Page 74 of Fierce

“Yeh.” I felt a bit naff telling a woman a story in the back of my car, but then, I’d always done what was necessary, and this felt necessary. “I’ve got a short one you may like. About how ta moko—the Maori tattoo—came to be. It was on the face, the buttocks, the thighs in those days. And it wasn’t inked. It was chiseled. So why would somebody do that?”

I could feel the shudder that went through her at that thought. “Yours isn’t…chiseled, is it?” she asked faintly.

“Nah. That kind of pain? No.”

“Still. It must have hurt, getting all that.”

I shrugged. “Yeh, nah. But anyway. They say that in the old times, a Maori chief fell in love with the daughter of the king of the Underworld, and she fell in love with him as well. So they were married, and it was good at first, but then he got jealous. As men can do. But he was worse. One day, he lost control, and he hurt her. Beat her, in fact.”

Her hand jerked in mine. “So far, not such a good story.”

“Wait. You’ll like this next bit better. She left him, went back to the Underworld. Because Maori women are strong. They don’t wait to be rescued, and they don’t put up with being treated badly. Just like you.”

A faint smile at that. “And?”

“And he followed her. He wanted to change, and to prove to her that he could, so he could get her back. He saw her father carving a moko onto one of his warrior’s faces, and he asked that it be done to him as well. Went through it all—the carving, having the charcoal rubbed into the wounds for the pigment. For days, weeks, because they didn’t do it all at once, or the shock and pain could kill even the strongest warrior. And as the king carved his skin, the chief sang about his love for his wife and his regret for what he’d done, and his promise that he would change. And because he was willing to endure so much pain to atone for hurting her, she believed him. She returned to the upper world with him, and they were happy, and he never hurt her again. At least,” I finished, “that’s the legend.”

“Wow,” she said. “Bad start. Good ending.”

“Mm. Thought you might like it. So—this.” I held out my left arm, even though my moko was hidden under my suit coat. “It’s my heritage, my genealogy, my journey, like I said. But it’s also a reminder of what strength is, and what it’s for. That it’s to bear what you have to, and to protect the people you...”

“The people you love,” she finished.

“Yeh. The way you do with Karen. And that—that story,” I told her. “I guess I’m telling you that to let you know that I’m not going to hurt you. That I may be stupid. I may even...” It took me a moment to say this one. “I may even be wrong. But you can put me right.”

“Hemi.” She laid a gentle hand on my face, stroked it down my cheek. “That’s—Thank you.”

“And,” I said as Charles pulled to a stop in front of her building, “if that offer of a movie with you and Karen is still open, I’m thinking I’ll take it.”

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