Racing the Dark (51 page)

She watched in horror as Nui'ahi, the sleeping sentinel of the greatest city in the world, erupted in a mass of angry, violent flame. And then the rumbling began, quietly at first, then swelling into a noise too great and too violent to be illusion.

But, keika, I will.

And it hadn't taken very long-just a few hours of sitting miserably in her abandoned room, wondering if she would find the witch and if the witch would kill her. He imagined how he would feel if she died and he hadn't even tried to protect her ... it was simple, really. He had wanted to be with her even when he thought she had weakened death's bonds. And that budding desire was a thimble of water compared to the ocean of his current longing.

It had taken Kai all of his self-control not to go chasing after Lana then. The disturbances that he had sensed for years suddenly felt more acute, as though whatever strange, subtle thing had been interfering with the islands had reached critical mass. Confined as he was in this remote place, he did the only thing he could: reinforce the geas that prevented the spirits from leaving the gate. He spent four days in a thick haze of frantic grief, unable to bear the thought of Lana on her own again, only now realizing how deeply embroiled she was in a plot that she hadn't even known existed.

Four days after Lana fled, Kai slept on the small fishing boat that he would use to get to the nearest town. The night of solstice eve, as he anchored in the gently rocking water, he awoke abruptly to the sound of a distant rumbling. Waves lapped harder against the edge of his boat. In some faraway part of the ocean, thousands of creatures screamed out their deaths as the water boiled around them. The echoes of their distress rippled and grew until it reached a single crescendo that Kai had no ability to close his mind against. He put his hand in the water, hoping for a clearer expression of what had happened. He received it, slowly, from those sprites and water creatures that could form the words:

Nui'ahi.

Fire or death. He had guessed, and he had been wrong.

On solstice eve, Manuku snuck up to the 'Ana's rooms without quite knowing why. His daughter had just gone to bed, but he couldn't bring himself to do the same. There was an inexplicable mood of nervous anticipation in the death temple-he could see it on the faces of the priests and officiates as they hurried by, pretending not to notice he was there. He could also tell that they understood the reason no more than he did. So, even though he had done his weekly cleaning three days before, he climbed the hundreds of stairs within the 'Ana's tower.

Everything remained exactly where he had left it. The mirror that he had broken months before lay facedown on the dresserhe knew that no one but he would ever dare pick it up, so his secret was safe. He walked around the room slowly, gently running his fingers over every surface to make sure that it remained dustfree. In his peripheral vision, he saw images floating in and out of definition within the column of air. The death spirit was certainly agitated-the flow of images seemed far more frantic and gleeful than normal. He thought he saw the now-familiar image of the girl with the horrible black wings, but thankfully she didn't remain visible for long.

He paused near the doorway, wondering why he had felt so compelled to visit a place he usually hated.

A slight tremor passed under his feet. He barely noticedtremors were relatively common, here at the center. He glanced at the column and felt a frisson of disbelief run through his stomach.

It was blank. For a bare moment, the column of air was free of any roiling hints of imagery.

The next image was a volcano, spewing glowing chunks of molten lava in the air and raining ash. And then the frantic pace resumed-this time of people dying one after another, consumed by fire and ash.

Erlun had blessed Yechtak when he left the tribe. The old shaman's voice had been so full of pride that after he returned, Yechtak had been too cowardly to tell him of his failures near the ruins. But he swore to the old man that he would do everything in his power to do the bidding of the wild spirit. To himself, he swore that he would find Iolana again and make true amends for his behavior. And perhaps, when he had proven himself worthy, she would not find his kiss so repugnant.

At his mother's request, he had delayed leaving on his next journey for a month so she would have time to arrange a marriage for him. He had told his bride that she could only be his second wife, but she had seemed content with that and they had married just before he left. His mother had suffered too much, he decided, for him to deny her the grandchildren for which she longed. She was a sweet girl, Yechtak thought, but he knew that he would never be able to feel true passion for her. No, that emotion was reserved for the one who had spent three days on the wind altar in mute agony to emerge, metamorphosed, as a beautiful, pitiable creature of destruction and power. For a brief moment, he had felt himself underneath her as he called the wind for her first flight. He had shared her exhilaration and her fear. Yes, he thought, it fell to him to tell the world of the coming of the black angel.

His love for her kept him warm during yet another cold night on the vast island they called Okua. Here, this far inland, early fall meant layers of frost and sometimes even dusty coatings of snow on the verdant bamboo leaves. He longed to sleep away from the cold, but he had long since run out of his small stash of Binder money, and few of these cold people took barter. Of course, even if he had money, people often turned inhospitable as soon as he mentioned the words "black angel." No one, he discovered, wanted to hear his news. But he still felt just as honor-bound to say it. Sometimes he heard the wind around him, but it never felt as strong or as comforting here as it had on his island.

Hiking through the night to keep warm, he paused in startled surprise when three nearby cranes keened in unison and then flew off. The wind that suddenly gusted past his ears sounded like soft crying, and for the barest of moments he thought it carried the scent of ash and scorched flesh.

In a tower at the northeast corner of the fire temple, two novice nuns practically carried Nahoa up the stairs as she gripped her swollen belly and tried to ignore the way birthing fluid dripped from her pants onto the stairs as she walked.

"Come, my lady, we're almost there," said one. Nahoa groaned and forced one foot to follow another. The baby was coming a few weeks early and had caught everyone by surprise. Apparently this tower was the safest area in the temple-they had been planning to move her there just after the spirit solstice. She knew that Kohaku's spies would be rushing to the Mo'i's house with the news. She wondered how he would take it. Would he try to contact her again? Sometimes she missed him so much that she actually considered going back. Then she would remember how Nahe had looked as he died and how even now the disappearances continued. Kohaku refused to promise her the one thing she needed from him: that he would never harm anyone again. And so she found herself giving birth at the top of a tower in the fire temple, surrounded by nuns and guards so she would be safe from her husband.

Makaho, the head nun, was already in the room when she staggered inside.

"Get her in the bed," she said.

The two novices helped Nahoa lie down on the sheets. She was grateful it was a sleeping mat instead of the raised beds that she had been using for the past year-it reminded her of home. Someone pulled off her wet pants and someone else rubbed a balm on her swollen belly that made it tingle and cleared her nose.

In the moments in between the wracking pain, she felt oddly distant from the situation. Her child would have good luck, she thought, being born on solstice eve. She stared out the single window and admired the powerful figure of Nui'ahi framing the dying sunset. She wondered if Kohaku was seeing the same thing right now. Was he keeping vigil in his aerie for the fires that so terrified him? Even tonight, the day most appropriate for joy and celebration, was he still afraid of whatever ghost his scorched left hand represented? Did he still speak to it?

A pain twisted at her stomach so violently that she screamed. The head nun was by her side, her eyes bright with concern and eagerness.

"Here, take this for the pain, my lady," she said, holding a drink to Nahoa's lips that smelled like urine and rotten fruit. Another contraction and she opened her mouth, swallowing as much of the vile concoction as she could without tasting it.

An hour later, when night had fallen and the moon bathed Nui'ahi in her light, the baby still seemed no closer to being born. Sweat from her body had soaked the sheets beneath her, and she shivered as it cooled.

"It's a girl, I think," Makaho said as she massaged her belly. "They are always more stubborn."

Nahoa smiled, thinking about how her mother had given birth to seven girls.

She was still smiling when Nui'ahi exploded, spewing molten lava high into the air. How pretty, Nahoa thought, absurdly, before the lava began running into the streets and the roaring wind flattened whole neighborhoods in seconds.

The contraction that ripped through her then nearly made her lose consciousness. She wept as she screamed, for the thousands of people dying below her, and for her baby girl, who would be born in this river of fire and blood.

Makaho stayed by her side, but the two novices rushed to the window, keening with shocked disbelief. The ground rocked beneath them and the tower swayed alarmingly, but remained upright. One of the girls shrieked and sank to the floor, weeping into her hands.

"My family," she said, "they live southside. Right underneath..." she began sobbing again.

Nahoa wanted to say something, but the contractions were coming faster and far more painfully now. She gasped under another onslaught, but the growing chorus of screams and wails coming from far below drowned her voice.

Two hours later, when ash had blotted the moon and the stars so that the only light came from the red-orange lava that flowed through the streets, Nahoa gave birth to a baby girl.

Lei'ahi, she called her: child of fire.

In the moments before the world exploded, it spoke to him.

He did not see her reflection in the glass of the aerie, but he knew she was there nonetheless. How could anyone not recognize the presence of a great spirit?

"I owe you thanks," said her hateful voice.

Kohaku did not turn to face it. He could not bear to look at its eyes. "Why?" he asked. Nahoa was giving birth, he had heard, locked away in a tall, hidden tower of the fire temple. He had only revenge to live for, and this simulacrum of his sister. It was mostly the fire spirit, of that he was sure, but his infrequent glimpses of the true Emea sickened him. When it begged him for revenge, he could never be sure who was begging.

"Tonight's festivities wouldn't have been possible without your contribution."

Kohaku glanced behind him. She was smiling. "Festivities?" he said.

"Turn around."

He did.

"Three, two, one..."

Nui'ahi exploded.

"Merry solstice eve, dear brother."

When he looked back, she was gone.

"Why do you wish to become Mo'i?" it had asked, those many months ago.

"I ... I mean ... for love. And especially for revenge."

The flames suddenly billowed out and Kohaku danced backwards in fear. The tongues of fire seemed to form in shapes of a dozen crudely grinning mouths, but they vanished as quickly as he had seen them.

"Better," it said, "much better. Many have come here for revenge and many have come here for love, but very few for both. Those few almost agreed, but in the end, they were too weak. Will you be different?"

"Different how?" Kohaku felt terrified but somehow exhilarated, talking with this inhuman spirit that could kill him at any moment.

"Will you," said the spirit, "take a handful of ashes from Konani's urn?" The flames thinned briefly so that he got a clearer view of that dark center of the flames-an urn containing the remains of Konani, the one who had given the ultimate self-sacrifice to bind the fire spirit. On the outside of the urn he had written the words of the geas that still bound the spirit and allowed civilization on the islands to survive.

He suddenly understood what that morose voice was asking him to do. It wanted Kohaku to remove a support that could destroy all the advances made by humans in the last thousand years. If the hundreds of volcanoes throughout the islands began to erupt again, millions would die and the survivors would be forced to scrabble a living in the ashes.

And in return, Kohaku would get revenge.

"You're trying to break free," he whispered, wishing that he were strong enough to refuse.

"I'm always trying to break free. But even if you take a handful of the ashes, I'll still be bound. I'll just have a little more leeway, a few small ways to show myself in the world aside from candles and hearth fires. I long to burn, penitent. As much as I'm able."

The spirit's obvious desire sent a wave of terror through him. Still, beneath that terror was a sudden sense of possibility. He had come here expecting to die and instead he had been offered a chance to have everything he ever wanted-and to commit the greatest crime humanity had ever known.

"Kohaku"

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice and his breath strangled in his throat. It was impossible. He hadn't heard that voice since he was ten years old. Reluctantly, he looked up and saw her in the flames, smiling sadly at him.

"It's me," Emea said.

"Stop it!" he yelled suddenly. Angry tears were forming in a hot ball in the back of his throat. "Don't mock me like this!"

"It's not mocking you," she said. "I can come here because I was burned in Nui'ahi. My spirit melded with the fire."

Kohaku met her eyes-where her green irises should have been, he only saw licking flames. Could it be real?

"Please, Kohaku ... do what it says. Take revenge for me. Promise me you won't let Nahe get away with my death."

He couldn't hold back the tears. He stared helplessly at the wavering figure of his sister. "But ... what about everyone else? How many people will I kill if I do what he says?"