by Matt Larkin
“You’re afraid to let go,” Lonomakua said, his face now visible across the dimmed fire. “For a moment, you teetered on the edge of eternity, ready to connect with the universe. And in fear, you pulled back.”
Pele bit back any response. Yes. She had been frightened, instinctively righting herself when she began to fall. Who in Lua-o-Milu wouldn’t do so? She blew out a breath. “Tell me more about Maui.”
“What do you want to know?”
“About Toona.”
Lonomakua rubbed his hands before the fire, silent for a time. “Toona was a taniwha, a dragon of the deep which legend claims served the god Kanaloa. No man can say for certain why Toona came to Sawaiki. Perhaps Kanaloa directed the dragon. Perhaps the dragon merely sought food. Perhaps it sought out its mo‘o cousins that had come to Sawaiki in Maui’s company. In those days, taniwha were more common.
“What is held to be true, though, is that Maui lived on in a valley beneath the volcano Haleakalā, on the island of Maui‘i. He lived there with his wife, Hina, and their son, watching over the inhabitants.
“Oh, they had found strife aplenty on Sawaiki, for the islands were home, at that time, to the menehune. Another kind of akua, ones tied to the Earth and jealous of their secrets.
“Regardless, after a long struggle, Maui and Manua, the first king of that island, had established a new home for their people. The Sun akua, La, however, sought to enslave mankind as their god-king, and many worshipped him.
“Maui left him be for some time, until the sacrifices grew too great. Legend claims it was Hina that drove Maui to fight La. So, Maui climbed Haleakalā and confronted the sun god, bound his limbs and broke his legs. They fought … a long time.
“Before Maui returned from the mountain, Toona attacked his home, bringing with it a kai e‘e that flooded the lowlands, including the house where Hina and the children lived. So many people died that day …
“Maui hunted Toona for what the dragon had done. He hunted it from its lair in Moloka‘i, all the way back to Mau‘i, where he burned it and buried it with the fires of Haleakalā. He buried the dragon alive in a torrent of lava, entombing it to suffer for what Toona had taken from him, in the very site of the dragon’s crime.”
Pele pushed herself up. “Maui could make an entire volcano erupt?”
“Yes, if pushing himself to the limit, though tales claim he paid a terrible price for it. But his power was never so great as yours might become. Your flame is not stolen, Pele, it is within your own breast, pulsing and raging and answering your call.”
“I-I can make a volcano erupt? And we’re living beneath one? That … does not sound like a good idea.”
Lonomakua chuckled and shook his head. “That’s part of the point, child. You need to learn control. There will come a day in your life when you require every drop of power and mastery and discipline you can manage.”
“You saw that in the flames?”
But Lonomakua offered no further answer.
After that, even after she healed, she’d avoided that tree. Looked on it with anger and fear and—though she wouldn’t have admitted it—shame.
Until finally Lonomakua caught her watching it one day. “Are you going to let it beat you? Are you going to spend the rest of your life afraid of it?”
Growling, she forced herself to climb the banyan again.
And she’d fallen again too.
He didn’t judge her, though. Didn’t look at her with scorn or frustration or anything but expectation. It made it worse. He fucking knew she’d keep at it until she scaled it.
And she did.
“What do all those tattoos mean?” Pele asked Lonomakua, a few months later, while they practiced climbing a jungle-covered slope. “I mean, I’ve seen similar tattoos on kāhuna and some on warriors, but some of yours are different.”
“You have a keen eye.”
“Not an answer.” The better part of a year together, and she was catching on to his games. Even as he taught her power, he wanted more than that. He wanted her to stretch her mind, to be able to treat even a conversation like some game of kōnane, moving pieces to uncover someone’s deeper thoughts.
Some days, he’d done nothing but discuss logical fallacies, forcing her to continually reevaluate her opinions on almost everything her other tutors had ever taught her. At first, that had been jarring, but she’d gotten used to it. Which was usually about when he tended to push her mind in some other random, unexpected direction.
“Before the continents sank during the Deluge, in Old Mu, tattoos were used to harness mana, as a school of the Art. Most such knowledge is lost, of course, but a little of it remains. For many warriors and even many kāhuna, the tattoos they bear are remnants of that knowledge. The tattoos have lost their efficacy, so far as their original purpose is concerned, but they do offer a boon in confidence for the bearers.”
Pele huffed, pulling herself up onto a tree branch to look out over the jungle. Most days, Lonomakua paired physical exertion with his lessons, claiming a healthy mind and a healthy body were interrelated. Pele had no idea if that was really true, but she couldn’t believe the limits of her stamina.
Lonomakua had told her she could use her own mana to give herself endurance, obviating the need for rest for a time, pushing herself to superhuman levels, even. The more her normal physical limits expanded, the more effective those techniques would become.
“It is said Maui trained many pyromancers in his day,” Lonomakua continued. “Those who accompanied him across the Worldsea became the kāhuna of Sawaiki, while others remained in Kahiki and here in Uluka‘a. He taught some of them what he knew of the tattoo Art of Old Mu, which is largely the origin of what you see among the kāhuna these days. A dying art, of course, though some claim certain mer ‘ohana also preserve it.”
Pele chuckled, shaking her head.
“That amuses you?”
“Not at all. I’m just a little overwhelmed by how much random shit you know. You clearly never slept through a single lecture, did you?”
“Do you sleep through my lectures?”
Pele snorted and hopped down from the branch. “No. You always turn them into conversations and verbal puzzles.”
“Perhaps that, too, is a lesson.”
She shook her head. “Yeah, I don’t think I’d be much of a teacher. I’m not interested in trying to impart wisdom to anyone.”
“You might be, one day.”
Pele flinched. It was always like that with him. He knew a lot more than he said, without doubt. Maybe he even knew about her murdering her sister. The sister Kū-Waha-Ilo had wanted her to raise, to teach, to do with what Lonomakua now did with her.
And suddenly, the pressure of it, the guilt, hit her like a lava flow, sweeping her feet out from under her. Pain clenched in her chest and tears welled in her eyes. She slipped down into the dirt, heedless of mud caking her pa‘u. Even breathing had become hard, like someone was driving a knife into her lungs.
Lonomakua knelt in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You have something you want to tell me?”
Oh, she’d wanted to tell him many times, over the past months. But how was she to admit she’d done such a thing? If he learned of it, she might lose him. She could see him, walking away, shaking his head in disgust. Maybe he’d find another pupil, maybe not, but he’d never look at her again.
This man, this kahuna had stuck by her side every day for the better part of a year, never faltering. Never easy, either. Always pushing her, demanding she push herself.
He was the only one she had.
But the words started spilling from her mouth, pouring out against her will. A confession of guilt. She had murdered what seemed a monster, and thus become a monster herself. And she could not stop speaking, could not hold back the flow of pain.
His eyes, those ocean-blue eyes, just held hers. Deep, and not containing the judgment they ought to have.
When she’d said it all, admitted all her wea
knesses and vileness, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
And that was when she knew.
It didn’t matter what she’d done: he would not leave her as long as she needed him.
“It is human nature to dwell on the past,” Lonomakua said in the evening, while staring into their campfire. “To replay it over and over in our minds, as if it were so easy to turn back the river of time and change its course. But history is immutable. What has happened has happened and will not come undone. All our mistakes compound to make us who we are, in this moment. We cannot change them. We can, however, learn from them.”
“If I had it to do over …” Pele mused.
Lonomakua poked at the fire. “You will not find a specific instance repeats exactly, but it may repeat in kind. You may find yourself, one day, faced with a similar choice. To take a harder path, make the more difficult climb. On such a day, you have the chance to make the mistakes of your past count for more than self-loathing.”
Pele sighed, wishing she could see whatever he saw in the flames. He’d claimed pyromancy would come in time, when she learned to clear her mind and embrace meditation. “You mean we can atone for the things we’ve done?”
“Atonement?” He shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. That’s a question philosophers through the ages have struggled with. Does anything we do now ever abrogate us from responsibility for our pasts? That seems unlikely, and yet, perhaps we are still compelled to try. Maybe the effort to make up for our mistakes is the best we can ever do and the most the future can expect from us.”
“Huh.” She glanced at him. “You don’t seem like someone who makes too many mistakes.”
He looked to her now, mouth hanging slightly agape as if she had finally, after so long, rendered him speechless. Slowly, the kahuna shook his head. “You have no idea, child. No one gets through life without making mistakes. No one. The longer you live, the more they compound upon themselves, in vicious cycles of pain and loss and regret. We become the sum of our scars.”
A sudden thought occurred to her then. Had he failed a student before? Was that why he was like this with her? Was he trying to atone for some mistake as a teacher in the past?
But Pele knew he would not offer her the answer, even if she asked. Not yet. Not this easily.
Everything with Lonomakua was a challenge for her to overcome.
Always a valuable challenge.
16
The waters around the Cave of the Eel were aflame with the setting sun as Namaka returned, swimming back into the place that had almost cost her her life when she was at full strength.
Instead, she climbed onto the rock surface and tossed the soaked, squealing pig before her. She opened her mouth to call for the Nanaue king, but he was already there, had already swept the animal up in his arms. His speed was uncanny, horrifying. He had crossed from the dark depths of the cave to stand before her in two bounds.
Without bothering to kill the animal, the mer bit down onto its spine. The animal’s shrieks of pain and terror made Namaka’s skin crawl, even as blood splattered up over Kauhuhu’s face.
She forced herself not to react. Such savagery was no doubt meant to unnerve her. He didn’t need to know it had worked.
Kauhuhu tossed aside the pig carcass and it landed with a wet thwack. He cracked his neck, the sound echoing too loudly off the cave walls, then stalked closer, towering over Namaka, staring down at her with those black eyes.
“You are brave, mermaid.” His breath stank of decaying fish, his voice a baritone that seemed to vibrate in her torso. “Few ever escape this cave. Fewer still come back for more.”
“I come as a representative of Mu.”
The man leaned in closer, lowering his face to meet her gaze. “Why should I care about a dying kingdom?”
“You know what’s happened?”
“I don’t care.”
“Dakuwaqa has risen up against Kuula.”
Kauhuhu paused, expression unreadable. Even with him leaning down, she had to crane her neck to see his eyes. More than likely the Nanaue could smell fear—and she was afraid.
“If the Nanaue ‘Ohana helped oust Aiaru and the Kuula, Dakuwaqa would welcome your ‘ohana back into the kingdom in a place of honor. In ages past, Nanaue were warriors, the front lines of Mu. That is the place you deserve.”
Kauhuhu flicked a bulbous tongue over his pointed teeth. If that was supposed to intimidate her, he must have forgotten she had shark teeth when she wanted them, too. She even debated letting them descend. He spoke before she could decide on the matter. “You think Mu rules the world. Always telling us where we can and cannot swim, hunt, breed. Your queen exiled us. Maybe when Mu is gone, we will swim a little freer.”
Namaka shook her head. “That was Aiaru, and you know it. You’ve heard the he‘e have taken Mu, yes? They hunt us still. I come to ask your aid in reclaiming our homeland and overthrowing that tyrant.”
“So we can be the subjects of Dakuwaqa instead.”
“One ‘ohana must always hold the throne. But in more than two thousand years with Dakuwaqa ruling Mu, did the Nanaue ever face disgrace? Were your people ever afforded anything save glory and fear? Besides, if Mu falls, you cannot possibly believe the he‘e will not seek to master you as well.”
“Mortals.”
“Conniving, murdering monsters bent on controlling everything below and above the sea.”
Kauhuhu placed a meaty hand on her shoulder. It was so large it engulfed the top of her arm. Namaka had to fight the urge to squirm in his grasp. It would have been pointless—she couldn’t overpower him—and would have made her look weak.
Instead, she gritted her teeth. They both knew Kauhuhu was in control here.
“What would you give me in exchange for my aid?”
“What do you want?” Her voice sounded so tiny next to his. She hated it.
“Command of all the Muian army. Name me your general.”
That position wasn’t remotely hers to give. Even if Kuku Lau took the throne, there was no guarantee she could get her sister to agree to this. Except, if Namaka offered it to Kauhuhu, Kuku Lau couldn’t well refuse without risking having her entire coup turned on its end.
If Mu was destroyed, the Nanaue could do as they pleased in any event. At least until the he‘e enslaved them. That thought alone—these savage mer as a directed force of terror and destruction—was enough to make her consider almost any deal to prevent it.
She had to hope Kuku Lau could forgive her. “I will do so.”
“Then it is done. And the Nanaue will feast on Kuula. I shall devour Aiaru, body and soul.”
Of course, Nyi Rara had heard the old legends. That the Nanaue ‘Ohana could shift their forms, almost as completely as actual spirits. That, when they wished, they became a vicious cross between a mer and a hammerhead shark. She had heard the tales, yes, but seeing it was something else entirely.
Beneath the moon they swam, a sleek, silent army of sharks descending on Uluhai like a storm. More than a hundred of them, hungry, predatory.
So much her people had already suffered, and now, thanks to her, more Muians would die, ripped to pieces and sent back to Avaiki. But what choice had Kuku Lau left Nyi Rara now? What choice had Aiaru left any of them?
Still, she cringed to watch as the storm passed into the trenches of the old colony. As the first sentries rose up against them and were torn to shreds. She tasted their blood in the waters, even from far above. It set her scales tingling, her shark teeth descending of their own accord.
There was no fighting the frenzy that followed. Not inside her, not inside any of them.
So much blood, it saturated the mind, it bombarded like a drum beating inside her skull.
Aiaru’s royal guard swept forward, trying to hold the Nanaue at the threshold, jabbing with tridents, flinging harpoons, some clinging to hammerheads and slashing with coral knives.
In the space of a few heartbeats, the trench had become a blinding p
ink slurry of blood and torn flesh.
Nyi Rara pushed forward, struggling to pull her mind from the frenzy.
Failing.
A guard charged at her with a coral lance. She twisted out of the way, pushed herself to the side with a jet of water, and came up behind him. Bit down on his neck until his spine crunched beneath her teeth. Succulent blood exploded down her gullet. Nyi Rara jerked her head to the side, shredding the hapless guard.
Nearby, a hammerhead bit a mer’s arm off at the elbow. An instant later, that shark took a trident in an eye stalk. It convulsed, thrashed, and slowly reverted to human form as the mer spirit fled the dying host.
Hands around the throat of another mermaid, teeth closing in on her face, Nyi Rara found herself wondering if either side yet recalled what they fought for. If, once the blood began to flow, something else took over them. Something that relished the death, the pain, the violence. Deep! They were born of the Elder Deep …
Predators …
A surge of revulsion mixed with her elation as she bit off the other mermaid’s nose and gnawed through her cheek. Perhaps the symbiotic bond shared with Namaka allowed her this hint of self-aware introspection, torturous as it was. A consciousness of her own savagery even as she remained powerless to deny it, unsure if she would even want to.
More and more mer fell before the savage Nanaue. Once, long ago, they had been the elite of Mu, so Nyi Rara had heard. Now, perhaps the Dakuwaqan Rangers alone could have stood against the Nanaue. But the Rangers were gone, taken by Kuku Lau after her failed coup, and no force Aiaru had remaining could have withstood the merciless advance of the hammerheads.
In a moment of clarity, Nyi Rara felt herself divided, split from the savagery that consumed her mind, the bloodlust, and aware. Given to a flicker of despondency—for this was what would happen when the he‘e came. The Muians would fall as readily as they did now, if not more so.
Perhaps that realization ought to have assuaged her conscience for these deaths. After all, the Nanaue might hold back the octopuses where Aiaru’s guard never could. Still, the blood seeped all through the water, the helpless fled into tight grottoes, and—often enough—they too met the jaws of Nanaue out of all control.