Drowning in Fire (43 page)

“When I left the fire,” she finally said, “your chief was looking for you. The other warrior, the taller man, took the injured one back to your car.”

At the words “injured one,” Kekona’s eyes teared up, but then she immediately blinked the moisture away.

“Okay,” Kekona said. “So, uh, thanks. This made me feel better.”

“It did?”

Hands on her hips, Kekona nudged some muddy snow with her bare toe. “Yeah. I think it did. Listen, will you be here again? At the next Senatus?”

“Of course.”

Kekona gave a stiff wave and started back for the bonfire. “I guess I’ll see you then.”

 • • • 

Here, Within, Aya clung to the shadows of the dim cave, a painful ache in her all-too-human heart, and watched Keko work with her brush and bucket.

Keko swept up dirt and pebbles, the remnants of the Children’s travel through the earth, her movements sluggish, her eyes dead. The blue-white glow of her Source flame had gone out, as had her spirit.

Aya watched her a lot, remembering every single one of their private conversations outside of the Senatus. Remembering Griffin’s reaction as Aya had pulled his love away.

She had yet to approach Keko, her sympathy too great, her sorrow too infectious. Keko needed hope, and Aya had none to give.

She trudged through the caverns until she reached their end, then she threw herself into the earth and tunneled toward her private cave, thankful for its distance and solitude and secrecy. But when she finally pushed out of the wall and assumed human form, she wanted to scream all over again.

There on the clay floor lay a single, pristine sunflower petal.

 • • • 

So this was how a Chimeran fight ended, Griffin thought. There was pain even in the afterlife. How strange. And unfortunate.

The light that leaked through his cracked eyelids was incredibly bright and not remotely holy, so he shut them again.

“Welcome back.”

At the sound of the oddly familiar male voice, Griffin pried open his eyes fully. One aching arm rose to try to block the harsh light, but a lance of pain pierced his shoulder, and he had to drop it.

Someone walked across his blurry vision, followed by the sound of drapes being drawn closed. In the softer, easier light, Griffin recognized Bane’s silhouette.

“That better?” asked the general.

Griffin nodded. On his whole body, his head hurt the most.

Bane came to the side of the bed Griffin was lying on. A woman sat on a chair, her Chimeran face round, her black hair cut unusually short. A long swatch of fabric had been unrolled on the sheets in front of her, and on it rested little sachets and pots of powders and herbs. Dirty bandage strips spotted with a rusty color sat in a pile to the side. She gathered everything up, stuffed them all into a bag, drew one long, assessing look down Griffin’s body, and nodded firmly. He, too, glanced downward, noting that he was naked and covered in newly white bandages over a patchwork of wounds. The medicine woman tugged a sheet over him, then left without a word.

“You lost,” Bane said.

No shit. “And Makaha?”

“He won.” Bane gave Griffin a small smile. “You’ve been out for two days.”

Two days?

“Keko?” Griffin asked.

Bane’s smile died. “No word. I want to know what happened.”

Griffin’s eyes stung, but it hurt too much to reach up and wipe away the liquid emotion that leaked from them. All he was able to say was “She is trapped.”

Bane turned and said, toneless, “Chief? He’s awake.”

A chair creaked somewhere Griffin couldn’t see. Then the sound of bare feet padding across a tiled floor, coming closer. The chief appeared, bending over the bed. He still wore a shirt, this time fully buttoned to cover the handprint. The Queen’s rock hung perfectly framed in the V, and it looked dull and unassuming.

He frowned down at Griffin, his eyes deeply troubled. “Can you walk?”

Griffin didn’t think he could even sit up at this point, but he wasn’t about to admit that, so he nodded.

“Then get up,” said the chief, “and come outside. I need to talk to you.”

TWENTY-THREE

Griffin hobbled out of bed, testing the ability of his body and finding nothing broken, though the stiffness made it difficult to walk. The shorts he’d been wearing on his days running through the Hawaiian backcountry had been washed and placed on a chair, though they were so stained and ragged they hardly looked any better. It didn’t matter. He pulled them on and left the room, having to duck beneath the low ceiling beams in the hallway.

He’d been lying in the chief’s bedroom, apparently, because it was the only bedroom in the tiny house. Griffin wondered where the Chimeran had slept the past two nights. Maybe he hadn’t slept at all, which gave Griffin a grim satisfaction.

The bedroom was on the second floor, the lone window facing the back garden. Griffin caught his reflection in a foggy mirror hanging near the narrow, twisting staircase: bruised and beaten and sunbaked. A thousand other injuries marred his body, but it was the sight of the narrow stripe of burn on his temple that made his stomach flip. He abandoned the mirror.

Every step down the stairs made him wince, but as he exited onto the main floor, he wiped any evidence of pain from his face. Seeing no one, he started for the back door.

“Griffin.” Bane’s voice behind him. “This way. Out front.”

Griffin turned to see the general standing in the dim little foyer with his hand on the knob of the arched front door. A sinking feeling settled into Griffin’s gut as he walked toward Bane. Meeting out back meant in secret. Going out front meant something else entirely.

“What’s going on?”

Bane shook his head, his dark eyes swimming with doubt. “I don’t know, but it’s something. And I’m worried. I shouldn’t say that to you, but so much has changed . . .” He started to turn the knob, then stopped and looked back at Griffin. “What is Keko to you?”

She is my Queen, too
, Griffin wanted to say, but somehow didn’t feel it appropriate, like it would diminish the title in her brother’s eyes.

“So much,” he replied. “It’s hard to put into words.”

At that, the skin around Bane’s eyes and mouth tightened as his gaze dropped to the tile. “Then I understand.”

Before Griffin could ask about Ikaika, Bane threw open the front door. When the chief had said “talk,” he had not meant a quiet chat alone.

Griffin slowly exited the front door of the chief’s house onto a wide stone terrace lit with brilliant sunlight . . . and came face to face with the entire Chimeran population, easily three times the number that had watched the challenge two days ago. Dusky-skinned, black haired people filled the meadow, their expectant faces turned up to the terrace. Many had the carriage of a warrior; most did not. This was every Big Island Chimeran, from every status level, and they all stared curiously at Griffin.

Another fight? Griffin wondered. Another challenge?

The heavy muscle aches lingered. So did the stiffness and fatigue—and the soul-deep crush of loss and guilt over having to watch Keko disappear. But he would fight again if he had to, if it came down to that. For her.

Lengthening his stride, shoving aside his weakness, he crossed the terrace to come even with the chief standing at the balustrade. At the foot of the steps below, the Chimerans spread out far into the distance, a sea of shifting bodies and hushed, speculative voices. The buzz of their massed signatures tingled in Griffin’s mind and he realized, with a heartsick feeling, that the chief’s had been restored.

The Chimeran leader, however, had not removed his shirt.

Griffin assessed the crowd, noting others whose chests and shoulders were covered. Far more than the twenty-two Keko had healed, so maybe the chief and the others she’d cured wouldn’t stand out as much as they’d feared. In the front row stood Ikaika, his T-shirt bright white against his skin. He met Griffin’s eyes in solemnity, giving away nothing.

Makaha was nowhere to be seen. Of course. The warrior was likely still stationed at the back, because even though he’d challenged and defeated the man who’d maimed him, he was still considered disabled.

Chief faced his people and raised a thick arm. The entire valley went instantly silent. And then it erupted in a shout worthy of a volcano.

A single word, spoken as one great voice—as dazzling as fire, as intimidating as war, and as reverent as all the Earth’s religions combined. Griffin didn’t have to speak old Chimeran to know it was a name. The chief’s name.
Ali’i
in a language that predated their people’s great migration across the sea.

Never, not once, had a former Ofarian Chairman been greeted in such a manner, with his people saturating the atmosphere with admiration and love. It was the stuff of stories, of fairy tales, of faraway lands, the way people might have bowed to a king. The major difference was, the title of king and Ofarian Chairman
had been bestowed because of birth and blood. The title of Chimeran
ali’i
also came by blood, but that of the drawn, battled kind. No matter what poor, unfair decisions Chief had made with regard to Keko, he had undoubtedly earned this position time and time again, and his people worshipped him for it.

Such devotion was beyond humbling.

Chief slammed a fist against his chest in a show of mutual adoration toward his people. The fist remained pressed against the light blue of his button-down shirt. A sheen coated his black eyes. The sun reflected off the moisture, making them spark.

The Chimerans responded. A simultaneous pounding of their chests—men and women and children, warrior and common folk alike.

Griffin shivered under the force of it. And then he shivered because he still did not know why he’d been called out here.

“You are wondering,” Chief said, his booming voice carrying across the field that had again fallen obediently and rapturously silent, “why Griffin Aames, the Ofarian leader, is in our valley.”

Griffin stood as still as the stone balustrade beneath his fingertips, keeping his eyes on the chief, and carefully managing the pound of his heart and the pace of his breathing.

Chief, however, looked only at his people. “He did not come here to face and be challenged by the Chimeran he disfigured, as some of you have speculated.”

Pockets of Chimerans shifted on their feet, looking over their shoulders, trying to pick out Makaha in the crowd. Griffin felt his blood begin to boil, the deep heat starting around his neck and ears. Not embarrassment, but a slow, simmering anger aimed at the chief.

“He did not come here to ask for peace or to beg for an alliance,” Chief said. “He came here because of Kekona Kalani.”

More movement, a few murmurs.

“A few months ago we were ready to go to war against the Ofarians,” Chief intoned. “Our general had been taken hostage by one of the water wielders, in what was then believed to be a hostile grab for power.”

Now Griffin moved. A slight tightening of his fists. A little bend of the knees, firming his stance. Readying himself for whatever was to come.

“Our attack was called off when it was proven to us that Kekona was taken by a rogue Ofarian. That part you do know. What you don’t know”—Chief finally slid a glance over to Griffin—“is that Kekona defied the rules of the elementals and the
kapu
laws of her clan when she chose to be with Griffin Aames.”

That garnered a response, a widespread wave of surprise that raked like nails over Griffin’s skin. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed several warriors edging toward the terrace, ready to take him down if he made a move toward their leader. Griffin couldn’t be certain that he wouldn’t.

“Kekona was dishonored because she was dishonorable. Her war mongering was falsely based, stemming specifically from her relationship with that Ofarian.”

Discontented, defensive rustling rippled through the crowd.

“Chief,” Griffin growled, because he couldn’t stay silent any longer.

But the chief deepened his voice and upped the volume. “Three years ago, Griffin disobeyed the most sacred Senatus rule and used his magic to attack one of our own during a gathering, disgracing the great warrior Makaha. He has spent nearly every moment since trying to convince me and the rest of the elementals that we are flawed and he is eternally right.”

The rustling intensified. Whispers changed to questions, accusatory sentences, and dark looks.

Chief lifted both hands, calling for silence. “But he is not here because of what Kekona did wrong. He is not here because of what he did wrong.” When he drew a breath it was not Chimeran, but still one that shook and rattled in his chest. “He is here because of what
I
did wrong.”

Griffin gasped, but the sound of it was lost in the wave of confusion wrinkling the blanket of rapt devotion the chief had cast over the valley.

Chief shouted something in Chimeran, and his people went quiet and still, though it was no longer instant, the unrest lingering. They watched him intently. Griffin noticed Bane inching closer to the steps leading down to the meadow.

The chief’s fingers gripped the balustrade. He leaned heavily into his arms, his head bent—the first time Griffin had ever witnessed him not looking directly at his people. The whole valley seemed to be holding its breath, including Griffin and Ikaika, whose face had gone ashen with shock and worry. Would the chief actually—

“I lost my fire.”

He would. Oh great stars, he did. That resonant, authoritative voice, speaking the truth. At last.

“My fire died without reason or warning. I have been hiding it from all of you for a very long time.”

Griffin’s fists released at the same moment the Chimerans erupted again. This time the burst of sound was decidedly less joyous than the earlier greeting, one made of fear and panic instead. Some Chimerans tried to push closer to the house, but Bane hopped down the steps and positioned himself at their base, the glare of the general warning everyone off. The outraged voices did not quiet.