The Bone Tiki by David Hair Page A

every living thing was drawing breath in one slow frozen moment. But Mat could still hear the fading roar of Donna’s engine, and the wind, and the insects, and the stream. He looked up blinking, not really expecting to still see the warrior. But he was there, kneeling in the dirt and gravel holding a handful of shingle and letting it trail through his hands. He was speaking, softly to himself, in flowing Maori. His voice was clear and musical. The words rolled, and his shoulders were trembling as though he were about to burst. But instead he bowed his head and clenched his fists, and then released them, spreading them wide to the sky as if praying.
    Kelly was staring at him open-mouthed, not daring to speak.
    The three of them may only have stayed that way for seconds, but it felt like an eternity before the warrior turned to walk toward Mat.
    He spoke in perfect English, accented but easily understood. ‘Matiu. I am yours to command.’
    Mat looked up at him, in fear and shock. The young man had three messy holes in his shoulder and chest, but no blood came out. The jagged tears seemed to be knitting together even as Mat watched, shaking, trying to pull away. The warrior stopped advancing, held up his right hand, palm outward, placatory. His face was grave.
    ‘Command?’ Mat was confused.
    ‘You called me. I am yours to command.’
    Mat pulled the tiki off his neck and threw it at the young man’s feet. ‘I don’t want to command you. Here, you take it. Take it and leave me alone.’
    The young man shook his head sadly. ‘If only it were that simple,’ he said. He reached down, and made as if to pick up the tiki. His hand seemed to pass right through the pendant as if one or the other wasn’t really there. ‘I am afraid I am unable to even touch it, Matiu.’
    Mat disentangled himself from Kelly and Fitzy, and slowly got to his feet. The ground seemed unstable, as though any second it might dissolve. ‘Who are you? Where did you come from? How do you know my name?’
    The warrior half-smiled. ‘You know the answers to those questions, or you could not have called me.’
    Kelly looked at Mat. ‘What’s he talking about?’
    Mat shook his head. ‘Magic. Real magic. Not clown-magic. The real thing.’
    Kelly let out her breath. ‘The real thing…oh my goodness…’
    Mat looked at the warrior, who had pulled his feather cloak back about his shoulders. ‘You are Toa, and this tiki is made from your bones.’
    The warrior nodded. ‘From my shoulder-blade. But you can call me Wiremu, or Wiri. That was my name when I last walked among men.’
    The warrior bowed slightly, and then offered a hand. Mat took it in his—it was warm, and strong. And palpably real. Wiri turned to Kelly. He gave her a solemn smile. ‘Kia-ora, wahine. I am Wiri.’
    Kelly put out a trembling hand and he took it, and pulled her to her feet.
    ‘H-hi…I’m Kelly.’
    ‘Kia-ora, Kelly.’ He looked down at the dog.
    ‘And this is Fitzy,’ said Kelly, still looking scared.
    Wiri raised an eyebrow, then hunched down and stroked Fitzy’s head. ‘Kia-ora…Fitzy,’ he said slowly, with half a smile on his lips. ‘I am pleased to see you again.’
    Fitzy looked up at Wiri and they stared hard at each other, as if some silent conversation was taking place. Wiri then nodded once, and straightened.
    Mat picked up the tiki. It was still bloodied, and it felt hot to touch. Kelly stared at it. ‘That’s what she wants, isn’t it?’ she asked.
    Mat nodded.
    ‘Wow!’ breathed Kelly. ‘Ohmigod…’
    Wiri looked at Mat. ‘I have many questions, Matiu. I’m sure you and Kelly do too. But I think they will have to wait. Puarata is near…you know who he is, don’t you?’
    Mat nodded.
    Kelly looked at him, mouthing ‘Who?’
    ‘Later’, said Mat.
    ‘Let’s go then,’ said Wiri.
    Kelly turned to the car, and then gave a hiss of despair. ‘Oh no!’
    Mat stared, and then remembered the one thing he knew about Volkswagens—the