Where the Waters Turn Black (Yarnsworld Book 2)

by Benedict Patrick

  Nakoa threw Kaimana to the dirt again, and stood over her. She did not need to look behind to know that the god’s Kiribati was now raised, ready to deliver his sentence. She allowed her spark’s anger to overcome her own fear, and kept her face hard, staring back at her troupe in grim resolution as she waited for the end. She knew the spark would not leave her now, she knew it wanted to see her story to the end, whatever the cost. The otherworldly creature’s bravery was enough to inspire her own.

  “Let this be a lesson to all who think to cross me,” the war god said.

  In her final moments, Kaimana’s amber eyes met Rakau’s green, and she smiled at him.

  At least we are together. We will go to the next life together.

  A hush settled over the courtyard.

  The killing blow did not come.

  After a few seconds, Kaimana dared herself to turn to look at Nakoa in confusion, wondering why he had paused. The war god remained standing above her, his weapon raised high above his head, but Nakoa was no longer looking at her. Instead, his eyes were looking across the temple floor, well beyond Rakau’s prone body or the hapless troupe. Kaimana followed his gaze to where every single person in the courtyard was looking.

  In the main entranceway to the courtyard stood a black figure. For a moment, Kaimana thought that it was a person, a woman, but she quickly realised there was no way this could be the case. The figure’s body was not solid, but almost seemed to be made up of woven black fabrics, pieced together to give the impression of the shape of a lady wearing a fine black dress, but the weaving of the fabric had left gaps, like the windows in a spider’s web, and through these holes Kaimana could glimpse the starlight of the night sky. The figure’s face was impossibly white, and after a second Kaimana realised it was painted that way, and the features of a woman’s face - black eyes, dots for the nose, red lips - were painted onto what seemed to be some sort of polished clay.

  “You may not touch her,” the figure said, indicating Kaimana. It sounded almost as if the words were sung, somehow accompanied by an invisible choir, hiding somewhere in the distance. “That girl belongs to me.”

  Kaimana’s eyes widened as she realised the identity of the newcomer, but it was Eloni who first croaked the goddess’ name.

  “Laka.”

  The goddess of performance drifted across the courtyard towards them. Nakoa’s men, now seeming oddly sober, clutched their weapons, trying to show their master that they did not fear the presence of another deity. Kaimana briefly took at glance at the troupe, and was pleased to see a look of relief on Aka’s face, and genuine glee on the faces of all the dancers.

  Behind Laka, doing his best to lurk in the shadows, was a smaller figure who was instantly recognisable to Kaimana.

  Yam! Kaimana grinned at the sight of the harvest god. They heard me. They heard my prayers.

  Yam’s eyes met hers, and he gave a weak grin in response, but then diverted his attention back to his siblings. Help had arrived, but if the gods came to blows over Kaimana, no mortals on the island – possibly on the entire Atoll – would be safe.

  Kaimana’s spark glowed brightly inside, reaching out to Laka with open arms, recognising its master.

  “Sister,” Nakoa eventually greeted the goddess when she reached him. “You overextend yourself. I claim this girl as a trophy of war.”

  “You may not,” Laka sang to her fellow god, and she lowered her clay face down to Kaimana to look at her.

  Kaimana was surprised at how unnerved she was by the goddess’ attention. The unmoving features of Laka’s face highlighted how inhuman she was, and one of Laka’s black folds of fabric ran down Kaimana’s cheek. Kaimana shuddered as she realised that this was as close as the goddess could come to touching her.

  “You heard my prayer,” was all Kaimana could say to her goddess.

  Laka drew her face back and cocked her head. She was confused.

  Yam coughed and stepped forward, sheepishly. “You see, it’s been a while since any mortals reached out to me for anything that didn’t concern earth, water or sun. Or shit, I guess. They pray a lot to me about the best shit to put on their crops. Anyway, what’s important is that your voice stood out like a rooster crow. Thought my sister might be interested, and turns out she was.”

  Kaimana gave Yam a smile of thanks, causing the small god to blush, then roll his eyes and turn to inspect the crowds behind him.

  Laka, almost as if she was growing bored of the exchange, turned back to Nakoa. “I have given this girl a gift, something dear to me. You cannot take that from me. I will not let you.”

  “And if I refuse?” Nakoa growled, his sword now lowered but his stance still speaking aggression. “If I take this girl’s life now, take what is due to me, should I fear you?”

  Laka raised herself until she was face to face with Nakoa again. For a moment, there was silence as the two gods regarded each other.

  “You should fear me, Nakoa the kupua. And you should also fear my sister, Leinani, who for some reason also seems to have a vested interest in the song this girl carries inside her.”

  At the mention of the volcano goddess’ name, Nakoa’s eyebrows furrowed and he bared his teeth.

  “Nobody thinks to mention me as a threat? Nope? Just asking…” Yam grumbled, but neither of his siblings paid him heed.

  After another few heartbeats, Nakoa grunted, “Fine. She is yours, then.”

  Kaimana stiffened. Really? That’s it? We’re free? She sat up, then stood and could not help the grin that spread across her face. Then, however, she glanced at Yam. He was looking at her grimly. Something was wrong.

  Laka, standing beside her, allowed several strips of fabric to lie across Kaimana’s shoulder. “The song inside this girl will last forever, for longer than any mountain or beach created by our sister.” At these words, Kaimana could feel her spark urging Kaimana to start singing. She could not help her fingers making their way to her ocarina hanging from her belt, thankfully unharmed by the recent violence. She did not care that they were in the war god’s temple, that she had just escaped death - she wanted to play to please Laka, and she wanted to do so now.

  “The taniwha, of course, will die,” Nakoa said, moving towards Rakau.

  “Of course,” Laka answered, stepping aside to allow her brother past. “I have no claim on him, and his end will close this story. I above all appreciate the need to finish these things.”

  Kaimana’s mouth opened, and she looked at Yam again. He knew. That was why he was so serious.

  Kaimana threw herself at her goddess’ feet. “Wait, what? Laka - no.”

  Again, the goddess lowered her clay mask to gaze at Kaimana with her lifeless eyes. Laka’s strips of fabric wove themselves gently around Kaimana’s shoulders. “It must be this way, child of mine. The taniwha belongs to the war god by way of conquest. Indeed, he is correct - even if I did want to save the beast, it would not be within my power to do so, and no others out there - certainly not my older sister - would protest Nakoa’s claim over this creature.”

  Tears began to form in Kaimana’s eyes, and she looked over to Rakau, lying with his eyes closed, the war god standing beside him now. Slits of green opened to look at Kaimana, and from beneath his heavy bindings, Rakau gave a weak smile. She knew he would be happy now that she was safe, but that gave Kaimana little consolation. If Rakau died now, she would carry this pain for the rest of her life.

  Her spark began to rumble. This was different from the buzzing it had done before to attract her attention, it was more urgent. Kaimana had no more practising to do. Their song was ready, her spark was anxious to let the rest of the world hear it.

  Yet, for some reason, the spark was no longer thinking about the song. It was reaching out to Rakau, vibrating in anger, filling with rage at the sense of betrayal that it shared with Kaimana.

  “Child, I know this causes you pain,” Laka sang. “Do not think I am immune to your feelings. As artists, this pain is our lifeblood. Think of ho
w that song within you has been shaped by your trials over the past weeks. This moment - the death of your friend and your failure to save him - is crucial for you. This final end to your story will seal the memory of your song. Kaimana - all in the Atoll will know your name. Forever. Now, take your ocarina and prepare to play.”

  Shaking, Kaimana took her instrument from her belt and brought it to her lips. A few steps away, Nakoa raised his toothed blade and grinned at the helpless taniwha beneath him. Inside her, Kaimana felt the spark straining, willing her into action.

  It took a few seconds for Kaimana to realise that her spark was not asking her to play any music.

  Save him, it said to Kaimana, in a voice as clear as if the spark was standing next to her.

  “Now I shall have my vengeance,” Nakoa said, unaware of the conflict within the young woman standing behind him.

  Save Rakau, the spark said again. Save our friend.

  You will die, Kaimana thought. We both will. We cannot hope to defeat a god.

  I know, her spark sang back, and Kaimana could hear the self-pity in that lost tune, her own heart filling with pride at the bravery the spark was finally showing. But I do not want him to die without trying. He means too much to me now.

  Kaimana felt Laka’s black fingers thread around her, squeezing her shoulders, willing her to begin to play, willing her to let the world hear the gift that the goddess had given her.

  She brought her ocarina to her lips and took a deep breath. For the final time, her spark flared up, and the amber in her eyes flowed down her face, mixed with her instrument and her fingers, causing them to glow with the fire of creation.

  Nakoa bellowed in triumph as he swung his Kiribati down to sever the taniwha’s neck.

  And then Kaimana was there in front of him, holding her simple clay ocarina above her head, using it to intercept the war god’s blow.

  The ocarina shattered as the blade hit it, and there was an explosion of amber light and a child-like scream heard by all as Kaimana’s song died.

  All in the courtyard took a second to blink the bright light from their eyes, stunned into silence. A curious scene greeted them when they regained their sight. The war god stood puzzled, his Kiribati now only a pommel and a hilt. The blade of his weapon mingled with the clay of the ocarina on the floor, both broken into tiny pieces. Kaimana remained standing, with her head bowed and empty hands still outstretched to intercept Nakoa’s blow. All around them, small orange wisps of flame floated in the air, the remnants of Kaimana’s dead song.

  “What have you done?” both Laka and Nakoa said at the same time, and the young ocarina player raised her head to look at them both with grave determination, eyes wet at the loss of her spark.

  Then, a rope snapped.

  The amber flames of Kaimana’s dead song settled onto the skin of the wounded taniwha, and they glowed brightly for a moment before disappearing, fading into Rakau’s body.

  Another rope snapped, and Rakau raised his head. A low rumble began from his throat as he fixed the war god with a hunter’s glare.

  The taniwha rose to all fours, the rest of his bindings snapping effortlessly. Heart swelling, fit to burst, Kaimana grinned to see her friend back and ran to him, letting her hand rest on his side.

  Then she looked at the war god. “Go get him,” she told her taniwha.

  With a roar, Rakau leapt at Nakoa.

  Kaimana should have been worried for her friend. She knew that Nakoa was much more powerful than a single taniwha. But, Nakoa was weaponless, he was surprised, and the death cry of Kaimana’s song had given them both strength through courage.

  We will win this. We will be free.

  Rakau’s teeth aimed for Nakoa’s head, and he would have swallowed him entirely in his first bite if the war god had not grabbed the taniwha’s jaws with both hands, forcing them wide open, wrestling Rakau down to the floor. A splintering of wood sounded from Rakau as he strained against the god’s strength, and he roared in frustration and defiance at his would-be executioner.

  At that moment, Kaimana caught sight of Laka, lurking in the shadows behind Nakoa’s throne, and her excitement disappeared.

  There is more than one god here. I can’t imagine Laka is all that pleased about the loss of the song.

  Laka’s black ribbons rippled, as if she was about to intervene, but then a shock of green wrapped itself around the goddess of performance, causing her to stop and look at it in confusion. The green shoot continued to grow, becoming thicker and wrapping itself around Laka, binding her to the spot. Kaimana cheered when she spotted Yam, fingers kneading the dirt close by, a nervous grin focussing on his sister.

  “I imagine Mother might have a thing or two to say about this, don’t you?”

  A similar wall of green began to erupt at the feet of Nakoa’s followers, pulling back the multitudes who stepped forward with knives and clubs towards Rakau and Nakoa, hoping to intervene on behalf of their god. Yam did not allow them to pass, cocooning them in greenery, using the front line of warriors as a barrier against those behind.

  In the middle of this wall, combat between god and taniwha continued. Nakoa threw Rakau back and stood crouched with fists clenched, waiting for the monster to strike again. Rakau pounced, and Nakoa leapt too, faster than the taniwha and he intercepted the monster above the temple floor, his fist impacting on Rakau’s side with a thunderclap, sending Rakau flying across the temple, demolishing Yam’s wall of warriors.

  A streak of pain across her cheek jolted Kaimana away from the combat. She turned just in time to dodge another knife thrust, but lost her footing doing so, landing on her bottom in the dirt. Above her, eyes wild and hungry, stood Eloni, her knife-hand outstretched and shaking.

  “I have you now, bitch,” Eloni spat, her now-gravelly voice betraying the damage Kaimana’s teeth had done to her throat.

  In response, heart thumping, Kaimana kicked at her kahuna’s legs, sending the flute player tumbling to the ground in a string of curses. Kaimana turned, got up and ran from Eloni, raising her eyes just in time to see Nakoa marching towards Yam.

  Rakau seemingly forgotten, the war god now had a sword in his hand, and had it raised to strike at his smaller brother. Sweat was pouring from Yam’s face, his eyes locked on his brother, but his fingers continued to knead the spell that kept Laka and the remaining warriors bound in green roots.

  “I never liked you,” Yam addressed Nakoa, voice noticeably shaking. “Couldn’t keep your hands off my sister. How would you like it if I found a nice piggy and-”

  Nakoa silenced the small god by slicing him across the chest, opening him up. Yam crumpled as Kaimana’s head began to spin, the exhaustion and trials of the last few days threatening to overcome her.

  “No!” she shouted at the sight of the harvest god lying in his own blood.

  All around, Yam’s shoots began to unravel, releasing those he had imprisoned, rushing instead to cradle Yam himself, doing what they could to close his wound. Cries of relief and indignation arose from the released warriors, but Kaimana was more concerned about how angry Laka was going to be now that she was free.

  A snarl of fury warned Kaimana that Eloni had recovered, and was approaching her again with her knife, swinging it wildly. Despite this immediate danger, Kaimana wheeled around to find Laka, to see where the goddess of performance was, and to see what form her vengeance would take.

  Kaimana’s eyes narrowed when she realised Laka was not looking at her, nor at Rakau and Nakoa grappling with each other in the middle of the courtyard. The goddess was staring at the performance troupe on the stage.

  With Eloni almost upon her, Kaimana turned around to look at the troupe, and gasped.

  They were all sparking. Every single one of them.

  Eyes wide with wonder, Kaimana looked at her former companions. Aka stood there, dumbstruck, holding his palms close to his face, trying to catch more glimpses of the bursts of orange. The dancing girls were in a circle together, arms locked on each other�
��s shoulders, screaming with delight each time an amber spark burst from their faces. Poli and Tokoni stared into each other’s eyes, and then kissed when they both sparked together. Old Rawiri had sat down on the stage, crying, with young Mahina close by. It was the first time Kaimana had seen the little boy smile.

  A cry from behind warned Kaimana that Eloni was in striking distance, and she turned to face her teacher. Eloni was on her knees in front of Kaimana, her hands clutched to her face, sparks forcing their way through her fingers.

  Kaimana turned back to look at Laka, but the goddess had vanished.

  Kaimana smiled.

  It is us. It is me - they’re sparking because of me. How could they not be inspired, witnessing all of this? Three gods, one monster, a girl giving up her dream to save her friend.

  She put her hand on Eloni’s shoulder. Her former teacher looked up at her with eyes on fire, mouth hanging open in shock, tears of joy flowing freely down her face.

  “Enjoy this gift,” Kaimana whispered sincerely to Eloni. “Play songs of me.”

  Eloni moaned, and Kaimana could not tell if it was a sound of joy, or of despair.

  I will go down in history, they will remember me on the Atoll, but not because of the songs I play and sing. They will sing about me. About me, and my friend the monster.

  Kaimana turned and inhaled deeply, fixing her attention on Rakau and Nakoa, readying herself to move.

  They were struggling on the dirt in front of her, and by now Nakoa’s men had learnt to give the combatants a wide berth. A few bodies of warriors lay trampled underneath the warring titans, all that remained of the men who were too stupid or too brave to know that such a combat is not meant for mortals to intervene in.

  Despite his size, common sense dictated that Rakau could not win this fight. The power of a god outweighs the power of a taniwha ten times over. But Rakau’s normally green eyes flared amber now, inspired by the dead spark, and that gave Kaimana hope.

  Finish this, Rakau. Let’s leave together.

  The taniwha batted at Nakoa, but the war god caught Rakau’s paw effortlessly, gripping it with both hands. The god grinned and started to pry Rakau’s paw apart, the sound of ripping timber reverberating throughout the courtyard. Rakau howled in pain and batted at the god with his free limb, bloodying Nakoa’s face, but not loosening his ruining grip.