The daughter of the dawn

by William Reginald Hodder

“Ngha! the lizard looks in vain into Ngaraki’s eyes,” it said fiercely.

At the sound, I knew that the terrible chief, having, in consideration of the indignity heaped upon him, accepted utu^[26] from Tu, the war-god; and, having, moreover, left a full receipt and acknowledgment thereof on the cracked and battered heads of his foes outside, had now just come in by the ‘way of the fish.’ I heard him shake the water from his hair and climb on to the ledge. The drops dripped, pattering on the rock as he stood up, and then his quick footfalls passed away round the margin of the lake. Presently I saw a faint glow in the recess, and in another minute he came out holding a blazing torch above his head, and stood looking across the lake towards the abyss. But the light of the torch did not carry far enough, and he passed with rapid strides round the further side.

When he reached the ledge by the partition between the lake and the abyss, and held his flaring torch out and gazed forward at the empty air where the spar had been, a wild yell of triumph came from his great chest, ringing like a clarion through the spaces of the cavern above and below. Hinauri had hurled the long spar and the rolling stone down upon the heads of his granite enemies of old time in the pit. His meré, still in his hand, was whirled again and again round his head. Then his furious outburst was checked and, with a sudden fierce pant of the breath like an escaping throb of energy at bursting pressure, he stood still. He would take it more methodically. A high triumph over the broken heads of the Vile Tohungas of the Pit was now for him, and he would hold that triumph in due form. This was in his manner as the meré shook fiercely in his grasp, and he turned and strode, with head held high, along the path that led down into the abyss.

I knelt on the rock and watched him go, while my heart went out to him across the gulf. More than ever, the heroic bearing, the grand, fierce spirit, the noble and graceful dignity of this savage had my admiration. I would go and witness his triumph and hear the words he would speak to the Vile Tohungas.

Carefully I made my way round the lake, lighted another torch in the recess, and proceeded after Ngaraki; but when I came to the ledge where he had stood I began to wonder if the wizard negro on the other side of the abyss was suffering all the torture I had suggested. I stopped and pondered my doubt awhile. At last I determined to speak to him across the darkness, for the light of the torch fell short, and I could not see him standing there on the basin’s rim.

“Servant of the Brotherhood of Huo,” I called, “listen! my voice is the only thing. You cannot move from where you stand nor can you fall forward into the darkness, but your tongue is loosened for me to hear what you suffer and——”

But I proceeded no further, for as the words left my lips there came out of the darkness on the further side a sudden harsh roar, rising to a shriek, that seemed to strike and grate against the rocks of the gloomy place, wringing harsh echoes of an indescribable agony from their time-worn sides, and calling hollow murmurs of woe out of the abysmal abode of the Vile Tohungas. Weirder and more terrible came the cries of the tortured wizard, mingled with articulate gnashing of words that sounded like curses in a barbarous tongue. From the echoes of his cries the whole place seemed filled with the shrieking and moaning and dismal wailing of the vile ones of far time come back to be torn by fiends in the darkness. Had every granite facet of every crag on the walls and roof of that terrible place been a rack on which was stretched a living, shrieking victim, the effect could not have been more awful. My God! What had I done! Who was I to judge this man? The voice of mercy rose up in my soul, and I thought to retrace my steps in the hope of undoing this horrible curse, but before I could turn to carry out my purpose a strange thing happened. A chill blast of air came from across the abyss and struck my face. A thrill shot down my spine. My flesh crept and my hair rose. Then, far within my brain—it seemed to come from an immeasurable distance—a voice spoke, “Let him alone! it is our will, the will of the One above us. Who are you to show mercy when we, the Lords of Compassion, have set our seal to this man’s doom?”

I passed my hand across my forehead: it was cold and wet. Awed and full of tremblings, I turned and walked swiftly towards the giants’ window, hurrying away from those awful sounds which were still ringing in my ears like the imagined cries of hell. In the twilight that pushed the thick darkness back from the huge grating, I partly recovered myself and stood for a moment on the sill, looking out. I wanted a breath of air—some tonic sign of human life from the outside world, and chance gave it me in a small sweetened draught, for which I was thankful.

It came in this way. While I was looking out into the blue sky and listening to the faint music of the wind across the great stone bars, I heard a murmur of voices without, speaking in low tones. I set down my torch and stepped outside to listen. The sounds came from behind the rock on my left. It was the sweet, plaintive, happy-sad voice of a woman that spoke:

“And through all these long years you have forgotten me. I have had no existence to you, no part in your life, no place in your heart. I know the reason of it only too well, dear—Te Makawawa offered me the same forgetfulness, but I would not.” The owner of this voice evidently knew nothing of the terrible things which had just taken place in the interior of the cavern.