by Matt Larkin
Now, of course, I mumbled at my unworthiness for such an undertaking, while secretly harboring a flush of incredible pride. My ancestor, a living ‘aumākua by all accounts, had declared me worthy to rule this fabled land.
I thought, in my arrogance, she meant I was to conquer it, and thus I came with such intent. Now, I realize, My Queen, there is another way in which a man might become a king, and I suspect that was Mo‘oinanea’s intent all along.
NAMAKA SCOFFED at the man’s sheer audacity, pausing just before the valley. “You think yourself worthy to become my husband, Aukele?” She shook her head. “I choose who I wish to wed and who I wish to lay with and share my mana with. My husbands, however, rule nothing save through my authority. And regardless, if you intend to court my affections, you have quite some way to go.”
Aukele, though, just smiled as if he knew something she didn’t. An infuriating, arrogant smile that almost made her reconsider wanting to take him on this little trek.
After walking in silence for a bit longer, the land opened into the valley and she led him up to the rope bridge.
“Beautiful,” he said, staring at the waterfall that covered the cave where Namaka had once lived, as if he had not seen it before.
It cascaded down the green mountains, falling into a pool a hundred feet above where she stood, then tumbling down another fall over the cave. Once she had tried to climb the peak and find its source, but her energy had given out before she could reach so high, like the waters were poured from the heavens by the sky god Wākea himself.
Namaka moved to stand beside Aukele on the bridge. It was beautiful, of course, though that wasn’t the only thing she wanted to show him. She reached out, allowing her mana to brush over the water and call it to her. She spread her hands in the air, palms up. Ripples formed in the river below, then spouts of water jutted up, covering them both in a spray like cleansing rain. Geyser after geyser fountained into the air, forming crisscrossing lines like a net of water above their heads.
Aukele sucked in a sharp breath, then turned about, basking in the falling water. “That’s how you sank our fleet.”
Namaka murmured in assent. It took a bit of concentration to keep the shower going, but she wouldn’t have cast this aside for all the riches of the Worldsea. “Milolii was almost a second mother to me. That she has vouched for you keeps you safe, for the moment. You are, however, a long way from winning my favor, foreigner.”
The man laughed as if making a bad throw in kilu, rather than risking getting sacrificed if he pushed her too far. He hardly seemed to understand fear.
Namaka shrugged and finally let the waterspouts die. Almost instantly the river resumed its normal flow, as though she had never touched it at all. For all her power, nature reverted to its own balance the moment she was removed. Some believed her parents were eternal, but even as a kupua, Namaka’s time in the Mortal Realm would have its limits.
Aukele leaned on the rope bridge. “Then I should just keep talking until you’ve been thoroughly wooed.”
Namaka rolled her eyes.
WHEN THE SUN HAD SET, Mo‘oinanea lifted me from the pit, allowing me to rest upon her shoulders. While sinuous, I’d have judged her bulk to stretch at least forty or fifty feet, enough to heft me up and allow me to scramble away from my prison.
“Mahalo,” I said, turning to look back at her, but she had already slipped back into the darkness and, a moment later, I heard a splash. Perhaps that hole had some connection to the sea, for tale claims the mo‘o always find themselves drawn back to the deep.
Regardless, I stalked back toward the village and my family’s palace, uncertain how to proceed. The great mo‘o had all but placed a tabu upon me, effectively commanding me to travel to Uluka‘a and make myself king. I could manage neither the journey nor the conquest alone, and thus I knew I needed support from the people of my father’s kingdom.
My brothers, however, had betrayed me, and I knew if they learned I yet lived, they would only make another attempt on my life. Thus, I broke away from Lihue and traveled overland instead to Waimea, where my half-sister Hina lived with Chief Hakalanileo. Making such a trek, injured as I was, proved no easy feat, though I’ll not bore you with the details.
Suffice it to say, I was found by my sister’s kahuna Lonoaohi, and taken in to have injuries treated. He sensed the mana within me and claimed, were I a mere mortal, I might have succumbed to the rot for such wounds as I’d taken in the pit.
I remember lying there, in the kahuna’s hut, sweating next to a fire, breathing in rank herbs designed to improve my natural healing abilities. I remember … my half-sister, she came to see me, sent for by Lonoaohi.
Hina was younger than I, a child of Uli and my uncle, Kalana. She stared at me a long time, as if trying to decide if she even recognized me. Given that cold sweats plastered my hair to my chest, I suppose I cannot much blame her. Nor had I seen her in long years.
With her came the elder of her sons, Kana, who I had played with when he was a child, and taken hunting and swimming and surfing. Kana, for his part, raced to my side and grasped my hand, hissing—whether at the stench of the herbs or the paleness of my flesh, I don’t know.
“It’s not a good time for you to be here,” Hina finally said. “Hakalanileo is vexed with Kamapua‘a and damn well might cast you out or worse to spite me.”
I could only groan at that. Kamapua‘a was another child of Uli and Kalana, and thus my half-brother and Hina’s full brother. But since she had all but raised the boy, I think she thought of him almost as a son. I didn’t know him half so well, but even I had heard of his rapidly deteriorating relationship with Hakalanileo, who perhaps believed the other kupua a threat to his own sons, including Kana.
I doubt Kamapua‘a had ill intent toward his nephews, but since his brother-in-law forced the issue, we’ll never know.
All this, of course, holds little bearing on the tale I weave for you now. What matters is that, on hearing of my travails and how my brothers had betrayed me, Kana insisted on joining me in first taking revenge and then on finding fabled Uluka‘a. The boy was young, but he was a skilled warrior and I could not have asked for a better friend by my side.
His brother, Niheu, however, elected to remain in Waimea and look after his mother. Considering Chief Hakalanileo’s growing displeasure with Kamapua‘a, I can’t say the boy made the wrong choice.
When I had healed a little more, Kana traveled with me, back to Lihue. While I waited outside the village, he made his way in and began to spread the tale of how my father’s chosen heir had met with such foul treatment. I wish I could have seen the looks on men’s faces on hearing that. Regardless, they came to me, small bands of men, eager to make things right and repay the treachery my brothers had visited upon me.
In the night, we stormed the palace. Our axes and spears fell heavily upon those who had betrayed me, sparing their warriors only if they raised no weapon against us. Dozens died that night, and I remember the screams, the blood flying. I remember the strange maelstrom of disgust and exaltation as I hacked my eldest brother’s head from his shoulders.
And Kana! Oh, Kāne! That boy ripped through our foes like a whirlwind, his spear gouging eyes and slicing out throats, spilling entrails in a typhoon of viscera. He was fierce beyond belief, and I was awed.
My father, when we came upon him, just shook his head sadly, as if he’d suspected what my brothers had done even when they reported my death. He did not blame me—I hope he did not—but I never saw joy on his face again, and, some days later, when we loaded the boats and set sail to find Kahiki and Uluka‘a, my father did not come to the shore to see us off.
I … wish things had gone differently for my brothers. I wish such sorrow had not come to my father. But how could I offer any other answer to my own family who had thrown me in a pit and left me to die? How could I not revenge myself on such a crime?
Oh, My Queen … Do you understand vengeance? It is not a pretty thing, but I think the
‘aumākua demand it of us. Such is the natural order of things. Actions prompt reactions, necessarily. Some deeds cannot be borne.
Well, I am neither proud nor repentant of my actions, and, over the many miles of the Worldsea, I had a long, long time to think on them.
What I do regret, though, is that when we came to your shores, I mistook Mo‘oinanea’s tabu placed upon me for thinking I must come as a conqueror and claim this kingdom. Our fleet came to your island, and you turned a kai e‘e upon us, swatting us like buzzing flies. Perhaps, that too was what the natural order demanded by Pō.
I cannot say.
My men drowned. My ships sank. And my nephew was … lost.
While I, able to swim far beneath the sea, endured, and made it to shore, half-dead and broken by grief. Bemoaning the loss of my beloved Kana, whom I had seen grow from childhood.
NAMAKA HUFFED OUT A SIGH. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Ah, well, there is more to the tale. But to jump ahead a little, some days later, Upoho found Kana, washed up on shore, lingering on death’s threshold. His soul has fled his body, the dragon tells me, but his body has not yet given up. As a kupua, he is too strong for his own good, and thus I watch him dying slowly.”
“He’s alive?” Namaka clucked her tongue.
Aukele groaned. “If you wish to call it that.” He sniffed. “Ah, but I get ahead of myself.”
I DON’T REMEMBER CRAWLING from the shore, but I found myself in the jungle that night, when Upoho found me. There was this chittering sound and I blinked through the haze of pain to see a rat sitting on an extruded root, staring hard at me with eyes holding too much intelligence. An almost predatory gleam. Did it think to eat me? Did it think I had so few breaths left in my body?
Growling, I hurled a broken coconut at it, but the effort had my vision dimming and I saw nothing else after that.
Not for … a while. I awakened next in the cave, the sound of crashing water the first thing I recognized. I was behind a waterfall and its noise had lulled me into a peaceful sleep. With a groan, I rolled over and then started. Another, smaller mo‘o peered at me like I was a meal that had fallen in her lap. Unable to catch my breath, I scrambled backward, wheezing, eyes bleary. “Wait! Wait, I am a descendant of Mo‘oinanea!” I knew I slurred my words, but my tongue refused to obey me.
The dragon, though, leaned in, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I know. I am Milolii, and I can smell my blood in you, kupua,” she said, voice maybe even more pompous than Mo‘oinanea’s had been.
Really, I mean now I can say she’s a charming … er, woman … but a little pretentious. In any event, I sat there, mumbling … something, I hardly recall what, when she raised a clawed digit waving me to silence. This big, black talon right in my face. Ah, she got silence, let me tell you.
“Why have you come here?” she asked me.
I swallowed, forcing down the urge to glance nervously about the cave. I could hear someone else moving in the shadows, but I dared not take my eyes off the dragon. Would have been rude, after all, and I didn’t think rudeness toward a dragon wise. “Mo‘oinanea sent me here, said I should become a king.”
And the other mo‘o, she stared at me so long I began to wonder if she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open. No, it’s true! She held still as a rock, watching me, unblinking, far too intense.
“Maui failed,” a voice said from the shadows. Upoho, of course, though I didn’t know his name then. Come to think of it, I’m still not fully certain what he meant, but it drew a growl from Milolii.
The dragon motioned me to the back of the cave, and I crawled over there, only to find a naked man scrambling over. He tossed a fish at my feet, and—once I had eaten—introduced himself as Upoho.
I spent the next several days regaining my strength in that cave. It was during this time that I explained to them what I’d been through, and shortly thereafter, Upoho found Kana washed up on the beach, on the edge of death.
That was when Milolii told me of Maui’s last, failed quest.
NAMAKA STIFFENED, watching Aukele with narrow eyes a moment. Then she turned and left him there.
13
T heir canoes passed before a large bluff on the northern shore of Vai‘i. Even this close, Pele could feel the fires burning within the island. It fairly pulsed with magmatic energies, calling to her, driving her own heartbeat into a matching rhythm.
Lonomakua sitting beside her pointed up to the bluff, and Pele followed where he pointed. A man stood there, waving his hand at them.
“Who is he?”
Lonomakua frowned, offering only a slight shake of his head.
“Take me aboard!”
Pele jolted. The breeze had carried the man’s words as if sent by La‘amaomao’s own Gourd of the Winds. She looked to Lonomakua, but his frown had only deepened. She looked to Hi‘iaka, who grinned with childish delight.
“These canoes are full!” Pele shouted back. “There’s no space save at the prow.”
She hardly expected the man to have heard her, but a moment later he dove off the bluff and splashed down into the sea with surprising grace. The man swam his way over to the canoes, then climbed atop the prow, balancing precariously on it and grinning like a madman.
“Makua-kaumana the Wise, Prophet of Wind and Flame, Advisor to Kings and Queens. You, my lady, may call me Makua.”
Hi‘iaka giggled. “Like Lonomakua, huh.”
Who did not seem well pleased with this development.
Pele could only frown at the absurd man. “You’re a prophet? You mean a pyromancer?”
“And aeromancer.”
“How did you know we’d pass this way?”
“I told you. I’m a prophet.”
Pele wrestled with the urge to throw the pompous fool from the boat. “What do you want?”
“The gods tell me you shall become queen of all Vai‘i. To accomplish this, you need one who interprets the meanings of the akua and ‘aumākua.”
“Oh,” Hi‘iaka said. “Don’t worry. We’re all gods anyway.” And Pele could have sworn the very air thrummed with her pride.
She cast a stern glance at her sister. “I have a master pyromancer kahuna with me already. From what I’ve seen, the Sawaikians have lost touch with the gifts and lessons of Maui.”
Makua grinned. “And yet I knew where you’d be and when.”
Hi‘iaka snickered. “And you wish to pledge your service to my sister?”
“She will need local kāhuna on her side, considering her intentions.”
And just how much did this so-called prophet know of Pele’s intentions? “You have a plan?”
“The King in Puna recently fell to the followers of Poli‘ahu. Right now, those who once followed King Kapawa are caught up in a struggle for the throne, while the kāhuna try to control the succession. The kāhuna carry the will of the people, though few of them truly speak to the gods anymore. They are in turmoil now, but soon, someone will take the throne. Will that person be someone sympathetic to Queen Poli‘ahu? Will it be someone too weak to stand up to her?”
Pele shrugged. “You’re the prophet. You tell me.”
“Or will it be a queen newly come from the old country?”
So, Puna it was then.
AS THEY SAILED, Makua filled Pele in on the geography of Vai‘i. Puna lay in the southeast, not far from the greatest volcano, Kīlauea, which Pele felt more strongly with each passing day as they drew near. Oh, other volcanoes on this island also pulsed with life and power, but Kīlauea called to her, singing a deep, vibrant song of its mana and leaving little doubt in her mind: that was where she would build her new refuge.
Puna’s proximity meant, as Makua suggested, it would serve as an optimal foundation for her kingdom. So optimal, Pele couldn’t help but regard the kahuna with a twinge of suspicion. A kingdom with no king in the perfect place for Pele presented an opportunity the ‘aumākua could have arranged, of course. Or a trap?
The new kahuna quickly est
ablished a rapport with Hi‘iaka, as well, and the two of them chatted incessantly about life in Uluka‘a and Kahiki, as if the prophet wanted to know everything possible about where they had come from.
According to Makua, Queen Poli‘ahu had her own refuge upon the snow-covered peaks of Mauna Kea, northwest of Puna. In fact, the Queen of Mauna Kea, as they called her, controlled most of the north and a fair section of the west, cutting Vai‘i off from easy trade with Mau‘i and Kaua‘i.
“The old dynasty maintains more-or-less complete control over Moloka‘i and Ni‘ihau,” Makua said. “Lāna‘i theoretically falls under the jurisdiction of the Queen of Hana, but is the domain of spirits and wild things, and thus politically unimportant.”
“What about the other island? The one off the coast of Mau‘i.”
“You mean Kaho‘olawe. A handful of fishermen villagers live there, no more. The island is useless.”
“Why?”
“No real sources of fresh water.” Makua shook his head. “No, control of Sawaiki rests primarily on Vai‘i, with Mau‘i, Kuau‘i, and O‘ahu also having powerful kings. Whoever controls those islands controls Sawaiki. And if you manage to claim all of Vai‘i from Poli‘ahu, you’ll likely have broken the old dynasty permanently.”
But Pele did not relish the idea of waging another war, much less against another powerful queen. Either way, she could do little until she had established herself in Puna.
DENSE VEGETATION SPROUTED from nutrient-rich volcanic soil, creating a vibrant coast, and inland, a steaming jungle. Beyond that lay Kīlauea, beckoning Pele. Thrumming with untold power. Part of Pele wanted to forgo all the politics and rush away to soak in that mana.
Part of her did, but reality would not allow that.
As soon as the villagers saw their regalia and realized other royal ali‘i had arrived, they came to greet Pele’s company with beating drums and leis, kāhuna waving their tabu sticks while other ali‘i—would-be kings, perhaps—watched them with hooded eyes.
