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Mū

Twilight faded from the Maui sky and the island’s restless trade winds settled. The chatter of mynah birds faded to silence; coconut palms ceased their hula dance. Tourists packed the local bars, downing beers and umbrella drinks while shouting over the music. Lovers of all ages strolled the beaches as the moon rose slowly over Haleakala, the great volcano that dominated the eastern half of the island.

Good times and romance flowed through the night as moonlight’s glow infused the island with a sense of magic and possibilities—but smoldering envy and hatred had turned to cold, calculating rage and hunger in one man’s heart. Tonight he’d become someone unforgettable—a legend: Mū, a priest ordained to claim a blood sacrifice.

His time had come. His preparations were complete.

As Mū moved out, driving to take his first victim, he brooded about the abandoned code of kapu . That ancient Hawaiian system of law had collapsed and nearly been forgotten after two centuries. First, missionaries had converted King Kamehameha II to Christianity, which persuaded the king to abolish the kapu system. Then, as time passed, the true Hawaiian people—the kanaka maoli —had become distanced from their culture. Forgotten the old ways.

Nā kūpuna —the old ones—they remembered the law and its strict penalties. Kapu had a number of meanings, but for Mū’s mission, it meant ‘forbidden.’ Violating the laws of kapu was punishable by death—and Mū would be its enforcer.

His prey had earned the justice coming to them.

An hour before midnight, he cruised his modified van slowly through upscale Wailuku Heights, driving down a street lined with homes he would never be able to afford. Finding the address he sought, Mū backed the vehicle into the driveway and stepped out.

A quick glance up and down the street showed no traffic, no pedestrians. A good omen for a successful mission—if you believed in such things. Sometimes, he almost did.

Stepping up to the front door, Mū knocked, certain she would answer. People like her were too confident, thinking they were safe in their elitist neighborhoods. Just in case, he’d already checked that she had no security camera or chain on her door.

After a moment, the door was opened by an attractive woman in a silky kimono robe. Her blonde hair was loose and tousled around a face unused to being bare of makeup. “Can I help you?”

Before she could close the door or react, Mū lunged through. He clamped a hand over her mouth, muffling her scream. Kicking the door closed behind him, he drove her across the entry with his greater strength and momentum and slammed her body against the wall with his.

Mū inhaled deeply in the tender space between her ear and shoulder as his forearm pressed against her neck, pinning her against the entry wall. He smelled the heat of her fear, heard her muffled cries. Passion ignited him.

He hadn’t expected that, but it made him smile. She’d be his until she’d fulfilled her purpose. Why not? Spoils of war.

Half an hour later, miles from the woman’s home, he backed the van into a garage and closed its door before getting out.

There’d been no cars on that street either, no one to notice his arrival. Satisfied that he hadn’t been seen, Mū walked to the back of the van and opened the rear doors.

The woman lay on a mattress on the floor of the van. She writhed and kicked in a futile attempt to back further away, but she wasn’t going anywhere: zip ties he’d used to bind her arms behind her back were sturdy and tight; the gag on her mouth only permitted smothered sounds of terror. The hem of her kimono rode up as she flailed her legs, revealing lacy panties.

He gazed at her, speculating. He had time.

* * *

Hours after midnight, Mū was finished with his satisfying evening. The woman would play a starring part in a drama that should electrify the nation. She had a higher purpose serving his cause, and now she was prepared for her role.

The drug he’d injected her with was still working because she lay limp and silent on the mattress for the drive to south Maui. He’d taken no chances, though—even her legs were carefully bound now.

Once they reached their destination, Mū put on a headlamp. He dumped the woman into a lightweight gardening cart with extra-large sturdy wheels for use on rough terrain. He loaded in the other props he needed for the ritual beside her. After locking the van, he pushed the woman along an ill-defined rough stone path into the wide-open lava field.

The moon rose over the shoulder of Haleakala and provided a pale silver gleam to light his way. When they reached the sacred site, he jammed a pair of rock climbing pitons into the elevated rock mound he’d chosen.

Mū took off the woman’s robe. He dressed her in the special outfit he had prepared and posed her against the harsh black of the lava rocks. He then cut her bonds and tied a rope of braided plant fibers to each wrist and ankle, attaching them to the anchors until she was spread wide for the world to see, her chin lolled on her bare chest.

He was tiring, but the best part was still to come. He glanced up to see the faintest glow of dawn behind Haleakala. Anticipation sped up his heart rate; it was almost time.

Mū set up a video recorder on a lightweight tripod and checked the rest of his equipment. He positioned the camera so he could wield the weapon from behind a stone outcrop out of the line of view—but he still needed enough light to record.

Mū waited for the light.

Exultation surged through him as he watched the woman lying pale as milk against the stone, restrained and helpless. Limp and submissive, the way a woman should be.

The way She would be when he got his hands on her, as he’d dreamed of for so long.

Hawaiians believed in mana , the divine force that flowed through all things. Was that the excitement he was feeling? Or was this the sensation of destiny being fulfilled?

This woman had once held power over him in her position. She’d been chosen with care as his first offering.

He remembered her dismissive tone to him in a meeting, how she’d sent him away with a flick of polished nails—nails that were broken, now, from her struggles.

The sky grew lighter, a glow emanating from behind the great hulk of the volcano mauka of them. The sound of waves on the nearby reef was background music. Another gorgeous morning on Maui had begun.

The woman stirred as the drugs began to wear off. Turning on the video, Mū focused the frame on her face and torso. He hit Record before stepping to the side, out of the camera’s view.

The woman gazed around, blinking, confused. She spotted him, dressed in his costume for the sacrifice. She tried to tug her arms free. Her eyes widened in fear. He liked to see her terror and wished he had longer with her—but with day breaking, he had to complete the ritual and be gone before he was seen.

“This is the beginning. With your sacrifice, things will be made right. We will have the life we deserve, the life that has been denied us,” Mū said aloud through the voice distorter.

From behind the outcrop of rock, he reached around and grabbed the woman’s hair. He forced her head back, exposing her throat. She struggled and cried out through the gag. The muffled sound she made reminded him of a kitten in a cloth bag about to die. An early memory.

The shark’s teeth on the weapon bit into her skin as powerfully as a manō on the hunt. A fantasy he hadn’t let himself know he craved was fulfilled and he groaned aloud in satisfaction as the woman’s heart pumped, splashing blood over her body and the surrounding area.

All the while, a little red light blinked, recording her sacrifice.