by Matt Larkin
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 two millennia? How many Princesses? By my count, oh, a third of you have been of my line, of Kū’s line. You carry within you the soul of one of his children and the blood of another. That power … I had hopes for you, Pele. Flame Princesses are always 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. 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 connected with her kidney with such force it flung her off her feet. She flew a pace 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, Ku-Aha-Ilo stood beside her. He knelt at her side, wiping blood from her lip with his index finger and staring at it. Eyes gleaming, 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?”
“I told you—a child of the Dark.”
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 Ku-Aha-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.”
Arms outstretched, she drew in flames from all around her, encircling herself in half a dozen rings, much as she had done against Namaka. This time, though, she fired ring after ring at Ku-Aha-Ilo, forming sideswiping arcs, always drawing another ring to replace it. This place was glorious. She always had more flame to call upon, sparing her from drawing it from her own body.
As the arcs converged on Ku-Aha-Ilo his body scattered in a rain of blood, reforming into two identical 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, Ku-Aha-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 two thousand years of experience, of stolen powers and eldritch secrets? Her father …
No.
He was not her father. He might have spawned her, but that was all. Fire-Keeper had raised her. Just as Namaka called Kamapua’a brother, though they shared no blood. Blood was powerful, Ku-Aha-Ilo had demonstrated that beyond a doubt. But sometimes, maybe something more powerful bound people … let you choose your own family.
For a moment you teetered on the edge of eternity, ready to connect with the universe. And in fear, you pulled back.
Fire-Keeper’s words rang in her mind. The blood monster stalking ever closer was not her father. The kahuna who never stopped believing in her, never doubted her—he was her father. Blood be damned.
She raised her head, staring at the river of lava, just out of reach. There, by its edge, stood Hoalani. Pele coughed, spat up blood. She wanted to ask how her step father had come here. But she knew—she saw him the same way Milohai had once seen him. Because she teetered on the edge of death, because her soul had begun to pass into the Ghost World.
But why did stepfather remain tied to the Earth? He should have moved on, gone by now to Lua-O-Milu. He reached a hand toward her, palm up, pressing against some invisible barrier. It held him back, but he kept pushing, obvious strain on his face. The air around his hand rippled.
And then his palm burst forward and clasped her own. Solid.
And she knew.
Nightmarchers were not the only ghosts to linger, to watch the world of the living. There were also the aumakuas, the ancestor spirits watching over their descendants. Their children. She shared no blood with Hoalani. But somehow, against all reason, he had chosen her. Had come here to protect her.
Pele screamed in pain as he pulled her forward, toward the lava.
Somewhere beyond, the blood monster laughed at her. She didn’t need to hear him. He no longer mattered. Only her real family mattered.
Instead of sending your mana out to control the flame, pull mana from it. Call it into you and direct it to the places that hurt the most. I know you can do this, Pele. Just put your hand in the fire.
Yes, Father.
She had failed then. Had drawn only the tiniest morsel of strength from the flame. Now, weeping with the effort, she stretched a single finger onto the lava river’s surface. It bubbled ever so slightly in response. She was still pouring mana in. Because anger was a force to feed a fire. Fire-Keeper said drawing energy from it was a matter of opening herself up to it. Of meditative peace.
She shut her eyes, shut her ears to the mad cackle of the demon now hovering above her. All fear and pain and loss and doubt was a burden. So she let it go.
Everything goes into the flame.
And she fell, falling through space, falling into the flame. The instinct to back away, to catch herself surged to the surface, and she beat it down. Let herself fall until her very self joined her emotions in the flame. Time ceased.
In emptiness, her ribs knitted back together. Her cuts sealed. Her swollen kidney returned to normal.
She opened her eyes to see the lava had cooled at her touch, transformed into igneous rock for ten paces in a hemisphere around her. Heat coursed through her, fresh mana, more than she had ever held, ready to burst through her very pores. Indeed, her skin now glowed like it was made of magma itself. And she stood, facing Ku-Aha-Ilo.
The blood fiend faltered, mouth agape. The expression of shock made all the more poignant for she knew his face had not borne such a look in a millennium or more.
“Wh-what did you …?”
Pele didn’t bother to answer. She did not owe
this creature answers. She owed him nothing. He was not her family. Had never been. Even as her strength returned, her vision of Kāne-Hoalani faded. But he was there, smiling at her. Maybe he would always be there, watching over her and her brother. And that was a comfort.
Arms wide, she advanced on Ku-Aha-Ilo and he, ancient kupua, grandson of great Kū, fell back a step.
With one hand Pele reached out to the lava fall, directing the entire remainder of the river. She pulled it into a circle, a curtain of swirling, dripping lava enclosing her and the demon in a ring of fire. There would be no retreat.
She took another step toward him. His form broke apart, becoming flying blood. It scattered around the ring, seeking an exit before finally reforming behind her. Near the lava river.
Slowly, she began to draw her arms in toward her body, closing her fingers into a fist. As she did so, the lava curtain answered her call, constricting into smaller and smaller circles until it had closed the two of them in a dome no more than ten paces across. It took an enormous amount of mana, more than she had ever burned, to exercise such control and power at the same time. Thanks to Hoalani and Fire-Keeper, she had that mana.
“You have grown powerful, Daughter. I-I’m proud.”
“Don’t be. It had nothing to do with you.”
He tried to back away and found the lava river as his heels. “I am your father.”
“No.” Pele shook her head. “I have a father. And he is nothing like you.”
He opened his mouth. Maybe to protest. She didn’t care what else he had to say.
With a scream of wordless rage she reached into the river and fed it all her anger and pain. It erupted in a column twenty paces tall before crashing down upon Ku-Aha-Ilo. He broke apart, turning to blood to try to flee, but there was nowhere to go. Blood, flesh, or whatever else he was, a hundred tons of molten rock buried him. Pele called forward the lava curtain she had built, let it pass through her, and piled it upon the demon’s resting place.
When she at last turned away, Namaka sat on her knees, panting, surrounded by the bodies of many dead bird-men and bird-women. She, Kamapua’a, and Kana, all stared at Pele.
Pele smiled.
And then, exhaustion hit her like a tsunami, and Pele toppled to the ground.
When she managed to open her eyes, the wereboar was standing over her.
He cleared his throat. “I just want you to know that was shitting amazing. Also. I love you.”
Pele groaned. He just would not quit. Whether his affections were lust, love, or perhaps yet another joke didn’t really matter. After what had happened to the kahuna’s apprentice, she wasn’t about to take any more lovers. The risk to them was too great.
Finally she rolled to her feet. No sign of Namaka or Kana, just the damn wereboar and the corpses of too many bird creatures. Where had they come from and why had they served Ku-Aha-Ilo? Had he … spawned them as well? The thought disgusted her and, by some instinct she could not name, she directed fires to cremate each of the corpses.
“You want to say a prayer?” Kam asked.
She shook her head. “I’m not a kahuna.”
“Oh. Right. Well, you could make me a kahuna.”
She threw up her hands. “It takes more than a good fuck, wereboar. It takes years of training!”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy—”
“It’s not going to happen!” she snapped.
“Then how will I father your children?”
She wanted to slap him. Surely he knew the answer to that. “Kapu forbids a Princess to have children. Those born must be sacrificed to the gods under the first moon.”
He snorted. “Pfff. I’m a child of a Princess.”
“And a kupua.” Like Ku-Aha-Ilo had been. Maybe that was the reason for the tabu against letting a Princess keep her children. Most found herbs or other ways to avoid conception. She shook her head again, dismissing him from her mind. “Where is the Sea Princess?”
Kam frowned, but pointed to a spot near to the lava falls. Pele walked the path there, finally spotting Namaka staring at something behind the fall. A small gap separated the lava from the rocks behind it, and now that she had drawn close, she could see obsidian stairs descending behind it. Namaka, obviously, seemed reluctant to try to edge her way back there. Perhaps the monster managed to get down there by assuming blood form.
Now she’d had the chance to search the cavern. Other tunnels led here as well. One day, she’d have to come back and explore, find a way to get here without passing through the menehune village.
When she drew near she swept the lava apart, forming a doorway. Namaka glanced at her before descending the stairs, followed by Kana. Pele trailed behind them, letting the lava drop back into place before the amorous wereboar could follow her.
“Shit!” he shouted from the other side.
She smirked and lit a torch in her hand so they could see. The others waited on her light, and they descended together, none daring to speak. There had to be at least fifty stairs, and by the time they reached the bottom, fresh fatigue had set in. Her battle with the monster had drained her. The other Princess seemed equally spent.
The stairs opened into a circular chamber no more than five paces around. At its center a bowl-shaped opening was cut into the floor, a well no bigger than a gourd. A well filled with water.
“That’s all there is?” Kana asked.
“There’s strong mana in the Water,” Namaka said, then knelt beside it. Could she sense that like a kahuna? Her face was drawn tight, teeth worrying her lips. “This is … enough for five people. No more, I think.”
Pele frowned. Ku-Aha-Ilo had said there wasn’t enough to share with the rest of the island. He had not been exaggerating. It must refill itself eventually—it had sustained that monster for two thousand years. But there would never be enough to go around. “How do you know that?”
“I have a thing with water.” Namaka grit her teeth, shaking her head. The Sea Princess was actually trembling. All her hopes had died here, and watching that made Pele’s gut roil.
But Pele needed that Water too. Her responsibility was to the Big Isle. “Stop.”
Namaka and Kana both looked at her.
“You may each take one swallow’s worth in a gourd.”
Namaka glared at her. “Who do you think you are, deciding what we can and can’t do?”
“I am the Princess of this island and you are a trespasser. I am also the one who killed this place’s guardian. Take what I’m granting you and be grateful.”
Kana held up a hand. “You never would have found this place or defeated the demon if we hadn’t been here.”
Pele stared him down until he backed away. “Yes. You helped and for that help I’m granting you a portion to save your brother and Namaka a portion to save her mother. And the rest I will use to aid the people of my island.” Her mother. Her brother.
Namaka watched her a long time, some unseen battle going on behind her eyes. Pele was about to point out they couldn’t even get in or out of this chamber without her help, but at last Namaka nodded. Given they both had the reincarnated souls of Kū’s daughters, Namaka was almost like her sister. Her annoying, presumptuous, arrogant sister. But maybe still family, nevertheless.
Finally, Kana knelt and filled his gourd with enough of the Waters for him and Namaka. After they rose, Pele took her own gourd and filled the rest of the Waters in it.
The time had come for them all to flee the Place of Darkness.
Day VII
26
Though Pele had parted company with Namaka and Kana as they neared the man’s village, Kamapua’a had insisted on remaining by her side. Neither request nor threats had dissuaded the wereboar until, finally, she had relented and allowed him to walk with her on the condition he kept quiet. He managed such a feat for perhaps a quarter of an hour before he began regaling her with tales of his bravery, sexual prowess, or feasting ability.
It did, however, allow her to gath
er a more accurate picture of just what had happened on the Valley Isle. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt for the death of Kam’s foreign friend, especially after hearing how he had helped defend the Sawaikians from the taniwha. She had not intended the villagers to attack this Pasikole, but then, she had barely given the man any thought at all. Maybe she should have. Maybe it was a lesson for the future.
“You should have gone home with your sister,” Pele said, as they neared Puako Village.
“Uh. Yeah, well, I think she plans to swim home. That’s a long way for me to swim, so, you know. I could take a canoe, but it’s not like Fish Girl even plans to stay on the Valley Isle.”
“What?” If Namaka planned to once again trespass here it could mean trouble.
“She’s fighting that war with the stupid he’e and all.”
Pele grunted, not sure what to say to that. Namaka had become part of a world so strange Pele could barely hope to fathom it. And Kamapua’a had been left behind. He’d been cast aside by his birth mother—of course she was meant to have killed him—and had lost his surrogate mother in that dragon he’d kept bemoaning. His friend Pasikole was gone and now, for all intents, he was losing his sister. Perhaps he clung to Pele out of loneliness. It was almost enough to make her pity the kupua.
“I need you to wait outside,” she said by her mother’s hut. “I have to tend to my family alone.”
Kam shrugged and wandered off, probably in search of something to eat. His stomach had been rumbling so loudly it might have summoned more Nightmarchers.
In spite of herself, she had to smile at him. She ducked into the hut where Fire-Keeper now knelt at her brother’s side. The kahuna looked up at her approach. Her brother did not. Milohai twisted and turned in a sweat that stank of rot. In fact, the whole hut smelled of sour urine. Her mother gasped at her approach, hands to her face.
“The monster is dead,” Pele whispered to her mother, who nodded, eyes lit with relief.