by Matt Larkin
Idly, he stroked the boar’s bristles and wondered if he would even be himself after this. Maybe it would kill him. Maybe that would be mercy.
A twinge of pity filled him for some of the others. What of the poor bastard who had the snake? Takshaka, that was his name. Or how useless would it be for the woman with the damn spider? The monkey from Kumari Kandam actually looked almost like a tiny, hairy person, and he couldn’t see the use of it, either.
Still, the druids insisted these animals, chosen from across the four continents, would prove the means of undoing the might of Dark Faerie.
It was a haze.
What had happened seemed a dream. Or a shitting nightmare. Couldn’t be real. Sure, Kamapua‘a had committed some violence now and again. But not …
Looking around at the smoldering ruins of Puna, at the desecrated corpses, at the … the half flayed and defiled skull now sitting beside him …
Kama grunted. Yup.
Nightmare was real.
He lurched to the side and violently retched up pretty much everything he’d ever eaten in his life. Shit, he just kept vomiting until he was pretty sure he was heaving out stuff his parents had eaten. Grandparents, even.
None of the others came anywhere near him.
None, expect for Ioane, and even he hesitated in his steps. Stank of fear, really, and Kama couldn’t blame him. Stupid shitter thought he wanted to see the Boar God. Well, he’d gotten what he shitting wanted now, hadn’t he?
“So … uh …” Ioane began, pointedly looking away from the skull by Kama’s hip. “Guess we’ll call that um … We’ll call that vengeance for what the bitch queen did to Malie’s face.”
“Uh huh.”
Ioane scratched the back of his head, taking a long glance around what had been Puna. “Some of the men were thinking, maybe we claim whatever’s left and call it even. Pele slighted you, you destroyed her army and home. Good enough.”
Trying not to grimace, Kama pushed himself to his feet. His mouth tasted funny. Gristly. He spit, then worked something out from between his teeth. Yeah, that was a finger bone. The Boar God had gone and eaten some people, hadn’t it?
Kamapua‘a flung the bone aside before finally looking to Ioane. “You don’t get it, do you? How did you think this would shitting end?” Kama turned about, spreading his arms to encompass the whole of the savagery now unfolded. “Did you think this would be less destructive than the taniwha? Did you think I was less dangerous than that dragon?”
Unsure whether the rage was his own or the Boar God’s, he snatched Ioane up by the back of the neck and hefted him so he could look in his eyes. Didn’t matter who’s rage it was, maybe. It was there, red and seething and churning his guts. Now the eel was on fire. “I’d eat that taniwha for breakfast and shit it out by lunch.”
“Be a big shit,” Ioane managed, clearly in pain.
Snorting, Kama dropped his second-in-command. The man didn’t understand. He thought the Boar God was on their side. But the Boar God was on his own side. Whatever memories or dreams it was having … it was angry about them. It was angry about everything. And after Pele had offended it, it wouldn’t stop until it had planted its seed in her belly. Not if it had to murder every last man, woman, child, and shitting plant in Sawaiki.
What would happen if Kama took an axe to his own head? Could he die?
His cheeks had just got melted off, and they had already started to regrow. Shitting itched, too.
What if he convinced Ioane to actually cut his head off? Would that stop the Boar God’s rampage?
It might.
Or it might just piss it off even more.
You are not me. You are not me. You are not me.
But it was him. It was deep inside him, and always had been. Or he was it. Or something.
“You were right before, I’m afraid,” he finally said. “This can’t end until Pele is dead or submits.” That, or else everyone else on this island would keep paying the price.
Whatever they had started, there was no stopping it now.
8
There had never been any real doubt the invaders would come for Hina. After all, the queen was not only a radiant beauty and a kupua, but a symbol of the Kahikian dynasties. If they could not protect their own queen, how could they hope to rule Sawaiki?
Haupu sat on the clifftop, with declivities to either side, the only access coming from a now sealed tunnel or from pulleys up from the gulches. Neither route was accessible to the invaders, so they massed on the beaches beneath the cliffs and made their repeated, futile attempts to gain ingress into the fortress.
They tried to sneak up precarious footpaths in the night, only to have javelins, burning pitch, and buckets of offal tossed upon their heads. They tried to force the boulder blocking the entry tunnel and found it locked in place by wooden clamps inside. Sometimes, they even tried to scale that cliff directly.
Kaupeepee’s men made sport of picking off the would-be climbers, taking bets on exactly where they could plant their javelins. This morning, Poli‘ahu had seen Kaupeepee himself manage to call a shot to man’s ankle. The poor bastard had pitched over backward, plummeting a hundred feet down onto the beach. She might have pitied him, were the invaders not here stealing the legacy of the true heirs of Maui.
And they did try to claim Poli‘ahu’s home away from her.
Now, she leaned against the crenellations, watching the camp below in the late afternoon. They had a sorceress down there. Was it Uli? Kapo? Poli‘ahu couldn’t be sure they lived, but she’d relish the chance to kill either one of those bitches. Regardless, at night, she felt the psychic currents disrupting Pō, a clear sign that someone down there was brushing against the Veil, consulting akua for assistance.
Soon night would fall and Poli‘ahu too would have to decide. Night was the time for sorcery, were she inclined to use it. Were she willing to risk it. But sorcery always came with a terrible price, one not even Poli‘ahu could effectively predict. It drained away her life, it drained away her humanity, and even she might eventually fall prey to the depredations of an akua that took more of herself than she wished to part with.
Could she justify such an action, considering the so-called siege had so little chance of actually breaching Haupu? Up here, they had enough supplies to last them for months, and the siegers could not easily cut off Haupu from the interior of Moloka‘i, should Kaupeepee wish to send men to hunt birds or bring back fresh water.
Of course, if she allowed whatever sorceress lurked down there to focus her efforts on disruption, then they might well find themselves in dire straits. Using akua, the sorceress might spoil food, maybe even poison water. The longer Poli‘ahu allowed the invaders to linger on Moloka‘i unaccosted, the greater the risk that they would eventually find a way to do real harm.
Idly, she rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, throwing a shower of snow upon the stonework in front of her.
She turned at soft footfalls to find Hina approaching. Kaupeepee allowed the prisoner queen more-or-less free roam of the fortress, so long as she stayed clear of the weapon storehouses. The warrior commander of this place had clearly fallen for the beautiful queen himself and, Poli‘ahu suspected, Hina’s beauty might even prove an aspect of her kupua heritage, befuddling the minds of men.
Which ought to have made Poli‘ahu loathe the invader queen. Perhaps it would have, if Hina had not proved generally better conversation than most of those now confined in Haupu. And with the siege, Poli‘ahu could not easily leave nor return to Hilo or Mauna Kea.
All too often, she found herself wishing she’d brought Nalani along, rather than leaving her to oversee Hilo.
“The men speak of your conflicts with a kupua of Uluka‘a,” Hina said, coming to stand beside Poli‘ahu and look down on the gathered army come to rescue her. “They say a god-queen strives to unseat you.”
Would Hina relish that? The queen would never forgive Poli‘ahu for what she’d done to her son Niheu, of course. “Pele
is a symptom of the problem.”
“You Savai‘ians also came here from somewhere else,” Hina pointed out.
“Eight hundred years ago. And we didn’t take Sawaiki from anyone else.”
“What about the menehune? Didn’t the Savai‘ians drive them underground?”
Poli‘ahu frowned and opened her mouth to object. Driving an akua people off the land was not the same as the Kahikians coming in trying to take her home away. Was it? She shut her mouth and grimaced.
The truth was, the invaders threatened eight hundred years of Savai‘ian rule, with their new ways, and their conquests, and their intermarriages. They took and took and took, and Poli‘ahu didn’t need to justify her resistance to them. Except Hina, a queen of those same accursed invaders, made her feel like she did have to justify it. To find the right words.
Poli‘ahu looked to Hina now. “Pele has claimed queenship over Puna, but she strives to control the entirety of Vai‘i. She claims herself a living god and thinks that gives her the right to seize anything she looks upon. If left unchecked, my people would fare even less well than the menehune—for we have no underground tunnels in which to retreat. Our culture will be wiped out or utterly subsumed into yours. Is that what you want, Hina?”
The other queen laughed. “You care what I want? Why?”
Deep down, Poli‘ahu knew the answer, even if she didn’t want to admit it. She cared, because she wanted the woman to admit she was right. She wanted the invader queen to acknowledge her right to these isles.
That, and maybe—just maybe—Hina’s power to draw others to her affected even Poli‘ahu. Lying awake in the early morning, Poli‘ahu thought of it. Imagined staying away from Hina to avoid being corrupted by that power. But she enjoyed talking to the woman.
Poli‘ahu cast a glance at her.
Hina quirked a smile. “Fine. What I want is a place to live. I’m sorry you don’t want to share Sawaiki with me. But I was born here, too. This is my home, and my mother left Kahiki because she had to. Because she needed a safe place to live and love and have children.”
Almost, Poli‘ahu could have forgotten Hina was Uli’s daughter. That she was the spawn of that hateful sorceress who had started all this. It created the temptation—momentary at least—to hurl the woman from the fortress just to spite Uli. Let all their rescue attempts amount to naught. Let the Kahikians see what Poli‘ahu thought of their beloved kupua queen.
Except the thought of killing her left Poli‘ahu’s stomach queasy.
“You want us to what?” Hina asked. “Go back to Kahiki? This is the only life I’ve ever known. We’ve been here for decades, Poli‘ahu. This is our home too. If you cannot learn to share the islands, then the war will go on and on.”
“Share.” That word again. Poli‘ahu snorted. By share, she meant become subservient to the invaders. She meant submit to the culture and tradition and tabus they had brought with them. Submit to the authority of the new ranks of ali‘i, and maintain their own only if they were willing to intermarry. ‘Share’ meant ‘become more like us.’ She shook her head. “Given what I just told you of Pele, does she seem inclined to share anything with me?”
“Were you not already making war upon her people when she got here?”
“Because you’ve been taking our home away for fifty years! Yes, you’ve been here for decades. Decades of destroying the native Sawaikian culture! I just want to see my people, my home, my culture preserved.”
Hina groaned. “Why is it so precious?”
“What?”
“Your culture? Why is it so important to preserve it rather than blend it with ours? Are we not also the children of Maui? He brought the kāhuna from Kahiki, after all.”
Poli‘ahu sneered. “I don’t think you’d ask that question if Kahikians weren’t the ones gaining dominance in this blending of cultures.”
Hina leaned in close now, until Poli‘ahu could feel her warm breath on her cheek. “Blending is not so bad. There are advantages.”
Despite herself, she shuddered. More than anything in the world, she wanted to reach up and stroke the woman’s perfect cheek. To touch her sleek hair.
Poli‘ahu almost always chose male lovers. Much as she cared for Nalani, she’d never indulged in the woman’s obvious desire to have her as aikāne. But something about Hina had Poli‘ahu’s stomach flopping around like a beached fish. No, not something. Kupua power. It had to be.
With a groan, Poli‘ahu ducked away from the other woman and stalked off, then grabbed the first man she saw by the wrist and pulled him around the side of the fortress. She didn’t have any idea who he was, other than that he was armed with a sack of javelins.
Hardly mattered.
She hiked up her pa‘u. “Come on.”
The warrior didn’t need any further encouragement to push her up against the wall, though she had to fondle him a moment to get him hard enough. His efforts gave her only a brief reprieve from her unwanted desires—it didn’t help she didn’t even finish—and she shoved him away, back to his post the moment he finished.
Oh, Lua-o-Milu. Like this she’d have Hina on her mind all night. Which was a terrible idea if she was even going to consider sorcery to counter whatever was happening on the beach.
She needed to find another man to finish what the first had failed to.
That, and some food, and some awa. She needed her head clear.
In the last moments before twilight, Poli‘ahu dragged Hina back up to the ramparts to look down on her people. Maybe they could see her up there, maybe they even knew it was their precious kupua queen. Poli‘ahu hoped so.
“What in Lua-o-Milu are you doing?” Hina demanded.
Hardly trusting herself to speak, Poli‘ahu instead pointed down at the invaders. They didn’t belong here. Maybe Hina was right. Maybe they could not go back to Kahiki after fifty years on Sawaiki. But if so, then they should bow down before the natives, not the other way around.
And Poli‘ahu would prove it.
She allowed her mana to seep into the sky, up into the clouds, far, far above them. It would use a great deal of her power, this far from Mauna Kea or another source of cold. Still, were she so inclined, she imagined she might bring snow flurries down to blanket the invader camp.
Maybe that would frighten them enough to leave. Maybe it would prove her point.
Poli‘ahu would just as soon take steps more dramatic, more certain to make her will known.
High up, the cold was there. She could feel it, like a chill on the edge of her mind, tickling her tongue, bringing a flush to her face. Breathing out an icy breath as her insides cooled, she rubbed her thumbs and forefingers together. Such a feat had her knees wobbling, but still she pulled upon the ice far above the clouds.
Her power wasn’t quite enough, was it?
But she would not fail. Not now.
Grimacing, Poli‘ahu tapped into Waiau’s strength. Doing so wakened the snow akua inside her, fed a part of herself into the spirit. But it reinforced her power, allowed her to crystallize that cold into solid rocks of ice. Balls of it, some no bigger than her thumbnail, but others almost as large as coconuts.
“What are you …?” Hina began.
Then the hail fell. Great chunks of ice crashed down on the invader camp, shattering campfires, splintering huts. Tiny missiles punched through skulls.
From up here, Poli‘ahu could not hear their screams, but she could imagine them. The sudden terror of knowing the akua above had turned on them. Have we angered Wākea, they might ask themselves? Have we offended Kāne himself? Most would have never seen snow up close, much less felt it fall from the sky.
The hail could only be the wrath of the akua, they would tell themselves.
Nor be entirely wrong, even if Poli‘ahu herself was only kupua.
“What have you done?” Hina whimpered.
Poli‘ahu leaned against the crenellations to steady herself, unwilling to reveal how wobbly she really felt. “For fifty years your
people have taken and taken, claiming whatever land they saw or desired. If it must, Sawaiki itself will fight back against you. When they flee this place, bloody and shamed at their failure, it will serve as a sign of the changing times, Hina. They’ll never get you back, and it will break them.”
Hina shuddered. “You’re wrong. You’re only making things worse now.”
Glowering, Poli‘ahu motioned to a warrior. “Take her away. Return her to her room.”
9
They held Nyi Rara in a chamber with little light, save what filtered around the corner from a wisp light.
Chains of rose-gold bound her, running through a stone loop in the floor, within the Kuula compound. She had not often seen orichalcum. The metal could be shaped into workings of the Art, yes, but obviously the right preparations also allowed it to strip a spirit of its powers.
She was lucky, she supposed, that the chain didn’t force her out of mer form entirely.
But then, Aiaru didn’t want Nyi Rara dead.
The Queen of Mu swam around Nyi Rara in slow circles, carried by casual beats of her tail no doubt intended to disorient her.
Nyi Rara kept her gaze focused on the doorway and the hint of wisp light.
In her mind, she kept seeing Hokohoko’s grim smile when the guards had taken Nyi Rara. As if vindicated, as if Nyi Rara had actually ever done a damn thing to the other mermaid.
“Daucina has already told me you sought after the Waters of Life, princess. Why? Why care anything for Kanaloa’s hidden shrines?”
Nyi Rara forced any expression off her face. She didn’t owe Aiaru any explanation, nor would the queen truly understand if she tried to give one. Someone like Aiaru couldn’t begin to understand symbiosis with a host.
“It has been suggested to us,” Aiaru said, “that perhaps you were not entirely ignorant of your father’s treason. Perhaps you were a willing accomplice that ought to have been sacrificed to the Elder Deep, just as he was. This oversight can still be rectified, princess.”
