Battle of the Birds

  Lee Murray

  Battle of the Birds

  Battle of the Birds

  Published by

  Leapy Sheep

  PO Box 6133, Tauranga 6146, NZ

  This edition published November 2013

  ISBN 978-0-473-26779-7 (mobi)

  ISBN 978-0-473-26778-0 (epub)

  ISBN 978-0-473-26777-3 (print)

  Text copyright © Lee Murray, 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Cover illustration Vonnie Sterritt

  www.leemurray.info

  This story takes place in early New Zealand history.

  Some of the Māori terms may be unfamiliar to you. If you don’t know them, the glossary at the back of the book will tell you what they mean.

  The characters in this book are:

  Humans

  ANNIE, a New Zealand girl living in Wisconsin, USA

  MOANA, a young Māori girl

  KUIA, Moana’s grandmother

  TOA, a Māori warrior

  AHURU, chief and Moana’s uncle

  TAMA, Moana’s father

  RUĀNUKU, a tohunga

  KAHURANGI, Moana’s friend from a neighbouring tribe

  CHIEF DEPUTY PRINCIPAL (PIRI), chief of Kahurangi’s tribe

  KAKAMA, a toddler abducted by Te Hōkioi

  MIRIAMA, a beautiful weaver

  Birds

  KEN, an American bald eagle

  TE HŌKIOI, a Haast eagle

  MOA

  ROWI, a brown kiwi

  MERGUS, a goose

  FANTASIA, a fantail

  TOKA, a kea and Te Hōkioi’s lieutenant

  WIREMU and BARTY, two kiwi friends

  Hills

  ‘I need to look up a couple of library articles for my assignment, chick. I’ll be as quick as I can and then the two of us can go for that swim, okay?’

  Annie’s mum is taking a course in Organisational Behaviour at Madison’s Edgewood College. It’s the study of how people work together in groups. Dad says it’s a bunch of sneaky techniques for bossing him and Annie around, things like getting them to make their beds and mow the lawns without being asked, which is a laugh because Dad is the master of disorganised behaviour.

  Annie thinks Mum signed up for the course to meet new people. Since they relocated to Madison in Wisconsin six months ago, Mum’s found it hard to adjust. It was all right for Dad, whose lectureship at the university was the whole reason they’d moved, but after she redecorated the new house and tidied up the garden, Mum had been at a loose end. And adults find it hard to make friends. They lose confidence as they get older.

  Those first six months in Madison hadn’t been any great shakes for Annie either. It was her first time living overseas and she really missed her friends in New Zealand, and Grandma and Grandpa, too. Jeez, she even missed Mikey, her stepbrother, who at eighteen was seven years older, and in Dad’s view, ‘quite old enough to make up his own mind’ about where he was going to live. In his second year of an arts degree at Whanganui, working towards his pilot’s licence and dating a girl named Ellie, Mikey hadn’t wanted to come. He could be a monumental pain, but Annie missed him anyway.

  And it wasn’t only the people she missed. Annie missed other things from home, too. Little things, like cars driving on the left hand side of the road, people wearing rash shirts and jandals in town, or the bright orange grasses that would tickle her legs when she made her way down to the beach. Here in Wisconsin nobody has heard of pineapple lumps, ginger crunch or jelly-tip ice-creams, and they screw up their faces in horror at the thought of salty black Marmite. Annie doesn’t get it. Imagine not liking Marmite on your toast? Annie nearly cried when her knife scraped the bottom of the last jar they’d brought from home. Luckily, Mum found a shop selling Marmite or Annie might have posted herself straight back to New Zealand!

  Things got better when Annie met Lauren. Like Annie, Lauren can’t stand Sloppy Joe on a Bun. Sloppy Joe is a meal of runny mincemeat swamping a wobbly, pale-looking bun. Lauren says it’s positively vomitous, and Annie agrees. Both girls would bring sack lunches from home whenever Sloppy Joe was listed on the school’s hot lunch menu, which meant they were the first fifth graders to arrive at the lunch tables so they got in the habit of sitting together. And then, after they’d eaten, they’d hang out together at recess, and eventually become the best of friends.

  But now, Lauren has gone to Florida for a month to visit Disneyworld and see her grandparents. Even Annie’s neighbour Rebecca, who’s a grade behind Annie at school and sits by her on the school bus, has gone away to summer camp. Everyone’s vacation is shaping up to be more exciting than hers. Annie sighs. It’s going to be a long empty summer.

  ‘Annie?’

  ‘Is it okay if I wait for you outside on one of those weird hills?’

  ‘Just don’t wander off anywhere, will you?’ Mum says, as she disappears between the stacks of boring-looking books.

  Outside, Annie makes her way to the odd mounds of raised earth around the library. Wisconsin is dotted all over with these curious hills. They have a funny name that sounds like spaghetti. Effigy mounds — that’s what they’re called — raised piles of earth in the form of animals. Some people say the mounds were used for religious ceremonies, but no one knows for sure. Annie climbs to the top of a larger mound for a better look. The ground is shaped into a central girder with two arching horizontal projections like outstretched wings.

  A bird.

  And not just any bird. It’s a giant American eagle. Annie marvels at this magnificent eagle, grounded here for a thousand years, its huge wings spread out ready to be lifted up by the passing wind currents. Who could have built it and why? One thing is certain, there weren’t any bulldozers or excavators back in those days to make the task of moving the earth easier.

  Annie traces a path out along the bird’s wing tips and back to the centre. She lies on the back of the eagle and considers the cloudless afternoon sky. The softest breeze warms her and the sun shines on her face. Absently, she fingers the smooth contours of the pendant of black volcanic stone hanging on a thin cord of leather around her neck. The pendant had been a special leaving gift from her grandparents. Grandma found it in a box of junk while rummaging around at a garage sale. The flax string was so frayed, and the stone so dull and dusty, that Grandma nearly left it where it was. She wasn’t even sure Annie would like it. But the old Māori woman having the sale had insisted that Grandma buy it. Said she felt Grandma was meant to have it, and if Grandma bought it she’d even throw in a couple of old cake tins for free! Grandma had brought the pendant home, polished it up, and replaced the tatty string. Annie is pleased she did. She loves it. In New Zealand, stone pendants are common, lots of people have them, but none of Annie’s new friends in Madison have ever seen anything like it. Annie likes that. Now she lives in America, wearing the pendant makes her feel more connected to home, like she isn’t so far away.

  Mum’s taking a long time. The afternoon is getting hot. Hopefully, she’ll be finished soon and the two of them will go swimming. Annie closes her eyes against the light and pictures herself back in New Zealand sinking into the chilly waters of a freshwater lake. In her imagination, she flips onto her back and floats on the surface of the water, her arms supported by a fluorescent pink noodle. Water laps around her. She bobs gently. It’s cool; soothing. She squeezes her pendant in one hand and tries to hold on to the restful rocking sensation. Her eyes closed, Annie drifts on the current, carried home to the land of the long white cloud. Aotearoa. She can feel h
erself drifting off.

  She’s floating.

  Lifting.

  Rocking.

  The warm ground trembles and shakes beneath her.

  Hang on a minute!

  Annie’s eyes fly open. Wide-awake, she scrambles to her knees. She is floating. The whole mound is floating! Astounded, Annie looks down. Balanced on a grassy hillock, she’s suspended over the ground and rising silently skyward. Then Annie goes cold. From out of the dirt, a smooth feathered head surfaces before her. It’s moving!

  The eagle is alive!

  Breaking free of the earth, the massive bird shudders as if awakening from a long slumber. Throwing off the remains of its earthen blanket it carries Annie upward into the vivid blue sky.

  Eagle

  Clinging desperately to the eagle, Annie is terrified. Broad wings extend from beneath her on either side. This can’t be happening! Hills do not fly off into the sky. Annie shakes her head, squeezes her eyes shut and then opens them again quickly. The ground is still dropping away — fast! A gust of wind hits Annie sharply from behind. She cries out and grips hard to the eagle with her knees to prevent herself from falling.

  Hang on, Annie!

  The big eagle seems to sense her fear; it ruffles its giant feathers, surrounding Annie with downy softness. Some of the larger flight feathers bristle upwards. Partly by instinct, Annie grasps hold of two. With a start, she notices they’re not stiff at all, but firm and flexible in her hands. She ties the feathers firmly over her hips like fitted airline seatbelts. Already feeling safer, she takes up another pair as if they were reins. The bird seems not to mind at all. Perhaps Annie is meant to do this? All she needs now is a flight attendant with some hot chocolate!

  For a second, Annie feels exhilarated. She is riding a powerful bird of prey. This is definitely better than any roller coaster. Annie Thomas, Eagle Tamer! The feeling doesn’t last long though. Mum will be frantic. Annie is feeling frantic herself. She has no idea where the bird is taking her. She looks back. Behind her, the library resembles the tatty shoebox she keeps her rock collection in. Annie watches helplessly as the brilliant blue of Lake Mendota shrinks to a pond, and then a puddle, and eventually disappears.

  For a long time the eagle carries Annie so high in the sky that only billowy clouds spread out beneath her. Night falls, but still the bird continues on. Annie is beginning to sag with fatigue when the eagle finally descends through the cloud. Below, blue-green ocean stretches out in all directions and blends to pink where it reaches the sky. It’s morning. The fresh salt tang of the air and the chill wind revives her. But where is she?

  Suddenly, vague and misty in the distance, like a long white cloud resting on the horizon, Annie sees land. Land that looks like a long white cloud. Hey, it’s New Zealand! Aotearoa!

  Nearly there!

  Annie feels a surge of joy, just as Kupe must have, seeing Aotearoa for the very first time at the end of his long waka voyage from the island of Hawaiki. The eagle brings Annie towards the land in soaring loops, moving gracefully from one sea breeze to another, surfing over each swell of warm air. Peering over its white helmet feathers, Annie makes out a small cone-shaped mountain rising out of the sea at the end of a short peninsula.

  Mauao! Mount Maunganui! Annie has climbed the little mountain lots of times with her parents. It’s small enough to climb in an hour. To the south, sandy beaches trace a long straight path as far as you can see, and to the north, the long oval shape of the island of Matakana nestles lengthwise against the coast. Although she can’t see it yet, Annie knows that on the other side of the mountain is the city of Tauranga with its bustling port, and behind that are the jagged, majestic peaks of the Kaimai mountain range.

  Why has the eagle brought her home to Aotearoa?

  Anyway, everything will be fine now. Grandpa and Grandma will be surprised to see her. She’ll phone them from one of the beachfront ice-cream stores at the foot of the mountain. Annie can already picture the shock and delight on their faces.

  Moana

  The eagle lands on top of the mountain, its talons outstretched. Annie had forgotten about the eagle’s talons, but seeing them now, a thought strikes her: what if the bird intends to eat me? She shivers. Annie saw a documentary once where an American eagle devoured a squirrel, skewering the rodent with its talons while it tore off pieces of flesh with its huge beak. It was so gruesome she’d turned the television off. Annie doesn’t intend being anyone’s dinner! She slips quietly off the bird’s back, and runs swiftly to take cover in the trees. The eagle turns. His darting blue eyes study her, but he makes no move to pursue her.

  Nothing to be scared of.

  So, Lightly Seasoned Fifth-Grade Girl is not to be the Special of the Day after all. Annie relaxes.

  Searching about her, Annie finds no trace of the little path she and her parents had used when they climbed to the summit last summer. She pushes a short distance into the bush, letting the fronds of fern and flax swing back behind her. For a brief moment, a giant wētā lands on her gym shoe, but Annie ignores it because a few strides away she spies a fleck of red. Annie makes her way out of the bush and into the bright sunlight. She blinks. She’s standing on a ledge above a flowering pōhutukawa tree, as big and bright as a fire engine. Its gnarled grey roots spill over the rocks and bury themselves in the cliff face. Over the branches, Annie can see the entire region laid out before her.

  But nothing is as she remembers.

  The city is gone; just beaches where the port used to be, and bush where once there was a thriving, honking, shouting, noisy city. How can a whole city disappear and a forest grow up so soon? Forests take years to regenerate. What has happened? Desperately, Annie scans the bay. Right now, even the sight of an empty Coke can or chippie packet would be comforting.

  There! A tiny plume of smoke spirals upward out of the trees. A fire! Suddenly, Annie is filled with hope. She can find the people who made that fire and maybe get some answers to her questions. But first, she needs an easier way down the mountain. Spinning around, Annie rushes into the bush — and comes face to face with a strange girl!

  The girl is about Annie’s age, perhaps a year older, with nut-brown skin and silky black hair hanging loose on her shoulders. Her nose is broad and her lips full. She wears a kākahu, a cloak of woven flax fibres, and carries a large flax kete bag in one hand.

  ‘You flew in on a bird!’ the girl says. Her white teeth shine. ‘Wow!’

  Annie nods and points to herself. ‘Hey, I’m Annie.’ Her voice sounds strange, and she realises she has spoken in Māori. Annie learned some Māori language at school before the move, but today it just seems to come naturally.

  ‘Kia ora, Annie,’ the girl says, and Annie likes the way she pronounces it. ‘I’m Moana.’ She steps forward and presses her nose to Annie’s. A hongi. Surprised by the traditional greeting, Annie giggles to hide her embarrassment.

  ‘Hey, what’s with the kākahu, Moana? Is it a special occasion?’ Time-consuming to make, Annie knows Māori cloaks are normally reserved for school assemblies and kapa haka performances.

  ‘Silly,’ says Moana. ‘I always wear this. But I guess today is special. After all, it’s not every day a new friend swoops in on the back of a bird!’

  Annie smiles. ‘So Moana, what’s happened to the city?’

  Moana looks puzzled. ‘The city, Annie?’

  ‘You know,’ Annie replies, ‘the city, where people live together.’

  ‘Oh, you mean the village! Come on,’ she says, indicating a narrow track behind her. ‘I’ll take you to the pā. My uncle, Ahuru is the chief. Only, I have to do a job for Kuia on the way.’ She rolls her eyes the way Lauren does when Mrs Tibbetts hands out the homework sheets. ‘Still, it shouldn’t take long if you help me.’

  She turns and heads into the forest, her cloak swishing cheerfully. Annie hesitates for just a second, before scurrying after her.

  The girls follow a path of beaten earth, which meanders through the bush. At the b
ase of the mountain, the path heads inland. The sound of the surf drifts inland on a salty breeze, but eventually the comforting beat becomes quieter and the forest becomes denser. After walking for a time, Moana points to a grove of tall trees.

  ‘Karaka,’ she announces. Pulling back the glossy leaves of a low branch, she reveals a cluster of green-yellow fruit the size of Annie’s thumb.

  ‘These are kōpīa,’ Moana tells Annie. Picking a fat yellow one, she bites into it. Annie does the same. Ouch! There’s a stone in the middle, like a peach or a plum. Annie’s science class had studied seeds. They’d made a chart comparing berries, pommes and drupes, so Annie knows kōpīa are drupes, fruit with a single seed or stone in the centre. Annie considers her mouthful and decides kōpīa are delicious: sweet, like ripe apricots, but grainy and powdery like a pear. And boy, is she hungry! She picks two more yellow kōpīa and eats them quickly.

  ‘Yum, these are good.’

  ‘We grind the kernel to make bread too, Moana says, ‘but it’s a big effort because the kernel has to be boiled, and then steamed or soaked until all the poison is washed out.’

  Annie splutters on a mouthful of kōpīa.

  ‘Poison?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Moana merrily. ‘The kernel is poison. That’s why the bread is only made for the chief and his important guests. My grandmother, Kuia, makes wonderful kōpīa bread. Everyone says so.’ She giggles. ‘Well, the ones that lived!’

  The girls fill Moana’s kete, taking care to pick the greener fruit since the yellow ones will spoil too quickly. When the flaxen bag is full, Moana lifts it onto her hip and they continue on to the village.

  The morning is hot and soon the path snakes along the banks of a wide estuary. The girls decide to take a short rest. They sit down beside the water with their backs against the trees. At last, a chance to ask Moana some questions.

  ‘Moana, I don’t understand where…’ begins Annie.

  ‘Shh,’ says Moana, putting her finger to Annie’s lips. ‘Look!’ Through the trees, Annie spies the most enormous bird she’s ever seen, even bigger than the eagle that brought her here. It’s as high as a back yard shed, covered in stringy brown feathers and looks like an ostrich. The massive bird lowers its head. It’s tending to a large egg, turning it over in an immense pile of leaf-litter.