Heirs of Mana Omnibus

by Matt Larkin

  Perhaps it did.

  “Traitor,” she spit at him. Tried to spit, rather. Her voice was more a wheeze.

  “Come now,” he said. “We had no alliance and therefore I cannot have betrayed it, can I?”

  “Then gawk at what your opportunism has wrought.” Nyi Rara rolled over, revealing the bloody mess of her tail.

  To his credit, the merman grimaced. “I never wanted you hurt. In another world, I would have been your friend.”

  “Which world?”

  He shrugged. “One in which Aiaru is not the sitting queen on the throne of Mu. One in which she would not have seized us both and had me answering questions much like yourself, doubting the loyalty of Ukupanipo ‘Ohana as well. This is, after all, how she has always dealt with dissent. You were around for the Hammerhead Crisis.”

  Nyi Rara was too exhausted to even scoff. She’d been young when the queen had banished the whole Nanaue ‘Ohana for their savagery. She remembered hearing the rumors, that another civil war would follow. But the Nanaue Voice, Kauhuhu, had fled, despite the rumors of his monstrous appetites and terrible rage. He’d led his ‘ohana away to somewhere on the far side of Sawaiki.

  “That was eight hundred years ago. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Nothing much. Just a reminder that Aiaru has a history of harsh judgment against anyone who speaks against her.” He shrugged. “I hear Nanaue still have some dealings with the humans of Sawaiki, though. I once heard a tale of this kahuna, Kamalo, who bargained with them.” Kamalo? Pele’s new kahuna? Daucina moved closer and stroked her cheek. “Poor Nyi Rara. Reduced to this.” He clasped her hand, slipping something hard and metallic between her fingers. “I wish I could do something for you, I truly do.”

  With that, the merman released his grip on her, twirled his tail, and fled.

  Nyi Rara ran her thumb over the object he’d left in her palm. A key.

  So … he’d betrayed her to Aiaru to save himself. But now he was betraying the queen to save her? She had never asked, but maybe Daucina had become the Voice of Ukupanipo when Opuhalakoa died. So he had to look out for his ‘ohana first.

  ‘Ohana is everything.

  Maybe she couldn’t even blame him … much as she wanted to.

  Nyi Rara slipped the key into the lock and twisted.

  The moment the second shackle came off, her senses flooded back into her mind. A feeling of the waters and everything touching them. An awareness of the whole compound and the mer swimming through it.

  But she was still weak and wounded. She couldn’t fight her way out.

  Instead, she stuck to the shadows, trusting the feel of the waters to guide her, to warn her when anyone might come into view. Escaping like that took long.

  Too long.

  Long enough Aiaru might discover she was missing.

  Everywhere Nyi Rara turned, there were guards on all the exits. Every door, every window.

  If she waited any longer, she’d risk getting recaptured. If that happened, no one would be able to help her. Aiaru would end her, then and there, without a doubt.

  Nyi Rara swam until a single guard came into view, watching over an upper window. The port was designed to hurl javelins against invaders and she’d barely fit through, but … But it was her best shot, and high enough up the trench she wouldn’t have to swim as far to escape Uluhai.

  A moment of regret.

  Then she formed the current into a razor-sharp blade. The merman turned as she approached. Opened his mouth to shout. Then her blade sheared through his collarbone, severing his torso in two clean pieces.

  The blood would draw attention soon.

  They’d smell it any moment.

  Nyi Rara darted into the window, then squeezed into the gap. Rough stone scraped over her raw, mangled tail, drawing a yelp from her. An instant later, she popped free and took off, shooting jets of water behind herself to grant her speed beyond any other mer.

  She raced past sentries in a blur, shot out of the cavern, and launched into open ocean. Behind her, Nyi Rara could hear the shouts of futile pursuit.

  They’d never catch her.

  With little other choice, she raced toward Sawaiki.

  10

  Pele knelt on the mountain slope, placing her palms into the soil, and staring up into the night sky. The fires of the Earth pulsed under the land, surging and coursing far below. And despite the layers of dirt and rock separating them, Pele could feel those fires. They ran under all of Sawaiki, under the seas around it, under every island. But nowhere stronger than here, on Vai‘i.

  They were near enough to Kīlauea she could rupture it. Blow it apart in a cataclysmic eruption that would bury Kamapua‘a and his men in a deluge of rock and fire. And in so doing, she would more than likely destroy the whole district of Puna and kill hundreds if not thousands of her own people.

  Even thinking of it, here in the shadow of the mountain, sent her soul trembling. And with it, with her pain and anger, the land rumbled. Magma so deep below responding to her call. More than once, her rage had unleashed itself in eruptions that darkened the sky and painted the sunset in all the hues of flame. The people feared her after what she had done, and with good cause.

  Her rage had slain a taniwha, yes, but it had also claimed so very many lives.

  No, her only chance was to draw the loathsome pig up the mountain and fight him there, where she could call on those flames without harming bystanders. But they didn’t have much time, and the wounded like Naia, they forced her to make slower progress. What was she to do?

  Even now, she suspected Moho was engaged in combat with the vile pig. The akua didn’t seem overly sanguine about his chances of victory, but perhaps he could buy her enough time to get her people somewhere secure before retreating.

  The fires in the Earth told her nothing. What she needed to do was look into flame she could see and try to determine what happened down in Puna. She shook her head. It was all such a mess, and she could feel something watching them. It didn’t want to close in, perhaps, not with thousands of them together, half bearing candlenut torches. But it was there, watching, waiting …

  The more astute among the people sensed it, too. A feeling, like a chill breeze on the back of the neck. A rumble in the gut. A subtle discomfort as a presence that did not belong brushed against the world.

  “Come,” Lonomakua said, passing her by, Hi‘iaka’s body gently cradled in his arms.

  Behind him, Makua carried Naia, seeming little burdened under the former queen’s weight. Milohai trudged along, casting desperate glances at his big sister, who continued to moan.

  Somewhere back there, Kamalo and Upoho led the others, too.

  Lonomakua was right. She had no time to waste. She could not afford to squander even a moment of the time Moho had bought her.

  Rising, she chased after Milohai. “I know you’re frightened.”

  The young man looked to her but said nothing. Still, his eyes spoke enough. A man trying to be brave, both for his own honor, and for his sister’s sake. A young man burdened with war and Otherworldly threats even a seasoned warrior could not have endured.

  “Listen to me,” she said. “A while back, I told Naia she was the sister I should have had. Now you’re her brother. So, if she’s my sister now, I figure that makes you my brother, Milohai. And I’m not going to let anything happen to my brother or sister.”

  “What about Hi‘iaka?”

  Pele winced and Milohai looked down at his feet as if ashamed that had slipped out. As well he probably should be. She pushed aside a vine, then ducked under a branch. The forest was too dense to allow a thousand people to walk close together, and moving at night, they risked getting separated.

  To say nothing of the fear of whatever haunted them and of lapu or Nightmarchers or other angry gods in the wilds. This whole plan was madness, but they had reached the lower slopes of Kīlauea. That meant they could find the tunnels soon, and Pele could gather her strength to fight the gods
damned pig man.

  “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you or Naia,” Pele repeated.

  This time, Milohai grabbed her hand. A breach of tabu, yes, but considering she had just declared him brother, Pele wasn’t about to object.

  Instead, she squeezed his fingers. “You’re brave,” she said. “Naia will be proud to hear how brave.”

  “I hope you’re right.” He sniffed, looking around as if he heard something other than the chirp of insects. “Do you regret sending away your other sister? The goddess?”

  Pele rolled her eyes. Namaka was not a goddess. Having a mer inside her didn’t make her an akua. “No. She’s hunting the Waters of Life in her own way. We have to take care of our own kingdom, Milohai. No one will solve our problems for us.”

  His grip on her hand tightened. Perhaps it was in support, though she suspected it was more fear. The worry that, haunted by an unknown spirit, at war with a kupua queen, and pursued by an insane wereboar, they could never overcome such threats alone.

  But Pele wasn’t alone.

  After urging Milohai onward, she tracked down Kapo, who was more at home in the jungle than any of them. A true forest kupua, and—if Pele didn’t know better—she’d have sworn Kapo was actually listening to the trees, as if they spoke to her when she passed them.

  “You fought Poli‘ahu,” she said.

  Kapo started, blinked, then shook her head at Pele. “Uh … it was a very long time, I was so young, then. Uli fought her, really, I just … The woman would have killed Uli and I couldn’t allow that.”

  “What happened?”

  Kapo blew out a long breath. “There was supposed to be peace, a marriage alliance between Poli‘ahu and the old dynasty and a Kaua‘ian king of the new dynasty. The wedding went … poorly. Uli attacked Poli‘ahu to try to stop her from hurting anyone.”

  “How powerful is she?”

  Kapo shrugged. “I managed to drive her off back then, but we were both so young, and she was not in her element at the time.” Her sister cast a glance over her shoulder. “Now, who can say? Besides, we have more immediate concerns at the moment, yes?”

  Oh, indeed.

  An insane wereboar and a hostile spirit hunting her.

  Facing Kamapua‘a at less than full strength would have been a foolish risk. With the villagers secured in the lava tubes, Pele had decided to climb the slope up to the crater. She could not afford a moment’s delay.

  Lonomakua and Upoho were with the others, and might keep them safe, but neither of them could hope to fight the pig man. There was Kapo, of course, but Pele was loath to place another sister in harm’s way.

  Climbing had taken extreme effort in her exhausted state. It left her almost weary enough not to think about Kamapua‘a and what he’d tried to do to her. What he still intended to do with her, though he now seemed inclined to force her to marry him first.

  Below her lay the smoldering crater, covered by a blanket of sulfuric vapors. She cast aside her pa‘u skirt. It would only catch fire anyway. Breathing deeply, Pele skidded down the slope to come to rest on the rock ledge surrounding the lava pools. This place would kill a mortal, but to her, it offered a reprieve.

  No one else could have survived this close to the lava pools and toxic fumes.

  And if Kamapua‘a was fool enough to pursue her up here, she’d obliterate him with ease. Unfortunately, if he attacked the lava tubes and threatened her people, she’d have to go down to meet him.

  Within the crater, the lava had burned out an almost inverted bowl on one side, creating a large overhang that shadowed much of the cavern and locked in the radiant warmth.

  Pele dipped a toe in one pool, shivering from its intense heat. Some humans liked to luxuriate in hot springs. This was pretty much the same thing for her. Slowly, she sunk waist deep into the molten rock. It was much thicker than water, so it took more effort to submerge herself in it. As she did, the heat began to soothe away the aches in her legs and back. She sunk lower, until only her shoulders breached the surface.

  The sun had just risen, which meant she’d not slept in days. She doubted the wereboar would attack in daylight. Just a little rest …

  This place, any volcano, was suffused with mana, bubbling up from far beneath the surface of the Earth. Here, the fires she always felt below her were manifest, released in such glory she could not help but absorb strength from them.

  A few hours bathing in lava and her body would be replete with mana, her strength at its pinnacle. And she would almost relish the chance to demonstrate that power on the pig. She shut her eyes, basking in the heat on her face. The scent was an acquired taste, of course. Most people would blanch at the smell of sulfur, and rightly so. But Pele was not most people.

  For a long time, she sat, resting, half asleep, her waking dreams beset by visions of Naia, of the desiccation on her face. She dreamed of Kamapua‘a. The abomination’s engorged cock coming at her like a weapon. His tusks dripping with acid and malice. His eyes burning like ice.

  And she dreamed of the unrelieved anger of the spirit haunting Puna. Its rage threatened to choke her.

  Its fury hit her like a physical blow, jolted her into full wakefulness. She rose, lava streaming down her back and dripping over her breasts, the presence still haunting her. Indeed, she saw a silhouette, moving at the corner of her eye, deep in the shadows of this crater.

  A humanoid form passed in and out of the fumes suffusing her refuge. The man—woman?—stepped forward, seeming for all the world solid. And as it passed out of the fumes, Pele at last got a look at it, enough to be certain it was no living woman. Her features were distorted, twisted by rage and decay, eyelids hanging loose and droopy over the sunken ruins of lifeless eyes. Her flesh was gray, ready to slough off any moment.

  Loose flaps of skin around her neck revealed a hint of spine beneath. Bits of her broke off and billowed like mist around it, dissipating into the air in a trail of swirling vapors like a tattered shawl.

  The ghost strode forward, approaching her until its path brought it to a beam of morning sunlight reaching into the cavern. There the shade faltered, seemingly unable to cross the light. Hatred, rage lit its eyes and wafted off it, leaving her trembling. It opened its mouth, but only a gurgle of blood escaped.

  Pele reached a hand toward the ghost, not certain what she intended.

  Its form flickered a moment, then vanished.

  She let her hand fall back to her side. What had that meant? Had the ghost followed her here? It had clearly intended to strike at her, had even revealed itself. Maybe she’d only been able to see it now, in this sacred place, because she had absorbed so much mana. Places like this were liminal, closer to Pō. Perhaps that was how the spirit had manifested itself. But even if that explained the how, it did not answer the why. Had it shown itself merely to increase her horror—surely it was a revolting sight. Or maybe it had to reveal itself before striking. If so, that beam of sunlight had just saved her life.

  Once the sun set again, if it had determined to end her, she wouldn’t have much time.

  “Lua-o-Milu,” she mumbled. Between a lapu and Kamapua‘a, she was not going to enjoy tonight.

  The influx of mana had given her strength, but it also fueled her own tumultuous nature. That was fine—sometimes rage was a good thing. Pele would need the rage.

  She’d descended halfway down the mountain now, waiting for the inevitable. She could not afford to deal with the spirit at the moment, so she kept her hands ablaze. One vile Otherworldly threat at a time.

  A feeling of being watched, coupled with an alien anger and hatred, crept in around her. She knew that feeling by now, had come to associate it with the ghost. It was here, chasing her, and she had walked out of any protection of sunlight. If anything, the spirit’s anger had grown. In mere moments, it might manifest again, strangle her. Perhaps her flames might ward it away for a time—she knew better than to think she could actually burn a being without form.

  The pig man needed to h
urry up.

  To make certain, Pele gathered kindling and lit a bonfire—one large enough she hoped the smoke would be visible from anywhere. She needed to draw Kamapua‘a to her, and away from the others.

  A while later, the rustle in the underbrush drew her gaze, but it was only Kapo, gently padding over to her side. The plants—of course—bent around the other kupua, making her passage easy and almost silent. She was probably the only person on this whole trek at home in the jungle, even at night.

  Clearly, somehow, she had seen her fire.

  “I’ve prepared some glamours that might confuse your opponent if he lets the animal spirit take over.”

  Pele nodded. Grateful as she was not to be alone, she didn’t much like the thought of Kapo here, where the pig could get his hands on her. “Moho told me something,” she said after a moment.

  “Spirits lie.”

  Pele shrugged. She’d seen no evidence Moho had ever lied to her. Did he use her for his own ends? No doubt. But she returned the favor and he had his uses. “He told me there was a progenitor spirit in the wereboar. Do you know what that means?”

  Hard to say in the firelight, but it certainly looked like Kapo paled at that. “It means … my worst fears are true.” She settled on a fallen, mossy log and stared not so much into the fire as past it, into the woods. “I don’t think any sorceress knows much about the origins of spirits. Maybe they have none. Maybe they’ve always been here, just beyond the edge of the world. But there are fragments, tales handed down from Old Mu, about ancient sorcerers who were locked in battle with implacable foes. They, uh … they needed weapons. So they called up these primal animal spirits from the Moon.” She shook her head slowly, lost in thoughts perhaps only a sorceress would understand. “Something eternal, I think. Like an embodiment of different bloodlines of animals. They put them in people, thought they could use them.”