“THE CRY OF THE TANIWHA”

(excerpt)

“A TANIWHA TALES SAGA”

BY HEREMAIA RATIMA

I

The Middle Child…

Today, Hemehia Hai-heta was very grumpy – and she made sure everyone in the village knew it.

And it was not the lucid dreams that kept her awake most nights – a phenomena she endured since she was a child.

No – the feisty young girl was agitated that her father declined her request to join the hunt for a rogue Taniwha seen roaming the area.

Her two brothers – one older and one younger – were somehow essential in joining their father – and this was the cause of her miserable mood.

Hemehia was of warrior age – having witnessed seventeen springs since her birth. She was determined and radiant, with her knotted black hair hanging loose, wide cheeks and soft brown skin, and fine features that drew heavily from her mother’s family-line. She was also sinewy and strong like her father, and very capable with a weapon – especially the taiaha, but her father regarded her as stubborn and reckless, and prone to bouts of uncontrollable anger – a rather fickle opinion in her mind.

In truth though, she could defend herself well and was a much-better fighter than her younger brother, Raka-taua. She could even hold her own against her older brother, Tiki, though his tall stature often dominated, yet even he respected her and never took her skill and determination as mere whimsy.

But her father, Hai-ringaringapai, was overly protective, and completely reliant on his only daughter.

His wife died giving birth to Raka-taua, and when Hemehia was old enough, Hai relied on Hemehia to be the main pou of their whānau – the post that kept their house from falling in when they had to attend local skirmishes or lengthy hunting trips.

In other words, Hai needed her to remain behind, and this upset Hemehia immensely.

Though supporting the whānau was honourable, Hemehia knew she was a much-better warrior than most of the men in the village, but she had no way to prove herself to her pāpā.

When her father and brothers departed on such occasions, she would disappear to the nearby grove and spend much of her time training with the poi – a small ball made of raupō leaves, suspended on long piece of twine – which was twirled to keep wrists supple, and then she trained hard with a variety of weapons and fighting styles. She would spar with anyone left behind, but that soon became tedious because all the best fighters were away on the mission’s she longed to join.

But this latest snub was unforgiveable – a chance to hunt a Taniwha.

These fearsome beasts were rare, being scattered and divided and forced to eke out a lonely existence along the brutally cold and barren coastlines. So, when rumours reached the village that one such creature was seen roaming the nearby ranges, and that a war party with the combined strength of two villages was being formed to hunt it down, Hemehia was desperate to participate.

‘Pāpā!’ she wailed. ‘You cannot leave me here again – I am ready to fight.’

Hai remained silent whilst packing his kete with seed and dried meat. He was tall and powerful, heavy set with darkened scars covering his frame. His greying thick hair was long and loose, and his right-eye socket closed – a painful reminder of war.

Hemehia refused to hold back. ‘Please don’t tell me to stay behind – not this time.’

Again, Hai did his best to keep calm, concentrating on his chores while replying, ‘It is the will of the Village Chief – and it is much too dangerous.’

‘And I suppose you agreed?

Hai stopped and gave his daughter his full attention, ‘Of course I don’t agree – but I never challenge our Chief in matters of conduct.’

Hemehia clasped her temples with one hand and rubbed furiously. ‘You know I won’t get in the way.’

‘We hunt a Taniwha, Hemehia – not some… Moa or eel.’

‘And that is why I need to go…’ she pleaded achingly. ‘Why I have to go.’