“Mainlander,” Pele said, stopping Gray short before he could take a step.
“Yeah?” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Erm. Yes? Ma’am?”
Pele raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Be gentle with your attachment to my sister. Remember that you are mortal; you will grow old, become crippled, wither, die, and blow away to dust while my sister but blinks her eye.”
Gray swallowed. “Well. That’s…a nice image.”
“I have said all I need to say. Thank you for your courage and your assistance, Grayson Park. May you forever be well.” And the volcano goddess melted into her lava pit, disappearing once more between the burning, roiling fire.
•
“Your sister’s pretty intense,” Gray said.
They stood on the deck outside of the resort, watching the moon fade in the early morning sky.
Hi’iaka grinned. “She is…rigid,” the goddess assented. “But surely not so terrifying as all that.”
“She literally made me wet myself.” Hi’iaka laughed her wind chime laugh, and it rang through the air and the salty ocean breeze. Gray grinned and shook his head. “I definitely should not have just told you that,” he decided.
“You would keep a secret from me, Grayson Park of Missouri?” she said, feigning astonishment. She leaned back with her elbows on the railing. They were both dirty, disheveled, covered in mud and blood and crusted blue stains of divinity, but no woman in history had ever looked as majestic as Hi’iaka looked to Gray in that moment.
“That kind of secret? I should probably start,” he said with a smile. “And that’s who I am, now? Grayson Park of Missouri? After all this, that’s my official title?”
“You don’t like it?” she grinned.
“It’s not my favorite.”
“Tsk-tsk-tsk,” Hi’iaka clucked. “I should have fled to Moloka’i after all.”
“Maybe,” Grayson agreed. “But then you’d still be having nightmares. And Kampua’a would still be a problem.”
“Mm. That is true.” Hi’iaka took his hand and rubbed at a smear of dried blood with her thumb. “I wonder what I will dream of tonight,” she said.
Gray laughed, a nervous little explosion that made Hi’iaka giggle. “Listen, is this…are we—? I mean, I know this is stupid, because I’m just a person, and you’re immortal, and Pele was like, ‘Hey, hands off,’ and I am definitely on the rebound, and that’s never a good time for this sort of thing, but…I mean, there is something here...right?”
Hi’iaka shifted closer so that their elbows touched, and once again, Grayson felt that surging warmth spread through his arm. “Time and the wind connect all manner of things, mortal and immortal alike,” she said gently, brushing her fingertips along the back of his hand. “Fire and water are unlikely companions, yet when they meet, islands are born.” She lifted her eyes, boring them into Grayson’s. “We have a connection. I do not know yet the width or breadth of it…but I would choose to find out.”
Gray smiled, and his shoulders melted into butter. He bumped his forehead gently against hers. “I leave Maui in four days,” he whispered.
Hi’iaka smiled. “Time and space are simply foes to be conquered,” she said. “It is not so hard to do. Not if you know how. And I will tell you the secret.” She brought her lips to his ears and whispered, “Kö aloha lä ‘ea, kö aloha lä ‘ea.”
Grayson smiled. “You know, I’ve heard that before,” he said, brushing her cheek with his lips. “I think it sounds like pretty good advice.”
The moon faded in the light of the rising sun as he kissed her, and in a warm Hawai’ian wind of pineapple, vanilla, coconut, and salt, they began their fight against space and time.
Epilogue
The goddess sat on her sea-glass throne, and the ocean broke across her feet. “How did the pig-lord’s trick play out, Ka-moho-ali‘i?” she asked, her voice crashing like the waves.
The shark god lifted himself from the water and stood fiercely atop the roiling sea. “As you said it would, Nāmaka.” Then he added, “More or less.”
Nāmaka nodded slowly, letting her thoughts tumble freely as she skimmed a hand across the surface of the ocean. “Kamapua’a has ever been a fool,” she declared.
“Now he is a ghostly fool,” Ka-moho-ali‘i said, showing his sharp, triangular teeth with a wide shark’s grin. “Your sister drained him of his divinity, and he was taken by the Night Marchers.”
Nāmaka raised an eyebrow at that. “Truly?” she asked. The shark god nodded. “How unexpected,” she mused. “How wonderfully fascinating.”
“It was Maui’s hook that did the draining.”
Nāmaka’s brow darkened. “Maui. The great trickster, gone long into hiding, has finally chosen a side, has he?” She gritted her teeth. “He has chosen poorly.”
Ka-moho-ali‘i remained silent, but mischief gleamed in his eyes.
“Kamapua’a’s failure is disappointing, but not surprising,” Nāmaka continued. “If his little game had lured Pele away from her chamber, he would have saved me much effort. But then, the effort is the fun of it all, don’t you think?”
Ka-moho-ali‘i nodded. “Yes, sister. I do.”
She lifted a stone jug from the base of her throne and held it lightly between her hands. The shark god stiffened, and his breathing became labored.
“What of the mortal?” she asked, running her finger along the lip of the jar.
“The mainlander?” the shark god asked, his focus waning.
“No. The other one. The fat one.”
“Polunu.”
“Yes, this Polunu. Did you find him?”
“I did,” Ka-moho-ali‘i nodded.
“Is he dead?”
“Completely.”
“Was he taken to the underworld?”
“No,” the shark god said proudly, thumping a fin against his chest. “I found him in time.”
“Good.” Nāmaka brought forth a corral cup from the water and poured a measure of ’awa from the jug. She handed it to the shark god, who snatched it greedily and drank it down in one swallow. He instantly relaxed, and his eyes rolled back a bit, and an uneven smile crept across his face. Nāmaka retrieved the cup and set it and the jar back into the sea. “Go down below the world and speak with Kanaloa. Bargain to keep the fat one’s body, and for whatever sorcery Kanaloa must use should I wish to bring him back. This human may yet have a role to play.”
The shark god snorted. “The role of mortals is to serve as food,” he said, his voice fluid and soft.
“Generally, I agree with you,” Nāmaka said. “But Hi’iaka is Pele’s weakness, and the mainlander may be Hi’iaka’s. Nā akua may not be easy to topple, but this mortal, Grayson Park…though he has proven himself surprisingly resourceful, I think he will be the key to bringing down my sister. Crush that stone, and the whole tower will fall. The fat one—this Polunu—will be the chisel.” She tented her fingers over her chest and smiled a wicked grin. “And I will be the hammer.”
Ka-moho-ali‘i bowed low, scraping his belly against the reef.
“Go now to Kanaloa. Secure his commitment and allegiance. Tell him to wait for my call, for we will bide our time until opportunity is ripe. And that,” the goddess hissed, gripping the arms of her throne and baring her teeth at her sister’s volcano, looming in the distance, “is when Nāmaka will have her revenge.”
Author’s Note
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Also by Clayton Smi
th
Anomaly Flats
Somewhere just off the interstate, in the heart of the American Midwest, there’s a quaint, quirky town where the stars in the sky circle a hypnotic void….where magnetic fields play havoc with time and perception…where metallic rain and plasma rivers and tentacles in the plumbing are simply part of the unsettling charm. Mallory Jenkins is about to experience the unique properties of this place for herself when she accidentally sets off a series of events that could unleash the ultimate evil upon the town and wreak havoc on the world at large.
Life in a small town is like that sometimes.
Welcome to Anomaly Flats. Have some waffles, meet the folks, and enjoy the scenery…and if you happen to be in Walmart, whatever you do, don’t go down aisle 8.
Don’t EVER go down aisle 8.
Apocalypticon
Three years have passed since the Jamaicans caused the apocalypse, and things in post-Armageddon Chicago have settled into a new kind of normal. Unfortunately, that “normal” includes collapsing skyscrapers, bands of bloodthirsty maniacs, and a dwindling cache of survival supplies. After watching his family, friends, and most of the non-sadistic elements of society crumble around him, Patrick decides it’s time to cross one last item off his bucket list.
He’s going to Disney World.
This hilarious, heartfelt, gut-wrenching odyssey through post-apocalyptic America is a pilgrimage peppered with peril, as fellow survivors Patrick and Ben encounter a slew of odd characters, from zombie politicians and deranged survivalists to a milky-eyed oracle who doesn’t have a lot of good news. Plus, it looks like Patrick may be hiding the real reason for their mission to the Magic Kingdom...
It Came from Anomaly Flats
The oddest little town in the Midwest has a thousand demented stories to tell...some of them are horrifying enough to send shivers down the strongest of spines. In this first collected volume of chill-inducing stories from everyone’s favorite transdimensional town, you’ll find reason enough to question your own sanity, even as you try to reassure yourself that things like this only happen in stories.
Don’t they?
Pants on Fire: A Collection of Lies
A circus performer leaving behind a trail of ghosts; a castle of bumbling nitwits desperate to prove themselves to King Arthur; a world full of deadly mirrors; a librarian who mistakes Death for a very somber wheat farmer; this pesky little thing called “the Rapture.” All these and more pepper the pages of Pants on Fire: A Collection of Lies, a twisted, quirky, macabre world full of hilarious and chilling tales. Equal parts humor and horror, these seventeen surprising stories will leave you thrilled, thrown, and enthralled.
Being lied to has never been so much fun!
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my wife, Paula, for not only being a daily inspiration to me in every single thing she does, but also for inspiring this book and the magic that lives inside it. I don’t know anyone who works as hard or lives so fiercely, and I hope this book captures even a fraction of her spirit. Aloha nui loa, Paula.
Thanks also to the incomparable Steven Luna, who kept Gray and Polunu on track when they tried to veer off to nonsensical parts unknown. Steven’s love for and dedication to this book might even rival my own, and I can’t thank him enough for that. Here’s to a whole series of adventures with nā akua, hoa pili.
I tried to keep the magic and adventure in this story as close to true Hawaiian mythology as I could. For that, I turned to a lot of questionable online sources, and a few much more solid, wonderful books, including Hawaiian Mythology by Martha Beckwith and The Water of Kāne by Mary Kawena Pūku‘i and Caroline Curtis. I wish they were all still around for me to send my sincerest thanks; their books helped me immensely, and I believe they will continue to be a great resource to me as I continue with the Nā Akua series. I am grateful to all of them for their invaluable guidance.
Finally, thank you to the people of Hawai’i for always being so kind and welcoming when we visit. This book is as much for the Hawai’ian people as it is for anyone else, and I hope I’ve done their home and their culture justice. I owe much to Hawai’i. Mahalo nui loa.
About the Author
Clayton Smith is a writer of speculative fiction living in Chicago, where he has become exceedingly good at cursing the winters. His work includes the novels Anomaly Flats, Apocalypticon, and Mabel Gray and the Wizard Who Swallowed the Sun; the plays Death and McCootie and The Depths; and the short story collections It Came from Anomaly Flats and Pants on Fire: A Collection of Lies. Some of his short stories have appeared in such publications as Canyon Voices, Write City Magazine, and Dumb White Husband.
Clayton would like very much to hear from you. You can find him on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram as @claytonsaurus.
And if your computer hasn’t succumbed to the terrible powers of magnetism, you should join his email newsletter! It’s fun there. There’s cake! (There’s no cake.) Find more information at StateOfClayton.com.
Find these other wonderful titles from Dapper Press at www.dapperpress.com/library and Amazon.com!
By Steven Luna
Joe Vampire
Hey, folks. I’m Joe, and I’m a vampire – not by choice, mind you, but by accident…a fate-twisting, fang-creating, blood lust-inducing misunderstanding. It started with a group date, a case of mistaken identity and far too many sake bombers, and ended with a ridiculous set of circumstances that I just can’t seem to wrap my head around. Maybe you can tell: I’m not real happy about it. But I’m certainly not going to let it get in the way of my life. So I’ve thrown my ranting into a blog. I’m hanging out my dirty laundry in an effort to explain the real deal about being a card-carrying member of the Undead Elite. Maybe it will help others understand the truth about vampires. Maybe it will help me come to terms with it, too. Believe me, it’s not all satin capes and naked ladies…none of it is, actually. One naked lady would be nice. Instead, it’s just one nasty little surprise after another. The truth bears exposing, and I’m pulling back the curtain on all of it. If I can figure out how to keep it from mowing me over in the process, then that’s groovy, too. And that thing about vampires sparkling in the sun? That is a bunch of bull.
Joe Vampire: The Afterlife
So...yeah. It’s me again. America’s most sarcastic vampire. I’m back on the blog. It’s been a while - about a year, if we need to get into specifics. Which I usually do. It’s just a thing with me. A lot has happened since we last chatted - some good, some bad. All worthwhile, in the grand scheme. I’ve dealt with the whole Living Dead thing long enough now to know how to keep it from taking over my life. What I’m still figuring out is how to keep it from wreaking havoc on everyone else’s lives. It’s a roller coaster, for sure, but I’m convinced that waiting for me somewhere on the other side of the Other Side is a real-life life, not just some artificially-sweetened half-life substitute. I want a family. I want my music. I want the dream come true, not the dream fell through. And I’m determined to have it, regardless of how eternal this afterlife thing might be. But it’s a hell of a lot to keep track of. Barring any unforeseen developments that might undo all my vampirosity, I may have to grow up a little in order to get it all to work out. I’m ready for that, though.
As fun as it might seem to hang with the Lost Boys, I can’t be Peter Pan-pire forever.
Joe Vampire: The New Paranormal
What has two fangs, a houseful of domestic madness and a brand-new blog full of vampire blah-blah-blah? This guy right here. Twice around the web and five years of contemporary ghoul-dude antics just weren’t enough for me. So I’m doing it all over again. This time, I’m in the throes of family expansion, in the form of another sticky-handed little Asherling running around this place—complete with vampire complications of his own. And the music project is picking up steam, too, including an amazing opportu
nity to tour with Revenant, those legendary gods of 80s Gothtronica. I’ll have to realign my work responsibilities and figure out how to be away from Chloe and the kids for a while in order to make it all happen. And, of course, the vampire elements will need to be kept under control. That’s always tricky. I can handle anything it throws at me, as long as my family stays safe. And there’s a lot to keep track of when the big What Happens Next has become the big What’s Happening Now. At this point, I’m balancing everything as best I can—the wife and kids, the day job and the dream job, the friends old and new. Joe Asher and Joe Vampire. It’s tenuous but possible, if I put my not-so-beating heart into it. It’s about time I accept that my life is always going to be a little more complex than I’d expected. All things considered, it’s a definite double-fistful of awesome, with a smattering of not-so-wonderful thrown in for good measure. Yep. Welcome to the new paranormal.
Population: us.
This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things
A man who receives life-changing financial advice from the talking fruit in his breakfast bowl...a girl whose thoughts incinerate her family over and over again...a house that wants nothing more than to please its occupants, and will do anything at all to make sure they’re happy. From enchanting to troubling to downright disturbing, this is why can’t have nice things explores the notion that sometimes even the most promising of magic can go askew, through an array of characters whose outcomes can be horrifying, hilarious, or heartbreaking - all delivered with inventive charm and wickedly gleeful wit.
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