by Matt Larkin
Milolii drifted to the shore and beckoned Namaka to sit beside her. “Let this go. Let Pele go. You have both lost more than you could have ever imagined. There are islands enough among the endless Worldsea that you need never see one another again.”
In human form, Milolii looked more the part of a grandmother, wrinkled and gray-haired. Tired-looking, honestly. How many years would a kupua have to live to get like that? Centuries, in the case of a mo‘o. She must have been young, back then, when Mo‘oinanea took the other dragons from Kahiki.
With a sigh, Namaka settled down beside the other woman. “Pele took everything from me. From the whole kingdom. Uluka‘a is gone forever because of her. Besides, I promised her in sacrifice to Kanaloa. The gods watch us, do they not? How will they take it, should I fail to deliver their sacrifice unto them?”
The dragon grumbled, blowing bubbles in the river. “You focus so much on what you have lost, you perhaps do not consider what you have yet to lose.”
“As if so much yet remains to me.”
“Oh, child. There is always more to lose. That was Maui’s most important lesson to his people … but no one listened.”
Namaka blew out a long breath. How badly she longed for the dragon’s embrace. For her approval. For her warmth. But Milolii didn’t understand what she was asking. There was no going back to the way things were.
Pele had shattered their world.
4
Days Gone
A warm breeze swept down over the mountains of Uluka‘a and whipped the surf into pleasant waves. Much as Namaka would have preferred a challenge—and the chance to show off in front of her subjects watching from the beach—she didn’t see the need to whip the sea into a frenzy herself, least of all with a dozen other surfers enjoying the day alongside her.
Instead, she glided across the waves, letting the others slip away. Letting herself slip away, down into the deep, her mind and soul seeping into the waters. It was a surer worship than any offering at any heiau, for it was a oneness with the akua below and worship of the great Kanaloa.
The people on the beach called her a goddess, yes, and not without cause, but Namaka’s deity was the sea itself, and out here, on her board, she paid it homage. Its power thrummed beneath up through the board, into her feet, vibrating her shins, pulsating all the way to her torso.
Past the beach, the mountains rose in graceful, rolling waves themselves, locked in a moment of cresting, green and glorious. Back there, the court waited for her, no doubt stirred up about some trifle or other, and part of her longed to remain here, hiding from the duties of a queen in the one place no one would dare interrupt her.
But such could not be.
A queen took her reveries and drank them deep, for the court always remained, awaiting her return. Such was the way of things, and all a queen could do was smile in the sun and absorb the sea.
The palace lay on the edge of a lagoon, encompassed by the arms of the mountains, sheltered, though hardly hidden, considering the stream of commoners and handful of ali‘i flowing about the stone walls around the compound.
Namaka couldn’t say how many villages dotted her kingdom, but she could have sworn representatives from every single one managed to trek to her lagoon on a daily basis. Today, though … she glanced at the sun, already low on the horizon. Soon, it would light the sky aflame, and once the moon rose, she’d have to send all petitioners away.
Lonomakua had assured her the emissary would arrive from Hiyoya within the next few nights. Tonight, perhaps.
The village here was abustle with activity, so perhaps word had spread of the impending arrival.
Most of the village huts sat on the water rather than the beach, stilts lifting them up twice the height of a man. Each of the twenty or so families had their own small hut covered by a palm-thatched roof. Every house stood a single arm span away from its neighbor, and they were all connected by a wooden walkway.
Moela’s barking drew her eyes, as the dog raced down the beach to meet her. Namaka smiled and scratched the animal behind the ears. He panted happily, and danced around, almost bowling her over.
Just beyond the lagoon rested the palace compound. There, her sister’s kahuna was waiting for her beneath the shade of a palm tree within the palace grounds, his strange blue eyes watching her approach. Namaka half suspected Pele kept Lonomakua around out of lust—did the other queen lay with her kahuna?—given the man’s exotic look. For her part, Namaka didn’t much care for anyone who seemed to know more of the Otherworlds than she did. Lonomakua knew more mele than anyone she’d ever met, save perhaps her parents, and his mo‘olelo were tales like no other.
Given how long he’d trained Pele, he was clearly kupua like them, but it still failed to explain the depth of his knowledge.
The kahuna rose at her approach, his manner easy, clad in nothing save a malo wrapped around his waist. Namaka herself wore her feather cloak atop her pa‘u, knowing the eye-catching figure she’d strike thus. The cloak had been handed down from her mother, who had added more feathers with every passing year. Only a few feathers were ever taken from each bird—which must then be released back into the wild—so that the cloak would be made from the feathers of a hundred or more birds. It was the pride of the island, and no finer garment existed in any land she knew of.
Stripping out of all her clothes to surf was refreshing, but here, in the court, a queen needed such affectations to ensure she was recognized.
“How were the waves?” the kahuna asked. Though his chest remained mostly clean, numerous tattoos covered his arms, more than most kāhuna.
Namaka nodded in acknowledgment, continuing toward the palace house, and the man fell in step behind her. Her personal apartments were tabu for any man, even a kahuna, but the central house where she held court was open to all, even commoners if they pled their case to Leapua, Namaka’s own favored kahuna.
With practiced ease, she kept her stride casual, unwilling to let anyone, least of all Lonomakua himself, see her discomfited by his presence. When the kahuna said nothing else, Namaka cast a glance back at him. He walked with damnable calmness himself, hands clasped behind his back, the hint of a wry smile on his face.
“What is it?” she finally asked.
Lonomakua pointed to the main house, where Leapua was now half running toward her, the other woman’s steps less certain even as she waved her tabu stick around, driving back anyone that might have come between her and Namaka.
Moela barked happily at the other woman.
Namaka frowned. “What in Pō is going on?”
Leapua drew up short before her, close enough no one save herself and Lonomakua would hear. “War canoes approaching from the north.”
“North?” Namaka glanced at Lonomakua. The bastard had known, hadn’t he? Except, where would attackers from the north even be coming from? “A ruse, to disguise their identity. Surely one of the kings of Kahiki has forgotten the lessons of his grandfathers.”
A lesson, it seemed, Namaka would now have to teach them once more.
When she’d first come to power, more than five decades ago, she’d had to enforce her claim as the true heir to Haumea. Not everyone had wanted to believe in her back then. She’d shown them the error of their ways.
Trekking along the shoreline, Leapua beside her, Namaka couldn’t help but remember doing this before. It had taken drowning eight hundred men back then, but the kings of Kahiki—and everywhere else in the Worldsea—had gotten the message.
“You are quiet,” Leapua said.
Namaka glanced at her friend. “I suppose we should dedicate these sacrifices to Kanaloa.”
“If you offer them to the mer, it may appease the emissary.”
A good point. The damned mer always wanted their sacrifices, too, and not even Namaka would defy Hiyoya. Not completely.
“You should have let Kanemoe and Kahaumana bring the warriors in case anyone survives.”
Namaka snorted. “Please. I don’t need my hu
sbands to deal with a few hundred warriors. And survivors are useful.”
Leapua grunted. “You mean you want some of them to take the tale back.”
How else would she make certain she didn’t have to do this again in a few months?
Namaka believed in making her point and making it once.
Uluka‘a belonged to her, and to Pele, the daughters of Haumea.
By the time they reached the north shore, the war canoes had already drawn perilously close to Namaka’s beaches. Her warriors were gathered, coated in war paint, brandishing spears. Already, they had begun beating the drums, ready to engage the invaders.
Such was unnecessary.
The heirs of Haumea were flush with mana, overflowing with it, and able to absorb yet more through places rich in it. Places like Namaka’s lagoon, and like Pele’s volcanic crater. Namaka could feel the power, thrumming inside her, bubbling up like a geyser ready to burst. To call the sea and unleash its mercurial fury upon those whose arrogance brought them here in hopes of conquest or plunder or whatever the fuck else had so deluded their minds into attempting this.
The sounds of war drums on those approaching canoes erased any doubt as to their intentions, and thus absolved her of any qualms as to her own course. A queen had a duty, after all.
Namaka strode past her warriors, out onto rocks rising from the sea. A heavy wind whipped her hair and feather cloak out behind her. The same wind that brought those canoes here with hostile intent.
Breathing out, she raised her hands, letting her soul seep into the ocean. As a young woman, she’d struggled to control her power. All kupua as powerful as the heirs of Haumea did so.
Her mother had entrusted her upbringing to the mo‘o Milolii. As Namaka’s powers began to materialize, the dragon had limited her access to the sea.
Back then, every time Namaka came down to the village she was mesmerized, swept away by the music of pahu drums and ‘ūkēkē bows, the smells of fresh food roasting in the village imu. And most of all, she was taken by the sea. She couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t call to her, speak to her soul with whispers that sent a tingle through every muscle in her body. The sea was where she belonged—the one place she would be home.
But Milolii had barred her from it, at least until she’d learned control. Whatever power, whatever pull she felt from the waterfalls and the rivers was nothing compared to the all-consuming song of the sea.
So they had lived in a cave, up in the valleys, and, despite the gorgeous view of the valley from that cave, Namaka had resented the isolation. Her only company had come from Upoho, another kupua taken in by the dragon.
Back then she had resented it, at least. Now, she knew it had been necessary. Power like hers, uncontrolled, would lead to utter desolation. A queen needed control.
Milolii had pounded her lessons into Namaka like a girl trying to smash open a clam with a rock. It was a constant reminder Namaka was not quite human, that she would never have the life others took for granted.
Well, Namaka had proved a tough little clam.
The sea responded to her call now. It rose as her fury rose. It swelled with her growing indignation at these petty, shortsighted men who dared to bring war to her shores. Who forced her to become an incarnation of nature’s wrath. Did it chafe them, bowing down to the powers of kupua? Not half so much as the rage of the deep would chafe them.
The waves surged up into mountainous swells. They launched skyward as though attached to her hands by ropes, the sound of their crashing almost enough to drown out the drumbeats.
In a thunderous roar, the wave raced out, like a reverse kai e‘e—a surging wave that could inundate far inland. The kai e‘e rose up, above the war canoes, breaking backward, crushing down upon them with the weight of an avalanche.
Namaka could not hear their screams over the roar of the waves.
Could not even see their tiny vessels, crushed into kindling.
All the drumbeats on the shore stopped at once. The warriors, expecting a fight, fell silent, now staring at what Namaka had wrought. None of them had been alive the last time she’d needed to use her power to defend Uluka‘a. No one here—save Upoho, if he was around—had ever seen her use her mana thus, unleashing its full destructive power.
Even Moela, at her heels, whimpered, as if uncertain what had just happened.
Saying nothing, Namaka looked to Leapua, who alone seemed unsurprised. The kahuna nodded sadly.
Namaka, for her part, hoped she would not need to repeat the demonstration.
Using her mana thus expended it and left Namaka wobbly in her steps back toward the lagoon, hardly able to appreciate the brilliant sunset or, afterwards, the giant moon. Such release of power carried with it a euphoria, an almost sexual release, that all but begged her to continue, to use the power often. But it also left her winded, drained of her own life energy, and forced her to put up a facade of strength for the benefit of her people.
They wanted to believe their queen a goddess with unlimited power. They wanted to believe it, and thus believe themselves secure under any circumstances. Namaka had talked with Pele, once, about the phenomena, and her sister had agreed: better if the people thought their power had no limits.
Leapua, though, knew better, and helped Namaka along, allowing her to lean on the kahuna’s shoulder as they walked. Moela’s chipper behavior had returned within the hour, and the dog yipped and raced around, in better spirits than Namaka.
Better, until they drew near the lagoon, and she saw him, waiting for her there, just past the water’s edge.
He looked almost human, save for the iridescent scales on his shoulders and the slight webbing between his fingers. He wore no clothing—indeed, it would have looked out of place with those scales. His hair was long, hanging to his waist, and brown but with greenish highlights.
Mer could take human form, if they truly wished it. They usually disdained to do so, though, which meant he must come with urgent news if he was willing to take that step.
Namaka bit her lip as she approached, keeping her eyes downcast, desperately trying to slow her racing heart. It rankled, acting submissive, even when, in truth, the emissary did pose a threat. Namaka was kupua, an heir of Haumea. But mer were more like true akua—real gods. Or perhaps ‘aumākua, Lonomakua had once implied, a kind of ghost god. In either case, their power exceeded her own.
The mer kingdoms ruled over the great Worldsea, and humanity persisted on archipelagos only at their sufferance. People needed the sea for travel and food, and if the mer wanted to see her, she didn’t really have a choice but to receive them. It wasn’t time for another sacrifice, not for two more years … But by the ‘aumākua, this did not bode well. Why did Hiyoya send an emissary now?
“You are Namaka?” the merman asked. His voice was deep but oddly musical, as though more suited to singing than speaking.
“I am Namaka. The Sea Queen.” Let him hear the pride in her voice. Perhaps this was an akua, but Namaka was more than human.
The merman strode forward until he stood a mere pace in front of her. He was half a head taller than her, and he stared down at her with narrowed eyes shining with slight luminescence. “Sea Queen? Queen … of our sea? For they are our seas, child. And yet again we find them beset by a human. You whip the ocean into a rage that disrupts the tides and ripples outward for dozens of leagues, and for what? Petty human grievances?” He shook his head, eyes lit with disdain. “I am Matsya and I have been sent by Queen Latmikaik to issue a warning—the kingdom of Hiyoya will no longer tolerate the indignity of humans exercising power over our domain.”
Namaka folded her arms across her chest. What was he trying to say? What exactly did he want her to do? “You were on the way here long before my little altercation with the invaders. That leads me to believe this is some ill-conceived negotiation tactic.”
Years ago, when she had come to power and had to prove herself, Hiyoya had sent another emissary and complained about the effects of her
altering the tides and ocean currents. Effects that became magnified upon an underwater civilization. Namaka had worked to curtail her use of her powers, but she would hardly turn her back on a gift that allowed her to protect Uluka‘a.
That last emissary had demanded her submission. Demanded she get on her hands and knees and allow the village to watch while he fucked her in a sick game of dominance. Namaka was no longer thirty years old and would not be so easily controlled.
Matsya narrowed his eyes. Not used to humans standing up to him? “Control yourself, or Latmikaik will find a way to do it for you.”
Namaka couldn’t stop her frown from deepening. If she denied the mermaid queen, she didn’t even want to consider the reprisal Hiyoya might make against her isle. Haumea had insisted she and Pele share rulership, thus they had divided the island in two: part for her and part for Pele. Namaka’s actions here might affect the entire island, maybe even Kahiki and other neighboring islands. She knew it, of course. Still … she’d bent her pride about as a far as it could go. “Why are you really here?”
“The queen wants a dozen sacrifices in three days’ time.”
She just barely held back her scoff. And the urge to tell the mermaid queen to go fuck a swordfish. “We owe no more sacrifices this year.”
“There is war with Mu. The queen requires additional tribute.”
No one, not even Lonomakua, seemed to know just how many mer kingdoms existed across the Worldsea. Around Kahiki, Hiyoya held all the power, but Namaka had heard of Mu, of course, which remained prominent in the waters near Sawaiki to the far north. A shattered wreck of its former glory, legends claimed. But obviously posing problems for Hiyoya, or Matsya wouldn’t be here.
Most people assumed the mer ate their sacrifices. That happened, of course, from time to time. There was mana in the flesh of men. Namaka knew that all too well, considering her parents. They had grown strong beyond belief through ages of feasting, and Namaka herself had tasted such flesh, on rare occasions, especially when she needed extra strength.
