by Matt Larkin
“You should not have come here, mer.”
“You know what I am?”
The reptilian face leaned in so close she could smell its putrid breath. Its tongue brushed dangerously close to her eye. “I smell you.” The dragon was putting so much pressure on her chest she could barely breathe. Instinct, fear demanded she lance him with the sea. But dead, he could be no help to her.
“I was raised by a mo‘o!” she blurted. “I loved her!”
“What do you know of love, mermaid? You reek of one who tasted the flesh of my kind.”
A massive surge in the water exploded upward, drenching them both. In the chaos, the dragon released her and scampered backward. Namaka hadn’t called the wave, but it gave her the chance to roll to her feet, gasping for breath.
As the wave broke away, it left a man in its wake, massive and covered in tattoos. His eyes were pools of inky blackness, set too far apart, mouth seeming perpetually set to reveal his shark maw. From his back jutted a dorsal fin, while other fins appeared on his arms and legs.
He rose from a crouch, black eyes locked on her face.
“You must be—”
With Otherworldly speed, he flung himself forward and wrapped a meaty hand around her neck. Instinct took over and she reached for the sea. Before she could summon its aid, the merman flung her upward. She collided with the ceiling, the side of her head cracking against stone, then plummeted to hit the floor almost as hard.
Unable to form a thought, she lay there groaning, trying to catch a breath.
From the corner of her eye she saw the man walking forward, changing as he did so. Muscles bulged out, gray scales breaking through them. Worse still, his jaw seemed to unhinge, becoming impossibly wide while teeth the size of knives jutted from his gums. The creature’s eyes grew black as night and spread out, jutting to the sides like a true hammerhead’s.
The Nanaue mer seemed almost able to become a shark—or at least even more shark-like than other mer. The thing still had hands—albeit ones ending in clawed fingers.
The change completed, he surged forward, jaws wide. ‘Aumākua, he wanted to eat her. A twist of her hand summoned a column of water that struck Kauhuhu in midair, flinging him against the cave wall.
“Now,” she said, stumbling to her feet. “If you would just listen to me for—”
The Nanaue recovered almost instantly, flinging himself forward in a blur. She sent another stream of water surging at him but he anticipated this one, leaping aside and then lunging again. Namaka hurled herself to the ground and rolled under the mer, sending fresh jolts of pain lancing through her bruised body.
“Stop it! I just want to talk!”
Her answer was a rock flying at her face faster than she could even summon water to deflect it. She tried to dodge but it clipped her shoulder, wrenching it out of its socket and sending her spinning end over end through the air. She landed near the water, staggered, wanting more than anything to weep with the pain.
She pulled a spiral of water around her arm—the only thing she could think to do—even as the wereshark yanked her to her feet again. His massive maw descended toward her throat like he intended to literally bite her head off. Namaka screamed, the sound broken by her split lip and bruised ribs. She jerked her hand forward, sending a lance of water piercing the other mer’s torso. Or trying.
Kauhuhu dropped her and stumbled backward, a bloody welt appearing in a spot where her attack should have driven a hole clean through him. He looked down at the wound for a moment, then up at her. Though no emotion could be read in his empty eyes, rage radiated off him like water vapor.
She had fallen to her knees when he dropped her and now spun and dove into the water, forming her tail. With her shoulder dislocated, Nyi Rara couldn’t swim straight, couldn’t see straight through the haze of pain, but she dashed through the tunnel. More than once, she collided with the wall.
And then there was the entrance, back to open sea. A clawed hand closed around her tail, yanking her back into the cave with such force she actually breached the surface and flew for an instant before hitting the waters again. The moment she did, the shark was in her face, trying to bite it off.
Nyi Rara sent an unfocused blast of water surging outward in all directions. It succeeded in pushing Kauhuhu backward, though not half as far as she’d expected it to. Again she dove deep, this time shooting a jet of water from her good hand to speed her flight. Without being able to use one arm, the maneuver threw her off balance and flung her into the seabed.
Ignoring the scratches that caused, she propelled herself again, this time upward. Her course was erratic, painful, nauseating. But it was fast.
In one direction and then another, she hurled herself away from the island and out to sea. The ocean rushed past her in a blur, and still she dared not slow, dared not stop calling upon the jets.
In her mind, her meeting with Kauhuhu had gone a little differently. After hours of stumbling around in the sea, she had been fortunate enough to find a merman who helped set her shoulder. And that hurt. Her mermaid body was more resilient than a human’s—a human would likely have been dead—but still she had taken a rather extreme beating.
And how had Kauhuhu even survived her attack, much less kept coming after her? He was so fast. ‘Aumākua, he was fast. It gave her no time to form an attack, to direct her powers.
Now, Nyi Rara sat on the seafloor some distance from the Cave of the Eel, rubbing her shoulder. How in the name of all the ‘aumākua had Kamalo ever gotten help from that thing? It was monstrous. More monstrous than she’d imagined even a Nanaue could be. Maybe that was how he got to be their Voice. Having so powerful an ally against Aiaru might make all the difference. But she had no clue how to reach the man inside the monster. He was consumed with rage and violence and hunger.
Still, he tolerated the dragon’s presence. Piika had been with Kauhuhu since Kamalo was a young man, always serving the mer. And Kamalo himself had first won the support of the dragon. Only then had the shark king allowed him to speak.
She was fairly certain the Nanaue was still out hunting her. At least, she had seen no one come or go from the cave.
Maybe, if she could get the chance to speak to Piika alone … and if not, Kauhuhu would probably kill her this time.
The alternative, however, was to go back to her people empty-handed. To surrender to Aiaru and beg for mercy.
Spirits were not known for mercy.
Not really much of an option.
Still, it took every drop of willpower she could muster to make herself swim off the seafloor and back toward the cave. She tried to keep quiet, but there wasn’t much chance the Nanaue wouldn’t notice her if he were in.
This time, though, she never left the water. It was her element and the place she was safest. And, truth be told, a shiver of fear ran through her at the thought of treading upon that cave floor again.
“Piika,” she called out, treading water some distance from the land. “Piika, please.”
The dragon slunk forward from some unseen depth of the cave, coming to stand at the water’s edge and stare at her. “You have a death wish, mer.”
“No. I have a wish to live, and to help others do the same. Sometimes … sometimes I blame myself for Milolii’s death. I loved her, I did. But she chose her fate, chose to sacrifice herself to try to protect people. To save lives. Sawaiki was under attack by a taniwha.”
“I know this.”
“I didn’t ask Milolii to sacrifice herself, I wasn’t even there. But because of her sacrifice we defeated the taniwha. And still the he‘e claimed Mu. When they are finished with the mer kingdoms, Sawaiki is next. You have to know that.”
The dragon grumbled, but didn’t speak. Nor, fortunately, did it turn away or try to summon the Nanaue. That was an encouraging sign, at least.
Namaka extended a hand in pleading. “All I’m asking is for you to get Kauhuhu to speak with me like he spoke with Kamalo. To give me a chance to make my case. I
am offering the Nanaue the chance to return to Mu and reclaim their rightful place as one of our ‘ohanas.”
“And if your case does not convince the shark king, he will kill you. He is beset by a hunger that can never be sated.”
Namaka winced. “Give me the chance to speak to him.”
Piika snarled, then shook his head. “Your friend placated Kauhuhu with a gift of a pig. I suggest you try to do the same.”
Namaka nodded. Fine. She would bring a pig. If needs be, she would bring an army of pigs. “Tell him I come offering him the chance to reclaim his birthright. Aid me now, dragon, and I swear I will repay you one day.”
Piika grumbled and laid down in the cave. “Best find the pig.”
14
They had settled in, back into Puna. Those who had survived.
Pele toyed with the idea of taking a war party to hunt down her so-called husband. She’d have had him split from skull to crotch. Would have roasted his balls and eaten them and thrown his wretched cock into the sea.
Her jaw was a swollen ruin and it hurt to move. Muscles she didn’t know she had protested constantly, keeping her from proper sleep. And the memory …
Much as she wanted to visit vengeance upon the one who had defiled her, maybe the people needed her here.
She sat with Naia’s brother, by the shore, watching the waves lap against the rocks, glowering. She had never loved the sea half as much as her sisters had. And now, staring into it, knowing the dire powers hidden beneath the waters, she could not help but feel a sense of horror.
An unnamable insignificance to her life, her queenship, all of it paltry compared to the unfathomable entities lurking out in the Worldsea. Yes, the sea filled her with disquiet.
Maybe focusing on that horror would keep her mind from the other.
“Naia will be all right,” Milohai said.
“Kamalo said that?” Pele desperately needed to keep her attention on this. Everything else … she’d saved her people. Everything else was …
The young man didn’t answer. Was it his own wishful thinking?
“Milohai, listen to me carefully. I am now your sister as well. But I’m also your queen. It is my duty to protect you. I’m sorry I failed to protect Naia. But if there is some curse in the night, I’m going to find it and break it. Do you understand?”
He nodded, eyes wide as if unable to believe she would, or could, do such a thing. Of course, she had no idea how to break a curse, if there even was one, but he didn’t need to know that. He needed someone to tell him everything would be all right, that life would go on.
“I want you to tell all the villagers to stay inside tonight.”
“Believe me, they already do.”
“What does Kamalo say now?”
“He prays all night long, trying to keep us safe.”
Good. Let the old kahuna shelter the people. “Go on then. I have to deal with this myself.”
As expected, Lonomakua sat by the house where they had once more returned Hi‘iaka. Probably, the kahuna had slept little if any, although now he sat in meditative repose, eyes closed, face turned to the late afternoon sun.
He and Kapo took turns calling and cajoling Hi‘iaka’s soul, trying to keep it from fleeing into Pō.
As Pele drew near, Lonomakua’s eyes popped open. “Any progress?”
She paused, considering. It was possible the kahuna knew what had attacked Naia, or even why. He always held some things back, claiming the best way to teach her was to show her how to learn. He claimed the best kāhuna separated themselves from their subjects, whatever that meant.
He wanted her to figure this out herself, as he so often forced her to do.
The man rarely spoke much of himself, either. Once, late at night, she’d asked about his family. He’d said he’d had children, that they had died long ago. It was the only time he’d spoken of them, his words slow, so strained she’d never raised the question again. It was the only time she’d seen the kahuna so shaken.
Finally, Pele shook her head. “When we returned to Puna, I felt like … like a power had been here. Something I couldn’t identify, something filled with mana but dark. An akua, perhaps.”
Lonomakua leaned back, perhaps waiting for an actual question, as he was prone to.
“Help me.”
“Help you how?”
“Pyromancy. Help me look into the flame and see. I need more clues to overcome this thing.”
Lonomakua waved his hand as if to motion for her to build a fire. Of course, pyromancy would have proved easier in the dark, but she didn’t really want to await sunset, knowing whatever it was might return at dusk or soon thereafter.
Pele brought leaves and debris—some of it was wet, but there was plenty of scrap wood not yet cleaned away after the taniwha’s attack. It took several snaps of her fingers to ignite the soggy kindling, but eventually the pile caught. Twitching her fingers, she coaxed the flame high, into a respectable campfire.
With a grunt, she settled herself into a position similar to Lonomakua’s and stared into the flame that rose between them.
It was always hard, letting go. Letting her mind release itself from the ceaseless churn in order to fall into the trance and claim her sole access to the Sight.
“Show me what’s happening here,” she said, her vision already blurry at the edges.
“It doesn’t work like that, as well you know. I can show you nothing save what you are prepared to see. You must look yourself.” Lonomakua slipped into a chant, a hypnotic mele that seemed to yank her down into the crackling flames.
Such chanting meant nothing, really. Just a catalyst for her own mind, to lull away her conscious thoughts and allow her to perceive through senses she would not otherwise possess.
Heat built behind her eyes, boiling down into her cheeks, and flowing through her veins like tiny streams of magma. Everything started to fall away. The world vanished into the shift of light and darkness. A thousand shades of warmth locked in a dance whose pattern mirrored the unfolding paths of the cosmos.
Never precisely repeating, yet perfect, even inevitable in its flow.
Fire is life, Lonomakua said, from time to time.
And she was part of that dance of light and shadow, swept away in the flicker of it, at once ephemeral and eternal. The flames were born in one instant and dead the next, replaced by self-similar recreations of themselves.
A force … so thick with mana … walking through the desolate, empty district of Puna in the night. A man … looking from house to house … looking for something.
Looking for … for her?
Pele’s breath had stopped, seizing up in her lungs. Her heartbeat had become a slowing drum, pounding inside her chest and reverberating up into her skull.
The figure turned, looked at her.
Saw her, despite the veil of time between them, as if he knew she peered back at him from the future.
And she knew him, even as he knew her.
Kū-Waha-Ilo.
Her father.
Pele fell over backward, clutching her chest and gasping. An eel was crawling down her brain, squeezing its way into her heart.
Then Lonomakua was there, holding her hand. “Breathe.” With his other hand, he cupped her cheek. “Pele, breathe. Look at me. Be now.”
She blinked, staring into those blue eyes of his. Beyond him, the sun had begun to set. She blinked again.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.
“I saw Kū-Waha-Ilo. Here, in Puna. Maybe when we were in the lava tubes.”
And Lonomakua did not seem surprised. He helped her sit. He ought to have been shocked. Pele hadn’t seen Kū-Waha-Ilo since before Hi‘iaka was born. In fact, she’d barely seen her father even before that. He’d left Uluka‘a, that much seemed certain.
Left there and come to Sawaiki? Why?
For a moment, she just massaged her temples. That drum had left her head pounding. “I think maybe he left something behind. Th
ere was a … presence, out in the night. Like a … a disruption in the world, an anger seething in the shadows.”
Lonomakua’s face remained unreadable, save perhaps for a spark of curiosity in his eyes. But curiosity about the subject, or about her grasp of it? He watched her as though waiting for her to say more. The latter, then. Another test of her knowledge.
She folded her arms and glared at the kahuna. Considering she felt like she’d spent the night in Lua-o-Milu, she was in no mood for tests. “Just tell me.”
“The passions of a moment can cloud perceptions, make it hard to consider all possibilities. Hard to think clearly when the loudest sound you hear is the pounding of your own heart.”
At that, Pele shook a flaming fist at him in mock threat. Sadly, he didn’t even flinch.
“It felt like there was a presence …” he prompted.
So either there was one, or she had conjured up her fears out of her own mind. Pacing, she considered that. She might be able to attribute the sensations, even the oddly swaying trees, to nerves in the dark, but the eyeless bird was another matter. She hadn’t imagined that sickening sight. And the figure in the volcano—she’d seen that.
The ordeal with Kamapua‘a had prevented her and Lonomakua from talking half so much as she’d have liked. With a sigh she recounted the experience.
Lonomakua didn’t move during her telling, kept his hands on his knees until she had finished.
“So?” she asked, at last.
“What do you think?”
She threw up her hands. If she already knew what to think she wouldn’t have climbed back up here. “An angry spirit? A Nightmarcher, perhaps? A lapu?” The most feared ghosts across Sawaiki were said to be born from souls not properly sent away by kāhuna, consumed by their rage. A ghost lingering on the edge of the human world would eventually become either an ‘aumakua—a protective ancestor—or something worse. Lose itself in its anger and pain.