by Matt Larkin
A maelstrom built in the ocean, swirling faster and faster. What in Pō? With no further warning, the sea erupted like a volcano itself, a geyser of water shooting seventy feet into the air.
Pele stumbled, fell on her arse just to get out of the way. A shadow rose from the geyser—Namaka. She was standing atop it, staring at Pele with hateful eyes. Fine. If Namaka wanted to test her limits, Pele would oblige. Hands still on the rock, she fed more mana into it, digging deep beneath the land.
Pele shut her eyes for an instant, releasing all her rage at once. The cliff exploded as it turned itself into a miniature volcano, spewing destruction into the air. The trembling earth threatened to collapse the cave around her, and dust and sulfur blocked her vision. She had to get out of this place.
With a wave of her hand she summoned a jet of lava and jumped on it, letting it carry her forward like she rode a surfboard over a wave. The jet hurled her into open space, allowing her a view of the cataclysm she had wrought. The sky was blacked with toxic fumes and volcanic lightning ignited in the air as heat collided with ice high in the sky. Incandescent rocks fell into the sea and sent up plumes of steam. Namaka’s geyser had collapsed.
All this she took in during a single heartbeat before she started to plummet. It was dangerously far to fall. Instead, she bent the lava jet she rode backward, using it to fling her atop the cliff. The clumsy maneuver barely carried her far enough. She hit hard, rolling several times and scraping her arms over the rocks. The lava she rolled over didn’t burn her skin, but her clothes ignited in an instant.
Coughing and panting, she pushed herself up and discarded her ruined kihei. As she stood an enormous shadow fell over her. The volcanic eruption had left her ears ringing, so she heard nothing. She turned. A wave rose over the cliff like an implacable wall.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She tried to scream but never got the chance. The wave washed over her with the force of a falling star, knocking all wind from her lungs, all thought from her mind.
The next she was aware, something had coiled around her, crushing her arms to her side. She gasped for breath, trying to make sense of a world spinning and tumbling. Her vision cleared just enough to make out Namaka, standing on the cliff again. Upside down.
No—Pele was upside down. Held aloft by a tendril of water rising out of the sea, forcing her to look in the face of the woman before her.
Despite her grogginess, Pele summoned flames to her palms, or tried.
“Release her!” Lonomakua bellowed, standing on the cliff, flames spiraling around both of his hands. Never had Pele seen the kahuna looking more fierce.
The Sea Queen sneered, then waved her hand. In time with the movement, the tendril holding Pele aloft uncoiled like a spring, flinging her far out over the ocean.
She screamed as she fell.
Hitting the water was like hitting a mountainside. Everything went black.
3
Tendrils of water swirling around herself, Namaka stalked around Lonomakua. Pele’s blue-eyed kahuna had oft proved an enigma and now, of all things, seemed to have mastered Maui’s legendary Art of Fire.
Most kāhuna were those learned in arcana and strong in mana. Mana—life force—pulsed the most strongly in the ali‘i and kāhuna, and, of course, in the kupua. Those kāhuna powerful enough to actually use their mana actively like this, to manipulate the environment—they were the stuff of old mo‘olelo, tales of deeds long ago, legends from the time of Maui himself and the first migration.
The kahuna’s eyes darted out to sea, as if considering jumping off the cliff and going down there after Pele, who, surely must have drowned already. Except … oh. Aukele was still with her, wasn’t he? He, the master swimmer, might save Pele. Namaka grimaced as she realized her mistake. She ought to have crushed Pele to a pulp herself instead of trusting the sea to drown her.
“You chose her,” Namaka said, backing toward the cliff’s edge herself. “Still, I see no reason you have to die as well, kahuna.”
A weighty sadness lay behind Lonomakua’s wry smile. “I cannot allow you to go after her.”
“So you were sleeping with her.”
“No. She was like a daughter to me.”
Namaka scoffed. Neither she nor Pele had found much love from their parents. “Submit to me and live.”
“Not yet.”
With a shrug, Namaka thrust her arm forward, launching a tendril of water at him like a javelin. Lonomakua leapt into the air, twisted sideways, and flipped over the stream in a move that left Namaka gaping. Midair, he snapped his wrist at her and the flames around that hand shot at Namaka in a sheet.
With a shriek, she hurled up another tendril of water to extinguish the attack, then swept her hand forward, whipping the tendril at Lonomakua’s feet. Again the kahuna leapt over it, but this time, Namaka altered the water’s angle mid-strike, thrusting up and catching him in the chest while airborne.
The waters snuffed out his pathetic flames and sent him crashing back down into the cliff.
“The Flame Queen herself just lost to me,” Namaka said, advancing on him even as he rolled to his feet. “You cannot think your Art of Fire will stand where hers failed. You know I am heir to Haumea’s mana. No man can stand against her power.”
Despite the grimace on his face, she could have sworn some private amusement lurked behind the kahuna’s eyes. Well, let him be amused.
Namaka reached out a hand to the sea and a column of water rose up in answer, a standing geyser a hundred feet tall. “Submit, kahuna. I do not wish to kill you.”
Still with that damnable, wry smile, Lonomakua knelt before her. “She is safe by now.”
Namaka shook her head and sighed. “And what has that accomplished? Now I’ll just hunt her again, fight her again, and kill her later. After what she has done, do you truly believe there is anywhere I’d let her escape to? You’ve delayed the inevitable and thus ensured more people may suffer because of it.”
“What she’s done?” Damn his smugness. “Do you acknowledge no part in the tragedies that befell Uluka‘a? Do you hold yourself blameless for the catastrophic devastation wrought when you summoned the kai e‘e and inundated the island?”
Namaka released the water column and stalked over to Lonomakua, then knelt before him. Always so strange, this kahuna. “If she would have begged my forgiveness, I would have granted it.”
“Would you?”
She sighed, pushing down the sudden urge to hurt him just to hurt Pele. That would have been petty, and Namaka would hold herself to a better standard than that. Instead, she stared hard into his eyes. “Where will she go?”
“I do not know. We didn’t have time to learn much of this land.”
“The fires tell you secrets, do they not? Use your pyromancy and tell me where to find her that I may end this.”
He snorted lightly. “You cannot seriously expect me to betray Pele after telling you she is like a daughter to me.”
No. Namaka didn’t really expect it. “Get up.”
Namaka led the kahuna down to the beach, where her own people—what was left of them after Pele’s undersea volcano destroyed so many canoes—had made a camp. Her own kahuna, Leapua, met her at the camp’s edge, eyes wide as she took in Lonomakua. While Leapua looked the elder, Namaka had often suspected she feared Lonomakua, at least a little. His mana was strong, Namaka had to admit. Stronger than she’d realized, considering his display on the cliff.
“You’re all right, My Queen?” Leapua asked.
Namaka nodded absently. “Have Lonomakua taken inside and fed, but kept bound. And away from fire. Far away from fire.” The last thing any of them needed was the kahuna trying to free himself and lighting half the camp aflame.
A hand on his shoulder, her kahuna guided Pele’s away, while Namaka plodded over to where Upoho was helping raising a hut. Even in daylight, the wererat had more than human strength, and could heft logs that would have otherwise taken two men to lift. Upoho glanced in her directi
on as she approached and flashed a toothy grin at her. “Did you get her?” As usual, the wererat didn’t bother with formalities or titles.
Another man she would have had sacrificed for such a breach, but Upoho was kupua, like her, and more, he was … just about all that remained of her ‘ohana after losing Pele and Hi‘iaka. The Sea kupua, the wererat, and the dragon. What a family.
“Unclear,” she said.
Upoho shouted a few instructions to the men before joining Namaka in a walk. Though he existed outside the normal ranks of society, neither commoner nor ali‘i, the wererat had earned authority among the warriors through his prowess during the war. By now, she suspected everyone knew he was kupua, even if few realized his true nature as a shapeshifter. This war had always really been between the kupua, with normal humans just caught in the middle.
Her and Pele, Aukele and Kana, and Upoho … they could push themselves farther than others could dream of. They were heirs to glorious mana. Especially herself and Pele. Lonomakua was right about that—they had both destroyed Uluka‘a. But Namaka had only ever responded to Pele’s violations of tabu, her crimes, her violence. What was a queen to do?
“So you captured her kahuna,” Upoho said. He’d have scented the man, even if he hadn’t already seen him.
“Hmmm. Have you made contact with Milolii?”
“Yeah, she’s resting in the canyon stream. I think there’s some falls up there that attracted her. You know how the mo‘o are.”
Namaka nodded, only half listening in any event. She needed to make things right with the dragon. She couldn’t have her former nursemaid blaming her for what had transpired. That just … it left a hollow pit in Namaka’s stomach. She couldn’t stand the idea of Milolii thinking ill of her.
“I bet you’re a bit drained from fighting Pele,” Upoho said.
“Don’t.”
“Just saying. If you want to step into the bushes for a quick horizontal hula, I’d be happy to share some mana.”
What an ‘ohana indeed. Namaka shook her head, trying very hard not to let a hint of amusement show on her face.
Upoho, though, chuckled, as if he could still tell. Perhaps he could smell her emotions—it often seemed that way. He shook his head after a moment. “The men are asking if we’re staying on this island. Paofai reported seeing local scouts watching us, and I’ve definitely caught some scents. We’re not sure how strong the chief is, but—”
Namaka waved that away. “They’ll have heard about my fight with Pele and should not prove foolish enough to trouble us. If they do, a small army can hardly prove a threat to us here on the edge of the sea.” She didn’t relish the thought of making her point against a village of Sawaikians, but if they forced the issue, she would make that point. She’d allow no one to interfere with her hunt for Pele. Actually … “You know, make contact with the village. Tell them my sister is charged with treason and anyone harboring her becomes my enemy. Tell them if I hear of them sheltering Pele, the sea shall have their village.”
“Oh. Huh. Yeah, that should go over well. I’ll also mention that there’s a breach to Pō and lapu are streaming into the Mortal Realm to devour their souls and steal their children.”
“Don’t mock me, rat.”
Upoho shrugged. “I wouldn’t even know how.”
Overcome by a sudden emotion, Namaka drew the wererat into an embrace. A strange ‘ohana, yes, but her only family.
Upoho patted her on the back. “Are you all right?”
“Mmm.” Was she to admit to him she had lost so many of those she’d cared for? Her sisters, her husbands, and hundreds of others. No, a queen could not admit to such sentimental weakness. Her people needed her strength, needed to see her as unbreakable. The God-Queen.
After exchanging a farewell with Upoho, Namaka headed for the canyon.
A swift current ran between rocky walls overflowing with greenery. Perhaps Milolii believed other mo‘o would have come here and dwelt in such places. Mo‘oinanea, the ancestress of the mo‘o, whom some claimed was closer to their taniwha forebears, had led the dragons from Kahiki in the days of Maui.
Milolii had stayed behind, along with a handful of other mo‘o. She would not have seen her kindred in an age of the world and must be eager to …
Namaka paused, walking along the riverbank.
From around the side of a boulder stepped a man, very tall, with an unruly mane and numerous tattoos over his arms and chest. His bulging muscles couldn’t help but impress, just a little. Four more men stalked out behind him, brandishing spears.
“See now,” the lead man said. “This here is my shitting canyon.”
“Your shitting canyon?” Namaka glanced down at her feet half expecting to see piles of shit laying around.
“Uh huh. Name’s Kamapua‘a. My men call me Kama.” He snorted loudly. “You can call me Your Royal Egregiousness.”
What the …?
Namaka folded her arms over her chest. “Unlikely.”
Kama looked back at one of his men. “Told you. No one shitting agrees to call me that. You gotta do better.” The man shrugged and Kama threw up his hands. “What was that other word? The one the woman used?”
“Which woman?”
“The woman! The one with the legs!”
“Incorrigible.”
“Right!” Kama pointed a finger at the man. “Royal Egregiously Incorrigibleness. Now that has the sound of a shitting official title.” He looked back to Namaka. “So. Well. You’re here, passing through my canyon, and I have to ask for tribute.”
Now she spread her hands. “I don’t have anything on me to offer.”
“Huh.” Kama looked back at his men again. “Well, you’ve got a camp full of people, right?”
“Yes.”
“And there’s girls there, right?”
All right. Namaka’s amusement had begun to run out with this pompous bandit.
“So how’s about you go to camp with me and find us a pair of girls?”
All she could do was shake her head. “A pair of … I’m not looking for a girl.”
“I know. I meant both for me. Remember, I’m incorrigible.”
“I can tell,” Namaka said and took a threatening step toward him. “Do you have any idea who you’re accosting?”
The bandit leader shrugged. “One of Hakalanileo’s guests. Someone way less incorrigible than me. Now, time to offer us something, or one of my men gets a new wife. What do you think, Makani?” he asked the man he’d spoken to before. “Want to marry this woman?”
So that was about enough of that. Namaka reached a hand toward the stream and called up a tendril of water. This she thrust at one of Kamapua‘a’s men like a spear. It caught him in the temple, hefted him off his feet, and flung him head-first into the canyon wall with a sickening crunch. Slowly, the body slid down, leaving a streak of blood, brains, and bone in its wake.
It took a moment for the men to react to the sudden violence. Then one of them broke, dropping his spear and taking off at a dead run.
“Shit,” Kamapua‘a said. “That … I think that was probably incorrigible. Makani, was that incorrigible?”
Makani was backing away, spear trembling in his hands.
“Allow me to be clear,” Namaka said. “I am the God-Queen Namaka, Mistress of the Sea. Leave my people in peace, or I will kill every last member of your little band of thieves. I will crush and drown you and leave your bodies for the sharks to feast upon. You do not wish me as your enemy.”
“Huh,” Kama said. “So you … uh … you want to be my wife?”
“No.”
“Ah. All right then.” Even the leader had begun to back away now. “Well, let me know if you need some, uh … incorrigement.”
Namaka watched as the bandits disappeared into the foliage. A moment later, she felt the disturbance in the stream, as the mo‘o rose, not as a dragon, but in human form, her head alone poking out of the waters, staring at Namaka.
“I’m surprise
d you didn’t kill them all,” Milolii said.
“Why? You taught me to control my powers. To use them for violence only when necessary. Never wantonly.”
The dragon growled, setting the waters rumbling. “The people of Uluka‘a might question how well you learned that lesson.”
Namaka flinched. Even while she looked human, the dragon’s displeasure seemed to seep into the air, to pollute the water. It became an oppressiveness, a humid sense of disruption in the world that had always unnerved Namaka. At first, maybe there was an edge of fear to that need to please the dragon. Maybe. But now … it was like knowing she had disappointed Milolii opened a hollow inside Namaka’s gut. An emptiness that tried to devour her from the inside out.
As a girl, when she’d done wrong, she’d fall to her knees and plead for forgiveness.
A queen could afford no such childishness, of course, but the urge to do so rose up in her. A desire she could never indulge to beg Milolii to return her to favor.
Always, a sadness held Milolii, and always, Namaka had tried to cheer the mo‘o who had raised her and Upoho.
When the Deluge came and created the Worldsea, the great sea dragons, the taniwha, rose and dominated much of the world. In time, many fell, slain or driven into torpor by the rising mer kingdoms. One of the last great taniwha was Toona, father to the mo‘o progenitor, Mo‘oinanea, Milolii’s ancestor.
Maui killed Toona for attacking his wife, Hina.
Milolii had spoken, in days gone, of the rise of her race as a bittersweet event. The end of the taniwha, savage and destructive, had allowed the rise of the mo‘o, yes. But the taniwha had been glorious, as well, and their time had faded. Milolii had offered it as a warning that even the glorious kupua line of Haumea would have but a limited time on the Earth and then would be gone.
A lesson? Or perhaps a perverse desire to spread her sorrow and temper Namaka’s pride. In any event, Milolii remained an enigma.
“What would you have me do?” Namaka finally asked.
