Tamatoa dreamed.
He was warm and comfortable, basking on a beach in the bright sunshine. Well-fed and content, he dug his legs deep into the sand and watched the radiant sunlight sparkle on the ocean. The tide was coming in, crystalline water lapping gently at him as it rose. Enormous silvery fish flitted within easy reach of his pincers, an abundance of food there at his clawtips, easily available with no effort needed to catch them at all.
The water kept rising and the fish scattered into the murk. Cold water swirled around him and suddenly he was trapped. The sun's rays were snuffed out as the icy seawater crept higher and higher until it crested over his head. Panicked, he dug furiously into the sand, desperate to escape before he could drown in the rising water.
The sand gave way beneath him, dropping away and flushing him out of the water and into pitch darkness. He tumbled for what seemed like an eternity until finally sliding to a halt in a vast emptiness. From somewhere nearby came a wild, brassy howl and the blackness around him was slashed by tongues of white lightning, clawing at him with forked fingers that burned straight through his shell.
Then the world began to shake and split open. Jagged rocks tumbled from above, cascading down upon him. He was trapped again as everything fell apart.
With a start Tamatoa opened his eyes, wrenching himself free of the nightmare—not the first he'd had of late, either.
But even awake, the shaking did not stop. Heavy debris was still raining down, crashing into him and scraping treasures from his shell. Disoriented and wide-eyed, he frantically searched around himself, trying to make sense of what was happening. The ground was heaving like a storm-tossed sea and his home itself was tearing apart, chunks of shell and stone ripping away and falling all around.
Thinking fast, he made a break for the exit. He wasn't quick enough, though, and the entire hidden door collapsed before he could get there. Rubble blocked his way out, jagged shards cutting him off. The entire lair began to sway violently and the air was filled with sharp, popping cracks as it disintegrated. Trapped as the ground continued to buck and lurch under him, he did the only thing he could: he ducked low and threw his claws up to protect his head, squeezed his eyes shut, and waited for everything to end.
There was another awful crashing noise and then the world was swallowed by darkness and confusion.
Maui took a step back, then another. He backed slowly away from the stone pillar, now dark in the pale moonlight. The night sounds began to filter back in, but they seemed distant and tentative. He looked down at his hook, undamaged by the blow, then back at the stone obelisk. The monolith had not cracked, but the crystalline veins spidering across it were shattered within the surrounding matrix. Where it was once pulsing with light, it was now dull and still.
Maui felt a wave of uneasiness rise up as he stared at those lifeless lines in the ancient stone. What had those crystals been a part of? He had been so eager to actually be of use to the humans again—and yet he'd been in such a hurry to get on his way, too—that he hadn't been paying enough attention. He hadn't asked the questions he should have. And now he had no idea what he had actually done.
Maui's eyes narrowed. He might not know, but knew who did: Kamapua'a.
He cursed himself for not recognizing the old kupua. It had been more than a thousand years, plus centuries to spare, since he had seen the shapeshifter and they had only met that one time. Maui barely remembered the encounter beyond that the shapeshifter had made a fool of himself in front of Pele, but he recalled enough to know that Kamapua'a should not be trusted.
It stung that the kupua had tricked him, too. Tricked him, Maui! Maui should not be the one tricked, it should be him tricking others!
Well, there was nothing to be done for that now. He could nurse his wounded pride later. For now, he would just have to hunt Kamapua'a down and find out what had been done.
At that thought, however, Maui let out a frustrated groan. This was going to set him back even longer, delaying his journey even more. He would have to really squeeze every last bit of speed out of his sails to make up the time, otherwise he was going to owe Tamatoa quite the apology for showing up late. After everything that had happened, he didn't want to lose Tamatoa's friendship and trust again. Especially not by repeating his past mistakes.
No, he needed to handle this fast. He glanced at the sky, where the first streaks of purple pre-dawn light were beginning to fade in. There was still a bit of time before daybreak and the outgoing tide, but he'd have to hustle.
With that in mind, he lifted his hook with a ringing whoop. Shifting into a hawk, he took flight. He could cover more ground from the air and more easily spot the sneaky kupua with a raptor's keen eye.
Light began to bleed into the sky, red streaking the horizon to the east, as Maui flew low over the island. Sharp eyes kept alert, scanning the forest for any sign of the other shapeshifter—a broken trail or a flash of movement or anything that might give away the man's location.
Even the dawning light did little to hasten his task, however, and only served as reminder that he was running late. Maui's frustration grew. The tide would be turning soon and he had to—
Wait! There!
A flutter of movement caught his eye in the forest below. Letting out a hawk's shrill scream, he folded his wings and curved into a steep dive. Descending fast, he zeroed in on the fleeing kupua, who was nimbly weaving through the trees with a practiced fluidity.
It wasn't enough to avoid Maui. He swooped down with talons open wide, blindingly fast as he dodged tree branches and vines along the way.
Then he struck, slamming into Kamapua'a with the force of a falling boulder. A mortal man would have been flattened by the blow, but the kupua was made of stronger stuff. Caught unaware, Kamapua'a was knocked clear off his feet and tumbled into the soft earth of the forest floor, uttering a blistering oath as he fell.
Before the other man could recover, Maui had shifted back to his human skin. Quick as lightning, he snatched at Kamapua'a's heavy pigskin cape, dragging the kupua to his feet and slamming him up against the trunk of a koa tree.
Kamapua'a barely had time to draw a breath before Maui was in his face. "What did you do?" he demanded, gripping the cape and holding the man firmly against the tree with one hand and brandishing his hook threateningly with the other.
To Maui's surprise, the kupua began to laugh. "You mean, what did you do?"
Maui fought to keep his temper in check, but it was a losing battle already. This man had tricked him, had lead him to do something he didn't fully understand, and Maui was not going to put up with being mocked, too. "You know what I mean!" he snarled back. "Those stones, what were they?"
Unperturbed by Maui's display of wrath, Kamapua'a only grinned at him—unnervingly self-assured. "I'm sure you'll find out soon enough," he said, smug satisfaction twisting his lips further.
Maui shoved his hook in the man's face. "No, you tell me," he demanded again. He had no time for these silly games.
The man only smirked, slick as slime. "Nah," he said, cool confidence in his voice. "I think I'll let you find out on your own." He laughed again, "Consider it payback!"
Kamapua'a flashed a smug, triumphant smile that set Maui's teeth on edge. Then there was a muted burst of green light and the pigskin cape went slack in Maui's hands. He looked down just in time to see the fleeing hocks of a pig vanish into the undergrowth, lost to the dappled shadows of morning.
Letting out a growl of thwarted anger and deep frustration, Maui flung the now-empty cloak to the ground. He glanced up to gauge the position of the sun, now hovering just above the horizon line. The tide would be going out now. He had no more time for this. No more time to chase after the slippery shapeshifter.
Glaring into the woods, he raised his voice and called out, "This isn't over, pig! When I get back, I'll—" He faltered, stumbling to think up a suitable threat on the fly and coming up short. "—I'll get answers, one way or the other!"
With that rather weak threat left hanging in the air, he wasted no further time. Flashing into the shape of a hawk, he rose above the trees and soared fast over them towards his canoe, prepped and waiting on the shore.
It didn't take long and in no time at all Maui had landed on the beach. The water was receding, tide pulling it out to sea. Time to get going.
He tossed his hook onto the deck, then gave the boat a shove. It slid easily into the water and Maui leapt aboard. A tug upon the lines and the sail snapped open, billowing out as it caught the wind, and a turn of the steering oar angled the bow towards the crashing surf. Sure and steady, he crossed the breakers and hit the calmer seas beyond them.
Finally, Maui was on his way.
Even as he set out for the bluewater, Maui looked back over his shoulder at the retreating shape of the island. It nagged at him that he had no real idea what tampering with that stone had done. Should he really be leaving without a definitive answer?
He sighed. There was no good option here. Delay to investigate and he risked the fragile trust he'd rebuilt with his best friend—a renewed friendship that was hard won, but still perhaps vulnerable. Leave and he could be abandoning some unknown and potentially brewing disaster.
Well, he'd just have to deal with the known rather than the unknown. He knew things would go badly with Tamatoa if he didn't show up as he promised.
Besides, there didn't seem to be any immediate danger from this. There were no brooding skies, no onrushing darkness, nor any great swarming hordes of monsters unleashed. Whatever it was that the damaged stones did would just have to wait—at least until he'd explained the situation to Tamatoa. Maybe the crab might even know what they were—he had a knack for knowing the lore surrounding nearly every bit of treasure out there.
Resolved, he nodded to himself and set his course. Soon enough he'd be in Lalotai and everything would be fine.
The world came back jaggedly, filtering in through a haze of pain and discomfort and noise and chaos. What had happened? It had just been a dream, right? Just reliving their nightmare in the realm beneath Lalotai again, right?
Tamatoa opened his eyes to a nightmare made real.
The air was hot, stinging his eyes, and he blinked. Then blinked again. He stared, looking frantically all around himself at something he had only heard of, but never seen: Fire! And this was no dream. The heat of it was intense, far hotter than he had imagined it would be. The orange and red and even blue of it were more vivid than anything Maui had described. It danced menacingly around him, circling not unlike a predator, and deep-seated instinct made fear bubble over. And it was everywhere, there was nowhere he could go, no way to get back to—
His heart stuttered, an icy feeling shooting through him like lightning despite the oppressive heat all around. His home. His home was a ruin. The entire, beautiful shell had crumbled to dust and rubble and the fire was already feasting on its remains.
The ring of flame began to surge forward, pressing in closer. Panic seized him and he scrambled to stand, backing away in terror. There was nowhere to flee, nowhere to go. He was trapped, with fire raging all around.
Desperate to escape, he skittered back anyway until one leg slipped, landing on open air and throwing him off balance. He cried out in fear, frantically working to regain his footing. He looked behind him, eyes wide with confused terror. It took a moment to think clearly enough to realize that he'd stepped into the gaping crater of the geyser. Just as he made that realization, there was a rumble beneath him, growling up from far underground.
Panic surged again as the thought of being flipped again by the geyser in the middle of this firestorm sent fear spiking through him. He shied away, taking several hasty steps back. Hemmed in by the approaching fire, though, there was little room to maneuver. Nevertheless, he cringed away from the geyser as far as he dared.
The rumbling grew stronger. Then, with a roaring burst, the geyser behind him erupted, throwing a spume of warm, mineral-laden water high into the air. He was just far enough away to avoid being caught by it. It rained down around him, pattering lightly on his shell. The encroaching line of flames sizzled and sputtered at the edges, dying out in a ring around him as the water hit. It must have been why he'd been spared. His memories were all a blur, but he must have somehow dragged himself into the safety around the—
Wait, there was a gap! The geyser's spray had extinguished a narrow break in the wall of flames. Tamatoa could see a sliver of open space beyond it, charred black but not currently burning. It wasn't much—barely enough for him to squeeze through—but it was at least some sort of escape route.
The flames were pressing back in, beginning to close the already thin gap in the fire. There was no time to consider; he had to act now or he might not be able to get away at all.
Every instinct, every impulse told him to stay back—to avoid the flames, rather than go towards them. He had to do it, though. Claws clenched, he steeled himself, fighting back his fear.
The window in the flames was rapidly shrinking. Now or never. He laid his antennae flat against his back and pulled his pincers in close, then ran.
He barreled towards the gap, moving as fast as his legs would carry him. The heat was overbearing, searing and intense. He squinted his eyes against it, beating back his extreme terror. At the last second, he angled sideways to slip through with as thin a profile as possible. Then he was engulfed, flames roaring on either side of his body. Tendrils of flame grasped for him, reaching with searing fingers.
He shot through the gap fast, but the fire was faster and closed in just as he reached the other side. Tongues of flame licked at his legs, sending white hot pain lancing through him. Tamatoa screamed in agony, but kept going as if his life depended on it—which it surely did.
Then he burst through the flames to the other side. He kept going, running almost blindly as far from the fire as he could despite the pain streaking through his legs. Finally, the sum of his pain and fear and exhaustion all became too much and he stumbled to a stop. Panting from the exertion and the pure fear that drove him, Tamatoa looked back.
Everything around the remains of his home was still burning. Free of the circling fire now, he watched in dull, distant horror. The tentacle palms were aflame, thrashing and screeching as they burned. The dying shrieks of other monsters, trapped somewhere in the flames, grated against his antennae and Tamatoa cringed.
Here, at least, the firestorm had come and gone. The ground was blackened, covered in a dusty layer of soot and ash that was stirred into the air with every step. Charred stumps of plants, twisted and contorted, were all around him. It was nearly unrecognizable as the territory he knew.
Out of immediate danger now, he examined his legs. The fire had caught both of them on his right side. His exoskeleton was singed, laced black over an angry red. Gingerly, he flexed them one at a time, then tapped them on the ground, wincing at how tender they were. No serious damage done, at least. It hurt—a lot!—but he'd live.
Then he swiveled an eye to check himself for other injuries, turning it over his shoulder and—
He let out a distressed wail.
His shell was bare. His treasure was gone—all of it. Scraped clean by whatever hazily desperate escape he'd made from his collapsing lair.
Numb with shock, he sank down to the ground. A puff of ash swirled around him. Two thousand years of collecting, two thousand years of treasured artifacts, each with its own memory attached. All gone. Gone! His eyes looked blearily up at the flames engulfing his beautiful home, tearing it apart with ravenous vehemence.
His treasure was gone. His home was gone.
Everything was gone.
Hmm, that was odd.
Maui squinted into the perpetual fog that surrounded the towering spire of rock that marked the entrance to Lalotai. The haze seemed thicker than usual, billowing in wispy whorls as if driven by confused winds.
As Maui watched, a grey curl of mist wafted over the deck of the canoe. The shifting wind brought with it something distinctly out of place—the faint scent of smoke. Then the wind blew from a fresh direction and the smoky smell was gone.
Maui shrugged it off, telling himself it was fine. Probably just his imagination or, perhaps, another canoe somewhere off in the fog. He was probably just jumpy after all that mess with Kamapua'a days prior. No need to worry, he reassured himself.
He sailed on.
The cliff ought to be in sight by now, but with the fog as murky as a cup of kava, he was hard-pressed to even see the bow of the canoe. Despite his own self-reassurances, Maui felt ill at ease. Something seemed off. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Keeping steady at the rudder, he nevertheless reached down and slid his hook closer on the deck, moving it within easy reach—just a precaution, of course! Everything was fine, but there was no harm in being prepared.
Then the ash began to fall.
Maui stared, caught between a baffled lack of comprehension and a building sense of dread, at the tiny white flakes as they gently drifted down all around him. They settled lightly on his hair and floated in grey clumps in the water, falling like a silent rain. The eerie ashfall seemed to absorb all sound, even deadening the ubiquitous lapping of the sea against the canoe's hull.
Maui ran his hand through his hair, pulling a handful of ash away. He looked at the ash for a long moment, trying to quell the sick feeling that rose up at the sight of it. The ash was falling harder now, in thick choking gusts that burned Maui's lungs and set him to coughing.
Trying to wave the heavy ash away only made his coughing fit worse, however. Finally, he reluctantly reached down and tore a strip of tapa cloth away from the lavalava he wore. He hated to do it. The elaborately dyed tapa, painted in intricate designs of red and brown, had been a gift to him from Moana and her people. It had been lovingly made and he wore it proudly, but there was little else he could use to stave off the ash. He would have sighed with dismay, but he was too busy coughing for any dramatic gestures.
Dipping the cloth in the sea, he wet it down and then wrapped it around his nose and mouth to keep the ash at bay. It would have to do.
He gripped the steering oar tighter, staring grimly ahead through the ash and coaxing a little more speed from the sails. He tried to tell himself that things would be fine when he got to the Impossible Cliff, but he'd finally learned—and learned the hard way—that lying to himself didn't fix anything. This was a bad sign, no denying it. He'd know just how bad soon enough.
As if on cue, the fog rolled back to reveal the towering peak that marked the entrance to Lalotai.
Or rather, it revealed what was left of it. Maui's breath caught in his chest and he stared in wide-eyed shock. The top of the enormous spire was utterly shattered, the columnar blocks of stone scorched black. It stood barely a quarter of its former height, reduced to a pile of rubble and broken talus from which a pillar of dirty smoke emerged—a brown smudge against a hazy grey sky.
Wordless urgency drove him forward to land the canoe gracelessly on the remaining shoreline of the battered seamount. The hull scraped over jagged chunks of rock, grinding to a halt, and Maui leapt off without bothering to tether it. With a single-minded haste, he scaled the remains of the cliff and looked for any sliver of light—any hint of the magical purple glow that marked the way into the Realm of Monsters.
There was nothing. The portal to Lalotai had been destroyed.
Crouched in the rubble, Maui suddenly remembered the smug grin of Kamapua'a and his ominous parting words.
The dreadful gravity of the situation all suddenly crashed down on him with soul-crushing force.
"Oh sh—"
