by Matt Larkin
The dragon reared backward suddenly, as if she’d struck his snout. “You know nothing of what you speak, mer.”
“Then help me understand. I seek your ancestress, Mo‘oinanea.”
For a moment, the dragon held her with his unblinking gaze. Then it chortled, a grating laugh like rocks grinding together, spitting out a hail of pebbles. “Your temerity knows no bounds.”
Perhaps not. Either way, Nyi Rara would not sell short what she had accomplished. “I, who would fight against the so-called god of the deep, Kanaloa? I, in whom are fused the souls of the god-queen of Uluka‘a and the Princess of Mu? I, who ventured into the abyss of Naunet and stared into the fathomless gaze of the Elder Deep herself?” Piika rocked back at her latest claim, but she wasn’t done yet. “No, dragon. My temerity is most surely unbounded, as is my resolve. Do not think to condescend to me when you cannot begin to imagine how far I have come already.”
“Not half so far as you have left to go if you truly mean to contend with the Ocean God.”
Nyi Rara pushed herself up onto the rock shelf before him, not bothering to form legs. “Tell me where to find Mo‘oinanea and I swear, I will do everything I can to aid your kind, Piika. To aid you. Would you remain slaves to Kanaloa?” The dragon grunted, so she pushed on. “Does Mo‘oinanea yet remain on Kaua‘i?”
A moment more of indecision, and Nyi Rara felt her whole universe dangling, as if all she now strove for might swing one way or another on account of a single word. Even her heartbeat stilled, enthralled by the gaze of the dragon, afraid to beat. “Mount Waialeale, on that island, yes, amid the falls encircling the caldera.” Piika hesitated. “If you fail to convince her, she may well consume you. Provoked, I imagine she might even gorge herself on your soul.”
Nyi Rara winced at that, and behind her, Tilafaiga gasped. Rather than answer, Nyi Rara stilled her fear, reached forward and stroked Piika’s impossibly warm, scaled hide. “We have been made pieces upon a kōnane board, all of us. I aim to overturn the board and let us begin anew, masters of our own destiny.”
“Altruism?” The dragon’s breath was hot and putrid upon her face, perhaps even toxic to a mortal.
No, she would not pretend her motives derived from altruism so much as indignation at finding herself so used by the octopus god. That and, in truth, an ambition the Urchin had ignited within her, a need to sit upon the throne of Mu and usher the mer into a new age of glory. This called to her, and she would not deny it.
Through the night they swam, Nyi Rara forced to limit her speed to that of an ordinary mer on account of the gold-tailed sisters. It took the better part of two hours before Tilafaiga took the expected step, closing the distance between them, swimming to her side, Taema following behind as though they were physically bound together.
A glance at her cousin confirmed Nyi Rara’s suspicions. “You wonder what I’m about now.”
“Mo‘oinanea—the very ancestress of the mo‘o!” Tilafaiga shook her head. “Your course bespeaks madness, even if your ill-advised coup against Kuku Lau had not already confirmed that. Did I not know better, I’d imagine you must have worn out your host. But such a host ought to have lasted you centuries, a millennium, perhaps. So, cousin, tell me what this is?”
Nyi Rara clucked her tongue, turning her gaze back ahead, toward Kaua‘i.
“What? I am already sworn to you by an unbreakable oath. Why not share your intentions, no matter how deranged? It’s not as though I have the chance to flee your side.”
While there was truth to that, Nyi Rara didn’t much relish the thought of hearing she had gone mad, repeated over and over like some mantra. She could command Tilafaiga to silence, but to strip the other mer of her right to even speak also tasted foul in Nyi Rara’s mouth. What then? The truth?
The truth that she had not a plan, but rather the seed of a plan, a kernel she hoped could blossom into some way to reclaim Mu from both her sister and Kanaloa? She could lie to Tilafaiga. Such was often the way spirits dealt with one another—and mortals. Or perhaps she ought to take a lesson from Maui and the perpetual half-truths and obfuscations he had long fed to Pele, as if reality were a puzzle only the worthy might unlock.
After a moment more, she drew to a stop to take in the sisters. “Kanaloa used the Chintamani stones to transform Mo‘oinanea from a taniwha into the first mo‘o. He had her breed a new race to serve him on land. They are beholden to him for this, true, but—I suspect—also resentful of millennia of servitude to such a master. And if anyone knows where the he‘e god-king hid his store of Chintamaniya, who do you imagine that would be, save his eldest servants?”
Tilafaiga’s mouth fell open a moment. “Flaming pearls … y-you think to reclaim the flaming pearls from Kanaloa …”
“I think it unlikely he’d risk bringing his entire hoard to Mu. And that means, others must remain hidden somewhere else in the Worldsea.” She glanced back in the direction they needed to head. “And none of us have the time to search the whole of the ocean. So I must convince the mo‘o progenitor to aid us.” At any cost.
The scorching sun had unfolded across the sky before they reached Kaua‘i. It was strange returning to this island, for Namaka had first pursued Pele here, to Aukele’s homeland, what seemed so long ago now. While she knew the locals might well not look kindly upon her return, given the violence that followed in her wake, Namaka didn’t know this land well. Kana would, and with Kaupeepee’s fortress broken, he must have returned here.
Besides she … yes. She could admit to herself she longed to see him again. In menehune tunnels deep beneath Vai‘i, they had shared friendship and lovemaking and … and … connection.
Deep!
Everyone had turned on her.
While plodding up from the surf, she glanced back at Taema and Tilafaiga, her only allies, and those only because she had forced them along under threat of bloodshed. Kuku Lau had … well, had suffered Nyi Rara’s betrayal. That action had cost her Kauhuhu and presumably everyone else in Mu. Would Daucina have sided with her, given the chance?
Now she would never have the answer to that.
Tilafaiga fixed her with a look so utterly passionless as to possess a choking disdain without actually directly offering any challenge. A look that accused her of pettiness in forcing herself and her sister along on an errand they did not believe in. A look that forced Namaka to turn her gaze away from the pair.
Pele had all but cast her out, and though Hi‘iaka had welcomed her, the girl could do nothing for Namaka’s plight. Besides, now Pele was wounded and would have only slowed them down. No, Namaka was alone, and perhaps even the hope of Kana was a fantasy she indulged in for want of better options. Did she truly expect him to do anything for her merely because they had once lain together? Because they had shared a common purpose for a few days?
Perhaps she ought to release Tilafaiga, allow the sisters to rejoin the other refugees of Mu and make what life they could out in Lemuria. Perhaps Nanshe would even give them a place of importance. Especially the sisters, who possessed the lost tattoo arts of Old Mu. Those few among all the Worldsea who held mastery such as to create the Rangers. What wouldn’t Nanshe pay for that? What wouldn’t anyone pay to create warriors who were faster, stronger, and more resilient than their enemies?
Was it then selfishness that had her keeping the gold-tailed mer in her thrall?
Wracked with the guilt of that, she hardly noticed the young man approaching as she drew near to Waimea.
“Are you Namaka?” he asked. His countenance bore a resemblance to Kana, perhaps even to Aukele, though certainly younger than both. His youth seemed tarnished, as if his soul’s journey in the dark of Pō had tainted him, left him haunted by half-remembered nightmares of what lay beyond this world. Things Namaka knew all too well.
“Niheu. I must see your brother.”
His gaze drifted to the two mermaids behind her. Did he recognize them as such? He remained unreadable, but he nodded and beckoned her into the town, then bid her wait in
the palace garden, beneath a grove of koa trees. Namaka settled down to wait, while the other two mer shifted in palpable disquiet. The sea lay not so far away, so what bothered them here? Walking among mortals? Treating with them as people, rather than as garments to don or discard as the need arose?
Yes, perhaps that. Not so long ago, Nyi Rara had seen humans as much the same. Disposable animals existing only for the use of her kind. Now, merged with Namaka, the memory of it had her flushing, her stomach churning in shame.
“World not quite as you wish to imagine?” she asked Tilafaiga.
The other mer looked sharply at her, then at the greater jungle beyond. “There are Wood spirits here, lurking beneath bark sheaths, watching in dreamless slumber. If I am aware of them, they will feel us, intruding upon their domain. When the sun sets …”
They might not welcome Water interlopers. Now that Tilafaiga spoke of it, Namaka could sense a profound mana permeating the jungle beyond the village, and the mountains beyond that. A pulsing life she’d not have noticed as easily when she was mere kupua. With mer eyes and mer sense, she could not unfeel the presence there, lurking upon both sides of the Veil.
Surely the Waimeans must propitiate the Wood spirits, offer sacrifices, even as they sacrificed to Mu, all in the name of preserving their fragile mortal settlement. Ah … how could spirits—predators—not see the race of men as weak playthings, when their very existence hinged upon the whims of forces they couldn’t begin to understand?
And that thought, too, choked up her chest with shame.
It was hard to even swallow, but she forced out the words. “Do nothing to vex them. Nothing that might bring their wrath upon these people.”
Taema laughed without apparent mirth. “I would do nothing to bring their attention on us.”
Despite the presence of Wood spirits—or perhaps encouraged by it—Palila songs carried over the jungle, a whole flock of the yellow finches having alighted just beyond the village’s edge. The sound mingled with the gentle lapping of waves to create a hypnotic peace, a kind of lethargy that had Namaka drowsing against the koa.
When Kana finally made his way over, the man had shadows under his eyes that bespoke long nights of sipping awa and no doubt sharing a half dozen mo‘olelo. The simple joys of a slow life, resplendent in the moment—all seeming so very far now from the existence Namaka had. It felt like she had been fighting without reprieve for so long she remembered little else, as if the memories of surfing and lounging and loving were dreams of another lifetime. Perhaps because they belonged to Namaka from before fusing with Nyi Rara, but perhaps it was more than that, her course having precluded the living of life in favor of something grander.
Or so she tried to tell herself.
Maybe she should have fled to Lemuria with the others.
Maybe she should have embraced her human side and fled to land and stayed there.
But even as she mused upon it, she knew it was not her nature to allow such surrender. No … Namaka … and Nyi Rara … they would reclaim the throne.
She had to.
Kana offered her a hand, pulling her to her feet and drawing her into an embrace of such genuine warmth Namaka actually sighed in comfort. He patted her back once, then held her at arm’s length to look her over. “Much has happened since last I saw you. The Waters saved Niheu, and together we rescued my mother from Haupu.”
“I gathered as much.”
“You gather much, though not, apparently, clothes.” His gaze darted to the other two mermaids. “Can I offer the three of you each a pa‘u?”
Namaka glanced down at her nakedness and shrugged. Though it took rather extreme cold to affect a mer, if they were to spend any time among humans, it was generally appropriate on land to go about clad. “Yes. And your hospitality, if you would grant it.”
“Of course! Stay as many nights as you wish, Namaka.”
A warmer welcome than she had any right to expect in Waimea, considering her last visit. “A day, perhaps. We … prefer to travel at night.”
Kana stared a moment, lips pursed, seeming slightly nonplussed by the reminder that they were, in the end, entities from beyond Pō. Mer tolerated sunlight better than most spirits, but they remained largely nocturnal, and Namaka would not push the sisters to travel far in daylight had she any choice. “Come, then, and tell me how things have changed for you.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder to guide her inside, and she found herself pleased at the contact rather than resentful of the breach of tabu as she might once have been, in another lifetime. Kana guided them to the common house where a kupua female awaited—one of such resplendent, almost shimmering features, Namaka had no doubt it must be Hina, the one whose power seemed to influence those around her to fits of desire not so very unlike the hypnotic effects a mer voice had upon mortals.
Tilafaiga and Taema took up seats away from both the mortals and the windows casting sunlight upon them, though both seemed to have difficulty figuring out how to settle themselves comfortably with legs. Namaka paid neither one much further mind, instead focusing on Hina and Kana.
“Where is Mount Waialeale?” she asked without preamble.
Kana chuckled at her seemingly random question. “Northeast, near the very heart of the island. They say it is the mountain of the rains, that Wākea’s blessing lies eternally upon it. So much rainfall, no one scales the peak, in fact. Why ask about such a place?”
Namaka saw no real reason not to tell him, especially considering how much she’d wished for him as an ally, as a friend. “I’ve heard tales that Mo‘oinanea dwells there now, in the caldera.”
Kana frowned, seeming ready to shake his head. “That’s as may be, and the volcano hasn’t erupted in many generations, but reaching the caldera is likely impossible.”
That drew a genuine laugh from her. “So says the man who ventured with me through the shadow-drenched core of Vai‘i into the so-called Place of Darkness. Did we not scale the obsidian razors to claim the Waters of Life? Overcome menehune and a mo‘o?”
“As you say.” He shrugged. “I can guide you if you wish.”
Namaka glanced at the other two mermaids, but the sisters had fallen into a semblance of sleep. “If you don’t mind traveling under moonlight.”
Kana scratched at his chin. “Because of you, I have back my brother. That’s a debt I can never repay.” Namaka was going to say Kana had helped save Hi‘iaka, as well, but he raised a hand to forestall her. “No, no. I owe you, I do, and I’ll do whatever I can to repay you. We can leave at moonrise.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated only a moment. “Lay with me.” It had been too long and she was so lonely, so tired.
He grinned. “I hope you don’t imagine I’ll refuse.”
She awoke to shouts, cries of pain. Blood, saturating the air just before twilight.
Wailing.
An instant later, a mo‘o came crashing through the common house wall, crimson-stained horns tangling in the net lattice that had acted as support. Snarling fury plunged inward with it, and the gleam of radiant eyes that hated her with wild abandon.
Namaka flung herself to the side, but a barbed tail caught her mid-leap. The impact stole all wind from her lungs, sent her hurtling through the air, crashing into someone. Something.
A haze of white filling her vision.
Couldn’t see.
Couldn’t breathe.
More screams, more blood.
Her blood, pouring out over her hands in hot cataracts, gushing from a wound in her chest she couldn’t feel.
“Get her to the sea!”
“She hasn’t ordered us to do that.”
Was that … Tilafaiga?
Blinking, she peered around, still dazed. The mo‘o now flailed wildly, trying to dislodge Kana who had leapt onto its back and apparently landed a dozen knife blows upon it. His bone knife had gouged out one incandescent eye, spraying hot fluid everywhere. Hina was on the ground, screaming, wounded.
“
I order you …” Namaka tried to say, but choked on her own blood.
“She’ll die!” Taema shouted at her sister.
Hesitation had claimed the other one though. Tilafaiga knew this was her chance at freedom. Her chance to escape her oath, rejoin the Muians, and be free of all this.
Taema, though, swept Namaka up in her arms and ran from the house.
In the jostling, Namaka lost consciousness.
Namaka woke before midnight, shivering and drenched in sweat, despite the sound of pulsing rain bombarding the roof and the cool night air. She lay in the women’s hut where the villagers seemed to have welcomed her graciously enough. Hina was there, too, a poultice covering her arm, her shoulder, and a wisp of her neck. So, too, were Taema and Tilafaiga, both watching Namaka, as waiting for word on how she’d respond to this.
Groaning—a dragon’s tail spur had impaled her between two ribs—she struggled to sit. The other mer had carried her to the sea and let her heal there, but still, she was lucky to be alive.
Taema helped her rise, and Namaka made her way over to Hina.
“Where’s Kana?” she asked.
The man’s mother shook her head. “He swore to hunt down the mo‘o for this. A pair of them attacked Waimea, and he took an oath of vengeance to eradicate them across Sawaiki.” She waved her hand at her injured arm. “I suppose he blames himself for these acid burns. He couldn’t have known the dragon’s blood would prove so caustic.”
Oh, Deep damn him. “Please tell me he did not go after Mo‘oinanea.”
“No. Your interest in her prevented him. I think he plans to hunt them down in other known haunts first, perhaps even move on to O‘ahu where they are known to congregate. He has …” His mother groaned.
“A streak of too much pride?” Namaka asked. It seemed a common kupua failing, truth be told.
And if he wasn’t stopped, Kana was likely to ignite a war between mo‘o and humans. Assuming Kanaloa hadn’t already done that.
Or … Namaka.