The Hand Mirror
by Onan the Terrible
Chapter One
It arrived unannounced in a small package addressed to her. Although there is no return address on it, she knows that it is from him. In the privacy of her retreat she opens it and admires the contents, a small plain hand mirror made out of wood and coloured a patchy black. Where the paint has worn away on its handle, the wood beneath has a warm dark glow to it that hints of a long and careful life. The natural oils of previous owners hands has infused into the handle and imparted a patina that almost breathes. She raises it to her face and is at first astonished by the sharpness of the image, then fascinated at the clarity of her own face. The high eyebrows and fine nose finished off with a silken complexion suggests a classic ideal of beauty. She looks past herself at the room behind and through the open doors to the garden outside. The colours are bright and fierce and the smell of the flowers seems to be wafting through the room. She puts the mirror down on her dresser and turns towards the balcony. She walks to the french doors and throws them open. Stepping out she raises her arms and stretches slowly, reaching for a point just beyond her fingertips. The muscles on her naked back flex and coil as her head tilts back and her slender throat is warmed by the dying sun. Her long hair slides smoothly off her shoulders and shimmers in the fading light as she closes her eyes. Breathing deeply she offers silent praise to Earth Mother for the day and as she opens her eyes and gazes skywards she looks for the flicker of Venus, her personal light, on the horizon. She offers a murmer of thanks to Sky Father for the comforting blanket of night and the promise of the sun in the morn. Closing the doors behind her she makes her way back to her dressing table and sits holding the little mirror, idly gazing at the room through it.
When she next realizes it, the room is quite dark. Long shadows stretch out and the faint query of an Owl comes from without. In her hand the little mirror reflects the flickering candles and a light goose skin covers her arms and legs. She hears a low plaintive woody whistle, a flute note but unlike any she has heard before. In the shadows on the far side of the room she catches a movement and a low voice begins a chant in a tongue new to her yet one that she has vague memories of. She can�t understand the language but she can sense the meaning. It is an incantation, an introduction from one familiar with spiritual ritual, offering praise and understanding to the spirits and seeking their knowledge and assistance. She can see the gestures he makes and his movements that resemble a dance.
As he steps forwards into the light thrown by two large candles on tall ornate holders she can see his face for the first time. It is marked with lines of dark colour in swirls and interlocking patterns. It is at once both beautiful and grotesque. He is pointing at times and sweeping his arm to embrace the area he is working on, punctuating such motions with a rise in voice or a gutteral utterance of a pain. It is then that she realises she is not sitting in her room any longer but has somehow been transported to a small grassy knoll surrounded by large ferns and bush covered hills. A few large trees are dotted about the natural circle and two big boulders protrude from the ground. These are covered in more of the painted lines and one has a large spiral chiselled in to one side that faces out from the knoll. This is a place of power and she recognises it immediately. She can now also smell a deep musty odour not unpleasant but strangely attractive. It rises from the cloak that is on her shoulders, wrapped to the front and clasped with a bone pin. It appears to be made from woven grass and bird feathers although these feathers are quite unlike any she has seen before, a mottled brown colour with long wisps of hair like fillaments. It is very warm and she instinctively hunches her shoulders to snuggle in to it, breathing deeply as she does. As she is realising her situation the chanting rises to a crescendo and with a sharp shout, he plunges the strangely carved stick he has been holding, into the ground. All is silent save for the trill and chatter of unfamiliar night creatures.
He stands straight now and she takes closer stock of him. He is tall, at least 2 metres and broad across the shoulders. His hair is long and has been gathered into a knot that is piled on top of his head and held with what looks like a jade skewer. He approaches her and takes her shoulders in both hands. As he bends down towards her face she instintively raises her lips. He lifts his hands to cup her face and instead of meeting her lips he presses his nose and forehead to hers. She is taken aback and looks into his eyes but they are closed. He holds her like that for what seems an eternity and eventually she relaxes and closes her eyes as well. She can feel his warm breath on her face and she can smell it. It is raw but pleasant and she immediately relaxes. She feels safe here. Just as she begins to feel a deep connection with him, he pulls away and addresses her in a formal tone.
"Welcome Lady...I am Hakuwai...Son of Rehua and Brother of many. I have brought you here."
"I am Tangata Whenua.... My Spirit is from the Land...and to the Land it will return."
"I am not who you expect...although I am in fact who you want."
This statement puzzles her as indeed she has never met or spoken to this person before. He feels very familiar though and she feels as though she should know him. She wonders what he meant by saying that it is he who she really wants?
He continues, "I have created the one you thought would be here...there are a few creations I watch over."
"I have watched you through the one I called Onan and I am interested in knowing you more."
"Will you spend some moments here with me now...?"
He moves to the two boulders in the clearing and standing between the two of them he extends his hand towards her; "Lady, I invite you to join me here in this circle.... will you come willingly?"
She is compelled by some inner voice to move to him. Reaching for his hand she replies; "Sir, as you promise to protect me, you have my trust and my obedience."
He replies immediately, "For now your trust is all I ask for Lady...your obedience is a treasure I shall look forward to when you again offer it."