Tides of Mana

by Matt Larkin

  She spun around, only to see a Dakuwaqan warrior take a trident through his bowels. The Hiyoyan mermaid twisted the trident, ripping out a cloud of gore and filth. As the human host died, the mer spirit fled the corpse, which immediately began shifting back into human form.

  Chaos reigned all around her.

  So. Much. Blood.

  The frenzy refused to let her go, and she charged forward at Inemes. The Hiyoyan met her halfway, no doubt overcome with her own frenzy. Nyi Rara whipped her tail up at the Hiyoyan, intent to batter her into the ground. The other Hiyoyan dodged to the side and raked a webbed hand across Nyi Rara’s gills. Her claw-like nails caught tender flesh and ripped it to shreds, leaving Nyi Rara gasping, choking on her own blood.

  She careened to the side, crashed shoulder-first in the chasm bed, and tore a great chunk of her flesh out along the rock.

  Nyi Rara thrashed, her mind ablaze even as she began to drown. A mer could recover from most injuries. Gills were tricky, though. Could she live?

  Could she live?

  Did she need to abandon this host?

  Before she knew what was happening, someone had grabbed her shoulders.

  “Don’t let her soul escape,” Inemes said.

  A clawed finger carved something—a glyph!—into Nyi Rara’s forehead, scraping down all the way to her skull. She wailed in agony as a merman shredded her flesh and bone. In desperation, she moved to release her host and flee back to the Astral Realm. Something bound her here, trapped inside this body.

  Only a very powerful spirit could hold another spirit in a host. But this mark was doing something, some use of the Art.

  She shrieked, suddenly realizing her peril was to more than her host. They actually intended to kill her. Not just her body, but her very soul.

  They didn’t want her to make it back to Avaiki. They didn’t want to risk her reporting what had been stolen here.

  Inemes lunged atop Nyi Rara and leaned down with agonizing slowness, now clearly aroused by the blood and pain. She licked a rough tongue between Nyi Rara’s breasts, trailing it all the way down to her navel.

  “Father!” Nyi Rara shouted. Only it came out as a gurgle given her mangled gill.

  Inemes opened her mouth wide, pausing to lock her gaze with Nyi Rara’s a moment. An instant of torture, knowing what was coming. Then the other mermaid bit off Nyi Rara’s left breast.

  A haze of white filled her vision.

  Nyi Rara wailed in utter agony.

  Nothing she’d ever felt … Nothing could have …

  Someone else bit off a chunk of her tail fluke.

  Fuck! Fuck, please, Elder fucking Deep, please!

  More mouths bit down on her, tearing pieces from her tail, her arms, her gut. Inemes grabbed a rib and ripped it out. They were devouring her mana and trying to consume her soul with it.

  And her body wouldn’t respond. Couldn’t fight any longer. She felt it, as they began to devour her essence itself. As all she was ended.

  A feral sound. Far away.

  A body, crashing into the mass of mer, the tattooed Ranger barreling into them. Fighting on, even now, wounded in a dozen places, missing a hand, half his face hanging off.

  The Ranger’s coral knife descended toward Nyi Rara’s head.

  Toward that hateful glyph holding her here.

  She felt a single instant more of pain, as the blade punched through her skull.

  And then nothing else.

  PART I

  Third Age of the Worldsea

  1

  A hot wind carried clouds of choking ash down from the mountains, bringing with it the overpowering stench of sulfur. Once, those peaks had overflown with greenery, but now, they had split in half, consumed in torrents of lava that, in places, still glowed incandescent. The ashes had polluted Namaka’s beautiful, vibrant sea, leaving a cloudy film, even where molten rock had not destroyed her lagoon.

  Uluka‘a, her beloved island, had become a wasteland, unfit for human life. Perhaps even the akua had retreated back across the darkness of Pō now, leaving the Mortal Realm behind. The war had spread from this island to Kahiki, too, and reports indicated the devastation there, while less pervasive, certainly had reduced even kings to beggars.

  Namaka had created a kai e‘e—a surging wave the size of a mountain. How could it not have affected a neighboring island?

  And Namaka was left Queen of Emptiness, staring out over the ruins of her kingdom. Flood and flame had obliterated all around her, though axes and clubs had certainly claimed their share of lives. Grimly, she shook her head at what she’d wrought.

  Her, and her Milu-damned sister.

  Ash crunched lightly under the barefooted approach of someone behind her, and Namaka turned to see Leapua. The kahuna had the edge of her kihei cloak raised to cover her mouth against the ash cloud, and was using her tabu stick to thread her way across the wastes.

  “Well?” Namaka said, turning to the woman.

  Almost, the woman’s eyes seemed to implore Namaka, to beg that this was finished. It was not. “It is as you suspected,” Leapua finally said. “Pele fled across the channel to Kahiki. But she did not remain there. They took a fleet and sailed forth, well provisioned. My sources didn’t know where they were bound.”

  Namaka groaned. Oh, she could guess. Pele knew she couldn’t escape Namaka’s wrath to any of the nearby isles. So instead, her sister would have tried to follow the ocean currents to far Sawaiki, as their other sister, Kapo, had done decades back.

  Legends claimed Maui himself had found those islands far to the north, and led the first settlers, among them even the mo‘o—the great dragons that had once populated Kahiki. Now, centuries later, other migrations had begun seeking the new world. Two thousand miles, some claimed. And Pele thought Namaka’s rage would never follow her so far.

  But, as always, Pele desperately underestimated Namaka’s fury.

  It was the fury of the sea.

  And like the Worldsea, it was endless.

  Their war had left Namaka no kingdom to rule. What remained, then, but for her to take the last of her people and pursue? Some crimes demanded an answer, and Namaka would have one.

  THE REMNANTS of her kingdom had gathered on the beach, provisioning what remained of great double canoes. Fishermen had to voyage dangerously far out now to find live fish—and those were sparse. Enough to get them to Kahiki, though, where they could find additional stores of food.

  The camp was a disorganized wreck. Hastily constructed huts gave shelter from the falling ash, while men and women worked tirelessly to repair damaged boats.

  Namaka stood, hands stiff at her side, taking in the sea.

  Already, one of the double canoes had launched, its sails unfurled, filled with a hot, dirty wind. They would regroup on foreign shores, though Namaka half suspected some of her people to disappear into the jungles of Kahiki, seeking a new home there. Such disloyalty would earn their deaths, if caught, but she had neither time nor inclination to spare forces hunting those too cowardly or weak to make the great voyage to Sawaiki.

  Leapua plodded up beside her, sniffing, and Namaka looked to her kahuna. The woman had lost weight over the past month, though she remained somewhat plump, with warm laugh lines around her face. She’d lose yet more weight on the voyage, when food became so rationed. Namaka could swear the kahuna had more streaks of gray in her hair than she had a few months back, too.

  Really, this trek was for those younger and stronger, and, if Namaka were less selfish, she’d leave Leapua behind on Kahiki.

  But then, Namaka had so few people left with whom she could really talk. Those she had loved were dead or had betrayed her, and Leapua was one of the few left to her. How then could she send away her truest advisor and closest friend? No, selfishness—or at least self-interest—had its virtues, especially for a sovereign. Namaka’s peace of mind, her access to counsel, would lead to her making wiser decisions on behalf of her people.

  Ironically, Namaka was a
ctually much older than Leapua. As a kupua—a half-god—Namaka aged slowly. She was just over eighty years old now, and yet could have passed for Leapua’s much younger sister, not even half her real age.

  “You are so lost in thought,” Leapua said. “Do you doubt this plan now?”

  Namaka scoffed. “No.”

  The kahuna opened her mouth, but hesitated.

  “What?”

  “Is your pride truly worth all this?”

  “It’s not just pride,” Namaka snapped, turning back to the sea.

  “Oh.” And the way the woman said it, she clearly meant she disagreed.

  Namaka could only glower. It wasn’t only pride. The balance of the world hung on everyone’s adherence to tabus. Certain conventions could not be violated. Surely the desolation Uluka‘a now faced was evidence of the ‘aumākua’s displeasure at the breach of law?

  Besides which, Namaka had promised Pele as a sacrifice to Kanaloa. She could not take back a vow made to an akua, much less the god of the deep.

  Even if Namaka could not quite stifle the voice in the back of her mind that tempted her to lend credence to Leapua’s accusation.

  “It won’t be an easy voyage,” Namaka said. “I can help guide the currents …” Though better if she did not push it hard enough to vex Hiyoya. The last thing they needed was an angry mer empire hunting them while they were trapped on boats and surrounded by ocean. Namaka shook her head. “I can lend us some speed and keep the seas from growing too rough. Still, it’s a long way to Sawaiki, and none among us has ever made the trip.”

  Even as Haumea was dividing her kingdom between her eldest daughters, their younger sister, Kapo, had pled with their mother for permission to voyage across the sea. The first such trek since the days of Maui, almost a thousand years ago. So many had gone with Kapo, back then, and Namaka had wished her little sister well, despite her doubts. Had she found Sawaiki? Had she made a home for herself there? Some of them had made it. Aukele had confirmed that much, in his tales of northern islands.

  Thinking of her traitorous husband brought a fresh glower to Namaka’s face.

  Leapua murmured something under her breath, then looked directly at Namaka. “If they can make it, so can we.” The kahuna mercifully left unspoken the question of whether they should. “The people still believe in you, My Queen.”

  Namaka almost laughed. Some of them did, perhaps. Others no doubt feared her and that kept them in line. Daughter of Haumea and Kū-Waha-Ilo, ancient kupua who had ruled this land for more generations than any could remember, perhaps even back in the days of Maui. Through them, Namaka and her sisters had stronger mana than just about anyone in the Worldsea.

  Both her parents had gone now, though, and she couldn’t even say where, for certain. Her father had rarely bothered to take an interest in Namaka, and her mother had vanished long ago. Tired of ruling, Namaka supposed.

  “Suppose you find her there?” Leapua asked.

  “Pele? You already know the answer to that. I’ll follow her wherever she goes. I have promised her as a sacrifice to Kanaloa, and he shall have her. Crossing the Worldsea will not save her from her fate.”

  It was an itch inside Namaka’s mind. This need to fulfill her vow and sacrifice Pele. It niggled her everywhere she went. It kept her awake at night, and, on those occasions she managed sleep, it haunted her dreams. Visions of the benthic powers, coiling in the darkness below the sea, awaiting the completion of her promise, even seeming to threaten that, if Namaka failed to offer that sacrifice, she herself must take its place.

  Was that the voice of Kanaloa himself? Lord of the deep, whom even the mer of Hiyoya feared? Or was the voice a manifestation of her own tortured mind? A nightmare, born of her rage at what her sister had taken from her?

  Hardly sure why, Namaka drew Leapua into a sudden embrace. “You have stayed by my side all through this civil war. I cannot tell you how much that means. You and Upoho and Milolii are all I …”

  So many of the others had chosen Pele. Even little Hi‘iaka had taken her other sister’s side, and Namaka had never gotten the chance to explain herself to the child. For which she could also blame Pele.

  Leapua patted her back, perhaps caught off-guard by Namaka’s gesture. “My Queen.”

  “It’s almost done,” Namaka said to her. “The war will end soon, and we shall rebuild our kingdom on Sawaiki.”

  “Are there not already kingdoms there?”

  Namaka chuckled. “Not ones prepared to stand against us.”

  She left the kahuna then, and made her way back to the mountains. The volcanic ash was still warm under her bare feet, almost hot enough to burn, but Namaka had to do this. She wended her way into the valley, searching. But the flow of lava had changed the landscape too much. The trees were gone, even the shape of the mountain now differed, and she didn’t have much idea where the place was anymore.

  So she wandered about while the sun began to set, until she was left with the inescapable conclusion: lava had buried the cave entrance.

  Growling, Namaka finally knelt in the ash, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

  The bones of her husbands lay entombed there. Hidden forever, as was appropriate, though Namaka would have preferred the chance to bid them farewell. Their flesh she had cast into the sea, yes, but their bones would remain here forever, far from the land where she would now make her home.

  They had both died because of this war. That fell at Pele’s feet, too.

  Namaka wanted to weep for the dead, but it felt as though Pele’s flames had evaporated her tears. All she could do was pound her fist into the dried lava and moan in anguish. What if … what if Leapua’s intimations hid the truth? Had Namaka taken things too far? But the voice in her mind demanded its sacrifice …

  And Kanemoe and Kahaumana and thousands more dead needed someone to pay for their lives. That … that had to be Pele. It had to.

  “I’m sorry,” Namaka repeated.

  During the war, she had half expected hers and Pele’s mother to show up and stop the fighting. But Haumea was gone, and the island she had left to her elder daughters was gone now, too.

  All that remained was to gather her strength and set sail. To end this.

  MUCH OF THE lagoon was now filled in by lava, the sea for once giving way to the land, and what remained was a putrid, acidic mess. Despite the discomfort, Namaka had doffed her pa‘u, tossed the skirt aside, and waded into the waters.

  Once, this lagoon had been so thick with mana, like the beating heart of this island. Namaka had built her palace on the shore over there—it too swept away in a torrent of molten rock—and had bathed here daily, soaking in mana she felt more keenly than mortals.

  But now … the lagoon was dead.

  The island was dead. The mana had fled, drawn, perhaps, back into the greater depths of the Worldsea.

  The dirty waters she waded among held no power, as if she’d needed any more evidence of how thoroughly their war had destroyed Uluka‘a. As if she had needed more evidence of her guilt.

  To whom should she apologize for this? To the akua, gods who had surely fled from here? To the ‘aumākua, the ghost gods who watched over their descendants? Perhaps they would make the trek to Sawaiki, or perhaps they too had fled the devastation, descending into dark Pō, the Otherworld.

  Nothing remained here anymore. And it was time for Namaka to be gone.

  As she threaded her way ashore, though, she spied the mo‘o—a lizard dragon—sitting on the rocks, watching her. Milolii, her former nursemaid, might have passed for an eighteen foot long monitor lizard, save for the irregular horns raising from her brow, the frill down her spine, and the spikes upon the end of her tail. That, and the light of intelligence, of scorn with which she looked upon Namaka.

  Namaka paused before the beloved dragon, trying not to squirm under the creature’s gaze, though it made it feel like the night sky was closing in around her. “We’re heading to Kahiki, then on to Sawaiki.”

  “
And I shall meet you there.” The dragon’s grandmotherly voice was a comfort—when she wasn’t angry. Like this, it tended to feel like a knife, digging into Namaka’s temples. “I shall cross the Worldsea and at last join my forebears, as I should have done ages back.”

  Frowning, Namaka held her peace, uncertain whether she should feel glad the dragon would be there for her, or chagrined Milolii seemed to blame Namaka for all of this.

  As if Pele had not been to blame for this war.

  She wanted to open her mouth, to apologize, to beg the mo‘o to forgive her.

  But that was weakness. It would only serve to undermine the sacrifices so many had made because of this.

  A queen did not apologize for duty.

  LEAPUA WAS WAITING FOR HER, holding Namaka’s brilliant red feather cloak in both arms. Namaka took the garment and wrapped it around her otherwise bare shoulders. Usually, she basked in its softness, but she had no mood for it now. Besides … that looked like a godsdamned mer down on the shore.

  “Matsya?” she asked.

  Leapua nodded solemnly. “Waiting since just after sunset.”

  Namaka forestalled her groan and tromped her way down to the beach. The creature there stood on two legs—two-scaled legs with fins at the ankles. Hints of scales poked out along his bare flesh, up his torso, his arms. Fins jutted from his biceps and back, and as he twisted in the moonlight, Namaka caught sight of his flapping gills. When he opened his mouth, he revealed double rows of shark teeth, set into a maw too large for a human head.

  A hint of humanity … merged with a godsdamned shark, so far as she could tell. Namaka had heard that mer became less and less human over the centuries, but she couldn’t guess how old Matsya was.

  “I warned you,” the merman said when she paused before him. “I warned you, before all this, and you didn’t listen.”

  “Perhaps you should have warned Pele.”

  Matsya pointed a webbed finger at the island behind her, but Namaka didn’t bother turning to look. She’d seen the wasteland enough. She’d dwelt on her failures so many times. She did not need to see more. “This was not all Pele.”