by Matt Larkin
In the aftermath—some hours past midnight—she stumbled to her private room in the fortress and collapsed, drenched in sweat and wracked by chills. Something was wrong, she knew. Something writhing around deep inside her, and any time she could not determine what price she’d paid for casting, that was a bad sign.
Still, she fell into a fitful sleep, even knowing Otherworldly torments likely awaited her.
She awoke to a terrible pain in her abdomen, a gnawing, crushing feeling, like the first time her bleeds had come, but so much worse. Poli‘ahu gasped and tried to call out to Lilinoe, but choked on her words.
A gush of hot wetness between her legs had her lurching upward. It wasn’t time for this so soon. And the blood kept coming, seeping from her like a stream.
Convulsions wracked her gut and had her flipped over, onto her side. Spasms seized her, something clawing around inside her. Cutting and gnashing and tearing her insides to pieces.
It wasn’t her bleeds. Something was literally carving her up inside.
A horrifying instinct claimed her and she forced herself to embrace the Sight, fearing, wondering if even seeing whatever was happening would not be better than imaging.
Seeing was worse.
In her aura, she saw her eggs, ripping out from inside her, rapidly expanding into chitinous spiders with too many legs to count and a dozen glowing eyes each. Hundreds of the things gnawed their way out of her, crawling all over her, then spreading out into Pō like a plague, a shifting carpet of darkness that rushed chittering from her until it covered the entire room.
Poli‘ahu screamed.
It was Hina that held her, shaking her awake, though Poli‘ahu had no idea if she even slept. Blood drenched her sleeping mat, her legs, everything. Too much …
But it had to be her bleeds come early. It had to.
She refused to accept any possibility that whatever she had seen was anything save a nightmare produced by accessing forces mortals could not understand or control. She refused to believe what she had dreamed could be real.
Because to accept it, even for a moment, would lead to utter madness.
This alone she knew with utter certainty.
Hina squeezed her shoulders. “Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare.”
Poli‘ahu begged all the ‘aumākua such were truth.
27
The visions left Namaka’s head spinning, pounding. A procession of images flashing so quickly they became a blur, and even trying to remember them felt like someone trying to split her skull like a coconut.
This place … this valley, she’d seen this before.
Darkness.
Pulsing, throbbing, living darkness, creeping at the edges of reality. The edge of Pō, of night, bleeding into the Mortal Realm, even as the Elder Deep’s blood seeped in. How strange, truly, to think that the Elder Deep’s blood was the most toxic of poisons. Stuff of gods and nightmares. Stuff of primal creation, older than any mer, older, perhaps, than time itself.
Rivers of poison giving rise to corrupted forms of life.
And if the blood of the Elder Goddess of Avaiki acted thus, what effect then, did the Elder Gods of the other spirit worlds have on creation? Did Milu’s icy breath make actual mist? Did the World of Fire scorch the Earth in places?
Oh, but Nyi Rara knew and feared it did.
The Mortal Realm was so very fragile.
For a long time, she followed the river through the mountains, down into the valleys, pushing ever inland, toward the heart of Vai‘i. The truth was, Namaka stuck near the river as much for her own comfort as for the hope she would find some village that could offer supplies or better directions. She had passed through several small settlements, but none had answers for her. The river didn’t call to her the way the sea did, but any water soothed her soul. To draw too far away from it felt like severing one of her senses, like trying to give up sight or hearing. It left her feeling weak, helpless. So, she always came back to the river.
Now it had twisted so far it actually ran close enough that she could feel the sea once again, could feel the terrible longing for it. That was her place now. Her people needed her, they were falling to the he‘e and to Hiyoya. It was just … she had to find the Waters. She had to save her human people so she could dedicate her full attention beneath the waves. Or maybe her two sides would forever tear her in half.
Ahead, a dozen or so grass huts dotted the riverbank. Not enough to even really call a village, but she was here and there was always a chance they might know something. Besides, night had already settled in. Maybe she could convince them to give her a place to sleep. Even with Nyi Rara’s spirit inside her, she needed rest from time to time, and she hadn’t paused in more than two days.
Everywhere she looked waited another crisis demanding her immediate attention. Maybe she couldn’t afford to sleep tonight either.
Or perhaps she could curl up against a rock under the river. The current should keep her from sleeping too deeply, but she might be able to rest, at least for a little while.
Rubbing her eyes, she drifted into the settlement. “Aloha,” she offered the first person she ran across, a girl carrying a large gourd filled with water. The girl returned the greeting, then scurried off toward one of the huts.
A moment later, a man came out from the building. A young man, one she hadn’t seen in a long time.
Kana, Aukele’s nephew.
The man stared expectantly at her.
Namaka gaped. “How … what … what are you doing here?”
Kana rubbed his face a moment, then motioned for her to follow him beyond the edge of the village. He led her to sit on a fallen tree trunk, groaning with relief when he sat, obviously pushed to the brink of exhaustion. “The Snow Queen froze Niheu. He … he’s dead.”
It took Namaka a moment to place the name. “Your little brother.”
All such a mess. Namaka had wanted to ignore the struggle with Poli‘ahu and the dynastic wars between the Kahikians and Sawaikians. She had much bigger problems already. Nor could she say, at the moment, whether Kana was friend, foe, or something else entirely.
“Hmm,” he said.
“I’m so sorry. But I don’t understand.”
“There’s only one thing that can save him now.”
Namaka blanched.
“The same thing you and Aukele used to restore me back then. I came looking for it, and I heard tale you and Pele seek it as well. I was heading to Puna to find her.”
“Oh, ‘aumākua.” This wasn’t doing anything for her headache. “Kana … Aukele’s dead.”
“I know. But it’s not for my uncle you seek the Waters.”
No. He was too long gone for that. “Our sister, Hi‘iaka, fell. Used up all her mana and went out like a doused flame. The Waters might save her before she is too far gone.” Even putting it into words had her chest clenching. “There is a place in the heart of this island, a place that brushes the edge of Pō. A Place of Darkness.” Did she offer him false hope now? Mad visions from the Elder Deep … “If I can retrieve them, I’ll bring the Waters to you on my way back.”
He shook his head. “This is my brother. I am going to find the Waters. If you want to come, queen, I welcome your company.”
Namaka sighed. She could use the power of her voice, compel him to stay behind. But … the man was determined to do anything to save his family. Who was she to deny him that? She was doing the same damn thing. “Fine.”
“I’ll get us some supplies.” The man nodded and slipped back into the hut.
Just seeing him opened the wounds with Aukele afresh. Wounds she’d thought had scabbed over. How much she had lost because of that man.
Shit.
No, it was pointless to blame Aukele. Yes, he had betrayed her with Pele, broken her heart. But it was Namaka’s own rage and pride—and Pele’s—that had destroyed Uluka‘a and taken from her so very many loved ones.
A single ‘aloha’ was never enough, the words so small and insign
ificant in the face of a lifetime separated from one’s family. Not enough, but still something, the only thing she had left to hold on to.
She would not lose Hi‘iaka.
No more. No more death, no more loss. How much might a woman, even a queen, be expected to bear?
Tears blurred her eyes and she blinked them away. She couldn’t even afford to grieve, couldn’t give in to despair, or she would lose her sister as well. Namaka choked down a sob and walked over to the river, bent to wash her face. A moment later, she heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Kana there, carrying a satchel.
“Let’s go.” His face had turned ashen, probably weighed down by his own loss. He stood on the tip of despair, like a man surfing a wave that any moment might swallow him. Just like Namaka, trying to save her sister, trying to stay atop that wave.
Namaka rose and nodded, then followed where Kana led, traveling away from the river. With each step she passed farther from the sea and the power it granted her. Countless rivers and pools and waterfalls dotted the island, of course, and she could draw some solace from the feel of them. But her true strength came from the ocean, and if the Place of Darkness lay in the island’s heart, she would face it without that strength.
For hours they walked, often uphill, Kana talking about events in Kaua‘i. Kaupeepee had come with Poli‘ahu and kidnapped his mother, holding her at the fortress of Haupu on Moloka‘i. The only reason Kana was not at the siege to save her was Niheu’s need was more pressing. Despite the circumstances, despite his desperation and the pain seeing Aukele’s nephew brought, Namaka couldn’t help but enjoy his company.
After several hours of nothing but moonlight to guide them, he began to stumble on the rocks and roots.
After his third stumble, Namaka paused to help him up. “Are you all right?”
“I’m tired.”
“So am I.” Exhausted was more like it, and hungry. Were they near a river, she’d have stopped for a fish. Instead, she’d swiped a few berries and had had little else to eat.
Kana pointed to a large banyan tree nearby. Its roots broke free from the ground to form arches and a small alcove. He dropped his satchel and climbed under the roots, then curled up, arm beneath his head. “Well, come on,” he said after a moment.
Rest. ‘Aumākua, did she need rest. She’d never slept beneath the roots of a banyan, but she’d spent plenty nights in a cave, so she supposed it would be fine. She crawled under the roots and lay down near Kana. “Are you familiar with where we’re bound?” she asked after a moment.
“The Place of Darkness? In rumor only. I’ve seen tunnels that are supposed to lead there. Niheu and I went exploring there years ago.”
“Tunnels?”
“Said to be carved by the menehune in times past. Earth akua. The story is, they lived on Sawaiki before our people ever came here. When humans arrived, the menehune carved tunnels so they could travel the island unseen by our mortal eyes. They say Manua drove them away.”
Namaka shut her eyes, focusing on the sound of his voice telling stories. As Milolii had done so many times, as Aukele had done. More lost family, and some to whom she had never gotten to say goodbye. What was she doing? Thinking of such things would only bring the tears back. She needed to just hear the story. To let it lull her to sleep.
“They liked the deep forests and the underground places,” Kana was saying. “Not the bright sun. And then, finally, tired of humans, they delved so deeply into the Earth they reached another realm and never returned.”
His words blurred and faded, merging with strange memories of Namaka’s other half. Memories of half-sized men carved from stone, crafting, working, digging, digging, digging.
Namaka woke to a gentle hand on her shoulder, shaking her. She opened her eyes, then squinted against the sunrise. Kana had leaned over her, like he’d been trying to get her to wake for a while. Had he called out to her? It must have all blended into a dream.
She sat up, hit her head on a root, and slunk back down with a groan. She needed about twelve more hours like that and she might feel back to full strength. Not really, of course. Not so far from the sea.
“You look younger when you sleep,” Kana said.
For an instant, a bout of self-consciousness seized her. She shook herself, then crawled from beneath the roots.
“Well, I’ve lived the better part of a century.” And he was kupua, too. “You might as well, if you can avoid getting killed.” She hesitated, uncertain if she even wanted to tell him. Surely, he’d find out. “Things have changed since Uluka‘a, Kana. Now, I’ve got a mermaid inside me, so I might live … a very long time. If I can avoid getting killed.”
By other mer, he‘e, mo‘o, or godsdamn octopus gods.
“Forgive me, my queen. I didn’t mean anything.”
She waved the comment away.
“We need to find water,” he said. “Fill the gourd and—”
“It’s that way,” Namaka said, pointing to a pool perhaps a ten-minute walk away.
“I thought you hadn’t been here before?”
“I haven’t. And water is that way.”
The look of confusion on his face was so priceless Namaka couldn’t help but smile. They paused long enough to each relieve themselves and to eat the poi he’d brought in his satchel, then they trekked to the pool. They moment they reached it, Namaka fell to her knees and dunked her head underwater, sucking in the blessed liquid.
Kana paused drinking to stare at her as she rose from the pool. “So it’s true? About the mermaid spirit?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re an akua.”
“Yeah.”
“You have a tail?”
Namaka rolled her eyes. “Sure. When I want to. Not especially useful up in the mountains.”
“Wow. You’re not making this up?”
She laughed, then shook her head. For a moment, she just smiled at him. Making it up. She couldn’t have thought up a life like this if she’d tried. “I have two souls joined together. It can cause me to feel conflicted about a lot of things.”
“That has got to be the best justification for mood swings a woman has ever given me.”
Namaka folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, really? You want to see a mood swing?”
He flinched.
Namaka held her mock glare for just a moment before snickering. “Which way from here?”
Kana looked around before pointing toward another mountain in the distance.
Great. They could certainly make it there today, but it meant moving even farther away from the ocean. And more climbing. She shook herself. Hadn’t she used to like climbing? Hadn’t it seemed like a fun adventure? She could remember being that girl, but only just. Like looking at another person’s life. Her memories as Nyi Rara seemed even cloudier. She could pull out images, bits and pieces, remembered feelings. But nothing that quite added up to the sum of a life. Would her own memories—or those of the Namaka who was—would they fade away in time too? Lost in the procession of years as the mermaid spirit sustained her body? The thought soured her mood, like she would somehow lose herself in the process. She’d wanted to join with Nyi Rara to become more, not less.
“Let’s get going then,” she mumbled, motioning for Kana to lead the way.
28
Pele had saved Pu‘u-hele, at least as much as the dead could ever be saved. But Hi‘iaka, she still had a chance to make it back, one that was rapidly fading away from her.
She had to be whatever Hi‘iaka needed now. Whatever all the people of Puna needed.
A lightness had settled over her chest as she made her way back to the village. A sense of a boulder at last removed from her heart. Finally cracked and allowing in fresh air, after so many decades of torment.
The sensation left her dizzy, almost inclined to beg all the others she had wronged their forgiveness as she had done with Pu‘u-hele. Yes, she had wronged Namaka and Upoho and plenty of others along the way.
But a
ll of that could wait.
Hi‘iaka could not.
She found Lonomakua standing there, at the village’s edge, hands behind his back, watching her approach with those sea-blue eyes of his. Had he known what would happen down there? Had he known she could save Pu‘u-hele? Had the flames told him as much?
Or, perhaps, he had merely hoped.
Her feet refused to obey properly, her gait swaying and unsteady as she approached, but Lonomakua did not come to meet her. He did, however, catch her as she collapsed before him.
“I can see into Pō.” ‘Aumākua, her voice was hoarse. She really had taken in a lot of seawater.
And considering she’d gone into the water just after dusk and come up just before dawn, she’d definitely been dead a while.
Lonomakua slipped her arm around his shoulders, though it remained a little awkward given his height, and guided her. Past Puna, though, toward the jungle.
“What are we doing?” Pele rasped.
“Pyromancy will be easier now. You can find the answers you seek.”
“So, make a fire.” Her whole body felt abused. She’d not slept all night. She’d been fucking dead, in fact. That ought to earn her a respite.
“At Kīlauea.”
Oh. He wanted to climb a mountain. When she couldn’t walk.
That was … unfortunate.
But Lonomakua kept pushing her onward. He didn’t ask what had happened with Pu‘u-hele. Maybe he knew, or he knew enough. Or he waited for her to tell him. But it wasn’t something she could easily put into words.
She never heard of a lapu purified before, of one becoming an ‘aumākua. Maybe it had never happened before.