Teā woke to the sound of crying

Teā woke to the sound of crying. For a moment, he thought it was his own—until the wailing climbed higher, quickening, terrified. A baby crying for its mother. The thought clung to him. Another scream rose and fell, and part of him wanted to answer it, to call for Selai as the baby called for its mother. Tears sprang to his eyes. All he had to do was tug the cord that binds all things, find within the weave the thread that runs to his kin, uniquely colored, distinct to family. That was what his mother taught when she spoke of the weave of the world: how he might reach Wātea, his father in the heavens, and now Selai herself, surely searching for him. At first, he had wailed too. When I arrived in this pit, he remembered, I tried to call for her, but it’s not enough. I understand now. I am not the baby. I should not cry for my mother. I should reach through the weave.

He rose before the baby’s fear could enter him, shaking out his hands and legs as if readying for haka. Then he prayed, whispering, “Please Wātea, god of the heavens, listen to your son, Teā. Feel the pull of my thread. Lead me out from the darkness in this cave.“

The cave gave nothing back. Only his own thin breath and the drip of water in the dark. Beyond the dripstone bars, the baby’s crying thinned to hiccups, then quiet.

“My father! Show me the way to escape this pit of death, or come down from the heavens yourself and destroy these monsters.”

Still, the baby remained quiet, lulled perhaps by his prayers and nothing else. The cell was a palisade of dripstone—dripstone bars grown from floor and roof—and distance gave no warm chest, no hand.

“And please protect the baby here as well. Comfort its spirit with your warmth.”

Soon, without real touch, the calm unraveled; the little mouth trembled, and the wail climbed again.

“Shhhh!” a voice hushed from the darkness.

For the moment, the baby ceased its sorrowing cries to listen. Teā listened too, searching in the gloom beyond his cage for the silencer. The floor was slick where old blood had gone black in the damp. Soon, a soft lantern glow pierced the dark as the girl—that thing—entered the chamber, making her way towards him. In the light of her lamp, he could finally see the baby now, not even old enough to crawl, laying on a filthy mat, naked and helpless. From the deeper tunnels came wet air, sweet with rot and smoke. While the cave he was caged in, smelled of smoked meat.

“Shhhh!” She hissed again at the baby while passing, continuing towards him. In her other hand, she held on the palm a banana leaf filled with food.

Teā stepped back thinking, those teeth are sharp, and so are her claws. Stopping at the cage, the girl tied off the lamp to a post, then passed her arm between the stakes and offered him the plate of food.

“Come. Eat. I know you’re hungry, pale boy.”

His stomach gurgled, answering for him. Teā reached for the plate greedily, but as soon as his fingers touched the leaf she let it drop and, in the same breath, snatched his wrist, hauling him toward her. Nails, pointed like sea-urchin spines, pierced his flesh. “Ahhhh!” Teā cried, pain tearing along his wrist. She jerked him down to the floor and whispered, “Let me feed you.” He crouched awkwardly, face level with hers, separated by the dripstone bars of the cage. “Sit, eat. There is meat as well as papaya, kumara, and banana.” Teā grimaced. “Yes.” She smiled at him, all crooked, the worst of her deformity hidden behind thick red hair. “Put the food back on the leaf.” He gathered the meat; slick pieces skittered across the leaf. Teā, left in the dark for so long now, could see her heat in the air and feel her eyes on him. He looked up at her—blue eyes like his, except hers shined in the gloom somehow. “Hand me the leaf, and I will feed you.”

Teā considered a protest; but if I reject her, she will only tighten her grip, and I can’t let her weaken me any further. He handed the parcel back to her and starting with the banana and kumara she began to feed him by hand as if he were a baby. The fruit had a smoky flavour, familiar and delicious, cooked in the earth oven.

“Do you like it?” She asked, softer, “I cooked it just for you.”

Teā almost thanked her before remembering what she did to him, his pride keeping his mouth chewing, shut tightly.

“What’s your name pale one?”

He resisted a reply again, this time pointing at the food and then his mouth. Feed me and get this over with you nasty goblin.

“AH! You like me, don’t you? Here, try the meat this time.” She pushed a piece of pink fatty meat into his mouth.

Teā bit into it before sensing the flavour and spitting it out. “I don’t want it. I want to go home. I am -”

“Pale boy, my boy, shhh! It is fresh and cooked in the umu.”

Again Teā spat out the attempted feeding. Her smile faded along with any gentleness. She placed the leaf plate to the floor—jerked him towards her—and then raked the side of his stomach with the claws of her free hand. Teā screamed in agony, and while his mouth was wide open, she stuffed it with more flesh.

“You shut up and eat, or I’ll get my father, and he will crush your skull in like you were just a karuwai. You’re only alive because of me. Now eat!”

Teā shivered and began to chew but gagged, vomiting everything back up into his lap. The goblin girl looked confused. She tried a piece of the meat, chewing quickly before swallowing. “This is delicious. Soft and sweet. From the young ones.” In the lantern glow the baby stirred, a small breath hitching; Teā gagged at the taste of flesh and smoke on his tongue.

Frowning, she placed a piece of papaya into his mouth. Teā chewed and swallowed, then pleaded, “Just the fruit and kumara. My stomach is too weak for any meat.”

She stared at him a long time, the feeding forgotten, her eyes searching not only his face but the whole of him. “I’ve never seen a boy like you so pale. Were you born in a cave too?”

A rage pulsed through his veins and he spat, “Of course I wasn’t born in a cave! I am born from the gods, up there! That is why my skin is white. And I am not supposed to eat human flesh! It is tapu for me so you will have to answer before the gods for this!”

She stared back at him, eyes dancing in the light of the lantern. “I’ve never heard it said eating of children is tapu before.”

“You live in a nasty cave goblin! You have to hide here because if anyone saw your rotten head, they’d try and cut it off so not to look at it!”

Her face pulled away as if slapped. “My god is Takali Foto who lives in the volcano and the caves, and he says it’s good to eat the flesh of your enemies. He says my ancestors were gods as well, so we can’t be that different, you and I.”

She released her grip on his wrist before reaching for his hair, pulling his face between stakes of the cage. “Argh,” Teā groaned.

“I piss on you, child of the gods.”

Turning, she squatted over him and urinated into his face. A rage began to boil inside at the insult she was doing, trying to mark him. To deform him like her. Teā tried to avoid the steaming hot piss-stream from hitting his face and mouth. For the head was the place most tapu for all peoples, including this wretched goblin—she knew the extent of her offence. But the stream sprayed down his chin, neck, and chest, and he sensed it would stain him forever like a terrible battle wound visible to all—no mark of victory, only shame.

Shame at being caught first, and then at being so helpless, like that baby. And soon the shame took hold and he broke into deep sorrowful wails. He blinked tears and piss from his eyes and tried to swallow the sob in his throat. “Mother please,” he said—only a breath—and somewhere far off the thread trembled.