Nohea was having the strangest dream. Wandering the forest alone, he searched the darkness. For what? He couldn’t remember. The night sky exploded, and for a few moments, glowed with the light of midday. Then, something appeared in the corner of his eye, and a dark form fell upon him without warning.

  He tried to run away, but his legs felt heavy and lifeless, as so often happened in his dreams. He plodded forward, barely moving. Finally at the shore, he resolved to reach his canoe and escape whatever followed him. His arms failed, just as his legs had done, leaving him unable to paddle away from his shadowy pursuer.

  As he transitioned into wakefulness, Nohea took comfort in the dawning awareness that the paralysis of his dream world would soon pass, and he’d be able to move again. But something was wrong. His head and face ached, and he couldn’t see anything more than a hint of daylight at the edge of his vision. Though he could shift his legs and bend his knees, his arms wouldn’t move—held fast behind him. Where was he? What happened? He struggled to piece it together.

  On an island in the middle of a lagoon on O’ahu with his fellow fisherman and their hidden protectors, he’d left the comfort of the campfire to check on Ahe, who had yet to return from his rounds. But then what?

  His dream, he realized. It wasn’t all a dream. The ball of white fire in the sky, the dark shape in the corner of his eye, appearing as if from nowhere—all real. He’d been captured; blindfolded and bound to a tree.

  Keeping still, straining for signs of his captors, he heard nothing but nearby waves lapping at the shore, and birds calling to one another in the branches above. Was he alone, or were his colleagues similarly restrained nearby? He whispered a few words, hoping someone might answer.

  As he moved his mouth, pain seared across the lower part of his face and jaw, doubling him forward as far as his restraints would allow. It felt like a dozen giant centipedes biting at his face. His eyes welled up with tears. One or two even made it past the blindfold and rolled down his cheek.

  A rustle rose to his left, and Nohea held his breath—willing himself to invisibility. A futile effort. He’d been caught by the evil he meant to provoke.

  His heartbeat echoed so loudly in his ears anyone within a couple of arms’ lengths of him would hear it pounding. The rustling got closer, coming to a stop at his feet, and he felt a presence looming overhead. He balled up as small as his restraints would allow, waiting for the evil to reveal itself as either natural or supernatural—as human or demon.

  Nohea started as an unexpected splash of liquid fell on his head and trickled down his face. Water. Perhaps his captor wasn’t a demon after all. He parted his lips as far as he could manage, tilting his head back to accept the drink.

  “Masalo,” he said, once he’d had his fill.

  The word emerged distorted from his shattered mouth, and his captor offered no response. Nohea strained to hear as footsteps faded against the lapping waves.

  The welcome drink helped lift the fog from Nohea’s thoughts, spurring his mind to action. Deprived of sight, he employed his other senses to discover what he could about his circumstances. The smells were familiar, but something felt out of place.

  Smoke from the fire and the lingering scent of their dried catch revealed he hadn’t left the campsite. What was the other smell? He knew it from somewhere; the rotten, sour smell of volcanic effluent. The magic he’d witnessed the night before. Had his attacker somehow harnessed the power of Pele to turn night into day?

  He listened again for clues. Besides the sounds of water and wildlife, he could hear his captor laboring at some unknown task. There was a pattern to his work; the faint sound of something heavy dragging across the sand, followed by muted grunts.

  Nohea urged himself to focus—to learn as much as possible about his circumstances. His legs, from the knees down, felt warm. Partial sun. Since they’d made camp on the east side of the tiny island-within-an-island, that meant late morning.

  He tugged on his arms to get a sense of his restraints. No give, and they felt strange against his wrists; smooth, not fibrous like the rope. Maneuvering his arms around, he could tell whatever manner of cordage bound him in place had an edge to it, as though flat. Perhaps a minor detail, the otherworldly nature of his bonds made his stomach muscles tighten into a ball.

  Among the other smells, he noticed something cooking over the remains of the fire. While his growling stomach complained at hunger, Nohea dreaded the thought of chewing. Though sure to be an excruciating ordeal, he would have to face it eventually. The smell of food faded, and, realizing his captor would offer nothing, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

  Another splash of water jolted him to alertness. He took a moment to reacquaint himself with his circumstances before once more opening his mouth to accept a drink. When he finished, his captor released the restraint behind his back with one quick movement, allowing his arms to flop to his sides. He exhaled with relief, rubbing his aching shoulders.

  The reprieve proved only temporary. His captor hauled him to his feet and pulled his hands back. He heard first one, then another series of rapid clicks, like an abbreviated conversation between a pair of cicadas. In an instant, the cold, smooth restraints secured his wrists once more.

  Pushed forward by unseen hands, Nohea struggled to stay upright until his feet sank into cool, wet sand. He dropped to his knees and went rigid, certain he would be drowned. His captor hauled him to his feet, prodding him on until the water lapped at his knees. Then, with a final shove from behind, he toppled head-first into a waiting outrigger. Was he to be set free?

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  Thoughts of freedom vanished as a horrifying stench overwhelmed his senses. He thrashed his feet, trying without success to find purchase against the slick bottom and get away from the awful smell, until, finally, his captor hooked him under the shoulders and yanked him out of the filth.

  Still, the smell clung to him, and Nohea heard his otherwise silent companion retch as he waded away. The sound, the rocking motion, and above all, the reeking contents of the outrigger now covering his body were too much. His stomach spasmed. Without regard for his injury, the involuntary evacuation of its contents forced his jaw open, triggering pain so intense it appeared as a blinding flash. Then, nothing.

  ***

  Not a hint of light filtered through his blindfold. Nighttime. Nohea tilted back his head and opened his nostrils to the steady breeze of fresh sea air, giving him some relief from the stench still welling up around him. Ahead rose the steady rhythm of a paddle five or six arms’ lengths away. Another canoe, towing him through the water.

  Bewildering circumstances. Why was he still alive? Where was his captor taking him? And what was the horrible smell? He feared he knew the answer to the last question, and shivered with revulsion as his feet squished about in the mess in the bottom of the canoe. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on decoding his captor’s intent.

  The breeze came from ahead and a bit to his left. They traveled in the direction of sunrise—towards his home on Moloka’i. His eyes widened with dread behind the blindfold as the implication hit. His wordless companion—the inhuman creature that had bested the most potent warriors of Maui—was taking him back to his family.

  The steady paddling stopped, and Nohea held his breath, fearing what might come next. A moment of quiet, then a few more splashes followed by a bump as the other outrigger came alongside. He leaned his head back and accepted another stream of fresh water. As before, his captor said nothing, draining the gourd into his mouth before resuming the journey.

  Exhausted and hungry, Nohea drifted in and out of awareness to the rhythmic splash and gurgle of the paddle. Occasionally, his head would droop too far forward, jarring him awake. The pattern repeated countless times before hints of sunrise filtered through his blindfold, confirming they were headed for Moloka’i. He prayed to his family god to deliver him safely and protect his loved ones from harm.

  Soon, the familiar sound of sand scuffing the bottom of the outrigger told him they had arrived at a beach. His silent companion waded through the water and hauled his canoe ashore before vanishing again.

  A few moments later, he returned, offering another drink and some food pulverized into a paste. Though dreading the pain, Nohea’s stomach ached with such hunger he took it eagerly, moving his jaw as little as possible as his captor thumbed the meal into the side of his barely open mouth. Uala and cooked fish.

  The display of humanity, though minor, gave the fisherman hope he might reason with his abductor. He fought through the pain to apologize—to beg forgiveness for his trespass—offering assurances he would warn his brethren against returning to O’ahu. No response. Nohea’s shoulders sank. What could he do to appease his tormentor?

  Sheltered in an inlet somewhere along the shore with only a slight breeze to combat it, the stench rose from the bottom of the canoe and choked at his throat. He sensed nothing of his captor, and feared he’d been left to die in the rancid filth. Why wouldn’t he speak? What was he doing?

  Intermittent snoring rose above the surf, providing the answer. Sleeping? Did this mean his captor was something mortal? He had no experience from which to draw, but allowed himself some comfort at the thought.

  ***

  Nohea had not slept as well as his mysterious companion. His pleas to be set free to relieve himself had gone unanswered, and he’d been forced to do it where he sat, making his already unbearable situation worse. Such inhumanity left little hope for a humane outcome. He pressed his face to his knees and sobbed.

  Though he’d found moments of uneasy sleep, he spent most of the day awake and uncomfortable in the filth that surrounded him, waiting for his captor to wake. The flecks of sunlight filtering through his blindfold gave way to the orange glow of twilight before he heard any signs of movement.

  Once more, invisible hands offered Nohea some food and water before pushing his outrigger back into the water. The sound of the paddle dipping into the water resumed, and he felt a lurch as the rope connecting the two canoes went taut, pulling him forward. Nohea raised his nose above the stench of his canoe and gasped at the fresh sea air, relieved to be moving again.

  Then, after only a few strokes, the paddling stopped. His captor jumped into the water with a splash, and Nohea heard him wading closer, perhaps to offer another drink. The fisherman leaned his head back, anticipating a splash of cool water. Instead, he felt a sharp jab in his shoulder. He yelped in shock, triggering another eruption of fiery pain.

  It took some time for him to recover and refocus on his surroundings. The sound of the surf to his left revealed they were following the southern shore of Moloka’i. The hairs on Nohea’s neck pricked with dread, knowing his own village was among those they’d soon encounter past the crook in the shoreline that marked the island’s midpoint. He feared the day’s sleep had been in preparation for a night of murder, and wondered if he’d been brought along to bear witness to the consequences of violating O’ahu.

  The desperate fisherman prayed for countless hours as they continued along the coast, begging his aumakua—his family god—to manifest as a shark and kill his tormentor before any harm could come to his loved ones. The night air fell cold, and Nohea could not stop shivering. A sign, he hoped, that his prayers had been answered, and some gathering force had changed the very composition of the air as it prepared to deliver him from the silent evil.

  The paddling ceased, and the scuff of sand against the bottom of his canoe announced they’d come ashore again. Nohea’s hands fell to his side as his captor released the restraints, offering no prompt or instruction to explain why he’d been freed. What did it mean?

  His arms ached—probably from being held so long in the same position. But the rest of his muscles hurt just as much, and he couldn’t stop shivering. A paddle blade smacked against the side of his head as he reached for his blindfold. He dropped his hands to his lap and waited for instruction.

  None came. Instead, a series of grunts punctuated by a splash revealed the other canoe was back in the water. He listened as the sound of labored paddling faded in the direction from which they had come. A baffling development. Had his aumakua intervened to gain his freedom?

  When he could no longer hear anything but the waves and nocturnal insects, Nohea reached for the blindfold again, wincing in anticipation of another blow to the head. Nothing. He blinked a few times as he scanned the moonlit landscape to figure out where he’d been deposited. As he shifted in his seat, his foot slipped on the canoe’s slick bottom.

  He’d almost forgotten the horrible smelling mess at his feet, having grown used to it over the course of his captivity. He closed his eyes to steel himself against what he might find in the bottom of his canoe. Something glinted in the moonlight, and he leaned in for a closer look. His eyes widening in sudden terror, Nohea jolted upright and stumbled from the outrigger.