Heirs of Mana Omnibus

by Matt Larkin

  Kama snorted, rubbed his nose, and stood, staring down at the kahuna. “Can’t think of much to say, really.” He sucked air through his teeth, then shrugged. “Life’s just so …”

  “Inequitable?”

  Kama shrugged again. “I’d have gone with ‘incorrigible,’ but, sure. I mean, I could’ve been a decent man if I wasn’t an indecent one, right? And maybe that would’ve made a difference. Maybe she’d still be alive.”

  “Perhaps,” Lonomakua said, standing himself. “But then again, has anything you’ve seen of the world—and its multitudinous intrusions from Pō—led you to believe it a place suited most for the decent? That we should find ourselves caught in currents of history stretching back to tidal machinations of those possessing unearthly power, that we should find ourselves prey to those unable to even comprehend ideas of compassion, does not bode well for humanity. Not unless we ourselves are sometimes willing to take the extreme steps, the inhuman steps necessary to overcome, the sacrifices. It is not the decent who ensure survival, Kamapua‘a, but the desperate who allow the decent to exist. Consider what extremes the ancients must have felt pushed to that would conceive of creating fused souls and thus Shifters.”

  Kama scratched his beard. “I, uh … I’m pretty sure you just made half those words up.”

  The kahuna laid his hands upon Kama’s shoulders. “Had you not possessed the nature you did, Pele might have fallen many times over before reaching this point. That she sacrificed her mortal life, that she had the choice to give it for something she believed in, was, in part, an opportunity you afforded her.”

  “Soooo … you mean I kept her from dying so she could die later.” At that, he turned and spit into the ocean. “Sounds wonderful.”

  But then, maybe he shouldn’t be too hard on the kahuna. The man smelled sorrowful, as if he crept as close to despair as Kama did. Because he was like some kind of father to Pele, and here he was, offering comfort to her shitting husband.

  Well, that deserved a hug.

  Kamapua‘a swept the man up in his embrace and squeezed until the kahuna huffed out a pained breath. “I’ll say this for you: you’re much less vexing than most kāhuna.” He dropped the man, then, without looking back, waded deeper into the waters.

  Time to get that boat.

  It was past time he was gone from Sawaiki.

  55

  Shuddering.

  Rumbles ran through her, like the convulsion the instant before retching. Only it was not her stomach heaving, but her soul, vomiting itself back into a body no longer ready for such inhabitation. Poli‘ahu shuddered once more.

  Then was senseless, unable to move, to even open her eyes, encased utterly in ice.

  A triad of voices rang out in her head. The snow sisters warbling, themselves reeling in disorientation as their shattered souls began to knit together within her form.

  Or rather, not a triad, but a tetrad, for Poli‘ahu’s own voice was but one more joining the cavalcade, and she had the sense of being a stranger in her own head. Less so, though, than the other spirits, who as yet remained too distracted to realize what she intended.

  The ice sleeve holding her in place cracked at her will, her mana seeping into it until it broke and flowed over her in a cascade of running water and frozen chunks. She gasped down an icy breath through frozen lungs, still too aware of her own body.

  She found herself rising, stumbling, as Lilinoe tried to assert dominance. In her mind’s eye, her broken soul was like cracked pottery, and the snow sisters tried to lodge the shards back into place. She had lain in the great hall of her refuge, enshrined before the shattered form of the great sea turtle she had invested so much time to carve.

  It was broken into a dozen pieces, destroyed by the snow sisters to ensure that her attempts to bind them must fail, though the rest of her carvings around the hall remained.

  All wasted effort.

  All Poli‘ahu had to do was rest here and let the inevitable happen.

  She would, mostly likely, become the most powerful kupua in the Worldsea. Powerful enough to enact Khione’s plan and call forth the Elder Goddess of Mist, engulfing the world in ice. Eternal cold could replace the endless sea, the world shifted away from Water and into the waiting arms of Mist. A new era of ice.

  An apotheosis was moments away.

  With the setting sun, the snow sisters would rise in power.

  The piece of her that was Poli‘ahu would dwindle, yes, but she no longer even knew what that piece was.

  She had spent decades in pursuit of the Art, her passion, her obsession, closing her to anything else. Much as she must have done in her past life as Lilinoe, in Old Mu. Though she could not remember that lifetime—and was probably lucky for it—still she could imagine it. Imagine letting days and months and years pass her by in a vain pursuit of immortality. Trying to grab more years for her life without making those she had worth living.

  That, and endless war against a foe that would not break. To destroy Kumari Kandam, she and her sisters had destroyed the very world. And here, in the name of breaking Pele and Kanaloa and all other threats, she would do so again.

  For the first time in so many years, Poli‘ahu was pained by the holes the Art had torn in her. Not the physical wounds, those were a small price. But memories. Once, she had considered losing such things getting off easy. What a fool she’d been. Memories were the sum of moments, the meaning of her life. And in shredding them, she had rent all that had gone before meaningless. Given enough time, meditation, and care, even her soul might recover from the bits and pieces of it she had lost. That was, after all, half the point of Lilinoe’s attempts to divide her own soul and collect experiences more quickly.

  But the memories were gone. The sum of her life now amounted to less than the pieces.

  And Lilinoe wanted to bring desolation to the world in the name of her own power. But Poli‘ahu had looked into Lua-o-Milu and seen the procession of the damned. Yes, that world held its own perverse beauty, perhaps, but it was tainted. Would she save her dynasty by breaking the whole of mankind? By bringing them death?

  She had always understood time was valuable, but not why. It wasn’t only because it was limited, but because each moment was infused with its own uniqueness. And that was a view she had not seen until she stood atop a mountain summit, poised on the edge of death and looking back at a wasted life.

  No.

  The temptation lingered, but she could not allow that, even if it took her last breath to avert it.

  They were in her now, though, and only one course seemed still open to her.

  Her left hand flexed on its own, her legs sending her stumbling. They were waking.

  Grunting with an effort of Will to hold on to herself, Poli‘ahu summoned mana to her hand and began the carvings once more, this time upon the mountain itself. Subtle changes to guide the shift in her intent.

  What are you doing? Lilinoe demanded.

  What she had to do. Poli‘ahu had failed at so many things over the course of her life. She had, by any reasonable estimation, failed at the essence of life itself, leaving her to wither in regret and gawk at the empty holes where experience and soul should have nestled.

  She had failed to protect the Savai‘ian dynasty, which now seemed doomed to be, at best, subsumed into the Kahikian invaders’ culture, if not extinguished entirely. But the only way to prevent that came with too high a cost.

  Madness, Lilinoe shrieked in her mind.

  Poli‘ahu’s left hand seized her right wrist, attempting to block her from drawing.

  We can yet save our people, Waiau protested.

  Growling, Poli‘ahu forced her hand further, etching the last symbol into the wall. The mark of her own soul. For they were in her now, bound to her, inextricably.

  The incantation, as she broke into Supernal speech, felt like it ripped her own head apart. Perhaps it was even unnecessary, for already the snow sisters shrieked in impotent defiance, but Poli‘ahu would take no c
hances.

  She had failed to animate the sea turtle with their souls, and thus, had turned to the last recourse she could see. Binding them all—the four of them—to this mountain.

  From here, she would ward Vai‘i and its people.

  Like it or not, the snow sisters would become the silent guardians of this island, ensuring volcanic fires could not threaten Hilo again.

  The most, and the least, she could ever hope to do.

  Mauna Kea had become their last home. Until the end of time.

  56

  The once glorious benthic city lay in ruins. Some houses had been buried by Pele’s volcanic blasts, others flattened by the force of Nyi Rara’s rushing waters. Kuula Palace was so broken by Kanaloa it might take months to fix. Already, Nyi Rara had heard some mention simply clearing out the old palace and building a new one entirely.

  A break with history to signal the ending of an age.

  So many things had changed, after all.

  And still, when Nyi Rara returned, everywhere she looked the mer were cheering her. They lined up, flooding the alleys to welcome her return. The common mer trying to rebuild their homes, praising her for giving them back what little remained. The courtiers twirled their tails and congratulated her on her victory.

  Everywhere she turned, it was “thank you, Nyi Rara.”

  Everywhere save in the eyes of Till Pimoe, who waited on the threshold of the palace, honor guard before her. “It seems you have saved Mu for us, after all. More or less.” The last she added softly so only the closest would catch it, emphasized by a pointed look at the devastation.

  Nyi Rara leaned in and laid a hand upon the Kuula mermaid’s shoulder. “I am queen now,” she said softly. “Do you dispute it?”

  “No. No one does.”

  Nyi Rara looked hard at the other mermaid, but saw no real challenge in her eyes. A hint of envy, perhaps, but nothing else.

  “Good. Then call the Council and have them report to Dakuwaqa Estate.” She paused. “And send others to excavate the tunnel to the Urchin.” She needed to consult the creature as soon as possible. Kanaloa’s death had opened a void beneath the sea.

  A chance—and a limited one—to restore Mu to its former glory, maybe even surpass those golden years. She’d need every possible edge to achieve that, though.

  Dakuwaqa Estate had escaped the destruction of Mu with far less damage than Kuula Palace—a collapsed atrium and several crushed grottos notwithstanding—so Nyi Rara made her way there.

  Taema awaited her just inside, a morose look on her face, her golden tail swishing up erratic currents. “Did you hear what the court was calling you?”

  They had a special name for her? She wasn’t certain that was a good sign.

  “They’ve taken to calling you Nyai Loro.”

  Nyi Rara folded her arms. “Two sisters?”

  Taema flashed a mirthless grin. “A natural derivation of the name Nyi Rara, after all. Twin goddess, they think you. The first and only mer to practice symbiosis, at least in recorded history.”

  Nyai Loro. She rather liked that.

  The Council of Voices seemed empty without Kauhuhu’s presence. Soon, they would need to appoint a replacement Voice for Nanaue ‘Ohana, but for the moment, everyone was left too reeling for such considerations. It was an indulgence they could ill afford.

  Neither had Ukupanipo ‘Ohana appointed a replacement for Daucina after his betrayal. Nyi Rara was more than tempted to try to summon up Opu’s soul from Avaiki into a fresh vessel, if only to call upon the priestess’s wisdom once more.

  At the moment, though, she found the meeting bowl filled only with herself, Till Pimoe, and Taema, who was no Voice at all.

  Frowning, Nyi Rara looked upon the other two mermaids. “War has ravaged our kingdom.”

  “Yes, My Queen,” Till Pimoe intoned, citing the words without near the deference in tone she should have managed.

  And the difficult part. The people called her Nyai Loro, believed her blessed by the Elder Deep. Destined to protect and restore them. And she must. “And I wish I could say we are done with it. Twenty-four centuries ago, our kingdom was shattered. Our numbers faltered as some of our own turned their backs upon us. Sundered us, literally. And I shall rectify that.”

  Till Pimoe scoffed openly now. “You cannot possibly hope to win against Hiyoya in our current state. They have an army of wereseals.”

  Nyi Rara—Nyai Loro—nodded slowly. “Yes. They do. And I have Dragon Kings for friends.”

  In truth, Nyai Loro would prefer to make peace with Latmikaik and reunify Mu without further bloodshed. Certainly that was what Taema urged, given that her sister was held captive there. Nyai Loro would take that route if possible, but one way or another, she would move on Hiyoya and claim the whole of the Muian Sea.

  Perhaps even, in time, the rest of the Seven Seas.

  She’d sent an emissary to Baltia, in search of Morskoi, to summon him. He had once promised her queenship there if she provided a bloodline tinged with her power, and such an offer was too tempting to pass now.

  If she could ally with Baltia, Hiyoya would be doubly compelled to submit to her authority. Even, in the flickers of her rest, she indulged in thoughts of bringing Nanshe under her rule.

  When word came they had dug out the gorge leading to the Urchin, Nyai Loro fairly surged through the broken palace to reach it. The Urchin held all the answers she would need. Visions of the past and future she could use to unify all the Seven Seas into a single mer empire.

  Already, it had shown her the vision of herself claiming the throne of Mu, as she had done. What else might she learn?

  From behind the throne room, she darted into the gorge. It was covered with glyphs. Kanaloa had worked some kind of sorcery here, but to what end?

  At last she broke into the Urchin’s chamber.

  And faltered.

  The creature lay rotted over, all its luminosity stripped from it. Broken pieces of fibrous flesh flitted about the chamber, though clearly it had died of some toxin.

  Nyai Loro trembled, felt weak, fingers brushing over the decay but refusing to believe it real. She had slain the god-king, but he had taken something irreplaceable from Mu. Had his sorcery destroyed the Urchin? Why?

  She had always believed the he‘e sought to claim Mu in order to use the Urchin. But they had destroyed it. Was it spite, in knowing they had lost?

  Or rather … was this what Kanaloa had meant in his ravings about breaking the hold fate held upon the world?

  With the Urchin gone, such answers now lay beyond her reach.

  All her ambitions would have to be drawn up from herself, executed by herself, without input from the future.

  Nyai Loro was on her own.

  Epilogue

  Fourth Age of the Worldsea

  Matsya found himself staring at his queen while the rest of the court pandered, whispered, and argued. The undercurrents—the schemes—in Hiyoya had redoubled since word had come of the rise of Queen Nyai Loro in Mu. Not a night ever passed here without one mer or another lobbying for position, trying to undermine someone else, or simply stirring up chaos for its own sake.

  It was different now, though.

  Now, there was fear. A dread that had seeped into the throne room and hooded eyes, even as the better part of the court tried to deny the rumors about Nyai Loro and her taniwha-like allies. They refused to believe, even though all sensed it: the world had changed, and changed forever.

  Whatever had happened in Mu, Kanaloa was dead. Spies from Tinirau ‘Ohana reported that and Matsya had no reason to doubt them. Saveasi‘uleo wanted to assassinate Nyai Loro, but Queen Latmikaik hesitated to risk such a step. If they succeeded, no doubt she’d have lauded the assassin, but should they fail, the repercussions might fall upon her and upon all of Hiyoya.

  So instead, the queen watched the tumultuous court argue out their fears, and Matsya watched the queen, struggling to keep his twitching tail under control. Inemes believed Latmika
ik would send Matsya as ambassador to Mu, considering it—justifiably—far more pressing an obligation than his posting as liaison to the humans of Kahiki.

  How would Nyai Loro receive him? There were, of course, the rumors of her symbiosis with the host Namaka. Would she remember Matsya from her days as queen of Uluka‘a? Would she resent him for the tribute Hiyoya had once forced of her, through him?

  Then there was Nyai Loro herself, who’s soul Inemes had tried to sacrifice to the Elder Deep. That could not enamor her to Hiyoya much.

  He rubbed his face, hardly knowing what to make of any of this.

  As the night stretched on, Queen Latmikaik dismissed the court, but motioned him to stay. When the others had swum out, the queen guided him down into the private meeting halls.

  “We cannot simply submit,” Latmikaik said.

  As if he had ever thought she might. “We may face war.” He didn’t bother speaking that Hiyoya had effectively started the last flare up in the war.

  Latmikaik favored him with an irate glance, then entered one of the grottos.

  There, in a bowl in the floor, Daucina waited, Tilafaiga at his side. The Muian mer had been decidedly displeased to learn Saveasi‘uleo had already impregnated his niece. Saveasi‘uleo, on the other hand, had been downright livid when Latmikaik acceded to Daucina’s terms for the Chintamani stone which included both a ranking position for himself in the Hiyoyan court, and that Tilafaiga be turned over to him.

  Matsya had half expected them to attempt to slay the child through some tonic or other, but the mermaid still had a swollen belly just above her golden tail.

  “They still doubt the Dragon Kings exist,” Daucina stated, rather than asked. The Muian mer was too clever for his own good, much less anyone else’s. He seemed to intuit things he had no business uncovering, and given that he had already betrayed at least two queens, Matsya would not have trusted him with so much as a bed of kelp, much less a nation.