CHAPTER XIX.

THE DREAD MAKUTU.[23]

On the morning of the third day after our arrival at the _pa_ we set out for the Table Land. Te Makawawa proposed that ‘the little maiden,’ whom he treated with a consideration and a quiet, dignified respect that almost amounted to worship and awe, should be carried in a kind of litter by slaves, but Crystal would not hear of it. She assured the chief she could travel twenty miles a day on foot, and Grey himself laughed at the idea of her being carried on a litter. Accordingly, as we had ample time to travel by easy stages, she walked on equal terms with the rest of us. Our party consisted of seven--we three pakehas, the chief, Tiki, and two slaves, who carried blankets and provisions. Grey and I insisted on bearing our own swags.

The aged chief went before us with a swinging stride, and very soon we struck a path which he knew: it was the very one he had often travelled between the _pa_ and the Great Tapu in the early days when he had been guardian priest of the ancient temple. This path simplified our journey, and there was no such thing as battling with supple-jacks or struggling through fern breast high.

They held happy hours for me, those three days in the bush. To be near Crystal was all I could expect, and the little incidents of the journey are written in my memory--if not here. It is sufficient to say that day by day she was always in sight, and, by night, when we camped, we three formed a party round one fire, while, at the instance of the chief, the four Maoris had two to themselves at a little distance. When bedtime came we rolled ourselves each in a blanket in bush style, with our feet to the fire, and slept in triangular fashion. It was sweet to lie awake, looking up at the moonlit sky between the trees, to hear Crystal’s breathing as she and Grey fell off to sleep before me. Once I heard her murmur “Mother” in her sleep, and once again she moved with a sigh and said the name of the one she loved--“Kahikatea.”

I must not dwell upon those days and nights beneath the summer sky and the growing moon. They passed--as all fair days and nights must pass--and at length we pitched our camp upon the edge of the Table Land, hiding our fires behind a clump of high bush, lest they should be seen from the mountain wall on the other side. It was the open space of a little gully running down from the rounded hills that skirted the west of the plain.

When we had finished our evening meal, Te Makawawa took me aside round the clump of trees, and pointing to the mountain wall looming gigantic in the twilight, said: “The full moon is rising behind the brow of Ruatapu, as it has ever risen since that sunset long ago, when Hinauri said, ‘Here will I wait!’ Ngaraki will curse the Vile Tohungas of the Pit to-night, as they have ever been cursed since the day when the mighty city stood upon this rolling plain. When he has done that, I know not how soon he will leave the mountain. Therefore Tiki and I will go forward and watch for his going.”

“Good, O Chief,” I replied; “but tell me again why does he curse the Vile Tohungas of the Pit to-night?”

“The tradition says they will return in the flesh to destroy Hinauri; that is why from the beginning they have been cursed when the moon is full, for at that time their power is strongest.”

“But what will the curses do?” I asked, trying to penetrate into the depths of his belief.

“They will destroy those who would destroy Hinauri,” he answered simply, “even as the _karakia_ sung before her in the stone will protect her when she moves to life. Our ancestors have taught us that a curse heaped upon a man’s image will find that man in the flesh. Many of these Vile Tohungas have returned, but they have never succeeded in their object. _He Pakeha!_ Their heads are hung up in yonder mountain. Others will return, but when they do they will find the curse ready for them if they should stretch forth so much as a hand against the sacred person of Hinauri.”

“What is the result of the curse?” I asked again.

“_Eta!_ O Pakeha! The result is _makutu_--not of the modern kind, which requires the belief and fear of the person bewitched, but the hidden magic of the ancients, which finds its mark like the weapon of a warrior crying ‘_Utu! Utu!_’[24] When it strikes it seethes like molten pitch in the vitals till sunrise or sunset. Then the cursed one dies. He leaves no star in the sky among those of the watching chiefs, but goes down, down to Porawa, with the curses of all time upon his head.”

He called to Tiki, and together they went into the night across the shadowy plain. If there was any doubt in my mind regarding this strange _makutu_ the chief had spoken about, it was entirely dispelled before I saw him again.

Grey, Crystal, and myself remained by the camp fire, and a little distance away up the gully the two slaves cowered very close over a small heap of embers, such as the Maoris delight in. Grey, whose supply of cigars had not yet given out, sat smoking on the opposite side of the fire, smoking, dreaming much, and saying little, as was his wont. He was looking into the fire, and, as the glow lighted up his gentle face, I forecast the happy hour when his long-lost wife, the bride of two short weeks so long ago, and the mother of his only child, would tell him all the sweet things he had forgotten. Then my eyes wandered to the white figure of Crystal standing some little distance away in the darkness. She was looking at the mountain wall, where her mother was a prisoner. With the old chief’s consent, I had told her the legend of Hinauri that very day, and many other things as well, and she was no doubt building that city of long ago again upon the plain, or thinking of Kahikatea’s quest of the pure white woman who stood in the forehead of the mountain wall holding out her arms in her age-long petition to the sky.

I rose from my log near the camp fire, and walked round the clump of high trees. There I thought long thoughts of the many issues that crowded about the unknown cave in the great rock on the other side of the plain. I wondered where Kahikatea was. I thought of Cazotl and his wizard minion with a creep of horror. Then, by association of ideas, my thoughts ran down to the Vile Tohungas in the abyss. As the rising moon threw his light up into the sky above the mountain wall I stood a second time, in imagination, on those giant steps in the Pit, and watched the head of the tallest image hewn out again from the dark by the descending ray of the moon flooding down through the giants’ window. How like the vile granite face was that of the fiend of Crystal’s pictured dream! How very like the receding brow, the long flat nose, and the leering lips were those of Cazotl himself! Ngaraki was waiting there, in the darkness, ready to add his awful curses to those which extended back into the past--how far the aged moon herself, who had looked in upon it from the beginning of the human world, alone knew.

With an inward shudder at these thoughts I turned and retraced my steps to the camp fire, where I found Grey and Crystal sitting side by side, and hand in hand. I seated myself on the other side of the fire and said nothing. The moon, concealed by the trees behind me, had risen above the mountain wall, for I could see the silver light on the tip of a pine that towered above the gloom of the gully. It crept down into the rolling foliage of the lower trees, and touched a crag that stood out from the hillside. Just below this crag I could see the two slaves crouching over their fire, the glow of the embers on their faces and bare shoulders. Suddenly one of them uttered a sharp exclamation and made a movement. A moment afterwards the other clapped his hand to his chest and said something I could not catch. Then they remained looking into the fire as before.

While I was idly wondering what had startled them I heard a twig snap in the darkness on my right, just beyond the light of the fire. Almost at the same moment there was a faint hiss, and Grey started, moved his hand to his shoulder, withdrew it, and inspected a small object, which finally, with an expression of surprise, he threw into the fire, where it burned rapidly with changing colours, emitting with its escaping gas a weird little moan that I remembered too well. Another hiss followed, and Crystal gave a little cry, raised both hands to her right breast, sprang up and staggered some paces away, where she remained standing motionless like one in a trance. The firelight showed her face as I had seen it by the lightning’s glare on that other terrible night with the wizard.

In an instant I leapt to my feet, snatched my revolver from my hip pocket and fired three shots into the darkness where I had heard the twig snap. In reply came the hissing sound again, and something struck me in the chest. Then the wild laugh of the wizard negro sounded in my ears from far away among the hills.

Quick as thought I plucked at the dart in my chest and drew it out. Then, raising my hand I was about to fire again, when a deep voice from the darkness said, “You cannot fire! My voice is the only thing--you cannot fire!”

Quick thrills passed up and down my spine. The back of my head seemed as if it had been removed. In vain I strove to pull the trigger, but could not. In an instant I realised I was helpless. Then I saw the powerful figure of Cazotl advance into the light of the fire. His shining eyes, his long flat nose, his leering lips, on which rested a sneer that seemed to flow down his glossy beard, were revealed by the leaping flames. Yes, he was a fiend of ungainly but tremendous frame. As he towered there by the side of the fire the sight of him conveyed a horror to my soul. I tried to gnash my teeth, but could not.

“You can cover me with that revolver,” he said in a careless tone, which nevertheless carried conviction with it; “but you cannot fire. You can watch me, but you can neither move from where you stand nor cry out. Don’t you believe me? It is quite true--see here!”

He came towards me, and placing his great chest against the muzzle of my revolver, said: “Your finger is on the trigger, and if you were able, a touch would send a bullet through my heart; but you can’t do it, not even to save that pure and lovely girl.” He pointed to the white figure of Crystal, standing motionless at a little distance.

Heaven knows how I tried to pull that trigger and send the ball through his heart, but my powers of volition were gone--I was helpless under the powerful influence of the drug and the voice which was ‘the only thing.’

He moved away, and, as he had said, I found I could keep him covered with my revolver and watch his movements, but that was all. He turned and said something in a harsh, foreign tongue to someone in the darkness, and presently, in answer to his order, the wizard negro came within the light, and, putting an armful of sticks on the fire, hurried away for more. Cazotl bent over Grey, and, smoothing his eyelids down, said “Sleep!” Grey sank back immediately and lay still. He also was under the power of the drug.

With my finger on the trigger of my revolver I covered Cazotl as he walked round to the other side of the fire, and I prayed that just one little nervous twitch of my forefinger might do the deed. But if there was any one thing in the world of which I was absolutely certain at that moment, it was that I could not shoot.

I saw him approach Crystal, and their two figures were clearly lined against the background of shadow--the one like a slender lily, the other like a giant--powerful, majestic, but vile.

With a bow and a polished grace that marked him a man of cities, he bent his head and spoke to her words which revolted my very soul; for, sweet, musical, and poetical as they seemed, I knew them for the world-wide lie by which the basest passion gains its end. The tones of his voice were rich and deep, as he spoke slowly and distinctly.

“I am the one you love; the one you have longed for. You called me and I came. This is the garden where love meets love. The scent of roses is wafted about. Sweet music fills the air. Honeysuckle climbs over the bowers, and the soft beds of moss are full of violets. You hear the birds sing in the dreamy trees; they are saying, ‘I love you! I love you!’ and your bosom throbs with delight, for those are the words of your own pure heart.”

He paused, and by the growing light of the fire I saw her face. It was half raised to his with a wistful expression, and her bosom rose and fell as a sigh escaped her parted lips. Heaven forbid! but, by the cunning suggestion of his words, following the strange effect of the drug, she thought herself standing with Kahikatea in ideal surroundings, listening to his confession of love. The rich voice went on.

“You hear the cascade pour into the shaded pool, leaping and dancing in the sunlight: so rushes your quick blood with strong desire--a wild cascade of love’s delight. Listen! the wind murmurs through the trees: it is your own sweet voice whispering ‘yes’ a thousand times, ‘yes, yes!’ You are all a-tremble with love. Your passion thrills within you like honey and fire. It darts into your eyes like love lightning. All your desires and aspirations, your deep inward purity, your joy of laughter and speech, your power of song, and every intense longing for what is good and beautiful--all are thronging in your bosom to swell the tide of love. Now your eyes are on fire with the intensity of your being. You give yourself to me body and soul--come!”

With horror I saw the truth of his words. Crystal’s hands were clasped over her bosom. She turned to him, and all he had spoken was in her eyes. Her purest prayers were there, the essence of all her music and poetry and rippling laughter, the splendour of her world of dreams and the beauty of her love of beauty--all were there combined in a moment of supreme love and within reach of a devil in angel’s guise. A great wave of horror surged through me as I looked on at this terrible thing, and, if ever I came near to pressing the trigger and sending a bullet through that vile heart it was then. But the words, “You cannot fire!” seemed to have me in a vice, and the torment of an age in hell crowded into my consciousness while I watched.

The vile one looked down at the love he had wrought in his victim. Triumph appeared on his evil face and he gave a low, coarse laugh. He drew nearer to her. His leering lips approached hers; they bore a calm half smile of masterly disdain--a satisfied sneer for all that is good, and pure, and true, and beautiful. His hand touched her waist to draw her towards him. Then, suddenly, even as I gazed with unspeakable agony in my helplessness, a weird thing happened. With a bellow like that of a wild beast in pain, Cazotl sprang erect and threw up his great arms, as if a dart of horror had pierced his vitals. A hideous, awful cry it was that rang out over the plain, as he staggered and fell heavily to the ground, where he writhed and twisted and fought against some master hand which held him down.

Had I fired? No! I was sure of that. Then what had struck him. In a flash it came into my mind that this was the dread _makutu_, the fierce ancient magic which Ngaraki, the terrible guardian of the temple, was even now hurling at the granite images in the abyss. A profound awe took possession of me as I realised that the ancient curse had found its mark.

My eyes and revolver were still fixed on Cazotl, as his huge form rolled about, his bloodshot eyes starting from his head and his body doubled up as if there were seething pitch within his vitals. His hissings and groanings were terrible. Now and again hoarse cries, like those of a soul in torment, rang out--deep curses in some hellish tongue unknown on earth. And through it all I had a vague side picture of Crystal standing in the same attitude as that in which I had last seen her, and I pictured on her face the entranced longing of pure love, undesecrated by this fiend of lust.

An hour passed, and the gigantic form still rolled and writhed in agony upon the open space about the fire. Once my eyes came on a level with the two slaves sitting over their fire some paces beyond the _makutued_ man. They were fixed like statues in the position in which I had last seen them. When next he tossed and rolled past Grey on the other side of the fire I saw that the latter was fast asleep.

[image: images/img221.jpg caption: “ANOTHER TWIST AND HE ROLLED RIGHT ACROSS IT, HIS HAIR AND BEARD FRIZZLING IN THE FLAME.”]

As time passed, my brain began to wander. I saw places that I had seen long ago; I heard the voices of those long since dead. Clear visions held my attention for a moment, then vanished. At length one vision came and displaced all the rest. It was the wall of the abyss, on which glistened the clear light of the moon, which, flooding through the giants’ window, seemed to illumine the whole of the interior of the mountain. I saw, as if behind me, the granite statues smiling up with disdain at the great luminary; I saw Ngaraki lying face downwards upon the floor of the world; but what absorbed all my attention was the wall of the abyss before me. There--oh horror! who or what were those gigantic shadows contending in a deathly struggle? I looked up at the great window to see what cast them. There was nothing there; the bright moonlight flooded in uninterrupted, and yet, upon the wall before me, the two giant figures rocked to and fro in a grim, tremendous battle. The air grew thick and heavy, as if surcharged with some dread power. An awful silence settled down, broken only by a roaring sound as of a mighty wind through the great stone bars. The fury of the combat rose to a pitch of terror. Then from the stifling air went forth a flash of light between the shadowy combatants. A distant cry came out of the gloomy reaches of the abyss--a ghostly voice, like an echo from a bygone age, and one of the shadows reeled and staggered for a moment. Then the fight went on again, and I awoke to find myself following the form of Cazotl with eyes and hand round the edge of the fire.

The moon was now overhead, and I saw the Vile One’s face as he still writhed in agony, unable to rise. His brow was twisted with torment, and great drops rolled from it, but nothing could distort the leering, bloodstained lips from their original expression: they still sneered at all that was good and pure and beautiful. As I watched, his head nearly touched the fire. Another twist and he rolled right across it, his hair and beard frizzling in the flame. When he emerged on the other side his face appeared more than ever like the grey, granite face of the Vile Tohunga.

I cannot quite account for the hours that passed between that and the first light of dawn, but I know that the whole of that time I must have followed the writhing form of the doomed man with my eyes and revolver--the full tether of my muscular ability--for when my mind again cast off its visions I found myself still acting in obedience to his words. Cazotl’s cries were now growing faint, but his quick, hoarse breath, and his still desperate struggles, told that he was wrestling in the throes of a long and agonising death. The full moon, growing pale against the approach of dawn, was just sinking behind the hills. Crystal had sunk upon the ground, where she lay still--a vague outline of white upon the moss to the left of me. These things I saw indirectly, for my eyes were fastened upon Cazotl.

The moon passed down and daylight came, revealing to my horrified gaze a face with eyes that glared and rolled in unspeakable agony, teeth that gnashed in unremitting pain, while the limbs, their force now almost spent, still quivered in merciless torture. The rising sun tipped the hills above. I was aware the light was creeping down towards us. And now there was a brief respite, almost silence, made still more clear by the harsh, monotonous cry of a _kiwi_ in the gloom of the gully behind. The Vile One raised himself upon his hands and knees, and his glaring eyes were fixed upon the form of Crystal sleeping on the moss five paces from him. He seemed to be able to think and act. Struggling to his feet, he stood for a moment, his fingers crooked nervously; his teeth made a grinding sound, and there was hate, revenge, and murder in his eyes. I saw his purpose. He would spring upon that fair form and strangle the life out of it. He staggered towards her, and I felt that even now my bullet would save her--but alas! my body was like dry wood, and all my nerves were non-conductors. I could not press the trigger.

Cazotl stood still as if to steady himself for a spring. But only for a moment. The pallor of death overspread his now hideous face. He raised his hand to his brow as if struck, then reeled, and with a last grating shriek of pain and rage, fell heavily backwards, where he lay extended and motionless. At that moment, even as he was falling, my finger pressed the trigger, and the bullet sped. At that moment, too, as the sunlight flooded down over glistening birch and pine, my body relaxed, and I fell unconscious to the ground.