by Matt Larkin
Another flash of insight. Of understanding why Aiaru had banished this ‘ohana in the first place.
But there was no turning back. Even if Kuku Lau and Aiaru had not forced her hand, Kanaloa surely had.
In the end, Kuku Lau must have lurked nearby, for Ake and the Dakuwaqan Rangers joined the battle before it was ended. They swept down through the trenches, rounding up those Kuula mer who tried to flee, gathering them all into their enclave.
Kuku Lau herself joined Nyi Rara there, staring down Aiaru, though a half dozen guards interposed themselves between her and the queen, Hokohoko among them.
Looking at the young mermaid, remembering the torture, Nyi Rara briefly considered unleashing Kauhuhu upon them all. Let the Nanaue consume them and drag them all down to Avaiki where they belonged.
But no, for Mu would need every last son and daughter it could muster to face the greater threat ahead of it.
“Well done,” Kuku Lau said, as if Nyi Rara was truly a subordinate to her older sister, rather than the one to wash away the debris of the disaster Kuku Lau had wrought.
Her sister swam forward, inspecting captives she’d had no hand in obtaining save for necessitating it with her ill-timed coup. “After millennia, at long last the throne of Mu shall pass back to Dakuwaqa ‘Ohana.” The mer looked to Aiaru when she spoke, no doubt relishing the moment of revenge, given what the queen had done to their father. Nyi Rara supposed she could sympathize with that and allow Kuku Lau her moment.
Her sister droned on about fate, the will of the Elder Deep, and revenge long coming, posturing and preening, and—Nyi Rara dared to hope—perhaps wishing to sway the remnants of Kuula ‘Ohana back into the fold by reminding them Dakuwaqa had largely built their civilization. “Some of you might call me usurper,” Kuku Lau said. “But the elders know better. I usurp nothing that is not rightfully mine, as the eldest child of Ikatere, son of Dakuwaqa himself.”
Except that, while Kuku Lau was firstborn, the Urchin had shown Nyi Rara herself on the throne. Mu should be hers, and why not? It was her actions that had reclaimed the throne for Dakuwaqa in spite of Kuku Lau’s blundering. To say nothing of the power Nyi Rara wielded through her symbiotic bond with Namaka.
Yes, the oceans should be hers, the Muian Sea, even Hiyoya.
Instead, she watched as Kuku Lau swam back and forth in front of the Kuulans. Even Aiaru had the wisdom not to speak. The queen knew she was beaten now, thoroughly. She had lost the city, suffered a defeat more crushing than any since the Deluge. She had to know she could expect no mercy.
Still, Kuku Lau carried on long, no doubt basking in the moment. Finally, Nyi Rara’s sister paused. She extended a hand toward Aiaru. “A decade ago, my father tried to make peace with Hiyoya and prevent this war. This mer called him a traitor and fed his soul to the Elder Deep. This action must be repaid in kind.”
Now, Aiaru’s eyes widened. Yes, the queen suddenly realized she faced worse than banishment to Avaiki and the loss of an already ancient host. “I am no traitor!”
Kuku Lau sneered. “Perhaps. But you could hardly have done worse by Mu if you’d tried. Your actions, arrogance, and general lack of foresight have handed our kingdom over to Hiyoya and the he‘e. Where I swim, that seems closer to treason than attempting peace talks.”
Some of her guards raised their tridents, intent to defend their queen.
Once more, Nyi Rara envisioned unleashing Kauhuhu on them. The Nanaue swam around behind her, keeping his own counsel, though she imagined he too hated Aiaru. But Kuku Lau was wrong to take this so far.
“I give you one chance to avoid joining her in her fate,” Kuku Lau said to the guards. “Surrender now, or your souls too shall feed the Deep.”
Hesitation warred on their faces, and Nyi Rara did not envy them. But one by one, their weapons dropped. Hokohoko was the last to drop her trident. No mer could fear anything more than having their soul devoured, after all.
Kuku Lau flashed her wicked smile. “Send for the Voice of Ukupanipo.”
Nyi Rara’s gaze met Aiaru’s and she knew. The old queen knew she was beaten and could not avoid what was coming to her. In that instant, she slipped her host. Before Kuku Lau could have her bound, trapped within, Aiaru was gone, fleeing back into the Astral Realm, racing for Avaiki.
The host thrashed, suddenly becoming human once more, and drowning in a trench far below the surface.
Rage, red and terrible rose up in Nyi Rara’s chest, and—hardly aware of her intent—she projected into Pō. In the Mortal Realm, time slowed, the host’s agony played out over long moments. Aiaru turned to look at her, gaping that Nyi Rara would pursue her thus.
Nyi Rara lunged forward, caught her wrist, and heaved, slamming the mer spirit back into the host.
She opened her eyes to find herself back on the far side of the cavern, watching as Ake carved a glyph into Aiaru’s forehead. The queen thrashed, but now, even one of her own people held her down. It did not take much effort, Nyi Rara imagined. Not weakened as she had just left her host.
In the end, Daucina arrived and stared at Aiaru with unreadable eyes, giving no sign of either pleasure or reluctance when Kuku Lau ordered him to feed the queen’s soul to the Elder Deep.
They brought her to a small chamber, dark save for the light of a single wisp, and empty save for a few guards, Nyi Rara, and her sister.
She watched the ritual in rapt horror, as the merman carved more glyphs into the former queen’s body.
Daucina swam in front of Aiaru now and stroked her forehead, perhaps in sympathy. “We offer this soul to our great mother, the Elder Deep. We bow in supplication for your terrible mercy, Mother. Accept into Naunet the offering.”
Aiaru was chained to the cavern floor, trembling. As Nyi Rara watched, her eyes grew more sunken, and darker, as if receding into the back of her skull. They widened, privy now to something unnamable and ineffable. Despite not moving, the queen seemed to sink into the floor, receding into darkness.
Daucina drove a coral dagger in her breast, and she convulsed once. The body barely bled.
Her eyes grew black, flashed green, and then fell empty.
All Nyi Rara could think was, they did this to my father.
No matter how far she went, what she accomplished, how many worlds she crossed, she would never see him again.
She was wrong before. Kuku Lau did exactly what she should have done.
This was what Aiaru had deserved.
“The truth is,” Daucina said, swimming around the College archives, “I don’t think you’re going to find the answers you want here. We could spend years going over and over every column and not get an accurate location on the Waters of Life. And, when you think about it, small wonder. The mer have no vested interest in such things. We don’t need immortal hosts because when one wears finally out, we can claim another.”
Daucina had not spoken of what had happened to Aiaru. Of what he’d done at Kuku Lau’s behest. Maybe no words could express it. And if he could not face it, she would not force such recollections upon him.
Nyi Rara huffed, running her fingers over the carvings. “The collected knowledge of all Mu, and it amounts to nothing.”
Daucina held up a finger then swept his webbed hand out as if to take in the whole chamber. “Hardly nothing, princess. There’s a wealth of knowledge on the early history of Mu, on the nature of the Chintamani stones, on the taniwha that our people once ruled. There’s speculation on metaphysics. There’s records of political and economic theories. Here—” he pointed, “—we have mention of a trade deal with Mag Mell that must have collapsed two thousand years ago. There’s an old marriage alliance with Akakor. And you’d call all this nothing?”
While such topics might have held her interest under less dire circumstances, Nyi Rara had no time for them now. “I have two pressing issues, Daucina. The first is that I need to find the Waters of Life. Then I need to deal with an octopus god-king.”
The merman’s face fell a little. For
a moment, he seemed about to speak, but then he just nodded.
“What?”
“Well …” he said, but shook his head.
She swam up to his side and grabbed his wrist. “Tell me.”
Daucina blew bubbles out of the side of his mouth, then glanced around as if fearing eavesdroppers.
“We’re alone.”
“If there are mer that would know where to look for these answers, I suspect it would be those most versed in obscure lore.”
“That’s your ‘ohana,” she said.
“I may be the Voice of Ukupanipo now, but I have neither the depth of experience nor the wealth of knowledge my cousin does. Nor, I think, does anyone still living in Uluhai or any of the refuges of Mu.”
His meaning settled over her brain like the maw of a whale. No one in Mu knew the answer. But Mu’s sister city in Avaiki, Bulotu was far more ancient. And there, Nyi Rara could speak to Opu.
But traveling back to Avaiki meant passing through darkness and exposing herself to the dangers of the Spirit Realm. In the Mortal Realm, Nyi Rara might well be one of the greatest powers in the Worldsea. But in Avaiki … there were things ancient and mighty beyond all comprehension. Even other mer that might, on a whim, devour her soul to sustain themselves.
There was a reason, after all, why mer sought human hosts.
“I’ve got no choice …” she said.
Daucina quirked a wry a smile. “There’s a choice, yes, just not one you like. You can swim away from the humans and focus on the problems in Mu. Kanaloa will wipe us out or enslave us unless we find a way to overcome him. I can see no way to do so without regaining a Chintamani stone for ourselves. We need to redouble our efforts on that.”
And did he know that Hiyoya had gotten a Chintamani stone from her father? That Dakuwaqa ‘Ohana had lost their precious pearl to the rival kingdom?
Nyi Rara blew bubbles in frustration. “I have to do this.” It was the only way.
Last time she had passed far through the shadows of the Penumbra, she had done so alongside Namaka. Now, merged with the mortal host, the isolation of the Astral Realm seemed all the more profound. While human ghosts wandered the surface world, the air pocket in Uluhai she had chosen remained utterly devoid of those entities. Yet still, somehow, it seemed infused with a presence she could not see, yet could feel, whispering on the fell winds of this etheric place.
Spirit Walking, mortals sometimes called Astral Projection. A phrase actual spirits like Nyi Rara generally regarded with mild amusement. After all, very few spirits who had made it to the Mortal Realm would willingly project themselves back into the Astral Realm, much less travel beyond it, to the Spirit Realm.
Nyi Rara did though, delving ever deeper, until she found the liminal spaces where the waters of Avaiki bled into the shadows of the Penumbra. Where she could push herself down, far beyond the echo of the Mortal Realm, through the darkness, into the great cavernous expanse that was her world.
It was nearly unheard of for any mortal to project beyond the Astral Realm and enter the Spirit Realm. It was well, perhaps, for spirits interacting with sorcerers relied on fear to break the mortals. Well, because it was better mortals could never know the truth.
That her world was one of fear, even for the mer.
A palpable sense of dread suffused the currents as the mer hid within their enclaves. Any sojourn out in the deeper waters they made with care. For beyond the fragile protection of the tunnels of Bulotu swam behemoths the size of cities.
All the spawn of the Elder Deep.
The greatest terror of them all.
Nyi Rara found Opuhalakoa not in the Shrine of the Deep, but beneath it, in the Chamber of Memory. Looking at the mosaic now, blended with Namaka, it presented a new reality. One of more questions than before. The insatiability of human curiosity now infected her, even knowing she sought after truths that would prove a burden should she uncover them.
The Elder Deep, Vari, had her tentacle-arms wrapped around everything. With new eyes, Nyi Rara saw the bulges beneath the floor, variations in the uniformity of the mosaic. Now, once seen, she could not help but imagine those as tentacles burrowing beneath the stones in order to encompass all of this Chamber. And insofar as the Chamber represented the memories of the mer in Avaiki, how could she help but tremble at the thought of all memory and thought encircled but those arms?
With a half-human vantage, now, she could look upon the eldritch entity coiled around Avaiki and understand the perfection of terror. A sensation borne of one’s own utter insignificance in the face of a being immense beyond conception and ancient beyond time. That while humans worshipped mer as gods of the waters, mysterious, mercurial, perhaps even unfathomable, the mer themselves remained forever beholden to a yet more unknowable presence. An Elder God.
Opu watched her, perhaps suspecting the interplay of horror and awe warring within Nyi Rara. Perhaps the priestess felt the same, every moment she spent in this place. It was a reminder of something most mer—especially those long in the Mortal Realm—wished to pretend did not underly all creation. From the Elder Deep they had risen, and by her sufferance alone did they all persist.
“Why have you returned here?” Opu finally asked.
“Daucina.”
“Hmm, and how fares my cousin?”
Nyi Rara swam closer to the priestess. “He is obsessed with the Chintamaniya.”
“Many have been. These stones have the power to control or reshape life, perhaps to remake the very world. Some have speculated they represent the physical manifestation of the creative energies of Water itself. Why, then, should any who seek power not desire such treasures? In the realms of existence, few things might match their potency.”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Nyi Rara said. “I need to know about the Waters of Life.”
Opu chuckled, spraying up bubbles. “Ahh … but still you fail to see.”
“See what?”
A single beat of her tail carried Opu close enough to grab Nyi Rara’s shoulders. “Your blood comes from the royal lines of the first kings of the deep. But still you remain young, so mired in politics and war and your petty existence you’ve ignored deeper studies.”
“I didn’t come here for riddles.”
Opu frowned. “Don’t you understand? The Chintamaniya and the Waters of Life are much the same question. One might even call them variant manifestations of the same basic principle.”
What did that even mean? “The creative energy of Water …?” An unexpected chill shot through Nyi Rara. “What does it mean?”
“What are the Chintamaniya?” the priestess prompted.
“Coalesced mana from inside the Elder Deep.”
Opu nodded. “Pearls from her maw.”
“And?”
“And,” the priestess said, “her blood, too, flows through the realms of existence and binds them together.”
“Her blood …” Nyi Rara shuddered. “The Waters of Life are the blood of the Elder Deep? As much a part of her as the Chintamaniya are?”
“Oh, but the power in her blood would poison most mortal beings. They could not handle it. It is this toxic ichor that runs through the veins of taniwha and now the mo‘o. A poison that wells up in springs and hidden rivers in the Mortal Realm, as well.” Opu paused. “But Kanaloa wanted the power of the Elder Deep’s blood without the risk.”
Nyi Rara gaped a moment. “He used the Chintamaniya to purify some few springs of the toxic blood. Kanaloa created the Waters of Life.” She shut her eyes, feeling weak. This he‘e god-king had acted on a scale she could barely comprehend. Had taken steps to plan his moves so long ago Nyi Rara couldn’t guess what to make of them. He had never stolen the Waters from Kāne, but rather, from the Elder Deep. Kanaloa had created immortal servants using the very powers he’d stolen from his mother to change her blood. “By the Deep,” she started to say, then stopped herself. For it was so literal, the irony struck her like a blow.
Kanaloa had twisted a
nd profaned the creative energies of Avaiki and its unfathomable mistress. And in so doing, he had reshaped the history of the Mortal Realm.
“Where do I find the Waters of Life on Sawaiki?” she asked.
Opu shook her head. “I am not versed on such things. There is only one place you might find the answer to where the Elder Deep’s blood flows.”
Nyi Rara’s gut clenched as Opu’s meaning settled upon her.
“You must ask the Elder Goddess herself.”
17
It was not the first time Pele had gone searching for her oft missing, always cryptic father. He liked the dark places, the deep places. Perhaps, like Pele, he relished in the fires beneath the Earth. Perhaps like a true monster from beyond Pō, he shunned the sunlight and sought refuge in the shadows.
Either way, she found the valley Lonomakua had indicated, and within it, caves dug deep. She knew what to look for this time.
These tunnels, however, seemed not entirely natural. Too perfectly cut, too elegantly shaped. Were these tunnels hollowed out by the fabled menehune whom Lonomakua claimed had inhabited Sawaiki before the coming of men?
Lighting a torch of her hand, Pele pushed into the shadows. They closed in around her as if they possessed a life of their own.
The deeper she pressed onward, the more the air seemed to thicken, the darkness taking on a malice that had the hair on her arms rising.
The ghost had followed her, hadn’t it?
It had followed her into the tunnels, and without sunlight to ward her, it might be able to act against her. Destroy her, as it had the boy on the beach and the bird and the sentries in the jungle. Its strange powers seemed to suck the moisture right out of a person and leave a shriveled husk.