#biofic

Naho Bay, still a long way off, was not nearly as bright, calm, and welcoming as it usually was. Nor was the ocean beyond it; waves stirred up by the bitter wind had troughs of almost 10 bios, and the sky was an ever-shifting, complex gradient of black and grey that spat raindrops with the force of a million stinging fireflyers. Despite the storm’s punishment, though, a small, worn-down supply boat carrying two po-matoran pressed onward towards its destination of Ga-Koro.

Hewkii was nowhere near happy about it.

“This is how it ends,” he thought to himself as yet another crashing wave threatened to dislodge the cargo of carefully carved ritual stones from its restraints. “We’ll be lost to the endless ocean without any indication we ever came through. No self-respecting po-matoran should ever have to get into one of these barely-buoyant death traps; curse those kane-ra blocking the land routes to Ga-Wahi!”

Hewkii felt a rough shove on the back of his shoulder, and turned to see his travel partner, Gadjati, trying to make himself heard over the shrieking winds. “WE’RE ABOUT TO LOSE THAT CRATE, HEWKII!” the stone hewer shouted frantically. “GRAB THAT ROPE AN—WHOA!”

The boat lurched harshly sideways, tilting steeply but not tipping entirely. Hewkii managed to grab and tie down a rope that had come loose, keeping all the crates onboard, but one of the larger Mata Nui stones slipped off the top of the pile and struck him hard on the back of the head. To the kolhii champ, there was just a burning pain and then the world seemed to quite suddenly go silent and dark.

* * *

When Hewkii came to, he was lying on a makeshift pillow of flax rope, and the storm had subsided to a light drizzle of rain and a cold, but gentle, breeze. Waves no longer strove to crush or upend their watercraft; they just rocked it rhythmically. Gadjati was steering the battered rudder as best he could, but his eyes that were locked more on Hewkii than the sea softened to relief when he saw the other matoran stirring.

Hewkii grimaced, but chuckled weakly as he strained to sit up. “This’ll—erk—be quite a story for next month’s fireside,” he said, “Kolhii master Hewkii, the matoran who can split a boulder with his own hard head gets beaten senseless by a prayer stone!”

He smiled and coughed a little as he looked to Gadjati’s expression, but the stone hewer wasn’t reciprocating the humorous perspective. His face was stretched tight by barely withheld stress, visible even behind his copper-toned Rau.

“Gadjati, I’m fi—“

“No Hewkii, you’re not! You’re not fine!” Gadjati burst out. “You’ve been out for almost half an hour, you’re soaked right down to your guts, you could have been killed, and you shouldn’t even be on this trip! Po-Koro’s foremost kolhii champion and Onewa’s one and only right hand? You’re too important to be delivering rocks to the water village; WHY DID YOU CHOOSE TO COME??” Breathing heavily, wide-eyed, the terrified po-matoran slumped to the deck, barely keeping his grip on the rudder. Rain pattering down on the boat was the only audible sound for what seemed like an hour, but was of course not even close to that long. Recovering from being dumbstruck, Hewkii spoke.

“Gad…Gadjati….there is no task Onewa or Mata Nui himself could provide me that I would be too important to do. A leader-type who sits and barks orders and expects obedience because apparently he used to struggle as his peers do now is not who I want to be. My duty is to all matoran, no matter what theirs is.”

Gentle sobs wracked Gadjati’s body as he choked out a protest. “You—you can’t, H-Hewkii!”

“I can’t what?”

“You can’t hel-help every matoran at once, that’s ri-r-ridiculous!” Gadjati was pleading. “Do the leader-ly things you have earned the right to do, and….and forget about little rock hewers like me! I could have brought Kivi, or Pekka w-with me today; they would have gladly come!”

More sounds of falling rain. More sounds of pained crying. Hewkii felt tears welling up in his eyes and a lump forming up in his throat, but he fought them both down and spoke in a hoarse whisper: “Gad….love is a powerful force, isn’t it? Strong enough to shape destiny itself, wouldn’t you agree?”

Gadjati cautiously raised his eyes up to stare at Hewkii’s. He was making no noise except for the occasional sniffle now. “I-I don’t….I….”

“And how can one shape destiny?” Hewkii continued louder and with more conviction. “It is the will of Mata Nui himself that things follow a plan, that things be as they are intended to be, and that all necessary duties are done with unity among all who speak his name. Matoran cannot run from destiny, because things will be exactly as they will be.” Hewkii hadn’t even noticed he had balled his hands into fists. Gadjati stared, noiselessly now with mouth agape, not daring to interrupt a second of Hewkii’s precious time.

“And yet….” Hewkii went quieter again. “….And yet where does love fit into the plan? Where among everyone’s constant duties can we take time to appreciate what we have? Is it in times of storytelling? Those times when all who speak lay parts of their spirit in the open for all who listen to experience? Perhaps not even then, because even the simplest of stories teach something, and teaching is a duty in itself. Is our own time to be found on the kolhii field? Kolhii is a great gift, but it requires dedication, and training, and work in itself. All of those things are duties we must uphold at all times. When can we stop upholding? Use time to marvel at the wonders of our spirits and not at the necessity of our work? I….I….”

His voice trailed off, and suddenly Hewkii was staring wide-eyed at his hands, clenched so tightly they could have crushed a pebble into even smaller bits. His breathing came in strangled gasps, and water drops that hadn’t fallen from the sky peppered the deck below his lap. With a noise like a speared ash bear, the kakama-wearing po-matoran cried out and slumped heavily back down onto his back, missing the flax pillow and hitting the solid deck. Hard.

Raindrops. Weeping. A whistle of wind drifting by.

Rhythmic boat rocking. Waves slapping the sides of the boat. The nearly-muted call of a faraway seabird.

Weeping.

* * *

An already-quiet sound, muffled further by the flax rope his face was buried in, reached Hewkii’s audio receptors. Raising slightly from his pseudo-pillow, Hewkii saw Gadjati’s mouth forming words before he really heard them.

“Land ho,” the rock hewer said weakly. The ghost of a smile graced his features for a split second, but then his voice and face were solemn again.

“It’s Macku, isn’t it?” Gadjati said with a sigh.

Hewkii, stunned, nodded ever so slightly.

Gadjati gazed pensively out at the shores of Naho Bay that were just becoming visible on the horizon. He did not move or speak for what seemed like an hour, but was of course not even close to that long.

“She visits Po-Koro often. More often than one would expect a turaga’s attendant to. Much like how you’ve come on more voyages this month than just this trip with me, Hewkii. You two have spent much time discussing matters of importance to turaga and, by extension, all of us. Much time practicing and learning about kolhii together. Time. Together. No matter how much work and duty was involved, I’d say there’s more than that. But who am I to assume? I do not share a mind with either of you, and I am not of such importance to my village. I only wish to see you happy, Hewkii. All of Po-Koro should.” Now it was Hewkii’s turn to sit in silence. Gadjati imagined he could hear gears turning in the kolhii champion’s head.

“Is….is that ALL you wish, Gadjati?” Hewkii asked.

“….No, Hewkii, it is not.”

“Then tell me what more you want.” Gadjati let out one choked, panicked sob, and then composed his voice as best he could. His mouth hung open for a second before he spoke, though, as if something was so close to leaving it but couldn’t break loose of its well-maintained chains.

“I want….I want you to go….to Macku when we hit shore. Not to stay in the village forever, because Po-Koro needs you too, but to spend that time you crave with her and to heal from this pain locked inside you and….and to then become happy, Hewkii.” Hewkii did not shake with sobs, but tears did trickle down his face as rain trickled down the surface of his mask. He smiled slightly and barked a quick, tortured laugh.

“Well believe me, Gad, when I tell you I do not share a mind with her either. I feel connected to her like I’ve never felt with any matoran, turaga, or perhaps even great spirit ever before, but I’m certain there’s no way she could feel the same way. We are two different matoran from two different koro with two different minds and infinitely different experiences. We’re never going to be properly united, Gad, we just aren’t…”

“Then be imperfectly united.”

“What?”

“Go to her, try and express as many thoughts, feelings, and abstract ideas that cross your mind as you can, try and tell her the story of Hewkii, Po-Koro’s most important matoran who didn’t feel important, and just try. That’s all you can do, and no matter what happens Po-Koro won’t let you fall, Hewkii. I’ll take you home on my fairly-broken boat and continue to hope you’ll find happiness. So go, Hewkii, we’re about to hit shore.”

And the boat gently hit the sand of Ga-Koro’s beach.

And Hewkii went.

And Gadjati watched him go before turning away, traipsing to the back of the boat, and collecting his bag of belongings.

“Hey,” he said monotonously to no one in particular as he checked the bag’s contents.

Night had fallen over the treetop villages of New Atero, but the joyous cacophony and flickering firelight that filled the upper branches showed no signs of stopping. The trees themselves were not ablaze, no, instead there was just one gargantuan fire rising from a stone circle in the central plaza, which was a circular wooden platform atop a stout, branchless tree trunk. Rope bridges spouted from the hub like spokes from a wheel, and each led to another wooden platform ringing one of the many gargantuan trees. Though there were many huts interspersed around these outer rings, all were empty of life. The entirety of the tree village’s population was gathered around the roaring fire—jungle agori and glatorian; le, bo, even a few ga-matoran; and Spherus Magnans of multiple other origins—and the focus of their jubilation rested in a humongous cauldron of boiling water sitting in the roaring flames. It was a very fresh, very dead manas crab, and hopes were high that it would be delicious.

The beast had appeared from the jungle initially. Earlier that day citizens heading into the New Atero marketplace had nearly been flattened by the crazed crab creature as it burst forth from the trees in a frenzy. Thankfully there had been no deaths at its claws, but several severe lacerations and impacts had managed to frighten people before toa and powered-up glatorian had arrived to help. Perhaps if there had been only toa the creature would have been detained or pacified to some degree, but glatorian had lived too long in harsh, unforgiving conditions. Between fire, water, and air powers, the beast had been dispatched without even denting its rock-hard carapace, so the question of what to do with the hulking body arose. Former inhabitants of the Great Spirit Robot were at a loss, but with a little help from their former Bara Magnan brethren, the manas had been transported, cleaned, seasoned, and thrown into the boiling pot. Village musicians had even used the creature’s big, meaty claws among their other instruments as a set of sonorous drums! 

My mind hurts. Everything hurts. I have no idea where I am, why I’m here, or how long I’ve been here. All I know is that the villains keeping me here must hate my kind. I don’t remember what we must have done to incite this cruel punishment; I can barely remember my own name. I hear an ear-piercing scream down the hallway. It cries out, begging our captors to stop. I know my turn will be soon. After what feels like an eternity, the screaming stops, and I hear footsteps, gradually becoming louder. I shudder in anticipation, knowing what is about to be done to me. A figure stands before me, giving me a knowing look before I feel a stabbing sensation at the front of my mask. I cry out in agony and desperation as what felt like a swarm of angry Nui Jaga buzzing in my brain. I pant loudly and my muscles tense and tighten. The agony soon overwhelms me and I pass out.

I wake up with a start, screeching. My mind races, and my entire body is trembling. A being about my height bursts into my room.

“Takua! What happened?” he asks, clearly concerned “Did you have another one of those nightmares?” I nod, turning away as the being, my friend, comes closer to pat me on the back. “Don’t worry. None of that is real,” he comforted.