Where the Waters Turn Black (Yarnsworld Book 2)

by Benedict Patrick

  Aka looked at her sternly. There was sadness in his eyes, but determination as well. “I cast you out. Leave our troupe. You’ve already done enough to destroy my parent’s memory. I will not let you poison our mana further with your madness.”

  Kaimana opened her mouth to speak, but then looked at the others again. Except for grinning Eloni, there was no malice in their eyes for Kaimana. Instead they were focussed on Aka, chests full of pride for their kahuna.

  They want me gone. All of them. They think he’s doing the right thing, and they respect him for it.

  Kaimana looked at Aka again, and she could see the young man bracing in anticipation of her attack. She could see he was scared, and ashamed.

  I’m leaving anyway, and my actions have already taken so much away from him. Kaimana raised her hand to her cheek, still stinging from the slap. I could break him now, if I want. Aka’s too gentle a soul. It would be all too easy to crush him with guilt at hitting me.

  Instead, Kaimana lifted herself up, keeping her head lowered, as if ashamed. Without looking at any of their faces, she gathered her small bundle of belongings and slipped away into the jungle surrounding the temple, aware of the eyes of every troupe member as she moved.

  After entering the jungle, Kaimana did not disappear straight away. Instead, she stood behind the jungle leaves, observing the people who until recently had been her friends. Poli and Tokoni hugged each other, and smiled. The trio of dancers walked off together, holding hands, with a skip in their step as they did so. The troupe was relieved that Kaimana was gone.

  Unable to control the trembling in her lip, Kaimana watched Aka speak for a short while to Rawiri and Eloni, and when the conversation was done he wandered off into the trees. Kaimana saw the troupe leader check to see that none of the others were watching him, then he allowed himself to collapse on the ground, his head in his hands, and sob.

  She rubbed her face again, the sting now almost gone. Kaimana turned and walked deeper into the jungle, looking for a spot of her own to cry in private.

  It was more difficult moving unobserved now. The entire island was swarming with Nakoa’s men. From what Kaimana had overheard during her short capture, it seemed as though the majority of the warriors were resting from today’s hunt, preparing to renew things again tomorrow. However, this did not mean all of them were inactive. Many still roamed the paths and the wilderness of the island in groups, either as deployed scouts or as ambitious men hoping to earn the favour of their god.

  Despite the additional numbers, Kaimana did not find it too difficult to outmanoeuvre them. The majority of their Knacks lay in actual combat, not the disciplines of scouting that were so often important for hunting a beast. Also, they were looking for a prize considerably larger than a small island girl.

  As Kaimana made her way down from the temple, her mind was buzzing.

  What now, for me? I’ve lost the people I was closest to in the world. Even travelling together along the Atoll was not safe. Now I have to get back home on my own.

  An image of her mother and father flitted through her head, the look of disappointment they had both given her at the end of the harvest festival. They had left without saying goodbye. It stung to think of that moment again.

  They’ll take me back, I know it. They love me. The big question is, do I want to return to Pukotala? I’ll always have a home there, but that home will require husbanding and fishing.

  Deep inside, she could feel the infant song that had been ruined, abandoned before its completion, its beautiful tune dampened and twisted by the fogs that it hid behind.

  I know you’re there, waiting for me. But I can’t find you, not on my own. I don’t think I ever will, now. Without my troupe to travel with, without their canoe and without them to protect me, I can’t seek the taniwha again.

  At this moment Kaimana reached the beach that ringed Nakoa’s island. There in front of her, beached just where the jungle greenery turned to sand, was a small canoe.

  Most living on the Atoll had access to these boats, and it was not unusual to come across half a dozen abandoned vessels when walking around any of the inhabited Atoll islands, but the sight of this canoe at this moment in her life caused Kaimana to drop to her knees in shock.

  “Laka,” she whispered. For a brief moment, Kaimana fancied that she felt her song stir, urging her to complete it. This is for me, I know it. Laka, you’re trying to tell me to do this alone. I should take this canoe, find Rakau and reignite my spark.

  Kaimana’s eyes raised to find the looming volcano in the distance, and she shuddered.

  It’s not safe, out there. There are cannibals, gods and, yes, taniwha. And more. All of which will not let a young woman travel safely alone.

  She thought again of her family, of the life that waited for her back on Pukotala.

  There’s no choice here. She looked once more at Leinani’s volcano, shuddered, and then pushed the canoe into the water.

  Kaimana had made her way down to the south side of the island, knowing that the stone pier and the beach she had shared with Rakau the previous night would still be swarming with warrior Knacks. Because of this, she was able to paddle her small canoe away from Nakoa’s island without facing resistance. All the while as she paddled she looked into the salty blue beneath her, desperately seeking a hint of green that might suggest that Rakau was close.

  It was not a green glow that told Kaimana the taniwha had returned. Instead, she felt the canoe rise out of the water, and she had to catch her breath to stop herself from shouting at the disturbance. When Rakau finally did open his eyes, illuminating Kaimana in green, she found herself and her canoe beached on the great beast’s stomach. Rakau had risen beneath her, floating on his back, and was now regarding her with what she interpreted to be some sort of smug grin.

  Kaimana got out of her canoe, walked over to his large face, and hit him.

  The taniwha’s expression turned from smugness to shock, but thankfully not anger.

  She hit him again.

  He pawed at her with one of his great limbs, pushing her down roughly, but not using any real force. This movement was accompanied by a whining querying.

  Why?

  “You killed them,” she hissed. “All of those people, now dead.”

  Rakau grumbled again, and indicated with the light of his eyes to deep marks on his belly and arms. The point of a warrior’s spear still stuck out of his right paw.

  Kaimana waved her head. “I know they were attacking you. I know you were defending yourself. But so many? Did you even try to save their lives?”

  The taniwha was frozen in confusion now. Obviously, this line of questioning was totally alien to him.

  “Promise me,” Kaimana pleaded. “Promise you will never kill again.”

  Again, no reaction from the great monster.

  A tear threatened to slip from Kaimana’s eye. She took Rakau’s lack of response to mean he would not make the promise. Sadly, she moved to push her canoe off of his belly, back into the ocean.

  “I cannot travel with you,” she said. “I cannot pretend to be happy with you taking lives.”

  She turned from the monster and began the long paddle back to Nakoa’s island. Her journey was interrupted by a gentle nudging of the canoe’s stern. Looking down into the water she saw one of the taniwha’s green eyes staring up from below. Rakau rose again, once more lifting the canoe out of the water.

  He whined at her.

  “I want to travel with you,” she explained. “I want to leave this island, leave behind the people I came here with. But you must promise me - no more killing.”

  Silence again from the beast, but Kaimana saw something different in its eyes. Affirmation. Rakau was agreeing with her.

  Kaimana sat silently in the canoe as the taniwha paddled slowly through the waters. What do we do now? And then, oddly, she felt a pang of guilt about the promise she had just forced Rakau to make.

  He’s a monster. Monsters kill. That’s thei
r nature. What I’ve asked him to do is like someone asking me to stop playing my music, or to laugh or play when others do so. What have I done, asking him to stop being what he is?

  She lowered her hand from the canoe and stroked the taniwha’s belly as these thoughts busied through her mind, trying to recapture some of the friendship she had felt with him during that night on the beach.

  “We have to leave here,” she said, eventually.

  Rakau raised what passed for an eyebrow at her, questioningly.

  “You cannot stay here,” she said. “The war god is after you, now. You will be hunted and killed.”

  Rakau snorted at this, but Kaimana clicked her tongue to chide him.

  “Yes, I know you’re strong, but they are many, and they have a god at their side. You would fall. But I don’t know where you’ll be safe. There’re no villages on the Atoll that I know of that would accept you. You’ll be hunted everywhere you go.”

  Kaimana fancied that the green of Rakau’s eyes dimmed slightly as she said this, and with surprise she felt a sudden pang of empathy for this great creature.

  You’re used to that, aren’t you? Being hunted. Bet you’ve been hunted for most of your life, if you’ve spent most of your time on the Atoll, close to people. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m the first person who has attempted even a basic conversation with you.

  The monster lowered himself back into the water, allowing Kaimana’s canoe to float again on the waves. The taniwha surfaced some distance ahead of Kaimana, and motioned with his head.

  He wants me to follow him.

  Kaimana picked up her small paddle and started to push forward, not knowing where she was going and trusting this large beast with her life. Oddly, she had complete faith that the creature would not lead her into harm.

  In the distance, from the far end of the war god’s island, a hunting horn sounded. Nakoa and his armies would not be far behind them.

  A tale from the Crescent Atoll

  This is the story of how the Birdmen came to the Broken Island.

  The island had been at war with itself for two generations. Two peoples had lived on the land, but the names of these tribes are now forgotten. An ancient slight had made these people develop a great hatred for each other. Some said that the argument had to do with land. Others that it was over a beautiful woman.

  No matter why the feud began, what is important was that it was bloody and brutal. People were butchered on sight. Entire villages were put to the torch. Captives were taken from each side, and instead of being ransomed off or used as slaves, they were burned alive, allowing the screams of the dying to fuel hate in the hearts of the enemy.

  Slowly but surely, the people of the Broken Island killed each other. When the last spear was thrown, they cut down more trees to make new weapons. When the last tree was cut down, they mined great rocks from the earth and threw them at each other, scattering the rich brown soil of the island into the sea in their quest to harm each other.

  Finally, the remaining people of the Broken Island could no longer fight. They lay on the ground, looking at each other with contempt, but were too fatigued or hungry to lift even a finger to harm each other anymore.

  Only then did they see what they had wrought upon themselves.

  There was no greenery left on the island. All of the trees had been cut down for spears, or burned when the villages and villagers burned. All of the good roots and fruit from the earth had been destroyed, thrown away when the soil had been tossed into the water. No earth remained on the island to grow anything on, and no seeds remained to grow food from. The animals had all fled or had been killed, caught up in the chaos that had possessed these people.

  From this madness, the hero Rongo appeared. He was the son of one of the warring chiefs. As Rongo lay beside his dying father and wife, he finally saw the mistake they had made.

  “People of the Broken Island,” he shouted to the remaining men and women, “Listen to me. Stop this madness. We shall all be lost. Let us live together as one people, and let us thrive once more.”

  Weary of the conflict, all who remained agreed with Rongo. There were only enough survivors to create one village, and life in that village was difficult. There were no trees left to make huts out of, so Rongo’s people were forced to dig their homes out of the rock. There was no dirt to grow things in, and no seeds left to plant, so Rongo’s people were forced to rely on the sea for their food. However, without wood for boats or plants to make spears or nets, catching fish was hard, and most of what they fed on were limpets, mussels or seaweed. The passing birds were the only source of life that visited the island, yet because the Broken Island had nothing of worth left on it, the birds never stayed.

  Rongo felt the pain of his people, and within him guilt welled up.

  One morning, the day after his youngest son had passed away due to starvation, Rongo fell on his knees at the sight of a great albatross that glided near the island but chose not to visit it.

  “Great Albatross,” Rongo pleaded, “Help my people. Give us food, give us protection, and we shall always be yours.”

  It was the wild plea of a desperate man. But the albatross answered.

  For you see, this was not a normal albatross that hovered near the Broken Island. This was the Albatross Spirit, one of the many great bird spirits of our world. It heard Rongo’s cries and said to him, “We will help you, my people and I. Return to this cliff when the moon is new again, and you will see what we have for you.”

  Excited, Rongo returned to his people to tell them the news. However, none believed him, all thinking that the talking albatross was a sign of growing madness.

  Nevertheless, when the moon disappeared from the sky all of the Broken Island journeyed with their chief to that cliff, and they were amazed at what they saw.

  The albatross was waiting, but it was not alone. Other birds of the Atoll were there too. The common gull, the great moa, the wise owl and more. Each of these birds spoke to the people of the island.

  “We have left a gift for you,” they said. “One of our eggs. We have hidden them on your island, or in the seas surrounding it. These are no normal eggs, as we are no normal birds. The man or woman who finds these treasures shall be imbued with our powers for the course of exactly one year. You may use these powers to protect your people, and to provide for them.

  “After a year, the man who has the power of the egg will die, and return to us. Then another egg shall be secreted away, for the next Birdman to find.

  “The eggs are waiting to be found by the greatest warriors. Go now, and make us proud.”

  With that proclamation, the bird spirits vanished.

  There was much commotion among Rongo’s people. All wanted the power to provide for their families, yet few among them were willing to pay the price that was being asked.

  Finally, a small number set out to search the island and claim the eggs. Some climbed the steep cliffs on the north of the Broken Island, searching for hidden eggs in the recesses where small gulls used to stop on their winter journeys. Others ventured up the barren hills and mountains that decorated the centre of the island.

  Rongo watched his people working, and his heart was proud. Rongo’s eyes, however, were drawn south, away from the Broken Island. There, just within sight of his home, were small sharp rocks that stuck up from the Atoll bed. He remembered visiting them once, when his father still had his canoe. The bird spirits had mentioned that the eggs might be hidden close to the island, and Rongo fancied that these rocks might hide their treasure.

  Trusting to fate, Rongo dived into the sea. To most people of the Atoll this would be an achievable swim, but you must remember that Rongo and his people had suffered much, and without proper food even the climb to meet with the bird spirits had exhausted them all. Nevertheless, Rongo swam until his heart almost burst, using all of his energy to reach those distant rocks.

  Luckily, or perhaps due to some unseen hand, none of the predators of the Atoll seas
were interested in Rongo that day. As the sun began to set, Rongo reached the rocks. Pulling himself up onto the tallest one, he spotted a lone albatross egg, sitting in an empty nest. Rongo cracked the egg open and consumed it, gaining the power of the Albatross Spirit.

  He returned to the island and used his new power to provide for his people. When the Broken Island was discovered by invaders, Rongo used his new magics to fend off the attackers. To his frustration he found that his powers would not help new food to grow on the Broken Island - the land had been too thoroughly destroyed for that - but now Rongo was able to claim food from the sea to give to his people. Others emerged from their hunt for the eggs with new powers - one had claimed the power of the Moa Spirit, another that of the Owl, and more followed in time. Together, this grim group of magicians spent the final year of their lives doing what they could for the people of the Broken Island.

  After that year those who had claimed the power of the bird spirits fell dead, and there was much mourning. However, true to their word the spirits hid new eggs that in time were found by new people, and the Broken Island continued to thrive.

  To this day, the Birdmen of the Broken Island survive. On the first new moon of the new year the young, proud warriors of the tribe roam the islands and the rocks beyond the shore in search of magic that will make them lords for a year, and will protect their people for the rest of their existence.

  Kaimana paddled alongside Rakau in her small canoe. She had enjoyed being carried on the taniwha’s back that night in the lagoon, but would not risk travelling the Atoll that way. The images of him consuming the cannibals and breaking the bones of Nakoa’s warriors still weighed on her mind, and Kaimana found she could not bring herself to fully trust this beast, despite how friendly he often acted towards her. She looked at the dark waters beneath her canoe. The area around her vessel was pitch black, and rippled under the surface. If she panned her eyes a short way away, the normal aqua blue of the Atoll floor shone through. However, beneath her swam a giant taniwha. Reactions built from a lifetime of stories caused a shudder to run up Kaimana’s spine. Not for the first time on this journey, she panicked, gripped the oar tight and looked around for the safest place she could paddle to if the monster below her decided to strike.