Traveller Probo
20. New Zealand

Swirls of colour bulged around his throbbing head. He felt as if he was at sea on one of the fishing canoes, braving the chill, heaving muscle of the green ocean swell. As an experienced sailor, he usual had superb balance. But not today. Something was unidentifiably peculiar, so his confusion grew. The faint surge and pulse of the strange ocean swept and carried him, to anger him further.

Since a child he had been taught to channel his anger, to use his emotion to blast through bodily sensations of cold, pain, hunger, and weariness. His father had ruthlessly instructed him in that way, the way of the warrior.

The surge hit him again and, off-balance, he concentrated on his breathing to focus his anger and his power; his mana.

His eyes opened.

He stared, motionless, at a strange world.

Everything about him was drained of colour. It was too different for him to even comprehend. Dizziness hit again and he closed his eyes to focus his fury. As taught, he took deep, slow breaths. He needed his power to react as a warrior, for already there was the nibbling in his stomach of something he detested.

Fear!

His deep dread made him ashamed and furious. He was a man, a warrior. He should never experience fear.

Without moving, he continued to breathe deeply and slowly as he prepared himself. His mind threatened to run away from him, to imagine childish dreams and have him act like a frightened infant.

Ahhhh he breathed out slowly. The thump and surge of his blood rushed in his ears, bringing strength to his uselessly limp arms and legs. He needed to stand and shake off his frailty but his instinct told him to remain motionless.

As his head cleared, he struggled to recall how he had come to be here. He had attacked the patupaiarehe and then..? There were vague recollections, fragments of impossible dreams. The patupaiarehe had fought against him. Then what?

He took another slow, deep breath and then gently held his breath for a moment to listen. He sensed movement. Movement meant life.

And life meant it could be taken.

Ruhi resumed his slow breathing and opened his eyes to stare a moment, then closed them again. It must be the magical patupaiarehe world. He must have followed the patupaiarehe from his own green and grey world to … here.

His arms gently tensed as he detected a light movement and a sweet, pleasant smell. He lay motionless and forced his breathing to continue. From what he could discern, there was a person close to him and by the sounds of her light humming, it was a young girl.

He felt her approach and, at her feather light touch on his arm, it was too much.

Ruhi exploded into action and seized the patupaiarehe woman by her throat. As she stared in silent horror, he observed that everything about the patupaiarehe was strange; this place, her pale hair, and even her skin, though her face quickly purpled as his fingers and thumb savagely tore into her throat. She silently strangled, wide eyed and open-mouthed. Her weak hands clawed feebly and it only took a moment before her fish-pale eyes rolled into the top of her head and she shit herself noisily, shuddered, and died.

So fast! He stared at her in fascination. She was soft, like an infant, and she was as pale as a ghost, yet the blood on his thumb and fingers felt real. He carefully lowered her to the grey floor and lowered himself into a crouch to prepare himself.

He briskly shook his head to clear another dizzy wave of confusion and then looked again at the strange women as he sniffed and then tasted the blood on his fingers. Like the creatures in tales told by the old crones, this woman was white; her skin, her hair and her eerily pale eyes and the strange material that clung to her arms and legs. Ruhi roused himself and urgently searched for a weapon but there was none. There was a thorn in his arm that he tore out. Connected to the thorn was a line which led to a fish-scale pole with a curly, fern-like top. When he grasped it, he found it was cool, like water but hard. The IV pole easily came free of the stand where it rested. He held it carefully in two hands and hefted it, seeking balance and familiarity.

It may not be the best weapon but it was a weapon.

Suddenly, part of the wall moved and a tall, skinny male patupaiarehe entered. He saw Ruhi and gave an open-mouthed start of astonishment. Before the man could make any noise, Ruhi thrust his weapon in a powerful two-handed stab and was gratified to see the weapon punch neatly into the man’s chest. His target cried out and collapsed into a limp pile and Ruhi looked past him to a large cavern where other patupaiarehe rested.

Now! He had to move fast!

With a savage war-cry he leapt over the skinny patupaiarehe to rush to a second who sat nearby. Ruhi swung his weapon but the patupaiarehe raised his arm in defence. This one was a warrior but his arm broke with a wet snap as Ruhi’s weapon struck a second time. The warrior did not turn away and managed to extract his own club, a long black mere which he swung in return. But he had been surprised, had been caught off balance and was too slow, so was too poor a warrior for Ruhi. The clumsy counterattack was blocked and the patupaiarehe fell to a sharp blow to the side of his neck.

Ruhi turned to see a blue woman cry out in fear and flee, pushing part of the wall free. Ruhi sprinted after her.

There was another cavern and a terrific noise of running and screams of panic as weak patupaiarehe stupidly gawped, their lips pouted like landed fish. To Ruhi’s astonished gaze they scattered, crying pitifully, so he grasped his weapon in two hands and held it above his head with a bellow of delight. He knew he would kill many of the repulsive patupaiarehe this day.

He lunged at an unbelievably fat man who fell with a cry as the weapon punched neatly into his monstrous chest, while a nearby child fell to a sweeping blow to the back of her head. Never in all of his dreams could Ruhi have imagined such a battle, where the patupaiarehe enemy would be so delightfully soft and plentiful.

Eyes wide in delight he again raised his weapon and screamed out his joy and fury.

Yes, many would die at his hands this day!

Soft, womanly patupaiarehe ran and screamed while he laughed roughly. An old woman stared stupidly as he grasped her by the hair and bashed her into the wall. Her face caved in and she fell with barely a sound, just a wet thump as her blood spattered. Ruhi nodded in satisfaction. He had once heard how a warrior killed a woman by pulling her head off, and in their fireside warrior-talk some imagined that one could kill by thrusting thumbs deeply into the victim’s eyes, or by biting out a throat. These patupaiarehe offered no resistance and waited to be killed by a warrior, so pitifully feeble were they. Ruhi bellowed joyfully. He must have passed on to the life after life, for this must be his warrior’s fate. He would now kill patupaiarehe in every way he could imagine. His strong arms bulged in eager anticipation.

He lunged at a small man to run his weapon through his eye so deeply that Ruhi felt it contact with the back of the skull. He pulled the weapon free, just as he heard an angry shout where another warrior ran at him and stopped only paces away. Like the others, he was pale and soft, wide-eyed and terrified. Ruhi laughed, delighted. These creatures were as strong as babies and could never stand up to a real warrior. All fled before him and, with eyes bulging, he grasped his weapon. He took, one step, two steps toward the warrior who just stood there, shouting something he could not even care to know.

The joy, the power, the anticipation of blood filled Ruhi as he coiled to impale this puny patupaiarehe. He would spear him through the gut, so he could scream in agony as Ruhi toyed with him.

Ruhi had barely gathered his legs beneath him to launch his attack when he was struck by the teeth of the mighty taniwha, the terrifying creature from darkest forest depths. He convulsed, then limply collapsed as his muscles ceased to work. He thrashed on the ground, his teeth gritted as he grunted and snorted. Two tiny sparking lines from the second warrior were impaled into Ruhi’s chest and he was unable to do anything but wet himself. His feeble cries of rage continued as patupaiarehe men roughly rolled him onto his face and the cutting bonds were again placed around his wrists.

He gained enough control to weakly thrash and scream in fury while the patupaiarehe yelled with their child-like voices. A knee was harshly shoved into his back and a quick prick felt in his neck.

Then … nothing.

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