Next installment of my alternate universe series. As with the last one, this was written years ago and I’m only just now getting around to publishing them here.
Previous installment: The Empire of Makuta
CHAPTER ONE
The morning screech of a Lava Hawk awoke Balta from his slumber. He moved to get up but found that his limbs were too stiff to lift himself up. The Ta-Matoran cursed to himself; yet another failing of his “repaired” body given to him by Karzahni.
“You going to get up by any chance?”
He craned his head to see a Matoran of Water standing in the doorway of his hut. Hands planted firmly on her hips, a wry smirk played on her azure mask.
“This is the third time this week, Balta,” she said. “You shouldn’t always strain yourself just to impress others. Sooner or later your arms are going to fall off.”
“I know, Dalu, it’s just…” He sighed. “I know I’m good at making useful inventions- and I enjoy doing that, don’t get me wrong. But then I see you, Garan, and the others doing the heavy-lifting and all the tough jobs and…”
When Balta’s voice trailed off, Dalu chose then to interject. “No offense, Balta, but you sound like Kazi whining about being stuck here. Here, let me help you up.”
She grabbed the Ta-Matoran’s hands and pulled him out of his cot. After moving his arms and legs around to loosen them up, Balta smiled weakly at his friend. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Velika is working on some project of his; he could use your help.”
Balta nodded and followed her out of his hut. Greeting them as they walked out was a humid gust of wind. Dark clouds hung over the Matoran Cliff Village as Mount Valmai groaned in the distance, lava running down towards its base.
Balta grimaced. Voya Nui was far from an attractive place to visit, but it was the only place the Matoran could call home; they simply had to make it work.
Walking past other Matoran as they worked on building a stronger shelter to withstand Valmai’s next eruption, Balta found his Po-Matoran friend Velika tinkering with primitive machines. Balta was never sure if his friend had made the machines or found them somewhere on the island; he could never get a straight answer from him.
“Hey, Velika,” he said to the Po-Matoran. “How’s it going?”
Velika looked up at him and smiled, saying nothing. Balta looked over him and saw that it was not machines he was looking over but rather a slumbering Burnak tiger.
“That’s Piruk’s pet, isn’t it?” Balta asked. “What are you doing with it? Where is he?”
“Friend of Air goes where the wind takes him,” Velika said, speaking enigmatic riddles as always. “Loyal pet stays behind, though he misses the scent of his master.”
Balta frowned. “Piruk’s run off? Does Garan know about this?”
The Po-Matoran did not reply, stroking the Burnak’s head as if his friend had not spoken. Concerned, Balta went to seek out Garan, the chosen leader of the Matoran on Voya Nui. He soon found the Matoran of Earth working with Kazi, Dezalk, and others on restoring huts that had been destroyed during Mount Valmai’s previous eruption. Noticing Balta’s approach, Garan turned to his old friend and smiled.
“What can I do for you, Balta?” the Onu-Matoran asked.
“Velika told me that Piruk’s run off,” the Ta-Matoran said. “Is he on a scouting mission or something?”
Garan’s smile became a frown. “I didn’t send him on one. Did Velika say where he went?”
“If he did, would I still be standing here?”
Garan sighed as he looked off towards the distance. “It’s not like Piruk to run off on his own. He knows about the dangers that are out there and is frightened by the mere thought of them.”
“Should we set off to find him?” Balta asked.
“It’ll be dangerous,” Kazi muttered, gesturing to the Green Belt that laid beyond the village. “Rahi are out and about, and some won’t shy away from eating Matoran. Odds are they’ve gotten to Piruk by now.”
“I won’t be able to rest until I know for sure,” Balta said, a determined expression on his mask. “Whether you’re with me or not, I’m going to find him.”
“Wait, Balta!” Garan reached out to stop the Matoran of Fire from leaving.
Balta sighed. “Garan, you can’t stop me–”
“I know, and I’m not trying to.” The Onu-Matoran smiled. “I just don’t want you to go without some help. Dalu and I will accompany you.”
“Are you crazy?” Kazi snapped. “What if we lose you? Who will lead us then?”
Before Garan could answer, a Matoran suddenly emerged from one of the huts, waving his arms wildly. Balta could never figure out what element he was supposed to be, being clad in green and red armor, a color scheme which was not affiliated with any element he knew. The silver Kanohi mask didn’t help matters either.
“Darkness is coming!” the strange Matoran cried. “A shadow has been cast upon us! We shall all fall in the chaos that is approaching this land!”
“Here we go again,” Dezalk muttered under his breath. “Even Velika makes more sense than this guy.”
“I beg to differ,” Kazi retorted.
Garan sighed as he approached the crazy Matoran. “What is it this time, Tahkon?”
He was given a wide-eyed look in return. “I have read the stars,” Tahkon murmured. “The red one burns bright… just like it had… when it happened.”
Balta couldn’t help but grimace. He knew what event Tahkon was referring to: six months ago, a terrible earthquake shook the Southern Continent that Voya Nui had once been a part of. Before the Matoran knew it, Voya Nui had broken off from the rest of the continent and had ended up in the vast sea, far away from any other piece of land.
He had lost many friends during that cataclysm. He shuddered at the thought of history repeating itself.
“Do you mean another storm is coming?” Garan asked, trying to make sense of Tahkon’s ramblings.
“Worse than a storm.” The crazy Matoran shuddered. “Worse than any typhoon or hurricane that Voya Nui has suffered.”
“Don’t listen to him, Garan,” Kazi grunted. “He’s just babbling as usual.”
Garan shushed the Ice Matoran before saying to Tahkon, “Does this… storm have a name?”
“Yes,” Tahkon said quietly. “Mallake.”
