by Matt Larkin
Pele passed Fire-Keeper the gourd holding the Waters of Life. He stared at it a brief moment, perhaps feeling the mana it held, before pouring a long swallow down Kāne-Milohai’s throat. At first, nothing happened. And then, slowly, the boy’s moaning and thrashing abated.
Fire-Keeper placed the back of his hand on the boy’s head, then nodded. “His fever broke.”
Pele released a pent-up breath. The Waters worked. Of course they worked. They’d kept that thing alive far beyond its years. But even with that knowledge, some part of her had doubted such a miracle could exist. Outside, the sun was shining, the waves were lapping upon the shore, and a thick ring of clouds encircled the mountains. Why shouldn’t there be miracles?
And her stepfather had been saved, more thoroughly than she had even imagined. Hoalani had become an aumakua. She couldn’t see him, maybe would not see him ever again in this life. But somehow she knew he’d be here, watching over his son and then, maybe, his son’s son and so on, down through the centuries. A guardian against the forces of the night.
“Mama, you also need to take a sip of this,” she said.
At her words, Fire-Keeper handed her mother the gourd. She took it, seeming almost hesitant, and then sipped. Nothing happened. Shouldn’t it have healed the burns on her mother’s face? Maybe they did look a little less red, but the scars … She frowned, but wiped the expression from her face before her mother could catch it.
“Good. You’ll be safe from the sickness now.”
“This is all there was?” Fire-Keeper asked. When she nodded, he glanced outside through the open door. “We can save maybe one more person with this.”
“Then you take it.”
“I’m not sick.”
The thought of him falling ill to this disease was like a blow to her gut. She would not allow that to happen. Nor could she stomach the thought of him falling to age. “Our people cannot afford to lose any more kahuna. If I could do so, I’d help create more, but …”
“You’ve grown so much. I’m proud of you.” The words felt like sunshine on her face. “Keep the Waters. Someone else may fall sick. I have to move on to other villages, help them.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t want you to leave.”
Fire-Keeper glanced around the hut, then led her outside, away from her mother. “You no longer need me to teach you, Pele. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve learned all you need to know. You have no more need for a guardian or tutor. Any more lessons are the ones you have to teach yourself.”
She swallowed. “Maybe. But I still need my father.”
“Your …? Pele, I …”
She threw her arms around him before he could say anything else. “You’re right. I learned a lot of things. I learned some family bonds run deeper than blood, and that you have to hold on to the people who really matter.”
“I don’t know what to say.” The man’s face seemed to soften, like he wrestled with some emotion he struggled to contain.
He had lost his daughter. Maybe that was why he had been so good to her.
“You have a family, too,” she said.
After a moment he pulled away, shaking his head, but smiling wistfully. “So where does the wereboar staring at you fall in?”
She shrugged. “Family pet?”
He chuckled. “I’m still not taking the Waters, Pele. Save it for someone in need.”
Pele nodded. She supposed he was right. Others in the village were already sick, dying. Maybe she could save one of them. “Then give the Waters to whoever is the sickest, right here in this village.”
The kahuna nodded and walked off to another hut.
Pele, however, turned her gaze back to the mountains. The menehune tunnels ran throughout this island, connecting to the Place of Darkness. What other secrets might those tunnels hold? A way to save more of her people, perhaps? Maybe it was time she set about exploring all those deep places, uncovering their secrets.
She looked back to where Kam stood watching her, and to Fire-Keeper, the father she had chosen. She would explore this island. And she need not do so alone.
27
Swimming back to the Valley Isle proved a mild challenge, given that Namaka couldn’t let the gourd mix with seawater. It was a long way to swim on the surface, though it did provide a gorgeous view of the islands at sunset.
She had stayed with Kana while he healed Niheu, had seen it save the man’s life, if not erase his scars. Maybe they would heal in time, maybe he would bear them for the rest of his life. At least, thanks to his brother’s love and sacrifice, he would have a life. Namaka had planned to wait by Kana’s side until … the moon would soon rise. Molowa was going to take Kana’s body and she would never see him again.
She had wanted to ensure he didn’t face it alone. Kana, however, had insisted she hurry home to her mother before it was too late. “I have my brother to wait with me,” he’d said.
And so she’d gone, fast as she could, back to the sea, and begun her swim home.
The sun finished its descent, snuffing out the fire in the sky, as she resumed human form and stepped onto the beach. The night sea was beyond beautiful, glistening with the light of a reflecting moon. The moon that meant the end of one of her friends. Out there, across the gulf between islands, a cold spirit was coiling its way around Kana’s heart, seizing control of his limbs. Unable to break his bargain, he was damned to centuries of suffering. And he had known that, had made his choice anyway. Had made it out of love for his family, out of a determination to never give up. No matter the price.
There was, she supposed, a kind of beauty in that too.
Namaka blinked away a tear. She raised a hand to wave at the Big Isle, though she couldn’t see it from here. “Goodbye, Kana.”
Finally, she trod up the beach toward the common hut where she’d left her mother. She had tarried too long already.
She had not yet reached it when Moela began yipping, rushing for her. The dog chased about her ankles and she laughed, tucking the gourd under one arm and nuzzling her friend with the other. “I missed you too.”
Uncle Kamalo emerged from the hut a moment later. “You’re back. You have it?”
She nodded and handed him the gourd. The old kahuna rushed over to his niece, her mother who no longer seemed conscious. She lay still as death and for one breath-stealing moment Namaka feared that she … But then there came the barely perceptible movement of her throat as Kamalo poured the Waters into her mouth.
“Thank the aumakuas,” he said after a few moments. “She’d not have made it through the night.”
Namaka nodded. Kana had been right. Again.
She moved to her mother’s side and planted a kiss upon her forehead.
“Are you leaving again?” Kamalo asked.
She had a war to fight. Another people counting on her. But not yet. “I want to be here when she wakes up.”
He nodded, clearly pleased, and went back to tending to his niece.
Namaka walked back onto the beach, Moela on her heels. Staring at the ocean brought her a kind of peace. Maybe she would even sleep out here tonight.
Others in the village would be less fortunate. She had dared hope the Waters of Life would save everyone on the entire Valley Isle. But that grandiose hope proved a fantasy, a child’s dream. There were no simple solutions. A woman just had to do what she could, when she could. Right now, that meant she needed to take some lovers, give rise to a few more kahuna for Kamalo to train. That no longer seemed so frightening, nor could she truly remember why it ever had been.
A few days, a week traveling around the island, doing what she could for these people. And then … then she needed to rejoin Ake and his forces. They too waited for her, waited to reclaim their home. Hiyoya had been taken by Kanaloa. The he’e god-king was immeasurably ancient and powerful. And yet, Pele had just shown her that even such a being could be defeated.
There was a way to win.
And Namaka was going to find it.
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About the Author
Matt Larkin is an American fantasy and science fiction author. He lives in Florida with his wife Juhi and daughter Kiran. With a background in philosophy and publishing, Matt started a small press dedicated to top notch speculative fiction. He adores mythology and history, passions he conveys through his novels.
Matt would love to hear from readers, so feel free to email him at [email protected].