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.