Tides of Mana

by Matt Larkin

  “You are quiet,” Leapua said.

  Namaka glanced at her friend. “I suppose we should dedicate these sacrifices to Kanaloa.”

  “If you offer them to the mer, it may appease the emissary.”

  A good point. The damned mer always wanted their sacrifices, too, and not even Namaka would defy Hiyoya. Not completely.

  “You should have let Kanemoe and Kahaumana bring the warriors in case anyone survives.”

  Namaka snorted. “Please. I don’t need my husbands to deal with a few hundred warriors. And survivors are useful.”

  Leapua grunted. “You mean you want some of them to take the tale back.”

  How else would she make certain she didn’t have to do this again in a few months?

  Namaka believed in making her point and making it once.

  Uluka‘a belonged to her, and to Pele, the daughters of Haumea.

  BY THE TIME they reached the north shore, the war canoes had already drawn perilously close to Namaka’s beaches. Her warriors were gathered, coated in war paint, brandishing spears. Already, they had begun beating the drums, ready to engage the invaders.

  Such was unnecessary.

  The heirs of Haumea were flush with mana, overflowing with it, and able to absorb yet more through places rich in it. Places like Namaka’s lagoon, and like Pele’s volcanic crater. Namaka could feel the power, thrumming inside her, bubbling up like a geyser ready to burst. To call the sea and unleash its mercurial fury upon those whose arrogance brought them here in hopes of conquest or plunder or whatever the fuck else had so deluded their minds into attempting this.

  The sounds of war drums on those approaching canoes erased any doubt as to their intentions, and thus absolved her of any qualms as to her own course. A queen had a duty, after all.

  Namaka strode past her warriors, out onto rocks rising from the sea. A heavy wind whipped her hair and feather cloak out behind her. The same wind that brought those canoes here with hostile intent.

  Breathing out, she raised her hands, letting her soul seep into the ocean. As a young woman, she’d struggled to control her power. All kupua as powerful as the heirs of Haumea did so.

  Her mother had entrusted her upbringing to the mo‘o Milolii. As Namaka’s powers began to materialize, the dragon had limited her access to the sea.

  Back then, every time Namaka came down to the village she was mesmerized, swept away by the music of pahu drums and ‘ūkēkē bows, the smells of fresh food roasting in the village imu. And most of all, she was taken by the sea. She couldn’t remember a time when it didn’t call to her, speak to her soul with whispers that sent a tingle through every muscle in her body. The sea was where she belonged—the one place she would be home.

  But Milolii had barred her from it, at least until she’d learned control. Whatever power, whatever pull she felt from the waterfalls and the rivers was nothing compared to the all-consuming song of the sea.

  So they had lived in a cave, up in the valleys, and, despite the gorgeous view of the valley from that cave, Namaka had resented the isolation. Her only company had come from Upoho, another kupua taken in by the dragon.

  Back then she had resented it, at least. Now, she knew it had been necessary. Power like hers, uncontrolled, would lead to utter desolation. A queen needed control.

  Milolii had pounded her lessons into Namaka like a girl trying to smash open a clam with a rock. It was a constant reminder Namaka was not quite human, that she would never have the life others took for granted.

  Well, Namaka had proved a tough little clam.

  The sea responded to her call now. It rose as her fury rose. It swelled with her growing indignation at these petty, shortsighted men who dared to bring war to her shores. Who forced her to become an incarnation of nature’s wrath. Did it chafe them, bowing down to the powers of kupua? Not half so much as the rage of the deep would chafe them.

  The waves surged up into mountainous swells. They launched skyward as though attached to her hands by ropes, the sound of their crashing almost enough to drown out the drumbeats.

  In a thunderous roar, the wave raced out, like a reverse kai e‘e—a surging wave that could inundate far inland. The kai e‘e rose up, above the war canoes, breaking backward, crushing down upon them with the weight of an avalanche.

  Namaka could not hear their screams over the roar of the waves.

  Could not even see their tiny vessels, crushed into kindling.

  All the drumbeats on the shore stopped at once. The warriors, expecting a fight, fell silent, now staring at what Namaka had wrought. None of them had been alive the last time she’d needed to use her power to defend Uluka‘a. No one here—save Upoho, if he was around—had ever seen her use her mana thus, unleashing its full destructive power.

  Even Moela, at her heels, whimpered, as if uncertain what had just happened.

  Saying nothing, Namaka looked to Leapua, who alone seemed unsurprised. The kahuna nodded sadly.

  Namaka, for her part, hoped she would not need to repeat the demonstration.

  USING her mana thus expended it and left Namaka wobbly in her steps back toward the lagoon, hardly able to appreciate the brilliant sunset or, afterwards, the giant moon. Such release of power carried with it a euphoria, an almost sexual release, that all but begged her to continue, to use the power often. But it also left her winded, drained of her own life energy, and forced her to put up a facade of strength for the benefit of her people.

  They wanted to believe their queen a goddess with unlimited power. They wanted to believe it, and thus believe themselves secure under any circumstances. Namaka had talked with Pele, once, about the phenomena, and her sister had agreed: better if the people thought their power had no limits.

  Leapua, though, knew better, and helped Namaka along, allowing her to lean on the kahuna’s shoulder as they walked. Moela’s chipper behavior had returned within the hour, and the dog yipped and raced around, in better spirits than Namaka.

  Better, until they drew near the lagoon, and she saw him, waiting for her there, just past the water’s edge.

  He looked almost human, save for the iridescent scales on his shoulders and the slight webbing between his fingers. He wore no clothing—indeed, it would have looked out of place with those scales. His hair was long, hanging to his waist, and brown but with greenish highlights.

  Mer could take human form, if they truly wished it. They usually disdained to do so, though, which meant he must come with urgent news if he was willing to take that step.

  Namaka bit her lip as she approached, keeping her eyes downcast, desperately trying to slow her racing heart. It rankled, acting submissive, even when, in truth, the emissary did pose a threat. Namaka was kupua, an heir of Haumea. But mer were more like true akua—real gods. Or perhaps ‘aumākua, Lonomakua had once implied, a kind of ghost god. In either case, their power exceeded her own.

  The mer kingdoms ruled over the great Worldsea, and humanity persisted on archipelagos only at their sufferance. People needed the sea for travel and food, and if the mer wanted to see her, she didn’t really have a choice but to receive them. It wasn’t time for another sacrifice, not for two more years … But by the ‘aumākua, this did not bode well. Why did Hiyoya send an emissary now?

  “You are Namaka?” the merman asked. His voice was deep but oddly musical, as though more suited to singing than speaking.

  “I am Namaka. The Sea Queen.” Let him hear the pride in her voice. Perhaps this was an akua, but Namaka was more than human.

  The merman strode forward until he stood a mere pace in front of her. He was half a head taller than her, and he stared down at her with narrowed eyes shining with slight luminescence. “Sea Queen? Queen … of our sea? For they are our seas, child. And yet again we find them beset by a human. You whip the ocean into a rage that disrupts the tides and ripples outward for dozens of leagues, and for what? Petty human grievances?” He shook his head, eyes lit with disdain. “I am Matsya and I have been sent by Queen Latm
ikaik to issue a warning—the kingdom of Hiyoya will no longer tolerate the indignity of humans exercising power over our domain.”

  Namaka folded her arms across her chest. What was he trying to say? What exactly did he want her to do? “You were on the way here long before my little altercation with the invaders. That leads me to believe this is some ill-conceived negotiation tactic.”

  Years ago, when she had come to power and had to prove herself, Hiyoya had sent another emissary and complained about the effects of her altering the tides and ocean currents. Effects that became magnified upon an underwater civilization. Namaka had worked to curtail her use of her powers, but she would hardly turn her back on a gift that allowed her to protect Uluka‘a.

  That last emissary had demanded her submission. Demanded she get on her hands and knees and allow the village to watch while he fucked her in a sick game of dominance. Namaka was no longer thirty years old and would not be so easily controlled.

  Matsya narrowed his eyes. Not used to humans standing up to him? “Control yourself, or Latmikaik will find a way to do it for you.”

  Namaka couldn’t stop her frown from deepening. If she denied the mermaid queen, she didn’t even want to consider the reprisal Hiyoya might make against her isle. Haumea had insisted she and Pele share rulership, thus they had divided the island in two: part for her and part for Pele. Namaka’s actions here might affect the entire island, maybe even Kahiki and other neighboring islands. She knew it, of course. Still … she’d bent her pride about as a far as it could go. “Why are you really here?”

  “The queen wants a dozen sacrifices in three days’ time.”

  She just barely held back her scoff. And the urge to tell the mermaid queen to go fuck a swordfish. “We owe no more sacrifices this year.”

  “There is war with Mu. The queen requires additional tribute.”

  No one, not even Lonomakua, seemed to know just how many mer kingdoms existed across the Worldsea. Around Kahiki, Hiyoya held all the power, but Namaka had heard of Mu, of course, which remained prominent in the waters near Sawaiki to the far north. A shattered wreck of its former glory, legends claimed. But obviously posing problems for Hiyoya, or Matsya wouldn’t be here.

  Most people assumed the mer ate their sacrifices. That happened, of course, from time to time. There was mana in the flesh of men. Namaka knew that all too well, considering her parents. They had grown strong beyond belief through ages of feasting, and Namaka herself had tasted such flesh, on rare occasions, especially when she needed extra strength.

  Ah, but the more learned of the kāhuna knew the truth of creatures like Matsya. The mer were akua from somewhere beyond the darkness of Pō, and in this world, they needed human hosts. The young, beautiful, the strong, they took as vessels for their souls.

  “If I refuse?” she asked.

  Matsya bared his shark-like teeth, exposing a mouth that opened too wide for a human. “Do you truly wish to earn the enmity of Hiyoya?”

  “Do you truly wish enemies on land if your war with Mu goes poorly?”

  The merman softened a moment, lips hiding those vicious teeth, posture relaxing. “I say this in truthful concern for your people, Queen Namaka. Queen Latmikaik will remember those who vexed her during this time, and sooner or later, she’ll come looking to repay every slight. On this island, you are mighty. But you cannot begin to fathom the vast powers lurking in the depths of the Worldsea. Uluka‘a is a smaller place than I think you realize.”

  Namaka waved that away. “You’ll have your sacrifices. But I expect you to count any claimed by the mer from among those I just drowned toward that number.”

  “We already did. The queen sent me for two dozen sacrifices.”

  Namaka grimaced, but inclined her head to Leapua. The kahuna would round up the sacrifices from among the commoners, assuming no criminals were held to fill the quota. She looked back to Matsya. “Something else?”

  The merman shook his head and turned, slipping away, back into the lagoon.

  Namaka suppressed the sudden urge to turn the waves against him and smash him on the rocks. It was a petty thought, one that would bring awful reprisal upon Uluka‘a. Still, she had to believe, one day, she might free her island from this hateful tribute.

  She was, after all, the Sea Queen.

  5

  N ear the bow of her canoe, Poli‘ahu watched as they circled the island of Moloka‘i, thin streams of mist billowing from her fingertips and brushing over the waters with each rise and fall of the boat.

  Ahead, she could almost make it out. The fortress of Haupu, rising from the cliffs like a stone monument to the akua, jutting up five hundred feet above sea level. Men called it unassailable. Almost sheer declivities sat on either side, overgrown with vegetation and flowing with waterfalls that made climbing those slopes impossible.

  The fortress had long ago fallen into disrepair, but the warrior Kaupeepee had rebuilt it in secret, stone by stone, in order to give himself a stronghold against the invading Kahikians. He had laid a new wall along the mountain’s only pass, ten feet thick and twenty feet high, barring access to the promontory. They had then dug away at the slope beneath the wall, heightening the drop. An army would tear itself to pieces trying to assail Kaupeepee here.

  Poli‘ahu could not help but admire his gall. While Moloka‘i remained a bastion of the old ways, it was a tiny island with little real power. The newcomers had failed to subsume it through force or marriage only because of its low population, intractable terrain, and lack of strategic importance. Ah, but then, Kaupeepee aimed to change all that.

  And Poli‘ahu would see him succeed.

  Behind her, Nalani climbed along the length of the canoe, until the woman sat just behind Poli‘ahu. “He’s been known to abduct women. How do you know we’re safe?”

  Poli‘ahu quirked a smile at that. She’d brought four canoes full of warriors as an escort, but Nalani ought to know Poli‘ahu herself would also not be easily overcome. She commanded forces of Pō and beyond.

  Even in the failing daylight, she could feel the snow akua shifting beneath her skin, wakeful in the back of her mind.

  Pō meant night. Appropriate, since the world beyond the Mortal Realm was a world of eternal starlight. A world of shifting shadows men could not see and fell whispers men could not hear.

  But Poli‘ahu could.

  The Queen of Mauna Kea, as her people sometimes called her, possessed the Sight. Any sorceress of merit had to in order to look beyond the Veil and see the entities they dealt with from Pō. And Poli‘ahu was no mere sorceress, but a kupua, a descendant of the very gods from the farthest reaches of Pō.

  Not that any display of force or the Art should prove necessary. “Kaupeepee is known to abduct the invaders,” Poli‘ahu told her counselor. “I represent the old dynasty, the heirs of Maui. You think he would dare lay a finger on me and undermine his entire claim at righteousness?”

  “Uh, I was thinking about myself, actually,” the other woman said. “I heard he’s as hairy as a damn boar.”

  Poli‘ahu chuckled. She kept few women in her court. Men were, after all, more easily controlled. Any woman could drive a man to folly with a look, but a sorceress, drawing strength from Pō, could drive their loyalty to fanatical levels. Her warriors would kill and die for her without a hint of hesitation. Were she to command any man on these boats to leap in the sea and try to swim back to the Vai‘i, that man would do so, caring nothing that it would mean his death.

  Nalani was the exception. Nalani’s devotion came from friendship, from a life saved long ago, rather than the sycophantic obsession of a befuddled mind. Her loyalty therefore meant more. Her counsel held real value because, unlike the hundred warriors back there, Nalani would not only tell Poli‘ahu what they thought she wanted to hear.

  Poli‘ahu reached back and patted the other woman’s hand. Nalani would never break tabu by initiating physical contact, but once Poli‘ahu had done so, the woman clasped her hand. She harbored actu
al fears about this, didn’t she? Nalani had been taken by Kahikian raiders as a young woman, a prize from a raid.

  Poli‘ahu had saved her by chance when destroying the Kahikians. The woman never spoke of her dread, but clearly she feared ever becoming another man’s plunder. Indeed, Nalani had showed no real interest in any of the men in the whole of Poli‘ahu’s kingdom. She wanted, Poli‘ahu suspected, to be Poli‘ahu’s aikāne, but Poli‘ahu felt no real physical attraction to the woman.

  As a queen, she could have any man she desired, and slept alone only when she climbed the slopes of Mauna Kea to meditate and seek answers from Pō.

  Poli‘ahu squeezed Nalani’s hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me.”

  “Hmm. Always.”

  LOOKING into Pō was like looking into a whispering storm. A stirring cauldron of shadows filled with alien presences. Ghosts, of course, watching the living, often hating them for the lives they now resented. Other ghosts remained beneficent, watching over their descendants as ‘aumākua.

  Such ghosts Poli‘ahu saw now, as she climbed the steep slope toward Haupu. Some remained human-like, while others projected themselves as animals. Sharks in the water, hawks watching from tree branches, a dog walking the shore. No one else saw them, of course.

  None of Kaupeepee’s people had accosted their canoes nor come to meet them on the beach. Perhaps he knew who she was, perhaps he was just curious to see how she would handle the climb.

  Either way, Poli‘ahu passed the trek by looking through the Veil, peering into the shifting darkness that swirled around. Looking in meant a part of herself passed through the Veil and thus became real to the ghosts. Seeing them meant being seen by them. They did not, however, much frighten her any more.

  Lilinoe moved beside her, a goddess of snow and mist, an akua that few ghosts would dare approach. Waiau, another akua, was inside Poli‘ahu now, bound to her, while Kahoupokane remained back on Vai‘i. But Lilinoe had agreed to come here and watch over Poli‘ahu. Oh, the akua held limited power to influence the Mortal Realm directly, especially before the sun set, but Lilinoe still wielded enormous power.