by Matt Larkin
Namaka sat up and brushed the wet sand from her kihei. She rose as he waved to her.
“Aren’t you cold out here?” the foreigner asked.
“Nah, I’m good,” Kamapua’a shouted as he tromped away.
Pasikole glanced at the retreating wereboar, but Namaka ignored him. “No, it’s invigorating. You’re just cold because you wear too many clothes and they get soaked.”
A flush turned his face red. Right now he wore his shirt unlaced and open, exposing his chest. Maybe he was at least learning.
Before she could say so a chant rose over the sea, shouts that sent a shudder down her spine. Drums joined the chanting as canoes drew nearer the shore.
Frozen wastes of Lua-O-Milu … had word already spread about her punishment from the mer emissary? She grabbed Pasikole’s hand and dragged him behind her, running toward the village.
“What?” Pasikole asked as he ran. “What is it? Is this another luau?”
“A war party,” Namaka shouted back at him. And she was powerless. The very power she had turned against her own people could have swamped those canoes before they landed, but she had sworn to never use her Gift again. And her people were going to die because she was useless.
Before she had come into her powers, raids had been common enough, at least one or two a year. But everyone knew she had come of age, and the raids had stopped. It was too much trouble. How had these people learned of her loss in less than a day? Was it coincidence, or had the mer actually spread the word as part of her punishment? A sudden sinking feeling coiled around her gut. Maybe this was a test from Hiyoya, to see if she would keep her vow.
As the canoes beached, the tribe’s warriors had already charged forward to meet the invaders. Hau-Pu led them, hastily applied warpaint covering his cheeks. A pale imitation of the elaborate war patterns the invaders wore. They leapt from their canoes and charged up the beach, lining up in front of the village’s warriors.
The largest of the invaders marched forward, spear over his head. He spread his feet wide and stuck his tongue out, grunting and waving his arms in a challenge. The man marched up and down the warrior lines, repeating the gesture.
“What in the endless sea is he doing?” Pasikole asked.
“Intimidating our warriors.” Namaka slowed, taking up position behind the warriors. She wasn’t trained in war arts, that wasn’t the way for Princesses. Kamapua’a, however, had taken up position and was flexing his muscles. Namaka glanced up at the sky. Her wereboar friend would be trapped in human form until the moon rose and by then, the battle would likely be over.
She had to do something. Just a little show of power to frighten them away. All she had to do was reach for the sea. To break her word and dishonor herself forever. And worse, Hiyoya would hear of it, whether or not this was a test. The devastation they could wreak on her village far outstripped anything the invaders might do. Raiders would kill a few, maybe take captives, steal goods and food. But the mer emissary might well destroy her entire people in retribution for her broken oath. She could not take that chance.
As the invading warrior stepped back into his line, Hau-Pu stepped forward, repeating the man’s demonstration. He stuck out his tongue, grunted, and shouted, then beat his chest. A shout rang out among her people.
Namaka glanced back at Pasikole as he put a hand on her shoulder, scowling deeply. He stepped in front of her, positioning himself between the battle and her.
A final shout went up from both lines, and like the breaking of a wave they exploded into motion, crashing into one another. Namaka cringed as the first blood splattered the sands, but it was such chaos she couldn’t even tell who fell and which side was winning. Warriors impaled each other on spears, shoved one another into the sand. Some of the invaders broke through the village line and charged forward toward the huts.
One of the men rushed toward her and Pasikole.
The foreign captain took that metal club from his belt and pointed it at the man. She had seen him fight and maybe he could defend them, but his attacker was the size of a whale, with muscles on his muscles and tattoos covering his whole chest. She opened her mouth to shout for Kamapua’a.
And then Pasikole’s club roared like a miniature volcano, spewing smoke and fire and leaving her ears ringing.
The attacker’s momentum slowed, and he looked down at a hole that had opened in his chest. Blood rapidly poured from it, covering his tattoos. The man stared at the wound, open-mouthed as Namaka was. The entire battle had stopped at the thunderous crash of Pasikole’s power.
The wounded attacker collapsed into the sand, eyes going vacant.
Pasikole tried to pull her away, but Namaka couldn’t move, couldn’t take her eyes off the fallen warrior. This was the power Uncle Kamalo had sensed in the foreign captain? This destruction was like something only a Princess should wield. And Pasikole … he … he … what had happened? What was that club? Did it draw from Pasikole’s mana?
Using the distraction, Hau-Pu let loose another war cry and drove his spear into one of the invaders. The villagers followed his lead, and in mere moments the battle had turned and the invaders were retreating back to their canoes.
She hadn’t done anything. She, the Princess of the Valley Isle, had done nothing and they had won. Only a handful of her people had fallen. More than should have been lost, for certain, but it could have been far, far worse. Many were spared this afternoon because of the emissary of Lono. Because he had not turned his back on her people, despite her misdeeds. He had used that power to protect himself, but then, he had intentionally positioned himself in harm’s way to protect her. Why? Was that just his way, or did he feel something for her?
“Namaka!” he shouted at her, still yanking her away from the battle.
She shook herself and let him draw her back toward the huts, only pausing when they stood on the boardwalk. “What was that? Your magic?”
“What?” Pasikole held up his club. “This? My pistol.” He jabbed the unearthly thing back into the strap at his waist as though it were nothing special. Maybe it was nothing to a man sent by Lono, but it was far from that to Namaka. And to her people.
If she had ever doubted this man was divine, she’d been a fool. Before she could think better of it, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. For a moment he looked at her in shock. Then he grabbed her around the waist—warm and strong—and pulled her close and kissed her on the mouth. She trembled from the sudden closeness, afraid of both the intimacy and the thought it would end.
“Princess!” someone shouted.
Namaka jerked away, flushed from neck to forehead. What did she have to be embarrassed about? It was just a kiss. According to kapu, she ought to have been sleeping with a man—or several—by now.
“Princess!”
This time, she turned to see Hau-Pu glaring at both her and Pasikole. The man was covered in blood, some of it his own based on the gash across his chest. A fresh scar that would only enhance the warrior’s appearance, assuming he got it treated by the kahuna in time to avoid infection. Hau-Pu had fought bravely, had been the first into the fray. And she knew, of course, that he had thought to claim her. A few days ago, she would have thought she wanted the same thing. Or had she merely seen him as the most attractive of her limited choices? Did he … could he even love her, knowing what she was? Could any villager, any Sawaikian love her as a person knowing what she represented, and knowing duty bound her to take them to her bed?
But Pasikole was different. He wasn’t Sawaikian, didn’t seem to even understand kapu. Yet he still desired her, still courted her.
Maybe it was unfair to Hau-Pu, who had only ever treated her with honor, courted her properly. And now she was kissing his rival. But around Pasikole, her stomach was filled with delightful rumbles and her soul sang like a chorus of larks. He was entrancing and exotic and, like her, filled with mana, maybe enough he had no need to siphon off her.
And the sudden, profound sadness in Hau-Pu’s eyes to
ld her. He knew. He could see the way she now felt about the foreigner. Hau-Pu frowned and spun around, then stormed off. Did she wrong him? She had to follow her heart, didn’t she? To try to find some small measure of life and happiness for herself within the bounds of kapu.
She pulled free of Pasikole’s grip and drew him back toward the aftermath of the battle. A handful of her people were dead, and even as she approached, Kamalo began to sing the mourning chant. So sorrowful it froze her in place. Others of the village took up the song and Namaka joined in as well, conscious of Pasikole staring silent by her side. The kahuna’s song would send the ghosts of the slain away from the Earth, on toward Lua-O-Milu lest they linger and become Nightmarchers.
Warriors built pyres for each of the fallen while Namaka and the others sang. She saw no sign of Hau-Pu. She had not meant to hurt him, but if he failed to attend the funeral, he failed in kapu. He dishonored his ancestors and those who had fallen to protect this village.
The kahuna lit each pyre in turn and soon acrid smoke stung her eyes and lungs. Still she sang. These people would not have died if she’d been able to use her Gift. Sure, Hamoa Village had protected itself, but the raiders would probably have never even come here if they hadn’t heard she had effectively lost her powers. Where had they come from? The Big Island, probably. That was the only inhabited island close enough to their village for this. People had died because of Hiyoya’s decree. She had given her word to the mer emissary to never call upon that part of herself again.
At last the songs died out and still the fires burned. Pasikole’s hand slipped into her own, warm and timid, almost like he was afraid to touch her. His weapon, his pistol could kill a man with no effort. And still he seemed shy around her. He was a contradiction.
Those closest to the fallen would take their ashes out to the sea, paddle out on their surfboards and say their final farewells. There were very few people in the village Namaka could claim to be close to. Probably most of the villagers wouldn’t even want her there for those final ceremonies. A reminder of her failures, of her uselessness.
She pulled her hand free from Pasikole’s. “I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She started toward the forest, only glancing over her shoulder as she reached the treeline. Pasikole still stood in the same spot, watching her.
With a sigh, Namaka made her way back through the forest, darting around overgrown bushes and ducking under vines, working her way back up to the cave. Her heart begged her to call her Gift, to draw solace from the river. And she could not.
Instead, she climbed up to the cave. Moela met her at the mouth of it, and she reflexively stroked the dog’s ears. Then she sank down to watch the waterfall. The waters called to her, pleaded to be a part of her. She would never be whole again without them. Water was in her very soul.
Moela lay his head in her lap and she pet him. Damn it. Even the dog reminded her of Hau-Pu, of the generosity he’d tried to show her. And she had broken the man’s heart—she’d seen it on his face.
“There was a battle,” Mo-O said from the back of the cave.
“Raiders. I’m sure Kamapua’a will tell you all about it.”
Perhaps the dragon could hear the reticence in her voice, because she did not press the issue.
Some time later, she wasn’t certain how much, Kamapua’a came tromping up the rocks back into the cave. He looked down at her, rubbed his belly, and grinned. “I can almost feel the mana from their leader.”
Namaka sighed. “You ate him?”
“All the warriors did. We offered Pasikole a piece—I mean he sure helped—but he seemed to be feeling a bit queasy. Oh, and I heard you kissed him!”
Namaka stroked Moela’s head, not answering.
“I bet that was fun. So … did you ride his surfboard when you two went down to the Royal Beach?”
“He doesn’t have a board, so I let him borrow my father’s.”
“Uh … well that’s all kinds of odd.”
Namaka flinched when she realized what he’d meant. “Dark gods of the Ghost World, Pigman! You are—”
“I know. I try. Seriously though? You, Pasikole?”
“No!” Not that she hadn’t wanted to. Did she love him? How could she not? Maybe he was her destiny all along. Maybe Lono had truly sent him here for her. She shook her head at her own foolishness. Hadn’t she sworn off childish fancy?
Kamapua’a sat down beside her, rubbed his nose, and stared at the waterfall before speaking. “You like him, huh? I mean, like more than lust. I know lust—I’ve got a boar running about in my soul.”
“And how many lovers have you had?” She’d never asked him before, never really wanted to know.
“Uh. Lost track. Twenty-five maybe?”
Namaka grunted. It was fewer than she’d expected, and still, somehow more. A confirmation that her best friend knew all about things she was still afraid of.
Kamapua’a sighed. “Namaka, I, uh … I can’t say I know exactly how you feel. But it kind of seems like you’re so desperate for someone to love you that you blind yourself. Love isn’t meant for people like us.”
Namaka lay back on the cave floor. Kamapua’a, vulgar and childish, might have a point. But her heart had made its decision. And maybe that was the first decision in her whole life that was her own. Kapu demanded she take a mate. Well then, she would take one of her choosing and damn expectations. She would take Pasikole as a lover and then … then the others. Maybe her Gift was lost to her, but she still had to do what she could for her people.
And still, she lay awake for hours, wondering what Kamapua’a had meant, saying she blinded herself. It was nonsense. The wereboar wasn’t given to insight or wisdom. He was right—he had no idea how she felt.
Day IV
9
Namaka rose late, exhausted from the past night. The sun was already up when she rolled over to face it. For a moment she lay there, drinking in its rays. Then it hit her. Pasikole. A smile crept over her face. His men would be out hunting more lumber today, but the captain might be free. Maybe they could go surfing again, or canoeing, or she could even take him on a hike to the Sacred Pools. A chance to spend some real time with him, away from the village.
The Pools would be the perfect place to take her lover.
Namaka stretched, then pushed herself off her straw mat. Immediately Moela rose and licked her face, tail wagging like a reed in a typhoon.
“All right, all right.” She nuzzled his wet nose.
Mo-O wasn’t in the cave. Probably the dragon had gone out to gather something for breakfast. Which meant she could be back with a bushel of bananas in mere moments or could be gone practically forever hunting fish. Who knew with her?
“Morning, Pigman,” Namaka called.
Kamapua’a grunted, barely acknowledging her. He did like to sleep in.
Hands behind her back, humming loudly, she strolled over to him. “I’m going to mate with Pasikole.”
“Ugh. Let me know how it goes.”
Lazy pig. She shrugged. If he wanted to sleep his whole life away, that was his problem. She had places to be.
“Come on, Moela,” she called.
The dog immediately perked up. Today was a special day—she could hardly ask him to stay in the cave, after all.
“Yeah, come on.” She cocked her head toward the mouth of the cave. Moela dashed off, barking happily.
She took a leisurely route toward the village, the dog rushing ahead, then doubling back to check on her a half dozen times. She’d be able to get breakfast there. Chances were good her mother would have something leftover she could snack on.
Before she even reached the beach, Hau-Pu stepped out from behind a tree, blocking her path. His sudden appearance froze her in place, and the look of fury on his face left her breathless. The poor man was going to have his heart broken, but what could she do? She had given hers away already. Maybe, one day, she would choose him too. Would hearing that comfort or enrage the
man?
He grabbed her wrist before she could think of what to say. “Come with me, Princess.”
What was he up to now? She started to shake her head, but he dragged her behind him without another glance. What in the endless sea was the man thinking?
“If you think you can win me by …”
One of Pasikole’s men lay bound to a banyan tree, his face beaten bloody. A pile of discarded lumber lay nearby, so she could guess what he’d been doing this deep in the forest.
“What have you done?”
“This one speaks our language. A little. He had answers.”
“What have you done!” Namaka rushed to the white man’s side and began untying him.
Despite her efforts, the foreigner looked at her with stark terror in his eyes. Kāne, Hau-Pu was going to ruin everything. She had gotten Pasikole to forgive her for her accident with the sea, but this … this was no accident. A member of her village had attacked one of his crew, and after he had fought for them during last night’s raid.
“What in Milu’s vile domain were you thinking?” she demanded of Hau-Pu.
“Listen to me, Princess. I knew they were up to no good.” He pointed an accusing finger at the man. “He confirmed it. You never asked why they came here, why they chose our village. They came for you, for your power.”
His words, spoke with such certainty, chilled her heart. There was no way. It wasn’t true. “N-no. Damn it, you beat him senseless. He’d have said anything to make it stop.”
“Princess—”
“No!”
It was impossible. Pasikole was a good man. He’d seemed kind. He’d not known about kapu or the tabus or anything of the things he should have known. But did that mean he could not have heard of her Gift, even in his far away Westlands?
“I will prove it you,” Hau-Pu said, then dashed off before she could form a response.
