Tides of Mana

by Matt Larkin

  “When pushed to extremes, the only plausible response becomes an extreme one. Surely Queen Latmikaik would take almost any tactic to preserve Hiyoya?” Namaka raised her hand to forestall his objection. “Don’t bother because we both know it’s true. While you whine about the damage to the ocean, look at my godsdamned island. Look at it!”

  Matsya cocked his head to the side, as if shocked a human—even a kupua—would dare raise her voice to him, a mer, an akua.

  Namaka was a little shocked herself, truth be told, but she damn sure wouldn’t let him see that. “I tire of your complaints, mer. What you have lost can hardly measure compared to what we have. And now, we are leaving Uluka‘a. We are leaving these seas. Tell Latmikaik she need no longer concern herself with me or my power over the sea.”

  “They are our seas.”

  “And I’m leaving them. All you have to do now is stay out of my way.”

  Matsya shook his head. “Oh, Namaka. Your temerity will cost you one day. If you had any idea of the complexities of the conflict Hiyoya now finds itself embroiled in—”

  Namaka held up her hand. “I told you. I’m leaving. We’re all leaving this very night, and you’ll never have to concern yourselves with us again. Take that as a blessing and be gone, mer.”

  Matsya folded his arms, staring hard at her. “Were I another mer, I might feel myself honor-bound to punish you for speaking thus to one of my kind.”

  Namaka sneered and turned her back on him. A moment later, she heard the splash of him diving back into the sea, and released a pent-up breath.

  She made her way to one of the double canoes, then climbed onto the platform mounted between them, joining Leapua there. Dozens of men gathered beside the canoes and began to shove, sliding them into the water. Along the shore, many more canoes were cast onto the sea.

  “It’s beginning,” Leapua said.

  Probably, Namaka should have offered a sacrifice to Hiyoya or Kanaloa or some benthic god for the success of this voyage. But she had lost so many people already and could afford no others. Not even the loss of a pig or dog, for that matter. The few animals that remained were being loaded up on the canoes as well.

  “Are you all right?” Leapua asked.

  “I am.” Namaka sighed. She’d spent her whole life on Uluka‘a. Sawaiki was a place of legend. A dream.

  As the canoes drifted further out to sea, men began to unfurl the sails. On the open ocean, Namaka’s mana hummed inside her, resonating with the deep. Fueling it. The sea was a part of her, maybe more so than even a mer.

  The mer called themselves gods, yes, but they feared her.

  She was the Sea Queen.

  They would dare not challenge her crossing here. Indeed, despite Matsya’s words, she knew all Hiyoya would be glad Namaka had left these waters.

  Away from the shore, the men began to sing, and soon, someone began to beat upon a pahu drum.

  2

  A head, the islands rose up from the sea like the fins of some benthic monstrosity, shrouded in mist and vibrantly green. And Pele could feel their power, slumbering deep beneath the ground. They had passed some other, larger islands on the way to this one—Kaua‘i, Aukele called his home—and the whole archipelago had risen up from volcanic activity. The fires within the Earth called to her now, spoke to her of how they had given rise to mountains that became these lush islands.

  Glorious.

  Pele might have preferred to stop at the larger island farther south, where the fires were stronger, but Aukele and Kana had insisted on returning to their home here, and, for her part, Pele saw little point in arguing with Aukele over it. He’d have bent to her will if she pushed it, but even a queen should not abuse such influence. Let him have his way. Once in a while.

  Behind her, Hi‘iaka scrambled to the edge of the platform. “That’s it? We’re finally getting off the damn boat?”

  Pele quirked a smile. Her sister was only thirteen—had not even developed her powers as a child of Haumea, in fact—but had no trouble speaking her mind. Which included more than occasional whining over having spent so long at sea.

  Not that Pele disagreed. Being at the mercy of the waves had left her nauseated and feeling … weak. To stand on land, to feel its fires within, it would be most welcome.

  Before they had even reached the shore, Aukele leapt over the side and began to swim back.

  Pele glanced at Hi‘iaka and the girl grinned. “No, wait—” Pele began.

  But Hi‘iaka jumped in the water herself, splashing Pele, who hissed. Fool child.

  Beside Pele, Kana chuckled, but stayed behind, helping guide the canoes past the reefs and into safe harbor. Waimea, Aukele had called this place, a flat, coastal village in the shadow of a mountain. Kana was his nephew and had grown up in this village, son of the chief and Aukele’s half-sister.

  Across the water, Lonomakua hopped from one of the other canoes. The shallows were only waist-deep on the blue-eyed kahuna, but then, he was taller than most men. He cocked his head expectantly at her, beckoning her to join. Pele didn’t much fancy a swim, but anything to get ashore more quickly. So she stripped off her pa‘u and slipped over the side, splashing down into waters colder than she’d expected, holding the skirt over her head to keep it dry.

  Shivering slightly, she waded onto the beach, where Aukele was already retying his malo around his waist. Others had begun to gather on the beach, too, looking to Pele as she re-set her own pa‘u. She paused, though, and glanced back at the canoe. There would be people here, and she’d need to make an impression immediately to ensure the transition went smoothly.

  “Bring my feather cloak,” she shouted back to Kana.

  The young man nodded, beached the canoe, and then dug through a net until he produced Pele’s cloak. He plopped down in wet sand and ran it over to her, throwing it around her shoulders as if he had permission to touch her.

  Pele favored him with a withering scowl. These Sawaikians did not have half enough respect for tabus. Not yet. That would prove one of the first orders of business.

  Everyone was looking at her now. Waiting for her to lead the way into the village, though, on the outskirts, local men had already begun to gather, forming up, perhaps wondering if they faced an invasion.

  Not entirely inaccurate.

  Pele was the Flame Queen. Where she walked, she ruled.

  At the head of the locals came a man clad in a feather cloak himself, though smaller and less vibrant than Pele’s. The chief, no doubt—Hakalanileo, Kana’s father. Indeed, Kana raced toward the man and embraced him.

  The two of them exchanged a few words, before Hakalanileo turned his scowl upon Aukele, shaking his head. “What is all this?”

  “My guests,” Aukele said. “I’ve brought them from Kahiki.”

  For some reason, his words seemed to soften the chief’s face a hair. As if learning they’d come from Kahiki was not entirely unwelcome? Why would that be? Pele needed more information to properly manage this situation, but if she did not make herself known immediately, she’d risk others thinking she was subordinate to her lover Aukele in these lands.

  She strode forward, up to the man’s side and stared a challenge at Hakalanileo. “I am the God-Queen of Flame, Pele of Uluka‘a.” The man’s mouth fell open as if struck speechless. Good. Let them be fully cowed. “I have come across the Worldsea and require lodging and sustenance.”

  The chief cleared his throat. “Hmm, of course, yes.” He motioned to a slave to lead the way. “I have a guest house on the palace grounds your ‘ohana may occupy. We’ll have a feast prepared for the evening.”

  After so long at sea, Pele would welcome anything fresh, other than fish.

  She fell into step beside the chief, saying nothing else, and allowing him to speak further with Kana. Aukele had warned her that Hakalanileo did not much care for him. Now, apparently having understated his brother-in-law’s enmity, Aukele held back from the others, keeping the company of Hi‘iaka and Lonomakua.

&n
bsp; “It is good you’ve returned,” the chief told his son. “Kaupeepee’s raids have worsened, and Kamapua‘a is in open rebellion. Still, we have greater concerns. Queen Poli‘ahu now attempts to unite the old dynasty against us. Skirmishes now plague Kaua‘i, and I hear she’s claimed the better part of Vai‘i to her cause.”

  So … the native Sawaikians had not all taken kindly to the Kahikian and Uluka‘an settlers that Kapo and Uli had led fifty years ago. That would explain Hakalanileo’s reaction to hearing they’d come from Kahiki. He would see them as natural allies against the natives. Pele could use that, though she’d need to find out where Kapo had settled and if she had made herself a God-Queen as well.

  Pele had no desire to war against another sister. Surely, she and Kapo could divide these islands between themselves one way or another. And those most likely to have the information she’d need would be not the ali‘i like Hakalanileo, but the kāhuna, who might know where Kapo had traveled.

  Hakalanileo’s slave guided them to a large house beside the palace, one with a high ceiling and wide-open windows that let in a pleasant breeze. A woven curtain separated the women’s side of the house from the men’s. Not, as it well should have been, a completely different building. It drew a frown from Pele, but she settled down onto a mat without comment.

  A moment later, Hi‘iaka plopped down beside her. “So we’re going to live here?”

  Pele rubbed her eyes. A nap would have done well before meeting with anyone else, but Hi‘iaka probably wouldn’t let that happen. Not without some banter first. “Perhaps. I’m still gathering the lay of the political landscape. Once we know that, we can decide where to build our court.”

  “You’re going to make yourself queen of these people.”

  “I’m going to make myself god-queen of one of the islands. Which one will depend on numerous factors.”

  “You mean like volcanoes.” The girl’s grin tended to be infectious, making Pele’s skin tingle with the urge to join in.

  Pele chuckled. “There’s volcanoes everywhere on these islands.” Praise the ‘aumākua for that. “Volcanic activity created them.”

  “How do you know that?”

  Pele favored her sister with a level stare.

  “Right. Sure. So Maui found these islands, what—a thousand years ago?”

  “More like eight hundred.”

  “Huh. Well, they’re pretty.”

  Pele quirked a smile. “Tell me what you’ve garnered about things here, so far.”

  “It’s pretty,” Hi‘iaka repeated.

  “Hi‘iaka.”

  Her sister huffed. “Fine, sure. There’s strife between the settlers from Maui’s day, the people of Savai‘i who now call themselves Sawaikians, and those who came here a few decades ago. They haven’t meshed completely. Someone named Queen Poli‘ahu leads or is a leader of the old dynasty, who oppose Aukele’s people as members of the new Kahikian dynasty. She’s a kupua sorceress.”

  “Wait, what? Where did you hear that?”

  “People were saying.”

  “Which people?” Pele demanded.

  “I don’t know … just people. You know. People.” The girl shrugged as if such things were of no importance.

  She was intelligent, for certain, and perceptive. But willful and frivolous. A child, still, but with great potential to one day become a great queen beside Pele. “All right,” Pele said after a moment. “Get some rest. In the evening we’ll meet with the local kahuna here.”

  “You want me to come with you?”

  “That’s how you’ll learn.”

  WAIMEA’S high kahuna was a man named Lonoaohi. He agreed to meet with Pele after the evening feast, so, along with Lonomakua and Hi‘iaka, Pele followed the shore to the heiau. A thick stone wall surrounded the temple and its floor was covered in smooth volcanic rocks, comfortable on Pele’s bare feet.

  The kahuna himself stood before a large fire pit, staring into the flame with an unmistakable intensity. Pele glanced back at Lonomakua, who nodded, before they approached the sacred flame together.

  “You’re a follower of Maui. A pyromancer.”

  Lonoaohi turned to take them in, firelight glinting off his eyes. The wrinkles over his face and hair turned almost white bespoke a man soon to see well beyond the dark of Pō and join the ‘aumākua. “You know of Maui’s Art, My Queen?”

  Hi‘iaka chittered, hiding her laugh behind her palm.

  Pele almost smiled at the question. “Do you possess the Art of Fire?” While Maui had brought back the First Flame and taught both pyromancy and the Art of Fire—of controlling it—few kāhuna remained who carried any real talent with the Art. Firewalkers, they were called. For most, they would have had to bind a Fire spirit from beyond Pō to control such powers. She’d seen Lonomakua weave fire, on occasion. Pele’s kupua heritage allowed her greater power than any kahuna, of course.

  The stricken look upon Lonoaohi’s face told Pele all she really needed to know. These people were weak. They had no or little firewalking among them and their pyromancy was likely little better.

  “Have all your kind forgotten Maui’s teachings?” Pele asked.

  The other kahuna’s face grew dark. Oh. So he did have a hint of fire inside him. That was good. “Who are you to speak thus, My Queen?”

  Not taking her eyes off the kahuna, Pele stuck her arm into the sacred flame, enjoying the delicious warmth that played along her skin. Her mana seeped into the flame and, when she withdrew her arm, a coil of fire spiraled over her fingers, running all the way up to her elbow like a smoldering torch.

  Of course, many true firewalkers could do as much, but Pele saw no need to reveal the extent of her powers at the moment. Not when this alone had Lonoaohi gaping and taking a step away from her as if looking upon a manifested ‘aumākua.

  It was good.

  A first step in establishing her own dynasty here.

  Pele would be queen, once more.

  “HE WAS IMPRESSED,” Hi‘iaka said, as they walked back toward the palace.

  Pele glanced to Lonomakua, who merely offered a slight smile. Often, Pele found it strange that she now tried to teach Hi‘iaka much as Lonomakua had once taught her. No easy lessons, really. The kahuna believed in helping her uncover knowledge on her own rather than simply handing it over. Where another might have lectured, Lonomakua preferred to question, to prod, to prompt.

  Of course, he was better at it than Pele was. Given how long he’d walked at her side, he was clearly kupua, like her, and older still, more experienced. Maybe one day she’d manage his calm and wisdom. On the sail across the Worldsea, she’d often mused she ought to have been more like him back in Uluka‘a. It might have averted all this.

  “Why did I do it?” Pele asked. “What benefit to showing off?”

  Hi‘iaka shrugged. “Sometimes you have to put men in their place.”

  “That’s not the reason.” Even if there was some truth to it.

  The girl huffed. “You want him to spread your fame among the rest of his kind. You think to assume the authority of Maui’s true heir.”

  “Good. But why show it to him alone in that case? Why not demonstrate in front of the whole village?”

  “Uh …” Hi‘iaka looked to Lonomakua. Pele didn’t need to glance at him to know the kahuna would offer the girl no answers. “You … wanted to see the look on his face.”

  Pele sighed. “I don’t want to have to destroy the local kāhuna if I can avoid it, Hi‘iaka. They’ve forgotten many of the lessons of Maui, yes, but they still hold sway over the hearts of the people. By showing Lonoaohi alone, he now has the chance to decide, of his own free will, whether to become my follower or my enemy. He has time to carefully consider his options, rather than act out of fear or instinct.”

  Hi‘iaka grabbed Pele’s wrist. The girl’s mana was so strong it made Pele’s hair stand on end. “What if he chooses to bring other kāhuna against you? What if you just gave him the chance to make war?”

&
nbsp; Pele stroked her sister’s cheek. It was hardly necessary to say that, if that happened, Pele would kill them all. “Go get some rest now.”

  When the girl had disappeared back into the palace guest house, Pele looked to Lonomakua. “Did I do the right thing?”

  “Time will tell.”

  Helpful. “I need to look into the flame. I need to see more.”

  “Be careful.” He squeezed her shoulder, but he never tried to stop her from looking. He was the one who’d showed her how.

  She nodded, then made her way to a clearing where she drew some kindling together. A snap of her fingers set the brush alight, and Pele settled down before it. Staring deep. Watching the undulating flames in their ever-shifting pattern.

  Until she began to fall. Until the lines between this realm and others began to blur.

  It was there, in the depths of the flames, looking back at her.

  Across the endless Worldsea, Pele had wondered, doubted, feared, and perhaps even hoped it might be gone. The thing in the flames. But it had followed her across two thousand miles of ocean. Perhaps distance meant nothing to a being without a physical existence. It looked at her now, though she saw only smoke and shadows hidden behind the dancing flames.

  She is coming.

  No.

  How? Why would she not give this over?

  A hand that was not a hand reached out from the flames. Reached for her, tried to take her hand and claim her as its own, leaving Pele’s arms trembling, her breath ragged.

  Moho, it called itself, this thing from beyond the darkness.

  It offered her more power, but Lonomakua had warned her such a thing would come with a terrible price.

  One Pele was unready to pay.

  Growling, she waved her hand and sent the flames flickering out, sputtering down to embers.

  BEYOND WAIMEA LAY pristine canyons filled with waterfalls and a veritable explosion of flora that painted the land in shades of green and pink and blue. Along the river, Pele walked with Hi‘iaka, taking in the landscape, though Hakalanileo had warned them not to travel too far for fear of raiders.