Islands of Fire Read online

  Motua says, “It’s impossible.”

  Kina is looking around in growing horror. At first she found the similar structure an odd coincidence, but she no longer believes that. This temple is identical in both shape and form to the one in Toko-Mua from which they stole the pahi.

  She walks into the center of the broad chamber. Though it is now filled with soil and moss, she can make out the lines of a trench that ran around the center, and a mound in the middle suggests the shape of a stone platform upon which rests an altar.

  Pupo sees the expression on their faces and begins to mirror their concern. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “This temple. It’s the same as the one in the village of the burning warriors,” Kina says. She walks out to the center and steps up onto the raised area.

  Motua points to where Kina is standing. “That is where this pahi was. It was mounted on bones right in front of the basin where the victims are beheaded, and their blood captured to make the paint for the drums.”

  Pupo is looking at them, horrified. “Surely it’s a coincidence.”

  “Maybe,” Kina says. “Though it’s too close, too perfect.”

  “I don’t like it,” Motua says. “We should leave.”

  Kina agrees, so she steps down off the platform and the three of them leave the chamber and head back into the sunlight. They gladly leave the old temple behind and follow more silent, windy corridors into other parts of the old city.

  “I wonder,” Kina says as they walk, “if it is possible some ancestor of the burning warriors, some founding member of the Cult of the Ebon Flame, perhaps, traveled to this place and took inspiration from the shape of the temple.”

  Motua runs his hand across his throat. “I was thinking something similar. I’m sure there’s nothing here but coincidence. Most likely, we’re just jittery after having faced our own deaths at the hands of the burning warriors only a few days ago.”

  Clambering over an area of upheaval and great splits in the foundation, they come to a broad courtyard lined with old pillars, most of which had fallen and now rest on their sides in pieces on the flagstones. On the far side of the courtyard is a wide alcove in which stands a statue, easily three times the size of a human. The elements have worn away the statue to the point that it is unrecognizable, though Kina can still tell that it had a feminine form.

  “Some goddess of these islands, no doubt,” Pupo says.

  In the center of the courtyard is a wide hole. They approach carefully, worried about cracks in the foundation which extend outward from the hole. Pebbles and grit break away and fall into an open area beneath their feet as they approach.

  “This looks like a sacrificial pit,” Kina says. She points into the darkness. “Look how it is at the feet of this goddess.”

  “There are stairs, though,” Motua says, and when Kina steps a little closer to the lip, she can see rough-hewn steps that follow the curve of the pit and vanish into the darkness. “Anyone thrown in could escape easily up these stairs.”

  Kina begins down the steps.

  “Kina, stop!” Motua says. “The stones look too old. It’s too dangerous.”

  “Then stay up there,” she says, and continues down. By the time she has reached the bottom, both Motua and Popu have started down after her.

  In the darkness underneath the floor of the great courtyard is a smaller room. Pillars support the sagging stones above. For a moment, Kina thinks she can see a reddish light from farther down a tunnel, but she waits for the other two to reach the bottom of the hole before she heads that way.

  “This is madness,” Pupo says. “There could be ghosts. I didn’t bring any traps.”

  “Can’t you ward them off somehow?” Motua asks him.

  “That takes bone powder. I have none.”

  “There’s light,” Kina says, sure now that her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her. The other two follow her as she pads down the short hallway, and they come out in a low-ceilinged room in which rests a black bowl on an altar of stone.

  In the bowl is a crackling fire.

  They all stop, suddenly now very afraid. Kina looks back at Motua, but he seems just as mystified as she feels.

  Pupo says, “We should go. There are people about.”

  “No,” Kina says. “Look at the dust all around here. No one has been here in ages.”

  “That can’t be,” Motua says. “Who lit this fire, then? Look how strong it burns!”

  Kina is the first to approach. Motua nearly chokes on her name, trying to get her to stay away from the strange thing, but she can’t resist her curiosity. She walks slowly over to the bowl, holding out her hand. The fire puts out heat and crackles like a real fire, but as she gets closer she can see there is nothing in the bowl to feed the flame—no wood, no oil. The fire simply hovers in the bowl.

  For a moment, her attention is turned to the composition of the bowl itself. It is black as night, one large piece of stone that is scalloped from the tools used to chip it into shape. She runs her hands across it and finds it is quite warm. It reminds her of the material from which the pahi is made. Indeed, now that she is closer, she can see some sort of markings along its side, symbols which look similar in design to those on the pahi.

  She steps back, now more afraid than she was before. Kina nearly rushes back to the others.

  “There’s something not right here. Look more closely at the bowl!”

  But Motua is already staring at the bowl, eyes wide. “This can’t be,” he says. “It’s impossible.”

  Pupo is looking back and forth between them, his face a mask of confusion. “What?”

  “And the temple! This is no coincidence!”

  “What is it?” Pupo asks.

  Motua turns to him. “The burning warriors.”

  Popu shakes his head, clearly confused. He asks for clarification, but Motua is already moving. Kina follows close behind, though she slows to look back for a moment at the strange fire. There is something about this that she can’t work out. It’s clear nobody has been here in a great while, but the similarity to the Cult of the Ebon Flame is striking. How could this be any kind of coincidence?

  They return to the stairs and climb back to the courtyard, grateful to be back in the light.

  “I think I’m finished with this place,” Motua says. “I suggest we all leave as quickly as possible and not return.”

  “Agreed,” Pupo says.

  They head back along the winding corridors, finally passing the tall temple and making their way back to the staircase. Pupo is about to duck into the darkened doorway to lead them back down, when Kina glances out across the horizon and freezes.

  She grabs hold of Motua’s arm and wordlessly points toward the sea.

  “What is it?” he barks, then follows her gaze.

  Like a cloud upon the water, the fleet of the high priestess of the Cult of the Ebon Flame approaches.

  The Armada Arrives

  Pupo stands beside Kina and Motua, looking out at sea. The three of them stare, transfixed, at the flotilla making its way across the shallow water toward the Teeth. Kina can make out at least two dozen canoes of different sizes, shapes, and speeds, all clustered around the great war canoe of the high priestess herself.

  “What is that?” Pupo asks in a hushed voice.

  “It’s them,” Motua responds. “It’s the burning warriors.”

  “How can that be?” Pupo asks. “I thought you said you lost them!”

  “We did,” Kina says. “They were far behind us. Maybe they are tracking us somehow?”

  “What in the name of the Father and Mother did you do to them?”

  Motua shakes his head slowly. “Nothing. We escaped.”

  “We did more than that. We took their pahi.”

  “But,” Motua asks, “why would they chase us halfway across the ocean for that hunk of rock? Can’t they perform their cursed rites without it?”

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nbsp; Kina says, “They’re coming pretty fast, but I don’t see how they’ll get past those sandbars.”

  “There are ways through,” Pupo says. “The sailors of Keli`anu are said to be master navigators. It won’t take them long to find their way.”

  “We have to go,” Kina says. “Maybe if we head south, they won’t see us.”

  “We can’t leave!” Pupo says. “We don’t have any supplies. The closest island to the south is No`okewa. There’s nothing between here and there but open ocean. It would take us a couple of weeks to reach it, even if we wanted to go there. But that place is doomed and everyone knows to stay away from it. Come anywhere near the shore and the wretched scum that live there will swim out and rip you from your own canoe, cave your skull in with a taiaha, and sail out of there on your stolen canoe.”

  “Then where?” Motua asks.

  Pupo shrugs. “Maybe you can head east. But there’s nothing that way. Just empty ocean until the world ends.”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “I can’t go anywhere. `Imu`imu will find me if I get too far away from my decoy.”

  “Well, we can’t go back to your hut now,” Motua says. “They’re too close. There’s no way we’ll be able to gather supplies in time before they notice your bridges.”

  Kina looks at Motua, her eyes wide. “What about the pahi?”

  “Mother Ocean, what was I thinking leaving it behind?” Motua balls his hands into fists. “We should have brought it with us. They’ll get it for sure.”

  “No,” Kina says. “We can’t let that happen.” She is already heading toward the staircase when the others call to her.

  “Kina, where are you going?”

  “To get the pahi!”

  Motua rushes behind her, coming down the steps. “There’s no way. You’ll be caught.”

  “I’m quick. Besides, there’s no sense in putting all three of us at risk.”

  “And what will you do with it when you get it? Without supplies, we we’re useless.”

  Kina has almost reached the bottom of the steps. She can make out the filtered light of the cavern below.

  “I can get supplies, too,” she says. “You and Pupo be waiting for in the canoe beneath the hut. I’ll drop down whatever I can find. Then you can find a place to hide.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “I’ll figure something out.”

  The canoe is still tethered in place, bobbing on the slight waves. Kina unlashes it from the roots, gives it a shove, and leaps on board.

  “Wait,” Motua says. “I can’t let you do this. They’ll kill you for sure.”

  “It has to be done. Now get in!”

  Motua and Pupo climb over the sides of the canoe and push off, turning the canoe back through the narrow valleys between the islands.

  After some time, they finally see the tall pinnacle where Pupo built his hut. The sun is starting to draw lower to the horizon, though sunset is still an hour or two away. Motua points to a spot on the southern side of the island.

  “I’ll wait down there.”

  Kina nods, and jumps out of the canoe into knee-deep water. Before long, Motua has disappeared from view around a rock wall and Kina is approaching the jetty. She climbs up out of the water and dashes through the arch to where the rope ladder dangles against the cliff.

  Not much more than a couple of miles away, one of the flotilla’s vanguard canoes is maneuvering around a sandbar.

  Without wasting any more time, Kina takes hold of the ladder and scrambles up it as fast as she can. At the top, near the first of the bamboo ghost traps, she drops to her haunches and ducks behind some undergrowth. Ghosts flit in the traps beside her. When at last she feels confident she wasn’t spotted, she moves across the the rope bridges, taking the wobbly walkways as quickly as possible.

  At last she arrives at Pupo’s hut. Kina approaches the southern edge of the island, close to the moaning decoy made of a dead shark, and looks down to make sure Motua is there. He sees her and gives a furtive wave.

  Kina returns to the hut. Starting with weapons, she takes Pupo’s favorite spear, selecting another for her own use as well. She pulls the mat aside and finds the pahi and leiomano and heads back out to the edge. She chooses a spot away from the waiting canoe and drops the two spears, which sink into the sandy water, then lets the pahi fall behind them. Motua heads toward the weapons and Kina dashes back to the hut for food and water. She makes two more trips, tossing down gourds, coconuts, dried fish, skins filled with fresh water, and anything else she can scoop into her arms.

  On the way back for a third trip she freezes. A conch blows from nearby, loud and long.

  Cutting through the brush on the far side of the hut, she hides behind some coconut palms and looks down. The war canoe is close, standing in slightly deeper water while the smaller craft cut across the shallows toward the trio of islands that are home to Pupo’s bridges and hut.

  They’re coming up, she realizes. There’s no time to escape.

  At almost the same time she thinks this, she sees several burning warriors moving around on the top of the first island, approaching the rope bridge.

  Kina races back to the far side and looks down. Motua is still there in the canoe, though Kina can see Pupo gesturing in an agitated manner, obviously begging him to go. He looks up and sees Kina.

  “Go!” she yells down to him.

  “I can’t leave you!” he shouts back, barely audible over the wind.

  “Hide in the temple,” she shouts, and just so he won’t be tempted to argue with her, she withdraws from the edge of the island and heads back toward the hut. She hopes he has followed her instructions, for his sake and for Pupo’s.

  By the time she returns to the hut, she sees the warriors starting across the second of the two bridges.

  There isn’t any time to plan. Quickly she thinks through her options. No way to climb down from here, too many of them to fight directly, nowhere to hide. Or was there?

  Keeping low to avoid being seen, Kina crawls back into the hut, letting the flap back down gently. Inside it is hot and stuffy, smelling strongly of cooked breadfruit and Pupo’s old hand-made cloth. Kina fingers the smooth wooden handle of her leiomano, tucked into the waist of her skirt. It’s comforting to know it is there, just in case. She pulls aside the mat of the floor and finds Pupo’s secret earthen hole, now empty of kulu. It looks just big enough for her to fit, if she curls up into a ball.

  It is tricky pulling the dirty old mats and blankets back over once she is inside, but Kina gets them in place and tucks her knees up to her chest. The leiomano teeth prick her thigh but she is actually grateful for the slight pain, as it keeps her focused.

  Footsteps outside the hut. Several men, talking in loud voices. Kina can hear them discussing the hut, how old it looks, the food growing in the cleared patch in front. One of them draws aside the door flap and there is a long silence. Kina hears only her own breath and hammering heart.

  “What do you see?”

  “Nothing. Whoever lived here must have fled when he saw us coming, though,” the warrior says. “It still smells like food.”

  “There’s no way it’s them,” another one says.

  A third one agrees. “This has been here far too long. They couldn’t have built it.”

  “How do we know they were even here?”

  “The kupuna says they’re here. That’s good enough.”

  “Maybe they killed whatever wretch lived in this hut and stayed here, eating his food until it ran out.”

  “Well, let’s make sure they don’t come back. Burn it down.”

  Kina can hardly contain her reaction to these words. She is breathing too fast, on the verge of panic.

  “Could be something useful inside.”

  “Then loot it, first. And you. Cut down that hideous thing, will you? I can’t stand the noise it makes.”

  From above comes the racket of P
upo’s remaining tools, weapons, and food being dragged across the floor and tossed out of the hut. Kina waits, ready to spring in case the mat is thrown back and her presence revealed, but after a couple of minutes she hears the looter step back out of the hut. Then, something hits a wall above and seconds later she hears the unmistakable sound of crackling fire.

  Kina knows she only has a couple of minutes before the dry thatch of the hut will be engulfed in flame. She wonders if somehow she can survive unscathed if she is buried like this, but soon she finds herself panting. The fire is sucking air out of her hiding place!

  There’s no time to waste. She bursts out from under the mat, tugging her leiomano free. Searing heat and smoke meet her. Most of the hut is on fire. Without thinking, she dives through the door flap onto the weedy dirt, rolling to make sure none of her tapa skirt has caught fire.

  “Look!” one of the warriors shrieks. They are near the edge of the little island, cutting down the shark decoy.

  Kina doesn’t wait around. She is up and running, racing across the open ground and along the path toward the bridge. She takes the span faster than ever, ignoring its bucking and pitching and trying not to think of her exposed back.

  The burning warriors reach the end of the bridge. Risking a look back, Kina sees some of them are armed with slings, and they are readying stones. “That’s her!” one shouts, and orders them to kill her.

  Stones rain down around her as she scrambles into the brush just past the end of the bridge. One of the stones connects with her thigh and she drops to one knee for a moment, tenderly reaching around to feel where it split her skin. Her thigh is slick with blood. Kina rises. The wound hurts badly, but it looks superficial and she thinks she can still run on it. Perhaps not as fast she could before.

  There’s no way she’ll make it across the next bridge. Leiomano in hand, she rushes back over to the rope bridge. The warriors are coming across fast, though too many are on it at once and the thing is bucking wildly, impeding their progress. They look up when they see her and a couple of them try to fit more stones into their slings.