The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  She looked over to the taniwha who was now dozing contentedly.

  I do feel safe with him, even after all the bad things I’ve seen him do. And now he’ll have to keep me safe if we are going to visit Leinani’s volcano.

  Kaimana knew she should be terrified at the thought of heading to the volcano, but instead she felt an odd sense of excitement brewing inside her.

  Soon I’m going to visit the most important god on the Atoll, with my friend the monster. Who else gets to live a life like this?

  Her smile grew wider, and for a second, Kaimana fancied that her surroundings were reflecting an orange glow, as if some small spark of light had briefly illuminated them.

  She sat upright, keeping deathly still.

  There it was again - another amber light, light from her own eyes. The light was quickly followed by a familiar buzzing inside Kaimana’s head, cautious and questioning.

  Her spark had returned.

  Hello! Come back, things are better now, welcome back, welcome home. Kaimana was freely crying, silent tears streaming down her face, curling around the painfully wide smile she now wore.

  Inside, her spark was searching, getting louder. It seemed to be particularly interested and concerned about the large taniwha Kaimana was resting against.

  This is Rakau, my friend, our friend. He brought you back to me. He’s going to be in our song, going to help us finish it.

  As soon as Kaimana thought the word ‘song’, the spark’s attention fixed on it, and began to buzz greedily for Kaimana to pick up her ocarina.

  She laughed. Yes. I’m tired, but for a short while, yes. I’ve been through so much since you left - we’ve got a much bigger story to tell now, and it isn’t finished yet.

  Shuffling a distance away from Rakau, Kaimana brought her ocarina to her lips, softly playing the tune that she had forgotten when the spark had left. Tired, her grin was now causing her cheeks to ache.

  I knew leaving the troupe was a good idea.

  That night, Yam got drunk. He did not leave his hut again, but a large amount of banging and the sounds of items tumbling and breaking suggested he was busy at something. When darkness fell, his singing began. Kaimana - her spark content to allow her rest after an hour of composing - looked at Rakau and laughed at the suddenness of it, but she could not help feel a small amount of concern as well. What was a god capable of whenever he got drunk?

  The songs were rude and ribald, the sorts of songs Kaimana was used to hearing islander men singing when they were in their cups. However, as the night continued, Kaimana became more concerned about her host than anyone else. The singing became more angry and forceful, and was accompanied by the sound of wood and pottery breaking. Finally, when Yam was clearly sobbing through his lyrics, Kaimana built up the courage to walk up to his door.

  “Yam? Great Yam? Can I be of any help?” Kaimana was unsure of how exactly she should address a drunken god, especially one who had begun things so informally with her.

  Her enquiries were met by something smashing on the inside of the hut, not far from where Kaimana’s head would be if the wall had not been in the way.

  “Not here right now, go away. Come back later.” The slurred shout was followed by huge sobs of grief.

  Kaimana turned to look at Rakau. He was lying where he had sat for dinner, clearly unconcerned by the events. She looked at her friend with a question in her eyes.

  What do I do?

  All Rakau seemed to do was shrug in response. It appeared that the damaged emotions of a harvest god were beyond the concern of a taniwha.

  Kaimana turned back to the hut and tried again. “Yam, I’d like to come in, please. I don’t think you’re being honest with me.”

  Silence from inside, followed by a few more sobs. Ignoring her spark, dimming anxiously, Kaimana took a deep breath and entered.

  Other than the destruction that had been caused over the past few hours - many broken clay bottles and plates, some ruined furniture - there was nothing unusual about the inside of Yam’s hut. In fact, it reminded Kaimana of her own family home back on Pukotala, complete with fire for cooking and a lone bed for sleeping in. The various implements that lay around the room suggested Yam’s godhood did not keep him from living a fairly regular existence. There were tools for farming the fields, for washing and cooking. There were even a few empty coconuts he had probably collected from the grove on the other end of the island, although most of these were now smashed.

  Yam himself was sitting on the sole remaining chair. He sat slumped on the seat, an unbroken and filled mug in his hand, resting on his belly. His face was red with tears, but she could tell straight away he was angry with her.

  “Is - is anything wrong?” she ventured.

  “Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?” he barked, indicating at nothing in particular with his mug, but swishing it wildly above his head, sending much of its contents flying over him. “I mean, I find this little island, make my home here so I can’t be found, and then what happens? People can’t help but come and find me, can they? And aren’t they all so happy when they do that…” His mouth soured and he drained the rest of his beer.

  Kaimana stepped forward, beginning to feel sorry for the little man, despite his anger and rudeness. “I - I am truly sorry if I said something to offend you, great Yam. I just, I don’t meet a lot of gods. I don’t know how I should react.” She paused and thought. “Should - should I be kneeling now?” Realising that this very well might be the right thing to do, Kaimana began to get down on her knees in front of the god.

  “Don’t you dare!” he barked, forcing her to stand up again. “Not for me, don’t dare do that. Get up, get up, we’re all nobodies here.” He forced himself out of his chair and walked towards a barrel he kept beside his bed. Yam dipped his mug into it, pulling it out filled with beer.

  “Nobodies? I’m not a nobody,” Kaimana said, irritated by the suggestion. “I have a Knack for music. I play the ocarina. I have a friend who happens to be a taniwha.”

  Yam mimed clapping slowly for her achievements, clearly unimpressed.

  “You aren’t a nobody, either. You’re a god.”

  Yam laughed, now struggling to look straight at her properly. “Oh yes, what a god I am. The god of Yams. The god of jokes, more like it.”

  “How can you say that? You give us one of the most important foods we eat on the Atoll. You’re praised every year for your bounty.”

  “Oh yes? You’re a performer, I bet you’ve been to many a harvest festival. Tell me, little mouse, how do they celebrate the great Yam, god of yams? Do they dress up their most handsome warriors, put me at the front of the parade and sing my praises and lavish beautiful women on me?”

  Kaimana stood silently, allowing her mind to wander back to the memory of the overweight child on Pukotala who had dressed as Yam, gaining a few chuckles from some of the onlookers, but otherwise being mostly forgotten.

  Yam looked at her for a moment, then gave a large belch. “Don’t answer that question. I know the answer, I’ve been there.”

  “You’ve been to Pukotala?”

  “What? No, nowhere in particular. They’re all the same though, the islands. Wanting to focus on the big ones, the Long Gods and the volcano gods. Rest of us are just a joke to them.” Yam sat down on the ground this time, resting his back on his beer barrel, and continued to drink.

  Kaimana knelt down beside him, considered taking his hand, but then thought better of it. “It doesn’t have to be that way, though. The people of the islands don’t know you. We have no stories of you, not really. All we know is what you give us. If you walked the islands, like so many others of your kind do, that would let people get to know you better.”

  Yam eyed her. “You think I haven’t done that? Think I haven’t visited humans before? That’s what brought me here in the first place,” and he indicated the hut they were both sitting in.

  “What happened?”

  “It was a harvest festival. No othe
rs of my kind were there. We can sense each other, you know. It’d been a while since I’d been out and about, so I thought it was about time to soak up some praise and thanksgiving.

  “The villagers though, they didn’t know me. Thought I was just some nobody coming to mulch their food off of them. Were pretty rude to me, to be honest.

  “That wasn’t the worst bit, no sir. That came when the harvest parade began. The Long God took his walk, and the rest of us were following behind. Not actually me, of course, but the fat joker who played me.” The god fell silent at this, lost in his own memories.

  “What happened?” Kaimana asked quietly, now too curious for her own good.

  “He was a joke,” Yam explained. “The fool was so drunk, he needed two children with him to help him stand up.” With that, Yam raised his mug to her and took another swig before continuing. “They threw things at him, laughed at him. Not exactly giving thanks for this year’s bounty, was it?”

  Kaimana felt deeply sorry for this broken creature in front of her, and she allowed him time for silence and to finish his drink.

  Then a thought occurred to her. “Where are all the people now?”

  Yam looked at her, his lip curling. “I’m a god, little girl. What do gods do to those that cross them?”

  Kaimana answered quietly, “They punish them.” Inside, she felt her spark fade towards nothingness again. It sensed danger and was preparing to flee.

  “We punish them,” he nodded gravely. Then, his serious face just briefly threatened to turn into one of grief, but he quickly masked this change by raising his empty mug to his mouth again.

  “We’ll be away from here early in the morning,” Kaimana told the drunk, angry god, and backed away slowly from him, leaving his hut.

  Kaimana did not sleep for the rest of that night, but instead lay curled under the heat of her taniwha, thinking about the drunken god that slept close by, agonising over his actions long ago.

  There was no trace of any other life on the island.

  In the morning, as Kaimana started to pack up her belongings, Yam came out of his hut and stood there, watching her get ready. As she was about to turn and leave, a thought entered Kaimana’s mind, one that she had been nursing for much of the night.

  She ignored the warning buzz from her spark, urging her to steer clear of danger, and Kaimana ran up to the god of yams and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Looking at the shock on his face, Kaimana spoke to him. “We don’t remember Leinani for her volcanoes, you know. Although she does use them to remind us of her, those aren’t the stories we tell of her. We talk about her romance with Nakoa, of her encounters with islanders that dare to cross her. When we talk about the Long God, we don’t speak of farms and produce. We talk about his quest into the Sky Kingdom and his affairs with the Sky Fairies. When it comes to the god of the seas, we are more interested in his war with his brother than what he provides in the water.

  “You’re the god of yams, and we should worship you for this, better than we do. But if that really means something to you, and if you want the islanders to know you, you need to leave this island. There are no stories in farming yams and coconuts for the rest of your existence. Get out there, on the Atoll, and live some stories for us to tell about you.”

  She hugged Yam once more and then left for the beach without giving him a chance to respond.

  Rakau slipped into the water first, and then turned and looked at Kaimana inquisitively.

  She stole a glance at the dark volcano again. “I guess we don’t have a choice,” she said. “Time to visit Leinani and find a home for you.”

  And finish the story that I am putting to song. Her spark jingled merrily at the thought.

  Luckily, her canoe had remained on the beach last night. Kaimana pushed it further into the water and climbed aboard.

  As she took one last look at the island before paddling off, she was surprised to see Yam running towards them. The god’s belly was dancing as he jogged, and his face was red after just a small distance of travelling.

  He was shouting at them. “Wait for me! Wait!”

  Smiling, Kaimana stopped paddling. She watched the god trip into the surf, and then he fell face first into the water, weighted down by the large pack he had on his back.

  Kaimana jumped out of the canoe and ran to pick him up.

  “I can do it myself, I’m fine,” he barked, as he grabbed the side of the canoe and tried ineffectually to pull himself over the edge. “I’ve been walking on beaches since before your great-grandparent’s ancestors were born.”

  Rolling her eyes, Kaimana gave him a little push and then jumped in after him.

  She picked up the oar again and looked at her new passenger.

  “What?” Yam questioned her, angrily, still huffing and puffing.

  “What changed your mind?”

  Yam nodded his head, eyes lowered. Then he gave Kaimana a look of grudging respect. “I guess - I guess I’ve got some stories out there to make.” He broke her eye contact and turned red in the face, flustered. “Don’t make a big deal about it, okay? I’ve been planning something like this for a while, got nothin’ to do with you. Just needed a canoe because I’m a terrible traveller, and I fancy watching you two make a complete mess of things in front of my sister. Always nice to know there’s someone out there who’s got it worse than me.”

  Kaimana pursed her lips in annoyance at the stubborn god, used the paddle to turn her canoe towards the volcano, and started to push towards Leinani’s home.

  A tale from the Crescent Atoll

  Fainga was the chief of an Atoll island. He was well loved by his people and he tended to his island and lands well. Because of this, his farms were fertile and provided well for his people.

  Fainga’s island was a large volcano. This volcano was nothing compared to Leinani’s home, but it was still an impressive sight, and provided Fainga’s people with the rich soils that allowed them to thrive.

  The chief’s favourite sport was lava running, and he would challenge all on the island to this activity whenever their volcano was active. He had his wood smiths carve him a thin sledge that was capable of making the sharp turns needed to manoeuvre down flows of molten rock, and he thrilled at showing off for his people. Fainga’s lava racing was well known throughout the Atoll, and people travelled for days to watch him compete if they heard that the volcano was flowing.

  One summer’s day, Fainga was challenged by his rival, Ekewaka. Theirs was a friendly rivalry, but one that had lasted for many years. One year, Fainga would get to the bottom of a lava flow first, and on the next Ekewaka would be the victor.

  On the eve of this competition the two relaxed together in Fainga’s hut, joking about tomorrow’s challenge. It was at this time that Ekewaka was visited by a strange woman with fiery red hair.

  “Give me your sledge,” the woman demanded of Ekewaka. “Give me your sledge and tomorrow I will best the chief of this island upon the fiery slopes.”

  Ekewaka laughed at the stranger, but Fainga looked thoughtful.

  The red haired woman repeated again, “Give me your sledge.”

  Ekewaka turned to Fainga and grinned, “What do you say, friend? Instead of a true competition, would you rather humiliate this woman who has too high an opinion of herself?”

  Fainga stroked his beard and spoke. “What will be our bargain? What do you want of me if you win?”

  Without hesitation the woman said, “That you promise to never again race the volcano. That you shall leave well enough alone that which should not be tamed.”

  Fainga raised his eyebrow. “And if I win?”

  “You will not win,” she replied.

  “So, I can name my prize then?”

  The fiery woman nodded.

  “I claim you. I shall own you for one week and a day, and will parade you around my island in victory, bound to the sledge that I shall best you upon.”

  The woman grinned and nodded, then left with Ekewaka’s sledge.
>
  The next morning, both competitors met at the foot of the volcano. They nodded at each other and climbed the mountain together, silently.

  The local priest waited for them at the top. There he gave the signal to go, and both took off at high speed.

  Fainga had to admit that the woman was fast, much faster than he had anticipated. She appeared to know exactly which patches of the molten rock would carry her at speed, and she had an uncanny ability to avoid the slower moving, cooler patches of lava.

  However, Fainga was faster. He had lived all of his life racing on the mountain, and he also knew that his reputation would never recover if he allowed this upstart stranger to best him. So, through desperate action and skill, Fainga reached the bottom first, claiming victory.

  The woman was furious at her loss.

  “Again,” she said, simply. “We must race again. I raise the bet.”

  Fainga shrugged. “I have already beaten you. Why would I want to race now?”

  “Name your prize,” the woman said.

  “You,” Fainga replied. “I claim you, for a year and a day. You shall belong to me, body and soul, and shall do whatever I bid of you until your term is finished.”

  The woman nodded. “If I win,” she said, “you will never race on the mountainside again. You will leave this island in disgrace.”

  They shook on the new terms, and then climbed the mountain once more.

  At the top, before they began their race, the woman looked at her own sledge in dissatisfaction.

  “We must exchange sledges,” she demanded. “I see now that yours is better than mine. The last race was unfair. We must exchange sledges before we begin.”

  Fainga laughed and shook his head. He knew the woman’s words were correct - his sledge was indeed better, as it had been carved for him by the finest woodworking Knacks on the Atoll. He was not willing to give it up.

  “We can continue this debate after you belong to me,” he barked at her before setting off on his descent, before she was ready.