Kekoa stood on the lanai of the royal palace, the highest point on the island. Below him the ground sloped away on all sides, covered in the bright, kelly green of sail trees all the way to the golden sand. He could see the boats paddling around in the bay and hear the lowing cries of their distress. A group of Zhanin was swimming out to calm them.
Kekoa gripped the balustrade. It was so quiet he thought he could hear the waves at World’s End, something that was usually only audible when the crystal sphere of day moved below the Ginian Sea. He didn’t know the waters here like he knew the sand and the sea of Hawai‘i, but he knew enough that his fingers beat out an erratic tattoo on the balustrade, and his heartbeat quickened.
When he was a kid, he’d heard stories about the sea disappearing. Like, you’d be on the beach enjoying the waves, and then all at once the water went out and out and out like the lowest tide of all. If that ever happened, some of the haole might walk out looking for shells, sure, but all the locals would know to head for high ground. That water has to come back, yeah? And it’s gonna be a big wave. Kekoa felt that now. Like the tide was suddenly far too low.
“What tide, majesty?”
A Zhanin man stood in Kekoa’s room, wearing clothing made from surf-weave and sea-leather. If Kekoa had seen him back home, he would have thought he was a lifelong surfer, with his long hair tied back and the toned muscles of someone who regularly moved through water. He held a platter of fruits and dried fish. Breakfast. Kekoa hadn’t even heard him enter, but that wasn’t a huge surprise since the Zhanin didn’t have doors.
“Oh hey, Fairweather. Howzit?”
The Zhanin names were all translated, maybe because of the magic of the Sunlit Lands that let people understand each other. They had names describing good things their parents wished for (Manyfish, Clearskies, Rain, Balance) or sometimes something about the family job in the clan (Leader, Chief, Fisher, Warrior—Kekoa had even met someone named Executioner, who he had promptly sent to another island).
“I am well, Chief.”
“Don’t call me that, brah. How many times I gotta say it? Call me Kekoa.” He picked at the platter, pulling off some dried fish and wild hana—a tart citrus fruit with yellow skin and pink flesh—and throwing it in his mouth. “You eat already?”
“No, Kekoa.”
Kekoa threw his arm around Fairweather. “Listen, brah, you’re always acting like we’re enemies, but we’re not. We’re friends. I want to be your friend.”
Fairweather’s face darkened, and the platter trembled. “Let me bring my sword in here, and I will show you what sort of friends we are.”
Kekoa raised his eyebrows and took a step back. He checked the Ascension Robe, making sure it was on tight. He had been wearing it nonstop these last months, keeping it on over his clothes. A quick glance over the lanai didn’t show him any major changes, but there had been some moments in recent weeks when the magic had stuttered. He went to the doorway and called for Ruth.
Fairweather moved to withdraw, but Kekoa put his hand on the Zhanin’s shoulder. “Hold on a minute,” he said. Fairweather scowled at him, so Kekoa added, “Please.”
Ruth Mbewe, the young girl who had come to the islands with Kekoa, came in a moment later. She had worked her hair into two-strand twists, and she wore a blue-green shift made of surf-weave, with a cloth from the mainland folded and tied around her eyes. She was a strange girl, far too wise for her years, but in their time on the island Kekoa had come to think of her as his weird little sister. “Kekoa,” she said. “Fairweather.”
“Aloha, Ruth. Something strange is going on. I think Fairweather wants to kill me.”
Ruth tilted her head to one side. “Of course he does, Kekoa. He’s wanted to kill you since we first set foot on this island. Isn’t that true, Fairweather?”
Fairweather set his jaw and didn’t answer.
“Go on,” Kekoa said. “Tell her.”
The Zhanin man scowled. “I want to kill you both,” he said. “You misuse magic. You are unbalanced. The Zhanin keep the balance.”
“Well,” Ruth said. “I can’t say I knew that he wanted to kill me, too. I’m not even using any magic. I’ve told you more than once that you should have taken off the robe by now.”
Kekoa smoothed the robe. “Ruth. If I take it off, the Zhanin will kill us.”
“Not necessarily,” Ruth said.
“We will,” Fairweather said under his breath.
“See?” Kekoa pointed at Fairweather accusingly, then was reminded of the fruit platter and took another mouthful. “The boats are nervous today too, and there’s smoke on the wind. Something is wrong.”
“What’s wrong is that you didn’t follow the Knight of the Mirror’s instructions,” Ruth said, repeating her daily reminder to him. They had been sent here by the knight, carrying the robe that Kekoa was wearing. The Robe of Ascension. It was a long robe, just a shade darker than royal blue, with gold trim. Along the edges all the way to the collar a series of creatures danced: oxen, eagles, humans, and lions. It was a magical item, made by the Scim, and when someone wore it, they had to be obeyed, like a king or queen, like an emperor. When Kekoa had first put it on, it had felt strange—as if suddenly everyone around him were more agreeable, or as if they wanted the same thing as him, whatever that might be. The strangeness had worn off in a few days, and now Kekoa felt almost offended when Fairweather threatened to kill him. He knew the robe had kept him and Ruth safe, but it almost hurt his feelings that it was necessary. He had to keep it on so the more violent urges of the Zhanin were held in check. In the afternoon sun, though, Kekoa often wished he could pull it off. He got hot, even barefoot and wearing only a pair of shorts under it.
“Listen,” Kekoa said, and for the fiftieth time he laid his case out. “We got here to the island, and we did what the knight said. We waited for the song of welcome. We reminded the holy ones of the knight’s service to them long ago.”
“And then?” Ruth asked, nudging him. “Then what did you do?”
“Then they tried to kill us!” He grabbed a handful of berries. “Back me up here, Fairweather.”
“We tried to kill you,” Fairweather said.
“He has to say that,” Ruth said. “I think we may have misread the signs.”
Kekoa laughed so hard and so suddenly that he coughed up his berries. He stumbled to a pitcher and drank water straight from the side of it. “They threw spears at us!”
Ruth frowned. She never had a great response to this particular fact, and the islanders had been less than forthcoming about what had happened, even under the influence of the robe’s magic. The biggest issue with the robe was that the magic of the islands seemed to ebb and flow, like the tides, but not as constant. There were times when all the people obeyed Kekoa’s standing orders (like “Do not kill me or Ruth”) with unquestioning loyalty. But then there would be these moments like right now, when they talked back, made plans, whispered to each other. It made him nervous.
Kekoa and Ruth should have left, but every time they made it a certain distance from the island, the robe’s magic stopped working on the Zhanin, and they started chasing them. It was only a matter of time until one of the Zhanin managed to skewer him or Ruth, or send one of their trained sea animals to kill them. The robe didn’t work as well on animals. Kekoa had tried, at Ruth’s insistence, taking the robe off a few times, but it always ended badly, with spears or swords or something sharp pointed at Kekoa’s face. Or neck. Or heart.
“We should send another bird,” Ruth said.
“We’ve sent a hundred birds!” Kekoa said. No one answered. The birds he sent to Jason rarely seemed to find him. They’d circle back within a week or so. No birds had found Madeline or Shula yet, and even David seemed to be missing. News from the mainland was dire, yes, but Kekoa didn’t believe for a second that all his friends were dead or unable to respond. Ruth had sent birds to the Knight of the Mirror, but only one had returned, with the message that things were difficult in
Far Seeing and that it might be safer to stay among the Zhanin. He had suggested that if they must leave, it would be wise to leave the Robe of Ascension with the Zhanin holy ones, but Kekoa had no idea how to do that and also escape with their lives.
Ruth put her palms together. “Kekoa. Let us speak in private.”
Kekoa grabbed another handful of fruit and dismissed Fairweather, who exited the room half-bowed and walking backward. He stopped at the doorway and glared before turning on his heel and disappearing. Kekoa slumped onto a pile of pillows on the lanai and ate while he watched the water. Ruth stood beside him, her face turned toward the sun.
“We must leave here,” she said. “Something is changing on the mainland. Something worse than last time.”
The magic had cut out briefly soon after they had arrived on the islands. They’d had some trouble finding the archipelago when they first set out, partly because they were in an ordinary boat instead of a Zhanin boat, which was more turtle than watercraft, and partly because Kekoa had not realized that the archipelago moved. When the Zhanin wanted to change things up, they let the sail trees fill with wind and off they went. Kekoa had mostly kept them anchored since he had taken charge, because the few times he’d let them move the island, he had gotten the distinct impression the Zhanin were plotting something. He had discovered soon after their arrival that there was a troop of warriors out trying to kill some of his friends. The Zhanin had hidden it from him so he wouldn’t be able to call them back, and now no one had any idea where the warriors were, and they couldn’t be recalled at all.
“Something worse than the last time the magic went out?”
“How long was that?” Ruth asked. “Three hours?”
“Maybe.” He sucked the juice out of a segment of orange and threw the skin over the side of the lanai. It had happened when he and Ruth had been trying to leave the islands. They had been among the Zhanin maybe three days, and birds had come saying that the attack of the Scim on the Elenil had passed. Kekoa and Ruth had packed up their non-Zhanin boat and slipped away at night to give themselves the longest head start possible. The timing of the whole thing had saved their lives. They were still in sight of the archipelago when the magic went out. The moment the Zhanin had realized the magic was gone, they had begun to hunt for Ruth and Kekoa on the island, and great horns began to sound as they communicated with one another across the water. Kekoa and Ruth had put a solid hour’s rowing between them and the island before the Zhanin set out to look for them on the sea. They had been overtaken right as the magic set in again, which had been much too close for Kekoa’s taste. They might have escaped altogether at that moment if not for the storm that had kicked up. The lack of magic had wreaked havoc with the weather of the Sunlit Lands, and Kekoa knew a storm of that size was going to prevent him and Ruth from reaching shore. They had returned to the islands, and here they were still.
“A messenger,” Ruth said.
Kekoa didn’t see it, but he had learned to listen to Ruth’s insights. Perhaps she heard its wings. He scanned the horizon, and that’s when he saw the black shape outlined against a wave. He had seen plenty of sharks back home. This thing was thinner and moved with a sinuous motion he found disturbing. It had slipped into the bay where the boats were kept and was moving toward the Zhanin who swam there. Kekoa shouted a warning, but they were too far. He saw the thing pull a Zhanin under the surface. He held his breath, waiting for the warrior to surface, but he knew by the way the water emptied of people that there was panic below.
“Come on,” Kekoa said, and he grabbed his leiomanō, a traditional Hawaiian weapon he had found for himself in the Sunlit Lands. He didn’t wait for Ruth—she always made her own way nearly as fast as he could, and this was no time to move slowly. As his bare feet slapped against the stone floor of the palace, he shouted for everyone to grab weapons and follow him.
He sprinted down the hillside, leaping over stones, weaving between the sail trees, the Zhanin trailing behind him like the tail of a comet. He burst from the jungle onto the sand by the beach, where people were screaming and shouting, “Malgwin! Malgwin! Malgwin has come!”
He knew what that meant in a second. Malgwin was a sort of half-fish, half-woman creature who haunted the waters of the Sunlit Lands. She was a symbol of chaos and trouble, and most of the stories Kekoa had heard about her included her eating people. Or whales. Or birds. Or really anything that came her way. There was a slick of blood in the water, and the Zhanin were screaming and pointing and shouting, and without a moment’s thought Kekoa stripped off the robe and ran until he was thigh deep, and then he dove in, his leiomanō held out before him.
The Zhanin could say what they wanted about Kekoa, but he could swim like a dolphin. He didn’t hesitate to use his weapon, either, and his shadow slid over the terrible mermaid creature, giving her a second’s warning before he brought his toothed club smashing down toward her head. She moved as fast as an eel, and her fanged mouth, still red with blood, turned toward him. He didn’t shrink back, but kicked toward her. She snarled and gave two quick flips of her tail, disappearing out of the bay and into the murky darkness of the wider ocean.
One of the Zhanin floated below, unconscious, blood streaming from a hole in his side. Kekoa recognized him—it was one of the boat keepers, a Zhanin named Brightstar. Kekoa slipped an arm under Brightstar’s. The Zhanin was heavy—Kekoa would need two hands to get him to the surface. Here in the bay there wasn’t too much risk in leaving something on the bottom, since the bay was built into the island and traveled with them. Kekoa let his leiomanō sink and put both arms around Brightstar, kicking them both to the surface. He didn’t want to wait here too long in case Malgwin came back, so he moved quickly to one of the boats, which shied away at the smell of the blood, but calmed when Kekoa cooed to it. He hung for a moment on the boarding rope, giving himself three breaths to gather his strength, then hoisted himself and Brightstar onto the flat deck of the boat’s shell.
Once Brightstar was on his back and breathing again, Kekoa let himself take a moment’s rest. He tore off some of Brightstar’s sea-leather and used it to stop the bleeding from his side. He’d need a medic, no doubt, but Kekoa thought he’d live. He blew out a big breath, and willed his heart to slow.
“Kekoa,” a voice called to him across the water.
He stood. It was Fairweather. In one hand he held the Robe of Ascension, crumpled and possibly torn. In the other he held a knife. His knife arm was wrapped around Ruth, the knifepoint at her neck.
“Okay, then,” Kekoa said. He looked at all the Zhanin who had raced down to the water with him. All the people he had commanded to come here, who he had commanded to grab weapons. Ruth struggled, and Fairweather tightened his grip.
Brightstar had a knife at his belt. Kekoa grabbed it. “Send the girl over to me,” he said.
“Come and get her,” Fairweather snarled.
Kekoa didn’t answer. He just dove into the water. He wouldn’t let them hurt Ruth. Not even if he had to fight the whole island. He didn’t let anyone hurt his people. He burst from the water and sprinted toward Fairweather, the knife clenched in his hand. Kekoa had been fighting every night since he arrived in the Sunlit Lands. And yes, a lot of that had been using magic and skills borrowed from the Elenil, but he had been in plenty of fights growing up, and he had never once backed down when a friend was in trouble. Besides, though some of the Zhanin were warriors, scary ones, Fairweather was not one of them. Fairweather was a disgruntled butler.
Fairweather’s arm tightened around Ruth’s neck, but Kekoa didn’t slow. He jumped as he came closer, driving both his feet into Fairweather’s chest. As the Zhanin fell, his arms flew to the side, his knife spiraling into the sand. Kekoa snatched the robe from his other hand and flung it over his own shoulders. He pulled Ruth close to him and held his blade toward the assembled Zhanin until he felt the small jolt of the robe’s magic taking hold. “Drop your weapons,” he said, and they did, as if it were their own idea.
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He rearranged the robe, checked on Ruth. She was unflappable, and this situation had done little to upset her. “We need to leave this place,” she said. “Soon.”
Fairweather got to his feet, rubbing his chest. He picked up his knife. Then the other Zhanin picked up their weapons, as if waking from a long dream. Kekoa and Ruth stepped backward, the waves slapping against their legs.
“The balance,” Fairweather said, his eyes unfocused, as if he was feeling something far away and was studying it.
The other Zhanin started to murmur.
“Someone has reset the magic of the Sunlit Lands,” Fairweather said. “A new queen wears the Heartwood Crown.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Kekoa said. He took Ruth’s hand in his own. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what it meant.
“It means that magic has ceased for a time,” Fairweather said, smiling. “It means that the robe is nothing but an article of clothing now.” He stepped forward. “It means the Zhanin are no longer under your control.”
“Oh,” Kekoa said, looking at the angry faces of all the Zhanin surrounding them. He pulled Ruth deeper into the water, hoping Malgwin had gone on her way. “We were just leaving, brah. Aloha. See ya later. Bye.”
Fairweather stepped forward. He smiled, looking at his knife. “You know we never choose a new chief until the last one dies.”
So it was going to be like that. Kekoa let go of Ruth’s hand and pulled off the robe. He’d need to be able to move. He cracked his neck, pounded his chest, and exhaled a deep grunt. “Alright then. Let’s do this.”
The Heartwood Crown Page 43