by Matt Larkin
Namaka stared up at the ceiling rafters until Kanemoe squeezed her knee.
“You told me you were trained by a mo‘o.”
“Did I tell you my father beat Pele and me?”
“No.”
Namaka snorted lightly, shaking her head. “It was a long time ago. I don’t like to think about the past too much. Now, this life, is what we have, and I worry about any threat to it.”
Kanemoe chuckled. “There’s not a threat to us in all the Worldsea. You control the godsdamned ocean, Namaka. The kings of Kahiki pay tribute to you, my own father pays tribute to you. The mer don’t push us too far, even if they irritate you at times. They know their limits. And that’s saying nothing of your sister. If any real threat moved against Uluka‘a you and Pele would crush it. We’re safe here. You’re safe here, and there’s no reason to believe Kū-Waha-Ilo will ever return. The sea stays blue, darling.”
“Hmmm. Why would men come back from Sawaiki after fifty years of separation?”
He shrugged. “The sea stays blue.”
Pretty much his answer to any worries.
Maybe it was the best answer anyone could ever give.
Part II
10
The volcanic eruption had mirrored the splitting apart Pele felt in her head. The way it threatened to rip in half. In a daze, she had wandered the island after finding Aukele dead. She’d grieve for him, of course, even if they had not parted on the best of terms.
She’d tracked Namaka back to the Sacred Pools.
And then things had grown truly surreal, when mer attacked Namaka. Pele could only guess they had somehow heard about Namaka’s actions across the Worldsea. Certainly, they must have felt the disruption caused by Namaka on Kaua‘i and now here.
Mu, it seemed, had solved Pele’s problems for her.
With Namaka out of the way, she could now focus on freeing Lonomakua. That meant, first, dealing with this agonizing headache, and second, finding Namaka’s camp.
A camp that Upoho, down there on the shore, surely knew where to find.
Kupua came in many kinds. Some people called mo‘o—dragons—kupua. Some kupua, like Pele, had bloodlines hard to quantify. And others, like shifters, were possessed by animal spirits. Pele knew of two such kinds: wererats and the less common wereboars.
Neither were men you could sneak up on, so she didn’t bother trying.
Instead, while Upoho climbed the slope in a huff, Pele pushed her palms together, feeding mana into the earth. When he neared the top, she unleashed her power, releasing a torrent of flame that jutted out in a ring of fire, encircling the wererat in a wide arc, a hundred feet in diameter.
Namaka’s man leapt, apparently caught unawares after his altercation with the mer. An advantage Pele could not afford to waste.
Flames sprang up upon her hair. They engulfed her arms in vortices that leapt around her shoulders, danced over her torso, and clad her in a mantle of fire to replace her burnt-away clothes. A walking effigy, she advanced upon Upoho who, trapped in the circle of flame, slowly raised his hands in surrender.
“Where is Lonomakua?” Pele demanded.
“What, the kahuna? I thought he was with you.”
Pele’s lip quirked in irritation. “You do realize I’ve already reduced one of Namaka’s pet animals to ash today. Roasted rat might yet grace tonight’s menu.”
“Eh, not really good eating, to be honest with you. I recommend some nice swordfish, if you can get it. Shark’s good, too.”
She took another threatening step toward the wererat. “Where is my kahuna?”
“Come on. You know Namaka wouldn’t want me to tell you that, and you know I’m not going to betray her. Now, I really don’t think you want to kill anyone else—”
A casual flick of her wrist sent a tendril of flame licking over Upoho’s chest and face. The man fell, screaming, as his flesh bubbled and popped. A sickly-sweet stench of roasted human flesh hit Pele as she drew closer.
She, of course, did not have a shifter’s Otherworldly strength. Then again, when a man was on fire, strength counted for less. She kicked Upoho in the gut and he doubled over, groaning. Pele dropped down atop him, pressing her knee into his throat and hovering a flaming hand over the wererat’s face. “You’re right. I don’t want to kill you. That doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you. I want my kahuna back. Now. Tell me where he is.”
“I can’t. You know I—”
Pele pushed her forefinger into Upoho’s cheek. His skin sizzled, popping and peeling in an instant, while he thrashed, almost violently enough to dislodge her, though it no doubt choked him in the process. Pele jerked her hand back to hold over his face once more, revealing a charred ruin of flesh. So much of his cheek had burnt away, she could actually make out a hint of his teeth behind it.
She could see it, how he fought with the urge to grab her and throw her, knowing he’d burn off his own hands to do so.
Shifters had more than superhuman strength and senses, though. They also healed from injuries no mortal could recover from. Maybe his cheek would even regrow, though Pele suspected it would always remain scarred.
“Where is he?” she roared at him. “Where is Lonomakua? You can’t keep him from me!”
“Fuck you.”
Pele growled. Then she pushed her thumb into Upoho’s left eye. It was … disturbingly easy. The jelly sizzled and popped and turned into a liquid mess almost immediately. Upoho’s wails of indescribable agony made her wince, and this time, his thrashing did manage to throw her off. The wererat grabbed her wrist, flinging her aside, seeming hardly to notice he’d ignited his hands.
Instead he toppled over to the side, clutching his face, screaming and screaming and screaming.
On and on, a sound that had Pele’s stomach clenching in disgust. She had to fight down the sudden urge to apologize. Who apologized for burning out someone’s eye? No words could ever atone, which left her but one course. Push forward.
“Where is Lonomakua,” she snarled at him.
“Aaaaaahhhhh!”
“Where. Is. Lonomakua!” Pele seized his shoulder with her still flaming hand and spun him around, drawing yet another scream from the wererat as his flesh melted. “Where is he! Where is my kahuna, rat? I will roast your banana until your balls explode!” She pushed her searing palm into his abdomen and slowly drew it down toward his cock. “I will leave you an eyeless, earless, cockless wretch if you do not return him to me!”
“Stopppp!” Upoho wailed. “Stop. Stop. I’ll … tell you …” He looked up at her, revealing the ruin of his eye socket, flesh raw and red and weeping some filth she couldn’t identify. Tears ran freely from his remaining eye, and his face had gone pale.
A flash of disgust filled her, first at what she had done, and more at this miserable creature before her. The bitter, sick reminder of what Namaka had made her into. She knew she ought to pity Upoho his fate, but all she really wanted was to be rid of him.
“Then tell me. Now.”
Pele’s soldiers raced into the camp, shouting war cries, leading with a shower of javelins that indiscriminately rained among Namaka’s unsuspecting men. By the time her foes had gained their feet, Pele’s people were among them, axes cleaving into skulls. Spears ramming through bellies, spilling entrails, and staining the beach red with gore.
Pele would call it mercy. She could have brought a torrent of lava down upon this camp and reduced all these people to ash. This way, some of them would be spared.
Namaka’s people raced to meet Pele’s warriors, knives and spears in hand. But the battle was far against them before they even knew it was upon them. The slaughter continued until at last, the warriors cast down their weapons and knelt in the sand.
Flames encircling her hand, Pele burst into a hut to find Leapua standing guard over a bound Lonomakua.
An inexplicable rage seized her then. Namaka had done all this. Turned Pele into this creature who would torture and murder with such abandon. The Sea Queen was to
blame for all this. She had to be to blame. The alternative was unthinkable.
Lonomakua’s shout of denial came even as Pele wrapped her flaming hand around Leapua’s face, driving the other kahuna to the ground. The old woman thrashed in Pele’s grasp a moment before falling still. When she removed her hand, the imprint of it lay over Leapua’s face, charred black, red around the edges. The woman’s eyes remained opened wide—too wide—in agony, and her lip had burnt away to reveal her teeth.
“Why?” Lonomakua asked, voice hoarse.
“Because … I need this to be over.” She knelt beside him and grabbed the rope binding him, which then burst apart and shriveled into cinders.
Her kahuna grunted, working his wrists and staring down at Leapua, shaking his head. “There was no need for this.”
“There was no need for any of this, old friend. Namaka brought it all upon us because of her wounded pride.”
The kahuna sniffed, shaking his head. “Have you ever asked yourself if you are not more alike than you are different?”
What? Her and Namaka were nothing alike. They shared blood, yes, but their temperaments were as different as their powers. Lonomakua, though, rose, without elaborating on his meaning.
Even as they reached the door, a tremendous roar shot through the evening. A sound that had Pele’s fires winking out as she flinched, in visceral reaction to the fear. She looked to her kahuna—his blue eyes unreadable—before the man ducked outside. Leaving her no choice but to follow.
The fighting had stopped, every eye drawn to the mo‘o stalking among the outskirts of the camp. Milolii, Pele suspected, though she had seen Namaka’s nursemaid but a few times in her life.
She blew out a long breath, not well pleased at the thought of having to fight a mo‘o. Such a battle would require her to rain more lava and destruction upon this island.
Just beyond Milolii, though, walked another woman, one clad in a dark kihei. It had been so long since Pele had seen her, she almost did not recognize her other sister.
Kapo.
The dragon had declared the fighting at an end, and Pele saw no reason to dispute it. She had come for Lonomakua, and, with him freed, intended only to move on to Vai‘i. They would depart Mau‘i in the morning.
Kapo, though, had asked Pele to walk with her, leading her into the jungle, and the deep valleys inside the island. Small wonder that her fight with Namaka had drawn attention.
“I had been intending to find you, if I could.”
Her younger sister murmured. “I’ve made my home here a long time. I was … distressed when Milolii told me of what had transpired between you and Namaka.”
Pele sighed, uncertain what to say. What exactly had the mo‘o told her sister? “Milolii has only Namaka’s side of the tale.”
“Really? I cannot say the dragon casts either of you in favorable light. Pride and rage is all I see. And over a man?”
Pele grunted. “It wasn’t over a man. Besides, are you not the woman who traveled across the Worldsea to make her own kingdom?”
“Spare me your meaningless attempt to redirect the conversation. I have spent the last fifty years not as a queen, but as an advisor to the kings of the Kahikian dynasty. Sawaiki had its fair share of troubles before you and Namaka brought your petty war to these shores. Now, we stand on the verge of total chaos. I do not even wish to imagine what news of your actions will prompt our enemies to.”
Advisor? Kapo had turned away from her birthright to serve others? That sounded of madness, to Pele’s mind. Then again, her sister had always been a sorceress, plying the unknowable Art, pushing across Pō for strange answers.
Pele paused, looking around the eerily dark jungle. When the sun set, very little light burst through the canopy. The darkness did not seem to bother Kapo, but then, it never had. “By enemies, do you mean Poli‘ahu?”
“Among others, yes.”
“My plan is to build my own kingdom upon Vai‘i. One friendly to you, of course. One decidedly unfriendly to this Poli‘ahu.”
“She is a sorceress,” Kapo warned. “A powerful one, with congress with old, powerful spirits who tell her truths from days long gone.”
Pele shrugged. “I can drop a mountain on her.”
Kapo shook her head, as if dealing with a child. “You underestimate this woman at your peril, sister. Do not assume that because she does not have the destructive capabilities of you and Namaka, that she is not a threat to you. There is a darkness coming here, and trust me, I would know.”
Pele grinned, allowing her hand to burst into flame. “I bring my own light.”
Kapo groaned, shaking her head once more. “If you are determined to undermine Poli‘ahu from Vai‘i, then I’ll go with you. You’ll need someone familiar with the local politics to get established.”
Pele nodded. That much was true. “You’re angry. About what happened to Namaka.”
“I’m disappointed in the chaos you have wrought. I’m saddened in the destruction of Uluka‘a. And, yes, I am deeply concerned that the mer have taken Namaka. What do you think happens if they claim her body? Her blood, so flush with mana, so dripping in power? What happens when the rulers of the undersea kingdom gain possession of a host who can control the seas, Pele?”
“You think they’ll demand increased tribute.”
“If we are very lucky, that is the only result we need fear from this chaos. But I fear worse. Far worse.”
Pele could only grimace at that. Whatever Mu did or didn’t do, she had no control over it now. “We should head back.”
They had not yet reached the beach camp when Milolii came stalking out of the underbrush, a quiet menace underlying the dragon’s posture. A slow, deliberate slinking up before Pele, fixing her with a gaze that made the air seem to choke in around her.
All instinct demand Pele lower her eyes and submit to the dragon, but Pele refused to be cowed, even by a mo‘o. “What is it now?”
“You tortured Upoho.”
“What?” Kapo asked, coming up behind Pele.
Milolii growled. “Burned out one of his eyes.”
Heat began to grow behind Pele’s brow. Power swirling inside, tiny sparks building beneath her hair as her heartbeat raced. Too much to hope the mo‘o wouldn’t have learned of that yet. “I did what I had to do to recover my kahuna.”
“You maimed a boy I raised from childhood.” The dragon’s words were a snarl.
“He’s alive. How many people has your other charge killed, dragon? How many thousands are dead because of Namaka?”
“How many because of you?” the mo‘o snapped, her voice a primal groan, as if the land itself judged Pele.
“It was war. This was the last battle, though. Unless you suggest it should continue.”
The mo‘o craned her neck back, rearing onto her hind legs and leaning with her forelegs upon a tree that creaked under her weight. “Is that what you seek, little one?”
Little one? Pele’s hair sparked aflame and tendrils of smoke began to rise from her fingers.
Kapo stepped around her, positioning herself between Milolii and Pele. “End this. None of us have anything left to gain from a confrontation. Namaka is gone and what is done is done. Pele and I have an arrangement to leave this island.”
The mo‘o growled. Then she lowered herself down from the tree and turned, stalking back off into the bushes, rustling leaves and plants with her passing.
A sudden lightness rushed over Pele, as if a pressure had lifted from her chest.
Kapo spun on her. “Blinded a man?”
A spear of regret lanced through Pele, a memory of how easy it had been, and with it, a surge of disgust. A selfish hope not to see the wererat again, not look upon what she’d done to him. Not to have to remember. The thought of it was a writhing eel in her chest.
No answer would serve, of course. “Let us make ready to leave for Vai‘i.”
11
They swam far offshore, passing myriad skates and rays and fish of ev
ery color as they entered into a reef. Above Namaka, a hammerhead shark swam, paying them no mind. Despite the shock of losing control of her body, this world was beautiful, this feeling of absolute power mingled with fluid grace. And to be this far down, and yet breathing, was like coming home.
You want to be a host?
Nyi Rara’s voice in her mind jolted her from her reverie. The mermaid princess had been silent so long, the whole experience had begun to feel like a dream, like watching herself behold it all. And did she want to be a mermaid? Maybe she did. To never have to go back and face the damage she had done to her people. Maybe all of Sawaiki would be better off without any of its kupua, tapping into powers never meant for humans, while still bound by very human emotions.
How very insightful you are—for a mortal.
Or maybe it was just that she was the Sea Queen and being down here was like finding a part of herself she’d never known was missing. Being a mermaid brought her closer to the sea, and thus more in touch with her own soul—her truest self.
Still, Namaka could not say she would willingly serve as a slave to this spirit.
No one does.
Nyi Rara followed Ake deeper into the reef, the other mermaid lagging behind. Faint lights radiated from somewhere within the reef, granting them illumination despite the sun having long since set.
Namaka’s eyes worked better than ever before. She could see despite the faint light, and a nictitating membrane had now formed over her eyes to protect them. It was like all her senses had expanded, in fact, and were now bombarded with sights, sounds, and smells she’d never imagined lurked beneath the waves.
There were buildings inside the reef, covered in coral and—at their peaks—algae. Those lights she saw, they came from windows, from homes where mer lived. She had entered into the benthic city of Mu without even realizing it. Everywhere she looked, wonders abounded that a human could barely have dreamed of.