PoraBora

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Pora scrambled up the crater and emerged atop the ridge.

Maye, as long as a whale, had already left for the jungle, four powerful legs churning the ground beneath.

Pora waved to it. "This way, Maye!"

The god did not listen, throwing its wings to length as it faced Kahule.

"No!" shouted Pora. "No, Maye! They'll shoot you! This way! You must fly this way!"

Maye did not listen. It trotted into a central valley, lunging further and further with every step until it was sprinting, its weight catapulting it over the cliffs and towards the village. It would destroy everything in its path, just as Keasau had, the jungle, the reef, another island—

"Maye!" Pora shouted, running after it, but there was no way he could catch up, no way to stop him. "Maye, stop!"

Maye did not stop. It plowed into the first farms, snapping through coconut trees and smashing sweet potatoes further into the dirt.

Pora stumbled to his knees. What could he do? What was he supposed to do? How could he stop an enraged god when everything and everyone was so set on stopping him? What could he do?

Maye's wings filled with his racing. He shoved off the ground, dragging his talons, and was airborne.

But it was too late. The ships in the harbor aimed their cannons and their volley exploded from the sea.

The entire jungle erupted with screams. Maye dropped, crashing into the village and disappearing in the dust and debris of a great hall.

Don't give up, Pora told himself, but it was hard to push himself back to his feet, to pretend he could do something to help. By the time he even got to the village, Maye would probably be dead. Maybe he was already. The jungle had gone quiet again, after all.

There was a rustling behind him, and the warrior that had nearly grabbed him in the cavern emerged from the undergrowth, swatting aside fern leaves with his spear.

Pora sprang up and ran. It angered him, that he would get up to save himself but couldn't for Maye. The warrior shouted and sprinted after him.

He wasn't the only one in the jungle. Warriors appeared in the path of destruction Maye had taken, and they started the long job down. The one behind Pora called out, and the warriors turned back.

Pora cleared the distance in a second. They lashed out to stop him, but his run carried him past. They wouldn't stop him. He wouldn't let them.

But they tried. As he watched lights appear in astonishing number in the village, converging around Maye's landing, he could hear the warriors start after him. He couldn't look back. There was too much risk in front of him, smashed trees and rocks and snagging bushes.

Then he was bowled over, smashed into the ground and rolling down the slope, a warrior with him. When Pora stopped, stunned, it took him too long to get back to his feet. The warrior was on him, covered in shadow as he held Pora by the throat.

Pora gasped for nothing as he reached up for the warrior. The man was too big, arms too long. Pora couldn't find his face, anything to grab but his arms. He tried to pull them off, but the man was too strong. Pora choked, eyes wetting, trying to breathe. He dug his nails into the man's skin, tried to bite his hands, tried to pry off his fingers, tried again to put his hands into the warrior's eyes or throat or anything that would work like gills.

He was barely aware the other warriors had caught up. He was fading. Not again, he thought, not again...Maye....

The woman came out first.

Then the fowl.

They erupted through the jungle in a wave, squawking and flapping over each other. The warriors standing by disappeared, and then the warrior holding onto Pora, and the birds were everywhere, and there was nothing left to see in the night. The hands came off his throat. The man scrambled off his chest.

They were past in seconds more, all of them headed to the village. The warriors cradled themselves and new wounds, one with his hand covering his face, groaning.

Pora had been luckier. His scratches were few, and though they stung, they were easy to ignore. He got back to his feet. Maye, he thought. Maye had saved him. His guilt pushed up through him again. Just like Bora had saved him, and Tota, and even Pe, and he had done nothing for any of them. Could do nothing.

But he could try.

It felt like an eternity had passed before Pora made it to the edge of Kahule. What awaited him felt worse than the warrior's hands on his throat.

Fowl lay dead everywhere. Warriors even now started to gather their corpses, tossing them into piles beside the roads. They didn't notice Pora or seem to care. He hurried by, headed for where he had seen Maye land.

Maye wasn't there. Only hundreds more fowl in piles.

Claw marks of the great god led the way towards the bay, where the giant ships rumbled. They were taking him. They were taking Maye.

Pora took another somber look at the dead fowl, and ran to the water.