by Matt Larkin
And above them, a radiant light as though the sun itself shone down through the waters. Upward they swam, on and on, until finally Nyi Rara led her through a side passage. Here the structure changed, becoming more carefully carved stone. This tunnel connected to another vertical shaft, perfectly smooth save for the glyphs carved into the walls. Nyi Rara had called them wards at Mu. Perhaps here they also served to protect the city.
“This is the Shrine of the Deep,” Nyi Rara said. “Those of priestly bent come here, and here I suspect we’ll find the one we seek.”
They swam upward once again, until they came upon another mermaid. Her skin was white as milk, as was her hair, trailing off into the shadows. And though her eyes were opalescent, like Nyi Rara’s, Namaka suddenly recognized her.
“Opuhalakoa.”
The priestess smiled knowingly at her, though weariness tugged at her eyes. “Being discorporated drains one so … Still, I felt you needed guidance. Nyi Rara’s intents are beyond the unusual.”
“But it can be done?” the mermaid princess asked. “This is what the Urchin showed me.”
Of course. Namaka should have known. The mermaid had refused to speak of it because she had feared what this meant.
“You must go to the Mirror,” the witch said, and pointed at an arch leading out of this chamber. “But Nyi Rara, this is an action not easily undone, a choice that will change everything for you both.”
“I made my choice.”
Or the Urchin had made it for her. Or … necessity had. Namaka nodded. Yes, they had to save their people—both of her peoples.
“Then I will tell you the words,” the priestess answered.
Nyi Rara released Namaka’s hand and allowed her to roam the chamber while the two mermaids spoke. Namaka longed for her tail, finding her motions with legs sluggish, inadequate for the task ahead. Still, she swam about, inspecting the intricacies of the carvings. Thousands upon thousands of the marks were carved here, work that must have taken years. Or longer.
At last Nyi Rara returned, taking her hand once again. “She wishes me to show you something else first.”
“What?”
“The Chamber of Memory. Come with me. I promised you some answers. I do not have all the answers, of course, but there are things for you to know before we make this irrevocable choice.” Without another word, Nyi Rara guided her down, into tunnels that dug beneath the base of this place.
They entered a narrow shaft that pulsed much like the column had, seeming half alive itself. As though … swimming through the veins of some great monstrosity. The tunnel went on for hundreds of feet before ending abruptly at a circular stone door.
Nyi Rara placed her hand upon the stone and it quivered, sending vibrations through the watery tunnel. A moment later, a hint of iridescent light illuminated strange line patterns covering the door. Then it ground against more stone, rolling into the side of the wall and revealing a great domed chamber within.
“This chamber is sealed to all except for the royals and Voices of the ‘ohanas.”
The mermaid swam inside and Namaka followed. All around the perimeter this hall was lined with seashells. Some were missing, others cracked, but it looked like … a picture. A grand mosaic thousands of feet long, wrapping around this chamber and encompassing even the floor. That floor depicted a crevasse, larger and darker than any Namaka had ever imagined. Within that crevasse lurked the shadowy outline of something that seemed to fill the entire space with its bulk. She caught sight of dragon-like eyes … more than two of them. Of octopus-like arms that seemed to writhe in the darkness.
“What in Lua-o-Milu …”
Nyi Rara frowned, swimming closer. “Imagine your world exists inside a coconut. What you call Pō is the skin of that coconut, separating it from the realm beyond. Our realm, the Spirit Realm. Avaiki, this World of Water, is one …” Nyi Rara clucked her tongue, gnashing those shark teeth in obvious frustration. “Well, we use the term sphere because it offers a means of conceptualization that in turn leads to perception as crystal sphere. But what we’re really talking about is non-physical fragments of the underlying elements of reality existing coterminously and yet always distinct in experience.”
“Uh … what?”
Nyi Rara growled in frustration. “We’re not in the habit of explaining this to mortals.” She sighed. “All right, every world of the Spirit Realm is ruled by an Elder God. A being beyond time, older than your world. The greatest of these is the Elder Deep, the goddess of this world.” Namaka pointed at the mosaic indicating the abomination below, one Namaka found herself relieved she could make out little more than a hint of. “As I told you, it is the mother of all benthic powers. We call it by a title as a mark of reverence, though humans have attributed numerous other names to it. Thalassa, Echidna, Tiamat, Leviathan, Rahab … I’ve heard kāhuna near Hiyoya call it Vari.”
The creator of the sea and its bounty. A myth, surely. Or so Namaka had always thought. “And she’s … here?”
Nyi Rara snorted. “No. We’d not dare to build our city anywhere close enough to disturb her slumber. That’s in Naunet, at the heart of Avaiki, well far from here.”
“You’re her children.”
“Well, the first mer were spawned by her. As was the greatest of all he‘e, and the first of his kind, really.”
“You mean … Kanaloa. The he‘e god-king.”
Nyi Rara swam away from the depiction of the Elder Deep and to the wall mosaic, where an octopus the size of a small island lurked, half concealed by coral and columns of bone. The mosaic showed several arms of the octopus holding what looked like flaming pearls.
“Is that …?”
“Chintamani stones,” Nyi Rara confirmed. “Primal manifestations of mana formed in the gullet of the Elder Deep and spit out. Stolen by Kanaloa during the last eschaton.”
“Eschaton?” Namaka’s head spun. Nyi Rara spoke of things that made little sense and Namaka’s brain struggled to build connections.
“You call it the Deluge. A cataclysm that rocked the Mortal Realm destroying four continents, including Mu. During that time, a breach opened between Avaiki and your world. Through that breach came Kanaloa, along with the stolen Chintamaniya. Others followed, mer—we needed hosts, of course—dragons and so forth, filling your Worldsea with creatures from our world.”
Namaka shook her head. “So … the he‘e god-king is another child of the Elder Deep. A fugitive on our world?” And everything, mer society, the dragons, all of it had come from a connection to Avaiki.
Nyi Rara swam on, pointing to places on the mural that showed landmasses cracking apart as she had said. Further, again Namaka saw Kanaloa, this time waving a Chintamani over some kind of spring. Another stone he waved over what looked like hundreds of little …
“Those are he‘e,” Namaka said.
“Yes.”
“He created the he‘e in his image. Using a Chintamani! It’s that powerful?”
“As I said, it is a fragment of the Elder Deep itself, infused with its mana.”
Namaka felt suddenly cold down here. “But you said the mer had the Chintamani stones.”
“Yes. The Elder Deep, furious that Kanaloa had stolen from it, told us where he had hidden the great pearls and we came after them. My grandfather was king, then, and Kanaloa offered him a deal. To turn over only five of the Chintamani stones—one for each ‘ohana of Mu.”
“Why would Dakuwaqa agree?”
“Because Kanaloa promised his children as slaves for the mer.”
Oh. Oh, Manua take them all. “Kanaloa sold his progeny into slavery in order to keep his remaining pearls.”
“We thought greed had driven him to it … for a long, long time, we thought that.”
Oh … but when the Sundering came the he‘e had revolted. And Kanaloa had surely planned that, all along.
Nyi Rara pointed across the hall. “Out there is a way we can join, you and I. But there may be no coming back from that, Namaka. If
we become symbiotically joined, you are pulled into all of this.” The mermaid waved her hand to indicate the mosaic stretching on and on. “A legacy of the deep, a war stretching back thousands of years. Swim forward but a little more, and you will find yourself inextricably caught in the struggles of Avaiki.”
Namaka’s heart beat painfully fast in her chest. This was … it was too big. The Elder Deep itself, a behemoth of unimaginable size that looked capable of swallowing entire islands whole. Kanaloa, spawn of the Deep, the god-king of the he‘e, plotting his schemes for thousands of years. Namaka rubbed her forehead against a headache building in her brow.
It was too big, and she should ask Nyi Rara to take her back.
Except, all of this would still be here, under the waves, whether Namaka chose to look at it or not. Whatever she did, this battle beneath the Worldsea would be fought. And the winner, be it mer or he‘e, would control the ocean and thus the destiny of the entire Mortal Realm, humanity included.
What was a queen to do?
“I’m … already in this fight, Nyi Rara. There was never any backing down. Not from the moment you chose me.”
Nyi Rara nodded slowly. “Then follow me into the deep places.”
32
T he waves lapped over the war barge’s prow, throwing a heavy spray over Poli‘ahu. They’d chosen to hold the assault at night to leave Waimea less prepared. Besides being a major power center for the invaders, Waimea had offered friendship to Pele. A crime Poli‘ahu intended to see made an example of.
That kupua had come to her mountain and challenged her. That Pele had cheated on the sled race offered little surprise. That she had survived, though, represented a supreme threat to Poli‘ahu’s legitimacy. Her first instinct had been to hunt down the Flame Queen and see her soul torn from her body and sent down to the freezing wastes of Milu.
But the Flame Queen had almost overcome Poli‘ahu in her own domain. She couldn’t risk an open confrontation in terrain without snow. No, better to undermine Pele’s credibility and demoralize her allies with swift retaliation.
Kaupeepee’s crew provided the perfect opportunity to pursue that end. Waimea mattered to him only because he’d heard of the beauty of Hina, a kupua herself, and possibly even a descendant of the great Mo‘oinanea. A powerful bloodline, and one Poli‘ahu would rather remain under their control than the invaders’. Any heir Kaupeepee got on Hina would provide a boon to the next generation.
A chill breeze swept over the barge, billowing Poli‘ahu’s skirt and hair. That feeling, of something unnatural sweeping over her, raising the hair on her neck—she knew what it meant. She embraced the Sight to look into Pō, and sure enough, Lilinoe’s white form flitted about on the ship.
The others could not see her or hear her, of course, but a palpable sense of unease had settled over the crew regardless. The uncomfortable feeling men got when ghosts and spirits drew near, looking at them through the Veil.
“You again failed to kill the queen …” A whisper on the wind. An accusation that lanced at Poli‘ahu’s mind like shards of obsidian.
Much as Poli‘ahu might have preferred to bring Nalani along, her friend was safer back on Vai‘i in Hilo. The snow akua alone accompanied her for this attack.
“I underestimated her,” Poli‘ahu mumbled under her breath.
A few men glanced her way, as if uncertain if she’d spoken.
“Fail again … I may need another … in which to place my support …”
Poli‘ahu pointedly blinked the Sight away, in no mood for the akua’s chastisement or threats. Yes, she had tried twice to kill Pele and failed. Of course, Lilinoe herself might have chosen to lend more power those times and changed the outcome, but no. No, the akua expected Poli‘ahu to continuously prove herself worthy.
Well, that was exactly what she was doing.
She was going to see the invaders driven back to Kahiki no matter what it took. No matter how many of them she had to see slain and savaged. She would save her people.
Kaupeepee’s sandals clomped on the deck as he drew near. The warrior pointed up ahead, toward tiny fires on the horizon. “Waimea. Almost time.”
Kuau‘i. A bastion for these invaders. Any of the old dynasty supporting these people were traitors who deserved whatever befell them now.
“Remember there are kupua among them,” Poli‘ahu said. “We need to get in, grab whatever we can, and get out before they realize what’s happening.”
“Yeah, all that matters is grabbing hold of Hina.”
Poli‘ahu shook her head. “Beware of her kin.”
“Eh. Can’t say as I’m too worried about that. That’s why we got a kupua of our own.” He cocked his head at her.
Yes. “Leave me.”
Now, she had no choice but to look back across the Veil into Pō. Expose herself to Lilinoe’s ire once more. The eldest and most powerful of the snow akua, Lilinoe commanded the others, and Poli‘ahu could do little save bargain with her. The others, however, she could exert more influence over.
“Kahoupokane,” she whispered. A moment later, the snow akua drifted up beside Lilinoe. “Bring the mist. Blanket the village in it to conceal us.”
Kahoupokane did not answer, just turned and flitted off the ship and out of view.
Poli‘ahu felt Lilinoe staring at her with that unblinking gaze.
“I will weep for you if you fail,” the snow akua said.
Poli‘ahu winced and released the Sight once more. Already, a fog was rising off the sea. A great cloud of billowing white that looked like it could have rolled down from Mauna Kea itself. The vapors engulfed the war barge and canoes and spread out, probably already reaching into the village.
Some of the crew began to whisper to each other, clearly discomfited by the unnatural weather. All mortals instinctively feared the Otherworldly. Whatever came from beyond the Veil was tainted with alien intent and malice. Akua reached into the Mortal Realm in often subtle ways, shifting the weather, blighting or aiding crops, spreading or abating disease. Sometimes, men never noticed their touch at all.
When they did, Poli‘ahu always got the impression even the bravest warriors among them would rather be huddled under a blanket around a fire. There was a perverse pleasure in seeing otherwise prideful men brought to fear, especially by something she had called up.
The billowing fog swept in over the village, but no shouts of alarm went up. Most folk were asleep, no doubt, and why should those awake fear a mist off the sea? They didn’t understand. Not yet.
Kaupeepee’s men leapt over the side of the barge without war cries. Just splashes in the water no one on land would have heard. A hundred warriors here, and five hundred more in the canoes, all stalking like ghosts through the mist, closing in upon unsuspecting Waimea.
Poli‘ahu suppressed a twinge of pity for the villagers. These were invaders. They deserved neither mercy nor her regard. The dead she would offer to Lilinoe and win back the snow akua’s favor.
When the ship drew as close as it could without grounding, Poli‘ahu too leapt into the water. Most of the men had stripped out of their malos before getting wet, but Poli‘ahu kept her clothes on, heedless of her skirt getting soaked.
The shouts had begun now. Screams.
Wet thwacks as clubs and axes met skulls and limbs. All around, the fog rolled on, like a blanket suffocating Waimea. Almost stifling the shrieks of the people as they died or ran.
Two of Kaupeepee’s warriors had a girl caught between them, dragging her away.
Poli‘ahu grimaced. She’d warned them to make this fast. Let them bring prisoners for that sort of thing, not do it here.
Well, let the imbeciles get left behind for the survivors to deal with. Whoever came out as king after this might well have those fools castrated and offered up to Kū. And they would deserve both.
Poli‘ahu pushed on, catching sight of Kaupeepee himself, as he and a throng of his men fought their way to Hakalanileo’s palace. What had been his palace, rather
, since word had come he was dead and Hina’s son now ruled here. Maybe it was better to kill the boy, too, rather than leave a potential kupua threat behind them.
Kaupeepee hurled a javelin at a defender. The man tried to catch it but moved too slow, perhaps addled by awa or sleep. The missile lanced into his chest and dropped him in a heap. Kaupeepee planted his foot on the fallen man and ripped the javelin free, hardly pausing in his advance.
Yes, Poli‘ahu had chosen her warrior champion wisely.
A concentrated force charged out of the palace now, their exact numbers concealed by the fog. Kaupeepee’s men raced up to meet them, breaking into a chaotic melee.
There was little Poli‘ahu could do in such circumstances, so instead she allowed her own form to become mist, drawing on Waiau’s power to merge with the fog, then drifting up to the palace itself. They had come for Hina and could not lose sight of that. The loss of one whom legend called the most beautiful in all Sawaiki—that would crush the invaders’ hopes.
A pearl, they called her, named for Maui’s own wife. But the old dynasty were the true heirs of Maui, and having an invader claim kinship to him even by name was an insult. Yes, she would see these people humbled and broken.
As vapor, she flowed through an open window and into the palace. Inside, women and children had clustered together, huddled on mats, holding each other tight. Terrified.
There was no place for pity for these people.
There was no place for it.
One of the women exuded mana, setting Poli‘ahu’s ethereal skin tingling so intensely she didn’t even need to look into Pō to see the power of her aura. That was Hina.
“What in Lua-o-Milu?” A young man said. He too, seemed flush with mana. Her son. Was that Kana? He was younger than Poli‘ahu had thought.
Still, he came up, knife in hand, advancing on her mist like he knew it had a will. Unafraid of the unnatural vapors billowing in through the window? Or desperate to seem unafraid.
