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Mū

Purple twilight surrendered to the inky embrace of night over Haleakala National Park, a landscape which held secrets as old as the islands themselves. The last rays of the sun kissed the crater’s cinder cones, casting long shadows that merged with the darkness.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of subalpine dry forest, a stark contrast to the tropical lushness of the slopes below the summit. Tourists had long retreated to their lodgings, leaving the park in a quiet broken only by the occasional call of a nēnē goose or the rustle of rare, endangered silversword plants in the gentle night wind.

In this isolated expanse, under a sky painted with a canvas of stars, a palpable sense of the sacred reigned. The moon hadn’t yet risen; the night was dark and perfect for stargazing . . . and for the final scene of Jonas Kleftes’s ultimate sacrifice. Haleakala would be the setting of a nightmare the real estate developer could never have anticipated.

Mū had rested from his labors over Cheryl Goodwin all the following day before preparing for the next one, but he was delighted with the timing. The cops would still be tangled up with Goodwin’s corpse and crime scene when he’d strike again, keeping well ahead of them.

He’d been stalking his prey for months. Kleftes was a photographer and hiker known for his solo adventures when he wasn’t working. Mū had tracked the man’s habit of venturing into the park at night to capture the celestial pageantry over the crater. This victim wouldn’t have to be carried to the site of his death—he’d hike there himself.

Shock and awe would rock the island with these multiple sacrifices. Perfect. As it was meant to be.

Mū became a shadow that moved with calculated intent through the rugged terrain, making his way with a tiny handheld red flashlight to decrease visibility from a distance. He was dressed as before, and carried a backpack loaded with all the props and equipment he needed.

The cold rage and bone-deep envy that drove him was channeled into meticulous hunting as he followed Kleftes’s progress from a distance.

All of this was meant to be and served a higher purpose: his purpose.

As Kleftes set up his camera on a tripod near a small, twisted old koa tree, Mū watched from behind a large pāhoehoe lava flow nearby. The stone was worn and crumbled with time, falling to powder under Mū’s gloved hands.

Kleftes was unaware he was being watched, his attention focused on the sky, his progress lit by the single red headlamp he wore to cut down on ambient light. The man adjusted his camera, consulting a star cartography tool attached to the tripod.

Mū’s breaths were measured as he unpacked his tools—a rope made from woven ti leaves and the shark-toothed weapon. Necessary intrusions from modern times were the syringe of drugs and the latex gloves covering his hands. He set each item carefully aside, making them ready.

Kleftes, absorbed in his task, remained oblivious to the threat off in the dark surrounding him. The man was so entitled and confident. He didn’t appreciate the irony of his actions in worshiping stars in the setting of Haleakala while desecrating its surroundings with his development project on the slopes below.

The man adjusted his lens, squatting down to fiddle with something, then lifting it to gaze at the heavens, seeking the perfect shot of the Milky Way arching over the crater, a river of stars bright as snowflakes against the black well of sky.

Mū moved with the stealth of an ancient warrior, his steps careful and silent on the volcanic soil. Closing the distance between them, he admired the way the soft red illumination of Kleftes’s headlamp played over the man’s features.

Mū was an artist appreciating the calm before the storm. The divine energy of the land around him rose up once more, empowering him with a sense of destiny; that flow of mana filled him again.

He might have begun these sacrifices with a hidden personal need, but now he was serving a greater purpose.

Stepping up to the man and surprising him from out of the darkness, Mū flipped on a powerful headlamp. His figure would be a chilling silhouette behind the blinding beam of unexpected illumination. Kleftes swiveled to face Mū, startled, his camera forgotten.

Before the man could react, Mū spoke, his voice a low rumble that seemed to echo the dormant volcano’s deep stirrings. “Tonight, you are part of something ancient, something necessary. You represent those who take without giving, who tread sacred grounds with no thought of the ancestral spirits that watch over this land.”

Jonas frowned, blinded. He raised his hands, palms out, in a surrender gesture. “I come here with respect, with love for these islands. I’m just in the crater to take pictures.”

“And yet you kill the ‘aina with your bulldozers and buildings.” Mū uncovered the syringe, keeping the light shining into Jonas’s blinded, blinking eyes. “Your time has come.”

Kleftes sensed danger at last and made a run for it, wheeling to stumble into the darkness, desperation lending speed to his legs—but the man’s vision was still impaired by the abrupt light changes, and the uneven ground was treacherous. Mū was relentless, motivated, and had illumination on his side. Catching up to Kleftes, he knocked the developer to the rough ground, put a knee in his back, and stabbed the syringe into his neck.

The man rolled away with a cry. He grabbed a stone, swinging it at his attacker—but Mū saw the clumsy maneuver coming, and evaded it easily.

He moved away and stood, letting Kleftes go, giving the man the illusion of a chance and making his own anticipation last longer. “Run. If you can.”

Jonas Kleftes scrambled up and rushed away a few feet—and then stumbled, falling to his knees. He pulled himself up and staggered, then fell. He was crawling, dragging his body with his arms, when Mū caught up with him.

Mū grabbed the man’s hair and tugged him to his feet. Swaying and disoriented, Kleftes swung his arms a few times, trying to strike—but Mū shook him by the hair until the man fell to his knees again.

“Come. Meet your destiny.” Mū tugged Jonas upright. He dragged him by his hair, faltering and stumbling, back to the small koa tree.

Mū subdued Kleftes and stripped off the man’s clothing as he increasingly lost motor control. He rifled the man’s pockets and took his phone and wallet, setting them aside.

He then redressed Jonas in a malo, binding his wrists with the fiber rope, fastening the sacrificial victim securely to the twisted koa tree. The stars Jonas Kleftes loved so much would be silent witnesses to his final moments.

Kleftes was deeply under the influence of the drug by then, his eyes rolling, his body limp and unresponsive as Mū put the man’s ID in the offering wrapped in ti leaves he’d already prepared. He placed the leaf-wrapped bundle between the man’s sprawled legs.

Mū’s pulse was rapid as he tossed the man’s clothing and hiking boots over a nearby ledge—they didn’t belong in this important scene that would be recorded for the world to see and appreciate.

He then set up the video camera he’d brought on its tripod.

At last, heart racing with the high of this moment, Mū positioned himself behind the tree, out of view of the camera’s eye. He flicked on the recording device and its harsh lightbulb using a remote.

Mū let his eyes adjust, then reached around, gripping Jonas's hair, and tilting the man’s head back to expose his throat. The toothed leiomano weapon gleamed under the video camera’s harsh illumination as he raised it, savoring the moment. As Mū made the first cut, the wet sound of shark’s teeth biting into human flesh was almost lost to the sough of the wind over the volcanic expanse of Haleakala Crater.

Jonas Kleftes’s life force ebbed as his blood pumped and sprayed, soaking the thirsty ground: an offering to the land and a small reparation for what he’d taken from it.

Mū stepped back, his breathing heavy, watching as blood flowed from Jonas’s body and it became a husk, dead as the stones surrounding them.

Above, the stars spun in their eternal dance, silent witnesses to the sacrifice.