by Matt Larkin
Yes, Namaka too had many things she hadn’t told Pele yet. About the he‘e, about Kanaloa, about their parents.
But now wasn’t the time.
At last, they came to the vertical shaft.
Namaka was not looking forward to climbing this place again. Especially not with the heavy water-filled gourd strapped to her back.
Kamapua‘a stretched a bit, looked at her, then winked. Then he ran and jumped onto the lowest shelf. She might have been stronger than a human, but he was stronger still. That much power in his legs allowed him to easily clear leaps near-impossible for a normal person.
Of course, what she’d seen in the menehune village had shown something else entirely. Something the Nyi Rara side of her recognized as ancient, primal, and one of the biggest mistakes ever made.
The wereboar chuckled and flexed his biceps. “Mighty. Omph.”
With a clearly disgusted sigh Pele accepted his offered hand, and he pulled her up onto the ledge. Then the wereboar lifted the Flame Queen in his arms and made the next jump. Leap after leap.
“Kana …” Namaka said, then looked to Upoho.
He shook his head. “Go. We’ll be right behind you.”
Five kupua. Maybe Kū-Waha-Ilo would suddenly find himself faced with more of a challenge than he’d bargained for.
Namaka sighed, then kissed Kana once for luck and began the ascent.
“Uh, what about my kiss?” Upoho called from below her.
Namaka ignored the wererat.
Kamapua‘a probably had the right of it. Rather than cut herself up climbing, she jumped the first few ledges. Then there was that gap, but the wereboar stood waiting for her there, hand extended. She ran and jumped, grabbing his arm. With a single fluid motion, he yanked her onto the ledge. The movement reminded her of the soreness in her shoulder. Nyi Rara’s nature had allowed her injuries to heal—at least on the outside—but it would take days more before she returned to full strength. And now they hunted the very beast that had done this to her.
The wereboar hefted Pele into the cavern, making no effort to hide his looking up her skirt in the process.
Whatever. Had nothing to do with Namaka.
Next, the wereboar lifted Namaka up.
Darkness filled the cavern, but as soon as Pele lit her hand torch, fires began to spread around it once again. The complex circle was definitely some kind of eldritch design, its purpose and scope beyond even Nyi Rara’s knowledge.
High above, a harpy screeched, sending a shiver down her spine and a fresh spike of agony through both shoulders. She and Pele shared a glance just as Kamapua‘a scurried between them.
“That sounded like supper,” he said.
Namaka rolled her eyes. The wereboar could do with a little understanding of fear.
In the shadows, the same figure wended its way amongst the flames, striding between them with practiced ease. “I don’t know whether I’m more surprised to see you return … or to see you brought your sister with you. We never expected that.”
Namaka glowered at their father. Was he truly saying that … had he expected them to kill Pu‘u-hele and turn on one another? That had been it. That shared crime had been the wedge that forever divided her from Pele. Had Kū-Waha-Ilo known it would?
The man advanced on them without a hint of fear, until he stood perhaps thirty feet away. He spread his hands wide in some grandiose gesture she didn’t understand, his eyes darting about as if taking in an unseen audience.
“I know why you’ve come, Pele. You want the Waters of Life. But they are mine. For almost five thousand years I have protected this place, the legacy of my master. Oh, you have heard the tales, yes? The wars fought, the battles against the powers that might have stood against us. Eliminated, one by one. They say I am named after him, yes … But perhaps the order is transposed.”
Named after … Kū-Waha-Ilo was named after the war god Kū. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was an immortal servant of Kanaloa, fighting his master’s battles down through the ages. Tales of those battles must naturally spread, becoming legends. Myths of Kū.
“Oh, you two he had hopes for, yes, but only one of you remains important now. Immortality can be yours, Pele. Kill the Sea Queen and her pets, and I will show you how to take the power hidden in their blood. You will rise as the true god-queen of all Sawaiki, a dark mistress under the authority of Kanaloa alone. You need neither bow nor sacrifice to any other god again.”
Namaka reeled, uncertain how to react to this. Her eyes went to Pele, who glanced at her with barely concealed contempt. Was this all a trap? Had Pele and Kū-Waha-Ilo planned this? Or, even if they had not, how could she expect Pele to turn down their father’s offer?
Pele turned back to her, a flicker of a dark smile on her lips, made all the more sinister by her flaming hair. “Stick to the plan.” The Flame Queen strode toward their father then, shaking her head. “I gave you the chance to aid me already. You wanted pain and fear and manipulation. So … now we will find out how much power is in your blood.”
Kū-Waha-Ilo waved a hand and the harpy screeched again. Namaka struggled with the straps on her gourd then slammed it on the ground, breaking it and freeing her water. A shadow dove for her. Namaka twisted, intending to send a jet of water into its face and knowing she’d be too late. And then Kamapua‘a was flying through the air, his fist connecting with the bird-man’s jaw with a bone-crunching smack. The creature flipped end over end, pitching through flame and catching alight, before flopping around on the ground and wailing in agony.
Kamapua‘a struck a pose, flexing his biceps. “And that’s how you catch a bird for supper.” He grinned. “Mighty. Incorrigible. Egregious.”
A dozen more screeches rang through the cavern.
From the sudden look on his face, she’d been wrong—Kamapua‘a did understand fear. He just didn’t experience it very often.
Namaka spared a glance at Pele, who now advanced on her father, both fists engulfed in flame. ‘Aumākua, she hoped she could count on her sister this time.
Namaka summoned the water into spiraling arcs around her as more and more of the harpies swooped down on her and the others. She had only a gourd-full to work with, which meant her arcs were thin as finger bones, her power stretched to work with so little.
The wereboar trembled, panting, and arched his back like he intended to assume boar form. And, indeed, his muscles bulged and tusks rose from his jaw. But he became not a boar, nor a man. Rather, resuming that nightmarish hybrid form once more.
Namaka glanced to Upoho who suddenly backed away, drawing Kana back as well. The wererat blanched at whatever Kamapua‘a had just become.
But the wereboar spread his arms and bellowed defiance at the soaring birds.
One of their attackers dove down toward Pele. Namaka jerked her arm forward, flinging a thin lance of water at the harpy. The blast tore through the bird’s wing and it crashed down a few paces behind the Flame Queen. Pele didn’t slow, was totally intent on her father. And she probably did have the best chance to face that blood-wielding monster in a place like this. It took too much out of Namaka to counter his blood powers, if she even could now that she had lost the element of surprise. That meant it fell to Namaka and the others to keep the harpies away from Pele.
She spun back to find the wereboar had caught another harpy, a hand on each wing. Roaring, Kamapua‘a ripped the wings right off the monster’s back, then ducked his head and opened the thing’s gut with his tusks.
Staggering at such brutality, Namaka fell back. But she had no time to dwell on it. Instead, she ran toward the cliff where the harpies seemed to dwell, trailing streams of water behind her. She would run out of it before she ran out of targets, but she had no choice.
Kana raced past her, fast as a whirlwind. He leapt into the air, caught a harpy and stabbed it five times before they hit the ground.
Namaka could afford to spare him no more notice. Four of those creatures circled her now. As one dove for her, N
amaka dropped to a knee, then arced the water around to knock the bird out of the air. Every time she struck home, she wound up losing a bit of her water. Even as she turned toward the other three, Kamapua‘a had bounded over—covering great swathes of the cavern in each leap—and landed atop the bird-man, goring it.
At once, the other three swooped down on Namaka. She rolled to the side, but still talons grazed her back, drawing a scream out of her. She whipped her last remaining water around. It struck a harpy under the chin with such force she heard its neck break backwards. The thing’s corpse flopped over like a doll.
Upoho caught another and wrestled it to the ground.
Panting, Namaka touched her back. Long bloody streaks marred it now. Drops of water remained scattered around the cavern, but she would need time to gather it again.
“We have to keep these things away from Pele!” she shouted to the others.
Kamapua‘a charged another pair of the creatures while Namaka rose.
A bird-man dropped several paces in front of her. A streak of white feathers ran along the top of its head, separating the browns. This was the one that had hurt her before. Her shoulders ached at the reminder of it.
The monster cocked its head to the side before taking a step forward. Its legs ended in massive talons. Heart hammering in her chest, Namaka advanced to meet this creature. From around the cavern she began to summon water to her. Rivulets, drops, puddles, all began to coalesce in streams flying toward her.
A single beat of its wings carried the harpy across the gap between them. Before Namaka could even react, it had hefted her up by her throat. She grabbed its arm, but even her mermaid strength couldn’t pry free the bird’s grip. All at once, the sensation of being strangled by the he‘e overcame her, and with it, a surge of mind-blanking panic. In that instant, she lost her grip on the waters she had been summoning.
She was going to die.
Somewhere far away Kamapua‘a roared, the sound barely registering over the cries of more and more of the bird-monsters.
Cold sweat dripped down her arms and back, stinging the gouges the other birds had torn open.
The harpy leaned its half-human face closer to her own, sneering at her.
She was the master of water.
And water was life, it was everywhere. In her blood, in her sweat.
With a single focused thought, she wiped all sweat and blood from her body, forming it up to hover between her face and that of the monster. If it had any idea what she intended, it didn’t have time to react. Namaka jerked her hands down and the water followed the motion, dropping like a falling blade. It sliced the bird-man’s arms clean off.
Eyes bulging, it fell backward, staring at its severed limbs and whimpering.
Without his might holding her aloft, Namaka fell to her knees, gasping for air. Her vision remained blurred at the edges, but she forced herself to rise, to advance on the now frightened bird. Other harpies now watched their leader, aghast at what she had done. Well, let them see.
“You think your master is someone to fear?” Her voice came out a rasp.
Blood poured from the bird’s stumps despite its feeble attempts to staunch the flow. Blood—water. Yes, manipulating it would exhaust her. It would also make a point to the remaining Storm akua. One they might never forget.
Namaka fed her mana into the blood, yanked it out of the creature’s body in a hundred different streams, then bent it back around the bird-man. It screeched in horror, pain. She had to make a point. Namaka turned its blood into lashes, slicing hundreds upon hundreds of cuts upon the bird-man’s wings, chest, and face. From those cuts she pulled more and more blood, turning those into spears that blasted dozens of punctures through the creature.
Screaming—in rage and in effort—she sent all that blood crashing back into its owner. And then, not releasing her grip on it, she drove a fist to the ground. Calling every drop of the blood out of the bird. It ripped through the creature’s body, its flesh exploding in a shower of gore that rained out over a fifty-foot radius.
Utterly spent, barely able to raise her head, she glared at the remaining bird-creatures. All of which watched her. Kamapua‘a, covered head to toe in blood and viscera and still sporting tusks, charged at one—who promptly flew away. Upoho moved to stand protectively above Namaka. The monsters glanced at one another, and then, one by one, took flight and retreated to the safety of their cliff.
Someone helped her to her feet. Kana. He was covered in blood too, dozens of gashes along his face, chest, and arms. The man nodded at her, and Namaka squeezed his hand.
37
Kū-Waha-Ilo shook his head sadly as Pele approached. “You disappoint me, Daughter.”
“Now you know what it feels like.” She leapt forward, flinging the torches on her hands at him. The dual orbs of fire rushed at him in intersecting spirals that would immolate the fiend.
His body ripped apart, transforming into blood and allowing the fire to pass harmlessly through an opening where his torso should have been. Immediately it resumed its solid form.
The sight halted her in her tracks. What the fuck was that?
Instead of advancing he stalked around her, like a falcon circling prey. “Do you have any idea how many offspring I’ve spawned in five millennia? How many kupua? That power … I had hopes for you, Pele. You were always so potent, angry. And that rage is useful. But you are the first to find this place. The first to whom I offered the gift of eternal youth.”
“Why not give it to all the people?”
“There’s not enough. Even if there were, a blessing so widely spread loses its value. Perhaps you’re not half as clever as I’d hoped.” He frowned, shaking his head. “But you will learn your place.”
Pele sneered, then fed mana into the fires around her, whipping them toward him in a wide arc. With impossible speed his form broke apart again, rushing past her and reforming beside her. As she tried to turn, his fist slammed into her kidney with such force it flung her off her feet. She flew three feet through the air, struck the ground hard, rolling through flames that did her no further harm. The blow, however, left her unable to catch a breath, coughing up droplets of blood.
Before she could rise or think or even breathe, Kū-Waha-Ilo stood beside her. He knelt at her side, wiping blood from her lip with his index finger and staring at it. Eyes gleaming with heat, he stuck his finger in his mouth then licked his lips, emitting a groan of sickening pleasure.
Pele glared up at him, finally catching a breath. “What are you?”
“Surely you know. I am the son of Mo‘oinanea, daughter of Toona, whom your own mentor killed. Oh yes, Pele, I learned who had the temerity to interfere with my spawn, though he ought to have been dead a dozen times over for what I did to him. Still, I trusted my blood to win through in the end. Not even his interference could have changed your nature.”
She spit out another gob of blood and forced herself to stand, letting the agony fuel her rage. “Fire banishes darkness.” She pressed her palms together then drew the flames of her hands and hair out to engulf her entire body. Her skirt turned to ash as flames wreathed her form. Let him try to punch her now. Though walking hurt, she took one step toward Kū-Waha-Ilo. And then another.
He snorted. “Very good. Find your limits and break through them, Daughter. Show me how powerful you can become.”
“I’ll send you to meet your grandfather.”
“We’ve met. He was the bridge between taniwha and mo‘o. The ultimate servant of our true master.”
Arms outstretched, she drew in flames from all around her, encircling herself in half a dozen rings, much as she had once done against Namaka. This time, though, she fired ring after ring at Kū-Waha-Ilo, forming sideswiping arcs, always drawing another ring to replace it. This place was glorious. She always had unlimited flame to call upon, sparing her from drawing it from her own body.
As the arcs converged on Kū-Waha-Ilo, his body scattered in a rain of blood, reforming into two i
dentical copies the next moment. Both began circling her, each dripping trails of blood in their wake. Pele felt herself falter. Was there no limit to his trickery? His powers were like something out of a nightmare.
Well, she was ready to wake up. Screaming in rage, she flung bolt after bolt of fire at the bloody forms. Each dodged the blasts, circling ever closer, until one launched itself bodily at her. She tried to sidestep, but her injuries slowed her. A wave of blood crashed over her, extinguishing the flames she’d created to protect herself. The double had evaporated in the attempt, but before she could recover from her shock, Kū-Waha-Ilo’s other body had closed in on her.
Though he stood several paces away, he swung a fist at her face. His arm became a pillar of blood as he did so, extending and slamming into her head. Jarring as the hit was, that blood somehow engulfed her entire head and prevented her from falling backward. A bubble of blood enmeshed her face, stinging her eyes and seeping into her nose and mouth, choking her.
Blind and nearly deaf from the roiling blood around her ears, she flailed wildly, reaching for any flame, anywhere. Nothing answered her call. She beat at her face. A heartbeat later her feet left the ground and she felt herself flying. The blood released her then, in midair, and—through stinging, blood-spattered eyes—she caught a glimpse of the lava river an instant before she impacted the stone floor several paces from it.
Her eyes filled with fresh red and she heard her ribs crack. Thought, hope—all seemed distant. Half the blood drenching her was probably her own. This man, her own father, was going to kill her. She would die and he would live forever, killing and sowing his seed, sowing chaos and death. Because she was too weak to stand up to him. How could anyone face a foe with five thousand years of experience, of stolen powers and eldritch secrets? An elder mo‘o, among the first of his kind. Her father …
No.
He was not her father. He might have spawned her, but that was all. Lonomakua had raised her. Blood was powerful, Kū-Waha-Ilo had demonstrated that beyond a doubt. But sometimes, maybe something more powerful bound people … let you choose your own ‘ohana.