’t mean ‘unquestioning’” the Patupaiarehe said, with an oddly  aggressive edge to their voice, “I’ll take you there, but you have to  tell me why.”

“To find a friend” Maramawhā responded, “He needs my help, though he doesn’t know it yet.”

The  answer seemed to be enough for the flute-player, whose mood lightened  up instantly. They turned to Fierce-Butcher, who had barely moved  through the exchange.

“See you at sunset?” they asked.

“Sure, why not” he answered, and the branches gently laid him back in the water.

The  Patupaiarehe played a faster melody, more akin to the cooing of a  pigeon, and suddenly the branches rose higher, going over and across the  canopy. Maramawhā just had enough time to brace herself before she and  the flute-player were catapulted away into the sky.

“Ah, I forgot to introduce myself” said the Patupairehe, “My name is Throwing-Branch.”

The  two stayed aloft for half an hour, before they began losing altitude.  Throwing-Branch played a sharp, hawk-scream-like noise, and an entire  canopy rose to break their fall. Maramawhā held herself across a branch,  trying to not throw up. If Throwing-Branch noticed they didn’t show,  looking at the Aven expectantly.

“Maramawhā, my name is Maramawhā” she said, a hand at her beak.

“Nice to meet you Maramawhā” Throwing-Branch said happily.

They rose, eyeing the horizon.

“We still have another seven jumps to make.”

***

A  shadow landed on a mangrove, her black feathers and shark-skin armour  tainted red under the scorching midday sun. At her talons laid the  corpse of Fierce-Butcher, mangled beyond recognition. His skin hanged  loosely from the quartered limbs, and she couldn’t resist picking at it  with her beak.

But she didn’t get carried away. Instead, her eyes  followed Maramawhā’s last jump, the Hoiho disappearing beyond  Kapongatakere’s waterfalls and Plateau slopes.

Master, I have found the planeswalkers, she thought.

Excellent, Purūpī answered in her mind, his words a searing light as intense as the sun’s, Be my eyes.

With no further words, Atarau took flight, leaving the corpse behind.