Morcan Books & Films

New Zealand: A Novel, by Lance Morcan, spans almost 500 years and covers the respective discoveries of New Zealand by Maori and European. It starts in the 1300’s with the departure of Pacific Islanders from Hawaiki in search of land far to the south; it ends in the 1700’s with Captain James Cook’s historic circumnavigation of that same land – a land he calls New Zealand – as seen through the eyes of young crewmember Nicholas Young aboard the bark Endeavour. From the outset the two stories are interposed. The adventures of the descendants of the earliest Maoris are followed down through the centuries, culminating in their often violent, sometimes romantic, always fascinating interactions with the white intruders they call pakehas.

Shrouded in cloud at the bottom of the world, this was the land that time forgot: the last sizeable piece of undiscovered land on Earth. Two hundred million years after breaking away from the vast southern continent of Gondwana, Man had yet to leave his footprints on this prehistoric place.

Mythology would have it the land was fished up out of the ocean. In fact, earthquakes and volcanic activity forced it to literally erupt from the sea bed. This violent birth left it with a majestic ruggedness that would always reflect its former turbulence. The legacy of those fiery beginnings includes still-active volcanoes amidst the mountain chains that dissect the land.

Over time, its features softened. Scenes of beauty emerged out of the mists. There was a haunting stillness about the land. It was a place of mystery – of magical forests and sparkling lakes and rivers.

And the sea surrounded it – like some huge tidal moat.

Its isolation ensured it wouldn’t be until well into the First Millennium AD that Man would step foot on these shores. The brown-skinned people who settled here would call their new home Aotearoa – land of the long, white cloud. Not until its rediscovery centuries later by European explorers would the land receive the name by which it is known today…

Author’s note:

Target audience for New Zealand: A Novel is adult readers; manuscript word count is 103,000 words. Genres include historical fiction, adventure, romance.

Given the increasing worldwide interest in New Zealand and the fascination over its indigenous people, I believe the timing couldn’t be better for this novel. While it has the lust and violence associated with those pre-European and Colonial times, New Zealand: A Novel has strong themes of love and romance, which will endear it to female readers as well as male.

–Lance Morcan

Excerpt:

The following excerpt from New Zealand: A Novel sees the surviving Hawaikan voyageurs reach their destination at the end of a gruelling six-week journey from their South Pacific homeland.

“I see land!” Rangi shouted triumphantly, leaping to his feet.

“Where?” Hotu demanded.

“There!” the excited navigator said, pointing directly southwest.

Kafoa was wide awake now. He pushed himself to his feet and squeezed between the two men, searching the horizon for a glimpse of land.

Hotu said, “Yes! I see it!”

Rangi adjusted the tiller until the canoe pointed slightly more to the west.

Others gathered around, aroused by the sudden commotion. 

Kafoa strained his eyes, but could see only sky and ocean. “Where is it?” he implored. “I cannot see anything!”

Hotu smiled. “Look for the signs and you will see it.”

Kafoa scanned the horizon, looking for any one of the signs he had memorised by heart. He absentmindedly massaged the stub of the extra small finger on his left hand as he studied the sea and sky around him. Finally he saw what the men had seen. Low on the horizon, at the limit of his vision, was a large landmass resting beneath a long white cloud. Studying the distant landmass, he murmured, “Aotearoa.”

Hotu nodded. “Aotearoa,” he agreed, “land of the long white cloud.”

Kupe’s land now had a name.

#

The excitement aboard Ronui was unrestrained as the landmass now referred to by all as Aotearoa came into clear focus beneath the umbrella of cloud. Everyone who could stand was standing. The only voyagers not on their feet were those too weak to stand.

Hotu was now manning the tiller. His heart beat fast. Here at last was Kupe’s land! Tears filled his eyes and he murmured a prayer of thanks to the spirits of his Hawaikan ancestors. This land, their land, would be his people’s salvation. Of that he was sure.

From around twenty miles out, the land appeared dark and mysterious in the shadow of the cloudbank above it. Forbidding even. The sight had a sobering effect on the voyagers. All conversation ceased as they studied their new homeland.

Hotu glanced down at Kafoa who hadn’t left his side since the first sighting. Overcome with love for the boy, he reached down and ruffled his hair yet again. Kafoa looked up and smiled at the father he idolised.

As Ronui sailed onwards, floundering deeper than ever in the water, the land mass ahead slowly took shape. It was high – higher than the tropical islands of the Pacific – and it was covered in dense, lush, green bush.

Although still too far away to ascertain, the land appeared to be unoccupied, and some sixth-sense told Hotu it was. Which meant he and his fellow survivors would be the only people on these shores. He wondered what had become of Kupe’s fellow voyagers all those centuries ago.

Hotu’s mind returned to the present and he realised the bigger question was what had happened to Ra and the others aboard Tautira. He prayed they were safe.

#

By mid-afternoon, the clouds lifted and Aotearoa was bathed in brilliant sunshine.

The Hawaikans were close to shore now. They scrutinised every feature of their new land. Ahead of them breakers crashed against impressive white cliffs that rose straight out of the sea. The clifftops were fringed by trees whose distinctive flowers blazed scarlet under the summer sun. Kafoa thought it likely the branch that was recovered from the sea came from one of those very trees.

Hotu was anxious to find a suitable landing place before nightfall. It was the ever-vigilant Rangi who brought his attention to a bay slightly to the north of where they were heading.

“Over there!” the navigator said, pointing to a crescent-shaped bay.

“Uh,” Hotu confirmed, steering the canoe toward the bay. A prominent headland at the bay’s southern end guarded the entrance to it.

The rocky shoreline gave way to a white-sand surf beach. Calm water and only the faintest of breezes aided an uneventful beaching. After such a long and dramatic voyage, the landing seemed almost an anti-climax to the exhausted survivors.

Kafoa was first to disembark, jumping from the canoe into the shallows. In a few strides he was standing above the high tide mark on the beach, his hunger pangs and tiredness forgotten for the moment. One by one, the other survivors joined him.

The descendants of Kupe had come home.

Hotu prayed that Ra and the others aboard Tautira had also arrived safely. He had no way of knowing they would soon land on a similar beach several hundred miles to the north.

It would be two centuries before the descendants of these separated peoples would meet, and when they did, it would not be as friends but as mortal enemies.

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