The humans pulled broad fern leaves together into a canopy, shaped over bent lengths of greenwood to form lean-to huts. They pounded the ground solid to keep burrowing insects from crawling up, and layered more fern leaves over the ground to form bedding. One of the women created a fire by scraping two hibiscus sticks together over a bedding of dry hays. Another used that fire to dry a certain type of clay and scatter it in a circle around their campsite, the tiny sharp-edged fragments of the particular earth creating a microscopic barrier of razors that would keep out crawling pests.

They netted fish from the river, gutted them with small flint knives, and roasted them atop a broad flat stone laid onto a bed of coals to heat through. Every one of them had a part to play and performed their duties well.

I admired them, in a sense.

In a way they were my exact opposite. I could create any servant or guardian, but could do nothing else of my own accord. To a human shaping life was a godly power– but they could shape the world with their own two hands.

Mele and Kahula watched nervously from the canopy, but the humans no longer offered them treats or spoke to them unprompted. I could feel Kahula’s little heart pulse with guilt. Mele had no such compunctions, but gazed down at them suspiciously, waiting for the well-concealed sign that these ‘humans’ were up to no good.

I had already driven away most of the larger and more dangerous specimens within this area. Anything not under my control had been hunted down or forced out. What remained were small canopy-dwellers and birds who I was content to let live their lives peacefully.

They were suspicious of me and my realm, these humans. They tasted each fruit and berry carefully, watching to see if the eater died before the rest tried any. I interrupted only once– to warn them away from the candied foolchoke’s poison berries. Their eyes scanned the canopy for threats.

But they were not blind to the wonders around them. I caught one of the men stopping to admire the flowers and try to capture a drifting grass sprite in his hands. The little elementals had prospered in my domain; there were now countless flickering trails of greenish light, each no bigger than a pinprick, weaving through the trees.

It was only a matter of time, though, before the fragile peace was broken.

The leader stepped away– his name was Koa– stepped away from the rest, wandering out to a quiet place and setting himself on a rock. Kahula followed him as Mele stayed to watch the rest…

“Caution.” I warned the lackadaisy little creature. “He knows you’re watching. I think he wants to speak to you…”

Kahula nodded, and hopped closer along the branches.

Turning his head to gaze directly up at the little bird, Koa asked, “Does your spirit truly have no name? What do you call them then?”

“Don’t answer that.” I quickly replied inside Kahula’s head.

But I should have been more specific, because he immediately burst out with, “I shouldn’t answer that!”

I died inside. I truly did. Oh, Kahula…

“He’s here now, then?” Koa had taken a flower from the ground, and was plucking away its petals. “Watching us?” His gaze swept the canopy for my presence.

Immediately, my attention flickered to Mele and the rest. Yes. They were getting ready for something. They held themselves with a quiet tension, and I could feel their hearts beating strongly in their chests. Every one of them had placed themselves close to some tool or bludgeon they could use as a weapon…

The woman who spoke before, Naia, was watching out of the corner of her eye. She had a clear view of him…

A brave man. He intended to sacrifice himself so the others could escape.

“Tell him not to bother. I know what his plan is already, and it will do nothing but cause him harm.”

I could feel Kahula’s heart beating too, as fast as a drum. “Yes! The great spirit says, do not bother. They say, they already know your plan! It will do nothing but cause you harm.” He puffed out his chest and croaked the words in his awkward, squeaking imitation of human speech.

The man paused– and threw the flower aside.

The woman turned and shook her head sadly, holding up a hand for the others to stop what they were doing. The moment of tension passed, the crew sinking visibly down as they realized the plan had come to nothing, and been called off.

“You see a lot then.” Koa admitted, not showing any guilt or remorse. In his position I would have been equally unapologetic. He held up as his hands as if to say ‘I have no more tricks’. “But why, then, if you are so powerful, so great, do you feel the need to hold us here as prisoners? Are you so afraid of what we might say that you cannot tolerate us to have our freedom? This is a petty way to act; you are greater than this.” He turned and spat to the side.

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I will admit. My pride stung a little at that.

“What happened to the gods of this island? I see signs of them, but they are gone. Did the empire slaughter them with the natives?” I asked in Kahula’s voice. I would avoid being probed or needled by him; I held the upper hand, so long as I remembered that I did.

Koa’s eyebrow shifted slightly, a thought racing through his head. I’d clearly given away something important by admitting I didn’t know. “Have you not heard? If you are cautious of the empire, I would think you knew what they did to captured gods.”

“Tell me.” Kahula repeated. If I had made an error, I wouldn’t compound it now, or be seen to back away when caught out.

“Very well.” He ripped up a blade of grass and placed it between his teeth, chewing idly. “The empire is a place of metal and fire. They have gone from island to island, capturing whatever spirits the locals hold dear. They will place iron chains around the spirit’s neck and drag them aboard their ships, never to return. When they have the gods in their grasp they rip them apart with fiery tools, cutting and welding, replacing flesh with metal.”

“Soon the god can no longer speak its own will or move its own limbs. It is trapped within the machine. They continue to cut–” His hand chopped downwards. “Until the heart is gone, and the god is obedient and dull-minded. Even then, they cut more–” And again. “Until the god no longer remembers its own name. Until it is only a metal thing.”

This…

Outrage spluttered in my heart.

The hermit farmer had only seen a small portion of the empire’s machinations. He had seen the warships, the shorelines consumed by flames, the villages put to the sword. This– this was a new evil. The magic needed to seal a divine essence in steel was beyond anything I could do, at least for now. What ancient powers had they invoked?

What bargains had they made?

“Humans do such evil things. Even to your own, you are unkind. I hope then you understand why I must be cautious. Do not make any mistake. I do not wish you harm–”

But my reassurances only stoked his fury.

“Then I am free to go? I am not being held captive?” His temper soured drastically, his face clouding as he leapt to his feet. “We came to you with joy and gifts and you do this to us? Why should I believe you will ever let us go?”

“Believe what you want.” I said. “But I will be watching. Do not transgress my rules, do not attempt to leave. In time you will see my sincerity– I am not your enemy. When that becomes clear, you may leave.”

“So I am only your prisoner until I learn to love the prison.” He spat. “What a wonderful way of thinking you have.”

“That is life. You cannot fly, but that does not make the earth a prison. Accept your limitations and be happy.” I answered, and withdrew from this pointless conversation.

In truth I was shaken. I had not realized how deeply poisonous the empire was– I was outraged.

But Kahula did not leave. Shaking his head until the feathers rattled back and forth, he hopped further down the branch, approaching Koa as the man sank back onto the stone.

“Hello.”

He looked up.

“Hello-hello.” Kahula repeated.

“You are not the spirit.” He said, curious now. “What are you?”

“Kahula! A very bright-feathered and clever bird. Very-very, yes.” He hopped left and right on the branch, lifting his head crest proudly. “And this is my home. Would you like water? Fruit? We have it all!”

“Thank you. But I’d like to be alone.”

“That is a funny thing to want, very funny. I’ve never been alone. The spirit is there for me; my sister sings through the trees.” With a flutter he landed on Koa’s shoulders. “Do you not have any family?”

“Because I need to think.” He hissed through his teeth.

“Ah! I am a thinker too. I can help!” The little bird leaned forward on Koa’s shoulder, tilting his head towards the man.

I laughed in my palace of crystal, the mana in the air shivering as I chuckled. Oh the poor human. Kahula was not going to understand anytime soon.

Very slowly, very deliberately, Koa said. “Think about this. I am angry at your spirit and do not want to be bothered. So you should..?”

“Cheer you up!”

I could see his teeth grind. “I said I wanted to be alone. Do you not understand what that means?”

“I know the word. But I don’t know why you would want to be alone– do you not have any family to keep you company?”

“They are dead or dying.” Koa spat out. “Are you happy now?”

There was a distinct pause, and then his beak popped open. “Ah!” And Kahula fluttered away.

Koa leaned back and covered his head in his hands, long hair trailing over his shoulders.

When he opened his eyes Kahula was sitting in the tree above again, with Mele by his side. “Hello! This is my sister. Now you have the two of us!”

Mele and Koa shared a look. Clearly, she was more understanding of the poor man’s desire for some solitude. But in complete oblivion, Kahula fluttered away and brought back another bird. And another. Another and another…

Until Koa was staring up at the branches, completely surrounded by preening, chirruping songbirds. A sea of colored feathers met his gaze. The whole forest resonated with the sounds of their voices.

“What is this?” He asked, pure disbelief in his voice.

“I have brought you–” Kahula spread his wings out. “My family!”

And despite himself, Koa couldn’t help but smile at that, as all around him birds sang.

— — —

My sloth returned. The boat was destroyed– I read that from the first contact of its mind, happy to have completed its mission.

But it was carrying an unexpected burden. Held in its arms was a small child, eyes closed, entirely unconscious. They were dripping with feverish sweat– they twitched spastically, mumbling in an unnatural sleep. Patches of their skin were scabbed and flaking away to reveal deep black rot beneath.

They were dying.