The Seventh Princess

by Matt Larkin

  Finally.

  Free of anger and fear—the fear that had always held her back—the waters became an extension of her own body. Just another limb. She need not even think to move them. With a twist of her wrist she sent a dozen spouts pouring out of the pillar, showering into the sea before flowing back up in an endless circle.

  This was it. This was the moment the Urchin had shown her. It had shown her she didn’t have to be angry, or afraid. She could be liberated.

  A slight scraping sound drew her eyes to the rocky cliff far above. Mo-O stood there, looking down at her. Reading the dragon’s face was nearly impossible, but Namaka hoped the slightly bared teeth were meant as a smile. She could use a smile now. The dragon nodded at her, watching, waiting.

  Waiting for her. Namaka dismissed her control over the sea and let it crash back down. But how was she supposed to get up there with this tail?

  Mermaids could take human legs, she’d even seen Ake do it. But how? Was that something only the spirit inside could do? If so, she’d remain trapped in this form as long as Nyi Rara rested. And since the mermaid princess was likely to be irate with her, she couldn’t guarantee Nyi Rara would help her once she woke.

  But maybe, if she could control her power, control the seas themselves, she could learn to control her own body. Namaka flopped forward a bit, away from the water’s edge, then wiggled some more. Legs, damn it. She needed legs.

  She imagined herself pulling her legs apart, her tail splitting in two.

  Nothing happened.

  “I don’t suppose you know how I can get my legs back?” she shouted up at Mo-O.

  The dragon shrugged. “Focus.”

  Great. Pretty much the answer to everything. Namaka imagined herself walking, running, dancing. She locked onto that picture in her mind, not just a memory, but forced herself to feel it happening. A sudden, sharp pain stung her as her tail split apart and her scales receded beneath her skin. Her legs! She hadn’t realized how much she missed those. Swimming was magical, but legs had their uses.

  She let out a slow breath, then climbed to her feet. For an instant, she wobbled, unsteady after more than a day swimming.

  While shaky, it was probably a profoundly stupid time to go climbing a steep, slippery cliff. But right now she needed Mo-O, needed the dragon so intensely it was a physical ache in her chest. And so she set off toward the rocks, taking each step with care, especially as she climbed. She had to use her hands to steady herself as she made her way up.

  “You’ve come a long way,” Mo-O said when she finally crested the rise. She reached a claw behind her and flung one of Namaka’s skirts toward her.

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “I didn’t. But this was the last place Kamapua’a saw you, so I came here to wait. After his story, I suspected what the mer intended to do with you. I’m surprised you managed to escape.”

  Namaka frowned. “It’s a long story.” She grabbed the skirt and tied it around her waist, then tossed one end over her shoulder. “Kam is all right?”

  “Wracked with needless guilt and having fits. I told him to wait in the cave, but I suspect he’s out trying to convince Kamalo to take him to see his mother again. He harbors some vain hope she might stand up to Hiyoya on your behalf.”

  “Vain hope?”

  The dragon chuckled, a sound like a boulder tumbling down a mountainside. “You think another Princess would take such a risk for you, a rival she has never met? Yes, I imagine it’s a vain hope, and Kamalo will know that well enough. You can prevent the need for that by going back to face them.”

  Face the village she had wronged and then run from. But Mo-O was right, had always been right about everything. It was time Namaka started listening to her dragon nanny and stopped running away. Very soon, Nyi Rara would wake and probably force her back to Hiyoya to face yet another mess. Before that happened, she needed to see her people, assure them she was well and beg their forgiveness. And finally, finally be the Princess she should have been all along.

  That no longer frightened her.

  17

  Arms full of pineapples, Kam made his way out of the jungle and toward Hamoa Village. The Gathering Isle was far, a long sail, and they were going to need some snacks and shit to get there. Huh. Maybe he should bring a gift for his mother. He hadn’t seen her in … well shit. He didn’t know how long actually, could barely remember her at all. His first clear memory was his father handing him over to Kamalo. But he was certain his mother was the Moon Princess on the Gathering Isle. And she’d help him put those mer shitters in their shitting places.

  And more importantly, help him get Namaka back to her place. Which was here.

  A shout, a long ululating war cry broke through the morning and Kam froze in place. Shitting raiders were back, and had pig shit timing. As usual. Every time raiders came around he was always busy with something else. They never raided when he was sitting around waiting for a raid. No, that would be too considerate of them. Shitters.

  He dropped the pineapples and took off at a run, darting under branches and leaping over roots. It was a good thing he was shitting fast or the village would be in trouble. Fast and mighty. Very mighty. Like a mountain. A fast mountain.

  He broke through the jungle only to be greeted by a tremendous roar that left his ears ringing. Pasikole’s ship was engulfed in a cloud of smoke at the same time the beach exploded, flinging villagers—or parts of them—over dozens of paces.

  Kam stumbled to a stop. What the shit?

  The villagers were attacking his ride. Pasikole wasn’t his favorite person—that was Namaka, after all—but Kam needed the foreigner. Besides, he was entertaining.

  He raced forward amongst the warriors, shouting for them to stop. Despite his mighty voice, no one paid him any mind. Some of the warriors had broke and run from the explosions, while other pressed on.

  Kam grabbed a pair of warriors by the arms and yanked them to a stop. “Hold it!”

  Another cloud of smoke erupted from the ship an instant before everything around Kam exploded.

  There was a fleeting moment of pain and unbearable noise.

  And then nothing.

  18

  The afternoon had already drawn on by the time Namaka neared Hamoa Village. She had told Mo-O of all that had happened, though she hesitated to admit to the dragon how much she actually missed the mermaid’s presence in her mind. It didn’t matter anyway, since Nyi Rara would no doubt be back, and forcing her to return to the sea very soon.

  “I guess I was afraid to face the village after all I had done. After the terrible mess I made of things.”

  The dragon lumbered beside her, glancing at her with one eye, before answering in her thick voice. “There is no mess so great it cannot be cleaned, if you are willing to pay the price of doing so. Sometimes that price is high. Things can be fixed, but not always returned to how they once were.”

  Namaka groaned. Listening to the dragon drone on about metaphors was as much fun as watching coral spread. “I get it. Embrace change, they won’t forget, they won’t see me the same. Life as I knew it is over.” Truly, she did finally understand.

  “It is. But that doesn’t mean you cannot have a new kind of …” The dragon cocked her head to the side, then growled. “There is fighting in the village.”

  Oh, what now? Namaka stared at Mo-O for a heartbeat. Then she took off at a dead run, dashing around trees and ducking under branches, heedless of vines and thorns scraping her as she sprinted. Another raid. Maybe one of the other islands had heard the Valley Isle Princess had gone missing. Well damn it, she was right here. And as far as she was concerned, being possessed by a mermaid absolved her of any promise not to use her Gift.

  A stray branch scratched her cheek, but she barely felt it as she dashed forward.

  She heard the shouts, the war cries and battle drums. She broke through the foliage and onto the beach. Her people had climbed into canoes and were advancing on Pasikole’s ship, bea
ting their drums, covered in war paint.

  Namaka stumbled to stop and stared open-mouthed at the scene. Uncle Kamalo had called Pasikole an emissary of Lono. Her people wouldn’t dare attack someone sent by the gods. But Pasikole had killed Hau-Pu and then Namaka had run off and disappeared. Did her people blame the foreign captain? In a way, they should. He was the one who had played with her heart and then murdered a man who loved her. Namaka shook her head and bit her lip. She was trying to dodge her own blame, to run from it again. Trying to let her anger take over again. Her power had caused the most devastation, and she chose to flee the scene.

  Her only chance at control—at peace—was to accept the reality she lived in and her part in all that had gone before.

  She ran toward the water. She needed to put a stop to this before something else went wrong.

  A roar of thunder, like that of Pasikole’s pistol—only a hundred times worse—erupted from his ship, accompanied by a wall of smoke. Namaka lost her footing and fell onto the beach as canoes exploded into splinters. Water around the attacking villagers shot upward like it had burst from a volcano. In one instant war cries died out, replaced by cries of anguish. Even those were muted by the ringing in Namaka’s ears.

  If Pasikole’s pistol was like a bolt of lightning, the power of his ship was like the wrath of the heavens themselves. Her people had no chance against such a power. And whatever their reason for attacking Pasikole, now he slaughtered her kin. She had to do something. Even if it meant hurting him. The mere thought set her stomach to twisting on itself. He was Pasikole. A small part of her still wanted to throw her arms around him. Part of her wanted to strangle him.

  He was connected to everything. The Urchin had shown her that. But not how, not why.

  If only Nyi Rara was with her now. She needed the strength. But it could not wait. She had to do this on her own. Namaka, not Nyi Rara, was the Princess of the Valley Isle. She was the Princess of Sea. This was her duty, and her destiny. She pushed herself back up and dashed for the sea.

  Great gouges marred the sand, splattered with blood, entrails, and limbs separated from their owners. The sight—and noxious smell—was almost enough to bowl her over. So many lay dead on the beach. She had gone only a few more steps before she recognized one form, lying face down in the crimson sand.

  Kamapua’a.

  No. No, it wasn’t … he couldn’t be.

  Namaka raced to his side and dropped to her knees. She flipped him, grateful for her mermaid strength. A dozen scrapes and bruises marred his features, but his chest rose and fell. Alive.

  Thank all the aumakuas.

  “I’m sorry, Kam …” she mumbled.

  She had to put a stop to this. She had to stop it now. She rose and dashed toward to the sea then dove beneath the waters the moment she reached them, not even bothering to shed her clothing.

  The instant she wished for her tail, her legs snapped together and formed into one. Rapid beats of her tail carried her beneath Pasikole’s ship in moments. Her skirt dragged against the water, but she needed to seem as frightening as possible and being naked impeded that just a little.

  As she swam, her mana summoned the water around her, drawing it to herself. She grit her teeth. Enough of her village had died. As she cleared the far side of the ship, she twisted in a sharp turn and used the waters to launch herself upward like a whale venting. For a moment she flew over the ship, water guiding her toward the deck.

  As she plummeted, her tail split once again into legs, the moment of pain barely registering through her mask of rage. It didn’t matter if they knew what she was now. This battle was too much. She need not be angry at the whole world. She could be angry only at a single situation. And she could direct that anger, like any of her other emotions. The sea was emotion. It was her heart.

  She landed on the deck in a crouch, the sound of her impact like a tree splitting in a typhoon. And for a moment, every other sound died out. The fighting stopped. All eyes turned to her as she rose, glaring at Pasikole and his men through the strands of her soaked hair.

  Their indecision lasted only an instant before several turned pistols on her.

  “No!” Pasikole shouted.

  Namaka was already moving, drawing up every drop of water on the deck as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. Then she jerked them apart, sending the water out in a thin sheet. It shot outward from her in an arc with the force of a tsunami. Pasikole’s men were flung backward, some stumbling over the rail, others thrown against the mast or the hull, pushing along the deck until some solid object broke their momentum.

  One of the sailors tried to rise, tried to point his pistol at her again. On pure instinct Namaka summoned the waves beneath the ship and pounded the hull. The entire craft leapt out of the water, free fell for a heartbeat, then crashed back down. Namaka reached out to the sea, summoned a column of it, and whirled it around her like a dancer spinning a fire baton. When the sailor tried to aim at her again, Namaka launched the column of water at him. It slammed him against the back of the cabin, splintering wood and sending debris falling.

  The sailor slumped to the deck, neck twisted at an odd angle, face a bloody mess.

  Namaka gasped, panting, as much in horror at the murder she had just committed as in exhaustion. She wanted to slip to her knees and weep at having such chaos inside her. But she could afford no such luxury. The sea was her heart. A Princess of Sawaiki had a duty beyond herself, beyond her own needs and desires.

  “Namaka!”

  She turned to see Pasikole struggling to his feet, empty hands spread wide. “You’re a mermaid!” He shook himself. “Namaka, please stop this.” The captain was bedraggled, his hair a tangled mess hanging about his face.

  This was it. This was why she was here. To throw her arms around the man and beg his forgiveness … Or to make him beg hers. To save her people.

  From the corner of her eye she spotted another sailor trying to rise. With a wave of her hand she sent another arc of water whipping into the woman, crushing her back to the deck. Namaka took a step toward Pasikole. “Tell your people to stay down.”

  The captain nodded, then shouted something in his own language. Though clearly hesitant, none of his crew took further action.

  Namaka advanced on Pasikole. Her legs were unsteady, her whole body shaking from exhaustion. With luck, it looked like she trembled with rage. “You are no emissary of Lono.”

  He shook his head. “I’m just a man.”

  “You murdered Hau-Pu.”

  “He attacked me once and I let him walk away. I defended myself when he attacked again. Should I have let him kill me instead? Is that what your kapu would have a man do?”

  How dare he invoke her people’s code? “He attacked you because your man told him the truth! You came here to kidnap me.”

  Pasikole shut his eyes a moment, then nodded. “I did. That’s why I came here, yes. But Namaka, after I met you I just … my feelings overcame the weight of any contract. I couldn’t help it. I liked you. I liked your people. I couldn’t take you away from this, couldn’t betray you even if it was why I had first come.”

  What was he saying? That he truly did care for her? Did he still? More than anything she wanted to believe it, to hold him, forgive him and kiss him all night long. And it was madness. Too much had happened, too much had been lost.

  Namaka raised a hand, forestalling any further objections. She just couldn’t deal with this. Kāne! Was love always this complicated? “If those ship pistols of yours—”

  “Cannons?”

  “If those cannons killed Kamapua’a or my father or …”

  Pasikole’s face had fallen again, his eyes filling with sorrow.

  No. Namaka shook her head. No.

  “Namaka … The other day, when you … When your power went out of control …”

  “No!”

  A thousand funerals.

  Pasikole swallowed, as if determined to speak. And she did not want to hear this. It wa
sn’t true. “Some of the villagers died. Your father, he was one of them. After the funeral, I guess the kahuna called us false emissaries. I didn’t want to leave without seeing you, but I was planning to go today. They attacked just now, before we could weigh anchor.”

  Namaka sank to her knees. And then she vomited everything she had eaten on the walk back here. Pasikole hadn’t killed her father. She had done that herself. Her lack of control, her fear and rage had lashed out and cost lives.

  Anger is poison.

  She had known people would be dead, but hadn’t thought … her father. And with their Princess gone and no one to blame for the chief’s death, her people had turned on Pasikole. Only to invite more death among them.

  “Namaka,” Pasikole said. He put a hand on her shoulder.

  She slapped his hand away as she rose. “This is still your fault! If you hadn’t come here to kidnap me none of this would have happened.”

  He nodded, not trying to excuse himself.

  Which made it slightly harder to keep yelling. “You …” He had said his feelings for her overcame the weight of his contract. She had been so caught up at hearing he did have feelings for her she hadn’t asked. Namaka turned away so she wouldn’t have to see his face pleading for forgiveness, those beautiful eyes filled with regret. She couldn’t forgive him. “What contract did you mean?”

  “I was hired to bring you to the he’e. I guess they thought your Gift would allow them to finally overcome the mer kingdoms. In exchange, they promised to share their secrets with me. They know things, ancient things that could make all the difference to humanity.”

  Despite herself, Namaka turned back to Pasikole, unable to form a sentence after what he had just said. She had thought he must have come for his own people, or even on behalf of Mu. But the he’e? They knew about her from before she ever went to Hiyoya. And they had plotted to kidnap her, to use her. If that was so, Pasikole must be right. They must intend to wrest control of the seas from Hiyoya.