by Matt Larkin
Kanaloa was, she had learned to her dismay, a master of divination. With such mastery of the Art, perhaps enhanced by the Urchin, the he‘e always seemed to know where the mer would strike. Where they hid, what they planned. The sorcerers of Kuula ‘Ohana had begun warding against such things, but it seemed too little, too late.
Surely the he‘e knew of Ulu-hai-malama, the greatest refuge of Mu. Surely the attack upon them must come soon. Dakuwaqan Rangers patrolled the waters around the bastion, but they would offer only so much warning when the time came.
“We can’t win like this,” Ake grumbled. The Ranger Commander dispatched a unit of mer to scout the coral caves for any survivors before turning a weary gaze on her, then motioned her away from the bloody battle site. She swam after him, following to cleaner, deeper waters.
She spun on him. “You can’t talk like that in front of the troops.”
“They know the truth as well as we do.”
“I did not say they were fools, Commander. I said you cannot speak such in their presence. They need to believe their leaders have confidence. If we falter, our forces will break.”
Ake pointed back at the bloody waters. “We have faltered.” The ancient merman was hard to read, not the least because of his growing irrationality as the Ranger tattoos corroded his host’s brain. She knew he never really trusted her, never accepted that Namaka and Nyi Rara had fused. In his mind allowing the host free rein, even symbiotically, represented a reckless indulgence. She could tell that much, though he’d had the good grace not to be so blunt in his point. And yet, despite his misgivings, sometimes she felt she was earning his respect, if not trust.
They lost more often than they won, but her power had turned the tide of more than one engagement. That had to count for something.
“What exactly do you suggest we do?” she asked. “Shall we throw ourselves upon the mercy of Hiyoya? Send an envoy to Latmikaik?” She laced as much disdain as possible into her words, almost hoping some would overhear and know what she thought of their cowardice.
The glory days of Mu had passed, its golden age caught in the maelstrom of history, spiraling toward oblivion. And everyone knew that. The Rogo War had broken the back of what should have been the greatest mer kingdom in the Seven Seas.
She’d returned from Namaka’s people on Sawaiki, come back to the Muian army in a desperate hope to save the kingdom. And she had failed. They had no weapon with which to fight the god-king Kanaloa. She had thought to engage him herself, but since the he‘e had outwitted them at every turn, Ake had declared that move too reckless, premature.
But still, she would find a way. She would not allow near to five millennia of grandeur to come undone. But … for all her power she was still … afraid. Afraid of the monstrous he‘e that now dwelt in Mu. Afraid, perhaps, that Kanaloa’s bid to control the entire Worldsea, the whole of the Mortal Realm, represented an inevitability.
He was a greater spawn of the Elder Deep.
“Your sister looks to Lemuria for aid.”
Nyi Rara’s frown only deepened. She’d have thought Queen Kuku Lau would probably sooner let Mu disappear into legend than surrender her throne to Hiyoya. Given the rival kingdom would like as not banish her from Earth, exile her spirit back to Avaiki, that made sense.
But Lemuria? Lemuria had risen amid the subsea ruins of Kumari Kandam, the hated foe of Old Mu. For Muians, the Lemurians had continuously undulated between mistrustful trade partners to outright rivals narrowly avoiding war.
She could feel his eyes locked on her face, awaiting her next words. A misspoken response could stink of treason. “We cannot surrender Mu to Lemuria. Not at any cost.” Not quite a direct challenge to her sister’s authority, but close.
Ake ground his sharklike teeth. “I do not like where this is going, Princess.”
Nyi Rara shrugged. She didn’t like anything about the entire situation. It was vile, brutal, and thick with political undercurrents her human half would have wanted to avoid. Namaka had fought against her sister and it had cost her everything. More than could be borne.
Her delicate world had shattered like a seashell tossed upon a rocky shore. Her days of reveling in sunlight and dancing over waves had given way to cataclysm. The play of the ocean had become the wrath of the deep, inundating Uluka‘a with a kai e‘e, drowning the paradise of her youth.
The end of a world.
Even as now, while Nyi Rara knowingly witnessed the end of an age.
Mu had endured here for pushing five millennia, but twilight now drew upon them. This she could no longer deny. Where should she turn for solace? Dakuwaqa ‘Ohana maintained trade contacts with the other great kingdoms, but any of them would gladly seize their faltering kingdom, given the chance.
Hope had now fled these waters.
Kuku Lau might be persuaded to fight on, though for the wrong reasons, Nyi Rara had no doubt. The deaths of thousands of mer hosts were setbacks to her, at most. She wouldn’t care about the human lives lost except insofar as the inconvenience it posed. Maybe that was why the he‘e were winning. They had more to lose than the mer—as a mortal race native to the Mortal Realm, their deaths were permanent. Nyi Rara had no idea what happened to a he‘e soul when one died, but they certainly didn’t return to possess new bodies like a mer did.
Ake sighed, rubbing at the stump where once his left hand had been. “What do you want to do?” His mouth twitched as he spoke, like his shark teeth tried to descend on their own, unbidden.
Ignoring the merman’s failing host, Nyi Rara focused on his question. That question had run round and round in her mind for days. Twelve days since she had returned from Sawaiki to Uluhai, and still she was no closer to an answer. “We have every reason to believe Hiyoya allied themselves with the he‘e.” The timing of the taniwha attack just as the he‘e moved against Mu, it was too much to believe a coincidence.
“Most likely.”
“We need a new stratagem, something not even the god-king has prepared for.”
Ake’s only answer was a grimace. Kanaloa was as large—or larger—than the taniwha, and she had killed that only through consuming Milolii’s heart and then teaming with Pele. Unlike the sea dragon, the god-king was smarter than any of them and commanded the Art. As Ake had once pointed out, they would probably only get one chance against him.
Nyi Rara glanced back at the pink slurry of water. They would find no survivors here. “We must return to Uluhai.”
Uluhai was the last bastion of Mu’s defenses, a final refuge hidden in the ruins of a colony from the glory days of Mu, deep within a crevice north of Vai‘i. Here, in the cliff city, the refugees gathered, clinging to a desperate hope the he‘e would not find their location.
They would, of course. The he‘e would find it, or their god-king would uncover it with his sorcery or other divination.
The Nanaue Voice, Kauhuhu, met her and Ake at the upper rim of the gorge, apparently having returned from his own forays against the he‘e. The scent of blood clung to him, so maybe he’d had more luck than any of the others. For her part, Nyi Rara could not help but imagine the Nanaue thrilled in any chance to fight and devour. So long as they were on Mu’s side, Nyi Rara considered their savagery a boon.
Even if Kuku Lau barely concealed her disdain, at least her sister had honored Nyi Rara’s pledge to make Kauhuhu general of the Muian army.
Other Nanaue mer swam above the gorge in slow circles. Patrols, really, though Nyi Rara fancied their circuit resembled actual sharks circling a kill. It was a macabre thought, but under the circumstances Nyi Rara thought morbidity an appropriate response. She was staring at the end of a civilization.
They swam down the gorge, past sentries, and into tunnels pregnant with restless mer watching from grottos and side tunnels. Waiting for their soldiers to save them and somewhere, deep down, probably knowing it was too late.
Some ten days back the refugees had managed to dig out the great hall here, an expansive grotto framed by massive
arches and flying buttresses that stretched along a path of open windows leading into the upper reaches of Uluhai. These buttresses connected to other towers probably originally intended to house soldiers. Now, Nyi Rara suspected, they were filled with refugees.
She swam through the central arch to find, even in such dire straits, her sister had managed to turn this abandoned hall into a throne room. She reclined upon a clamshell as big as a small hut, watching Nyi Rara with a measured gaze.
In truth, she could not begrudge her sister the affectations of royalty. They had overthrown Aiaru for her weakness, and the people needed to see their new queen as a bulwark. Of course, Nyi Rara had advised against moving on Aiaru at the time, given the more pressing threats. Kuku Lau had forced her hand.
“Queen Kuku Lau.” She offered a tail twirl before drawing near the throne.
Her sister nodded. “The colony?”
“Gone,” Nyi Rara said. “Wiped out by the he‘e. Kanaloa continues to uncover our sanctuaries with alarming speed.”
Her sister grimaced, her expression eventually becoming a sneer directed at Nyi Rara. “You were given the mightiest vessel in the Worldsea for your use. Why has Hiyoya not been brought to heel with the power you now wield? Why are we at the mercy of the he‘e?”
“We were outmaneuvered at every turn.”
“And who was it that proposed alliance with the accursed cephalopods?” Kuku Lau snapped.
Nyi Rara inclined her head. She had indeed made the mistake of trusting Ambassador Punga. In her desperation to find a way to stop Hiyoya, she had advised a course that had led them here. She might have protested she had only advised the course—Queen Aiaru herself had accepted it. Trying to shift the blame, however, would most likely have only further agitated her sister.
“My Queen,” Ake cut in, perhaps intent to spare her. “We must call a Council of Voices. We cannot expect this bastion to remain safe for long. Days, at most, I imagine.”
Kuku Lau blew out a frustrated stream of bubbles, twisting her hand in acknowledgment. “Call them.”
In the old days, long before Nyi Rara’s birth, Ulu-hai-malama had been ruled by Rongomai ‘Ohana, which was now the ruling ‘ohana of Hiyoya, a morsel of lore Daucina had shared with her only well after the refugees had settled here. Rongomai had—according to the Ukupanipo Voice—held this place as a bastion of knowledge, their ‘ohana famed for its mastery of lore. Were mer given the choice what ‘ohana to be born into, she imagined Daucina would have chosen Rongomai.
For the Council of Voices, they had selected a bowl-shaped chamber supported by columns engraved with now-faded reliefs that had no doubt once depicted the glories of Rongomai. Resting against one such pillar, Nyi Rara wondered whether the Hiyoya ‘ohana knew the Muians had fled to their ancestral holding. An idle musing, she supposed, since everyone would learn the truth soon enough.
Within the center of the bowl, Ake had created a facsimile of Mu from stones and seashells, giving the Voices something to stare at in their impotence. A conch had become Kuula Palace. What had once been the seat of government now became the citadel of the he‘e god-king.
“Do we have any estimate of their numbers?” Nyi Rara asked.
Ake frowned. “Not a good one. No scout we sent close enough ever made it back. Besides which, their natural camouflage means they are nearly impossible to detect until they move. We suspect several hundred he‘e remain in the city, but that’s only a guess.”
Nyi Rara looked to Kauhuhu, who looked upon the gathered mer with a sneer. “He‘e do not concern me.”
At the next pillar over from Nyi Rara, Daucina chuckled. “I can think of at least one that rather ought to concern us all. About the size of a palace, has an army, and has planned this for millennia? Does this engender any concern, my friend?”
A chill wracked Nyi Rara. Kanaloa was all that and more. The god-king had created the mo‘o out of the taniwha. Had granted immortality to at least two of his servants—Namaka’s parents—and had apparently used them to deliberately sire kupua like Namaka, Pele, and their sisters.
She could not begin to put together all the pieces of the he‘e god-king’s plan, but whatever that plan was, it stretched back to the very dawn of the Worldsea, to the Deluge itself.
“If we were to draw out the he‘e using the Rangers—” Ake began.
Kuku Lau scoffed. “Your numbers are too few, your value too great, and the he‘e themselves too clever to fall for obvious ploys.”
“Perhaps,” Ake admitted. “But we can make a two-pronged attack, with Dakuwaqa separating the he‘e while the Nanaue move in to slaughter those who remain.”
“A solid plan,” Kauhuhu said, though Nyi Rara imagined he simply liked the idea of slaughter.
Till Pimoe squirmed uncomfortably, drawing eyes upon her. After Nyi Rara and Kuku Lau had fed her sister’s soul to the Elder Deep, Till Pimoe had replaced Aiaru as the Voice of Kuula. And since had contributed almost nothing to meetings of state, perhaps still fearing to share her sister’s fate.
Not something terribly likely, though. With Nanaue having rejoined Mu, they had four ‘ohanas. They needed four Voices.
“Yes?” Kuku Lau asked the other mermaid.
Still, Till Pimoe hesitated.
Nyi Rara extended a hand to her. “Please. Tell us.”
She opened her mouth slowly. “We’re throwing mer lives away. We all know the he‘e have some pact with Hiyoya, even if no one wants to admit it. Kanaloa has the Chintamaniya, and Hiyoya has at least one of the stones as well. For all we know, one or both factions possess a second taniwha. If we attack Mu now, we might as well simply abandon these hosts and return to Bulotu. That would be the best possible outcome of an assault.”
Kauhuhu sniffed, then chuckled. “Is cowardice so far from treason these days?”
Till Pimoe flinched. Seeing her like that, afraid to speak her mind, it sparked a measure of indignation on her behalf, and Nyi Rara almost snapped at Kauhuhu before Ake cut in.
“Do you have a better idea?” the Ranger Commander asked the Voice.
Daucina spared her. “Point of logic—whether Till Pimoe has a better idea or not holds no bearing on whether or not this idea holds merit. And I tend to agree … we cannot win this fight. We must sue for peace.”
Nyi Rara groaned. “What, with the he‘e who stole our home and slaughtered our brethren?”
Daucina shrugged. “Or with Hiyoya. Latmikaik I think more likely to hold to any oath she gives than Kanaloa. Then there’s Lemuria not so very far off. Or Ryūgū-jō … has not Empress Benzaiten already offered us assistance?”
“Assistance that would come by placing ourselves under the authority of the East Sea!” Nyi Rara snapped at him. “Would you have us surrender our sovereignty forever?”
“What sovereignty?” Daucina asked, as if genuinely bemused by her reaction. “We’ve already lost our home. We rule the Muian Sea in name, but in practice, these are Kanaloa’s waters, are they not?”
The slow, silent menace with which her sister rose in the waters had Nyi Rara’s fist clenching in anticipation. Fear, really—the fear Kuku Lau would tear this Council apart by lashing out at a Voice not only entitled to speak here but obliged to do so.
“He’s right,” Kuku Lau said, taking yet a worse stance than Nyi Rara had feared. “Not about Ryūgū-jō or Hiyoya, of course, but about Lemuria.”
No, no, no. If they took this course, Mu would be lost forever. They would all become vassals to a foreign queen, dwindling while they clung to fading memories. Whole civilizations of spirits were lost to ennui in such ways.
“Suppose there was another solution?” Nyi Rara cut in before her sister could jeopardize Dakuwaqa’s newly restored dominance of Mu. “Suppose I—Daucina and I—could find some means of defeating Kanaloa here, in the records of the College of Triteia?”
“Why would there be?” Till Pimoe asked.
Daucina sighed, shaking his head and casting a rueful glance Nyi Rara’s way, perh
aps displeased at being forced down such a channel. “Because this site was founded before the Rogo War, at the very height of the Muian Empire. Rongomai ‘Ohana collected vast archives of lore, so, I imagine Princess Nyi Rara now hopes to break into such a repository and uncover some lost arcana that would help us.”
Kuku Lau settled her gaze upon him. “Do you think it likely?”
The merman faltered, glancing at Nyi Rara, who nodded. “If a way to overcome Kanaloa exists, I cannot think of anyplace else more likely to house it.” Not the radiant beacon of support she might have hoped for, but Nyi Rara supposed it would have to do.
Her sister glowered. “Fine. Scour your archives. Ake, bring in any refugees from other sites we can. We clearly cannot hold anywhere else against the he‘e. Kauhuhu, deplete their numbers as best you are able while remaining clear of Mu itself.”
When the others had left, Kuku Lau beckoned Nyi Rara over. “Whatever you hope to find, sister, find it quickly. Time grows short.”
Oh, indeed.
2
In the mo‘olelo, Manua was the first king of Sawaiki, appointed by Maui the Firebringer himself. Even as a child, Poli‘ahu had heard the tales, though it was only later that she learned she was a descendant of Manua, in turn an heir of Nu‘u, one of the few survivors of Old Mu. Blessed with such auspicious blood, her rise to queenship seemed almost ordained by the akua.
But then, so had Manua’s, she had to remind herself. He lived, he ruled, and he died … such was his fall—and such his profusion of mana to enact his Will—that he would not surrender his throne even on passing into shadow. Thus he became a king in Pō, according to those mo‘olelo. A specter to frighten the young into obedience, a lord of lapu, perhaps even holding sway over ‘aumākua. A ghost ruling a tenebrous court somewhere beyond sight, but watching the world, ever.
Ready to gobble up disobedient children and drag their souls into night.
These days, she imagined Manua had practiced sorcery, for it abraded the soul and created lapu. In his mo‘olelo, she sometimes mused she saw her future.