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The Spike or Victoria University College Review 1934

Red are the Rocks

page 91

Red are the Rocks

They were walking round the coast from Island Bay, had crawled round above the Run-around, and were negotiating Fly Rock Bay. As they scampered across from rock to rock, above the noise of sea, there rose a rattling growl from the throat of the Bay.

"Did you hear that?" roared the Big Brother, waiting for the Small Brother to catch up to him —"Did you hear that growl? That's the tantwha."

"Sez you," riposted the younger brother, breathing with difficulty.

"He always does that," pursued the Big Brother seriously. "When he tries to bring down the passers-by and fails, he always growls like that."

"Well I'll give him one." And the Young Brother hurled a stone full at the white horses capering at the entrance of the bay. A wave was just receding, and immediately there followed that low, malignant yarrrrl, so well known to visitors round the coast. Young Brother dropped his second missile, and looked sheepish as his Big Brother grinned at him.

"Made you jump," observed Big Brother.

"Bah," said Young Brother, half confused, "It's only the stones rattling on the bottom."

They passed from Taniwha's territory into Meston's Bay. There are baches there. "Listen," urged Little Brother, jogging Big Brother's elbow, "Tell us a story with lots of ghosts and taniwhas and things—all creepy. You can."

The "you can" did it. Ten-year-old youngsters know more of the psychology of the adult than any professor knows of children—and capitalise accordingly. Big brother appeared to ponder weightly. At last: "Donkey's years ago," began he, "there was a Maori whare just about where you see those baches now. It was owned by two brothers, Kapi and Roa. Nobody knew why they wanted to live in this desolate spot, but live here they did, and they cultivated roots SQ diligently that very rarely did they have to go back to the settlement for food. But one year they ran short of kumara, and set off to Wellington-proper to work for a few baskets of kumaras. As they were well known though regarded as eccentric, they had no difficulty in getting what they wanted. So they returned to their whare, on the beach where the winds wail all night, and the sea chops down the cliffs with a white mere, and were much astounded to find the bach had gone. Yes, gone!

They gasped. Not a stick, not a straw remained. At first they suspected Maori marauders. Then Kapi found in the sand right by the water a definite hoof-print. With an expression of dread expectancy he pointed it out to Roa. Roa turned white. "Patupairehe!" Kapi nodded vigorously.

Now any sensible Maori would have left the cursed spot as quickly as possible, but not so Kapi and Roa. Did I not say that they were eccentric? They determined to wage war against the fairy folk. Sleeping that night on the bare sand, one keeping watch, they built next morning a new whare, all woven with dry manuka and grass. They prepared a heavy mass of the stuff and laid it down beside the doorway.

When evening came, Roa walked along the beach away from the whare, half carrying, half dragging an effigy he had made of his brother. Kapi stayed under the pile of dry manuka near the door, with his fire pot barely glowing and half buried in the sand.

The moon was chasing along behind the clouds, trying to find a spot, a rift through which it could watch. The wind that always wails at night was sighing gently; the tender wavelets were creaming up the beach, in an effort to escape, and then falling back exhausted right into the mouth of the avid ocean. Roa was lying in the sand half -way up this hill, when both the brothers saw the waters of the bay ripple, and there appeared four patupairehe, fairy folk. Red hair they had, and a white skin; they mounted up the beach on nimble hooves. What a whispering and discussing there was among them when they saw the new whare—Kapi, holding his breath in half-horror heard it all. Then they went inside and began to ransack.

Kapi rammed his firepot into the wall and as Roa came racing down the beach, thrust the pile page 92 of brush into the doorway, Roa helped him ram it home.

What cries rose from the throats of the patupairehe as they saw themselves trapped in the burning whare—for the fairy folk are impervious to spear thrust or to blow of club, but fear and detest fire. And as they shrieked, the two foolish brothers capered round the whare, shouting triumph.

Next morning they buried all the ashes, and began to build a new whare a few yards away. And it happened that on the first night they slept in it, Roa, who was a light sleeper, was awakened by the cessation of the wailing of the winds. He arose and looked outside, and saw a curious light. It wavered, and danced, and waxed, and waned in a truly gruesome manner, until Roa, who was a brave man, though foolhardy, shivered with fear, and seized his weapon. "Spirit or man," vowed Roa "we shall meet in battle." And forgetting his recumbent brother, he gave chase. A merry dance did the spirit lead him, over the very roughest and thorniest ground until he was far away from the whare, and then it disappeared. Roa looked in all directions, but saw nothing until he looked toward the whare and there was the light, blazing eerily on the top of it, and forming itself into a hideous face. Roa shouted, remembering Kapi, and charged, but when he reached the whare, the spirit was gone and so was Kapi. He shivered, and revived the fire, and set some coals in the fire-pot. He had an idea he would need them.

By and by he dropped into a half sleep, and was awakened by a strong light shining in the doorway. "Stand back, Taipo," he cried poising the fire-pot," or I throw.'

The Taipo smiled. "I have Kapi. I have come for Roa." And at the feet of the horrified Maori he dropped Kapis hands, his head and his feet.

Seizing a lump of bushy manuka, the Maori lit it at the fire pot, and set off down the beach, driving the Taipo from the doorway with the flaming torch. The Taipo laughed loudly, and followed, walking calmly, flap, flap, flap, although the Maori was running as runs none but an athletic man in extremity of terror. And presently they came to a track between high rocks, where Roa seized more brush and sticks, and built a fire on the rock, lapped as it was by the sea. The Taipo snarled. The lump of brush had been a thing of short duration, but this fire bade fair to last till morning light, when the hour of the spirit world is ended. And Roa, safe behind the security of a blazing fire, laughed once more, and waved aloft a burning branch, and shouted curses.

But once again the Taipo was smiling. Roa watched in dread now, dimly conjecturing. Suddenly: "Taniwha!" roared the Taipo. Immediately the Maori heard the swish and gurgle of the waters behind him. He turned and raised again the fire stick, but the great claw reached blindly out of the ocean, and struck, and the Blood of the Maori splattered and stained the rocks.

So ended Roa, the second of the foolhardy brothers. And to this day the Maoris have called those rocks: "Pariwhero," or rocks of blood. And to this day they are empurpled with the blood of that too-daring Maori."

Young Brother was obviously impressed, but still critical. "There's a hole in that story," he remarked.

"Where abouts?"

Young Brother grinned and lifted his hands in Hebraic gesture. "Produce your rocks."

"Look," said Big Brother.

And just ahead, showing over the rise in the path, like the gory tooth of a waiting sea-monster, was a point of red stone. And beyond it, all the rocks were red.

Bas.