by Matt Larkin
“To the deep we give the child Pu‘u-hele,” Namaka said. “To the lords of Pō.”
She raised her arms in mimicry of a kahuna.
And then a sudden wave rushed the shore, rising far higher than the tide ought to have allowed, slapping down upon the babe. A single, heart-stopping moment in which surely the force of it must have crushed the child. The sea turned violent, lashing against the shore like it fled a typhoon, wild and raging.
Namaka slumped to her knees. Spasmed once. Retched, spewing forth a gourd-full of water that shouldn’t have even fit in her stomach.
The waves kept coming and coming, flinging sea spray over the sisters.
Namaka fell over sideways, moaning, twitching. Pele gaped at her a slight moment before grabbing her sister’s shoulders and dragging her away from the water’s edge.
What in Lua-o-Milu was happening here? Had Kanaloa himself come to claim this sacrifice? Were the akua pleased?
Pele huffed, struggling to pull her larger sister up the slope. “Wake up! What’s wrong with you?”
Something hefted Pele aloft by her hair, feeling like it would all rip out by the roots. She screamed in pain and caught a glimpse of her father before the man flung her through the air.
Pele crashed down onto the beach, sand stinging her eyes and scraping raw her flesh. When she caught a breath, she saw him, stalking toward her like a storm cloud, raw and primal, rumbling with an undefinable force inside him.
Kū-Waha-Ilo, devourer of men.
Pele didn’t think she’d ever seen him truly angry before.
“I’m sorry about the child,” Pele managed whimpering.
Her father snatched her by the ankle and hefted her into the air upside down with one hand, her face dangling by his feet. “Children are replaceable. Something you should have considered before defying me, my child.” His fist slammed into her abdomen so hard she thought her insides would explode.
It blasted all air from her lungs and set her choking. It blurred her vision into a white haze. Before she’d even caught her breath, he flung her aside again. Sand spewed into her mouth and scraped her gums.
Pele rolled over, tasting blood. She opened her mouth to beg for mercy, but he’d already turned to Namaka.
With a hand behind her head, he scooped her up to face him. “That you have taken one of my progeny from me leaves me tempted to plant its replacement in your belly. Your bleeds are here, after all. I smelled it on you before, but your display with the ocean removed all doubt. Back to our roots, aren’t you? Would you sacrifice to Kanaloa? I laud you for your devotion, daughter. That alone saves you.” Their father shook his head. “Still … defiance must be repaid.”
The man drove Namaka’s face down into the sand, then jerked her cheek along the grains. Pele’s sister shrieked. When Kū-Waha-Ilo released her, she looked up, cheek a bloody mess of crimson sand.
Whimpering, Pele crawled to where her sister fell.
“She’s burned off too much mana,” Kū-Waha-Ilo said. “Just leave her and it will slowly seep back in.”
“By the sea?” Pele’s voice sounded raspy and weak in her own ears. Everything tasted bitter and broken.
“Obviously. I will send someone for her. As for you, daughter, your time should be along soon enough.” He did not look back as he stalked away into the night.
Moaning, Pele wriggled her way over to Namaka, then collapsed with her head on her sister’s chest.
When Pele pissed, she pissed blood. When she shat, her insides felt ready to rupture.
When she drank godsdamned water, all she felt was pain. Tiny knives slicing up her stomach.
All while Namaka thrashed and moaned in the throes of a vicious fever. As Kū-Waha-Ilo had predicted, Namaka’s bleeds had begun the same night.
With her sister barely coherent, all Pele could do was help clean her with a wet towel. It went on for days, and Pele couldn’t allow the slaves too close when she didn’t know what was wrong with them.
Pele hardly ate, partly for fear of the pain of shitting, partly for fear of the pain of even having anything in her gut.
Her abdomen had turned into a massive dark welt surrounded by a circle of yellow tenderness.
Kilioe came in to look in upon them several times, but she said nothing. Perhaps the kahuna could have helped, but Pele suspected Kū-Waha-Ilo had ordered her not to.
In her fever, Namaka raved about Kanaloa’s might. How he stretched his arms to all corners of the Worldsea, preparing the Mortal Realm for a glorious destiny. She mumbled about the blood of the Elder Deep and flaming pearls and benthic wars. Of oceans turned red with blood. Mad ramblings so horrifying it almost distracted Pele from her own pain.
When Namaka’s fever broke, her sister seemed to remember nothing of what she’d said, and Pele could not begin to explain it to her.
The night after, the dragon came.
Villagers screamed and raced away from the palace as the mo‘o stalked through the gates. Guards held trembling spears, none wanting to be the first to strike against the massive lizard wending its way inside.
The creature held terrible power, without doubt. Power beyond even its obvious physical might. For its eyes held intelligence and will, like a smoldering fire deep within.
It had come up from the sea, the guards had said.
Pele stood with Namaka, watching the mo‘o approach. Namaka clutched her hand, no doubt attempting to reassure her, though Pele suspected her sister was almost as scared as she was.
Kilioe stepped around them and bowed before the mo‘o. “Mother.”
Mother? What the …?
The dragon reared up and stroked a claw along Kilioe’s cheek, then wended around the kahuna and plodded over to the sisters.
Namaka pushed Pele behind her. “What do you want?”
“You, child.” The mo‘o’s voice was thick, smoky and grandmotherly, with a surprising hint of kindness behind it. “I am Milolii. I am to teach you what it means to be kupua. And what it means to be the heir of Haumea. Your gifts, untrained and uncontrolled, pose a risk to yourself and everyone around you. The blood of two powerful kupua run through your veins, child.”
Namaka glanced back at Pele, her face a war of emotions. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m not leaving my sister.”
“Namaka,” Kilioe snapped.
Pele suddenly realized she knew absolutely nothing about the kahuna who had ruled Uluka‘a on Mother’s behalf. She was a kupua, a child of a mo‘o. Could she take mo‘o form? Surely Milolii must be able to assume human form to have such a child?
A rumble built in the dragon’s chest, one that seemed to make the night close in around Pele. “Even now, your parents seek a suitable tutor for her as well. That is most decidedly not you, child. We know what you have done, how well you cared for your other sister. You will come with me now. You will learn your heritage and you will begin to atone for your mistakes.”
Namaka looked back to Pele once again.
No. No, this wasn’t happening.
It had always been just the two of them. This was not happening.
Namaka threw her arms around Pele and squeezed her tight.
Then she turned. And left her alone.
7
In the darkness, Kama crept back toward the queen’s palace, this time in boar form. Earlier, he had tried this with a far different intent. He’d wanted to avoid anyone getting hurt. Now, hurt was the point. Kama hurt. His heart hurt.
He’d tried to do this right. As usual, doing the right thing stole half the fun out of life. That left him only one option. It was time to be bad.
Couldn’t fight the Boar God for long. But if he did this, maybe it would calm it down. Keep it from taking control and doing … worse.
He snuck around a small bonfire in the center of the village. A few people remained up, sitting around the fire, telling stories. Kama gave them a wide berth. Didn’t want to wake the whole shitting village.
Not yet.
&n
bsp; His men would be coming down behind him soon, and the killing would start. Before that happened, Kama would open the way. If he eliminated Pele’s elite supporters first, it would make things easier.
The Boar God had smelled the Fire akua. Same one who had thrown him off a shitting mountain, in fact. That one needed dealing with.
The queen had stationed a guard outside her palace. Kama snorted. Stupid shitter was in for it.
With a wild squeal, he charged the guardian. The man turned toward him languidly, as if underwater, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. Kama yanked his tusks upward as he crashed into the pitiful human. They ripped through the flesh of the man’s abdomen, spilling hot entrails over Kama’s face. The shitter fell with a wet gurgle. Kama jerked his tusks free, pulling the man’s insides out along with them, then trampled right over the dying guard.
Inside the palace, a man and a woman bolted upright at the sound of the attack. Kama stood in the doorway, staring them down for a moment. The temptation to charge them, do the same as he had done to the guard—it was strong. He was stronger. They deserved worse.
More fear.
More pain.
These weren’t his thoughts, were they?
Kama arched his shoulders and slowly resumed his human form. Then he strode into the hut. A warrior rose, grabbing a club, then charged him. Kama caught the descending weapon in one fist and used the other to backhand the man. It sent the man spinning around, tumbling back to the ground. Pele’s warrior lay there dazed and bloody while his woman shrieked.
With one stride Kama closed the distance to her, glaring down at the woman. Not Pele. Not anyone he recognized. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up face-to-face with him, leaving her feet dangling off the ground. The woman wailed, clutching at his wrist to take the weight off her hair.
“Where is the queen?” Kama said.
“Gone!”
Killing a woman was wrong.
He knew that.
He was just tired of doing the right thing.
His punch shattered her nose. If she lived at all, she was unconscious. He didn’t care. He flung her into the wall with such force she crashed through it, tangling in the fishing net designed to hold it together. Maybe she’d live, maybe not. He didn’t give a pig’s shit.
Shouts had begun to rise among the village. They knew he was here. Good. Let them all fear Mighty Kamapua‘a.
He turned on the warrior, who had risen and was stumbling toward his woman’s still form. Kama grabbed the bulbous man by the throat and hefted him aloft. A slow grin spread over Kama’s face, and he trod back outside.
A handful of warriors had surrounded him, but he halted their advance with a glare. “One squeeze and I pop off his head, you shitters.”
Men brandished spears at him, but none dared move in. Instead, Kama slowly walked back toward the bonfire.
The warrior looked like he might have something to say, though he could form no words with Kama’s hand clenched around his throat. Just as well. Kama no longer cared what Pele’s people wanted. He flung him into the bonfire. The man fell screaming.
An instant of profound, total stillness fell over the camp, as if no one could believe what went on before their own eyes. The only movement, the only sound—the flailing and moaning of this man as he struggled out of the bonfire and collapsed near it. Like a clap of thunder, the camp exploded into motion, some racing to try to extinguish their fellow, others charging Kama.
By the sickly-sweet scent of his burning flesh, Kama seriously doubted they could save him.
Like a breaking mountain flood, warriors poured from other houses, shouting, charging at Kama. Club in hand, he met them. Their cries would draw his own men out of the jungle, and they’d burn Puna to the ground.
“Where is Pele?” he shouted. Was that even his voice anymore? “Where is the bitch queen?” No … he didn’t talk like that.
The first man to close in on him caught the club across his face. It spun his head around backward and splattered his skull into gooey chunks that sloshed over Kama. He twisted around and brought the weapon down on another man. And another.
Javelins flew at him. Kama caught one with his free hand, dodged another, and took a third in the shoulder. It punched through his flesh, but he hardly felt it. He just yanked the shaft out and kept on killing. Almost idly, he flung the javelin at a foe with enough force to lift him off his feet and send him flying backward.
“Come on, you shitters! Come taste boar love!”
The bonfire crackled, and a man walked through it, his form shrouded in smoke and steam, eyes glowing like embers.
Oh.
Him.
Finally.
Roaring, Kama charged in, swiping at the akua’s head with his club. The akua flowed like vapor, body shifting, maybe even becoming steam. In a flash, it formed up on the far side, caught Kamapua‘a’s wrist, and twisted.
Despite his size, Kama found himself flying through the air, upside down. Everything spun. Then he crashed into the shitting fire.
Shrieking, he rolled out of it.
The pain seized him, and through it, the stench of his sizzling flesh.
Roast pork?
He was pretty sure that was his thought.
His last one, though, as feral rage lurched from his gut and wrapped talons around his brain.
The Boar God stood calmly in the fire, then cast aside his flaming malo as he strode forth. The flames had charred his flesh, but the pain mattered naught. Already, his cracked flesh began revivifying, knitting together, regenerating. He paid no mind to the messy trail of ash and blood he left in his wake, closing in on the Fire akua who dared to stand against him.
Foolish little jinn.
The Boar God had no rival in any of the spirit worlds.
He rose up, towering, reaching seven and a half feet and still pushing beyond. His tusks were spears. His arms themselves became clubs. His roar was a typhoon of fury that ought to have even the jinn shitting himself.
His muscles popped as they expanded.
The akua stepped back into the flame, vanishing in a puff of smoke.
Pathetic. Writhing, weak creature of vapor.
The Boar God lunged, caught the kindling of the bonfire and began flinging the pieces in all directions. He would pulverize everything that could burn if need be. He’d reduce it all to smithereens and do so with a laugh.
Even the thought brought a chuckle to his lips.
A man tried to spear him. The Boar God caught the shaft and snapped it like a twig, then wrapped a hand around the man’s skull and squeezed. The fool’s head collapsed, a smashed coconut leaving delicious goo coating the Boar God’s fingers.
Bellowing in joy, he lowered his head and charged, tusks goring men left and right. His rush was a kai e‘e. He plowed headlong into a house, not bothering with the door. He ripped through the support beams and out the other side, reducing the dwelling to a crumpled heap.
Steam formed up beside him and he spun. Not fast enough. The akua’s fist caught him in the ribs with enough force to knock his breath away. The Boar God slapped at the akua, but the fucker had already dissipated and formed up on his other side. Another blow had the Boar God stumbling to one side.
Snarling, he snatched up a post from the fallen house and spun around, swinging it in a wide circle. An unfortunate warrior got clipped and was sent flying, up into the jungle canopy. That was worth a grin.
The Fire akua fell back though, melting into the night as if he really was made of vapor.
The Boar God sneered. “Run then.” All this carnage only served to further excite him.
Three great leaping strides carried him over to one of Pele’s men. The Boar God snatched him up with one hand and impaled him on a tusk, running it straight through his gut. He yanked the dying man free, then twisted him around so he could shove his cock into the new hole he’d made. “Come on you flaming ghostfucker!”
It took one hand to hold the dying man
in place as he pumped his hips, but with the other the Boar God slapped and swatted men left and right, breaking them like toys. They flew through the air like tiny birds, leaving a spray of blood in their wakes.
It brought a song to the Boar God’s lips. An ancient song, from the days before Kêr-Ys sank. Death and pain were the result of all life, and he aimed to deliver those things.
With a growl, the Fire akua rose up once more and jumped, landing on the Boar God’s shoulders. The akua shoved flaming hands into the Boar God’s face, scalding his nostrils, eyes, and ears.
The Boar God roared in glorious, beautiful pain, dropping the corpse he’d been fucking so he could grab the akua with both hands. He caught the thing’s shoulders and heaved, tearing great chunks of his own burnt flesh off in the process. The Fire akua came away struggling, the Boar God’s cheeks melting around his fingers. The Boar God’s palms had caught flame where he held the akua.
“Well done,” he snarled.
Then he jerked his arms out in either direction. A moment of resistance, then the akua’s arms ripped from his sides with delicious a slurch. The Boar God bellowed laughter even as blood sprayed from the terrible wounds. The Fire akua swooned, no doubt likely to fade beyond Pō soon.
May as well enjoy this first.
Chuckling, the Boar God drove the akua’s face into the sand and then charged forward, kicking up a spray of dust as he raced onward, flaying the skin from the creature’s skull.
Men fell back, some screaming. Some begging their gods for help.
As if the Boar God wasn’t murdering one of those gods in front of their own eyes.
What would it take to make it clear none could stand against him?
Resuming his war song, the Boar God jerked the almost dead akua up to face him. Then he twisted the thing’s head around until it popped off and proceeded to fuck him through the bottom of his skull.
“This is your god now, mortals!” he roared, between mighty, heaving laughter. “This is what I think of your gods!”
