Heirs of Mana Omnibus

by Matt Larkin

  Nyi Rara sighed in her mind. Save Mu … save the Muian Sea. And then I will help you repair the damage you’ve done on the surface. We can fix this all.

  Namaka managed a weak smile. At last, Nyi Rara was truly with her. A partnership.

  A hope to make things right, at long last.

  23

  Days Gone

  Moela lay his head in her lap as Namaka sat on some mountainside, looking out at the sea so very far below. Even up here, she could feel it calling to her.

  Her dog whimpered without rising, and she ran her fingers over his ears, then stroked his neck. Though he didn’t make a sound, she could feel the tension flowing out of him. If only all worries could be so easily relieved.

  “You don’t believe it, right?” She sighed and stroked his head. Oh, ‘aumākua damn it all, this could not be happening. Aukele had wanted to show Kana Uluka‘a, and Namaka—a fool?—had encouraged the tour. Now, they were gone sometimes months at a time, and so often to Pele’s court.

  Moela stirred beneath her, perhaps sensing her distress. Or someone else—a moment later, she heard light footfalls climbing up the slope. Namaka lifted her head to watch Upoho hiking toward her.

  The wererat huffed and panted emphatically once he stood beside her. Given his Otherworldly endurance, that had to be just for show, though he had managed a slight sheen of sweat.

  “How did you find me?”

  “A rat’s snout never lies.”

  Namaka nodded, then stared out at the sea.

  After a moment, Upoho sank down beside her. “So.”

  No use delaying. Namaka sat up. “Well? Were they together?”

  Upoho grimaced. “Listen, I don’t think it’s really—”

  “Answer the godsdamned question.”

  “Yeah.”

  Namaka winced. “You saw them?”

  “No. But their scents were all over each other and I … uh … heard them. Good ears, you know.”

  A surge of tides raced inside Namaka’s chest, crushing her. Even far below, the sea responded, whipping into a frenzy. The sea answered her fear and pain and rage. The ocean lashed one way and another, like some god shook it in a mighty gourd.

  Upoho sighed, gazing over the cliff at the now turbulent sea. “These things happen.”

  “No.”

  “My Queen—”

  “My sister deliberately seduced my husband as a direct affront to my authority.”

  The wererat grunted. “Sometimes two people just get the urge to—”

  Namaka huffed. “Send for them. For the both of them.” The wererat had no idea what she was going through, no idea of the pressure she felt. Maybe because he didn’t understand responsibility—he never had. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and gave no thought to the cost of his actions. What would it be like to live like that? A lot like never growing up, she supposed.

  A wererat without royal blood might be afforded such luxuries.

  But Namaka was a queen. To a queen, propriety meant image, and image meant authority.

  “You really think bringing them here is a good idea?” Upoho asked. “Maybe just let this smooth over a bit—”

  Her glare silenced the man, and, with a shake of his head, he rose and finally nodded. He’d do as she’d bidden.

  Pele arrived with the better part of her court. Warriors and kāhuna, slaves, retainers, and the rest of her retinue. And Aukele. He and Kana came in her company, as if Namaka had needed further confirmation of their affair.

  The other queen walked at the head of the procession, feather cloak streaming behind her, shoulders thrown back in haughty arrogance.

  Namaka stood waiting, some distance from the lagoon, in the village’s heart, watching her sister’s approach. Watching the arrogance of that stride, without a hint of penitence. Did she not know why Namaka had summoned her? Did she still not realize she had violated tabus and Namaka was within her rights to claim her very life?

  No. Pele cared for no one save herself. She did whatever she damn well pleased and thought nothing of the consequences. Well, this time, there would be consequences. This time, she would pay a price.

  Only a deliberate force of will kept Namaka’s hands at her side as Pele drew near. She could feel Leapua just behind her, and the kahuna’s support kept her strong.

  “Control your temper,” the kahuna whispered into Namaka’s ear, and Namaka nodded.

  Finally, her sister paused before her and cocked her head to the side, as if to say, “Here I am. Now what?”

  “Do you know why I’ve summoned you?” Namaka asked.

  Pele’s mouth turned down a little. “Summoned?”

  Milu damn her. Namaka had tried, had even dared to believe that in working together to find the Waters of Life, they might have bridged the gulf that had risen between them so long ago. But Pele remained unwilling to meet her halfway.

  “You, little sister, have betrayed me. You seduced my husband, and in so doing have both broken tabu and committed treason against Uluka‘a.”

  Pele actually rolled her eyes. “It’s not like you never take a man outside of marriage, Namaka.”

  “I don’t take your husbands!”

  Pele snorted. “Because I’m not married.”

  “And if you were, I would never in a thousand years have entertained the idea of taking one of them to my bed. But you truly respect nothing and no one.”

  “Namaka—” Aukele began, standing behind Pele.

  She held up a hand. “I’ll deal with you later.” She turned her gaze back on Pele. “You, though, must answer first for what you’ve done.”

  Pele spread her hands. “Fine. I lay with your husband. Maybe next time try harder to keep him satisfied.”

  Namaka clenched her jaw, biting back her response. She would not allow the other queen to draw her into petty insults. No, this was too dire an affront to her authority. If she did not take decisive action here, everyone would think her weak. “You will lower your face to the sand and beg my forgiveness. On your knees, you shall crawl to me, sister, and seek absolution for what you’ve done.”

  Pele folded her arms over her chest. “No.”

  “No?” Namaka took a step toward her sister. “I ask you again, Pele, beg forgiveness and—”

  “I beg nothing! You think to threaten me? You think because you are the elder, you are my superior?” The woman sneered, backing away. Toward her warriors. “It is you who insults me. Perhaps I ought to simply marry the man myself.”

  Oh, no … This would not stand. Did the ‘aumākua watch this affront? The people of the village surely did.

  “Seize her,” Namaka said to her warriors.

  At once, they surged forward, charging at Pele. The woman’s own warriors raced in to meet Namaka’s, shouting war cries, beating their chests, and waving axes and spears.

  Pele, for her part, turned to the sea, as if she thought to escape on a canoe. Namaka sneered, edging around the war party. Surely her sister cool not be fool enough to believe the sea would offer her refuge in this fight.

  Already, the warriors had met. A wet thwack as an axe split a skull. Screams, as spears pierced chests. Thrown javelins flew through the air and were caught or dodged. Most of them. Others hit home and men fell.

  More screams, as the sands ran red. Men’s bowels emptied on the beach. Bodies and pieces of bodies flopping about like dead fish.

  Namaka continued to circle. After this bloodshed, she had no choice but to offer Pele up as a sacrifice to Kanaloa. Her sister had gone too far.

  Pele dropped to one knee, digging fingers into the sand, staring out over the lagoon.

  The disturbance in the sea hit Namaka like a physical blow, and she stumbled down to her knees herself. A boiling rose beneath the surface, a trembling that shot through her awareness as violently as an earthquake. And it still continued. A gut-wrenching writhing of the ocean floor that made the battle seem a mere annoyance.

  She struggled to her feet and then, a sudden,
violent eruption from the seafloor sent her stumbling back to the ground—not just from the quake on the island, but from a shaking in her soul. An undersea volcano had erupted.

  Waves swept over the boardwalk and crushed it, tore it to splinters and driftwood, smashing half the houses in the village. The wave broke over them, leaving nothing but merciless sea in its wake, stealing homes and lives and hope.

  Namaka screamed, her terror whipping the sea into further frenzy. Even where she knelt, two hundred feet from the water’s edge, sea spray fell over her. It slammed into the shore and swept up villagers and Pele’s men, carried off canoes and fishing nets and dogs who could not run fast enough. And she could not stop screaming. Waves tossed canoes about like toys.

  A shadow fell over them at the same instant a sound like the roaring of a typhoon swept across the beach. The men paused and turned to the sea, and Namaka did so as well. A wave thirty feet high surged forward—a kai e‘e, a Great Wave—thrown up by Pele’s volcano, summoned closer by Namaka’s fear and rage.

  The wave surged over the canoes in a cataract. The roaring of the kai e‘e drowned out the sounds of men screaming. And then all view was blocked by the rush of waters all around her.

  Namaka held up her hands, warding it off. Begging it to stop the instant before it struck. She flung herself over Leapua, throwing her soul outward, pleading with the wave not to take them all. The sea arched over them like she had wrapped a bubble over their heads, but rained in a downpour that left them drenched long before the tide receded back out to sea.

  The pain in her throat was the first indication she had been screaming. Hoarse, knees wobbling, she rose. Her whole body trembled as she took in the devastation around her. The hut farthest out on the boardwalk had been swept away by the wave, the dock itself splintered, and the sea littered with driftwood.

  Namaka raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a mouse-like squeak.

  In one instant of fear, of pain, of anger, she had whipped the sea as though she were a typhoon incarnate. What had she done?

  She stumbled to her feet, waving her arms to drive back the sea, to stop the flooding. The energy it took—pouring her mana back into the deep—left her breathless, trembling where she stood.

  Much of the village lay in ruins already, and hundreds of warriors on both sides had been washed out to sea. Namaka hardly knew what to do to—

  The ground shook again, and this time, the mountains nearby rent apart, spewing forth a geyser of lava a hundred feet into the air.

  Oh, Milu.

  With a desperate grunt, Namaka redirected the receding tides toward the mountain, knowing full well a stream of lava would be surging for the village. Her skin felt aflame already, her heartbeat irregular after expending so much mana. Screaming, she ran along with the tide, driving the flood toward the incoming flow of lava.

  Her waters smashed further houses, crashed into her own palace, and demolished what remained of the village. But it was still better than allowing a river of flame to engulf the people.

  That burning stream burst through the tree line, igniting the foliage as it passed. Whole tree trunks erupted into flame, while others, closer, were swept away roots and all in the torrent. Namaka’s kai e‘e crashed into the oncoming rocks, immediately throwing up a curtain of steam that obscured any view of what was happening.

  She felt it, though, as her waters were evaporated in a flash, boiled just to cool Pele’s flaming wrath. Namaka fell back onto her arse, panting, dizzy. Unable to quite hold a breath in her lungs.

  Hands slipped under her arms and yanked her back, away from the probably toxic steam cloud now drawing near. Upoho hefted her in his arms and ran, faster than a man could run, dashing away from the chaos.

  “People …”

  “Pele and her people went into the forest. Most of the village scattered.”

  Most? And how many were dead today? Hundreds? Thousands?

  But Namaka was too weak to argue, and let her head lie against Upoho’s chest.

  Namaka pulled free of Upoho’s grip and drew him back toward the aftermath of the battle. Many of the bodies must now feed the sharks.

  Hundreds of corpses littered the shore, though, and even as she approached, Leapua began to sing the mourning chant. So sorrowful it froze her in place. Others of the village took up the song and Namaka joined in as well. The kahuna’s song would send the ghosts of the slain away from the Earth, on toward Pō lest they linger and become lapu.

  Warriors built pyres for each of the fallen while Namaka and the others sang.

  The kahuna lit each pyre in turn and soon acrid smoke stung Namaka’s eyes and lungs. Still she sang.

  At last the songs died out and still the fires burned. A hand slipped into her own, warm. Kahaumana, her husband. She looked to him.

  “Kanemoe is dead,” he said.

  Namaka flinched, unable to find words at the loss of her second husband. Kahaumana was looking at her, she knew, wanting her to say something, to make this mean something. To ease the pain they all felt at losing so many they loved.

  “The sea stays blue,” Kanemoe had used to say. But not anymore. Now it was dark.

  Those closest to the fallen would take their ashes out to the sea, paddle out on their surfboards and say their final farewells. There were very few people in the village Namaka could claim to be close to, but she would go out for Kanemoe’s funeral.

  She patted Kahaumana’s hand. “I’m sorry. Take me to him.”

  Her husband did so, leading her to a pyre Leapua had not yet lit. Kanemoe lay upon it, eyes shut now—by Kahaumana?—but spine still twisted at an unnatural angle. Her husband’s hand tightened around her own, perhaps even more pained than she was.

  All she could feel now, though, looking at her husband’s corpse, was numb. Drained of everything that had lain within her breast and left empty.

  She still had no words when Leapua came and embraced her. And lit the pyre, singing the mourning chant. No words, even as it burnt down to smolders.

  Maybe there were no words for a time like this.

  “War.” It was the only thing left to say, really.

  She sat alone with Leapua, on the shore, staring at the sea and somehow finding it hard to imagine it had wrought such wanton destruction upon her home.

  After all that had passed, after what Pele had done, no other choice remained to Namaka. Some things could not be left to stand. Some defiance, some disrespect, could not be borne.

  Such an egregious violation of tabu risked unbalancing the world and the flow of mana. It risked letting Pō spill over into the Mortal Realm.

  Unless Namaka made it right through the offer of Pele’s blood. Only then could the akua and ‘aumākua be placated. Only then could this end.

  She’d offer her sister to Kanaloa and pray the god of the deep would restore the balance.

  “It will not end well,” Leapua warned.

  Namaka rubbed her arms. Expending so much mana had left her weak, prone to chills, even in the otherwise warm night breeze. “Duty does not bind us toward a course of action because it will be easy or even because it proves to be for our ultimate benefit. Rather, it binds us because strictures, natural and supernatural, hold society together and that, ultimately, benefits us all. Without order, the chaos and darkness of Pō would seep into our world and consume all we have built.”

  Leapua sighed and Namaka was suddenly struck at the pointlessness of lecturing a kahuna. The woman knew better than anyone what the akua would demand of them.

  “Am I wrong?”

  The kahuna shook her head. “You know you are not. Only … where do you imagine this will leave Uluka‘a when it is done? Where will the people be, caught between the power of your tides and Pele’s insatiable flames? Who will be glad this has happened, in the end?”

  “So, I should let it be? Let the dead go unavenged? Let the insult go unanswered? Let the ‘aumākua look on and think I did nothing, despite Pele’s flagrant violations of all order? Yo
u know I cannot do that, and I cannot believe you would advise me to.”

  The kahuna shook her head. “I have no advice at this moment. But war …”

  Namaka took the other woman’s hand. “I’m going to end this. I will offer Pele as sacrifice to appease Kanaloa, and this will be done. However many warriors choose to stand between her and my army, that falls on them. I will see this done.”

  24

  The ice trees near the summit sang, not with an infused spirit, but from the howling wind rushing past their branches, like the mountain itself called out a mourning chant. Mauna Kea mourning the loss of pieces of itself, pieces Poli‘ahu had pitched down from the summit to defeat the Flame Queen. And still the intruder who had dared bring forbidden flame onto these slopes lived, helped by some male kupua. Both should have perished.

  This place, Mauna Kea, was really Mauna a Wākea, the sky god’s mountain. He had welcomed Poli‘ahu into his bosom, while these kupua were invaders here, as surely as the Kahikians had invaded Sawaiki.

  It should have been Poli‘ahu’s night to research new depths of the Art. Instead, she found herself staring at the forest, unable to cast from her mind the niggling sensation of a man walking on her mountain, tending to a woman that ought to have been sent to Milu.

  Not even the haunting, wondrous melody of the trees could force the sensation down, away from her consciousness. She blew out a breath of frustration and made her way back into the sanctuary. She simply needed to try harder to focus. That should have been easy for her. She, unlike the Flame Queen, had discipline, had trained her mind and body every day since she was a child. It had made her an absolute master of her domain. The other kupua was powerful, but her power exploded all around her in conflagrations of chaos.

  Standing outside her sanctuary, Poli‘ahu cupped her hands to her mouth and blew out a whisper on icy breath. “Lilinoe.”

  At first, no response came to her. Poli‘ahu sat, idly tracing patterns in the snow. She need not actually touch the ground—snow, ice, mist, all she could reshape with her smallest whim. Over her years on the mountain she had grown skilled enough to form any pattern she desired.