by Matt Larkin
Instinct took her, and she dove deeper, surging after a school of fish that tried to escape her. Her jaws snapped shut, crunching scales and flesh and bone, and succulent warmth poured down her throat.
Gulping down the fish, she turned to see an entire herd of seals—wereseals—doing the same.
From the power thrumming in one, she knew Sanna.
For a time, she swam with them, until she felt the dawn approaching.
Then Sanna turned back to the shore, as if the spirit part of her already knew sunlight would force her out of her glorious new form.
Poli‘ahu joined her upon the rocks.
Matsya was there, sitting on an extruding cliff, legs dangling off the side, face unreadable. No sign of Saveasi‘uleo, so perhaps the other mer had retreated beneath the waves. They too, preferred night to sunlight.
As Poli‘ahu climbed ashore, her body resumed its human form, the amulet once more hanging about her neck. She plodded over to Matsya, joined by Sanna.
Before she reached the mer, a hand on the back of her neck hefted her off her feet and left her dangling.
“You killed one of mine,” Sanna snapped.
And had the wereseal forgotten that under the waves? Had the animal part of her taken over?
Poli‘ahu kicked her legs futilely, aghast the woman could lift her with one hand. “I created you all! You have no idea what price I paid for it.”
Sanna snorted, then tossed her aside. Poli‘ahu hit the rock surface, rolled, and groaned as stone scraped her skin raw and banged her elbows.
“What do you think we pay?” the wereseal asked. “You fused us for all eternity, these first wereseal souls.”
Poli‘ahu rose, rubbing her elbow, glowering at her. “You are beholden to me.”
“For now.”
Poli‘ahu looked to Matsya who rose, looking at her expectantly. A sudden urge to turn the wereseals upon the mer seized her. Why not? She had paid so very much for this, and what could they do to her now? But then, her allies grew few these days. “Half your number are to go to Puna and assault Pele’s forces. The rest go with Matsya and aid him in his efforts to overcome Mu and Pele’s sister Namaka.”
The god-queen sisters of Uluka‘a needed to die. All of them needed to die.
And Poli‘ahu was going back to Mauna Kea. She needed to see if she could recoup any of her lost power.
Because Pele was hers.
29
Days Gone
Aiwohi sent for chiefs from all around Kaua‘i, planning to dress all ranking ali‘i who swore to him in the finest feather cloaks. He called for kāhuna from Mau‘i and had his own kahuna pick the most auspicious day. He sent for his cousin Uli, the sorceress, out of Waimea. He planned everything to create the greatest wedding in memory.
Such things took time, though, giving Poli‘ahu too much chance to mill about the village.
When Poli‘ahu had explained her plan to receive supplicants to the village kahuna, the man offered her his own private hut for her use.
“Tell the villagers I will see them. But … one at a time.” No sense letting herself get overwhelmed. Too many people at once set her heart racing uncomfortably. She kept her court in Hilo small for the same reason.
Idly, she wondered about this child she planned to conceive with Aiwohi. The child would be kupua, like her, and well poised to learn the Art should he or she wish it. Indeed, it seemed such a perfect solution, she had to wonder why she had never thought of it before.
For a time, she sat alone in the hut, legs folded beneath her. Slipping into the Sight had become a matter of small effort, as Lilinoe had once promised her it would. The meditative trance necessary to look through the Veil and into Pō came almost instantly. Colors bled from the world, even as Waiau came into view. A comfort that the other snow sister had accompanied her here, too.
Her meditation was interrupted by a man slipping inside the hut, then prostrating himself before her. He lay with his face in the dirt, but she immediately bade him rise. She appreciated his respect, but obsequiousness did neither of them any good.
“What is it you seek?” she asked, dismissing the Sight so she could more properly see and hear the man in this Realm.
The man glanced back at the doorway, bringing a slight smile to her face. One good thing about meeting her visitors on the mountain—no one feared eavesdropping.
“There is a man who took something of mine. A warrior from another village claimed my canoe as his own, even the haul of fish I was bringing home.”
Poli‘ahu folded her arms. If this man asked her for a canoe, she’d freeze his balls off. The other advantage to receiving petitioners atop a mountain, one they might die climbing—people did not come to her for petty reasons. “And? What is it you want from me?”
“To see him punished. The honorless thief shamed me and deprived our village of food. Instead of going out to fish, I spend my days carving a new canoe while this warrior profits from his theft.”
A slow frown settled over her face. The fisherman helped provide food for this village. A moment ago, she’d considered the loss of a canoe a petty concern. But to this man it was the source of his contribution, his reason for being in the settlement. To him, the insult was no different than she’d felt about sharing Aiwohi with three other women. Worse, perhaps, because she had cared only for herself, while he could legitimately claim others were harmed by this.
The problem, however, was that she could not really punish a nameless warrior from another village. Curses, most such spells really, required something personal from the subject. An object to which a sympathetic connection could be made, creating a trail for whatever spirit she invoked to follow the recipient.
She stared deep into this man’s eyes. For her to help him, for him to get his revenge, he was going to have to take a risk. “I can curse the thief, even bring about his death. But only if you bring me something of his. And not just anything—it needs to be connected to him. A lock of his hair, a treasured possession, a drop of his blood. Or something of great personal value to him.”
The fisherman’s face fell. Yes. To get his revenge, he would have to find his way to the other village and steal something from that warrior. If he could do that, he could probably kill the man himself. But then, sorcery was never an easy answer. It did not exist to make life easier. It existed, perhaps, to defy fate. And that was saying nothing of the price the poor man would pay for this. Nothing was free. A spirit would take its payment out of her, too, but at least some part of the price would come from the fisherman. Cast a spell on behalf of another, and the burden of payment fell to them, after all. Part of her almost hoped he would give over his need for revenge. Realize that, whatever honor he had lost with his canoe, he stood to lose something more valuable now.
“I will get what you need,” he said.
Poli‘ahu nodded solemnly, only allowing herself to sigh when he had left. Maybe she should have tried to talk him out of it. She was not the kahuna, though, and it was not her place to try to save his soul. One could rarely predict the price of sorcery, either. Perhaps he would pay with pieces of his soul, with years off his life, with his memories, or perhaps with something even more precious to him. She had once helped a woman save her dying lover. The cost had turned out to be the couple’s only child, who had withered away and died within a week.
You could spit in the face of destiny—but it would spit back.
No sooner had the man left than a young woman rushed in, her hair in a state of disarray, her face dripping with sweat.
“What do you seek?” Poli‘ahu asked even as the woman threw herself to the ground before her.
“Queen, my sister … please!” Face buried in the dirt, the woman blathered on so quickly Poli‘ahu could make little sense of it, other than that her sister was apparently in labor.
Poli‘ahu lifted the woman’s chin to look in her eyes. “I am not a midwife.”
“We have a midwife. She says the labor is unnatural, dan
gerous, the baby is facing the wrong way, too long. Too long labor and, and, and … You have to do something. There was so much blood!”
That didn’t sound good. The woman’s hysterics made it hard to be certain what was happening. Poli‘ahu needed to see this for herself. Grabbing her by the elbows, Poli‘ahu pulled her supplicant to her feet. “Take me there.”
The young woman did so, guiding her by the hand past several houses toward a women’s communal hut. Poli‘ahu wouldn’t have needed the guide. The screams erupting from inside left little doubt this was the place. She rushed inside to find a pair of women kneeling beside one on her back, legs bent at the knees. The ground between the pregnant woman’s legs was damp with blood.
One of the others sat holding her hand, but turned at Poli‘ahu’s approach. “Another sorceress did this to her.”
“A sorceress?” Poli‘ahu moved to kneel by the woman’s side.
“My sister could not conceive … She went to Waimea to call upon Uli …”
Oh. Damn. Poli‘ahu had twice invoked akua to bring fertility to others. The most recent must have been six, seven months ago. Poli‘ahu had evoked a spirit of fertility, allowed the woman pregnancy when nothing would have otherwise blossomed in her womb. It had cost the prospective mother years off her lifespan, but she had paid the price gladly.
The other sorceress had no doubt done the same here. Well, now that pregnancy was killing the mother. The Kahikian sorceress had used the Art to bring life where none was meant to be. Poli‘ahu would have guessed the price the mother would pay would be a few years. Except, maybe it was going to be all of her remaining years. For all Poli‘ahu knew, maybe those she had helped had suffered similarly.
While the sorceress must have thought she’d cast everything so perfectly—and maybe she did—maybe her mistake was not during her spell, but in trying to use the Art at all to solve such a crisis. And now Poli‘ahu had a choice. Watch this woman die … or use the Art again to try to undo what the Art had already done to her. And, if she chose the latter, she risked making things even worse than they already were.
But still, it was hardly a choice at all. She would not sit here and do nothing while this woman died. This woman sought her help. What purpose did the Art serve if it could not be used to aid her people in such times?
“I need to consult with the sorceress who aided her in the first place.”
“Uli’s not due to arrive for another day.”
Shit. The mother didn’t have that long. If Poli‘ahu didn’t do something, mother and child would be dead in hours.
Poli‘ahu stood and turned to the sister. “I’m going to need everyone but you and the midwife away from here. Do not let outsiders approach. No one must interfere with what will happen next.”
“What’s her name?” Poli‘ahu asked the midwife.
“Ninole.” The other woman’s voice shook, and not just from exhaustion. She feared Poli‘ahu. Feared her with the primal terror those rooted in this world reserved for those touching the worlds beyond. Even common folk sensed the encroachment of the supernatural and the connection sorceresses built between themselves and those forces.
Poli‘ahu shook her head, pushing the meaningless servant from her mind. What did she care what that woman thought? Instead, she knelt beside Ninole and placed a hand on the laboring woman’s forehead.
Uli had tried to help this woman. Instead, the pale, shivering form before her looked at her with cloudy eyes on the verge of death.
Despite wracking her brain, Poli‘ahu could not be certain how to help Ninole. The baby was clearly in distress, and facing the wrong way. If she could use a spirit to give the child strength, to turn it, maybe baby and mother could both survive the labor. As things stood now, both were doomed.
Working her Art here felt wrong, though, alien. Something about the isolation and remoteness of her mountain made it seem the place for sorcery. Here, with the sister and the midwife looking on, it felt like she was violating some tabu to even consider calling a spirit. But she had to.
Decision made, she rose from Ninole’s side.
There was no ice here, no easy way for her to carve glyphs. That left no real choice but to draw them in the dirt floor. And without her notes, she’d be drawing glyphs from memory. She was toying with disaster.
Ninole screamed again.
“Both of you, stay with her,” Poli‘ahu snapped at the midwife and sister. “And do not move.”
She stalked behind the woman and began to trace her finger along the dirt between her and the wall. The ground was harder than she’d have liked, beaten down by many footsteps, so that her efforts made little impression, and unlike ice or snow, she could not simply carve it with a thought. Instead, she formed an icicle and gripped it tightly like a dagger, using it to cut the design. Glyphs were generally flowing works of art, featuring numerous flourishes and intricacies, each of which had to be made with precise care. A single mistake and you could wind up calling the wrong spirit or having your circle fail entirely.
But this glyph she knew well. “Waiau,” she whispered, slipping back into the Sight. “Waiau, come to me.”
She didn’t wait for a response, instead moving around the woman. If she were to trace a circle ten paces around Ninole she’d have the right amount of space for each glyph. Ten paces? No, fuck. Nine. Ten paces would make it too wide, she might need an extra glyph. Normally, she’d have spent an afternoon making such calculations. Sometimes several afternoons. Now, she was having to figure the circle size in her head, in a moment, while distracted by the sound of a screaming woman and her weeping sister. Nine paces. She was fairly certain it was nine.
She would use a Moon spirit to give the baby strength, force it to turn itself. Moon spirits were excellent for increasing strength and resilience. It was what made Shifters so physically daunting, after all. She’d have to be careful, though, or it would slip inside the babe and create a Shifter kupua.
Mist seeped in through the doorway, drifting around the corners of the communal house and sectioning off all but the circle of women. Poli‘ahu whispered to the mist, explaining her plan to Waiau. The Mist spirit hissed at her, perhaps indignant at being made part of the circle without her permission. But still, in the midst of her vapors she opened a circle nine paces wide, marking the boundary clearly.
Already, Poli‘ahu was carving another glyph. “Check this one.”
“Wrong.” The voice that answered came from in front of her, but not from any one location as a person’s would have. “You are missing a dot above the third flourish on the right.”
Damn. Waiau was correct. One little dot. Poli‘ahu carved it and moved on to the next spot. The fevered cries of the other women urged her to hurry, but she couldn’t afford to do that. None of them could afford for her to hurry. Even Ninole would be better off dying than risking Poli‘ahu making a mistake here.
Another glyph, another. So many spirits to invoke, to evoke, all so she could call one to turn the baby. Call one, and give it the power to perform a physical act in the Mortal Realm. Let it into the baby, but only for a moment. Unfortunately, it meant calling them all, giving them power here on Earth, if only for an instant. She’d be using her Will to pull the spirits through the Veil, and once here, they could do as they wished unless her circle was strong enough to hold them.
“You plan to summon a Dark spirit?” Waiau asked.
“What? No!” Poli‘ahu looked down at her carving. Lua-o-Milu! Waiau was right again. She’d let the women distract her. Dark spirits might have their uses, were often ideal for visiting curses upon one’s enemies, but proved less suited for protection in a circle. If Waiau hadn’t caught the misplaced line, she might have pulled up something she had never expected.
The hula would help her control all this, harness it with Will and mana, but the glyphs had to be there to get the attention of the right akua and ‘aumākua in the first place.
She drew more glyphs, completing the circle and trying, de
sperately trying not to look at the dying woman. Uli should not have used the Art to let Ninole conceive. Had it been arrogance on her part, or mere negligence? Surely the other sorceress had known there would be a price, but had failed to guess how complete that price would be.
“Predict the price?”
Waiau was often adept at making such guesses. The spirit was silent for a moment, mist swirling around the room as she inspected each glyph. “The rotting of the womb, perhaps.”
That would mean Ninole would never be able to have another child. But, if she died, that would be a forgone conclusion in any event. Under the circumstances, Poli‘ahu really had no choice, nor was the woman herself in any position to make a decision on the matter. She would have to pay this price, or die.
“Then let us do it.” Poli‘ahu rose, paced around the circle, and began to chant, invoking the spirits she had carved glyphs for. The more spirits a sorceress knew the names and glyphs for, the more potential uses she could bend sorcery to, and the more powerful her spells could become. But then, such things also came with increased risk. The more you called, the stronger your Will had to be, the more minds you had to contend with.
Inside the circle, she began her dance, flowing into the moves of hula with ecstatic terror, letting the cosmos seep inside her, even as her mana poured out to hold the circle together.
A song, a chant, lovely.
Precious.
Ripping reality apart.
Poli‘ahu’s chest trembled, felt apt to rupture with the power she invoked with her hula and her Art. The language of sorcery vibrated in her skull. Lilinoe had once supposed that language represented the fundamental structure of the universe, that reality was, in a sense, sound. And sorcery used that sound, along with spirits, to rewrite the principles governing reality.
Somewhere, in the distance, the laboring woman screamed.
Poli‘ahu pushed it from her mind.
She’d cast aside her kihei and sweat now drenched her bare back, plastering her hair to it. Looking through the Veil, she saw the distortions in reality as ‘aumākua and akua drew into the hut. They seeped in like wisps of smoke and drifts of snow carried on etheric breezes. Some seemed almost human, while others appeared more like distorted reflections of people.