by Matt Larkin
Her dog climbed over the dragon’s tail to lay his head in Namaka’s lap. Reflexively, she stroked Moela behind his ears.
“Listen,” the dragon said. “Do you hear that? Birds are outside, singing in the sunset. I imagine it’s beautiful. None of your mistakes have damaged that, have they?”
Fine. If Mo-O wanted to know, Namaka would tell her. “Two men were fighting over me,” she began. And how had that ever, ever seemed like a good thing? She proceeded to tell Mo-O about the fight, about losing control of her power, about the devastation she had wrought. By the end of it, her tears were flowing freely.
“You are angry at the whole world, aren’t you? But your anger hurts you most of all. Anger is a poison, clouding your vision. Preventing you from seeing what you are given while you grieve for what you were denied.”
“I’m denied a life of my own!”
Mo-O gently pushed her downward with her tail, until Namaka lay curled against the dragon’s warm side. Her protector’s heartbeat was slow but immensely powerful, like the thrumming of the Earth itself. The power of the land pulsed through Mo-O and she was a perfect expression of it. A balance of nature Namaka could never hope to achieve. The dragon held her there like that, as she had when Namaka was a child, weeping in fear at being away from her parents. Finally, Namaka shut her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
She woke to shuffling feet as Kamapua’a entered the cave, pacing like he’d forgotten where his straw mat lay. Namaka sat up and stared at the wereboar, unable to make out his features in the darkness. During the day, sunlight filtered in through the waterfall, but the moon cast only faint shadows that made the whole cave seem like something born from the Ghost World.
“What is it?” she asked when Kam continued to glance back and forth between her and his mat.
“Uh, nothing.” Finally, he plopped down in his place and rolled over.
“Pigman!”
The wereboar began making obnoxious snoring noises.
Damn. If Kamapua’a didn’t want to tell her, the news must be terrible. Had her father disowned her? Had the kahuna condemned her for her atrocities against the emissary of Lono? What if they decided she was a failure and they should just eat her and be done with it?
Namaka scrambled up, but was restrained by a large dragon claw on her shoulder.
“Answer the Princess,” Mo-O said.
Kam feigned snoring even louder than before.
“Do not make me come over there,” the dragon said.
At that, Kamapua’a sat bolt upright. “What? Did someone say something? Sorry, I was sleeping and dreaming about … uh, curvaceous—”
“No one cares for your lascivious dreams, wereboar.”
“Lascivious? I’m not lascivious. I was dreaming about curving … seashells. From the sea. Wait. What’s lascivious mean?”
Namaka eased herself out of Mo-O’s grasp and made her way over to Kamapua’a. “Just tell me what happened.”
“Well … So maybe there’s this stupid emissary down in the village demanding your presence.”
Oh aumakuas. She knew Pasikole would be furious. Would he ask for her life as recompense? Would the kahuna agree to such a request? That he was demanding her presence was probably even worse than he if refused to see her again. But it wasn’t like she could just sit here forever. She was a Princess, and she had a duty to her people. Forgetting that was what had led to this disaster in the first place. From now on, she was going to be the Princess the Valley Isle needed. If it wasn’t too late.
“Fine,” Namaka said at last. “Fine. If Pasikole wants me, I’ll go to him.”
“Uh … I didn’t talk to him. There was a different emissary. A … shitting merman.”
Namaka stared at Kamapua’a, not quite able to form a response. She glanced back at Mo-O, who shifted around and flicked out her tongue. A merman in Hamoa Village? That was not a good sign. 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 a sacrifice, not for two more years … But by the aumakuas, this did not bode well.
Hoping her sigh covered the tremble in her chest, Namaka turned.
“Don’t go,” Kamapua’a pleaded.
“She has no choice,” the dragon said.
No choice at all. No one had given her a choice about being a Princess, about what Gift she would get, or about being sent away from her parents. She didn’t have a choice about taking lovers or about losing her childhood. Now, she had no choice about going down to see this merman. Sure, he might not come away from the sea to find her here in the valley. But if she refused him, the whole village would be in danger, and that she could not allow. She had done them too much harm already. And any of the mer kingdoms could crush a village like hers with little effort.
Each step felt like walking through mud as she made her way back down to the village. The moonlight barely penetrated the forest canopy, making her path treacherous—giving her an excuse to take it slow. And still, sooner than she’d have liked, the village came into view.
On the shore, just beyond the huts, Father and Uncle Kamalo stood with another man. Or a merman, she realized, as she drew near. Mer could take human form briefly, 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.
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.
Namaka bit her lip as she approached, keeping her eyes downcast, desperately trying to slow her racing heart. Was she about to die? She wasn’t ready to die. She didn’t want to be eaten. Please, Kāne. She didn’t want to die. She would be a good Princess, she had always intended to be a good one. She had only wanted to live while doing so.
“You are the one?” the merman asked. His voice was deep but oddly musical, as though more suited to singing than speaking.
“I am Namaka of …” She swallowed. “Princess of Sea.”
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. “Of the sea? 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? A childish spat? 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.”
A lump formed in her throat. What was he trying to say? What exactly did he want her to do? She nodded dumbly, keeping her eyes on his feet. They were almost human, save for slight fins at his ankles.
“You are hereby forbidden to ever use the power so mistakenly given to you. This is your only warning.”
Give up use of her Gift? The power was all that made her a Princess. Without it she was just a stupid little girl who had ruined everything for her village. Worse, forbidden to use her power, she’d never be able to protect the Valley Isle from outside raiders. Instead of this isle being the best defended in Sawaiki, it would become the one target clans could prey on without fear of reprisal. The one inhabited isle with no Princess to guard them. And with her so impotent, why would her people not simply execute and consume her, take in her mana and hope for a better Princess in the next generation? They would face hard years without one, of course, but it might be their only option.
But … who was she to deny this emissary of Hiyoya? She had misused her Gift. She hadn’t realized, hadn’t even considered what that might have done to an underwater civilization. But she’d seen what it had done up here. Seen the price it had exacted from Hamoa Villag
e and from Pasikole and his ship. The merman was right. She didn’t deserve this power. And even if she did, if she denied the mermaid queen, she didn’t even want to consider the reprisal Hiyoya might make against the Valley Isle.
She had no choice. None at all.
Unable to keep the tremor from her jaw, she nodded.
“Say it,” the merman commanded.
“I will not use my Gift.”
“Ever.”
“Not ever.” It was like choking on bile. Like trying to gnaw her own leg off. Not ever. “I swear it.”
At last the emissary turned back to the sea and dove in. He leapt once above the water, showing off his mighty tail, now adorned with great fins half a pace wide. His tail shimmered in the moonlight, beautiful and terrible. And gone in an instant.
“Namaka,” her father said.
She spun and ran, weeping as though a flood had broken on a mountain.
“Namaka!” Kamalo shouted.
But she ran on and on, toward the valley. And as she reached the river, it surged in her grief.
“No!” she shrieked. “Stop it.”
The rapids only intensified, whipping around in unnatural currents. Namaka fell to her knees on the river bank and wailed. “Stop it! Stop it!”
The river exploded around her, showering her in its cool waters as if it could drown her pain. And the more she tried to deny it, to stop her power, the worse the flooding grew.
She was damned.
Day III
6
Beyond the edge of the forest where Namaka crouched, down on the beach, the villagers brought supplies to Pasikole and his crew. Under his direction, they had cut trees for wood and were helping restore the damage she had caused. Namaka sat in the bushes, watching her people cleaning up her mess as best they were able.
By her side, Kamapua’a farted loudly.
Namaka cast him a withering look.
“Sorry. Happens when I get bored. Speaking of which, why on Milu’s misty-veiled tits are we sitting here?”
Namaka huffed. “How can I face them after what I’ve done?” After she was, in effect, no longer their Princess? What would they do if she showed her face? Perhaps they would banish her—assuming they let her live at all. Now she really served no purpose save to give rise to a new kahuna and then be eaten.
“Yeah, sure, you’re right. How about instead of going to talk to the people, we skip over to the Big Isle and maybe find us some adventure and a pair of girls.”
Namaka rolled her eyes. “I’m not really attracted to girls.”
“I know. I meant both for me. Remember, I’m incorrigible.”
Like she would ever forget it. But maybe Kamapua’a had a point. Maybe she had to face her fears because the only other option was running away. Sitting here sulking would solve nothing. Or maybe she gave the wereboar too much credit. Maybe he actually meant they should leave the Valley Isle and go hunting adventure on their own. But that wasn’t an option for Namaka. The mer emissary might have effectively stripped her of her powers, but she had to try to be the Princess of the Valley Isle. Her clan needed her, even if all she had left to give them was her flesh.
A Princess did not leave her island.
With a long, deep breath, she rose and trod toward the boardwalk. A cool wind blew down from the mountain, one she had barely felt in the bushes. But out on the beach it was calming, like Paka’a, Lord of Wind, had sent it just for her. To remind her that even if she had no powers, still she was Sawaikian. She didn’t have to give up. It was a fresh wind, one smelling of plumerias from the forest.
Trying to remain calm, she strode toward the boardwalk. The end was still broken, a jagged tear serving as a silent admonition of her weakness. She turned away from it and spotted her mother on the beach, roasting a swordfish over a campfire. Its succulent aroma was all the reminder she needed that she hadn’t eaten much this morning. A pineapple shared with Kam—his half of which had been much larger. She hadn’t often seen her mother cook, but then, making peace with Pasikole was crucial. Even the chief’s wife did her best to help the village. Just like Namaka had to do now. Let childish impulses die and do whatever it took to calm this storm.
“Mother?”
Her mother turned, looking to her with sad eyes, then rose and embraced her all too briefly. “Namaka. Are you sure you should be here?”
No. Not at all. But if she didn’t come, if she wasn’t here, where should she be? “I have to.” She had to try. “Where’s Father?”
“He’s trying to placate the emissary of Lono with gifts. Two of his crew died and a woman was badly injured.”
Milu damn it all. She had feared more would be hurt than that, but to hear anyone had died, to know it was true, left her stomach roiling. Her mother was right. She didn’t belong here, didn’t deserve to be here. Pasikole had lost people because of her. Now, her father was trying to placate him. Meaning, trying to convince him to remain on the Valley Isle? Or not to bring the god’s wrath down on the village? And what would that be? A withering of crops, a dearth of fish in the sea? Pestilence?
Father was trying to make up for her mistakes. But she should be the one to beg the man’s forgiveness. That was her duty as Princess and as the one who had created this terrible situation. So she would throw herself on his mercy. Perhaps he would claim her life in recompense. That was, after all, how kapu dealt with murderers—sacrificing them to Kū. And if he decided to take her life, maybe she could at least spare her people.
“Is that about ready?” she asked.
Her mother nodded, wiping her brow. “Swordfish.”
Food fit for a wedding feast. And here her mother was, already preparing it. Knowing what to do, while Namaka had hid in the forest. “Can I take that to him?”
Her mother hesitated, then nodded. “You should. Maybe it would help if it came from you.” Grasping both ends of the spit, she hefted the fish off the fire. Her mother coughed at the smoke and wobbled a little.
“Are you all right, Mother?”
“Just tired.” She offered her the fish.
The bundle was heavy, but Namaka tried to hold it high, carry it proudly like the worthy offering it was. Despite the morning heat and the effort of carrying the fish, a chill sweat built on the back of her neck as she trod toward the captain. What if he rejected the gift? She didn’t want to die, but if it was the only way … Calm.
She was the Princess of Sea.
A Princess had to stay calm. Mo-O had tried to teach her that.
As she approached, Pasikole was shouting at his crew in some strange language, apparently directing them to build a new mast. A few of the crew began speaking, staring at her, some even pointing. She didn’t know their words, but she felt their fear, their ire. Pasikole turned to look at her, again with that raised eyebrow. A bruise had developed on his jaw, a sickening purple against his fair skin.
“Princess Namaka.”
Namaka sank to her knees before him and raised the fish. Her arms ached and trembled, barely able to hold the spit above her head. If he didn’t take it soon, she was likely to drop the offering in the sand.
A moment later, he took the fish, his fingers lightly brushing hers in the process. “It smells wonderful.”
“Please forgive me,” she blurted. “Please do not take out your wrath upon my people. I meant no harm, but the fault is mine alone!”
The man inclined his head toward one of his men and the sailor took the swordfish and immediately began cutting pieces. Each piece he handed to the nearby crewmen. That seen to, Pasikole turned back to her and looked her up and down, shaking his head. “So. Some Gift.”
“I just got scared from the fighting and I lost control. I swear, I didn’t mean it!”
“Hmm. So maybe the fault is mine then, for provoking your … lover?”
“No!” He thought she was trying to shift the blame to him. What punishment would he devise for such hubris? “That’s not what I meant. You did nothing wrong, it was me!”<
br />
His upraised hand forestalled her. “You’re rather self-effacing for royalty, aren’t you?” He glanced back at his ship again, shaking his head at some private pain. “If you’re so determined to accept the blame for the incident … then you can make it up to me.” He turned back, favoring her with a smile, albeit one tinged with some emotion she could not identify. Regret, perhaps?
She swallowed, then nodded. The way he looked at her left her both warm and chilled. Did he mean to demand her body? Since she was required to choose a lover in the next few days, that was a fairly small price. “What do you want me to do?”
He clucked his tongue, then shared a glance with a woman on his crew. “You promised to take me surfing on those board things. Show me this thrilling activity.” His voice was dry, lacking any kind of enthusiasm.
That was not the response she’d been expecting. She had led to the death of his people and he wanted to learn an art form? Did the gods simply not care about the death of a few followers? Or did Pasikole have some other, unfathomable motive?
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded, then looked around the beach. Hers and her father’s boards had been drawn away from the ocean and left leaning against the rocks. Common people were not allowed to touch the chief’s board, so it must have been one of Pasikole’s crew who saved them. They were fortunate no one had seen them, or her father would have been forced to demand the criminal’s life for the trespass.
Namaka grabbed her board and motioned for Pasikole to take her father’s, then led him farther down the beach, away from prying eyes and toward the perfect waves. She was going to have to be extra careful not to get too excited. Her power responded to her mood and usually helped carry her forward. Not that she needed it—she’d been one of the best surfers in Hamoa Village even before her powers began to manifest last year.
