in a while. I look up at the darkening sky. “Oh crap,” I say, “Miri told me to cook dinner.”
“And I was supposed to patch the roof,” he mutters. We look at each other and then race back to the house.
The light on the front step tells us we’re too late. “Remember what I taught you,” Paika whispers to me. “I might not live to teach you anything else.” Steeling ourselves, we enter the door.
The smell of cooking food greets our noses. We exchange glances and peek inside the kitchen. Miri has just served up battered cod, potatoes, and fresh fruit, and she’s waiting for us with arms folded.
“I see the roof isn’t patched,” she says.
“Yeah, the time got away from us, Mir,” Paika replies sheepishly. “But I’ll do it first thing in the morning. You have my word.”
Miri snorts and looks at me. “A big help you were.”
“Sorry,” I say, avoiding her gaze.
“You’re a hopeless lot,” Miri scolds. “I’ll let you eat, but you owe me a long list of chores tomorrow, do you hear?”
We nod quickly.
“Sit down. It’s getting cold.”
We do as she says.
“Beautiful meal, love,” Paika says, taking a mouthful of broccoli.
Miri ignores him and turns to me. “You’ll have to work on your war face,” she says. “You wouldn’t scare a kitten.”
“You saw us?” I ask, looking up from my potatoes.
“I saw something, all right. You’re teaching her all wrong, Paika. You’re treating her like she’s a boy.”
“It’s all the same,” he says.
“No, it’s not. Girls are just as strong, but they reach their strength in different ways. She needs to start with the inside.”
“What do you suggest?” he asks.
“ Waiata .”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Singing,” she says.
“I don’t sing.”
“That doesn’t matter. It’s about the words, what they do for you.”
“A woman’s voice is a powerful thing,” Paika adds, “because only her energy can unlock the pulse of life. Miri might be onto something.”
“What should I sing?” I ask.
“I’ll teach you something tomorrow.”
“Not until the chores are done,” Miri says.
“’Course,” Paika agrees quickly.
After dinner, Miri goes to bed, but Paika makes the two of us a cup of Milo, a warmed chocolate and malt drink, and sits with me in the kitchen.
“When you got to New Zealand, did you bring me straight here?” I ask, trying a sip. It’s good. Almost like hot chocolate, but not as sweet.
“Not quite,” Paika says. “We went to the council first, up north. They decided that you should come stay with your nana until a general meeting could be called . ”
“What will happen then?”
“The tribe will vote on whether, you know … ” His voice trails off.
“They should kill me or not?”
Paika scratches his head. “More or less.”
I stare at my Milo. Not as sweet as hot chocolate , I think madly.
“Don’t fret, love,” Paika says. “I’ll speak for you again.”
I blink rapidly. “Is that what Miri meant when she said you saved my life?”
It’s his turn to stare at his Milo. “Maybe. I did vouch for you, which is why they didn’t kill you straight off. But she might have meant when I found you. You were a bloody mess, and I had to keep you under so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. Every time you woke up you tried to rip off your bandages or attack the person carrying you.”
“Carrying me? Someone carried me all the way here?”
“Mostly me, but a few of my mates helped out. I just strapped you to my back. It was no problem.”
I don’t know how to take this information. I try to picture myself unconscious and tied to Paika’s broad, tattooed back, but I can’t. “Why did you speak up for me?”
He shrugs. “I spent all that time getting you better. Didn’t want my hard work to go to waste.” He raises his mug to his mouth.
“How long did the trip take?” I ask.
He swallows. “A month or so, probably. We had to be careful, you know, getting out of
Ian Alexander, Joshua Graham