“How come it’s so green?” Skylark asked. Not that she really wanted to know.
“It’s Maori land,” Lucas answered. “When the forestry came here everybody sold up and made a profit. Only the Maoris held out. People say that Manu Valley is one of the few places in New Zealand where you can see virgin forest as it once was. It’s owned by Bella and Hoki now.” He paused, and then turned to Cora. “Listen,” Lucas said. “I can see you’re distressed. There’s no reason for you to wait around for Arnie to finish the repairs on your Jeep. By that time it will be too dark. He can deliver it to you tomorrow.”
“But what can I do to repay you?” Cora asked.
Skylark gave her mother a sarcastic glance. “Lucas will think of something,” she said.
Half an hour later, Cora, Skylark and Lucas reached the top of the valley, where a cattlestop announced that they had crossed over into private land. A no trespassing sign was posted at the gateway. Further on, two houses stood side by side, one an empty-looking bach, the other a large homestead blazing with light.
“Bella and Hoki must be waiting up for you,” Lucas said. “Let’s go and get the key to the bach.”
He bounded up the steps and banged on the door. Cora took a moment to primp at her hair and touch up her eyeliner. She tried to do the same thing to Skylark. “Oh no you don’t,” Skylark said. She pushed Cora away and, taking her cue from a Dracula movie, made the sign of the cross.
“Honey,” Cora sighed, “when are you ever going to start looking after your appearance?” She stepped down, straightened her dress and pulled Skylark up the steps to the front verandah. The door opened.
“Oh no,” Skylark groaned.
“Oh you bet your sweet life, yes,” said Bella.
She took a step towards them and glared at Cora and Skylark. Behind her was the smaller woman, propping herself up with two walking sticks.
“You could have killed us when we were crossing the road today. If it wasn’t for the fact that my sister and I have already taken your money for the bach, I’d tell you both to shove it and shove off.”
The other woman came forward. “Don’t take any notice of my sister,” she said. “She sometimes forgets about being hospitable to our visitors. My name’s Hoki, and you must forgive Bella for being so impolite. Bella is the elder. I am the younger.”
She turned to Skylark and smiled.
“Welcome, Skylark,” she said.
Chapter Two
Ahead, two snow-capped peaks jutted through morning clouds. The sun streaked the clouds with crimson. Approaching was a large wandering albatross, one of the largest flying birds in the world. All morning it had been catching one thermal after another to reach Manu Valley and the sacred mountains. The albatross had been assigned the reconnaissance because among all the seabirds its stiffly held wings, spanning 3.25 metres each, possessed great strength and power. Rarely did it need to flap them.
The albatross stabilised, looking for a gap in the clouds. It breathed smoothly through nostril tubes at the top of its long heavy bill. Those foolish skuas had botched the job and the human chick had escaped unharmed. Now it was up to the albatross to prepare for another attack. That morning, it had received from Kawanatanga, leader of all seabirds, its secret instructions:
Spy out the enemy territory and report back.
Seeing a gap in the clouds, the albatross dived. Immediately below was the valley. A waterfall was at the top, with a small river coursing from it.
Taking surveys left and right to ensure it had not been detected, the albatross silently slipped down into the valley. Its brief was not to be seen, not to alert the landbirds whose territory this was, or the two human hens who guarded the valley. The albatross was confident that by soaring out of the sun it would be invisible against the white clouds. All it needed was a few minutes to spy on the land below. Time enough to get in, do its job, and get out before the alarm was raised.
With a thrill of anticipation the albatross set about its survey. It registered the details of the valley: the forest, the two houses, the waterfall behind the two houses, the track to the cliff face where there was a tree, white boned, skeletal, like a hand with fingers clutching at the air.
Where was the chick?
The albatross spilled more air from its wings to make a faster descent. It caught movement. A small figure looking through glass doors.
Yes, the chick. In the smaller nest.
The albatross’s thoughts flooded with hunger. Its huge beak overflowed with saliva.
Vaaa. Vaaa.
Ecstatic, it caught a swift downflowing air stream and descended the left flank of the mountains back to the offshore islands.
Skylark woke with a start, her heart racing.
“Has Zac found us?”
She looked around her and realised, no, she had actually managed to get Mum away from him. In this valley, so remote that even the travel agent didn’t know where it was when she booked the trip, they were safe.
Skylark fell back on the pillows. But the sounds that had woken her persisted. She got out of bed, tiptoed past Cora’s room and looked through the sliding doors. The bells were all around her, and they were making a kind of music. Some were high, shimmering, glittering sounds. Others were lower, mellow, sonorous. The wind, coming down from the snow, was cold. But Skylark could see the dawn was approaching, the two peaks pink as if they were blushing. The forest still stretched dark and lustrous on all sides, spilling down to the sea.
She opened the sliding doors. Below her the forest began to peal with the most extraordinary music. Snatches of descant. Bits and pieces of an indefinable tune. Fragments of other melodies drifting in on the playful morning wind.
“Of course,” Skylark said. “The forest must be filled with thousands of birds.”
At that moment of recognition, the sun flooded the mountain peaks with crimson. From every part of Manu Valley came birdsong, outpourings of liquid trills and runs swelling with unrivalled wildness and passion.
Cheet-cheet. Zit-zit-zit. Riro-riro riro-riro. Tweep-tweep-tweep-too-too-too. Swee-swee-swee-chir-chir. Bell-bello-bello-bell-bello-bello. Tok-tok-tok. Kita-kita-kita.
As the sun rose higher the birdsong approached fortissimo. Roulade after roulade of full notes cascaded in the air as each forest bird species tried to outdo the other, louder and louder.
The light touched the tops of the forest. The song reached its peak, a deafening orchestral magnificence that made Skylark put her hands to her ears. A hymnal to Tane. A gloria to light.
Tui-tui-tui-tuituia. Alla-alla-lala-alla. Atua-tua-tua. Io-io-io. Amine.
As peacefully as it had begun, the birdsong ended. A few random twitterings and silvered coloratura arpeggios later, it was over.
“Did you like the karanga of the forest birds, Skylark?”
Skylark turned in the direction of the voice. The smaller of the two Maori women, the one on walking sticks, was sitting on the verandah of the big homestead. What was her name? Hoki.
“Come, Skylark,” Hoki said. “Let us enjoy the dawn together.”
Skylark hesitated. “Okay,” she said. She may as well try to get on with the natives.
She walked across the cold grass and up the stairs. Closer now, she could see that a hawk was perched on Hoki’s left arm. It was long-winged and long-tailed. Its overall plumage was brown, barred and striped with reddish brown. As Skylark approached it reared its head and prepared to fly off. Hoki calmed it down and kissed the top of its head.