The Yarnsworld Collection: A fantasy boxset

by Benedict Patrick

  It was a good story though, wasn’t it? A taniwha in the hills. An uncle that never returned. A village under threat from an unseen monster.

  “Doesn’t it seem like a strange story for a little girl to tell?”

  “Kaimana,” Aka said, looking at her firmly. “Leave rumours well enough alone.”

  Kaimana smiled and shook her head, dismissing her leader’s concerns. “There isn’t a taniwha here, Aka. It was just a little girl, just a bedtime tale to keep her from misbehaving. I like the sound of it though, you know? Like, maybe there’s a song in there that needs to be played?”

  Aka knotted his forehead, distracted and stressed. “Do not go into those hills, Kaimana. I forbid it.”

  She turned to her troupe leader, shocked that he thought he had the authority to tell her what to do so sternly. His sudden air of superiority made her clench her fists in frustration.

  Aka missed these signs of irritation, as he had already turned from her, walking back to the troupe canoe, shaking his head worriedly.

  As Aka wandered off back to his players, Kaimana caught sight of the Long God standing on the edge of one of the village’s stone piers, staring off towards the Atoll’s central volcano. The god of the harvest wore a simple black cloak, a mask that Kaimana could not make out from this distance, but one that would show his flat face. He carried a tall staff decorated with crimson streamers. Kaimana shivered. It was traditional for the Long God and his brethren to visit and take part in the harvest celebrations.

  This was, of course, not really the Long God. He would be at his own temple tonight, many day’s journey away from Pukotala, taking part in celebrations there. It was more likely that one of the other farming gods would choose to bless a small village with their presence; possibly Kane, god of the sweet potatoes, fat Yam, or Haloa, god of the kalo root. However, none had chosen to visit Pukotala this year. Despite the fact that the gods of the Crescent Atoll often walked among their people, visiting them and blessing them with their presence, Kaimana had never seen a proper god before, at least as far as she knew.

  Most of the rest of the troupe had. Just before Kaimana had joined them, Laka, goddess of performance, had chosen to accompany Aka’s troupe for a few days as they travelled the Atoll. Anytime the others spoke of this humbling experience, Kaimana instantly felt like an outsider visiting a close-knit family, even after travelling with them for three years. Their time with Laka had clearly been a huge honour, and a very important part in the lives of most of the performers. Kaimana yearned to experience something similar herself. Eloni had soon realised how hearing about Laka made Kaimana feel, and she took ample opportunities to speak about the number of times she and Laka had accompanied each other on the flute as the troupe’s canoe had moved between islands.

  Such a happy time seemed so far away from the pressure that now weighed down on the troupe. A successful performance for Nakoa the pig god could attract the attention of other deities, could earn the troupe respect from the priests of other gods, thus securing more performances of this nature in the future.

  Kaimana’s eyes moved from the Long God to the huts of the fishing village, and sighed.

  Well, if I’m going to do this, now would be the time.

  She had another meeting she had been putting off for a while. With the knowledge they only had a few short hours before the performance, Kaimana went looking for her parents.

  Kaimana’s mother and father were fishing Knacks. Her mother specialised in pearl fishing, her father the net. They shared a small hut that was a short walk inland from the beach. Kaimana stopped in her tracks at the sight of her parent’s home, drawing a deep breath as nostalgia rolled over her. This was where she had grown up. Part of her had been filled with joy when she had found out the troupe was finally returning to Pukotala, but she was also worried about how her parents would react upon seeing her again. They had not wanted her to leave.

  Kaimana stood outside the dried grass door of the hut. “Mama? Papa?”

  Movement inside betrayed the fact that at least one person was at home. The grass door parted and her mother’s head emerged. “Kai?”

  The older woman rushed forward and embraced Kaimana. Her mother had multiple lines of grey streaking through her hair, but other than that it was difficult for strangers to believe this woman was actually Kaimana’s mother. “Preserved by the sea’s salt,” some would say, referring to the fact that Kaimana’s mother looked a lot more youthful than she should. Despite this, Kaimana noticed a number of new lines across her mother’s forehead when she held Kaimana back to study her face.

  “Are you well? How are they treating you? What do you eat?” Her mother’s eyes widened and she threw her head backwards. “Rua! Kai is here, Kaimana is home.”

  Kaimana’s father emerged from the hut also, and she could not help but grin at the sight of him. He did look like a man in his forties, but had a large smile plastered over his face, as always. The jolliest fisherman in Pukotala, people often joked. Just as often they would attribute this jolliness to Rua’s beautiful wife and two fine daughters.

  He gathered Kaimana up in a similar hug. “My baby,” he whispered.

  Kaimana and her parents spent the next happy hour catching up. Her mother boiled some breadfruit and they sat on the ground outside their home, talking of distant family members, local village gossip and asking all about Kaimana’s adventures with the troupe. However, as the conversation continued, the bright sheen of Kaimana’s happiness upon seeing her parents started to waiver. More and more, their conversation turned away from interesting news about themselves and their friends, and turned to fishing, and their successes when fishing, and interesting facts about fishing if you happened to be remotely interested in fishing. Kaimana’s attention began to drift as her mother started to talk about the pearls she had discovered in the years since Kaimana had left home.

  Kaimana tried to change the conversation with a joke. “So, I was told today there is a taniwha in the village.”

  She was surprised to see how startled her mother and father were at the mention of the monster.

  “It’s real?” she said, but the looks on their faces answered her question for her.

  “It’s fine, we keep it happy,” her father said. “After it ate some of our men, the chief decided to make it an offering of meat every week, so it bothers us no more.”

  Kaimana’s eyes were large, and she felt suddenly uneasy, fighting a strong urge to look behind her, to the trees beyond her parents’ home, in case something was lurking nearby.

  “Are you sure? Who else has seen it?”

  “Kai, don’t go sticking that busy nose of yours into this, this is not for you,” her mother warned.

  Kaimana gave a short laugh. Stick my busy nose in? I wish people would stop telling me not to go and see this creature. Why would anyone in their right mind want anything to do with a monster?

  “But, has anyone else actually seen the taniwha?”

  Her parents looked uneasily at each other.

  “Nobody alive has seen it,” her father said. “The only one who returned to us after sighting the monster went back to its lair, and now he’s no longer with us. They bring it meat, and when they return the following day, the meat is gone. We have a taniwha now, and we are fine.”

  “Perhaps it’ll protect us,” her mother ventured. “There are stories of lucky taniwha. You must know some.”

  Kaimana nodded absentmindedly, her mind busy with the notion of her familiar island suddenly harbouring a dark secret. There were tales of many different ilk of taniwha, beings made from magic by the gods or by great wizards. Some were fearsome beasts, destined to be tamed or vanquished by the warriors of the Atoll. Others were known for protecting the inhabitants of the islands. A river might have a particular taniwha attached to it, ready to defend the nearby villages from invasion by other islands, or by other monsters. Indeed, the Inner Sea inside the ring of islands created by the Atoll was known to be home to a taniwha
in the shape of a white dolphin, who was said to help struggling canoes that ventured too close to the fiery goddess’ volcano home. However, none of these helpful taniwha ever ate people.

  The girl’s story is true. Kaimana shuddered at the thought of the taniwha killing the men from the village, but at the same time there was something about the monster’s closeness that intrigued her. A taniwha lurking somewhere in the hills. What does it look like? How did it get here? So many unanswered questions.

  Kaimana realised her hands had absentmindedly made their way to the clay ocarina that hung from her belt, and her fingers were making the motions for a slow, slightly off-key tune that mirrored the dread she now felt. She shuddered.

  “So... What are your plans now, darling?”

  “Sorry?” Kaimana was taken aback by the question. She had been too busy contemplating the island’s monster.

  “Your mother and I were wondering, what are your plans after the harvest? Should we clear some room for you for a while?”

  “Father...” Kaimana hesitated, picking up on the anxious looks from her parents. “We have a big performance coming up. For Nakoa. It’ll be a great honour.”

  She trailed off. The disappointment on her parents’ faces was painful. They had thought she was coming home.

  “I see,” her mother muttered, dejectedly. “I see.”

  And here it was. The same conversation they had had just before Kaimana left the first time. Her parents could just not contemplate a life outside the one they chose for themselves.

  Kaimana shook her head. She could not help but feel angry with her mother and father for dismissing her calling. “What would I do if I stayed here? I have a musical Knack, I’m no fisherman. I’d be useless to you here, a burden.”

  “Yes, we know about the Knack,” Kaimana’s father said. “But you hear stories, you know. About people who develop more than one Knack. Or learn new ones. Or who think they have developed a Knack for something they really want to do, but they blind themselves to their true calling in life.”

  Kaimana stared at her father in open disappointment. They know I’m no fishing Knack.

  “We’d hoped that maybe spending more time with your sister would help,” her mother added.

  “Yes, did you know last year she surpassed even your mother’s record for pearls caught in a single season? She sparked three times last year. There are now plenty of young men eyeing her up for a future wife, when she comes of age.”

  Laka, preserve me. Preserve me again from pearl fishing and the eyes of young men who want to tie me down with a wedding band and children. “Mother, father, I play the ocarina. This is me.”

  Her mother shifted awkwardly, and the older woman turned her eyes up to look at her husband. “Yes, dear, but…”

  Kaimana’s father finished the thought that both of them shared. “But, what kind of future does this give you, playing your tunes? It’s not as if you’ve achieved anything yet, have you? Your sister’s Knack sparked three times in the last year. Three. Have you even sparked yet?”

  “Sorry?” Kaimana realised her hands were trembling now, the anger and frustration she was feeling were brimming too close to the surface. She tucked her hands under her legs to get them back under control. “My Knack doesn’t work like that. Musicians, artists, we don’t really spark, most of us never will. Instead, we inspire other people with our songs, our stories. You know this, we spoke about it last time.”

  “When you left you made lots of big claims,” her mother said. “Your name would be known all over the Atoll. The music you were going to make would be sung all over the islands.”

  Kaimana’s cheeks burned at the memory of those words coming from her lips. I had been so sure it would happen, that it’d be so easy once I was out there on the Atoll.

  “But we’ve heard nothing about you, and we’ve asked. Every musician, every traveller who visited the island. None of them had heard of you.”

  “Is it too soon?” her father said. “Does it take this long for your songs to make their way around the Atoll?”

  “Chief Hiapo says most musicians and storytellers die as paupers.” It was Kaimana’s mother speaking again, but Kaimana found she could no longer look at her parents as they barraged her with questions. It’s like you’ve been practising this conversation, this lecture. I bet you’ve both been talking about this ever since you learnt the troupe was coming back.

  Her mother continued. “He said it’s only after musicians are gone that their work is remembered. Is this what you want?”

  Her father took her hand, but Kaimana was unable to return his gentle squeeze. “We want to hear your music. Let us hear you play, play us something you have written.”

  Kaimana looked at them both, with teeth clenched. I have nothing to play for you. I’m still learning. I’ve had no… inspiration. Yet. Her parents’ questions forced Kaimana to admit her deepest shame. Despite her years travelling the Atoll, visiting most of the inhabited islands on the northern curve of the Atoll Ring, she had no achievements to tell them about. Certainly nothing to rival a record catch of pearls.

  She stood stiffly. She loved her parents, but right now she was doing her very best to stop herself from screaming at them. “You’ll hear me tonight, during the festival. I should go now. I need to prepare.”

  She hurried down the path back to the beach, frustrated at the lone tear that escaped her eye as she pounded the dirt with her feet, using her heavy steps as a small release for her anger.

  In the three years she had been away, she had seen ten times more of the world than most born on Pukotala, but there had been very little Kaimana had felt worthy of committing to song. Life in the troupe was a life of work - practising her ocarina, helping man the canoe when at sea, chores when they were ashore. Not the stuff of legends to entertain crowds of people. Kaimana knew how to compose, and had a few casual ditties to her name, but they were born from small, unimportant moments, like a particularly brilliant shoal of fish she spotted under the troupe canoe one morning, or watching island children climb trees to steal coconuts. Certainly nothing she was willing to play for her parents as proof of her art.

  But I know I have it in me to make something great once the opportunity finally comes. At that, she raised her eyes to the mountain towering above the village, squinting at the sun setting behind the tall peak. That is, if the people around me allow me to get out there and live my life a little.

  Her nose wrinkled as she thought of Aka and her parents commanding her to stay away from the rumoured danger. Then, she lowered her gaze to her own hand, confused. She continued to clutch the ocarina at her belt, her fingers still subconsciously making the motions for the ominous, unfamiliar tune they had begun when her parents had confirmed the existence of the taniwha.

  Kaimana looked back at the mountain, heart beating slightly faster, a nervous smile forming on her lips. A distant buzzing, possibly the ringing of a bell, seemed to be sounding in her head. She narrowed her eyes as she contemplated the setting sun.

  A couple of hours before we start to play. If I’m quick and careful, nobody will ever know I’ve been gone.

  Kaimana watched the sun begin to dip itself into the waters of the Outer Sea, well beyond the limits of the Crescent Atoll. From her vantage point on the steep hillside of her island, she had a good view of much of the Atoll. The Atoll was a wide ring of small islands, a ring that would take weeks, if not months to circumnavigate. Within this ring, surrounded by deep blue waters that were good for fishing, but were dangerous for people to sail on, stood the tall volcano of Leinani, the fire goddess, the creator of the Atoll. Kaimana shuddered slightly as she gazed at the goddess, thankful for the steady stream of vapours that lazily drifted from the volcano’s top. The goddess was calm today, as she had been for many years. All of the Atoll knew when Leinani was angry, as the land shook and lives were lost.

  She returned her gaze to her current surroundings. Kaimana knew these hills well, from childhood exploratio
ns, and had a fair idea where the cave was that the young girl had told her about. She had never been inside this particular cave, but knew of one that sat atop a stone gully from which the stream that her family fetched their water from sprung from the earth. This was where the taniwha was supposed to now be living.

  I just want a glimpse, just to see if the story is true. Maybe that’ll be enough to find something to write a small song about.

  As she moved further up the island’s mountain, the land became tougher to move on. The greenery turned to larger rocks and boulders that Kaimana needed to use both arms to struggle over.

  If I was a taniwha, this is exactly the kind of place I would hide myself in, away from those pesky villagers. I just hope he won’t mind me disturbing his peace and quiet.

  The cave finally came into sight. It was set about twice Kaimana’s height into a small cliff. Because of the beginnings of the stream that trickled out of it, plant life loved the area despite the rocky ground, and Kaimana found herself slipping on moss and lichen as she climbed the short distance up to the cave mouth.

  I must watch myself here. I’d make a lot of people most unhappy if I was to crack my skull and break my promises before the performance.

  Finally, she was standing in the cave entrance. In all of her childhood explorations she had never scaled this cliff, due to the final steep climb and ancient parental warnings about leaving caves well enough alone. Most caves dotted about the island were disappointingly shallow, but this one receded into darkness, refusing to betray where it ended.

  The sight of a recently chewed goat bone at the lip of the cave gave Kaimana cause to hesitate. Despite her doubts about the story, her heart began to beat faster, her fingers moving again to the clay ocarina at her waist, tapping rapidly on its empty holes.

  The offering the village made to the taniwha. It might not have been a monster that ate it, probably some local predators or scavengers.

  Despite these thoughts, the sight of this small object finally made Kaimana doubt what she was doing. She knew monsters were real, she knew it was perfectly possible that one had chosen to live in her former home.