by Matt Larkin
His muscles tore apart in searing flame, doubling and tripling in size, even as they folded and snapped, transforming him. Bristles burst from his own back in splendid agony, forcing him to gaze once more at the moon and bellow in delicious pain at what he had become.
Something between animal and man, yes, and more glorious than either. On two legs he rose and took in his brethren, all of whom had or were undergoing such changes.
There, the wolf, Fenrir, was howling up above, and beside him Jambavana, the bear, who might be the strongest of them all. Ninkilim, the rat, stalked over to Moccus, panting, shaking his head, as if uncertain.
Húshén had become her fox now, lithe and swift, and, to Moccus’s eyes, suddenly so profoundly lust-inducing he made no effort to hide his arousal.
The crocodile, Sobek, shuddered as it settled in, then took off at a run, dashing for the lagoon, most to the consternation of the druids. Moccus chuckled, though he knew too well the urge to run and be free. His skin, bulging as it was, remained too small for him. It suffocated him.
But then, with it came the irrepressible desire to fulfill his purpose. To crush those who stood before him. To run and kill and mate and forever change the world.
It ripped through him, as he would rip through any who stood in his way.
And, oh yes, he would indeed father a new line like him.
They had unleashed something they did not understand and could not control. And he would thank them for it.
Kamapua‘a’s face hurt. He could almost feel the flesh knitting itself back together.
Which shitting itched worse than having lice on his balls.
He groaned, staring up at the moon in the sky. Actually, he was lucky he was the one staring at the moon, and not the Boar God. Those were its … his memories … from way back. Way back when he had a purpose.
Back before a mountain of years had turned his head into a hollow gourd filled with coconuts banging around together.
Inside his soul, something growled at him.
Shit.
But he got it now.
Those first ones, they didn’t die. Couldn’t die. And if Kama died, the Boar God would just pass right on into somebody else, wouldn’t he? If Pele killed him, maybe that thing would wind up in her.
Which sounded more awful than anything else he could imagine.
Kama sat up to find Pele already sitting there, legs folded, staring at him like he was one of those weird animal things from the Boar God’s visions. The other man had known what they were, sure, but most of those things didn’t live on Sawaiki, so Kama hardly knew what to call them. Monsters, almost.
“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” Pele said, a tiny flame swirling around her fingers. “I don’t know why you’ve followed me. And I’m more than half inclined to incinerate you no matter how much mana it winds up taking.”
But she hadn’t. He’d been unconscious—probably on account of having his head exploded—and his wife hadn’t murdered him. Though not long ago he’d intended to ask her to do just that.
“I uh … Shit.”
“Yes, I know that part. Do you know any other words?”
“There’s a thing in me. You can’t kill it, even if you kill me.”
“So I surmised.”
Kama scratched at his beard. “I … I shouldn’t have come.” Everything was shitting pointless. There was no way out. He couldn’t die, because the Boar God would take someone else. He couldn’t live, because the Boar God would eventually take him over completely.
There is no solution save being strong enough to control yourself.
Dear Uli, always the loving mother. Shit, he missed Big Sis. And he dare not go anywhere near her.
“I have to fight someone,” Pele said.
“What?”
“I have to fight someone more powerful than any foe I’ve ever faced, someone probably aided by ghosts or spirits.”
Kama snorted in disgust. “Ugh …”
“Did you come to me seeking some sort of redemption?”
Aw, shit. “Yeah, I guess. If I have to.”
Pele leaned in, though the loathing remained in her eyes. “I know what it’s like to hate yourself for the things you’ve done. To be driven by the hate into yet more acts of depravity, running from agony to agony. If you would be redeemed in your own eyes, help me overcome my foe.”
“In my eyes?”
Pele sneered.
Oh. Right. Because there was no redemption for him in her eyes. Kamapua‘a was a fool, sometimes, despite his propitious intellect.
Pele wanted him to make things better for himself by killing someone else. Shit … what was it Malie had said about that?
Something about getting stuck in a maelstrom of violence and never having a way back.
Oh well. Maybe Pele was right. Maybe if Kama could do one good thing, it would make his life worth something. Maybe it would redeem the intention of those ancient morons who called up the Boar God in the first place.
Or maybe he’d just dig them all into the biggest pile of shit anyone had ever seen.
34
Eventually, wandering through the dark tunnels, Kana stumbled one too many times, and Namaka fell from his arms. ‘Aumākua, she just wanted to sleep. To surrender. Some part of her knew Nyi Rara’s essence would eventually repair the damage to her body, should she live that long.
“Are you still with me?” Kana asked, his words broken by panting.
“Yes,” she mumbled.
But they had other problems. In total darkness, they couldn’t find the way back. Well before they reached the menehune village, the tunnel would have branches, paths that led ‘aumākua knew where. If they took the wrong one, they could easily find themselves lost forever. Worse, the route they had taken had carried them past gorges and pits where one wrong step could send them plummeting to their deaths.
“I’m sorry,” she said after a few moments of silence. “I lost the torch.”
He grunted. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had already considered the difficulties they faced. Maybe that was why he didn’t bother rising, didn’t press onward.
“We failed,” he said. “Niheu …”
Hi‘iaka. Godsdamn it!
They failed because, faced with such opponents, what could either of them have possibly done? Even if the Waters of Life had lain in there, she hadn’t been able to sense them. Maybe her confusion and wounds had made it more difficult. Maybe the Waters’ guardians blocked her from sensing it. Either way, she’d had no weapon save her own blood—and hardly enough of that for her to fight Kū-Waha-Ilo and his harpy, both. She should have known. The menehune had told her the Place of Darkness would cost her her life. But she’d been so intent to save everyone else she’d thought herself invincible.
What was her father? Guarding the Waters of Life … serving Kanaloa … Did that make him … a mo‘o? A descendant of the taniwha?
‘Aumākua, she had walked into a situation she’d had no understanding of. And in doing so, she had not only damned herself and Kana, but all those who counted on them.
“I’m sorry about your brother.”
“I’m sorry for your sister.”
Namaka sighed and shut her eyes. Her people. Sometimes she missed talking to Nyi Rara. An odd sensation, because she was, in fact, Nyi Rara. She missed talking to herself. Having a fused consciousness was not the same as having another person to talk to. She had Kana, but he could never know her as deeply as Nyi Rara could. And still, she was grateful for his presence. If she was going to die here, at least she didn’t have to die alone.
A last comforting thought. Namaka patted around in the darkness until she found his hand and held it tight.
“There’s light coming from the tunnel,” Kana said.
His words jolted Namaka. She must have slept, at least for a moment. She opened her eyes to see a faint illumination drawing near, and not from the Place. Had Molowa returned for them? And what would the menehune do if he ha
d? They had failed utterly. Maybe he would still let them go, save them, in effect. Or maybe not. He hadn’t wanted to antagonize Mu, but that didn’t mean the Earth spirit was on their side.
She sat up, stretching her aching shoulders. The wounds had sealed, but even that slight stretch felt like it would reopen the gouges. A human would probably have died from the harpy’s attack.
She squinted into the shadows, but couldn’t make out the source of the light. It was coming toward them, though.
“Fish Girl!” Upoho’s voice rang out before he had even come into view.
Namaka choked on her own laugh. How was that even possible? Upoho was here. Maybe the ‘aumākua did love her after all.
“Upoho,” she said as the wererat trod amidst them, bearing the welcome light of a fresh torch.
He sniffed, then knelt beside her. “Damn, girl. What on Milu’s icy arse happened to you? Who did this?” He poked her shoulder, sending a fresh stab of pain through her.
“Ow.” She slapped his hand away. “It’s a long story. What are you doing here? How did you even find me?”
“Once I caught your scent, it wasn’t too hard. Found some menehune, too!”
“You saved my life. Both our lives.” She nodded at Kana, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes.
“Huh. Never expected to see you again,” Upoho said to the young man.
“We were trying to find the Place of Darkness together,” Kana said. “And we did, it’s just that it was protected by something powerful.”
Upoho snorted. “Something you couldn’t handle? You want me to strangle someone?”
“I’m not certain you could. It’s … it’s Kū-Waha-Ilo.”
Upoho’s feigned nonchalance fell away in an instant. “That’s where he went … all those years ago, when he vanished. He came here?”
“I think so. Why did you come after me? I thought you were with Hi‘iaka.”
Upoho slumped down onto his haunches. “You kidding? Soon as I heard you were back land-side I started tracking you. The kāhuna are watching the girl. I mean … she’s dead, Namaka. It’s not like we have to worry about her getting more dead or something.”
In a strange sense, that was exactly what she worried over. Hi‘iaka’s soul fleeing into the depths of Pō and her being truly dead, beyond hope of even the Waters of Life. But Upoho had the right of it. He could do nothing to protect Hi‘iaka and he … “You didn’t want to go with Pele.”
“Well … I mean the bitch burned out my eye.” A faint tremble ran beneath his face. “So, uh, if we’re not killing her, then no. I don’t much want to look at her.”
Namaka rubbed her forehead. It was all too much to wrap her mind around.
Did Pele even know their father was here? She had to assume not.
Upoho wrapped her in a sudden embrace. Despite the fresh pain in her shoulders, she hugged him back, not willing to let him face it alone. They had lost a lot, the both of them. People—and a dragon—they had loved.
Once, she had chided him for calling himself her brother. How wrong she had been. Raised by the same dragon, they were siblings, blood ties be damned.
“You came for me … brother. That’s what matters.”
“Always. It’s what family’s for, right?”
She nodded, then looked to Kana, who had grown even more forlorn at the reminder of his own brother’s situation. She couldn’t give up. If she walked away now, it was all for nothing.
Hi‘iaka and Niheu would be gone. She could not allow that to happen.
But nor was she in any shape to fight Kū-Waha-Ilo. Whatever he was, she didn’t have the power to win a physical confrontation with him. Not here, so far from the sea, far from her source of power. Upoho and Kana were both kupua as well, physically powerful, yes. But a match for Kū-Waha-Ilo? She couldn’t be sure.
Namaka needed time to recover her strength, to rest. “We need to bring water with us,” she said.
Kana frowned. “We had water. We drank it.”
“Not for drinking.” Whether her father was man, god, dragon, or something in between, she would find a way to stop him.
“Lots of water in the menehune village,” Upoho said. “You could rest there, too.”
The thought of spending the night among those spirits did not appeal to her in the least. But she saw no other choice.
Molowa allowed them to rest in his village, or rather, beneath it. Below the level of the rock platforms rested the lake, beside which they found an alcove in one of the platforms. It was a small cave within the cave and it reminded Namaka of the home she’d had with Milolii lifetimes ago. One that, perhaps, she had never fully appreciated.
The reminder left her both glad and mournful, and unwilling to submit to the turbulent roar of her mixed emotions. Instead, she watched Kana and Upoho. The pair had fallen into easy rapport, almost as though Kana had never left Uluka‘a. As though the war had never happened. As though their whole ‘ohana had never sundered.
How very strange. It seemed like forever ago she had hunted the Waters of Life with Aukele and Pele just to save Kana. Now Kana followed the same course to save his own brother. They were caught up in a current, all of them, connected in some way she did not quite understand yet. The kupua in Uluka‘a and Kahiki and Sawaiki, all connected by … by what?
They were heirs to vast amounts of mana. She and her sisters were heirs to Haumea and the power in her blood. Kū-Waha-Ilo had claimed that he and Haumea had other heirs before Namaka. What did it all mean?
Kū-Waha-Ilo and Haumea both served Kanaloa. The octopus god had made them immortal to enact his will on land. But why did his will involve breeding the two of them? Why did Kanaloa want more kupua running around these islands?
Namaka wracked her brain but found no easy answer forthcoming.
The problem was that Kanaloa had come to the Mortal Realm nearly five thousand years ago. In all that time, maybe even before that, he’d been plotting, scheming. Moving in the shadows toward some endgame no one with a mortal perspective seemed able to see. The octopus had his arms wrapped around the better part of the Worldsea.
He’d brought taniwha with him, then made many of them into mo‘o. Weaker dragons, yes, but more intelligent, able to move on land, to assume human form. To breed with humans or other kupua.
What was the octopus god doing?
Namaka’s head hurt with a tingling, an instinct that told her her whole life was somehow connected to all of this. There was a greater picture, but she couldn’t see it. If only she had access to the damn Urchin.
The others, they didn’t seem to realize or care about the swirl of forces at play here.
Upoho seemed happy anyone was laughing at his jokes and Kana … perhaps he was just glad for a distraction from his fate.
Namaka could not forget though. Could not let go of what Kana had promised Molowa. No matter what happened, Kana’s life was over. And that thought pulsed like a physical pain in her chest. One more person lost forever.
One more person she had failed to save.
Kana had promised himself to Molowa as a new host, had made a blood oath. If they succeeded, Kana’s brother would be saved and Kana would be lost forever. It was a prize to the menehune, one they would—she hoped—honor enough to keep from interfering with her goals. The price of it was too high, of course. Kana was a good man, a friend. And she had no way to save him. Nothing she could do would release him from his oath. And with a menehune riding his body, his mind would fall into subservience, even as his handsome body shrunk and warped to fit its new occupant’s twisted nature. Human hosts treated as such eventually lost themselves, driven mad by the centuries of impotent solitude. Given enough time, not even madness truly remained. The man who had been Kana would dwindle away to nothing, just … gone. Sapped away by a spirit feasting on his body and soul to sustain its immortality.
One more friend lost to her. One more person she cared about sacrificed.
‘Aumākua, she had to find
a way to fix this. To fix all of it.
Kanaloa was crushing the mer and the humans alike. Namaka would be the one to sever his greedy arms. She swore it.
Namaka didn’t know why Kana had gone back in to see the menehune chief. Perhaps he thought he could negotiate for aid against Kū-Waha-Ilo.
Either way, he remained in Molowa’s hut for a long time. Namaka stood outside, part of her longing to go in, to try to help.
When he at last emerged, Kana looked bedraggled. His eyes met hers, pled with her not to ask what had been said. She could do nothing but honor such an unspoken request.
So, she took his hand when he neared and squeezed it. What could she possibly say to alleviate the burden he bore? Nothing. She, bearing the soul of Nyi Rara, understood the pain he would suffer better than he himself did.
Instead, she walked with him along the menehune village. Fusing Namaka’s and Nyi Rara’s souls had seemed a good idea, the only real option, but in times like this she couldn’t help feel her two sides tearing her apart. The human side, revolted by the alien, parasitic nature of spirits, while her own spirit side saw it as necessary and just. No different than a human hunting and eating animals.
“You seem distracted,” he said, when they paused in front of a waterfall on the far side of the village.
“You remember I told you I have two souls? They don’t always agree.”
“Why not?”
She sighed and continued on, leading him onto the farthest outcropping. From here, she could see stalactites hanging over a cavern that seemed to stretch away forever. “Because humans are mortal, natural beings. And my mermaid side is a spirit, Kana. It’s not like people. It comes from a place that’s not even a place.” And had lived for more than eight hundred years—which was nothing compared to some spirits. But telling him all that would only frighten him of a fate he could not hope to avoid.
