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VII. Pushing up The Sky

Depart, depart, O north-west breeze
Across the Raonga range of hills,
That while the evening shade grows less
I may perceive a flash of light,
And weep my sorrow's dirge alone
For him who now is gone from me!

White's Maori History.

With a small escort of picked warriors Manaia and Rata parted company from the taua the morning after the battle, and proceeded southward over the plateau and then across the open pumice country to the east of Lake Taupo.

Mawaké-Taupo had readily acceded to his son's wish to be spared the inevitable speech-making, and the equally inevitable feasting, that would greet the victorious Arawas upon their arrival at Pukékura. He had warmly approved of Manaia's desire to see the country beyond the great pumice belt in the south, for he knew what lay behind that desire. But he had warned Manaia that he must reach the Red Hill by the morning of the fourth day, if he wished to accompany the taua on its way to the Uréwera gorge.

Morning of the second day found them far to the east of Taupo, and now they were moving cautiously among the foothills at one end of a great range of mountains known as the Kaimanawas. This was new country, land hitherto untrodden by any Arawa, and Manaia and Rata felt elated in spirit at the thought of it. Pushing up the sky to the south! Opening up a new horizon for the tribe! Arawas!.

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And anything might happen now. The pumice land to the north had been barren land, with scarcely an inhabitant. This new country, on the other hand, was a series of bush-clad ridges of no great height, with sheltered valleys in between. Clearly this type of country would be inhabited, and defended.

On a low-lying ridge, the party came upon the first sign of human habitation, for through the forest and up the hill ran a plainly-marked track.

The anxious warriors protested when their leaders ordered them to remain behind while they set out to explore this track. The protests fell upon deaf ears. With that complete confidence which young Maori chiefs of high rank always have in themselves, Manaia and Rata felt well able to overcome any difficulties or dangers that might arise.

They felt confident, yet, for one of them, strange influences were at work in the valley beyond that ridge. For one of them, life was about to take a different turn. Ah! Life-streams sundered in the long-ago, and in a distant land, were about to meet again. But no hint of this, as yet, had reached Manaia.

With Rata close behind him, he climbed to the top of the hill and, using the leafy undergrowth as a screen, he peered down a cleared spur into the winding valley below. To his great disappointment, not a living being could he see.

Yet Manaia would have been interested at once, had he but known that the small stream meandering so prettily down the valley was the Rangitaiki, just setting out on its long journey northward to the sea.

The banks of the stream were high in places, and were bordered with stretches of open land covered with short tussock grass. Some little distance back page 60 from either bank was the forest, fringed with a natural belt of small trees and green undergrowth that served to give protection against destruction by fire. Here and there along its borders were groves of nikau palms, whose spreading glory provided so rich a feast for the eye. And rivalling the nikaus in grace and beauty were the stately tree-ferns, towering above a profusion of shrubs.

“O Rata!” murmured Manaia. “I tire of war already as I gaze upon this scene.”

“The valley is pleasant to the eye, and it seems peaceful,” replied Rata. “Yet why should those paréra duck keep rising from pools or swamps away down stream? They come sweeping along towards us. They are joined by others from the pool near that bend. Aué! The power of death is moving in this valley. Listen, Manaia! The war-cries of Tuhoe!”

Round the bend, and along the level tussock land beside the stream, sped a maiden, and behind her at a distance came three warriors. A brief interval, and round the bend came their clamorous pursuers, gaining rapidly on the four in front and greatly outnumbering them.

The fugitives dashed across the stream, one of their number remaining behind to hold the pursuers in check while the other three fled on. For a brief space he held the bank, and even disabled a foe or two before he was overwhelmed by numbers and thrown lifeless into the stream below.

Higher up, the stream was crossed again and another warrior made a stand, only to meet a like fate.

“The maiden must be of rank,” said Manaia to Rata. “Her people fight poorly yet they die bravely, seeking but to give her time to escape. Hast noticed her hair, page 61 fairer even than mine own? But why does she hold so tightly to her garments? They hamper her in her flight. Ha!”

The last warrior had turned now upon a little rise at the base of the spur and just above the stream. The exultant Tuhoes came rushing along towards him, and the maiden, already half-way up the spur, turned as if to go back to his aid. He fiercely waved her on, then calmly awaited the end. In a moment, the pursuers were upon him.

“Guard her, O Rata,” cried Manaia, “while I acquaint Tuhoe again with the meré-pounamu of an Arawa!”

He moved out from the trees and on to the track as the breathless maiden reached the top. Astonished, she drew back, and he sprang past her. She watched him as he bounded silently down the hill. And she heard the crash as he threw the full weight and strength of his powerful form into the midst of the warriors of Tuhoe.

The impetus swept some of them off their feet and over into the bed of the stream below. In the short panic that followed, several Tuhoes met death on the edge of a greenstone meré, and even the fugitive managed to slay two before he was himself dashed to earth, skull crushed in.

The other Tuhoes fought bravely, but they lacked a leader, and the continued silence of the tall stranger as he fought began to oppress them. They felt that his appearance upon the scene, down from the very sky as it were, was scarcely natural. They began to waver.

Up on the hill the maiden, hearing a sound from behind her, turned and gasped as she beheld the painted page 62 body and tattooed face of Rata. He gave her the sign of peace, moved out in front, and then ignored her.

A heaving chest and a clenched hand told of the strain upon him. His friend in danger below, yet he must remain inactive above, guarding a maiden of no account! It was not right.

At last his feelings found vent in a single bloodcurdling yell which put the chill of fear into the hearts of Tuhoe below. The four survivors fled, but only two reached the edge of the forest and escaped. The other two died on the way.

Signing to the maiden to follow him, Rata set off down the hill, but stopped at the base, for Manaia had now entered the stream and was sprinkling himself with water. He was cleansing himself in body and mind from the tapu of blood. He was performing an ancient rite of his people, and Rata dared not interrupt him.

So he waited at a distance, but not a word did he say to the maiden by his side. He did not even glance at her, or he would have seen that her bearing was as noble as that of Marama herself, and that her face was no less strikingly beautiful. With the comparative indifference of a Maori youth to the charms of maidenhood, he had but noticed up on the hill that her hair was wavy and of the colour of scraped flax somewhat bleached by the sun. He felt annoyed to think that she had deprived him of his share in the fight. Now he waited impatiently for Manaia to finish, so that he might speak the hot words that trembled upon his lips.

The maiden, for her part, was experiencing the humiliation of being ignored. A new? sensation for her; yet clearly these two stranger youths were acting as if she did not exist. Did they despise her because her page 63 tribesmen had shown such poor ability to defend her from the Tuhoe attack?

Somehow the bitterness of such a thought filled her mind, and left her almost unmoved by the sight of the slain around her. Indeed, she felt resentful towards both youths; yet her curiosity began to trouble her. To what tribe could they belong? They were not Tuhoes, and they were not of her own tribe, the Ngatihotu. And the size of them! The one beside her was tall and strong enough, but the one standing in the stream was far taller and stronger still.

She watched him, and a multitude of questions flashed through her mind as he left the water and moved slowly towards her. His name? His rank? Did fitting mind direct so splendid a form? She tried to turn her eyes away from him, but she could not. So she gave a haughty tilt to her chin, and tried to look through and beyond him.

“O Manaia!” cried Rata wrathfully as the other drew near. “Why didst thou greedily devour this battle, leaving nothing for me thy friend? I grow angry with thee. Hadst thou no thought for thy sister Marama? Better that this maiden here had been slain than that Manaia should have risked his life against so many foes.”

Manaia? So “Manaia, the Handsome One,” was his name! Certainly he was handsome, thought the maiden, yet those closing words stirred her to fresh resentment. She stared coldly at Rata, and then addressed herself to Manaia, now standing before her:

“That which thou hast done this day will be remembered by the Puhi maiden Rerémoa, and by the High Chief Nukutea her father, and by all the Ngatihotu tribe. Now take me to my people down the page 64 valley, that I may be free from the presence of this youth beside me!”

Rata began to feel uncomfortable, but Manaia only smiled, and continued to gaze. For the first time in his life his interest was awakened in a maiden other than his sister Marama. Rerémoa! The name would come smoothly from the tongue, and softly to the ear.

And already he had sought to measure her spirit by his standards. He had listened to the tones of her voice, and they had satisfied. He had noticed her bearing in the time of danger, and that also had satisfied. Even the haughty tilt to that little chin had pleased Manaia. He would inquire about her. He would question her, but he would do it through Rata. So:

“O Rata, be not wroth with me! It came to me that I should fight this fight alone. Let the next fight be to thee and to thy whalebone weapon. Enough! Now ask this haughty one whence she comes, for this valley is surely not her home.”

Rata put the question impatiently, and still without looking at the maiden. Why was Manaia wasting time like this?

Again she spoke to Manaia only, and her words reminded him of an oft-taught lesson of the Wharé-wananga on distant Hikurangi. She spoke guardedly. She should not say too much. She should not speak of that other lake south of Taupo, where was her home.

“I come from across the Many-Isled-Sea of Kiwa, from the Hidden Homeland of the Maori, from the Gathering-Place-of-Souls, from Hawaiki. Enough! Now we must hurry, lest the main body of the Tuhoes be led hither by the warriors who escaped.”

She moved away along the edge of the stream, and page 65 on down the valley. Manaia stopped for a moment and asked Rata to follow at a distance. Then off he sped after the maiden, and soon he was striding ahead of her along the track.

Still no word did he speak to her, and she began to wonder greatly at it. She consoled herself by examining the shapely form in front of her at her leisure, and she found the poise of body and the swing of limb most attractive to watch. Her pride would not let her speak again, so on they went, both silent, but each with heart and mind unconsciously stirring to new emotions.

The track branched off into the forest, and Manaia moved more cautiously. Still no word was said. The track led over a low hill, and then down an open ridge, but Manaia had only gone a few paces down when fierce cries from below caused him to move back. The maiden, however, recognising a party of Ngatihotu warriors hurrying up to her rescue, ran down the track to meet them, then stopped and stood irresolute. She longed to take the Arawa with her, but she knew the danger. To her tribe every stranger was an enemy, a spy, a possible leader in some pending raid against Ngatihotu. The tribe would take no risks.

“Fly now, O friend, who art named Manaia,” she cried from below, “and the spirit of Rerémoa will seek to guard thee on the way!”

He raised his greenstone weapon in mute reply. Then, with an Arawa war-cry upon his lips, he raised his weapon again and quivered it in defiance of the Ngatihotus as, with threatening yells and gestures, they crowded up the track.

A third time he raised his meré, and this time there page 66 came softly from his lips an ancient proverb of his people:

“Ko Hinéruhi koe, te wahiné nana i tu te ata hapara. Thou art like Hinéruhi of old, she who caused the glories of the dawn to appear.”

Then, as he sprang back and disappeared into the forest, she seemed to hear his unspoken promise that he would come again.

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