1

THE CURIOUS COUSIN

The first shafts of light streaked the dawn sky as Te Kawenga strapped three large tahā across her back. The trek to fetch water from the spring was her first chore of the day.

‘Our home may feel vulnerable, lying outside Te Ngutu,’ her grandmother reasoned, pointing to the pā entrance, ‘but at least it’s the closest dwelling to the clear waters of the puna.’ The logic failed to sweeten the daily drudgery.

Skirting the outer palisade, Te Kawenga scurried down the track that led to the gardens and the swamp beyond. The path was lined with whau trees in full bloom as if dusted with snow. She leapt out of the way as two workers, shouldering baskets laden with gravel, trudged around a bend in the narrow path. The pīpīwharauroa had been heard whistling in the treetops since Ōrongonui, when the moon traced a faint crescent in the night sky. Now as the days grew warmer, preparation of the gardens was well underway.

Te Kawenga knelt down at the water’s edge, greeting others who arrived as she trailed each calabash across the still surface.

‘Hey sis, has your father returned from Pūponga yet?’ her cousin Kakati asked.

‘No, he’s not expected back until the scrub is cleared and the soil’s ready.’

‘Well, I think there’s more than gardening going on over at that headland.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Since when do you need lengths of supplejack to dig up roots? Te Tarata and his men have been soaking kareao vines in the swamp at Ngā Ana Wai. They plan to take them to Pūponga, but they refuse to tell me what they are for.’

‘Hey, they’re just getting ready for shark season. You know Te Tarata is always in charge of the fishing gear. So what do you reckon he’s up to?’

‘Not sure, just keep your ears open. Something fishy’s definitely up.’

‘Ha, ha. Maybe you’re a bit paranoid.’ The younger cousin grinned, fastening her shoulder straps.

Te Kawenga met her mother and sisters outside the gateway to the gardens. The air was fresh as they sat wrapped in their pākē rain capes, propped up against the stone perimeter wall, eating eel leftovers from the previous night.

‘Go easy now. Kia āta inu,’ her mother implored as they drank deeply from the tahā. ‘That water has to last the day. Shortly, you can all help me to carry up the ash and shell to mix into the soil, then the garden will be ready for Kui to plant our seed tubers.’

The shrill squawk of a pūkeko rang out as old man Hape came stumbling along, chasing the flapping bird through the entrance.

‘Blasted pests! Once the kūmara are in, we’ll erect the fences. That’ll stop them when they creep up from the swamp,’ he exclaimed.

‘I can help father shoo them away,’ Piri offered.

‘Talking of Matua, when is he due home?’ Te Kawenga quickly chimed in.

Their mother didn’t reply. She had already stored their kai away and was striding towards the row of kete lined up outside the guardian’s lean-to. The younger tamariki came straggling along behind, holding one handle each of the kete and lugging them over to their family garden plot.

‘Is Matua working with Te Tarata?’ Te Kawenga ventured.

‘Why do you ask?’ her mother inquired, eyeing her briefly as she dug furrows in the freshly turned soil.

‘Kakati wants to know what Te Tarata is up to at Pūponga.’

‘Your tuakana should mind her own business,’ her mother retorted. ‘Now go back and fetch some more baskets.’

*

By the time the sun was high in the sky, the work was done, and the tamariki were complaining of hunger.

‘Kui will have something ready for us.’ Their mother consoled them as they headed back to the pā. ‘Be patient, my little tītī.’

Halfway up the slope, Te Kawenga turned to look back to the distant shoreline. The tide was out and on this cloudless day, the rocks of Te Rōutu O Ureia were visible in the Waitematā. Te Kawenga had once seen the waters churning around the reef while the sea beyond glinted calm and undisturbed. She had convinced herself that Ureia, the tapu Hauraki taniwha, was scratching his back on his jagged comb.

It was on a winter’s evening when whānau had gathered for an evening of storytelling at the whare tapere that Te Kawenga had first heard the tales of Ureia. The beloved taniwha was said to have guided Tainui waka through the waters of Tīkapa Moana o Hauraki into the Waitematā when the voyaging canoe arrived from Hawaiki. The elders hinted that Ureia might occasionally still visit Tāmaki-makau-rau.

Ever since, Te Kawenga had trained her eyes to pick out every headland and rocky outcrop along the coast when descending their mountain settlement of Maungawhau. During summer fishing camps on the Waitematā, she was sometimes hesitant to go into the water for fear of encountering the taniwha. But her Kui was adamant that children who respected the tikanga of shellfish gathering would come to no harm.

‘In any case,’ she would reassure her, ‘Ureia is too busy protecting his Hauraki people.’

*

Te Kawenga had just caught up with her cousin when their grandmother’s cursing rang out across the hillside. They reached their home as Kui emerged from the storage pit, emptying the contents of a kete kūmara onto the ground.

‘Damn it!’ she bellowed. ‘Rotten – the lot of them. Who’s been inside?’

‘Nobody goes in the rua kūmara but you, e Kui,’ Te Kawenga’s mother, Whiu, countered in an effort to appease her. ‘There must be a leak in the roof. The door is always tightly sealed.’

The old lady clambered back inside, her swearing trailing to a solemn mutter as she inspected the rest of her seed crop. The whānau waited apprehensively, fearful of the prospect of a lean harvest, while Whiu walked around, examining the roof.

‘I’ve found the problem,’ she exclaimed, pointing to the gnawed edges of tōtara thatch. ‘The rats have made a hole trying to get in.’

‘And thankfully only one kete has been ruined,’ Kui announced as she emerged from the rua. ‘You won’t be chewing on fern root this winter, tamariki mā.’ She winked at their relieved faces and closed the pit door tight. ‘Ask Pōkere to fix the roof,’ she instructed Whiu. ‘Maybe I’ll smoke out the pit in case any rats did manage to get in.’

*

That evening as Te Kawenga tended the embers in the wharepuni, she peeked out at Kui and her mother staring intently at the night sky. Kui was working out the exact day she would plant the kūmara tubers. Te Kawenga knew that the tamariki and younger women would not be allowed in the māra, but rules had never stopped her from spying on the adults. It was tempting fate, but she enjoyed the thrill.

Her thoughts returned to her conversation with Kakati earlier that day. She mused on her cousin’s suspicions, but Te Kawenga was unable to detect anything out of the ordinary. The men often dug gardens near their fishing sites, planting hue that would ripen early enough to eat the fleshy fruit. This summer, she was hoping her father would take her with him to the fishing camp on the shores of Te Mānukanuka o Hoturoa. Kahotea sometimes called on his eldest daughter to help him with tasks. Te Kawenga rarely complained. These were precious occasions when her father would relate stories of their Ngā Oho tūpuna, the ingenious builders of the Tāmaki network of fortified pā.

‘Tangaroa-whakapau in three moons. Look how brightly Venus shines,’ Kui declared. ‘Is the soil ready?’

‘Āe e Kui, and if these weary bones permit, I should have the sticks lined up tomorrow to guide the planting.’

‘Okay, pai noa. The tohunga is yet to bestow karakia on the first tubers so planting can begin.’

*

Whiu crawled into the wharepuni to curl up on the sleeping mat beside her three tamariki. Te Kawenga felt the comforting warmth of her mother’s body. Kui pushed the wooden slabs into place across the door and window, engulfing the whare in darkness.