Flames of Mana

by Matt Larkin

  Kilioe meant nothing. Only Namaka had ever been beside her, and she was long gone.

  No one here would truly miss her, so why should she grieve about leaving them? No, Pele had no reason not to go with Lonomakua, wherever he wished to lead her.

  As it turned out, that was deep into the jungle, on a hike into the mountains. Rather late, it crossed her mind he might mean her harm. Alone, far from the village, no one would hear her screams if Lonomakua decided to assault her, tried to eat her, or do whatever else suited his fancy.

  But whenever he looked her way, she saw only kindness in his face, even if she could not guess what went on behind his eyes.

  “I want to understand what you meant before,” she finally said, huffing with the effort of the long hike.

  “I know.”

  “If you already knew I wanted answers, what are you waiting for?”

  “Up here,” he said, pointing to a large rock outcropping. He climbed up to it, having to use handholds in several places, before heaving himself onto a shelf. Then he offered her a hand.

  Seeming hardly winded, he yanked her up there with him. On the outcropping, they were above the canopy of the lower jungle, looking down on treetops thick with thousands of white birds. Like tiny snowflakes. She couldn’t see through the foliage, though. The branches had grown so tightly together, the leaves so voluminous, that it was more like looking down at the sea and having no idea what went on beyond.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

  Lonomakua nodded. “Nature often is. Beauty and majesty mold together, though we can forget the terrible might contained within the natural world, if we do not take it with care.” He pointed into the distance. “Beyond these mountains lays the largest volcano in Uluka‘a. Though it hasn’t erupted in years, its crater continually smolders and minor tremors from it shake the island. If you look very carefully, you can even see a plume of smoke rising up above the peaks.”

  Pele folded her arms. “You’re taking me to a volcano. An active volcano, in fact.”

  “Imagine reality is a composite opposing and interrelating energies manifesting singularly beyond the expanse of Pō. Within our frame of reference, the Mortal Realm, they all coexist, but not in equal balance in all locations. Certain points lie closer to the Otherworlds and thus are flush with mana. Now, one might argue all mana is mana, but you, with a particular affinity for one of the creative energies over all others, may find it most practical to draw mana from fonts of that sort of energy.”

  Huh. Pele unfolded her arms. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you drunk? Did you down a gourd of awa before we set out, old man?”

  Lonomakua seemed unperturbed, offering up only a slight frown at her jibe. “You lack self-control, Pele, and I can help you with that, though because of your nature, your passions will always burn brighter than most people’s. The first step to controlling yourself is to control your thoughts. The nature of those shapes the nature of your reality. When you resort to coarse language and boorish reactions, even internally, you risk shaping your perception of the world into something equally boorish. You risk clouding your judgment by trying to impress anyone, most of all yourself, with your disdain for the things you don’t understand.”

  She snorted. “So what, don’t use profanity?”

  He raised a finger. “Not exactly, but at least this time you actually stopped to think rather than react on impulse. Thought alone elevates us above our baser instincts and allows us to achieve anything resembling greatness. When we disdain that which we don’t understand, we do violence to ourselves, to our own minds.”

  “You’re really not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

  “Were it easy, the accomplishment of real thought would hold no meaning. No one considers simply speaking, breathing, eating or existing praise-worthy because we have all long since mastered those things. But to truly think is a feat so many brush off with a sneer, as you tried to do. As far as your question about profanity, the answer is that the power of words lies in the mental effect they produce in people. Including ourselves. Conceptually, there is no difference in meaning between you asking ‘what does this mean’ and ‘what the fuck does this mean?’”

  Pele clucked her tongue. “So I can say what I want. But … but you think the latter question means I’ve already prejudged the situation with disdain.”

  “Yes. And disdain is the appropriate response only to behaviors in which the doer ought to have known better, never to concepts that elude us. To disdain thought is to disdain your own humanity and thus elevate beasts to a position higher than yourself.” After a moment, Lonomakua rose and stretched. “Now. We’re going to walk to the volcano. By the time we get to the foot of it, I want you to explain what I meant by an affinity for different energies and the connection to your mana.”

  Pele sputtered. “Wait, you want me to explain what you meant?”

  “Hmmm. I hope that wasn’t disdain I heard in your voice just now.”

  So, she rolled her eyes. Grumbled under her breath for miles as she trekked along behind the pompous, enigmatic kahuna. If he wanted her to know something, why the fuck couldn’t he just …

  Pele growled and shook her head.

  If Lonomakua wanted her to understand his kahuna insights into Pō or mana or so forth, why could he not come out and explain them simply? Why the games? Why the lectures?

  No tutor she’d ever attended had conversed with her thus. Kilioe had taught her various meles, and others had taught her about the stars, mathematics, and such practical disciplines. But their lessons were lectures.

  Their answers simple and to the point.

  How did Lonomakua expect her to learn anything if he never gave a straight answer?

  He diverged onto tangents like the shifting winds, responding to her, rather than following some clear course in what he wanted to impart.

  And his words kept running through her head over and over. A great maelstrom of strange concepts and metaphysical nonsense that meant far more to kāhuna than future queens. But still, she couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  “You meant why Namaka could control the sea and I can create flames.” Pele trod along after the kahuna as he reached the volcano’s slope. It would be harder going from here. “Flames like Maui did. I heard these mo‘olelo about him, so many tales. The Firebringer stole sacred flames from somewhere beyond Pō. That’s what you were talking about, right?”

  “Maui?” Lonomakua cast a look over his shoulder at her, then set down his satchel and paused, apparently willing to have a rest at long last. “Yes,” he said finding a seat, though looking still somewhat uncomfortable. “Maui stole the First Flame from the World of Fire.”

  “A manifestation of the primal energy of creation.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, he had an affinity for fire.”

  Lonomakua pressed his lips together a moment. “Why are you interested in the story of Maui? That was a long time ago.”

  “Because he was like me! He controlled flames like me. And he used them to help so many people.”

  “Did he?”

  Pele scoffed. “You call yourself a kahuna and you don’t know the stories of Maui?”

  “I didn’t say I don’t know his stories. If you … truly wish to hear of him, then that’s what we shall talk of.” He pulled a coconut from his satchel, smashed it on a rock, then handed half of it to her. “Maui stole the First Flame and so men called him the Firebringer. But you—you are somewhat different, because of your bloodline.”

  “I’m kupua.”

  “Yes, on both sides. Disregarding the traits you may have gotten from your father for the moment, your mother was a descendant of the highborn of Old Mu, who traced their lineage to even more ancient times before that. It connected them to the Otherworlds and that same Otherworldly blood runs through your veins. In your sister, it manifested as a particular connection with the Sphere of Water. Consequently, she has the potential to absorb more man
a from mana-rich locations associated with water that bring her closer to the World of Water.”

  “And I’m a Fire kupua. You think I can get more power from that volcano.”

  “I know you can. You want to be like Maui was, but maybe you can become more than he ever was. Where he stole a power, you are born to it. But that also means the whims of your heart are tied ever more closely to the flames. And the World of Fire burns, Pele. It will burn you to ashes if you let it. If you let your anger consume you, fire will immolate everything around you. Even as your flesh grows impervious to its touch, it will roast your heart and soul and leave behind a wretch. Or, learn to control your power and your emotions. Train your heart, train your mind, and keep your soul.”

  A tightness built in her chest at his words. As if … as if he spoke from experience. As if he had seen others consumed by the flame, burned away by it, until nothing of their humanity remained to them. Was that the real purpose of his earlier lesson about the importance of thought versus instinct?

  “What is a pyromancer?” she asked, her mouth feeling dry.

  “In practice, many use the term pyromancer and firewalker interchangeably, though this is not technically correct. Pyromancy is the art of divination through flame. By staring into the flame, we can see things that have happened long ago, things happening in distant places, things that have not yet happened.”

  “You mean I can see the future?”

  “Perhaps. If you practice hard enough and stare long enough. Understand, you are looking at threads of reality, and whatever you see may not always be literal. It is the ultimate damnation of any oracle that nothing you see will allow you to alter what you have seen. Prescience is a two-edged blade.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Lonomakua nodded, smiling now. “Probably the most intelligent thing you’ve said since we met. Within the acknowledgment of ignorance lies the foundation upon which we can build knowledge.”

  Of course, now her head hurt. “Fine. So, what’s firewalking?”

  “The Art of Fire. Controlling flame. Only the greatest of firewalkers can actually manifest flames themselves, as you seem to do almost without effort. Thus, I can unequivocally say you shall be one of the greatest firewalkers in history. One of the most terrible.”

  “Terrible?”

  He leaned in close and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You are so young to bear such a burden. Your emotions are your strength and your weakness. Your rage will level mountains if you let it. Rage, like any other emotion, has its purpose, its uses, but you must harness it. You must control it. In you I see a turbulent storm, a pressure rising much like that within a volcano. Your eruption poses every bit as great a threat. So, we are coming here to learn to control the flames. Feed them, fan, and stifle them when necessary.”

  She shuddered. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

  Those people she’d burned, the little sister she’d murdered, it was all too much. She didn’t want to become a monster.

  Lonomakua squeezed her shoulders. “It is not the fate of those with great power to live lives in which they can avoid harming any others. All we can do is make the best effort to mitigate the harm, and hope that, when history judges us, it believes the good outweighs the ill.”

  “Y-you mean I will kill again. I will hurt people. Again. No matter what I do?”

  “Yes, Pele. You will.”

  Part II

  Third Age of the Worldsea

  12

  Kamapua‘a’s head hurt. Actually, his balls hurt. In fact, his everything kind of hurt and he …

  Oh.

  Oh, shit.

  Everything was blurry, dreamlike. Nightmare-like, maybe.

  They were in the lava tubes near Kīlauea. And the Boar God had just …

  Kama moaned and sat up, catching the scent of blood and the crackling of embers. Followed by a groan. After grabbing a torch, he made his way toward the sound, already knowing what he’d find, even if he didn’t want to believe it.

  Still, he held the torch up to her, forced to inspect the Boar God’s aftermath.

  Pele scrambled away from him, the firelight barely illuminating her face. Enough to see an eye swollen shut, her face scraped raw and worn over. Bruises covered her torso and arms, and she moved like her hips hurt.

  “Awww, shit, Pele. I, uh … I’m sorry if I was … um, rough.”

  Nearby, other scents lingered, women afraid to enter into the chamber.

  Pele drew a sharp breath and growled at him, apparently unable to form words. Snarling, she swiped her fingers through the torch, stealing the flame, then lunged at him.

  Fire stung his eyes and sent him toppling over backward.

  The Flame Queen shrieked, and arcs of fire lanced out, scorching his flesh, lashing out even at the onlooking women. They screamed, dropping anything they held and running.

  Kama rolled over, took a flaming lash to his back that instantly roasted his flesh and left him in a haze of pain. Deep inside, the Boar God rumbled, maybe sensing danger to his host.

  “I’m sorry!” Kama bellowed, scrambling away and running from the caves. “I’m sorry!”

  Sorry …

  Sorry …

  Useless shitting apoplectics didn’t amount to a shitting thing.

  A little while, he lingered outside the lava tubes.

  Largely on account of having his back melted making it hard to walk.

  But he heard her in there, shrieking at those who tried to calm her, help her, tend her. Throwing flames and curses and so forth.

  Maybe it was better Kama couldn’t remember exactly what the Boar God did. Shitting pig shitter.

  Except flashes of it kept running around his eyes.

  Lust and violence and the shitter enjoying the pain of others, the fear of those watching after he took her back to the lava tubes and used her again.

  Oh. Oh, it had grabbed and eaten some girl that had drawn too close.

  Well, it had gotten what it wanted. Sated. Now it would let him leave, wouldn’t it?

  Idly, Kama twirled a knife between his fingers. Over and over, he imagined plunging it into his eye. Thing was, if he did it—if it failed to stop him—but he didn’t die, all he’d get out of it was lots of pain and a pissed off god who’d take out his frustration on everyone nearby.

  Shit was getting worse.

  Best thing Kama could do for anyone he cared about was stay away.

  Grumbling, Kama jammed the blade back into a sheath strapped to his thigh, then plodded off into the jungle. Married or not, he sure as shit didn’t belong here.

  No, but now Poli‘ahu and Kaupeepee had gone and abducted Hina. Maybe he didn’t belong around Big Sis either, but Kama wasn’t going to abandon her. The Snow Queen had hurt his ‘ohana. And the Boar God would finally let him do shit about it.

  Grumbling, Kama kicked a root that got in his way.

  That earned him a sore toe. Pissed, he kicked it again. Shitting root. Growing wherever it shitting wanted in the jungle. No shitting respect for boar paths. A boar had to walk where he had to walk and Kama had to get to Moloka‘i and join that siege of Haupu.

  The Boar God hadn’t let him do it while he was obsessed with Pele, but maybe now he could try to make something useful of himself.

  The real shit of it was, he couldn’t exactly take a ship out of Puna.

  No, he had to walk back to his people’s camp in Hāmākua. Some of them had looked at him strange when he’d come back. Maybe they’d figured he’d be staying with his new wife. Maybe they’d seen some of the Boar God’s misbehavior and couldn’t look at Kamapua‘a the same again.

  Maybe he couldn’t shitting blame them.

  Now, he sat in Ioane’s house, watching him and Malie and some of the others. The woman’s face had blistered bad and was oozing droplets of fluid Kama found it hard to look at.

  “So,” Kama began, mouth full of banana, “I’m headed for Haupu. Gonna win some glory and shit. Maybe we didn’t mu
rder the Snow Queen yet, but we still can. Win back places of honor in Kaua‘i. All that.” Bits of banana dribbled out of his mouth as he spoke. Fortunately, none of the band chided him for eating manners. Manners were for people with too much time on their hands. Shit, how do we fill our day? Let’s take twice as long to get anything done and call it proper behavior. Eat slowly, don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s rude to try to snack in the middle of sex. Stupid rules.

  Ioane scratched at his beard, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s an idea.” He glanced at Malie, gaze lingering on her burns. “Only, I’m not sure it’s going to work.”

  “Don’t worry,” Kama said, spewing little chunks of banana in the process. “I got a plan.”

  Ioane rolled his eyes. Made Kama miss Makani. “Is your plan to show up and smash stuff and be heroes?”

  Kama shrugged. Sounded like a splendid plan to him. Kind of surprising Ioane could figure out the complexities of his strategy, but whatever.

  “Right. Yeah, so we go join a war, hope we win, hope Kana takes us back and pardons us, all so we can get our homes back.”

  “Yup. That’s the basic idea.”

  “Uh, huh.” Ioane waved his hand as if to indicate the whole village. “We’ve already got a home. We already fought for this place, lost people, and sweat like crazy rebuilding the houses. Why the fuck should we go risk our lives for a place that doesn’t want us, on account of a royal family who banished us?”

  Kama opened his mouth, found nothing good to say, and decided to bite off another piece of banana instead. In fact, just to show Ioane he meant business, he ate the banana whole, peel and all, never taking his gaze off the man.

  This turned out to be less intimidating than he might have expected when he couldn’t chew.

  “Listen, Kamapua‘a,” Ioane said. Didn’t he used to call him ‘Boss’? “You did good by us. But we got what we wanted, and you got to marry and fuck that gorgeous—”