A New Kind of Zeal
Michelle Warren
Published by Michelle Warren
Copyright 2013 Michelle Warren
Discover other titles by Michelle Warren:
A New Kind of Zeal 2: The Price of Redemption
A New Kind of Zeal 3: The Crux of Salvation
Statement:
This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of a character to a person living or dead is a coincidence, apart from those clear characters of inspiration from two thousand years ago. Likewise, the organisations, positions and places explored do not represent any current reality today, but rather represent a fictional future.
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For Aotearoa
Aotearoa/God Defend New Zealand [1]
E Ihowā Atua,
O ngā iwi mātou rā
Āta whakarangona;
Me aroha noa
Kia hua ko te pai;
Kia tau tō atawhai;
Manaakitia mai
Aotearoa
English translation
O Lord, God,
of all people
Listen to us,
Cherish us
May good flourish,
May your blessings flow.
Defend
Aotearoa
God of Nations at Thy feet,
In the bonds of love we meet,
Hear our voices, we entreat,
God defend our free land.
Guard Pacific's triple star
From the shafts of strife and war,
Make her praises heard afar,
God defend New Zealand.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE: Kerikeri
CHAPTER TWO: Ninety Mile Beach
CHAPTER THREE: Parliament
CHAPTER FOUR: St Peter’s Cathedral
CHAPTER FIVE: A Storm on the Horizon
CHAPTER SIX: Lawful Use of Force
CHAPTER SEVEN: Days Bay and the New Zealand Church Council
CHAPTER EIGHT: An Empty House
CHAPTER NINE: Kaitaia
CHAPTER TEN: The Governor General
CHAPTER ELEVEN: Darkness
CHAPTER TWELVE: The Tide
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Whangarei
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Prism
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Wenderholm
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Judgment
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Hospital
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Risk
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Unease
CHAPTER TWENTY: Takapuna
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: The Light
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Auckland
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: A Political Threat
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Precipitation
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: Hell’s Way
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: A Nation or One Man?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: National Security
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Mount Ruapehu
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Dissonance
CHAPTER THIRTY: Water and Stone
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: The Plan
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: Petone
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Mount Victoria
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: The Procession
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: The Coronation
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: Crisis
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN: Grace
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: Fury
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: Rest and Peace
CHAPTER FORTY: Victory in Defeat
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: The Culmination
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: New Ideas
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE: The Breath of Life
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: Aroha
ENDNOTES
REFERENCES
Next in the Trilogy, A New Kind of Zeal 2: The Price of Redemption
Connect with Michelle Warren
CHAPTER ONE: Kerikeri
It was hot – a humid, muggy kind of day.
Tristan tugged at the straps of his backpack, and shook sweat from his eyes. The midday summer sun was getting to him, now – even despite the odd shade from totara and pine trees. He had been walking for over two hours, after that mad salesman had dropped him off after Black Bridge Road. Heading back to Auckland, that guy had been – and there was no way Tristan was hitching a ride back there.
A junction was ahead: Kerikeri Road, to the right. Kerikeri? No – surely he could make it further than this. Taking a deep breath, Tristan forged ahead – crossing the junction, watching for cars, darting back into the ditch as needed. Where did he want to go first? Whangaroa Bay? Doubtless Bay? It didn’t really matter. Just somewhere away – somewhere out there, to get away from it all.
The tar seal was starting to melt on the road – he could smell the fumes, and grinned. Where could he score a joint on the way? Wouldn’t be far, he was sure. The thought carried him, one step at a time – but after another thirty minutes of slogging and sweating, he lost interest, crossed over to the left side of the road, and starting thumbing for a ride.
Now he was walking backwards, a little uphill and around a bend. A car just about caught him – he swore, stumbling against a tree. Someone tooted at him – he swore at them. Then he noticed the Ute had pulled up at a parking bay a few metres ahead.
Tristan slowly walked toward the car. It was an old red Holden, and there were fishing lines strapped in the back.
“Sweet as,” Tristan said, speeding up to catch the car. The driver’s door opened, and Tristan reached out a hand.
“Hey, mate.”
“Kia ora, ‘mate.’” The Maori man grasped his hand in greeting. “Need a ride?”
“Where are you headed?”
“To Ninety Mile Beach.”
Tristan grinned. “‘Ninety Mile Beach’? More like ‘Ninety Mile Rip,’ by now. Mind if I borrow one of your lines? Go fishing?”
“Sure. Why not? Still enough beach, and the warmer water’s bringing more fish.”
His brown face was smiling – with a slight wrinkling around the corners of his eyes, and light silver dusting his short black curls. Tristan held his warm brown gaze – but then, suddenly, he started. The man was wearing a dog collar.
“No way,” Tristan said, before he could stop himself. “You’re a priest?”
“My name is Rau,” the man replied. “Rau Petera, of the Ngapuhi tribe. And you are?”
“Tristan Blake, from…never mind.”
“You look like you need some help, Tristan Blake – still want that ride?”
Tristan cast his eyes up and down the man before him. “I don’t know,” he said. “What about that collar?”
Rau’s brown eyes stayed on him. “Makes you nervous, does it?”
“Nervous?” Tristan laughed. “You have no idea!”
Rau’s mouth twitched – and then he pulled the collar away, and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his white shirt.
Tristan studied him, as Rau stretched out his hand again.
“Want a ride?”
“Okay,” Tristan replied.
“Hop in then.”
So Tristan dumped his backpack in the back, with the fishing lines, and let himself in the left passenger door.
Rau pulled out from the side of the road, and started driving around the curves. Tristan closed his eyes fleetingly, grateful for the air-conditioning – and then felt a prod.
“H
ere,” Rau said. “Have some coke.”
Tristan looked at the half drunken bottle now in his lap. “This is yours?”
“You look like you need it more than me.”
“You’re drinking coke?”
“I’m an Anglican priest, not a monk.”
Tristan sprayed the coke in his mouth – and turned to see Rau smirking.
“Besides,” Rau said, “you’re helping my diabetes.”
Tristan watched him, while he drove – and then tried to shake himself into thought again.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Ka pai,” Rau replied. “Got family, boy?”
Tristan shifted uneasily, and didn’t reply.
“My whanau’s in Kerikeri,” Rau said.
“Yeah?”
“My wife and two teenaged kids. And then there’s Auntie Ngaire, and three of my cousins…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tristan said, “I get it – the whole tribe.”
Rau cast him a sideways glance, as he continued to drive, and Tristan stared out of the window.
Soon they reached Kaeo – and Rau pulled up again, still on the main highway.
“Want some food?”
“How about a beer?” Tristan smirked.
“Not on my watch. Kai?”
“Sure – whatever you’re having.”
Tristan watched as Rau crossed the road – and shook his head. A priest – seriously? What weird twist of fate was that?
The empty coke bottle had fallen between the seats. Tristan reached down to pick it up – and as he sat back found Rau again at the driver’s door.
“Here,” Rau said, tossing him a paper wrapped parcel, “fish and chips.”
“What?” Tristan chided, as Rau sat himself back in the driver’s seat. “Won’t we get plenty of fish later?”
“Depends how good you are! Personally, I’m not hedging my bets.”
Rau was smiling at him – and Tristan, despite all of his best efforts, found himself liking the man.
Rau continued to drive – and Tristan ate, and passed him food.
“Where’s the tomato sauce?” he complained.
“You Pakeha and your tomato sauce,” Rau replied.
“Enjoying our potato chips, are we?”
“You got me, boy. But try a hangi someday – snapper, and kumara: that’s real kai.”
Tristan broke apart a piece of fried terakihi – and passed it to Rau.
“Fish and chips, fish and chips,” he sighed. “All I ever see is fish and chips.”
“Tired of fish?” Rau asked. “Your mother not giving you beef or lamb?”
“How old do you think I am, man?”
“Twenty?”
“I’m twenty-six. Fresh fish sure is better than army rations, but now I’m finally out of it I’d rather have a good juicy steak.”
Rau’s eyes glanced at him again and then back to the road.
“The Army?”
“Five years.”
“Why’d you leave?”
Tristan stared at the road ahead. Screams were suddenly surrounding him; bloody young faces filling his vision. He sucked in a breath – and quickly shut the memory down.
“Let’s just say Peacekeeping isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Rau lapsed into silence – and Tristan watched him warily. “You got a joint, mate?” he asked.
“No,” Rau said quietly. “I don’t.”
“Then how about your religion? Wanna try it on me now?”
Rau frowned – but still remained silent. With gratification, Tristan spoke into the silence.
“It’s 2030,” he chided, “and where is humanity at? The world’s a crock! Temperature’s rising, food’s disappearing, people are fighting, and lunatics are still preaching.”
Rau’s face grimaced, but Tristan found his own words becoming a torrent.
“The Middle East is still where all the action is,” he said, “still! A brawling desert! We tried to help: we came this close to a nuke!” He pinched finger and thumb together, only one millimetre apart. “A nuke, in the Holy Land: my God! You have no idea how close we came to World War Three…”
Tears were pricking at Tristan’s eyes now – he blinked them furiously away, as always.
“So preach it to me, priest: God exists, right? God loves us? Yeah, right.”
Rau was still silent. Then he pulled over again on the side of the road.
“Listen, mate,” Tristan quickly said. “Thanks for the ride, and everything – I’ll just get off here, and hitch another ride, okay?”
He went to open the door, eager to get out of Rau’s face – but then, suddenly, Rau’s hand was on his shoulder.
“Hey,” Rau said. “Where are you going?”
Tristan’s body stiffened. The priest’s grasp reminded him of something! A distant memory, shoved away for so long. Rau’s eyes were on him – he looked away, shaking his head.
“Hey, man,” he said, “it’s got nothing to do with you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I know,” Rau said – and Tristan was drawn to his eyes: somehow he could not avoid him, as he continued, “but how about that fishing?”
Tristan frowned at him. He hesitated, and then he continued. “What kind of fishing?” he asked.
“Only the best! You’re looking at a Snapper champion.”
“No way.”
“2005 – caught myself a whopper: a three-foot fish.”
“2005? Twenty-five years ago? Forget that.”
“Beat my record, and I’ll give you the Ute.”
Tristan stared at him. The Ute? Surely he wasn’t serious. “You’re bribing me?” he asked.
Rau shook his head. “Not a bribe – a prize.”
Tristan tilted his head thoughtfully: what was the priest up to? “Think I couldn’t get a car if I wanted one?”
Rau shrugged. “I guess your cash is stashed away.”
“Getting pretty worthless, cash.”
“Commodities are worth more.”
“Missed out on the quarter acre section,” Tristan said.
“I’ll bet you can sleep in a car, if you have to.”
Tristan frowned at him. “But why?” he asked. “Why would you offer me your car? Not to mention the petrol. Petrol’s getting as rare as hens’ teeth.”
Rau smiled. “Food’s getting scarcer here as well. Fish well, and live well.”
Tristan considered the offer, vacillated, and then finally lifted himself back into the passenger seat.
“Fine,” he said. “Have it your way.”
Rau pulled out once again onto the road – driving hard around the bends.
“You’re crazy,” Tristan said.
“Aren’t we all?” Rau replied.
They passed north through Whangaroa Bay, and Doubtless Bay – and soon they were heading northwest, beyond Kaitaia toward Ninety Mile Beach.