Had Kono known what was involved in being ma’hanu before joining, he’d have said no thank you.

  When he pictured actually saying those words to a glowering but still old Hapua, Kono had to laugh. Saying no to the prospect of being ma’hanu wasn’t an option. If the ability to talk to the gods was in you, you were ma’hanu. Had to learn to control it, to keep from talking to the gods when you didn’t mean to. Asking for favors you didn’t really want. Much too dangerous to leave a god-talker untrained and ignorant. Sometimes Kono wondered if this wasn’t the real reason Hapua pulled him from the water; because he smelled another ma’hanu.

  So Kono was pressed into the life. An important one, yes. Ma’hanu kept the world in order, the gods asleep, and the blessings upon the people. Without them, the winds would be cruel and the fish scarce, and the gods restless. In the distant past, the ma’hanu had been priest-kings, but those days were over, thank the sea. Kono couldn’t imagine the nightmare of responsibility getting any worse—except more responsibility. That would do it. Let the chief make the important decisions, and as long as she did it well, she would stay chief.

  Now, listening to Hapua’s guidance as he dreamed them through their lessons, Kono’s eyes wanted to cross. Even closed, they wanted to cross. Attracted to his nose the way sands separated according to color.

  Hapua continued to speak, but the words didn’t really matter. They were like a current, guiding the minds of the ma’hanu on their journey to the sea floor where Kamo’loa slumbered. The other gods were out there too, in the black of the deep. Spread out through the trenches carved into the sea floor, each one uncomfortably near the tribe that bore their name.

  Kono found himself stuttering in and out of communion. First he was there, in the enveloping blue dark, then he was back in the lodge, the cool morning breeze caressing his broad back. Frustrated, he tried to pull the crushing black over him.

  “Cut out the distractions,” Hapua hissed, cuffing Kono on the back of the head. The old man always knew when Kono was drifting.

  Kono did his best to focus, but it was so easy to return to the bright surface of the world. The ma’hanu were expected to be intimately concerned with places humans could never see, could never go. The gods were of paramount concern. No one wanted them awakening. Ensuring they remained sleeping was the most sacred charge of the tribes of peace.

  But joy was all on the surface. The taste of ripe lona fruit, the soft brush of a kiss, the caress of the surf; everything that made life wonderful was far away from the gods in their abyssal hells.

  The nations of war didn’t know about the gods. Willfully ignorant, Hapua said. Still, if they knew the awesome and terrible power of the monstrous deities of the deep, they would have helped the tribes in any way possible. Train up their own ma’hanu to pull their weight. Wasn’t like they couldn’t do it, so long as someone showed them how. A former national had made her way to Pua’ui and still served as one of their elder ma’hanu.

  If nations started helping out rather than just taking, maybe Kono could leave this chore behind. With a sigh, the crushing cloak of darkness closed around him and he was in the trench, the mass of his deity barely an outline before him.

  He never got a complete image of Kamo’loa. He had the impression of slithering tentacles, of gulping mouths, and razor-sharp spines. Faint lights of purple glowed along its side, though not enough to provide a coherent shape. More than anything, he had the impression of . The only thing he could compare it to was the volcano at the center of his home island, but even that was inadequate. Kamo’loa could devour the volcano like Kono would a berry.

  He sensed that the god was dimly aware of him, the way he might be aware of an ao’apua fluttering around his hammock at night; the wrong movement, or merely straying too close would cause the god rouse just enough to swat him. Do that, and the god lifted ever closer to waking.

  “Feel Kamo’loa’s power,” Hapua said. “Feel the way it come off him, bleed into the rock an’ the sea around him. It’s part of him, but he is the sickness.”

  It was almost impossible not to feel Kamo’loa’s strength, like a warm and powerful current pushing them into one of the creature’s hungry maws. Magic was the art of dipping a hand into one of these currents and taking just enough to use elsewhere. They called it beseeching the gods, but they were really stealing from the beasts. Now, the ma’hanu were flitting close to the slumbering god, their souls learning the proper distance to avoid any stirring.

  Kono’s concentration fluttered once again, and when he rejoined the others only a split second later, he was awash in the current of Kamo’loa’s power. He was just suddenly , and out of control. A riptide of force yanked him along, and no amount of his skill would keep him out of it. He knew the creature would be breathing, the other end of his journey would be the gullet of the god.

  Then, he felt the creature’s attention on him. The god stirred, not awake exactly, but in the upper echelons of sleep, when sounds from the real world filtered down into dream. The god shifted its...head? Those prosaic descriptions could hardly contain the hideous form or sheer scale of the deity. Kono was too tiny to even perceive a whole he could understand. It was as though a mountain, bigger than any he had ever seen, turned what was suddenly a head. On some level of its consciousness, it wanted to consume what piece of Kono lingered too close for too long.

  Kono’s eyes snapped open. His soul slammed back into him with a physical impact, leaving him gasping around a coconut-sized ache in his chest. The other ma’hanu flickered into consciousness as well, though without violence. A smooth transition from one state to the next.

  “Kono, by all the gods—” Hapua was saying, when the world stopped him.

  “Elder,” Pua’ku murmured, looking out the front of the lodge.

  The rumble followed, the volcano growling in hunger. A line of black smoke rose from the summit. All of the ma’hanu stared in fear. The grip over Kono’s heart didn’t let go. This was his fault. Again.

  “No more o’ that,” Hapua said. Though he was trying to put on a brave face, Kono could see the old man was shaken. “Kamo’loa on the edge o’ wakin’ up. Now we do what we do an’ put him back to sleep. Until then, we use no magic. Nothin’. Somebody needs a fish for a starvin’ baby? They wait till we sing our lullaby.”

  There were general murmurs of assent. All the ma’hanu kept Kono in the corners of their eyes.

  “All right then. Get out. You got fish to catch, fruit to harvest, or sweethearts to court. Go do it. Lesson’s over for today.”

  Kono rose with all the others. He planned to give Hepthys another swimming lesson, thinking that being out in the sea and the sun would banish the cold in the center of him. Hepthys needed all the help she could get; she was absolutely hopeless in the water. He’d compare her to a child, but he’d never seen a kid who was as nervous about the ocean as she was. Maybe because any self-respecting parents had their kid swimming before they could walk.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You stay there, Kono,” Hapua said.

  The others got to the door. Pua’ku turned and offered Kono a smirk. He shot her a glare. He never liked her, and it was even worse the way all his friends seemed to think she was the fish’s scales. She pretty, but that was hardly the point.

  “What’s going on?” he asked the elder with a smile, hoping to disarm the old man.

  It was a foolish hope, and he knew it. Hapua’s expression was grave. “What am I gonna do with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re a ma’hanu. You’re supposed to be one of us. You have a sacred trust not just to the people of Kamo’loa, but to every one of the tribes of peace.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you? Because I had to send you away when you were usin’ magic you didn’t need to use. Now, we doin’ a simple task you should have mastered when you was still waist-high, an’ you nearly wake the god up!”

  Kono cast his eyes down. The old man was right. “I didn’t ask for this.”

  “No, you didn’t. But you got it, all the same.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Hapua put his hand on Kono’s arm. The old man’s skin was leathery, warm, and dry. “Kono, you got talent like I never seen, but you gotta learn control. You know what talent without control is? Trouble.”

  “It’s the nationals out on Mele.”

  “I understand. Nationals raidin’ is never a good thing. I need you to do whatever you gotta do to get supple for the lullaby, you understand? Kamo’loa’s stirrin’, and if we gonna kick those nationals off Mele, we need him dead asleep.”

  “I will.”

  "Go on, now. I got to get prepared.”

  Kono nodded and slunk out of the lodge. He couldn’t have felt lower if Hapua had actually struck him. He emerged into the sunlight, but it didn’t warm him. Past the village and down in the bay, the shepherds were herding their schools through the shallows. Occasionally, a splash of orange or blue would leap from the water, grab a low-flying insect, and go under again with a splash. He liked the way the shepherds traced patterns in the water with their staves, the fish following in great swirling masses. Kono wished he could have had that life. So much easier than what he had been born into.

  Kono knew, though, if he’d had that life, he’d be envying the excitement of the ma’hanu.

  As he was looking, a boat came into the bay, propelled by the surf. It was Haku, the last of the messengers. He’d been at Ma’iaku, the tribe farthest away from those close enough for Kamo’loa to warn. Kono strode down the beach with a smile to greet his old friend who was hauling his boat onto the sand with the assistance of a few of the men and women.

  “Hey, trip go okay?”

  Haku nodded, his shoulders slumped a bit. “Not bad. Ma’iaku sent boats soon as I told them. Then they fed me. Brought some back too.” Haku opened up a basket, revealing strips of meat, preserved in brine. Kono’s mouth instantly started to water.

  “Glad you back,” Kono said, patting his friend on the shoulder.

  “I gotta get some sleep.” Haku frowned. “What’s this have to do with the little person you brought in?”

  Kono shook his head. “Nothin’ much.”

  “Who are they?”

  “You meet her later. She shy.”

  Haku nodded. “Okay, Kono. I see you.” The big fisherman hefted the baskets and bags from his boat and trudged up the beach.

  That was all of them. The messengers had returned, meaning, with the times of transit, the messages on the weblines of communication had reached nine other tribes. Rowers should be arriving at Kamo’loa soon, ready to join in a force powerful enough to send the warjunk scurrying home, or sinking to the depths. Kono liked to imagine one of the gods would snack on it in the midst of antediluvian twitch.

  He made his way up the path, through the village, and then through the orchard on the other side. The dirt went from the white sands of the bay to the deep brown, almost black soil of the village and its surrounding land, then to the black and white striped beach where Hepthys lived. As he passed through the orchard, he reached up and plucked two lona from the branches, glancing around to make certain he wasn’t being observed.

  He emerged on the other side and found Hepthys sitting in the sand, just out of range of the water. Still, it was a big step for her. When she first arrived, she hadn’t even liked the sand, preferring to stay up on the wooden platform of her shelter. Now she was comfortable enough that she could stick her toes in the water without fear.

  The gold of her wings glittered in the sunlight. A breeze ruffled through her feathers. She didn’t look like someone from any of the tribes, but she was closer now. Taking it a little easier. With her legs bare and her long black hair free, she looked like she was almost, but not quite, content.

  “Hey sky-girl!” he said, throwing her one of the fruits.

  She turned and snatched the lona out of the air without having to look at it.

  He sat next to her and started to peel the striped rind. The first bite was sweet and tart at turns. The air was cool. Despite everything happening, he would savor moments like this.

  “Another swimming lesson?” Hepthys asked.

  “Yeah, maybe. We got a thing tomorrow evening. Big ceremony. Religious.”

  “I should stay away,” she said solemnly.

  “No! No, you a guest. You have to be there. Long as you on Kamo’loa, you Kamo’loa.”

  “I don’t feel like it.”

  “That’s ‘cause you way out here on your own.”

  “I don’t like how everyone looks at me.”

  “You don’t look like anything we ever seen. We gotta get used to you, sky-girl. Hard to do that when you hide on this beach.”

  “Don’t know how long I’ll be here.”

  “Well, I’ll miss you when you gone.”

  “Will you?”

  “Sure! You won’t miss me? You won’t go home to Atum-Ra, tell ‘em all about me?”

  Her lips quirked, and she stared at the sand. “Yeah, I would.”

  Kono knew that look, the wistful edge in her voice. “You got someone special at home.”

  Hepthys hesitated, then nodded.

  “I hope I make a good story,” Kono said, stretching out on his back. Now he could look through the branches at the sky.

  “How are things done here?” Hepthys asked.

  “What do you mean, things?”

  “Um...romance?”

  “Someone likes someone else, they do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Sure. They want a more permanent thing, maybe they talk to parents, talk to chief. Mostly it’s what anyone wants.”

  “Sounds easy.”

  “Not like that in Atum-Ra?”

  Hepthys shook her head. “No, our...tribes...we all live together, but the divisions are still there. If you want to...be with someone, you need to make sure your families didn’t have some kind of war a thousand years ago.”

  “You and your sweetie got that between you, huh?” Kono asked.

  “Yeah. Remember when I told you about the Kheremun?”

  “I remember.”

  “My family has been that way for generations. Eldest daughter to eldest daughter on down. We’re loyalists to our leader—our great chief. Shabunet’s family are…are an opposition of sorts. They want Atum-Ra to be more like...more like other nations.”

  “What I know about nations, I think Atum-Ra just fine the way it is.”

  Hepthys gave a small smile. “I thought so too.” He didn’t know what that meant. Shabunet’s family believed in equality of the sexes and more, kicking against the traditions that defined Atum-Ra.

  “Not anymore?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. This is a big…um, world.”

  “I’m seein’ that too.”

  “So what about you?” Hepthys asked. “You have a...sweetie?”

  “Nobody special,” Kono said. He thought about a bunch of people—no one really set his heart on fire the way heard they were supposed to. And he never really did anything about it.

  “Not even Ali’kai? I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

  “Ali’kai prettier than a sunset, tell you that right now. But he don’t like me that way.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Kono shrugged. “Lotta pretty people in the world, sky-girl. I find someone. Maybe lotta someones. Maybe I go to another tribe, find someone there.”

  “There’s always more ocean, right?”

  “Right!” he said with a laugh.

  “This ceremony tomorrow, it’s formal?”

  “Formal?”

  “I should wear my greaves, my headdress...”

  “Sure.” He gestured at her legs. “I didn’t know you brought somethin’ else.”

  “What? Oh, I didn’t. Let me show you.”

  Hepthys stood up and brushed the sand from her body. It sprinkled onto the beach and promptly fled for its stripe. She was wearing only the sleeveless white top and a pair of dark, skin-tight breeches that reached her upper thigh. When he first saw her, the breeches at least went to her calf or so, with the rest covered by her greaves and boots. The tabard that had dipped to her knees was gone as well. She put her right hand onto the golden exoskeleton about her waist and hit a catch. A jewel glittered momentarily in the sun.

  Material, moving like liquid, emerged from the bottom of the gold. It covered what was on her already, but never seemed to get any thicker. It reached downward, enveloping her legs as well, growing tight against her skin. When it settled into place and the movement was gone, it looked as inert and dry as any cloth, but while moving, it was water. Now she was wearing breeches that went from the bottom of her waist to her ankles.

  “Magic?” he asked.

  “A kind of it, yes.”

  Kono nodded. “Handy trick.”

  She hit the catch again, and like a living thing, the cloth retracted from her legs, leaving them once again exposed to the sun. The material was simply . Hepthys sat back down.

  “Atum-Ra is a strange place,” he said.

  She laughed. “You have no idea.”