Battle of the Birds Read online

  ‘Strategic information?’ Moa asks.

  ‘I’ll make some up.’

  ‘I might have an idea,’ Moa says.

  ‘I’m going with you, Ken. Don’t argue,’ Annie says, giving her best Kuia imitation.

  Bread

  It doesn’t take long to locate Te Hōkioi’s lair. With rotting carcasses underfoot and lazy predators circling above, it’s easy to pinpoint.

  ‘Charming.’

  But Annie has to admit Te Hōkioi is clever. Here in the foothills of Mount Tongariro, with his raptor field of vision, he has a militarist’s view of the area. It’s all laid out before him. From here, if she squints, Annie can see the spit poking out into the lake. Te Hōkioi probably saw Kahurangi, Moana and Annie whizz across the lake behind the kite-sail. He’ll know of their approach today.

  A hundred metres from Te Hōkioi’s den, Ken alights on a low branch. Annie hops down. They’ll walk the rest of the way. Tucked into Annie’s belt is a white pūkeko tail feather. Kindly donated by the grateful parents of the belly-button biter. The feather will serve as a white flag, telling Te Hōkioi they wish to talk. Annie slips it out and holds it in her hand.

  It’s not long before the usual gang of kea descend on the pair. They’re more ragged than the last time, covered in cuts and scrapes. One has a burn on his leg. Annie notes the captain’s broken beak.

  ‘Hello, Toka,’ she says, more brightly than she feels.

  ‘What do you want?’ Toka smirks, keeping his eyes on Ken. Ken’s too big for Toka to take on himself, but backed up by his band of hoods, the parrot oozes arrogance. Ken’s not fazed.

  ‘Perhaps I’d like your role, Toka, next to Te Hōkioi as his right hand.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Take me to your leader,’ Ken is mocking.

  ‘He won’t want to see you,’ Toka shouts.

  ‘We’ll wait to hear that from Te Hōkioi, thank you.’

  Te Hōkioi’s throne is a smaller version of Simba’s pride rock, flattened and elevated, with a view over the plains. It makes Annie think of Lauren holidaying in Disneyworld a thousand years away. Te Hōkioi, as always, is magnificent. His back is straight. He has an air of confidence. He’s been expecting this meeting. Toka shoves Annie forward. His jagged beak makes a small puncture in Annie’s forearm, causing a stab of pain and leaving a bead of blood. She notices Toka doesn’t touch Ken. Chicken!

  The American eagle approaches the dais. Although only half the size of Te Hōkioi, he’s impressive. He bows low.

  ‘I humbly offer myself as your servant.’ Annie wonders how much it costs Ken to humble himself in front of Te Hōkioi. Humility isn’t Ken’s strong point.

  ‘I made you an offer before, which you refused.’

  ‘A mistake, I admit.’

  ‘I have plans to become King of the Birds this morning. I really don’t have time for this. Take him away.’ Te Hōkioi waves his great wing, airily. Toka’s gang move to grab Ken, but he hops aside.

  ‘Just King of the Birds?’ he says, louder now. ‘And yet I bring the Speaker, who is bound to me by the prophecy. She’ll do whatever I tell her, you know. Through her, you could control not just the birds, but the people, too.’ Annie gasps. Will Te Hōkioi be tempted?

  The raptor hesitates. ‘I could do that now. I simply have to seize her and destroy that silly white feather. I don’t need you.’ Annie’s stomach tightens.

  ‘Ha! I told you!’ Toka gloats, bobbing up and down.

  ‘Told you, told you, told you,’ screeches the falcon.

  Te Hōkioi looks disdainfully at his lieutenant. ‘I haven’t seen you offering any great ideas.’ Toka stops jumping. He hunkers into his shoulders and lowers his eyes. Good job, Annie thinks, her arm still smarting from where he shoved her.

  Ken struts back before Te Hōkioi, dragging attention from Toka.

  ‘I sense this war has been too easy for you, Te Hōkioi. How will you retain the respect of your peers if you simply wipe out the flightless? Where’s the kudos in squishing a few defenceless weka? What you need is a show of strength against a truly worthy opponent.’

  Te Hōkioi grunts, but his black eyes glitter. He’s interested.

  ‘Otherwise,’ Ken continues, ‘what do you think will happen when another like Toka comes along, one with a brain who’ll think for himself?’

  ‘Hey!’ Toka huffs.

  ‘No, Te Hōkioi, you need something that shows you’re truly the one in the prophecy. Something symbolic. So no one will ever challenge your leadership.’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  Ken grins. ‘Eating the kōpīa bread of the chieftains.’

  ‘Te Hōkioi isn’t interested in your crumby bread!’

  ‘Quiet, Toka! Tell me more.’

  ‘Moa refuses to allow his flightless brothers to be slaughtered.’ Ken shrugs, pretending he doesn’t care. ‘He’s an idealist. Moa suggests a single combat between champions to decide the outcome. The flying versus the flightless. Each side will choose a champion who will fight at an agreed time and place. The winner will earn the right to lead the Kingdom of the Birds.’

  ‘For once the Flightless One has made a sensible suggestion,’ Te Hōkioi grins. ‘Two champions to decide the fate of the world in a fight to the death. I like it.’

  ‘But no one said…’ Annie starts to say, but Te Hōkioi cuts across her.

  ‘Let Moa represent the flightless. I, Te Hōkioi, will face him in one-to-one combat. The outcome will speak for itself. The winner will eat the kōpīa bread of chieftains. And the loser will die.’

  Dread washes over Annie. She pales. ‘But this isn’t the plan. No-one else is meant to die.’

  ‘It is a fight to the death, or nothing.’

  ‘No!’ shouts Annie.

  Ken nods. ‘So be it.’

  Secrets

  The fight is scheduled for tomorrow at midday. The spit is abuzz with the news. Annie is having trouble drowning out the birds’ chatter. It’s making her head throb, so she takes a moment to wander down to the lake. It’s calmer away from camp, and Kuia’s the only one there. She washes kernels from the kōpīa berries that Annie and Moana picked that first day. The fruit has been baked, and the flesh removed. When the kernels are well rinsed, they’ll be dried and ground into flour, and the bread itself will be steamed in a geothermal pool. After a time, Kuia gathers up the nuts and heads off.

  Alone now, Annie throws a few pebbles into the lake, enjoying the music of their plink, plink, plink. The day is fine, and the air fresh with bracken and beech; the way it is after rain. Drying out after the storm.

  But even the quiet can’t overcome Annie’s anxiety, and the constant pounding in her head. Annie tries not to think about tomorrow, but she can’t help it. She’s terrified for Moa. It’s a fight to the death between gladiators. While Moa is big and powerful, Te Hōkioi is quick and crafty. It’s an even match. The future of the flightless depends on the result. Just four will go. Annie and Ken, and Moa, of course, and Toa is coming too. He insisted. Annie is glad.

  Annie rubs at her eyes. Her head is still fuggy.

  ‘Annie?’ It’s Moa. Like Annie, he has escaped to the lake for a moment of peace.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When you lived here before, it wasn’t the past, was it? It was the future.’ Startled, Annie sucks in her breath. How long has he known? ‘Oh, things point to it. Not just the prophecy. Your clothes, the flying inventions.’

  Do the others know? Does it mean she can never go home?

  Moa interrupts her thoughts. ‘Tell me this. Was I there?’

  Annie’s heart leaps in her chest. What should she say? She takes three purposeful strides away from Moa, hugging her arms to her. How can she tell Moa that he doesn’t exist in the future? But Annie’s hesitation is enough. Moa has his answer.

  ‘Aah, I see. Then Te Hōkioi will be the victor.’

  Annie turns swiftly and faces her friend. ‘NO!’ she blurts. ‘I don’t know about
the outcome of tomorrow’s fight, or of the war, for that matter. I do know that Te Hōkioi doesn’t exist in the future.’ She inhales deeply and blows the air out in a long slow stream. ‘Neither of you do.’

  Moa hangs his head. ‘So we will both be forgotten.’

  ‘It’s not like that at all!’ Annie says hotly, running back to him. She reaches up and places her hand on his powerful neck. Beneath her fingers, the pulse is strong and vibrant. ‘Moa, in my time, a thousand years from now, you are famous. People celebrate your life. They still search for signs of you. Your portrait hangs in museums and galleries. People study you, and tell stories about you. Legends. Your image is painted on postage stamps that fly all over the world.’

  Moa looks up quickly, his gentle eyes gleaming.

  ‘Really? I get to fly?’

  Annie smiles. ‘Absolutely. You get to fly.’

  Champions

  Annie shivers. It’s creepy here, and she’s nervous. They’re at Okupata caves, in Mount Tongariro’s dingy basement, where the fight will take place. Annie came here once with Mum and Dad, but it’s not the same. The caves are bigger and more cavernous and there is less debris. A thousand years of earthquakes, eruptions and erosion can change things.

  The cavern is huge, like a giant sunken colander. Smaller caves and fissures lead into the earth from its walls. On one side, there’s a rocky outcrop which looms several metres over a deep grotto, throwing a gloomy shadow over the hole. Annie puts her hand over her nose. It’s another volcanic hotspot. A couple of muddy pools send off eggy smells. Above them Mount Tongariro simmers rock and ash.

  Beside Annie, Moa is calm. Te Hōkioi isn’t here yet, so Toa has had a good look around. He mentions the angle of the sun and shows Moa where to stand to avoid its blinding rays. He points out uneven ground and serrated volcanic rocks. He tells Moa to watch out for the hole. Eventually, there’s nothing left to do.

  ‘They’re coming.’

  Te Hōkioi swaggers into the cavern opening, his blood-red crest highlighted against his black plumage. He’s brought Toka and a heap of friends. Not what they’d agreed. The predators close in a semi-circle around them. They cackle and hoot insults. Annie notices they keep a respectful distance from Moa. She doubts they’d be so brave if there weren’t a crowd of them egging each other on.

  ‘Let’s begin,’ Te Hōkioi commands. ‘You have the kōpīa bread?’

  Annie nods indicating the bread, tucked into a hollow.

  ‘Good! I’m looking forward to claiming it.’ In a rustle of feathers, Te Hōkioi moves to the middle of the cavern.

  ‘Wait!’ Annie implores, in a last attempt to prevent the fight. ‘Please! You’re both on the Council. You’re both respected leaders. Can’t you be friends?’

  ‘Be friends with the flightless?’ Te Hōkioi is incredulous. ‘Moa is less than a bird. He is nothing. And soon he will be dead.’

  Moa moves to face Te Hōkioi. He is ready to fight. ‘Annie, go now. You could be hurt. Please.’

  ‘No! I won’t go. There must be a way…’

  ‘Enough of this!’ Enraged, Te Hōkioi grasps Annie by her T-shirt and flings her aside, as easily as if she were a newspaper flung by a careless paperboy. The predators howl in delight as she lands heavily on the ground, the wind knocked out of her.

  Moa trumpets his displeasure. He aims a brutal kick at his enemy’s pelvis. The kick unseats two nearby hawks who squawk and hiss. Te Hōkioi, lighter and more agile, leaps away with a thrash of his mighty wings.

  ‘Ken! Quickly!’ Moa bellows, but Ken is already dragging Annie to safety beside Toa.

  Te Hōkioi’s crest stands erect as he roars in rage. He plunges at Moa, tearing and slashing at the great bird’s hide. Blood spurts from the gaping wound. Toka laughs raucously, enjoying the grisly spectacle. Moa thrusts his toothless beak at Te Hōkioi, but it is no match for the predator’s scissor-like claws. Moa steps back and aims another swifter kick at the predator. This time the kick connects. The force of the blow unbalances Te Hōkioi. He plummets into the depths of the grotto.

  Beside Toa, Annie holds her breath. Perhaps Moa has the advantage. Te Hōkioi needs warm air currents to lift his body into the air: either that, or plenty of room for his broad wingspan. Moa stands ready to strike Te Hōkioi with a crushing blow from his powerful legs.

  Te Hōkioi surges upward carried on the putrid air of a hot sulphurous pool. Annie screams as his menacing form hovers, forcing Moa to back up, nearly toppling him into a mud pool. Aware of his advantage, Te Hōkioi swoops down and spears a deadly talon through Moa’s neck.

  Loss

  Moa is dying.

  He is slumped, half-submerged in the muddy pool. Kneeling beside him, Annie strokes the coarse feathers on his crown. A smudge of blood colours her palm. For a moment, Moa tilts his head and Annie feels herself drawn into the intelligence of his deep brown eyes. He nuzzles into Annie’s shirt. Annie puts her arm around his neck and hugs the gentle creature to her.

  ‘I’ll never forget you.’

  ‘Nor I you.’ Te Hōkioi’s gleeful victory call echoes through the cavern.

  Toa raises his taiaha, pointing it at Te Hōkioi’s heartless breast, and shouts, ‘A great leader would show some compassion for an enemy about to die!’

  At this Te Hōkioi snorts rudely, but he pulls back and stops his crowing.

  ‘Good bye, Annie,’ whispers Moa. He drops his head and his lifeless body slips into the mud pool, sinking deeper and deeper into the swirling, sucking mud.

  ‘Noooo!’ shrieks Annie, reaching for him, but Ken grabs her by the belt-clip of her jeans, and folds her safely inside his wings. When Annie plucks up the courage to look, Moa is gone and only the mud remains.

  With Moa dead, the predators seize Toa. Te Hōkioi puts a bloody talon to Toa’s neck.

  ‘Bring the Speaker to me!’

  Annie doesn’t doubt Te Hōkioi will kill Toa. Feeling nauseous, she allows herself to be manhandled to the front of the screeching, jeering group. One against many, Ken wisely takes refuge on the rocky outcrop at the top of the cavern.

  ‘I am the victor,’ Te Hōkioi says. ‘You will return to tell the people, and their friends, those useless flightless birds, that it is I, Te Hōkioi, who eats the bread of chiefs. You shall be my witness.’

  Pushing Toa away, Te Hōkioi lowers his head and gobbles Kuia’s kōpīa bread.

  Annie’s knees tremble. This can’t be happening. Moa was the flightless birds’ last chance. Without their champion, Te Hōkioi will crush them. She watches in disbelief as Te Hōkioi gorges himself on the bread, stuffing his beak and gulping down the last chunks.

  When the bread is gone, Te Hōkioi stands. He opens his wings to their full span and struts around the cavern. His band of bullies hoots and cheers their applause. The atmosphere is hot and ominous.

  ‘Mark my words,’ little Speaker,’ Te Hōkioi crows, ‘this is history in the making. Today the prophecy is complete. I am he who conquers flight. I have eaten the symbolic kōpīa bread. Now, I am the King of the Birds, the King of Aotearoa!’ He proceeds ceremoniously to the centre of the cavern, like an actor taking centre stage at a play’s finale. ‘From now on, things are going to change. There will be no Council. The flightless have nothing to say that I wish to hear.’

  All of a sudden, Te Hōkioi doubles over, his face contorted in pain.

  ‘What’s happening to me?’ he shouts. He staggers, suddenly gripped by an agonising spasm.

  The kōpīa! Annie holds her breath.

  ‘Brothers! Help me!’ Te Hōkioi pleads. But the cowardly predators, already sensing a shift in power, step back. Te Hōkioi has ruled through fear. He has no friends here. ‘Can’t you see what they’ve done?’ he screams to his cronies. His body contorts in another spasm. ‘I’ve been poisoned!’ But no-one comes to his aid. One by one his spineless henchmen skulk from the cavern until only Toka remains.

  Rising, the raptor stumbles about the cavern, his body trembling. The poison is taki
ng hold. Te Hōkioi tries to ruffle his feathers, but the sulphurous steam has made his plumage slick. At last, he tumbles to the ground, where he writhes in the dust.

  Swooping down now, Ken stands over the predator. ‘You’re dying, Te Hōkioi. It’s the kōpīa. There is no cure.’

  ‘No! There must be a way. Toka, my brother, please, help me.’

  Toka considers the bird at his feet. ‘But Te Hōkioi, if you remember, I offer no good ideas,’ he replies sarcastically.

  Te Hōkioi stares at his lieutenant. He gives a curt nod. He inhales deeply. Annie watches numbly as Te Hōkioi picks himself up, and flies raggedly to the summit of the volcano. He lingers there a moment, surveying all that might have been his — then flings himself into the molten depths.

  His master dead, Toka starts to slink away. Ken stops him at the entrance of the cavern.

  ‘It’s over Toka. You will withdraw Te Hōkioi’s squadrons, or face me.’

  For a horrible moment, Annie wonders if Toka will claim leadership for himself. Perhaps Ken thinks so too, because the American eagle draws himself to his full height, his breast feathers bristling with determination.

  ‘I’ll call them back,’ Toka says.

  ‘Good idea.’

  Aftermath

  Back on the banks of the lake, Annie tears herself away from Ken. She stalks over to Kuia and confronts the old woman. ‘You knew!’ she accuses. ‘You meant that poison for Te Hōkioi. To avenge the death of Ahuru!’

  ‘Annie! No!’ Moana steps between Annie and Kuia, protecting her grandmother from Annie’s sudden outburst. Kuia steps elegantly around her.

  ‘Yes, Annie. I knew the kōpīa bread was poisoned. But it was not to avenge my son. There was rumour of a deeper prophecy, one that came before the pendant. A stronger magic, that would make things right. It was spoken of amongst the womenfolk. Te Hōkioi would not have been satisfied just banishing the flightless: it had to end here.’