Chapter Sixteen: Hepthys
When Hepthys originally arrived, she would have said the new arrivals were evenly split between men and women, but she had since learned of the mawi, and spotted some of those she assumed were of that third gender. Hepthys couldn’t understand why anyone would want to take on the traits of men. Some mysteries she couldn’t answer.
As the counterattack against the nationals loomed, her thoughts often turned to Shabunet. They weren’t precisely together, but they weren’t precisely apart either. A girl had to leave her girlhood behind when she went on her Meskhenet. When she returned, she was free to do what she liked, though it was expected that she would be changed. Hepthys couldn’t imagine changing enough not to find sweet, gentle Shabunet anything but necessary, though watching Pua’ku had the effect of making it hard to think about much of anything.
Judging by the attention the ma’hanu was getting, this was far from a unique reaction.
The boats came in, loaded with ma’hanu and warriors, and they debarked, to be housed in the guest lodge above the village. At night, there was feasting, and Hepthys attended, only to make herself visible. The other Waiolans needed to see her as a friend, as a guest of the Kamo’loa people. Mostly they stared. Only a few of the bravest attempted to speak with her. The only unpleasant one was a mountain of a man with a mane of wild, curly hair who seemed to think he was charming and that Hepthys might make a good match for him.
Hepthys didn’t want to start a fight, but she was running out of options when Kono threw his arms over the man’s shoulder and distracted him with jokes, allowing Hepthys to plant herself next to Mailani.
When ten tribes had arrived, Chief Kuani called the meet. Ali’kai stood at the door to the main lodge and blew a single clear note from a shell. He followed this up with a short but complex tune.
“C’mon,” said Kono. He and Hepthys were relaxing after dinner in the shade of a palm. “Time for the council.”
The warriors of Kamo’loa—really, any of those who planned to join the raid—and ma’hanu filed into the chief’s lodge. Hepthys felt a tiny knot in her belly as she wondered if they would let her in, but her fear was for nothing. She passed inside, and found the meeting hall.
The lodge was circular. The center was a firepit, the blaze crackling mightily, breathing its smoke out a hole in the ceiling. The building then rose in tiers, like an amphitheater, around the fire. Woven grass mats ringed the entire area. Chief Kuani waited at the far end of the fire. She was standing, her pregnant belly even more impressive in the jumping shadows of the firelight. The Kamo’loa formed up around her, picking different tiers, the ma’hanu close to the fire, the warriors farther away and thus higher.
When all the Kamo’loa were inside, Ali’kai blew another series of notes. The Pua’ui came in next, taking their place to the right of the Kamo’loa. Then Ali’kai played another short tune, and this time the Lekeahi came. One by one, the tribes entered and took their place around the fire after Ali’kai summoned them with their song. No one shared the inner ring with Chief Kuani. She was the undisputed head of this conclave.
Once all the tribes were inside, Ali’kai joined them, standing at the fourth tier with the first of the warriors. Hepthys and Kono stood on the third, with the ma’hanu who weren’t Hapua.
“We all know why we here,” Kuani said. “No need to whisper into the waves.”
There was a general assent.
“Not everybody here been to Mele. Don’t know what we lookin’ at.” She nodded at the upper tier. Hepthys turned and saw warriors posted around the walls. They pulled levers in the walls, and a banner unfurled just under the hole in the ceiling, flapping against the heated air of the blaze. Something had been written on the canvas surface, and although she squinted, she couldn’t quite see what it was. It wasn’t until she looked over at Kono that she saw that he wasn’t staring at the fire or the banner, but at the wall. An image, burning in orange, yellow, and red shone against it. A simple projection, the map on the banner thrown from firelight to lodge wall. To Hepthys, it looked like the ocean was a glowing sea of magma, and the land was blazing with fire.
The island of Mele was roughly bean-shaped, with a protrusion on the southern end forming the far wall of its bay. The mountain was on the northwestern edge. Hepthys imagined this to be like the one on Kamo’loa: the volcano that had originally brought the land out of the sea and into the air. Based on her memories of the island itself, and what she had seen on Kamo’loa, Hepthys could place where the jungle was thickest, where the local people had created their paths over generations, and where the orchards stood around the edges of the buildings. Her Academy training took over, and she began to think of an arena of attack, but it took her a moment to remember that not only did her allies lack wings, but that her wings were far from functional. Instead, she looked to the far side of the island from the village, wondering if perhaps the coalition of tribes would land there, and attack through the jungles and orchards.
“Mele,” said Kuani. “Our family. We got word from one of our own ma’hanu, young Kono, an’ our guest, Hepthys, the girl with sails on her back.”
Murmurs chased the words. Hepthys stood up straighter against the scrutiny. It was absurd. Even at her full height, she was like a child to the Waiolans.
“Some of you asked me, and the rest are wonderin’, so I’ll speak on it. But this is all I’ll say, an’ you take my words an’ the hearts of the Kamo’loa an’ find the truth there. Hepthys ain’t from the nations. Her home is past them. She don’t war. She don’t slave. She been nothin’ but a loyal friend of the Kamo’loa since we known her.”
The murmurs were now accompanied by nods. Hepthys still felt a few angry gazes on her shoulders—or more likely, her golden wings—but the bulk of the delegates had accepted the chief’s words at face value.
“Kono an’ Hepthys spotted the warjunk at Mele, an’ our own outriggers checked an’ saw it was true. Only it didn’t come like a storm in the night, take our families an’ disappear into the rising sun. No, this warjunk stayin’. They buildin’ walls, they diggin’ ditches. My spirit’s tellin’ me they plan to stay. Maybe think to build a new nation. A nation of war down here with the tribes.”
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The muttering turned angry.
“Don’t have to tell you what we here to do,” Kuani said. “Only here to tell you how we gonna do it. The outriggers came back, put the wall there, at the edge of the village.”
Ali’kai went to the projection, and with sweeping gestures, roughly delineated where the wall cut through the island. It blocked off the Mele village and appeared to run through swatches of jungle and orchard.
“Don’t know what the nationals thinkin’ with that wall. Ain’t nothing comin’ from the land. All the dangers of Waiola, an’ all the bounty, come from the sea.”
The chief proceeded to outline the plan. It was simple, and maybe that was its virtue. To Hepthys, it certainly seemed like no one was getting an order they didn’t intimately understand. Because the attack was coming from the west, they would time it for the early morning, sleeping out on the water one horizon distant, then using a modicum of magic to fill their sails with wind. The boats would race hard for the mouth of the harbor, half the warriors making for the warjunk to break the catapults, the others going to land to free the captured Mele and deal with any landbound pirates. The ma’hanu would keep the wind in favor of the tribes, pin the warjunk in place, and eventually sink her. Hepthys got the impression that doing that would take a good deal of time and energy, thus the need to still the catapults and thereby pull her teeth first.
When the chief issued orders, she used not only the names of the tribe in question, but of the people. She made eye contact with those she spoke to, and waited for some sign of assent before moving on. Hepthys couldn’t imagine what it took to remember everyone in the room, and her esteem for the chief grew.
However, when it came time to issue orders to the Kamo’loa, the chief had nothing to say to either Hepthys or Kono.
“We leave with the dawn,” the chief finished. “Until then, we remember what we fighting for. Tonight you live! Everything else is for the sun.”
A cheer went up. The Waiolans were grinning, patting each other on shoulders and backs, all while looking from face to face with more than a bit of amorous energy. The lodge emptied out quickly. Hepthys, however, stayed planted to her spot.
“C’mon, sky-girl. We got a party to get to. You not want to miss this one,” Kono said with a grin.
“I need to talk to the chief.”
“What you need to do that for?”
“She never assigned us to do anything. I don’t know what’s expected of me. I want to know, am I to board the warjunk, or am I to free captured Mele? I might want to go right to my ship, but if the Kamo’loa need me, I have to be there.”
Kono blushed, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t think you expected to do anything. Just stay here on the beach. Maybe you learn to swim better.”
Hepthys started as though she had been hit. “I’m staying here! I still need my ship, and the pirates have it. I won’t sit here with clipped pinfeathers.”
The vast majority of the people were gone, and from the sounds filtering back into the lodge, the party was getting started. Hepthys heard a rhythmic beat of drums, laughter and loud conversation, and the crackle of fire. All the warmth was outside—but she felt only the cold fear of being left behind. Did the chief think she was a child, unworthy of the battle ahead? Could she sense that Hepthys was in the process of failing her Meskhenet?
Hepthys started purposefully toward the chief. Kono put a hand on Hepthys’s shoulder.
“Hang on—”
She shook him off easily. “Chief? Chief Kuani? You never gave Kono and me our assignments.”
Chief Kuani looked down at Hepthys, and what flashed behind her eyes nearly broke the young Atumite’s heart. So quickly, like sunlight flickering through tattered stormclouds, Hepthys saw . Just as quickly, serene authority replaced it. But it didn’t matter. Hepthys had seen it, and Kuani had seen her see it.
“You an’ Kono have already done enough. You found the warjunk, an’ you brought us news. You abided our law even though it ain’t your law, an’ we thank you.”
“Chief, they have my ship. The whole reason I want to fight the pirates is to get my ship back.”
“You don’t want to help the Mele people? Defend the Kamo’loa?”
Hepthys felt her face grow hot. “Yes, of course I want to do that. But I want my ship too. I want to be able to get home.”
“We drive the nationals away, we return your ship.”
“Is this because we’re young? I assure you, Chief, I’ve been to the finest Academy in my homeland. I’ve been training to be a warrior since I could walk. I can’t let you take risks for my ship. I need to do this.”
Kuani shook her head. “I’m sorry. Plan’s been made. Go out to the party. Enjoy yourself. Find somebody an’ make memories by the fire. This is when young love gets its spark.”
“Chief, no! I can’t go out and !” Hepthys felt herself whining like a child, but couldn’t stop it. Kuani’s utter serenity was maddening, worse still as it masked that pity.
“Don’t pretend, then.”
“Why? Why are you leaving us here?”
Once again, the sunlight peeked through the clouds, and Hepthys saw what the chief was hiding. This time, it wasn’t pity. It was annoyance. Anger maybe.
“I’m leavin’ him,” she said, nodding to Kono who had been standing silently behind Hepthys the whole time, “because he only found you when he was too lazy to work magic in times of peace. We can’t put him in war yet. An’ you, you too small. The nationals would cut you to pieces an’ give you to the deep. Maybe warriors in your homeland are small, but here they big. You a guest and I won’t be the one who feeds you to the gods.”
With that, Kuani strode from the hall. As she reached the doorway, the tension she had carried in her posture since Hepthys approached vanished, and she raised both hands to the sky as a raucous cheer greeted her appearance.
In that moment, Hepthys wished she had her staff with her, and imagined projecting a sunray through the chief’s back.
“You see?” Kono said.
Hepthys whirled on the big ma’hanu. He stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from one paddle-like foot to the other. When she brought her burning gaze down on him, he shrank from it.
“This doesn’t bother you? We’re being left behind. I’m too small and you’re too lazy.”
“Not everybody get to go.”
“They need people so bad they brought them in from ten different tribes, but you and me have to stay.”
Kono shrugged, his eyes darting about as though looking for an escape.
“You have nothing to say to me?” Hepthys pushed. “We did the right thing. What you said to do. We reported the warjunk to your people, and we’d come back to help drive it off. I’d get my ship and I could go home, and you...” Hepthys faltered, and realized she didn’t know the end to that sentence. “What you want?”
“I don’t know,” Kono said. “I was thinkin’ maybe of listenin’ to music, see if one of those other ma’hanu want to get a little closer—”
“That’s it? That’s all you want?”
“What else is there?”
Hepthys wasn’t certain how to explain honor or valor to Kono. There wasn’t even a class on it in Academy. Atumites were expected to understand it instinctually. Children learned to read on stories about the heroines of Atum-Ra.
She shook her head. The disgust she felt now was a palpable thing, grasping at her with slimy tentacles. She didn’t want to look at Kono, much less speak to him. So she turned away.
“The party take your mind off it. Everyone down there lookin’ for somebody. Maybe you find a pretty girl, huh?” Kono called after her.
Hepthys didn’t respond. She stalked to the doorway. Joyful sounds and succulent scents billowed up from the party below. The bonfire was stacked higher than twice Kono’s height, the flames reaching upward as though to bring the night sky down. Drummers played improvisational polyrhythms, challenging one another with combinations progressively more complex. Others ate and drank by the fire, or talked. Most cuddled, or kissed and caressed, and in a few cases were far more intimate than Hepthys would expect in such a public place. The shadows were alive with movement, and everywhere she looked, she saw a smile.
Hepthys came down the hill, but she ignored the party itself. The only one she would want to share it with was half a galaxy away, and she had already been deemed unworthy of the celebration anyway. As she reached the bottom, the shadows opened up and Pua’ku stepped out, dressed only in her simple kilt and a wide grin. “Hey, sky-girl. Come join me by the fire.”
Hepthys found herself shaking her head, too angry at Kuani to even respond. The Atumite disappeared into the dark, returning to her small shelter on the far beach.
Only then did Hepthys scream in frustration. No one could hear her, except maybe the gods, and they weren’t talking back.