by Matt Larkin
“The concentration of mana in me. The kahuna can feel it.”
“Yeah!” Kamapua’a added. “Same reason we’ll all eat her when she dies.”
Namaka glared at the stupid wereboar.
“Eat her?” Pasikole’s eyes widened and his skin turned even more pale than usual.
“Well, not while she’s still alive,” Kamapua’a said. “I mean that would be shitting disgusting. But if I’m still around, I already have my piece picked out.” He winked.
“Milu drag you into the Ghost World, Pigman,” Namaka snapped.
“Eat you?” Pasikole asked again.
Namaka waved the question off. Stupid, stupid wereboar. Why did he have to bumble down here and ruin her moment? They were having a nice talk and then—
“Namaka!” the dragon’s roar echoed through the valley.
Pasikole shook so violently Kamapua’a had to grab the emissary to stabilize him. His face had grown stark white.
“Was that … ?” Pasikole mumbled.
Well damn. The old dragon was finally awake and she was going to want answers about why Namaka had come back so late. “Uh, Kam, can you take Pasikole back to the village? I’ll be back later.”
Mo-O had raged at her, at least until she’d explained about the emissary of Lono. Then the dragon had grown eerily quiet for a long time. Namaka had thought her asleep until Mo-O finally spoke again. “You must watch this man closely.” But the dragon had declined to expound on her reasons, or what she feared. Sometimes, Mo-O could be even harder to read than Uncle Kamalo.
By the afternoon, Namaka had returned to the village, leaving Moela back in the cave this time. She needed to find Pasikole and make certain she hadn’t offended him by sending him away like that. Besides being the emissary of Lono the man was … well, he was interesting. He was a new choice, an option she had never considered before. And now Mo-O had, unbelievably, not only given her blessing, but actually told Namaka to watch over the emissary.
On the boardwalk, the yellow-haired man was standing beside her father looking over the sea. Her father, of course, had to linger in the shadow of the eave, making sure his own shadow touched no one. That would mean death to the unfortunate soul.
Pasikole’s men appeared to be trading with her people, offering more barrels of liquor—whatever that was—or some other goods in exchange for fish and, apparently, a canoe. The koa trees used to make canoes were especially strong on this side of the isle, so she couldn’t blame the white men for wanting one.
“Princess Namaka,” Pasikole said as she drew near, waving again.
“Aloha,” she answered. “Sorry our tour got interrupted.”
“Interrupted?” That raised eyebrow again.
She shrugged. Maybe taking him to the valley without first explaining her actions to Mo-O had been a mistake. But that was done.
Her father shifted uncomfortably. He was always uncomfortable around her these days. Where was the man who used to carry her on his shoulders down the beach, watching the sunset? What had happened to the father who had danced with her at luaus and given her her first lessons in surfing? It was like as soon as Uncle Kamalo had identified her as a Princess, she wasn’t the same person anymore. But Father was the one who changed, not her. Now, here was a chief who seemed to speak more freely, more openly with an emissary of the gods than he did with his own daughter.
Namaka frowned. She was not going to let herself get down again. Her melancholy could drown her if she let it. It could drown everyone. She was going to live a real life and do her duty. She could have both.
An oversized wave crashed against the boardwalk and splashed the three of them.
“Namaka?” her father asked.
“Sorry, sorry.” Dammit. Every single time she got upset. She shook her head. She had to focus on happy things, and soon, before Pasikole decided she was more trouble than she was worth. “Have you ever been surfing?”
The foreigner shook his head. “I don’t know what that means, but I’m willing to give just about anything a try.”
Namaka grinned. “Father, can he borrow your board?”
After a moment’s hesitation, her father grunted his assent, then walked down the docks, as if even speaking to her was painful.
Namaka swore under her breath. What did he want from her? She was living a life not her own, and doing the best she could with it.
She led Pasikole back to her family’s house and grabbed her board. “Take that board,” she said to Pasikole. “Follow me. We have to find the right launch point.”
Board tucked under her arm, Namaka scurried back to the beach, then slowed, taking a leisurely pace. In the distance, Hau-Pu was returning with a boar slung between his shoulders. He began to stride straight for her the moment their eyes met, obviously trying to impress her with his catch. It was a damn big boar. Fine. So maybe she was a little impressed.
“That better not be Kamapua’a,” she said when he drew near. Suddenly the thought of her only friend dead didn’t seem amusing at all. Of course, if the pigman had been killed he’d have reverted to human form, but even imagining it … Happy thoughts. Keep happy thoughts, Namaka. Life was for living.
Hau-Pu grunted, then dropped the boar on the beach in front her. “I caught this for you, Princess.” How kind. He caught a feast she wasn’t allowed to eat. The boar had clearly been speared through the neck, which would have been a mighty feat even if it hadn’t had tusks as long as her forearm. Hunting that kind of animal alone was dangerous, reckless. And, well, fine—manly. Trying to make up for the canoe race being spoiled?
“Looks fit for a feast,” she said. “Why not take it down to the imu? Father will probably throw another luau for our guest.”
Hau-Pu scowled. “No. I will cook it myself, for the chief. No luau.” He turned his glare on Pasikole.
Namaka bit her lip and tried not to smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to see which of them wanted her more. A little rivalry might go a long way, if it was rivalry for her heart and not for her mana.
Pasikole folded his arms. “I thought the luau was lovely. A great honor. I’d be honored to share in the boar, too.”
“Not for you, white man.”
The captain shrugged. “As you wish. Keep your pig to yourself. Tell me, Namaka, what exactly are we going to do with these boards?”
Namaka snickered at Hau-Pu’s obvious irritation, then turned to lead Pasikole further on.
“It’s an art that lets us commune with the sea. Plus, it’s pretty much the most thrilling thing you can possibly imagine. Come on, down there.” She pointed to a spot where the wind whipped the waves up to medium heights—enough where she could show off, without overwhelming someone learning to surf for the first time.
Pasikole turned to follow her. “The most thrilling thing I can imagine does not involve boards. Or wearing clothes.”
Namaka kept her eyes locked on the sea to cover her immediate flush. He must know he could share her mana like that. Or did he truly just want her for her? Maybe it was all a joke. Did he not know one surfed naked anyway?
“You cannot speak to the Princess like that!” Hau-Pu shouted, as though the man hadn’t been trying to get between her legs for over a year.
Even as Namaka turned to him, the warrior collided with Pasikole, sending the captain sprawling into the wet sand. He hit hard, the impact digging a small trench. He rose, shaking his head, clumps of sand stuck to his clothes, his neck, his hair.
Mouth open, Namaka stared at Hau-Pu, unable to form any specific word other than a general moan of distress. He had just assaulted the emissary of Lono. He had shoved a guest, a foreign chief, into the sand. What in Ka Moho’s steaming asshole was he thinking? How could he even …?
Before she could form a response, Pasikole stalked back over to Hau-Pu. “Boy, you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Boy! I am a warrior, ghostfucker!” Hau-Pu swung at Pasikole. The foreign captain ducked the powerful blow and landed his
own on Hau-Pu’s ribs.
The warrior recoiled a moment before tackling the smaller foreigner and driving him into the ground. Pasikole strained to push Hau-Pu off him, but the man was too large and had leverage. Hau-Pu slammed a fist into Pasikole, then began to rain blows on the stunned emissary.
“Stop!” Namaka shouted. “Stop it! What in Lua-O-Milu are you doing? Stop it!” She grabbed Hau-Pu and tried to yank him off Pasikole. She might as well have tried to yank a whale out of the sea. Hau-Pu shoved her away with one hand, and she fell backwards so hard it left her stunned for an instant.
No! This was not happening. She hadn’t meant for them to fight, not like this. Hau-Pu was going to kill him! Their village would be damned if that happened. Lono would wither their crops and drive off the fish in the sea.
Namaka rolled over. “Stop!” she shouted again. Her whole body was shaking as she crawled back to grab Hau-Pu again. She had to get him off Pasikole. She had to end this. “I command you to stop!”
A shadow fell over them at the same instant a sound like the roaring of a typhoon swept across the beach. Both men paused and turned to the sea, and Namaka did so as well. A wave eight or nine paces high surged forward, summoned by her fear and rage.
The wave surged over Pasikole’s ship so fast and so hard she heard the anchor line snap as the ship listed to one side. A moment later the mast cracked. The rushing of the wave drowned out the sounds of men screaming. And then all view was blocked by the rush of waters all around her.
Namaka held up her hands, warding it off. Begging it to stop the instant before it struck. She flung herself over Hau-Pu and Pasikole, throwing her soul outward, pleading with the wave not to take them all. The sea arched over them like she had wrapped a bubble over their heads, but rained in a downpour that left them drenched long before the tide receded back out to sea.
The pain in her throat was the first indication she had been screaming. Hoarse, knees wobbling, she rose. Her whole body trembled as she took in the devastation around her. The hut farthest out on the boardwalk had been swept away by the wave, the dock itself splintered, and the sea littered with driftwood.
Namaka raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a mouse-like squeak. Pasikole’s grand, god-like ship was in tatters. Some of his crew had swum to shore, but others must surely have drowned.
In one instant of fear, of pain, of anger, she had whipped the sea as though she were a typhoon incarnate. What had she done? She had turned her power on Pasikole, emissary of Lono. Had killed his people. Had probably killed some of her villagers, had destroyed someone’s home.
She backed away from the beach. And then she ran back toward the dragon’s cave.
4
The mast had snapped and, until it was repaired, the Startracer wasn’t going anywhere. Pasikole sighed again, wiping his brow before slamming shut his footlocker. His jaw hurt from where the native warrior had beaten him. His entire cabin looked like it had been ransacked. Considering Namaka had nearly capsized his whole ship, that was the least of his worries, he supposed.
And he had spent the afternoon overseeing the funeral of two of his men. They had followed him across half the known Worldsea and beyond and now they lay buried in the sand on this, the farthest shore he had ever reached. Pasikole flung his chart table over.
“Damn it!” Talking only made the pain worse.
The hatch creaked behind him and he spun on the intruder. Inemes, of course. No one but his first mate would dare disturb him without knocking. Born on Tungaru, far west of here, Inemes had dark skin much like the natives of Sawaiki. He had met her on one of his early explorations—what, almost ten years back now? She’d been so eager to see the rest of the world back then.
Like the locals here, she hadn’t been in the habit of covering her breasts or even considering nudity to be sexual in nature. For his sake, and that of the rest of his crew, he’d convinced her to begin dressing like one of them.
Now, here he was, tromping around Sawaiki and facing a nearly naked Princess. One with the power of a petulant goddess.
At least Inemes was by his side. Now, a decade since she had joined him, she was battle-hardened, a scar splitting one lip where a mer trident had almost taken her chin off. She’d proved a decent warrior and an excellent sailor, trustworthy in all his explorations. Maybe no one knew him better.
Inemes shook her head, once, then moved to flip the chart table back over. Pasikole stood with arms folded as the woman placed his logbook back on the table, then spread out his maps. Most he had drawn himself, determined to map the whole world if he could. The one of Sawaiki was less than half finished. They didn’t even know the extent of this island, in truth.
His first mate flipped through his log to his latest entry—a few quick notes he’d jotted down about the local flora and fauna. He’d write a book once they finished here. It was an astonishing place, for certain. Similar, in some ways, to Kahiki. But the Sawaikians had culturally diverged from their ancestors, a process no doubt accelerated by their Princesses. Sadly, he had no way to determine if Kū had been a real person—or deity. He had his suspicions, of course.
“Everyone on the crew knew the risks,” Inemes said.
“They had no idea!”
Inemes pursed her lips and Pasikole immediately regretted snapping at her. None of this was her fault. They had known, of course, about the Princess of Sea. It was the reason they were here. He just hadn’t thought … He hadn’t thought at all. It was unlike him. He shook his head.
“How are the crew?”
“Frightened. Angry. Talking about punishing savages.”
“They’re not savages.”
Inemes shrugged. “I didn’t say they were.”
No. She of all people knew better. Some would have called Tungaru a land of savages. When he’d met her, she ran around waving a spear. Her arm and shoulders were covered in tribal tattoos. But there was nothing simple or savage about her. People were people, all over the Worldsea. It was why Pasikole did what he did. Because all people, all cultures were expressions of humanity. Because in understanding others, he could help his people to better understand themselves. And because the damn undersea kingdoms thought they could rule the whole world and do whatever they wanted. Maybe he couldn’t change the world. But he could take a step in that direction by helping others to understand it.
The mer called this their golden age. But it was an age built upon the backs of mankind. The mer used humans like shells, thinking a person’s life of no more value than that of a fish.
“Some of the crew are wondering …” Inemes began, then shut her mouth.
“They’re wondering why I didn’t grab her when I had the chance.” He snorted. He could certainly claim the reason was because Namaka was protected by a guard dog, a wereboar, and apparently a dragon, of all things. He could claim that and the crew would probably believe it. And still he’d been asking himself the same question. The girl was innocent, pure, and kind. She didn’t deserve to be a pawn in this game.
“I hope you’re not thinking of backing out on the contract,” Inemes said. “You know our employers would …”
Pasikole held up a hand. He knew. He knew all too well. “Even if I wanted to go forward, even if the ship was repaired, how do you propose we grab her? Now we know she can’t even control her Gift. If she gets scared enough she could swamp the ship without even meaning to.” He rubbed his swollen jaw.
“You’re the brilliant scientist. Make a plan.”
“Thank you. Very helpful advice.”
She snorted. “I should see to the crew. And you,” she indicated around the room, “need to get yourself and this ship in order. Our lives are in your hands. So clean up and get ready to ingratiate yourself with the girl or whatever else you have to do.”
He folded his arms. “Sometimes I wonder which of us is really the captain.”
“Whoever acts like it, I suppose. And you’re the one who asked for advice.”
Inemes ducked ba
ck out of the hatch, shutting it behind her, and Pasikole slunk into his chair. Maybe she was right. Maybe he had to do whatever it took, regardless of his own feelings. He had a bigger mission here.
But this was one contract he wished he’d never taken.
5
Tears welled in her eyes as she climbed the rocks behind the waterfall. Gods, Namaka had been a fool to think she was ready. The dragon was right about everything. She was a selfish, dangerous child and she had probably killed people. She, who was supposed to be the ultimate protector of her isle, to defend it against outsiders, had instead ravaged it. Pasikole had asked if being frightened could affect her power.
They all had their answer now.
She was a disgrace to her title.
“What happened?” Mo-O asked before she had taken two steps into the cave.
With a huff, Namaka collapsed before the great lizard. “Nothing.”
Mo-O flicked a disapproving tongue at her, then rose slowly, as though her bones ached for the effort. The dragon stalked closer, circling around Namaka. She lay back down, forming a protective arc around her.
Namaka sighed and turned away from the dragon, tucking her chin against her knees. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
A moment later, the dragon’s tail whacked her on the back of the head. The force was enough to shock her, but little more.
Namaka spun around and glared at the dragon. “Fine! I messed everything up, all right? I just … I ruined everything.”
“Everything?” the dragon asked. “Hmmm. I doubt you could ruin everything in one day, little Princess. Is the sun still shining in the sky? Did the island sink into the sea while I was asleep?”
Namaka wished it would. Then she wouldn’t have to live with the shame of what she’d done. Pasikole—divine emissary or not, she had harmed a guest in their land. No wonder her father was so ashamed of her. And why? Because she had been so damned determined to enjoy her life she’d neglected training with Mo-O. Ten years—long before her Gift had manifested—the dragon had been trying to get her to meditate, to control her emotions. And Namaka tried, but maybe she never tried quite hard enough. According to kapu, as a Princess, duty overshadowed all else. It meant if she hadn’t taken her childhood for herself, it would have been stolen from her. And now, finally, she understood why. She was denied the life other people had because for her to live such a life endangered those other people.
