The Seventh Princess

by Matt Larkin

  Stunned, Namaka stood, gaping at the bloody white man. Damn it. For a heartbeat she considered freeing the prisoner, but … Whatever Hau-Pu was about to do was likely to stir up a maelstrom of trouble.

  She chased after him, out of the forest and into the village. “Hau-Pu!”

  She was among the most athletic girls in the village, but she had no chance to catch him before the warrior had rushed up to Pasikole at the water’s edge.

  “Ghostfucker! Deceiver! You came to take our Princess away! I heard it from your own man.”

  Pasikole reeled as if struck and Hau-Pu kept running at him. And then the captain was drawing that pistol from his waist. Everything slowed. She tried to open her mouth, to shout a warning, but it came out as only a squeak. A sound muffled by the deafening roar of the captain’s weapon.

  Hau-Pu jerked to a sudden stop, took another step forward, then looked down at his chest. Blood blossomed from it like a flower. Namaka’s hand went to her mouth as the warrior stared at his wound for an instant. Then he slumped onto the beach.

  “No!” she shrieked, then dashed to Hau-Pu’s side. Moela was there too, licking the man’s face where it had fallen in the sand.

  “Betrayer …” Hau-Pu mumbled, apparently still trying to attack Pasikole.

  “Namaka,” Pasikole said.

  “You attacked him.” Her voice shook and she didn’t look back at the captain. Three days ago she thought she was going to take Hau-Pu as a lover. He’d made every effort to win her and she doubted him because … because she feared he just wanted her mana like everyone else. Everyone else. Even Pasikole? Wasn’t that what Hau-Pu was trying to say?

  Moela had begun to bark, but she couldn’t focus on that, on anything but the man dying in the sand. Maybe he’d meant to call her betrayer. She had betrayed him, after all. Betrayed him and all her village to love a foreigner, to try to choose a man who … who she thought was different from all the others. That was what Kamapua’a had meant. She blinded herself because she was so desperate to be more than a source of mana. And could it be true? Could Pasikole have really come here intent on stealing her away?

  Somehow, she couldn’t force the thought from her mind. It wiggled through her thoughts like the roots of a banyan splitting rocky soil.

  Hau-Pu laced his fingers in hers, or tried, but his hand trembled like he could barely lift it.

  “Come on,” Namaka said. “Come on, you’re going to be fine. I’m sure Kamalo is already on the way and he …”

  Hau-Pu’s eyes glazed over and his grip went slack.

  This wasn’t real. It was some nightmare born from a fever.

  Tears streaming down her face told her she was lying to herself.

  “Namaka,” Pasikole said again, voice terse. His damn hand on her shoulder.

  Had Hau-Pu been right? Was this ghostfucker really her enemy? The one who had murdered the finest warrior in their village. Kāne help her.

  Namaka screamed wordlessly, rocking back and forth. Kāne, please let it all be a dream.

  “Namaka!” Pasikole shouted.

  “I thought I loved you.” She spun when his hand jerked away from her shoulder, spun and saw what he had been shouting about.

  The sea had answered her fear and pain and rage, answered, and it was coming to her. The ocean lashed one way and another, like some god shook it in a mighty gourd. Waves swept over the boardwalk and crushed it, tore it to splinters and driftwood, smashing half the houses in the village. The wave broke over them, leaving nothing but merciless sea in its wake, stealing homes and lives and hope.

  She screamed, her terror whipping the sea into further frenzy. Even where she sat, several dozen paces from the water’s edge, sea spray fell over her. It slammed into the shore and swept up villagers and Pasikole’s men, carried off canoes and fishing nets and dogs who could not run fast enough. And she could not stop screaming. Waves tossed Pasikole’s ship about like a toy, but Namaka did not stay to watch its fate.

  She had to get away from the sea while there was still something left of her people. She had to be gone from them and from this forever. Sobbing, she dashed from the beach and back into the jungle, Moela at her heels. She ran and ran.

  But no matter how far she ran, she still heard the screams of her people, her victims. Those who drowned because she had, for a moment, dared follow her heart as it led her astray.

  It should have been her to die.

  If Pasikole and his crew had only come to the Valley Isle to take her, then in a way, she had brought them. She was responsible for all the death and devastation. And she should have died for it. Maybe the only thing to do was to go back, take her own life, and let the tribe consume her mana.

  Moela lay his head in her lap as she sat on some mountainside, looking out at the sea so very far below. Even up here, she could feel it calling to her. Damning her. If some part of Kū was inside her, that part was a curse. Kū had been one of the wicked gods cast into the underworld. Kāne had flooded all the Earth to cleanse it of those gods. Mo-O had drilled that into her since she had first come to live in the damn cave, but Namaka had never once considered what it meant. Had the old dragon been trying to tell her all this time? Trying to tell her that she had wickedness, vileness coursing through her? That the source of all her mana, all her power, was not a blessing. But the blood of a dark god.

  If she died out here, alone, the tribe might not find her, might not consume her mana. Would another Princess then be born in the next generation? Would it even be a bad thing if one was not? Maybe that’s what would have happened if Pasikole had taken her away from the Valley Isle. The end of the cycle. But it would only end on this island. The other six would have their Princesses, and the Valley Isle would be left unprotected against raids like the one they had suffered last night.

  No, whatever the source of her power, her people needed that to protect themselves. So she had to go back to them and kill herself. More tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t want to die. She was only seventeen years old. Her life shouldn’t have even been quite half over. She wiped her eyes. Look at her, blubbering here like a child when people were dead because of her. Again. Again she had failed the whole damn clan.

  Her dog whimpered without rising, and she ran her fingers over his ears.

  “You’d miss me, right?”

  She sighed and lay her head against Moela’s. Maybe she should give the village a few days to calm down before she returned. A slight chuckle escaped her. Right, that was the reason for delaying. Because it would be so much easier to accept her death tomorrow or the next day.

  Moela stirred beneath her, perhaps sensing her distress. Or someone else—a moment later she heard heavy footfalls climbing up the slope. Namaka lifted her head to watch Kamapua’a hiking toward her.

  The man huffed and panted emphatically once he stood beside her. Given his supernatural endurance, that had to be just for show.

  “How did you find me?”

  “A boar’s snout never lies.”

  Namaka nodded, then stared out at the sea.

  After a moment, Kam sank down beside her. “So. That was impressive. You’re getting stronger.”

  Namaka snorted. That was what he had to say about her destroying their village? “If I asked you to … kill me … would you do it?”

  “Shit no! What in Lua-O-Milu is wrong with you? Kill you? Pshhh. I’d kill for you, girl. You know, if it was someone I didn’t like.”

  “And just how many people died in the village today?”

  Kamapua’a shrugged. “Don’t know. I didn’t stick around, I came looking for you. However many it is, I doubt your death would bring even one of them back. So get that stupid pig shit out of your head.”

  Namaka huffed. The wereboar had no idea what she was going through, no idea of the pressure she felt. Maybe because he didn’t understand responsibility—he never had. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and gave no thought to the cost of his actions. What would it be like to live like that?
A lot like never growing up, she supposed. She had tried to walk some line between duty, between the fate she was born to, and having her own life. And this was what had been born out of her stubbornness.

  “Uh huh,” he said after a moment, staring at her face. “Not buying it? Fine, Princess.” He grabbed her arms by the elbows and hefted her to her feet. The effortlessness with which he lifted her left her fumbling for words. How easy to forget how strong the wereboar was, even in human form. He was as much kupua as her, even if his power—his curse—was so much different. The animal instincts in him always threatened to overcome him, she knew that.

  “Right. Now you’re coming with me.” Keeping his grip on one of her elbows, he dragged her behind him as he began trekking across the isle.

  Namaka didn’t have the energy to argue with him anymore. Besides, maybe—just maybe—he had a point. Dying wouldn’t bring anyone back. Had that just seemed like an escape, a way to avoid facing the consequences of what she had done? Kamapua’a wouldn’t have suggested that, since he didn’t believe in consequences in the first place.

  They walked so long her feet and calves began to ache, and still Kamapua’a led her on and on. By then, she knew where he was going. The Sacred Pools were the only thing out this far. They had come here twice before, the first time with Mo-O when she had wanted to teach them to feel the mana in the land. The Sacred Pools were replete with it, perhaps more so than anywhere else on the Valley Isle save the volcano of Haleakala. Later, she had come here with Kam, just to bask in it.

  Namaka said nothing while he led her up the rough, rocky trail to reach the top of the Sacred Pools. They climbed out to the plateau above the pools and stood looking down. A cascade of a half-dozen waterfalls poured from the mountains above, creating a series of whitewater pools before eventually crashing over the rocks to reach the sea. At high tide, the ocean joined the lowest of those pools and easily carried swimmers out to sea.

  A strong wind tugged at her hair as she looked over the waters and into the ocean. It was still, still calling to her. Despite all she had done, the horror she had unleashed on those she loved, she could never resist its pull. Never.

  “It always going to be there,” she mumbled.

  Kamapua’a grunted, clearly understanding her. “The spirit is always in me, always trying to get me to eat and fuck and fight. Maybe all at the same time. You get used to it. Except during the full moon. When that happens—well, actually, I don’t always remember what happens then. Sometimes you gotta let the boar out of the cave.”

  Namaka snorted. On either side of the pools the land rose up in hills covered with jungles so vibrant she could almost understand Kam’s unending desire to run through them. It was, after all, easier. Easier than facing her fears, easier than controlling the power raging and roiling through her soul, demanding she unleash the fury of the sea.

  Already it was responding to her mood, whipping itself into greater frenzy. And beckoning her to its embrace. A steep, treacherous path led down to the rocky shore. Mo-O had warned them not to go down there. Namaka didn’t care about the danger anymore. She didn’t care about anything. All she wanted was to be as free as the wereboar.

  She began the climb down, having to watch her footing on the near vertical slope.

  Kam snorted. “All right, then.” And then he was tromping down the slope after her.

  “Fall on me and I swear my ghost will haunt you.” The wereboar would likely survive a tumble to the rocks below, but Namaka doubted she would.

  “This morning you were asking me to kill you.”

  Namaka clamped her mouth shut. Damn it. She was not going to admit to being outsmarted by the pigman.

  Moela barked at them from the plateau above as she wended her way down.

  “Sorry boy,” she shouted up at him. “Just give me some time.”

  “Since we’re the same age, don’t call me boy,” Kamapua’a said.

  Namaka ignored him and jumped down the last bit of the slope. Her feet skidded on the slick rock and she slipped, landing hard on her ass and sending a jolt of pain all the way up to her jaw. For a moment she just sat there, in shock.

  “Very graceful, Princess,” Kamapua’a said as he strode past her. The wereboar stripped off his grass skirt and jumped into one of the pools. “Woooo!” He splashed about then beckoned to her.

  Namaka shook her head. Maybe she would swim. Maybe later. Right now the sea was calling her so profoundly, so deeply, it rumbled through her soul like the tremors before an eruption, demanding her presence. Hand on her bruised tailbone, she rose and walked to the edge of the shelf, where the ocean broke over the rocks.

  It tickled her shins and toes and promised her all its secrets. Like she could dive in and forget duty and responsibility and the devastation she had caused. Forget it all and become one with the endless ocean, one with eternity. If she left everything behind, never to see Kam or her parents or Uncle Kamalo again … it would break her heart as truly as Pasikole had. He had murdered Hau-Pu for trying to expose him, expose his treachery. It should have been the foreign captain who died, but despite her rage, the thought of never seeing him again felt like trying to rip her guts out through her navel.

  “I loved him,” she whispered to the ocean, as if it had the answers to soothe her heart. In a way, she had almost loved both of them. Or thought she had. Gods, she didn’t even know what love meant anymore. Kam was right—it wasn’t for people like them. Their lives were so different from ordinary people’s that comparing them was bound to end in disaster. And maybe wanting love for herself was as destructive as insisting on having a childhood had been. She should have chosen Hau-Pu. Should have fucked him a year ago and been done with it. If she had, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe her heart would not be torn to shreds by Pasikole and maybe Hau-Pu would still be alive.

  Namaka sank down on the rocks, careful of her sore tailbone, then dangled her legs into the ocean and let her head fall into her hands. Had Kamapua’a brought her here to spark these revelations, to force her to admit she couldn’t escape her duty with suicide? Or did she give him too much credit? Maybe the wereboar just wanted to cheer her up with some pretty waterfalls and a brisk swim.

  She snorted. Despite it all, in a way, he had done just that. Stupid Pigman.

  She turned as she felt him approach behind her, then almost fell over when she recognized the mer emissary, his face a mask of rage.

  “You were warned.”

  “Wait!” she shouted. “I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

  She scrambled to her feet and tried to back away, only to have her heel jut out over the sea. Nowhere to go. She glanced behind her. A pair of mermaids were there, watching her with glares almost as intense as the merman’s.

  Moela had begun barking frantically, trying to scramble down the rocks.

  “Please,” Namaka said. “Please, don’t kill me.”

  She wanted to live. She wanted to live.

  A feral roar erupted from behind them and Kamapua’a plowed into the emissary shoulder first, driving the pair of them off the rocks and into the sea.

  “Pigman!”

  Before she could do anything for him, a surge of water tossed one of the mermaids onto the rocks. In a heartbeat her tail split into legs and, though she swayed awkwardly, she rose and walked toward Namaka.

  Namaka glared at the mermaid. Now they were attacking Kam because of her. Going to hurt him, of all people. “You fear my power?” She scanned the ocean but saw no sign of her only friend. “You should.”

  Namaka reached out to the sea with her soul and it surged toward her, a wave crashing over her and the mermaid. The sudden tide rushed over her, blinded her, and yanked her off the rocks.

  She came up sputtering, ten paces offshore, just in time to see a gasping Kamapua’a drag himself back onto the rocks. For a moment his chest heaved, then he turned to her. Namaka swam for him, against the tide, but she managed only a few strokes before an impossibly strong arm wrap
ped around her neck.

  “Princess!”

  The mermaid had her in a grip she’d never break. She called to the sea, spun it around them, but the mermaid could breathe under the ocean and all Namaka got for her trouble was a lungful of seawater. The mermaid yanked her up to the surface once again, allowing her a breath and a sight of Kam diving into the sea and swimming after them. And then a powerful beat of the mermaid’s tail carried them both far from the shore.

  Her captor could swim ten times the speed of the wereboar. He’d never catch them. And all Namaka could do was gasp for one fleeting breath after another as Moela’s barks receded into the distance.

  They had swum for what felt like an hour or more, though the sun had not set when at last the mermaid carried Namaka into a water-filled cave off another island. Keeping her bearings had been all but impossible, but she was pretty certain this was the Lost Isle. Nothing grew here so no one lived here. If they wanted to kill her, why bring her all the way out here? Was it to make certain her people couldn’t find her body and consume it, to try to break the cycle and destroy her mana?

  The cave was a great rocky arch. Water poured in through a hole in the ceiling some five paces above, creating a waterfall that broke over a ragged boulder. Seawater filled the entire cave, so there was nowhere to stand unless she could have climbed the boulder.

  “Bind her,” the merman said.

  The mermaid carried her toward the boulder, where a pair of rusty manacles dangled from a massive iron ring. Did they plan to kill her here and eat her themselves? Was this some kind of torture? A slow, agonizing death by drowning when the tide came up? Whatever they thought they were doing here, she wanted no part of it.

  She reached out to the sea, not caring what she unleashed at this point. She had nothing left to lose. The waters reacted like a giant had slapped them, flinging both her and the mermaid against the rock wall. Her head cracked on it and everything went black for an instant.

  Her vision cleared to find the merman attaching the manacles to her hands. She struggled against him, wiggling and squirming in his grasp. The merman leaned his face close to hers then slammed her hands against the rock. Red haze filled her eyes and her cry of pain cost her another mouthful of seawater.