Into the Mist Read online

  Near dawn, when the other birds were stirring, the tui and pīwakawaka beginning the first of the day’s conversations, Temera came across a body. The man was clearly dead. His ZZ Top t-shirt was torn, exposing intestines that spilled like a string of sausages along the ground.

  Temera pulled up sharply. Swallowed hard.

  It was a shock. Even though his inner-self knew he was still in his dream, that his own body was safe and warm in his bed at Wayne’s house. This death had already happened, or perhaps was about to happen in the days to come, but it wasn’t happening now. Temera took a moment to calm himself, his shoulders heaving from the shock of seeing the man, and from the effort of running.

  The dead man was forty-ish with a bristly beard. He wasn’t anyone Temera knew, although you’d have to be truly callous to wish such a death on another human being. Temera could see the scuffs made by the man’s boots as he’d hauled himself into the lee of a small hut, the body slumped against the wall as if he’d attempted to close the wound by folding himself in half.

  The owl called anew. There was nothing left to learn here, so Temera ran on.

  In a clearing not too far away, Temera came across a collection of small buildings. More bodies were scattered about, like the chip packets and popcorn boxes left on the seats after a movie. A massacre. It was as if a ruthless war party with bloodlust and slaughter on their minds had descended upon these men while they slept. The victims had only enough time to rise from their sleeping bags, one pulling on his trousers.

  But they aren’t all dead!

  In a drying shed he found a man, his throat torn open, laying drowning in his own blood. On his right side, the man’s lower leg ended in a raged stump. He stared at Temera with frightened eyes, blood frothing down his body. Did he detect the seer’s presence? No, the man’s gaze passed right through Temera to the forest beyond. Temera couldn’t save him. How could he when he wasn’t actually there?

  Even so. A man is dying.

  Temera-the-boy grasped a nearby leafy twig and, holding it in one hand as a sign of mourning, crouched, placing his free hand over the stranger’s grimy fingers. Temera spoke respectfully to the man’s spirit, urging it on its way to the stepping-off place, the magnificent 800-year-old pōhutukawa tree at the northernmost tip of the country. Only there could his wairua slip into the ocean to begin its voyage north to the spirit world.

  Yet, in spite of his pain, Temera sensed the dying man’s spirit wasn’t ready to leave. It was troubled. Angry. As if there was something to be resolved. Perhaps it preferred to leave this life with a proper burial; the company of a loyal brother, a tearful wife, and a handful of children. But there was just Temera – only there in spirit – to bid this soul goodbye. Temera whispered a gentle encouragement. Soon the man’s eyes fluttered for the last time and Temera murmured a farewell, wishing the spirit well on its final journey to the island of Ohaua. Above, like a bugle call from afar, the morepork marked the moment with a desolate cry. It fell silent.

  It was dawn. Temera was alone. From somewhere close came a quiet hiss.

  At last. Here was the reason he’d been summoned.

  Releasing the dead man’s hand, the boy-seer rose and made his way toward the sound, pushing through a clump of mānukā. It scratched at his arms and legs and clawed at his face. Exasperated, he dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled forward on his belly. Another hiss. Finally, through the grey trunks and thick brush, he spied it.

  The taniwha.

  This time there was no kind, concealing darkness. The creature was terrible and magnificent.

  And big!

  Temera couldn’t tear his gaze away. But if he was going to encounter a taniwha, best to do it at full height, not down here snuffling about like a little brown kiwi. Temera forced himself to stand on shaky legs. He poked his head through the thicket of branches.

  The taniwha stared at him. Greeted him with a hiss. Then it continued tearing at its meal – another body. The taniwha held a human arm in its curled talons and shredded the clothing through its two rows of teeth, the way a child shredded the seeds off a sedge grass.

  I’m not really here, Temera-the-boy reminded himself as the taniwha chewed the arm like it was a Snickers Bar.

  It can’t hurt me. It might not even see me. I’m not actually here.

  But the taniwha’s spirit spoke to him anyway. The words – not really words – resonated deep in Temera’s chest. Like the circles that spread outwards when rain dropped into a pool, the ideas seeped quietly into his being, reaching out to every part of him and settling in his understanding.

  “I expected you sooner, little matakite. I sent a bird-messenger,” the taniwha rumbled. “The day is here. The sunlight pains me. I would regain my lair.”

  Temera nodded. “The morepork called and I came. What do you want? Why did you call me from my bed?”

  “To remind you that this is my forest.”

  “It is not.” The words only sounded brave. Temera had to concentrate to keep his teeth from chattering. “It belongs to the forest god, Tāne Māhuta. It’s for all creatures to use with respect.”

  “Not while I’m here.”

  Temera pushed through the branches now. He stepped over the corpse and stood before the taniwha. The creature towered over him. Temera felt the warm stench of its breath on his cheek, but he straightened his back, and with all the bravado he could muster, looked it in the eye. “Why are you here? Why did you come?” he demanded.

  “Rūaumoko, the earthquake-maker, fashioned me from a lump of cold earth in his home under the ground. He nurtured me in his warmth and raised me up.”

  “Rūaumoko? Why should he do that?”

  “To protect the forest.”

  Temera burned with anger. “By eating my people?”

  “I was hungry and they are so easy to catch. Not like fish, which are slippery and clever. Or birds, which are hard to trap. Besides, birds are too small, all feathers and bones.”

  “But killing humans is dangerous. Surely you know that. Your kind—”

  Its head jerked up and a morsel of flesh tumbled from its mouth. “There are others of my kind?”

  Temera considered this. Perhaps he’d said too much? But Mātua had counselled Temera to be honest in all things – and especially when dealing with spirits. Even the smallest lie could come back to bite you, Mātua had warned.

  Temera said, “There were others. Once. It was long ago, in the past.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Dead. Gone. When beloved members of the tangata whenua are killed, their friends and family won’t stand for it. My ancestors sent their best warriors. Brave men who were not afraid to die. They defeated your kind.” Temera thought of the army sergeant he’d met that day on the road. There’d been a quiet strength there. A true warrior. Would he have the skill to overcome this creature? Temera wasn’t sure.

  Nevertheless he lifted his chin and said, “Already, a powerful chief has sent his best warrior into the forest.”

  Temera hoped it wasn’t a lie.

  “A man?” The beast slipped a talon under the jersey of the corpse and picked up the torso. It waved the body before Temera as if it were nothing more than a piece of toast. “I am not afraid of these spindly little things.” Bits of dried leaf fell from the corpse like a sweep of crumbs. “I gave you a chance. You should have warned them. The forest is mine now.”

  “I already told you. This forest belongs to Tāne Māhuta.”

  The taniwha shredded the clothing from the torso, tearing its head off in the process. The head rolled across the ground and came to a stop. The dead man’s face stared wide-eyed from the undergrowth.

  “The warrior will kill you.”

  “Is that a challenge, little seer?” The taniwha dropped what remained of the body. The creature thundered forward. Opened its maw. Hissed. Had it been human, Temera would have sworn the monster was smirking. Trembling, he took an involuntary step back.

  “He will co
me.”

  “Then let him come,” the taniwha rumbled. “Let him come.”

  * * *

  Te Urewera Forest, Cell HQ

  Sitting on the edge of the crude wooden deck beside him, Danny picked at his laces, trying to tease the knot open with his nails. “But Jase, why did we run away?” he asked.

  Jason stripped off his boots, removing his wet socks and wiggling his toes. They’d been running half the night. “The timing wasn’t right,” he replied.

  “But why? We could’ve taken them. There were more of us.”

  Jason emptied a pile of tiny stones from his boot, giving it a brisk shake in case there were any left in the toe. “Something made Te Kooti think the better of it.”

  “But we had a good plan.”

  “You know what they say, even the best laid plan needs to change according to the circumstances.”

  “Yeah, but what circumstances?”

  Jason put the boot on the deck, twiddling the end of the lace in his fingers. High up in the branches of a beech, a tui’s dark feathers caught the first rays of sunlight. “Te Kooti saw a vision. He saw a taniwha.”

  “Like that guide, Nathan, said?”

  “Yes.”

  Danny looked puzzled. “Seeing visions. Were they stoned? Because they’ve been stoned before and it hasn’t stopped us from doing stuff.”

  “They weren’t stoned.”

  “Then, I don’t get it. Why didn’t Eldridge and the others take the soldiers hostage like we planned?”

  “I don’t know, Danny.”

  “And what does that mean anyway? A vision of a taniwha? Why should a picture in someone’s head stop us from protecting people’s rights?”

  Jason was sick of Danny’s questions and his whining. He was like a kid insisting on having just the right plastic toy with his Happy Meal. How was Jason supposed to know what it all meant? He was still trying to make sense of what he saw and smelled out there in the forest.

  He wiped his face with his hands, massaging his eye sockets with his fingertips. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the cold and the mist had been playing tricks on his mind. Only, Te Kooti and the others had seen it too – they must have – because they’d turned tail and fled as if the hounds of hell were on their heels…

  “Jason?” Danny’d had enough of trying to undo his laces. He levered the boot off with the toe of his other foot and it tumbled into the rust-coloured bracken that spilled out from under the deck. Startled by the thud, the tui bounced away into the canopy. Jason lost sight of it.

  “There was no need for us to punish them, Danny,” Jason said, his eyes on the skyline. “The taniwha was there to do the job for us.”

  Chapter 22

  Te Urewera Forest, Day Four, Third Campsite

  Leaning against the gnarled trunk of an ancient rimu, Taine shifted slightly, rolling his shoulders and wiggling his toes in an attempt to get his circulation moving again. The camp was quiet, except for the normal pre-dawn noises, muffled snores and the first twitters from the birds. A movement at the periphery of his vision had Taine on alert. He sniffed deeply, relieved there was no reek of Sphenodon drifting in on the soft mist. Nothing unusual. But he’d heard something. Someone moving about? One of the sentries? No, they were still at their posts. One of the others then? Taine waited, listening.

  Jules.

  She disappeared into Richard Foster’s tent.

  Taine’s eyes widened. He knew Foster had designs on the biologist – the man could hardly keep his hands off her, putting his arm about her at every conceivable opportunity – but he hadn’t been aware Jules felt the same way. How had he not seen that? A jab worried at his ribcage. Was he disappointed? Of course not. He hardly knew the woman.

  I faced down a Sphenodon for her.

  But even as he thought it, he knew she wouldn’t have seen it that way. It was his job to serve and protect. She’d have expected him to act the same way no matter who the creature had charged.

  Was he really that noble? Would he have done the same if the creature had attacked de Haas? Or Foster?

  He clamped his lips tight. Jules and Foster. Well, why not? It wasn’t unheard of. People sought reassurance when they were under stress. Maybe that was why he had feelings for Jules himself… Taine shook his head. So what? It’s not like she felt the same way. She and Foster had history. They were both consenting adults. It was none of his fucking business what they did.

  “Um… Taine, can I talk to you a second?”

  He straightened. Lost in thought, he hadn’t seen her leave the tent. Legs bare, she’d thrust her feet into her boots without bothering to tie the laces and her lower legs were covered in tiny droplets where she’s pushed through the grass picking up the morning dew. He pulled his gaze from her exposed thighs. Her face flushed and her hair tousled, she was wearing a long t-shirt and a loose jumper, one creamy shoulder exposed to the cold.

  “Taine?”

  “Dr Asher. Sorry, I was miles away.”

  She brushed a tendril of hair off her face. “You have a lot to think about. Trying to keep us all safe.”

  Taine did his best to smile.

  She pulled her jumper up her arm, slipping the wool up onto her shoulder. “It’s just… Richard’s gone. I’ve been to his tent…” Jules reddened, obviously aware of how that must have sounded. “The thing is, we had a bit of a set-to last night and we said some things… I regretted it straight away… I was awake half the night wanting to apologise. Anyway, this morning I went to his tent, only he’s not there. I think de Haas has gone, too. They’ve taken their gear.”

  What?

  Taine stepped around Jules and stalked to Richard’s tent. Crouching, he pushed back the flap and peered inside.

  “Foster?” It was empty, only the ground sheet remained. Taine backed out of the tent. “He’s gone.”

  Of course, he’s gone. She just told you that.

  Shivering, Jules hugged her arms around her body. “I think they went off together.”

  Taine strode two steps to the right, and checked de Haas’ tent. Miller’s gear was in there, but there was no sign of the geologist. He dropped the tent flap and stepped back, nearly bowling Jules over in the process. “Damn it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. I should look where I’m going.”

  “I don’t mean for stepping on me.”

  Taine sighed deeply. “It isn’t your fault,” he said. “They obviously didn’t want anyone else to know. What time did you have your argument with Foster?”

  “It was more of a disagreement than an argument. Around ten, maybe.”

  Taine rubbed his chin. “Then they must have slipped away not long after that, while Miller was on his watch.” Everything had been quiet when Taine and Coolie had taken up the second watch at 0200 hours, and Taine was sure the pair hadn’t left the camp since. But for two civilians to slip away unnoticed with all their gear was surprising. It was possible, of course. Miller and Eriksen had been concentrating on the threat coming from the forest, they wouldn’t have expected the civilians to stray outside their circle of protection. Not with a monster looking to pick them off one-by-one.

  Still, Taine could murder de Haas. Convincing Foster they could make better time on their own. Richard Foster wasn’t officially Taine’s responsibility, not really, given that the biologist joined the task force at the last minute, and as a volunteer. But that didn’t change anything. Foster was as much Taine’s responsibility as anyone else on this mission.

  “They’ll have headed for the road,” Taine told Jules, as she tucked her hands under her arms to keep them warm. “Don’t worry, we’ll catch them up. They might have a few hours’ head-start, but it was dark and they didn’t have Nathan to guide them.” He called to Coolie. “Get the boys packed up. We’re heading out in ten minutes,” he said.

  He turned back to Jules. She was shivering, chewing lips tinged with blue. “Jules, go and get changed. Warm up. And try to eat someth
ing if you can. You’re going to need some fuel on board if we’re going to catch them.”

  “Taine, I don’t think they’re heading for the road.” She chewed at her lip some more.

  Taine looked hard at her. Was it possible she’d gone even paler? “Why would you think that?”

  “It’s what Richard and I were arguing about last night.” She paused.

  “Dr Asher, I don’t need to know about your personal life – whatever you and Dr Foster were arguing about is your concern—“

  She blushed, the colour returning to her cheeks and lips. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. No, it wasn’t anything personal. It was just that Richard was going on and on about the Sphenodon being the only example of its kind in the world. He couldn’t let it go. He’s a scientist. For him, even finding a fossil of something like this would be a huge coup. It’s an obscure group, so the leap in knowledge that could be obtained from a partial skeleton, from just a phalange, would be enough to sustain a career. But to discover a live specimen? And two hundred million years after the fact? A find like that, he’d be a science superstar—”

  “Jules, where is he?” Taine cut in.

  “I think he went to look for the Sphenodon. He wants to capture it for humanity.”

  Taine shook his head. “But they’ve both gone. Foster and de Haas. Yesterday, de Haas couldn’t get out of this forest fast enough. Why would he decide to hang about now? He doesn’t strike me as the sort to risk his own skin for the betterment of humanity.”

  Jules shrugged; a tiny movement, apologetic. “They’re both scientists,” she said, flatly.

  Taine felt his cheek twitch. “And you think Foster has convinced de Haas to take a share in the glory?”

  Nodding, Jules dropped her eyes.

  “Damn it,” Taine muttered. “Coolie!” he shouted. “Make that five minutes!”

  * * *