“Listen, O Rangatira! Some men of Ngatimamoe once lost their way and crossed the high level land beneath those peaks, when they came to a great wall of rock, out of which a stream ran forth into a deep pool. Here they stood and watched the bubbles coming up, when they saw something rising out of the depths. It came to the surface and spouted the water from its mouth. Then they fled, for they knew that only taniwha rise out of the depths in that way. It was the evil spirit of the mountain, and they who had seen it were doomed.”
“What happened to them?” I asked.
“They all died before another moon had passed,” he replied triumphantly.
“And are you afraid because of a silly story like that?” I said, well knowing the superstitious dread the Maori has of the demon taniwha, even if it only comes in the shape of a small green lizard. But he was not to be shaken in his belief.
“Ah,” he replied gravely. “I have heard that the Pakeha is afraid of nothing, because he believes in nothing. But the Maori knows these things are true: the whole place is bewitched with devils, Pakeha; do not go near it.”
Kahikatea, who had been sitting on a log cutting tobacco with his bush knife, now restored the weapon to its sheath on his hip, and remarked, as he charged his pipe: “The fact of this tremendous tapu being laid on the whole place shows very clearly that there is a secret to be kept by those mountains—a secret known only to the tohungas who imposed the tapu. And these wild tales I imagine to be a piece of priestcraft to add additional protection to the secret.”
Then, rising and standing over the Maori, he went on in his forcible way: “Look here, Tiki! We’re going, and you’ll have to come with us. Te Makawawa, the ariki, has been many a time to this Great Tapu to appease the taniwha; remember that. And his words to you were, ‘Do not leave the Pakeha Wanaki until the child is found.’ Now, if you run away in the night while we sleep, I shall tell Te Makawawa, and he will turn the whole brood of taniwha loose on you, and they will tear you to pieces, so that the name of Tiki will be forgotten in the land.”
This idea was too much for the Maori, and he gave in.
“O Kahikatea,” he said, “I will go with you, but remember my word: he who goes into the Great Tapu returns not—all that returns is a cry from the dark.”
So the matter ended, and, after a substantial breakfast, we started, heading towards the east, where the peaks of the great mountain chain showed against the sky. But it was like dragging a load of stones, getting Tiki along against that heavy tapu. Whenever he could get me alone he improved the opportunity by telling me some of his terrible tales of taniwha, in the hope of getting me to prevail upon Kahikatea to turn back from the haunted mountain. But, interesting as his tales were, he only succeeded in making his own hair stand on end, for though I may be a lover of Maori lore, I cannot lay claim to an overwhelming fear of the taniwha.