CHAPTER XXIV.

ZUN THE TERRIBLE.

To reconnoitre the position of the two camps I determined to mount the back of the Lion from the valley side. I ran across the open space and climbed half-way up the flank of the great rock, but, finding it was impossible to reach the summit, I selected the tallest pine that grew on the side of the spur and went up it in all haste. When I reached the feathery top I found myself above the level of the Lion’s back, swayed by the wind to and from the topmost ledge. Here I had a clear view of the plain, where the savages of both camps were drawn up in two long lines facing each other. The war-dance was over, and the time had arrived for single warriors of each side to rush out, and, with wild gestures illustrative of the coming slaughter, to hurl taunts at the other.

But my attention was directed more particularly to a scene that was being enacted in the open space of the enclosure on the plateau not twenty yards from me. Ngaraki, who had evidently been unable to quiet the savages on the plain, had found his way into the hostile _pa_, where he now stood confronting a small band of chiefs, who, by their violent manner and occasional bursts of savage laughter, looked as if they had been drinking _waipiro_ to rouse their utmost ferocity for the coming conflict.

The violent chief whom I had seen haranguing them was there, seated upon the ground, while the others stood behind him. His aspect was one of treacherous hatred as Ngaraki, calm and careless, yet a savage of terrible presence, stood before him. Then, before a word was exchanged the tohunga of the temple burst forth into his message, delivering it in a half song, half speech, while he paced to and fro with dignified mien in the open space. He told them that Hinauri had returned, and that he was her messenger. He told them that her word was peace and love, that she had sent him to stop the approaching battle, that, if they fought, they would fight, not for her, but against her. While the yells of mutual defiance came up from the plain like the manifold voice of Tu--that god of war who ate his own brothers--Ngaraki’s tones resounded within the _pa_, impassioned and eloquent. But his words would find a heart of peace in the rocks themselves sooner than in the breasts of the savages before him.

He ceased, and the violent, blustering chief, whom he had addressed as Amukaria, sprang to his feet.

“He says Hinauri has come,” he yelled, brandishing his axe. “Can he show her to us? No; he says she is white as the mountain lily: then we don’t want to see her. Hinauri is no _wahine pakeha_; she is Maori like ourselves. I have seen her spirit: she is no pakeha. She bade me collect a thousand canoes. I have done so, and they will land at Wakatu to-night. Curse the pakeha! A pot for his head. This is my word to him.”

He turned and, rushing towards an effigy of the white man, which stood at one end of the enclosure, its head already half severed from its body, he struck a furious blow with his axe. The blow completely severed the head, which fell and rolled upon the ground. At this a shout arose from the other chiefs; then Amukaria took the effigy’s head in his hand, and holding it up cried, “A pot for the pakeha’s head!”

Ngaraki stood looking on in silence. Would his fierce blood stand this test? When the chiefs were quiet again he said calmly:

“O Amukaria, your words are wild. Your plans will come to nothing. Those who were to come in the thousand canoes are on my side. I have spoken to them and they have listened to my words. They come, but they leave war and knife behind them.”

A savage yell from Amukaria announced his baffled rage on hearing this. Maddened by drink and lust of blood, he appeared like a demon, with tongue protruded in deadly insult. He danced with rage before Ngaraki, who stood silent, regarding him with his stern black eyes. Verily the spirit of Zun the Terrible slumbered within him. A smile of contempt curled his lip, and Amukaria saw it. Unable to contain his fury any longer he rushed at Ngaraki with axe uplifted, saying, “I will cleave your head as well, and heat the oven for you.”

The wary chief did not move. He was unarmed, but he had left his outer robe within the mountain, and his limbs were free. For a moment only the axe was poised in the air, but that moment was the last of Ngaraki’s most unnatural forbearance with such a foe. His face changed. He would have said “Ngha!” but there was not time--so sudden was his spring. He caught the axe by its handle and wrenched it with a sudden twist from Amukaria’s hand; then, bounding off a pace, he whirled it far away beyond the palisades of the _pa_. Before his antagonist could grasp another weapon he had sprung upon him, and in a moment they were locked in a terrible struggle, in which I marked down Amukaria as already a dead man.

But as they rocked and swayed in the open space, one of the watching chiefs took a long-bladed knife and threw it carelessly upon the ground a few paces from the combatants. It would have been fair enough if it had been done openly, but the moment chosen was when Amukaria’s quick eye alone could notice the act. He had Ngaraki by the hair, but the _ariki_ had his antagonist by the throat with one hand, and by the wrist with the other. Fully aware that no man could live many minutes with his throat in such a hand as his, he was content to keep his grip and wait. But all the while they were swaying to and fro nearer and nearer to the knife which he had not seen.

The other chiefs stood by in silence. They saw their leader’s face grow livid, but they knew that he would get the knife. His eyes were starting from his head, and his tongue was lolling, still in insult, from his mouth; but they saw, as I did, that he would reach the knife, and they did not interfere. I drew my revolver, determined to risk a shot at twenty yards if a good chance presented, but I held my hand, thinking that Ngaraki was not the kind of man to need my assistance in a single combat. I would only fire at the last possible moment; but I could warn him, and I thought to do so by shouting at the top of my voice. But my words were lost in the general uproar of savage yells on the plain, and were unheeded.

Amukaria was near the knife now. His rolling eyes had marked its position. His fingers slackened from Ngaraki’s hair, and mine sought the trigger, while I steadied myself. His body drooped as if he were falling. At that instant, judging by what followed, Ngaraki must have seen the hand which had held him reach out and grasp the haft of the knife. A yell of triumph came from the watching chiefs, but it was quickly silenced. As the knife was grasped firmly in the murderous hand, Ngaraki suddenly let go his fatal grip; then, as the lolling tongue was protruding still further in triumphant insult, his knee came up with a terrific crash against his antagonist’s chin. I heard Amukaria’s jaws clap together like a trap. It was a death-blow. His neck was broken. He fell back like a log and lay there with the lower half of his tongue bitten off by his own teeth.

“Ngha!” said Ngaraki at last, as he picked up his half of the tongue that had insulted him and tossed it to some dogs that were in the enclosure. As he did so the chiefs sprang upon him unawares, and after a prolonged struggle he was overpowered, and was soon lying bound hand and foot with flaxen thongs. Among these chiefs there was one who urged the others not to kill Ngaraki, but to bind him to the stake on which the headless effigy stood, so that when they returned with the pakehas’ heads they might hold a triumph over him before preparing him for the oven.

“Now let us hear you call on Hinauri to come and set you free,” said one of them, when the deed was done. Their tongues were protruded at him, and they taunted him in a manner that is hard for a Maori chief to bear. But Ngaraki stood in silent contempt, yet his black eyes blazed with wrath, and his flesh quivered with the indignity of his position. He tugged and strained at his bonds, and I saw that if he could but free himself it would be a bad day for his foes.

At this time the battle broke with a rattle of musketry and a rising babel of yells on the plain, and the chiefs that were still in the _pa_ hurried down for the fray. The two lines which had been sending out single combatants for some time now fused in one mass, the muskets were cast aside after the first few shots, and the fighting was carried on hand to hand in the grim savage style. In the midst of the throng I could see the grey-haired Te Makawawa fighting fiercely. Even as I singled him out he killed his man, and, whirling his club round his head, raised the savage war-cry, “_Whaka ariki!_” He and his warriors were now driving the opposing force back against the stronghold. As soon as I saw this an inspiration struck me to liberate Ngaraki, or they would certainly kill him when they were driven back into the _pa_. In a very few minutes I was down the tree and rushing round the great rock. The fighting was close upon me as I reached the path that led up from the plain, and when I gained the narrow strip of rock in front of the _pa_ I looked back and saw that some of them had turned and were retreating rapidly up the path by which I had come. There was no time to lose. I darted in through the opening left between the palisades and rushed across the open space towards Ngaraki, who seemed to be trying to tear the flesh off his bones in his efforts to free himself and get at the foe.

In less than ten seconds, and just as the foremost Maori entered the _pa_, the thongs were cut. The chief turned his fiery eyes upon me, said “_He Pakeha!_” and bounded off to strangle the only foe he could see--the savage who had just entered the _pa_. Stepping quickly aside from a fierce blow, he seized the unfortunate man by the throat with both hands, lifted him off his feet and shook him like a rat in the air, after which he broke his skull against one of the palisades. Then, picking up the weapon of his foe, a large greenstone _meré_, he turned to the opening of the _pa_ to meet two who were rushing in. Both of them continued their rush into Reinga, the abode of spirits, with a clear understanding that they were to leave the door open, for more were coming that way.

Ngaraki now stood in the opening and fought grimly against the savages that Te Makawawa and his warriors were driving in. To help him I shot one here and there as occasion demanded, and at last he stood on the narrow strip of rock--an object that struck terror to the hearts of his enemies, for they only faced him as they were compelled by the fierce onslaught of Te Makawawa and his warriors behind. For the most part they were demoralised, and were pushed headlong into the fissure by the press of the throng. Some of the bolder chiefs rushed yelling on to the narrow way, but Ngaraki’s terrible club whirled and flashed like green lightning all about him, and they went down. At last one brave fellow sprang forward and closed with Ngaraki, and I had to hold the narrow way myself; but not for long, for, before I had emptied my revolver, I saw bare legs whirling in the air near by, and in another moment a Maori was hurled into the fissure. It was not Ngaraki, for that fierce _ariki_ was again standing on the rock--a majestic figure, dealing death. In the side-glance that I caught of his flashing eyes and commanding front, I understood what it meant to a Maori to have the blood of the Great River of Heaven running in his veins. Verily the spirit of Zun the Terrible was awake within him.

In the midst of this I saw moving round to the left at the base of the Lion Rock a large band of savages who had not retreated up the path to the _pa_, but were evidently bent on some other object. They were led by a tall fierce fellow, and I thought I saw the negro wizard darting to and fro among them. Could they be heading for the opening of the mountain? I fired at a foe who seemed one too many on the narrow strip and looked again. The leader pointed his club towards the mountain, and with a yell pressed forward. At the same instant a rifle shot echoed from high up in the mountain wall, and the savage fell forward on his face. Thank Heaven! Kahikatea was on the alert, but if that band got into the mountain, what could two men and two women do against them? It was with a sickening sensation that I had remembered I had descended by the rope and left it there. Would anyone think to draw it up? Again, I shuddered as I reflected that in all probability the negro wizard had been into the mountain while we were in the marble cave. Could it have been he that tried to hold the rope when I pulled it up?

Filled with apprehension, I noted with one eye that Ngaraki and Te Makawawa’s warriors were nearly through their terrible work, and with the other that the band heading round the Lion Rock were in some confusion and hesitation. There was yet time to gain the mountain before the negro wizard could urge them into the precincts of what many of them regarded as the stronghold of the _taniwha_.

I knew that in every _pa_ there must be a way of escape by the back, but, failing to find it, I made for the back of the Lion, and presently stood on the steep rock near the top of the pine from which I had watched the curtailing of Amukaria’s offending tongue. The tree-top was six feet from me, and a glance to right and left showed me there was no other way down. Every moment was precious if I were to have a hand in guarding the woman I loved from that most subtle tool of the Vile Ones--the Poisoner. Gathering myself together, I sprang as the tree-top swayed towards me, and, passing through the feathery pine foliage, found myself clasping the slender top of the stem with arms and legs. For the moment I thought it would break, and there would be an end, but it held good, and I made my way rapidly down the trunk, bruising and scratching myself in my haste. Once on the ground, I sped across the mouth of the valley as fast as my legs would carry me, but I had scarcely gained the bank of the channel when I was overtaken by a Maori running at full speed, with a musket in each hand and a kitful of something heavy round his neck. At first I thought he was an enemy, and I prepared to meet him as such, but when we came face to face on the bank I found to my surprise that it was Tiki.

“That _Taepo_ is coming to take ‘the little maiden,’” he said fiercely. “Here, Wanaki--lead the way.” He handed me one of the muskets and motioned me to proceed. In a very short space of time we were standing inside the opening, and then Tiki disburdened himself of the kit which I found contained a goodly supply of cartridges.

While I was filling my coat pockets I heard footsteps coming down the rock from the ledge above, and soon afterwards Kahikatea strode forward into the light, with the sword of the early explorer between his teeth and Grey’s rifle in his hand.

“Are they coming?” he asked coolly.

“Yes, fifty or sixty of them,” I said. “Where is she?”

“Waiting on the ledge above. But I don’t know where Grey and his wife are. I don’t think they know anything about this.”

[image: img281.jpg caption: “THE SECOND MAORI THAT ENTERED WITH AXE UPRAISED HAD HIS HEAD CUT CLEAN OFF BY THE FIRST SWEEPING BACK STROKE.”]

I looked up through the darkness, and saw the vague, white form of Hinauri standing on the ledge above.

“We can do better up there,” I said; “we can see without being seen--come!”

“All right, you go first.”

Feeling it was foolish to waste time I complied, and made my way up the rock, thinking Kahikatea was close on my heels. But he made Tiki follow me with the kit of cartridges, and before he himself set his foot in the first niche there was a chorus of yells immediately without.

In the dim light I darted on to the rim of the basin just in time to see the first savage fall to Kahikatea’s rifle. Then, as they crowded in with wild yells that echoed strangely in the great cavern, I saw my giant friend, who now stood before the opening, throw his rifle aside and set to work with the sword. The second Maori that entered with axe upraised had his head cut clean off by the first sweeping back stroke: it rolled on the ground at Kahikatea’s feet. The third was run through the body, and the fourth I picked off to give Kahikatea a chance to settle down to it. Then it grew grim as death, for they crowded in two and three at a time; but Tiki had now got to work also, and, between the three of us, we kept them at bay until there was a ghastly pile before Kahikatea. But they crowded in, urged on from behind, and Kahikatea was beginning to let out with his left hand, in addition to doing fiercely with his right. It was getting serious now, for I foresaw that if anyone got past him into the shadows he would be struck down from behind. I shouted as much to him, and he answered as his sword swished through the air: “All right! as soon as one gets past I’ll come up.”

In less than half a minute, at a moment when Tiki and I both killed the same man, two of them did get past, and Kahikatea, true to his word, drew back and ascended the rock. I had reserved my revolver for this, and until he was out of their reach, four out of six Maoris failed to follow him. Then they flocked in over the fallen bodies, and I began to fear that if once they found the way up the wall and gained a footing, we should have to beat a retreat. Even now I heard them climbing the rock, but Kahikatea was on the ledge with his sword, and the foremost fell with a thud on to the floor below. Tiki and I still directed our attention to the opening, as those already inside were mostly in the darkness. Presently I heard sounds as of men climbing on their fellows’ backs to mount the wall near me, and realised that very soon it would be a hand to hand fight in the dark on narrow and slippery places.

While destroying several of these formations by mere guess work, I was suddenly startled by a light on the other side of the lake. I turned my head and saw Hinauri walking round the margin bearing a torch in each hand. From time to time I glanced at her and wondered greatly what she was about to do. Presently I saw her leave one torch on the ledge below and hurriedly ascend the rocks of the buttress, beyond the abyss, which led up to the point high on the cavern wall where the tapering spar reached towards the overhanging crags. She had now nearly gained the narrow standing place from which I had seen Ngaraki leap out to catch the sprit of the spar. Surely she was not going to take that awful leap! In a flash I saw her purpose and cursed myself that I had not forestalled her. I stood on the rim of the basin, and with a hoarse cry called to her, but she did not heed. She had placed her remaining torch upright in a crevice of the rock, and now stood erect in the narrow niche high up on the cavern wall--a frail, white figure outlined against the darkness by the light of the torch. I held my breath, rooted to the spot. There came the quick panting of the Maoris below as they struggled to gain the level on which we stood; there came the steady swish of Kahikatea’s sword, and I felt that I should be doing my part in that grim defence; there came, too, a cry of “Ngha!” outside the opening, and I knew that Ngaraki the Terrible was splitting skulls outside. But all these things seemed like the points of an instantaneous dream, the one reality being that the woman I loved was about to take that daring leap above the abyss.

While I watched she crouched for the spring, and my heart stood still. I recalled the prophecy engraven on the golden circlet, and a choking horror entered my soul as she sprang out above the abysmal gulf. My head grew dizzy and my sight blurred. For the moment I reeled and clutched at the air, but steadied myself and looked again. The long spar, a dark heavy mass, was moving slowly downwards through space. The rock beneath my feet trembled as, with a mighty roar, the sluice gates were opened, and the water, now released by the action of the lever, gushed through the opening in the basin below. At that moment, and while the dim daylight from the opening served, I glanced round me at a sharp cry of “Wanaki!” and saw the last of my faithful Tiki. A Maori had just gained the ledge. His club was descending on my head when Tiki, who must have sprung through the air to do it, jerked him back by the neck. The club whizzed down past my face, and both of them, friend and foe, fell back into the sweeping torrent as the daylight from the opening was flooded out. Tiki the Maori had given his life for me, but his end was peace, with his hand on his enemy’s throat.

There was wild confusion in the darkness then. From the savages came gurgling cries of dismay as they were carried away by the sudden flood. But the swift happenings of that moment, when the rushing water gave us the victory, came to me through the back of my head, for my eyes were again fixed on the moving spar, whose track through space was lighted by the two torches, one above and the other below. The white form clinging to the end of the sprit swept down out of the intervening gloom into the light of the torch left burning on the margin of the abyss. Quick feet found the level rock, and Hinauri sprang aside. The great round stone rolled into its groove above the basin’s rim with more than its wonted impetus, for the end of the spar in its unchecked downward career ground violently against the rock where Hinauri stood. Sparks flew from that end as the round stone, looming near me against the light, rose on the outer lip of the groove and remained in momentary balance. But the long arm of the lever snapped at its thinnest part. The stone hesitated no longer. It rolled from its poise and overbalanced. Then those three colossal fragments--the two parts of the broken spar and the great round stone--fell down, down into the darkness, while the white figure beyond the abyss bent over the brink and listened. A dull, crashing sound of thunder came up from the depths and reverberated through the whole gloomy place, echoing from the stupendous crags overhead and rolling away into the vast reaches of the cavern. The false image of the woman, with the heavy stone which oppressed it, had at last been hurled down, and now lay among the ruins of old-world things on the granite floor of the earth.