Heirs of Mana Omnibus

by Matt Larkin

  “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?”

  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.

  “Hakalanileo’s ire toward Aukele actually stems from his resentment of Aukele’s half-brother, Kamapua‘a,” Hi‘iaka said. “Actually, this entire family is a complex nest of interrelations that seems largely centered around a sorceress named Uli.”

  Pele couldn’t help but smile in pride at how quickly Hi‘iaka had taken to unfolding the political landscape. A night and a day and the girl already seemed to have a feel for the politics on Kaua‘i. “Uli was a mentor to Kapo, your other sister that you never met.”

  “She’s still alive, by the way.”

  “What?” Pele paused by the river and stared at Hi‘iaka. “Uli lives? After so long?”

  Hi‘iaka nodded and pointed further up the canyon. “She lives alone, inland. She’s kupua, like us, and ‘aumākua know how long she’ll live, but she retired from public life after Kalan
a died.”

  “Who’s Kalana?”

  The girl held up a finger, beaming at being able to elucidate anything for her big sister. “Uli married a man named Huma and had a son by him, Aukele. Now Huma is still a king of this island, albeit not a strong one anymore. He remarried, but his other heirs died. Some time after they arrived here, he accused Uli of having an affair with his brother, Kalana. An affair that resulted in the birth of a sister to Aukele, Hina.”

  “Hina?” Pele raised an eyebrow but resumed her walk along the stream.

  “Named after Maui’s famous wife, yes. It seems likely the accusation was true, because Uli later married Kalana, and some years later had another son by him, Kamapua‘a. However, Kalana died, and Uli grew tired of the politics, leaving Kamapua‘a to be raised by his older sister, Hina.” Hi‘iaka glanced at Pele, the irony of such a tale clearly not lost upon her, whom Haumea had thrust upon her own sisters. “Hina married Chief Hakalanileo and bore him two sons, Kana and Niheu, whom I met this morning.”

  Pele rubbed her temples. “I’m getting a headache. Is anyone on this island not related to each other?”

  Hi‘iaka giggled. “Anyway, Hakalanileo never liked Kamapua‘a and considered him a threat to his own sons. So he banished the boy. Well, now, it turns out Kamapua‘a is a powerful kupua, and a vexed one. He’s been raiding Hakalanileo’s farms and holdings all around Waimea.”

  Hmm. So kill this Kamapua‘a and maybe win the favor and gratitude of the locals? It was a possibility. But her head still hurt from trying to place so many people’s names. Some of this she had heard from Aukele, yes, but never so concisely.

  “You know …” Hi‘iaka said.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I couldn’t really ask on the canoes, I mean, with everyone around. But why … why did you take Namaka’s husband?”

  Pele opened her mouth to tell the girl that she and Aukele fell in love. That, of course, was a lie. He was handsome and she desired him. And if the girl couldn’t understand such feelings now, in another year or so she probably would. “It’s complicated.”

  “Hmmm.” Hi‘iaka stooped to grab a stone and fling it into the river. “Knowing what happened … would you do it again?”

  No. No, Pele would like to think not. Then again … perhaps she was lying to herself, as well. “It’s complicated.”

  Hakalanileo’s people reported the incoming canoes. At first, Pele dared to hope it would prove to be this old dynasty raider, Kaupeepee, or even Queen Poli‘ahu, either of whom would have given Pele a chance to demonstrate her might. Somewhere in her gut, though, she knew better.

  At night she had stared into the flames and seen her face, confirming what the Fire spirit had told her.

  Namaka.

  Again.

  Milu-damned, relentless Namaka.

  Her sister had chased her two thousand miles across the Worldsea in pursuit of vengeance. If Pele ran now, Namaka would continue to give chase, yet, after what had happened last time they fought … all Uluka‘a lay in ruins because of their war.

  No, Pele needed to destroy Namaka before she could ever land on Kaua‘i. She’d not allow a repeat of what happened in Uluka‘a. Her first act as queen would be to spare these people from sharing the suffering Namaka had wrought in her own land.

  So, Pele climbed up on the cliffs above the shore, to allow her a better view of the incoming sails. The others were down in the village, and she had to trust Aukele to keep them safe. He would understand the real threat Namaka posed.

  Pele knelt on the cliff and pushed her hands hard against the rocky soil. Most people thought flame was an instant thing, burning for a moment and then gone. But flame was eternal, it was life, running through the world. Beneath the land and beneath the sea, always waiting to touch the sky. To be free. Pele’s arms shook as she poured mana deep into the island, letting her soul wrap itself into lava tubes running out into the ocean. The trembling spread to encompass her chest, her neck, her head. Her eyes heated first, followed by a flush in her face, a fever that would have consumed a mortal in an instant. Not her. Not the Flame Queen. Her hair burst into flame, writhing in it, yet never burning away. Lava pooled up through the ground, bubbling around her fingers, and she gasped at the fabulous, all-consuming heat rushing through her. As she opened her mouth, a cloud of sulfuric vapors escaped, spewing forth toxins from deep within the belly of the Earth.

  Down.

  Farther out. The island shook, mirroring her own rising anger, much as she tried to direct it to the undersea vents. And then, all at once, the seabed exploded in a torrent of ash and stone rapidly cooling into rock. The eruption ripped through the trench separating this island from its southern neighbors, spewing a cloud of steam and volcanic debris into the air just before the ship.

  Pele could not see the men or women on those canoes. But she saw them veer suddenly, violently listing to one side. An instant later, flames spread along sails. Canoes capsized. The entire invasion collapsed in a boiling mess of destruction.

  Pele smiled. Justice, for the many thousands Namaka had killed in her furious surge of waves, the kai e‘e.

  And had her sister herself finally perished? Pele would have to be certain.

  “She lives,” Lonomakua said. He didn’t explain more, as he led Pele along the cliffs. He didn’t need to, really. He must have read it in the flames while she had called up the eruption. Pele was, admittedly, fatigued from creating the explosion, and could have used more chance to soak in mana from a volcanic crater. She had neither a volcano nor time to spare, though.

  She needed to finish Namaka while her sister was winded and separated from whatever remained of her people.

  Namaka, for whatever reason, had headed up onto the cliffs. She had no doubt first come here expecting to find Pele. Well, Namaka would find her a lot sooner than she expected.

  A cool wind mixed with a drizzle of rain to create a generally miserable morning for such a trek. But some things could not wait.

  Arm raised against the rain, Pele stalked toward the caves above the cove. She and Hi‘iaka had discovered them yesterday. A narrow ledge led up to them—hollows carved by now-empty lava tubes that looked out over the sea some sixty feet below. A stunning vista, especially at twilight or sunrise.

  “She’s not far ahead now,” Lonomakua said.

  Pele nodded at him. “Wait here, then. I don’t want you in any danger.” Namaka had taken enough from Pele, already.

  By the time she had climbed the path to the cave entrance, Pele’s breath came heavily from the long hike. Little sunlight reached into the caves, especially given the cloud cover from the rainy morning. Rather than walk into darkness, Pele flexed her palm, calling forth a torch flame from it. Then she strode into the tunnel. The rock was slick from when lava had once carved it out and now slippery with rain, forcing her to choose her steps with care.

  Perhaps twenty feet inside sat her sister, legs folded beneath her and arms at her sides, clearly meditating. A spark of fresh irritation shot through Pele. Namaka was drawing in mana from the sea. Here.

  Bitch.

  The ground rumbled beneath Pele, responding to her rapidly dwindling patience.

  Her sister’s eyes shot open but she said nothing, though her gaze clearly took in the flame floating in Pele’s hand. Her face might have registered surprise, but not really fear. A fresh insult, that.

  “You were a fool to chase me.” Pele took a step forward and summoned another flame, keeping both hands lit, well aware of the intimidating figure she must pose, face illuminated by flickering flames in the darkness.

  Finally, the other woman stood, advancing with narrowed eyes and not a hint of deference. “Did you really think that an underwater volcano would save you a second time?”

  Fire was life, Lonomakua was fond of saying. But fire could also be death. And through it, protection. “You forced this, Namaka. Your pride forced this end.”

  The woman spread her arms wide, flashing a wicked, m
irthless grin. “You dare speak to me of pride?”

  Damn her. Pele roared, jerking one arm forward and flinging the flame it held at Namaka. The fires spread, thinned into a wave that would bake the Sea Queen alive and leave her a quivering mass begging for death.

  At the same time, Namaka flung her own arms together. As she did so, all the water in the cave coalesced before her like a wall. Pele’s flame hit the wall and evaporated in a shower of steam. The vapors filled the cave, cutting off her vision.

  Her sister shoved past her, sending Pele stumbling to her knees.

  “Bitch!” Pele shouted. She slapped her palm against the ground. Pele fed mana into the Earth and immediately set it to rumbling.

  These lava tubes were old, long emptied. But far beneath them, magma still ran. Magma ran everywhere if you dug deep enough. As the steam cleared and revealed her prey, Pele screamed her rage. A crack tore through the cave floor, spreading like a bolt of lightning straight for Namaka.

  The Sea Queen dove to the side, avoiding the crack. But that was not the threat. Pele poured more mana into the earth and a spout of lava ripped through the rupture. It blasted against the roof and rained around the cave in a shower of searing destruction.

  Namaka screamed, both in pain and satisfying fear. The woman scrambled out of the cave then leapt off the ledge, falling toward the sea sixty feet below. By the time Pele had reached the edge, the woman had crashed into the ocean. Most likely she would have died on the rocks below.

  Should have, except Namaka was a kupua. And attuned to the sea.

  “Dammit!” Pele bellowed at no one in particular. “I had you, you stupid bitch! I had you!”

  Rage continued to boil inside Pele. So hard to let it go, once it began to erupt. She wanted to …