Earlier That Day

  Year 602 of the Divine Empire

  There was an insect on the wall. Kanoa had never seen this kind before, so it had claimed a bit more of her interest than normal. Not that there was much else to be interested in, given how sparse the options for entertainment were in this room. She could practice singing, that would at least make father satisfied, but her throat was still sore from yesterday. She could look out the window; her view from the second floor was pretty good. This house was one of the only ones in the village with more than one floor, so she could look over everything without much in the way. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything of note in her view, so she was left with her last resort. A bug. She didn’t much like bugs, and this was one of the more unpleasant ones she had ever seen. It was the size of her palm, a shade of green that reminded her of a stomach illness she had had a year ago, and had long, spindly legs that made her shell itch when it scuttled about the room. Kanoa was not a cowardly person by nature, things like thunder and darkness had never concerned her. This was apparently some source of fear for her father, who always commented on how “unsettling” it was when she sat in pitch darkness without any real reaction. Of course, “unsettling” was how he often described her, along with “exhausting” and “dull.” Children weren’t supposed to be so quiet, after all. Not that she would know, it’s not like she had ever met any other children beyond the ones she spied from her window.

  This jumble of thoughts and recollections was all that the child could do to deal with the panic she was feeling in this moment. Without any sufficient distractions, she was left to her internal world to avoid dealing with the threat she perceived in front of her. And so she sat there, her thoughts growing increasingly pointless as she was left unable to move by that disgusting insect. Only when it had finally made its way out of the window did Kanoa gather up the courage required to rush over and swat at it, scaring it enough to fly out into the distance. Finally allowing herself to relax, she falls down onto the woven rug. Lying there, she comes to the realization that, without that source of fear, there was now nothing to think about. It would be some time until dinner, so she just lays there, motionless, letting her mind grow blank. This was nice too, was her final cognizant thought, as she entered a state between sleeping and wakefulness.

  She remained in this state for nearly four hours.

  Kanoa was only woken at some time past noon, where a rumbling shake rattled the room. This wasn’t so unusual, there had been a few of them in the last week, but this one did feel somewhat different. There was an odd feeling that accompanied the quake, almost like that rumbling she felt in her gut when she made things burn around her. This feeling was distant, as if it were not her that was making the heat. There was curiosity, then understanding, then a deeper rage than she had ever felt before. Whoever it was that was feeling these primal, overwhelming emotions, their presence was so great that even as far from Lua Pele Nui that she was, Kanoa could not help but feel a deep dread. The heat from dread was far less destructive than the others, as it only created a sort of heat haze around her, almost cloaking her from view. She almost wished fear had the same effect, looking at the char marks on the chair where she had been frozen in place. As she slowly fought down the emanating dread as that far off feeling faded away, Kanoa was made to turn as she heard the thumping of feet pounding through the front entry. It seemed father was home. As Makaio burst into the room, she could only listen to yet another proclamation.

  “The Lua’i is tonight. I doubt you’re prepared, so just try and seem charming in your failings, alright? You could try smiling at once, everyone might think you’re cute or some such. When beginning the first stanza, you must. . .”

  This sounded like it was going to go on for a while, so Kanoa just started tuning it out. As much as her father called her “dull,” she was not, in fact, an idiot. Most children are far more clever than people take them for, though their inability to properly express themselves makes the misunderstanding a reasonable one at least. She had learned pretty quickly that Makaio was not the sort to listen to anyone he deemed inferior, and that any responses she may give would be ignored. Though, frankly, she didn’t even really know what he was expecting her to learn through his lectures. The man had no understanding of music, calling it a womanly art, and so his “lessons” were mostly just nitpicks of whatever song she had attempted to sing. These criticisms were rather useless, even contradicting the insults he had clearly forgotten since last time, and so it was at the age of four that this child learned the age-old strategy of nodding quietly. The instructional scrolls he had found somewhere were more than enough anyway, which is how Kanoa learned that she was somewhat talented at singing. She did worry if she would be able to perform at the “Lua’i” tonight, whatever that was, given her tired throat. Well, it didn’t really matter anyways. It’s not like any result would satisfy her father.

  “. . . and remember, you always have to. . . I’m sorry, what are you doing on the floor?”

  Oh yeah. She forgot she was doing that.

  “I swear to the goddess I have told you a thousand times. . . You are the Pōmaika of Ho’okahi, and that requires you to be disciplined! Get off the floor and clean yourself off, we will be practicing your performance until dinner.”

  It was at this statement that Kanoa finally realized that she had forgotten to eat today. Sighing, she sat up slowly. It was all so tiring. . .

  Hours later, she found herself standing on a stage, staring down the entire population of Ho’okahi. She was used to seeing large groups of people, even being looked at with awe. People trying to get a glimpse of her through the window was a near daily occurrence, and that upsetting look of expectation no longer frightened her. Still, this situation was entirely new. The robes she wore were heavy and swelteringly hot. Father and the elders were frantically whispering at her, an odd storm of anger and anxiety. And then there were the villagers. For the first time, Kanoa was starting to understand what she was, at least to them. In their eyes, she saw hope. Nothing she had seen before had frightened the child more than hope. It was a vile emotion, held only by those who placed their fate in the hands of others. Hope is the death of revolution, for in it lies the trust that some force far greater than you will make your life better without much work from yourself. And to these people, this force was a child, barely six years old. In her they saw a chance for their village to gain glory, the blessings of Kinohi, and whatever else they had cooked up in those horrid, hopeful minds. This hope, this faith, it was true horror so primal that even a child could comprehend it. Trembling, fearful, Kanoa could feel the boards underneath her weakening as the heat of her fear seared them black. It was only in this brief moment of distraction that, finally, a true greater force could reach her.

  “Why do you say nothing, child? Is a gathering of deluded fools truly such a threat to one such as yourself?”

  Startled, she looked around. The voice was clearly something only she could hear, yet its origin was clear. It came from the same place as that all-consuming rage. From a place of heat and molten rock.

  “Why do I say nothing?” She thought “I don’t know. . .”

  “Hmm. Pitiful creature. Are the young of my creations truly so foolish that they cannot understand their own actions? I did not choose you for no reason, child! Will you truly waste my gift to you with such pathetic silence?”

  “What can I say? They won’t like me anyways. It never changes.”

  “Ridiculous. Utter foolishness. Did you think my gift was to them? Do you think they are owed anything? Those cowards, who give their autonomy to withered old men? Those idiots, who think dance and song will be enough to satisfy my rage? Those bastards, who would allow such a vile man to trap a child in a tower? This gift was for you, fool! How else could you free yourself from their idiocy? Only by being powerful can the ‘other’ free themself!”

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Kanoa was frightened, hungry, and quite frankly confused by all the big words this lady was using. And yet, in that strange cleverness that most children have, she could understand one thing.

  “This. . . was for me?”

  “Hmph. If I had known that this would happen, I wouldn’t have even bothered. Still, I suppose I do owe you for the burden I unintentionally granted. . . Well then, why don’t you make a pact with me?”

  “. . . Huh?”

  “Ah, yes. I forgot how ignorant those in the Mortal Realm could be. Allow me to speak plainly. I will grant you power great enough to free you from this predicament, though only for the briefest of moments. There will be more for you in the future, should you gain the strength of will needed to claim it. Should you desire, you could bear the potential needed to never feel fear again. Do you accept?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are men that would kill for this opportunity, and you don’t even know what’s happening. . . Just say yes, child. I will do the rest. You only need to say it once. Do you want to be free?”

  Yet another question that Kanoa could not understand. At least this time she at least knew the answer. She did not know what “freedom” truly was. She never had anyone who could explain it. But what if she did? What if she could walk freely in the world instead of simply observing from afar? The question itself was irrelevant. There was only one possible answer. Coming to her conclusion, Kanoa finally took a look around her, which she realized she hadn’t been doing for some time, and saw everything she could leave behind. The exhausting old men, the ravenous, hopeful crowds, that unloving man that stood before her, scolding her as if he had any right. That man’s face, which had turned to confusion, as for a brief moment he saw the expression on her face, the first he had seen in years. An expression of pure contempt.

  “Yes.”

  What happened next was something that, to this day, Kanoa could not describe in any meaningful way. For a split second, she truly connected with a goddess, one who stood at the peak of the Astral Realm. She was the point of Kinohi’s fingernail, the edge of an idle flick which could bring the greatest of armies to their knees. There was no need to do anything from either of them, the connection alone let off enough heat to melt steel. The fact that Makaio survived with only his entire front half burnt to a crisp could only have been a miracle from a fascinatingly spiteful god. The bond was formed for less than a second, yet it was more than enough to obliterate the platform and send her crashing down into the roiling sea.

  Strangely enough, this was not the end of this bizarre evening, as fate had one last encounter to grant the clueless child. As Kanoa plunged into the water, she could not help but notice that it had no bottom. Odd, that, as she could have sworn the sea was only a couple dozen feet deep at this point. Despite this, the water had mysteriously grown far deeper, with the surface also fading into a cerulean darkness. There was only one distinct shape that she could make out, and that was the massive creature that circled her. Its form was that of a massive sea snake, barely large enough to swallow her in a single bite. Crowning its head were a pair of. . . horns? They were shaped that way, anyways, though in appearance they seemed to be made of coral. This monster would seem a horrifying threat to most, while to Kanoa it seemed somewhat. . . cute? It was almost certainly a child, though she had no idea how she knew that. Regardless, she sensed no danger from it. It was certainly a surprise when the snake started speaking, though.

  “So pretty. . . What’s your name?”

  Shocked by the childish, female voice that emanated from this creature, Kanoa opened her mouth to yell, though only bubbles came out. Kālai can survive under water for quite a long time, but have no built-in ability to communicate while submerged.

  “Oh. . . That’s right, you’re supposed to be on land, right? Here, I’ll help you get back!”

  With a push from the serpent’s snout, Kanoa could once again see the light of the lanterns above the surface. She felt a gentle shove as the arms of. . . someone wrapped around her. Though alarming, she was all out of surprise for today, and the arms felt strangely comforting. As these arms carried her farther away from the village, she heard one final thing:

  “I’ll find you again, so let’s be friends when I do, alright? See you soon!”

  Such an odd creature. . . but for the first time, Kanoa felt as if she was excited to meet someone again. An unfamiliar smile crests her lips as she waves to where she believed the sound to be coming from.

  Nohea had no idea why the child was waving, but to see a smile on that adorable face brought a joy to their heart which they had not felt in some time. Putting up a grin of their own, they began to swim as far as they could, away from that stifling village of Ho’okahi.

  —

  Elsewhere

  Across Moku Waena, on a Lua’i platform not dissimilar to the one on Ho’okahi, an imperious kālai woman observes the cleanup after the celebrations. She directs the proceedings with waves and stern nods, mostly unnecessary as her people knew what to do well enough. The festivities had gone well this year, though the goddess had not granted her any visions. Or at least, that is what she assumed, as for whatever reason it seemed Kinohi had chosen to contact her long after everyone’s worship had ended.

  “My child, there is something you must be made aware of.”

  Speaking without words was no longer a concern for her, as she began to respond seamlessly while continuing her direction.

  “I see. Is it a problem?”

  “Hopefully not, as I had planned it as a gift of sorts. Two souls have recently freed themselves of your neighbor’s grasp and will soon need a place to stay. One of them happens to be my own.”

  “The whim you mentioned six years ago, I presume?”

  “Indeed. My expectations have been met, and I now see the potential for some excellent entertainment. You will shelter them, and allow the child to grow into her fate.”

  “Very well.”

  “. . . Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  “. . . How boring. Hopefully your junior will prove a more interesting bond.”

  And with that, presence faded. Shaking off her annoyance at her patron deity’s more immature tendencies, the woman gazes over her village in ponderance. She sees the new buildings being constructed on the shore, made of stone and thatch. Looming behind them is that imposing wooden vessel, a “ship” as the humans called it. These strange creatures, who were born without shells and had to make new ones out of metal, who had claimed a desire to coexist yet built walls around their village. With a low sigh, she followed her people off the stage. This child would indeed be a boon, she decided. This place would be needing strength soon, if it did not wish to be crushed under the weight of expansion.

  —

  Present Day

  “That serpent. . . it’s the same as the one on her future carvings, isn’t it?”

  “It would seem so.”

  “That’s a fairly significant breach of the accord, yes? Is this going to be a problem for us?

  “The accord only applies to the species that signed it. The kālai are not restricted by it due to their separation from the main continents at the time of the agreement.”

  “Still. . . I can’t imagine many were pleased about that development. I can only hope that the two of us aren’t going to be drawn into any proceedings from our involvement here.”