Chapter Thirteen: Hepthys

Hepthys felt her stomach flutter as the sun leaned closer to the waves. She had promised Kono, and she would not go back on it. She’d been trained to face the most terrifying enemies the galaxy had to offer. She could face the curious eyes of a few Ash Worlders.

She climbed onto her shelter and began the process of brushing the sand from her body. She didn’t think it would ever be completely gone. Years later, she was certain, she’d find grains in her hair, or among her feathers. She did the best she could at the largest concentrations, and decided that would have to do. An air-bath wasn’t on the agenda until she got her ship back.

With that done, she hit the catch on her harness and felt the raw alchemical cloth exuding from it, merging with what was already there, and stretching down over her feet. She had fun playing with the stuff when she was little. Even now, she loved the whispering caress of it, the way the cloth moved like liquid but was dry and soft. At the bottom of her legs, it formed a hard sole, sculpting into boots.

She retrieved her gold from the sack hanging at the front of the lean-to. First, she pulled on her greaves. As they went over her calves and shins, the catches sprang automatically, and they tightened, giving her glittering armor from knee to ankle. She pulled on her belt and buckled it, and as she did so, the sash and tabard came from it, forged of white and red alchemical cloth. Next, she slipped on her web gloves. They were unnecessary, as they were for holding onto her staff or the controls of her ship, which were far away. But they were impressive, as they were webs of alchemical gold spun with jewels, and they were an important part of Atumite formal wear. Last, she put on her necklace and her headdress. She had no mirror, but she imagined she looked somewhat presentable. She was grungy and she couldn’t fly, but she hoped she would show no disrespect to her hosts.

She should have her staff. She looked at the one she had crudely cut, the one whose balance was off and looked like a sad stick more than anything else. A Kheremun would never be without her weapon. But this was a reminder: she wasn’t a Kheremun. At this rate, she never would be. Most Atumites never even considered such a lofty perch. Most weren’t born to expect it.

Hepthys went up the path through the orchard. Sand turned into dirt, and the trees closed in around her. A sullen, boozy odor rose from the fallen fruit at the edges of the path. Soon, the village opened up in front of her and she was stopped in her tracks by what she saw.

The entire village, some two hundred people, gathered in the main square atop the awful statue. They were always an impressive sight if for no other reason than their sheer size. Tonight, they were dressed in skirts and headdresses made of plants so green they looked to be still alive. They had painted their bodies in white and blue, complex geometric designs that followed the contours and curves of muscle and fat. The adults all carried blazing torches, casting the scene in a primal orangey glow.

As Hepthys climbed the stairs into the plaza, a ripple of whispers spread out in front of her. She knew she would be glittering in the torchlight. She felt their gazes on her and she wanted to shrink, to flee back into the orchard. She was on the verge of doing just that when she met the eyes of a woman. Ages were hard to reckon, between the size and the paint, but Hepthys imagined the woman was only a few years older than herself. The woman was tall, though not as tall as Kono, with broad shoulders, a noticeable belly, large hips and thighs. Beneath the makeup, her face looked kind, and the reassuring smile certainly was. She waved Hepthys over.

Hepthys moved closer, at first unsure, but was won over by the woman’s soft brown eyes.

“You look a little scared.”

“Everyone’s staring.”

“No one ever seen a girl with sails on her back before.”

“I suppose not. My name is Hepthys.”

“Hepthys,” the woman said, then touched her chest. “Mailani.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I really only know Kono.”

Mailani chuckled. “Can’t imagine what you think of us.”

“I like Kono.”

“Oh, I like Kono too. Everybody likes Kono. We just wonder who thought it was a good idea to make him ma’hanu.” She shrugged. “If the gods was nice, we wouldn’t be doin’ this.”

The blasphemy again. Hepthys was getting used to it, though hearing it from someone else was newly shocking. “What are we doing?”

“This is the lullaby. We keepin’ Kamo’loa nice an’ sleepy. You stick by me, you don’t have to do nothin’. When it’s all over, you eat. Don’t know where you from, but they don’t feed you enough.”

“I don’t think I’d ever be able to grow like you do.”

Mailani grinned. “No reason not to try!”

A thud shuddered through the assembled people. Followed by another. Then another. A gargantuan heartbeat, perhaps belonging to this god they spoke of with dread and contempt. It thrummed through her, like a string being plucked, and she knew she was vibrating with every other man and woman in the crowd. In this there was no difference between Atumite and Waiolan.

Then she saw what made the sound: every person was stomping their right foot in perfect rhythm. Each one, lifting and falling in sync, the Kamo’loa people sharing a single mind. Hepthys lifted her foot and pounded it with them, but she was always a fraction of a second early or late. It couldn’t be heard over the thump, couldn’t be felt over the vibration in the ground worming up through the bodies of all those present. Hepthys knew she wasn’t truly a part of them. Couldn’t be. Her long days of exile had prevented herself from truly joining in the rite. It was the first time she regretted her decision not to truly join with these people.

The crowd started to move. Fire World militaries would have envied their precision and unity. A line of villagers snaked into the jungle to the north, their torches a shining path. The ground went up into the foothills of their volcano relatively quickly, and Hepthys finally spotted Kono. He was with the rest of the ma’hanu, as well as the chief, her son, and a few others, at the head of the line. Kono looked almost solemn, but even from that distance, Hepthys could see the faint grin at the corner of his mouth.

Hepthys tried to imitate the stonefaced expressions she saw on everyone else. She imagined it was a ceremony of the Kheremun, one of those she’d gone with to see her mother honored. The only daughter of Nawaret was expected to maintain decorum at all times. This time she wasn’t with her father and brothers. She was with a near stranger, but nonetheless one she felt at ease with. A sister she’d never met.

Mailani maneuvered Hepthys in front of her. The line wasn’t quite single file, and Hepthys was able to stay to the side a little, so that she wasn’t staring at the massive brown back of the man in front of her. She could watch the line of torches move along the path, through the trees. Individual lights winked in and out as they disappeared momentarily behind foliage, but the impression as a whole was that of a fiery serpent coiling around the volcano.

The thumping continued, the people marching in step as they went. Hepthys imagined their footfalls penetrating the soil of the island, joining deep underground. A single sound created and nurtured by the people who lived on this island, the beat like the power of a mesmerist, preparing the god for his lullaby.

They continued this trek as the sky turned pink, then purple, then faded into velvet blue. The stars came out, forming an infinite dome over the waves of Waiola. There were too many stars for Hepthys to count, let alone identify. She knew Atum-Ra’s sun was somewhere up there. Her parents there, waiting, wondering why she was overdue. They wouldn’t look for her—a girl on her Meskhenet was on her own—but they would be worried. Or perhaps even ashamed. The daughter of Nawaret hadn’t returned with her flower, the single ankathi blossom, from Thorn. What should have been the easiest of tasks.

Hepthys had thought it a silly test. Easy even. Too easy for the daughter of Nawaret. She thought, perhaps, they had chosen it specifically so she couldn’t fail, to preserve the prestige of Nawaret’s line at the expense of substance. A single Chitter Harvester had ruined her chances. A single Chitter Harvester! Something that should be a mere inconvenience. A week to Thorn, a week home, then to be honored as the newest descendent of Khafra to join the ranks of the Kheremun.

She thought of Shabunet, still a few months from her Meskhenet. She would be worried too, though she’d never show it. Not where either of their parents could see. She would have to hold Shabunet tightly in her heart, as she knew Shabunet was doing with her. They could meet again as women.

The path took them along a path cut into the side of the mountain. Above, the foliage thinned out, exposing more black rock. In the light of the moon, it might as well have been oil. Below, the trees grew tall. This was a view Hepthys found more comfortable, but she should have been soaring on air currents, not treading in the dirt.

The procession emerged on a jagged plane of lava rock pushing out into the seething sea. Hepthys believed she’d seen the other side of this at the edge of what she thought of as “her beach.” It stretched out, encompassing the entire northern point of the island, a wedge cutting into the ocean. Here the waves crashed into this cliff, reaching upward because there was nowhere else to go. As they approached, Hepthys shivered in the fine mist of saltwater raining down.

Waiting for them was a huge bowl, also sculpted from lava rock. Crescents of yellow, that Hepthys finally identified as teeth from some gargantuan beast, served as legs. Within, a bonfire roared high in the air. As people arrived, they cast their torches into it, adding their flame to the blaze. The tribe formed a loose circle around the bonfire, while the five ma’hanu stood between the fire and villagers.

The stomping, which continued even as the entire village formed up around the bonfire, suddenly stopped. Hepthys found herself fighting the urge to continue, as the rhythm had found a home inside her. Now it was taken away. The energy was still there, chasing itself through her, lighting her body as it went. She knew it was there for all the others too, leaping from one person to another in a series of electric arcs.

A hum arose. Hepthys imagined a giant machine made of the Kamo’loa, and she was a part too, sparked by the electricity of the moment. The waves continued to pound the rocks, geysers of frothing seawater bursting into the air, the individual droplets glittering with firelight. The water seemed to hang there —an illusion, certainly, brought about by the constant tides—creating a canvas for the fire to play onto. Blue and white became red and orange, then back again, then a pearlescent night black.

Hapua the Elder spoke, his old voice powerful, reverberating off the volcanic cliffs, and seemingly from the ocean itself. He was all around them, old and perhaps even frail in the village, but not here. Not in this place, surrounded by his people. Here he was a titan “Before there was anything,” he intoned, “there was sea and sky.”

The ma’hanu moved in unison, even Kono. Their faces were solemn, their gestures in perfect harmony. Their feet were planted apart, their bodies and arms swaying like reeds in the water. The waves crashed. In the salt spray overhead, Hepthys saw a roiling primeval ocean and the star-filled sky beyond.

“The sea was filled with fish, and islands. And on those islands, rose the tribes of peace. In distant waters, the lands grew larger, and became home to the nations of war. In those distant days, nation and tribe lived apart.”

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Hepthys saw it as he described. The light danced over the spray, created silhouettes first of islands, then of human beings. She watched them on the smaller islands, plucking fruit off trees, fishing in the oceans, building shadow-villages. Then in the larger land masses, she saw more silhouettes, building cities. The unmistakable silhouettes of warjunks began to fill their waters, fighting one another.

“Then came the gods.” Though Hapua whispered, this reached everyone, flitting from ear to ear like a current of air.

The images flowed back to the islands. The water erupted with the shapes of roiling monstrosities. These creatures were alien in ways even Hepthys could not truly understand, and she had studied numerous Storm Worlds in Academy. And the shapes were enormous, bigger than the islands, bigger probably than cities. If these abominations were real... She shuddered, staring at the shadow-puppets on the salt spray, her breath long since fled.

The monstrosities surfaced, grabbing the suddenly tiny people in manifold grasping arms, pulling them into teeth-lined maws. Entire islands were smashed into pieces. The lucky merely drowned.

“The gods put their rage on us. Entire tribes fed their hunger. People vanished from Waiola. For a time, it looked like we would be gone forever. Put out. Like a light.”

The bonfire burned low at the sound of his voice. Hepthys started, unprepared. She glanced around. Mailani, and the others, were downcast, as though in mourning.

“Until Makaha came.”

The bonfire flared, roaring ever higher. The eyes came up, and smiles lit the faces of the people. The silhouette on the spray stood in the middle of the others. It was masculine, and Hepthys had to catch herself. Many of the other peoples had male messiahs and heroes, though it would always seem strange to her. This Makaha was a giant among them, a broad silhouette with herculean muscles, a round belly, and a long mane of curly hair stretching down his back.

“He stole magic from the gods. He shared the secret with others. He brought the tribes back, leading us against the gods.”

The hero silhouette stood against the gods. He was tiny, but with his magic, he could match them. He hit them with waterspouts, with waves of lava from volcanos, with lightning from the sky, and rocks from the earth. No matter what he did, the gods continued their rampage.

“But the gods can’t be killed, even by magic. Hate can’t ever die, not while love exists. So Makaha and his followers learned to put them to sleep.”

Now Makaha was joined by other silhouettes, smaller than he, but impressive nonetheless. These were of all shapes and sizes, some tall and proud with youth, others withered and bent with age. All of them moved in unison, their gestures and posture like a dance. They stood on the shore of an island, and as they moved, a god who had been ravaging, disappeared beneath into the waves.

“One by one, Makaha put the gods to sleep. They sank to the bottom of the ocean, beyond the light, beyond the sun. Where they had been before they woke. He split his followers up and created the ma’hanu. Every tribe got one, who trained others, and later others. Every ma’hanu can trace their power back to Makaha, who saved our people. We ma’hanu have our most sacred duty, given to us by Makaha himself. We keep the gods asleep.”

The entire village gave an assenting hum.

“Tonight, we sing our song to keep Kamo’loa in the deep, in dreamless slumber.”

The ma’hanu stood low, their weight balanced perfectly between their legs. To Hepthys, they looked like martial artists, ready to begin a demonstration. She recognized the posture from the shadowplay, of Makaha and his followers sending the first of the gods back to the depths.

Then they began to move. First arms, then torsos, then finally legs. The ma’hanu spoke a language Hepthys couldn’t understand, but the words reached into her. They slithered into her body, wrapping around her spine and reaching into her brain. The words were heavy, sinking, pulling her down but too heavy to hold onto her. They were going down into the volcanic rock of the island, into the deep blue of the ocean, down to the sleeping paces of the leviathans.

Blue light, like the sun through water, blazed in the tattoos of the ma’hanu. From just the patch on Kono’s left shoulder, to the geometric designs on every inch of Hapua, the ma’hanu were made of starlight. As they continued their incantations, the villagers joined in, making shadows of the motions, speaking something akin to the words. Hepthys looked to Mailani, who gave her a reassuring nod, and a small gesture to imitate her. Hepthys did what she could, but felt once again horribly exposed. Mailani’s posture was so reassuring, Hepthys let herself move with the others. Every member of the tribe—and their visitor from the sky—moved in unison. Hepthys envied this—discipline, community, some combination of both. She had seen it only with elite groups like the Kheremun, and even they lacked the love blooming behind it. This was a people united in a single purpose, a love for world, people, and tribe.

The spell of the ma’hanu built to a crescendo, fed by the energies of the tribe, and of Hepthys herself. Their motions became larger, the lights on the tattoos brighter, the words more powerful. Hepthys grew comfortable in her role. She never thought of it as blasphemy, as she wasn’t worshiping another goddess; she was assisting these people in their war against gods. She’d never heard of a community of misotheists before, but this tribe made it seem wholesome and right.

As for their gods, she wasn’t certain. She had covered many of the behemoths on Storm Worlds in her xenology classes. These, though, felt more awful. Perhaps because they were preying on an Ash World whose inhabitants had no real way to defend themselves. They had only this desperate gambit. Keep the monsters asleep for as long as possible.

The spell ended. A lightness came over Hepthys. Reflexively, she tried to spread her wings and catch the updraft she knew would be there. She winced when the loose feeling rattled in the joint, regretting the impulsive move. She recovered quickly, because the villagers were all around, smiling, laughing, patting each other on the back.

Mailani touched her shoulder. “Thank you for helpin’.”

“I don’t think I did anything.”

“Sure you did. You help us, you are us.”

“She got that right!” said a jovial man. He hugged Mailani, then turned to Hepthys momentarily confused about how to embrace her. She didn’t want her wings getting crushed, and instead reached out a hand. He took it in two gargantuan paws and pressed it to his lips, kissing the ruby at the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Thank you?”

“Now we eat!” Hepthys recognized the thundering voice as belonging to Chief Kuani.

A jubilant roar went up from the tribe. As one, they filed back onto the path. There was no pushing or shoving. People waited their turn, taking time to clap one another on the back, share a hug or kiss, or exchange a joke or friendly word. More than one of them did the same to Hepthys, though they were far more gentle with her than with one another, as though they were afraid of breaking her. She wasn’t fragile, and were her wings not already damaged, they would be impervious to any kind of pain a human arm could cause. She did her best to return the greetings.

What she didn’t feel anymore was stared at as a curiosity. She was with the people of the Kamo’loa. If not precisely one of them, close enough.

Kono was coming through the crowd, and if people were happy to see each other, they were ecstatic to see him. Several men picked him up with crushing hugs, and more than one person planted an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth. Hepthys wondered if this was for all the ma’hanu, or if Kono was a special case. She wouldn’t be surprised either way. For all his apparent faults, Kono had a kind of effortless charisma.

“There you are, sky-girl!” he exclaimed when he saw her.

“Nothin’ for me?” Mailani asked.

“Oh, Mailani. You much too pretty to forget.” He kissed her on the cheek, and she squeezed him with an arm.

“I been lookin’ after your friend here.”

“Thank you for that,” Hepthys said.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure.” The reservations Mailani seemed to have back when Hepthys first mentioned Kono were gone. Maybe Kono was one of those people whose faults were only visible when they were away. When they were close, the charm was blinding.

“You want a ride home?” Kono asked Hepthys.

“Sure,” she said.

“Well, all right then.” Kono lifted her up and set her on his massive shoulders. Hepthys could see up the line, lit by a few torches retrieved from the bonfire. Between that and the moonlight, the walk back would be safe. Hepthys felt a bit like a child, but also like a noble. Every now and again, she would look down at Kono’s head, shining in the moonlight. Most of the time, he would be talking to someone else, and like always, introducing Hepthys. Other times he’d be humming to himself, some song she’d never heard but nonetheless had a chord of familiarity. He held her shins lightly, never clamping his hands over them. Hepthys stretched her arms and back, and wished she could open her wings. She felt as close to the sky as she had since she’d fallen from it.

They arrived in the village not much later. Those who had arrived first were already hard at work, and as soon as more people arrived, they joined. Long tables had been set up in the plaza, around the statue of Kamo’loa. Another bonfire now blazed in the center of the plaza, where the wood gave way to the coral.

“You burn the statue?” Hepthys asked, disbelieving.

“Oh no. You can’t burn the coral. Doesn’t even hold smoke!”

He helped her off his shoulders and she started walking to the people working. Some were fetching platters from houses and lodges, others were bringing in strips of dried fish or buckets of fresh fish or fruit, others, by the side of the statue, were digging something up so hot it curled Hepthys’s skin. Some carried fish or animals so fat they were impaled on stakes, set on the shoulders of two of the larger islanders. The villagers were preparing some kind of feast, and it looked like everyone was participating.

Kono stopped her. “Where you goin’?”

“I was going to help.”

“Nah, don’t worry. They got enough without you.”

Hepthys shook her head. “I think I should.”

Kono shrugged and let her go. The others welcomed her and put her to work. She fetched gourds filled with sloshing liquids, she set out platters of cut fruits and succulent meats. She did whatever she was asked to do and pretty soon the villagers were calling her the same name, maika’i. She asked Mailani what it meant.

“It’s something we say to a good child,” she said.

Hepthys frowned. She was technically a child without her Meskhenet, but she didn’t like being dismissed with a pat on the head.

“Don’t worry. It’s good. Everyone likes that you help out. Shows that you respect us, an’ we respect you.”

“Kono said I didn’t have to, but I thought it was part—what?”

Mailani was rolling her eyes. “That’s Kono. Got a pretty smile and prettier words, but that boy is lazier than the ocean is wide.”

“I kind of got that impression.”

“He’s good at heart, but sometimes I wonder what happens when he’s the elder ma’hanu.”

Hepthys looked over at Kono, who was easily chatting with a pair of young women. They were laughing and smiling, hanging on his every word.

“I have no idea,” Hepthys said.

Mailani laughed. “An’ now you see where we are.”

When the feast was set out, everyone sat. Hepthys first thought she was going to have trouble finding a place, but everyone wanted her next to them. When the chief invited her to sit near her, though, Hepthys knew she couldn’t refuse.

Hepthys gave the chief a bow, a deep one, though not as deep as she would have given the Pharaoh, and took a seat between Ali’kai and a muscular young woman with the scarred hands of a fisherman.

“You give us great pleasure at your visit,” the chief said. “Now let us return some with our hospitality.”

“Thank you, chief,” Hepthys said, giving the same bow.

The feast commenced, and Hepthys ate more than she thought was possible. She had grown used to fish, both raw and dried. Now she found they had other ways of preparing it. Roasted, smoked, seared, if it could be done to a fish, the Kamo’loa people had tried it. Combined with sauces made from fruit and given the kick of exotic spice, and Hepthys continued to find new meanings for the word bliss. The meat that had been buried was some kind of deeply smoked land animal. The cooking had rendered the meat as delicate as crepe, and it exploded in her mouth with flavor. To drink, they had a variety of fruit juices, most of which had fermented slightly, making her mind race and pulse sing. The elders drank a pungent and clear liquid they called “okolehao.” Hepthys stayed well clear of it, and watched as those who indulged were quickly singing and slurring their words.

“So, where is this place you from?” Chief Kuani asked.

Hepthys swallowed, and wiped the succulent film from her lips. “Atum-Ra. It’s far away. Beyond the nations. Past the sea.”

“Past the sea,” Kuani said. “Never heard of such a thing.”

“We had, um, never heard of you either.”

Kuani laughed. “Glad it’s mutual.”

“Is everybody so small where you from?” Ali’kai asked.

“Ali’kai! Don’t be rude!” Kuani scolded him.

“No, it’s all right,” Hepthys said. “To you, I am small. To him, I’m very small.”

Ali’kai was a mountain in human form, and unlike many of the other men, hadn’t packed on very much weight around his middle. On a purely aesthetic note, he was handsome, though male beauty wasn’t terribly interesting to Hepthys.

“I’m relatively average-sized for my people,” she finished.

Ali’kai whistled. “And you all have sails?”

“Wings,” she said. “Only women, and only when we come of age.”

Chief Kuani frowned. “Why only women?”

Hepthys cast a guilty look at her plate. “It’s just how my people do things.”

“What do you do with your wings?” Ali’kai asked.

“We fly.”

“Don’t the men want to fly?” Kuani asked.

“Of course not!” Hepthys said, scandalized.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. It’s just...not done.”

Kuani gave her a crooked smile. “Well maybe you ask one some time. Maybe you surprised what you hear.”

“Maybe,” Hepthys said, more out of politeness than anything. Other worlds could be egalitarian, but Atum-Ra had been doing quite well the way it was. Having the outsider—the Ash Worlder—question it, made her instantly retrench.

Kuani nodded, and the way the chief looked at her, Hepthys knew she saw that Hepthys had no intention of going through with anything of the sort. Then she went back to eating.

Hepthys did the same, and before long she was simply enjoying herself. It was easy to forget the horrors of this Ash World, the slavers and the gods. At this feast, it was merely a welcoming place to be. These loving people had accepted her. She wondered if she failed her Meskhenet, if she had already failed it, she could return here. Live in obscurity on an Ash World. Be the defender of the Kamo’loa people. It would be better than visiting any kind of disgrace on her mother’s name.