Chapter 9.5: “Seeking Help”

Lewa gulped.

Every instinct screamed out against him. Every nerve failed him. Yet the voices in his head lured him forward. As he clung to his sense of reason like driftwood in the sea, he found himself wondering if he had even brought himself to this place of his own accord.

The others didn’t know he was here. Lewa had been assigned a handful of missions, the last and most important of which was checking on the status of Artakha. But along the way, he decided to take this detour. It was a risk, but one the world could not afford for him to avoid.

You return to your brothers, a chilling voice danced in his consciousness.

He comes alone, came another voice. Though he is never alone.

Before him, the twin forms of the Bahrag emerged from the shadows, stepping into the glow of the lightstones around him.

“I am here to duty-call your aid,” Lewa said quickly. “The Makuta—”

We know the actions of the Makuta, Cahdok stirred. We have not merely slept as the world turns above. We felt the death of Mata Nui… and the new power in his place.

We witnessed the Battle of Metru Nui. We have seen the mind of a Toa that disturbed our pockets in the south. And we have spared Ta-Matoran from your city before they fell into the space beyond space.

Small figures shuffled from the darkness. With a chill, Lewa saw them—Ta-Matoran fitted with krana.

“Let them go,” Lewa grimaced. “Release them, as we spare-released you.”

The Ta-Matoran seemed to shudder. Then the krana slipped off, and the Matoran stirred.

Lewa exhaled. Looking back to the Bahrag, he pressed his luck. “How can you see what is happening—the suffering inflicted by the creature that manipulated you—and stand by?”

The world above has been cleaned. Our Destiny is fulfilled.

“What good is it to clean Mata Nui if disease has spread throughout his universe?”

The Bahrag and the Bohrok serve the Great Spirit outside the universe. Makuta and the Rahkshi serve within. As we have our Destiny, Makuta has his. We will not interfere with the will of the Great Beings.

When it had descended from the ocean far above, Voya Nui had crashed into the southern continent like a meteor. Even as it plugged the gap it had once left, the landmass also plunged into the last streams of the great waterfall which settled into a moat around it. Voya Nui was, in some sense, an island once again. And as the Matoran civilizations settled across the continent hardly knew what to make of the population restored to their midst, they had left the region to its own devices, particularly once Makuta’s oppression began.

But now, against the glitter of the night sky, something landed once more on the shores of Voya Nui Bay. The constellations were different from a few months ago, and unlike the red star that had once signalled hope, traces of Makuta’s Kraahkan could still be seen this evening. With a quick glance to each other, three grim Matoran stole themselves and stepped off the small raft.

Their trip was quick. Following the coast, they quickly arrived at the village tucked among the cliffs, surrounded by high stone walls. Signs of prior celebration were evident, as musical instruments, ceremonial masks, and large leaf fans were strewn about. So were mechanical Rahkshi remains, their resident kraata burned to ash by beams of unimaginable light.

A few Matoran were milling about cleaning up, and they quickly pointed the visitors where they needed to go. And by the time the three travelers found the cave they sought, they were thoroughly exhausted, dehydrated, and very very irritable.

“Defilak! Gar! Idris!” Garan said, rising to greet the newcomers. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“I’d offer some roasted kraata, but their energies are not for the squeamish,” Balta chuckled. “Here I thought Kazi and I were the only ones with a secret friend on the island, but Velika found a new ally with light powers named Umbra. No more Rahkshi.” Beside him, Velika smiled knowingly.

“How’s the new Mahri Nui coming, anyway?” asked Garan. “We haven’t heard much from the opposite shore.”

Defilak looked around. Behind Garan, Balta and Piruk were prodding the remains of a charred kraata. Velika seemed to be muttering to himself and scribbling on the cave wall. Kazi and Dalu were quietly bickering as they stoked a fire. Of the ‘new ally’ Balta had spoken of, there was no sign, not that he would have known what to look for.

Unbidden, a well of rage towered within Defilak, and his hands clenched. Grabbing a broken banner from Gar, he threw it into the sand before him.

“Matoran to the south are dying under Makuta’s whip. To the north, the creatures of the Black Waters have made landfall. You see the Rahkshi formations, you hear the cackles in the sky--yet you stake out this island and hide in your cave?!”

Dalu scoffed. “So what if the Matoran of the universe know some hardship? They’ll learn the same tough lessons we did.”

Garan looked at Dalu surprised. The Ga-Matoran had always been blunt, but rarely had he heard her so calloused.

“Dalu is right,” Piruk agreed. “We fought for our homeland. For our friends. Our battle is done.”

“Your battle is not done!” Idris snapped. “Now what? You go back to picking at the shores for food? Digging holes in the sand for clean water? Living the same life you lived for a millennia while the world around you burns? You have the chance to make a difference!”

“Helping Matoran that never sent for us? Never looked for us when we were sent to the tyrant’s land? Never sought us in the ocean above? Never embraced us before the cataclysm or now?” Kazi asked sincerely.

“You never came for us,” Gar said softly.

No one said anything. Garan met Defilak’s fiery gaze and recognized the same rage he had felt mere months ago. Despite the initial joy of reunion, the Mahri Nui and Voya Nui survivors had remained separate. Where the Voya Nui villagers had hunkered down on their ancient home, the Mahri Nui Matoran eagerly embraced the outside world, establishing a village on the opposite side of Voya Nui’s moat and tentatively reaching out to their fellow land dwellers. Now they returned to Voya Nui in the darkest hour of the world.

“Weren’t our people just slaves under the scourge of the Piraka?” he said finally. “We can’t abandon the Matoran here to the same fate.”

“Back to war, then?” Piruk frowned.

Garan nodded. “We took up arms to free our people from slavery. Now our people need us again.”

Idris nodded. “To the north are our enemies from the Pit. The Barraki who terrorized us on Mahri Nui are using Matoran as fodder in their war against Makuta. The Matoran of Mahri Nui are ready to make a last stand if it means saving the people of this universe. But we need you.”

Dalu sighed. “If it means giving them a lesson they won’t forget… fine.”

“For our people,” Piruk agreed.

Kazi nodded. “And,” he looked at Defilak, “For your people.”

“We will fight alongside the Matoran of Voya Nui once again,” Idris patted Dalu on the shoulder.

“The way it should have been,” Gar added.

“When the Kinloka swarm, the Rock Lion flees,” Velika smiled.

“Nine of us. Nine experienced fighters,” Defilak said, looking around. “And those willing to fight beside us.”

“Make that ten.”

All eyes turned to the entrance of the cave. There, with a grin wider than his breathing helmet, stood Sarda. Defilak shouted and ran to him, embracing him closely. “I never thought I’d see you again!”

Sarda chuckled. “Neither does Pridak.”

Garan smiled darkly. “Then these Barraki will learn to fear those the Piraka feared… The Matoran resistance is reborn!”

Axonn had only the smallest fraction of a second to brace before he was slammed headfirst into the Artidax volcano. He and Brutaka had been fighting for what felt like years, dueling waves of Tahtorak onslaughts. The tribesmen waited near the shore as the chieftain looked in vain for some way to help. Mighty as Axonn and Brutaka were, even they could only last so long as the Tahtorak inflicted punishing attrition.

Lightning from his axe smashed into the face of the Tahtorak gripping his leg. Another one roared and slammed him into the stone face of the mountain. For his part, Brutaka had lifted a Tahtorak and thrown it into the sea, only for another of the titanic creatures to bring its fists down, collapsing the ground beneath Brutaka.

“Always paying the price—oof!—for your actions!” Axonn huffed.

“Here’s a tip, old friend,” Brutaka replied. “Try not blocking their fists with your head.”

Axonn smiled grimly. It was always reassuring to hear jabs from the old Brutaka, alien as he seemed now.

A loud bellow resounded across the land, and the Tahtorak raised their heads. The bellow rumbled again and the Rahi backed away.

“What—” Axonn grunted, raising his head.

It was a sight he would never forget—Keetongu riding a Tahtorak out of the seas. Mounted behind him was a lanky biped and a white bull. As the Tahtorak backed from Axonn and Brutaka, Keetongu and his companions dismounted. Keetongu walked past the pair, issuing a series of grunts and groans, and the Tahtorak kneeled.

“Keetongu says he knows you,” the lanky biped translated as he approached.

“And we know him. But who are you?” Axonn asked.

“Tracker. Dark Hunter. Me and Keetongu have an enemy in common. And you can thank Mata Nui that it was Tahtorak attacking you. The two species once shared an island.”

“So I recall,” Axonn remarked, watching the two Rahi interact. By now, Keetongu had corralled the Tahtorak, communicating in a language as marvelous as it was archaic.

“Makuta imprisoned Keetongu on his own homeland,” Tracker explained. “The Visorak have been restored, and as the Order destroyed their previous island stronghold, they have made Keetongu’s old island their new one as they ravage anew. Now Keetongu has resumed his millennia-long crusade.”

“This was not the purpose of the Visorak,” Brutaka said. “We are sorry to hear what the Visorak have done.”

Keetongu grunted. “Not as sorry as they will be,” Tracker translated. He looked to Keetongu and gestured to a large mound on the side of the volcano. “The agent said it would be there.”

“We are heading north to resume our battle against Makuta.” Axonn added. “I’m guessing you won’t join us.”

Keetongu strode to the mound Tracker had indicated. Plunging his fist into the fresh obsidian, he wrenched a cocoon free. Smashing the cocoon in half, he revealed a molten gold mound.

The yellow Rahi grunted, and Tracker translated. “Since the defeat of the hordes 1,001 years ago Keetongu has had a single destiny. Now the final showdown has come.”

Defilak crouched low on a ridge, surveying the valley below. Behind him, his three companions from Mahri Nui were ready, even as the Matoran resistance prepared on the opposite slope. The Barraki hadn’t been spotted in days, making this marginally easier.

Below them, a legion of Matoran were preparing under the oppressive eye of the Barraki’s commanders. Far from liberating them, the warlords had turned the helpless continental villagers into the tip of their spear, an appetizer to soften the enemy before their true forces arrived. The Matoran had already endured several ruthless assaults against the Rahkshi. Hundreds had been slain or worse. These Matoran had no delusions about the fate awaiting them.

Something scrambled along the rocks below them, and Barek, a Ko-Matoran from Mahri Nui popped out.

“Everyone’s ready,” he said. “Just awaiting your signal.”

“Dekar would have loved this,” Sarda reflected.

Defilak looked at the four Matoran behind him. They were less battle-tested than their Voya Nui counterparts, but they were determined and willing. And that would have to be enough.

“Give the signal. Go!”

All around the valley, the Matoran of Voya Nui and Mahri Nui raced from their hiding spots, the march of Karzahni’s mistakes. The soldiers of the League raised their weapons, but the Matoran launched a barrage of water-filled zamor spheres, an inversion of Mahri Nui’s solidified air weapons. The spheres turned immaterial on impact before rematerializing around their targets’ heads. The soldiers dropped like stones.

A roar erupted from the continental Matoran. Seizing their weapons, they overran the rest of the soldiers, battering them and putting them to flight. Within moments, the battle was over.

Defilak whirled. “Is that everyone?”

From the ridge above came the most chilling sound any of them had heard.

Barraki laughter.

Every face in the canyon whirled in terror at the new arrivals. On the lip of the bowl, Pridak had appeared with Kalmah, Mantax, and Ehlek.

“You have turned this little force against us,” Pridak laughed. “Well done.”

“Matoran aren’t pawns against the Rahkshi,” Defilak snapped, emerging. Gar, Idris, and Sarda rallied to him, and the Matoran Resistance stood behind them. “For all the Matoran under your yoke, we will fight you!”

“Then enjoy facing them without us,” Pridak scoffed. “And for four Matoran who once came to me seeking peace, not war, you must have fallen far.”

“Our true armies have moved north, to complete the job we started so long ago,” Kalmah said. “The last Matoran strongholds. Artakha. Karzahni. And then… Metru Nui.”

“Meet us there if you wish,” Pridak said, turning. “Nothing will stop us. After eighty thousand years, the wrongs of the past will be righted. We will have our revenge on Makuta. And we will achieve the destiny that was stolen from us: now and for all, the Great Spirit will fall!”