When the sun first rises over the sacred mountain of this land, when it crests the peak and spies through the gaps of rigid rock and boulder, he is greeted by a crystalline lake that collects the mist on its surface longer than most. The mist does not just sit there though, if you watch closely from the shore, it gives the impression that the mist springs from the lake itself. Which of course it does, for how else is a lake supposed to cry.

When Hāpeta first met Te Pua o Te Reinga he was out hunting for the unique and elusive White Tūī, it is rarely seen and it is impossible to know whether it is heard or not because of its amazing power of vocal mimicry. The young hunter was determined to find this treasure and return home a hero, for days on end Hāpeta made his way through world of Tāne, the god of the forest, all the while he was being followed by Te Pua o Te Reinga a curious Patupaiārehe (fairy) who was completely enthralled by the young warrior.

Hāpeta indeed found a treasure but it did not come to him in the form of a rare bird, it arrived in a far more precious package. The love between Hāpeta and the ferry was deep and it fed their forest home, the plants were lush, the animals hearty and the sky was always blue. But like all other things in this world, this too did pass.

Upon the arrival of the white man battles sprung up all over the lands, not just between the white and the brown skin but all because of the white skin. These battles required strong warriors and when the tribe of Hāpeta was threatened of course he left the safety of his forest home and fought for his land, he returned to his love, happy but changed. He left many more times, each time returning with a piece of him forgotten on the battlefield, until, one day Hāpeta did not come back.

Hāpeta didn’t die, not physically. But spiritually he was destitute, all the death, all the killing, all the loss stole something from him that he could never get back. When he finally did return to his homeland he remembered his life before the wars as if they were dreams, dreams where he lived among fairy folk and made friends with the animals. It filled the man with sadness, for he had to lie to himself in order to carry on, he had to deny the existence of his greatest love to live in this world and for each lie he told himself, each time he denied Te Pua o te Reinga, a tear formed inside the man that he refused to let free.

In his twilight years, he would return to the forest, yelling at the trees, telling them to leave him alone, that he promised to never return and to stop tempting him. Hāpeta was the officially crazy old man of the village, no one had time for him other than his grandson, Te Rongopai. Te Rongopai was special because when he was born he had the same spirit that his grandfather had. Te Rongopai held the future for his people for with his magical spirit he could weave together once again the fairy folk and man.

One day, as Hāpeta was ranting at the forest, Te Rongopai watched his grandfather and for the first time saw the truth of his ramblings, for there in the forest depths was indeed a figure, among the trees weeping before the old man who was looking right through her. Not only could the boy see the magic creatures of the forest, the boy could see all types of magic including the plug on his grandfather’s side. In the very place where his grandfather had been complaining of a pain which no doctor could address. The boy could see a plug right above where his grandfather’s liver would be.

Full of the desire to rid his grandfather of the pain, the boy attempts to remove the magical plug. He pulls and wrestles, spurred on by the voice of the fairy woman, demanding the freedom of the man she loves. “Remove the plug and remove his pain,” she shouts. The boy loves his grandfather and fuelled by that love, eventually he wrestles that plug free. A scream of pain escapes the old man’s mouth and for only the briefest moment a renewed fire burns in his eyes, before he begins to weep. He is finally releasing decades of pain that has been trapped within. 

But this victory was short lived for everyone, Te Pua o te Reinga did not get her love back, Te Rongopai did not remove the old man’s pain and Hāpeta was not set free. When the plug was removed, when the barrier was removed, when the first tear was set free Hāpeta lost all control and the old man just cried and cried. He cried until there were puddles at his feet, he cried until there were puddles up to his shins, he cried until there were puddles up to his waist.

Te Pua o te Reinga slowly climbed the trees until the tears finally stopped falling, unfortunately Te Rongopai was not so lucky and drowned beneath his grandfather’s sadness. It wasn’t until the last tree was covered and the valley was full of water that the tears finally stopped. But the crying itself never actually stopped, evidenced by, as our story began, the mist that lives above it.

This land has always been the domain of birds; ngā manu. These children of Tāne inhabit all parts of Papatūānuku; from the warm soft undergrowth to the frigid soaring peaks of our mountains and all the spaces between, you will find the winged folk who belong to this land. 

When man first walked the land these creatures were curious, curious about these new folk. This curiosity was the demise of some manu; the giant Moa, naïve to the wants of man, was easy prey. The same cannot be said for one of our now most prolific birds; the Tūī. 

The supremely curious Tūī perhaps saw his like in mankind. Mellifluous of voice and fiercely protective of its space the Tūī liked to mimic the voice of man. The Tūī, while still hunted, also became a friend to man and gained such respect in their eyes that words of admiration were made in their honor. One who speaks well, one who sings beautifully. Chiefs would have Tūī as their esteemed familiars, with their tongues clipped for precision they were  entrusted to sit at the orators shoulder and mimic the words of the leader. To some this would seem a life of servitude, to others it was a calling. This was the very dream of the manu in our story. 

Kōiriiri was more curious than most and desired nothing more than to learn of these creatures and their interesting ways. While observing a group of young warriors in the forest he tempted fate to come closer and closer to the ground. Alighting on the ground he fell into line behind them, practicing their unfamiliar walk. Quietly first he began to mimic their words. Theirs were warbling sounds like the water trickling across rocks. He enjoyed his game and chuckled to himself proud of his clever mimicry. 

Unbeknownst to him there was another young warrior following up the rear. She was new to this group and was eager to show her worth. She had been watching this strange bird following the others, deftly mimicking not just their words but their movements. Here was an opportunity to show her value. She snatched Kōiriiri as a prize gift. His fate however, was not to be a friend to a chief, but instead to be given to another, crueler breed of man. 

Kōiriiri had seen the steady arrival of this new kind of man. Fairer of skin like the Patupaiārehe but worlds apart in their ways. Their voices proclaimed harshly with words of an unfamiliar god on their lips, they walked heavily on the land with eyes that gobbled up all they saw. Kōiriiri knew of others who had been taken by this white man and had heard rumours of the fate they faced. He cursed this young warrior who was his captor. This traitor. He screamed his oath but it fell on deaf ears, so he cursed the generations to come.    

Koīriiri was eyed greedily by the Priest who had no respect for the children of Tāne and only saw him as a tool, a weapon to pierce the hearts of men with the word of god. Kōiriiri had his beak tied, his wings clipped and was kept starving and tortured in a raupō cage. It was when he was so weary that he could not escape or fight that the priest prised open his beak and held his tongue tight. While singing of his wretched lord he took a razor to Kōiriiri’s tongue, removing the soft hairs. With each harsh scrape and blood that filled his beak Kōiriiri cursed the warrior. 

With every year the manu spent, captured, repeating the scriptures of the priest he cursed the warrior. With the words of the bible on this tongue and vengeance in his heart he learnt about this new white man. He learnt what moved him, what drove him and just as he used to mimic the sounds of the forest world, he mastered his mimicry of this man. So driven was he, to earn his freedom through this Priest, he excelled in mimicking every facet of his being. The Priest and Kōirikiri travelled the land converting Māori to his cause. Kōiriri became the perfect tool for his master’s desire until all the lands Kōiriiri had known were filled with men who welcomed the Lord into their hearts. 

However, the Priest started to get wary of the dark knowing look in Kōiriiri’s eyes and was sometimes startled when he would turn to look at the bird and see an exact reflection of his own voice and repose. The Priest did not know the dark force that propelled him forward until it was too late. 

After long years of servitude and curses laid upon curses, Kōiriiri could take no more. No more scripture, no more cage. He wanted his freedom. The force of his desire made the air shimmer around him and the world vibrate. As the Priest had him repeat more and more scripture their worlds began to blur. Kōiriiri was so deft in his mimicry it was like a mirror, like the Priest was looking at himself commanding himself to speak. Over and over again until Kōiriiri demanded and he responded with all of his power, his speech, his body and his very essence. Over and over again until the Priest was but a withered husk, curled upon itself, starved of its very life force. Kōiriiri however was changed. He unfurled himself like a new fern frond, pulsing with new life. He stood, stretched his new neck and laughed a man’s laugh. He was changed. He was the bird who walked as a man. 

Life was not easy for Kōiriiri afterwards. Despite his intense drive of revenge against his original captor he could not walk easily in the world of man and was cast out. He tried to return to the forest to his kin but this broken being who emanated waves of anger was not known to the birds. So he found a curious dark space in the forest where only the Patupaiārehe dwelled and there he stayed. Keeping close to the descendent of his enemy the young warrior. 

As they grew and changed and the world of man changed completely, he changed with it. And with every generation he endured. The warp in the weft of the world was spun around him, keeping him alive and apart. Always on the outside, always looking in from the edge of the forest, mimicking its changes. The Patupaiārehe looked on at him in pity and disgust. But he does not care. He has built his own world in the forest using the techniques he knows only too well from the Priest. He is his own chief. But he does not have his revenge. And he does not have his freedom. So here waits Kōiriiri, this curious broken creature, this bird who walks as a man. Waiting for the descendant of his captor whose death will be his release.