by Matt Larkin
Pele folded her arms. “Shifter kupua are fusions of two souls, right? Mortal and animal?”
Kapo grunted and rubbed some moss between two fingers. “A mostly symbiotic relationship, yes. But the progenitor spirits were too powerful for that. They eventually overwhelm any host and unleash their anger and lust and maybe just boredom. The other shifters are their children, and I think the ancients tried to banish all the progenitors back to the Moon. But they had tasted our world, and sometimes they get back here.”
“Can you banish it?”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. I could try, but I’m not exactly a sorcerer of Old Mu, and even they weren’t working alone. They had whole schools working in concord to achieve such ends. If I could train a dozen kāhuna to help me, maybe.”
“So, we have to kill him.”
Kapo nodded, but didn’t seem terribly optimistic about their odds of doing so.
Fine. If they couldn’t kill the pig, Pele would bury him under a mountain of lava. That ought to solve the problem.
Further down the mountain, a scream rang out.
Pele exchanged a look with Kapo, then took off at a dead run, hands blazing by her sides. She did not have time for this. She had to focus!
But that scream had come from the location of one of her sentries.
She burst into a clearing on the lower slopes, the ground exposed rock, and found both sentries lying face down. Pele slowed to a stop, shaking her head, and Kapo plowed into her back, sending them both stumbling forward.
Godsdamn it.
After righting herself, Pele climbed down to the sentries, then rolled one over. The flesh was desiccated, the eyes missing. Hollow sockets wept a thick, putrid fluid.
This was the work of that spirit, not the pig man.
While she dealt with the buffoon, an angry ghost slaughtered her people.
She had barely risen when another set of screams sounded, followed by shouts and groans just to the east.
‘Aumākua! Pele scrambled over the rock ledge then skidded down a muddy slope, coming to a stop on a lower, wooded plateau. She rushed forward, blundering out to another sentry spot.
This time, the pig man was there, his men hanging back in the jungle beyond. One of Pele’s sentries had been smashed to a pulp against a tree by a giant club. The other dangled from Kamapua‘a’s hand tangled in his hair.
“Release him!” Pele shrieked. Her flames spread from her hands, spiraling around her arms, igniting her hair, until her entire upper body was alight.
Grinning, Kamapua‘a tossed the half-conscious man aside then strode toward her. The oversized, hairy oaf hadn’t even bothered with a malo this night. Perhaps he’d been in animal form earlier.
He carried nothing save a club that could have passed for a small tree, and this he let drag on the ground behind him. “He’s free. How about a kiss?” The kupua’s voice shook like he barely had control of himself, and, in fact, fluctuated in timbre slightly.
“Touch me and I’ll burn out your throat.”
“Shit. You don’t want to do that. My throat is one of my best features. Lets me talk, eat, burp. Sing. You should hear me sing. Like a thrush on Haleakalā, singing up the sun. Also, I can count. I mean, at least to ten, sometimes more if I’m not wearing my malo.” Still that tremble in his voice, as though he forced every insolent, foolish word out by an effort of will.
Was that what Kapo had meant by the progenitor spirit taking control? Well good, let the pig man suffer for his crimes.
“You want to fight?” she finally asked. “I’ll fight you. Leave everyone else out of it.”
The pig man grunted, then cocked his head. Another bandit made his way out of the jungle, bearing something in his arms. When he drew near, he tossed it at Pele’s feet.
Moho’s severed head.
Half his flesh had been scraped off, his skull was crushed, and she didn’t even want to imagine how his neck had become that shredded mess.
“Maybe you should have considered keeping others out of it before now, Queen.” It sounded less and less like Kamapua‘a’s real voice. “Maybe then your pet god would’ve fared better. Instead of serving as my come bucket.”
Pele fell back a step, hardly able to process what he’d just said.
“You’ll be put to the same use, but it doesn’t have to be your skull. You can pick the orifice. Choose willingly and I won’t rape you to death.” That definitely wasn’t Kamapua‘a’s voice. The other thing had control of him.
Pele forced her breath to steady. Forced herself not to picture what he had just described. “If you value the lives of your men, tell them to retreat.”
The pig man snorted. “I don’t value a fucking thing save my own pleasure and the squealing cries you mortals make when in pain. I’m going to savor giving every last man, woman, and child the same treatment as you.” He had begun to grow once more, tusks rising up from his lower lips, muscles bulging. The creature towered over her, well beyond seven feet tall. “I’ll rip off their feet so they can’t run. I’ll spread their entrails around the district in a border none can fail to adhere to. And when I’m done, I’ll even kill the snow bitch you so fear. And I shall be King of the Island until the end of time. Men will bring sacrifices from across Sawaiki to appease me. Glory as has not been seen in eras.”
Pele cast another glance at Moho’s skull.
“And all you want to avert this is to marry me?”
“Get down on your knees and suck my—”
“Pele, run!” Kapo yelled from the jungle.
A moment later, a floating apparition burst through the jungle, flying right in front of the pig man who wasn’t Kamapua‘a. That was … was that a giant floating vulva? Pele gaped.
What the fuck was Kapo imbibing?
The pig man stared, transfixed.
A moment later, the vulva took off like a falcon, soaring through the wood. Still, transfixed, the pig man raced after it, knocking aside whole trees like sticks, some ripping out by their roots, even yanking down pieces of the jungle canopy.
Other of Kamapua‘a’s men chased after the apparition as well and Pele took Kapo’s advice, making a break for the jungle.
Her sister caught her arms at the tree line, then pulled her aside. “We can make for the river to cover our scents and hide.”
“Hide?” Pele drew up short. “I have to …”
“You cannot kill it, Pele.”
“I’ll bury it in lava.”
“And if that fails, we are all dead. We need to get Hi‘iaka and get off this entire island.”
Pele shook free of Kapo. “I’m not abandoning Puna to that thing.”
“Now that I’ve seen it, I fear nothing we can do would—”
“I fear to.” The words scorched her throat like bile. “But there is something I can do.”
Kapo stared at her a moment then shut her eyes. A silent tremble ran through her sister.
They found the pig man on the same rock outcropping where the first sentries had died. Kapo’s vulva apparition had embedded itself into the rock and, revoltingly, the pig had pounded his hips against the stone until it cracked, leaving a mess of fluids behind. Some of his men were now trying their luck with the illusion, usually managing only a single thrust before dropping down and grabbing their balls in agony.
“That illusion won’t hold him forever, will it?” Pele asked.
Kapo shook her head. Her sister had said almost nothing the whole walk here.
Not while Pele searched for another solution. Not while she considered rupturing Kīlauea with a torrent sufficient to encase and hold even this thing.
The price …
She could think of only one course guaranteed to save the lives of those in Puna. Of saving Hi‘iaka and those she could not bear to lose.
“I will marry you,” she said, when the boar looked to her. “I will make you the legitimate King of Puna. And you will spare all our lives.”
The boar strode toward her and s
he could have sworn the mountain trembled with his passing. Or maybe it responded to her own fear. No matter what happened now, he would hurt her.
It had hurt when he’d tried to force himself on her on Mauna Kea. And now he wanted to hurt her.
How odd, to now think she missed the imbecile.
“I want Kamapua‘a,” she blurted when he drew near.
The boar man shrugged. “He can have you when I’m finished.”
She shrieked as her new husband lunged, caught her head in one hand, and forced her face down onto the rock.
She’d spent years learning to meditate. To send her mind somewhere else. Lonomakua had taught her so many things.
Pele wasn’t sure she could manage it this time.
He wanted to hear her scream, to cry, to wail. Her suffering pleasured him.
She would give him no such satisfaction.
First, she would submit and save her people. Then she’d find a way to send this ghostfucker back to the farthest reaches of Pō.
11
Days Gone
Flames leapt over the floorboards, igniting the weavings, singeing tapa and leaping up the windows.
Pele screamed, her heart slamming against her ribs, even as she made a mad scramble along the floor. Like some monster from beyond Pō, the fire responded to her fear, rising up in a simmering column, dancing before the door and trapping her inside.
Black smoke had begun to fill the entire house, sending her into choking spasms even as she crawled away from the flames.
‘Aumākua! She was going to die! She was going to die!
“Pele!” Kilioe’s voice sounded far away.
“Help!” she shrieked. “I can’t get through the flames!”
A rafter snapped, spilling embers and dust over her, covering whatever answer Kilioe might have offered. Pele screamed again, backing away on her arse, though there was hardly anywhere left to go.
A spark flared from the fallen timber, throwing embers over her arm. It stung for an instant.
Then her entire right hand burst into flame. “Gahaaa!” She waved her arm frantically, trying to beat down the fires, but the more she flailed, the higher they grew. Until they had spread to her left hand too.
And they kept burning. Turned to miniature infernos, searing her face with their heat. Crackling, dancing, hypnotic. Burning … but not burning her.
The flames grew white hot and ignited her hair. They spread over her shoulders in a fiery mantle. Smoke billowed from her mouth and clouded her vision. But she wasn’t choking on it anymore.
The roof collapsed.
Pele felt herself looking up as it fell, watching it slowly plummet toward her, ready to crush her to pulp. A terrible, unbearable heat welled up in her chest. It ripped through her insides like a spear. And it ruptured outward, spewing from her mouth in a conflagration that erupted in all directions.
A roar, and all the air burned away.
She woke next to a crackling campfire, eyes burning, head throbbing, and throat so very, very dry.
As if in response to the thought, a man leaned in, a strange man with mis-matched tattoos on his chest and arms, and eyes as blue as the sea. He tipped a gourd toward her lips, spilling cool waters that stung her parched tongue. ‘Aumākua, it felt like slurping down ashes.
Her stomach heaved, and she spit up a black slurry. Those were godsdamned ashes in her mouth.
Moaning, she managed to sit with a little help from the stranger. She was outside the palace, by the outer wall. The women’s house and main house looked like a typhoon had swept over them. Flattened out completely, what foundations remained reduced to charred black husks.
Based on the scorch marks left, she could see what looked like … fuck … those had been bodies.
“What in Lua-o-Milu?” Pele asked.
The stranger grimaced, shaking his head. “Don’t invoke the name of that place or its goddess. You don’t want her attention.”
Pele looked back to him.
“Who are you? A kahuna?”
“Yes. I’m Lonomakua, a pyromancer. Because of which, I knew it would manifest in you, if not quite like this. I convinced your mother that another pyromancer would prove a better tutor for you than one of your father’s dragons. You need someone more like yourself to help you master the Art of Fire.”
What the fuck …? Oh, ‘aumākua. Ever since Namaka had gone … More than two godsdamned years, Pele had been waiting. Expecting to control the sea like her sister had.
She had seen her mother once in that time. “It may be different for you,” the woman had said.
Different.
“I did this?” she asked Lonomakua.
The kahuna fixed her with a gentle smile that seemed to say, ‘you know exactly what happened.’
She did. Her bleeds had come and gone, and she’d gone to the sea expecting something that never came. Then she figured, if she was a woman, there was no need to wait to enjoy the pleasures of her body and she’d taken a boy to her bed.
Which turned out awkward and more uncomfortable than she’d expected, especially with him whining she’d hurt him.
Sore and frustrated, she’d drunk some awa and gone to sleep. And woken up to find the godsdamned house on fire.
“My hands caught flame. My hair, my whole body ignited.”
Lonomakua nodded slowly, placing his hands on his knees and looking vexingly calm considering she’d just immolated her home and ‘aumākua knew how many people with it. “That’s why you cannot stay here. Just as your sister had to go and train with her powers, you must as well.”
“You’re taking me.”
He flashed a wry smile and extended a hand to her. “I’m giving you a chance to learn where you cannot hurt anyone else. You are angry at the whole world, aren’t you? But your anger hurts you most of all. Anger is a poison, clouding your vision. Preventing you from seeing what you are given while you grieve for what you were denied.”
“I’m denied a life of my own! I’m denied a godsdamned family! My parents don’t want me, my sister is gone, and I …” She faltered. She’d never spoken of what she’d done to the other sister, though the child still haunted her dreams from time to time. Still, she wouldn’t tell this kahuna that. “I have no one.”
Lonomakua nodded, blue eyes twinkling, still holding out his hand to her. “Now, you have me.”
When it had come time to leave, Pele realized she had no one she truly wished to bid aloha to. Based on what the kahuna had said, her mother had come here, had seen what had happened, and had not even bothered to wait for Pele to wake up before leaving again.
Kilioe meant nothing. Only Namaka had ever been beside her, and she was long gone.
No one here would truly miss her, so why should she grieve about leaving them? No, Pele had no reason not to go with Lonomakua, wherever he wished to lead her.
As it turned out, that was deep into the jungle, on a hike into the mountains. Rather late, it crossed her mind he might mean her harm. Alone, far from the village, no one would hear her screams if Lonomakua decided to assault her, tried to eat her, or do whatever else suited his fancy.
But whenever he looked her way, she saw only kindness in his face, even if she could not guess what went on behind his eyes.
“I want to understand what you meant before,” she finally said, huffing with the effort of the long hike.
“I know.”
“If you already knew I wanted answers, what are you waiting for?”
“Up here,” he said, pointing to a large rock outcropping. He climbed up to it, having to use handholds in several places, before heaving himself onto a shelf. Then he offered her a hand.
Seeming hardly winded, he yanked her up there with him. On the outcropping, they were above the canopy of the lower jungle, looking down on treetops thick with thousands of white birds. Like tiny snowflakes. She couldn’t see through the foliage, though. The branches had grown so tightly together, the leaves so voluminous, that it was more li
ke looking down at the sea and having no idea what went on beyond.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
Lonomakua nodded. “Nature often is. Beauty and majesty mold together, though we can forget the terrible might contained within the natural world, if we do not take it with care.” He pointed into the distance. “Beyond these mountains lays the largest volcano in Uluka‘a. Though it hasn’t erupted in years, its crater continually smolders and minor tremors from it shake the island. If you look very carefully, you can even see a plume of smoke rising up above the peaks.”
Pele folded her arms. “You’re taking me to a volcano. An active volcano, in fact.”
“Imagine reality is a composite opposing and interrelating energies manifesting singularly beyond the expanse of Pō. Within our frame of reference, the Mortal Realm, they all coexist, but not in equal balance in all locations. Certain points lie closer to the Otherworlds and thus are flush with mana. Now, one might argue all mana is mana, but you, with a particular affinity for one of the creative energies over all others, may find it most practical to draw mana from fonts of that sort of energy.”
Huh. Pele unfolded her arms. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you drunk? Did you down a gourd of awa before we set out, old man?”
Lonomakua seemed unperturbed, offering up only a slight frown at her jibe. “You lack self-control, Pele, and I can help you with that, though because of your nature, your passions will always burn brighter than most people’s. The first step to controlling yourself is to control your thoughts. The nature of those shapes the nature of your reality. When you resort to coarse language and boorish reactions, even internally, you risk shaping your perception of the world into something equally boorish. You risk clouding your judgment by trying to impress anyone, most of all yourself, with your disdain for the things you don’t understand.”
She snorted. “So what, don’t use profanity?”
He raised a finger. “Not exactly, but at least this time you actually stopped to think rather than react on impulse. Thought alone elevates us above our baser instincts and allows us to achieve anything resembling greatness. When we disdain that which we don’t understand, we do violence to ourselves, to our own minds.”