The Burning Princess

by Matt Larkin

  She rubbed her face. “I can’t stay.”

  Ake sighed. “Again? Your people need you.”

  “I have more than one people now. My human people have an even more pressing need, Ake. I swear I will come back as soon as I can. I just have to take care of one more thing, and then we can find a way to stop Kanaloa.”

  “How am I to wait for you, Princess? Our people are dying. With every passing day they are more likely to be discovered by the he’e or by Mu. We’re rapidly running out of places to hide. If we do not turn this around, find a way to make an offense and take back our city, our kingdom will fall.” He seemed like he would say more. Whatever it was, though, it died on his tongue.

  Sometimes, the way he looked at her, she imagined the merman caressing her tail with his own. He had sufficient rank for such a liaison to be accepted by the court. But he never made any such move. And she … she could no longer separate the roil of emotions tying Namaka and Nyi Rara together. It made it almost impossible to decide what she wanted.

  Easier, then, to just change the subject. Pretend she hadn’t seen his glance linger a heartbeat too long on her eyes. “What of my aunt?”

  “Queen Latmikaik commands me to begin gathering our forces for a mass assault on Hiyoya.”

  That didn’t sound good. Even if the he’e army could be defeated, how did Ake intend to fight Kanaloa himself? No one had begun to find a solution to that problem. They had to assume he would have prepared for such an attack.

  “Do you have a chance?”

  “We’d have a better chance with you at our side.”

  Of course she had a duty to her mer kin. But she could only be at one place at a time. “If that’s the case then it is all the more reason you need to wait for my return. Do nothing save prepare until then. If you must, tell my aunt the reason, that I plan to join the assault but I have to make ready first.”

  “You give too much care to these humans. Their lives are short, mortal. Even if you spare them from the diseases, they will still die in a few years.”

  There was a painful and unavoidable truth in that, she knew. With Nyi Rara possessing her body, Namaka might live for centuries. And in those centuries she would watch her mother, her uncle, and all the people she had known and loved grow old and die. All save Kamapua’a, who would suffer the same losses she did. And still she was lucky—most hosts lost everyone including themselves.

  “Because a life is shorter than yours does not mean it has less value,” she said.

  “Of course it means that. Do you imagine a minnow’s life compares to a whale’s? Humans are lesser beings. Just as they prey upon fish, devour them to sustain themselves, we use human bodies to sustain our existence. And they no more compare to us than a fish roasted for their supper compares to them. It is the order of the world, of all worlds.”

  Namaka shut her eyes. She refused to believe that. Ake had lived for something like two thousand years, since the earliest days of the Worldsea. It surely made him knowledgeable. Did it make him wise? Or, in the passing of so many years, in their blurring together in endless procession, had he lost perspective? Perhaps he had spent so long taking in the vastness of the sea he no longer appreciated the splendor of life within its waters.

  “You should be with … us. By our side, by your real peoples’ sides.”

  “I am going,” she said. “And you will wait for me.”

  She didn’t care what the ancient general had to say on the matter. She was going to find a way to help both her mortal and her immortal peoples. Because neither had a great deal of time left.

  3

  A slight rain had come and gone, briefly forcing Pele to expend energy to keep her fire going. It wasn’t as though she truly needed it—the night had grown at most brisk, not cold. But flame was a comfort, always. Too long away from it and she found herself lost, as if the burning itself offered some guidance. Such musing was pointless, but Fire-Keeper had always encouraged introspection. And why not—he too so often lost himself for hours, staring into flames as if they might hold the answers to questions she had not yet imagined.

  The moon had risen, but it was largely hidden by the clouds, keeping everything beyond the edge of her fire shrouded in darkness. If there was something out there, perhaps she would never see it. Not only did the fire ruin her night vision, but its light and warmth kept darkness at bay. Her whole exercise would prove pointless unless she submersed herself in the dark, welcomed it in and drank up the unnatural terror it had evoked here. Sighing, she clapped her hands together, extinguishing the flame.

  Pele rose and padded through Puako Village. All the huts were closed now, kapa cloths draped over the entryways. Every single person in the village had fled inside, huddled together in whatever slim protection their houses offered. Everyone save her. To walk the village and see not a single soul, it made the place seem abandoned, forgotten. Pele was not given to loneliness, but the sheer emptiness here felt like a hand squeezing the back of her neck, weighing her down.

  And that realization led to another—with the fire’s crackle silenced, an unnatural stillness had settled here. No birds cawed in the night, nor did she hear any of the other sounds one associated with a sleeping settlement. No snoring, no sound of couples gently making love. Not even the chirp of insects. The only sound at all, the pad of her feet on the ground and the distant waves.

  The sensation of a waking dream crept into her mind, and once it did, she could not shake it. It left the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, a tingling in her feet as though she might float away.

  An almost irresistible urge to light her hand aflame seized her. To do anything to banish the silence and stillness of the shadows lingering all around. She clenched her fists to fight that urge. Aumakuas, what was going on here? A slight rustle behind her. She spun, transfixed by a sound that wouldn’t have even caught her notice under any other circumstance.

  The leaves on the trees at the jungle’s edge were twisting, as though some breeze had caught them. But all wind had died this night and no source of the movement revealed itself. And still, first one branch moved, then another. Like some vast, invisible, intangible force slithered through the jungle canopy, just out of her sight.

  A gasp escaped her as instinct to flee wrapped around her gut. Her breath misted the air, though the night wasn’t cold enough for that. What on Lua-O-Milu?

  “Where are you?” The night seemed to swallow the sound of her voice until it was nothing but the hesitant cry of a baby bird.

  And then a breath brushed the back of her neck. Icy, hostile. She froze. Something was toying with her. Shrieking, she lit both hands on fire and spun, flailing at whatever stalked behind her. Her hands swept through thin air. Nothing. Nothing there.

  Damn it. Damn her. Being spooked by a breeze like some child.

  She stalked through the village, passing hut after silent hut. At the edges of covered windows and doors the welcoming light of candles burned, almost but not quite escaping the homes. How easy it would be to duck inside one, weather the night and leave in the morning.

  There was nothing here. These people were afraid of nothing.

  Footfalls sounded behind a house. Her heart leapt into her throat. She fought it down, then dashed around the back of the hut. Only emptiness and shrubbery, swaying in an imagined wind. Heart pounding, she stumbled back into the center of the village.

  “I’m going to find you. You hear me? I’m going to find you!”

  Her only answer was a bird cawing, high overhead. She’d thought the silence was bad, but the sound that shattered it sent her ducking from imaginary attackers. At least for an instant. Damn, was she glad none of the villagers had seen their Princess cower at a fucking bird.

  Squinting at it, she could barely make out its form in the darkness. It banked sharply, as if it might attack her in a dive, though it was too large to be a hawk. Another frantic beat of her heart and she realized it wasn’t diving. It was plummeting. It fell like a sto
ne from the sky, slamming into the sand with an impact that threw up a cloud of dust a pace high.

  She ran to the bird’s body. Its wing had bent back on itself, its feet twisted above its broken head. A black-footed albatross. Fire-Keeper loved birds, had taught her the names of hundreds of them. An albatross shouldn’t have even been out this late at night.

  Not certain she wanted to know, but unable to look away, Pele knelt beside it to examine it. She had to try to understand what had caused it to crash. She extinguished the flame on one hand, used it to pull the broken foot away from the bird’s face, while bringing her other torch closer. Then she gasped, barely able to avoid retching.

  The bird had no eyes.

  What on Lua-O-Milu? She scrambled away from the corpse on all fours, then fell back, hand to her mouth. What could have done such a thing? Though still feeling like she would vomit, she forced herself to take another look. The bird’s body had been broken in the fall, but the eyes—they looked like they had melted. It must have been dead before it even hit the ground.

  Maybe … maybe she could have dismissed the other signs. But this … Something was horribly wrong here, something protruding into the natural world. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be seen, save perhaps for the effects it had. The revolt of nature against the profoundly unnatural.

  She reached a hand toward the bird. Even as she did so, its wings began to disintegrate, turning to dust and disappearing into the sand. The desiccation spread until, in the space of a few heartbeats, the entire bird had vanished.

  She’d been wrong. She wasn’t alone at all. A presence lingered here, watching her, seeming to come from all around her. Like eyes peering at her from every tree in the jungle.

  How was she to fight something like this? Had Ku-Aha-Ilo evoked some forgotten, buried evil with the Art?

  She should have known it before, should have been more attuned to the signs, even before the bird.

  She climbed to her feet, relighting the torches on both hands, blazing them brighter than ever. The flames offered her the only protection against the night. Maybe that was the only reason she yet lived, not consumed by whatever vileness had desiccated the bird. At that thought, she lit her hair ablaze as well.

  Maybe the flames would prevent her from seeing into the darkness of night.

  As she returned to the center of the village, she was no longer certain that was a bad thing.

  Either way, it would be a very long night.

  Day II

  4

  Here he was, slaving away in the hot sun building a boardwalk, and Fish Girl had swum off to play in the sea. Well, sure, not to play, exactly. But to explore the Big Isle. Pig shit, but that sounded exciting! And did she even ask if Kam wanted to go with her? Nope. No room for a wereboar on that trip. He could have ridden her back like a … like a man riding a sea turtle. That’s what. Namaka could have been his sea turtle and swum along the surface and he could have sat on her shell. Which she didn’t have. But he could have built her a shell. Shit, he just built a house or ten. A shell was nothing.

  Kamapua’a huffed and flung another stone into the ocean. “Take that, Worldsea! You want some more, huh?” With a snort, he kicked a pile of sand off the beach and into the water. Just for this, he’d fill up her whole damn ocean with sand. Let her swim then.

  Traders often took outrigger canoes over to the Big Isle. Given the right winds, one could make the sail in a single day. Stupid Fish Girl swam much faster than that, of course. He ought to just grab an outrigger and sail over there.

  Mo-O-Inanea had never allowed Kamapua’a to leave the Valley Isle, had insisted he remain under her guardianship. But years earlier, before coming to the dragon, he’d traveled around Sawaiki with Kamalo. That had been fun. Sometimes he assumed boar form in the night—stupid sun kept him locked in human form—and ran through villages grunting at the locals. Damn, the looks on their faces had been better than a luau’s worth of poi.

  “Something bothering you?” Pasikole asked.

  Kam snorted. He’d heard the man approaching, of course. He was just busy filling in the stupid mermaid’s stupid sea. “Well, shit yes, lots of things. First, I asked Inemes to rut with me and she said no.” Pasikole raised an eyebrow at that, like he didn’t know his own first mate was shitting luscious. “Then I wanted it to rain this morning and it didn’t. And then, after all that shit, Namaka decided to go run off to the Big Isle without me. Just up and left last night. We’re supposed to be best friends, and now she goes on all these adventures alone, leaves me behind. Doesn’t even say aloha. Maybe I’ll urinate in it.”

  “Uh, the Big Isle?”

  “Her ocean! That would show her.”

  Pasikole brushed hair back from his face. “Indeed. I’m quite certain no one has ever relieved themselves into the ocean before.”

  Kam folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. He was pretty certain he was being mocked. “All right, Captain Ugly Pants. You’ve got a big ass boat. Why don’t you sail us over there and we can help her.”

  Pasikole glanced out over the sea, looking lost.

  “I know where the Big Isle is,” Kam said. “You can see it from some parts of the Valley Isle, on a clear day. I can show you how to get there. I’m a mighty navigator.”

  “Kamalo says the sickness affecting your people came from mine. I wanted to see all of Sawaiki, to map it, understand its wonders. But if I go to more islands, I risk spreading the sickness farther.”

  Kam scratched his beard. “Oh. Yeah, well, people head over there all the time. Word was some there have already gotten sick. Not me, though. I don’t get sick. I’m too mighty.”

  Pasikole rocked back on his heels, looking like he might retch. “It’s already spread …” He shook his head slowly. “What have I done?”

  Kam shrugged. “Right. That’s why Kamalo sent her there. She thinks she can find some ancient magical cure and save everybody. Without me! Shit, Pasikole! I just thought of an even better reason to save everyone than boredom! Do you know how many girls would spread their legs for the heroes who saved everyone from killer diseases?”

  The captain’s mouth hung open for a moment like he couldn’t even form a response. He thought he was so clever, but he’d probably never even considered the benefits of heroism. “You are a vulgar man, Kamapua’a.”

  “Well, yeah. I’m a pig. Hey, if I save humanity from sickness, you think Inemes would want to ride my canoe?”

  “No.” Pasikole shook his head. “No. But let’s do it anyway. If Namaka truly thinks there’s a cure on that island, I have to help her find it. I may not have meant for this to happen, but it did. It happened because I came here, and hardly with pure intentions. If I can help repair the damage in any small way, I am honor-bound to do so.”

  Kam grinned. At last, some real adventure. Heading over to the Big Isle, facing danger and excitement, that’s where he belonged. Plus, it would be more fun than trying to fill in the ocean. That would have taken all shitting day.

  5

  As expected, Fire-Keeper remained by the tree where she had left him. Probably the kahuna had slept up there, although now he sat in meditative repose, eyes closed, face turned to the sun.

  As Pele drew near, his eyes popped open. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  She paused, considering. It was possible Fire-Keeper had known her mother lived in that village. It was even possible he’d known she was the one who’d been attacked. He always held some things back, claiming the best way to teach her was to show her how to learn. He claimed the best kahuna separated themselves from their subjects, whatever that meant.

  The man rarely spoke much of himself, either. Once, late at night, she’d asked about his family. He’d said he’d had a daughter, that she had died long ago. It was the only time he’d spoken of her, his words slow, so strained she’d never raised the question again. It was the only time she’d seen the kahuna so shaken.

  Finally, Pele shook her head. “Ku-Aha-Ilo was her
e. He attacked my mother. Did you know I have a brother?”

  “Does it surprise you to learn your mother would take other lovers after your father?”

  “I guess it shouldn’t.” She shook her head. Really, she should have been more surprised her mother didn’t have a half dozen other children already. But that wasn’t the reason she’d climbed back up here. “I think my father left something behind. There was a … presence, out in the night. Like a … a disruption in the world, an anger seething in the shadows.”

  Fire-Keeper’s face remained unreadable, save perhaps for a spark of curiosity in his eyes. But curiosity about the subject, or about her grasp of it? He watched her as though waiting for her to say more. The latter, then. Another test of her knowledge.

  She folded her arms and glared at the kahuna. Considering she felt like she’d spent the night in Lua-O-Milu, she was in no mood for tests. “Just tell me.”

  “The passions of a moment can cloud perceptions, make it hard to consider all possibilities. Hard to think clearly when the loudest sound you hear is the pounding of your own heart.”

  At that, Pele shook a flaming fist at him in mock threat. Sadly, he didn’t even flinch.

  “It felt like there was a presence …” he prompted.

  So either there was one, or she had conjured up her fears out of her own mind. Pacing, she considered that. She might be able to attribute the sensations, even the oddly swaying trees, to nerves in the dark, but the eyeless bird was another matter. She hadn’t imagined that sickening sight. With a sigh she sat down in front of the kahuna and recounted the experience.