The daughter of the dawn

by William Reginald Hodder

He went down into the shadows of the gulf, and soon returned with a long jade-tipped spear in his hand. With this he made two rough places in the granite in which to place his heels for a better purchase. Then, setting his back against the stone, he put forth the strength of a giant, but the stone did not move. He sprang up with a shout, snatched up his spear, and paced swiftly to and fro, chanting a karakia, naming the Samsons of his race, and telling of their mighty exploits.

Again he returned to the task and bent himself against the stone. By the light of the flaring torches I saw his face distinctly, the veins standing out upon his forehead, his nostrils distended. For a full minute he put forth his utmost strength, adding the power of will to that of sinew. The great stone began to move. It rolled slightly and stopped. Ngaraki straightened himself again, panting, and paced the floor to chant for the strength of a thousand men.

But the strength of a thousand is nothing compared to the power of one who knows the way. It might have been this idea that struck him, for he dropped his pacing and walked round the huge mass taking thought. There was a space of six or seven yards between the stone and the brink of the gulf, and this space, like all the rest, was strewn with the dust and grit of ages. Eagerly he set to work, and, with one tool and another, he scraped and polished the granite floor. At last the way was fairly smooth, and he seemed satisfied, but, instead of placing his back to the stone as before, he went off to search for something he had seen among the débris of the spar. It was the sprit that had snapped on the rocky ledge far above, and was now lying on the top of the ruins. It was still long enough for Ngaraki’s purpose. His ideas were enlarged. The sprit and the spar, with which he had controlled the round stone in its movements above the abyss, were still to his hand for a lever. And, to his mind—and mine—it was a fit and mystic thing that such symbols of his conquest and adaptation of the giants’ handiwork should now be used to roll the stone—their image of the ancient world—upon the already parboiled head of their mighty one.

So with a fragment of spar for fulcrum, he used the remains of the sprit as a lever against the stone, toiling at it steadfastly, until at last the great round mass rolled over the brink and disappeared for ever in the awful depths. Standing on the brink, the Maori hurled the fragment of the spar after it, and the sprit also; then, not satisfied with that, he took his spear and meré and sent them hurtling down with a cry of farewell—almost of lament—to each.

It was over, and he turned to take his torch. As his hand closed over it he gave a sudden start. There, on a ledge of the pedestal of the Twelfth Tohunga, something was looking at him. By the horror-struck face of the chief I guessed it was something of a terrible nature that he saw there. Then, by an exclamation of his, I knew that it was one of the little green lizards that run upon the rocks. The chief and the lizard remained motionless, face to face, and their eyes met. That was a death summons according to the Maori lore—a call to Reinga distinct and clear. I knew how it filled him with serious thoughts, which the excitement of triumph had banished from his mind, how Hinauri’s words recurred to him, and, finally, how a nameless foreboding took possession of him as he recalled his own part in the fight—a foreboding lest the vague alternative mentioned by the Bright One should have been realised, and he should be doomed to look for her in vain. Alas! he had not stayed the violence. He had left war and knife behind him at her feet, and had snatched them up again in the pa. With one gesture of despair the whole tide of his thought and feeling turned from his late triumph to the person of his goddess. He would go and search for her. It was at that moment the shrieking of the wizard suddenly died away. His hour of punishment was over. Ngaraki’s had just begun.

Driven by a vague fear, the fierce ariki hastened up out of the abyss, and I, going before, remained in the shadow of one of the crags, where the path turned back upon itself, until he had passed me. On, past the giants’ window, along the level path, and by the place where the spar had stood, he went with long strides, his movements quickening with a growing anxiety. When he came to the lake he mounted the stone near the rim, flung his torch away behind him, and plunged into the depths. I reached the spot and took up the torch and waited. Again the lake heaved and twisted with the movement of great things below, and again the black head of the stone under water rose above the surface. Then the hollow thunder reverberated above, and the cascade came roaring down from the darkness overhead. He had gone by the ‘way of the winged fish,’ and I would follow by the rope.

I found it without trouble, and unhitched it from the rock, but the tube which I still held in my hand was a difficulty in the way of climbing. What should I do with it? From that my thoughts wandered to the wizard; what should I do with him? I passed round the lake to see if he was still there, thinking as I went that it would simplify matters if he had fallen forward over the brink. But when I gained the basin’s rim he was still standing as I had left him.

I stopped. It was enough. He might be dead, he might be living—I would leave it at that. If dead, his wickedness was over; if living, it was not safe to free him from the poisonous spell which held his will in an iron grip. Besides, after my eerie experience of the voice in my brain, I was disinclined to have anything more to do with him. When the poison had lost its power, no doubt he could fall forward into the abyss and add one item to the lumber of ages on the granite floor below.

With these thoughts I left him and hurried after Ngaraki. When I had succeeded in throwing my torch up on to the vantage ground above, I climbed the rope, and then drew it up after me, for where that wizard thing was concerned I was certain of nothing. I was anxious to overtake Ngaraki, and ran on and on through the lofty tunnels, until at length I came to the Place-of-Many-Chambers.

Just as I was passing through into the tunnel beyond, I stopped, for I saw, through the opening of one of the side chambers, two figures standing together. They were Kahikatea and Hinauri. Her hands were clasped in his, and she was looking up at him, while he, with drooped head, was speaking to her. They were both oblivious of all else but each other. Even my flickering torchlight did not rouse them.