PoraBora

Chapter Sixty

"No, Keasau!" Pora shouted as the wave washed over him. He brushed through the jellyfish, their tentacles like curtains of soft grass, and searched for the god through their forest of arms. But they were too many and too bright. He swam through, every kick careful because as much as the jellyfish seemed uninterested in harming him, he knew their fragile bodies wouldn't be protected from him. But caution was choked by panic. If Keasau's shell broke here--

He didn't want to think about it.

Bora broke through the jellies as if erupting through a kelp forest, and Pora ran a hand along his passing body.

"We've got to get Keasau out of here," Pora tried to tell him.

Bora kept on.

Pora returned to the surface. Cannons still fired across the cavern, aiming for a tiny trimaran with only--

It was the manta. It was Pe. Pora ducked back under the water. "Bora! Stay away from that boat!"

But the shark had already disappeared. Pora spun in a circle, trying to see anything from the water. But it was impossible. He went back to the surface, trying to steal a glimpse at a time. He did not remember their last meeting fondly.

She saw him. Pora froze, but only for a moment. Then he dove, his feet slipping through the water last, like a sperm whale's flukes, and he went as deep as he could, cutting away where the jellyfish weren't as concentrated. He pulled himself gently along the sea floor, holding his nose as he glanced up to see if the shape of her boat was following. But just as he couldn't find Keasau, he couldn't see her hulls.

Keasau's song rolled through the water like a swell. The god was angry. "Please don't bring a storm," Pora bubbled. "You'll destroy this whole reef!"

He couldn't even understand himself. How was he going to calm Keasau? How could he possibly save the crater? He had to stop the cannons. He had to get the net open. He had to stop Keasau.

I can't, he wanted to scream, but he'd already breathed out to plead with Keasau. He needed help. But who would help him? Who would help a twelve-year-old boy save an eighty-foot god?

Pora snaked through the water, propelling himself along the bottom with his hands. He wished he could only talk to them. But he couldn't. He didn't know how. He didn't know their words.

But even if he couldn't, he had to try. Everything he had picked up from Samuelu. Everything he had learned from stowing away. Surely he could somehow piece together one plea.

Pora swam up. He had to try. He pieced it together in his head the best he could, trying roots when he didn't know words, trying abstract when he didn't know specifics.

Pe was his best chance, he thought. Pe was his only chance. She wanted Bora dead, and probably him too, but she was the only person he knew, the only person who knew he was here, and he had to believe that she would listen. That she could understand.

Her boat was forty feet from him. She was all over the rails, crossing from one side to the other in sure strides, searching. He raised his hands to his face, treading with his legs, and called, "Pe!"

Over the water and continued cannonades, he doubted she heard him. But she saw him, and he swam towards her at the surface, so that she knew what he was doing, and then under, when he wondered if she wouldn't just shoot him.

Getting her attention, he thought, was the easy part. He made it to one of the remora and kicked both his arms onto the top, before pulling himself the rest of the way. He looked up.

Pe stood above him, a bone-handled knife in her hand, and glared.

"No kill," Pora tried. "Don't kill. Please. Talk. We talk. Please, Pe."

Her eyes only tensed more, and her hands squeezed around the knife's body. "Talk," she said.

Pora attempted to climb the rest of the way up, but the girl only pushed the knife closer.

"Talk," she repeated. "'O lili wa, pule'a umunea nu pela."