by Matt Larkin
“I don’t think that’s the fate of queens.”
Very soon, Nyi Rara would wake and probably force her back to Mu to face yet another battle. Before that happened, she needed to see her people, assure them she was well and … find some way to save them. And finally, finally be the queen she should have been all along.
A SMALL ARMY of he‘e had surged over the ruins of Hana, assaulting those who had come to seek supplies. Namaka saw them as she swam near, writhing arms and vicious black eyes. Treacherous bastards.
Just as she had flung herself up from the sea to fight the taniwha, she did once more. For a moment she flew over the wreckage, water guiding her toward the fighting. As she plummeted, her tail split once again into legs, the moment of pain barely registering through her mask of rage. It didn’t matter if they knew what she was now. This battle was too much. She need not be angry at the whole world. She could be angry only at a single situation. And she could direct that anger, like any of her other emotions. The sea was emotion. It was her heart.
She landed on the deck in a crouch, the sound of her impact like a tree splitting in a typhoon. And for a moment, every other sound died out. The fighting stopped. All eyes turned to her as she rose, glaring at the he‘e through the strands of her soaked hair.
Their indecision lasted only an instant before Namaka moved, drawing up every drop of water on the debris as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. Then she jerked them apart, sending the water out in a thin sheet. It shot outward from her in an arc with the force of a kai e‘e. Men and he‘e were flung backward, some stumbling into the waters, others thrown against broken buildings.
One of the he‘e began to crawl toward her at a startling pace. On pure instinct Namaka summoned a column of water from the sea and whirled it around her like a dancer spinning a fire baton. When the he‘e continued for her, Namaka launched the column of water at it. The blast slammed the he‘e against a palm tree, splintering wood and sending debris falling and leaving a bloody, smeared mess down the trunk. Impact might not jar a he‘e for long. Crushing its brains still seemed to work.
“Namaka!”
She turned to see Upoho struggling to his feet, empty hands spread wide. The wererat was bedraggled, his hair a tangled mess hanging about his face. He’e sucker marks covered his arms and chest.
“So …” he said. “You’re a fish now. Probably shoulda seen that coming.”
“Where’s Leapua?”
“Er … Well, we didn’t have much chance to talk before you ran off … er … swam off, before, Namaka. See … Well … Pele, she uh …”
No. No! “Where is Leapua!” Namaka demanded. She had only just realized how truly the kahuna was part of her ‘ohana. This couldn’t be happening.
Upoho shook his head.
Namaka sank to her knees. She was not a woman who wept. But tears formed now. She had borne witness to the ruination of Uluka‘a, of her ‘ohana, of Mu, and now of Sawaiki. And so much of the devastation fell at her feet.
MOST OF THE villagers had retreated into the jungle beyond Hana. They gathered around a lake fed by a pristine fall, but feared to draw too near the water, for within lurked a mo‘o. Many probably feared Milolii, though the old dragon had never harmed any on Mau‘i. They feared her because she was different, because she had powers they didn’t understand.
Hundreds of people were wounded and hundreds more lost entirely. Those who could walk were busy tending to the wounded, gathering wood for fires, or searching the jungle for fruits. Their homes were lost. All the food they had, gone. The taniwha had taken everything.
Upoho sat resting beneath a tree, right on the water’s edge.
“Pele did that to your eye?” Namaka asked the wererat.
He waved her off. “I’m fine. We have bigger problems, I just need some rest. Don’t worry, Fish Girl.”
She grimaced. Great. She’d probably never shake that nickname. He was right, though—they had an enormous problem. And Namaka didn’t have the first idea how to fight off the taniwha. Even if the mer of Mu would have helped—maybe they would—they were engaged in war with the he‘e and with Hiyoya. Nyi Rara, sadly, remained silent on the matter. Namaka had known using the mermaid to harness that much power would probably drive her into a torpor once again. It seemed unavoidable that one of them always had to pay that price.
Either way, the people of Mau‘i were on their own against this threat. And what were they to do? Throw spears at the monstrous dragon? From the look of it, no weapon they had would come close to piercing its scales. The behemoth was powerful beyond anything her people could ever hope to fight.
It was a relic of a time long ago, a spawn of the deity the mer called the Elder Deep.
“Namaka,” Milolii called, raising just her head above the water. A sad thought, really, the dragon unable to show herself even though she was the one protecting them all. The mo‘o might be descended from the taniwha, but unlike their savage ancestors, the mo‘o had thought and intelligence.
Namaka had always looked to Milolii for direction, guidance. At the moment, though, the dragon seemed as lost as anyone else, watching Namaka. As if she had some kind of answer.
“What do I do?” Namaka whispered, trying not to let any of the others hear her doubt. They all seemed to think she could save them. She wanted to save all these people. To save those few remaining who she’d brought from Uluka‘a, to save the Sawaikians, to save the Muians. To save everyone.
“You may have hard choices ahead of you,” the dragon answered. “It does not seem like you can do this with your power alone.”
And where was she supposed to get more? It wasn’t like she had more time to go lounge in the Sacred Pools and try to soak up excess mana, nor had that worked in the first place. And the villagers couldn’t help her, she’d already determined that. Namaka frowned. They couldn’t help her … because they had no weapons powerful enough to harm a taniwha.
But there was someone who might have such power. Except … Except she had half blinded Upoho, had murdered Leapua, had caused all of this. Or had caused half of it, at least.
“Where is Pele?”
“On Vai‘i now, trying to make herself queen.”
Namaka shut her eyes. Of course she was.
“In Puna, I think,” Milolii said.
Pele’s whereabouts hardly mattered, though, unless Namaka could force the taniwha to the surface. Maybe Nyi Rara could harness that kind of power. Maybe. But the last time she had tried to feed her mana directly to the mermaid princess it left Namaka unconscious. Nyi Rara said she couldn’t even move Namaka’s body.
What if there was another way?
Nyi Rara, thank the ‘aumākua! Namaka had begun to wonder when she would finally hear the princess’s voice again.
You are the strangest host.
Why? Because Namaka wanted—what had Nyi Rara called it? Symbiosis? She needed Nyi Rara and she knew that.
Maybe … maybe there is a way we can be blended more fully.
How?
Namaka could almost feel the mermaid sigh inside her soul. Go somewhere safe, calm. Somewhere where mana runs strong.
They had no time for safety. People were dying all over Sawaiki.
You will need to meditate deeply enough that your soul can leave your world.
Wait.
Enter Pō? Namaka’s stomach clenched at the very thought of it.
People who slept deeply were sometimes said to dream their souls into Pō. But to do it on purpose, to walk there …
Sometimes we must do difficult things to win the day.
Namaka swallowed. Yes, sometimes very difficult things.
She returned to Upoho, shaking him awake. “I have to go back to the Sacred Pools.” She pressed her palm to his cheek. “I need you to stay here and watch over the people. Don’t let them back near the beach.”
He shrugged. “Sure. I’ll kill anyone who tries to commit suicide, no problem.”
Namaka shook her head
once, then took off running back to the shore. She had to get to the pools. She dashed through the jungle and out onto the beach, then stumbled to a stop.
With the monster gone and the immediate horror passed, all that remained was carnage. Trees along the beach had been bent backward and splintered. Driftwood and debris—the last of the village—covered the shore in all directions. The people were gone, the animals fled. Everything had grown silent, save for the lapping of waves against the shore. Several dozen bodies had washed up on the beach, and others floated out in the sea. People bloated and lost, and since no kahuna had sent their souls away, probably doomed to become lapu.
Dammit. Leapua.
After blowing out a long breath, Namaka continued down to the water’s edge and dove in, summoning her tail. She had no time to dawdle here, no time to mourn the dead, nor to search out other kāhuna.
She beat her tail, surging forward. Nyi Rara had warned her using the water jets would drain her, but once again she saw no other choice. She had to reach the pools before the taniwha wreaked even more havoc.
And so she summoned the jets and beat her tail, swimming on and on.
Nyi Rara would have Namaka descended into darkness. No other choice remained to her.
30
M oho had helped her down Mauna Kea and back toward Puna. The akua-possessed man had not answered any of Pele’s questions about where he’d been. Nor had he once raised the issue of what … what … that pig had tried to do to her.
Never, in all her life, had anyone even imagined they could …
Fuck! Pele would burn both his eyes out and roast his balls on a spit. Then shove the filthy things into his eye sockets!
“You wish to weep?” the akua had asked her, before they reached the village.
“I don’t want to weep. I want vengeance. You should have left him for me to burn.”
“You were weakened. That Moon spirit is the progenitor of its line. Waking up. Becoming more powerful than you were prepared to deal with. The man inside is losing his fight with it, as is inevitable.”
Pele had offered no further answer. She’d thought kupua shifters always existed in a kind of savage balance with their akua spirits. Moho seemed to imply the strongest Moon akua could overmaster a host the same as he had done. That such a fate might soon befall Kamapua‘a.
He deserved as much and worse.
Except, Pele did not like to think what the wereboar would become if that happened.
In any event, they had returned to Puna to prepare for war. No other choice truly remained before her. She would have to crush Poli‘ahu to claim this island. The Snow Queen had made that abundantly clear.
She found the other men, Lonomakua and Makua, arguing inside the palace. Both men abruptly cut off their already hushed tones as she drew near. Pele cast a look back at Moho, but the akua remained unreadable as ever. There was something going on, that much was obvious, and Pele decidedly disliked being kept in the dark as to the details. What was the connection between the two kāhuna and how much did Moho understand about it?
“What’s happened?” Pele demanded.
“Word has come through the district that you fought Poli‘ahu,” Makua said.
Pele frowned.
“Word also claims you did not win this battle.”
Her frown became a grimace. “A mere skirmish to test the extent of her power. Up on her mountain, Poli‘ahu wields extraordinary influence. But if she wishes to maintain her hold on the rest of Vai‘i, she’ll have to come down and face us in the valleys and coasts. Places where snows never reach.”
“You must be careful with the volcanoes,” Lonomakua chided. As if Pele needed a reminder of what had happened to Uluka‘a. “You will be tempted to use them to wipe out Poli‘ahu’s armies.”
“I will not turn away from my greatest power.”
“Nor should she,” Makua said. “We want the island cowed.”
Lonomakua nodded, fixing her with his deep gaze. “Then use it with the utmost care.”
“Is this what you two were arguing about? How I should use my mana?” Pele waved her hand in dismissal. “You both forget yourselves. I am queen here and I will decide the best course for us.”
Makua spread his hands in submission, though his eyes held no hint of chastisement. “May I at least advise a course of action, then?”
At the moment, all Pele truly wanted was to retire and rest, but she wouldn’t let her fatigue show before her people. “What is it?”
“Just north of Puna, the district of Hilo is loyal to Queen Poli‘ahu, and is largely a center of her power. But the local chief is weak, and other members of the ali‘i might prove less intractable toward our newer dynasty.”
“You suggest I have a chief murdered?”
“No,” Makua said. “Such tactics win no hearts. Rather, a swift strike to eliminate him and his immediate retainers, while offering the rest of the ali‘i and kāhuna the chance to pledge to us.”
Pele glanced to Lonomakua.
He nodded. “If you must fight the Snow Queen, eroding her support around Mauna Kea first reduces the risk. The flames foretell she’ll be away soon.”
What? She was leaving her mountain already? “How soon? Where is she going?”
“I’m not sure exactly where she heads or why. She pursues her own schemes to undermine you. But I expect her gone within a few days.”
That didn’t give Pele too much time to recover her mana. But maybe she could trust to her army to help claim Hilo. “Fine. Make preparations. I shall retire to the women’s house now.”
Makua flashed a grin, apparently appeased to hear the war had begun. Moho had vanished once more—how did he do that?—but Lonomakua chased after Pele as she headed toward her own house.
Pele spun on him. “Was I not clear?”
“You are unwell.”
She couldn’t quite suppress the wince so she decided to cover it with a sneer. “If I need a nursemaid, I’ll send for one.”
A sadness settled into his deep blue eyes, one so profound Pele faltered. She shouldn’t have lashed out at him. Not him … He’d told her before that he’d lost a daughter a long time ago. Somehow, forgetting she was more than seventy years old, he’d seem to think Pele could replace the one he’d lost.
Regardless, her heart clenched to see his in pain. “I … just …”
“I know what happened up on Mauna Kea.”
The flames. Sometimes the flames should shut the fuck up already. Pele swallowed, unable to form words.
“There’s a powerful spirit in that kupua.”
“Moho said the same.” And if the akua had not shown up and tossed Kamapua‘a off that mountain … Pele squirmed. Her skin felt too tight. She needed to soak in lava for a month. “He …”
Lonomakua wrapped an arm around Pele’s shoulders and pulled her close.
“Many people have tried to kill me,” she whispered in his ear. “Why then was I more scared on that mountain than I was in those fights?”
The kahuna sighed, stroking her hair. “You had power all your life. Helplessness crushes anyone, but for you, it was made all the more terrible for never having felt it before.”
“I will kill that man.”
“Perhaps you should. But are you certain it was the man that assaulted you, or the thing inside him?”
Pele scoffed and pushed away from the kahuna. “I don’t find myself terribly interested in such distinctions. I don’t care whether man or kupua or akua is responsible. I kill one of them, and the others vanish into ash.”
Lonomakua nodded slowly, somehow looking sad still.
“Oh, I’m all right,” Pele said. “Go get yourself something to eat and have some rest already.”
“Pele …” Lonomakua grimaced and shook his head. “If I could, I would spare you all suffering.”
Now she laughed. “Well that wouldn’t really be living.” She thumped her forefinger into his tattooed chest. “You taught me that. Now go, I want to rest
.”
IN THE WOMEN’S HOUSE, she found Kapo sitting before a fire, with Hi‘iaka beside her. The girl lay on her side in obvious discomfort, her elder sister’s hand on her shoulder.
Pele settled down beside Kapo and raised an eyebrow at her.
“It’s started,” her sister said. “The bleeds.”
Pele opened her mouth, found no immediate words, then sucked in a deep breath. “She’s asleep?”
“Just now.”
“A woman,” Pele said.
“You know what this means.”
Pele shook her head.
Kapo withdrew her hand to focus on Pele. “You know what it means. Soon, she’ll begin to manifest some ability as an heir of Haumea. All the daughters of Haumea have possessed destructive powers, Pele. We all needed training. You got it from Lonomakua. Namaka got it from Milolii. I got it from mother and Uli. Hi‘iaka will need that too, or she risks destroying herself and everyone around her.”
“I will train her.”
“No.”
“I have raised her from a godsdamned egg!”
The girl groaned in her sleep and Pele twinged, suddenly thinking she’d woken her. But Hi‘iaka just rolled over.
“I raised her all her life,” Pele said more quietly. “I taught her everything.”
Kapo shook her head like she was talking to a godsdamned child. “You are set on becoming queen of this island. When, in the midst of war and politics and chaos, do you imagine having time to train a child in the use of powers neither one of you shall understand? When will you dedicate yourself to her? When will you remove her from other people to keep her and them safe?”
“I … She’s Hi‘iaka … I always …”
Kapo scoffed. “You cannot give up your ambition for her sake, can you? Even if you could, your temperament does not suit the task at hand. Consider what your rage has wrought of Uluka‘a and Sawaiki alike.”
“That was Namaka—”
“And you. You are both to blame. Arrogant, prideful wretches, too much like Mother. Too much like Father. You ruined civilizations with your squabbles and if you raise Hi‘iaka, you’ll ruin her, too.”
