Gargoyles: TimeDancer – Hawaiki – Episode VII: Akua
Disclaimer: In case you haven't figured it out yet, I don't own Gargoyles. All Gargoyles-related characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property of Disney, Greg Weisman, and Frank Paur.
[-]
Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.
It was a horrific sight, watching Honua quite literally tear Keōua's army apart.
Though her muscles were paltry in comparison to her rookery daughter's, the strength she wielded now seemed on par with that of Māui – but she lacked any of the demigod's restraint. Each physical blow she struck was violently lethal, caving in flesh and leaving deep, bleeding gashes wherever her talons could reach.
The warriors' physical weapons, from spears to clubs to sling-stones, failed to impede her in any way, though not because she made any effort to avoid them. Rather, she simply wasn't affected by stabbing or blunt trauma, storming on like a juggernaut of death straight through their attacks.
Even the sorcerers were ineffectual at best, as their elemental attacks were shrugged off just the same as the physical ones. Their magical barriers barely even slowed her down, as she tore through each by sheer force of will.
One after another, Keōua's men breathed their last, Honua never sparing a single glance to the trail of corpses she left in her wake.
Just a few minutes later, all that remained of Keōua's sixty-strong army was a messy pile of blood and offal – the only survivors those who'd had the sense to abandon a lost cause when they saw one.
Them…
And Keōua Kūʻahuʻula himself.
"We have to leave this place," said Benuthet, quietly but urgently.
"Hey, I'm always in favor of running away from the horrifically wrongsick thing. Y'know, just for a change of pace," replied Brooklyn, as the pair of them plus Makani used the chaos to regroup. "But I think it's part of our 'good guy' contracts not to turn tail at a time like this."
It was a weak bit of humor, to mask the sheer horror they all felt right now. It didn't fool anyone – least of all Brooklyn himself.
"You don't understand, my friend," the Egyptian gargoyle told him, staring shrewdly at the slaughter before them. "This isn't a mere fight between humans and Harmakhis anymore. Honua has made herself into some form of Avatar."
Makani, who was already all but struck dumb at the sight of the massacre, glanced toward him with alarm.
"Wh…What does that mean?" she demanded anxiously.
"It means she's using an artifact to channel energies from a member of the Third Race," he explained. "I'm not sure which Child she's connected to, nor whether the union was entirely voluntary. But even if it was, I doubt she grasps the full consequences of what she's done."
"Which are…?" asked Brooklyn, frowning.
"She clearly melded with this Child in an incredibly vulnerable state. Right now, its magic is probably the only thing keeping her alive," said the scholar. "But all forms of strength are connected – strength of the body, of the spirit, of the mind. A body physically weakened by pain or injury is that much less able to contain the prodigious power of a god."
"…Meaning she'll die either way," murmured Makani, her voice shuddering.
"And soon, if the magic keeps burning through her body at this rate," he declared solemnly. "I'm sorry, Makani. There's nothing more we can do for her."
"There has to be!" exclaimed the tattooed gargoyle, claws clutched into meaty fists. "I refuse to…to let all this be for nothing!"
She gestured, nearly in tears, to the nearest slain human, a look of utter terror frozen forever on his bloodstained face.
"Without knowing how their bond was forged, even I am powerless to separate Child from Vessel," said Benny. "And even if I could, she would simply die of her original wound. She's not using the magic to heal herself, though she easily could. Rather, whatever is inside of her prevents her from feeling the damage. All her injuries are still there. They're still killing her."
"Please…Please, Peni…" she whispered, now crying in earnest. It was the first time she'd used the nickname – or the closest thing she could pronounce. "I know she's…she's…horrible. As a mother. As a leader. This isn't about making excuses for what she's done. What she's just done."
Her beak clenched, as her well-toned body shook with sheer emotion.
"But she's still my mother," she continued on, her tone imploring. "I don't want…this…to be the last thing she does in life. I don't want her to die a monster."
The scholar's five-fingered claws closed tighter around his ivory wand.
"There…may be one thing I could try," he eventually admitted, his deep voice rumbling. "The Orichalcum she's crudely attached to her body is clearly the conduit for this sorcery. As with de Landa's Skull, its usage for this purpose will taint the crystals forever. But if we can remove them and, just as quickly, use of the 'clean' crystals in my satchel to seal her wound…"
"Benny, hold up," Brooklyn cut in. "I remember what happened with the Crown. Those things aren't just gonna let you yank 'em out without a fight."
"That's why I was hesitant to mention the option," said Benuthet. "There's a very real chance the magical feedback could kill both Honua…and whoever's attempting to extract the crystals. And that's if the connection can even be severed. I'm not sure. I don't know enough about the sorcery of this region."
It wasn't a sentence he'd had to speak often, in their sojourns across time and space. There were connections between all forms of magic; common threads he could follow in lands as remote as Guatemala or Madagascar, back to the familiar paths of his training.
But the sorcery here had developed in total isolation for centuries. Even with two of the components firmly within the realm of his knowledge – an Avatar spell, and the Orichalcum used as its conduit – he had no idea how much else was involved, under the surface.
It was like trying to prepare a meal while knowing only half the ingredients. Everything beyond that was guesswork…and he didn't always trust his guesses.
Makani, however, took the decision out of his claws.
"I'll do it," she stated firmly. "And I'll accept whatever consequences come after."
[-]
Elsewhere in the valley, the destruction of the Megalith Dance, and the carnage that'd taken place in its wake, was causing no end of problems for the remainder of the Hawaiian Clan.
Uila had spent most of his life dutifully keeping his head down, doing what his mothers and fathers told him to do and rarely asking questions. And it'd served him well.
Honua had noticed his talent for numbers and organization even as a hatchling, and placed him in charge of making sure the clan never ran out of its increasingly limited resources. In the traditions of both Nawao and the native humans, the land wasn't something it was possible to "own," but a shared space from which all should benefit.
Which was where Uila came in. Ensuring that the plants weren't overharvested and the waters weren't overfished. If they were to remain separate from the humans, then they only had so much of each to go around.
But all he'd ever done, he'd done with Honua's authority. When he told a brother or sister to stay away from the pigs for the next few moons and let their population recover, he wasn't the one to fear if they disobeyed.
Sending that foreign Nawao away had been, quite possibly, the first decision he'd ever made for the clan himself.
And he still wasn't certain it'd been the right one.
Nevertheless, he was now the one the clan was looking toward for guidance. Simply because there were no other options, and someone had to lead.
He was, truthfully, way in over his head here. But what other choice did he have?
"We've returned from our survey, brother," said Hau'oli, the pink-skinned male touching down in front of him alongside his mate. "The latest tremors caused a large rockslide toward the east edge of the valley. Our banana and breadfruit groves on that side were completely buried."
"The last ones not already taken by the sickness," muttered Uila, shaking his head at their poor fortune. "At this rate we'll have a full-on food crisis within weeks. We should add more heads to the hunting party, see if we can make up the difference with meat."
"That's going to be…difficult," Kaha replied, her tones subdued and melancholic. "Twenty-eight members of the clan were injured, from falls or debris; nine of them severely. I doubt we can muster more than five or six to hunt tonight."
Uila clutched at his head as he heard these words, recognizing the early symptoms of panic and trying to do his best to quell them. He'd never been good at dealing with the unexpected. It's why he liked numbers – cold, simple, logical numbers.
Numbers were what they were; there was never a time when twelve kukui trees could, in the next moment, be eleven or thirteen. Dealing with other Nawao was different. When things were going well, he could keep himself calm; take his time to really read them, since it usually took him longer than most.
But in a crisis, his brothers and sisters became walking enigmas. He needed the world to slow down so he could catch up, but it never did.
Ironically, it was in those moments that he genuinely appreciated, even if most could not, why their leader had selected Makani as Second.
Because it was the times when everything seemed lost, when their normally timid sister was at her most confident. Because she had to be.
Uila didn't have that. And he doubted he ever would.
"I know this is hard for you, brother…" said Hau'oli, placing what he no doubt hoped to be a comforting claw on Uila's shoulder. "But the clan needs a decision. We still don't know what's been causing these quakes. For all we know, another could be just on the horizon."
Their provisional leader nodded a couple of times to indicate he'd heard, but said nothing for a while; his yellow pot-belly rising and falling rapidly with his shallow breaths.
Eventually, once he regained his voice, he found himself asking, "Did we make a mistake? Rejecting the help of the hā'ole female?"
"She couldn't be trusted, Uila. Any alliance not rooted in trust is doomed to fail," Kaha declared, crossing her thin arms. "I don't deny those strange Nawao raise any number of questions, simply by existing. But we cannot rely on hā'ole to solve our own problems. If, of course…they aren't causing those problems to begin with."
"The sickness was spreading across the island long before those travelers arrived, my love," Hau'oli reminded his mate.
"We don't actually know that," she said, furrowing her eyebrow ridges. "Our encounter at Kīlauea may've been the first time we met, but there's no guarantee they haven't been on the island for months. What, do you think they just…magically popped out of the sky above the volcano?"
"I suppose if they came by ship with the pale-faced humans, it'd certainly explain a few things," Uila spoke up, grateful that the subject of conversation had shifted away from one where he'd have to make a decision. "I've never really thought about it, but if other lands exist with humans, then surely they have their own Nawao as well."
"But why would they inflict such pain on our land, even if they could?" murmured Hau'oli with a frown.
"I don't know, beloved," Kaha admitted. "And so long as we're able to stop it…I don't really care. That's where our focus needs to be. On a solution – not endless rehashing of the problem."
"You have a point, sister," stated Uila, sighing deeply. "I just wish I had some clue what that solution might be."
Suddenly, there was a rustling sound around them, as if something was moving quickly through the tall undergrowth. Then…
"Perhaps I can help with that."
[-]
While the trio of gargoyles held their whispered conversation, Honua – or the thing that was wearing her skin – slowly circled around Keōua Kūʻahuʻula.
He remained rooted to his improvised throne, the broken dais that'd once helped enforce the seal over Hawaiki. Knowing he was outmatched, he dared not make a move, his face equal parts terrified and defiant.
"I have waited so, so, so long for this, human," she said in two voices, a rough masculine one ebbing and flowing around her own. "To you, my mate was nothing. A mere trifle in the midst of your pathetic feud with Kamehameha. Do you even remember giving the order to murder him?"
"I don't," he snarled back, fingers clenching tight around the spear he knew to be less than useless right now. "But if he gave his life to help grant my birthright, then you should be proud. When I am king, it will be a golden age – for humans and Nawao. What is a single life compared to that?"
Honua hissed back at him, a visceral, guttural noise it didn't seem a beak should be able to produce.
"Always so arrogant. So secure in your titles and noble blood. Your kind are all the same," she told him, still circling. "I'll show you the true nature of power, soon enough. I'll rip you. I'll tear you. I'll make sure there isn't a single scrap of your body to be remembered by."
Her tongue, one of the parts of her body that was most visibly not its natural length or hue, flicked out over her sneering beak.
"But I won't make it quick, like your warriors. Oh, no. You'll live for hours before I let you pass from this world," she went on, relishing every word. "And you'll spend every last second of that time experiencing the pain I felt. Maybe I'll tear every strand of your muscles from the bone, one by one. Or heat your spearhead over a fire and dig it slowly into your eyes. I'll have time. It's quite literally all I have left to do."
"And you call me arrogant?" he said, with a sharp bark of a laugh. "You seem to be overlooking something, Nawao. One last piece I have left to play."
Then, suddenly, the chief lunged – but not for the Avatar bearing down upon him.
Instead, he reached for the body of one of his sorcerers, who'd fallen slumped against a collapsed stone pillar. A moment later, Keōua held up a dirty, sweaty fist in triumph – clutching half a dozen glowing crystals of his own.
"Whatever has happened to you, Nawao, one thing is clear: it's made you strong," he bellowed to the heavens. "I want that kind of strength – the strength to protect my home from the savages who invade her! And I'll do whatever it takes to get it!"
There was a moment of silence, Honua's fiery glare so intense that it seemed liable to burn a hole straight through him.
Then, abruptly, her expression changed, and her mouth opened to speak. But this time, there was no trace of her own feminine tones. Only that other voice, low and rasping and utterly wrong.
And what it said was: "So be it."
Instantly, the crystals in Keōua's palm began to vibrate frenetically, rattling and humming with such violence that it was practically audible. Yet the chief's grip on them didn't relax, even as his eyes went wide with horror.
After a moment, Benny realized why he hadn't let them go. He couldn't.
The Orichalcum was spreading, the crystals digging into Keōua's flesh like jagged, hungry teeth. And within each, something – a sort of distortion – was starting to appear. It was somewhat akin to a bit of ink dropped into water, starting small and then spreading throughout.
Within seconds, each of the crystals was precisely the same, murky purple as the ones keeping Honua alive.
And still, the Orichalcum continued to grow and grow, overtaking his hand until barely an inch of tanned flesh could be seen. It was like some kind of obscene, twisted gauntlet, molded so deeply into Keōua's skin that it was impossible to tell where one ended, and the next began.
There were a few moments of silence as the growth of the Orichalcum slowed to a crawl, the chief twisting and flexing his transformed arm experimentally. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the silent scream upon his lips changed to cruel, booming laughter.
"I feel it! The power!" he cried out, holding the crystalline fist high. "It's you, isn't it? The voice I've been hearing all this time? The voice that promises a path back to the old Hawai'i – a pure Hawai'i!"
As he spoke these words, an echo joined his own voice as well…
And it didn't take one of Brooklyn's "detectives" to recognize that it and Honua's were one and the same.
"The only 'pure' Hawai'i is one where you monsters are wiped clean from the land!" said Honua shrilly. The fact that the same rumbling undertones sounded beneath both of their voices only made their arguing sound all the stranger – and all the more disturbing. "But if you wish to die by my talon, right now? Then let it be done!"
Honua lunged forward, aiming a claw with the force of a charging elephant directly at the chief's chest. Purely out of instinct, Keōua seized his spear from the ground and attempted to use it to parry…
And succeeded. The moment the weapon touched his cursed hand, it took on the same appearance as the corrupted Oricalchum – and, apparently, the mineral's legendary hardness. A sadistic leer spread over the man's face.
"You don't deserve this power, creature," he spat, forcing her back with a wide sweep of his lance. "Your kind had their chance. Now you'll be ground to dust, right alongside the hā'ole! Such is the will of the gods!"
"We were just sent by one of your 'gods,' buddy!" Brooklyn suddenly interjected, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "And trust me. She doesn't want any of you guys wiping each other out!"
"You think your lies could possibly twist my resolve?" demanded Keōua, now advancing on Honua, each of their movements lightning quick as they dueled for dominance, spear against claw. "I was chosen at birth to bear their cause! To save my homeland from the hā'ole and their false god!"
"Let me ask you something, Keōua Kūʻahuʻula," said Benuthet, a sad frown upon his face. "Which of the akua do you think now dwells within you?"
For a split second, the chief stopped in his tracks. But the confidence in his face only wavered for a moment. The wicked grin returned to his face as he answered smoothly, "It is Kū, of course. The God of War. Guardianship of his power is my birthright – another thing stolen from me by that wretched usurper."
That name triggered a scrap of memory in all three gargoyles. But it was Makani, who knew this world best, who put the pieces together first.
"Kūka'ilimoku, Snatcher of the Land, cannot be the one who speaks to you," she told him softly. "Because he has been dead for over one thousand years. We heard it directly from Pele herself."
"Lies!" he roared, and the magical energy that'd poured into his arm all but exploded. His efforts to break Honua's guard redoubled in ferocity, but his movements also grew wider, less controlled.
It gave the orange gargoyle precisely the opening she needed.
With both claws, she grabbed onto her enemy's arms, forcibly prying them apart. Then, with no weapons left to fight with…she gored him right through the chest with her sharp, angular beak.
Keōua wailed in pain as he fell to the ground, taking Honua with him. The bladed club he'd stolen from her during their last confrontation tumbled from his waist. Extricating her bloodstained beak from his flesh, she scrambled for it, before running it across the crystals lining her abdomen.
A satisfied sneer appeared across her beak as the same thing happened, and the tainted Orichalcum spread over her weapon as well.
"Appropriate, isn't it?" she said, seeming to relish the low echo in her voice. "This club, which has fought by my side for twice your worthless lifetime, was crafted from the teeth of a shark. A kinolau to your precious Kū. What better way to finally sate my revenge?"
That was all she felt like speaking, before bringing down the weapon with all her supernatural strength.
Again, at the last moment, all Keōua was able to do was raise his spear, and hope it would be enough to deflect the ferocious attack. The two crystalline weapons clashed, and a sound not unlike screeching nails sounded throughout the entire valley.
"You know what the difference is between us, human?!" exclaimed Honua, using every ounce of her strength to try and push through the chief's final defense. "I don't care where this power comes from! Whether it be akua, good or evil…I'd even accept a bargain from the Kulaik-God the hā'ole worship, if that's what it takes. It doesn't matter! All that matters…"
The next words were screamed out by both warriors at once, the undertones surrounding each of their voices briefly harmonizing into a single, horrific cry:
"…Is that you die!"
"What's going on, Benny?" asked Brooklyn, as the clash began to radiate out pulses of that same violet energy, each wave stronger than the next. Around them both, the plants on the ground began to wither and die.
"A Child can only be channeled by a single Avatar at a time," explained the scholar, his hands twitching toward both his wand and his khopesh – unsure which one, if either, would be helpful now. "Whichever entity we're dealing with, it's found both these two to be…kindred spirits, of sorts. It's lent them both a portion of its power, but neither is a full Avatar."
"Unless one of them manages to kill the other," Makani realized aloud, gasping softly.
"Precisely," said Benuthet. "I think it's biding its time, waiting to see which of them proves more…worthy."
"And if we don't get a winner soon?" asked Brooklyn, his gaze drawn to a tree a few feet away…which was rotting to nothing before their eyes.
"Then the splitting of the magic will likely tear them both apart," he whispered. "And perhaps take this entire valley with it."
"That's all I needed to hear," Makani declared, not looking at either of her companions.
Then, without warning, she took off at full sprint toward the dueling pair.
[-]
Uila gaped blankly as a number of plants around the clearing were pulled aside at once, revealing more humans than he could possibly count.
The one who'd spoken, who wore garb and a head covering far grander than any of his fellows, cleared his throat and then planted a tall spear into the earth.
"I am Kamehameha. King of the humans of Hawai'i," he said to the trio of gargoyles, his tones booming and commanding in a way he'd only ever seen Honua comfortably pull off. "I come offering a hand of friendship to your clan. At a time, it seems…where you have great need of it."
"We are 'friends' with no humans," hissed Kaha, her one good ear flaring up. "Particularly not you ali'i. How many of our kind have suffered – have perished – in the name of your inane struggles for power?"
"As many, or more, as have my own," Kamehameha responded, speaking plainly, with no more than the barest hint of emotion. "Hear me now, Nawao: I seek no unnecessary bloodshed. But neither will I shed tears for the sacrifices that must be made, if Hawai'i is to stand tall and proud. As the kingdom, envy of the world, that it was always meant to be."
"With due respect, our leader has already given you her answer," stated Hau'oli, trying to be a bit more placating than his mate. "We want no part in your ambitions. Our clan remains as it always has – neutral."
"I grow tired of having to explain this, Nawao," spoke another of the humans, a woman of wide girth and stern face. "But neutrality is a luxury you can no longer afford. Things cannot be as they once were. No matter how fervently we may wish otherwise."
"My Queen speaks truth," a pale man added, his sullen face bowed. Uila recognized him as one of a pair of humans who'd attempted – unsuccessfully – to cajole Honua into an alliance in the past. The other was nowhere to be seen. "I come from a land called 'Britain,' which once was home to thousands of your kind. But times changed, and allegiances shifted. In time, I'm ashamed to say…my people wiped yours from our shores."
"I do not wish to see this history repeated here," said Kamehameha. "I will not allow it to be. Humans and Nawao alike are the chosen of Kāne, elevated over all other mortal creatures. Their wanton slaughter is an affront to the gods. One way or another…it ends with me."
"One way…or another?" repeated Uila, the phrase feeling somewhat strange to his tongue. "What do you mean?"
"Either your clan joins with mine, and together, we restore a glory not seen since we set sail from Hawaiki," the king answered, arms crossed before his broad chest. "Or else, we shall meet on the field of battle. Know that I do not desire this; I have made more than enough enemies in my lifetime. But neither will I back away, if you leave me no choice in the matter."
The reaction of the three gargoyles was immediate and visceral. Kaha's eyes glowed red as she snarled sharply at the gathered humans, while Hau'oli's body tensed up and his hand reached for a club at his belt, ready to defend his mate.
Uila, meanwhile, stood there stunned, unsure whether he'd just heard what he thought he had.
"The edicts of Kū are clear in this regard," Kamehameha continued on. "The slaying of another, for no just cause, is kapu of the highest order – should it occur in a time of peace. Only in war can sacrifices be offered. The enemy must be permitted a chance to fight back, on equal ground. To do otherwise is to poison the tribute."
"So…that is our choice?" demanded Kaha, her tones blazing with barely suppressed fury. "Join with you, or die?"
"If you see an alternative, Nawao, then you are welcome to suggest it," said the king. "I would leave the Waimanu Valley in peace, if I could. But you should realize that is, as the hā'ole say…a ship that has sailed. Your valley has already been invaded, and it is already a battlefield."
"Wait…what?" stammered Uila, finally finding his voice again. "Wh…What're you talking about?"
The rotund woman shook her head. "Really, now. This shouldn't be so hard to grasp," she replied impatiently. "What did you think those rumblings from the ground were – a merry game of 'ulu maika? Keōua's armies march through your home as we speak. Left unimpeded, they will strike at the very heart of that which you protect."
"The…heart?" asked Hau'oli, his deep-chinned beak sagging into something like a frown. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't. Only your leader and Second are permitted to learn that secret," the white man told him softly. "But that is not the only source of such knowledge."
"Indeed. Now, let's dispense with the pleasantries, Young. Time is of the essence," came a calm voice from within the trees.
A few seconds later, another figure pushed their way past Kamehameha's warriors. They were dressed in a gray cloak, so that most of their features were hidden from view, but a couple of things were immediately clear.
One, that the figure was distinctly and unambiguously female, in both form and voice. And two…
That she wasn't human.
"The destruction of a Dance makes our efforts in Polynesia a top priority," she said, speaking the Hawaiian tongue with an accent similar to, but distinct from, that of her fellow foreigner. "The Society can no longer afford a light touch here."
"Considering your presence, milady? I was already pretty sure of that," murmured the man she called "Young," a brief frown passing over his face. "Twenty-nine, incidentally. I'm afraid I'm still getting used to Bavaria's little 'numbers' game."
The stranger pursed her lips, before reaching up with four-fingered hands tipped with talons, and slowly pulling down her hood. The face beneath it was slate-gray in tone, and very beautiful…
If, like Uila, one happened to be attracted to female Nawao.
"Four," she returned coolly.
[-]
Before Brooklyn or Benuthet could do anything, Makani had already launched herself straight at Honua and Keōua.
While neither the clan leader nor the chief were slouches in the strength department – particularly now, with both enhanced by Third Race magic – Makani was about the size and weight of both of them put together.
As such, her momentum sent all three of them sprawling to the ground in a messy heap, eliciting a sharp growl of pain from Keōua and a screech of fury from Honua. Her crystalline blade slashed ferociously at the air, missing Makani's face only because of the awkward angle.
"Get off of me, you useless idiot!" shouted the fire-orange gargoyle, thrashing to try and extricate herself from her rookery daughter's grip. "I'm trying to save our clan!"
"No, mother. You're trying to get revenge," said Makani, her tones trembling but defiant. "You said it yourself – that's all you care about right now."
"Tonight, they're one and the same!" Honua exclaimed. "This wretched creature stole everything from me! The love of my life! Now he wants to do the same to my children. I won't allow it! I'll tear this island to pieces before I let that happen!"
"That's the akua talking, mother," spoke the tattooed gargoyle. "You need to…"
"Enough of this!" Keōua interrupted her with a snarl. He too was trying to struggle out of Makani's iron grip, unable to lift his crystallized arm high enough to wield the spear it held effectively. "Die, you overgrown nēnē! Die die die die die!"
But Makani only tightened her hold on both the combatants, pinning them to the ground like a professional wrestler.
This didn't come without cost, however. The energy that'd been building between the two pseudo-Avatars had been broken, and it needed to go somewhere. So it flowed, all at once, through the nearest living thing it could find.
Makani herself.
It was clearly an intensely painful experience, judging by the look upon the poor gargoyle's face. Though no sound escaped her beak, it seemed to be taking all her strength and willpower to keep it that way. Any second now, she was surely going to break – but she was going to hold off that moment for as long as she possibly could.
Without thinking about it, Brooklyn found himself moving to help her. But Benuthet held him back.
"The magical circuit is destabilized enough, with just one additional individual," he said. "Introduce another and the magic is likely to react…explosively."
"So we just have to sit back and watch this?" demanded the Scottish gargoyle, clenching his fists helplessly.
"And trust that our new friend knows what she's doing," Benny confirmed with a single, solemn nod.
Makani, meanwhile, had begun to put her plan into action. Inch by inch, her claws crept toward Keōua's arm and Honua's abdomen, careful not to relax the tension in her arms as she did. Then, simultaneously, she sunk her talons into both.
Instantly, that same, horrific screech filled the skies again. If magic was like music, then this was the equivalent of every instrument in an orchestra suddenly playing a hundred different, equally sour notes, and it was all Brooklyn could do to keep from crying out himself.
And yet still, Makani persisted, her claws squeezing tighter and tighter into the tainted Orichalcum.
"What in the world do you think you're doing?!" snapped Honua, barely in control of her faculties as she thrashed about with all her supernatural strength. "Let me…let me go…!"
"Not this time, mother. I'm freeing you," said Makani, grunting and gasping through the pain. "No matter what it takes."
Another sound rang through the entire valley – like that of hard glass, cracking into a million shards. Joining it were the bellowing screams of Honua and Keōua alike, harsh and guttural, synchronizing so thoroughly it was hard to tell one from the other.
Then…silence.
The last thing they saw was a flash of brilliant, blinding light.
[-]
Hawaiki, 1790 A.D.
"Of all the gods or demigods I'd have preferred to be imprisoned alongside…" spoke Kāne, after several pregnant moments. "You would not been my first choice, Māui. With no offense intended, of course."
"I…dunno how I'm supposed to not take offense to that, to be honest," said the Trickster, raising one of his big, bushy eyebrows. "But hey, I know better than to argue with the boss."
"I meant only that in situations like this, you'd be the sort I'd expect to rescue me," the god-chief clarified. "Your troublemaking ways tend to prove themselves useful in a crisis."
Then, with his gaze turned up at the forty-foot eel towering over them, he added mutedly, "And this certainly qualifies."
The god had been deposited at Māui's side by the Huaka'i Pō, bound at the shoulders and around his ankles by heavy iron chains. Because the humans of Polynesia had never taken to refining metals, it'd been centuries since he'd felt the element's cold sting. He, like the rest of the still-living akua, had grown complacent.
Te Tunaroa, for his part, bore down upon the pair with undisguised hatred. "How does it feel, traitor?" he exclaimed to Kāne, displaying razor-sharp fangs. "What good did it do you to throw in with the whelp's rebellion, really? After all this time…what do you have to show for it?"
The Eel God's enormous, slimy body flicked about, as if gesturing to the ruins that surrounded them on every side.
"Your paradise is lost to the ages. And the new land you've claimed is a blink of an eye from being swallowed – by strange humans from foreign shores," he continued to hiss. "In the end, you turned against our one true mistress for nothing."
Despite the stifling weight of the iron, Kāne found himself attempting to stand. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he said, voice rumbling with power he couldn't presently wield. "Mother foreswore my loyalty when she killed my brothers in cold blood. I'd sooner follow a buzzing fly than serve that witch one day further."
"It's amusing you think you'll have a choice," replied Te Tunaroa. "We – the true Children of Papatūānuku – have known for eons what the whelp and his mortal playmates have tried to deny. That this is but a brief respite between two great wars. And when the fighting resumes, none who stand against Her Court will be spared."
"If the last one hadn't ended with your boss and his chums getting their butts handed to 'em, then I might be shaking a little more," Māui piped up, rolling his eyes. "That's always been your problem, Tuney. The bigger a game you talk…the more obvious it is you just don't measure up."
"Who is his 'boss'?" asked Kāne, before taking a look around them, as if seeing it all properly for the first time. "Unless…you cannot mean…"
"Oh, my Master is quite looking forward to this little…family reunion," Te Tunaroa taunted back, and the pair was briefly treated to the bizarre sight of a titanic eel snickering. "Unfortunately, He's a little busy at the moment. But that's alright. After all…you two aren't going anywhere."
Still struggling to face his enemy on his own two feet, the god-chief let loose a frightening growl.
"I gave up everything…everything…to stop my brother the first time," he said, meaty fists clenched tight. "But hear this, God of Eels: that I'd do it again in a heartbeat. One way or another, his darkness will end here!"
"I'm trembling," the eel sneered back. "Now, leave us! Until the Master returns, he's given me permission to do as I will with these two. And oh, the fun I shall have…"
Those last words were directed to the Huaka'i Pō, who – departed human and gargoyle alike – obediently shuffled away, offering no resistance as they disappeared into the darkness surrounding them.
"How'd you do this to them, anyway?" demanded Māui, his expression stricken. "Those are proud warriors! I fought alongside some of them! Lizard-face doesn't have that kind of power!"
Te Tunaroa just laughed, a vicious and petty sound.
"Truly, you understand nothing," he told the pair, yellow eyes glinting with triumph. "Really, the solution has been staring you right in the face. You've just been too afraid to put the pieces together."
Māui tilted his head, looking puzzled. But the moment he heard these words, Kāne sunk back to his knees, eyes wide with horror.
"No…" he whispered, the fire that'd burned within him just moments ago all but snuffed out. "No no no no no no…"
"I see he's no longer blind to the truth. Better late than never, I suppose," said the Eel God. "Would you like to join him in that, hero? Shall I reveal who truly holds you captive?"
Without waiting for a response, his enormous tail unraveled from around the pair, enabling them to finally see who stood beyond the coils, watching passively.
Kāne, who'd already deduced what he was about to see, said nothing, but only remained kneeling, fighting back furious tears.
But Māui's gasp was sharp enough to cut to the bone.
[-]
Waimanu Valley, Hawai'i Island, 1790 A.D.
Brooklyn wasn't sure how much time had passed when he next opened his eyes. It could've been three seconds, or three hours.
Either way, the first thing he saw was Keōua Kūʻahuʻula, sprawled upon the ground and barely conscious.
"Wh…What happened…?" the young chief gasped out, coughing and sputtering through a mouthful of blood. With a great effort he managed to flex each of his limbs, testing that they still had sensation – but when it was time for his right arm, his eyes shot wide open.
For it was flesh once again.
"No…No!" he roared, though the hoarseness in his throat tempered the impact. "I…was so close! I had it! The power…The power to save my home!"
"He was only bonded to the Orichalcum for a short time. It seems the connection was severed before it could fully integrate with his body," said Benuthet, his expression neutral. He, like Brooklyn, was just beginning to pick himself up from the ground, though he took it with better stride. "I'm more concerned about…"
"Makani!" exclaimed Brooklyn, interrupting him.
The Hawaiian gargoyle was crouched down in a kneeling position, her face screwed up in obvious pain. Her right arm, which'd been pinning down Keōua, looked scratched and bruised, but otherwise fine; nothing stone sleep wouldn't be able to cure.
But her left…
"Don't worry about me!" she cried out, clutching her left claw to her chest, so the others couldn't see it. "Save her! You said you wouldn't have much time!"
And indeed, on her other side lay Honua, the violet crystals nowhere to be seen – and consequently, the gaping wound in her abdomen leaking blood like a spigot.
Benuthet immediately hurried over, hands searching through his satchel as he did. Brooklyn kept his distance, so he could keep an eye on both Makani and Keōua, but he could see his friend kneeling down in front of the clan leader, one blue-white crystal held tightly between his talons.
For a moment, he saw a flash of Doctor Sato tending to Goliath's stab wound, just a few short weeks before he'd first touched the Gate.
Fortunately, unlike Jay Sato's first, uncertain foray into treating a gargoyle patient, Benny had healed this very same injury with this very same remedy, several times over. Brooklyn stood there, jaw set, as he watched the Orichalcum quite literally work its magic.
That jaw fell into a frown as he looked upon the carnage surrounding them; the senseless slaughter of the men whose lives Keōua had so cavalierly thrown away. Did their murderer really deserve this chance, which none of them had been afforded?
Ultimately, Brooklyn just sighed. It was an academic question, now – if a painful one. They were dead and gone.
Whatever else Honua was…she was still alive. She could be saved.
The sheer size of the wound, and the festering the tainted Orichalcum had caused in it, meant this was going to take a few minutes. In the meantime, the TimeDancer strode over to Makani, who was still keeled over, fighting to keep whines of pain from escaping her beak.
"Can…Can I see it?" he said, doing his best to muster what few scraps of tact he possessed. "I just wanna make sure everything's…y'know…"
She whimpered, her eyelids blinking away tears, but eventually she nodded. Then, slowly, she turned over her tattooed left arm, so he could see the claw at the end of it.
Brooklyn tried his absolute hardest to avoid gasping. He wished he could say he succeeded.
It was immediately obvious why there was no longer any tainted Orichalcum anywhere to be found upon Honua's body. Because every last shard of it had been absorbed into Makani's own skin.
To be accurate, it was fairer to say it'd become her skin. From the wrist downward, the gargoyle's claw looked to be made entirely of dark purple crystal, shimmering in the moonlight with a pallid, eerie glow.
It was more than what'd happened with Keōua, who simply seemed to be wearing the Orichalcum as an overlarge – if elaborate – gauntlet. It was more than what'd happened with Honua, where the crystals had dug deep into her flesh like biting teeth, but still remained wholly separate objects.
More than anything else, it was similar to what the Orichalcum had done to the pair's weapons – turning the wood, stone, and bone of war into a material akin to itself, but with the original tool's general shape.
Slowly, experimentally, Makani tensed each talon, watching with unconcealed revulsion as the crystal obeyed her mental commands.
"It feels…like I'm moving it while it's still stone," she whispered, her voice airy and hollow. "Like I'm asleep, and this is all just one long, horrible daymare. By the Mo'o, I wish it was."
"Is…Is it any comfort if I say I've seen way weirder?" said Brooklyn, taking a deep breath to steady his voice. "Because it's true. Hell, that wouldn't even be the strangest hand I've seen. Takes a special kind of whacko to lop your own arm off and try attaching the mummified remains of a tenth-century monk."
The corner of Makani's beak twitched, but she merely replied, "I know what you're trying to do, Pluk'līn, and I appreciate it…but I just can't hear it right now."
Brooklyn nodded, unsure what else to say. Shifting topics slightly, he decided to ask, "Do you have any idea how that might've…uh, happened? Maybe we should wait for Benny to give his wizardy two cents, but…"
"It spread. Like a disease," she cut him off, still flexing and unflexing the transformed claw, as if expecting it to freeze up at any moment. "Not really a surprise, considering who these crystals were trying to channel."
The TimeDancer sighed and nodded again, mutedly. They hadn't discussed it out loud, but it didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
Whiro. God of evil, darkness, and disease. Brooklyn supposed it wasn't a stretch for his very essence to be virulent.
"Does it…like, hurt or anything?" he said.
"It doesn't feel at all," Makani told him, a bit of bite to her voice. "That's part of what seems so…wrong. I can't feel anything in it. I see it there on my body, but it doesn't…it doesn't feel like it's mine."
Without thinking about it, Brooklyn reached over, trying to comfort her. But she pulled the arm away.
"Don't touch it!" she yelped, looking fearful. "What if it spreads to you too? Until we know for sure what's going on, we need to be careful. You're right…Penukek should see it. Perhaps he has experience with such sorcery."
At that moment, as if on cue, Benuthet roared a holler of pain.
Both of their gazes snapped toward their kneeling friend – and to Honua, whose sharp claws had scratched him across the chest, and were now holding him aloft by the throat.
"I suppose that settles things," she hissed, in a voice that wasn't entirely her own.
[-]
The slate-skinned Nawao looked between them, nodding to one party, then the next.
"We have an accord, then?" she said, arms crossed with the quiet confidence of someone who'd done this a hundred times before. "This bargain will be acceptable to the both of you?"
King Kamehameha stood tall and proud, looking her directly in the eye. "I may be guardian to Kū, but the time of Makahiki fast approaches," he responded. "I would far prefer to end this tale with peace, rather than bloodshed."
Uila looked a great deal more hesitant, but ultimately made a grunt of assent.
"We're left in a situation with no good options," he declared, very pointedly not making eye contact. "This happens to be the least-bad among them."
"I can accept that. Though I'd certainly prefer if you didn't think of it along such…negative terms," answered the female Nawao, her talons toying absently with a pūni – a small knee drum constructed from coconut skin. One of Kamehameha's warriors had brought it to the battle, and she seemed remarkably fascinated by the craftsmanship.
"This valley…this entire island…has fallen out of balance. The death of your crops is proof," she continued on, the majority of her attentions still on the drum. "The only way to correct these issues is to work together. No party is going to get all of what they want. But this way…we'll all achieve what we need."
"Assuming, of course, that whoever you represent isn't the cause of this plague," Kaha spoke up, having watched the entire deal-making process with a mixture of disdain and active fury. "If we've told you once, we've told you a hundred times – we don't trust hā'ole. Any hā'ole."
"I can accept that. I neither require, nor expect, your trust," said the dark-haired female. "Only your cooperation."
Uila let out a lengthy sigh…then extended an arm, symbols for thunder and lightning etched into it with ink.
"Then that, you will have," he murmured. "For however much good it'll do."
Kamehameha immediately clasped the yellow-skinned gargoyle by the forearm, sealing the agreement better than words ever could.
[-]
"Benny!" shouted Brooklyn, instinctively drawing his broadsword.
"Stand back," snarled Honua, the echo in her voice no longer ebbing and flowing, but now ever-present across every tone. "This one has such a handsome neck. It'd be a shame if I was forced to snap it."
Both Brooklyn and Makani tensed up, and the former's eyes flashed a brief, angry white, but they kept their distance.
"I saw potential in both of their wicked, rotten souls. Keōua Kūʻahuʻula, of the Naha line…and Honua, of Clan Hawai'i," she said – or, perhaps more accurately, it said. "But clearly, I misjudged the human. He was far too weak to serve as my Vessel. Look at him now…crawled away, like a sniveling coward."
Brooklyn did a double-take, realizing the voice had told the truth. In all the confusion, he'd taken his eyes off Keōua for a couple of minutes, and the young chief had managed to slip away.
The TimeDancer swore under his breath.
"I thought I'd lost my grip on this one as well. So fortunate you had a sorcerer in your midst," the voice went on.
As it did, Honua's body turned slightly, allowing them to see what her other claw was doing: grasping Benuthet by the wrist, and forcing the Orichalcum crystal he was still holding back into the wound.
That single crystal had turned an even darker, uglier purple than the last, as the gargoyle's scarred skin knitted together to form a seal around it.
"You fail to realize just how deeply my hold over her runs," it told them, twisting Honua's beak into a cruel sneer. "She wants my power. There isn't a single thing that could convince her otherwise. A shame my original conduit was damaged…but even a single crystal should be enough. As long as her hatred continues to burn bright as the sun."
"You…shouldn't be able to do this…" Benuthet managed to choke out, fighting to break free of the vicelike grip. Unfortunately, he'd dropped his wand to the ground in surprise at his "patient's" sudden attack, and his khopesh still hung uselessly from the hip. "An Avatar is a melding of spirits…not one mind supplanting another…"
"Oh, I assure you. Honua is very much still in here," it said. "She's simply unconscious at the moment. Once she awakens, we will truly be as one. But in the meantime…"
The voice paused, and Honua's head tilted to the side. "Ah…never mind, then," it added, grinning wider. "It seems it's time."
Suddenly, Honua's eyes shot wide open, glowing furiously. But rather than the normal red of a female gargate…
Their hue instead matched the violet one of the tainted Orichalcum.
Benuthet crashed roughly to the ground as Honua's body doubled over, screeching murder into the night. Burning energy suffused her, radiating out from the crystal, and spreading along the paths of her kakau – the symbols of twisting flame that covered a great deal of her torso.
Then, she began to change.
The most obvious difference was one of size. Where the clan leader had been fairly short for a gargoyle, no more than a few inches above five feet, now her body was expanding to nearly ten.
Each of her limbs were elongating, while her clothing was stretched and torn to its breaking point by her new bulk, exposing more and more of the kakau. A rigid, scaly texture overtook her leathery skin.
Her wings, meanwhile, were shedding their feathers, while the grievous hole in the right one was mending itself with another layer of scales. They were joined shortly thereafter by a tail, the one piece of gargoyle anatomy the local clan seemed to lack – though it looked nothing like any of their own. It was much longer, for one thing, and clearly reptilian, thrashing about as its owner continued her lengthy, painful transformation.
Honua's head came last. When she'd been serving as a "pseudo-Avatar" the changes to her features had been subtle, if disturbing. Now, however, it was becoming something else entirely.
Again, the features were reptilian in detail, but that hardly conveyed just how brutally horrifying they were, melded atop and throughout Honua's original face. It became more angular, with a pronounced snout replacing her beak, and her ears sinking back into her skin. Her eyes shifted positions, moving until they were on either side of her head, and their pupils narrowed into slits.
But worst of all was when her new mouth opened, revealing rows upon rows of vicious fangs…and a cavernous maw that seemed to have no end to its depths.
"It's time to purge this island of all who threaten my clan," said Honua, her original voice returned – but joined, just as intensely, by the other. Now, neither was softer or louder than the next; they were fully and completely as one. "And I think I'll start with the biggest threat."
And with that, both of her eyes snapped – not simultaneously – toward the prone form of Benuthet.
Hastily, the Egyptian gargoyle darted to recover his wand, but Honua snapped him away with one, whiplike crack of her new tail. The scholar was sent flying nearly twenty feet, slammed into a tree trunk, and didn't get back up.
"You…bitch!" cried Brooklyn, charging forward with a sharp thrust of his sword. But to his shock, Honua simply caught the blade in her hand, unfazed by the deep cuts it made in her now-scaly flesh.
"I won't tolerate anyone who poses a danger to my children. Be they human or Nawao," she declared, before backhanding Brooklyn with such force it very nearly dislocated his jaw. The Scottish gargoyle collapsed, coughing up blood.
"Or…" she continued in a deathly whisper, closing the distance between herself and her final target with only a few lengthy strides. "Even if they are one of my children."
She raised one claw to the sky, and the two crystallized weapons – Keōua's spear and her own shark-tooth club – flew into her grip. There was another flash of violet light, and when it dissipated, the two had combined into one. Now the weapon resembled nothing if not a bladed pike, constructed entirely of corrupted Orichalcum, and gleaming in the moonlight.
Makani trembled, struggling to get back to her feet but tripping over herself out of panic.
"This is how it must be, daughter. If our clan is truly to be restored," she said, her tone making it clear she believed it, with all her heart and soul. "But don't worry. The hā'ole will suffer…all of them will suffer. But for you…I will make this painless."
That was when the foot of a descending gargoyle collided squarely with her jaw.
[-]
"Oh…one more thing, if you would," the female Nawao whispered into Uila's ear, catching him by the shoulder before he could leave.
"Y…Yes?" he asked hesitantly.
"The three, ahem…Nawao you mentioned encountering earlier," she said. "I'd like to hear more about them, if that's alright."
The corners of her lips twitched upward, just slightly.
"Particularly…" she added, without waiting for his reply. "That scarlet-colored female."
[-]
Like David striking down Goliath – and boy, was there a metaphor that came off weird for Brooklyn, on at least two levels – Honua collapsed to the ground under all her own, added weight. She slammed into a nearby boulder, hard, and went still.
And as she did, Zafira touched down as well, albeit with far more grace.
"My love!" she exclaimed, immediately running over and taking hold of her injured mate. "Oh, my Sak Chakmool…"
"My…Meryt…Nefer…" he returned, before wincing sharply; it was painful, it seemed, for him to speak. "It…is good to see you again…"
"I'm sorry it took me so long to return," said Zee, helping to ease him into a sitting position, before moving to help Brooklyn with the same. "I saw the flashes of your magic, and tried to make it here with sharpest haste…but I was constrained by transporting the beasts. I'm not strong enough to carry both comfortably, so I had to keep going back and forth, making stops along the cliffside."
"Where…are they now…?" asked Brooklyn, groaning at the effort as well. The side of his beak was beginning to swell up where Honua had struck him, and it distorted his speech somewhat.
"I left them in the forest some distance away, so I could get some height," she explained. "I tried to point them in this direction, but I lack your…aptitude for engaging with them. I hope they understood me well enough…"
"My Kebechet…is a clever girl. Even by the standard of sha…" Benny told her, through heavy breaths. "And I've observed…enough of Fu-Dog…to know he is of like mind. They should be…be…"
"Peni! Don't fall asleep!" Makani shouted alarmedly, as the scholar's head began to loll. She didn't move toward him, apparently unwilling to risk touching anyone, but looked on with concern.
Zafira acted as soon as Brooklyn was back to a stable position, clutching at the Egyptian gargoyle and speaking softly. "Stay with us, my love," she whispered. "Be strong for me…be brave for me…"
It was the most any of them could really do. It seemed quite possible that Benuthet had sustained a head injury, and the only one of them capable of treating that safely was…
Well, Benuthet.
"Do not…worry about me…" he said, trying and largely failing to downplay another wince. "We need to…concentrate on…moving. She won't…stay down from that…for long…"
Makani shot a troubled glance toward Honua's prone form, swallowed, and then nodded.
"She took out two of the best warriors I've ever seen with a single blow each," she murmured, shrinking back. They could only see the back of her transformed head right now, but it was still intensely disturbing. "We can't hope to stay and fight. But…I'm not sure I can risk carrying…"
"Makani," Zee interrupted her, noticing for the first time. "What happened to your claw?"
The tattooed gargoyle's instincts were the same as before – to hastily stow her left hand out of view, as if was something immensely shameful. For whatever reason, though, this time her stricken expression was joined by a fierce blush.
"We can discuss it another night," she replied evasively. "Right now, we need to find a way to…"
"You…won't…have…another night!" Honua suddenly roared at the top of her lungs, that strange purple energy surrounding her once more.
With an immense, earthshaking effort, the Avatar drew herself back up to full height, each movement producing an audible crack of bone. Then, when she was standing once more, she grasped her skull with both claws and, with a gut-wrenching crunch, turned it several degrees to the right.
Brooklyn realized, with a sharp churn of his stomach, the reason why she'd gone down even that long: that, in the heat of battle, Zee's kick must've struck her hard enough to twist her neck.
Right now, she was bound so tightly to Whiro that even that was something her body could survive.
"This…ends…tonight," said Honua, seething viciously as she pronounced each syllable. "I'll cleanse this island…if it's the last thing I do. Because now…I have that power!"
And with that, she plunged her crystalline weapon straight through the shattered dais at the center of the stone circle, until its tip was buried deep within the earth.
Benuthet, at least, seemed to realize what she was about to do, a second before it occurred. But his injuries were too severe to take action.
None of them did. Not until it was too late.
A surge of energy radiated out through the dirt, centering upon the pike, its magic burning with untamed ferocity. The resulting tremor was the worst of them all, causing the ground to splinter and shatter so easily that it seemed more glass than stone.
"What are you doing, mother?!" demanded Makani, shouting shrilly over the din – an overpowering hum that was low in pitch but earsplitting in volume.
"Making…things…right," the Avatar answered, her voice almost disturbingly calm.
The weapon, having reached its peak, exploded into a thousand tiny shards. And for the second time that night, Brooklyn's vision was overwhelmed by a burst of all-consuming, mystical light.
The last thing he heard before he blacked out completely…
Was a roar so loud, and so furious, it could split the skies.
[-]
Some distance away in the same valley, Kamehameha's army was busy dealing with the aftershocks of this final, enormous earthquake.
Standing apart from it, however, were John Young and the slate-skinned gargoyle, conversing softly.
"It seems that's my cue," she said, bracing herself against a tree as the ground continued to rumble violently. "There is much still left to do, to preserve the balance of these islands. I'll need to leave the rest in your capable hands, Young."
"You honor me greatly, milady," replied the boatswain, gritting his teeth to keep them from shaking too much. A moment later, his eyes narrowed. "Hold on a moment. Those mountains…in the distance. Are they…?"
"Yes," Tamora interrupted him, her expression composed but grim. "They're moving."